Ethnicity in the Ancient World – Did it matter? 9783110685657, 9783110684780, 9783110995053

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Erich S. Gruen Ethnicity in the Ancient World—Did it Matter?

Erich S. Gruen

Ethnicity in the Ancient World— Did it Matter?

ISBN 978-3-11-068478-0 e-ISBN (PDF) 978-3-11-068565-7 e-ISBN (EPUB) 978-3-11-068580-0 Library of Congress Control Number: 2020941962 Bibliographic information published by the Deutsche Nationalbibliothek The Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliografie; detailed bibliographic data are available on the Internet at http://dnb.dnb.de. © 2020 Walter de Gruyter GmbH, Berlin/Boston Cover image: Hercules mosaic, Hercules in drinking contest with Dionysus, House of Dionysus, ruined city, Sepphoris, Israel Printing and binding: CPI books GmbH, Leck www.degruyter.com

For Ann

Contents Acknowledgments | IX Abbreviations | XI Introduction | 1 1

Were Barbarians Barbaric? | 11

2

Herodotus and Greekness | 42

3

The Racial Judgments of Polybius | 56

4

Rome’s Multiple Identities and Tangled Perspectives | 72

5

Constructed Ethnicities in Republican Italy | 90

6

The Chosen People and Mixed Marriages | 113

7

Did Hellenistic Jews Consider Themselves a Race or a Religion? | 131

8

Philo and Jewish Ethnicity | 150

9

The Ethnic Vocabulary of Josephus | 166

10

The Racial Reflections of Paul | 185

11

Christians as a “Third Race”? | 201

12

Conclusion | 215

Bibliography | 219 Primary Source Index | 232 General Index | 258

Acknowledgments Several of the chapters in this book have appeared elsewhere in different versions, and I wish to thank the publishers for graciously giving permission to publish them again in revised form. “Did Romans have an Ethnic Identity”, in P.J. Burton, Culture, Identity, and Politics in the Ancient Mediterranean World, Antichthon, (The Australasian Society for Classical Studies), 47 (2013), 1−17. “Josephus and Jewish Ethnicity”, in J. Baden, H. Naijman, and B. Tigchelaar, Sibyls, Scriptures, and Scrolls (Leiden: Brill, 2017), 489−508. “Paul and Jewish Ethnicity”, in C. Fonrobert, et al. Talmudic Transgressions (Leiden: Brill, 2017), 351−367. “Christians as a ‘Third Race’: Is Ethnicity at Issue?” in J.C. Paget and J. Lieu, Christianity in the Second Century: Themes and Developments (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2017), 235−249. “Philo and Jewish Ethnicity”, in M. Satlow, Strength to Strength (Providence: Brown Judaic Studies, 2018), 179−195. “Polybius and Ethnicity”, in N. Mitsios and M. Tamiolaki, Polybius and his Legacy (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2018), 13−34.

It is always a pleasure to express one’s debt to friends and colleagues who have contributed to the development and shaping of the ideas in this book. Each of them read one or more drafts of chapters at some stage of their evolution. Their comments were always welcome, even if occasionally painful. I hope that they will recognize the improvements that were made as consequence of their suggestions and recommendations. They will surely notice the unchanged and stubborn opinions that resisted their best efforts. The book is, in any case, much the better for their criticism and their dissent. I want to thank warmly those who graciously added valuable dimensions to this study as well as those who, equally graciously, pointed to the less valuable elements that could be dispensed with. Even when I did not follow their counsel, I profited from it and am grateful for it. I note, in particular, John Barclay, Robert Doran, Arthur Eckstein, Paula Fredriksen, Ron Hendel, Martha Himmelfarb, Ben Isaac, Irad Malkin, Steve Mason, Andrew McGowan, Maren Niehoff, Sarah Pearce, Oskar Skarsaune, and Nic Terrenato. I offer deepest thanks to my former student, now dear friend and colleague, Ashley Bacchi, who accomplished the daunting but crucial task of compiling the general index and did so with her customary thoroughness and intelligence.

https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110685657-203

X | Acknowledgments

The book could not have come into being without Sophie Wagenhofer, senior acquisitions editor at De Gruyter, and a fine scholar in her own right. She encouraged the project, steered it through the publishing process, and brought it to fruition with expertise and grace. I am greatly indebted to her. Finally and in a class by herself is my beloved wife and partner, Ann Hasse. She has heard me lecture on many of the topics contained in this work, and has always provided stimulus, support, and confidence, even when critical and unconvinced. In addition, her assiduous proofreading and tireless work on the indexes saved me from some embarrassing flaws. The remaining ones exist despite her sound advice. I cannot adequately express my appreciation, admiration, and love for her.

Abbreviations AncSoc CBQ ClMed CP CRAI HTR JBL JECS JJS JQR JRS JSJ JSP JTS LEC MedAnt MemAccadPatav NTS REA SCI SphA TAPA

Ancient Society Catholic Biblical Quarterly Classica et Medieavalia Classical Philology Comptes rendus de l’Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-lettres Harvard Theological Review Journal of Biblical Literature Journal of Early Christian Studies Journal of Jewish Studies Jewish Quarterly Review Journal of Roman Studies Journal for the Study of Judaism in the Persian, Hellenistic, and Roman Periods Journal for the Study of the Pseudepigrapha and Related Literature Journal of Theological Studies Les Études classiques Mediterraneo antico Atti e memorie dell’ Accademia di scienze, lettere ed arti in Padova New Testament Studies Revue des études anciennes Scripta Classica Israelica Studia Philonica Annual Transactions of the American Philological Association

https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110685657-204

Introduction Ethnicity as a term did not exist in antiquity. Indeed, it did not even make it into the English language until the mid-20th century. That does not mean that the concept, by whatever name, was unknown in ancient societies. The idea of bonds that linked together persons, whether it be by common kinship, language, location, traditions, experience, practices, or aspirations is ubiquitous even when unexpressed, a feature, one might say, of human community itself. Of course, the identification of persons or groups by race or ethnicity has not always been benign. It has indeed too often promoted prejudice and bigotry, issuing even in conflict and suppression, perhaps most intensely in our own era. The circumstances of the 20th century not only called forth the term “ethnicity” but also provided the stage for ethnic conflict on a scale hitherto unknown. The African-American experience in the U.S., the legacy of two and a half centuries of slavery, perpetuated by segregation and oppression, and the unspeakable assault on the Jews in Nazi Germany supply only the most horrific examples. Those dismal developments also prompted a plethora of scholarly efforts to gain some grasp of the subject. Anthropologists and sociologists led the way, with a smattering of historians, in the past two generations. They have done important theoretical work, have framed the discussion, and have helped to set the terms of the debate on the meaning of ethnic identity and its effects in the modern world. Yet ethnicity remains a frustratingly elusive concept, much discussed and still much disputed. The subject presents a minefield, into which one enters only with great trepidation and apprehension. No consensus on a definition of the term has emerged, nor is one likely to emerge. And the application of any particular meaning risks the charge of arbitrariness or idiosyncrasy. Contemporary concerns or recent memories can bedevil the discussion. They surface, for example, in endeavors to distinguish ethnicity from race. Both lack precise delineation. And the latter carries unwanted baggage in our time, raising the specter of racism with its dire connotations.1 “Ethnicity” seemed a more comfortable and agreeable term to employ, one that signals less fixity and determinism in its application. We live more easily with the notion of permeable boundaries, greater inclusivity, and a malleable identity. Yet the terminological shift from “race” to “ethnicity” represents little advance. It carries the character of an

|| 1 On the damaging implications of the “myth of race”, see the still valuable survey and assessment of opinions by Montagu two generations ago (1997, its 6th edition), 41–109. Cf. the comments on race by Isaac (2004), 17–38; idem (2009), 32–34. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110685657-001

2 | Introduction

artificial dodge, and, whatever comfort it might bring, creates issues of its own. More recent social and political developments have revived and encouraged a stress on origins and a pride in lineage, even among, indeed especially among, those who have traditionally suffered from marginalization by the majority culture. In this context “race” can have positive rather than a pejorative connotation. But it can also generate a backlash in what has been dubbed by some as “reverse racism” or “identity politics”. The troubled character of the topic continues to infect discussions. The severance of race from ethnicity seems increasingly hollow. And the search for an acceptable definition of ethnicity remains an entangled source of frustration. Scholarship on the subject is comparably divided. Approaches to it conventionally fall into two broad categories—or at least are characterized as such. The one leans toward a rooted sense of ethnicity, the other a more flexible and fluid one. The labels applied to these approaches vary. The first commonly receives the appellation of “primordialism”, i.e. the view that ethnicity is a natural and ineffable feature of humanity, an organic element present from the start as a central ingredient of identity. That attitude also occasionally carries the tag “perennialism”, evidently denoting a continuous and undeviating quality that characterizes ethnic groups.2 Others affix the label of “essentialism”, with its implication that ethnic character possesses a fundamental core that distinguishes a people throughout its history, generally considered to be determined through genealogy and heredity. With such a conceptualization, race and ethnicity overlap considerably, and any border between them appears to dissolve. The second, contrasting, perspective has also acquired multiple labels. It often carries the brand of “instrumentalism”, signifying a molding of collective identity for political or economic purposes, and thus regularly revised and refashioned, dependent upon circumstances and intent.3 Scholars also offer an alternative designation for such a concept, namely, “constructivism”, thereby pointing to the contingent nature of ethnicity, a product of deliberate strategy, designed to project an image or to shape self-perception, a construct, not an ontological reflection of reality. What, however, does one gain from labels? The bifurcation between essentialism, perennialism, or primordialism on the one hand, and instrumentalism, constructivism, circumstantialism, or situationalism4 on the other, is itself a mere

|| 2 Smith (1986), 12–13; Hutchinson and Smith (1996), 8. On “primordialism”, see the classic statement by Geertz (1975), 259. 3 Hutchinson and Smith (1996), 8–9; Hall (1997), 17–19. 4 Smith (1986), 2.

Introduction | 3

construct. None of the practitioners of these supposed methodologies adopt the labels themselves, though they ascribe them freely to others. They can provide a convenient means whereby some researchers claim to offer a compromise route, one that veers away from both extremes and opts for some form of middle ground toward a comprehension of ethnicity.5 The postulated alternatives, however, even for heuristic purposes, too easily mislead through exaggeration or distortion. The idea of an immutable character determining the nature of a people or an ethnic group finds few takers today. The very notion of ethnicity as an inherent quality is well out of favor. Scholars prefer to stress its molding and shaping. As a cynical appraisal has it, “a nation is a group of people united by a common error about their ancestry and a common dislike of their neighbors.”6 That ethnicity is, in some significant sense, a construct has now attained the status of established doctrine.7 The drawing of boundaries as a feature of self-ascription or as a projection upon others counts, for most researchers, as a central means of conceiving ethnic identity.8 Such “constructivism”, however, can create its own problems. Emphasis on fluidity and malleability makes it difficult to account for a powerful attachment to collective identification that manifests itself in almost all societies. Fidelity to a group consciousness seems fundamental to human existence.9 Efforts to strike a balance by pointing to “hybrid” ethnicities and multiple mixtures only reaffirm the complexities of the topic.10 If ethnicity is a construct, what are the elements of its construction? Where does one locate the salient features that constitute collective identity? What should count as the characteristics that define ethnicity? Further, the matter of perspective also enters into the equation. How far is an ethnic group determined by the outsider’s vantage point and how far by members of the group itself? || 5 So, for example, Siapkas (2014), 66–75, with substantial bibliography. 6 Deutsch (1969), 3; Connor (1994), 114. 7 A work of telling consequence in this regard, is Barth (1969), 9–38,—who does not engage in labeling. See the recent general reflections of Spencer (2014), 55–58, 97–102. For a sharp critique of “primordialism”,see Eller and Coughlan (1993), 183–201. 8 Barth (1969), 14–15, 38. On the ambiguities of boundary making, see Wimmer (2013), especially 1–10, 174–203, 206–208, who rightly speaks of the “routine beating of the dead primordial horse;” ibid, 2. Wimmer also supplies valuable bibliography. 9 Hutchinson and Smith (1996), 3; Malkin (2001), 15–16; Konstan (2001), 29–30; Brubaker (2004), 28–29. On the ambiguities that inhere in the very notion of ethnicity when applied to groups or peoples, see Brubaker (2004), passim. 10 On hybridity, see the comments of Reger (2014), 113–115, with bibliography. For a useful summary of the complexities of ancient ethnicity in general, see Reger (2014), 112–126. See further the overview of salient scholarship by Moore (2015), 8–44; cf. Rainey (2019), 2–13.

4 | Introduction

Scholars have struggled to pinpoint the critical aspects of ethnicity. A formulation of wide influence assembled a number of elements that combine to convey a sense of peoplehood: a collective name, a common myth of descent, a shared history, a shared culture, association with a specific territory, and a sense of solidarity.11 Reasonable enough. Few would quarrel with that assemblage as relatively comprehensive. But that is not the end of the matter. Are these diverse components all of a piece? How does one rank them, which ones hold central place and which are marginal, how distinctive or how overlapping are these elements, how far do they correspond to reality and how far do they serve as creations to shape national self-presentation? Such questions remain quite unresolved by simply supplying a check-list of characteristics. And efforts to single out one or two features as paramount skate along the margins of sheer subjectivity.12 Since general agreement holds that ethnicity is no natural phenomenon but a social invention, the possible modes of expressing collective identity multiply, shift, and vary in accordance with circumstances and objectives. Flux and instability stand out in this subject. Hence, insistence on a determined definition of “ethnicity” misses its protean character. This study uses the term loosely, unfettered by a precise denotation. In general it operates at two levels, First, it can carry the broad and indistinct meaning of a communal self-perception. And second, it can refer to a sense of collective identity in which the predominant element is ancestry or kinship, essentially equivalent to the normal understanding of “race”, by contrast with the host of traits, customs, and traditions that we conventionally associate with “culture”, The particular context of its usage should make its reference clear in each instance. There is, however, a larger question that cannot be begged. How far is it legitimate to apply categories stemming from recent experience to the attitudes and expressions of antiquity? Do the features that we discern today of “ethnic conflicts” and the built-in biases of branding peoples with “ethnic” character have any counterparts in antiquity? Scholarship of the past two decades or so has turned attention to the resonance of such issues in the ancient world. The bulk of || 11 Smith (1986), 22–31. 12 The analysis of Hall (1997), 17–33 on Greek ethnicity, valuable and cogent though it be, nevertheless also succumbs to the temptation of identifying the crucial element in distinguishing ethnic groups from other collectives, namely a myth of shared descent—although he subsequently adds association with a specific territory to that source of identity; 25, 32. See also Hall’s later reflections (2002), 9–19. Emphasis (though not exclusively) on the combination of shared descent and attachment to territory is reiterated most recently in the theoretical formulations of Rainey (2019), 5, 44–45, with regard to biblical texts. See the criticisms of this position by Sourvinou-Inwood (2005), 26–28.

Introduction | 5

the work, however, has focused on the significance of ethnicity for the self-perception of the Greeks, especially the tensions between particularism and collectivity in the origin myths.13 Broader studies have been few.14 Parallels and comparisons can certainly be illuminating. But ancients must be allowed to speak for themselves without the clutter of classifications into which scholars of modernity seek to insert them. The central objective of this book is to approach ancient ethnicity through the lenses of the ancients themselves rather than through the imposition of our categories, labels, definitions, or theoretical frameworks. The study thus skirts the formulations and frames of reference proposed by moderns. It explores a wide range of Greek, Roman, Jewish, and some Christian writers, and it focuses on the ancients’ own reflections upon (what we call) their ethnicity. Of the authors discussed here, some reflect upon their own people’s identity, others upon those of different origin. The subject does not lend itself to neat categorization or definitive paradigms. It is messy rather than precise, trailing loose ends instead of being wrapped in tidy packages. Nor does this work pretend to provide an exhaustive treatment of such a large and complex topic. It endeavors to examine a spectrum of key ancient texts and authors from a variety of backgrounds and in a variety of circumstances. Ancient approaches to ethnicity gain articulation very broadly in two quite different ways. First, many texts expressed a sense of community through descent, through a shared ancestor or ancestors, through the bloodline, through common origins, whether real or (much more frequently) fictitious. Tracing collective beginnings to Abraham or Moses, to Herakles or Kadmos, to Aeneas or Romulus, indeed to Jacob through David to Jesus played a repeated role in declaring the coherence of a people. That such lineages were usually inventions is irrelevant, indeed all the better for exploring a collective self-representation. Second, an alternative frame of reference stressed cultural rather than genealogical

|| 13 The works of Jonathan Hall (1997) and (2002) gave important impetus to the study of Greek ethnicity in recent years. A splendid collection of essays edited by Irad Malkin (2001) explored the topic from various angles; see also Sourvinou-Inwood (2005), 24–63; Patterson (2010); Morgan (2019), 23–45. See further the exchange between Vlassopoulos and Hall (2015), 1–29. The contrast of Greek and “barbarian” has attracted a number of contributions to collected volumes and some monographs; E. Hall (1989); Coleman and Walz (1997); Hölscher (2002); Harrison (2002); Vlassopoulos (2013); Jensen (2018). The excellent study of Skinner (2012) supplies the context of early Greek ethnographic writing. 14 A notable exception is Isaac (2004), a work of wide scope and significance, but its argument for proto-racism in antiquity moves in a very different direction from this book. The very fine compilation of essays by McInerney (2014) includes some acute contributions, but, like all collections, does not propound a unified thesis.

6 | Introduction

commonality. Culture is here conceived in a capacious sense, encompassing aspects like language, customs, religion, behavior, beliefs, and ways of life. That does not imply that the latter sense of ethnicity is consistent or continuous. Indeed its fluidity is characteristic, thus lending itself more readily to openness than to exclusiveness. Nor does it follow that each ancient society opted for one or another concept (i.e. either kinship or culture) as a defining element of its selfunderstanding—let alone that the alternatives are mutually exclusive. Overlapping combinations certainly existed, and the relative weight placed upon either inherited qualities or traditional practices and observances could fluctuate. Nonetheless, a distinction between shared lineage on the one hand and cultural commonality on the other offers an avenue toward grasping how ancients balanced such considerations and framed group consciousness. Assessment of the significance placed upon each of these modes of self-understanding constitutes a central thread that runs through much of this work. Its thrust, however, is by no means altogether neutral. It takes a clear, if controversial, stance. The book argues that ancients expressed the collective identities of their societies less in terms of ancestry, genealogy, and inherent character than in a conglomerate of traditions, practices, and shared convictions. In other words, cultural commonality counted for more than shared lineage. It is worth observing right from the start that ancient Greeks, Jews, and Romans did not struggle with this subject as moderns do. We possess no treatise or monograph from antiquity devoted to the matter of ethnicity. The ancients were not absorbed in examining, analyzing, or agonizing over the concept. They took for granted the bundle of customs, rituals, and values that constituted their collective identity. Those practices and observances themselves could shift and vacillate, even coexist with myths of divine or heroic origins, but retained central importance for the self-definition of the ancients. The topic of ethnicity speaks more to our concerns than to theirs. That does not mean, of course, that we must avoid the term or the concept just because ancient writers were largely oblivious to them. But it bears reminding that their objectives need not coincide with ours. They were quite unselfconscious about supplying material relevant to the study of ethnicity—which perhaps makes them all the more valuable for that study. The ancient conceptualizations nonetheless have meaningful relevance to contemporary concerns. The argument of this book accentuates cultural traditions and life-styles, an emphasis that gains confirmation time and again in different ways and from many different voices, from Greek attitudes toward nonGreeks of every variety, to the Roman sense of a composite identity that could accommodate a variety of peoples, to the stress by Jewish and early Christian

Introduction | 7

writers on cultural features that served as self-definition while at the same time allowing for the inclusion of gentiles. All this gives “ethnicity” a flexible and malleable character that defies consistent or comprehensive definition. The book seeks to demonstrate that ancient societies generally shunned the sense of ethnicity as an undeviating marker of distinctiveness stemming from descent, and that they were therefore open to change, adaptation, intermingling, and incorporation. In our contemporary age when ethnic identity has become increasingly fraught and divisive, those characteristics can offer a salutary corrective. The book consists of eleven chapters, six of which draw on previously published pieces. But the published papers all appeared in conference volumes or Festschriften. Hence, they are largely overlooked, unknown, or difficult of access. This book brings them together in a revised form and, combined with the five new pieces, they collectively advance the central thesis of an elastic ethnicity in a more cohesive manner than would be possible as individual items. The work opens with an analysis of barbarism. Or, to be more precise, it explores attitudes, especially Greek attitudes, toward the “barbarian”. Barbarity serves as the prime image of difference and dissimilarity that allowed Greeks to project (or invent) their own special character in contradistinction to what they saw as liabilities (including language, behavior, and beliefs) associated with “barbarians”. Moderns have normally taken this disparity as a prime marker of the ethnic divide between Greeks and aliens. The chapter examines this notion in some detail, drawing on the writings of historians from Herodotus to Josephus, the philosophers Plato, Aristotle, and Philo, and the ethnographic reflections of Diodorus and Strabo. The idea of “barbarity” turns out to have connotations quite different from those of natural inferiority and subhuman character. In clearing the ground on this critical matter, the chapter sets the scene for the more focused discussions to follow. Chapter two furnishes a detailed dissection of the locus classicus for ancient perceptions of ethnicity, the celebrated passage of Herodotus on what makes a Greek a Greek. The chapter argues that, far from representing a sweeping statement on the nature of Greek ethnicity, this passage actually has a narrow Athenocentric character closely tied to the immediate circumstances it describes. A wider search in the ethnographic portions of Herodotus’ Histories shows a consistently open-minded approach to non-Greeks and an unwillingness to impose definitive judgments on their ethnicity. A similar scrutiny of ethnic pronouncements in Polybius occupies the next chapter. The Hellenistic historian had much to say about a variety of peoples from Gauls to Carthaginians to Egyptians, with comments that ran the gamut from

8 | Introduction

laudatory to malevolent. But he rarely stigmatized folk for innate characteristics that stemmed from their origins. And his frequent use of the terms ethnos and genos to denote collective groups almost never had any racial connotations. Polybius avoided the application of genealogy or biology as a defining feature of ethnicity. The Romans’ sense of their own ethnicity represents a severe challenge for researchers. It embraced a complex, tangled, and often baffling combination of peoples and nations. A chapter on that subject engages some of the stories and legends propounded by Roman writers who viewed Rome’s origins as determined by migrants from Asia Minor and various parts of Greece, followed by mingling with natives, whether Etruscans or Sabines, in encounters that veered from violent contests to amalgamation, eventually creating new entities but never losing their composite character. Indeed the mixture became still more complicated when Romans accorded citizenship to ex-slaves, most of whom came from diverse and far-flung regions of the world. Although Roman writers indulged often in slurs and quips about the inferiority of non-Romans, they did not set them into compartments of separate ethnicities. They could hardly do so when they reckoned themselves an ethnic conglomerate. The next chapter goes beyond Roman self-perceptions to those of Italians on a wider scale. It probes the intriguing question of how different Italian communities conceived their own origins, and the even more intriguing question of how Romans understood their ethnic character in relation to those of non-Roman Italians—and vice-versa. That relationship raises the important and difficult issue of how far Romans considered themselves Italians or indeed how far Italians considered themselves Romans. The matter touches on and is complicated by kinship connections among communities, multiple and overlapping identities, and the Roman self-image as a haven for peoples of all origins. The Social War supplied the supreme test for the sense of communal identification. The chapter attempts to set that conflict against the background of intertwined ethnicities whose violation left a sense of betrayal. The book then turns to investigate issues of ethnicity involving the Jews of antiquity, An initial chapter looks into the ostensible tension between the Jews’ projection of themselves as a chosen people, maintaining an exclusivity in order to preserve their singularity, and the fact of mixed marriages that occurred almost throughout their history. The discussion draws upon an extensive range of texts, both biblical and post-biblical, with diverse attitudes toward endogamy or exogamy, and their implications for a Jewish sense of ethnic boundaries. The matter is placed into sharper focus by four chapters that address the overarching question of whether ancient Judaism was reckoned as an ethnic

Introduction | 9

entity or a religion. Were Jews a people defined by lineage or by tradition, shared practices, and common convictions, a question that continues to resonate today. The four chapters attempt to grapple with it by scrutinizing the reflections of a number of Jewish authors of the Hellenistic period who lived and worked under the aegis of Greek culture and later of Roman power. Their close contact with pagan society made it all the more important for them to consider (even if not overtly) what lay at the core of Jewishness. One chapter treats a diversity of Hellenistic-Jewish texts, historical or fictive, or, more commonly, a combination of both. They include the books of the Maccabees, Tobit, Judith, and Joseph and Aseneth. The balance between genealogy and “religion” as defining factors of Jewish identity, the chapter argues, tilts heavily in the direction of the latter. That finding is reinforced by the three chapters that deal with major figures and a substantial corpus of work: Philo, Josephus, and Paul. In each case, the chapter devoted to that figure examines in detail the purported language of ethnicity, particularly ethnos and genos, that the author employs in delineating the nature of his own people. Only rarely does the phraseology denote a kinship or descent group. The variety of meanings goes well beyond blood relationship. Philo massages the terms to deliver philosophical or spiritual significance. The phraseology in Josephus that might seem to have racial or ethnic associations actually delivers multiple meanings, very few of which contain ethnic overtones. Since the words ethnos and genos convey divergent and inconsistent messages that usually identify people by behavior, worship, traditions, political status, geographic location, or simply as a loose and unspecified collective, they do not carry and are not meant to carry precision, let alone racial precision. Plurality of meaning and fluctuations in usage apply also to the writings of Paul. His allusions to Jewish ethnicity come in different shapes and forms. The ambiguities and slipperiness of his distinctions between Jews and Gentiles are notoriously problematic and difficult to navigate. But consideration of the relevant texts discloses that the distinctions almost never rest on differences of birth or descent. And Paul’s references to “seed” or the “flesh” in this context are generally figurative or metaphorical rather than signifiers of kinship or lineage. In this central regard he is at one with Philo and Josephus. A final chapter takes the story into early Christianity. The sense of ethnicity as race has stirred controversy in connection with the idea of Christianity as a “third race”, neither Jew nor pagan, but a separate ethnic entity. Despite a considerable literature on the subject, however, actual ancient references to the concept are few and far between. The chapter scrutinizes those scattered 1st and 2nd century texts, both Christian and pagan, that have been taken as allusions to a “third race”. It endeavors to show that those allusions must be seen in context,

10 | Introduction

that they are exceptional, and that close readings disclose the plasticity of the terminology and the absence of racial overtones. The relevant texts, like those of Jewish and pagan authors, focus firmly on matters of ritual, worship, and devotion to tradition and laws, rather than on ancestry, descent, and kinship. Most tellingly, ancients in general felt no compulsion or commitment to delineating a coherent sense of ethnic identity. It was a matter of indifference.

1 Were Barbarians Barbaric? Barbarians have always suffered bad repute. We view them almost exclusively through the lenses of the Greeks. From that angle there is not much to be said for them. To be a barbarian is clearly undesirable. First of all, barbarians don’t speak Greek—as any cultivated person would be expected to. Their speech, unintelligible to the Hellenic ear, sounds like nothing but “bar-bar-bar”—hence the word barbaros. And they differ from Greeks in a multitude of ways, their customs, habits, tastes, beliefs, character, traditions, behavior, attitudes, institutions—all of which, of course, were reckoned as inferior to what distinguishes the world of Hellas. One would not choose to be a barbarian. How deeply rooted are these traits? Did they mark barbarians from the start? Are barbarians inherently uncouth and uncivilized, wild and wooly, rough, rude, cruel, primitive, savage? Is this a matter of nature or nurture? In short, are barbarians naturally barbaric? We are not, of course, discussing realities here but perceptions. The idea of a barbarian is a Hellenic construct. Barbarians did not go about calling themselves barbarians. But what kind of a construct is this? Were barbarians considered as such because of the accident of geography, a misfortune that they happened to be born in the wrong place, i.e. outside the Greek world? Or of culture, because they had the bad luck of being brought up without the advantages of Hellenic literature, learning, and enlightened traditions that constituted civilized life? Or was it something deeper, i.e. a fundamental ethnic divide that separated barbarians from Greeks, and never the twain shall meet?

I The locus classicus for innate barbarism is an assertion by Aristotle. The great philosopher cites Euripides’ statement that it is proper for Greeks to rule over barbarians, and Aristotle adds his own gloss, saying that this implies that barbarians and slaves are the same by nature.1 That is a troubling doctrine. But how representative is it, and how meaningful? The Aristotelian pronouncement, one may be surprised to learn, is hardly an attitude echoed widely in Greek prose literature. Indeed it barely surfaces anywhere else at all. The nearest that one comes to it, interestingly enough, is Aristotle’s predecessor, mentor, and occasional target, Plato. In the Republic, Plato

|| 1 Aristotle, Pol. 1252b: ὡς ταὐτὸ φύσει βάρβαρον καὶ δοῦλον ὄν. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110685657-002

12 | Were Barbarians Barbaric?

has Socrates mull over the question of whether Greeks should ever enslave other Greek states that were conquered in battle. He rejects the proposition on the grounds that such a practice could lead to enslavement of the Hellenic race itself by the “barbarian”. And he proceeds to claim that the Greek people (Ἑλληνικὸν γένος) are united by a familial relationship, foreign and alien to the barbarian. Hence, Hellenes and barbarians are enemies by nature, their conflicts properly termed wars, whereas strife among Greeks is simply stasis, and, so he implies, should not issue in enslavement.2 Plato does draw a sharp distinction between the Greek genos and the barbarian, who is labeled as a natural enemy, thus indicative of some form of ethnic differentiation. What he does not do, however, is to state that barbarians are slaves by nature. The issue at stake is whether victory in war should result in enslavement of Greeks. No, says Socrates. But it is perfectly acceptable to reduce defeated barbarians to servile status—a prerogative of ancient warfare. That is very different from suggesting that there is anything inherently slavish about not being Greek. With that in mind, it is worth looking again at Aristotle’s stark and rather disturbing judgment. He quotes Euripides as his inspiration. But what Euripides actually says in his Iphigenia in Aulis is “it is proper for Greeks to rule over barbarians, but not barbarians over Greeks, for the barbarian is a slave, the Greeks are free.”3 Iphigenia delivers this statement in the play, contrasting her fellow Greeks with the enemy Trojans. The words, however, have a political rather than an ethnic resonance. They refer to a common Greek notion that people ruled by a single man are all slaves.4 It was Aristotle who added that this was a matter of φύσις. Τhe context of Aristotle’s statement is his comparison of the status of females and slaves, which, so he claims, is identical among the barbarians. But that does not warrant the inference that barbarian and slave are identical. It is a mistake to use Aristotle’s clumsy analogy here, unjustified by his citation of Euripides, as touchstone for Hellenic views on the whole regarding the barbarian.5

|| 2 Plato, Rep. 5. 469b–470c. 3 Euripides, IA, 1400: βαρβάρων δ’ Ἕλληνας ἄρχειν εἰκός, αλλ’ οὐ βαρβάρους μῆτερ, Ἑλλήνων τὸ μὲν γὰρ δοῦλον, οἱ δ’ ἐλεύθεροι. 4 Cf. Euripides, Helen, 275–276. A different interpretation by Isaac (2014), 124–125. 5 A comparably tortured statement occurs in Aristotle, Pol. 1255.a–b, in which he talks about those who are slaves and those who are masters by nature, affirming that enslavement as consequence of war does not alter one’s natural condition in that regard. Hence, he maintains, Greeks, in referring to enslaved Greeks of the highest nobility, do not wish to use the term “slaves”, but reserve it for barbarians: διόπερ αὐτοὺς οὐ βούλονται λέγειν δούλους, ἀλλὰ τοὺς βαρβάρους. Whether this means that barbarians as such are slaves by nature is by no means obvious. Cf. Isaac (2004), 177–181; Smith (1991), 143–146, 151; Garnsey (1996), 126.

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II Indeed Hellenic attitudes in general show little conformity with the racism that readers have seen, rather too readily, in Aristotelian pronouncements. We cannot here explore the whole of Greek literature and the attitudes expressed toward those who stood outside the culture and traditions of the Hellenes. We focus on the critical question of how far the characterization of non-Hellenic peoples discloses a presumption of natural inferiority and inbred imperfection. To that end we engage a range of Greek prose authors from Herodotus to Strabo, and two prolific Jewish authors writing in Greek, in whose works the barbaros or barbaroi make repeated appearances and who offer an extensive tableau of representations from which to approach the mind-set of the ancients.6 Consider, for example, the “father of history”, Herodotus. He had a lot to say about non-Greek peoples. The terms barbaros or barbaroi, in one form or another, are sprinkled all over his text. And, of course, the principal objective of his work was to record the monumental clash between Hellenic people and the invaders from the Persian empire, the emblematic contest that ended in the salvation of Hellas from its foreign foe. Persians were the barbaroi par excellence. Herodotus applies that label to them in well over a hundred instances. But the meaning of that designation needs to be noticed. It is nowhere accompanied by pejorative epithets like “savage”, “fierce”, “uncultivated”, or “uncivilized”. In fact, it carries a rather simple and bland connotation, namely, “the enemy”. In the vast majority of passages, it serves as mere synonym for “Persian”. Or, even blander, it follows the conventional Hellenic conception that divided the whole world into Greeks and non-Greeks.7 Barbaros meant nothing more than non-Greek. It did not come with the baggage of barbarity.

|| 6 The topic is discussed by Vlassopoulos (2013) in a rich and wide-ranging study that demonstrates the numerous ways in which Greeks and non-Greeks crossed the boundaries between them, utilizing and reshaping material, myths, and ideologies of the other, and thus undermining simplistic dichotomies. See, especially, op. cit. 161–225. Cf. Ophir and Rosen-Zvi (2018), 248– 258. But Vlassopoulos does not address the question of whether the image of the barbarian depends upon ethnic presuppositions. The complexity and diversity of the interconnections and representations are stressed also in Gruen (2011). The most recent general treatment by Jensen (2018), aiming at a slightly broader audience but expansive in its knowledge of the scholarship, also avoids the issue of ethnicity. 7 E.g., Herod. 1.1, 1.6, 3.139, 4.12, 5.23, 5.97, 7.63, etc.

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Herodotus, in addition to being an engaging historian, was also a fascinating ethnographer.8 He commented not only on Persians but on Lydians, Scythians, Egyptians, Phoenicians, Babylonians, and others. A search through the rich ethnographic material in his work turns up something quite interesting. Application of the term barbaroi to those nations carries essentially the same connotation as that for the Persians. It means no more than that they are distinct from Greeks. Now, to be an un-Greek was not a particularly desirable designation, at least not from the Hellenic point of view. But that is very different from having the stigma of savagery. The customs, practices, and beliefs of barbarians might be odd or bizarre, even quite unfathomable, like the report that Egyptian men urinate sitting down and women standing up. But Herodotus’ tone avoids disparagement, slurs, and the implication of inferiority. One would be hard pressed to find a passage that might suggest ethnic characteristics that set the barbarian in a negative light.9 Three such texts that ostensibly hint at ethnic deficiency deserve brief scrutiny. They serve as exceptions to prove the rule. Take a very interesting scene at the end of the great war between Greece and Persia that Herodotus recounted. The victorious Spartan king Pausanias who had just won the pivotal battle of Plataea was approached with the request that he impale Mardonius, the defeated commander of the Persian forces, as revenge for what the Persians had done to the courageous Leonidas, leader of the Spartan three hundred who had perished so heroically at Thermopylae. The Persians had cut off his head and set it on a pole. Would it not be appropriate to retaliate in kind and do the same to Mardonius, a lesson and a message to all? So it was suggested. Pausanias, however, reacted with indignation. Abusing the dead, he asserted, is something more suitably done by barbarians than by Greeks, indeed we would despise it even when done by them.10 That looks like a definite slur on the barbarians: they would do this sort of barbaric thing; the Greeks would not. Or would they? It is quite interesting to observe just where this advice to nail Mardonius’ head on a pike came from. It came from a Greek. The man who urged Pausanias to perform this vulgar || 8 This is not the place to explore Herodotus’ ethnography as a whole. See especially the studies of Thomas (2000) and Munson (2001). A brief but valuable treatment by Rood (2006), 290–305. And see the judicious comments of Skinner (2012), 237–253. On Herodotus’ ethnography and the barbarian generally, see Thomas (2000), 122–134; Munson (2001), 134–144. 9 Nor indeed did all “barbarian” practices necessarily differ from those of the Greeks. Herodotus points out that certain Spartan customs duplicate those of the peoples of Asia and of Egypt; 6.58– 60. 10 Herod. 9.79: τὰ πρέπει μᾶλλον βαρβάροισι ποιέειν ἤ περ Ἕλλησι, καὶ ἐκείνοισι δὲ ἐπιφθονέομεν.

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deed was a certain Lampon, from an elite family in Aegina, the large Greek island off the coast of Attica.11 So, who is the “barbarian” here? Herodotus, far from stigmatizing the Persians as ethnically inferior, gives his readers cause for thought as to just where to locate laudable or reprehensible characteristics. The second passage contains a similar twist. On one of the rare occasions that Herodotus even hints that barbarians may have an inherent character flaw, he claims that barbaroi value eunuchs more than those who still have their sexual equipment, because you can trust them.12 Trusting eunuchs, to be sure, is not a trait that one would place high on a list of virtues. But we cannot leave it at that. The story in which this passage is imbedded involves a particular eunuch, the court favorite of King Xerxes of Persia. He had earlier been kidnapped, then bought, castrated, and sold to the king by a certain Panionius who made it a practice to engage in this tawdry trade. And who was Panionius? Interestingly, and perhaps not surprisingly, he was a Greek, a slave trader from Chios, who specialized in purchasing beautiful boys, castrating them, and then making a handsome profit by selling them in Sardis or Ephesus.13 Once again the historian wields a double-edged sword, stigmatizing not only the “barbarian” but also the Greek. The third passage follows suit. Herodotus alleges that the Hellenic ethnos had long since been separated off from barbaron ethnos by being more clever and free from silly foolishness. But he proceeds to recount the trick perpetrated by Peisistratus that hoodwinked the Athenians who were supposed to be the wisest of the Greeks.14 A nice puncturing of the balloon. Herodotus also offers another sly take on this division of the world between Greeks and barbarians, approaching it from the reverse angle. The Persians, he says, claim Asia and the “barbarian nations” that dwell within it, while they reckon Europe, i.e. the Greek world, as entirely separate and distinct.15 In other words, from the Persian perspective, Greeks are non-Persians and thus “barbarians”—or whatever the equivalent Persian word might be. This becomes quite explicit with regard to the Egyptians. As Herodotus put it, Egyptians call all people who don’t speak their language “barbarians.”16 The perfect inversion. By pointing || 11 Herod. 9.78–79. 12 Herod. 8.105: παρὰ γὰρ τοῖσι βαρβάροισι τιμιώτεροι εἰσὶ οἱ εὐνοῦχοι πίστιος εἵνεκα τῆς πάσης τῶν ἐνορχίων. 13 Herod. 8.104–105. The “barbarians” here, in any case, refer to the Persians, not to some general species of foreigners. 14 Herod. 1.60. 15 Herod. 1.4. 16 Herod. 2.158: βαρβάρους δὲ πάντας οἱ Αἰγύπτιοι καλέουσι τοὺς μὴ σφίσι ὁμογλώσσους. Cf. the comments of Munson (2005), 65–66.

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this out, Herodotus has turned the Greek/barbarian distinction on its head. Who is the barbarian simply depends on who is drawing the distinction. In short, the father of history provided the timeless tableau of conflict between Greek and “barbarian” in which the fate of his countrymen hung in the balance. Yet he transmits a rather mixed image of the enemy whose flaws are comparable to those of the Greeks themselves and whose foreignness did not include barbarity.17

III In chasing the barbarian through the texts of the other major Greek historians of the classical era, one finds much the same. The greatest of authorities, Thucydides, does employ the term barbaroi in various forms about 50 times. But he has no interest in offering analysis or expressing an opinion. In almost every instance, the term means nothing more than alien (from the Greek vantage point), or is simply juxtaposed with Hellenes, a reiteration of the standard notion that the world is divided into those two categories of humankind.18 Not that Thucydides loosely lumps all barbaroi in a single common pool. On one occasion, when referring to the inhabitants of Chalcidice, he observes quite revealingly that several of the towns on that peninsula consist of mixed nations (ἔθνη) of barbarians who are bilingual.19 So, there were obviously distinctions to be made among barbarians, some of whom indeed could even share a language with the Greeks. And Thucydides refrains from disparagement of barbarity.20 Nor does the issue arise in the eminent successor of Thucydides, the worthy statesman, general, and historian Xenophon who has left a wealth of writings. Barbaroi pop up in his works about one hundred times, mostly, as one might expect, in the Anabasis, the renowned march up country by the ten thousand under Xenophon’s own leadership through lands and peoples controlled by the Persian

|| 17 The allegation that “for barbarians there is neither trust nor truth” is put in the mouth of a Spartan seeking to hold Athens to its alliance against Persia—and not a genuine sentiment of Herodotus; 8.142. 18 E.g., Thuc. 1.1.2, 1.5.1, 1.82.1, 2.80.5, 6.1.1, 6.6.1, 6.18.2, 6.33.5, 7.42.1, 7.80.2, 19 Thuc. 4.109.4: αἵ οἰκοῦνται ξυμμείκτοις ἔθνεσι βαρβάρων διγλώσσων. 20 Isaac (2014), 124, cites Thuc. 7.29, branding the Thracians as the most murderous nation, when they are emboldened, similar to the worst of the barbarians; τὸ γὰρ γένος τὸ τῶν θρακῶν ὁμοῖα τοῖς μάλιστα τοῦ βαρβαρικοῦ. ἐν ᾧ ἂν θαρσήση, φονικώτατόν ἐστιν. But this need mean no more than “the worst of the non-Greeks”, without suggesting that all barbarians are murderous.

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empire. The overwhelming number of notices mention barbaroi simply to contrast them with Greeks, and not to characterize them.21 A solitary exception stands out. Xenophon provides himself with a speech of exhortation to his troops, a speech that opens with a denunciation of the “perjury and faithlessness of the barbarians”.22 Is that a stigmatization of character flaws inhering in those of barbarian ethnicity? Not so. First of all, Xenophon is delivering a cheer-leading speech to inspire his forces in their coming encounter with the Persians, and hence had a motive for blackening the enemy. But, more important, Xenophon professes to be quoting the words of a fellow-Greek, Cleanor of Orchomenos, who had just made his own stirring oration to the troops. And, sure enough, Xenophon, a few lines earlier, had recorded Cleanor’s ringing statement, in slightly different words, branding the enemy’s “perjury and impiety”.23 What is noteworthy here, however, is that Cleanor’s intemperate remarks referred explicitly to particular individuals, namely the Persian king and the satrap Tissaphernes. In other words, when Xenophon cited Cleanor and applied those remarks to barbaroi , he was referring not to barbarians in general but to those particular individuals and to their betrayal of the Greek forces. This was no blanket condemnation of tendencies associated with barbaroi.

IV A far more important Greek historian for our purposes is the Achaean statesman and intellectual Polybius of Megalopolis. His massive multi-volume work, composed in the 2nd century BCE, took on the ambitious task of writing a history of the Mediterranean world in order to offer an explanation of how Rome came to dominate that world. Thoroughly steeped in Hellenic culture, he also spent much of his life and did most of his writing in Rome. Polybius was thus in the special position of reflecting upon barbarians from both a Hellenic and a Roman perspective.24 Unsurprisingly, Polybius was no great fan of barbarians. Since they did not speak Greek or enjoy the benefits of Greek history, culture, and traditions, they were hardly models to emulate. But did Polybius reckon them as substandard by || 21 E.g., Xen. Anab. 1.1.5, 1.2.15–16, 1.2.18, 1.3.5, 1.5.16, 1.9.28, 2.4.14, 3.4.33, 4.2.12, 5.4.16, 5.4.26, 5.6.3, 5.7.6, etc. 22 Xen. Anab. 3.2.8: τὴν μὲν τῶν βαρβάρων ἐπιορκίαν τε καὶ ἀπιστίαν. 23 Xen. Anab. 3.2.4: ἐπιορκίαν καὶ ἀσέβειαν. 24 On Polybius and ethnicity, see the fuller study below, chapter 3.

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nature, condemned as a race to irremediable disdain? Examination of their appearances in his text leaves a rather different impression.25 More than 70% of the term’s occurrences avoid any condemnatory assertion or implication. As in the case of his historiographical predecessors, Polybius employs the label primarily to designate nothing more than “non-Greek”.26 And any language other than Greek would be barbarous by definition.27 The Roman intellectual A. Postumius composed a history in Greek, apologizing in his preface for any “barbarisms” he might have inadvertently committed—a point that Polybius mercilessly mocked.28 Polybius does pin the label on individuals or tribes, as in the case of the Mamertini, Campanian mercenaries whose nefarious actions paved the way for the First Punic War between Rome and Carthage. They were unsavory characters to be sure. But the label itself as applied to them was a neutral, not a pejorative, one, equivalent basically to “mercenary”.29 Polybius assigns the designation frequently to the Gauls, ancient and recent adversaries of both Greeks and Romans.30 In these instances too, it serves as a mode of identification, not a description of character traits.31 Indeed Polybius sprinkles the barbarian brand freely upon a wide variety of peoples from Anatolia to Spain and from Macedon to Italy.32 References to barbarians turn up also in the context of larger geographic areas, especially those at great distance, at the outskirts of the known world.33 In all of these passages, which comprise by far the bulk of instances where the term ”barbarian” appears, Polybius passes no moral judgment on ethnic attributes. The people so designated, on the whole, do not live in cities or enjoy a settled existence, are warlike and fierce, and sometimes engage in harsh and cruel behavior. But Polybius does not tie those actions to natural tendencies determined by descent.34

|| 25 See the convenient collection of testimony by Champion (2004), 245–253, with a summary discussion at 241–244. See also Eckstein (1995), 119–125. 26 E.g., Polyb. 5.33.5–6, 5.104.1, 8.9.6. 27 Polyb. 8.19.9. Cf. 39.1.7–8. 28 Polyb. 39.1.7–8. 29 Polyb. 1.9.3–4, 1.9.7–8, 1.11.7, 3.43.1–2. 30 Polyb. 2.35.6, 3.42.4, 3.43.1–2, 3.43.5, 3.43.9–10, 3.43.12, 3.49.2, 3.50.2, 3.50.5, 3.50.9, 3.51.1, 3.51.3, 3.52.3, 3.52.7, 3.52.2–4, 3.53.6, 3.60.10, 5.111.7, 9.30.3, 9.35.1, 9.35.3, 10.37.5. 31 See, e.g., Polyb. 2.15.8: Ταυρίσκοι καὶ Ἄγωνες καὶ πλείω γένη βαρβάρων ἔτερα. 32 E.g., Polyb. 2.39.7, 3.6.10–11, 3.14.6, 3.14.8, 4.29.1–2, 7.11.5, 9.35.2–4, 10.1.2–3, 11.32.5, 23.8.3– 4, 23.10.5, 33.8.3, 34.10.13–14. 35.5.1, 33 Polyb. 3.37.11, 3.58.8, 23.13.2. 34 He can occasionally even show admiration for the boldness and courage of barbarians; Polyb. 3.43.8, 33.10.6.

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The historian did run into a bit of a problem when writing about Romans. Technically, of course, since barbaros means non-Greek, Romans were barbarians. That was an awkward matter for Polybius. He lived much of his life in Rome, hob-nobbed with Roman political leaders and intellectuals, and was a great admirer of Roman institutions and practices.35 Could he in good conscience apply the designation “barbaroi” to the Romans? That might raise some eyebrows and risk discomfort among his patrons and associates. It was one thing to employ the designation in neutral fashion, without pejorative connotation, as Polybius almost always did, but quite another to assign it to the rulers of the Mediterranean. Romans may have been barbaroi strictly speaking. They were not Greeks, and did not wish to be so. But the word barbaroi did not exactly have a nice ring to it. Few Romans would have embraced it happily. How was Polybius to handle this? In fact, Romans do receive the brand of “barbarian” on a few and select occasions in Polybius’ text. But the circumstances of those occasions deserve to be noticed. They do not come in Polybius’ own voice. They appear in three different speeches put into the mouths of Greek leaders who sought to rally Hellenic states as a unified entity to resist the encroachment of Rome—or Carthage. The two great western powers were at that time in the throes of a mighty contest with one another, the Hannibalic War. The Greek spokesmen in Polybius’ text warned that whoever emerged victorious from that struggle would turn attention to the east and extend authority over it. They urged their countrymen to put an end to internal squabbles lest all of Hellas fall victim to the “cloud from the west”.36 The speakers had heavy axes to grind. And many scholars cast doubt upon the authenticity of the speeches, seeing them largely as Polybius’ own creations.37 Be that as it may, and even if one accepts the scenario that some Greek leaders labeled Romans (and Carthaginians) as barbaroi, alerting their constituents to the danger of a western takeover in the east, it is well to remember that they considered their circumstances as dire. They feared falling

|| 35 On Polybius’ attitude toward Rome, see the extensive treatment of Champion (2004), especially 47–57, 105–122, 193–203, with earlier bibliography. See also Erskine (2000), 165–182; Thornton (2010), 45–76. 36 Polyb. 5.104, 9.37–38, 11.5. 37 On this lengthy debate, which need not be entered into here, see, e.g., Pedech (1964), 259– 276, 295–302; Lehmann (1967), 135–149; Morkholm (1967), 240–253; idem (1974), 127–132; Deininger (1971), 23–37; idem (1974), 103–108; Walbank (1985), 254–259; Champion (1997), 111–128; idem (2000), 433–437; Baronowski (2011), 149–151.

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under the control of either of the barbaroi. The speeches specify no anticipated barbarities, rather concern about subordination to a non-Greek power.38 Whether authentic, embellished, or fabricated, these orations are, on any reckoning, Polybius’ own compositions. Like any ancient historian worth his salt, Polybius would put his most persuasive rhetoric and the most appropriate arguments for the speakers’ purposes into their mouths. Representing Romans as foreigners who seek to subjugate Hellas and terrorize its people would suit the circumstances. One can make no legitimate inferences from these texts with regard to Polybius’ own attitude. What is more telling is the fact that Polybius nowhere in his very long text calls Romans “barbarians” in his own voice.39 That can hardly be a coincidence. It does not follow that Polybius regarded barbarians as barbaric. But the word itself, even in its most common neutral sense, had a sound that Romans might find uncomfortable. It was prudent of Polybius to avoid it in that context. And not just out of politeness. Cultivated Romans prided themselves upon absorbing Hellenic culture and employing it to their own purposes. They might make snide remarks about Greeks, but they would not welcome being classified together with all non-Greeks.40 For them, the Latin language was not just so much bar-bar-bar. But the more fundamental issue remains. Did Polybius anywhere ascribe to the “barbarian” qualities or traits that adhered to his very being and defined his identity? The most general statement on this count comes in connection with the aftermath of the First Punic War. The brutal contest between Carthaginians and their own disaffected mercenary troops prompted a sweeping and rather disturbing judgment by Polybius. As he put it, the circumstances taught us how great the difference is between those with confused and barbarous practices and those raised with education, law, and civilized customs.41 That certainly suggests a negative comment upon barbarians. But it warrants a closer look. The reach and scope of that claim may not be quite as broad as it seems. It was provoked by the unusually ferocious contest which was dubbed “the truceless war”, and it had special association with mercenary soldiers who did indeed have “confused and || 38 Polyb. 10.25.1–5: νικησάντων δὲ τούτων, ὅ μὴ δόξειε τοῖς θεοῖς, ἅμα τούτοις καὶ τοῦς ἄλλλους Ἕλληνας ὑφ’ αὐτοὺς ἐκεινοι ποιήσονται. 39 There is, to be sure, an ambiguity in Polybius’ reference to the practice of sacrificing a horse prior to battle, which he ascribes to Romans and “nearly all barbarians”; 12.4b.2. It is by no means obvious, however, that Romans are included in the latter category. Two other passages do depict Romans as barbarians, but neither is in the historian’s own voice; 1.11.7, 18.22.8. 40 See the discussion of Gruen (1992), 223–271. 41 Polyb. 1.65.7: τί διαφέρει καὶ κατὰ πόσον ἤθη σύμμικτα καὶ βάρβαρα τῶν ἐν παιδείαις καὶ νόμοις καὶ πολιτικοῖς ἔθεσιν ἐκτεθραμμένων.

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barbarous practices,” in view of their shifting lives and absence of settled loyalties. That, however, need not extend to all barbaroi. There was no general condemnation.42 It is rare indeed that Polybius ever dropped a remark to suggest character flaws that might typecast barbarians as a group. Three could, on the face of it, qualify.43 But they do not get us very far. First, the ruler of Bactria, in Polybius’ narrative, seeks to deflect King Antiochus III of Syria from an invasion of his land by warning that this would only bring hordes of nomads into the region who would wholly “barbarize” it (ἐκβαρβαρωθήσεσθαι).44 That is an intriguing word. But what does it mean? We have no way of knowing. The word does not reappear anywhere else in Polybius’ text. It can hardly serve as a touchstone for the historian’s understanding of the concept—if there is any concept there. Second, Polybius records the arrival of envoys from Spanish tribes in Rome for an audience with the praetor urbanus, the official in charge of adjudicating matters of dispute in the city itself. Polybius describes their actions in a most interesting manner. He observes that, although they were barbaroi, they delivered lengthy speeches

|| 42 A very few ostensible exceptions turn out to be references to specific peoples, without broader significance. When Polybius laments that no form of war is more perilous or frightful than that against neighbors and barbarians, he speaks explicitly about the Greeks of Byzantium coping with Thracians; 4.44.11–4.45.10. The Greek spokesman warning about subjecting all Greeks to the most shameful cruelties and lawlessness of the barbarians refers to collaboration with the Romans, a rhetorical hyperbole that Polybius himself does not endorse; 11.5.6–7. He uses the same phraseology, ὕβρις and παρανομία, with regard to Greek fear of barbarians on one other occasion, a reference to Greeks in Asia Minor relieved by the Romans of the threat of Gauls in their region; 21.41.1–2. It was no universal pronouncement about barbaroi. He castigates the Epirotes for hiring Gallic mercenaries to protect their chief city only to have them betray it to their enemies. Polybius sneers that no people should entrust their fortunes to a garrison stronger than themselves, especially if it consists of barbarians; Polyb. 2.7.12. That is an indirect swipe at Gallic untrustworthiness, which Polybius notes with some frequency. But it is the only instance in which he ostensibly extends the slur more broadly—and even here, the barbaroi may refer simply to the Gauls. 43 A possible fourth might be cited, but its relevance is questionable. Polybius narrates the actions of a Spanish leader wavering between support for Rome or Carthage and deciding ultimately to betray the Carthaginians by turning over hostages to the Romans, for their prospects seemed to him the brighter ones. Polybius describes the decision as based on “Spanish and barbaric reasoning”; 3.98.3–4: συλλογισμὸν Ἰβηρικὸν καὶ βαρβαρικόν. The meaning here is not that “barbaric reasoning” leads to treachery but that the prominent Iberian made his calculation on pragmatic rather than moral grounds. Making decisions on pragmatic grounds would hardly be confined to barbarians alone—and Polybius certainly did not see it as a defining feature. 44 Polyb. 11.34.5–6.

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and presented the cause of their countrymen in great detail.45 That can certainly be read, if one is so inclined, as a snide remark. Barbarians, on that interpretation, were normally reckoned as dolts. So, for them to deliver speeches of any quality and substance was worth commenting on. But to put a negative spin on Polybius’ observation here would be hasty and unfair. The fact is that those Spanish envoys took on a tough task and discharged it dutifully—while having to do so in a language that was not their own. Polybius’ reflection that, though barbaroi, i.e. discoursing not in their native tongue, they delivered cogent arguments for their case, is, if anything, a positive assessment. A third and final passage might possibly be construed as portraying undesirable traits that attach to barbarians in general. Polybius, in his bitter denunciation of the Achaean leaders who had led his homeland into a calamitous war with Rome, asserts that one could not easily find such stupidity and lack of judgment even among barbaroi.46 On that appraisal, barbarians would certainly appear to be a benchmark for the height of folly. Perhaps so. But it is worth remembering that it was only those Achaeans for whom Polybius had the most ferocious contempt, i.e. those responsible in his view for turning Greece into a mere province of the Roman empire, who managed to provoke him to such indignation that he put them in a category inferior to barbaroi. That sort of portrayal is far from a recurrent theme in Polybius. Quite the reverse. One can hardly cite the outburst as exemplary. In sum, Polybius’ text contains a very healthy number of references to barbaroi in one form or another. But that common usage ought not to be misconstrued. The vast majority of cases are inoffensive, without condemnatory implications, and, as elsewhere in Greek historiography, merely neutral designations of non-Greeks. Polybian statements that might, on first glance, suggest the ascription of inherent characteristics are remarkably few. And even they, as we have seen, possess limited pertinence and lack sweeping significance. Polybius liberally tossed off the phrase but did not attach to it the aura of inborn inferiority.47

V The barbarism of the barbaroi has no prominence in any of the authors discussed heretofore. Barbaroi may be foreigners or aliens, poor-speakers or non-speakers

|| 45 Polyb. 35.2.6: οἱ δὲ καίπερ ὄντες βάρβαροι. 46 Polyb. 38.18.7–8: τοιαύτης δὲ τῆς ἀνοίας καὶ τῆς ἀκρισίσας συμβαινούσης περὶ πάντας οἵαν οὐδ’ ἃν ἐν βαρβάροις εὕροι τις ῤᾳδίως. 47 For a fuller discussion of Polybius’ attitude toward foreigners, see below, chapter 3.

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of Greek, often living in rural areas or primitive conditions, frequently engaged in warfare and pillage, sometimes brutal and cruel—not usually nice people. But then Greeks too were prone to warfare, seizers of plunder, not always city-dwellers, and occasionally given to brutality. To be sure, they could speak Greek— though even that in a variety of dialects often scorned by those of different dialects. Athenians regularly turned up their noses at those who spoke with a Doric accent. Our sources only very rarely even hint that barbarians constituted a breed apart or a race inferior by nature. Where would one be likely to find ethnic stereotypes or racial discrimination? A plausible source ought to be historians and geographers who dealt extensively with peoples outside the heartlands of Hellenism. A plethora of passages indeed pop up in the lengthy universal history of Diodorus of Sicily, writing in the later 1st century BCE and including within his scope a multitude of peoples around the Mediterranean. The host of references to barbarians (well over 300), however, is swiftly and sharply reduced by more than 80% when one eliminates the conventional and familiar designation of barbaros as nothing more than non-Greek, without any pejorative connotation or any suggestion of innate qualities.48 Were the barbarians abhorrent by nature? One would get very little sense of that from the Sicilian historian, writing a universal history and taking pride in the fact that, unlike most of his predecessors, his work would encompass the deeds of barbarian peoples, as well as those treated by other historians.49 Diodorus did not find it especially productive or desirable to excoriate non-Greeks. His comments show a more discerning frame of mind. Diodorus, especially in the early books, engaged seriously in ethnography, a very different matter from inquiring into ethnicity. The latter was rarely on the ancients’ radar screens. Barbarians, to be sure, often had strange and bizarre habits, unsavory practices, and even objectionable behavior, from a Greek vantage point.50 But Diodorus, like other Hellenic writers, refrained from analyzing their ethnicity. It was simply not a topic of investigation. As a consequence, barbaroi do not emerge in Diodorus’ text as an entity, let alone as a reprehensible entity that needed to be shunned, resisted, scorned, derided, denounced, or combated. Barbarians came in many varieties.51

|| 48 E.g. Diod. 1.4.5–6, 1.9.3, 1.9.5, 4.82.6, 5.68.3, 8.18.1, 14.29.4–5, etc. Cf. Sulimani (2011), 315– 330. 49 Diod. 1.3.2. 50 See the discussion of Ambaglio (1995), 72–82, who unduly stresses the negative. 51 Cf. Diod. 5.16.3.

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Diodorus’ references to them form no coherent or consistent pattern.52 That is hardly coincidental. He did not look for a pattern and he did not find one. There was none. A selection of relevant passages might suggest some negative overtones. Certain barbarians could be altogether ferocious, hostile to foreigners whom they regularly slew, like those dwelling along the Black Sea—at least in legendary times.53 In historic times, the Carthaginians qualified as barbarians who exceeded all others in their cruelty.54 The general of the “barbarous Gauls”, according to Diodorus, committed a barbaric and altogether arrogant deed in condemning captives to human sacrifice, unsurprising, he says, since barbaroi celebrate their success with behavior outside the bounds of humanity.55 He makes a closely comparable comment about the king of the Thracians who inflicted horrific and reprehensible punishments upon hostages, an illustration of barbarian arrogance.56 At one point Diodorus does appear to brand Thracians in general as men who lead a barbarous and bestial life.57 But before any conclusions be drawn from that statement, the context is crucial. The words are put in the mouth of a Thracian himself, taunting a captured Greek king—thus an ironic reflection upon a purported Hellenic perception, not an endorsement by the author of a stereotype. Diodorus was more subtle than that. Indeed it is wise always to be alert to statements uttered by persons in the narrative. They had their own axes to grind. So, for example, in his account of the fateful Athenian invasion of Sicily in the Peloponnesian War, Diodorus has a Syracusan Greek, who argued for the sparing of Athenian captives, close his plea with the words that “we should not exhibit barbarian savagery against men of our own race.”58 The opposite stance, however, was taken by a Spartan spokesman, filled with hatred of Athenians, who reminded his listeners of the Athenian

|| 52 Anello (2005), 223–226, maintains that, when the term barbaros in Diodorus does not have the neutral sense of non-Greek, it carries a consistently negative meaning. That is simplistic. See below. She does, however, note correctly that Diodorus does not apply the term to non-Greek Sicilians or to Romans. They, of course, were part of his own immediate world. 53 Diod. 4.40.4–5: ὑπὸ ἐθνῶν βαρβάρων καὶ παντελῶς ἀγρίων. Diodorus does not here “equate ‘barbarian’ with ‘savage’”, as is claimed by Sulimani (2011), 316. Another reference to the ferocity of the barbarians in that region who engage in human sacrifice also concerns a specific people, not a broad allusion to barbarian character—and also sits in a mythical context; Diod. 4.44.7. 54 Diod. 13.57.5, 13.58.2; cf. 14.73.5. 55 Diod. 31.13. 56 Diod. 33.15.2. 57 Diod. 21.12.6: βαρβάρους καὶ ζῶντας θηριώδη βίον. 58 Diod. 13.27.6: καὶ μὴ βάρβαρον ὠμότητα πρὸς ὁμοεθνεῖς ἀνθρώπους ἐνδείξασθαι.

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decision to massacre all inhabitants of the city of Mitylene after its surrender, labeling it a cruel and barbaric deed.59 Diodorus obviously evokes the appropriate rhetoric for each speaker, standard practice by ancient historians, but they should not themselves be taken as buying any of it.60 In the case of the supposedly barbaric deed of the Athenians in slaughtering all Mityleneans, that deed was never carried out, as Diodorus’ readers would know. He had told them that himself when he recounted that celebrated event.61 Speakers with a case to make could sling about the term barbaros, with its unsavory ring, but it need not reflect the historian’s stance. Narrative context is critical. Slanders used against Thracians, Gauls, or Carthaginians, not to mention Athenians, are quite different from any general ethnic prejudice against barbaroi. Diodorus did not indulge in the latter. Nor did his audience expect it. More significantly, Diodorus provides a number of evocative and intriguing comments about barbarians that suggest a fluid and complex conceptualization —if indeed there was any conceptualization at all. For one thing, the idea of a barbaros need not come with any negative baggage at all. Those who dwelled on the island of Corsica, called Cyrnus by the Greeks, were, of course, barbaroi by definition, but, according to Diodorus, they lived honorable and righteous lives, exceeding in this almost all other barbarians.62 This obviously means, interestingly enough, that not only did the people of Cyrnus possess such admirable qualities but so did all those other barbaroi whom they surpassed in those qualities. In discussing the practices of the Gauls, Diodorus has praise for the respect they show for their learned diviners and prophets, those who mediate between men and gods, even putting down their arms in battle if the holy men intervene. The historian adds the remark that even among the rudest barbarians passion yields to wisdom, and the war-god Ares trembles before the Muses.63 In recounting the march of the Ten Thousand, the Greek mercenaries who slogged through many miles of Persian controlled territory at the end of the 5th century BCE to reach the sea, Diodorus includes an episode in which the Macronians concluded || 59 Diod. 13.30.4: ὠμόν τε καὶ βάρβαρον τὸ πεπραγμένον. 60 On Diodorus’ use of speeches here, see Sacks (1990), 101–108. 61 Diod. 12.55.8–10. 62 Diod. 5.14.1: τὰ πρὸς ἀλλήλους βιοῦσιν ἐπιεικῶς καὶ δικαίως παρὰ πάντας σχεδὸν τοὺς ἄλλους βαρβάρους. 63 Diod. 5.31.5: οὕτω καὶ παρὰ τοῖς ἀγριωτάτοις βαρβάροις ὁ θυμὸς εἴκει τῇ σοφίᾳ καὶ Ἄρης αἰδεῖται τὰς Μούσας. See also Diod. 34/5.4, in which captive barbarians kiss the soil of their homeland, an act that moved their captors, for it resonated with emotions common to all by nature: τοῖς κοινοῖς τῆς φύσεως πάθεσιν.

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a truce with the Hellenic soldiers. An exchange of symbolic tokens emblematized the pact, a Greek spear handed over to the barbarians and a barbarian one to the Greeks. The Macronians, it appears, took the initiative, declaring that their ancestors had handed down this practice, the firmest sign of good faith. Barbaroi, in short, abide by their pledges.64 The historian, in a brief fragment, made mention of the celebrated Thracian gladiator and slave rebel Spartacus, noting that, having received a favor, he reciprocated with one of his own. Diodorus comments that it is a matter of nature that barbarians too repay kindness with benefactions.65 Clearly they are not beyond the pale. Indeed, when Diodorus recounts a certain custom among the Gauls who cut off the heads of their enemies, displaying them as the very pinnacle of glory, and boast of refusing to exchange them for even an equal weight of gold, he adds an arresting statement. Resisting the sale of an object that attests to their valor is a noble act. In fact, he says, it constitutes a form of barbarian greatness of soul: μεγαλοψυχία.66 High praise indeed. Greeks are superior to barbarians, to be sure. But Diodorus sets this distinction in terms of language and education. Those with paideia surpass those without. It is in the power of logos that Hellenes have the advantage over barbaroi.67 Not a matter of innate ethnicity. Moreover, differences in training and education did not always give one a leg up on the other. Diodorus shows much respect for the Chaldeans of Babylon, experts in astrology, divination, and prophecy. These barbaroi receive rigorous training from early youth in the skills in which they excel. Greek education, by contrast, stresses a broader exposure to a variety of subjects before students gain access to higher learning, i.e. philosophia. As a result, Diodorus says, barbarians, by sticking to the same subjects, gain mastery over each detail, while Greeks explore a range of matters, hear different views, and wrangle with one another over conflicting opinions and clashing philosophical schools.68 This sounds much like a debate over the virtues of a liberal arts education vs. specialist training. It is by no means clear that Greek education comes off better than that of the Chaldean barbaroi in Diodorus’ assessment. In any event, the contrast rests upon the form of curriculum rather than on inborn capacity. || 64 Diod. 14.29.5: ταῦτα γὰρ ἔφασαν αὑτοῖς οἱ βάρβαροι διὰ προγόνων παραδεδόσθαι πρὸς πίστιν βεβαιότατα. 65 Diod. 38/9.21: αὐτοιδίδακτος γὰρ καὶ παρὰ τοῖς βαρβάροις ἡ φύσις πρὸς ἀμοιβὴν χάριτος τοῖς εὐεργέταις. Diodorus does not hesitate to deliver complimentary judgments on barbarians in other instances; e.g. 4.20.1, 5.21.6. 66 Diod. 5.29.5. 67 Diod. 1.2.5–6: πρὸς λόγου δύναμιν … τούτῳ γὰρ οἱ μὲν Ἕλληνες τῶν βαρβάρων, οἱ δὲ πεπαιδευμένοι τῶν ἀπαιδεύτων προσέχουσι. 68 Diod. 2.29.4–6.

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Borders can also be crossed. Barbarians could, for example, become Greekspeakers. A mixed group of barbarians who migrated to Crete in legendary times took on a language adapted from the indigenous Greeks.69 The native peoples of Sicily, mingling with Greek colonists, learned Greek, were brought up in Greek fashion, and even lost their barbarous tongue.70 Change could go in the opposite direction as well, at least in the era of myth and legend. Diodorus speaks of the Greek colonization of Sardinia which found Greeks outnumbered by barbarians, leading to the former becoming “barbarized”.71 The historian evidently did not believe in a fixed and indelible character that divided Greeks from non-Greeks. Diodorus, in short, like his predecessors, declined to identify barbarians with barbarity. Some non-Greeks might commit barbarous acts—as did some Greeks. Diodorus discerned admirable as well as deplorable behavior on both sides. And he showed no interest in branding barbaroi as a breed apart, a class of humanity or sub-humanity trapped by an ineluctable ethnic nature.

VI Another author demands close scrutiny on this subject. The great geographer and historian Strabo, like his older contemporary Diodorus, lived in two worlds, that of Greek culture and that of Roman authority. And, also like Diodorus, the ethnography of those diverse peoples about whom he wrote, far more diverse indeed than in Diodorus’ work, held considerable fascination. Strabo’s geographical discussions range from Armenia to Egypt and from India to Britain. He did not by any means visit them all personally. But the breadth of his researches remains awesomely impressive.72 Barbarians flit in and out of his text with great regularity. Strabo, like his predecessors, adopted the standard Greek dichotomy of Hellenes and barbaroi. The two broad types appear frequently in his pages as contrasts. In most cases, Strabo, as was conventional, merely expresses the distinction as one between Greeks and non-Greeks, without the slur of savagery or primitivism.73 Our same question, however, needs to be posed, and not presumed: did

|| 69 Diod. 5.80.2. 70 Diod. 5.6.5. 71 Diod. 4.30.5: ἐξεβαρβαρώθησαν; 5.15.6. 72 For Strabo’s travels, see Dueck (2000), 15–30. On the shape and scope of Strabo’s work, see Clarke (1999), 193–336; Dueck (2000), 145–180. 73 So, e.g., Strabo, 1.3.2, 1.4.9, 3.4.8, 3.4.19, 6.3.2, 7.5.1, 7.7.1, 8.1.1, 8.6.6, 9.2.3, 10.3.9, 12.8.4, 13.1.1, 14.5.25, 15.3.23, 16.2.38, 17.3.2.

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Strabo, that well travelled and extensive researcher of peoples all over the Mediterranean, conclude that the distinction was a natural one?74 One might at first glance think so. Strabo does deliver a few nasty remarks about individual peoples who fall under the category of barbaroi. i.e. non-Greeks. They require consideration. So, for instance, Strabo castigates the Iberians for their lack of unity and the internal quarrels that made them prey to consistently successful invaders from Phoenicians and Carthaginians to Celts and Romans. And he observes that they possessed the characteristics of both wickedness and deceptiveness by nature, φύσει.75 A pretty harsh statement. But it applies, in the context, strictly to Iberians, and probably not to all of them, let alone to barbarians as a whole. That sort of phraseology is rare, and the use of φύσις to imply innate character is nowhere else applied to any barbaroi, whether individual nations or the general concept.76 A negative flavor to the adjective βαρβαρικὸν surfaces in a somewhat odd description of the Latin peoples who control the shrine of Artemis at Aricia and appoint as priest the person who slew the previous priest. The current occupant of the priesthood as a consequence always carries a sword and is forever wary of assassins—understandably enough. This, says Strabo, is a somewhat barbaric and Scythian way of doing things.77 The pejorative tone of that statement is plain enough. But by coupling the term with Scythian, Strabo gives it a particularist denotation, no uniform applicability to barbaroi as a whole. Equally pointed and specific is the reference to the savagery of the barbarians in a certain region of Sicily.78 No grounds for extrapolation there. Sweeping statements about barbarian traits that hold everywhere appear almost nowhere in Strabo’s very extensive text. One ostensible exception might be worth mentioning, In treating the Thebans whose hegemony in Greece lasted only a short time, Strabo blames the failure on their excessive dependence upon

|| 74 See the remarks of Van der Vliet (1984), 48–51, 61–63. His analysis of Strabo, however, stresses that the contrast rests primarily between “civilized” and “uncivilized”, defined in large part by the level of political and social order; 84–86; idem (2003), 261–267. Cf. Dueck (2000), 78. 75 Strabo, 3.4.5: προσλαβοῦσι καὶ τὸ μανοῦργον φύσει καὶ τὸ μὴ ἁπλοῦν. 76 Strabo elsewhere, in fact, makes the point that differences among peoples and languages are a matter of accident or chance, as are the arts, capacities, and pursuits. Athenian fondness for learning, by contrast with Spartans or Thebans, stemmed not from nature but from habit, just as Babylonians and Egyptians were philosophers not by nature but by training and habit; 2.3.7. Strabo is here engaged in disputing the work of the Stoic philosopher and historian Posidonius, and it is not quite clear how much of the passage is Posidonius and how much Strabo. 77 Strabo, 5.3.12. 78 Strabo, 6.2.2.

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military might and their inadequate attention to reasoning powers. The latter, he says, would have been useful in dealing with Greeks, though of less value against barbarians with whom force is preferable to reason.79 That sounds all too familiar. We have heard too many such claims from myopic modern leaders about foreign enemies, whoever they happen to be: “they only understand force, not diplomacy.” It is significant that such a statement stands entirely alone in Strabo’s large corpus. Some people were “totally barbarian”, so Strabo observes, whatever that may signify. He uses the phrase three times, without offering a clue as to its meaning. But when once he seeks to illustrate it, with regard to tribes around the Caucasus, the examples he gives are unusual and (from the Greek point of view) bizarre habits, such as not sacrificing or eating anything that is female, killing and eating any male who lives more than seventy years, having their men dress in black and wear their hair long, while women dress in white and crop their hair short.80 Being “wholly barbarian”, in other words, despite its ominous ring, appears to mean nothing more than being at the furthest remove from being Greek.81 In any case, Strabo, in reporting these matters, concerns himself strictly with customs and practices, bizarre though they may be, not with inherent character traits. And the references in almost every case apply to particular tribes, nations, or peoples rather than to all barbaroi. In one instance only does Strabo identify a practice that he claims to be common to all barbarians, namely that they expel foreigners in their midst—a tidbit that he drew from the Hellenistic polymath Eratosthenes.82 What are we to make of that? The proposition seems quite preposterous. That all non-Greek peoples ban foreigners from their territories is quite unimaginable. It would require a constant and chaotic stream of exiles, refugees, and the homeless all over the Mediterranean. Strabo could not possibly mean that. The statement comes from Eratosthenes, a writer whom Strabo elsewhere criticizes and disputes.83 It is by no means obvious that he buys this proposition. On the contrary. The context is a more specific one: Strabo’s discussion of Egypt.

|| 79 Strabo, 9.2.2: πρὸς γε τοὺς βαρβάρους βία λόγου κρείττων ἐστί. 80 Strabo, 11.11.8: περὶ τῶν τελέως βαρβάρων; cf.11.2.16. The phrase appears also in 2.5.32, with regard to Arians, and in 4.6.4, with regard to Ligurians, but also applied to other unnamed peoples. 81 A similar meaning attaches to the term “most barbarian” (βαρβαρώτατον) in Diodorus, 14. 30.7. 82 Strabo, 17.1.19: φησὶ δ’ Ἐρατοσθένης κοινὸν μὲν εἶναι τοῖς βαρβάροις πᾶσιν ἔθος τὴν ξενηλασίαν. 83 Strabo, 1.2.2–3, 1.3.1, 1.4.9, 2.1.41.

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And he observes that Egyptians have been falsely maligned for their lack of hospitality because of the myth of Busiris, the Egyptian ruler and cruel tyrant who allegedly sacrificed all non-Egyptians who entered the land. As the geographer insists, the legend is pure fiction and Busiris never existed.84 It follows that the claim of universal barbarian xenophobia evaporates. Strabo didn’t believe it, and it may well be that Eratosthenes also debunked it. The passage cited from Eratosthenes could be one that he himself set forth only to refute it. Strabo, far from condemning all barbarians, can also compliment them. He refers, for instance, to the ingenuousness of barbarians, illustrating this by the Celts who joined Alexander the Great out of friendship and hospitality, and by peoples against whom he marched, like the Triballi who held firm, yet also framed a pact of friendship.85 And he cites the 4th century BCE historian Ephorus for the even-handed comment that, although other writers dwell on the cruelty of the Scythians, their admirable qualities, particularly their devotion to justice, deserve due consideration.86 Perhaps more important, the borders between Greek and barbarian were well short of impenetrable. They did not constitute fixed entities forever closed to infiltration. Strabo, while committed to the binary in principle, like all Greek authors, occasionally acknowledges slippage and shifts. The Greek colony of Emporium in Iberia over time witnessed an amalgam of peoples who enjoyed a common set of institutions and a mixture of Hellenic and barbarian laws. Moreover, Strabo adds, this held true for many other peoples.87 The barbarians in Gaul were not doomed to that status for eternity. Some Gallic tribes, like the Cavari, says Strabo, are no longer even barbarians but have for the most part taken on the stamp of Romans both in language and way of life.88 It is noteworthy that Strabo here juxtaposes barbarians not with Greeks but with Romans, a juxtaposition he makes on several occasions.89 The Turdetani in Iberia have gone still further, having completely embraced the Roman form of life, to the point of having forgotten

|| 84 Strabo, 17.1.19. 85 Strabo, 7.3.8: ῾ἄπλότητος τῆς τῶν βαρβάρων. 86 Strabo, 7.3.9; cf. 7.3.7. 87 Strabo, 3.4.8: τῷ χρόνῳ δ’ εἰς ταὐτὸ πολίτευμα συνῆλθον μικτὸν τι ἔκ τε βαρβάρων καὶ Ἑλληνικῶν νομίμων, ὅπερ καὶ ἐπ’ ἄλλων πολλῶν συνέβη. Note also the people of Cibyra, descendants of the Lydians in Asia Minor, who spoke Greek, but also three other languages; 13.4.17. 88 Strabo, 4.1.12: οὐδὲ βαρβάρους ἔτι ὄντας , ἀλλὰ μετακειμένους τὸ πλέον εἰς τὸν τῶν Ῥωμαίων τύπον καὶ τῇ γλώττῃ καὶ τοῖς βίοις. 89 See Strabo, 1.1.17, 4.5.3, 5.1.8, 16.4.24. This is not just a matter of amalgamating Greeks and Romans by a writer who belonged to both worlds. He also contrasts Tyrrhenians (Etruscans) with barbarians; 5.1.10. And he sets the forces of Mithridates against barbarians; 2.1.16, 7.3.18, 7.4.3–

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their own language. They welcomed Roman colonists, obtained Latin status, and fall just short of being altogether Roman.90 Transformations could also go in more than one direction. Most of Magna Graecia, according to Strabo, has become “barbarized”, while Campanians have become Romans.91 The inhabitants of Gargara in Aeolia were colonized by the Greeks of Assos but the additions of neighboring peoples meant that they became “semi-barbarians”.92 Nor was the admixture of communities only to the disadvantage of the Greeks. In a most interesting and revealing passage, Strabo alludes to the positive reputation of Scythians among many Greeks as ingenuous, least inclined to wickedness, far more frugal and selfsufficient than Greeks themselves. Paradoxically, it was the spread of Hellenic modes of life to the barbarians, particularly the introduction of luxury, sensual pleasures, and greed, that turned matters for the worse.93 The Scythians, in other words, were better off when they were barbarians. Customs and practices interested the geographer and ethnographer. They constituted the highlights of his reports. Barbarian ways of life could be most peculiar, occasionally opprobrious and discreditable, but usually fascinating.94 Yet they did not always set barbarians apart or serve as insurmountable barriers. Strabo acknowledges overlap and mingling. Distant Lusitanians share various customs with Greeks.95 The Iberians learned from Greek colonists of Massilia (Marseilles) to practice the sacred rites of Artemis according to Greek ritual, and, after the coming of Roman overlordship, the barbarians in the vicinity of Massilia turned increasingly to Greek modes of life, intellectual pursuits, and high culture.96 Moving from far west to far east, Strabo notes that in Media the shrines of the Hellenic legendary hero Jason are worshipped by barbarians.97 And even on a broader level, the geographer observes that Greeks and barbarians alike share || 4. That may have personal resonance. Strabo was related to the Mithridatic dynasty of Pontus (11.2.18) and probably reckoned them as thoroughly Hellenized. 90 Strabo, 3.2.15. Cf. also the Celtiberians who have taken on an Italian form of life; 3.4.20. 91 Strabo, 6.1.2: τὴν μεγάλην Ἑλλάδα ταύτην ἔλεγον … νυνὶ δὲ πλὴν Τάραντος καὶ Ῥηγίου καὶ Νεαπόλεως ἐκβεβαρβαρῶσθαι συμβέβηκεν ἅπαντα … Καμπανούς … αὐτοὶ Ῥωμαῖοι γεγόνασιν. 92 Strabo,13.1.58: ἡμιβαρβάρους. 93 Strabo, 7.3.7: καίτοι ὅ γε καθ’ ἡμᾶς βίος εἰς πάντας σχέδον τι διατέτακε τὴν πρὸς τὸ χεῖρον μεταβολήν, τρυφὴν καὶ ἡνονὰς καί κακοτεχνίας εἰς πλεονεξίας μυρίας πρὸς ταῦτ’ εἰσάγων. Cf. the comments of Thollard (1987), 37–39. 94 Strabo has particular contempt for some of the Iberian peoples whom he reckons as living bestial rather than ordered lives; 3.4.16–17. He expresses similar scorn for the Corsicans whom he brands as living in a more savage fashion than wild beasts; 5.2.7. Cf. Isaac (2004), 204, 408. 95 Strabo, 3.3.7. 96 Strabo, 4.1.5; cf. 4.4.2. 97 Strabo, 11.13.10.

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in common a devotion to religious festivals that provide relaxation from the strains of normal life, offer access to and reverence of divinity, and include music and dance that gives pleasure and aesthetic delight to participants. No divide here between Greeks and barbarians; the common adherence to ritual, he says, is a dictate of nature.98 The instances of intermingling and even assimilation duly complicate the picture. Strabo clearly was no strict dichotomist. What then does one make of an ostensibly striking inconsistency in the text? Strabo had a sharp disagreement on this matter with an influential predecessor, the 4th century historian Ephorus of Cyme. Ephorus had claimed that there were sixteen nations (γένη) in Anatolia, of which three were Hellenic and the rest barbarian, except for those which were “mixed”.99 That set Strabo off. In addition to criticizing Ephorus on several fronts, he asks just which were the “mixed” communities, since Ephorus had inconveniently failed to specify. Strabo then raises his critique to another level. He denies that there was any such thing as a mongrel nation that was neither Greek nor barbarian and he states flatly that no third category exists.100 How does one reconcile this seemingly unequivocal assertion with Strabo’s references to adoption of Greek practices by barbarians and vice-versa? The statement, in fact, is not as unequivocal as it first appears. Strabo concedes that, if there be mixture, the predominance of one or the other would make the people either Greeks or barbarians.101 The criterion seems a quantitative rather than a cultural one.102 Strabo’s principal objection to Ephorus focuses on his claim to discern a third genos separate from both Greek and non-Greek. The existence of mixture, however, is acknowledged.103 And the passage, however convoluted, need not contradict what Strabo says elsewhere. The most conspicuous form of distinction, of course, is language. Barbarians don’t speak Greek. Strabo addresses that particular difference more directly and more fully than any other Hellenic author. But his discussion has an intriguing

|| 98 Strabo, 10.3.9: ἡ φύσις οὕτως ὑπαργορεύει. See also 16.2.38, with reference to religion: πέφυκε γὰρ οὒτω, καὶ κοινόν ἐστι τοῦτο καὶ τοῖς Ἕλλησι καὶ τοῖς βαρβάροις. On shared heritage between Greeks and barbarians, see the remarks of Dandrow (forthcoming). 99 Strabo, 14.5.23: χωρὶς τῶν μιγάδων. 100 Strabo, 14.5.25: τρίτον δὲ γένος οὐδὲν ἴσμεν τὸ μικτόν. 101 Strabo, 14.5.25: καί γάρ εἰ κατεμίχθησαν, ἀλλ’ ἡ ἐποικράτεια πεποίηκεν ἤ Ἕλληνας ἤ βαρβάρους. Cf. Dandrow (forthcoming). 102 Dueck (2000), 77, agrees that the distinction is not a moral or cultural one, but she sees it as a racial distinction—for no obvious reason. 103 Cf. Strabo, 7.7.2.

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twist. He proposes quite plausibly that the term barbaros had its origin as an onomatopoetic expression applied to those who had difficulty with the Greek language. Their words thus came out sounding harsh, rough, and guttural, presumably something like “bar-bar-bar”, hence barbarous. As a consequence, those who spoke rather thickly were all labeled “barbarians”.104 The term, in Strabo’s view, began quite logically as a derisive epithet. Only subsequently, he says, did it come to be used (or misused) as a common ethnic designation to distinguish barbarians from Greeks.105 A perfectly reasonable conclusion. But consider the implications of what he is saying. Strabo does not claim that the fundamental distinction between Greeks and barbarians lies in the fact that the former speak Greek and the latter do not. He says rather that barbaroi got that label initially because they tried to speak Greek but failed to do so properly. Hence they made a laughing-stock of themselves. That is quite different from seeing language itself as the defining element in differentiating Greeks from non-Greeks.106 Strabo adds that the expression barbaros was only later stretched to an ethnic designation, thus indicating that this was a questionable extension of the term. The geographer clearly did not set ethnicity at the root of this dichotomy. Strabo did directly confront the issue of the dichotomy itself in one famous passage—though one that is problematic and puzzling. The insight it provides into Strabo’s own attitude is consequently elusive. The geographer cites the admirably learned Alexandrian intellectual Eratosthenes on the crucial matter of dividing humankind into two segments, Greeks and barbarians. Eratosthenes dissented from those who partitioned the world in such fashion. And he had special opprobrium for the advisers of Alexander the Great who counseled the king to treat Greeks as friends and barbarians as enemies. Eratosthenes, by contrast, made the case that if humanity is to be divided into two categories, the division

|| 104 Strabo, 14.2.28: οἶμαι δέ, τὸ βάρβαρον κατ’ ἀρχὰς ἐκπεφωνῆσθαι οὕτως κατ’ ὀνοματοποιίαν ἐπὶ τῶν δυσεκφόρως καὶ σκληρῶς καὶ τραχέως λαλούντων … πάντων δὴ τῶν παχυστομούντων οὕτως βαρβάρων λεγομένων. 105 Strabo, 14.2.28: ἐκείνους οὖν ἰδίως ἐκάλεσαν βαρβάρους, ἐν ἀρχαῖς μὲν κατὰ τὸ λοίδορον, ὡς ἂν παχυστόμους ἢ τραχυστόμους, εἶτα κατεχρησάμεθα ὡς ἐθνικῷ κοινῷ ὀνόματι ἀντιδιαιρούντες πρὸς τοὺς Ἒλληνας. 106 Strabo’s discussion itself was triggered by the puzzling term βαρβαρόφωνοι, applied by Homer to the Carians, a hapax legomenon in his text; 8.6.6; 14.2.28. Almagor sees this as a reference to those who are neither Greek speakers nor non-Greek speakers, but an intermediary group who speak Greek badly, a tertium quid; (2000), 133–138; (2005), 44–48. But there is no hint in Strabo’s text of some tripartite division. Cf. the comments of Isaac (2004), 185–186, 299–301. See also Martin (2017), 36, who sees Strabo as indicating here that Hellenes and barbaroi are at different points on the same continuum.

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should be between those who practice virtue and those given to evil. On those criteria, he added, many Greeks fall among the deplorable and many barbarians among the cultivated. Alexander did not heed his advisers and chose instead to accept men of good repute and to favor them. Such was Eratosthenes’ admiring verdict.107 Strabo’s own verdict is not so clear. He supplies what seems to be a gloss on the dual division that Eratosthenes approved, expressing it in terms of those who adhered to the law and civic responsibility, possessing education and reason, and those who were the opposite.108 Strabo then concludes, rather surprisingly, with an apparent refutation of Eratosthenes—or, at least, a refutation of sorts. He maintains that Alexander did not, after all, ignore the recommendations of his counselors but accepted their view, acting in agreement rather than the reverse, for he recognized the real intent of their advice.109 The tortured course of this argument defies intelligibility. Strabo bends over backward to dispute and refute Eratosthenes. Here the twisted refutation is not what the reader might have expected at the outset of the passage, namely rejection of Eratosthenes’ reformulated dualism of the good and the bad rather than the Greek and the barbarian. Instead, Strabo leaves the new dualism intact but argues quite implausibly, even absurdly, that that was what Alexander’s counselors had in mind anyway. Strabo’s principal objective, it appears, was to score a point against Eratosthenes. He did not challenge the notion that humanity was more usefully divided into the virtuous and the wicked than into Greeks and barbarians.110 The extensive and informative text of Strabo offers an invaluable resource. The geographer eschews any simplistic bifurcation of ethnicities. He might disdain selective traits or modes of behavior exhibited by certain foreigners in certain places, especially those that contrasted most conspicuously with Hellenic

|| 107 Strabo, 1.4.9: πολλοὺς γὰρ καὶ τῶν Ἑλλήνων εἶναι κακοὺς καὶ τῶν βαρβάρων ἀστείους. 108 Strabo, 1.4.9: ἤ διότι τοῖς μὲν ἐπικρατεῖ τὸ νόμιμον καὶ τὸ πολιτικὸν καὶ τὸ παιδείας καὶ λόγων οἰκεῖον, τοῖς δὲ τὰναντία. 109 Strabo, 1.4.9: καὶ ὁ Ἀλέξανδρος οὖν, οὐκἀμελήσας τῶν παραινούντων ἀλλ’ ἀποδεξάμενος τὴν γνώμην, τὰ ἀκόλουθα, οὐ τὰ ἐναντία, ἐποίει, πρὸς τὴν διάνοιαν σκοπῶν τὴν τῶν ἐμεσταλκότων. 110 Dueck (2000), 76, maintains that Strabo found in Eratosthenes support for his own view that Greeks are naturally better than barbarians. That seems a most paradoxical reading of the text. Isaac (2004), 300, also interprets Strabo’s passage as adhering to the old division of Greeks and barbarians. But Strabo’s claim, however implausible, that Alexander acted on his advisers’ real intention, not their expressed counsel, suggests exactly the opposite. For Thollard (1987), 30–31, Strabo represents a third position different from both Eratosthenes and Alexander’s advisers, namely that the term barbaros has cultural rather than racial significance.

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conventions. But he shunned sweeping assignation of inborn character to barbaroi as a totality. Matters were too complex, peoples were too different, boundaries were frequently crossed, adaptation and assimilation were always possible, even language was no irreversible determination, and, in the end, moral distinctions could trump ethnic divides.

VII We turn finally to a different angle of vision. How were barbarians viewed by writers of Greek who were not themselves Greek? I refer here to Hellenistic Jews, and, in particular, to two authors who have left a considerable corpus of work, Philo and Josephus. Where did barbarians fall in their spectrum of humanity? Philo, the celebrated Jewish philosopher from Alexandria, writing in the first half of the 1st century CE, was thoroughly conversant with and a firm advocate of Jewish traditions stemming from the Bible (at least in its Greek version). But he was equally well versed in Hellenic language, literature, and philosophy.111 Barbarians did not often cross his intellectual horizon. When barbarians, or rather the term “barbarian”, appear in Philo’s text they come in the familiar and conventional fashion found among most Greek authors, that is, a convenient division of the world into Greeks and non-Greeks. Philo resorts to that commonplace binary on numerous occasions.112 He is quite explicit in one instance: half of the human race consists of barbarians, and half of Greeks.113 Where then do the Jews belong? Do they fall into one or another of these categories or are they a race apart? Can Jews be barbarians? Philo’s treatment is intriguingly ambiguous. On occasion indeed the category of “barbarian” itself could engender a most positive assessment—especially if it included Jews. So, for instance, Philo adapts a famous tale that pairs Alexander the Great with the celebrated Indian wise man Calanus. In Philo’s version, Alexander wished to exhibit to the Greek world the alien wisdom of the “barbarian”, and thus put pressure on Calanus to accompany him and add to his own fame as he travelled east and west. The Indian sage declined, and his retort demonstrated the virtue of the wise man who could successfully speak truth to power.114 Philo expanded the motif of eastern acumen on a broader scale in his comparison of || 111 For a fuller discussion of Philo on ethnicity, see below, chapter 8. 112 E.g. Philo, Plant. 67; Ebr. 193; Abr. 136; Jos. 56; Decal. 153; Spec. Leg. 1.211, 4.120; Praem. 165; Prob. 98; Contempl. 48; Prov. 2.68; Legat. 8, 83, 162. Cf. Birnbaum (2001), 42–48. 113 Philo, Mos. 2.27. On this revealing passage, see further below. 114 Philo, Prob. 94–96.

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Hellene and barbarian, this time bringing the Jews into the picture. Whereas all lands contain numerous wealthy, renowned, and pleasure-loving persons, so he claims, the intelligent, just, and astute constitute only a small number. As illustration, he notes the Seven Sages of Greece, and in the “barbarian” world he identifies the Magi of Persia, the Gymnosophists of India (who included Calanus), and the Jews in Palestinian Syria, most particularly their men of eminent virtue, sagacity, and devoutness, the Essenes.115 The barbaroi are thus at least on a par with the Greeks, even eclipsed them, especially when the Jews form part of the barbarian ranks. Philo is not shy about claiming that Jews can boast institutions and practices superior to those of all other peoples, Greek or barbarian. Keeping of the Sabbath falls under that heading. Philo discusses the special aura accorded to the number seven, a fact acknowledged by experts in mathematics and astronomy among both Hellenes and barbaroi. But he singles out Mosaic law as elevating the number to a higher level, for it bids Jews to keep the seventh day holy and honor it by refraining from work and devoting themselves to contemplation.116 The passage seems to set Jews on a plane different from that of Greeks and barbarians alike. Philo reinforces that notion by speaking of Jewish festivals and holidays devoted to God, including the Sabbath, which he contrasts with those of Greeks and nonGreeks based on myths and fantasies, empty smoke, and folly, a rather stark assessment which goes on at some length.117 Elsewhere he denounces, in good Jewish fashion, images, statues, and pictures of men, women, and animals, not to mention gods, in whom Greeks and barbarians alike indulge with enthusiasm.118 In his Life of Moses, the philosopher singles out the great leader as the best of law-givers, better than all those stemming from Hellenes or barbaroi, for his laws are not only most beautiful but come straight from God.119 Philo proceeds to underscore the differences. He notes that in the worlds of Greeks and non-Greeks there is little mutual respect: Athenians reject the institutions of Spartans, and Spartans those of Athens, Egyptians scorn the laws of Scythians, indeed Asians generally reject anything associated with Europeans, and vice-versa, a pattern seen in every land, nation, and city. Only one nation escapes that opprobrium. || 115 Philo, Prob. 73–76. On Philo’s attitude toward non-Jewish intellectuals generally, see the remarks of Birnbaum (2004), 147–157. 116 Philo, Opif. 128. 117 Philo, Cher. 90–97, esp. 91: συνεπίσκεψαι τάς ἀοιδίμους μανηγύρεις ἡμῶν; ὅσαι μὲν δὴ κατ’ ἔθνη βαρναρικά τε καὶ ἑλλενικὰ ἐκ μυθικῶν πλασμάτων συνέστησαν ἄλλαι παρ’ ἄλλοις κενὸν τῦφον ἕχουσαι τὸ τέλος, ἀφείσθωσαν. 118 Philo, Abr. 267. 119 Philo, Mos. 2.12.

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Jewish principles, practices, and institutions have gained the admiration of all barbarians and Greeks.120 Philo’s people, in short, hold a special place of their own that stands outside the usual dichotomy.121 Philo could turn to this same purpose the iconic tale of Abraham’s willingness to sacrifice his son Isaac. The philosopher responded sharply to those who made light of this deed, both Greeks and barbarians. Greeks pointed to legends like that of Agamemnon’s sacrifice of his daughter for the sake of his nation, and “barbarians” cited those for whom child sacrifice is an ingrained practice of their society. The latter noted that even Indian gymnosophists immolate themselves to prevent succumbing to old age. Greeks and barbarians alike could thus claim that Abraham’s act was nothing special. Philo took umbrage. He rejected the parallels and insisted that the righteousness of Abraham was not dictated by custom, compulsion, or national necessity but solely by obedience to God.122 However much the philosopher may deplore the practice of human sacrifice itself, his point here transcends any stigmatizing of the “barbarians”. In Philo’s conception, Abraham stands apart from both Greek and barbarian. But matters are not quite so simple. In the same treatise on Moses, in a passage not far removed from the previous, Philo sees the matter from a very different angle. He observes that the laws of Moses were originally composed in the Chaldean tongue, i.e. Hebrew, the language of Abraham from Ur of the Chaldees. It remained in that language alone, without change, for many years. But increasing intercourse with other people over time brought a change. Some felt it a great shame that these admirable laws (meaning not just the code but the five books of Moses, the Pentateuch) were accessible only to one half of humankind, namely the barbarian half, and closed altogether to the Greek half. Hence was undertaken the translation of the Pentateuch into Greek, which eventually became the Septuagint.123 It is hard to interpret this quite notable notice in any other way than Philo’s situating the Jews in the barbarian half of the human universe. Jews could thus be both inside and outside that universe. But even as barbaroi they were plainly not barbaric. || 120 Philo, Mos. 2.18–20. Cf. Jos. 30. At one point Philo even has all Greeks and barbarians acknowledge the supreme father of men and gods and creator of the universe who is unseen and unfathomable not only to the eye but also to the mind; Spec.Leg. 2.165–166. He has pushed the limits here of pagan emulation of Jews. 121 See Berthelot (2007), 47–61; cf. Runia (2013), 41–42. 122 Philo, Abr. 178–199. 123 Philo, Mos. 2.27: δεινὸν ἡγησάμενοί τινεσ, εἰ οἱ νόμοι παρὰ τῷ ἡμίσει τμήματι τοῦ γένους ἀνθρώπων ἐξετασθήσονται μόνῳ τῷ βαρβαρικῷ, τ`δ’ Ἑλληνικὸν εἰς ἅπαν ἀμοιρήσει, ἑρμενείαν τὴν τούτων ἐτρεάποντο. Cf. Birnbaum (2001), 47; Pearce (forthcoming), 11–12.

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Philo’s presentation of barbaroi follows no neat and tidy pattern. Negative comments surface on occasion, but only rarely.124 In speaking of seditious activities and internal battles among the Persians, he says that it is part of barbarian nature not to remain at peace.125 When referring to the abominable acts of torture and brutality committed by a tax-collector, he adds that it should hardly be surprising if those who are barbarians by nature and lack the cultivation of a paideia behave in such a way.126 He further deplores the practice of human sacrifice allegedly engaged in by some barbarians.127 At the same time, however, Philo acknowledges the wisdom and highly cultivated knowledge that exist among those in the barbarian world.128 To be sure, Philo’s denunciation of the emperor Gaius in the Legatio ad Gaium fiercely censures the practice of proskynesis as a “barbarian” act of abject prostration which had been introduced into Italy, to the shame of the noble Roman tradition of freedom.129 Even here, however, the reference to the “barbaric” custom does not imply that the label itself signifies degradation, simply that the practice derived from a non-Roman nation (namely Persia). The idea of some generic character belonging to barbarians as a group, however, is very far from a dominant theme in Philo. And Jews remain a special case. He finds it necessary to defend the Jews against the slanders of those who characterize their fierce actions in support of their institutions as “barbaric”.130 Philo shuns the term in that context. The philosopher felt very comfortable in setting his fellow-Jews in the category of barbaroi, but they were exceptional within it. They were models for Greeks and non-Greeks alike.

VIII Much the same conclusions emerge from the extensive writings of Flavius Josephus, the historian of the Jewish war against Rome and the lengthy history, in twenty volumes, of his people from antiquity to his own day, the second half of the 1st century CE. Josephus experienced very different circumstances from those

|| 124 The discussion of Goudriaan (1992), 82–85, puts too much emphasis on the negative. And it is somewhat misleading to claim that Philo was conducting an “ethnical strategy”. 125 Philo, Spec. Leg. 3.17. 126 Philo, Spec. Leg. 3.163. 127 Philo, Abr. 181, 184: ὥσπερ ἐνίους ἔφασκον τῶν βαρβάρων. 128 Philo, Probus, 73–76, 94. On Philo’s attitude toward non-Jewish intellectuals generally, see the remarks of Birnbaum (2004), 147–157. 129 Philo, Legat. 116: βαρβαρικὸν ἔθος. Cf. also Legat. 215. 130 Philo, Legat. 215.

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of Philo. Working in Rome after having left his homeland in Judea and composing in a language, Greek, that was not his native tongue, Josephus nevertheless repeated many of the motifs found in Philo and offered perspectives quite comparable to those of his compatriot and many of his Hellenic predecessors. Josephus, like all the previous writers who made mention of barbarians, followed the familiar pattern of bifurcation, labeling the peoples of the world as either Hellenes or barbaroi, without pejorative overtones.131 A negative slant on barbarians is almost nowhere to be found. It turns up only on a very few occasions in speeches placed in the mouths of individuals who play a role in events recorded by the historian, but not in the historian’s own voice. So, for example, he has Herod the Great, when contending against the Parthians, refer to his enemies as barbarians perfidious by nature. On another occasion Herod characterizes Arabs as lawless and untrustworthy, adding that this was perfectly reasonable for a barbarous people with no knowledge of God.132 Neither outburst need represent Josephus’ view. Another example makes that quite clear. Josephus, in the course of describing the Roman war on the Jews, has Rome’s general and future emperor Vespasian rally his troops after a setback by affirming that Romans should rely on experience and discipline, not heedlessness and wild impetuosity. The latter qualities are barbarikon and the principal reason why Jews get defeated.133 Whatever Vespasian may actually have said on such an occasion, the words put in his mouth can hardly reflect Josephus’ own opinion. He could certainly ascribe impetuosity or recklessness to some Jewish leaders of the rebellion, but he would not have described it as a barbarian trait especially associated with Jewish deficiencies. Rhetoric in concocted speeches does not constitute evidence for the author’s stance. A search through Josephus’ text turns up two instances in which the historian, speaking in his own voice, appears to assign ingrained characteristics to barbaroi. In one, he makes reference to the ferocity of Caligula’s German bodyguards, and proclaims that such fury is inherent (patrion) in them, but he swiftly adds that they show this to a degree rarely encountered in other barbarians.134 It is not therefore a trait inbred to barbarians generally. The same can be said of the other passage in Josephus, asserting that barbarians are fickle by nature. That

|| 131 See, e.g., Jos. BJ, 6.199; Ant, 1.107, 4.12, 8.282, 11.299, 15.136, 16.177, 18.20; CAp. 1.58, 1.116, 1.161; cf. Rajak (2001), 139. On Josephus and Jewish ethnicity more generally, see below, chapter 11. 132 Jos. BJ, 1.255; Ant, 15.130. 133 Jos. BJ, 4.45: τὸ δ’ ἀπερίσκεπτον ἐν πολέμῷ καὶ τῆς ὁρμῆς μανιῶδες οὐ πρὸς Ῥωμαίων, οἳ πάντα ἐμπειρίᾳ καὶ τάξει κατορθοῦμεν, ἀλλὰ βαρβαρικόν, καὶ ᾧ μάλιστα Ἰουδαῖοι κραταοῦνται. 134 Jos. Ant, 19.120.

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refers specifically to Parthians, not a general application—and it occurs in a context in which Josephus actually gives a positive spin to a change of mind by the Parthians.135 Josephus plainly did not perpetrate the idea that barbarians were barbaric. Did Jews belong to that half of humanity who qualified as barbaroi, i.e. as those who were non-Greeks? The Jews, of course, had their own conceptual binary that divided the world into Jews and τὰ ἔθνη or Gentiles. But does Josephus employ the term barbaros to mean non-Jew, thereby signifying a fundamental ethnic divide? In the opening segment of his history of the Jewish war against Rome, Josephus states that he had originally composed the work (or a version of it) in his own native tongue and only subsequently rendered it in Greek. He sent the earlier version to the barbaroi in the “up-country”. That expression refers to the lands outside the aegis of the Roman empire, in Babylon and the regions under the control of the Parthians. Aramaic was the language that prevailed there and was presumably the native tongue to which Josephus refers. Is he here distinguishing Jews from barbarians? Actually, the reverse seems to be the case. Josephus goes on to describe the recipients of his original text as not only Parthians, Babylonians, and Adiabenians, but also his own countrymen who dwell beyond the Euphrates.136 Jews are thus among the barbaroi to whom Josephus directed his original draft. The term obviously did not carry resonance of a detrimental character. Nor does it do so when Josephus casually mentions records to be found “among us and some other barbarians”.137 Using that label for Jews did not seem to bother Josephus.138

|| 135 Jos. Ant, 18.47; cf. Ant, 14.341. Josephus elsewhere uses the term barbaroi as a mere synonym for Parthians, Germans, Arabs, or others against whom Jews (or Romans) fought, without pejorative significance, much as Herodotus used it as synonym for Persians, meaning simply the warring enemies of the Greeks. E.g. Jos. BJ, 1.258. 1.261–262, 1.268, 1.274, 1.322, 5.560, 7.86, 7.94; Ant, 12.222, 4.239, 14.341, 14.343, 14.347, 14.440–442, 14.445, 15.402, 18.328, 18.49. 136 Jos. BJ, 1.3: Ἑλλάδι γλώσσῃ μεταβαλὼν ἂ τοῖς ἄνω βαρβάροις τῇ πατρίῳ συντάξας ἀνέπεμψα πρότερον; 1.6: καί Πάρθους μὲν καί Βαβυλωνίους Ἀράβων τε τοὺς πορρωτάτῳ καὶ τὸ ὑπὲρ Εὐφράτην ὁμόφυλοω ἡμῖν Ἀδιαβηνούς τε γνῶναι. 137 Jos. Ant, 14.187: παρ’ ἡμῖν τε αὐτοῖς καί τισιν ἅλλοις τῶν βαρβάρων. 138 Josephus cites Hecataeus of Abdera (more properly Pseudo-Hecataeus) reporting a story about a Jewish archer, Mosollamus, who, he says, was acknowledged as the best bowman among Greeks and barbarians; CAp. 1.201. In the context of the tale, a clash between Mosollamus and a Greek seer, it is clear that the Jewish archer counted among the barbarians—without any hint of a negative taint. On this story, see Bar-Kochva (1996), 57–71; Barclay (2007), 115–117. The acidtongued Greek intellectual Apollonius Molon, cited by Josephus, punctuated his criticism of Jews

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Like Philo before him, however, Josephus held his countrymen in special esteem, no mere segment of a bland category. He boasts shamelessly, as Philo had, that there is no single city or people, whether Greek or barbarian, that did not emulate and imitate Jewish customs and precepts, from keeping the Sabbath to steadfast adherence to the laws even under duress.139 In the end, Jews may be among the barbarians but they are not of the barbarians.

IX We have come a long way here from the notion that barbaroi were the horrific underside of humanity. The voices of Greek writers from Herodotus to Strabo point in a very different direction. Greeks prized their distinctiveness, to be sure. But that distinctiveness did not require a branding of the non-Greek as sub-human, uncivilized, and beneath contempt. Attitudes were more nuanced and complex, boundaries were porous, deficiencies acknowledged on both sides, and the idea of an inherent nature to which all barbarians were doomed by birth got no traction. Even the Jews who clung to their sense of singularity could live comfortably with the idea of being classified among the barbaroi. The Hellenic sense of superiority in culture, learning, and accomplishment prevailed. No Greek would change places with a barbarian. But that disposition stood at considerable distance from any concept of congenital inferiority. Racism had not yet reared its ugly head.

|| by calling them the most senseless of barbarians; CAp. 2.148. But that was not a slur on barbarians as such, merely a reference to the commonplace category of non-Greek. On this passage, see Bar-Kochva (2010), 497–504. 139 Jos. CAp. 2.282–283: οὐδ’ ἔστιν οὐ πόλις Ἑλλήνων οὐδ’ ἡτισοῦν οὐδὲ βάρβαρος, οὐδὲ ἓν ἔθνος, ἔνθα μὴ τὸ τῆς ἑβδομάδος, ἣν ἀργοῦμεν ἡμεῖς, ἔθος διαπεφοίτηκεν … καὶ τὸ καρτερικὸν ἐν ταῖς ὑπὲρ τῶν νόμων ἀνάγκαις. See Barclay’s notes (2007), 327–329.

2 Herodotus and Greekness The Greeks had no word for ethnicity. Did they have the concept? It is all too easy to assume that they must have had some notion of its meaning (however muddled that might be) and shared our sense that it was a matter that required serious scrutiny. Did they?

I A celebrated passage of Herodotus has served as the fulcrum for understanding how Greeks identified the bonds that held them together. The historian puts into the mouths of Athenian spokesmen, responding to Spartan concerns about possible defection to the enemy in the Persian war, a notable statement of solidarity. The Athenians affirm their unequivocal allegiance to the Hellenic cause by asserting that “Greekness” (τὸ Ἑλλενικὸν) rests on common blood, common language, shared shrines and sacrifices, and similar ways of life—which they would not betray.1 That ringing declaration is regularly cited as the collective sense of Hellenic ethnicity. It accords, at least in large part, with modern constructions of ancient ethnicity as characterized by a common descent group, language, religion, and customs.2 Extrapolation from that statement is convenient and tempting. But is it justified? In fact, it would be hazardous to take the statement as representative of Greek thinking in general about the nature of their ethnicity. First of all, the speech is Herodotus’ own creation. Nothing suggests that anything like that speech was actually delivered or that Herodotus had access even to a faithful rendition of it. To be sure, Herodotus’ concoction itself counts for something, whatever the historicity of the event. But how much does he make of it as a general prescription? The occasion, even as represented, is a very particular one. The spokesmen reply to Spartan doubts about Athenian loyalty, and express indignation that it should be so much as questioned, stressing (and clearly exaggerating) their city’s devotion to the characteristics that all Greeks hold in common. Yet, as

|| 1 Herod. 8.144.2: τὸ Ἑλλενικὸν ἐον ὅμαιμον τε καὶ ὁμόγλωσσον καὶ θεῶν ἱδρύματα τε κοινὰ καὶ θυσίαι ἤθεά τε ὁμότροπα. 2 So, e.g., E. Hall (1989), 165; Tuplin (1999), 48–49; Malkin (2001), 5–6; Konstan (2001), 32–33. Cf. J. Hall (1997), 44–48; A classic formulation appears in the very influential outline of ethnic criteria by Smith (1986), 24–30: collective name, common myth of descent, shared history, shared culture, specific territory, and sense of solidarity. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110685657-003

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Herodotus himself implies in this very scenario, solidarity on shared values does not preclude fundamental suspicions, tensions, and friction among the Greeks themselves. One might sense a whiff of irony in Herodotus’ presentation here.3 Indeed, insistence upon the Athenian commitment to war against Persia did not even cite common elements of “Greekness” as a prime motivation. The first item mentioned by the Athenians as assurance of that commitment was retaliation for the Persian burning and destruction of the images and temples of the gods. Vengeance constituted the principal driving force; allegiance to Greek commonality came second.4 Arguments from this solitary passage rest on the most fragile of foundations. It affords only a rhetorical construct, underscoring Athenian fidelity and Spartan anxiety. It can hardly carry the weight of a serious and sweeping expression of Hellenic identity. No comparable collection of criteria or even allusion to one occurs elsewhere in the pages of Herodotus.5

II Did Herodotus, in fact, have a clear sense of what constituted ethnicity? An important scholar of Herodotus has claimed that the historian “reflected rather extensively on ethnicity.”6 But where are such reflections? Like most ancient authors, Herodotus took the matter for granted. Of course, he spoke at length about customs, practices, cultic rites, beliefs, rules, conventions, ways of life, etc. One or more of them might help to characterize the life-style, however bizarre and unusual, of a people. But characterization is not the same as character. Does Herodotus anywhere point to an innate ethnicity carried by a clan, a tribe, or a nation that provided a unique identity? The assiduous traveler and reporter, as is well known, investigated, whether at first or second hand, numerous peoples around the Mediterranean and well beyond, especially those whose traits differed most

|| 3 Cf. Stadter (2006), 249. 4 Herod. 8.144.2: πρῶτα μεν … αὖτις δὲ. 5 J. Hall (2002), 189–194, rightly questions whether the passage should be taken as the Greek definition of Hellenic identity. But he does reckon it as a genuine reflection of Herodotus’ definition of Hellenicity. So also McInerney (2001), 57; Isaac (2004), 112. Proper skepticism by Thomas (2001), 213–215. It has been suggested that the Athenian statement implies a challenge to the notion of Greek ethnicity, thus requiring a response that would define it; cf. Antonaccio (2001), 114–115. But there is no obvious implication in the text to that effect. 6 Thomas (2001), 213; cf. 215, 222, 226–227.

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noticeably from those of the Greeks. Did he ascribe such characteristics to affinities rooted in their nature? “Common blood” is one of the items cited by the Athenians in the speech accorded them by Herodotus as discussed above. Even if that speech is fabricated and inauthentic, indeed ironic or cynical, one might think that it carried some resonance with the readership. But a search for that indicator of identity in the Herodotean text comes up surprisingly empty. To be sure, Herodotus takes an interest in the origins of nations, often delineating their own traditions and legends that trace them back to a founder. At the very outset of the history proper (after recounting the tales of the Trojan war), Herodotus provides a genealogy of Lydian rulers in the distant past, long before the installation of the dynasty that spawned Croesus. They go back, says Herodotus, to Heracles himself. The historian supplies a jumbled genealogy, with two or more overlapping lines, and the insertion of the Heraclidae may well be an interpretatio Graeca. In any event, the lineage refers to the succession of monarchs, not to the Lydian nation itself. 7 A comparable reconstruction of descent from a mythical forefather occurs with regard to Perseus as progenitor of Dorian kings. Herodotus here too conveys a confused genealogy, supplying both a Greek and a Persian version, with conflicting associations that link to both Egypt and Assyria. And here too the legends concern primarily the hereditary dynasty rather than the origins of a nation.8 An analogous instance deserves notice. The issue of ethnicity comes to the fore, at least ostensibly, in a notable episode recorded by Herodotus. Alexander I of Macedonia claimed Greek heritage in order to compete in the Olympic games, contests in which only those of Hellenic stock were allowed to engage. Alexander insisted that his forebears came from Argos, and he was thus permitted by the officials of the games to participate. Herodotus, it appears, endorsed that claim.9 Did he do so on the grounds of shared ethnicity? The appeal to Hellenic ancestry by Alexander concerned the lineage of the Macedonian royal house to which he belonged, not the nation of the Macedonians themselves. That lineage was, in all probability, a fabrication in the interests of the dynasty.10 But, whatever the historicity of the professed heritage, the decision by the Olympic officials concerned || 7 Herod. 1.7. See the discussion of Asheri et al. (2007), 79–81. 8 Herod. 6.53–55. Cf. 7.61. Xerxes, for his own purposes, sought to expand the Perseus story into a linkage between Argives and Persians; Herod. 7.150. For the tangled tales of Perseus and their manipulation, see Ogden (2008), 100–127; Gruen (2011), 253–265. 9 Herod. 5.22; cf. 8.137, 9.45. The best treatment of this episode and its meaning for Macedonian ethnicity is Hall (2001), 159–186. 10 Cf. How and Wells (1912), II, 8, 282–283; Borza (1990), 80–82.

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Alexander’s specific line. They did not pass judgment, nor does Herodotus present them as passing judgment, on the ethnicity of the Macedonian people. Like any good ethnographer, Herodotus does, of course, point out specific features of the peoples he records that afford them some distinction, for good or ill. But do such features constitute ethnic identity? Herodotus, interestingly enough, says of the Lydians in the era of Croesus that there was no ethnos in Asia braver or stronger than they.11 There is plain irony here. Not long thereafter, Croesus himself, having been defeated and now an advisor at the court of the victor Cyrus, counseled his conqueror to extend clemency to the Lydians. By banning weapons and teaching the Lydians to wear soft clothing, play the lyre, dance, and become shopkeepers, they would swiftly become women rather than men.12 The dramatic shift from stout warriors to effeminate weaklings is conceived as swift and sure. Hence Lydian hardihood was hardly an identifying marker for the nation. Amidst a lengthy and wide-ranging treatment of Egyptian practices and observances, Herodotus singles them out as the most god-fearing of all men, even to excess.13 That might seem to refer to some innate quality among the members of that nation. But Herodotus proceeds directly to specify the multiple mores of the Egyptians, illustrating them with drinking vessels, linen raiment, and circumcision. He was evidently not talking about innate qualities. Almost the whole of Book Two of Herodotus’ history is devoted to describing the range of peculiar and idiosyncratic (to the Greeks) habits indulged in by Egyptians, some admirable, some unfathomable, but none dictated by inherited qualities. Even on matters of religion, where Egyptians stand out as most distinctive, Herodotus observes that, apart from worship of Isis and Osiris, Egyptians share no other gods in common; different cities and regions are devoted to different deities.14 Comparable distinctions hold among the Indians. Herodotus’ account notes that there are many ἕθνεα among the Indians and they do not all speak the same language; some are nomads, some are not. He proceeds to lay out various customs belonging to one or another of the tribes. If there is anything that unites them all Herodotus does not seem to know it.15

|| 11 Herod. 1.79: ἦν δὲ τοῦτον τὸν χρόνον ἕθνος οὐδὲν ἐν τῇ Ἀσίῃ οὕτε ἀνδρηιότερον οὕτε ἀλκιμώθτερον τοῦ Λυδίου. 12 Herod.1.155. 13 Herod. 2.37: θεοσεβέες δὲ περισσῶς ἐόντες μάλιστα πάντων ἀνθρώπων. 14 Herod. 2.42. 15 Herod. 3.98–106. The only elements of commonality appear to be geographical ones; cf. Herod. 3.98–99, 3.102, 3.106.

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The Scythians, of course, are nomads par excellence, and Herodotus takes a serious interest in researching their origins, even recounting four different versions. One is the Scythians’ own, a magical tale, ascribing the beginnings of their nation, proudly proclaimed as the youngest of all people, with a mythical founder as son of divinities. A second tale stemming from the Greeks who dwelled on the Pontus had Heracles as forefather, having sired three brothers by a hybrid creature, of whom the youngest would be first ruler of the land. A third tale, favored by Herodotus, had the Scythians migrate to their land, having been forced to flee by the Massagetae. And the fourth also had them pushed out of the territory where they dwelled, this time by the Issedones.16 It is noteworthy that both of the first two stories focus upon the origins of the ruling dynasty and the other two on forced migrations. None speaks strictly of the inherent character of the people.17 Ethnicity is simply not at issue. The Scythians and their neighbors provoked Herodotus’ curiosity on more than one count. The historian is sharply attuned to the complexities and ambiguities involved in attempting to identify diverse peoples in adjoining or shifting territories. He discriminates carefully among those in the regions of the Scythians while at the same time noting their convoluted and entangled character. The overlappings of the Geloni and the Budini supply a most revealing example. Herodotus keeps them distinct but calls attention to their intriguing interconnections. He observes without comment that the ethnos of the Budini have a city called Gelonos, an implicit but unexpressed association between the peoples. He goes on to explicate and complicate the intermingling. The Budini, most strikingly, follow in many ways the practices and traditions of the Greeks, including worship of the images and participation in the shrines of Hellenic gods. The historian accounts for this by describing the Geloni as Greeks in origin who migrated to live among the Budini. Yet matters are more complicated still. The Geloni speak a language that combines both Greek and Scythian, evidently implying that the Geloni, though distinct from the Scythians, share their language, combined in some fashion with their native Greek.18 The Budini, by contrast, despite the intermingling and the adaptation of Hellenic religious practices, speak a different language from the Geloni and hold separate customs.19 Herodotus’ account of both integration and separation is not easy to follow. And it comes as no surprise to

|| 16 Herod. 4.5–13. 17 Cf. Hartog (1988), 19–28. 18 Herod. 4.108: εἰσὶ γὰρ οἱ Γελωνοὶ τὸ ἀρχαῖον Ἕλληνες … οἴκησαν ἐν τοἶσι Βουδίνοισι, καὶ γλώσσῃ τὰ μὲν Σκυθικῇ τὰ δὲ Ἑλληνικῇ χρέωνται. 19 Herod. 4.108: Βουδῖνοι δὲ οὐ τῇ αὐτῇ γλώσσῃ χρέωνται καὶ Γελωνοί, οὐδὲ δίαιτα ἡ αὐτή.

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learn that the Greeks, according to his presentation, actually referred to the Budini as Geloni. But the historian sets them straight: such amalgamation is an error, for the Budini, unlike the Geloni, are autochthonous.20 The whole discussion of these peoples, bordering upon or within the sphere of the Scythians, seems unusually muddled, lacking in the customary Herodotean clarity. It does, however, underscore the fact that ethnicity as signaling a special and inherent nature of an ethnos played little or no role in Herodotus’ thinking. Language differed among peoples of similar customs, and even when languages coalesced customs could diverge. A mixture of languages could both connect to the past and adjust to the present, or it could distinguish ethne in the same territory. Other modes of distinction, like a claim on autochthony or an acknowledgment of foreign origins problematized identity, as did different life-styles, like nomadism and agriculture, among peoples who shared overlapping territory. All this emerges in Herodotus’ tangled discussion of Budini and Geloni, their associations and disassociations, and their inexplicit relationship to the broader category of Scythians. The ostensibly confused presentation by the historian reflects his understandable reluctance to draw firm lines around ethnic differences and his rejection of the notion that inborn characteristics determined the behavior or history of a nation. Herodotus does single out the Ἀνδροφάγοι (“Man-eaters”) as a unique people. He describes them as an ethnos of their own, certainly not part of the Scythians.21 Is that uniqueness a matter of nature and heredity? Not really. Elsewhere Herodotus also fixes upon the Man-eaters as in a class by themselves. But the reason is explicit: they have the most savage customs of all people.22 The historian does not here speak of the native character of the androphagoi per se but the despicable practice of cannibalism they have embraced. The Getae stand as a conspicuous contrast. Herodotus characterizes them as the most valiant and the most just of the Thracians.23 That does appear, on the surface, as allusion to the nature rather than the usages of the people. But a subsequent passage suggests that the former may be bound up in the latter. Herodotus observes that all Thracians observe the same customs, with the exception of the Getae, the Trausi, and those who dwell beyond the Crestonians.24 In both comments Herodotus makes Getae distinctive among Thracians, for they are the most || 20 Herod. 4.109. 21 Herod. 4.18: ἕθνος ἐὸν ἵδιον καὶ οὐδμμῶς Σκυθικόν. 22 Herod. 4.106: Ἀνδροφάγοι δὲ ἀγριώτατα πάντων ἀνθρώπων ἕχουσι ἥθεα. Here too Herodotus is eager to distinguish them from the Scythians with whom they share attire but not a language. 23 Herod. 4.93: Θρηίκων ἐόντες ἀνδρηιότατοι καὶ δικαιότατοι. 24 Herod. 5.3: νόμοισι δὲ οὗτοι παραπλησίοισι πάντες χρέωνται κατὰ πάντα, πλὴν Γετέων καὶ Τραυσῶν καί τῶν κατύπερθε Κρηστωναίων οἰκεόντων.

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admirable of that nation and the ones who largely eschewed its practices. Their singularity among Thracians, however, does not give them a special character that separates them from other nations generally. Herodotus makes no suggestion of a unique ethnic nature enjoyed by the Getae. Perhaps the most famous reference to Hellenic character in Herodotus occurs in the verbal exchange between the Persian monarch Xerxes and the exiled Spartan king Demaratus. After Xerxes had marshaled his vast and imposing force, he asked Demaratus whether the Greeks could possibly be so foolish as to attempt resistance against such overwhelming odds. Demaratus replied cautiously that he could not speak for all Greeks but could with confidence predict the Spartan reaction. They would fight to the end, whatever the numerical discrepancy, even if all other Greeks moved to the side of the Persians. Demaratus rests his certainty, moreover, on a quality that goes beyond Sparta and extends to Greeks in general: their commitment to arete. His characterization of arete, however, is telling. It is no inborn inclination to virtue or excellence. By contrast with the poverty of Greek soil which is inherited, arete needs to be acquired. One achieves it through wisdom and the strength of law.25 This celebrated expression of exemplary Hellenic character, whatever the historicity of the dialogue, assigns it to exertion, not heredity.26 Another Spartan had an opportunity to underscore the admirable principles of his compatriots. King Pausanias, after his triumph at the climactic battle of Plataea, was urged to avenge the death of Leonidas, the leader of the ill-fated Spartans who perished at Thermopylae. The Persian general Mardonius had beheaded him and set the head on a pole. Pausanias magnanimously declined to do the same to Mardonius, declaring that such an act might be suitable for non-Greeks, though deplorable even when done by them, but certainly not for Greeks.27 If that is an assertion of Hellenic character, however, it is surely a hollow one. One should not fail to notice that the advice to Pausanias to commit this barbaric act came from a fellow Greek, Lampon of Aegina. Herodotus plainly enjoyed the irony. It was hardly a claim on ethnic superiority. The Greeks came off worse than the Persians. || 25 Herod. 7.102: τῇ Ἑλλάδι πενίη μὲν αἰεί κοτε σύντποφος ἐστί, ἀρετὴ δὲ ἕπακτος ἐστί, ἀπὸ τε σοφίης κατεργασμένη καὶ νόμου ἰσχυροῦ. For the full exchange between Demaratus and Xerxes, see Herod. 7.100–105. 26 How far Herodotus believed that the Greeks, even the Spartans, lived up to this ideal may be questioned. It is interesting that in the classic instance of Sparta’s valiant resistance to Persia, the last stand at Thermopylae, Herodotus does not ascribe it to arête, The Spartans fought recklessly and madly; 7.223: παραχρεώμενοι τε καὶ ἀτεόντες. 27 Herod. 9.78–79: τὰ πρέπει μᾶλλον βαρβάροισι ποιέειν ἥ περ Ἕλλησι, καὶ ἐκείνοισι δὲ ἐπιφθονέομεν. See also above, chapter one.

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III Herodotus did not champion the idea of pure ethnicity. Even claims on autochthony in his narrative fell short of it. The Athenians themselves who took such pride in their autochthony were compromised. The historian presents a confused and tangled tale that is almost unfathomable. But he does, in some sense, have the Athenians descend from the mysterious Pelasgians who spoke a non-Greek tongue and were evidently barbaroi. Even Athens’ vaunted autochthony did not amount to a claim on unsullied ethnicity.28 Elsewhere in Herodotus’ text the issue receives inconsistent treatment. With regard to the Egyptians, by contrast to Athens, the historian accepts uncritically and unequivocally their own account of having dwelled in their land from time immemorial.29 On other occasions too Herodotus declares the autochthony of certain peoples without inquiring into the authenticity of the assertion. He distinguishes, for example, between the indigenous peoples of north Africa, the Libyans and Ethiopians, and the later settlers, Phoenicians and Greeks.30 He makes the same distinction for peoples of the Peloponnese, some of them native to the soil, others immigrants who came from outside. And matters were still more complex. The Cynurians were considered to be Ionians, indeed the only Ionians in the Peloponnese who were autochthonous, but under Argive suzerainty they had become “Dorianized”.31 Herodotus was untroubled by such complications. The assertion of being indigenous could be disputed or even denied. In a striking instance, Herodotus maintained that the Caunians are autochthonous, although the Caunians themselves deny it! They prefer to assert a descent from Crete. The historian refrains from pursuing the matter, comparing and contrasting them instead with the Carians.32 How to sort out their ethnicity does not seem to Herodotus all that important.33 Belief in autochthony had little correspondence to a sense of ethnic distinctiveness.

|| 28 Herod. 1.56–58, 8.44.2. On the intractable problem of the Pelasgians, see Sakellariou (1977), 81–100; Thomas (2000), 119–122; Sorvinou-Inwood (2003), 103–144; Gruen (2011), 236–243, with further bibliography. 29 Herod. 2.15. He accepts a similar claim of autochthony by the obscure Scythian tribe of the Budini; 4.109. 30 Herod. 4.197.2. 31 Herod. 8.73. 32 Herod. 1.172. 33 Note, for example, that Herodotus mentions elsewhere a people whom he calls the “Greek Scythians”—without any elaboration; 4.17. Cf. his somewhat confused remarks on the Geloni; 4.108. See above.

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Ostensible indicators of ethnicity appear occasionally in the pages of the historian but do not serve as the basic mark of identity. Herodotus mentions black men of smaller than normal stature in Libya, presumably pygmies, but only in passing and makes nothing of it.34 At the opposite end of the spectrum, he reports the reputation of the Ethiopians as being the largest and most handsome of all men, without making it the defining characteristic of the people.35 These are offhand comments, similar to a reference to the black semen of the Indians which supposedly resembles that of the Ethiopians.36 Or to the report that the Budini have blue eyes and a ruddy complexion.37 Or to the distinction between eastern and western Ethiopians, illustrated by the straight hair of the one and the curly hair of the other.38 These are all brush-by remarks; Herodotus makes no effort to present them as decisive ethnic markers. Far from it. Indeed, when he observes that the Colchians were dark-skinned and curly-haired, he states explicitly that that counts for nothing in terms of identity, for there were other people too with the same characteristics.39

IV Nor does Herodotus subscribe to the notion that climate or geography determines the makeup of various peoples. Allusions to such influence are few and far-between. Herodotus famously opens his discussion of Egyptian habits with the statement that as Egypt has a climate peculiar to itself and a river different from that of all others, so do its people have all their customs and laws contrary for the most part to those of all others.40 This has led to the conclusion that Herodotus was a convinced exponent of environmental determinism.41 That does not, however, follow from his statement. Herodotus simply draws an analogy between the uniqueness of Egypt’s climate and river and its people’s practices which reverse

|| 34 Herod. 2.32.6–7. 35 Herod. 3.20.1, 3.114. 36 Herod. 3.101. 37 Herod. 4.108.1. 38 Herod. 7.70.1. 39 Herod. 2.104.2: καὶ τοῦτο μὲν ἐς οὐδὲν ἀνήκει; εἰσὶ γὰρ καὶ ἕτεροι τοιοῦτοι. 40 Herod. 2.35.2: Αἰγύπτιοι ἅμα τῷ οὐρανῷ τῷ κατὰ σφέας ἐόντι ἑτεροίῷ καὶ τῷ ποταμῷ φύσιν ἀλλοίην παρεχομένῷ ἥ οἱ ἅλλοι ποταμοί, τὰ πολλὰ πάντα ἕμπαλιν τοῖσι ἅλλοισι ἀνθρώποισι ἐστήσαντο ἥθεά τε καὶ νόμους. 41 Asheri et al. (2007), 262. So also How and Wells (1912), II, 36–337. For a more cautious and sober assessment, see Thomas (2000), 104–105; Isaac (2004), 58–59.

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those of all others. Indeed the customs he proceeds to point to, like Egyptian women buying and selling while men are at home, or daughters forced to support their parents while sons have no obligations, or a whole range of religious rituals, have little or nothing whatever to do with geography and environment.42 Perhaps the most direct reference to environmental factors influencing the fortunes of humankind comes at the very conclusion of Herodotus’ work. The historian indulges in a pregnant flashback. Cyrus the Great had just completed the conquest of the Medes and had placed vast new territory in Persian possession. His advisers now urged him to have the Persians, hitherto confined to a small and rugged country, occupy a more desirable location and one more suitable to their position of authority. Cyrus listened politely but warned that if they do so, they would soon lose their preeminence, for “soft lands produce soft men.”43 The soft/hard, luxury/austerity contrast is, of course, a literary cliché, harkening back to the advice that Croesus gave to Cyrus when he proposed that providing material advantage to Lydians would make them weak and more easily controlled.44 Croesus had ignored precisely that same counsel earlier—to his cost.45 The cliché reappears in the famous contrast between Spartan austerity and Persian extravagance after Pausanias’ victory at Plataea.46 It is noteworthy that this commonplace is set in the mouths of Croesus, Cyrus, or Pausanias. The topos can hardly serve as evidence for a Herodotean advocacy of environmental determinism.47

|| 42 Herod. 2.35–42. 43 Herod. 9.122: φιλέειν γὰρ ἐκ τῶν μαλακῶν χώρων μαλακοοὺς γίνεσθαι. 44 Herod. 1.155.4. 45 Herod. 1.71. 46 Herod. 9.82. 47 See the sensible discussion of Thomas (2000), 102–114; cf. Isaac (2004), 56–60. A few other ancients do express views that suggest something like environmental determinism. The fullest such statement is the Hippocratic treatise, Airs, Waters, Places, probably composed somewhat later than Herodotus in the 5th century. See the edition of Jouanna (1996). The author draws a contrast between “Europe” and “Asia” on the basis of climate and geography, evidently but confusingly according greater physical stature, toughness, and courage to inhabitants of the former and branding the latter with flabbiness and cowardice; Airs, 12, 16, 19, 23–24. The treatment, however, is inconsistent and muddled, far from a coherent exposition. The author also finds that institutions and customs play a role in distinguishing the warlike from the pacific, thus softening or complicating the impact of the physical world; 16, 23. On the confusions and inconsistencies in the work, see Tuplin (1999), 62–69; Thomas (2000), 86–98; Isaac (2004), 60–69. An analogous but sharper construct appears in Aristotle who finds the people of Europe and the north braced by cold weather as vigorous and spirited but lacking in reasoning powers and ability, whereas those of Asia and the south are intelligent and competent but without vitality and thus readily subject to servitude. The Greeks by contrast, so he contends, by dwelling in the geographic mid-

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Is language the critical criterion for determining ethnicity? It counts as one of the items noted by the Athenian spokesmen as denoting “Hellenicity”.48 But only one. Herodotus does point to it as a distinguishing feature that changed the Attic ethnos into Greeks when they shed their Pelasgian lineage.49 And he notes that the Eretrians, when they were captured and transplanted to the Persian realm, retained their ancestral tongue, evidently as a signal of identity.50 But language can be insufficient or imprecise as a defining feature. The Egyptians, for example, regarded everyone who did not speak their language as a “barbarian”, a parallel to the Greek labeling of non-Greek speakers, which meant that language was altogether indiscriminate in identifying particular ethnicities.51 It can also be too discriminate. Herodotus observes that there are many Indian nations and none of them speaks the same language.52 Hence no individual tongue can serve to distinguish Indians themselves. And, to add to the complexity, Herodotus makes reference to the Scythian people of Gelonus as using a language that is both Scythian and Greek, evidently a form of mixed dialect.53 Language in short cannot by itself do the job of identifying ethnicity.

V The vast proportion of Herodotus’ ethnographic digressions concerns customs, practices, folkways, and religious rites. The historian is often quizzical, sometimes appalled, but generally respectful of the diversity of traditions and conventions that he encountered either in person or through hearsay. Indeed he strongly propounded a form of cultural relativism. He denounced the deranged Persian king Cambyses for trampling upon the religious beliefs and practices of other

|| dle, have the best qualities of both; Aristotle, Pol. 1327b. Brief allusions to the effects of environment on character appear elsewhere occasionally in other sources; e.g. Plato, Leg. 747c–e; Polyb. 4.2I. See the discussion of Clarke (1999), 87–91, 218–219, and the thorough treatment by Isaac (2004), 69–109, with bibliography. How widespread was this sense of environmental influence on character is difficult to say. In any case, the consequences of climate and geography are a matter quite separate from ethnic or inherited attributes. 48 Herod. 8.144.2. 49 Herod. 1.57: τὸ Ἀττικον ἕθνος ἐὸν Πελασγικόν ἅμα τῇ μεταβολῇ τῇ ἐς Ἕλληνας καὶ τὴν γλῶσσαν μετέμαθε. 50 Herod. 6.119. 51 Herod. 2.158.5. 52 Herod. 3.98.3: ἕστι δὲ πολλὰ ἕθνεα Ἰνδῶν καὶ οὐκ ὁμόφωνα σφίσι. 53 Herod. 3.108.

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peoples. In a memorable episode, Herodotus has the subsequent king Darius underscore the value of tolerance quite unequivocally. In his account, Darius called to his court representatives of Greeks and Indians. When he asked the Greeks what it would take for them to eat the dead bodies of their fathers, they recoiled in horror and declared that no price could possibly induce them to perform such a deed. Darius then turned to the Kalliatai from India who regularly feasted on their dead parents and asked how much they would require to burn them after death. He got the same reaction of abject shock and revulsion. Darius had made his point. And Herodotus quoted the famous line of Pindar that “custom is king of all.”54 The historian follows this up much later in a different context but in his own voice by declaring that if all men were to bring their personal troubles to the marketplace to barter them for those of others, each would depart from the proceedings by taking home what he had brought in the first place.55 But, although Herodotus shows due consideration to the beliefs and experiences with which various nations associate themselves, that is a very different matter from reckoning that custom supplies the key to ethnic identity. Customs, after all, shift, overlap, are borrowed, shared, adapted, or abandoned. They fascinate Herodotus, but he rarely regards them as a unique brand that defines a culture. Persians, for example, readily embrace the practices of other peoples—including some unworthy ones learned from Greeks!56 A large number of Egyptian garrison troops who had been kept in service for an inordinate length of time revolted and deserted to Ethiopia where they were welcomed by the king and supplied with land. One of the consequences of that migration, according to Herodotus, was the embrace by Ethiopians of Egyptian customs—which turned them into gentler people.57 Borrowing and sharing also constitute the core of Herodotus’ brief excursus on circumcision. He singles out Colchians and Egyptians as those who practiced the ritual from the start. Phoenicians and the Syrians of Palestine (Jews?) learned it from Egyptians, and other Syrians adapted it more recently from the Colchians. Herodotus could not confirm whether the Egyptians took it from the Ethiopians or Ethiopians from Egyptians. In any case the fluidity of the practice is paramount. And Herodotus underscores the point by affirming

|| 54 Herod. 3.38. 55 Herod. 7.152.2. 56 Herod. 1.135 57 Herod. 2.30: τούτων δὲ ἐσοικισθέντων ἐς τοὺς Αἰθίοπας ἡμερώτεροι γεγόνασι Αἰθίοπες, ἥθεα μαθόντες Αἰγύπτια.

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that those Phoenicians who came into close contact with Greeks ceased to imitate Egyptians and dropped the practice of circumcising their sons.58 Not all nations, to be sure, were quite so flexible and accommodating. Egyptians, for example, shrink from embracing Greek observances, and indeed those of all other people.59 Herodotus, with some displeasure, reports that the Scythians shun the usages of all other peoples, especially the Greeks and, in fact, apply the extreme penalty upon those who stray from the fold.60 The thrust of these accounts, however, clearly implies that they were exceptions, not the norm. Borrowing and imitating were far more common. Other examples could readily be cited. So, e.g., the Asbystae imitated Cyrenaean usages, while the Greeks adopted Libyan specialties like the driving of chariots. Spartan funerary and mourning conventions upon the deaths of kings are identical to those of the non-Greeks in Asia, and the Spartan policy of having the new king forgive unpaid debts to the crown was quite similar to the Persian king’s cancellation of all tribute from cities upon accession.61 Customs and conventions fit poorly as ideal identifiers. More strikingly, not only were customs malleable, so was character. As we have seen, Ethiopians became a milder people when adopting the habits of Egyptians, Lydians could be expected to grow soft when they took on cushioned clothing and learned to indulge in music and dance, and even Persians would lose their edge when settled in comfort and life was easy.62 Furthermore, Herodotus had doubts about unadulterated ethnicity. His discussion of the Ionians is particularly revealing on this point. He rejects as foolishness the idea that the Ionians of Asia are any more Ionian or of better lineage than other Ionians. He punctures that idea by pointing out that some of them derive from the Abantes of Euboea who are no Ionians at all and that others are intermingled with a whole range of tribes and peoples originally from places in Boeotia, Arcadia, Phocis, Epirus, Epidaurus, and elsewhere. And he goes further still. Even those who came from Athens itself and reckon themselves as the noblest born of the Ionians left their wives at home and bred with Carian women, thereby producing a society of mixed breeds.63

|| 58 Herod. 2.104. See the comments of Lloyd in Asheri, et al. (2007), 314–315. 59 Herod. 2.91.1. 60 Herod. 4.76–80. See the treatment of this segment by Asheri, et al. (2007), 635–640. 61 Herod. 6.58–59. 62 Herod. 1.155, 2.30, 9.122. 63 Herod. 1.146; cf. Asheri, et al. (2007), 176–177.

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VI Where does one find ethnicity in all this? Herodotus operated without a formulated definition and without a thesis to prove. The one statement that ostensibly projects a set of criteria actually belongs to a specific circumstance, carries a rhetorical function, and has no resonance elsewhere in the text. “Common blood” occurs among the criteria in that much cited passage. But it disappears in Herodotus’ text as a whole. The historian does indeed trace genealogies, whether legendary or verifiable. Such references to lineage, however, confine themselves largely to royal lines rather than to collective ethnicities. The historian as ethnographer (ancients did not normally draw a distinction) supplied a wealth of information about behavior, beliefs, ritual observances, and notable traits of a broad span of peoples, nations, and tribes. Rarely, if at all, however, did he deploy these items to illustrate unique character that would convey an ethnic identity. Herodotus sought no simple solution to a quest that moderns have pursued. He was indeed perfectly comfortable with complexity. When Greek character was compared with Persian, he eschewed stark contrast and injected irony. He could mock claims on autochthony by some and pass them on without comment for others. Apparent allusion to national character swiftly resolved itself into a recounting of peculiar practices. He recognizes the influence of climate and geography but avoids any recourse to environmental determinism. Language played an ambiguous role. It could either draw broad lines of distinction that did not define specific differences among language groups or it could be too precise and multiply differentiations so as to cloud any overall ethnicity. Custom is king according to Pindar and reiterated by Herodotus. But customs not only varied, they overlapped, they were imitated, borrowed, or adapted. They were also malleable. They could be reshaped, resisted, or discarded. They could not go to the heart of ethnic identity. Herodotus left us with no schema or defining formula. He did not supply an answer to the question of what constitutes ethnic identity. More significantly, he never asked the question.

3 The Racial Judgments of Polybius Polybius was not one to disguise his likes and dislikes. He held little back. The historian showed firmness and passion in expressing his assessment of individuals, groups, and nations. His admiration for men like Aratus, Philopoemen, or Scipio Aemilianus is plain, as is his distaste, on various grounds, for such persons as Timaeus, Callicrates, or Prusias II. The gallery of heroes and villains was long. And he had sharp opinions to express about peoples as well. His own Achaeans stood foremost among those with positive evaluations, the Romans largely so, at least in much of his work, whereas the Aetolians, Cretans, and Alexandrians fared far less well. Polybius’ opinions were usually clear and unequivocal. One would expect similar clarity in the historian’s evaluation of the “other”, of the nations and cultures that stood outside the world of the Greeks and the Romans, whose characteristics, behavior, and customs kept them distinct from the civilizations of which Polybius was a part and with which he felt most comfortable. How did he appraise the xenoi, the barbaroi, the aliens, indeed the adversaries of those with whom he identified? The subject has never received systematic investigation. It is, of course, easy to cite a range of hostile and censorious remarks. But a more fundamental issue needs to be addressed. Did Polybius’ estimate of the “other” represent a judgment on ethnicity? Is there a racial element in the expressed attitudes? Was the inferiority of the “other” inherited and inescapable?

I Polybius had much to say about individual foreign peoples who were enemies of Greeks or Romans or both. The comments, as might be expected, are normally negative. But did they possess a racial dimension that set such peoples forever outside the realm of Greco-Roman society? The Gauls or Celts can serve as a valuable case in point. They play a role of some significance in Polybius’ text. As fearsome foes of both Greece and Rome at critical times, they certainly drew the historian’s attention. Gauls notoriously had swooped down upon Delphi in 279 BCE, intent upon destroying the sacred shrine, repelled only by a coalition of Greek states headed by the Aetolians—and, as tradition had it, by emergence of the god Apollo himself who supplied thunder,

https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110685657-004

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lightning bolts, a snow storm and a rock slide to scatter the invaders.1 The event had terrified the Greek world. An equally traumatic experience had afflicted early Roman history and reverberated in subsequent centuries. The Celts had descended from the Po Valley upon Rome itself in 390 BCE, routed a Roman army, and sacked the city, a catastrophe burned in searing fashion into Roman memory.2 That was just the start. After being turned back at Delphi, Gallic tribes migrated to Anatolia where they swiftly gained the reputation of menacing fighters and enemies of Hellenic civilization. That image was sedulously fostered by the Attalids of Pergamum, the ruling dynasty, who portrayed themselves as champions of Hellenism through monuments and inscriptions, an image enhanced by representing the Celts as brutal barbarians bent on destruction.3 Further, the Romans engaged in repeated battles with Gallic peoples in northern Italy from the mid-4th through the 2nd century BCE.4 That was well within the lifetime of Polybius. When the Achaean historian took up his pen hostilities were still fresh in mind and some were yet to come. It is hardly surprising that Polybius had unflattering things to say about the Gauls.5 He had reason to delineate their animosity and their failings, either to embolden his Roman readers or to reassure them. Celts had a general reputation for greed and untrustworthiness, a reputation the historian played upon and exploited.6 In his presentation, Celts did not hesitate to appropriate the property of neighbors or allies.7 Avariciousness became a hallmark.8 They were susceptible to drunken excesses.9 Polybius more than once charges them with ἀθεσία: they were fickle and unreliable.10 They were also prone to unreasoning passion, governed in their actions more by fervor than by calm calculation.11 He makes reference to their arrogance, their violence, and their lawlessness.12 On the battlefield, they could produce a spirited opening thrust, but

|| 1 See, esp. Pausanias, 1.4.4, 22.12–23.14; Justin, 24.6.6–8.15. 2 Fullest testimony in Livy, 5.33–44. 3 See Schalles (1985); Gruen (2000), 17–31, with references. Polybius, 18.41.7, takes note of Attalus I’s exploitation of his victory over Gauls to burnish his image. 4 See the valuable survey by Dyson (1985), 17–86. 5 Berger (1992), 105–126; idem (1995), 517–525. 6 On the Gallic reputation generally, see Williams (2001), 18–69. 7 Polyb. 2.7.5–6, 2.19.3–4. 8 Polyb. 2.17.3–4, 2.22.2–3, 3.78.5. 9 Polyb. 2.19.4. 10 Polyb. 2.32.8, 3.49.2, 3.70.4, 3.78.2. 11 Polyb. 2.21.2, 2.35.3. 12 Polyb. 3.3.5, 18.37.9, 21.41.2–3.

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lacked the ability to sustain it.13 Polybius hammers at the unattractive qualities of Celtic behavior. No wonder that scholars have interpreted Polybius’ assessment of the Gauls as a representation of the quintessential “other”.14 It is well to remember, however, that almost all of the comments come in the context of warfare. And the Gauls regularly enter the picture as enemies of Rome and fierce foes on the battlefield. Concentration on the negative should hardly cause surprise. Yet Polybius, most interestingly, does not confine himself to disparagement. He sketches those qualities that made Gauls worthy adversaries for Rome. They had impressive size and attractive appearance.15 Some at least had a reputation for courage.16 And in certain cases they exhibited admirable spirit and intelligence.17 In battle they demonstrated boldness, even desperate boldness— which could strike terror into their adversaries.18 Those Gauls who had migrated to Anatolia gained repute as the toughest and most warlike people in Asia.19 Polybius praised the good order of their military formation.20 More revealing still is the historian’s account of the renewal of hostilities between Gauls and Romans in 232 BCE after a long hiatus. He ascribes the origin of the conflict squarely to Roman aggression. Expansion and expropriation of land by Romans in Picenum had resulted in expulsion of the Senones, and the Boii feared (with some justice) that they were next. The latter now seized the opportunity to initiate warfare on perfectly reasonable grounds: they were convinced that Roman action presaged no mere conflict for supremacy but the implementation of genocide.21 Gallic enmity toward Rome is thus far from irrational.22 Polybius plainly does not represent Gauls merely as raving savages. They fought for their homelands against the greater power determined to eradicate them. The picture is a more complex and nuanced one than is sometimes understood. Gauls possessed admirable as well as disreputable qualities, a point that Polybius does not suppress or disguise. But his portrayal goes beyond a balanc-

|| 13 Polyb. 2.33.2–3, 2.35.6; cf. 3.43.12. 14 See especially the extensive study by Foulon (2000), 319–354; (2001), 35–64. Cf. also Berger (1992), 105–126. 15 Polyb. 2.15.7. 16 Polyb. 2.15.7, 3.34.2, 5.111.2. 17 Polyb. 21.38. 18 Polyb. 2.18.1–2, 2.35.2. 19 Polyb. 18.41.7. 20 Polyb. 2.29.5. 21 Polyb. 2.21.7–9. 22 Cf. Polyb. 3.34.2, 3.78.5.

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ing act between depictions of worthy and unworthy traits. Polybius avoids reducing the Celts to the stereotyped and cardboard image of a people whose character and behavior derive from innate deficiency. The various tribes who lived in and around the Po Valley, according to the historian, led simple lives, dwelling in villages, with minimal possessions, lacking knowledge of intellectual matters or the crafts, and absorbed with agriculture and warfare.23 That description, while hardly flattering, carries no pejorative overtones.24 The Gauls had limited means and limited needs. The circumstances of geography and history determined the way of life, not inborn failings. In speaking of the Gallic penchant for excessive drinking followed by seizure of neighbors’ property and a falling out among themselves over spoils, Polybius ascribes it to conventional behavior rather than to ethnic inferiority.25 Nor does his reference to Gallic passion, θυμός, constitute an ethnic idenrtifier. Romans too yielded to θυμός.26 Does Polybius anywhere suggest that Gallic characteristics have an innate or hereditary basis? Take their supposed greediness. Far from an inherent trait, it appears in Polybius as a rumor: φήμη.27 The historian does make reference to Γαλατική ἀθεσία (“Gallic fickleness”), which, on the face of it, could be interpreted as a national characteristic.28 But the context suggests something quite different. Polybius refers here to the untrustworthiness of Gallic allies enlisted by Romans against other Gauls, an understandable concern about their allegiance— not allusion to an inborn tendency.29 Elsewhere and similarly, when Polybius calls attention to the ἀθεσία of the Celts and the unlikelihood of their keeping faith, he has a particular context in mind: Gallic mercenaries in the service of Carthage whose loyalty could not be relied upon if they were forced to endure an extended period of inactivity and idleness.30 Paradoxically, Polybius also has Hannibal suspect the reliability of Gauls in his army on the opposite grounds of

|| 23 Polyb. 2.17.9–12. The influence of environmental and geographic conditions on the temperament and behavior of peoples is a matter that appears elsewhere in Polybius; 4.21.1–2; Livy, 45.30.7. That does not, of course, make him an environmental determinist. Note that he has the Arcadians overcome to a large extent the harsh conditions of their surroundings by conscious effort; 4.21.3–4. Cf. Eckstein (1995), 172. 24 See Gruen (2011), 142–143. Contra: Williams (2001), 79–88. 25 Polyb. 2.19.3–4: τοῦτο δὲ σύνηθές. On Polybius’ view of drunkenness generally, see Eckstein (1995), 285–289. 26 Polyb. 2.19.10. For Gallic θυμός, see Polyb. 2.21.2, 2.35.2–3. 27 Polyb. 2.7.5–6. 28 Polyb. 2.32.8. So Berger (1995), 521–522. 29 Polyb. 2.32.1–10. 30 Polyb. 3.70.4; cf. 3.78.2.

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their softness and resistance to labor—without noticing any inconsistency.31 Are the Gauls impatient for action or resistant to it? Either way the passages have reference to Gallic mercenaries in the hire of others. The special circumstances of mercenary service, where loyalty is always a troublesome issue, do not translate into reflections of national character.32 An interesting passage offers a revealing window on Polybius’ portrait of the Celts. He reports that after the wars of the early 3rd century, the Gauls kept the peace for forty-five years. A whole generation and more whose memories had been seared by the distress and afflictions of war preferred to keep it at arm’s length. Matters changed only when a new generation had grown up, one inexperienced in the sufferings and dangers of battle. The young men, hot-headed and spirited, began to dismantle the accords and stirred up conflict once again with the Romans before falling out among themselves and engaging in internal strife that led eventually to Roman aggrandizement.33 Polybius’ narrative here negates the idea of an inflexible Gallic militancy bent on perpetual conflict, whether driven by material gain or by heedless passion.34 A change in the generations accounts for the dramatic new situation that shattered a lengthy peace. The Gauls were not trapped in a locked ethnicity.

II Polybius had good reason to engage in his History with the Phoenicians, or rather with their direct descendants, the Carthaginians. His narrative of Roman imperial expansion covered three major clashes with Carthage, the most formidable of Rome’s antagonists, the so-called Punic Wars. One might anticipate a less than agreeable verdict on that Phoenician power which almost halted Rome’s overseas expansion when it was still in its infancy. Yet Polybius paints no simple or onesided picture. Phoenicians had long had a somewhat mixed reputation among Greek writers. They were admired as merchantmen, shippers, and wide-ranging colonists. But those achievements could also lend themselves to the more ques-

|| 31 Polyb. 3.79.4–7. 32 For Polybius on mercenaries, see Eckstein (1995), 125–129; Gibson (2013), 165–172; Isaayev (2017), 296–305. 33 Polyb. 2.21.1–9. 34 Polybius’ phrase at 2.21.3, ὃ φύσιν ἔχει γίνεσθαι, indicates the natural change that comes with a generational shift, and says nothing about Gallic nature.

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tionable impressions of greed, chicanery, and the deviousness of overseas traders.35 Polybius was not immune from some of the negative stereotypes. He claims that Carthaginians saw no shame in grubbing after profit.36 And he records assertions regarding numerous acts of injustice committed by Carthaginians.37 Polybius, however, shows little inclination toward Punic character assassination. It is noteworthy, for example, that he provides no echo of the hostile slogan that later surfaced among Roman writers, the supposed Punica fides (Carthaginian perfidy).38 On the contrary. In narrating the mutual charges of treaty violations that Romans and Carthaginians slung at one another in the preliminaries to the Second Punic War, the historian is rather more than even-handed. He puts into Hannibal’s mouth the bold assertion that Carthaginians would not overlook the treaty infractions committed by Romans because it was his nation’s practice not to neglect those who were victims of injustice.39 And Polybius in his own voice pronounces unequivocally upon the real perpetrators of the war. The most important cause of the conflict, he maintains, was the Roman seizure of Sardinia and the tribute that was unjustly imposed. Carthage, in short, had good reason to go to war.40 Perfidy was on the other side. Polybius’ account presupposes that Carthaginians, far from earning the epithet of inveterate treaty-breakers, untrustworthy and even treacherous by nature, made a point of justifying their position precisely in terms of adherence to agreements, a matter of national pride. In Hannibal’s mouth this was, of course, a rhetorical piece, something that a spokesman for the cause might have been expected to say. But in addition to his own concurring view, the fact that Polybius assigns the position to Hannibal, Rome’s fiercest foe, carries real significance. For Polybius, Carthaginians evidently did not labor under the ethnic stereotype of faithlessness. Does Polybius anywhere ascribe to the Phoenicians/Carthaginians traits that derive from national character?41 Two passages might point in that direction. The

|| 35 Cf. Diod. 5.35.4; Ps. Arist. De Mir. Ausc. 135; see Capomacchia (1991), 267–269; Mazza (1988), 548–567; other references in Gruen (2011), 116–122. 36 Polyb. 6.56.1; cf. 9.11.2, 9.25.4. 37 Polyb. 10.37.8–10. 38 On the ambiguities and problematic nature of the phrase Punica fides, see Gruen (2011), 115– 140; Quinn (2018), 56–59. 39 Polyb. 3.15.5–7: οὓ οὐ περιόψεσθαι παρεσπονδημένους. πάτριον γὰρ εἶναι Καρχηδονίοις τὸ μηδένα τῶν ἀδικουμένων περιορᾶν. 40 Polyb. 3.10.3–5, 3.15.10, 3.30.4. Cf. Gruen (2011), 123–125. 41 The very idea of “Phoenicians” as an ethnic entity has rightly been questioned by Quinn (2018), especially 25–62, who shows that the term is applied to them by Greek and Roman authors and is not a self-ascription by Phoenicians who regularly identified themselves by their

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historian, in describing Hannibal’s method of protecting himself against possible assassins among his Gallic allies, notes that he possessed a number of wigs of different colors which he put on or took off at different intervals to disguise his identity. And Polybius designates this deception as a “Phoenician stratagem” (Φοινικικῷ στρατηγήματι).42 Does this indicate a natural Phoenician inclination to deceitfulness?43 Not necessarily. Polybius refrains from negative judgment on this maneuver; it was merely a clever scheme to frustrate would-be murderers. Since the artifice worked, one might even see it as an affirmative assessment. At worst, it alludes to Phoenician reputation for craftiness, a notion that attached to sailing traders, merchants, and overseas settlers, not an attribute adhering solely to that nation.44 The second passage constitutes the one clear reference to innate qualities belonging to Phoenicians and drawing the historian’s censure. In commenting on the Phoenicians’ tendency to fight among themselves, he refers to their inherent greed and love of rule.45 But greed and ruling ambitions are hardly characteristics exclusive to Phoenicians.46 Polybius evidently conveyed some familiar Hellenic impressions of dubious Phoenician qualities, without singling them out as special to that nation. He certainly did not allow them to dominate his assessment of Carthaginians generally.47 The Achaean historian, in fact, expands on Aristotle in his admiring evaluation of the Carthaginian constitution. As is well known, Polybius devotes Book VI of his history to a discussion of Rome’s constitutional structure, which || city or local origin. And even the external perceptions did not reckon them as a collective ethnic group. 42 Polyb. 3.78.1. Cf. Plato’s reference to the “noble lie” as “something Phoenician”; Rep. 3.414 B-C. Posidonius claims that stories about an oracle and expeditions from Tyre to the Pillars of Herakles are a “Phoenician lie”; Strabo, 3.5.5. That need not signify a proverbial expression about Phoenician falsehood, and may be no more than an indication of the source for this disinformation. 43 It is taken as such by Walbank, I (1957), 412, and Franko (1994), 158, 44 Cf. Homer, Od. 13.271, 15.415. 45 Polyb. 9.11.1–2: πρòς αὑτοὺς ἐστασίαζον, ἀεὶ παρτατριβόμενοι διὰ τὴν ἔμφυτον Φοίνιξι πλεονεξίαν καὶ φιλαρχίαν. Other references to greed, though not necessarily as an inborn character, in Polyb. 6.56.1, 9.25.4. aggrandizement; 2.45.1. 46 Polybius uses closely similar phraseology in denouncing the Aetolians for their natural tendency to injustice and aggrandizement; 2.45.1: ἔμφυτον ἀδικίαν καὶ πλεονεξίαν. They too had no monopoly on those qualities. 47 Polybius does describe the war fought by Carthaginians against their mercenary soldiers in North Africa, after defeat at Roman hands in the First Punic War, as one that exceeded all prior conflicts in cruelty and violation of law; 1.88.5–6. But the Carthaginians are not singled out as villains. The ferocity owed at least as much to the actions and policies of the mercenaries; Polyb. 1.80–81, 1.86.

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he adjudges as superior to all others. But he reckons the Carthaginian system as providing a worthy comparison. Its institutions too provide a blend of monarchic, aristocratic, and democratic elements, a well conceived and admirable organization.48 In Polybius’ eyes, to be sure, Rome has the edge, for Carthage has passed its peak and Rome was just reaching its pinnacle.49 Carthage nonetheless represented the principal benchmark by which to measure Roman success. When appropriate Polybius could pay generous tribute to Carthaginian qualities. After Carthage’s defeat at Drepana which effectively concluded the First Punic War, he offers a notably laudatory appraisal of the nation’s character. Despite unanticipated defeat, he says, the Carthaginians in their determination and love of honor were even now ready to fight on, yielding only to the force of rational calculation.50 Polybius refrains from branding the nation with clichés about intrinsic deficiencies.

III By contrast, the Egyptians seem to have no saving graces—at least on the face of it. Polybius was deeply affected by the murderous scenes in Alexandria that followed the death of Ptolemy IV in 204 BCE, leading to the usurpation of power by ministers of the crown and mob riots against those who had seized control. The historian supplies vivid scenes of stabbings, mutilation, torture, plucking out of eyes, and even vicious biting by relentless crowds. And he employs this as exhibit of the dire cruelty produced by the anger of those who dwell in Egypt.51 Polybius made a personal visit to Alexandria some time after 145 BCE, and left with a decidedly unfavorable impression. He discerned three different groups in the city: native Egyptians, mercenaries, and the genos of the Alexandrians. With regard to the indigenous population in particular, on the usual interpretation, he labeled

|| 48 Polyb. 6.43.1, 6.47.9, 6.51.1–2. For Aristotle on Carthage, see Aristotle, Pol, 1272b, 1273a–b. 49 Polyb. 6.51–52, 6.56.1–5. 50 Polyb. 1.62.1: ταῖς μὲν ὁρμαῖς καὶ ταῖς φιλοτιμίαις ἀκμὴν ἕτοιμοι πολεμεῖν ἦσαν, τοῖς δὲ λογισμοῖς ἐξηπόρουν. Polybius proceeds to praise to the skies the sagacity and prudence of the Carthaginian general Hamilcar who had used every possible means to keep his nation’s chances alive, but yielded gracefully when rational hope was lost and concluded a peace treaty; 1.62.3– 7. See also the admiring comment on Carthaginian dignity and unwillingness to submit to humiliating terms; 1.31.8. 51 Polyb. 15.33.10: δεινὴ γαρ τις ἡ περὶ τοὺς θυμοὺς ὠμότης γίνεται τῶν κατὰ τὴν Αἴγυπτον ὰνθρώπων.

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them as volatile and resistant to civil control.52 Other incidental comments also deliver negative judgments. In praising the Ptolemaic general in Cyprus, Polybius notes that he was in no way like an Egyptian but rather sensible and competent.53 And in his generally laudatory obituary of Ptolemy VI Philometor, Polybius includes the comment that when things went well, Ptolemy’s spirit slackened a little and there was a certain Egyptian sluggishness and dissoluteness about him.54 Are we then to infer that for Polybius Egyptians were by nature cruel, angry, and vicious, volatile and not subject to control, but also sluggish and dissolute? Those characteristics do not easily cohere with one another. The inconsistencies, in fact, suggest that they may represent off-hand comments inspired by certain events, circumstances, or individuals rather than profound judgments about Egyptian character. A somewhat different picture appears elsewhere in Polybius’ text. A famous passage speaks of the aftermath of the battle of Raphia in 217 BCE, a major victory for the Ptolemaic forces against Antiochus III. Ptolemy had recruited and armed a substantial number of Egyptians prior to this battle. As a consequence, the triumph emboldened the native Egyptians, who took great pride in the accomplishment, were no longer eager to fall in line behind the ruler, sought a new leader, and felt ready to rely on themselves—a feat that they accomplished not long thereafter.55 That would certainly not comport with a portrait of dissoluteness or indolence. Polybius’ depiction of the three groups of people whom he identified in Alexandria requires further scrutiny. He distinguished native Egyptians, mercenaries, and Alexandrians. On the current interpretation, he has hardly a kind word for any of the three, and he felt disgust at the condition of the city. He found the mercenaries oppressive and uneducated, and the Alexandrians not thoroughly attuned to civic society but better at least than the mercenaries because, though a mixed amalgam, they were Greek by origin and retained customs common to all Greeks.56 Indigenous Egyptians, however, he describes as ὀξὺ καὶ πολιτικόν. The words have caused bafflement. They would appear to have positive resonance: “keen and civic-minded.” Yet scholars find it hard to believe that Polybius || 52 Polyb. 34.14.2: τό τε Αἰγύπτιον καὶ ἐπιχώριον φῦλον, ὀξὺ καὶ [οὐ] πολιτικόν. 53 Polyb. 27.13.1: οὐδαμῶς Αἰγυπτιακὸς γέγονεν, ἀλλὰ νουνεχὴς καὶ πρακτικός. 54 Polyb. 29.7.7: καί τις οἷον ἀσωτία καὶ ῥᾳθυμία περὶ αὐτὸν Αἰγυπτιακὴ συνέβαινεν. The exiled Spartan king Cleomenes, after a time in Alexandria, expressed dismay at the circumstances in Egypt; Polyb. 5.35.10. But his complaints focused on the king and the status of the kingdom, not on the Egyptians. 55 Polyb. 5.107.1–3. 56 Polyb. 34.14.1–8.

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would have set Egyptians in a favorable light, especially as the other groups are treated with some disdain. Hence πολιτικόν has been emended to ἀπολιτικόν or to οὐ πολιτικόν and the epithets translated as “volatile and resistant to civil control.”57 But a positive evaluation of Egyptians is not at all unreasonable. The keenness of the Egyptians reappears in Polybius’ account of the determined opposition to the regime in 204. And that opposition could also count as civic-mindedness, since Polybius certainly regarded the regime as illegitimate and loathsome. The passage should stand unemended and it certainly does not establish Egyptian ethnic deficiency in Polybius’ eyes. The viciousness and the barbarity displayed in Alexandria in 204 constitute a more serious charge, especially if they are ascribed to an Egyptian nature. But are they? Polybius attributes the anger and cruelty to “the men who dwell in Egypt.”58 The events themselves, however, took place in Alexandria, with its notoriously mixed population, consisting of Greeks, Jews, and a host of mercenaries from a range of nations, in addition to Egyptians. Who were the perpetrators of the savagery? Polybius’ account is unspecific. Leadership against the group that held power after the death of Ptolemy IV was taken by Macedonian soldiers in Alexandria, not by Egyptians.59 They were then joined by soldiers from garrisons in Upper Egypt, plainly Greeks and Macedonians.60 Widespread hostility against those in power expressed itself by “the people”, “the populace”, “the many”.61 They consisted of men of all nationalities, soldiers and civilians.62 There is no good reason to confine this outburst to native Egyptians—and none at all to presume that Polybius laid that charge solely or primarily to them.63 His criticisms of Egyptians stood apart from the strictures of innate shortcomings. Polybius’ evaluations of the alien, even the most formidable threats to Greeks or Romans, stemmed from moral judgments, not pronouncements on ethnicity.64

|| 57 Polyb. 34.14.2. See Fraser, II (1972), 145, n. 184; Walbank, III (1979), 629; idem (2002), 60. Erskine (2013), 347, is more circumspect. 58 Polyb. 15.33.10: τῶν κατὰ τήν Αἴγυπτον ἀνθρώπων. 59 Polyb. 15.26.1–8. 60 Polyb. 15.26.10–11. 61 Polyb. 15.27.1, 15.27.3, 15.28.8, 15.29.3, 15.30.4, 15.30.9, 15.32.4, 15.32.11, 15.33.5. 62 Polyb. 15.29.4: πάντα τὰ γένη συμπεφωνήκει καὶ τὰ στρατιωτικὰ καὶ τὰ πολιτικὰ. Cf. 15.30.4. 63 The assertion by Fraser, I (1972), 82, that “it cannot be doubted that he means the native Egyptians” is unjustified. For similar skepticism, see Erskine (2013), 351. 64 That matters of morality took central place in Polybius’ agenda was convincingly argued by Eckstein (1995).

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IV Did Polybius think in racial or ethnic terms at all when classifying people? Were they identified as descent or kinship groups defined in terms of heredity? The historian’s terminology might offer a clue, and needs to be explored. The words ethnos or genos with regard to human groups or collectives appear frequently in his text. On the face of it, that might suggest racial implications. A closer look suggests otherwise. The contexts and applications of those terms require scrutiny. Polybius uses the word ethnos or ethne on numerous occasions, over one hundred times. Did it have racial implications? Very far from it. The most substantial proportion of instances, about 40%, is political, rather than ethnic, in character. Ethnos is the most common designation for “league”, a collective polity, or what has most commonly been called a “federal state”—by contrast with polis.65 Polybius regularly employs the term, indeed the vast majority of such instances, to designate his own native state, the ethnos of the Achaeans: τὸ τῶν Ἀχαιῶν ἔθνος.66 In fact, he can shorten the phrase simply to ethnos, where the context makes it obvious that the Achaeans are meant.67 The word applies also to other collective polities, such as the Aetolian League or the Boeotian League.68 The meaning is unambiguous in each case. It refers to a collective entity, operating as a union of communities, engaged usually in political, diplomatic, or military activities. In his fullest description of the ethnos of the Achaeans, Polybius puts it in terms of a political union, a constitutional structure, a sharing of laws, weights, measures, and coinage, and joint eligibility for magistracies, council positions, and judicial offices, all political institutions.69 None of this bears any relation to ethnicity. Ethnos also comes into play with some frequency as carrying a generic signification, without precision, designating nothing more than a “people” or a “nation”, and lacking further specification as to what bound them together. Polybius can employ ethnos, for example, for the Numidians, the Arcadians, the Laconians, the Achaeans, the Masylioi, the Aetolians, the Acarnanians, the Boeotians,

|| 65 On the hazards of using the phrase “federal state”, see Mackil (2013), 4–8. 66 Polyb. 2.6.1, 2.12.4, 2.37.7, 2.40.5–6, 2.43.7, 2.43.10, 4.1.4, 4.17.7, 9.34.6, 9.38.9, 16.35.1, 22.3.5, 22.7.1, 23.9.1, 23.18.2, 24.1.6, 24.6.1, 24.10.10, 24.13.4, 30.13.8. 67 Polyb. 2.45.1, 2.45.4, 2.45.6, 2.51.2, 4.60.6, 22.7.9, 23.16.6, 23.16.12, 23.17.9, 28.13.13, 30.32.3, 38.9.6, 38.9.8. 68 Polyb. 2.12.5, 9.29.4, 9.38.9, 20.3.1, 20.5.2, 21.4.5, 21.33.1, 27.2.10. 69 Polyb. 2.37.7–10; cf. 2.38.5–9.

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indeed even the Gauls and the Jews.70 The historian further utilizes the word ethnos to denote peoples normally understood as “tribes”, within larger national units. That would hold for peoples like the Ardiaeans and the Dassaretae of Illyria, the Gallic Insubres, Boii, Senones, and others, the Spanish Olcades, Carpedani, Balearics, Vaccaei, and others, the tribes of Media, those settled along the Euxine, the tribes of Macedonia and of Thrace, those of Libya, and a variety of Italian peoples like the Brutii, Lucanians, and Samnites.71 The dwellers beyond the Pillars of Herakles are lumped together simply as “barbarian ethne”.72 Quite apart from nations, peoples, and tribes, the term could be stretched to designate those identified by their city.73 An even looser usage appears in reference to “western nations” as a whole, plainly separating ethnos altogether from any sense of ethnic bonds.74 Indeed the word could attach with still wider connotation to “the most illustrious and noble ethne of the world”.75 It can also connote territory rather than group identity.76 And Polybius often employs it in unspecific and almost formulaic fashion as a category parallel to cities, kings, places (topoi) or some combination thereof, without indication of what determines its composition.77 Elsewhere indeed it surfaces even as equivalent to polis.78 The bewilderingly diverse usages set the term apart from any particular or consistent meaning —let alone an ethnic one. The instances in which ethnos appears in a context that might suggest national characteristics associated with a people are extremely rare. Four of them deserve a look. First, the ethnos of the Arcadians, Polybius reports, has a reputation among Greeks for virtue. He ascribes this to Arcadians as a whole. But he goes on to elaborate on this quality as exemplified by Arcadian customs and manner of life, particularly their reverence for the gods, that generate their hospitality

|| 70 Polyb. 1.31.2, 2.38.3, 2.41.3, 2.49.6, 2.58.5, 4.32.3, 4.76.1, 5.1.1, 7.14c, 8.12.7, 15.23.8, 16.32.3, 16.39.1, 18.13.8, 18.41.7, 21.29.12, 22.4.14, 22.9.4, 38.10.8, 38.10.12. 71 Polyb. 2.12.2, 2.17.4, 2.17.8, 2.22.1, 3.13.5, 3.14.2, 3.33.10–11, 3.35.2, 5.44.4, 5.44.8, 7.11.5, 8.14b.1, 10.1.2, 12.3.4, 13.10.9, 16.40.4, 33.10.12, 34.9.13, 34.11.7. 72 Polyb. 3.37.11. 73 The Nucerians: Polyb. 3.91.4. 74 Polyb. 1.2.6: τῶν προσεσπερίων ἐθνῶν; 18.28.2. 75 Polyb. 2.37.5. 76 Polyb. 3.56.3, 23.13.2. 77 This usage can be found in Polybius’ report of the treaty between Hannibal and Philip V of Macedon; 7.9.5–9, 7.9.16: χωρὶς βασιλέων καὶ πόλεων καὶ ἐθνῶν, and frequently elsewhere; 5.90.5, 9.1.4, 12.25e.5, 12.28.a.4, 18.1.4, 18.47.5, 21.17.12, 21.25.7, 21.43.24–25. 78 The Greek Locrians, he says, do not have one polis but two ethne; Polyb. 12.10.3. He is not distinguishing here between types of states.

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and love of humankind.79 The passage plainly points to Arcadian practices and life style, not inborn traits. Second, the historian represents Philip V as expressing his favor and good will to the ethnos of the Achaeans.80 But he articulates no particular grounds on which he based this professed affection, whether racial or otherwise. Polybius reiterates the comment a few lines later, according Philip an increased enthusiasm for the ethnos of the Achaeans, without giving a reason.81 The whole context, however, is one of gaining advantage through alliance in wartime. Nothing suggests any love by Philip for Achaean character. Third, an ethnic connotation does indeed surface in Philip’s comments during negotiations with the Roman commander Flamininus, seeking to discredit the claims of the Aetolians. In the king’s view, most Aetolians are not even Greek. Nor is the ethnos of the Agraae, Apodotae, and Amphilochians82 But it would be hazardous to make much of that remark. What exactly are the criteria to distinguish “most” Aetolians from the rest in terms of their Greekness? The king here makes a strained rhetorical point, without offering any substance. And one needs to remember that Polybius sets the sentiment in the mouth of Philip. It is not his own. One final instance requires brief comment. Polybius, in his representation of various Greek opinions on the Roman decision to destroy Carthage, has one group claim that the Roman ethnos generally took pride in conducting warfare simply and honorably, refraining from night attacks and ambushes, but, in the decision on Carthage, they resorted to deceit and fraud.83 Again there is little to be extracted from this. Polybius does not speak in his own voice, and the assessment is only one of four divergent ones. It hardly suggests that the historian himself endorses the view of an innate Roman character that has here been abandoned. In short, the harvest of passages in which an ethnic overtone is even hinted at is meager indeed. And none of them so much as intimates that Polybius embraced the notion of an inherent collective identity.

|| 79 Polyb. 4.20.1 οὐ μόνον διὰ τὴν ἐν τοῖς ἤθεσι καὶ βίοις φιλοξενίαν καὶ φιλανθρωπίαν, μάλιστα δὲ διὰ τὴν εἰς τὸ θεῖον εὐσέβειαν. 80 Polyb. 4.72.6. 81 Polyb. 4.73.2. 82 Polyb. 18.5.8–9: αὐτῶν γὰρ Αἰτωλῶν οὐκ εἰσιν Ἕλληνες οἱ πλείους. 83 Polyb. 36.9.9–10.

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V If one investigates Polybian usage of the term genos, the results are much the same. Ethnicity is not at issue. Of the more than one hundred appearances of the word in Polybius’ corpus, nearly half have the bland meaning of “type”, “kind”, “form”, or “sort”. So, for example, Polybius uses it right at the outset of his work when asking “what sort of constitution” the Romans employed in conquering the known world, a phrase he then repeated on three other occasions.84 It serves elsewhere also to signify a “kind of stratagem”, “every kind of wine”, “every type of wood, earth, and stone”, “every form of decrees and proclamations”, “a type of reader”, “other kinds of animals”, “a form of camp”, “another mode of walking”, “every type of ambush, counter-ambush, and attack”, “this sort of fraud”, “this form of justification”, even “this kind of murderers, robbers, and burglars”.85 Numerous other examples of a similar sort can be found in Polybius’ text.86 The principal work of genos is to signal a category. The versatility of the word, however, lends itself to other meanings as well. Like ethnos, though far less frequently, it could carry the general notion of “people” or “nation” without indication of how they might define their collective identity.87 This usage occurs predominantly in the context of mercenary soldiers hired by Carthaginians or by the Ptolemies, consisting of multiple gene and mustered or paid kata gene.88 The imprecision of the term can be illustrated by the fact that Polybius once employed it in the same context with ethnos, a confusing combination in which the distinction between them, if there be any, is altogether obscure: “the most warlike gene of the western ethne of Europe.”89 On the face of it here, genos looks like a subdivision of ethnos. But nothing whatever in the rest of Polybius’ history suggests such a conclusion. This junction, unique in Polybius, indicates overlapping and fuzziness rather than distinctiveness or exactitude.

|| 84 Polyb. 1.1.5: τίνι γένει πολιτείας; 6.2.3; 8.2.3, 39.8.7; cf. 6.3.5, 6.4.6, 6.57.2–3. 85 Polyb. 4.38.5, 4.41.9, 5.71.9, 5.106.8, 6.5.8, 6.27.1, 6.40.10, 7.15.1, 9.1.2, 9.1.5, 18.40.2, 30.4.15, 39.8.7. 86 Polyb. 1.58.4, 2.16.14, 3.18.9, 3.71.4, 5.53.9, 5.98.1, 5.98.11, 8.4.3, 10.15.1, 10.43.1, 11.1a.2–3, 11.1a.5, 12.4.10, 12.4d.1, 12.12.7, 12.25.5, 12.25a.3, 12.25b.4, 12.25c.2, 18.15.13, 18.17.4, 18.31.2, 20.9.8, 29.8.3, 29.8.5, 31.10.7, 31.18.5. 87 As in the case of the Bithynians; Polyb. 36.15.3. 88 Polyb. 1.67.2, 1.67.4, 1.69.1, 1.69.3, 1.69.7, 1.70.2, 1.80.8, 5.64.1, 15.29.4. 89 Polyb. 1.2.6: τῆς Εὐρώπης τὰ μαχιμώτατα γένη τῶν προσεσπερίων ἐθνῶν. Paton, in the Loeb edition, does not translate both γένη and ἐθνῶν: “the most warlike nations of western Europe”.

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In addition to designating a nation or people, genos, in a handful of instances, refers to smaller units, essentially tribal units. Polybius applies it to tribes in North Africa, in Gaul, and in Media.90 The phrase τὸ γένος, combined with reference to a geographical location, occurs on several occasions, where it simply signifies “by birth”. That is clear in its appearance, as “Aetolian by birth”, “a Seleucian by birth”, “a Cretan by birth”, “a Megalopolitan by birth”, “a Tarentine by birth”, or “an Acarnanian by birth”.91 On one occasion only does this usage go beyond a geographical denotation: Polybius makes a solitary reference to a “Celt by birth”.92 The single instance hardly justifies extrapolation. In a few cases Polybius uses to genos to indicate family genealogy. The majority of examples refer to royal lineage.93 Others apply to aristocratic Roman houses.94 In one case the historian speaks generally of inheritance within the family (genos).95 In such passages the term certainly designates a bloodline.96 But that context is irrelevant for the collective identity of a people. The pliability of genos is everywhere evident. It could designate a military unit, a political group or class, or a segment of a city’s population.97 It turns up once with the meaning of “genre”, and, surprisingly, twice as designating gender.98 Polybius can even use it for the whole of humankind: τὸ τῶν ἀνθρώπων γένος.99 Does race ever surface as an undertone in the usage of genos? There may be a sidelong glance in that direction by Polybius when he mentions “a certain Celt τὸ γένος”, or a genos of men in Coele-Syria who adapted their political allegiances to circumstances, or the Locrian settlers in Italy whose sympathies were guided more by their genos than by choice.100 But these rare, brief, and undeveloped allusions do not significantly affect the larger picture. The miniscule number of

|| 90 Polyb. 1.77.4, 2.15.8, 2.17.5, 2.223.2, 4.46.4, 5.4.7. 91 Polyb. 5.40.1, 5.58.3, 5.61.4, 5.68.4, 8.15.1, 10.22.2, 13.4.4, 15.31.7. 92 Polyb. 2.36.1: τινος Κελτοῦ τὸ γένος. 93 Polyb. 1.8.3, 2.41.5, 4.1.5, 4.33.6, 4.35.11, 4.35.13, 4.81.1, 6.7.6. 94 Polyb. 6.53.2, 31.28.2, 39.1.2. 95 Polyb. 20.6.5. 96 Cf. also Polyb. 7.10.2, with regard to an eminent Messenian: οὐδενὸς ἦν δεύτερος Μεσσηνίων πλούτῳ καὶ γένει. 97 Military unit: Polyb. 6.24.1, 6.34.8; political group: 23.12.6; segment of a city: 34.14.2, 34.14.4. 98 Genre: Polyb. 15.36.3: τῷ τῆς ἱστορίας γένει. Gender: 10.18.6, 31.26.10: τοῦ τῶν γυναικῶν. 99 Polyb. 6.5.5, 6.6.4, 18.15.15–16. 100 Celt: Polyb. 2.36.1 (see above); Coele-Syria: 5.86.7–9; Locrians: 12.6b.4.

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passages where genos might have ethnic implications stand isolated in the vast expanse of Polybius’ writings. In sum, the largest bulk by far of the occurrences of genos can be rendered as “type” or “category”. It appears periodically with reference to a nation or a tribe, with the meaning of “by birth” or “family”, and in an array of other denotations that add up to no pattern and resist the imposition of one. Virtually nowhere in the Polybian corpus does the term carry any racial baggage or suggest that the historian thought along the lines of heredity as defining ethnic identity.

VI Polybius may have had little love for the foreigner. He was certainly no starryeyed universalist or an advocate for the erasing of distinctions and the blending of humankind. The foes of Greece and Rome stood outside the sphere that Polybius found congenial and sympathetic. The enemy might be wicked and the barbarian uncouth. Yet the historian’s judgments and evaluations of the alien, even of those who counted among the most fervid and long-standing opponents of Greco-Roman society, either eschew or problematize stereotypes. The portrayals of Gauls, Carthaginians, and Egyptians, which might appear to be single-minded smears, turn out to be nuanced assessments, exposure of flaws leavened by acknowledgment of admirable qualities. Nor was this some strained effort to provide a fair and balanced picture. Polybius had no such agenda. Praise or criticism normally reflected moral judgments on behavior, practices, and actions, malleable and mutable, without concluding that they stemmed from fixed characteristics that determined their history. The terminology that ostensibly evokes racial or ethnic reverberations in fact carries very different significance. Genos has myriad meanings, almost none with implications of genealogy, and ethnos has little to do with ethnicity. Polybius was fully attuned to the distinctions among peoples and nations. But the distinctions lay in society, morality, and mores, not in congenital character.

4 Rome’s Multiple Identities and Tangled Perspectives For the Romans descent did make a difference. But their conception of it had a strikingly heterogeneous, even labyrinthine, character. They traced no single chain that gave a linear quality to their lineage, and provided no singular mark of their identity. Far from it. Their sense of themselves did not depend on a sole founder or require a unique ethnic makeup. They took pride in multiple origins, mixtures and admixtures, and a conglomerate that signaled diverse and repeatedly renegotiated identities.

I The legends of the Romans assured them, indeed were concocted to convince them, that their origins rested on a complex of divergent blends and multiple minglings. The amalgam began at the beginning. Livy provides a celebrated account of the arrival of Aeneas and the Trojans in Italy. The historian spins a tale of the violent clash between natives under Latinus and the interlopers under Aeneas. But the outcome brought concord, a treaty, and a marriage alliance. Aeneas wed the daughter of Latinus, the symbolic union of Latins and Trojans. Aeneas indeed generously applied the name “Latins” to both peoples as token of the merger. A gradual coalescence took place between the two nations, a foundation for the future.1 Sallust treats the origins quite briefly and differently, but with the same basic message. Aeneas and the Trojans reached Italy where they found the Aborigines, a rustic and uncivilized people, and the two nations, of different stock, language, and customs managed with remarkable speed and ease to merge into a single harmonious state.2 For the great scholar Varro, Rome enjoyed a triple blend: a mixture of Trojans, Sabines, and Aborigines.3 A fuller and far more tangled story of Rome’s earliest history appears in Dionysius of Halicarnassus who took as his mission a demonstration that the city derived from Greeks. Not a simple migration, however, but a complex combination of the indigenous and the immigrant, the Hellenic and the proto-Hellenic,

|| 1 Livy, 1.1.9. 1.2.4–5: Latinos utramque gentem appellavit … coalescentium in dies magis duorum popularum. 2 Sallust, Cat. 6.1–2. 3 Varro, De Vita p. R. fr. 5, Rip. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110685657-005

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the barbaric and the cultivated, overlapping legends that gave the land a layered legacy. The hodge-podge of myth and history in Dionysius had Sicels as original inhabitants of Italy, succeeded by Aborigines and Pelasgians, no mere barbarians but Greek migrants from Arcadia and Argos, settlers who gave various names to tribes and nations in the Italian peninsula in eras that long preceded the Trojan war.4 That era presaged a new and the most celebrated migration, that of Aeneas and his countrymen to the shores of Italy. The entrenchment of that tradition made it impossible for Dionysius to ignore or deny. So he did the next best thing. He turned Aeneas into a Greek. He retailed or remade a story that had Dardanus, mythical ancestor of Aeneas, come from Arcadia in Greece and settle in the Troad. So, Aeneas, the quintessential Trojan, possessed Hellenic roots—as did the whole of the Trojan race.5 This was brilliant appropriation. Rome was the beneficiary, but also the benefactor. In Dionysius’ construct, Romans subsequently welcomed innumerable immigrants from cities and communities not only from all over Italy but from other regions of the world whose cultures merged with theirs—while their fundamentally Hellenic character remained intact.6 The principle of inclusion and amalgamation became a source of pride. The emperor Claudius, on the bronze tablet that recorded his speech advocating the eligibility of Gallic nobles to hold Roman magistracies and thus gain access to the Roman senate, cited ancient precedents. He reminded his audience that Rome’s kings stemmed from foreign parts, Numa a Sabine, Tarquinius Priscus the son of an Etruscan mother and a Corinthian father, and Servius Tullius whose mother had been an enslaved captive.7 Tacitus’ version of that speech has Claudius boast that several of Rome’s most distinguished families derived from towns and peoples all over Italy and that non-Italians as well had been welcomed into the citizen body and to positions of leadership.8 The historian Florus, a contemporary of Tacitus, expressed similar sentiments. He asserted that the Roman people contained in its makeup Etruscans, Latins, and Sabines, forming a single bloodline composed of them all.9 The idea of autochthony evidently held no great attraction for the Romans. Indeed they openly scorned it. As Cicero sneered, Athenians and Arcadians invented stories that they had sprung from the land—as if they were || 4 See, especially, Dion. Hal. 1.9–13, 1.31, 1.89. 5 Dion. Hal. 1.61–62. 6 Dion. Hal. 1.9.4, 1.89. 7 ILS 212, col. I, lines 10–19. Livy has similar origins for the early Roman kings; 1.34.1–6. 8 Tac. Ann. 11.24. On Tacitus’ alterations of the Claudian speech, see Griffin (1982), 404–418. Claudius’ liberality is parodied in [Seneca], Apocolocyntosis, 3.3. 9 Florus, 2.6.1: populus Romanus Etruscos, Latinos Sabinosque sibi miscuerit et unum ex omnibus sanguinem ducat.

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field-mice crawling out of the earth.10 Romans saw themselves as a mongrel nation—and found nothing to apologize for in that.11

II The conception of a people formed of foreigners and owing origins to ancestors from abroad was a perfectly common one among Greeks. The Greeks made a habit of ascribing to their own heroes and legendary figures the foundation of cities and nations across the seas, no matter how far-flung or far-fetched. So, the Argive Perseus is credited with giving his name to the great realm of Persia itself; Armenus, an officer in the army of Jason and the Argonauts became the eponymous founder of Armenia; Medus, son of Medea and the king of Athens brought Media into existence; Herakles’ union with a composite creature, half-snake, halfwoman, engendered a son named Scythes from whom the savage Scythians derived. This form of Greek cultural imperialism was rampant.12 It makes perfectly good sense that Greeks would wish to set Rome itself into their orbit of interconnected nations whose nourishment came from Hellenic roots. The stories of heroic meanderings after the Trojan war brought a host of Hellenic figures and peoples in various versions to the shores of Italy and eventually to Rome: Herakles, Odysseus, Oenotrus, Achaeans, Arcadians, and others. The tangle of tales eventually added Aeneas and the Trojans into the mix as well, woven in diverse ways into the web.13 But those versions too were Hellenic in origin, spun by those who sought to fit the western power into the matrix of familiar Greek legends. The process, however, goes beyond mere Hellenic appropriation. More interesting is the fact that Roman intellectuals adopted and adapted those legends, finding that Greek or Trojan origins or a combination thereof served perfectly well to convey the sense of a checkered Roman identity. Nor did they shrink from manufacturing their own myths of composite character, blending Latins with Trojans or Romans with Sabines. Intermingling trumps autochthony throughout. The celebrated tale of the Sabine women most dramatically exemplifies the mind-set. As is well known, Romans in the age of Romulus, their legendary foun-

|| 10 Cic. De Rep. 3.25; cf. Livy, 1.8.5. 11 Cf. Moatti (1997), 263–273. 12 See Bickerman (1952), 65–81. Cf. Gruen (2011), 224–225. 13 See the reconstruction, with extensive bibliography, in Gruen (1992), 6–51. A more recent and fuller treatment by Erskine (2001), 131–224, with different conclusions.

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der and first monarch, suffered from a shortage of women. According to the narrative, their efforts to secure treaties with neighboring nations to allow for intermarriage proved unsuccessful everywhere. As a consequence they resorted to a ruse, hosted a lavish celebration which included the Sabines together with their wives and children, and then burst upon the festivities, snatching the young women to make them their brides. A fierce contest ensued between Romans and Sabines under their ruler Titus Tatius, terminated only by the intervention of the Sabine women whose persistent pleas persuaded husbands and fathers to call a truce and end the quarrel. The conclusion not only brought peace between the nations but bound the two peoples in a single polity.14 This is not the place to investigate the historicity of the tale or to enter into debate on whether any fusion between races can be discerned in the material data.15 The story itself matters. Romans embraced it as a symbolic representation of the commingling of peoples that featured their city’s history almost from its inception. Cicero cited it as exemplary of Rome’s open-minded welcome even of enemies into its body-politic, the very foundation of its repute and of its empire.16 That assimilation, to be sure, was not altogether benign and harmonious. Our sources give full weight to the treachery of the rape and the ferocity of the war. The legend can serve to emblematize Roman expansionism and incorporation.17 But there was no shrinking from a conviction that the city’s earliest history rested on a coalescence of cultures. Sabine ethnicity, however, or the construction thereof became more complicated. Sabines developed a reputation for austerity and hardiness, the qualities of tough mountaineers whose disciplined habits made them rugged warriors and men of severe moral virtue. Some traced the source of those supposed characteristics to none other than the Spartans, those Greeks most conspicuous for their rigidity and robustness. Roman writers conveyed and perhaps contrived the connection. It appears first in Cato the Elder, of all people, that champion of antique Roman virtue. He assigned the origin of the Sabines to a Spartan founder whose name conveniently happened to be Sabus. In this he was followed in the next generation by the later 2nd century Roman historian Cn. Gellius who also identified the Lacedaemonian Sabus as progenitor of the Sabines in Italy. And Cato as-

|| 14 Livy, 1.9–13. See 1.13.4: nec pacem modo sed civitatem unam ex duabus faciunt; Cic. De Rep. 2.13; Dion. Hal. 2.46.1–3; Plut. Rom. 19–21. 15 Cf. Cornell (1995), 75–77, with further bibliography. See the treatment of the tale and its sources by Miles (1995), 179–219, who focuses, however, upon its relevance for the conceptualization of Roman marriage. 16 Cic. Pro Balbo, 31. 17 Cf. Dench (2005), 22–24, 253, 343–344.

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serts definitively that the populus Romanus derived these qualities from the Sabines.18 Genealogy and influence overlap here. Romans owed their hardiness to Sabines who had commingled with their ancestors and who in turn could boast of Spartan lineage. One will hardly imagine that Greeks invented such a link. They had no reason to associate themselves with Sabines. Once again Roman conceptualization framed the intermix. And the still more imaginative did not stop there. Hyginus, the learned freedman of Augustus, who headed the Palatine library, turned Sabus into a peripatetic Persian who managed to make his way to Italy via Sparta where he picked up a number of Spartans who then settled the territory that eventually became Sabine!19 Comparable complexities featured the legendary interconnections of Romans and Etruscans. The latter provided two kings of Rome in the regal period according to tradition. And their roots stemmed from the Hellenic world. The first of the kings, Tarquinius Priscus, originally named Lucumo, was son of none other than Demaratus of Corinth, head of that city’s leading family but driven from his homeland in a political upheaval. Demaratus married a woman of Tarquinii, becoming father of Lucumo who went on to rule Rome.20 The story doubtless derives from a Greek source, injecting a Hellenic forebear into the lineage of Rome via Etruria.21 But the Romans took up the tale at a relatively early stage, unembarrassed by it, perhaps proud of it. Fabius Pictor had it in the later 3rd century whence it evidently reached Polybius, and subsequent Latin authors transmitted it freely to the point where the emperor Claudius could enunciate it as a boast.22 Etruscans played also into versions of the Trojan legend. As one strand had it, Dardanus, ancestor of the Trojan royal line that extended to Aeneas, came originally from Etruria. Hence, Aeneas’ migration to Italy constituted a return to the homeland, and the origins of Rome thus acquired an Etruscan ingredient.23 The || 18 Cato F2.22 (Beck and Walter) = F51 (Cornell) Cato autem et Gellius a Sabo Lacemaemonio trahere eos originem referunt. Porro Lacedaemonios durissimos fuisse omnis lectio docet. Sabinorum etiam mores populum Romanum secutum idem Cato dicit = Serv. Auct. Ad Aen. 8.638. A variant version of Cato’s remark appears in Dion. Hal. 2.49.2. See Poucet (1963), 157–169; Letta (1985), 29–34; Musti (1988), 253–257; Dench (1995), 86–87; Farney (2007), 101. 19 Serv. Ad Aen. 8.638; cf. Sil. Ital. 8.414–415; Poucet (1963), 203–213. 20 The genealogical connection appears in a wide assemblage of sources; e.g. Polyb. 6.11a.7; Cic. De Rep. 2.34–35; Strabo, 5.2.2; Livy, 1.34; Dion. Hal. 3.46–47. 21 The appearance of Etruscans in Greek myth goes back at least as far as Hesiod who has the offspring of Odysseus and Circe become rulers over the Tyrrhenians; Hesiod, Theog. 1011–1016. Cf. West (1966), 435–436. And Etruscan interest in Hellenic mythology was no mere passive receptivity of Greek vases; cf. Spivey and Stoddart (1990), 97–106. 22 ILS, 212, col. I, lines 10–19. 23 Serv. Auct. on Verg. Aen. 1.380, 3.170, 7.205–248. Cf. Farney (2007), 141–144.

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jumble of diverse narratives defies reconciliation. But they underscore Roman readiness to multiply ethnicities. The Trojan connection, of course, gained precedence and became canonical. Greek mythmakers had Aeneas escape the flames of Troy and head west. Some brought him to Italy, others all the way to Rome, occasionally in conjunction with Greeks, even, in certain versions, a direct ancestor of Romulus. A bewildering bundle of tales emerged from Hellenic speculation and inventiveness.24 But it is the Roman part in transmitting the tradition that merits emphasis here. Just when the story came to Roman consciousness eludes decision. A range of Greek and Sicilian writers had associated Aeneas’ western adventures with Latium, particularly the cities of Lavinium and Alba Longa, as well as Rome, adventures enmeshed with local legends, from the late 4th century BCE on. And Rome’s new and more intimate relations with Latin communities after dissolution of the Latin League in 338 provides a logical setting for combining myths of origins.25 The connection with Troy had certainly taken firm hold when Roman writers first came to the fore in the 3rd century. Fabius Pictor, Rome’s earliest historian, in the later part of the century already transmits the lineage that has Aeneas’ son Ascanius found Alba Longa, which was to be the mother city of Rome. And he goes beyond, to embrace the Hellenic myths that have Herakles arrive in Italy and then Evander plant a colony on the Palatine Hill.26 The poet Naevius, a contemporary of Pictor, and Ennius in the early 2nd century telescoped the tale by making Aeneas’ daughter the mother of Romulus, thus reducing the long centuries to two generations.27 But they took the Trojan tie to Rome as a given. Even crusty old Cato the Elder, allegedly the quintessential nativist, had no qualms about tracing Rome’s roots to alien immigrants and foreign founders. He identified the Italian aborigines from whom Romans sprang as Greeks, and the surviving fragments of his Origines show that he endorsed the whole narrative of Aeneas’ migration to Italy, his marriage to the daughter of the Latin king, and the foundation of Alba Longa by his son Ascanius, heralding the future settling of Rome.28 The readiness, even eagerness, to ascribe origins to Hellenic heroes as well as to Trojan refugees underscores Roman openness to multiple ethnicities. An

|| 24 Cf. Gruen (1992), 6–51; Erskine (2001), 131–156. 25 Gruen (1992), 26–29; Erskine (2001), 143–148. 26 Pictor, F1–2 (Beck and Walter) = T7, F27 (Cornell) Diod. Sic. 7.5.4–5; Dion. Hal. 1.74.1; Plut. Rom. 3.1–3. 27 Serv. Ad Aen. 1.273. 28 Cato, F1.1,4–15 (Beck and Walter) = F4–8 (Cornell); Dion. Hal. 1.11.1, 1.13.2.

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association with Arcadia offers a prime illustration. The aborigines of Italy themselves, it was said, originated as migrants from Arcadia. That notice appears in Dionysius of Halicarnassus who cites 5th century sources, whether disingenuously or not, for the story.29 The link took on more elaborate form with the advent of Evander, son of Hermes by an Arcadian nymph, who brought a colony of Arcadians to Italy and planted a settlement on the Palatine hill.30 He would eventually be joined, as an additional variant has it, by the hero Herakles who brought more Arcadians with him, this time to the Capitoline, married the daughter of Evander, and produced offspring who would entrench the Arcadian character of Rome.31 That legend, fanciful though it doubtless was, got some confirmation from a tough-minded historian, none other than Polybius. He added the detail that the colony on the Palatine took its name from Pallas, son of Herakles and grandson of Evander.32 To be sure, Dionysius’ sources for much or all of this may have been Greek.33 And Polybius, tough-minded though he may have been, was, after all, an Arcadian. That legend would have appealed to his native instincts. But the fact remains that Roman writers too picked up the Arcadian affiliation and propagated it. Fabius Pictor records the arrival of both Herakles and Evander, adding even that Evander bestowed the Greek alphabet, originally a Phoenician invention, upon the Latin language, attaching it thereby both to Hellas and to the east.34 Cato too subscribed to the idea that Italian aborigines, ancestors of the Romans, were Greek and that subsequent Arcadian settlers under Evander brought the Aeolic dialect to Italians whence it was later adopted by Romulus!35 If Cato had no hesitation in authenticating Rome’s Hellenic ancestry, it obviously had widespread appeal among his countrymen. A variant and slightly more elaborate version of the Evander story appears in Livy.36 Romans happily embraced it. Further ingenuity was required to blend the Trojan and Arcadian narratives. But Greek myth-makers were up to it. They fashioned the fiction that the Arcadian Dardanus, son of Zeus, was a distant ancestor of Aeneas, and some embellished the invention by having Aeneas move from Troy to his native land of Arcadia, and

|| 29 Dion. Hal. 1.10–13, 1.89.1–2. Hall (2005), 265–271, questions the ascription to 5th century writers. 30 Dion. Hal. 1.31, 1.89.22; Strabo, 5.3.3. 31 Dion. Hal. 1.34.1, 1.41–44. 32 Polyb. apud Dion. Hal. 1.32.1. 33 He did, however, read Roman historians on the origins of Rome as well; Dion. Hal. 1.73.1–3. 34 Pictor F2 (Beck and Walter) = F27 (Cornell). 35 Cato F1.19 (Beck and Walter) = F3 (Cornell): ὤς φασιν ὄ τε Κάτων … Εὐάνδρου καὶ τῶν ἄλλων Ἀρκάδων εἰς Ἰταλίαν ἐλθόντων ποτὲ καὶ τὴν Αἰολίδα τοῖς βαρβάροις ἐνσπειράντων φωνήν; cf. F2.26 (Beck and Walter) = F61 (Cornell). 36 Livy, 1.5.1–2, 1.7.3–15.

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from there to Italy, where he sired Romulus.37 A nice completion of the circle. Did Romans buy it? Without a doubt. Even the scrupulous researcher and polymath Varro took the tale of Aeneas as Arcadian to heart.38 And the affiliation reappears in diverse formulations in both Vergil and Ovid.39 Roman self-conceptualization encompassed a plurality of genealogies.

III If all this be so, a troubling question arises. Since Romans seem perfectly comfortable with multiple ethnicities in their own makeup, how does one account for the numerous slurs, snide comments, sneers and smears directed against persons and peoples of other races, nations, and cultures? One can readily turn up a host of such insults and abusive remarks, mischaracterizations, and stereotypes in a wide range of Roman authors from Cato to Juvenal—just to keep the subject within bounds. Modern scholars have collected numerous instances of vituperation.40 A select number of examples will suffice, among those regularly cited as exemplary of Roman ethnic prejudice and antipathy toward the foreigner. Romans commonly expressed contempt for Greeks. Early Roman playwrights exhibit the prejudice. Plautus more than once employs the terms pergraecari and congraecari, “to play the Greek”, signifying intemperance or debauchery.41 It had already become a cliché. Pacuvius rebuked Greek philosophers for verbal chicanery; Afranius contrasted Roman practical wisdom with Greek abstract theorizing.42 Cato notoriously despised Greek doctors. He warned his son off them; they were determined to poison all foreigners.43 And he delivered the famous sneer: Greeks speak with their tongues, Romans from the heart.44 Cicero pointedly contrasted Greek levitas with Roman gravitas.45 He quoted his grandfather as saying that the better one learns Greek, the more evil one becomes.46 And he represents the eminent

|| 37 Dion. Hal. 1.49.1–2; Strabo, 13.1.53; cf. Erskine (2001), 119–121. 38 Serv. Ad Aen. 3.167, 7.207. 39 See Fabre-Serris (2008), 13–30. 40 See especially Balsdon (1979), 30–34, 59–70; Dauge (1981), 57–280; Isaac (2004), 381–491. 41 Plaut. Bach. 742–743, 812–813; Most. 20–24, 64–65, 958–960; Poen. 600–603; Truc. 86–87. Cf. Moore (1998), 50–66. 42 Gellius, 13.8.1–5. 43 Cato, apud Pliny, NH, 29.7.14. 44 Plut. Cato, 12.5; cf. Livy, 8.22.8. 45 Cic. Pro Sest. 141. 46 Cic. De Orat. 2.265.

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orator L. Crassus as accusing Greeks of idleness and excessive loquaciousness, interested more in argument than in truth, displaying their learning with arrogance and pomposity.47 So, the Greeks were over-civilized. Everybody else, apart from the Romans of course, was decidedly under-civilized. Syrians and Jews, says Cicero, were born to be slaves.48 Phoenicians and Carthaginians had a reputation for treachery (Punica fides) and an affinity for cruelty. If Cato be believed, the Carthaginians broke six different treaties with Rome.49 (One wonders why the Romans kept concluding treaties with them). And Livy asserts that the Carthaginians were cruel and ferocious both in practice and by nature.50 Then one gets to the real barbarians. Cicero lumps Gauls, Spaniards, and Africans together as monstrous and barbaric nations.51 He is particularly hard on Gauls: not only have they been Rome’s fiercest enemy from the beginning, they attack shrines wherever they find them and hold nothing sacred or holy.52 The noblest of Gauls does not compare with even the lowliest of Romans.53 Cicero can be caustic also about Sardinians: they were so bad that even the despicable Phoenicians from whose stock they came could not bear them and abandoned them on that disagreeable and uninhabitable island.54 Germans were described by Strabo, Velleius Paterculus, and Manilius as a wild and ferocious people—not to mention natural-born liars.55 They may be brave but their ferocity makes them prone to unbridled fury and incapable of maintaining sustained warfare, so Seneca points out in his treatise De Ira.56 Egyptians are simply beyond the pale. Cicero excoriates them for their fanatic worship of animals that amounts to sheer dementia.57 And the satirist Juvenal goes into an infamous rant about them: what monsters these demented Egyptians worship; dogs, cats, river fish, ibises, long-tailed monkeys, crocodiles; no one worships Diana any more.58 Elsewhere he wonders, when he sees a low-born inhabitant of

|| 47 Cic. De Orat. 1.47, 1.102–103. 48 Cic. Prov. Cons. 10: tradidit in servitutem Iudaeis et Syris, nationibus nati servituti. 49 Cato, F4.9 (Beck and Walter) = F77 (Cornell). 50 Livy, 23.5.12: natura et moribus inmitem ferumque. 51 Cic. Q. Fr. 1.1.27. 52 Cic. Pro Font. 30, 43–44, 49. 53 Cic. Pro Font. 26–27. 54 Cic. Pro Scauro, 42. 55 Strabo, 7.1.4; Manilius, 1.896–903; Vell. Pat. 2.118: In summa feritate versutissimi natumque mendacio genus. 56 Seneca, De Ira, 2.15. 57 Cic. De Nat. Deor. 1.43; De Rep. 3.14; Tusc. Disp. 5.78. 58 Juv. Sat. 15.1–7.

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the Nile walking about with a golden ring and a purple cloak, how can anyone not write satire?59 And then there are the Jews. Cicero brands them as a people given to a “barbarian superstition”.60 For Seneca, they are a “most pernicious people”.61 Tacitus blasts them mercilessly, so it seems. He reckons them a race of men hated by the gods, with base and wicked practices, sordid and ridiculous rites, xenophobic, despised, and the vilest of nations.62 Jewish customs, particularly observance of the Sabbath, abstention from pork, and circumcision were regularly derided by gentile writers. Seneca wondered why, by adhering to the Sabbath, Jews wasted 1/7 of their lives in idleness.63 Petronius inferred that refraining from pork meant that Jews worshipped a pig-god.64 Martial mocked a circumcised poet who was both a plagiarist and a pederast.65 And Juvenal claimed that Jews do not even give directions in the street to anyone who isn’t circumcised.66

IV Many more comparable comments about non-Romans could be tabulated. How does one account for this barrage of bigotry? And how can it be reconciled with the conviction, otherwise well documented, that Romans saw their own ethnic composition as a compound of ethnicities? This is not the place for a detailed examination of each of the calumnies registered against aliens or foreigners in the corpus of Roman writings. It needs to be observed, however, that the collection of testimonia paraded by modern scholars as demonstration of Roman racism rarely provides context or analyzes motives. A string of slights and slanders, without scrutiny in depth, misleads rather than illuminates. Take Cicero for instance. Juicy quotations from his corpus regularly get cited as examples of Roman prejudice. What is not so often noted, however, is that a substantial majority of such comments come from heated forensic contests. And

|| 59 Juv. Sat. 1.26–29. 60 Cic. Pro Flacco, 67. 61 Seneca, apud Augustine, CD, 6.11: sceleratissima gens. 62 Tac. Hist. 5.3.1, 5.5.1–2, 5.5.5, 5.8.2. 63 Seneca, apud Augustine, CD, 6.11. 64 Petronius, fr. 37. 65 Martial, 11.94. 66 Juv. Sat, 14.104.

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that deserves emphasis. Cicero’s intensity in defending clients carried over to ferocity in blackening witnesses for the prosecution. Almost all of the hostile remarks about Gauls come in just one speech, Pro Fonteio, when Gallic witnesses, especially the Allobroges, testified against the defendant M. Fonteius, and Cicero spared nothing in discrediting their testimony, including references to the Gallic assault on Rome that occurred three centuries earlier.67 On another occasion, when it behooved him to do so, Cicero presents a very different portrait of the Allobroges. Envoys of that people had brought damaging and decisive evidence about the Catilinarian conspirators to Cicero. This time he characterized the Allobroges as the most truthful of witnesses on matters of the highest importance.68 Gallic untrustworthiness had miraculously and conveniently disappeared. That is just one example of Cicero tailoring his rhetoric to the occasion. It should not be confused with racial prejudice. For different reasons, the nasty comments that appear in his philosophical treatises are equally susceptible to misinterpretation as evidence for ethnic bias. He stigmatizes Egyptians in the De Natura Deorum and in the Tusculan Disputations as demented and suffering from perverse delusions, exemplified by their worship of animals.69 When such statements are plucked out of a treatise, however, it is easy to forget that Cicero’s philosophic tracts are usually couched in the form of dialogues. Not only may the views of a particular speaker bear no resemblance to Cicero’s own opinions, but they are often inserted for purposes of philosophic byplay, rather than as expressions of heart-felt convictions. A slur on Egyptians in the De Natura Deorum, for example, is put in the mouth of an Epicurean—not a sect with which Cicero associated himself. And the sweeping indictments by the speaker reflect more discredit upon Epicureans than upon Egyptians. In these, and in many other cases, close scrutiny of the context discloses something very different from ethnic bias.70 This holds for other sources as well. Cato’s stringent strictures on Greeks have more to do with posturing than with deep-seated animosity. The Censor’s knowledge of Greek language, literature, mythology, and history is plain from his writings and his career. The ostensible scorn for philosophy sprang more from affectation than conviction. Cato presented the public presence of one who stressed Roman values and traditions and who insisted on their superiority over philosophic phrase-mongering and logic-chopping. But he was no inveterate foe of Hellenism. Cato belittled windy rhetoric and intellectual artifice in order to

|| 67 Cic. Pro Font. 30. 68 Cic. Pro Sulla, 17; cf. Cat. 4.5, 4.10. 69 Cic. De Nat. Deor 1.43; Tusc. Disp. 5.78. 70 See Gruen (2013), 13–27.

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sharpen awareness of distinctive Roman characteristics. The rant against Greek doctors appears only in a tract composed for his son, transparently artificial and deliberately exaggerated to make a point and to argue that Roman home remedies outstripped Hellenic medicine. It hardly counts as evidence for animosity toward Greeks.71 Closer inspection dissolves many of the clichés about Roman contempt for the foreigner. The concept of Punica fides enters relatively late in Roman thinking, after the destruction of Carthage, when Rome needed to justify that dastardly deed, and even then it did not dominate. Respect for Phoenician cultural contributions and for Carthaginian writers and intellectuals remained high. The story of Carthage’s conqueror, Scipio Aemilianus, weeping at the sight of flames engulfing the city is no fiction, but the record of an eyewitness, Polybius. And Vergil’s memorable portrait of Dido as emblematic of Carthage is a movingly positive one.72 The Carthaginians were respected and worthy foes, not simply hostile aliens. The most authoritative Roman testimonia on the Gauls, of course, are not the individual comments out of context in Cicero’s speeches but the writings of someone who actually had direct engagement with Gauls over an extended period of time. Julius Caesar’s invaluable portrait had its own agenda, but he did not slip simply into stereotypes. His presentation was nuanced and complex, even when contrived. Gauls appear partly as hardy warriors who have begun to grow soft because of too close contact with Roman comforts. The construct obviously reflects more on Romans than on the Celts. But Caesar goes beyond conventional clichés. Although he repeats stereotypes about Gallic impetuousness and instability, he also records their commitment to virtus, as well as their adherence to libertas—more often indeed than he ascribes these qualities to Romans. Gauls can resemble Romans or vice-versa, and even religious conceptions overlap, as Caesar notes not only distinctive Gallic practices but also Gallic deities equivalent to the Olympians. The picture is far from denigration or disparagement.73 Even Cato the Elder, whose extant writings contain little about Celts, does declare that they pride themselves upon accomplishments in two major areas: the art of war and wit in speaking.74 Who would have expected the latter? Gauls are no mere savage barbarians.

|| 71 For this interpretation of Cato and Hellenism, see Gruen (1992), 52–83. 72 On Punica fides, see Gruen (2011), 115–140. 73 Gruen (2011), 141–158. 74 Cato F2.3 (Beck and Walter) = F33 (Cornell).

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Nor indeed are the Germans. At least not in Tacitus’ extended treatment of that people in his Germania, our one surviving monograph by a classical author on a foreign people. Like Caesar on the Gauls, Tacitus represents Germans in complex and shifting ways, not simply fictitious foils for Romans. He draws out traits that Romans could usefully emulate, and others that they share—for good or ill. Interweaving threads between the nations set off each of them the more sharply, and Tacitean irony finds parallels or contrasts that skewer both of them. The cynical historian shows greater interest in double-edged representations than in demonstrating German native inferiority. German virtues are repeatedly undercut by their own failings, not by Roman advantage; and the reverse holds as well. The calculatingly ambivalent analysis supersedes any implications of barbaric shortcomings.75 Even those bizarre Egyptians emerge in a different light when one escapes the spell of fragmentary and truncated passages snatched from works that had other objectives in mind. A plethora of Greek and Roman writers composed works on Egypt. We have very few of them now, only the names of authors otherwise unknown. But the fact that Egypt stirred interest so consistently and over so long a period of time has special significance. Intellectuals did not turn to the subject again and again only to deride, discredit, and smear the Egyptians. The extensive and serious treatments that we do possess, those of Herodotus, Diodorus, and Plutarch, all of whom are deeply respectful, even forbearing of animal worship, demonstrate that clearly enough. They count for more than Cicero’s few and occasional snipes at animal worship—and even those at times imply admiration rather than disdain, at least in terms of the tenacity with which Egyptians hold to their convictions.76 As we have seen, Cicero alluded to Egyptian zoolatry in philosophic treatises to expose the flaws of Epicureans and Stoics, not to batter the alien. And he could, when he chose, resort to a form of cultural relativism in which all religions had a meaningful significance to their practitioners including Egyptians.77 Once again we need to attend to the orator’s specific objectives, without drawing conclusions about deep-seated beliefs. And not just to Cicero’s objectives. The selective Roman sneers about Egyptians that scholars have compiled consistently distort understanding. For one thing, a large number of those derogatory comments are directed against Alexandrians. And Alexandrians are not Egyptians. Further, a notable number of the nasty excerpts belong to a single concentrated period of Roman history, namely that intense time when writers of

|| 75 Gruen (2011), 159–178. 76 Cic. De Nat. Deor. 1.81–82. 77 Ibid.

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the Augustan era outdid themselves in branding Antony and Cleopatra with every form of infamy and were eager to pit Roman divinities against “barking Anubis” and the motley array of Egyptian animal gods. Outside that particular and highly unusual context, Roman authors generally found Egyptian practices weird and amusing, but not a target for ethnic animosity. The extensive popularity of the Isis cult in Rome provides more solid ground for Roman attitudes than isolated snippets from writers who had their own agendas.78 If so, however, one might ask, what about the venomous fifteenth Satire of Juvenal? The poet there excoriates Egyptians who revere monstrous creatures and put their trust in a bewildering menagerie of outlandish beasts. And he presents a gruesome scene in which a fierce quarrel between two Egyptian towns ended in a vicious chopping up of a hapless casualty who became the victim of cannibalism. The satire is often cited as representative of Roman thinking, a hasty inference. One should emphasize first that a good part of the poem constitutes flippant mockery rather than malicious malevolence, like many satires. The loathsome scene of cannibalism, to be sure, is sobering and not easily ignored. Yet here too Juvenal’s aim needs to be seen in its broader compass. The satirist employs that grisly episode to draw some larger lessons about the decline of morals in his own day, a severe indictment of his contemporaries and a pointed contrast with an earlier era. Whether serious or ironic, Juvenal employs Egypt as illustration of the wider phenomenon. Indeed, he even contrasts present-day Egyptians with a revered Egypt of antiquity.79 Nostalgia rather than bigotry prevails. This puts a very different slant on the poem. Egyptians as such are not targets of Juvenal’s venom. They serve as a representative example of what ails society as a whole and of its steep decline from a better age. On any reckoning, this satire stands as quite exceptional. Almost no other reference to Egypt in Juvenal’s corpus carries any hostile overtones. And Latin writers in general, even when they scoff at Egyptian zoolatry, treat that venerable people with respect. Jews did not usually receive the same level of regard. Jokes about their peculiar practices abound in Roman writers. They judged observance of the Sabbath as irrational, dietary restrictions as ludicrous, and circumcision as mutilation of the genitals. Even worse, in Roman representation, Jews were separatists, kept to themselves, would not mix in polite society, shunned gentiles, and clung to their own customs. And their religious convictions were characterized as superstitio. How seriously to take all this? Romans, of course, regularly mocked alien ways. But jokes and gibes fall in a very different category from denunciation of ethnic || 78 See Witt (1971); Malaise (1972); Takácz (1995). 79 Juv. Sat. 15.4–6; Gruen (2011), 110–111.

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inferiority. Epictetus, for instance, derided Jews, Syrians, Egyptians, and even Romans because they quarreled not over whether holiness should be preferred to all else but over whether pork is holy or unholy.80 There is a form of wry detachment here. Nor did Jewish monotheism bother the Romans. Why should it? The greatest student of Roman religion, Varro, reckoned the god of the Jews as the equivalent of Jupiter, only the names differed.81 Indeed, Varro had no problem with Jewish aniconism, even found it admirable, claimed that Romans in their most distant past rejected all divine imagery, and he wishes that they still did!82 A single troubling comment comes from the pen of Seneca who called Jews a “most wicked race” (sceleratissima gens).83 But it is worth noting that this is a fragment quoted by a much later author, and we do not know the context. What we do know is that in the vast extant corpus of Seneca, there is not another mention of Jews anywhere. They barely impinged on his consciousness. If they were the most criminal of people, there is no trace of their crimes. The only extended diatribe against the Jews by a Roman author that we possess is Tacitus’ infamous excursus in the Histories, just prior to his treatment of the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem.84 We need not pause here for a detailed dissection of that text.85 But close attention to the techniques of that master ironist shows that he plays throughout with paradox in that text, that his barbs pierce Romans as much as Jews, that he turns statements on their heads, and that in retailing criticisms of Jews he aims more at Roman credulousness than at Jewish failings. One needs cite only Tacitus’ juxtaposition of the tale that Jews dedicated an image of an ass in the Temple with his assertion that Jews condemn graven images and conceive their deity as a purely mental construct.86 Not easy to hold both those propositions simultaneously. In a comparable paradox, Tacitus rails against converts to Judaism who scorn their families, their traditions and their nations, an outburst that has been seen as a crusade against Jewish proselytizing. Yet in the conjoining passage, the historian sardonically called attention to Jewish xenophobia and resistance to congress with gentiles.87 One can hardly reconcile active proselytizing among gentiles with avoidance of their company. The irony and cynical wit of this excursus on the Jews are characteristically || 80 Epictetus, apud Arrian, Diss. 1.22.4. 81 Varro, apud Augustine, De Consensu Evangelistarum, 1.30. 82 Varro, apud Augustine, CD, 4.31. 83 Seneca, apud Augustine, CD, 6.11. 84 Tac. Hist. 5.2–13. 85 See Gruen (2011), 187–196. 86 Tac. Hist. 5.4.2, 5.5.4. 87 Tac. Hist. 5.5.1–2.

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Tacitean. He both conveys and undercuts stereotypes, he punctures simplistic conceptions, and he calculatingly dangles opinions before his readers only to snatch them away. However else one might wish to characterize him, Tacitus fails to qualify as chief among haters of Jews.88 Where does this leave us? A fundamental point needs to be made and emphasized. In this whole array of slurs, smears, quips, jibes, aspersions, sardonic hits, and parodic put-downs, there is hardly a whiff of ethnic bias. Reflections on Greeks, Egyptians, Gauls, Germans, Phoenicians, Syrians, and Jews by Roman writers from Plautus and Cato to Tacitus and Juvenal provide caustic comment upon customs, habits, behavior, and modes of worship. They point to pretentiousness among Greeks, untrustworthiness among Phoenicians, impulsiveness among Gauls, bizarre beliefs among Egyptians, indolence and alcoholism among Germans, and misanthropy among Jews.What they do not do is ascribe any of this to innate and irreversible traits, to congenital deficiencies that render non-Romans inherently inferior. In assessing others and passing judgment on their actions—which Roman regularly did—they very rarely applied ethnic criteria. Phrases like racism or “proto-racism” miss the mark. Countless differences exist, of course, among nations, whether cultural, linguistic, religious, or historical. But they need not doom a people to subordination, ignorance, or inadequacy.89

V The most telling indicator of Roman disposition toward members of other ethnic groups, however, is something else altogether, a remarkable, indeed unique, institution: the award of citizenship to manumitted slaves. This practice astonished the Greeks. As far back as the later 3rd century BCE, Philip V, ruler of Macedon, expressed admiration for Roman liberality on this score and held it up as a model

|| 88 On the conventional estimate of Tacitus as quintessential anti-semite, see the long (but partial) list of scholars in Gruen (2011), 180, n.9. 89 Cicero’s claim that Syrians and Jews were “born to be slaves” (Prov. Cons. 10) refers to their vulnerability in armed might and their proneness to conquest and enslavement. Livy, like Cicero, reckons Asians as fit to be slaves (35.49.8, 36.17.4–50). But the statements are set in the mouths of Roman generals exhorting troops against the enemy, not a reflection of Livian views or of considered opinion. The same holds for Livy’s assertion that Carthaginians were cruel and ferocious both by custom and by nature (23.5.2), also uttered by a Roman commander, this time after the battle of Cannae. Velleius’ claim that Germans were liars by birth (2.118.1) comes in the context, unsurprisingly, of their ambush of Varus.

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for Greeks.90 Dionysius of Halicarnassus in the age of Augustus ascribed the emergence of Rome from the most insignificant to the greatest nation in part to its humane bestowal of citizenship upon conquered peoples and emancipated slaves.91 To be sure, the institution did not derive from altruism or benevolence. None will mistake the Romans for warm and fuzzy people. Skeptics properly question the frequency of manumission. It doubtless occurred more often in urban than in rural areas—and even there the numbers are uncertain. Generosity only occasionally motivated liberation. The reward of freedom was dangled as an incentive for loyalty and submission. And a range of obligations to the former master remained for the freedman after emancipation.92 It was more a matter of practicality than philanthropy. All that may be acknowledged. Cynicism about motives, however, does not alter the fundamental fact. The vast majority of Roman slaves came from abroad, war captives, victims of the slave trade, or the descendants of such persons. Their origins ranged anywhere from the Straits of Gibraltar to the Euphrates and beyond. Citizenship gave them a stake in the community, a legitimate part in civic life, participation in the political scene, and, after a generation, even the right to hold office. Some, like manumitted Jews, retained a sense of collective identity. Jews engaged as a defined group in public demonstrations in the Republic, and they received from Augustus a guarantee that the intervention of the Sabbath would not deprive them of access to the grain distributions.93 It should be noted that eligibility for the state allocation of grain required citizenship, which the Jewish recipients obviously had. Other new citizens from abroad may not have been so keen to maintain group solidarity, preferring a more congenial assimilation. The critical point remains: Romans had no discomfort with infusing into their citizen body persons from a full range of ethnic backgrounds, languages, and traditions. Nor did this confine itself to token grants of citizenship to provincials who would remain abroad and at a distance. The city of Rome itself, so a Greek writer proclaimed, encapsulates the world, for denizens of all other cities, like Alexandria, Antioch, Nicomedia, and Athens, have settled there.94 Martial prides himself

|| 90 SIG, 543. 91 Dion. Hal. 1.9.4. 92 Treggiari (1969), 11–20; Bradley (1984), 81–112; Gardner (1993), 7–51; Bradley (1994), 162– 165; Mouritsen (2011), 66–119. For skepticism on the frequency of manumission, see Wiedemann (1985), 162–175. 93 Demonstrations: Cic. Pro Flacco, 67; grain distributions: Philo, Legatio, 158. 94 Athenaeus, 1.20b–c.

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on the fact that his writings are spread among all the nations contained in Rome.95 The city had a conspicuous multi-cultural character. To be sure, not all Romans welcomed the influx. Juvenal notoriously lamented that Greek immigrants were bad enough, but the Orontes river continually dumps its eastern sewage into the Tiber.96 But the satirist’s complaint, whether serious or parodic, obviously did not reflect public policy or even prevalent presumptions. The acceptance of exslaves, almost all of them from outside Italy or descendants of such persons, into the citizen community is far more eloquent testimony to behavior and belief than a satirical quip. Romans did not employ ethnicity as a fulcrum for the evaluation of character or quality.

VI All this has important implications for the Romans’ sense of themselves. They did not agonize about problems of identity like modern scholars. They felt no urgency to distinguish their ethnic essence from the inferior makeup of lesser folk. They lived in a multi-cultural world and saw it as integral to their own heritage. They affirmed, even invented, a background that associated them with Latins, Sabines, Etruscans, Achaeans, Trojans, Arcadians, Oenotrians, even Aborigines and Pelasgians. And they opened their citizen body to a bewildering array of foreigners including Gauls, Spaniards, Moors, Macedonians, Egyptians, Syrians, and Jews. The occasional slights concerning persons with different customs, bizarre conventions, or strange modes of behavior, a source of wit or a rhetorical ploy, carry little force in that broader context. The Romans did not have to underscore ethnic distinctiveness to establish their superiority. As Cicero put it in his De Natura Deorum, if we were to compare ourselves with foreign peoples, we would discover that we are either equal or even inferior in all other matters, but far superior in one feature, namely in religio, i.e. devotion to the gods.97 The Romans’ embrace of ethnic diversity stemmed not from any depth of humanitas but from a supreme self-confidence generated by the power and authority guaranteed them by the favor of the gods.

|| 95 Martial, 8.61.5. On foreign groups in Rome generally, see the valuable study of Noy (2000), especially 205–284. 96 Juv. Sat. 3.58–60, 68–71. 97 Cic. De Nat. Deor. 2.8.

5 Constructed Ethnicities in Republican Italy Roman identity was an aggregate. The jumbled picture of diverse founders and ancestors, the intricate network of overlapping associations, and the reputation for assimilating a motley miscellany of peoples and nations give colorful character to the Roman self-understanding. How accurate those traditions are or how well grounded in history is not our subject here. Our concern is with representations, impressions, and perceptions, the construct of an identity. For that purpose fiction is as good as fact—indeed better. The idea of a mongrel nation, of course, splintered any form of ethnic identity. The framing of a Roman self-image was intimately bound up, almost from the start, with Italian communities. The sorting out of relations between the city on the Tiber and its Italian neighbors near and far not only generated a long history of combat, diplomacy, and institutional adjustments on the ground, but also a gradual shaping of representations that expressed links among the nations.1

I The origins of Rome prompted speculation, controversy, and contentiousness already in antiquity. That is hardly surprising. Rome’s rise to dominance in the ancient world, its wide authority, indeed the seemingly divine guidance toward its mastery of the Mediterranean naturally stimulated inquiry into the roots, whether mythical or historical, of a people so predominant in power. As we have seen, the traditions on Rome‘s ancestry, antecedents, and earliest history form a tangled tale or rather set of tales, encased in legend, confused overlappings, and divergent strands, encompassing a range of heroic figures from Herakles to Aeneas who played some part in the story. The emergence and development of that web of traditions have been explored many times.2 That Rome should be the centerpiece of the inventive imaginings causes no surprise. What is readily forgotten, however, is the fact that other Italian cities and peoples generated stories of their own beginnings and relationships to heroes, founders, and legendary ancestors.3 Their sagas are much obscured by the dense shadow of those that featured Rome.

|| 1 The complexities involved in framing ethnic identities in the multifarious interrelationships of Romans and Italians are usefully sketched by Scopacasa (2018), 105–126. 2 See, e.g. Gruen (1992), 6–51; Erskine (2001), 131–156, with bibliography. And see above, chapter four. 3 A brief and partial treatment of the topic can be found in Briquel (2018), 11–25. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110685657-006

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We have but few traces and pieces. Enough survive, however, to show that Italian, non-Roman, genealogies, fictive or factual (mostly the former) expressed a sense of identity for individual peoples of the peninsula. Sufficient material existed to allow Cato the Elder to encompass in his historical work of the mid 2nd century BCE the beginnings and early history of numerous Italian cities. Since we possess only frustrating fragments of his Origines, little can be said of its discussion of the Italians.4 One might note with some interest, however, that Cato included in his history narratives that gave various cities heroic origins, tying them to Hellenic myth and providing them with an international pedigree. A number of examples supply illustration. So, for instance, Cato maintained that settlers from Argos had established the important Etruscan city of Falisca (Falerii).5 The son of Priam, Polites, so it was recorded in the Origines, founded the town of Politorium, south of Rome, and gave it his name.6 The Latin city of Tibur had as its founder Catillus, an Arcadian who captained the fleet of Evander.7 Praeneste owed its origin to Caeculus, the son of Vulcan.8 In Bruttium the town of Petilia had the distinction of Philoctetes as its originator.9 And another Bruttian town, that of Taurinum, was tied by Cato to the myth of Orestes.10 These particulars may be only a small portion of numerous legendary genealogies reported by Cato that connected Italian communities with a Hellenic past.11 They are unlikely to have been invented by Cato himself who would have no obvious reason for such fabrications. There can be little doubt that the historian utilized local and regional narratives, and that the putative genealogies do not simply reflect Roman reconstructions. Cato specifically cites indigenous histories of the Sabines for an account of their origins.12 And he obviously consulted the

|| 4 On the Origines, see the text, French translation, and notes by Chassignet (1986). A similar compilation in German by Beck and Walter (2001), 148–224. And see the assemblage of fragments and English translation in Cornell (2013), II, 134–243. Among the more valuable discussions, see Astin (1978), 211–239; Timpe (1970–71), 1–33; Kierdorff (1980), 205–224; Letta (1984), 3–30, 416–439; idem (2008), 171–195; Cornell (2013), I, 191–218. 5 Cato, F 2.18 (Beck and Walter) = F 53 (Cornell) = Pliny, NH, 3.51. 6 Cato, F2.24 (Beck and Walter) = F 65 (Cornell) = Serv. Ad Aen. 5.564. 7 Cato, F2.26 (Beck and Walter) = F 61 (Cornell) = Solin. 2.7. 8 Cato, F2.29 (Beck and Walter) = F 67 (Cornell) = Schol. Veron. on Verg. Aen. 7.681. 9 Cato, F3.3 = F 64 (Cornell) = Serv. Auct. ad Verg. Aen. 3.402 10 Cato, F3.4 (Beck and Walter) = F 45 (Cornell) = Prob. Praef. In Verg. Buc. p. 326H. Cf. Chassignet (1986), 82–83. 11 See Letta (2008), 175–190. Cf. also Cato’s notice that the Marrucini took their name from Marsus; Cato, F2.23 (Beck and Walter) = F 39 (Cornell) = Prisc. Gramm. 2, p. 487, H. 12 Dion. Hal. 2.49.2: ἔστι δὲ τις καὶ ἄλλος ὑπὲρ τῶν Σαβίνων ἐν ἱστορίαις ἐπιχωρίοις λεγόμενος λόγος.

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views of the inhabitants of Taurinum with regard to their connection to the myth of Orestes.13 These and doubtless other tales represented local traditions that connected Italians to the legends of Greek nostoi and the aftermath of the Trojan War. Cato, it appears, approached the Italian cities as he approached Rome. He devoted the first book of the Origines to Rome’s origins, setting the city’s earliest history in the context of Greek migrants who long preceded the arrival of Aeneas.14 He further conveyed the tradition of the later migration by Evander and the Arcadians that helped to shape the story of Rome.15 Cato’s discussion of Italian beginnings in books 2 and 3 of the Origines evidently paralleled that of Rome in the first book. This is not the place to speculate upon the writers on whom Cato drew or to inquire into his objectives. Greek historiographical traditions certainly played a part in framing the Catonian analysis, and his predecessor Fabius Pictor may have had some influence on his structure and outlook.16 What is relevant here, however, is that the roots of Italian cities could be depicted in terms of comparable or even the same associations with antique legends as Rome, thereby binding them together in a larger network of overlapping kindred relations. In addition to Cato’s history, numerous narratives circulated that spoke of Hellenic or at least foreign origins of a wide range of Italian cities. So, for instance, the 2nd century BCE historian Cn. Gellius reports that the Marsian town of Archippe owed its foundation to Marsyas, head of the Lydians.17 He further conveys the tradition that Medea’s sister Angita had settled in Fucinum in Marsian territory and her son ruled over the Marsians.18 According to Festus, the Paeligni stemmed from Illyricum, having come to Italy under the leadership of king Volsimus whose grandson Pelicus gave them their name.19 Several connections surface in Justin’s treatment of the Sicilian tyrant Dionysius’ effort to expand into Italy where he encountered town after town and people after people with foreign heritage, most of them with links to legendary figures claimed as founders. Justin provides a convenient list encompassing places that run from Etruria to Bruttium

|| 13 Cato, F3.4 (Beck and Walter) = F 45 (Cornell) = Prob. Praef. In Verg. Buc. p. 326 H. 14 Dion. Hal. 1.11.1, 1.13.2. On the first book, see the thorough account, with analysis of the fragments, by Schröder (1971). 15 Cato, F1.19 (Beck and Walter) = F 3 (Cornell) = Lydus, Mag. 1.5. 16 See the discussions of Timpe (1970–71), 16–18; Astin (1978), 223–231. 17 Cn. Gellius, F7 (Beck and Walter) = F 16 (Cornell) = Pliny, NH, 3.108. 18 Cn. Gellius, F8 (Beck and Walter) = F 18 (Cornell) = Solin, 2.28. 19 Festus, p. 248, L.

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with founders from Diomedes to Philoctetes.20 Italian efforts to associate their origins with Greek myths and the legends that swirled about the Trojan War give some sense of the conceptualizations that helped to frame identity. The genesis of the Etruscans, for instance, as is well known, was a matter of dispute already in antiquity. Herodotus famously stated that refugees from a famine in Lydia in Asia Minor colonized Tyrrhenia, the Greek name for Etruria, a story picked up by several later sources. It was rejected, however, by Dionysius of Halicarnassus in the 1st century BCE, who claimed that the Tyrrhenians or Etruscans were nobody’s colonists but were indigenous to the land since their language and customs were different from everyone else.21 Those are evidently theories concocted by Greeks.22 Much less well known, however, is the fact that at least one strand of the tradition, stemming almost certainly from the Etruscans themselves, set that people into the epoch of the Trojan war. Echoes of this appear in Vergil’s Aeneid. The fabled Dardanus, son of Zeus, was ancestor of the Trojans, Aeneas his direct descendant. But Troy was not his original home. One tradition placed his roots in Arcadia in central Greece.23 And another, rarely noted, set him in Etruria, his ancestral home whence he later moved to Troy.24 The Etruscan connection to Aeneas is hinted at also by the very suggestive name given by a 4th century source to Aeneas’ wife, namely Tyrrhenia.25 Despite the almost total absence of direct evidence for Italian voices, hints of this sort supply invaluable testimony for Italian creation or transmission of stories that reflect upon their own identity. None of this implies that Cato or other Greek and Roman historians saw Italy as a unified entity as early as the 2nd century BCE. But it presumes circulation of tales relating an ancient past with intertwined connections and lineages among Romans and various Italian communities.

|| 20 Justin, 20.1.4–16. 21 On Lydian origins, see Herodotus, 1.94; Dion. Hal. 1.27.1–2; Strabo, 5.2.2, 5.24; Tac. Ann. 4.55.3; Justin, 20.1.7. On Etruscans as indigenous, see Dion. Hal. 1.30.2. 22 Greek speculation about the Etruscans goes back at least to Hesiod who notes that the union of Odysseus and Circe produced offspring who would rule over the “Tyrrhenians”; Theog. 1011– 1016. 23 Dion. Hal. 1.9–13, 1.31, 1.89. 24 Verg. Aen. 3.167–171, 7.205–211, 7.240–242; cf. 3.94–96. An alternative tradition has Etruscans linked with another figure of the Trojan saga, Telephus, whose sons were called Tarchon and Tyrsenos; Lycophron, Alex. 1245–1249; cf. Verg. Aen. 8.505–506; Plut. Rom. 2.1. 25 Alcimus, in Festus, 326, 328 L. On Etruscans and the Trojan legend generally, see Alföldi (1965), 278–288; Heurgon (1969), 526–551; Horsfall (1973), 68–79; Sordi (1989); Farney (2007), 140–144.

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II In the Middle and Late Republic, of course, Roman military success extended power and authority across Italy.26 How did this affect the self-perceptions of Romans and Italians? Did Italians reckon themselves as part of a larger Roman community? Or indeed did Romans see themselves as an element (of course, the predominant element) in a larger Italian community? The matter defies easy solution. If evidence allowed, we would doubtless find different reactions in different places and among different peoples. Pursuit of this subject is a tortuously uphill battle. We have precious little access to the attitudes and aspirations of non-Roman peoples in the peninsula. And even for Roman perceptions we are dependent almost entirely upon sources that stem from the later Republic and Principate and demand constant alertness to possible anachronism or axe-grinding. But we must work with what we have. An element of real importance does warrant notice. Our texts refer with some frequency to the notion of kinship between Romans and various peoples of Italy. The relationships were conceived as stemming not from common derivation. but as consequence of intermarriage and mingled hereditary strands. Hence the use of kinship terminology, though meaningful and powerful, did not signify blood ties that could be traced to a single origin or an identifiable ethnicity that determined the character of the nations. The intermix was paramount. Perhaps the most familiar instance of combined lineages lies in the saga of the “rape of the Sabine women that looms large in song and story.”27 The harsh and violent event was followed by the marriages of men from the one community and women from the other.28 Our concern here is not the historicity of the tale, but the conceptualizations that it implies. The Sabine women, we are told, gradually abandoned their bitterness and resentment, and, as wives and mothers, came to accept the situation. One of the means that brought them around is a feature not often commented upon and deserves notice. Romulus, according to the narrative, mollified the women by affirming that their marriages allowed them to participate in all the good fortunes of Rome and to share its civic privileges.29 That theme is carried || 26 The story of Rome’s expansion in Italy has, of course, spawned a vast literature, not directly relevant here. See, most recently, the nuanced study of Roman “imperialism” by Terrenato (2019), which includes, op. cit. 2–30, a selective but illuminating survey of key writings on that topic from antiquity to the present. 27 See above, chapter four. 28 Livy, 1.9; Dion. Hal. 2.30; Cic. De Rep. 2.12; Plut. Rom. 14–15. See above, chapter four. 29 Livy, 1.9.14: illas in matrimonio, in societate fortunarum omnium civitatisque.

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forth in the culmination of the legend. As the famed tale has it, the Sabines waged war on Rome in retaliation for the seizure of their daughters (though evidently several years later), and the fierce contest was brought to conclusion when the Sabine women inserted themselves between fathers and husbands, reminding them that the continuation of the conflict would mean the spilling of kindred blood.30 A pacific outcome ensued. Livy affirms that Romans and Sabines not only made peace but created a single civitas for the two peoples, with a share in rule, though all power went to Rome.31 The city now doubled in number, its combined citizenry to be called quirites, taking the name from a Sabine town, with Romulus and the Sabine ruler Titus Tatius enjoying joint rule.32 The portrayal of the settlement signals more than a new political order. This was a union of communities. Sabines were not only added to the citizenry but shared in religious rites.33 The historical reliability of these notices, of course, can be questioned. That is a different matter, and not relevant here. The extant evidence on the rape of the Sabine women and the blending of the two communities appears no earlier than the age of Cicero. But it is clear that by that time, and doubtless earlier, the narrative frame had as its central component the intermarriage of Romans and Sabines, the kinship relations that this produced, and the social, political, and religious connections that underpinned the two peoples. The violence that stood at the tale’s inception was not suppressed or explained away. It constituted an essential feature, and emblematized the tensions and hostilities that marked the early (and not only the early) history of Roman expansion.34 But the story’s principal resonance lies in the establishment of an affiliation that overcame belligerence and cemented bonds. The fact that this is the representation by later Romans (we do not have the Sabine version) has much significance for Roman self-perception. The Sabine connection may be the most celebrated one. But it is far from the only reference to genealogical ties between Romans and other Italians. The Latins would seem to supply the most obvious instance. Rome emerged in the midst of Latium, and the kindred bonds were a given. It is perhaps surprising how rarely those bonds actually receive explicit notice in our texts. But the fact that the re-

|| 30 Livy, 1.13.2: hinc patres, hinc viros orantes, ne sanguine se nefando soceri generique. 31 Livy, 1.13.4: nec pacem modo sed civitatem unam ex duabus faciunt; regnum consociant; imperium omne conferunt Romam. 32 Livy, 1.13.5; Dion. Hal. 2.45–46; Cic. De Rep. 2.13; Plut. Rom. 19. 33 Cic. De Rep. 2.13: Sabinos in civitatem adscivit sacris communicatis; Dion. Hal. 2.26.3; Plut. Rom. 21.1. 34 This aspect is stressed by Dench (2005), 22–24, 253, 343–344.

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lationship was seldom voiced may simply suggest that it was too obvious to require comment.35 It gains overt expression at a time of crisis. At the outset of the great Latin revolt against Rome, from 340 to 338 BCE, the Latin leader L. Annius delivered, in Livy’s version, a powerful speech to the Roman senate justifying Latin resentment against the overlordship of Rome and declaring a willingness to break free with arms. But Annius left a loophole. He affirmed that Latins were prepared to avoid rebellion out of regard for their consanguinitas with Rome, and offered instead a political resolution that would institute shared rule between Rome and Latium.36 The relationship does not receive further overt mention, and, of course, it did not prevent open warfare. But the brief allusion, requiring no elaboration, evidently presumed that the affiliation was unquestioned. The same sentiment appears in a much later context and a much later source. The 2nd century CE historian Appian of Alexandria observes that when C. Gracchus in 122 BCE proposed the bestowal of full Roman citizenship upon all Latins, he exclaimed that the senate could not plausibly deny this privilege to their own kinsmen.37 Once again the text makes no issue over this. The relationship was understood and did not require explication. Romans and Latins, of course, were syngeneis. One very interesting and surprisingly overlooked example of syngeneia deserves notice: that of the Mamertini. They appear and disappear in a relatively brief, but very important, moment of Roman history. Polybius identifies them as mercenaries from Campania who served king Agathocles of Syracuse in his battles with Carthage in Sicily. Once their service to Agathocles concluded, Polybius reports, they were at loose ends and decided to take possession of the prosperous city of Messana on the tip of Sicily, just across the straits from the Italian city of Rhegium. Their capture of Messana through deception, treachery, and brutality was followed by a similar takeover of Rhegium by other mercenaries who were in Roman pay, led by another Campanian. Rome took responsibility for the misdeeds of the garrison in Rhegium, expelled the perpetrators from the city, and restored it to its inhabitants. As a result, the Mamertini in Messana, deprived of their compatriots, were now vulnerable to the resurgent power of Syracuse. This || 35 Individual Roman families did not shy away from broadcasting their ancestral connection with Latin towns, especially those which had claims on great antiquity. See the fine treatment by Farney (2007), 39–74. 36 Livy, 8.5.4: quamquam armis possumus adserere Latium in libertatem, consanguinitati tamen hoc dabimus ut condiciones pacis feramus aequas utrisque. Note also that Annius’ declaration also includes the wish that both parties form a single people and a single state, with Rome as the patria; 8.5.5–6: unum populum, unam rem publicam … sit haec sane patria potior et Romani omnes vocemur. 37 Appian, BC, 1.23.99: ὡς οὐκ εὐπρεπῶς συγγενέσι τῆς βουλῆς ἀντιστῆναι δυναμένης.

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local plot, however, had far wider consequences for the Mediterranean. The Mamertini, feeling oppressed by Syracusan aggression, appealed for assistance to both Rome and Carthage in 264 BCE, an act that, perhaps inadvertently and unintentionally, turned out to trigger the momentous First Punic War between Rome and Carthage that would alter the shape of the western world.38 That clash cannot be pursued here. What concerns us is the nature of the Mamertine appeal to Rome. They begged for Roman assistance on the grounds that they were homophyloi, a people of the same race.39 Just how one should understand that expression remains unclear.40 If the Mamertini did draw attention to their kinship, it seems to have had little impact on Rome. In Polybius’ own account of the Roman debate that followed, Rome’s concerns lay primarily with possible effects on Carthaginian actions and the material benefits of expansion to Sicily, not with any alleged kinship connections to the Mamertini.41 Nevertheless, the fact that Polybius records the appeal to a clan relationship without comment or elaboration suggests that this bond between Romans and Campanians could be taken for granted.42 Whence would such a bond have derived? We know that the Campanians were accorded civitas sine suffragio (citizenship without the vote) in 338 BCE.43 That gave them access to some Roman civic privileges, but did not create kinship ties. A clue lies in the Campanian plea for indulgence in 210, after having been brought to heel by the Romans for their defection to Hannibal. Campanian

|| 38 Polyb. 1.7–10. 39 Polyb. 1.10.2: δεόμενοι βοηθήσειν σφίσιν αὐτοῖς ὁμοφύλοις ὑπάρχουσι. 40 The suggestion of Dench (1995), 71, that the Mamertini adopted the Greek dichotomy of Hellenes/barbarians and linked themselves to Romans as fellow-barbarians as a mark of kinship, seems highly implausible. For Russo (2012), 35–45, homophylia has a different connotation from syngeneia or homoethnia, the latter two referring to kinship relations, the former to common laws, customs, and language. But the distinction made by Polybius at 11.19.1–4, cited by Russo, is one between different levels of connectivity, not between ethnic connection and commonality of customs. Nor is it likely that the Mamertini appealed to Rome for assistance only on the basis of shared practices, let alone language (which they may not have shared). 41 Polyb. 1.10–11. 42 Whether the Mamertini did, in fact, stem from Campania is not altogether clear. The obscure historian Alfius, who wrote on the Carthaginian war, has the Mamertini derive from Samnium, which could be their own version; Festus, p. 150, L. See Dench (1995), 55–56, 71, 185–186, 211; Farney (2007), 222–223. But the rest of the tradition is unanimous on their Campanian origin; Polyb. 21.7.2; Strabo, 6.2.3; Dion. Hal. 20.4.8; Dio, 9.40.8. 43 Livy, 8.14.10. An earlier award of citizenship had been accorded to Campanian equites in 340 for their assistance in the Latin War; Livy, 8.11.16; cf. Frederiksen (1984), 185–198. On Campanian aristocratic families and Roman citizenship, see Farney (2007), 181–191.

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spokesmen put their case to the Roman senate in that year, acknowledging their transgressions and affirming the punishment of their leadership but asking for freedom for themselves and their families and for restoration of some of their property. They pointed to their status as Roman citizens and, more significantly, to the fact that many of them, through the long-established privilege of intermarriage, were now, after generations had passed, kindred by blood.44 How many Campanians actually exercised the privilege of citizenship and availed themselves of this connection is, of course, beyond knowing. But it would allow the Mamertini later to make a claim on linked lineage with Rome. Polybius’ statement, even though written a century after the event, need not be doubted. Appeal to an ancestral connection makes sense. Even a nation normally cast as an enemy of Rome could claim indirect genealogical association. The mighty Samnites fought Romans in a series of bloody contests in the 4th and 3rd centuries BCE. In the most notorious of these battles, the Romans suffered a humiliating ambush and defeat at the Caudine Forks in 321, when two Roman legions were forced to march under a Samnite yoke to dramatize their subjection.45 Yet in the narrative of this disaster, the 2nd century CE historian Appian puts into the mouth of the Samnite leader Gavius Pontius a notable speech reminding the Romans of the lengthy friendship between the nations which Rome had violated more than once in its insatiable expansionism and its intolerable arrogance. And he adds that he will allow the defeated forces to pass under the yoke safely, a grievous embarrassment rather than a mass slaughter, on the grounds of their former friendship and their syngeneia.46 To what does Pontius, at least in Appian’s representation, refer? A brief allusion supplies the answer. Pontius denounces the Romans for waging an undeclared and perfidious war upon men who had once been their friends, descendants of the Sabines who dwelled as part of their own community.47 The reference here is to the entangled

|| 44 Livy, 26.33.3: eos libertatem sibi suisque et bonorum aliquam partem orare, cives Romanos, adfinitatibus plerosque et propinquis iam cognationibus ex conubio vetusto iunctos. 45 For the Samnite wars, see the account of Salmon (1967), 187–279. On the Samnites more generally, see the recent treatment by Scopacasa (2015). Cf. also Terrenato (2019), 133–143. 46 Appian, Samn. 4.5: καὶ συγγενείας καὶ φιλίας τῆς ποτὲ μνημονεύων. There is no counterpart to this in Livy’s brief account of Pontius’ speech; 9.4.3–5. 47 Appian, Samn. 4.5: τὸν πόλεμον τόνδε ἄσπονδον καὶ ἀκήρυκτον ἐψηφίσασθε, κατ’ ανδρῶν ποτὲ φίλων, κατὰ Σαβίνων ἐκγόνων τῶν ὑμῖν συνοικούντων.

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traditions that link Sabines, Samnites, and Tarentines.48 And through the Sabines they were at least second-order kinsmen of Rome. The idea of genealogical affiliation could extend even to the most distant parts of Italy. The Bruttii on the tip of the Italian toe, not usually reckoned as kin to the Romans, nevertheless qualified, at least in some eyes, simply as being part of Italy. An interesting passage in Appian’s monograph on the Punic Wars, rarely noted in this connection, expresses the point clearly. The scene in question is that of the final days of Rome’s war against Hannibal. The great Carthaginian general had been defeated by Scipio Africanus at the decisive battle of Zama in 202 BCE, and now sought a means to take flight. Among the mercenaries who had not abandoned him were a troop of Spanish horsemen and one of Bruttians. But Hannibal had lost confidence in both, according to Appian: the Spaniards were impetuous barbarians, and the Bruttians might well turn him over to Scipio, in order to atone for their transgressions against Italy since, as Italians, they were of the same folk as Scipio.49 Appian, to be sure, was writing three and a half centuries after these events. The notion of Italy as a single entity had long been accepted by Appian’s day. We cannot be confident that it held in the age of Scipio and Hannibal. Nevertheless, the identification of Bruttii with homoethneis of the Roman commander does fit with the testimony on other Italian peoples as having kindred relations with Rome. The sense of shared lineage exists also on the broader level of Italy as a whole. Velleius Paterculus, who composed his history in the reign of Tiberius, expresses the idea unequivocally. In treating the causes of the Social War, in which many Italian peoples rose against Rome, Velleius explains the outburst as deep resentment on the part of Italians who had fought for so many years as allies of Rome and, despite being men of the same race and blood, were treated as if they were foreigners and aliens.50 Florus, the author of an epitome of Roman history, composed in the 2nd century CE, offered his own interpretation of the origins of the Social War, very much at variance with that of Velleius, but dependent on a strikingly similar premise. While Velleius justified the Italian uprising on the grounds of Rome’s treatment of their kinsmen as if they were foreigners, Florus criticizes the Italians for their insurgency against what he terms their mother and || 48 Varro, LL, 7.29; Gellius, 11.1.5; Strabo, 5.3.1, 5.4.12; Justin, 20.1.14; Festus, 436, L. See the discussions of Musti (1988), 197–216; Dench (1995), 53–58, 203–212; Farney (2007), 199–210; Russo (2007), 13–30. 49 Appian, Pun. 47: περὶ δὲ Βρεττίων ὠς Ἰταλῶν ὁμοεθνῶν Σκιπίωνι, μὴ ἐς συγγνώμην ὧν ἐξήμαρτον ἐς τὴν Ἰταλίαν, προσαγάγώσιν αὐτὸν τῷ Σκιπίωνι. 50 Vell. Pat. 2.15.2: per quod homines eiusdem et gentis et sanguinis ut externos alienosque fastidire posset.

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parent city. The Roman people, in his presentation, combined Etruscans, Latins, and Sabines, forming a single entity from all and creating a unified body from its diverse members. An assault on Rome by the various peoples of Latium, Picenum, Etruria, and Campania, indeed by Italy as a whole, was like a form of matricide.51 In short, from opposite vantage points, Velleius and Florus shared a common and fundamental principle: that Roman absorption of Italian peoples was more than conquest and subjugation; it constituted a blending of communities. The idea gains some reinforcement in Appian’s account of Ti. Gracchus’ major land reform effort in Italy in 133 BCE. In his presentation, Gracchus lamented the fate of the Italian race (genos), impoverished and declining in numbers, whom he describes as most accomplished in war and syngeneis of Rome.52 And after passage of the agrarian bill, according to Appian, Gracchus gained immense popularity, accompanied in Rome by a large multitude, as if he were the founder not only of the city or even of a single race but of all the nations in Italy.53 For Appian, the concept of Italy as an acknowledged unit in a familial relationship with Rome had clear resonance. That this idea was in the air already in the Gracchan era is indicated also by earlier sources and from the opposite angle. After Ti. Gracchus’ assassination, the great Roman general and political leader Scipio Aemilianus returned from victories in Spain and faced a troubling confrontation. When asked his reaction to the death of Gracchus, Scipio famously responded that, if Gracchus intended to seize control of the state, he was justly killed. That statement drew a clamorous and vigorously hostile reception from the populace which had gathered to hear him. Scipio then proceeded to make matters worse by a contemptuous defiance of the crowd, asserting that he would not be intimidated by those for whom Italy was a step-mother, not a mother.54 Exactly to whom he addressed his remarks is not altogether clear. It appears that his principal targets were freedmen, manumitted ex-slaves who had been brought to Italy from abroad as war captives.55 They could be reckoned, in demeaning fashion, as not

|| 51 Florus, 2.6.1–5: quippe cum populus Romanus Etruscos, Latinos, Sabinosque sibi miscuerit et unum ex omnibus sanguinem ducat, corpus fecit ex membris et ex omnibus unus est … cum omne Latium atque Picenum, Etruria omnis atque Campania, postremo Italia contra matrem suam ac parentem urbem consurgeret. 52 Appian, BC, 1.9.35. 53 Appian, BC, 1.13.56: οἷα δὴ κτίστης οὐ μιᾶς πόλεως οὐδὲ ἑνὸς γένους, ἀλλὰ πάντων, ὅσα ἐν Ἰταλίᾳ ἔθνη, Note that Appian here employs the terms genos and ethnos as entirely synonymous. Efforts to parse particular and distinct meanings in the two words are not likely to be productive. 54 Val. Max. 6.2.3: quibus Italia noverca est; Vell. Pat. 2.4.4; Vir. Ill. 58.8; Plut. Mor. 201 E–F: οὐ μητέρα τὴν Ἰταλίαν ἀλλὰ μητρυιὰν; Polyaen. 8.16.5. 55 Val. Max. 6.2.3.

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fully Italian. But the contrast drawn by Scipio is quite plain. The distinction lay between those for whom Italy was a real mother and those for whom she was a mere step-mother. The notion of Italy as an identifiable and enveloping entity for all those who belong plays a central role in that narrative. Interlocking bonds, at least as conceptualized in our texts, thus attached Romans to various Italian peoples from Latins to Brutii. The accumulation of such bonds evidently gave rise to the idea that Italy itself supplied a common source of identity for the peoples of the peninsula, even embracing Rome itself.

III The concept of Italy as an all-encompassing unit, however, did not mean erasure of individual identities. Different communities maintained their special characters. Italian peoples served in separate units in the allied armies, not subsumed in an agglomerate. This emerges explicitly in Polybius’ detailing of the levy of Italian troops mustered against the Celts in 225 BCE. He offers numbers of recruits for each of the Italic peoples separately: Sabines, Etruscans, Umbrians, Sarsinates, Veneti, Cenomani, Latins, Samnites, Iapygians, Messapians, Lucanians, Marsi, Marrucini, Frentani, Vestini, and Campanians.56 Livy records those Italians who defected to Hannibal after the disastrous battle of Cannae in 216, tabulating them individually as belonging either to regions or to cities, including Campanians, Apulians, and Samnites, as well as Tarentines, Metapontines, and Crotonians.57 In the Social War itself, Italians who fought against Rome did so in different groups defined by geography and led by commanders from those regions or ancestry. Florus usefully lists them in accord with those categories.58 Even at the time of the civil war between Caesar and Pompey, long after the extension of Roman citizenship throughout the peninsula, soldiers were still called up in separate units, as, for instance, from the Marsi and Paeligni.59 Local and regional integrity remained intact. It could even generate some humor. The poet Horace came from Venusia in southern Italy. In one of his Satires, he professes uncertainty as to whether he is Lucanian or Apulian, for the Venusian farmer ploughs || 56 Polyb. 2.24.5–14. Cf. Bradley (1997), 58. 57 Livy, 22.61.11–13. Cf. also Catullus, 39, who brackets Italian cities and regions together as markers of identity: Sabines, Umbrians, and Etruscans, even Transpadani, as well as Tiburtines and Lanuvians. 58 Florus, 2.6.6. Cf. Vell. Pat. 2.16.2. 59 Caes. BC, 1.15.

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the border on both sides. A distinction between the Apulian gens and the Lucanian endures.60 At the same time, allegiance to individual parts and peoples of Italy need not diminish the sense of identification with Rome itself. As Cicero put it, with some exaggeration, nearly all of us Romans come from the municipia.61 The point is echoed by Velleius Paterculus who lists a number of “new men”, i.e. those born outside Rome, who retained association with their native cities but reached positions of eminence and authority in the Roman government itself.62 This combination receives its most direct expression in a notable passage from Cicero’s treatise de Legibus. The dialogue explicitly raises the question of whether one born in a municipium holds that as his true patria or does the one patria that is shared in common, i.e. Rome, count as the fatherland—or can one have two fatherlands?63 Cicero himself, as character in the dialogue, affirms that all those from the municipia do indeed have dual patriae. Cato, for instance, so Cicero asserts, though born in Tusculum, held Roman citizenship; hence the one was his patria by birth, the other his patria by law.64 The language is non-technical, and to parse the phrases as reference to particular rights and privileges would be off the mark. Cicero’s essential point is that no conflict exists between the two allegiances. Although we must be prepared, he says, to lay down our lives for the state that has embraced us in a common citizenship, the place of our birth is hardly less sweet than that which took us in. The latter is greater and contains the former, but the two civitates are thought of as one.65 The conceptualization here is quite telling. Cicero formulates an emotional, not really a constitutional, principle. The affinity for one’s home town in Italy carries weight equal to the loyalty felt for the res publica. This is not, as it is often portrayed, a dual loyalty. Rather, as Cicero articulates it, the one is contained in the other, the two civitates are one. Civitas constitutes more than citizenship here. It signifies a civic community to which the individual belongs by virtue of being

|| 60 Horace, Serm. 2.1.34–39. 61 Cic. Phil. 3.15. 62 Vell. Pat. 2.128. 63 Cic. De Leg. 2.5: id enim ego te accipio dicere Arpinum, germanam patriam esse vestram? Numquid duas habetis patrias? An est una illa patria communis? Dyck (2004), 257–258. 64 Cic. De Leg. 2.5: omnibus municipibus duas esse censeo patrias, unam naturae, alteram civitatis, ut ille Cato, cum esset Tusculi natus, in populi Romani civitatem, susceptus est; ita, cum ortu Tusculanus esset, civitate Romanus, habuit alteram loci patriam, alteram iuris. 65 Cic. De Leg. 2.5: dulcis autem non multo secus est ea, quae genuit, quam illa, quae excepit … illa sit maior, haec in ea contineatur … habet civitates set unam illas civitatem putat. The last part of the text is corrupt, but the basic sense is clear enough. See Dyck (2004), 260.

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a Roman, without loosening in any way the ties that bind him to his native city or region. The Roman and the Tusculan or the Arpinate or the Tiburtine coalesce. Multiple identities were something that Romans and Italians could comfortably live with. Cicero described Rome as a patria that encompassed the communities of Italy, just as Florus later designated it as the mater and parens of Italy.66 And the reverse formulation could also hold. Scipio Aemilianus’ disparagement of ex-slaves and foreigners for whom Italy was a mere step-mother implies that for true Romans (in his view) Italy was a mater.67 The one conception has Rome as the center and source of unity for Italians, the other sets Italy in that role, embracing and incorporating Rome itself. The two perceptions are not mutually exclusive or inconsistent. Both share the sense that, for all the distinctions and contrasts among peoples and communities in Italy, a fundamental homogeneity bound them to Rome. Perhaps the classic statement on the combination of diversity and unity in this regard comes in a fragment of the poet Ennius in the early 2nd century BCE. Ennius stemmed from Rudiae in Messapia in the heel of Italy. The fragment declares that he has three hearts, tria corda, for he knew how to speak Greek, Oscan, and Latin.68 The reference to the languages does not simply call attention to Ennius’ linguistic skills. Use of the expression tria corda signals something deeper, an allusion to Ennius’ multiple identities.69 The poet associated himself with three cultures, the Hellenic in which he was educated, the Oscan with which he grew up, and the Latin of which he became a part. They existed simultaneously in his life and his work. Ennius elsewhere stated that “we are Romans who were previously Rudini.”70 The meaning surely is not that Ennius shed his Rudinate identity when he became a Roman citizen. It was, after all, part of his tripartite heart. The Romanness was added to what had previously been a strictly local identification. Ennius accumulated identities. One can go further along these lines. An essential part of Roman self-perception, as expressed in the legends that collected and were refashioned in the middle and late Republic, was precisely the multiple identities that derived from the putative conglomeration of peoples who settled in Italy from abroad. The aggre-

|| 66 Cic. De Leg. 2.5; Florus, 2.6.5. 67 See above. 68 Ennius, apud Aulius Gellius, 17.17.1: Quintus Ennius tria corda habere sese dicebat quod loqui Graece et Osce et Latine sciret. 69 So, rightly, Wallace-Hadrill (2008), 1–2. 70 Ennius, apud Cic. De Orat. 3.168: nos sumus Romani qui fuimus ante Rudini. See Skutsch (1985), 676–677.

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gate receives fullest articulation in the complex narrative of Dionysius of Halicarnassus in the late 1st century BCE. In Dionysius’ account, a bewildering variety of migrants from different Greek lands made their way in sequential waves to Italy, eventually not only peopling the peninsula but also providing the origins of Rome itself.71 Roman writers took some pride in claiming that kings in the city’s earliest history stemmed from neighboring peoples. According to tradition, Numa Pompilius, Ancus Martius, and Titus Tatius were all Sabines, and the Tarquins were Etruscans.72 Whatever the truth of those connections, they became a boast, set in bronze by the emperor Claudius, who underscored the Sabine and Etruscan ancestry of Rome’s early monarchs.73 The legends were shaped and then perpetuated to give Rome a multi-ethnic character from the outset. Tradition had it that the city, when established by Romulus, served, on advice from the oracle at Delphi, as a haven and refuge for fugitives, debtors, slaves, homeless people, and the downtrodden generally.74 The populace and its growth thus depended upon an influx of persons from various places, backgrounds, and origins, a motley collection that stamped its story from the very inception. Cicero takes gratification in Rome’s liberal policy of granting citizenship, from the time of Romulus on, to those who sought it, beginning with Sabines, Latins, Volscians, and Hernicans.75 From a different angle, Dionysius of Halicarnassus expresses surprise that Rome did not become altogether barbarized in view of the stream of Italic peoples who entered it over the years, naming, among others, the Opici, the Samnites, the Etruscans, the Marsi, the Bruttians, and Umbrians, not to mention those further afield, like the Ligurians, Spaniards, and Gauls.76 The image of Rome as an asylum for the nations and for the afflicted continued to resonate through the ages. It appears, for instance in the Commentariolum Petitionis, the electioneering handbook supposedly composed for Cicero’s consular candidacy by his brother. The treatise describes Rome as a state made up of a collection of nations, containing all the vices that such a miscellaneous mass of humanity brings with it.77 A century and a half later the satirist Martial noted how popular and widely read was his poetry, scattered among all the diverse peoples

|| 71 See, especially, Dion. Hal. 1.9–13, 1.31, 1.41–44, 1.60–61, 1.89; Gabba (1991), 93–118, 191–200. 72 Livy, 1.34; Strabo, 5.3.1. 73 ILS, 212, I.8–24; cf. Tac. Ann. 11.24.4. Cf. the remarks of Cornell (1997), 9–21. 74 Livy, 1.8.4–5; Plut. Rom. 9.3. 75 Cic. Pro Balbo, 31. 76 Dion. Hal. 1.89.3; cf. 2.15.3–4. 77 Q. Cic. Comm. Petit. 54: Roma est civitas ex nationum conventu constituta, in qua multae insidiae, multa fallacia, etc.

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whom Rome encompasses.78 As Athenaeus describes it in the mid 2nd century CE: Rome was the world’s community, a city that epitomized the oikoumene since one can see all cities within it, and entire nations dwell therein.79 His near contemporary, the celebrated Greek orator Aelius Aristides, put the most positive spin on this imagery, proclaiming Rome as the city common to all, a citadel to provide refuge for those who dwell around and outside.80 The perception could apply to Italy as a whole, as expressed by Pliny the Elder who presents Italy as nurse and parent of all lands, and the sole fatherland of all nations everywhere in the world.81 The imagery of an open and generous embrace for all appears here in its most expansive form.

IV Affiliations, or at least constructed affiliations, between Romans and Italians resonated widely. The connections receive frequent reference, both in general and between Rome and particular communities. Was the notion of Rome as refuge for all Italians or Italy as mater for all Romans mere window-dressing? Did such concepts possess any significant impact in the realm of history? One momentous historical event suggests precisely the reverse. The idea of a common lineage and the public embrace by Rome of Italian peoples from all over the peninsula seems to be at odds, quite starkly so, with an episode of pivotal importance in Roman history: the Social War. If the Italian nations shared genealogical ties with Rome and were warmly accommodated by the city, how does one account for the epochal Italian war on Rome? This so-called “Social War”, the bellum sociale, Rome’s contest with the socii (the Italian allies), took place from 91 to 88 BCE, a period long after Rome had spread its dominion throughout the peninsula. The Social War was, in many ways, the most challenging conflict in which the res publica had ever engaged. The deeply disturbing struggle pitted against the Ro-

|| 78 Martial, 8.61.5: spargor per omnes Roma quas tenet gentes. 79 Athenaeus, 1.20b–c. 80 Ael. Arist. 26.61: ἄστυ κοινόν. Cf. Pliny, NH, 3.39. The valuable collection of evidence for and discussion of migration to Rome by Noy (2000), esp. 53–84, deals almost exclusively with those who came from outside Italy. 81 Pliny, NH, 3.39: terra omnium terrarum alumna eadem et parens … una cunctarum gentium in toto orbe patria.

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mans men who were trained and equipped like themselves, long-standing partners in joint military operations and joint (if unequal) rewards.82 This proved to be a traumatic encounter unlike any that Rome had experienced before. How can this ferocious clash between Romans and Italians be reconciled with a belief in linked ancestry and intermingled populations?83 We certainly have some significant testimony that points to fierce hostility between the warring parties and a determined drive on the part of the Italians to rid themselves, once for all, of Roman suzerainty. The Samnites, first and foremost, harbored long-standing and deep-rooted animosity toward Rome. Major wars between the two peoples had highlighted Roman expansion in the peninsula from the mid 4th century through the early 3rd century.84 Memories of those lengthy and drawn-out conflicts, it seems, had not altogether faded. The Samnites entered the fray early and stayed to the bitter end, indeed beyond. When the Romans offered grants of citizenship to those Italians who had not taken up arms or would lay them down promptly, many complied—but not the Samnites. They fought on unstintingly, and continued to engage Roman troops well into 87 when the bulk of the fighting had long been over.85 Nor were the Samnites alone in their animosity. Bitterness evidently ran deep in certain places and among certain people. The war’s opening salvo occurred in the town of Asculum in Picenum when a Roman magistrate threw his weight around and intimidated participants at a festival. A severe reaction followed. The people of Asculum not only assassinated the Roman official but slaughtered every Roman they found in the city.86 Later, an especially horrific episode occurred at Pinna, a town of the Vestini. The city held steadfastly to its alliance with Rome, whereupon Italian forces attempted to compel its defection by threatening (and eventually carrying out) a massacre of its helpless children.87 Such savagery

|| 82 On contacts between Romans and Italians prior to the Social War, see the brief but useful survey by Patterson (2012), 215–226. The fuller study by Carlà-Uhink (2017), 277–330 focuses on the emergence of an Italian identity. 83 This is not the place to discuss the extensive and controversial literature on the complex origins of the Social War. Dart (2014), 9–21, provides a summary of some of the more important modern scholarship on the broader political and economic background. One should add now Kendall (2013), 69–138 (at unnecessary length), and, especially, Carlà-Uhink (2017), 330–365. See also the important study of Roman/Italian relations by Bispham (2007), 113–160, with further bibliography. 84 On the three Samnite wars, see Salmon (1967), 187–279; Scopacasa (2015), 119–146. 85 See Salmon (1967), 340–388; Scopacasa (2015), 284–294; cf. Brunt (1988), 110–111. 86 Appian, BC, 1.38.170–174; Vell. Pat. 2.15.1; Livy, Per. 72; Obseq. 54; Florus, 2.6. 87 Diod. 37.19.4–37.20; cf. Val Max. 5.4.ext.7.

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indicates a profound hatred of their foes that would seem to belie any influence that kindred relations might have had. One can point also to a perhaps even more telling indicator of Italian push for separatism and rejection of all forms of association with Rome. The insurgents established an independent political entity sundered from Roman authority and running its own show. They designated Corfinium as their federal center, their koine polis, renaming it Italica. The site would certainly serve as a form of governmental headquarters for the duration of the war, and might well have been envisioned as a future and long-term capital. Italian leaders proceeded to put into place a number of institutions that would govern the separatist movement.88 The new confederacy also minted its own coinage, with some pointed images. They included a representation of Italia crowned by victory, the swearing of an oath as an emblem of unified purpose, and, most strikingly, the Italian bull assaulting the Roman wolf.89 This collection of testimony has, not surprisingly, led to an increasing consensus about Italian goals in the Social War. For many scholars Italians aimed to shake off Roman oppression and carve out a separatist and self-governing polity.90 If so, that would suggest that kinship considerations were tossed to the winds or indeed never had any force beyond sheer façade and fabrication. Did the Social War expose the emptiness of any sense of genealogical intertwining within Italy? The matter can benefit from reconsideration. It should be noted, first of all, that there was by no means unanimous Italian participation in hostilities against Rome. The insurgents largely stemmed from central Italy and the Apennines.91 The Latins remained loyal to Rome, as did most

|| 88 Strabo, 5.4.2; Diod. 37.2.4–7; Vell. Pat. 2.16.4. On the structure and organization, of which very little is known, see Meyer (1958), 74–79; Salmon (1967), 349–351; Keaveney (1987), 121–123; Pobjoy (2000), 191–192; Kendall (2013), 257–269; Carlà-Uhink (2017), 372–380. Cf. Isayev (2017), 320–326, on Corfinium. 89 Sydenham (1952), nos. 617–636, 640–642. See the discussions of Keaveney (1987), 123–124; Dench (1995), 212–217; Pobjoy (2000), 198–205; Carlà-Uhink (2017), 380–387. The image of the bull, however, might have a range of connotations, not limited simply to an anti-Roman significance; cf. Dench (1997), 49. 90 Sherwin-White (1973), 134–149, for instance, stresses the strong strain of secessionism that ran among the insurgents. So also Keaveney (1987), 124–127. Mouritsen (1998), 137–141, too considers Italian actions as driven by anti-Roman sentiments and aimed at removal of Roman domination. A similar view appears in Pobjoy (2000), 187–211, who emphasizes the coinage of the Italians during the war. That view is embraced, most recently, by Santangelo (2018), 231–240; cf. also Isayev (2017), 314–315. Carlà-Uhink (2017), 330–365, offers an important dissenting voice. Cf. also Kendall (2013), 223–233, and, with regard to Sabines, Welch (2015), 76–82. 91 Livy, Per. 72; Appian, BC, 1.39.175.

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of Campania, Cisalpine Gaul, Bruttium, and the Greek cities of southern Italy. The Etruscans and Umbrians also refrained from the fight during its first year, and, when they did enter, for reasons obscure to us, they did not stay long. According to Appian, they accepted Roman citizenship when offered it by the Roman senate, and withdrew from the fray.92 Sentiments among the numerous Italian municipia and rural districts are, for the most part, closed to us. But there must have been considerable division of opinion. Only occasionally do we get a glimpse of it. Some Italians took the Roman side even against their own compatriots.93 And insurgent leaders had to secure the allegiance of certain towns through force or treachery; plainly their inhabitants did not willingly join the Italian cause.94 There is no way to calculate proportions or strengths of loyalty or disaffection. Divisions must have run through all levels of society. What needs to be established, however, is the source of discontent that could have produced so calamitous an episode. Was it, in fact, a deep-seated animosity to Rome and to Roman dominion that motivated most Italians, as it evidently did for Rome’s longtime foes, the Samnites, thereby rendering any effect of putative kinship otiose? It is vital to recognize that this fateful contest was brought to an end not only (or perhaps even primarily) by hard fighting, but by extension of the Roman franchise. That raises the central question: did the Italians seek freedom from Roman ascendancy or did they enter the fray to gain full participation in the Roman enterprise? Several recent scholars have stressed alienation, antipathy, and rebelliousness. But the testimony of our sources on the origins of the Social War points in a different direction. They underscore again and again the clamor for Roman citizenship on the part of the socii. The repeated refrain in a wide variety of writers cannot be lightly dismissed as anachronistic invention by authors living in later eras when Roman franchise had greater appeal for the inhabitants of a far-flung empire. This view does not appear only in later authors. Cicero was a contemporary. And he makes the point unambiguously. The orator recalls a time when he was a young recruit in the Roman army during the Social War and witnessed a parley between commanders of the two sides characterized by mutual respect. For Cicero this was perfectly understandable. As he put it, the socii “did not seek to snatch our civitas from us but to be admitted into it.”95 || 92 Appian, BC, 1.49.211–213; Livy, Per. 74. On the attitudes of Etruscans and Umbrians, a much debated issue, see Harris (1971), 212–229, with earlier bibliography. More recently, Mouritsen (1998), 152–156; Bradley (2000), 217–221; Kendall (2013), 331–338; Carlà-Uhink (2017), 363–365. 93 Cic. Pro Sulla, 58; Vell. Pat. 2.16.2; Appian, BC, 1.48.208–209. 94 Appian, BC, 1.41.183, 1.42.185; Dio, fr. 98.3; Diod. 37.19.4–5, 37.20. 95 Cic. Phil. 12.27: non enim ut eriperent nobis socii civitatem, sed ut in eam reciperentur petebant. Cf. Carlà-Uhink (2017), 332–333. Mouritsen (2019), 312–314, unsuccessfully endeavors to get

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Comparable sentiments can be found elsewhere. A recurrent theme among our sources requires emphasis: the attraction of imperial power. The historian Velleius Paterculus stated the matter quite forthrightly: Italians sought a share in that state whose imperium they were defending by arms. Indeed, he asserts, through all the years and all the wars they had supplied twice the number of forces as the Romans themselves, and yet had not been accorded the rights of citizenship.96 That explanation for the conflict is reinforced by Justin who states that the Italians went to war not demanding liberty but a share in citizenship and empire.97 Appian’s analysis, along these same lines, was even more pointed. When the possibility for enfranchisement of all Italians first surfaced in 125 BCE, in the heat of the Gracchan period, they responded, according to the Greek historian, out of desire to be participants in empire instead of subjects.98 The Italians, he maintained, could not endure being subordinates rather than equals. The citizenship would instantly make them rulers instead of ruled.99 Shortly after the outbreak of hostilities, according to Appian, Italian envoys to Rome reiterated the same rationale: the allies who had collaborated with Romans in all efforts to establish their empire had not even been deemed worthy of citizenship.100 It deserves notice that even at so late a date an Italian delegation went to Rome to make their case for Roman citizenship—only to be rebuffed. Mobilization had already begun, but the principal Italian objective was still citizenship, not the overthrow of Rome. Their aim, in short, as all these texts clearly affirm, was access to authority as partner of the imperial power.101 Most Italians did not rise in order to

|| around this clear testimony by suggesting that it reflects the particular circumstances of the speech and represents a change of view from Cicero’s earlier attitude toward the Italians. 96 Vell. Pat. 2.15.2: petebant enim eam civitatem, cuius imperium armis tuebantur; per omnis annos atque omnia bella duplici numero se militum equitumque fungi neque in eius civitatis ius recipi. 97 Justin, 38.4.13: universam Italiam bello Marsico consurrexisse, non iam libertatem, sed consortium imperii civitatisque poscentem. 98 Appian, BC, 1.34.152: Ἰταλιώτας ἐπιθυμεῖν τῆς Ῥωμαίων πολιτείας ὡς κοινωνοὺς τῆς ἡγεμονίας ἀντὶ ὑπηκόων ἐσομένους. 99 Appian, BC, 1.34.154–155: αὐτικὰ ἡγεμόνες ἀντὶ ὑπηκόων ἐσόμενοι. 100 Appian, BC, 1.39.176: πάντα Ῥωμαίοις ἐς τὴν ἀρχὴν συνεργασάμενοι οὐκ ἀξιοῦνται τῆς τῶν βεβοηθημένων πολιτείας. 101 One could also place a more cynical spin upon this motivation. In a speech, whether invented or based on a lost oration, composed as part of a rhetorical treatise not long after the Social War, the speaker denounces the Italians for engaging in a war that they could not win. He describes their motives not as seeking to join Rome in running an empire but to run that empire themselves; Rhet. Ad Her. 4.13: illi imperium orbis terrae … ad se transferre tantulis viribus conarentur.

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throw off the Romans’ yoke but to join them in yoking others—and to enjoy the blessings of empire. Our sources show near unanimity on that score. Some scholars have sought to find alternative interpretations in the texts. Diodorus Siculus, to be sure, describes the war as “the peoples of Italy rising against the hegemony of Rome.”102 And Strabo speaks of Italians seeking freedom and civic privileges; once they were denied, they revolted.103 Are such passages really at variance with the consistent representations noted above? In fact, these very same authors, though speaking about resistance to Roman supremacy and the goal of liberty, also indicate that the Italians fought for equality, for a common share in Roman suzerainty. They continued fighting, so Strabo observes, until they achieved the koinonia for which they had gone to war.104 The Italians strove for citizenship in the imperial state. Strabo and Diodorus saw no contradiction between liberty for Rome’s allies and partnership in hegemony. The testimony uniformly and decisively affirms that the socii aspired to Roman franchise.105 It is no coincidence that when the Romans came at least partially to their senses and offered citizenship to those Italians who had remained loyal or had laid down their arms in timely fashion, this heralded a stemming of the tide.106 And when the war itself came to a close, it brought extension of the franchise, albeit with certain qualifications, to the whole of the peninsula.107 The Social War in brief is perfectly compatible with the idea of intertwined origins and kinship connections subscribed to by Romans and Italians alike. Indeed, perhaps paradoxically, they may help to explain the conflict itself. The claims on Roman citizenship, the impetus to join the imperial enterprise as full partner, the hope for an equal share of authority in dominance over the Mediterranean constituted Italian aspirations that came to a head in the late Republic || 102 Diod. 37.1.6: ἐπαναστάντων γὰρ τῶν κατὰ τὴν Ἰταλίαν ἐθνῶν τῇ τῆς Ῥώμης ἡγεμονίᾳ. 103 Strabo, 5.4.2: δεόμενοι τυχεῖν ἐλευθερίας κα`πολιτείας μὴ τυγχάνοντες ἀπέστησαν. 104 Strabo, 5.4.2: δύο δ’ ἔτη συνέμειναν ἐν τῷ πολέμῳ μέχρι διεπράξαντο τὴν κοινωνίαν περὶ ἦς ἐπολέμουν. 105 Diod. 37.2.2, 37.13.1, 37.15.3; Plut. Cato Min. 2.1–4; Florus, 2.6.3–4; Eutrop. 5.3. Mouritsen (1998), 6–7, sees the texts here discussed as reflecting two different and contradictory traditions on the Social War. But the fact that both versions appear in the same authors and (in the case of Strabo) in adjoining passages suggests that those authors saw no inconsistency, let alone contradiction. On the compatibility of these notions, see Pobjoy (2000), 193–194; Dench (2005), 125– 128. Cf. Carlà-Uhink (2017), 365–371. 106 Vell. Pat. 2.16.4: paulatim deinde recipiendo in civitatem, qui arma aut non ceperant aut deposuerant maturius, vires refectae sunt; Appian, BC, 1.49.212–213. Gellius, 4.4.3, wrongly states that citizenship went only to the Latins. See Cic. Pro Balbo, 21. 107 Appian, BC, 1.53.231; Vell. Pat. 1.20.2.

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when the benefits of being a Roman had become increasingly clear. And Roman resistance to bestowal of citizenship to their syngeneis had become increasingly offensive. When the Roman tribune M. Livius Drusus in 91 advocated extension of the franchise and was assassinated for his pains by political enemies, the patience of the socii snapped, and the bellum Italicum erupted.108 Italian aspirations had been thwarted once too often. Belief in interlocking ethnicities can only have intensified Italian feelings of betrayal. The uprising was in some ways predicated upon a sense of shared heritage—which the Romans had violated.

V The difficulty of discerning how Romans and Italians understood their affiliation is compounded by the manifold character of those societies as they conceived them. Italian cities, including Rome, portrayed their origins as due to Hellenic founders or foreign settlers, a portrayal further complicated by the image of Rome as a haven for numerous refugees or migrants who formed a wide assortment of humanity. Traditions depicted a number of genealogical links between Rome and Italic peoples that entangled their identities without erasing their distinctiveness. Those traditions shaped self-perception in paradoxical ways, both accentuating and diffusing connectiveness. A sense of ethnicity would be hard to pinpoint in the multiplication of diverse connections and overlapping lineages. Romans and Italians on the whole were content with the complexities, and did not feel the need to sort them out. Their concepts of ethnic identities were ambiguous, even paradoxical. Rome could be the patria of Italy or conversely Italy the mater of Rome. Particular cities and peoples enjoyed or manufactured an ancestral association with Rome—and viceversa. And the distinctiveness of individual communities remained firm without excluding some sense of homogeneity of the whole. The multiple ties were put to the severest test in the Social War. Some Italians who took up arms against Rome sought violent severance, others looked to reinforce their own affiliation with the imperial city. Even the Italian hostility toward Rome in the Social War, or much of it, far from signaling scorn for the bonds that associated them, actually, and perhaps ironically, reflected deep disappointment that Rome had failed to honor those bonds. The notion of kinship retained force, even though blurred or imaginary—or both. Phrases such as syngeneia or consanguinitas, homophyloi or homoethneis

|| 108 Vell. Pat. 2.15.1: mors Drusi iam pridem tumescens bellum ecitavit Italicum.

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carry the ostensible connotation of shared genealogy, but they disclose the pliability of those concepts rather than the embrace of a definable ethnic identity. The very fluidity allowed Romans and Italians to acknowledge a relationship without requiring a precise signification, let alone the concept of a fixed entity. Ancient analysts felt no need to inquire too deeply into the subject. Generally, and probably wisely, they did not succumb to the modern penchant for identifying and dissecting ethnicity. Its very plasticity was its strength. And the crisscrossing of ties meant that even the most ferocious of battles did not rend the fabric of connectivity.

6 The Chosen People and Mixed Marriages When Abraham had reached the fullness of time, he turned attention to the wedding prospects of his son Isaac. The aged patriarch would take no chances on this score. He instructed his servant, the oldest of his household, to swear a solemn oath: he would see to it that Isaac marry none among the daughters of the Canaanites. So we are told in the book of Genesis.1 The same issue arose in the next generation. Isaac’s elder son Esau had taken two Hittite wives, a source of considerable irritation to his mother Rebekah and to Isaac himself.2 The prospect of her other son Jacob doing the same filled Rebekah with consternation and dismay. She bewailed the very idea, proclaiming that the Hittite wives of Esau had already made her life miserable and, if Jacob were to follow suit, it would become unbearable.3 Isaac then issued the same injunction to Jacob that his father had imposed on him: Jacob is to take no bride from among Canaanite women, a commandment that Jacob dutifully obeyed. Esau himself, acknowledging his father’s distaste for Canaanite women, took two more wives (in addition to those he already had) from inside the clan.4 On the face of it, we have here powerful biblical endorsement of endogamy, and an assertion by the nation of a tight sense of ethnic identity.

I But why? Wherein lies the danger, depravity, or sinfulness of mingling with the alien? These texts do not offer a reason, only an arbitrary pronouncement by Abraham, and displeasure with Canaanites on the part of Isaac and Rebekah. One is left to make inferences. Does this suggest ethnic prejudice, a fear of adulteration by a mixing of the races? Nothing in Genesis on the patriarchs attests to it. When one looks further, reasons begin to surface. After the Lord summoned Moses a second time to Mt. Sinai to receive the commandments once more, God announced that he would drive out the Canaanites, Amorites, Hittites, and others, enjoining the Hebrews to make no covenant with those dwelling in the land, indeed to smash their altars and their shrines. The reason is explicit in Exodus. The gentiles will only lead the Hebrews astray, inducing them to worship their own

|| 1 Gen. 24:1–4, 24:37. 2 Gen. 26:34–35, 36:2. 3 Gen. 27:46. 4 Gen. 28:1–9, 36:3. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110685657-007

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gods. And, if Moses’ people were to take the daughters as wives for their sons, the young women will continue to lust after their gods and will induce their husbands to do so as well.5 Concern for maintaining faith with Yahweh and avoiding seduction by alien deities becomes a repeated leitmotif in the context of sexual intermingling. In the course of wandering in the wilderness, the children of Israel indulged themselves by whoring after Moabite women. The Lord enjoined Moses to execute the ringleaders and impale them to be exposed before God. Phinehas the priest added dramatic flair to the episode. When an Israelite brought a Midianite woman into the community, Phinehas promptly took a spear and killed them both, a deed endorsed by God.6 The introduction to this tale makes clear the motivation of God’s wrath. Cohabiting with Moabite women meant exposure to alien gods and subjected Israelites to the wiles of women who pressed for sacrifices to and reverence of their divinities.7 Among the instructions delivered by Moses from God to the Israelites was the demand that they not intermarry with Hittites, Amorites, Canaanites, and others, that they not give their daughters to their sons nor take their daughters for their sons. And the reasons are unambiguous: the gentiles will turn their children away from the Lord to worship other gods. Instead, the Israelites must destroy their altars and shrines, and burn their images.8 The refrain recurs. When Joshua neared the end of his days, he reminded the nation of its commitment to the teachings of Moses to which they must adhere undeviatingly. First and foremost, Joshua insisted that they refrain from intermingling or intermarrying with those nations that still dwelled among them, a requirement tied directly to the demand that they reject their gods, refuse to swear by them, or bow down to them.9 One finds this theme again in the Book of Judges. Israelites who had fallen away from the faith had not only settled among the gentiles but wed their daughters and gave their own daughters to their sons. As a consequence, they abandoned allegiance to Yahweh and worshipped the Baalim and the Asheroth of Canaanites, Hittites, and Amorites. That is what incensed the Lord.10 After establishment of the kingdom, Solomon notoriously engaged in exogamy with a vengeance. He acquired a healthy stable of foreign wives that comprised almost all the peoples of whom Yahweh had warned his adherents to avoid: Egyptians, || 5 Exod. 34:11–16; cf. 23:32–33. Closely similar pronouncements in the Temple Scroll from Qumran: 11Q19, 2.11–15; cf. 57.15–17. 6 Num. 25:1–12. 7 Num. 25:1–3; cf. 31:15–18. 8 Deut. 7:1–6. 9 Josh. 23:5–13. 10 Judges, 3:5–8.

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Moabites, Ammonites, Edomites, Phoenicians, and Hittites. Worse yet, Solomon had fallen precisely into the trap that Yahweh had foreseen. His wives had beguiled him into the worship of deities like Ashtor of the Phoenicians, Molech of the Ammonites, and Chemosh of the Moabites; indeed he built shrines for the gods of all his foreign wives. No wonder that God turned on Solomon with rage and snatched the kingdom from his hands.11 When the prophet Malachi denounced the people of Judah for infidelity to their wives and liaisons with other women, it is hardly coincidence that he called the latter “daughters of alien gods”.12 Even centuries later, when Philo counseled against intermarriage, he picked up the same motif: marriages with those of a foreign nation run the risk of succumbing to practices that will lead Jews away from their traditional paths of piety.13 A notable consistency runs throughout these texts. Not once do the authors make reference to the ethnicity, to the racial composition, to the bloodlines of the alien as reason to shun admixture and shrink from comingling. The repeated reasons are susceptibility to other cults, forms of worship, and religious practices. The enemy is idolatry, not ethnicity.14

II In fact, mixed marriages occur with striking frequency in the Hebrew Bible. Admonition and anxiety concerning such links constitute a miniscule minority. Abraham himself set the pattern. He took the Egyptian maidservant Hagar as wife when Sarah failed to conceive. A special case, perhaps. But no objections arose

|| 11 1 Kings, 11:1–9. 11:31–35; cf. 3:1, 14:21. 12 Malachi, 2.10–12. 13 Philo, Spec. Leg. 3.29. The issue of intermarriage was evidently not one that Philo found particularly troublesome or significant. He rarely alludes to it, and, when he does, in comments on the biblical prohibitions, he emphasizes the dangers of compromising education in the laws and customs of the Jews. Or else, he employs the allegorical approach in presenting foreign wives as signifying passions, irrationality, or false beliefs. Ethnicity plays no role. See Pearce (2013), 146– 155; eadem (2015), 1–26. 14 Cf. Hayes (2002), 24–26, 33–34. The biblical ban on intermarriage that applied to priests gives no indication of motive; Lev. 21:13–15; Ezek. 44:22. The risk of drifting from Yahweh might not be so strong here. But priests were, in any case, in a special category, and insistence on endogamy would hardly be surprising. See also the advice of Isaac to Levi as the holy priest of Abraham’s clan; 1Q21+ Oxford Geniza Text Col. B; see the translation of Wise (1996), 253. It would be a mistake to extrapolate more broadly from the particular obligations of the priesthood. On the issue of priestly status and intermarriage, see Himmelfarb (1999), 1–24.

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on grounds of her ethnic origins.15 The class distinction remained, but ethnicity was not at issue. Abraham went on to take another wife after Sarah’s death, Keturah, evidently a non-Israelite as well.16 Esau’s exogamy may have displeased his parents, but the next generation seems free of care on this score. Among the sons of Jacob, Judah married a Canaanite and Joseph married an Egyptian without raising eyebrows.17 Moses’ marital entanglements pose difficulties for those seeking to sort them out. His wife, Zipporah, we are told in Exodus, was daughter of a Midianite priest.18 In the Book of Judges, however, Moses’ father-in-law is described as a Kenite.19 And, by contrast with both, the Book of Numbers has Moses wed a Cushite woman.20 Do these represent two or three separate marriages or do they all refer to the same woman with different designations? A decision on the matter has occupied scholars, but need not trouble us. Whether as monogamous or serial husband, Moses had reached outside his own community to secure a bride. The linkage, at least that with the Cushite woman, raised a bit of a storm. On the trek through the wilderness, Moses’ siblings, Miriam and Aaron, complained sharply that Moses had taken a Cushite as his wife. But the complaint backfired. The Lord had sanctioned that marriage, and now reacted with ire. He roundly rebuked Miriam and Aaron, inflicted Miriam with leprosy, and expelled her from the camp for a week.21 Just what it was that they objected to goes unspecified, giving rise to much speculation.22 One might be tempted to infer that ethnicity was at stake. But the text is resoundingly silent on that point. More telling is the fact that God intervened forcefully, reaffirmed the status and authority of Moses, and harshly reprimanded those who would denigrate Moses’ spouse. Divine endorsement sustained the Cushite. One could readily list other Israelite figures of note and influence whose mixed marriages appear in the Hebrew Bible without consternation or comment. Gideon married a Shechemite and Samson a Philistine.23 David had at least two

|| 15 Gen. 16:1–3. 16 Gen. 25:1; cf. Westermann (1985), 395–396. 17 Gen. 38:2, 41:45; 1 Chron. 2:3. 18 Exod. 2:15–22; cf. Num. 10:29. 19 Judges, 1:16; 4:11. 20 Num. 12:1. 21 Num. 12:1–16. 22 For various suggestions, see Bellis (1994), 103–106; Sadler (2005), 32–40. On the subsequent traditions regarding Moses’ Cushite wife, see Winslow (2011), 280–302. 23 Judges, 8:30–31, 14–16. Samson’s parents, to be sure, wondered why he chose a Philistine bride when there were plenty of Israelite women available; Judges, 14:2–3. But they did not regard her ethnicity as a disqualification.

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foreign wives, including Bathsheba.24 And Solomon brought a host of spouses to his court and his bedroom from a variety of surrounding nations. As already noted, God’s displeasure with that activity stemmed from the king’s attraction to foreign deities, not foreign wives.25 The same holds for Ahab whose marriage to Jezebel, daughter of the Phoenician king, led him to the worship of Baal, an abomination for the Lord.26 Indeed, the absence of prohibition on cross-national marriages stands out most starkly. The register of unlawful sexual unions in Mosaic prescriptions recorded by Leviticus lists not only those with parents, siblings, half-siblings, aunts, uncles, children, and grandchildren, but also stepmothers, daughters-in-law, sisters-in-law, and a whole range of categories, including neighbors’ wives, menstruating women, same-sex relations, and even bestiality. But nowhere do we see a ban on relations with foreigners.27 No general proscription of intermarriage exists in the Hebrew Bible.28 Indeed, the laws in Deuteronomy expressly allow any Israelite who takes a desirable woman as captive in war to take her home, clean her up, and wed her.29 The genealogies in 1 Chronicles that trace biblical lineages from Adam in numbing detail include explicit references to non-Israelite wives, including Canaanites, Moabites, former Egyptian slaves (as well as a daughter of Pharaoh), and concubines of unspecified origins.30 The Chronicler betrays no discomfort with any of that.

III A celebrated story in Genesis requires a brief pause. The rape of Dinah and its consequences provide ostensible evidence for Jewish rejection of intermarriage with gentiles. It warrants some scrutiny. The familiar tale can be swiftly summarized. Dinah, daughter of Jacob, while visiting the city of Shechem, was seized || 24 2 Sam. 3:2–5, 11:2–3, 11:27. 25 1 Kings, 11:1–11. 26 1 Kings, 16:30–33. 27 Lev. 18:6–23, 20:10–21. The text distinguishes between the Israelites to whom these rules apply and other nations who previously occupied the land, defiled it by violating all such prescriptions, and were thus expelled by the Lord. The divine pronouncements remind the Hebrews of what fate lies in store if they should also violate the precepts; Lev. 18:24–30, 20:22–26. But the text pointedly omits mention of any ban on relations with those outside their community. 28 So, rightly, Cohen (1999), 260–261. 29 Deut. 21:10–14; cf. 20:14, 22:28–29. 30 E.g., 1 Chron. 2:3, 2:34–35, 2:46, 2:48, 3:1–2, 4:18, 4:22. See the valuable discussion of Knoppers (2011), 179–186.

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and raped by the like-named Shechem, son of its ruler Hamor. The rapist, however, fell madly in love with the girl, sought her hand in marriage, and asked his father to arrange the union. This prompted a parley between Hamor and Jacob and swiftly involved not just Dinah and her suitor but both communities as a whole. Hamor proposed intermarriage between the peoples and opened the land of Shechem to all Israelites who wished to dwell therein and acquire property. His son, completely smitten with Dinah, was prepared to offer anything to Jacob and his family to seal the bargain. Jacob’s sons, although they seethed with anger at the violation of their sister, held their feelings in check while scheming for revenge. They responded to Shechem’s proposal by saying that they could not permit Dinah to marry an uncircumcised man, a restriction that applied to all nonIsraelites. Hence, the sons of Jacob agreed to the bargain only on condition that all Shechemites have themselves circumcised. With remarkable agreeableness and swift compliance, the men of Shechem did just that. Alas for them, it was all a ruse. Once the painful procedure of circumcision debilitated the Shechemites, Simeon and Levi, the most ruthless of Jacob’s sons, swooped upon them, massacred every male in the community, including Hamor and Shechem themselves, and brought Dinah back to their own home. Jacob’s other sons soon followed, looted the city and seized everything in sight as booty, including all the women and children. The wholesale slaughter and pillaging even dismayed Jacob who feared that the events would expose him to the odium of all neighboring peoples. His resentment toward Levi and Simeon endured to his dying day when he imposed a curse upon them for their resort to lawlessness and violence.31 Does this vivid tale suggest an Israelite abhorrence of intermarriage? Such an analysis would be off the mark. The Shechemites certainly assumed that a compact of marriage exchanges would be a reasonable proposition. And they voluntarily underwent an agonizing ordeal to make it possible. The sabotage of that compact came at the hands of Jacob’s most aggressive sons, alienating even their father himself in the process. The ire of Levi and Simeon arose not from objection to intermarriage but from fury at the wanton victimization of their sister.32 In the closing episode of the story, when Jacob lamented their merciless ferocity, the brothers exclaimed “should our sister be treated as a whore?”33 Ethnic mingling was not at issue.

|| 31 Gen. 33:18–34:31, 49:5–7. 32 Gen. 34:7. 33 Gen. 34:31. Frevel (2011), 229–231, 233–234, 249, oddly takes this as a rejection of intermarriages—although he has to acknowledge that it is not explicit, just implicit. So also Thiessen

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One need hardly dwell on perhaps the most famous narratives of intermarriage, those of Ruth and of Esther. The Book of Ruth opens with the migration of Naomi to Moab and the marriage of her two sons to Moabite women, without a hint of disquiet on the part of the narrator.34 The death of her sons left the daughters-in-law bereft, one of whom, Ruth, accompanied Naomi back to Bethlehem. Ruth’s unstinting loyalty to her mother-in-law eventually earned her the reward of marriage with the wealthy and generous landowner Boaz, a kinsman of Naomi. As is well known, Ruth had promised her mother-in-law that “your people will be my people and your gods my gods.”35 That, however, did not entail conversion (for which at this time there was no known process) or an abandonment of her Moabite identity. The narrator refers to Ruth consistently and throughout as a Moabite.36 This fruitful and pivotal union which linked the house of Judah to that of David was obviously indifferent to exogamy.37 Nor does any ethnic problem exist with the memorable marriage of Esther to the king of Persia. To be sure, the young woman’s Jewish kinsman Mordecai warns his ward not to reveal her Jewish lineage.38 But that hesitation refers to the hazards that Jews faced in the Achaemenid kingdom, with ministers like Haman in the court, not to fear of exogamy, at least according to the story line. Even if one were to accept that element of the fictitious tale, it suggests no reluctance on the Jewish side to enter into intermarriage with foreigners. On the contrary. The maneuvers of Mordecai and Esther aimed precisely to secure such intermarriage. Indeed, once the tables were turned on Haman, Esther revealed her Jewish roots which did nothing to diminish the king’s regard for her, indeed only solidified their relationship—and that of the Jewish places in the Persian empire.39 As this brief survey shows, the overwhelming majority of relevant texts in the Hebrew Bible either approves of or evinces no anxiety about mixed marriages.

|| (2011), 48–51, who finds Dinah’s treatment as a prostitute tantamount to the request for intermarriage and indeed sees intermarriage as the central concern of Genesis 34. That is an unwarranted shift of emphasis. 34 Ruth, 1:1–4; cf. Spina (2005), 120–121. 35 Ruth, 1:16. Elohim is almost certainly a genuine plural here; Goldenberg (1997), 16. 36 Ruth, 1:4, 1:22, 2:2, 2:6, 2:21, 4:5, 4:10. 37 Some have seen the Book of Ruth as a polemic against those who advocated endogamy and exclusionism; e.g., Lacocque (2004), 23–27. That represents an imposition on the text, which breathes no hint of polemic; cf. Campbell (1975), 26–27; Gruen (2011), 296–298. More recently, Eskenazi and Frymer-Kensky (2011), xxxix–xlii, see it as part of an ongoing debate on the virtues and drawbacks of intermarriage. 38 Esther, 2:10, 2:20. 39 Esther, 7:3–4, 8:1, 9:12–14, 9:29–31.

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Concern about ethnic contamination is notable for its absence. That would certainly hold for Israelite communities elsewhere like the military colony at Elephantine in Upper Egypt, where the papyri indicate unions between Judaeans and Egyptians.40

IV A major exception, however, needs to be confronted. The texts of Ezra-Nehemiah constitute the most intense assault on exogamy anywhere in the Scriptures. The context is that of the return of exiles from the “Babylonian Captivity” and their resettlement in Judah. They found no “empty land”, and the readjustment raised a host of issues, such as conflicting claims between those who had remained in Judah and the repatriated exiles over property rights, legal privileges, political ascendancy, and relationship with Persian overlords. Not the least of the issues, at least as presented in the texts, was the legitimacy of intermarriage between the indigenous population and the returnees from abroad. Ezra, Israelite priest, emissary of the Persian court, and representative of those who had returned to Judah, arrived in Jerusalem, so we are told, to find a most alarming situation. Reports came to him that the Israelites who had reentered the homeland, including priests, Levites, and other leaders, instead of establishing a separate community, had mingled freely with “the peoples of the land” and had fallen in with their ways, which encompassed the shocking practices of Canaanites, Hittites, Moabites, Egyptians, and other alien nations—even to the point of marrying their daughters, thus compromising the seed of their holy race. Ezra punctuated his reaction to this atrocity by tearing his hair and his clothes and praying to God to halt these profound iniquities.41 The violators had transgressed God’s own commandments to refrain from intermarriage with peoples who engaged in abominable practices.42 The histrionics of Ezra proved effective. His chastened countrymen acknowledged their transgressions, expelled their foreign wives and children, and vowed to adhere to the teachings of the Lord.43

|| 40 See, e.g., Porten (2011), B28, B36; cf. discussions in Porten (1968), 248–252; Grätz (2011), 194– 197. 41 Ezra, 9:1–6. The list of peoples, of course, is anachronistic and artificial. Only Ammonites, Moabites, and Egyptians still existed in the time of Ezra. The peoples named are evidently drawn from earlier biblical narratives; cf. Deut. 7:1. This is generally recognized; so, recently, Moffat (2013), 75–79. 42 Ezra, 9:10–14. 43 Ezra, 10:2–4, 10:10–14; Neh. 10:29–31.

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That was not the end of the matter. Our text reports that Nehemiah, an Israelite courtier of the Persian monarch who was appointed governor of Judah, discovered that the situation had deteriorated further. The assembled people heard a reading of proscriptions from the Torah that prohibited Ammonites and Moabites from entering the congregation of the Lord because they had failed to welcome the Israelites and had instructed a prophet to curse them.44 Nehemiah found that the same transgressions experienced by Ezra still took place. The returned exiles had married Ashdodite, Ammonite, and Moabite women, with the result, among other things, that their children no longer even spoke Hebrew. Nehemiah railed at them with greater ferocity, inflicted corporal punishment, demanded an immediate end to the abominable unions with foreigners, and purged the priesthood of all alien elements.45 Here was a crackdown on mixed marriages unlike anything attested or even hinted at elsewhere in the Bible. How to account for it? Did this represent a new turn in attitudes caused by an urgent need to reshape Jewish identity after a half century of exile, the reclaiming of a heritage that had been violated and compromised? That conclusion rests on shaky foundations. It requires presumption that the tale recounted in Ezra-Nehemiah possesses historical accuracy, with its distorted depiction of resettlement in a land dominated by gentile practices. The portrait is simplistic and inadequate. The issues were far more complex, a tangle of political, economic, and legal disputes (mostly obscured to us by lack of information) that roiled the land.46 Even if Ezra’s indignation had any basis in reality, it is worth observing that the number of intermarriages recorded is noticeably small, hardly an epidemic.47 Other matters were at stake.48 Further, the narratives of Ezra and of Nehemiah on mixed marriages bear such close resemblance to one another that they may even be doublets, rather than the indication of an ongoing problem. Indeed, the time of composition of the texts, perhaps well after the events depicted, remains a matter of considerable controversy, thus casting a shadow on their reliability.49 In any case, the principal concern of the texts rests on conflict between the returning

|| 44 Neh. 13:1–3. 45 Neh. 13.23–30. 46 Among many discussions, see Smith (1971), 75–112; Hoglund (1992), 51–96; Smith-Christopher (1994), 243–265; idem (2002), 150–162; Eskenazi (2006), 517–526; Wills (2008), 53–86. For a skeptical view of historicity in the text, see Grabbe (1998), 123–197. 47 Ezra, 10:16–44. 48 Cf. Satlow (2001), 135–140. 49 The date or dates for various segments of Ezra-Nehemiah are very much in dispute. See, e.g., Williamson (1985), xxiii–xxxvi; Blenkinsopp (1988), 41–47; Eskenazi (1988), 11–36; Wright (2004), 243–269.

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exiles and those who had remained, not between Jews and gentiles. That points to sectarianism rather than ethnicity. More important, however, is a further question: do the sentiments expressed in Ezra-Nehemiah really represent a marked departure from those found elsewhere in the Bible?50 Do we have here a spirited defense of endogamy arising out of contempt for the ethnic inferiority of gentiles?51 The expression of a “holy seed” compromised by intermarriage would appear to inject a biological element into the distinction between the returned exiles and the “peoples of the land”. But this designation may owe more to sloganeering and labels than to belief in genealogical difference. The intermarriage, after all, as represented by Ezra, was between those who had suffered coerced departure and those who had remained, not a matter of separate lineages.52 The notion of a “holy seed” has important cultic implications, adherence to Yahweh and his covenant, a matter of observance of ritual practices and the precepts of the Law that gave Israelites their special distinction, not necessarily a biological indicator.53 In fact, the parallels with other texts are far more compelling than the contrasts. The gentile offenses that agitated Ezra had nothing to do with racial characteristics but with loathsome practices emulated by the Judeans.54 The reference doubtless is to idolatry, the worship of other gods, and unacceptable sacrifices, customs allegedly embraced by Jews through marriage with the daughters of || 50 So, most recently, Ophir and Rosen-Zvi (2018), 58–63, with bibliography. 51 Hayes (2002), 10, 26–33, makes a case that Ezra-Nehemiah shifts emphasis from a moralreligious definition of Jewish identity to a “genealogical” one. Whereas “genealogical purity” was required for the priesthood in the earlier period, the authors of Ezra-Nehemiah extend it to all Israelites. On this analysis, marital unions with gentiles “defile” the holy seed of priests and “profane” that of other Israelites. Whether or not one accepts the distinction between “defile” and “profane”, the idea that Ezra represented a radical innovation, moving from moral distinctions to those of lineage and insisting that the binary opposition between Jew and gentile was irremediable, may exaggerate the difference. It overlooks the stress on abhorrent practices, language contamination, and the sins of Solomon. These represent moral and religious failings that are not irremediable, and certainly not racially endemic. On scholarly disputes regarding “moral impurity” and “ritual impurity”, see Olyan (2004), 1–16, with bibliography. 52 Ezra, 8:35–9.1–2. See Smith-Christopher (1996), 123. It is not obvious in what sense the purity of the “holy seed” amounts to a foundation of “ethnic identity”, as claimed by Southwood (2011), 54–59. Elsewhere, Southwood (2012), 125–132, 185–190, offers a more complex and subtle analysis of the interconnections that go beyond genealogy. But it remains unclear just what is meant by “ethnic” or “religious” endogamy and to what extent those modern terms are appropriate. Nor does resort to the post-modern “hybridity” provide much help. 53 So, rightly, Eskenazi (2006), 522; Moffat (2013), 82–84. On the ambiguity of “holy seed” as a metaphor, not strictly a genealogical connotation, see Ophir and Rosen-Zvi (2018), 64–66. 54 Ezra, 9:1.

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neighboring peoples. The narrative places emphasis upon impurity and pollution, a violation of Yahweh’s commandments, generated by the abominable ways of the gentiles transmitted to Jews through exposure to foreign wives.55 The transgressions are vague and unspecified. But a revealing statement ascribed to Nehemiah when he vehemently chastised the offending Jews discloses the ground for distress. Nehemiah denounced his countrymen for committing the same sins into which King Solomon had been led by his foreign wives.56 And we know what Solomon’s sins were: reverence for the gods of Phoenicians and Ammonites, the building of shrines, and the offering of sacrifices to alien deities.57 In short, here, as elsewhere, religion, not race, was at stake. The testimony on mixed marriages in the Hebrew Bible, therefore, gives little reason to believe that the institution was reckoned as abhorrent on the grounds of ethnic differences. Numerous instances of cross-breeding, even among the most celebrated biblical figures, pass without remark, let alone censure. And when objections do arise they evince concern about the transgression of divine commandments, devotion to inferior deities, and idolatry, rather than racial mixture.

V The issue of exogamy becomes more marked and more troublesome in certain extra-biblical and post-biblical texts. This has led some to argue that intermarriage had become a serious concern, engendering dispute and controversy, in post-exilic Judah and the resettlement policies of the Persian empire.58 A closer

|| 55 Ezra, 9:10–14; Neh. 13:29. The same vague expressions of uncleanness or defilement caused by mingling with alien wives occur in the rewritten version of Ezra, 9–10 in 1 Esdras, 8.66–67, 8.80, 8.84. 56 Neh. 13:25–26. 57 1 Kings, 11:3–9, 11:31–35. 58 E.g., Cohen (1999), 261–262; more fully, Lange (2008), 19–39. Lange gives a high profile to the condemnation of sexual intercourse between heavenly creatures and earthly women that helped to provoke the Deluge in the Book of Watchers; 1 Enoch, 6–11. References to sin, defilement and impurity abound in that narrative. But the account is basically an elaboration on the biblical narrative; Gen. 6:1–8. And there is no obvious connection to the issue of intermarriage between peoples or races. Indeed, if that implication did lie below the surface, it is noteworthy that the text associates the defilement with inducing men to sacrifice to demons; 1 Enoch, 19.1. Cf. Nickelsburg’s note (2001), 287–288. That would cohere with negative testimony elsewhere on intermarriage that set it in the context of worshipping false gods. Lange, (2008), 20, 85, rightly acknowledges that exogamy constituted more of a threat to the cultic identity of Judaism than to its cultural identity. Elsewhere, he considers a number of other Hellenistic Jewish texts, starting

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look suggests that the continuities may be more significant than any ostensible shift in attitude. The author of the Book of Jubilees took a strong position on the matter. That work, composed in Hebrew and dating probably from the 2nd century BCE, constitutes a rewriting of Genesis and the first part of Exodus. The injunction that Isaac delivered to Jacob to shun wives of Canaanite origin became in Jubilees a death-bed pronouncement by Abraham to his sons and grandsons, thereby perhaps giving it even greater authority, couched in a sweeping form that foretold the destruction of all those who stemmed from the seed of Canaan.59 Rebekah’s warnings to Jacob in Genesis about Canaanite marriages took an even more virulent form in Jubilees, imputing to Canaanite women a deep wickedness in which their actions all lead to lust and fornication.60 Such statements do appear to raise the issue to a wider level of ethnic disparagement. It is worth noting, however, that even here the admonitions regarding intermarriage are closely tied to apprehensions about idolatrous practices and perverted forms of worship.61 And the author of Jubilees records the weddings of Jacob’s sons to women from Canaan, Mesopotamia, and Egypt without expressing any misgivings.62 More notable is Jubilees’ recasting of the tale of Dinah in Genesis. The biblical version, as we have seen, stressed the wanton rape of the girl, not the ethnicity of the Shechemites. Jubilees sets the story in a somewhat different light. Its author omits the willingness of the Shechemites to undergo circumcision and the anger of Jacob at his sons who treacherously massacred the men of Shechem when they were most vulnerable. The text offers a stark vision of thoroughly depraved Shechemites and justifiably vengeful Israelites. As in Genesis, Israelite fury stems from the foul deed of Dinah’s defilement.63 But the author of Jubilees goes beyond || with 1 Maccabees, that might allude indirectly to intermarriage; (2011), 205–219. But 1 Macc. 15 need have nothing to do with intermarriage. Among the others, only Jubilees, 30 is explicit, with regard to the Dinah story in Gen. 34, on which see below. 59 Jub. 20.4, 22.20–22; cf. 35.14. 60 Jub. 25.1–3, 27.8–10. 61 Jub. 20.3–8, 21.21, 21.23, 22.14–22, 35.14. On these passages, see now the comments of VanderKam (2018), I, 612–615, 643–645; II, 660–666, 946–947. 62 Jub. 34.20–21. The author does have Judah prevent his son from marrying a Canaanite; Jub. 41.2. But the reason (not specified) can hardly be her ethnicity. Judah himself had married a Canaanite. In the Testament of Judah, to be sure, Judah feels obliged to apologize for that union by blaming it on youthful passion and strong drink; TJud. 11.1–2, 14.6. But he did remain married to her, even in that text’s account, through the birth and growth to maturity of three sons; TJud. 10. 63 Jub. 30.4–6. Other retellings of the Dinah story did their best to magnify the malevolence of the Shechemites, and to justify retaliation by the sons of Jacob, stressing the abominable violence of Dinah’s ravishing; Theodotus, in Euseb. PE, 9.22.1–11; Judith, 9.1–4; TLevi, 5–7; Jos. As.

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to make an issue of intermarriage that does not appear in Genesis. He converts the particular case of Dinah into a general proposition prohibiting all Israelites from giving their daughters or sisters in marriage to any gentiles, a matter of pollution and degradation.64 This departs from biblical pronouncements and pushes further even than Ezra-Nehemiah in branding mixed marriages as defilement of the holy seed.65 It is noteworthy, however, that, in introducing this subject with regard to Abraham’s admonitions, Jubilees places greater emphasis on the moral transgressions of the gentiles than on inherent deficiency. The uncleanness denounced by the author refers to the sexual congress or to Israel’s seed itself, but not to the gentile offender.66 The text dwells on sinfulness, impurity, and idolatry.67 Even Jubilees, bitterly hostile as it is to gentiles, does not place natural inferiority at the center of its vitriol. Somewhat comparably hostile positions to exogamy can be found occasionally elsewhere in Second Temple and Hellenistic Jewish texts. The Testament of Levi has its protagonist warn his sons on his deathbed not to take wives from alien nations.68 The same advice is ascribed to Job as his last words in the Testament of Job.69 But it would be wrong to infer that abhorrence of gentiles was intensified in Jewish literature of the Hellenistic period, let alone that it became a dominant theme in that era.70 In fact, such an attitude appears only rarely, an exception, certainly not a rule. The absence of any allusion to intermarriage, even where one

|| 23.13; Philo, De Mig. 224; De Mut. 193–195, 199–200; Jos. Ant. 1.337–341; LAB, 8.7. Cf. discussions by Pummer (1982), 178–184; Kugel (1992), 1–34; Standhartinger (1994), 89–116. But those ancient authors did not see the event as a condemnation of mixed marriages. The one apparent exception is Theodotus who has Jacob justify the need for circumcision by saying that it was only permissible for Hebrews to bring home sons-in-law or daughters-in-law of the same race; Euseb. PE, 9.22.6. But this implies that the circumcising of Shechemites would suffice to satisfy the criterion for intermarriage. It was not a negative judgment on the institution. 64 Jub. 30.7–17. 65 See Werman (1997), 1–22; Hayes (1999), 15–25; eadem (2002), 73–81; Himmelfarb (2006), 69– 74; Frevel (2011), 234–248, with further bibliography; Thiessen (2011), 79–84; VanderKam (2018), II, 823–834. 66 See Hayes (1999), 20–21. 67 Jub. 20.3–6, 20.8, 21.21, 21.23, 22.14, 22.16–22. 68 TLevi, 9.10; cf. 14.6. 69 TJob, 45.1–3. 70 So Frevel (2011), 249–250.

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might expect it, in texts like 1 and 2 Maccabees and Ben Sira is noteworthy.71 Indeed no general condemnation of the practice can be found in the extensive writings of Philo and Josephus. Philo, as we have seen, reiterated biblical reservations about intermarriage strictly in terms of its susceptibility to straying from ancestral customs. And Josephus is quite explicit that Moses prohibited marriage with those of other nations on the grounds that Israelites would become enamored of foreign ways and fall away from the traditions of the fathers.72 Ethnic issues are not pertinent.73 The Book of Tobit might seem on the surface to make a loud clarion call for endogamy. Tobit himself, principal figure in the novella, proudly announces his marriage to a woman from the seed of his own family.74 And he urges his son Tobias to follow the same path, shunning all alien women who do not belong to the tribe of his fathers, comparing himself here with the patriarchs of old, Noah, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.75 And much of the subsequent story revolves around Tobias’ adventures abroad, culminating in the most desirable conclusion, marriage to one who is the closest of kin and who had lost seven previous bridegrooms who were also close kin but not quite close enough.76 The tight bonds linked all family members, near and far, in this tale, the nearer, the better. But the idea that the story carries ardent admonition against marriage with non-Israelites misses the point of this charming and entertaining narrative. Non-Israelites || 71 See Himmelfarb (1999), 19–24. Her conclusion, however, that this indicates the rarity of exogamous marriages, followed by Hayes (2002), 82–83, is not compelling. It may very well suggest that such marriages were simply not an issue of major concern. How rare, in fact, were they? There were certainly exogamous marriages in the Herodian family, which included wives from Samaria, Nabataea, and Cappadocia. See the chart in Richardson (1996), 46–51. 72 Philo, Spec. Leg. 3.29; Jos. Ant. 8.191–193. 73 It is possible that the Qumran text known as 4QMMT does condemn intermarriage on grounds of polluting the holy seed. But the text is fragmentary and restoration uncertain. It is unclear whether the ban involves marriage between priests and others or all Israelites. And the pronouncements of a sectarian group focused upon its own separatism can hardly be reckoned as representative of Jewish opinion in the Hellenistic period. For discussion, see Himmelfarb (1999), 6–12; eadem (2006), 27–28; Hayes (2002), 82–89, with earlier bibliography. The same reservations hold for another fragmentary Qumran text, Aramaic Levi, wherein Isaac instructs Levi to refrain from “fornication, uncleanness, and harlotry” (col. A, 15–17). Whether this warning is meant to extend beyond the priesthood is unclear and disputed. See Himmelfarb (1999), 3–6; eadem (2006), 25–27; Hayes (2002), 72, with different views. And again the sectarian character of the document precludes extrapolation to the broader society. For a reconstruction of the whole text, see Kugler (1996), 23–59. 74 Tobit, 1.9. 75 Tobit, 4.12. 76 See Tobit, 6.11–12.

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are not even on the horizon. What Tobit insists upon is marriage within the narrowest confines of the clan. “Alien women” are those who stem from another tribe.77 This is the most cramped of visions, tribalism taken to an extreme as a reductio ad absurdum. And that fits with the generally ironic and tongue-in-cheek character of the treatise.78 The mockery inherent in the Book of Tobit suggests that some ardent advocates of tribalism were around. That is very different from a widespread devotion to endogamy—let alone horror of the foreigner. A sharp resistance to exogamy might seem to take prominence in another novelistic treatise from the Hellenistic or early Roman period: Joseph and Aseneth. That text, fascinating and much discussed, spins an elaborate tale whose only basis in Scripture is the report in Genesis that Joseph married the daughter of an Egyptian priest and had two children with her.79 The narrative of the novella presents an ostensibly formidable barrier to the union. Joseph had rejected the advances of all Egyptian women on the grounds that his father Jacob had steadfastly warned against association with foreign women who could only bring corruption and destruction.80 Joseph subsequently softened and encouraged Aseneth to abandon her former ways and join his own form of religious belief and observance.81 The maiden did so with a thoroughness and an abject self-abasement that left no doubt about her sincerity and (with angelic assistance) allowed the union to take place.82 The novella plainly portrays a wide gulf between the peoples and an unequivocal renunciation of intermarriage unless transformation of the alien were complete and total. Yet the degree to which this represents resistance to intermingling across ethnic lines can be questioned. The text makes no bones about what divides the principals in this text: the chasm between worship of God and adoration of idols. That, of course, constitutes a familiar distinction—without ethnic overtones. Aseneth became acceptable only when she smashed her idols to smithereens and left no trace of her previous religious life.83

|| 77 So, rightly, Moore (1996), 168–169; Fitzmyer (2003), 172–173. Cf. Wills (1995), 76–79. See also Dimant (2017), 178–187, 223–228, with additional bibliography. who sets Tobit’s concern for endogamy in a wider context of Jewish texts, especially the Genesis Apocryphon. 78 See Gruen (2002), 148–158, with bibliography. See also the fuller discussion in chapter seven, below. 79 Gen. 41:45, 41:50–52, 46:20. The literature on this work is vast. See, e.g. , Burchard (1965); Philonenko (1968); Chesnutt (1995); Standhartinger (1995); Kraemer (1998); Humphrey (2000). And see further the discussion below, chapter seven. 80 Jos. As. 7.4–6 81 Jos. As. 8.8–11. 82 Jos. As. 10–21. 83 Jos. As. 9–11.

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That sufficed. The tale has not a whisper of ethnic tension. Having rid herself, in no uncertain terms, of any sign of her former devotions, Aseneth was readily embraced in marriage, a ceremony presided over by the Pharaoh himself, evidently in Egyptian fashion, culminated by the placing of golden crowns on the heads of the couple.84 The story celebrates the overcoming of religious barriers. Ethnic distinctions remain—and play no role. Occasional allusions to the discouragement of mixed marriages occur in other post-biblical Jewish texts. Several appear in the so-called Liber Antiquitatum Biblicarum of Pseudo-Philo, a rewriting of biblical narratives running from Adam to the death of Saul, composed probably in the 1st century CE and extant now only in a Latin version, though very likely based on a Hebrew original.85 Do they suggest that the issue of intermarriage had become a much more serious one for Jews living in the Hellenistic and Roman eras? Pseudo-Philo makes mention of the Genesis story of Tamar who maneuvered her father-in-law Judah, son of Jacob, into a sexual union in order to produce an heir in the line. According to the text, she justified the deception by stating that she preferred intercourse with her father-in-law, even if it meant execution, to union with gentiles.86 This goes beyond the Genesis narrative in which the issue of fornication with gentiles never arose.87 Whether this was a polemic on intermarriage at all, however, seems problematic. Tamar’s objective was to preserve the line of Judah. Both in Genesis and in LAB, need for an heir drove the tale. Intercourse, not marriage, was at stake. Pseudo-Philo injected the shunning of gentiles into the account.88 But it was hardly an obsession. Other passages in LAB often cited as reinforcement of hostility to mixed marriages are actually quite irrelevant to ethnic concerns. The prophet Balaam’s plot to have Israelites sin against God by tempting them with beautiful Moabite and Midianite women in the nude has nothing to do with intermarriage, only with illicit fornication.89 God’s warning to Joshua on his deathbed of the commingling of his people with the inhabitants of the conquered land refers explicitly to the hankering after alien gods.90 The same issue arises with the

|| 84 Jos. As. 21. 85 See the magisterial text, translation, and commentary of Jacobson (1996). 86 LAB, 9.5. 87 Gen. 38. 88 Tamar’s ethnicity itself is unclear in the biblical narrative. She may well be a Canaanite (just as Judah’s own wife was). Other texts make her an Aramean, a Mesopotamian, or a Syrian; Jub. 41; TJud. 10.1; Philo, Virt. 21. Cf. Gruen (2011), 291–292, with bibliography. On Philo’s view of Tamar’s origins, see Pearce (2015), 17–20. 89 LAB, 18.13–14. 90 LAB, 21.1.

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sons of Israel being led astray by the daughters of the Amorites—thus seduced into serving their gods.91 Elsewhere, Yahweh explodes in anger against the Israelites for having violated every one of the Ten Commandments, including the final one on lusting after neighbors’ wives. It appears in Pseudo-Philo as lusting after alien women.92 Illicit desire receives condemnation, not mixed marriages. And one last passage accounts for the death of the concubine from Gabaa as punishment for betraying her husband through adultery with Amalekites.93 In each of these cases, the transgressions involved infidelity, adultery, or idolatry. Ethnic intermingling nowhere comes into play. Other references to problems with intermarriage give little indication that the matter was of serious concern. Josephus laments Solomon’s fall from grace because his multiple marriages with alien women violated the laws of Moses. But the reason given for the restriction is the familiar one: such cohabitation led Solomon to honor foreign deities and neglect the worship of Yahweh.94 Certainly Josephus gives no indication that Moses himself had any qualms about marrying an Ethiopian princess.95 Ben Sira’s comment on Solomon’s infractions with women, interestingly enough, does not even mention that they were foreign. The king’s misdeeds simply amounted to the fact that he gave them control over his body, thus diminishing and compromising his own stature.96 Their nationality was irrelevant. For Ben Sira, no great champion of feminism, the fact that they were women evidently sufficed for the negative judgment.97 Mixed marriages did not bother him. A less familiar work bears mention here. The text of 4 Baruch or the Paraleipomena of Jeremiah, composed some time after the destruction of the Temple in 70 CE, recreates the circumstances of the Israelites’ plight after loss of the First Temple, the “Babylonian Exile” and the return home.98 Unlike the agonizing of Ezra-Nehemiah over cross-breeding between former exiles and the remnant in Israel, the author of 4 Baruch concerns himself with interminglings that had occurred in Babylon between the exiles and their conquerors. According to the text, Jeremiah, on God’s instructions, told the returning Israelites to leave their Baby-

|| 91 LAB, 30.1. 92 LAB, 44.7. 93 LAB, 45.3. 94 Jos. Ant. 8.191–194. 95 Jos. Ant. 2. 252–253. 96 Ben Sira, 47.19–20. 97 Cf. Ben Sira, 25.13–26, 26.5–18. 98 On this work, see Herzer (2005), and, more recently, Jones (2011), 143–172.

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lonian spouses behind. Half complied and half resisted. The resisters were allowed neither into Jerusalem nor back to Babylon, but founded a city of their own and called it Samaria.99 This twist on the biblical tale is intriguing. The transgressions had occurred abroad rather than at home. In the author’s view, however, the stigma would continue until the offenders divested themselves of foreign spouses. Just what was the offense? The condemnation appears to arise from consorting with the conqueror, rather than the mixing of bloodlines. And it is noteworthy that the one indication of ill effects stemming from the intermixture is that some Israelites had begun to worship foreign gods.100 That link, already prominent in the Hebrew Bible and frequently adduced afterward, remains a central theme throughout—which sets it apart from the realm of ethnicity.

VI The Bible, in short, offers little support for the thesis that mixed marriages compromised the ethnic purity of the Chosen People. They occurred with notable frequency among the great figures of biblical history from the patriarchs through Moses to the house of David. The pronouncements of the Scriptures might decry the practice but they plainly did not prevent it. And the objections regularly targeted the dangers of idolatry, the lure of foreign gods, and the risks of falling away from the established rituals of the cult and the ancient precepts of Yahweh. The essence of the clan was not at risk. Such a concern receives voice only very rarely, in Ezra-Nehemiah and Jubilees, outliers in this regard, not representative, and even there the anxieties over failure to observe traditions or a drifting to alien deities were more central than the specter of cross-breeding. Nor do references in later Second Temple texts, whether “rewritten Bibles”, histories, philosophical works, or novels alter the picture. Nervousness about ethnicity surfaces almost nowhere.

|| 99 4 Baruch, 8.1–8. 100 4 Baruch, 7.25–26.

7 Did Hellenistic Jews Consider Themselves a Race or a Religion? What constitutes Jewish identity? The question is repeatedly asked. It certainly dogs contemporary Jews, especially those in the diaspora. Whether they reckon themselves a race or a religion is a topic much discussed, wrangled over—and unsettled. Israelis recently chose to declare that their nation constituted a “Jewish state”. But what exactly does that mean? Should such an entity be defined by a common ethnicity, or by religious faith and belief, or by shared culture and traditions, or by political and constitutional identity, i.e. citizenship? Further, what does Judaism mean to those in the diaspora, to those who choose not to live in the presumed homeland or to those who regard themselves as Jews but do not embrace the worship, only selectively engage with the traditions, and claim no connection to the ancestral land? Such matters persist in embroiling current debates. Did they, however, represent a burning issue in antiquity? Contemporary controversies remain resistant to ready resolution. We confine ourselves to a different, but hardly less complex, inquiry. Did Jews dwelling in an era permeated by Greek culture and Roman authority view race/ethnicity as a hallmark of their own identity? How central to their collective sensibility was the idea of descent from the patriarchs? Did Jews conceive of themselves in terms of a lineage, deriving from a common ancestor and linked through a bloodline, something we might call a race or, more politely (since the word “race” carries too much baggage) an ethnicity? Or were they a religion, taking that term in a broad sense to encompass not only belief but also rituals, conventions, and practices that expressed some form of relationship to the divine? To be sure, this is no simple binary. The conceptions could overlap and combine. It was not a matter of mutual exclusivity. But a distinction between race or ethnicity and religion has heuristic value, a clue toward understanding how Hellenistic Jews might have framed their self-perception. Derivation from the forefather could afford a neat and compact sense of identity. But how far did the link to a mythic past, a scramble after common origins, actually serve to define Jewish self-consciousness? Did the Jews regard themselves primarily as a collectivity bound by kinship ties? Or did the bonds that connected them consist of shared rituals, adherence to Mosaic law, and commitment to traditions that associated them with the divinity? We consider here a number of texts composed by Jews of the Hellenistic period. That era in which they came into close contact with and often lived under the dominion of Greek culture and later of Roman power naturally prompted a https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110685657-008

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more intense consideration of what stood at the core of Jewishness in contradistinction to their coevals or their overlords.

I The monumental resistance of Jews to the measures and actions of Antiochus IV and the forces of Hellenistic Syria left a memorable mark on the record. The enduring texts of 1 and 2 Maccabees, each in its own way, provide the indelible tale. The first, composed initially in Hebrew, but available now only in Greek, and the second, a Greek composition from the outset but surviving now as a Greek epitome of the original, constitute our principal windows on that clash whose outcome continues to be celebrated with joyous festivities to this very day. How did the authors characterize the nation or the values for which it fought? 1 Maccabees saw the light of day probably in the late 2nd century BCE. That was approximately a half century after the dramatic events that led to the victory of Judah Maccabee and the rededication of the Temple, and in the midst of the period of Judah’s Hasmonean successors who ruled the land of Judea. The author’s sentiments clearly lie with the Hasmoneans and their accomplishments. But his characterization of the people whom they led and the principles for which they stood is not quite so obvious. A common label for those hostile to the Jews is, of course, τὰ ἔθνη, i.e. “gentiles”. That is standard terminology in the Septuagint. It does not register an ethnic slur, and generally means no more than “non-Jew”.1 Τὸ ἔθνος, interestingly enough, does not convey ethnicity. 1 Maccabees indeed regularly employs the term in diplomatic correspondence and official exchanges as a collective phrase for the Jewish polity itself.2 In almost every case in which (what seems to be) ethnically loaded language, like ethnos, genos, or laos, appears, the usage has no racial implications. The terminology can signify “people” or “nation” in some unspecified sense or a political entity, or even the army (in the case of laos).3 In a well-known passage, the author reports the issuance of a decree by Antiochus IV throughout his kingdom that all those within it should become a single people || 1 E.g., 1 Macc. 1.11, 1.14, 2.40, 3.48, 4.14, 5.9–10, 13.6. 2 E.g., 1 Macc. 8.23–27, 11.30, 13.36, 14.28, 15.1–2. 3 For the general sense of “people” or “nation”, without concrete connotations, see, e.g. 1 Macc. 3.59, 6.58, 9.29, 11.21, 13.6, 14.4, 14.35, 16.3 (ethnos); as a political entity, see previous note; also, as “army”, e.g. 3.55, 4.17, 5.18–19, 5.42–43, 6.19, 10.80–81 (laos). And laos, of course, can also betoken nation or people; e.g. 2.66–67, 4.61, 7.18–19, 13.17, 14.14; or indeed a political entity; e.g. 7.33, 12.35, 14.28, 14.33, 14.44, 14.46.

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(laos). That obviously does not mean an ethnic blending. In fact, the aim is specified: they are to abandon their own laws.4 In this formulation, what characterized the Jews was primarily adherence to the particular practices that identified them. Only a single application of the term genos by 1 Maccabees suggests that Jews might be identified as a descent group. The author alleges that the “gentiles” (τὰ ἔθνη) who dwelled about, when they learned of the reconstruction and rededication of the Temple, became furious and determined to eradicate the “race of Jacob” (τὸ γένος Ιακωβ).5 That is the sole instance in which the author employs such language. There is little reason to believe that he saw descent from Jacob as the defining element in Jewish identity—let alone that the gentiles did. The author of 1 Maccabees might be taken to express Jewish identity as that of a descent group in the death-bed speech of Mattathias, father of Judah Maccabee and his brothers. The head of the clan rallies his sons by reminding them of the great deeds accomplished by the forefathers. The speech underscores the admirable examples set by their predecessors, running through the heroic figures of old, Abraham, Joseph, Phinehas, Joshua, David, Elijah, Daniel, and others. Emphasis, however, does not rest on the ancestral connection. Mattathias throughout stresses the character and achievements, rather than the genealogy, of the forerunners. He opens by beseeching his sons to show zeal for the Law and devote their lives to the covenant of the fathers.6 What they are to remember are the deeds of those in earlier generations, thus to acquire great glory and eternal fame.7 Citation of each of the ancient models connects them explicitly with a particular characteristic or accomplishment to be emulated: Abraham’s steadfastness and righteousness, Joseph’s adherence to the commandments, Phinehas’ zealousness, David’s clemency, Daniel’s integrity.8 They are all “fathers” as part of the biblical traditions that helped to mold the people of Israel and exemplify the values by which they live. Those values stand at the heart of Mattathias’ message, the defining character of the nation, no mere roll call of ancestors.9

|| 4 1 Macc. 1.41: καὶ ἔγραψεν ὁ βασιλεὺς πάσῃ τῇ βασιλείᾳ αὐτοῦ εἶναι πάντας εἰς λαὸν ἕνα καὶ ἐγκαταλιπεῖν ἔκαστον τὰ νόμιμα αὐτοῦ. 5 1 Macc. 5.1–2. 6 1. Macc. 2.50: νῦν, τέκνα, ζηλώσατε τῷ νόμῳ καὶ δότε τὰς ψυχὰς διαθήκης πατέρων ἡμῶν. 7 1 Macc. 2.51: μνήσθετετῶν πατέρων ἡμῶν τά ἔργα, ἃ ἐποίησαν ἐν ταῖς γενεαῖς αὐτῶν, καὶ δέξασθε δόξαν μεγάλην καὶ ὅνομα αἰώνιον. 8 1 Macc. 2.52–60. 9 See the similar, and much longer, roster of ancient heroes assembled by Ben Sira, 44–49.

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II The Second Book of Maccabees, as we have it now, represents an abbreviated epitome of an earlier lost work, five books in length, composed by a certain Jason of Cyrene. Whether the epitomator was a Judean or (like Jason) a diaspora Jew cannot be determined. But, unlike 1 Maccabees, this history is no translation but a thoroughly Hellenic work. Its date remains a matter of dispute and unresolvable suggestions, anywhere from the mid 2nd century to the mid 1st century BCE.10 On any reckoning, it reflects Jewish thinking about the people’s identity in the generation or two after establishment of the Maccabean dynasty. The extant text ends the story prior to the death of Judah Maccabee. It does not pursue the narrative of the Hasmonean rulers. Unlike 1 Maccabees, its approach is more rhetorical, more concerned with the Jews’ relationship to God and their devotion to the Temple and to Jerusalem, less a sober history than a pious paean to those who, with divine aid, saved their heritage from the depredations of Antiochus and his sympathizers. How did the author understand Jewish identity? The preface to the work contains two letters addressed by the Jews of Judaea to those of Egypt announcing the rededication of the Temple and urging them to join in celebration of that glorious event. The letters themselves are independent of the main narrative, conjoined, whether separately or together, to that narrative.11 The first letter opens with a seemingly pregnant phrase. The Judeans in Jerusalem write to their compatriots in Egypt as “brothers” addressing “brothers”. And they proceed to cite the covenant made by God with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.12 At the conclusion of the second letter, moreover, the author reiterates his call to the Egyptian Jews to celebrate the rededication of the Temple by affirming that God has saved “all his people (laos)”.13 Does this stress on the tight bond between Judean Jews and those elsewhere, certified by reference to the covenant with the patriarchs, signify a kinship relation that defined Jewish identity? Not necessarily. The greeting in the first letter employs conventional language in epistolary correspondence

|| 10 Among various suggestions, see Abel (1949), xlii–xliii; Habicht (1976), 174–175; Schwartz (2008), 11–14; Doran (2012), 14–15, with bibliography. 11 For the diverse scholarly opinions on the relationship between the letters and the main text, see the judicious summary by Doran (2012), 1–3. 12 1 Macc. 1.1–2: τοῖς ἀδελφοῖς τοῖς κατ’ Αἵγυπτον Ἰουδαίοις χαίρειν οἱ ἀδελφοί οἱ ἐν Ἱεροσολύμοις Ἰουδαίοι καὶ ὁι ἐν τῇ χώρᾳ τῆς Ἰουδαίας εἰρήνην ἀγαξήν. Και ἀγαθοποιήσαι ὑμῖν ὁ θεὸς καὶ μνησθείη τῆς διαθήκης αὐτοῦ τῆς πρὸς Αβρααμ καὶ Ισαακ καὶ Ιακωβ τῶν δούλων αὐτοῦ τῶν πιστῶν. 13 1 Macc. 2.17: ὁ δὲ θεὸς ὁ σώσας τὸν πάντα λαὸν αὐτοῦ.

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between Jews. The politeness should not be taken as attesting literal kinship. And the term “brothers” can be used in the broader sense of “compatriots” without implying blood kinship.14 Citation of the covenant with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob points explicitly to the allegiance owed to God, his Law, and his precepts, a direct connection of Jewish identity to biblical pronouncements and traditions rather than to a line of descent.15 And the conclusion of the second letter with its reference to God’s salvation of “all his people” points not to a universal kinship but to the hope for a future ingathering of Jews from everywhere in the world to the holy place (the Temple and Jerusalem).16 Blood relationship is not at issue. The bond that holds together the people is that of shared allegiance to the Lord and his commandments. The narrative of 2 Maccabees also gives little suggestion of kinship as the root of collective identity. Among the severe restrictions imposed by Antiochus Epiphanes on the Jews was a ban even upon professing to be a Jew.17 Just what would constitute such a profession? Certainly not a declaration of descent from the ancestors. Antiochus sought to stamp out Jewish ritual and observances, and the admission to being a Jew was simply the adherence to such practices.18 The author, in excoriating the actions of the renegade Jewish High Priest Jason, rips him for slaughtering his own kinsmen (συγγενεῖς). And he underscores this by asserting that Jason treated men of his same ethnos as if they were enemies. Whether this signals a racial connection among Jews, however, is questionable. In the same passage 2 Maccabees labels the victims of Jason’s massacre as “fellow-citizens” (πολίται). The author plainly sees the terms συγγενεῖς and πολίται as interchangeable. The connection can be described as easily in political as in ethnic language. It is a matter of literary variatio.19 || 14 So, rightly, Schwartz (2008), 135, 385. See, e.g., 1 Macc. 5.13, 5.16, 5.17, 6.22. 15 2 Macc. 1.3–4. 16 2 Macc. 2.18: ἐλπίζομεν γὰρ ἐπὶ τῷ θεῷ ὅτι ταχέως ἡμᾶς ἐλεήσει καὶ ἐπισυνάξει ἐκ τῆς οὐρανὸν εἰς τὸν ἅγιον τὸπον. 17 2 Macc. 6.6: οὕτε ἁπλῶς Ἰουδαῖον ὁμολογεῖν εἶναι. Cf. 6.1. 18 Observance of the Sabbath and of traditional festivals is mentioned explicitly in the passage. Doran (2012), 136, has it right: the ἁπλῶς means “in a nutshell”, summing up the previous clauses (about observing the Sabbath and the festivals). 19 2 Macc. 5.6: ὁ δὲ Ἰάσον ἐποιείτο σφαγὰς τῶν πολιτῶν τῶν ἰδίων ἀφειδῶς οὐ συννοῶν τὴν εἰς συγγενεῖς εὐημερίαν δυσημέριαν εἶναι τὴν μεγίστην, δοκῶν δὲ πολεμίων καὶ οὐχ ὁμοεθνῶν τρόπαια καταβάλεσθαι. The three different terms clearly appear here as parallel and synonymous. The claim of Schwartz (2008), 254, that συγγενεῖς and ὁμοεθνῶν are to be taken as opposed to τῶν πολιτῶν τῶν ἰδίων and signify people who share a common descent, is unjustified. Doran’s interpretation, (2012), 127, of the three terms as given in ascending order, each broader than the preceding, thus to heighten intensity of emotion, is over-subtle. See also 2 Macc. 15.30–

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In similar fashion the author deploys the ostensibly “ethnic” terms ethnos and genos without ethnic overtones. They appear in close conjunction with the same denotation in the dramatic narrative of the deaths of the martyred mother and seven sons who perished at the hands of Antiochus. The last of the sons denounces the king and calls upon God to show mercy to his people (ethnos) and put an end to his anger that has been justly inflicted upon his people (genos). The two terms are interchangeable. And neither refers to the “people” as a descent group. The martyred son, like his brothers who perished for adherence to the covenant of God, dedicates his body and his soul to “the ancestral laws”.20 Finally, a letter sent by Antiochus V, conceding that his father’s efforts to coerce Jews into adopting Greek practices had failed, announced that the ethnos would remain intact and untroubled. And he specified what he meant by that. The ethnos would have their temple restored and would govern themselves in accordance with the practices of their ancestors.21 So even the Hellenistic king, as represented in 2 Maccabees, defined the nation of the Jews as inhering in their worship and their ancestral customs. The culture of the ethnos, not its ethnicity, was paramount.

III Kinship is an issue of prominence, indeed predominance, in the Book of Tobit. That novelistic, often whimsical, text is a combination of serious piety and amusing entertainment.22 Its author is unknown and the date equally so. We can fix it no more closely than some time in the Second Temple period.23 The work intertwines two tales, both of them intimately involved with kinship relations. Tobit’s

|| 31, where the author employs πολῖται and ὁμοεθνεῖς in the same sense. Note further 2 Macc. 4.10, where ὁμοφύλοι serves an identical purpose. The author did not concern himself with precise and distinctive meanings for each expression. 20 2 Macc. 7.36–38: οἱ μὲν γὰρ νῦν ἡμέτεροι ἀφδελφοὶ βραχὺν ὑπενέγκαντες πόνον ἀεννάου ζωῆς ὑπὸ διαθήκην θεοῦ πεπώκασι … ἐγὼ δὲ καθάπερ οἱ ἀδελφοί μου καὶ σῶμα καὶ ψυχὴν προδίδωμι περὶ τῶν πατρίων νόμων, ἐπικαλούμενος τὸν θεὸν ἵλεων ταχὺ τῷ ἕθνει γενέασθαι … ἐν ἐμοὶ δὲ καὶ τοῖς ἀδελφοῖς μου στῆναι τὴν τοῦ παντοκράτερος ὀργὴν τὴν ἐπὶ τὸ σύμπαν ἡμῶν γένος δικαίως ἐπηγμένην. 21 2 Macc. 11.25: αἱρούμενοι οὖν καὶ τοῦτο τό ἕθνος ἐκτὸς ταραχῆς εἶναι, κρίνομεν τότε ἱερὸν αὐτοῖς ἀποκατασταθῆναι καὶ πολιτεύεσθαι κατὰ τὰ ἐπὶ τῶν προγόνων αὐτῶν ἕθη. 22 For this analysis of Tobit, see Gruen (2002), 148–158. And see above, chapter six. The work is well served by the commentaries of Moore (1996) and Fitzmyer (2003). 23 On the date, see Moore (1996), 40–42; Fitzmyer (2003), 50–54, with bibliographies. See also Otzen (2002), 57–59.

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concern that his son Tobias obtain a suitable marriage within the clan and the comparable eagerness of Sarah’s parents to find her a mate with intimate ties to the family constitute the main motifs of the story, which, despite some adventures and misadventures, enjoys a happy ending. Endogamy triumphs. The central chord is struck right at the outset. Tobit, as the narrative has it, resides in exile at Nineveh, after the Assyrian conquest of the northern kingdom of Israel, and he laments the fate of his people, a fate brought on by their own failings, misdeeds, and betrayal of their heritage. He bewails the fact that his brethren (ἀδελφοί) and his nation (ἕθνος) were in captivity in the land of the Assyrians and that the whole tribe (φυλὴ) of his father (πατήρ) Naphtali renounced the house of his father David. He adds more pointedly that the house of his father Naphtali and all his brothers even worshipped the Calf erected by Jeroboam.24 It is clear enough that the terms “father” and “brothers” are not be taken literally. But the author introduces the language of kinship right from the beginning. By employing that language in conjunction with the ethnos as a whole, he appears to express his nation’s identity in terms of familial relations.25 Insistence on marriage within the family is a repeated refrain. Tobit presses upon his son Tobias the importance of choosing a wife from the “seed of his fathers” and to avoid any foreign woman who is not of his father’s tribe. And he proceeds to link his family to the patriarchs, Noah, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, all of whom took wives from among their ”brethren”.26 The looseness of language is plain. The author liberally employs the term “adelphoi” to connote a wider circle. But linkage to the tribe, to the seed, and to the fathers, even if the terms are flexible, indicates that maintaining the solidarity of the clan and tracing its lineage back to the biblical roots is a paramount theme of the text. The attraction of Sarah to Tobias rested most significantly on the fact that she was a “sister” from the seed of his father’s house.27 How far does this kinship terminology actually reflect a sense that Second Temple Jews reckoned their identity defined by blood-ties stretching back to their origins? This tight familial circle of Tobit may be just a bit too tight. The author liberally sprinkles the text with references to “sister” and “brother”. The words appear no fewer than sixty six times. Virtually every person in the story belongs

|| 24 Tobit, 1.3–5. 25 So, most recently, Ophir and Rosen-Zvi (2018), 100–103, with bibliography. 26 Tobit, 4.12–13: καὶ γυναῖκα πρῶτον λαβὲ ἀπὸ τοῦ σπέρματος τῶν πατέρων σου, μὴ λάβῃς γυναῖκα ἀλλοτρίαν, ἥ οὐκ ἔστιν ἐκ τῆς φυλῆς τοῦ πατρός σου … οὗτοι πάντες ἕλαβον γυναῖκας ἐκ τῶν ἀδελφῶν αὐτῶν. Cf. 6.16. 27 Tobit, 6.19: ὅτι ἕστιν αὐτῷ ἀδελφὴ ἐκ τοῦ σπέρματος τοῦ οἵκου τοῦ πατρὸς αὐτου.

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to this one, big, happy family. And they all address one another, even husbands and wives, as sister and brother, with repetition that reeks of ridicule.28 This is endogamy with a vengeance. It is hard to avoid the sense that the author here pushes clannishness to the point of a reductio ad absurdum.29 The Book of Tobit reads less like advocacy for the idea of Jewish identity as a descent group than like a parody of that idea. Genealogy, in fact, does not take precedence in this work. Common ancestors receive mention only in the passage where Tobit instructs his son not to marry outside the “seed of his fathers”, and he glosses the “foreign woman” as one outside the “tribe of his father”.30 The terminology is fluid and imprecise. Just as the plural “fathers” yields to the singular “father”, so “people” (laos) can substitute for “tribe” (phylos).31 It is wrong to presume terminological precision or consistency. The “tribe of his father” turns out to be quite extensive, effectively synonymous with the people of Israel itself. And the “fathers of old”, are identified as Noah, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob who never took wives “outside the brethren”.32 The author takes liberties here, for many of the earliest ancestors, including Abraham and Joseph, married outside the clan. This whole clumsy and disordered passage uses patriarchs as models for endogamy, but can hardly be taken as claiming descent as the hallmark of Jewish identity. To be sure, the Book of Tobit tells a powerful tale to underscore the importance of solidarity within the clan (even with a somewhat cynical eye on those who take it to extremes). Such a message would resonate especially with Jews of the diaspora. A collective identity for diaspora Jews associated with the teachings and traditions of the Bible and a connection with those who dwelled in Israel were matters of high importance. The final prayer of Tobit signals that connection most movingly. He forecasts the destruction of the Temple and the scattering of the flock, but also the eventual resumption of God’s mercy, the return of the exiles, and the rebuilding of the holy shrine. The “brothers” in Israel, after their dispersal will be reunited.33 There is more here, however, than the identification of diaspora Jews with those in the land of Israel. The ethnic association is enhanced and enriched by the projected conversion of many nations to the ways of || 28 E.g., Tobit, 5.5–6, 5.10–15. 6.7, 6.13–14, 7.1–2, 7.10, 8.5. Occasionally, the author substitutes συγγενής for ἀδελφός; Tobit, 6.11. 29 See Wills (1995), 78; Gruen (2002), 157 30 Tobit, 4.12–13, quoted above, n. 26. 31 Tobit, 4.12–13. 32 Tobit, 4.12: Νωε, Αβρααμ, Ισαακ, Ιακωβ οἱ πατέρες ἡμῶν ἀπὸ τοῦ αἰῶνος μνήσθητι, παιδίον, ὅτι οὗτοι πάντες ἕλαβον γυναῖκας ἐκ τῶν ἀδελφῶν αὐτῶν. 33 Tobit, 13.5, 14.4–5. This echoes Deuteronomy, 30.1–3. See Fitzmyer (2003), 309, 331.

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God, casting aside their idols and their false wanderings into error.34 In short, the Book of Tobit does not limit itself to reassertion of the integrity of the clan or its ethnic purity. It mocks excessive insularity and hails the conjoining of Jews with other nations in adopting the precepts of the Lord.

IV The Book of Judith offers a comparable combination of meaningful messages with wit and humor. The tale of the intrepid Jewess who rescues her countrymen from the brink of disaster by thwarting the plans of the evil Assyrian (!) king Nebuchadnezzar and the wicked but stupid commander of his host Holofernes whose head she carries off as a token continues to resonate as a prime example of Jewish heroism, faith, and success in the face of overwhelming odds. The narrative, well known, needs no rehearsal here.35 Judith remains an iconic symbol of Jewish valor and values, reinforced by trust in the Lord. Does the work also give a sense of ethnic characteristics that could account for the qualities of the people? That would be harder to show. The question of ethnicity is not one that the author of this celebrated text shows much interest in. The ethnic origins of the nation, as presented in Judith, emerge with little clarity. The Ammonite Achior endeavors to explain those origins to his Assyrian overlord, The people derived, he said, from the Chaldeans, but they were previously settled in Mesopotamia because they did not wish to adhere to the gods of their fathers who were in the land of the Chaldeans. They thus strayed from the path of their parents and worshipped the God of heaven, with the consequence that they were driven out from the face of the gods and fled to Mesopotamia where they dwelled for many days. From there they moved, on God’s instruction, to the land of Canaan where they

|| 34 Tobit, 13.11: ἕθνη πολλὰ μακρόθεν ἥξει σοὶ καὶ κάτοικοι πάντων τῶν ἐσχάτων τῆς γῆς πρὸς τὸ ὅνομα τὸ ἅγιόν σου. 14.6: καὶ πάντα τὰ ἕθνη τὰ ἐν ὅλῃ τῇ γῇ, πάντες ἐπιστρέψουσιν καὶ φοβηθήσονται τὸν θεὸν ἀληθινῶς, καὶ ἀφήσουσιν πάντες τὰ εἵδωλα αὐτῶν, τοὺς πλανῶντας ψευδῆ τὴν πλάνησιν αὐτῶν. 35 See, among other works, Moore (1985), with much additional bibliography at 109–117. See especially Craven (1983), Wills (1995), 132–157; Otzen (2002), 68–142; and, still useful, Enslin (1972). More recently and significantly, see now two excellent commentaries by Gera (2014) and Wills (2019), with an extensive and wide-ranging introduction, 1−154. The comedic aspects are stressed by Gruen (2002), 158–170. On the date of the work, much disputed, see Otzen (2002), 132–136, with bibliography, and Wills (2019), 14−16.

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flourished for some time.36 This account is obviously based on the story of Abraham, his beginnings and his sojourns in the Book of Genesis.37 But the version is abbreviated and confused, leaving no obvious sense of an ethnic derivation, a matter with which the author is evidently unconcerned. The text proceeds to recount quite hurriedly the narrative of the move to Egypt, the oppression of the Israelites, the Exodus, and the return to Canaan where they drove out various peoples, and occupied the land.38 Achior’s summary of the Israelites’ earliest history skirts any concern with ethnicity or inborn character. He focuses primarily on the principal theme of the book, i.e. that God smiles on the Jews when they follow his principles and precepts but abandons them when they stray from his teachings.39 Indeed, when Jewish origins are referred to elsewhere in the text, they are simply the genos that came out of Egypt.40 That is plainly not a matter of derivation. Further, the author’s use of ostensibly ethnic terminology is haphazard and inconsistent, without pattern or obvious purpose. When he speaks of Holofernes’ ruthless romp through the lands of his conquests, insisting that all must worship Nebuchadnezzar as god, he refers indiscriminately to nations, tongues, and tribes in sweeping fashion.41 Similar catch-all phrases occur when Judith takes pride in the Jewish resistance everywhere to idolatry. One will not find backsliding, she says, in any tribe, homeland, people, or city.42 Judith calls upon God to make it known to every people and tribe that he is the deity of all power and might and that no one protects the people of Israel except him.43 The deployment of ethnos, phyle, and genos in swift succession makes clear that the author is unconcerned with precision or technical usage. Once only does he use τά ἕθνη in the standard Septuagintal sense of “gentiles” or “non-Jews”, and contrasts them with the γένος of the Jews. But here again the author simply employs different terminology for purposes of variation. Genos does not refer to a people defined by its descent.

|| 36 Judith, 5.5–9. 37 Genesis, 11.27–12.9 38 Judith, 5.10–16. 39 Judith, 5.17–21. 40 Judith, 6.5: τὸ γένος τῶν ἐξ Αἰγύπτου. 41 Judith, 3.8: πάντα τά ἕθνη, καὶ πᾶσαι αἱ γλῶσσαι καὶ αἱ φυλαὶ. 42 Judith, 8.18: οὕτε φυλὴ οὕτε πατριὰ οὕτε δῆμος οὕτε πόλις ἐξ ἡμῶν. 43 Judith, 9.14.

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Judith’s own lineage is a matter of some importance to the author. He traces her ancestors back for sixteen generations, in a direct line to Jacob.44 The genealogical link is reinforced when Judith calls upon the example of her forefather Simon, son of Jacob, who wreaked vengeance upon the defilers of his sister Dinah as model for Judith’s own requital against Holofernes.45 This, of course, represents a claim on Judith’s personal heritage, a link to the patriarchs. It does not show that Israelites as a whole defined themselves as a descent group. Another passage seems more telling on this score. Judith appeals to the Lord as “god of my father and god of the heritage of Israel”.46 The “heritage”, especially when coupled with Judith’s reference to her “father”, might suggest a blood tie that defined Jewish identity. That conclusion, however, would be at odds with two most intriguing episodes in the text. First, in the scene where Judith (falsely) promises that she will bring a great victory to Holofernes, the commander responds eagerly with another pledge: if she carries out her promise, her god will be his god, and she will dwell in the house of the king.47 And second, the Ammonite Achior, after witnessing the severed head of Holofernes and confronting the shocking failure of the king’s massive force, did more than just promise. He announced that he would put all his trust in the Lord of Israel, he underwent circumcision, and he was admitted into the house of Israel.48 The two episodes are quite telling. Whether Holofernes was sincere about embracing the god of Israel or was dissimulating for the purpose of seduction, the fact remains that the author reckoned this form of conversion as conceivable and intelligible. And in the case of Achior’s full-scale entrance into the house of Israel, the message is perfectly clear. Identification as a Jew did not require being part of the blood-line. That message indeed stands at the heart of the whole story. The speech of Achior to the Assyrians underscores the principles of Judaism as the author conceives them. The Israelites prospered, so Achior maintained, when they avoided sin before their god, but, when they strayed from the path he had designated for them, they suffered defeat, exile, and calamity.49 Judith echoes the same sentiments when she confronts Holofernes: our people are immune from punishment

|| 44 Judith, 8.1. 45 Judith, 9.2. 46 Judith, 9.12: ὁ θεὸς τοῦ πατρός μου καὶ θεὸς κληρονομίας Ισραηλ. 47 Judith, 11.23: ὁ θεὸς σου ἕσται μου θεὸς, καὶ σὺ ἐν οἵκῳ βασιλέως Ναβουχοδοσορ καθήση. 48 Judith, 14.5–10: ἰδὼν δὲ Αχιωρ πάντα ὅσα ἐποίησεν ὁ θεὸς τοῦ Ισραηλ, ἐπίστευσεν τῷ θεῷ σφόδρα καὶ περιετέμετο τὴν σάρκα τῆς ἀκροβυστίας αὐτοῦ καὶ προσετέθη εἰς τὸν οἶκον Ισραηλ. 49 Judith, 5.17–21.

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and no sword can subdue them unless they sin against their god.50 Such is the central lesson of the tale. Trust in the teachings of God and observance of his principles constitute the essence of Jewish being. The author has Judith roundly rebuke the Jewish elders of her city for failing to act on those precepts and has Achior the Ammonite who acknowledged the power of God warmly welcomed into the house of Israel.51

V The conversion story of Achior is writ large in the entertaining, engrossing, but quite enigmatic prose fiction, Joseph and Aseneth. The work shares many qualities with the familiar Greek “novels” of Chariton, Xenophon of Ephesus, Achilles Tatius, Longus, and Heliodorus. But it has distinctive characteristics of its own. The question of genre has long been discussed, as has the issue of the direction of influence, since Joseph and Aseneth may well have preceded most of the Greek novels. The date itself is extensively debated and remains uncertain, thus complicating further the issue of model or imitation, although most would put it some time in the 1st or 2nd century CE. Such issues can here be set aside.52 The work plainly belongs in the milieu of novelistic fiction, and one need not look only to Hellenistic parallels, since there were Jewish writers and audiences for comparable compositions like Esther, Daniel, Tobit, and Judith. A kernel of the narrative exists in Genesis which reports that the patriarch Joseph wed Aseneth the daughter of an Egyptian priest. The Bible makes nothing more of it. But therein hangs a lengthy tale that combines a romance with an adventure story and freely abandons any scriptural basis. The first part of the novel, intriguing and tantalizing, raises issues of relevance here. It takes the form of an erotic fantasy in which Joseph, the Israelite

|| 50 Judith, 11.10: οὐ γὰρ ἐκδικᾶται τὸ γένος ἡμῶν, οὐ κατισχύει ῥομφαία ἐπ’ αὐτούς, ἐὰν μὴ ἁμάρτωσιν εἶς τὸν θεὸν αὐτῶν. 51 For Judith’s rebuke of the elders, see Judith, 8.11–27. 52 An extensive literature (with little consensus) can be consulted on the date, provenance, genre, objectives, and relations with the Greek novel. Among the more important, see Chesnutt (1995); Standhartinger (1995), 5–26; Wills (1995), 170–184; Barclay (1996), 204–216; Bohak (1996), Kraemer (1998), 225–293; Humphrey (2000), 28–48; Johnson (2004), 108–120; Whitmarsh (2018), 105−121; most recently, Hicks-Keeton (2018), 189–222, with valuable bibliography. A convenient text, with German translation, selective notes, and some insightful essays can be found in Reinmuth (2009).

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migrant to Egypt and now the all-powerful minister of the Pharaoh, meets Aseneth, the dazzlingly beautiful daughter of the Egyptian priest of Heliopolis. Matters do not go at all well in their initial encounter. On the face of it, the confrontation involves an ethnic collision that entails a profound divide between the patriarchal line of the Hebrews and the nation of Egypt. The arrogant virgin Aseneth would have nothing to do with any man, no matter how attractive or eligible the suitor. Aseneth’s father Pentephres, eager to betroth her to the dashing and potent authority Joseph, received a sharp rebuke from his daughter; she would not lower herself to marry a shepherd’s son from Canaan who had been caught in adultery and thrown in prison. Only the first-born son of the Pharaoh would be good enough for her.53 When Joseph actually showed up in person, however, in all his resplendent glory, Aseneth was instantly smitten, cast off all her inhibitions, and fell for him unequivocally. Indeed she rebuked herself ferociously for her previously disdainful pomposity.54 It was Joseph’s turn now to exhibit offensive pomposity. When Aseneth approached him, he simply pushed her away physically, declaring that it is improper for a man who worships god to kiss an alien woman who blesses dead and dumb idols.55 The mortified Aseneth went into abject repentance, cast off her gilded garments, smashed her idols, and put on sackcloth and ashes.56 Does this dramatic episode signal a fundamental ethnic divergence that separates Jews from non-Jews, a barrier that was judged insurmountable, a cultural antagonism that dominates the treatise?57 Certain passages might suggest such a conclusion. Aseneth’s sneering reference to Joseph as an alien, a fugitive, and a slave, a despised shepherd’s son from Canaan, seems to assert a deep cleavage between Egyptian culture and that of the lowly foreigner.58 And Joseph’s initial reaction to Aseneth reaffirmed the parallel attitude from the other side. When Aseneth, on her father’s urging, went to greet Joseph with a kiss, and in a state of arousal, the Israelite rudely and crudely shoved her away, asserting that it is unfitting for a man who worships god and blesses the bread of life, drinks from the blessed cup of immortality, and anoints himself with the sacred ointment of incorruptibility to kiss an alien woman who

|| 53 JosAs, 4.5–12. 54 JosAs, 5–6. 55 JosAs, 8.5. 56 JosAs, 8.8–10.17. 57 Cf. Chesnutt (1995), 97–108; Barclay (1996), 211. 58 JosAs, 4.9–10: ἀνδρὶ ἀλλογενεῖ καὶ φυγάδι καὶ πεπραμένῳ ουχ οὗτός ὁ υἱὸς τοῦ ποιμένος ἐκ γῆς Χαναὰν.

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blesses lifeless and mute images, who eats and drinks from their table and applies the anointment of destruction.59 The division is stark. But is it a matter of ethnicity? The transformation of Aseneth constitutes the pivotal point of the narrative. Scholars conventionally apply the term “conversion” to this dramatic shift.60 But what is she converting to? The natural presumption has her embrace Judaism. What would that entail? The story includes no rituals, no formalities, no prescribed procedures to which Aseneth must subject herself, thus to be declared Jewish.61 Indeed the terms “Jew” or “gentile” appear nowhere in the text. The words and actions of the young maiden in her self-abasement devote themselves almost exclusively to the rejection of idolatry. And she did so most emphatically. She reproached herself with bitterness and tears for having at any time paid homage to idols, and she then smashed the images into smithereens or tossed them out the window of her top floor dwelling.62 Her mournful monologues asserted that she had come to hate the gods worshipped by her parents, thereby alienating her own family, and lamented that her very mouth is defiled from worship of and sacrifice to Egyptian gods. Revering sterile icons have made her unworthy, desolate, and abandoned. The repetition of this verbal self-flagellation, again and again, makes the point unmistakably: Aseneth’s move centers almost entirely upon the repudiation of idolatry.63

|| 59 JosAs, 8.5: οὐκ ἕστι προσῆκον ἀνδρὶ θεοσεβεῖ, ὅς εὐλογεῖ τῷ στόματι αὐτοῦ τὸν θεὸν τὸν ζῶντα καὶ ἐσθίει ἅρτον εὐλογημένον ζωῆς καὶ πίνει ποτήριον εὐλογημένον ἀθανασίας καὶ χρίεται χρίσματι εὐλογημένῳ ἀφθαρσίας, φιλήσαι γυναῖκα ἀλλοτρίαν, ἥτις εὐλογεῖ τῷ στόματι αὐτῆς εἵδωλα νεκρὰ καὶ κωφὰ καὶ ἐσθίει ἐκ τῆς τραπέζης αὐτῶν ἅρτον ἀγχόνης καὶ πίνει ἐκ τῆς σπονδῆς αὐτῶν ποτήριον ἐνέδρας καὶ χρίεται χρίσματι ἀπωλείας. Cf. 8.11, 15.4, 16.16, 21.21. 60 E.g., Chesnutt (1995), 97–117, 145–149; Johnson (2004), 116–118. 61 The nearest one comes to it is the declaration by the angelic figure who appeared from heaven and brought Aseneth from the depths of despair to the embrace of a new life. He introduced her to the blessed bread, the cup of immortality, and the anointment of incorruptibility; JosAs. 15.4, 16.6. The same words had come out of Joseph’s mouth in signaling his own relationship with God and contrasting it with Aseneth’s unworthiness; JosAs. 8.5. See above, n. 59. But there is little reason to see this as a ritual act incumbent upon a convert. So, rightly, Chesnutt (1995), 119–135—although he does believe that Aseneth became a convert to “Judaism”, whatever that might mean; op. cit. 146. The text has Joseph announce an eight day waiting period before he would return to Aseneth; 9.2. Thiessen (2014), 229–249, sees this as reflecting the eighth day of Creation, the eighth day of consecration of the Levites, and the eighth day before circumcision, thus signifying Aseneth’s full repentance, conversion, and acceptance into the Jewish community. That is ingenious but perhaps overkill. It certainly does not show that Aseneth’s transformation made her genealogically distinct from her gentile family (241). 62 JosAs. 9, 10.13. 63 JosAs. 11.1, 11.4–5, 11.7–8, 11.16, 12.5, 12.9, 12.12, 13.11, 19.5, 21.13, 21.21.

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The god to whom she has now turned remains somewhat elusive. Aseneth speaks of him first simply as the “god of Joseph”.64 In one of her soliloquies she characterizes him as the Lord, god of the powerful Joseph, the highest who hates all those who worship idols, a jealous god and fearful to all who revere alien deities. He seems largely defined in opposition to images that represent other gods.65 Aseneth, however, is looking for something more. She claims to have heard many who regard the god of the Hebrews as the true god, a living god, and one who is merciful, compassionate, and forgiving, a deity, like a father, to whom she will venture to flee and confess all her sins.66 A noteworthy picture emerges. When Aseneth is, in fact, forgiven, it is Joseph, not his god, who does so. And it is Joseph who accords her the blessings of life, wisdom, and truth.67 Aseneth has chosen God because he is the god of Joseph. Where is kinship or ethnicity in all this? Aseneth, the daughter of an Egyptian nobleman, is fully embraced by Jacob and welcomed to the clan. The patriarch was like a father to her.68 In similar fashion Joseph was embraced by the Pharaoh whom he considered a father to him.69 The crossing of the ethnic boundary was no obstacle. Nor does the genealogy of the patriarchs have a role of any significance for Joseph’s identity in this novel. The line of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob as the ancestry of Israel remains irrelevant to the tale. Joseph is the lord of Egypt, appointed by the Pharaoh. Insofar as lineage receives mention, even metaphorically, Joseph appears in the eyes of Aseneth as “son of God”.70 Indeed even in Pharaoh’s eyes, the Lord who chose Aseneth as Joseph’s bride is simply the god

|| 64 JosAs. 6.7. 65 JosAs. 11.7: καὶ κύριος ὁ θεός τοὐ δυνατοῦ Ἰσὴφ ὁ ὕψιστος μισεῖ πάντας τοὺς σεβομένους τὰ εἵδωλα διότι θεὸς ζηλωτής ἐστι καὶ φοβερὸς ἐπὶ πάντας τοὺς σεβομένους θεοὺς ἀλλοτρίους. Cf. 11.9. 66 JosAs. 11.10–14, 12.7–8, 12.13–14 See the discussions of Standhartinger (1995), 180–189; Kraemer (1998), 53–58. More bibliography in Hays (2017), 25–46. 67 JosAs. 19.11. 68 JosAs. 22.1–10. 69 JosAs. 20.9. Cf. Hacham (2012), 58–59. 70 JosAs. 6.3, 6.5, 13.13, 18.1, 18.11, 21.4, 21.21.

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of Joseph, his first-born.71 Whatever that may mean, it skirts any sense that Aseneth’s entrance into Joseph’s world entailed an ethnic transformation.72 The barriers that Aseneth overcame were those of idolatry and misplaced faith, not ethnic exclusion.73

VI The consistent pattern found in these works reappears in numerous other Hellenistic Jewish texts, even where the issue is minor or marginal to the author’s objectives. A few examples can offer corroborating testimony. A famous segment in the Letter of Aristeas has Greek envoys to the High Priest Eleazer in Jerusalem inquire about the significance and rationale of Jewish dietary restrictions and purity laws which they found so peculiar. Eleazer’s response set the issue on a different and higher plane. He informed the inquirers of the wise prescriptions laid down by Moses that gave special distinction to his people, first and foremost devotion to a single god. In this matter he sharply contrasts the Jews with all those who believe in multiple deities. He proceeds to castigate the latter who produce worthless images of persons whom they have deified, and worship the lifeless idols of stone and wood who bring them no benefit and expose their folly.74 Harsher denunciations of idolators follow, and the author delivers his unequivocal assertion that Moses fenced his people about with impassable palisades and iron walls so as to prevent any intermingling with other nations, remaining pure in body and soul, released from empty opinions, worshipping the one and mighty god over the whole of creation.75 This sets the Jewish

|| 71 JosAs. 21.4: εὐλογήσει σε κύριος ὁ θεὸς τοῦ Ἰωσήφ, τέκνον, καὶ διαμενεῖ τὸ κάλλοςσου τοῦτο εἰς τοὺς αἰῶνας, διότι δικαίως κύριος ὁ θεὸς τοῦ Ἰωσὴφ ἐξελέξατό σε εἰς νύμφην τῷ Ἰωσήφ, ὅτι αὐτός ἐστιν ὁ υἱὸς τοῦ θεοῦ ὁ πρωτότοκος. 72 Cf. the amusing tale of “Bel and the Dragon” in which the Babylonian monarch draws scorn for permitting the death of the supposed serpent-deity at Jewish hands and is mocked as “having become a Jew”—plainly not as any form of conversion; Daniel, 14.28. 73 That is acknowledged by Ophir and Rosen-Zvi (2018), 93, with additional bibliography. 74 LetArist. 128–137. Eleazer clearly separates “us” from “all the rest of men who believe in multiple gods”; 134: πάντες οἱ λοιποὶ παρ’ ἡμᾶς ἄνθρωποι πολλοὺς θεοὺς εἶναι νομίζουσιν. Wright (2015), 258–259, 264, 268, takes the “us” to refer not only to Jews but also to the Greek interlocutors (and all other enlightened Greeks). So also Beavis (1987), 147–148. That is hardly the most obvious interpretation, since the author uses the first person plural elsewhere to refer to Jews alone (especially, 139–140). But it does not affect the main point here. 75 LetArist. 139.

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commitment to a sole god as the core mark of identity and underscores the separatism of the Jews from the bulk of humanity who ignorantly confuse idols with divinity. The dietary laws are a secondary matter.76 And ethnicity receives no mention. The matter of idolatry as a feature of critical importance that separated Jews from Gentiles became a recurrent theme in Jewish literature of the Hellenistic era. The Wisdom of Solomon, for example, composed probably by an Egyptian Jew in the late Hellenistic or early Roman period, rails at idolatry with a ferocity well beyond that of the Letter of Aristeas.77 A comparable assault appears in the Third Sibylline Oracle, a Jewish text much of which was composed in the 2nd century BCE. The author denounces those who neither worship nor fear God but devote themselves to speechless images and stone statues. Therein lies the real distinction between Jew and non-Jew. The former honors the great God and his Temple with offerings and receives the blessings of wisdom and understanding, the latter reveres deceitful works carved and painted by men, idols of wood, stone, and clay, of bronze, silver, and gold, sheer delusion.78 That motif remained prominent in the generation of Josephus who mocked those painters and sculptors who made figures of clay and color that decay with age and need to be replaced periodically with new objects of worship.79 A final text deserves mention. The fictitious fantasy, misleadingly labeled as 3 Maccabees, depicts a Ptolemaic king bent on eradicating Jews in Alexandria and elsewhere, a campaign of genocide that was foiled when crazed elephants sent to crush the Jews were turned back by divine intervention and trampled the Ptolemaic forces instead. The story is largely or wholly an invention by a Jewish author probably of the 2nd century BCE and cannot serve as a piece of history.80 As a depiction of ferocious fury leveled against Jews, however, it would appear to offer a window on what national characteristics singled out the Jews as appropriate objects for annihilation. It would be hard to pin it on inherent difference or racial features. Indeed, Ptolemy’s initial attitude exhibited favor to the people of Israel. They had sent a delegation to congratulate him upon his victory at the battle of Raphia. That prompted a visit by the king to the Temple in Jerusalem to offer sacrifice as thanks to the Jewish deity for any role he might have played in the

|| 76 Eleazer does, however, seek to justify them at some length; LetArist. 144–169. 77 WisdSol, 13.10–14.30,15.14–17. On this work, see the excellent treatment by Winston (1979), 3– 69. 78 3 Sib. 29–38, 547–557, 573–590. 79 Jos. CAp. 2.251–254. Cf. also Philo, Spec. Leg. 1.29, 2.166. 80 The best study of this work is that of Johnson (2004).

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outcome of the battle. The Jews welcomed the gesture but drew the line at a gentile’s entrance into the inner sanctum, the Holy of Holies in the Temple. That resistance drew the wrath of Ptolemy, a wrath redoubled when he sought to force his entrance and was felled by a stroke brought by God in answer to Jewish prayers.81 The episode triggered Ptolemy’s retaliation. He determined to inflict deadly punishment upon all Jews in Alexandria and in the countryside. His order to round up every Jew, herd them into the hippodrome outside Alexandria, and subject them to slaughter by drunken elephants set the stage for the dramatic scenes that terrified the would-be victims but ultimately delivered them safely in a miraculous rescue through heavenly intervention. The reasons for targeting the Jews and seeking to eliminate them are unambiguous. Nothing in the fanciful tale suggests that they were reckoned as a race apart. As the narrative presents it, the thwarting of Ptolemy’s aims in Jerusalem provoked the ruler’s irrational rage.82 The text does make reference to the spreading of malicious rumors about the Jews because of their separateness, their peculiar dietary practices, and their modes of worship that, among other things, prevented them from doing their military service.83 The author implies that these charges represented efforts at justification rather than motives for persecution. And they do not, in any case, speak to innate character flaws. The king’s decrees, according to the author, allowed the gentiles to give vent to the hatred of the Jews that they had long felt in their hearts.84 Yet he specifies no grounds for the hostility here, and elsewhere contradicts himself by indicating that there was considerable sympathy among the Alexandrians for the plight of the Jews.85 On the face of it, the story in 3 Maccabees concerns a failed attempt by a Hellenistic king to eliminate all the Jews within his reach, thus ostensibly affording a clue to the character or perceived character of Jewishness that might prompt a genocidal effort. Yet no motive emerges apart from the monarch’s over-reaction to a rebuff that prompted an attempt at genocide. The only allusion to a broader antipathy toward Jews mentions peculiar dietary laws, forms of worship and separateness, and they appear to be canceled out by a widespread sympathy toward Jews among the subjects of the realm. If Jews did generate any animosity, it derived from puzzling behavior and unwillingness to participate fully in Hellenistic society. It had no connection with ethnic difference. The story, in any case, cannot be

|| 81 3 Mac.1.6–2.23. 82 3 Macc. 2.21–26. 83 3 Macc. 3.2–7; cf. 7.3–4. 84 3 Macc. 4.1. 85 3 Macc. 3–10.8

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pressed for authentic historical representation. The author sketches a preposterous scenario, played largely for laughs. Ptolemy appears as less a monstrous than a reckless, irrational, and buffoonish monarch who ultimately reverses himself, bringing about reconciliation and a happy ending. Its principal purpose was amusement.86

VII This sampling of Hellenistic texts that raise in direct or indirect fashion the issue of what constituted Jewishness approached the question from several angles. But a reasonably consistent picture emerges. The works, whether historical or fictional in genre, whether representing Jews in their own voice or in the perception of others, regularly express Jewish identity in terms of worship, belief, practices, rituals, and adherence to tradition and law, what we customarily designate as “religion”. Only very exceptionally is any nod made to ancestry, genealogy, or descent.87 That is not to say that Jews had abandoned any connection to the patriarchs or to their legendary origins in biblical renderings. Of course, those associations formed an integral part of the traditions which Jews kept alive while, at the same time, they repeatedly refashioned and rewrote them. But in the turbulent Hellenistic period, especially in the diaspora amidst gentile surroundings and culture, when Jews had special incentive to frame and declare a distinctive identity, the most conspicuous feature was religion rather than ethnicity.

|| 86 For this analysis, see Gruen (1998), 222–236. 87 The recent study of Thiessen (2011), 67–110, sees a wider belief in genealogy as the mark of Jewishness in Second Temple texts. That emphasis does play a significant role in Jubilees and the Animal Apocalypse. But those texts remain exceptional rather than representative on this topic.

8 Philo and Jewish Ethnicity Philo of Alexandria would seem to stand on the margin of two cultures. A devout Jew steeped in the Bible and its traditions, he was also deeply learned in Greek philosophy, literature, and legend. Philo serves frequently as the quintessential example of the thinker who straddled both worlds, a blend of the biblical exegete and the Hellenic philosopher. If anyone in antiquity were to explore in depth the question of how to reconcile Jewish identity with absorption in the cultural universe of Hellas, it should certainly have been Philo. The issue of how he struck a balance between Judaism and Hellenism has frequently exercised scholarly speculation.1 Yet that issue seems to have left Philo largely unmoved. The two worlds did not collide in his work, nor did they stand side by side in some stately juxtaposition. Philo belonged to an elite Jewish family in Alexandria, fully integrated in the intellectual society of cultivated Jews fluent in Greek who commanded both the Greek Bible and the literature and learning of Hellas.2 For Philo no reconciliation was necessary. He conveys a seamless whole that did not require adjustment or accommodation—let alone agonizing.3 How then did Philo understand what it meant to be Jewish? Did he have a conception of Jewish ethnicity? Did he define or articulate it? Wherein lay the distinctiveness of his people in the broader Greco-Roman society? What stood at the core of Jewish identity in the philosopher’s construct? Indeed, one might go further and ask whether he worried very much about the issue at all.

|| 1 Among numerous treatments of this topic, see, e.g., Goodenough (1962); Sandmel (1984), 31– 36; Mendelson (1988), 115–138; Leonhardt-Balzer (2007), 29–53, with valuable bibliography; Baker (2009), 86–91. 2 For the circumstances of Philo’s life (what little is known of it), see Borgen, (1984), 108–115; Barraclough (1984), 421–441; Morris (1987), 813–819; Schwartz (2009), 9–31; Seland (2014), 3–9; Niehoff (2018), 1–18. 3 The smooth presentation does not, however, preclude some inner tension. See Gruen (2017b), 640–642. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110685657-009

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I Philo regularly divided the world into Hellenes and barbaroi, with nothing in between.4 That apportionment, of course, simply echoed standard Hellenic verbiage. Philo duplicated the demarcation that the Greeks conventionally provided. The prevailing distinction was that of language: barbaroi spoke in a variety of bewildering tongues, the sole common denominator being that none was Greek. Philo embraced the customary formula. As we have seen, he faced a problem in fitting the Jews into this dichotomy.5 In a cultural divide that allowed for just two parts, Jews, as non-Greeks, presumably stood with the barbaroi. It is worth reiterating, however, that the term barbaros itself did not necessarily or even usually carry a negative connotation. The binary in nearly all of its appearances in Philo reflected stock phraseology without the application of a pejorative judgment. Yet Philo the Jew could hardly leave it at that. Jews did not simply fall into the bland classification of non-Greeks. In matters of importance Philo makes sure to single them out from both Greeks and “barbarians.”6 The Jewish people corrected the principal error into which both Greeks and barbarians fell, namely the worship of objects created by men.7 He sets Moses apart as best of all lawgivers anywhere, superior to those who stem from Greeks or barbarians.8 Jews are in a special category to themselves. In brief, Jews could be included among barbaroi or be distinguished from them (as from Greeks), depending on context. Philonic usage encompassed both. The diverse application makes it plain that the term barbaros lacked any consistent designation of ethnicity. Hence, it could hardly serve to delineate, whether as parallel or as contrast, a Jewish sense of ethnic identity. Nor did Philo intend it for that purpose.

II Where then might one find Philo’s notion of Jewish ethnicity? A promising place to look for clues would seem to be Philo’s use of ethnically loaded language. The

|| 4 Examples abound in his texts. See, e.g. Spec. Leg. 1.211, 2.44; Mos. 2.27; Prob. 138; Legat. 8, 141; Opif. 128; Conf. 6. 190; Ebr. 193; Decal. 153; Praem. 165; Prov. 2.15; Abr. 136; Jos. 134. Cf. Birnbaum (2001), 42–48. 5 See above, chapter 1. 6 See the useful discussion of Berthelot (2007), 47–61. 7 Philo, Spec. Leg. 2.165–166. Rightly noted by Berthelot (2007), 59. Cf. Her. 169. 8 Philo, Mos. 2.12. See further, chapter 1.

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philosopher refers frequently to the Ioudaioi as a genos or an ethnos.9 On the face of it, scrutiny of those passages might tease out a Philonic conceptualization of Jewish ethnicity. In fact, however, the inquiry produces only mixed and ambiguous results, very far from a clear-cut signification. Genos in Philo’s works cannot be pinned down to a consistent definition. It often means little more than a category or a species, lacking any ethnic resonance.10 Further, it can designate a family rather than a large collective, or, by contrast, a much larger group, namely mortal creatures generally or indeed all of humankind. Philo affixes the label genos generously.11 The word ethnos is equally malleable. It appears in Philo regularly to denote what might be termed “nation” in a wide and unspecific sense, without racial implications.12 The phraseology itself does not solve the problem. Should Jews be defined as a descent group, stemming from Abraham, and linked thereafter by genealogy? Philo does on occasion employ language to suggest such a lineage.13 He depicts the union of Abraham and Sarah as one that will produce not just a family of sons and daughters but an entire ethnos, one that will be most beloved of God.14 He also quotes Genesis in having God promise Abraham that he will turn into a great ethnos.15 Abraham is described as the earliest of the ethnos of the Jews.16 The language is evocative. But how far does it provide precision?17 Philo, to be sure, identifies Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob as founders of the ethnos.18 Elsewhere, however, he presents the same three as originators of the genos.19 The terms, it appears, are interchangeable, hardly clear-cut delimitations. And the overlap proceeds. Philo can speak of Abraham as leader of the ethnos and the

|| 9 Cf. Umemoto (1994), 22–51; Runia (2013), 30–32; Pearce (2016), 209–228. 10 E.g., Philo, Opif. 16; Leg. All. 1.14; Cher. 106; Agr. 144; Spec. Leg. 2.35; Aet. 117. 11 Family: e.g., Philo, Det. 25, 99; Post. 109; Flacc. 13; mortal creatures: e.g., Leg. All. 1.4, 1.16; Plant. 14; Migr. 69; humankind: e.g., Opif. 79; Gig.1; Praem. 8; Legat. 68. 12 E.g. Philo, Mos. 1.88, 1.123; Spec. Leg. 1.7, 1.78–79; Praem. 7, 57; Legat. 10, 19; Prob. 137, etc. For a thorough assemblage of Philonic references to ethnos, see now Pearce (2016), 209–228. 13 Niehoff (2001), 17–33. 14 Philo, Abr. 98 15 Philo, Migr. 1; cf. 68; Her. 277. 16 Philo, Virt. 212. 17 Philo reproduces the passage in the Scriptures in which God forecasts that Isaac’s seed will be a blessing to all the ethne of the earth; Her. 8. Transmission of that text implies that descent from the patriarchs did not limit itself to the ethnos of the Hebrews. 18 Philo, Praem. 57. 19 Philo, Mut. 88; cf. Spec. Leg. 2.217; Virt. 206–207.

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genos.20 How to interpret that? Does Philo indicate two separate units? He evidently chose not to be explicit. That may frustrate the scholar, but it also suggests the indifference of Philo to exactitude on the matter. Nor do the Israelites have a monopoly on the patriarchs. The seed of Abraham through Isaac engenders all the ethne of the earth.21 Philo can even designate the three founders as genarchai of the ethnos.22 And there are added complications. Philo names Shem, one of the sons of Noah, as the root, Abraham as the tree, and Isaac as the fruit of the genos from whom sprang the seed that produced Jacob and the twelve tribes. At first glance, this formulation appears to indicate a direct lineage that defines the nation. Yet it should be noted that the imagery forms part of a common Philonic allegory in which the patriarchs advance reason and virtue, thereby to overcome the passions.23 Further overlap occurs when Philo describes Moses as a Chaldean by genos and seventh in descent from Abraham who was founder of the ethnos of the Jews.24 The terminology is plainly malleable rather than fixed. Philo, for instance, refutes those who call Moses an Egyptian by insisting that he was not only a Hebrew but of the purest genos of the Hebrews.25 That surprising statement would allow the inference that Hebrews consisted of more than one genos. Whether that was the philosopher’s intent remains obscure. In any case, God’s choice of Moses as leader of his people had nothing to do with his genealogy. It was a prize for his love of virtue and the nobility of his soul.26 The ostensibly ethnic terminology has different and wider significance. Philo has Joseph boast of belonging to the genos of the Hebrews, but he characterizes the genos as advancement beyond the perception of the senses to the life of the mind.27 Even Philo’s reproduction of God’s message to Rebecca in Genesis that she had two ethne in her womb transformed the genealogical meaning into an allegorical one. The two ethne represented conflict in the soul between reason and irrationality, between baseness and virtue, between liberty and enslavement. Indeed Rebecca carried

|| 20 Philo, Her. 278: τὸν ἔθνους καὶ γένους … ἡγεμόνα … ἐθνάρχης γὰρ καὶ γενάρχης. 21 Philo, Her. 8; cf. QG, 3.42. 22 Philo, Somn. 1.167. 23 Philo, Sobr. 65–66; Somn. 1.159, 166–172. 24 Philo, Mos. 1.5, 1.7. Cf. Virt. 212. 25 Philo, Mut. 117: τὸν οὐ μόνον Ἑβραῖον, ἀλλὰ καὶ τοῦ καθαρωτάτου γένους ὄντα ῾Ἔβραίων. 26 Philo, Mos. 1.148–149. 27 Philo, Migr. 20.

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in her womb the sources of good and evil.28 Philo’s language of ethnicity is supple and pliable. It does not easily serve to pinpoint Jewish lineage.29

III In Philo’s treatises, Jewish identity eludes simple definition by ancestry and descent. His vision was broader. The philosopher indeed freed the concept from the limits of the bloodline. Kinship in his formulation takes on a transformative character. The founder of the nation himself plays a pivotal and evocative role. Philo stresses that Abraham’s roots lay elsewhere than in (what would become) the homeland of the clan. The forefather stemmed from Chaldea, i.e. Babylonia, the land of astrology and numerology. His migration to the future territory of Israel constituted the determinative act. But in Philo’s depiction, this went beyond mere geography. The journey was a spiritual and intellectual one. Abraham moved from the myopia of star worship, false science, and polytheism to an authentic grasp of the universe as created and governed by God. He was, in fact, the first proselyte, as the philosopher conceives him, the quintessential model for all who abandoned the fraudulent ways and vacuous beliefs of their own ancestors to embrace the truth of the sole divinity.30 The scales fell from Abraham’s eyes. He dismissed his long-held Chaldean creed that equated the created world with the creator and acknowledged instead the invisible force that determined the visible world.31 And Philo goes further. Perhaps the most notable aspect of his formulation comes in the depiction of Abraham’s journey as a reaching for “kinship” with God.32 The metaphorical use of the term serves him well. Philo injects kinship as a critical ingredient in his characterization of spiritual relationship. But the “kinship” has a far more profound sense than that of a bloodline. Ethnic solidarity did not distinguish the Jews. They consisted of a motley group almost from the start. Philo notes that intermarriage between peoples and

|| 28 Philo, Sac. 4; Leg. All. 3.88–89. Cf. Sac. 134–135; Mos. 1.237–242. The Genesis passage is 25.23. 29 The careful delineation of Philo’s usage of ethnos with regard to the patriarchs by Pearce (2016), 220–228, makes clear that the emphasis lies heavily upon the nation’s distinctiveness in virtue, righteousness, observance of the laws, and devotion to the only true God. 30 Philo, Virt. 212–219, at 219: οὗτος ἅπασιν ἐπηλύταις εὐγενείας ἐστι κανών … καλὴν δ’ ἀποικίαν στειλαμένοις πρὸς ἔμψυχον τῷ ὄντι καὶ ζῶσαν πολιτείαν, ἧς ἔφορος καὶ ἐπίσκοπος ἀληθεία. Cf. Hyp. 6.1. See the comment of Wilson (2011), 409–410, with references; also Pearce (2016), 226–227. 31 Philo, Abr. 67–80; Somn. 160–161; Praem. 58. 32 Philo, Virt. 218: τῆς πρὸς θεὸν συγγενείας ὀρεχθέντα. Cf. Wilson (2011), 409.

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between classes occurred already in the patriarchal period.33 And when Moses led his people out of Egypt, they were a “mixed and rough multitude”, as the book of Exodus affirms and Philo reiterates.34 In the Special Laws, Philo expands upon Moses’ exhortation to the Israelites in Deuteronomy 17.15 to choose a leader after his death from among their “brothers” rather than set a “foreigner” above them. That might seem to suggest that a kinship bond defined the Israelites, excluding the outsider on ethnic grounds. But Philo’s elaboration on the passage moves it onto a different plane. For him the liabilities of the foreigner rested on moral grounds. He is undesirable because of greed and selfishness; he would strip the people of their own land and possessions and send them into impoverished exile.35 The philosopher engages in this form of verbal manipulation more than once. He pits the terms ὁμοεθνεῖς and ἀλλοτρίοι against one another in a seemingly ethnic differentiation. Yet this opposition, far from definitive, can be dissolved by a superabundance of virtues. The differentiation then becomes metamorphosed into nothing less than a kinship connection. The ostensibly ethnic contrast turns into an ethnic blending.36 And Philo can go further still. He asserts that, in truth, kinship is not measured by blood alone but by similarity of actions and pursuit of the same goals.37 Indeed the philosopher describes the highest form of kinship, συγγένεια, in remarkable and unexpected fashion. He sets it in political, institutional, and ideological terms. It denotes a single type of constitution, the same law, and one god by whom all members of the ethnos are chosen.38 Philo’s sense of kinship far transcends family ties. In an even more striking passage, from the De Virtutibus, Philo has Moses express the fact that the whole ethnos from the start had the most compelling kinship with God, far more genuine than that of a blood-tie, making it the heir of all good things that human nature allows.39 The formulation signifies that kinship in

|| 33 Philo, Virt. 223–225. 34 Exod. 12.38; Philo, Migr. 154–155: τὸν ἐπίμικτον καὶ δασὺν τοῦτον ὄχλον; Mos. 1.147. 35 Philo, Spec. Leg. 4.157–158. 36 Philo, Spec. Leg. 2.73: ἡ δ’ ἀλλοτριότης ἀκοινώνητον, εἰ μὴ καὶ ταύτην τις ὑπερβολαῖς ἀρετῶν μεθαρμόσαιτο πρὸς συγγενικὴν οἰκειότητα. 37 Philo, Virt. 195–196. 38 Philo, Spec. Leg. 4.159: ἡ δ’ ἀνωτάτω συγγένειά ἐστι πολιτεία μία καὶ νόμος ὁ αὐτὸς καὶ εἶς θεός ᾦ πάντες οἱ ἀπὸ τοῦ ἔθνους προσκεκλήρωνται. 39 Philo, Virt. 79: ἐξ ἀρχῆς τὸ σύμπαν ἔθνος ὑπολαβὼν ἔχειν ἀναγκαιοτάτην συγγένειαν, πολὺ γνησιωτέραν τῆς ἀφ’ αἵματος, πάντων ἀγαθῶν ὦν δὴ ἀνθρωπίνη φύσις χωρεῖ κληρονόμον ἀπέφηνεν. Cf. Wilson, (2011), 193–194.

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its purest sense eclipses any relationship by blood, a metaphorical notion that sets it apart and above a descent group. The notorious apostasy of those Israelites who turned to worship of the Golden Calf gave rise to another notable pronouncement by Moses as framed in Philo’s narrative. Here again kinship took on a quite unconventional shape. The lawgiver, furious at the backsliders, authorized his zealous followers, the Levites, to slaughter at will those who abandoned the precepts of the Lord. His exhortation urged them to slay kinsmen and friends alike. The notion of genuine kinship and friendship was framed solely as the piety of good men.40 An even blunter statement appears elsewhere, as Philo deconstructs the idea of συγγένεια. What are termed συγγένειαι, he says, i.e. relationships stemming from blood ancestors, marriage, or other similar origins, should be cast aside if they do not lead to the honor of God, the indissoluble bond of unifying good will.41 In Philo’s conceptualization of συγγένεια, the metaphorical trumps the physical.

IV The philosopher’s devotion to allegory also permits him to transfigure dramatically perhaps the most fabled story of ethnic contrast, that of Sarah and Hagar. The handmaiden of the Hebrew Sarah was herself an Egyptian by birth but was pressed into service to provide Abraham with an heir. The troubled tale needs no recounting here. Its implications for differentiation between the ethne and its consequences for the history of the patriarchs loom large. Philo’s introduction of allegory into the analysis of the narrative, however, substantially softens the ethnic edge. His principal treatment of the disparity between the women occurs in the De Congressu.42 In that work, the inferiority of Hagar to Sarah becomes allegorized as a distinction between the preliminary studies, such as grammar, geometry, music, and rhetoric on the one hand, and wisdom, philosophy, and virtue on the other. Hagar emblematizes the first, Sarah the second. But Philo does not denigrate the προπαιδεύματα. They form the necessary preparatory instruction for the acquisition of virtue.43 Hagar as handmaiden to Sarah represents the || 40 Philo, Mos. 2.169–171: συγγενεῖς καὶ φίλους ἀποκτεινάτω φιλίαν καὶ συγγένειαν ὑπολαβὼν εἶναι μόνην ἀνδρῶν ἀγαθῶν ὁσιότητα. 41 Philo, Spec. Leg. 1.317. 42 See the discussions by Pearce (2007), 167–177; Berkowitz (2010), 3–9. 43 Philo, Congr. 24. Discussion of the propaideumata, or the mese paideia occurs at Congr. 11– 23. Cf. QG, 3.19. See the valuable treatment by Pearce (2007), 167–177, with further references and bibliography. See, especially, 170, n. 284.

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“encyclical instruction” vital for the acquisition of wisdom.44 As Philo states explicitly, he is talking not about the two women, but about minds, the one engaged in propaedeutic learning, the other struggling to attain virtue.45 This skirts the whole issue of ethnicity as a determinative distinction.46 The same holds for the contrast that Philo draws between Ishmael and Isaac. He puts the difference between the sons of Hagar and Sarah respectively in allegorical terms as well: Ishmael, although the older half-brother, is the inferior in intellectual advancement, as are the encyclia to the true learning of the virtues.47 Ethnicity does not come into play. Another passage sets the matter in a dramatically different light. In the De Abrahamo Sarah remarks to Abraham that Hagar was an Egyptian by birth, but a Hebrew by her way of life.48 That statement seems to reintroduce ethnic differentiation. But it does so in a most evocative fashion. Hagar’s ethnicity plainly did not determine her identity. She had chosen to become a Hebrew. Here again embrace of a preferred way of life outstripped ancestry.49

V Egyptians, as is well known, are principal targets of abuse by Philo. For some scholars, Philo manipulated Egypt as a constructed “Other” in order to establish a Jewish identity.50 Expressions of hostility are numerous. No need to collect them here.51 Egyptian animal worship draws some of his fiercest denunciation.52 Philo

|| 44 Philo, Congr. 9; cf. 154–156. 45 Philo, Congr. 180. Cf. 139–141; Mut. 255; Somn. 1.240. A somewhat more negative version in Cher. 8–10. 46 One might note that Paul also reconceives Hagar and Sarah in allegorical terms, though quite different from those of Philo; Gal. 4.21–31. 47 Philo, Sobr. 8–9. 48 Philo, Abr. 251: γένος μὲν Αἰγυπτίαν, τὴν δὲ προαίρεσιν Ἑβραίαν. 49 It is worth observing that Philo associates the name Hagar with the circumstances of a πάροικος; Congr. 20, 22. That is a term used elsewhere to designate a sojourner or indeed a proselyte. See below. 50 This is the view urged by Pearce (1998), 88–97, and Niehoff, (2001), 45–74. 51 See the instances cited and discussed by Mendelson (1988), 115–122; Pearce (1998), 79–105; Niehoff (2001), 45–74, Horst (2003), 105–106; and the splendid study by Pearce (2007), especially 45–80. Cf. also Sly (1996), 111–114; Berthelot (1999), 205–207, 213–214. 52 See, most notably, Philo, Dec. 76–80; Cont. 8–9. Cf. Mos. 2.161–162, 2.270; Spec. Leg. 1.79; Legat. 163. See the thorough discussion with references by Pearce (2007), 280–308.

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also makes more general reference to Egyptian impiety and atheism.53 And he can mold the nation to his own allegorical purposes: Egypt serves as the land of the senses, the source of the passions, by contrast with reason and mind which are the origin of genuine understanding.54 Yet the idea of Egypt simply as a concocted “Other” to set off the Jews by contrast may go too far. Much of the tirade comes in Philo’s In Flaccum and Legatio ad Gaium, treatises that dealt with the Jews’ dreadful ordeal in Alexandria in 38 CE, when Philo himself was personally and passionately engaged.55 They need not have general resonance.56 And the criticism of Egyptian animal worship paralleled that by many Greek and Roman writers.57 The practice engendered widespread scorn. It would not readily contribute to the building of a special Jewish identity. The picture is more complicated. Other comments of Philo cast Egyptians in a different light. At the beginning of the De Specialibus Legibus, he pays respect to the Egyptian people for their large population, their antiquity, and their devotion to philosophy.58 In recounting (or constructing) Moses’ education, Philo has Egyptians teach him the fundamentals of mathematics, music, Chaldean astronomy, and the philosophical symbolism of hieroglyphics, before he went on to Greek paideia.59 Such remarks problematize any stark picture of Egyptian baseness. Did Philo brand Egyptians with a character and nature fundamentally antithetical to Jewish qualities? Contrasts in customs, conventions, and beliefs, even drastic ones like animal worship, do not amount to ethnic differences. Indications of basic character traits are few indeed. Philo does claim on one occasion that Egyptian character is excessively arrogant by nature.60 But he does not here compare Egyptians with other nations; he points rather to the hauteur of the

|| 53 Philo, Post. 2; Fuga, 180; Mos. 2.193–194. 54 Philo, Congr. 83–85; Mut. 118. He indulges in this form of metaphor with other peoples as well: Amalekites (Migr. 143–144), Canaanites (Sacr. 90; Congr, 83–85), Chaldeans (Mut. 16), Moabites, Ammonites, and Amorites (Leg. All. 3.228–232; Post. 177). 55 E.g., Philo, Flacc. 17, 29; Legat. 120, 205. On Philo’s analysis of the Alexandrian riots of 38 CE, not a matter of ethnicity, see Gruen (2002), 54–83. 56 Pearce (2007), 54–80. 57 Smelik and Hemelrijk (1984), 1955–1997; Sonnabend (1986), 120–124. 58 Philo, Spec. Leg. 1.2. 59 Philo, Mos. 1.23–24. 60 Philo, Agr. 62: Αἰγυπτιακὸν ἐκ φύσεως καὶ διαφερόντως ἐστὶν ὑπέραυχον.

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Egyptian elite toward the ambitions of the common people.61 In a different context Philo speaks of a propensity to stir up seditions and of jealousy as a feature of Egyptian nature.62 The complaints, however, come in the In Flaccum, where the narrative of events, the circumstances, and Philo’s own experiences in the antiJewish riots in Alexandria inclined him to hyperbole. Vitriol regarding Egyptian character appears once in the Legatio ad Gaium as well, also, of course, affected by those events.63 Nothing quite comparable can be found elsewhere in his corpus. This does not render meaningless the numerous hostile aspersions cast by the philosopher. But the disparagement of Egyptians falls into a category rather different from a judgment about inherent inferiority.64

VI The subordination of ethnicity in Philo’s framing of the nation’s identity can be illustrated in a quite different way: the philosopher’s attitude toward intermarriage. He embraces the biblical prohibitions expressed most firmly in Exodus 34 and Deuteronomy 7. Those pronouncements forbad marriages between Israelites and a whole range of specified peoples including Amorites, Hittites, Canaanites, and others.65 Philo endorses and even extends the ban. Since those ancient peoples no longer existed in his day, he gives a blanket injunction against marriage with any non-Israelite (ἀλλοεθνής). But it is noteworthy that this divine interdiction was not issued on the grounds of alien ethnicity. The Bible is explicit, and Philo follows suit. Marriage with foreigners must be avoided, lest those Israelites who indulge in it fall prey to the customs, practices, and gods of others, and thus stray from the path of true worship.66 This prohibition speaks not to the inherent

|| 61 Philo, Agr. 62: ὡς χλεύην καὶ πλατὺν γέλωτα ἡγεῖσθαι τὰς τῶν δημοτικωτέρον ἀνθρώπων περὶ βίον σπουδάς τε καὶ φιλοτιμίας. 62 Philo, Flacc. 17, 29. Cf. also Legat. 162, referring to Alexandrians. 63 Philo, Legat. 166. 64 Philo also occasionally, though very rarely, contrasts Jews with other peoples; Spec.Leg. 1.312–313; Virt. 34. The criteria, however, are not ethnic. His sneers about the savagery of Germans, Parthians, Sarmatians, and Scythians are delivered from a Roman, not a Jewish, perspective; Legat. 10. He can also offer quite positive appraisals of other nations, notably the Indians; Somn. 2.56; Prob. 75, 93–97. 65 Exod. 34:11–16; Deut. 7:1–4. 66 Philo, Spec. Leg. 3.29. Cf. Mos. 1.296–298. See Pearce (2013), 140–155.

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character of the ἀλλοεθνής but to the mode and objects of worship. The ban targets idolatry rather than ethnicity.67 Philo, in fact, when he expresses the nature of Jewish commonality, does so almost always in terms of customs, practice, and adherence to tradition. Some selective instances can provide illustration. When Joseph rejects the advances of Potiphar’s wife, he delivers a speech, according to Philo, worthy of his genos. The patriarch declared that the descendants of the Hebrews follow customs and laws chosen especially for them.68 When Moses and Aaron made their case to Pharaoh, they boldly boasted that the customs of their people shunned the norm and set them apart from all other nations.69 Philo maintains that the ethnos of the Jews possesses distinctive laws, necessarily rigorous, for they serve as training for the highest standard of virtue. The very founders of the ethnos implemented the eminently desirable forms of righteousness and virtue that were passed on to their descendants.70 Allusion to the descent group is bound up inextricably with proper behavior in accord with the laws. The combination has special force for Philo. When Moses rebukes those of his followers who sought preference in the distribution of land, Philo supplies him with a notable speech. The leader exclaims that the whole of his people is greater than its parts, and that all are entitled to equal honor. He proceeds to outline the features that unite them: a single genos, the same fathers, one house, the same customs, a commonality of laws, and countless other matters, each of which links together the kinship and binds it fast for good will.71 That declaration encompasses both genealogical bonds and the unity of customs, laws, and a host of shared practices. Genealogy alone is an inadequate measure of ethnicity. Even more noteworthy, however, the very power of common customs and adherence to tradition, in Philo’s striking formulation, gives kinship itself its meaning. The text holds real significance. Although the notion of race or ethnicity as a marker

|| 67 One might note also Philo’s reference to the mixed multitude that followed Moses out of Egypt, as Exodus reported. Philo sees them primarily as the children of mixed marriages between Hebrews and Egyptians, a fact that does not disturb him; Mos. 1.147. See further the policy of intermarriage with handmaidens from Mesopotamia and the generous treatment of their children, evidently approved by Philo, Virt. 223–225. 68 Philo, Jos. 42. 69 Philo, Mos. 1.87 (with regard to sacrifices): μὴ κατὰ τὰ αὐτὰ ταῖς τῶν ἄλλων ἀνθρώπων γινομένας, ἀλλὰ τρόπῳ καὶ νόμῳ διαφεύγοντι τὴν κοινότητα διὰ τὰς τῶν ἐθῶν ἐξαιρέτους ἰδιότητας. 70 Philo, Spec. Leg. 4.179–181. 71 Philo, Mos, 1.324: πάντες ἐστὲ ἰσότιμοι, γένος ἕν οἱ αὐτοὶ πατέρες, οἰκία μία, ἔθη τὰ αὐτά, κοινωνία νόμων, ἀλλὰ μυρία, ὧν ἕκαστον τὴν οἰκειότητα συνδεῖ καὶ πρὸς εὔνοιαν ἁρμόζεται.

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of Jewishness appears from time to time in the Philonic corpus, it is decidedly ancillary to other features that expressed Jewish identity, i.e. shared conventions, respect for traditions and laws, and relations to the divine that provided common purpose. The Jews, of course, are distinctive. They are the “chosen people”, as Philo observes more than once.72 Wherein lies their chosenness? Does the award of divine favor to the Hebrews accord them a privilege that adheres to their stock and is transmitted through genealogy? Philo recounts the biblical story of the Mesopotamian seer Balaam (without giving the name) who was summoned by the king of Moab to curse the Hebrews, but ended by blessing them. The Philonic narrative, while omitting the more fanciful features of the tale (like the talking donkey), has Balaam stick to his resolve and affirm the special status of the Hebrews who dwell alone and apart from all other ethne. As Philo insists, however, this separation has nothing to do with geography but only with the distinctiveness of their chosen customs and their resistance to mingling with others who do not share their traditional practices. As for their relationship with God, Philo applies an allegorical interpretation: although their bodies may have been fashioned from human seeds, their souls were engendered by divine ones, thereby giving them a near kinship to God.73 The linkage recurs here between the Jewish way of life and a kinship relation, with the latter embedded in the former. At the same time, the philosopher distinguishes sharply between a physical engendering and the more meaningful association of the psyche with God as exemplified by the nation’s commitment to its traditions. Philo asks an explicit question drawn from Deuteronomy: what is this great nation that brings God so near to them and earns them his favor? His answer is that they are lovers of wisdom and knowledge, people who seek after greatness, which consists first and foremost in proximity to God.74 Here again it is the character of the people, not anything inherited in the bloodline, which earns them the benefactions of the Lord. Philo reasserts more than once the point that the quality of the descent group is intricately intertwined with allegiance to its chosen code of laws and the highest standards of virtue. The founders of the nation passed

|| 72 E.g., Philo, Conf. 56: γένος γάρ ἐσμεν τῶν ἐπιλέκτῶν; Praem. 123: λαὸς ἐξαίρετος; Post. 91– 92: τὸ ἐπίλεκτον γένος Ἰσραήλ. Cf. Legat. 3–4. 73 Philo, Mos. 1.278–279: τὰ μὲν σώματ’ αὐτοῖς ἐξ ἀνθρωπίνων διεπλάσθη σπερμάτων, ἐκ δὲ θείων ἔφυσαν αἱ ψυχαί; διὸ καὶ γεγόνασιν ἀγχίσποροι θεοῦ. Cf. Numb. 22–24. 74 Philo, Migr. 53–60; cf. Deut. 4.5–8. See also QG, 2.65.

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that legacy to their descendants, but its endurance lay in the exercise of righteousness and virtue.75 The code of laws by which they lived came straight from the mouth of God, a feature deliberately chosen for the ethnos.76 Philo indeed boasts that the laws of his people are emulated everywhere and predicts that nations will overturn their own native traditions and embrace the laws of his nation alone.77 The ethnos that Moses led, an ethnos more populous and more powerful than his own native land of Egypt, indeed an ethnos that would be held more sacred than all others, was appointed to offer up prayers for humankind itself in warding off evils and sharing what is good.78 The values of the ethnos, no mere genealogy, characterized, in Philo’s representation, the “chosen people”. Does the philosopher employ phraseology that might have racial resonance and a pejorative tone? The words ἀλλόφυλος, ἀλλοεθνής, and ἀλλογενής do crop up—but only very rarely, a total of fourteen times in the whole of Philo’s very large corpus. They designate persons or people distinct from Jews, but do not necessarily convey a negative characterization.79 Only a few instances occur in an unfavorable context.80 The majority of them lack any pejorative overtone.81 A particular example is worth noting. Philo affirms that one should not practice injustice toward those of a different ethnos. Indeed, if they are guilty of nothing other than being of another genos, they are blameless.82 That generous statement delivers the clear message that, however one understands these ostensibly ethnic terms, they do not designate an alien race incompatible with coexistence.

|| 75 Philo, Spec. Leg. 4.179–181. 76 Philo, Spec. Leg. 2.189–190: τοῦτο μὲν τοῦ ἔθνους. 77 Philo, Mos. 2.43–44. 78 Philo, Mos. 1.149; cf. Spec. Leg. 2.167; QG, 2.58. 79 E.g., Philo, Her. 42; Somn. 1.161; Spec. Leg. 4.16; Virt. 160, 222; Prob. 93; Legat. 183, 211. 80 Spec. Leg. 1.56; Legat. 200. The reference to allogeneis in Spec. Leg. 1.124, who are not permitted to share in sacred matters, given the context, probably means non-priests, rather than foreigners. 81 This holds also for the term ἀλλότριος, in various forms, which Philo uses much more frequently. But a large proportion is adjectival, meaning only “belonging to another” or “different from”; e.g. Philo, Leg. All. 2.40, 3.22; Cher. 9; Plant. 143; Sobr. 3; Conf. 115; Her. 105; Mut. 197. The noun form regularly refers to “foreigner” or “alien” as distinct from indigenous or familial, or simply to something that belongs to another; e.g., Philo, Post. 109; Agr. 84; Her. 44; Spec. Leg. 1.340, 2.123, 3.9, 4.70; Virt. 89; Praem. 139; Legat. 72. Rarely does the term carry a negative connotation or convey disparagement with regard to ethnic differentiation. 82 Philo, Virt. 147: μηδένα τῶν ἑτεροεθνῶν ἀδικεῖν, οὐδὲν ἔχοντας αἰτιάσασθαι ὅτι μὴ τὸ ἀλλογενές, ὅπερ ἐστὶν ἀναίτιον. Wilson (2011), 322–323, oddly puts a negative interpretation upon this.

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VII The dissolution of ethnic boundaries is no better illustrated than by the encouragement and welcome of proselytes.83 The practice receives warm endorsement by Philo and forms a repeated motif in his writings. The philosopher pays due homage to the biblical pronouncements in Leviticus, Deuteronomy, and elsewhere, wherein the Lord enjoins Israelites to treat the alien like the native born, to love him as you do yourself, for you were once aliens in the land of Egypt.84 Philo offers an extended version of this doctrine in De Virtutibus, employing the terms ἔπηλυς (incomer) and πάροικος (sojourner) more or less interchangeably. And he reinforces the biblical command by asserting that Israelites treat immigrants as friends and kinsmen (συγγενεῖς), thus a notable lifting of barriers.85 Those proselytes who have abandoned their native land, friends, and relatives to join the Israelite community for reasons of virtue and piety should have all the privileges of the indigenous.86 Philo indeed concocts or transmits a radical revision of the Tamar story which has her as an allophylos from Palestinian Syria who discarded all her idols and became a convert by entering the life of piety.87 Philo finds the ultimate erasure of differences in Leviticus 25.23, where God declares that all the land is mine, and those who dwell on it are merely proselytes and sojourners before me.88 For Philo this justifies a bold universalism in which God alone is a full citizen of the world, while all others are visitors and aliens.89 The leveling is drastic. Israelites and non-Israelites stand on the same plane, and ethnic differences disappear. The proselyte is no inferior figure. Indeed Abraham

|| 83 On Philo’s view of proselytes, see the important treatment by Birnbaum (1996), 195–209. 84 Lev. 19.33–34; Deut. 10.18–19. It is noteworthy that the Septuagint uses the term προσήλυτος to signify “stranger” or “alien”. That made it easier for Philo to transfer the concept to proselyte or convert, although the biblical term in this context had a different connotation. Cf. Deut. 23.7– 8, where the Septuagint uses the term πάροικος. 85 Philo, Virt. 102–108, especially 103: ἀγαπᾶν τοὺς ἐπηλύτας, μὴ μόνον ὡς φίλους καὶ συγγενεῖς ἀλλὰ καὶ ὡς ἑαυτούς; 106: οὐ βδελύξῃ, Αἰγύπτιον, ὅτι πάροικος ἐγένου κατ’ Αἴγυπτον. See the valuable commentary by Wilson (2011), 257–262. 86 Philo, Spec. Leg. 1.51–53, 1.308–309, 4.176–178; Somn. 2.273; Virt. 219; Praem. 152. See the discussion of Donaldson (2007), 235–245; Virt. 220–221; cf. Donaldson (2007), 251–253; Wilson (2011), 410. 87 Philo, Virt. 220–222; cf. Donaldson, (2007), 251–253; Wilson (2011), 410. Philo’s version bears little resemblance to the tale in Genesis 38. 88 Lev. 25.23 (LXX): ἐμὴ γάρ ἐστιν ἡ γῆ, διότι προσήλυτοι καὶ πάροικοι ὑμεῖς ἐστε ἐναντίον μου. 89 Philo, Cher. 119–121: μόνος κυρίως ὁ θεὸς πολίτης ἐστί, πάροικον δὲ καὶ ἐπήλυτον τὸ γενητὸν ἅπαν; cf. 108.

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himself, as Philo represents him, is the first proselyte, a Chaldean immigrant who set the pattern for future mingling of peoples.90 The welcoming of proselytes and their integration into the community form a central ingredient of Jewish identity.91 In Philo’s presentation, those who have cast away false deities and embraced the true God must be reckoned as our dearest friends and closest kinsmen. Their actions, showing a God-loving disposition, supply the greatest expression of friendship and kinship relations.92 By setting the blend of Jew and convert in terms of close family bonds, Philo effectively blunts the force of ethnic differentiation. The other side of this coin warrants mention. The receipt of proselytes into Jewish communities had its counterpart in the spread of Jews into foreign communities stretching across the Mediterranean and beyond from Italy to Iran. Philo himself, of course, was a diaspora Jew. He took immense pride in the dispersal of his people over islands and continents, delineating in detail the numerous sites in Europe, Asia, and Africa where Jews had settled, representing them indeed even as apoikiai, as if the Jews had sent out colonies in familiar Hellenic fashion.93 The relationship between the diaspora communities and the Judean homeland is too large a topic for treatment here.94 Philo’s comments, however, are worth attending to. Attachment to the homeland was vital for Jewish identity. The philosopher underscores the fact that Jerusalem remains the “metropolis”, the mothercity, for all Jews scattered far and wide around the world, no matter where they dwell. Yet each individual community that houses the settlers of the diaspora is reckoned by them now as their patris, the fatherland, the site where they were born and raised, and one which many of them had inherited from fathers, grandfathers and even distant ancestors who came as initial settlers of the apoikia.95 The descent group, in short, is tied to the location of individual communities. Jewish identity retains an indissoluble connection to the Temple and the Holy City, to the ancient lore of the nation, which all Jews share. But the direct link

|| 90 Philo, Virt. 219; Somn. 1.160. Cf. Wilson (2011), 409–410. 91 Philo, Virt. 182; Mos. 2.44; Spec. Leg. 2.118–119; Legat. 211. 92 Philo, Virt. 179: φιλτάτους καὶ συγγενεστάτους ὑποληπτέον, τὸ μέγιστον εἰς φιλίαν καὶ οἰκειότητα παρασχομένους θεοφιλὲς ἦθος. 93 Philo, Praem. 165; Flacc. 45–46; Legat. 281–283. 94 See Gruen (2002), 232–252. 95 Philo, Flacc. 46: μητρόπολιν μὲν τὴν ἱερόπολιν ἡγούμενοι, καθ’ ἣν ἵδρυται ὁ τοῦ ὑψίστου θεοῦ νεὼς ἅγιος, ἃς δ’ ἔλαχον ἐκ πατέρων καὶ πάππων καὶ τῶν ἔτι ἄνω προγόνων οἰκεῖν ἕκαστοι πατρίδας νομίζοντες, ἐν αἷς ἐγεννήθησαν καὶ ἐτράφησαν; εἰς ἐνίας δὲ καὶ κτιζομένας εὐθὺς ἦλθον ἀποικίαν στειλάμενοι , τοῖς κτίσταις χαριζόμενοι.

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with ancestors is traced to the founders of each diaspora settlement. Ethnicity does not reduce itself to the legacy of Abraham.

VIII Philo’s conception of Jewish ethnic identity is a rich one. He felt no urgency to provide a definition. For the Jewish intellectual enmeshed in a Hellenic cultural environment, the question was immaterial. Jews could be numbered among the barbaroi when he divided the world between Greeks and non-Greeks, but could also be separated from both categories when he wished to stress the superiority of his people’s achievements. Philo frequently applied to Jews what appeared to be ethnic language like genos or ethnos, but the terms had such wide and varied significance that they could not deliver (and were not meant to deliver) any precise or consistent designation of identity. The philosopher’s allegorical massaging of “kinship” terminology lifted it out of the realm of blood relationship to a higher order of meaning. The harsh strictures leveled at Egyptian practices and beliefs did not aim to mark out Jewish ethnic distinctiveness. Philo conveyed a complex bundle of traits that constituted Jewishness. Custom, laws, connections with the divinity, and biblical lore, scrutinized for its allegorical significance and philosophical meaning, took central place, indeed served to define “kinship” itself. Jews were “chosen” for the practice of virtue, rationality, and righteousness, rather than for their ancestry. The embrace of proselytes, the acceptance of intermarriage, and the adaptation to life in diaspora communities where Jews were a minority, all features stressed by Philo, cast any sense of ethnic distinctiveness in the shade.

9 The Ethnic Vocabulary of Josephus The need to define a collective identity would seem to be a matter of some urgency for Jews dwelling in the era of and under the shadow of Hellenic culture and Roman power. We explore here further the question of how they projected or indeed internalized that sense of collectivity. Did the constructed lineage stemming from Abraham which loomed large in biblical tradition retain force in Jewish self-consciousness at a time when Jews were enmeshed in a broader GrecoRoman cultural community? Did this notion of ethnic or racial consanguinity predominate in the image that Jews presented to themselves or to others? An author of pivotal significance requires consideration here. The prolific Jewish historian Flavius Josephus carries special relevance. By all rights, he should be a prime witness. Josephus, born in Jerusalem to a priestly family and himself a priest, became a military commander in the Galilee as a young man during the great Jewish revolt against Rome in 67 CE. The Jewish roots were deep and potent. But the war altered his career irrevocably. After surrender to the Romans, Josephus became a confidant of the Roman commander Titus and accompanied him at the siege of Jerusalem, subsequently moving to Rome itself where, under the patronage of the new dynasty of the Flavian emperors, he wrote his enduring works in Greek on the war, the history of his people from biblical times to his own day, his sharply honed polemic against critics of the Jews, and his autobiography. Josephus thus had an unusual, even unique, vantage-point. He grew up sharing his countrymen’s view of their own identity, and he was in a position to experience closely the Greco-Roman perspectives on that identity. How should one understand Josephus’ sense of Jewish identity? The extensive corpus of his writings ought to provide important information, and the particular angles that he enjoyed ought to supply illuminating insights. How critical a role did lineage and genealogy play in Josephus’ construct of Jewish identity? The language of ethnicity provides a potentially fruitful means of pursuing this investigation. In referring to Jews as a group, Josephus employs the terms genos and ethnos with great frequency and regularity. On the face of it, that might evoke a racial implication, a view of the people as sharing blood and kinship, a descent group stemming from a common ancestor. Does that, in fact, project the historian’s perception? A careful assessment of his vocabulary and the contexts

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in which he deploys it is an essential desideratum.1 The results prove to be quite illuminating.

I Genos in Josephus’ works can certainly carry the meaning of a group united by kinship. The idea that his people stemmed from common ancestors receives expression more than once. The biblical setting calls it forth. Josephus asserts that the genos derives from Abraham.2 He identifies Sarah as “the mother of our genos”.3 Jacob is the ancestor of “our genos”, as is Joseph.4 Indeed the historian can go back farther as well, naming Noah as founder of the genos.5 In a few other instances Josephus employs the term in a context that appears to signify a descent group.6 He can contrast genos with customs, practices, or traditions, thus suggesting that it possesses a kinship connotation.7 It is not easy, however, to find many such explicit allusions. Instances are surprisingly rare and equivocal. When Josephus argues in the Contra Apionem for the great antiquity of his genos as against that of the Greeks, one might wish to interpret this as having a racial implication.8 But the matter is not straightforward in that work, the last of Josephus’ compositions. The Jewish historian engages the claim that his people stemmed from Egypt, an allegation that he vigorously denies, using as authority the Egyptian writer Manetho who allowed that the genos

|| 1 The study of Gerber (2000), 135–149, on Josephus’ language for the Jewish people, devotes little space to the terms ethnos and genos. The important work of Eckhardt (2013) does not explore Josephan terminology. Nor does the otherwise useful article of Rajak (2001), 137–146. 2 Jos. Ant. 1.192, 1.234–235, 4.115–116, 5.97, 5.113, 12.226. Cf. also Josephus’ reference to Chaldeans as ἀρχηγοὶ “of our genos“; clearly an allusion to Abraham; CAp. 1.71; Barclay (2007b), 47. 3 Jos. BJ, 5.379. 4 Jos. Ant. 6.89, 9.291. 5 Jos. CAp. 1.130; cf. Barclay (2007b), 81. 6 Jos. Ant. 12.303: σπέρμα τοῦ γένους ὑμῶν; 4.115; CAp. 1.31. 7 Jos. BJ, 6.107: τοῦ γένους ἤ τῶν πατρίων; Ant. 12.261: ἡμῶν καὶ τῷ γένει καὶ τοῖς ἔθεσιν ἀλλοτρίων ὑπαρχόντων; CAp. 2.210: οὐ τῷ γένει μόνον, ἀλλὰ τῇ προαιρέσει τοῦ βίου. 8 Jos. CAp. 1.1–2, 1.69, 2.288. Barclay (2007a), 99–112, esp. 100–104, takes the term to mean descent-group in the Contra Apionem, although he recognizes that Jewish identity for Josephus encompasses other elements as well. The claim that “descent is the bedrock of Jewish identity for Josephus” (104), however, is overstated and not established. A similar view can be found in Esler (2009), 73–91, who acknowledges that Josephus’ sense of ethnicity includes various dimensions but sees the myth of common ancestry as the most widespread of the features. Cf. the broader remarks of Esler, (2003), 40–76.

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came from elsewhere.9 The term evidently stresses geography in this context, a point reinforced by Josephus’ challenge to Apion to declare whether Jews are immigrants or indigenous to Egypt.10 The issue of the genos’ origins can thus be put in territorial terms. Clear references to genos as a kinship group are in fact remarkably scarce. Although the term genos often appears in translation as “race”, the context rarely warrants that rendering. A rather different usage is much more common. Josephus often employs genos simply to mean “by birth”, with reference to a birthplace, a homeland, a location, without obvious racial or ethnic implications. He ascribes the term in that sense occasionally to Judaeans, Israelites, or Jerusalemites.11 But there is nothing special about them in this regard. Josephus utilizes it in same fashion for Spartans, Idumaeans, Arabs, Syrians, Egyptians, Ethiopians, Parthians, and others.12 In a slightly variant sense, genos with the meaning of “birth” or “by birth” can apply simply to the family, the tribe, or indeed the station to which one was born.13 Similarly common is a rather vague or non-descript usage. Josephus employs the word frequently to signify nothing more than “people” or “nation,” with no obvious indication as to what characteristics, whether ethnic, cultural, geographic, religious, or political, linked members of the genos.14 The phrase genos of the Israelites, Hebrews, or Judaeans occurs regularly without specification and falls simply into that noncommittal category of people or nation.15 The same holds for

|| 9 Jos. CAp. 1.252, 1.278. 10 Jos. CAp. 1.314: ἔπηλυς ἢ τὸ γένος ἐγχώριος. 11 See Jos. BJ, 1.432, 2.119, 2.308; Ant. 9.186, 9.211, 9.216, 10.237, 11.207, 17.78, 17.141, 17.324, 18.103, 18.196, 20.163, 20.173; Vita, 16, 382, 427. See on this the valuable study by Cohen (1994), 23–38, who rightly argues that Ἰουδαῖος τὸ γένος should be translated as “Judaean by birth”. Cf. also Cohen (1999), 71–78. But he somewhat muddies the waters by seeing this as an “ethnicgeographic term”. Just what the ethnicity consists of, apart from geography, is quite unclear. 12 E.g., Jos. BJ, 1.513, 1.576, 2.566, 4.503, 5.532, 6.54, 7.199; Ant. 1.187, 6.244, 6.360–361, 7.315, 8.76, 9.186, 9.211, 9.216, 10.122, 11.209, 11.277, 13.131, 15.253, 15.257, 18.167, 18.314, 19.17, 20.81, 20.142, 20.252; Vita, 126; CAp. 1.73, 1.129, 1.164, 1.250, 1.265, 1.275, 1.298, 1.317, 2.8, 2.28, 2.138. 13 E.g., Jos. BJ, 1.477, 2.482, 4.358, 4.416; Ant. 2.78, 2.179, 2.181, 3.192, 4.14, 4.19, 7.47, 7.83, 9.3, 10.80, 14.78, 17.330, 20.100, 20.123, 20.147, 20.214. 14 E.g., Jos. BJ, 5.443, 7.329; Ant. 6.82, 8.120; CAp. 1.59, 1.106, 1.160, 1.219, 2.202, 2.296. 15 E.g., Jos. BJ, 7.375; Ant. 1.75, 2.202–203, 2.205, 2.208, 2.211, 2.216, 2.225, 3.88, 3.191, 3.313, 4.122, 4.127, 4.201, 5.56, 5.298, 6.291, 7.380, 10.183, 11.70, 11.211, 12.296, 12.403, 13.212, 15.384; CAp. 1.173.

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application of the word to others like Idumaeans, Canaanites, Ishmaelites, Amalekites, Egyptians, Germans, or Romans.16 Genos can indeed refer to the entirety of humankind, thus erasing any racial connotation.17 In a rare instance, it signifies a political community.18 And Josephus can speak of a plurality of different gene without denoting where the differences lay.19 None of these texts carries the direct implication that genos has an ethnic basis. Josephus’ nation, to be sure, constitutes the chosen people of God.20 But what exactly makes them so? Certainly not race or ethnicity alone. God, by bestowing his favor upon them, guaranteed their happiness and assured their superiority over every other human genos. It is noteworthy that this superiority receives expression in terms of their zeal for virtue and their choice of a life free from wickedness. For Josephus, these are the qualities that God has provided to make Jews the happiest of all those under the sun, qualities which they will bequeath to their children to enjoy not only in the land to which he has sent them but every land in which their genos will dwell.21 But he withdraws that approbation when Jews stray from his precepts, engage in foolishness or self-inflicted destruction, and imitate the practices of other peoples.22 As Josephus puts it, the genos of the Jews is distinctive in its customs, as indeed are all gene, a passage indicating, in this context at least, that culture can characterize a people.23 All of this, however, does not by a long way exhaust the meaning of genos for Josephus. The most common appearance of the word in his texts does indeed signal a bloodline—but not one that points to the lineage of a nation. Rather it designates an individual family, a house, a dynasty, or a particular genealogy. So, for instance, the historian repeatedly employs the term to indicate Jewish priestly

|| 16 E.g., Jos. BJ, 1.63, 1.123, 3.472, 4.535, 5.460, 7.78; Ant. 1.220, 2.32, 2.300, 4.192, 5.59, 5.90, 5.120, 6.146, 7.6, 7.61, 7.330, 8.200, 11.302, 13.255, 15.257, CAp. 1.75, 1.250, 2.29–30. 17 Jos. BJ, 2.160, 3.402; Ant. 3.23, 4.262, 4.290, 6.61, 6.342, 16.36, 18.128. On one occasion, in the context of the Flood, genos applies even to all living creatures; Jos. Ant. 1.96: τὸ τῶν ζῴων γένος. 18 Jos. Ant. 13.212. 19 Jos. CAp. 2.38. 20 Jos. BJ, 6.310; Ant. 4.114, 5.93, 5.98, 8.120. 21 Jos. Ant. 4.114–115. For commentary on this passage, see Feldman, (2000), 372. 22 Jos. BJ, 6.310; Ant. 5.98; cf. BJ, 7.359; Ant. 1.14, 1.20. 23 Jos. Ant. 16.175–176: ἔθεσι μὲν γαρ οὐδέν ἐστιν γένος ὃ τοῖς αὐτοῖς ἀεὶ χρῆται. Note also that in his paraphrase of the Letter of Aristeas, Josephus distinguishes between a relationship by genos and one by phylon, suggesting that the first is something other than kinship; Ant. 12.23: οὔτε γένει προσήκων αὐτοῖς οὔτε ὁμόφυλος ὣν.

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ancestry or royal ancestry.24 It can refer to the kingly house of Persia or the Arsacids of Parthia.25 Further, Josephus applies it to the families of numerous persons in his narratives, including those of the patriarchal era, like Abraham, Rebecca, Esau, and Jacob, as well as other biblical figures like Aaron, Saul, David, Jeroboam, and Jezebel.26 It appears also as designation of the families of postbiblical figures like Seleucus, the house of the Hasmoneans, Herod, Nicolas of Damascus, and Vespasian.27 Indeed Josephus uses genos to refer to his own family: “a not undistinguished house”, one “from a line of priests”, and on his mother’s side “of royal lineage”.28 The idea of a descent group is, of course, central in each of these cases. But it has nothing to do with a nation—or with race. The flexibility and elasticity of the term genos can be illustrated again and again in the wide range of usages deployed by Josephus. As a noteworthy example, the historian on several occasions refers to the genos of the Essenes or to individuals of the Essene genos.29 The Sadducees too are characterized as a genos.30 So even a philosophical sect or a separatist association can receive the description of a genos. Josephus applies the term also to the Zealots, clearly meant in this instance as an identifiable group, not a mere description.31 It serves to designate the order of mantics or diviners, like the Witch of Endor.32 Plainly, no ethnic overtones exist here. The expression has multiple meanings. One can multiply those meanings still further. Genos commonly carries the connotation of a type, a species, or a category, thereby applicable well beyond the realm of human beings, let alone ethnicity. It can signify species of fish, of palm trees, of four-footed animals, of serpents, of fruits, of spices, and of precious

|| 24 E.g., Jos. BJ, 2.418: τῷ βασιλεῖ κατὰ γένος; 4.141: βασιλικὸν … τὸ γένος; 4.225· γένος ἐκ τῶν ἱερέων; 5.228: τῶν δ’ ἀπὸ γένους ἱερέων; Ant. 7.315; Vita, 191; CAp. 1.30, 1.33, 2.197, 5.193. 25 Jos. Ant. 11.17, 18.48. 26 E.g., Jos. Ant. 1.234, 1.248, 1.253, 1.275, 1.332, 4.33, 7.56, 7.385, 8.288, 9.123, etc. 27 E.g., Jos. BJ, 1.281, 2.78, 7.73; Ant. 13.267, 14.9, 14.300, 14.490–491, 15.403, 16.187, 17.22, etc. Genos serves also as a means of ordering groups, as in “by tribes, families, and neighborhoods”; Jos. BJ, 7.73: κατὰ φυλὰς καὶ γένη καὶ γειτονίας. 28 Jos. BJ, 5.419: γένος οὐκ ἄσημον; Ant. 16.187: ἡμεῖς δὲ καὶ γένους ὄντες ἀγχοῦ τῶν ἐξ Ἀσαμωναίου βασιλέων; Vita, 1–2: παρ’ ἡμῖν ἡ τῆς ἱερωσύνης μετουσία τεκμήριόν ἐστιν γένους λαμπρότητος … ἐξ ἱερέων ἐστὶν τὸ γένος. On this, see Mason (2001), 3–5. See also Ant. 20.266; Vita, 6; CAp. 1.54. 29 Jos. BJ, 1.78: Ἰούδαν, Ἐσσαῖος ἦν γένος; 2.113: Σίμων τις Ἐσσαῖος τὸ γένος; Ant. 13.172: τὸ δὲ τῶν Ἐσσηνῶν γένος; see also Ant. 13.311, 15.371, 17.346. 30 Jos. Ant. 13.297: τὸ τῶν Σαδδουκαίων γένος. 31 Jos. BJ, 7.268: τὸ τῶν ζηλωτῶν κληθέντων γένος. 32 Jos. Ant. 6.330–331. Note also the genos of Magi and Chaldeans; Jos. Ant. 10.234.

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stones.33 Josephus uses the term to indicate even a form of historiography.34 It can refer to classes or segments of society.35 In a more generic sense, Josephus deploys it at least once to mean ordering by category, κατὰ γένος.36 And, interestingly enough, it can even designate gender. The historian expands on Deuteronomy 19.15 to say that the testimony of women in court is unreliable because of the lightweight and impulsive character of their genos.37 Two passages deploy genos in the context of the Jewish diaspora. They would appear to imply that Jews living abroad possess inherent bonds that function apart from geographic roots and political allegiances. In the Jewish War, Josephus speaks of the Ἰουδαίων γένος as scattered among indigenous peoples throughout the world.38 And in the Contra Apionem, he alludes to his countrymen, not only those dwelling in Judaea but those living in Egypt, Babylon, or wherever a settlement of the genos exists.39 In neither case, however, does Josephus delineate the basis for their sense of commonality.40 It would be a leap to infer that links among Jews dwelling in scattered communities around the Mediterranean presumed the ties of blood. Perhaps the most remarkable example of the word’s diverse connotations comes in a quotation by Josephus of Clearchus of Soli, a disciple of Aristotle. Clearchus has Aristotle refer to a “Jew by birth (τὸ γένος) from Coele-Syria whose ancestors were Indian philosophers!”41 That a Jew or Judaean by birth from a location that a pagan author would regard as the nation’s homeland could be reck-

|| 33 Jos. BJ, 3.508, 4.468; Ant. 1.32, 1.35, 1.77, 2.246, 3.206, 4.228, 8.183,12.68, 12.71; CAp. 2.240. 34 Jos. Ant. 15.372: τῷ τῆς ἱστορίας γένει. Cf. Van Henten (2014), 277. 35 Jos. BJ, 6.271; Vita, 196. Observe also its use to designate a line of giants, described as utterly different from the rest of humankind; Jos. Ant. 5.125: τῶν γιγάντων ἔτι γένος … οὐδὲν τοῖς ἄλλοις ἀνθρώποις παραπλησίας. 36 Jos. Ant. 4.197. 37 Jos. Ant. 4.219: γυναικῶν δὲ μὴ ἔστω μαρτυρία διὰ κουφότητα καὶ θράσος τοῦ γένους αὐτῶν. Cf. Feldman (2000), 412. 38 Jos. BJ, 7.43. 39 Jos. CAp, 1.30–32. 40 In the first instance, he illustrates the experience of the Jews in Antioch in terms of shared offerings to the Temple and participation in traditional ceremonies of worship; BJ, 7.43–45. In the second, he makes reference to the maintenance of a Jewish practice that keeps archives in every settlement, which, among other things, can authenticate the genealogy of women eligible to marry members of the priesthood; CAp.1.30–32. 41 Jos. CAp. 1.179: τὸ μὲν γένος ἦν Ἰουδαῖος ἐκ τῆς κοίλης Συρίας, οὗτοι δ’ εἰσιν ἀπόγονοι τῶν ἐν Ἰνδοῖς φιλοσόφων. On Clearchus, see the thorough treatment by Bar-Kochva (2010), 40–89, esp. 82–89, with bibliography.

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oned as descended from intellectuals in India is quite striking. Standard genealogy plainly does not apply here. Josephus seems to have had no qualms in passing on the Greek intellectual’s remark, a statement quoted with approval, that Jews stemmed from Indian wise men. As is clear, Josephus certainly could, and regularly did, use genos in a notable miscellany of ways. Its purport as descent group from Abraham stands in a distinct minority. The very variety of meanings undermines any effort to find a consistent connotation. Genos with the meaning of racial or ethnic association occurs explicitly in just a tiny proportion of instances in the Josephan corpus. It cannot offer a solution to the question of how ancient Jews framed their own sense of identity, nor indeed of how the historian did.

II The other term that certainly suggests ethnic import is, of course, ethnos itself. Josephus uses it with great frequency, as often as or even more often than he employs the word genos. But with what meaning? Here too no single translation will do. But the initial impression that the term ethnos should contain some allusion to ethnicity would be a serious misimpression. Close to two thirds of the instances are of the generic variety, meaning “people” or “nation” without any suggestion that the collective is defined by a bloodline. Nor can one infer any other consistent basis, like common belief, practice, worship, or homeland, as grounds for the usage. Josephus employs the noun repeatedly to designate his own people, the ethnos of the Hebrews, the Jews or Judaeans, “our ethnos”, “the whole ethnos”, or simply “the ethnos”.42 And he speaks of other ethne just as frequently, sometimes designated as specific people or simply “other ethne” or “ethne in the vicinity”.43 But the usage discloses nothing about what characterizes them as a group, and it would be rash to impose any single meaning upon them. To be sure, one might be tempted to read ethnic or racial connotations in Josephus’ application of the term to the diaspora. It bears notice that Josephus utilizes ethnos as readily for Jews outside Palestine as for those in the homeland. The larger proportion of passages by far refers to the latter. That, of course, is to || 42 Only a small selection of the numerous examples needs to be given here; Jos. BJ, 1.196, 1.215, 1.232, 1.648, 2.197, 2.227, 2.273, 4.274; Ant. 8.261, 10.182, 11.3, 11.123, 11.162, 11.184, 11.270, 11.283, 12.127, 12.434, 18.378, 20.52; Vita, 24; CAp, 1.5. 43 Here again a sample of passages will suffice: Jos. BJ, 2.362, 2.397, 3.3; Ant. 4.300, 5.58, 6.129, 7.151, 7.391, 11.19, 11.161, 12.269, 12.330.

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be expected, given the orientation of the Bellum Judaicum—and indeed of nearly all of the Antiquitates. It is all the more noteworthy, therefore, that the historian does not restrict his usage territorially. Jewish identity extends to the diaspora. On the face of it, that would seem to have implications for Josephus’ understanding of what bound together a people scattered across the Mediterranean. Should one infer belief in a kinship group or ancestral genealogy as the bonding mechanism? In recording the cataclysmic destruction of the Temple, Josephus observes that neither the antiquity nor the wealth of his people, neither the great repute of their religious practices nor indeed the fact that the ethnos had spread throughout the world prevented the disaster.44 He traces the beginning of the diaspora back to the Tower of Babel, drawing on the Table of Nations in Genesis 10, the origin not only of the diversity of languages but, in his formulation, the establishment of colonial foundations on every continent, whether inland or coastal, each of which could be reckoned an ethnos.45 Noah’s issue, as Josephus expressed it, became progenitors of the diverse peoples and set their names upon the ethne.46 The term here attaches to the broadest divisions of humanity. In the narrative of Israelite history itself, Josephus forecasts the diaspora that will afflict his people. He goes beyond scripture in the paraphrase of 2 Chronicles 15 to have the prophet Azaraiah warn that straying from God’s worship would cause the ethnos to be scattered over all the earth and to lead the life of foreigners and vagabonds.47 The story of Esther, of course, takes place in the diaspora, in Persia, where the Jewish population, according to the narrative, was in danger of destruction. In his retelling of the tale, Josephus identifies the endangered Jews with the entire ethnos.48 It is noteworthy how often that theme recurs throughout his version of the legend.49 The Persian empire, of course, extended through the entire near east, encompassing all the lands in which Jews dwelled, including Palestine itself. Josephus even has Esther herself come from Babylon.50 The Jews who were to be victimized by the evil minister Haman presumably were scattered through the length and breadth of the empire, certainly not confined to the homeland. Josephus’ history in general pays little attention to the diaspora as such, but his recounting of the Esther story, interestingly enough, takes it for granted. The || 44 Jos. BJ, 6.442: τὸ διαπεφοιτηκὸς ὅλης τῆς οἰκουμένης ἔθνος. 45 Jos. Ant. 1.120–121. 46 Jos. Ant. 1.122. The Septuagint version of Genesis 10 also employs τὰ ἔθνη in this context. 47 Jos. Ant. 8.297: τὸ ἔθνος κατὰ πάσης σπαρήσεται γῆς, ἔπηλυν βίον καὶ ἀλήτην βιωσόμενον. 48 Jos. Ant. 11.184: ἐκινδύνευσε τὸ τῶν Ἰουδαίων ἔθνος ἅπαν. 49 Jos. Ant. 11.185, 11.211, 11.217, 11.221, 11.224, 11.225, 11.227, 11.229, 11.262, 11.270. 50 Jos. Ant. 11.198.

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homeland plays no role here. The ethnos of the Jews in that tale is essentially identified, even without explicit acknowledgment, with the diaspora. Other passages underscore the dispersion. When the High Priest Onias fled to Egypt, he wrote to Ptolemy for permission to establish a temple in that land, for there were several places in Egypt where his ethnos had settled.51 In quoting Strabo on the Jews of Cyrene, obviously with approval, Josephus notes that his ethnos had engaged in an uprising there, an instance of the widespread settlement of Jews in a world filled with them.52 And when the Jewish High Priest Hyrcanus was captured by the Parthians, Josephus tells us, he received respectful treatment at their hands and was allowed to settle in Babylon where a large number of Jews dwelled. He then adds that not only did the Jews of Babylon honor Hyrcanus as High Priest and king, but so did the entire ethnos of Jews to the borders of the Euphrates.53 In short, Josephus deploys the term ethnos just as freely to designate diaspora Jews as those in the homeland. No distinction is made, and none is even implied. It is, of course, no surprise that Josephus was sensitive to Jews living in the diaspora. He was one himself. But it is clear that ethnos resists territorial limitations and can embrace the Jews of Egypt, Cyrene, Babylon, Persia, or elsewhere without requiring qualification. Ethnos can thus describe the Jewish collective wherever Jews happen to have settled. Does it follow, therefore, that the common denominator among them is a racial one? None of the passages referring to diaspora dwellers gives an indication of how Josephus understood that general rubric. To presume an ethnic connection ignores the miscellany of meanings that the historian applies to the term. That point needs emphasis. In only a handful of the nearly four hundred appearances of the word ethnos in Josephus’ texts does it plainly possess racial coloring. The examples are sparse indeed. Josephus reckons the Arabs as stemming from Ishmael, son of Abraham (thus blending them with Ishmaelites, a combination that does not appear in the Bible), and describes him as founder of their ethnos.54 For the next generation, as God proclaimed, Rebecca would produce twin sons, each of whom would be progenitor of an ethnos.55 And Josephus has the

|| 51 Jos. Ant. 13.65. 52 Jos. Ant. 14.114: στάσιν τοῦ ἔθνους ἠμῶν, ὡς αὐτῶν ἡ οἰκουμένη πεπλήρωτο. 53 Jos. Ant. 15.15: τὸν Ὑρκανὸν ἐτίμων ὡς ἁρχιερέα καὶ βασιλέα καὶ πᾶν τὸ μέχρις Εὐφράτου νεμόμενον Ἰουδαίων ἔθνος. 54 Jos. Ant. 1.214: ὀ κτίστης αὐτῶν τοῦ ἔθνους; 1.221. References in Feldman (2000), 81. 55 Jos. Ant. 1.257.

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Canaanites too name their ethne after the sons of the progenitor Canaan.56 Elsewhere, the historian notes that God’s solicitude for the ethnos of the Hebrews derived from his concern for their ancestors whom he had taken under his wing, thus underscoring the importance of the nation’s lineage.57 And the Samaritans, when claiming a relationship with the ethnos of the Jews in order to win the favor of Alexander the Great, put it in terms of tracing their genealogy to Ephraim and Manasseh, descendants of Joseph.58 That essentially exhausts the direct testimony for ethnos as a descent group. The association of the term with race thus rests on a tiny number of texts. And even they are not free of ambiguity. Ishmael was founder of the ethnos of the Arabs, yet as son of Abraham was also in the line that sired the Hebrews. The same issue arises with the twins born to Rebecca. Esau and Jacob each spawned his own ethnos, thus indicating that there could be ethne within an ethnos. That ambiguity applies also in the case of the Canaanites. The sons of Canaan gave their names to the individual ethne, but Canaan as a whole was an ethnos as well.59 This complicates and undermines any idea of a particular ethnic identity for a particular ethnos. As for divine favor toward the progenitors of the Israelites, God has other reasons as well for favoring the Chosen People: their own arete.60 Ancestry alone does not give them singularity. Can ethnos signal national character in any form? That would give it an ethnic tinge. Only a very few passages depict an individual in the narrative who delivers remarks that appear to suggest inherited traits. Nicolas of Damascus excoriates a Jewish embassy for reflecting the ungovernableness and insubordination toward kings that marks the nature of their ethnos.61 Josephus, speaking in his own voice, offers a more positive evaluation of his countrymen’s character. He criticizes the rebels against Rome for failing to act Ἰουδαικῶς and for lacking the

|| 56 Jos. Ant. 5.88. 57 Jos. Ant. 4.2. 58 Jos. Ant. 11.340–341. Josephus does not here make the kinship association a defining characteristic of the ethnos. 59 Jos. Ant. 5.55, 5.88. 60 Jos. Ant. 4.2: διὰ τοὺς προγόνους ὦν ἐπετρόπευσε καὶ διὰ τὴν αὐτῶν αρετὴν. Cf. Feldman (2000), 331. 61 Jos. BJ, 2.92: κατηγόρει δὲ τοῦ ἔθνους τό τε δύσαρκτον καὶ τὸ δυσπειθὲς φύσει πρὸς τοὺς βασιλεῖς.

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qualities of the ἔθνος: boldness, dash, a collective charge, and a resistance to retreat.62 The Zealots, in Josephus’ presentation, sought the alliance of the Idumaeans because they knew them to be a tumultuous and undisciplined ethnos.63 That is the sum of relevant texts associating ethnos with attributes inherent in the nation, very slim pickings indeed. Two of them express the views of characters in the story, not necessarily Josephus’ own opinion, and the third represents the author’s means of condemning the traits of his enemies by contrasting them with an idealized picture of Jewish martial valor. That is hardly a matter of ethnicity. As in the case of genos, the striking variety of usages to which Josephus puts ethnos stands out most conspicuously. We have seen already that ethnos is often employed with the unspecific sense of “people” or “nation”, without indication that the collective derives from common roots or any other definable characteristics.64 And we have noted that the collective could itself be divided into various ethne. This clearly held for the Jewish ethnos. God promised Isaac that he would spawn great ethne, and the same to Ishmael. Abraham’s genos would produce multiple ethne. The Galilee, itself described as an ethnos, also consisted of several ethne.65 The peoples of Palestine, like the Moabites and Ammonites, could be reckoned as ethne.66 So also were the Ituraeans and the Idumaeans.67 Among the ethne ruled by Herod’s son Philip the tetrarch were the Bataeans in the northeastern part of the kingdom. They were part of a larger complex of peoples in that district assigned initially by Augustus to Herod, and they included a colony of Babylonian Jews. Josephus simply reckons them as an ethnos.68 This combination of ethnos with subdivisions of ethne reappears with some frequency in the Josephan texts. The army of the Philistines, for instance, consisted of combatants from many ethne.69 Assyria too was made up of multiple ethne, as were Egypt and Syria.70 The German bodyguards of the emperor Gaius each took his name from the particular ethnos from which he was recruited.71 And this applied more widely, e.g. to Gaul, which on Josephus’ report consists of thirty

|| 62 Jos. BJ, 6.17. 63 Jos. BJ, 4. 231. 64 E.g. Jos. BJ, 4.261; Ant. 7.356, 12.131, 14.43, 17.174 65 Isaac: Jos. Ant. 1.191; Ishmael: Jos. Ant. 1.193; Abraham’s genos; Jos. Ant. 1.235; Galilee: Jos. BJ, 2.510; Ant. 12.331. 66 Jos. Ant. 1.206. 67 Ituraeans: Jos. Ant. 13.319; Idumaeans: Jos. BJ, 4.233, 4.556. 68 Jos. Ant. 18.106. 69 Jos. Ant. 6.114. Josephus adds this particular item to his rewriting of 1 Sam. 14.1–23. 70 Jos. Ant. 9.253,10.222, 11.88, 11.180 71 Jos. Ant. 19.119.

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five ethne, to the peoples under Parthian rule, to the ethne in Egypt, to the six ethne named for the sons of Canaan, to the Scythians, whose ethne included the Alani, to the ethnos of the Cuthaeans which consisted of five ethne, and to the ethne of the Persians.72 In addition to indicating that Germany was divided into different ethne, Josephus could also apply the term to Germany as a whole. When recording the ethne represented at Herod’s funeral, he includes the Germans, as well as the Thracians and the Gauls.73 Precise denotation of the term remains elusive, or indeed irrelevant. Josephus utilizes it in his labeling of different broad groups, as with “cities, people, and ethne”.74 Yet, shortly thereafter, he adopts another formula, in which ethne are distinguished from kingdoms and satrapies in a different catalog of delineation.75 Further, Josephus employs ethnos in the context of the sequence of empires, with God bestowing imperial power upon each in turn, κατὰ ἔθνος,—which obviously lacks any ethnic overtones.76 And he applies it indiscriminately to cities as well as larger collectives. Solomon took his diverse foreign wives from ethne that included Sidonians, Tyrians, Ammonites, and Idumaeans.77 Josephus could indeed use the word as it often appears in the Septuagint and the New Testament simply to designate non-Jews or gentiles.78 The absence of a uniform or unvarying denotation could hardly be plainer. Precision or consistency were not matters of concern. Looseness of the term ethnos allowed for adaptability on a number of levels. The historian can employ ethnos in a geographic context. So, for instance, Pompey removed certain cities in Coele-Syria from the ethnos and placed them under a Roman commander, thus confining the Jews within their own borders.79 Gabin-

|| 72 Gaul: Jos. BJ, 2.372; Parthian subjects: Jos. BJ, 2.379; Egypt: Jos. CAp. 1.137; Canaanites: Jos. Ant. 5.88; Alani: Jos. BJ, 7.244; Cuthaeans: Jos. Ant. 9.288, 10.184; Persians: Jos. Ant. 11.186. 73 Jos. Ant. 17.198. 74 Jos. Ant. 6.343: πόλεσι καὶ δήμοις καὶ ἔθνεσι; Ant. 16.38: δῆμος ἣ πόλις ἣ κοινὸν ἔθνος ἀνθρώπων. 75 Jos. Ant. 6.351: κατὰ ἔθνη καὶ βασιλείας καὶ σατραπείας. 76 Jos. BJ, 5.367. 77 Jos. Ant. 8.191. 78 Jos. Ant. 19.328. 79 Jos. BJ, 1.155; Ant. 14.74.

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ius subsequently divided the ethnos into five districts, each centered upon a particular city, Jerusalem, Gadara, Amathos, Jericho, and Sepphoris.80 Herod installed fortresses throughout the ethnos in order to protect against uprisings.81 Elsewhere Josephus speaks of ethne “of the interior”, defined by location, and his own ethnos as distanced from the sea and thus able to live as it chose.82 None of this means, of course, that territory alone defines an ethnos, but Josephus felt comfortable in deploying the term in that framework. Somewhat more frequently, Josephus conceives ethnos in association with customs, practices, and worship. He characterizes the ethnos of the Hebrews as maintaining adherence to the measures of Moses, the principal source of their happiness.83 The very distinctiveness of their mode of life set their ethnos apart, at least in the eyes of others.84 In his rewriting of the Esther story, Josephus has Haman urge the destruction of the Jewish ethnos because their mode of worship and their laws were dissimilar to other peoples and their customs and practices showed hostility to all.85 When the tables were turned and the Jews were authorized to retaliate against the other ethne, the latter sought to deflect Jewish wrath by circumcising themselves, obviously, in this narrative, the principal determination of the ethnos.86 Other examples of ethnos described in terms of custom and convention can readily be cited. Josephus regards Salome Alexandra, the Hasmonean queen of the early 1st century BCE, as one especially enamored of the ancestral traditions of her ethnos and as removing from office those who violated its sacred laws.87 Jewish sufferings under the oppression of Antiochus Epiphanes were due to that monarch’s assault on the ethnos and its laws.88 Antiochus repented in his final hours, we are told, and he expressed regret for afflicting the ethnos of the Jews by looting their temple and blaspheming their god.89 When Antiochus’ son subsequently sought a peace with the Jewish ethnos, he offered acknowledgment of their right to live in accord with their traditional laws and he authorized the execution of the renegade High Priest for compelling his ethnos to violate its own

|| 80 Jos. BJ, 1.170. 81 Jos. Ant. 15.293, 15.295. 82 Jos. Ant. 8.181; CAp. 1.68. 83 Jos. Ant. 4.308, 8.120. 84 Jos. Ant. 13.245. 85 Jos. Ant. 11.211–213, 11.217. 86 Jos. Ant. 11.285. 87 Jos. BJ, 1,108. 88 Jos. Ant. 10.275–276. 89 Jos. Ant. 12.357.

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laws.90 A later Seleucid ruler, Antiochus Sidetes, receives praise from Josephus for encouraging and supporting the practices of the Jews, by contrast with Epiphanes who had assailed Jewish rites and had driven the ethnos to war.91 The Roman emperor Claudius, in Josephus’ presentation, similarly restored the native worship of the ethnos of the Jews that had been transgressed by his predecessor Gaius Caligula and saw to it that they could maintain their own customs.92 Josephus took pride in the accomplishments of his ethnos, most particularly in his claim that peoples everywhere have imitated and adopted characteristic Jewish values such as observing the Sabbath, dietary restrictions, philanthropy, internal harmony, devoted labor in the arts, and steadfastness in adhering to the demands of the laws.93 It is striking that in each of the above instances the phrase ethnos of the Hebrews, Israelites, or Judaeans is linked to observances, rules, conventions, behaviors, or ways of life. It does not, of course, follow that these are the sole or principal characteristics that define this ethnos, whether in its own eyes, those of others, or even in Josephus’ construct. Yet the great frequency with which they occur forms a stark contrast to the paucity of allusions to race and ethnicity. Of course, we play no numbers game here. But the disparity makes it hard to conclude that the expression ethnos would readily evoke the latter realm of conceptualization. Much more frequently, and perhaps surprisingly, Josephus uses ethnos in a political context to denote the state, the polity, or the government, with no hint of a kinship substructure. It would be unnecessary and tedious to register the numerous occurrences of this signification.94 The term can indicate a political entity over which an official or officials, whether king, high priest, or other potentate, exercise authority.95 It can also designate the body that elevated him to that position.96 Similarly, it signifies the collectivity that constitutes either the government or the governed.97 Ethnos can be an entity that seeks autonomy.98 Or it can be

|| 90 Jos. Ant. 12.381–382, 12.385. 91 Jos. Ant. 13.243. 92 Jos. Ant. 19.284–285. 93 Jos. CAp. 1.166, 2.282. 94 The study of Eckhardt (2013), associates the concept with political and power relationships, but does not examine the language of Josephus. 95 E.g., Jos. BJ, 1.68, 2.654; Ant. 6.36, 6.87, 11.309, 12.419, 13.299, 13.432, 14.117 (quoting Strabo), 14.140, 14.196, 14.199, 14.325, 15.159, 15.179, 18.1, 18.177, 20.238, 20.243–244, 20.251; Vita, 2 96 E.g., Jos. BJ, 1.385, 97 Jos. Ant. 12.142, 98 Jos. BJ, 2.80. 2.361, 2.368; Ant. 13.1, 17.200, 18.4

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reckoned among subject peoples.99 The term might simply delineate a political district, whether as a part or as a whole.100 In the capacity of a political entity, it can also be an ally of another state.101 Indeed, Josephus, in quoting the many documents that detailed diplomatic relationships between Rome and the Jews, used the term ethnos throughout to mean the Jewish state in international dealings with the Romans.102 It serves the same purpose in the historian’s recording of pacts between the Jews and the Seleucids.103 And it appears even in the context of a change in form of government.104 No attentive reader could come away with the notion that ethnos must suggest ethnicity.

III The plasticity and pliability of the terms genos and ethnos can be illustrated further by a noteworthy phenomenon. Josephus can employ them interchangeably and as equivalents. As we have seen, not only do genos and ethnos possess multiple meanings, but many of the meanings for the one term overlap substantially with those of the other. So, efforts to sort them out and derive consistent usages are doomed to failure and miss the point. Josephus prefers a looseness and malleability in such expressions and provides no path on which one can move toward a steady definition. Given the nearly eight hundred times these words appear in his texts, that can hardly be an accident. The absence of a distinctive meaning for either genos or ethnos emerges unmistakably in their interchangeability. Several instances bear this out and nail down the point. Josephus’ fulmination against rebel leaders denounces them for their disparagement of the genos of the Hebrews, and proceeds in the same sentence to vilify them as the illegitimate outcasts of the ethnos.105 In describing God’s forecast for the issue of Abraham, Josephus declares that the genos would generate many ethne.106 He is not talking about sub-divisions here. In Joshua’s

|| 99 Jos. BJ, 2.194; Ant. 13.143, 19.278. 100 Jos. BJ, 3.34; Ant. 14.91. Note also that the Jewish ethnos in Alexandria has its own governing official with the title of ethnarch; Jos. Ant. 14.117 (quoting Strabo). 101 Jos. BJ, 7.423. 102 Jos. Ant. 12.417, 13.163, 13.166, 14.186, 14.189, 14.212, 14.241, 14.248, 14.265, 14.304, 14.306– 307, 14.320, 14.323, 16.56, 16.162, 17.300, 20.11. 103 Jos. Ant. 13.48, 13.126–127. 104 Jos. Ant. 14.41. 105 Jos. BJ, 5.443: τὸ γένος ἐφαύλιζον τῶν Ἑβραίων … νόθα τοῦ ἔθνους φθάρματα. 106 Jos. Ant. 1.235.

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final address to his people before crossing the Jordan, he enjoined them to adhere faithfully to the ordinances given by God through Moses, to refrain from imitation of other ethne, lest the Lord turn away from their genos.107 A closely similar construction, though with the genos and the ethnos taking exactly the reverse roles, featured king Solomon’s exhortation to the people to follow the commandments of Moses. He asserted that in this fashion the ethnos of the Hebrews would be happy and would be the most blessed of every genos of humankind.108 The two passages are mirror images of one another, and, in each case, the meanings of the two terms are identical, the very point of each passage. Josephus indulges in variatio (deliberate alternation of language), not in subtle distinctions. Less neat, but with the same shift in language rather than in meaning, is Josephus’ analysis of the evil Haman’s motivation for hostility against the Jews. The minister, he claims, determined to eradicate the whole ethnos because they had eradicated the genos of the Amalekites, from which he himself derived.109 The words are plainly equivalent. A final illustration underscores the parity. King Herod boasted to his countrymen of his building program which, he maintained, brought the ethnos of the Jews to a pinnacle of happiness that they had never experienced before. And he repeats the sentiment in the next sentence, asserting that, with this most beautiful adornment, he has enhanced our genos.110 Once again the shift in vocabulary left the denotation unchanged. Equivalence and overlap of terminology are plain.111

IV If Josephus wished to give unequivocal expression to the idea of a kinship group united by blood, he had a word ready at hand: syngeneia. Its most common usage

|| 107 Jos. Ant. 5.98: ἐκτραπέντων δὲ εἰς ἑτέρων ἐθνῶν μίμησιν ἀποστρφησόμενου τὸ γένος ὑμῶν. 108 Jos. Ant. 8.120: ἔσεσθαι γὰρ ὅυτως εὔδαιμον τὸ Ἑβραίων ἔθνος καὶ παντὸς ἀνθρώπων γένους μακαριώτερον. 109 Jos. Ant. 11.211: τὸ δὲ ἔθνος αὐτοῦ διέγνω πᾶν ἀφανίσαι, καὶ γὰρ φύσει τοῖς Ἰουδαίοις ἀπηχθάνετο, ὅτι καὶ τὸ γένος τῶν Ἀμαληκιτῶν, ἐξ ὧν ἦν αὐτός, ὑπ’ αὐτῶν διέφθαρτο. 110 Jos. Ant. 15.383–384: πρὸς εὐδαιμονίαν ὅσον οὐ πρότερον ἀγηοχέναι τὸ Ἰουδαίων ἔθνος … κόσμῳ τῷ καλλίστῳ τὸ γένος ἡμῶν ηὐξήσαμεν. 111 One might observe that Josephus’ text includes a similar equivalence between ethnos and phylon; BJ, 2.397, 7.327–329.

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in the historian’s corpus signaled relationship within a single family and household or its extension.112 But it could also operate on a wider scale. Josephus deploys the term to denote kinship relations (real or purported) between Jews and other peoples, like the Idumaeans, the Samaritans, and the Spartans.113 And it applies to a sense of blood ties among Jews generally as well. So, for example, Josephus regards the Chaldeans (evidently through Abraham) as the progenitors of the Jewish genos, and characterizes this group descent as syngeneia.114 The historian’s recasting of Joshua’s speech to Israelite tribes who shared in the spoils of his victory included reference to the syngeneia that held them together since they all stemmed from Abraham.115 The term turns up further in a very different context. In attacking the town of Skythopolis, during the Great Revolt, Jews found themselves in a contest with other Jews who, according to Josephus, made their syngeneia subordinate to their security.116 Elsewhere, Josephus utilizes it on a very few occasions with the significance of a common kinship that linked Jews to one another.117 The parallel term, oikeiotes, serves essentially the same purpose. In certain passages oikeiotes and syngeneia are plainly interchangeable. Both are used to describe Jacob’s kinship with Laban.118 Both appear, with identical meaning, in the context of Joshua’s exhortation and Israelite tribes’ assertion of common descent from Abraham.119 Both describe the alleged links of kinship between Jews and Spartans, also traced back to Abraham.120 And Josephus deploys both in his caustic comment about Samaritans alternately claiming and disclaiming kinship

|| 112 Jos. BJ, 3.435, 7.204, 7.266; Ant. 1.142, 1.211, 1.281, 1.288–290, 1.315, 2.98, 2.165, 2.207, 3.64, 4.309, 5.43, 5.102, 6.247, 9.112, 9.117, 9.130, 10.230, 11.269, 12.229, 15.266, 17.48, 17.49, 17.324, 17.327, 18.221, 20.214; CAp. 1.268, 2.200. Syngeneia can also apply to relationship by marriage; Jos. Ant. 1.165, 6.203, 6.210, 13.80, 13.109, 17.9, 18.180. In a broader usage, it even occasionally has the sense of “harmony” or “cordiality”; Jos. BJ, 4.240, 4.506, 7.349; Ant. 2.94. 113 Jos. BJ, 4.311; Ant. 9.291, 12.260, 13.164, 13.167, 13.169; CAp. 2.31. Esau’s marriage to Canaanite women could also create syngeneia between Hebrews and Canaanites; Jos. Ant. 1.266. Josephus applies the term to kinship relations between Samaritans and Persians as well; Ant. 11.114. 114 Jos. CAp. 1.71. 115 Jos. Ant. 5.97; cf. 5.105, 5.111. 116 Jos. BJ, 2.466: τῆς ἑαυτῶν ἀσφαλείας ἐν δευτέρῳ θέμενοι τὴν συγγένειαν. 117 Jos. Ant. 4.236, 5.142, 18.359. 118 Jos. Ant. 1.288–289. 119 Jos. Ant. 5.97, 5.100. 5.111–112. 120 Jos Ant. 12.226, 13.167–168.

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relations with Jews.121 Like syngeneia, oikeiotes can also refer to relationships within a family or a household.122 These terms, by contrast with genos and ethnos, do suggest the notion of common lineage or blood kinship with some consistency. They were readily available for use if Josephus wished to convey that message. But they appear with far less frequency in Josephus’ texts, and the large majority even of those instances refer to kinship within individual families rather than nations or peoples. Hence, they reinforce the conclusion that readers of Josephus would hardly be likely to associate ethnos and genos with groups defined by lineage and descent.

V Definite answers are not forthcoming in an inquiry of this nature. The multiple senses of what we might regard as ethnic language, however, stand out unmistakably. If Josephus offers any window on how Second Temple Jews viewed their own identity, the picture is a most problematic one. The very terms genos and ethnos that would seem to designate ethnicity in fact held manifold meanings and delivered assorted messages. In Josephus’ texts they described Jews (and others) in terms of practices, cult, and ritual, or location and territory, or political organization; they evoked birth, family, and kinship; they served as general signifiers of an undefined collective; and they lent themselves to loose usage that rendered the terms interchangeable and indistinguishable. One conclusion seems clear. Josephus did not reduce Jewish identity to a fixed ethnic character. If he can serve as a guide to Second Temple attitudes—and we have none better—Jews in general also resisted such reduction. It is, of course, open to anyone to argue that Josephus took for granted the idea that common descent and lineage defined Jewish identity and that the terms genos and ethnos delivered that sense without any need to be explicit about it. Perhaps so. But such an argument runs inescapably into circularity. The fact remains that Josephan usage gives a plurality of meanings to the language of “ethnicity”, and direct references to genealogy as a central element within it play almost no role. It would be hazardous indeed to explain the discrepancy by positing tacit assumptions on

|| 121 Jos. Ant. 9.291. 122 Jos. Ant. 1.288, 13.310, 19.275. This holds also for relations through marriage; Jos. Ant. 13.80, 15.322, 19.251. In rare instances, it can carry the looser meaning of association or connection; Jos. CAp. 1.272, 2.210. In the latter passage, Josephus has oikeiotes encompass relationship both to genos and to lifestyle.

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Josephus’ part. A multiform sense of collective consciousness prevailed—well beyond just the lineage of Abraham. The historian evidently felt no burning need to establish a distinctive characterization of Jewish ethnic identity that resolved itself either into lineage, custom, or cult. Josephus’ free and diverse use of “ethnic” terminology may reflect a wider reluctance to embrace narrow definitions. The pluralism of expression suggests a pluralism of self-conceptualization.

10 The Racial Reflections of Paul Paul was fond of dichotomies. Perhaps the most renowned of them, and the most familiar, is one that divides the world between Ioudaioi and ta ethne or, in a comparable formulation, between Ioudaioi and Hellenes. The division suggests a stark binary between Jews and gentiles or between Jews and Greeks—or simply between Jews and everyone else. The vision receives expression in Paul’s statements that salvation through God is vouchsafed to every believer, first to the Jew and also to the Greek.1 The contrast between Jew and Greek recurs on several occasions, both groups reckoned as eligible for divine grace.2 Most famous, of course, is the succession of antinomies that Paul outlines in Galatians: “There is neither Jew nor Greek, neither slave nor free, neither male nor female; for you are all one in Christ Jesus.”3 The same parallelism occurs with “Jew” and “gentile”. As Paul insists, the God of the Jews is also the God of the gentiles (τὰ ἔθνη).4 The terms “Greek” and “gentile” are essentially equivalent in the Pauline texts, alternatives in word usage, rather than conveyers of separate meanings.5 It is hardly surprising that scholars have seen Paul’s perception of humanity as dichotomous.6

|| 1 Paul, Rom. 1.16: δύναμις γὰρ θεοῦ ἐστιν εἰς σωτηρίαν παντὶ τῷ πιστευόντι, Ιουδαίῳ τε πρῶτον καὶ Ἕλληνι. So also 2.9–10. This chapter, as elsewhere in the work, shamelessly renders Ἰουδαῖος as “Jew”, rather than the now conventional and nearly universal “Judaean”. This choice of terminology does not in any way imply that Ἰουδαῖος normally (or ever) carries a religious connotation. Among the important recent contributions to this seemingly endless debate, see Cohen (1999), 109–139; Mason (2007), 457–512; Boyarin (2009), 7–36; Schwartz (2011), 208–238; Satlow (2013), 165–175; Schwartz (2014), 91–112. For the truly committed, see the extensive annotated bibliographies by Miller (2010), 98–126; (2012) 293–311; (2014), 216–265. 2 E.g., Rom. 3.9, 10.12; 1 Cor. 1.24, 10.32, 12.13; cf. Col. 3.11. 3 Gal. 3.28: οὐκ ἔνι Ἰουδαῖος οὐδὲ Ἕλλην, οὐκ ἔνι δοῦλος οὐδὲ ἐλεύθερος, οὐκ ἔνι ἄρσεν καὶ θῆλυ; πάντες γὰρ ὐμεῖς εἶς ἐστε ἐν Χριστῷ Ἰησοῦ. 4 Rom. 3.29: ἢ Ἰουδαίων ὁ θεὸς μόνον; οὐχὶ καὶ ἐθνῶν; ναὶ καὶ ἐθνῶν. See also 9.24; 1 Cor. 1.23; Gal. 2.14–15. 5 The equivalence seems clear in 1 Cor. 1.22–24. 6 E.g., Holladay (2003), 452: “Paul thinks of humanity dichotomously”; Johnson Hodge (2007), 52: “oppositional ethnic strategy … repeated contrast of two groups”; Wan (2009), 144–145: “all ‘Jews’ stand together … set apart from the ‘Greeks’, who are all Gentiles”; Stanley (2011), 118: “Paul consistently uses binary terms when referring to ethnic difference”. The recent, stimulating, and quite original essay by Rosen-Zvi and Ophir (2015), 1–41, esp. 13–22, goes so far as to ascribe to Paul the very concept of the “Gentiles” as a discursive category of non-Jewish individuals and thus as part of a binary; similarly, Ophir and Rosen-Zvi (2018), 145–149. This is not the https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110685657-011

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What constitutes the difference? Or, to put the matter more pointedly, does Paul conceive it as an ethnic divide? Are Jews and Greeks (or gentiles) distinguished as separate ethnic entities?

I Before confronting that question, one might observe that Paul is not rigorously consistent or simplistic in his supposed binary. The expression τὰ ἔθνη carries multiple meanings. In the Septuagint, to be sure, it normally denotes non-Jews, a denotation that Paul frequently adopts.7 But he can abandon the dichotomy when it suits him. He does not confine the phrase, ta ethne, to “gentiles”, nor does he limit its significance to all peoples other than Jews. On occasion, despite the penchant of translators to render the term as “gentiles”, the apostle employs it in a sweeping fashion simply to signify “the nations” in general. Such is its usage quite plainly when Paul makes reference to Abraham as the father of many nations.8 It carries the broader meaning also when he mentions “all the places of worship among the nations.”9 Elsewhere too the apostle speaks of his mission generally to the ethne, without signaling any contrast to preaching among Jews, and without any ostensible binary implications.10 Paul was not always dichotomous. The more important and the more difficult issue, however, is how to understand what criteria Paul applies when he does draw a distinction between Jews and non-Jews. Is that distinction an ethnic one? || place to wrestle with their nuanced but highly controversial thesis, argued in full in ibid, 140– 167, with extensive bibliography. 7 Rom. 2.14, 3.29, 9.24, 9.30–31, 10.19, 11.11–14, 11.25, 15.9–12, 15.16, 15.18, 15.27; Gal. 2.8–9, 2.12, 2.14–15; 1 Cor. 1.23, 5.1, 12.2; 2 Cor. 11.26; 1 Thess. 2.16, 4.5. 8 Rom. 4.17–18; Gal. 3.8, 3.14 9 Rom. 16.3–4: πᾶσαι αἱ ἐκκλησίαι τῶν ἐθνῶν. Obviously the conventional rendering of ekklesiai as “churches” is anachronistic. And the use of “Gentiles” here seems difficult to justify, since Paul has the assemblages pay tribute to Prisca and Aquila who were themselves Jews, and who held an ekklesia in their home; Rom. 16.5; Acts, 18.2. 10 Gal.1.16, 2.2; Col. 1.27. See the good discussion of Paul’s use of ta ethne by Scott (1995), 121– 134. Scott finds three different categories of meaning (op. cit. 121–123): the “nations”, including Israel, the non-Jewish nations, and the “Gentiles”, i.e. individuals of any nation other than the nation of the Jews. With regard to the third category, however, it is worth noting that Paul almost never uses ethnos in the singular, the one exception being a biblical citation at Romans, 10.19, and even there he refers to a nation, not to an individual. Sechrest (2009), 64–81, supplies an extensive (though selective) assemblage of references to ethnos in Jewish and non-Jewish writers, usefully showing the variety of its meanings. But oddly she does not attempt a comparable treatment of its appearances in Paul. On Paul’s usage, see also Ophir and Rosen-Zvi (2018), 140–142.

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Ethnicity, when conceived in terms of biology and heredity, of course, possesses a very different significance from an assemblage of common customs, usages, beliefs, language, or cult activities. As we know, the line between these two modes of perceiving group identity is hardly firm and unequivocal. They do not form separate realms with mutual exclusivity. But discernment of just where to place the emphasis can provide a window on the mind-set represented by Paul and the assumptions he brought to the conception of “Jewishness”—the meaning of which continues to bedevil us today. When Paul did frame a distinction between his people and either “Hellenes” or “ta ethne” did he base it on differences of birth or descent?11 One may be surprised to observe that that feature very rarely plays a part in the epistles. In his delineation of God’s attitude, “first toward the Jew, and also to the Greek”, Paul speaks of the spread of the gospel, with the wicked to suffer and the good to gain salvation. But his stress lies on God’s impartiality toward both, with no hint as to what divides Jews from Greeks.12 The same holds in his other binary presentations of Jews and Greeks, which fail to elaborate on just where the differences lay.13 The only explicit notice comes in the Epistle to the Colossians (outside the undisputed Pauline corpus), in which the author gives the parallel phraseology, “Greek and Jew, circumcised and uncircumcised”.14 Circumcision is, of course, a prime marker of Jewish identity. But it hardly constitutes a racial distinction. Non-Jews could choose to undergo removal of the foreskin—or Jews to replace it.15 We may note that on the one occasion when Paul actually does offer some specifics on what divides Greeks and Jews, it has nothing to do with genealogical divergence. As the apostle represents the challenges to his mission, “Jews require signs and Greeks seek wisdom.” So, he adds, when the evangelists preach Christ crucified,

|| 11 Despite several recent scholarly contributions on Paul and ethnicity, this question is only obliquely addressed. See, e.g., Dunn (1999); Cosgrove (2006); Wan (2009); Sechrest (2009); Stanley (2011); idem (2013). Cohen (1999), 134, makes the notable pronouncement that “Paul was prepared to shear Jewishness of all its ethnic connotations”, but he does not elaborate or discuss the point. The important study on ethnic reasoning in early Christianity by Buell (2005) has little to say about Paul. The subject is adumbrated but not developed by Buell and Johnson Hodge (2004), 243–250. Johnson Hodge (2007), 43–66, 138–148, offers an extended analysis of Paul’s ethnic discourse, but does not explore its ramifications for the question of racial distinctions. So also Sechrest (2009), 113–164. 12 Rom. 1.16, 2.9–11, 3.9, 10.12. 13 1 Cor. 10.32, 12.13; Gal. 3.28. 14 Col. 3.11: Ἕλλην καὶ Ἰουδαῖος, περιτομὴ καὶ ἀκροβυστία. 15 Cf. 1 Cor. 7.18.

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this constitutes a stumbling-block to Jews, but mere foolishness to the Greeks.16 That may be an accurate depiction of contrasting reactions to Paul’s message. But it plainly has no relevance to divergence in lineage. Parallel conclusions emerge from Paul’s juxtaposition of Ioudaioi and ta ethne. The apostle answers his famous rhetorical question of whether God is only the god of the Jews by affirming that he is god of both Jews and gentiles (ta ethne), both of them justified by faith rather than by law. He glosses this by juxtaposition of the circumcised and the uncircumcised, which are simply alternative terms for the same groups.17 It does not follow that the presence or absence of circumcision is the sole defining characteristic that separates Jews from non-Jews, rather that it is a central ingredient in Jewish tradition, the sign of the covenant. And that characteristic stands apart from heredity. Elsewhere Paul’s signature contrast of faith and law divides Jews and ta ethne in the pursuit of righteousness, even with some irony, but without reference to distinctions in ancestry.18 Only once does Paul resort to the evocative word “flesh” in the contrast of Jews and non-Jews. He addresses his words to the “nations” or “gentiles”, declaring that he is their apostle and that he extols his ministry in the hope of making the people of his own flesh jealous and thus save some of them.19 The term σάρξ, however, need not have a literal or physical connotation. As we shall see, Paul can employ it in figurative fashion to insist upon firm and continuing identification with his roots.20

II Does collective descent play any role in Paul’s sense of Jewish identity? It is noteworthy that the term Ioudaismos, “Jewishness”, appears just once in the Pauline epistles (or rather twice, but in the same passage). And it occurs in conjunction || 16 1 Cor. 1.22–23: ἐπειδὴ καὶ Ἰουδαῖοι σημεῖα αἰτοῦσιν καὶ Ἕλληνες σοφίαν ζητοῦσιν, ἡμεῖς δὲ κηρύσσομεν Χριστὸν ἐσταυρωμένον, Ἰουδαίοις μὲν σκάνδαλον, ἔθνεσιν δὲ μωρίαν. It is clear that “Greeks” and “the nations” are interchangeable terms here. See 1 Cor. 1.24. Cf. Conzelmann (1975), 46–47; Holladay (2003), 452, 456; Rosen-Zvi and Ophir (2015), 14–15, 29–30; Ophir and Rosen-Zvi (2018), 156–157. The equivalence is denied by Stanley (1996), 123–124; Johnson Hodge (2007), 58–59; Wan (2009), 147–148. 17 Rom. 3.29–30. 18 Rom. 9.24, 9.30–31. 19 Rom. 11.13–14: ὑμῖν δὲ λέγω τοῖς ἔθνεσιν, ἐφ’ ὅσον μὲν οὖν εἰμι ἐγὼ ἐθνῶν ἀπόστολος, τὴν διακονίαν μου δοξάζω, εἴ πως παραζηλώσω μου τὴν σάρκα καὶ σώσω τινὰς ἐξ αὐτῶν. A good discussion of the passage generally by Byrne (1996), 338–340. 20 See below. Cf. also Fitzmyer (1993), 612: “he gives vivid expression to his solidarity with them.”

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with the word genos as applied to Paul’s own people—one of the very few times that word occurs in the Pauline corpus.21 This critical segment in the Letter to the Galatians deserves close attention. The context, early in the epistle, is that of Paul establishing or re-establishing his credentials in preaching to the wavering members of the congregations in Galatia. He recalls to them his own prior experience with Christ-worshippers, namely as a ferocious persecutor. In that connection, he reminds the Galatians of what they had already heard, that he had previously conducted his life “in Judaism”, and in that capacity had hounded the “ekklesia of God” and had endeavored to destroy it.22 In some sense his Ioudaismos had determined or at least justified his persecution of the fledgling sect. And he elaborates on the explanation in the subsequent sentence: he had progressed in his Judaism beyond that of many of his coevals in the genos and had been zealous beyond measure for his ancestral traditions.23 What to make of this with regard to Paul’s sense of Jewish ethnicity? The expression, genos, can, of course, occasionally designate a descent group or a common kinship.24 But it would be hasty to draw that inference here. The context of this passage fails to support the notion that kinship bonds cemented the genos. It was the “traditions of his forefathers” that triggered Paul’s excessive zeal.25 Insofar as one can wrest any meaning from his allusion to “Ioudaismos”, it is embodied by those traditions and by his mode of life, rather than by blood ties.26 || 21 Gal. 1.13–14. See also 2 Cor. 11.26; Phil. 3.5. 22 Gal. 1.13: ἠκούσατε γὰρ τὴν ἐμὴν ἀναστροφήν ποτε ἐν τῷ Ἰουδαισμῷ, ὅτι καθ’ ὑπερβολὴν ἐδίωκον τὴν ἐκκλησίαν τοὐ θεοῦ καὶ ἐπόρθουν αὐτήν. 23 Gal. 1.14: καὶ προέκοπτον ἐν τῷ Ἰουδαισμῷ ὑπὲρ πολλοὺς συνηλικιώτας ἐν τῷ γένει μου, περισσοτέρως ζηλωτὴς ὑπάρχων τῶν πατρικῶν μου παραδόσεων. On Galatians, 1.13–14, see now the comments of Boyarin (2019), 48–50. 24 Paul does use the term once in what appears to be an “ethnic” sense, when speaking about his own roots: “circumcised on the eighth day, from the genos of Israel, the tribe of Benjamin, and a Hebrew sprung from Hebrews”; Phil. 3.5: περιτομῇ ὀκταήμερος, ἐκ γένους Ἰσραήλ, φυλῆς Βενιαμίν, Ἑβραῖος ἐξ Ἑβραίων. And, on one other occasion, he distinguishes his own genos from ta ethne, with no hint as to what characterizes the genos; 2 Cor. 11.26. The rarity of the word is notable. 25 The fact that Paul here speaks of “traditions of the fathers” need not denote lineal descent. That was conventional language in the Hellenistic and Roman worlds, akin to the Latin phrase mos maiorum. 26 Of course, at that initial phase in the emergence of the new sect, almost all who joined it were themselves Jews, and Paul could hardly have drawn a distinction on genetic grounds. Yet he insists on “my genos”, as opposed to those whom he persecuted, evidently indicating a sectarian quarrel. Some commentators see a contest between Pharisees and the Christ-worshippers; e.g. Dunn (1993), 59–62.

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The issue is joined more dramatically later in the Letter to the Galatians. Paul recounts his clash with Cephas (Peter), one that delineated a stark contrast between Jews and the ethne. As the text puts it, “we who are Jews by birth and not sinners from the ethne.”27 The phrase φύσει Ἰουδαῖοι would certainly appear to signal that the distinction between the peoples was a racial one. Yet that formulation too is a hapax legomenon. And the meaning is not obvious on its face. Since the dispute follows upon a discussion of dividing missionary labors between those who would bring the message to the “circumcised”, and those to the “uncircumcised”, the contrast may be between those born as Jews and those who were Gentile converts to Judaism.28 This would not imply then that Jewishness itself was strictly a matter of birth or that converts did not count as Jews.29 We can go further. Paul’s rebuke of Peter, which immediately precedes the passage in question, offers a telling perspective on the matter. Paul complains that Peter ate with the ethne, but then pulled back, fearing “those of the circumcision”. Paul consequently put the pointed question: “if you, being a Jew, live ἐθνικῶς, and not Ἰουδαικῶς, how can you compel the ethne to “Judaize?”30 We can mercifully leave aside the tortuous theological issues that this highly problematic segment raises, and focus upon its significance for Paul’s notion of Jewish identity.31 It should be emphasized that the intriguing adverbs ἐθνικῶς and Ἰουδαικῶς (also hapax legomena in the Pauline corpus) are put in terms of a lifestyle—not innate characteristics that distinguish a people from other ethne.32 However one understands “judaize”, it plainly refers, in this context, to the adoption of Jewish practices, customs, modes of worship, synagogue attendance, and the like (not necessarily including circumcision), a conception rather different from basing “Jewishness” upon blood-line or common kinship.33 An especially interesting passage deserves notice on this point. In addressing the Corinthians, Paul observes that, when they were ethne, they were attracted

|| 27 Gal. 2.15: ἡμεῖς φύσει Ἰουδαῖοι καὶ οὐκ ἐξ ἐθνῶν ἁμαρτωλοί. 28 Gal. 2.7–9. Cf. Dunn (1993), 132–133. 29 A somewhat comparable statement occurs in Rom. 2.14, where Paul speaks of Gentiles who abide by the law without having it by birth: ἔθνη τὰ μὴ νόμον ἔχοντα φύσει τὰ τοῦ νόμου ποιῶσιν. The context makes it quite likely that Paul is speaking of Gentile converts or prospective converts. The φύσει here is most likely governed by the participle rather than by the verb. See Stowers (1994), 138–141; Thorsteinsson (2003), 162–163, with bibliography. 30 Gal. 2.12–14: εἰ σὺ Ἰουδαῖος ὑπάρχων ἐθνικῶς καὶ οὐχὶ Ἰουδαικῶς ζῆς, πῶς τὰ ἔθνη ἀναγκάζεις ἰουδαῖζειν. 31 A valuable analysis of this segment may be found in Nanos (1996), 337–371. 32 Cf. the discussion by Johnson Hodge (2007), 55–56, 121–123. 33 On “Judaizing” in this context, see Cohen (1999), 182.

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by and led away to dumb idols.34 The term ethne here can be taken simply as “gentiles” or “non-Jews”, as often it is. But the implications of such a rendering need to be articulated. The text takes for granted that the Corinthians who were previously ethne are now something else, i.e. adherents of Jesus Christ.35 Paul, in other words, implies that a transformation from the status of ethnos, which included (perhaps preeminently) the worship of idols, to that of Christ-worshipper entailed the shedding of a previous identity. And that, in turn, implies (as we have seen in other instances) that ta ethne for Paul means something other than a fixed descent group defined by race. Here the usage plainly connotes belief.

III Paul does, to be sure, trace his own origins and those of his people to Abraham. In doing so, he employs language that would certainly suggest direct descent. Abraham is presented as “our forefather in accordance with the flesh”.36 And the Israelites (or Hebrews) are the “seed of Abraham”.37 That seems, on the face of it, straightforward enough as an index of genealogical derivation.38 But Paul, in fact, is not so straightforward on this matter. The “seed of Abraham” has a metaphorical connotation that takes it out of the realm of the mere physical. So, in the same segment of the Epistle to the Romans in which Paul refers to Abraham as forefather in the flesh, he declares that the patriarch received circumcision as a seal of the righteousness of his faith when he was still uncircumcised. He is represented as forefather of all who have faith without the benefit of circumcision and are reckoned to have righteousness, as well as forefather of the circumcised who not only possess the external sign but also follow the path of faith of “our father Abraham” before he was circumcised. Such justified the promise to Abraham and his seed of inheriting the

|| 34 1 Cor. 12.2: οἴδατε ὅτι ὅτε ἔθνη ἦτε πρὸς τὰ εἴδωλα τὰ ἄφωνα ὡς ἂν ἤγεσθε ἀπαγόμενοι. The syntax here is difficult and confusing, but the sense is clear enough. Cf. Fitzmyer (2008), 457– 458. See also, from a different angle, Ophir and Rosen-Zvi (2018), 159–161, with additional bibliography. 35 Cf. a similar formulation in Eph. 2.11–13: διὸ μνημονεύετε ὅτι ποτὲ ὐμεῖς τὰ ἔθνη ἐν σαρκί. 36 Rom. 4.1: Ἀβραὰμ τὸν προπάτορα ἡμῶν κατὰ σάρκα. 37 2 Cor. 11.22: Ἑβραῖοί … Ἰσραηλῖταί … σπέρμα Ἀβραάμ εἰσιν. 38 On the treatment of Abraham as a source of Jewish identity by Paul, see Esler (2003), 171– 194.

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world.39 Hence, the designation of Abraham as ancestor “in the flesh” resolves itself into a figurative description that underscores his role as exemplar both for the non-Jews who practice righteousness and the Jews who have the patriarch as model even before his circumcision. The apostle affirms that the message is secure for all the seed of Abraham, not only those who adhere to the law but also those who share the faith of Abraham who is the father of us all.40 Despite the language of “seed” and “flesh”, the blood-line is not at issue here. Abraham, as Genesis proclaimed and Paul reasserts, is the father of many nations.41 Paul makes the point with still greater explicitness later in the Letter to the Romans, also with regard to Abraham’s “descendants”. He declares that it is not the “children of the flesh” who are the children of God, but the children of the promise who are reckoned as “the seed”.42 In the Epistle to the Galatians, the apostle underscores the meaning unambiguously. He identifies the sons of Abraham as the men of faith.43 Plainly the metaphor of “seed” or descent, which one might expect to be the quintessential marker of racial or ethnic identity, can, for Paul, serve to signal a continuity of belief.44 The topic takes on more direct and immediate impact when Paul discusses his own origins. He identifies himself without hesitancy or qualification with Jews, Israelites, or Hebrews (those terms in his vocabulary are largely interchangeable). The identification appears on several occasions in the texts.45 And more than once Paul puts the association explicitly in terms of lineage and kinship. The relevant passages seem consistent on that score. Paul presents himself as an

|| 39 Rom. 4.11–13: καὶ σημεῖον ἔλαβεν περιτομῆς σφραγῖδα τῆς δικαιοσύνης τῆς πίστεως τῆς ἐν τῇ ἀκροβυστίᾳ, εἰς τὸ εἶναι αὐτὸν πατέρα πάντων τῶν πιστευόντων δι’ ἀκροβυστίας, εἰς τὸ λογισθῆναι καὶ αὐτοῖς τὴν δικαιοσύνην, καὶ πατέρα περιτομῆς τοῖς οὐκ ἐκ περιτομῆς μόνον ἀλλὰ καὶ τοῖς στοιχοῦσιν τοῖς ἴχνεσιν τῆς ἐν ἀκροβυστίᾳ πίστεως τοῦ πατρὸς ἡμῶν Ἀβραάμ … ἡ ἐπαγγελία τῷ Ἀβραὰμ ἢ τῶ σπέρματι αὐτοῦ. 40 Rom. 4.16: εἰς τὸ εἶναι βεβαίαν τὴν ἐπαγγελίαν παντὶ τῷ σπέρματι, οὐ τῷ ἐκ τοῦ νόμου μόνον ἀλλὰ καὶ τῷ ἐκ πίστεως Ἀβραάμ, ὅς ἐστιν πατὴρ πάντων ἡμῶν. 41 Rom. 4.17–18; cf. Gen. 15.5. 42 Rom. 9.6–8: οὐ τὰ τέκνα τῆς σαρκὸς ταῦτα τέκνα θεοῦ ἀλλὰ τὰ τέκνα τῆς ἐπαγγελίας λογίζεται εἰς σπέρμα. 43 Gal. 3.7: γινώσκετε ἄρα ὅτι οἱ ἐκ πὶστεως, οὗτοι υἱοί εἰσιν Ἀβραάμ. See also 3.29 44 That is not, of course, to say that the terms are never used to mean direct descent in a more literal sense. See, e.g., Rom. 1.3, 9.5. It is noteworthy that in none of these references to Abraham does Paul employ his familiar contrast between κατὰ σάρκα and κατὰ πνεῦμα; e.g. Rom. 1.3–4, 2.28–29, 7.5–6, 8.4–5, 8.12–13; 1 Cor. 5.5; 2 Cor. 7.1; Gal. 5.16–25, 6.8; Phil. 3.3. On Paul’s use of allegory elsewhere, see Boyarin (1994), 32–38. For his treatment of “flesh”, see Boyarin (1994), 65–85; Sechrest (2009), 118–126. 45 Rom. 9.3–5, 11.1; 2 Cor. 11.22; Gal. 1.13–14, 2.15; Phil. 3.5.

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Israelite from the seed of Abraham.46 He describes the Israelites as his brothers and kinsmen in the flesh.47 He reckons himself as among the Hebrews and Israelites, from the seed of Abraham.48 And he associates himself with those who are Ioudaioi by birth.49 Most famously, he proclaims his identity as one who was circumcised on the eighth day, from the genos of Israel, the tribe of Benjamin, a Hebrew from the Hebrews.50 That collection of texts leaves the decided impression that Paul expressed his own Jewish identity in terms of racial character.51 Yet the texts are not without ambiguity. As we have seen, the use of evocative terms like “seed” and “flesh” can carry metaphorical rather than physical meaning, the denotation of genos does not confine itself to a kinship group, and even Paul’s inclusion of himself among “Jews by birth” can have a sense other than a group united by common descent. A passage with telling resonance needs to be considered here. Paul justifies his mission to the Corinthians and also outlines his strategy. He maintains, rather surprisingly, that he had become all things to all people, in order to save at least some.52 The method included an approach to the Jews. As Paul put it, “in order to win over Jews, I became like a Jew.”53 Just what does he mean here? For someone who was a “Jew by birth”, how does one then “become like a Jew?” Paul adopts a comparable plan of action for two other groups. To those “under the law”, he became as one under the law—even though not being himself under the law; and to those without law, he became as one without law—even though he was not without the law of God, being under the law of Christ.54 Again we skirt thorny theological issues and make no attempt to parse what counts as being with or without law. The most interesting feature for our purposes is Paul’s acknowledgment that he became like a Ioudaios to the Ioudaioi. Since the apostle insists on several occasions upon his Jewish origins, the idea of “becoming like a Jew” must connote something more than just a birthright. Further, it is also something more

|| 46 Rom. 11.1: γὰρ ἐγὼ Ἰσραηλίτης εἰμί, ἐκ σπέρματος Ἀβραάμ. 47 Rom. 9.3–5: ὑπὲρ τῶν ἀδελφῶν μου τῶν συγγενῶν μου κατὰ σάρκα οἵτινές εἰσιν Ἰσραηλῖται. Cf. 11.14. 48 2 Cor. 11.22. 49 Gal. 2.15. See above, n. 27. 50 Phil 3.5. See above, n. 24. The reference to his genos, as distinct from ta ethne, also appears in 2 Cor. 11.26, but not necessarily with racial significance. Paul could describe his behavior on behalf of his genos in terms of zealotry for ancestral traditions; Gal.1.13–14; see above nn. 22–23. 51 So, e.g., Johnson Hodge (2007), 50; Sechrest (2009), 141–152. 52 1 Cor. 9.22: τοῖς πᾶσιν γέγονα πάντα, ἵνα πάντως τινὰς σώσω. 53 1 Cor. 9.20: καὶ ἐγενόμην τοῖς Ἰουδαίοις ὡς Ἰουδαῖος, ἵνα Ἰουδαίους κερδήσω. 54 1 Cor. 9.20–21.

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than adherence to the Torah, since that characterizes the second group with which the adaptable Paul seeks to ingratiate himself. The process and outcome of becoming like a Jew remain slippery and unspecified. A variety of traits, customs, and observances might have been included in the reckoning. But the fact that Paul claims, even boasts, that he could become all things (including a Jew) to all people, demonstrates that, in his conception, Jewishness was no fixed and predetermined entity dependent upon heredity. Its very malleability is a trait of central importance for the apostle.55

IV Jewish identity, in Paul’s hands, goes beyond the confines of the blood-line or the descent group. Wherein then does it consist? What characteristics do single out the Jew? Specifics are hard to come by. Paul does not dwell on them when making reference to Ioudaioi.56 One exception stands out. Circumcision plays a hefty role in Pauline pronouncements. As a marker of Jewish identity, it was preeminent—even if not usually visible. Paul, when he was in dichotomous mode, could use it as a means of drawing a contrast between Jews and non-Jews. Circumcised/uncircumcised served as a substitute for or an alternative expression of Jew/Greek or Jew/gentile. So, for instance, in the Letter to the Romans, when Paul asks rhetorically whether God is god only of Ioudaioi or also of ta ethne, he affirms that both are covered— for God will justify the circumcised by virtue of their faith and the uncircumcised through their faith.57 The two binaries are plainly synonymous here. The same

|| 55 On Paul’s own sense of identity, see Dunn (1999), 174–193; Johnson Hodge (2005), 270–288; eadem (2007), 120–125; Cosgrove (2006), 281–284. Johnson Hodge (2007), 54, rightly points to the mutability of ethnic identity in general. 56 On one occasion Paul does list some features associated with the “Israelites”; Rom. 9.3–5. Fredriksen (2018), 193, interestingly and ingeniously finds in them echoes of Herodotus’ famous catalog of characteristics that define “Greekness”. But, as we have seen, the relevant Herodotean passage (8.144) belongs to a specific historical moment and a special rhetorical purpose, not a general pronouncement about what constitutes Hellenicity. See above, chapter two. Paul too has his own rhetorical point to make in establishing his Jewishness and connecting his fellow-Jews to the new cult of Christ worshippers. It is noteworthy that among the identifiers he ascribes to the Israelites are “sonship”, and “glory”, and the reference to kinship (κατὰ σάρκα) is linked not only to the “fathers” but to Christ. This is not strictly “ethnic language”. 57 Rom. 3.29–30: εἴπερ εἶς ὁ θεός ὅς δικαιώσει περιτομὴν ἐκ πίστεως καὶ ἀκροβυστίαν διὰ τῆς πίστεως. It is unlikely that Paul intended any subtle difference between the two prepositions here; cf. Fitzmyer (1993), 365; Byrne (1996), 140.

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implication holds a few lines later when the apostle asks whether God’s blessing falls upon circumcised and uncircumcised alike, with, of course, an affirmative answer.58 The equivalence is clear also when Paul proclaims that Christ became a servant to the circumcised to confirm the promises made to the (Hebrew) fathers and that the gentiles (ta ethne) glorify God for his mercy.59 The juxtaposition here of “the circumcised” and the “gentiles” demonstrates unequivocally that the terms “circumcised/uncircumcised” and “Jew/gentile” were interchangeable. The same juxtaposition exists in the Letter to the Galatians where Paul describes the division of missionary labor between himself and Peter. The latter was commissioned to work with the circumcised, the former with ta ethne.60 Either of the alternative terms would have served equally well. The point is underscored by the passage in which Paul rebukes Peter for eating with the gentiles and then changing course out of fear of “those of the circumcision”.61 The Letter to the Colossians enunciates the equivalence quite explicitly with the parallel phrases “Greek and Jew” and “circumcised and uncircumcised”.62 As a means of varying language while expressing a distinction between Jew and non-Jew, circumcision or the lack thereof provided a convenient and readily understood attribute. Pagans also cited circumcision regularly as a distinct characteristic of Jews.63 Apart from a contrast between Jews and others, Paul adverts to circumcision on several occasions as a prime emblem of the Ioudaios. On those occasions, as is well known, the apostle repeatedly downplays the significance of the institution so as to clear the field for Christ-followers, whether circumcised or not. No need either to be circumcised or to remove circumcision, he maintains. Neither one counts for anything; only adherence to the commandments of God matters.64 As Paul famously insisted, circumcision avails no one who violates the law; indeed, for those who disobey the law, their very circumcision becomes uncircum-

|| 58 Rom. 4.9. 59 Rom. 15.8–9. 60 Gal. 2.7–9: ἵνα ἡμεῖς εἰς τὰ ἔθνη, αὐτοὶ δὲ εἰς τὴν περιτομήν. 61 Gal. 2.12: πρὸ τοῦ γὰρ ἐλθεῖν τινας ἀπὸ Ἰακώβου μετὰ τῶν ἐθνῶν συνήσθιεν; ὄτε δε ἦλθον, ὑπέστελλεν καὶ ἀφώριζεν ἑαυτὸν φοβούμενος τοὺς ἐκ περιτομῆς. For the phrase ἐκ περιτομῆς, see also Col. 4.11. 62 Col. 3.11: Ἕλλην καὶ Ἰουδαῖος, περιτομὴ καὶ ἀκροβυστία. Cf. Col. 2.11–13. 63 E.g., Petronius, 68.4–8; Tac. Hist. 5.5.2; Juv. 14.103–104; Martial, 7.30.5, 7.82, 11.94. Cf. Philo, Spec. Leg.1.1–2. 64 1 Cor. 7.18–19. Cf. Fitzmyer (2008), 307–308. See also Gal. 5.6: ἐν γὰρ Χριστῷ Ἰησοῦ οὔτε περιτομή τι ἰσχύει οὔτε ἀκροβυστία ἀλλὰ πίστις δι’ ἀγάπης ἐνεργουμένη; 6.12–15: οὔτε γὰρ περιτομή τί ἐστιν οὔτε ἀκροβυστία ἀλλὰ καινὴ κτίσις.

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cision—and vice-versa. Circumcision here moves from the physical to the metaphorical, advancing Paul’s case and his mission. He exploits the figurative character of the word, with strong biblical resonance, namely the image of the circumcised heart, to characterize those who are authentic adherents of the law. The culmination of this celebrated message in the Letter to the Romans is to insist that one who is a Jew only externally, with the circumcision of the flesh, is no real Jew. The true Jew is he whose identity rests on internal commitment, for genuine circumcision is that of the heart, a matter of the spirit, not the letter.65 Paul’s objective is not to dismiss or discard the practice that he continues to see as a mark of the Jewish connection to the biblical past.66 Rather, he manipulates the convention for allegorical purposes, stressing the greater significance of an inner sense that eclipses the physical manifestation. “We are the circumcision who serve God in spirit and who glory in Christ Jesus, putting no trust in the flesh.”67 Indeed the Letter to the Colossians molds “circumcision” into an altogether figurative concept, declaring even that the act is no physical one at all but a shedding of the body’s flesh in the circumcision of Christ.68 Paul can thus shift from circumcision as a physical attribute to that of an abstract concept, a symbol of Jewish identity but inadequate to represent its essence, which can only be fully realized in Christ. This is not the place to pursue the part it plays in Pauline theological conceptualizing.69 What matters for our purposes is Paul’s persistent presumption that circumcision supplies a principal element in singling out a Jew. Hence it provides a convenient index to differentiate Jews from non-Jews, a parallel antinomy to Greeks and Jews or gentiles and Jews. And, when needed, Paul can also transform the convention into a symbolic image that takes it out of the realm of the physical and the manifest.70 Abraham’s circumcision, to be sure, supplies a milestone in the formation of Jewish identity (at least in retrospect or as construct). Paul acknowledges the fact

|| 65 Rom. 2.25–29: οὐ γὰρ ὁ ἐν τῷ φανερῷ Ἰουδαῖός ἐστιν οὐδὲ ἡ ἐν τῷ φανερῷ ἐν σαρκὶ περιτομὴ; ἀλλ’ ὁ ἐν τῷ κρυπτῷ Ἰουδαῖος, καὶ περιτομὴ καρδίας ἐν πνεύματι οὐ γράμματι. Cf. Phil. 3.3. For “circumcision of the heart” in the Hebrew Bible, see, e.g., Lev. 26:41; Deut. 10:16, 30.6; Jer. 4:4, 9:24–25; Ezek. 44:7, 44:9; cf. Fitzmyer (1993), 322. 66 Rom. 3.1–2. 67 Phil. 3.3: ἡμεῖς γάρ ἐσμεν ἡ περιτομή, οἱ πνεύματι θεοῦ λατρεύοντες καὶ καυχώμενοι ἐν Χριστῷ Ἰησοῦ καὶ οὐκ ἐν σαρκί πεποιθότες. 68 Col. 2.11: ἐν ᾧ καὶ περιετμήθητε περιτομῇ ἀχειροποιήτῷ ἐν τῇ ἀπεκδύσει τοῦ σώματος τῆς σαρκός, ἐν τῇ περιτομῇ Χριστοῦ. 69 See the discussion of Paul and circumcision by Ophir and Rosen-Zvi (2018), 161–167, with different objectives. 70 Cf. Boyarin (1994), 86–95; Johnson Hodge (2007), 131–134.

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but shapes it to his own purpose. It was Abraham’s righteousness and devotion to God before the circumcision that receives emphasis. And, as we have seen, the “seed” of Abraham or his descendants “in the flesh” carries metaphorical meaning that removes the conceptualizing from the tangible and the concrete. Indeed, that notion is critical to the apostle’s message. As he insists more than once, circumcision or non-circumcision counts for nothing. An inner connection to the divine (or the absence of it) is determinative. Circumcision plainly loomed large as a hallmark of Jewishness. Paul had to wrestle with it, even if, at times, in tortuous fashion. But its very prominence in the Pauline texts underscores a point of central significance. Circumcision, however one interprets it, can hardly represent an inherent quality, an inborn trait, or a hereditary characteristic.

V The same can be said of another notable feature to which Paul regularly recurs: the resistance to idolatry (even when honored in the breach). On this score, Paul speaks (as so often he does) as a Jew, condemning pagan idolators. In the Epistle to the Romans, for instance, he blasts those who maintained that they were wise but became foolish and exchanged the glory of the immortal God for images of mere mortals, or, even worse, of birds, animals, or reptiles. They thus worshipped and served the creature instead of the creator.71 The targets of those attacks are not only Greeks who set up statuary of gods in human form in their temples but worshippers of calves and bulls denounced in the Hebrew Bible, and Egyptians who paid homage to every form of four-footed animals and reptiles. Paul’s language here closely echoes that of the Letter of Aristeas whose author excoriates Greeks who claimed to be wise but were in fact foolish and Egyptians who put their faith in wild beasts and crawling reptiles. He also makes a point of scorning worshippers of images that had themselves been constructed by men.72 Similar expressions of derision for those who revere lifeless representations of divinity wrought by mortals who are more potent than their creations appear in The Wisdom of Solomon and, most devastatingly, in Paul’s contemporary Josephus who mocks the figures of clay and color that decay with age and need to be replaced

|| 71 Rom. 1.22–25: ἐσεβάσθησαν καὶ ἐλατρευσάν τῇ κτίσει παρὰ τὸν κτίσαντα. 72 Let. Arist. 134–138.

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periodically with new objects of reverence.73 The apostle here takes up a characteristically Jewish rallying-cry against pagan modes of worship. He can also, however, use this as warning to Christ-worshippers, whether Jew or gentile, who fall away from the standards applied by God. Idolatry is a principal criterion whereby to exercise judgment on wayward conduct. Here again, of course, the apostle draws directly on biblical themes and episodes. He warns against lapses into idol-worship, citing explicitly the words of the Septuagint in the Exodus narrative of the golden calf’s construction, when the Hebrews made sacrifice, ate, drank, and engaged in revelry. The issue of eating food resulting from sacrifice to idols plainly provokes Paul, and he employs it as a dire admonition to his Corinthian followers.74 A turning away from idols to God is a recurrent theme in the Hebrew Bible and reappears in Hellenistic Jewish literature, as in texts like The Letter of Aristeas, The Wisdom of Solomon and Josephus. Paul fits comfortably enough in that tradition, reckoning the defiance of idolatry as a distinguishing mark of Jewish identity to be carried over to the adherents of his new sect. As he writes in 2 Corinthians, “What has the Temple of God in common with idols?”75 And to the Thessalonians he affirms that the faithful in Macedonia, Achaia, and elsewhere have reported the Thessalonian turn from idols to God.76 Rejection of idol-worship was emblematic of Jewish identity and a repeated theme for Paul.77 Here again it is worth underlining the obvious: this aspect of Jewish self-perception has no connection whatever with ethnicity. Perhaps the most pertinent passage for this inquiry addresses itself directly to Jews or prospective Jews, and opens with the provocative words, “if you call yourself a Jew.” Here, if anywhere, Paul should give clues as to what he considers the essence of Jewishness—or at least what it ought to be. As the apostle formulates it, he who calls himself a Jew and rests upon the law and boasts of God, who knows the will of God and discerns what is superior, being instructed in the law, makes himself a guide for the blind, a light for those in darkness, a mentor of the foolish, a teacher of the young, having in the law the expression of knowledge

|| 73 Wisd.Sol. 13.10–19; Jos. CAp. 2.252–253. 74 1 Cor. 10.7, 10.14, 10.19–20; cf. 8.1–2; Fitzmyer (2008), 337–338, 385–386, 392–394; Sandelin (2012), 94–108. 75 2 Cor. 6.16: τίς δὲ συγκατάθεσις ναῷ θεοῦ μετὰ εἰδώλων. Cf. Furnish (1984), 363. 76 1 Thess. 1.8–9: πῶς ἐπεστρέψατε πρὸς τὸν θεὸν ἀπὸ τῶν εἰδώλων. 77 It occurs elsewhere in lists of sins by evil-doers, including sexual improprieties, magic, impurity, jealousy, anger, greed, thievery, and other moral infractions against which Paul admonishes his followers; 1 Cor. 5.9–11, 6.9–11; Gal. 5.16–23.

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and truth.78 Relationship to the law is central to this conceptualization, hardly surprising for one brought up in the Pharisaic tradition. Paul is not here engaging in the contrast between nomos and pistis, to which he famously reverts on other occasions. The issue is the proper conduct of the Jew, the observance of the law or the failure to do so, the actions that constitute admirable or deplorable behavior. Paul proceeds to castigate Jews or proselytes for falling short, for teaching others but neglecting to teach themselves, for stealing while admonishing others who steal, for railing against adultery while committing it—and indeed for condemning idolatry but robbing temples (and presumably absconding with images).79 The law, in short, stands at the heart of Paul’s characterization of what it means to be a Jew—and not in any negative sense here. Paul calls forth the ancient and traditional sense that moral behavior as prescribed by the commandments and other biblical pronouncements constitutes the core of Jewish identity. Nothing startling, of course, in any of that for one of Paul’s background and training. But it is worth accentuating the fact that, in this fullest outline of attributes that bind together Jews, no mention surfaces of belonging to a line of descent. Everything centers upon morality, conduct, performance, and adherence to the law that embodies them. Jews were unconstrained by the strait-jacket of ethnic determinism. The passage denies implicitly that lineage or hereditary disposition represents an inescapable constituent of Jewishness.

|| 78 Rom. 2.17–20: εἰ δὲ σὺ Ἰουδαῖος ἐπονομάζῃ καὶ ἐπαναπαύῃ νόμῳ καὶ καυχᾶσαι ἐν θεῷ καὶ γινώσκεις τὸ θέλημα καὶ δοκιμάζεις τὰ διαφέροντα κατηχούμενος ἐκ τοῦ νόμου, πέποιθάς τε σεαυτὸν ὁδηγὸν εἶναι τυφλῶν, φῶς τῶν ἐν σκότει, παιδευτὴν ἀφρόνων, διδάσκαλον νηπίων ἔχοντα τὴν μόρφωσιν τῆς γνώσεως καὶ τῆς ἀληθείας ἐν τῷ νόμῳ. Holladay (2003), 452, maintains that the elements which Paul had in mind included Jewish parentage. But that element is conspicuous by its absence. A good discussion of the passage’s rhetorical character in Stowers (1994), 143–158. Thorsteinsson (2003), 196–234, makes a strong case for seeing Paul’s contrived interlocutor in Romans, 2.17–29 as a Gentile convert rather than a Jew. 79 Rom. 2.21–22. There is no need to regard Paul’s reference to idolatry and temple-robbing as figurative, signaling unwarranted devotion to Mosaic law, as does Fitzmyer (1993), 318. The inclusion of temple robbery here has caused much difficulty for scholars, since it would not normally be associated with Jewish misbehavior. Thorsteinsson (2003), 213–218 (with a useful summary of other views), sees the reference as evidence that Paul here projects not a Jewish sinner but a proselyte. Yet it is not easy to see why condemnation of idolatry would be ascribed to a Gentile, even a would-be Jew.

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VI Paul offers no check-list of traits that add up to Jewishness. When he alludes cryptically to “becoming like a Jew”, he refers to a range of unspecified practices, rituals, ceremonies, customary behavior, and distinctive activities like Sabbath observance, synagogue attendance, and dietary restrictions that characterized his fellow-Jews or indeed others, like God-fearers, who had become an integral part of Jewish communities. Paul ultimately eschews ethnicity as the determinative factor. His stress falls on characteristic conventions, commitment to traditions, conformance to the law—and even (if one dares use the term) belief.

11 Christians as a “Third Race”? Paul employed a notorious dichotomy quoted innumerable times since his day: “There is neither Jew nor Greek, neither slave nor free, neither male nor female; you are all one in Christ Jesus.”1 Does this, in some sense, foreshadow the concept of Christianity as a “third race”, distinct from Judaism and Hellenism, entities that otherwise divided the ethnic world between them? Were Christians perceived, either by themselves or by others, as a race or an ethnic group? Or did the formulation of Christian identity involve a construct beyond race, defined as a new entity, outside the customary boundaries of Jew and Greek? Does ethnicity in the sense of race apply at all to early Christianity? More precisely, does it apply to the idea of Christians as a “third race”? The question demands some close scrutiny of the ancient evidence.

I In fact, the expression “third race” itself appears only very rarely in the texts. Paul’s Letter to the Galatians does not so much as hint at the notion. The famous passage in question comes in Paul’s powerful contrast of νόμος and πίστις, the law and faith. The binary contrasts of Jew and Greek, slave and free, male and female serve as images to encompass all humanity who, if they choose, will be sons of God through faith in Jesus Christ. There is no third race here. Indeed the only allusion to race at all is to the seed of Abraham to which all belong who embrace Christ.2 That itself is a point of some interest. It indicates that the metaphor of seed or descent, normally considered as a quintessential marker of ethnic or racial connection, can be employed to signal a declaration of belief. Other Pauline references simply reinforce this vision. Colossians affirms the binary contrast of Jew and Greek, circumcised and uncircumcised, slave and free, adding barbarian and Scythian to highlight the encompassing reach for which Christ is all and in all.3 No allusion to race or ethnicity here. The nearest one comes to it is an admonition in 1 Corinthians that no offense should be given to the Jews, to the Greeks, or to the ekklesia of God.4 The meaning of ekklesia for

|| 1 Gal. 3:28. See the fuller discussion of Paul and ethnicity above, chapter ten. 2 Gal. 3:26–29: εἰ δὲ ὑμεῖς Χριστοῦ, ἅρα τοῦ Ἀβραὰμ σπέρμα ἐστέ. 3 Col. 3:11. 4 1 Cor. 10:32. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110685657-012

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Paul, in general, remains ambiguous. The overwhelming majority of instances make reference to individual communities or gatherings of worshippers of Christ.5 Very seldom does he use the term in a broader sense to designate Christworshippers as a whole.6 And none of the cases in either category has racial overtones. The point is underscored later in 1 Corinthians when Paul affirms once again that all, whether Jew or Greek, slave or free, are baptized into one body through the drinking of one spirit.7 For ethnic distinctions we must move beyond Paul.

II The language of “race” does appear in 1 Peter. And it does so in revealing fashion. The author, speaking to Christian converts in the diaspora communities of Asia Minor, describes them as a “chosen genos, a royal priesthood, a holy ethnos, a laos as possession of God.” And he adds that, though “you were once no people (laos), you are now the laos of God.”8 The figurative language of ethnicity, juxtaposed as it is with the expression “a royal priesthood,” must be taken as metaphorical. The emphasis in 1 Peter generally is on religious commitment and moral practices, with which this passage also coheres. And its obvious echoes of the Hebrew Bible’s description of Israelites as the chosen people make plain that the author saw a direct link between believers in Jesus Christ and their biblical predecessors. He had no intention of viewing Christians as a “third race”. Nor does the language possess any ethnic resonance.

III Did the 2nd century bring any change in this understanding, whether from the inside or the outside? Certainly not, as far as we can see, from the pagan perception of Christianity. Tacitus’ celebrated account of the persecution of Christians in Rome under the emperor Nero, composed in the early 2nd century, shows an impressive knowledge of the sect. He is aware that it arose in Judea, stemming

|| 5 E.g. Gal. 1.2, 1.22; Rom. 16.4–5, 16.16; 1 Cor. 1.2, 10.32, 11.16, 11.18, 16.1, 16.19; 2 Cor. 1.1, 8.1, 11.8, 11.28; 1 Thess. 1.1, 2.14; Phil. 3.6. 6 1 Cor. 14.23, 15.9; Phil. 3.6; cf. Col. 1.18. 7 1 Cor. 12:13. 8 1 Peter, 2:9–10: ὑμεῖς δὲ γένος ἐκλεκτόν, βασίλειον ἱεράτευμα, ἔθνος ἅγιον, λαὸς εἰς περιποίησιν … οἵ ποτε οὐ λαὸς νῦν δὲ λαὸς θεοῦ.

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from the execution of Christ in the reign of Tiberius and at the hands of the procurator Pontius Pilate. The group, he tells us, was called Christians by the mob, the vulgus, presumably the Roman mob. Tacitus observes further that this exitiabilis superstitio spread from its origin in Judea all the way to Rome itself, the site of all forms of horrific and shameful deeds.9 The designation of Christianity as a superstitio and the reference to execrable deeds makes it clear that Tacitus viewed it in terms of religious belief and observances, without any suggestion of ethnic characteristics. The same holds for Tacitus’ contemporary, Pliny the Younger. As is notorious, Pliny as Roman governor of Bithynia, wrote to the emperor Trajan for instructions on how to conduct interrogation of Christians brought before his tribunal and accused. The governor was quite uncertain as to whether the very name of “Christian” sufficed for conviction or whether the crimes that attached themselves to that name were the grounds for punishment.10 This, of course, is not the place to parse Pliny’s phrases, already so much discussed and disputed. The only point to be made here is that Pliny too, like his fellow Roman intellectual Tacitus, regarded Christians as defined solely by their practices and observances, a religious sect, not an ethnic group. That is obvious enough from the tests he applied for the purpose of identifying them. Paying homage to an image of the emperor and cursing Christ would be adequate for a persuasive denial of Christianity. And practitioners of the sect needed only to give up the suspicious customs with which they had been associated, like gathering in enclaves before dawn, singing hymns to Christ as if he were a god, and swearing oaths to commit a variety of offenses.11 Pliny closely duplicates the language of Tacitus in branding Christianity as an excessive and depraved superstition.12 He understood it strictly as a cult or a sect, a matter of shared worship, however despicable, rather than shared ethnicity. Suetonius, writing in the reign of Hadrian, only a decade or two after Tacitus and Pliny, does employ language that, for many, might evoke ethnic significance. He refers to Christians who were singled out for punishment in the time of Nero as a genus. But, before any conclusions be drawn about pagan perceptions of Christianity as an ethnic group, the rest of Suetonius’ passage should suffice to disabuse anyone of that notion. Suetonius describes Christians as a genus of men

|| 9 Tac. Ann. 15.44: exitiabilis superstitio. 10 Pliny, Ep. 10.96.2. 11 Pliny, Ep. 10.96.5–7. 12 Pliny, Ep. 10.96.8: superstitionem pravam et immodicam.

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with a novel and wicked superstition.13 His conception of Christianity employs similar language and exhibits a similar understanding to that of Tacitus and Pliny. Christians are defined by their perfidious religion. What this means, perhaps most significantly, is that a term like genus could be used quite readily to designate a group identified by their beliefs and practices, rather than by blood or kinship. In that noteworthy regard, Suetonius forms a striking parallel with the author of 1 Peter on this score. They employed what we might regard as the language of ethnicity. It evidently did not have that connotation for them.

IV Do Christian texts of the 2nd century offer more insight into the idea of a “third race”? On the surface at least, it might seem that they do. The curious Epistle to Diognetus offers an entrance into that world. Alas, we know neither author, provenance, nor date. A scholarly consensus, by no means a unanimous one, would put it some time in the 2nd century.14 For our purposes, that suffices. The work takes the form of a letter, addressed by a Christian apologist to a hostile unbeliever.15 Although this conceit does not dominate the short text or operate consistently throughout, the opening provides an intriguing comment that prompts consideration. The author presents his addressee Diognetus as enthusiastically eager to get detailed and accurate information about Christians, the god they worship, their religious practices, their scorn of the earthly world, and their disdain for death. Diognetus, as the text portrays him, reckons Christians as rejecting the gods of the Greeks and spurning the superstition of the Jews.16 And he proceeds to pose the pregnant question; why does this new genos or practice enter into life now and not earlier?17 Use of the term genos and reference to Christianity as a “new genos”—by contrast with Greeks and Jews—might suggest, as it has to some, an indirect reference to the notion of a “third race”. But that would seem to misconstrue the meaning. The author notably describes Christianity as γένος

|| 13 Suet. Nero, 16.2: afflicti suppliciis Christiani, genus hominum superstitionis novae et maleficae. 14 Meecham (1949), 16–19. 15 The text can be found in Meecham (1949), and Thierry (1964); German translation and extensive commentary in Lona (2001). 16 Ep. Diog. 1: οὔτε τοὺς νομιζομένους ὑπὸ τῶν Ἑλλήνων θεοὺς λογίζονται οὔτε τὴν Ἰουδαίων δεισιδαιμονίαν φυλάσσουσι. 17 Ep. Diog. 1: τί δή ποτε καινὸν τοῦτο γένος ἢ ἐπιτήδευμα εἰσῆλθεν εἰς τὸν βίον νῦν καὶ οὐ πρότερον.

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ἢ ἐπιτήδευμα: “race or practice”. The two are not presented as alternatives here; rather, the one appears to be explanatory of the other, a fitting supplement or gloss.18 The context in which the statement comes is that of an ostensible inquiry into the nature of the Christian god, Christian worship, Christian values, and Christian behavior. And the text as a whole constitutes an argument for the superiority of Christian belief by contrast with those of pagans and Jews. Ethnicity is irrelevant. This appears to be yet another case in which employment of what we take to be ethnic language has a far more elastic meaning for the ancients. The author of the Epistle to Diognetus, however, does include a segment in his treatise which seems to complicate the matter. He maintains that Christians are not to be distinguished from the rest of humankind by territory, land, or customs (ἔθεσι).19 Reference to customs plainly does not refer to religious practices here since the text has firmly distinguished them, but to the ordinary mode of living in lands where Christians dwell. For the text goes on to assert that Christians possess no cities of their own nor use an unusual manner of speech nor exhibit a distinctive life style, i.e. in those communities where they find themselves. Rather, they dwell in both Greek and “barbarian” communities and follow the customs of those indigenous to the communities.20 Obviously this too excludes religious observances. Christians are otherwise, according to the author, quite assimilated. He then adds a peculiar qualification, namely that Christians exhibit a remarkable and admittedly peculiar form of politeia.21 The meaning here is less than obvious. Although politeia, of course, often means “citizenship”, it has a range of other meanings, and the idea of political citizenship is hardly applicable in this instance.22 It ought to signify something like “civic community,” referring to Christians’ own organized gatherings. As the author puts it, Christians dwell in their own fatherlands but only as marginal inhabitants (paroikoi). They share in all things like politai but they endure everything like aliens. Here again politai denotes not “citizens,” but members of the larger community. Politeia and politai do not carry narrow political connotations in this text. That emerges unequivocally when we read that Christians pass their lives on earth, but politeuontai (have

|| 18 Cf. Lona (2001), 78–79. Alternatively, one might wish to see the statement as reflecting uncertainty as to just how Christianity should be defined. But that does not suit the context or the thrust of the passage. 19 Ep. Diog. 5.1. 20 Ep. Diog. 5.2–4. 21 Ep. Diog. 5.4: θαυμαστὴν καὶ ὁμολογουμένως παράδοξον ἐνδείκνυνται τὴν κατάστασιν τῆς ἑαυτῶν πολιτείας. 22 Buell (2005), 30–32, surprisingly, takes it in that sense.

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their politeia) in heaven.23 The metaphorical meaning is abundantly plain. The author sets this contrast of politai and aliens as the first of a long series of artificial, binary antitheses designed to show off his literary flair.24 They are not to be taken in any technical sense. He returns at the end of this sequence to his initial differentiation of Christians from Greeks and Jews. Christians are warred on by Jews as if they were allophyloi (of a different tribe) and hunted down by Greeks.25 Once again, the term “allophyloi” has metaphorical rather than technical significance.26 The author does not refer to ethnic distinctions. Racial undertones occur in modern interpretations, rather than in ancient perceptions.

V The first actual appearance of the phrase “third race” has to await Clement of Alexandria writing in the late 2nd and early 3rd century. But Clement cites an earlier work, now unfortunately lost and of quite uncertain date, though surely not earlier than the 2nd century, the so-called Proclamation of Peter, the Petrou Kerygma.27 The author, as quoted by Clement, does draw a clear distinction between Christians, on the one hand, Greeks and Jews on the other, but he does so in most intriguing fashion. The distinction comes not in the divinity whom they worship but the manner in which they worship him. That, of course, is unsurprising with regard to the Jews, rather more so with regard to the Greeks. The author interestingly makes sure to note that he is speaking of “the esteemed Greeks.”28 In any event, he exhorts his readers, even though the deities be identical, not to worship in the manner of the Greeks or the Jews.29 Instead, Christians should pursue a new form of reverence for God through Christ as intermediary.30 The text then becomes a little more direct. The Christian author affirms that God has made a new covenant with us, not like the old ones with Greeks and with

|| 23 Ep. Diog. 5.9: ἐπὶ γῆς διατρίβουσιν, ἀλλ’ ἐν οὐρανῷ πολιτεύονται. 24 Ep. Diog. 5.5–16. 25 Ep. Diog. 5.17. 26 Cf. Lona (2001), 176. 27 See the valuable edition of the fragments of the Petrou Kerygma, with French translation and commentary, by Combe (2003). See also the critical edition of Clement’s Stromata VI, with notes by Descourtieux (1999). 28 Clem. Alex. Strom. 6.39.4; cf. 6.41.1. 29 Clem. Alex. Strom. 6.41.1–2. 30 Clem. Alex. Strom. 6.41.4.

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Jews: we Christians worship in novel fashion—a third genos.31 Here we have what seems the most explicit reference to a “third race,” contrasted expressly with Jews and Greeks. But, far from providing an authentic reflection of ethnic identification, the passage, in fact, underscores the non-ethnic conceptualization of this terminology. The text had hitherto made plain that it referred strictly to differences in the way God was worshipped by the three religious groups. And Clement reaffirms that principle in his own words immediately thereafter by asserting that the one and only god is understood by the Greeks in a pagan fashion (ἐθνικῶς), by the Jews in a Judaic fashion (Ἰουδαικῶς), but by us in a new and spiritual fashion (καινῶς καὶ πνευματικῶς.32 Genos here plainly corresponds to its usage in the other texts that we have considered. There is indeed a remarkable consistency. A term like genos that evokes ethnicity to our eyes and ears refers repeatedly in Christian writers to practice, customs, or modes of activity that distinguish different peoples and are quite irrelevant to innate or hereditary characteristics. So, when the author of the Petrou Kerygma designates Christianity as a triton genos, he sets it squarely in the context of religious worship and observances.33 Clement elaborates on this by declaring that the people of the faith consist both of those schooled in Hellenic learning and those of the law, i.e. Greeks and Jews respectively, and are brought into one genos, that of the saved people (laos), thus an advertisement for conversion. The three people (laoi) are distinguished not by their place in time, such that one might infer three separate natures, says Clement, but by being instructed through different covenants of the one lord.34 In short, the tripartite division of humanity holds, but the distinctiveness of each segment is determined simply by the mode in which each expresses its devotion. The concept of a triple divide occurs also in the so-called Apology of a certain Aristides. This text too contains problems and ambiguities, compounded by the fact that it survives in three versions, Greek, Syriac, and Armenian respectively. The texts are parallel but not identical, and missing portions in each prevent a full reconstruction. Although the writer does belong among Christian apologists

|| 31 Clem. Alex. Strom. 6.41.6: νέαν ἡμῖν διέθετο; τὰ γὰρ Ἑλλήνων καὶ Ἰουδαίων παλαιά, ἡμεῖς δὲ οἱ καινῶς αὐτὸν τρίτῳ γένει σεβόμενοι Χριστιανοί. 32 Clem. Alex. Strom. 6.41.7: σαφῶς γάρ, οἶμαι, ἐδήλωσεν τὸν ἕνα καὶ μόνον θεὸν ὑπὸ μὲν Ἑλλήνων ἐθνικῶς, ὑπὸ δὲ Ἰουδαίων Ἰουδαικῶς, καινῶς δὲ ὑφ’ ἡμῶν καὶ πνευματικῶς γινωσκόμενον. 33 This was recognized long ago by Harnack (1904), 309–310. See also Combe (2003), 265–269. Buell (2001), 460–461, rightly prefers “third way” or “third form” to “third race” here. But she still sees this as linking Christian practices with ethnicity, and describes the phraseology as “ethnic reasoning”. Cf. Buell (2005), 139–140. See also Lieu (1996), 167. 34 Clem. Alex. Strom. 6.42.2: οὐ χρόνῳ διαιρουμένων τῶν τριῶν λαῶν, ἵνα τις φύσεις ὑπολάβοι τριττάς, διαφόροις δὲ παιδευομένων διαθήκαις τοῦ ἑνὸς κυρίου. Cf. 6.106.4–107.1.

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of the 2nd century, we have conflicting evidence on the date and occasion of his Apology. Eusebius has Aristides deliver it as an address to the emperor Hadrian, as does the heading to the Armenian version, but the Syriac rescension dates it to the time of Antoninus Pius. That matter need not be explored here.35 But Artistides’ work has direct relevance to our inquiry. In the Greek text Aristides divides the world into three gene: those who worship beings called gods by you (i.e. pagans), Jews, and Christians.36 The division seems straightforward enough, and, on the face of it, would support the notion of Christianity as a “third race.” But matters are not quite so simple. The Greek version goes on to divide those who revere many gods into three further gene: Chaldeans, Greeks, and Egyptians, describing them as founders and teachers for the rest of the nations (ethne).37 The author seems fonder of tri-partite divisions than of expounding any theory of Christianity as a third race. And, in discussing these three subdivisions of polytheists, he identifies them strictly in terms of mistaken beliefs and adherence to false gods unworthy of reverence.38 Racial differences do not come into play. The other recensions of Aristides complicate matters still further. The Syriac text divides the world into four different races: barbarians, Greeks, Jews, and Christians. The author, to be sure, does elaborate on the differences in terms of lineage. He reckons the “barbarians” as tracing their origins to Kronos, Rhea, and other gods, the Greeks as descended from Helenus, with a number of intermediary figures like Danaos, Kadmos, and Dionysos, the Jews as stemming from Abraham, and the Christians as owing their origins to Jesus Christ.39 The Armenian fragment has much the same, designating Belus and Kronos as among the gods of the barbarians, Zeus as the head of Greek lineage, spawning other gods and founders like Kadmos, Dionysos, and Danaos, Jews as descendants of Abraham, and Christians as stemming from Jesus Christ.40 It is not easy, however, to take this jumbled genealogy as a serious expression of racial distinctions. The confusion of barbarian and Greek divinities, the mixture of Hellenic deities and mortals, and the juxtaposition of Abraham and Jesus

|| 35 See the valuable discussion of the manuscripts, authorship, and date by Harris (1891), 1–27. See also Lieu (1996), 164–165. Harris (1891), 35–64, supplies the Greek text and a translation, with notes, of the Syriac version. German translations of both the Syriac version and the Armenian fragments, as well as the Greek text, can be found in Hennecke (1893). 36 Apol. Arist. 2.1: φανερὸν γάρ ἐστιν ἡμῖν, ὦ βασιλεῦ, ὅτι τρία γένη εἰσὶν ἀνθρώπων ἐν τᾦδε τῷ κόσμῳ. ὧν εἰσὶν οἱ τῶν παρ’ ὑμῖν λεγομένων θεῶν προσκυνηταὶ, καὶ Ἰουδαῖοι, καὶ Χριστιανοί. 37 Apol. Arist. 2.2. 38 Apol. Arist. 3–12. 39 Apol. Arist. (Syriac): 2.3. Translation in Harris (1891), 36–37. 40 Harris (1891), 27–29, supplies the Armenian fragment in a Latin rendition.

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as forefathers of their nations, while Jesus himself is described as from the tribe of the Hebrews, render these entangled blood lines meaningless as a window on Christian attitudes toward ethnic divisions. And the Syriac version proceeds to detail the differences among the groups in regard to the gods they hold dear, the manner of worship, and their beliefs about the nature of the universe. Christians are superior to the others in their understanding of divine power, in the character of their relationship with it, and in their search for the truth—not in their belonging to a disparate race.41 The Nag Hammadi codices include a long treatise without author or title which has now come to be known as the Tripartite Tractate.42 The work is a prime document for Valentinian theology, not a matter of direct concern for us. But it does include some phrases that might be interpreted as implying the three-fold division that set Christianity as a third element. It lumps Greeks and barbarians together as a bloc, distinguishing them from Hebrews, and sets Christians in a separate category. The first group is criticized for wallowing in illusion and deceptive ideas, their “wisdom” being little more than imitation, they confuse truth with error, and they are engulfed in petty intellectual quarrels based on unsubstantiated opinions. The relevant passage on the Hebrews is somewhat mangled but the author seems to give them better marks for seeking a higher truth, although they are hampered by the variety of sects and diverse doctrines.43 A subsequent passage does employ the language of ethnicity, dividing humanity into three gene with regard to essence: spiritual, psychic, and material, although the text does not specify which people belongs in which category.44 But here again, the language is elastic, and the description offered by the author has more to do with the openness (or lack thereof) of the groups to the message of the savior than to any differentiation by race.45 The Tripartite Tractate, in fact, adapts Paul’s schema which singles out the kingdom of Christ as the one place where there is

|| 41 Apol. Arist. (Syriac): 3–17. As illustration of confused genealogy, the author who has “barbarians” trace their lineage to Kronos and Rhea, by contrast with Greeks (2), elsewhere has the Greeks themselves introduce Kronos and Rhea into their mythology (9). The Syriac text does at one point refer to the Christians as a “new people” with a divine admixture (16.4), but does not here make explicit comparison with other peoples. The texts receive brief discussion by Lieu (1995), 489–490; eadem (1996), 164–166; eadem (2004), 260–261; Buell (2002), 440–441; eadem (2005), 35–36, 46, 185–186, n. 3. 42 See the editions of the text, with translation, by Attridge and Pagels (1985), and by Thomassen (2007). 43 Trip. Tract. 109–112. See the translation of Thomassen (2007), 88–90. 44 Trip. Tract. 118–119 = Thomassen (2007), 93–94, 45 Buell (2005), 84, 118, sees a blend here between the religious and the genetic aspects.

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no male or female, slave or free, circumcised or uncircumcised, but all are in Christ.46 That plainly does not have ethnic connotations. The plasticity of ethnic terminology here gains further reaffirmation. One can illustrate that elasticity also by the use of genos in the Martyrdom of Polycarp, from the reign of Marcus Aurelius. It appears three times in the text, each time with regard to the character of the Christians, not their race. They are a “holy and pious genos,” the “genos of the just.”47 Justin Martyr, writing in the mid 2nd century, made no allusion to a triton genos. But his apologetic treatise, the Dialogue with Trypho the Jew, pitting himself against the Jewish interlocutor, Trypho, resorts regularly to ethnic language in its treatment of Jews and Christians.48 Justin did not include pagans in the reckoning, so the absence of a third party precluded a tripartite scheme. But the language of the Dialogue might suggest, at least on the face of it, that the confrontation of Jew and Christian had a racial dimension. Justin employs the terms ethnos, genos, and laos to refer to either Jews or Christians.49 More pertinently, he twice implies that the two peoples divided along ethnic lines. The author maintains that there were two seeds of Judah and two races (gene), like two houses of Jacob, the one born of blood and flesh, the other of faith and spirit.50 A few paragraphs later, he sharpens the contrast strikingly, describing Christ as the first-born of all creation and the origin again of another race (genos).51 The meaning of these peculiar formulations is not easy to ferret out. But it would be hasty and erroneous to infer that Justin draws an ethnic distinction between Jews and Christians. The first passage is preceded by the unequivocal statement that Christians are the genuine Israelite genos.52 Hence, the contrast between two gene, one of flesh, one of spirit, does not determine the concept.

|| 46 Trip. Tract. 132–133. Cf. Buell (2005), 127–128. 47 Martyrdom of Polycarp, 3.2, 14.1, 17.1: τῷ γένει τῶν δικαίων. This plainly has no ethnic implications; pace Lieu (1995), 486; eadem (2002), 52–53. 48 For the text, see Marcovich (1997). 49 E.g. Justin, Dial. 119.2–4, 120.2, 121.3, 130.3. A fuller analysis of these and other passages in Justin, from a slightly different perspective, can be found in Skarsaune (1987), 338–353; idem (2017), 257–260. 50 Justin, Dial. 135.6: δύο σπέρματα Ἰούδα καὶ δύο γένη, ὡς δύο οἴκους Ἰακώβ, τὸ μὲν ἐξ αἵματος καὶ σαρκός, τὸ δὲ ἐκ πίστεως καὶ πνεύματος γεγεννημένον. 51 Justin, Dial. 138.2: ὁ γὰρ Χριστός, πρωτότοκος πάσης κτίσεως ὤν, καὶ ἀρχὴ πάλιν ἄλλου γένους γέγονε. 52 Justin, Dial. 135.3: ἡμεῖς ἐκ τῆς κοιλίας τοῦ Χριστοῦ λατομηθέντες Ἰσραηλιτικὸν τὸ ἀληθινόν ἐσμεν γένος.

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Justin may imply that the difference rests between contemporary Jewry represented by Trypho, dependent solely on descent, and the Christianity of Justin founded on faith. But Christianity, in Justin’s construct, is the truer incarnation of Israel, not a separate race. The second passage, identifying Christ as origin of “another race”, is set in a scriptural context alluding to Noah and to Moses and arguing that God’s favor extended not to Israelites per se but to the people who were faithful to the Lord—who are now embodied by Christians.53 The principal thrust here is not racial divergence but supersession. Christianity is the verus Israel. That theme recurs on a number of occasions in the text of Justin’s Dialogue with Trypho. The author has Christians as the ethnos promised by God to Abraham, father of many peoples—though he makes clear that this is the issue of Isaac, not of Ishmael. Christians received the heritage of Abraham for eternity, for they are the sons of Abraham through sharing the same faith.54 Justin further links Christ to God’s naming of his people Israel and to the heritage that runs from Jacob to David: Christians are the children of God because they observe the precepts of Christ.55 God had singled out the Israelites as his chosen people, but they proved to be useless, disobedient, and faithless; Christ is the true carrier of the name of Israel.56 The emphasis on faith and on adherence to precept makes Christians, in Justin’s view, the authentic flock of the Lord. The language of ethnicity in Justin’s treatise, as in the other texts already discussed, resolves itself into matters of belief and observance.57 The author does not see a divide between two races—let alone a “third race.”

VI That Christians did count as a tertium genus in antiquity is, in fact, directly and explicitly attested. Not, however, as a proud boast by a Christian author. Rather, it occurs in a harshly negative context, described by Tertullian as a nasty criticism of Christianity against which he mobilized some of his own sharp wit. The testimony appears in Tertullian’s Ad Nationes and his Scorpiace, both composed at

|| 53 Justin, Dial. 138.2–3. See the incisive analysis of these passages by Buell (2005), 101–103. 54 Justin, Dial. 119.4–5; cf. 120.2. 55 Justin, Dial. 123.6–9. 56 Justin, Dial. 130.3, 134.6, 135.3. 57 On the ambiguity and fluidity of Justin’s portrait, see the excellent discussion by Buell (2005), 95–115, although she reaches somewhat different conclusions. See also Lieu (1996), 136–140.

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the end of the 2nd century or beginning of the 3rd.58 According to the African churchman, it was clear that Christians were called (by others) a tertium genus. Indeed they were subject to shouts by the mob at the circus who taunted them as the tertium genus.59 Tertullian rejects the label with scorn and derision. The idea of a “third race” obviously held the connotation of inferiority to the other two— whoever they might be. Tertullian does not specify, indeed professes ignorance. He wonders only what critics have in mind by branding Christianity as a “third race”: are Christians to be reckoned as monstrous creatures like winged dogs or people with feet like umbrellas or the Antipodes who dwell beneath the earth?60 Those who wish to relegate Christians to that lowest order, he says, might at least have the courtesy of identifying the first two races, so that we could have some clarity on the third.61 That was just the beginning of his ironic thrusts. Tertullian tells the story drawn from Herodotus about the Egyptian king who sought to discover the oldest race on earth by awaiting the first words of two children who had not been allowed to hear any human voices before they spoke. It turned out that the first word they uttered was “bread” in Phrygian, thus proving to the king’s satisfaction that Phrygia was the first of nations. Tertullian seizes on the story to ask spitefully and mischievously if Phrygians were first and Christians were third, who is second and how many nations come in between? The Church father presses his advantage further. We must presume, says Tertullian, that the rank order is based on religion, hence the three groups must be Romans, Jews, and Christians. If so, what about the Greeks? And, if they are subsumed among the Romans who have adopted their gods, where does one place the Egyptians whose practices are most peculiar and curious? And, if those who occupy the third place are so monstrous, what must one think of those who hold the first and second place?62 He reserves his most sarcastic jab for a few chapters later. He points out that pagans have their own tertium genus. Theirs, however, has nothing to do with religion or cult,

|| 58 See the text, French translation, and commentary on Book I of the Ad Nationes by Schneider (1968). For wise words on this topic, I am indebted to the kindness of Andrew McGowan and his unpublished paper, “A Third Race or Not: The Rhetoric of Ethnic Self-Definition in Tertullian”. 59 Tert. Ad Nat. 1.8.1: plane, tertium genus dicimur; Scorp. 10.10: in circo, ubi facile conclamant, usque quo genus tertium? 60 Tert. Ad Nat. 1.8.1: Cynopennae aliqui vel Sciapodes vel aliqui de subterraneo Antipodes? 61 Tert. Ad Nat. 1.8.1: si qua istic apud vos saltem ratio est, edatis velim primum et secundum genus, ut ita de tertio constet. 62 Tert. Ad Nat. 1.8.2–13.

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but only with sex, namely the eunuch or hermaphrodite who combines the male and the female into a third gender.63 The testimony of Tertullian has led some to believe that the idea of a “third race” may actually be a pagan invention, fastened on Christians by hostile elements determined to blacken them.64 The proposition is problematic. Would Christian writers like Aristides and the authors of the Proclamation of Peter and the Letter to Diognetus have embraced a pagan formula generated to embarrass Christians? There is no other testimony anywhere to suggest that a pagan writer, whether hostile, friendly, or indifferent, ever employed the concept of a “third race.”65 And the very few other Christian intellectuals who used the expression did so without a hint of negative connotation. One ought perhaps not to rule out the possibility that the cynical Tertullian, in assembling his arsenal against pagan critics, mounted something of a straw man. Be that as it may, it is essential to emphasize that Tertullian’s use of the phrase actually coincides closely with that of the other writings in which it appears. That is, it refers to belief, worship, practice, in short, religion, not ethnicity.66 The point is clearer in Tertullian than anywhere else. The African churchman makes it quite explicit in mocking the purported pagan cavil against Christians. He asserts that “we are considered a tertium genus because of our religion (superstitio), not our peoplehood (natio)—thus ranked third after Romans and Jews.”67 There could be no clearer statement that genus can be employed without ethnic or racial significance.68

|| 63 Tert. Ad Nat. 1.20.4; cf. Pliny. NH, 2.263; SHA “Alexander Severus,” 23.7. 64 See Mohrmann (1977), 195–196, who changed her mind on the subject. Cf. Stroumsa (1999), 58–60; Lieu (2002), 184. 65 The nearest we have to it is Suetonius’ labeling of Christians as a genus hominum superstitionis novae et maleficae; Nero, 16.2. But the phraseology there obviously points to religious belief, not race, and, in any case, does not set Christians as a third category by comparison with other groups. 66 Cf. the still valuable discussion of Harnack (1904), 343–347. 67 Tert. Ad Nat. 1.8.11: sed de superstitione tertium genus deputamur, non de natione, ut sint Romani, Iudaei, dehinc Christiani. 68 The phrase does appear on one other occasion, in the pseudo-Cyprianic work, De Pascho Computus, 17, written in the mid 3rd century. The author speaks obscurely of three boys protected from the fires of hell by the son of God “in our mystery, we who are the tertium genus of humankind” (Pasch. Comp. 17). There is precious little to be extracted from that peculiar passage. It does imply embrace of the phrase by a later Christian writer, but gives no clue as to its significance. Cf. Harnack (1904), 313–314.

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VII The malleable character of the terminology requires emphasis. This chapter does not profess to have resolved the larger question of the book, i.e. whether the ancients derived identity from a sense of ethnicity. But it has attempted to show that the concept of Christianity as a “third race” cannot be used to support the proposition. That concept is fundamentally a red herring. It pops up in our texts only in rare and exceptional cases. On the infinitesimally few occasions when Christian authors actually allude to the notion, it bears no relation to matters of race. And pagan writers never make mention of it, except as indirectly ascribed to them in the tendentious construct of Tertullian—which itself explicitly removes the idea from the realm of ethnicity.69 Terms like ethnos, genos, or natio carry wider and more diverse meanings well outside that realm.70 They need not, and usually do not, signify what we take to be ethnicity. If Christians, or anyone else in antiquity set their identity on an ethnic basis, we will not find that in the concocted notion of a tertium genus.

|| 69 The one explicit reference to a τρίτον γένος in a pagan author has nothing to do with Christianity. Strabo, in a polemic against Ephorus, insists that only two types of people exist, Greeks and barbarians, and, if there is any mixture, one element or the other is dominant. There is no “third race”. 70 Similar conclusions are reached by Skarsaune (2017), 250–264.

12 Conclusion The ancients remained reticent on the topic of ethnicity. The matter did not call forth serious or probing scrutiny. The absence of articulation enforces caution on our part. Substituting our own questions and categories for theirs would be hazardous, inappropriate and faulty methodology. Investigation of the subject here has refrained from imposing a definition or constructing a frame into which to fit the ancient evidence. It has sought instead to extract concepts, approaches, and attitudes expressed either directly or indirectly by a spectrum of ancient writers who touched upon questions of collective identity, whether of self-perception or of external ascription. The authors and texts on which the study rests are inescapably selective. But they provide a range of perspectives from diverse backgrounds and experiences, and they treat (usually in unself-conscious manner) an assortment of issues that bear on ethnicity. They therefore provide important windows on the thinking of an extensive sample of Greek, Roman, Jewish, and Christian writers from the 5th century BCE through the 2nd century CE. Conclusions remain stubbornly tentative and hesitant. A definitive resolution eludes our grasp, and no determinative concept of ethnicity emerges. But the endeavor itself has brought us closer to ancient conceptualizations, and its findings allow for some reasonably confident inferences and interpretations. A summary of those findings may bring them more sharply into focus. The most vivid image of the outsider who sets off by his undesirable traits the virtues and superiority of his betters is that of the “barbarian”. The term, ubiquitous in Greek literature, carries the aura of savagery, brutishness, brutality, and every form of uncivilized behavior. But a closer look at the appearance of the barbaros in the writings of authors from Herodotus and Thucydides to Philo and Josephus shows that this iconic figure fades from ferocity and menace to a surprising blandness. Far the largest proportion of references to barbaroi classifies them simply as non-Greek. The dichotomy is pervasive. Writers conventionally and consistently divided humanity into those fortunate enough to be Greek and those who lacked that advantage. The ancients recorded the differences, but generally refrained from passing judgment. Nor did those differences consist of innate characteristics that defined barbarians as an alternative breed of humankind. The unwillingness to relegate “barbarians” to a subterranean level of the human species possesses significant import for ancient sensibilities. And a more detailed scrutiny of certain key authors reinforces the impression. The famous passage in Herodotus ostensibly describing the salient characteristics of what constitutes Greekness actually has a far narrower scope tied to a particular context

https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110685657-013

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that precludes inferences about any general Hellenic conceptualization regarding the ethnic character of the nation. That issue never arose in Herodotus’ tableau. The historian’s passion for ethnographic researches turned up a wealth of fascinating, sometimes fantastic or even repellent, information about customs, practices, rituals, and convictions of peoples across the Mediterranean and beyond, without applying the brand of ethnic inferiority. Herodotus finds a bewildering diversity of behavior and belief among Egyptians, Indians, Scythians, and others, while withholding judgment on national character. In his central narrative of the mighty clash between Greeks and Persians, he freely criticizes the foibles and failings of both sides. As for ethnic determinism, he questions the myth of autochthony, he problematizes environmental influences, he has reservations about language as defining identity, and he even observes that ostensibly characteristic attributes themselves are subject to change. The “father of history” himself, therefore, evinces implicit distrust for pronouncements on national character. Polybius exercised comparable restraint. His sentiments, even on the bitterest enemies of Greeks and Romans, i.e. the Gauls and the Phoenician/Carthaginians, as well as on those most culturally distant from them, the Egyptians, largely avoid negative stereotypes, and give no sense of ethnic inferiority or unchanging genetic character. His assessments of the external foes of Rome and Greece combined critical with laudatory remarks but ascribed no actions or deeds to inborn qualities. Terminology can be beguiling but also misleading. Polybius freely employed terms like ethnos or genos which ostensibly evoke ethnic overtones. In fact, they function very differently in Polybius’ text. He deploys them in a wide variety of contexts with multiple meanings, very few of which refer to or imply national characteristics. Those words, whatever they might suggest in our parlance, possessed numerous and diverse connotations in Polybius’ vocabulary—but almost nowhere carried racial baggage. Investigation of such language in authors with very different agendas from Polybius leads to the same conclusions. Philo utilizes “ethnic” terms imprecisely and inconsistently, malleable for his philosophic and theological purposes. His references to “kinship” mold that relationship as a metaphor, and allegorize it boldly in ways that remove it from the realm of the bloodline. The disparate usages demonstrate that Philo found no need to provide a definition of ethnicity or to explore that topic with any urgency. His biblical exegesis lacked a counterpart in ethnical exegesis. Josephus too uses the terms ethnos and genos in a wide span of contexts. They regularly connote “people” or “nation” in a vague and unspecified sense, or in connection with customs, usages, and worship. The terms are indeed used interchangeably. But only rarely do they possess

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any racial coloring. Josephus did not reduce Jewish identity to an undeviating ethnicity. Comparable conclusions flow from a study of Paul’s language. His repeated contrasts between Jews and Greeks (or gentiles) stand apart from genealogy or descent as markers of identity. When he resorts to the vocabulary of “seed” and “flesh”, the references are figurative and metaphorical. The sons of Abraham are defined by their faith and righteousness. The self-perception of the Jews presents special challenges. Their conviction that they represent a “chosen people” has been too readily interpreted as ethnic distinctiveness and a native superiority rooted in inherent quality. Their separatism and exclusiveness, most distinctively marked by resistance to intermarriage, would seem to underscore that perception. Yet a careful probe into the supposed rejection of mixed marriages brings some surprising results. Biblical tradition, in fact, recorded intermarriage among patriarchs and other prominent Israelites right from the start and almost throughout, without looking askance at it. More importantly, when objections were raised, they consistently dwelled upon exposure to idolatry, cultic observances, and perverted forms of worship. Even those texts most fervent about the evil consequences of exogamy, like Ezra-Nehemiah and Jubilees, stressed susceptibility to idolatrous practices and moral transgressions rather than race mixture. Mingling of the blood-lines was at best a secondary consideration, if at all. No prohibitions of mixed marriage surface in the copious writings of Philo and Josephus. Conflicts among the nations stemmed from considerations other than ethnic differences. How far ancient Jews considered themselves a group defined by race or ethnicity remains a troubled question. Examining the works of Hellenistic Jews, as represented by a spectrum of writings from the historical books of the Maccabees to the novelistic compositions of Judith and Joseph and Aseneth reveals, perhaps surprisingly, that they answer that question in the negative. The works, from different angles and vantage points and with different objectives, all place allegiance to Yahweh, conformity in ritual and observances, and adherence to the Law at the center of their sense of Judaism, with hardly a nod to ethnicity. That understanding of what constitutes the essence of the Jewish nation recurs with due prominence in the texts of the great Jewish writers Philo, Josephus, and Paul. Philo sets Jews apart from all other ethne for their virtue, wisdom, admirable customs, and ways of life rather than for the accident of ancestry. Far from making the latter a cornerstone of identity, he embraced converts and proselytes who share Jewish values and welcomed the expansion of the flock. No ethnic barriers stood in the way. Josephus’ use even of “ethnic” vocabulary resolves itself into matters of worship, law, and tradition. And Paul too perpetuates the tradition that singles out Jews for resistance to idolatry and gives prominence of place to

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their morality, conduct, and commitment to the principles of the Law. The consistency of this emphasis decisively casts into the shade any notion of ethnic character or proclivities as the defining element in what makes a Jew. Comparable conclusions emerge from analysis of the sources that allude to Christianity as a “third race”, evidently distinct from both Jews and Gentiles by nature. Dissection of those sources with due attention to context exposes the fragility of any concept of racial attribution. Not only are the texts that evoke this idea vanishingly few and ambiguous, but the “racial” language dissolves upon scrutiny. The authors either employ it metaphorically, see it as equivalent to practices and observances, have it serve a supersessionist purpose, or even mock the idea. Christians as a “third race” is largely a scholarly concoction. The legends and traditions of early Rome accorded that nation a strikingly composite ethnic character. Roman self-conception eschewed the idea of a pure strain. As later writers reconstructed it, the history of Rome began with immigrants from abroad and from a variety of peoples. And that central feature characterized it throughout. Foreign roots and the absorption of incomers gave the nation its singular cast. Multiple mingles proved to be a source of pride rather than embarrassment. The sense of a hybrid ethnicity allowed Romans even to accord citizenship to manumitted slaves who stemmed from a wide diversity of foreign parts. Reflections by Roman writers upon aliens and their peculiar practices could sometimes take the form of mockery and derision, but not stigmatization of ethnic inferiority. Nor were Romans alone in this. Italians far and wide in the peninsula linked themselves to foreign founders, thus creating a plethora of overlapping interconnections. These complex relationships, some stemming from conquest, others from voluntary amalgamation, created a patchwork that defied pattern or system. An evolving sense of Italian unity coexisted with continuing allegiance to individual communities and conflicted attitudes toward Rome. The Italian peninsula contained fluid, multiple, and divergent identities, and Roman thinkers never felt the urgency to sort them out. Even the devastating Social War between Rome and its Italian allies attests to a continued sense of affinity. Many Italians took up arms against Rome precisely because of what they saw as a Roman betrayal of that long-standing affinity. The divided loyalties underscore the complex and shifting relationships that bedevil efforts to locate ethnicity as a guiding element. The ancients could live with that ambiguity. Their sense of collective identity rested primarily on common customs, traditions, moral principles, and manner of life, rather than on birthright and blood-line. In the final analysis, the establishment of a distinctive ethnicity did not much matter.

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Primary source index Hebrew Bible Genesis 4:45 116 6:1-8 123 10 173 11:27-12.9 139 15:5 192 16:1-3 116 24:1-4 113 24:37 113 25:1 116 26:34-35 113 27:46 113 28:1-9 113 33:18-34:31 118 34 124 34:7 118 36:2 113 36:3 113 38 128, 163 38:2 116 41:45 127 41:50-52 127 46:20 127 49:5-7 118 Exodus 2:15-22 116 12.38 155 23:32-33 114 34:11-16 114, 159 Leviticus 18:6-23 117 18.24-30 117 19.33-34 163 20:10-21 117 20:22-26 117 21:13-15 115 25.23 163 26:41 196 https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110685657-015

Numbers 10:29 116 12:1-16 116 22-24 161 25:1-12 114 31:15-18 114 Deuteronomy 4.5-8 161 7:1-4 159 7:1-6 114 10:16 196 10.18-19 163 17.15 155 20:14 117 21:10-14 117 22:28-29 117 23.7-8 163 30.1-3 138 30:6 196 Joshua 23:5-13

114

Judges 1:16 116 3:5-8 114 4:11 116 8:30-31 116 14-16 116 14:2-3 116 Ruth 1:1-4 1:16 1:22 2:2 2:6 2:21 4:5 4:10

119 119 119 119 119 119 119 119

Primary source index | 233

1 Samuel 14.1-23 176 2 Samuel 3:2-5 117 11:2-3 117 11:27 117 1 Kings 3:1 115 11:1-9 115 11:1-11 117 11:3-9 123 11:31-35 115, 123 14:21 115 16:30-33 117 1 Chronicles 2:3 116, 117 2:34-35 117 2:46 117 2:48 117 3:1-2 117 4:18 117 4:22 117 2 Chronicles 15 173 Ezra 8:35-9.1-2 122 9-10 123 9:1-6 120 9:10-14 120, 123 10:2-4 120 10:10-14 120 10:16-44 121 Nehemiah 10:29-31 120 13:1-3 121 13:23-30 121 13:25-26 123 13:29 123 Esther 2:10 119

2:20 119 7:3-4 119 8:1 119 9:12-14 119 9:29-31 119 Jeremiah 4:4 196 9:24-25 196 Ezekiel 44:7 196 44:9 196 44:22 115 Daniel 14.28 145 Malachi 2.10-12 115

New Testament Acts 18:2

186

Romans 1:3-4 192 1:16 185, 187 1:22-25 197 2:9-10 185 2:9-11 187 2:14 186, 190 2:17-20 199 2:21-22 199 2:25-29 196 2:28-29 192 3:1-2 196 3:9 185, 187 3:29 185, 186 3:29-30 188, 194 4:1 191 4:9 195 4:11-13 192 4:16 192 4:17-18 186, 192 7:5-6 192

234 | Primary source index

8:4-5 192 8:12-13 192 9:3-5 192, 193, 194 9:5 192 9:6-8 192 9:24 185, 186, 188 9:30-31 186, 188 10:12 185, 187 10:19 186 11:1 192, 193 11:11-14 186 11:14 193 11:25 186 15:8-9 195 15:9-12 186 15:16 186 15:18 186 15:27 186 16:3-4 186 16:4-5 202 16:5 186 16:16 202 1 Corinthians 1:2 202 1:22-23 188 1:22-24 185 1:23 185, 186 1:24 185, 188 5:1 186 5:5 192 5:9-11 198 6:9-11 198 7:18 187 7:18-19 195 8:1-2 198 9:20-21 193 9:22 193 10:7 198 10:14 198 10:19-20 198 10:32 185, 187, 201, 202 11:16 202 11:18 202 12:2 186, 191 12:13 185, 187, 202 14:23 202

15:9 202 16:1 202 16:19 202 2 Corinthians 1:1 202 6:16 198 7:1 192 8:1 202 11:8 202 11:22 191,192, 193 11:26 186, 189, 193 11:28 202 Galatians 1:2 202 1:13-14 189, 192, 193 1:16 186 1:22 202 2:2 186 2:7-9 190, 195 2:8-9 186 2:12 186, 195 2:12-14 190 2:14-15 185, 186 2:15 190, 192, 193 3:7 192 3:8 186 3:14 186 3:26-29 201 3:28 185, 187, 201 3:29 192 4.21-31 157 5:16-23 198 5:16-25 192 5:6 195 6:8 192 6:12-15 195 Ephesians 2:11-13 191 Philippians 3:3 192, 196 3:5 189, 192, 193 3:6 202

Primary source index | 235

1 Peter 2:9-10 202 Colossians 1:18 202 1:27 186 2:11 196 2:11-13 195 3:11 185, 187, 195, 201 4:11 195 1 Thessalonians 1:1 202 1:8-9 198 2:14 202 2:16 186 4:5 186

Dead Sea Scrolls 11Q19 2.11-15 114 57.15-17 114 4QMMT

126

Aramaic Levi col. A, 15-17 126

Greco-Roman Authors Aelius Aristides 26.61 105 Alcimus, in Festus 326 L 93 328 L 93 436 L 99 Appian, Bellum civile 1.9.35 100 1.13.56 100 1.23.99 96 1.34.152 109 1.34.154-155 109 1.38.170-174 106 1.39.175 107

1.39.176 109 1.41.183 108 1.42.185 109 1.48.208-209 108 1.49.211-213 108 1.49.212-213 110 1.53.231 110 Appian, Punic Wars 47 99 Appian, Samnite History 4.5 98 Aristotle, Politica 1252b 11 1255 a-b 12 1272b 63 1273a-b 63 1327b 52 Arrian, Epicteti dissertationes 1.22.4 86 Athenaeus 1.20 b-c 88, 105 Aulius Gellius 4.4.3 110 11.1.5 99 13.8.1-5 79 17.17.1 103 Caesar, Bellum civile 1.15 101 Cassius Dio fr. 98.3 108 9.40.8 97 Cato, Origines F1.1.4-15 77 F1.19 78, 92 F2.3 83 F2.22 76 F2.23 91 F2.29 91

236 | Primary source index

F3.4 F4.9

91, 92 80

Cicero, Pro Scauro 42 80

Catullus 39 101

Cicero, Pro Sestio 141 79

Cicero, In Catilinam 4.5 82 4.10 82

Cicero, Pro Sulla 17 82 58 108

Cicero, De legibus 2.5 102, 103

Cicero, De provinciis consularibus 10 80, 87

Cicero, De Natura Deorum 1.43 80, 82 1.81-82 84 2.8 89

Cicero, Epistulae ad Quintum fratrem 1.1.27 80

Cicero, De Oratore 1.47 80 1.102-103 80 2.265 80 3.168 103 Cicero, De republica 2.12 94 2.13 75, 95 2.34-35 76 3.14 80 3.25 74 Cicero, Orationes Philippicae 3.15 102 12.27 108 Cicero, Pro Balbo 21 110 31 75, 104 Cicero, Pro Flacco 67 81, 88 Cicero, Pro Fonteio 26-27 80 30 80, 82 43-44 80 49 80

Cicero, Tusculanae disputationes 5.78 80, 82 Diodorus 1.2.5-6 26 1.3.2 23 1.4.5-6 23 1.9.3 23 1.9.5 23 2.29.4-6 26 4.20.1 26 4.30.5 27 4.40.4-5 24 4.44.7 24 4.82.6 23 5.6.5 27 5.14.1 25 5.16.3 23 5.21.6 26 5.29.5 26 5.31.5 25 5.35.4 61 5.68.3 23 5.80.2 27 7.5.4-5 77 8.18.1 23 12.55.8-10 25 13.27 24 13.30.4 25 13.57.5 24 13.58.2 24

Primary source index | 237

14.29.4-5 23 14.29.5 26 14.30.7 29 14.73.5 24 21.12.6 24 31.13 24 33.15.2 24 34/5.4 25 37.1.6 110 37.2.4-7 107 37.2.22 110 37.13.1 110 37.15.3 110 37.19.4-5 108 37.19.4-37.20 106 37.20 108 38/9.21 26 Dionysius of Halicarnassus 1.9-13 73, 93, 104 1.9.4 73, 88 1.10-13 78 1.11.1 77, 92 1.13.2 77, 92 1.27.1-2 93 1.30.2 93 1.31 73, 78, 93, 104 1.32.1 78 1.34.1 78 1.41-44 78, 104 1.49.1-2 79 1.60-61 104 1.61-2 73 1.73.1-3 78 1.74.1 77 1.89 73, 93, 104 1.89.1-2 78 1.89.3 104 1.89.22 78 2.3 94 2.15.3-4 104 2.26.3 95 2.45-46 95 2.46.1-3 75 2.49.2 76, 91 3.46-47 76 20.4.8 97

Euripides, Iphigenia Aulidensis 1400 12 Euripides, Helen 275-276 12 Eutropius 5.3 110 Florus 2.6 103 2.6.1 73 2.6.1-5 100 2.6.3-4 110 2.6.5 103 2.6.6 101 Herodotus 1.1 13 1.4 15 1.6 13, 15 1.7 44 1.56-58 49 1.57 52 1.71 51 1.79 45 1.94 93 1.135 53 1.146 55 1.155 45, 54 1.155.4 51 1.172 50 2.15 49 2.30 53, 54 2.32.6-7 50 2.35-42 51 2.35.2 51 2.37 45 2.42 45 2.91.1 54 2.104 54 2.104.2 50 2.158 15 2.158.5 52 3.20.1 50 3.38 53 3.98-106 45

238 | Primary source index

3.98.3 52 3.101 50 3.108 52 3.114 50 3.139 13 4.5-13 46 4.12 13 4.17 50 4.18 47 4.76-80 54 4.93 47 4.106 47 4.108 46 4.108.1 50 4.109 47 4.197.2 49 5.3 48 5.22 44 5.23 13 5.97 13 6.119 52 6.53-55 44 6.58-59 54 6.58-60 14 7.63 13 7.70.1 50 7.100-105 48 7.102 48 7.152.2 53 7.223 48 8.44.2 49 8.73 49 8.104-105 15 8.142 16 8.144.2 42, 43, 52 9.78-79 15, 49 9.82 51 9.122 51, 54 Hesiod, Theogony 1011-1016 76, 93 Homer, Odyssey 13.271 62 15.415 62

Horace, Sermones 2.1.34-39 102 Justin 20.1.4-16 93 20.1.7 93 20.1.14 99 24.6.6-8.15 57 38.4.13 109 Juvenal, Saturae 1.26-29 81 3.58-60 89 14.104 81 15.1=7 81 15.4-6 85 68-71 89 Livy 1.1.9 72 1.2.4-5 72 1.5.1-2 78 1.7.3-15 78 1.8.4-5 104 1.8.5 74 1.9 94 1.9-13 75 1.9.14 94 1.13.2 95 1.13.4 75, 95 1.13.5 95 1.34 76, 104 1.34.1-6 73 2.118.1 87 5.33-44 57 8.5.4 96 8.5.5-6 96 8.11.6 97 8.14.10 97 8.22.8 79 9.4.3-5 98 22.61.11-13 101 23.5.2 87 23.5.12 80 26.33.3 98 35.49.8 87 36.17.4-50 87

Primary source index | 239

45.30.7

59

Plautus, Poenulus 600-603 79

Livy, Periochae 72 106,107 74 108 Lycophron, Alexandra 1245-1249 93 Lydus, De Magistratibus 1.5 92 Manilius 1.896-903

80

Martial 7.30.5 195 7.82 195 8.61.5 89, 105 11.94 81, 195 Obsequens 54 106 Pausanias 1.4.4 57 22.12-23.14

Plautus, Truculentus 86-87 79 Pliny (the Elder), Naturalis historia 2.263 213 3.39 105 3.51 91 3.108 92 29.7.14 79 Pliny (the Younger), Epistulae 10.96.2 203 10.96.5-7 203 10.96.8 203 Plutarch, Cato Minor 2.1-4 110 12.5 79 Plutarch, Moralia 201 E-F 100

57

Petronius fr. 37 81 68.4-8 195 Plato, Leges 747c-e 52 Plato, Respublica 5.469b-470c 12 3.414 62 Plautus, Bacchides 742-743 79 812-813 79 Plautus, Mostellaria 20-24 79 64-65 79 958-960 79

Plutarch, Romulus 2.1 93 3.1-3 77 9.3 104 14-15 94 19 95 19-21 75 21.1 95 Polyaenus 8.16.5 100 Polybius 1.1.5 69 1.2.6 67, 69 1.7-10 97 1.8.3 70 1.9.3-4 18 1.9.7-8 18 1.10-11 97 1.10.2 97 1.11.7 18, 20

240 | Primary source index

1.31.2 67 1.31.8 63 1.58.4 69 1.62.1 63 1.62.3-7 63 1.65.7 20 1.67.2 69 1.67.4 69 1.69.1 69 1.69.3 69 1.69.7 69 1.70.2 69 1.77.4 70 1.80-81 62 1.80.8 69 1.86 62 1.88.5-6 62 2.6.1 66 2.7.5-6 57 2.7.5-6 59 2.7.12 21 2.12.2 67 2.12.4 66 2.12.5 66 2.15.7 58 2.15.8 18, 70 2.16.14 69 2.17.3-4 57 2.17.4 67 2.17.5 70 2.17.8 67 2.17.9-12 59 2.18.1-2 58 2.19.3-4 57 2.19.4 57 2.19.10 59 2.21.1-9 60 2.21.2 57, 59 2.21.3 60 2.21.7-9 58 2.22.1 67 2.22.2-3 57 2.24.5-14 101 2.29.5 58 2.32.1-10 59 2.32.8 57, 59 2.33.2-3 58

2.35.2 58 2.35.2-3 59 2.35.3 57 2.35.6 18, 58 2.36.1 70 2.37.5 67 2.37.7 66 2.37.7-10 66 2.38.3 67 2.38.5-9 66 2.39.7 18 2.40.5-6 66 2.41.3 67 2.41.5 70 2.43.10 66 2.45.1 62, 66 2.45.4 66 2.45.6 66 2.49.6 67 2.51.2 66 2.58.5 67 2.223.2 70 3.3.5 57 3.6.10-11 18 3.10.3-5 61 3.13.5 67 3.14.2 67 3.14.6 18 3.14.8 18 3.15.5-7 61 3.15.10 61 3.18.7-8 22 3.18.9 69 3.30.4 61 3.33.10-11 67 3.34.1-2 18 3.34.2 58 3.34.12 18 3.35.2 67 3.37.11 18, 67 3.42.4 18 3.43.1-2 18 3.43.5 18 3.43.8 18 3.43.9-10 18 3.43.12 58 3.49.2 18, 57

Primary source index | 241

3.50.2 18 3.50.5 18 3.50.9 18 3.51.1 18 3.51.3 18 3.52.2-4 18 3.52.3 18 3.52.7 18 3.56.3 67 3.58.8 18 3.60.10 18 3.70.4 57, 59 3.71.4 69 3.78.1 62 3.78.2 57, 59 3.78.5 57, 58 3.79.4-7 60 3.91.4 67 3.98.3-4 21 4.60.6 66 5.33.5-6 18 3.53.6 18 4.1.4 66 4.1.5 70 4.17.7 66 4.20.1 68 4.21 52 4.21.1-2 59 4.21.3-4 59 4.29.1-2 18 4.32.3 67 4.33.6 70 4.35.11 70 4.35.13 70 4.38.5 69 4.41.9 69 4.44.11-4.45.10 4.46.4 70 4.72.6 68 4.73.2 68 4.76.1 67 4.81.1 70 5.1.1 67 5.4.7 70 5.35.10 64 5.40.1 70 5.44.4 67

21

5.44.8 67 5.53.9 69 5.58.3 70 5.61.4 70 5.64.1 69 5.68.4 70 5.71.9 69 5.86.7-9 70 5.90.5 67 5.98.1 69 5.104 19 5.104.1 18 5.106.8 69 5.107.1-3 64 5.111.2 58 5.111.7 18 6.2.3 69 6.3.5 69 6.4.6 69 6.5.5 70 6.5.8 69 6.6.4 70 6.7.6 70 6.11a.7 76 6.24.1 70 6.27.1 69 6.34.8 70 6.40.10 69 6.43.1 63 6.47.9 63 6.51-52 63 6.51.1-2 63 6.53.2 70 6.56.1 61, 62 6.56.1-5 63 6.57.2-3 69 7.9.5-9 67 7.9.16 67 7.10.2 70 7.11.5 18, 67 7.14c 67 7.15.1 69 8.2.3 69 8.4.3 69 8.9.6 18 8.12.7 67 8.14b.1 67

242 | Primary source index

8.15.1 70 8.19.9 18 9.1.2 69 9.1.4 67 9.1.5 69 9.3.3 18 9.11.1-2 62 9.11.2 61 9.25.4 61, 62 9.29.4 66 9.30.3 18 9.34.6 66 9.35.2-4 18 9.37-38 19 9.38.9 66 10.1.2 67 10.1.2-3 18 10.15.1 69 10.18.6 70 10.22.2 70 10.25.1-5 20 10.37.5 18 10.37.8-10 61 10.43.1 69 11.1a.2-3 69 11.1a.5 69 11.5 19 11.5.6-7 21 11.19.1-4 97 11.32.5 18 11.34.5-6 21 12.3.4 67 12.4b.2 20 12.4d.1 69 12.4.10 69 12.6b.4 70 12.10.3 67 12.12.7 69 12.25a.3 69 12.25b.4 69 12.25c.2 69 12.25e.5 67 12.25.5 69 12.28a.4 67 13.10.9 67 13.4.4 70 15.23.8 67

15.26.1-8 65 15.26.10-11 65 15.27.1 65 15.27.3 65 15.29.3 65 15.29.4 65, 69 15.30.4 65 15.30.9 65 15.31.7 70 15.32.4 65 15.32.11 65 15.33.5 65 15.33.10 63, 65 16.32.3 67 16.35.1 66 15.36.3 70 16.39.1 67 16.40.4 67 18.1.4 67 18.5.8-9 68 18.13.8 67 18.15.13 69 18.15.15-16 70 18.17.4 69 18.22.8 20 18.28.2 67 18.31.2 69 18.37.9 57 18.40.2 69 18.41.7 57, 58, 67 18.47.5 67 20.3.1 66 20.5.2 66 20.6.5 70 20.9.8 69 20.23.3 66 21.4.5 66 21.9.7.2 97 21.17.12 67 21.25.7 67 21.29.12 67 21.33.1 66 21.38 58 21.41.1-2 21 21.41.2-3 57 21.43.24-25 67 22.3.5 66

Primary source index | 243

22.4.14 67 22.7.1 66 22.7.9 66 22.9.4 67 23.8.3-4 18 23.9.1 66 23.10.5 18 23.12.6 70 23.13.2 18, 67 23.16.12 66 23.17.9 66 23.18.2 66 24.6.1 66 24.10.10 66 24.13.4 66 27.2.10 66 27.13.1 64 28.13.13 66 29.7.7 64 29.8.3 69 29.8.5 69 30.4.15 69 30.13.8 66 31.10.7 69 31.18.5 69 31.26.10 70 31.28.2 70 33.8.3 18 33.10.6 18 33.10.12 67 34.9.13 67 34.10.13-14 18 34.11.7 67 34.14.1-8 64 34.14.2 64, 65, 70 34.14.4 70 35.2.6 22 35.5.1 18 36.9.9-10 68 36.15.3 69 38.9.6 66 38.9.8 66 38.10.8 67 38.10.12 67 39.1.2 70 39.1.7-8 18 39.8.7 69

Ps. Aristotle, De mirabilibus auscultationibus 135 61 Quintus Cicero, Commentariolum petitionis 54 104 Rhetorica ad Herennium 4:14 109 Sallust, Bellum Catilinae 6.1-2 72 Scriptores Historiae Augustae, "Alexander Severus" 23.7 213 Seneca (the Younger), Apocolocyntosis 3.3 73 Seneca (the Younger), De Ira 2.15 80 Servius, Ad Aeneam 1.273 77 1.380 77 3.167 79 3.170 77 3.402 91 5.564 91 7.205-248 77 7.207 79 8.638 76 Silius Italicus 8.414-415 76 Solinus 2.7 91 2.28 92 Strabo 1.1.17 30 1.2.2-3 29 1.3.1 29 1.3.2 28 1.4.9 28, 29, 34

244 | Primary source index

2.1.16 31 2.1.41 29 2.3.7 28 2.5.32 29 3.2.15 31 3.3.7 31 3.4.5 28 3.4.8 28, 30 3.4.19 28 3.4.20 31 4.1.5 31 4.1.12 30 4.4.2 31 4.5.3 30 4.6.4 29 5.1.8 30 5.1.10 31 5.2.2 76, 93 5.3.1 99, 104 5.3.3 78 5.3.12 28 5.4.2 107, 110 5.4.12 99 5.24 93 6.1.2 31 6.2.2 28 6.2.3 97 6.3.2 28 7.1.4 80 7.3.7 31 7.3.8 30 7.3.9 30 7.3.18 31 7.4.3-4 31 7.5.1 28 7.7.1 28 7.7.2 32 8.1.1 28 8.6.6 28 9.2.2 29 9.2.3 28 10.3.9 28, 32 11.11.18 29 11.13.10 31 12.8.4 28 13.1.1 28 13.1.53 79

13.1.58 13.4.17 14.2.28 14.5.23 14.5.25 15.3.23 16.2.38 16.4.24 17.1.19 17.3.2

31 30 33 32 28, 32 28 28, 32 30 29, 30 28

Suetonius, Nero 16.2 204, 213 Tacitus, Annales 4.55.3 93 11.24 73 11.24.4 104 15.44 203 Tacitus, Historiae 5.2-13 86 5.3.1 81 5.4.2 86 5.5.1-2 81, 86 5.5.2 195 5.5.4 86 5.5.5 81 5.8.2 81 Thucydides 1.1.2 16 1.5.1 16 1.82.1 16 2.80.5 16 4.109.4 16 6.1.1 16 6.6.1 16 6.18.2 16 6.33.5 16 7.29 16 7.42.1 16 7.80.2 16 Valerius Maximus 5.4.ext.7 106 6.2.3 100

Primary source index | 245

Varro, De vita populi Romani fr.5 72

SIG = Sylloge inscriptionum graecarum 543 88

Varro, De lingua latina 7.29 99

Second Temple Literature

Velleius Paterculus 1.20.2 110 2.4.4 100 2.15.1 106, 111 2.15.2 99, 109 2.16.2 101, 108 2.16.4 107, 110 2.118 80 2.128 102 Vergil, Aeneid 3.94-96 93 3.167-171 93 7.205-211 93 7.240-242 93 8.505-506 93 Xenophon, Anabasis 1.1.5 17 1.2.15-16 17 1.2.18 17 1.3.5 17 1.5.16 17 1.9.28 17 2.4.14 17 3.2.4 17 3.2.8 17 3.4.33 17 4.2.12 17 5.4.16 17 5.4.26 17 5.6.3 17 5.7.6 17

Inscriptions ILS = Inscriptiones Latinae Selectae 212, I.8-24 104 212, I.10-19 73, 76

1 Enoch 6-11 123 19.1 123 1 Esdras 8:66-67 123 8:80 123 8:84 123 1 Maccabees 1.1-2 134 1.11 132 1.14 132 1.41 133 2.17 134 2.40 132 2.50 133 2.51 133 2.52-60 133 2.66-67 132 3.48 132 3.55 132 3.59 132 4.14 132 4.17 132 4.61 132 5.1-2 133 5.9-10 132 5.13 135 5.16 135 5.17 135 5.18-19 132 5.42-43 132 6.19 132 6.22 135 6.58 132 7.18-19 132 7.33 132 8.23-27 132 9.29 132 10.80-81 132 11.21 132

246 | Primary source index

11.30 132 12.35 132 13.6 132 13.17 132 13.36 132 14.4 132 14.14 132 14.28 132 14.33 132 14.35 132 14.44 132 14.46 132 15 124 15.1-2 132 16.3 132 2 Maccabees 1.3-4 135 2.18 135 4.10 136 5.6 135 6.1 135 6.6 135 7.36-38 136 11.25 136 15.30-31 135 3 Maccabees 1.6-2.23 147 2.21-26 148 3-10.8 148 3.2-7 148 4.1 148 7.3-4 148 4 Baruch 7.25-26 130 8.1-8 130 Ben Sirach/Ecclesiasticus 25.13-26 129 26.5-18 129 44-49 133 47.19-20 129 Joseph and Aseneth 4.5-12 143

4.9-10 143 5-6 143 6.3 145 6.5 145 6.7 144 7.4-6 127 8.5 143, 144 8.8-10.17 143 8.8-11 127 8.11 143 9-11 128 9.2 144 10-21 127 10.13 144 11.1 144 11.4-5 144 11.7 145 11.7-8 144 11.9 145 11.10-14 145 11.16 144 12.5 144 12.7-8 145 12.9 144 12.12 144 12.13-14 145 13.11 144 13.13 145 15.4 143, 144 16.6 144 16.16 143 18.1 145 18.11 145 19.5 144 19.11 145 20.9 145 21 128 21.4 145 21.13 144 21.21 143, 144, 145 22.1-10 145 23.13 125 Josephus, Antiquitates Judaicae 1.14 169 1.20 169 1.32 171

Primary source index | 247

1.35 171 1.75 168 1.77 171 1.96 169 1.107 39 1.120-121 173 1.122 173 1.142 182 1.165 182 1.187 168 1.191 176 1.192 167 1.193 176 1.206 176 1.211 182 1.214 174 1.220 169 1.221 174 1.234 170 1.234-235 167 1.235 176, 180 1.248 170 1.253 170 1.257 174 1.266 182 1.275 170 1.281 182 1.288 183 1.288-289 182 1.288-290 182 1.315 182 1.332 170 1.337-341 125 2.32 169 2.78 168 2.94 182 2.98 182 2.165 182 2.179 168 2.181 168 2.202-203 168 2.205 168 2.207 182 2.208 168 2.211 168 2.216 168 2.225 168

2.246 171 2.252-253 129 2.300 169 3.23 169 3.64 182 3.88 168 3.191 168 3.192 168 3.206 171 3.313 168 4.2 175 4.12 39 4.14 168 4.19 168 4.33 170 4.114 169 4.114-115 169 4.115 167 4.115-116 167 4.122 168 4.127 168 4.192 169 4.197 171 4.201 168 4.219 171 4.228 171 4.236 182 4.239 40 4.262 169 4.290 169 4.300 172 4.308 178 4.309 182 5.43 182 5.55 175 5.56 168 5.58 172 5.59 169 5.88 175, 177 5.90 169 5.93 169 5.97 167, 182 5.98 169, 181 5.102 182 5.105 182 5.100 182 5.111 182

248 | Primary source index

5.111-512 182 5.113 167 5.120 169 5.125 171 5.142 182 5.298 168 6.36 179 6.61 169 6.87 179 6.89 167 6.114 176 6.129 172 6.146 169 6.203 182 6.210 182 6.244 168 6.247 182 6.291 168 6.330-331 170 6.342 169 6.343 177 6.351 177 6.360-361 168 6.82 168 7.6 169 7.47 168 7.56 170 7.61 169 7.83 168 7.151 172 7.315 168, 170 7.330 169 7.356 176 7.380 168 7.385 170 7.391 172 8.76 168 8.120 168, 169, 178, 181 8.181 178 8.183 171 8.191 177 8.191-193 126 8.191-194 129 8.200 169 8.261 172 8.282 39 8.288 170

8.297 173 9.3 168 9.117 182 9.123 170 9.130 182 9.186 168 9.211 168 9.216 168 9.253 176 9.288 177 9.291 167, 182, 183 10.80 168 10.122 168 10.182 172 10.183 168 10.184 177 10.222 176 10.230 182 10.234 170 10.237 168 10.275-276 178 11.3 172 11.17 170 11.19 172 11.70 168 11.88 176 11.114 182 11.123 172 11.161 172 11.162 172 11.180 176 11.184 172, 173 11.185 173 11.186 177 11.198 173 11.207 168 11.209 168 11.211 168, 173, 181 11.211-213 178 11.217 173, 178 11.221 173 11.224 173 11.225 173 11.227 173 11.229 173 11.262 173 11.269 182

Primary source index | 249

11.270 172, 173 11.277 168 11.283 172 11.285 178 11.299 39 11.302 169 11.309 179 11.340-341 175 12.23 169 12.68 171 12.71 171 12.127 172 12.131 176 12.142 179 12.143 180 12.222 40 12.226 167, 182 12.229 182 12.260 182 12.261 167 12.269 172 12.296 168 12.303 167 12.330 172 12.331 176 12.357 178 12.381-382 179 12.385 179 12.403 168 12.417 180 12.419 179 12.434 172 13.1 179 13.48 180 13.65 174 13.80 182, 183 13.109 182 13.126-127 180 13.131 168 13.163 180 13.164 182 13.166 180 13.167 182 13.167-168 182 13.169 182 13.172 170 13.212 168, 169

13.243 179 13.245 178 13.255 169 13.267 170 13.297 170 13.299 179 13.310 183 13.311 170 13.319 176 13.432 179 14.9 170 14.41 180 14.43 176 14.74 177 14.78 168 14.91 180 14.114 174 14.117 179, 180 14.140 179 14.186 180 14.187 40 14.196 179 14.199 179 14.212 180 14.241 180 14.248 180 14.265 180 14.300 170 14.304 180 14.306-307 180 14.320 180 14.323 180 14.325 179 14.341 40 14.343 40 14.347 40 14.440-442 40 14.445 40 14.490-491 170 15.13 39 15.15 174 15.136 39 15.159 179 15.179 179 15.253 168 15.257 168, 169 15.266 182

250 | Primary source index

15.293 178 15.295 178 15.322 183 15.371 170 15.372 171 15.383-384 181 15.384 168 15.402 40 15.403 170 16.36 169 16.38 177 16.56 180 16.162 180 16.175-176 169 16.177 39 16.187 170 17.9 182 17.22 170 17.48 182 17.49 182 17.78 168 17.141 168 17.174 176 17.198 177 17.200 179 17.300 180 17.324 182 17.327 182 17.330 168 17.324 168 17.346 170 18.1 179 18.2 39 18.4 179 18.47 40 18.48 170 18.49 40 18.103 168 18.106 176 18.128 169 18.167 168 18.177 179 18.180 182 18.196 168 18.221 182 18.314 168 18.328 40

18.359 182 18.378 172 19.12 39 19.17 168 19.119 176 19.251 183 19.275 183 19.278 180 19.284-285 179 19.328 177 20.11 180 20.52 172 20.81 168 20.100 168 20.123 168 20.142 168 20.147 168 20.163 168 20.173 168 20.214 168, 182 20.238 179 20.243-244 179 20.251 179 20.252 168 20.266 170 Josephus, Bellum Judaicum 1.3 40 1.6 40 1.63 169 1.68 179 1.78 170 1.108 178 1.123 169 1.155 177 1.170 178 1.196 172 1.215 172 1.232 172 1.255 39 1.258 40 1.261-262 40 1.268 40 1.274 40 1.281 170 1.322 40 1.385 179

Primary source index | 251

1.432 168 1.477 168 1.513 168 1.576 168 1.648 172 2.78 170 2.80 179 2.92 175 2.113 170 2.119 168 2.160 169 2.194 180 2.197 172 2.227 172 2.273 172 2.308 168 2.361 179 2.362 172 2.368 179 2.372 177 2.379 177 2.397 172, 181 2.418 170 2.466 182 2.482 168 2.510 176 2.566 168 2.654 179 3.3 172 3.34 180 3.402 169 3.435 182 3.472 169 3.508 171 4.45 39 4.141 170 4.231 176 4.233 176 4.240 182 4.261 176 4.274 172 4.311 182 4.358 168 4.416 168 4.468 170 4.503 168 4.506 182

4.535 169 4.556 176 5.228 169 5.367 177 5.379 167 5.419 170 5.443 168, 180 5.460 169 5.532 168 5.560 40 6.17 176 6.54 168 6.107 167 6.199 39 6.271 171 6.310 169 6.442 173 7.43 171 7.43-45 171 7.66 182 7.73 170 7.78 169 7.86 40 7.94 40 7.199 168 7.204 182 7.244 177 7.268 170 7.327-329 181 7.329 168 7.349 182 7.359 169 7.375 168 7.423 180 Josephus, Contra Apionem 1.1-2 167 1.5 172 1.7.3 168 1.30 170 1.30-32 171 1.31 167 1.33 170 1.54 170 1.58 39 1.59 168 1.68 178

252 | Primary source index

1.69 167 1.71 167, 182 1.75 169 1.106 168 1.116 39 1.129 168 1.130 167 1.137 177 1.160 168 1.161 39 1.164 168 1.166 179 1.173 168 1.179 171 1.201 40 1.219 168 1.250 168, 169 1.252 168 1.265 168 1.268 182 1.272 183 1.275 168 1.278 168 1.298 168 1.314 168 1.317 168 2.8 168 2.28 168 2.29-30 169 2.31 182 2.38 169 2.138 168 2.148 41 2.197 170 2.202 168 2.210 167, 183 2.200 182 2.240 171 2.251-254 147 2.252-253 198 2.282 179 2.282-283 41 2.288 167 2.296 168 5.193 170

Josephus, Vita 1-2 170 2 179 6 170 16 168 24 172 126 168 191 170 196 171 382 168 427 168 Jubilees 20.3-6 125 20.3-8 124 20.4 124 20.8 125 21.21 124, 125 21.23 124, 125 22.14 125 22.14-22 124 22.16-22 125 22.20-22 124 25.1-3 124 27.8-10 124 30 124 30.4-6 125 30.7-17 125 34.20-21 124 35.14 124 41 128 41.2 124 Judith 3.8 140 5.5-9 139 5.10-16 140 5.17-21 140, 141 6.5 140 8.1 140 8.11-27 142 8.18 140 9.1-4 125 9.2 141 9.12 141 9.14 140 11.10 141

Primary source index | 253

11.23 141 14.5-10 141 Liber antiquitatum biblicarum (LAB) 8.7 125 9.5 128 18.13-14 128 21.1 129 30.1 129 44.7 129 45.3 129 Letter of Aristeas 128-137 146 134-138 197 139 146 144-169 146 Philo, De Abrahamo 67-80 154 98 152 136 35, 151 178-199 37 181 38 184 38 251 157 267 36 Philo, De aeternitate mundi 117 152 Philo, De agricultura 62 159 84 162 144 152 Philo, De cherubim 8-10 157 9 162 90-97 36 106 152 108 163 119-121 163 Philo, De confusione linguarum 6.190 151 115 162

Philo, De congressu eruditionis gratia 9 157 11-23 157 20 157 22 157 24 157 56 161 83-85 158 139-141 157 154-156 157 180 157 Philo, De vita contemplativa 8-9 158 48 35 Philo, De decalogo 76-80 158 153 35, 151 Philo, Quod deterius potiori insidari soleat 25 152 99 152 Philo, De ebrietate 193 151 Philo, In Flaccum 13 152 17 158, 159 29 158, 159 45-46 164 46 164 Philo, De fuga et inventione 180 158 Philo, De gigantibus 1 152 Philo, Quis rerum divinarum heres sit 8 152, 153 42 162 44 162 105 162 169 151

254 | Primary source index

277 278

152 153

Philo, Hypothetica 6.1 154 Philo, De Iosepho 30 37 42 160 56 35 134 151 Philo, Legum Allegoriae 1.4 152 1.14 152 1.16 152 2.40 162 3.22 162 3.88-89 154 3.228-242 158 Philo, Legatio ad Gaium 3-4 161 8 35, 151 10 152, 159 19 152 68 152 72 162 83 35 116 38 120 158 141 151 158 88 162 35, 159 163 158 166 159 183 162 200 162 205 158 211 162, 164 215 38 281-283 164 Philo, De migratione Abrahami 1 152 20 153 53-60 161

68 152 69 152 143-144 158 154-155 155 224 125 Philo, De vita Mosis 1.5 153 1.7 153 1.23-24 158 1.87 160 1.88 152 1.123 152 1.147 155, 160 1.148-149 153 1.149 162 1.237-343 154 1.278-279 161 1.296-298 159 1.324 160 2.12 36, 151 2.18-20 37 2.27 35, 37, 151 2.43-44 162 2.44 164 2.161-162 158 2.169-171 156 2.193-194 158 2.270 158 Philo, De mutatione nominum 16 158 88 152 117 153 118 158 193-195 125 197 162 199-200 125 255 157 Philo, De opificio mundi 16 152 79 152 128 36, 151 Philo, De plantatione 14 152

Primary source index | 255

67 35 143 162 Philo, De posteritate Caini 2 158 91-92 161 109 152, 162 177 158 Philo, De praemiis et poenis 7 152 8 152 57 152 58 154 123 161 139 162 152 163 165 35, 151, 164 Philo, Quod omnis probus liber sit 73-76 36, 38 75 159 93 162 93-97 159 94 38 94-96 35 98 35 137 152 138 151 Philo, De providentia 2.15 151 2.68 35 Philo, Quaestiones et solutiones in Genesin 2.58 162 2.65 161 3.19 157 3.42 153 Philo, De sacrificiis Abelis et Caini 4 153 90 158 134-135 154

Philo, De Sobrietate 3 162 8-9 157 65-66 153 Philo, De somniis 1.159 153 1.160 164 1.161 162 1.167 153 1.240 157 2.56 159 2.273 163 160-161 154 166-172 153 Philo, De specialibus legibus 1.2 158, 195 1.7 152 1.29 147 1.51-53 163 1.56 162 1.78-79 152 1.79 158 1.124 162 1.211 35, 151 1.308-309 163 1.312-313 159 1.317 156 1.340 162 2.35 152 2.44 151 2.73 155 2.118-119 164 2.123 162 2.165-166 37, 151 2.166 147 2.167 162 2.189-190 162 2.217 152 3.9 162 3.17 38 3.29 115, 126, 159 3.163 38 4.12 35 4.16 162 4.70 162

256 | Primary source index

4.157-158 155 4.159 155 4.176-178 163 4.179-181 160, 162 Philo, De Virtutibus 21 128 34 159 79 156 89 162 102-108 163 147 162 160 162 179 164 182 164 195-196 155 206-207 152 212 152, 153 212-219 154 218 154 219 163, 164 220-222 163 222 162 223-225 155, 160 Sibylline Oracles 3.29-38 147 3.547-557 147 3.573-590 147 Testament of Job 45.1-3 125 Testament of Judah 10 124 10.1 128 11.1-2 124 14.6 124 Testament of Levi 5-7 125 9.10 125 14.6 125 Tobit 1.3-5 137 1.9 126

4.12 126 4.12-13 137, 138 5.5-6 138 5.10-15 138 6.7 138 6.11 138 6.11-12 126 6.13-14 138 6.16 137 6.19 137 7.1-2 138 7.10 138 8.5 138 13.5 138 13.11 139 14.4-5 138 14.6 139 Wisdom of Solomon 13.10-19 198 13.10-14:30 146 15.14-17 146

Early Christian Authors Aristides, Apologia 2.1 208 2.3 (Syriac) 208 3-12 208 3-17 (Syriac) 209 Augustine, De civitate Dei 4.31 86 6.11 81, 86 Augustine, De consensu evangelistarum 1.30 86 Clement of Alexandria, Stromata 6.39.4 206 6.41.1-2 206 6.41.4 206 6.41.6 207 6.41.7 207 6.42.2 207 6.106.4-107.1 207

Primary source index | 257

Epistle to Diognetus 1 204 5.1 205 5.2-4 205 5.5-16 206 5.9 206 5.17 206 Eusebius, Praeparatio evangelica 9.22.1-11 125 9.22.6 125 Jerome, De viris illustribus 58.8 100 Justin, Dialogus cum Tryphone 119.2-4 210 119.4-5 211 120.2 210, 211 121.3 210 123.6-9 211 130.3 210, 211 134.6 211

135.3 210, 211 135.6 210 138.2 210 138.2-3 211 Martyrdom of Polycarp 3.2 210 14.1 210 17.1 210 Tertullian, Ad nationes 1.8.1 212 1.8.2-13 212 1.8.11 213 1.20.4 213 Tertullian, Scorpiace 10.10 212 Tripartite Tractate 109-112 209 118-119 209 132-133 210

258 | General Index

General Index Aaron 116, 160, 170 Aborigines 72, 73, 77, 78, 89 Abraham 5, 37, 113, 115, 116, 124-126, 133-135, 137, 138, 145, 152-154, 156, 157, 163, 165-167, 170, 172, 174-176, 180, 182, 184, 186, 191-193, 196, 197, 201, 208, 211, 217 Achaeans 22, 56, 66, 68, 74, 89 Achior 139, 140-142 Aeneas 5, 72-74, 76, 77, 79, 90, 93 Aetolian League 66 Aetolians 56, 62, n. 46, 66, 68 Alexander the Great 30, 33-35, 175 Alexandria/Alexandrians 35, 56, 63-65, 84, 88, 96, 147, 148, 150, 158, 159, n. 62, 180, n. 100 alien/foreigner: − Romans as, 20 − and barbaroi, 16, 22, 24, 29 − in Strabo, 34 − in Polybius, 65, 71 − as forefathers of Greeks, 74 − as forefathers of Romans, 77 − Roman attitudes toward, 79, 81, 85, 89, 103, 218 − Italians as, 99 − Jewish attitudes toward, 113, 114, 115, 117, 119, 125. 126, 127, 129, 130, 137, 138, 143, 145 − in Philo, 155, 159, 162, 163, 173, 177 − and Christians, 205, 206 Ammonites 115, 120, n. 41, 121, 123, 158, n. 54, 176, 177 Amorites 113, 114, 129, 158, n. 54, 159 Anatolia/Asia Minor 8, 18, 21, 30, 32, 57, 58, 93, 202 Antiochus III 21, 64 Antiochus IV Epiphanes 132, 134-136, 178 Antiochus V 136 Antiochus Sidetes 179 Arcadia/Arcadians 55, 59, n. 23, 66-68, 73, 74, 78, 79, 89, 91-93 arete 48, 175 Aristides 207-209 Aristotle 7, 11, 12, 52, n. 47, 62, 63, 171 https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110685657-016

Armenia 27, 74 Asia/Asians 14, n. 9, 15, 36, 45, 51-52, n. 47, 54, 58, 87, n. 89, 164 Assyria/Assyrians 44, 141, 176 Athens/Athenians 15, 23, 25, 36, 44, 49, 74 autochthony 46, 47, 49, 50, 55, 73, 74, 216 Babylon/Babylonians 14, 26, 28, n. 76, 40, 120, 129, 130, 154, 171, 173, 174, 176 barbarians/barbarity: − as non-Greeks, 7, 11, 13, 16, 18, 22-23, 27-28, 33-35, 39, 40, 151, 165, 215 − as Hellenic construct, 11 − and Greek culture, 11, 27, 41 − brutal and cruel behavior ascribed to, 11, 18, 20,23, 24, 25, 28, 30, 38, 47, 57, 63-65, 80, 215 − Aristotle on, 11-12 − Herodotus on, 13-16 − Thucydides and Xenophon on, 16-17 − labeled in particular, rather than in general, 17, 20-22, 24, 25, 28, 29, 39 − Polybius on, 18-22 − Romans as, 19-20 − Diodorus on, 23-27 − praise accorded to, 25, 26, 30, 31, 3536, 38, 58, 62-63, 64, 158 − crossing cultural boundaries, 27, 30-32 − Strabo on, 27-35 − Jews as, 35-37, 40-41, 151, 165 − Philo on, 35-38, 165 − Josephus on, 38-41 Budini 46, 47, 49, n. 29, 50 Campania/Campanians 31, 96, 97, 100, 101, 108 Canaan/Canaanites 113, 114, 116, 120, 124, 128, n. 88, 139, 140, 143, 158, n. 54, 159, 169, 175, 177, 182, n. 113 Carthage/Carthaginians 18-20, 21, n. 43, 24, 25, 28, 59-63, 68, 69, 71, 80, 83, 87, n. 89, 96, 97, 216

General Index | 259

Cato the Elder 75-80, 82, 83, 87, 91-93, 102 Chaldea/Chaldeans 26, 37, 139, 153, 154, 158, 164, 170, n. 32, 182, 208 Christians/Christianity 9, 187, n. 11, 201204, 205, n. 18, 206-214, 218 citizenship: − Roman for ex-slaves, 8, 87, 88, 218 − for Latins, 96 − for Campanians, 97-98 − extension throughout Italy, 101, 104 − and municipia, 102 − as issue in Social War, 106, 108-111 − as politeia, 205 civitas/civitates 95, 97, 102, 108 Claudius 73, 76, 104, 179 Clearchus of Soli 171 conversion/proselytes: − Roman hostility to, 86 − not done by Ruth, 119 − by many nations, 138-139 − by Achior, 141-142 − not done by Aseneth, 144 − and Abraham, 154 − and Tamar, 163 − for Philo, 164, 165, 217 − for Paul, 190, 199 − Christian, 202, 207 Corinthians 190, 191, 193 Croesus 44, 45, 51 customs/traditions/practices as identity markers: − general, 4, 6, 43, 55, 187, 216-218 − among Jews, 9, 41, 81, 85-87, 122, 126, 136, 160, 161, 167, 169, 178, 179, 190 − distinguishing Greeks from barbarians, 11, 14, 20, 29, 31, 56 − shared among peoples, 31-32, 46, 72 − as characterizing Greekness, 42, 64 − among Egyptians, 45, 50-51, 82, 84-85, 158 − as differentiating peoples, 47, 89, 93, 159 − overlapping among peoples, 53-54 − among Arcadians, 67 − among Christians, 203, 205, 207 Cyrus the Great 45, 51

Dardanus 73, 76, 79, 93 David 5, 116, 119, 130, 133, 137, 170, 211 Dinah 117-118, 119, n. 33, 124, 125, 140 Diodorus Siculus 23-27 Dionysius of Hallicarnassus 72, 73, 78, 88, 93, 104 disparagement: − by Romans of non-Romans, 8, 79-83 − of barbarians, 11, 14, 17, 28 − of Gauls by Polybius, 57-58 − of Phoenicians by Polybius, 61, 62 − of ex-slaves and foreigners by Scipio, 103 − of Canaanites by Jubilees, 124 − of Egyptians by Philo, 159 − of Jewish rebels by Josephus, 180 − of Israelites by Justin, 211 Egypt 14, n. 9, 27, 30, 44, 50, 51, 63, 64, n. 54, 65, 84, 85, 120, 124, 134, 140, 142, 145, 155, 157, 158, 160, 162, 163, 167, 168, 171, 174, 176, 177 Egyptians 8, 14, 15, 28, n. 76, 30, 36, 45, 49, 52, 54, 63-65, 71, 80, 82, 84-87, 89, 114, 120, 127-128, 157-159, 160, n. 67, 168, 169, 197, 208, 212, 216 endogamy 9, 113, 122, 126, 127, 137, 138, 217 environmental determinism 51, 55, 216 Epistle of Diognetus 204-206 Esau 113, 116, 170, 175, 182, n. 113 Esther 119, 142, 173, 178 Ethiopia/Ethiopians 49, 50, 53, 54, 168 ethnography 7, 14, 23, 27, 31, 45, 53, 55, 216 ethnos/ethne: − in Polybius, 8, 66-68, 69, 71 − general, 9, 214 − in Philo, 9, 152, 153, 155, 156, 160, 161, 162, 163, 165, 217 − in Josephus, 9, 166, 172-180, 181, 183, 216 − in Paul, 9, 185, 186-188, 190, 191, 194, 195 − in Herodotus, 15, 47 − as gentiles, 40, 185, 186, 187, 188, 190191, 194, 195

260 | General Index

− of the Lydians, 45 − of the Budini, 46 − of the Man-eaters, 47 − Attic, 52 − in 1 Maccabees, 132 − in 2 Maccabees, 135, 136 − in Tobit, 137 − in Judith, 140 − Christians as, 202, 210, 211 − in 1 Peter, 202 − in Aristides, 208 − in Justin, 210, 211 Etruria 76, 92, 93, 100 Etruscans/Tyrrhenians 8, 30, n. 89, 73, 76, 89, 93, 100, 101, 104, 108 Europe/Europeans 15, 36, 51-52, n. 47, 69, 164 Evander 77, 78, 91, 92 Ezra-Nehemiah 120-123, 125, 129, 130, 217 Gaius Caligula 38, 176, 179 Gauls/Celts 8, 18, 21, 24-26, 28, 30, 5660, 67, 70, 71, 80, 82-84, 87, 89, 101, 104, 176, 177, 216 genos/gene/gens/genus: − in Polybius, 8, 66, 69, 70, 71, 216 − general, 9 − in Philo, 9, 152, 153, 160, 162, 165 − in Josephus, 9, 166, 167-172, 176, 180, 181, 182, 183 − in Paul, 9, 189, 193 − in Plato, 12 − in Strabo, 32 − of the Alexandrians, 63 − Jews as, 86, 132, 133 − Italians as, 100, 102 − in 2 Maccabees, 136 − in Judith, 140 − in 1 Peter, 202 − Christians as, 202, 203, 204, 207, 208, 209, 210, 211, 212, 213, 214 − in Suetonius, 203 − in Epistle to Diognetus, 204 − in Proclamation of Peter, 207 − in Aristides, 208 − in Tripartite Tractate, 209 − in Justin, 210

− in Tertullian, 211, 212, 213 gentiles: − inclusion of, 7, 86, 188 − and Paul, 9, 185, 186, 188, 190, n. 29, 194, 195, 196, 217 − as contrast with Jews, 40, 85, 86, 122, 133, 140, 148, 177, 185, 191, 194, 195, 196, 217, 218 − and intermarriage, 113, 114, 117, 123, 125, 128 − and idolatry, 146-147 Germans/Germany 1, 39, 40, 80, 84, 87, 169, 176, 177 Greece/Hellas 8, 11, 13, 14, 19, 20, 22, 29, 36, 56, 71, 73, 78, 93, 150, 216 Greeks/Hellenes: − self-perception of, 5 − no treatise on ethnicity by, 6, 42 − contrast with barbarians, 7, 11, 12, 13, 14, n.9, 15, 16, 17, 19, 22, 26, 28, 29, 31, 33, 35, 37, 39, 40, 41, 151, 165, 205, 209, 214, n. 69, 215; − shared characteristics with barbarians, 16, 23, 27, 31, 32, 34, 36, 46-47, 53, 54 − perspective by, 11 − enslavement of, 12 − and Persians, 14, 40, n. 135, 48-49, 216 − adversaries of, 18, 65, 216 − Roman attitudes toward, 19, 20, 79-80, 82, 83 − attitudes toward Rome by, 21, n. 42, 22, 88 − conflict among, 43 − and Egyptians, 45, 64, 65 − and origins of Rome, 73-74, 77, 78 − and origins of Italian communities, 90-93 − and Jews, 146, 167, 185-188, 194-196, 197, 201, 202, 204, 206-207, 208, 212, 217 Hagar 115, 156, 157 Haman 19, 173, 178, 181 Hannibal 59, 61, 62, 67, n. 77, 99, 101 Hasmoneans 132, 134, 170, 178 Hebrews/Israelites: − and mixed marriages, 113-123, 124, 125,

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n. 63, 126, 159, 160, n. 67, 182, n. 113, 217 − and Egypt, 140, 142, 145 − as ethnos or genos, 152-154, 155, 168, 172, 173, 175, 176, 178, 179, 180, 181, 210 − as chosen people, 161, 169, 175, 202, 211, 217 − and Paul, 189, n. 24, 191-193, 194, n. 56 − and idolatry, 156, 198 − and Jesus, 209 − and the alien, 163 Herakles 5, 74, 77, 78, 90 Herod the Great 39, 170, 176-178, 181 Herodotus 7, 13-16, 40, n. 135, 41, 42-55, 84, 93, 194, n. 56, 212, 215, 216 Hittites 113-115, 120, 159 Holofernes 139-141 identity as hybrid and malleable: − general, 1, 3, 7 − between Greeks and barbarians, 27, 30, 31, 35, 41 − Herodotus on, 46-47, 49, 53-55 − between Budini and Geloni, 46-47 − Polybius on, 58, 60 − in Roman perception, 72-79, 88-91, 93, 100, 103-105, 111-112 − in Jewish perception, 138-139, 145, 155, 163-165, 184, 194, 218 identity as nation or people: − general, 3 − in Anatolia, 32, 45 − origins of, 44 − mixed character of, 46, 47, 90 − as indicated by ethnos, 66-67, 132, 136, 137, 152, 172, 176 − as indicated by genos, 69, 71, 132, 136, 168-169 − Hebrews’ assertion of, 113 − not defined by direct lineage in Philo, 153, 154, 161-162, 164 − in case of Christianity, 213 identity as political 66, 70, 107, 132, 135, 155, 169, 179-180, 183, 205 idolatry: − and mixed marriages, 115, 122, 123, 124

− denounced in Jewish texts, 125, 129, 130, 140, 146-147, 198 − in Joseph and Aseneth, 127-128, 143-145 − in Tobit, 139 − in Judith, 140 − in Philo, 159-160, 163 − in Paul, 190-191, 197, 198, 199, 217 Idumaeans 168, 169, 176, 177, 182 immigrants 49, 73, 77, 89, 163, 168, 218 imperial expansionism 60, 75, 98, 106, 109, 110, 177 India/Indians 27, 35, 45, 50, 52, 53, 159, n. 64, 171, 172, 216 innate capacity as determining ethnicity: − questioned in general, 3, 6, 87, 215-217 − rarely suggested by Polybius, 8, 22, 5960, 61-65, 68, 71 − and barbarians, 11, 15, 22, 23, 26, 35, 39, 41 − doubted by Diodorus, 23, 26 − not advocated by Strabo, 28-29, 35 − largely absent in Josephus, 39-41, 175176 − absent in Herodotus, 43-44, 45, 47-48 − subordinated by Jubilees, 125 − not suggested in 3 Maccabees, 147-148 − absent in Philo, 159 − avoided by Paul, 190, 197 − not implied by “third race”, 207 intermarriage: − Ionians and Carians, 55 − Trojans and Latins, 72, 74, 77 − Romans and Sabines, 74, 75, 94-95 − biblical figures, 114-117, 155 − Israelites and Shechemites, 118 − in stories of Ruth and Esther, 119 − denounced in Ezra-Nehemiah, 120-123 − in post-biblical texts, 124-130 − in Philo, 155, 159-160, 165 Ionians 49, 54, 55 Isaac 113, 115, n. 14, 124, 126, 134, 135, 137, 138, 145, 152, 153, 157, 176, 211 Ishmael 157, 174-176, 211 Ishmaelites 169, 174 Israel 114, 125, 129, 133, 137, 138, 140142, 147, 154, 186, n. 10, 189, n. 24, 211

262 | General Index

Italians 8, 73, 78, 90, n. 1, 91-95, 99, 101, 103, 105-112, 218 Italy 18, 38, 57, 70, 72-74, 76-79, 89, 9294, 99-105, 107, 108, 111, 164 Jacob 113, 117, 118, 124, 125, n. 63, 126128, 133, 134, 137, 138, 140, 145, 152, 153, 167, 170, 175, 182, 210, 211 Jason (legendary hero) 31, 74 Jason (High Priest) 135 Jason of Cyrene 134 Jerusalem 86, 120, 130, 134, 135, 146148, 164, 166, 178 Jesus Christ 5, 185, 191, 196, 201, 202, 208, 209 Jews/Judeans/Ioudaioi: − no treatise on ethnicity by, 6 − self-perception of, 8, 9 − as compared with Greeks and barbarians, 36-38, 40-41, 151, 165, 209, 217 − in Alexandria, 65, 147-148, 158, 159 − Roman attitudes toward, 80, 81 − and intermarriage in post-biblical texts, 115, 123-130, 137-139, 155, 159-160, 177 − in diaspora, 119, 136-139, 164, 171, 173174, 178 − and Greek culture, 131, 149, 150 − and ethnicity in post-biblical texts, 132149 − in 1 and 2 Maccabees, 132-136 − in Tobit, 136-139 − in Judith, 139-142 − in Joseph and Aseneth, 142-145 − and idolatry, 143-145, 146-147, 190-191, 197-198, 199 − in 3 Maccabees, 147-148 − and ethnicity in Philo, 150-157, 160-165; − and ethnic vocabulary in Josephus, 166184 − and non-Jews in Paul, 185-188, 190, 193195, 196, 201, 202 − and ethnic vocabulary in Paul, 188-193 − and circumcision, 54, 81, 187, 188, 189, n. 24, 190, 194-197 − as compared with Christians, 204, 205, 206, 207, 208, 210, 211, 212, 213, 218

Joseph and Aseneth 9, 127, 128, 142-145, 217 Josephus 7, 9, 35, 38-41, 126, 129, 147, 166-184, 197, 198, 216, 217 Joshua 114, 128, 133, 180, 182 Jubilees 134-125 Judah, land of 115, 120, 121, 123 Judah, son of Jacob 116, 119, 124, n. 62, 128, 210 Judah Maccabee 132-134 Judea 39, 132, 134, 171, 203 Judith 9, 139-142, 217 Justin Martyr 210-211 language as identity marker: − general, 1, 6 − for Herodotus, 15, 42, 45, 46, 47, 52, 55, 216 − separating Greeks and barbarians, 16, 18, 26, 33, 151 − distinguishing Greeks from Romans, 18, 20, 22, 26 − shifting between barbarians and Greeks or Romans, 27, 30, 35 − of Hebrews, 37 − distinguishing Etruscans, 93 laos 132, 133, 134, 138, 202, 207, 210 Latins 72-74, 89, 95, 96, 100, 101, 104, 107, 110, n. 106 Latium 77, 95, 96 Levi/Levites 79, 115, n. 14, 117, 118, 120, 125, 126, n. 73, 144, 156, 163 Liber Antiquitatum Biblicarum 128-129 Libya/Libyans 49, 60, 64, 67 lineage and genealogy as identity marker: − general, 1-2, 4, 5, 6, 131, 216-218 − in Herodotus, 42, 44, 55 − rare in Polybius, 66, 70, 216 − Rome as mixed lineage, 73, 76, 79, 90, 94 − Italian, 95-101, 105, 107, 110-112; − of Ruth, 119 − mocked in Tobit, 126-127, 136-138 − suggested in 1 and 2 Maccabees, 133135 − of Judith, 140-141 − irrelevant for Joseph and Aseneth, 145

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− for Jews, 149 − in Philo, 152-156, 160-162, 165 − in Josephus, 166-168, 171, 172, 175, 183184 − in Paul, 187, 188-190, 191-194, 199 − in Aristides, 208, 209 − in Justin, 211 Lydia/Lydians 14, 30, n. 87, 44, 45, 51, 54, 92, 93 Maccabees, Books of 9, 126, 132-136, 147, 148, 217 Macedon/Macedonians 18, 44, 45, 65, 67, 89, 198 Mamertini 18, 96-98 Marsi/Marsians 92, 101, 104 Mediterranean 17, 19, 23, 28, 29, 43, 90, 97, 164, 171, 173, 216 Mercenaries 18, 20, 25, 59, 60, 63, 64, 65, 69, 96, 99 Mesopotamia/Mesopotamians 124, 128, n. 88, 139, 160, n. 67 Moab/Moabites 114, 115, 117, 119-121, 128, 161, 176 mockery/irony/parody: − by Polybius, 18 − by Herodotus, 45, 55 − of Jews, 81, 85-87 − by Tacitus, 84 − of Egyptians, 84-85 − by Juvenal, 89 − by Tobit, 127, 138-139 − by 3 Maccabees, 147-148 − by Tertullian, 211-213 Moses 5, 37, 114, 116, 126, 129, 130, 146, 151, 153, 155, 156, 158, 160, 162, 178, 181, 211 municipia 102, 108 mythic origins as identity marker: − legendary ancestors, 5, 44, 46, 72, 74, 78, 90-91, 104, 208 − of Romans, 8, 72-78 − of Italian communities, 91-93, 111 − of Jews, 131, 139-140, 149, 208 − of Greeks, 208 − of Christians, 208-209

Noah 126, 137, 138, 153, 167, 173, 211 nomads 21, 45, 46, 47 North Africa/Africans 49, 62, n. 47, 70, 80, 164 paideia/Greek education 20, 26, 34, 35, 38, 82, 150, 156, 157, 158 Palestine 54, 172, 173, 176 Parthia/Parthians 39, 40, 159, n. 64, 168, 170, 174, 177 Paul 9, 185-202, 209, 217 Pausanias (the King) 14, 48, 49, 51, 57 Pelasgians 49, 73, 89 Persia/Persians/Iran 13-17, 25, 36, 38, 40, n. 135, 42, 43, 44, n. 8, 48, 49, 51-55, 74, 76, 119-121, 123, 164, 170, 173, 177, 182, n. 113, 216 Perseus 44, 74 Peter 190, 195 1 Peter 202, 204 Proclamation of Peter 206, 207, 213 Philip V of Macedon 67, n. 77, 68, 87 Philo 7, 9, 35-38, 39, 41, 115, 126, 150165, 215, 216, 217 Phoenicians 14, 28, 49, 54, 60-62, 80, 83, 87, 115, 123 Polybius 8, 17-22, 56-71, 76, 78, 83, 96, 97, 98, 101, 216 Pontius Pilate 203 Ptolemy IV 63-65, 147, 148 Punic Wars 18, 20, 60, 61, 62, n. 47, 63, 97, 99 Racism/prejudice/bias (question of) 1, 2, 4, 13, 25, 41, 79, 81, 82, 87, 113 Rebecca/Rebekah 113, 124, 153, 174, 175 res publica 102, 105 rhetorical context as shaping evidence 20, 25, 39, 42-43, 55, 61, 68, 81-85, 89, 175-176, 181 Rome/Romans: − no treatise on ethnicity by, 6 − self-perception of, 8, 89 − origins of, 8, 72-73, 74, 77-79, 90, 92, 104, 111 − dominates Mediterranean, 17, 69

264 | General Index

− and Carthage, 18, 20, 21, 60, 61, 62-63, 97, 216 − and barbarians, 19-20, 24, n. 52, 30 − and Greek culture, 20, 103 − and Spaniards, 21, 28 − and Achaea, 22 − and Josephus, 38, 39, 40, 166, 169, 175176, 180 − and Gauls, 30, 56-58, 59, 60, 216 − and Campanians, 31, 97 − conglomerate character of, 73-79, 89, 103-105, 218 − and Sabines, 75-76, 94-95, 98, 99 − attitudes toward non-Romans, 79-87 − and citizenship, 87-89, 97 − and Italy, 90, n. 1, 93, 94, 99, 100, 101, 102, 103, 105, 111, 112 − and Latins, 95-96 − and Samnites, 98, 106 − and Social War, 99-100, 105-111 − and Christians, 202-204, 212, 213 Sabines 8, 72-76, 91, 94, 95, 98-101, 104, 107 Samnium/Samnites 67, 97, n. 42, 98, 99, 101, 104, 106, 108 Sarah 115, 116, 152, 156, 157, 167 Scipio Aemilianus 56, 83, 100, 101, 103 Scythians 14, 28, 30, 31, 36, 46, 47, 50, n. 31, 54, 74, 159, n. 64, 177, 216 Shechem/Shechemites 116-118, 124-125, n. 63 Sicily 24, 27, 28, 96, 97 slaves/slavery: − and Roman citizenship, 8, 87-88, 89, 100, 103, 218 − and barbarians, 11-12 − trade in, 15, 88 − Spartacus as, 26 − Servius Tullius as descendent of, 73 − Syrians and Jews labeled as, 80 − Rome as asylum for, 104 − Egyptian, 117 − Joseph as, 143 − in Philo’s allegory, 153 − in Paul’s binary, 185, 201, 202, 209-210 Social War 8, 99, 101, 105-111, 218

Solomon 114, 115, 117, 122, n. 51, 123, 129, 177, 181 Spain/Spaniards/Iberia/Iberians 18, 2122, 28, 30, 31, 80, 89, 99, 100, 104 Sparta/Spartans 14, 16, n. 17, 24, 28, n. 76, 36, 42, 43, 48, 51, 54, 64, 75, 76, 168, 182 Strabo 7, 13, 27-35, 41, 80, 110, 174, 214, n. 69 superstitio 81, 85, 203, 204, 213 syngeneia 96, 98, 100, 111, 135, 155, 156, 163, 181, 182, 183 Syria/Syrians 36, 54, 70, 80, 86, 87, 89, 128, n. 88, 132, 163, 168, 171, 176, 177 territory as identity marker 11, 59, 70, 101, 164, 168, 177-178, 183 Tertullian 212-213 Thebans 28, n. 76, 29 Thrace/Thracians 16, n. 20, 21, n. 42, 24, 26, 47, 48, 177 Thucydides 16 Titus Tatius 75, 95, 104 Tobias 126, 137 Tobit 9, 126, 127, 136-139, 142 Tripartate Tractate 209, 210 Trojan War 44, 45, n. 11, 73, 74, 92, 93 Troy/Trojans 12, 72, 73, 74, 76-78, 89, 93 values/character as identity marker: − general, 6, 218 − for Eratosthenes, 33-34 − for Strabo, 35 − for Roman writers, 81-82, 83, 84, 86 − for 1 Maccabees, 132-133 − for Judith, 139, 141 − for Joseph and Aseneth, 145 − for Philo, 153, 155, 156, 160, 162, 163, 165 − for Josephus, 169, 179 − for Paul, 188, 191, 192, 196-197, 198, 199, 217 − of Christians, 205, 211 worship/ritual/cult as identity markers: − for Jews, 9, 115, 122, 124, 127, 129, 130, 131, 135, 136, 140, 145-149, 216-218

General Index | 265

− for Christians, 10, 205, 206, 207, 208, 209, 212, 213 − shared by Greeks and barbarians, 32, 46 − in Herodotus, 43, 45, 46 − for Egyptians, 80-81, 82, 158 − for Jews in Philo, 151, 154, 156, 158, 159, 160

− for Jews in Josephus, 178, 179, 183 − for Jews in Paul, 187-188, 190-191, 195, 198, 200 xenophobia/misanthropy 30, 81, 86, 87, 148 Xenophon 16, 17 Xerxes 15, 44, n. 8, 48