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Literacies and Status

Then Peter, filled with the Holy Spirit, said to them: “Rulers and elders of the people. . . . Salvation is found in no one else [but Jesus], for there is no other name given under heaven by which we must be saved.” When they saw the courage of Peter and John and realized that they were unschooled, ordinary men, they were astonished and they took note that these men had been with Jesus.

Acts 4:8, 12–13

Schooling the Elite

Unschooled and ordinary men, like the apostles Peter and John, were everywhere in the ancient world. Generally speaking, education in things like rhetoric and philosophy was the privilege of well-placed males in the Roman population (as depicted in figure 12.1; on the education of women, see below). To become influential later in life, a young Roman male was expected to apply himself to the acquisition of rhetorical skills—skills of presentation in order to persuade others and play an active role in public life. For acquiring these skills, a boy needed to learn from either a tutor or a teacher. A householder might purchase a tutor as a slave for training members of the household. A teacher would operate a school, with students being sent to him for daily instruction. The expectation was that boys would grow up to be leaders in the civic arena, winning the approval of others through various mechanisms, including rhetorical ability and an educated mind. Meanwhile, they were also to know the literary classics—Homer’s Odyssey and Iliad, for instance, and especially the recently published epic by Virgil, the Aeneid, which was equivalent to a first-century “bestseller.” Effective rhetorical skill and an intricate knowledge of classical literature were a powerful combination that helped to ensure a young man’s ascendancy in the civic arena, modeling what the elite generally saw as the ideal citizen. These skills also enhanced what the Romans called otium—the pleasant balancing of refreshment, recreation, and learning. Otium was a luxury that only the elite could enjoy, since it required one to be free from the everyday demands that pressed down on the majority of the population.

Figure 12.1. Drawings of two Vesuvian frescos depicting elite men studying scrolls (see credits)

This setting of elite opulence and learning is on display in one of the most tremendous discoveries among the Vesuvian realia: Herculaneum’s luxurious Villa of the Papyri, with its extensive library. Within that magnificent seaside residence, archaeologists have found approximately eighteen hundred papyrus scrolls containing philosophical treatises in Greek and Latin. Most of these scrolls are highly charred and, at present, remain largely unreadable (see figure 12.2). But from close investigations it seems that the library contained many of the works of Philodemus—an Epicurean philosopher, poet, and rhetorician of some significance in the first century BCE. This villa, then, exemplifies the intersection of wealth and education that were prized by the elite of the Roman world.

Figure 12.2. Left: scrolls of papyrus from the impressive collection of philosophical treatises in the library of Herculaneum’s Villa of the Papyri; right: a Greek papyrus scroll unrolled, from the same collection

Permutations of Literacy

Education did not go on simply in the houses of the opulent, however, and literacy was not exclusive to those at the upper echelons of the socio-economic scale. There were many permutations within the spectrum of education—with tutors, teachers, and their students having a variety of profiles in terms of their educational abilities. We see some of this rich variety in the Vesuvian towns themselves. A good number of people in those towns were literate in some fashion, although there were often wide divergences in their literacy competencies, depending on their education and status.

Figure 12.3. Two drawings of frescos in the country club of Julia Felix (2.4); left: this is traditionally interpreted as depicting a schoolboy being whipped by his tutor while held by two others students, as three other students continue their learning (this interpretation has been disputed, since the person being whipped could be an unschooled slave being punished for some reason; MANN 9066); right: several Pompeian residents read an official pronouncement displayed for public consideration (MANN 9068) (see credits).

Several frescos in the “country club” owned by Julia Felix (covering the whole block of 2.4) depict snapshots of moments in the everyday lives of ordinary Pompeii residents (rather than the mythological scenes normally depicted in Pompeian art). Two of those frescos have implications for our understanding of ancient literacy (both depicted in figure 12.3). In one fresco, several youths are hard at work in their studies, although (in a common interpretation) one of them has not met the standards expected of him by his tutor, so he is being held and whipped for his lack of diligence. (We hear of this practice in literary sources too—not least from the Roman poet Horace, who referred to his teacher as “the flogger”; Epistles 2.1.70.) Another fresco depicts several Pompeian residents reading a lengthy official pronouncement that had been laid out for public display in the main forum.

A certain level of literacy was beneficial if one was to function effectively in business. A corpus of legal documents belonging to a leading Pompeian auctioneer and banker, Lucius Caecilius Jucundus, recorded the business dealings of many ordinary residents—especially the sale of properties among the Pompeians. Most of these wax tablets are signed by various witnesses who added their own marks of identification to the contracts, evidently in sequence according to their status on the social hierarchy (precisely the sort of thing we saw in chapter 2 regarding status hierarchies). And a certain level of literacy is also assumed in the floor mosaics at entryways to houses, where greetings of various kinds are on display—for example, “beware of the dog” (cave canem, at 6.8.5) and “welcome” (have, at 6.12.2).

Women, Literacy, and Household Management

While we would normally expect educational opportunities to be made available to boys and men, several pieces of evidence demonstrate that women also benefited from educational opportunities, at least on occasion. One collection of documents mentions a woman, Calatoria, who had a tutor by the name Telesphorus, evidently one of her household slaves. Calatoria was the matriarch of a fairly impressive household in Herculaneum (although there is some evidence that its grandest days were in the past, years before the eruption). One of Telesphorus’s duties was to give Calatoria educational training of some kind. Some slaves were educated precisely for this purpose—as a kind of live-in teacher. So here we see a household slave tutoring the matriarch of the household. (We already saw a literate slave in chapter 1, where Methe expressed her love for Chrestus in a graffito.)

Several frescos from Pompeii also demonstrate that some women had a certain level of literacy, which augmented their function as the matriarch of their household. Two frescos capture this aspect of female literacy especially well. Both depict women with a notebook tablet in one hand and a writing stylus in the other, with the stylus raised to the lips in a pose of contemplation. The notebook tablet would have contained a matriarch’s list of things to be done within the household—the “to-do list” necessary to run a household efficiently. In one fresco (see figure 12.4, right side), a woman contemplates what she has written (or is soon to write) in her notebook tablet; since it is a large notebook, it seems she is the matron of a significant household. (And on the wall next to her fresco was another one depicting a man holding a scroll [MANN 9085]—perhaps her husband or son.) In another fresco (see figure 12.4, left side), a very young woman (perhaps in her early teens and newly married) contemplates the needs of the household with her (small) notebook tablet open, while another woman behind her looks on; perhaps the onlooker is the matriarch’s slave seeing her duties for the day. (For a third example of this motif, see figure 16.8.)

Figure 12.4. Left: A woman contemplates what to include on her list of household duties, while another (her slave?) looks on (MANN 9074, sometimes wrongly said to depict the writing of a love letter); right: a woman contemplates her notebook (MANN 9084, sometimes wrongly said to be the Greek poetess Sappho).

There is no pretense here that these women have expertise in the great literature of the classical world. The literacy level of these women does not need to rise above the level of making notes and lists about what needs to be done that day for the efficient operation of the households in which they are matriarchs. In this way, the frescos serve to enhance their reputations as capable overseers of their households, but they do not necessarily suggest levels of literacy beyond a household functionality. These women are not enjoying the classics of Greco-Roman literature contained in scrolls, for instance. Instead, they are depicted as efficient managers of their households.

Figure 12.5. A drawing of a fresco linking literacy with status and upward mobility (see credits)

One Vesuvian fresco (see figure 12.5) clearly links social upward mobility to these various forms of literacy (often allocated along lines of male and female functionality; see also figures 16.8 and 16.9). The five components of the fresco are as follows (from left to right):

• A woman’s notebook tablet, necessary for the efficient running of the household
• Loose coins needed for the everyday running of the household
• A business contract, demonstrating the entrepreneurial ambitions within the household (usually represented by the householder, the male patriarch of the family)
• A bin containing the household scrolls, showing the learning that went on within the household (usually referencing the householder and his legitimate male offspring)
• A sizeable sack containing (what must certainly be) the household’s nest-egg of valuable coins

This fresco captures the link between the upward prospects of the household and literacy (the literacy both of household efficiency and of educated learning). It is how a thriving household of middling socio-economic status sought to present itself.

Figure 12.6. A drawing of a Vesuvian fresco depicting an elite woman reading from a scroll (see credits)

Occasionally, however, a Vesuvian fresco suggests higher levels of literacy for certain women. One fresco shows a woman whose level of literacy is quite high (see figure 12.6). She holds a scroll, rather than a notebook tablet. Living in a setting of obvious opulence, she is an elite woman whose station in life affords her the time and luxury to immerse herself in the enjoyments of high literature. Being among the lucky few at the upper levels of the socio-economic strata, this high-status woman has the opportunity to develop her mind to match the level of her first-class surroundings. Here, the luxuries of otium have spread even to the female members of this elite household, with the obvious enhancements in status going hand in hand with higher forms of literacy.

The Literacy of Graffiti

Since literacy came in a variety of forms, it is not surprising that many simple townspeople expressed themselves in relatively basic terms on Vesuvian walls. Of the more than eleven thousand artifacts written on the walls of the Vesuvian towns, the vast majority are simple graffiti. The external walls of houses, commercial properties, and public spaces seem to have been thought of as shared space to be used by the populace in general, fostering discourse of all kinds within the public arena. Included in that discourse were dipinti—notices painted in red over white on external walls, announcing forthcoming gladiatorial games or support for political candidates (as in chapter 10). These were painted by sign writers who sometimes put themselves in the picture, as in this case: “Aemilius Celer wrote this on his own by the light of the moon” (CIL 4.3884). Or this: “Unico writes, without the rest of the team” (CIL 4.222). Or this: “Onesimus was the whitewasher” (CIL 4.222). One painter excoriated his partner: “Lantern carrier, hold the ladder” (CIL 4.7621).

Most of Pompeii’s graffiti were not so professionally produced. These were either etched into plaster with a hard object or written with simple charcoal. These graffiti (some of which we canvassed in chapter 1 and elsewhere in this book) were not restricted to external walls but were sometimes written on internal walls as well, in properties covering the whole of the socio-economic spectrum. These inscriptions often captured key moments of life: “January 23rd, Ursa gave birth on a Thursday” (CIL 4.8820). Some recorded mundane moments: “It took 640 paces to walk back and forth between here and there ten times” (CIL 4.1714); or “On April 19 I made bread” (CIL 4.8792). Devoid of any puritanical sentiment, their inscribers often stated things bluntly: “I screwed many girls here” (CIL 4.2175); “If anyone wants a screw, he should look for Attice—she costs four sesterces” (CIL 4.1751). Slightly less explicit is a graffito evidently inscribed by someone relatively well placed within the empire: “Apollinaris, the doctor of emperor Titus, defecated well here” (CIL 4.10619). Since Titus had been emperor for only a few months before Vesuvius erupted, this graffito must have been one of the last inscribed in the Vesuvian towns (in this case, in Herculaneum’s House of the Gem).

Sometimes inscriptions simply stated that their inscriber “was here” or advertised premises for rent or noted that the inscriber made “a vow to the household deities” in that place or offered “good wishes and good health” to members of the imperial family. Sometimes they allowed students to practice writing the alphabet; other times they contained complex palindromes in alluring word-squares.

Sometimes they teased. “Epaphra, you are bald!” (CIL 4.1816). On the wall of a residential latrine we read the chiding of a slave named Martha: “This is Martha’s dining room; she defecates in [her] dining room” (CIL 4.5244, in 9.8.6). Sometimes they are touching. “Pyrrhus to his colleague Chius: I am in sorrow because I hear that you have died; and so, farewell” (CIL 4.1852, from Pompeii’s basilica). Sometimes they offer words of wisdom: “A small problem gets larger if you ignore it” (CIL 4.1811). A notable number of graffiti even cite sentences from authors of classical literature, such as Homer, Ovid, Seneca, Lucretius, and most of all, Virgil (forty-eight occurrences, including three dozen from the Aeneid, as noted in chapter 6). Many of these might have been written by young students learning to write, their teachers having assigned them exercises from literary classics.

This small sample of graffiti offers insight into the lives of ordinary people on the streets of the Vesuvian towns. But these graffiti and other artifacts also reveal something of the contours of ancient literacy. Gone are the days when it was commonly said that only the top 5 percent of the Roman population were literate. Pompeii was awash with low-grade forms of literacy that included a breadth of genres targeted for readerships across a broad spectrum of the populace. This does not mean, of course, that everyone was literate. Far from it. For many people, most inscriptions and graffiti on Pompeian walls must have been little more than lines and curves joined together that meant something to others within the town. We know, for instance, that someone by the name Mammius wrote a legal testimony “at the request of Marcus Calatorius Marullus, in his presence, because he says he does not know how to write” (VAR Tab. 24; see also AE [2002], 342). But neither is it the case that literacy pertained only to the urban elite and/or their retainers. The Vesuvian remains problematize any attempt to distinguish between “literate” and “non-literate” in relation to general sectors within the populace; what is on display instead is a spectrum of literate competencies or “literacies.”

Figure 12.7. A fresco depicting a young man holding a scroll, with the word “Plato” written on it; a similar fresco nearby depicted the same youth or one that looked much like him holding a scroll of Homer (MANN 120620a and 120620b; from 5.2.h).

Literacy, Jesus, and His Followers

What might be said about Jesus himself with regard to literacy? Jesus was remembered as having read scripture in his hometown synagogue (Luke 4:16–17), so in Luke’s presentation of things, Jesus had at least an elementary reading ability—hardly surprising for someone raised in a Judean (i.e., Jewish) home who, consequently, was probably very acquainted with reading the scriptures of the Judean people.

But it is also the case that Jesus’s level of literacy was probably not like that of the Judean leaders, who had benefited from a much more extensive educational training than a common carpenter. Much of the tension between Jesus and the Judean leaders of his day probably derived from this conflict in authority styles between the “established” interpreters of scripture (who had enjoyed a notable level of reputable education) and the “backwater hick” from Nazareth (who could list no conventional training as the basis for his authority). That tension between the perceived statuses of different interpreters of the divine will animates Mark 6:3, for instance. In that passage, even members of Jesus’s own hometown react negatively to his astounding teaching in the synagogue: “Is not this the carpenter, the son of Mary and brother of James and Joses and Judas and Simon, and are not his sisters here with us?” The reader is told that the people of his hometown “took offense at him” (Mark 6:3; compare Matthew 13:55). He was a simple artisan. He had grown up among them. They knew his simple family. What status could his teachings have? Who did he think he was?

What about the apostles Peter and John? As depicted in Acts 4 (cited at the start of this chapter), they were evidently unschooled and ordinary men—hardly surprising since they had been Galilean fishermen before they began to follow Jesus. As unschooled, ordinary men, they would have been in good company alongside the majority in the Roman age who were low in literary status. As men who cherished their Judean identity and heritage, Peter and John may have benefited from a dose of training in reading the Judean scriptures (much like Jesus). It is unlikely, however, that they would have needed to be proficient in anything more than a basic form of literacy. (Their literary skill might have been restricted to reading rather than writing.) It is precisely because the first disciples of Jesus were “unschooled” that the people who listened to Peter and John in the Acts 4 account are said to be “astonished” when those disciples speak so eloquently, even addressing the “rulers and elders of the people” with “courage.” The author of Acts supplied the reason for their courage. It was not simply that “these men had been with Jesus”; it was because they were now “filled with the Holy Spirit” (4:8, 12–13).

The apostle Paul seems to have been highly literate, and yet he also chose to dictate his letters to a scribe rather than “penning” his letters himself. One of those scribes even speaks to the audience at one point (Romans 16:22): “I, Tertius, who wrote down this letter, greet you in the Lord.” At times, however, Paul picked up the stylus himself. He signaled this in Philemon 19: “I, Paul, am writing this with my own hand.” It is difficult to know whether he means that he has written the whole of that short letter himself or whether (and more likely) he means that, although dictating most of the letter, he is now writing the content of that particular sentence (which contains an important financial guarantee that is best made in one’s own hand). Something similar happens at the end of his letter to Jesus-devotees in Galatia: “See what large letters I make when I am writing in my own hand” (Galatians 6:11). Here, Paul picks up the stylus to introduce his final paragraphs of the letter, where he summarizes what the letter is all about in emphatic terms (“large letters”)—almost like bold or italic font. If you want to see Paul’s synopsis of what Galatians is all about, the final verses of that letter (6:11–18), written large and in his own hand (in the original manuscript), are a good place to start.

In 2 Timothy, readers hear Paul instruct the younger man Timothy in this way: “When you come [to me], bring the cloak that I left with Carpus at Troas, and my scrolls, especially the parchments” (4:13). This intriguing reference raises curiosity as to what those scrolls and parchments (skins of animals used as a medium for writing) may have been. Could the scrolls have been some select passages from the Judean scriptures or passages from the Hellenistic literary “canon” of the day? Could the parchments have been copies of letters that Paul had previously sent to churches? Of course we will never know. But the passage is suggestive of Paul’s own high level of literacy—something that has never really been called into question.

It is likely that at least one woman in Paul’s circle also enjoyed a notable level of literacy. This was Phoebe, “a deacon of the congregation at Cenchreae [the port of Corinth] . . . [who] has been a benefactor of many people and of myself as well” (Romans 16:1–2). It seems likely that Phoebe was the person who traveled from Corinth to deliver Paul’s letter to Jesus-groups in Rome. As the letter carrier, Phoebe would probably also have read the letter to the various Jesus-groups in that city. This means that she probably also helped Jesus-followers in Rome to interpret Paul’s letter (we might imagine them asking her, “What does Paul mean by the righteousness of God?” and things of that sort). This would suggest that Phoebe enjoyed a notable level of literacy—one that went beyond the skill necessary for a matron to manage a household efficiently. And if she had been successful in business (as “a benefactor of many people” might suggest), her literacy would seem to have excelled beyond the skill necessary for the effective management of a business. Phoebe seems to have been a woman whose level of literacy was quite impressive within the range of literacies of her day.

Figure 12.8. A fresco depicting the Greek comic dramatist Menander, whom Paul quotes in 1 Corinthians 15:33 (from 1.10.4, in situ)

Literary Oddities as Theological Contributions?

One intriguing dimension of literacy in early Christianity comes into view in the final book of the New Testament. The author of the Johannine apocalypse, the book of Revelation, wrote in a style that at times causes one’s grammatical eyebrows to rise in curiosity. This happens at the very start of the text, where John sends greetings to the seven churches of Asia Minor, using these words: “Grace to you and peace from the one who is and who was and who is to come” (1:4). As any good schoolchild would have known, the Greek preposition here that is translated “from” requires the words it modifies to be placed in the genitive form, but John instead used the nominative form—the form reserved for the subject of a sentence, not the form that follows a preposition. In fact, John knew that this was “incorrect” grammar, as illustrated throughout his text—not least in the very next phrase, where the same preposition appears together with the genitive form of the words it modifies (“and from the seven spirits who are before his throne”). What’s going on here? Perhaps John was making a theological point with his tortuous grammatical oddity—that “the one who is and who was and who is to come” is always the subject of things and never anything less. Or perhaps it was simply that this deity cannot be contained within rule books of our common ways of expression; that this deity is beyond our control; that this deity lies in territories that look odd to normal perceptions. Who knows? But since John clearly knew the rules of grammar (specifically, syntax), a theological explanation of some kind may have the most merit.

A similar oddity appears in Revelation 5:6. There John spoke of “the seven spirits of God that were sent out into all the world.” The word “spirits” is a neuter plural noun, but the word that amplifies that neuter noun (the participle “sent out”) is formed not as a neuter plural, as expected, but as a masculine plural. Would John’s teacher have whipped him if, as a schoolboy, he produced sentences like this? Is this just bad grammar? John knew that the Greek word “spirit” is neuter in gender, and he uses a neuter pronoun earlier in the text to refer to “spirit” (1:4). So perhaps his use of a masculine form here has some theological point to it. Perhaps his peculiar grammar was intended to signal to his readers that the sending of the (neuter) Spirit throughout the world is not some numinous, ethereal happening but is instead embodied in the lives of people—the masculine “sent out” doing double duty for both males and females. In this case, a grammatical peculiarity jars the audience’s attention and signals John’s theological conviction that the divine Spirit moves through this world in embodied form, within the lives of the devotees of that deity.

The same practice of doing theology through grammatical oddity is probably evident in one other phenomenon that appears in various places in Revelation—that is, the mismatching of the subject and the verb in sentences. In 11:15, for instance, having mentioned “our Lord and his Messiah” as two separate figures, John continues his sentence with a singular subject of the sentence’s verb: “and he will reign forever and ever.” Is the one who reigns the “Lord” alone or his “Messiah” or both together as a single unity, “he”? In 22:3–4 the same thing happens. John refers to “the throne of God and of the Lamb,” but immediately, instead of using plural personal pronouns (e.g., “their”), he switches to a singular personal pronoun, “his”—“his servants,” “his face,” and “his name.” (The same thing happens in 6:17, where the original text probably did not include the word “their,” which seems to be an attempt by a later scribe to improve the grammar, but “his.”) While John consistently placed Christ within the realm of the divine, he seems to have been aware of the danger of referring to “God” and “the Messiah/Lamb” as separate deities. Seeking to avoid a polytheistic relationality within his depiction of the divine, John broke grammatical rules by using the singular verb form whenever “God” and “the Messiah/Lamb” are the verb’s subjects and by using singular pronouns when referring to them both.

Should the author of the Johannine apocalypse have spent more hours studying Greek grammar from his schoolteacher? Was his literary skill of inferior status? Or are these instances of an author intentionally breaking the rules of grammar in order to drive home important theological points?