Abstract
Scholarship traditionally situates the social lives of NT gospel writers exclusively within the Jesus movement and local Christ groups, showing inadequate consideration for how the literary abilities of gospel writers might have provided the basis for social interaction and group formation with Greeks, Romans and Judeans of common occupations and/or cultural interests. In order to provide a fuller portrait of the social and historical setting of gospel literature, this article explores the ranges of social activities practiced, and networks developed, by comparable writers—broadly, Greek historiographers. Data from the epigraphy about the social practices of historiographers help to provide controls for speculations about the setting of NT gospel composition, and raise new questions about this literature possibly emerging from networks and guilds forged between people of similar scribal professions and/or cultural interests that cut through ancient Christianity rather than originating from within the Jesus movement exclusively. Scholarship on the social setting of the Q Gospel (i.e., scribal networks) and the Gospel of Thomas (i.e., philosophical formations) has made arguments in this direction on the basis of other evidence, and that model appears most historically plausible for the narrative gospels, as well.
Keywords
1. Models for Understanding Gospel Authors’ Social Relationships
It is often suggested that NT gospel authors established restricted social networks consisting nearly exclusively of people who shared ‘Christian’ cultic beliefs and practices. 2 For example, in Warren Carter’s 2000 publication, Matthew and the Margins, Matthew is situated in Antioch, where his social relationships amounted to the some ‘nineteen or 150’ Christ-believers in a city of 150,000 to 200,000 inhabitants (2000: 29). Happily for Matthew, all Christ-believers in Antioch were part of his social network (even if that number exceeded 150). Unfortunately, these Christ-believers were the only people with whom Matthew would have enjoyed fully positive relationships, since ‘[i]n addition to [Matthew’s] struggle within the Jewish community, Matthew’s audience encounter[ed] another difficult context in Antioch, that of Roman imperial presence’ (2000: 36). This generalization means that, though Matthew was a relatively highly skilled writer 3 with opportunities to immerse himself in the cultural life of Antioch to the degree that other comparably trained authors were able to do so, he lived ‘on the margins’ of Antiochian society with the city’s 19 or 150 other Christ-believers (2000: 45). Matthew did not network with people on the basis of professional occupation or common aspirations for paideia, like other scribes, historiographers, biographers and dramatic performers did. Rather, his social networks were established on the basis of homogeneous cultic devotion, and consisted entirely of Christ-believing colleagues in Antioch who represented a cross-section of ancient society—mostly merchants and artisans—the vast majority of whom would have been less well educated than Matthew (2000: 25-27). 4
Carter’s reconstruction of Matthew’s social life is typical in research of gospel communities. 5 Even in Brian Incigneri’s description of the Markan community, wherein Roman Christ-believers are depicted as diversified (e.g., several house groups instead of just one, and various cultic practices as a result of Roman persecutions), Mark’s social life was apparently determined primarily by his ‘religion’ rather than his social status (2003). Incigneri provides no meaningful description of how Mark might have used his literary abilities to participate positively in the cultural life of Rome. Rather, the city of Rome is generalized as a hostile environment for Christ-believers, one which targeted them for persecution.
The resilient notion of gospel authors sheltered within gospel communities is obsolete in light of recent developments in gospel research. It is a relic, Stanley Stowers shows, of late nineteenth-century German Romanticism wherein early Christianity existed apart from ancient society, where its narrative traditions were unlike ancient literature written by Greeks and Romans, and its communities were pneuma-filled social formations that were unique and distinct from Greco-Roman cultic groups (Stowers 2011; cf. Kloppenborg 1993). Undescriptive ‘gospel communities’, such as Carter’s description of the Matthean people, work best within older theoretical frameworks where gospel literature—and ancient Christianity more generally—was rather isolated from Greek and Roman literatures, cultures and societies.
In response to the academic guild’s more recent identification of NT gospels as historiographies, or divisions of this genre (e.g., historical/political biography), 6 as opposed to the older, Romantic, identification of this literature as sui generis, the challenge now is to reconstruct the social relationships of gospel authors in ways that fall within the spectrum of known practices attested by writers of analogous literature. In pursuing this task, it will not be necessary to narrow the investigation to the social activity of either biographers or historiographers—nor to choose a side in the debate over how to classify gospels. The literary genres of historiography and biography (to the extent that they were even different classifications of literature 7 ) were written by the same people (see the honorific inscriptions below) and therefore emerged from the same patterns of social networking practices that I seek to illuminate. Unfortunately, the books of historiographers such as Josephus, Polybius, Dionysius of Halicarnassus and Suetonius are rarely able to supply historical data on how others perceived historiographers. Thus, analyzing ancient historiographies for information about the social behavior of historiographers, in order to generate some context for understanding the social lives of analogous writers in the Christ-movement, would consist of explaining obscurum per obscurius.
A more complete depiction of the social relationships of ancient historiographers is accessible through the many honorific inscriptions established for them by Greek and Roman cities. Data from honorific epigraphy for historiographers vividly illustrate the social networks of people who achieved educational levels and made cultural contributions approximately comparable to those of the gospel writers. 8 These inscriptions are heuristically useful for clarifying the types of people with whom gospel authors might have networked and can control speculations about the place of gospel writers in cities and private associations. Seventy-seven of these honorific inscriptions have survived. Taken together, they render the dominant, one-dimensional portrayal of gospel authors socializing nearly exclusively within the Jesus movement and local Christ groups as incomplete; authors of texts that are generically similar to Jesus narratives immersed themselves within the cultural lives of their cities, and their occupations, family networks, and level of education tended to determine their social relationships principally.
When the authors of Jesus narratives are understood within the context of the range of activities practiced by other people who wrote similar literature, new questions are raised about the social relationships of gospel authors with local ephēboi, teachers of grammar and rhetoric, Dionysiac Artists, collegia of writers, social elites who attend historical lectures, and with other contributors to the cultural life of their poleis. It is within these networks—formed on the basis of common occupational affiliation and/or cultural aspiration—rather than within ancient Christianity exclusively, that gospel literature more likely emerged.
In this study, three methods by which ancient historiographers participated in the cultural life of their poleis and forged social relationships will be highlighted: teaching local youths, making public lectures in gymnasia and other civic buildings, and voluntarily joining more or less professionally and socially homogeneous Greco-Roman associations. All three of these activities happened at relatively elevated levels of society, and brought historiographers into contact primarily with people who were literate, economically well-off, and/or were regarded as part of the cultural elite. Descriptions of the social relationships of gospel authors should be informed partially by this social behavior if current assessments of their historiographical or biographical genre are taken seriously.At the outset, a point of clarification is required about my usage of the historiographer analogy. This article neither proposes that gospel authors practiced all three of the behaviors described below nor that the social relationships of gospel authors were limited to those of Greek historiographers. Rather, the aim of this study is to clarify parts of the spectrums of the social behavior of historiographers in order to control speculations about the social setting of gospel writers and their literary productions. It demonstrates that the range of social activities performed by gospel authors was likely broader, and less fully situated in ‘Christianity’, than is often assumed.
There is ample precedent for this approach. Recent reconstructions of gnomological gospel literature emerging from networks of public scribes and school settings have already taken seriously the likelihood that literacy, education and broader cultural interests that cut through ancient Christianity helped to shape the kinds of people with whom gospel writers would have associated (see Section 4 below). In research on narrative gospels, Stanley Stowers’s (2011) critique of contemporary gospel scholarship provides the grounds for a broader comparative approach to the study of NT gospels that is informed by insights already current in research on the sayings gospels:
The relationship between early Christian literature and early Christian communities posited in much scholarship makes early Christian literature unique and incommensurable with other ancient literature and writing practices. In all other areas that study ancient Mediterranean and West Asian literature, a writing is studied as the product of an individual writer working in a particular social and historical context, not as the product of a community. Classicists do not approach Vergil’s or Philodemus’s writings as the products and mirrors of Vergil’s and Philodemus’s communities. Indeed, the most important social formations for these individuals as writers may have been other writers and associated networks that taught high literacy, interpreted and circulated writings, mostly people whom they had never known (p. 247; emphasis added).
9
Although the evidence presented in this article cannot confirm Stowers’s suggestion that ancient writers would mostly network with one another indirectly, it certainly affirms his proposal that writers generally enjoyed social relationships on the basis of common occupation, levels of literacy, and pursuits for paideia rather than exclusively on the basis of common cultic affiliation.
In partial response to Stowers’s call for analyses of the ‘particular social and historical context’ of the gospel writers, the present article investigates the social setting of Greek historiography, as attested in the epigraphy. This comparative data will help to provide a needed corrective to the currently dominant conviction that writers of historiographical and biographical NT works were socially sheltered within local branches of the ancient Jesus movement.
2. A Typology of Historians
The epigraphy analyzed in this study attests two kinds of ancient historiographers, although these are not mutually exclusive categories. The first kind is the ‘citizen’-historian, who is defined by active involvement in the public life of their hometown (Chaniotis 1988: 384-85). This type of historian appears frequently in the inscriptions. They were often honored by their own poleis in commemoration of their political or financial services unrelated to their work as historians, which they completed not as an occupation but, rather, out of their interest to be participants in and producers of culture (1988: 329-32).
10
They were also occasionally commended in the epigraphy specifically for writing historical books, such as in the inscription that praises Gorgos, a priest of the temple of Apollos in Kolophon, for having composed an extensive historical work (BE 1976, 592 = Chaniotis 1988 E 19; II/I
The second type of historian is the ‘itinerant’ professional. These authors were specialists in a specific historical topic. Chaniotis explains, ‘Für diese Leute ist die Auseinandersetzung mit der Geschichte eine Art “Beruf” (ἐπιτάδουμα E 59 13 ), eine Aufgabe, die ihrer Eigenschaft als Bürger völlig fremd ist’ (1988: 385). Unlike the citizen-historians, itinerant historiographers were full-time experts who were often paid for their services. 14 These individuals wrote historical treatises for cities and public temples, and performed lectures in a variety of settings, such as local festivals, civic gatherings and competitions. At other times, they worked in the service of cities that required their expertise to compose a local history or song. They were also occasionally employed by kings and other rulers, thereby enjoying ‘semi-permanent residency’ (Hunter and Rutherford 2009: 18). 15
Some early Christian accounts concerning gospel origins attest to gospel authors being employed by local (church) leaders, and behaving in ways resembling professional history-writers. For example, in the myth attributed to Sophronius, Christian bishops in Asia Minor requested John to write a Jesus narrative conforming to their own beliefs. 16 This is not unlike the role of itinerant historians such as Kallias of Syracuse who, while working in the court of the tyrant Agathokles, agreed to compose historical works depicting him in a positive light (Diodoros, Bibliotheke historike 21.17.4). 17
It would be improper to assume that itinerant historiographers were better educated than gospel writers and therefore took part in social activities unavailable to gospel authors.
18
Lucian heard many lectures given by historiographers and concludes that ‘[t]hese people’s uneducated (ἀπαιδευσίαι) antics are infinite’ (Lucian, How to Write History 32 [Fowler and Fowler 1905]). In describing some instances of writers’ inabilities to handle historiography, Lucian observes that certain historiographers had poor knowledge of Mediterranean geography:
One writer has taken so little trouble (ῥᾳθύμως) with his facts (πράγματα) – never met a Syrian, I suppose, nor listened to the stray information you may pick up at the barber’s –, that he thus locates Europus: – ‘Europus lies in Mesopotamia, two days’ journey from the Euphrates, and is a colony from Edessa’ (Lucian, How to Write History 24 [Fowler and Fowler II 1905]).
The gospel authors’ geographical (e.g., Mk 5.1; 7.31) and historical errors (e.g., Lk. 2.1-2) fit comfortably within the range of abilities and incompetencies exhibited by other ancient history-writers.
Lucian expresses further disapproval with historiographers who incorporated mythic accounts into their historical books: ‘Another entertaining person, who has never set foot outside Corinth … describes the Parthian “Dragons” (δράκοντες)… they are huge live dragons, he says, breeding in Persian territory beyond Iberia’ (How to Write History 29 [Fowler and Fowler II, 1905]). The inscriptions confirm that some historiographers and biographers incorporated mythological accounts into their historical books and, as is well known, the gospel authors were no exception (e.g., Mt. 1.18–2.23). Although this was a rather common practice, obviously the snobbish historians were critical of merging the mythological with the historical (e.g., Livy, History of Rome 1, preface 7-10).
Some historiographers apparently composed their books as though they were writing documentary texts such as accounting lists. In a passage of criticism that resembles the critiques of contemporary NT scholars of Mark’s unpolished Greek, and modern critiques of Luke’s descending style after his preface, Lucian reports:
Another [historian] puts down a bald list of events, as prosy (πεζόν) and commonplace (χαμαιπετές) as a private’s (στρατιώτης) or a carpenter’s (τέκτων) or a sutler’s (κάπηλος) diary … Also, he starts in Ionic, but very soon, for no apparent reason, abandons it for every-day Greek (κοινῆ) … writing like ordinary people (τὰ ὁμοδίαιτα τοῖς πολλοῖς) – rather too ordinary – indeed (How to Write History 16 [Fowler and Fowler II 1905]).
Certainly, there are some exaggerations in Lucian’s mockery of contemporary historiographers, but his criticisms are helpful for illustrating the range of educational levels possessed by Greek historians. Given recent analyses of the rhetorical abilities of gospel authors, 19 it is best to situate gospel writers somewhere below the Lucians of the Mediterranean, and around the level of the historians disparaged by Lucian, some of whom may have been honored in the decrees below. 20
3. Local Networks Established by Historians
Historiographers typically participated in the cultural life of the polis in at least three ways, each of which will be described below: teaching local youths, making public lectures in gymnasia and other civic buildings, and affiliating themselves with professionally and socially homogeneous private organizations (e.g., Dionysiac Artists, collegia scribarum poetarum, guilds of instructors). This data opens new avenues for understanding the local social connections established by NT gospel authors, and for describing the social and historical contexts of their literary productions in ways that better reflect writing practices in antiquity.
3.1 Teaching Local Youths
When itinerant historiographers reached their destinations, they often forged relationships with local students, teachers, and other figures involved in public education (e.g., gymnasiarchs). The epigraphy shows that civic institutions expected them to provide ‘patriotische’ instruction (Chaniotis 1988: 365) and that these civic organizations formally praised historiographers when this type of instruction was offered.
In this section, I provide three examples of historiographers who participated in local educational systems. The first is a fragmentary inscription that comes from Amphipolis, Macedonia, and succinctly demonstrates an anonymous historian’s range of activities while in the city:
[…] παρεπιδημῶ[ν…] καὶ παιδεύων καλῶ[ς…] ἐξετάσας καὶ συνα[γαγὼν τὰ παρὰ τοῖς ἀρ-] χαίοις ἱστοριογράφοις [καὶ ποιηταῖς γεγραμ-] 5 μένα περὶ τῆς πόλεως [ἡμῶν πλείονας ἐποιή-] σατο ἀκροάσεις περὶ τού[των… ἑν αῖς] καὶ εὐδοκιμήκει, συνετ[άξατο δὲ βιβλίον] καὶ περὶ τῆς Ταυροπόλου […] (SEG 28:534 = Chaniotis E 6; Amphipolis, Macedonia; III … visiting …and teaching well …having examined closely and brought together what has been written by the ancient historiographers and poets concerning our city, he provided lectures over several days about these things … he is held in esteem also for these lectures. In addition, he composed a book concerning the Tauropolos.
This anonymous historian ‘brought together’ books by other authors, delivered historical lectures about his destination, Amphipolis; and composed a book about Amphipolis’s patron deity, Artemis Tauropolos. The dual practice of lecturing and writing about historical affairs is found as well in patristic-era mythologies about gospel origins. For example, Clement of Alexandria’s account of the origins of the Gospel of Mark reads as follows:
τοῦ Πέτρου δημοσίᾳ ἐν Ῥώμῃ κηρύξαντος τὸν λόγον καὶ πνεύματι τὸ εὐαγγέλιον ἐξειπόντος, τοὺς παρόντας, πολλοὺς ὄντας, παρακαλέσαι τὸν Μάρκον, ὡς ἂν ἀκολουθήσαντα αὐτῷ πόρρωθεν καὶ μεμνημένον τῶν λεχθέντων, ἀναγράψαι τὰ εἰρημένα: ποιήσαντα δέ, τὸ εὐαγγέλιον μεταδοῦναι τοῖς δεομένοις αὐτοῦ (Eusebius, H.E. VI.14.6.). After Peter proclaimed the word in public in Rome and declared the good news in the spirit, those present, being many, urged Mark to write down what had been said because he had followed him [Peter] for a long time and remembered the things that were said (by Peter). After he did this, the good news was shared with those in need of it.
Of course, in Eusebius’s short and focused account he omits description of other kinds of activities that Peter and Mark may have performed, as well as the other social networks they might have established. However, as the Amphipolis inscription and others show, writing and lecturing about history required skills that made the historian qualified to teach local youths at primary and secondary levels, a social opportunity that enticed many of them.
The instruction provided by the anonymous historian possibly happened in the local gymnasium that has now been excavated in Amphipolis by Demetrios Lazaridis. 21 Unfortunately, the decree does not specify which youths benefitted from the historiographer’s teaching, but if this inscription was established by civic institutions—as were most of the 77 extant honorific decrees for historiographers compiled by Chaniotis 22 —then the students might have been local ephēboi (see below).
Closer to the Common Era, a second fragmentary decree from an anonymous city
23
commends a historiographer for writing a book (and lecturing) about the notable deeds of the host city ([περὶ τῶν] τῆς πόλεως ἐνδόξων, ll. 4-5). This historian, like the previous one, combined these two activities with teaching. Fortunately, this decree is more descriptive of this historian’s teaching than the last one; it specifies that the itinerant from Thasos taught ephēboi and neoi:
[…προενοήθη τῆς τῶν] ἐφήβων καὶ τῶν νέων [παιδείας… ] (Thasos 166 = Chaniotis E 20; Thasos; I … he provided education for the ephēboi
24
and neoi …
This particular history-writer’s service to the neoi shows that he established social relationships with some powerful locals who were perhaps even organized as an association. 25 The place of history-writers within the memberships of local associations will be explored in Section 3.3.
A third example of a historian immersing himself in the culture of his destination through teaching comes from the imperial period. This decree is particularly helpful for highlighting the fluidity of the educational and historiographical professions since the historian in this decree is identified as a grammatikos.
[. . . .c.12. . . . δ]ῆ̣μος κ[αὶ| ἡ ἐξ Ἀρείου πάγ]ου βουλὴ κ[αὶ | ἡ βουλὴ τ]ῶ̣ν φʹ καὶ ὁ δῆμ[ος | ὁ τῶ]ν̣ Ἀθηναίων Τι(βέριον) Κ[λ(αύδιον)] || Ἀν̣τέρωτα γραμματικὸν̣ | ἀρετῆς ἕνεκα καὶ παι|δεύσεως νέων ἐπὶ | ποικίλας ἐπιστήμας̣ | εἰς μέγα τῶν πολλῶ[ν] || ὑπ’ αὐτοῦ προαχθέ[ν]|των πολιτῶν [τε]| καὶ τῶν ἀπὸ τῆς | ξένης πολλα[χό|θ]εν αὐτῶι σχο||λασάντων, ὡς | καὶ τὰ παρ’ ἕκαστ̣[α] | ψηφίσματα κατὰ̣ | τὴν ἀξίαν αὐτῶ[ι] | μεμαρτύρηκεν, || καὶ ὅτι τὰ τῆς πα|τρίδος καλὰ εἰς μ[έ]|σους τοὺς Ἕλληνα̣[ς] | προήγαγεν διὰ τῶν̣ | ἐπιχωρίων ἱστοριῶ[ν || ἐ]ν̣δοξότερα ε<ἶ>ναι. vacat (ILabraunda 66 = Chaniotis E 25 (Athens; 127–200 …the boulē from Areios Pagos and the boulē of the (no name), and the dēmos of the Athenians (honor) Tiberius Claudios Anteros, grammarian, on account of his excellence and for his education of neoi on many subjects. A great number of citizens and those from many foreign places were led by him and took leisure with him, as even the votes from each concerning his worthiness (for honor) bears witness. He is to be held in equally high esteem because he reported honorable (events) of his homeland among the Greeks in the form of history.
In this inscription, the itinerant grammarian from Labrunda is honored by Athenian civic institutions for his virtue and his service as a teacher and historian. The stone was located in a large temple in Mylasa (Labrunda), indicating that the Athenians shared it with Anteros’s homeland. Chaniotis observes that this is yet another instance of historiography and education serving as dual responsibilities in the historical profession (1988: 318).
Why did history-writers involve themselves in teaching services? The reasons were at least twofold. First, the inscriptions commending these historiographers indicate that symbolic capital was available for historians who provided teaching services.
26
Second, financial remuneration was often offered to itinerant teachers (e.g., FD III.1 365). Money was so commonly rewarded to teachers
27
that in one extraordinary instance when a grammarian rejected payment by a city, his refusal was recorded on an honorific inscription:
διδομένου τε αὐτῶι καὶ ἐράνου ὑπὸ τᾶς πὸλιος οὐκ ἐδέξατο Although a fee was given to him by the city, he did not accept (FD III.3 388 = SIG3 739).
Payment was often received even when they did not teach. For example, a certain Themistokles from Ilion is honored by the city of Xanthos in Asia Minor with 400 drachmas for his services as a historian (FAmyzon I 15 = Chaniotis 1988 E 12; Xanthos, 196
In summary, teaching local youths was a practical activity for historiographers in order to generate honor and money apart from their writing and publishing activity. By contributing to local culture in this way, they were brought into contact with ephēboi, neoi, public officials (such as gymnasiarchs) and local instructors who were involved in public education.
3.2 Public Lectures
Public lecturing at sanctuaries, gymnasia and other public buildings brought historians into contact with more of their approximate social equals. Perhaps the act of lecturing about Jesus in a Greek temple would be regarded as most unlikely, 28 but, upon further consideration, the notion that Jesus narratives would be unfit for presentation in public buildings and in earshot of Roman rulers and other local social elites might be misinformed. Authors of controversial books could edit and abbreviate their works to make them suitable for presentation – in fact, Pliny notes that such a practice would not even compromise the integrity of the author (Epistles IX 27). 29 The implication for understanding recruitment to urban Christ groups is provocative: a historical biography of Jesus, the Galilean hero, need not be offensive to local cultic practices or Roman rulers when in lecture format. ‘Safe’ versions of the Jesus myth presented in a temple, gymnasium or other public building could have been the first positive exposure of recruits to the Jesus movement, an experience that may have led to affiliation to a local Christ group.
Two questions can be raised concerning historiographical lectures for present purposes. First, how might lecturing activity have affected the Jesus historian’s social network? The inscriptions betray that a high level of flattery was often incorporated into these lectures in order to secure social benefits. In general, local audience members desired to be treated kindly in history books, and historiographers sought to be received positively by their audiences. Second, with whom might Jesus historians have come into contact through encomiastic lectures? Literary as well as epigraphic evidence provide several clues concerning this second inquiry.
3.2.1 Sociability and Lecturing
Chaniotis draws attention to a pattern in the virtues for which historiographers are commended in the honorific decrees. He observes that cities valued ‘die allgemeine freundliche Gesinnung des Historikers’, as evidenced by the fact that the decrees regularly praise historiographers for virtues such as εὔνοια (‘kindness’; ‘goodwill’), εὐσέβεια (‘piety’ towards the local deities), οἰκειότης (‘friendship’) and ἐκτενές (‘being warmly disposed’ towards the city) (1988: 363).
The decrees that describe the content of historical lectures illustrate how historians made sure to flatter local gods, rulers and inhabitants. For example, a certain Aristotheos, an itinerant historian, provided the Delphians with both historical lectures about their own history, as well as encomiastic accounts of their Roman rulers. The following inscription in honor of Aristotheos comes from II ἀ[γ]αθᾶι τύχαι. | ἔδοξε τᾶι πόλει ̣ τῶν Δελφῶν [ἐν] ἀγορᾶι τελείαι σὺμ ψάφοις ταῖς ἐννόμοις· | ἐπειδή Ἀριστόθεος Ν̣ικ̣οθέου [Τρο]ζάνιος ἱστοριαγράφος παραγενόμενος [ἐ]ν τὰν | πόλιν τὰν τε ἀναστροφὰν ἐπ[οιή]σατο ἀξίως τοῦ τε ἱεροῦ καὶ τᾶς ἰδίας πατρίδος, || ἐποιήσατο δὲ καὶ ἀκροάσεις ἐπ[ὶ π]λείονας ἁμέρας τῶν πεπραγματευμένων | αὐτῶι, παρανέγνω [δὲ καὶ] ἐν̣[κώ]μια εἰς Ῥωμαίους τοὺς κοινοὺς τῶν Ἑλλάνων̣ | εὐεργέτας, δεδόσθαι παρὰ τᾶ[ς] πόλιος προξενίαν αὐτῶι καὶ ἐκγόνοις, προμαντεί[αν], | προδικίαν, ἀσυλίαν ἀτέλειαν [πά]ντων, προεδρίαν ἐμ πᾶσι τοῖς ἀγώνοις οἷ[ς] ἁ πόλι[ς τί]|θητι καὶ τἆλλα τίμια ὅσα κ̣αὶ το[ῖς ἄ]λλοις προξένοις καὶ εὐεργέταις [ὑ]πάρ[χ]ει τᾶς πόλιος. (FD III.3 124= Chaniotis, E 17; Phokis, Delphi; II For good fortune. It seemed good to the city of Delphi at the assembly to pass (the following decree) with lawful votes: Since Aristotheos son of Nikotheus, from Troezen, a historiographer, came into the city and spent time there, being worthy of both the temple and his own homeland, and made lectures throughout the course of many days based off of his works, and read publicly encomia for the Romans, the benefactors of the koinon of the Greeks, (it was resolved) to give to him and his children proxenia from the city, inviolability, exemption from all public burdens, privilege of front seats in all the games that the polis institutes. And there is in store other honors as great as those (given) to other proxenoi and euergetai of the city.
Chaniotis proposes that Aristotheos’s historical work chronicled either Delphic or Roman events (1988: 309-10). Since Aristotheos commended Delphi’s Roman rulers as benefactors of the Greeks, 30 it is very likely that his historical account of Delphic past events cast the locals in a similarly positive light—a hypothesis that is validated by the Delphians’ establishment of the honorific decree for Aristotheos. That such flattery was conducive to the creation of new social relationships with local elites is also evidenced by the very existence of honorific rewards for pleasant historians.
The following inscription explicitly states that the honoree congratulated the city’s audience within his historical lectures. In this decree, the historiographer Bombos of Alexandria, in the Troad, was honored as follows:
ὀπειδὴ | [Β]όμβος Ἀλφεί[ου] Α[ἰολεὺς ἀπ’ Ἀλεξαν]δρείας παρεπιδαμεί|[σ]ας ἐν τᾷ πόλι [ ἐπὶ ἁμέρας πλείονα]ς ἐπιδείξις ἐν τοῦ γ[υ||μ]νασί[ου ἐποιείσατο εὐδοκίμησέ]ν τε τοῖς πεπραγματευμένοις | αὐ[τοῦ καὶ ἐπεμνάσθη τοῦν γε]γ[ενη]μένουν ἐνδόξουν Λα|ρισαίοις καὶ [ηὔξησεν τὰν εὔνο]ιαν καὶ φιλίαν ταῖς πολίεσσι π[ο]|θ’ εὑτάς, ὀν[νεουσάμενος] καὶ τὰ φιλάνθρουπα τὰ ὑπάρχοντα | Αἰολείεσσι πὸτ τὰν πόλιν τὰν Λαρισαίουν. (BCH 59 (1935) 55, 2.12-19 = Chaniotis E 18, Larisa, Thessaly, late II When Bombos son of Alpheos, an Aiolian from Alexandria resided in the city for many days, he performed lectures in the gymnasium (and) was held in high repute for his books. He recalled notable events to the Larisaioi and increased the goodwill and friendship among both cities, having even recalled the Aioleians’ benevolence towards the Larisean city.
The books that Bombos wrote earned him ‘high repute’ in Larisa, and his lectures chronicled ‘notable events’ in the city’s local history, thereby depicting them positively.
Of the 77 inscriptions that Chaniotis collects, only two decrees praise historiographers for telling the truth.
31
To be sure, these ‘honest’ historians did not tell the truth at the risk of damaging positive relationships with local cultural and social elites. Rather, the inscriptions in question seem to label the historians’ lectures as ‘truthful’ in conjunction with commending these writers for providing a pleasing description of the cities’ acts (Chaniotis 1988: 365). This is made obvious in the following inscription where the honoree, Syriskos, a citizen of Chersonesos, wrote a ‘sacred history’
32
for the city that included the miraculous deeds of the Chersonesos patron deity, the Parthenos. It reads as follows:
[Ἡρακλ]ε̣ίδας Παρμένοντος εἶπ[ε· | ἐπειδὴ] Συρίσκος Ἡρακλείδα τὰ[ς| ἐπιφαν]είας τᾶς Παρ̣θένου φιλ[ο|πόνως] γράψας ἀν̣[έ]γνω καὶ τ[ὰ || ποτὶ τ]οὺς Βοσ[π]όρου β̣ασιλεῖ[ς | διηγήσα]το, τὰ [θ’ ὑ]πάρξαντα φ[ι|λάνθρωπα ποτὶ τὰ]ς πόλεις ἱστ[ό|ρησεν ἐπιεικ]έως τῶι <δ>άμω[ι, ἵνα λάβοι τιμὰ]ς ἀξίας, δεδόχθα̣[ι || τᾶι βουλᾶι καὶ τῶι δάμωι] ἐ̣παινέσα[ι | τε αὐτὸν ἐπὶ τούτοις καὶ στεφ]αν[ῶ|σαι τοὺς συμμνά]μ̣ονας [χρυσέωι στε|φάνωι τῶν Διονυ]σίων μιᾶι ἐφ’ ἱκ[άδι | καὶ τὸ ἀνάγγ]ελμα γενέσθαι· ὁ δ[ᾶ||μος στεφα]νοῖ Συρίσκον Ἡρακλε[ί|δα, ὅτι τὰ]ς ἐπιφανείας τᾶς Πα̣[ρ|θένου ἔγρα]ψε καὶ τὰ ποτὶ τὰς [πό|λεις καὶ τοὺς] βασιλεῖς ὑπάρξ[αν |τα φιλάνθρωπα] ἱστόρησε ἀλαθιν[ῶς || καὶ ἐπιεικέως] τᾶι πόλει· ἀναγ̣[ρά|ψαι δὲ τοὺς συμμ]νάμονας εἰστ[άλαν] {εἰς στάλαν}| [λιθίναν τὸ ψ]άφισμα καὶ θέμε[ν ἐν|τὸς τοῦ προ]νάου τᾶς Παρθέν[ου· τὸ δὲ | γενόμενον ἀνά]λωμα δόμ[εν κατὰ τὰ || δόξαντα(?) τὸν τα]μίαν τῶν [ἱερῶν. | ταῦτ’ ἔδοξε βουλᾶι κ]αὶ δάμ[ωι … (IosPE I2 344 = Chaniotis 1988 E 7; Chersonesos, North Black Sea; 250-200 Herakleidas son of Parmenon proposed (the following): Since Syriskos son of Herakleidas, after laboriously writing down the epiphanies of the Parthenos, read them aloud and described the events concerning the kings of Bosporos, (and) gave a fitting account to the dēmos of what he recorded about the beginning of benevolent acts concerning the cities, in order that he should receive worthy honors, it seemed good to the boulē and the dēmos to commend him for these things, and for the magistrates to crown (him) with a golden crown on the 21st of the Dionysia, and to make the following proclamation: ‘The dēmos crowns Syriskos son of Herakleidas because he wrote the epiphanies of the Parthenos and narrated truthfully (ἀλαθινῶς) and fittingly to the polis how the benevolent acts concerning the cities and kings originated.’ The magistrates are to engrave this decree on a stone stele and set it up within the pronaos of the temple of the Parthenos. The treasurer of the sacred funds is to pay for the coming expenses according to what is fit. These things seemed good to the bōule and the dēmos …
Syriskos’s lectures on the miracles of the local goddess, Parthenos (ll. 2-3, 16-17), and the kindness of the city towards Bosporan kings (ll. 4-7, 17-19) provided a positive image of the city and its patron deity. 33 It was beneficial for the city to claim that Syriskos’s material was truthful—an especially appropriate decision given the location of the inscription in the temple of the Parthenos. There is no reason to think that this historian privileged honesty over flattery, or that the city valued truthful history over encomiastic accounts of their past.
As the inscriptions show, cities were receptive to the flattery of historiographers. However, Polybius (Histories 9.1-2) and Lucian provide a negative assessment of historians’ acts of giving audiences what they want. Lucian critiques historians’ penchant for seeking approval rather than the truth:
There you have the origin of the present crowd of historians (συγγράφοντες), intent only upon the passing day, the selfish interest (τὸ χρειῶδες), the profit which they reckon to make out of their work; execration is their desert – in the present for being undisguised and unskilled flatterers (κόλακες), in the future for the stigma which their exaggerations bring upon history in general. (Lucian, How to Write History, 13 [Fowler and Fowler 1905, II, with my modifications]).
On the whole, Polybius and Lucian characterize historians as highly attuned to the interests of local cultural elites, and as interested nearly exclusively in providing services that would win commendation from locals. Polybius’s and Lucian’s appraisals of typical historians cannot be accepted uncritically, but the honorific inscriptions mostly confirm them.
To be sure, there are honorific inscriptions which praise historiographers for selfless attributes, such as Philippos from Pergamon who was honored by the city of Epidauros for presenting historical lectures primarily in order to educate (not flatter) his audience (IG IV2 1 687 = Chaniotis 1988 E 23; Epidauria, Peloponnesos, Greece; I
It should not be assumed that Jesus historians, who wrote books and gave lectures about Jesus (and presumably other subjects in other works), would have valued truth over flattery to a greater degree than typical historiographers. Indeed, even some Christ-believers by the second century accused the apostles of tailoring their teaching (doctrina) to the preconceived notions (suspiciones) of their audiences (Adv. Haer. III.5.1). Already in the middle of the first century
3.2.2 Audiences of Public Lectures
Whom did historiographers strive to please while lecturing? Five small datasets all point toward the more privileged strata of society. The first set of evidence comes from the literary elite themselves. Pausanias implies that manual laborers and other non-elites were ignorant of historical inquiries:
[T]here are many false beliefs current among the mass of mankind, since they are ignorant of historical science and consider trustworthy whatever they have heard from childhood in choruses and tragedies (1.3.3).
34
T. Peter Wiseman points out that ‘[t]he “choruses” Pausanias mentions were part of everyday experience, hymns in honor of the gods at the sacrifices and rituals that were familiar to every adult and child in the polis’ (2007: 72). 35 Pausanias’s observation about the general lack of knowledge of history among the lower strata should probably not be pressed too far, given that lectures in local sanctuaries were public for all who were at leisure and were interested in attending.
In addition to Pausanias’s information about who did not listen to lectures, other literary elites comment on attendees and betray their own attendance at historiographical lectures. We have already seen that Lucian (How to Write History) and Pliny (Epistles IX 27) provide attestation to their own attendance at public lectures delivered by historiographers. Polybius, additionally, offers a string of adjectives describing typical listeners of historiographical lectures: φιλήκοοι (‘those fond of listening to stories’), πολυπράγμονες (‘the curious’), περιττοί (‘[lovers of] the superfluous’), πολιτικόι (‘politicians’).
A second hint comes from inscriptions that name specific groups who listened to the presentations of historiographers. Although the evidence here is minimal, the mention in inscriptions of some lectures being performed exclusively in front of the dēmos, boulē and ekklēsia 36 partially points towards local social elites and is consistent with the information provided by the literary elites themselves.
Third, some inscriptions honor ephēboi simply for listening to lectures by philosophers, grammarians and orators (IG II2 1906; 1028; 1029; 1030). 37 The presentation of historical narratives by grammarians has been documented above, as has been the presence of history-writers among urban students.
Fourth, the physical setting of historical lectures is significant for present purposes since many of them occurred in local gymnasia. 38 In these instances, the audience ‘natürlich … zum größten Teil aus Schülern bestand’ (Chaniotis 1988: 372). 39
Least conclusive is the reality that the curriculum of grammarians and rhetoricians required teachers to be able to draw from their knowledge of history in order to teach the parts of texts that they assigned their students (Nicolai 2007: 22). It was perhaps professionally beneficial for teachers to attend the periodic lectures of itinerant historiographers—at least more so than for most artisans and manual laborers—even if conclusive evidence of their attendance has not survived.
The scant evidence for attendees of historical lectures points towards the educated and the economically affluent—a socially homogeneous group that coheres substantially with networking patterns that resulted from historiographers’ teaching activity. To this point in the study, the two main social activities of historiographers already explored (i.e., teaching and lecturing) have almost uniformly placed them into contact with the socially privileged and ruling elites. The pattern prevails when we turn to the associations that they elected to join.
3.3 Historians and Private Organizations
Ancient historians socialized with guilds as both patrons and full members. The data indicates that they generally gravitated towards collegia of other writers and performers, or towards clubs of relatively high social rank. This is consistent with their pattern of sociability in teaching and lecturing roles.
3.3.1 History-Writers as Patrons of Associations
In some instances, wealthy history-writers provided patronage to local clubs. One example of a historian who functioned as a club patron is T. Statilius Kriton. Kriton practiced medicine, but he also authored many works (e.g., Cosmetics, Simple Medicines) including a brief historical narrative called Getica,
40
a book that chronicled Trajan’s military presence in Dacia. An honorific decree for Kriton was erected in II [οἱ] θύοντες τῷ προπά- τορι Ἀσκληπιῷ καὶ τοῖς Σεβαστοῖς ἰατροὶ ἐτείμησαν Τ(ίτον) Στατίλιον Κρίτωνα τὸν 5 ἀρχίατρον καὶ ἐπίτροπον Αὐτο- κράτορος Νέρουα Τραιανοῦ Καίσα- ρος Σεβαστοῦ Γερμανικοῦ Δακικοῦ καὶ ἱερέα Ἀνακτόρων καὶ Ἀλεξάν- δρου βασιλέως καὶ Γαΐου καὶ Λουκίου 10 τῶν ἐκγόνων τοῦ Σεβαστοῦ· ἐπὶ ἱερέως Τιβ(ερίου) Κλαυδίου Δημοστρά- τ̣ου Καιλιανοῦ, ἄρχοντος τῶν [ἰ]ατρῶν Λ(ουκίου) Ἀτιλίου Οὐάρου [κατ]ασκευάσαντος τὴν τειμὴν ὡς ὑπέσχετο τοῖς ἰατροῖς 15 [ἐκ] τῶν ἰδίων Γ(αΐου) Ἀρρίου Ἑρμέρωτος [καὶ] τῶν ὑῶν αὐτοῦ Ἀρρίων Κελσιανοῦ καὶ Κέλσου. (IEphesos 719 = AGRW 165 = GRA II 129; Ephesos, Ionia; 102-14 The physicians (iatroi) who sacrifice to ancestor Asklepios and to the Augusti (Sebastoi) honored T. Statilius Kriton, chief physician (archiatros), procurator of emperor Nerva Trajan Caesar Augustus Germanicus Dacicus, and priest of the Lords (Anaktores), of King Alexander, and of Gaius and Lucius, the grandsons of Augustus. When Tiberius Claudius Demostratos Caelianus was priest and L. Atilius Varus was leader (archon) of the physicians, C. Arrius Hermeros and his sons, Arrius Celsianus and Arrius Celsus, set up the honor from their own resources as he (Hermeros) had promised the physicians. (Translation by Harland)
Crucially, this association comprised of people educated in medicine and living at generally elevated social strata. Harland notes that ‘[t]hose who engaged in the profession were usually drawn from aristocratic clans’ (2014: 269). In addition to serving as a patron of this club, Kriton lived among contemporary literary and ruling elites, including Trajan, for whom he was chief physician (Harland 2014: 272).
An Athenian club devoted to Dionysus also enjoyed patronage from an elite author. In their famous inscription of club regulations, the association records the appointment of Claudius Herodes Atticus as their priest. Herodes’s interest in historiography was narrated by Philostratus:
I will describe also the eloquence of Herodes and proceed to the main characteristics of his oratory. I have already said that he counted Polemo, Favorinus, and Scopelian among his teachers, that he attended the lectures of Secundus the Athenian, but for the critical branch of oratory he studied with Theagenes of Cnidos and Munatius of Tralles; and for the doctrines of Plato, with Taurus of Tyre. The structure of his work was suitably restrained, and its strength lay in subtlety rather than in vigour of attack. He was impressive in the plain style, sonorous after the manner of Critias; his ideas were such as would not occur to the mind of another; he had an easy and urbane wit which was not dragged in, but inspired by the subjects themselves … For while he devoted himself to the study of all the older writers, from Critias he was inseparable, and he made the Greeks better acquainted with him, since he had hitherto been neglected and overlooked … Though no man ever learned more easily than he, he did not neglect hard work, but used to study even while he drank his wine, and at night in his wakeful intervals … There are extant by Herodes very many letters, discourses and diaries, handbooks and collections of suitable passages in which the flowers of antique erudition have been collected in a small volume. (Philostratus, Lives of the Sophists 2.1.564-65 [LCL]).
Herodes’ partiality for Critias is notable. Critias was a writer of history—as well as philosophy, poetry and rhetoric—whose histories of local city states, such as Thessaly and Lacedaemon, survive in fragments. 41 According to Philostratus, some of Herodes’ orations and other works popularized Critias’s books, which indicates that Herodes’ lectures could be historiographical in genre.
In addition to his affiliation to this association, Herodes led a busy public life which included service as a senator, prefect, Athenian archon, teacher and philanthropist. 42 It is consistent with our other evidence about the elevated social networks of historiographers that Herodes chose to patronize the Athenian Iobacchoi, who were probably mostly citizens and from higher social strata (Kloppenborg and Ascough 2011: 254). To be sure, Herodes would fall under the ‘citizen’-historian category, whereas the historiographers described above were itinerant professionals.
3.3.2 Associations of Writers and Performers
When professional writers joined collegia as full members, they generally selected clubs of other writers and performers. For example, by the third century
Occupational guilds provided formal organization to the socially homogeneous networks that writers established more loosely by means of teaching, writing and lecturing. The existence of these clubs attests yet another dimension to authors’ lively schedules, which already included educating, lecturing and, in some instances, philanthropic activities. The idea that gospel writers, and professionals from the Jesus movement more generally, moped around their cities and avoided social opportunities such as membership in their local occupational guilds is without merit. For instance, in the early fourth century, Aurelius Leonides, a Christian flax merchant, lived in Oxyrhynchus, which had two churches (P. Oxy. I 43) and a local bishop at the time (Luijendijk 2008: 95-102). This Christian institutional apparatus was not sufficient to monopolize Leonides’ social life; in fact, there is little evidence that connects Leonides to organized Christianity at all. The ancient sources show rather clearly, though, that he was affiliated to a local occupational guild (koinon) of other merchants (e.g., P. Oxy. XLV 3261, 324
If the professional literary activity of the gospel writers merited membership in a Dionysiac Artists’ association, an inscription from a local Egyptian branch in the Hellenistic period illustrates the kinds of people with whom they might have formed social connections. The inscription begins by announcing honors for a certain Lysimachos, and concludes with the names of local members in attendance at this specific meeting, and the genre of writing or acting for which they are primarily known. Sections of it are reproduced below:
The performers associated with Dionysos, and the Brother Gods resolved: Since Lysimachos son of Ptolemaios of the Sostratic deme, the cavalry commander and president for life … [has] … dealt with the performers in a generous fashion … giving himself intensely to the growth of the theatrical profession … the association of the performers devoted to Dionysos, whose names are subscribed, resolved to crown Lysimachos with an ivy wreath … Tragic poets (τραγῳδιῶν ποιηταί): Phainippos and Diognetos; comic poets (κωμωιδιῶν ποιηταί): Stratagos and Mousaios; epic poets (ἐπῶν ποιηταί): Demarchos, Theogenes, Artemidoros; singers with a lyre (κιθαρωιδός): Menippos; lyre player (κιθαριστής): Herakleitos; dancer (ὀρχηστής): Ptolemaois … (OGIS 51.1-16, 31-46 = AGRW 298; Ptolemais Hermou, Egypt; 269–246
In the imperial period, Dionysiac performers developed organization at a translocal (oikoumenē) level and were protected by various privileges and rights (see BGU IV 1074; Oxyrhynchus, 273–74
Even the translocal guild of Dionysiac Artists formalized social relationships between authors and performers at the local level. At branch meetings, competitors in games and other skilled cultural producers assembled to carry out association business. For example, in an inscription from Aphrodisas (IAph 12.27; Asia Minor, 127
In the West, there were more associations consisting of local writers. Valerius Maximus attests to a collegium poetarum that benefitted from the patronage of Julius Caesar Strabo (3.7.11). Festus records the right of scribae and histriones to assemble and sacrifice in the temple of Minerva in Rome on the Aventine in 207 Itaque cum Liuius Andronicus bello Punico secundo scribsisset Carmen, quod a virginibus est cantatum, quia prosperous respublica populi Romani geri coepta est, publice adtributa est ei in Avention aedis Minervae, in qua liceret scribsis histrionibusque consistere ac dona ponere; in honorem Livi, quia is et scribebat fabulas et agebat. So when Livius Andronicus in the second Punic war wrote a hymn which was sung by the virgins, because the state’s affairs began to be conducted more successfully the temple of Minerva on the Aventine was officially granted, where the scribae and histriones might assemble and make offerings; in honour of Livius because he used both to write plays and to act in them (Translation from Horsfall 1976: 79).
Nicholas Horsfall raises the possibility that the scribae in this association were partially or entirely governmental scribes. This is because ‘scriba was never, so far as we can see, used by a poet of a poet’ (1976: 80), and so it is unlikely that these guild members would have used this designation for themselves if they were poetic authors. Their meeting place at the temple of Minerva meant that they would find themselves ‘in humble, and arguably humiliating company’ since this was also a meeting location for fullers, dyers, painters and others (1976: 80). The evidence, then, suggests to Horsfall that these scribae, as their name implies, might have been public scribes.
At a later date, governmental scribes in Rome had their own collegia. The social circle of a certain Surus in 55 [P. Cor]nelius P(ublii) l(ibertus) Surus [nome]nclator, mag(ister) [[—]]linus v(ixit) a(nnis) VIIII]] [—]utorum, praeco [ab aer]ario ex tribus [decuri]eis, mag(ister) scr(ibarum) poetar(um) —] fecit in theatro lapidio [ac]cens(us) co(n)s(ulis) et cens(oris) (Horsfall 1976: 88
44
; Rome; 55 P. Cornelius Surus, freedman of Publius, nomenclator, he served for 9 years … magister of the adiutores (?), herald for the public treasury of the three decuriae (?), magister of the collegium of scribes and poets, he administered … in the stone theatre, an attendant of consuls and censors.
Scholars typically describe this collegium as one of ‘poetic writers’—taking poetarum as a noun which modifies scribarum. But Horsfall observes that this would be an odd descriptor since collegia generally use adjectives in their self-designations where necessary (1976: 90). Moreover, asyndetic designators—i.e., the piling on of nouns but the omission of conjunctions such as ‘and’—are very common in the self-designations of Latin collegia (1976: 90). Therefore, when the guild’s self-designator is translated in light of associative language more broadly in Italy, it seems to identify the association as a collegium of scribae and poetae, that is, scribes and poets.
Sulus himself seems to be a public clerk rather than a poet: he was a nomenclator, a public herald, magister and attendant. Horsfall ‘can see … no reason to suppose that Surus was a poet’ given the other information about him in the inscription (1976: 90). If the scribae of the collegium were governmental clerks like Surus, then who were the poetae who associated with governmental clerks? Horsfall suggests that they were not necessarily full-time, well-respected poets, but rather, ‘more or less incompetent versifiers at Rome’ such as the authors whose works are now collected in the Carmina Latina Epigraphica and perhaps the scribes themselves doubled as ‘incompetent versifiers’ in their leisure (1976: 90).
4. Conclusions
In light of traditional notions about gospels originating out of the context of cultic groups (i.e., ‘gospel communities’), it is striking that when we find writers actually joining private organizations voluntarily, these clubs often fall under the occupational type of associations rather than cultic clubs. 45 For the Greek history-writers commended in epigraphy, who ranged in economic status from educated itinerants to the millionaire Herodes Atticus, it was their literary abilities that enabled them to take part in a spectrum of social activities, including teaching, lecturing in temples, writing books, patronizing socially elevated clubs, and joining guilds of fellow writers. Their social relationships tended to be with people who lived at the same general strata in society, practiced the same or related professions, or had common aspirations for paideia. Traditionally, the gospel writers have been imprisoned socially in lowly, counter-cultural, gospel communities that exhaust their social lives, but it is now clear that a more complete description of their social relationships would consider the likelihood that their social networks cut across the ancient Jesus movement, and would take seriously the social implications of their literacy.
Q and Thomas researchers have proposed social settings for these gnomological texts that so reflect the social activity of historiographers that their model deserves consideration from researchers of the historiographical gospels. John Kloppenborg’s analysis of the social setting of Q highlights its writers’ probable occupational networks, and argues that the initial layer points towards a setting within ‘the lower [scribal] administrative sector of the cities and villages’ (1991: 81-91). The arguments in support of the village scribe theory cannot be reviewed here, but they are based on evidence from Q as well as external data that are independent from the source material presented here (see Kloppenborg 1991; Arnal 2001; Bazzana 2011; Rollens 2013).
William Arnal’s reconstruction of a school-type social formation behind Thomas (cf. Kloppenborg 2014: 228-31) also fits within the range of social activities typical for ancient historiographers. Arnal’s articulation of the Thomas network precisely captures some implications of the historiographer analogies for understanding the relationship of the NT gospel authors to ancient Christianity. He provides the following description:
We still may speak in terms of a social formation here: a school, more or less. But the school in question is best conceived of not as a given group (of any variety) preponderantly defined by a commitment to Jesus. Rather, we should think of Thomas’s generative context in terms of school-like practices, practices that were merely aspects of the lives of the people in question, overlapped with other identities and behaviors, and which were shared, in a general sense, by many others, including others who had no inkling of the Gospel, or of its authors, or of Jesus. (2014: 281, emphasis original).
Arnal explicitly establishes common aspiration for paideia as the basis for membership in the social formation out of which Thomas emerged. Like Leonides’ occupational guild of tow-workers, common cult preferences were secondary factors here.
Kloppenborg’s and Arnal’s reconstructions of the Q people’s and the Thomas people’s social relationships as principally networks of common occupations and common aspirations for paideia respectively need now be considered as models for understanding the social setting of historiographical gospel literature. These models happen to cohere precisely with patterns of the sociability of historiographers in the ancient Mediterranean, which the honorific epigraphy illustrates rather clearly. The outcome of this new model is a reversal of the current state of affairs in some respects: now, rather than originating from ‘religiously’ coherent and socially heterogeneous communities, it seems more fitting to imagine the NT gospels emerging from socially coherent and ‘religiously’ heterogeneous networks. 46
Footnotes
1.
Epigraphic and papyrological abbreviations follow Horsley and Lee 1994 and Oates, Bagnall and Willis 2001. Abbreviations not included in these guides are as follows: GRA I = Kloppenborg and Ascough 2011; GRA II = Harland 2014; AGRW = Ascough, Harland and Kloppenborg 2012; Thasos = Pouilloux and Dunant 1858; IosPE I2 = 
. All translations of primary material are my own unless indicated otherwise.
2.
Two recent exceptions to the rule in reconstructions of the social setting of Jesus narratives are Duling 2002 and Stowers 2011. Others (e.g., Ascough 2001; Runesson 2008; ) have argued that certain NT gospels emerged from Greco-Roman association, which were social formations that did not exhaust the social activity of their members. These studies are also exceptions to the dominant interpretive model.
3.
See n.19.
4.
5.
An interpretive model that has been reviewed several times elsewhere. See, e.g., Bauckham 1998; Klink 2004; Mitchell 2005; .
6.
For biography, see Votaw 1915; Talbert 1977; Burridge 1992. For historiography more broadly, see Becker 2006; Yarbro Collins 2007. For encomium, a sub-genre of biography, see Shuler 1982. For novelistic literature, see Vines 2002. For intersections between historiography as a ‘macro’ classification (Becker 2008: 127) and various forms of related literature (e.g., biography, encomium, fiction), see the relevant contributions to .
7.
: 528) observes that ‘it is often quite difficult to distinguish history from biography, even with the most careful analysis, nor did the ancients do so consistently. Historiography itself is protean, and biography no less so: not surprisingly, they frequently overlap, and especially in treating political-military persons and events’.
8.
For a compilation of these inscriptions, see Chaniotis 1988; cf. .
9.
See also Wisse 1986 and .
10.
In these pages, Chaniotis lists 16 inscriptions matching the description.
11.
See , E 9 = IStratonikeia 7; E 11 = FD III.3 224; E 22 = IG XII/5 869; E 55 = IG XI/4 572; E 71 = Michel 65; and discussion in Chaniotis 1988: 370.
13.
IDelos 1512 (Knosos; late II
15.
See also Chaniotis 1988: 386 and : 43.
16.
See Von Soden 1902: I, 309-10; cf. : 59.
17.
See also Diogenes Laertius, Lives of the Sophists 2.10.110. For other examples of historians commissioned to write books by regional leaders, see the works cited in n.12.
18.
Harry : 18) accurately situates gospel literature within ‘a continuum of antique literature ranging from the most sophisticated and artistically self-conscious prose and poetry through professional expository and technical writing to practical prose for a broader readership and finally to mere documentary materials in the vernacular’.
19.
See MacDonald 2000; Martin 2008; Damm 2010; .
20.
See Kaibel 1878 no. 877b; Hiller 1929 no. 687; : 217-18.
21.
Lazaridis 1997: 52-58, figs. 29-32; cf. : 57-73.
22.
23.
The inscription was located in Thasos, the hometown of the historiographer. See below for this practice.
24.
Ephebic schooling (youths c.18–20 years old) by the time that this historiographer taught ephēboi in I : 186). Part of ephebic education was offered by local teachers whom the gymnasiarch paid, but ephēboi were also instructed by itinerant teachers who offered lectures (Marrou 1956: 187), such as the historian in our inscription. The itinerant’s service likely amounted to a historical lecture.
26.
27.
28.
If the gospel authors’ social lives were to be understood throughout time rather than fixed in time when they composed Jesus narratives, their occasion to be lecturing in temples and other public buildings would be ongoing. The publication process for any other historical text that they composed would have involved public performance (: 29-48), and thus enquiries into the lecturing activity of historiographers are significant if the objective is to understand gospel writers’ social situation as professional writers.
29.
Pliny recounts an instance where the historian was asked, and agreed, not to read the part of his book that disparages a wealthy local (Epistles IX 27). It is especially striking that, for Pliny, the anonymous historian’s decision to not read his work explicitly did not diminish their reputation.
30.
It is likely that Aristotheos performed his lectures in the temple of Apollo, a popular venue for the delivery of speeches by foreign cultural experts, such as Hermokles of Chios, a rhetorician and historian (FD III.3 224)
31.
32.
33.
A later decree from Chersonesos likewise records local military history that involves intervention by Parthenos (IosPE 12 352 = SIG3 709).
34.
See also Strabo 1.4.3, where Strabo rejects Pytheas of Massilia’s recollection of his visit to northern European regions due to Strabo’s belief that Pytheas lacks education and therefore cannot be trusted for historical information.
35.
: 73) believes that non-elites would have had some exposure to history through dramatic plays: ‘It may well be that when the citizens of Rome gathered at the “games” in honor of their gods … they were taught what they needed to know about the gods, about their rights and duties, and about the history of their city, by exemplary narratives presented in dramatic form. As always, our inference can only be a provisional hypothesis’. This is overall consistent with Pausanias’s own observation.
36.
See, for example, IosPE I2 344 = Chaniotis E 7 (Chersonesos, North Black Sea; 250–200
37.
In one famous papyrus, a student in Alexandria—whose preferred rhetorical teachers had left for other cities—was at a loss what to do as he could not find a suitable teacher. He tells his father: [ἔτι δὲ] τ̣ῶν ἐπιδεικνυμένων ἀκροώμενος, ὧν ἐστὶν ὁ Π̣οσ̣ειδώνιος, τάχα θεῶν θελόντων καλῶς πράξο̣μ̣αι. (P.Oxy. XVIII 2190.34-36; Oxyrhynchus, Egypt; c. 100
38.
For example, E 18; FD III.1 273, 275, III.3, 338.
40.
See Scarborough 1985: 387-405; cf. : 249-58.
44.
See also Rüpke 2005: 646, no. 1391 and : 125-26.
45.
John Kloppenborg (1996: 18-23) and : 28-53) find that Greco-Roman associations are best classified based on membership profiles—that is, based on the primary basis in which members are associated with other members—rather than according to the old functional typology, which failed to take into account the rather ubiquitous cultic, social and funerary purposes served by associations. Harland’s version of this typology distinguishes between associations whose primary social basis for affiliation were household, neighborhood, cultic, occupational and ethnic.
46.
I am grateful to Richard Ascough and Ian Brown for reading an earlier version of this article and for providing helpful feedback. I would also like to thank the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada and Queen’s University’s Senate Advisory Research Committee for their generous funding while I wrote this article.