i

WOMEN IN THE NEW

TESTAMENT WORLD
ii

ESSENTIALS OF BIBLICAL STUDIES

Series Editor

Patricia K. Tull, Louisville Presbyterian Theological Seminary

Reading Hebrew Bible Narratives

John A. Dearman

The History of Bronze and Iron Age Israel

Victor H. Matthews

New Testament Christianity in the Roman World

Harry O. Maier

Women in the New Testament World

Susan E. Hylen
iii

Women in the New

Testament World

SUSAN E. HYLEN

1
iv

1
Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford. It furthers
the University’s objective of excellence in research, scholarship, and education
by publishing worldwide. Oxford is a registered trade mark of Oxford University
Press in the UK and certain other countries.

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© Oxford University Press 2019

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rights organization. Inquiries concerning reproduction outside the scope of the
above should be sent to the Rights Department, Oxford University Press, at the
address above.

You must not circulate this work in any other form

and you must impose this same condition on any acquirer.

Library of Congress Cataloging-​in-​Publication Data

Names: Hylen, Susan, author.
Title: Women in the New Testament World / Susan E. Hylen.
Description: New York : Oxford University Press, 2018. |
Series: Essentials of biblical studies |
Includes bibliographical references and index.
Identifiers: LCCN 2018009551 | ISBN 9780190237578 (hardcover : alk. paper) |
ISBN 9780190237585 (pbk. : alk. paper) | ISBN 9780190237615 (online resource)
Subjects: LCSH: Women in the Bible. | Bible.
New Testament—Criticism, interpretation, etc.
Classification: LCC BS575 .H95 2018 | DDC 225.9/5082—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018009551

1 3 5 7 9 8 6 4 2
Paperback printed by Sheridan Books, Inc., United States of America
Hardback printed by Bridgeport National Bindery, Inc., United States of America
v

For Marian and Maria

vi
vi

CONTENTS

List of Figures  ix
Acknowledgments  xi
Abbreviations  xiii
Series Introduction  xv
1. Introduction  1
2. Interpreting Evidence for Women’s Lives  25
3. Gendered Virtues  42
4. Marriage, Divorce, and Widowhood  65
5. Class Status, Wealth, and Patronage  93
6. Occupations  113
7. Speech and Silence  131
8. Conclusion  160
vi

v i i i |    C ontents

Notes  169
Bibliography  189
Index of Primary Sources  201
Literary Sources  204
Papyri  206
Topical Index  209
ix

FIGURES

1.1 Funerary Relief for Potter’s Family  19

1.2 Funerary Relief for Butcher’s Family  21
3.1 Portrait of a Priestess  44
3.2 Marble cinerary urn  53
4.1 Funerary inscription known as Laudatio Turiae  75
5.1 Statue of Eumachia  97
5.2 Plancia Magna dedicatory inscription  104
6.1 Marketplace sign  127
6.2 Hermione Grammatike  129
x
xi

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

The creation of a book is never a solo endeavor. I am grateful for

the institutional and personal support I have received on many
fronts. Emory University and Candler School of Theology pro-
vided me with regular leave time, research funding, and admin-
istrative support. In particular, the leadership of Dean Jan Love
creates an environment where individual research can thrive. In
countless ways, Candler’s administrators and staff attend to the
needs of the school and in doing so make possible my research
and writing. My faculty colleagues are generous with their time
and always willing to offer concrete assistance as well as moral
support. I am privileged to work in such a supportive environ-
ment, and I am grateful that I do.
My research for this particular project benefited greatly from
the resources of the Pitts Theology Library. The library staff were
very knowledgeable and always willing to help. In addition, the
resources and staff of Emory’s Carlos Museum were valuable. My
research assistants, Aaron Carr and Nick Cupp, helped me track
down inscriptions and read drafts of the manuscript. Professor
Shively Smith of Wesley Theological Seminary offered collegial
support and thoughtful feedback on my work.
xi

x i i |    A cknowledgments

I am especially thankful for the support of my family. My

partner, Ted Smith, makes my work possible in countless ways
through his care for me and our household. Our sons, Bennett
and Tobias, are amazing individuals whose love and affection
I depend on. This book is dedicated to two talented women: my
mother, Marian Hylen, and my sister, Maria Simili. They are
models of faith and leadership for me and for many others. Their
encouragement and love are a source of strength for which I am
grateful.
xi

ABBREVIATIONS

Abbreviations of journals and ancient texts follow the

conventions of the SBL Handbook of Style (2nd ed., Atlanta: SBL
Press, 2014). Works not listed there are abbreviated according
to the conventions of A Patristic Greek Lexicon, edited by G. W.
H. Lampe (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1968). Papyri are abbre-
viated according to the Checklist of Editions of Greek and Latin
Papyri, Ostraca, and Tablets, online at http://​library.duke.edu/​
rubenstein/​scriptorium/​papyrus/​texts/​clist.html. Ancient works
not listed in these sources are found below.

ATh    Acts of Paul and Thecla.

Bloch    The Roman Brick Stamps, ed. Herbert Bloch

(Rome: L’Erma de Bretschneider, 1967).

Cod. Just. 
Corpus Iuris Civilis, vol. 2, Codex Iustinainus, ed.
Paul Krueger (Berolini: Apud Weidmannos, 1906).

Dig.     The Digest of Justinian, Latin text, ed. Theodor

Mommsen (Berlin: Weidmann, 1868);
repr. with English trans., ed. Alan Watson
(Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania
Press, 1985).
xvi

x i v |    A bbreviations

DJD Discoveries in the Judean Desert (Oxford: Oxford

University Press, 1955–​2011).

Eph. An Ephesian Tale by Xenophon of Ephesus.

Frag. C. Musonius Rufus, Reliquiae, ed. O. Hense

(Lipsiae: in aedibus B. G. Teubneri, 1905; repr.
Leipzig: Teubner, 1990).

ILS Inscriptiones Latinae Selectae, ed. Hermann Dessau,

3 vols. (Berolini: Apud Weidmannos, 1892–​1916).

Pleket Epigraphica II: Texts on the Social History of the Greek

World, ed. H. W. Pleket (Leiden: Brill, 1969).

Pont. Ovid, Epistulae ex Ponto (Letters from the Black Sea).

RIC The Roman Imperial Coinage. Harold Mattingly

and Edward A. Sydenham, vol. 2 (London: Spink &
Son, 1926).

TAM Tituli Asiae Minoris (Vienna: Verlag der

Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1901–​).
xv

SERIES INTRODUCTION

The past three decades have seen an explosion of approaches to

study of the Bible, as older exegetical methods have been joined by
a variety of literary, anthropological, and social models. Interfaith
collaboration has helped change the field, and the advent of
more cultural diversity among biblical scholars in the West and
around the world has broadened our reading and interpretation
of the Bible. These changes have also fueled interest in Scripture’s
past: both the ancient Near Eastern and Mediterranean worlds
out of which Scripture came and the millennia of premodern in-
terpretation through which it traveled to our day. The explosion
of information and perspectives is so vast that no one textbook
can any longer address the many needs of seminaries and colleges
where the Bible is studied.
In addition to these developments in the field itself are changes
in the students. Traditionally the domain of seminaries, graduate
schools, and college and university religion classes, now biblical
study also takes place in a host of alternative venues. As lay lead-
ership in local churches develops, nontraditional, weekend, and
online preparatory classes have mushroomed. As seminaries in
Africa, Asia, and Latin America grow, particular need for inexpen-
sive, easily available materials is clear. As religious controversies
xvi

x v i |    S eries I ntroduction

over the Bible’s origins and norms continue to dominate the air-
waves, congregation members and even curious nonreligious folk
seek reliable paths into particular topics. And teachers themselves
continue to seek guidance in areas of the ever-​expanding field of
scriptural study with which they may be less than familiar.
A third wave of changes also makes this series timely: shifts
in the publishing industry itself. Technologies and knowledge are
shifting so rapidly that large books are out of date almost before
they are in print. The internet and the growing popularity of e-​
books call for flexibility and accessibility in marketing and sales.
If the days when one expert can sum up the field in a textbook are
gone, also gone are the days when large, expensive multi-​authored
tomes are attractive to students, teachers, and other readers.
During my own years of seminary teaching, I have tried to
find just the right book or books for just the right price, at just the
right reading level for my students, with just enough information
to orient them without drowning them in excess reading. For all
the reasons stated above, this search was all too often less than
successful. So I was excited to be asked to help Oxford University
Press assemble a select crew of leading scholars to create a series
that would respond to such classroom challenges. Essentials of
Biblical Studies comprises freestanding, relatively brief, accessibly
written books that provide orientation to the Bible’s contents,
its ancient contexts, its interpretive methods and history, and
its themes and figures. Rather than a one-​size-​had-​better-​fit-​a ll
approach, these books may be mixed and matched to suit the
objectives of a variety of classroom venues as well as the needs of
individuals wishing to find their way into unfamiliar topics.
I am confident that our book authors will join me in returning
enthusiastic thanks to the editorial staff at Oxford University Press
for their support and guidance, especially Theo Calderara, who
shepherded the project in its early days, and Dr. Steve Wiggins,
who has been a most wise and steady partner in this work since
joining OUP in 2013.
Patricia K. Tull
Editor
1

Chapter 1

Introduction

MANY READERS OF THE NEW Testament seek a deeper under-

standing of the women—​or the statements about women—​that
appear in these texts. As they do so, they often seek information
about the social context in which the New Testament was written.
The authors of the New Testament writings shared the same so-
cial background as their readers. They took for granted that those
early readers would use cultural knowledge to understand their
message. Readers today, who have different assumptions and
experiences of gender roles and expectations, often desire addi-
tional knowledge of the historical context in order to interpret
these writings.
Consider this example: the Gospel of Luke indicated that
there were women who traveled with Jesus and his disciples and
who “provided for them out of their resources” (Luke 8:3). The
author did not comment on this practice as if it were unusual and
assumed the reader’s cultural knowledge of such customs. Modern
readers may desire to know more about the social conventions
that shaped the women’s provision. What kinds of resources were
women likely to have? What relationships were implied by such an
arrangement? The reader who understands the historical context
can better judge what kind of connection these women may have
had to the Jesus movement.
Another example is Lydia, who was described as a busi-
nesswoman and the head of her household. She prevailed upon
Paul and his companions to stay with her in Philippi (Acts
2

2 |   W omen in the N ew T estament  W orld

16:14–​15). Without some knowledge of the cultural context, it is

difficult to know whether it was common for women to be heads
of households, to run businesses, or to offer hospitality to trav-
eling teachers. Readers may wonder whether Lydia was married,
who the members of her household were, or what kind of relation-
ship was implied between Lydia and Paul.
Cultural background, then, helps the reader to “fill in the
gaps” left by the writer, who presumes common knowledge that
modern readers do not share. Researching the social practices of
the time cannot offer single, definitive answers to many of the
questions modern readers have. Instead, this exploration helps
us understand the ideas and practices early readers were likely
to be familiar with. For example, the social status of the women
who provided for Jesus is difficult to define with much certainty.
Among the women Luke 8:3 lists was Joanna, the wife of Chuza,
Herod’s steward. This woman was someone who might have had
political influence. Yet not enough information is given to de-
termine many aspects of her social status, such as the level of
her wealth. Similarly, there is no historical evidence that can
help us determine Lydia’s marital status with any certainty. Even
readers who understand first-​century practices of marriage and
widowhood will not know definitively if Lydia was married. But
they may be better able to determine what the options were in
her context, or what Luke’s readers were likely to understand
about her.
A broader sense of the culture that produced the New Testa­
ment may also help modern readers avoid mistaken assumptions
about women in this period. It is not uncommon to find New
Testament interpreters making assertions that do not fit the first-​
century context. For example, some writers have assumed that
women were legally subject to their husbands’ authority, that
husbands controlled their wives’ property, or that women were
not allowed to initiate a divorce. None of these things were strictly
true of the first-​century Roman world, as women had a greater de-
gree of legal independence and social influence at that time than in
many cultures before or since.
3

I ntroduction   |   3

For example, interpreters of 1 Timothy have often compared

the language of the letter to its cultural background. How did
the author’s assertion that women should not speak or have au-
thority over men (1 Tim 2:11–​12) fit within other cultural norms
and practices? Raymond Collins situated the language of 1 Tim
2:11–​12 within this background: “In the Greco-​Roman house-
hold, the paterfamilias exercised virtually absolute authority
not only over his children but also over his wife.”1 Collins
asserted that the letter’s instructions would appear conven-
tional to its early readers. Although Collins’s interpretation has
many merits, his description of marriage is problematic. The
form of marriage he described, in which the legal authority
of the father transferred to the husband at marriage, was no
longer commonly practiced in the first century. As I describe
in ­chapter 4, contemporary marriage practices granted women
considerably more legal autonomy than Collins suggested. The
legal independence of women from their husbands had a sig-
nificant effect on the activities women undertook, even though
their subordination to their husbands was still assumed to be
the ideal. A different understanding of the social background
may help readers understand the instructions about women’s
silence in a new way.
In another example from 1 Timothy, Risto Saarinen argued
that the women deacons mentioned in 1 Tim 3:11 must have
been unmarried women, because “a married woman was obliged
to devote herself to her own household.”2 However, there is
substantial evidence that women served in religious and civic
offices in this region and time period, and that their capacity to
hold office was not determined by their marital status.3 Indeed,
a good deal of evidence comes from Ephesus, the location of
the community 1 Timothy addressed. If the author disagreed
with local expectations that married and unmarried women
exercised a variety of civic and religious offices, he might have
specified how Christian practices should differ. Yet the writer
said only that deacons should be married once, leaving open the
possibility that they were either married or widowed. Drawing
4

4 |   W omen in the N ew T estament  W orld

a richer portrait of the gendered practices of the time period

can affect the interpreter’s understanding of the roles of women
deacons in 1 Timothy.
The task of this book is to provide as clear a picture as pos-
sible of the legal and social status of women. This cultural back-
drop prepares readers of the New Testament to make interpretive
decisions about the language of the New Testament. Such infor-
mation does not give definitive answers to many questions readers
have, but it can provide new insights into a passage, and it can
help them avoid mistakes.
Before diving into a discussion of social status or marriage
customs, however, this chapter introduces readers to questions
that arise in approaching the subject of women in the an-
cient world and to the sources of evidence that are available
for study. The first two sections below take up the terms of the
book’s title: “Women” and “the New Testament World.” Both
terms present distinct challenges for the historian. Although
“women” can seem easy to identify in history, it is difficult to
explore this ancient category without importing contemporary
biases. The first section provides questions and tools needed to
approach the study of women. The second section introduces
readers to the complexity and scope of the New Testament
world. It outlines the time frame, geography, and some impor-
tant cultural influences in the context of the New Testament.
There was a great deal of cultural change going on in this time
period. These changes affected the lives of women, and they
should also shape the way modern readers approach the evi-
dence for women’s lives.
Last, the third section introduces readers to the evidence
available for women’s lives in the period. There is very little di-
rect evidence for women’s lives. Some women certainly wrote
about their lives in diaries, but unfortunately none have survived.
While numerous sources of evidence are available, each comes
with its own particular problems of interpretation. The final
section presents the types of evidence available for study and the
difficulties associated with each.
5

I ntroduction   |   5

WOM E N A S A H I STOR ICA L SU B JECT

Readers who are new to the scholarly study of ancient women may
not stop to wonder how to study women in history. The answer to
the question “What is a woman?” may seem self-​evident. If pressed
to define the term “woman,” some would give an answer deter-
mined by biology: a woman is a person with two X chromosomes.
Modern writers often employ categories like “men” and “women”
and assume that readers understand what these terms mean
without defining them.
Some modern readers examine the evidence for women in
antiquity without asking the question “What is a woman?” And,
indeed, it is possible to proceed in this way. There were people
in antiquity whom we would identify as male and female in the
same ways we identify people today. What is more, ancient people
had words for women and men, male and female, and so forth.
They gave children names that were gender specific. If modern
interpreters want to explore these categories, it should be easy
enough to identify these groups in the historical record.
Yet the question “What is a woman?” is still worth pausing
over for a moment. This volume explores how people in the cultures
that produced the New Testament understood what it meant to be
a woman—​not what we assume to be true about women today. We
ask the question “What is a woman?” not because we do not have
an answer, nor because we think the ancients did not, but because
we want to piece together from another culture’s perspective what
it meant to be male and female.4 It is precisely because we often
take our own understanding of sex and gender for granted that
we should stop and consider the possibility that this knowledge is
particular to our own time and place.
In fact, scholars often point to ancient Greece and Rome as
examples of cultural understandings of sex and gender that are
very different from modern notions. In 1990, Thomas Laqueur
argued that the ancient Greeks and Romans conceived of sex and
gender very differently from people today. Instead of two distinct
biological sexes, there was only one. The male sex was normative,
6

6 |   W omen in the N ew T estament  W orld

and females were simply a subset of the male. Laqueur showed

that authors like the fourth-​century b.c.e. philosopher Aristotle
and the second-​century c.e. physician Galen understood male
and female reproductive anatomy to be identical—​except that the
female’s was interior instead of exterior to the body. “Instead of
being divided by their reproductive anatomies, the sexes are linked
by a common one.”5 Laqueur concluded that in these centuries
“woman does not exist as an ontologically distinct category.”6 This
conception was very different from modern formulations of sex
and gender.
The ancient conception of sex that Laqueur traced was also
different from modern notions because it was inherently hierar-
chical. It assumed that women were biologically inferior to men.
In a classic example, Aristotle wrote, “The female is as it were a
deformed male” (Gen. an. 2.3 [737a28]). As Laqueur argued, the
ancients saw women as “inverted and hence less perfect men.”7
This hierarchical understanding was widely shared in ancient
sources.
In a similar vein, David Halperin argued that ancient Greeks
and Romans had a distinctive view of gender. (By “gender,” I mean
the social roles and values associated with being male and female.
It would also be possible to explore non-​binary gender expressions
in antiquity, but that subject lies outside the scope of the current
volume.) Writing in the same year as Laqueur, Halperin focused
his attention on ancient sexuality. He argued that the ancients had
no category comparable to our “sexuality.” They did not catego-
rize people according to a preference for male or female sexual
partners, nor did they view such a preference as an “orienta-
tion” that was part of one’s “identity.”8 In making this argument,
Halperin also displayed important elements of ancient views of
gender. What was important to the ancients in sexual partners
was not whether the partner was male or female but who took
the “active” role, which they understood as the one who sexually
penetrated the other. For ancient writers, being active was, by def-
inition, a male role. Therefore, men who were penetrated by other
men took on the “passive” role and thus were feminine. But the
7

I ntroduction   |   7

ancients saw nothing unusual in men who penetrated other men

because they played the active, masculine role. Halperin showed
that categories like active and passive helped define what it meant
to be male or female.
The one-​ sex model is a helpful reminder not to import
modern assumptions, even of such basic questions as what
constitutes male and female. The historian’s task is to try to see
the ancient world from within—​to try to understand the way
people conceived of gender or how they attached value to it—​
rather than to impose our own conceptions and values. Recent
scholarship has argued in multiple instances that sex and gender
are socially constructed. That is, what it means to be male or fe-
male is not a biologically given category that endures through
time but is constructed by culture, often with political, social,
and religious ramifications. In every culture, people make sense
of their experiences and the world around them, and in doing
so they construct understandings of what it means to be male or
female.
The one-​sex model is also important because it illustrates how
the definition of male and female is not simply given but serves
the interests of some members of society. Because the ancient
views seem foreign to us, it is easy to see how their descriptions of
male and female differences served their own social and political
needs. (It is much more difficult to see this about our own views of
gender.) The ancient writers assumed the superiority of men over
women, and they inscribed this hierarchy onto their observations
of the human body.9 Males could conceivably have been described
as inverted females, with the female anatomy assumed to be nor-
mative and the male’s its inverse. But this would likely never have
occurred to the ancients, who were already convinced of female
inferiority. Even on matters about which the ancient authors
differ—​for example, whether women were cold by nature and
men hot, or vice versa—​they agreed that whichever qualities were
viewed as inherently male were of greater value.10 Descriptions of
sex and gender were not neutral but reinforced social and political
structures.
8

8 |   W omen in the N ew T estament  W orld

Although the one-​sex model can help modern readers en-

counter some of our own biases, it is limited in helping us under-
stand the lives of ancient women. This model may not have been
the only way ancient people understood sex and gender. Classicist
Helen King has shown evidence of more than one view of gender in
the ancient world. She argued that Hippocrates’ medical writings
“assumed that women are not just cold men, but are creatures en-
tirely different from men in the texture of their flesh and in the
associated physiological functions.”11 Although Laqueur argued
that the idea that men and women were two sexes was a relatively
recent phenomenon, King showed that multiple views existed in
antiquity as well.
In addition, the focus on philosophical and medical writers
can wrongly give the impression that women’s lives were un-
changing over many centuries. Some authors have pointed to the
persistence of the one-​sex model over time: from Aristotle, who
lived and wrote in the fourth century b.c.e., to the second-​century
medical writer Galen. Galen’s perspective intentionally repeated
Aristotle’s and drew further conclusions on the basis of these ideas.
But tracing the dots between these two philosophers five centuries
apart provides little information about the lives of actual women.
Ancient sources like these showed a remarkable agreement about
gender norms and virtues across many centuries. But if we look
only at these sources, we will miss the considerable changes in the
legal and social status of women. By the time Galen was writing,
women had a very different legal and social position from that of
their predecessors in Athens or Rome. Even if this view of physi-
ology had not changed much, many elements of women’s lives had
changed.
To get a bigger picture of women’s lives in this period, we
need to put evidence of the legal, social, and material conditions
of women’s lives alongside philosophical conceptions of sex and
gender. The idea that gender is socially constructed is important.
However, the factors that led to the construction and performance
of gender were shaped not only by the decree of philosophers
but also by a host of social norms, legal structures, and political
9

I ntroduction   |   9

forces. Chapters 3 through 7 explore aspects of women’s lives in

the period. The sources of evidence for these topics are discussed
later in this chapter.
This multifaceted approach shares a good deal in common
with recent work in feminist studies and masculinity studies.
Masculinity studies emerged in the 1990s out of the recogni-
tion that gender studies often focused solely on the female, while
maleness remained invisible as a gender. This approach analyzes
the construction and performance of masculinity, often similar to
the way that feminists approach the study of being female.12 These
studies often acknowledge the importance of institutions, roles,
behaviors, and values in addition to philosophical constructions
of gender.13
Taking legal and social situations into account complicates
the project of this book because women had different social and
legal standings, depending on various factors. Some of the more
important variables in this period were wealth, location, family of
origin, slave versus free status, and citizenship. Gender ideology
was important, but it was not the only factor that shaped people’s
lives. Experiences of being female differed greatly. An exploration
of women in the New Testament period will need to make room
for this variety.

T H E N E W T E S TA M E N T W O R L D A S
A HISTORICAL SUBJECT
The phrase “the New Testament World” serves as a kind of short-
hand to identify the content of this book. It refers to the cultural
context in which the books of the New Testament were written.
Trying to understand the ways women were represented in the
New Testament requires attention to the political, social, and
legal positions of women in the culture at large. Even if early
Christians innovated distinctive roles for women, they would have
communicated these changes through language that made sense to
people of that time period. The New Testament would reflect already
existing social roles, patterns, and values to convey its message.
10

1 0 |   W omen in the N ew T estament  W orld

The New Testament writings were produced in the first century

c.e., the period of Roman domination across the Mediterranean.
Some scholars have argued that individual books were composed
in the second century. This book considers evidence from the first
century b.c.e. to the second century c.e., which historians call the
early Roman period. This range allows for a variety of evidence
to provide a context in which we can situate the New Testament
writings. Even within this relatively narrow window, however,
differences in date and of geographic location should shape the
interpretation of the evidence.
The period of the New Testament corresponds to the es-
tablishment of the Roman Empire. In 27 b.c.e., the emperor
Augustus became the sole leader in Rome, marking a change from
the Republican period of Rome’s history to the Imperial period.
The change occurred alongside the consolidation of Rome’s power
across a wide territory, including the lands associated with the
New Testament: Greece, Asia Minor, Egypt, and Judea.
The establishment of Augustus’s rule came with many social
changes and innovations, both in Rome and across the empire.
The first century saw many structural changes in cities, as Roman
and local elites built roads, aqueducts, theaters, baths, temples,
and other monumental structures. There were also social changes,
as people adapted to the concentration of power in the emperor
and sought to curry favor with him or his representatives. Roman
citizenship became an important marker of status and spread
gradually throughout the empire as it was conferred by the em-
peror on his non-​Roman allies. It was a time of relative prosperity
compared to other pre-​industrial societies.
Despite these changes, many elements of local cultures also
remained in place. Roman law applied to all Roman citizens, but
many of the inhabitants of the cities and territories Rome ruled
were governed by local customs. Many of the legal norms of in-
terest in this book, such as marriage and divorce, or the guardian-
ship of women, fell into this category. Thus a number of different
norms and practices existed simultaneously within the empire.
1

I ntroduction   |   1 1

However, people in the provinces also took on aspects of

Roman culture as a way of integrating into Roman rule. Although
Roman expansion began with military conquest, the influence of
Roman culture was not accomplished by force but through other
means. Local leaders in the provinces drew from both Roman so-
cial mores and their own local practices to forge alliances with
Rome and to reap the benefits Rome offered.14 In many of the
Roman provinces, inscriptions suggested that patterns of women’s
property ownership and patronage mirrored those of Roman law,
even when the women involved were not always Roman citizens
(see c­ hapters 4 and 5).
Greek culture and language remained influential in this pe-
riod. Many of these territories were already Greek-​speaking or
bilingual. Instead of imposing its own language, Latin, Rome con-
tinued the use of Greek in addition to Latin. Greek literature and
philosophy were highly regarded. Thus, while many of the legal
codes of the period were written in Latin, philosophical and lit-
erary texts, letters, and local court documents were often written
in Greek, and sometimes in other local languages.
The writings of the New Testament reflected and spoke to this
time period. The New Testament texts told stories of Jesus’s life in
Judea and the Galilee. Others were letters and sermons written
to churches in Greece and Asia Minor. Cities like Alexandria in
Egypt and Antioch in Syria have been suggested as locations of
the writing of some of the New Testament books. These writings
reflected knowledge of Rome as the center of political power at
that time. They were written in Greek, the language that remained
dominant during Roman rule.
The wide scope of the New Testament world presents a dif-
ficulty for exploring the lives of women. The evidence available
came from a wide geographic area. Roman imperial rule brought
many changes to the Mediterranean, but it did not require uni-
formity in many of the cultural practices that are central to this
book. People in different places and times may have had different
practices and values that shaped them as women and men.
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Because practices varied from region to region, historians

must look within a region for evidence of similarities and
differences. For example, local Jewish practices seem to have
allowed polygamy, even though Roman law did not permit it for
Roman citizens. This is an example in which some of the local
culture’s marriage practices continued to exist.
However, this does not mean that local traditions were al-
together different. Modern readers need to be especially careful
about our assumptions regarding Jewish practices. We tend
to expect that the Old Testament legal texts described the
lives of all Jewish women in the first century. Old Testament
laws were interpreted in a variety of ways to begin with, but
Jewish communities were also affected by the cultures around
them. For example, Jewish women owned and inherited prop­
erty, as did their Roman and Greek counterparts. And elite
Jewish women divorced and remarried in the same ways that
Roman women did. Jewish communities may have retained
some distinctive practices, but there was also a great deal of va-
riety, including many practices that were widely shared across
the subcultures of the Mediterranean. In exploring the lives of
women, this book looks for both similarities and differences
across regions.

EVIDENCE FOR THE LIVE S

O F W O M E N I N T H E E A R LY
ROMAN PERIOD
Exploring questions of women in ancient history has always
been difficult. The available sources are limited, and they offer
only partial glimpses of women’s lives. Women appeared less fre-
quently than men in the historical record. Many of the sources
were written by upper-​class men and offer, at best, a biased pic-
ture of elite women’s lives. Nevertheless, over the past forty
years historians have made important strides in uncovering and
interpreting evidence of women’s lives. In doing so, they enabled
a new set of questions to emerge, so that interpreting the evidence
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for women’s lives in the first century remains a challenging and

interesting task.
A primary problem for the historian interested in women’s
lives in antiquity is simply the quantity of evidence that is avail-
able. The limited amount of evidence is due to a number of
factors. Most of the architecture and artifacts of antiquity have
not survived to the present. The sparse evidence available presents
a limited picture and may skew the results in particular ways.
This section describes the kinds of evidence available for un-
derstanding what women’s lives were like in this period. It also
explores some of the inherent problems the evidence poses for
answering the questions that modern readers have. First, there
are philosophical, historical, and literary works, which for var-
ious reasons were deemed important enough to be retained and
transmitted through the years. Second, there are inscriptions
marking burial sites, commemorative statues, or buildings.
These items were not always preserved intentionally, and indeed
were often moved from their original location. Third, papyrus
documents have been discovered in the north African and Judean
deserts. In the dry climate there, organic material decays very
slowly. Some papyrus fragments were intentionally preserved in
archives and others were thrown away as garbage but unearthed
by archaeologists.
The publication of inscriptions yields new kinds of informa-
tion for assessing women’s lives. Inscriptions were made for a va-
riety of purposes. Some of the most common were inscriptions
marking gravesites and honoring the deceased, and inscriptions
that named important donors and honored their civic
contributions. Such inscriptions were costly and thus represented
a segment of the population with disposable income. Yet they nev-
ertheless included a population of both local elite and sub-​elite
people.
Similarly, papyrus documents give a different understanding
of the lives of people in this period. Some papyri were letters
noting mundane topics like the care of farm animals and the
sale of goods. Others were receipts for the payment of taxes and
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loans, or legal documents like wills and dowry arrangements.

Many came from the nonelite layers of society, people whom the
philosophical authors largely ignored. Some were written by the
sender; others were written by a paid scribe because the sender
was either illiterate or not literate enough to write a formal doc-
ument. These records survived only in places like Egypt and the
Judean desert, where the dryness of the climate preserves organic
materials like paper. They are geographically limited but often
allow important insights into the lives of people from various
classes of society.
In the chapters that follow, I have cited a published transla-
tion of the ancient sources whenever possible. Readers who do
not read Greek or Latin may want to access these sources for
further information, or to get a sense of the work as a whole.
Citations of these modern sources may be found in the endnotes.

Philosophical Writings and Letters

When scholars first turned significant attention to questions of
women in history, they began with the most familiar and widely
available sources. These were primarily literary texts written by
well-​educated, upper-​class men. Men were more likely to be ed-
ucated as statesmen and philosophers, and thus to write the
philosophical texts and letters that later generations deemed im-
portant. These authors rarely wrote directly about women’s lives.
Instead, women were mentioned in passing, as tangential to the
central subject matter. These writings generate specific kinds of
insights and questions for modern readers. It can be difficult to
know whether these sources conveyed reliable historical informa-
tion about women or simply transmitted stereotypes and biases
that were common at the time.
As an example, consider this quote from the Roman histo-
rian Livy. Livy wrote in the first century about a famous debate in
the senate that took place in 195 b.c.e. He quoted Lucius Valerius,
saying of women: “Never while their males survive is feminine
slavery shaken off; and even they abhor the freedom which loss
of husbands and fathers gives” (Hist. 34.7.12).15 Valerius suggested
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that women preferred to live under the strict authority of their fa-
thers or husbands.
Some early interpreters saw Livy as a reliable observer of
culture. For example, writing in 1977, Marjorie Lightman and
William Zeisel understood the quote this way: “Women, according
to Lucius, willingly served men and abhorred the freedom that the
death of a father or husband produced.”16 Like these historians,
many interpreted authors like Livy as recording how households
in antiquity functioned: the male heads of the household made all
decisions, and wives carried them out. In this approach, Valerius’s
words reflected actual relationships between husbands and wives.
But historians have long recognized that such a straightfor-
ward reading of an author like Livy obscures some of the most
important features of his work. Historians have come to consider
the author’s identity and social location along with the genre
and rhetorical aims of the text. From an early point, feminist
historians noted the problem of having source texts written al-
most exclusively by men. Even if Valerius understood women as
happy participants in their subordination, his words do not tell us
what the women themselves thought. The authors expressed ideas
that were colored by their experiences as elite men.
Perhaps more important, the purpose of most literary sources
was not to communicate information about men and women.
These texts had rhetorical aims: they sought to persuade the
reader of a certain viewpoint, to shed light on a social phenom-
enon, or to convey information the author deemed important
or useful. In Livy’s case, Lucius Valerius proposed the repeal of
the Oppian laws, austerity measures passed in a time of war to
marshal resources for the good of the city. The laws restricted the
amount of gold a woman could wear, and forbade multicolored
clothing and travel by carriage in or around Rome (Livy, Hist.
34.1.3). Repealing the laws would have allowed Romans greater
freedom to display their wealth. Valerius’s opponent, Cato, had
warned that women would run rampant if given license to dress
as they wished (see ­chapter 7). In response, Valerius asserted that
women would remain under the authority of their husbands or
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fathers, an authority the women preferred to the restrictions

of the Oppian laws. Valerius did not intend to describe actual
relationships between women and men or women’s feelings about
the authority of their husbands. Instead, he sought to persuade
other elite men that the repeal of the Oppian laws would not result
in the problems Cato had identified.
These authors often mentioned women as a means of
communicating other goals and not as the main subject of the
work. For example, the early second-​century Roman historian
Suetonius wrote of the emperor Augustus: “The education of
his daughter and granddaughters included even spinning and
weaving; they were forbidden to say or do anything, either publicly
or in private, that could not decently figure in the imperial day-
book” (Aug. 64).17 Suetonius wrote in praise of Augustus. He gave
the emperor credit for a well-​ordered household that exhibited
traditional virtues. As such, his statement provides little real in-
formation about the activities of women in Augustus’s family.
Indeed, Suetonius also acknowledged accusations of vice against
the same daughter and a granddaughter. But in this passage, he
cast Augustus as the virtuous head of his household. The actions
described illustrated classical virtues and thus honored both the
women and the emperor.
Acknowledging the author’s interests and aims allows for a
different approach to ancient works as historical evidence. Instead
of assuming that elite male authors accurately represented an-
cient cultures, the interpreter looks for social norms and values
that the author and ancient readers shared. From Suetonius’s
statement about Augustus’s household, modern readers learn that
wool-​working and silence were traditional virtues for women.
Furthermore, these traits not only characterized women but were
also used to praise men as good leaders of their households.
Ancient authors often presented idealized versions of histor-
ical events that reinforced the culture’s gender norms. A further
example comes from another story told by Suetonius. He recounts
the tale of Claudia, “who, when the ship that was bringing the
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sacred emblems of the Idaean Mother Goddess to Rome grounded

on a Tiber mudbank, publicly prayed that she might be allowed
to refloat it in proof of her perfect chastity, and did so” (Tib. 2).
Suetonius’s miracle story will likely strike the modern reader as
historically implausible. No existing historical evidence would
confirm the veracity of the events Suetonius recalled.18 If the his-
torian is looking for facts in the events of Claudia’s life, the sources
offer little help.
However, historical information can still be gleaned from
such a source. The interpreter asks what the author’s rhetorical
goals were in telling the story and what cultural knowledge he ex-
pected readers to use to achieve those aims. In this case, Suetonius
praised Claudia (and through her, the Julio-​Claudian line of
emperors) for her chastity or sexual morality. Suetonius assumed
the reader understood that chastity was a virtue and that they
would not be surprised to find a god or goddess intervening in
human affairs for the sake of chastity. Read in this way, the quote
is useful as evidence of the social values that shaped the lives of
women and men.
Fictional works are also a source of evidence for gender norms
of the period. A number of Greek novels were written in the first
and second centuries. These works were not meant to be taken as
histories. The stories were implausible because of the high level of
coincidental events. For example, Callirhoe married her husband
Chaereas, who was consumed with jealousy and struck her. She
was presumed dead and buried but was not actually dead. Before
this could be discovered, grave robbers came and carried her away
and sold her to Dionysius as a slave. Realizing she was pregnant
by Chaereas, she allowed herself to be freed and married to the
man who purchased her, though she always retained her love for
Chaereas. And that was only the beginning of the tale! But al-
though the stories were unlikely as a whole, individual events were
meant to sound familiar. Bandits robbed graves and roamed the
countryside, afflicting travelers. People were mistreated by others
and petitioned the authorities for redress. Religious festivals
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1 8 |   W omen in the N ew T estament  W orld

occurred with pageantry and sacrificial offerings. The stories

relied on the reader to recognize motivations of characters (like
Chaereas’s jealousy) or particular circumstances (being sold as a
slave) as plausible. Because of this, we may analyze the narratives
for the kinds of behavior that were assumed to be normal.
Understanding social history in this way requires the inter-
preter to develop a pattern of evidence seen across various sources.
If Suetonius was the only one who told a story of chastity, it would
be difficult to use this as evidence of a widely agreed-​upon social
value. But because numerous authors described the social impor-
tance of sexual morality and its relationship to divine favor, the
historian can piece together elements of the social fabric and un-
derstand something about gender expectations.

Inscriptions
Recognizing the limited information available from the writings
of elite men, scholars turned to other kinds of sources to supple-
ment their knowledge of women.19 Inscriptions were carved in
stone to commemorate an important event, publicly thank a ben-
efactor, or honor the dead. There was a large increase in public
statues and building projects in the first century, and as a result
many inscriptions remain. These sources provide information
that supplements the literary material.
The evidence of inscriptions presents its own set of difficulties.
Wealthier people more likely could afford to purchase a building,
statue, inscription, or other object that survives. Yet the relative
prosperity of the first and second centuries allowed many people
of more modest means to produce inscriptions for the deceased or
to honor leaders of their religious groups and civic associations.
Inscriptions represented a wider segment of the population than
were described in philosophical writings but still tell us little
about the lives of the poorest classes.
Another problem is that inscriptions were meant to honor a
patron or deceased relative. As such, they often gave an idealized
version of that person rather than a realistic portrait. For example,
many funerary inscriptions described the family connections of
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I ntroduction   |   1 9

the deceased and praised him or her for virtuous behavior. One
such inscription was dedicated to Amymone in the first century
b.c.e.: “Here lies Amymone, wife of Marcus, best and most beau-
tiful, a worker in wool, pious, chaste, thrifty, faithful, a stayer at
home” (ILS 8402). In this case, the reader learns little of Amymone’s
family—​only that she was married to Marcus. She was honored
with a long list of traditional female virtues. Taken together, the
list portrayed Amymone as the ideal wife. Because of this, it is hard
to say whether the attributes provided an accurate description of
Amymone or simply characterized her as a virtuous person.
Funerary inscriptions on tombs or caskets sometimes in-
cluded pictures, which depicted men and women of varying means
as they wished to be remembered. One image that survives is that
of a potter and his wife (see figure 1.1). The relief shows the potter
seated on the right, posed at work making a cup. His spouse, on

Figure 1.1 Funerary Relief for Potter’s Family. Virginia Museum of

Fine Arts, Richmond. Adolph D. and Wilkins C. Williams Fund. Photo:
Katherine Wetzel. Used by permission.
20

2 0 |   W omen in the N ew T estament  W orld

the left, has a domestic pose. She sits in a high-​backed chair rather
than on a work stool, and her hair is elaborately dressed in the
style of the day.
Interpreters ask whether such an image was realistic or
idealized. A pre-​industrial economy needed all adults to con-
tribute to the household. At the potter’s income level, the economic
demands of the family were unlikely to leave time and money
for the elaborate hairstyle and leisure represented in the picture.
Instead of providing a realistic portrait, the woman’s seated pose
and domestic objects honored her as a respectable matron.
Like the literary sources discussed above, these inscriptions
also had persuasive aims and cannot be taken at face value as a
window into these women’s lives. The attributes in Amymone’s
funeral epitaph represented an idealized version of feminine
virtue. Take, for example, the final trait her husband listed: a
“stayer at home” (domiseda). Women were often described in
antiquity as ideally occupied within the home. In another ex-
ample from a literary source, the first-​century Jewish author
Philo wrote, “Women are best suited to the indoor life, which
never strays from the house” (Leg. 3.169). Amymone is portrayed
as attaining such virtue. But there is little evidence that women
were confined or chose to stay within their homes. Lower-​class
women were likely to have lived in homes that adjoined a court-
yard where much of the household work was done. They may
have lived in or above the shops where they worked alongside
their husbands in business. The term domiseda seems more
likely to have communicated Amymone’s devotion to the needs
of her household rather than her actual location. During her
lifetime, her work likely took her outside their living quarters.
In a similar vein, the images in relief carvings depicted those
commemorated in an idealized rather than a realistic form. Like
Amymone’s attributes, the pose of the woman in figure 1.1 conveyed
her devotion to the household. Her hairstyle and posture portrayed
her as a modest Roman matron.20 The virtue depicted does not tell
us how the woman lived her life. But it does give us insight into
the gendered virtues that the monument’s inscriber assumed its
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I ntroduction   |   2 1

viewers shared. By erecting such monuments, Romans displayed

their status. The artifacts help us to see the virtues people wanted
to project and the visual shorthand they used to encapsulate those
qualities.
Interpreters look for patterns across these sources. It is diffi-
cult to interpret a single inscription without having other knowl­
edge of the context that produced it. The image of the potter was
not the only one of its kind. Another image of a butcher’s shop
(see figure 1.2) portrayed a husband and wife in similar poses: he
is at work on the right; she is seated in a dignified pose. The repe-
tition in the two works points to shared values that these images
depicted. Both images also corresponded to the virtues stated in
Amymone’s inscription. Taken together, the inscriptions give us
insight into agreed-​upon social norms.

Papyri
Papyrus records and letters give a more realistic, if partial, view
of ancient people’s lives. These documents were often tools for
communicating information of a practical nature rather than for

Figure 1.2 Funerary Relief for Butcher’s Family. Skulpturensammlung,

Staatliche Kunstsammlungen, Dresden, Germany. Photo: Elke Estel. Art
Resource, NY. Used by permission.
2

2 2 |   W omen in the N ew T estament  W orld

asserting one’s opinion or status. Because of this, these records

provide information that the literary sources do not.
Papyri often recorded everyday economic transactions. For
example, records from a village in Egypt showed women sel-
ling and registering ownership of camels, a primary source of
income in that location (P.Grenf. 2.45a; M.Chr. 260). Although
little is known about the women, the papyri suggested that there
was nothing unusual about women owning such property. They
expressed economic transactions of men and women in sim-
ilar terms. Women appeared less frequently than men in these
sources, but they undertook similar kinds of activities.
Interpreting inscriptions and papyri still requires attention
to the context and rhetorical aims of the writing. For example,
in one papyrus, Demetria, an Alexandrian woman living
in Oxyrhynchos (in Egypt), appointed her grandson as her
legal representative. She wrote that she was “unable to attend
the court by reason of womanly frailty” (P.Oxy. 2.261).21 The
statement reflected a cultural assumption that women were frail
by nature. Yet the claim of frailty as a quality of women lies in
some tension with the rest of the document. Demetria directed
that “she has appointed her aforesaid grandson Chairemon as
her legal representative before every authority and every court,
with the same powers as she, Demetria, who has appointed him,
would have had if present, for she consents to this appointment.
The contract is authoritative.” The language of the document
suggested that Demetria expected to have some “powers” be-
fore the court, powers that she transmitted to her grandson.
Demetria mentioned a guardian in the same document but
did not name him as her legal representative, choosing instead
her grandson, Chairemon. Demetria’s claim of “frailty” drew
on assumptions about women to explain her absence in court.
Yet it also appeared in some tension with her actions to secure
her legal interests. As with the literary works and inscriptions,
papyri also require thoughtful consideration of the purposes
and context of the writing.
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CONCLU S ION
This availability of increased numbers of inscriptions and papyri
has changed the kinds of evidence available. Papyri give us a
more mundane and less idealized view of life. As such, they show
women’s participation in economic and legal decision making. The
everyday nature of these transactions gives a picture of people’s
lives that is unaddressed by most literary sources. Inscriptions
give an idealized view but also praise women for being in positions
of authority and honor. These are the kinds of positions that seem
to be expressly forbidden in the philosophical and legal materials.
The new evidence from inscriptions and papyri intensifies
the questions that already existed in the literary sources. It is
common to see women being praised for their leadership and pa-
tronage of cities and community groups. Women managed farms,
bequeathed property, and arranged apprenticeships. They were
teachers, priests, and magistrates.
The variety of kinds of evidence and the conflicting signals
of these sources raise questions of interpretation. How should a
modern reader understand statements of women’s inferiority or
limitations alongside other evidence celebrating women’s prom-
inent roles? The next chapter discusses the ways that historians
have assessed the conflicting evidence and explains the approach
of this book.
Chapters 3 through 7 each focus on an aspect of women’s lives
in the New Testament period. I present evidence for gendered
virtues, practices of marriage and divorce, the importance of class
status, the occupations of women, and their speech and silence.
In each case, I try to give a full description of the kinds of evi-
dence available and to draw conclusions about the ways women
participated in that element of communal life.
Each chapter also ends with a brief discussion of New
Testament texts. In these sections I consider passages of the New
Testament in light of the chapter to see what new possibilities for
interpretation may emerge. Readers should not expect that the
24

2 4 |   W omen in the N ew T estament  W orld

historical information offered in the chapter will “solve” once

and for all the question of interpretation that the biblical texts
raise. Texts always have more than one possible good interpre-
tation, and the history of biblical interpretation confirms that
many interpretations are possible. My hope is not to answer all
the questions related to the New Testament texts but to allow new
observations and interpretations to emerge.
25

Chapter 2

Interpreting Evidence
for Women’s Lives

READERS OF THE NEW TESTAMENT often share an impression

that ancient women’s lives were highly restricted. Men led and
women were expected to follow. Men owned property and women
relied on them for support. Men pursued honor and women tried
to avoid shame. People expected men to be active and courageous
and to excel in a variety of careers, but they valued women only
for their virginity (as girls) and their capacity for childbearing (as
adults).
Some of the evidence for women’s lives in the first and second
centuries supports the impressions stated above. For example, the
first century Jewish philosopher, Philo of Alexandria, wrote, “The
women are best suited to the indoor life which never strays from
the house. . . . A woman, then, should not be a busybody, meddling
with matters outside her household concerns, but should seek a
life of seclusion. She should not show herself off like a vagrant in
the streets before the eyes of other men, except when she has to go
to the temple” (Spec. 3.169–​170).1 Philo’s view confined women’s
activities to a narrow arena.
Women could also be criticized for being immodest, idle, or
outspoken. For example, the Roman author Juvenal presented a
satirical portrait of a learned, elite woman who spoke with too
much authority: “But she’s much worse, the woman who as soon
as she’s taken her place at dinner is praising Virgil and forgiving
Elissa on her deathbed, who pits the poets against one another
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and assesses them. . . . The schoolteachers give way, the teachers

of rhetoric are beaten, the whole party falls silent, there’ll not be
a word from any lawyer or auctioneer—​not even from another
woman.” (Sat. 6.434–​440).2 Juvenal painted a picture in which
such women absurdly overstepped the bounds of decency. His
words represented some of the social norms of his day, in which
women rightly deferred to men of the same social class.
There is a good deal of evidence, however, that women exercised
a surprising degree of political and social influence in this period—​
certainly greater than in many cultures before or since. Consider
Agusia Priscilla, who was honored with an inscription and statue
decreed by her city. The inscription honored Priscilla for expenses
incurred as a priestess of Spes and Salus Augusta, and stated that
her gifts were inspired “by the example of illustrious women.” She
refurbished the portico of the temple with her own money and gave
shows to honor the emperor. Pleased with the honor, she repaid the
cost of the statue herself (CIL 14.2804 [ILS 6218]). This inscription
is one example of many women honored in similar ways for their
provision of services and building projects undertaken for the ben-
efit of the community. The actions represented here are not what
modern readers would expect from sources like Philo and Juvenal.
While Philo asserted the norm of female modesty and seclusion
and Juvenal was critical of women’s speech, Agusia Priscilla’s in-
scription and many others like it offered public praise of women
for their acts of civic leadership.
These conflicting signals are repeated over and over in the
evidence that remains from the New Testament period. A good
deal of evidence suggested that women were expected to be quiet
and submissive. At the same time, evidence also showed women
performing a wide range of tasks. Agusia Priscilla’s actions were
not an anomaly but fit within the cultural norms I describe in
­chapters 3 through 6. Many women of this period owned prop­
erty, ran businesses, served as civic and religious officials, and
pursued the social interests of their families.
Thus, the evidence for women’s capacities to act yields mixed
results. One task of this book is to bring to light the more active
27

I nterpreting E vidence for W omen ’ s  L ives   |   2 7

roles that women played in their communities, because this ev-

idence contradicts the assumptions that many modern readers
have. If we read the New Testament alongside only writers like
Philo and Juvenal, we will have a distorted picture indeed.
However, the larger task of this book is to understand how the
varied evidence fits together. How did it make sense that women
were praised both for modesty and for civic leadership? How did
ideals of subordination make sense alongside women’s active
leadership? In this chapter, I consider a number of ways scholars
have answered these questions and describe the approach of
this book.

EXPLAINING DIVERSE EVIDENCE

The diversity in the existing evidence has long been noted by
scholars, who explained this variety in a number of ways. In this
section I review some of the popular explanations. Earlier scholars
dismissed the evidence for women’s leadership by suggesting that
their titles were merely honorific. Some recent scholarship in-
stead presented women’s leadership as real but exceptional. Other
scholars asserted that women’s leadership was only possible in
certain communities, or they assigned female leadership to the
private sphere. I argue that none of these theories explains the
evidence available for women’s roles. Understanding why these
explanations do not work sets the foundation for a new approach
to interpreting the conflicting evidence.

Women Leaders Were Not “Real” Leaders

One type of reasoning regarding the conflicting evidence for the
roles of women explained away the evidence of women’s active
leadership. In this view, women leaders were not “real” leaders.
Their titles or roles had no real authority and thus should be dis-
counted. For example, scholars have often acknowledged the titles
attributed to women in inscriptions, where they were recognized
as priests and magistrates of cities. Yet some concluded these
titles were “simply honorary,” meaning that the office holder did
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not exercise any power or function but simply held a title. For
example, writing in 1940, A. H. M. Jones admitted that Greek
women held magistracies but described their positions as “those
of a more ornamental character.”3 Scholars like Jones implied that
women office holders had no power.
This line of reasoning fails to consider the changing na-
ture of political power during the Imperial period. At the end
of the Republican period, women were already involved in pol-
itics through the exercise of social influence. Although they did
not vote or hold membership in the senate, they exercised power
through other political channels, especially through family ties
and patronage.4 Social networks were important avenues through
which to assert political power in this period, and they were avail-
able to women as well as men.
The argument that women’s titles were “merely honorary” also
neglects the importance of honor within Mediterranean cultures
of the time. The pursuit of honor was a motivating force within
society and was a primary reason people sought out religious and
civic offices. The patron used his or her wealth and political in-
fluence on behalf of the city, and the appropriate response for the
people of the city was to honor the patron. (See the discussion of
patronage in ­chapter 5.) Inscriptions that honored male or female
office holders and donors were one tangible form of honor. Cities
or civic groups offered to honor a generous donor by erecting a
statue in a prominent place, proclaiming that person’s importance
through the visual representation of the statue and the publication
of the decree that authorized it. As Ramsay MacMullen argued,
for both men and women, “Surely the heart of the matter . . . was
the deference secured forever from one’s fellow citizens through
one’s being, for only a day or for only a few days a year, at the head
of the parade, or in front of crowds, and thereafter known by a
new title and memorialized in stone in the forum.”5 To say that an
office was “merely honorary” is anachronistic because honor was
a form of cultural capital that could translate into social and po-
litical power. Women pursued honor alongside their male peers.6
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Interpreters of early Christian texts have also minimized the

leadership of women seen in these sources. Many have read the re-
strictive language in some New Testament passages as canceling
out the evidence of women’s leadership. For example, writing on
the qualifications of women deacons in 1 Tim 3:11, Jouette Bassler
asserted that the letter’s instruction that women should not teach
or have authority over men restricted the actions of women
deacons (1 Tim 2:12). She wrote: “The text gives no indication of
the responsibilities of these women, though the injunctions in
2:12 would seem to preclude any real leadership role.”7 This inter-
pretation claimed that the ideals limiting speech always governed
the actions of deacons and thereby prevented “real” leadership by
women. Like some of the studies of non-​Christian women, this
approach assumed that conventional virtues precluded mean-
ingful action by women.

Women Leaders Were Exceptions

to the Rule
Another strategy in interpreting the contradictory evidence for
women’s roles has been to argue that the few women leaders were
exceptions to the rule. Unusual circumstances allowed women
to subvert the rules that governed social action and to take on
leadership roles. The rule of subordination to men continued
to apply to all other women, but a few were released from strict
observation.
Some scholars have assumed that females exercised leadership
only when no male was available to play the role. This explana-
tion bypasses evidence of married women honored for substan-
tive civic roles. Inscriptions do not always mention the donor’s
marital status, but sometimes enough information is given to con-
firm that the woman had a living husband or son. One example
is Junia Rustica, a married woman who was generous to her city
and also provided statues for her husband and son (see c­ hapter 7).
Therefore, a better explanation is needed to account for the avail-
able evidence.
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Other scholars argued that only extremely wealthy, elite

women held leadership roles.8 Such occurrences were not part of
the regular cultural landscape, and so they did not affect most
women’s lives, which continued to be dominated by men. This ex-
planation fits somewhat better with the available evidence because
the kind of patronage honored with statues and civic inscriptions
required large outlays of money. Wealthy women were most likely
to attain such durable honors.
Yet to view such women as “exceptions to the rule” is still
problematic for two reasons. One is the large number of women
patrons visible in the evidence. Inscriptions celebrating men
outnumbered those for women. Yet women were also honored,
and the frequency with which they appear in the evidence
suggests that they contributed regularly to their cities and towns
as patrons. Instead of viewing each instance of women’s patronage
as exceptional, it makes more sense to consider social norms that
supported their participation. The second reason is that the evi-
dence of women’s patronage is not limited to elite women. Women
of humbler means acted as patrons by making loans or giving
smaller gifts to their communities (see c­ hapter 5). Evidence of elite
patronage is more likely to have survived, but there is enough ev-
idence of patronage by nonelite women to suggest a wider social
basis that supported their actions.
Explaining women’s leadership as “exceptional” made more
sense before scholars of the last forty years brought to light a good
deal of evidence for the participation of women in civic and reli-
gious life. Instead of seeing these women as exceptional, scholars
today tend to reframe the way the rules were understood to
account for the regular participation of women. I take up this task
of reframing at the end of this chapter.

Women’s Leadership Was Limited

to Distinct Communities
Scholars of early Christianity have also explained the con-
flicting evidence as an indication that some communities allowed
women’s leadership while others did not. What has come to be the
31

I nterpreting E vidence for W omen ’ s  L ives   |   3 1

consensus position emerged in the 1970s and ’80s when feminist

scholars mounted an argument for the leadership of women in
the earliest churches. Many argued that women acted as leaders
in the earliest churches, but their leadership was eliminated over
time, especially as the church began to take on more structured
institutional forms. One pioneer of this argument was Elisabeth
Schüssler Fiorenza, whose work In Memory of Her is now a
classic in the field. She argued, for example, that the language in
1 Timothy forbidding women from teaching or having authority
over men (1 Tim 2:11–​12) represented one community that lim-
ited women’s teaching. The letter was composed in response to
other Christians who encouraged women to speak.9 Another pio-
neer in this research was Elaine Pagels, who argued that Gnostic
Christians allowed women’s leadership while proto-​ orthodox
Christians did not.10
Some scholars have divided not only Christian groups but
also the society as a whole into groups that disagreed about
women’s roles. In a more recent example, Bruce Winter traced the
emergence of the “new Roman woman” through factors like rising
property ownership and civic titles, trends I discuss in c­ hapters 4
and 5. Winter argued that a group he identified as the avant-​
garde supported this social trend. Others, including the emperor
Augustus, opposed their behavior.11 Winter’s approach assigned
the conflicting evidence to different groups within Roman so-
ciety at large. He went on to apply this social background to the
New Testament language restricting women’s speech and encour-
aging modesty, arguing that it was a reaction against these “new
women.”
Scholars of early Christianity have also explained the varying
evidence for women’s participation by dividing it into groups corre-
sponding to the marital status of the women involved. A common
argument has been that Christian women gained autonomy by
rejecting marriage and pursuing a celibate lifestyle. Women in
celibate groups took on roles as leaders of their communities. The
value of sexual self-​control is visible in the New Testament, where
Paul preferred remaining unmarried to marriage because it was
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evidence of self-​control (1 Cor 7:1–​9). Many interpreters have seen

Paul’s option not to marry, when practiced by women, as some-
thing that gave women a means to escape the control of men.12
Some recent scholarship has tempered the idea that celibate
women escaped male control. Elizabeth Castelli, for example,
argued that the life of virginity also restricted women’s lives,
though perhaps in different ways than marriage did.13 However,
many scholars have still repeated the idea that celibate women
gained freedom. For example, Ross Kraemer wrote, “Real celibate
women escaped to some extent an underlying ideological system
of gender relations that subordinates women to men.”14 The idea is
that these women leaders stood somehow outside of the cultural
norms that applied to marriage.
Dividing women’s participation into distinct groups would be
more compelling if the evidence itself were easily divisible in this
fashion. Instead, much of the evidence for women’s participation
mixes the restrictive ideals of feminine behavior with women’s
action. Numerous inscriptions praise women’s leadership and pa-
tronage alongside feminine virtues like modesty (see c­ hapters 3
and 5). The philosopher Plutarch reiterated women’s inherent in-
feriority to men, but he also praised women for their political and
military acumen. The jurist Gaius acknowledged women’s guard-
ianship as a legal norm based on the inherent weakness of women
while admitting he saw no reason for the practice in his day. It is
difficult to account for such evidence with distinct social groups.
The approach I describe in this chapter makes room for the pos-
sibility of complex or conflicting views within a single source or
community.

Women’s Leadership Was Limited to

the Private Sphere
Another explanation of the diverse evidence has been to define
women’s leadership as something restricted to the private sphere.
The idea is that women had substantial authority within the home
but were restricted from public roles. There is ample evidence that
associated virtuous women with the work of the household. The
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I nterpreting E vidence for W omen ’ s  L ives   |   3 3

quotation from Philo at the beginning of this chapter is one ex-

ample: “Women are best suited to the indoor life, which never
strays from the house.” In the light of such statements, many
historians have concluded that women’s leadership was restricted
to “private” roles.
Although this argument was popular among classicists as
well as historians of early Christianity, it has been especially per-
suasive in interpretations of the Christian texts because of the
prevalence of house churches in the early church. Many early
Christian communities met in members’ houses, and this location
was conducive to women’s leadership.15 Scholars argued that when
churches developed into institutional forms outside of houses,
women’s leadership was eliminated because they could not lead
in public.
However, modern definitions of public and private differ
so much from ancient conceptions that the terms are confusing
rather than helpful. Readers today are likely to imagine the “public
sphere” as a wide arena that includes things like business, educa-
tion, and the use of political influence. However, in the Roman
world, “public” life included a narrow range of activities, espe-
cially legislative and judicial functions.16 These functions were
the purview of elite men and thus were off limits to many men as
well as to women. This was especially true in the Imperial period,
when the concentration of political power in the emperor made
him the sole “public” person.17
While the public arena was a narrower realm than modern
readers commonly imagine, a wide range of activities were
classified as “private” concerns. As Kate Cooper has argued,
“Romans drew the distinction between ‘the public’ and ‘the pri-
vate’ . . . in terms of proprietary interest. This meant that produc-
tion and commerce fell, along with the household, on the ‘private’
side of the divide.”18 The household was the center of produc-
tion in the ancient world and women participated actively both
as laborers and as managers of production. Women’s household
work also regularly carried them outside of the house into the
market and shops. Some women worked alongside their husbands
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in business.19 Modern scholars might naturally imagine this par-

ticipation to be “public” and therefore part of what women were
expected to avoid. But it seems more accurate to say that produc-
tion and commerce belonged to the realm of the household and
were therefore appropriate to women.
Similarly, much of the social influence exerted through pa-
tronage also belonged to the realm of the household. As Harriet
Fertik wrote, “The house served not as a retreat but as a setting
for social and political activity.”20 The household was a meeting
place both for social peers and for patron and client.21 Women
played important roles hosting social events and exercising influ-
ence with peers, patrons, and clients.
Architecturally, houses also blurred the line between public
and private. The spaces of elite households usually had multiple
uses: the room that received visitors in the morning might be-
come a workspace in the daytime. In small houses, household
labor was often performed in a shared courtyard.22 The household
domain included a wide range of activities, many of which would
be categorized today as “public.”
Private interests impinged on “public” spaces as well. In a re-
cent book, classicist Amy Russell argued that the Roman Forum
was political space that mixed public and private interests. It
was a market and busy thoroughfare, and thus it was “public” in
the sense of being accessible. But because it was political space,
elite citizens competed with one another to mark it as their
own. Through statues and buildings that bore their names, cit-
izens mingled their private interests with the public uses of the
Forum. In the Roman period, the civic spaces in provincial cities
were used in similar ways. Populated with statues and bordered
with buildings built by wealthy donors, the streets and squares
presented a mix of private as well as civic or political interests.
Women competed for honor alongside men by donating statues
and buildings (see ­chapter 5).
In the end, it seems better to discard the words public and pri-
vate because they obscure more than they illuminate. I am inter-
ested in describing things like social influence, political advocacy,
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I nterpreting E vidence for W omen ’ s  L ives   |   3 5

economic activity, and civic offices of women. Categorizing these

actions as public or private is not a primary concern. For these
reasons I avoid the use of these words and try instead to describe
the content of women’s speech and actions.

TH E A PPROACH OF TH IS BOOK
This book offers an alternative explanation of the evidence for
women’s lives. Greek and Roman cultures included norms for
women’s behavior that were multiple and conflicting. Some of
these norms required women to remain at home, submit to their
husband’s authority, and remain silent. But others encouraged
women to pursue the interests of their families and communities,
activities that required participation in economic and social life.
Actors within the culture understood what it meant to abide by
these complex social norms.
In this section I offer two ways of understanding how the
evidence that seems contradictory to us may have made sense
within its ancient context. First, I describe how contemporary
understandings of culture make room for the idea that conflicting
norms exist within cultures. Cultures provide a set of rules that
shape behavior, but these rules are inhabited in multiple ways.
Furthermore, actors within cultures negotiate the tensions be-
tween existing norms. Second, I describe one cultural pattern in
the Imperial period where feminine norms of behavior overlapped
with ideals of civic leadership. These cultural trends supported the
increased participation of women.

Multiple and Conflicting Cultural Norms

One of the reasons it makes sense to reassess the ancient evi-
dence now is that our understanding of culture has changed.23
The view of women as exceptions to the rule implies an under-
standing in which culture provides a set of rules for individuals
to follow. When the rules are broken, either an exception is made
or a new social group is formed in opposition to the dominant
culture.
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More recent social theory challenges this idea and tries

to account for more of the complexity and change that occurs
within cultures. One important idea is that culture provides a
sense not only of what the rules are but also of how they should
be applied under different circumstances. For example, modern
American culture has norms of modesty, though they differ con-
siderably from the ancient norms discussed in the next chapter.
But even within American culture, modesty is not a single rule
that applies equally to all situations. It means one thing to dress
modestly at the beach, and another thing entirely to dress mod-
estly in church. People who are reared within the culture are not
likely to confuse the two situations. Culture provides standards
of modesty and the social understanding required to live by the
rules of culture.24
Moreover, the rules of culture are constantly negotiated and
often in conflict. As Michel de Certeau argued, “Each individual
is a locus in which an incoherent (and often contradictory) plu-
rality of such relational determinations interact.”25 Because of this
variety, individuals necessarily make choices about how to inhabit
cultural norms and roles. Even clearly stated dispositions like
modesty or the subordination of women do not exist in a vacuum
but interact with other cultural norms and expectations.
Instead of seeing culture as a coherent force scripting human
action, individuals may be understood to function with what Ann
Swidler has called a “cultural repertoire.”26 Cultures provide an
array of social roles, values, and ways of making meaning, which
actors employ, depending on the resources and power available to
them. The dispositions of culture shape human action, but they
allow for multiple expressions of the same value and even, to some
extent, choice between values.
Furthermore, as new situations arise, actors may employ
practices associated with one role in new arenas.27 For example,
scholars have long studied the relationship between voluntary
associations in Greco-​Roman cultures and the organizational
structure of synagogues and churches. Titles and roles that
were familiar in civic and voluntary associations migrated into
37

I nterpreting E vidence for W omen ’ s  L ives   |   3 7

other realms like the synagogue and the church.28 In a similar

fashion, scholars have looked for roles that were already avail-
able to women, arguing that they held similar positions in the
church.29 Cultural innovation, such as a new religious group,
emerges within a culture and reconfigures existing norms and
practices.
With this understanding of culture in mind, interpreters
might expect to find ancient evidence expressing complex and
even conflicting values. The differences interpreters have noticed
in the evidence may not define boundaries between discrete
groups, each with a different perspective on women and gender.
Instead, this variety may indicate that complex cultural norms are
at work within one individual or social group.
Understanding culture from this perspective changes some
of the questions interpreters may ask of these texts. Interpreters
who encounter social norms like the expectation of women’s
modesty may ask what modesty looked like in practice. Instead
of viewing women leaders as exceptions to the patriarchal rule,
interpreters might wonder what cultural forces gave rise to diverse
expressions of gendered norms. How did rules of culture allow
such “exceptions” to arise? (Or, given the large number of “excep-
tional” women in antiquity, what rules better account for the di-
verse evidence available?) What does the conflicting evidence for
women’s leadership and submission tell us about the dispositions
of culture?

Gendered Virtues and Civic Participation

Interpreting the evidence for women’s participation in Roman
society involves looking for ways the tensions would have made
sense to the people of the time. One pattern in this period was the
use of domestic virtues as civic attributes. Virtues that were asso-
ciated with traditional household roles came to be used to express
the duty of citizens to their city. This trend helps explain support
for women’s civic participation. The overlap between household
and civic virtue is one way to understand how women’s leadership
was consistent with other cultural norms.
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In the Imperial period, domestic attributes became the core

of a new civic vocabulary.30 The shift to rule by an emperor was
a major social and political change at the end of the first century
b.c.e. Decisions that were formerly shared among an elite group of
men were concentrated in the hands of the emperor. This change
was sustained in part by renewed attention to the connections be-
tween domestic ideals and civic responsibility. The elevation of
virtues like loyalty to one’s spouse and the wise use of resources
for the good of the whole helped to mobilize people’s private
interests for the good of the state. Because society already valued
these virtues in women, the public discourse made additional
space for women’s participation in the civic realm.
Legal changes early in the empire made household behavior a
matter of civic concern. For example, Augustus enacted marriage
laws that gave incentives for citizens to marry and to remarry
when widowed or divorced. At the same time, the laws made adul-
tery a crime rather than a family matter. Similarly, a new right
called the ius liberorum made the production of citizens a matter
of honor that brought concrete benefits. Under this law, freeborn
men with three children had preference in appointments to cer-
tain offices. Women with the right could conduct their business
without the consent of a guardian. The same status was avail-
able to freedwomen with four children. (For more on these legal
changes, see c­ hapter 4.) Such legal changes made marriage and
childbearing matters of civic responsibility, and they rewarded
both male and female citizens who contributed in this way to the
public good.
At the same time, the emperor made domestic virtues part of
his public image. Kristina Milnor noted, “Augustus sought sys-
tematically to characterize himself and his household through a
performance of traditional Roman domesticity.”31 Suetonius gave
considerable attention to the emperor’s family life and virtues
(Aug. 61–​73). Augustus’s autobiography emphasized his mod-
esty and the influence of his mother as a way of underscoring the
emperor’s relationship to the household.32 He presented himself as
a person who valued and was formed by traditional family virtues.
39

I nterpreting E vidence for W omen ’ s  L ives   |   3 9

Many scholars have seen the emphasis on domestic virtues

as repressive of women. The subordination of women to their
husbands served the interests of the state as well as the family. The
emphasis on marriage and childbearing put pressure on women to
conform to traditional roles and remain subordinate to men. For
example, regarding Plutarch’s Advice to the Bride and Groom, Jo
Ann McNamara wrote, “In considering the dynamics of a couple,
they were seeking readjustments in the gender system that would
persuade potentially rebellious women to accept its strictures.”33
From this perspective, the promotion of domestic virtues re-
stricted women’s freedom and maintained male control.
Without denying the limitations placed on women, recent
scholars have emphasized the effects of these trends to carve
out space for women within civic discourse. Such arguments try
to account for the wide use of domestic virtues to characterize
both men and women, as well as the body of evidence praising
women for civic leadership. Beth Severy argued that the Augustan
marriage laws “officially made family behavior part of a citizen’s
duty. . . . One’s family responsibilities thus became primary duties
to the community.”34 As domesticity took on importance even for
the emperor as proof of civic responsibility, women’s virtues also
began to appear as achievements for the good of the city or state.
The empress Livia is another example of the role domestic
virtues came to play in the civic realm. Livia characterized her-
self with traditional feminine virtues at the same time she
embraced a civic role. Severy argued, “Livia used her association
with Augustus and the rising importance of family roles in of-
ficial rhetoric to create a public status out of exemplary domes-
ticity.”35 One of Livia’s civic acts was the dedication of a shrine to
Concordia. Concordia was both a quality describing ideal marital
relationships and a goddess Romans appealed to in times of po-
litical strife. Livia’s association with this shrine evoked political
virtues at the same time it contributed to the idealization of the
emperor’s family life. Livia also restored the temple of Fortuna
Muliebris, the site of a cult honoring the patriotism of two
women who acted to prevent an attack on the city.36 Through the
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restoration, Livia displayed her devotion to the gods, and in doing

so she represented traditional virtues. She also evoked the prece-
dent of two honorable women who worked on behalf of the state.
Even as she undertook these political acts, Livia was
characterized with the traditional female virtues that are the sub-
ject of the next chapter. Suetonius portrayed Livia, along with
Octavia and Julia, as making Augustus’s clothing (Suetonius,
Aug. 73). Being “a worker in wool” was an iconic image of the
loyal, industrious, and modest wife. Although the scope of Livia’s
labor was likely exaggerated, the rhetorical goal was to associate
the imperial women with the traditional domestic labor of wool-​
working.37 Other writers of the period described Livia’s pudicitia
(sexual virtue or modesty). Ovid, encouraging his wife to seek
Livia’s favor, said that Livia “by her virtue gives surety that the
olden time conquers not our age in praise of chastity (pudicitia)”
(Pont. 3.1.114–​116).38 Although aware of her political influence,
such authors acclaimed Livia’s modesty as a way of asserting her
virtue.
Livia was a woman with exceptional power, but she was not
“the exception to the rule” by which women were otherwise pow-
erless and invisible. The social norms Livia invoked had a broad
social appeal and were encouraged as the basis of civic benefac-
tion. Instead of stepping outside the norm, Livia publicized these
conventions that sustained communal interests in the absence of
participatory government. Livia was frequently cited as an em-
blem of matronly virtue and lifted up for others to follow, as I dis-
cuss in ­chapter 5. The civic discourse employed by Augustus and
Livia drew on existing concepts and vocabulary and expanded
their role in the civic arena.

CONCLU S ION
In this book I interpret the conflicting reports about women’s
leadership as evidence of complex social norms and practices.
From a modern perspective, the position of women in first-​
century culture is paradoxical: at the same time that women
41

I nterpreting E vidence for W omen ’ s  L ives   |   4 1

were ideally described as modest and confined to the home, some

virtues required women to exercise leadership and to pursue the
broad interests of their households and cities. The evidence for
this paradox is not new, and many scholars have pointed to the
seeming contradictions. In ­chapter 3, I describe how actions that
appear contradictory to us may have fit within the cultural norms
of the time. Women were expected to exhibit the virtues of mod-
esty, industry, and loyalty to family. However, women from var-
ious circumstances negotiated and embodied these virtues in a
variety of culturally acceptable ways. Inhabiting these virtues
led women to embrace a wide variety of social and familial roles.
Developments of the first century supported the appearance
of women in leadership roles because domestic virtues took on
added importance as evidence of civic responsibility.
This more complex view of the cultural norms for women’s
behavior points to a new way of understanding the varieties
in the evidence for women’s participation in early Christian
communities. Viewed as part of a cultural repertoire, women who
inhabited leadership roles did not step outside of culture, evading
norms of women’s modesty. Instead, they applied the norms re-
garding modesty in combination with other culturally available
roles and norms. The different roles that women played in antiq-
uity did not define the boundaries between communities with
different gender ideologies. The possibility for different roles and
leadership by women existed within and across various subgroups
in the New Testament world.
42

Chapter 3

Gendered Virtues

THE LIFE CIRCUMSTANCES OF INDIVIDUAL women varied

significantly due to diverse local, social, and legal practices of the
period. However, there was also widespread agreement on the
ideal qualities of the virtuous woman. Across the centuries and
from numerous locations, different kinds of sources portrayed
the ideal woman as modest, industrious, and loyal to her family.
There were various ways to express these virtues, but the ideals
themselves were remarkably consistent.
Instead of assuming a single way in which women were vir-
tuous in antiquity, this book explores what the virtues looked like
in a particular time and place. When women were praised for
modesty, what kinds of things were they doing? How did other
virtues like industry and loyalty intersect with and complicate
expressions of modesty? This chapter describes evidence from a
variety of sources in the first century b.c.e. through second cen-
tury c.e. that displayed traditional feminine virtues. In exploring
this evidence, I look for ways that the descriptions of a woman
and her actions can both fit and complicate the view that feminine
virtues were restrictive.
The qualities of modesty, industry, and loyalty overlapped in
significant ways, as I discuss further below. Although I address each
virtue individually, it is difficult to separate these ideals. The inter-
action between the virtues makes them more difficult to describe in
isolation, but it also explains some of the complexity in the ways the
virtues appear in the ancient evidence. A woman who was modest
might have been ideally depicted as remaining at home. However,
43

G endered V irtues   |   4 3

the same woman’s loyalty to her family might have led her out of
the home as she sought to meet the needs of her household. The in-
terplay between the virtues suggests that women engaged in a wide
variety of activities. Moreover, as they did so, they were not seen as
“breaking the rules” of feminine virtue. Instead, women inhabited
these norms in a variety of ways that the culture affirmed.

MODESTY
Modesty was a complex virtue in antiquity. Some meanings
were similar to what we might think of as modesty today. For
example, one traditional expression of modesty for women
was covering their bodies. In an earlier period, Greek women
wrapped their bodies and covered their heads in layers of cloth.
Plutarch wrote this anecdote of a female philosopher six centuries
earlier: “Theano once exposed her hand as she was arranging her
cloak. ‘What a beautiful arm,’ said someone. ‘But not public prop­
erty,’ she replied” (Conj. praec. 31).1 Plutarch’s story expressed the
ideal of modesty through covering the body.
But in the first and second centuries, modesty in dress more
often meant simple (as opposed to lavish) attire. This was a period
of prosperity for many people, and with that prosperity came the
ability to display one’s wealth through jewelry, expensive fabrics,
and elaborate hairstyles. The image of the woman in figure 3.1
exemplifies one of the hairstyles that became popular among elite
women in this period. Styling one’s hair in this way required a
great deal of effort and often a household slave whose time could
be devoted to such a project. Because of this, it was not only a
fashion statement but also a display of wealth.
Such displays were an important element of a family’s exhibi-
tion of social status. Wealthy families gained honor and prestige
through their use and display of wealth. Hosting dinner parties,
appearing in public with slaves in tow, and wearing expensive
clothing or jewelry contributed to the construction of the family’s
social image within the community.
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Figure 3.1 Portrait of a Priestess. © Michael C. Carlos Museum, Emory

University. Photo: Bruce M. White, 2010. Used by permission.

However, the ancient sources also displayed awareness

that such extravagance could conflict with other important so-
cial values. Plutarch provided an example of a military leader,
Lysander: “The tyrant of Sicily sent expensive cloaks and
necklaces to Lysander’s daughters. Lysander refused them, saying,
‘These ornaments will disfigure me more than they will adorn my
daughters’ ” (Conj. praec. 26). Lysander understood his own status
to be connected to what his daughters wore. Although the gifts
would assert the family’s social status, he decided that they would
“disfigure” him by connecting him with a tyrant. He chose to re-
ject the gifts. Modesty as a virtue could compete with the value of
displaying one’s social status through dress and ornamentation.
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Plutarch’s advice on the adornment of women pointed to a

similarity between restraint in dress and the judgment required
of leaders. Plutarch’s example of Lysander was part of a longer
teaching in which he upheld modest dress for women: “Sophocles
anticipated Lysander’s thought: ‘there’s no adornment here to
see, you wretch, but lack of adornment, and your heart’s blind
folly.’ ‘Adornment,’ said Crates, ‘is what adorns’; and what
adorns a woman is what makes her better ordered—​not gold nor
emerald nor scarlet, but whatever gives an impression of dignity,
discipline, and modesty” (Conj. praec. 26). Instead of elaborate
dress, women could be metaphorically adorned with virtue. The
playwright Sophocles and the philosopher Crates added their
authority to Plutarch’s argument. By refusing lavish gifts from
a tyrannical ruler, Lysander displayed good judgment. Modest
dress required similar self-​d iscipline, and thus displayed one’s
virtue.
The idea of order and discipline in the quote above was at
the heart of what it meant to be modest in antiquity. The Greek
word sōphrosunē or modesty also meant “self-​control.” Its oppo-
site was akolasia, “self-​indulgence.” The sōphrōn—​the wise or self-​
controlled person—​prioritized the needs of the household or city
over his or her own pleasures. Sōphrosunē was both a male and
a female virtue. Although modesty looked different for men than
for women, the emphasis on self-​control was the same. Because
lavish dress could divert household resources, simple dress in-
dicated self-​control. It expressed wise judgment about the use of
communal resources.
Another expression of modesty was careful speech.
Philosophers wrote prolifically about the difficulty and importance
of controlling the tongue. “For silence is a wise thing, and better
than any speech. . . . The words unspoken can easily be uttered
later; but the spoken word cannot possibly be recalled” (Pseudo-​
Plutarch, Lib. ed. 14).2 The ability to speak openly and boldly was
prized, especially among friends. But silence was also an important
virtue and was seen as difficult to achieve.
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Because Roman society was highly stratified, knowing whom

one could speak to and what to say was very important. Plutarch
wrote, “It will also be very advantageous for chatterers to fre-
quent invariably the company of their superiors and elders, out
of respect for whose opinion they will become accustomed to si-
lence” (Garr. 23).3 Silence in the presence of one’s social superiors
expressed self-​ control and acknowledged the honor due the
person of higher rank.
Social rank was a complex calculation that included more
than simply one’s wealth or class status. Respect was also due to
people based on their age, gender, citizenship, and family of origin
(see also c­ hapter 5). So, in the quote above, the young person was
expected to be silent in the presence of adults because an older
person from a similar class background had higher status. The
quote implied that the young person would be expected to speak
in other contexts; but because of the relative honor due the elderly
he should practice self-​control in their presence.
Similarly, women were of lower social rank than men. When
other factors were equal, men had greater status than women.
Like the youth in the presence of the elderly, women’s silence
among their male peers was a virtue because it acknowledged
the relatively higher rank accorded to the men. Thus, silence
among women was another expression of modesty or self-​control.
Plutarch used his anecdote about Theano, quoted above, to assert
the importance of modest speech, not modest dress: “Not only
the arms but the words of a modest woman (sōphrōn) must never
be public property. She should be shy with her speech as with
her body, and guard it against strangers. Feelings, character, and
disposition can all be seen in a woman’s talk” (Conj. praec. 31).
Plutarch’s words conveyed the idea that women can and should
speak. He advised that silence in certain contexts conveyed one’s
virtue.
Not all women were viewed as inferior to all men, however.
Women with greater wealth or excellent lineage had higher status
than men from humbler origins. In some contexts, women were
expected to speak and exercise authority. Women were slave
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owners, and when they freed their slaves, they acted as patrons for
those freedpeople. Women and men of lower social rank might
appeal to a woman of higher status for assistance, including the
use of her social influence in matters that concerned them. (See
the discussion of property ownership and patronage in c­ hapter 5.)
In the presence of clients, the higher-​status woman would be ex-
pected to speak (see also ­chapter 7). Such speech would not be
deemed immodest because modesty looked different in differing
circumstances, including the variations of social class.
The virtue of modesty also included sexual self-​control. The
virtuous woman was chaste, reserving sex only for her marriage.
Although the standard was different, modesty as sexual self-​
control was a male virtue as well. Plutarch contrasted the sōphrōn
husband with “men who have the intemperate, pleasure-​loving
natures of dogs or goats” (Conj. praec. 7). Having sex outside of
marriage was not viewed as morally wrong for men, as it was for
women. Nevertheless, sexual self-​control for men promoted har-
mony within the marriage and was emblematic of self-​discipline.
Plutarch suggested that to avoid causing their wives pain and dis-
turbance, husbands should not associate with other women (Conj.
praec. 44).
In its ideal form, sexual modesty was not simply a matter of
personal morality but promoted the stability of both the house-
hold and the city. This element of modesty may surprise modern
readers, who tend to understand sexual morality as personal rather
than political. But sōphrosunē was a virtue for political leaders.
The first-​century philosopher Musonius Rufus argued that good
kings also exercised self-​control (sōphrosunē). A wise king looked
to the needs of the wider community and did not simply gratify
his own desires. Musonius Rufus even saw the virtue embodied
in the king’s ability to control his tongue and dress appropri-
ately (Frag. 8). Personal actions of dress and speech expressed the
leader’s concern for the well-​being of the community. Thus, self-​
control was at the heart of what it meant to be a leader.
Latin thought also connected modesty to the good of the city.
The Latin word pudicitia was not an exact equivalent of the Greek
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work sōphrosunē, although both can be translated as “modesty” in

English. Pudicitia is more precisely translated as “sexual virtue.”4
However, like sōphrosunē, pudicitia connoted political or civic
virtue, and not only personal morality. Pudicitia was not only a
virtue but was also a divine being protecting the Roman emperor
and people. In the early first century, Valerius Maximus wrote a
book on the subject of pudicitia: “Whence should I invoke you,
Chastity [Pudicitia], chief buttress of men and women alike? You
dwell in the hearth consecrated to Vesta by ancient religion, you
watch over the sacred couch of Capitoline Juno, you never leave
your post on the pinnacle of the Palatine, the august habitation,
and the most holy marriage bed of Julia” (6.1.1).5 Pudicitia was a
goddess inhabiting and watching over sacred Roman space, and
in particular, the imperial household. Human pudicitia pleased
the divine and contributed to the security of the city.
The story of Lucretia illustrates how modesty was understood
as essential to a strong political order. Lucretia’s tale narrated a
key moment in the Republic’s founding, when Rome turned from
the tyranny of a king to democratic rule. The story presented the
rejection of rule by kings as a defense of modesty. In a moment
of drunken boasting, a group of husbands each wagered that
his own wife had the greatest virtue. They secretly spied on the
wives, and Lucretia won the contest. The daughters-​in-​law of
the king sat at a lavish banquet, “but Lucretia, though it was late
at night, was busily engaged upon her wool, while her maidens
toiled about her in the lamplight as she sat in the hall of her house”
(Livy, Hist. 1.57.9).6 Enflamed by Lucretia’s modesty, the king’s
son, Sextus Tarquinius, plotted to rape her. When she refused
him, he threatened to dishonor her by killing her and leaving her
dead body alongside that of a slave, creating the impression that
Lucretia had committed adultery. Lucretia capitulated. She then
called her male relatives, secured a promise of revenge, and killed
herself. Her relatives drove Tarquinius into exile and founded the
Republic to escape the tyranny of kings.
The repetition of Lucretia’s story by the historians Livy (Hist.
1.57–​59) and Valerius Maximus (6.1.1) suggested its importance in
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G endered V irtues   |   4 9

the beginning of the Roman empire. From their view, the defense
of pudicitia motivated the establishment of the Roman Republic.
Valerius wrote of Lucretia, “She killed herself with a sword she had
brought concealed in her clothing and by so courageous a death
gave the Roman people reason to change the authority of kings
for that of Consuls” (6.1.1). The Romans bravely threw off rule by
kings because it led to tyranny and was opposed to pudicitia.
On the one hand, Lucretia’s story displayed the social
inequalities of gender. The men around her had all the political
and military authority. Tarquinius was a tyrant who took what he
wanted without concern for others or for the city as a whole. In
that context, Lucretia acted bravely to protect her honor and de-
fend pudicitia. But she did so as one whose gender sharply limited
her choices for action.
On the other hand, the story these writers told was one in
which Lucretia acted heroically in dire circumstances to defend
pudicitia and her community. She did not play the part of the
helpless victim. Nor was her death required by her family or social
stigma. Lucretia’s suicide went against the wishes of her family.
Her choices were limited by male power and cruelty, but she was
not required to die. Instead, her suicide was told as a noble and
brave act, one that protected her own honor and spurred the men
in her family to similar acts of bravery for the sake of their people.
Lucretia’s story showed the importance of pudicitia to the stability
of the political order.
The use of pudicitia to describe the emperor also pointed to
the social and political importance of modesty. Pudicitia came to
be closely associated with the imperial family. Valerius Maximus’s
words, quoted above, asserted that divine Pudicitia resided in the
imperial household. Later, the goddess Pudicitia appeared on the
reverse side of coins with the emperor Hadrian’s image.7 Augustus
and other emperors drew on traditions like modesty and harmony
within the family to cultivate an image of traditional virtue.
As I discussed in the last chapter, this emphasis on traditional
virtues aided the transition from the more democratic govern-
ment of the Republican era to the Imperial period during which
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the emperor consolidated political power in himself. In doing so,

the emperor and his allies tapped into established social values.
They characterized him as the father of the country, inviting the
Roman people to view the emperor as a father, whose legal and
moral power was well established within the family. Indeed, they
claimed that the emperor displayed the domestic virtues of a good
father. He was self-​controlled and devoted to the gods, attributes
that were already seen as important contributors to the well-​being
of the nation.
This social and political context helps to explain how some
women were praised for modesty even as they pursued a polit-
ical agenda. Modesty or self-​control connected traditional house-
hold virtues with the capacity for leadership in the civic realm.
The same judgment needed within the household also formed the
foundation of a stable society.
To summarize: modesty was an ideal virtue for women in
this period. But we should not imagine it as something that only
placed limitations on a woman’s ability to act. A robust notion
of modesty helps to explain why modest women were also active
contributors to their society. There were different expectations
for men and women regarding modesty. Modesty for women
entailed restraint in elaborate dress, and sexual self-​control was
required of women in a way that had no equivalent for men. Such
differences displayed the gender inequalities that were part of the
culture. However, modesty also indicated the capacity for good
judgment, in both the family and the city. It was a virtue with po-
litical overtones related to the cohesion of the city.

INDUSTRY
Women in antiquity contributed in important ways to the well-​
being of their households. The production of food and clothing
required considerable skill and labor, and the household was the
center of that effort. Women worked in many of the stages of pro-
duction (see ­chapter 6). As household managers, many oversaw
the work of slaves and freedpeople. As I discussed in c­ hapter 2,
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G endered V irtues   |   5 1

there was no separation of the “private” economy of the household

and the “public” business interests of the family. Because of this
overlap, women often worked in both the business of the family
and in what modern readers might think of as more traditional
“domestic” tasks.
Women in lower-​class households labored to meet the basic
needs of their families. Growing and cooking food, collecting
water, and making clothing were both necessary and labor inten-
sive. In the cities, poorer classes often bought food and cloth, and
in these cases women worked to produce the income necessary to
acquire them. Slave women labored in all of these ways, and some
undertook managerial or clerical tasks.
Elite women were less likely to engage in physical labor, but
they still acquired knowledge and skills that contributed to the
economic prosperity of the household. They supervised slaves and
freedpeople who did the physical and managerial labor. They also
established social ties that advanced the family’s status and its
interests. Maintaining social connections meant attending to the
family’s political and business relationships, which were impor-
tant factors in the economic status of the household.
Thus, it is not surprising that one of the classic femi-
nine virtues in antiquity was industry. The industrious woman
promoted the well-​being of her family in concrete ways. Whatever
her social status or occupation, a woman’s work contributed to
the economic and social welfare of her family. The industrious
woman would benefit her family through the economic value of
her labor and through her pursuit of social status.
The iconic image of the industrious woman was the wool-​
worker. In the first century, women did not usually undertake
all the steps in the long process required to produce clothing.
Because cloth was available for purchase in the cities in this pe-
riod, many women in urban areas would have purchased rather
than produced cloth. Women in slaveholding families would
have supervised the wool-​work rather than performing it them-
selves. Men also participated in some parts of the process—​as
fullers or weavers, for example. Nevertheless, “wool-​working”
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was shorthand for a woman’s skill and productivity on behalf

of her family, and it signified her virtue. In the story of Lucretia,
recounted above, Lucretia’s virtue became visible when the men
saw her working wool late at night.
Wool-​working signified women’s virtue in many of the an-
cient sources, extending over a wide geographic area and many
centuries. Burial inscriptions often praised women for their
wool-​working. The inscription honoring Amymone, also cited in
­chapter 1, was a classic example of wool-​working as a symbol of
feminine virtue: “Here lies Amymone, wife of Marcus, best and
most beautiful, a worker in wool, pious, chaste, thrifty, faithful, a
stayer at home” (ILS 8402). Amymone was praised with a long list
of classical virtues, including lanifica, a “worker in wool.” Along
with the other virtues attributed to Amymone, lanifica suggested
that Amymone fit the portrait of the ideal woman.
In another inscription, Murdia’s son lauded her traditional
feminine virtues: “My dearest mother deserved greater praise
than all others, since in modesty, propriety, chastity, obedience,
wool-​working, industry, and loyalty she was on an equal level with
other good women, nor did she take second place to any woman
in virtue, work and wisdom in times of danger” (CIL 6.10230
[ILS 8394]).8 Similarly, Turia’s husband wrote about her in this
way: “Why should I mention your personal virtues—​your mod-
esty, obedience, affability, and good nature, your tireless attention
to wool-​working, your performance of religious duties without
superstitious fear, your artless elegance and simplicity of dress?”
(CIL 6.1527, 31670 [ILS 8393]).9 A funeral urn in the shape of a
woman’s wool basket (figure 3.2) conveyed a similar attribution of
virtue in visual form.
The frequency of these examples suggests that wool-​working
was emblematic of feminine virtue. It characterized elite women
like Turia and nonelite women like Amymone. Praising a woman
for wool-​working signified her virtue and thereby honored her, but
it gives us little information about her daily activities. For example,
as I mentioned in ­chapter 2, Suetonius portrayed the women of
Augustus’s family as making his clothing (Aug. 73). It is unlikely
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G endered V irtues   |   5 3

Figure 3.2 Marble cinerary urn. Gift of Mrs. Frederick E. Guest, 1937
(37.129a, b) © The Metropolitan Museum of Art. Image source: Art
Resource, NY. Used by permission.

that Livia performed extensive labor in the production of her

family’s clothing, although she may have overseen the production
process or contributed in a symbolic way. Suetonius’s presentation
of her in this way reinforced the conventional virtue of the family as
a whole. Because of the honorific nature of the traditional virtues,
inscriptions that praised women for wool-​working provide little in-
formation about these women’s lives. Instead, they indicated a de-
sire to present the woman being honored as a virtuous person.
Women’s industry took many forms in addition to wool-​
working. As I discuss in ­chapter 6, women had a number of
occupations in this period, although not as many as men had.
Burial inscriptions remembered slave women as attendants,
midwives, and clerics, among other things.10 Many freedwomen
would have maintained their former occupations or, if they
married, joined in their husband’s business. Papyri show women
contracting their own labor, managing farms, and apprenticing
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slaves.11 Women were wet nurses and elementary teachers.12 As

they pursued the economic interests of their families, any of these
women might have been praised for industry or represented as “a
worker in wool.”

L O YA LT Y
Loyalty or devotion to one’s family was highly prized in both
women and men. Piety (or devotion; Latin, pietas; Greek,
eusebeia) was due first and foremost to the gods, but familial
piety was an extension of the same mindset. Children were ex-
pected to express loyalty to their parents, especially in caring for
them during their old age, and spouses were to show similar loy-
alty to one another.
For women, sexual fidelity to one’s husband was part of loy-
alty. In this sense, loyalty overlapped with modesty, which in-
cluded sexual restraint. Married men could have sexual partners
other than their wives. This behavior was not classified as adultery
unless the other woman was married. Women, however, were ex-
pected to be chaste. A woman’s sexual loyalty ensured that her
children were her husband’s progeny.
One expression of the value placed on marital loyalty was
the praise of a woman as a univira, a woman married only once.
Burial inscriptions and literary sources honored women for a
single marriage.13 But the value of the univira coexisted alongside
cultural forces that encouraged women and men to remarry when
widowed or divorced. Laws passed during the reign of Augustus
gave financial incentives to people who remarried (see ­chapter 4).
Yet even in this climate, women were also praised as univirae. The
ideal represented the importance of fidelity to one’s spouse and to
their children.
Loyalty in marriage was not limited to sexual fidelity. It also
included a broader sense of the couple’s ability to consider their
joint interests. Loyal spouses contributed to each other’s well-​
being, even in difficult times. Because Roman law legally separated
the financial affairs of a husband and wife (see ­chapter 4), the use
5

G endered V irtues   |   5 5

of one’s wealth to support the other, especially in a time of crisis,

was one aspect of loyalty. Turia’s husband highlighted the couple’s
mutual financial support. He cited his own willingness to fulfill a
monetary obligation to Turia’s family from his own resources. He
also praised Turia for selling her jewelry to support him during a
political crisis. The mutual support of the couple was recounted as
evidence of their loyalty to one another.
Because the wife was viewed as the inferior partner in the
marriage, her subordination of her interests to his often expressed
the ideal of loyalty. Plutarch wrote, “When two notes are struck
together, the melody belongs to the lower note. Similarly, every
action performed in a good household is done by the agreement
of the partners, but displays the leadership and decision of the
husband” (Conj. praec. 11). The social expectations of loyalty were
mutual but not equivalent.
Loyalty to family was not simply restrictive, for it also
encouraged women’s active pursuit of familial interests. Turia’s
husband praised her for wool-​working and other traditional fem-
inine virtues but also credited her for avenging the murder of her
parents and for supporting young female relatives. Regarding her
loyalty to him, he told this story:

I was granted a pardon by Augustus, but his colleague Lepidus

opposed the pardon. When you threw yourself on the ground at
his feet, not only did he not raise you up, but in fact he grabbed
you and dragged you along as if you were a slave. You were
covered with bruises, but with unflinching determination you
reminded him of Augustus Caesar’s edict of pardon. . . . Although
you suffered insults and cruel injuries, you revealed them pub-
licly in order to expose him as the author of my calamities. (CIL
6.1527, 31670 [ILS 8393].14

Turia’s loyalty in this case involved the pursuit of justice for her
husband. Her active role did not diminish the traditional virtues
that she was also said to exhibit. Indeed, her husband told the
story as a shining example of her virtue.
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Loyalty toward family and city was a virtue for both women
and men. The virtue of pietas included loyalty to the state, grati-
tude to the gods, and devotion to family. In the familial category,
pietas meant the reciprocal devotion of spouses, children and
parents, and siblings.15 But exemplary piety often involved polit-
ical advocacy on behalf of one party. This was the case in Turia’s
advocacy for her husband. Similarly, Valerius Maximus praised
Claudia, who intervened when a powerful enemy threatened her
father (5.4.6). Valerius also lauded a son who demanded the re-
moval of charges against his father (5.4.3). In these cases, men
and women acted out familial devotion through bold political
action.
Plutarch also recorded a number of stories praising the loyalty
of women in his work, On the Virtues of Women. One was the story
of Eryxo, whose husband was killed by a tyrant, Laarchus, who
then sought Eryxo’s hand in marriage. Eryxo tricked Laarchus to
come into her chamber, where she had stationed her brother to
kill him. Her actions expressed fidelity to her late husband but
also served the community as a whole by removing the despot,
Laarchus.
As the example of Eryxo suggests, loyalty as a virtue also
meant devotion to one’s people or city of origin. Eryxo’s actions
demonstrated faithfulness to her husband, but they also protected
her city, Cyrene, from tyranny. Loyalty to the city was a quality that
was praised in both men and women in this period. Inscriptions
often proclaimed that the honoree was a “friend of the people” or
devoted to the public good.
Other examples of civic loyalty included Junia Theodora, a
first-​century woman of Corinth honored in five inscriptions for
her devotion to her people in neighboring Lycia (see ­chapter 5).
She provided sanctuary for them during a time of political un-
rest and gave bequests to the nation. She was described as a friend
and devoted patron of the Lycians and also as “living modestly.”16
The Lycians praised Junia Theodora for her devotion, expressed
through political and financial support, and also for her tradi-
tional virtues.
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G endered V irtues   |   5 7

Plutarch also praised the wife of Pythes, who interceded with

her husband on behalf of the community. Pythes was a greedy
and foolish ruler who consigned his people to work in the mines.
His wife convinced him to release many of them for farming and
other trades. Later, Pythes retired to an island, asking his wife to
leave him in solitude but to send him dinner every day. “He passed
the remainder of his life in this way, and his wife administered
the government excellently, and gave the citizens relief from their
miseries” (Mulier. virt. 27). This woman’s loyalty to her husband
and to her city went hand in hand. She took over the administra-
tion of the city on his behalf and was a better governor than he
had been, but without neglecting her husband.

SUMMARY
The portrait of feminine virtue outlined above suggests a com-
plex set of cultural norms and practices that shaped gender
roles in the Roman world. Modesty, industry, and loyalty were
embodied in multiple ways. Modesty encompassed a number
of behaviors, including sexual fidelity, self-​control, and wise
use of household or communal resources. Similarly, industry
referred both to labor within the household and to the pursuit
of social connections and honor for the benefit of the family.
Loyalty meant chastity for women but also financial generosity
to family members or the use of social power in pursuit of fa-
milial actions.
Virtues like modesty, industry, and loyalty were complex and
multivalent. The nuanced meanings of each virtue help to explain
why active women were often praised or honored using domestic
virtues. A woman who was an advocate for her community or
family could still be called “modest.” These cases often appear
paradoxical to modern interpreters because we assume a narrow
definition of modesty as subservience. But modesty’s attribution
to active women points to a more complex value.
The interaction between the virtues also created a social
climate where being virtuous took on different forms. Instead
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of being confined to a single mold of feminine virtue, women

pursued a variety of virtues under the particular circumstances
their lives offered. This complexity also helps to explain why there
is not simply a single role for women, defined by passivity and
submission to men. The virtues supported a wider range of roles.
The interaction of the virtues also suggests that active women
were not countercultural renegades but were pursuing avenues
that were socially acceptable.
The ability to see a wider set of possibilities for women’s
actions in antiquity is an important tool as we turn to the inter-
pretation of evidence for women’s economic and social roles and
status. This complexity suggests interpreters may expect women’s
involvement in a host of activities that were social, economic,
civic, and religious in nature. We should not dismiss evidence of
women’s participation in these arenas because we have previously
decided these realms were off limits to women. Communities
could perceive active women as virtuous and not see them as
doing something forbidden to women. The social norms of the
time supported action and leadership by women as well as sub-
missive behavior.
The complexity of the virtues also creates the expectation that
we may see tensions even within a single piece of evidence. For
example, inscriptions often commended women for their service
in civic offices or as benefactors while praising them using the fa-
miliar language of feminine virtues. The evidence suggests that
the active roles women played did not conflict with traditional
domestic virtues. As we turn to the New Testament, we may ex-
pect to see similar kinds of complexity in the roles and virtues
of women.

SOCIAL NORMS AND VIRTUE S

I N T H E N E W T E S TA M E N T
Understanding the complexity in the ideals of female virtue
in this period may change what interpreters see in the New
Testament. Readers often assume that cultural norms of passivity
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G endered V irtues   |   5 9

and obedience to men restricted Christian women (and ancient

women in general). A challenge in reading the New Testament,
then, is to imagine that conventional virtues could be embodied
in multiple ways, some of which encouraged women’s leader-
ship. The following examples are possibilities for reading the New
Testament in light of this social context.

Modesty
The Greek word sōphrosunē (self-​control or modesty) and its
cognates appeared occasionally in the New Testament writings.
In 1 Tim 2:8–​15, for example, this word is found at the beginning
and end of the instructions regarding women in worship (vv. 9,
15). In this context, it has often been translated “modesty” and,
along with the instructions about silence (vv. 11–​12), has conveyed
to many modern readers the constraints placed upon women’s
behaviors by the demands of modesty.
In its historical context, however, sōphrosunē also conveyed
the self-​control required of Christian leaders. As a whole, 1 Tim
2:9–​15 reflected conventional views. It upheld sōphrosunē in the
wise use of household resources, as seen in the restraint shown
through simple dress (vv. 9–​10; see also 1 Peter 3:3). The control
of the tongue in certain social situations was also evidence of
self-​control (vv. 11–​12). In addition, the good character of one’s
family members (v. 15) reflected the leadership exercised by those
in charge of the household.
Furthermore, in the same work, the author characterized
leaders within this community by the same virtues. Bishops, for
example, should be sōphron (1 Tim 3:2; NRSV, “sensible”). They
were to be married once, and exercise self-​control in their use
of resources (e.g., “temperate,” v. 2; “not a drunkard,” v. 3) and
their speech (“not quarrelsome,” v. 3). They should manage their
households well, evidence of which was seen in their children’s
behavior (v. 4). Likewise, male and female deacons were to be tem-
perate (v. 11; cf. “not indulging in much wine,” v. 8) and control
their tongues (“not double-​tongued,” v. 8; “not slanderers,” v. 11).
Like bishops, they should manage their households well and be
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married only once (v. 12). Similar qualifications for the office of
widow appeared in 1 Tim 5:9–​10.
The complexity we have seen in the virtues suggests that the
language of 1 Tim 2:8–​15 made sense in its context in a different
way than many modern readers have interpreted it. Modesty did
not simply limit women’s leadership but was also seen as the basis
of good leadership. Women who were honored as modest could
still exercise various forms of leadership in their households and
communities. In the cultural context, we see similar statements of
the “rules” of modesty, but we also see women enacting these rules
in a variety of ways.
Even the advice that women should not teach or have au-
thority over men (1 Tim 2:11–​12) may be read in this context as
a statement of agreed-​upon virtues rather than a blanket prohi-
bition of women’s speech (see also c­ hapter 7). The language of the
passage fit within a cultural context where silence before those of
higher social rank illustrated one’s self-​control. But some women
in Christian communities were higher ranking than some of the
men. For example, some women were deacons (1 Tim 3:11–​13),
and others were slave owners (1 Tim 6:1–​2). The speech of such
women would likely have been expected in certain contexts (see
­chapter 7). Women slave owners would have exerted authority
over male slaves. Similarly, women deacons who spoke would not
have been perceived as breaking the rules of modesty.

Industry
Glimpses of industrious women are also found in the New
Testament. Luke portrayed Martha hard at work offering hospi-
tality to a revered teacher (Luke 10:38–​42). Martha’s assumption
that Mary should help her in this task may have been more than
a petty dispute because it was likely that Martha understood her
work as virtuous and therefore as something Jesus would en-
courage. Similarly, the efforts of the woman in the parable of
the lost coin (Luke 15:8–​10), sweeping and searching carefully,
presented her as a virtuous laborer whose diligence was rewarded.
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Tabitha (or Dorcas), the disciple of Acts 9:32–​43 whom Peter

raised from the dead, was likewise presented as an industrious
woman. She was praised for her devotion “to good works and acts
of charity” (9:36), which highlighted her labor and her actions as
a patron to those in need. The widows gathered around her dis-
played the “tunics and other clothing that Dorcas had made while
she was with them” (9:39). The community lifted up Dorcas’s
traditional virtues, including the production of clothing, which
pointed to her industry and concern for others.
The designation of a woman as the good manager of her
household also expressed industry. First Timothy elaborated with
regard to the virtuous widow: “She must be well attested for her
good works, as one who has brought up children, shown hospi-
tality, washed the saints’ feet, helped the afflicted, and devoted
herself to doing good in every way” (1 Tim 5:10). The ideal woman
the letter described was not passive but one who actively sought
the good of those around her. Her virtue was seen in part through
her management of the household (cf. 1 Tim 5:14; Titus 2:3–​5).
The concern that widows might be lazy rather than indus-
trious was the flip side of this conventional virtue. The author of
1 Timothy feared that young women who remained unmarried
“learn to be idle, gadding about from house to house” (1 Tim 5:13).
Because this concern represented common assumptions about
marriage and industry, it seems unlikely that the actions of actual
women in the community gave rise to this language.17 Instead, the
verse reflected a common view of marriage as a training ground
for virtue because the wife was at the center of the production of
food and clothing, management of slaves, raising children, and
maintaining social connections. Such activities were expected to
lead to the cultivated virtues of the “real widow” recognized by
the community of 1 Timothy.

Loyalty
In the New Testament writings, the virtue of loyalty included
devotion to God, city, and family. The overlap of these three is
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especially notable in 1 Timothy. The author repeatedly urged

piety or devotion to God (eusebeia, e.g., 6:3, 11; and the related
word, theosebeia, reverence for God, 2:10). The specific behaviors
the letter extolled were meant to exhibit such piety. In particular,
the author encouraged prayers “for kings and all who are in high
positions, so that we may lead a quiet and peaceable life in all god-
liness (eusebeia) and dignity” (1 Tim 2:2; cf. Rom 13:1–​7). This
grouping of these topics made sense because devotion to God was
similar to and overlapped with devotion to city and family.
First Timothy also expressed the importance of loyalty to
one’s family, and the writer connected this loyalty to religious de-
votion. The qualifications of Christian leaders listed in 1 Timothy
included being married only once. Along with other virtues that
represented the ideal of self-​control, bishops (1 Tim 3:2; cf. Titus
1:6), deacons (1 Tim 3:12), and widows (1 Tim 5:9) were to be
married only once. Loyalty to one’s spouse was seen as evidence
of self-​control, an important capacity for leadership.
Other writings of the New Testament affirmed the value of
loyalty to family members. The ideal of loyalty to one’s spouse
remained very consistent throughout the New Testament
writings. In a variety of ways they express a preference for people
to be married only once. One of these ways was through the pro-
hibition of remarriage. In the Gospel of Mark, Jesus prohibited re-
marriage after divorce (Mark 10:10–​12). Matthew’s version of the
saying allowed remarriage only for those who divorced because
of the adultery of their spouse (Matt 19:9). Although modern
interpreters tend to read these sayings only in relation to the
practice of divorce, a primary concern of both passages was the
question of remarriage following divorce. “Whoever divorces his
wife and marries another commits adultery against her; and if she
divorces her husband and marries another, she commits adultery”
(Mark 10:11–​12). Similarly, Paul preferred that widows remain
unmarried if they could practice sexual self-​control (1 Cor 7:8–​9).
Other texts expressed the notion that familial obligations
were reciprocal, though not equal. The expectation that honor
was due to parents, for example, was found in instructions to
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children: “Children, obey your parents in the Lord, for this is right.
‘Honor your father and mother’—​this is the first commandment
with a promise—​‘so that it may be well with you and you may live
long on the earth’ ” (Eph 6:1–​3; cf. Col 3:20). Parents were also
instructed to treat children well (Eph 6:4; Col 3:21). In the Gospels,
Jesus criticized the Pharisees for disregarding the commandment
to honor father and mother in deference to oral tradition (Mark
7:9–​13; Matt 15:3–​6). These examples expressed the broader con-
ception of familial loyalty as a virtue.
Jesus also acknowledged a tension among family members
for those who placed allegiance to God (or Jesus) above loyalty to
family. Jesus did not neglect the importance of familial loyalty, but
he altered the terms: “Whoever does the will of God is my brother
and sister and mother” (Mark 3:35). This kind of allegiance to
the larger group was certainly also possible in the Greco-​Roman
world at large, where the emperor came to be known as the “father
of the country.” Allegiance to the community or the gods could,
under certain circumstances, be put ahead of familial needs and
still recognized as virtuous.

CONCLU S ION
Many New Testament texts reflected the social hierarchy of this
period. When other social factors were equal, men had greater
status than women. Yet modern readers are inclined to see this
language as more limiting for women than it may have been in
practice. Early readers of New Testament texts recognized a va-
riety of everyday expectations for women’s behavior and were
likely to have read these passages in ways that did not eliminate
women’s active leadership.
Christian women were encouraged to exhibit virtues that
were widely acknowledged within the culture. The author of Titus
expected the older women to teach the younger ones “to love their
husbands, to love their children, to be self-​controlled, chaste,
good managers of the household, kind, being submissive to their
husbands, so that the word of God may not be discredited” (Titus
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2:4–​5). Read against the background of the social norms of the

first century, these words may not have suggested the picture of
docility that modern readers expect. Readers of the letter to Titus
may have understood these virtues in a more expansive way to
include women like Turia, Junia Theodora, or the wife of Pythes.
Like their Greco-​Roman peers, the Christian women who dis-
played these virtues may also have been called upon to lead their
communities in various ways.
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Chapter 4

Marriage, Divorce,
and Widowhood

MODERN READERS OFTEN IMAGINE ANCIENT women’s lives

as being tightly circumscribed by the authority of their fathers or
husbands. It is common to assume that men controlled women’s
lives and property—​indeed, that women themselves were viewed
and treated as property. Women passed from the authority of their
fathers to that of their husbands. When widowed, they returned
again to the authority of a male relative or a son; if they had no
such relative, they were without resources and severely disadvan-
taged. This portrait may apply to women in many places or times,
but it is inaccurate in many respects for the Roman world of the
first and second centuries.
The legal status of women in the Imperial period differed in
many ways from the common assumptions. This chapter addresses
the legal status of women in marriage, divorce, and widowhood.
Alterations in one’s marital status often represented changes
in social status as well, so the chapter also describes the social
perceptions associated with marriage, divorce, and widowhood.
Although Roman law assumed women’s inferiority to men,
it also created legal pathways for women’s independent status,
property ownership, and participation in civic life. Along with
the other social practices explored in this book, the legal mate-
rial highlights the complex reality of women’s status. On the one
hand, the laws reflected the social expectation that women would
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pursue their economic and social interests. On the other, they

never granted women official status equal to that of men.
One example of the law’s assumption of women’s inferiority
is the Roman concept of patria potestas (paternal power). This
legal term defined the authority of the father of the family (pater
familias) over his children and slaves. Potestas meant that the
father was formally the owner of the household property. Even
when children became adults, they did not own property until
their father died. Because legal texts defined potestas as a male
capacity, classical historian Jane Gardner called potestas “the cen-
tral asymmetry of Roman law.”1 Both male and female children
were under their father’s legal authority, but potestas was a legal
right reserved only for males. Women were never described in law
as having potestas.
Nevertheless, the capacities of women to assert themselves
were also enshrined in Roman law. Roman men had potestas over
their children and slaves but not over their wives. The impres-
sion that women passed from the authority of fathers to that of
husbands came from an earlier period of Roman law, when an-
other legal arrangement for marriage (known as marriage cum
manu) was the norm. During the Imperial period, however, al-
most all marriages were sine manu, meaning that the woman did
not transfer into the potestas of her husband. She remained part
of her father’s family and thus was under his authority until he
died. Both sons and daughters were under the potestas of their fa-
thers during his lifetime. When he died, they became legally inde-
pendent or sui iuris. At that point, they could own property, and a
son became the pater familias of his own household. Both law and
custom assumed that sons and daughters inherited their father’s
property in equal portions.
Furthermore, the legal rights of the “father of the family”
or pater familias often applied to women, even though the ter-
minology suggested that the pater familias was male. Classicist
Richard Saller has argued that legal texts commonly used pater
familias to denote an estate owner rather than the male head of
household.2 Indeed, a son whose father had died became the pater
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familias with respect to his property even if he was not a father

of children. Similarly, the term pater familias described the legal
rights of the property owner in a way that was not limited to men.
Many women owned property and exercised the legal rights of the
pater familias. Thus, women were “fathers of the family” with re-
spect to their own property. (For more on women’s property own-
ership, see c­ hapter 5.) Although the law excluded women from
potestas, the broader rights of the pater familas applied to women
as well as men.
Like potestas, practices of legal guardianship also sent mixed
signals about the status of women. A woman who was sui iuris (that
is, one whose father had died) needed the signature of a guardian
(or tutor) to legalize certain kinds of transactions. Specifically,
the guardian consented to the sale of property classified in law
as res mancipi: slaves, certain kinds of livestock, and land in
Italy. Originally, the guardianship of women gave oversight of
these types of property to a family member designated by the
woman’s father. The jurist Gaius, writing in the second century,
described the initial rationale for the practice: “For the ancients
wanted women, even if they are of full age, to be in guardian-
ship (tutela) on account of their lightmindedness” (Inst. 1.144).3
The law assumed that women could not be trusted to secure the
best interests of the family and therefore their property had to be
monitored.
By the first century, however, guardians exercised little if any
control over women’s property. Women often chose their own
guardians. They could even choose their own freed slaves, men
who were obliged to honor the wishes of their former master.
Gaius acknowledged the perceived reason for the law, as noted
above, but wrote that the rationale no longer made sense:

Almost no reason of value appears to recommend that women

of full age be in tutela. For the reason which is commonly
believed, that since they are very often deceived due to their
lightmindedness, it was right for them to be ruled by the au-
thority of tutors, seems to be specious rather than true. Indeed,
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women who are of full age transact business deals for them-
selves, and in certain cases the tutor interposes his authority for
the sake of legal form; often he is even forced by the praetor to
give his authority against his will. (Inst. 1.190)4

In Gaius’s day, guardianship was still in place but had been

emptied of its power. Many women undertook desired economic
transactions without the interference of a guardian.
The legal status of women was thus something of a mixed
bag. The law formally acknowledged male superiority and granted
potestas to men alone. Many women in the Imperial period were
in the potestas of their fathers or had a guardian. Yet this formal
validation of male control obscured the reality that women owned
property and that their guardians had little influence over their
affairs. Although the father’s authority was substantial, it applied
to sons as well as to daughters and therefore should not be seen as
restrictive for women only. The legal status of women contributed
to the social practices that made possible women’s leadership and
civic participation.

M A R R IAG E
As noted above, marriage in this period was largely sine manu,
meaning that a Roman woman remained in the legal authority
(potestas) of her father and became legally independent (sui iuris)
at his death. She was never in the potestas of her husband. This
capacity of women to own and control property was a basis for
power within the marital relationship and within the community,
for wealth brought social influence that could benefit both family
and city.

Consent to Marry
A marriage was formed by the consent of the two spouses.
Although a ritual or celebration often marked the beginning of
a union, marriage did not require a government official or legal
documentation. In the eyes of the law, marriage began at the time
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the couple consented and considered themselves to be married.

A legal agreement often specified the property included in the
dowry, but no marriage license or registration signaled the change
in status to a married person.
For a couple who were not legally independent (sui iuris), the
consent of the father was also required. A father’s potestas gave
him the legal authority to select a spouse for his child. The opinion
of the third-​century jurist, Paulus, likely reflected the earlier pe-
riod as well: “Marriage is not able to occur unless all consent, that
is, those who join together and those in whose power they are”
(Dig. 23.3.3).5 The requirement of consent by all parties created
an interesting tension. On the one hand, the father’s authority
meant he could marry his daughter to whomever he chose. On the
other hand, the woman’s consent was necessary for the marriage
to be valid.
The father’s authority over his daughter was an important prin-
ciple, but its practical effects on women should not be overstated.
For example, although the law did not mention the mother’s con-
sent to her child’s marriage, in practice mothers played significant
roles in betrothing their daughters and sons.6 Furthermore, about
half of women were legally independent at their first marriage
because their fathers had already died.7 Men tended to be older
than women at the time of marriage—​a woman often married in
her late teens and a man in his mid-​to late twenties. Because of
this, men were older when they became parents. By the time a
daughter was of an age when she would marry, it was possible that
her father had already died. The absence of a father did not mean
a daughter was free to do as she pleased. She was likely to consider
the wishes of her family, even though she was not legally obligated
in the same way.
Marriages often expressed familial status and interests. Both
men and women sought marriages that improved the interests of
their families. Roman culture did not idolize romantic love or a
young person’s rebellion. Instead, different cultural forces shaped
people’s desires. In some ways, marriage enacted the obligation
to one’s family of origin, whose choice of a spouse reflected the
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family’s interests. But marriage also forged new loyalties to the

family created by the marriage and to one’s in-​laws. Ideally, both
sides benefited by linking their interests together.
The cultural ideal of marriage was not simply dutiful but also
affectionate. The expectation was that a couple would join together
and share mutual interests, but they would also be bound through
affection to one another. Musonius Rufus wrote of marriage as
a place where the husband and wife lived together in harmony
and cared for one another (Frag. 13a). Many burial inscriptions
underscored this social value, citing the harmonious nature of
the marriage as evidence of the virtue of the deceased.8 Although
the inscriptions do not tell us what the marriage was like in prac-
tice, they do reveal that spouses idealized their marriages as
harmonious.

Dowry
Women were commonly married with a dowry, which was a
portion of the property they would inherit from their fathers.
The husband received the dowry to use for the duration of the
marriage. Thus, the husband had legal authority over a portion of
the wife’s property.
However, society viewed the dowry as the woman’s property,
and it had to be returned to her in the event of divorce or the
death of her husband. The husband could not sell the dowry, but
he could benefit from its use or investment during the course of
the marriage. Moreover, women often had ownership and control
of property that was not part of their dowry and therefore not
under the husband’s control.
The dowry practices of Roman law reinforced the notion that
men had greater power than women. However, that power was
not without limits. The dowry represented the relative power of
a husband over his wife, for he controlled a portion of her prop­
erty during marriage. However, in this period the dowry did not
convey a more extreme imbalance of power, such as one might
find in a situation where the husband controlled all of the woman’s
property or retained the dowry in his possession forever.
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Some evidence suggests that the dowry gave women influ-

ence over their husbands. For example, the late first-​century poet
Martial wrote, “You all ask why I don’t want to marry a rich wife?
I don’t want to be my wife’s wife. The matron . . . should be below
her husband. That’s the only way man and woman can be equal”
(Epigrams 8.12).9 Martial’s verse conveyed the expectation that
wives should be subordinate to husbands. He also suggested that a
woman’s wealth increased her status, so that a wealthy wife could
have higher status than her husband. Although Martial viewed
this scenario negatively, his comment also indicated the reality
that a woman’s wealth contributed to her social status, which
could be higher than her husband’s. Women whose dowry made
a substantial contribution to their husband’s wealth may have had
influence over their husbands.

Social Status in Marriage

Women gained status through marriage and childbearing. In the
Greek conception, a young female was a girl (parthenos or korē)
until she married, at which time she became a woman or wife,
gunē. Similarly, the Latin matrona signified the role wives took on
as overseers of the household. A girl who left her parents’ house-
hold to marry changed status and became a woman. Suzanne
Dixon wrote, “A Roman matron, whether legally in the power of
her husband or father or in tutela, had a certain status of respect-
ability as mistress of the household which was enhanced if she
became a mother and further elevated if she became a widowed
mother.”10 A good marriage alliance brought social connections
that benefited the woman and her family. It also signaled adult-
hood and a change of status within the community.
Roman law also codified this change in status at marriage.
The emperor Augustus passed laws that encouraged marriage and
the production of citizens. Known as the Lex Julia et Poppaea of
18 b.c.e. and 9 c.e., these laws communicated the importance of
marriage for all citizens, male and female. Only married people
could receive a large legacy from someone who was not a close
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relative. Married men had priority in receiving certain official

appointments. Widowed people had to remarry within two or
three years to retain the legal benefits of a married person. These
rules targeted the elite, who were the only persons likely to inherit
a large legacy from someone to whom they were not closely related
or to serve in higher levels of the Roman bureaucracy. But even
as the rules targeted the wealthy, they sent a message about the
importance of marriage and elevated the status of married people
more broadly.
Similarly, the ius liberorum gave incentives to men and
women to bear and raise children. This legal status was conferred
on freeborn men and women who had three children, or on freed
people with four children. The right released women from the re-
quirement of a guardian and men from the burden of serving as a
guardian. Spouses with children could bequeath a greater propor-
tion of their property to the other spouse.11 Children brought legal
benefits and added social status.
Through the marriage legislation, the emperor acknowledged
and reinforced the civic importance of marriage and childbearing.
Society viewed marriage, not as a personal or private matter, but
one that had bearing on the stability of the wider community.
Faithful and harmonious marriages were a civic good, the bedrock
upon which other communal relations rested. Thus, as Kristina
Milnor argued, the ius liberorum was “more a recognition of civic
responsibility than a reflection of actual reproduction.”12 This ra-
tionale helps to explain why the emperor would grant the right
to those without the requisite number of children—​as, for ex-
ample, in the case of Pliny the Younger (Ep. 10.2; cf. 10.94–​95).
The ius liberorum brought honor to its recipients, and was cited
in inscriptions as a way of conveying the status of the one being
praised. Even after guardianship was no longer a legal require-
ment, women still cited the achievement of the right, presumably
because of the honor it carried.13
The connection between domestic virtue and civic respon-
sibility found in the ius liberorum was consistent with the so-
cial and political changes of the first and second centuries. As
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I discussed in ­chapters 2 and 3, the emperor reinforced the civic

nature of traditional domestic virtues. Augustus emphasized his
own role as “father of the country” and the domestic virtues of his
family. He sought to encourage civic participation by emphasizing
the importance of long-​held domestic virtues. The pursuit of these
virtues brought honor and influence to the women and men who
achieved them.

Marital Harmony
Social norms idealized the husband as the dominant partner
within marriage. Men had higher social status than women when
other factors were equal. Two partners with roughly equal wealth
and family influence were viewed as a good match for marriage. The
husband therefore had higher status due to his gender. In addition,
husbands were customarily five to ten years older than their wives.
This age difference also gave the husband greater status.
As seen in the quote from Martial, cited above, wealthy wives
were viewed negatively because their wealth upset this balance of
power, leaving the husband in the position of lower status. Plutarch
also noted the importance of this balance and the disruptive po-
tential of a wealthy wife: “There is no profit in a rich wife, unless
she makes her life and character resemble and harmonize with
her husband’s” (Conj. praec. 14). This short quotation displays
a number of important aspects of the social understanding of
marriage. Plutarch expressed the idea that the wife had lower
status than the husband, but also that she had social standing and
influence. Furthermore, he pointed to the ideal of harmony in
marriage, a goal that could be compromised by a powerful wife.
Literary sources frequently expressed the ideal of marital har-
mony. The Roman historian Tacitus praised the union between
Domitia Decidiana and Agricola: “Their life was singularly har-
monious, thanks to mutual affection and putting each other first”
(Agr. 6).14 Written works like this one presented the merits of the
subject in an idealized form; therefore, they cannot give modern
readers a clear picture of the relationship between the two parties.
However, they drew on qualities that were meant to be recognized
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by readers as ideal, thus suggesting that standards like harmony

were widely embraced.15
Plutarch elaborated on this goal in Advice to the Bride and
Groom: “When two notes are struck together, the melody belongs
to the lower note. Similarly, every action performed in a good
household is done by the agreement of the partners, but displays
the leadership and decision of the husband” (Conj. praec. 11).
Plutarch went on to point out activities that were likely to irri-
tate both husbands and wives, which each should avoid. Men
were to dine with their wives and share conversation with them
(Conj. praec. 15). Wives were not to seek the company of gossiping
women who sowed discord (Conj. praec. 40). Both husbands
and wives should seek not to offend one another (Conj. praec.
39). The advice did not assume husbands and wives to be equal,
but it conveyed the notion that both parties contributed to and
influenced the other in their relationship.
The ideal of harmony within marriage assumed the priority
of men, yet it also acknowledged that the marital relationship
was not one of simple dominance. Plutarch noted: “The husband
should rule the wife, not as a master rules a slave, but as the soul
rules the body, sharing her feelings and growing together with her
in affection. That is the just way” (Conj. praec. 33). The marital re-
lationship was not domineering, as the master-​slave relationship
was; instead, it was meant to produce pleasure for both partners.
It was a relationship of harmony, like that of the soul and body.
The male was clearly envisioned as the superior party, but at the
same time both spouses were required to act with deference to-
ward the other.
The importance of harmony in this period may reflect the
economic and social influence of women. A woman’s property
benefited her husband, not because he controlled it, but because
she could use her property to contribute to the family’s honor.
The ideal of harmony suggested that the couple came to view
their interests as shared. Plutarch wrote, “Scientists tell us that
liquids mix completely: so should the bodies, resources, friends,
and connections of a married couple” (Conj. praec. 34). In reality
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Roman law insisted that marital assets not be mixed. Wives and
husbands had separate property, and in this period many women
attained substantial wealth.
A successful marriage achieved Plutarch’s ideal not when
spouses combined their resources but when they understood
their social and political interests as intertwined.16 An example
from an earlier period is the funeral oration about Turia, cited in
­chapter 3. (A fragment of the inscription is depicted in figure 4.1.)
Turia’s husband described property as if it were jointly held: “We
divided our duties in such a way that I had the guardianship of

Figure 4.1 Funerary inscription known as Laudatio Turiae. © Ministero

dei beni e delle attività culturali e del turismo—Soprintendenza Speciale
per I Beni Archeologici di Roma. Used by permission.
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your property and you had the care of mine.” Yet the rest of the
oration clarifies that both parties retained control of their prop­
erty and used it for the sake of the other. Turia promised dowries
to female relatives to secure honorable marriages. But her hus-
band and sister’s husband fulfilled the obligations from their own
resources. Turia’s husband went on to praise her for providing
for his needs from her own riches during his exile. The examples
suggested an ideal marriage because the couple understood their
needs as intertwined.

Women in the Provinces

In the provinces, local laws and customs governed much of the
daily life of those who were not Roman citizens. It is difficult to
know what kinds of legal arrangements existed in many parts of
the territory Rome controlled. Local customs may have prevailed
that were very different from those of Roman law because Rome
did not force its legal standards on noncitizens. However, there
is also evidence that local populations adopted Roman social
practices through assimilation—​not because they were forced to,
but as a way of adapting to the changing social norms. It seems
most likely, however, that a mixture of Roman and local practices
existed. To complicate matters, the adoption of Roman practices
likely varied from place to place. To explore the matter, we must
look at the evidence available in different areas. Some inscriptions
and papyri show evidence of marriage and dowry practices in the
provinces. Other evidence points to patterns of women’s control
and ownership of property. There are a few significant differences
between Roman and local practices, but there are also important
ways in which they overlap.
For example, papyri from the Judean desert show a mixture of
legal practices, some of which are distinctively Jewish while others
resemble Greek and Roman legal documents. The Babatha archive
is a collection of papyrus documents held by a woman named
Babatha in the early second century.17 Babatha was married to a
man named Jesus, and they had a son, also named Jesus. After her
husband died, Babatha entered into a polygamous marriage with
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Judah, a man who may have been married to another woman,

Miriam, with whom he had a daughter, Shelamzion.18 Since
Roman law forbade polygamy, Babatha’s documents reflected
local customs. Her marriage to Judah would not be acknowledged
under the law if they were Roman citizens. However, the docu-
ment does not confirm that polygamy was widespread among
Jews. There is some other evidence for polygamy in this period,
though many Jewish sources also attest marriage to one spouse.19
Although the papyri suggest that some Jewish people were polyg-
amous, the sources also confirm a variety of acceptable practices.
In other cases, where modern readers might expect distinc-
tive Jewish practices to appear, we find similarities to Greek and
Roman practices. For example, the Hebrew Bible described Jewish
dowry practices that expect a bride price rather than a dowry
(Hebrew, mohar). This was an amount paid by the husband to the
wife’s father (e.g., Gen 34:12; Exod 22:17). After the New Testament
period, rabbinic sources specified a ketubba, an arrangement that
provided a payment from husband to wife if the couple divorced.
Both the mohar and the ketubba were distinctively Jewish mar-
ital arrangements. However, neither one is widely attested in
this period. The Greek version of the Hebrew Bible known as the
Septuagint (LXX) translates the Hebrew word mohar as dowry
(Greek, phernē), which suggests that the dowry was understood
as the normative practice. The ketubba is occasionally attested
in the papyri, but not as commonly as the dowry. Furthermore,
some Jewish dowry agreements were written in Greek, which
again expresses similarity to the wider culture in conventions re-
garding marriage. There does not seem to be a single Jewish form
of marriage. Some marriages were similar in their legal structure
to Greek and Roman practices.20
Women in Egypt also married with dowry agreements, some
of which have been discovered among papyrus documents.21 As
in Roman society, dowries returned to the woman in the case
of divorce, and a woman usually owned property that was not
part of the dowry, including land or slaves inherited from her
parents. One distinctive marriage practice among Egyptians was
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the marriage of siblings. This was formally prohibited for Roman

citizens but was possible among Egyptians. It is difficult to tell
to what extent sibling marriage occurred in this period. But even
among siblings, women were married with dowries that would be
returned in the case of divorce.22
In Asia Minor there is little direct evidence for local marriage
and dowry customs. However, there is a good deal of evidence
that married and unmarried women owned property and exerted
influence as patrons (see ­chapter 5). The similarities in the prop­
erty ownership and activities of women suggest that marriage
practices may have been similar as well. Women may have married
with a dowry that was returned to them in the case of divorce or
the death of their husbands. Women also owned property that
was not included in their dowries, which they used to make the
benefactions that are honored in inscriptions.
One difference in Greek-​ speaking areas was that the
woman’s husband was usually her guardian during marriage.
This role gave the husband influence over the woman’s use of
her property because certain kinds of transactions required
his signature. Even when women had legal ownership of prop­
erty, we should not assume that their decision making was
independent of familial concerns. The honor and status of the
family was always factored into decisions about civic donations,
and it is likely that family members influenced each other’s use
of property.23

Slaves and Marriage

Roman law did not recognize relationships between slaves as
marriages. The laws on marriage largely existed to clarify property
relations between citizen spouses and their children. Enslaved
spouses were owned by their masters, and their children were also
born as slaves. Property they held reverted back to their master
upon death. Slave marriages were not illegal, but they fell into a
different category in Roman law.24
Not surprisingly, however, many slaves considered their
own relationships to be marriages. Although the law did not
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acknowledge them as husband and wife, some slaves dedicated

burial inscriptions with these terms. Latin inscriptions often
used the specific legal term for an enslaved spouse (contubernalis
e.g., CIL 6.16832). However, some used the same vocabulary and
terms of affection as free couples. For example, Victorinus ded-
icated an inscription to Nonia Hieronis, his well-​deserving and
most dutiful wife (coniunx, CIL 6.23044).25 Similarly, Greek
inscriptions often refer to the slave couple simply as husband and
wife. For example, one inscription stated in conventional terms
who was buried in a tomb: “Pheidias, Maron, Eudaimon, slaves of
Archepolis, constructed the tomb for themselves and father and
mother and for the wife of Pheidias, Elpis, and the wife of Maron,
Soteria, and for the children of the aforerecorded wives of Pheidias
and Maron, but for no other is it permitted [to be buried]” (TAM
2.1032; cf. TAM 2.1020).26 The record of slaves naming their wives
contradicts what we might expect from reading only the legal
texts and is a reminder that slaves’ lives were not well represented
by the writings of their masters. Many relationships fell outside
of Roman law but were considered to be marriages by those who
participated in them.
Similarly, marital laws did not include relationships between
a master and slave. Masters could exploit their slaves sexually if
they chose but could not legally marry them. Male slave owners
were allowed to free their female slaves and then marry them.27
This legal practice reinforced the social distinction between slave
and free, for Roman citizens could not be slaves, and the law
recognized only citizen marriages. (For more on social status and
slavery, see c­ hapter 5.)
The legal situation was different for female masters, who
were not allowed to marry their freed slaves. This distinction re-
flected the anxiety that wives would have sex with male slaves in
the household. Although many women disliked their husbands’
sexual use of slave women, the culture viewed these relationships
as his prerogative and supported them by law. The legal require-
ment also reinforced the social expectation that husbands should
have higher status than wives.
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DIVORCE
Like marriage, divorce required no legal documentation or court
procedures under Roman law. A couple who no longer consented
to be married was divorced in the eyes of the law. Either the hus-
band or the wife could initiate a divorce.
Legal transactions might accompany a divorce if the return
of the dowry was disputed. As noted above, society viewed the
dowry as the woman’s property, and it had to be returned to her
in the event of a divorce. An exception to this was that an adul-
terous wife could forfeit a portion of her dowry. Women could sue
in court if the dowry was not returned to them for some reason.
One such legal document records a dispute over the return of
a woman’s dowry. Tryphaine asserted that she was married with
a down payment on her dowry of clothing worth forty drachmas
and twenty drachmas in silver coins. She asked the authorities
to intervene to ensure the repayment of the dowry (BGU 4.1105).
Tryphaine’s divorce became visible to modern readers because
her husband did not return her dowry. In many cases, a divorce
may have proceeded according to custom without a need for legal
action. Because of this, it is difficult to tell how common divorce
was among the general population.
The Roman elite sometimes divorced in order to establish po-
litical and social alliances with another family. For example, Livia
and Augustus’s marriage lasted fifty-​two years, but it came about
after his divorce of Scribonia and hers of Tiberius Claudius Nero.
Augustus had also been married to Clodia Pulchra, whom he
divorced to marry Scribonia. Classicist Susan Treggiari estimated
that one in six elite marriages ended in divorce.28 Romans cer-
tainly also valued long and harmonious marriages. Yet the ideal
of the faithful, single marriage was sometimes in tension with
the political value of marriage for the families involved. In some
cases, it was deemed worthwhile to break off a marriage for the
sake of a more fruitful social connection.29
Augustus’s marriage laws required divorce in the case of adul-
tery by the wife. A husband who retained an adulterous spouse
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could be charged as a pimp.30 Some Jewish sources also encouraged

divorce in the case of adultery (e.g., Sir 25:29; ‘Erub. 41b).
Jewish women also initiated divorces in this period. Many
interpreters have assumed they did not because the biblical texts
and later rabbinic writings indicated only that husbands could
give their wives a certificate of divorce (Deut 24:1; m. Giṭ. 9:10).
Yet sources from the New Testament period suggest that some
Jewish women initiated divorce in ways similar to their Roman
counterparts. Although he disapproved of the practice, the first-​
century Jewish philosopher Philo of Alexandria wrote about
women divorcing their husbands “for any cause” (Spec. 3.30). The
historian Josephus mentioned two elite Jewish women, Drusilla
and Mariamne, who divorced their husbands in order to marry
other men (Ant. 20.143, 147). Indicating that divorce occurred
also among nonelite women, one papyrus from the Judean desert
likely recorded a writ of divorce from a wife to her husband (P.
Se’elim 13).31 Although it is impossible to know how widespread
this practice was, the evidence available suggests that it was
possible for Roman, Greek, and Jewish women to divorce their
husbands.

WIDOWHOOD
Because husbands were typically older than wives, many women
became widows. Citing data from Egypt, Richard Saller estimated
that half of women were not married by the time they reached
their late thirties.32 Since almost everyone married in this period,
these statistics show that many women experienced the death of
their husbands and became widows.
Augustus’s marriage laws required widows and widowers to
remarry within two or three years to maintain the legal benefits
of marriage. This requirement created the impression for some
interpreters that everyone was forced to marry, and to remarry
when widowed or divorced. Yet it is important to clarify that it
was not illegal to be unmarried. The laws gave financial benefits to
married people, and especially to elite Romans. This distinction
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helps to explain the evidence that many women did not remarry.33
Younger and wealthier women were more likely to remarry, while
older or lower-​class women were unlikely to remarry. Although
Augustus’s laws valorized marriage as evidence of responsible cit-
izenship, other factors affected the decision to remarry.
Society assigned a range of meanings to widowhood. As I noted
in c­ hapter 3, praise of the univira—​a woman married only once—​
expressed the ideal of loyalty to one’s husband. Some widows were
described as virtuous, in part because people interpreted their re-
maining unmarried as loyalty to their husbands.
Widows could also be criticized as immodest or lazy. In
his defense of Caelius, Cicero drew on cultural assumptions re-
garding the danger of a widow who lived without restraint: “a
frisky widow living frivolously, a rich widow living extravagantly,
an amorous widow living a loose life” (Cael. 38).34 Similarly,
Petronius’s character Eumolpus told stories of “the fickleness of
women,” including that of the widow of Ephesus (Satyricon 110–​
112). Although supposedly very chaste and loyal to her husband,
she quickly turned away from him after his death. Not only did
she have sex with a soldier but she also desecrated her husband’s
body in order to aid the soldier. Such stories conveyed the fear
that widows might turn from their fidelity. It is difficult to verify
whether either Cicero’s criticism of the widow or Petronius’s story
described the actions of actual women. But they displayed anxiety
about widows and warned of potential difficulties.
The meaning and experience of widowhood depended
on one’s social status and wealth. Because women owned and
inherited property, not all widows were poor. A majority of
Roman women were legally independent (sui iuris) by the time
they became widows. They already owned and managed their
property. When the husband died, a widow inherited a portion
of her husband’s estate. If the couple had children, she inherited
a greater portion of his property. Her dowry also returned to her
upon his death. Thus, many widows continued to have financial
resources at their disposal. Such widows were not necessarily free
from the constraint of familial expectations of married women.
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They still were likely to pursue the interests of their children and
other family members. Yet they had some resources at their dis-
posal and may have controlled more property than before their
husbands died.
Some widows were very wealthy people of high status. The
empress Livia, for example, became a widow when Augustus
died in 14 c.e. She lived another fifteen years and remained an
extremely influential person. Among examples of the local elite
of Egypt, Petronia Magna dedicated a shrine to Aphrodite (OGIS
2.675). The inscription mentioned her children, but no husband,
suggesting that she was likely a widow. Although such evidence
exists for elite widows, wealthy women who were young were
likely to remarry. These women and the men they married gained
further prestige through the marriage and the shared financial
resources it brought.
Some Jewish people had similar practices of inheritance by
wives. In the apocryphal books of the Bible, Judith was one ex-
ample of a wealthy widow. “Her husband Manasseh had left her
gold and silver, men and women slaves, livestock, and fields;
and she maintained the estate” (Jud 8:7). Judith was a fictional
example of the kind of social and religious influence a wealthy
widow might have. She was viewed as pious and wise, and when
she called the elders of the town, they came and listened to her
(Jud 8:9–​11). The story assumed that its readers were familiar with
such practices and would not find them surprising.
Women of more modest means also inherited property from
their husbands, albeit in lesser amounts. As I discuss in ­chapter 5,
many women owned and managed farmland and ran businesses.
Business and legal records did not always record women’s marital
status because there was not any need to mention it. One cannot
tell if a woman with independent business interests was a wife
who owned her own business or a widow who inherited one from
her husband. The large number of widows in society suggests that
either one was possible.
Many widows were certainly worse off financially than when
they were married. Women whose families were poor were likely
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to remain poor as widows. If a woman’s husband were a wage la-

borer, she would not have an easy way to replace the income he
earned. Some people targeted widows as prey to steal from them
or take their businesses. Yet we should not expect that all widows
experienced a marked drop in economic circumstances and
became poor.
Financial care for elderly parents was both a moral and legal
obligation across the varied subcultures of the Mediterranean.
The Old Testament commandment to honor parents (Exod 20:12;
Deut 5:16) was a well-​k nown Jewish example. Philo of Alexandria
elaborated on this teaching in the first century: “For children have
nothing of their own which does not come from their parents. . . .
Piety (Greek: eusebeia) and religion are the queens among the
virtues” (Decal. 118). Greek and Roman writings expressed sim-
ilar norms. Just as parents were obliged to care for children, chil-
dren should care for parents in their old age.35 By the second
century, Roman law also reflected the expectation that children
should support elderly parents (Cod. Just. 5.25).
Many children cared for their widowed mother by bringing
her into their homes. One letter from a woman to her brother
exhorted him to treat their mother well.36 However, the impres-
sion that all widows fell under the male authority of sons requires
revision. Mothers retained their social standing and authority
when they became widows.37 No legal or social conventions
subjected a mother to her son’s authority. Furthermore, census
records in Egypt show that many women lived in households
of women with no male adult present.38 There was certainly no
legal requirement that male family members supervise widows.
A variety of arrangements were possible, and widows probably
made such decisions based on their financial situation and family
composition.

SUMMARY
Marriage added to a person’s social status. It signified adulthood
and full participation in society. The social norms of the period
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identified marriage as something that benefited the social order.

Marriage forged alliances with another family, which brought
social connections and financial resources. Generally speaking,
marriage meant an increase in status to men and women.
Both inside and outside of marriage, men had greater so-
cial status and more legal rights than their female peers. Social
pressures suggested wives were expected to subordinate their
interests to their husbands to a greater extent than husbands
accommodated their wives. Although the requirements of loyalty
were reciprocal, they were never equal.
Nevertheless, a number of legal factors gave women standing
within marriage. Women owned property that was not controlled
by their husbands. Their dowries returned to them in the case
of divorce or death. They could initiate a divorce. Structurally,
these features gave women significant power within their marital
relationships.
There was a great deal of variety in the circumstances of
women’s lives. A woman’s wealth or her status as slave or free,
for example, likely affected her circumstances more than whether
she was married or widowed.39 A wealthy woman had status and
social influence regardless of her marital status. Poorer women
had lower status and would be more likely to suffer financially
from a death or divorce. Some marriage practices seem to have
varied according to local practices, although there is widespread
evidence for women’s ownership of property and ability to initiate
a divorce.

M A R R IAG E, DIVORCE, A ND
WIDOWHOOD IN TH E NEW
T E S TA M E N T
Interpreters of the New Testament have often imagined that
women were strictly controlled within marriage and left pow-
erless when widowed or divorced. However, the above discus-
sion suggests that women had greater capacity for independent
action than we have often assumed. Although the capacities of
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women varied a great deal, a woman’s agency was affected by her

social standing or legal independence more than by her marital
status. As we read the New Testament, we should not presume
that practices of marriage, divorce, and widowhood had uniform
effects on women.

Marriage
In the New Testament, Eph 5:22–​33 stated the ideal of harmony
within marriage. Although husband and wife were to work to-
gether in harmony, the relationship was never thought to be egali-
tarian. The letter positioned the male as the figurehead and leader
of the family. Women were expected to defer to their husbands, as
to others of higher social rank. First Peter 3:1–​7 conveyed similar
expectations, presenting a wife’s deference as a virtue.
In approaching a text like Ephesians or 1 Peter, however,
modern readers should remember that these ideals of harmony
and deference in marriage existed alongside expectations that
women take on active roles. Wives were managers and made
decisions about household resources (see c­ hapter 6). They pursued
the interests of their families. As in the example of Turia, above,
the devoted wife might have implemented a political agenda out of
loyalty to her parents or husband. Turia fulfilled the cultural ideal
of the obedient wife, but she was hardly a passive person. She had
property under her control and supported relatives, including her
husband. As I discuss in c­ hapter 5, Turia also pursued the political
interests of her husband against a powerful male opponent. Her
actions as a virtuous spouse differ from the assumptions of many
modern interpreters, who suggest that Eph 5:22–​33 reflected cul-
tural norms that sharply restricted women’s actions. In the world
of the New Testament, women were characterized with tradi-
tional feminine virtues even as they actively pursued the interests
of their families.
Some examples from the New Testament show the coexist-
ence of both the restrictive norms and the active leadership of
women. Colossians had language similar to that of Ephesians
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about wives being subject to husbands (Col 3:18–​19), but at the

end Paul also greeted “Nympha and the church in her house” (Col
4:15). To readers of the time, Nympha’s leadership would not have
seemed to contradict the earlier statements about women’s roles.
Virtuous wives and widows actively pursued social, familial, and
political goals, and in doing so they did not reject cultural norms.
The acknowledgment of women leaders existed alongside the
marital ideals.
Another example of a virtuous and active married woman in
the New Testament was Prisca (or Priscilla). Although mentioned
with her husband, Aquila, the plural verbs that applied to the
couple pointed to Prisca’s active involvement. Writing to the
church in Corinth, Paul sent greetings from Aquila and Prisca,
together with the church in their house (1 Cor 16:19). Later, when
the couple had returned to Rome, Paul greeted “Prisca and Aquila,
who work with me in Christ Jesus, and who risked their necks for
my life” (Rom 16:3–​4). The author of Acts also mentioned Priscilla
and Aquila as tentmakers who worked with Paul in this trade.
Acts recorded their joint efforts to correct the teachings of Apollos
(Acts 18:1–​3, 26). In every instance the couple were mentioned to-
gether and described as acting in the same way. Paul characterized
Prisca’s behavior as both active and exemplary.
Paul’s suggestion that people might not marry at all (1 Cor
7) is unusual in this cultural context. Paul stated that it was pref-
erable for the unmarried to remain so, though he conceded that
marriage was necessary for some. “To the unmarried and the
widows I say that it is well for them to remain unmarried as I am.
But if they are not practicing self-​control, they should marry” (1
Cor 7:8–​9). His views reflected a culture in which marriage was by
far the norm; even Paul seems to have expected it would remain
this way for many Christians.

Divorce
Many readers of the New Testament are familiar with Jesus’s
prohibitions of divorce. Responding to the Pharisees’ question,
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“Is it lawful for a man to divorce his wife?” (Mark 10:2), Jesus
presented divorce as a concession to human “hardness of heart”
(10:5). He concluded by saying “Therefore what God has joined
together, let no one separate” (10:9). On their own, these verses
send the impression that only men could initiate divorce and that
Jesus did not allow it.
Yet both Mark and other New Testament writings displayed
more diversity in their social understanding of divorce. The
passage above was followed by these verses: “Then in the house
the disciples asked him again about this matter. He said to them,
‘Whoever divorces his wife and marries another commits adultery
against her; and if she divorces her husband and marries another,
she commits adultery” (10:10–​12). Instead of simply prohibiting
divorce, these verses suggested that divorce accompanied by
subsequent remarriage constituted adultery. In doing so, they
reinforced the culture’s value of a single marriage. The phrases
“whoever divorces his wife” and “if she divorces her husband”
also reflected the expectation that both men and women could
initiate divorce.
The idea that divorce and remarriage was wrong may point to
a criticism of elites who used divorce and remarriage for political
gain. The Gospels also gave the specific example of Herod, who
married his wife, Herodias, after her divorce from his brother,
Philip. John the Baptist was said to have criticized the situation
and made an enemy of Herodias as a result (Mark 6:17–​29; Matt
14:1–​12). The story made visible the political influence of a high-​
ranking woman, as Herodias maneuvered to have John killed.
Matthew stated John’s objection to the marriage as a matter of
law: “It is not lawful for you to have her” (Matt 14:4). But what
made the marriage unlawful was not specified. It may have been
the notion that remarriage was adultery, as stated in the passages
discussed above. It was also possible that John was not disturbed
by divorce and remarriage in general but by the marriage of one’s
brother’s wife (see Lev 18:16, 20).40 In either case, John’s criti-
cism of Herod also reflected common ideals of loyalty within
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marriage and self-​control as a characteristic of good leadership

(see ­chapter 3).
The Gospels were not identical in their teachings on divorce
but reflected a variety of views. Matthew’s version of this story
was similar to Mark’s, but it mentioned only the husband as the
one who might initiate divorce (Matt 5:31–​32; 19:3–​9). However,
Matthew also suggested that divorce and remarriage were allowed
in the case of adultery (19:9). Although Matthew and Mark were
similar in many ways, they also showed a variety of opinions on
the matter of divorce, each of which resonated in some way with
wider cultural views.
Paul’s discussion in 1 Cor 7 also conveyed the expectation
that men or women could initiate divorce. His instructions to
those who were married to unbelievers included both scenarios: if
the nonbelieving spouse consented, “he should not divorce her”
(7:12), and “she should not divorce him” (7:13). However, Paul did
not make a blanket prohibition of divorce. “If the unbelieving
partner separates, let it be so; in such a case the brother or sister
is not bound” (7:15). Paul assumed that divorce by both men and
women was a common phenomenon. His preference throughout
the chapter was for believers to remain in their current marital
state (7:17–​20), but he conceded that both marriage and divorce
were necessary in some cases.

Widows
The New Testament texts represented a range of experiences that
women had as widows. Some widows were wealthy. Many were
poor. Some were highly regarded by their communities. Others
were criticized as lazy or immodest. The New Testament writings
reflected this variety in the experiences of widows and in the cul-
tural assumptions about widowhood.
Anna (Luke 2:36–​38) was an example of a virtuous widow.
She was loyal: both devoted to God and faithful to one husband.
Her religious piety came through in the description of her: “She
never left the temple but worshipped there with fasting and
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prayer night and day” (2:37). Her piety included religious au-
thority, for she was also known as a “prophet” (v. 36). The story
included Anna’s marital situation: she was married seven years
and she remained a widow until the point when she met the infant
Jesus, when she was eighty-​four years old. Luke drew on cultural
assumptions about the virtuous widow to affirm Anna as a trust-
worthy religious figure who recognized Jesus through prophetic
insight. Neither Anna’s stature nor her speech was surprising. The
cultural norms about widows were a part of what qualified her to
deliver a prophetic message.
The stories of the widow with the coin (Mark 12:41–​44; cf.
Luke 21:1–​4) and the distribution of food to widows in Acts 6:1–​6
highlighted the poverty of some widows. In Mark, Jesus extolled
the virtue of the widow who gave her only coin to the temple
treasury. She was clearly a poor person, whose small gift amounted
to all she had. Early readers of the story would likely have been
familiar with such poverty among some widows. Similarly, Acts
6 mentioned widows as the recipients of a daily distribution of
food, suggesting their need. Complaints about the neglect of some
widows led to the election of seven new leaders. The story implied
that the community provided daily food for widows as a means
of relief.
It can be difficult to tell if some women in New Testament
stories were widows or if their husbands were simply not
mentioned. Jesus healed Simon Peter’s mother-​in-​law, who was
sick with a fever at Simon’s house (Mark 1:29–​31; Matt 8:14–​15;
Luke 4:38–​39). As the mother of a married daughter, Simon’s
mother-​in-​law was of an age when many women were widows.
She may have come to live with her daughter on a permanent
basis. However, other possibilities cannot be ruled out: she may
have traveled to visit her daughter, leaving her husband at home;
she may have shared an adjoining part of the house with her
husband. Although her widowhood seems likely given her age,
there were many instances in which husbands were simply not
mentioned.
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First Timothy 5 reflected a number of social conventions

about widows. First, widows were due honor (5:3). The word
“honor” in these verses referred to the respect due to one’s elders
and also, more concretely, to the financial support that was ex-
pected of children.41
The letter to Timothy also drew on social conventions of
ideal widowhood in its depiction of “real widows” (1 Tim 5:3–​16).
As in the culture at large, this text portrayed virtuous widows as
devoted to God, praying night and day (5:5). They were also loyal
to their husbands, shown through having had only one husband
(5:9). These virtuous widows were also industrious. The life of the
married woman was a training ground in industry and respon-
sible citizenship. Thus, the enrolled widow “must be well attested
for her good works, as one who had brought up children, shown
hospitality, washed the saints’ feet, helped the afflicted, and de-
voted herself to doing good in every way” (5:11). The widow
had status in part because she had already been a productive,
married woman.
As in the culture at large, the New Testament also drew on
feminine virtues to criticize or warn against certain actions.
First Timothy 5 pointed to the danger that young widows might
not learn the virtue of industry and therefore become idle (5:13).
Many interpreters have asserted that this language pointed
to the behavior of actual women in the community who were
teaching in ways they should not.42 This interpretation would
be more persuasive if the accusation were not so conventional.
Both the virtues and the potential vices here were statements
of familiar cultural norms. Because of this, these verses were
less likely a description of the behavior of actual women and
more likely the use of conventional virtues to motivate exem-
plary behavior.
Similarly, the desire for younger widows to marry (5:14) re-
flected the assumption that marriage cultivated the virtues of
modesty, industry, and loyalty. But the preference for marriage
should not be taken as a mandate that was imposed upon all
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women.43 Many women likely could not remarry. Those who

could probably saw it as an opportunity to increase their social
status and influence, and not as something restrictive. Marriage
was a place to gain social influence through a good match and the
responsibility of managing the household. For wealthier women,
who were more likely to be able to remarry, a second marriage
would bring additional social influence and status.
93

Chapter 5

Class Status, Wealth,

and Patronage

ALTHOUGH ANCIENT WOMEN WERE WIDELY considered

socially inferior to men, social status was a complex mix of factors.
A number of elements contributed to one’s social status, including
family of origin, wealth, citizenship, gender, and one’s standing
as a slave, freed, or free-​born person. Of these, gender was by no
means the most important. Although it is common to think of an-
cient women as being socially inferior to men, in this chapter I de-
scribe a variety of factors that determined social status as a way
of explaining the social influence women exercised in this period.
Elite families in Rome and other cities were of high status.
In Rome, the equestrian or senatorial orders governed the city
during the Republican period. In the Imperial period their leg-
islative powers were more limited, but they still held political
appointments in Rome, provincial government, and the military.
Being a descendant of a senatorial or equestrian family was one
marker of status. In the provinces, local elite families functioned
in similar ways.
Wealth was a major contributor to social status in the Imperial
period. Wealth and family status often coincided, but there was
some movement in and out of the elite social ranks, driven pri-
marily by gain or loss of wealth. Rich people built temples and
baths and beautified their cities with monuments. They were
chosen as magistrates and religious leaders, in part because their
wealth allowed them to sponsor the festivals and games that were
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an essential part of the life and prestige of the city. People with
this level of wealth could often influence the local politics in their
town and could act as advocates for their family’s interests or for
the interests of their clients.
Citizenship was also a factor in social status. People were citi-
zens of a particular city rather than a country. If a married couple
were citizens, then their children were born citizens of that city
as well. Citizenship could also be granted by city officials as a way
of honoring a noncitizen for contributions to the city. The em-
peror bestowed Roman citizenship on many people of high status
in the provinces as a way of encouraging cooperation with Rome.
During the first and second centuries, the number of people out-
side of Rome who held Roman citizenship gradually increased
until the emperor Caracalla granted citizenship to all free persons
in the year 212.
Another factor in social rank was a person’s status as free-
born, freed, or enslaved. Freeborn people had higher status than
free people who had been slaves and were manumitted by their
masters. Slaves who were formally manumitted became both free
people and Roman citizens. They did not break ties with their
masters, however, but remained connected in a patron-​client rela-
tionship. Slaves could not be citizens of Rome, nor could citizens
become slaves. If Roman individuals were captured and enslaved,
they would lose their Roman citizenship, at least temporarily, for
a citizen could not be a slave. Free persons had legal and social
rights that slaves did not have.
Modern readers may expect that slaves were of lower social
status than citizens in the Roman period. Although this was gen-
erally true, the status of slaves varied a great deal, depending on
who their master was and the tasks they were assigned. Slaves
played managerial as well as menial roles, and some slaves were
trusted by their masters and held positions of authority. Slaves
could own property under a legal condition in which they were
granted this property by the master. Because of this practice,
some slaves of high-​ranking people became very wealthy them-
selves and exercised considerable social influence. Although they
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C lass S tatus , W ealth , and P atronage   |   9 5

were slaves, their wealth and access to a powerful master gave

them influence greater than that experienced by some freeborn
people of lesser means.
Gender also contributed to social status. Men had higher
status than women and accordingly had greater social influence.
However, any of these other factors might give a woman rela-
tively greater social standing than a man. A highborn or wealthy
woman would have greater status than a poor man, a freeborn
woman than a male slave, and so forth.
Each of these categories of status had a clearly defined hi-
erarchy. Men were perceived as better than women, free people
outranked slaves, and people of high birth were superior to
those from less well-​k nown families. The assignment of status
according to these categories is visible in many sources in the his-
torical record.
However, most people embodied a mixture of the categories.
One person might be a freedwoman with citizenship. She would
outrank a male slave, even though she was female. If that slave was
a person of great wealth, however, that could turn the tables in his
favor. A highborn woman would have outranked a citizen male
with no noble heritage. A wealthy freedman was more influential
than a poor freeborn person.
This variability in social rank helps to explain some of the
evidence of women’s participation in the social and political
arenas. When other aspects of social status were equal, women
were deemed to be of lower standing than men. However, some
women had high social status relative to those around them. For
example, a woman who was not elite but was a freeborn Roman
citizen might outrank a man who was less wealthy, enslaved, or a
foreigner.

W E A LT H
The first and second centuries were a time of relative prosperity
across the empire. There were certainly great disparities be-
tween the highest and lowest economic levels. Classicist Willem
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Jongman estimated that a subsistence level income was 115 ses-

terces per year, while the annual income of Pliny the Younger was
1.2 million sesterces. But many people on the lower end of the ec-
onomic spectrum also lived above the subsistence level. Jongman
argued that evidence like the base pay for soldiers or the price of
slaves reflected wage levels that were higher than subsistence. This
income pattern was also supported by levels of consumption. He
concluded, “Even many ordinary citizens were moderately pros-
perous, and there were also many moderately wealthy people in
between the masses of modest means and the rich but small po-
litical elite. Moreover, together they enjoyed the benefits of public
expenditure on such things as roads, harbors, aqueducts, baths,
market buildings, public distributions, and much more.”1 Rome
had relatively high per capita incomes compared to other pre-​
industrial economies.
Women and men benefited from the prosperity of this era.
Classicist Richard Saller estimated that women owned one third
of property at this time. This figure suggests that while women
were not the equals of men in terms of ownership and wealth,
women’s ownership of property was a familiar part of the land-
scape of Roman culture. Evidence comes from a variety of sources
and suggests patterns of property ownership among elite and
nonelite women.
Some women of the elite classes owned vast estates. Cicero
wrote about his wife, Terentia, selling a row of houses to support
the family during his exile (Fam. 8). Pliny the Younger described
properties owned by his mother-​in-​law, Pompeia Celerina (Ep.
1.4; 6.10; cf. 3.19). Inscriptions attested the wealth of Ummidia
Quadratilla, who built an amphitheater and temple and restored a
theater in her home town of Casinum (CIL 10.5183, AE 1992.244).
Pliny also mentioned her in a letter in which he praised her rearing
of her grandson, although he was critical of her luxurious lifestyle
(Ep. 7.24). Much of the evidence for the wealth of such women
became visible in their generous use of it through patronage—​
those who, like Ummidia Quadratilla, donated buildings and
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entertainment, or served in civic and religious offices. (See the

section on Patronage in this chapter.)
Sub-​elite women also owned property, sometimes in large
amounts. Eumachia was a woman from a wealthy local family in
Pompeii. In the first century, she funded a grand building bordering
the forum of the city. The building contained a statue of Eumachia
(see figure 5.1) and two dedicatory inscriptions: “Eumachia,
daughter of Lucius, public priestess, in her own name and that
of her son, Marcus Numistrius Fronto, built at her own expense
the chalcidicum, crypt and portico in honor of Augustan Concord

Figure 5.1 Statue of Eumachia. Museo Archeologico Nazionale.

Photo: Alinari/Art Resource, NY. Used by permission.
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and Piety and also dedicated them” (CIL 10.810, 811).2 Many
similar inscriptions honored women in the Latin West for their
contributions to their cities or to civic groups.3
In Asia Minor and Egypt, similar patterns of property owner-
ship emerge from inscriptions and papyri. Like their counterparts
in Italy, women in Asia Minor donated buildings and adorned
their cities with statues and monuments. For example, Menodora,
a woman from a small city called Sillyon in southern Asia Minor,
was from a prominent local family who were not Roman citi-
zens. Inscriptions in her city suggest that Menodora spent around
1 million denarii in benefactions to her city.4 Transactions re-
garding women’s property also emerge from papyri in Egypt. One
Egyptian woman petitioned the local ruler to purchase properties
that were adjacent to land that she or her daughter already owned
(P.Turner 24).
Inscriptions and papyri also give glimpses of poorer women’s
property ownership. One divorce agreement recorded the re-
turn of a dowry: “Zois acknowledges that she has received from
Antipatros by hand from his house clothes to the value of one
hundred and twenty drachmas and a pair of gold earrings, which
he received as a dowry” (BGU 4.1103).5 Another marriage contract
recorded the transmission of a modest dowry, consisting of 200
silver drachmas, jewelry, and household utensils (P.Mich. 2.121
recto 4.1). Although the monetary value of the dowry is small,
the legal form it took was similar to the dowries of other women
with great wealth. Another woman registered her ownership of
six camels, which were an economic asset in her city at the edge
of the desert (P.Grenf. 2.45a). Such documents show the extent
and frequency of women’s property ownership and the everyday
transactions that they undertook.
Jewish women also owned property in varying amounts. First-​
century historian Josephus wrote of the great wealth of Queen
Shelamzion (Alexandria), who ruled Judea from 75 to 67 b.c.e.
(Josephus, Ant. 13.418), and of Berenice, the daughter of Herod
Agrippa (Ant. 20.146). Although fictional, the apocryphal story of
Judith assumed the reader would be familiar with the wealth of a
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C lass S tatus , W ealth , and P atronage   |   9 9

woman like Judith, who inherited land, livestock, and slaves from
her husband (Jud 8:7).
Similarly, among nonelite Jewish women, papyrus records
show property ownership of land and other items. One papyrus
recorded the gift from Salome Grapte to her daughter, Salome
Komaïse, of a date orchard along with the rights to water it (P.
XHev/​Se gr 64). The papers of Babatha (see also c­ hapter 4) in-
cluded a registration of her property and a record of a loan to her
husband Judah (P.Yadin 16, 17). Thus, property ownership was not
restricted to a few women with great wealth but was part of the
everyday lives of women and men across the Mediterranean.
Women’s property ownership also included their ownership
of slaves. Elite households displayed their wealth through large
numbers of slaves. Some women brought household slaves with
them in marriage as part of their property. Their ownership of
slaves was reflected in the writings of elite men. For example,
Juvenal satirized the wealthy matron who beat her slaves at the
slightest provocation (Sat. 6.480–​ 495). Slaves of elite women
also showed up in papyrus records as part of business and legal
transactions. One such papyrus recorded a managerial slave acting
on behalf of an elite Roman woman, Antonia (P.Oxy. 2.244).
But it was not only the elite who owned slaves in this period.
Many people did, including those with modest wealth. Many fic-
tional stories mentioned women owning slaves, assuming that
readers were familiar with the practice. For example, Petronius’s
Satyricon included the story of a woman traveling on a ship and
mentioned in passing her ancillae, or female slaves (Sat. 105). In
addition to such literary works, papyri and inscriptions recorded
social practices involving actual slaves. Some documented the
purchase or sale of slaves by female owners (e.g., P.Oxy. 2.375).
Slave owners sometimes freed their slaves, either as a reward for
years of service or because the slave or another party paid for
their release. Papyri record both women and men undertaking
these actions. One has an account of a woman owner freeing a fe-
male slave (P.Oxy. 38.2843). In another, a sister and brother freed
their slave, a Jewish woman, after receiving payment from “the
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community of the Jews” (CPJ 473). The author of a second-​century

Christian work, the Shepherd of Hermas, wrote that he was at one
time sold to a woman named Rhoda (Vis. 1.1).
Inscriptions point to complex relationships between slaves
or freed slaves and their masters or patrons. For example, Junia
Libertas of Ostia, a wealthy but not elite woman, recorded her gift
of the rights to a block of buildings and shops to her freedmen and
women and their descendants.6 A study by Ilse Muller has shown
the common pattern of widows being commemorated in funerary
inscriptions by their freedpersons or slaves.7

PAT R O N A G E
Patron-​ client relationships pervaded Roman society. People
sought patrons of higher social status who could influence others
on their behalf. Patrons often wrote letters of introduction for
their clients who traveled to other cities where the patron had
connections. A patron might also have arranged a business part-
nership or recommended someone for a political appointment.
They might have approached another family regarding the
marriage of one of the client’s children. Patrons also made loans
and bequests to their clients or guaranteed a loan the client re-
ceived from another source. Thus, the relationships between pa-
trons and clients touched many aspects of life.
Patronage was therefore an important form of leader-
ship during this period. Even when they held no office or title,
patrons were people with influence in their communities.
Although cultural norms limited women’s participation as
voters in assemblies, many modes of political influence were
available to both men and women. In a treatise about whether
older men should still participate in politics, Plutarch argued
that it was unseemly for older men to hold on to offices or make
too many speeches (An seni 794). However, they should not re-
move themselves completely but should work behind the scenes
(An seni 795). He argued that statesmanship did not only con-
sist in “ranting round the speakers’ platform proposing laws
10

C lass S tatus , W ealth , and P atronage   |   1 0 1

and making motions.” Instead, the statesman “is always acting

as a statesman by urging those on who have power, guiding
those who need guidance, assisting those who are deliberating,
reforming those who act wrongly, encouraging those who are
right-​minded” (An seni 796).8 Plutarch had in mind the elite
males of Greek and Roman cities. But the avenues of civic power
that he named as “statesmanship” were also available to others,
and the evidence suggests that women participated in these
ways. A patron’s connections to powerful people made it pos-
sible for that person to assist in the social, political, and eco-
nomic advancement of others. Clients owed allegiance to their
patrons, and the patron could call upon the client for various
kinds of service.
Many patrons led in official capacities as well, and their titles
were recorded in inscriptions. In Greek inscriptions, offices such
as stephanophoros and demiourgos designated the city magistrate.
Other titles like archiereus served priestly functions. However,
religious and civic functions overlapped to a large extent. People
understood the gods to be protectors of the city, and so religion
functioned in part to maintain the safety and status of the city.
The stephanophoros might have made sacrifices on behalf of the
city at the beginning of a religious festival. The priest of the city’s
chief god or goddess likewise held a civic office.9
People in all levels of society participated as patrons. Wealthier
people donated buildings and monuments, served as magistrates
and religious officials, and financed civic and religious festivals
and games. A nonelite person might have been a patron of an as-
sociation or guild, donating a meeting room or items to the group.
Even lower-​status free people served as patrons by making small
loans or gifts. People of these varying status levels also sought the
patronage of a person with higher status and so were both patron
and client in different settings.
Because people of various social classes owned slaves, they
would serve as patron to their freed slaves as well. The freedperson
remained in a relationship with the former owner, who became
the patron of the freedman or freedwoman. Freedpeople often
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worked for their patron in a capacity similar to what they did as

slaves. Thus, manumission was not the termination of the slave-​
owner relationship but an important piece of an ongoing, hierar-
chical relationship.
Both men and women served as patrons in similar capacities.
Groups and individuals sought a person of high social status to
be their patron, regardless of gender. As Carolyn Osiek wrote, “In
the Roman world, status was always more important than gender;
that is, higher social status always took preeminence over the sex
of the persons involved. Thus in the highly developed system of
patronage and benefaction, women were actively engaged at every
level.”10 Women also pursued honor and asserted their influence
through patronage.
The patronage of the empress, Livia, wife of Octavian, set a
standard of generosity that other women in the empire emulated.
She received petitioners in her home and made extensive gifts to
the populace as well as to individuals.11 She dedicated a shrine
to the goddess Concordia, who represented both marital and po-
litical harmony.12 Livia’s acts of patronage gave her a visible role
in the empire. Other women in the provinces mimicked Livia’s
civic role, although without the vast wealth that she had at her
disposal.13
Such patronage brought political influence as well as social
prestige. Bernice (or Berenice), the daughter of Herod Agrippa I,
was an elite Jewish woman whose influence was noted in literary
sources. When the emperor Vespasian rose to power following a
year of turmoil after Nero’s death in 68 c.e., Bernice and other
local leaders supported him by recognizing his reign with lavish
gifts (Tacitus, Hist. 2.81). In giving such gifts leaders like Bernice
sought to commend themselves to the new ruler. But the gifts also
aided Vespasian’s consolidation of power through the recogni-
tion of his office. The historian Josephus also described Bernice’s
attempts to intervene in the rising tensions that led to the Jewish
war of 68–​70 c.e. Although she was unsuccessful in this case, her
efforts were the kinds of actions that were expected of a person of
her stature.
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C lass S tatus , W ealth , and P atronage   |   1 0 3

Women in Italy and the provinces also exercised influence as

patrons. They held civic and religious offices, and they donated
buildings, entertainment, and meals. One example from Misenum
in Italy commemorated the generosity of Cassia Victoria:

Cassia Victoria, daughter of Gaius, priestess of the Augustales,

dedicated in her own name and in that of her husband, Lucius
Laecanius Primitivus, a pronaos with columns and epistyle,
because of [the Augustales’] extraordinary good will towards
them. She gave a banquet and to each man twelve sesterces. (AE
1993.477)14

The inscription to Cassia Victoria fit a pattern of civic generosity

known in other inscriptions honoring both men and women. The
inscriptions often accompanied statues, which were commissioned
by the city to honor generous donors. Cassia Victoria was a
priestess of the Augustales, which was a priestly order responsible
for the worship of the emperor. She built a portion of the shrine in
her city and gave a banquet to celebrate its dedication.
Inscriptions like this point to the social power of women
like Cassia Victoria. Modern readers should recognize that such
inscriptions are like the tip of an iceberg. The words remaining
form the visible part, but “underneath” and not visible to us now
was the social status and influence that the people honored in the
inscription had in their community. The inscribed words came
about because of the acts the individual undertook to bring honor
to the city by contributing to its adornment and financing civic
festivals. The donor of such costly items was a person of high
status. Inscriptions like these added to the status and influence
of donors by publicly honoring them through this declaration of
their deeds. The inscriptions remaining allow us a glimpse of the
influence these patrons had.
Many inscriptions in Greece also attested to the various roles
women played as patrons in their communities. One example
from the mid-​first century was Junia Theodora of Corinth. Five
inscriptions praised Junia for her acts as a patron to the people of
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Lycia. These notices honored Junia for her generosity, hospitality,

and advocacy on behalf of the people. For example, one decree
by the Lycian assembly hailed Junia Theodora for her “zeal and
generosity to the nation” and for having “secured the friendship
of many leaders for the nation.”15 Junia exerted her influence to
gain support for the Lycian people in a time of political turmoil.
Another inscription with similar content made it clear that Junia
welcomed some who were in exile for political reasons, and it
declared her to be generous and loyal. The assembly sent her a
crown of gold as a gift.16
Another example comes from Perge in Asia Minor. Plankia
Magna was an important benefactor and leader of the city.
Inscriptions found there name many of her offices, including
demiourgos (a civic title with some religious functions) and
priestess of Artemis, the city’s most important deity (AE 1958.78).
(See figure 5.2). Plankia Magna donated a large gate complex
and an arch to beautify her city. The gate complex included
many statues honoring the gods and important people from the

Figure 5.2 Plancia Magna dedicatory inscription, Perge. Photo: Carolyn

Osiek. Used by permission.
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C lass S tatus , W ealth , and P atronage   |   1 0 5

city. Statues of her father and brother were among the civic fig-
ures. They are interesting because her relatives are identified as
“father of Plankia Magna” and “brother of Plankia Magna.”17
While modern readers may expect ancient women to be identified
by their male relatives, the reverse was the case here. The identi-
fication through relationship with Plankia Magna suggests her
stature and importance as the donor of the project and reminds
us that women also sought and gained honor through such acts
of generosity.
Many women in Asia Minor held these civic and reli-
gious offices. They were magistrates like stephanophoros and
demiourgos. They were priests of the imperial cult, as well as
of other gods and goddesses, both major and minor. They held
titles like “mother of the city” and “daughter of the city,” which
conveyed their status and prestige. Although women occu-
pied a narrower range of offices and appeared less frequently in
inscriptions than men, many of the titles attributed to them were
the same ones men held.
As these examples make clear, women’s patronage had po-
litical as well as social effects. Junia Theodora’s patronage of the
Lycian people included offering them a refuge in a time of po-
litical turmoil. She offered not only hospitality but the political
sponsorship that the Lycians needed. Titles held by others like
Plankia Magna and Cassia Victoria pointed to the political influ-
ence of these women. The titles conveyed a high degree of honor
and specified a civic function in festivals or rites. This status
meant such women would be highly sought after as patrons and
were in a position to advocate for the interests of others as well as
their own interests.
The second-​century Christian work, the Acts of Thecla, re-
flected the social influence patrons held in this period. In the
second part of the story, Thecla was condemned to the beasts.
A wealthy woman, Tryphaena, offered Thecla protection in her
home until the games began. Tryphaena was identified as a
“queen” (basilissa, ATh 27, 28, 36), a regional title found in other
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inscriptions.18 Tryphaena’s social status ultimately brought the

games to an end, enabling Thecla’s release (ATh 36–​37).
Inscriptions also identified Jewish women with titles like head
of the synagogue and elder. For example, one second-​century
inscription from Smyrna read: “Rufina, a Jew, head of the syna-
gogue, built this tomb for her freed slaves and the slaves raised
in her house. No one else has the right to bury anyone [here]. If
someone should dare to do, he or she will pay 1,400 denars to the
sacred treasury and 1,000 denars to the Jewish people. A copy
of this inscription has been placed in the [public] archives” (CIJ
1.741).19 Other inscriptions commemorated donations, both large
and small. One woman gave an entire building (CIJ 1.766). Others
donated a portion of a mosaic floor. For example: “Saprikia made
150 feet [of the mosaic], in fulfillment of a vow, for the salvation
of all (her) relatives” (CIJ 1.811).20 The scattered evidence suggests
that Jewish women played roles as patrons and leaders of Jewish
organizations similar to those of non-​Jewish women in their civic
and religious groups.
Women of varying class levels made loans and bequests,
forms of patronage in which men also participated. Large loans
by wealthy women were seen in literary sources. Cicero wrote of
money he owed to Ovia (Att. 12.21.5 [LCL 260]) and Caerellia
(Att. 12.51.3 [LCL 296]). Pliny the Younger spoke of borrowing
from his mother-​in-​law, Pompeia Celerina, whose properties
were mentioned above (Ep. 3.19). Assessing the activities of
women from the evidence of Pompeii, Jane Gardner argued that
in matters of personal business, women and men undertook sim-
ilar roles in granting and receiving loans. She noted, however,
that “women are not found in any of our texts guaranteeing other
people’s debts.”21 The preference for men in this role showed
the cultural bias in favor of male patrons and suggests that so-
cial practices may have excluded women from some acts of pa-
tronage. Yet there were also great similarities in the actions of
male and female patrons.
Smaller bequests and loans show similar activity among
nonelite women. In one papyrus, two sisters borrowed 372
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drachmas from another, wealthier woman (P.Kron. 17). Another

document recorded a loan of 3,500 drachmas by Isidora to
Tamestha (P.Tebt. 2.389). Wax tablets from areas near Pompeii
enumerated loans of varying sizes with women as both creditors
and debtors.22
Because women were owners of slaves, they also manumitted
slaves and became patrons of their freed slaves.23 Inscriptions like
that of Junia Libertas, cited above, showed the generosity of some
patrons to their freedpeople. Libertas donated the income from a
large building complex to her freed people and their descendants,
with the expectation that they would carry out yearly sacrifices in
her honor. Other inscriptions from slaves or freedpeople praised
their master or patron for their benevolence: “To Lalla of Arneae,
daughter of Timarchus son of Diotimus, Masas, who was set free
by her, set this up in accordance with her will” (Pleket 14).24 Such
inscriptions showed the patronage relationship from a different
angle, the honor due the patron from the client.
These activities of nonelite women suggest a cultural pattern
in which such women also exercised patronage. They did not have
access to the highest circles of power, but they sought honor in ways
that were accessible to them. By gaining honor, they accumulated
social influence which they employed in various ways.

SUMMARY
Women owned property and accumulated wealth. Like men, they
put their wealth to work for the sake of their families, friends,
and communities. In doing so they accrued the honor that was
due to patrons. Although their wealth was a smaller propor-
tion than that owned by men and they appeared less frequently
as patrons, the evidence suggests that they acted in many of the
same capacities that men did. They managed their property and
exercised the offices in which they served. People in the com-
munity honored those who held high social positions, and this
honor translated into forms of social and political power, for
women as well as men.
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W E A LT H A N D PAT R O N A G E I N
T H E N E W T E S TA M E N T
The language of the New Testament reflects the cultural norms
of women’s property ownership and patronage. The New
Testament writings were not legal documents addressing prop­
erty ownership as a subject. But women’s ownership and man-
agement of property sometimes became visible in these texts.
The language assumed that ancient readers shared a context in
which such actions were a familiar feature of society. If modern
readers understand that women could own property and serve
as patrons, we may notice them doing so in the New Testament.
Likewise, if we do not assume all women were inferior to all
men, we may notice women with significant social and political
influence.

Property Ownership and Management

Women in the New Testament owned property in varying
amounts. The widow’s offering of two copper coins (Mark 12:41–​
44; Luke 21:1–​4) represented the lower end of the economic spec-
trum while also indicating that the coins belonged to this woman.
The parable of a woman who owned ten silver coins and lost
one (Luke 15:8–​10) was another text that assumed women were
owners of property. Martha, who welcomed Jesus into her home
and offered hospitality to him (Luke 10:38), likely did so from her
own resources. These passages did not convey that women’s prop­
erty ownership was unusual or suspect, but presented it as a reg-
ular part of the landscape of ancient life.
Some signs of greater wealth also appeared in the New
Testament. The woman who anointed Jesus (e.g., Mark 14:3–​9)
expended a large amount of money in doing so. It is impossible to
tell what the woman’s social status was on the basis of the passage.
She may not have been a wealthy person, but the value of her gift
(“three hundred denarii,” Mark 14:5) suggested some accumula-
tion of wealth. Similarly, the author of 1 Timothy warned against
types of adornment used to signify one’s wealth, including braided
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hair, gold, pearls, and expensive clothes (1 Tim 2:9). Although the
earliest Christians did not come from the elite classes, like other
people in the period some were fairly prosperous. Women as well
as men were owners of this wealth.
New Testament texts also reflected cultural expectations re-
garding women’s decision making about property. The author
of 1 Timothy expected that a virtuous widow had been active as
a manager of her household: “She must be well attested for her
good works, as one who has brought up children, shown hospi-
tality, washed the saints’ feet, helped the afflicted, and devoted
herself to doing good in every way” (1 Tim 5:10). The letter did not
attempt to clarify whether the woman was using her own financial
resources toward these ends or managing those of her husband.
Culturally, either one could have been the case. The woman was
described as actively pursuing these ends. Her actions were not
only allowed but they were also virtuous.
The story of Ananias and Sapphira’s deception in Acts 5 also
reflected the joint nature of marital decision making regarding
property. Ananias and Sapphira’s actions were intertwined. “A
man named Ananias, with the consent of his wife Sapphira, sold
a piece of property; with his wife’s knowledge, he kept back some
of the proceeds, and brought only a part and laid it at the apos-
tles’ feet” (Acts 5:1–​2). Acts described Ananias as the actor in
the sale of the property, but his wife Sapphira consented, both
to the sale of the property and to the deception of holding back
a portion of the proceeds. Peter accused them of having “agreed
together” to put the Lord to the test (5:9). The passage made
sense in light of the value placed on a couple’s ability to make
joint decisions even though property was not jointly held. (See
the discussion of marriage in ­chapter 4.)

Patronage
Women shared in the social expectation that property owners
would use their wealth for the benefit of the community. Like
women in the culture at large, New Testament women sponsored
individuals and religious movements through the donation of
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money and meeting spaces. They also asserted their social influ-
ence to affect those who made political decisions.
Women’s patronage and influence in the early Christian
movement appear in a number of passages. One brief example
occurs in the greetings at the end of Paul’s letter to the Romans: “I
commend to you our sister Phoebe, a deacon of the church at
Cenchreae, so that you may welcome her in the Lord as is fitting
for the saints, and help her in whatever she may require from
you, for she has been a benefactor of many and of myself as
well” (Romans 16:1–​2). Paul commended Phoebe, a deacon from
Cenchrae, the city which, paired with Corinth, was a major con-
duit of travel between the Adriatic and Aegean seas. Phoebe was
traveling to Rome, and Paul asked that the Roman church help her
with anything she needed.
Paul used two words in describing Phoebe that point to her
patronage. The first was “deacon” (v. 1; Greek, diakonos). Phoebe’s
leadership in the church is sometimes obscured through the
English translation of this word as “servant” instead of “deacon”
(see, for example, the King James Version or New American
Standard Bible). Although “servant” is one possible meaning
of this word, it is also a term for an official of a religious group.
Furthermore, Paul used the same word in Phil 1:1 to hail the
leaders of the church at Philippi. Introducing Phoebe as “deacon
of the church at Cenchreae” similarly indicated that she served
in an official capacity. In the later church, deacons took on reg-
ular roles in baptism and service at the Lord’s Supper, and there
were many inscriptions and church documents that referred to
women as deacons.25 However, in this early period, it is difficult
to tell what a deacon’s specific roles were, and it is likely that the
role varied from place to place. Although we cannot say for cer-
tain what Phoebe’s job description was, the terminology Paul used
identified her as a leader of the church in her city.
Paul also introduced Phoebe as a “benefactor” (Rom 16:2;
Greek, prostatis), a patron who looked out for the interests of her
clients. The language assumed a social context in which women
played important roles as protectors and advocates for others.
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Paul indicated Phoebe had played this role “for many,” including
Paul himself (v. 2). Junia Theodora, whose inscriptions were cited
above, provides an interesting parallel because she was a contem-
porary of Paul and Phoebe and came from the neighboring city
of Corinth. Although Junia was an elite woman and Roman cit-
izen, her inscriptions remind us that the patronage of women was
not unusual at this time, and that women with status were sought
as patrons of various groups. Traveling to Rome, Phoebe should
likely be viewed as the bearer of Paul’s letter and an official dele-
gate from her church.
The Gospel of Luke also indicated that a number of women
traveled with Jesus and supported his ministry. The Gospel names
three of them, Mary Magdalene, Susanna, and Joanna, the wife of
Herod’s steward Chuza (8:1–​3). Jesus had healed these women and
they “provided for them out of their resources” (8:3). The language
reinforces the idea that the women possessed their own resources
and used them in service to the Jesus movement. In its cultural
context, this was an act of patronage.
The New Testament also conveys the influence of women
in political settings. Herodias found an opportunity for revenge
against a political enemy, John the Baptist, and asked Herod for
his head (Mark 6:17–​29; Matt 14:1–​12). Herodias was not the one
with formal judicial power, but the story assumed that the kind of
influence she exercised would be familiar to its readers. The story
portrayed Herod as a weak ruler guided by his passions rather
than self-​control. He put himself in a bind by making a promise
that he would not otherwise wish to keep (Mark 6:26; Matt 14:9).
Herodias seized on the opportunity to take action against her
political enemy.
In another example, Matthew’s version of the trial of Jesus
portrayed the influence of Pilate’s wife when she sent Pilate word
about a dream she had of Jesus’s innocence (Matt 27:19). Although
her words did not affect the outcome of the trial, the story was part
of the way the author underscored Jesus’s innocence. In telling such
a story without explanation or apology, the narrative also conveyed
that such intervention by a high-​status woman was plausible.
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One further story involving the influence and status of women

is seen in Acts 25. When Porcius Festus took over from Felix as
the Roman procurator, the local ruler, King Agrippa, came with
his sister Bernice to welcome Festus (Acts 25:13). Festus told the
king about Paul, and the king agreed to give him a hearing. “So on
the next day Agrippa and Bernice came with great pomp, and they
entered the audience hall with the military tribunes and the prom-
inent men of the city” (25:23). Upon hearing Paul, they responded
positively. The author again mentioned Bernice and those seated
with her as saying, “This man is doing nothing to deserve death
or imprisonment” (26:31). As in the sources mentioned above, in
Acts, Bernice is presumed to be a powerful, elite woman whose
presence would be noteworthy. Although Bernice was not the
person with the formal, legal power to decide Paul’s fate, she had
the political status to influence those who did, if she chose to use
her power in that way.
All of these examples underscore the influence of women pa-
trons. The patrons had different levels of social status, but they
used their standing to influence the events around them and to
support groups or individuals. The New Testament reflected cul-
tural practices by which patrons exercised leadership of various
kinds in their communities. Some held official titles and exercised
their offices. In many cases, men and women shared similar titles
and official functions. Other roles of patrons involved using re-
sources and status on behalf of others. The New Testament
suggests that both men and women participated in these roles in
the early church.
13

Chapter 6

Occupations

WOMEN IN THE NEW TESTAMENT period performed a variety

of tasks and occupations. The evidence that remains suggests that
women had a narrower range of occupations available to them
than men did. They were less likely to hold high managerial posts
or political offices. Nevertheless, women performed valuable labor
in this period.
In addition to their management of household resources and
property, many women also worked in business or had various
jobs, either as free women or as slaves. The evidence of their em-
ployment often comes from inscriptions, where they or a family
member proclaimed their occupation. Other evidence comes from
literary sources and, in a few cases, pictures of women carved in
funeral reliefs. These sources expressed no surprise regarding
these women’s work, suggesting that such jobs were an ordinary
part of the social landscape.
Inscriptions recorded a number of jobs that women did.
Although we often know nothing else of the life of the woman
mentioned, the fact that her occupation was recognized suggests
that it was a part of her identity. Inscriptions were a means of
honoring the living and memorializing the dead, and mentioning
a woman’s occupation seems to have been a way both of attributing
honor and remembering her. For example: “Sacred to the gods of
the dead. To Hapate, a Greek stenographer, who lived 25 years.
Pittosus put this up for his sweetest wife” (CIL 6.33892 [ILS 7760]).1
Pittosus remembered Hapate in part through commemorating
her occupation.
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MOTHERHOOD AND RAISING

CHILDREN
I include motherhood in this chapter because it was work and be-
cause it occupied a portion of many women’s time. Parenting was
not exclusively a female role, nor was it likely to be a woman’s
sole occupation. Women were involved in the economic pro-
ductivity of their households, whether as managers of slaves and
freedpeople or as laborers themselves—​and, often, as both. Yet
women were often responsible for managing a child’s education
and rearing alongside these other tasks.
Women were the primary caretakers of young children, either
as mothers or as wet nurses and nannies. The care and early educa-
tion of children was viewed as the mother’s responsibility. Wealthier
women hired others to do many of the tasks of childrearing or put
their slaves to work on these tasks. Thus, many women were also
involved in caring for children who were not their own.

Childbearing and Contraception

Scholars have estimated that to maintain the population as a
whole, every woman would need to give birth to five or six chil-
dren on average. This average number was high because the infant
and child mortality rate was quite substantial. Before reaching
age one, 25 to 30 percent of infants died, and child mortality con-
tinued to be high until age five. Because population numbers seem
to have been relatively stable, pregnancy and childbirth must have
been a regular part of most women’s lives.2
Childbearing was an expected outcome of marriage. Literary
sources reinforced the notion that a goal of marriage was the pro-
duction of children. Furthermore, Latin marriage documents
from Egypt stated that the marriage was “for the sake of producing
children.”3 Augustus’s marriage laws (see ­chapter 4) rewarded
men and women who produced three or four children. These
parents gained status and could inherit a greater proportion of
their spouse’s property.
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The expectation to produce children during marriage did

not mean that childbirth outside of marriage was uncommon
or frowned upon. Children born outside of marriage could not
be the legitimate heirs of the father under Roman law. However,
there were many reasons that women conceived and bore children
outside of marriage in ways that were considered socially accept-
able. Elite Roman men might form relationships to women whom
they could not marry for social reasons. Soldiers were forbidden
to marry during service but often had families that were simply
not recognized by marriage. Such relationships were not neces-
sarily viewed as immoral. They might be long term, affectionate
partnerships, but their offspring could not enjoy the legal status
of an heir.
Slave women also gave birth in a variety of situations. They
were sexually available to their masters and might bear a child
as a result. Slaves could also be paired together, or allowed
to pair, in order to produce more slaves for the household.
Regardless of paternity, the child of a slave woman was born
a slave. In the first and second centuries, when Rome did not
add many slaves through conquest of new territories, the birth
of slave children was one of the main ways the slave population
was maintained.
Some women took steps to limit or terminate pregnancies.
Contraceptive substances were known at this time, although
there was also a good deal of misinformation.4 Augustine’s laws
promoting childbearing did not prevent couples from limiting
families. Some sources implied that the upper classes avoided
having too many children.5 One motivation may have been that
a father’s estate was divided between his children upon his death.
To avoid having large estates broken up and diluting the influence
of the family, elite parents may have sought to limit the number
of children they had. However, the early death of many children
would have made the “right” number of children difficult to cal-
culate or maintain.
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Nurture and Education of Children

Many ancient sources attest to the labor of breastfeeding and
caring for very young children. Nursing one’s own offspring was
viewed as virtuous. In stories meant to praise, Plutarch mentioned
his wife nursing her son at her own breast (Cons. ux. 5) and the
wife of Cato the Elder doing the same (Cat. Maj. 20). One Latin
inscription memorialized Graxia Alexandria, praising her mod-
esty (pudicitia) and that she “brought up her children at her
own breast” (CIL 6.19128 [ILS 8451]). As with other honorary
inscriptions, the description attributed honor to the deceased by
citing conventional virtues.
Another kind of evidence comes from a papyrus letter in
which a mother berated her son for not writing to her: “Was it
for this that I carried you for ten months and nursed you for
three years, so that you would be incapable of remembering me
by letter?” (P.Berenike 2.129).6 The mother asserted that a vir-
tuous action on her part was not returned by her son. Her words
assumed that nursing would serve as evidence of her care for
her son.
Yet many sources also attested that hiring a wet nurse was
a common practice. Cicero suggested this was standard, at least
among elites. Although he asserted that “the seeds of virtue are in-
born in our dispositions,” Cicero went on to argue that this virtue
was quickly corrupted, so that “it seems as if we drank in decep-
tion with our nurse’s milk” (Tusc. 3.1).7 Cicero’s words assumed
that a wet nurse was the customary way of providing nourishment
to children of his class.
Nursing was commemorated in inscriptions in the same
way other jobs of the period were recorded. Latin funerary
inscriptions designated a named woman as nutrix (nurse) of a
particular child.8 For example, one inscription commemorated
a nurse of the imperial family: “Prima, freedwoman of the em-
peror [Tiberius] and empress [Livia], nurse of Julia [Livilla],
daughter of Germanicus” (CIL 6.4352).9 The presence of such
inscriptions suggests that wet nursing was a profession that
brought honor.
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O ccupations   |   1 1 7

Wet nurses were employed for a variety of reasons, not least of

which was the death of the mother in childbirth. There were other
reasons as well. The physician Soranus suggested that it might aid
a woman’s recovery not to breastfeed (Soranus, Gynecology 2.11).
It was also known that nursing could have a contraceptive effect.
One author asserted that women may have hired a wet nurse be-
cause they were “in haste to have more children” (Ps.-​Plutarch Lib.
ed. 5). In nonelite families, economic considerations likely played
a part in deciding to hire a wet nurse. Some mothers nursed
their own children of necessity. But other women’s economic
contributions to their families may have made the hiring of a wet
nurse worthwhile. Some elite male writers portrayed the women’s
motives as merely selfish. The sophist Favorinus suggested some
women did not nurse their children “because they think it
disfigures the charms of their beauty” (Aulus Gellius, Noct. att.
12.1.8).10 Selfish motivations were possible, of course, but were
certainly not always the case.
Women who worked as wet nurses included slave, freed, and
freeborn women. Many sources gave the impression of “hiring” a
wet nurse, although this may have involved paying an owner for
the use of his or her slave.11 Numerous contracts for wet nurses
are found in papyri, attesting to the paid nature of the work (e.g.,
BGU 4.1058; CPJ 146; P.Mich. 3.202). Dio Chrysostom’s remarks
gave the impression that nursing was reputable work for lower-​
class freeborn women. Dio implied that the work was undertaken
as a result of poverty but argued that the occupation itself was
honorable (Ven. 7.114).
For children, breastfeeding was a source of nourishment,
but it was also viewed as part of their early education. The wet
nurse also cared for, spoke, and sang to the young child. One au-
thor noted the importance of having a Greek-​speaking wet nurse
(Ps.-​Plutarch, Lib. ed. 5). Similarly, writing about the proper edu-
cation of elite males who would be schooled in oratorical skills,
Quintillian stressed the importance of engaging a wet nurse who
used proper grammar (Inst. 1.1.4). In the inscription to Graxia
Alexandria, above, the word “brought up,” educare, suggests more
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than simple nourishment. Breastfeeding was associated with

learning and wisdom. Children learned from their mothers and
wet nurses even at a young age.
Children learned more than just grammar from their nurses.
Tacitus attributed the decline in oratorical skills in part to
practices in the care of young children. One speaker in the dia-
logue lamented the fact that many infants are

handed over at their birth to some silly little Greek serving-​

maid, with a male slave, who may be anyone, to help her—​quite
frequently the most worthless member of the whole establish-
ment, incompetent for any serious service. It is from the foolish
tittle-​tattle of such persons that the children receive their earliest
impressions, while their minds are still green and unformed;
and there is not a soul in the whole house who cares a jot what he
says or does in the presence of his baby master. (Dial. 29)12

Tacitus suggested that wet nurses could have negative effects on

the child’s development. His words underscored the lasting im-
pact of the caregiver on the young child.
Breastfeeding was also associated with a close emotional
attachment. The mother’s letter cited above suggested that her care
for her young son brought some obligation on his part. Favorinus
lamented the loss of an emotional connection with the mother
when a wet nurse was hired, suggesting the mother would gradu-
ally forget her child (Noct. att. 12.1.22–​23). Although Favorinus’s
words are not evidence that such mothers were actually less
attached to their children, they do suggest the association of an
emotional bond with nursing. Similarly, some sources suggest an
attachment to nurses that lasted beyond childhood. Many of these
bonds were complicated by the slave status of the nurse. Modern
readers should not imagine that the affection of a slave toward
a free child was uncomplicated.13 But the sources suggested that
such a connection was common.
Women also played a role in the later education of their
children. Sometimes they were the one to engage a teacher for
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O ccupations   |   1 1 9

the job. In some cases, a famous woman like Cornelia or Julia

Procilla was praised for filling in because her husband had died
(Plutarch, Ti. C. Gracc. 1; Tacitus, Agr. 4). But mothers may also
have taken up such household tasks as a matter of course. In the
second century, Pliny wrote to Corellia Hispulla advising her
on the choice of a tutor (Ep. 3.3). Nonelite women made similar
kinds of decisions. In one letter from Egypt, a woman tells her
husband, who is away in military service, “Do not worry about
the children: they are well and attend [the lessons of] a woman
teacher” (P.Mich. 8.464). In such cases women provided for the
education of their children.
Yet fathers were also involved in their children’s education
and were praised for raising children well. For example, Plutarch
indicated that the elder Cato undertook the education of his son,
though he employed a slave who was a teacher (Cat. Maj. 20).
Written sources praised fathers for the education of their daugh-
ters as well as their sons. Speaking of Gaius’s daughter, Laelia,
Cicero noted that “it was apparent that her careful usage [of lan-
guage] was colored by her father’s habit” (Brut. 211). Another
writer criticized fathers who were lavish spenders on other items
but neglected to hire good tutors (Ps.-​Plutarch, Lib. ed. 7).
Some girls were educated alongside boys during the earliest
years. In general, children were educated to the extent that the
family could afford and considered necessary for the kind of work
the child would likely do later in life. Slaves were also educated
according to what was expected in their line of work. Few people
male or female needed the rhetorical education of a senator. But
the many surviving written documents suggest that reading and
writing was taught to some degree to a wide segment of the pop-
ulation. Alan Bowman has surmised that many people had lit-
eracy skills but fell short of full proficiency.14 Many people were
said “not to know letters”: they were unable to sign their names to
legal documents. However, such judgments were often made on
the ability of a man or woman to write Greek. Some could write
letters in their local languages. Still others learned only basic
letters and numbers to keep track of supplies and orders.15
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Education was a sign of the family’s social standing, and the

education of girls was an opportunity to display one’s status. The
Latin writer Quintillian gave examples of educated women and
suggested that both parents should be as learned as possible (Inst.
1.1.6). In a similar vein, Plutarch praised Cornelia, who was “well
versed in literature, in playing the lyre, and in geometry, and had
been accustomed to listen to philosophical discourses with profit”
(Pomp. 55). Nevertheless, he also described her as “free from that
unpleasant officiousness which such accomplishments are apt to
impart to young women.” As was the case with Juvenal’s satirical
description (see ­chapter 2), Plutarch reflected standard criticism
of a woman who was outspoken or appeared more knowledge-
able than the men around her. Such comments relied upon the
literary education that would have been familiar to his readers.
The literary knowledge of elite men and women was a sign of their
status. This status was often on display in social settings like the
dinner party Juvenal evoked. But the authors also conveyed the
risk that women might not acknowledge the status differential of
their male peers.

HOUSE HOLD M A NAG E M E NT

AND PRODUCTION
Women were commonly viewed as managers of the household.
A first century b.c.e. marriage contract between Apollonia and
Philiscus specified that Philiscus would not take another wife
or concubine nor “set up another household unless Apollonia is
in charge of it” (P.Tebt 1.104). The expectation that the wife was
“in charge” of the household was widely shared and was attested
in literary sources as well. Cicero’s sister-​in-​law, Pomponia, was
offended when she was not in charge of a dinner. Cicero quoted
her saying to her husband, “I am a guest myself” (Att. 5.1.3),
suggesting the matron of the house would expect to be respon-
sible for such matters. Cicero referred in numerous letters to his
own wife’s management of the affairs of his household (e.g., Fam.
6, 7, 8, 9, 119, 158, 173).
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O ccupations   |   1 2 1

Household management was a complex affair involving many

tasks. Writing in the first century, Columella described the tasks
of the female manager (vilica) of a large estate. She inspected all the
produce and goods brought into the household for quality: grain,
wine, tools and utensils, furniture, and clothing. She provided for
the storage of food and a system of organization. The vilica cared
for the sick within the household, supervised slaves at their work,
and saw that everything was clean in the house and barns. She
was always instructing others in their tasks or seeking to learn
from those with greater knowledge. She had her wool-​working
ready whenever there was a lull in these other tasks (Columella,
Rust. 12.1–​4). Although Columella presents an idealized picture,
the description of her work is also a reminder of the various tasks
in large households and underscores that these were imagined as
women’s work.16
Papyri show women of various class levels undertaking
these tasks. Letters of women to family members and stewards
told of them selling or procuring staples like lentils, oil, wheat,
and clothing. For example, an Egyptian woman, Thais, wrote
to Tigrios: “If you do come, take out six artabas of vegetable-​
seed and seal them in sacks so that they are ready, and if you
can, go up and search out the ass. Sarapodora and Sabinos
greet you. Do not sell the young pigs without me. Farewell” (P.
Oxy. 6.932).17 Such instructions about everyday matters were
common in these letters. In another example, Thermouthias
wrote to her mother, “Very many greetings and always good
health. I received from Valerius the basket with 20 pairs of
wheat cakes and 10 pairs of loaves. Send me the blankets at the
current price, and nice wool, 4 fleeces. Give these to Valerius”
(SB 5.7572).18 Letters like these show women’s management of
household resources.
It can be difficult to tell who owns the property mentioned
in these letters. Some of these women were managing their own
property, and others were managing their husband’s affairs. For
example, in the letter from Thermouthias, above, she was likely
married to Valerius, whom she mentioned in the letter.19 But
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the ownership of the items she received or requested was not

specified. In many cases it is also difficult to tell the woman’s
marital status. A letter writer might be widowed, managing prop­
erty that was hers already along with other property inherited
from her husband. Other women were married and managing
property that by law belonged to their spouses. The letters make
it difficult to discern whose property was involved, in part be-
cause women often had a management role with respect to their
husband’s property.
However, sometimes the records make clear that women
were managers of their own property. In the first century b.c.e,
one woman posted a memorial inscription to her thirty-​six-​year-​
old daughter, “Valeria Maxima, mother, owner of a farm” (CIL
14.3482). Women also left records of their work renting property.
In Pompeii, for example, this notice survived: “On the estate of
Julia Felix, the daughter of Spurius Felix, the following are for
rent: an elegant bath suitable for the best people, shops, rooms
above them, and second story apartments, from the Ides of August
until the Ides of August five years hence, after which the lease may
be renewed by simple agreement” (CIL 4.1136).20 Another woman
collected rent from a tenant on behalf of a different woman (P.
Oxy. 33.2680).
Whoever the property belonged to, the tone of these letters
indicated that women had authority over the matters they wrote
about. Consider this letter, to an unknown addressee: “. . . and
sell the wheat necessary and collect the bronze at your house
while I come, because I need it. Go to Myrtale and ask her for
the money. If she does not want to give it to you, lock her up. See
that I do not come and find the wall built up. And make the ex-
edra ready and let the dining room be paved, according to the
arrangement Aphys wants; shake out the woolen cloths and the
clothes and watch the children and things at home. Watch ‘little’
Isidora. I pray that you are well” (P.Mil.Vogl. 2.77).21 The author
sent orders about matters of household management. Her rela-
tionship to the recipient is unknown, but her tone made it clear
that she spoke with authority about matters of this household’s
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financial affairs, repairs or improvements, and oversight of chil-

dren. She wrote as one who had the power to give instructions
about the matters at hand.
Some of the business enterprises women undertook were an
extension of their role as household managers. As I discussed in
­chapter 2, Romans counted commerce and production as “pri-
vate” concerns, aligning them with an arena that was considered
appropriate for women. Furthermore, much of the economic pro-
duction of the period was centered in the household and there-
fore came under the woman’s domain. A woman’s management
of business interests would not overstep social boundaries be-
cause it was part of her normal sphere of influence. As with other
household labor, a woman was sometimes involved in business
concerns that were legally owned by her husband, and sometimes
she managed her own affairs.
Brickmaking was one area where women owners left evidence
of their work. The production of fired bricks increased dramatically
with the building projects of the first and second centuries. Some
bricks were stamped before firing with the names of the owner
(domini) and the contractor or production manager (officinator),
leaving a record of some of the individuals involved. Roughly one
third of the domini were women, along with about 6 percent of
the officinatores. Some of these women operated brickyards that
were formerly owned by their husbands (e.g., Claudia Marcellina,
CIL 15.934–​36; Sergia Paulina, Bloch 147).22 Other women were
the only members of their family who produced bricks (e.g., CIL
15.1259, 1488).23 Though a minority, women represented a signif-
icant number of the brick producers of these centuries. Classicist
Päivi Setälä has argued that the women played the same roles as
the men who held these titles.24
Women often participated in the local economy, which
varied region to region according to the climate and what was
produced there. Brick production was an occupation of wealthy
landowners, and both men and women took advantage of the
opportunity. Sometimes we catch glimpses of similar business
ventures by lower-​class women. Evidence of women’s ownership
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and registration of camels, for example, occurred in an Egyptian

town where camels were an important part of the economy.25
Graffiti on the wall of a restaurant in Pompeii, one of many
establishments where the lower classes of the city would have
eaten meals, identified its proprietor as a woman.26 Women are
not found in the evidence as often as men, but they were a reg-
ular feature of local economies and they used the wealth and skills
they had in much the same ways that men did.
Many women worked in the production of clothing. Within
the household, women were in charge of providing clothing
for family members and slaves. One legal text discussed the
complexities of who owned clothing, given that the ownership of
the wool and the slaves involved in production could belong to ei-
ther husband or wife. The constant assumption in the text was that
the wife oversaw the production. The ownership of the clothing
hinged on who paid for the wool: for example, “if men’s clothes
are made on behalf of her husband, they will be his if he paid his
wife for the wool” (Pomponius Dig. 24.1.31). The assumption was
that the wife directed the labor of the slaves in this work, even
though the slaves and the wool might belong to either spouse.
Women’s participation in the business of the household is also
seen in lending and borrowing money. One papyrus from 10 b.c.e.
recorded a Jewish woman’s repayment of a debt (CPJ 148). Other
documents showed loans between women (P.Kron 17; P.Tebt.
2.389; CIL 4.8203). Lending money was one important element
of patron-​client relationships (see ­chapter 5), so these documents
are evidence that women participated in those roles. The pursuit
of honor through the cultivation of patron and client relationships
was one way to enhance the economic and social well-​being of
the household and thus a natural part of the work both men and
women were engaged in. But there was also an economic function
to the loans. Women lent or borrowed money to further their ec-
onomic interests.
Women’s management of the household also included
their ownership and management of slaves. One papyrus from
Egypt recorded a woman, Segathis, apprenticing her slave girl,
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Taorsenouphis, to a weaver (Stud.Pal. 22.40). Another woman

petitioned the local ruler because of an injury to her slave, Peina
(P.Oxy. 50.3555). In another legal document, Philotera leased her
slave Zosime to her son as a wet nurse for another slave child. Sillis
paid a salary to Philotera for the use of her slave, and Philotera
agreed to safeguard the child and the wet nurse (BGU 4.1058).
Transactions like these were an expected part of everyday life,
and they show the participation of women in slave ownership and
management.
In wealthy households, slave women also served managerial
functions. The role of the vilica in managing a country estate has
already been noted above. The vilica was a slave woman whose
“duties were extensive, stretching from the overall maintenance of
the villa, the organization of provisions and cooked meals for the
slave familia, the general care and guardianship of the laborers,
to the supervision of a whole range of domestic and industrial ac-
tivities carried out at the farmstead.”27 On a large farm, a host of
other slaves, both male and female, carried out these tasks under
the supervision of the vilica.
Male slaves often filled other clerical and administrative
functions within the household, an indication of their relatively
high status compared to females. Although most of the titles
referring to the financial administration of the household applied
to men, a few inscriptions assigned titles like a manu or librariae
to women (e.g., CIL 6.9523, 9525, 37802). These women might have
been secretaries or clerks who kept track of the goods that came in
and out of the family’s storeroom.
Slave women performed a wide variety of tasks within the
wealthy Roman household. Many households had only a few
slaves, who likely performed many tasks. Wealthier households
could assign slaves to specialized tasks, and the ability to do so be-
came a status marker.28 Although from an earlier period, Plautus
gave a glimpse into the attendant of a wealthy matron. Speaking
of a lover’s attempts to gain access to such a woman, Plautus
wrote: “He’s granted a night: the whole establishment is hired, the
dress-​folder, the masseur, the guardian of jewelry, the fan-​bearers,
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the sandal-​carriers, the female singers, the maids with treasure

boxes, the ones who bring messages and the ones who bring
messages back, the thieves of bread and sustenance. While the
lover is being generous to them, he himself becomes destitute”
(Trin. 250–​255). Plautus’s list included a number of specialized
slaves. Belonging to such a family was also a marker of relative
status for slaves, who recorded their job titles in inscriptions.
Many women slaves served as the personal servants of
women. Some were hairdressers (ornatrices), employed to create
the elaborate hairstyles that became popular in the first century
(see ­figure 3.1). Others, vestiplicae, cared for clothes (e.g., CIL
6.33393, 37825). Pedisequae were slaves who followed the matron
on foot when she went out or ran errands on her behalf (e.g., CIL
6.6335, 9266, 9775). Susan Treggiari has argued that job speciali-
zation contributed to the morale among the household slaves and
allowed the system to function more smoothly.29

O T H E R O C C U PAT I O N S
Some jobs were extensions of household production. For example,
in the first century as cloth came to be produced more widely out-
side of the household, women worked in its production. The walls
of a factory in Pompeii listed many women employed there as
spinners. Similarly, one papyrus recorded female textile workers
of a production facility (BGU 10.1942). On a smaller scale, a letter
from Apollonia described her actions in producing or contracting
to produce thread for clothing (P.Oxy. 31.2593).30 Inscriptions
often simply stated a woman’s occupation: for example, as clothes
makers (CIL 6.33920), menders (CIL 6.9884), and wool weighers
(CIL 6.9496).31 Many men also worked in the production of
clothing, especially as weavers, but in other tasks as well.
The occupations of women that were mentioned in inscriptions
covered a wide variety of fields. Women were mosaic workers (CIL
5.7044) and perfumers (CIL 6.1006), jewelers (CIL 6.5972, 9435),
and makers of fine clothing (CIL 6.9213, 9214). Women worked in
the production of a variety of goods.
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Women also sold goods in the marketplaces. Figure 6.1 offers

a visual image of a woman merchant. Numerous women under-
took similar work as sellers of bottles (CIL 6.9488), fruit (CIL
6.37819), grain (CIL 6.9683, 9684), salt (IG 2.11244), fish (CIL
6.9801), incense (CIL 6.9934), and cloth (CIL 2.4318a).
Jewish women likely worked in similar ways. There are few
explicit references to Jewish women in sources of this period,
making it difficult to find explicit evidence of their tasks. Miriam
Peskowitz has chronicled evidence for Jewish women performing
similar kinds of jobs found in later (Tannaitic) sources.32 Given
these similarities, it seems likely that Jewish women worked at the
same sorts of tasks as their Greek and Roman counterparts.
Women were also entertainers of various kinds. Inscriptions
recorded women singers (CIL 6.10132 [ILS 5231]; ILS 9347), actors
(CIL 6.10127 [ILS 5262]), and musicians (IG 2.11496; CIL 6.10125
[ILS 5244]). For example, in 86 b.c.e., the city of Delphi honored
Polynota, a harpist from Thebes who performed at the Pythian
games. They gave her a crown and 500 drachmas, and posted an
inscription:

to commend Polygnota . . . for her piety and reverence towards

the god and for her dedication to her profession; to bestow on

Figure 6.1 Marketplace sign. Archaeological Museum Ostia. Photo: Gianni

Dagli Orit/The Art Archive at Art Resource, NY. Used by permission.
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her and on her descendants the guest-​friendship of the city, the

right to consult the oracle, the privileges of being heard first, of
safety, of exemption from taxes, and of front seating at the games
held by the city, the right of owning land and a house and all the
other honors ordinarily awarded to other benefactors of the city;
to invite her to the town hall to the public hearth, and provide
her with a victim to sacrifice to Apollo. (Pleket 6.G)33

Women were gladiators and athletes who competed in games

(CIG 6855.G).34 Wealthy women were also patrons of these forms
of entertainment. They paid the gladiators or actors, or built the
theaters in which they performed (see c­ hapter 5).
Women also worked as doctors and midwives. Some
women in these positions were slaves, and others were free or
freedpersons. One funerary inscription identified “Antonia
Thallusa, freedwoman of the emperor, a midwife” (CIL 6.8947).35
The second-​ century medical writer Soranus discussed the
qualifications and training of midwives (Gynecology 1). Other
inscriptions and papyri mentioned women who were physicians
or healers.36
Although it runs contrary to modern expectations, some
women also worked as teachers. A papyrus letter, cited above
regarding elements of household management, stated that the
children attended classes with a woman teacher (P.Mich. 8.464).
Figure 6.2 shows a mummy portrait that identifies the deceased
woman, Hermione, as a grammatikē or teacher of grammar and
literature. Women were less likely than men to be educated in this
period, and so fewer women were qualified to work as teachers.
However, the sources show no surprise at the presence of women
in these roles, suggesting there was nothing prohibiting their
activity.

N E W T E S TA M E N T O C C U PAT I O N S
Like many of the women whose names appear in literary texts
and inscriptions, the occupations of New Testament women are
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Figure 6.2 Hermione Grammatike. Girton College Library. © The Mistress

and Fellows, Girton College, Cambridge. Used by permission.

often unknown. The Samaritan woman (John 4:4–​42), the women

who provided for Jesus (Luke 8:1–​3), Nympha (Col 4:15), Euodia
and Syntyche (Phil 4:2), and Phoebe (Rom 16:1) are examples of
women whose occupations were not mentioned.
In a few places, however, there are glimpses of the jobs women
did. Tabitha’s production of clothing (Acts 9:39) situated her as
a participant in this traditional female task. The description of
her as “devoted to good works and to charity” may suggest the
clothing was made to give to others. Acts does not state what kind
of occupation allowed Tabitha to fund these projects. But in that
cultural context, readers would likely have assumed that Tabitha
both initiated this work and provided the funds necessary to
complete it.
Acts also mentioned Paul’s associate Prisca, along with Paul
and Aquila, as a tentmaker by occupation (Acts 18:3). Again, few
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details are provided. Against the cultural background of the time,

readers might well imagine that Prisca and Aquila worked to-
gether in their business as they traveled from place to place, and
that Prisca contributed as much to the household economy as she
did to the spread of the gospel (cf. Romans 16:3; Acts 18:26).
More explicitly, Acts recorded Lydia’s occupation as a “dealer
in purple cloth” (Acts 16:14). The details of Lydia’s business were
not described, nor was the reason that brought her from her home-
town of Thyatira to residence in Philippi, where she had a home.
The phrase “when she and her household were baptized” (Acts
16:15), suggests Lydia was the head of a household with slaves and
children or other family members. Presumably Lydia’s business
interests supported her household and allowed her to offer hospi-
tality to a visiting teacher like Paul.
Elsewhere in the New Testament, we see the expectation that
women contributed to their household economy as managers of
the household. The qualifications for male and female deacons in-
cluded good management of their children and households (1 Tim
3:11–​12). Similarly, widows were women who had cultivated the
virtues associated with household tasks like raising children and
showing hospitality. The use of these tasks as qualifications for
church office was a reminder that management of the household
often signified virtue and was a way that women could gain status
in their communities. Thus, women’s work in the household was
not simply restrictive in the way that modern readers may im-
agine it. Instead, these tasks gave women authority over segments
of social, economic, and religious life.
13

Chapter 7

Speech and Silence

IN LIGHT OF THE PREVIOUS CHAPTERS, it may come as no

surprise that women’s speech was also a regular part of life in
the New Testament period. Women spoke in the course of their
occupations, whatever they were. Wealthier women directed their
business dealings and commanded slaves. They interacted with
patrons or clients. Women of various classes spoke in the course
of directing other members of their households, teaching, and
pursuing their social and political interests.
Women did not enter into acts of speech as the equals of men.
In principle, society viewed women as inferior to men. They were
expected to show their deference to men of higher rank, and this
could be expressed through silence. Political speeches and rhet-
oric were a male domain.
However, the silence of women was not an absolute rule that
applied uniformly in every situation. As I discussed in ­chapter 2,
culture does not simply give its members rules to live by, as if the
rules were one size fits all and applied uniformly to every situa-
tion. Instead, culture also supplies the social understanding re-
quired to apply the rules. Consider this example of modern rules
for speech: American culture values freedom of expression, but if
someone proclaims his or her political allegiances loudly in the
middle of a movie, that individual will likely be thrown out of the
theater. The cultural “rule” of free speech does not govern every
situation. People within the culture do not usually experience si-
lence in the movie theater as a contradiction of the rule of free
speech. Culture provides the social understanding that shapes our
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speech and silence in particular situations. The same person may

be silent in one place and speak forcefully in a different context,
and in each case he or she may be operating well within the ex-
pected social norms.
Furthermore, conventions of speech and silence were com-
plex and sometimes in tension. Ancient Mediterranean cultures
described both silence and bold speech as virtues. In some cases,
authors presented silence as evidence of self-​control and speech
as self-​indulgence. However, in other situations, bold speech was
praised as evidence of bravery whereas silence showed weakness
and cowardice. Culturally, speech and silence could mean
different things, depending on the circumstances.
Women could be praised or criticized for both speech and si-
lence, just as men could. Because social norms suggested silence
indicated deference to one’s superiors, women’s silence sometimes
appeared as socially expected passivity. However, in other cases a
woman’s silence could be interpreted as active, virtuous behavior.
While women could be criticized for speaking too much in the
wrong context, other social norms encouraged women to speak
and upheld examples of those whose speech showed wisdom and
courage.
I begin below with a discussion of some expressions of the
“rules” of silence from the culture at large. Certain writings
support the impression that the rules of ancient culture silenced
women completely. However, even in these sources we see some
of the conventions that supported women’s speech as well. The
chapter surveys a wider array of evidence for women’s speech and
silence before returning to the New Testament.

C U LT U R A L N O R M S O F S I L E N C E
Historians have often turned to Livy’s history of the repeal of
the Oppian Laws as an example of the limitations on women’s
speech. Livy wrote in the early Imperial period about events
that took place in 195 b.c.e. Two senators sought to dismantle an
earlier set of measures that restricted elaborate displays of wealth.
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S peech and S ilence   |   1 3 3

In particular, the earlier laws forbade multicolored clothing or

travel in a carriage around Rome and limited how much gold a
woman could wear. According to Livy, a large number of women
turned out in favor of the repeal of these laws, advocating in the
streets around the forum as the senators made their way there.
The respected orator, Cato, spoke against the repeal. He cited the
women’s behavior as part of his argument: “What sort of prac-
tice is this, of running out into the streets and blocking the roads
and speaking to other women’s husbands? Could you not have
made the same requests, each of your own husband, at home? Or
are you more attractive outside and to other women’s husbands
than your own? And yet, not even at home, if modesty would keep
matrons within the limits of their proper rights, did it become you
to concern yourselves with the question of what laws should be
adopted in this place or repealed” (Hist. 34.2.8–​11).1 Cato went on
to portray the women’s speech as disorderly behavior that would
only increase if the senators repealed the Oppian Laws. Modern
interpreters have often cited Cato’s words as evidence that women
were not allowed to speak outside of the home or to address po-
litical matters.
However, the larger context of Cato’s speech contradicted this
conclusion. The quote above was prefaced by these words: “Had
not respect for the dignity and modesty of some individuals
among [the women] rather than of the sex as a whole kept me
silent, lest they should seem to have been rebuked by a consul,
I should have said, ‘What sort of practice is this?’ ” (Hist. 34.2.8).
Cato quoted what he might have said to the women but did not.
His words were not spoken directly to the women in order to limit
their speech. They were directed at his colleagues in the senate
in an attempt to persuade them. Cato’s criticism of the women’s
speech should be read in its context as part of an argument in
favor of retaining the Oppian laws. His words are evidence that
norms of silence could be evoked to persuade others. They are not
evidence that women were forbidden to speak.
To the contrary, Cato’s words suggest that a woman’s ability
to speak without censure was dependent on her social status. Cato
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quoted what he would have liked to have said to the women. But
he noted that “the dignity and modesty of some” of the women
prevented him from saying these things. Some of the protesters
were high-​ranking women, and Cato deemed it inappropriate to
rebuke them openly, even though he disapproved of their actions.
Furthermore, Cato’s opponent, Valerius, affirmed instances
where the speech of women was a good thing. Valerius pointed
out that it was conventional for women to speak in situations of
political need. “What new thing have the matrons done in coming
out into the streets in crowds in a case that concerned them?”
(Hist. 34.5.7). He cited matrons who mediated between men in
times of war and women who contributed wealth to the treasury
in times of civic need (34.5.8–​ 10). Through these examples,
Valerius reminded his listeners that women’s speech was not un-
usual. Indeed, it could be praised and upheld as an exemplar of
bravery and civic-​mindedness.
Valerius also noted that Cato himself had praised women’s
speech. He pointed out that Cato had collected and written down
the stories he told: “Let me unroll your own Origines against you”
(Hist. 34.5.8). (Origines was a work by Cato that now exists only
in fragments.) By noting that Cato had praised women’s speech
in some circumstances, Valerius undercut Cato’s assertion that
women should never speak on political matters. Valerius’s stories
of women brought to mind familiar history in which women’s
speech was expected and even praiseworthy.
Valerius expected that women, like men, would speak to
situations that affected them directly. “But what no one wonders
that all, men and women alike, have done in matters that con-
cern them, do we wonder that the women have done in a case pe-
culiarly their own? What now have they done? We have proud
ears, upon my word, if, although masters do not scorn to hear
the petitions of slaves, we complain that we are appealed to by re-
spectable women” (Hist. 34.5.12–​13). Valerius’s words upheld the
common hierarchical distinction between men and women, just
as Cato’s did. His comparison with a slave speaking to his master
underscored the imbalance of power between men and women.
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Yet his point was that if even slaves were allowed to petition mas-
ters, how much more so should distinguished women speak re-
garding matters that concerned them. He drew on cultural norms
that gave lower-​status people reasons to speak.
The successful repeal of the Oppian Laws suggests that the
women’s speech was not entirely outside the boundaries of ex-
pected behavior. If Cato’s words were an accurate description of
the rules of social interaction, we might expect a different outcome.
But in this case, their speech was persuasive. Livy wrote: “When
these speeches against and for the bill had been delivered, the
next day an even greater crowd of women appeared in public,
and all of them in a body beset the doors of the Bruti, who were
vetoing their colleagues’ proposal, and they did not desist until
the threat of veto was withdrawn by the tribunes. After that there
was no question that all the tribes would vote to repeal the law”
(Hist. 34.8.1–​2). The women’s persistence was ultimately effective
in achieving their goals. Livy’s description did not convey disap-
proval of their success.
This analysis of Livy’s writing suggests that it was possible to
evoke women’s silence as a rule of culture, but that the rule did not
apply in the same way in every situation. The speech of women
could be praised when exercised to protect their cities. Women’s
speech was also expected in matters that concerned them. While
the realm of their concern would certainly apply to matters of
household management and social influence, in this instance it
also included political advocacy. The importance of social status
was also visible in Cato’s restraint in speaking to them. A woman’s
qualification to speak even to senators was shaped by her social
standing.
Other literary sources that stated norms of women’s silence
conveyed a similar tension. Many scholars have cited Juvenal’s
criticism of a woman’s speech at a dinner party, which I quoted in
part in ­chapter 2:

But she’s much worse, the woman who as soon as she’s taken
her place at dinner is praising Virgil and forgiving Elissa on her
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deathbed, who pits the poets against one another and assesses
them. . . . The schoolteachers give way, the teachers of rhetoric
are beaten, the whole party falls silent, there’ll not be a word
from any lawyer or auctioneer—​and not even from another
woman. . . . Don’t let the lady reclining next to you have her own
rhetorical style or brandish phrases before hurling her rounded
syllogism at you. Don’t let her know the whole of history. Let
there be a few things in books that she doesn’t even under-
stand. I loathe the woman who is forever referring to Palaemon’s
Grammar and thumbing through it, observing all the laws and
rules of speech, or who quotes lines I’ve never heard, a female
scholar. . . . Husbands should be allowed their grammatical
oddities. (Juvenal, Sat. 6.434–​4 47)2

Juvenal’s satirical remarks made sense in a cultural context in

which wealthy women were educated and capable of speaking on
subjects like literature, history, and grammar. Furthermore, these
women reclined alongside their husbands at dinner parties where
such topics were discussed. If Juvenal’s criticism hit home for his
readers, it was because they saw this woman upstaging her male
peers, to whom, according to social custom, she should defer.
Juvenal would not have criticized the same woman speaking on
different subjects, or speaking on the same subjects to a lower-​
class person, child, or slave. The interplay of speech and status
made it possible that he could criticize her speech before her
male peers.
Plutarch’s writings conveyed support of both silence and
speech. He also indicated that women should defer to their
husbands in speech. “A wife should speak only to her husband
or through her husband, and should not feel aggrieved if, like a
piper, she makes nobler music through another’s tongue” (Conj.
praec. 32).3 Yet Plutarch elsewhere quoted women speakers with
approval. For example, he wrote of Olympias “who, when a
young courtier married a beautiful woman with a bad reputation,
observed, ‘He has no sense, or he would not have married with his
eyes’ ” (Conj. praec. 24). Plutarch then affirmed the same point,
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that one ought not marry on the basis of appearance. Plutarch

quoted the words of women five more times in the course of this
work (Conj. praec. 18, 31, 40, 46, 48). His adages about women’s
silence appeared alongside their words, which were quoted with
approval.
Thus, even these statements of the “rule” of women’s silence
conveyed knowledge and affirmation of conventions of women’s
speech. If modern readers assume that women’s speech was not
always forbidden, then we may return to the ancient sources with
a new set of questions. As we explore women’s speech, we should
be interested not only in statements of the rules but also in evi-
dence of the social understanding people used to live by the rules
of culture.

EVIDENCE FOR THE SPEECH AND

SI LE NCE OF WOM E N
In the pages that follow, I present additional evidence for the
cultural norms regarding women’s silence and speech. I look
at examples from four kinds of sources: philosophy, fiction,
inscriptions, and letters. None of these sources gives direct evi-
dence of the speech of actual women. They are all highly stylized
in various ways. However, we do get a sense of what both author
and reader took for granted about women’s speech or silence, and
in such moments, we glimpse some of the social understanding
that shaped the application of the rules of culture.
Viewed in their literary context, the speech or silence of
women can give us additional information about the social norms
of the time. I approach the evidence asking questions such as,
What were the purposes of women’s silence? To whom did women
speak? Where did they speak? What subjects did they speak about?
In what situations does their silence occur? Framing the explora-
tion this way helps me to avoid assumptions about the nature of
women’s speech as public or private (see ­chapter 2). It also allows
me to look for speech that is unremarkable as well as speech that
provokes praise or blame.
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Silence as a Virtue
The idea that women could be criticized for speaking reflects
the social context in which women were perceived to be of lower
status than men. Silence was expected as a sign of deference to
those of higher rank. Younger people were to defer to their
elders, slaves to masters, and women to men.4 For example, one
story from Plutarch’s Lives identified silence as a sign of the high
standing of the other person present. Following the assassination
of Caesar, the people listened to a discourse by Brutus “without
either expressing resentment at what had been done or appearing
to approve of it; they showed, however, by their deep silence, that
while they pitied Caesar, they respected Brutus” (Plutarch Caes.
66).5 The people showed deference to Brutus through their silence.
In the same way, the expectation of women’s silence in the sources
above reflects their status differential.
However, silence was not only a sign of deference but could
be a virtue as well. This was true for men as well as women. An
example of silence among men as evidence of virtue occurred in
Apuleius’s story Metamorphoses, or The Golden Ass. The narrator
and traveler, Lucian, who was later magically transformed into
a donkey, encountered a wealthy aunt in the town he was vis-
iting. Although her attendant recognized Lucian, he was afraid to
speak to his aunt because she was a woman of high standing: “ ‘I
am embarrassed in front of a woman whom I do not know,’
I answered, suddenly blushing, and I just stood there looking
at the ground. Then she turned and stared at me. ‘He inherited
that well-​bred behavior,’ she said, ‘from his pure and virtuous
mother, Salvia’ ” (Metam. 2.2).6 Here, Lucian’s reluctance to speak
to a woman who is clearly his social superior was praised as good
manners. Their family ties gave him an opportunity to speak,
but her high standing made it plausible that he would not. His
aunt intervened, addressing him first, and offered her assistance
and patronage. This fictional work assumed readers would un-
derstand the propriety of Lucian’s silence in the presence of his
high-​ranking aunt.
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In some instances, silence was also portrayed as evidence of

philosophical achievement. Plutarch called it “the mark of a man
who is making progress” not to tell others of his achievements.
Instead, he would “keep all this to himself and put the seal of si-
lence on it.” Although training in oratory was the pinnacle of the
educational system, Plutarch argued that the philosopher who ad-
vanced beyond oratory adopted “another bearing of silence and
amazement” (Virt. prof. 10).
The virtue of self-​control also informed Plutarch’s stories
depicting silence as bravery. The women of Melos conspired with
their male relatives against the Carians, who planned to kill them
after a banquet. The women brought concealed weapons into the
banquet, and at a designated time the men seized the weapons and
slew their opponents. Plutarch concluded with the comment, “It is
right and proper to admire both the silence and the courage of the
women, and that not a single one of them among so many was led
by timidity to turn coward even voluntarily” (Mulier. virt).7 In this
case, silence was evidence of self-​control exercised under difficult
circumstances. Another example was that of a woman named
Micca, who endured a beating from a tyrant rather than submit to
him: “She bravely bore the painful blows in silence” (Mulier. virt).
Similar stories were told of men as well, who, when confronted
with a tyrannical ruler, showed their superior virtue through si-
lence (e.g., Plutarch, Cam. 22).
Thus, silence was not simply viewed as mere passivity.
Although silence could be criticized as weakness in some
circumstances, in other cases it was viewed as appropriate defer-
ence, and in still others it was an act of courage. Controlling the
tongue was evidence of the virtue of self-​control, something that
was difficult to maintain when in danger or under threat. In such
instances, silence could be a virtue rather than a weakness.

Speech on Political Subjects

Stories and histories represented a number of women as speakers
on political topics. One notable example is Appian’s recounting of
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a tax imposed on women in the civil war period prior to Augustus’s

reign. The triumvirs—​Octavian, Antony, and Lepidus—​imposed
a tax on the 1,400 richest women in Rome. The women protested.
They first visited three women related to these men: Octavius’s
sister, Antony’s mother, and Antony’s wife, Fulvia. The first two
women received their request, but Fulvia rejected them. The
women then made their way to the triumvirs in the forum, where
one of the women, Hortensia, spoke in protest. Appian quoted
her speech at some length (Bell. civ. 4.32–​33). The triumvirs were
angry that the women opposed the tax and also that a woman
made a political speech while the men were silent. “They ordered
the lictors to drive them away from the tribunal, which they
proceeded to do until cries were raised by the multitude outside,
when the lictors desisted and the triumvirs said they would post-
pone till the next day the consideration of the matter” (4.34).8 The
next day they reduced the number of women taxed to four hun-
dred and added a tax on a wider group of male citizens.
Plutarch’s parallel Lives also included a number of women
whose speech was quoted at key moments in history.9 One ex-
ample, Chilonis, was the daughter of King Leonidas of Sparta.
She was married to Cleombrotus, who had become an enemy
of the king. Cleombrotus fled to the sanctuary of Poseidon, and
Chilonis, although she had supported her father in the political
turmoil, joined her husband there. When Leonidas confronted
Chilonis’s husband, he sat, silent and at a loss (Plutarch, Ag. Cleom.
17). But Chilonis addressed her father. She began by pointing to
the difficult situation that both her husband and father brought
about for her. Although she had sided with her father against her
husband, she now faced further difficulty if her father would not
heed her words and spare her husband. She argued that killing
Cleombrotus would confirm people’s fears about the power her
father held, because it would show “that royal power is a thing so
great and so worth fighting for that for its sake it is right to slay
a son-​in-​law and ignore a child” (Ag. Cleom. 17). Chilonis spoke
as a suppliant of her father on a political subject. Plutarch also
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mentioned the crowd standing with them: they were moved by

her goodness and devotion. Her words convinced her father to
spare Cleombrotus’s life and send him into exile. Chilonis chose
to remain with her father.
Plutarch’s stories continued in a similar vein of polit-
ically engaged speech. One of the most ancient tales, told and
retold by Romans, was the story of Rome’s founding. Although
Sabine women had been forcefully taken by Rome, the women
intervened to stop a war between the two clans. Plutarch’s version
of the peace process quoted a Sabine woman, Hersilia, at length
(Rom. 19.4–​7). Other women in Plutarch’s stories took on similar
roles as political emissaries. One Roman woman, Volumnia, con-
vinced her son not to attack the city (Cor. 33–​36). Octavia forged
an alliance between her husband, Mark Antony, and her brother,
Octavian, and orchestrated an exchange of military forces (Ant.
35.3–​5).
In another kind of political speech, women characters spurred
men on to acts of political bravery and sacrifice. One example was
Porcia, the wife of Brutus (Plutarch, Brut. 13.6–​10). As the plot
built toward the assassination of Julius Caesar, Porcia had noticed
Brutus’s unease. She did not question him about his secrets until
first putting herself to a test. She cut her own arm quite badly
without letting others know. She then spoke to Brutus, declaring
herself to be his partner even in pain.

“I know that woman’s nature is thought too weak to endure a

secret; but good rearing and excellent companionship go far
towards strengthening the character, and it is my happy lot to
be both the daughter of Cato and the wife of Brutus. Before this
I put less confidence in these advantages, but now I know that
I am superior even to pain.” Thus having spoken, she showed
him her wound and explained her test; whereupon Brutus,
amazed, and lifting his hands to heaven, prayed that he might
succeed in his undertaking and thus show himself a worthy hus-
band of Porcia. (Brut. 13)
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Porcia drew on her social standing and her self-​testing to present

herself as a worthy confidant. Brutus interpreted her words and
actions as a catalyst for his own.10
Jewish works also portrayed women who spoke on political
subjects. In the apocryphal story of Judith, the heroine called to-
gether the elders of her town and spoke to them at some length
(Jud 8:11–​27). She declared that she had a plan to save them from
their enemies (8:32–​34), prayed and prepared herself (Jud 9:1–​14),
and carried out her plot against Holofernes the Assyrian. Judith
spoke to Holofernes several times before she killed him, and her
story concluded with her song of praise (Jud 16:1–​17).
The Greek novels of the first and second centuries reinforced
the propriety of women’s speech on political matters. For example,
in the story Chaereas and Callirhoe, Callirhoe spoke directly to
her husband, Chaereas, regarding political matters. He was a mil-
itary victor who conquered the Persians who had held Callirhoe
captive. After they were reunited, Callirhoe directed Chaereas to
return the Queen of Persia to her place with the king. Chaereas
had intended to keep the queen as a slave for Callirhoe, but he
changed his mind in accordance with her wishes.
Women also appeared in more formal court and assembly
proceedings in these stories. These settings privileged the voices
of male characters. One of the twists in Callirhoe’s story happened
when her second husband, Dionysius, accused another man of
having intentions toward his wife after that man delivered a letter
to her that was really from Chaereas, her first husband. The court-
room scene was an affair between men, and in the initial hearing
Callirhoe was not present. The king and the male opponents
spoke. However, Callirhoe was present for the final judgment in
the courtroom scene, and she cried out when she saw Chaereas,
whom she thought was dead: “Chaereas, are you alive?” (Chaer.
5.8). Her recognition and statement caused the mystery around
the case to unwind, and the case dissolved.11
Callirhoe’s story also included an appearance in the assembly.
At the end of their story Chaereas and Callirhoe returned home
to a warm greeting. Chaereas told their tale to a packed assembly.
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Those who rushed to hear Chaereas’s tale included both men and
women. “More quickly than words can tell the theater was filled
with men and women. When Chaereas came in by himself, they
all cried out, men as well as women, ‘Call Callihroe in!’ ” (Chaer.
8.7) Men and women then joined in praising the couple. After
Chaereas’s speech, there was a vote to confer citizenship on those
who assisted the couple. Although it seems appropriate to assume
that only male citizens participated in the vote, there was no indi-
cation that the women left the assembly.
The trial proceedings in Leukippe and Cleitophon were like-
wise dominated by the speeches of men. Thersandros, who
brought the charges, considered Leukippe his slave, which made
her speech less likely. Instead, she acted to defend herself by
undergoing a test of her virginity to prove her version of the story
was true. Upon her entrance into a cave, the god Pan produced
beautiful music, which was taken as a sign of her virginity (Leuc.
Clit. 8.13–​14). However, after Leukippe’s status was established in
this way, she then spoke at a formal dinner gathering and narrated
her story (8.15).
Jewish and Christian stories also included courtroom scenes
where women spoke. In the apocryphal book, Susanna, the main
character was falsely accused of adultery. Susanna did not defend
herself in court, but she did cry out with a loud voice after being
sentenced: “O eternal God, you know what is secret and are aware
of all things before they come to be; you know that these men
have given false evidence against me. And now I am to die, though
I have done none of the wicked things that they have charged
against me!” (Sus 42). Her cry caused Daniel to speak up and ini-
tiate further investigation, resulting in her vindication.
Similarly, a second-​century Christian story, the Acts of Paul
and Thecla, included court scenes where women were present
and spoke. Thecla was a young woman whose devotion to Paul’s
message got her in trouble with authorities. In the first instance,
she was brought before the governor to judgment. Thecla did
not speak, but her mother, a local elite woman named Theocleia,
spoke up demanding her daughter’s execution (ATh 20). Thecla
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was miraculously saved by God’s intervention (ATh 22) but

later underwent a similar trial. In that case, when the governor
condemned her to the beasts, “the women there were astonished
and cried out before the judgment seat, ‘A wicked judgment! An
unholy judgment!’ ” (ATh 27). A wealthy woman, Tryphaena, was
also present in the court and took Thecla under her protection
until the games began. After she was again saved by divine inter-
vention, Thecla made a formal statement of her identity and faith
before the governor (ATh 37).
Letters and inscriptions offer another kind of evidence that
may be helpful in considering the speech of women. As I noted
in ­chapter 5, there are many examples of inscriptions recording
civic benefactions of women.12 Consider this example from first
century Cartima in Roman Spain:

Junia Rustica, daughter of Decimus, first and perpetual priestess

in the municipium of Cartima, restored the public porticos
that had decayed due to old age, gave land for a bathhouse,
reimbursed the public taxes, set up a bronze statue of Mars in
the forum, gave at her own cost porticos next to the bathhouse
on her own land, with a pool and a statue of Cupid, and ded-
icated them after giving a feast and public shows. Having
remitted the expense, she made and dedicated the statues that
were decreed by the council of Cartima for herself and her son,
Gaius Fabius Junianus, and she likewise made and dedicated at
her own cost the statue for Gaius Fabius Fabianus, her husband.
(CIL 2.1956)13

Like many women of her era, Junia Rustica was a wealthy woman
and an important benefactor of her city.
Although the inscription does not represent an actual
speech by a woman in the civic space, it can still give us some
insight into the social expectations regarding speech. The lan-
guage represented the process by which many such inscriptions
were established, as Emily Hemelrijk wrote: “Her priesthood
and civic munificence led to a polite exchange between her
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and the local council, which, in gratitude for her benefactions,

decreed public statues for herself and her son. Accepting the
honor, she remitted the expense, setting up the statues her-
self.”14 Hemelrijk argued that Junia likely had input into and
perhaps even drafted the wording of the inscription. Although
some inscriptions were worded on behalf of the assembly to
the honoree (that is, in the dative case: “to Junia Rustica . . .”),
this text is in the nominative case, as if Junia wrote on her own
behalf.15
Such inscriptions were part of the self-​representations of
the elite and sub-​elite classes of this period, who sought honor
through the pursuit of civic offices and donations (see c­ hapter 5).
While not direct evidence of women’s speech, they suggest that it
was possible and even desirable in some circumstances to portray
a woman’s voice in this context. There is no apparent hesitancy to
represent a woman patron in this way.

Persuasion and Advocacy

Women often spoke in order to pursue the interests of family
members. Women characters in the Greek novels appealed to
family members and authority figures, both successfully and
unsuccessfully. Chaereas’s parents each pleaded with him from
the harbor not to sail off in search of Callirhoe (Chaer. 5.5). The
narrative recorded short speeches by both his mother and his fa-
ther. Neither persuaded Chaereas to stay.
Women also spoke on their own behalf. The women characters
in the fictional stories spoke in a variety of settings to people with
authority. Sometimes this authority was due to political position,
and other times it was simply the circumstances of the events. For
example, in An Ephesian Tale, Anthia persuaded a goatherd not to
rape her (Eph. 2.9). She drew on her former social status as a ma-
tron who had been taken prisoner. She later spoke without success
to pirates, whom she wanted to leave her alone to die. However,
she did convince Psammis, to whom she was then sold, that she
was dedicated to Isis as a virgin and should be left alone until she
was of age (3.11).
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The sources did not always represent women as telling the

truth. In the Greek novels, both men and women lied to achieve
their aims. Melite, a character in Leukippe and Cleitophon,
deceived her husband about the nature of her relationship with
Kleitophon (Leuc. Clit. 6.9–​10). Some lies had positive aims, how-
ever, like Anthia’s claim that she was dedicated to Isis. Similarly,
Callirhoe deceived Dionysius that he was the father of her child so
that the child would grow up a free and well-​born person (Chaer.
3.1–​2). These characters drew on a variety of tactics to persuade
others.
Characters also communicated by letter when separated by
distance. Both Chaereas and Callirhoe sent letters, the texts of
which were quoted in the narrative. Having been reunited with
Chaereas, Callirhoe wrote to Dionysius, the man who had bought
her as a slave but made her his wife. She instructed him regarding
their son: “I entrust him to you to bring up and educate in a way
worthy of us. Do not let him learn what a stepmother is like. You
have a daughter as well as a son; two children are enough for you.
Marry them to each other when he comes of age; and send him
to Syracuse so that he can see his grandfather too” (Chaer. 8.4).
Like many of the papyrus letters that I discuss below, Callirhoe’s
fictional letter represented her voice and wishes. The wording was
kind but also clearly stated her expectations.
Evidence in the papyrus documents supports the practice
of letter writing seen in the fictional accounts. These letters also
represented women’s voices on matters of personal interest. The
language of letters to family was not highly stylized and may have
represented some of the ways women spoke. One woman wrote
a letter of condolence: “Be of good courage. I was as grieved and
I wept over the fortunate one as I wept over Didymas, and I did
everything that was fitting, and (so did) all of my people. . . .
But all the same one can do nothing in the face of such things.
Therefore comfort one another” (P.Oxy. 1.115).16 Another woman
wrote to ensure that a relative would take advantage of an
official’s visit to secure an unspecified privilege for a boy in the
family: “Come quickly before the prefect, so we can have the boy
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examined.” She also reported actions with regard to the family’s

landholdings: “The southern basin of the 17 (arouras) has been sold
for the cattle. Your cattle ate one aroura and went to Pansoue. . . .
The west of the vegetable field was released for hay cutting” (BL
1.167).17 Another woman inquired about a parent: “And how is
my father? Please, send me news because he was ill when he left
me” (SB 5.7572).18 (Also see the letters cited in c­ hapter 6.) Women
“spoke” in these letters about matters of family concern. But their
interests were not only personal, as in the loss of a family member,
but also pertained to the family’s business interests and social
standing.

Prayer and Prophecy

Many ancient sources represented women praying aloud, both
alone and with others, on topics both personal and corporate.
Women did not appear as frequently as men in these speaking
roles, but their prayers were often similarly worded. The sources
included women from different religious backgrounds and
circumstances.
Jewish women often appeared in literary sources, lifting
their voices in prayer.19 The fictional work Joseph and Aseneth
represented Aseneth in prayer numerous times. Her prayers,
quoted at considerable length, focused on confession of sin and
petition for spiritual rescue (e.g., JosAs 12–​13, 21.10–​21). In 3
Maccabees, women joined with men to pray in the temple at a
time of national crisis (e.g., 3 Macc 1:16–​29; 5:48–​51). Pseudo-​
Philo retold stories from scripture, and he often included or
expanded the prayers of women characters like Jael (Bib. Ant.
31.5–​6), Deborah (32.1–​17) and Seila (Jephtha’s daughter, 40.5–​7).
Hannah’s prayers in Pseudo-​Philo included explicit reflec-
tion upon whether the prayers were spoken out loud. The narrator
retold the story of Hannah’s desire for a child in 1 Sam 1. He
restated Hannah’s prayer of 1 Sam 1:11 in this way: “Did you not,
Lord, search out the heart of all generations before you formed the
world? Now what womb is born opened or dies closed unless you
wish it? And now let my prayer ascend before you today lest I go
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down from here empty, because you know my heart, how I have
walked before you from the day of my youth” (Bib. Ant. 50.4).20
Pseudo-​Philo followed the description in the biblical narrative
that Hannah prayed silently. “Hannah did not want to pray out
loud as all people do because she thought, ‘Perhaps I am not
worthy to be heard’ ” (Bib. Ant. 50.5). This comment suggested
that praying aloud was conventional; it gave a reason that Hannah
was not doing so when the priest Eli saw her and assumed she was
disturbed. Following the birth of Samuel, Hannah again prayed
aloud (1 Sam 2:1–​10; expanded in (Bib. Ant. 51.3–​6). Her prayer
included the affirmation: “Speak, speak, Hannah, and do not be
silent” (Bib. Ant. 51.6).
Women characters in the Greek novels also prayed aloud
as they thanked the gods or appealed to them for assistance.
Callirhoe, for example, prayed to Aphrodite to give her Chaereas
as a husband (Chaer. 1.1). Later, when circumstances separated
her from Chaereas, she prayed that she would attract no other
man (Chaer. 2.2). In An Ephesian Tale, Anthia petitioned Isis to
deliver her or help her remain faithful to her husband (Eph. 4.3).
Later, after robbers attacked the party, she prayed again: “I pray
that I may remain the wife of Habrocomes, even if I have to die
or suffer still more than I have already” (Eph. 4.5). Anthia prayed
multiple times in this story: to Isis, Apis, and Helios. She uttered
her petitions openly in temples and shrines.
Women also left records of their prayers in inscriptions de-
voted to the gods. At the end of her story, Anthia cut her hair
and dedicated it to Helios, with this inscription: “On behalf of
her husband Habrocomes Anthia dedicated her hair to the god”
(Eph. 5.11). Her former slaves recognized the names in the in-
scription and helped to reunite Anthia and Habrocomes. Similar
inscriptions have been found in the archaeological record. For ex-
ample, this Greek inscription was found in Egypt: “To the greatest
and highest God, on behalf of Epitychia also called Dionysia and
on behalf of her husband Harpochras and their children, in ful-
fillment of a vow” (CIJ 2.1532).21 This woman, Epitychia, left a
marker of her gratitude after an earlier prayer was answered. Both
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men and women prayed such prayers and left markers of their
petitions in temples.22
Women also spoke as the recipients of oracles and heavenly
messages.23 Aseneth received a visit from an angel, with whom
she conversed at length (JosAs 15–​16). At the end of the visit, he
said to her “the ineffable mysteries of the Most High have been
revealed to you” (16.7).24 In the retelling of Rebekah’s story in the
Jewish work Jubilees, Rebekah had a prophetic dream. She spoke
about it to Jacob and predicted her own death (Jub 35:6). Greek
novels contained similar divine communications. Callhiroe saw
in a dream that Chaereas was trying to find her (Chaer. 3.7). In An
Ephesian Tale, Anthia visited the shrine of Apis in Memphis. “This
is the most illustrious shrine in Egypt, and the god gives oracles
to those who wish them. . . . So Anthia too came and prostrated
herself before Apis. ‘Kindest of gods,’ she prayed, ‘who have pity
on all strangers, have pity on me too in my misery and make me a
true prophecy about Habrocomes.’ ” In response to her prayer, she
received an oracle: “Anthia will soon recover her own husband,
Habrocomes” (Eph. 5.4).25 These women made requests for oracles
or spoke to others about messages they received from the gods.
Some women served in official religious capacities as
prophets. The shrine at Delphi was a famous location known
for oracles that were delivered by women on behalf of the gods
(see, e.g., Plutarch Pyth. orac. 405–​406; Valerius Maximus 1.8.10;
Pausanias Descr. 10.5.5–​10). The Sibylline Oracles were a written
collection of sayings that were identified with female prophets.
There were a number of different Sibyls from various places and
probably numerous collections of their works. Their prophetic
work was well known during this period (e.g., Pausanias Descr.
10.12.1–​9; Plutarch Pyth. orac. 398C–​D; Suetonius Aug. 31; Tacitus
Ann. 1.76.1).

SUMMARY
The evidence above suggests that social norms accommodated
women’s speech in a wide range of locations and on many topics.
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Women spoke in communal spaces: temples, markets, harbors,

and the assembly. They addressed matters of civic and familial
concern, as well as their own well-​being. None of these sources
apologized for the speech of women. They assumed that the
women were doing nothing unusual and often characterized them
as virtuous.
This is not to say that women were considered the equals of
men in terms of speech. If the subject was political office or legis-
lative and judicial matters, it became much less common to find a
woman speaking. The sources presumed that men were rightly in
charge of these arenas.
However, women were present in the assembly or courtroom,
and occasionally they spoke. Hortensia’s speech in the forum was
the most formal of these speech events and represented an event
that could only have been possible in unusual circumstances for
very elite women. Other examples suggested the everyday influ-
ence of women. Their speech was part of the communal opinion
voiced in the assembly—​as, for example, when the city cried out
for Callhiroe’s presence and lauded her story. Women did not
vote or pronounce sentences in these scenes, but they did influ-
ence events—​as when Callhiroe recognized Chaereas, or when
Theocleia advocated Thecla’s execution. Women exercised polit-
ical influence according to cultural norms that made room for
their speech.
Two factors seem especially important in the assessment of
women’s abilities to speak. First, speakers considered the audience
they addressed. It was a virtue for people (male and female) to be
silent before their social superiors (see c­ hapter 3). But silence was
not always a virtue—frankness of speech could also be praised.
The key was to know when to speak and when not to. Part of that
calculation was an assessment of the social rank of the others
involved.
Like everyone, women were expected to calculate their rel-
ative social status with regard to those around them. This was
a moving target, because social standing, though always hier-
archical, had many variables. Society always viewed women as
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inferior to men in terms of gender, but their social status was also
dependent on factors like wealth, citizenship, slave, freed, or free-
born status, and their family of origin (see ­chapter 5). A woman
like Junia Rustica might be lower in rank than other men of equal
wealth and family origin, but she outranked most of the men of
her city. Her speech would likely be expected in some of the civic
contexts mentioned in her inscription—​as well as in her business
dealings, or in relationships with family members, clients, and
slaves.
The calculation of social status was more important than the
space in which speech took place. Consider a small room off the
central atrium in the house of a wealthy but not elite family. In
that same space, a woman might have been silent as she listened
to her husband negotiate with an important business partner. She
might also have consulted with a relative to work together for the
political advancement of someone in the family. She would cer-
tainly also have ordered slaves, whether male or female, to com-
plete a variety of tasks. The same woman might have done all three
of these things outside of her house as well. In such examples, the
people involved were more important than the space in the cal-
culation of whether a woman should speak. And the content of
the speech, rather than the location, made it political or personal.
The second factor to consider is that women were praised for
speeches that embodied traditional virtues—​especially the virtue
of loyalty to one’s family and city.26 It was certainly possible to crit-
icize women’s speech and to evoke ideals of silence as particularly
relevant to women. But writers also praised women for speech,
and even for bold speech. Plutarch portrayed each of his women
as devoted to their families and to the good of their people as a
whole. The situations where women negotiated between parties
were highly political, but they were often negotiating between
their own family members. The remarkable outcome was that the
women were able to achieve a solution that furthered the interests
of each of the members of the family and those of their city. These
concerns were presented as appropriate matters regarding which
women could—​and even should—​speak.
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SPEECH AND SILENCE IN

T H E N E W T E S TA M E N T
Many readers of the New Testament today are interested in
questions about women’s speech. Some New Testament passages
sought to restrict women’s speech or encourage their silence. Yet
other passages displayed women speaking without any apparent
disapproval of their actions. As in the other chapters of this book,
having a sense of what was expected in the wider culture can help
us to imagine how early readers may have received these varied
signals.
Two well-​k nown texts of the New Testament seem to dis-
courage or limit women’s speech. A portion of 1 Corinthians
stated, “Women should be silent in the churches. For they are
not permitted to speak, but should be subordinate, as the law
also says” (1 Cor 14:34). Similarly, the author of 1 Timothy wrote,
“Let a woman learn in silence with full submission. I permit no
woman to teach or to have authority over a man; she is to keep si-
lent” (2:11–​12). Verses like these conveyed a message that women
should not speak.
However, many other passages displayed women speaking
with approval. As in other ancient writings, women spoke less
frequently than men in the New Testament. However, they were
quoted as speaking in a variety of ways. In the Gospels, a number
of women characters spoke in ways that were important to the
story line. Luke’s Gospel presented Mary speaking prophetically
before the birth of Jesus. She outlined what God was doing in
that moment in light of prior acts of God’s faithfulness to Israel
(Luke 1:46–​55). At the other end of the gospel story, the women at
the tomb became the first witnesses to Jesus’s resurrection. They
shared this experience with the male disciples (Matt 28:1–​10;
Luke 24:1–​11). John’s Gospel explicitly quoted Mary Magdalene’s
message: “I have seen the Lord” (John 20:18).
In some cases, the speech of women was implied rather
than directly quoted. Women taught (Acts 18:26), prayed, and
prophesied (1 Cor 11:5). They made requests (Mark 7:26) and
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spoke in the course of their work (Acts 12:13–​14). The letters of the
New Testament also mentioned women who were deacons (Rom
16:1), apostles (Romans 16:7), and leaders of house churches (e.g.,
Col 4:15). The titles of these women raise questions about the au-
thority they may have held within the churches, and in particular
about their roles as speakers.
Although New Testament texts occasionally enjoined women
to silence, there were many more instances in which the speech
of women was assumed to be normal or upheld as truthful. This
variety makes sense against the background of the complex social
conventions of the time. Those norms encouraged self-​control, in-
cluding of speech in the presence of one’s social superiors. But they
also praised speech that conveyed truth and sought the common
good, whether spoken by men or women. The New Testament
writings displayed the same variety of social conventions as the
culture at large.

Silence as a Virtue
The two New Testament passages that enjoined women to silence
reflected the culture’s presumption that women were of lower
status than men. First Corinthians stated that women “are not
permitted to speak but should be subordinate” (14:34). Here, the
prohibition against speech was articulated directly in relationship
to women’s subordinate status. Similarly, 1 Timothy asserted that
women should not “teach or have authority over a man; she is to
keep silent” (2:12). In that case, silence represented recognition of
the differential in cultural authority accorded to men and women.
In 1 Timothy, however, silence was also framed as an exhi-
bition of self-​control. The Greek word sōphrosunē (self-​control or
modesty) occurred at the beginning and end of the passage re-
garding women’s behavior (2:9, 15). As I argued in ­chapter 3, the
virtue of modesty often included both dress and speech, as is the
case in 1 Tim 2:8–​15. The exhortation to silence reflected the gen-
dered social norms of the time. But it was not only a demand for
subordination; it was an assertion of the virtue of self-​control.
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Control of the tongue was a virtue that did not always demand
complete silence, even of women. The same virtue was seen in
other New Testament texts, including those that assumed the lead-
ership of women. In another part of 1 Timothy, the qualifications
for church leaders included self-​control with regard to speech.
A bishop was to be “an apt teacher” and “not quarrelsome (3:2,
3). Male deacons likewise were to be “not double-​tongued” (1 Tim
3:8), and female deacons, “not slanderers” (3:11). False or duplic-
itous speaking was inappropriate to the life of faith and should
disqualify men and women from leadership. The implication was
that men and women both spoke, and that good leaders would in-
clude those who spoke truthfully.
The qualities of leaders in 1 Tim 3 conveyed the culture’s
sense that truthful speech was both difficult and virtuous, and it
was something to be prized. A person’s speech was an expression
of his or her nature. The epistle of James conveyed a similar set of
expectations about the relationship between speech and a person’s
character. The same mouth should not bless God and curse those
made in God’s likeness, for this was duplicitous speech: “Can
a fig tree, my brothers and sisters, yield olives, or a grapevine
figs?” (Jas 3:12). The underlying idea was that speech exhibited a
person’s character. The ability to control one’s speech thus made
sense as a qualification for leadership. The ability to control the
tongue suggested the capacity to consider the good of others
rather than one’s own desires and to weigh relevant factors rather
than jumping to conclusions. The examples of women’s speech
below suggest that women could be recognized as speaking well
according to these standards.

Speech on Political Subjects

Some women engaged in speech with political overtones. Their
words were recorded without any apparent suggestion of impro-
priety. For example, Peter’s denials of Jesus were prompted by
the accusations of a woman. All four Gospels identified as fe-
male at least one of the people who questioned Peter about his
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relationship to Jesus. According to Mark, Peter denied Jesus twice

after he was accused by “one of the servant-​girls of the high priest”
(Mark 14:66, 69). In John, it was the “woman who guarded the
gate” (John 18:16) who said to Peter, “ ‘You are not also one of
this man’s disciples, are you?’ He said, ‘I am not’ ” (John 18:17).
Each story presented a slave woman of the high priest’s house-
hold initiating conversation with Peter about his relationship to
the accused man, Jesus.
Women occasionally came into view as people who pursued
the political and social status of their families. John the Baptist’s
death resulted when Herod’s wife seized an opportunity to have
him killed. When Herod promised her daughter “whatever she
might ask,” she instructed the girl to say “Give me the head of
John the Baptist here on a platter” (Matt 14:7–​8; cf. Mark 6:25).
Having made the promise in front of witnesses at a dinner party,
Herod had to follow through or he would have appeared weak.
The girl’s words were highly political and the fact that she spoke
them before others was part of what made them effective.

Persuasion and Advocacy

One other character who sought benefits for family members was
the mother of the sons of Zebedee. Matthew’s version of the story
has the mother of these two disciples making a request: “Declare
that these two sons of mine will sit, one at your right hand and one
at your left, in your kingdom” (Matt 20:21). She petitioned for the
status of her children. Although Jesus rejected the request as “not
mine to grant” (20:23), there was nothing unusual about a woman
making such a request.
Other women also spoke about or regarding relatives.
Elizabeth identified her son’s name as John, though it was not a
family name (Luke 1:60). Mary scolded the young Jesus for his
absence in the temple (Luke 2:48). In a different Gospel, Mary’s
words initiated Jesus’s miracle of making water into wine. She
said to Jesus, “They have no wine” (John 2:3). Although he was
reluctant and said, “My hour has not yet come” (John 2:4), her
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next words, “Do whatever he tells you” (John 2:5), expected his
response. And indeed, Jesus went on to provide wine (John 2:5–​9).

Prayer and Prophecy

Women’s prophetic speech was fairly common in New Testament
writings. In the Gospel of Luke, both Elizabeth and Mary spoke
in ways that identified the presence of God in events around them.
Elizabeth was “filled with the Holy Spirit” (Luke 1:41) and said to
Mary, “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of
your womb. And why has this happened to me, that the mother
of my Lord comes to me? For as soon as I heard the sound of your
greeting, the child in my womb leaped for joy. And blessed is she
who believed that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken
to her by the Lord” (Luke 1:42–​45). Elizabeth’s words conveyed
knowledge of God’s message to Mary, Mary’s pregnancy, and its
significance.
Mary’s song, the Magnificat, was a response to Elizabeth’s
greeting. It is another example of prophetic speech in Luke. Mary
pointed to God’s saving work in history—​for example, “He has
brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the
lowly” (1:52), and in doing so she positioned Jesus as someone
who continued this trajectory of God’s action. She also spoke of
the future: “From now on all generations will call me blessed”
(Luke 1:48).
Another prophet in the early chapters of Luke was Anna,
whom Luke identified explicitly as a prophet (Luke 2:36). She lived
in the temple and spoke “about the child [Jesus] to all who were
looking for the redemption of Jerusalem” (Luke 2:38). Anna’s un-
derstanding of Jesus’s identity even as an infant pointed toward
the purpose of his life and ministry.
One interesting case related to prophecy is the dream of
Pilate’s wife in Matt 27. She sent word to her husband while he
was adjudicating Jesus’s case: “Have nothing to do with that inno-
cent man, for today I have suffered a great deal because of a dream
about him” (27:19). Dreams were often viewed as a form of divine
communication, and the interpretation of dreams was similar to
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prophecy. Pilate’s wife interrupted court proceedings to instruct

her husband on the basis of a dream she had. Following her inter-
vention, Matthew portrayed Pilate as affirming Jesus’s innocence
(Matt 27: 23–​24).
Prophecy could also be characterized negatively. The impris-
onment of Paul and Silas in Philippi resulted when they cast a
spirit from a slave girl. She followed them around, saying, “These
men are slaves of the Most High God, who proclaim to you a way
of salvation” (Acts 16:17). Although her words showed insight
into the disciples’ identity and mission, Paul and Silas found her
annoying. They cast out the spirit, causing her owners to drag
them before the local authorities.
Prayers by women were mentioned in passing in the New
Testament. Paul referred to both men and women who prayed
and prophesied as if these were common occurrences (1 Cor 11:4–​
5). He argued that women should cover their heads during these
types of speech. Acts also included male and female disciples who
were constantly devoted to prayer (Acts 1:14). Luke mentioned the
prophet Anna’s habits of fasting and prayer as part of his descrip-
tion of her as a prophet (Luke 2:37).

CONCLU S ION
Modern readers also encounter and interpret language that
conveys the value of silence for women alongside evidence that
women spoke on a variety of topics and sometimes with au-
thority. Assuming that women never spoke in church as a result
of passages like 1 Cor 14:34 or 1 Tim 2:11–​12 requires us to ig-
nore a good deal of evidence suggesting that women’s speech was
common in the culture and even desirable in many circumstances.
Instead, a more nuanced approach seems desirable. Some forms
of speech by women were likely seen as conventional. Prayer and
prophecy by women were so common in both Greek and Jewish
sources that no apology or explanation would have been required
for these acts. Paul’s indication that women should cover their
heads when they prayed and prophesied reinforced the idea that
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these forms of speech were conventional. Participation in parallel

forms of speech did not make women equal to men. The social
hierarchy between them was preserved in Paul’s instructions re-
garding the head covering (1 Cor 11:3, 7). But women’s participa-
tion in worship through prayer and prophecy was not something
Paul opposed.
Like the culture at large, the New Testament exhibited both
evidence of women’s speech and social norms of women’s subor-
dination and silence. Because of this similarity, my conclusion
is that first-​century readers would have understood statements
about women’s silence as rules that they applied according to the
conventions of their day. First-​century readers were familiar with
statements of women’s subordination to men and assumptions
that they should not speak. It seems quite likely that these readers
would have understood New Testament language about women’s
silence in this way. “They are not permitted to speak” (1 Cor
14:34) may have been read as an affirmation of these social norms.
The cultural assumption was that a well-​ordered community
would prefer the speech of men over that of women. However,
given the many situations in which the speech of women was also
conventional, prohibition of all speech by women would likely
have needed greater explanation—​especially because the letter
to the Corinthians had already assumed that women’s prayer and
prophecy was conventional (1 Cor 11). The “rule” of women’s si-
lence, as applied by the culture, did not prohibit these forms of
speech. Indeed, such speech was encouraged without being
perceived as breaking the social norms.
Operating according to these cultural norms, women were
likely to assert their social influence by speaking in their own
interests and pursuing the needs of their families. Women in the
New Testament writings made requests and gave orders. Women
of higher status would have expected others—​even male church
leaders—​to respond. Cultural norms gave women and men a va-
riety of venues in which to exercise social, religious, and political
influence.
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Some women of high status probably also addressed the

church in more formal ways. The social conventions suggest that
such speech would have been viewed as advantageous as part of
the woman’s use of her social standing on behalf of others. Her
speech would not have been perceived as unacceptable. Someone
like Phoebe, whom Paul identified as a “deacon of the church
(ekklesia) in Cenchreae” (Rom 16:1), was an official representa-
tive of her congregation (see ­chapter 5). As such, her speech would
likely have been viewed as consistent with the rules of culture.
The New Testament reflected social norms that viewed
women as inferior and insisted upon their silence. However, it also
displayed conventions from the same culture suggesting that con-
trol of the tongue was an attribute of good leaders. Furthermore,
New Testament writings mirrored the social practices that made
room for and even encouraged women’s speech. Readers of the
New Testament today should not assume that the rules of silence
applied in every situation where women might speak. A woman
whose community accorded her a place of honor could draw on
that status to address others. Her speech was likely to have been
received with approval.
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Chapter 8

Conclusion

IN THIS BOOK, I HAVE PRESENTED and interpreted evidence

for the cultural conventions regarding women’s roles in the New
Testament period. The evidence has affirmed many assumptions
modern readers have about ancient women. However, it also
highlighted a variety of social practices that allowed and
encouraged women’s participation.
Some societal norms placed constraints on women. Many
sources praised women for subordinating their interests to those
of their husbands and families. They suggested that women should
be modest, sexually loyal to husbands, and ideally silent. In their
application, however, the virtues allowed greater action by women
than this description would seem to allow. Women were ideally
assigned to the realm of the home, but in practice their industry
took them into the streets and markets as they sought the social
and economic well-​being of their families. Modesty or self-​control
was not only a domestic virtue but was an important civic virtue
in this period. It was a key characteristic of the wise leader, and
thus served as a qualification for civic office. Each of the virtues
could be enacted in various ways, and each had manifestations
that included active involvement in the community.
Some of the legal constraints modern interpreters have
imagined were not practiced in this period. Like men, Roman
women became legally independent on the death of their fathers,
and they stood to inherit some of his property. These women were
not under the legal authority of their husbands, and they retained
control over some of their property. Although the legal status of
non-​Roman women is less clear, evidence of women’s property
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ownership in Asia Minor and Egypt suggests some similarities in

legal status. Whatever their citizenship, wealthy women often had
a great deal of property at their disposal, while lower-​class women
owned less but wielded similar power over it.
Nevertheless, women’s legal status was also a mix of practices.
The law required most women to have a guardian for some legal
transactions. Men had formal legal status that was not officially
granted to women. Yet in many cases women had more freedom
to act on their own behalf than the law suggested. Women acted
with respect to their property with the same legal powers of male
owners. In practice, their guardians had little or no control over
their property. Although they did not have the same legal power
their husbands did, neither were married women subject to their
husband’s legal authority.
Women employed their wealth and status in many of the same
ways men did. Women did not own as much property as men in
this period. But they owned land and buildings, slaves, businesses,
and animals in varying amounts. Through their wealth, women
gained honor as donors of building projects, or by sponsoring
civic organizations, games, and festivals. Women of various class
levels participated as patrons. Though less frequent than that of
men, their civic leadership as patrons was an expected part of the
social landscape. Women’s patronage also included making loans,
manumitting slaves, and acting as advocates for their clients.
These roles were not viewed as extraordinary but were an ex-
pected part of everyday life.
Women undertook a variety of occupations. They worked to
further the economic standing of their families. Some women
owned slaves and directed their labor; other women were slaves
themselves. Some women earned wages as laborers. A variety of
occupations were traditionally associated with women’s house-
hold work: women cared for children, worked as midwives and
nurses, and managed household property and businesses. They
produced excess cloth and food and sold such goods to others in
large or small amounts. Women also held jobs that would sur-
prise modern readers. They were gladiators, for example, and
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managed brick production. They were artisans, merchants, and

teachers.
Women spoke in the course of performing these tasks.
Depending on the situation, they commanded others, gave
instructions, and asked pointed questions. They advocated on their
own behalf and that of others. They offered hospitality and sought
to curry favor with those in power. Although women’s speech was
conventional, they could also be criticized for speaking in ways that
seemed to overstep their social status.
To modern interpreters, some of the ancient evidence appears
highly contradictory. It suggests a variety of tasks, roles, and ac-
tivities that were conventional for women of the New Testament
period. At the same time, the traditional virtues that were widely
upheld stated that women were by nature passive and should
remain quietly indoors. What is more, the evidence pointed to
women who sometimes took on roles that the law seemed to ex-
pressly forbid. As property owners, women had many of the rights
of the pater familias, even though the term was explicitly male.
Women held positions as magistrates that the law suggested they
could not attain. Women controlled their property interests even
though required to have a guardian by law. Women spoke in a
variety of contexts though they were idealized as silent.
One of the aims of this book has been to explain how these
apparent contradictions may have made sense to people at the
time. The modern presumption has been that demands restricting
women’s actions directly contradicted evidence of women doing
these things. Scholars have interpreted the diversity of norms re-
garding women as evidence of distinct groups who disagreed about
women’s roles, or as discrete locations where actions by women were
or were not allowed, or as actions allowed only by certain women.
I have argued instead that the social norms governing women’s
behavior were multiple and complex. Cultural norms were often
in tension. For example, social standing was extremely impor-
tant in this period and one way to display status was through the
fine dress and jewelry women wore. At the same time, the virtue
of modesty or self-​control asserted that restraint in the display
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of such finery was a virtue. Balancing these cultural values was

not an all-​or-​nothing proposition, where individual actors were
forced to pick either modesty or social influence. They were values
actors drew on as they made decisions and sought to influence
events around them.
Widely held conventions like the virtue of modesty were
enacted in a variety of ways, depending on factors like the actor’s
social status, cultural location, and circumstances. A woman
might be less inclined to speak forcefully in a group of male peers—​
unless circumstances warranted her intervention. But women also
found themselves in groups where they were among those with
the highest status, and in such instances their speech could be ex-
pected. A woman might defer to a male patron but also pursue
social status through her own patronage of a civic organization.
As a result, we see evidence of women who played different
roles and still fulfilled social ideals of feminine behavior. Like
Junia Theodora of Corinth, they were advocates for the political
and social well-​being of their communities even as they were
characterized as “living modestly.” Like Amymone, they might
be idealized as “a stayer at home,” though their everyday life—​
including the pursuit of other virtues—​required them to leave
the home on a regular basis. The evidence suggested society did
not view such active women as abandoning traditional virtues.
Thus, although modern readers think of social norms as
restricting women’s participation, many conventions of the
New Testament period supported and even encouraged the so-
cial influence and economic participation of women. Cities and
associations sought women as patrons and leaders. Women had
considerable authority within their households, and their ec-
onomic contributions were important. Families also praised
women for their wise use of social and political influence.

I N T E R P R E T I N G T H E N E W T E S TA M E N T
Making historical judgments about the lives of ancient women
remains a difficult task that is complicated by a lack of direct
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evidence. The approach of this book does not overcome all of the
problems that are inherent to the task. There are still gaps in the
historical record. Much of the evidence consists of texts written by
men with their own rhetorical agendas.
Modern interpreters are left with many questions we
cannot answer. It is difficult to discern, for example, the pre-
cise responsibilities of male or female officeholders in this pe-
riod. We see only glimpses into familial relationships and are left
with questions about how the people in question interacted with
one another. We often see only the representation of virtue and
wonder about the lived reality.
However, the inquiry of this book may be useful in making
modern readers aware of our assumptions. Many interpreters
have assumed that women did not play active roles in their
communities, that they did not own or manage property, and
that they were restricted to the household. Becoming aware
that we have made some mistaken assumptions about ancient
women may help to renew our attention to this subject and give
us cause to look again at the stories and artifacts that pertain
to women.
Without these notions, we may discover women in the New
Testament acting in ways we did not consider possible. Women
spoke in a variety of contexts. They owned property and used it
to support the Jesus movement. Their actions would have been
taken for granted by ancient readers as a normal part of everyday
life, but they have subsequently been made invisible to us by the
assumptions that women did not do such things.
Even with a clearer sense of what was possible, however,
readers may be left with many questions about the interpretation
of New Testament texts. The aim of this book is not to identify
a single way to interpret a New Testament text. Multiple good
interpretations are possible for any of the passages concerning
women. Historical inquiry does not yield a single original meaning
to the New Testament but helps to expand our knowledge of pos-
sible ways early readers may have encountered these writings.
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Nor is a goal of this book to specify what modern Christian

readers should conclude about the roles of women in churches
today. This book’s argument may alter some of the terms of
contemporary debates about women’s roles. It may evoke new
questions about former conclusions that were drawn on the basis
of faulty information. However, historical study will not yield a
single answer to modern questions about women’s leadership be-
cause these decisions are not based solely on historical informa-
tion. They also draw on theological views, ecclesial traditions, and
contemporary social concerns. While these questions are worth
exploring, they lie outside the scope of this book.
Instead, the book seeks to clarify what would have seemed
possible from an ancient perspective and in doing so to activate a
new set of questions regarding the activities of women. My hope
is that readers will return to the New Testament with the ability
to see things that were hidden from view. They may look for ev-
idence of women’s property ownership and patronage alongside
traditional statements of women’s virtue. They may be equipped
to ask how women’s active participation may have fulfilled the ex-
pectations of their culture.
To facilitate the rereading of New Testament texts, I summa-
rize the conclusions of this study that interpreters may want to
keep in mind:

1. Ancient readers were familiar with a variety of forms of

leadership by women. Ancient readers used cultural knowl­
edge to fill in the gaps left by the author. When the New
Testament identified a woman with property or status,
readers had cultural knowledge of such patterns that they
brought to bear on the story. Modern readers can use
insights into what the ancient culture was like to consider
the text as a first-​century reader might have experienced it.
2. Women’s leadership and feminine virtues went hand
in hand. Evidence of women’s devotion to their families
did not preclude them from leading civic and religious
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organizations. Indeed, such virtue may have served as a

qualification for office. Women could be praised for bold
leadership as well as domestic virtue. The presence of one
did not cancel out the other. Interpreters may want to con-
sider how these elements of culture fit together for ancient
people.
3. Jewish women were similar to other women of the period.
Jewish practices were not uniform but varied considerably.
Some evidence suggests that Jews had social patterns sim-
ilar to those of the wider culture—​as in the case of Jewish
people with Greek dowry arrangements. Some practices
were distinctive, like Babatha’s polygamous marriage. But
Babatha’s documents also shared a good deal in common
with Greek and Roman practices of the time. She owned
property and petitioned the court to secure a guardian for
her son.
Christian interpreters have often contrasted an-
cient Jewish culture with Christian innovations, arguing
that Christianity improved upon the dire circumstances
of women. This study has found little to no evidence to
support this argument. Jewish and Christian women
shared both the benefits and restrictions of gender that
were found in the wider culture.
4. The restrictions society placed on women were real. In
this book I have sought to correct common mistakes
that overstated the limitations placed on women in the
New Testament period. In doing so, I hope that modern
readers may have a fuller sense of women’s legal and social
capacities. However, it would also be a mistake to suggest
that women were not disadvantaged both in law and so-
cial practice. Prejudice against women was widespread,
and no record remains of any sustained protest against
it. The assumption of women’s inferiority was reflected in
lower education levels and fewer opportunities for women.
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Modern interpreters should consider those biases along-

side the evidence of women’s substantial activity and con-
tribution to their communities.

Historical information will never yield answers to all the

questions modern readers have. There will always be a good deal
about the ancient world that we cannot know for certain. As
I mentioned in the introduction, many details about women in
the New Testament remain unknown. Was Lydia (Acts 16:14–​15)
married or unmarried? What was her social status? How wealthy
was Joanna, Chuza’s wife, who supported Jesus’s ministry (Luke
8:3)? What roles did deacons (whether male or female) perform?
First Timothy lists the qualifications for office but not the job
description. Although the social patterns discussed in the book
give readers a better sense of the options that were available to
women, they do not lead to a single, definitive answer to questions
like these.
Although these unanswered questions will leave some readers
feeling unsatisfied, a number of positive assertions emerge
from this study. Women in the New Testament shared much
in common with the culture at large, which exhibited a prefer-
ence for men and viewed women as inferior. Women were ide-
ally described as modest, industrious, and loyal to their families
and cities. Virtuous women were also leaders of their cities, and
held municipal and religious offices. They wielded social and po-
litical influence. All of these details are useful as we try to flesh out
women’s actions in New Testament texts and to avoid mistaken
assumptions.
The difficulty we have drawing firm historical conclusions
can also help us to reassess some of the previous arguments that
rejected women’s leadership. It no longer seems wise to conclude
that strict standards of feminine virtue canceled out women’s
capacities for leadership. We should not assume that women were
never leaders in early churches. We should not assume that they
618

1 6 8 |   W omen in the N ew T estament  W orld

never taught or always stayed at home. These conclusions push

back against some previous work suggesting that many early
churches eliminated women’s active roles. Women’s influence and
leadership were expected parts of social and religious life, both in
and outside of Christian circles.
619

NOTES

Chapter 1

1. Raymond F. Collins, 1 & 2 Timothy and Titus: A Commentary

(Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2002), 69.
2. Risto Saarinen, The Pastoral Epistles with Philemon & Jude (Grand
Rapids, Mich.: Brazos Press, 2008), 67.
3. See, e.g., Rosalinde A. Kearsley, “Asiarchs, Archiereis, and the
Archiereiai of Asia,” Greek, Roman and Byzantine Studies 27
(1986): 183–​192.
4. For an introduction to the idea that sex and gender are socially
constructed, see, e.g., Caroline Vander Stichele and Todd Penner,
Contextualizing Gender in Early Christian Discourse: Thinking
Beyond Thecla (London: T&T Clark, 2009), 17–​27.
5. Thomas Laqueur, Making Sex: Body and Gender from the Greeks to
Freud (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1990), 26.
6. Ibid., 62.
7. Ibid., 26.
8. David M. Halperin, One Hundred Years of Homosexuality and
Other Essays on Greek Love (New York: Routledge, 1990), 26.
9. For a discussion, see Halperin, One Hundred Years of
Homosexuality, 31–​ 32. See also Craig A. Williams, Roman
Homosexuality: Ideologies of Masculinity in Classical Antiquity
(New York: Oxford University Press, 1999), 15–​28.
710

1 7 0 |   N otes to pages 7 – 1 5

10. Aristotle claimed that women are colder than men (Gen. an. 1.20
[728a]). Elsewhere, however, he noted that the point was disputed
(Part. an. 2.2 [648a]). Hippocrates also thought females to be
colder and wetter than males (Vict. 1.27; 1.34). See also the dis-
cussion in G. E. R. Lloyd, “The Hot and the Cold, the Dry and
the Wet in Greek Philosophy,” Hellenic Studies 84 (1964): 102–​
103; Dale B. Martin, The Corinthian Body (New Haven: Yale
University Press, 1995), 32.
11. Helen King, Hippocrates’ Woman: Reading the Female Body
in Ancient Greece (London: Routledge, 1998), 11. Cf. Brooke
Holmes, Gender: Antiquity and Its Legacy (New York: Oxford
University Press, 2012), 14–​75; Helen King, The One-​Sex Body
on Trial: The Classical and Early Modern Evidence (Burlington,
Vt: Ashgate, 2013), 1–​27.
12. See, e.g., Ovidiu Creanga, ed., Men and Masculinity in the
Hebrew Bible and Beyond (Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix Press,
2010); Amy Kalmanofsky, Gender-​Play in the Hebrew Bible: The
Ways the Bible Challenges Its Gender Norms (London: Routledge,
2017); Jessica M. Keady, Vulnerability and Valour: A Gendered
Analysis of Everyday Life in the Dead Sea Scrolls Communities
(London: Bloomsbury T&T Clark, 2017); Stephen D. Moore
and Janice Capel Anderson, eds., New Testament Masculinities
(Atlanta: SBL Press, 2003).
13. In biblical studies, see, e.g., Rhiannon Graybill, Are We Not Men?
Unstable Masculinity in the Hebrew Prophets (New York: Oxford
University Press, 2016), 11–​13.
14. See Andrew Wallace-​Hadrill, Rome’s Cultural Revolution
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008), chap. 1. On
the changes in gendered cultural practices, see, e.g., Emily A.
Hemelrijk, Hidden Lives, Public Personae: Women and Civic
Life in the Roman West (New York: Oxford University Press,
2015), 23–​24.
15. All translations of Livy are by Evan Sage. Livy, Histories (trans.
Evan T. Sage, vol. 9; Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University
Press, 1935).
16. Majorie Lightman and William Zeisel, “Univira: An Example
of Continuity and Change in Roman Society,” CH 46
(1977): 19–​32 (20).
71

N otes to pages 1 6 – 2 8    |   1 7 1

17. All translations of Suetonius are by Robert Graves. Suetonius,

The Twelve Caesars (trans. Robert Graves and J. B. Rives;
London: Penguin, 2007).
18. An earlier writer, the poet Ovid, also told this story (Fasti 4.2911–​
2328), but he may have shared similar motivations.
19. For discussion, see Ross Kraemer, “Non-​Literary Evidence for
Jewish Women in Rome and Egypt,” in Rescuing Creusa: New
Methodological Approaches to Women in Antiquity (ed. Marilyn
Skinner; Lubbock: Texas Tech University Press, 1987), 85–​101.
Two important works analyzing inscriptions to women in-
clude Riet van Bremen, The Limits of Participation: Women and
Civic Life in the Greek East in the Hellenistic and Roman Periods
(Amsterdam: J. C. Gieben, 1996); Hemelrijk, Hidden Lives, Public
Personae.
20. See Natalie Boymel Kampen, Image and Status: Roman Working
Women in Ostia (Berlin: Gebr. Mann, 1981), 131–​133.
21. Translated by Jane Rowlandson, ed., Women and Society in
Greek and Roman Egypt: A Sourcebook (Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 1998), 178–​179.

Chapter 2

1. Philo, On the Special Laws (trans. F. H. Colson, LCL; Cambridge,

Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1968).
2. Juvenal, Juvenal and Persius (trans. Susanna Morton Braund;
Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2004), 275–​277.
3. Arnold Hugh Martin Jones, The Greek City from Alexander to
Justinian (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1940), 175. See also David
Magie, Roman Rule in Asia Minor to the End of the the Third
Century after Christ (2 vols.; Princeton: Princeton University
Press, 1950), 1:649. For a discussion, see Riet van Bremen, The
Limits of Participation: Women and Civic Life in the Greek East
in the Hellenistic and Roman Periods (Amsterdam: J. C. Gieben,
1996), 3–​4.
4. See Suzanne Dixon, “A Family Business: Women’s Role in
Patronage and Politics at Rome 80–​ 44 B.C.,” Classica et
Mediaevalia 34 (1983): 91.
712

1 7 2 |   N otes to pages 2 8 – 3 3

5. Ramsay MacMullen, “Woman in Public in the Roman Empire,”

Historia 29, no. 2 (1980): 215.
6. See Zeba Crook, “Honor, Shame, and Social Status Revisited,”
JBL 128 (2009): 591–​611.
7. Jouette Bassler, 1 Timothy, 2 Timothy, Titus (Nashville: Abingdon,
1996), 70.
8. For example, Judith P. Hallett, Fathers and Daughters in Roman
Society: Women and the Elite Family (Princeton: Princeton
University Press, 1984), 28–​32.
9. Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza, In Memory of Her: A
Feminist Theological Reconstruction of Christian Origins
(New York: Crossroads, 1988), 288–​291.
10. Elaine Pagels, The Gnostic Gospels (New York: Random House,
1979), chap. 3.
11. Bruce W. Winter, Roman Wives, Roman Widows: The Appearance
of New Women in the Pauline Communities (Grand Rapids,
Mich.: Eerdmans, 2003), 38. Cf. Chapters 2 and 3.
12. See, e.g., Bassler, 1 Timothy, 94; Schüssler Fiorenza, In Memory
of Her, 224–​225. This argument has also been prominent re-
garding the later centuries of the early Christian period, when
monastic practices took hold and celibacy became possible
as an established way of life. See, e.g., Elizabeth A. Clark,
Women in the Early Church (Collegeville, Minn.: Liturgical
Press, 1983).
13. Elizabeth Castelli, “Virginity and Its Meaning for Women’s
Sexuality in Early Christianity,” JFSR 2 (1986): 62–​88 (84–​86).
14. Ross Shepard Kraemer, Unreliable Witnesses: Religion, Gender,
and History in the Greco-​Roman Mediterranean (Oxford: Oxford
University Press, 2011), 149.
15. For an excellent discussion of these norms, see Carolyn Osiek
and Margaret Y. MacDonald, A Woman’s Place: House Churches
in Earliest Christianity (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2006).
16. See Cooper’s contrast between Roman notions of “public”
and recent discussions such as Jürgen Habermas’s influential
notion of the “public sphere.” Kate Cooper, “Closely Watched
Households: Visibility, Exposure and Private Power in the
Roman Domus,” Past and Present 197 (2007): 19.
17. Kristina Milnor, Gender, Domesticity, and the Age of Augustus
(Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005), 21.
713

N otes to pages 3 3 – 3 5    |   1 7 3

18. Cooper, “Closely Watched Households,” 21. Cf. Milnor, Gender,

Domesticity, and the Age of Augustus, 19–​ 22; Beth Severy,
Augustus and the Family at the Birth of the Roman Empire
(New York: Routledge, 2003), 17–​21.
19. Jane F. Gardner, “Women in Business Life: Some Evidence from
Puteoli,” Acta Instituti Romani Finlandiae 22 (1998): 11–​ 27;
Susan Treggiari, “Jobs for Women,” American Journal of Ancient
History 1 (1976): 76–​104.
20. Harriet Fertik, “Privacy and Power: The De Clementia and the
Domus Aurea,” in Public and Private in the Roman House and
Society (ed. Kaius Tuori and Laura Nissin; JRA Supplement Series
102; Portsmouth, R.I.: Journal of Roman Archaeology, 2015), 17.
Cf. Carolyn Osiek, “The Family in Early Christianity: ‘Family
Values’ Revisited,” CBQ 58 (1996): 1–​ 25; Milnor, Gender,
Domesticity, and the Age of Augustus, 103; Osiek and MacDonald,
A Woman’s Place, 3–​4.
21. Cooper, “Closely Watched Households,” 12; Michele George,
“Repopulating the Roman House,” in The Roman Family in
Italy: Status, Sentiment, Space (ed. Beryl Rawson and Paul
Weaver; Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1997), 300; Richard P. Saller,
“Familia, Domus, and the Roman Conception of the Family,”
Phoenix 38 (1984): 352.
22. The arguments about the use of household space are sim-
ilar on this point across diverse locations. See, e.g., George,
“Repopulating the Roman House,” 299–​319; Eric M. Meyers,
“The Problems of Gendered Space in Syro-​Palestinian Domestic
Architecture: The Case of Roman-​ Period Galilee,” in Early
Christian Families in Context: An Interdisciplinary Dialogue (ed.
David L. Balch and Carolyn Osiek; Grand Rapids, Mich.: William
B. Eerdmans, 2003), 59–​60; Monika Trümper, “Material and
Social Environment of Greco-​ Roman Households in the
East: The Case of Hellenistic Delos,” in Early Christian Families
in Context: An Interdisciplinary Dialogue (ed. David L. Balch
and Carolyn Osiek; Grand Rapids, Mich.: William B. Eerdmans,
2003), 28–​29; Andrew Wallace-​Hadrill, “The Social Structure
of the Roman House,” Papers of the British School at Rome 56
(1988): 50–​51, 58–​77.
23. Some of this and the following section are revised portions of
Susan E. Hylen, A Modest Apostle: Thecla and the History of
174

1 7 4 |   N otes to pages 3 5 – 3 8

Women in the Early Church (New York: Oxford University Press,

2015), chap. 1.
24. This discussion draws on Pierre Bourdieu, Outline of a Theory of
Practice (trans. Richard Nice; Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 1977). See also Charles Taylor, “To Follow a Rule . . .” in
Bourdieu: Critical Perspectives (ed. Craig Calhoun, Edward
LiPuma, and Moishe Postone; Chicago: University of Chicago
Press, 1993), 45–​60; Kathryn Tanner, Theories of Culture: A
New Agenda for Theology (Guides to Theological Inquiry;
Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1997).
25. Michel de Certeau, The Practice of Everyday Life (trans. Steven
Rendall; Berkeley: University of California Press, 1984), xi.
26. Ann Swidler, Talk of Love: How Culture Matters (Chicago:
University of Chicago Press, 2001), 24.
27. Bourdieu describes his concept of habitus as “durable, transpos-
able dispositions.” Bourdieu, Outline of a Theory of Practice, 72.
Cf. Ted A. Smith, The New Measures: A Theological History of
Democratic Practice (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
2007), 27–​28, 75–​78; de Certeau, The Practice of Everyday Life, 29.
28. For example, see Peter Richardson, “Early Synagogues as Collegia
in the Disapora and Palestine,” in Voluntary Associations
in the Greco-​ Roman World (ed. John S. Kloppenborg and
Stephen G. Wilson; London: Routledge, 1996), 90–​109; John S.
Kloppenborg, “Edwin Hatch, Churches and Collegia,” in Origins
and Method: Towards a New Understanding of Christianity and
Judaism (ed. Bradley H. McLean; JSNTSupp 86; Sheffield: Sheffield
Academic Press, 1993), 212–​238; Philip A. Harland, “Familial
Dimension of Group Identity (II): ‘Mothers’ and ‘Fathers’ in
Associations and Synagogues of the Greek World,” Journal for
the Study of Judaism 38 (2007): 57–​79.
29. For a discussion of women’s leadership in house churches, see
Osiek and MacDonald, A Woman’s Place, 144–​ 219; Carolyn
Osiek, “The Patronage of Women in Early Christianity,” in A
Feminist Companion to Patristic Literature (ed. Amy-​Jill Levine;
New York: T & T Clark, 2008), 173–​192.
30. Severy, Augustus and the Family; Kristina Milnor, Gender,
Domesticity, and the Age of Augustus: Inventing Private Life
(Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005).
31. Milnor, Gender, Domesticity, and the Age of Augustus, 83.
715

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32. The autobiography is thought to be the foundation of Nicolaus of

Damascus’s work. See, e.g., FGrH F 127.3–​8. 128.13–​15.
33. Jo Ann McNamara, “Gendering Virtue,” in Plutarch’s Advice
to the Bride and Groom and a Consolation to His Wife: English
Translations, Commentary, Interpretive Essays, and Bibliography
(ed. Sarah B. Pomeroy; New York: Oxford University Press,
1999), 151–​161, at 153.
34. Severy, Augustus and the Family, 55.
35. Severy, Augustus and the Family, 134
36. Livy Ab Urbe Condita 2.40.1–​12; Dionysius of Halicarnassus,
Ant. rom. 8.39–​54. Cf. Severy, Augustus and the Family, 131–​138;
Susan E. Wood, Imperial Women: A Study in Public Images, 40
B.C.–​A.D. 68 (Leiden: Brill, 1999), 78.
37. Eve D’Ambra wrote that this is “surely a statement in which
ideology mastered reality.” D’Ambra, 60. Cf. Judith P. Hallett,
“Perspectives on Roman Women,” in From Augustus to Nero: The
First Dynasty of Imperial Rome (ed. Ronald Mellor; East
Lansing: Michigan State University Press, 1990), 141.
38. Ovid, Ex Ponto (trans. Arthur Leslie Wheeler; New York: G.
P. Putnam’s Sons, 1924). Cf. Ovid Pont. 4.13.29; Val Max. 6.1;
Horace Carm. 3.14.5; Cassius Dio 58.2.4–6.

Chapter 3

1. Translations of Advice to the Bride and Groom are by Russell.

Plutarch, “Advice to the Bride and Groom,” in Plutarch’s Advice
to the Bride and Groom and A Consolation to His Wife: English
Translations, Commentary, Interpretive Essays, and Bibliography
(ed. Sarah B. Pomeroy; New York: Oxford University Press,
1999), 5–​13.
2. Plutarch, Moralia (trans. Frank Cole Babbitt, 1; New York: G.
P. Putnam’s Sons, 1927). Similar ideas are found in Diogenes
Laertius 1.70; Philo, Fug. 14.126; Plutarch, Garr. 1, 4, 17.
3. Translations of De Garrulitate are by Hembold. Plutarch,
Moralia (trans. W. C. Helmbold, 6; Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard
University Press, 2005).
4. Rebecca Langlands, Sexual Morality in Ancient Rome
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 2.
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1 7 6 |   N otes to pages 4 8 – 6 1

5. Translations of Valerius Maximus are by Bailey. Valerius

Maximus, Memorable Doings and Sayings (trans. D. R.
Shackelton Bailey, vol. 2; Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University
Press, 2000), 3.
6. Livy, Histories (trans. B. O. Foster, vol. 1; Cambridge,
Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1919), 199.
7. RIC 2.135, 176–​ 178, 343. On the pudicitia of men, see also
Langlands, Sexual Morality, 281–​293.
8. Translated by Mary R. Lefkowitz and Maureen B. Fant, Women’s
Life in Greece and Rome: A Source Book in Translation (2nd ed.;
Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1992), 18.
9. Translated by Jo-​Ann Shelton, As the Romans Did (2nd ed.;
New York: Oxford University Press, 1998), 292.
10. See, e.g., Susan Treggiari, “Jobs for Women,” American Journal of
Ancient History 1 (1976): 76–​104.
11. For example, P.Fay. 91; P.Oxy. 6.932; 31.2593; 33.2680; Stud.
Pal. 22.40.
12. For example, BGU 4.1058; P.Oxy. 1.91
13. For example, CIL 5.7763; 6.3604; 6.13299; 6.13303; 6.25392;
6.31711; Propertius 4.11.36; Plutarch, Ti. C. Gracch. 1.7.
14. Translated by Shelton, As the Romans Did, 293.
15. For discussion of pietas, see also Richard P. Saller, Patriarchy,
Property, and Death in the Roman Family (Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 1994), 105–​114.
16. For the Greek texts and translation, see Rosalinde A. Kearsley,
“Women and Public Life in Imperial Asia Minor: Hellenistic
Tradition and Augustan Ideology,” Ancient West and East 4
(2005): 189–​211 (203–​208). For additional examples of women
praised for civic and domestic virtues, see Pleket 13; CIL 9.4894;
10.5069; 11.405; 11.5270. In Latin honorary inscriptions, women
were most often praised using the same vocabulary as male
honorees. See Elizabeth P. Forbis, Municipal Virtues in the
Roman Empire: The Evidence of Italian Honorary Inscriptions
(Stuttgart: B. G. Teubner, 1996), 85.
17. Contra, e.g., Jouette Bassler, 1 Timothy, 2 Timothy, Titus
(Nashville: Abingdon, 1996), 97–​98; Deborah Krause, 1 Timothy
(London: T&T Clark, 2004), 104–​106. See also my argument
in Susan E. Hylen, A Modest Apostle: Thecla and the History of
71

N otes to pages 6 1 – 7 3    |   1 7 7

Women in the Early Church (New York: Oxford University Press,

2015) 43–​45, 56–​65.

Chapter 4

1. Jane F. Gardner, “Gender-​Role Assumptions in Roman Law,”

Echos du Monde Classique 39 (1995): 377–​400 (377).
2. Richard P. Saller, “Pater Familias, Mater Familias, and the
Gendered Semantics of the Roman Household,” Classical
Philology 94, no. 2 (1999): 182–​197 (182–​185).
3. Translated by Judith Evans Grubbs, Women and the Law in
the Roman Empire: A Sourcebook on Marriage, Divorce, and
Widowhood (London: Routledge, 2002), 25.
4. Ibid., 29.
5. Ibid., 89.
6. See Suzanne Dixon, The Roman Mother (Norman: University of
Oklahoma Press, 1988), 62–​63.
7. See Susan Treggiari, “Divorce Roman Style: How Easy and How
Frequent Was It?,” in Marriage, Divorce, and Children in Ancient
Rome (ed. Beryl Rawson; Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1991), 32;
Richard P. Saller, “Men’s Age at Marriage and Its Consequences
in the Roman Family,” CP 82 (1987): 33.
8. See the discussion by Susan Treggiari, Roman Marriage: Iusti
Coniuges from the Time of Cicero to the Time of Ulpian
(Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1991), 233–​258.
9. Martial, Epigrams (trans. D. R. Shackelton Bailey, Loeb Classical
Library 95; Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1993).
Cf. Plutarch, Conj. praec. 14.
10. Dixon, Roman Mother, 44.
11. Rules of Ulpian 15.1–​3. See Evans Grubbs, Women and the Law,
84; Thomas A. J. McGinn, Prostitution, Sexuality, and the Law in
Ancient Rome (New York: Oxford University Press, 1998), 70–​84.
12. Kristina Milnor, Gender, Domesticity, and the Age of Augustus
(Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005), 153.
13. See the discussion by Evans Grubbs, Women and the Law, 38–​42.
14. Tacitus, Agricola (trans. M. Hutton and R. M. Oglivie; Cambridge,
Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1970).
718

1 7 8 |   N otes to pages 7 4 – 7 9

15. See the discussion of marital virtues in Treggiari, Roman

Marriage, 229–​261.
16. Cf. Cicero Off. 1.54–​55.
17. P.Yadin 10, 14–​19, 26. For texts and translation, see Ross Shepard
Kraemer, Women’s Religions in the Greco-​ Roman World: A
Sourcebook (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004), 143–​152.
18. Oudshoorn disagrees that Babatha’s marriage was necessarily
polygamous, arguing that Miriam may have previously divorced
Judah. See Jacobine G. Oudshoorn, The Relationship between
Roman and Local Law in the Babatha and Salome Komaise
Archives: General Analysis and Three Case Studies on Law of
Succession, Guardianship and Marriage (Leiden: Brill, 2007),
11, 393.
19. For discussion, see Adiel Schremer, “How Much Jewish Polygyny
in Roman Palestine?,” PAAJR 63 (1997–​2001): 181–​223.
20. See the discussion of DJD 2.115, P.Yadin 18 and 37 by Hannah
Cotton, “A Cancelled Marriage Contract from the Judean
Desert,” JRS 84 (1994): 64–​86; Oudshoorn, Relationship between
Roman and Local Law. See also Tal Ilan, “Women’s Archives
in the Judean Desert,” The Dead Sea Scrolls Fifty Years after
Their Discovery (Lawrence Schiffman, Emanuel Tob, and James
C. VanderKam eds.; Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society,
2000), 758.
21. See, e.g., P.Mich. 2.121 recto 4.1 (BL 6.80). For the return of the
dowry, see BGU 4.1105; 8. 1848.
22. See, e.g., P.Kron. 52.
23. For a discussion of the familial expectations and many examples,
see Riet van Bremen, The Limits of Participation: Women and
Civic Life in the Greek East in the Hellenistic and Roman Periods
(Amsterdam: J. C. Gieben, 1996).
24. The Latin term for slave marriage was contubernium. See Evans
Grubbs, Women and the Law, 138–​ 139, 143–​ 145; Treggiari,
Roman Marriage, 52–​54.
25. See the discussion by Charles L. Babcock, “The Inscriptions,” in
The Collection of Antiquities of the American Academy in Rome
(ed. Larissa Bonfante and Helen Nagy; Ann Arbor: University of
Michigan Press, 2015), 96–​98.
26. Translated by Dale B. Martin, “Slave Families and Slaves
in Families,” in Early Christian Families in Context: An
719

N otes to pages 7 9 – 8 5    |   1 7 9

Interdisciplinary Dialogue (ed. David L. Balch and Carolyn

Osiek; Grand Rapids, Mich.: William B. Eerdmans, 2003), 211.
27. With the exception that those in the senatorial class could not
marry freedpeople.
28. Treggiari, “Divorce Roman Style,” 31–​46 (45).
29. Fathers initially had the authority to dissolve their daughter’s
marriages and marry them to another man. Over time the law
clarified that a father could not dissolve his daughter’s marriage
without her consent. Ulpian, Dig. 43.30.1.5.
30. McGinn, Prostitution, Sexuality, and the Law, 171–​172.
31. David Instone Brewer, “Jewish Women Divorcing Their
Husbands in Early Judaism: The Background to Papyrus Se’elim
13,” HTR 92 (1999): 349–​357.
32. Richard P. Saller, Patriarchy, Property, and Death in the Roman
Family (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), 68.
33. In addition to the discussion by Saller (Patriarchy, Property,
and Death in the Roman Family), see Jens-​ Uwe Krause,
Witwen und Waisen im Römischen Reich, 1: Verwitwung und
Wiederverheiratung (vol. 1; Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag,
1994), 7–​107.
34. Cicero, Pro Caelio (trans. R. Gardner; Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard
University Press, 1958).
35. For example, Musonius Rufus, Frag. 15–​16; Plutarch, Frat. amor.
4 (479E–​480A). On the reciprocal nature of piety, see Richard P.
Saller, “Pietas, Obligation and Authority in the Roman Family,”
in Alte Geschichte und Wissenschaftsgeschichte: Festchrift für
Karl Christ zum 65. Geburtstag (ed. Peter Kneissl and Volker
Losemann; Darmstade: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft,
1988), 393–​410.
36. Sammelbuch 6263. For a translation, see Jo-​Ann Shelton, As
the Romans Did (2nd ed.; New York: Oxford University Press,
1998), 23.
37. See, e.g., Dixon, Roman Mother, chap. 7.
38. April Pudsey, “Death and the Family: Widows and Divorcées
in Roman Egypt,” in Families in the Roman and Late Antique
Roman World (ed. Mary Harlow and Lena Larsson Lonén;
New York: Continuum, 2012), 157–​180 (165).
39. Elsewhere I argue against the common scholarly assumption that
Christian women sought autonomy by remaining unmarried.
810

1 8 0 |   N otes to pages 8 5 – 9 8

Susan E. Hylen, A Modest Apostle: Thecla and the History of

Women in the Early Church (New York: Oxford University Press,
2015), 31–​42.
40. In using the language “it is not lawful for you to have your
brother’s wife” (Mark 6:18), Mark’s wording seems to lean in this
direction.
41. For a discussion, see, e.g., Abraham J. Malherbe, “How to Treat
Old Women and Old Men: The Use of Philosophical Traditions
and Scripture in 1 Timothy 5,” in Scripture and Traditions (ed.
Patrick Gray and Gail R. O’Day; Leiden: Brill, 2008), 281, 285;
Benjamin Fiore, The Pastoral Epistles: First Timothy, Second
Timothy, Titus (SP 12; Collegeville, Minn.: Liturgical Press,
2007), 102; Luke Timothy Johnson, The First and Second Letters to
Timothy: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary
(New York: Doubleday, 2001), 260–​261, 277–​278.
42. For example, Jouette Bassler, 1 Timothy, 2 Timothy, Titus
(Nashville: Abingdon, 1996), 98; Deborah Krause, 1 Timothy
(London: T&T Clark, 2004), 104; David A. Ackerman, 1&2
Timothy, Titus (Kansas City, Mo.: Beacon Hill Press, 2016),
211–​212.
43. For this view, see, e.g., Krause, 1 Timothy, 103; Margaret Davies,
The Pastoral Epistles (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press,
1996), 86.

Chapter 5

1. Willem M. Jongman, “The Early Roman Empire: Consumption,”

in The Cambridge Economic History of the Greco-​ Roman
World (ed. Walter Scheidel, Ian Morris, and Richard Saller;
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007), 592–​618 (597).
2. Translated by Alison E. Cooley, “Women Beyond Rome: Trend
Setters or Dedicated Followers of Fashion?,” in Women and the
Roman City in the Latin West (ed. Emily A. Hemelrijk and Greg
Woolf; Leiden: Brill, 2013), 33.
3. Emily A. Hemelrijk, Hidden Lives, Public Personae: Women and
Civic Life in the Roman West (New York: Oxford University Press,
2015); Emily A. Hemelrijk, “Female Munificence in the Cities
of the Latin West,” in Women and the Roman City in the Latin
18

N otes to pages 9 8 – 1 0 6    |   1 8 1

West (ed. Emily A. Hemelrijk and Greg Woolf; Leiden: Brill,

2013), 65–​84.
4. For a discussion and this estimate, see Riet van Bremen, The
Limits of Participation: Women and Civic Life in the Greek East
in the Hellenistic and Roman Periods (Amsterdam: J. C. Gieben,
1996), 108–​ 112. See also Riet van Bremen, “A Family from
Sillyon,” ZPE 104 (1994): 43–​56.
5. Translated by Jane Rowlandson, ed., Women and Society in
Greek and Roman Egypt: A Sourcebook (Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 1998), 170.
6. Epigraphica 1 (1939) 160–​162. See the discussion by Suzanne
Dixon, “A Woman of Substance: Iunia Libertas of Ostia,” Helios
19 (1992): 162–​174.
7. Ilse Mueller, “Women in the Roman Funerary Inscriptions,” ZPE
175 (2010): 295–​303.
8. Plutarch, Moralia (trans. Harold North Fowler, 10; Cambridge,
Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2005), 145–​147.
9. For discussion, see, e.g., van Bremen, Limits, 32.
10. Carolyn Osiek, “Family Matters,” in Christian Origins (ed.
Richard A. Horsley; Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2005), 212. See
also Zeba Crook, “Honor, Shame, and Social Status Revisited,”
128 (2009): 591–​611.
11. See Cassius Dio Hist. 57.12, 16; 58.2.
12. Ovid Fasti 6.637–​640. See also Beth Severy, Augustus and the
Family at the Birth of the Roman Empire (New York: Routledge,
2003), 131–​134.
13. See, e.g., Rosalinde A. Kearsley, “Women and Public Life in
Imperial Asia Minor: Hellenistic Tradition and Augustan
Ideology,” Ancient West and East 4 (2005): 91–​121.
14. Translated by Hemelrijk, Hidden Lives, Public Personae, 159.
15. SEG 18.143, Inscription 1. For the full inscriptions with
translations, see Rosalinde A. Kearsley, “Women in Public Life in
the Roman East: Iunia Theodora, Claudia Metrodora and Phoebe,
Benefactress of Paul,” TynBul 50 (1999): 189–​211 (203–​208).
16. SEG 18.143, Inscription 5.
17. R. Merkelbach and S. Sahin, “Die publizierten Inschriften von
Perge,” EA 11 (1988): 119–​120.
18. For example, compare the inscription honoring Claudia
Metrodora. Jeanne Robert and Louis Robert, “Bulletin
812

1 8 2 |   N otes to pages 1 0 6 – 1 1 6

épigraphique,” Revue des études grecques 69 (1956) 152–​ 153

(no. 213). For discussion, see van Bremen, Limits, 84 n. 3.
19. Translated by Bernadette J. Brooten, Women Leaders in the
Ancient Synagogue: Inscriptional Evidence and Background Issues
(Chico, Calif.: Scholars Press, 1982), 5. See also the inscription to
Sara Ura the elder (CIJ 1.400); Brooten, Women Leaders in the
Ancient Synagogue, 45.
20. Translated by Brooten, Women Leaders in the Ancient Synagogue,
159. For a range of donations, see pp. 157–​165.
21. Jane F. Gardner, “Women in Business Life: Some Evidence from
Puteoli,” Acta Instituti Romani Finlandiae 22 (1998): 21.
22. For example, TPSulp. 82, 62. For a discussion of lending practices
in Puteoli, see Gardner, “Women in Business Life,” 11–​27.
23. Evidence of women owning slaves is seen in P.Oxy. 34.2713;
50.3555; P.Oxy. Hels 26. Women also freed slaves P.Oxy. 38.2843.
24. Author’s translation.
25. See Kevin Madigan and Carolyn Osiek, Ordained Women in
the Early Church: A Documentary History (Baltimore: Johns
Hopkins University Press, 2005).

Chapter 6

1. Translated by Mary R. Lefkowitz and Maureen B. Fant, Women’s

Life in Greece and Rome: A Source Book in Translation (2nd ed.;
Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1992), 223.
2. See Richard P. Saller, Patriarchy, Property, and Death in the Roman
Family (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), chap. 2.
3. For example, Valerius Maximus, 7.7.4; Suetonius, Divus Julius 52;
P.Mich. 7.434.
4. For discussion, see Keith Hopkins, “Contraception in the Roman
Empire,” Comparative Studies in Society and History 8 (1965): 124–​
151. See also Angus McLaren, A History of Contraception: From
Antiquity to the Present Day (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1990), 42–​72.
5. For example, Ovid, Amores 2.13, 2.14; Seneca, Helv. 16. See also
Soranus, Gynecology 1.19.60.
6. Translated by Roger S. Bagnall and Raffaella Cribiore,
Women’s Letters from Ancient Egypt, 300 BC–​AD 800 (Ann
Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2006), 169.
813

N otes to pages 1 1 6 – 1 2 1    |   1 8 3

7. Cicero, Tusculan Disputations (trans. J. E. King, LCL 141;

Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1945). A later
source, speaking of the second-​ century emperor Marcus
Aurelius, also suggests that it was habitual to bring children up
with nurses: “As soon as he passed beyond the age when chil-
dren are brought up under the care of nurses he was handed
over to advanced instructors” (Historia Augusta, Marcus 2.1).
Historia Augusta (trans. David Magie, LCL 139; Cambridge,
Mass.: Harvard Univeristy Press, 1921).
8. For example, CIL 6.5201, 34383. For discussion, see Keith R.
Bradley, “Wet-​nursing at Rome: A Study in Social Relations,”
in The Family in Ancient Rome (ed. Beryl Rawson; Ithaca,
N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1986), 202–​213.
9. Translated by Lefkowitz and Fant, Women’s Life, 222.
10. Aulus Gellius, Attic Nights (trans. John C. Rolfe; Cambridge,
Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1927), 355.
11. For example, Tacitus, Dialogues 28.
12. Tacitus, Dialogues on Oratory (trans. W. Peterson and M.
Winterbottom; Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University
Press, 1970).
13. See Sandra R. Joshel, “Nurturing the Master’s Child: Slavery and
the Roman Child-​Nurse,” Signs 12, no. 1 (1986): 3–​22.
14. Alan K. Bowman, “Literacy in the Roman Empire: Mass and
Mode,” in Literacy in the Roman World (ed. J. H. Humphrey;
Journal of Roman Archaeology Supplement Series 3; Ann
Arbor: Journal of Roman Archaeology, 1991), 123.
15. Bagnall and Cribiore, Women’s Letters, 48–​ 49, 60–​
67; Beryl
Rawson, Children and Childhood in Roman Italy (Oxford: Oxford
University Press, 2003), 197–​207; Ann Ellis Hanson, “Ancient
Illiteracy,” in Literacy in the Roman World (ed. J. H. Humphrey;
Journal of Roman Archaeology Supplement Series 3; Ann
Arbor: Journal of Roman Archaeology, 1991), 159–​198; Raffaella
Cribiore, Gymnastics of the Mind: Greek Education in Hellenistic
and Roman Egypt (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2001),
chap. 3.
16. On the misinterpretation of the vilica as the wife of the
vilicus, see Ulrike Roth, “Inscribed Meaning: The Vilica and
the Villa Economy,” Papers of the British School at Rome 72
(2004): 101–​124.
814

1 8 4 |   N otes to pages 1 2 1 – 1 2 8

17. Translated by Jane Rowlandson, ed., Women and Society in

Greek and Roman Egypt: A Sourcebook (Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 1998), 236.
18. Translated by Bagnall and Cribiore, Women’s Letters, 283.
19. See the discussion by Bagnall and Cribiore, Women’s Letters, 283.
20. Elaine Fantham et al., Women in the Classical World: Image
and Text (trans. Natalie Kampen; New York: Oxford University
Press, 1994), 334.
21. Translated by Bagnall and Cribiore, Women’s Letters, 186.
22. See also Tapio Helen, Organization of Roman Brick Production in
the First and Second Centuries A.D.: An Interpretation of Roman
Brick Stamps (Helsinki: Academia Scientiarum Fennica, 1975),
112–​113.
23. Päivi Setälä, “Women and Brick Production—​ Some New
Aspects,” in Women, Wealth and Power in the Roman Empire (ed.
Päivi Setälä, et al.; 25; Rome: Acta Instituti Romani Finlandiae,
2002), 187.
24. Ibid., 186, 200.
25. P.Grenf. 1.45a (BL 3.75, 9.96), M.Chr. 260; P.Aberd. 30 (BL 3.211).
See the discussion by Rowlandson, ed., Women and Society in
Greek and Roman Egypt: A Sourcebook, 253.
26. Fantham et al., Women in the Classical World, 336–​337.
27. Roth, “Inscribed Meaning,” 101–​102.
28. Susan Treggiari, “Jobs for Women,” Americal Journal of Ancient
History 1 (1976): 76–​104.
29. Susan Treggiari, “Jobs in the Household of Livia,” PBSR 43
(1975): 61.
30. See discussion in Rowlandson, ed., Women and Society in Greek
and Roman Egypt: A Sourcebook, 269; Bagnall and Cribiore,
Women’s Letters, 353–​354.
31. See also Claire Holleran, “Women and Retail in Roman Italy,”
in Women and the Roman City in the Latin West (ed. Emily
Hemelrijk and Greg Woolf; Leiden: Brill, 2013), 313–​ 330;
Treggiari, “Jobs,” 76–​104.
32. Miriam Beth Peskowitz, “The Work of Her Hands”: Gendering
Everyday Life in Roman-​Period Judaism in Palestine (70–​250
C.E.), Using Textile Production as a Case (Ann Arbor: UMI
Dissertation Services, 1993), 59–​60.
33. Translated by Lefkowitz and Fant, Women’s Life, 216.
815

N otes to pages 1 2 8 – 1 4 2    |   1 8 5

34. Cf. Tacitus, Ann. 15.32.3; Dio Cassius, Hist. 67.8.4, 76.16.1;
Suetonius, Domitian 4.2.
35. Translated by Lefkowitz and Fant, Women’s Life, 222.
36. For example, P.Gen. 2.103; Pleket 12.G; CIL 6.9614–​9619.

Chapter 7

1. Translations of Livy are by Sage. Livy, Histories (trans. Evan T.

Sage, vol. 9; Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1935), 417.
2. Translation by Braund. Juvenal, Juvenal and Persius (trans.
Susanna Morton Braund; Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University
Press, 2004), 275–​277.
3. Translations of Plutarch’s Advice are by Donald Russell. Plutarch,
“Advice to the Bride and Groom,” in Plutarch’s Advice to the Bride
and Groom and A Consolation to His Wife: English Translations,
Commentary, Interpretive Essays, and Bibliography (ed. Sarah B.
Pomeroy; New York: Oxford University Press, 1999), 10.
4. For example, Plutarch Garr. 23; Conj. praec. 32; Livy, Hist.
34.5.12–​13.
5. Translations of the Lives are by Perrin. Plutarch, Lives (trans.
Bernadotte Perrin; Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University
Press, 1921).
6. Apuleius, Metamorphoses (trans. J. Arthur Hanson, LCL 44;
Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press), 51.
7. Plutarch, Bravery of Women (trans. Frank Cole Babbitt; Cambridge,
Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1931).
8. Appian, Roman History (trans. Horace White; New York:
Macmillan, 1913), 199. I am grateful to Bart Bruehler for bringing
this example to my attention.
9. See Bradley Buszard, “The Speech of Greek and Roman
Women in Plutarch’s Lives,” Classical Philology 105, no. 1
(2010): 83–​115 (84–​86). The other speeches considered here
are Plutarch, Rom. 19 (Hersilia); Cor. 33–​36 (Valeria and
Volumnia); Pomp. 74. (Cornelia); Dion 21 (Theste); Dion 51;
(Aristomache); Ant. 35 (Octavia); Cleom. 22 (Cratesicleia); Ti.
C. Gracch. 15 (Licinnia).
10. Porcia’s acts stood alongside other stories of women whose
bravery spurred their family on to equal or greater acts of loyalty
816

1 8 6 |   N otes to pages 1 4 2 – 1 4 9

to family and state. For example, Ti. C. Gracch. 15, Licinia;

Cleom. 22, Cratiscleia.
11. See also Leukippe and Kleitophon 8.13–​15; Daphn. 2.15–​16.
12. See also Emily A. Hemelrijk, “Female Munificence in the Cities
of the Latin West,” in Women and the Roman City in the Latin
West (ed. Emily A. Hemelrijk and Greg Woolf; Leiden: Brill,
2013); Riet van Bremen, The Limits of Participation: Women and
Civic Life in the Greek East in the Hellenistic and Roman Periods
(Amsterdam: J. C. Gieben, 1996).
13. Emily A. Hemelrijk, Hidden Lives, Public Personae: Women and
Civic Life in the Roman West (New York: Oxford University
Press, 2015), 159.
14. Ibid. For an additional analysis of this inscription, see John F.
Donahue, “Iunia Rustica of Cartima: Female Munificence in the
Roman West,” Latomus 63 (2004): 873–​891.
15. Hemelrijk, Hidden Lives, Public Personae, 160.
16. Translated by Roger S. Bagnall and Raffaella Cribiore,
Women’s Letters from Ancient Egypt: 300 BC–​AD 800 (Ann
Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2006), 172.
17. Ibid., 314.
18. Ibid., 283.
19. See, e.g., Markus McDowell, Prayers of Jewish Women: Studies
of Patterns of Prayer in the Second Temple Period (WUNT 211;
Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2006).
20. Pseudo-​ Philo, “Biblical Antiquities,” in The Old Testament
Pseudepigrapha (ed. James H. Charlesworth; vol. 2; New York:
Doubleday, 1985), 364.
21. William Horbury and David Noy, Jewish Inscriptions of Graeco-​
Roman Egypt (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992),
199–​201. The phrase “greatest and highest God” may point to her
Jewish identity, though this point is debated.
22. See, e.g., Jill Marshall’s discussion of the temple of Artemis in
Corinth. Jill Marshall, Women Praying and Prophesying: Gender
and Inspired Speech in First Corinthians (Atlanta: Emory
University, Electronic Theses and Dissertations, 2015), chaps.
2 and 4.
23. See also Randall D. Chesnutt, “Revelatory Experiences Attributed
to Biblical Women in Early Jewish Literature,” in “Women Like
817

N otes to pages 1 4 9 – 1 5 1    |   1 8 7

This”: New Perspectives on Jewish Women in the Greco-​Roman

World (ed. Amy-​Jill Levine; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1991).
24. Translation by Burchard. “Joseph and Aseneth,” in The Old
Testament Pseudepigrapha (ed. James H. Charlesworth, 2 vols.;
New York: Doubleday, 1985), 228–​229.
25. Translation by Anderson. Xenophon of Ephesus, “An Ephesian
Tale,” in Collected Ancient Greek Novels (ed. B. P. Reardon;
Berkeley: University of California Press, 1989), 161.
26. On gendered virtues, see ­chapter 3. See also Susan E. Hylen, A
Modest Apostle: Thecla and the History of Women in the Early
Church (New York: Oxford University Press, 2015), 23–​31.
81
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210

INDEX OF PRIMARY SOURCES

Biblical texts Matt 19:3–​9, 89

Gen 34:12, 77 Matt 19:9, 62
Exod 20:12, 84 Matt 20:21, 155
Exod 22:17, 77 Matt 20:23, 155
Lev 18:16, 88 Matt 27:19, 111, 156
Lev 18:20, 88 Matt 27:23–​24, 157
Deut 5:16, 84 Matt 28:1–​10, 152
Deut 24:1, 81 Mark 1:29–​31, 90
1 Sam 1:11, 147 Mark 3:35, 63
1 Sam 2:1–​10, 148 Mark 6:17–​29, 88, 111
Jud 8:7, 83, 99 Mark 6:18, 180, n. 40
Jud 8:11–​27, 142 Mark 6:25, 155
Jud 8:9–​11, 83 Mark 7:26, 152
Jud 8:32–​34, 142 Mark 10:2, 88
Jud 16:1–​17, 142 Mark 10:5, 88
Sir 25:29, 81 Mark 10:9, 88
Sus 42, 143 Mark 10:10–​12, 62, 88
3 Macc 1:16–​29, 147 Mark 12:41–​4 4, 90, 108
3 Macc 5:48–​51, 147 Mark 14:3–​9, 108
Matt 5:31–​32, 89 Luke 1:41, 156
Matt 8:14–​15, 90 Luke 1:42–​45, 156
Matt 14:1–​12, 88, 111 Luke 1:46–​55, 152
Matt 14:7–​8, 155 Luke 1:48, 156
Mark 14:66, 155 Luke 1:52, 156
Mark 14:69, 155 Luke 1:60, 155
20

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Luke 2:36, 89, 90, 156 1 Cor 7:12, 89

Luke 2:37, 89–​90, 157 1 Cor 7:13, 89
Luke 2:38, 56 1 Cor 7:15, 89
Luke 2:48, 155 1 Cor 7:17–​20, 89
Luke 4:38–​39, 90 1 Cor 11:3, 158
Luke 8:1–​3, 111, 129 1 Cor 11:4–​5, 157
Luke 8:3, 1, 2, 111, 167 1 Cor 11:5, 152
Luke 10:38, 108 1 Cor 11:7, 158
Luke 10:38–​42, 60 1 Cor 14:34, 152, 153, 157, 158
Luke 15:8–​10, 60, 108 1 Cor 16:19, 87
Luke 21:1–​4, 90, 108 Eph 5:22–​33, 86
Luke 24:1–​11, 152 Phil 1:1, 110
John 2:3, 155 Phil 4:2, 129
John 2:4, 155 Col 3:18–​19, 86–​87
John 2:5–​9, 156 Col 4:15, 87, 129, 153
John 4:4–​42, 129 1 Tim 2:2, 62
John 18:16, 155 1 Tim 2:8–​15, 59, 153
John 20:18, 152 1 Tim 2:9, 109, 153
Acts 1:14, 157 1 Tim 2:10, 62
Acts 5:1–​2, 109 1 Tim 2:11–​12, 3, 29, 31, 60, 152, 157
Acts 5:9, 109 1 Tim 2:12, 153
Acts 9:32–​43, 61 1 Tim 2:15, 153
Acts 9:39, 61, 129 1 Tim 3:2, 59, 62, 154
Acts 12:13–​14, 153 1 Tim 3:3, 59, 154
Acts 16:14, 130 1 Tim 3:4, 59
Acts 16:14–​15, 2, 167 1 Tim 3:8, 59, 154
Acts 16:15, 130 1 Tim 3:11, 3, 29, 59, 154
Acts 16:17, 157 1 Tim 3:11–​12, 60, 130
Acts 18:1–​3, 87 1 Tim 3:12, 62
Acts 18:3, 129 1 Tim 5:3–​16, 91
Acts 18:26, 87, 130, 152 1 Tim 5:5, 91
Acts 25:13, 112 1 Tim 5:9, 62, 91
Acts 25:23, 112 1 Tim 5:10, 61, 109
Acts 26:31, 112 1 Tim 5:13, 61, 91
Rom 13:1–​7, 62 1 Tim 5:14, 91
Rom 16:1, 129, 153, 159 1 Tim 5:15, 61
Rom 16:1–​2, 110–​111 1 Tim 6:1–​2, 60
Rom 16:3–​4, 87, 130 1 Tim 6:3, 11, 62
Rom 16:7, 153 Titus 1:6, 62
1 Cor 7, 87, 89 Titus 2:3–​5, 61
1 Cor 7:1–​9, 31–​32 Jas 3:12, 154
1 Cor 7:8–​9, 62, 87 1 Peter 3:1–​7, 86
230

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Inscriptions CIL 6.10230, 52

AE 1958.78, 104 CIL 6.13299, 176 n. 13
AE 1992.244, 96 CIL 6.13303, 176 n. 13
AE 1993.477, 103 CIL 6.16832, 79
CIG 6855.G, 128 CIL 6.19128, 116
CIJ 1.741, 106 CIL 6.23044, 79
CIJ 1.766, 106 CIL 6.25392, 176 n. 13
CIJ 1.811, 106 CIL 6.31670, 52, 55
CIJ 1.400, 182 n. 19 CIL 6.31711, 176 n. 13
CIJ 2.1532, 148 CIL 6.33393, 126
CIL 2.1956, 144 CIL 6.33892, 113
CIL 2.4318a, 127 CIL 6.33920, 126
CIL 4.8203, 124 CIL 6.34383, 183 n. 8
CIL 4.1136, 122 CIL 6.37802, 125
CIL 5.7044, 126 CIL 6.37819, 127
CIL 5.7763, 176 n. 13 CIL 6.37825, 126
CIL 6.1006, 126 CIL 9.4894, 176 n. 16
CIL 6.1527, 52, 55 CIL 10.810, 97
CIL 6.3604, 176 n. 13 CIL 10.811, 97
CIL 6.4352, 116 CIL 10.5069, 176 n. 16
CIL 6.5201, 183 n. 8 CIL 10.5183, 96
CIL 6.5972, 126 CIL 11.405, 176 n. 16
CIL 6.6335, 126 CIL 11.5270, 176 n. 16
CIL 6.8947, 128 CIL 14.2804, 26
CIL 6.9213, 126 CIL 14.3482, 122
CIL 6.9214, 126 CIL 15.934–​36, 123
CIL 6.9266, 126 CIL 15.1259, 123
CIL 6.9435, 126 CIL 15.1488, 123
CIL 6.9488, 127 Epigraphica 1 (1939) 160–​162, 181 n. 6
CIL 6.9496, 126 IG 2.11244, 127
CIL 6.9523, 125 IG 2.11496, 127
CIL 6.9525, 125 ILS 5231, 127
CIL 6.9614–​9619, 185 n. 36 ILS 5244, 127
CIL 6.9683, 127 ILS 5262, 127
CIL 6.9684, 127 ILS 6218, 26
CIL 6.9775, 126 ILS 7760, 113
CIL 6.9801, 127 ILS 8393, 52, 55
CIL 6.9884, 126 ILS 8394, 52
CIL 6.9934, 127 ILS 8402, 19, 52
CIL 6.10125, 127 ILS 8451, 116
CIL 6.10127, 127 ILS 9347, 127
CIL 6.10132, 127 OGIS 2.675, 83
204

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Pleket 6.G, 127–​128 SEG 18.143, Inscription 1, 181 n. 15

Pleket 12.G, 185 n. 36 SEG 18.143, Inscription 5, 181 n. 16
Pleket 13, 176 n. 16 TAM 2.1032, 79
Pleket 14, 107 TAM 2.1020, 79

Literary Sources
Achilles Tatius, Leuc. Clit. 6.9–​10, 146 Brut. 211, 119
8.13–​14, 143 Cael. 38, 82
8.13–​15, 186 n. 12 Fam. 6, 120
8.15, 143 Fam. 7, 120
Acts of Thecla, 20, 143 Fam. 8, 96, 120
22, 144 Fam. 9, 120
27, 105, 144 Fam. 119, 120
28, 105 Fam. 158, 120
36, 105 Fam. 173, 120
36–​37, 106 Off. 1.54–​55, 178 n. 16
37, 144 Tusc. 3.1, 116
Appian, Bell. civ. 4.32–​33, 140 Cod. Just. 5.25, 84
4.34, 140 Columella, Rust. 12.1–​4, 121
Apuleius, Metam. 2.2, 138
Aristotle, Gen. an. 2.3 [737a28], 6 Dio Chrysostom, Ven. 7.114, 117
Aulus Gellius, Noct. att. 12.1.8, 117 Diogenes Laertius 1.70, 175 n. 2
Noct. att. 12.1.22–​23, 118 Dionysius of Halicarnassus,
Ant. rom. 8.39–​54, 175 n. 36
Cassius Dio Hist. 57.12, 181 n. 11
57. 16, 181 n. 11 ‘Erub. 41b, 81
58.2, 181 n. 11
58.2.4–​6, 175 n. 38 Gaius, Inst. 1.144, 67
67.8.4, 185 n. 34 Inst. 1.190, 67–​68
76.16.1, 185 n. 34
Chariton, Chaer. 1.1, 148 Hermas, Vis. 1.1, 100
2.2, 148 Historia Augusta, Marcus 2.1, 182 n. 7
3.1–​2, 146 Horace Carm. 3.14.5, 175 n. 38
3.7, 149
5.5, 145 JosAs 12–​13, 147
5.8, 142 15–​16, 149
8.4, 146 21.10–​21, 147
8.7, 143 Josephus, Ant. 13.418, 98
Cicero, Att. 5.1.3, 120 20.143, 81
Att. 12.21.5, 106 20.147, 81
Att. 12.51.3, 106 20.146, 98
205

I n de x o f P r im a r y S o u r c es   |   2 0 5

Jub 35:6, 149 Plautus, Trin. 250–​255, 126

Juvenal, Sat. 6.434–​4 40, 25–​26 Pliny the Younger, Ep. 1.4, 96
6.434–​4 47, 135–​136 3.3, 119
6.480–​495, 99 3.19, 96, 106
6.10, 96
Livy, Ab Urbe Condita 2.40.1–​12, 10.2, 72
175 n. 36 10.94–​95
Hist. 1.57.9, 48 Plutarch, Ag. Cleom. 17, 140
Hist. 1.57–​58, 48–​49 An seni 794, 100
Hist. 34.1.3, 15 An seni 795, 100
Hist. 34.2.8–​11, 132–​133 An seni 796, 101
Hist. 34.5.7, 134 Ant. 35, 185 n. 9
Hist. 34.5.8–​10, 134 Ant. 35.3–​5, 141
Hist. 34.5.12–​13, 185 n. 4 Brut. 13, 141–​142
Hist. 34.5.12–​13, 134 Brut. 211, 119
Hist. 34.7. 12, 14 Caes. 66, 138
Hist. 34.8.1–​2, 134 Cam. 22, 139
Longus, Daphn. 2.15–​16, 186 n. 12 Cat. Maj. 20, 116, 119
Cleom. 22, 185 n. 9, 186 n. 11
Martial, Epigrams 8.12, 71 Conj. praec. 7, 47
m. Giṭ. 9:10, 81 Conj. praec. 11, 55, 74
Musonius Rufus, Frag. 8, 47 Conj. praec. 14, 73, 177 n. 9
13a, 70 Conj. praec. 15, 74
15–​16, 179 n. 35 Conj. praec. 18, 137
Conj. praec. 24, 136
Ovid, Amores 2.13, 182 n. 5 Conj. praec. 26, 44, 45
Amores 2.14, 182 n. 5 Conj. praec. 31, 43, 46, 137
Fasti 4.2911–​2328, 171 n. 18 Conj. praec. 32, 136, 185 n. 4
Fasti 6.637–​640, 181 n. 12 Conj. praec. 33, 74
Pont. 3.1.114–​116, 40 Conj. praec. 34, 74–​75
Pont. 4.13.29, 175 n. 38 Conj. praec. 39, 74
Conj. praec. 40, 74, 137
Paulus, Dig. 23.3.3, 69 Conj. praec. 44, 47
Pausanias Descr. 10.5.5–​10, 149 Conj. praec. 46, 137
10.12.1–​9, 149 Conj. praec. 48, 137
Petronius, Satyricon 105, 99 Cor. 33–​36, 141, 185 n. 9
110–​112, 82 Dion 21, 185 n. 9
Philo, Decal. 118, 84 Dion 51, 185 n. 9
Fug. 14.126, 175 n. 2 Frat. amor. 4, 179 n. 35
Leg. 3.169, 20 Garr. 1, 175 n. 2
Spec. 3.30, 81 Garr. 4, 175 n. 2
Spec. 3.169–​170, 25 Garr. 17, 175 n. 2
206

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Plutarch (cont.) Soranus, Gynecology 1, 128

Garr. 23, 46, 185 n. 4 1.19.60, 182 n. 5
Mulier. virt. 8, 139 2.11, 117
Mulier. virt. 15, 139 Suetonius, Aug. 31, 149
Mulier. virt. 27, 57 Aug. 61–​73, 38
Pomp. 55, 120 Aug. 64, 16
Pomp. 74, 185 n. 9 Aug. 73, 40, 52–​53
Pyth. orac. 398C–​D, 149 Domitian 4.2, 185, n. 34
Pyth. orac. 405–​406, 149 Julius 52, 182 n. 3
Rom. 19, 185 n. 9 Tib. 2, 16–​17
Rom. 19.4–​7, 141
Ti. C. Gracch. 1, 119 Tacitus, Agr. 4, 119
Ti. C. Gracch. 1.7, 176 n. 13 Agr. 6, 73
Ti. C. Gracch. 15, 185 n. 9, Ann. 1.76.1, 149
186 n. 11 Ann. 15.32.3, 185 n. 34
Virt. prof. 10, 139 Dial. 28, 183 n. 11
Pomponius, Dig. 24.1.31, 124 Dial. 29, 118
Propertius 4.11.36, 176 n. 13 Hist. 2.81, 102
Pseudo-​Philo, Bib. Ant. 31.5–​6, 147
32.1–​17, 147 Ulpian, Dig. 43.30.1.5, 179 n. 29
40.5–​7, 147
50.4, 148 Valerius Maximus, 1.8.10, 149
50.5, 148 5.4.3, 56
51.3–​6, 148 5.4.6, 56
Pseudo-​Plutarch, Lib. ed. 5, 117 6.1.1, 48–​49, 175 n. 38
7, 119 7.7.4, 182 n. 3
14, 45
Xenophon of Ephesus, Eph. 2.9, 145
Quintillian, Inst. 1.1.4, 117 3.11, 145
1.1.6, 120 4.3, 148
4.5, 148
Seneca, Helv. 16, 182 n. 5 5.4, 149
5.11, 148

Papyri
BGU 4.1058, 117, 125, 176 n. 12 BL 3.75, 184 n. 25
BGU 4.1103, 98 BL 3.211, 184 n. 25
BGU 4.1105, 80, 178 n. 21 BL 6.80, 178 n. 21
BGU 8.1848, 178 n. 21 BL 9.96, 184 n. 25
BGU 10.1942, 126 CPJ 146, 117
BL 1.167, 146–​147 CPJ 148, 124
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I n de x o f P r im a r y S o u r c es   |   2 0 7

CPJ 473, 100 P.Oxy. 31.2593, 126, 176 n. 11

DJD 2.115, 178 n. 20 P.Oxy. 33.2680, 122, 176 n. 11
M.Chr. 260, 22, 184 n. 25 P.Oxy. 34.2713, 182 n. 23
P.Aberd. 30, 184 n. 25 P.Oxy. 38.2843, 99, 182 n. 23
P.Berenike 2.129, 116 P.Oxy. 50.3555, 125, 182 n. 23
P.Fay. 91, 176 n. 11 P.Oxy. Hels 26, 182 n. 23
P.Gen. 2.103, 185 n. 36 P.Se’elim 13, 81
P.Grenf. 1.45a, 184 n. 25 P.Tebt 1.104, 120
P.Grenf. 2.45a, 22, 98 P.Tebt. 2.389, 107, 124
P.Kron. 17, 106–​107, 124 P.Turner 24, 98
P.Kron. 52, 178 n. 22 P. XHev/​Se gr 64, 99
P.Mich. 2.121 recto 4.1, 98, 178 n. 21 P.Yadin 10, 178 n. 17
P.Mich. 3.202, 117 P.Yadin 14–​19, 178 n. 17
P.Mich. 7.434, 182 n. 3 P.Yadin 16, 99
P.Mich. 8.464, 119, 128 P.Yadin 17, 99
P.Mil.Vogl. 2.77, 122 P.Yadin 18, 178 n. 20
P.Oxy. 1.115, 146 P.Yadin 26, 178 n. 17
P.Oxy. 2.244, 99 P.Yadin 37, 178 n. 20
P.Oxy. 2.261, 22 Sammelbuch 6263, 179 n. 36
P.Oxy. 2.375, 99 SB 5.7572, 121, 147
P. Oxy. 6.932, 121, 176 n. 11 Stud.Pal. 22.40, 125, 176 n. 11
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TOPICAL INDEX

active, 6–​7, 26–​27, 50, 86–​87, 109, civic offices, 27–​28, 35, 97, 101,
132, 160, 164–​166 103–​105, 107, 112, 145, 160,
advocacy, 56–​57, 94, 104, 105, 110, 164, 167
135, 145–​147, 155, 162 civic responsibility, 38–​39, 41, 72
Agusia Priscilla, 26 class status, 12, 14, 18, 20, 23, 26,
Amymone, 19, 52, 163 46, 47, 51, 82, 93–​95, 115, 116,
archiereus/​archiereia, 101 117, 121, 123, 124, 133–​134,
Aristotle, 6, 8, 170 n. 11 138, 145, 163, 179 n. 27
Augustus, 10, 16, 38–​40, 49, 52, 54, Concordia, 102, 139
71–​73, 80, 81–​82, 114 contraception, 115
court of law, 11, 22, 80, 142, 143,
Babatha, 76–​77, 99, 166 n. 3, 144, 150, 157
178 n. 18 culture, 35–​37
Berenice/​Bernice, 98, 102, 112
bravery, 49, 132, 134, 139, 141, deacons, 3–​4, 29, 59–​60, 62, 110,
186 n. 11 130, 153, 154, 159, 167
brick production, 123, 162 Demetria, 22
demiourgos, 101, 104, 105
Cassia Victoria, 103, 105 divorce, 10, 12, 38, 54, 62, 65, 70,
celibacy, 31–​32, 172 n. 12 77–​78, 80–​81, 87–​89, 178 n. 18
Chilonis, 140–​141 domiseda, 20
citizenship, 9–​11, 38, 46, 71, dowry, 14, 70–​71, 77, 80, 82, 98, 166,
76, 78, 79, 94, 98, 111, 143, 178 n. 21
151, 161 Drusilla, 81
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2 1 0 |    T o p i ca l I n d e x

education, 16, 117–​120, 128, idle, 25, 61, 82, 91

136, 166 immodest, 25, 47, 82, 89
elite women, 51, 72, 80, 81, 83, 88, industry, 50–​54, 60–​61, 167
93, 96, 99, 102, 111, 112, 120, inferiority, 6, 7, 23, 32, 46, 55, 65,
143, 145, 150 66, 93, 108, 131, 151, 159,
Eumachia, 97 166, 167
ius liberorum, 38, 72
free born, 9, 38, 72, 85, 93, 94, 95,
101, 117, 128, 151 Jewish women, 12, 76–​77, 81, 83, 84,
freedpeople, 38, 47, 51, 53, 67, 98–​99, 106, 124, 127, 142, 143,
72, 79, 93, 94, 95, 100, 147, 149, 157, 166, 201
101, 106, 107, 113, 114, 116, Joanna, 2, 111, 167
117, 128, 151, 179 n. 27, Junia Libertas, 100, 107
182 n. 23 Junia Rustica, 29, 144–​145, 151
Junia Theodora, 56, 64, 103–​104,
Galen, 6, 8 105, 111, 163
gender and gender norms, 5–​9,
42–​64, 95, 102, 151 legal independence, 2, 3, 66–​69, 82,
Greek novels, 17–​18, 142, 145, 146, 86, 160
148, 149 Lex Julia et Poppaea, 71–​72, 81–​82
guardianship, 66–​68, 72, 75, 78, Livia, 39–​40, 52–​53, 80, 83, 102
161, 162 loans 14, 30, 99, 100, 101,
106–107, 124, 161
hairstyle, 20, 43, 109, 126 lower classes, 20, 51, 83–​84, 90, 98,
Herodias, 88, 111 101, 106–​107
Hersilia, 141 loyalty, 54–​57, 61–​63, 89, 91, 160, 167
Hippocrates, 8, 170 n. 10 political, 56
honor, 13, 16, 18–​20, 23, 25, 26, sexual fidelity, 54
27–​28, 30, 34, 38, 43, 46, 49, See also univira
52–​54, 56, 57, 60, 62–​63, Lucretia, 48–​49, 52
72–​73, 78, 84, 91, 98, 102–​107, Lydia, 1–​2, 130, 167
113, 116–​117, 124, 127, 145,
159, 161 Mariamne, 81
Hortensia, 140, 150 marriage, 3, 31–​32, 66, 68–​79,
household, 1–​2, 15, 16, 20, 25, 32, 86–​87, 167
33–​34, 37, 38, 41, 43, 45, 47, consent, 68–​69
50–​51, 66, 84, 130, 161 laws (see Lex Julia et Poppae)
management, 59–​61, 71, 86, 92, marital harmony, 73–​76, 86, 102
109, 113, 114, 120–​126, 128, provinces, 76–​78
130, 135 of slaves, 78–​79
See also private social status within, 71, 78, 79, 92
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T o p i ca l I n d e x    |   2 1 1

Menodora, 98 public, 32–​35, 51, 137, 176 n. 16

modesty, 26–​27, 36, 37, 38, 40, pudicitia, see modesty
43–​50, 59–​60, 116, 133, 134,
153, 160, 162, 163, 167 regional variation, 11–​12,
in dress, 43, 153, 162–​163 76–​78, 98
pudicitia, 40, 47–​49, 116, Rufina, 106
176 n. 7
See also self-​control Salome Grapte, 99
motherhood, 69, 71, 84, 114–​115, self-​control, 31–​32, 45–​50, 59–​60,
116–​119 62, 87, 132, 139, 153, 154, 159,
Murdia, 52 160, 162
shame, 25
Octavia, 40, 141 silence, 45–​46, 131–​139, 150–​151,
one-​sex model, 5–​8 152–​154, 157–​159
Oppian laws, 15–​16, 132–​135 slavery, 9, 43, 46–​47, 50–​51, 53, 60,
67, 77, 78–​79, 85, 94–​95, 99,
passive, 6–​7, 61, 86, 162, 164 101–​102, 107, 124–​126, 161, 178
paterfamilias, 3 n. 24, 182 n. 23
patria potestas, see potestas social influence, 28, 85,
Paul, 1, 2, 31–​2, 62, 87, 89, 88, 92, 93, 94–​95, 100,
110–​112, 129–​130, 143, 102–​107, 111–​112, 135,
157, 158, 159 155, 163
patronage, 18, 28, 30, 100–​107, speech, 25–​26, 45–​47, 139–​145,
109–​112, 161, 164 152–​153, 154–​157, 162
philosophical writings, 14–​18 in the assembly, 140,
Phoebe, 159 142–​143, 150
Plankia Magna, 104–​105 in court, 142–​144
polygamy, 12, 77 in temples, 147–​150
Pompeia Celerina, 96 stephanophoros, 101, 105
Porcia, 141–​142 subordination, 3, 29, 36, 38, 55, 71,
potestas, 67–​69 85, 152, 153, 158
prayer, 142, 147–​149, 152, sui iuris, see legal independence
156–​158
Prisca (or Priscilla), 87, 129–​130 Tamestha, 107
private, 27, 32–​35, 51, 72, 123, 137 teachers, 54, 63, 119, 128, 162
property, 2, 11, 12, 22, 23, 25, 26, 47, Terentia, 96
65–​78, 80, 82, 83, 85, 86, 96–​98, Thecla, 105–​106, 143, 144
108–​109, 121–​122, 160–​162, Tryphaena, 105–​106, 144
164–​166 Tryphaine, 80
prophets, prophecy, 90, 149, 152, Turia, 52, 55, 56, 64,
156–​157 75–​76, 86
12

2 1 2 |    T o p i ca l I n d e x

Ummidia Quadratilla, 96–​97 wealth, 2, 9, 18, 28, 30, 34, 43, 46,
univira, 54, 82 56, 68, 71–​75, 82–​83, 89, 92,
93–​109, 114, 123, 125, 131,
Valeria Maxima, 122 144–​145, 151, 161
virtue, 8, 16, 19–​21, 37–​41, 42–​64, wet nurses, 114, 116–​118
70, 72–​76, 86, 90, 91, 116, 130, widows, 61, 62, 81–​84, 87, 89–​92
132, 138–​139, 150, 151, 153–​154, wool-​working, 16, 19, 40,
160, 162–​163, 164–​165 48, 51–​54, 55, 121,
Volumnia, 141 124, 126
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