The situation of the Jews was only in so far unique that there could be no question among them of gradual steps in the acquisition of Greek culture, but only of partial acceptance of it. The final step of interchanging gods—of accepting the Greek name and maintaining the old rite and of exercising that reciprocity of religious observance which was a seeming necessity for those who lived in the same region—that, as every Jew was aware, could never be taken. The religious development among the Jews had been fuller than elsewhere, and had resulted in a highly specialized form, which by that fact had none of the elasticity of other cult-forms. It was easy to make any one of the Baalim of local Syrian shrines into Zeus Heliopolitanus, Zeus Damascenus, etc. It was not possible to turn the Lord Zebaoth of Zion, the awful and holy God of psalm and prophecy, into an epithet of Zeus or of another.
Consequently Jews who felt the pull of Greek art and literature, who, like other subjects of Greek sovereigns, were eager to gain the favor of their masters, had to realize to themselves the qualifications of their Hellenism, or determine to discard wholly their Judaism. And this latter step, even to enthusiastic Philhellenes, was intensely difficult. For so many generations “Thou shalt have no other gods” had been inculcated into men’s hearts that it was no simple thing to undertake in cold blood to bow before the abominations of the heathen.
He who could not do that—and there were many—might feel free to adopt Greek language and dress and name; but, even more than Babylonian and Egyptian, he was conscious of making a contribution of his own to the civilization of the East. An inherited wisdom, which was in effect closer communion with the Absolute, he believed he had, and, as we have seen, he was generally credited with having. He felt no need therefore of yielding unreservedly to the claims of Greeks, but might demand from them the respect due to an independent and considerable culture.
Barriers to mutual comprehension were created by the Jewish dietary regulations as well as by ritual intolerance. Courtesy and good breeding however might soften and modify what they could not remove, and social intercourse between Greek and Jew certainly existed. Nor need we exaggerate the embarrassments these relations would suffer from the fact that while a Greek might, and doubtless would, assist at the little ceremonies of his Jewish neighbor’s household, the Jew might not without sin reciprocate. By judicious absence on occasion—perhaps by little compromises—the average easy-going Jewish citizen of an Asiatic or Egyptian community need not have found himself in constant conflict.
As in the case of other nations, the first Greek-speaking Jews that desired to emphasize their origin while accepting the all-pervading Greek culture, wished primarily to convey to Greeks the facts of their history and institutions. The Septuagint, at least the Pentateuch, was probably written in the early part of the third century B.C.E., and although primarily intended for Jews, no doubt came within the knowledge of Greeks as well. But its purpose was utilitarian. The Greek-speaking synagogues absolutely needed it. If others were to be acquainted with the history of the Jews, some other means had to be devised.
About 225 B.C.E., an Egyptian Jew named Demetrius wrote the history of his people in Greek. Unfortunately we have only such fragments of his work as Eusebius, the church historian, and Josephus have chosen to quote; but what we have, permits the conjecture that he wrote in a concise and simple style, without oratorical embellishment, and obviously without apologetic motives. It seems to have been a sober and dignified narrative, the loss of which is a serious gap in our records.[[119]]
The name of this man, Demetrius, is not without significance. It contains the name of a Greek deity, Demeter, so that religious precisians might find in it an honor—even if only a verbal one—to the Abomination. But Alexandrian Jews were not likely to be religious precisians, and we may readily suppose that these names, attrited by constant use, did not immediately convey the suggestion of being theophoric. In 238 B.C.E., an Arsinoite slave is named Apollonius or Jonathas, and about the same time a Jewess is found with the name of Heraclea.[[120]]
In the case of Demetrius it was rather the redoubtable Besieger than the goddess that was honored, just as the very first Jew whom we know by a Greek name, Antigonus of Socho, is probably named after Demetrius’ father, the one of Alexander’s officers who became so nearly a real Successor. It is to be noted that Antigonus of Socho is one of the earliest doctors of the law, whose fine saying is recorded in Abot i.,[[121]] and, although we know no Hebrew name for him, there can be no question here of Hellenizing or partly Hellenizing tendencies.
Otherwise Jews in adopting Greek names were prone to translate them approximately. The common Jonathan and Nathaniel became Theodotus, Dositheus, Theodorus, and the like. Phoenicians had long done the same, but there would be of course no difficulty in the case of the latter if they chose to turn Meherbal into Diodorus. That the Jews were scarcely more scrupulous in this matter is a little surprising. It fits in well however with the conclusion that friction in unessentials was rather avoided than invited by the average Jew.[[122]]
The conflict that was preparing itself in Palestine was not one between Greek and Jew, but between Hellenizing and reactionary elements among the Jews themselves. And the term reactionary is chosen advisedly. In the many centuries that had witnessed the slow spread of Hellenism, and the hundred years or so in which that progress had been immensely accelerated by the political domination of Greeks, a resistance was also preparing itself. In the early years of the movement, before and after Alexander, the numbers affected had been too few to justify active opposition. But the number became constantly greater, and the imminence of a real peril became vividly present to thinking men. The method of opposition was at once indicated. It could be only a conscious restoration of such national institutions as had lapsed into comparative disuse, a recultivation of ancient national practices, and a more intense and active occupation with the traditional sacred literature.