(December 13, 2013 at 12:15 pm)Minimalist Wrote: Define "literacy."
Even today we have people who are illiterate but they still know what a Stop sign means and can print their name. The ability to recognize a word here or there is not literacy.
During the Imperial Period the army used to give soldiers a rudimentary education in Latin for the utility of the legion's commanders; they handled basic record-keeping and some of the brighter ones served as what amounted to company clerk for their centurions. The bulk of the army could probably do little more than read the duty roster.
I have seen estimates that up to 10% of the population had some degree of literacy BUT, the intellectual writing of the period was in Greek and there you are getting down to 1% ranges of those who could understand philosophical writing. Literacy was a rich man's game, if for no other reason than that they were the ones who could afford books.
http://www.hup.harvard.edu/catalog.php?i...0674033818
Quote:In Ancient Literacy W.V. Harris provides the first thorough exploration of the levels, types, and functions of literacy in the classical world, from the invention of the Greek alphabet about 800 B.C. down to the fifth century A.D. Investigations of other societies show that literacy ceases to be the accomplishment of a small elite only in specific circumstances.
I did read an excerpt from Harris' book one time in which he estimated that even in Athens only 5% of the population could read Greek well enough to handle Plato and Aristotle, et al.
Yeah that would be because (At least around he time of Christ) the commoners spoke koine Greek, and that is what people would've written daily business in, where as Plato and Aristotle wrote in attic Greek, a very different dialect.
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
