Beyond Belief The Secret Gospel Elaine Pagels

Paul and His Social Relations
Pauline Studies
Series editor
Stanley E. Porter
Professor of New Testament at
McMaster Divinity College
Hamilton, Ontario
VOLUME 7
The titles published in this series are listed at brill.com/past

Paul and His Social Relations
Edited by
Stanley E. Porter
Christopher D. Land
Leiden • boston
2013
Cover illustration: RAM vormgeving / Jan van Waarden, Asperen, The Netherlands.
Cover illustration: 2 Cor. 5:19–21 in P34 (P. Vindob. G39784, verso, Col. 2). Reproduced by kind
permission of the Österreichische Nationalbibliothek.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Paul and his social relations / edited by Stanley E. Porter, Christopher D. Land.
p. cm. — (Pauline studies, ISSN 1572-4913 ; v. 7)
Includes bibliographical references and indexes.
ISBN 978-90-04-24211-1 (hardback : alk. paper) — ISBN 978-90-04-24422-1 (e-book)
1. Paul, the Apostle, Saint—Friends and associates. 2. Bible. N.T. Epistles of Paul—
Criticism, interpretation, etc. I. Porter, Stanley E., 1956– II. Land, Christopher D.
BS2506.3.P376 2013
225.9’2—dc23
2012038175
This publication has been typeset in the multilingual “Brill” typeface. With over 5,100 characters
covering Latin, IPA, Greek, and Cyrillic, this typeface is especially suitable for use in the
humanities. For more information, please see www.brill.com/brill-typeface.
ISSN 1572-4913
ISBN 978-90-04-24211-1 (hardback)
ISBN 978-90-04-24422-1 (e-book)
Copyright 2013 by Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, The Netherlands.

Koninklijke Brill NV incorporates the imprints Brill, Global Oriental, Hotei Publishing,
IDC Publishers and Martinus Nijhoff Publishers.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, stored in
a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical,
photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher.
Authorization to photocopy items for internal or personal use is granted by Koninklijke Brill NV
provided that the appropriate fees are paid directly to The Copyright Clearance Center,
222 Rosewood Drive, Suite 910, Danvers, MA 01923, USA.
Fees are subject to change.
This book is printed on acid-free paper.

CONTENTS
Preface ................................................................................................................. vii
Abbreviations .................................................................................................... ix
Paul and His Social Relations: An Introduction ..................................... 1

Stanley E. Porter and Christopher D. Land
How Do We Define Pauline Social Relations? ........................................ 7

Stanley E. Porter
Paul, Timothy, and Pauline Individualism: A Response to

Bruce Malina ................................................................................................ 35
Mark Batluck
Paul, Patronage and Benefaction: A “Semiotic” Reconsideration ..... 57

Bruce A. Lowe
Paul and the “Social Relations” of Death at Rome

(Romans 5:14, 17, 21) ................................................................................... 85
James R. Harrison
The Relationships of Paul and Luke: Luke, Paul’s Letters, and

the “We” Passages of Acts ........................................................................ 125
Sean A. Adams
The Authorship of Hebrews: A Further Development in the

Luke-Paul Relationship ............................................................................. 143
Andrew W. Pitts and Joshua F. Walker
The Significance and Function of References to Christians in the

Pauline Literature ....................................................................................... 185
Christoph Stenschke
“We Put No Stumbling Block in Anyone’s Path, so that Our

Ministry Will Not Be Discredited”: Paul’s Response to an
Idol Food Inquiry in 1 Corinthians 8:1–13 ............................................ 229
Christopher D. Land
vi contents
Paul, the Corinthians’ Meal, and the Social Context ............................ 285

Panayotis Coutsoumpos
The Christ-Pattern for Social Relationships: Jesus as Exemplar in

Philippians and Other Pauline Epistles ............................................... 301
Mark Keown
Honouring Epaphroditus: A Suffering and Faithful Servant Worthy

of Admiration ............................................................................................... 333
H.H. Drake Williams, III
Index of Modern Authors and Editors ...................................................... 357

Index of Ancient Sources .............................................................................. 364
Preface
This seventh volume in the series, Pauline Studies, is on Paul and his
social relations. The six previous volumes are: The Pauline Canon, ed.
Stanley E. Porter (PAST 1; Leiden: Brill, 2004), Paul and His Opponents,
ed. Stanley E. Porter (PAST 2; Leiden: Brill, 2005), Paul and His Theology,
ed. Stanley E. Porter (PAST 3; Leiden: Brill, 2006), Paul’s World, ed. Stanley E.
Porter (PAST 4; Leiden: Brill, 2008), Paul: Jew, Greek, and Roman, ed. Stan-
ley E. Porter (PAST 5; Leiden: Brill, 2008), and Paul and the Ancient Let-
ter Form, ed. Stanley E. Porter and Sean A. Adams (PAST 6; Leiden: Brill,
2010). This series continues to grow, and we are well into the second set of
five volumes in the series of what is, at least for the time being, scheduled
to be ten volumes. The number of different contributors to these volumes
also continues to grow, and I would again like to welcome any previous
contributors and invite any new contributors to offer essays to any and
all of the remaining volumes that have now moved into development. As
I have done before, I would like to express my thanks to those who have
found these volumes helpful. I thank those who have made use of the
first six volumes, those who have given such favourable and encouraging
reviews to these volumes, and those who are continuing to use these vol-
umes to aid in their own research, writing, and teaching. Like its several
predecessors, this volume brings together a number of different papers
by scholars engaged in discussion of the topic of Paul and diverse and
variegated social relationships, as they are especially evidenced within his
own letters but not only there. There are essays here that move outside
the parameters of the letters to engage the book of Acts as well. As in the
previous volumes, some of the major questions regarding Paul are raised
in this volume, this time revolving around the complex mix of relation-
ships in which Paul was intertwined and enfolded. Some of the essays
raise questions regarding how we define and describe such relationships,
while others focus upon particular relationships and their implications for
understanding Paul and his life and ministry. Some are broad in scope,
while others focus upon particular passages.
Due to unavoidable complications, this volume and hence the entire
series has been delayed. I would like to thank my co-editor for this vol-
ume, Christopher Land, for his willingness to shoulder much of the bur-
den of editing and bringing this volume to completion. With publication
of this volume, I hope that we can regain a regular publication schedule.
viii preface
The next three volumes currently scheduled to appear are as follows:
Volume 8: Paul and Pseudepigraphy (2013)

Volume 9: Paul and Gnosis (2014)
Volume 10: Paul and Scripture (2015)
As noted before, I would like to invite any scholars interested in making

contributions to one of more of these volumes to be in contact with me
regarding submission. Contact information is provided below. The pat-
tern we would like to re-establish is for submission of a proposed chapter
by January 15 of the year in which the volume is to appear. The topics of
the volumes are being defined and interpreted broadly, so that papers
that deal, for example, with clearly related subjects are welcome alongside
those that conform more closely to the subject matter.
I once again wish to thank all of the individual authors for their worthy
contributions to this seventh volume of essays in the PAST series, and
their patience in seeing this volume emerge. I hope that we can continue
to welcome submissions from scholars who have contributed to previ-
ous volumes while welcoming new contributors as well. There is no pre-
decided or prescribed balance of fresh and repeat contributors.
A volume such as this incurs many debts of gratitude and more tan-
gible support. I wish first of all to thank the individual institutions that
have supported the work of their scholars so that they can contribute to
volumes such as these. I also wish to thank the several people at Brill with
whom I have worked over the years, including especially Louise Schouten
and Mattie Kuiper, who have continued to be a direct help in many ways
as this project has taken shape and continued to develop and come to fru-
ition. I thank them for their patience as well. As mentioned above, I wish
to thank Christopher Land for joining me as co-editor so as to ensure the
publication of this volume. Finally, I must (again) thank my wife, Wendy,
for the care, love, and perseverance that has helped to make life possible.
I am forever grateful. My desire is for this volume, like the others before
it, to make a significant contribution to the topic of the background to
Paul, the apostle.
Stanley E. Porter
McMaster Divinity College

1280 Main St. W.
Hamilton, ON, Canada L8S 4K1
princpl@mcmaster.ca
Abbreviations
AB Anchor Bible
ABD Anchor Bible Dictionary. Edited by D.N. Freedman. 6 vols. New
York, 1992
ABR Australian Biblical Review
AGJU Arbeiten zur Geschichte des antiken Judentums und des
Urchristentums
AJEC Ancient Judaism and Early Christianity
AJP American Journal of Philology
ANF The Ante-Nicene Fathers. Edited by Alexander Roberts and
James Donaldson. 1885–1887. 10 vols. Reprint, Peabody, 1994
ANRW Aufstieg und Niedergang der römischen Welt: Geschichte und
Kultur Roms im Spiegel der neueren Forschung. Edited by
H. Temporini and W. Haase. Berlin, 1972–
ANTC Abingdon New Testament Commentaries
APQ American Philosophical Quarterly
ATANT Abhandlungen zur Theologie des Alten und Neuen
Testaments
AUSS Andrews University Seminary Studies
BBR Bulletin for Biblical Research
BDAG Bauer, W., F.W. Danker, W.F. Arndt, and F.W. Gingrich. Greek-
English Lexicon of the New Testament and Other Early Christian
Literature. 3d ed. Chicago, 1999
BECNT Baker Exegetical Commentary on the New Testament
BETL Bibliotheca ephemeridum theologicarum lovaniensium
Bib Biblica
BibInt Biblical Interpretation
BJRL Bulletin of the John Rylands University Library of Manchester
BMC Catalogue of the Greek Coins in the British Museum
BMCRev Bryn Mawr Classical Review
BNTC Black’s New Testament Commentaries
BR Biblical Research
BTB Biblical Theology Bulletin
BU Biblische Untersuchungen
BZNW Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die neutestamentliche
Wissenschaft
C&M Classica & Mediaevalia
x abbreviations
CA Classical Antiquity
CBET Contributions to Biblical Exegesis and Theology
CFC Cuademos de Filologia Classica
CJ Classical Journal
CP Classical Philology
CPSSupp Cambridge Philological Society Supplementary Volume
CQ Church Quarterly
CR The Classical Review
CRINT Compendia rerum iudaicarum ad Novum Testamentum
CW Classical World
DNTB Dictionary of New Testament Background. Edited by C.A. Evans
and S.E. Porter. Downers Grove, 2000
DPL Dictionary of Paul and His Letters. Edited by G.F. Hawthorne
and R.P. Martin. Downers Grove, 1993
ECC Eerdmans Critical Commentary
EH Europäische Hochschulschriften
ESEC Emory Studies in Early Christianity
ETL Ephemerides theologicae lovanienses
EvJ Evangelical Journal
EvQ Evangelical Quarterly
EvT Evangelische Theologie
EWNT Exegetisches Wörterbuch zum Neuen Testament. Edited by
H. Balz and G. Schneider. 3 vols. Stuttgart, 1980–1983
ExpTim Expository Times
GOTR Greek Orthodox Theological Review
HBS Herders biblische Studien
HNTC Harper’s New Testament Commentaries
HTKNT Herders theologischer Kommentar zum Neuen Testament
HTR Harvard Theological Review
HTS Harvard Theological Studies
HUT Hermeneutische Untersuchungen zur Theologie
ICC International Critical Commentary
JAAR Journal of the American Academy of Religion
JAC Jahrbuch für Antike und Christentum
JBL Journal of Biblical Literature
JBR Journal of Bible and Religion
JCRT Journal for Cultural and Religious Theory
JGRChJ Journal of Greco-Roman Christianity and Judaism
JRHe Journal of Religion and Health
JRS Journal of Roman Studies
abbreviations xi
JSNT Journal for the Study of the New Testament

JSNTSup Journal for the Study of the New Testament: Supplement
Series
JSOTSup Journal for the Study of the Old Testament: Supplement
Series
LCBI Literary Currents in Biblical Interpretation
LEC Library of Early Christianity
LNTS Library of New Testament Studies
LSJ Liddell, H.G., R. Scott, H.S. Jones, A Greek-English Lexicon. 9th
ed. with revised supplement. Oxford, 1996
MM Moulton, J.H., and G. Milligan. The Vocabulary of the Greek Tes-
tament. London, 1930. Reprint, Peabody, 1997
NCB New Century Bible
Neot Neotestamentica
NIB The New Interpreter’s Bible
NICNT New International Commentary on the New Testament
NIGTC New International Greek Testament Commentary
NovT Novum Testamentum
NovTSup Novum Testamentum Supplements
NPNF 1 The Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers, Series 1. Edited by Philip
Schaff. 1886–1889. 14 vols. Reprint, Peabody, 1994
NTL New Testament Library
NTS New Testament Studies
NTTS New Testament Tools and Studies
PAST Pauline Studies
PhL Philosophy and Literature
PNTC Pillar New Testament Commentary
PRSSS Perspectives in Religious Studies Special Studies Series
PRSt Perspectives in Religious Studies
RB Revue biblique
ResQ Restoration Quarterly
RevExp Review and Expositor
RHPR Revue d’histoire et de philosophie religieuses
RIC The Roman Imperial Coinage
SBG Studies in Biblical Greek
SBLDS Society of Biblical Literature Dissertation Series
SBLMS Society of Biblical Literature Monograph Series
SNTSMS Society for New Testament Studies Monograph Series
SNTW Studies of the New Testament and its World
SP Sacra pagina
xii abbreviations
STAC Studies and Texts in Antiquity and Christianity

StPB Studia Post-Biblica
SUNT Studien zur Umwelt des Neuen Testaments
SWBA Social World of Biblical Antiquity
TANZ Texte und Arbeiten zum neutestamentlichen Zeitalter
TAPA Transactions of the American Philological Association
TENT Texts and Editions for New Testament Study
THKNT Theologischer Handkommentar zum Neuen Testament
TLNT Theological Lexicon of the New Testament. C. Spicq. Translated
and edited by J.D. Ernest. 3 vols. Peabody, 1994
TynBul Tyndale Bulletin
WBC Word Biblical Commentary
WMANT Wissenschaftliche Monographien zum Alten und Neuen
Testament
WTJ Westminster Theological Journal
WUNT Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament
WW Word and World
ZMR Zeitschrift für Missionswissenschaft und Religionswissenschaft
ZNW Zeitschrift für die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft und die Kunde
der älteren Kirche
ZPE Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik
Paul and His Social Relations: An Introduction
Stanley E. Porter and Christopher D. Land

McMaster Divinity College, Hamilton, ON, Canada
Pauline scholars have always been interested in Paul’s relationships. In

fact, some of the most influential developments in modern scholarship
have been more or less attempts to situate Paul socially. Take the Tübin-
gen school, for example. Among the many things that might be said about
the work of F.C. Baur, one would certainly not want to overlook the fact
that he had much to say about Paul’s relations with Peter and the other
apostles.1 One hundred and fifty years later, scholarship is still coming to
terms with the idea that Paul was not just “one of the gang,” a d’Artagnan
to twelve musketeers, so to speak. Although few scholars today are willing
to characterize the apostolic conflicts of the first century in precisely the
way that Baur and his followers did,2 many remain persuaded that Paul
was a highly controversial figure even within early Christianity and that
his relations with the other apostles were at the very least strained.3 In
any case, one cannot responsibly ignore the topic. The nature of Paul’s
relations with Peter, James, and the other apostles persists as a key issue
1 See esp. Ferdinand Christian Baur, Paulus, der Apostel Jesu Christi: Sein Leben und
Werken, seine Briefe und seine Lehre (Stuttgart: Becher & Müller, 1845): ET Paul, the Apostle
of Jesus Christ: His Life and Works, His Epistles and Teachings (2 vols.; London: Williams
and Norgate, 1873–1875; repr. Peabody: Hendrickson, 2003). For a discussion of Baur’s
followers and the extent of their influence on subsequent scholarship, see the essays in
Donald J. Dietrich and Michael J. Himes (eds.), The Legacy of the Tübingen School: The
Relevance of Nineteenth-Century Theology for the Twenty-First Century (New York: Cross-
road, 1997).
2 Among recent proposals, Michael Goulder’s remains the closest to Baur’s reconstruc-
tion. See Michael D. Goulder, A Tale of Two Missions (London: SCM Press, 1994); idem, Paul
and the Competing Mission in Corinth (Library of Pauline Studies; Peabody: Hendrickson,
2002).
3 For some narrowly focused studies on this persistent question, see Bruce D. Chilton
and Craig A. Evans (eds.), The Missions of James, Peter, and Paul: Tensions in Early Christi-
anity (NovTSup 115; Leiden: Brill, 2005). As Bruce Chilton writes in the conclusion of this
volume, “The largest question that remains unresolved . . . is whether the cooperation and
conflict among James, Peter, and Paul were more like competing and contradictory claims
on the inheritance of Jesus or streams within a single movement” (487).
2 stanley e. porter and christopher d. land
in Pauline studies, particularly for those who wish to employ Acts as a

source for historical reconstruction.4
Another aspect of Paul’s social life that has come under scrutiny, albeit
only more recently, is the precise nature of his relations with his churches.
Particularly on account of contemporary concerns about power and the
use (and abuse) of power, scholars have taken an interest in the ways
that Paul influenced or at least attempted to influence his converts.5 For
obvious reasons, much of this research has focused on the Corinthian cor-
respondence, which is both revealing and enigmatic with regard to Paul’s
relationship with the church in Corinth.6 Yet similar questions have been
raised about Paul’s relations with the Galatians,7 the Philippians,8 and
Philemon.9 Irrespective of one’s position regarding the hermeneutic of
suspicion that produces many of these readings, they are stimulating and
provocative. They afford us an opportunity to reconsider Paul as a social
creature, and to better understand the social dynamics involved in his
mission work. Biblical scholarship has always been concerned with the
historical reconstruction of interactions between Paul and his converts;
4 Thomas E. Phillips, Paul, His Letters, and Acts (Library of Pauline Studies; Peabody:
Hendrickson, 2009), 190–97.
5 John Howard Schütz, Paul and the Anatomy of Apostolic Authority (NTL; Louisville:
Westminster/John Knox, 2007); Bengt Holmberg, Paul and Power: The Structure of Author-
ity in the Primitive Church as Reflected in the Pauline Epistles (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1978);
Elizabeth A. Castelli, Imitating Paul: A Discourse on Power (LCBI; Louisville: Westminster/
John Knox, 1991); Kathy Ehrensperger, Paul and the Dynamics of Power: Communication and
Interaction in the Early Christ-Movement (LNTS 325; London: T&T Clark, 2007); Michael
Chung, “Paul, Power and Postmodernity,” EvJ 27 (2009): 65–73.
6 John Howard Schütz, “Apostolic Authority and the Control of Tradition: 1 Cor 15,” NTS
15 (1969): 439–57; Elizabeth A. Castelli, “Interpretations of Power in 1 Corinthians,” Semeia
54 (1992): 199–222; Ronald Charles, “The Report of 1 Corinthians 5 in Critical Dialogue with
Foucault,” Journal for Cultural and Religious Theory 11 (2010): 142–58; John K. Chow, Patron-
age and Power: A Study of Social Networks in Corinth (JSNTSup 75; Sheffield: JSOT Press,
1992); Andrew D. Clarke, Secular and Christian Leadership in Corinth: A Socio-Historical
and Exegetical Study of 1 Corinthians 1–6 (AGJU 18; Leiden: Brill, 1993); Kathy Ehrensperger,
“ ‘Be Imitators of Me as I Am of Christ’: A Hidden Discourse of Power and Domination in
Paul?” LTQ 38 (2003): 241–61.
7 Stephen E. Fowl, “Who Can Read Abraham’s Story? Allegory and Interpretive Power
in Galatians,” JSNT 55 (1994): 77–95.
8 Joseph A. Marchal, Hierarchy, Unity, and Imitation: A Feminist Rhetorical Analysis of
Power Dynamics in Paul’s Letter to the Philippians (SBL Academia Biblica 24; Atlanta: Soci-
ety of Biblical Literature, 2006).
9 Christopher A. Frilingos, “ ‘For My Child, Onesimus’: Paul and Domestic Power in Phi-
lemon,” JBL 119 (2000): 91–104; Jeremy Punt, “Paul, Power and Philemon: ‘Knowing Your
Place’: A Postcolonial Reading,” in D. Francois Tolmie (ed.), Philemon in Perspective: Inter-
preting a Pauline Letter (BZNW 169; New York: De Gruyter, 2010), 223–50.
paul and his social relations: an introduction 3
it is now increasingly important that these interactions be examined

through the lens of sociology.
From a somewhat wider angle, there are theoretical and methodologi-
cal issues involved in situating Paul within first-century society. A previ-
ous volume in this series has already explored the multifaceted nature of
Paul’s cultural heritage,10 but it must not be forgotten that culture both
persists and changes through social interactions. What were the relation-
ships through which Paul was socialized into the culture(s) in which he
participated? What conventions did his culture(s) dictate about the social
relations into which he entered? Because we lack information about Paul’s
early life, it is difficult to establish particulars in these regards. This is why
sociological descriptions and analyses are especially pertinent. An early
effort to situate Paul socially can be found in Adolf Deissmann’s Paul:
A Study in Social and Religious History.11 During the rise of sociologically-
oriented biblical research later in the twentieth century, studies began
to be more explicit in their appropriation of sociological theories and
models.12 A lively discussion has ensued concerning social description
and social-scientific criticism, and there are many issues that remain
unresolved.13 A complicating factor in all of this is the fact that Paul must
be considered as both a socialized person and an agent of social change.
It is vital to consider how Paul’s vision of Christ transformed his view of
social relations, and how his mission sought to transform society.
The essays in this volume range across all of the aforementioned topics,
being united solely by their interest in the study of Paul as a social crea-
ture. Some of them take a broad perspective and discuss how Paul and his
ideas can be situated within the social world of the first century. Others
take a more narrow perspective and treat Paul’s relations with specific
individuals or communities.
10 Stanley E. Porter (ed.), Paul: Jew, Greek, and Roman (PAST 5; Leiden: Brill, 2008).
11 Adolf Deissmann, Paul: A Study in Social and Religious History (2d ed.; London: Hod-
der and Stoughton, 1926).
12 Edwin Judge, The Social Pattern of the Christian Groups in the First Century (Lon-
don: Tyndale Press, 1960); Gerd Theissen, The Social Setting of Pauline Christianity: Essays
on Corinth (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1982); Wayne Meeks, The First Urban Christians: The
Social World of the Apostle Paul (2d ed.; New Haven: Yale University Press, 2003); Norman
Petersen, Rediscovering Paul: Philemon and the Sociology of Paul’s Narrative World (Phila-
delphia: Fortress, 1985).
13 For an introduction to this debate and yet another attempt to resolve it, see Todd D.
Still, “Whither Social-Scientific Approaches to New Testament Interpretation? Reflections
on Contested Methodologies and the Future,” in Todd D. Still and David G. Horrell (eds.),
After the First Urban Christians: The Social-Scientific Study of Pauline Christianity Twenty-
Five Years Later (London: T&T Clark, 2009), 6–20.
In the first essay, Stanley Porter tackles the question of what we mean
by Pauline social relations. As a result, he examines four ways in which
these relations may be defined, and discusses their possible strengths and
weaknesses. The first he presents is socio-historical relations, the means
of defining social relations that is typically thought of when New Testa-
ment scholars today discuss Paul’s social relations, invoking work directly
from the social sciences. Here the research of Gerd Theissen, Wayne
Meeks, Justin Meggitt and others is discussed. The second is historical-
textual relations, governed by the historically and textually grounded
presentation of Paul’s social relations in Acts and his letters. The work of
F.F. Bruce is noted here. A third way of discussing Paul’s social relations is
their ecclesial situation, that is, those church relations that Paul entered
into and described within his letters. Robert Banks has made an important
contribution in this area. Finally, there are linguistically mediated social
relations, in which Paul’s language within the text itself—both lexis and
syntax—establishes, formulates, and appraises the social relations. Each
of these approaches is explored in some depth, showing some of the com-
monalities and differences as a means of defining what is meant by Pau-
line social relations and how one might approach discussion of them.
Mark Batluck tackles the crucial relationship between Paul and Timo-
thy by evaluating Bruce Malina’s Timothy: Paul’s Closest Associate.14 Bat-
luck finds much that is useful in Malina’s work on this important Pauline
associate, but concludes that it is too extremist in its stark opposition
between individualism and collectivism. In order to understand Paul
and his relationships, Batluck asserts, it is necessary to work with a “con-
tinuum of corporeality,” wherein persons are shaped by a complex mix-
ture of individualism and collectivism.
Scholars continue to debate how social conventions surrounding
patronage can shed light on Paul’s gospel and mission. Bruce Lowe thinks
that the debate is getting mired in confusion and that some careful dis-
tinctions drawn from the work of the linguist Ferdinand de Saussure will
help to keep research moving in a productive direction. He illustrates this
with reference to reciprocal relations in Paul’s letter to the Romans.
An explosion of research has recently provided us with a much richer
understanding of life in the Roman capital during the reign of Nero. Draw-
ing upon this new information, James Harrison argues that Paul’s depiction
of death in Rom 5 should be understood in relation to the “culture of death”
14 Collegeville: Liturgical Press, 2008.

paul and his social relations: an introduction 5
that was present in Rome under Nero. He points out that social factors were
involved in the shaping of Roman attitudes towards death and that they are
implicated in Paul’s counter-cultural understanding of death.
In an essay that investigates both Paul’s letters and Acts, Sean Adams
explores the nature of Paul’s relationship with Luke. After evaluating vari-
ous lines of evidence, Adams concludes that the “we” passages in Acts do
entail a purported relation between the author of Acts and Paul, but that
it would be unwise to conclude prematurely that this implicates a histori-
cal relation of some kind between the author of Acts, the author of Luke’s
Gospel, and the Luke mentioned in Paul’s letters.
An ever-present question in biblical studies is: “Who wrote Hebrews?”
Andrew Pitts and Josh Walker think that this is a badly formulated
question. They propose instead that we must ask two questions: “Who
preached Hebrews?” and “Who edited and published Hebrews?” After
examining the ancient practice of stenography (i.e. the use of short-hand
in order to transcribe spoken language) and the publication of Greco-
Roman speeches, Pitts and Walker conclude that Hebrews is an oral text
that has been edited for written publication. Drawing upon the evidence
of Paul’s letters and Luke-Acts, they propose that Paul’s travelling com-
panion, Luke, first transcribed a Pauline prophetic discourse delivered
in a Diaspora synagogue and then subsequently polished the speech and
published it as a literary text.
Much has been written about Paul’s understanding of the church and
his status within the church as a geographically dispersed entity. Chris-
toph Stenschke, observing that these discussions have too often worked
only with passages that speak explicitly about “the church” (i.e. that con-
tain the phrase ἡ ἐκκλησία), has undertaken a survey of all the instances in
the Pauline corpus where Paul mentions believers who are not among his
addressees. Most importantly, Stenschke concludes that Paul did in fact
possess a very “translocal” understanding of the church, but he also raises
some interesting questions that warrant further investigation.
Paul’s complex discussion of idol food in 1 Cor 8:1–11:1 offers a fasci-
nating window into his relationship with the church in Corinth. Drawing
upon a detailed linguistic analysis of that discussion, Christopher Land
argues that interpreters have misunderstood the nature of Paul’s appeal
in 8:1–13. Whereas this text is traditionally regarded as an appeal for a
self-sacrificial accommodation to the sensitivities of insecure members of
the Corinthian church, Land proposes instead that Paul is urging the Cor-
inthians to separate themselves from any public association with idolatry
so that they do not hinder the proclamation of the gospel in Corinth.
The Lord’s Supper is crucial to the communal life of the Christian

church. Looking once again at Paul’s discussion of the Lord’s Supper in
1 Corinthians, Otis Coutsoumpos explains how Greco-Roman social con-
ventions affected the Corinthians’ practice of this important meal. He also
considers the various theological principles that Paul brings to bear on the
Corinthians’ behaviour.
Beginning with the Christ-hymn in Phil 2 and moving outward into
other Pauline texts, Mark Keown demonstrates that Paul’s approach to
social relations is consistently motivated by his Christology, particularly
by the example of humility that he sees in Jesus’ willingness to suffer
crucifixion. Everywhere that Paul engages with issues surrounding social
interaction, his behaviour and his instructions presume that people should
follow Jesus’ example.
In response to scholars who see power and manipulation in Paul’s
social relations, Drake Williams examines Paul’s description of Epaphro-
ditus as an example worthy of imitation (Phil 2:25–30). He finds that Paul
honours Epaphroditus for his willingness to suffer in the service of others.
This worthy behaviour stands in tension with Roman values operative in
Philippi, but it accords well with Paul’s gospel and his view of apostolic
ministry.
These essays provide an important entryway into discussion of Paul
and his social relations. Even within the brief scope of these essays, we
can see a number of important themes emerging, and particular passages
that provide important material for discussion of Paul’s social relations.
Such a volume as this, however, cannot hope to answer all of the ques-
tions raised by such a topic, even if we believe that these essays will make
serious contributions to this topic and ongoing discussion. A great deal of
work remains to be done as we seek to better understand the social reali-
ties that shaped Paul or were shaped by him. We trust that the essays in
this volume represent steps forward in this endeavour, and that they will
inspire further scholarly interaction.
How Do We Define Pauline Social Relations?
Stanley E. Porter
Introduction
I do not think that anyone will deny that Paul had a variety of social rela-
tions. Whereas it may once have been the case that Paul was seen as a
lone pioneer of Christian missions, traveling alone to remote parts of the
Mediterranean world in search of converts, those days are now long gone.
We now realize that, even if Paul became the most prominent early Chris-
tian missionary, to the point of being considered by some the re-founder
or second founder of Christianity because of his important interpretation
of the work of Jesus Christ,1 he worked in concert with others. All of his
church letters reflect that his ministry involved working alongside of or
in conjunction with others—whether that took the form of including
co-senders of letters, the mentioning of others either with him or at his
letter’s destination, or even involvement in incidents, such as at Antioch
on the Orontes with Peter and others (mentioned in Gal 2)—who were
promoting the same cause. The personal letters likewise reveal a person
involved in ministry with others, as he instructs his recipients regarding
their own ministries. The book of Acts, which I take to be a reliable indica-
tor of the mission-focused lives of several early Christian pioneers (though
I do not use it extensively in this paper), shows Paul visiting cities with a
variety of traveling companions and always returning to both Jerusalem,
the center of the church, and Antioch, the center of his team’s missionary
endeavors. The Pauline missionary endeavor was not a single missionary
movement, but a missions cause, with Paul certainly its eventual leader
but not its only active participant.
To speak even in these terms, however, is to speak too broadly, as Paul
did not have the same kind of social relations with all of those with whom
1 The notion is attributed to William Wrede, Paul (trans. Edward Lummis; London:
Green, 1907 [1905]), 171. Wrede is, so far as I can tell, completely ignored by N.T. Wright,
What Saint Paul Really Said: Was Paul of Tarsus the Real Founder of Christianity? (Grand
Rapids: Eerdmans, 1997).
8 stanley e. porter
he was in contact. Whether we are reading his letters, ecclesial or per-

sonal, or following the narrative of Acts, we see that Paul entered into
a variety of social relations with a wide range of people. Some of them
were his constant companions, others were occasional companions, some
were those with whom he was in conflict, others were those who were
supportive of his work, while still others were those with whom he had
only local or immediate contact.2 Such a variety of scenarios then raises
the inevitable and obvious question of how it is that we determine and
assess the variety of Paul’s social relations. In this paper, I wish to examine
four major ways in which Paul’s social relations may be discussed: socio-
historical, historical-textual, ecclesial, and linguistic. By examining the
ways in which these relations are described and presented, I think that
we can gain insight into two areas—the first is appropriate methodologies
for discussing Paul’s social relations and the second is the nature, both in
their distinctiveness and commonalities, of these social relations.
Socio-Historical Relations
The most well-known approach to discussing Paul and his social relations
is the socio-historical one. This is not the place either to offer a full his-
tory of social-scientific approaches to the New Testament or to discuss
the major approaches and schools of thought. These have been provided
elsewhere in the length that is required.3 I think that here it is sufficient
to note that one of the major developments within New Testament
studies over the last forty or so years has been application of methods
2 I could also include Paul’s opponents, but I have dealt with them elsewhere, and
what I have to say below can, in many if not most ways, be applied to them as well. In
this series, see Stanley E. Porter, “Did Paul Have Opponents in Rome and What Were They
Opposing?” in Stanley E. Porter (ed.), Paul and His Opponents (PAST 2; Leiden: Brill, 2005),
149–68, as well as other essays in this volume.
3 Useful introductions, among others, include Derek Tidball, An Introduction to the Soci-
ology of the New Testament (Exeter: Paternoster, 1983); Bengt Holmberg, Sociology and the
New Testament: An Appraisal (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1990); Carolyn Osiek, What are They
Saying about the Social Setting of the New Testament? (rev. ed.; New York: Paulist, 1992);
Philip F. Esler, The First Christians in their Social Worlds: Social-Scientific Approaches to New
Testament Interpretation (London: Routledge, 1994); Stephen C. Barton, “Social-Scientific
Criticism,” in Stanley E. Porter (ed.), Handbook to Exegesis of the New Testament (NTTS 25;
Leiden: Brill, 1997), 277–89, esp. 277–81; in larger form in Barton, “Historical Criticism and
Social-Scientific Perspectives in New Testament Study,” in Joel B. Green (ed.), Hearing the
New Testament (2d ed.; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2010 [1995]), 34–64, esp. 40–64. Many of
these sources discuss the material treated in this section.
how do we define pauline social relations? 9
and approaches garnered from various sociological and anthropological

models, especially those that go back to Max Weber, Émile Durkheim,
and, more recently, Peter Berger and his social construct view of reality.4
Their theories regarding social motivation, organization, and conscious-
ness, including the relationship of society to the individual and the indi-
vidual to society, generated interest in a number of biblical scholars, who
sought to apply theories developed to explain modern sociological sys-
tems to ancient texts. One of the earliest to do so was Edwin Judge,5 but
he was more concerned with social history than social theorizing, so his
approach, while later picked up by some scholars (e.g. Martin Hengel),6
was largely ignored, until such scholars as Gerd Theissen and John Gager,
and later Howard Clark Kee, Bruce Malina, and Wayne Meeks, among
others, took a more social-historical approach, adapting and applying
sociological and anthropological theories to the complex and historically-
grounded New Testament.7 Since then, there has been a veritable barrage
of socio-historical studies of the New Testament, using historically-based
methods highly influenced by various sociological and related theories.8
4 See, for example, Émile Durkheim, The Elementary Forms of the Religious Life (trans.
Joseph Ward Swain; London: George Allen & Unwin, 1915); Max Weber, On Charisma and
Institution Building: Selected Papers (ed. S.N. Eistenstadt; Chicago: University of Chicago Press,
1968); Peter L. Berger and Thomas Luckmann, The Social Construction of Reality: A Treatise in
the Sociology of Knowledge (New York: Doubleday, 1966); Peter L. Berger, The Sacred Canopy:
Elements of a Sociological Theory of Religion (New York: Doubleday, 1967). On the develop-
ment of sociological theory, see David L. Westby, The Growth of Sociological Theory: Human
Nature, Knowledge, and Social Change (Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall, 1991).
5 E.A. Judge, The Social Pattern of Christian Groups in the First Century (London: Tyn-
dale, 1960). See also some of the essays in David M. Scholer (ed.), Social Distinctives of the
Christians in the First Century: Pivotal Essays by E.A. Judge (Peabody: Hendrickson, 2008)
and E.A. Judge, The First Christians in the Roman World: Augustan and New Testament
Essays (ed. James R. Harrison; WUNT 229; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2008).
6 Martin Hengel, The Charismatic Leader and his Followers (trans. J.C.G. Greig; Edin-
burgh: T&T Clark, 1981), and with Christoph Markschies, The ‘Hellenization’ of Judaea in the
First Century after Christ (trans. John Bowden; London: SCM Press, 1989), among others.
7 See, for example, Gerd Theissen, The Social Setting of Pauline Christianity: Essays on
Corinth (trans. John H. Schütz; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1982 [1974–1975]); John G. Gager,
Kingdom and Community: The Social World of Early Christianity (Englewood Cliffs, NJ:
Prentice-Hall, 1975); Howard C. Kee, Christian Origins in Sociological Perspective (London:
SCM Press, 1980); Bruce J. Malina, The New Testament World: Insights from Cultural Anthro-
pology (London: SCM Press, 1981); Wayne A. Meeks, The First Urban Christians: The Social
World of the Apostle Paul (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1983).
8 Still one of the best studies is Robin Scroggs, “The Sociological Interpretation of the
New Testament: The Present State of Research,” NTS 26.2 (1980): 180–96; repr. in his The
Text and the Times: New Testament Essays for Today (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1993), 46–63.
Other examples include: Bengt Holmberg, Paul and Power: The Structure of Authority in the
Primitive Church as Reflected in the Pauline Epistles (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1978); John K.
Chow, Patronage and Power: A Study of Social Networks in Corinth (JSNTSup 75; Sheffield:
10 stanley e. porter
Some of these studies have been far-ranging, while others have confined
themselves to individual books within the New Testament, and especially
individual Pauline letters, such as 1 Corinthians.
Many would point to the line of thought first broached by Theissen, and
then followed by Meeks and others, as the most productive area of socio-
historical investigation of the New Testament, as they have attempted to
come to terms with the complex social relations regarding Paul and his
churches. They have particularly taken on the task of defining the social
strata within the ancient world, as reflected within early Christianity. This
was not necessarily a task new to them, as earlier scholars such as Adolf
Deissmann had also tackled related topics.9 Nevertheless, they were the
ones to bring to bear sociological theory upon the problem. The propos-
als of especially Meeks have been met with numerous positive responses
that have endorsed his findings, while others, such as Justin Meggitt, Steve
Friesen, and, to some extent, Peter Lampe, have questioned his analysis.10
The line of thought that Meeks has championed, first in his book enti-
tled The First Urban Christians published in 1983 and then in a number
of other related works,11 and celebrated in a volume that re-assesses his
work twenty-five years later in 2008,12 has been called the “new consensus”
JSOT Press, 1992); David Horrell, The Social Ethos of the Corinthian Correspondence: Interests
and Ideology from 1 Corinthians to 1 Clement (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1996); Trevor J. Burke,
Family Matters: A Socio-Historical Study of Kinship Metaphors in 1 Thessalonians (JSNT-
Sup 247; London: T&T Clark International, 2003); Philip F. Esler, Conflict and Identity in
Romans: The Social Setting of Paul’s Letter (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2003); Reidar Aasgaard,
‘My Beloved Brothers and Sisters!’ Christian Siblingship in Paul (JSNTSup 265; London: T&T
Clark International, 2004); Robert S. Dutch, The Educated Elite in 1 Corinthians: Education
and Community Conflict in Graeco-Roman Context (JSNTSup 271; London: T&T Clark Inter-
national, 2005); Atsuhiro Asano, Community-Identity Construction in Galatians: Exegeti-
cal, Social-Anthropological and Socio-Historical Studies (JSNTSup 285; London: T&T Clark
International, 2005); Steven J. Friesen, Daniel N. Schowalter, and James C. Walters (eds.),
Corinth in Context: Comparative Studies on Religion and Society (Leiden: Brill, 2010).

9 G. Adolf Deissmann, Light from the Ancient East: The New Testament Illustrated by
Recently Discovered Texts of the Graeco-Roman World (trans. Lionel R.M. Strachan; London:
Hodder and Stoughton, 1927).
10 Justin J. Meggitt, Paul, Poverty and Survival (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1998); Steven J.
Friesen, “Poverty in Pauline Studies: Beyond the So-called New Consensus,” JSNT 26.3
(2004) 323–61 (with two responses); Peter Lampe, From Paul to Valentinus: Christians at
Rome in the First Two Centuries (trans. Michael Steinhauser; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2003
[1989]) (the shortcoming of Lampe’s treatment is that it marshals much data but lacks the
appropriate conceptual framework).
11 Wayne A. Meeks, The Moral World of the First Christians (New Haven: Yale University
Press, 1986) and The Origins of Christian Morality: The First Two Centuries (New Haven: Yale
University Press, 1993).
12 Todd D. Still and David G. Horrell (eds.), After the First Urban Christians: The Social-
Scientific Study of Pauline Christianity Twenty-Five Years Later (London: T&T Clark Inter-
national, 2009).
(as opposed to the “old consensus” of Deissmann and others) regarding

social structure in early Christianity. In this essay, I wish to focus upon
Meeks’s treatment of the social strata of Pauline Christianity.
In an important chapter devoted to social levels in Pauline Christianity,13
Meeks traces the discussion back to Celsus and forward to the present
before discussing three major types of evidence that figure into his assess-
ment. These three types of evidence are: means of measuring social strati-
fication, prosopographic evidence, and indirect evidence.
Meeks first acknowledges his indebtedness to a number of preceding
investigators. Celsus himself was interested in the fact that Christianity
appealed to the socially disenfranchised. However, more serious inves-
tigation of the topic can be traced to Deissmann, who drew correlations
between early Christianity and the documentary papyri, which he saw as
representing the common koine language of the time and showing that
Paul and his churches came from the lower classes. Meeks notes other
scholars who explored this topic since, including the following (besides
some already mentioned): Floyd Filson, who saw a cross-section of con-
temporary society represented in the church; Judge, who emphasized
upper classes; Robert M. Grant, who also saw the influence of the upper
classes; Abraham Malherbe, who assessed the evidence for the general
Pauline church to be higher than the lower classes typically identified;
and Theissen, who identified a mixed and stratified early Church.14 It is
into this mix of opinion that Meeks steps.
Meeks’s first task is to evaluate what is meant by the identification of
people as belonging to high and low strata of society. Meeks, following
Moses Finley (who follows Weber), notes three means of ranking in the
ancient world: class, ordo, and status.15 He finds the first two unhelpful,
as the first simply refers to economics and the second to fixed Roman
legal categories. Therefore, Meeks treats the topic of status as helpful in
describing the early Pauline church. To do so, however, he recognizes
that the task is not simply that of placing a single individual on a simple
continuum and thereby determining status. There are many different
13 Meeks, First Urban Christians, 51–73.

14 Floyd V. Filson, “The Significance of the Early House Churches,” JBL 58 (1939): 109–12;
Robert M. Grant, Early Christianity and Society: Seven Studies (New York: Harper & Row,
1977); Abraham J. Malherbe, Social Aspects of Early Christianity (Baton Rouge: Louisiana
State University Press, 1977); Gerd Theissen, Social Reality and the Early Christians: Theol-
ogy, Ethics, and the World of the New Testament (trans. Margaret Kohl; Minneapolis: For-
tress, 1992).
15 Moses I. Finley, The Ancient Economy (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1973),
35–61.
d eterminers of status in the ancient world, by which a person is measured.

These include at least the following that Meeks mentions: power, occupa-
tion and its prestige, income, wealth, education, knowledge, religious and
ritual purity, family status, ethnic-group status, local-community status,
and others. However, even with these variables it is not simply a matter
of determining one’s status in regard to each and then finding some aver-
age of one’s position, as each of these variables differs in relative signifi-
cance as measured against various perceived and real measures, and how
one relates to each. Instead, Meeks states that one must recognize the
“multidimensionality of stratification.”16 Various configurations of one’s
multidimensional status indicators result in different types of behavior
in response as well. For determining the status of those in the Pauline
churches, Meeks lists the following indicators: “ethnic origins, ordo, citi-
zenship, personal liberty, wealth, occupation, age, sex, and public offices
or honors,”17 as well as immediate context of each, that is, the social loca-
tion in which each is exercised.
The second avenue of exploration is prosopography. Beginning with
sixty-five people mentioned in the Pauline letters, Meeks narrows this
down by various means (e.g. Paul had no first-hand acquaintance with
the person, such as some mentioned in Rom 16). He determines that there
are sixteen for which there are no clear indications of social status. The
remaining thirty people have some indicators. These include those with
Latin names (e.g. Achaicus in 1 Cor 16:17), one of whom may also have been
a Jew (Lucius in Rom 16:21), one with the profession of physician (Luke in
Col 4:14), another with some professional training (Tertius in Rom 16:22,
as scribe) and a few with Greek names (e.g. Euodia and Syntyche in Phil
4:2–3). There are some who may have had some financial means or access
to such means through their masters, as indicated by their travels (e.g.
Ampliatus in Rom 16:8, whom Paul had known in the east). There are
also a number of individuals about whom more specific information is
known. These include: Gaius (1 Cor 1:14; Rom 16:23), with some wealth;
Crispus (1 Cor 1:14), with a position of prestige in the synagogue; Eras-
tus (Rom 16:23), an important civil official; Prisca and Aquila (1 Cor 16:19;
Rom 16:3–5), artisans with relatively significant wealth; Onesimus and
Philemon (Phlm 10, 11), with one a slave and the other a wealthy patron
and probably owner of several slaves; Phoebe (Rom 16:1–2), a patron of the
church; Apollos (1 Cor 16:12; Acts 18:24), one rhetorically trained and with
16 Meeks, First Urban Christians, 54.

some wealth; as well as possibly some others mentioned in Acts. Meeks

concludes that there is not enough evidence for the kind of empirical
study demanded by modern sociology, but that there are some patterns
that have emerged from his study.
Meeks then supplements what he has found above with indirect evi-
dence. This includes mention of Caesar’s household (Phil 4:22), some who
were slaves and slaveholders within the Pauline community (addressed
in the Pauline Haustafeln), paraenesis addressed to craftsmen, passages
that make reference to money, including the collection for Jerusalem
(1 Cor 16:1–4), references to poverty but also to support of his ministry
(1 Cor 16:6), use of fiscal terminology including commercial transactions
and receipts (Phlm 17), conflicts based upon social stratification (e.g. over
the Lord’s Supper in 1 Cor 11:17–34), and issues regarding gender and status
(1 Cor 11:2–16; 14:33b–36).
In conclusion, Meeks determines that, despite evidence that is incom-
plete and limited by the circumstances, and that certainly cannot be sta-
tistically analyzed as a modern sociologist might wish, there are some
converging lines of evidence that indicate that the extremes of the social
scale are not present (the aristocracy and the destitute) in the Pauline
community, but that there is evidence of the intermediate levels. These
include slaves, craftsmen, traders, and some with some wealth. There is
also evidence of divergence within the social strata, as indicated by loca-
tion and other factors, thus some freed slaves who have advanced socially
and economically. Thus, Meeks concludes with Malherbe that the Pauline
churches “generally reflected a fair cross-section of urban society.”18
This is not the place to enter into the wider discussion of whether
Meeks is right or not, and whether the Pauline churches were exactly as
he concludes, or whether they were socially stratified in diverging ways.
I wish to note here simply that there are a number of dissenting opin-
ions that have been formed both before and since Meeks’s study. Judge
thought that there was a far larger number of members of significant and
influential households, while Gager followed the older, well-established
view of Deissmann in seeing the church made up of the lower social
levels.19 The views of Malherbe, Theissen, and especially Meeks have held
sway for some time. There are three major studies, however, that have

19 See Bruce W. Longenecker, “Socio-Economic Profiling of the First Urban Christians,”
in After the First Urban Christians, 36–59, here 38–39, who lists others who hold to such
a position.
argued against this “new consensus.” The first major voice to do so was
Meggitt. His approach, however, was less about putting forward a positive
approach than questioning the previous work of Theissen and Meeks. He
takes what he calls an approach from below,20 in which he distinguishes
the elites from the other 99% of the populace, and then finds the same
evidence as examined by previous scholars to be amendable to categori-
zation within the 99% who were barely at subsistence level. Friesen puts
forward a more theoretically nuanced approach in several ways. He first
analyzes the socio-economic factors in place that led to the emergence of
the old consensus, he then accepts the notion of poverty that he contends
has been neglected in previous studies, and he finally uses this to differ-
entiate a multivariate poverty scale.21 However, when it comes to inter-
preting the evidence, his approach is similar to that of Meggitt, in which
his poverty-driven perspective is found to be the best explanation of the
data. In two recent studies, Bruce Longenecker has attempted to medi-
ate the discussion.22 He finds Friesen’s poverty scale—renamed economic
scale—to be indispensable, but on the basis of comparing other broad
studies of Roman economics wishes to revise it so that there is a larger
middle sector. He continues to hold to this revised economic framework
in a later article as part of the commemoration of Meeks’s work, while
admitting that prosopographic analysis has been reasonably consistent
among social-historians, with some tending to find the evidence repre-
senting higher classes and others lower ones. Longenecker also considers
Paul’s rhetorical construction of the economic levels of his communities,
by which he means that he examines language such as “work with my
hands” in light of its contextual use, rather than simply assuming that this
kind of statement represents a particular economic status.
My analysis of the socio-historical approach is limited to several brief
observations. The first is that all socio-historical models seem to take
the same external or extrinsic approach to data. The data are apparently
fairly well agreed upon, such as prosopographic evidence, and even the
20 Meggitt, Paul, 14–15.

21 Friesen, “Poverty,” 341. He updates and slightly revises some of his findings in Walter
Scheidel and Steven J. Friesen, “The Size of the Economy and the Distribution of Income
in the Roman Empire,” JRS 99 (2009): 61–91.
22 Bruce W. Longenecker, “Exposing the Economic Middle: A Revised Economy Scale
for the Study of Early Urban Christianity,” JSNT 31.3 (2009): 243–78, and “Socio-Economic
Profiling.” His conclusions are slightly revised and greatly expanded along similar lines in
Longenecker, Remember the Poor: Paul, Poverty, and the Greco-Roman World (Grand Rapids:
Eerdmans, 2010) (although I find many of his conclusions regarding Paul unwarranted).
interpretations are reasonably agreed. Whereas this agreement may at first

appear to present a body of solid evidence, the limited and ad hoc nature
of the evidence makes it difficult to interpret the broader goals of this
project. Nevertheless, the evidence remains external, that is, it represents
an attempt to identify a framework of understanding that is only loosely
linked to the texts themselves, but relies upon extrinsic frameworks of
analysis. The second observation is that the individual instances are not
treated for their individual significance, but as pieces of a composite pic-
ture. In other words, the value of the individual examples is only as part of
the aggregated whole. The third is that the major variable in the analysis is
not the data but the framework in which the interpretations of these data
are placed. The fourth observation concerns the questionable basis of the
construction of the framework. The entire formulation is based on a con-
junction of a variety of factors, including modern sociological frameworks
regarding status and economics, propensities to privilege certain strata
of society over others, and the hypotheses and presuppositions of other
scholars of the ancient world, in particular classicists and their views of
social stratification (e.g. de St. Croix and Finley, among many others).23
There seems to be a consistent overall estimation of the socio-economic
stratification of the ancient world, even by those who had previously used
the binary approach that saw all in terms of poverty and wealth. No doubt
this has been helped by a more nuanced framework. Nevertheless, the
question remains as to whether these are the appropriate and suitable
categories for analysis. A fifth observation concerns the population of
the categories within the poverty or economic scale, or any other suit-
able heuristic device. Admittedly, the data are not sufficient for statistical
analysis, but even if the analyses of individual instances are agreed upon
it is difficult to know whether estimations of their representativeness are
at all accurate. It appears that one’s propensity for the impoverished or
the elite has as much to say about the population of the categories as any
statistical data (or lack of it). This is most readily seen in Longenecker’s
modification of the economic scale. I may agree with his distribution,
but this is not formulated upon the basis of ancient evidence so much
as extrapolations from the previous estimations of other scholars, who
themselves are limited by the same evidence.
23 G.E.M. de Ste. Croix, Class Struggle in the Ancient Greek World (London: Duckworth,
1981).
The socio-historical approach to Paul’s social relations has no doubt

identified a number of important issues to consider in such an analysis—
that there are various factors to consider when estimating the socio-
economic world of Paul and his churches. However, if one’s goal is to
provide a robustly defensible distribution of the population within these
various strata, one is limited by the external evidence and must rely heav-
ily upon scholarly hypothesis. There are severe limitations to the applica-
bility and transferability of such results.
Historical-Textual Relations
The socio-historical approach to examining Pauline social relations remains

the most widely developed and discussed. This is no doubt because of its
purported scientific framework, its utilization of sociological models, and
its addressing of economic questions. However, there are other models—
even if they are not nearly so well known or widely used—that address
the question of the nature of Paul’s social relations. One of these identifies
and treats them as historical-textual relations.
In 1985, F.F. Bruce wrote a book that is now widely neglected and rela-
tively unread and unused in New Testament studies. Entitled The Pau-
line Circle, its book jacket says that Bruce “surveys the biblical evidence,
places it against its first century background, and examines the relation-
ships that underlie the New Testament references.”24 Within the book,
among the seventy or so people that he says the New Testament men-
tions, Bruce treats the following ones: Ananias and the other disciples at
Damascus, Barnabas, Silas or Silvanus, Timothy from Lystra, Luke, Pris-
cilla and Aquila, Apollos, Titus from Antioch, Onesimus of Colossae, Mark
the cousin of Barnabas, as well as Paul’s co-workers and his hosts and
hostesses. Whereas some other studies of Paul’s social relations (such as
by Meeks to some extent and even more so by Meggitt) tend to down-
play the significance of the relations mentioned in Acts, Bruce forthrightly
(though not unapologetically, as he mentions his article in BJRL where he
defends the Paul of Acts as the real Paul)25 includes those mentioned in
the book of Acts.
Each chapter in this treatment is only about seven or eight pages in
length, which is understandable in a book of only slightly more than one-
24 F.F. Bruce, The Pauline Circle (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1985).

25 F.F. Bruce, “Is the Paul of Acts the Real Paul?” BJRL 58 (1975–1976): 282–305.
hundred pages. Each chapter also follows a somewhat similar format and
style of analysis. I will briefly summarize two examples, one from Acts and
the other from the Pauline letters, to give a sense of what is included. My
first example is Barnabas, the Levite from the island of Cyprus.26 Bruce
notes that the early church would have debated whether Barnabas was in
Paul’s circle or whether Paul was in Barnabas’s, because of the nature of
their work together. Whereas Ananias, the first person treated by Bruce,
came to Paul’s aid when he was in need in Damascus, Barnabas performed
a similar service for Paul in Jerusalem once he had become a follower of
Jesus. Bruce takes it that Barnabas had previous knowledge of Paul but
that he was also trusted by the apostles. In fact, Bruce notes, there is noth-
ing but good said of Barnabas. He is depicted as a generous donor to the
church, a man of property despite being a Levite (perhaps he owned a
burial plot?), and an encouragement to others. Barnabas played a signifi-
cant role in the church at Antioch on the Orontes, which as a strong Jewish
city became a thriving Christian community under Barnabas’s leadership.
However, at one point, Barnabas realized he needed the help of others and
remembered Paul. After working together for a year, during which time
followers of Jesus came to be called Christians, Barnabas and Paul took a
gift to Jerusalem, and were entrusted with missionary service. This first
trip included a visit to Barnabas’s home, Cyprus. Upon their return, they
reported the results of the trip, and then went to Jerusalem to discuss the
situation in which Gentiles were being incorporated into the church. This
was precipitated by events in Antioch, where Peter, followed by Barnabas,
had refused to eat with Gentiles, to which Paul objected (Gal 2:11–14). Paul
seems to have lost confidence in Barnabas, if not over this incident, then
when John Mark, his cousin, wished to rejoin them on a return visit to the
churches. Paul’s last reference to Barnabas is in 1 Cor 9:6, where he com-
mends him as one who also works for a living. Bruce concludes by noting
qualities in Barnabas that commended him to Paul.
The second example, from the Pauline letters, is Onesimus from the
city of Colossae.27 Onesimus is mentioned at the end of Colossians as
accompanying Tychicus, presumably carrying the letter to the Colossians
(Col 4:17–19). However, he is best understood and known from the letter
that Paul wrote to Philemon regarding Onesimus. Onesimus was a slave
in the household of Philemon, and, Bruce thinks, presumably knew some-
thing of Christianity, as his master was a Christian who used his house for
26 Bruce, Pauline Circle, 15–22.

meetings of other Christians. Although the circumstances are not known,

Onesimus became estranged from his master—perhaps through deser-
tion or even fraud—and sought a letter from Paul to restore the relation-
ship. He found Paul, in prison, probably in Rome because Rome was far
away from Colossae, rather than in Ephesus, which was much closer. In
any event, Onesimus himself became a Christian and Paul valued his help
while he was imprisoned, but Paul knew that Philemon and Onesimus had
to be reconciled as fellow believers. There was not much Paul could actu-
ally do to compel any elements of the situation, and the primary goal was
not fulfillment of Roman law regarding the return of a runaway slave. For
Paul, this was a matter of Christian brotherhood. Through his delicately
worded letter to Philemon, Paul asks for Philemon to return Onesimus
to him for further service. The question remains of whether Philemon
acceded to Paul’s request. Bruce thinks so, on the basis of the letter being
preserved and even canonized. It is possible that the later Bishop of Ephe-
sus in around 110 c.e. was this same Onesimus, as Ignatius’s letter to him
is full of allusions to the language of the letter to Philemon.
Before concluding this description, let me list some of those that Bruce
lists in his chapters on Paul’s co-workers and hosts and hostesses.28 Bruce
notes that T.R. Glover in his book on Paul had noted Paul’s propensity
for use of the Greek preposition συν as a prefix, especially for a word
such as σύνεργος or co-worker.29 Some of these co-workers include: Prisca
and Aquila, Timothy, Titus, Mark, Luke, Aristarchus, Epaphras, Androni-
cus and Junia, Philemon, Epaphroditus, Clement, Euodia and Syntyche,
Urbanus (with a name that links him to the city of Rome), Jesus surnamed
Justus, Demas (shortened from Demetrius, Demosthenes or Democritus),
Tychicus, Tertius his scribe, Phoebe, Trypphaena and Tryphosa, and One-
siphorus. Hosts and hostesses (besides those already mentioned) include
Judas of Damascus, Lydia, Jason (a householder), and Gaius (who hosted
the Corinthian church, presumably in a large house as a well-off Corin-
thian, possibly even Gaius Titius Justus of Acts 18:7, with the kind of name
a Roman would bear).
Bruce takes a markedly different approach to describing Pauline social
relations than do those who employ socio-historical models. There are
no doubt those who will view them as radically different stances, with
the socio-historical approach full of scientific rigour and precision, while

29 T.R. Glover, Paul of Tarsus (London: SCM Press, 1925), 178–83.
the historical is grounded simply in the evidence as presented by the text

as interpreted within its historical context. That certainly could be seen
as one view. However, there is another perspective that is worth mention-
ing. One of the reasons that I mention above the lists of co-workers and
hosts and hostesses, as well as the complete list of those treated by Bruce,
is to show explicitly the common evidential basis. The names that are
used in the socio-historical approach are the same names that are used
in Bruce’s historical-textual account. Of course, one may say, this is the
same body of evidence available to any New Testament interpreter. Pre-
cisely. The difference is not in the evidence, but in how that evidence is
analyzed and then interpreted. In those regards, we also see a number of
commonalities. Bruce’s analysis of these figures describes them in relation
to their textual context (as does the socio-historical account) and then
interprets their relationship to the Pauline context on the basis of what
can be secured from such analysis (as does the socio-historical account).
Thus, when Bruce sees that a person has a Latin or Greek name, or is
described with some type of social or economic status, he makes observa-
tions regarding their status within the Roman world of the first century.
What Bruce is lacking is the socio-economic framework in which to place
such interpretive results, such as a poverty or economic scale. However,
as we have already observed above, this entire framework is probably the
most subjective and least well-grounded element of the socio-historical
approach. As a result, both Bruce and the socio-historical analysts are per-
forming similar exegetical and interpretive tasks in describing the body of
evidence available.
In the approach taken by Bruce, however, there is one further major
difference from the socio-historical approach worth noting. Above, I have
indicated that the socio-historical approach takes an external or extrinsic
approach. That is, even though it examines instances within the New Tes-
tament, it does so for the purpose of focusing upon what is outside of the
text itself and constructing a model of the larger socio-economic strata.
Bruce’s goal is not external or extrinsic so much as internal or intrinsic.
Bruce’s comments about questions of socio-economic status—surpris-
ingly in close harmony with those of the socio-historical commentators
in both selection of people and the types of comments made, especially
considering his purpose compared to theirs—are not made primarily to
reconstruct en masse the socio-economic world of early Christianity but
to describe the individuals who are in social relation with Paul. Whereas
the socio-historical method is concerned with composite numbers, using
the individuals as a means of populating such a composite picture, Bruce

concentrates upon the individuals involved and their relations to Paul.
Their corporate or societal connections, while interesting, are secondary
to the way that they interacted and socialized with Paul. As a result, Bruce
takes the textual data seriously by attempting to see it, though without a
larger framework, as indicating both social and personal relations. The
individual had a relationship with the surrounding historical culture,
whether holding a particular position or maintaining a particular status
or engaging in a particular trade, while also maintaining a particular rela-
tionship with Paul. The dynamic of the relationship involves the complex
nature of this relationship, in which the individual brings a multi-faceted
social, economic, religious, etc., status to bear on Paul’s also complex
context.
There are numerous strengths to Bruce’s approach, in that he appreci-
ates the textual value of the instances he cites, utilizing both Paul’s let-
ters and Acts. He attempts to describe the status of the individual and
the dynamic involved in how that person socialized with Paul in various
periods of his ministry. The result is a fuller personal description of the
person as an individual, because the individual characteristics of the per-
son are described, especially in their relation to Paul. However, there are
also a number of limitations to such an approach. One of these is that it
does not provide the kind of methodologically grounded account as the
socio-historical approach. However, that may not be a fair criticism, as
that is not Bruce’s goal, or the goal of this type of historical approach.
The goal is not to lose sight of the individual within the aggregate, but
to appreciate the individual in relation to other individuals, in this case
Paul. A more serious shortcoming is that the criteria by which one deter-
mines the significance of the individual features of the person and their
relationship to Paul are not firmly established. It is not clear whether one
determines the significance of the person on the basis of the number of
times that the person is cited or the number of verses devoted to this per-
son, or whether it is on some other basis, such as perceived significance
for the Pauline mission. As a result, much of the data is taken on a flat
plane, that is, one accumulates statements as if they are of similar value,
such as statements regarding social, economic, and civil status, alongside
statements regarding religious function and relationship to Paul. It is very
difficult, therefore, to say whether one particular social relationship was
more or less valuable than another. As with much qualitative criticism, it
is difficult to determine how to interpret the evidence and what value to
give to it.
Ecclesial Relations
Pauline social relations can also be examined in terms of ecclesial rela-

tions. In previous scholarship, this has taken two different forms of analy-
sis. One of the forms of analysis is to examine supposedly equivalent social
models or what Longenecker calls “affiliation attractions.”30 These include
the household, voluntary associations, diaspora synagogues, philosophical
and rhetorical schools, and alternative societal models (the first four used
by Meeks and the last proposed by Horsley as a corrective).31 There has
been much discussion of the relations of these various societal models to
early Christianity. In Meeks’s treatment, he outlines their similarities and
differences, and then provides a discussion of the importance of language
in the formation of these groups. He discusses language of belonging and
language of separation, the former as a means of bringing people together
into common association and the latter as a means of distancing them-
selves from others from whom they wish to be excluded or whom they
wish to exclude. The goal is to create boundaries, often associated with
rituals and purity, in order to distinguish members from those who are
excluded and to create “autonomous institutions.”32 However, the Pauline
churches had, to use Meeks’s terms again, “gates within boundaries,”33 so
that they were not a community living in complete isolation but were
accessible to the surrounding culture. There is no doubt that more can be
said about the similarities and differences between these various social
organizations and the Pauline churches.
My purpose here, however, is not to discuss these types of social orga-
nizations, but the Pauline social relations that existed within the church.
Robert Banks has written an important book on Paul’s Idea of Community.34
Within this book, Banks shows knowledge of the wider discussion of the
growth of voluntary associations, whether they were for religious or civic
30 Longenecker, “Socio-Economic Profiling,” 52.

31 Meeks, First Urban Christians, 75–84; Richard A. Horsley, “Paul’s Assembly in Corinth:
An Alternative Society,” in Daniel N. Schowalter and Steven J. Friesen (eds.), Urban Religion
in Roman Corinth: Interdisciplinary Approaches (HTS 53; Cambridge: Harvard University
Press, 2005), 371–96. See also Edward Adams, “First-Century Models for Paul’s Churches:
Selected Scholarly Developments since Meeks,” in After the First Urban Christians, 60–78.
Richard Ascough (What are They Saying about the Formation of Pauline Churches? [New
York: Paulist, 1998]) includes the mystery religions as well, as does Banks (see below).
34 Robert Banks, Paul’s Idea of Community (rev. ed.; Peabody: Hendrickson, 1994). See
also Vincent P. Branick, The House Church in the Writings of Paul (Wilmington, DE: Glazier,
1989).
purposes, and how the Pauline social relationships within the church are
related to these other types of associations. However, he sees Paul, though
a person of his own time, as carving out a distinct type of organization
within the context of the world in which he lived. According to Banks,
the basis of Paul’s association is not the constricted freedom and sense of
alienation of the ancient world, but its radical freedom through Christ—
freedom that is different from that proposed by other Jewish or philo-
sophical groups of the ancient world. The ekklēsia (“church”), the term
used for this association of Christian believers (picking up the use of a
Greek word that applied to those gathered for a purpose), was applied
to local gatherings in homes of Christians that cut across all social, eco-
nomic, and status barriers. They did not have a regular schedule of meet-
ing, but gathered on occasion and sometimes in larger groups. Whereas
the word “church” was first applied to these local household gatherings,
it was later expanded by Paul to mean the heavenly membership of all
believers, who gather in particular local places. Paul used the language
of family and of the body to describe the church. At the time, there were
a variety of contextual expressions of the goal of the human life, but for
Paul the goal of the Christian life was mature knowledge through faith.
The edification of the members of the church takes place through the
exercise of various gifts and ministries, and is demonstrated through a
number of physical expressions, such as baptism, the laying on of hands,
the sharing of a common meal, the exchange of kisses, and the sharing of
possessions. These characteristics distinguish Pauline social relationships
from those of others. Whereas other associations were often designed for
and catered to a particular membership, Paul’s church was characterized
by what Banks calls “unity in diversity among the members.”35 This means
that the kinds of characteristics that often led to social stratification in
the ancient world—such as race, status, and gender distinctions—were
to be overcome within the Pauline church. These encompass the inclu-
sion of both Jews and Gentiles, the embracing of both the social elites
and the socially disadvantaged, and the equal and full membership of
women along with men. As a result, not only are these social stratifica-
tions supposed to be eliminated, but other traditional distinctions associ-
ated with religious cults are dissolved. These include distinctions between
the priesthood and laity, officials and ordinary people within the church,
and even holy and unholy people (all are called saints). The church is
35 Banks, Paul’s Idea, 109–17.

responsible to be an orderly gathering that looks out for the common

welfare, discipline, and growth of its members. The only distinction that
Paul recognizes, Banks believes, is that some are more mature than oth-
ers. Those who are mature—including those who work, serve, and help
others—are given particular tasks of service within the larger group. One
of Banks’s most interesting observations is that many of Paul’s co-workers
cut across the kinds of distinctions that one might otherwise expect in
such an association of people, dissolving the distinction between Jews and
Gentiles, slaves and free, and men and women.
Banks’s work is, as already intimated above, not unlike other works in
its treatment of Paul’s churches as a form of social relationship, and there-
fore as possibly like other voluntary associations within the ancient world.
The typical pattern noted in other works, however, is, first, to identify
those types of associations, then to determine their similarities to and
differences from the Pauline church, and finally to find the model that
most closely approximates the Pauline housechurch. As a result, there
have been a number of studies that have emphasized the close relation-
ship between Paul’s churches and varieties of voluntary associations,
although the other groups discussed above are all seen to have at least
some similarities to the church. There are a number of shortcomings
with this approach. One is that there have been various conceptions of
what associations should be used for comparison. The usual ones—the
household itself, voluntary associations, the synagogue, the rhetorical or
philosophical schools, or the mystery cults—all may have advocates, but
they all have clear shortcomings, whether in conception or practice. The
household is a place, not an organization, and its use falls victim to a
metaphorical miscorrespondence. Voluntary associations are simply too
many and too broad to provide a close correlation. The synagogue is sur-
prisingly distinct when one considers common roots of Christianity in
Judaism. Philosophical and rhetorical schools are a significantly different
type of organization by structure and purpose. Finally, mystery cults have
very few clear points of correlation, not least because of their secrecy and
arcane practices. In some ways, Horsley’s proposal of an alternative soci-
etal model, if one must choose one of those proposed above, is the most
inviting, but his focus upon it as an alternative political organization in
opposition to the Roman Empire is unconvincing. An alternative society it
indeed is, but one that is organized and socially constructed along entirely
different lines, which Banks rightly emphasizes.
There are other features of Banks’s approach that merit recognition,
as well as some weaknesses to be observed. Banks makes clear, both in
his presentation and in his direct responses, the differences between the
Pauline church and the various other proposed social organizations. In
most respects, Banks takes positions that would be widely held among
scholars, even if there are a few places where some would disagree with
him. Therefore, he is describing in full detail what amounts to a broad
consensus, when the Pauline church is described from the standpoint of
examination of the evidence within the New Testament. In that respect,
Banks’s approach is an (internal or intrinsic) ecclesial approach, by which
I mean that he examines the church as an entity in itself on the basis of the
New Testament, and in this case Pauline, evidence. He does not approach
the topic by correlating the church with an external model, as have oth-
ers. The result is a full and clear treatment of the church itself. However,
here is where there are a number of shortcomings. Banks’s approach
describes the overall ecclesial organism, but he often fails to note the
specific ways in which the social relations exist both within and without
this organization, and specifically how those involved relate to Paul as an
individual. Banks does treat Paul in regard to his authority, but most of
this discussion focuses upon those outside the church or examines Paul’s
function to instruct or guide the church. What is lacking is a discussion
of how Paul the individual relates to those individuals within the church,
in anything other than the broadest categories of ecclesial function. Part
of this may be because Banks wishes to dispense with categories of office,
and instead to treat only those of function or practice (although he does
not spend much time on these). However, that vital connection between
Paul and those within his churches is missing, that is, Paul’s social rela-
tions with those within his churches. The ultimate impression is that we
have defined the shell, or the house if you will, of the church, but that we
must still populate it with the real people who live within it. Lastly, Banks
speaks almost entirely of an idealized picture of the early church. Apart
from his recognition that not all believers are of equal maturity, there is
very little that comes to terms with the fact that at times Paul’s relations
with his churches, and by implication with those within these churches,
were strained and even on the brink of disaster. One needs to think only
of Corinth and the churches in Roman Galatia to recognize that discus-
sion of Pauline social relations demands more than how these relations
ideally existed, but how they functioned when Paul and his churches were
not in agreement. In such cases, one might legitimately ask, what are the
proper steps to take—by Paul and by those in the church? What elements
of unity are the first sacrificed in moments of disunity? How are such
moments adequately resolved, so that the church can continue its func-
tion, but, more than that, so that the personal relations can be adequately
and rightly restored? All of these are issues that are as central to the Pau-
line church and Paul’s social relations as any others.
Linguistic Relations
What I wish to propose here is that there is another means of discuss-

ing Pauline social relations that is significantly different from the three
approaches suggested above. Whereas this model does not attempt to
address each of the shortcomings of the above models, it does go a good
portion of the way to addressing, if not fully remedying, their failings. By
way of recapitulation, what we have observed is that some approaches to
Pauline social relations focus on external or extrinsic categories of analy-
sis, while others focus upon internal or intrinsic categories. The extrinsic
analysis uses individual instances in aggregate in order to estimate the
socio-economic stratification of the Pauline church. The internal analysis
appreciates the individual, but in both instances treated above has diffi-
culty in differentiating the evidence appropriately. The historical-textual
approach does not have a means of differentiating types of social factors,
while the ecclesial approach neglects one of the most important types of
social relations, those that are not harmonious.
As an alternative to the three methods discussed above, I wish to utilize
here a linguistic approach to defining Pauline social relations. There are
two major linguistic means by which social relations can be expressed,
including in Greek. One is by means of lexical choice, such as selection
of terms like “brother,” “sister,” “friend,” and the like.36 This is the basis of
most of the discussion regarding Paul’s social relations discussed so far.
Whether it is the socio-historical approach, historical-textual approach,
or ecclesial approach, although for each within their own context of dis-
cussion, the lexical choices are paramount in establishing social relations.
Thus, the socio-historical approach relies upon a number of descriptors for
each individual to establish their socio-economic status, such as reference
to their occupation, wealth, position—even though these data are then
sifted through a grid or framework such as the poverty or economic scale.
The historical-textual approach relies upon similar types of descriptors,
36 I note that a number of socio-historical studies utilize this approach. See also
Norman R. Petersen, Rediscovering Paul: Philemon and the Sociology of Paul’s Narrative
World (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1985).
analyzed within the context of the texts in which they are embedded.
The ecclesial approach relies upon such terminology, whether directly
attributed to a given individual or not, within the context of the overall
framework of the structure of the church. There is no dispute that such
terminology can be very important and can help to identify the functions
and even status of the individuals involved—more than that, such lexical
choice can not only identify but can appraise their relative role and value
within the discourse itself.37
The other major means of identification of social relations is syntactical.
One does not necessarily have to have specific lexical choice to indicate
personal relations, but one can interpret syntactical indicators to establish
and even appraise and evaluate social relations. In his letters, when Paul
speaks of those with whom he has social relations, he grammaticalizes ref-
erence to them—often with a full form such as a proper noun (name) or
noun group, sometimes with a reduced form such as a pronoun or other
oblique construction, or even with an implied form such as verbal mor-
phology. He does not need to select a particular kind of lexeme, such as
one indicating a title or position or function, to indicate the role that the
individual plays in the social relations of the discourse. The syntax alone
can provide this information. Often, of course, the two work together,
in which case both lexis and syntax function simultaneously to indicate
Paul’s social relation. This intrinsic means of analysis, while it may not
indicate the broad scope of the socio-economic composition of the Pau-
line church (as noted above, the socio-historical method may not provide
this either) or indicate an extrinsic set of values, does provide evidence
of how Paul as author wishes to inscribe his social relations within his
text. My contention is that we can learn significant things about how Paul
views his social relations by how he chooses to inscribe these, using both
lexis and syntax, within his letters. The rest of this section is an explora-
tion of some of the ways that Paul does this.38
37 I am invoking appraisal theory in my analysis, although not with the full systemic
rigour of others. I am using the term in the simple sense of grammatical and lexical indica-
tions of types of positive or negative appraisal of participants, whether by means of attitude,
engagement or graduation. See Susan Hunston and Geoff Thompson (eds.), Evaluation in
Text: Authorial Stance and the Construction of Discourse (Oxford: Oxford University Press,
2000) and James R. Martin and Peter R.R. White, The Language of Evaluation: Appraisal in
English (New York: Palgrave, 2005), with the best work on appraisal in the New Testament
now James D. Dvorak, “The Interpersonal Metafunction in 1 Corinthians 1–4: The Tenor of
Toughness” (unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, McMaster Divinity College, 2012).
38 I am here discussing especially the interpersonal metafunction of language. See
M.A.K. Halliday with Christian M.I.M. Matthiessen, An Introduction to Functional Gram-
mar (3d ed.; London: Arnold, 2004), 60–63 and passim.
Letter Salutations as Encoding Pauline Social Relations

The first category that I wish to explore is the salutation of the letters.
The standard Greco-Roman letter is encapsulated in this construction:
“A (nominative) to B (dative), greetings.”39 The Pauline letter follows this
pattern, with Paul and sometimes others as constituting the A part. The
nominative case40 is semantically purely nominal, which semantic fea-
ture motivates its agentive function, whether as freestanding (nominative
absolute) or as the subject of a finite predicator. Paul, as the letter writer,
is inscribed in the nominative case. Those who are also inscribed in the
nominative case, often referred to as his co-senders (such as Sosthenes or
Timothy), have the same ostensive agentive status as does Paul.41 There-
fore, their social relationship is bound together, because of their shared
initiatory function of the letter.
The letter recipients, or the B part of the salutation, are inscribed in
the dative case. The dative case is semantically the case of relation. This
is appropriate for the salutation of the letter, and clearly reinforces what
I am trying to show here—that syntax can be employed to indicate social
relations. In all of his letters, whether addressed to churches or to indi-
viduals, Paul selects his recipients for mention in the dative case, or the
case of relation. The use of the dative case, as opposed to the nominative,
makes the element grammaticalized in the dative a recipient, whether
directly or indirectly, of the process instigated by the grammatical subject
(the element in the nominative). All of this is expressed in the salutation
without a finite predicator but through the syntax of case relations. The
letter is written by Paul (and possibly others) to a recipient, one who is
by grammatical status the recipient in relation to the agent, a position
semantically demoted to that of the element in the nominative.
Such relative grammatical status may be reinforced by additional
word groups, using descriptors (involving lexical choice) of the senders
or recipients, or both. For example, in Paul’s letter to all those in Rome,
Paul describes himself using a number of groups of lexemes: “servant of
Christ Jesus,” “called apostle” (or called, apostle), “circumscribed for the
39 On letter openings, see Sean A. Adams, “Paul’s Letter Opening and Greek Epistolog-
raphy: A Matter of Relationship,” in Stanley E. Porter and Sean A. Adams (eds.), Paul and
the Ancient Letter Form (PAST 6; Leiden: Brill, 2010), 33–56.
40 On the meaning of the cases, see Stanley E. Porter, Idioms of the Greek New Testament
(2d ed.; London: Continuum, 1994), 81–100.
41 The issue of whether the co-senders are to be considered co-authors is beside the point
that I am discussing here. I am concerned with how their status is grammaticalized.
gospel of God,” which last group is further expanded. As a result, there is

significant semantic bulk in Romans—to the point that one might argue
that Paul has encapsulated a mini-theology including God, Son, and
Spirit—in the description of the sender himself. Several of the descrip-
tors of Paul are semantically weighted—whereas being a “servant” would
have conveyed negative appraisal of his role, the fact that he is a servant
of Christ Jesus reverses this status; a called apostle is not just one sent by
God but one specifically called for this task, with the two words reinforc-
ing the element of Paul being God’s messenger; and his circumscription
is implied to be by God for the purpose of promoting God’s good news.
The mini-theology also contains numerous positive appraisal statements,
with reference to the seed of David, son of God, power, spirit of holiness,
“our Lord,” etc. The Romans themselves are also lexically enhanced with
positive appraisal. They are called “beloved of God” and “called holy ones.”
However, their semantic bulk, with only two descriptors and not nearly
so much enhancement, is not nearly as powerful or forceful as Paul’s
opening.
A reading of Paul’s salutation of his letter to the Romans captures the
fact that he has established himself in a highly positive light as the bearer
of God’s good news, which consists of a powerful message regarding God,
his son from the line of David, and the Spirit’s power that resulted in res-
urrection, to those in Rome who are themselves assessed positively as
loved by God and called by him. This opening is then confirmed in the
rest of the letter. Paul, consciously establishing his ordained credentials,
wishes to write in a positive way to a church that he has desired to see for
some time. His syntax and lexis directly reflect this.
A similar pattern is found in the other Pauline letters. First Corinthi-
ans, using similar syntax, enhances and expands the description of Paul
with a lengthy word group (“called apostle of Christ Jesus through will
of God”) and a shorter description of Sosthenes simply as “brother.” Paul
and Sosthenes are on the same level as senders of the letter or instigators
of the communication, although they are clearly not appraised as equal,
with Paul the superior figure and Sosthenes seen as his brotherly sub-
ordinate. However, on the other hand, Paul expands upon the words of
address to the Corinthians. The words are addressed to the “church of God
in Corinth,” and then enhanced by two positive appraisals: “those made
holy in Christ Jesus” and “called saints,” along with all of the others who
call upon Jesus Christ in that place.
By contrast, in 2 Corinthians Paul addresses the letter’s recipients along
with Timothy, but the recipients are merely stated as the church of God in
Corinth, with all the saints in the whole of Achaia. Whereas the phrasing
of the recipients could be made even more compact, there is little mean-
ingful enhancement here. The book of Galatians is perhaps the starkest in
its presentation of the recipients. The words of address in Galatians define
Paul’s role as apostle, but the letter is simply addressed to the churches of
Galatia. This combined lack of enhancement and lack of a thanksgiving
(even though there is a significant expansion of the sender) indicates neg-
ative appraisal and negative social relations so far as Paul is concerned.42
I believe that the example of the salutation sets a pattern for grammati-
calized Pauline social relations. Paul expresses himself in the nominative
as the instigator of the action of writing, and his closest associates, when
they are functioning with him, are often expressed in the nominative in
the salutation as well. Those he is addressing, whether he approves or not,
are expressed in the dative case. This establishes the order and nature of
the Pauline social relationship with his recipients. In both parts of sender
and recipient, there are often indications of appraisal that reinforce
the syntax.
Letter Closings and the Encoding of Paul’s Associates

Paul often mentions associates in the closings of his letters.43 Attention to
the grammar of these mentions indicates something about how he views
the relevant social relations.
In Rom 16:1–16, Paul’s primary dialogue is with the Romans but includes
others, and so there is a three-way social interaction among Paul, the
Romans, and the various people he mentions.44 Romans 16:1–2 forms the
first unit. Paul begins in v. 1 by grammaticalizing himself as the subject
of the first person singular verb συνίστημι, with the Romans in the dative
and the new participant Phoebe in the accusative. Paul is the instigator,
42 It has recently been argued that the recipients in Galatia would not have known
that the letter lacked a thanksgiving (Robert E. Van Voorst, “Why Is There No Thanksgiv-
ing Period in Galatians? An Assessment of an Exegetical Commonplace,” JBL 129.1 [2009]:
153–72). They may not have known that they had missed out on a full Pauline thanksgiv-
ing or any other type of thanksgiving per se, but I think that they would have noticed the
abruptness of the words of address and the lack of anything resembling a health wish,
typical in letters of the time.
43 See Jeffrey A.D. Weima, “Sincerely Paul: The Significance of the Pauline Letter Clos-
ings,” in Paul and the Ancient Letter Form, 307–45, esp. 325–30.
44 I realize that some scholars do not include Rom 16 as part of the original letter.
I strongly doubt that they are right, but my point here is to discuss the way that Paul gram-
maticalizes his relations with those he mentions.
Phoebe the recipient of the commendation, and the Romans the ones
in relation to whom the commendation is given. The syntax establishes
a pecking order in the relations of Paul to Phoebe to the Romans. This
is reinforced by the description of Phoebe as a deacon in the churches
in Cenchrea. However, in v. 2, there is a shift in syntax that elevates the
Romans to ones who are called upon to receive and help Phoebe (still the
recipient, using the accusative and dative cases), before concluding the
verse by elevating Phoebe to the subject in the nominative case as one
who has been a great helper, even of Paul. Phoebe is lexically and syntacti-
cally important in relation to Paul, as she is given the same grammatical
status as Paul employs for himself. In Rom 16:3–16, a standard grammati-
cal pattern is used, whereby Paul instructs the Romans (the implied sub-
jects of the imperatives) to greet a number of people. These people are
grammaticalized in the accusative case as recipients of this action. In
this sense, the Romans are instructed to engage in a process toward a
variety of people, some of whom are more specifically defined by means
of descriptive groups or even other clauses. The Romans are by means
of this repeated pattern grammaticalized as Paul’s co-operative agents in
performing actions that he wishes. They are to perform them on a set of
people who have the same grammatical status. Yet within that grammati-
calized status, he differentiates each one of them by means of descriptors,
with some of them appraised as more important than others (e.g. Prisca
and Aquila in vv. 3–4, Epenetus in v. 5, Andronicus and Junia in v. 8 as
relatively important vs. Herodion in v. 11 as relatively unimportant). Those
with secondary clauses used in their descriptions are depicted with more
semantic weight than those for whom only word groups are used.
At the very end of Romans, in Rom 16:21–24, Paul changes his expres-
sion of social relations again. Whereas previously in Rom 16 he has made
it clear that those who are mentioned are subordinate in various ways and
to varying degrees, at the end of the letter he reverses this and elevates
a number of his co-workers by grammaticalizing them in the nominative
case. Thus, in Rom 16:21, Timothy is the subject of the finite predicator,
as well as being called a co-worker, along with Lucius, Jason, and Sopa-
tor being grammaticalized in the nominative and called “relatives.” In v.
22, Paul’s scribe, Tertius, is grammaticalized as the explicit subject of the
first person finite predicator, along with a descriptor of him. The same
applies to Gaius, Erastus, and Quartus in v. 23. The nominative grammati-
calization elevates all of these individuals to the same (if even temporary)
social status as Paul’s equals for the sake of conveying greetings to those
in Rome.
This is the most extended Pauline letter closing that includes mention
of people. Nevertheless, the means that Paul uses here are also to be found
to varying degrees (and on a much smaller scale) in other letters.
The Encoding of Pauline Friendship and Pauline Conflict

There are times within his letters when Paul addresses specific individuals
with whom he is in either collaboration or conflict.45 The book of Philip-
pians provides a suggestive example. In Phil 2:19 and 25, Paul says that he
hopes to send Timothy to the Philippians and considers it a necessity to
send Epaphroditus to them. Grammatically, these verses are constructed
with Paul as the implied subject of the first-person finite predicator, and
Timothy and Epaphroditus as the complements in the accusative case
as recipients of the sending. There is a clear hierarchy, in which Paul is
the primary instigator and Timothy and Epaphroditus are the second-
ary implementors of the process. However, in Phil 4:2, Paul says that he
beseeches Euodia and Syntyche. Paul is, as above, the implied subject
of the first-person finite predicator, and Euodia and Syntyche are the
complements expressed in the accusative case. More than that, Paul uses
language of Euodia and Syntyche that is often positive in his letters (e.g.
παρακαλέω, αὐτὸ φρονέω, ἐν κυρίῳ). Why is it that we understand the first
verse regarding Epaphroditus as positive and the second regarding Euodia
and Syntyche as negative?
There are a number of reasons for us to understand this social hierar-
chy. The first is the co-text. The co-text of Phil 2:19 and 25 includes men-
tion of Timothy, who is one of the co-senders of the letter and has been
grammaticalized on first reference as a social equal of Paul (Phil 1:1). The
grammatical constructions used of both are similar as well. The co-text
also indicates that the sending of the two men is a positive event. Both
Timothy and Epaphroditus are appraised highly with language that com-
mends them as Paul’s faithful co-workers. Timothy is described using fam-
ily language, indicating that Paul views him as a fictive family relative,
and Epaphroditus is regarded both as family and as a fellow combatant
for a common cause. The co-text for Euodia and Syntyche does not have
the same kind of co-textual features, as they are minimally described.
They are said to have contended with Paul, but nothing else of substance.
There is nothing like the praise reserved for Timothy and Epaphroditus.
45 There are other examples that could be cited as well, but I concentrate on two major
examples here.
The second reason is the way that the syntax in effect ranks the partici-
pants. In Phil 2:9 and 25, the Philippians are placed in the third position
in relation to Timothy and Epaphroditus. Paul is sending them to the Phi-
lippians, and the Philippians are to be recipients of these actions. In a
sense, the Philippians are grammaticalized as passive responders to the
actions of Paul toward his co-workers, who work on his behalf. However,
in the last passage, Phil 4:2, after Paul makes his statement regarding Euo-
dia and Syntyche, he then addresses the Philippians directly and asks for
their help. Paul says: “yes, I ask indeed you,” with the emphatic use of
καί, and then the vocative, “loyal yokefellow,” and a command for them
to help the two (note the use of fellowship language with the preposition
συν). In effect, Paul grammatically demotes Euodia and Syntyche, because
they are the problem, and elevates the Philippians into the position of
co-workers with Paul to help him in this situation that he cannot remedy
directly but that he can invoke their aid to fix.
Further examples could be given of how it is that Paul linguistically, by

means of syntax and lexis, constructs the social relations of his letters.
These constructions, which are found within the letters as Paul’s linguis-
tic creations, do not have a necessary correlative to positions or status
outside the letters themselves. We require the work of other methods of
discussion of Paul’s social relations to address these issues. However, what
we have discovered here is that Paul is able, through the use of syntax
and lexis, to present, evaluate, and even promote or demote his social
relations in ways that indicate their status and function, both in relation
to him and in relation to their place and role within the letters them-
selves. There are many more instances that would reward such analysis.
For example, the book of Philemon contains an intricate maze of shifting
social relations as Paul invokes and yet backs away from his position as
indebted and owed author in relation to both Philemon and Onesimus.
Study of this letter would merit its own article. However, in every case, we
see how the finite resources of Paul’s linguistic repertoire provided him
with the necessary functional tools to create and convey his own position,
and that of his social relations.
Conclusions
Paul’s social relations will no doubt continue to be a subject of discussion

by scholars. Rightly so, as they are important for placement of the Pau-
line letters within their larger socio-cultural milieu and are fundamental
to understanding the various social relations that characterized the early
church. The Pauline letters, with their various references to a variety of peo-
ple known and unknown within the ancient world, are important sources
for reconstruction of the world of earliest Christianity. In that sense, there
are a number of scholars who will continue to use the data found within
the letters to reconstruct the world outside the text, the world that Paul’s
letters point to, if even in a fragmentary and haphazard way. However, I
hope to have shown that that is not the limit of the use of Paul’s letters
for discussing Paul’s social relations. In other words, there are a number
of legitimate ways to define Pauline social relations. Social relations exist
within the larger Roman world of the time, but they exist in their own way
within the letters of Paul themselves. Rather than taking a static view of
the relations that are presented—attempting to correlate various descrip-
tors with their equivalent in the extra-textual world in order to establish
the Pauline social strata—the linguistic method that I have modeled here
looks at the social relations as intra-textually manipulable by Paul the
author. Through the means of syntax and lexis, he establishes his own
textual identity and then the social relations of those who interact with
him, whether these be his co-authors of letters, his recipients, or a host
of others with whom he is in correspondence or contact. In some cases,
he commends and in others he rebukes, while in others he alters respon-
sibilities for various tasks in their varying and shifting social relations. In
this sense, Pauline social relations are textual constructs, established and
clarified and elucidated by Paul’s letters themselves.
Paul, Timothy, and Pauline Individualism:
A Response to Bruce Malina
Mark Batluck
University of Edinburgh
Introduction
Paul’s relationship with his co-worker Timothy is one of the more well-
known partnerships in the New Testament. This young associate of Paul is
mentioned twenty-four times in the New Testament, eleven of which are
found in the undisputed Pauline letters.1 Bruce Malina’s book, Timothy:
Paul’s Closest Associate (2008), employs a social-psychological approach
to the study of Timothy, which, among other things, explores the Paul–
Timothy partnership and investigates Timothy as a “person.”2 Throughout
the book, Malina reflects on the “collectivistic” orientation of Paul and
Timothy. In this research on Pauline collectivism, Malina writes that col-
lectivism is the “opposite pole of individualism. . . . First-century persons
like Timothy and Paul and Jesus were collectivistic personalities. A col-
lectivistic personality is one who needs other persons to know who he or
she is.”3
On this point, however, Malina’s approach curtails his exegesis. A purely
collectivistic reading cannot account for everything one finds in the letters
of Paul. With an abundance of texts through which to examine Timothy
and his relationship to Paul, Malina’s social-psychological hermeneutic
leaves questions unanswered. Do the Pauline epistles ever demonstrate
individualistic thought-patterns in any sense? From the way that Paul’s
letters talk about Timothy, can we learn anything that a collectivistic
1 The references in the undisputed letters of Paul are the primary focus of Malina’s
book and will therefore be that of this article. Any generic reference to the Pauline Epistles
hereafter will refer to the undisputed letters and references to the disputed letters will be
clearly marked as such. The eight references to Timothy in the Pauline Epistles (i.e. the
undisputed letters) are: Rom 16:21; 1 Cor 4:17; 16:10; 2 Cor 1:1, 19; Phil 1:1; 2:19; 1 Thess 1:1; 3:2,
6; Phlm 1.
2 Bruce J. Malina, Timothy: Paul’s Closest Associate (Collegeville: Liturgical, 2008), xv.
3 Malina, Timothy, 3. Malina’s focus is primarily on the undisputed letters of Paul, using
the disputed letters and Acts primarily to show “how Timothy was remembered by third
Pauline-generation persons” (95).
36 mark batluck
reading may pass over? Do Paul’s exhortations to the churches demon-

strate traces of individualism in the Apostle or these believers?
This article suggests that Paul’s letters are not utterly collectivistic.4
Rather, Paul and Timothy fall on a continuum of individualism and col-
lectivism, displaying degrees of each throughout the Epistles. Moreover,
a measure of individualism (however great or small) was necessary given
both the way that Paul encouraged his churches and the way that he
related to co-workers like Timothy.
Bruce Malina’s Place in the World of Social-Scientific Criticism
Social-scientific criticism has been defined as “that phase of the exegeti-

cal task which analyzes the social and cultural dimensions of the text and
of its environmental context through the utilization of the perspectives,
theory, models, and research of the social sciences.”5 This hermeneutical
innovation is viewed broadly as a combination of historical-critical exege-
sis and the social sciences.6 However, since its emergence in the 1970’s,7
five main approaches to the discipline have developed:8
4 “Utterly collectivistic” is a term I will use throughout the paper to describe Malina’s
brand of collectivism—a pure, unmitigated collectivism that does not “even hint at what
we call individualism” (3), and also one where group goals subsume individual goals (8).
5 John H. Elliott, Social Scientific Criticism of the New Testament (London: SPCK, 1995), 7.
Elliott goes on to describe social-scientific criticism as “a reflection of and response to the
social and cultural settings in which the text was produced” (8). Susan R. Garrett, “Sociol-
ogy” in ABD (London: Doubleday, 1992), 6:79–89, says the following: “Beginning in the
1970’s biblical scholars began to recognize the role that the social sciences could play in
the reconstruction and understanding of historical phenomena . . . [Social scientific criti-
cism is] an investigation of the salient issues in a ‘sociological study’ of the NT and early
Christianity.”
6 Elliot, Social Scientific Criticism, 7. Broadly speaking, scholars consider social-scientific
criticism to be an exercise “in the sociology of knowledge to the extent that [it seeks] dia-
lectically to relate social realities with cognition.” See Philip Esler, “Introduction: Models,
Context, and Kerygma in New Testament Interpretation,” in Philip Esler (ed.), Modeling
Early Christianity: Social-Scientific Studies of the New Testament in Its Context, (London:
Routledge, 1994), 4.
7 Garrett, “Sociology,” 6:79, and David G. Horrell, An Introduction to the Study of Paul
(London: T&T Clark, 2006), 96. Even given the formal emergence of the discipline in the
1970’s, Max Weber (1864–1920) should be noted as the founding father of this approach.
Weber’s 1919 book Ancient Judaism investigated the conceptual overlap between Yahwism
and “social collectivity” (Max Weber, Ancient Judaism [Glencoe: Free Press, 1952], xviii).
8 Elliott, Social Scientific Criticism, 18–20.
paul, timothy, and pauline individualism 37
1. Some scholars investigate social constructs (i.e. groups, institutions,

etc.), yet not the specific social details of an ancient society. These
scholars aim to paint ancient societies with a “broad brush,” drawing
conclusions which will be helpful in understanding the worldview of
figures found in Jewish and Hellenistic literature. Interpreters who have
published significant work in this area are Joachim Jeremias,9 Frederick
Grant,10 John E. Stambaugh and David L. Balch.11
2. Others reconstruct the social history of ancient societies with a view
to integrating social and economic/political material. Admittedly, this
approach is predominantly historical—an effort to weigh the economic
and political factors in history to understand why people and societies
acted the ways they did. Martin Hengel12 and Helmut Koester13 have
done work in this area.
3. Focusing on the social forces that gave rise to Christianity is another
approach. Scholars working in this way include Gerd Theissen14 and
Wayne Meeks.15
4. A fourth approach analyzes the New Testament world with regard to
the social and cultural rules constraining the interaction of ancient per-
sons and communities. Researchers in this field rely heavily upon the
use of theory and social-scientific models, (especially cultural anthro-
pological models and theories). Bruce Malina’s work fits into this
category.16
5. Lastly, social-scientific research has been employed in the interpreta-
tion of specific New Testament texts (i.e. not focusing on the worlds but

9 Joachim Jeremias, Jerusalem in the Time of Jesus: An Investigation into Economic and
Social Conditions during the New Testament Period (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1969).
10 Frederick Grant, The Economic Background of the Gospels (Kent: Russell & Russell,
1973).
11 John E. Stambaugh and David L. Balch, The New Testament in Its Social Environment
(LEC; Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1986).
12 Martin Hengel, Judaism and Hellenism: Studies in Their Encounter in Palestine during
the Early Hellenistic Period (London: SCM, 1974).
13 Helmut Koester, Introduction to the New Testament: History, Culture, and Religion of
the Hellenistic Age (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1995).
14 Gerd Theissen, A Theory of Primitive Christian Religion (London: SCM, 1999).
15 Wayne Meeks, The First Urban Christians: The Social World of the Apostle Paul (2d ed.;
London: Yale University Press, 2003 [1983]).
16 Bruce J. Malina and Jerome H. Neyrey, Portraits of Paul: An Archaeology of Ancient
Personality (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1996).
38 mark batluck
the words of the New Testament). The work of John Elliott17 and Philip
Esler18 illustrates such an approach.
Thus, Malina’s research demonstrates an approach of social-scientific

exegesis that is distinct from others and that can be referred to as the
“social-psychological” approach. This article analyzes the application of
social-psychological research to Paul and Timothy’s views of themselves
and of others (i.e. individualism vs. collectivism).
Summary of Malina’s Collectivism
A reputed anthropologist once described the American person as “a

bounded, unique, more or less integrated motivational and cognitive
universe, a dynamic center of awareness, emotion, judgment and action
organized into a distinctive whole and set contrastively both against other
such wholes and against its social and natural background.”19 The above
is the foundation of Malina’s perspective on individualism.20 Spoken in
terms of stark contrast, Malina describes “individualists” as “polar oppo-
sites” of collectivists.21 He works out this understanding of persons and
their individualistic/collectivistic orientation in his “Introduction” and in
ch. 1, first describing the way names were used in Timothy’s time and then
explaining the way Christians thought of themselves in terms of larger
groupings and not as individuals.
Malina contends that the use of New Testament names is an initial
piece of evidence showing the collectivistic tendencies of Paul, Timothy,
and their peers. Most people were known by one name until they moved
outside of their ingroup boundaries, at which time one name would
become insufficient.22 “In his hometown and region, Jesus was sufficient
17 John H. Elliott, 1 Peter: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 37B;
New York: Doubleday, 2000).
18 Philip P. Esler, Community and Gospel in Luke–Acts (SNTSMS 57; Cambridge: Cam-
bridge University Press, 2001).
19 Clifford Geertz, “ ‘From the Native’s Point of View’: On the Nature of Anthropological
Understanding,” in Keith H. Basso and Henry A. Selby (eds.), Meaning and Anthropology
(Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 1976), 221–37.
20 Malina, Timothy, 2.
22 Malina, Timothy, ix. Using Malina’s definition, an ingroup “refers to a relatively small
group of people, within a wider context, whose common interest tends to exclude others”
to identify the man in his village and in the immediate region. But as
he moved past the immediate region, he could be known as Jesus son of
Joseph, or in Judea as Jesus of Nazareth.”23 The relationship of a person to
an ingroup, he says, was of utmost concern to people.
Malina goes on to note the tendency of Paul’s churches to identify
themselves in terms of the larger Christian movement, rather than as
individual entities. At this point, Malina appeals to 1 Cor 11:16: Εἰ δέ τις
δοκεῖ φιλόνεικος εἶναι, ἡμεῖς τοιαύτην συνήθειαν οὐκ ἔχομεν οὐδὲ αἱ ἐκκλησίαι
τοῦ θεοῦ. He describes this verse as evidence that Christians in that time
were group-oriented rather than individual-oriented in their thinking.
First Corinthians 7:17 states something similar when saying, καὶ οὕτως ἐν
ταῖς ἐκκλησίαις πάσαις διατάσσομαι (cf. 14:33). Since practices were uni-
form throughout the churches, it is clear that these believers must have
envisioned themselves primarily as members of the wider community of
Christ, rather than as individuals making up the whole.24
Malina describes Timothy himself as a “collectivistic person.”25 Mod-
ern biography, he writes, is concerned with the individual’s psychologi-
cal development, but there was a stark lack of individualism in antiquity.
“Persons in antiquity were anti-introspective and not psychologically
minded at all.”26 He continues, “In . . . the New Testament documents,
there are no persons described with anything that might be called indi-
vidualistic traits . . . neither Jesus nor Peter nor Paul nor Timothy was such
an individualist. There simply was no such individualism in New Testa-
ment times.”27 Malina takes a firm stance on the brand of collectivism
he sees in Paul, Timothy, and the New Testament. Describing ancients
as “anti-introspective” and saying that “there are no persons [in the New
Testament] described with anything that might be called individualistic
traits,” Malina outlines his position in very definite terms. When com-
paring 21st-century Americans to 1st-century Greeks and Jews, he sees
nothing but dissimilarity in their views of themselves with reference to
the world.
(Malina, Timothy, 9). The terms used throughout this article are not necessarily the ones
espoused or employed by the author of this article.
23 Malina, Timothy, ix.
24 Malina, Timothy, xiv.
25 Malina, Timothy, 1–20.
26 Malina, Timothy, xv.
40 mark batluck
Critique and Response
Malina’s experience in the field of social-scientific criticism and his respect

among his peers is undeniable. Thus Malina’s assessment in Timothy is
unsurprisingly erudite and will doubtless be an entrée to further research
on the topic. His suggestion that the writings of Paul demonstrate an
underlying collectivism has great merit and makes a definite contribution
to the social-scientific field of research in Pauline studies.
However, it seems that Malina’s approach and some of his conclu-
sions need to be nuanced somewhat, specifically his view of the presence
and/or absence of collectivism and individualism in the New Testament.
Malina is methodologically ambiguous and speculative in his conclu-
sions. In his analysis of Paul and Timothy, Malina exercises his social-
psychological hermeneutic with a great deal of force, perhaps reading
into the text somewhat. Furthermore, Malina thrusts his models on Paul’s
letters with such force that one wonders if his reading is justified in its
present state. For example, Malina spends much of Timothy comparing
cases of hyper-individualism existing in America today to the collectivism
of the first-century church. Can American hyper-individualism be used
to evaluate biblical authors/workers like Paul and Timothy?28 Can defini-
tions of individualism and collectivism in their most extreme sense be
used to adequately assess these first-century believers? Such a compari-
son does not seem to do justice to the integrated personalities found in
the New Testament.
Malina’s Approach
“Social-scientific criticism is a subdiscipline of exegesis and is inseparably

related to the other operations of the exegetical enterprise: textual criti-
cism, literary criticism, narrative criticism, historical criticism, tradition
criticism, form criticism, redaction criticism, rhetorical criticism, and
theological criticism. Social-scientific criticism complements these other
28 Without discussion, Malina asserts that Timothy was the co-author of the letters in
which Paul mentions him. However, recent research has shown such assumptions to be
misplaced and will be discussed in greater detail below. See E. Randolph Richards, Paul
and First-Century Letter Writing: Secretaries, Composition, and Collection (Downers Grove:
InterVarsity, 2004); and David B. Capes, Rodney Reeves, and E. Randolph Richards, Redis-
covering Paul: An Introduction to His World, Letters and Theology (Downers Grove: Inter-
Varsity, 2007), 54–82.
modes of critical analysis. . . .”29 The above quotation, written by social-

scientific theorist John Elliott, depicts his view about the way social-sci-
entific criticism will be of greatest service to the academy in the field of
biblical studies. Seeing itself as a complementary discipline that informs
the conclusions of other disciplines, social-scientific criticism has and will
continue to make impressive contributions in biblical studies research.
However, as with all approaches, the social-scientific enterprise carries
with it a number of dangers. Esler calls social-scientific exegesis a “heavily
interpretive” hermeneutic that must be exercised with great caution.30 In
other words, social-scientific research can be “largely incompatible with
historical method” when it fails to properly account for historical realities
given its scientific agenda.31 In a moment of transparency, Esler notes that
even his own models do not give adequate place to techniques of histori-
cal analysis in lieu of the social-scientific models being applied.32
The above dangers manifest themselves in Malina’s research in two
ways. First and most importantly, in Timothy Malina does not identify the
specific social-scientific approach he using, much less self-consciously
explore how this hermeneutic has shaped his conclusions. Given the diver-
sity of approaches within the field of social-scientific criticism, it would be
appropriate to have such an explanation at the beginning of the book.
Second and as will be shown in detail below, Malina’s approach at
times eclipses the biblical text and thus borders on being “incompatible
with historical method.”33 That is, rather than operating as a subdiscipline
of exegesis that is complementary to other disciplines, Malina’s social-
scientific hermeneutic exerts an inordinate amount of control on his
interpretation of Paul and Timothy and his reflections on individualism
29 Elliott, Social Scientific Criticism, 7.

30 Esler, “Introduction,” 6. Employing a high concentration of the social-psychological in
one’s interpretative framework can result in a “cognitive apartheid” where the interpreter,
in an effort to describe the culture primarily in its own terms, embraces both a “radical
relativism” with respect to other cultures and the idea that other cultures are unknowable
to modern observers. See Philippe Descola, “Societies of Nature and the Nature of Society,”
in A. Kuper (ed.), Conceptualizing Society (London: Routledge, 1992), 108.
31 Esler, “Introduction,” 6.
32 Esler, “Introduction,” 6. According to Esler, the greatest danger that befalls the eth-
nographic approaches is that they “fall prey to a radical postmodernism.” If the social
scientist is to communicate anything, s/he must provide reality with some overarching
order, which most post-modernists repudiate. This quandary leaves the social scientist in
a difficult state, causing a type of “epistemological hypochondria” (Clifford Geertz, Works
and Lives: The Anthropologist as Author [Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1988], 71–72)
as researchers doubt their ability to say anything about other peoples or cultures (Esler,
“Introduction,” 7).
42 mark batluck
and collectivism. As a result, Malina makes a number of overstatements

about the psychology of Paul and Timothy that do not adequately deal
with the textual material. Given his introductory remarks, it seems alto-
gether likely that his model for interpretation has too heavily influenced
his decisions and thus negatively impacted his exegesis. A few of these
statements are explored in the paragraphs below.
“Polar Opposites”
As stated above, Malina describes collectivism and individualism in their
extremes, as “opposite pole[s].”34 The place where he is mistaken, in my
view, is to use these extremes as the measuring rod for the collectivism
of the Hellenistic Age. Malina seemingly operates with these two catego-
ries alone: the hyper-individualist and the thoroughgoing collectivist. The
(American) individualist is one who thinks of him/herself first—the indi-
vidualist “gives priority to the goals of single persons rather than to group
goals” and collectivistic persons do the opposite.35 Malina adds, “To ask
what sort of person Timothy was, we will not find any data in any first-
century sources that even hint at what we called individualism or indi-
vidualistic personality.”36 Elsewhere he says, “a collectivistic personality
is one who needs other persons to know who he or she is.”37
Malina’s position above stands in tension with evidence from certain
Pauline texts. For example, 1 Cor 15:10 says: χάριτι δὲ θεοῦ εἰμι ὅ εἰμι, καὶ
ἡ χάρις αὐτοῦ ἡ εἰς ἐμὲ οὐ κενὴ ἐγενήθη, ἀλλὰ περισσότερον αὐτῶν πάντων
ἐκοπίασα, οὐκ ἐγὼ δὲ ἀλλὰ ἡ χάρις τοῦ θεοῦ ἡ σὺν ἐμοί. Rather than need-
ing others to “know who he is,” Paul speaks above about needing no one
except God for self-validation. Conzelmann elaborates by saying that Paul
is comparing himself not to the wider group, but to individual apostles.38
Thiselton goes further by saying that the Apostle is reflecting on “Paul the
person” in these verses.39
Paul’s lack of dependence on others for self-identity is strengthened by
a more explicit statement found in Gal 1:10: Ἄρτι γὰρ ἀνθρώπους πείθω ἢ
36 Esler, “Introduction,” 3 (italics added).
38 Hans Conzelmann, 1 Corinthians (Hermeneia; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1975), 260.
39 Anthony C. Thiselton, The First Epistle to the Corinthians (NIGTC; Grand Rapids:
Eerdmans, 2000), 1212.
τὸν θεόν; ἢ ζητῶ ἀνθρώποις ἀρέσκειν; εἰ ἔτι ἀνθρώποις ἤρεσκον, Χριστοῦ δοῦλος
οὐκ ἂν ἤμην. As Dunn points out, Χριστοῦ δοῦλος is one of Paul’s favorite
terms to describe himself and the state of the believer. It is as if becom-
ing a Christian carried with it a degree of inherent separation from the
cares and expectations of the group.40 Paul is clearly distancing himself
from the opinions aired among the Galatian believers and reaffirming his
identity as a Χριστοῦ δοῦλος.
One might even appeal to the wider context of Galatians for support.
Paul exhorts the Galatian church to hold to his gospel, not to discern the
way forward with reference to a group. Bruce observes that Paul “embarks
on an autobiographical sketch of the first fourteen or seventeen years of
his apostleship with the aim of establishing his independence.”41 More-
over, it has been suggested that the Judaizers, against whom Paul is
arguing, were the ones that were appealing to a group (i.e. the church
in Jerusalem) for support of their views. By way of contrast, the Apostle
seeks to establish autonomy from them.42 Paul establishes this point in
v. 12: οὐδὲ γὰρ ἐγὼ παρὰ ἀνθρώπου παρέλαβον αὐτὸ οὔτε ἐδιδάχθην ἀλλὰ δι᾽
ἀποκαλύψεως Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ. Far from looking to a group for validation or
affirmation, Paul stands alone in his claim over the Galatian churches.
Schmithals notes that Paul is laying sole claim to receiving his gospel from
Jesus Christ. Paul’s gospel was not from men, nor was it from any other
divine or angelic source.43
Yet another verse which comes to mind on this point is 1 Cor 11:1, where
Paul exhorts the church at Corinth: μιμηταί μου γίνεσθε καθὼς κἀγὼ Χριστοῦ.
Opinions vary regarding the object of Paul’s command. Was he pointing
to himself or through himself to Christ?44 For the point discussed here, the
matter makes no difference. Paul’s person and his personal leadership of
his churches were of great importance to him and to his mission among
the Gentiles.45 “Part of his apostolic role was to manifest with special
40 James D.G. Dunn, A Commentary on the Epistle to the Galatians (BNTC; London: A&C
Black, 1993), 50.
41 F.F. Bruce, The Epistle to the Galatians (NIGTC; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1982), 20.
42 Bruce, Galatians, 25–26.
43 Walter Schmithals, Paul and the Gnostics (Nashville: Abingdon, 1972), 20, 103.
44 For more on this debate, see Conzelmann, 1 Corinthians, 179–80, and Thiselton, Cor-
inthians, 795–97.
45 Philip Esler, Conflict and Identity in Romans (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2003), 223, com-
ments on Paul’s interest in securing a base for himself in Rome as a launching pad for his
mission to Spain. See also Bengt Holmberg, Paul and Power (Lund: CWK Gleerup, 1978),
35–43.
44 mark batluck
clarity the pattern of the Christian life.”46 Paul was not “depending on
others” to tell him who he was, nor was he using the thoughts and atti-
tudes of a group to determine an acceptable standard or “norm”.47
One might also appeal to Paul’s use of first-person singular versus first-
person plural forms in his letters to demonstrate the suggestion that Paul
was more psychologically “integrated” than Malina is giving him credit
for.48 In the undisputed letters, the first-person singular is used 436 times
whereas the first-person plural appears only 315 times.49 Including the
disputed letters, the first-person singular is employed 521 times, but the
first-person plural only 398 times.
Paul’s use of the first-person singular with reference to God is also an
interesting feature of his letters. Four times in the Epistles the phrase
εὐχαριστῶ τῷ θεῷ μου emerges. One may assume, then, that Paul’s stake
in his gospel is such that the Apostle lays a personal claim to God. This
fact seems to have struck a note of discord in the minds of certain copy-
ists as well. A cursory look at 1 Cor 1:4 reveals that the copyists of Codex
Sinaiticus and Codex Vaticanus omitted Paul’s μου.50 Of course, uses of
the first-person singular and plural in any context must be scrutinized
one-by-one. There are a number of different senses that can be at work in
each example. However, the general point made by the above statistics is
that, in this case, the burden is on the interpreter to explain the hundreds
of uses of the first-person singular before asserting that Paul is as collec-
tivistic as Malina claims he is.
Regardless of the particulars, the analysis above shows that it is difficult
to say flatly, “we will not find any data in any first-century sources that
even hint at what we called individualism or individualistic personality.”51
On the contrary, Paul’s writings portray themes both of collectivism and
individualism.52
46 C.K. Barrett, A Commentary on the First Epistle to the Corinthians (BNTC; London:
A&C Black, 1968), 246.
47 Esler, “Introduction,” 5, and David G. Horrell, The Social Ethos of the Corinthians Cor-
respondence (SNTW; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1996), 148.
48 By this, I mean that Paul’s writings illustrate a mixture of collectivistic and individu-
alistic tendencies.
49 Statistics are drawn using Accordance Bible Software using the English Standard Ver-
sion of the Bible.
50 Barbara Aland et al., Greek New Testament (Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft; Nördlingen:
Beck, 1995), 567. Richards, Secretary, 155 n.118, downplays this scribal disapproval, but
notes it nonetheless.
51 Esler, “Introduction,” 3 (italics added).
“Anti-Introspective”
At the outset of Malina’s discussion on Timothy, he says, “Persons in antiq-
uity were anti-introspective and not psychologically minded at all. What
counted was what went on on the outside of a person . . . [because] they
were collectivistic persons.”53 This article takes issue with the strength of
Malina’s belief that ancient persons were “anti-introspective.” Building on
Ehrman’s discussion of ancient biographers, it seems more in line with the
data to say that ancient persons are less concerned with introspection, but
they are not unconcerned with it.54 Romans 7 is the prototypical example
of New Testament introspection. Although the “I” of this chapter is far
from straightforward, a number of interesting possibilities have been put
forward throughout the last century, none of which dismiss all notions of
the introspective conscience. Even discarding the most extreme of these
theories,55 other more moderate views offer a lot of promise. For example,
Theissen, a social-scientific scholar, offers a composite view, suggesting
that Paul in Rom 7 uses the “I” in a tripartite fashion. The “I,” he says, is
at once personal (1 Cor 15:8), typical (Gal 2:20), and fictive (1 Cor 10:29).56
Another suggestion arises from Lambrecht, who alters the “pre-Christian”
view somewhat. For Lambrecht, Rom 7 depicts a pre-Christian Paul’s
internal struggle with the law even given his outward obedience to it.
Lambrecht maintain that Rom 7 illustrates Paul’s post-Christian perspec-
tive on the “inner desires and secret cravings,” even of those who are
53 Malina, Timothy, xv–xvi. It should be noted here that Malina does not demonstrate
the connection between introspection and collectivism. Is a person’s tendency away from
introspection entirely congruent with their collectivistic leanings, as Malina assumes?
Ehrman’s The New Testament notes that ancient biographers often focused on the actions
of the person being written about. That is, a person was judged primarily by their actions
not their thoughts—without any reference to their ingroup or other social connections
(Bart D. Ehrman, The New Testament: A Historical Introduction to the Early Christian Writ-
ings [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997], 53). Although a person’s psychological inclina-
tions and their collectivistic orientation do have overlap, the correlation must be explored
more and demonstrated if a one-to-one correlation is to be understood.
54 Ehrman, New Testament, 53.
55 E.g. Fréderic Godet, Commentary on St. Paul’s Epistle to the Romans (trans. T.W.
Chambers; Grand Rapids: Kregel, 1977), 272–80, who takes Rom 7 as the autobiographical
account of the conscience-stricken Apostle.
56 Gerd Theissen, Psychological Aspects of Pauline Theology (Edinburgh: T&T Clark,
1987), 191–230.
46 mark batluck
outwardly obedient to the law.57 As Jewett adds, the above idea “accu-
rately conveys an existential reality” in this section of Paul.58
As the above comments show, from nearly any interpretive vantage
point, describing Paul or Rom 7 as “anti-introspective” is inadequate to
account for the realities that exist in this chapter and thus the Pauline
corpus. Although the degree of introspection is debatable, Paul does put
inner thoughts, attitudes, and actions “under the microscope” as they
relate to God and his gospel.59
One finds similar trends in letters bearing Timothy’s name as well.
In Phil 2:1–4, composed by both Paul and Timothy, one reads: Εἴ τις οὖν
παράκλησις ἐν Χριστῷ, εἴ τι παραμύθιον ἀγάπης, εἴ τις κοινωνία πνεύματος, εἴ τις
σπλάγχνα καὶ οἰκτιρμοί, πληρώσατέ μου τὴν χαρὰν ἵνα τὸ αὐτὸ φρονῆτε . . . μὴ
τὰ ἑαυτῶν ἕκαστος σκοποῦντες ἀλλὰ καὶ τὰ ἑτέρων ἕκαστοι. To properly fol-
low Paul’s logic, one must accept that the Apostle found the personal,
individual encouragement of believers (which must be introspectively
ascertained) to be the ground for them to turn their focus to others. Four
times in these verses, a form of τις or τι, the singular indefinite article, is
used to address the individual believer’s own response to following Christ.
Paul goes on in v. 4 to make an insightful comment: μὴ τὰ ἑαυτῶν ἕκαστος
σκοποῦντες ἀλλὰ καὶ τὰ ἑτέρων ἕκαστοι. This challenge to look out for oth-
ers only makes sense if the Philippian believers had some inherent indi-
vidualistic tendencies from the start. Beare comments, “The underlying
situation seems to be one in which individuals are claiming high position
for themselves . . . [but] Paul does not suggest that anyone is claiming for
himself honours that are undeserved.”60
In Phil 2:20–21, Paul writes: οὐδένα γὰρ ἔχω ἰσόψυχον, ὅστις γνησίως τὰ
περὶ ὑμῶν μεριμνήσει· οἱ πάντες γὰρ τὰ ἑαυτῶν ζητοῦσιν, οὐ τὰ Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ.
In this passage, Paul is commending Timothy to the saints in Philippi
because of his partnership in the ministry and his care/concern for the
Philippian believers. Verse 21 contains a brief moment of reflection for
Paul, where he considers how unique Timothy’s faithful service is and
says, “For all people seek their own (interests), not those of Jesus Christ.”
57 Jan Lambrecht, The Wretched “I” and Its Liberation: Paul in Romans 7 and 8 (Grand
Rapids: Eerdmans, 1992), 74–90. For an extended discussion of all of the above views, see
Robert Jewett, Romans: A Commentary (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2007), 440–45.
58 Jewett, Romans, 443.
59 See Stanley K. Stowers, A Rereading of Romans: Justice, Jews and Gentiles (New
Haven/London: Yale University Press, 1994), 258–84, for an interesting alternative reading
of Rom 7.
60 F.W. Beare, A Commentary on the Epistle to the Philippians (BNTC; London: A&C
Black, 1973), 73.
This insight from Paul reveals much more than just his concept into the
human condition. He refers positively to Timothy’s “anxiety” (μεριμνήσει)
for the Philippian believers. Two things must be the case if Paul’s state-
ment is true: (1) Timothy must have self-consciously divulged to Paul
that he had deep concern for their welfare, and (2) what goes on inside a
person did matter to Paul and Timothy, contra Malina’s comment above
(i.e. “What counted was what went on on the outside of a person . . .”
[Malina, Timothy, xv–xvi]). Timothy’s inner attitudes toward the Philip-
pian believers was of crucial importance to Paul. It follows, also, that Paul
would have been conscious of his own inner attitudes and motives, which
will be investigated more in the passage below.
First Thessalonians 2:3–12 is the final example of Pauline introspection
this article will examine. This passage is a little different than the ones
above, because in it Paul speaks for himself and presumably Silvanus and
Timothy, mentioned in ch. 1. Nevertheless, his goal in these verses is to
absolve their motives toward the Thessalonians in preaching the gospel.61
As Best suggests, error, impurity, and deception are words impugning the
intention of the Apostle, not his outright actions. “Here it is Paul’s inner life
in its totality of thought and intention which God scrutinizes.”62 Whether
Paul is speaking strictly for himself or for his co-workers as well, there is
a level of introspection here that cannot be denied. This is not to say that
Paul and his companions can be characterized as “introspective people.”
Rather, it is to say that language like “anti-introspective” and “not psy-
chologically minded at all” is inappropriate to describe these first-century
believers.
Auxiliary Titles
Malina also explains how collectivistic people are named according to the
wider group to which they belong. “If you were a collectivistic person,
everyone would know you, for example, as ‘Smith of Portland.’ . . . What is
unique is family (the Smiths), your village (Portland), your region (west-
ern Oregon), your fictive family or association (your club or church)—but
never you as an individual.”63 Malina suggests that the above example is
61 Gene L. Green, The Letters to the Thessalonians (PNTC; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans,
2002), 118.
62 Ernest Best, The First and Second Epistles to the Thessalonians (BNTC; London: A&C
Black, 1972), 97.
48 mark batluck
indicative of collectivistic people and societies—the individual is more-

or-less subsumed by the larger group. He uses Jesus’ titles as an example,
saying, “Jesus was sufficient to identify the man in his village and in the
immediate region. But as he moved past the immediate region, he could
be known as Jesus son of Joseph, or in Judea as Jesus of Nazareth.”64 It is
questionable whether a first-century person would be referenced in such
a way in order to emphasize his or her status in an ingroup.
At the outset, Malina’s “Smith of Portland” illustration is slightly mis-
leading. “Smith” is a surname, of course, the likes of which were extremely
rare in first-century Palestine.65 People were given only first names and
so Jesus, Paul, or Timothy had no other name that indicated a familial tie.
Bauckham notes in the case of first-century Jews, one would normally not
have two names, but when they did, it was two first names (i.e. one Greek
or Latin, the other Semitic). Both of these were genuine given names, not
nicknames or family names.66 Therefore, there is no clear analogy between
“Smith of Portland” and first-century persons. Ironically, family names are
a consistent feature of 21st-century American names, and yet Malina uses
modern American society as the prototype for individualism. The use of
family names in a culture, then, must have very little or nothing to do with
the degree to which a society is individualistic or collectivistic. However,
Malina’s illustration aside, a couple observations should be made about
the use of auxiliary titles (i.e. Jesus of Nazareth) in the New Testament.
First, for Malina’s thesis to be supported by the use of auxiliary titles,
these titles would first have to be a consistent feature of first-century
names. Second, Malina would need to demonstrate that such names are
the result of a society being collectivistically oriented. On the first point,
although auxiliary titles are used in first-century Palestine, they are not
used with any degree of consistency.67 In the Pauline corpus, the Apostle
mentions people both with and without an auxiliary title. Why the differ-
ence? Do those without auxiliary titles lack meaningful connections to
an ingroup? On the contrary, one would assume the difference has more
to do with pragmatics than anything else. If someone’s identity would be
easily understood without the use of an ingroup marker, then the simpler
64 Malina, Timothy, ix.

65 Richard Bauckham, Jesus and the Eyewitnesses (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2006), 82,
remarks that only “some socially important families had family names.”
66 Bauckham, Jesus, 69.
67 Bauckham, Jesus, 69.
form of his or her name is preferred. Romans 16 is a prime example.68 Of

the 32 names found in this chapter, only 5 are mentioned with any refer-
ence to an ingroup.69 That leaves 27 people who are referenced using their
given name alone.70 One may argue on this point that ingroup names
were not needed since the letter itself was addressed to the ingroup in
question (i.e. the church in Rome)—ingroup markers are not needed
within the ingroup itself. However, if this were the case, then one would
expect: (1) not to see any ingroup markers in this list, and (2) to see fairly
clear lines drawn between the frequency of auxiliary names used outside
an ingroup and the frequency used inside an ingroup. That is, one would
expect the frequency of auxiliary titles to be very high in a document like
Luke (addressed to a broad audience) and non-existent in a document
like Romans (addressed to a more narrow audience). Yet no such regular-
ity exists. This implies that the reasons for using auxiliary titles are not as
simple as Malina assumes. Not only is Paul’s use of auxiliary titles in Rom
16 inconsistent, it is actually far less common than simply referring to a
person by their given name.
Second, even if Malina could show that the use of auxiliary titles is in
fact consistent, he also needs to demonstrate that these titles are used as
an expression of first-century collectivism (i.e. he needs to prove that ref-
erence to a person’s ingroup was indeed the more significant part of their
name). However, Bauckham’s research shows that “41.5% of men bore
one of the nine most popular male names” in Jesus’ day, the name “Jesus”
being the sixth most popular name at the time.71 Bauckham goes on to
outline eleven different ways first-century Jews distinguished between
each other:
1. They would use various forms of a given name (e.g. Jesus’ brother
Joseph in Matt 13:55 was known also by the abbreviated Yoses found
in Mark 6:3).
68 I am aware that some scholars argue Rom 16 was not originally part of the letter.
However, I am inclined toward Dunn’s position, who believes this stance cannot be main-
tained. See James D.G. Dunn, Romans 9–16 (WBC 38B; Dallas: Word Books, 1988), 884.
69 Phoebe of Cenchreae in v. 1; Epaenetus of Asia in v. 5; Paul’s kinsman Herodion in
v. 11; Jason in v. 21; and Sosipater in v. 21.
70 Prisca in v. 3; Aquila in v. 3; Mary in v. 6; Adronicus in v. 7; Junia in v. 7; Ampliatus in
v. 8; Urbanus in v. 9; Stachys in v. 9; Apelles in v. 10; Tryphaena in v. 12; Tryphosa in v. 12;
Persis in v. 12; Rufus in v. 13; Asyncritus in v. 14; Phlegon in v. 14; Hermes in v. 14; Patrobas
in v. 14; Hermas in v. 14; Philologus in v. 15; Julia in v. 15; Nereus in v. 15; Olympas in v. 15;
Timothy in v. 21; Lucius in v. 21; Gaius in v. 23; Erastus in v. 23; and Quartus in v. 23.
71 Bauckham, Jesus, 71, 75.
50 mark batluck
2. Patronymics were added (e.g. Jesus son of Joseph in John 1:45).

3. Patronymics were substituted for the given name (e.g. Bartimaeus in
Mark 10:46).
4. Names of a husband or son were added (e.g. Mary of Clopas in
John 19:25).
5. Nicknames were added (e.g. James the little in Mark 15:40).
6. Nicknames were substituted (e.g. the Joseph of Acts 4:36 is mainly
referred to as Barnabas “son of encouragement”).
7. One’s place of origin or dwelling was added (e.g. Jesus the Galilean in
Matt 26:69).
8. One’s place of origin or dwelling was substituted (e.g. the Egyptian in
Acts 21:38).
9. A person’s family name was used (e.g. though this is rare, it is gener-
ally accepted that Caiaphas is an example of such in Luke 3:2, etc.).
10. Two names each in a different language were used (e.g. Silas/Silvanus
in Acts 15:22 and 1 Thess 1:1, assuming these are the same person).
11. One’s occupation could be added as well (e.g. Simon the tanner in
Acts 9:43).72
Bauckham’s research makes a strong case for the fact that auxiliary titles
were used primarily for distinguishing one person from another in the
ancient world. Therefore, the use of auxiliary titles cannot be used to sup-
port Malina’s thesis that ancient persons were collectivistic.
Alternative: A “Modified” Collectivism
Given the above critiques, a “modified” collectivism better accounts for

the way Paul and Timothy are portrayed in the Epistles. The word “modi-
fied” is used to indicate that biblical collectivism is not pure or unmiti-
gated. The word “collectivism” as opposed to “individualism” is used
because it does seem that Paul and Timothy exhibit overall tendencies
toward collectivism. One might say that they are more collectivistic than
individualistic—but they are still in some sense both. Speaking of a modi-
fied collectivism leaves room for these figures to have a distinct sense of
self even given their strong attachment to the wider believing community.
Below are two points which briefly illustrate the above proposal.
72 Bauckham, Jesus, 78–83.

“Saints” and “Church”

One strong hint that ancient persons were both collectivistic and individ-
ualistic can be found in the way the Apostle addresses his audiences. Paul
and his co-authors (Timothy being a frequent one) had no set pattern for
addressing churches; sometimes we find “saints” and other times we find
“church”. Two of the seven undisputed letters, Romans and Philippians,
address their recipients as “saints.” Romans 1:1, 7 reads: Παῦλος . . . πᾶσιν τοῖς
οὖσιν ἐν Ῥώμῃ ἀγαπητοῖς θεοῦ, κλητοῖς ἁγίοις. Philippians 1:1 reads: Παῦλος
καὶ Τιμόθεος . . . πᾶσιν τοῖς ἁγίοις ἐν Χριστῷ Ἰησοῦ τοῖς οὖσιν ἐν Φιλίπποις σὺν
ἐπισκόποις καὶ διακόνοις. Ἁγίοις, of course, is plural and describes a group
of individuals as having a common characteristic (i.e. they are holy). Four
of the seven Pauline letters are addressed to an ἐκκλησία, denoting one
entity with no reference to individuality in the corporate whole.
The above salutations are not what one would expect from a writer
who is utterly collectivistic. Instead these greetings are exactly what one
would expect from an author writing from both a collectivistic and an
individualistic standpoint. They reflect a nuanced understanding of self
as compared to ingroup and show that the Apostle was not simply corpo-
real in his own thinking and in his thinking about the churches he min-
istered to.73
Paul and Timothy’s Relationship as Co-Workers

Paul’s Epistles are replete with references to Timothy as his fellow worker.
Almost every one of the undisputed letters reference Timothy as Paul’s
συνεργός. Two passages even reference Timothy as “God’s co-worker”
(1 Thess 3:2) and a co-preacher with Paul (2 Cor 1:19).
Beyond being a helping hand, Timothy also had other attributes that
made him special to Paul. Timothy’s care and concern for Paul’s churches
was entirely unique. Paul says about Timothy: οὐδένα γὰρ ἔχω ἰσόψυχον,
73 Four of the undisputed letters (1 Cor, 2 Cor, Gal, and 1 Thess) address the “church(es)”:
1 Cor 1:1–2, Παῦλος . . . καὶ Σωσθένης ὁ ἀδελφὸς τῇ ἐκκλησίᾳ τοῦ θεοῦ τῇ οὔσῃ ἐν Κορίνθῳ; 2 Cor
1:1, Παῦλος . . . καὶ Τιμόθεος ὁ ἀδελφὸς τῇ ἐκκλησίᾳ τοῦ θεοῦ τῇ οὔσῃ ἐν Κορίνθω; Gal 1:1–2,
Παῦλος . . . ταῖς ἐκκλησίαις τῆς Γαλατίας; 1 Thess 1:1, Παῦλος καὶ Σιλουανὸς καὶ Τιμόθεος τῇ
ἐκκλησίᾳ Θεσσαλονικέων. Phlm 1–2 does both, first addressing several individuals and then
the church that was with them: Παῦλος . . . καὶ Τιμόθεος ὁ ἀδελφὸς Φιλήμονι τῷ ἀγαπητῷ καὶ
συνεργῷ ἡμῶν καὶ Ἀπφίᾳ τῇ ἀδελφῇ καὶ Ἀρχίππῳ τῷ συστρατιώτῃ ἡμῶν καὶ τῇ κατ᾽ οἶκόν
σου ἐκκλησίᾳ. The disputed letters follow the same, erratic pattern of address: Eph 1:1, τοῖς
ἁγίοις τοῖς οὖσιν [ἐν Ἐφέσῳ]; Col 1:2, τοῖς ἐν Κολοσσαῖς ἁγίοις καὶ πιστοῖς ἀδελφοῖς ἐν Χριστω;
2 Thess 1:1, τῇ ἐκκλησίᾳ Θεσσαλονικέων, 1 Tim 1:2 and 2 Tim 1:2, Τιμοθέῳ; and Titus 1:4,
Τίτῳ.
52 mark batluck
ὅστις γνησίως τὰ περὶ ὑμῶν μεριμνήσει (Phil 2:20). And he says that, in this
way, Timothy looks out for the “interests of Jesus Christ” (v. 21). Timothy
was not just a co-worker; he was truly one who took part in Paul’s vision
to minister to the churches.
However, what was Timothy’s role as Paul’s co-worker in the composi-
tion of the Epistles, and did they agree on everything? What place did
Timothy have in Paul’s “fictive family”?74 Concerning Timothy’s role in
composing Paul’s letters, Malina entitles ch. 4, “Specifics about Timothy:
Paul’s Cowriter and Coworker.”75 Unfortunately, Malina speaks of Timo-
thy as a co-writer without any discussion of what the term co-writer actu-
ally means.76 Toward the end of the book, Malina refers to the “letters of
Paul and Timothy” indicating a mutual relationship between these two
when it came to writing, but no discussion about the precise nature of this
aspect of their relationship is given.77 Despite these omissions, Malina’s
conclusion does not lack specificity: “All three are listed . . . this indicates
they were cowriters in a collectivistic social context.”78
Scholars have not reached a consensus as to the specific role Timothy
played in composing Paul’s letters. Richards’ The Secretary in the Letters of
Paul has a lengthy discussion on the topic.79 He notes that while Timothy
likely contributed in some way to the letters in which he’s mentioned,
Timothy and others mentioned with him were “not full contributors on
an equal level with Paul . . . [Timothy’s] role is subordinate and does not
extend to the point of writing sections on his own. His input probably is
filtered through Paul.”80
Given Richards’ research above, what can one say about Timothy’s role
in composing Paul’s letters? Or what might the reader say about whether
or not Paul and Timothy had the same opinions on the subjects about
which Paul writes? Firstly, it is not difficult to assume that Paul and Tim-
othy were in accord on the major issues Paul presents in his letters. It
would be very difficult to imagine Paul mentioning Timothy in the pre-
script which Timothy would deliver, if the Apostle knew his young associ-
ate differed sharply with him on the content of the letter. Paul’s comment
74 “Fictive family” is the term Malina uses of believers who describe themselves as τοὺς
οἰκείους τῆς πίστεως (Gal 6:10).
79 E. Randolph Richards, The Secretary in the Letters of Paul (WUNT 2.42; Tübingen:
Mohr Siebeck, 1991), 153–58.
80 Richards, Secretary, 154–55.
in Phil 2:20, οὐδένα γὰρ ἔχω ἰσόψυχον, would fall flat if he and Timothy were
at odds with each other.
At the same time, however, one cannot assume that Paul and Timothy
agreed about everything. Acts 15:36–41 provides an example where two
prominent leaders in the early church, Paul and Barnabas, parted ways
because their disagreement was so fierce. Galatians 2:11–14 presents a
similar scenario in which Paul publicly rebukes Peter for his mealtime
actions. Given that Paul is the common figure in these two stories, it is fair
to assume that he had disagreements with other people as well. Obviously,
any disagreements that Paul and Timothy might have had would not have
been severe enough to separate the two; but we cannot remove the pos-
sibility of conflict entirely. We can agree with Malina, that “Timothy’s con-
tribution to the proclamation of the gospel and the formation and support
of Jesus groups is significant. . . .”81
The New Testament gives us a picture of church leaders in general uni-
formity, though with the freedom to disagree at times. Such was likely the
case with Paul and Timothy: the content we get in the letters is predomi-
nantly Paul’s voice, and the two men likely enjoyed overall unity in the
message they preached. However, Acts 15:36–41 and Gal 2:11–14 illustrate
that unity was not preserved at all costs in the ancient world, even among
those in the same ingroup. Even working relationships between ancient
persons display a mixture of collectivistic and individualistic orientation.
Paul and His “Fictive Family”

Malina and Neyrey define “fictive families” as a grouping
. . . unlike a normal family in that it is not based on “naturing” or biologi-
cal reproduction. Rather it is concerned with “nurturing” or social sup-
port. . . . Consequently, “fictive family” in antiquity designates a group that
has the structure and many of the values of a patriarchal family: a cen-
tral person who is like a father, with members who treat each other like
siblings.82
The above definition is a helpful starting point when conceptualizing Paul
and Timothy’s relationship. In 1 Cor 4:17, Paul writes, Διὰ τοῦτο ἔπεμψα
ὑμῖν Τιμόθεον, ὅς ἐστίν μου τέκνον ἀγαπητὸν καὶ πιστὸν ἐν κυρίῳ, referring
to Timothy as “my beloved and faithful child in the Lord.” This term
τέκνον, whatever its precise nuances, generally denotes someone inferior

54 mark batluck
or subordinate in status. This is significant because Paul also refers to

Timothy as ὁ ἀδελφός on more than one occasion.83 The difference in
Timothy’s title in Paul’s fictive family may be attributable to the person/
group that Paul has in mind. When Paul has himself in mind, he calls
Timothy μου τέκνον, and when he has other believers in mind, he calls
Timothy ὁ ἀδελφός.84
The Apostle seems to take such familial terms seriously. One of the
more significant insights into Paul’s use of familial language comes from
Phlm 10–12, where he writes: παρακαλῶ σε περὶ τοῦ ἐμοῦ τέκνου, ὃν ἐγέννησα
ἐν τοῖς δεσμοῖς, Ὀνήσιμον, τόν ποτέ σοι ἄχρηστον νυνὶ δὲ καὶ σοὶ καὶ ἐμοὶ
εὔχρηστον, ὃν ἀνέπεμψά σοι, αὐτόν, τοῦτ᾽ ἔστιν τὰ ἐμὰ σπλάγχνα. The Epistle
to Philemon is rich with filial language, in fact. Five times in the letter’s
twenty five verses, Paul addresses someone as a “brother.”85 The passage
above is important because Paul uses “child” of Onesimus and then con-
tinues the metaphor explaining how he “fathered” Onesimus while in
prison. The outcome for Paul: Onesimus was then “useful” to him and
Philemon. Barth and Blanke write, “It is not known whether a sudden con-
version took place when Onesimus visited Paul in prison or was his fellow
prisoner. [Perhaps] Paul listened to the slave and spoke to him, consoled,
informed, and instructed him over a period of time.”86 Yet Witherington
argues that “Paul is here laying claim to Onesimus belonging to him in the
83 New Testament references to Timothy as ὁ ἀδελφός include 2 Cor 1:1; Col 1:1; 1 Thess
3:2; Phlm 1; Heb 13:23.
84 Paul’s use of the personal pronoun μου in 1 Cor 4:17 makes one wonder why the ὑμῶν
is not used with ἀδελφός. One possible solution is that ὁ ἀδελφός was in fact an auxiliary
title to distinguish Timothy from others. Similar to Bauckham’s observation that nick-
names were often added for the sake of identification (e.g. James the little in Mark 15:40),
ὁ ἀδελφός might be just such a title for Timothy (Bauckham, Jesus, 80.). Nevertheless,
examples of ὁ ἀδελφός (without a pronoun) added to other names are found in the New
Testament, meaning that it was probably not such an auxiliary title for Timothy (see Rom
16:23; 1 Cor 1:1; 1 Cor 16:12).
85 Phlm 1, Παῦλος δέσμιος Χριστοῦ Ἰησοῦ καὶ Τιμόθεος ὁ ἀδελφὸς Φιλήμονι τῷ ἀγαπητῷ
καὶ συνεργῷ ἡμῶν; Phlm 2, καὶ Ἀπφίᾳ τῇ ἀδελφῇ καὶ Ἀρχίππῳ τῷ συστρατιώτῃ ἡμῶν καὶ τῇ
κατ᾽ οἶκόν σου ἐκκλησίᾳ; Phlm 7, χαρὰν γὰρ πολλὴν ἔσχον καὶ παράκλησιν ἐπὶ τῇ ἀγάπῃ σου,
ὅτι τὰ σπλάγχνα τῶν ἁγίων ἀναπέπαυται διὰ σοῦ, ἀδελφέ; Phlm 16, οὐκέτι ὡς δοῦλον ἀλλ᾽ ὑπὲρ
δοῦλον, ἀδελφὸν ἀγαπητόν, μάλιστα ἐμοί, πόσῳ δὲ μᾶλλον σοὶ καὶ ἐν σαρκὶ καὶ ἐν κυρίῳ; Phlm
20, ναὶ ἀδελφέ, ἐγώ σου ὀναίμην ἐν κυρίῳ· ἀνάπαυσόν μου τὰ σπλάγχνα ἐν Χριστῷ.
86 Markus Barth and Helmut Blanke, The Letter to Philemon (ECC; Grand Rapids: Eerd-
mans, 2000), 330. 1 Cor 4:14–17 is another compelling parallel passage which appears to
have implications for the way Paul uses filial language, and in this case it is in the context
of conversion: Οὐκ ἐντρέπων ὑμᾶς γράφω ταῦτα ἀλλ᾽ ὡς τέκνα μου ἀγαπητὰ νουθετῶν. ἐὰν
γὰρ μυρίους παιδαγωγοὺς ἔχητε ἐν Χριστῷ ἀλλ᾽ οὐ πολλοὺς πατέρας· ἐν γὰρ Χριστῷ Ἰησοῦ διὰ
τοῦ εὐαγγελίου ἐγὼ ὑμᾶς ἐγέννησα. παρακαλῶ οὖν ὑμᾶς, μιμηταί μου γίνεσθε. διὰ τοῦτο ἔπεμψα
ὑμῖν Τιμόθεον, ὅς ἐστίν μου τέκνον ἀγαπητὸν καὶ πιστὸν ἐν κυρίῳ, ὃς ὑμᾶς ἀναμνήσει τὰς ὁδούς
μου τὰς ἐν Χριστῷ Ἰησοῦ, καθὼς πανταχοῦ ἐν πάσῃ ἐκκλησίᾳ διδάσκω. Paul points out to the
Lord. Paul elsewhere refers to his motherhood when he is discussing

those who have been converted through his ministry (cf. 1 Thess 2:7–9;
Gal 4:19).”87 It is difficult to know if Paul actually brought Onesimus to
faith or if he just helped him to become a devoted follower of Jesus and
servant of Paul.
In any case, a great deal of spiritual oversight is certain.88 Assuming a
degree of consistency in Paul’s use of these filial terms, one may indeed
assume that Paul played a significant part in Timothy’s spiritual life. Even
if he did not in fact bring Timothy to faith, Paul’s role was such that he
made Timothy a “useful” member of Pauline band.89 Timothy’s member-
ship in Paul’s collective family involves several distinct roles within that
family, with Timothy being a son to Paul, a brother to other believers, and
doubtless a father to those he himself influenced.
Conclusion
Malina’s Timothy: Paul’s Closest Associate introduces a number of intrigu-

ing points that are sure to be a catalyst for further research. Yet as this
article has endeavored to show, Malina’s failure to situate his approach
in the broader context of social-scientific research and his tendency to
overstate his conclusions are both problematic. Even when his underlying
premises are sound (e.g. that first-century Palestinians were collectivistic),
orinthian believers that they have many “teachers” but not many “fathers.” Paul then says
C
that he himself became their father διὰ τοῦ εὐαγγελίου.
87 Ben Witherington, The Letters to Philemon, the Colossians, and the Ephesians: A Socio-
Rhetorical Commentary on the Captivity Epistles (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2007), 68.
88 Also, this slave’s equal status with the slave owner, Philemon, is equally without
question (cf. Phlm 16, οὐκέτι ὡς δοῦλον ἀλλ᾽ ὑπὲρ δοῦλον, ἀδελφὸν ἀγαπητόν, μάλιστα ἐμοί,
πόσῳ δὲ μᾶλλον σοὶ καὶ ἐν σαρκὶ καὶ ἐν κυρίῳ). Thurston and Ryan comment, “Nothing
short of a radical reversal of the norm (and expectation) is requested here, as a slave
owner is to warmly receive the runaway slave back into his household and house church.”
Bonnie B. Thurston and Judith Ryan, Philippians and Philemon (SP; Collegeville: Liturgical,
2005), 167.
89 I suggest that it is possible that the description of Timothy’s partnership with Paul
and service toward the Philippians in Phil 2:19–23 is a product of Paul’s influence on this
young leader. However, such a proposal is indeed speculatory.
Further research needs to be done on the Apostle’s precise role in “fathering” these
young men. It appears as though one significant mode of ministry for Paul was to encour-
age the imitation of himself. More than once, Paul commands his churches to imitate
him (1 Cor 4:16; 11:1; Phil 3:17; 1 Thess 1:6; 2:14). In a rather comprehensive description of
this sort of imitation, he says in Phil 4:9: ἃ καὶ ἐμάθετε καὶ παρελάβετε καὶ ἠκούσατε καὶ
εἴδετε ἐν ἐμοί, ταῦτα πράσσετε. What we see in the above passages, then, is a sanctioned
individualism. It is an individualism that is endorsed by Paul, and one, presumably, that
was received by Timothy.
56 mark batluck
the stark terms in which he expresses his positions are suspect (e.g. “we
will not find any data in any first-century sources that even hint at what
we call individualism” [italics added]). It is this article’s stance that Malina
excludes the middle ground in his arguments on Paul, Timothy, and col-
lectivism in the New Testament, by presenting two extremes as the only
two options. Malina’s arguments would be significantly strengthened were
he to be somewhat less rigid in his discussion of the above matters.
Leaning heavily on Malina’s research, this article has suggested instead
that scholars should view ancient persons on a continuum of corporeality.90
A mixture of collectivism and individualism was at the heart of Paul’s
leadership, his gospel, and his sense of self. Paul sees himself as a special
player in the spread of this new gospel, but also as part of a wider group
of believers. Similarly, Timothy plays a unique role as Paul’s co-worker,
but he is also a brother to the Christians to whom he ministers. There-
fore, a “modified-collectivism,” one that is individualistically collectivistic,
seems to be a more helpful way of portraying Paul and Timothy, their rela-
tionship with one another, and their views of self within the community
of saints.
90 Ironically, Malina notes that the Journal of Cross Cultural Psychology “has settled
upon a continuum that runs from individualist to collectivist” (Malina, Timothy, 8). It
seems, then, that Malina has exposure to such a continuum, but has not applied it in his
own research.
Paul, Patronage and Benefaction:
a “semiotic” reconsideration
Bruce A. Lowe
Macquarie University, Sydney, Australia and
Reformed Theological Seminary, Atlanta, GA, USA
Introduction
The intention of this essay is to shed fresh light on a current debate among
classicists and New Testament scholars over patronage and benefaction.1
These two words have become increasingly prominent in attempts to
define the fabric of social relations in the Graeco-Roman world.2 Yet their
1 There has long been disagreement among classicists as to the meaning of patronage
in Roman society. John Nicols (for example) noted that “few historians would disagree
with the statement that patronage is one of the most important, and yet elusive bonds in
Roman society” (“Pliny and the Patronage of Communities,” Hermes 108 [1980]: 365). Yet
it was Richard Saller’s generalizing definition in 1982 that served as something of a flash
point for discussion (Personal Patronage under the Early Empire [Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 1982]). From the very first reviews by certain leading classicists, questions
were raised concerns Saller’s proposal (even though his general thesis was well received).
See J.H. D’Arms, “Review of R.P. Saller, Personal Patronage under the Early Empire,” CP 81
(1986): 95–98 and A.N. Sherwin-White, “Review of R.P. Saller, Personal Patronage under
the Early Empire,” CR 33 (1983): 271–73. Such challenges have continued among classicists
until today. Note R. MacMullen, Romanization in the Time of Augustus (New Haven: Yale
University Press, 2000), 1–29 and C. Eilers, Roman Patrons of Greek Cities (Oxford: Oxford
University Press, 2002). On this point we may note the sensible cautions of R.A. Horsley
(ed.), Paul and Empire: Religion and Power in Roman Imperial Society [Harrisburg: Trinity
Press International, 1997], 89–90).
2 Classicists have long agreed with Seneca that social reciprocity was the “practice that
constitutes the chief bond of human society” (Seneca, Ben. 1.4.2). Cf. A.C. Pearson, “Gifts
(Greek and Roman),” in J. Hastings (ed.), Encyclopedia of Religion and Ethics (7 vols.; Edin-
burgh: T&T Clark, 1908–1926), 6:209–13; H. Bolkestein, Wohltätigkeit und Armenpflege in
vorchristlichen Altertum (Utrecht: A. Oosthoek, 1939). On the “duty” of such exchange as
an ethically rooted ideal in Cicero, see G. Ibscher, Der Begriff des Sittlichen in der Pflichten-
lehre des Panaitios: Ein Beitrag zur Erkenntnis der mittleren Stoa (Munich: R. Oldenbourg,
1934). For broader discussion of this subject together with its issues, see A. Wallace-Hadrill,
Patronage in Ancient Society (London: Routledge, 1989). Especially in relationship to Paul,
see Horsley, Paul and Empire, 88–137, and J.P. Sampley (ed.), Paul in the Greco-Roman World
(Harrisburg: Trinity Press International, 2003), esp. 258–92, 457–523. For more general New
Testament discussion, see D.A. deSilva, Honor, Patronage, Kinship & Purity: Unlocking New
Testament Culture (Downers Grove: IVP, 2000). For a discussion on benefaction, note esp.
the seminal study for New Testament studies of F. Danker, Benefactor: Epigraphic Study
of a Graeco-Roman Semantic Field (St. Louis: Clayton Publishing House, 1982) and the
58 bruce a. lowe
meaning and appropriate use is still highly debated.3 Numerous shots

have been fired from all sides of this discussion. Yet surprisingly there
has not been a focused attempt to define the rules of engagement.4 This
is important, because depending on how this debate develops we may be
forced to view all of Paul’s social relations and the words associated with
them in a different light.5
The goal of this essay is to offer clarity by taking all sides seriously and
yet bringing the entire discussion into the light of semiotics. The debate
in question concerns words and their relationship to culture, and this is
precisely the issue with which linguists have wrestled in the twentieth
century.6 Applying a semiotic perspective, seven assertions will emerge
balanced discussion in J. Harrison, Paul’s Language of Grace in its Graeco-Roman Context

(WUNT 172; Mohr Siebeck, 2003), 1–25.
3 Among New Testament specialists the issue has most recently been contentious as
attempts are made to contrast “benefaction” with patronage: S. Joubert, Paul as Bene-
factor: Reciprocity, Strategy and Theological Reflections in Paul’s Collection (WUNT 2.124;
Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2000); idem, “One Form of Social Exchange or Two? ‘Euergetism,’
Patronage, and Testament Studies,” BTB 31 [2001]: 17–25; A. Batten, “God in the Letter of
James: Patron or Benefactor?” NTS 50 (2004): 257–72; E.D. MacGillivray, “Re-Evaluating
Patronage and Reciprocity in Antiquity and New Testament Studies,” JGRChJ 6 (2009):
37–81; J. Marshall, Jesus, Patrons and Benefactors (WUNT 259; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck,
2009); and A. Batten, Friendship and Benefaction in James (ESEC; Blandford Forum: Deo,
2010). But note also the older contentions of F.W. Danker (“Paul’s Debt to the De Corona
of Demosthenes: A Study of Rhetorical Techniques in Second Corinthians,” in D.F. Watson
[ed.], Persuasive Artistry: Studies in New Testament Rhetoric in Honor of George A. Kennedy
[Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1991], 278 n. 1): “It is unfortunate that the narrow term
‘patron-client relationship’ should have entered the discussion rather than the more com-
prehensive term ‘reciprocity system’ of which ‘patron-client’ more accurately describes an
ancient Roman subset. Some of the current application of patron-client theory to Hellenic
texts would have caused a shaking of heads in the ancient Greek-speaking world,” quoted
in Harrison, Paul’s Language of Grace, 16.
4 The best attempts among classicists and New Testament specialists to reduce this
discussion to the level of principles have not been directed towards this topic. See, e.g.,
K. Verboven, “Review of C. Eilers, Roman Patrons of Greek Cities,” BMCRev (2003.06.19):
n.p., and C. Osiek, “The Politics of Patronage and the Politics of Kinship: The Meeting of
the Ways,” BTB 39 (2009): 144–45. But considering the ideas of T. Kuhn (The Structure of
Scientific Revolutions [3d ed.; Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1996], 43–51), rules for
discussion are often the last things to emerge.
5 Cf. the work of authors such as Joubert, Harrison and MacGillivray.
6 The foundational work in semiotics was performed by Charles S. Peirce (1839–1914)
and Ferdinand de Saussure (1857–1913). See esp. C. Hartshorne and P. Weiss (eds.), The
Collected Papers of Charles Sanders Peirce (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1960)
and F. de Saussure, Course in General Linguistics (ed. C. Bally and A. Reidlinger; trans.
W. Baskin; New York: Philosophical Library, 1969). For the early development of this the-
ory in terms of social semiotics, see esp. R. Barthes, Elements of Semiology (trans. A. Lavers
and C. Smith; London: Jonathan Cape, 1967). For a valuable introduction from a biblical
perspective, see A. Thiselton, New Horizons in Hermeneutics (Grand Rapids: Zondervan,
1992), 80–84.
paul, patronage and benefaction 59
and will provide a framework for the current debate: 1) words are only
ever signifiers; 2) sociology should be used with caution; 3) synchronic
study should be differentiated from diachronic investigation; 4) diachronic
study is nevertheless essential; 5) diachronic considerations must not be
culturally narrow; 6) diachronic study should be aware of rhetoric; and
7) words are only ever signifiers.7 To show how these principles provide
clarity for the study of Paul and his social relations, this essay will close
by bringing them to bear on his letter to the Romans.
The Debate over Patronage and Benefaction
Patronage and benefaction have received increasing attention from both

classicists and New Testament specialists in recent years. This is not sur-
prising. They are prime candidates for describing the systems of reciprocal
relations which were so central to both Hellenistic and Roman think-
ing. If we narrow consideration for the moment to patronage, Richard
Saller’s popular three-fold definition may to be noted: “First, it involves
the reciprocal exchange of goods and services. Secondly, to distinguish it
from commercial transactions in the marketplace, the relationship must
be a personal one of some duration. Thirdly, it must be asymmetrical, in
the sense that the two parties are of unequal status and offer different
kinds of goods and services in the exchange.”8 Saller’s work is of particular
interest to New Testament studies, given that he describes the structure
of the Roman Empire during the time in which the biblical documents
were penned. Yet as Eilers notes, his work is one among many arguing for
patronage as “a defining theme and causative mechanism”:
Mommsen used the institution to explain the dominance of the patriciate in
early Rome and the evolution of plebitas from non-citizenship to dependent
citizenship; Badian, to characterize the attitude behind Rome’s growth to
world empire in the age of Rome’s overseas expansion; Gelzer to explain
the politics of Roman Republic; Premerstein and Syme, to account for the
fall of the Republic and the rise to monarchic power of Octavian; Saller, to
7 The first and last point are intentionally the same because they serve to introduce and
conclude the discussion with the most fundamental point.
8 Saller, Personal Patronage, 1. Cf. the definitions of J. Boissevain, “Patronage in Sicily,”
Man 1 (1966): 18, and R. Kaufman, “The Patron-client Concept and Macro-politics: Pros-
pects and Problems,” Comparative Studies in Society and History 16 (1974): 284–308 (both
referenced in Saller).
60 bruce a. lowe
elucidate the workings of government and society of the early empire; Fustel
de Coulanges, to explain the origins of feudalism.9
In the eyes of such scholars, patronage is a conceptual cradle, nurturing a
succession of historical movements.
Given its elevation to such a universal status, and the generally good
reception given to Saller’s work, it is little wonder that numerous studies
have flowed from this book.10 In biblical studies a great deal of attention
has now been given to the writings of Luke, James and Paul.11 The kinds of

9 Eilers, Roman Patrons, 1; T. Momsen, “Das römische Gastrecht und die römische Cli-
entel,” in Römische Forschungen (Berlin: Weidmannsche Buchhandlung, 1864), 1:355–90;
E. Badian, Foreign Clientelae (264–70 B.C.) (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000);
M. Gelzer, The Roman Nobility (trans. R. Seager; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1969);
A. von Premerstein, Vom Werden und Wesen des Prinzipats (Abhundlungen der bayerischen
Akademie der Wissenschaften, philologische-hisorische Abteilung, NS 15; Munich, 1937);
R. Syme, The Roman Revolution (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1939); Saller, Personal
Patronage; N.D. Fustel de Coulanges, Histoire des institutions politiques de l’ancienne
France, v. Les Origines du système féodal (Paris: Hachette, 1914).
10 D’Arms and Sherwin-White are still positive, in spite of reservations. See also
E. Champlin, “Review of R.P. Saller, Personal Patronage under the Early Empire,” Phoe-
nix 37 (1983): 280–82; K.R. Bradley, “Review of R.P. Saller, Personal Patronage under the
Early Empire,” CJ 80 (1985): 357–58; and G. Woolf, “Review of R.P. Saller, Personal Patron-
age under the Early Empire,” JRS 77 (1987): 198–99. In terms of the influence of Saller, we
may noted his personal interest in New Testament studies via doctoral examination (e.g.
M. Reasoner, The Strong and the Weak: Romans 14.1–15.13 in Context [SNTSMS 103; Cam-
bridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999], xiii), and contributions to work in Pauline
studies (see P. Garnsey and R. Saller, “Patronal Power Relations,” in Horsley, Paul and
Empire).
11 H. Moxnes, The Economy of the Kingdom: Social Conflict and Economic Relations in
Luke’s Gospel (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1988), and Putting Jesus in His Place: A Radi-
cal Vision of Household and Kingdom (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2003);
J.B. Green, The Theology of the Gospel of Luke (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
1995); idem, The Gospel of Luke (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1997); B.J. Malina and R.L.
Rohrbaugh, Social-science Commentary on the Synoptic Gospels (2d ed.; Minneapolis: For-
tress, 2003); J.H. Neyrey, “God, Benefactor and Patron: The Major Cultural Model for Inter-
preting the Deity in Greco-Roman Antiquity,” JSNT 27 (2005): 465–92; Y.S. Ahn, The Reign
of God and Rome in Luke’s Passion Narrative: An East Asian Perspective (BibInt 80; Leiden:
Brill, 2006); A. Batten, “An Asceticism of Resistance in James,” in L.E. Vaage and V.L.
Wimbush (eds.), Asceticism and the New Testament (New York: Routledge, 1999), 355–70;
D.H. Edgar, Has God not Chosen the Poor? The Social Setting of the Epistle of James (JSNTSup
206; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2001); J.S. Kloppenborg Verbin, “Patronage Avoid-
ance in James,” HTS 55 (1999): 755–94; N.J. Vhymeister, “The Rich Man in James 2: Does
Ancient Patronage Illumine the Text?” AUSS 33 (1995): 265–83; W.H. Wachob, The Voice
of Jesus in the Social Rhetoric of James (SNTSMS 106; Cambridge: Cambridge University,
2000). In addition to general discussions already mentioned, note the application of this
idea to Paul in R.W. Pickett, “The Death of Christ as Divine Patronage in Romans 5.1–11,” in
E.H. Lovering (ed.), Society of Biblical Literature 1993 Seminar Papers (Atlanta: Scholars Press,
1993), 726–39; B.W. Winter, Seek the Welfare of the City: Christians as Benefactors and Citi-
zens (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1994); A.D. Clarke, “The Good and the Just in Romans 5:7,”
TynBul 41 (1990): 128–42; idem, Serve the Community of the Church: Christians as Leaders
questions emerging concern whether relations with God or Jesus may be

seen in light of patronage,12 how social dynamic may have played them-
selves out within the ἐκκλησία,13 and how Christians may have interacted
with outsiders.14 Very quickly this is becoming a field of New Testament
studies which cannot be ignored.15
Yet several problems have been raised concerning Saller’s work, which
broadly speaking amount to a challenge of oversimplification. These com-
plaints often come from fellow classicists and often relate to his employ-
ment of sociological ideals.
Saller himself makes no secret of his drawing upon the work of
anthropologists.16 As early as the fourth page, he introduces the universal
concepts of Anton Blok (famous for his research on the Sicilian Mafia),17
wherein it is argued that patronage is present in every society, having
prominence in inverse proportion to centralized government.18 In order
to fully appreciate Saller’s work and issues surrounding its application, it
will be valuable to briefly outline Blok’s position.
and Ministers (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2000); Reasoner, The Strong and the Weak,
175–86. Z.A. Crook, Reconceptualising Conversion: Patronage, Loyalty, and Conversion in
the Religions of the Ancient Mediterranean (BZNW 130; Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2004);
C. Osiek, “The Politics of Patronage and the Politics of Kinship: The Meeting of the Ways,”
BTB 39 (2009): 143–53.
12 E.g. Crook, Reconceptualising Conversion, and Neyrey, “God, Benefactor and Patron.”
13 E.g. Clarke, Serve the Community of the Church, and C. Osiek, “The Politics of Patronage.”
14 E.g. Winter, Seek the Welfare of the City, and Horsley, Paul and Empire.
15 “Almost every Gospel and epistle has been probed in the hope of discovering the
idiom of patronage hidden within its pages. Introductory texts to the world of the New
Testament also feature patronage heavily, and the model’s results are informing the fields
of systematic theology, Pauline church government, and even the quest for the historical
Jesus. Its establishment as now truly requisite knowledge for the New Testament scholar is
attested in several recent studies wherein the authors, while concentrating on patronage,
assume that the model is now so widely known that their readers’ cognizance with it can
be taken for granted” (MacGillivray, “Re-Evaluating Patronage,” 38).
16 By his own admission Saller sees himself expanding the work of G.E.M. de Ste Croix,
“Suffragium: From Vote to Patronage,” British Journal of Sociology 5 (1954): 33–48. For
anthropologists, socio-scientists and the like, “patronage” describes a general phenomenon
seen in different societies throughout history. E.g. G.F. Lytle and S. Orgel (eds.), Patronage
in the Renaissance (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1981); A.G. Dickens (ed.), The
Courts of Europe: Politics, Patronage and Royalty, 1400–1800 (New York: Greenwich, 1984);
J.H. Miller, “Putting Clients in Place: The Role of Patronage and Cooption into the Soviet
Leadership,” in A. Brown (ed.), Political Leadership in the Soviet Union (Bloomington and
Indianapolis: Indiana University Press, 1989), 54–95; and C.C. Brown (ed.), Patronage, Poli-
tics and Literary Tradition in England, 1558–1658 (Detroit: Wayne State University Press,
1993).
17 A. Blok, The Mafia of a Sicilian Village, 1860–1960: A Study of Violent Peasant Entrepre-
neurs (Oxford: Blackwell, 1974).
18 A. Blok, “Variations in Patronage,” Sociologische Gids 16 (1969): 365–78.
62 bruce a. lowe
Anton Blok identifies four different situations of patronage moving

from weakest to strongest governmental control: 1) vassalage; 2) broker-
age; 3) friendship; and 4) disguised patronage. The first of these describes
a feudal society wherein public law is absent or ineffective and each per-
son is forced to seek personal security and economic stability under the
shadow of someone more powerful.19 In Blok’s second grouping, “central
authority is firm-set but in urban centres rather than throughout the
countryside.”20 Under such circumstances a person aware of local cus-
toms uses their knowledge to mediate an advantage between national
government and local communities. The third situation defines “friend-
ship” in very similar terms to Blok’s “brokerage,” except that it is less sub-
versive and self-protective of the mediator’s power-base. Government has
spread fully into communities and has formally integrated all people into
its framework. “Friendship” is nevertheless allowed to operate where it
supports the smooth running of government.21 The fourth and final cat-
egory, describes modern industrial societies where “personal relationships
of protection and preferential treatment are normatively valued as ‘bad’.
In fact patronage is a bad word and so is nepotism.”22
Saller contends that Blok’s middle two categories provide a good
description for the Roman system from early first century b.c.e. onward.
The most effective emperors established themselves as patrons-in-chief,
benevolently bringing individuals into power positions one step beneath
themselves.23 These people would then operate as loyal clients to the
emperor, but also as friends/brokers to those beneath them. This step-
wise process was repeated all the way down to the lowest citizen, in what
became a web of unequal reciprocal relations which at the same time was
a chain of vertical command.24 While centralized government was not
absent (Saller affirms), its size was insufficient to account for how such a
19 Blok, “Variations,” 367–69.

20 Blok, “Variations,” 369.
21 Blok, “Variations,” 371–73.
22 Blok, “Variations,” 373; c.f. deSilva, Honor, 95.
23 Saller, Personal Patronage, 78.
24 “By permitting senators to remain important as brokers, the emperor accomplished
two things. First, he greatly enlarged the group of those who received his personal favors
and owed personal loyalty to him in return: by using senators and equites as brokers to
distribute his beneficia throughout Italy and the empire, the emperor found the media-
tors needed to bind to himself through a chain of personal bonds, numerous municipal
aristocrats and provincials with whom he had no personal contact. Perhaps more impor-
tantly, by allowing senators and leading equites to maintain their power as his brokers, the
emperor bestowed on them a beneficium which deserved gratia in the form of loyalty in
return” (Saller, Personal Patronage, 75).
large empire was held together. The real glue of imperial Rome was per-
sonal patronage, emanating from a supposedly benevolent emperor.25
Both praise and criticism have followed Saller’s research:
Saller has, with these limitations, illuminated the personal aspect of the
machinery of the empire, and is right to insist that its workings were much
less systematic than is commonly held. But by combining the modern and
the ancient terminology of patronage in the same words he unduly widens
the scope of the Roman concept.26
This review by the prominent historian Sherwin-White illustrates the ten-
sion felt between this valuable universal work and the potential issue it
generates in muddying the way patrocinium and clientia were actually
used in ancient Rome. More recently Eilers has laid a similar charge at
Saller’s door, via the colourful metaphor of a stretched sweater:
The problem with [Saller’s] definition is where to stop. All friendship would
become patronage, except when it involved equals. Does this mean that
Atticus was a client of Cicero? (They were not of equal status.) Moreover,
what are we to do with, say, marriage? or slavery? These relationships are
also enduring, asymmetrical, and involve exchange, but are obviously not
patronage. Definitions are valuable not only for what they include, but also
for what they exclude. The above definition disallows almost nothing. Our
pullover has been stretched into a circus tent.27
25 “The most successful emperors were those who, like Augustus, were able to utilize
skillfully the offices, honors, statuses and administrative decisions at their disposal to pro-
duce cohesion in a web of personal exchange relationships extending from themselves”
(Saller, Personal Patronage, 78). Saller focuses largely on inscriptions from North Africa.
For evidence more broadly gathered, see S. Schwartz, “Josephus in Galilee: Rural Patron-
age and Social Breakdown,” in F. Parente and J. Sievers (eds.), Josephus and the History of
the Greco-Roman Period: Essays in Memory of Morton Smith (StPB 41; Leiden: Brill, 1994),
290–306, and T.R. Stevenson, “The Ideal Benefactor and the Father Analogy in Greek and
Roman Thought,” Classical Quarterly 42 (1992): 421–36. For a true picture of the early
emperors, see esp. C.S. Mackay, Ancient Rome: A Military and Political History (Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 2004).
26 Sherwin-White, “Review,” 273; cf. D’Arms, “Review,” 95. For a response see R. Saller,
“Patronage and Friendship in Early Imperial Rome: Drawing the Distinction,” in A. Wal-
lace-Hadrill (ed.), Patronage in Ancient Society (New York: Routledge, 1989), 49–62.
27 Eilers, Roman Patrons, 6–7. Though note the response of Verboven to one of the
contentions of this quotation: “Eilers, nevertheless, firmly places himself in the ‘classical’
tradition. The reasons why are revealed in the introduction, where he makes a number of
objections to the sociological concept of patronage. Not all arguments are to the point, and
Eilers doesn’t always seem to have a sufficient grip of the concept itself. For instance, the
relation between Cicero and Atticus does not fall under the sociological concept of patron-
age because Atticus never needed Cicero’s help and could often muster more resources
than Cicero could; slavery does not fall under the heading of patronage because it is not a
voluntary relationship” (“Review of C. Eilers,” n.p.).
64 bruce a. lowe
The time is now right to introduce our second term, benefaction, which for
New Testament specialists has been promoted as something of a response
to the above problems with Saller’s work. If patronage is seen by some
as the prominent Roman concept for reciprocal relations, then benefac-
tion (captured most readily by εὐεργέτης) is seen as the Greek equivalent.28
This is the second idea to be considered by this article, which naturally
arises through issues with Saller’s work.
Εὐεργέτης was often employed in a technical way on epithets in ancient
Greek city-states to laud prominent individuals who had helped their com-
munity in some way.29 And after Rome took control of Greek city-states in
the aftermath of the third Punic war (ending 146 b.c.e.), it became increas-
ingly common for such epithets to include πάτρων—a Greek translitera-
tion from Latin.
Such a connection between the two word groups has led many to
equate the two concepts.30 Yet for others like Stephen Joubert, here is
where a serious problem arises:
Contrary to the consensus among many scholars that patronage and “euer-
getism” refer to the same social form of social exchange in the Graeco-Roman
world, the available data in my opinion present us with a more nuanced
picture—that is, with two different but related forms of social interchange.
In other words, in both these relationships we have an exchange of goods
and services that leads to mutual obligations, together with differentiations
of status and power between the interlocutors. However, the contents of
the goods exchanged and the nature of the ensuing social relationships (in
terms of the status and reciprocal responsibilities of the individuals/groups)
are different.31
Whereas patronage, Joubert claims, was a “system of social control,” in
εὐεργέτης “status differentials between public benefactors and beneficia-
ries were not ‘entrenched’ by benefit-exchanges. The (collective) recipi-
ents of public benefits, for example, seldom took on a submissive role
28 For a most insightful general discussion of εὐεργέτης, see C. Spicq, Theological Lexi-
con of the New Testament (trans. J.D. Ernest; 3 vols.; Peabody: Hendrickson, 1994), 2:107–13.
As to other terms, Latin and Greek, see H.J. Mason, Greek Terms for Roman Institutions: A
Lexicon and Analysis (American Studies in Papyrology 13; Toronto: Hakkert, 1974); Mar-
shall, Jesus, Patrons and Benefactors; and Harrison, Paul’s Language of Grace.
29 For formulas in the use of these inscriptions, see A.S. Henry, Honours and Privileges
in Athenian Decrees: The Principle Formulae of Athenian Honorary Decrees (New York:
G. Olms, 1983) as discussed in Winter, Seek the Welfare, 26–27.
30 Most self-consciously, Crook and Osiek.
31 Joubert, “One Form of Social Exchange or Two?” 23.
(which was often the case with clients of powerful Roman patrons).”32
Joubert has gone on to apply such distinctions to Paul’s gift to the Jeru-
salem church.33
More seriously though, in the recent work of Jonathan Marshall, we see
the way in which such a distinction may be relevant for all Pauline stud-
ies in the future. Picking up on suggestions derived from Harrison and in
turn Judge, Marshall argues forcefully that the extent of Romanization vs.
Hellenism was different for different locations of the empire during the
New Testament period.34 The implication becomes (for example), that
Paul’s letter to Philemon must first be considered in terms of whether
Roman patronage or Greek benefaction was the dominant system in
operation. Only then may one consider the nature of the exchange rela-
tionships spoken of in this letter. The importance of this challenge may
be seen in the way that Osiek, a commentator of Philemon, now sees the
need to publish an article defending the merging of the two terms.35
Harrison, in his highly significant study on χάρις in Paul, is also keenly
aware of this debate and its importance to the meaning of words in the
apostle’s writings. The opening paragraph of this monograph is taken up
with defining why he chose benefaction over patronage:
This thesis will argue that the Graeco-Roman benefaction context of χάρις
is the backdrop of Paul’s understanding of divine and human grace. Paul’s
language of grace would have been assessed by his auditors against the Hel-
lenistic reciprocity system that shaped the rituals of giving and receiving
throughout the eastern Mediterranean basin. This was, after all, the area
in which Paul founded and pastored his fledgling house churches. Paul’s
Gentile converts were intimately familiar with the operations of Hellenistic
beneficence. To be sure, the Roman patronal system was well known in the
Greek East, initially through the benefactions of the republican luminar-
ies, and later through the munificence of the Caesars. But the traditional
benefaction system of the Greek city-states continued to flourish well into
the imperial period, along with its reciprocity conventions and terminology.
This is illustrated by the numerous honorific inscriptions scattered through-
out the entire region of the eastern Mediterranean.36
32 Joubert, “One Form of Social Exchange or Two?” 23.

33 S. Joubert, Paul as Benefactor: Reciprocity, Strategy and Theological Reflections in
Paul’s Collection. For two reviews, coming from opposite poles, see Crook, Reconceptualis-
ing Conversion, 60–66, and Marshall, Jesus, Patrons, and Benefactors, 32–37.
34 Marshall, Jesus, Patrons and Benefactors, 53–124.
35 Compare here C. Osiek, Philippians, Philemon (Nashville: Abingdon, 2000).
36 Harrison, Paul’s Language of Grace, 1.
66 bruce a. lowe
The interesting thing about the end of Harrison’s first chapter is his will-
ingness to entertain at some length the value of sociological information,
albeit with a note of caution.37 In this way we gain a sense of the struggle
taking place in the minds of certain scholars since Sherwin-White. On
the one hand, value is seen in bringing more universal concepts to bear
in understanding the social relations of the first century. On the other
hand, there is a sense of uneasiness relating to the danger of overlooking
important distinctions. How are we to arrive at a balanced position in
this discussion? Is there a framework for considering the points made by
different sides and weighing them even-handedly? In what follows it will
be argued that a proper framework for discussion can be found through
semiotics. It is within this much older and more general linguistic discus-
sion that foundational issues have been thoughtfully considered. To the
application of this research we will now turn.
The Value of Semiotics in Understanding This Debate
While it is a misconception to think that modern linguistics began with

Ferdinand de Saussure, he is unquestionably a towering figure in the way
language and culture are now understood to interact.38 Saussure sought
a scientific study of language by noting not only the way words interact
with cultures and one another at a given place and time (“synchronic-
ally”), but also the ways in which such things evolve over time (“dia-
chronic linguistics”).
A key component of Saussure’s work was the differentiation between
something “signified” (e.g. a tree, or a sociological phenomenon like patro-
cinium) and the sounds or letters used to “signify” the object or phenom-
enon (e.g. tree or patronage). Put together they are described as a “sign.”
Such an observation was seen by Saussure as the least controversial and
yet most profound insight for the whole of linguistics. He writes, “No one
disputes the fact that linguistic signs are arbitrary. But it is often easier to
discover a truth than to assign it to its correct place. The principle stated
above is the organizing principle for the whole of linguistics, considered
as a science of language structures.”39
37 Harrison, Paul’s Language of Grace, 17–23.

38 See esp. H. Aarsleff, From Locke to Saussure: Essays on the Study of Language and
Intellectual History (London: Athlone Press, 1982).
39 Saussure, Course in General Linguistics, 68.
Several things emerge from these foundational insights. Firstly it may

be noted that words are only ever arbitrary signifiers used by a given
culture to describe objects or abstract ideas. Words change and evolve
over time even as the things they describe may also change. By noting
such a disconnect it becomes possible to see the complexity in trying to
elucidate a given word and its precise connection to a given reality. To
use an example from an important study by Clifford Ando, we see that
after Greek conquest by the Romans, the Greeks struggled to come to
terms with the defeat of their all-superior political system, and as part of
this struggle they chose to think of the Roman system using words and
ideas familiar to themselves. It was only as the reality of differences
came to the fore in the second century c.e. that these same Greek words
evolved to accurately describe the Roman reality.40 The signifiers were
never bound to the things signified (whether Greek or Roman) and there-
fore they were free to change at different rates over time.
Secondly, because of cultural influences affecting the meaning of words
(as in the example just given), we must also be conscious of the actual
culture within which a given word functions and avoid the danger of
wrongly importing foreign cultural perspectives. This will be discussed
further below. But the danger here is really captured by the more radical
expressions of semiotics in people such as Derrida, who see readers as
necessarily biased by their own cultural conditioning.41
Thirdly, Saussure makes much of the differences between synchronic
considerations and diachronic ones and even of the priority of the for-
mer over the latter. Yet he recognizes that the two must complement one
another:
Any notion of bringing together under the same discipline facts of such dis-
parate nature would be mere fantasy. . . . Diachronic and synchronic stud-
ies contrast in every way. . . . It is often claimed that there is nothing more
important than knowing how a given state originated. In a certain sense,
that is true. The conditions which gave rise to the state throw light upon its
true nature and prevent us from entertaining certain misconceptions. But
what that proves is that diachrony has no end in itself.42
40 “Greek intellectual and emotional accommodation to Roman rule, particularly in the

late Republic and age of Augustus . . . must have shaped contemporary narratives of the
past: as Greeks grew willing to direct their patriotism and nationalistic aspirations towards
Rome, they required an intellectual model of the empire that could exonerate, even justify,
their participation in its political institutions” (Ando, “Was Rome a Polis?” 6).
41 J. Derrida, Speech and Phenomena, and Other Essays on Husserl’s Theory of Signs
(trans. D.B. Allison; Evanston: Northwestern University Press, 1973).
42 Saussure, Course in General Linguistics, 85, 89.
68 bruce a. lowe
Such ideas will become important for discussions of patronage and bene-
faction, because often consideration has not been thoroughly given to
precisely how and why words evolved over time. This may well be the
case with the word πάτρων and its disappearance from epithets during
the first century c.e. There is a rather complex evolutionary dynamic at
work involving the shift from city patronage under different senators to
early emperors jealous of their role as universal patron.43 Yet in the midst
of this same dynamic, emperors like Augustus needed to show care in
not appearing to have set themselves up as monarchs.44 This may be the
reason why πάτρων became a politically loaded term, which would then
need to be considered carefully in understanding the decline of πάτρων
in the east and how this affected the actual phenomena of patrocinium in
these places. The absence of this particular signifier may not indicate the
absence of the signified, as Marshall seems to assume.45
Fourthly, we see Saussure affirming the importance of synchronic study
when considering any given moment of language use. Using the analogy
of a game of chess, he writes:
A game of chess is like an artificial form of what languages present in a
natural form. . . . In a game of chess, any given state of the board is totally
independent of any previous state of the board. It does not matter at all
whether the state in question has been reached by one sequence of moves
or another sequence. . . . In order to describe the position on the board, it is
quite useless to refer to what happened ten seconds ago.46
This is still an acknowledged distinction and one that is important for con-
sidering patronage and benefaction. The way a word is used in any given
place and time is culturally determined by the situation and moment. This
is a point that Harrison, Eilers, Marshall and others have emphasized.
The previous point is an important one that will be emphasized below.
But it leads to a fifth assertion which must also be considered, i.e. that
synchronic study should not become culturally narrow. It will be argued
below that a range of cultures at any given time and place must be con-
sidered since there is not always a simple dynamic going on. If, as Crook
claims, “pre-common-era Palestine did not have a patron-client or a
benefactor-client social structure,” meaning that “it would be difficult to
43 A.J. Woodman, Paterculus: The Tiberian Narrative (2.94–131) (Cambridge Classical

Texts and Commentaries 17; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 204–5.
44 Mackay, Ancient Rome, 186–87.
45 See his Jesus, Patrons and Benefactors.
46 Saussure, Course in General Linguistics, 87–88.
claim that Jews thought of their God as a patron or a benefactor,” serious

attention must be given to how ideas of reciprocal relations may have
evolved under the influence of Hellenism.47 From this point, insights may
be gained for how Paul’s often judaized audiences might have seen things
in variance from the simple binary of Roman vs. Greek. This point has
been valuably considered by MacGillivray, and in a similar vein Winter is
conscious of potential Christian distinctives which may or may not reflect
Jewish origins.48
Sixthly, the semiotics of Saussure is valuable in so far as it creates a
framework for seeing the importance of rhetorical factors.49 This ele-
ment of rhetoric is important in deciphering how terms are and are not
being used. To be sure, many have noted this already with regards to the
use of such terms as amici (‘friend’) instead of more derogative patron/
client language.50 But semiotics provides a framework for evaluating this
discussion.
Finally, we finish where we began in considering semiotics as a rel-
evant framework for considering debate over patronage and benefaction,
i.e. by being reminded that words are only ever signifiers. Here though I
am thinking in terms of the entire question of whether patronage is really
the most appropriate term. This is the bottom line for debate in the minds
of some. It has been this question of terminology which is presently at the
fore of debate in the literature. More must be said on this below, but for
the moment it will be useful to introduce the comments of Verboven, in
his review of Eilers:
Since the publication of Saller’s Personal Patronage, scholars have been
divided about how to analyse ancient patronage. Saller introduced a soci-
ological approach, arguing that patronage should be seen as a lopsided
“friendship”, not as an institution of its own. Thus, the borderline between
amicitia and patronage was fluid. Saller’s view was taken over by many
scholars but was also rejected by many who argued that it was at variance
with how Romans themselves thought about patrocinium. Both parties tend
to forget that they are simply not talking about the same thing. Patronage
47 Crook, Reconceptualising Conversion, 79.

48 MacGillivray, “Re-evaluating Patronage”; Winter, Seek the Welfare. See also S. Sorek,
Remembered for Good: A Jewish Benefaction System in Ancient Palestine (SWBA 5; Sheffield:
Sheffield Phoenix Press, 2010).
49 See W. Weullner, “Paul’s Rhetoric of Argumentation in Romans: An Alternative to
the Donfried-Karris Debate over Romans,” in K. Donfried (ed.), The Romans Debate (rev.
ed.; Peabody: Hendrickson, 1991), 128–32; V. Robbins, The Tapestry of Early Christian Dis-
course: Rhetoric, Society and Ideology (New York: Routledge, 1996), 1–17.
50 Note for example Saller’s defence of his work, R. Saller, “Patronage and Friendship.”
70 bruce a. lowe
as a sociological concept denotes a specific type of social exchange relation-

ship or a system based on such relationships that can be found in widely
different cultures and societies throughout history under widely different
names and appearances. Roman patrocinium on the other hand was a social
and cultural phenomenon sui generis, with its own history, rituals, signs and
symbols, and, although it may usefully be analysed from the perspective of
the sociological concept of patronage, it cannot meaningfully be reduced to
this theoretical concept.51
We are now positioned to consider each of these seven elements in more
detail with reference to debate over patronage and benefaction.
Words Are Only Ever Signifiers
Just as the principle “words are only ever signifiers” is a cornerstone of

semiotics, so also this notion is a logical starting point for debate over
“patronage” and “benefaction” and their relationship to first-century cul-
ture. If words are only ever signifiers, then we must be careful not to tie any
word unshakably to a cultural idea. To assert this point in no way necessi-
tates a deconstructionist extreme.52 Rather, this becomes a safe and useful
acknowledgment, provided Saussure’s own balance is maintained.53
In the current debate it would be unfair to claim that any side denies
this principle. Yet ironically, some of those opposing Saller are in danger of
moving away from it.54 It seems that in wishing to emphasize careful use
of actual evidence, there has been a tendency to focus on the presence of
words as the only valid indicator of the presence of a social phenomenon.
Marshall, for example, speaks of how suffragium alone captures the con-
ferral of a kingdom, and then proposes that “if Luke intended to present
Jesus rebuking or following a Roman system he would have needed to adopt
the language of suffragium, but he has not.”55 Any researcher can guess the
reason why such a principle is being promoted—there is a desire to avoid
51 Verboven, “Review of C. Eilers,” n.p.

52 For a balanced discussion of the problems involved in moving towards such an
extreme, see esp. Thiselton, New Horizons, 80–141.
53 Saussure himself acknowledges the continuity of generations and the inherent stabil-
ity of signifiers (Course in General Linguistics, 71–73). For a similar philosophical reason-
ing in broader terms, see H.-G. Gadamer, Truth and Method (trans. J. Weinsheimer and
D.G. Marshall; 2d ed.; London: Sheed & Ward, 1975).
54 Reasons for this will be given below when the difference between synchronic and
diachronic approaches is discussed.
55 Jesus, Patrons and Benefactors, 311 (emphasis mine).
speculation by demanding some concrete measure. But if the principle

underlying the proposed measure (i.e. a necessary tie between signified
and signifier) is not valid, then the measure itself is inappropriate and
should not be insisted upon.
How does this principle help in the current debate? It should be affirmed
that while the presence of certain words is suggestive of a phenomena,
their absence cannot rule it out, and there is nothing intrinsically “safer”
in making a standard out of something which is not valid.56
Sociology Should Be Used with Caution
A principle complaint against Saller’s work is the danger it has of giving

the word patronage so broad a sense that it becomes almost meaningless.
A closely connected concern is “the risk of importing foreign elements
into relationships which did not exist in ancient culture.”57 Harrison offers
a warning along these lines by quoting Judge:
Even if one accepts the assumption of social determinism, the problem with
this kind of explanation is that we simply do not know enough about the
day-to-day workings of rank and status in the Roman world of the Caesars
and St. Paul. The theories have usually been hammered out in the laboratory
of a South-Sea-Island anthropologist, and then transported half-way around
the world, and across two millennia, without adequate testing for applicabil-
ity in a new setting: so powerful is the assumption of the indelible pattern
of human social behaviour.58
Saller himself makes no secret at the start of his work that he is using
the anthropological concepts of Blok. He also discusses “comparative evi-
dence from the Chinese bureaucracy” in a later chapter.59
Yet semiotics highlights the danger of such a move by noting how the
meaning of any word is culture-bound within the time and place in which
56 One gets this sense from Marshall, that in the absence of words it is “best to restrict
the interpretation of the passage” to some other form of reciprocity ( Jesus, Patrons, and
Benefactors, 310).
57 Marshall, Jesus, Patrons and Benefactors, 43.
58 E.A. Judge, Rank and Status in the World of the Caesars and St. Paul (Christchurch,
New Zealand: University of Canterbury, 1982), 10, quoted in Harrison, Paul’s Language of
Grace, 14; cf. a similar quotation from E.A. Judge, “The Social Identity of the First Chris-
tians: A Question of Method in Religious History,” JRH 11 (1980): 210, in G. Peterman, Paul’s
Gift from Philippi: Conventions of Gift Exchange and Christian Giving (SNTSMS 92; Cam-
bridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), 21.
59 Saller, Personal Patronage, 111–16.
72 bruce a. lowe
it is situated.60 To import information from other cultures is therefore

problematic in that it creates a scenario where the sign itself has been
distorted. This indeed is the move made by people such as Derrida in
arguing against the possibility of concrete meaning.61 A foreign signifier,
when employed to describe the actual signified creates the inevitable con-
sequence that somewhere, somehow, something foreign will be wrongly
read into the signified. The theory of semiotics sides therefore with those
warning against reliance on sociology and indeed provides reasons for
certain related practices to be criticized.62
Yet it may be argued that sociological data is only being drawn upon
by way of analogy, and that the real argument is based on the actual data
from the ancient world.63 This may be true, and given also that Saller
himself reads less into the concept of patronage than patrocinium itself
often contained, there is some safety in this. But there is a subtle and dif-
ficult distinction to be maintain especially as a field of research develops a
pattern of thinking from its foundational studies. This indeed is the para-
digmatic progression of research highlighted by Thomas Kuhn. Saussure’s
discussion also highlights this issue in noting that language is “something
inherited from previous generations,”64 and that any “linguistic sign is
a two-sided psychological entity.”65 Semiotics gives basis for cautioning
against heavy reliance on sociology and the danger of importing foreign
concepts.
Synchronic Study Should Be Differentiated from Diachronic Investigation
Yet there is a dilemma bouncing off the previous assertion. In Saussure’s

semiotics the case is made that individual words must be understood in
60 Cf. Barthes, Elements of Semiology.

61 Derrida, Speech and Phenomena.
62 Cf. S.K. Stowers, “The Social Sciences and the Study of Early Christianity,” in W.S.
Green (ed.), Approaches to Ancient Judaism: Studies in Judaism and its Greco-Roman Con-
text (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1985), 149–81; P.F. Craffert, “More on Models and Muddles in
the Social-Scientific Interpretation of the New Testament: the Sociological Fallacy Recon-
sidered,” Neot 26 (1992): 217–39. For a very recent attempt to correct the way sociology
is employed, see D.G. Horrell, “Whither Social-Scientific Approaches to New Testament
Interpretation? Reflections on Contested Methodologies and the Future,” in T.D. Still and
D.G. Horrell (eds.), After the First Urban Christians: The Social-Scientific Study of Pauline
Christianity Twenty-Five Years Later (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 2009).
63 Cf. Saller, “Patronage and Friendship.”
65 Saussure, Course in General Linguistics, 66 (emphasis mine).
terms of their own evolution over time, and that such understanding must
be gained separately from the snapshot-moments of time and space for a
given signifier and signified:
This arbitrary character fundamentally distinguishes languages from all
other institutions. This can be seen in the way in which a language evolves.
The process is highly complex. A language is situated socially and chrono-
logically by reference to a certain community and a certain period of time.
No one can alter it in any particular. On the other hand, the fact that its
signs are arbitrary implies theoretically a freedom to establish any connex-
ion whatsoever between sounds and ideas. The result is that each of the
two elements joined together in the linguistic sign retains its own indepen-
dence to an unparalleled extent. Consequently a language alters, or rather
evolves, under the influence of all factors which may affect either sounds or
meanings. Evolution is inevitable: there is no known example of a language
immune from it. After a certain time, changes can always be seen to have
taken place.66
This would seem to be a crucial point in seeking to understand patronage
and benefaction and the interrelationship between them.
If we consider Saller’s work for a moment, it is essentially directed
towards the diachronic, i.e. it is a broad discovery of how patronage evolved
from a senatorial ideal and was taken over by the emperor as a means of
establishing his power base. Much more work remains to be done in trac-
ing the same evolutionary process in even greater detail. For example,
Augustus was clearly in the politically tricky position of wanting to estab-
lish himself, yet at the same time not be seen as establishing a monar-
chical rule.67 He and other emperors had to tread lightly in using terms
such as perpetuus patronus Romani imperii (‘perpetual patron of imperial
Rome’), pater patriae (‘father of the fatherland’) and προστάτην αὐτὸν καὶ
πατέρα δημόσιον (‘this patron and public father’).68 Nicols makes a strong
case that the disappearance of the word πάτρων from epithets in the east
of the empire was connected with Augustus’ move to maintain this intri-
cate balance.69 Whether this was intentional or economically fortuitous
(as Eilers suggests) has some relevance to how the evolutionary process
should be viewed.70 But what remains important is that as we trace the
use of πάτρων in these eastern regions we must be very conscious that the

67 Mackay, Ancient Rome, 186–87.
68 Woodman, Paterculus, 204–5.
69 J. Nicols, “Patrons of Greek Cities in the Early Principate,” ZPE 80 (1990): 81–100.
70 Eilers, Roman Patrons, 172–80.
74 bruce a. lowe
disappearance of the signifier does not necessarily show the disappear-

ance of the signified. Indeed because the signified had been present at one
time, it may be imagined that to some extent other Greek signifiers which
previously were devoid of Roman concepts would now have included ele-
ments of them as the signified would now have invaded their culture. The
study of Ando is again important in this regard. He notes:
Greek intellectual and emotional accommodation to Roman rule, particu-
larly in the late Republic and age of Augustus, has received less attention. Yet
that latter process must have shaped contemporary narratives of the past: as
Greeks grew willing to direct their patriotism and nationalistic aspirations
towards Rome, they required an intellectual model of the empire that could
exonerate, even justify, their participation in its political institutions.71
We should not be so naïve as to think that Greek signs did not evolve
under the influence of their Roman captors, whatever rhetoric existed to
the contrary.72 Indeed Ando is very conscious of the need within contem-
porary historical studies to move beyond simple synchronic analyses to
more diachronic approaches:
The last several years have seen the publication of large and sophisticated
regional surveys, but the empiricism that informs these works seemingly con-
strains them to view and to describe surviving data exclusively as the result
of concrete actions. The revolution in Greek political consciousness that
took place during this renaissance in Greek urban culture has not received
similarly detailed study. Yet the Greeks’ willingness to integrate particular
instantiations of Roman power into civic institutions and to accommodate
imperial cult within their individual pantheons must have been preceded by
a conceptual model allowing such integration.73
It seems to the current author that within the older political regime of
the polis, Greek city-states used εὐεργέτης as more of a functional descrip-
tion. Yet Luke 22:25 shows evidence that this word had ultimately become
linked to the power of rulers under the Roman system.74 Much more work
needs to be done in understanding the evolution not only of πάτρων and
related terms, but, as MacGillivray reveals, of εὐεργέτης as well: “the study
of Greek euergetism independent of Roman patronage is still a relatively
71 Ando, “Was Rome a Polis?” 6.

72 “Conquered Greece conquers the wild victor and introduces her arts into rustic
Latium” (Horace, Ep. 2.1.156–157).
73 Ando, “Was Rome a Polis?” 6. For a similarly synchronic approach see Stevenson,
“Ideal Benefactor.”
74 A point surprisingly not discussed in Marshall’s otherwise detailed analysis of this
passage.
new endeavour; the neologism ‘euergetism’ created to describe the prac-

tice was only included in the Oxford Classical Dictionary, for example,
in 1996.”75 Only as this research occurs will the full extent of similari-
ties and difference between Roman patronage and Greek benefaction be
understood.
All this to say that Saussure’s distinction between synchronic and dia-
chronic may go some way to explaining why the two sides of this debate
continue to clash. Could it not be that Saller has begun to give us a dia-
chronic analysis which now needs to be extended? Could it be that it is
not the pursuit of the diachronic that is wrong, but simply the general
way it has been performed until now?76 The issue here is that definitions
like that of Blok (whatever the dangers of sociology) provide the appropri-
ate fluidity of meaning to a label which most readily allow for diachronic
analysis. This practical issue, it seems to me, may actually be the hub
of this debate. One side sees the benefit of sociology in uncovering dia-
chronic trends and requires a term which will service generalized discus-
sions. The other side sees the danger of overgeneralization and points the
finger at the shortcomings of diachronic analysis. But if Saussure is right
in asserting that diachronic analysis can “prevent us from entertaining
certain misconceptions,” there is a need for the opponents of Saller to
somehow come to terms with his project. These scholars must also come
to terms with time in general, as will be noted next.
Synchronic Study Is Nevertheless Essential
Here is where people such as Judge, Harrison, Joubert, Marshall and MacGil-
livray have rightly sounded a warning to those who uncritically adopt
Saller’s description of “the early empire,” as if such a generalization is suf-
ficiently thorough to explain what happened at different times or places
in the empire. These authors have done well to raise the alarm, and they
have done well in drawing attention to the importance of noting different
locations, as well as different cultural variants within those locations (see
below). What still remains to be done better, however, is including the
75 “Re-evaluating Patronage,” 46; cf. Marshall, Jesus, Patrons and Benefactors, 51–52,
where the definition of benefaction is far vaguer.
76 Note the synchronic approach of Stevenson’s discussion of Zeus (“Ideal Benefactor,”
432–33) and contrast it with the somewhat looser work of Crook in this regard (Reconcep-
tualising Conversion).
76 bruce a. lowe
distinctive of time, i.e. that a given sign should be understood at a given

moment as distinct from another moment within the same culture in the
same place. This again draws us back to the synchronic and diachronic
distinction, which is very helpful in exposing this lack. It is not as if such
consideration has been completely absent. But as Saussure again pene-
tratingly suggests for language studies in general, there is a tendency to
blindly ignore the synchronic/diachronic distinction. Certain synchronic
observations are mixed in with diachronic observations. What this means
in practice is that the warning sounded by those opposing Saller must
then translate into a more thoroughly diachronic focus by such scholars.
As well as considering distinctive places and cultures, more careful atten-
tion must be paid to the diachronic evolution of signs in that place, and
then to the specific synchronic moment of interest associated with (for
example) the composition of Paul’s letter to the Philippians, or his letter
to Philemon. These letters are necessarily located at a specific time.
Synchronic Study Must Not Be Too Culturally Narrow
This current point highlights something that both Marshall and MacGil-
livray admirably bring to the fore. Marshall, for example, is willing to
incorporate “Danker’s suggestion that ‘remembering’ connects to bene-
faction ideology.”77 Yet at the same time he urges that this idea “cannot
be disconnected from the Passover context” carried over as part of Jewish
culture.78 MacGillivray, makes even stronger assertions with regards to
the need to differentiate Jewish thinking:
Some rather staggering claims have been made regarding the dominance
of patronage in Jewish culture. . . . There are however several key indicators
that, when probed, bring into question any large-scale presence of patron-
age or euergetism in Jewish society. The first fact, which should again be
particularly unnerving for the social-scientist, is that no native source men-
tions or outlines any system equivalent to patronage. As for Greek culture,
Jewish patronage presently remains a scholarly construct rather than an
established reality. Social-scientists, or those who are dependent upon their
assumptions, are forced to seek out Roman writers such as Pliny and Cicero,
transferring and extrapolating from them onto Jewish culture. This is justi-
fied by seeing Jewish culture as a subset of the one Mediterranean society.
The insights offered by Philo and Josephus, however, are invaluable in the
77 Marshall, Jesus, Patrons, and Benefactors, 296.

78 Marshall, Jesus, Patrons, and Benefactors, 297.
construction of a properly understood appreciation of Jewish interaction

with patronage and euergetism.79
In subsequent analysis, he rightly notes that moral foundations were
important to the critiques of certain Graeco-Roman philosophers, but
then proposes that Philo’s critique went well beyond such a context.80
While there is some danger in swinging to an extreme on this, especially
as one considers Philo’s discussion of God,81 such work nevertheless
rightly highlights how cultural attitudes towards reciprocity evolve differ-
ently within separatist communities of Jews.82 When considering “culture”
and things signified, we must not think of culture in monolithic terms,
or even under the simple binary of Roman vs. Greek. Further complexity
could well be argued in distinguishing Christian communities from other
Jewish thinking.83 In this sense the letters of Paul, written to groups with
varying degrees of judaizing influences (and indeed apostolic influence),
become important sources for discussing how Jews and Christians may
have either agreed or clashed on such issues.
Thus the synchronic slice must not be simplistic with regards to culture.
Roman attitudes, Greek attitudes, Jewish and Christian attitudes must be
considered separately and compared with each other.
Synchronic Study Must Be Aware of Rhetoric
This is an area which adds yet another layer of complexity to the way a
signifier and signified are understood to relate in any given instant. It is a
complicating factor and yet an essential one to include. Stevenson gives
an important example of this with regards to tensions over the use of dom-
ine language and whether this was viewed as positive or negative. Having
traced the Greek idea of tyranny, and noting that Pliny is in a precarious
79 MacGillivray, “Re-evaluating Patronage,” 55.

80 MacGillivray, “Re-evaluating Patronage,” 56–62. But note too from Stevenson that
“the ancients commonly justified individual preeminence in moral terms” (“Ideal Benefac-
tor,” 423).
81 On this point it seems to the current author that Crook’s reading of Philo is superior
(see Reconceptualising Conversion, 85–88).
82 For firsthand accounts and discussion of just how separatist Jews were, see H. Con-
zelmann, Gentiles / Jews / Christians: Polemics and Apologetics in the Greco-Roman Era
(trans. M.E. Boring; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1981), 45–133.
83 Winter, Seek the Welfare.
78 bruce a. lowe
position in his use of such language towards the emperor, he nevertheless

shows how a rhetorical turn allows this to show his subservience:
When Pliny addresses Trajan as domine, he does not display any of the acute
sensitivities of his class about self-interest, subjection or exploitation. Cer-
tainly he knew how governors addressed the Emperor but there is more to
it than mere convention. If Pliny deliberately drops his guard, there would
seem to be a belief that the Emperor will reciprocate in similar vein. An
element of moral manipulation is suggested. The intent is to acknowledge
social distance of the widest kind—as between a master and a slave. The
psychological interpretation of the honorific language, with its connotations
of servitude, is suppressed in favour of the social purpose. Dominus thus
becomes a term of high honour in spite of connotations that would nor-
mally see it opposed to ‘father’ as an honorific epithet. Of course, for the
whole scenario to work in this fashion requires considerable self-deception
and tact. The more Pliny suppresses his sensibilities in the Emperor’s favour,
the greater is his show of loyalty.84
This is an area of difficulty no matter what field of New Testament studies
one chooses to pursue.85 Language is always used rhetorically and most
obviously so in a Graeco-Roman world so dominated by rhetorical sensi-
bilities.86 It is an age-old challenge for scholars standing at a great tem-
poral, cultural and language distance to detect the subtleties of rhetoric.
Yet this point must still be asserted because it can mean the difference
between interpreting historical information rightly or wrongly.
Words Are Only Ever Signifiers
This section repeats the title of the earlier section of this essay. But while
the aim then was to introduce semiotics, this section attempts to tie dis-
cussion together and answer the difficult questions of whether Saller’s
definition of patronage is adequate, and whether the words patronage and
benefaction may at all be used interchangeably.
The answer to the first question is that Saller’s definition is not only
adequate, but perhaps necessary in studies emphasizing synchronic anal-
84 Stevenson, “Ideal Benefactor,” 424–25.

85 E.g. P.H. Kern, Rhetoric and Galatians: Assessing an Approach to Paul’s Epistle
(SNTSMS 101; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998); C.J. Classen, Rhetorical Criti-
cism of the New Testament (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2002).
86 R.D. Anderson, Ancient Rhetorical Theory and Paul (CBET 18; Leuven: Peeters, 1999).
ysis. As noted already from Saussure’s semiotics, those doing synchronic

studies need broader historical analyses, which are able to uncover the
way signs evolved over time in different locations. It seems to the current
author that while there are dangers when sociology imports an excess of
foreign concepts, this danger is much reduced when it is simply focused
on trends, i.e. when less is brought to a definition than more (as in Saller’s
work). The problem is not with Saller’s definition being too broad, but
with what subsequent scholars have done with his work. Instead of tak-
ing this diachronic study along with others and using them to elucidate a
synchronic slice, his definition is assumed to be adequate to then super-
imposed without further detailed analysis.
But perhaps historians need to be more flexible in being willing to give
up an English word for the sake of greater gain. Saussure’s work shows
that with the necessary disconnect between signifier and signified, a word
like patronage has necessarily evolved from its original Latin, patrocinium.
Social forces such as those within feudalism of the middle ages become
crucial in appreciating what patronage now means.87 It might also be
argued that with the prominence of sociology the word has now evolved
naturally from such feudal beginnings towards something akin to Saller’s
definition. It may even be said that with Saller’s work acting as a paradig-
matic starting point for so much of New Testament studies, it would be
a backwards step to insist upon a different word, or some clumsy expres-
sion like reciprocity system.88 If in an age of interdisciplinary study the
goal is to open lines of communication between different fields, it makes
more sense to keep this term, and for classicists to employ the specific
Latin word patrocinium to describe this phenomena. This should not be
seen as some kind of compromise, or a dumbing-down of thoroughness
with regards to historical research. But in reality there is a call here to
even greater thoroughness on all sides. It must be remembered and noted
clearly that even patrocinium will have evolved over time in the ancient
world and cannot simply be regarded as fixed. We must avoid the naïve
assumption that the signified and signifier are ever tied by a Gordian
knot.
87 Eilers, Roman Patrons, 2–3.

88 Suggested by Danker and referenced in Harrison, Paul’s Language of Grace, 16.
80 bruce a. lowe
The Example of Romans
This section will briefly consider Romans as a case study for illustrating
how the above ideas may be applied to Paul’s letters. It will not be done
systematically, dealing with the above assertions point by point. Rather
the goal will be to keep the above principles in mind while considering
whether patrocinium, εὐεργέτης or something else is primary in this let-
ter, and if so what precisely this may mean. Note that in line with what
has been said above, other technical terms besides simply patronage and
benefaction are used here.
In terms of reciprocal relations, a study of Romans should be a syn-
chronic study.89 This will be a study in light of Rome in the mid-50s and a
Christian audience having certain Jewish connections.90 But in line with
what has been said above, such a study must ultimately be aware of the
diachronic evolution of signs. This is why “what precisely this may mean”
was added to the previous paragraph. Even if we identify something as
an example of patrocinium, the question still remains as to how this may
have been understood when Paul wrote.
An obvious first step is to consider where (if at all) evidence exists
in the letter for reciprocal social interactions characteristic of the social
world at that time. This is important to establish. Given the way that Paul
presumes his audience to have a familiarity with Judaism, questions might
be raised as to how reciprocal perspectives are being expressed.91 Begin-
ning with Danker’s work, at least twenty places have been observed where
different ideals of social reciprocity are present: 1:8; 1:16; 1:18–3:20; 2:4; 3:3;
3:12; 3:25–26; 4:15; 4:17; 5:6–21; 6:1–23; 7:7–25; 8:2–11; 8:32; 12:17; 13:1–7; 15:14–
15; 15:18; 15:20; 15:26.92 To this we may add the studies of Pickett covering
5:1–11, and Reasoner on 14:1–15:13.93 In general terms these studies show
89 This should be true at least in the first instance. Note that almost all scholars today
would reject a broader intention behind this letter which may result in the letter being
more timeless in intent (contra T.W. Manson, “St. Paul’s Letter to the Romans—and Oth-
ers,” in Donfried [ed.], Romans Debate, 3–15; G. Bornkamm, “The Letter to the Romans as
Paul’s Last Will and Testament,” in Donfried [ed.], The Romans Debate, 16–28).
90 For a brief overview of date and the cultural situation in Rome at the time, see
R. Jewett, Romans (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2007), 18, 46–59.
91 See discussion above from MacGillivray, “Re-evaluating Patronage,” 54–80.
92 See Danker, Benefactor, 324, 326, 329, 331, 334, 336, 337, 342, 347, 360, 397, 398, 400–
401, 403, 417, 424 (c.f. Rom. 9), 439, 440, 441, 451.
93 Pickett, “The Death of Christ”; Reasoner, The Strong and the Weak. Note also the
article of B.W. Winter, “Roman Law and Society in Romans 12–15,” in P. Oakes (ed.), Rome
in the Bible and the Early Church (Grand Rapids: Baker, 2002), 67–102; and information in
Harrison, Paul’s Language of Grace.
that Paul draws upon normal social conventions of the day, whatever he
may then do by way of qualification.94 Based on these initial observations,
there is reason to believe that patronage (defined in Saller’s terms) is an
important subject in Romans.95
The next question is how in particular the convention of patronage
may have expressed itself, e.g. in connection with terms such as πάτρων,
εὐεργέτης, σωτήρ, πατήρ, etc. As we look at Romans, we note that it begins
with a strong emphasis upon God as πατήρ. Is this to be understood in
connection with patronage, even as it was used this way by a succes-
sion of emperors in connection with an ideal?96 Or should its meaning
be restricted to Jewish connections? We may also note that God’s power
is described in terms of σωτηρία in 1:16. In terms of Paul’s own descrip-
tion of himself in 1:1, he is δοῦλος Χριστοῦ Ἰησοῦ and κλητὸς ἀπόστολος.
This would fit with him being an ambassador of the gospel of Jesus his
κυρίος (1:4), which in terms of patronage would make him a broker.97 The
lengthy introduction of Rom 1:1–6 carefully defines the places of the main
characters of the letter—Paul, the Romans, God and Jesus.98 This creates
a possibility for believing that the letter itself gives a significant place to
patronage (again using Saller’s general term).
The problem here is that any possible trail now goes cold. As with many
studies of the past, this information gives stimulus and hints at the pos-
sibility of revealing something insightful, but without ever furnishing sub-
stantial evidence. Here may potentially be the problem of the signified
and signifier and the possible presence of the former in absence of the
latter. This often leads to sweeping connections like those of Danker:
In Romans 1:21–23 St. Paul formulates the negative side of the theme: ingrati-
tude in response to divine benefactions leads to immorality. A subsequent
question in Romans 6:1 relates specifically to the problem outlined in 1:21–
23: “Shall we sin so that God will have more opportunity to be a benefactor?”
Paul’s immediate answer to his rhetorical question is contained in 6:2–23.
94 Note again Winter’s attempt to highlight differences in Seek the Welfare.

95 From the discussion above, the reader is reminded that Saller’s general term is a use-
ful starting point in a discussion such as this, provided it is qualified carefully.
96 Woodman, Paterculus, 204–5; Stevenson, “Ideal Benefactor.”
97 See especially the entry on ἀπόστολος in Spicq, TLNT 1:186–94. For discussion on
brokerage, see Saller, Personal Patronage, 4–5, 57–78; Crook, Reconceptualising Conversion,
72–79, 170–75.
98 Note indeed with Dahl how Paul strangely introduces his audience as part of making
such a connection, even apart from the letter convention of introducing them (N.A. Dahl,
“The Missionary Theology in the Epistle to the Romans,” in Dahl (ed.), Studies in Paul:
Theology for the Early Christian Mission [Minneapolis: Augsburg, 1977], 70–87).
82 bruce a. lowe
The benefit of deliverance from sin implies obedience to God through an

upright life (6:22). After a doxological conclusion to a long discussion on the
problem of Israel’s general unresponsiveness to the Gospel (9:5), the Apos-
tles pleads with the addressees on the basis of God’s mercies to maintain a
life style appropriate to their new status as beneficiaries.99
In order to fully map some way forward, closer attention needs to be given
to the signifiers mentioned above (πατήρ, σωτηρία, ἀπόστολος, κύριος) and
their diachronic evolution in Rome until the time Paul wrote.100 But the
dilemma is that even after this, confusion may still exist as to whether
Paul had such things in mind.101 Perhaps a better indicator, in this case,
will be to focus upon one dilemma of past research in Romans, which may
be clarified by paying attention to “patronage”.
Epistolography would suggest that Rom 1:13–15, with its “disclosure for-
mula” (οὐ θέλος δὲ ὑμᾶς ἀγνοεῖν, ἀδελφοί, ὅτι . . .), should be the place to
find Paul’s purpose for the letter body.102 Yet this idea is dismissed even
by the prominent epistolographer, John White, because he can only see
in vv. 13–15 “the desire to visit [which] is not developed within the body-
middle.”103 Yet he has failed to note how ἵνα in v. 13 indicates a higher
purpose for Paul’s trip. “Visiting” is only a means to receiving a harvest
from them, as in v. 11 it would be the means of Paul giving.104 Paul’s men-
tion of Greeks and barbarians in v. 14 links “the rest of the Gentiles” from
the verse before, which then allows him to express the universal “debt”
he owes to all. The whole discussion then moves naturally to the climac-
tic explanation of v. 15 that he is thus (οὕτως) “eager to preach the gos-
pel also to you who are at Rome.” The “give-then-receive” present in vv.
11–12 is reversed in vv. 13–15 so that the passage finishes on the note of
Paul’s obligation (ὀφειλέτης: 1:14). White’s reason for dismissing the epis-

99 Danker, Benefactor, 451.
100 As well as distinctly within Jewish and Christian thought.
101 Such uncertainty arises in Marshall’s work even after his thorough analysis, cf. Jesus,
Patrons, and Benefactors, 286–323. This highlights the great challenge facing research of
this kind.
102 J.T. Sanders, “The Transition from Opening Epistolary Thanksgiving to Body in Let-
ter of the Pauline Corpus,” JBL 71 (1962): 348–62; T. Mullins, “Disclosure: A Literary Form
in the New Testament,” NovT 7 (1964): 44–50. This section follows closely on the heels of
1:1–6 with elusive comments of reciprocity also evident in 1:11–12.
103 J. White, The Form and Function of the Body of the Greek Letter: A Study of the Letter
Body of the Non-Literary Papyri and in Paul the Apostle (SBLDS 2; Missoula: Scholars Press,
1972), 95.
104 “I have often intended to come to you (but thus far have been prevented), in order
that (ἵνα) I may reap some harvest among you as well as among the rest of the Gentiles.
For I long to see you, that (ἵνα) I may impart to you some spiritual gift to strengthen you”
(Rom 1:13–14).
tolographic role which ought to exist in these verses is that the “visit”
theme (supposedly the central point) is absent from the letter body. But
in contrast, the theme of debt (via the ὀφειλ- root) reappears throughout
the letter body (4:4, 8:12, 13:7 and 13:8). This word group also appears at the
letter’s end, again in connection with the “visit” theme (15:27 [2x]), again
with strong rhetorical overtones.105
When such an approach is taken, it emerges that the letter itself (per-
haps even like Cicero’s Topica)106 was the reciprocal repayment of a debt
which in the case of Paul was owed due to his role as broker. Seeing the
letter in this way makes it possible that all at once he is summarizing his
gospel, addressing issues (which would add value to the payment), and
then using this as basis for requesting the audience’s reciprocal support for
Spain (15:24–28). All the major “Reasons for Romans” are included here.107
Assuming then (in the absence of fuller argumentation) that Romans
hinges on Paul’s role as a broker of God’s gospel of Jesus, what may be an
adequate way to explain this? What is interesting is that in Rom 1:1–6 the
apostle takes a reasonable amount of care to define various roles. There is
a careful distinction made between God as πατήρ and Jesus as κύριος. In
fact, upon closer observation, God is not called πατήρ until Paul’s formula-
rized greeting in v. 7. To be sure though, this role is implicit in discussion
of Jesus as υἱός (v. 3). And it is interesting too how Paul defines himself
always in terms of Jesus—as slave (v. 1) and with Jesus as Lord (v. 4).
What are we to make of this? Paul would seem to be brokering on behalf
of Jesus, who as Lord in a Roman context, may thus be seen as something
akin to patrocinium. God, particularly in light of the use of σωτηρία in
1:16, is perhaps more the “benefactor” in a traditionally “polis-dominating”
Greek sense of the word. And yet, as Hays has rightly noted, God ends
up having a very dominant position in Romans, arguably more so than
Jesus.108 How then may all this be distilled down to an expression that
is simple enough to be meaningful and yet broad enough to encompass
everything? I would suggest: “Romans as the brokering of divine patron-
age.” By “divine” I mean to collapse the role of God and Jesus together,
since they are indeed father/son. A basis for using such an expression may
105 For reasons that cannot be discussed here, a case could even be made for “visit”
being part of the entire debt and reciprocity process.
106 Cicero’s letter is a most interesting. Written as a summary of Aristotle’s Topic, its
intention is to repay a debt in order to secure reciprocal support (1.4–5).
107 Jewett, Romans.
108 R.B. Hays, Echoes of Scripture in the Letters of Paul (New Haven: Yale University
Press, 1989).
84 bruce a. lowe
be found in Josephus, who wrote the following with the politics of Rome
in mind, in connection with Judaism, not long after Romans, and here
with reference even to David (cf. Rom 1:3):
The whole people was pleased by these things, and David, seeing the solici-
tude and readiness of the rulers, and priests and all the rest, began to praise
God in a loud voice, calling him the father and origin of all, the creator
of things human and divine, with which he adorned himself [David?], the
patron and protector of the Hebrew race, as well as of its well-being and of
the kingship he had given to himself [David] (Josephus, Ant. 7.380).109
Technically God’s role may be closer to traditional εὐεργέτης and Jesus’
role to patrocinium. But in so far as this is the complete divine rule (God
and humans) working out such things, surely there is a justification for
adopting Saller’s more general definition in order to capture both. Pro-
vided patrocinium is distinguished from patronage this seems allowable,
and in fact appropriate, as the present case shows. How else are we to
capture the complete divine dynamic in a way that becomes meaningful
to a modern audience?
What this case study shows, though, is how difficult it is to choose
terms—more difficult than those opposing Saller have often acknowl-
edged, with their failure to properly distinguish the synchronic from the
diachronic as well as the signified from the signifier. What is important
in all this is finding a word that means something to a modern audience
and yet still captures the sense of intention in terms of the things origi-
nally signified. This is an extremely difficult task, but it is hoped that in
the future scholars may work together in this enterprise, not divided by
words, but able to uncover all things signified by the ancients in every
situation.
109 C. Begg, Judean Antiquities, Books 5–7 (Vol. 4 of Flavius Josephus: Translation and
Commentary; ed. Steve Mason; Leiden: Brill, 2004) 307–8. The word [David?] is my addi-
tion, in light of the rightly noted ambiguity of whether [David] should be added later
(as Begg contemplates). Such ambiguity is unfortunate, particularly as it relates precisely
to point where προστάτης and κηδεμών are being used. Nevertheless nothing is changed
in terms of divine patronage. Whether David is the patron under God or God himself is
προστάτης, either way the divine is working out his patronage among his people.
Paul and the “Social Relations” of Death at Rome
(RomANS 5:14, 17, 21)
James R. Harrison
Wesley Institute, Sydney, Australia
A Neglected Area of Research in the Epistle to the Romans:

The “Social Relations” of Death at Rome
The Neronian “Reign of Death” and Romans Studies

Recently there has been an explosion of research into social relations at
Rome that has escaped the notice of exegetes of Romans. Publications
on the impact of death at Rome have increased exponentially in the last
decade as ancient historians have explored how Romans of differing social
status faced, experienced, and interpreted death within the hierarchical
and competitive society of late republican and early imperial times.1 This
lack of interest in (what might be called) the “social relations” of death
at Rome on the part of New Testament scholars is a lacuna in modern
1 For publications on death within the last decade, see P.J.E. Davies, Death and the
Emperor: Roman Imperial Funerary Monuments from Augustus to Marcus Aurelius (Aus-
tin: University of Texas Press, 2000); T.D. Hill, Ambitiosa Mors: Suicide and Self in Roman
Thought and Literature (New York/London: Routledge, 2004); M. Carroll, Spirits of the
Dead: Roman Funerary Commemoration in Western Europe (Oxford: Oxford University
Press, 2006); C. Edwards, Death in Ancient Rome (New Haven/London: Yale University
Press, 2007); V.M. Hope, Death in Ancient Rome: A Sourcebook (London/New York: Rout-
ledge, 2007); idem, Roman Death (London: Continuum, 2009); M. Erasmo, Reading Death in
Ancient Rome (Columbus: Ohio State University Press, 2008). For earlier publications, see
J.M.C. Toynbee, Death and Burial in the Roman World (Baltimore/London: Johns Hopkins
University Press, 1971); A.J. Toynbee, Life After Death (London: Wiedenfeld and Nicolson,
1976); Y. Grisé, Le suicide dans la Rome antique (Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 1982); K. Hopkins,
Death and Renewal: Sociological Studies in Roman History, Volume 2 (Cambridge: Cam-
bridge University Press, 1983); T.D. Papanghelis, Propertius: A Hellenistic Poet on Love and
Death (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987); R.P. Saller, Patriarchy, Property,
and Death in the Roman Family (Cambridge/New York: Cambridge University Press, 1994);
P. Plass, The Game of Death in Ancient Rome: Arena Sport and Political Suicide (Madison:
University of Wisconsin Press, 1995); A. Futrell, Blood in the Arena: The Spectacle of Roman
Power (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1997); D.G. Kyle, Spectacles of Death in Ancient
Rome (London/New York: Routledge, 1998). More generally, see G.M. Jantzen, The Founda-
tions of Violence (New York/London: Routledge, 2004).
86 james r. harrison
b iblical scholarship, given the growth industry that studies on death at

Rome has become.2
The omission is perfectly understandable at one level. Exegetes have
concentrated their energies in discussing death as one of the cosmic pow-
ers ranged against humankind, unfolding its reign against the backdrop of
Second Temple Judaism,3 the martyrological exempla of antiquity,4 and
the philosophical traditions of the late Hellenistic age.5 But the failure of
exegetes to appreciate that there was a “culture of death” present in impe-
rial Rome has important consequences for our understanding of Romans.
Paul often speaks of death in social contexts as much as in theological
contexts.6 The evidence of the Corinthian epistles, for example, is incon-
trovertible in this regard (1 Cor 1:18–32; 2:8; 4:9–13; 11:27–30 [cf. vv. 17–22];
2 Cor 2:14–16 [cf. 4:8–12]; 6:8–10; 11:21b-33; 13:4). Is there any indication that
Paul operates in a similar manner in the epistle to the Romans? If Paul
has so carefully shaped a new vision of social relations through the “dying
and rising” motif at the Roman colony of Corinth, surely he would have
2 The sole exception to this disinterest in the Roman understanding of death among
New Testament scholars is L.L. Welborn, “ ‘Extraction from the Mortal Site’: Badiou on the
Resurrection in Paul,” NTS 55/3 (2009): 295–314.
3 C.D. Elledge, Life after Death in Early Judaism: The Evidence of Josephus (Tübingen:
Mohr Siebeck, 2006); J.R. Dodson, The “Powers” of Personification: Rhetorical Purpose in the
Book of Wisdom and the Letter to the Romans (Berlin/New York: Walter de Gruyter, 2008),
58–68.
4 J.S. Pobee, Persecution and Martyrdom in the Theology of Paul (Sheffield: JSOT Press,
1985); D. Sealey, The Noble Death: Graeco-Roman Martyrology and Paul’s Concept of Salva-
tion (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1990). For a collection of the ancient evidence, see J.W. van
Henton, Martyrdom and Noble Death: Selected Texts from Graeco-Roman, Jewish, and Chris-
tian Antiquity (London: Routledge, 2002).
5 On the Hellenistic context of death in Romans, see E. Wasserman, “Death of the Soul
in Romans 7: Revisiting Paul’s Anthropology in Light of Hellenistic Moral Psychology,”
JBL 126/4 (2007): 793–816; idem, The Death of the Soul in Romans 7: Sin, Death and the
Law in Light of Hellenistic Moral Philosophy (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2008). An import-
ant Pythagorean philosophical text on death, recently translated, is Philodemus, On Death
(Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2009). More generally, see W.F.J. Knight, Elysion: On
Ancient Greek and Roman Beliefs concerning Life after Death (London: Rider, 1970).
6 For theological studies of death and resurrection in Paul, see C.E. Faw, “Death and
Resurrection in Paul’s Letters,” JBR 27/4 (1959): 291–98; R.C. Tannehill, Dying and Rising
with Christ: A Study in Pauline Theology (Berlin: Alfred Töpelmann, 1967); H.C.C. Caval-
lin, Paul’s Argument for the Resurrection of the Dead in 1 Corinthians 15 (Lund: Gleerup,
1974); C.C. Black II, “Pauline Perspectives on Death in Rom 5–8,” JBL 103/3 (1984): 413–33;
A. Johnston, “Firstfruits and Death’s Defeat: Metaphor in Paul’s Rhetorical Strategy in 1 Cor
15:20–28,” WW 16/4 (1996): 456–64; M. Byrnes, Conformation to the Death of Christ and the
Hope of Resurrection: An Exegetico-Theological Study of 2 Corinthians 4:7–15 and Philippi-
ans 3:7–11 (Roma: Editrice Pontifica Universita Gregoriana, 2003); S. Sabou, Between Horror
and Hope: Paul’s Metaphorical Language of Death in Romans 6:1–11 (Bletchley: Paternoster,
2005).
paul and the “social relations” of death at rome 87
spoken powerfully into the culture of death that shaped social relations
at the capital?7
New Testament scholars have forgotten that Paul wrote to Romans who
were living in the capital under the Neronian “reign of death” as much as
the much vaunted “quinquennium” of Nero. The Roman state had barely
survived the calamitous death count of the civil wars in the late repub-
lic. It had experienced, to its enormous relief, the outbreak of the pax
Romana under the principate of Augustus. But, as the first-century critics
of the Julio-Claudian house pointed out, Augustus had only secured last-
ing peace in the empire by ruthlessly wielding a bloodied sword.8 The
military “manliness” (virtus) of the Roman ruler was predicated precisely
on his ability to deliver death to the enemies of the state. A chilling issue
of Nero’s coinage, as we will see shortly, graphically attests to this.
Further, the growing autocracy of the Roman ruler fostered a psycho-
logical culture of “living death” for many residents at Rome. In the late
republic, the death of a family member among the Roman nobles had
traditionally been an important means of promoting the ancestral glory
of one’s house.9 But, under the Julio-Claudian rulers, this avenue of self-
promotion was wrested from the nobility, notwithstanding Augustus’s
desire to keep the traditional paths of competition open.10 The funeral eulo-
gies that publicly marked out the famous members of the republican noble
houses were curtailed in imperial times lest they be seen as a challenge
7 For Paul’s critique of Roman society in Rom 12–15, see B.W. Winter, “Roman Law and
Society in Romans 12–15,” in P. Oakes (ed.), Rome in the Bible and the Early Church (Carlisle:
Paternoster. 2002), 67–102.
8 Seneca (Clem. 1.9.1–2; 1.11.1–2) states that Augustus had used the sword ruthlessly in
the triumviral years and at Actium. Juvenal refers to the sword of Octavian being “wet from
non-stop slaughter” on the fields of Thessaly (Sat. 8.242–243), while Propertius highlights
the cost of the human carnage at Actium that so grieved the Roman gods (2.15.41–48; cf.
2.7.5–6). The gem evidence also supports a “warlike” image of Augustus. An oval agate
gem (32 b.c.e.) depicts Augustus as Neptune, holding a trident, on a chariot drawn by
hippocampi (sea horses). The nude, god-like Octavian rides authoritatively behind the
hippocampi. Beneath their feet tumbles the head of a defeated enemy (probably Sextus
Pompey) in the waves of Actium. For a picture of the gem, see D. Plantzos, Hellenistic
Engraved Gems (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1999), §633; P. Zanker, The Power of Images in
the Age of Augustus (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1990), §82. For discussion,
see respectively D. Plantzos, Hellenistic Engraved Gems, 96, and P. Zanker, The Power of
Augustus, 97–98.
9 See J.R. Harrison, “Paul and the Roman Ideal of Glory in the Epistle to the Romans,”
in U. Schnelle (ed.), The Letter to the Romans (Leuven: Leuven University Press/Uitgenerij
Peeters, 2009), 323–63.
10 Harrison, “Paul,” 323–63.
to the honour of the Julian house.11 Also, the monuments of the Julian
house, including Augustus’ mausoleum, came to dominate the Capitol at
Rome.12 Augustus’s mausoleum was not only a spectacular monument to
the Julian family but also a potent symbol, by virtue of its position, of his
apotheosis.13 It was the place, too, where Augustus had inscribed the Res
Gestae for posterity, his definitive statement of his place in Roman history.14
Inevitably, as the triumph of the Julian family became increasingly obvious
to everyone and political competition was constricted, high profile com-
petitors for military glory such as Cornelius Gallus had no choice other
than suicide when faced with the renunciation of Augustus’s friendship.
11 For examples of the funeral eulogies of famous Julio-Claudian family members, see
Appian, Bell. civ. 2.143.599 (Julius Caesar); Dio 56.35.1–41.9 (Augustus); Tacitus, Ann. 2.73
(Germanicus). Hope (Roman Death, 78) observes: “In Imperial Rome family praise of the
dead may have been better placed in private contexts. In public any praise had to be tem-
pered by the knowledge that the emperor was not to be surpassed.”
12 The erection of monuments by the nobility in the Capitol, fuelled by the heated com-
petition between the leading aristocratic families at Rome, exploded in the late republic
(A. Cooley, “Inscribing History at Rome,” in idem [ed.], The Afterlife of Inscriptions [London:
Institute of Classical Studies, 2000], 7–20, esp. 12ff.; P.J.E. Davies, Death and the Emperor,
passim). However, the forums of Caesar and Augustus eclipsed the monumental culture
of the old nobility. The forum Augustum not only expressed Augustus’ self-understanding
of being the fulfilment of republican history (E.A. Judge, “The Eulogistic Inscriptions of the
Augustan Forum: Augustus on Roman History,” in idem, The First Christians in the Roman
World: Augustan and New Testament Studies [ed. J.R. Harrison; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck,
2008], 165–81) but also secured in monumental form the triumph of his less distinguished
family, the familia Caesaris, over the famous houses of the nobles. A. Cooley (“Inscribing
History at Rome,” 16–17) comments regarding the forum Augustum: “This new forum dis-
played statues of famous Romans . . . Augustus’ own ancestors were somewhat lacking in
splendour compared with other families at Rome, such as the noble Claudii Marcelli. By
associating himself with all of Rome’s most notable individuals, Augustus basked in their
reflected glory.”
13 There was a symbolic connection between the two circular buildings in the Campus
Martius: Augustus’ mausoleum and the Agrippan Pantheon. The latter building was dedi-
cated to all the gods and included, among other cult statues to the deities (Mars, Venus,
and the gods), a statue to the recently divinised Julius Caesar (Dio 53.27.2–4). Visitors to
the Pantheon would have had direct sightline from the door of the temple to the mauso-
leum. Davies (Death and the Emperor, 140, 142) sums up the significance thus: “The axial
connection between his mausoleum and the Pantheon, two circular buildings, expressed
the progression from mortal to immortal status: Augustus, like Julius Caesar, and like Rom-
ulus on the very Marsh of Capra, would not die but achieve apotheosis.” For a map of the
sightline between the two buildings, as well as their close proximity to the horologium and
the Ara Pacis, see ibid., 141 fig. 94.
14 For recent discussions of the Res Gestae, see R. Ridley, The Emperor’s Retrospect;
Augustus’ RES GESTAE in Epigraphy, Historiography and Commentary (Leuven: Peeters,
2003); J. Scheid, RES GESTAE DIVI AUGUSTI: Hauts Faits du DIVIN AUGUSTE (Paris: Les
Belles letters, 2007); E.A. Judge, “Augustus in the Res Gestae,” in The First Christians, 182–
223; A.E. Cooley, Res Gestae Divi Augusti: Text, Translation, and Commentary (Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 2009).
Cornelius had become a persona non grata as far as Augustus was con-
cerned because he had overstepped the mark in promoting his military
victories, in the traditional style of a Roman nobilis (‘noble’), throughout
Egypt.15 The problem would surface again in Neronian Rome, though it
could be argued that the earlier treason trials under Tiberius were another
expression of the culture of death in the capital.16 Thus, in reaction to the
tyranny of Nero, suicide became a means of protest for dissidents living
under his excesses (e.g. Tacitus, Ann. 15.62–64; 16.16, 34–35).
As an intriguing sidelight to this phenomenon, it is worth remembering
that during Nero’s reign a select group of equestrians and senators decided to
participate in the munera gladiatora (gladiatorial combats). Undoubtedly,
for some, this represented an alternative strategy of achieving honour under
the tyrannous Nero. As Tacitus observed of the foremost citizens in Nero’s
reign (Ann. 3.65.2), the majority were “compelled to save their grandeur by
servility.”17 The gladiator’s love of death (amor mortis) had a redemptive
significance for himself and for his audience. If he remained unflinching
in the face of death, he achieved substantial honour, notwithstanding his
despised status.18 Indeed, for the Stoic philosopher Seneca, the very will-
ingness of the gladiator to surrender his body to death came to symbolise
the wise man’s surrender to his divine master (Tranq. 11.1–6; cf. Cicero,
Tusc. 2.17.41).19 However, the eagerness of some nobles to become gladia-
tors in the arena illustrated the fact that a world without honour—where
military virtus could no longer be achieved in public competition for
15 For discussion, E.A. Judge, “Veni. Vidi. Vici, and the Inscription of Cornelius Gallus,”
in The First Christians, 72–75; Harrison, “Paul and the Roman Ideal of Glory,” 358–60;
F. Hoffmann et al. (eds.), The Trilingual Stela of C. Cornelius Gallus from Philae: Translation,
Commentary and Analysis in Its Historical Context (Berlin: Walter De Gruyter, 2009).
16 The problem for ancient historians in accepting uncritically Tacitus’s notion of a
“reign of terror” in Tiberius’ reign is the strong likelihood that the historian deliberately
blackens Tiberius’ character and his involvement in the treason trials. Tacitus exagger-
ates the scope and significance of the Tiberius’ treason trials, with a view to criticising
implicitly the tyrannous reign of Domitian under which the historian wrote. Further, Taci-
tus probably draws on a hostile senatorial tradition critical of the Julio-Claudian rulers.
For discussion, see D. Dudley, The World of Tacitus (London: Seeker & Wafburg, 1968);
R. Mellor, Tacitus (New York: Routledge, 1993). See the insightful discussions of Hill (Ambi-
tiosa Mors, 183–212) and Plass (The Game of Death, 81–134) on aristocratic suicide in the
Julio-Claudian period.
17 C.A. Barton, The Sorrows of the Ancient Romans: The Gladiator and the Monster
(Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1993), 25–31.
18 Barton, Sorrows of the Ancient Romans, 24. On the despised status of the gladiator,
see ibid., 12–15; Kyle, Spectacles of Death, Index s.v. “Gladiators: ambivalent attitudes to
and status of.”
19 Barton, Sorrows of the Ancient Romans, 18–19.
one’s house independently of the ruler’s patronage20—was in actuality

slavery and a “living death” for the nobility. Although competition in the
arena was a poor substitute for this lost honour, despair drove the nobil-
ity in Neronian Rome to extremes of demeaning behaviour in the arena
that would have been inconceivable to their ancestors.21 Not only did the
nobles dishonour themselves in the arena, but so also did the spectators
who played the role of executioner for those gladiators who, in their view,
had not performed well enough in combat.22
Finally, in the face of the concentration of glory in the Julio-Claudian
house,23 Seneca redefined for a generation of the politically disaffected
how virtus could still be achieved, now that the ruler had stymied the tra-
ditional paths of competition for the aristocrats.24 But Seneca’s redefini-
tion of the political achievement of honour was primarily a survival tactic
for the philosophical and literary elite of Rome in the face of the ruler’s tyr-
anny. The reality is that the imperial culture of death at Rome had spread
to the base of the social pyramid. In a previous generation, the poet Ovid,
born of an old equestrian family and exiled by Augustus, depicted himself
as enduring a “living death” outside the comforts of Rome at Tomis in the
province of Scythia. Now, in Neronian Rome, Seneca, in his play Hercules
Furens, felt impelled to warn the young Nero against the tragic mistake of
pursuing a tyrannical rule in the style of the mythological Hercules. But,
in so doing, Seneca also depicted graphically the limbo-like state of death
that Romans experienced under the manic world of Caligula and Nero
(see below). In this instance, Seneca, a member of the wealthy educated
elite, let his guard drop and revealed the deep psychological impact of
the excesses of imperial rule upon “every day” Roman residents of the
capital.
In conclusion, the time is opportune for a study of Paul’s unusual per-
sonification of death as reigning through sin (βασιλεύειν: Rom 5:14, 17, 21)
20 For discussion of how the Roman ruler controlled the wealthy and the aristocrats
through the offer of honours and priesthoods, see J.E. Lendon, Empire of Honour: The Art
of Government in the Roman World (repr. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002), 131–39,
166–68.
21 For Juvenal’s trenchant comments on the descendents of Rome’s famous noble
houses (e.g. the Sempronii Gracchii) fighting in the arena, see Sat. 8.199–210. See also Sen-
eca, Ep. 99.13. On the “disgrace” of equestrians competing in the arena, see Dio 56.25.7.
22 In this regard, see Seneca’s famous indictment of the degenerate nature of crowd
involvement in the deaths in the arena in Ep. 7.3–5 (cf. Cicero, Mil. 34.92; Seneca, Ira 1.2.4).
23 Harrison, “Paul and the Roman Ideal of Glory.”
24 Sallust, too, had redefined virtus in the late republic. See M. McDonnell, Roman
Manliness: Virtus and the Roman Republic (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2006),
320–84.
against the backdrop of the Roman understanding of death and its social
expression at Neronian Rome. But how do we proceed in a methodologi-
cally responsible manner in a study of death at Rome, given the wealth of
primary evidence available?
Methodological Issues and Selection of Evidence

An interesting feature of the study of the “social relations” of death at
Rome is not only how death impacted the various echelons of the social
pyramid, but also how the Roman preoccupation with death spanned a
variety of sources (epigraphic, papyrological, monumental, iconographic,
numismatic and literary) and different genres of literature (e.g. consola-
tory, philosophic, eulogistic, historical, etc.). It could be argued that this
spread of evidence ensures a balanced approach to the impact of death
upon Roman residents at the capital. However, we face methodological
problems that diminish our ability to chart properly the “social relations”
of death at Rome.
First, our literary evidence is the product of “a small, male, educated,
elite minority.”25 It does not focus on death in the lower classes of Rome,
nor does it necessarily reflect the wide variety of beliefs that Romans had
about the afterlife.26 As Hope pithily remarks, “We struggle to hear the
voice of the majority.”27
Second, it is true that funerary inscriptions provide us with an aperture
through which we might view marginalised social groups ignored by the
literature of the elite: for example, the deaths of infant children, especially
females. But while the grief expressed in the epitaphs of infants is genu-
ine, the façade of conventionality, reflected in the use of recurrent imag-
ery on the tombstones, makes difficult any attempt to penetrate the social
realities behind the grief.28 This is especially the case when we remember
that the sentiments of the epitaph may simply reflect the sentiments of
the composer of the epitaph rather than the family erecting the stone, or,
worse, his selection of formulaic verses designed for a range of clients.
25 Hope, Roman Death, 11.

26 Edwards, Death in Ancient Rome, 6.
27 Hope, Roman Death, 11. On the variety of interpretations of death in antiquity, see
R. Lattimore, Themes in Greek and Latin Epitaphs (Urbana: University of Illinois Press,
1962), 21–86. Edwards, Death in Ancient Rome, 11.
28 See the well-balanced argument of M. King, “Commemoration of Infants on Roman
Funerary Inscriptions,” in G.J. Oliver (ed.), The Epigraphy of Death: Studies in the History
and Society of Greece and Rome (Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 2000), 117–54. For
another epigraphic study of Roman tombstones, see Carroll, Spirits of the Dead.
Consequently, discerning how the “social relations” of death operated at

the base of the social pyramid in Neronian Rome will have its limitations,
as invaluable as the inscriptional evidence is.
Notwithstanding, the presence of slave bureaucrats from the familia
Caesaris at Rome in the house churches would have ensured that there
was a basic familiarity with the Neronian “reign of death” among believ-
ers of differing social constituency, even if these believing slaves, as one
would expect, were loyal to their ruler and benefactor.29 Thus Paul’s alter-
nate “reign of grace” announced in Rom 5:12–21 would have spoken pow-
erfully to mid-fifties and sixties auditors in the capital suffering under the
excesses of Nero.
Our choice of evidence is crucial if we are to interpret the “rule of
death” in Rom 5:12–21 in a manner that unveils its Julio-Clauduan con-
text, with special emphasis on Neronian Rome. With the exception of the
Scipionic elogia and Lucretius, we will confine our selection of evidence to
the period spanning Augustus to Nero. First, we will examine the republi-
can elogia of the Scipionic nobles and select epitaphs from early imperial
Rome. Hopefully, this spread of epitaphs from different social echelons
will allow us to speak accurately about the “social relations of death” in
the capital. Second, we will consider the presentation of death in the
early imperial poets (Virgil, Horace, Propertius, Ovid, Calpurnius Siculus
and Lucan). These sources provide a variety of responses to the “reign of
death” under Augustus and Nero. Third, the evidence of two philosophers,
Lucretius and Seneca, will be explored. How did each philosopher help his
audience to cope with the culture of death in late republican and early
imperial Rome? Relevant iconographic and numismatic evidence will be
introduced where appropriate.
29 In the case of the early Christians, some believers belonged to the imperial house-
hold at Rome (Phil 4:22). It is likely that believers belonged to the household of Narcissus,
a freedman in the Claudian bureaucracy (Rom 16:11b [cf. Tacitus, Ann. 31.3; Dio 60.34]), as
well as to the household of Aristobulus, grandson of Herod the Great and brother of Herod
Agrippa 1, Claudius’ friend and confidant (Rom 16:10b [cf. Josephus, B.J. 2.221; Ant. 20.12]).
These believing slaves would have demonstrated loyalty to the ruler notwithstanding dif-
ficult circumstances (M.J. Brown, “Paul’s Use of ΔΟΥΛΟΣ ΧΡΙΣΤΟΥ ΙΗΣΟΥ in Romans 1:1,”
JBL 120/4 (2001): 730–36). Note in this regard the loyalty of ex-slaves to their imperial mas-
ter, seen in Seneca’s advice to Polybius, the freedman of Claudius: “Long ago the love of
Caesar lifted you to a higher rank, and your literary pursuits have elevated you . . . Think
what loyalty, what industry, you owe him in return for his imperial favour to you . . . you
owe the whole of yourself to Caesar” (idem, Polyb. 6.2; 7.1, 4).
The “Reign of Death” at Rome in the Early Imperial Period
Epitaphs from Republican and Imperial Rome
The Scipionic Elogia: Commemorating Ancestral Glory for Posterity

The epitaphs of the republican Scipionic family set out the pedigrees (filia-
tions, magistracies, military victories and official posts, priesthoods, Board
memberships, etc.) of each of the deceased members.30 The ethos evinced
by the epitaphs points to the vitality of the Roman nobleman’s quest for
ancestral glory. Two epitaphs in particular demonstrate this. Gnaeus Cor-
nelius Scipio Hispanus (praetor peregrinus, 139 b.c.e.) lists the magistra-
cies of his pedigree and then adds this highly revealing elogium:
By my good conduct I heaped virtues on the virtues of my clan: I begat a
family and sought to equal the exploits of my father. I upheld the praise
(laudem) of my ancestors, so that they were glad that I was created of their
line. My honours have ennobled (nobilitavit honor) my stock.31
This epitaph sums up succinctly the world-view of the Roman nobiles
(‘nobles’). The ancestral virtues of the noble house had to be replenished
by each new generation. The praise accorded the ancestors placed enor-
mous expectations on each new generation of nobles. Each noble had to
equal (and, hopefully, surpass) by virtuous conduct the achievements of
the ancestors,32 with the exploits of the immediate father being the start-
ing point. If the replication of ancestral merit was successfully carried out
by each new generation, the nobilitas of the family was rendered even
more noble and virtuous. Remarkably, the dead ancestors are depicted as
30 For discussion, see R.E. Smith, The Aristocratic Epoch in Latin Literature (Sydney:
Australasian Medical Publishing Company, 1947), 8–10. The next four paragraphs, reduced
and adapted, are borrowed from Harrison, “Paul and the Roman Ideal of Glory,” 350–51.
31 E.H. Warmington, Remains of Old Latin: Archaic Inscriptions (Cambridge: Harvard
University Press, 1953) “Epitaphs,” §10. For all the Scipionic epitaphs, see ibid., “Epitaphs,”
§1–10. Note the comment of Erasmo (Reading Death, 170): “That his dead ancestors would
be happy . . . with his moral character illustrates a readership joined, rather than separated
by death. Thus the epitaph reflects a need for accuracy since self-representation would
have an objective assessment by ancestors who now form the contemporary family of
the deceased, as would his descendants who will join him and their ancestors and face a
similar reckoning of their accomplishments and virtues.”
32 Note that Cicero (Fam. 12.7.2) also speaks of the nobilis surpassing his own accom-
plishments: “do your utmost to surpass yourself in enhancing your own glory.”
still vitally interested in the replenishment of the family honour attached

to their line.33
What happens, however, if the noble’s life is prematurely cut short by
his death before he can add to his ancestral glory? The answer is given
with moving simplicity in the epitaph of a young Scipio who had only
achieved “the honoured cap of Jupiter’s priest” before he died:
Death caused all your virtues, honour, good report and valiance, your glory
(gloria) and your talents to be short-lived. If you had been allowed long life
in which to enjoy them, an easy thing it would been for you to surpass by
great deeds the glory of your ancestors (gloriam maiorum). Wherefore, O
Publius Cornelius Scipio, begotten son of Publius, joyfully does earth take
you to her bosom.34
Here we see how the Scipios handled their less successful members, when
their advancement in the cursus honorum (‘course of honour’: i.e. magis-
tracies) was either cut short by death, as was the case with Publius Corne-
lius Scipio above,35 or by a lack of significant magistracies.
Finally, the elogium on front of the sarcophagus of Cornelius Scipio Bar-
batus, consul in 260 b.c.e., was added two hundred years after the original
epitaph was placed on the lid (“Lucius Cornelius Scipio, son of Gnaeus”).
The elogium is as follows:
Lucius Cornelius Scipio Long-beard, Gnaeus’ begotten son, a valiant gentle-
man and wise, whose fine form matched his bravery well, was aedile, consul
and censor among you: he took Taurasia and Cisuana, in fact Samnium; he
overcame all the Lucanian land and brought hostages there-from.36
What is fascinating about the elogium above is that it represents a post-
humous enhancement of the career of Barbatus after his death. First,
Barbatus’ original epitaph had to be supplemented with a more fulsome
eulogy. The fame of his later descendants (e.g. Scipio Africanus) would
have surpassed Barbatus’ achievements if the original epitaph, merely
33 Note the comment of D.C. Earl (“Political Terminology in Plautus,” Historia 9/1 [1960]:
242) regarding the role of virtus in Plautus and the Scipionic elogia: “(Virtus) consists in the
gaining of pre-eminent gloria by the winning of office and the participation in public life.
It concerns not only the individual but the whole family, not only its living members but
the dead members and the unborn posterity as well.”
34 Warmington, Remains of Old Latin, “Epitaphs,” §5. Smith (The Aristocratic Epoch, 10)
observes: “We see the constancy of the ideal, consisting still in public honours and public
office, to the extent that even where the dead man took no part in public life, the only
comment is on what he would have done had he lived longer.”
35 See also Warmington, Remains of Old Latin, “Epitaphs,” §8: “Cornelius Scipio Asia-
genus Nevershorn, son of Lucius, grandson of Lucius, sixteen years of age.”
36 Warmington, Remains of Old Latin, “Epitaphs,” §1–2.
his name, had been left unadorned. Second, two anachronistic elements
are added retrospectively to the career of Barbatus. Erasmos argues that
the description of Barbatus as “a valiant gentleman and wise” is “a refer-
ence to a Hellenic education, for which Barbatus is historically too early,
but a trait ascribed to his famous descendant (great-grandson) Scipio
Africanus.”37 Further, the reference to his physical beauty (“whose fine
form”) points to his inner virtue (“his bravery”).38 As Erasmo notes, it is
“another anachronistic cultural detail superimposed on stone and onto
the character and personality of the deceased.”39 In this elogium we have a
blend of Greek (wisdom; beauty) and Roman elements (magistracies; vic-
tories) that ensure that the later descendants did not outshine the original
ancestor of the Scipionic house.40 It also symbolically connects Barbatus,
the founder of the house, with his descendants’ later preoccupation with
Hellenistic culture.
Finally, scratched on a tufa near the sarcophagus of Barbatus is this
inscription (c. 1st cent. b.c.e.): “To every man his own gravestone.”41 Is
this the humorous protest of a critic of the Roman aristocracy concern-
ing the restriction of glory to the elite at funerals? Surely every person
had the right to commemorate their personal “glory” on a gravestone, the
critic asserts, notwithstanding their lack of social pedigree? Here we see
the importance of interpreting the use of public space and the interrela-
tion of its monuments in understanding the Roman conception of death
(n. 11 supra).
Death for the Roman noble in the republic was an opportunity for
descendants of the aristocratic houses to commemorate for posterity the
magisterial and military record of their forebears. The ancestral glory of a
noble’s house had to be maintained and surpassed by each new genera-
tion. This was the case irrespective of whether death had curtailed the
opportunity of family members to advance in the cursus honorum. As we
have seen, the elogium of unsuccessful family members, by virtue of its
special pleading, ensured that the ancestral glory of the house was in no
way imperilled by their premature death. Moreover, the achievements
37 Erasmo, Reading Death, 166. For the philhellenic outlook of Scipio Aemilianus Afri-
canus Numantinus, see A.E. Astin, “Scipionic Circle,” in N.G. Hammond and H.H. Scullard
(eds.), The Oxford Classical Dictionary (2d ed.; Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1970), 963–64.
38 Erasmo, Reading Death, 166.
39 Erasmo, Reading Death, 166–67.
40 For discussion of the posthumous addition of an elogium to the original epitaph
of Lucius Cornelius Scipio, the son of Barbatus (Warmington, Remains of Old Latin, “Epi-
taphs,” §3–4), see Erasmo, Reading Death, 168–70.
41 Warmington, Remains of Old Latin, “Epitaphs,” §11.
of the house founders (e.g. Cornelius Scipio Barbatus; Lucius Cornelius

Scipio) could not be superseded by the achievements of their descen-
dants. The descendants of the Scipio house retrospectively enhanced the
virtue of their ancestors by adding elogia generations later.
In sum, the loss of these traditional paths of maintaining ancestral
honour made the Julio-Claudian era seem like a “living death” for Roman
nobles. In response, Seneca redefined virtus for the educated elite in the
mid-fifties. Alternatively, some aristocrats tried to achieve honour by glad-
iatorial combats in the arena. But, as we will see, Paul’s critique of Roman
boasting in Romans and his proclamation of a resurrection hope beyond
the grave, with its transforming power already operative in the present
age, would have challenged the despair endemic in Neronian Rome.
Epitaphs at Rome from Differing Social Echelons

Whereas the epitaphs of the Scipionic house reflect a single social con-
stituency and commemorate the triumph of traditional ancestral glory
over death, there are epitaphs from republican and early imperial Rome
that reflect a variety of social echelons and beliefs about death. There are
epitaphs of builders, architects, hardwaremen, buffoons, clowns, butch-
ers, clerks, pearl merchants, public slaves, freedmen, patrons, auctioneers,
cult sacrificers, cattle merchants, soldiers, bakers and contractors.42 Apho-
risms inscribed on the stones underscore the importance of living life to
the full in the present before the arrival of death: “live for each day, live
for the hours, since nothing is for always yours”;43 “Baths, wine and Venus
corrupt our bodies, but they make life—baths, wine and Venus.”44
Others epitaphs are unrelentingly bleak in their assessment of the
meaning of life: “We are and we were nothing. See, reader, how quickly
we return from nothing to nothing.”45 The inescapability of death and the
42 See the following sections in Warmington, Remains of Old Latin, “Epitaphs”: builders:
§48; architects: §54; hardwaremen: §55; buffoons: §91; clowns: §14; butchers: §53; clerks:
§16; pearl merchants: §60; public slaves: §19–§38:17; freedmen/women: §16; §19–§38:8, 13,
14; §§47, 48, 49, 55, 60, 61, 64, 69, 70, 71, 75, 76, 77, 79, 84; 93, 98, 99, 107; patrons: §§58,
107; auctioneers: §50; cult sacrificers: §99; cattle merchants: §68; bakers and contractors:
§§56–57a; soldiers: §43. Note, too, the “guild of cutters or stone-sawyers” (§101), the “guild
of ringmakers” (§102), and the “Association of Greek Singers” (§103). For an excellent dis-
cussion of a variety of epitaphs from different social constituencies, see Erasmo, Reading
Death, 154–204.
43 Warmington, Remains of Old Latin, §39.
44 Hope, Death in Rome, §2.13.
45 Hope, Death in Rome, §6.39.
role of the gods, depicted as malevolent or merciful, are also acknowl-

edged. A brief selection underscores the point: “. . . I am in the power of
violent death”;46 “. . . he believed that what nature gave him was a guest
chamber”;47 “. . . some god or other, it’s my belief, cast unfriendly eye on her
life”;48 “. . . an unhappy parent has laid to rest his one and only daughter
Nymphe, whom he cherished in the joy of sweet love while the shortened
hours of the Fates allowed it”;49 “. . . in life I was dear to departed souls, and
very dear to the goddess who made away with me under unlucky omens.”50
Finally, in terms of social relations within the family, the epitaphs of wives
and young children are entirely conventional in their sentiments.51
In sum, across the social echelons, beliefs about death varied at Rome, if
our sample of inscriptions is representative. Finally, a fascinating inscrip-
tion, found at Sassina (in Umbria, Italy), outlines Horatius Balbus’s gift of
a graveyard to his local town, allocating burial rights to its citizens and
residents. However, the inscription also stipulates who is excluded from
proper burial in the cemetery:
. . . Horatius Balbus son of . . . is the giver to members of his township and
other residents therein, at his own expense, of sites for burial, except such
as had bound themselves to serve as gladiators and such as had hanged
themselves or had followed a filthy profession for profit . . .52
This refusal of burial for those who have suicided acquires social pathos
when one remembers that the political opposition of Nero sometimes
chose suicide as a form of political protest. Nobles also chose to be gladi-
ators in the ring in order to acquire lost honour under the Neronian “reign
of death”. It is probably safe to assume that the social attitude to suicide
and gladiatorial combat would have been the same at Rome as at Umbria.
Thus, in terms of “social relations” in the Neronian age, the opponents of
Nero would have suffered total dishonour in their death.
46 Warmington, Remains of Old Latin, “Epitaphs,” §53.

51 Warmington, Remains of Old Latin, §§42, 53, 64. Regarding the epitaphs of children,
note the comment of King (“Commemoration of Infants,” 132): “Recurrent images include
the dead child entreating his/her parents not to grieve; the cruelty of Fate; the lament of
untimely death; appeals to passersby; the precocity of the child.”
52 Warmington, Remains of Old Latin, §106. Note, too, the inscription that bans corpse
collectors being over 50 or under 20 years old, “nor have any sores, nor be one-eyed,
maimed, lame, blind or branded” (Hope, Death in Rome, §3.10).
Death and the Roman Philosophers at Rome: Lucretius and Seneca
Lucretius on Death, Philosophy and the Roman Social Order

In discussing De Rerum Natura, our focus will be on Lucretius’ perception
of death and its relation to Roman social relations in the present, even
though this motif is not entirely central to his aims.53 In the introduction
to his poem, Lucretius (94–55 b.c.e.), an Epicurean, outlines how he will
discuss the cosmology of the universe, as well as the human anthropology
of mind and spirit.54 On this occasion the target of Lucretius’s polemic is
priestly religion and the mythology of Rome that unhelpfully magnified
the fear of death. Lucretius’s desire was to divest the Roman priests of
the crippling social and ideological power that they wielded over people
through their unfounded superstitions about the afterlife:
. . . if men saw that a limit has been set to tribulation, somehow they would
have strength to defy the superstitions and threatenings of the priests; but,
as it is, there is no way of resistance and no power, because everlasting
power is to be feared after death.55
In reply Lucretius asserts that the truly rational mind is not seduced by
noble birth or the glory of royalty; neither is it filled with the fear of death
at the sight of the armed cavalry.56
In a savage diatribe against his own generation, Lucretius explains how
the lust for power in civil war precipitated a fear of death that robbed life
of any expression of natural feeling.57 There is little doubt that Lucretius’s
polemic here reflects contemporary events, such as the Social War, the
massacres of Marius and proscription lists of Sulla, and the current strug-
53 For discussion of Lucretius’s view of death, see J.D. Minyard, Lucretius and the Late
Republic: An Essay in Roman Intellectual History (Leiden: Brill, 1985); C. Segal, Lucretius
on Death and Anxiety: Poetry and Philosophy in De Rerum Natura (Princeton: Princeton
University Press, 1990); F. Kaufman, “An Answer to Lucretius’ Symmetry Argument against
the Fear of Death,” Journal of Value Inquiry 29/1 (1995): 57–69; F. Wilson, Socrates, Lucre-
tius, Camus—Two Philosophical Traditions on Death (Lewiston: Edwin Mellen, 2001);
S. Hetherington, “Lucretian Death: Assymetries and Agency,” APQ 42/3 (2005): 211–19;
A. Olberding, “ ‘The Feel of Not to Feel It’: Lucretius’ Remedy for Death Anxiety,” PhL 29/1
(2005): 114–29; C.C.W. Taylor, “Democritus and Lucretius on Death and Dying,” in idem,
Pleasure, Mind and Soul: Selected Papers in Ancient Philosophy (Oxford: Oxford University
Press, 2008), 316–27.
54 Lucretius 1.102–135. Lucretius (3.35–47) later explains how the fear of the underworld
and death causes rational people to revert to the superstitious rituals of traditional religion
in times of personal crisis.
55 Lucretius 1.107–11.
gle of the triumvirs (Caesar, Pompey, Crassus) for the control of Rome.
The Roman nobility and their equally zealous opponents, Lucretius argues,
brought about destructive results for the fatherland and the Roman family
because of their relentless drive for power and recognition:
Some wear out their lives for the sake of a statue and a name. And often
it goes so far, that for fear of death, men are seized by hatred of life and of
seeing the light, so that with sorrowing heart they devise their own death,
forgetting that this fear is the fountain of their cares: it induces one man
to violate honour, another to break the bonds of friendship, and in a word
to overthrow all natural feeling; for often before now men have betrayed
fatherland or beloved parents in seeking to avoid the regions of Acheron.58
Lucretius, having demonstrated how death touches the great (generals,
inventors, poets, philosophers),59 describes the “living death” enveloping
people who do not experience the consolation of philosophy:
Will you hesitate, will you be indignant to die? You whose life is now all
but dead though you live and see, you who waste the greater part of your
time in sleep, who snore open-eyed and never cease to see dreams, who
bear with you a mind plagued with vain terror, who often cannot discover
what is amiss with you, when you are oppressed, poor drunken wretch, by
a host of cares on all sides, while you wander drifting on the wayward tides
of impulse . . . Thus each man tries to flee from himself, but to that self, from
which of course he can never escape, he clings against his will, and hates it,
because he is a sick man who does not know the cause of his complaint; for
could he see that well, at once he would throw his business aside and first
study to learn the nature of things, since the matter in doubt is not his state
for one hour, but for eternity, in what state mortals must expect all time to
be passed which remains after death.60
Although not a social commentator, Lucretius is a valuable source because
he was sensitive to how the “reign of death” had become inextricably
entwined with the social relations of the late republic and how philosophy,
in his view, was the only release from the fear of death that pervaded and
distorted everything. Paul’s gospel of the “reign of grace” in the risen Christ
challenged ideologically this culture of despair at Rome and dismissed the
traditional Roman priestly religion as another instance of the idolatrous
dishonouring of God on the part of ungrateful humanity (Rom 1:21–23).
58 Lucretius 3.78–86. In regards to the fear of death, Lucretius (3.894–930) explains that
there is no need for the departed to lust after prosperity when restful death arrives or for
his relatives to grieve over his departure.
59 Lucretius 3.1024–1043.
60 Lucretius 3.1045–1052, 1068–1075.
Seneca on Death, Philosophy and the Roman Social Order

Before we investigate the experience of death in Seneca’s consolatory dis-
courses and his tragedies, the philosopher has in his epistles a great deal
to say about how one is to face death.61 From the evidence of the epistles,
it is clear that Seneca (4/1 b.c.e.–65 c.e.) wants to prepare his recipients
for the approach of death by stripping humanity’s passage to “nothing-
ness” of its fear of death (Ep. 82). According to Seneca, one should desire
a noble and a glorious death, performing deeds of valour and displaying
the Stoic virtues in the face of death (Ep. 67.9–10). As old age increases
its relentless grip, one has to prepare for death by learning how to die. In
this regard, Pacuvius, the Roman governor of Syria, had instigated a daily
burial service in his honour, being carried out alive from the dining room
to his burial chamber (Ep. 12.8–9). We should place value on our time,
Seneca states, understanding that we are dying daily: our past, as much as
our future, is in death’s hands (Ep. 1.2). In sum, we have to learn to meet
death cheerfully and contentedly (Ep. 4.4; 61.1–4).
Thus, in order to cultivate an indifference towards death, Seneca argues
that we should despise death, citing a cavalcade of Roman military heroes
as illustrations (Ep. 24.3–5; cf. 82.20–24) and the iconic example of Cato’s
suicide (Ep. 24.6–7; cf. 82.12–13). The Stoic attitude of Seneca’s aging friend,
Aufidius Blassus, is also presented as another paradigm. As Seneca per-
ceived it, Blassus seemed “to be attending his own funeral,” “laying out his
own body for burial,” and “bearing with wise resignation his grief at his
own departure” (Ep. 30.2). In a lyrical apostrophe to the personified powers
of Death and Pain, Seneca challenges their control over his life (Ep. 24.14):
Why do you hold up before my eyes swords, fires, and a throng of execu-
tioners raging about you? Take away all that vain show, behind which you
lurk and scare fools! Ah! You are nothing but Death, whom only yesterday
a man-servant of mine and a maid-servant did despise! Why do you again
unfold and spread before me, with all that great display, the whip and the
rack? Why are those engines of torture made ready, one for each several
member of the body, and all the other innumerable machines for tearing a
man apart piecemeal? Away with all such stuff, which makes us numb with
terror! And you, silence the groans, the cries, and the bitter shrieks ground
out from the victim as he is torn on the rack! You are nothing but pain,
61 On death in Seneca, see R. Noyes, Jr., “Seneca on Death,” JRHe 12/3 (1973): 223–40;
A.L. Motto, “Tempus omnia rapit: Seneca on the Rapacity of Time,” CFC 21 (1988): 128–38; T.D.
Hill, Ambitiosa Mors: Suicide and Self in Roman Literature (New York/London: Routledge,
2004), 145–82; B. Inwood, Reading Seneca: Stoic Philosophy at Rome (Oxford: Oxford Univer-
sity Press, 2005); J. Ker, The Deaths of Seneca (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009).
scorned by yonder gout-ridden wretch, endured by yonder dyspeptic in the

midst of his dainties, borne bravely by the girl in travail. Slight you are, if
I can bear you; short you are if I cannot bear you!
However, although Seneca heavily emphasises that death is inescap-
able (Ep. 93.5), we are not without hope. Seneca’s Stoic solution to the
plight of humankind is that wisdom is the best goal (93.8–10). Above all,
for Seneca and his educated circle of friends,62 literary and philosophical
studies provide the renown that will outlast death (Ep. 21; 82.3–6). Two
other important “death” motifs also emerge in Seneca’s epistles. First, as
already noted, Seneca outlines how the savagery of the arena had turned
Romans from being spectators to being executioners in deciding the fate
of less successful gladiators (Ep. 7.2–5).63 Second, as we have also seen,
Seneca holds to the dignity of suicide, especially—as would eventually be
his personal experience (Tacitus, Ann. 15.62–64)—in the face of tyranny
(Ep. 70.19; 77.18–20; cf. De Prov. 2.10–11).64
Whereas Seneca discusses the anticipation of death in his epistles
and dramatises its reign in tragedies such as Hercules Furens, discussed
below, the philosopher offers therapy to those grieving over the death
of relatives or friends in his consolatory writings. In his consolation to
the bereaved Marullus over the death of his young son (Ep. 99),65 Sen-
eca portrays death as the social leveller because of the rapidity of Time
(99.7–13). Seneca advises Marullus in Stoic manner that only a moderate
expression of grief was a necessity of Nature (99.18–19).66 Consequently
Marullus had to accept in “an unruffled spirit that which is inevitable”
(Ep. 99.22) rather than luxuriate in grief as a pleasure (99.25–28). As Sen-
eca concludes, because there is only non-existence after death, extended
grief for the deceased is futile (Ep. 99.30).
62 On the dissident literature of Nero’s reign, see V. Rudich, Dissidence and Literature
under Nero: The Price of Rhetoricization (New York: Routledge, 1997).
63 In addition to the literature cited above (Plass, The Game of Death; Futrell, Blood
in the Arena; Kyle, Spectacles of Death), see M. Wistrand, “Violence and Entertainment in
Seneca the Younger,” Eranos 88 (1990): 31–46; A. Olberding, “ ‘A little throat cutting in the
meantime’: Seneca’s Violent Imagery,” PhL 32/1 (2008): 130–44.
64 For discussion of suicide in Seneca’s play Phaedra, see Hill, Ambitiosa Mors, 159–75.
65 M. Graver, “The Weeping Wise: Stoic and Epicurean Consolations in Seneca’s 99th
Epistle,” in T. Fögen (ed.), Tears in the Graeco-Roman World (Berlin/New York: Walter de
Gruyter, 2009), 48–67.
66 For discussion of the motif of grief in Seneca, see M. Wilson, “The Subjugation of Grief
in Seneca’s ‘Epistles’,” in S.M. Braund and C. Gill (eds.), The Passions in Roman Thought and
Literature (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), 48–67; A. Wilcox, “Exemplary
Grief: Gender and Virtue in Seneca’s Consolations to Women,” Helios 33/1 (2006): 73–105.
More generally, see Fögen, Tears in the Graeco-Roman World.
The same viewpoint emerges in Seneca’s De Consolatio ad Marciam, a

consolatory dialogue on the death of Marcia’s father.67 Grief must cease
after death due to the immutability of death (Marc. 6.1–3; 10.5–6). Pre-
cisely because there is nothing after death, death would be a relief for the
deceased and the grieving (Marc. 19.4–20.3). In the De Consolatio ad Poly-
bium (c. 43/44 c.e.), Seneca comforts Polybius, the freedman of Claudius,
over the death of his brother.68 In light of the harshness and implacability
of Fate in taking Polybius’ brother (Polyb. 2.1–5.5), Seneca depicts the futil-
ity of grief in hues similar to the works above (Polyb. 9.1–3).
Two interesting variations, however, make this work distinctive. First,
Seneca illustrates the Stoic handling of grief by referring not only to
republican luminaries but also to members of the Julio-Claudian house
from the reign of Augustus to Caligula (Polyb. 14.4–17.6). Second, Seneca
appeals to the patronage of Claudius as a therapeutic model for bereaved
imperial clients such as Polybius. Undeniably, Seneca’s consolation is
riddled with flattery of the ruler (Polyb. 7.1–4; 12.3–5) in order to placate
him (13.1–4), given that in 41 c.e. Claudius had exiled Seneca to Corsica
after his purported adultery with Julia Livilla (Dio 60.8.5). Nevertheless, it
demonstrates how in a climate of obsequiousness towards the ruler, the
beneficence of Claudius could be assigned a quasi “redemptive” power
over the psychological impact of death upon his clients (Polyb. 12.3–4):
I shall not cease to confront you over and over again with Caesar . . . in this
one source you have ample protection, ample consolation. Lift yourself up,
and every time that tears well up in your eyes, fix these upon Caesar; at the
sight of the exceeding greatness and splendour of his divinity they will be
dried; his brilliance will dazzle them so that they will be able to see nothing
else, and will keep then fastened upon himself. He, whom you behold day
and night, from whom you never lower your thoughts, must fill your mind,
he must be summoned to your help against Fortune. And, so great is his
kindness, so great is his gracious favour toward all followers, I do not doubt
that he has already covered over this wound of yours with many balms, that
he has already supplied many things to stay your sorrow.
Finally, the tragedies of Seneca are another important source for the under-
standing of the culture of death at Rome. Seneca, in his drama Hercules
Furens, depicts the tragic descent of Hercules from being a man of virtue
67 For discussion, see J.-A. Shelton, “Persuasion and Paradigm in Seneca’s ‘Consolatio ad
Marciam 1–6’,” C&M 46 (1995): 157–88.
68 For discussion, see J.E. Atkinson, “Seneca’s ‘Consolatio ad Polybium’,” ANRW II.32.2.
(1977): 860–84.
(virtus) and piety (pietas) to being a savage tyrant with megalomaniacal

ambitions.69 Known for his virtus throughout the world and esteemed as
by his contemporaries as god-like (Herc. fur. 23, 39ff; 438ff; 959), Hercu-
les prays to Juno for a new peaceful Golden Age (925ff; cf. 882ff), a hope
espoused not only of the reign of Augustus but also of the reign of Nero
at his accession (Calpurnius Siculus, Ecl. 1.42ff; Einsied. Ecl. 2.22ff; Seneca,
Apoc. 4).70 However, as his madness consumes him, Hercules threatens
to attack the heavens (Herc. fur. 955–973), exhibiting thereby a deluded
understanding of military virtus.71 Hercules’ piety is shown to be morally
bankrupt when he attacks his father’s rule (Herc. fur. 966), kills his own
children (987–991), and slays his wife (1018–1026).72
It is worth pondering whether Seneca’s rich portrait of Hercules’
excesses has imperial overtones. J.G. Fitch has argued that Tiberius, Gaius
and Claudius do not easily fit Seneca’s character of Hercules and that the
young Nero would scarcely have had the time to develop strong tyranni-
cal traits by 54 c.e., the date of the play’s composition.73 But, as K. Riley
has recently argued, Seneca, in his reworking of Euripides’ play Heracles,
may have intended the play “as a sensible and salutary warning” to an
adolescent Nero “about the importance of moderate government and
self-restraint.”74 Since Nero emulated Hercules (Suetonius, Nero, 21, 53;
69 See G. Lawall, “Virtus and Pietas in Seneca’s Hercules Furens,” in A.J. Boyle (ed.), SEN-
ECA TRAGICVS: Ramus Essays on Senecan Drama (Berwick: Aureal, 1983), 6–26.
70 For discussion of the Golden Age in Julio-Claudian propaganda, see J.R. Harrison,
Paul and the Imperial Authorities at Thessalonica and Rome: A Study in the Conflict of Ideol-
ogy (WUNT 273; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011), ch. 4. See also J.G. Fitch, Seneca’s Hercules
Furens: A Critical Text with Introduction and Commentary (Ithica/London: Cornell Univer-
sity Press, 1987), 27.
71 Lawall, “Virtus and Pietas,” 14.
72 Lawall, “Virtus and Pietas,” 14.
73 Fitch, Seneca’s Hercules Furens, 39–40.
74 K. Riley, Reasoning Madness: The Reception and Performance of Euripides’ Herakles
(Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008), 57. Note the comment of A. Rose (“Seneca’s HF:
A Politic-Didactic Reading,” CJ 75/2 [1979]: 141): “The ruler who indulges his anger and
who uses his power to pursue private offences runs a terrible risk. Seneca implies that
Nero must guard against abusing his position as an autocrat. In so doing, he invites the
sort of disaster which befalls Hercules.” Rose brings out convincingly the congruence
between Seneca’s pastoral advice in De Clementia and De Ira and the character develop-
ment in Hercules Furens. G. Bruden (“Herakles and Hercules: Survival in Greek and Roman
Tragedy [with a Coda on King Lear],” in R. Scodel [ed.], Theatre and Society in the Classical
World [Ann-Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1993], 251) states: “Hovering over Hercules
Furens are Caligula and Nero, the mad emperors.” See also E.R. Okell, “Hercules Furens and
Nero: The Didactic Purpose of Senecan Tragedy,” in L. Rawlings and H. Bowden (eds.),
Heracles/Hercules in the Ancient World: Exploring a Graeco-Roman Divinity 1 (Swansea:
Classical Press of Wales, 2005), 185–204.
Dio 62.9.4; 62.20.5), the strong likelihood is that the main character of the
play has Neronian reference, if only by way of warning.
But what is especially intriguing is Seneca’s haunting portrait of vast
throngs of the dead moving silently through Hades (Herc. fur. 830–874),
a kingdom that relentlessly accepts more and more inhabitants (556ff.;
673ff.).75 They are compared to the great crowds of the living at Rome and
Olympia.76 With pathos Seneca depicts their monotonous existence:
Great is the host that moves through city streets, eager to see the spectacles
in some new theatre; great as that which pours to the Elean Thunderer,
when the fifth summer has brought back the sacred games . . . great is the
throng that is lead through the silent plains. Some go slow with age, sad
and sated with long life; some still can run, being of happier age—maidens,
not yet in wedlock joined, youths with locks still unshorn, and babes that
have lately but learned the name of “mother”. To these last gone, that they
be not afraid, it is given to lessen night’s gloom by torches borne ahead; the
rest move sadly through the dark. O ye dead what thoughts are yours when
light, now banished, each has sorrowing felt his head overwhelmed beneath
all the earth. There are thick chaos, loathsome murk, night’s baleful hue, the
lethargy of a silent world and empty clouds.77
The world of the dead has no light, colour, sound, or movement (Herc. fur.
550ff.; 698ff.; 858ff.). Hypostasised deities—i.e. Discord, Crime, Error, Impi-
ety, and Madness—inhabit the realm of the dead ruled by Dis (92–98).
Seneca elaborates more fully on their horror in another passage:
The leaves shudder, black with gloomy foliage, where sluggish Sleep clings to
the overhanging yew, where sad Hunger lies with wasted jaws, and Shame,
too late, hides her guilt-burdened face. Dread stalks there, gloomy Fear and
gnashing Pain, sable Grief, tottering Disease and iron-girt War; and last of all
slow Age supports his steps upon a staff.
Has Seneca in his depiction of Hades here let slip his personal estima-
tion of the “everyday” experience of Romans living under the madness of
Caligula and the brutality of Claudius at the end of his reign? Are some of
75 This stands in sharp contrast to the choral ode in Seneca’s Troades in which there
is nothing after death (Tro. 371–408). See G. Lawall, “Death and Perspective in Seneca’s
Troades,” CJ 77/3 (1982): 244–52.
76 Fitch, Seneca’s Hercules Furens, 33. For a perceptive discussion of the motif of death
in the play, see ibid., 33–35.
77 Kyle (Spectacles of Death, 130) makes the point that “images of damnation beyond
death extended from the capital to the fringes of the empire.” He cites as proof a late
2nd-century c.e. lyric poem in a papyrus from Egypt that details the horrors of the Shores
of Ugliness in Hades (D.L. Page, Select Papyri. Vol. III: Literary Papyri, Poetry [Cambridge:
Harvard University Press, 1985], 416–21 ll. 5–6).
the hypostasised underground deities in Hercules Furens symbolic expres-

sions of the nature and effects of Julio-Claudian rule?
Whatever the conclusion we come to regarding these questions,
Seneca’s pastoral advice to his young charge is clear enough. Although
Hercules entered and conquered Hades as one of his labours, he was ulti-
mately conquered by his own madness because of his megalomania, with
tragic results for his family.78 Therefore he did not experience the peace
of mind that the Chorus presents as the only hope for the “living dead”
(Herc. fur. 174–182):
Known to few is untroubled calm, and they, mindful of time’s swift flight,
hold fast the days that will never return. While the fates permit, live hap-
pily; life speeds on with hurried step, and with winged days the wheel of the
headlong year is turned. The harsh sisters ply their tasks, yet they do not
spin backward the threads of life.
Paul’s personification of Death in Rom 5:12–21 would have resonated with
Roman auditors familiar with the hypostasised powers enslaving the dead
in popular beliefs about Hades. What would have shocked them, however,
was that Grace, another personified power, had triumphed over Death and
Sin through the agency of a risen messianic “pretender” whom Rome had
crucified in Palestine earlier in the century (Rom 5:15b, 16b, 17b, 20b, 21b).
Death and the Imperial Poets at Rome: Virgil, Horace, Propertius, Ovid,
Calpurnius Siculus and Lucan
An examination of the motif of death in the imperial poets is fascinating
because of their vastly differing experiences of the reigns of Augustus and
Nero, ranging from Ovid’s experience of a “living death” in exile to the
continued patronage of the ruler in the case of the other poets. Differ-
ences in perspective about death emerge from their writings that throw
light on social relations at Rome.
One of the most famous ancient literary portraits of the underworld
is found in Virgil’s Aeneid. Virgil (70–19 b.c.e.) presents Aeneas arriving
at Elysium (Aen. 6.637ff.) in a dim underworld, populated by spirits on
the banks of the river Styx, though not quite yet in their final state or
resting place. Anchises shows Aeneas, the founder of Rome, the souls of
the great men who, upon birth, would make the city famous in the future
(Aen. 6.756–853). Romulus would become the greatest of the Alban kings
78 See the excellent discussion of Fitch (Seneca’s Hercules Furens, 34–35).

(Aen. 6.760–787); Augustus would emerge unchallenged as the glory of

the Julian house (6.788–807); the early Roman kings and the leading men
of the republic would lead inexorably to Pompey and Caesar (6.808–835);
and, last, in another cavalcade of leaders, Q. Fabius Maximus would step
forward to deliver Rome from the threat of Hannibal (6.836–846). Virgil
crowns this catalogue of inspiring leaders with an elogium spotlighting
Rome’s duties and responsibilities to the world (Aen. 6.847–853).
What is the social significance of Virgil’s parade of famous men in this
instance? We are witnessing how the “great man”, by his adept manage-
ment of state crises, determines the glorious outcome of Rome and her
empire, notwithstanding the social cost of the civic upheaval and death
along the way. Virgil’s view of Roman social relations, if this passage is
indicative, is deeply traditional in its commitment to the leadership of the
aristocratic and military elite, with a view to its climax under Augustus.79
Death could not obliterate the continuing importance of military virtus
at Rome.
In the case of Horace (65–8 b.c.e.), however, the poet underscores the
impartiality of death as a social leveller (Carm. 1.4.13–14): “Pale Death with
foot impartial knocks at the poor man’s cottage and at princes’ palaces.”80
Neither did traditional religion hold out hope to its worshippers. Devotion
to Pluto’s cult and its “righteousness,” for example, would not “give pause
to wrinkles, to advancing age, or to Death invincible” (Carm. 2.14.2–4).
Throughout his writings Horace emphasises the inevitability of death
(Carm. 2.3.25–28; cf. Sat. 2.6 ll. 93–97; Ep. 1.16 l. 80):
We are all being gathered to the same fold. The lot of every one of us is
tossing about in the urn, destined sooner, later, to come forth and place us
in Charon’s skiff for everlasting exile.
What hope, then, does Horace hold out to his readers in light of the relent-
less onslaught of death? The answer is surprisingly diverse. First there is
79 R.G. Austin (P. VERGILI MARONIS, AENEIDOS. LIBER SEXTUS [Oxford: Claren-
don Press, 1977], 232–33) observes regarding Aen. 6.756–853: “It is a poetic counterpart
to Roman sculptured reliefs, such as the Ara Pacis . . . It recalls also the Roman tradition
of the maiorum imagines in great families, which played a distinctive role at their funeral
ceremonies.” On the funeral images of the ancestors, see Polybius 6.53; Pliny, Nat. 35.6ff.
For discussion, see J. Pollini, “Ritualizing Death in Republican Rome: Memory, Religion,
Class Struggle, and the Wax Ancestral Mask Tradition’s Origin and Influence on Veristic
Portraiture,” in N. Laneri (ed.), Performing Death: Social Analyses of Funerary Traditions in
the Ancient Near East and Mediterranean (Chicago: The Oriental Institute of the University
of Chicago, 2007), 237–85.
80 For discussion of Horace’s view of death, see D.N. Levin, “Horace’s Preoccupation
with Death,” CJ 63/7 (1968): 315–20; D.N. Levin, “Names and Death in Horace’s ‘Odes’,” CW
88/3 (1995): 181–90.
the imperial solution that reflects the profound relief of Horace’s genera-
tion over the advent of Augustus’ principate after the chaos of the trium-
viral years (59–31 b.c.e.). Having lived through the bloodshed of the civil
wars and their psychological impact (Carm. 2.1), Horace assigns to Augus-
tus a quasi-soteriological role in dispelling the fear of death from the
world (Carm. 2.14): “Neither civil strife nor death by violence will I fear,
while Caesar holds the earth.” Second, because of the rapidity of “envious
Time,” Horace proposes that one should “reap the harvest of today,” not
trusting in the future (Carm. 1.11; cf. 2.11). Third, as far as Horace’s personal
expectations, the “idle tribute of a tomb” would not be necessary because
he would attain immortality through his poetry (Carm. 2.20): “by the study
of my writings the Spaniard shall become learned and they who drink the
waters of the Rhone.” Fourth, the imperviousness of the Stoic wise man to
the passions, ambition, and the blows of Fortune, would bring him inner
freedom in the face of death (Sat. 2.7 ll. 83–88):
Who then is free? The wise man, who is lord over himself, whom neither
poverty nor death, nor bonds affright, who bravely defies his passions, and
scorns ambition, who in himself is a whole, smoothed and rounded, so that
nothing from outside can rest on the polished surface, and against whom
Fortune in her onset is ever maimed.
Turning to Propertius (54/47 b.c.e.–c. 15 b.c.e.), the poet refers to death
primarily in contexts of love.81 But on two occasions the poet writes
poems in honour of the dead that reveal his understanding of death and
the social values of imperial society. First, his elegy on the death of Mar-
cellus (3.18.1–34), son of Augustus’ sister Octavia, offers a homily on death
as a social leveller. Marcellus had died at Baiae when he was barely twenty
(3.18.15–16), serving as an aedile in 23 b.c.e. Neither birth, virtue, rank,
military arms, good looks, strength or wealth could insulate anyone from
the relentless approach of death, Propertius observes (3.18.11–30). Notwith-
standing, according to Propertius, Marcellus’ body was now empty, now
that its soul had left human pathways for the stars. Marcellus’ soul had
followed the same celestial route taken by the souls of the apotheosised
Caesar and Marcus Claudius Marcellus, the famous ancestor of the young
Marcellus, conqueror of Syracuse in 211 b.c.e. (3.18.31–34). As we saw with
Virgil, Propertius subscribes to the idea that the public recognition of vir-
tus in exceptional individuals could not be impeded by death. Although
81 On death in Propertius, see R.J. Baker, “Laus in amore mori: Love and Death in Prop-
ertius,” Latomus 29 (1970): 670–98; Papanghelis, Propertius, 52–79.
each poet flatters his imperial patron, we need not doubt the sincerity of
these traditional beliefs about virtus.
Second, Propertius devotes a funeral elegy to Cornelia on her death in
16 b.c.e., shortly before the poet himself died. She was born of the patrician
aristocracy, being the daughter of Cornelius Scipio. Briefly, she became the
stepsister of Octavian (the later Augustus) when her mother, Scribonia,
married the future ruler in 40 b.c.e. Cornelia’s husband was Lucius Aemilius
Paullus Lepidus, suffect consul in 34 b.c.e. and one of the last non-imperial
censors (22 b.c.e.). The opening lines of the poem (4.11.1–14), addressed to
her husband, “recall a familiar type of monumental epigram in which the
dead person is represented as speaking from the tomb.”82 Cornelia states
that once anyone has entered the “infernal jurisdiction” of the underworld,
“the God of the dim palace may hear your pleading but the deaf river-bank
will drink your tears” (4.11.5–6). Therefore, her marriage to the illustrious
Paullus, the triumphal processions of her famous patrician forebears, and
her own good name could not move the Fates to be merciful and release
her from their unrelenting grip (4.11.11–14). Consequently, she appeals to
the powers of the underworld for merciful treatment (4.11.15–28).
In an extended apologia, she imagines herself delivering her defence
before the judges of the dead. She presents herself as the flawless Roman
matron who could not be indicted of anything immoral by her husband,
one of Rome’s two censors (4.11.41–44). The evidence of her rectitude is
detailed with precision: of high birth on both sides of the family; wife of
one husband, a patrician; blameless in her life; defended by the tears of
her mother Scribonia, Rome’s lamentations, and Caesar’s grief (4.11.29–60).
Thus her justification in front of the implacable judges stands assured
(4.11.99–102):
I rest my case. Rise, witnesses, and weep for me
Till the grateful ground pays me life’s reward.
Heaven, too, has opened to character. May my deserts
Over honoured waters win my bones conveyance.
Propertius captures well in this funeral elegy how the civic “righteousness”
of the old patrician houses was paraded before posterity upon the death
of family members, in the expectation that their fame would not be extin-
guished and that their reputation would not be sullied by their descen-
dants (4.11.73–76). In sum, precisely because Roman “boasting” culture fed
82 W.A. Camps (ed.), Propertius, Elegies Book IV (Cambridge: Cambridge University

Press, 1965), 153.
on the rituals of death, Paul had to break the nexus between the “reign of
death” and human self-justification in his epistle to the Romans.
The writings of Ovid (43 b.c.e.–17 c.e.) thrust him into prominence until
8 c.e. when, as the most popular living poet in Rome at that time, he was
banished by Augustus to Tomis on the Black Sea. The reason for Ovid’s
exile remains inaccessible to us apart from two facts (Ovid, Tr. 2.208–214).
As Ovid renders his plight, the banishment revolved around “two offences,
a poem and a mistake” (duo crimina, carmen et error). Ovid partially clari-
fies this cryptic summary elsewhere: the banishment was provoked by
the publication of the Ars Amatoria (c. 1/2 c.e.: cf. Ovid, Tr. 2.8.240)—the
poet’s celebrated guide to seduction—and by an undisclosed indiscre-
tion somehow offensive to the princeps (Tr. 3.6.32), the identity of which
remains insoluble to this day.83
Whatever the cause of his exile, Ovid depicts his banishment to Tomis
as a “living death”. It is as if Caesar in his “merciful wrath” had sent him to
the waters of the Styx (Tr. 1.2.60–66; cf. 5.2.74–76; Pont. 1.8.24–27; 2.3.43–44).
He portrays his situation of exile from Rome as so desperate—“my earlier
and harder death” (Tr. 3.3.56)—that a longing for actual death consumes
him (3.2.23–24; Pont. 1.5.85–86): “Ah me! that I have so often knocked
upon the door of my own tomb but it has never opened to me!.”84 Indeed,
the poet even cites his own epitaph as a measure of his determination
to die (Tr. 3.3.73–76).85 Ultimately, however, Ovid concedes that he was
more scared that if his death wish were granted, he would die as an exile
83 For a fine discussion of the various scholarly theories regarding Ovid’s exile, see
J.C. Thibault, The Mystery of Ovid’s Exile (Berkeley/Los Angeles: University of California
Press, 1964).
84 Speaking of Tomis, Ovid says (Tr. 3.8.37–39): “. . . when I behold the country, the
ways, the dress, the language of the people, when I remember what I am and what I was,
I have so great a love of death that I complain of Caesar’s wrath.” It is beyond the scope
of this paper to discuss the truthfulness of Ovid’s rhetoric concerning his exile and the
accuracy of his depiction of “barbarian” culture at Tomis. G.D. Williams (Banished Voices:
Readings in Ovid’s Exile Poetry [Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994]) argues that
Ovid borrowed motifs from Virgil’s Aeneid in his description of Tomis and its inhabitants.
Since Virgil was not describing “true” barbarians but rather the rugged life of primitive
Italians in his epic poem, Ovid’s rhetoric on this remote part of the empire in the Black
Sea, Williams proposes, also cannot be trusted geographically or historically. For a more
positive assessment of Ovid’s “anti-barbarian” rhetoric and its accuracy, see J.F. Gaertner,
Ovid, Epistulae Ex Ponto 1 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005). More generally, see P.J.
Davis, “The Colonial Subject in Ovid’s Exile Poetry,” AJP 123/2 (2002): 257–73; E. Dench,
From Barbarians to New Men: Greek, Roman, and Modern Perceptions of Peoples from the
Central Apennines (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1995).
85 Note the comment of H.B. Evans (Publica Carmina: Ovid’s Books from Exile [Lincoln/
London: University of Nebraska Press, 1983], 56): “Because Ovid, like Tibullus, now pre-
sents himself as a poet dying away from friends and loved ones, his death has become the
buried in the dreaded soil of Tomis (Pont. 1.257–58; cf. 3.1.5–6): “Often I
pray for death, yet I even beg off from death for fear that the Sarmatian
soil may cover my bones.”
Last, in similar vein to Seneca’s consolatory discourse to Polybius
(§2.2.2), Ovid wrote a consolatory poem to Livia Augusta, the wife of
Augustus, upon the death of her son Drusus Nero. Somewhat unexpect-
edly Drusus had died on campaign in the Elbe (9 b.c.e.). Ovid speaks about
how Caesar’s house “should have been exempt from death and higher than
the highest citadel” (Consolatio ad Liviam 59–60). However, several other
imperial family members (Marcellus, Agrippa, Octavia) had also tragi-
cally died (Consolatio ad Liviam 61–70), with the result that piety towards
the gods now seemed futile (129–133; cf. 211–212). Ovid eloquently articu-
lates for his audience the “loss of faith” in the traditional cults sparked by
Drusus’ untimely death (Consolatio ad Liviam 187–190):
The gods are hidden in their temples, nor show their faces at this unrigh-
teous death, nor demand the incense needed by the pyre; they lurk obscure
in their shrines, and feel shame to look on the faces of their worshippers, in
fear of the hatred they have earned.
Nonetheless, Ovid astutely warns Livia and his readers not to offend For-
tune by complaining about the arbitrariness and unjustness of the god-
dess in carrying off Drusus (Consolatio ad Liviam 369–376).86
Calpurnius Siculus, writing in Neronian times, speaks of the arrival
of the Golden Age with Nero’s accession to rule (Ecl. 42–44). The social
consequence is immediate. The unholy war goddess, bound and stripped
of her weapons, would turn her furious teeth upon her entrails, waging
upon herself the wars she had formerly spread throughout the world (Ecl.
46–50). According to Calpurnius Siculus, the outbreak of Neronian peace
had dispelled the militaristic culture of death at Rome and had returned
the state to a different vision of social relations (Ecl. 1.63–68):
Peace in her fullness shall come; knowing not the drawn sword, she shall
renew once more the reign of Saturn in Latium, once more the reign of
Numa who first taught the tasks of peace to armies that rejoiced in slaugh-
ter and still drew from Romulus’ camp their fiery spirit—Numa who first
living death of an exile and a more immediate fate to which he may succumb. Dictating
his own epitaph is therefore doubly appropriate.”
86 For general discussion, see I. Kajanto, Ovid’s Conception of Fate (Turku: Turin Yli-
opisto, 1961).
hushed the clash of arms and bade the trumpet sound ‘mid holy rites instead
of war.
Finally, in his epic poem on the civil war, Lucan (39–65 c.e.) captures
vividly the horror of the Roman republic’s self-destruction at the battle of
Pharsalia (48 b.c.e.). Lucan asserts that Fate could have found no other
way for Nero’s advent and his kingdom of peace than the long bloody
period of civil war preceding his rule (Phars. 1.34–66). As Lucan com-
ments, “Rome owes much to civil war, because what was done was done
for you, Caesar” (Phars. 1.44–45). Whether Lucan’s dedication here is ironic
or sincere is difficult to determine. However, since Book 1 of the Pharsalia
was published well before Lucan’s falling out with Nero—resulting in the
poet’s forced suicide—the sentiment is possibly genuine or, more likely,
neutral.
Either way, Lucan is preoccupied with the theme of death, focusing on
how virtus expressed itself in acts of military slaughter or in the suicide
of men of virtue.87 It might be argued that, in light of Cato’s Stoic sen-
timents aired in the Pharsalia (e.g. Phars. 2.380–383),88 Lucan endorses
the Stoic opposition to tyrants such as Caesar and Nero through the
famous figure of Cato. Cato suicides in an act of devotio, that is, in an
act of contractual self-sacrifice, vowed unto the gods, so that Rome might
be saved. Therefore Lucan considers Cato’s death to be an outstanding
act of virtus (Phars. 2.308–313). Seneca, the uncle of Lucan, also held the
same opinion (§2.2.2 supra). Notwithstanding, in the view of Lucan, For-
tune shaped the outcome of Cato’s life as much as his Stoic philosophy
(Phars. 2.888; 9.569–571).89
What are we to conclude about this richly textured understanding of
death at Rome, spanning republican and imperial times? How did Paul’s
gospel intersect with the intricate web of social relations that formed the
backdrop to Roman funeral rituals?
87 See R.J. Sklenar, The Taste for Nothingness: A Study of “Virtus” and Related Themes in
Lucan’s Bellum Civile (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2003).
88 See also Cato’s Stoic refusal to consult the oracle of Jupiter Ammon in Lucan,
Phars. 10.566–584. For discussion, see C.R. Raschle, Pestes Harenae. Die Schlangenepisode
in Lucan’s Pharsalia (IX.587–947) (Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 2001). More generally,
L. Colish, The Stoic Tradition from Antiquity to the Early Middle Ages: I. Stoicism in Classical
Latin Literature (Leiden: Brill, 1985), 254, 270–73; D.B. George, “Lucan’s Cato and Stoic Atti-
tudes to the Republic,” CA 10 (1991): 237–58; F. D’Alessandro Behr, Lucan, Stoicism and the
Poetics of Passion (Columbus: Ohio State University Press, 2007).
89 A. Long, “Lucan and Moral Luck,” CQ 57/1 (2007): 183–97.
Paul and the Neronian “Reign of Death”: Rom 5:12–21 in Social Focus
Romans scholars have drawn attention to the fact that a Jewish eschatol-
ogy underlies the Adam-Christ typology in Rom 5:12–21.90 Paul’s famil-
iarity with apocalyptic and rabbinic traditions (4 Ezra 4:29ff; 8:31ff; Sipre
Lev 5:17 [120a]) in depicting the eschatological fullness of God’s grace is
easily demonstrated.91 This is seen in the way that Paul employs well-
known Jewish apocalyptic motifs to illustrate the “reign of grace” in
Rom 5:12–21. In referring to “Grace”, “Sin” and “Death” as reigning powers
in vv. 14, 17, 21 (βασιλεύειν; cf. 6:14: ού γάρ ἐστε ὑπὸ νόμον ἀλλὰ ὑπὸ χάριν),
Paul draws his theological inspiration from the idea of dominions (‘ages’ or
aiones) in Jewish apocalyptic thought.92 Moreover, the idea of sin enter-
ing (εἰσῆλθεν) into the world and death coming (διῆλθεν) to all men draws
upon an apocalyptic worldview in that Paul’s language “implies that nei-
ther was present prior to Adam’s act.” With the entrance of sin and death
onto the stage of human history, the reign of these two enslaving powers
in the present evil age commenced.93
However, R. Jewett has also pointed out that “the lack of parallels in
Greek and biblical literature to the idea of death’s exercising kingly pow-
ers illustrates the distinctiveness of Paul’s view.”94 Jewett also notes that
90 Section 3 draws on material from Harrison, Paul and the Imperial Authorities, §4.2.
91 For secondary references, see J.R. Harrison, Paul’s Language of Grace in Its Graeco-
Roman Context (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2003), 226 n. 55. For discussion of apocalyptic
motifs in Rom 5:12–21 among recent Romans commentators, see B. Witherington III, Paul’s
Letter to the Romans: A Socio-Rhetorical Commentary (Eerdmans: Grand Rapids, 2004), 147;
L.E. Keck, Romans (Nashville: Abingdon, 2005), 147–51; R. Jewett, Romans: A Commen-
tary (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2007), 372–89. Paul’s accompanying language of abundance
(Rom 5:15: ἐπερίσσευσεν; 5:17: τὴν περισσείαν; 5:20: πλεονάσῃ, ἐπλεονάσεν, ὑπερεπερίσσευσεν),
while reflecting the inscriptional language of Julio-Claudian beneficence (Harrison, Paul’s
Language of Grace, 231 n. 74), draws its inspiration more from the “mercy” traditions of the
Psalms. In this regard, see C. Breytenbach’s important correction to my arguments in idem,
“CHARIS and ELEOS in Paul’s Letter to the Romans,” in U. Schnelle (ed.), The Letter to the
Romans (Leuven: Leuven University Press/Uitgenerij Peeters, 2009), 323–63.
92 On the two ages in Jewish apocalyptic, see 4 Ezra 7:45–51; 2 Esd 4:2; 6:9; 7:13, 47,
122–123; 8:1; 9:19. On the age to come, see 4 Ezra 4:26–32. For scholars advocating the
presence of the “two ages” doctrine behind βασιλεύειν, see Harrison, Paul’s Language of
Grace, 227 n. 56. On the personification of Death in second temple and imperial literature
(e.g. Wis 1:12–16; 2:23–24; Seneca, Ep. 80.6), see J.R. Dodson, The “Powers” of Personifica-
tion, 58–68.
93 Jewett, Romans, 374–75. See also the insightful comments of B.R. Gaventa, “ ‘To
Preach the Gospel’: Romans 1, 15 and the Purposes of Romans,” in Schnelle (ed.), Romans,
179–95, esp. 191–95.
94 Gaventa, “To Preach the Gospel,” 377 (my emphasis). The closest we come to this
idea in classical literature is the kingship of Dis (Pluto) in the underworld (Ovid, Metam.
4.430–436, in V. Hope, Death in Ancient Rome: A Sourcebook [London/New York: Routledge,
regnare, the Latin equivalent of βασιλεύειν, “implies irresistible coercive

power” in its imperial context.95 Paul’s “regnal” language, therefore, high-
lights the stranglehold that sin had as a ruling power over its diverse
subjects, whether they be fallen human beings (Rom 1:18–3:20, 23; 5:14,
17, 21), political authorities inimical to Christ (Rom 16:20; 1 Cor 2:6, 8),96
the groaning creation (Rom 8:20–21a), or rebellious angelic powers (Rom
16:20; 1 Cor 15:24; 2 Cor 2:11; 11:3, 14; 12:7; Phil 2:10; Eph 2:2; 4:27; 6:12, 16).
Although Paul does not overplay the role of political powers in the rule of
sin and death, he does not diminish their importance either. The hubris
underlying the imperial cult (Rom 1:23: ἤλλαξαν τὴν δόξαν τοῦ ἀφθάρτου
θεοῦ ἐν ὁμοιώματι εἰκόνος φθαρτοῦ ἀνθρώπου) was but only one expression
of the sinful powers incorporated under the rubric of Paul’s “regnal” lan-
guage, but one which posed a significant threat to Roman believers none-
theless (Rom 8:35; 13:4: ἡ μάχαιρα).97
Thus Paul’s thought, to some degree, breaks out of its Jewish apocalyp-
tic mould and establishes something new in his depiction of the enslave-
ment of humanity to ruling hostile powers (Sin, Death). The apostle’s stark
portrait of the hopeless state of humanity outside of Christ challenged the
2007], §6.11). But this is the reign of an underground deity over the dead, not the reign of
death per se.
95 Jewett, Romans, 377.
96 N.T. Wright (“The Letter to the Romans,” in NIB X [Nashville: Abingdon, 2002], 524)
argues that βασιλεύειν (Rom 5:17b, 21b) announces “the kingdom of God in the face of all
the principalities and powers of the world, not least those of Rome itself (cf. Rom 8:38–39
and the pregnant conclusion of Acts 28:30–31).”
97 Although Paul clearly refers to the golden calf episode (LXX Ps 106:20) in Rom 1:23,
the four-fold catalogue of idolatrous images demonstrates that there is “more than Jewish
idolatry in the scope of his argument” (Jewett, Romans, 161). As Jewett expands (Rom-
ans, 162), “There are plenty of examples in Roman religion and politics of the adoration
of humans, birds, four-legged animals, and serpents.” While Jewett does not single out
examples from the imperial cult, I.E. Rock (The Implications of Roman Imperial Ideology for
an Exegesis of Paul’s Letter to the Romans: An Ideological Literary Analysis of the Exordium,
Rom 1:1–17 [Ph.D. diss., University of Wales, Lampeter, 2005], 303–9) has argued that the
recent idolatrous activities of Caligula at Rome and Jerusalem would have provided an
imperial reference for Rom 1:23. Similarly, the idolatrous activities of Caesar’s prefect Pilate
would have also strengthened the imperial context of Paul’s “idolatry” language in v. 23.
For discussion, see J.E. Taylor, “Pontius Pilate and the Imperial Cult in Roman Judaea,” NTS
52/4 (2006): 555–82; H.K. Bond, “Standards, Shields and Coins: Jewish Reactions to Aspects
of the Roman Cult,” in S.C. Barton (ed.), Idolatry; False Worship in the Bible, Early Judaism
and Christianity (London: T&T Clark, 2007), 88–106. For Josephus’s delicate handling of
the issue of “images” in response to Apion’s criticisms, without unnecessarily offending his
Roman auditors (C. Ap. 73–78), see J.M.G. Barclay, “Snarling Sweetly: Josephus on Images
and Idolatry,” in Barton (ed.), Idolatry, 73–87. Josephus’ apologetic strategy has certain
similarities to Paul’s (cf. Rom 13:6–7), but the apostle’s depiction of the reign of personi-
fied “Sin” and “Death” cuts at the very heart of imperial presumption as articulated in the
Julio-Claudian propaganda.
symbolic universe of the imperial propaganda in the early fifties, among

the many other expressions of human sin. Roman auditors would have
heard announced in Paul’s gospel the impotence of the Julio-Claudian
lords who, though apotheosised by the Senate upon their death (i.e. Cae-
sar, Augustus, Claudius: Ovid, Metam. 15.807–842, 888–890; cf. 1 Cor 8:5:
θεοὶ ἐν οὐρανῷ), were in reality subject to the reign of sin and death. Even
Augustus, the new Aeneas of Rome (Horace, Saec. 41–60), was held cap-
tive to the effects of the disobedience of Adam (Rom 5:12–14b), the father
of humanity. Ultimately, the ruler would also face judgement with the rest
of the world (Rom 2:16; 16:20).
Moreover, Paul’s depiction of the reign of sin and death in the present
evil age undermined the imperial propaganda that the prosperity of Rome
and the Julio-Claudian house were providentially ordained.98 In consign-
ing humanity to the rule of sin and death, Paul dethroned the “great man”
in antiquity and denied him the perpetuity of his house over against the
eternal house of David (Rom 1:3–4; 11:26; 15:12).99 In one respect, the anti-
imperial propaganda of ps.-Seneca was correct in highlighting the corrup-
tion of Nero’s reign (Oct. 431–435), but short-sighted in setting its hopes on
a regeneration of Rome under Galba in 69 c.e. (Oct. 397–406). There were
probably auditors in the house churches of late-fifties Rome who were suf-
ficiently disillusioned with the morality of Julio-Claudian rulers that they
were willing to consider Paul’s contention that sin and death were the real
ruling powers of the fallen world, as opposed to the Caesars.
It is also important to realise that the fear of death increasingly preoc-
cupied Roman thought in the late republican and early imperial period.
The fabric of senatorial rule in the republic unravelled during the unprec-
edented brutality of the civil war, commencing with the bloody massacres
of the Gracchi and their supporters, increasing in its savagery with Sulla’s
proscriptions, and culminating in the violence of Caesar’s assassination.
The routine impact of foreign wars, the terrible Social War between Rome
and other Italian cities (91–88 b.c.e.), and the insecurity provoked by the
slave revolt (73–71 b.c.e.) also contributed to the violence and death at the
core of Roman political life. The death toll between 133 b.c.e. and 31 b.c.e., if
98 For discussion, see Harrison, Paul and the Imperial Authorities, §4.1–§4.5.
99 More generally, see J.R. Harrison, “The Imitation of the Great Man in Antiquity:
Paul’s Inversion of a Cultural Icon,” in S.E. Porter and A.W. Pitts (eds.), Christian Origins
and Greco-Roman Culture: Social and Literary Contexts for the New Testament (TENT; Lei-
den: Brill, forthcoming).
M.H. Crawford’s estimates are correct, was unprecedented.100 As we have

seen above, Lucretius’ diatribe against the fear of death in his De rerum
natura is to be interpreted against this political backdrop.101 The routine
shocks of unexpected death,102 the savagery of crucifixion,103 the imperial
spectacles of death in the arena,104 and the grim reality of the burial of the
100 M.H. Crawford, The Roman Republic (London: Fontana, 1978) 13 (original emphasis):
“I can only say a century like that between 133 BC and 31 BC, which killed perhaps 200,000
men in 91–82 and perhaps 100,000 men in 49–42, in both cases out of a free population of
Rome and Italy of 4,500,000 and which destroyed a system of government after 450 years
was a cataclysm.”
101 Jantzen, The Foundations of Violence, 256–67. For Lucretius’s remarks on the “fear
of death” and its cure, see 1.102–135; 2.44–46; 3.35–47, 59–82, 866–945, 1024–1094; 5.373–
379; 6.1182–1183, 1206–1212. For discussion, see above. See also the famous goblet found in
Boscoreale depicting two philosophers as skeletons: namely, Zeno the Stoic and Epicurus.
They are engaged in a discussion as to whether pleasure is the goal of life. The artist has
engraved a brief maxim on the goblet: “Pleasure is the supreme good.” For the goblet, see
J. Charbonneaux, L’Art au siècle d’Auguste (Lausanne: La Guilde du Livre, 1948), plate 95.
For discussion, see ibid., 103; M. Erler and M. Schofield, “Epicurean Ethics,” in K. Algra
et al. (ed.), Cambridge History of Hellenistic Philosophy (Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 1999), 642. See also the mosaic of a skeleton butler from Pompeii (mid I. cent. c.e.:
Edwards, Death in Imperial Rome, 165 fig. 5).
102 For examples of ancient responses to death, see Catullus on the loss of his brother
(Catull. 101), Plutarch and Cicero on the loss of their daughters (Plutarch, Mor. 608–612;
Cicero, Fam. 4.6; Att. 12.14.3), Statius on the loss of his adopted son (Silv. 5.5; cf. ibid., 2.1),
and the unnamed husband of the Laudatio Turiae on the loss of his wife (ILS 8393). J. Toner
(Popular Culture in Ancient Rome [Cambridge: Polity, 2009], 67) estimates that infant mor-
tality in the Roman world stood at approximately three hundred deaths per one thousand
births, in comparison to ten in the western world today. Paul, too, indicates in his epistles
that he is well aware of the unexpectedness of death (1 Cor 11:30; 15:6b; 1 Thess 4:13a), its
deep psychological impact (2 Cor 1:8–9a; Phil 2:27, 30; 1 Thess 4:13b), the wretchedness of
our corrupted state (Rom 8:24), and the theological origin of death’s “sting” (1 Cor 15:56).
103 See L.L. Welborn, Paul, the Fool of Christ: A Study of 1 Corinthians 1–4 in the Comic-
Philosophic Tradition (London/New York: T&T Clark, 2005), 117–60.
104 Jantzen (The Foundations of Violence, 280) observes regarding death in imperial
times: “Warfare abroad, suicide rather than submission, and the entertainment provided
by the spectacles of death in the amphitheatres are violent standards against which gender
and death are constructed in the Roman empire.” On the spectacles of death, see Plass, The
Game of Death; Kyle, Spectacles of Death. On virtus in relation to the gladiatorial duels of
the arena in the Roman empire, see C.A. Frilingos, Spectacles of Empire: Monsters, Martyrs,
and the Book of Revelation (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2004), 32–35.
Frilingos also discusses the mythological presentation of the public execution of criminals
and prisoners of war in the amphitheatre in order to make such executions more palatable
to the spectators (Spectacles of Empire, 31–32; cf. K.M. Coleman, “Fatal Charades: Roman
Executions Staged as Mythological Enactments,” JRS 80 [1990]: 44–73). For an insightful
discussion of the psychology behind the games, see Hopkins, Death and Renewal, 1–30,
esp. 27ff. See also M. Beard (The Roman Triumph [Cambridge/London: Harvard Univer-
sity Press, 2007], 128–32) on the execution of the leading captives in Roman triumphal
processions.
poor in the Esquiline cemetery at Rome must have added to the general
malaise regarding the brevity and fragility of life in the first century c.e.105
At the same time, however, death had been ennobled in the architec-
ture and literature of the Julio-Claudians in ways that were consonant with
the quest for gloria (‘glory’) and virtus (‘virtue’, ‘manliness’) of republican
times. As G.M. Jantzen argues, the Roman understanding of manliness—
as it pertained to empire, prosperity and peace—revolved around the mil-
itary leader and his capacity to deliver death to the enemy.106 Augustus
enunciates this viewpoint with gentle humour in his letter to Gaius (Aulus
Gellius, Noct. att. 15.7.3).107 Beauty was also now linked to military glory,
as the ara Pacis, the forum Augustum and Augustus’ mausoleum, with its
bronze inscription of the Res Gestae, testify.108 Thus the ruler, as the “truly
manly male,” was considered “god-like” in having “the ultimate power to
kill by virtue of his command of both the army and the spectacles.”109
The military manliness of the leader is powerfully displayed on a sil-
ver denarius of Nero (63–64 c.e.) from Rome. On the reverse side of the
coin, Virtus is depicted, helmeted and in military dress, standing with
105 Note the comments of R. Lanciani (Ancient Rome in the Light of Recent Discoveries
[Boston/New York: Houghton, Mifflin, 1898], 64–65) regarding the archaeological evidence
of the cemetery of the poor: “The Esquiline cemetery was divided into two sections: one for
the artisans who could afford to be buried apart in Columbaria, containing a certain num-
ber of cinerary urns; one for the slaves, beggars, prisoners, and others, who were thrown
in revolting confusion into common pits or fosses. This latter section covered an area one
thousand feet long, and thirty deep, and contained many hundred puticuli or vaults, twelve
feet square, thirty deep, of which I have brought to light and examined about seventy-five.
In many cases the contents of each vault were reduced to a uniform mass of black, viscid,
pestilent, unctuous matter; in a few cases the bones could in a measure be singled out
and identified. The reader will hardly believe me when I say that men and beasts, bodies
and carcasses, and any kind of unmentionable refuse of the town were heaped up in those
dens.” For discussion of the identification of Lanciani’s pits, see Kyle, Spectacles of Death,
164–66. See also Lucretius’s graphic description (6.1182–1251) of the symptoms of approach-
ing death, the breakdown of the body, and the despair of the sick.
106 Jantzen, The Foundations of Violence, 282. The ensuing discussion focuses on how
the ruler dispenses death to Rome’s enemies as a demonstration of his virtus. I do not
pay attention to the psychological effects of the imperial “culture of death” upon its first-
century subjects. For an insightful discussion of the “death-in-life” motif in the reigns of
Augustus and Caligula—drawn from the evidence of Ovid, Philo and Seneca—see Wel-
born, “ ‘Extraction from the Mortal Site’,” 295–314, esp. 301–3.
107 For discussion, see Harrison, Paul and the Imperial Authorities, §4.3.6.
108 Jantzen, The Foundations of Violence, 296–98. Jantzen also refers to Virgil’s famous
description of the shield of Aeneas (Aen. 8.663–9) as a literary example of the linkage of
death with military glory in imperial ideology. On Augustus’ mausoleum, see P.J.E. Davies,
Death and the Emperor: Roman Imperial Funerary Monuments from Augustus to Marcus
Aurelius (Austin: University of Texas Press, 2004), 137–42. On the forum Augustum, see
Judge, “The Eulogistic Inscriptions.”
109 Jantzen, The Foundations of Violence, 284.
the right foot on a pile of arms, holding a parazonium (a long triangular

dagger) on the right knee and a vertical spear in the left hand.110 How-
ever, in a chilling variation on the Virtus motif, an issue of a Neronian
silver denarius depicts Virtus as standing on the severed head of a captive
instead of the traditional pile of arms and helmet.111 Here we see graphi-
cally depicted the reality of death for the humiliated enemies of the impe-
rial ruler. It is important to realise, however, that it is a personification of
the ruler’s military might (Virtus) that is being depicted here and not the
ruler himself. The coin could therefore be rendering, in continuity with
republican and Augustan tradition,112 a traditional motif that expressed
more the power of the Roman armies over the subdued nations than the
military triumph of the ruler over his enemies.113 Either way, the victory
of Rome and her armies, under the ruler, came at the expense of the lives
of their captives.
110 RIC I2 “Nero” §41; cf. the Neronian aureus in BMC I “Nero” §27 (plate 38 no. 21).
111 This issue of the Neronian silver denarius, with the severed head of a captive on
its reverse, was for sale on www.oldmoney.com.au in February 2009. Walter Holt—the
numismatist selling the coin at M.R. Roberts Wynyard Coin Centre, Sydney, Australia—
proposed the identification of a captive’s head on the coin. The facial features present on
the specimen are compelling proof. A comparison of Holt’s coin with BMC I “Nero” §27
(plate 38 no. 21)—where, on an aureus, Virtus stands on an empty helmet among shields—
seals the argument. A search of www.coinarchives.com revealed that there have been no
other samples of the same Neronian silver denarius sold by numismatic traders through-
out the world. Holt’s interpretation of the coin has been verified by Dr. Ken Sheedy, Direc-
tor of the Australian Centre for Ancient Numismatic Studies, Macquarie University, and by
Dr. Eleanor Ghey, Assistant Curator of Iron Age and Roman Coins at the British Museum.
In email correspondence sent to Dr. Sheedy (04/03/2009), Dr. Ghey comments regarding
the denarius in question: “It certainly seems that some of the coins in the British Museum
collection feature a human head underfoot instead of a helmet, although this is not
described in RIC or BMC. It is clearly visible in BMC I “Nero” §35 (plate 38.27), and on
BMC I “Nero” §§29 and 30 (plates 38.22–23) the right-facing head appears to be wearing
a more pointed hat—possibly intended to be a Parthian after the victories of Corbulo? A
parallel might be Trajan and Pax standing on the head of a Dacian on coins of Trajan (RIC
II “Trajan” §§503 and 547). We do not have a record of any coins from this particular die in
our files.” Dr. Sheedy also drew my attention to a Neronian aureus where Virtus is clearly
standing on a head (BMC I “Nero” §45 [plate 39.8]). Finally, a related motif occurs on the
ara Pacis Augustae. As Gates (Ancient Cities, 339–40) explains: “On the north-east side a
personification of the goddess Roma sits on a pile of armour. The message is clear: peace
through conquest, with Roma defeating her enemies in order to bring peace.”
112 See P. Zanker, The Power of Images in the Age of Augustus (Ann Arbor: University of
Michigan Press, 1990), passim.
113 I am grateful to Dr. Sheedy for this cautionary comment. I would argue, however,
that the progressive concentration of gloria and virtus in Julio-Claudian rulers makes it
likely that the personification of Virtus has reference to Nero’s own military power as
much as to the might of Rome’s armies over the nations.
By contrast, the contemporary Roman critics of the pax Augusta argued

that imperial rule was based on a culture of arbitrary violence and death.114
The ruler’s acquisition of virtus became the springboard for ps.-Seneca’s
savage attack on the military imperialism of Julio-Claudian rulers. In a
conversation between Seneca and Nero regarding the virtues of the ruler
(ps.-Seneca, Oct. 440–444), the ruler’s extension of clementia (‘mercy’) and
securitas (‘safety’) to his citizens is exalted over against the traditional
Roman value of the leader destroying the foes of the state (virtus ducis),
internal and external:
Seneca: It is not becoming to proceed rashly against one’s friends.
Nero: It is easy to be just when the heart is free from fear.
Seneca: A sovereign cure for fear is clemency (clementia).
Nero: To destroy foes is a leader’s greatest virtue (maxima est virtus ducis).
Seneca: For the father of his country (patriae patri) to save citizens (servare
cives) is greater still.
Moreover, several prominent Stoic critics of imperial rule—Seneca,
Thrasea Paetus and Barea Soranus—demonstrated their political dissent
against tyranny though the bravery of their suicides.115 But perhaps ps.-
Seneca analyses best the culture of death maintained by the ruler. Nero
sums up the Augustan principate—commencing with Octavian’s rise as
a triumvir (Oct. 504–532) and concluding with his own apotheosis—in
terms of “fear of death”:
He who earned heaven by piety, the deified Augustus, how many nobles did
he put to death, young men and old, scattered throughout the world, when
they fled their own homes, through fear of death and the sword of the trium-
virs—all by the list of denunciations delivered to their destruction. . . At last
the victor, now weary, sheathed his sword blunted with savage blows, and
maintained his sway by fear. Safe under the protection of his loyal guards
114 Zanker, The Power of Images, 289: “The pax Augusta, for all its reforms and its
imposition of peace and its cultivation of learning, was founded on violence, killing, and
preoccupation with death, sometimes repressed and sometimes bubbling in blood to the
surface.”
115 Edwards, Death in Imperial Rome, 126: “. . . a brave death might constitute a genuine,
legitimate and laudable means to vindicate one’s freedom.” Marcus Porcius Cato (95–45
b.c.e.) became the paradigm for suicide as a political statement (Cicero, Sen., passim; Sen-
eca, Clem. 1.21.1). For Seneca’s frequent references to and examples of suicide as a way of
overcoming death and the fear of death, see idem, Ep. 30.9; 61.2; 69.6; 70; 82.17–18. For
discussion of Seneca’s stance, see Edwards, Death in Imperial Rome, 78–112; Jantzen, The
Foundations of Violence, 315–28. For Tacitus’ discussion of the deaths of Seneca, Thrasea
Paetus and Barea Soranus, see Tacitus, Ann. 16.21ff., 60–64; cf. Dio 62:26ff. For discussion of
the evidence of Tacitus, see Edwards, Death in Imperial Rome, 113–42; Jantzen, The Founda-
tions of Violence, 311–14; Rudich, Political Dissidence under Nero, passim.
he lived, and when he died, by the surpassing piety of his son, was made a
god, hallowed and enshrined. Me, too, shall the stars await if with relentless
sword I first destroy whatever is hostile to me, and on a worthy offspring
found my house.
Thus, given the aura of death attending the Julio-Claudian house, Paul’s
bold death-and-life contrasts (Rom 5:12, 14, 17, 21: θάνατος; 5:17, 18, 21:
ζωή) would have grabbed the attention of Roman auditors living in the
capital. However, in contrast to the imperial propaganda and its critics,
Paul locates the reign of death in the sin of Adam and his descendants
(Rom 5:12–14; cf. 1 Cor 15:21). In consigning humanity to the slavery of sin,
the apostle strips the Roman ruler of the virtus that made him god-like,
while simultaneously denying the ruler’s critics the satisfaction that the
fear of death at Rome could be explained solely by reference to the Julio-
Claudian house, or that freedom from a ruler’s tyranny could be achieved
by suicide, or by achieving fame fighting in the arena. Rather, death, the
sting of sin (1 Cor 15:55–56), had entered the world, corrupting the pristine
glory of God’s creation (Rom 5:12; cf. 1:20, 23a; Gen 3:17–19) and frustrating
its original purpose (Rom 8:20; Gen 1:31; Ps 19:1–4).116 For Paul, the moral
corruption and the culture of death that fuelled imperial politics was but
one expression of the much deeper spiritual malaise at the core of world
history, past and present.
More profoundly, Paul radically transforms the Jewish apocalyptic tra-
dition of the “two ages”. Instead of postponing the advent of the “age to
come”, as Jewish apocalyptic writers did, Paul asserts that the new age
of Christ has already broken into the present evil age and that its real-
ity is currently the experience of the church.117 The imputed righteous-
ness of Christ’s obedience (Rom 5:18–19) and the reign of his resurrection
life (5:17b: ἐν ζωῇ βασιλεύσουσιν διὰ τοῦ ἑνὸς Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ) has placed his
dependants under the reign of grace (5:21: ἡ χάρις βασιλεύσῃ; cf. vv. 15b–16a,
17b, 20b).118 Such an overflow of grace (Rom 5:20: ὑπερεπερίσσευσεν ἡ χάρις)
surpasses anything that Caesar could muster as the world benefactor.119
The messianic age of Saturn, with its unnamed child heralding the arrival
116 For discussion, see H.A. Hahne, The Corruption and Redemption of Creation: Nature
in Romans 8:19–22 and Jewish Apocalyptic Literature (London: T&T Clark, 2006), 186–93.
117 Rom 6:4b; 7:6b; cf. 1 Cor 1:18–29; 10:11; 2 Cor 3:4–18; 5:17; Gal 1:4; 4:4–6; 6:15.
118 For conflicting conclusions as to whether “imputed righteousness” or “covenantal
righteousness” were at the heart of Paul’s theology in Rom 5:18–19 and 2 Cor 5:21, see
J. Piper, The Future of Justification: A Response to N.T. Wright (Wheaton: Crossway Books,
2007); T. Wright, Justification: God’s Plan and Paul’s Vision (London: SPCK, 2009).
119 For full discussion, see Harrison, Paul’s Language of Grace, 226–34.
of Augustus (Virgil, Ecl. 4.1–63), has been outdone by the triumph of

the prophesied “one to come” over sin and death (Rom 5:14b: τύπος τοῦ
μέλλοντος). Whereas the risen Christ and his dependants reign over death
(Rom 5:17b, 21b; 6:9: θάνατος αὐτοῦ οὐκέτι κυριεύει; 6:14: ἁμαρτία γὰρ ὑμῶν
ού κυριεύσει), the apotheosised Julio-Claudian rulers, belonging to the
Adamic age, remain captive to death and thus cannot be consulted in
prayer in the heavens by their clients, as the imperial propaganda asserted
(ILS 137; Virgil, Aen. 1.286–291; Ovid, Metam. 15.888–890).120
In contrast to the mortal ruler who is held captive by death, the risen
Christ continually intercedes in the heavens for his dependants before
God (Rom 8:34), while the Spirit of the Father intercedes through the
groaning prayers of Christ’s church on earth (8:23, 27). It is significant
that Jesus intercedes for his dependants at God’s right hand (Rom 8:34:
ἐν δεξιᾷ τοῦ θεοῦ). Although this reflects traditional Jewish belief about
the coronation of God’s messiah (Ps 110:1 LXX; cf. Eph 1:20; Col 3:1; Heb 1:3;
8:1), the reference to Jesus’ place of honour alongside the Father would
also have registered with Roman auditors familiar with the Neronian
propaganda. On a coin minted in Rome a year after Claudius’ death (55
c.e.), we see the apotheosised Claudius seated at the right hand of the
divine Augustus on the top of a chariot drawn by four elephants.121 Over
against this symbolic universe of the Caesars—with its apotheosised rul-
ers (Caesar, Augustus, Claudius) and Son of god (Nero) answering the
petitions of their clients—Jesus rules as the risen Son of God in power
on behalf of his church within the empire. Moreover, whereas Roman
prayers to the apotheosised rulers maintained the Julio-Claudian status
quo (ILS 137; Virgil, Aen. 1.286–291; Horace, Carm., 3.5.1–4), the new way
of the Spirit (Rom 7:6) unleashes the transforming powers of the pres-
ent messianic age (8:4–6, 9–11, 13–16). Indeed, the gift of the Spirit is the
first fruits of the eschatological harvest to come (8:23; cf. v.21). Thus Paul
120 There was a symbolic connection between the two circular buildings in the Cam-
pus Martius: Augustus’s mausoleum and the Agrippan Pantheon. The latter building was
dedicated to all the gods and included, among other cult statues to the deities (Mars,
Venus, and the gods), a statue to the recently divinised Augustus (Dio 53.27.2–4). Visitors
to the Pantheon would have had a direct sightline from the door of the temple to the
mausoleum. P.J.E. Davies (Death and the Emperor, 140, 142) sums up the significance thus:
“The axial connection between his mausoleum and the Pantheon, two circular buildings,
expressed the progression from mortal to immortal status: Augustus, like Julius Caesar,
and like Romulus on the very Marsh of Capra, would not die but achieve apotheosis.” For
a map of the sightline between the two buildings, as well as their close proximity to the
horologium and the Ara Pacis (§4.1.4; §4.3.3), see ibid., 141 fig. 94.
121 BMC I p. 201 and plate 38. For discussion, see C.A. Evans, “Mark’s Incipit and the Priene
Calendar Inscription: From Jewish Gospel to Greco-Roman Gospel,” JGRChJ 1 (2000): 75.
exhorts his Spirit-filled believers (Rom 8:9, 14, 16) not to be conformed
to “this age” but to be transformed through the renewal of the mind
(Rom 12:2: μὴ συσχηματίζεσθε τῷ αἰῶνι τούτῳ).
According to Paul, therefore, Adam’s “reign of death” has lost its grip
upon the believer, both in the present and in the future. The Roman “cul-
ture of death”, with its socially competitive and self-justifying funeral ritu-
als, belongs to an old age to which believers have already died in Christ
(Rom 6:1–23; 12:1–2).122 In writing Romans, one of Paul’s objectives is to
highlight how the life-giving death of Jesus, announced in the gospel, will
profoundly transform social relations among Gentile believers in the capi-
tal by reconciling hostile humanity to God (Rom 1:7, 14, 16; 5:6–10; 13:8–10;
15:5–12, 15–24).123 The “body of Christ” (Rom 12:5) will become the place
where divine mercy is celebrated and exercised towards the enemy in a
radical inversion of the Roman social order (11:30–31; 12:8b, 14–21). Sen-
eca’s advice that Nero should extend mercy to his “body of state” (Clem.
1.4.1–1.5.2)—as opposed to instilling fear in his subjects by means of the
sword—has been trumped by a different vision of social relations under
the “reign of grace”.
Conclusion
Paul’s theology of the believer “dying with Christ” for the sake of others
(Rom 8:35–37; 12:9–21; 13:8–10; 14:13, 19; 15:1–3, 7–9; cf. 1 Cor 4:9–13; 2 Cor
4:8–12; 6:9b) would have been incomprehensible to many Romans, if the
evidence of Seneca is indicative of the attitudes of most Romans towards
crucifixion. Death, Seneca argued, was to be accepted rather than avoided.
One was not to crave for the extension of life but to live nobly with suf-
fering in the knowledge that death was unavoidable.124 His approach to
death was focused on the self-sufficiency of the wise man in the face of
the inevitability of death, whereas Paul, in his ministry to others, crossed
the “status” boundaries dividing Roman society because of the example
of the self-lowering of Christ.
122 On boasting in ancestral glory at funerals, see Harrison, “Paul and the Roman Ideal
of Glory,” 352–53.
123 See Winter, “Roman Law and Society in Romans 12–15.”
124 Note how Paul longs to be with Christ but accepts the extension of his life and
ministry for the sake of others (Phil 1:21–26).
Seneca cites the poem of Gaius Maecenas—the famous Roman literary

patron, writer and friend of Augustus—to illustrate the attitude that the
wise man is to avoid. The philosopher considers the sentiments of Mae-
cenas to be the “most debased of prayers” and “womanish and indecent
verse”:125
Fashion me with a palsied hand,
Weak of foot, and a cripple;
Build upon me a crook-backed hump;
Shake my teeth till they rattle;
All is well, if my life remains.
Save, oh, save it, I pray you,
Though I sit on the piercing cross.126
Whereas Maecenas would accept any extension to life irrespective of
the suffering, Seneca does not want to postpone crucifixion because of
death’s relentless approach. Thus Seneca ridicules the idea that there is
any inherent value to an extension of life on the part of the crucified: “Can
any man be found willing to be fastened to the accursed tree, long sickly,
already deformed, swelling with ugly tumours on chest and shoulders, and
draw the breath of life amid long-drawn-out agony? I think he would have
many excuses for dying even before mounting the cross!”127
Paul, by contrast, understood his “death-and-life” ministry experiences
in light of his “dying and rising” in Christ, the paradoxical paradigm that
informs his understanding of Christian existence. For Paul, the weakness
of the cross is the dynamic that transforms the intensely competitive
social relations of Roman society (Rom 12:16b). The atoning power of the
cross demonstrates that the ruler’s patronage has no redemptive value for
the bereaved and that his rule cannot secure a lasting peace for a troubled
world (Rom 1:3–4, 14; 5:1). The foolishness of the cross reveals the blind-
ness of the poets and philosophers in trusting in human wisdom in the
face of death or in thinking that they can achieve immortality through
their writings (Rom 1:20b-23; 2:6–11). The social shame of the cross pricks
the hubris of boasting in ancestral glory and underscores the futility of try-
ing to rehabilitate glory retrospectively (Rom 3:27; 5:3, 4, 11). The suffering
of the cross assigns value to the tribulations of believers as they wait for
the glorious arrival of the new creation (Rom 5:3–5; 8:17–25). The justifying
work of the cross transfers to believers a new construct of virtue, founded
125 Seneca, Ep. 101.10, 13.

126 Seneca, Ep. 101.11.
127 Seneca, Ep. 101.12.
on Christ’s righteous obedience unto death, that is radically different to

the military version promoted at Rome (Rom 5:18–19; cf. 2 Cor 5:21).
Finally, the newness of the Spirit of the risen Christ means that for
believers human existence is no longer characterised by the “living death”
of Lucretius, Ovid and Seneca’s Hercules Furens (Rom 7:5–6; 7:24; 8:26–27).
The resurrection of the crucified Christ as Lord and Judge explodes the idea
that there is no life beyond death (Rom 2:16; 14:7–12). It sweeps away fear
of the fickleness of Fortune and the terror aroused by malevolent deities of
the underworld for those who before their conversion had been enslaved
to idolatry (Rom 1:18–23; 8:14–16, 31–39). Thus the Roman understanding
of death—and the elitist values associated with the funeral culture of the
aristocracy and the Caesars—will increasingly be challenged by the resur-
rection life of Christ emanating from the house churches at Rome.
The Relationships of Paul and Luke:
Luke, Paul’s Letters, and the “We” Passages of Acts
Sean A. Adams
University of Edinburgh, UK
When attempting to map Pauline relationships, one of the most funda-

mental is that between Paul and Luke.1 Although it is clear from the refer-
ences within the Pauline corpus that a certain Luke and Paul knew each
other, the extent of this relationship is unclear. Furthermore, understand-
ing this relationship is complicated by the narrative of Acts and whether
or not the portrayal of Paul in Acts is derived from the author’s personal
relationship with the apostle and whether or not this author is the his-
torical/Pauline Luke. Accordingly, this paper seeks to discuss some of
the key areas of connection between Paul and Luke. Beginning with a
short introduction to the references to Luke in the Pauline corpus, we will
evaluate briefly the theory that Luke was Paul’s amanuensis. Following this,
the remainder of the paper will focus on Paul in Acts and associated issues.
Commencing with a discussion on the unity of Luke and Acts, and the
comments from the church fathers regarding Luke and Paul, the body of
the paper will interact with the major theories regarding the “we” passages.
Throughout all of these sections it will become apparent that there is lack
of clarity in discussions of Luke-Paul relations. This article does not argue
for a specific relationship between Paul and Luke, but rather claims that
there are multiple relationships for Luke and Paul. This claim highlights
the need for scholars to nuance their discussions and to recognise explic-
itly the inherent limitations of the evidence.
Luke in Paul’s Letters
There are very few references to Luke within the New Testament. Although
having both a Gospel and Acts attributed to him, “Luke” is not mentioned
in either of these works, but is only explicitly mentioned in three of Paul’s
1 In order to avoid confusion in this paper, I will use Luke to refer to the historical/
Pauline Luke, GLuke to refer to the Gospel of Luke, and “Luke” to refer to the purported
author of Luke-Acts.
126 sean a. adams
letters: Col 4:14; Phlm 24; 2 Tim 4:11.2 These references in the Pauline cor-
pus form the extent of canonical knowledge of Luke, suggesting that a
certain Luke knew Paul and that he accompanied him at various times in
his missionary work. From Col 4:14 we are told that Luke was a physician
by trade; through the reference in Phlm 24 we understand Luke to be one
of Paul’s “fellow workers” (συνεργοί μου); and in 2 Tim 4:11 we are informed
that Luke was the only one with Paul at the time that the letter was writ-
ten. Other than these paltry facts, the New Testament is silent regarding
the person of Luke.3
To further undermine the scanty evidence, one has to deal with the ques-
tion of Pauline authorship of certain letters and whether the comments
regarding Luke are genuinely Pauline.4 Although this may not have been an
historical problem, it is important to note at the outset some of the assump-
tions taken for granted when modern scholars posit a relationship between
Paul and Luke. A similar assumption that is rarely discussed is that all these
passages refer to the same Luke. Although it is likely the case, it is one more
level of ambiguity. These uncertainties erode some of the fundamental con-
fidence placed in these passages and undermine the strength of the alleged
Paul-Luke relation that is based on these three references.
Luke as Paul’s Amanuensis?
One of the recurring suggestions for a relationship between Paul and Luke
is that Luke was Paul’s amanuensis or secretary and assisted in the writing
of some of his letters, most notably the Pastoral Epistles.5 Although not
a new proposal, this view regained scholarly attention after C.F.D. Moule’s
2 Some scholars have suggested that there might be a fourth reference to Luke within
the New Testament. Ellis proposes that Luke might have been a Hellenistic Jew, which,
if that were the case, might allow Luke to have a Latin name “Lucius” (possibly Paul’s
cousin?) mentioned in Rom 16:21. E.E. Ellis, The Gospel of Luke (NCBC; Grand Rapids:
Eerdmans, 1974), 53.
3 From the testimony of some of the church fathers we understand Luke to have hailed
from Antioch (Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 3.4.6; Jerome, De Viris Illustribus 7; and the anti-Mar-
cionite prologue).
4 Although Philemon is accepted as authentically Pauline, there is greater dispute over
the authorship of Colossians and 2 Timothy. For initial discussions, see G.W. Knight III,
The Pastoral Epistles (NIGTC; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1992), 21–22. Also, for questions
regarding pseudepigraphy and the nature of canon, see S.E. Porter, “Pauline Authorship
and the Pastoral Epistles: Implications for Canon,” BBR 5 (1995): 105–23.
5 This is only one of a number of possible solutions to the “Pastorals Problem.” For
an outline of six possible explanations, see I.H. Marshall and P.H. Towner, A Critical and
Exegetical Commentary on the Pastoral Epistles (ICC; T&T Clark, 1999), 63–66.
the relationships of paul and luke 127
lecture on “The Problem of the Pastoral Epistles: A Reappraisal.”6 Fol-

lowing this, there were numerous proposals and critiques by differing
scholars who attempted to draw parallels between Luke-Acts and the
Pastorals, particularly in light of alleged similarities of language, theology,
and vocabulary.7
One of the most recent thoroughgoing attempts to prove Lukan author-
ship for the Pastorals is by S.G. Wilson, who evaluated the stylistic ten-
dencies and the shared exclusive vocabulary between Luke-Acts and the
Pastorals.8 In addition to these linguistic features, Wilson also compared
the theological outlooks of these works, ultimately concluding that “Luke”
was involved with both projects. Challenged by I.H. Marshall, a number
of Wilson’s conclusions have not held up.9 However, this did not end the
scholarly endeavour to pair “Luke” and the Pastorals.
Most recently it has been argued by Cynthia Westfall that “Luke” may
have been Paul’s amanuensis in the writing of some of his letters.10 In an
attempt to recast the authorship debate of 2 Timothy, Westfall combines
ancient epistolary theory with modern linguistics to evaluate the letter
as a whole. Calling for a renewed investigation of Pauline authorship of
2 Timothy, Westfall argues that it should not be evaluated together with
1 Timothy and Titus, but on its own merits.11 In support of this, Westfall
cites 2 Tim 4:11, which indicates that at the time of writing Luke was Paul’s
only company. Based on the theory that Paul made use of scribes and
6 C.F.D. Moule, “The Problem of the Pastoral Epistles: A Reappraisal,” BJRL 47 (1965):
430–52.
7 For other examples, see A. Strobel, “Schreiben des Lukas? Zum sprachlichen Problem
der Pastoralbriefe,” NTS 15 (1969): 191–210; R.P. Martin, New Testament Foundations. II. The
Acts, the Letters, the Apocalypse (rev. ed.; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1986), 301–3, following
F.J. Badcock, The Pauline Epistles and the Epistle to the Hebrews in their Historical Setting
(London: Macmillan, 1937), ch. 6, who proposed the view that Luke wrote them during
Paul’s lifetime. See J.D. Quinn, “The Last Volume of Luke: The Relation of Luke-Acts to the
Pastoral Epistles,” in C.H. Talbert (ed.), Perspectives on Luke-Acts (Danville, VA: Association
of Baptist Professors of Religion, 1978), 62–75, for the view that Luke compiled, edited and
enlarged Paul’s short communications after his death.
For a contrary view, see N. Brox, “Lukas als Verfasser der Pastoralbriefe?,” JAC 13 (1970):
62–77. For a more recent “ground clearing” work, see J.-D. Kaestli, “Luke-Acts and the Pas-
toral Epistles: The Thesis of a Common Authorship,” in C.M. Tuckett (ed.), Luke’s Liter-
ary Achievement: Collected Essays (JSNTSup 116; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1995),
110–26.
8 S.G. Wilson, Luke and the Pastoral Epistles (London: SPCK, 1979), esp. 3–4.
9 I.H. Marshall, “Review of Wilson’s Luke and the Pastoral Epistles,” JSNT 10 (1981): 69–74.
10 C.L. Westfall, “A Moral Dilemma? The Epistolary Body of 2 Timothy,” in S.E. Porter
and S.A. Adams (eds.), Paul and the Ancient Letter Form (PAST 6; Leiden: Brill, 2010),
213–52, 227.
11 Westfall, “A Moral Dilemma?,” 252.
128 sean a. adams
other literary personal for the publication of his letters,12 Westfall pro-
poses that “Paul may have used Luke as his amanuensis or could have
been directly influenced by him and his grasp of Greek literary forms,
vocabulary and Greek registers.”13 Westfall claims that this perspective, as
well as the concept of register,14 will adequately address the stylistic issues
of unique vocabulary, literary formulae, and change in grammar.
Though it is unclear just how influential the scribe was in the creation
of the document, (whether or not they were allowed to change wording,
structure, etc.),15 it is certainly plausible that, if Luke was Paul’s amanuen-
sis for 2 Timothy, he could have affected the literary character of the work.
As a result, although there are some notable critiques, it is possible that
Luke could have assisted Paul in the writing of his Pastoral letter(s), as
this is one way to account for the internal and external evidence.16 On the
other hand, Knight suggests that, based on Marshall’s study, the linguistic
evidence best suits Paul, rather than “Luke”.17
This line of argument provides a good example of how the Pauline/
historical Luke is conflated with author “Luke” with no discussion. This
is not to say that Knight and Westfall are unaware of the differences, but
that there is an un-expressed shift in their arguments from the reference
to Luke in 2 Timothy to the pairing of this Luke with the author “Luke”
that is not discussed in their conclusions. This lack of explicit and open
12 For example, see E.R. Richards, The Secretary in the Letters of St. Paul (WUNT 2.42;
Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1991).
13 Westfall, “A Moral Dilemma?” 227.
14 For a discussion of the concept of register and its role in the determination of author-
ship and texts, see M.A.K. Halliday and R. Hasan, Language, Context and Text: Aspects of
Language in a Social-Semiotic Perspective (Geelong, Australia: Deakon University, 1985),
38; S.E. Porter, “Dialect and Register in the Greek of the New Testament: Theory,” in
M. Daniel Carroll R. (ed.), Rethinking Contexts, Rereading Texts: Contributions from the
Social Sciences to Biblical Interpretation ( JSOTSup 299; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press,
2000), 190–208.
15 Richards, The Secretary in the Letters of St. Paul, 97–110, who makes use of examples
from Atticus and Cicero.
16 W.D. Mounce, Pastoral Epistles (WBC 46; Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 2000), cxvii–cxxix.
17 Knight, Pastoral Epistles, 49, citing Marshall, “Review of Wilson,” 72. Although Knight
is not willing to state that the Pastoral Epistles were written by Luke, he does acknowledge
that a lot of the differences in vocabulary and style found in the Pastorals can find paral-
lels in Luke and Acts. With this in mind, Knight suggests that Luke might have influenced
the writings of Paul based on their close association and conversations. By spending so
much time with Paul (see the “we” sections in Acts), Knight proposes that some of the
Lukan linguistic characteristics made their way into Paul’s literary reservoir and so might
account for the differences between the Pastorals and the other Pauline letters. Knight,
Pastoral Epistles, 50–51.
logical progression leads to confusion for the reader and possible a logical
misstep for the author and those who use their work.
Paul, Luke, and Acts
A primary field of inquiry regarding the relationship between Paul and

Luke is the book of Acts in which Paul is the lead protagonist in the
advancement of the gospel to the gentiles. It is during this section that the
author switches from the dominant use of the third person to the occa-
sional use of the first person plural, the so-called “we passages”. Do these
passages indicate a personal relationship between the author and Paul,
or is this merely a source that the author has used in his composition,
or a literary stratagem? These are important questions and are related to
larger questions about the Lukan corpus and its relationship to Paul.
The Historical Luke and the Authorship of Acts

In attempting to understand the relationship between Paul, Luke, and
Acts, one must begin by looking at the fundamental issue of authorship.18
Though a discussion of modern positions of authorship will follow below,
a number of authorship theories are based on the claims of ecclesiastical
writers. Although the entire ancient discussion is not available to us, the
fragments that we do possess provide a uniform picture of Lukan author-
ship claims for GLuke and Acts.
One of the first ancient witnesses to Luke as the author of both his
namesake’s Gospel and Acts is the Muratorian Canon (c. 180–200 c.e.),19
which references both the writings of Luke (2–8) and Acts (34–39):
The third book of the Gospel is that according to Luke. Luke, the well-
known physician, after the ascension of Christ, when Paul had taken with
him as one zealous for the law, composed it in his own name, according to
18 For an overview of this topic, see F. Dicken, “The Author and Date of Luke-Acts:
Exploring the Options,” in S.A. Adams and M.W. Pahl (eds.), Issues in Luke-Acts (Piscata
way, NJ: Gorgias, 2012), 7–26.
19 There has been some debate over the dating of the Muratorian Canon, with dates
as late as the forth century being proposed. A.C. Sundberg, “Canon Muratori: A Fourth-
Century List,” HTR 66 (1973): 1–41; G.M. Hahneman, The Muratorian Fragment and the
Development of the Canon (OTM; Oxford: Clarendon, 1992). However, a number of other
studies still assert a second-century dating. For a recent critique of the forth-century per-
spective, particularly that advanced by Hahneman, see C.E. Hill, “The Debate Over the
Muratorian Fragment and the Development of the Canon,” WTJ 52 (1995): 437–52.
130 sean a. adams
belief. Yet he himself had not seen the Lord in the flesh; and therefore, as
he was able to ascertain events, so indeed he begins to tell the story from
the birth of John . . . (34) Moreover, the Acts of all the Apostles were written
in one book. For “most excellent Theophilus” Luke compiled the individual
events that took place in his presence—as he plainly shows by omitting the
martyrdom of Peter as well as the departure of Paul from the city when he
journeyed to Spain.20
Irenaeus also considers Luke’s role in the construction of GLuke and Acts.21
In discussing Luke’s Gospel, Irenaeus states, “Luke also, the companion
of Paul, recorded in a book the Gospel preached by him” (Haer. 3.1.1).22
Similarly, Irenaeus claims that the testimony of Luke in Acts regarding
the apostles is in harmony with the statements of Paul (Haer. 3.13.3) and
that, because Luke never left Paul’s side on his missionary journeys, he is
represented in Acts by the “we” statements (Haer. 3.14.1).23
Following Irenaeus is Clement of Alexandria (c. 150–c. 215), who states
that Luke recorded the words of Paul in Athens (Strom. 5.12.82.4).24 Simi-
larly, Clement’s most notable pupil, Origen (c. 185–254), expresses in a
number of places that Luke was the author of Acts.25
One key ancient writer who has provided great insight into the early
years of the church is Eusebius. Citing a number of previous authors in
this Historia ecclesiastica, Eusebius provides a rare glimpse into the writ-
ings of the early church.26 Although Luke’s authorship of Acts is men-
20 See B.M. Metzger, The Canon of the New Testament: Its Origins, Development and Sig-
nificance (Oxford: Clarendon, 1987), 305–7, for an edition of the Greek text.
21 When considering second-century Christian writers, D.L. Bock, (Acts [BECNT; Grand
Rapids: Baker, 2008], 16), states that “Justin Martyr in Dial. 103.19 speaks of Luke as a com-
panion to Paul.” This, however, is erroneous, as Justin Martyr does not mention Luke or
Paul by name in the entirety of his Dialogues.
22 See a similar statement by Tertullian, Marc. 4.2.4; Origen, Fr. Heb. 14.1309 (referenced
in Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 6.25.14); and possibly suggested by the Muratorian Canon 4–7. Other
references to Luke’s Gospel in Irenaeus include, Haer. 3.14.3, 4. See also Suda Λ 682.
23 Other Irenaeus references to Lukan authorship of the Gospel and Acts include: Haer.
3.12.11; 3.13.3; 3.15.1.
24 This speaks to Luke being the author of Acts and does not necessarily suggest that
he was an eyewitness of the Athens event.
25 Origen, Cels. 6.11 (“And ‘Judas of Galilee,’ as Luke wrote in the Acts of the Apostles,
wished to call himself someone great, as Theudas did before him.”); Comm. Jo. 1.23.149
(“Luke made the gospel clear and also in the Acts; none other than Christ is the stone.”),
150 (“In Acts Luke writes . . .”); Comm. Matt. 15.15 (“Let one hear the narrations by Luke in
the Acts of the Apostles about those encouraged by the power of the apostles to believe
and live fully according to the word of Jesus.”); 17.25 (“He recounted that Judas of Galilee,
of whom Luke makes mention in the Acts of the Apostles . . .”).
26 Unfortunately for this study, Eusebius, from whom we have our only extant frag-
ments of Papias, is silent regarding any possible mention of Luke and Acts.
tioned throughout his work,27 the passage of primary importance is Hist.

eccl. 3.4.7–8, which provides a brief introduction to Luke the writer, his
works, and also his relationship with Paul.
But Luke who was of Antiochian parentage and a physician by profession,
and who was especially intimate with Paul and well acquainted with the
rest of the apostles, has left us, in two inspired books, proofs of that spiritual
healing art which he learned from them. One of these books is the Gospel,
which he testifies that he wrote as those who were from the beginning eye
witnesses and ministers of the word delivered unto him, all of whom, as
he says, he followed accurately from the first. The other book is the Acts
of the Apostles, which he composed not from the accounts of others, but
from what he had seen himself.8 And they say that Paul meant to refer to
Luke’s Gospel wherever, as if speaking of some gospel of his own, he used
the words, “according to my Gospel.”
Finally, in Jerome’s De Viris Illustribus 7, there is a general amalgamation
of information regarding Luke, his (attributed) writings, and Paul. Not
containing original arguments, this passage provides a solid summary of
the Lukan tradition up to this point.
Luke a physician of Antioch, as his writings indicate, was not unskilled in
the Greek language. An adherent of the apostle Paul, and companion of all
his journeying, he wrote a Gospel, concerning which the same Paul says,
“We send with him a brother whose praise in the gospel is among all the
churches” and to the Colossians “Luke the beloved physician salutes you,”
and to Timothy “Luke only is with me.” He also wrote another excellent
volume to which he prefixed the title Acts of the Apostles, a history which
extends to the second year of Paul’s sojourn at Rome . . . Some suppose that
whenever Paul in his epistle says “according to my gospel” he means the
book of Luke and that Luke not only was taught the gospel history by the
apostle Paul who was not with the Lord in the flesh, but also by other apos-
tles. This he too at the beginning of his work declares, saying “Even as they
delivered unto us, which from the beginning were eyewitnesses and minis-
ters of the word.” So he wrote the Gospel as he had heard it, but composed
the Acts of the Apostles as he himself had seen. . . .
In addition to these citations themselves, it is important to note that it
was generally assumed within the early church that the historical Luke
referenced in Paul’s letters was the author of both GLuke and Acts.28
27 For examples, see Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 1.5.3; 2.8.2; 2.11.1; 2.22.1, 6; 3.4.1, 4; 3.31.5.
28 For a few ancient and medieval conjectures that Barnabas or Clement of Rome wrote
Acts, see T. Zahn, Introduction to the New Testament (trans. M.W. Jacobus; 3 vols.; Edin-
burgh: T&T Clark, 1909), 3.3 n.1. See also the “Anti-Marcionite Prologues” found in a num-
ber of early Latin Bible manuscripts from about the fourth century.
132 sean a. adams
In the case of other early writers, a number of them are silent on the issue
of authorship, while for others it is not clear whether or not they actually
knew of GLuke or Acts.29 Although this by no means guarantees Luke’s
authorship of Acts, it has been used to support that position.
In turning to the modern era there has been a number of inquiries into
the authorship and unity of both GLuke and Acts. While the issue of unity
is not particularly pertinent for this paper, it is often paired with the ques-
tion of authorship.30 Similarly, the question of authorship is foundational
for the discussion of the “we” passages and their importance for insight
into the character of Paul and his possible relationship with Luke.
Based primarily on three main pillars, the dominant view of scholar-
ship is that there is a common author-editor for both GLuke and Acts.31
The first argument, outlined above, is based on the external evidence of
second- to forth-century Christian writers, who are essentially unanimous
in their authorship claims for GLuke and Acts.
The second major pillar is the unity between Luke and Acts supported
by the shared addresses to Theophilus in the prefaces (Luke 1:3; Acts 1:1).
Although both prefaces have received scholarly attention,32 the references
29 For an excellent discussion regarding the evidence for or against early Christian
authors’ knowledge of Acts, particularly the traces of a knowledge of Acts that are found
in the Apostolic Fathers, the Epistula Apstolorum, and Justin, see C.K. Barrett, A Critical
and Exegetical Commentary on Acts (ICC; 2 vols.; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1994), 1:30–48;
H. Conzelmann, Acts of the Apostles (trans. J. Limburg, et al.; Hermeneia; Philadelphia:
Fortress Press, 1963), xxvii–xxxiii.
30 Although a number of scholars do see a strong relationship between Luke and Acts,
one of the more recent works that provides a systematic challenge to this is M.C. Parsons
and R.I. Pervo, Rethinking the Unity of Luke and Acts (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1993).
For an overview of the question of unity since Parsons and Pervo, see M.F. Bird, “The Unity
of Luke-Acts in Recent Discussion,” JSNT 29 (2007): 425–48. For a recent overview of the
issue of Luke-Acts unity with a clear positive perspective, see J. Verheyden, “The Unity
of Luke-Acts,” in J. Verheyden (ed.), The Unity of Luke-Acts (BETL 142; Leuven: Leuven
University Press, 1999), 3–56; idem, “The Unity of Luke-Acts: One Work, One Author, One
Purpose?” in S.A. Adams and M.W. Pahl (eds.), Issues in Luke-Acts (Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias,
2012), 27–50.
31 While not all scholars will agree with these three main groupings of evidence for
similar authorship, this perspective can be found in a number of Acts commentaries.
For example, see Bock, Acts, 15–19; D.G. Peterson, The Acts of the Apostles (PNTC; Grand
Rapids: Eerdmans, 2009), 1–4.
32 For one of the standard works on Luke’s gospel, see L. Alexander, The Preface to
Luke’s Gospel: Literary Convention and Social Context in Luke 1.1–4 and Acts 1.1 (SNTSMS 78;
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993). There have been a number of responses
to this work, for example: S.A. Adams, “Luke’s Preface and Its Relationship to Greek His-
toriography: A Response to Loveday Alexander,” JGRChJ 3 (2006): 177–91; D.E. Aune, “Luke
1.1–4: Historical or Scientific Prooimon?” in Alf C.C. Christophersen, Jörg Frey and Bruce
Longenecker (eds.), Paul, Luke and the Graeco-Roman World: Essays in Honour of Alex-
ander J.M. Wedderburn ( JSNTSup 217; London: T&T Clark, 2002), 138–48. Alexander has
responded to some of these in L.C.A. Alexander, “On a Roman Bookstall: Reading Acts in
to Theophilus and the statement in Acts 1:1, Tὸν μὲν πρῶτον λόγον, have
been the focus of scholarly debate over the connection of these two works.
Scholars have suggested that this and other aspects form a literary hinge,
fastening the two books together.33 In support of this, scholars cite other
Hellenistic Greek works, such as Josephus’ Contra Apionem 1.1 and 2.1
among others.34 Though the appropriateness of some of these examples
has been challenged, it is clear that there is an ancient literary practice of
connecting different books through the use of opening prefaces.
The third pillar is derived from internal evidence, such as similarities in
vocabulary, style, major themes, structure, character portrayal, and theol-
ogy.35 Through specific investigations (and inevitable critiques), scholars
have attempted to forge a holistic picture of Luke-Acts in which the points
of connection and similarities in the final form are joined together to form
a unified picture of the early church and the life of Jesus.36
So dominant is this perspective of Lukan authorship for Acts that there
have only been a handful of scholars who have challenged this view.37
Furthermore, even those who have challenged the literary unity of Luke
and Acts, find little ground for attempting to reopen the authorial unity
question.38 The most recent scholar to challenge this perspective, however,
is Patricia Walters, who, in her book The Assumed Authorial Unity of Luke
its Ancient Literary Context,” in idem, Acts in its Ancient Literary Context: A Classicist Looks
at the Acts of the Apostles (LNTS 289; New York: T&T Clark, 2005), 1–20, esp. 12–19.
33 W.C. Van Unnik, “The ‘Book of Acts’—The Confirmation of the Gospel,” NovT 4 (1960):
26–59; F.F. Bruce, The Acts of the Apostles: Greek Text with Introduction and Commentary
(3d ed.; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1990), 2–3 (from now on Greek Acts); J.A. Fitzmyer, The
Acts of the Apostles: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 31; New
York: Doubleday, 1998), 49; Conzelmann, Acts, 4.
34 For other examples, see L.C.A. Alexander, “Which Greco-Roman Prologues Most
Closely Parallel the Lukan Prologues?,” in D.P. Moessner (ed.), Jesus and the Heritage of
Israel: Luke’s Narrative Claim upon Israel’s Legacy (Harrisburg: Trinity Press, 1999), 9–26,
esp. 17–22.
35 Verheyden, “Unity of Luke-Acts,” 6 n.13. One of the key works for this understanding
is, R. Maddox, The Purpose of Luke-Acts (SNTW; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1982).
36 For admiration of the literary, theological, and historical achievements of Luke-Acts
in its final form, see J.B. Tyson, Marcion and Luke-Acts: A Defining Struggle (Columbia:
University of South Carolina Press, 2006), 121–31.
37 F.C. Baur, Paul, the Apostle of Jesus Christ: His Life and Work, His Epistles and His
Doctrine (trans. Eduard Zeller; London: Williams and Norgate, 1873), 1:12–13; A.W. Argyle,
“The Greek of Luke and Acts,” NTS 20 (1974): 441–5. H.J. Cadbury summed this perspective
up well: “Among all the problems of New Testament authorship no answer is so univer-
sally agreed upon as is the common authorship of these two volumes.” H.J. Cadbury, The
Making of Luke-Acts (2d ed.; Peabody: Hendrickson, 1958), 8.
38 Parsons and Pervo, Rethinking the Unity of Luke and Acts, 116; A.F. Gregory and
C.K. Rowe (eds.), Rethinking the Unity and Reception of Luke and Acts (Columbia: Univer-
sity of South Carolina Press, 2010).
134 sean a. adams
and Acts, attempts to apply a new methodology by statistically evaluating

the prose compositional styles of the authorial seams and summaries of
Luke and Acts.39 Making use of Aristotle, Ps.-Demetrius, Dionysius of Hali-
carnassus and Ps.-Longinus, Walters proposes that the three key aspects
of prose composition (euphony, rhythm, sentence structure), indicated by
syntax and word selection, provide access to the authorial compositional
techniques of Luke and Acts.40 In applying statistical analysis to these
syntactic elements Walters finds “highly significant” results, which she
believes challenge the authorial unity of Luke and Acts.41
Without critiquing the strength of her argument, it is important to note
for this article the implications of such an authorship claim for the rela-
tionship between Paul and Luke. If one were to assign GLuke and Acts
to two different authors, only the author of Acts would provide any
fodder to discuss a relationship with Paul. The question would still remain
if “Luke” was the author of Acts. If yes, then we would continue on as
before; if not, then a new definable relationship with Paul would poten-
tially emerge. However, we would still need to posit who this new author
may have been and the nature of the “we” passages. This will be discussed
further below.
Overall, in looking at the questions of authorship and unity of GLuke
and Acts there are a number of trends that emerge. Of particular interest
to this paper is the movement to correlate the author of GLuke and Acts
with the historical Luke. Founded on substantial claims from the early
church fathers, it appears that Luke is likely the best candidate to be the
author of GLuke and/or Acts. However, this is far from certain. We do
not know for certain who wrote these books as neither makes an author-
ship claim. This is significant for attempting to determine the relation-
ship between Luke and Paul as any evidence gleaned from Acts should
be automatically viewed with an added layer of uncertainty and with
the recognition that it is included only because of a working hypothesis.
Moreover, immediate attribution of evidence from GLuke and Acts to the
historical Luke is to be cautioned against. Rather, when dealing with liter-
ary relationships within the New Testament, it is best to develop a literary
39 P. Walters, The Assumed Authorial Unity of Luke and Acts: A Reassessment of the Evi-
dence (SNTSMS 145; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009), 72–73, 87–88.
40 While these are notable aspects of composition (if one had been trained in formal
composition), it is questionable whether these three items, with the elimination of all
other criteria, are sufficient to substantiate her claims.
41 Walters, Assumed Authorial Unity, 186.
“Luke” and keep the references to the “historical” Luke in Paul’s letters
separate. This will be discussed further below.
Luke and the “We” Passages

One of the most challenging issues for the study of Acts is the nature of
the “we” passages (Acts 16:10–17; 20:5–16; 21:1–18; 27:1–28:16).42 These texts
are located within the Pauline Acts narrative and are typically found in
parts of the text in which Paul is traveling: Acts 16:10–17, a sea journey by
Paul from Troas ending in Philippi; Acts 20:5–16, a journey from Philippi
back to Troas and then to Miletus; Acts 21:1–18, a journey from Miletus to
Jerusalem; and Acts 27:1–28:16, a journey from Caesarea to Rome.43
Despite the number of scholarly attempts to analyse these passages,
particularly from the perspective of form and source criticism, there has
yet to be a clear consensus.44 The traditional approach interprets the “we”
sections as personal eyewitness accounts from the author of Acts.45 This
suggests that the author of Acts (“Luke”) actually accompanied Paul for
42 In addition to this, there are “we” passages located in Codex Bezae, most notably
Acts 11:27. For additional examples, see J.H. Ropes, The Text of Acts: Vol. 3, in F.J. Foakes
Jackson and K. Lake (eds.), The Beginnings of Christianity (5 vols.; New York: Macmillan,
1920–33), ccxxxix. Although interesting in its own right, the nature and role of the first
person plural in Codex Bezae will not be discussed due to space limitations.
43 One fundamental question that will also not be fully address here is: to whom does
the “we” refer and who are its members? Although it is not clear who the “we” refers to in
each passage (as its members appear to change depending on the passage), it is generally
accepted that Paul and the author are consistently members, which is the key point for
this paper. A notable exception would be Acts 20:13, in which it is clear that the “we” is
distinct from Paul as the “we” group is going to meet Paul in Assos. For further discussion,
see R.I. Pervo, Acts (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2009), 394; W. Kurz, Read-
ing Luke-Acts: Dynamics of Biblical Narrative (Louisville: Westminster/John Knox, 1993),
117–20.
44 For a history of research on the “we” passages, see W.S. Campbell, The “We” Pas-
sages in the Acts of the Apostles: The Narrator as Narrative Character (SBLMS 14; Atlanta:
SBL Press, 2007), 1–13; J. Hehnert, Die Wir-Passagen der Apostelgeschichte: Ein lukanisches
Stilmittel aus Jüdischer Tradition (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1989), 47–124;
J. Dupont, The Sources of Acts: The Present Position (London: Darton, Longman and Todd,
1964), 75–112.
45 M. Hengel, Acts and the History of Earliest Christianity (Philadelphia: Fortress Press,
1980), 66–67; J. Fitzmyer, The Gospel According to Luke (I–IX) (AB 28; Garden City: Double-
day, 1981), 35–53; J. Fitzmyer, Luke the Theologian: Aspects of his Teaching (London: Chap-
man, 1989), 17–22; B. Witherington, The Acts of the Apostles: A Socio-Rhetorical Commentary
(Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998), 480–86; Bruce, Greek Acts, 41.
Although this is discussed above, there are some explicit references within The Com-
mentary of Ephraem and the Armenian Catena, specifically a reading of “ego Lucas et qui
mecum” at Acts 20:13, that suggests that a number of ancient authors, particularly from the
Syrian tradition, thought that the “we” in Acts included the author “Luke”.
136 sean a. adams
part of his journeys and incorporated his experiences within his work.
The use of the first-person, therefore, is to notify the reader of the author’s
participation and personal relationship with Paul and that this is an eye-
witness account.
Although this is the most natural way of interpreting the text, a number
of scholars have challenged this assumption by claiming a lack of explicit
literary parallels from Greek and Jewish historiographical works. In addi-
tion to this, scholars have also noted the differences between the Paul that
is portrayed in Acts and the Paul that is compiled from his letters. Such
differences have all contributed to challenges to historical Lukan author-
ship and Pauline relation.46
A previously dominant theory developed by Vernon Robbins rejects
the “we” passages as evidence of authorial participation and argues that
the use of the first-person plural is a standard literary device used to nar-
rate sea-voyages.47 Accordingly, the occasions in which Luke made use of
the first-person plural within the narrative he was not attempting to sug-
gest his own participation within the narrative events or to insinuate a
relationship with Paul, but rather he was adopting the well-known literary
form that utilises the first person when dictating travels that take place
over sea.48 Although Robbins presents instances where the first-person
plural is utilised by ancient authors in sea-voyage narratives, his theory
has failed to describe the whole of the evidence, both in ancient works
and in Acts. Consequently, this perspective has been strongly critiqued
and is no longer considered to adequately address the variety of issues
surrounding the “we” passages.49
46 One of the key challenges to this view is P. Vielhauer, “Zum ‘Paulinismus’ der Apostel-
geschichte,” EvT 10 (1950/51): 1–15. For an overview of this position, see A.J.M. Wedderburn,
“The ‘We’-Passages in Acts: On the Horns of a Dilemma,” ZNW 93 (2002): 78–98, esp.
85–88.
47 V. Robbins, “By Land and By Sea: The We-Passages and Ancient Sea Voyages,” in
C.H. Talbert (ed.), Perspectives on Luke-Acts (Perspectives in Religious Studies, Special
Studies Series 5; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1978), 215–42; idem, “The We-Passages in Acts and
Ancient Sea Voyages,” BR 20 (1975): 5–18. This theory is followed with some adaptations by
D. Marguerat, “Voyages et voyageurs dans le Livre des Actes et la culture gréco-romaine,”
RHPR 78 (1998): 33–59.
48 For a number of extra-biblical examples of sea voyages in which the first-person
plural was used, see Robbins, “By Land and By Sea,” 217–23.
49 Porter, Paul in Acts, 12–24; Fitzmyer, Luke the Theologian, 16–23; C.J. Hemer, “First
Person Narrative in Acts 27–28,” TynBul 36 (1985): 70–109; Witherington, Acts of the Apos-
tles, 483–84.
For a number of critiques of Robbins’ theory, including an interesting chart that identi-
fies first- and third-person uses of characters in sea-voyages in a number of ancient works,
see S.M. Praeder, “The Problem of First Person Narration in Acts,” NovT 29 (1987): 193–218,
esp. 210–11.
In response to this perspective, some scholars suggest that “Luke” used

a “we-source”.50 Whether or not this source originated from an actual eye-
witness account is debated; however, the instances of “we” within the Acts
narrative, it is argued, could be a result of Luke’s retention of the first-
person plural within his source.51 While some have suggested a written
“we” source, this does not have to be the case, as the “we” sections could
have derived from an oral recollection told from memory.52 It is worth
emphasising for this article that the assertion of a we-source undermines
the supposed relationship between Paul and “Luke” as it removes the
author from the “we”.
Another approach derived from literary theory that has gained some
acceptance is one that suggests that the use of the first-person plural
within the narrative does not imply authorial inclusion or a “we” source,
but rather that the author of Acts was attempting to include the reader
in the story.53 Although this is a possibility for understanding the “we”
instance in Acts 16:10, it does not necessarily best explain the other
instances (including those in which the first-person plural actively par-
ticipates within the narrative, Acts 16:13–18 and 21:10–14) as well as the
reason why “Luke” made use of this particular literary feature and why
50 There have been a few attempts at assigning the we-source to a particular travel-
companion of Paul. While a number of them are interesting, they are not particularly
convincing due to lack of evidence. See J.A. Blaisdell, “The Authorship of the ‘We’ Sections
of the Books of Acts,” HTR 13 (1920): 136–58, who proposes the “Diarist” was Epaphras/
Epaphroditus.
51 For a reconstruction of the “we” source, see A. von Harnack, Neue Untersuchungen
zur Apostelgeschichte und zur Abfassungszeit der synoptischen Evangelien (Beiträge zur Ein-
leitung in das Neue Testament 4; Leipzig, 1911) 3–9; S.E. Porter, The Paul of Acts: Essays
in Literary Criticism, Rhetoric, and Theology (WUNT 115; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1999),
42–46. For a critique of the reconstruction by Porter, see Wedderburn, “The ‘We’-Passages
in Acts,” 80 n.5.
52 Haenchen states that “there was no travel-diary (the papyrus-scroll—or would it
have been a codex?—would scarcely have survived the shipwreck), but a tale told from
memory which Luke then enriched with interpolations.” E. Haenchen, The Acts of the
Apostles: A Commentary (Oxford: Blackwell, 1971), 87. Though I do not completely agree
with the timeline that Haenchen proposes (namely that the text in question would have
had to be already written and on the shipwrecked vessel, although this would likely be the
case if it were a “diary”), there is definitely some validity to his assertion that there could
have been an oral tradition or recollection that Luke utilised as one of his sources. See also
Conzelmann, Acts, xxxix.
53 E. Haenchen “‘We’ in Acts and the Itinerary,” The Bultmann School of Biblical Inter-
pretation: New Directions? Journal for the Theology and Church 1 (1965): 65–99, esp. 83–99;
R.C. Tannehill, The Narrative Unity of Luke-Acts: A Literary Interpretation (2 vols.; Philadel-
phia: Fortress Press, 1986, 1990), 2:246–47; Kurz, Reading Luke-Acts, 113.
138 sean a. adams
the “we” feature was utilised at this point in the narrative and not in
other places?54
A related comparative-literary approach was proposed earlier by
E. Plümacher, who attempted to interpret the use of the first-person
plural in light of ancient historiographical practice.55 Citing ancient writ-
ers such as Plautus, Lucian, and Polybius, Plümacher suggests that the use
of “we” in Acts associates Luke with historiographical tradition of his day.
This theory, however, has also been thoroughly critiqued with substantial
questions having been raised regarding the use of the first-person plural
(as opposed to the first person singular) and Luke’s particular relationship
with the ancient tradition of writing history.56
Of the recent attempts to engage with the difficult questions surround-
ing the “we” passages, Wedderburn’s article does a quality job of balanc-
ing counter arguments and holding issues in tension.57 While challenging
earlier proposals that either place too much emphasis on the natural con-
clusion that “Luke” was the originator of the “we” account and the views
that attempt to relegate the “we” to a purely stylistic feature, Wedderburn
proposes that Acts was produced by a Pauline “school.”58 According to
Wedderburn, this “school” stems from, and is associated with, an other-
wise unknown traveling-companion of Paul’s and, therefore, should be
regarded as part of the Pauline “school” that a number of other scholars
have postulated.59
Wedderburn further claims that “if this writer belongs to the Pauline
‘school’ then he is a pupil at second-hand, the pupil of that pupil who
had accompanied the apostle on some of his travels.”60 Accordingly, the
writer of Acts made use of a tradition or source that he received from an
eyewitness account, either in written or oral form. The “we” was retained
because the writer of Acts was writing on behalf of his personal source
54 One response to this would be the interesting proposal by Campbell, who suggests
that the “we” is a narrative inclusion to replace the reliable voice of Barnabas within
the narrative after he separated from Paul. Campbell, The “We” Passages in the Acts of
the Apostles, 12–13, 90–91.
55 E. Plümacher, Lukas als hellenistischer Schriftsteller: Studien zur Apostelgeschichte
(SUNT 9; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1972); idem, “Wirlichkeitserfahrung und
Geschichtsschreibung bei Lukas: Erwägungen zu den Wir-Stücken der Apostelgeschichte,”
ZNW 68 (1977): 2–22.
56 See Praeder, “First Person Narration in Acts,” 206–10; Pervo, Acts, 394–95.
57 Wedderburn, “The ‘We’-Passages in Acts,” 78–98.
58 Wedderburn, “The ‘We’-Passages in Acts,” 94.
59 Wedderburn, “The ‘We’-Passages in Acts,” 94. It is important to note that Wedder-
burn is not claiming a formal, institutional school, but rather a variety of traditions of
thought and writing that claim (both explicitly and implicitly) a continuation of Paul’s
apostolic work.
and because this person had been involved in those events.61 In proposing
this arrangement, Wedderburn hopes to take the “we” within the narrative
seriously, in that it came from a person who was a traveling-companion
of Paul in some of his journeys. At the same time, to alleviate some of the
tension between the Paul of Acts and the Paul of the letters, Wedderburn
temporally removes the writer of Acts to a time in which the tensions
between the Jews and Christians was diminished and attributes the content
to a writer that did not have personal contact with the apostle. As a result, it
was not the author of Acts that had a relationship with Paul, but rather the
diary writer, who may or may not have been the historical Luke.
Wedderburn is correct in viewing the use of “we” within Acts as not
accidental. Many scholars have noted “Luke” to be a competent author
and that, while he might have used sources for the writing of Acts, did
not carelessly cobble them together without thought for the construction
of the narrative. As a result, the “we” occurrences are intentional and are
therefore encoded with meaning for the reader and author.62 Similarly, it
is also quite possible that the source for the “we” passages does not have
to be a written source, but could plausibly be oral transmission from a
Pauline traveling companion.
On the other hand, though the proposal of a Pauline “school” is intrigu-
ing, it is questionable whether Wedderburn has adequately addressed
the corresponding question of Lukan authorship. True, Wedderburn does
suggest that the traveling-companion source for the “we” passages could
have been Luke and that this connection could “help to explain how the
name of Luke ever came to be invoked as author if indeed this anonymous
traveling-companion was the otherwise obscure Luke.”63 However, this is
complicated by the discussion of unified authorship that strongly assigns
the same author to both GLuke and Acts. Similarly, while it is quite pos-
sible that Luke could have been the anonymous traveling-companion to
Paul, is this source (which supports a relatively small portion of Acts) sig-
nificant enough to elicit such strong claims of authorship that the actual
author of Acts was never even considered or acknowledged by any of the
church fathers? Furthermore, if this is a Pauline “school,” should it be
considered the “Lukan branch” of the Pauline tradition, and if so, how
involved would Luke have been?
Ultimately, it is clear from the above discussion that the manner in
which one views the “we” passages and their relationship to the author
61 Wedderburn, “The ‘We’-Passages in Acts,” 95, 97.

62 Dupont, The Sources of Acts, 167.
140 sean a. adams
of Acts is fundamentally important for understanding the relationship

between “Luke” and Paul. Such a practice is also affected by how scholars
understand the use of the first-person plural in related prose literature.
For example, although their narratives are based on the third person, both
Thucydides and Polybius make use of both the first-person singular and
plural in their Histories.64 Josephus also has first-person references in his
Wars and Antiquities.65 Likewise, Tacitus makes use of the first-person sin-
gular and plural throughout his Annals in which the plural refers to the
Romans/general population or to both the author and the reader.66 Such
use of the first person is also evident in individual biographies. For exam-
ple, although the narrative within the Agesilaus is based on third person
narration, there are twenty-one occasions in which Xenophon interjects
into the narrative with the first-person singular.67 Likewise, Philostratus
makes regular use of the first person to accentuate his Life of Apollonius.68
Collected biography authors also incorporate first-person references in
third-person narrative as can be seen in the works of Eunapius, Philo-
stratus, and Jerome.69 Noteworthy is Diogenes’ Lives in which the author
is highly reluctant to make use of the first-person singular, even in his
64 Thucydides: Singular: 1.1.3; 1.22.1–2; 2.4.8; 5.26.4–6; Plural: 1.13.4; 1.18.1; 2.102.6; 7.87.5;
8.41.2. Polybius: Singular: 3.4.13; 29.21.8–9; 36.1.3–7; Plural: 1.1.1; 1.1.4; 31.23.1–5; 36.1.1–2; 36.11.1–
4; 38.5.1—6.7; 38.21.1; 39.8.1–3. Of particular interest is Polybius discussion in 36.12.1–5 in
which he explains his use of person. Cf. Longinus, Subl. 26.
65 Josephus, Ant., Singular: 1.4, 5, 7; 10.218; 20.259, 268; Plural: 1.18, 25; 3.259; 6.350; 10.151;
14.77, 265–67; 16.187; B.J., Singular: 1.3; Plural 1.9–12; 2.114; 7.135, 454–55.
66 Singular: 1.1, 73, 80; 2.27, 32, 35, 43, 46, 88; 3.3, 7, 16, 18, 24, 25, 29, 48, 55, 65; 4.1, 4, 6,
10, 11, 20, 21, 31, 32, 53, 57, 67, 69, 71; 6[5].10; 6.4, 7, 10, 20, 22, 25, 27–29, 38, 40, 45; 11.4, 5, 11,
27, 29; 12.24, 40; 13.1, 19, 20, 31, 33, 49; 14.14, 17, 33, 40, 48, 59, 62, 64; 15.37, 49, 50, 53, 54, 63,
67, 72, 78; 16.6, 14, 16, 18, 21. Plural: 2.45, 62; 3.55; 4.5, 13, 18, 20; 6[5].9; 11.22; 12.27, 31, 35, 36,
38–40, 43, 54; 13.20, 43; 14.9, 29; 16.3, 16.
67 Xenophon, Ages. 1.1, 6, 12; 2.7, 9; 3.1, 2, 5; 5.6, 7; 6.1; 7.1–2; 8.3, 4, 5, 7; 9.1; 10.1; 11.1, 9, 14.
The only non-narrator instance of the first person singular occurs in a reported speech of
Agesilaus (5.5). There is also one instance of the first person plural “we” in 7.1, but this can
be understood as a rhetorical device. A similar pattern is seen in Isocrates’ Evagoras.
68 Book 1: 2.3–3.5; 4; 9.1; 9.2; 16.2; 19.2; 20.3; 21.1; 24.2; 25.1; 38.1; Book 2: 2.1; 2.2; 4; 9.3; 13.2;
13.3; 14.1; 16; 17.1; 18.2; 19.2; 21.1; 23; 42; 43; Book 3: 4.2; 6.1; 11; 14.2; 25.3; 41.2; 45.1; 50.2; 52; Book
4: 10.1; 13.3; 22.2; 25.6; 34.2; 34.4 (let us); 42.1; 43.1; Book 5: 1; 2; 8; 9; 12; 19.2; 24.2; 27.1; 27.3;
39*; 41.1; 43.4; Book 6: 1.2 (let us); 2; 27.4; 35.1; 35.2; 40.1; Book 7: 1*; 2.3; 3; 23.1; 31.2; 35; 39.2;
39.3; 42.6; Book 8: 1 (let us); 2 (we); 5.2; 5.4; 6.1; 8; 9; 20; 29; 30.1; 31.3.
69 These citations do not include any examples from quotations, but only include
those in which the author is part of the first person. Eunapius, Vit. Phil. 453, 454, 459, 460,
461(pl.), 462, 463, 466, 470, 473, 475, 476, 478, 480, 495, 500(pl.); Philostratus, Vit. soph. 479,
480, 483, 484, 486, 488, 491, 492(x2), 494, 496, 497, 498, 499, 502, 503, 504, 506, 514, 515(x2),
516, 520, 523, 524, 527, 536, 537, 540, 543, 549, 550, 552, 562, 564, 565, 566, 567, 574, 576, 582,
583, 585, 587, 590, 593, 595, 597, 598, 602, 603, 604(pl.), 605, 606, 607, 612, 613, 615, 617, 620,
626(pl.), 627, 628; Jerome, Vitr. ill. praef., 2, 3, 5, 12, 16, 25, 38, 45, 53, 54, 61, 75, 82, 92, 108,
109, 115, 124, 129, 131, 132, 134, 135; Plural: 7, 9, 11, 16, 18, 35, 37, 38, 45, 53, 54, 61, 62, 73, 80.
preface and epilogue.70 Conversely, Diogenes makes numerous uses of the

first-person plural, even when the first-person singular would have been
more appropriate.71
In all of these examples the use of the first person is not merely a piece
of literary accenting, but notes for the reader that the author is including
himself in the action or making a personal statement. I have yet to find
any examples in which the first-person plural is adopted by an author
directly from his source without due consideration of the narrative con-
text, or in places where the author himself could not have been involved.
All of these examples indicate that Acts’ use of the first person (singular
and plural) is consistent with the practice established by history and biog-
raphy writers. A similar sentiment has been expressed by Prarder: “if Acts
is a first person ancient history, then it is alone in its lack of first person
singular participation.”72 If this is the case, there is potential to discuss the
relationship between the author (“Luke”) and Paul. This, however, is not
necessarily the same as the relationship between the historical Luke and
Paul or the Luke of Paul’s letters and the letter-writer, Paul.
Conclusion
So, how does this discussion of the “we” passages contribute to our dis-
cussion of the relationship(s) between Paul and Luke/“Luke”? Regarding
the authorial “Luke,” our brief investigation into Graeco-Roman literary
practice strongly supports the view that “Luke” had a relationship with
Paul. Or, more exactly, the author of Acts presents himself as having a
relationship with Paul through the use of the first-person plural “we”. This
of course does not speak to the historical reality (whatever that might
70 There are only two occurrences of the first person singular that I was able to find: 1.5; 3.13.
71 Diogenes, 1.18, 27, 39, 41, 72, 85, 97, 102, 120; 2.15, 21, 46, 50, 58, 88, 93, 96, 110, 112, 120,
144; 3.13, 45, 50; 4.1, 3, 20, 27, 45, 54, 61, 65; 5.8, 11, 40, 60, 68, 79, 90; 6.19, 79, 100; 7.23, 31, 86,
87, 124, 129, 131, 138, 143, 145, 152, 156, 157, 160, 176, 184; 8.13, 26, 27, 44, 74, 84, 91; 9.4,9 10, 28,
44, 56, 59, 82, 84, 93, 101, 108, 109; 10.16.
72 Praeder, “First Person Narration in Acts,” 208. Though I am not convinced that Acts is
a history (see S.A. Adams, The Genre of Acts and Collected Biography [SNTSMS; Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, forthcoming]), the explicit self-reference of an eyewitness and
participation within a narrative is a dominant literary practice in the ancient world. On
the other hand, Kurz (Reading Luke-Acts, 113) rightly notes that in the we-section of Acts
20:7–12 the narrator is only peripherally involved and appears to lack the omniscience that
is expressed in other sections in Acts. The lack of omniscience associated with the use of
the “we” in this case casts doubt on the eyewitness status of the author and may be a case
in which the author of Acts immerses himself within the narrative and becomes part of
the “we” character.
142 sean a. adams
have been), but rather addresses the way that the author of Acts made
use of a prose-writing convention to present himself as having a relation-
ship. Accordingly, as investigators into Acts, we need to take this claim
seriously when evaluating the authorship of Acts, as opposed to immedi-
ately claiming that it is a source. The former view is consistent with the
authorial perspective and demands interaction. The latter view that the
“we” betrays a source does have merit in that “Luke” claims to have used
sources. However, there needs to be further investigation into the presen-
tation and use of sources in the ancient world. To date, I have not seen an
ancient author use “we” to indicate a source of which he did not consider
or present himself to be a member.
Regarding the “we”-source theory and the relationship between the his-
torical Luke and Paul, there is little to say. The “we” passages, having been
drawn from an anonymous document, do not make any claim for the rela-
tionship between Luke and Paul. Additionally, the “we”, removed from its
authorial mooring, loses its relational aspect and can no longer be used
to support a relationship between “Luke” and Paul (unless of course one
claims that the source came from Luke). If such scholars want to use
the “we” passages to substantiate a relationship between Luke and Paul
there is a very large caveat that needs to be taken seriously. This is not to
say that such use of the “we” sections is fundamentally flawed, but that the
underlying extrapolation of its use should be explicitly interacted with. One
cannot have “Luke” use a source for the “we” passages and maintain a per-
sonal relationship with Paul without difficulty and strong argumentation.
Finally, in my investigation of the relationship between Luke and Paul,
I found substantial ambiguity in the way that scholars have referred to the
person of Luke. In studies of authorship, amanuensis, and literary rela-
tionship, scholars talk about Luke’s relationship with Paul; however, they
rarely (if ever) define who exactly they are talking about. Is it the historical
Luke, the Pauline Luke, or “Luke” the supposed author of GLuke and Acts?
Although most are referring to the latter, there is a subtle sleight of hand
as the historical Luke and Paul’s references to him are brought in as sup-
porting evidence for understanding authorial “Luke” and his relation with
Paul. This is likely due to similar labels being used when referring to the
historical Luke, the literary GLuke, and the authorial “Luke”. Although it is
not the primary purpose of this study, I would encourage future scholars
writing about Luke, particularly those dealing with Paul’s colleague and
the author of GLuke and Acts, to adopt a consistent manner of referring to
these three Lukes that allows for immediate differentiation. It is my hope
that such an adoption might limit the ambiguity and possible confusion
of this topic, which is already complicated enough.
The Authorship of Hebrews:
A Further Development in the Luke-Paul Relationship
Andrew W. Pitts and Joshua F. Walker

Introduction
Regardless of its genre, with 1 John, Hebrews represents one of

the only two non-narrative portions of the New Testament that
lacks self-attestation regarding its authorship. The document’s
anonymity has not, however, discouraged conjectures regarding
the identity of the writer. A number of possibilities for its origi-
nation have been suggested, including but not limited to Paul,1
1 Eusebius (Hist. eccl. 6.25.11–14) records that several Alexandrian scholars held to Pau-
line authorship, particularly Clement of Alexandria (c. 150–215 c.e.) and Origen (185–254
c.e.), both of whom held to Pauline authorship with some reservations. Others in the early
Church who adopted Pauline authorship—notably from the Western Church—include
Jerome (Epist. 129.3) and Augustine (Pecc. merit. 1.50). The Pauline view has persisted in
modern scholarship, as we see in M. Stuart, A Commentary on the Epistle to the Hebrews (2d
ed.; Andover, Mass.: Flagg, Gould, and Newman, 1833); R. Milligan, Epistle to the Hebrews
(The New Testament Commentary; St. Louis: Christian Publishing Co., 1875); W. Leonard,
The Authorship of the Epistle to the Hebrews: Critical Problem and Use of the Old Testament
(Rome: Vatican Polyglot Press, 1939). This view died out almost entirely among scholars
until J. Philips revived it in Exploring the Scriptures (Chicago: Moody, 1965), 268–69. How-
ever, Philips’s view never gained acceptance and the Pauline perspective enjoyed a hiatus
until it emerged again through D.A. Black, e.g., his “On the Pauline Authorship of Heb-
rews (Part 1): Overlooked Affinities between Hebrews and Paul,” Faith & Mission 16 (1999):
32–51; “On the Pauline Authorship of Hebrews (Part 2): The External Evidence Recon-
sidered,” Faith & Mission 16 (1999): 78–86. Black also promises an extensive forthcoming
book arguing for this position. In more recent German scholarship, see also Eta Linne-
mann, “Wiederaufnahme-Prozess in Sachen des Hebräerbriefes (Part 1),” Fundamentum 21
(2000): 102–12. Clare K. Rothschild (Hebrews as Pseudepigraphon: The History and Signifi-
cance of the Pauline Attribution of Hebrews [WUNT 237; Tübingen, Germany: Mohr Siebeck,
2009]) argues that Hebrews is “Pauline Pseudepigraphy.” This remains unconvincing for
at least two reasons. First, if someone was attempting to pass off Hebrews as a Pauline
letter, then why leave out many of the standard components of Paul’s other letters, such
as basic epistolary structure and formulas? It seems to us to be too unique of a document
to be an attempted Pauline forgery. If it was a forgery of a Pauline letter, this Paulin-
ist sure did a bad job. But such a situation seems highly unlikely given the composer’s
skill and education in literary production. Second, from a very early date the Christian
community accepted this letter as an authentic Pauline letter—as substantiated by the
144 andrew w. pitts and joshua f. walker
Luke,2 Barnabas,3 Apollos,4 Clement,5 Priscilla6 and Philip.7 We hope,

however, to put forward a collaborative proposal that to our knowledge has
not been suggested in modern scholarship up to this point—at least not in
external evidence provided out above. To overturn this evidence, a significant case would
need to be made, a case which Rothschild fails to deliver.
2 See J.F. Köhler, Versuch über die Abfassungszeit: Der epistolischen Schriften im
Neuen Testament und der Apokalypse (Leipzig: J.A. Barth, 1830); K. Stein, Kommentar zu
dem Euangelium des Lucas: Nebst einem Anhange über den Brief an die Laodiceer (Halle:
Schwetschke und Sohn, 1830); J.L. Hug, Introduction to the New Testament (trans. D. Fos-
dick; Andover: Gould and Newman, 1836); R. Stier, The Epistle to the Hebrews Interpreted
in Thirty-Six Meditations (2 vols.; 2d ed.; Brunswick: Schwetschke, 1842); J.H.A. Ebrard,
Biblical Commentary on the Epistle to the Hebrews, in Continuation of the Work of Olshau-
sen (trans. J. Fulton; Clark’s Foreign Theological Library 32; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1853);
H. Cowles, The Epistle to the Hebrews (New York: Appleton, 1878); L. Zill, De Brief an die
Hebräer: Übersetzt und erklärt (Mayence: Franz Kirchheim, 1879); J. Döllinger, The First Age
of Christianity and the Church (trans. H. Oxenham; 4th ed.; London: Gibbons, 1906) and
now most recently, D. Allen, Lukan Authorship of Hebrews (New American Commentary
Studies in Bible and Theology; Nashville: Broadman & Holman Academic, 2010).
3 Tertullian (c. 160–220 c.e.) (Pud. 20) refers to “an epistle of Barnabas titled ‘To the
Hebrews.’ ” John Calvin also favours this view. See Calvin’s Commentary on the Epistle to the
Hebrews (London: S. Cornish, et al., 1841). Over the last century, an authorship by Barna-
bas has found supporters in E.C. Wickham, The Epistle to the Hebrews (London: Methuen,
1910); E. Riggenbach, Der Brief an die Hebräer ausgelegt von Eduard Riggenbach (Leipzig:
Deichert, 1922); H. Strathmann, Die Briefe an Timotheus und Titus, Der Brief an die Hebräer
(Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1954); P.E. Hughes, A Commentary on the Epistle to
the Hebrews (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1977).
4 Martin Luther (Luther’s Works, Vol. 29: Lectures on Titus, Philemon and Hebrews [ed.
J. Pelikan and Walter A. Hansen; Saint Louis: Concordia, 1968]) adopts Apollos as the
author of Hebrews for the first time (but cf. J. Moffatt, An Introduction to the Literature
of the New Testament [Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1911], 438, who denies that Luther first pro-
posed this view). Advocates of this position typically cite Acts 18:24 regarding Apollos’s
excellent speech and knowledge of the Scriptures as support. See also J.E. Howard, The
Epistle to the Hebrews: A Revised Translation, with Notes (London: Yapp and Hawkins,
1872); J. Zahn, Introduction to the New Testament (trans. J.M. Trout et al.; Edinburgh:
T&T Clark, 1909), 356; D.E. Riggenbach, Der Brief an die Hebräer (Leipzig: Deichert, 1913);
E.H. Plumptre, “The Writings of Apollos: An Attempt to Fix the Authorship of the Wisdom
of Solomon and the Epistle to the Hebrews,” The Expositor 1 (1875): 329–48; T.W. Manson,
“The Problem of the Epistle to the Hebrews,” BJRL 32 (1949): 1–17; P. Ketter, Hebräerbrief,
Jakobusbrief, Petrusbrief, Judasbrief (Die Heilige Schrift für das Leben erklärt, Bd. 16/1; Frei-
burg [im Breisgau]: Herder, 1950); C. Spicq, L’Épître aux Hébreux (2 vols.; Paris: Librairie
Lecoffre, 1952); F. Lo Bue, “The Historical Background of the Epistle to the Hebrews,” JBL
75 (1956): 52–57; P. Ellingworth, The Epistle to the Hebrews (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1993);
G.H. Guthrie, “The Case for Apollos as the Author of Hebrews,” Faith & Mission 18 (2001):
41–56.
5 J. Moffatt, The Epistle to the Hebrews (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1924); K. and S. Lake,
Introduction to the New Testament (London: Christophers, 1938).
6 A. Harnack, “Probabilia über die Adresse und den Verfasser des Hebräerbriefes,” ZNW
1 (1900): 16–41; J. Rendell Harris, Side Lights on New Testament Research (London: Kings-
gate, 1908).
7 W.R. Ramsay, Luke the Physician and Other Studies in the History of Religion (London:
Hodder and Stoughton, 1908).
the authorship of hebrews 145
the precise form that we put forward. Some have proposed multi-levelled
authorship theories, such as John and Luke’s collaboration with Mary.8
The evidence we will examine, however, suggests that Hebrews likely
represents a Pauline speech, probably originally delivered in a Diaspora
synagogue, which Luke documented in some way during their travels
together and which Luke later published as an independent speech to be
circulated among house churches in the Jewish-Christian Diaspora. From
Acts, there already exists a historical context for Luke’s recording or in
some way attaining and publishing Paul’s speeches in a narrative context.
Luke remains the only person in the early church whom we know to have
published Paul’s teaching (beyond supposed Paulinists) and particularly
his speeches. And certainly by the first century we have a well-established
tradition within Greco-Roman rhetorical and historiographic stenography
(speech recording through the use of a system of shorthand) of narrative
(speeches incorporated into a running narrative), compilation (multiple
speeches collected and edited in a single publication) and independent
(the publication of a single speech) speech circulation by stenographers.
Since it can be shown that early Christians pursued parallel practices, par-
ticularly Luke and Mark, that Hebrews and Luke-Acts share substantial
linguistic affinities, and that significant theological-literary affinities exist
between Hebrews and Paul, we will argue that a solid case for Luke’s inde-
pendent publication of Hebrews as a Pauline speech can be sustained.
The proposal that perhaps most closely resembles ours is theorized,
for example, in a footnote by Black when, in attempting to account for
the linguistic evidence in Allen’s dissertation on the Lukan authorship of
Hebrews, he suggests Luke was perhaps Paul’s amanuensis.9 The prob-
lem with this proposal is that it assumes, contrary to the dominant per-
spective in scholarship, that Hebrews is a letter. Even if this is not an
unargued assumption, Black’s idea remains underdeveloped and is not
robust enough to be compelling. In distinction from Black, we argue that
Hebrews is a Pauline speech, independently documented and circulated
by Luke, probably based upon his work as a stenographer—a more pre-
cise secretarial function related to speech recording than the broader
domain of the amanuensis for which Black argues. J.V. Brown, almost a
century ago, advanced a theory similar to our proposal when he argued
8 J.M. Ford, “The Mother of Jesus and the Authorship of the Epistle to the Hebrews,”
University of Dayton Review 11 (1975): 49–56.
9 D.A. Black, “Who Wrote Hebrews? The Internal and External Evidence Reexamined,”
Faith & Mission 18 (2001): 3–26, here 23 n. 3.
that Paul authored the text but Luke edited it and published its final
form.10 Again, we believe a more convincing case can be made through
establishing a historical framework in Greco-Roman and early Christian
practice, that Luke, as he was accustomed to doing, somehow attained or
documented first-hand a Pauline speech and then published it as an inde-
pendent speech to be circulated in early Christian communities within
the Diaspora.
The Historical Context for a Literary Collaboration between

Luke and Paul
Assuming its reliability and Lukan authorship, Acts provides one possible
plank of evidence for Luke’s status as a traveling companion of Paul based
upon the so-called “we” passages. But while the “we” sections of Acts cer-
tainly may indicate Luke’s communication of an eyewitness testimony
(including many Pauline speeches), the possibility that Luke has incorpo-
rated a previous we-source cannot be ruled out. If the “we” passages do
convey eyewitness tradition as a number of scholars have argued,11 this
places Luke on at least two of Paul’s missionary journeys. From these
sections in Acts, we glean that: (1) Luke joins Paul at Philippi (16:10–17);
(2) Luke accompanies Paul on his return visit to Philippi (20:5–15); (3) Luke
went with Paul on his way to Jerusalem (21:1–18); and (4) after Paul’s two
year imprisonment, Luke set out with Paul to Rome (27:1–28:16). Further
evidence for Luke’s collaboration with Paul is documented in the Pauline
letters. Paul refers to Luke as a fellow worker (Phlm 24). Evidence also
exists for Paul’s collaboration with a physician named Luke in Col 4:14,
who apparently accompanied Paul at the time when he composed the
letter and even sent his regards to the Colossian church. If we locate the
prison letters within the Roman imprisonment, then Acts likely ends with
Paul in prison because Luke has just joined him there. In other words,
Acts concludes by narrating the circumstances directly surrounding its
time of composition. This provides a time when Luke could have col-
laborated with Paul, including gathering source material, both for Acts
and Hebrews. And—again, if we assume Pauline authorship or at least
10 J.V. Brown, “The Authorship and Circumstances of Hebrews—Again!” BibSac 80

(1923): 505–38.
11 For discussion, see S.E. Porter, “The ‘We’ Passages,” in D.W.J. Gill and C. Gempf (eds.),
The Book of Acts in Its Graeco-Roman Setting (vol. 2 of The Book of Acts in Its First Century
Setting; ed. B.W. Winter; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1994), 545–74. Porter, however, adopts
the view that the “we” passages are likely derived from a continuous independent source.
the validity of the tradition a Paulinist may have communicated—at the

end of his life, Paul says “Luke alone is with me” (2 Tim 4:11), indicating
a fairly close companionship. These comments in 2 Timothy, combined
on the one hand with the historical record in Acts and on the other with
numerous strands of literary and linguistic evidence, have generated a
sizable body of literature that proposes a literary collaboration between
Paul and Luke in the production of the Pastoral letters.12 Such a scenario
would only reinforce the likelihood of a previous or posthumous col-
laborative work in the publication of Hebrews—the date for Hebrews,
whether it was circulated in Paul’s lifetime or not, is not essential to our
theory. If Paul and Luke did co-author the Pastorals, this would imply an
open exchange of literary materials between them and would provide a
context in which Luke could have worked with Paul to also publish an
independent speech such as Hebrews—though, on our theory, he need
not necessarily have done so.
In any case, through some means or another Luke gained access to a
number of Paul’s speeches and integrated them into his narrative. This,
in addition to Paul’s consistent reference in his letters to Luke’s compan-
ionship at the sending locations for the letters and possibly further sup-
port marshalled from the “we” passages as well as possible evidence for
Luke’s involvement in the Pastorals, establishes a fairly stable historical
context in which collaboration between Paul and Luke could have taken
place. But the nature of this collaboration must be explored further. What
process or method might Luke and Paul have undertaken in contributing
to a literary production such as Hebrews? What contexts in early Chris-
tianity might have allowed for such a procedure? And what reference-
points in Greco-Roman antiquity might we point to as evidence of parallel
literary activity?
Speech Circulation in Greco-Roman Historiography
Interpreters of Acts slowly seem to be forming a consensus concerning

the literary location of the document within the spectrum of genres in
the ancient world. Most, at this stage, grant the historical nature of Acts,
12 C.F.D. Moule (“The Problem of the Pastoral Epistles: A Reappraisal,” BJRL 47 [1965]:
430–52) has revived this view in recent scholarship. On the discussion and research sub-
sequent to Moule, see G.W. Knight, The Pastoral Epistles: A Commentary on the Greek Text
(NIGTC; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1992), 48–51; W.D. Mounce, Pastoral Epistles (WBC 46;
Dallas: Word, 2002), cxxvii–cxxix.
even if far fewer are willing to concede that the question of authenticity is
reducible to the question of literary form: According to several, Acts may
be history and yet its author may still invent large amounts of material.13
Regardless, the debate over the genre of Acts seems fairly stable at this
point in the history of interpretation—it represents some form of ancient
history. It is appropriate then, without further defence, to move on to
assess Acts as history. Specifically, our concern involves the speeches—
particularly the Pauline speeches—in Acts and, therefore, within ancient
historiography. And in this domain, a great deal of uncertainty revolves
around the question of the nature and extent of the liberties taken by
ancient historians in recording speeches. Before addressing this issue,
however, it will be helpful to establish the kinds of mechanisms that were
in place in Greco-Roman antiquity for documenting and then circulating
public discourses for historical purposes.
How would an ancient historian have come across speech material?
As we turn to the historians, we find various responses to this ques-
tion. Thucydides (c. 460–395 b.c.e.) (1.22.1) says that “with reference to
speeches,” “some I heard myself, others I got from various quarters; it
was in all cases difficult to carry them word for word in one’s memory,
so my habit has been to make the speakers say what was in my opin-
ion demanded of them by the various occasions, of course adhering as
closely as possible to the general sense of what they really said” (Smith,
LCL). We will address the implications of this reference for the reliability
of the speeches that Luke transmits below, but for now we wish to draw
attention to what Thucydides says regarding the origin and transmission
of speeches in antiquity. He acknowledges two points of origination for
speech material: (1) speeches that he heard and (2) speeches he got from
other places. Thucydides does not seem to employ written aid because he
mentions the difficulty of retaining the speeches word for word. Polybius
(c. 220–146 b.c.e.) (36.1), by contrast, appears to assume a previously exist-
ing deposit of speech material, not commenting directly on its origins,
when he says that historians should “adapt their speeches to the nature
of the particular occasion” (Paton, LCL). Plutarch (c. 46–120 c.e.) famously
comments on the issue in a still more revealing way:
13 For a detailed review of recent research on the genre of Acts, see T.E. Phillips, “The
Genre of Acts: Moving Toward a Consensus?” CBR 4 (2006): 367–96. Phillips concludes his
survey by noting that “In the eyes of most recent scholars, [Acts] is history—but not the
kind of history that precludes fiction” (385).
[A]nd its [i.e. Cato’s speech’s] preservation was due to Cicero the consul,
who had previously given to those clerks who excelled in rapid writing
instruction in the use of signs [σημεῖα], which, in small and short figures,
comprised the force of many letters; these clerks he had then distributed
in various parts of the senate-house. For up to that time the Romans [note
the variant] did not employ or even possess what are called shorthand writ-
ers [σημειογράφους], but then for the first time, we are told, the first steps
toward the practice were taken. Be that as it may, Cato carried the day and
changed the opinions of the senators, so that they condemned the men to
death (Plutarch, Cat. Min. 23.3–7) (Perrin, LCL).
The term σημειογράφους occurs here for the first time in the Greco-Roman
literature, but Plutarch clearly understands the practice of recording
speech through shorthand (stenography) to be introduced at the time of
Cicero (c. 106–46 b.c.e.) and to have become somewhat pervasive by the
first century c.e. According to this text then, on December 5th, in 63 b.c.e.,
with Cato’s speech to the senate, we have the first documented instance
of what would become a very common practice in subsequent centuries.
And the language itself implies that the Romans derived the terminology
from the Greeks, indicating a primitive Greek practice upon which the
Roman practice was based.14 “The Romans” (if that is the original read-
ing) likely refers to broader Greco-Roman antiquity rather than merely
the Latin development of stenography, so that the Greek and Latin tradi-
tions probably developed side by side. Cicero (Fam. 16.4.3) acknowledges
this practice as well when he thanks Trio, apparently for his services as
a “stenographer” in this instance (cf. also Cicero, Fam. 16.10.2; 16.17.1; Att.
13.32).15 That a system for recording speeches emerged out of these begin-
nings by the first century is evident in Seneca’s remarks (c. 63–64 c.e.) that
there are Quid verborum notas, quibus quamvis citata excipitur oratio et
celeritatem linguae manus sequitur (‘signs for words, by which a speech is
recorded, however quickly, and the hand follows the speed of the speech’)
(Ep. 90.25). Seneca (Apol. 9.2) also mentions a speech by Janus that was
too long and eloquent for the stenographer to record. Such an admis-
sion likely implies that this stenographer had no trouble following other
speakers.16 Also worth noting is the development from the initial instance
involving Cato’s speech, which required a group of scribes, to the situation
14 Cf. E.R. Richards, Paul and First-Century Letter Writing: Secretaries, Composition, and
Collection (Downers Grove: InterVarsity, 2004), 69.
15 See O. Morgenstern, “Cicero und die Stenographie,” Archiv für Stenographie 56 (1905):
2–4.
16 Cf. G. Bahr, “Paul and Letter Writing in the First Century,” CBQ 28 (1966): 465–77,
here 473.
in the first century in which a single scribe is sufficient for ordinary cir-
cumstances.17 The skill of stenography was clearly useful to those who
delivered speeches as well. Titus both gave impressive speeches and prac-
ticed the art of stenography, even to the point of competing with profes-
sionals of the trade for sport (Suetonius, Tit. 3) (indicating an established
profession by the first century). Quintilian (c. 35–100 c.e.) (Inst. 10.3.19)
further testifies to the practice of speech recording as the “fine fancy of
dictation” in his classic work on the education of an orator.
We have evidence of stenography among the (especially epistolary)
Greek tradition as well. Most cite as the earliest evidence for speech
copyists the contract in P.Oxy. 724 (155 c.e.) in which Panechotes sends
his slave to study under the stenographer Apollonius (cf. also P.Mur.
164),18 establishing a flourishing trade of Greek shorthand writers at the
very least, by the time of Paul and Luke. Clearly, a context appropriate
for sending a person abroad for the purpose of mentorship in the profes-
sion assumes the previous development of a system of short hand that
had been established and was being passed down. But as Hartman and
Bahr notice, the evidence for Greek shorthand certainly predates the mid-
second century c.e., being testified to in the mid to late first century c.e.
with Arrian’s method of transmitting Epictetus’s Discourses.19 Arrian writes
in the introduction to his compilation of Epictetus’s Discourses:
I neither wrote these Discourses of Epictetus in the way in which a man
might write such things; nor did I make them public myself, inasmuch as I
declare that I did not even write them. But whatever I heard him say, the
same I attempted to write down in his own words as nearly as possible,
for the purpose of preserving them as memorials to myself afterwards of
the thoughts and the freedom of speech of Epictetus. Accordingly, the Dis-
courses are naturally such as a man would address without preparation to
another, not such as a man would write with the view of others reading
them (Arrian, Epict. diss. prol. [Long, n.p.]).
Notice that already in the first century b.c.e. we have an established prac-
tice of speech copying in place, making expectations for (abundant) paral-
lel developments by the first century c.e. far from unreasonable. The length
17 A. Stein, “Die Stenographie im römischen Senat,” Archiv für Stenographie 16 (1905):
182; Bahr, “Paul and Letter Writing,” 473.
18 E.g. Bahr, “Paul and Letter Writing,” 473; Richards, Paul and First-Century Letter
Writing, 473.
19 K. Hartmann, “Arrian und Epiktet,” Neue Jahrbücher für das klassische Altertum,
Geschichte und deutsche Literatur und für Pädagogik 8 (1905): 257, and Bahr, “Paul and
Letter Writing,” 474.
and complexity of Epictetus’s discourses also makes it hard to imagine

that Arrian did not use a form of shorthand notes that he could convert
into his own words at a later stage. He was not himself a philosopher
and would, therefore, have needed to rely on Arrian’s original concepts
as closely as possible to preserve them accurately. Perhaps this is why he
says he renders them “as nearly as possible.” He also emphasizes the raw
nature of the material that he has digested from Epictetus and its intent
for private use. He obviously distinguishes between what he copied down
based on the speeches he observed and the finer edited products typically
prepared for public circulation. We must further stress that it was Arrian,
the speech copyist, who was responsible for compiling and publishing the
speeches (Aulus Gellius, Noct. att. 1.2; 17.19; 29.1). And we must not for-
get that the accreditation of the origins of stenography to Cato’s speech
derives from the Greek tradition (Plutarch, Cat. Min. 23.3–7).
Arrian is not the only example of a (proto-) stenographer who published
recorded speeches. Asconius Pedianu records20 that a speech of Cicero’s,
his Pro Milone, had been circulated by a stenographer who recorded it,
and furthermore that it differed drastically from the later edited/improved
version that Cicero published—such a dual publication having no parallel
in Greco-Roman antiquity. Cicero then became the subject of mockery
because of the poor quality of the first version of the speech, published
by the stenographer (Dio 40.54). Apparently stenographers published a
number of Caesar’s speeches as well. Pro Q. Metell suffered publication
at the hand of a bad stenographer (Suetonius, Jul. 55.3), for example. But
Suetonius’s indication that the stenographer in this case did a disservice
to Caesar substantiates the notion that people expected a reliable and
accurate practice (otherwise, why comment upon incompetent stenogra-
phy?). The success of the profession is further shored up by Quintilian’s
inclinations to accept a stenographer’s version of Pro Milone as a more
accurate rendition of the speech than the one Cicero himself later pub-
lished (Inst. 4.2.17, 25). Nevertheless, Quintilian does not delight in the
fact that stenographers have published all but one of his speeches deliv-
ered within the courts (Inst. 7.2.24). Further, T.N. Winter argues convinc-
ingly that Apuleius’s (c. 125–180 c.e.) Apology furnishes yet another speech
recorded and published by stenographers, based partially upon a develop-
ing tradition of this activity within Greco-Roman rhetoric: “the ancient
notices of stenography which antedate the Apology of Apuleius indicate
20 Cited in T.N. Winter, “The Publication of Apuleius’ Apology,” TAPA 100 (1969): 607–
612, here 608. This paragraph was greatly aided by Winter’s article.
that speeches could be faithfully recorded, and that court speeches were
especially liable to recording and publication by stenographers.”21 Later
still into the second century we have evidence of a Socratic speech
(c. 200 c.e.) that apparently circulated as the result of a stenographer (Ps.-
Socrates, Ep. 14.4).
We should note a few things at this juncture. To begin with, there
is a well-substantiated practice in which speeches were recorded, pub-
lished and circulated by stenographers in Greco-Roman rhetoric and
historiography, especially within the Latin tradition, but in the Greek tra-
dition as well. When Thucydides says that he uses speeches from various
places, we may assume that he has likely gathered, at least in part, the
work of stenographers as well as first-hand publications by the various
authors he documents. But perhaps more interesting for our purposes
is his comment that he records speeches that he has heard. Neverthe-
less, reliance upon memory seems to be his method of choice in most
instances. This was not the case with someone like Arrian, however—a
historian who, in much the same way that we are proposing for Luke,
published a wide range of speeches embedded among his historical nar-
ratives in, for example, his Indica and his Anabasis,22 but also published
a compilation of Epictetus’s speeches. This substantiates the practice of
publishing speeches in both narrative and independent contexts among
Greco-Roman historians. But were speeches published apart from such
collections? Clearly they were. We have been able to document a flourish-
ing and fairly developed stenography profession by the first century c.e. in
which a number of stenographers published single speeches, often before
those who delivered the speeches had the chance to circulate a more pol-
ished version. To summarize: speeches were published by historians and/
or stenographers in three ways: (1) within narrative history; (2) as compi-
lations; and (3) independently, as standalone documents. This still leaves
the question of the style and language that the stenographer or historian
might have introduced when recording speeches, whether using ancient
shorthand or not. This question remains especially pertinent for our
purpose since it frames our expectations regarding how much of Luke’s
own style might have penetrated Hebrews if it was a recorded Pauline
speech.
21 Winter, “Publication,” 611.

22 On these speeches, see M.G.L. Hammond, “The Speeches in Arrian’s Indica and Ana-
basis,” CQ 49 (1999): 238–53.
The most programmatic passage for assessing the reliability of ancient

speeches, especially in Acts,23 has been Thucydides 1.22.1:
With reference to the speeches in this history, some were delivered before
the war began, others while it was going on; some I heard myself, others I
got from various quarters; it was in all cases difficult to carry them word for
word in one’s memory, so my habit has been to make the speakers say what
was in my opinion demanded of them by the various occasions, of course
adhering as closely as possible to the general sense of what they really said
(Smith, LCL).
However, as Porter notes, there are a number of lexical and grammati-
cal ambiguities that complicate any interpretation of this passage.24 First,
the word translated above as “difficult” (χαλεπόν) could indicate any-
thing from virtual impossibility (i.e. ‘something which cannot readily be
accomplished, perhaps under any circumstances’) to mere difficulty (i.e.
‘difficult, but within the realm of possibility’). A mediating sense is even
possible, where χαλεπόν is understood to mean ‘impossible unless the right
circumstances obtain’ (e.g. a certain method must be employed). Second,
the meaning of the phrase τὴν ἀκρίβειαν αὐτὴν τῶν λεχθέντων (translated
above “word for word”) is unclear. Does this refer to the individual utter-
ances or the reliability of the record as a whole? Third, does the adverb
μάλιστα (“likely,” “especially”) go with the thing “demanded of them,” to
“say,” or with the whole clause, to “say what was in my opinion demanded
of them”? Fourth, the phrase translated above as “demanded” (τὰ δέοντα)
leaves open the question as to how exactly the situations demanded things
from the speaker and what exactly they demanded. Fifth, the phrase ὃτι
ἐγγύτατα, translated “as closely as possible,” could be a reference to keep-
ing as closely as possible to what Thucydides deemed as necessary or it
could refer to keeping as close to the general sense of what was said in
light of the situation. Sixth, the phrase τῆς ξυμπάσης γνώμης (“the general
sense”) could mean the basic “gist” of what was said or the line taken by
the speaker. Seventh, τῶν ἀληθῶς λεχθέντων (“really said”) could denote
either “spoken truthfully” or “truly spoken.” These exegetical ambigui-
ties make a “Thucydidean View” hard to maintain and of little help in
23 The following discussion expands significantly upon material found in A.W. Pitts,
“Paul’s Hellenistic Education: Assessing Literary, Rhetorical and Philosophical Influences,”
in S.E. Porter and A.W. Pitts (eds.), Christian Origins and Greco-Roman Culture: Social and
Literary Contexts for the New Testament (TENTS; Leiden: Brill, forthcoming).
24 S.E. Porter, “Thucydides 1.22.1 and Speeches in Acts: Is There a Thucydidean View?”
NovT 32 (1990): 121–42; reprinted in Studies in the Greek New Testament: Theory and Practice
(SBG 6; New York: Peter Lang, 1996), 173–93, here 179–91.
e valuating how speeches were recorded in Acts. Furthermore, Thucydides

has been shown to be somewhat atypical among the historians, at least in
particular aspects of form and style.25
Porter’s cautions concerning Thucydides are duly noted, but the picture
of speeches in Greco-Roman historiography still needs to be filled out by
other theorists. Isocrates, although not a historian himself, sets the agenda
for many of the Greco-Roman historians. He suggests that when producing
an account of a person’s achievements it is best to add artistic style and
then distribute the stylized results:
For these reasons especially I have undertaken to write this discourse because
I believed that for you, for your children, and for all the other descendants of
Evagoras, it would be by far the best incentive, if someone should assemble
his achievements, give them verbal adornment, and submit them to you for
your contemplation and study. (Isocrates, Evag. 76 [Hook, LCL])
This methodology was carried over into historiography by several of Iso-
crates’s students, including Theopomus, Ephorus, Diodorus and Xeno-
phon.26 Historians who followed in the tradition of Isocrates enhanced
the original events and speeches with rhetorical style and aesthetic orna-
mentation. Similarly, Dionysius of Halicarnassus understood the histo-
rian’s task as an extension of rhetoric (see Dionysius of Halicarnassus,
Thuc. 18, 41). As Gempf notes, “For Dionysius, the fashioning of speeches is
taken to be the test of a real historian’s ability, that ability being reckoned
in terms of rhetorical style and skill. . . . Artistry was most important, even
at the expense of faithfulness. . . . There can be no doubt that Dionysius
composes the speeches he presents in his own books in a stereotyped
rhetorical fashion.”27 Cicero echoed the same perspective in his criticisms
of past historians (e.g. Cicero, De or. 2.12.53–54 and 2.15.62). He states that
“the privilege is conceded to rhetoricians to distort history in order to
give more point to their narrative” (Cicero, Brut. 11.42–3 [Hendrickson and
Hubbell, LCL]). Likewise, Lucian held that the historian must remain true
to the facts that he records, even if their form is altered: “expression and
arrangement” could be adjusted but not details such as geography (Lucian,
25 See S.A. Adams, “Luke’s Preface and its Relationship to Greek Historiography: A
Response to Loveday Alexander,” JGRChJ 3 (2006): 177–91.
26 C. Gempf, “Public Speaking and Published Accounts,” in B.W. Winter and A.D. Clarke
(eds.), The Book of Acts in Its Ancient Literary Setting (vol. 1 of The Book of Acts in Its First
Century Setting; ed. Bruce W. Winter; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1993), 259–303, here 270.
27 Gempf, “Public Speaking,” 275–276, 282.
“The Way to Write History,” 24 [trans. Fowler and Fowler]).28 With respect
to speeches, Lucian suggests that the historian is completely justified in
showing off his eloquence and “bringing the speech into a good rhetorical
style” (ῥητορεῦσαι, rhetorizing) once the speaker and occasion have been
accurately situated:
When it comes in your way to introduce a speech, the first requirement is
that it should suit the character both of the speaker and of the occasion; the
second is (once more) lucidity; but in these cases you have the counsel’s right
of showing your eloquence (ῥητορεῦσαι καὶ ἐπιδεῖξαι τὴν τῶν λόγων διενότητα).
(Lucian, “The Way to Write History,” 58 [trans. Fowler and Fowler])
Although Lucian insisted on the value of recording historical truth, he
saw no problem with reconstructing a speech so that it accorded with
the canons of rhetoric. Herodotus is an interesting contrast to the histo-
rians insofar as he combines his historical investigations with the art of
epic poetry, often creating imaginary speeches for his characters—but
this is no doubt due to his unique place in the development of Greek
historiography, developing as he did the practice of Greco-Roman his-
tory out of the traditions of Homeric poetry. Of the evidence available to
us, Polybius seems to be the most concerned of the historians to report
truthfully and accurately what was said, but even then, only when it is
most effective:
Still, as I do not think it becoming in statesmen to be ready with argument
and exposition on every subject of debate without distinction, but rather to
adapt their speeches to the nature of the particular occasion, so neither do
I think it right for historians to practice their skill or show off their ability
upon their readers: they ought on the contrary to devote their whole ener-
gies to discover and record what was really and truly said, and even of such
words only those that are the most opportune and essential. (Polybius 36.1
[Paton, LCL])
Clearly, Polybius is on the more conservative side of the spectrum; nev-
ertheless, he does seems to condone editing what was said in order to
produce the greatest literary impact.
Gempf points to two important examples of speech writing where the
originals can be compared with the accounts of the speeches recorded
by the historian.29 The first is an account of a series of speeches recorded
by Livy (12.42; 28.27; 30.30; 37.53) that he found in Polybius (3.62; 11.28;
28 Lucian, The Works of Lucian of Samosata (trans. H.W. Fowler and F.G. Fowler; Oxford:
Clarendon, 1905), 2:134.
29 Gempf, “Public Speaking,” 281–82.
15.6.4; 21.1), a situation that may be comparable to the circumstances

under which Acts was composed where Luke used sources of some kind
to construct his account of the early church, including Paul’s speeches—
although the possibility must also be allowed that Luke was able to hear
some of Paul’s speeches and that he may have had to rely upon memory
or personal notes to document certain speeches. The second is an exam-
ple from Tacitus’s Annals (11.24) that can be compared to a bronze tablet
found in Lyons that records what appears to be an original version of
a speech that was given by the Emperor Claudius. Gempf’s comparative
analysis illustrates that:
Livy treats the speeches in his sources with some respect, reproducing the
content while changing the form. . . . Tacitus’ version [of Emperor Claudius’s
speech as compared with the bronze tablet] is much shorter, the order in
which the topics are addressed is drastically altered and the style is much
more polished. . . . Much in the original . . . has been condensed and even left
out entirely in the published account. . . . Tacitus’ text is a better organized
and more cogent version of the same arguments. . . .30
These examples, taken in tandem with the theoretical dimension of
ancient historiography, highlight the nature of the alterations likely made
by Luke to Pauline speech material. It is clear that historians would typi-
cally “play the orator” in their accounts of ancient speeches. Many would
attempt to remain true to the original content of a speech, but most seem
to have altered its form in order to enhance its aesthetic appeal. There is
no reason to believe that Luke did not do the same. The Pauline speeches
in Acts, therefore, probably tell us more about Luke’s rhetorical abilities
than those of Paul. At the same time, their content probably does reflect
a genuine Pauline theology. This applies to the Pauline speeches in Acts
and, if our theory is on the mark, we should have a similar expectation for
Hebrews as well: Pauline content with Lukan style.
Speech Circulation in Early Christianity
If Hebrews emerged out of Luke’s efforts to publish Pauline speech mate-

rial (whether using his own eyewitness records or available sources [per-
haps obtained from Paul, 2 Tim 4:11]), it would not be an isolated instance
for such activity within the transmission of early Christian literature. The
30 Gempf, “Public Speaking,” 281–82.

entire literary enterprise represented by early Christian Gospels employed

this practice in recording the sayings and speeches of Jesus. Perhaps the
rabbinic traditions, with their emphasis upon recording speech material
as represented among the Tanniatic (and later) rabbinic traditions (e.g.
the Mishna), provided the literary context for such activity. The publi-
cation of various Acts of the apostles also required the transmission of
speeches. Within the canonical material, Mark’s Gospel and Luke-Acts are
particularly interesting in this connection.
Early Christian Gospels take a number of forms. Many have noticed
that there is a tendency for some Gospels to adopt a narrative framework
while others (but far fewer) are collections of independently circulated
sayings with very little narrative framing. The canonical Gospels and later
apocryphal Gospels are examples of the former, whereas texts like the
Gospel of Thomas, P.Egerton and Q (if such a document existed) provide
examples of the latter. The sheer volume of recorded sayings and dis-
courses of Jesus produced by these Gospel writers reveals the importance
that early Christians attached to the circulation of the speech traditions of
Jesus. Such practices are clearly intelligible within the publication indus-
try of the first century. The possibility of stenographers and/or scribes
recording and then transmitting notes or even entire speeches cannot be
ruled out, but the role of memory and eyewitness testimony in transmit-
ting oral speech traditions appears to be the dominant method employed
in passing down the sayings, at least in the early phases of the process.
Despite the nature of the procedure, the practice of transmitting Jesus’
speeches was clearly pervasive in early Christianity. In some circles, this
material apparently took precedence over story-based tradition, as indi-
cated by the Gospel of Thomas, P.Egerton and Q. Although these tradi-
tions are usually more accurately described as “sayings,” we do find some
instances of extended discourse that we might classify as small speeches
(e.g. P.Egerton frag. 2, recto—the remainder of the speech has not been
preserved; Gos. Thom. 21, 28, 47; Q 3:7–9; 7:24–28). If one accepts form-
critical assumptions, the primitive nature of such speech material indi-
cates that a great importance was placed upon its circulation at a very
early stage of Christianity’s textual history. We say all this only to highlight
the pervasiveness of the practice.
We find more substantial evidence for a type of speech circulation par-
allel to what we are proposing in Luke’s case with respect to Paul and
Hebrews within early Christian testimony regarding the literary origins of
the third Gospel. The following comments are made regarding Papias, as
transmitted through Eusebius:
This also the presbyter said: Mark having become the interpreter [ἑρμηνεύτες]
of Peter, wrote down accurately, though not in order [οὐ μέντοι τάξει], what-
soever he remembered of the things said or done by Christ. For he neither
heard the Lord nor followed him, but afterward, as I said, he followed Peter,
who adapted his teaching to the needs of his hearers, but with no inten-
tion of giving a connected account of the Lord’s discourses [κυριακὸν λόγιον],
so that Mark committed no error while he thus wrote some things as he
remembered them. For he was careful of one thing, not to omit any of the
things which he had heard, and not to state any of them falsely (Eusebius,
Hist. eccl. 3.39.15 [NPNF 2]).
While most interpreters grant that Papias has Mark in mind here, some
have argued for identifying this deposit of Peter’s tradition with Q31 (such
proposals have not caught on, however). The tradition Papias communi-
cates likely goes back as early as 130 c.e.32 and enjoys external corrobo-
ration with other ancient sources (e.g. Anti-Marcionite Prologue to the
Gospel of Mark;33 Tertullian, Marc. 4.5.3; Jerome, Comm. Matt. 6:495; Vir.
ill. 8.1–2). Further sources locate Peter’s preaching in Rome as the social
context for Mark’s acquisition of the Petrine Jesus tradition. According to
Clement of Alexandria as transmitted by Eusebius, when Peter preached
in Rome, “many who were present requested that Mark, who had followed
him for a long time and remembered his sayings, should write them out.
And having composed the Gospel he gave it to those who had requested
it” (Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 6.14.5–7 [NPNF2]; see also Origen in Eusebius, Hist.
eccl. 6.25.5; Hippolytus, Haer. 7.30.1).
Mark’s Gospel, then, according to a quite impressive accumulation of
external evidence, consists of a collection of Peter’s discourses delivered
in Rome, organized and contextualized by Mark to suit the needs of his
audience. And even if we dismiss the Papias tradition, for example, as fla-
voured by apologetic rather than historical interests, our point would still
stand that such activity—recording and publishing apostolic speeches—
was an accepted part of early Christian literary culture. Whether or not
the tradition accurately relays the literary history of the second Gospel, its
deep proliferation within primitive Christian literature demonstrates the
intelligibility and acceptance of the practice. The method Mark employed
to remember these discourses of Peter remains unclear. When Papias says
“For he was careful of one thing, not to omit any of the things which he had
31 E.g. J.N. Sanders, The Foundation of the Christian Faith (London: A&C Black, 1950), 53.
32 For substantiation of this date and on the validity of the Papias tradition, see
M. Hengel, Studies in the Gospel of Mark (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1985), 47.
33 R.E. Heard, “The Old Gospel Prologues,” JTS 6 (1955): 4.
heard, and not to state any of them falsely” (Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 3.39.15),
he may be affirming the use of shorthand by Mark. More than likely, in
Rome, Mark would have been exposed to stenographers as they recorded
speeches and could have employed similar techniques. If Irenaeus trans-
mits a reliable tradition, and Mark compiled Peter’s speech material after
his death (Irenaeus, Haer. 3.1.1), the process Mark deployed to ensure that
he remembered Peter’s sermons correctly must have involved some way of
making permanent the material, likely through writing. Some form of ste-
nography would have been conducive to these purposes. Perhaps Papias
refers to precisely this when he describes Mark as Peter’s “interpreter”
(ἑρμηνεύτης)—in any case, it appears to imply something regarding the
writing process that Mark employed as he worked through the material
he received from Peter. It should come as no surprise then that several
interpreters insist upon understanding Mark’s relationship to Peter as that
of an amanuensis or scribe due to Papias’s use of ἑρμηνεύτης in this con-
text.34 Technically, however, the appropriate categories for Mark’s work
should be developed out of ancient stenography, since Papias informs us
that Mark’s primary content was speech material. Nevertheless, stenogra-
phy was one role an amanuensis or scribe could occupy if they had the
appropriate training in Greek shorthand.
We have now come to a place where we can begin to bring together
a few of the strands of evidence considered so far. The social relation-
ship between Peter-Mark and Paul-Luke are similar enough to warrant
our attention—a major implication of this essay, especially pertinent to
the orientation of the present volume. The basic structure for both rela-
tionships seems to be that between an apostle and his disciple (although
this is less clear with Paul-Luke)—both definitely seem to be traveling
companions and ministry partners. Both sets of relationships evidence
literary collaboration. Mark apparently compiled a collection of Peter’s
discourses into a running narrative that we now possess in its final form
as the second Gospel, and we know that Luke recorded Paul’s speeches
within his own narrative framework. But what if, perhaps having unused
speech material from Paul after composing Acts, Luke—inspired by Mark
(who is listed with Luke in Col 4:14) while in Rome (assuming a Roman
34 E.g. T.W. Manson (The Teaching of Jesus: Studies of Its Form and Content [Cam-
bridge: Cambridge University Press, 1963], 23) and B.D. Schildgen (Power and Prejudice: The
Reception of the Gospel of Mark [Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 1999], 35) cast the
relationship in terms of an ancient secretary. On the scribal view, see J.C. Anderson and
S.D. Moore, “Introduction: The Lives of Mark,” in J.C. Anderson and S.D. Moore (eds.), Mark &
Method: New Approaches in Biblical Studies (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1992), 2–3.
imprisonment for the Prison letters)—compiled Paul’s speech material

in a way that loosely parallels how Mark treated Peter’s speech material,
resulting in Hebrews. Or what if Luke functioned as a stenographer, tak-
ing shorthand notes during one of Paul’s Diaspora speeches, and then
compiled and expanded his notes into what we now know as Hebrews,
and then published it to be circulated in the Diaspora home churches
as a full-length message to serve purposes that his compressed Pauline
speeches in Acts could not serve. If Luke-Acts functioned politically as
some kind of apologetic treatise to acquit Paul, then perhaps Hebrews was
circulated as a Jewish missional document, published in Paul’s absence
due to his imprisonment. The historical and social settings for the Paul/
Luke relationship not only allow but—we would argue—are suggestive of
these possibilities. We can further substantiate this claim by comparing
the social settings for Hebrews with the speeches of Paul that Luke docu-
ments in Acts.
The Social Settings for Hebrews and Paul’s Speeches in Acts
In comparing the historical contexts in which Hebrews and Luke’s Pau-

line speeches originated, we begin our investigation by highlighting two
observations that set the agenda for this discussion: (1) Luke is the only
person in first-century Christianity (assuming a somewhat early date for
Acts) that we know to have published Paul’s speeches, and Luke is alone
with Mark in first-century Christianity in publishing apostolic speeches;
(2) Hebrews is the only document in the New Testament thought by many
to be a single independently published speech (i.e. sermon, synagogue
homily, etc.). Many of the authorship views of the past—and surprisingly
into the present—remain outdated in this sense, proposing authorship
views based upon an assessment of Hebrews as a letter (e.g. the Luke-as-
amanuensis theory). If we begin with the contemporary assumption that
Hebrews is a speech or sermon of some kind, this opens up new avenues
of exploration for the authorship question. We shall unpack these in the
reverse order.
In contemporary study of Hebrews, it has become commonplace to
refer to Hebrews as a sermon.35 Two lines of reasoning lead to this con-
35 Since this is a common understanding of Hebrews, minimal argumentation will

be given here. For example, F. Thielman, Theology of the New Testament (Grand Rapids:
Zondervan, 2005), 585, can refer to Hebrews as a “homily” as a passing reference, sup-
clusion. First, a number of references in the document refer either to

speaking or hearing its content. This seems to indicate that the original
audience would have heard the content of the document aloud (e.g. Heb
2:5; 5:11; 6:9; 8:1; 9:5; 11:32; 13:22). Many have also proposed the absence of
contextual features that typically appear in literature written in epistolary
settings—the absence of epistolary formulas, non-explicit letter structure,
including a formal letter opening, body-opening, -middle, and -closing,
etc.—as a second motivation for understanding Hebrews as a speech/
homily. It seems unlikely, as some have supposed, that the original greet-
ing to Hebrews was lost, due to the strong rhetorical nature of Heb 1:1. As
far as we are concerned, the absolute disparity of evidence for this conjec-
ture in the textual tradition puts the final nail in the coffin for this view.
Based on the salutation at the end of Hebrews, some have insisted upon
viewing Hebrews as a “personal letter”36 or as a “hybrid” document, featur-
ing elements of both a sermon and a letter.37 Such a proposal appears odd,
however, in the literary environment of the first century, where speeches
published as letters were at the very best a rarity and at the worst non-
existent (Plato’s Seventh Letter and other such far-fetched examples not
withstanding).
We hesitate, however, to accept the “synagogue homily” or “sermon” as
a legitimate first-century genre on the basis of Mosser’s analysis.38 Mosser
demonstrates quite convincingly that the evidence from Hellenistic Juda-
ism does not allow us to posit the currency of a “synagogue sermon” form
during the time of Luke or Paul. Instead, activities in the first-century
synagogue appear to be restricted to prayer, scripture reading, discussion,
and, especially in early Christian settings, prophecy. He contends that
Acts 13 functions as perhaps the closest thing one will find to a sermon in
the synagogues, but still what we have in this case seems far closer to New
Testament prophecy than a sermon format. He grounds his argument in
the identification of Paul’s speech in Acts 13 as a “word of encouragement”
(λόγος παρακλήσεως) (Acts 13:15) in tandem with Paul’s description of the
gift of prophecy in terms of encouragement (παράκλησιν) (1 Cor 14:3). But
porting his statement only with a brief footnote. See also W.L. Lane, Hebrews 1–8 (WBC
47A; Dallas: Word, 1991), lxx–lxxx.
36 S.J. Kistemaker, “The Authorship of Hebrews,” Faith & Mission 18 (2001): 57–70,
here 62.
37 Thielman, Theology of the New Testament, 585 n. 1.
38 K. Mosser, “Torah Instruction, Discussion, and Prophecy in First-Century Syna-
gogues,” in S.E. Porter and A.W. Pitts (eds.), Christian Origins and Hellenistic Judaism: Social
and Literary Contexts for the New Testament (TENTS 10; Leiden: Brill, 2010), 523–51.
also interesting in this connection is the author of Hebrews’s descrip-

tion of his composition as “a word of encouragement” (τοῦ λόγου τῆς
παρακλήσεως) (Heb 13:22). Hebrews and Paul’s speech in Acts 13, are in
fact, the only New Testament documents identified by the phrase λόγος
παρακλήσεως. We agree with Mosser’s appraisal that Acts 13 likely repre-
sents a (condensed) prophetic Pauline speech documented by Luke, but
we want to go further in suggesting that Hebrews probably has a parallel
literary origin due to their similar historical settings and the social context
provided by the Luke-Paul relationship. Due to its rhetorical features, lack
of formal evidence for an epistolary settings, strategic and frequent use of
scripture, focus upon Judaism, and anonymity (which was rare for an early
Christian letter), recent scholars almost universally locate the document
as a representation of the sermons preached by Christians in first-century
(esp. Diaspora) synagogues. While we agree with this social setting for the
origination of Hebrews, we are inclined to agree with Mosser in terms of
the literary status of the so-called first-century “sermon.” This type of ora-
tory delivery had not emerged yet, being a product of later Christianity.
Instead, both Hebrews and Acts 13 represent instances of early Christian
prophetic discourse delivered within the ancient synagogue by part of
the Pauline Jewish mission—to the synagogue first and then to the urban
assemblies, schools and points of gathering where Gentiles congregated.
The postscript at the end of Hebrews (13:22–25) poses itself as the most
substantial objection to a speech format, but we find in this further evi-
dence for a Luke-Paul collaboration. Such postscripts or even prescripts
were often added by a stenographer to indicate a context for the composi-
tion or the publisher’s relationship to it, as we noted in Arrian’s case. The
use of ἐπιστέλλω in Heb 13:22 is a distinctly Lukan publication formula. The
term only occurs in two other places in the New Testament (Acts 15:20;
21:25), both in Luke’s description of an early publication from the apos-
tolic circle. Granted, these both refer to the publication of a letter, but the
term itself merely signifies sending or circulating a document (e.g. P.Oxy. II
276; P.Amh. II 33)39 so that it could easily have this more general func-
tion in Heb 13:22 as well. The information in the postscript also identifies
the social context one would expect on a Luke-Paul speech collaboration
theory. The sending location is Italy, where Paul may be imprisoned and
likely accompanied by Luke and Mark, and Timothy’s status is mentioned,
a person known in connection within the Pauline circle. If we translate
39 BDAG, 381; MM, 245–46; LSJ, 660.

ἐπιστέλλω in the more general sense as “I send to you” then we can take
the postscript to be a distinctively Lukan addition contextualized for the
recipient body of believers. Perhaps an objection to this rendering would
be its modification by βραχέων. But this could refer to the shortness of the
publication he sent, especially compared with the two volume work in
Luke-Acts, or it could refer to short spatial proximity as in Acts 27:28—he
sent them the publication from a short distance away.40 The information
included seems, furthermore, quite general, indicating that the speech was
likely sent to a region to function as an encyclical document rather than
to a specific house church, since no specific individuals are named. Such a
view would further support Luke’s intentions to see the speech circulated
in the Diaspora synagogues in Paul’s absence as a result of imprisonment.
And if the postscript is the result of a Lukan redaction, then a further
parallel with the social context of Acts 13 can be established in that both
speeches are described as a “word of encouragement” from outside of the
speech margins.
Rhetorically, then, the composition of this document would have
afforded Luke with the opportunity to publish a Pauline speech that is
closer to its original length than the narrative purposes of Acts would
allow. Paul’s prophetic discourse in Acts 13 and Hebrews are the only two
pieces of New Testament literature self-designated as λόγος παρακλήσεως
and both address Jews: Acts 13 evidently takes places in a synagogue
context and many have situated Hebrews within a synagogue setting as
well.41 In other words, the parallel social settings between Hebrews and
Acts 13 are strongly suggestive of parallel points of origin. It is easy to
imagine Luke publishing a fuller version of a prophetic speech given in a
Diaspora synagogue (as in Acts 13) because we already have evidence of
him compiling the same type of material within his narrative contexts.
Again, Luke remains the only person in earliest Christianity known for
documenting Pauline speeches and he is alone with Mark in recording
apostolic speeches. If we take Hebrews to be a speech and combine this
with examples from the Greco-Roman world of stenographers who pub-
lished speeches in narrative, compilation and independent literary forms,
we seem to have a significantly rich historical context for putting forward
40 BDAG, 183.
41 See most recently, for example, G. Gelardini, “Verhärtet eure Herzen nicht: Der Heb-
räer, Eine Synagoghomilie zu Tischa be-Av (BibInt 83; Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2007); P. Walker,
“A Place for Hebrews? Contexts for a First-Century Sermon,” in P.J. Williams et al. (eds.),
The New Testament in Its First Century Setting (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2004), 231–49.
the suggestion that Luke recorded and then compiled either a group of
Pauline speeches (as Mark did with Peter) or published a single speech of
Paul—altering the form, but not the content, as was the pattern in Greco-
Roman historiography and (based on Mark’s activities) early Christianity.
The historical situation was ripe for the emergence of Hebrews in this
fashion, so we now turn to examine the documents themselves to see
whether the external and internal evidence can sustain this claim.
Evidence for a Pauline Origin for Hebrews
Both external and internal evidence substantiates the case for Paul’s involve-
ment in the production of Hebrews. However, a Luke-Paul collaboration
would yield, it seems, a fairly unique scenario in terms of both of these cat-
egories. With regard to the external evidence, we should probably expect a
fairly high level of the reception history to document a Pauline origin since
the scribes, stenographers and historians that circulated such speeches were
rarely credited with authorship or if they were, it was merely as a co-author,
as we see in many of Paul’s letters. Under the assumption of a Paul-Luke
collaboration, neither should we expect a one-to-one-correspondence with
the broader Pauline register represented in his letters. Speeches, especially
those later developed from stenographic practices, recorded and circulated
by ancient historians, rarely preserved the form or language of the original.
They mainly focused upon rendering the content to the best of their ability
in their artistic expression. The purpose of this and the following section on
Luke is not, however, to provide a comprehensive catalogue of external and
internal evidence in favour of their respective involvement. Such projects
have been attempted elsewhere at great length (see notes 1 and 2 above).
We merely provide a survey of what we feel to embody the strongest case
for their involvement collaboratively while at the same time attempting to
introduce new evidence along the way.
External Evidence
The Chester Beatty Papyrus 𝔓46 ranks among the most significant pieces
of external evidence for the Pauline authorship of Hebrews, indicating a
quite early Pauline reception of the document within the earliest extant
canon of Paul’s letters.42 And we find Hebrews not tacked onto the end
42 For further analysis of the external evidence for Pauline authorship, see Black, “On
the Pauline Authorship of Hebrews (Part 2),” 32–51.
of the collection as an afterthought, but located between Romans and

1 Corinthians.43 This prominent location of Hebrews within the Pauline
canon strongly suggests that the Christian community, or at least those
involved in the production of 𝔓46, understood Hebrews to be Pauline in
some sense. We may further substantiate this proposal by noticing the
parallel pattern in the titles of the letters. For example, Romans takes
the title ΠΡΟΣ ΡΩΜΑΙΟΨΣ and, correspondingly, Hebrews receives the
label ΠΡΟΣ ΕΒΡΑΙΨΣ. This titular uniformity appears to associate Heb-
rews closely with the rest of this collection of literature believed by early
Christians to be written by Paul. But 𝔓46 is only one part of a much wider
body of external evidence that favours situating Hebrews immediately
after the Pauline letters to the Churches and before those written by Paul
to individuals, as we find in ‫ א‬B C H I P 0150 0151, a Syrian canon from
c. 400 (Mt. Sinain Cod. Syr. 10) and six minuscules from the eleventh cen-
tury (103).44 Perhaps such an organization represents a shift in register:
from (1) letters to churches, to (2) a speech to a church (or churches), to
(3) letters to individuals.
The early Eastern fathers also consistently identify Hebrews with Paul.
Eusebius records the views of both Clement of Alexandria (Hist. eccl.
6.14.2–3) and Origen (Hist. eccl. 6.25.13) to this effect. When we turn to pri-
mary sources, this same view persists. Origen constantly attributes Heb-
rews to Paul when he cites the document (Princ. 1; 2.3.5; 2.7.7; 3.1.10; 3.2.4;
4.1.13; 4.1.24; Cels. 3.52; 7.29; Ep. Afr. 9). Clement states that “the blessed
presbyter,” Pantaenus (d. c. 200 c.e.), held that Paul wrote Hebrews but
left his name off the letter out of respect for Christ, whom Pantaenus con-
sidered the Apostle to the Hebrews:
But now, as the blessed elder said, since the Lord being the apostle of the
Almighty, was sent to the Hebrews, Paul, as sent to the Gentiles, on account
of his modesty did not subscribe himself an apostle of the Hebrews, through
respect for the Lord, and because being a herald and apostle of the Gentiles
he wrote to the Hebrews out of his superabundance. (Eusebius, Hist. eccl.
6.14.34 [NPNF2])
Eusebius himself believed that Hebrews was Pauline. He refers to “Paul’s
fourteen epistles” that “are well known and undisputed” while at the same
time acknowledging that “it is not indeed right to overlook the fact that
43 𝔓46 contains the last eight chapters of Romans; all of Hebrews; nearly all of 1
and 2 Corinthians; all of Ephesians, Galatians, Philippians, Colossians; and sections of
1 Thessalonians.
44 On the canonical location of Hebrews in the various MS traditions, see W.H.P. Hatch,
“The Position of Hebrews in the Canon of the New Testament,” HTR 29 (1936): 133–51.
some have rejected the Epistle to the Hebrews, saying that it is disputed
by the Church of Rome, on the ground that it was not written by Paul.
But what has been said concerning this epistle by those who lived before
our time I shall quote in the proper place” (Hist. eccl. 3.3.5 [NPNF 2]). But
although Eusebius acknowledges scepticism regarding Pauline authorship
of the letter in the Roman Church, Jerome (Epist. 129.3) and Augustine
(Pecc. merit. 1.50) would later accept Pauline authorship of Hebrews with
some reservations.
The support for Pauline authorship within the textual tradition is,
in other words, substantial. At the very least, the Pauline view enjoys
a wider range of external support than any of the competing views for
authorship—even if the earliest evidence remains restricted mostly to the
Eastern Church.
Internal Evidence
Turning from the external evidence to the internal evidence for authorship,
several correlations indicate a connection between Paul and Hebrews.45
Assessing the internal evidence in this discussion is tricky. It is difficult
to make a theological argument for Pauline origination by comparing
Paul and Hebrews since the apostolic circle shared in a somewhat unified
theological perspective in drawing from a common deposit of primitive
Christian tradition. At best we can show similar emphases or tendencies
adopted by Paul and Hebrews, illustrating at the most that the authors
accessed and utilized tradition in a strikingly similar way, making the case
for Paul’s involvement more likely.46
To start things off, we find it difficult to imagine another person in early
Christianity with the background necessary to produce such a composition.
We do not have enough information to make solid judgments regarding
the abilities of many proposed authors (Barnabas, Pricilla, Apollos, etc.).
Of the people for whom we have a fair bit of information regarding their
theological and rhetorical abilities, Paul appears to us to be the best can-
didate for the person behind the major content of the letter. Lane suggests
45 For further parallels, see Black, “On the Pauline Authorship of Hebrews (Part 1),”
32–51. Some of his observations have been freely incorporated below within the content
of our own analysis, but often expanded or developed within our own framework. Where
extensive material is taken over, we make note of this.
46 See C.H. Dodd, Apostolic Preaching and Its Developments (repr. Grand Rapids:
Baker, 1987) and D. Wenham, “Appendix: Unity and Diversity in the New Testament,” in
G.E. Ladd, A Theology of the New Testament (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1993), 684–719.
that the author was “well educated by Hellenistic standards,”47 which Paul
clearly was. That the author had first-hand contact with Diaspora Judaism,
as is documented by his or her extensive use of the LXX, cannot be denied.
Again this fits Paul, who both grew up (Acts 22:3) and ministered in the
Diaspora synagogues. The detailed assessment of the atonement and the
theological elaboration of the relationship between first-century Judaism
and its fulfillment in Christianity also appears to us to reinforce the Pauline
origin of the letter.
The most significant argument from our perspective, however, is that
the major theological content of the letter seems decidedly Pauline—
its non-Pauline linguistic and literary style, notwithstanding. First, Heb-
rews and Paul’s letters appear to reflect a similar christological emphasis,
even to the point of employing parallel citation strategies in support of
christological assertions. Hebrews 1:1–14 positions Christ above the angelic
beings.48 Both Phil 2:9–10 and Col 1:14–19 emphasize exalted christology.
The latter of these passage bears special interest in this connection. In
both Hebrews and Colossians, Jesus’ dominance over the cosmos is
asserted on the basis of his creative power. The theological progressions
even resemble one another. Both begin with Jesus as creator and ultim-
ately terminate with his sovereignty—in Colossians over all things and
in Hebrews over the angels. But whereas Hebrews focuses on one entity
of creation (angels), Colossians uses more all-encompassing language,
terminating with Christ’s exaltation “far above all rule and authority and
power and dominion, and above every name that is named” (Col 1:21). Pre-
sumably Paul intends by “all rule and authority and power and dominion”
to incorporate Christ’s pre-eminence over the angelic world. One cannot
help but wonder then whether the passages were mapped on the same or
a similar strand of primitive traditional material.
The christological use of scripture in Hebrews and in Paul appears to be
backed by a similar rhetorical strategy. In Heb 1:1–14, the writer cites five
passages from the Psalter to make his point. The author links these scrip-
ture citations with the adverb “again” (πάλιν), a strategy only known else-
where in Paul’s use of the term to join scripture citations (Rom 15:10–12;
1 Cor 3:20). The author begins by citing Ps 2:7, to which Paul alludes in
Rom 1:4 to make a strikingly similar christological point. Paul also cites
this text in his speech in Acts 13:33. We find it significant that both Heb-
rews and this prophetic discourse in Acts are referred to with the parallel
47 Lane, Hebrews, l.
48 Ellingworth, The Epistle to the Hebrews, 67–68.
l iterary designation (a word of encouragement) and use related keryg-

matic citation strategies. Hebrews (1:5; 5:5) and Paul (Rom 1:4; Acts 13:33)
are alone in the New Testament literature in using this passage in support
of claims about the risen and exalted Christ. The psalm finds some cur-
rency in the Gospels, but these instances occur in narratives about John’s
baptism of Jesus, not as supporting evidence for Jesus’ post-mortem exist-
ence. That the passage is put to quite differing uses in the Gospels but
serves parallel functions in Paul and Hebrews suggests an important liter-
ary-rhetorical connection between the two. The use and function of Ps 8:6
not only finds a distinct parallel in Paul and Hebrews, both also interpret
the psalm the same way with quite similar language. In both places, the
text is interpreted messianically within an already-not-yet framework.
After citing the Ps 8:6, the author of Hebrews says, “Now in putting every-
thing in subjection to him, he left nothing outside his control. At present,
we do not yet see everything in subjection to him” (Heb 2:8). When Paul
explains the passage, he says that “When all things are subjected to him,
then the Son himself will also be subjected to him who put all things in
subjection under him, that God may be all in all” (1 Cor 15:28).
Another parallel development of early Christian tradition involves the
prominence of the discussion of σωτηρία (including its various eschato-
logical dimensions) in both Paul and Hebrews, compared to relatively
sparse coverage of the topic elsewhere in the New Testament. Of its 45
occurrences spread across the New Testament, Paul employs the term 18
times in his letters49 and we find it in Hebrews an additional 7 times,50
with Hebrews having the highest number of occurrences of the term in a
single document within the New Testament. When we add to this the fact
that two of Luke’s usages of σωτηρία in Acts are from Pauline speeches,
the use of σωτηρία in Paul and Hebrews comprises 27 or 60% of its total
usage within the New Testament.51 In addition to the frequency of the
term σωτηρία, the soteriological system portrayed in Hebrews has numer-
ous points of contact with Paul’s. First, Heb 2:3 sets forth that salvation
is something that is “already present and available through the Christian
message first announced by Jesus.”52 The same point is made by Paul in
Eph 1:13 when he declares that the gospel of salvation was proclaimed
49 Rom 1:16; 10:1, 10; 11:11; 13:11; 2 Cor 1:6; 6:2 (x2); 7:10; Eph 1:13; Phil 1:19, 28; 2:12; 1 Thess
5:8, 9; 2 Thess 2:13; 2 Tim 2:10; 3:15.
50 Heb 1:14; 2:3, 10; 5:9; 6:9; 9:28; 11:7.
51 Acts 13:27, 47.
52 Ellingworth, Hebrews, 73.
by Paul. Second, Hebrews frames salvation within Christ by affirming

that Jesus is the cause or source (αἰτία) of salvation (2:10 and 5:9). Paul’s
language of “in Christ” makes the same point with great emphasis upon
mystical union. For both Paul and Hebrews, salvation is found in Christ,
for he is the source and context of salvation. Third, the idea that right-
eousness comes by faith is a notion expressed by both Hebrews and Paul.
Hebrews 11:17 states that righteousness comes by faith (τῆς κατὰ πίστιν
δικαιοσύνης). This idea of righteousness coming by faith remains a cen-
tral focus for Paul, perhaps most notably in Rom 4:1–12. In this stretch
of text in Romans, Paul associates righteousness and faith on at least
four occasions (4:5, 9, 11, 13). The lines of continuity drawn between the
ministry of Christ and Abraham are also apparent in both soteriologies
(cf. Heb 2:16). Fourth, both Paul and Hebrews stress the importance of
perseverance in the faith. Hebrews has, of course, gained quite a repu-
tation for its five so-called “warning passages” (2:1–4; 3:7–4:13; 5:11–6:12;
10:26–39; 12:14–29). These passages, in one form or another, exhort the
reader (or listener) to hold firm to their calling and not to stray from
the faith. Such a theology was not foreign to Paul, however. He exhorts
his readers, for example, to “continue in the faith” (ἐπιμένετε τῇ πίστει;
Col 1:22–23). Similarly, Paul warns that the unrighteous will not inherit
the kingdom of God if they persist in ungodliness (1 Cor 6:9). Fifth, Paul
(Rom 11:7, 2×) and Hebrews (6:15; 11:33) are unique in using ἐπιτυγχάνω to
refer to the acquisition of salvation. Although Jas 4:2 uses the term, its dis-
tinct soteriological application is unique to Paul and Hebrews. Finally, we
may highlight the soteriological function of ἐπουράνιος in both Hebrews
and Paul. Besides a single occurrence in John 3:12—which may explain
its origination within the Jesus tradition—the soteriological function of
ἐπουράνιος remains an exclusive theological feature of Paul and Hebrews.
The term occurs a total of 19 times. It occurs more in Hebrews than in
any other New Testament book (6×). The Pauline letters account for its
remaining occurrences (12×). The way ἐπουράνιος functions theologically,
however, occupies a point of interest. In Hebrews, it refers to the heavenly
calling (3:1), the heavenly gift (6:4), the gifts of the priests as a shadow of
heavenly realities (8:5), the heavenly things purified by better sacrifices
(9:23), the heavenly country (11:16) and the heavenly Jerusalem (12:22). In
the earlier occurrences the term denotes soteriological realities and as the
text progresses they become more and more eschatological. Or, better,
they move from a realized soteriological-eschatological framework to a
more futurist soteriological-eschatological emphasis. In Paul, we detect
a similar pattern of usage. ἐπουράνιος populates 1 Corinthians (5×) and
Ephesians (5×) most frequently—the remaining two instances are in

2 Tim 4:8 and Phil 2:10. The emphasis in Hebrews certainly fits with
1 Corinthians. In the latter text, the cluster results from Paul’s discussion
of the resurrected or heavenly body in 1 Cor 15:40–49. As with Hebrews, in
Ephesians ἐπουράνιος has highly realized connotations, two of which Paul
says birth directly out of salvation (1:3; 2:6)—the other three instances
refer to the realm of spiritual activity (1:20; 3:10; 6:12), also embodying a
realized notion.
Even if we do not have enough evidence in certain places to infer a
parallel systemization of early Christian traditional/scriptural materials,
we do find corresponding theological catch-phrases unique to Paul and
Hebrews.53 We confront, for example, a unique anthropological description
in that Paul (1 Cor 15:50; Gal 1:16; Eph 6:12) and Hebrews (2:14) remain alone
within the New Testament literature in framing the human nature in terms
of σὰρξ καὶ αἷμα (“flesh and blood”)—something that likely developed out
of the Jesus tradition (Matt 16:17). They are also alone in describing God as
πιστὸς (1 Thess 5:24; 2 Thess 3:3; 1 Cor 1:9; 10:13; 2 Cor 1:18; Heb 10:23; 12:5,
7, 11). The moral use of παιδεία (6× in the NT) in the context of training/
discipline represents another distinctive feature of both Paul (3×: Eph 6:4;
2 Tim 3:16) and Hebrews (3×: Heb 12:5, 7, 11). The perfect of πείθω is also
only found in Paul (Rom 8:38, 15:14; 2 Tim 1:5, 12) and Hebrews (6:9). The
description of the people of God as ἀδελφοὶ ἅγιοι is a distinctively Pauline
phrase (Col 1:2) that also finds representation in Hebrews (3:1).
Although we argue that the style of the letter is essentially Lukan, dis-
tinctive elements of Pauline style have nevertheless found their way into
the composition. These include the use of διὰ τοῦτο (74× in the NT; 34× in
Paul; 1× in Heb [2:1]), περισσοτέρως (12× in the NT; 10× in Paul; 2× in Heb
[2:1; 13:9]) and καθάπερ (13× in the NT; 12× in Paul and 1× in Heb [4:2]). We
do not want to convolute the argument that the use of Christian tradition
and Scripture and the overall theological emphasis of Hebrews remains
essentially Pauline by highlighting the penetration of these stylistic fea-
tures into the document, but if Hebrews was compiled by Luke on the
basis of a set of stenographic notes, we might expect traces of Pauline
style to slip through and this is exactly what we find. The case we are mak-
ing will not, of course, stand or fall on these points, but they do provide a
small amount of confirmatory evidence for the point we are making.
53 This paragraph and the next draw significantly from Black, “On the Pauline Author-
ship of Hebrews (Part 1),” 32–51.
So what we find is, we think, what we would expect if Hebrews origin-

ated as a Pauline speech. The content seems to have numerous points of
contact with Paul’s use of Christian tradition to articulate his theology
with traces of Pauline stylistic features slipping into the literary compos-
ition. One argument that could be marshalled against this interpretation
would be the theological elements unique to Hebrews that do not find
representation in Paul. However, Pitts has shown that we should expect
theological elements to arise in Pauline literature based upon the rhetor-
ical exigency of the situation rather than the theological expectations of
the systematician.54 In other words, the expression of Pauline theology is
highly constrained by the demands of individual situations. If Hebrews
is a Diaspora speech, preached by Paul in a Jewish synagogue as part of
his mission to go to the Jew first, then Hebrews would indeed represent
a substantial shift in register (social situation, genre, audience-addressee
relations, etc.) when compared to Paul’s letters. This would explain the
unusually thorough development of Jewish theology at a level that we do
not find represented in his other literature. Perhaps this framework also
renders statements like Heb 6:1–2 intelligible: “not laying again a foun-
dation of repentance from dead works and of faith toward God, and of
instruction about washings, the laying on of hands, the resurrection of
the dead, and eternal judgment.” In any case, a certain amount of dis-
tinct theological emphasis should be expected on our model due to the
unique registers out of which Paul and Hebrews were produced. This
unique material cannot count as evidence for our position, but the fact
that it meets our expectations regarding how things would be in light of
our historical abduction, it constitutes weak evidence against our pos-
ition. It seems to us that broad patterns of a parallel framework can be
shown from Hebrews, but that Paul spends more time in this composition
developing his theology in relation to contemporary Judaism.
Evidence for Luke’s Collaboration with Paul in Hebrews
In Acts, Luke has already shown a great appreciation for recording

Pauline speeches, documenting a total of twelve speeches: (1) 13:16–41,
46–47; (2) 14:15–17; (3) 17:22–31; (4) 18:6; (5) 20:18–35; (6) 21:13; (7) 22:1–
21; (8) 23:1–6; (9) 24:10–21; (10) 25:8–11; (11) 26:2–29; (12) 28:17–20, 25–28.
54 A.W. Pitts, “Unity and Diversity in Pauline Eschatology,” in S.E. Porter (ed.), Paul: Jew,
Greek, and Roman (PAST 5; Leiden: Brill, 2008), 65–91.
In addition, Luke records a collection of scattered speech material during

Paul’s sea voyage (27:10, 21–26, 31, 33–34), which we may count as a single
speech, bringing the total to thirteen Pauline speeches recorded by Luke.
These thirteen speeches constitute one third of Luke’s 33 total recorded
speeches, including speeches by Peter, the twelve, Stephen, the Jews, the
Pharisees, Gamaliel, James, Demetrius, the Ephesian town clerk, Agabus,
Tertullus and Festus. Of these, only Peter’s speeches begin to approach
the level of coverage that Paul receives in Acts, totalling seven speeches,
about half as many as Luke records for Paul. Next to Peter, we have James
with two speeches. Since Luke records two times more speeches for Paul
than anyone else in Acts, we have a solid precedent for asserting Luke’s
unique interest in recording and publishing Pauline speech material. This
established context certainly warrants an exploration of the external and
internal evidence to see whether Hebrews represents a further literary-
social development between Luke and Paul. We will argue that it does.
External Evidence
Although as far as we can tell, no modern scholar has suggested the thesis
for which we are arguing, there does seem to be some support for our
view among the earliest Church fathers in two important Alexandrian
scholars: Clement and Origen. We mentioned both of these individuals
in our discussion of the external evidence for Pauline authorship, but
here we want to expand upon their words as early fathers who supported
Luke’s participation in the production of Hebrews (Clement) or believed
that Hebrews is the result of one of Paul’s students, who compiled it on
the basis of Paul’s teaching (Origen).
At the end of the second century—in some of the earliest evidence
we have regarding the authorship of Hebrews—Clement theorizes that
Hebrews was originally written by Paul in Hebrew and later translated
into Greek by Luke. He may have come to this conclusion for reasons not
too dissimilar to the ones that have led us to our conclusion: the content
of Hebrews is distinctly Pauline whereas its linguistic style is remarkably
similar to Luke-Acts. In other words, his proposal enabled him to account
for the Lukan style of the document while at the same time acknowledg-
ing its Pauline origin. Eusebius tells us of Clement’s view:
He says that the Epistle to the Hebrews is the work of Paul, and that it was
written to the Hebrews in the Hebrew language; but that Luke translated
it carefully and published it for the Greeks, and hence the same style of
expression is found in this epistle and in the Acts. But he says that the
words, Paul the Apostle, were probably not prefixed, because, in sending it
to the Hebrews, who were prejudiced and suspicious of him, he wisely did
not wish to repel them at the very beginning by giving his name. Farther
on he says: “But now, as the blessed presbyter said, since the Lord being
the apostle of the Almighty, was sent to the Hebrews, Paul, as sent to the
Gentiles, on account of his modesty did not subscribe himself an apostle of
the Hebrews, through respect for the Lord, and because being a herald and
apostle of the Gentiles he wrote to the Hebrews out of his superabundance”
(Hist. eccl. 6.14.2–4 [NPNF 2]).
So in Clement we find a collaborative theory based upon Pauline theol-
ogy with Lukan style. We can even locate in Clement the idea that in
Hebrews Luke converted and published Pauline material to be circulated
among the Gentiles. The explanation of how and why the authorial pre-
script was lost and thus why the authorship question became uncertain
in some circles is at the very least an intelligible historical explanation
from a very early period in church history. It seems unlikely, however,
that the document was originally a Hebrew composition. If Hebrews was
a letter—as Clement assumes—this might be a helpful component in an
explanation, but if we adopt the view that Hebrews is a speech or even
a sermon, we can maintain that Paul preached the sermon in Greek and
elements of Lukan style were introduced not as the result of a translation
but because he reconstructed the original speech in his own language, as
was the custom of historians and stenographers when dealing with speech
material. This speech hypothesis also accounts for the lack of authorship
attribution—as with the Gospels, such prescripts were not part of the
genre. Hebrews was published without a prescript, with Luke providing
only a few contextual notes in a historical postscript.
Origen, likewise, argued for a collaborative hypothesis in the mid-third
century:
[T]he verbal style of the epistle entitled “To the Hebrews,” is not rude like
the language of the apostle, who acknowledged himself “rude in speech”
that is, in expression; but that its diction is purer Greek, any one who has the
power to discern differences of phraseology will acknowledge. If I gave my
opinion, I should say that the thoughts are those of the apostle, but the dic-
tion and phraseology are those of some one who remembered the apostolic
teachings, and wrote down at his leisure what had been said by his teacher.
Therefore if any Church holds that this epistle is by Paul, let it be com-
mended for this. For not without reason have the ancients handed it down
as Paul’s. But who wrote the epistle, in truth, God knows. The statement of
some who have gone before us is that Clement, bishop of the Romans, wrote
the epistle, and of others that Luke, the author of the Gospel and the Acts,
wrote it. (Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 6.25.11–14 [NPNF2])
Several things are worth noting here. First, it is widely acknowledged

that Origen’s comments identify the use of an amanuensis of some type.55
As we argued above, stenography was a secretarial function that could eas-
ily fit within the framework Origen describes here. What better candidate
than Luke to be a person with good diction and style who documented
Paul’s teaching and later compiled and published it in what we now know
as Hebrews? Second, unlike Clement’s view, Origen appears to adopt the
view that Hebrews is based upon the spoken material of a teacher. Again,
the historical context for such a relationship already exists for a Paul-Luke
collaboration. Third, Origen indicates that the content or “thoughts” found
in Hebrews are those of Paul. Thus, for Origen, Hebrews was originally spo-
ken by Paul and then written down by a student of the apostle at a later
time, although he still holds that Hebrews is “by Paul.” Origen also consis-
tently cites Hebrews as originating with Paul (Princ. 1; 2.3.5; 2.7.7; 3.1.10; 3.2.4;
4.1.13; 4.1.24; Cels. 3.52; 7.29; Ep. Afr. 9). And Origen closes by acknowledging
that some before him had proposed Luke as a likely candidate for author-
ing Hebrews. While Origen is not as explicit as Clement, his remarks are
highly suggestive of a collaborative hypothesis. The best candidates for the
framework he proposes are clearly Paul and Luke.
Our view, then, essentially combines that of Clement and Origen. With
Origen, we agree that Hebrews was based upon the spoken teaching of
Paul. And with Clement, we affirm Luke’s documentation and publication
of the document—in this publication process, we acknowledge him as the
student that Origen has in mind.
Internal Evidence
On the thesis that, during his travels with Paul, Luke documented and later
published Paul’s speech material (one or more speeches) in Hebrews, we
would expect—given what we know about speech recording in Greco-
Roman historiography—that Luke’s literary and linguistic style will
have significantly dominated the document, even if the major content
behind the composition remains Pauline. The striking stylistic similarity
of Hebrews and Luke-Acts has not gone unnoticed. The linguistic affini-
ties between the two have led a number of interpreters to posit Luke as
the author of Hebrews. Of course, this argument derives its case almost
55 See Richards, Paul and First-Century Letter Writing, 60–64.

entirely from the internal evidence, which is in fact quite strong.56 As

Westcott observes, the Greek “likeness” between Luke-Acts and Hebrews
“is unquestionably remarkable” so that “no one can work independently
at the Epistle without observing it.”57 Allen goes as far as to suggest that
no volume in the New Testament is more similar in its language to Luke-
Acts than Hebrews.58
We at first notice that, in terms of linguistic formality on the scale
of Hellenistic Greek represented in the New Testament corpus (vulgar,
non-literary, literary), Hebrews and Luke-Acts together fall closest to the
literary spectrum. Although Turner remains agnostic with respect to the
question of authorship in relation to linguistic style, he does acknowledge
that the author of Hebrews “often inserts material between adjective and
noun (e.g. 14 48 1012.27), and between article and noun (e.g. 1011 123); and
his periods are often long and contrived (11–4 22–4.14.15 312–15 412.13 51–3.7–10
etc.), approaching the style of classical Greek, as with Luke-Acts.”59 Turner
here highlights a number of significant elements—though they are “lit-
erary” not “classical” features—that help group Hebrews and Luke-Acts
within the same domain of language formality. He mentions discontinu-
ous syntactic structures in which intervening elements are nested within
the modification structure of a discontinuous group. He also mentions
periodic structure. Most of the New Testament is constructed using
paratactic relations. In more literary expressions, the discourse is mapped
onto hypotactic relations—this latter phenomenon being most pervasive
within the New Testament in Hebrews and Luke-Acts.
Allen notes a sustained similarity in the lexical stock employed by
Luke-Acts and Hebrews.60 Luke-Acts and Hebrews have the highest ratio
of hapax legomena in the New Testament. Only 337 (168 of which are
hapax legomena) of its 1,038 words do not occur in Luke-Acts, meaning
that Hebrews shares 67.3% of its total vocabulary with the Lukan writings.
There are 53 words unique to Luke-Acts and Hebrews, 56 words unique to
Paul and Hebrews and 33 words unique to Luke, Paul and Hebrews. Such
a comparison becomes especially powerful when the relatively shorter
56 See Allen, “Authorship of Hebrews,” 27–40, for a survey of the secondary literature
and various internal evidence for Lukan authorship. For a more detailed analysis, see
Allen, Lukan Authorship.
57 B.F. Westcott, The Epistle to the Hebrews the Greek Text With Notes and Essays
(3d ed.; London: Macmillan, 1920), lxxvi.
58 Allen, “Authorship of Hebrews,” 32–33.
59 N. Turner, Style (vol. 4 of A Grammar of New Testament Greek; ed. J.H. Moulton; Edin-
burgh: T&T Clark, 1976), 106.
60 This paragraph builds on Allen, “Authorship of Hebrews,” 28–33.
length of Hebrews is taken into consideration, showing a high level of lexi-

cal affinity between these two authors and Hebrews. The following chart
gathers information from Allen’s extensive study into a concise format in
which lexical and syntactic similarities can be readily observed between
Luke-Acts and Hebrews in comparison with Paul and the rest of the New
Testament. We found that Allen’s statistics did not always line up with
what we came up with in our independent searches on the same data,
and so we have adjusted his numbers in many cases to more accurately
reflect the data.
Linguistic Occurrences Occurrences Other Comments

Element in Luke-Acts in Hebrews Occurrences in
NT and in Paul
ἄφεσις 10× in Luke-Acts 2× in Hebrews 3× in the NT

(forgiveness) 2× in Paul
καθαρίζω 10× in Luke-Acts 4× in Hebrews 14× in the NT
(cleansing) 3× in Paul
ἡγέομαι (leader 5× in Luke-Acts 6× in Hebrews 6× in the NT Only in Luke-Acts
or chief leader) 11× in Paul and Hebrews does
it refer to leaders
or chief men in
the church.
Similar phrase: 1× in Luke 1× in Hebrews Nowhere else in
γράφω + ἐν the NT.
and a dative of
οὐρανός
ἔτι 77× in the NT
16× in Paul
ἔτι + the 2× in Luke 1× Hebrews
infinitive
ἔτι followed 4× in Luke-Acts 2× Hebrews
by δέ
δάκρυον (tear) 4× in Luke-Acts 2× in Hebrews 2× in the NT
2× in Paul
genitive 2× in Acts 2× in Hebrews 0× in the NT
(δακρύων) 8× in Paul
preceded by
καὶ and μετὰ
Table (cont.)
NT and in Paul
ῥῆμα 160× in Luke-Acts 4× in Hebrews 23× in the NT It is used 7 times
8× in Paul with θεοῦ, and θεοῦ
is only fronted in
relation to ῥῆμα
in two of these
instances (Luke
1:37; Heb 6:5).
τε 159× in Luke-Acts 20× in Hebrews 10× in the NT The distribution
25× in Paul here is
remarkable,
highlighting
strong affinities
between Paul,
Luke and
Hebrews.
Aorist active 1× in Acts 1× in Hebrews This form in
indicative 3rd these passages is
plural of λαλέω followed by the
articular accusative
(τὸν λόγον) and a
genitive (θεοῦ in
Hebrews; κυρίου in
Acts).
οὗτοι πάντες 2× in Acts 2× in Hebrews Nowhere else in
the NT.
αἵματος τοῦ 1× in Acts 2× in Hebrews Nowhere else in
ἰδίου the NT.
εἰς τὸν καιρὸν 1× in Luke 1× in Hebrews Nowhere else in
the NT.
ὡς with the 2× in Luke-Acts 1× in Hebrews Nowhere else in
infinitive the NT.
διὰ with 3× in Acts 1× in Hebrews Nowhere else in
πνεύματος the NT.
καὶ and αὐτός 3× in Luke-Acts 1× in Hebrews Nowhere else in
with a proper the NT.
name
διὰ followed by 1× in Acts 1× in Hebrews Nowhere else in
τὸ μηδεμίαν the NT.
Table (cont.)
NT and in Paul
The article ὁ 8× in Luke-Acts 1× in Hebrews 3× in the NT The Pauline usage
followed by τέ 1× in Paul dominates a third
and a noun or of NT material.
substantival
participle
τοῦτο τὸ αἷμα 1× in Luke 1× in Hebrews 2× in the NT In these passages
1× in Paul Luke and Hebrews
are the only that
elide the equative
verb while all the
others employ it.
διαμαρτύρομαι 10× in Luke-Acts 1× in Hebrews 0× in the NT All occurrences
4× in Paul of this term are
accounted for
within Paul,
Luke-Acts and
Hebrews.
A few of the more compelling distinctive linguistic features Allen men-

tions are worth expanding upon, apart from the chart. For example,
ἀρχηγός and σωτηρία collocate together in the New Testament only in
Acts 5:31 and Heb 2:10. Acts 5:31 is part of a speech that Peter gives to the
high priests in defence of his preaching. Similarly, ἀρχηγός occurs only
four times in the New Testament: Acts 3:15; 5:31, Heb 2:10 and 12:2. As
is the case with Acts 5:31, so too Acts 3:15 appears in a speech of Peter’s
recorded by Luke. The Greek word for “star” appears in the New Testa-
ment with two different forms, ἀστήρ and ἄστρον. This word, in its two
forms, appears twenty-eight times in the New Testament. Four of these
are found in Luke-Acts and Hebrews. However, these four uses all take
the same form, ἄστρον, while the other twenty-four occurrences in the
New Testament use ἀστήρ. In other words, Luke-Acts and Hebrews use
one form that remains distinct to them while the rest of the New Testa-
ment uses another form.
In addition to the evidence Allen provides, we note further that while
the Greek term μονογενής is employed nine times in the New Testament
(Luke 7:12; 8:42; 9:38; John 1:18; 3:16, 18; Heb 11:17 and 1 John 4:9), only Luke
and Hebrews use the term to refer to a physical descendant. The other
uses refer to Christ and his relation to the Father.
That Luke’s distinct vocabulary and syntax appears in Hebrews points

again to his involvement in its composition, but still further evidence can
be marshalled for Luke’s collaborative efforts with Paul in the production
of Hebrews by means of a comparative analysis between Paul’s speeches
in Acts and Hebrews. If our interpretation of the data is correct, these
speeches of Paul collected by Luke form the closest literary parallel we
have to Hebrews in the New Testament. The main difference between
the two would be that Luke’s record of Paul’s speeches in Acts repre-
sent intentionally condensed (or sometimes interrupted!) versions of the
speeches that were suited for his narrative purposes in Acts. If Hebrews
is a Pauline speech or compilation of speeches (but we think the former
is much more likely) independently published by Luke, then its written
length likely approximates its original spoken length. We might expect
then to find significant parallels between the Pauline speech material
recorded in Acts and Hebrews.
The first Pauline speech that Luke records is found in Acts 13:16–47.
Paul is speaking to the “Men of Israel” (Acts 13:16), a Jewish audience,
perhaps parallel to the one Hebrews addresses. Both this speech and
Hebrews are referred to as a word of encouragement (Acts 13:15; Heb
13:22). The speech opens in the same way Hebrews opens in emphasizing
God’s revelation to the fathers and then moving on to the revelation of
Jesus. Paul’s speech here in Acts 13 covers this terrain with much greater
detail than the Hebrews prologue—nevertheless, both open with God’s
revelation in terms of a statement of Israel’s history. In Acts 13:26 Paul
employs the rare genitive phrase τῆς σωτηρίας. This exact phrase is used
only two other times in the New Testament, once by Paul in Eph 1:13 and
once in Heb 2:10. The genitive for Abraham (19× in the NT) in Acts 13:26
is represented extensively in Paul’s letters (6×) and Luke-Acts (7×), and
occurs in Hebrews (1×) as well—only occurring 4 times outside of this
collection. As we have already noted, the fact that Ps 2:7 appears only
in a speech by Paul in Acts and in Hebrews is highly suggestive of our
proposal. After arguing for the resurrection, Paul moves on in v. 34 to
state that since Christ is raised from the dead he will no longer return to
corruption (διαφθορά). Hebrews 9:25–28 echoes this idea by stating that
Christ will return again “not to deal with sin but to save those who are
eagerly waiting for him.” Thus, in this passage from Hebrews, Christ will
not be under sin when he returns. Similarly, in Acts 13:39, Paul makes the
point that the “law of Moses” could not free anyone from sin. This same
point is made in Heb 7:19 when the author states that “the law made noth-
ing perfect.”
A number of parallels can also be located in the Pauline speech Luke

records in Acts 17:22–31. In 17:28, Paul emphasizes God’s all pervasive
providence when he states that “in him we live and move and have our
being.” A similar point is made in Heb 1:3 where Jesus upholds the entire
universe by the word of his power and in Heb 2:11 where God is the source
of all who are being sanctified. In all three passages the stress rests upon
God being the one behind what transpires on earth. Further, Acts 17:29,
Heb 1:2 and 12:9 all acknowledge God/Jesus’ universal creative power. Acts
17:31, Heb 9:27 and 10:30 make the case that Christ, who is the man God
has appointed (Acts 17:31) and the Lord (Heb 10:30), will judge the world,
including his people (Heb 9:27).
In his address to the Ephesian elders, Paul insists upon the importance
of repentance and faith (Acts 20:21). The writer to the Hebrews makes the
same point in 6:1. Acts 20:28, Heb 9:12 and Heb 13:12 all speak of the blood
used by God in redemption. Although Hebrews is replete with references
to the blood atonement, what makes these two passages particularly inter-
esting is, with Acts 20:28, they represent the only usages of ἴδιος to modify
αἵμα. Towards the end of Paul’s speech to the elders he exhorts them to
“be alert” as they watch over the flock of God (Acts 20:31). Hebrews 13:17
reminds the flock of God that the elders are “keeping watch” over their
souls. In other words, there is evidence of a parallel paraenetic strategy
presented from two different angles. In Acts 20 Paul encourages the elders
to rule in a certain way while the writer of Hebrews tells the people how
to respond to the elders. The terminology employed to describe the lead-
ership in the speech is also distinctive of the lexical usage in Hebrews.
Paul’s speech here and Hebrews are alone in using ἡγέομαι to refer to
church leaders.
In addition to these patterns, it is worth highlighting that a good bit of
the material to which Allen points in his analysis is derived from Paul’s
speech material in Acts. We represent the evidence derived from
Paul’s speech material, including the additional insights highlighted
in the preceding paragraphs, in the following chart. What this shows is
that a good number of Allen’s supposed Lukan features for Hebrews are
actually Lukan-Pauline features (i.e. features of Luke’s recorded Pauline
speeches), precisely the authorial and literary designation we are propos-
ing for Hebrews.
Paul’s speeches in Acts could easily be mined for further parallels—
and this may be a worthwhile ambition for future research—but these
patterns are, we think, sufficient to highlight the significant linguistic and
theological overlap between Luke’s documentation of Paul’s speeches in
Linguistic Element Occurrences in Pauline Speeches and in Hebrews

ἄφεσις (forgivness) Acts 13:38; 26:18 // Heb 9:22; 10:18
ἡγέομαι (leader or chief ) Acts 26:2 // Heb 10:29; 11:11, 26; 13:7, 17, 24
genitive (δακρύων) preceded Acts 20:19; 20:31 // Heb 5:7; 12:17
by καὶ and μετὰ
ῥῆμα Acts 26:25; 28:25 // Heb 1:3; 6:5; 11:3; 12:19
Aorist active indicative 3rd Acts 28:25 // Heb 1:2; 7:14
plural of λαλέω
αἵματος τοῦ ἰδίου Acts 20:28 // Heb 9:12
διὰ followed by τὸ μηδεμίαν Acts 28:18 // Heb 10:2
The article ὁ immediately Acts 26:23 // Heb 2:11; 9:1–2
followed by τέ
διαμαρτύρομαι Acts 20:21, 23 // Heb 2:6
Genitive phrase τῆς σωτηρίας Acts 13:26 // Heb 2:10
ἴδιος to modify αἵμα Acts 20:28 // Heb 9:12; 13:12
Acts and the speech preserved for us in Hebrews. The internal evidence
appears to us to most strongly favour a Lukan collaboration with Paul in
the context of a specific literary-historical relationship. Luke, in his his-
torical endeavours, seems to have documented Paul’s speech material and
later published it in what we now know as Hebrews.
A Few Possible Objections
The current view in New Testament scholarship denies a strict Pauline

authorship of Hebrews, probably making our thesis difficult to sustain
in the minds of some. The most enduring of these criticisms has been
the argument from style. As DeSilva argues, “None of Paul’s other writ-
ings come close to the rhetorical finesse and stylistic polish of Hebrews.”61
This objection is closely linked with the objection that the vocabulary of
Hebrews is not Pauline.62 We are willing to grant the legitimacy of these
61 D.A. DeSilva, An Introduction to the New Testament: Contexts, Methods and Ministry
Formation (Downers Grove: InterVarsity, 2004), 787.
62 E.g. Ellingworth, The Epistle to the Hebrews, 11–12.
claims at some level, but on our theory we would not expect the linguistic
style and vocabulary to be precisely Pauline since the practice among ste-
nographers in Greco-Roman historiography and rhetoric was to preserve
the major content of the speech while adapting the language and style
to the highest level attainable by the stenographer, making for a nicely
polished composition. So, far from constituting an objection to our theory,
in a backhanded way it actually provides support for it—that is, on our
explanation, the data that presents itself to us is exactly what we would
expect to find: Lukan style/language with Pauline theological content.
Others object that Paul could never have written (or spoken) Heb 2:3,
where the author of Hebrews states that the message of salvation was
“confirmed” (βεβαιόω) “to us” by those who heard from Christ. Paul, who
wrote Gal 1:12, which states that Paul did not “receive” (παραλαμβάνω) the
gospel from men, could not have also written Heb 2:3—or so the argu-
ment goes.63 However, this objection is hardly definitive. Notice first that
Paul says that he did not “receive” his message from men. This means that
the source of Paul’s message is not human. On the other hand, the author
of Hebrews says that men “confirmed” his message. The use of βεβαιόω
here indicates not a new revelation, but a firming up of an existing one,
which is exactly what happened when Paul eventually did meet up with
the apostles. So, on the assumption of a Pauline origin for the speech to
the Hebrews, Paul seems to be communicating that after having received
his message from Jesus, it was confirmed by the apostles and also through
signs and wonders.
What about the objections to Lukan authorship? Kistemaker’s com-
ments represent a fairly standard protest: “Luke, as a Gentile Christian,
would not be able to write, ‘In the past God spoke to our forefathers
through the prophets’ (1:1 NIV).”64 He goes on to argue that “[Luke] only
reports Old Testament passages spoken by others but he does not expound
a single quotation for doctrinal purposes as is the case in Hebrews.”65 But
this is not a stylistic feature; rather it references the main content of the
speech. Our view remains immune to such objections since it argues that
the content of Hebrews originates with Paul, a Jew. Again, the phenom-
enon that Kistemaker recognizes is exactly what we would expect on the
interpretation of the data that we are suggesting. If Hebrews is a Pauline
63 E.g. Kistemaker, “The Authorship of Hebrews,” 62.

64 Kistemaker, “The Authorship of Hebrews,” 59.
65 Kistemaker, “The Authorship of Hebrews,” 59. On the same page Kistemaker admits
that there are “linguistic similarities in the vocabulary of Luke’s writings and that of
Hebrews.”
speech recorded by Luke, then we would anticipate a good number of

Old Testament citations within the speech, as we find in Luke’s recorded
speeches of Paul in Acts. Neither would Paul, a Jew, be uncomfortable
expressing the words contained in the prologue of Hebrews.
The traditional arguments against Pauline and Lukan authorship of
Hebrews can be weighty when either Paul or Luke are thought to have
authored the document alone. However, on a collaborative proposal in
the social context of historical-rhetorical speech recording, many of the
arguments against either or the other of the authors fail to convince.
Now, it might be objected that the very structure of our argument is fal-
lacious because it is non-falsifiable: whatever features are not Pauline
are Lukan and vice versa. But notice that this has not been the structure
of our argument. We have argued for Lukan style and Pauline content
and have been careful to show where each departure is a feature of the
other. In other words, we have sought to positively establish each feature
in the respective corpus instead of making universal appeals where the
evidence remains silent. But this leaves a third body of evidence. If we
have stylistic features distinctive of Luke-Acts and Hebrews and content
features distinctive of Paul and Hebrews, what about material that cannot
be accounted for within Luke-Acts or Paul? What about material distinc-
tive just to Hebrews? Well, as we noted at the end of the section on the
Pauline evidence, a certain amount of unique material should be expected
due to the rhetorical exigency of the situation, especially given the very
unique literary status of Hebrews. In fact, assuming that our theory is cor-
rect, the amount of theological and linguistic parallel material that we do
find is staggering given the vast difference in register from other Pauline
and Lukan writings. In terms of Pauline material, this is his only inde-
pendently published speech in extended form. From Luke’s perspective
too, Hebrews would be his only Pauline speech published independent
of a narrative framework. So we cannot hope to correlate every feature of
Hebrews to some previous rhetorical-literary situation and so the amount
of material we can corroborate in this way does seem highly suggestive of
our Paul-Luke speech collaboration theory.
Conclusions
Although Hebrews has been handed down to us without an author,

we have argued that both external and internal considerations suggest
that Hebrews constitutes Pauline speech material, recorded and later
ublished by Luke, Paul’s traveling companion. The speech (or possibly,

p
speeches) was likely a prophetic discourse delivered in a Diaspora syna-
gogue, very much parallel to the speech by Paul that Luke records in Acts
13. Luke very probably took stenographic notes on the essential content
of Paul’s discourse that he later converted and expanded using his own
diction and style, as was the practice for speech publication among Greco-
Roman historians and, apparently, among early Christians as well—e.g.,
Mark’s Gospel. We believe that a possible point of origin for the docu-
ment could have been Rome where Luke may have been inspired to do
with Paul’s speech material what Mark had done with Peter’s. This also
makes sense in light of Paul being locked up and perhaps executed (if it
was published after Paul’s death). In such an event, Hebrews might serve
to continue Paul’s Jewish mission in a way that his other letters were
serving his Gentile mission. If this scenario is correct, then it certainly
furthers our understanding of the social relationship between Paul and
Luke from a distinctively literary standpoint, but at the end of the day, we
must acknowledge with Origen regarding the authorship of Hebrews that
“in truth, God [only] knows.”
The significance and function of references
to Christians in the Pauline Literature
Christoph Stenschke
Forum Wiedenest, Bergneustadt, Germany
Introduction
Most of the letters of the Corpus Paulinum are directed to a particular,

clearly-identifiable local church in the ancient Mediterranean world.
Even the letters which are directed to individuals (Philemon, Timothy,
Titus) were probably read before particular churches1 in circumstances
that might have been analogous to the reading of official Roman mandata
principii before a wider audience.2
Yet there are some exceptions: Galatians is addressed to “the churches
of Galatia” (Gal 1:2). Some have argued that Ephesians is a circular to sev-
eral churches as some of the oldest manuscripts do not contain the words
ἐν Ἐφέσω in 1:1.3
In his letters to individual churches, Paul on several occasions refers
to all the Christian churches, to the churches of a particular region, or to
one local church. Paul refers in the same manner to “the brothers,” “the
believers” or “the saints” irrespective of whether he has in mind an encom-
passing sense or a sense restricted to a particular region or place.
1 Titus ends with the benediction “Grace be with you all ” (3:12).
2 Cf. P.H. Towner, The Letters to Timothy and Titus (NICNT; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans,
2006), 52–53: “since the letters, incorporating mandate elements, served to endorse
the delegates to the receiving communities as well as set out their authoritative job
descriptions for public appraisal” (53); cf. also pp. 85–86. For detailed discussion see
M.M. Mitchell, “New Testament Envoys in the Context of Greco-Roman Diplomatic and
Epistolary Conventions: The Example of Timothy and Titus,” JBL 111 (1992): 641–62.
3 Cf. the text critical discussion in H.W. Hoehner, Ephesians: An Exegetical Commentary
(Grand Rapids: Baker, 2002), 145–48. However, some care is needed, as the letter to the
Colossians, clearly addressed to that particular church (“To the saints and faithful brothers
in Colossae”), was also to be read before the church in Laodicaea (4:16: “And when this
letter has been read among you, have it read also in the church of the Laodiceans; and see
that you also read the letter from Laodicea”). The letters must have been distinct enough
from each other to make such an exchange worthwhile. At the same time both letters
where relevant to both congregations. Is this an exception or should we expect that such
interchange also happened when it is not particularly mentioned?
186 christoph stenschke
If these references to Christians other than the addressees in Pauline

literature are studied at all, they usually appear in discussions of Pau-
line ecclesiology, so for example in the major volumes of J.D.G. Dunn,4
F. Hahn5 and P. Stuhlmacher.6 They mention these references in the con-
text of Paul’s use of and understanding of ἐκκλησία. Their main quest is
Paul’s understanding of the nature of the church. Do these references
suggest (or even demonstrate) that Paul had something larger in mind
than individual congregations or the churches of a particluar area? Do
“all the churches” form an entity greater or other than the sum of many
individual congregations? We limit our survey to four senior experts in
Pauline Studies.
Stuhlmacher asserts, without further argument, a universal perspec-
tive: “Für das Kirchenverständnis des Apostels ist charakteristisch, dass
die konkreten Ortsgemeinden im Mittelpunkt seines Interesses stehen,
diese stets aber als Erscheinungsformen der gesamten Kirche angesehen
warden.”7
Hahn offers a brief survey of the terms used by Paul for believers8
and then discusses “Die Glaubensgemeinschaft als Volk Gottes und als
Einzelgemeinde.”9 He starts the discussion as follows: “Paulus verwendet
ἡ ἐκκλησία τοῦ θεοῦ ebenso wie das absolute ἡ ἐκκλησία für die Gesamtheit
der an Christus Glaubenden, das Wort ist daher im Sinn von ‘Gottesvolk’
bzw. von ‘Kirche’ zu verstehen . . . Daneben begegnet aber auch der plur-
alische Gebrauch. . . . ”10 Hahn gives a brief survey of the material we will
examine here and concludes:
Der Befund ist insgesamt nur so zu erklären, dass Paulus von der Bedeutung
von ἐκκλησία im Sinn von “Gottesvolk” ausgeht, wie die häufige Verwen-
dung des Genitivs τοῦ θεου zeigt. Er hält damit jene Grundbedeutung des
Wortes fest, die seit Jesu eigener Verkündigung zentrale Bedeutung hatte.
Er kennt daneben aber auch die im hellenistischen Bereich des Urchristen-
tums übliche Verwendung von ἐκκλησία zur Bezeichnung einer konkreten
4 The Theology of Paul the Apostle (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1998), 533–64.
5 Theologie des Neuen Testaments I: Die Vielfalt des Neuen Testaments. Theolo-
giegeschichte des Urchristentums (2d ed.; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2005), 273–80.
6 Biblische Theologie des Neuen Testaments I: Grundlegung, von Jesus zu Paulus (3d ed.;
Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2005), 355–62.
7 Theologie I, 355. Stuhlmacher’s main emphasis is to show “dass Paulus die Kontinu-
ität zum Kirchenverständnis der Urgemeinde in Jerusalem gewahrt hat” (356).
8 Theologie, 273–74 (“Die Glaubenden als Berufene und Geheiligte”).
9 Theologie, 274–75.
10 Theologie, 274–75.
references to christians in the pauline literature 187
“Ortsgemeinde.”11 Das Nebeneinander von ἐκκλησία für das Gottesvolk

insgesamt und für die Enzelgemeinde besagt dann, dass die konkrete Ein-
zelgemeinde von Paulus stets im Zusammenhang mit der Gesamtkirche
verstanden und dort, wo sie sich versammelt, als deren Repräsentation
gesehen wird.12
In contrast, Dunn surveys Paul’s use of ἐκκλησία and concludes that Paul
betrays no notion of a universal church, but always and only refers to
the assembly of a particular place and area. He begins with an analysis
of the LXX use of ἐκκλησία and argues that “Paul was able to speak of
‘the assemblies of God’, whereas the LXX usage is almost always singular.
Paul evidently had no problem with conceiving ‘the assembly of God’ as
manifested in different places at the same time—the churches (of God)
in Judea, in Galatia, in Asia, or in Macedonia. Each gathering of those
baptized in the name of the Lord Jesus was ‘the assembly of God’ in that
place.”13 Later Dunn concludes:
. . . despite the continuity with “the assembly of Yahweh”, Paul’s conception
of the church is typically of the church in a particular place or region. He
does not seem to have thought of “the church” as something worldwide or
universal—“the Church.” . . . the “church-ness” of each individual Christian
assembly did not depend for Paul on its being part of some universal entity.
Its reality and vitality as church depended more immediately on its own
direct continuity through Christ and its founding apostle with the assembly
of Yahweh.14
For P.T. O’Brien, ἐκκλησία in Paul refers either to a local assembly or con-
gregation of Christians, to a house church (“. . . again used as a descrip-
tive term of an identifiable object—as distinct from a metaphor—this
time of a gathering that met in a particular home, a house church”)15 or
11 Name of a place and ἐκκλησία in Rom 16:1; 1 Cor 1:2; 2 Cor 1:1, 1 Thess 1:1, but “auch
durch den Kontext kann eindeutig sein, dass eine konkrete Einzelgemeinde gemeint ist”
(Hahn, Theologie, 274).
12 Theologie, 275. The Catholic scholar J. Gnilka argues along similar lines in Theologie
des Neuen Testaments (HTKNT 5; Freiburg: Herder, 1994), 108–11; e.g. “Diese Überlegungen
legen die Annahme nahe, dass der Apostel die verschiedenen Gemeinden, nicht bloß die
von ihm gegründeten, aufgehoben sah in einer übergreifenden kirchlichen Gemeinschaft.”
This notion has been questioned by the Catholic scholar J. Hainz, Ekklesia: Strukturen
paulinischer Gemeinde-Theologie und Gemeinde-Ordnung (BU 9; Regensburg: F. Pustet,
1972); summary by Gnilka, p. 110: “. . . dass Paulus keine Gesamtkirche kenne und nur ein
die Einzelgemeinde transzendierendes Element zugesteht.”
13 Theology, 540.
14 Theology, 540–41.
15 “Church,” DPL 123–31, here 125.
a heavenly gathering.16 O’Brien emphasises that all instances of ἐκκλησία

and ἐκκλησίαι in Paul’s letters denote a local assembly or gathering of
Christians in a particular place. After a brief survey of various occurrences
O’Brien concludes that “the term was applied only to an actual gathering
of people, or to a group that gathers when viewed as a regularly consti-
tuted meeting”:
Although we often speak of a group of congregations collectively as “the
church” (i.e., of a denomination), it is doubtful whether Paul . . . uses ἐκκλησία
in this collective way. Also the notion of a unified provincial or national
church appears to have been foreign to Paul’s thinking. An ἐκκλησία was a
meeting or an assembly.17
Paul’s understanding of the nature of the ἐκκλησία and the relationship
between individual congregations and a larger “universal church” are not
the main focus of this essay, as they have been examined in detail. Such
a focus would require detailed analysis of the origin of ἐκκλησία in Pau-
line literature18 and also of the several significant uses of ἐκκλησία in the
singular, in which Paul has more in mind than the particular community
addressed or individual churches.19 However, particularly in view of Stuhl-
macher’s and Hahn’s emphasis on the meaning of ἐκκλησία in this context,20
16 “Church,” 124–26. On the church as a heavenly gathering O’Brien notes: “. . . those

instances in Paul’s letters where ἐκκλησία has a wider reference that either a local congrega-
tion or a house-church, and describes a heavenly and eschatological being.” In a concluding
discussion of the relationship between Paul’s uses of ἐκκλησία, O’Brien writes: “The NT
does not discuss the relationship between the local church and the heavenly gathering.
The link is nowhere specifically spelled out . . . . local congregations . . . were concrete, vis-
ible expressions of that new relationship which believers have with the Lord Jesus. Local
gatherings, whether in a congregation or in a house church, were earthly manifestations
of that heavenly gathering around the risen Christ” (126).
17 “Church,” 124. O’Brien offers brief discussion of passages have been understood to
refer to an entity larger than a local congregation (124–25).
18 For summaries see Dunn, Theology, 537–38; Hainz, Ekklesia.
19 Eph 1:22; 3:10, 21; 5:23–25, 27, 29, 32; cf. the treatments by Hoehner, Ephesians, 111–12;
P. Stuhlmacher, Biblische Theologie des Neuen Testaments II: Von der Paulusschule bis zur
Johannesoffenbarung (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1999), 29–34, and R. Schnack-
enburg, Der Brief an die Epheser (EKK 10; Zürich: Benziger; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirch-
ener, 1982), 299–319.
20 Stuhlmacher, Theologie I, 356; Hahn, Theologie, 275–76. For the use of ἐκκλησία in the
LXX, Josephus and Philo, see O’Brien, “Church,” 124. In his attempt to explain wider uses of
ἐκκλησία as referring to a heavenly and eschatological entity, O’Brien writes: “This is not to
suggest that believers have no relationship with one another if they do not gather together
in church. As members of the body of Christ or of God’s people, they are not only related
to Christ himself but also to one another even when separated by time and distance. But
the point being made here is that ἐκκλησία is not the term used in the NT of those wider,
universal links” (125).
I would suggest that Paul’s references to the church, to the churches, to

the churches of particular regions or places need to be assessed together
with his references to (all) believers, (all the) saints and (all) brothers in
places other than that of the addressees of a particular writing in order to
move the discussion forward.21 Perhaps this larger picture will help us to
comprehend Paul’s understanding of the nature of the church. Therefore
our quest is for the occurrence of expressions such as (the) church, (all)
the churches, (all) the saints, (all) the believers and (all) the brothers, and
for the significance of these references for Pauline ecclesiology.22
In addition, two other issues are commonly not discussed in the con-
text of these references and are also neglected elsewhere. First, in what
way do the references to Christians other than the addressees of a let-
ter function in Paul’s argumentation? Why does Paul refer to these other
Christians and in what contexts? We will only be able to survey the func-
tion of these references in their immediate context (at times in view of
the overall argument of the letter) and cannot offer a detailed rhetorical
analysis in accordance with the categories of ancient or modern rhetoric.23
This, therefore, remains an issue that deserves further study.
Second, what kinds of translocal links do these references imply between
early Christian communities? Did only Paul know of these other congrega-
tions and communicate with them (regularly)? How much knowledge of,
or acquaintance with or intensive fellowship with other congregations does
Paul’s argumentation require in order to be effective?
21 We also surveyed the names of all places and regions used by Paul (cf. the list in
Louw/Nida, 833–42; domain 93.389–615) to include references such as Col 4:13: “those
[Christians] in Laodicea and Hierapolis.”
22 We do not address the significance of the reciprocity expressed in Paul’s many uses
of ἀλλήλων in a local context; for a brief treatment see P. Eckstein, Gemeinde, Brief und
Heilsbotschaft: Ein phänomenologischer Vergleich zwischen Paulus und Epikur (HBS 42; Frei-
burg: Herder, 2004), 192–93. Cf. also Eckstein’s treatment of the nature of the church on
pp. 193–96.
23 Cf. e.g. G.W. Hansen, “Rhetorical Criticism,” DPL, 822–26; R.D. Anderson, Ancient
Rhetorical Theory and Paul (2d ed.; Contributions to Biblical Exegesis and Theology 18;
Leuven: Peeters, 1999); R. Brucker “ ‘Versuche ich denn jetzt, Menschen zu überreden. . .’:
Rhetorik und Exegese am Beispiel des Galaterbriefes,” in S. Alkier and R. Brucker (eds.),
Exegese und Methodendiskussion (TANZ 23; Tübingen, Basel: Francke, 1998), 211–36; C.J.
Classen, Rhetorical Criticism of the New Testament (WUNT 128; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck,
2000), 1–44; D.L. Stamps, “Rhetorical Criticism of the New Testament,” in S.E. Porter and
D. Tombs (eds.), Approaches to New Testament Study (JSNTSup 120; Sheffield: Sheffield Aca-
demic Press, 1995), 129–69; J.S. Vos, Die Kunst der Argumentation bei Paulus: Studien zur
antiken Rhetorik (WUNT 149; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2002); B. Mack, Rhetoric and the
New Testament (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1990) and R. Meynet, Rhetorical Analysis: An Intro-
duction to Biblical Rhetoric (JSOTSup 256; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1998).
The translocal links between early Christian churches have recently

been discussed in the context of comparing these churches to ancient asso-
ciations of various kinds.24 Most scholars have seen the translocal links in
early Christianity as one or even the decisive difference between churches
and associations which are usually understood as locally confined in nature.
For W.A. Meeks this is one of four significant differences.25 He asserts that
the associations did not experience the same “extralocal linkages of the
Christian movement” and that “each association, even those that served the
internationally popular deities, was a self-contained local phenomenon.”26
D.A. Koch and D. Schinkel similarly describe the consensus:
Ein zentrales Problem bei der Frage nach der Vergleichbarkeit von früh-
christlichen Gemeinden (und hellenistisch-jüdischen Synagogenverbänden)
ist die Frage der lokalen Begrenzung bzw. translokaler Bezüge. Hierin wird
in aller Regel der größte Unterschied zwischen frühchristlichen Gemeinden
und antiken Vereinen gesehen. . . .27
24 Cf. the summary by R.S. Ascough, What Are They Saying About the Formation of Pau-
line Churches? (Mahwah, New York: Paulist, 1998), 71–94 and D.J. Downs, The Offering of the
Gentiles: Paul’s Collection for Jerusalem and Its Chronological, Cultural and Cultic Contexts
(WUNT 2.248; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2008), 81–85. For a survey of the current debate,
see Downs, Offering and S.G. Wilson, “Voluntary Associations: An Overview,” in S.G. Wil-
son and J. Kloppenborg (eds.), Voluntary Associations in the Graeco-Roman World (London/
New York: Routledge, 1996), 1–15; see also R.S. Ascough, Paul’s Macedonian Associations:
The Social Context of Philippians and 1 Thessalonians (WUNT 2.161; Tübingen: Mohr Sie-
beck, 2003); E. Ebel, Die Attraktivität früher christlicher Gemeinden: Die Gemeinde von Kor-
inth im Spiegel griechisch-römischer Vereine (WUNT 2.178; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2004);
A. Gutsfeld and D.-A. Koch (eds.), Vereine, Synagogen und Gemeinden im kaiserzeitlichen
Kleinasien (STAC 25; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2006); U. Egelhaaf-Gaiser and A. Schäfer
(eds.), Religiöse Vereine in der römischen Antike (STAC 13; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2002);
P. Harland, Associations, Synagogues, and Congregations: Claiming a Place in Ancient Medi-
terranean Society (Philadelphia: Fortress, 2003); W.A. Meeks, The First Urban Christians:
The Social World of the Apostle Paul (New Haven/London: Yale University Press, 1983);
M. Öhler, “Antikes Vereinswesen,” in K. Scherberich et al. (eds.), Neues Testament und
Antike Kultur II: Familie, Gesellschaft, Wirtschaft (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener, 2005),
79–86; idem, “Die Jerusalemer Urgemeinde im Spiegel des antiken Vereinswesens,” NTS 51
(2005): 393–415; idem, “Iobakchen und Christusverehrer: Das Christentum im Rahmen des
antiken Vereinswesens,” in R. Klieber and M. Stowasser (eds.), Inkulturation: Historische
Beispiele und theologische Reflexionen zur Flexibilität und Widerständigkeit des Christlichen
(Theologie: Forschung und Wissenschaft 10; Vienna: LIT, 2006), 63–86.
25 According to Downs, Offering, 81, with reference to Meeks, First Urban Christians, 79.
Downs also lists the other three reasons (81–82) and assesses them critically (82–85).
26 Meeks, First Urban Christians, 80 (cited by Downs, Offering, 82). A similar position
is argued by W.O. McCready, “Ekklesia and Voluntary Associations,” in Wilson and Klop-
penborg (eds.), Voluntary Associations, 63–64, and also by S.C. Barton and G.H.R. Horsley,
“A Hellenistic Cult Group and the New Testament Churches,” JAC 24 (1981): 7–41, here 28
(according to Downs, Offering, 82 n. 34).
27 D.-A. Koch and D. Schinkel, “Die Frage nach den Vereinen in der Geistes- und Theol-
ogiegeschichte des 19. und 20. Jahrhunderts,” in Gutsfeld and Koch (eds.), Vereine, 129–48,
However, in this debate the translocal nature of early Christianity is often

presupposed rather than argued in some detail.28 The short summary by
D. Downs is representative of other treatments:
Certainly Paul’s letters and the messengers who delivered them testify to
the existence of a vast web of Christian communities linked not only by
their shared faith but also by a network of translocal exchange and commu-
nication. Embedded in Paul’s epistles are numerous passages that highlight
regional connections within Pauline Christianity, including greetings from
members of one community to members of another . . ., letters of recommen-
dation . . ., references to travel delegates . . ., and requests for hospitality.29
None of these summaries of early Christian translocal links in the current
debate include in detail the evidence which is the focus of our essay.
Several more recent contributions argue that the simple contrast
between translocally linked churches and locally confined associations fails
to do justice to either phenomenon.30 Downs challenges the consensus:
“. . . it is not necessarily the case that pagan voluntary associations lacked
‘extralocal linkages’. An important article by Richard Ascough has demon-
strated that Meeks overstates the extralocal nature of many early Chris-
tian groups . . . and neglects evidence that points to translocal links among
pagan associations. . . . ”31 Ascough and others question the distinction on
two grounds: “. . . a close analysis of the literary and inscriptional evidence
reveals that some voluntary associations had translocal links and that Chris-
tianity was more locally based than is often assumed.”32 Ascough writes:
“. . . the second part of our argument involves showing that early Christian-
ity should be viewed with an emphasis on its ‘local character’ rather than
here 148. For a detailed survey and critique of this position see R.S. Ascough, “Translocal
Relationships Among Voluntary Associations and Early Christianity,” Journal of Early Chris-
tian Studies 5 (1997): 223–41, here 223–28. Ascough notes: “Often emphasized is the local-
ized nature of voluntary associations versus the translocal nature of Christianity” (223).
28 This is also observed by Ascough, “Translocal Relationships,” 227.
29 Offering, 18. For detailed surveys see my “Übergemeindliche Ausübung von Autorität
und übergemeindliche Beziehungen im Neuen Testament,” in U. Swarat (ed.), Die Auton-
omie der Ortsgemeinden und ihre Gemeinschaft: Ein Lehrgespräch des Baptistischen Welt-
bundes, Theologisches Gespräch (Beiheft 10; Kassel: Oncken; Witten: Bundesverlag, 2009),
18–54 and M.B. Thompson, “The Holy Internet: Communication Between Churches in the
First Christian Generation,” in R. Bauckham (ed.), The Gospels for All Christians: Rethinking
the Gospel Audiences (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1998), 49–70.
30 Cf. R.S. Ascough, “Voluntary Associations and the Formation of Pauline Christian
Communities: Overcoming the Objections,” in Gutsfeld and Koch (eds.), Vereine, 176; and
Downs, Offering, 73–85.
31 Offering, 85.
32 “Voluntary Associations,” 177.
its translocal connections.”33 He concludes his discussion of both aspects:

“Thus both Christian congregations and voluntary associations were locally
based groups with limited translocal connections.”34
In addition, Ascough has also noted that many of the translocal links
which appear in the New Testament are directly related to Paul and to the
relationship which he had with churches and churches with him, rather
than to direct links between congregations. If Paul were taken out of the
picture, little would be left:35
In the case of Christianity, the “translocal” link among a number of the vari-
ous congregations is Paul. However, Paul had trouble enough maintaining
the unity of his local congregations (especially Corinth and Galatia) and
there is little evidence that there were ties between different locales, with
the exception of the missionaries themselves. At least during its formative
stage Christianity seems to have been comprised of local groups with only
very loose translocal connections—much the same as some of the voluntary
associations.36
Ascough emphasises the differences between the various Pauline commu-
nities and their unique character shaped by local conditions.37 However,
33 “Translocal Relationships,” 234. See also p. 224: “. . . Christianity was more locally
based than is often assumed.”
34 Ascough, “Translocal Relationships,” 224. From this follows: “In establishing this, the
way is opened for more fruitful use of the analogy of voluntary associations for under-
standing the formation and organization of early Christian groups” (224). Also, “. . . the
evidence is such that we can no longer confidently assert that early Christian groups
had . . . national, or even to some extent international links any more than did the volun-
tary associations” (228).
35 Ascough, “Translocal Relationships,” 237: “The translocal ‘link’ for many scholars is
Paul. He is seen to ‘connect’ the various congregations. Certainly he himself would like
to think that the congregations are connected, but this may not have been the case. For
example, the support of the Philippian church went to Paul, not the other congregations
with which he worked (Phil 4:14–16; 2 Cor 11:9), and many have been based in a reciprocal
patron-client relationship.” Downs (Offering, 18) cautions along these lines: “. . . since many
of these references center on the activities of Paul and his closest associates, it is possible
to overestimate the extent to which Paul’s churches established relationships with Chris-
tian communities in other cities.”
36 Cf. also Ascough, “Voluntary Associations,” 177. He concludes:
. . . that Christian groups were more locally based than is often assumed. There is no
doubt that the primary basis for associations was local, but, we would argue, this
would be equally true for the Christian groups. Christian congregations and voluntary
associations were both locally based groups with limited translocal connections. The
elimination of the false dichotomy between local associations and translocal Christi-
anity allows for a more profitable use of the voluntary associations as an analogy for
understanding the formation and organization of early Christian groups (“Translocal
Relationships,” 241).
37 “Translocal Relationships,” 238–39.
the different local shape of these communities does not preclude translo-
cal contacts and their significance.38
While the so-called “co-workers” and missionary colleagues of Paul
have been studied in detail,39 the churches which Paul founded and their
relationships with each other (for which—other than a few remarks in
Acts—Paul’s references to them in his letters are our only source) have
been neglected.
Some preliminary remarks are necessary. In the references under con-
sideration for this quest, some references to “the saints” or to “all the saints”
are difficult to categorise. In a number of cases it is not clear whether Paul’s
reference to “all the saints” refers to all the Christians in a particular loca-
tion or whether a wider perspective is in mind. In some cases the expres-
sion “the saints”, even when the adjective all is added, refers clearly to the
Christians of a particular location. For example, “all the saints in Christ
Jesus who are in Philippi” (Phil 1:1); in Rom 16:15 Paul writes of Philologus,
Julia, Nereus and his sister, and Olympas, and all the saints who are with
them (in their particular house church). Other statements refer to (all) the
Christians of one particular community—i.e. the one directly addressed—
but may also refer to a larger entity beyond the addressees. If it is apparent
that the expression refers to or at least could include communities other
than the addressees, the reference is included below.
We do not include here the many references to Paul’s co-workers, mis-
sionary colleagues and other individual Christians unless they are directly
related in the context to a particular church or to churches (cf. e.g. Rom
16:1–2, 23). When Paul reports of their activities in different places, their
greetings, etc., these Christians are not envisaged as “private persons” but
as members of particular congregations who have joined Paul and work
with him. In addition, their travels and ministry most likely were related
38 In addition Ascough observes “. . . both Paul and the Christian community used
ekklesia in the local sense (i.e. Rom 1:1,5; 1 Cor 1:2; 11:18), much like some associations who
used it as a self-designator” (“Translocal Relationships,” 238). This observation in itself does
not exclude translocal links and a sense of belonging together of different communities,
however much they may have taken different local shapes.
39 Cf. e.g. G. Schille, Die urchristliche Kollegialmission (ATANT 48; Zürich: Zwingli,
1967); see also K.B. Akasheh, Ensemble au service de l’Évangile: Les collaborateurs et les
collaboratrices de Saint Paul (Mursia: Pontificia Università Lateranense, 2000); A. Drews,
Paulus in Gemeinschaft seiner Mitarbeiter: Eine Untersuchung der Kollegialmission im Cor-
pus Paulinum und in der Apostelgeschichte (M.Th. dissertation; UNISA, Pretoria, 2006); E.E.
Ellis, “Paul and His Co-Workers,” DPL, 183–89; W.H. Ollrog, Paulus und seine Mitarbeiter:
Untersuchungen zu Theorie und Praxis der paulinischen Mission (WMANT 50; Neukirchen-
Vluyn: Neukirchener, 1979) and E.J. Schnabel, Early Christian Mission II: Paul and the Early
Church (Downers Grove: IVP, 2004), 1425–45.
to churches (cf. e.g. 2 Tim 4:1). In some cases Paul mentions that they have
been commissioned by congregations to support the mission. Some pas-
sages indicate that Paul expected that the congregations should do so.40
As this essay focuses in the Corpus Paulinum, it includes all thirteen
canonical letters of Paul and refers to their author as Paul.41 This is sig-
nificant as some studies of Pauline ecclesiology start with the undisputed
letters of Paul and then observe changes in the ecclesiology of the dis-
puted letters.42 Here we want to see what picture emerges from a the-
matic approach to one aspect in all the letters of the Corpus Paulinum.
Under each theme we follow the canonical order of Paul’s letters unless it
is more convenient to group statements together.
References to “the church,” “all the churches,” “the churches,” “the saints” or
“the brothers” in the Corpus Paulinum
Paul’s references to Christians other than his addressees occur in a num-

ber of contexts.
References in the Context of Paul’s Ministry

With regard to himself or his ministry, Paul in different ways refers to
churches other than his immediate addressees. Particularly in his deal-
ings with the Corinthians, Paul stresses that—while he may be disputed
in Corinth (and possibly Achaia)—his authority, ministry and teaching is
deeply rooted in other Christian communities:43
40 Cf. J.P. Dickson, Mission-Commitment in Ancient Judaism and in the Pauline Commun-
ities: The Shape, Extent and Background of Early Christian Mission (WUNT 2.159; Tübingen:
Mohr Siebeck, 2003), 194–202. Dickson discusses 1 Cor 16:6, 11; 2 Cor 1:16; Rom 15:24 and
Titus 3:12 in this context.
41 Several recent New Testament introductions (Carson and Moo, Mauerhofer, Weißen-
born) provide interesting arguments in defence of the actual Pauline authorship of all
thirteen canonical letters.
42 Dunn, Theology, 541: “It is only later that ἐκκλησία is used in the Pauline letters with
a more universal reference. Col 1:18 and 24 provides the transition to the consistent use
in this sense in Ephesians. To recognise this as a late (or later) development in Pauline
theology should not be overdramatised. Paul had no thought of his churches as a set of
independent foundations. . . . We cannot say that Paul would have disapproved of the sub-
sequent usage in Ephesians”; cf. also Stuhlmacher, Theologie II, 27–41, who treats Colos-
sians, Ephesians and the Pastorals in “Das Verständnis der Kirche in der Paulusschule.”
43 In Rom 16:1–2, Paul mentions that Phoebe of the church in Cenchreae has assisted
him significantly: “for she has been a patron of many and of myself as well” (see below).
– 2 Corinthians is addressed to the church of God in Corinth and all the
saints who are in the whole of Achaia (1:1).44
– Timothy was sent by Paul to the Corinthians to remind them of his
ways in Christ, as he teaches them everywhere in every church. His min-
istry to them and the content of his teaching is no exception and the
Corinthians are to know this (1 Cor 4:17; although Paul does not claim
that this teaching is accepted and followed everywhere). Similarly Paul
claims to have one rule (“my rule”) in all the churches (1 Cor 7:17, see
below). He does not distinguish between different churches or teach
ad hominem viz. ad ecclesiam. With all the contextualisation apparent
in Paul’s letters45 and the tolerance toward different positions which
appears, for example, in Rom 14:1–15:6, Paul teaches and expects an
ethical basic consensus from all the churches.46
– In preaching the gospel to the Corinthians free of charge, Paul “robbed
other churches by accepting support from them in order to serve you.”
These churches are then geographically identified: (a delegation of)
brothers had come from Macedonia and supplied the apostle’s financial
need (2 Cor 11:8–9).47 In 2 Cor 11:9 Paul explains how he was able to
refrain from burdening the Corinthians. In this way he shames them:
the churches of Macedonia “financed” Paul’s ministry among the Corin-
thians. He received from them (despite their poverty; 8:2!)48 what Paul
rejected in Corinth, as there were too many strings of benefaction and
44 For Paul referring to his own boasting, see Furnish, II Corinthians, 493.
45 Cf. D. Flemming, Contextualization in the New Testament: Patterns for Theology and
Mission (Downers Grove: IVP, 2005), 89–233.
46 Cf. my “Römer 9–11 als Teil des Römerbriefs,” in F. Wilk and J.R. Wagner (eds.),
Between Gospel and Election: Explorations in the Interpretation of Romans 9–11 (WUNT 257;
Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010) for the function of Rom 14:1–15:7 in the overall argument
of Romans.
47 In Phil 4:15 Paul states that at the beginning of the proclamation of the gospel no
church (οὐδεμία ἐκκλησία) other than the Philippians entered into partnership with him in
giving and receiving. At a later point this might have changed.
Furnish, II Corinthians, 492 notes that ἀδελφοί here refers to “either representatives of
the congregations in question or . . . Paul’s own co-workers, Silvanus (Silas) and Timothy
(1:19), who, according to Acts 18:5, ‘came down from Macedonia’ after Paul had inaugur-
ated his mission in Corinth.” The combination of ἄλλας ἐκκλησίας and ἀδελφοί suggests
that Paul does not refer to his co-workers as such but to representatives of the churches of
Macedonia or to his co-workers as carriers of their gifts; cf. the discussion of references to
ἀδελφοί in M.L. Stirewalt, Paul, the Letter Writer (Grand Rapids, Cambridge, UK: Eerdmans,
2003), 94–101.
48 The generosity and exemplary handling of finances by the churches of Macedonia is
praised in the context of Paul’s collection (2 Cor 8:1–5).
patronage attached to local sponsorship.49 While he and his ministry

were controversial in Corinth (thus the defence of it in 2 Corinthians!),
other Christians not only supported Paul while among them, but also
once he had moved on to different places. Other churches stood behind
his ministry to such an extent that they supported it even when it would
have been the turn of those Paul ministered to elsewhere.
Paul’s boasting in refraining from burdening the Corinthians (i.e. in keep-

ing his financial independence) will not be silenced in the regions of
Achaia, i.e. among the churches there (11:10). Did Paul intend to boast in
person or would he do so through emissaries or letters? Will he defend
his reputation there vis-à-vis criticism of him in Corinth and possibly
elsewhere? It appears that the Christians of Corinth and of the regions
of Achaia were involved in the conflict with Paul. Was this the case from
the beginning or did the conflict spread later? Did Paul, the Corinthians,
the super-apostles (or other opponents) or possibly all parties involve the
regional Christian community in the conflict against the other party?
– Paul’s sufferings which prove him a true apostle include the daily pres-
sure of anxiety for all the churches (ἡ μέριμνα πασῶν τῶν ἐκκλησιῶν
[2 Cor 11:28]). Thus as he travels or serves in one particular congrega-
tion, Paul anxiously keeps all the churches in mind.50 The scope is not
limited to the churches he had founded: the collection for the saints of
Jerusalem (discussed in detail in 2 Cor 8–9) shows that Paul felt respon-
sibility for churches which he had not founded and where there was
some resistance to his mission.51
– In the defence of his ministry, Paul asks in what way the Corinthians
were less favoured than the rest of the churches, except that Paul did
not burden them financially (2 Cor 12:13). Paul’s policy regarding finan-
cial support in Corinth was an exception to the rule. In all other cases
Paul expected financial support, thus burdening the churches finan-
49 For instructive readings of the passage against the background of ancient giving
and receiving, of benefaction and patronage, see Furnish, II Corinthians, 507–8; P. Mar-
shall, Enmity in Corinth: Social Conventions in Paul’s Relations with the Corinthians (WUNT
2.23; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1987) and R.F. Hock, The Social Context of Paul’s Ministry:
Tentmaking and Apostleship (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1980).
50 The outworking of this anxiety was getting and keeping abreast with information,
prayer (the references to prayer in the opening sections of Paul’s letters give ample evi-
dence of this), the writing of letters and the sending of co-workers to churches where Paul
could not be at the time; cf. 1 Thess 3:1 and Mitchell, “Envoys.”
51 The letters to the Romans and the Colossians point in the same direction.
cially. Other than that Paul had only one standard of ministry in all
churches. Paul ministered in one congregation, i.e. Corinth, in view of
all churches (where there were no such reservations toward Paul).
Such references also occur in other letters. In the second letter addressed
to the church of the Thessalonians (1:1), Paul, Silvanus and Timothy mention
their boast about the Thessalonians “in the churches of God for your stead-
fastness and faith in all your persecutions. . . .” (1:4). Their boast under-
lines and recognises the exemplary steadfastness of this recently founded
church and praises the readers. Even if the scope (“churches of God”) is
exaggerated, this note implies a significant amount of communication
between Paul and his co-workers/co-authors and the other churches.52
– After emphasising his special calling in the beginning of the prescript

of Galatians (“an apostle—not from men or through man, but through
Jesus Christ and God the Father, who raised him from the dead”), Paul
refers in Gal 1:2 also to “all the brothers who are with me.” While Paul
names the co-workers presently with him in other letters, here he refers
to a larger entity.53 It is difficult to assess why this more general refer-
ence appears here: Were there only a few colleagues around him or were
they unknown by name to the recipients? Did Paul have the church in
mind in which he ministers at the time of writing? From the very begin-
ning of the letter Paul indicates that while he does insist on a special
commission by the risen Christ for his own apostolic authority (v. 1),
he is not isolated in early Christianity. Says Betz: “The emphatic ‘all’ is
unique in Paul and indicates that he wanted to write as the spokesman
of a group which is solidly behind him and the letter.”54 Rather, it is the
Judaizers in Galatia who stand on the fringes of the faithful community
(or beyond!) and the Galatians who follow them will be in a similar
52 Does it also include communication between the Thessalonians and other Christians
of which Paul was aware? The churches knew of the plight of the Thessalonians (possibly
interceded for them—one reason why the information was passed on) and also of their
exemplary steadfastness and faith in all persecutions (an encouragement to others; cf.
1 Thess 1:8).
53 Stirewalt, Paul, 94–101 argues that the expression refers to a delegation from Gal-
atia which had come to Paul (cf. 1 Cor 1:11): “. . . the delegates from Galatia were of such a
status as to be recognised as official emissaries appointed by the churches, a status that
Paul acknowledged by including them in the office of co-senders” (101). But why does Paul
then speak of all the brothers? Did different people in the delegation represent different
positions; cf. Acts 15:2? Stirewalt’s reading well explains how Paul knew of the crisis in
Galatia.
54 Quoted from Stirewalt, Paul, 98.
position. To state it emphatically: the risen Christ and the larger com-
munity of his people are the source of Paul’s authority.
– In the letter addressed to the “churches of Galatia” (1:2), Paul empha-
sises his independence of Jerusalem in chs. 1–2. Because of his move
northward to the regions of Syria and Cilicia (for which he does not
give any reasons; cf. Acts 22:17–21), Paul was (or remained) unknown
in person to the churches of Judea that are in Christ (1:22). Paul reports
their reaction to his calling: “They only were hearing it said: ‘He who
used to persecute us is now preaching the faith he once tried to
destroy.’ And they glorified God because of me” (1:23–24).55 How they
had heard of Paul’s conversion and proclamation and how Paul knew
of their positive reaction to it, is not indicated. Although they did not
come to know Paul as their Christian brother and could not be person-
ally convinced of the genuineness of his new calling, they praised God
because of Paul—which entails acceptance of Paul and the genuine-
ness of his faith and his ministry (“is now preaching the faith he once
tried to destroy”). Paul argues that he was fully accepted in Jerusalem
by Peter and James (1:18–19) as well as by the larger Christian commu-
nity in Judea, although he was unknown there (1:22–24). Therefore his
Judaizing opponents cannot legitimately claim for their position the
support of the Christians of Jerusalem and/or Judea against Paul.56
The fact that Paul mentions these Christians and their reaction to his call-
ing might suggest that he felt an obligation not only to the apostles and
the church in Jerusalem but also to the churches in Judea. Does Paul’s
statement imply that he would have liked to and even should have met
these people in person and should have ministered there as well?57
It is difficult to assess how much of the spread and nature of Jewish
Christianity in Judea the Galatian Christians knew and how they came
55 It is difficult to assess whether Paul has the area around Jerusalem in mind or refers
with Judea to the whole area inhabited by Jews; cf. O. Betz, “Ἰουδαία,” EWNT II, 468–70.
56 According to Acts 15:1 some opponents to the law-free mission to Gentiles had come
down to Antioch from Judea. The letter from the “council” acknowledges that (some of)
these men had come from Jerusalem (15:25).
57 Was Paul answering to criticism on the side of the Judaizers that he has not been
a prominent figure in the Jewish heartland? Who is Paul to speak with authority in the
Diaspora and to implement new rules for the acceptance of Gentiles into the people of
God? For detailed treatment of the passage see R. Schäfer, Paulus bis zum Apostelkonzil:
Ein Beitrag zur Einleitung in den Galaterbrief, zur Geschichte der Jesus-Bewegung und zur
Pauluschronologie (WUNT 2.179; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2004), 149–59.
to know it. Is that something Paul had shared with them? Was the suc-
cess of the gospel among the Jewish people or the lack thereof part of
his message? Did Paul know or assume that his opponents would claim
(legitimately or not) the support of Judean Christians (in addition to Jeru-
salem?) for their own position against Paul?
Paul confesses in Eph 3:8 that he is the very least of all the saints. This
shows that Paul relates his life and ministry to the wider Christian commu-
nity.58 In Col 2:1 speaks of Paul’s great struggle for his addressees in Colos-
sae, for the Christians at Laodicea and for those (other Christians) who had
not seen him face to face (cf. 2 Cor 11:28).59 Paul was concerned not only for
the churches he had founded, but also for those founded by his co-workers
(Colossae and Laodicaea) and for other congregations. His desire for these
Christians was that “their hearts may be encouraged, being knit together
in love . . .” (2:2; συμβιβασθέντες). Christians who had not seen him person-
ally in concrete locations (close by as in Colossae and Laodicaea) but also
elsewhere (how wide a range does Paul have in mind?) should be encour-
aged and joined together—locally and translocally. The verb συμβιβάζω is
used elsewhere of the body that is held together by joints and ligaments
(Eph 4:16; Col 2:19) in the metaphor of the body of Christ.60 Colossians 2:2
could be read as a summary of Eph 4:16: συμβιβαζόμενον . . . ἐν ἀγάπη. Paul’s
sees his ministry as an effort towards edification of individual congrega-
tions but also for larger units as churches are together under the one head
Christ and grow together so that the whole body builds itself up in love.
In Col 4:12–13 Paul commends his co-worker Epaphras who has worked
hard for the Colossians and for those [Christians] in Laodicaea and in
Hierapolis. Paul is well informed about these churches unknown to him
and about his co-workers. He fully endorses their ministry. Is the Colos-
sian Epaphras (“who is one of you” [v. 12]) the human agent to unite these
churches in the Lycos valley? Paul certainly lets the Colossians know that
58 Paul also refers to his previous activities as a persecutor of the church of God (1 Cor
15:9; Gal 1:13; Phil 3:6) which means the Christians of Jerusalem and those who had fled
from there to Damascus; cf. Dunn, Theology, 539.
59 T.K. Abbott, Epistles to the Ephesians and Colossians (ICC; repr. Edinburgh: T&T Clark,
1985), 237, notes that “Hierapolis is probably alluded to in the words καὶ, ὅσοι, κτλ . . . Here
there would be no meaning in mentioning two particular churches which had known him
personally, and then in general all who had not known him. The interference is there-
fore certain that he had never visited Colossae.” Paul’s concern for all the churches is also
expressed in Rom 1:8–15 and 15:22–24, 32–33.
60 Paul’s collection can be seen as an effort to bring together various Gentile Christian
churches and to bring together these churches with the church in Jerusalem.
he sees them as part of a regional network (2:1; 4:13, 15–16), which includes
the exchange of letters (4:16).
– In 2 Tim 1:15 Paul complains that all [the Christians] who are in Asia
have turned away from him (from himself or his understanding of the
faith), including Phygelus and Hermogenes (cf. also 4:16: “. . . no one
came to stand by me, but all deserted me”). Marshall notes that the
phrase “refers to all to whom Paul may have appealed for help at the
time,”61 although the reference could also be wider.62
Prayer
In his request to greet some individual Christians in the Roman congrega-
tions, Paul mentions that together with him all the churches of the Gen-
tiles (πᾶσαι αἰ ἐκκλησίαι τῶν ἐθνῶν) give thanks (to God) for Prisca and
Aquila (Rom 16:4).63 Apparently the couple and the particular action here
referred to was widely known and recognised in these communities, while
they may have been unknown in Jewish Christian circles. Paul speaks of
these churches in a summary form (without any reference to his involve-
ment in them).64
The widespread appreciation of this couple expressed in this way also
sheds positive light on Paul. In the letter he announces his visit to the
churches of Rome, which consisted of a large Gentile Christian group.
Paul had already co-operated with Prisca and Aquila who were widely
recognised and who are now in Rome (“my fellow workers in Christ Jesus
who risked their necks for my life”; cf. Rom 1:8, which states that the faith
61 The Pastoral Epistles (ICC; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1999), 717; cf. also Towner, Timothy,
480–82.
62 Towner, Timothy, 481: “Two people are singled out from the larger movement.” While
elsewhere Paul places himself in the midst of the early Christian congregations, here—in
this most personal letter—the picture is different. Paul admits how controversial he is and
that many have turned away from him in an area where he previously had a significant
ministry. The note signals that even in his (Roman?) imprisonment Paul is well informed
about developments among the Christians of Asia.
63 For the high level of mobility and the significance of the couple in early Christian
mission, see my “Married Women and the Spread of Early Christianity,” Neot 43 (2009):
145–94.
64 Fitzmyer (Romans, 736) notes that they “were probably remembered for the sup-
port and generosity they extended to Gentile Christian communities in Corinth or near
Ephesus and elsewhere.” It is noteworthy that Paul refers to many of the churches he had
founded (and others) as ἐκκλησία τῶν ἐθνῶν. What of the Jewish Christians that according
to Acts also belonged to these churches? Or should ἐκκλησία τῶν ἐθνῶν be taken as the
churches of the Gentile mission in contrast to the churches of Jerusalem and Judea?
of the Roman Christians is proclaimed in “all the world”). Further co-oper-

ation with such people would therefore be obvious.
The Christians of Jerusalem will long and pray for the Corinthians
because of the surpassing grace of God upon them which they will recog-
nise in the Corinthians’ participation in the collection (2 Cor 9:14): “The
‘saints’ of Jerusalem are also bound to Paul’s mission churches—at least,
so he writes with expectation—by ties of prayer and common grace.”65
The content of their supplication is not given.66
Paul prays that the Ephesians may have the strength to comprehend
with all the saints what is the breadth and length, etc. (3:18; cf. also 1:15).
At this point in a prayer for the Ephesians (1:16–17), all the saints come
into view (1:18).67 When Paul particularly prays for one congregation, he
has the other churches in mind as well (cf. 2 Cor 11:28, see below). At the
same time the Ephesians are admonished to make supplication for all the
saints, including Paul himself (Eph 6:18–19).68 While the primary focus
will be all the local Christians, the scope is wider and indicates a universal
perspective. Paul does not distinguish between the Ephesian Christians
and all the (other) saints: they all need the strength to comprehend. Sup-
plication beyond the confines of a particular community is not limited to
Paul, but is also expected of other Christians.
The Participation of the Addressees in the Spiritual Benefits as well as the

Challenges of the People of God
The readers of Ephesians and Colossians share in God’s glorious inheri-
tance in the saints (Eph 1:18; Col 1:12: sharing in the inheritance of the saints
in the light). They are assured to be fellow citizens with the saints and
members of the household of God (Eph 2:19). Paul prays that the readers
“may have the strength to comprehend with all the saints what is the
65 Martin, 2 Corinthians, 294.

66 Thanksgiving was mentioned in 9:12. Will they pray for the contents of vv. 8 and 10–11
to be fulfilled for the Corinthians?
67 Hoehner (Ephesians, 486) notes: “Growth in the individual believer cannot occur
in isolation but must be accomplished in context with other believers. Furthermore, true
growth cannot occur by association with only certain believers, ones preferred because
they are of the same socioeconomic, intellectual, or professional status. Paul prays that it
might be accomplished in association with all the saints.”
68 Hoehner (Ephesians, 858) relates the focus of the prayer to the previous verses:
“. . . individual saints involved in warfare compose an entire army that collectively bat-
tles against the enemy . . . in this spiritual battle there should be mutual concern for one
another, demonstrated by prayer for each other.”
breadth . . .” (Eph 3:18; see above). The readers are part of this larger entity
beyond the confines of their congregations. Of this entity Paul considers
himself to be the very least (of all the saints; Eph 3:8). God’s mystery has
now been revealed to his saints (Col 1:26; cf. the body imagery in v. 24: “for
the sake of his body, that is, the church”).
Paul prays that the Thessalonians may be blameless at the coming
of the Lord Jesus Christ together with all his saints (1 Thess 3:13). These
“saints” will include not only Thessalonian believers who had died wait-
ing for the parousia (4:13–18), but also Christians no longer alive then. In
2 Thess 1:10 Paul writes that Jesus will come to be glorified by his saints
and to be marvelled at on that day among all who have believed (πᾶσιν τοῖς
πιστεύσασιν). Again the reference is wider than the immediate addressees
of the letter, who are placed in a larger group.
In their reception of the word in much affliction with the joy of the
Holy Spirit, the Thessalonian Christians became an example to all the
believers in Macedonia and Achaia (1 Thess 1:7). How all the believers in
these regions heard of the Thessalonians is not directly mentioned.69 The
news of their exemplary faith in God has gone forth everywhere so that
Paul, Silvanus and Timothy need not say anything (1:8; now and in the
future? Have they done so in the past?). These believers from Macedonia
and Achaia (“for they themselves” [1:9]; in contrast to 2:1: “For you your-
selves know . . .”) knew how positively the missionaries had been received
by the Thessalonians and knew of the details of their conversion from
idols to serve the living and true God.70 Paul knew of these reports of
the ministry in Thessalonica to all believers of Macedonia and Achaia.
Whatever the details, these assertions presuppose intense translocal com-
munication: the experiences of the Christians in Thessalonica and their
response were of interest and concern to all the believers everywhere and
were widely reported. Christians in one place set a positive example for
others to follow.
69 Who was instrumental in the spread of the news indicated in 1:8: “The word of the
Lord sounded forth from you not only in Macedonia and Achaia”? Does this refer to the
(subsequent) mission of Paul, Silvanus and Timothy (1:1) in these areas and/or to mis-
sionary activities beyond their city of the Thessalonians themselves? Cf. J.P. Ware, “The
Thessalonians as a Missionary Congregation: 1 Thessalonians 1.5–8,” ZNW 83 (1992): 126–31
and C. vom Brocke, Thessaloniki—Stadt des Kassander und Gemeinde des Paulus: Eine frühe
christliche Gemeinde in ihrer heidnischen Umwelt (WUNT 2.125; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck,
2001), 103–13 (“Die Metropole und ihre Ausstrahlung”).
70 Is the reputation of the Thessalonians linked to their being the “firstfruits to be
saved” (2 Thess 2:13)?
Paul informed the Thessalonians about what other Christians knew of

them in order to encourage them and to prompt them in their persever-
ance. In their precarious situation they have the comfort of being embed-
ded in the Christian communities of their region (Macedonia and Achaia)
and well beyond (“has gone forth everywhere”). The suffering they experi-
ence and their exemplary response is known to the wider community. In
a sense, the Thessalonians are “under observation” and have a reputation
to lose before other Christians. At the same time, other Christians will
intercede for them.
However, their experiences were not only known to fellow Christians
in their area. Although both communities lived in different areas and had
a different background, Paul draws parallels between the suffering of the
Thessalonians and of the Christians in Judea71 (2:14): “For you became imi-
tators of the churches of God in Christ Jesus that are in Judea.72 For you
suffered the same things from your own countrymen73 as they did from
the Jews.”
With this reference to the Judean Christians, Paul comforts the Thes-
salonians: They can be sure that the suffering they are experiencing, harsh
though it is, is not exceptional. In their suffering they imitate and share
in the suffering of Jewish believers in Judea. Even they had to suffer from
their fellow Jews!74 The Thessalonians’ suffering indicates that they are on
par with the first Jewish believers. As the point of comparison is suffer-
ing by compatriots (even more disturbing than suffering from foreigners!),
which the Thessalonians had not experienced before their conversion,
Paul does not provide any details about the suffering of the Judean Chris-
tians or of his own involvement in it (cf. Acts 4:1–22; 5:17–42; 6:11–8:4; 9:1;
12:1–24). The Thessalonians might have heard details from Paul at an ear-
lier occasion or from others.
71 Judea here might have the more confined sense of the surroundings of Jerusalem or
a general reference to all of Palestine (cf. O. Betz, “Ἰουδαία,” 468–70). However, this does
not affect the point of Paul’s comparison.
72 This is one of two Pauline references to the churches of Judea (cf. Gal 1:22). Both
appear in early letters of Paul. Was Paul at a later stage not informed about the develop-
ments there? Did he lose interest? Was Paul disappointed by the resistance to his mission
that arose in these areas (cf. Acts 15:15)? In Rom 15:31 Paul anticipates trouble from the
unbelieving Jews in Judea during his impending visit in Jerusalem. In 2 Cor 1:16 Paul reports
that at some point in the past he intended to be sent on by the Corinthians on his way to
Jerusalem (at the end of the second missionary journey?).
73 Cf. vom Brocke, Thessaloniki, 152–66.
74 Cf. 1 Pet 5:9 with its wider comparison: “. . . knowing that the same kinds of sufferings
are being experienced by your brotherhood throughout the world.”
There is a worldwide bond and fellowship of Christians in suffering.75

This fellowship and the awareness of it is to help the Thessalonians to
develop a proper perspective on their experience (it is part and parcel of
the Christian experience from the beginning) and to comfort them. Paul
does not share information about other Christians in this way merely to
satisfy curiosity but out of spiritual and pastoral concern.
Responsibility for “All the Saints”

Paul urges the Thessalonians to continue to “love one another, for that
indeed is what you are doing to all the brothers throughout Macedonia. But
we urge you, brothers, to do this more and more” (1 Thess 4:10). The broth-
erly love that comes from God (“for you yourselves have been taught by
God to love one another”) is not locally limited (although this is where its
first scope lies) but was directed from the beginning also to a wider circle
of recipients: “love one another . . . what you are doing to all the brothers.”
There is no distinction here between a local circle of Christians and a
wider community.
We do not know how the love of the Thessalonians to all the Chris-
tians of Macedonia manifested itself. In the context of his collection, Paul
praises the Macedonians for their generous participation despite their
poverty: “. . . their abundance of joy and their extreme poverty have over-
flowed in a wealth of generosity on their part” (2 Cor 8:2).76 Were the
Thessalonians less poor than other Macedonian Christians and therefore
able to help them financially? Was it through this display of love that their
example in suffering (1 Thess 1:6–8) became widely known in Macedonia
and Achaia?
The fellowship expressed in supplication and thanksgiving for other
Christians appears also in the references to “all the saints” in Ephesians
and Colossians, in which the addressees are set in a larger context: Paul
heard of the Ephesian Christians’ faith in Christ Jesus and of their love
toward all the saints (Eph 1:15; cf. Col 1:4). The love for all the saints also
expressed itself in praying for all the saints (Eph 6:18; see above).
75 Is the sure wrath upon the opponents of the Judean Christians, which is mentioned
in 1 Thess 2:16, intended as comfort for the Thessalonians, on whose persecutors divine
wrath will come in similar fashion?
76 Cf. Furnish, II Corinthians, 413: “The apostle’s comment about the extreme poverty of
the churches in Macedonia shows that he perceives the Corinthian Christians to be rela-
tively well off. For a discussion of the reasons for this poverty in Macedonia, see ibid., 413.
While some references to “(all) the saints” are locally confined in their
range (see above), other references to “the saints” also have a local refer-
ence but at the same time probably point to a wider group of Christians,
even without the addition πάντας:
– Paul charges the Romans to contribute to the needs of the saints and
to show hospitality (12:13). The mention of hospitality may suggest that
more than strictly local needs are in view, in particular when more than
the provision of meals is intended.77
– Of the Corinthians, Paul particularly highlights the members of the
household of Stephanas who have devoted themselves to the service of
the saints (1 Cor 16:15). The immediate reference of the “saints” will be
the local Christians. However, as Paul speaks of the coming of Stepha-
nas (and others) to refresh the apostle’s spirit (16:18) and as he referred
to the Christians of Jerusalem in 16:1 as “saints”, it is possible that the
service to the saints of this group also included service to others.
– Paul speaks of the coming of the Lord Jesus Christ together with all
his saints (1 Thess 3:13). This refers to the Thessalonians who have died
before the parousia, but is not limited to them.
– Philemon is praised for his love for all the saints (Phlm 5). As Paul him-
self derived much joy and comfort from Philemon’s love, a wider circle
of recipients is likely (v. 7, in addition to πάντας). Through Philemon
the hearts of the saints had been refreshed (v. 7). Likewise the Ephesian
Christians are commended for their faith in the Lord Jesus and their
love toward all the saints (Eph 1:15).
References in the Context of Ethical Instruction

A number of Paul’s references to Christians other than his addressees
appear in the context of ethical instruction.
The Roman Christians are asked to welcome Phoebe of the church in
Cenchreae (16:1)78 in the Lord in a way worthy of the saints (Rom 16:2).
77 Cf. Rom 16:1–2 and Paul’s own intentions to come to Rome.

78 This is one instance where Paul mentions the local church to which an individual
Christian belongs. This case is noteworthy as Paul does not directly refer to the church in
Cenchreae elsewhere; neither is it mentioned in Acts (in a number of cases Paul speaks of
the Christians/churches of Achaia; Rom 15:26; 1 Cor 16:15; 2 Cor 1:1; 9:2; 11:10, 1 Thess 1:7–8).
Why this information is included here is difficult to assess. Was the church there known
to some of the people mentioned in the list of greetings, e.g. to Aquila and Priscilla? On
Phoebe and Cenchreae, see Fitzmyer, Romans, 728–33.
Does Paul leave it to his readers to decide what constitutes a “worthy”

reception of fellow Christians or does “worthy of the saints” presuppose
some standard of hospitality shown by Christians to fellow Christians?79
Was this “way worthy of the saints” known to the Roman Christians? Paul
requests such a reception for Phoebe. In the same letter he also announces
his own intention to come to Rome—where he presumably expects to be
received by the Roman Christians in the same way!
In his instructions to the Corinthians Paul on several occasions refers in
a general way to other churches:
– Believers are to live as they have been called by the Lord. The Corin-
thian Christians are no exception this rule, as this is Paul’s rule in all
the churches (1 Cor 7:17). Earlier he mentioned his ways in Christ, “as
he teaches them everywhere in every church” (1 Cor 4:17). David Garland
comments on the function of Paul’s reference to all the churches, Paul’s
orbit of influence:
First, it reminds them of his authoritative teaching as an apostle. Second,
it makes clear that he is not giving them ad hoc counsel. This principle is
the rule of thumb everywhere. Third, by appealing to the practices of other
churches, as he does throughout the letter (cf. 4:17; 11:16; 14:33; 16:1), he noti-
fies them that deviating from this principle makes them peculiar.80
– The Corinthian Christians are charged to give no offense to Jews or

Greeks nor to the church of God (1 Cor 10:32) in their dealing with meat
sacrificed to idols (10:23–31). Their behaviour is not to cause offense to
non-believers and to the church of God. If Paul has only certain Corin-
thians in view in his warning of idolatry, the primary reference would
be the local congregation as the church of God (in contrast to the assem-
bly of demons).81 If the whole congregation is addressed, the reference
to the church of God refers not only to the congregation in Corinth but
79 Does the expression “the standard of teaching to which the Romans were commit-
ted” (Rom 6:17) presuppose some kind of widespread early Christian catechism? Did this
teaching include ethics “worthy of the saints” (cf. Eph 4:1; Phil 1:27; Col 1:10; 1 Thess 2:12)?
The case has been argued in 1903 by A. Seeberg, “Moral Teaching: The Existence and Con-
tents of ‘the Ways’,” in B.S. Rosner (ed.), Understanding Paul’s Ethics: Twentieth Century
Approaches (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1995), 155–75.
80 1 Corinthians (BECNT; Grand Rapids: Baker, 2003), 304.
81 So e.g. Dunn, Theology, 541: “The sequence indicates clearly enough that by ‘the
church of God’ Paul had in mind the church in Corinth (10:23–33). ‘Jews and Greeks’ could
be referred to vaguely as the social groups most likely to influence and to interact locally
with believers in Christ.”
also to the wider Christian community.82 This would imply that the mis-
behaviour of the Corinthians would become known to other churches
and cause offense there. Paul does not indicate how this would happen.
According to this wider understanding of the church, the behaviour of
the Corinthian Christians is not a “local matter” only but affects the
(whole) church of God. They are to regard not only each other and
their own consciences but are to act with a view to other churches and
their standards.
– Paul closes the discussion of women wearing head coverings by refus-
ing further strife and challenge to his position: “If anyone is inclined to
be contentious, we have no such practice, nor do the churches of God ”
(1 Cor 11:16). What was propagated by some Corinthians contradicts the
practice and position of the churches of God. This general statement
does not allow for an exception. With his position Paul claims to be
not alone, but in agreement with the wider Christian community. This
adds to his authority and the force of his argument: the Corinthians,
rather than Paul, stand isolated by their practice. In Garland’s words:
they are peculiar.
With his rhetorical question “Or do you despise the church of God and
humiliate those who have nothing?” (1 Cor 11:22), Paul primarily refers to
other Corinthian Christians (11:21), whose needs are disregarded and who
do not benefit from the sharing at the Lord’s Supper. If those who have
nothing to eat or to contribute to a common meal are humiliated, the
church of God (which consists of such people or at least also includes
them) is despised. In view of the body metaphors in 1 Cor 12:12–31, it is
possible that Paul refers to an entity wider than the local congregation
that is directly affected by such misconduct.
– In his discussion of orderly worship in 1 Cor 14:26–40, Paul refers in

his charge to the women to be silent to the practice (ὡς) of all the
churches of the saints (v. 33).83 Paul claims that it is not he who—with
82 This is argued e.g. by Eckstein, Gemeinde, 195: “. . . so muss er in 1 Kor 10:32 eine über-
geordnete Einrichtung im Blick haben: Hier erscheint die ἐκκλησία θεοῦ als dritte Größe
neben Juden und Heiden, und die Korinther werden ausgefordert, keinem von diesen
dreien Anlass zu einem Vorwurf zu geben. Damit wird deutlich, dass sich ‘Kirche’ für
Paulus nicht allein im Bereich der Ortsgemeinde erschöpft, sondern eine Größe ist, die
gemeindeübergreifenden Charakter hat.”
83 Cf. Garland, 1 Corinthians, 669–70. Garland notes on the addition “of the saints”: “It
is remotely possible that Paul has reference to Jewish churches, since the saints are con-
nected to the Jerusalem church in 16:1 (cf. Rom. 15:25–26, 31; 2 Cor. 8:4; 9:1)” (669).
this charge—argues for a minority position in the church. Rather the

Corinthians (whose practice disagrees with Paul’s convictions) have left
the consensus of all the churches of the saints. The unanimous practice
of all the churches is normative for each individual congregation. Did
the Corinthians know of this consensus? Did Paul expect them to sim-
ply take his word for it?
It is clear that Paul’s references to other Christians/churches constitute

part of his argumentative strategy in the Corinthian correspondence to
defend his apostolic authority, which some Corinthians severely chal-
lenged. How were these statements received in Corinth? Did they impress
those who challenged Paul? Did Paul expect the Corinthians to simply
take his word for what happened in all the churches? To what extent were
they aware of other churches and their practices? First Corinthians 1:12
suggests that they were aware of at least two other Christian leaders.84
Ephesians 5:3 warns against sexual immorality, all impurity and cov-
etousness. These things must not even be named among Christians, “as
is proper among the saints.” While the expression “the saints” obviously
includes the addressees of the letter, the reference is also wider: “The term
‘saints’ refers to all believers.”85 Rejection of such behaviour is a hallmark
of all saints. Some of these statements might imply that there was an
accepted “ethical standard” in early Christianity which was known in vari-
ous congregations.
References in the Context of Paul’s Collection

A concentration of references to Christians other than the addressees
appears in the context of Paul’s collection for the saints in Jerusalem.86
They are treated in a category of their own, although they also concern
the ministry of Paul and translocal responsibility of Christians for (all)
the saints.
Concerning the collection, the Corinthians are to follow the same
instructions as the Galatian Christians (1 Cor 16:1): “. . . as I directed the
84 Does 1 Cor 9:5–6. suggest that the Corinthians had met some of these travelling
apostles or Barnabas or at least that they knew of them? Such notes as well as the many
references to Paul’s opponents require due caution in speaking of “Pauline” churches, as if
his influence was the only force in predominantly Gentile Christianity.
85 Hoehner, Ephesians, 654.
86 Cf. the recent treatment by Downs, Offering of the Gentiles; cf. my review in ETL 85
(2009): 559–63.
churches of Galatia, so you also are to do. . . . ” Because Paul gives instruc-
tions on how to successfully collect the sum in vv. 2–3, the reference to his
identical direction of the Galatians does not imply that the instructions
were already known in Corinth, although this is possible.
With this reference to the churches of Galatia, Paul assures the Corinth-
ians that other churches, even the churches of whole areas (as remote
as they are from Jerusalem),87 were also involved in the collection. The
collection was not a “private project” of Paul and the Corinthians. It was
not a way of getting money from them after having refused their fund-
ing earlier on, as some Corinthians may have suspected. In addition, the
same instructions apply to all the churches participating (more or less
voluntarily!) in this diakonia.88 Paul does not make exceptional demands
of the Corinthians—they are to follow the general instruction: οὕτως καὶ
ὑμεῖς ποιήσατε.
First Corinthians 16:1 does not indicate whether the Galatians actually
followed these instructions.89 As Gaius from Derbe and Timothy (from
Lystra) are mentioned among the delegation which gathered in Corinth
to deliver the funds to Jerusalem (Acts 20:4), we may assume that Paul’s
instructions to the Galatians had some measure of success. Interestingly,
no member of the delegation from Corinth or Achaia is mentioned in
that context.90
Paul begins the section devoted to the collection in 2 Corinthians by
informing the Corinthians of enthusiastic support for the collection among
the Macedonians: “We want you to know . . . about the grace of God that
has been given among the churches of Macedonia” (8:1). The implementa-
tion of this work of grace is then described: in a severe test of affliction
87 A further similarity with the Corinthians is that Paul had considerable trouble with
the Galatians in the past, as is indicated by his letter to them.
88 Cf. A. Hentschel, Diakonia im Neuen Testament: Studien zur Semantik unter beson-
derer Berücksichtigung der Rolle von Frauen (WUNT 2.226; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2006),
146–56.
89 It is difficult to relate the only reference to a collection in Galatians (i.e. the agree-
ment of Gal 2:10 that Paul would [continue to] remember the poor) to the collection
project in Romans and 1–2 Corinthians. If Galatians was written at a late date to Chris-
tians in North Galatia, then it is difficult to understand why Paul would not mention the
collection directly as in Romans and 1–2 Corinthians. Galatians 2:10 has a personal note,
pace Hentschel, Diakonia, 155: “Obwohl Paulus die Verpflichtung zur Geldspende aus dem
Apostelkonzil ableitet, sieht er sich nicht oder zumindest nicht allein in der Rolle des
Auftraggebers für dieses Unternehmen, sondern er delegiert die Verpflichtung und auch
die Verantwortung an die von ihm gegründeten heidenchristlichen Gemeinden. . . .”
90 Was it part of Paul’s strategy to wait for the delegates and their contributions
in Greece/Corinth to put additional pressure on the Corinthians, or was it a matter of
safety?
their abundance of joy and their extreme poverty have overflowed in a

wealth of generosity (8:2, all the way through to v. 5). Paul’s praise of the
Macedonians to the Corinthians was to challenge them and spur them on
to contribute with similar commitment.91
Paul calls the Corinthians to excel in this matter as they have excelled
in others. He creates a sense of rivalry between the Christians of Mace-
donia and Corinth. In the ancient value system of honour and shame,
in particular when honour was considered a desirable but limited good,
this was a powerful strategy. The earnestness of others (i.e. the Macedon-
ians), which Paul reports in some detail, was to prove the genuineness of
the Corinthians’ love (v. 8).92 They were to complete now what they had
begun in the past (vv. 10–13).
Paul then relates the contribution of the Corinthians to the recipients
in Jerusalem (“others” [v. 13]) and shows that the collection was not to be
a one-way effort. Currently the abundance of the Corinthians can supply
the need of the “saints.” However, there might be a time when the Cor-
inthians will benefit from the abundance of others (8:13–14). Thus Chris-
tians of different places and regions are interrelated: they are responsible
for each other not only in prayer, but should also care for each other
materially (see above).93
While commending Titus for his involvement in the collection, Paul
also mentions the sending of an unnamed brother who “is famous among
all the churches for his preaching of the gospel” (2 Cor 8:18).94 Why did
Paul include this information? Did he fear that this man might be rejected
by some Corinthians? For some reason Paul does not mention the name of
91 Paul’s sending of Titus to complete the collection among the Corinthians suggests
that Paul did not rely on his previous charge to the Corinthians and the good examples of
other Christians (8:6). Somebody trusted by Paul was to see to the matter on the spot.
92 The giving of the Macedonian Christians is mentioned again in 2 Cor 11:9. Paul
accepted from the Macedonians what he refused from the Corinthians; on the relationship
of Paul’s refusal of support in Corinth and his urgent call to participate in the collection
see Furnish, II Corinthians, 508: “His promotion of this project at the same time that he was
declining to let the congregation become his own patron evidently aroused the suspicion,
or allowed his rivals to plant the suspicion, that the collection was but a subterfuge, a way
of gaining the support from the Corinthians without obliging himself to them as their
client (see 12:16). This, too, seems to be behind Paul’s remarks in 11:5–15.”
93 The description of the collection in 1–2 Corinthians does not imply an elevated pos-
ition of the church in Jerusalem over others (cf. the different emphasis in Rom 15:27).
94 For suggestions concerning his identity see Martin, 2 Corinthians, 275. If the man is
indeed from Macedonia, Aristarchus or Secundus of the Thessalonians are good guesses
(Acts 20:4).
the person as he usually does with his co-workers.95 As a gifted evangelist,

this man gained a widespread reputation. Therefore, whatever his name
and previous links with Paul—he is beyond reproach and his involvement
together with Titus should be welcomed by the Corinthians. The Corinth-
ians had better appreciate a man with such a reputation! Paul’s co-worker
Titus, strongly recommended by Paul (vv. 16–17; his care for the Corinth-
ians was prompted by God) and coming to the Corinthians of his own
accord, will be joined by a man esteemed by all the churches.
The recommendation of this unnamed man goes even further: “And not
only that [i.e. famous among all the churches], but he has been appointed
by the churches to travel with us as we carry out this act of grace that is
being ministered by us” (2 Cor 8:19). Several churches (the churches of
Macedonia?) appointed him to be responsible for their contribution to
the collection and to travel with Paul to Jerusalem. His appointment and
sending to Corinth adds to the transparency of the collection in order
to show Paul’s good will in the matter (8:19–21). A number of churches
(cf. the praise of the churches in Macedonia in 8:1) have already willingly
joined the collection project, have collected their funds by now and have
sent them to Paul through an appointed representative. The Corinthians
had better follow their example.
This man, appointed by these churches (perhaps of their own initia-
tive, since nothing indicates Paul’s involvement), was then to be sent on
to Corinth with Paul. This is an example of several churches providing a
representative for one of Paul’s projects.
In addition to Titus and this brother, Paul mentions a further unnamed
brother (“. . . whom we have often tested and found earnest in many
matters”). He is now more earnest than ever because of his great con-
fidence in the Corinthians (8:22). Another person appears on the scene
whose authority the Corinthians should respect and whom they better not
disappoint! While Titus is described as Paul’s partner and fellow worker
for the benefit of the Corinthians (εἰς ὑμᾶς συβεργός; commissioned by
Paul, participating in his mission and authority), the two unnamed men
are “delegates of the churches (ἀπόστολοι ἐκκλησιῶν) and an honour to
Christ” (8:23).96 They come to Corinth with the recognition and authority
of Paul and of (all) the churches: the Corinthians had better respect them
and co-operate with them.
95 The only other exception is Phil 4:2. However, not all named persons in Paul’s letters
were his co-workers.
96 Cf. the discussion in Martin, 2 Corinthians, 277–79.
Paul then calls on the Corinthians to give proof εἰς πρόσωπον τῶν
ἐκκλησιῶν [in Macedonia and wherever these famous men have been
commissioned] of their love and of Paul’s boasting about them to these
men (8:24). Their participation in the collection is not a private enterprise
but is set in a larger context: they need to prove something to Paul, to his
co-worker and the two delegates, and to the wider Christian community.
Their involvement or lack thereof will become known. The matter is no
longer between the Corinthians and Paul alone.
These two men, if they are not convinced by the Corinthians’ love, will
be disappointed in view of Paul’s boast, and perhaps willing to express
this disappointment before the churches. Is Paul himself threatening
that he himself will see to such publicity, should the Corinthians not join
wholeheartedly? To use an image: The Corinthians are put on stage to per-
form, instructed by the producers,97 while the churches are observing from
the ranks. This argument presupposes that the Corinthians were aware of
these churches and were concerned about their own reputation among
them. The geographical proximity of Corinth to Macedonia might explain
why Paul refers to the Macedonians as well as to the other churches.98
Paul further informs the Corinthians that he has boasted of their readi-
ness (to participate in the collection) to the Macedonians, saying that the
Christians of Achaia have been ready to participate since last year (9:2).99
Although the actual gathering of the collection in Corinth apparently had
its problems, Paul used their example to spur on other Christians (Paul
diplomatically emphasises their readiness, not whether they have actually
started collecting the funds; cf. 1 Cor 16:1–4). His strategy was successful:
Hearing of the zeal of the Corinthians has stirred up most of the Macedon-
ians (9:2)—as far as we know. Paul not only informed the Macedonians
about the Corinthians, he also tells the Corinthians of the Macedonians’
by-and-large satisfactory response (“most of them”).
In order that Paul’s boasting about the Corinthians may not prove
empty, Paul sends the three brothers mentioned previously (cf. also v. 5),
97 2 Cor 9:1 indicates that the Corinthians had been well informed (cf. also 1 Cor 16:1).
This must have happened during one of Paul’s visits, in one of his lost letters to the Cor-
inthians, or through one of his co-workers.
98 The expression “saints” in 2 Cor 9:1 refers to the Christians of Jerusalem.
99 It is not clear how Paul has done so, though he certainly played an important role
in maintaining communication between early Christian communities. Was it by a visit in
Macedonia on his way from Corinth to Ephesus, the place of writing? Was it through one
or more of his co-workers or through a letter?
so that the Corinthians would indeed be ready as Paul had informed the
Macedonians that they would be. Apparently the Corinthians still need
some prompting to participate in the way Paul has in mind. Paul’s pres-
sure on the Corinthians increases with 9:4: “Otherwise, if some Macedon-
ians come with me [back to Corinth and from there to Jerusalem] and
discover that the Corinthians are not ready [i.e. failed to collect a larger
sum of money according to the instructions in 1 Cor 16:1–4], Paul would be
humiliated, because he confidently boasted of the Corinthians, and they
would also be humiliated: “to say nothing of you” (9:2–4).100
Paul’s reference to the Macedonians and to his initiative of informing
them about the commitment of the Corinthians serves to urge the Cor-
inthians on. They had not asked Paul to do so—he had done so of his own
initiative and makes sure that they know of it! Pressure is put on them to
perform as they had promised (9:5) and to save Paul and themselves the
humiliation of not living up to his boasting.101
Finally Paul informs the Corinthians of the anticipated response of the
saints in Jerusalem to the collection: it will not only supply their material
need (9:12), but will also overflow in thanksgiving and praise to God. “By
their approval of this service,102 they will glorify God because of your
submission flowing from your confession of the gospel of Christ and the
generosity of your contribution for them and for all others” (9:13). For the
Christians in Jerusalem the Corinthians’ participation in the collection
was a sign of their submission to the gospel which finds expression in
generosity (cf. Rom 15:27).
The last words of v. 13 (“and for all others”) do not mean that the saints
will also glorify God over the involvement of other churches, but suggest
that the Corinthians also shared with (all) other Christians: “. . . the gener-
osity of those who graciously share their resources with them and (so the
100 This is what apparently happened later on. After leaving Ephesus, Paul came to
Macedonia and then moved on westward to Greece (Acts 20:1). From there he departed
three month later with several Christians, who had not been with him so far on the third
missionary journey. Among the men mentioned are the two Macedonians Aristarchus and
Secundus from Thessalonica. They must have come to Paul from different places while he
was in Greece (Corinth?). Paul’s letter to the Romans also points to Corinth as the place
of writing (16:1–2.; the Gaius of 16:23 is equated with the Gaius of 1 Cor 1:14) immediately
before the departure to Jerusalem in order to deliver the collection (15:25).
101 Was pressure on the Corinthians Paul’s intention from the beginning when he
informed the Macedonians? Primarily, Paul’s goal was to spur on the Macedonians.
102 Does this note imply some hesitation on Paul’s side as to the acceptance of the col-
lection; cf. Rom 15:31?
saints may presume) with all Christian brothers and sisters.”103 Although
some of this sharing will have happened among the Corinthians, it was
not locally limited: εἰς πάντας. Martin comments: “This should strictly
mean that the Gentile congregations raised money for other churches and
worthy causes other than the needs of the people at Jerusalem.” However,
as there is no knowledge of such actions, Martin suggests that the phrase
must be taken “to be a general one in praise of the generous spirit that
moves the readers, and would move them wherever there may be need.”104
Yet, the fact that we might not know of such actions, does not mean that
Paul simply praises a generous attitude. Therefore the statement should
be taken at face value. Neither do we know what role Paul played in this
sharing.105
In addition to their praise of God, the Christians of Jerusalem will long
and pray for the Corinthians106 because of the surpassing grace of God
upon the Corinthians which the saints will recognise (9:14). Through the
delegation, the saints in Jerusalem will hear in detail of the various Gen-
tile Christian churches which it represents and of the grace of God at work
in them (cf. Acts 21:19: “he related one by one the things that God had done
among the Gentiles through his ministry”), how and why they had become
donors and of the spiritual expectations attached to the collection.
The object of this longing and prayer are the Corinthians: “. . . because
of the surpassing grace of God they shall have perceived to be at work in
the Corinthian congregation”107 they “long for you . . . pray for you . . . grace
of God upon you.” Did Paul anticipate that the same longing and pray-
ing applied to Gentile Christians involved in the collection (and possibly
beyond)?
In Rom 15:25, Paul announces that he is about to travel to Jerusalem
to bring aid to the saints there. In this context Paul tells the Romans of
103 Furnish, II Corinthians, 451. For the limitation to Christians, see Furnish, II Corinth-
ians, 445.
104 2 Corinthians, 294 (italics mine).
105 Does this sharing that already took place account for the Corinthians’ reservation
to get involved? Does Paul refer to funds that he expected churches to contribute to his
mission (cf. Dickson, Mission-Commitment, 178–213: “Providing for the Gospel: Mission-
Commitment as Financial Assistance”)? The possible involvement of Paul in this sharing
needs to be seen in the context of his financial policy with regard to the Corinthians.
106 Furnish, II Corinthians, 452: “Those who have been aided by the collection will also
respond with intercessory prayers on behalf of their benefactors.” In view of early Jewish
views of Gentiles, this longing of Jewish Christians for Gentile Christians is all the more
remarkable.
107 Cf. Furnish, II Corinthians, 452.
the response of their fellow Christians to the collection he had organised:

“For (the Christians of) Macedonia and Achaia have been pleased to make
some contribution for the poor among the saints at Jerusalem” (15:26). In
Romans Paul mentions a further theological motivation (cf. 2 Cor 9:11–14):
these Christians have not only been pleased to contribute (εὐδόκησαν;
which in view of 1–2 Cor does not quite apply to the Corinthians), but
also that they owe such service: “For if the Gentiles have come to share in
their spiritual blessings [i.e. of the Jewish Christians], they ought to also
be of service to them in material blessings” (15:27). These statements indi-
cate translocal responsibility in mutual material support (see above) and
an obligation among early Christian churches. While help for the poor
applies to all churches—K. Haacker aptly speaks of an innerkirchlicher
Lastenausgleich108—the particular spiritual blessings from Jerusalem and
the corresponding obligation for the Gentile recipients to the saints is a
unique feature. Why did Paul mention the collection to the Romans?
– The mention of the collection was to inform readers why Paul—

although heading for Rome and Spain—is returning from Corinth
to Jerusalem before proceeding to Rome (15:28). This move eastward
needs explanation in view of Paul’s assurance that for a long period of
time he had planned to come to Rome (1:11–15; 15:22–24). In view of the
eager participation of these churches and Paul’s responsibility to them,
he needs to finish this task before coming to Rome.
– It serves as a backdrop to the following request for prayer (15:31).
– The collection was a welcome opportunity for Paul to demonstrate to
the Roman Christians, in particular the Jewish Christians, his own Jew-
ish identity, his allegiance to Jerusalem and his concern for the Jewish
Christians there. Their significance was discussed in Rom 11. Romans
15:26–28 needs to be read against Rom 9–11. As apostle to the Gentiles,
Paul wholeheartedly adheres to the salvation-historical priority of Israel
(Rom 1:16). Yes, the Gentiles came to share in the spiritual blessings of
Israel, and they should do so—even beyond Rome in Spain. The Gen-
tile Christians are to recognise their place in this history and their posi-
tion toward Israel. This recognition was to express itself in respect and
material help. Whatever has been said of him in Rome (cf. Rom 3:8)—it
is not a quarrelsome man ready to denounce Israel who plans to visit
108 Der Brief des Paulus an die Römer (3d ed.; THKNT 6; Leipzig: EVA, 2006), 8.
to Rome (and is therefore to be feared); but rather someone concerned

with mutually positive relationships between Jews and Gentiles.
– The mention of the collection also demonstrates to the Roman Chris-
tians that—although by no means an undisputed figure—Paul has a
large following in the Eastern Mediterranean: the churches of whole
regions have supported the collection he organised on behalf of others!
However, his engaged rhetoric in 1 and 2 Corinthians also shows that
support for this project was by no means self-evident and took all of
Paul’s determination and skills.
– Paul informs the Romans that other Christians (of two substantial areas
in the East) have already supported a “project” of Paul on behalf of
others beyond their own communities. Therefore his request to the
Romans to support his missionary activities in the Western Mediter-
ranean (Spain) is not without precedent: “I hope to see you in passing
as I go to Spain, and to be helped on my journey there by you . . .” (15:24).
The Romans should not fail to do for the West what others had done
for the East.
Whichever of these considerations applies, it is apparent that the men-

tion of the Christians of Macedonia and Achaia serves Paul’s purpose as
displayed elsewhere in Romans.
Paul requests prayer for himself and his travel plans and on behalf of
the saints (of Jerusalem). Paul also asks his readers to strive with him in
their prayers that the collection for Jerusalem would actually be accepted
by the Jerusalem saints (15:31). The prayers of Roman Christians were to
move the hearts of the saints of Jerusalem. Does the observation that Paul
does not elaborate on the origin, history, numbers or present situation
of these saints suggest that the Romans were otherwise informed about
them? Neither does Paul explain why a larger sum of money of Gentile
Christian origin could be a problem for the saints in Jerusalem. Is this
not his point or could Paul assume that the Romans knew? On the eve of
presenting the collection to its recipients, Paul was well enough informed
about the situation in Jerusalem to anticipate a problem.109
This request is Paul’s only expression of doubt about the outcome of
the collection; its rejection is a real possibility. Other than the passages
dealing with his opponents, Paul here indicates that his ministry or some
109 For a persuasive reconstruction, see Haacker, Römer, 9–10.

aspects of it were disputed among some Christians whereas he otherwise

claims the acceptance and support of all Christians (see above). There are
several explanations why Paul may have included this information. There
is Paul’s belief in the power of the fellowship in prayer in view of impend-
ing problems—after all, Paul asks for their prayers! Possibly Paul wanted
to prepare the Romans—who were likely to have heard of this collection
project from him or others—for its potential failure.110
Salutations and Greetings

Paul claims that all the churches of Christ greet the Romans (Rom 16:16).
The greeting serves to convey a sense of translocal fellowship to the
Roman Christians: they are part of a larger entity. Other Christians are
concerned about them. Yet, the greeting also suggests that Paul is in touch
with all the churches from Jerusalem and all the way around to Illyricum
and can speak on their behalf.111 They know of the Romans (cf. 1:8: “your
faith is proclaimed in all the world”), and know of and support his plans
to visit the Romans on his way to Spain. Although his opponents misrep-
resent Paul’s teaching and slander him (3:8: “. . . as some people slander-
ously charge us with saying”) and although he is a disputed figure, many
Christians, indeed all the churches are behind the apostle and greet the
churches he intends to visit in the near future.112 The Romans’ response
to Paul’s quest for hospitality and help on the journey is likewise before
all the churches.
Paul greets the church of God that is in Corinth which is sanctified in
Christ Jesus and called to be saints “together with all those who in every
place call on the name of the Lord, both their Lord and ours” (1 Cor 1:2).
In this way the Corinthian Christians are placed in a larger context:
110 Interestingly, Paul does not urge the Romans to contribute to the collection. It was
a matter of the churches founded by him in Galatia, Macedonia and Achaia.
111 Haacker (Römer, 360) cautions: “Die Grüße . . . sind nicht auf die Goldwaage zu legen
(V. 4 spricht nur von heidenchristlichen Gemeinden), aber von daher zu verstehen, dass
Paulus vor der Kollektenreise nach Jerusalem offizielle Vertreter verschiedener Kircheng-
ebiete bei sich versammelt hat (vgl. V. 21–23 . . .).”
112 Fitzmyer, Romans, 742: “Indirectly, Paul recommends himself thereby to the church
of Rome.” Gaius, who is host to Paul and to the whole church (presumably in Corinth; cf.
1 Cor 1:14) sends his greetings to the Romans (Rom 16:23). Presumably Gaius knew some
of the Christians in Rome. Did Paul mention Gaius as his host (as well as of the church) to
indicate that he was well received at the place of writing (by one of the leading figures?)
and as an indirect request for similar hospitality in Rome?
Paul simply wishes to remind them that the church of God extends beyond
Corinth. They were called to be saints together will all those who “call on
the name of the Lord in very place.” . . . The church of God that is in Corinth
is not the centre of God’s witness in the world but simply a constituent
part of that witness . . . . he notes their calling to sanctity that bonds them
to others. . . . By linking them up with [all Christians] and underscoring that
it is “their Lord and ours,” Paul sounds a universal note that undermines
their independent streak and egotism. . . . This universalising reference does
two other things as well. It sets up Paul’s appeals to the practice in all the
churches as a guide for the Corinthians’ conduct. . ., and it lays the foun-
dation for his later request for them to make a charitable contribution to
Christians in Jerusalem.113
In the letter Paul addresses several instances in the Corinthian church
where there is a lack of sanctification, even though the Corinthians are
sanctified in Christ Jesus and called to be saints. The sanctification that
Paul demands of them is that demanded of all Christians. The Corinthi-
ans are placed in this larger context—there will be no exception from
common ethical standards for the Corinthians. On several occasions in
the letter Paul returns to this larger context of the particular problems in
Corinth (7:17; 11:16; 14:33, 36).
Ascough rightly notes: “It is unlikely that Paul’s words that others
‘invoke the name of our Lord Jesus Christ in every place’ (1 Cor 1:2) would
have been any different than a similar claim of a priest of Isis or of Ascle-
pius, the worship of whom was spread throughout the empire. Meeks
simply assumes this indicates ‘translocal connections’.”114 While it may
not indicate translocal links among all these churches, the note implies
that they had some kind of relationship with Paul and through him with
each other.
In 1 Cor 16:19–20—forming an inclusio with 1:2—Paul conveys the greet-
ings of the churches of a particular region, namely of Asia,115 of Aquila and
Priscilla, together with the church in their house (cf. Acts 18:19) and way
beyond that, of all the brothers. In this unique list Paul passes on the greet-
ings of individuals, of a particular church associated with their house, of
the Christians of a particular area and of all the Christians. These different
greetings show to the Corinthians that they are not isolated but are part
of a larger community of faith with interrelated ties. This is to build their
113 Quotations from Garland’s excellent discussion, 1 Corinthians, 28–29. Garland notes

“The letter betrays that an attitude of superiority had crept into the church at Corinth and
was destroying solidarity.”
114 “Translocal Relationships,” 240.
115 The letter was written from Ephesus; cf. 1 Cor 16:8.
identity as well as to relativize it: “They are not the only pebble on the
beach.”116 At the same time this interrelatedness entails a certain behav-
iour to which Paul had to call them on several occasions with reference
to other Christians.
These greetings also underscore Paul’s authority: While he may be dis-
puted in Corinth (cf. e.g. 1:10–17), many other Christians, indeed all the
brothers, support Paul. They identify with him and he can offer greetings
on their behalf. His letter carries not only his own (disputed) apostolic
authority, but the authority of the whole brotherhood (here put in affec-
tionate terms), which stands behind Paul. Therefore the Corinthians had
better not isolate themselves from all other Christians but should instead
acknowledge Paul and his authority/instructions. In their response to the
apostle (of which others are likely to hear!), the Corinthians have a repu-
tation to lose before all the churches.
Second Corinthians is addressed “To the church of God that is at
Corinth, with all the saints who are in the whole of Achaia” (1:1; cf. also
2 Cor 11:10).117 This wider address presupposes that there were at least
some Christians beyond the confines of Corinth.118 It suggests that also the
Corinthians knew of and were in contact with other Christians in Achaia
and might pass the letter or its content on (cf. the parallel in Col 4:16).
Paul addresses the severe problems in Corinth and his dispute with the
Corinthians before a wider audience. The extended defence of his minis-
try in 2 Corinthians is therefore directed not only to the Corinthians (cf.
2 Cor 11:10). Several explanations come to mind. Was Paul discredited not
only in Corinth but in all or most of Achaia so that his defence had to
address a wider audience? How much influence did the Corinthians or
the super-apostles have in the region? Did Paul address a wider circle in
order to put additional pressure on the Corinthians?
Before the benediction, Paul assures the Corinthians that all the saints
greet them (2 Cor 13:12). This greeting functions in the same way as in
116 A. Thiselton, quoted according to Garland, 1 Corinthians, 29.

117 For the geographical scope of Achaia, see Martin, 2 Corinthians, 3, who argues for
a smaller territory on the northern coast of the Peloponnese. This is the only occurrence
of “church” in a salutation in the Corpus Paulinum; cf. Furnish, II Corinthians, 100. For the
relationship between Corinth and other places in Achaia see also Furnish.
118 It is unknown how these churches came into being: through the activities of Paul
(e.g. a church in Athens in Acts 17:34, or perhaps the church in Cenchreae mentioned
in Rom 16:1), of his co-workers and/or other early Christian leaders and their co-work-
ers (cf. 1 Cor 1:12) and/or through the missionary activities of rank-and-file Christians in
Corinth. Were these the churches that had benefitted from the Corinthians’ generosity
(cf. 2 Cor 9:13)?
1 Cor 16:19–20. It also suggests that despite the recent troubles between
Paul and the Corinthians, the apostle still sees them as part of the larger
entity of all saints.
Paul charges the Philippians to greet every saint in Christ Jesus (Phil 4:21).
It is possible that this refers not only to all the members of the Philip-
pian congregation (its unity is an emphasis throughout the letter) but also
translocally to other Christians. The Christians in Paul’s company and “all
the saints, especially those of Caesar’s household” (4:22) greet the Philip-
pians. In view of the mention of Caesar’s household, the direct reference
is to all the Christians at the place of writing, yet Paul might have a larger
group of Christians in mind. As Paul also deals with his opponents in this
letter (1:15–18; 3:2–4:1),119 the greetings from Paul’s co-workers (“the broth-
ers who are with me”) and from a wider circle of Christians indicate to
the readers that Paul is not an isolated figure but—even as a prisoner—
someone well-received and well-embedded in many congregations.120
Colossians conveys greetings to the brothers in Laodicea and to
Nympha and the church in her house, wherever she and the church may
be. Although the letter is also to be read in the church of the Laodiceans
(who will receive their own letter in addition to reading the letter to the
Colossians [Col 4:15–16]),121 the Colossians were still to greet the Laodicae-
ans. With this charge Paul possibly “wished to cement relations between
the two churches.”122
Timothy receives greetings from several named people (Eubulus, Pudens,
Linus, Claudia).123 In addition, “all the brothers greet you” (2 Tim 4:21).
119 Cf. N. Pehkonen, “Rejoicing in the Judaisers’s Work? The Question of Paul’s Oppon-
ents in Phil. 1:15–18a,” in L. Aejmelaeus and A. Mustakallio (eds.), The Nordic Paul: Fin-
nish Approaches to Pauline Theology (European Studies on Christian Origins: LNTS 374;
London: T&T Clark, 2008), 132–55; on the opponents generally see S.E. Porter (ed.), Paul
and His Opponents (PAST 2; Leiden: Brill, 2005) and J.L. Sumney, “Servants of Satan,” “False
Brothers” and Other Opponents of Paul (JSNTSup 188; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press,
2000).
120 The charge to greet all the brothers with a holy kiss in 1 Thess 5:26 and the oath to
read the letter to all the brothers in v. 27 refers to all local Christians; cf. the treatment
of such “second-nature-greetings” by A. Mustakallio, “The Very First Audiences of Paul’s
Letters: The Implications of End Greetings,” in Aejmelaeus and Mustakallio (eds.), Nordic
Paul, 227–37.
121 For a detailed discussion of this letter see P.T. O’Brien, Colossians, Philemon (WBC
44; Waco: Word Books, 1982), 257–59.
122 O’Brien, Colossians, 256. O’Brien observes: “It is by no means clear why the apostle
should send special greetings to the brethren in Laodicea when, according to the following
verse, he is sending a separate letter to that church.”
123 Cf. Stenschke, “Married Women,” 172–73.
This probably refers to other Christians at the place of writing, who did
not know Timothy or had less intimate ties with him than the named
Christians. Yet despite 4:11 and 4:16, the reference could be wider.124
Conclusions
Our survey has shown that other than the addressees of a letter, Paul on
a good number of occasions refers to particular churches, to a group of
churches (usually of a certain area, e.g. the churches of Macedonia or
Achaia) and/or to all the churches. In addition to his uses of ἐκκλησία,
Paul can refer to the same groups as (all) the believers, brothers or saints.
This variety of expression should be noted. These other expressions need
to be considered together with Paul’s use of ἐκκλησία in the singular or in
the plural in order to understand Paul’s view of the church and the trans-
local interrelatedness of Christians.
Such references to other Christians appear in Paul’s references to his
own calling and ministry and in calls for thanksgiving and supplication
beyond the congregation addressed. On some occasions Paul speaks of
the participation of the addressees in the spiritual blessings as well as in
the challenges of all other Christians. Paul also calls for the responsibility
of believers beyond the confines of their congregation for all the saints.
In some contexts Paul can refer to the practice of other Christians as part
of an ethical argument, assuring or reminding the readers that the same
rules apply to all. Paul does not make exceptions, nor will he tolerate it
if others do so. Closely related to ethical instruction, but also to his own
ministry, is a concentration of such references in the context of Paul’s col-
lection for Jerusalem. This is not surprising as the whole enterprise was
to express the unity of Gentile and Jewish believers. Finally, in several
salutations as well as in the greetings of letters, Paul refers to Christians
other than the addressees.
Before we return to the research issues related to these references,
it is interesting to note what kind of references to other Christians do
not appear in the extant letters of Paul, although they might have been
expected from his letters or from the portrayal of Paul in Acts:
124 Cf. the discussion by Marshall, Pastoral Epistles, 830.

a) While Stuhlmacher rightly notes that “Der Apostel hat die Jerusa
lemer Gemeinde als Muttergemeinde aller ἐκκλησίαι ausdrücklich
anerkannt,”125 it is noteworthy that Paul refers to the church in Jeru-
salem only in the context of his collection for the saints of Jerusalem
(1 Cor 16:3; Gal 1:17–18; 2:1) and in his autobiographical review in Gala-
tians 1–2.126 For instance, the teaching or practice of the Jerusalem
church as such is never explicitly referred to as an example or for ethi-
cal guidance.127 Nor does Paul greet his addressees from the church
in Jerusalem or ask for thanksgiving or prayer for the church there
(other than Rom 15:31, where Paul asks the Romans to pray with him
for the acceptance of the collection). However, caution is needed as
some references to the “saints” might include or refer to the Christians
of Jerusalem.
b) While the church of Antioch is of supreme importance to the Paul of
Acts (16 references in Acts associate Paul and Antioch),128 in Paul’s let-
ters it appears only indirectly in Gal 2:11 (see also 2:13 [“the rest of the
Jews”] and 2:14 [“before them all”]).129 Surprisingly, on no occasion in
his extant letters does Paul refer in one of the above contexts to the
Antiochene church.
c) It is also noteworthy that in these references to other Christians
Paul never refers to churches as congregations “he had founded,”
“his” churches or the like, although he might have had this in mind
when speaking, for example, of the churches in Achaia and Mace-
donia. Paul apparently saw “his” congregations merely as part of an
entity larger than his own sphere of ministry and influence. In some
passages Paul indicates that others were labouring in the same field
(1 Cor 3:3–15).
125 Theologie I, 361; cf. also Dunn, Theology, 539, who speaks of the “special status of
the Jerusalem church as the focus and conduit of this continuity with the assembly of
Yahweh and Israel.”
126 Other occurrences do not directly refer to the church of Jerusalem: Rom 15:19; Gal
4:25–26; cf. Schäfer, Paulus, 336–402 and P.J. Achtemeier, Paul and the Jerusalem Church:
An Elusive Unity (Eugene, OR: Wipf & Stock, 1987). The churches of Ἰουδαία are mentioned
in 1 Thess 2:14; cf. also 2 Cor 1:16.
127 This is all the more striking in view of the letter from Jerusalem mentioned in Acts
15:22–31, which was to be delivered by Paul himself.
128 Cf. my “Mission und Gemeinde in der Apostelgeschichte des Lukas,” ZMR 94.3–4
(2010): 267–85.
129 2 Tim 3:11 refers to Pisidian Antioch, as it appears together with Iconium and Lystra,
other cities of the first missionary journey. In 2 Tim 3:11 Paul refers to persecution and
suffering, not to the church of the city.
Ecclesiology
The references which we surveyed—if studied at all—are usually men-
tioned in the context of Paul’s understanding of ἐκκλησία. We noted some
of the disputed issues. Our conclusions are based on our survey of the
whole Corpus Paulinum.130 As Paul does not develop an extended the-
ology of the “universal church”, much depends on the background and
meaning of ἐκκλησία. He usually refers in the plural to the congregations
of particular places and regions. However, if his references to the church
or churches are combined with his references to (all) the saints, brothers
or believers, and if we note the contexts in which they appear, it becomes
clear that the individual congregation—despite its dignity and sufficiency
in many regards—is definitely not an isolated phenomenon but part of
a larger whole: in particular congregations there was an awareness of
other believers, personally known or unknown to the addressees, which
expresses itself in thanksgiving and supplication for other Christians; each
congregation participates in the spiritual benefits as well as in the chal-
lenges of all other Christians; there is a sense of responsibility for other
Christians (including financial involvement—although at times some per-
suasion was necessary); the ethical consensus and practice of other Chris-
tians play a significant role in ethical discourse and there is a fellowship of
sending and receiving greetings from other Christians and churches.
Paul assumes and informs his readers that they belong to something
more than their local congregation. To what extent this “larger whole”
is more or something significantly other than the sum total of the vari-
ous congregations (as if they could be added up!) remains difficult to
assess. An answer to this question would require drawing on the other
concepts Paul uses for the church—such as the church as body of Christ
with Christ as its head—and on other evidence for the translocal nature
of early Christianity (see below).131
The references we surveyed indicate that in Paul’s mind “there were
connections among Christian groups within one or more provinces rather
than simply within a town . . . sometimes he uses the singular to indicate
the church ‘universal’. . . . ”132 But what about his readers? Did they see
130 Some scholars find references to a notion of the universal nature of the church also
in the nondisputed letters.
131 Cf. Dunn, Theology, 548–53; R.Y.K. Fung, “Body of Christ,” DPL, 76–82 and Stuhlma-
cher, Theologie I, 356–58.
132 Ascough, “Translocal Relationships,” 238. This is not surprising against Paul’s early
Jewish background where the Jews all over the ancient world together formed something
themselves as part of something larger? Some of the imperatives that

Paul uses in this context suggest that there was room for development as
regards this notion among some Christians in some congregations.
In addition one might ask, even if they shared Paul’s vision, did they
draw the practical conclusions from it and act accordingly? For example,
does the effort of Paul regarding the collection in 1 and 2 Corinthians, with
its references to the behaviour of other Christians, show that some Corin-
thians refused to take translocal responsibility?133 Ascough observes:
Paul’s troubles with raising the money promised, and his rhetorical strate-
gies in his letter to the Corinthians . . . suggest that they, at least, remained
unconvinced that they had a social and religious obligation to an otherwise
unknown group. What confuses the Corinthians is not necessarily the fact
that they have to donate, but that the monies are going to Jerusalem rather
than the common fund of the local congregation.134
Ascough further notes that Paul’s references to the churches and their
common teaching and practice (1 Cor 4:17; 7:17; 11:16) do not necessarily
represent a monolithic movement: “The Corinthians may not have been
impressed with Paul’s rhetorical strategy; it is unlikely that they moved
swiftly and eagerly to ‘correct’ their practices in light of Paul’s letters.”135
At the same time it is also possible that the Corinthians were impressed
and moved swiftly.136
Function
Paul’s references to Christians other than his addressees function in dif-
ferent ways:
References in association with Paul’s own calling and ministry serve to

underline Paul’s authority or to explain particular aspects of his biography
larger than the individual communities be they in Jerusalem, Judaea or in a Diaspora set-
ting; for a survey see M. Stern, “The Jewish Diaspora,” CRINT I (1974): 1:117–83, and S. Safrai,
“Relations between the Diaspora and the Land of Israel,” CRINT I (1974): 1:184–215.
133 Cf. the discussion in Furnish, 2 Corinthians, 398–453.
134 “Translocal Relationships,” 237. “. . . the Corinthians who, given Paul’s rhetoric and
his repeated appeals, did not have such a feeling of obligation—that is to say, they con-
sidered themselves to be a localised group . . . .”
135 “Translocal Relationships,” 239. Paul is not sure whether the Christians of Jeru-
salem will accept the collection he has gathered among the Gentile Christian churches
(Rom 15:32). Some of them might have had severe doubts whether these congregations are
indeed part of the people of God and should be accepted as such. However, other reasons
for a rejection are also possible.
136 Cf. the milder tone in 2 Corinthians; cf. also the state of the Corinthian church
addressed in 1 Clement.
and ministry. The calls for thanksgiving and supplication beyond his
addressees serve to instil gratitude and a sense of responsibility for believ-
ers beyond the confines of their immediate congregation. They also indi-
cate that these translocal relationships concern not only fellow humans
but are forged before and with God.
When Paul speaks of the participation of his addressees in the spiri-
tual blessings as well as in the challenges of all other Christians, he indi-
cates that this fellowship implies the equality of all congregations before
God (“not to think of themselves more highly than they ought to think,”
Rom 12:3) and relativizes their particular struggles: what has befallen the
readers (and may be an unfamiliar experience for them) is the normal
experience of the church: “. . . knowing that the same kinds of suffer-
ing are being experienced by your brotherhood throughout the world”
(1 Pet 5:9).
In some contexts Paul refers to the practice of other Christians in an
ethical argument in order to assure his readers that the same rules (com-
municated by Paul) apply to all Christians. These are not rules that Paul
invented (for a particular situation and/or congregation), rather they rep-
resent the Christian consensus. Paul does not make exceptions for him-
self, nor will he tolerate it if others do so. Through these references to
other Christians Paul applies pressure on his readers.
Closely related to ethical instruction, but also to his own ministry, is
the concentration of such references in the context of Paul’s collection
for Jerusalem in 1–2 Corinthians. Because Paul envisions the collection as
a joint project of Gentile Christian churches (how much of a say they had
in it is difficult to assess!), they had better join in. Finally, in several salu-
tations as well as in the greetings of his letters Paul places the addressees
in the wider circle of congregations: although they may be isolated and a
small minority in their places of residence, they should be comforted by
knowing that they are part of a larger whole—there are others who share
their experiences as well as their thanksgiving and supplication. Paul’s
addressees are to know, in the words of A. Thiselton, that they are “not
the only pebbles on the beach.”
Some aspects of these functions can be understood as exercises in iden-
tity building—of the congregations addressed and of the wider church(es),
but also of the identity of Paul himself.137
137 Several recent studies have addressed the nature and building of early Christian
identity; cf. e.g. T. Seland, Strangers in the Light: Philonic Perspectives on Christian Identity
in 1 Peter (BibInt 76; Leiden: Brill, 2005); J.G. van der Watt and F.S. Malan (eds.), Identity,
Ethics, and Ethos in the New Testament (BZNW 141; Berlin: W. de Gruyter, 2006); J. Frey
How do these references serve to portray Paul? According to them,

Paul knows—or implicitly claims to know—what is happening in (all)
the churches, what the believers, saints and brothers believe and practice.
His position is that of all the churches. He can greet a particular church on
the behalf of other churches or even all the churches and thus function as
their spokesman and/or representative. These claims firmly situate Paul in
the midst of early Christianity. This knowledge and these abilities add to
Paul’s reputation and authority. Paul is not an isolated individual at the
fringes but rather the “hub of the wheel.” This way of situating himself, his
mission and his convictions not only applies to the churches which Paul
had founded but also includes (all) other churches.138
The evidence points to neglected aspects for Paul’s own understanding
of his ministry: how he perceived it himself, how he portrayed it in his
various writings and how he wanted others to perceive him and his dis-
puted ministry. How is this self-portrayal to be assessed? Was it—in light
of the activities and probable numbers of Paul’s different opponents (and
their influence on congregations—which Paul knew of and took very seri-
ously) and the widespread reservations against him by fellow Christians
(e.g. in Jerusalem and Corinth) simply wishful thinking on Paul’s part?
Due to the nature of our sources, it is impossible to assess how much of
this self-perception and self-portrayal (although the two need not be the
same!) is true to “the facts”: What is merely part of a rhetorical strategy
(and should be taken as such), what is a good combination of facts and
rhetoric, what was without qualification the actual case?
For example, some Corinthians were probably not impressed with
Paul’s self-portrait or his strategy to isolate them and their positions with
reference to the beliefs and practices of the larger assembly of faith (1 Cor
4:17; 7:17; 11:16; a variation of an “argument by severance”).139 They might
have challenged Paul’s portrayal of himself and returned the charge: Paul,
not they, is isolated with his convictions and practices—if this is some-
thing they were concerned with at all.140
and D.R. Schwartz et al. (eds.), Jewish Identity in the Greco-Roman World: Jüdische Iden-
tität in der griechisch-römischen Welt (AJEC 71; Leiden: Brill, 2007) and B. Holmberg and
M. Winninge (eds.), Identity Formation in the New Testament (WUNT 227; Tübingen: Mohr
Siebeck, 2008).
138 This second aspect was described and rightly emphasised by Ascough. However,
Ascough neglects much of the other evidence.
139 Cf. Hansen, “Rhetorical Criticism,” 824. Paul tries to dissociate his Corinthian oppon-
ents from the wider community of faith.
140 After all, Paul was not the only early Christian leader the Corinthians were aware
of. They were personally acquainted with Apollos and Cephas, and they at least knew of
Barnabas and of the practice of the other apostles, James and Cephas (1 Cor 9:5).
If Paul informs his immediate addressees of other Christians, his read-

ers must have assumed that he would also mention them to other Chris-
tians. In 2 Cor 8:24 and 9:2–4 he reports that he has done so. Paul’s praise
of the poor Macedonian Christians in 2 Cor 8 serves to motivate the Cor-
inthians to pursue the collection whole-heartedly. In a culture shaped by
the notions of honour and shame, this is an indirect yet powerful way to
exert influence. The Corinthians were to know that Paul’s struggle with
them was not a private matter but took place before all the churches.
Would they want other Christians to know that they rejected the consen-
sus (which Paul claims to embody)? Would they not rather want to be
praised—by Paul and by others (cf. 2 Cor 8:7)?
A high percentage of these references occur in the Corinthian corre-
spondence. Here Paul particularly refers to the translocal relationship of
the church and of his calling and ministry. He leaves no doubt that there
will not be exceptions made for the Corinthians. The same standards (of
an entity much larger than the churches Paul had founded or who were
under his influence—Paul himself is bound by them!) apply to all Chris-
tians. As his own authority has been severely challenged in Corinth for a
variety of reasons, Paul appeals to an entity much larger (and of another
nature) than his own ministry and calling.
Translocal Relationships
We have examined and established one facet of translocal relationships
in early Christianity and thus substantiated what is more often claimed
than presented in detail.141 The material surveyed here contributes to an
understanding of the translocal nature of early Christianity. While Paul
clearly addresses local churches, they are set in a larger framework. Much
of this framework will have been known to the readers, most of whom
Paul had visited before when he evangelized and founded their churches.
This initial visit and proclamation by Paul and his co-workers, along with
subsequent visits, had already taken place within this larger framework
(Paul was commissioned by a church and came from a church).142 Other
141 Another neglected area for this quest is presented by E.A. Judge’s “Contemporary
Political Models for the Interrelations of the New Testament Churches,” in idem, The First
Christians in the Roman World (WUNT 229; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2008), 586–96. An
instructive example from a later age is the chapter on “Vernetzung” in S. Juterczenka, Über
Gott und die Welt: Endzeitvisionen, Reformdebatten und die europäische Quäkermission in
der Frühen Neuzeit (Veröffentlichungen des Max-Planck-Instituts für Geschichte 143; Göt-
tingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2008), 127–213.
142 The same applies to his co-workers and other missionary colleagues.
early Christian leaders were (personally) known to some of the readers

(cf. 1 Cor 1:11–12; 3:4–9, 22). Paul’s readers also learned of new elements of
this network from Paul’s letters. In order for Paul’s rhetoric to function and
be persuasive, a network of communication and mobility must have existed
among the churches, including Paul and his co-workers but not limited to
them. Moreover, Paul’s addressees must have been aware of this network
to a considerable extent.
The translocal links which these references indicate are indeed primar-
ily links through Paul and people involved in his mission. Ascough has
rightly cautioned that an examination of the translocal nature of early
Christianity should not exclusively focus on Paul. He rightly wonders how
much of the translocal nature of early Christianity would remain if Paul
were excluded from the picture. However, the centrality of Paul in our
quest is due to the fact that the letters which refer to these translocal links
were written by Paul. Nevertheless, the portrayal in the Corpus Paulinum
needs to be supplemented by that of other New Testament books.
Again, Paul’s references indicate his view of the translocal nature of the
church(es). They allow only limited conclusions as to how the churches
he addressed and about whom he reported would have understood their
interrelatedness with the wider Christian community and what practical
implications they would have drawn from it.
We have surveyed all the canonical letters of the Corpus Paulinum.
While there are some distinct features in the terminology (ἐκκλησία in the
singular with a wider reference) and perspective of Ephesians and Colos-
sians that need to be noted (not at the centre of our quest), it appears that
these features do not contradict the picture of Paul’s undisputed letters,
rather they supplement it. In a sense, the picture of the undisputed letters
shows the concrete shape and outworking of what is found elsewhere.
“we put no stumbling block in anyone’s path, so that our
ministry will not be discredited”: Paul’s Response to an
Idol Food Inquiry in 1 CorINTHIANS 8:1–13
Christopher D. Land
Introduction
Interest in 1 Cor 8:1–11:1 has been rising steadily since the 1980s.1 In par-
ticular, this passage has served as a useful testing ground for new inter-
pretive methods. Rhetorical analyses have tried to explain how 8:1–11:1
fits together as a coherent argument.2 Sociological analyses have tried to
1 Monographs focused on 1 Cor 8:1–11:1 include: Alex T. Cheung, Idol Food in Corinth:
Jewish Background and Pauline Legacy (JSNTSup 176; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press,
1999); John Fotopoulos, Food Offered to Idols in Roman Corinth: A Social-Rhetorical Recon-
sideration of I Corinthians 8:1–11 (WUNT 2.151; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2003); Paul Doug-
las Gardner, The Gifts of God and the Authentication of a Christian: An Exegetical Study of
1 Corinthians 8–11:1 (Lanham: University Press of America, 1994); Peter D. Gooch, Danger-
ous Food: 1 Corinthians 8–10 in Its Context (Studies in Christianity and Judaism; Waterloo:
Wilfrid Laurier University Press, 1993); Derek Newton, Deity and Diet: The Dilemma of Sac-
rificial Food at Corinth (JSNTSup 169; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1998); Richard
Liong-Seng Phua, Idolatry and Authority: A Study of 1 Corinthians 8.1–11.1 in the Light of the
Jewish Diaspora (JSNTSup 299; London: T&T Clark, 2005); Hermann Probst, Paulus und
der Brief: Die Rhetorik des antiken Briefes als Form der paulinischen Korintherkorrespondenz
(1 Kor 8–10) (WUNT 2.45; Tübingen: J.C.B. Mohr [Paul Siebeck], 1991); Michael Shen, Canaan
to Corinth: Paul’s Doctrine of God and the Issue of Food Offered to Idols in 1 Corinthians 8:1–11:1
(Studies in Biblical Literature 83; New York: Peter Lang, 2010); Joop F.M. Smit, “About the
Idol Offerings”: Rhetoric, Social Context and Theology of Paul’s Discourse in First Corinthians
8:1–11:1 (Contributions to Biblical Exegesis and Theology 27; Leuven: Peeters, 2000); Wen-
dell Willis, Idol Meat in Corinth: The Pauline Argument in 1 Corinthians 8 and 10 (SBLDS 68;
Chico, CA: Scholars Press, 1985); Khiok-Khng Yeo, Rhetorical Interaction in 1 Corinthians 8
and 10: A Formal Analysis with Preliminary Suggestions for a Chinese Cross-Cultural Herme-
neutic (BibInt 9; Leiden: Brill, 1995). In addition to these monographs, numerous articles
and unpublished theses have appeared.
2 See P.J. Farla, “The Rhetorical Composition of 1 Cor 8,1–11,1,” ETL 80 (2004): 144–66;
Fotopoulos, Food Offered to Idols; idem, “The Rhetorical Situation, Arrangement, and Argu-
mentation of 1 Corinthians 8:1–13: Insights into Paul’s Instructions on Idol-Food in Greco-
Roman Context,” GOTR 47 (2002): 165–98; idem, “Arguments Concerning Food Offered
to Idols: Corinthian Quotations and Pauline Refutations in a Rhetorical Partitio (1 Cor-
inthians 8:1–9),” CBQ 67 (2005): 611–31; Lincoln Galloway, Freedom in the Gospel: Paul’s
Exemplum in 1 Cor 9 in Conversation with the Discourses of Epictetus and Philo (Contribu-
tions to Biblical Exegesis and Theology 38; Leuven: Peeters, 2004); Bruce Robert Magee,
“A Rhetorical Analysis of First Corinthians 8:1–11:1 and Romans 14:1–15:13” (unpublished
230 christopher d. land
explain the idol food situation with reference to various cultural factors.3
Yet despite all of this research, there is little consensus among contem-
porary interpreters of 1 Cor 8:1–11:1. Points of disagreement include the
following:4
1. The integrity of 8:1–11:1. There are still some who insist that the best
explanation of the evidence is that Paul did not write 8:1–11:1 on a single
occasion in order to address a single situation. This is now, however,
a small minority position.5
2. The nature of the eating at issue. It has traditionally been supposed that
8:1–11:1 is primarily concerned with the consumption of marketplace
food, but several recent interpreters insist that the primary issue is
cultic meals in pagan temples.6 Ultimately, all scholars acknowledge
Th.D. diss., New Orleans Baptist Theological Seminary, 1988); Margaret M. Mitchell, Paul and
the Rhetoric of Reconciliation: An Exegetical Investigation of the Language and Composition
of 1 Corinthians (HUT 28; Tübingen: J.C.B. Mohr [Paul Siebeck], 1991); Probst, Paulus und der
Brief; Joop F.M. Smit, “1 Cor 8,1–6: A Rhetorical Partitio: A Contribution to the Coherence of
1 Cor 8,1–11,1,” in Reimund Bieringer (ed.), The Corinthian Correspondence (BETL 125; Leu-
ven: Leuven University Press, 1996), 577–91; idem, “The Rhetorical Disposition of First Cor-
inthians 8:7–9:27,” CBQ 59 (1997): 476–91; idem, “ ‘Do Not Be Idolaters’: Paul’s Rhetoric in
First Corinthians 10:1–22,” NovT 39 (1997): 40–53; idem, “The Function of First Corinthians
10,23–30: A Rhetorical Anticipation,” Bib 78 (1997): 377–88; idem, “About the Idol Offerings”;
Ben Witherington, Conflict and Community in Corinth: A Socio-Rhetorical Commentary on
1 and 2 Corinthians (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1995); Yeo, Rhetorical Interaction.
3 Those with special relevance to 8:1–11:1 include: Andrew D. Clarke, Secular and Chris-
tian Leadership in Corinth: A Socio-Historical and Exegetical Study of 1 Corinthians 1–6 (AGJU
18; Leiden: Brill, 1993); John K. Chow, Patronage and Power: A Study of Social Networks
in Corinth (JSNTSup 75; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1992); Ronald F. Hock, The Social Context
of Paul’s Ministry: Tentmaking and Apostleship (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1980); David
Horrell, The Social Ethos of the Corinthian Correspondence: Interests and Ideology from
1 Corinthians to 1 Clement (SNTW; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1996); Peter Marshall, Enmity in
Corinth: Social Conventions in Paul’s Relations with the Corinthians (WUNT 2.23; Tübingen:
J.C.B. Mohr [Paul Siebeck], 1987); Gerd Theissen, The Social Setting of Pauline Christian-
ity: Essays on Corinth (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1982); Witherington, Conflict and Com-
munity. Some studies have focused specifically on cultural conventions surrounding idol
worship and social dining, including Fotopoulos, Food Offered to Idols; Gooch, Dangerous
Food; Newton, Deity and Diet.
4 A useful survey of persistent issues in the interpretation of 1 Cor 8:1–11:1 may be found
in Wendell Willis, “1 Corinthians 8–10: A Retrospective after Twenty-Five Years,” ResQ 49
(2007): 103–12.
5 Willis states: “In the last quarter century a consensus has developed that these chap-
ters did come as one unit at the same time” (“Retrospective,” 103–4).
6 See especially Gordon D. Fee, “Eidōlothyta Once Again: An Interpretation of 1 Corin-
thians 8–10,” Bib 61 (1980): 172–97. Other examples include Ben Witherington, “Not So Idle
Thoughts about Eidolothuton,” TynBul 44 (1993): 237–54; Richard A. Horsley, 1 Corinthians
(ANTC; Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1998), 141; Richard Hays, First Corinthians (Louisville:
John Knox, 1997), 142; Newton, Deity and Diet, 267; and Fotopoulos, Food Offered to Idols,
38–39.
paul’s response to an idol food inquiry 231
that more than one dining context is in view in 8:1–11:1, but there is
disagreement over which parts of the passage refer to which context.7
3. The existence of “the weak.” The traditional view, that there were rec-
ognizable “weak” and “strong” individuals or groups in Corinth, still
remains. It has also been proposed, however, that “the weak” are a
hypothetical group introduced for the sake of argument.8
4. The weakness of “the weak.” Among scholars who acknowledge the
existence of “weak” individuals in Corinth, many identify them as
converted pagans still accustomed to idolatry.9 Others identify them
as Christians with Jewish scruples.10 Others identify the weakness of
“the weak” as socio-economic in nature.11 Still others interpret their
weakness in relation to Hellenistic moral philosophy.12 A recent essay
has even argued that “the weak” are not Christians at all, but rather
polytheists.13
5. The presence of quotations. Almost everyone sees fragments of prior
correspondence in 8:1–11:1, but it is a difficult task to isolate them. Com-
mentators frequently interpret all or some of 8:1, 8:4–6, 8:8 and 10:23 as
direct discourse.
6. The status of Paul’s relationship with the Corinthians. A prominent
reading of 8:1–11:1 theorizes that 1 Corinthians was written in the
midst of an intense conflict between Paul and the Corinthian church.14
Others, however, insist that Paul’s relationship with Corinth had not
yet deteriorated when 1 Corinthians was written.15
7 For a helpful table of the various views, see Fotopoulos, Food Offered to Idols, 46–48.
8 See especially John Coolidge Hurd, The Origin of 1 Corinthians (London: SPCK, 1965),
117–25. For a list of various scholars and their views on this matter, see Fotopoulos, Food
Offered to Idols, 41–45.
9 For example, Gordon D. Fee, The First Epistle to the Corinthians (NICNT; Grand Rap-
ids, Eerdmans, 1987), 379; David E. Garland, 1 Corinthians (BECNT; Grand Rapids: Baker,
2003), 380.
10 For a discussion of Jewish interpretations, which are often indebted to Bauer’s sug-
gestion that there was a Petrine group in Corinth, see Phua, Idolatry and Authority, 6–16.
11 See especially Theissen, Social Setting, 70–73 and 121–44.
12 See Clarence Glad, Paul and Philodemus: Adaptability in Epicurean and Early Chris-
tian Psychagogy (Leiden: Brill, 1995); Abraham J. Malherbe, “Determinism and Free Will in
Paul: The Argument of 1 Corinthians 8 and 9,” in Troels Engberg-Pedersen (ed.), Paul in His
Hellenistic Context (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1995), 231–55, here 233–35.
13 Mark D. Nanos, “The Polytheist Identity of the ‘Weak’ and Paul’s Strategy to ‘Gain’
Them: A New Reading of 1 Corinthians 8:1–11:1,” in Stanley E. Porter (ed.), Paul: Jew, Greek,
and Roman (PAST 5; Leiden: Brill, 2008), 179–210.
14 Fee, First Epistle, 4–15.
15 E.g. Garland, 1 Corinthians, 21.
7. The function of 9:1–27. There are some who view 1 Cor 9 as an exem-
plary argument on the nature of Christian freedom.16 Others view it as
a very antagonistic response to opposition.17
8. Paul’s stance towards the eating of idol food. Traditionally, it has been
argued that Paul agrees theologically with “the strong” and that he
sees the consumption of idol food as a matter of conscience. Some
still accept this position.18 Increasingly, however, it is being suggested
that Paul enforced a strict ban on idol food.19
In an effort to clarify some or all of these issues, I have undertaken a dis-

course analysis of Paul’s idol food discussion using Systemic Functional
Linguistics, a theory of language that is heavily indebted to sociology. The
present essay derives from that analysis, but it takes as its orienting focus
the topic of social relations. Most notably, my analysis suggests that 1 Cor
8:1–13 is not directly concerned with social relations between “strong” and
“weak” factions in Corinth, although idol food was probably a divisive
issue within the Corinthian community. Similarly, my analysis suggests
that this passage is not directly concerned with social relations between
Paul and his readers, although the eating of idol food was unquestionably
a point of contention between Paul and at least some of his converts in
Corinth. What is more, it does not seem that Paul is directly engaging
his critics in this passage, although is seems probable (to me, at least)
that other Jewish Christian leaders were taking issue with the conduct of
Paul’s Gentile converts in Corinth, and were even accusing him of being
an incompetent minister on account of the impurity of his congregation
there. Without in any way dismissing the relevance of these social rela-
tions to 1 Cor 8:1–13, my analysis suggests that the argument Paul actu-
ally makes in these verses is most directly concerned with social relations
between his Gentile converts and their non-believing friends, family
members, associates, and acquaintances. The question is how Christians
ought to behave in the context of an idolatrous society. And Paul’s answer
16 E.g. Garland, 1 Corinthians, 396–401, 403; Smit, “Rhetorical Disposition,” 485; Wendell
Willis, “An Apostolic Apologia: The Form and Function of 1 Corinthians 9,” JSNT (1985):
33–48; Witherington, Conflict and Community, 191.
17 Fee, First Epistle, 392–94.
18 E.g. Bruce N. Fisk, “Eating Meat Offered to Idols: Corinthian Behavior and Pauline
Response in 1 Corinthians 8–10 (A Response to G.D. Fee),” Trinity Journal 10 (1989): 62;
David Horrell, “Theological Principle or Christological Praxis? Pauline Ethics in 1 Corinthi-
ans 8.1–11.1,” JSNT 67 (1997): 83–114, here 99.
19 See especially Cheung, Idol Food.
is that Christians ought to be concerned for the well-being of those who

do not know the One True God.
A Single, Coherent Response
As already mentioned, several interpreters have concluded that 1 Cor 8:1–

11:1 does not flow as a continuous text and consequently that its contents
must have emerged out of two or more historical situations.20 Jerome
Murphy-O’Connor, however, is representative of the majority when he
says, “All the so-called contradictions in 1 Corinthians can be resolved by
a more exacting exegesis.”21 This essay pursues a “more exacting exege-
sis” of 8:1–13. It has implications, however, for the reading of 8:1–11:1 as a
sustained response to a single historical situation. After all, most of the
obstacles that hinder a coherent reading of 8:1–11:1 involve 8:1–13. In order
to pre-empt some of the questions that will likely arise from my reading
of 1 Cor 8:1–13, I will make some brief comments here about the rest of
Paul’s idol food discussion.
(1) The sudden shift in 9:1 is quite problematic. But if 8:13 moves away
from the topic of how Paul’s Gentile converts should relate to unbeliev-
ing idolaters and towards the topic of how Paul relates to his fellow Jews,
then it becomes obvious why Paul would want to quickly abandon his
20 A highly influential voice has been that of Johannes Weiss, who argued that First
Corinthians is comprised of two different letters (Johannes Weiss, Der erste Korintherbrief
[KEK; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1910], xl–xliii). Hurd provides a helpful list
of other early partition theories (Origin, 43–47). More recent partition theories may be
found in: Jean Héring, The First Epistle of Saint Paul to the Corinthians (London: Epworth,
1962), xii–xiv; Walter Schmithals, “Die Korintherbriefe als Briefsammlung,” ZNW 64 (1973):
263–88; Robert Jewett, “The Redaction of I Corinthians and the Trajectory of the Pau-
line School,” JAAR 46 (1978): 398–444; Christophe Senft, La Première Épitre de Saint-Paul
aux Corinthiens (Commentaire du Nouveau Testament 7; Neuchâtel: Delachaux & Niestlé,
1979), 107; Hans-Josef Klauck, 1 Korintherbrief (Neue Echter Bibel; Würzburg: Echter, 1987),
10–11, 77; Gerhard Sellin, “Hauptprobleme des Ersten Korintherbriefes,” in ANRW 2.25:4
(1987): 2940–3044, here 2964–86; Yeo, Rhetorical Interaction, 86–83, 120–211. So important
is 8:1–11:1 to these partition theories that Hurd describes the passage as the “keystone of the
various attempts to divide 1 Corinthians into two or more letters” (Origin, 115).
21 Jerome Murphy-O’Connor, Paul: A Critical Life (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1996), 253.
On the unity of First Corinthians, see Linda L. Belleville, “Continuity or Discontinuity:
A Fresh Look at 1 Corinthians in the Light of First Century Epistolary Forms and Con-
ventions,” EvQ 59 (1987): 15–37; Martinus C. de Boer, “The Composition of 1 Corinthians,”
NTS 40 (1994): 229–45; Helmut Merklein, “Die Einheitlichkeit des ersten Korintherbriefes,”
ZNW 75 (1984): 153–83; Mitchell, Rhetoric of Reconciliation, 186–92.
point. After all, dietary abstinence has positive consequences within Jew-
ish society, whereas abstaining from idol food has negative consequences
within Corinthian society. What Paul really needs at this point is to show
that he himself is willing to endure social ridicule in order to maintain a
viable witness.
(2) The opening material in ch. 9 presumes that Paul’s credibility has been
called into question and that his status as a part-time, unpaid minister has
in some way been raised in connection with criticisms of his leadership.
But after rejecting the idea that there is a connection between being a
legitimate apostle and being a full-time, paid Christian leader, Paul pro-
ceeds to explain why he is content to endure the shallow comments that
are being voiced by his critics. As he has just insisted in 8:1–13, it is the
salvation of others that is the important thing.
(3) Whereas 8:1–9:23 explains that enduring social rejection is a necessary
part of proclaiming the gospel, 9:24–27 begins to move towards the idea
that endurance is a necessary part of the Christian life as a whole. As a
general rule, the endurance of difficulty must precede the reception of a
reward.
(4) This way of framing the issue then leads smoothly into the warning of
10:1–22, which moves away from the idea of “social exclusion” and towards
the idea that believers are engaging in a “social Exodus” out of unbelieving
society. Here Paul suggests that his readers have not fully embraced the
call of the gospel, since they are attempting to participate in two entirely
distinct societies.
(5) Finally, in 10:23–11:1, Paul addresses the fact that the Christian com-
munity is in some sense a society within Greco-Roman society as well
as a society apart from Greco-Roman society. As members of Greco-
Roman society, believers are free to buy or eat any food whose origins are
unknown. As members of a holy society that must keep itself apart from
Greco-Roman idolatry, however, believers must never accept and eat food
that is known to be idol food—irrespective of the social pressures that
might be placed upon them.
So then, presuming that Paul has forbidden idol food for theological rea-
sons, the Corinthians have raised questions about his theological consis-
tency. Why does he deny the reality of idols and affirm God’s indifference
towards food, but then forbid the eating of idol food? In response, Paul
affirms the theological observations of his readers, while simultaneously
pushing them to consider social dining in the light of its social implica-
tions. And paramount in his mind is the fact that the Corinthian church
must be visibly separate from the idolatrous society that surrounds it,
while simultaneously maintaining a visible and positive presence within
that society for the sake of those who have not yet believed.
Important Questions Concerning 1 Corinthians 8:1–13
This central section will follow the tripartite structure of my linguistic

analysis. That structure derives from a conscious effort to give equal atten-
tion to the various strands of meaning that are woven together in all texts.
We bring order to the various environments of our experience by means of
ideational meanings, we enact social relations by means of interpersonal
meanings, and we employ textual meanings in order to ensure that the
former meanings make contact with their linguistic and extra-linguistic
environments. According to Systemic Functional Linguistics, all of these
strands need to be examined by the discourse analyst.
Taking textual meanings first, I will begin by presenting some of the
insights that have emerged from my analysis of participant tracking in
1 Cor 8:1–13. Next, I will draw from my analysis of experiential domains in
8:1–13. Finally, I will highlight some of the patterns that I have observed
in Paul’s choices of subject, mood, mode, and polarity.22 In other words,
I will answer three essential questions that get to the heart of 8:1–13: About
whom is Paul speaking? About what is Paul speaking? And what is Paul
doing?
About Whom Is Paul Speaking?
Paul and the Corinthians

As we might expect, the most prominent participants mentioned in 1 Cor
8:1–11:1 are Paul and his addressees. What has often gone underappreci-
ated is a very clear progression in the references to Paul and the Corinthi-
ans that appear in 8:1–13. This progression is presented visually in Table 1.
Essentially, vv. 1–8 use first person plural items that refer to both Paul and
22 The details of this analysis are not my focus here, but for the sake of clarity I should
mention that I distinguish terminologically between mood as a clausal feature that may or
may not be realized through grammatical structure (e.g. declarative vs. interrogative) and
mode as a morphological feature that is realized in verbs (e.g. indicative vs. subjunctive).
This terminological distinction, which I have appropriated from Systemic Functional Lin-
guistics, differs in obvious ways from the terminology of traditional Greek grammar.
Table 1: Participants in 8:1–13

Verse Paul The Corinthians Impaired People Jewish People
v. 1 οἴδαμεν
ἔχομεν
v. 4 οἴδαμεν
v. 6 ἡμῖν
ἡμεῖς
ἡμεῖς
v. 7 τινὲς . . . ἐσθίουσιν
αὐτῶν
v. 8 ἡμᾶς
φάγωμεν
ὑστερούμεθα
φάγωμεν
περισσεύομεν
v. 9 βλέπετε
ὑμῶν τοῖς ἀσθενέσιν
v. 10 σὲ τὸν ἔχοντα γνῶσιν τις

αὐτοῦ
v. 11 σῇ ἀπόλλυται . . .
ὁ ἀσθενῶν . . . ὁ ἀδελφὸς
δι᾽ ὃν Χριστὸς ἀπέθανεν
v. 12 ἁμαρτάνετε τοὺς ἀδελφοὺς
αὐτῶν
v. 13 μου τὸν ἀδελφόν
φάγω
μου τὸν ἀδελφόν
σκανδαλίσω
the Corinthians. Then, in v. 9, the situation changes. Verses 9–12 refer to

the Corinthians using the second person, whereas v. 13 switches the focus
of the discussion and refers to Paul using the first person singular. Eventu-
ally, I will state the significance of this progression. First, however, I must
address some possible objections to my interpretations of the relevant
grammatical items, particularly the first person plurals.
Whereas I have interpreted all of the first person plural items in 8:1–8 to
mean ‘I, Paul, together with you, the church in Corinth’—the most natural
reading of the first person plural, all things being equal23—it is almost
unanimously agreed by commentators that this passage contains either
Corinthian slogans or excerpts from an earlier letter sent to Paul.24 The
way these claims are presented gives the impression that there is a kind
of back-and-forth argument taking place in the text, as Paul quotes his
addressees and then qualifies or corrects their assertions. But if there is
Corinthian verbiage in 8:1–13, then the most natural interpretation of the
first person plurals may not be the correct interpretation. Rather, some of
them may need to be interpreted strictly from a Corinthian perspective.
As I will demonstrate in the next few paragraphs, I am entirely uncon-
vinced by this line of reasoning. While I am sympathetic to the idea that
Paul is responding directly to Corinthian statements or questions and that
the thoughts and words of his addressees are reflected in 8:1–13, it must be
underscored that there are no grammatical indications of direct discourse
in 8:1–13 and that the text as it currently stands makes good sense when
read entirely as Paul’s own words. I will take up the alleged grammatical
indications first, since they can be easily dismissed. I will subsequently
show that one can accept the presence of Corinthian opinions, or even
phrasings taken directly from the Corinthians, without concluding that
Paul is shifting back and forth between opposing perspectives. To the con-
trary, the manner in which Paul introduces allegedly Corinthian ideas in
8:1–13 suggests that he is affirming those ideas and thereby establishing a
single, unified perspective. There is only one “we” in 1 Cor 8:1–13.
Drawing on the earlier work of Walter Lock,25 Wendell Willis argues
that vv. 1 and 4–6 contain direct quotations of Corinthian catchphrases
beginning in each case with οἴδαμεν.26 He also argues that v. 8 contains
two Corinthian statements that have been appropriated by Paul but mod-
23 One cannot, of course, simply forget the presence of Sosthenes. Having said this,
however, his presence or absence in the first person plurals of 8:1–13 is entirely peripheral
to my major contention here, which is that the first person plurals refer to author(s) and
addressees together. On the question of Sosthenes’ role in First Corinthians, see Murphy-
O’Connor, “Co-authorship in the Corinthian Correspondence,” RB 100 (1993): 562–79 (with
the portion relevant to First Corinthians reprinted in idem, Keys to First Corinthians: Revis-
iting the Major Issues [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009], 1–7).
24 Hurd (Origin, 68, 129) lists twenty-four commentators who hold this view, and
Anthony C. Thiselton has since added another ten (The First Epistle to the Corinthians
[NIGTC, Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2000], 620 n. 50).
25 W. Lock, “1 Cor viii:1–9: A Suggestion,” Exp, 5th ser., 6 (1897): 65–74.
26 For the sake of precision, I should point out that Willis sees a single interjection from
Paul appearing in 8:5b. Willis, Idol Meat, 83–87.
ified through the insertion of negative particles (i.e. the οὔτε’s).27 Two of
his arguments are grammatical. He argues that the construction οἴδαμεν
ὅτι is unlikely to have come from Paul since it is “unique in syntax within
the Pauline letters,” and that the plurality of the first person items in these
verses indicates that they come from the Corinthians rather than from
Paul.28
The first of Willis’s grammatical arguments has been labelled “precari-
ous and narrowly based” by Thiselton, and rightly so.29 A collocational
analysis of the Pauline letters reveals that the conjunction ὅτι is the most
frequent word to follow οἴδαμεν.30 Willis is correct that 8:1 and 8:4 are the
only instances in the corpus where ὅτι immediately follows οἴδαμεν, but
there are only nine occurrences where the two words collocate at all, a
sample much too small for significant statistical analysis.31 What is more,
in all seven instances where another word intervenes between οἴδαμεν
and ὅτι, that word is a postpositive conjunction.32 Once we account for
the fact that the placement of postpositive items is restricted, the data
reveals that Paul never chooses to place any word between οἴδαμεν and
ὅτι (a quite different conclusion than the one arrived at by Willis). The
second of Willis’s grammatical arguments overlooks the obvious fact that
Paul does unambiguously include himself in first person plural references
both in this discussion and in the surrounding discourse.33 Walter Lock’s
claim that the first person plural items come from the Corinthians while
the second person plural items come from Paul is bare assertion and can-
not rightly be called an “argument” “on the basis of the verb number.”34
27 Willis, Idol Meat, 96–98.

28 Willis, Idol Meat, 68–69.
29 Thiselton, First Epistle, 621. The only evidence Thiselton gives for this criticism, how-
ever, is his assertion that οἴδαμεν ὅτι is “an established formula.” In this he is following Fee,
First Epistle, 365, n. 31. Fee, for his part, merely cites BAGD, which states that “the formula
οἴδαμεν ὅτι is freq. used to introduce a well-known fact.”
30 In my analysis of the data, I have utilized a span of five words following οἴδαμεν. My
sample includes all thirteen letters attributed to Paul.
31 The conjunction ὅτι is the third most frequent word that immediately follows οἴδαμεν.
The most frequent is δέ (4×), followed by γάρ (3×). Broadening our corpus to include the
entire New Testament, we find that ὅτι is the word most likely to immediately follow
οἴδαμεν.
32 The nine occurrences are: Rom 2:2; 3:19; 7:14; 8:22; 8:26; 8:28; 1 Cor 8:1; 8:4 (2×);
2 Cor 5:1; 5:16; 1 Tim 1:8. Willis observes this fact, but fails to recognize that it completely
undermines his argument.
33 Examples include 10:15–17, 6:3, and 11:31–32.
34 Willis, Idol Meat, 69. Admittedly, even Willis evaluates this particular “argument”
as “less convincing.” Yet it seems to have been taken over by Robert Magee, who appar-
ently thinks that one can identify slogans in 8:1–13 by looking for first person plural verbs
What about other interpretations that find Corinthian verbiage in

8:1–13? Within all the literature I have surveyed, I have found only three
grammatical arguments supporting such claims. The first of these asserts
that the double use of “we” in 8:1 is awkward; the second alleges that Paul
never repeats ὅτι unless it is recitative; the third asserts the shift in person
between vv. 8 and 9 marks a change in speaker.
I am almost at a loss to explain what Johannes Weiss means when he
writes of v. 1: “The repetition of the ‘we’ in the principal and subordinate
clause is tolerable—alternatively, οἴδαμεν ὅτι before the communicative
ἔχομεν is not unduly overladen—only when the words πάντες ἔχομεν
γνῶσιν [sic!] are a quotation.”35 In 1 Cor 4:11–12 six first person plural verbs
closely follow one another, being separated only by the conjunction καί,
the nature of the Greek finite verb being such that there is nothing awk-
ward about this sort of repetition.36 Presumably, then, when Weiss and
his numerous followers claim that the “double ‘we’ ” in 8:1 is “awkward,”
they mean that Paul might have written simply πάντες γνῶσιν ἔχομεν, so
that the clause οἴδαμεν ὅτι is redundant.37 If this is what they mean, then
the argument is not really about grammatical awkwardness but about
Paul’s reason for using the expression οἴδαμεν ὅτι (see below).
The second argument is grammatical in nature, since it concerns
grammatical distributions. Unfortunately, it fails to recognize that Paul’s
letters do not provide a sufficiently large sample. Claiming that “when
Paul is expressing his own ideas he never repeats with a ὅτι; the simple
καί joins such correlative sentences,”38 Fee cites as evidence 1 Cor 15:3–5,
the only other instance in the entire Pauline corpus where the construc-
tion ὅτι . . . καὶ ὅτι occurs. Looking beyond the Pauline corpus, we find an
(“Rhetorical Analysis,” 54; as cited by Paul Charles Siebenmann, “The Question of Slogans
in 1 Corinthians” [unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, Baylor University, Waco, Texas, 1997],
232.).
35 Weiss, Der erste Korintherbrief, 214 (as translated in Hans Conzelmann, 1 Corinthians:
A Commentary on the First Epistle to the Corinthians [Hermeneia; Philadelphia: Fortress
Press, 1975], 140). See also Hurd, Origin, 120; Fee, First Epistle, 365; Thiselton, First Epistle,
621.
36 As is pointed out by Willis, Idol Meat, 69 n. 12.
37 I am perhaps being too charitable here, given that many of the scholars in question
really do seem to think there is something grammatically awkward about two first person
plural verbs appearing in quick succession. Hurd even claims that it was because they
wanted to remove one of the awkward “we’s” that earlier scholars suggested the reading
οἶδα μέν (Origin, 120).
38 Fee, First Epistle, 365. In this he is following C.H. Giblin (“Three Monotheistic Texts
in Paul,” CBQ 38 [1975]: 527–47, here 530).
instance in John 9:20 where οἴδαμεν introduces two dependent clauses.

Both of them are prefaced with ὅτι and neither of them can be said to con-
tain quoted material, so we can be sure that there is nothing grammatical
about the οἴδαμεν ὅτι . . . καὶ ὅτι construction that would suggest the pres-
ence of a quotation.39 This being so, Fee’s argument amounts to saying
that the projected clauses in 8:4 do not express Paul’s own ideas because
in one similar Pauline construction the projected clauses are explicitly
said to contain received teachings. It is, however, unwise to make argu-
ments about linguistic style on the basis of a single parallel construction.
G. Heinrici claims that the shift from first person plural in v. 8 to second
person plural in v. 9 marks a change in speaker.40 This is a weak argument,
however. A shift in person may coincide with a change in speaker, but the
mere fact of the former cannot be cited as a mark of the latter. Would we
want to conclude that 1 Cor 11:31–32 contains Corinthian assertions on the
basis of the fact that there is a shift from the first person plural of these
verses to a second person plural in 12:1?41 Surely not! In this discussion of
the Lord’s Supper, Paul’s shift in grammatical person is a natural part of
his response as he moves from general principles (pertaining to Christians
everywhere) to specific instructions (directed at the Corinthians in par-
ticular). Perhaps in 1 Cor 8:9, as in 12:1, the shift from first person plural to
second person plural coincides with a transition from general principles
(about “us”) to specific instructions (for “you”). In any case, there is no
substance to the idea that the grammar of vv. 8–9 indicates a change in
speaker.
It might prove enlightening to step back from the immediate text at
issue in order to consider the explicit lexicogrammatical signals which
delineate direct discourse in Hellenistic Greek. Yet the exercise is over
almost before it begins. When material is quoted as direct discourse,
“no significant changes are made . . . apart from occasionally adding con-
nectives rather than quotation marks.”42 What is more, the presence or
absence of the most common connective (the so-called “recitative ὅτι”)
39 The text reads: ἀπεκρίθησαν οὖν οἱ γονεῖς αὐτοῦ καὶ εἶπαν· οἴδαμεν ὅτι οὗτός ἐστιν ὁ υἱὸς
ἡμῶν καὶ ὅτι τυφλὸς ἐγεννήθη.
40 G. Heinrici, Der erste Brief an die Korinther (MeyerK; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck &
Ruprecht, 1896), 262.
41 The text reads: “If we were more discerning with regard to ourselves, we would not
come under judgement. Nevertheless, when we are judged in this way by the Lord, we are
being disciplined so that we will not be finally condemned with the world. So then, my
brothers and sisters, when you gather to eat, you should all eat together.”
42 Stanley E. Porter, Idioms of the Greek New Testament (Biblical Languages: Greek 2;
Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1992), 268.
does not correlate exactly with the distinction between direct and indirect
speech: “It is not always possible to tell if the dependent clause with the
finite verb preceded by ὅτι is recording direct or indirect speech, since ὅτι
can be used with each.”43 There is, in other words, no explicit grammatical
marker that distinguishes between direct and indirect discourse in Hel-
lenistic Greek.44 How then do hearers and readers distinguish between
direct and indirect discourse? Alan Rumsey comments, “In languages that
distinguish direct discourse from indirect . . . the more ‘direct’ varieties
import features of the projected speech situation into the projecting one,
to a greater extent than do the ‘indirect’ ones.”45 One feature that can be
“imported” into direct speech is the orientation of speech roles presumed
by the projected speech situation. In other words, one can check whether
or not the “I” of the main text is still “I” in the projected text. If it is, then
the deictic centre of the text has not shifted and the projected content
is an instance of indirect discourse. If the “I” of the main text is not “I”
in the projected text, then personal references are being interpreted in
relation to a new reference point in the projected situation, namely the
individual(s) said to be projecting the speaking or thinking.
This last point is actually the only grammatical observation that is rel-
evant to the identification of direct discourse in 8:1–11:1. It entails that if
Paul is the deictic center for the projecting verb οἴδαμεν in vv. 1 and 4,
he must also be the deictic center for the projected content.46 This in
turn means that if the expression οἴδαμεν ὅτι is interpreted as a Pau-
line introductory formula, then πάντες γνῶσιν ἔχομεν must be taken to
43 Porter, Idioms, 272. Robertson writes: “As a rule the direct discourse is simply intro-
duced with a word of saying or thinking. The ancients had no quotation-marks nor our
modern colon. But sometimes ὅτι was used before the direct quotation merely to indicate
that the words are quoted” (A Grammar of the Greek New Testament in the Light of Histori-
cal Research [4th ed.; Nashville: Broadman, 1934], 1027).
44 It is worth pointing out that only certain verbs in Greek are capable of projecting
direct discourse (i.e. reorienting speech roles), and that none of the commentators who
perceive a recitative ὅτι in 8:1–13 supply a single example where the verb οἶδα does so. My
own (admittedly brief ) investigation has not found any examples.
45 Alan Rumsey, “Wording, Meaning, and Linguistic Ideology,” American Anthropologist
92 (1990): 347.
46 John 4:17 serves as a useful illustration. In this text, a Samaritan woman is respond-
ing to an instruction from Jesus concerning her husband: ἀπεκρίθη ἡ γυνὴ καὶ εἶπεν αὐτῷ·
οὐκ ἔχω ἄνδρα. λέγει αὐτῇ ὁ Ἰησοῦς· καλῶς εἶπας ὅτι ἄνδρα οὐκ ἔχω. Notice that the per-
sonal references of each projected clause are oriented around the person functioning as
speaker in the projecting clause. This is such a consistent grammatical phenomenon that
for οἴδαμεν ὅτι to be a Pauline statement introducing πάντες γνῶσιν ἔχομεν as something
affirmed by the Corinthians yet denied by himself, something like λέγετε ὅτι would need
to intervene.
mean something like “We all—that is, I, Paul, and you, my Corinthian
addressees—possess knowledge.”47 Grammatically speaking, it cannot be
otherwise.48 But in this case it is unhelpful to say that Paul is “quoting”
the Corinthians. Even if he deliberately repeats their words exactly, it is
better to say simply that he is agreeing with them.
The upshot of all this is that, while there may be Corinthian “slogans”
in 1 Cor 8:1–13, one cannot conclude this on the basis of grammatical argu-
ments.49 All one can say with reference to grammar is that the speaker
of οἴδαμεν ὅτι in vv. 1 and 4 must also be the speaker of the immediately
subsequent clauses, such that Paul is accepting any slogans that he takes
over in his text. Yet this cannot be where our discussion ends. After all, the
real reason that scholars identify instances of direct discourse in 8:1–13 is
their conviction that the text says things that Paul would not have said.
Grammatical indications or not, the identification of Corinthian verbiage
is important to the interpretation of 1 Corinthians. What I wish to suggest
here is that we must carefully distinguish between: (1) the general act of
repeating something that someone else has said; and (2) the more specific
acts of (indirectly) reporting or (directly) quoting something that someone
else has said. Almost all commentators think that Paul is repeating ideas
or phrases that have been employed by the Corinthians. This makes good
sense of the text, so I see no reason to disagree. A great many scholars, how-
ever, have gone on to conclude that Paul is actually quoting the Corinthians
at various points in 8:1–13. In virtually all cases, the motive behind this push
toward direct quotation is a perceived back-and-forth movement within the
text between Corinthian arguments and Pauline qualifications and
corrections.50 It is this perceived back-and-forth movement that I must
contest here, since it leads to misinterpreted personal reference items and
an obscuring of the grammatical pattern presented in Table 1.
47 Of course, it might be argued that Paul has in view Christians in general, in which
case the reference is broader still. But this would not affect my reading.
48 Thiselton is therefore mistaken when he proposes that it is possible to “transpose”
the sense of οἴδαμεν so that it indicates “Paul’s acknowledgement of his awareness of [the
Corinthian catchphrase’s] currency” (First Epistle, 621). There are grammatical resources
that might have communicated this meaning (e.g. οἴδαμεν ὅτι λέγετε ὅτι), but Paul did
not employ them. As the text stands, Paul must be included in both of the first person
plurals.
49 For this reason, the use of quotation marks in English translations should be treated
as an “interpretive gloss,” as noted by Newton (Deity and Diet, 279).
50 Thus Wendell Willis argues that “quotations from their letter account for the struc-
ture of the chapter, because in each case Paul takes a statement from the Corinthians as
his starting place and then responds to it” (Idol Meat, 66).
Back-and-forth readings typically go something like this, although

interpreters disagree over specific points.51 In v. 1 Paul signals his inten-
tion to discuss the topic of idol food and then cites the Corinthians as
saying, “We all possess knowledge.” In vv. 2–3 Paul minimizes the impor-
tance of knowledge and elevates love instead. Next, in vv. 4–6 Paul again
quotes the Corinthians, this time as affirming the non-reality of idols.
In v. 7 he challenges this appeal to the non-reality of idols by invoking
“the weak,” who are still endangered by idol worship. In v. 8a Paul quotes
a Corinthian statement about food consumption, which he then counters
in v. 8b. Finally, in vv. 9–13 Paul illustrates some of the negative practical
consequences that follow from the Corinthians’ position. This reading of
8:1–13 cannot be easily countered, since in its own way it actually makes
good sense of the text. My response to it, therefore, will not take the form
of a point by point rebuttal. Instead, I will argue for the persuasiveness of
an alternative reading. Contrary to certain claims that have been made
in scholarly literature, there is no need to distance Paul from any of the
statements made in 8:1–13.52
In the first place, it must be noted that Paul routinely uses οἴδαμεν ὅτι to
introduce propositions which both he and his addressees can (or should,
in his opinion) accept. Garland asserts that “[Paul] uses various permuta-
tions of the phrase ‘we know that’ to cite well-known Christian doctrine or
generally accepted facts,” and he lists no fewer than seventeen examples
to substantiate his point.53 We can also include the numerous occasions
where Paul uses Greek expressions meaning “you know,” or “I want you
to know,” or “don’t you know,” in order to point out something that (in
his opinion) needs to be taken into account (Rom 6:16; 11:2; 1 Cor 3:16; 5:6;
6:2, 3, 9, 15, 16, 19; 9:13, 24; 11:3; 12:2; 16:15; Gal 4:13; Eph 5:5; Phil 4:15; 1 Thess
1:5; 2:1, 2, 5, 11; 3:3, 4; 4:2; 5:2; 2 Thess 2:6; 3:7; 2 Tim 1:15). All of these uses
of οἶδα introduce information either that is already acceptable as common
51 A good example of this sort of reading may be found in Fotopoulos, “Arguments
Concerning Food,” 618, 622–29.
52 Fotopoulos claims that “if quotations are not understood to be embedded in the
text, then all stated positions belong to Paul, making the apostle’s arguments subject
to a number of internal, logical inconsistencies or to scholarly partition theories” (Food
Offered to Idols, 192–93). Yet this is untrue. When all stated positions are attributed to Paul,
the text makes perfect sense—provided the interpreter is willing to abandon some well-
established presuppositions about the nature of Paul’s argument. Fotopoulos himself
reveals the truth of this when he writes that “it is difficult to accept that Paul could logi-
cally state, ‘we all have knowledge (8:1b)’ and ‘not everyone has this knowledge’ (8:7a)”
(193). Anyone who cannot see a way for these two statements to be logically consistent
needs to slow down and carefully reread them.
53 Garland, 1 Corinthians, 366.
ground or that should (by Paul’s reckoning, at least) be accepted as such.54

This accounts for such a vast proportion of Paul’s uses of οἶδα that it must
be considered at least probable in 1 Cor 8:1 and 8:4. When Paul writes, “We
know that we all possess knowledge,” he is beginning his response to the
idol food issue by setting forth a generally accepted fact about Christians.
It is a fact of which both he and the Corinthians are well aware. It is prob-
ably a fact to which the Corinthians have appealed in prior communica-
tions. But it is hardly a fact from which Paul wishes to distance himself. If
this were the case he would have explicitly presented it as someone else’s
words. As the text stands, the proposition is introduced as “a well-known
fact that is generally accepted.”55 It follows from Paul’s normal use of the
phrase οἴδαμεν ὅτι and other related phrases that—even if Paul is repeat-
ing in a verbatim fashion something that the Corinthians have said—the
clause πάντες γνῶσιν ἔχομεν is not a quotation but something that Paul
himself is affirming.56 Accordingly, both of the first person plural items in
v. 1 refer to a single, unified group (i.e. author[s] and addressees together).
What is more, the same is true of all the first person plural items in
vv. 4–6. Irrespective of whether vv. 4–6 repeat ideas or phrasings com-
municated by the Corinthians, they do not contain opinions that Paul
wishes to contest. Quite the opposite, in fact. As theologians have long
recognized, Paul’s purpose in these theologically rich verses is to commu-
nicate something that all Christians know. He is not rejecting Corinthian
arguments but affirming them and elaborating them.57
54 With respect to the specific phrase οὐκ οἴδατε ὅτι, Hurd (Origin, 85) cites Ernest Evans
as saying that it pertains to “points of Christian teaching already accepted, or to matters of
fact which the readers ought to have noted and acted upon” (The Epistles of Paul the Apos-
tle to the Corinthians [3d ed.; London: Hodder and Stoughton, 1897], 87). Oddly enough,
Hurd cites this as being similar in function to οἴδαμεν ὅτι in 8:1, yet goes on to state that
Paul uses the phrase to quote a statement he himself does not accept (Origin, 120–21).
55 BDAG states: “The formula οἴδαμεν ὅτι is freq. used to introduce a well-known fact
that is generally accepted” (693). Strangely, many interpreters cite this entry of BDAG as
though it supports the identification of Corinthian quotations in 8:1–13 (e.g. Siebenmann,
“Question of Slogans,” 232; Fee, First Epistle, 365 n. 31; Thiselton, First Epistle, 621; Garland,
1 Corinthians, 366–67). I fail to see how this is the case, given that outside of the passages
here in question the fact that is “generally accepted” is actually a fact accepted by Paul
(and many other people as well).
56 Fotopoulos recognizes this, although he comes to a mistaken conclusion (in my
opinion): “It seems likely that the quotation begins with οἴδαμεν ὅτι (“ ‘We know that’ ”)
rather than with πάντες (‘we all’) since if οἴδαμεν ὅτι is Paul’s remark then he agrees with
the statement that all have knowledge, only to refute it in 8:1c-3 and 8:7a, thus undermin-
ing the force of his argument” (“Rhetorical Situation,” 181).
57 Yeo is thus correct when he concludes that “The ‘we’ Paul uses is inclusive of him-
self,” and that “By partially quoting the Corinthians’ slogan in the first five verses, Paul
A second thing to notice about 8:1–13 is the logical progression that

holds together vv. 1–7. Almost all commentators perceive a transition in
Paul’s discourse between vv. 6 and 7.58 Pilgrim claims “there can be no
doubt that 8:1–6 forms a discrete section of the discourse, in which it func-
tions as an introduction of some sort.”59 Smit goes further and argues that
these verses constitute a rhetorical partitio structured around two anti
theses (8:1–3, 8:4–6). He even claims to see this initial structure reflected
in the overarching structure of 8:1–11:1.60 My analysis, quite to the contrary,
suggests that 8:1–13 constitutes a sustained argument within which vv. 4–7
are an indivisible component. In v. 4 Paul presents two pieces of informa-
tion that are possessed by all Christians (cf. 8:1), namely, that οὐδὲν εἴδωλον
ἐν κόσμῳ and that οὐδεὶς θεὸς εἰ μὴ εἷς. In vv. 5–6 he elaborates on these
pieces of information (γάρ), presenting a concise and potent statement
that continues to intrigue theological commentators. Moving on from this
common ground, Paul in v. 7 denies a possible inference (ἀλλά) by asserting
that, while this knowledge is possessed by Paul and the Corinthian Chris-
tians, it is not possessed by everyone. He then substantiates his point by
introducing into the discussion a category of people who lack knowledge.
Most commentators do not follow this straightforward logical progression
because it depends on a contrast between the first person plural “we” in
vv. 1–6 and the third person plural that appears in v. 7. This contrast is
entirely obscured when: (1) the first person plurals are split into differ-
ent categories because of perceived “quotations,” and (2) the third person
group introduced in v. 7 is treated as a group internal to the Corinthian
community (see below). What is more, when Paul’s contrast between “us”
and “them” is missed, vv. 1 and 7 appear to stand in some kind of tension.61
Interpreters have made various attempts to explain away this tension, but
the simplest solution is to recognize that different groups of people are in
view. There is no back-and-forth movement between a Corinthian per-
spective and Paul’s perspective in vv. 1–6, nor is there a new beginning in
has gained a strong foothold for his persuasion. It is a way of gaining attention from the
audience also, letting them know their argument has some validity” (Rhetorical Interac-
tion, 185).
58 Cf. Fee, First Epistle, 376; Thiselton, First Epistle, 639; Garland, 1 Corinthians, 378.
59 Howard Pilgrim, “Benefits and Obligations: Reading 1 Corinthians 8:6 in Context”
(unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, University of Otago, 2002), 94.
60 Smit, “Rhetorical Partitio,” 587. Interestingly, Fotopoulos purports to find a partitio
as well, but he locates it in vv. 1–9 (“Rhetorical Situation,” 179).
61 See note 54 above.
v. 7. Rather, vv. 1–7 manifest a single, logical, and linear progression that
relies upon a contrast between “us” and “them.”62
This logical progression helpfully explains the puzzling sentences in
v. 8. Commentators frequently bemoan the obscurity of the connections
between v. 8 and its context, as well as the difficulties involved in cor-
rectly assigning its sentences to either Paul or the Corinthians.63 Typi-
cally, they resort to treating v. 8 as a Corinthian assertion that Paul goes
on to challenge in v. 9,64 or they treat v. 8a as a Corinthian assertion
that Paul challenges already in v. 8b.65 Yet when a contrast between “us”
and “them” is brought into the picture, there is an obvious progression
between vv. 7, 8 and 9–11. Having established that there are people outside
of the church who lack knowledge (v. 7), Paul begins in v. 8 to consider the
consequences of the Christian’s behaviour. As regards those who possess
knowledge, he writes, “we” possess liberty with regard to food because
we do not live with the false expectation that God will judge people on
the basis of their food consumption (v. 8a). This fairly radical assertion
(from a Jewish perspective, at least) is undoubtedly something that Paul
himself taught the Corinthians during his initial visit with them, and it is
in all likelihood something that they have repeated back to him in their
inquiry.66 But whereas the Corinthians have concluded from this teach-
ing that they neither honour God by abstaining nor anger him by eating,
Paul quickly points out the converse: it is just as valid to conclude that
62 In fact, logical progression characterizes all of 8:1–13, as may be seen from the con-
junctions that link its main clauses together: δέ—φ—δέ—φ—δέ—οὖν—γάρ—ἀλλά—δέ—
καί—δέ—οὔτε—οὔτε—δέ—γάρ—γάρ—δέ—διόπερ. The only two main clauses without
a conjunction appear in vv. 1b–3. The reason for this seems to be that in vv. 1b–3 Paul
does not, strictly speaking, build on his initial statement in v. 1a that all Christians possess
knowledge. Instead, he makes some very general comments about how Christians should
view knowledge. By the time he is prepared to proceed with the argument as he had origi-
nally intended (note the conjunction οὖν), the discourse has wandered sufficiently afield
that he chooses to restate his topic and rephrase his opening statement by making explicit
some of the knowledge in question.
63 For example, Fee states: “The difficulties lie in determining both what the sentences
mean and how they function in the argument. Part of the latter problem is related to
whether they reflect ad hoc instruction from Paul about idol food, or whether they reflect
a Corinthian position in some way” (First Epistle, 382).
64 See especially Jerome Murphy-O’Connor, “Food and Spiritual Gifts in 1 Cor 8:8,” CBQ
41 (1979): 292–98.
65 For example, C.K. Barrett, A Commentary on the First Epistle to the Corinthians (2nd
ed.; Black’s New Testament Commentaries; London: A&C Black, 1971), 195; Thiselton, First
Epistle, 647.
66 Garland writes, “The knowers had seized on Paul’s views about the insignificance
of Jewish dietary laws and circumcision (7:19) and applied it to idol food” (1 Corinthians,
385).
the Christian neither angers God by abstaining nor honours him by eat-
ing (v. 8b).67 Then just as quickly, Paul turns his readers’ attention to the
people introduced in v. 7. These people are ignorant about the one true
God; they are mired in idolatry and so morally impaired that they believe
themselves to be honouring an idol when they eat sacrificial food. What
will the consequences be for them if the Corinthians eat idol food? Their
situation is so dire that the Christ-follower cannot indifferently choose to
care only about herself (vv. 9–11). Once again, a straightforward interpre-
tation of the first person plurals—as references to author(s) and address-
ees together—clears up some troubling interpretive problems.
The reading of v. 8 that I have just proposed, which entails that Paul
himself is affirming dietary freedom, has interesting implications for the
phrase “this freedom of yours” (ἡ ἐξουσία ὑμῶν αὕτη) in v. 9. It is somewhat
plausible that the phrase is an inflammatory remark about something the
Corinthians purport to possess, but which in Paul’s opinion they do not
actually possess (i.e. the right to do whatever they want, or perhaps more
specifically the right to eat idol food). Supposing this, Thiselton claims
that “nothing could signal more clearly that Paul addresses the specific
use, understanding, and manipulation of a right which characterized a
certain stance at Corinth.”68 Gardner similarly asserts that “the use of
ὑμῶν suggests that Paul is not aligning himself with this ‘right,’ ” and that
“αὕτη emphasizes the particular ἐξουσία being addressed, indicating that
Paul was referring back to the Corinthian display of knowledge (8:7).”69
Unfortunately, this line of interpretation misses several important consid-
erations. To begin with, the most obvious candidate for the right that Paul
calls “this right” is neither an understanding peculiar to the Corinthians
nor some Corinthian display of knowledge allegedly discernable in v. 7.70
The obvious candidate is actually the dietary freedom that is implied by
67 I have paraphrased Paul’s words in this way because, in my opinion, the future tense
of v. 8a casts a shadow of eschatological anticipation across the whole verse. The Cor-
inthians are arguing that God’s indifference with regard to food consumption justifies a
certain lack of eschatological expectation (hence the future tense). Paul agrees with them
and then proceeds to establish two general principles (hence the present tense). His two
principles, however, are derived from the lack of expectation and so they continue to have
eschatological consequences in view.
68 Thiselton, First Epistle, 650.
69 Gardner, Gifts of God, 55.
70 There is not, incidentally, any reason to suppose that v. 7 presupposes an action on
the part of Paul’s addressees (as though “the weak” will only eat if Paul’s addressees do so
first). The possibility of a Corinthian believer eating idol food is introduced as an explicit
topic of discussion only in v. 10. The point of v. 7 is that ignorant polytheists eat idol food
in a manner that causes defilement (see below).
the assertion in v. 8a. Thus the pronoun αὕτη is anaphoric, devoid of any
dismissive tone. Moreover, while the second person pronoun ὑμῶν does
explicitly associate ἡ ἐξουσία with the Corinthians in order to emphasize a
division between two groups of people, that division does not fall between
Paul and the Corinthians. Rather, it falls between Christians and non-
Christians. Paul could just as easily have said “ours” in the sense of “not
theirs,” except that he has already shifted the focus of the text onto the
Corinthians with the opening imperative of v. 9.71 Accordingly, the best
explanation of the phrase “this freedom of yours” is not that the phrase is
dripping with scorn but that it refers back quite neutrally to the Corinthian
Christians’ right to eat whatever they please, free from dietary restrictions.72
This being so, v. 9 should not be taken as Paul’s reaction to a Corinthian
quotation in v. 8.73 Rather, in v. 8 Paul himself has affirmed dietary free-
dom, and he is now proceeding to consider the negative effect that the
indiscriminate exercise of that freedom might have on others.
There is, frankly, no back-and-forth argument taking place in 8:1–13.
Paul does take great pains to engage with the contents of the Corinthians’
inquiry, so in this sense the majority of commentators are correct. But he
does not cite this content negatively in order to qualify or contest it. In
fact, nothing could be further from the truth! Paul eagerly appropriates
whatever he can from the Corinthians’ inquiry in order to reassure his
converts that he and they share a great deal of common ground (vv. 1, 4–6,
8). This common ground consists of widely-accepted principles that Paul
himself probably taught the Corinthians during his initial visit to Corinth.
Paul’s strategy is to show that additional facts must be taken into account
(vv. 2–3, 7, 9–11) and that these additional facts necessitate a different
71 Of course, if my reading of 8:1–13 is correct, then Paul does something very similar
to this in v. 13 when he speaks about how he himself acts, since this presumes that he too
possesses this right to eat. Also, in 10:25 he supplies a scriptural text that supports the right
(i.e. “the earth is the Lord’s and everything in it” [Ps 24:1]). And in 10:29 he refers to this
same right as ἡ ἐλευθερία μου.
72 Fotopoulos is reading into the text when he says that the maxim in v. 8b concerns
“the social and economic advantages [and disadvantages] of sacrificial food consumption”
(“Rhetorical Situation,” 186). The maxim, as it stands, speaks about food consumption gen-
erally, not about sacrificial food consumption. And as I have pointed out, the immediate
context has divine judgement in view, not social and economic considerations. Certainly,
the harm described in v. 11 can hardly be social and economic destruction.
73 Gooch is thus incorrect to say that 8:8 must be a quotation of the Corinthian letter
“since 8:9 . . . is best read as a qualification of the saying in 8:8” (Gooch, Dangerous Food, 63).
conclusion than the one drawn by the Corinthians.74 If there are two
perspectives being played against one another in 8:1–13, then it must be
said that these perspectives are: (1) a perspective shared by Paul and the
Corinthians (i.e. the “we” of vv. 1–13); and (2) a second perspective that is
characteristic of certain outsiders (i.e. the “they” of vv. 1–13).
These observations have important implications for Paul’s social rela-
tions with the Corinthians inasmuch as they reveal the abundance of first
person plural items in the first seven verses of 8:1–11:1 to be an affirmation
of unity. To say that many of these items appear in quotations suggests
that the relevant propositions remain Corinthian opinions, when in truth
the whole strategy behind Paul’s appropriation of them requires that they
be revealed as shared convictions. Granted, Paul is not content with the
conclusions that his addressees have drawn from these shared convic-
tions, otherwise he would not have bothered to write 1 Cor 8:1–11:1. But to
say that Paul qualifies or opposes Corinthian statements suggests a back
and forth argument, when in truth Paul is agreeing with his addressees’
observations and then adding some of his own.75 It would seem that the
relationship underlying 8:1–13 is much less conflicted than is typically sup-
posed. Paul merely points out that the Corinthians have not considered
love. Nor have they considered the effects that their behaviour might have
on others. It is to these others that we must now turn.
Impaired People
As Table 1 reveals, Paul and the Corinthians are not the only people men-
tioned in 8:1–13. In addition to numerous first and second person items,
there are also a number of third person items that seem to group together
as references to so-called “weak” people, whom I prefer to call impaired
people. In this section, I will explore how Paul speaks about impaired peo-
ple in vv. 7–13. I will first interpret Paul’s descriptions of impaired people
in the light of the contrast he establishes between “us” and “them.” I will
next demonstrate that it is misleading to speak about “the” impaired peo-
ple, since there is no sign in the text that they constitute an identifiable
74 The most important additional consideration is, of course, the effect that consuming
idol food will have on impaired people. Although many readings of 8:1–13 suppose that
the Corinthians are aware of impaired people and perhaps even encouraging them to eat
idol food (see especially Yeo, Rhetorical Interaction), there is no sign in the text that the
Corinthians have given the slightest thought to the consequences that their actions will
have on impaired people.
75 This is essentially the suggestion of Gregory Dawes (“The Danger of Idolatry: First
Corinthians 8:7–13,” CBQ 58 [1996]: 82–98, here 92), although his interpretation differs
from mine at several key points.
group in any usual sense of that term. Finally, I will propose that Paul very
subtly distinguishes between the impaired people who are “brethren” to the
Corinthians and certain other people who are “brethren” to Paul himself.
Although commentators continue to disagree about many details,
almost everyone regards “the weak” as people within the Corinthian
church.76 The contrast between “us” and “them” that characterizes 1 Cor
8:1–13, however, strongly suggests that the impaired people about whom
Paul is speaking are not members of the church to which he is writing.77 In
fact, Paul’s argument seems to suggest that they are not Christians at all.
As Mark Nanos observes, Paul’s primary characterization of himself and
the Corinthians is as people who possess knowledge. His primary charac-
terization of the “others” is as people who lack the knowledge shared by
Paul and his addressees and who are consequently “unable to function in
the way that [Paul] expects of those with properly working sensibilities,
lacking the proper sense of what is true about the divine.”78 This being
so, it is inappropriate to describe the two contrasted groups in 8:1–13 as
a “strong” group and a “weak” group within the believing community,79
as though the difference between them is merely the degree to which a
certain “intellectual conviction” has been “assimilated emotionally.”80 In
reality, a sharp distinction between the two groups is already established
in vv. 1–7a before the term ἀσθενής (‘weak, impaired’) appears in v. 7b.
Whereas “we” are knowledgeable, Paul writes, “they” are not. The specific
impairment that Paul has in view in v. 7b is a corollary of the specific igno-
76 As I was putting the finishing touches on the analysis that undergirds this essay,
Mark Nanos published an essay that dovetails quite nicely with many (but not all) of my
conclusions. His main contention in this essay (i.e. “Polytheist Identity”) is that “Paul’s
message in these chapters [i.e. 1 Cor 8–10] primarily addresses issues across a Christ-
believing/polytheist line instead of inter-Christian factionalism [as is generally supposed]”
(182). I will present frequent excerpts from Nanos’s work in the present section, and I
direct interested readers to his lengthier essay on this specific point. I should also note
that it is from Nanos that I have appropriated the word impaired.
77 Nanos writes: “While [Paul] addresses his instructions to the knowledgeable, it is less
clear that he addresses the impaired, that they are even part of the encoded or the actual
audience Paul envisages will hear the letter read; rather, he writes about the impaired,
and the impact of the behavior of the knowledgeable upon them” (“Polytheist Identity,”
181). Elsewhere he comments: “Are not the ‘we’ and ‘us’ Christians, versus the ‘them’ who
believe in idols, who do not realize that God is One” (ibid., 198).
78 “Polytheist Identity,” 180.
79 “Thus to refer to the weak versus the strong implies a different contrast than the one
Paul articulates. The contrast he draws has the knowledgeable on one side, the impaired
on the other” (“Polytheist Identity,” 181).
80 Jerome Murphy-O’Connor, “Freedom or the Ghetto (1 Cor., VIII, 1–13; X,23–XI,1),” RB
85 (1978): 543–74, here 554 (repr. in Keys to First Corinthians, 87–112).
rance that Paul is speaking about in vv. 1–7. Polytheists are ignorant about
idols and about the one true God and are therefore morally impaired.
This understanding of the text is confirmed by Paul’s observation in
v. 7b. Here Paul asserts very straightforwardly that some people eat idol
food. But of course, we must look to the phrases τῇ συνηθείᾳ ἕως ἄρτι
τοῦ εἰδώλου and ὡς εἰδωλόθυτον in order to determine what Paul is really
getting at. Typically, interpreters observe that the meaning of συνήθεια
involves “habituated attitudes, stances, and patterns of behavior,”81 and
then proceed to infer that Paul is speaking subjectively about “the weak.”
Then, owing to the majority view that “the weak” are individuals within the
Corinthian church, Paul’s observation is taken to mean that certain Chris-
tians within the Corinthian church “are still gripped by the idol by force
of habit even now, and they eat meat as an actual idol sacrifice.”82 This
reading has even been enshrined in BDAG, which lists a distinct sense of
συνήθεια just for 1 Cor 8:7 (‘subjectively being or becoming accustomed’).83
For my part, however, I understand the phrase τῇ συνηθείᾳ . . . τοῦ εἰδώλου
to mean here “the customary understanding of the idol.” This sense of
συνήθεια is attested outside of 1 Cor 8:7,84 and it provides a superior
explanation of the article before συνηθείᾳ. Moreover, it coheres remark-
ably well with Paul’s sustained contrast between “we” who possess knowl-
edge and “they” who do not. After all, not everyone has “turned to God
from idols to serve the living and true God” (1 Thess 1:9). For some peo-
ple there is only one God and one Lord (v. 6), but it is more generally
accepted that there are many gods and many lords (v. 5). Have the
Corinthians not noticed that Corinth is full of people who remain within a
polytheistic tradition, who hold to the customary understanding of idols,
and who eat the food in question not as a source of sustenance provided
by the one true God (cf. 10:25) but as a sacred offering? Polytheists are still
believers of the customary understanding of idols.

83 BDAG, 971.
84 In Plato’s Theaetetus (168b–c), Socrates playfully puts the following words in the
mouth of Protagoras: καὶ ἐκ τούτων ἐπισκέψῃ εἴτε ταὐτὸν εἴτε καὶ ἄλλο ἐπιστήμη καὶ αἴσθησις,
ἀλλ’ οὐχ ὥσπερ ἄρτι ἐκ συνηθείας ῥημάτων τε καὶ ὀνομάτων, ἃ οἱ πολλοὶ ὅπῃ ἂν τύχωσιν ἕλκοντες
ἀπορίας ἀλλήλοις παντοδαπὰς παρέχουσι (“And on the basis of that you will consider the
question whether knowledge and perception are the same or different, instead of doing as
you did a while ago, using as your basis the ordinary meaning of names and words, which
most people pervert in haphazard ways and thereby cause all sorts of perplexity in one
another”). The key phrase, ἐκ συνηθείας ῥημάτων τε καὶ ὀνομάτων, means something like “the
customary meaning of verbs and nouns.”
As regards the rest of v. 7, the term μολύνω has strong associations with
Jewish concerns about purity. Some scholars have pressed these associa-
tions into service of the idea that “the weak” are Jewish Christians.85 Oth-
ers, rightly rejecting this implausible idea, have proceeded to understand
the notion of defilement as a purely psychological phenomenon. Thus
Thiselton, drawing upon the work of Theissen, speaks about “precon-
scious drives” and “subconscious yearnings” and concludes that Paul is
speaking here about a situation in which “the weak” are psychologically
injured. They are made to react “with alarm, disgust, or guilt”; they are
“actually polluted” and their innocence is “destroyed.”86 The pathos inher-
ent in such views makes me hesitant to play the critic, but it seems to
me that v. 7b manifests a very common Jewish perspective on Gentile
idolatry.87 When Paul writes ἡ συνείδησις αὐτῶν ἀσθενὴς οὖσα μολύνεται, he
is not describing a psychological pain inflicted upon “weak” Christians.
He is saying that ignorant idolaters possess impaired moral faculties and
that these faculties are defiled by the idolatrous activities to which they
wrongly give consent. This hardly reflects a concern with subjectivity; to
the contrary, it reveals a deeply ingrained Jewish taboo that is actually
objectifying. Idolatry defiles, so idolaters are defiled. The moral faculties of
polytheists are defiled on account of the idolatrous practices to which they
give consent, such as the eating of idol offerings.
This understanding of the defilement mentioned in v. 7 is at odds with
many readings of 8:1–13, some of which give the impression that Paul’s
(alleged) decision to treat idol food as a “matter of conscience” manifests
Christianity’s liberation from Jewish superstitions.88 It accords quite well,
however, with the idea that Paul retained many aspects of his Jewish heri-
tage. In particular, I would argue that Paul’s letters manifest a subtle and
85 For examples of this reconstruction, see Jacques Dupont, Gnosis: La Connaissance

Religieuse dans les É pîtres de Saint Paul (2nd ed.; Louvain: E. Nauwlaerts, 1960), 283–85;
Richard A. Horsley, “Gnosis in Corinth: 1 Corinthians 8:1–6,” NTS 27 (1980): 32–51.
87 Consider the following passage from Philo (cited by David E. Garland, “The Dispute
over Food Sacrificed to Idols (1 Cor 8:1–11:1),” PRSt 30 [2003]: 183 n. 48): “If a brother or son
or daughter . . . or anyone else who seems to be kindly disposed, urges us to alike course,
bidding us fraternize with the multitude, resort to temples, and join in their libations and
sacrifices, we must punish him as a public and general enemy, taking little thought for
the ties which bind us to him . . . and deem it a religious duty to seek his death” (Spec.
Leg. 1.316).
88 See, for example, Weiss, Der erste Korintherbrief, 264 (cited by Garland, 1 Corinthians,
355).
multifaceted reaction to the impurity of idolatry.89 In 1 Cor 5, for example,

he struggles to help the Corinthians understand that they must maintain
communal purity without removing themselves from Greco-Roman soci-
ety. He has previously instructed them not to associate with immoral peo-
ple (5:9). But whereas a simplistic reading of this instruction might infer
that Christians are somehow expected to leave the world (5:10), Paul’s
actual intentions are somewhat more nuanced. His fear is not that Chris-
tians will interact socially with immoral people, such as idolaters; his con-
cern is to maintain a clear distinction between the church and society. In
essence, Paul draws a stark boundary between the church and the world,
between insiders (τοὺς ἔσω) and outsiders (τοὺς ἔξω), and he commands
the cessation of any social interaction with a believer whose behaviour
does not recognize or adequately maintain that boundary.90
Paul’s rather subtle position, I suggest, entails that impurity is not con-
tracted whenever a Christian enters into social relations with an impure
person. Rather, Christians contract impurity when: (1) they welcome an
impure person as a member of that society that is defined by the lordship
of Jesus Christ (i.e. the church); or (2) they represent themselves as mem-
bers of some society that is defined by the lordship of a false god (whether
in heaven or on earth) in order to be welcome among impure people.
Thus 1 Cor 5 teaches that it is acceptable to enter into social relations with
an immoral person, provided the relation is manifestly a relation between
a Christian and a non-Christian. But if an alleged Christian persists in
being immoral, then all forms of social interaction—including social din-
ing (5:11)—must be cut off. The church must not allow impure people to
parade themselves as participants in its Christ-worship or as members of
its Christ-believing society. Along remarkably similar lines, 1 Cor 8:1–11:1
teaches that it is acceptable to enter into social relations with an idol-
atrous person, provided the relation is manifestly a relation between a
Christian and a polytheist. But an alleged Christian cannot parade herself
89 For a recent discussion of communal purity in the Corinthian correspondence, see

J. Ayodeji Adewuya, Holiness and Community in 2 Cor 6:14–7:1: Paul’s View of Communal
Holiness in the Corinthian Correspondence (Studies in Biblical Literature 40; New York:
Peter Lang, 2003).
90 As Jerome Neyrey writes, “Paul’s perception reflects a view of God’s holiness that
cannot abide anything unclean, sinful, or polluted. . . . Thus Paul erects a formidable
boundary to fence in and protect the holy people of God” (Jerome H. Neyrey, “Rituals:
Making and Maintaining Boundaries,” in Paul, In Other Words: A Cultural Reading of His
Letters [Louisville: Westminster/John Knox, 1990], 83).
as a participant in idolatrous worship or as a member of a specific idola-

trous society. In response to struggling Corinthians wanting to eat idol
food in order to minimize the social pressures associated with their new
social identity, Paul insists that Christians cannot knowingly eat idol food
because such a wilful consumption of idol food will obscure the visible
social boundary that separates Christians from idolaters. Why is this vis-
ible boundary so important to Paul? Because of his understanding of the
gospel.91 As a preacher of the gospel, Paul perceives that any blurring of
the social distinction between Christian and idolater will make it harder
for both groups to perceive (and hence act in accordance with) the sote-
riological distinction between those who are saved and those who are not.
The Christian needs to perceive that she has left behind a world that is
destined for destruction. The idolater needs to perceive that he stands
within a world that is destined for destruction.
In 1 Cor 8:1–13, Paul’s focus is on the harm that will come to polythe-
ists if they see Christians knowingly eating sacrificial food, so the fear of
believers contracting impurity is quite muted. In fact, the notion of impu-
rity appears only incidentally in v. 7 when Paul characterizes polytheists
as people who are defiled. I would like to suggest, however, that when
Paul does turn in 9:24–10:22 to a consideration of the harm that will come
to Christians if they knowingly eat idol food, the fear of impurity becomes
more central. Especially in 10:14–22, Paul is deeply concerned that Corin-
thian Christians will be seen to participate in idolatrous activities and that
this participation will taint the purity of the Christ-believing community.
He is not explicit about this fact, admittedly, but perhaps this explains
why he goes on to use rather unmistakeable language in 2 Cor 6:14–7:1.92
In this later passage he openly manifests a deeply ingrained taboo towards
idolatry that is (I suggest) present but restrained throughout 1 Cor 8:1–11:1.
“Do not be yoked together with unbelievers” (2 Cor 6:14), he writes, for
“what agreement is there between the temple of God and idols” (v. 16)?
Believers are to “be separate” and “touch no unclean thing” (v. 17). They
are to “purify [themselves] from everything that contaminates body and
spirit” (7:1). Is this not the same purity concern that is implied when Paul
insists in 1 Cor 10:21, “You cannot drink the cup of the Lord and the cup
91 See especially John M.G. Barclay, “Thessalonica and Corinth: Social Contrasts in
Pauline Christianity,” JSNT (1992): 49–74.
92 On the significance of 2 Cor 6:14–7:1 for the idol food issue, see Gordon D. Fee,
“II Corinthians 6:14–7:1 and Food Offered to Idols,” NTS 23 (1977): 140–61; Margaret E.
Thrall, “Problem of II Cor 6:14–7:1 in Some Recent Discussion,” NTS 24 (1977): 132–48.
of demons too; you cannot have a part in both the Lord’s table and the
table of demons”?
Looking beyond Paul’s letters, we see a similar concern for purity in the
Apostolic Decree, which associates the eating of idol food with defilement
(Acts 15:20; 21:25). In fact, a concern for communal purity and identity per-
meates the writings of early Christian authors. As Alex Cheung has shown,
the “social boundary” logic of 1 Cor 10 is far more prominent than the so-
called “weaker brother” logic of 1 Cor 8 in early Christian discussions of
idol food. Concerning the majority of early Christian writers, he remarks:
“Like Paul, they believed that food itself was indifferent. . . . Rather, the
reason for their abstention was a confessional one: they wanted to avoid
being thought of as participating in idolatry or as failing to stand up for
their monotheistic faith.”93 What commentators consistently fail to notice
is that the “social boundary” logic of 1 Cor 10 is the logic 1 Cor 8. In truth,
the interrelated notions of identity, purity and confession permeate all
of 8:1–11:1. In 10:14–22, Paul warns that it is dangerous for a Christian to
masquerade as an idolater, since God might well decide to treat him as
one. In 9:24–10:13, Paul encourages his addressees to endure in their faith
instead of caving in to temptation (i.e. social pressure to live according to
the lifestyle they have left behind). Although Paul states in 9:19–23 that it
is helpful to minimize certain social distinctions, he makes it abundantly
clear that this social adaptation should be undertaken as part of a gos-
pel mission that is predicated on a rigid distinction between those who
are saved and those who are not and on the principle that it is good to
transfer as many people as possible into the category of the saved. Finally,
and most importantly for this essay, in 8:1–13 and 10:23–11:1 Paul urges a
public witness that presents the danger of idolatry very clearly. As in 2 Cor
6:1–7:2, he depicts social rejection as the flipside of the church’s calling to
leave society, and he urges the Corinthians to follow his example by put-
ting no stumbling block in anyone’s path so that the ministry of the gospel
will not be discredited.94
93 Cheung, Idol Food, 280.

94 As I have attempted to clarify at various points in this essay, we need not suppose
that Corinthian idolaters would have “taken offense” at the sight of a Christian eating idol
food. Paul’s concern is merely that they not be hindered from coming to salvation. If there
was a fear of public scandal in Paul’s mind as he wrote 1 Cor 8:1–13, it was more likely a
concern for his reputation among the Jews, which will suffer if his Gentile converts are
observed eating idol food (or worse, frequenting pagan temples).
Notably, Paul’s decision to begin with the other-oriented component of

his appeal allows him to strategically express the strongly negative analysis
of idolatry that permeates all of his reflections on Greco-Roman polythe-
ism (cf. Rom 1). Perhaps he senses that his Jewish assessment of idolatry
runs the risk of offending or (even worse) alienating his addressees, who
have presumably written to him because they are longing to participate
again in the social functions of the idolatrous Greco-Roman world. Once
upon a time they joyfully turned from their false gods to serve the living
God, but Paul has since moved on and normality has begun to set in and
they are now less inclined to accept the imposition of social restrictions.
Perhaps they are also less inclined to accept a harsh evaluation of their
friends and loved ones. Knowing this, Paul (quite cleverly) defends absti-
nence as a noble gesture towards people who are destined for destruction
on account of their failure to glorify God. Looking at this appeal through
the lens of Paul’s gospel, we can see that he is attempting to reinforce the
church’s identity—and thereby preserve the church’s purity—by enlist-
ing the Corinthians in his mission to save as many people as possible.
Looking at Paul’s strategy through a sociological lens, we can see that it
is an attempt to associate a characteristic Jewish abstinence with feelings
of social superiority rather than social inadequacy. Paul knows his audi-
ence. Seizing upon the Corinthians’ desire to be knowledgeable and free,
he tries to convince them that they already are knowledgeable and free
and that this is demonstrated by their refusal to eat idol food. Instead of
grumbling, they should be trying to save people from the ignorance and
bondage of idolatry. In a classic move, Paul buttresses his demand for
social separation with an affirmation of spiritual supremacy.
Getting back to Paul’s use of μολύνω in v. 7, it is fair to say that Paul’s
appeal in 8:7–12 on behalf of defiled people does not display a concern for
the psychological sensitivities of “weak” and “insecure” Christians. Rather,
it displays a deeply-ingrained abhorrence of idolatry (as the practice
of dysfunctional people who are dirty and distasteful) coupled with a
strong desire to save idolaters (by calling them out of their ignorance and
into a special community created by God). But what exactly does the text
say about the harm that will come to idolaters if Christians eat idol food?
Nanos has written at length in response to this question, so I will restrict
myself here to two observations.95
95 Nanos, “Polytheist Identity,” 192–96.

First, Paul characterizes the eating of idol food in v. 9 as a “stumbling

block” (πρόσκομμα), a term that also appears in his final remarks about
idol food where he instructs his readers to “not cause anyone to stumble—
whether Jews, Greeks or the church of God” (10:32). This avoidance of
stumbling blocks expresses love (cf. 8:1), inasmuch as it seeks “the good
of many, so that they may be saved” (10:33). It coheres with the example of
Jesus Christ (11:1; cf. 8:11) and is a practice modelled by Paul in his ministry
(10:33–11:1; cf. 8:13; 9:19–23). But perhaps more importantly, its suitability
in the present context likely derives from Second Exodus traditions that
speak about the servant of the Lord preparing a smooth road for those
who are coming out of their captivity (in Egypt, or Babylon, or Corinth,
or wherever).96 I suggest that in 8:1–13 and 10:23–11:1, as in 1 Cor 9:1–23
and 2 Cor 6:1–7:2, Paul’s talk about not hindering the proclamation of the
gospel by not causing others to stumble must be read as a reflection of
his self-conception as a preacher of the gospel. He proclaims the gospel
to captive people who need to come out of their captivity and into the
community of faith. In the case of Gentile idolaters, he does not wish
anything to hinder their recognition of the dangers they face if they do
not cease their idolatry. After all, they must be encouraged by all possible
means to flee from their idolatry. So Conzelmann correctly observes that
“ἀπολλύναι must not be taken in a weakened sense as moral ruin; here as
elsewhere it means eternal damnation.”97 But the nature of Paul’s con-
cern here with salvation and damnation is oriented differently than most
interpreters believe.
Second, Paul’s declaration that the Christian who wilfully eats idol
food will inevitably injure the moral faculties of impaired people must
be understood in relation to the impairment entailed by vv. 7–12. The
impairment in these verses is not a subjective insecurity, but an objective
failure to work properly. Accordingly, the injury described in v. 12 should
not be interpreted psychologically, as though it entails “inflicting damag-
ing blows on their self-awareness while it is still insecure.”98 Rather, the
impaired conscience is injured when it is “made (even) more able” to
consent to an immoral behaviour. An important implication of this is
that impaired people are likely unaware of their being made more able to
96 See especially William J. Webb, Returning Home: New Covenant and Second Exodus as
the Context for 2 Corinthians 6.14–7.1 (JSNTSup 85; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1993), ch. 5.
97 Conzelmann, 1 Corinthians, 149 n. 38.
98 Thiselton, First Epistle, 613. Thiselton notes that the “psychological” sense of “being
wounded” is too easily trivialized (654), but he nevertheless fails to escape the traditional
preoccupation with inner subjectivity.
commit idolatry. After all, the consciences of the impaired are impaired
precisely because they already consent to idolatry. Paul nowhere sug-
gests that the impaired people “feel” strengthened or wounded, any more
than he suggests that they “feel” impaired. In both cases we are deal-
ing with objective characterizations that derive entirely from Paul. The
polytheists about whom Paul is speaking would almost certainly disavow
his claims.
On the basis of all the preceding observations and arguments, I must
agree with Nanos that in this case a longstanding consensus is mistaken.
The impaired people mentioned in 1 Cor 8:1–13 are not Christians; they are
the people with whom Paul’s addressees are hoping to freely dine. There
are additional things to consider, however. Specifically, in addition to the
way that impaired people are described or referred to in 8:7–13, we must
consider how these impaired people are tracked throughout 8:1–13.
For example, it is noteworthy that Paul introduces impaired people
into his response using an indefinite pronoun (i.e. τινὲς). This has as one of
its effects the establishment of a contrast between πᾶσιν in v. 7a and τινὲς
in v. 7b. If Paul is introducing “weak” Christians here, as most interpreters
presume, then τινὲς can be taken as roughly equivalent to the more explicit
phrase τινὲς ἐξ ὑμῶν: “Not every one of us has knowledge; rather some of
you. . . .” On the other hand, if my reading of 8:1–13 is correct, then πᾶσιν
and τινὲς are best interpreted more generally: “Not all people have knowl-
edge; rather some people. . . .” In an intriguing passage, John Chrysostom
acknowledges these two interpretive alternatives:
Either [Paul] here glances at the Greeks who say that there are many gods
and lords, and who know not Him that is truly God; or at the converts from
among Greeks who were still rather infirm, such as did not yet know clearly
that they ought not to fear idols and that an idol is nothing in the world.99
Although Chrysostom ultimately concludes that Paul’s impaired people
are Greek converts, he concedes the possibility that they could be Greek
polytheists. Given the considerations presented above, I myself find the
polytheistic reading more plausible. It is as though Paul is saying, “Of
course I agree with you theologically. I did, after all, teach you these things
myself. But have you considered that not everyone holds to this theological
viewpoint? Some people are ignorant, and unlike all of us they continue to
eat in accordance with the customary understanding of the idol.”
99 NPNF 1 12:114.
Admittedly, Paul’s use of an unqualified indefinite pronoun in v. 7

hardly amounts to compelling evidence. After all, Ignatius regularly uses
unqualified indefinite pronouns in order to speak about people who are
threatening churches from within (Ignatius Eph. 7.1; Trall. 10.1; Smyrn. 5.1).
Things become more interesting, however, when we consider how these
unspecified impaired people are tracked throughout the remainder of
vv. 7–13. After introducing some people (τινὲς) in v. 7, Paul subsequently
refers to them in v. 9 using the plural phrase τοῖς ἀσθενέσιν. This suggests
two things. First, it suggests that the impairment of these people is a salient
feature that Paul wishes to accentuate. He could have referred to them as
τοῖς ἀγνωσίαν θεοῦ ἔχουσιν (cf. 1 Cor 15:34), τοῖς μολυσμοῖς, etc. Presumably
he wishes to play down arrogance and emphasize loving concern. Alter-
natively, he may be emphasizing the polytheist’s impairment as a subtle
way of insinuating that the Corinthians’ desire to participate alongside
these people betrays a similar moral impairment on their part (whether
they are willing to concede this or not). Second, Paul’s decision to use the
phrase τοῖς ἀσθενέσιν as the object of a call to vigilance suggests that he
expects his readers to be attentive towards impaired people as a category
of people. But how are the Corinthians supposed to identify the members
of this impaired category? Some readings treat “the weak” as a known fac-
tion within the Corinthian church, in which case identifying them would
not pose any difficulty; a better reading (in my opinion) treats this cat-
egory of people as a class brought into being by Paul’s discourse.100 The
people themselves are quite real (contra the “hypothetical weak people”
reading), but their status as a defined group derives entirely from Paul’s
decision to single out their characteristic impairment as a salient feature.
Who are the impaired people? They are people who are impaired. Pre-
sumably, the reader is expected to know by this point that anyone who
worships an idol is impaired.
If I am correct about this, then Paul’s instruction in v. 9 arouses cer-
tain expectations. Most importantly for the present discussion, it is to
be expected that Paul will persist in referring to impaired people using
pronouns (wherever possible) or definite expressions such as οἱ ἀσθενεῖς
(where something explicit is either necessary or desirable for some rea-
son). And yet Paul uses another unqualified indefinite pronoun (τις) to
introduce an impaired person into his temple-dining scenario in v. 10.
This subtle choice is important. Paul does not say τις τῶν ἀσθενῶν or εἷς
100 As Conzelmann remarks, “They are not a ‘group,’ but ‘some’” (1 Corinthians, 147
n. 20).
τῶν ἀσθενῶν, as we might expect if impaired people are a known faction

within the Corinthian church or even a recognizable category of people
within Greco-Roman society. Nor does Paul refer to this representative
individual using any of the other explicit qualities he has associated
with impaired people (e.g. he does not switch to a phrase like ἄνθρωπος
μολυσμός). Truth be told, Paul does nothing to establish an explicit con-
nection between this “someone” and the impaired people whom he has
just mentioned. Linguistically speaking, he does not bother to relate this
new participant to the active participant chain consisting of τινὲς, αὐτῶν,
and τοῖς ἀσθενέσιν. Rather, he introduces a new participant chain using
an unqualified indefinite pronoun (τις). Yet he presumes this unspecified
participant’s impairment in v. 10 and then immediately extends this new
participant chain in v. 11 using the phrase ὁ ἀσθενῶν.
Why would Paul track a (plural) group of impaired people throughout
vv. 7–9 and then suddenly begin tracking a (singular) impaired person in
v. 10 without establishing at the outset of this new chain that it tracks an
exemplar of the former chain? On what basis does Paul presume that any-
one (τις) who sees the Corinthian eating must be impaired? The answer,
I suggest, is twofold. In the first place, the development of Paul’s response
has already made it clear that impaired people constitute the majority
of the Greco-Roman world, since anyone who is ignorant of the one true
God qualifies as an impaired person. So in any scenario involving a Chris-
tian and some other guy, there is a good probability that the other guy is
impaired.101 But a second consideration takes this line of reasoning even
further. It is fair to say, I think, that anyone dining in a Greco-Roman
temple would have been viewed by Paul as an impaired person. So from
Paul’s perspective, there is no need whatsoever to specify the identity of
the other guy who participates in his imaginary temple scenario; this per-
son is impaired by default. Notice that this introduces tension into Paul’s
response, inasmuch as he entertains the possibility of a Christian dining
in a pagan temple while simultaneously assuming that people who dine
in such places are morally impaired. Even though this tension is purely
rhetorical, as can be seen from the fact that Paul’s practical instructions
make it impossible for (obedient) Christians to dine in pagan temples,
it has nevertheless aroused accusations of inconsistency. Let the reader
beware: it can be dangerous to publically entertain possibilities. Even if
other communications clearly demonstrate one’s rejection of the con-
101 Thus the issue raised by the scenario in vv. 10–11 is not visibility, as though the dan-
ger were that a small group of impaired people might see something.
sidered possibility, an opportunity is given for misunderstanding and

misrepresentation.
Everything considered so far strongly suggests that the impaired people
about whom Paul is speaking are non-Christians. In v. 11, however, there
is something that seems at first glance to be an insurmountable obstacle
for this interpretation. In this verse, Paul refers to the impaired person
in his scenario as a “brother for whom Christ died.” So strong is the tra-
ditional association between “brother” and “Christian” that some inter-
preters ground their understanding of the impaired in this verse and then
go back to confront the difficulties that arise in v. 7 when the impaired
are interpreted as Corinthian Christians. Garland, for instance, writes:
“Presumably, [Paul] refers to Christians (a brother for whom Christ died,
8:11) with weak consciences. But if they are Christians, how could they be
unaware of the foundational truth that there is but one God?”102 Nanos
has already confronted this kind of reasoning and demonstrated the wider
applicability of ἀδελφός,103 but a few things remain to be said about the
way Paul uses the term in 8:11–13.
To begin with, it should be noted that the word ἀδελφός appears quite
late in the course of Paul’s discussion of the impaired, after numerous
other observations have already been made. Paul does not expect his
readers to interpret the phrase ὁ ἀδελφὸς δι’ ὃν Χριστὸς ἀπέθανεν in isola-
tion. Nor does he write in v. 7 that οὐκ ἐν πᾶσιν τοῖς ἀδελφοῖς ἡ γνῶσις. As
the text stands, it is after a sustained discussion about impaired polythe-
ists that Paul identifies ὁ ἀσθενῶν (‘the impaired person’) as a brother. This
being the case, it is inappropriate to presume that the term ἀδελφός must
refer to a Christ-believing brother. Just as the context in Rom 9:3 reveals
that Paul’s “brothers” (οἱ ἀδελφοί μου) are his Jewish kinsmen, so here in
8:11 the context reveals that the Corinthian’s “brother” stands outside of
the Christ-believing community.
As an additional consideration, notice that the act of sinning against
“the brothers” (τοὺς ἀδελφοὺς) is prefaced with the adverb οὕτως. Garland
treats this adverb like a conjunction, saying that it “draws the consequences
of the statement in 8:11.”104 In this context, however, it does not relate one

103 Nanos, “Polytheist Identity,” 203–9. A particularly interesting text is Ignatius, Eph.
10.2–3, where Ignatius urges the Ephesians to act as “brothers” towards their non-believing
neighbours: μὴ σπουδάζοντες ἀντιμιμήσασθαι αὐτούς, ἀδελφοὶ αὐτῶν εὑρεθῶμεν τῇ ἐπιεικείᾳ·
μιμηταὶ δὲ τοῦ κυρίου σπουδάζωμεν εἶναι (“Without seeking to imitate them, let’s prove by
our kindness that we are their brothers. Let’s seek to be imitators of the Lord”).
clause to another but characterizes the manner in which the Corinthians

are sinning. Fee rightly observes that it qualifies their act of sinning as
being “in the way described in v. 10.”105 Why is this important? Because
it suggests that Paul’s concern about “sinning against the brothers” refers
back beyond v. 11 to the inciting incident in v. 10 where “someone sees
[a Corinthian Christian] reclining in a temple.” As already argued above,
the indefinite pronoun in this earlier verse functions effectively because
Paul imagines that only impaired people gather in temples. Consequently,
it is likely that the articular phrase τοὺς ἀδελφοὺς in v. 12 is not merely
a generalization of ὁ ἀδελφὸς from v. 11 or a generic reference resolvable
on the basis of a sub-cultural convention, but a specific reference to the
“others” who are represented by the anonymous observer in v. 10. Or, to
put this same hypothesis somewhat differently, τοὺς ἀδελφοὺς should not
be read as a general reference to the brotherhood of the church but rather
as a reference to the brotherhood of the temple diners mentioned in
vv. 10–11. It is perhaps even possible that Paul’s use of the term ἀδελφός
here echoes the Corinthians’ own wording in their letter to him. Maybe
they have spoken to him about the social consequences of the idol
food ban, making reference to the way that it cuts them off from their
“brothers.” Admittedly, this suggestion is speculative. But it is nevertheless
possible.
Scholars have not voiced many objections to this interpretation of
ὁ ἀδελφὸς and τοὺς ἀδελφοὺς because very few interpreters have proposed
it.106 Some potential objections can be gleaned from offhand remarks,
however, and I will quickly respond to them. First, although some might
wish to deny that Paul would describe someone who is currently an
unbeliever as someone “for whom Christ died,” this denial is groundless.107
Indeed, it is hard to imagine how Conzelmann is able to assert of the
clause “Christ died for him” that “this is not said of man in general, but
of the man who has been baptized,”108 given the following words from
Rom 5:6–8: “For while we were still weak (ἀσθενῶν), at the right time Christ
died for the ungodly. . . . While we still were sinners Christ died for us.”
Second, against those who claim that “there is no evidence whatever
105 Fee, First Epistle, 388. Thiselton adds that the adverb is emphatic (First Epistle,
654).
106 Although several people have floated the possibility casually (including John Chrys-
ostom in the quotation above), Mark Nanos’s recent essay seems to be the first major
attempt to advance this interpretation.
107 See also Nanos, “Polytheist Identity,” 198.
108 Conzelmann, 1 Corinthians, 149 n. 39.
that non-Christians were objecting to Christians eating idol-food” and

that “persons other than Jews or Christians would find nothing danger-
ous or offensive about food offered to their Gods,” it can be pointed out
that these objections dismiss a possible interpretation without thinking
through its implications.109 If the impaired are not Christians, we should
not expect them to view the eating of idol food as something dangerous.
This, after all, is the very reason they are in danger! It can also be pointed
out that there is nothing in the text to indicate that impaired people view
the eating of idol food as something dangerous or offensive. In truth, this
idea derives entirely from interpretive reconstructions that presume “the
weak” to be insecure Christians.
Turning the tables somewhat, questions must be asked about the plau-
sibility of the traditional interpretation. Most glaringly, if “the weak” are
Christians, then why is Paul so soft on them? Nanos correctly observes
that Paul’s sensitivity towards the behaviour of the impaired “is the kind
of accommodation one might expect to be promoted toward a natural-
born brother or sister, or a spouse (cf. 7:10–16!), but it is quite different
from the judgment Paul commands toward those identified to be Christ-
believing brothers and sisters.”110 In responding to this criticism, it cannot
be argued that these insecure Christians are only at risk of being influ-
enced towards the eating of idol food, since Paul states quite baldly in
v. 7 that “the weak” eat idol food. In actual fact, the traditional reading
inverts the linguistic signals of Paul’s response. It is not that “the strong”
are eating and “the weak” are in danger of eating as well; rather, it is “the
weak” who have persisted in their eating (v. 7; note the phrase ἕως ἄρτι)
and the Corinthians as a community who must be warned not to rejoin
them (vv. 9–12; cf. 10:14–22).
All that remains is to discuss v. 13. I have refrained from commenting
on this verse before now because, on the basis of my analysis of 8:1–13,
I have concluded that the word ἀδελφός is not used in v. 13 with reference
to the impaired polytheists who have thus far been under consideration.
Rather, the shift in focus that takes place between vv. 12 and 13 includes a
shift in the frame of reference that grounds the reader’s interpretation of
the word ἀδελφός. Whereas in v. 12 Paul has in view the scenario sketched
in vv. 10–11 (recall the adverb οὕτως), in v. 13 he has himself in view. In
v. 12 he is still preoccupied with the effect of a Corinthian Christian visit-
ing a temple, but in v. 13 he is preoccupied with the possible effects of
109 Gooch, Dangerous Food, 69.

110 Nanos, “Polytheist Identity,” 208.
his own behaviour. But Paul can hardly mean that he would be willing
to refrain from eating in temples in the event that this behaviour might
have negative consequences. After all, it is highly unlikely that Paul would
ever have knowingly eaten idol food—let alone idol food in a temple.111
He uses the more general word κρέα in v. 13 because he has totally left
behind the temple scenario of vv. 10–11. This is also why he does not use
the pronoun αὐτούς or a phrase like τούς ἀδελφούς in order to pick up the
participants just mentioned in v. 12, and it is why he adds the pronoun
μου, which is entirely unnecessary if all of Paul’s brothers are also brothers
to the Corinthians. The brother mentioned in v. 13 is not one of “the broth-
ers” mentioned in v. 12. Presumably he is a Jew who would be offended
(and hence turned away from the gospel) were he to see Paul eating in a
non-Jewish fashion.
Impaired people are essential to Paul’s discussion, but they are not
individuals within the Corinthian church. To the contrary, Paul presumes
that virtually everyone in Corinth outside of the Christ-believing commu-
nity is impaired.112 They are impaired because they are ignorant about
idols and about the one true God. Because they are impaired, their con-
sciences consent to the eating of sacred offerings. This eating defiles them
in the sight of God and confirms their foreseeable destruction. By char-
acterizing polytheists in this way, Paul betrays his Jewish perspective. Yet
he also engenders concern for their well-being. Specifically, Paul wants
these polytheists to cease being polytheists, since he believes that this is
a necessary part of their salvation. His goal is to help his readers to view
their social relations as opportunities for evangelism instead of oppor-
tunities for moral compromise. He wants the Corinthians to view their
polytheistic family members, neighbours, and business associates in the
same way that many Jews would have viewed them—as ignorant, morally
dysfunctional people who are destined for destruction unless someone
turns them away from their idolatry. Admittedly, Paul does speak about
impaired people as brethren. But there are several possible reasons for
this. Perhaps the Corinthians have spoken to him about their “brethren.”
Or perhaps Paul wishes to contrast the Corinthians’ lack of concern for
their polytheistic society (i.e. their brethren) with his own deep concern
111 For a list of scholars who support this position, see Nanos, “Polytheist Identity,” 188
n. 24.
112 I say “virtually” because Paul would probably not have perceived fellow Jews living
in Corinth as sharing in the specific impairment that he has in view in 8:1–13.
for the Jewish people (i.e. his brethren). Whatever the case may be, the
discussion that is unfolding in 1 Cor 8:1–13 is very much concerned with
social categories and social relations that are not internal to the church.
About What Is Paul Speaking?
Turning from participant chains to semantic domains, it can be seen that

further linguistic analysis serves to confirm the interpretation of 1 Cor 8:1–
13 sketched above. Eleven domains of human experience are important in
8:1–13 (see Table 2). For convenience sake, I have given them the follow-
ing labels: consumption, sacrifice, knowledge, ability, superhuman
beings, conscience, evaluation, advantage, freedom, hindrance,
and salvation. Presented like this, in their order of appearance, it is dif-
ficult to see how they relate to one another and to a single subject mat-
ter. I will therefore group some of them together according to the roles I
perceive them to play in 8:1–13. Some are directly related to the topic of
Paul’s discussion (consumption, sacrifice, superhuman beings). Some
are abstract qualities possessed in varying degrees by different individu-
als and social groups (knowledge, ability, freedom). Still others have
to do (in this context, at least) with positive and negative consequences
which follow from food consumption (evaluation, advantage, salva-
tion, hindrance).113
One surprising characteristic of 8:1–13 is the fact that meanings relat-
ing to consumption are rarely combined with meanings relating to sac-
rifice. The word βρῶσις takes εἰδωλόθυτος as a genitive qualifier in 8:4
when Paul reintroduces his topic after a brief diversion. Following this
ἐσθίω occurs with εἰδωλόθυτος twice and κατάκειμαι occurs with the phrase
ἐν εἰδωλείῳ. These few instances aside, however, it is arguable that all
the remaining instances of consumption in 8:1–13 construe eating as a
general human experience. In v. 8 Paul writes that “food” (βρῶμα) will not
factor into God’s judgement of the Christian; she neither angers God by
abstaining nor honours him by eating. Here he is talking about dietary
practices in general, about the Christian’s liberty from dietary restrictions.
In v. 13 Paul writes that if “food” (βρῶμα) were an offense to his brother
113 The word οἰκοδομηθήσεται has been placed in the domain ability, but along with
the domains listed here it is used to construe a possible consequence that follows from
food consumption.
Table 2: Domains of Experience in 8:1–13
266
Opening Consumption Sacrifice Knowledge Ability Superhuman Conscience Evaluation Advantage Freedom Hindrance Salvation
Words Beings
περὶ δὲ εἰδωλοθύτων εἰδωλοθύτων οἴδαμεν
ὅτι πάντες γνῶσιν
ἡ γνῶσις γνῶσις
ἡ δὲ ἀγάπη οἰκοδομεῖ
εἴ τις δοκεῖ ἐγνωκέναι
οὔπω ἔγνω ἔγνω
καθὼς δεῖ γνῶναι
εἰ δέ τις θεόν
οὗτος ἔγνωσται
περὶ τῆς βρώσεως
βρώσεως εἰδωλοθύτων εἰδωλοθύτων οἴδαμεν
ὅτι οὐδὲν εἴδωλον
καὶ ὅτι θεὸς
εἰ μὴ εἷς
καὶ γὰρ θεοὶ
ὥσπερ εἰσὶν θεοὶ
θεοὶ κύριοι
christopher d. land
ἀλλ᾽ἡμῖν θεὸς
ἐξ οὗ
καὶ ἡμεῖς
καὶ εἷς κύριος
δι᾽οὗ
καὶ ἡμεῖς
ἀλλ᾽οὐκ γνῶσις
τινὲς δὲ τῇ εἰδωλόθυτον εἰδωλόθυτον εἰδώλου
συνηθείᾳ ἐσθίουσιν
καὶ ἡ συνείδησις
<> ἀσθενὴς

Table 2 (cont.)
Opening Consumption Sacrifice Knowledge Ability Superhuman Conscience Evaluation Advantage Freedom Hindrance Salvation
Words Beings
βρῶμα δὲ βρῶμα θεῷ παραστήσει
οὔτε ἐὰν φάγωμεν
ὑστερούμεθα ὑστερούμεθα
οὔτε ἐὰν φάγωμεν
περισσεύομεν περισσεύομεν
βλέπετε δὲ
μή πως ἡ ἀσθενέσιν ἐξουσία πρόσκομμα
ἐὰν γάρ τις εἰδωλείῳ γνῶσιν
οὐχὶ ἡ εἰδωλόθυτα οἰκοδομηθήσεται συνείδησις
συνείδησις ἐσθίειν
<> ἀσθενοῦς
ἀπόλλυται γνώσει ἀσθενῶν ἀπόλλυται
οὕτως δὲ
καὶ τύπτοντες ἀσθενοῦσαν συνείδησιν
εἰς Χριστὸν
διόπερ εἰ βρῶμα σκανδαλίζει
οὐ μὴ φάγω φάγω
κρέα κρέα
ἵνα μὴ σκανδαλίσω
paul’s response to an idol food inquiry
267
or sister, he would refrain from eating “meat” (κρέα). Here he is not con-
cerned specifically with idol food. Rather, the term κρέα suggests dietary
concerns like those discussed in Rom 14–15.
What are we to conclude from these observations? I suggest that Paul
construes the specific issue of idol food as his topic (vv. 1, 4), and that he
speaks specifically about idol food when describing the cultic practices of
pagans (v. 7) or imagining a dining scenario in a temple (vv. 10–11). When
he is affirming the Christian’s freedom from dietary restrictions (v. 8) or
appealing to his own voluntary abstinence (v. 13), however, Paul does not
have idol food in view. I infer from this that Paul views dietary restrictions
as inapplicable to his readers, but that he nevertheless refuses to explicitly
construe the eating of idol food as a matter of indifference. Evidently, dietary
considerations are insufficient; there are additional factors to be weighed.
When examining instances of the domain superhuman beings, it is
necessary to distinguish between specific uses which refer to the Father or
to Jesus Christ and non-specific uses which construe the general human
experience of superhuman beings. For obvious reasons, the non-specific
uses are of special interest. In v. 4 Paul writes that “an idol” is nothing,
and that only one being is “a god.” Then, elaborating on these propositions
in vv. 5–6, he points out that there are many things or people which are
called “gods,” so that in a certain sense there are many “gods” and many
“lords,” but that for the Christian only one being is “god” and only one
being is “lord.” The most striking thing about these statements is the way
in which they contrast two opposing construals of reality. Paul does not
take the domain of superhuman beings for granted, as we might expect if
he were merely construing a shared cosmology. Rather, he draws attention
to various understandings of that particular domain of human experience
in order to construe the fact that different social groups possess different
cosmologies. This supports my interpretation of τῇ συνηθείᾳ . . . τοῦ εἰδώλου
in v. 7 (see above). It also supports my suggestion that Paul is working to
strengthen a sense of identity and separateness by contrasting his con-
verts with the idolatrous society in which they live.
What of the domains knowledge, ability, and freedom? They all
construe abstract qualities which may be possessed or lacked by people
and which are universally implicated in social status. Cultures prize
knowledge, strength, and freedom as markers of superiority. Picking up
on this fact, many commentators have suggested that the Corinthians are
overestimating themselves and that Paul intends to humble them. A care-
ful analysis of 8:1–13 suggests otherwise, however. Paul does point out that
knowledge typically leads to pride rather than to a loving concern for oth-
ers (vv. 1–3), but he never denies that the Corinthians are knowledgeable.
He talks about impaired consciences (vv. 7, 10, 12), but never says that the
Corinthians are impaired. He warns that freedom can inflict harm (v. 9),
but he never denies that the Corinthians possess freedom. In actual fact,
Paul seems more than happy to affirm that his addressees possess knowl-
edge, strength, and freedom (cf. vv. 1, 8, 9, 10). He simply takes care to point
out that these qualities are not shared by everyone. He points out that
non-believers lack knowledge and ignorantly believe in idols (vv. 5, 7). He
draws attention to the fact that the people who eat in Corinthian temples
have impaired consciences (vv. 7, 10, 12) and so do not see the impending
judgement that awaits them (v. 11). Paul does not invoke knowledge,
ability, and freedom to deny the Corinthians the advantages they claim,
but to highlight the fact that these advantages distinguish the Corinthians
from the polytheistic worshippers with whom they seek to dine. This is
somewhat surprising, given that Paul is obviously concerned about the
fact that his addressees are overly confident and even boastful about
their knowledge, their abilities, and their freedom. Presumably, hav-
ing prefaced his response with the disclaimer that one must not put too
much stock in knowledge (8:1–3), he is content to exploit the Corinthians’
sense of pride for a positive purpose as a means of reinforcing their sense
of being separate from the wider culture in which they live. With all his
talk about knowledge, ability, and freedom, Paul is not humbling the
Corinthians—he is redirecting their feeling of being special so that it can
be used to strengthen the church’s identity as a distinct community. This
may be seen in the fact that Paul appeals to the Corinthians’ knowledge,
abilities, and freedom as the very qualities that should enable them to
choose abstinence and to endure the consequent social pressures.
An examination of the chains evaluation, advantage, salvation,
and hindrance reveals that (in this context) they construe consequences
that follow from food consumption. In v. 8 Paul considers what conse-
quences there are for the Christian, concluding that there are none. Food
in itself does not lead to judgement, nor does it lead to an advantage or
disadvantage.114 In vv. 9–13, however, Paul makes it very clear that the
114 Scholars are divided over the sense of παραστήσει τῷ θεῷ. But whether Paul has in
view condemnation or commendation is irrelevant. His point either way is that God’s eval-
uation of the believer will not concern practices of food consumption. Thiselton writes,
“Most writers endorse H.A. Meyer’s view that the issue turns on the religious neutrality
of food. Meyer paraphrases: Food is not the determining element in the Christian’s relation
to God” (First Epistle, 646–7). For a summary of five competing views, see Thiselton, First
Epistle, 645–47.
Christian’s consumption of idol food can have disastrous consequences

for the polytheist.115 Paul does not elaborate on the details as much as we
might like, but the general idea seems clear: the polytheist, who perceives
the Christian’s food consumption but not the cosmology (vv. 4–6) and
dietary liberty (v. 8) that undergird it, will persist in an idolatrous lifestyle
because he fails to perceive the judgement inherent in the gospel. Nanos
puts it this way: “If they witness that even Christ-believers . . . still eat idol
food, they will continue to sense that idolatry is right, leading to their
self-destruction.”116
So, what is Paul talking about in 1 Cor 8:1–13? Basically, he is talking
about people who know the truth about superhuman beings and people
who do not, people who have able consciences and people who do not.
This sets the basic parameter for his outlook on the idol food issue. Within
this parameter, Paul is talking about food as something neutral for Chris-
tians, who will not be judged on dietary matters, and he is talking about
the eating of idol food as an obstacle for polytheists. Most importantly,
he is talking about the need for Christians to avoid actions which impede
others. Two things bind together these individual strands: Paul’s world-
view and his missionary concern. The Corinthian Christians already share
much of Paul’s worldview; his goal in 8:1–9:23 is to help them share his
missionary concern. This is why Paul’s missionary zeal, which is first men-
tioned obliquely in v. 13, becomes the dominant concern of 9:1–23. For
Paul, personal possessions like freedom must be subordinated to mission,
because temporal consequences like social acceptance must be subordi-
nated to eternal consequences like salvation and damnation.
115 The impaired polytheist is “hindered,” “weakened,” “destroyed,” “sinned against,” and

“wounded.”
116 Nanos, “Polytheist Identity,” 190. He adds, “Interpreters regularly note that Paul uses
the word meaning ‘to build up’ ironically, to signify tearing down by arrogantly behaving
in a way that encourages the other to do something harmful to themselves. However,
Paul’s comment here need not mean that the impaired were not already doing the harm-
ful thing at issue, which most interpreters understand to be implied. Building up need not
signify the same thing as starting from scratch” (191 n. 33). Similarly, Garland observes,
“The moral sensibility . . . of this person is impaired. Morally, the weak person does not
know which way is up and is led to believe that such idolatrous actions are not wrong”
(1 Corinthians, 390).
What Is Paul Doing?

Textual meanings package information so as to facilitate interpretive
processing for hearers and readers. Ideational meanings impose order
by construing the flux of our experience using discrete categories and
defined logical relations. In comparison with these meanings, interper-
sonal meanings are fairly unsusceptible to relational or compositional
forms of analysis. Moreover, a great deal of interpersonal meaning is
communicated using phonological distinctions (such as prosodic tone
contours) which have no corollary in ancient Greek graphology. These
considerations make interpersonal meanings the most difficult to analyze
linguistically, just as they are widely recognized as the most easily mis-
understood part of linguistic communication. Recognizing this, I have
focused my analysis of interpersonal meanings in 1 Cor 8:1–11:1 (as much
as possible) on distinctions that are realized explicitly. These distinctions
mostly pertain to what Paul is actually doing by means of language (e.g.
giving information, negating possibilities, commanding, etc.).
Whereas many scholars see 8:1–13 as antagonistic, my analysis indicates
the opposite. In this opening section of his response, Paul is almost entirely
preoccupied with the giving of information. Moreover, this information
is presented in a very careful manner that is sensitive to the somewhat
shaky status of his reputation in Corinth. First, Paul establishes common
ground with his addressees by affirming their knowledge and their free-
dom. Only after he has done this does he draw his addressees’ attention
to the fact that there are people outside their church community who
lack knowledge and who could be harmed by an indiscriminate display
of freedom. In and of themselves, these efforts are not combative. Rather
they both demonstrate a willingness to explain why idol food should not
be eaten.
Let us look once again at the progression of ch. 8. Beginning immedi-
ately in v. 1, Paul forges solidarity with his addressees by putting forward a
proposition on which both he and they agree. Apparently, at the forefront
of his mind is the fact that the Corinthians seem to have misunderstood
the real nature of his disagreement with them. His opening stance is one
of clarification and affirmation, not opposition and confrontation.
Paul’s subsequent statements in 8:1b–3 do not continue along this
trajectory, however, but instead pull back to establish a much broader
and more encompassing framework. Garland may be correct that the con-
tent of these verses “discredits [knowledge] as the final court of appeal”
and “subtly indicts the Corinthians’ vaunted knowledge as something
objectionable rather than praiseworthy,” but we must avoid the tempta-

tion to read antagonism into the text.117 Maybe Paul uses indefinite par-
ticipants in vv. 2–3 because he does not want to be overtly confrontational
and does not feel a need to explicitly skewer the Corinthians on this par-
ticular point. Maybe there is only a relatively small group of people in
Corinth who are overestimating themselves. When we accept our inabil-
ity to perceive Paul’s tone and examine instead what Paul actually does
in 8:1–3, we find that he puts forward some very general statements and
leaves it to his addressees to assess how they are relevant and to whom
they apply. This may or may not be antagonistic. Certainly, it is not self-
evidently so.
The effort begun in v. 1 resumes in vv. 4–7. Here Paul once again pres-
ents some information that he and his addressees share: “To be sure,” he
says, “there is only one god and only one lord.” This time, however, he
presses the discourse forward and draws attention to the fact that this
knowledge is not universal (οὐκ ἐν πᾶσιν ἡ γνῶσις). Some authors read this
statement as confrontational because they mistakenly believe that Paul
is qualifying or contesting a Corinthian statement quoted in v. 1 to the
effect that all Corinthian Christians (and just maybe Paul as well . . .) pos-
sess knowledge. But once this error is set aside (see above), the supposed
antagonism disappears also. It is doubtful that Paul’s addressees would
have contested the proposition Not everyone is knowledgeable, so Paul’s
advancement of it cannot be interpreted as confrontational.
Similar reasoning may be applied to v. 8, all or some of which is similarly
treated by many commentators as a Corinthian quotation. The decision
whether or not to identify Corinthian verbiage here is “finely balanced”
precisely because the propositions in question are unlikely to have been
contested (in principle, at least) by either party in the discussion.118 Both
Paul and the Corinthians know about God’s indifference towards food
consumption. Granted, the Corinthians are unlikely to have expressed
the implications of this in quite the way that Paul does in v. 8b, given
that they are presently experiencing the negative social consequences of
117 Garland, 1 Corinthians, 368–69.

118 Thiselton, First Epistle, 648. Fee says of v. 8a that “This, of course, would be the
perspective of both Paul and the Corinthians” (First Epistle, 382). About v. 8b, he writes:
“Despite the lack of signals, both sentences reflect what the Corinthians were arguing in
their letter, whether they are direct quotations or not. The reason for the lack of quotation
marks is that they also fully accord with Paul’s own point of view” (383). He then makes
the crucial point that “the key lies with the word ‘food’” (383–84; see above).
abstinence.119 Yet it can hardly be said that this renders Paul’s observa-
tions antagonistic. After all, he agrees with their theological argument.
He merely reframes it in such a way as to show that God’s indifference
towards food does not by itself provide an answer to the question, “Should
Christians eat idol food?”
Having unambiguously acknowledged that dietary choices will not fac-
tor into divine judgement (v. 8), Paul proceeds to point out the possibility
that dietary choices might inflict lasting harm on morally impaired poly-
theists (v. 9). As noted above, many scholars interpret the phrase ἡ ἐξουσία
ὑμῶν αὕτη (‘this right of yours’) as contemptuous. Cheung goes so far as
to claim that Paul is “clearly distancing himself from [his addressees’]
knowledge,” and that “he attributes, with some sarcasm, such ‘knowledge’
exclusively to the Corinthians.”120 But no commentator that I am aware
of asserts this of the phrase βλέπετε τὴν κλῆσιν ὑμῶν in 1 Cor 1:26. If some-
one wants to claim that there is contempt in Paul’s words here, the claim
must be justified with reference to the surrounding context. As I have
argued above, however, the freedom of choice referred to in v. 9 as “this
right” is the freedom from dietary restrictions that Paul has just affirmed
in v. 8. Moreover, the right that Paul speaks about “this right of yours” is
a right that Paul and his addressees share, his decision to use the second
person being motivated by the “you” vs. “them” contrast of vv. 9–12. The
implications of these observations are actually quite far-reaching. If Paul
is not being at all contemptuous in v. 9, then it becomes less likely that
the ensuing observations in vv. 10–13 are antagonistic. One might even go
so far as to say that Paul is being very accommodating of the Corinthians.
For the time being, at least, he submerges his deepest fear (i.e. that they
are longing to reunite with their former idolatrous ways; cf. 10:1–22) and
takes their inquiry at face value as a question about food consumption. In
a fairly drawn out argument (8:1–9:23), he concedes that all food is a mat-
ter of indifference but then argues that any variety of food should be set
aside if its consumption might hinder people from entering God’s King-
dom.121 If he had been presented with a window through which to see the
subsequent history of (mis)interpretation, particularly the fact that some
of his readers have failed to perceive his total rejection of idol food, Paul
119 As noted by Hurd, Origin, 123; Barrett, First Epistle, 195.

120 Cheung, Idol Food, 129.
121 Garland quite insightfully notes: “Paul was not happy about the way they exercised
this ‘right,’ but he does not directly challenge it” (1 Corinthians, 386). Unfortunately, he
incorrectly identifies the ‘right’ in question as the right to eat idol food.
might have chosen to forego this rhetorical strategy entirely.122 Neverthe-

less, his intensions can still be admired.123
In v. 10 Paul presents an example of the hindrance he is envision-
ing. “Imagine,” he suggests, “that one of you is eating in a temple. Those
who see you eating will hardly be encouraged to flee from their idolatry.
Instead, your actions will undermine our efforts to help people flee from
idolatry.” Of course, Paul’s actual language here is densely packed and it
must be carefully weighed, beginning with the subjunctive mode of ἴδῃ. As
I see it, there are two ways of looking at this form. The first possible route
is exemplified by those scholars who have attempted to discern from the
available archaeological evidence whether or not temple diners were vis-
ible to the public.124 But as soon as the subjunctive mode of ἴδῃ causes the
inevitability of being seen to be called into question, Paul’s warning loses
its force. The whole point of the scenario—that participation in temple
meals will cause harm—rests upon the assumption that temple meals are
populated by people whose consciences are impaired (see above). This
leaves us with a second possible route, which is to surmise that the act of
seeing is being presented in the subjunctive mode because it is logically
contingent upon an imagined act of eating.125 My current thought is that
this is the more likely explanation. Unfortunately, it does not unambigu-
ously resolve the burning question: Are the Corinthians actually disobey-
ing Paul by eating in temples? All we can say is that Paul chooses to treat
the eating of temple meals, not as a foregone conclusion, but as a possibil-
122 Numerous commentators emphasize the subtle nature of Paul’s response and the
ease with which it can be misunderstood. Garland writes: “The subtle nuances of Paul’s
lengthy argumentation may contribute to . . . misunderstanding” (1 Corinthians, 360).
Murphy-O’Connor stresses that Paul’s position is “so subtly argued that a correct inter-
pretation of every verse is essential if we are to understand not only his position but that
of the Corinthians” (“Food and Spiritual Gifts,” 292). It is possible that Paul’s subtlety was
effective with the Corinthians, who possessed personal knowledge of their historical situ-
ation and their prior communications with Paul, but it has proven to be a major obstacle
for subsequent readers.
123 Garland is sensitive to this when he describes 1 Cor 8 as a response that treats the
Corinthians “as reasonable persons” and that “appeal[s] to their better nature, assuming
that as Christians they have a loving concern for others” (1 Corinthians, 361).
124 For instance, Newton, Deity and Diet, 296–305.
125 Of course, for the scenario to have any relevance, the possibility of temple dining
must have been raised by the Corinthians. But Fee goes too far when he argues that “the
urgency of the argument suggests that we are dealing with a real, not a merely hypotheti-
cal situation” (First Epistle, 385). Nothing in the text explicitly states that “those with the
‘knowledge’ expressed in vv. 1, 4, and 8 are going to the cultic meals in the temple dining
halls” (First Epistle, 386). If I am wrong in this, which is a possibility I continue to consider,
then Paul’s response shows an even more admirable restraint.
ity to be explored. I suggest, however, that this exploratory stance towards

temple dining—a practice Paul surely detests (cf. 10:20–22)—speaks vol-
umes in its own way. Paul’s choice to reflect upon the implications of tem-
ple dining from a Corinthian perspective, without prematurely imposing
the strongly-held views he has inherited as a Jew, displays great patience.
It displays cunning as well. But one thing it does not display is urgency.
Just as Paul’s failure to rebuke impaired people suggests that they are not
among his addressees, so also his failure to rebuke his addressees for din-
ing in temples may suggest that they are not (yet) doing so.126
How are we to explain the apparent irony of οἰκοδομηθήσεται in v. 10?
Is it, as has been suggested, a biting irony that attacks an “edification
campaign” being pursued by certain influential members of the Corin-
thian congregation?127 I find this unlikely. We must ask with Garland,
“If the knowers intended all along for the weak to follow their example,
why does Paul warn them . . . that the weak might follow their example?”128
It is more likely that the Corinthians have not given any consideration
to how their behaviour might affect others, in which case the irony of
v. 10 cannot be exploiting a tension between the Corinthians’ intended
goal and the actual results of their behaviour. It might be exploiting a
tension between the normal meaning realized by the word οἰκοδομέω
(‘to strengthen or build up’) and the meaning that would actually apply in
this instance (‘to weaken or tear down’). Yet to my mind it is even more
likely that οἰκοδομηθήσεται exploits a tension between Paul’s depiction of
the social situation in Corinth and the reality that has given rise to the idol
food issue. Verse 10 presents the Corinthian Christian as a powerful and
influential individual whose choice to eat idol food might have the effect
of strengthening the resolve of impressionable polytheists to do the same.
In truth, however, Paul’s addressees are asking to eat idol food because
their resolve is crumbling under social pressure as they succumb to the
influence of polytheists. The biting edge to this irony is Paul’s way of goad-
ing the proud Corinthians into taking a public stand against idolatry.
Robertson and Plummer say of v. 11 that “the tragedy reaches a climax
in the fact that the one who is led astray is a brother in Christ of him who
126 This second point is recognized by Gooch (Dangerous Food, 67), although he cites
numerous scholars who disagree.
127 See Yeo, Rhetorical Interaction, 192. Fee similarly suggests that “They are probably
encouraging all others in the community to take their same ‘knowledgeable’ stance on this
matter” (First Epistle, 386).
leads him astray.”129 Thiselton similarly writes that “Paul reaches the cli-
max of his argument in the declarative pronouncement that to sin against
Christian brothers and sisters . . . is to sin against Christ.”130 I do not dis-
pute the fact that vv. 11–12 represent the climax of Paul’s argument con-
cerning impaired people. Given that the impaired people in question are
not Christ-believing brothers and sisters, however, how are we to explain
what Paul is doing in these climactic pronouncements? Numerous com-
mentators suggest that Paul has the brother’s identification with Christ in
view,131 sometimes invoking J.A.T. Robinson’s proposals concerning the
ecclesiological significance of Paul’s Damascus Road encounter (i.e. “Saul,
Saul, why do you persecute me?’).132 These writers argue that in vv. 11–12
Paul is emphasizing community in order to eliminate internal division
stemming from an alleged idol food controversy. But this is not the only
plausible explanation for what Paul is doing in these verses. Nanos, for
instance, draws attention to texts like Rom 5:6–10 where Paul expounds
upon Christ’s unexpected willingness to die for the impaired (ἀσθενής; cf.
also the use of ἀσεβής and ἁμαρτωλός). Nanos then argues that Paul wants
the Corinthians to emulate Christ’s love for their pagan neighbours.133
If Nanos is moving in the right direction, then the appeal to Christ’s death
in 1 Cor 8:11 has much in common with 2 Cor 5:11–21, where Paul appeals
to the cross as a motivating factor in his ministry of reconciliation. There
the Apostle writes that his labour flows out of the love of Christ (v. 14;
cf. 1 Cor 8:1). Christ died for all in order that those who live should no lon-
ger live for themselves (v. 15), and for this reason Paul no longer regards
people from a worldly point of view (v. 16). Instead, he serves as an ambas-
sador of Christ, imploring people to be reconciled to God (v. 20). What is
more, he puts no stumbling block (προσκοπήν) in anyone’s path, so that
his ministry will not be discredited (6:3; cf. 1 Cor 8:13; 9:1–23; 10:32–33).
In 1 Cor 8:11, therefore, Christ’s death is not presented as a motivation
for internal unity; rather, it is presented as a motivation for self-sacrifice
more generally—but especially towards those who are currently far away
129 Archibald Robertson and Alfred Plummer, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on

the First Epistle of St. Paul to the Corinthians (2nd ed.; ICC; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1914),
172.
131 Fee, for instance, observes that “To wound a member of Christ is to wound Christ”
(First Epistle, 389).
132 J.A.T. Robinson, The Body: A Study in Pauline Theology (London: SCM Press, 1952), 58
(cited by Thiselton, First Epistle, 655).
133 Nanos, “Polytheist Identity,” 197–202.
from God. Public confession of the gospel is at the heart of Paul’s response
already in ch. 8.134
In v. 12 Paul shifts his focus away from outsiders and onto his Corin-
thian addressees. He then presents a very negative appraisal of them
using the terms ἁμαρτάνω and τύπτω. Is this not indisputable evidence
that Paul is unhappy with his converts because they are eating in tem-
ples? No, it is not. Because the adverb οὕτως refers back to the imagined
scenario in 8:10–11, which in turn illustrates a potential danger that Paul
warns against in v. 9, this highly negative evaluation may be interpreted
as Paul’s assessment of a behaviour that is being considered in the course
of a developing argument. A paraphrase of 8:12 might be: “If you were to
eat in temples, and so sin against your kinsmen by further damaging their
already impaired consciences, you would be sinning against Christ.” Fee is
quite correct that “the net result of such an argument . . . is prohibition.”135
And obviously, such a prohibition has relevance only if the Corinthians
have questioned Paul’s earlier instructions and expressed a desire to visit
temples. But v. 12 should not be over-interpreted as evidence that the
Christians in Corinth have already violated Paul’s prohibition of idol food
and are unified in opposing Paul on this point.136
Following his blunt assessment of temple dining, Paul asserts that, as an
imitator of Christ, he would never eat food if this behaviour would harm-
fully affect his kinsmen.137 As in vv. 8 and 10, the subjunctive mode is used
to present the act of eating as a possibility, but here doubled negatives
and the intensifying phrase εἰς τὸν αἰῶνα underscore its utter impossibil-
ity. It is a common opinion that Paul is “going the extra mile” in his self-
surrender in order to underscore his prior comments: i.e. not only would
134 Murphy-O’Connor makes a very interesting observation when he writes: “Those who

claim that the Corinthians were unified in their opposition to Paul’s ruling on the legiti-
macy of participation in sacrificial meals in pagan temples have no adequate explanation
as to why Paul should wind up chs. 8–10 with an exhortation to missionary endeavour”
(Keys to First Corinthians, 127). Yet Murphy-O’Connor’s proposal, that Paul worries about
internal divisions rendering the church unattractive, does not provide a compelling alter-
native. It is far better to recognize that all of 8:1–9:23 and 10:23–11:1 are “an exhortation to
missionary endeavour.” Only in 9:24–10:22, where Paul exposes his deep fears about the
purity of his converts’ faith, does missionary concern recede into the background.
135 Fee, First Epistle, 389.
136 There was undoubtedly an element of opposition inherent in the Corinthians’
inquiry. As Garland observes, “The Corinthians were not asking, ‘Can we eat idol food?’
but ‘Why can’t we eat idol food?’ ” (“Dispute,” 184). But the extent of this opposition is dif-
ficult to determine with any certainty.
137 This closely parallels Paul’s emotional insistence in Rom 9:3 that he would allow
himself to be cursed (ἀνάθεμα) for the sake of his Jewish brothers (ἀδελφοί).
he abstain from idol food—he would abstain from meat altogether.138 But
as I have already observed, to interpret v. 13 as a willingness to abstain
from idol food is to overlook a very important distinction: while the topic
of vv. 1–13 is the eating of idol food, the acts of eating construed in 8:1–13
are varied. The significance of Paul’s personal example is that it demon-
strates an example from his own life where he manifests the same concern
for his Jewish brethren that he expects the Corinthians to display towards
their brethren. Christians should adjust their dietary practices so as to
minimize offense and maximize acceptance of the gospel (cf. 9:13–23).139
Unfortunately for Paul, however, the appeal that he makes to his
personal example in v. 13 significantly weakens the rhetorical effective-
ness of his argument. After all, whereas for the Corinthians abstinence
is a departure from a cultural norm that leads to negative social conse-
quences, precisely the reverse is true for Paul. His abstinence is consis-
tent with Jewish cultural norms and so it enables him to function better
within Jewish society! One can imagine the Corinthians retorting at this
point, “Like you, we’d happily pass up some tasty meat in order to gain
social credibility—but you’re asking us to forgo both! How can you talk
about accommodating cultural differences as a crucial aspect of your mis-
sion work, but then expect us to isolate ourselves from our culture?” This
objection, which has the potential to completely derail Paul’s efforts in ch.
8, has (to my knowledge) never been fully appreciated by commentators
because the missional orientation of ch. 8 has gone unnoticed. And yet it
is far and away the best explanation for Paul’s sudden change of course
in ch. 9. Perhaps Paul stopped composing his letter for a moment and
considered the implications of his words. We cannot know. But in 9:1 his
focus has shifted dramatically to a second situation in his personal life
that is analogous to the social situation that the Corinthians are facing.
In refusing material support so as not to hinder the proclamation of the
138 Newton, Deity and Diet, 309. See also Garland, 1 Corinthians, 391. Thiselton observes
that many commentators see a shift from food in general to meat in particular. For his
part, he sees a broadening; the plural κρέα expands Paul’s abstention to include all kinds
of meat (First Epistle, 657).
139 Of course, the logic of Paul’s response requires that we qualify this by distinguishing
between: (1) practices that are merely cultural and that should be adopted or avoided by
the missionary for the sake of avoiding possible offense (1 Cor 8:13; 9:19–23); (2) practices
that are culturally offensive but that must nevertheless be strictly observed so that the
force of the missionary’s message is not diminished (1 Cor 8:1–12; 9:1–18; 10:23–11:1); and
(3) the message of the cross, which is offensive in every cultural context but which must
be clearly proclaimed by the missionary (1 Cor 1:18–25).
gospel of Christ (9:12), Paul has chosen to reject a Corinthian social prac-
tice and he has been forced to endure public criticism and perhaps even
ridicule as a result (9:3).
Since I cannot discuss here how Paul’s argument develops in 1 Cor 9,
I will instead conclude this section by underscoring two general character-
istics of 8:1–13 that are regularly overlooked. First, Paul is giving informa-
tion. Some of this information is already known by his addressees; some
of it has perhaps been overlooked. All of it, however, is given in order
to explain why idol food should be avoided.140 Second, Paul consistently
presents food consumption as a possibility to be considered (vv. 8, 10, 13).
He also presents the danger that he fears as a possibility to be consid-
ered (vv. 9–11). If Christians in Corinth are overtly flouting his instruc-
tions, smearing the gospel and participating in idolatry in the process (see
10:14–22), why would he take the time to explore ideas in this way? Why
not simply condemn their sinful behaviour, as in 5:1–5? In my opinion,
a reasonable explanation for the lack of direct confrontation in 8:1–13 is
that the Corinthians have not yet abandoned Paul’s instructions and begun
to eat idol food en masse. Resistance is developing, but it has not yet bro-
ken out into full-scale opposition. Alternatively, it might be that some of
the Corinthians are once again deeply entrenched in social practices that
Paul deems unhelpful for the cause of the gospel (and seriously dangerous
as well), but that he has enough sense to realize that these individuals are
not inclined to accept authoritarian pronouncements from a distance. In
any case, the essential thing to observe is that Paul is negotiating a shared
perspective by giving reasons for his prior instructions. He is not rebuking
the Corinthians or arguing violently with them, but he is seeking to win
them over by affirming their identity as a community of people called
out of idolatry. This, after all, is what Paul must have preached when he
arrived in Corinth. It is what made them followers of Jesus (and converts
of Paul) in the first place.
140 Barrett observes that “Paul does not dictate to others (an interesting sidelight on
his understanding of his ministry)” (First Epistle, 196). And yet, Paul does not hesitate to
dictate elsewhere. An explanation is needed for his failure to do so here.
Conclusions
Progress has been made in recent years as interpreters have abandoned

partition theories in order to pursue “a more exacting exegesis” of 1 Cor
8:1–11:1. And yet none of the proposals advanced so far has been able to
command widespread assent. This, I suspect, is because so many of them
take for granted that ch. 8 involves a kind of “weaker brother” logic and
then look to self-sacrifice through accommodation as the theme that unites
8:1–13 and 9:1–23. Once this premise is in place, it becomes very difficult
to perceive the continuity that exists between 8:1–9:23/10:23–11:1 and
9:24–10:22.
Undoubtedly, 9:1–23 draws attention to Paul’s social behaviour in order
to demonstrate his willingness to give up his rights in order to accom-
modate others. But if this is the sole driving force behind Paul’s appeal in
8:1–13, then that appeal is very weak indeed. After all, the thrust of 9:19–23
is that Paul adapts to the social conventions of the various peoples to
whom he preaches. Given that the earth is the Lord’s and everything in
it, and given that idols are nothing, why did Paul not adapt to the social
conventions surrounding polytheistic worship in order to penetrate more
deeply into Corinthian society for the sake of the gospel? Why is Paul
willing to accommodate the dietary practices of Jewish society but unwill-
ing to accommodate the dietary practices of Corinthian society? If self-
sacrifice is the only thread by which Paul’s argument hangs, his argument
is hanging very precariously indeed!
This raises a very important question. Where should we look in order
to find the additional premises that prevent Paul’s argument in 8:1–9:23
from being pushed in this direction? One answer might be that we
should look to 1 Cor 9:24–10:22, which reveals that Paul views any sign
of accommodation to idolatry as offensive to God and hence unaccept-
able under any circumstances. Or we might look to the conclusion of the
idol food discussion in 1 Cor 10:23–11:1, which instructs the Corinthians to
completely abstain from any food that is known to be sacrificial food.141
141 In considering these verses, it is unwise to engage in hairsplitting about dining loca-
tions or other such details. Such finagling misses the logic of Paul’s argument and obscures
the fact that his summary instructions in 1 Cor 10:25 and 10:27–28 are intended to cover
all possible scenarios. His instructions are as follows: (1) Buy marketplace food and eat
without troubling yourself about the origins of that food. (2) When invited to eat with
unbelievers, eat anything you are served unless it becomes apparent to you that the food
is sacrificial food. Temple dining is not explicitly mentioned at this point because it is such
an obvious accommodation of idolatry that it falls clearly under the threat of 9:24–10:22
and because presumably all food served at temple meals would have been sacrificial food
I am quite open to invoking these subsequent texts, since I find it very hard
to believe that Paul suddenly settled upon a total ban of idol food only
after writing 1 Cor 8:1–9:23. But if we take seriously these subsequent texts
that articulate a blanket prohibition of idol food, it is unclear how we can
endorse any of the available readings of 8:1–13 (with the exception of the
recent reading advanced by Nanos). Are we to conclude that Paul is appeal-
ing to certain “strong” Corinthians, asking them to stop violating his idol
food ban so as to avoid harming other Corinthians who are violating his idol
food ban? It is also unclear why Paul would exert so much energy trying to
protect “psychologically insecure” people from their own ignorance. Why
not state clearly and forcefully to these people that God will not tolerate
any regression to idol worship and that Christians cannot eat idol food?
Are we really to suppose that Paul invested a year and a half proclaiming
to idolatrous Gentiles that they should repent of their ignorance and turn
to the one true God (cf. 1 Thess 1:9; 1 Cor 12:2; Acts 17:29–31), only to later
accommodate this very same ignorance among his hard-won converts?
I am wholly unconvinced by interpretations of 1 Cor 8:1–11:1 that attempt to
resolve these difficulties, whatever the approach taken. We must instead
call into question the traditional presuppositions that have created these
difficulties in the first place.
In this essay, I have taken precisely this path. I have endeavoured to
show that self-sacrificial accommodation to others is not by itself the cen-
tral theme in 8:1–9:23; rather, the removal of behaviours that might hin-
der public witness is the central theme. This broader theme is illustrated
on the one hand with reference to Paul’s self-sacrificial accommodation
to cultural norms (8:13; 9:19–23), a practice that removes obstacles that
might hinder a successful witness. But Paul’s main theme is also illus-
trated on the other hand with reference to his self-sacrificial separation
from cultural norms (9:1–18), a practice that also removes obstacles that
might hinder a successful witness. It is obvious, I hope, which of these
two ways of “removing behaviours that hinder” applies to 8:1–13. This text
cannot be read as an appeal for accommodation to cultural norms, since
this would entail the eating of idol food rather than abstinence. But as I
have laboured to demonstrate, 8:1–13 can be read as an appeal for separa-
tion from cultural norms.
Let me recap my main arguments. First, an analysis of participant
chains in 1 Cor 8:1–13 manifests a series of first person plurals in the first
and hence would in any case be prohibited by the logic of 10:27–28 (which, incidentally,
is the logic of 8:1–9:23).
eight verses which should be interpreted as references to author(s) and

addressees together. This renders Paul’s argument an “us” vs. “them”
argument, not a “me” vs. “you” argument. It reinforces Paul’s unity with
his addressees by opposing a shared perspective with the ignorant per-
spective of “others.” Second, the “others” about whom Paul is speaking in
1 Cor 8:1–13 are polytheists who have not been initiated into the knowl-
edge and freedom enjoyed by those who worship the one true God. By
characterizing these polytheists as impaired and endangered, Paul is help-
ing his readers to see that their knowledge about idols renders them dis-
tinct from the rest of Corinthian society. He may also be evoking feelings
of pathos towards polytheists in the hopes that this will win out over the
currently dominant feeling of envy. Third, Paul’s discussion of idol food
breaks the issue down into distinct conceptual fields. He talks initially
about the world as a battleground of competing cosmologies (today we
might say ideologies) that is populated by people who possess certain
abstract qualities in different measures. Having established this frame-
work, Paul begins to talk about the consequences of food consumption.
In the course of this section he talks differently about food than he does
about the eating of idol food. Fourth, I have shown that in 8:1–13 Paul is
giving information that explains why he has prohibited idol food. This
action reveals an attitude that is neither condemning nor dismissive but
highly sensitive to the social pressures and misunderstandings that have
given rise to the Corinthians’ inquiry.
Taken together, these arguments provide a firm footing for my asser-
tion that in all of 1 Cor 8:1–11:1 Paul is pleading with his readers to avoid
any possible association with idolatry. Separation from idolatry is just as
important in 8:1–13 as it is in 10:14–22. The former passage functions as part
of a broad appeal in 8:1–9:23 that focuses upon the public eating of idol
food as a practice that will hinder the ministry of the gospel in Corinth.
The latter passage functions as part of a broad appeal in 9:24–10:22 that
focuses upon the eating of idol food as a practice that might provoke the
jealousy of God. Ultimately, 10:23–11:1 operationalizes the theme of sepa-
ration from idolatry by instructing the Corinthians never to eat any food
that is known to be sacrificial food.
One need only glance at Paul’s Thessalonian correspondence to see
that the Corinthians were somewhat unusual in their struggles. As Bar-
clay has noted, “these sibling communities developed remarkably differ-
ent interpretations of the Christian faith.”142 Whereas the Thessalonians
142 Barclay, “Thessalonica and Corinth,” 50.

radically embraced Paul’s apocalyptic perspective, probably on account

of their experience of social alienation, the Corinthians remained closely
wedded to their society. In fact, “It is clear that Paul is somewhat uneasy
about the degree of integration which the Corinthian Christians enjoy. . . .
He has a much more sectarian and separatist expectation of the social
standing of the church than the Corinthians.”143 Because the Corinthians
diverged significantly from Paul’s own point of view, he struggled con-
tinuously to maintain a viable influence within their community. Simply
put, the Corinthians’ commitment to social relations within Corinth put
a great deal of strain on their social relations with Paul.
143 Barclay, “Thessalonica and Corinth,” 58–59.

Paul, The Corinthians’ Meal and The Social Context
Panayotis Coutsoumpos
University of Montemorelos, Mexico
Introduction
As with other issues mentioned in 1 Corinthians, the application of socio-

logical methods has shed new light on previous arguments concerning
the celebration of the Lord’s Supper in Corinth.1 Before the contribu-
tions of Gerd Theissen, the main tendency was to assume that the prob-
lems confronted in 1 Cor 10–11 were basically theological or religious in
nature. On the contrary, Theissen observed that the problems in 1 Cor
10–11 are those of a socially divided community.2 It is important to
understand that the church at Roman Corinth was composed of people
from different social strata: the wealthy, the poor, and also slaves and
former slaves.
It was customary for participants in the Lord’s meal to bring from home
their own food and drink. The wealthy brought so much food and drink
that they could indulge in gluttony and drunkenness.3 The poor who came
later, however, had little or nothing to bring, with the result that some of
them went hungry and could not enjoy a decent meal.4 This conflict at the
Lord’s Supper is seen in Paul’s comment: “It is not the Lord’s Supper that
you eat. For in eating the meal each one goes ahead with his own meal”
(1 Cor 11:20–21).
Paul’s allegation should not be taken to signify that a distorted gluttony
and drunkenness is the main cause of the conflict, as if each individual ate
1 James D.G. Dunn, The Theology of Paul the Apostle (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998),
609.
2 Gerd Theissen, The Social Setting Pauline Christianity: Essays in Corinth (Philadelphia:
Fortress, 1982), 17ff.
3 Joseph A. Fitzmyer, First Corinthians (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2008), 31. See
also Sherman E. Johnson, Paul the Apostle and His Cities (Wilmington: Michael Glazier,
1987), 98.
4 I. Howard Marshall, The Last Supper and the Lord’s Supper (Exeter: Paternoster, 1980),
109.
286 panayotis coutsoumpos
independently of the others.5 Rather, the Corinthians’ eranos meal6 had

become a social problem for the Christian community. (1) The meal made
beforehand apparently differed in quantity and quality. (2) Some mem-
bers began eating before the others arrived and before the Lord’s Supper
took place. (3) The one who arrived late found no room in the triclinium,
which was the dining room where regularly only twelve could recline for
the meal.7 These issues created social tension and division among the
church members at Corinth.
The Corinthians’ Social Problems
The basic problem of a limited-capacity triclinium and the inevitable

discrimination involved in providing certain guests with second-class
facilities must have prepared the atmosphere for the social division that
5 Theissen, Social Setting, 147.

6 Homer, Od. 1.226–227. In addition, Aelius Aristides, Sarapis 54.20–28, and Lucian, Lex.
6, 9, 13. The eranos practice existed since the time of Homer and also in the second century
c.e. The guests bring either money or meals baskets. Aristophanes describes this custom
nicely (Ach. 1085–1149): “Come at once to dinner,” invites a messenger, “and bring your
pitcher and your supper chest.” The hosts provide wreaths, perfumes, and sweets, while
the guests bring their own food which will be cooked in the host’s house. They pack fish,
several kinds of meat, and baked goods in their food baskets before they leave home.
Also Xenophon (Mem. 3.14.1) describes how the participants of a dinner party bring opson,
e.g., fish and meat, from home. “Whenever some of those who came together for dinner
brought more meat and fish (opson) than others, Socrates would tell the waiter either to
put the small contributions into the common stock or to portion them out equally among
the diners. So the ones who brought a lot felt obliged not only to take their share of the
pool, but to pool their own supplies in return; and so they put their own food also into the
common stock. Thus they got no more than those who brought little with them . . .” Here
we have a close parallel to the Corinthian problems. See also Peter Lampe, “The Corinthian
Eucharistic Dinner Party: Exegesis of a Cultural Context (1 Corinthians 11:17–34),” Affirma-
tion 4 (1991): 1–13, here 4. It seems that the apostle Paul and Socrates are protecting the
communal meal (eranos) practice from such abuse. This practice should not lead some
to overeat while others stay hungry. See also Panayotis Coutsoumpos, Paul and the Lord’s
Supper: A Socio-Historical Investigation (New York: Peter Lang, 2005), 114.
7 J. Murphy-O’Connor, St. Paul’s Corinth (Wilmington, DE: Michael Glazier, 1983),
158–59. The ones who arrived late had to sit in the atrium or in the peristyle, which was
another inconvenience for them. “The mere fact that all could not be accommodated in the
triclinium meant that there had to be an overflow into the atrium. It became imperative
for the host to divide his guests into two categories; the first-class believers were invited
into the triclinium while the rest stayed outside. Even a slight knowledge of human nature
indicates the criterion used. The host must have been a member of the community and so
he invited into the triclinium his closest friends among the believers, who would have been
of the same social class. The rest could take their places in the atrium, where conditions
were greatly inferior . . . The space available made such discrimination unavoidable, but
this would not diminish the resentment of those provided with second-class facilities.”
paul, the corinthians’ meal and the social context 287
appears in Paul’s account of the Eucharist meal at Corinth (1 Cor 11:17–34).8

Paul’s statement that “one is hungry while another is drunk” (v. 21) tells
us that tensions were also provoked by another possible factor: the type
and quality of food offered.9 In the present instance, however, there is
something else to notice. Paul reminds them that the Lord’s Supper is
meant to commemorate the Lord’s sacrificial death.10 And he shows his
addressees what distinguishes this meal of the Lord from a common social
meal.11 In other words, the Lord’s meal is more than a social event, so Paul
is addressing more than a social disturbance.
Nevertheless, in trying to be more specific, what behaviour is it that, in
Paul’s view, disturbs the Lord’s Supper?12 The crux of the dilemma seems
to be stated in v. 22 in a list of rhetorical questions. Such questions, of
course, are used when a speaker wants his readers to draw conclusions
for themselves; here Paul seems to want the Corinthians to acknowledge
certain unacceptable aspects of their own behaviour. The problem is that
their behaviour implies a rejection of the congregation of God inasmuch
as they humiliate those who have little.13 Furthermore, if we add to the
scene Paul’s warning at the end of ch. 11 (“So then, my brothers, when you
gather together to eat the Lord’s Supper, wait for one another” [v. 33]),
it becomes apparent that the neglected are especially the poor and the
slaves. Neither of these groups could easily leave their work to attend an
8 Robert M. Grant, Paul in the Roman World: The Conflict at Corinth (Louisville: West-
minster John Knox, 2001), 76.
9 Pliny The Younger, Ep., 2.6. The practice to serve different types of food to different
categories of guests was the popular Roman custom. Pliny tells the following experience:
“I happened to be dining with a man, though no particular friend of his, whose elegant
economy, as he called it, seemed to me sort of stingy extravagance. The best dishes were
set in front of himself and a select few, and cheap scraps of food before the rest of the
company. He had even put the wine into tiny little flasks, divided into three categories,
not with the idea of giving his guests the opportunity of choosing, but to make it impos-
sible for them to refuse what they were given. One lot was intended for himself and for
us, another for his lesser friends (all his friends are graded), and the third for his and our
freedmen . . .”
10 I. Howard Marshall, “Lord’s Supper,” DPL, 571.
11 Victor P. Furnish, The Theology of the First Letter to the Corinthians (Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 1999), 80.
12 C.K. Barrett, Paul: An Introduction to His Thought (Louisville: Westminster/John Knox,
1994), 124. “Thus when Paul deals with the disorder at the Corinthian supper it would have
seemed natural to write, at 1 Corinthians 11: 21, 22, 33, ‘Wait for the presiding minister
(instead of starting to eat as soon as possible and as much as possible).’ But there is no
indication of a presiding minister, and Paul can only say ‘Wait for one another.’”
13 Wayne A. Meeks, The First Urban Christians (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1983),
68. The καί here is epexegetic; that is, the second clause explains the first.
evening meal. This would have been especially true of slaves, who were
not masters of their own time.
However, from the text we may deduce still more about the degen-
eration of this Corinthian celebration. The question arises: What have
the Corinthians made of the Lord’s Supper? According to the common
view, the Corinthians have abolished the concept of receiving the body of
Christ.14 For them the blessed bread was no longer the body and they ate
the Eucharistic meal as ordinary food. P. Neuenzeit argues that “Würde
die Brothandlung noch am Beginn der Feier gestanden haben, so hatten
die später Kommenden nur an der Bechereucharistie teilnehmen können.
Einen solchen Ausschluss der Armen von der Broteucharistie würde Paulus
scharf tadeln.”15 Neuenzeit’s argument is correct because this bread, the
eucharistic bread, did not come at the beginning of the ceremony, neither
did it come after some ordinary meal. It came after the private supper
(eranos meal) of which Paul did not approve.
An attempt to explain the whole social issue has been made by Theissen.
He explains that when Paul says, in v. 21, “during the meal each takes his
own food,” it means that in the process of the actual fellowship meal the
wealthy were supposed to give bread and wine away and keep some for
themselves. This was not happening, and so some believers were going
hungry.16 Moreover, the rich brought meat, fish, or other delicacies;17 how-
ever, Theissen thinks that they did not see the need to share these goods
because Paul’s instructions on the Lord’s Supper mentioned only bread
and wine as part of the Eucharist meal.18 Thus social distinctions were
reflected both in the quantity of food consumed and in the kind of food
brought and eaten.
Such lack of concern for the needs of the poor seems to have distressed
Paul.19 He says that when the members of the church of Corinth come
together, they should not start eating one after another as they arrived.
Instead, the members should wait to hold the fellowship meal until they
14 G. Bornkamm, Early Christian Experience (trans. P.L. Hammer; London: SCM Press,
1969), 126.
15 P. Neuenzeit, Das Herrenmahl (Munich: Kösel-Verlag, 1960), 71.
17 Marshall, Last Supper, 109. Several of Theissen’s ideas were already expressed by
earlier authors, although he provides very comprehensive material and gives important
background to the whole social issue.
18 Theissen, Social Setting, 153–62.
19 Charles H. Talbert, Reading Corinthians: A Literary and Theological Commentary on
1 and 2 Corinthians (New York: Crossroad, 1987), 74.
have all arrived. Paul condemns their current practices because they
despise the church of God by making a truly social communal meal impos-
sible. The basic problem appears to have arisen out of social tensions in
the church between the poor and the rich. This was the crisis that made
him appeal to the original tradition of the Lord’s meal.
The Church Meal in Corinth
The Christians at Corinth came together in order to celebrate the

Lord’s Supper and to have fellowship and a nourishing meal. It is well-
known that some ate a lot and even got drunk, while others went hun-
gry. The Eucharistic tradition in 1 Cor 11:23–25 presents the following
sequence of events: (1) The Eucharistic bread was blessed and broken.
(2) The meal took place. (3) It concluded with the blessing of the cup and
the act of drinking from it. In addition, in order to understand the socio-
cultural context of the Gentile Christian meal at Corinth, it is necessary
to know what happened in a typical Greco-Roman dinner party (eranos).
A comparison of the common practice of both the Greco-Roman and the
Corinthian meal allows us to see some similarities.20
Obviously, religious factors were present at all dinner parties and were
not a new thing for the Gentile Christians at Corinth. It is most likely that
they even had the opportunity to compare their Eucharistic meal with
elements of the social dinners in the Greco-Roman dinner parties. Both
the First and the Second Tables were started with the blessing and the
breaking of bread, and the wine ceremony marked a formal shift between
the meal and the eranos drinking party. Smith suggests that the church
members at Corinth viewed the eucharistic cup of blessing as marking
20 Lampe, “Eucharistic Dinner Party,” 2–3. He observes that “Religious ceremonies

accompany even the regular, non-cultic dinner party. The dinner at ‘First Tables’ starts
with an invocation of the gods. After the dinner there is a break; new guests can arrive.
The house gods and the geniuses of the host and the emperor are invoked and a sacrifice
is given. People recline again and eat and drink at the ‘Second Tables’; often not only sweet
desserts and fruit but also spicy dishes, seafood, and bread are served. The ‘Second Tables’
end with a toast for the good spirit of the house. The tables are removed, the floor is swept;
in a jug, wine and water are mixed and a libation to a god is poured out while people sing
a religious song. Slaves pour the wine from the jug into the participants’ cups. Whenever
the jug is empty, a new one is mixed, another libation is sacrificed, and people continue
drinking, conversing, and entertaining themselves. This can go on until dawn.”
The Greco-Roman Dinner Party The Corinthian Eucharistic “Potluck

(Dinner + Symposium/Eranos) Dinner” (Eranos)
“First Tables”
– dinner – the richer Corinthians eat “early”
(1 Cor 11:21)
Break
“Second Tables”
– a sacrifice, invocation of the house – the blessing and breaking of the
gods and of the geniuses of the host Bread, invocation of Christ
and of the emperor
– additional food, often with guests – the sacramental Eucharistic meal
who had newly arrived (some stay hungry)
– a toast for the good spirit of the – blessing of the Cup
house, the tables are removed
– the first wine jug is mixed, libation,
singing21
– drinking, conversation, music, singing, – drinking
entertainment in a loose sequence
– maybe the worship activities of
1 Cor 12–14 (esp. 14:26–32): singing,
teaching, prophesying, glossolalia
(with translations), in no orderly
sequence
this formal transition.22 In both cases a cup signals that eating is finished.
Moreover, both cups are accompanied by a religious ceremony, either a
blessing or a libation.23 Quite naturally, they sustained a familiar Greco-
Roman meal custom by dividing their Christian gathering into First and
Second Tables. Unfortunately, this led to problems in the Corinthian
Church.
In order to understand these problems, it is necessary to stress the fact
that the Corinthian Christians continued being a part of the Greco-Roman
society to which they belonged before their conversion. Only gradually
did they realize that the church was a new socio-cultural setting where
21 John Fotopoulos, Food Offered to Idols in Roman Corinth: A Social-Rhetorical Reconsid-

eration of 1 Corinthians 8: 1–11:1 (Tübingen: J.C.B. Mohr [Paul Siebeck], 2003), 235. “Libations
offered to the gods followed by hymns sung to various deities were a standard element of
Greco-Roman formal meals, whether sacrificial food was served or not.”
22 D.E. Smith, “Meals and Morality in Paul and His World,” in K.H. Richards (ed.),
Society of Biblical Literature 1981 Seminar Papers (Chico, CA: Scholars Press, 1981), 323.
23 Smith, “Meals and Morality,” 325.
new practices and habits needed to be developed, especially with regard

to social status and social divisions. Paul wants the Corinthians to meet
together for a common meal and for the celebration of the Lord’s Supper
in an orderly manner and without social division.
The Social Divisions in Corinth
It is interesting that the apostle Paul uses the expression τοῦτο δὲ

παραγγέλλων οὐκ ἐπαινῶ (11:17) to reprove the Corinthian congregation
regarding the presence of parties or cliques,24 presumably the same
groups as those that the apostle had dealt with earlier in his letter (in
chs. 1–3).25 There were groups that had broken the spirit of unity in Christ.
Their gatherings, which they had been holding regularly (present progres-
sive retroactive tense in συνέρχεσθε), were doing more harm than good.
Apparently Paul had already anticipated this concern in his previous ref-
erence to the table in 10:17, where he reminded them that because they all
eat of the one loaf, they together constitute the one body of Christ. Their
“divisions” at the table denied the unity that their common partaking of
the bread was intended to proclaim.26
Paul’s ideas in 1 Cor 11:17ff. do not simply presuppose certain social
relationships within the Corinthian community. Above all, they express
24 Many scholars agree that this reading could be an accidental error (C.K. Barrett,
The First Epistle to the Corinthians [HNTC; New York: Harper & Row, 1968], 260). Barrett
comments that the text παραγγέλλων οὐκ ἐπαινπῶ is read by G and the majority of MSS;
A C* and the Latin and Syriac have παραγγέλλω οὐκ ἐπαιῶν; B has παραγγέλλων οὐκ ἐπαινῶν;
D* and a minuscule have παραγγέλλω οὐκ ἐπαινῶ. See also E.B. Allo, Saint Paul: Première
Epître aux Corinthiens (Paris: J. Gabalda, 1934), 269–70. Whether an error or not, the most
important thing in this verse is that Paul was reminding them that they had to correct
some practices, especially the lack of order and the division that attacked the very nature
of the Eucharistic meal.
25 The adverbial participle παραγγέλλων is used temporally. It introduces Paul’s next
section in which he addresses bad practices in the observance of the Lord’s Supper. The
meaning of τοῦτο is uncertain. If τοῦτο refers to the charge that Paul gives respecting the
love-feasts, then the interval between this preface and the words which it anticipates is
awkwardly prolonged (A.T. Robertson, A Grammar of the Greek New Testament in Light of
Historical Research [4th ed.; Nashville: Broadman, 1934], 238). Weiss ascribes the section
to an older letter on the grounds that ἀκούω (‘I hear’) shows that Paul is referring to a first
report about the σχίσματα (‘divisions’) whereas in 1:10ff. (ἐδηώθη μοι, ‘I have been told’) he
is in possession of further information.
26 Gordon D. Fee, The First Epistle to the Corinthian (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1987),
531. See also Talbert, Reading Corinthians, 74. Talbert points out that “such divisions associ-
ated with the common meal would be viewed as tragic by Paul, who saw the meal as the
catalyst for Christian fellowship (1 Cor. 10:16–17).”
social intentions, the desire to improve interpersonal relationships. It is

not accidental that Paul’s statements issue a very concrete suggestion for
the Corinthian congregation’s behaviour.27 Social disparity was clearly
one of the main problems leading to the lack of order in the Lord’s Sup-
per at Corinth, and Paul intends to address the problem.
As in the case of the division in the Corinthian Church, it was typi-
cal for ancient symposia or eranos meals to produce σχίσματα. Paul is
not surprised by this (μέροι τι πιστεύω), since divisions and factions were
inevitable (δεῖ γὰρ καί αἱρεσεις) if those who were esteemed (οἱ δόκιμοι)
were also to be considered (φανεροί). It is clear that these divisions were
the result of jealousies and rivalries over such honours as place, portion
size, and quality of food and wine. By permitting these divisions to persist,
however, those believers who supplied houses and food were dishonour-
ing (καταισχύνω) the poorer class.28 Timon the brother of Plutarch spoke
against “the rich lording it over the poor,” but the majority who showed
up at banquets were from the upper classes.29 Juvenal also protested the
lot of the pauper, by which term he means a lower class person who is at
the hand of the richest:
Is a man to sign his name before me, and recline on a couch above mine,
who has been wafted to Rome by the wind which brings us our damsons and
our figs? . . . Of all the woes of luckless poverty none is harder to endure than
this, that it exposes men to ridicule. “Out you go, for very shame,” says the
marshal; “out of the Knights stalls, all you whose means do not satisfy the
law.” Here let the sons of panders, born in any brothel, take their seats.30
Paul writes to the Corinthians in v. 18: πρῶτον μὲν γὰρ συνερχομένων ὑμῶν
ἐν ἐκκλησίᾳ ἀκούω σχίσματα. A.T. Robertson takes μέν in its original use, as
emphasizing πρῶτον. Hence he translates “from the very outset,” meaning
that this sad situation of division had characterized the Corinthian church
since its beginning.31 This may indeed be Paul’s meaning, but it is difficult
to believe that the Corinthian community, during the first years of Paul’s

28 Stephen M. Pogoloff, Logos and Sophia: The Rhetorical Situation of 1 Corinthians
(Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1992), 254. He comments that “this last reference to bringing
shame or dishonor upon those who “have not” is somewhat puzzling if we imagine them
to be poor, since honor and shame were normally much more a concern for the upper
class. But οἱ μὴ ἔχοντες need not refer to the poor, since in literature about meals a com-
mon topos had developed in which the “poor” who suffered at the hands of the rich were
not actually poor, but upper class persons who were not as rich as their hosts.”
29 Plutarch, Quaest. conv. 1.2
30 Juvenal, 3.81, 152–156.
31 Robertson, Grammar, 1152.
work there, was plagued with such division. More likely, the problem
emerged only after Paul’s departure from the city.
The σχίσματα that are manifest at the Corinthian Eucharistic meal are,
in part at least, the result of social differences between the wealthy and
the poor. It is possible to believe, according to Barrett, that some Jewish
Christians may have insisted on kosher food and thus separated them-
selves from their Gentile brothers and sisters.32 But this suggestion is diffi-
cult to accept because the influence of Jewish Christians at Corinth is not
clearly apparent. The problem Paul is addressing has certainly introduced
difficulties into the church, but it would appear that the whole congrega-
tion of believers still gathers together in one assembly.33 The Corinthians
still had common meals and participated together in the Lord’s Supper.
Allo clearly explains that Paul uses the phrase πρῶτον μέν to emphasize
what he calls Paul’s “premier reproche.”34
The assembly of the church at Corinth (ἐκκλησία) is characterized by
σχίσματα. The unity of 1 Cor 10:17 has yet been worked out in practice;
rather, disunity has shown itself at the Lord’s Supper. Some fundamen-
tal points may be observed. First, the divisions described earlier in the
letter were characterized by quarrels and jealousy on the part of certain
members of the church (1 Cor 1:11; 3:4), whereas these features are miss-
ing from the present chapter, where we find social problems (vv. 21–22;
33–34). Second, Paul notes in 1 Cor 1:12 the names of four people involved
in the dispute causing division, and there is a clear anti-Paul feeling in
the air. Such is not the case here. Third, in the passage that we are study-
ing Paul says, “When you come together as a church, there are divisions
among you.” This language implies that the divisions are especially related
to their gatherings, not simply to allegiances or to wisdom.35
In a sense, the situation in the church at Corinth represents a nega-
tion of the true Eucharist. Divisions within the church are jeopardizing
the unity of the body of Christ, which is symbolized in the Eucharistic
loaf (10:17). The excessive self-indulgence of some of the church members
denies the very principle from which the Lord’s Supper takes its name and
demonstrates that they are entirely oblivious to the deeper significance of
the common life in the body of Christ.36 Paul’s “premier reproche” is not
32 Barrett, First Epistle, 261.

33 William Ellis, “Some Problems in the Corinthian Letters,” ABR 14 (1966): 34.
34 Allo, Saint Paul, 269.
36 Martin, Eucharist, 83. He argues that “Paul has already dealt with the dissensions
within the church in his teaching on the one bread (10:16, 17). He counters the other defects
that the Corinthian are profaning a holy rite, but that they are dividing a
holy community.
In the first four chapters of 1 Corinthians, Paul demonstrates how seri-
ously he regards schisms. With apparent resignation he accepts the inevi-
tability of certain divisions as a means of testing, but in no way does he
approve the divisions resulting from the celebration of the Lord’s Supper.
It seems that the Corinthians were faithfully observing the ordinance of
the Lord’s Supper as Paul had taught them (1 Cor. 11:2), but they were
ignoring the need for spiritual preparation before they approached the
Lord’s Table.
In v. 19 Paul states, δεῖ γὰρ καὶ αἱρέσεις ἐν ὑμῖν εἶναι. Paul, however,
speaks not only of individual Christians, but also of divisions (σχίσματα)
and factions (αἱρέσεις). He apparently thinks not in terms of individuals,
but of groups (he has already used the term σχίσμα in 1 Cor 1:10 to refer to
such groups).37 In other words, Paul states that the meal is a locus both
for the identification of divisions within the church and for their perpetu-
ation.38 Something about the Corinthians’ meal created social boundaries
and brought αἱρέσεις which Paul did not like. All these elements are con-
sidered in Paul’s rebuke.
Paul also introduces an element of self-examination (δοκιμαγέτω δὲ
ἄνορωιτος ἑαυτὸν) along with an eschatological element, combining the
notion of testing by difficult circumstances, so popular with pagan moral-
ists as well, with the eschatological notion that the Day of the Lord alone
reveals one’s true worth.39 Every member of the Corinthian Church must
meet the test. Each one as a single individual, not as a group member,
must test himself or herself before eating and drinking (see vv. 28–32).
by recommending that the claims of hunger and thirst should be met at home (vvs. 22, 34)
and that the common meal should be true to its name—a sharing of the common table, as
the whole church gathers at the same time (v. 33.). The recommendation of verses 33–34,
while not discrediting the Agape altogether, was the first step in the process which eventu-
ally separated the Eucharistic or Cultic service from a fellowship meal.”
38 Stephen C. Barton, “Paul’s Sense of Place: An Anthropological Approach to Com-
munity Formation in Corinth,” NTS 32 (1986): 225–46. He says that Paul’s comments are
punctuated by rhetorical questions and exclamations (11:22), by solemn warnings (11:27–
29), and by ominous promises (11:34b). Paul obviously believes that the meals upon which
he is commenting are surrounded with danger to the participants: “For anyone who eats
and drinks without discerning the body eats and drinks judgement (κρίμα) upon himself.
That is why many of you are weak and ill, and some have died” (11:29, 30; cf. 32a). He
also makes clear that ritual action is the only way both to avoid the danger arising out of
contact with the sacred (meal) and to appropriate its power for the community and the
world (11:23–32).
39 Meeks, First Urban Christians. 67.
In writing this, Paul is trying to warn them about their behaviour so that
they will not come under God’s judgment. The proper observance of Com-
munion, if carried out in conformity with a Christian social ethic, will cor-
rect divisions within the church. That the Corinthians are not observing
Communion properly is apparent from their divisions. In essence, what
Paul seems to be saying is that there is a proper way to conduct yourself
in the Lord’s meal.
The Social Private Meal
The struggle at the Lord’s Supper is disclosed when Paul says in v. 20:
Συνερχομένων οὖν ὑμῶν ἐπὶ τὸ αὐτὸ οὺκ ἔστιν κυριακὸν δεῖπνον φαγεῖν. What
is happening? They are assembling together not to eat the Lord’s Supper,
but to eat their own social meal. The supper, as it was conducted in the
church at Corinth, did not bring honour and did not belong to the Lord,
but to the church members. The Greek adjective used (κυριακόν) which
qualifies the term “supper” means “pertaining to the Lord” (κύριος)40 or
“belonging to the Lord.” Paul is censuring and questioning the kind of
celebration of the community meal which they called or described as the
“Lord’s Supper.” The Corinthians violated the nature of the Eucharistic
meal by their behaviour. For Paul, it is no more possible for the Lord’s
Supper to be eaten in an environment of social unfairness than it is for
the same church members to participate in the table of the Lord and the
table of demons (10:21).41 The Lord’s Supper can be unsanctified by divi-
sions as well as by idolatry. Before Paul describes in detail (vv. 23–26)
what belongs properly in the Lord’s meal, he points out in further detail
(vv. 21–22) their evil practices.
Paul attacks the social discrimination (11:21, 22) that exists at Corinth.
The wealthy begin to eat without any consideration of the others; they
did not wait for the arrival of the poor brethren, who usually came late
from their jobs. Instead, they ate and got drunk while others did not
have a chance to eat anything. According to C.H. Talbert, “The purpose
of the supper forgotten by the Corinthians, customary social convention
40 Barrett, First Epistle, 262. He comments that “The Lord’s Supper” is familiar, but that
the possessive case fails to make clear the relation of the supper to the Lord. “In memory
of the Lord,” “under the authority of the Lord,” and “in the presence of the Lord,” might all
be used to help out the rendering chosen here; in fact, the sense in which the Supper is
“the Lord’s” can only be brought out through the ensuing paragraph as a whole.
41 F.F. Bruce, 1 and 2 Corinthians (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1971), 110.
prevailed and divisions resulted.”42 Lucian and Athenaeus observe that

gluttony was a form of self-indulgence typical at symposia.43 That is why
Paul says that instead of the Lord’s Supper (κυριακὸν δεῖπνον), “each pro-
ceeds with his private supper” (τὸ ἴδιον δεῖπνον), and “one goes hungry and
another gets drunk” (καὶ ὅς μὲν πεινᾷ ὅς δὲ μεθύει).
Another point we should keep in mind is the problem of the famine in
Corinth.44 This situation obviously increased the tension in the church.
P. Garnsey observes that the market was controlled, and that the “have-
nots” gained advantage from a reduction in the price of grain. Non-slave
workers and artisans possessing Corinthian citizenship were most in
danger.45 These were common citizens who, in time of famine, were the
most exposed. The slave and freedman citizens connected to a household
were, economically speaking, more secure than these citizens whom Paul
called οἵ μὴ ἔχοντες.46 Obviously, the richest members of the congregation
were the hosts of the meeting and most likely provided the food for every-
body. This was in accordance with the practice of various ancient clubs
and with the custom followed in the society of those days.
The hosts in many cases provided both large amounts and better qual-
ity of food and drinks to the ones who were socially equal to them than
to participants of lower status. So, the struggle was between “different
standards of behavior,” between “status-specific expectations and the
norms of a community of love.”47 Paul’s answer, Theissen suggests, is an
agreement that asks that the rich brothers have their own private meal at
42 Talbert, Reading Corinthians, 95. It is well-known that the meals of other religious
communities of the periods had similar problems. For instance, “from a bacchic society of
the second century BC, one finds regulations like, disruptive behavior at the meetings is
not to be tolerated. If anyone starts a quarrel, he is to be excluded until a fine paid. From
the regulations of the guild of Zeus Hypistos of the first century BC, one hears: ‘it shall not
be permissible . . . to make factions.’ ”
43 Lucian, Par. 5; Athenaeus, Deipn. 5.178; 12.527. Basically, a symposion was a drinking
party and normally tended to finish in intoxication.
44 Bruce W. Winter, “Secular and Christian Responses to Corinthian Famines,” TynBul
40 (1989): 100. He comments that “the important point to note is that food crises in Corinth
were alleviated during the period of the early days of the church in the traditional way of
the East by the curator of the grain supply.”
45 P. Garnsey, Non-Slave Labour in the Graeco Roman World (CPSSup 6; Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 1980), 44–45. In times of grain shortage it is clear that the
slave had security because of his place in the household. It is appropriate to think in terms
of the secure and insecure. The latter was the group exposed to steep rises in the price of
the grain, and these were the freedman artisans and workers.
46 Winter, “Secular and Christian,” 101. He also comments that “the mechanism by
which Corinth assisted the ‘have nots’ in times of grain shortage must have benefited that
class mentioned by Paul in his enigmatic comments of 1 Corinthians 11:21, 33–34.”
home, so that in the Eucharist meal the norm for equal portions of food
to all the members can prevail.
Plutarch typically emphasized the idea that there should be equality
among the guests, ἡ ἰσότης τοῖς ἀνδράσι in a banquet.48 Contrary to Plutarch’s
view, Athenaeus thought that there should be a difference among the
guests as there is a difference in age, outlook and social status, calling it
“a factor which might add both interest and variety to the proceedings.”49
However, in 1 Cor 11:22 we find two groups against each other: those who
have no food, οἱ μὴ ἔχοντες, and those who can bring their own meal,
ἴδιον δεῖπνον.50 Euripides describes them: the first group were identified
as “those who have not” and it is this people which “save the city,” σῴζει
πόλεις, by keeping the order which the state ordains. The second group,
the rich, contained those whom he describes as useless and “always lust-
ing after more.”51 In Paul’s mind, in these gatherings the sacred element
was far more important than the social, but the Corinthians had destroyed
both. Κοινωνία is destroyed when a large group of members goes hungry
and another group is drunk. It is clear that we have here not a sacramental
rite, but an ordinary meal taken in the church.
Paul’s ecclesiological desire is presented in 1 Cor 10:16: The transfor-
mation of a multiplicity of individuals from different backgrounds into a
unity. In other words, the communitas experienced in baptism, in which
separation of role and rank are replaced by the unity within the congrega-
tion as a whole in a new society where love reigns, is Paul’s intention in the
Supper. For Paul, unity among members is synonymous with unity in the
body of Christ. That is why group unity caused strong group boundaries.52
Thus, even if the expression ἓκαστος γὰρ τὸ ἴδιον δεῖπνον προλαμβάνει ἐν
τῷ φαγεῖν leads to the conclusion that Paul is addressing certain individu-
als’ behaviour, it remains a form of behaviour which was characteristic
of a particular group. Those members of the church at Corinth who ate
their own private meal may have had a high social rank, not only because
they differed from other Christians, but because they could bring food for
48 Plutarch, Quaest. conv., 613F.

49 Athenaeus, Deipn., 5.177. In some occasions, both the slaves and masters found them-
selves at the same symposium.
50 Theissen, Social Setting, 148. This does not, however, absolutely exclude a more “indi-
vidualistic” interpretation which might find support in the words ἓκαστος and ἴδιον.
51 Euripides, Suppl., 238–44.
52 Meeks, First Urban Christians, 159. Consequently, Paul uses traditional language from
the Supper ritual, which speaks of the bread as “Communion of the body of Christ” and the
“cup of blessing” as “Communion of the blood of Christ” to warn that any participation in
pagan cultic meals would be idolatry.
themselves. Their social position is also clear in Paul’s question: μὴ γὰρ

οἰκίας οὐκ ἔχετε εἰς τὸ ἐσθίειν καὶ πίνειν. Paul poses the question, “Do you
not have houses (οἰκίας) to eat and drink in?” He addresses this question
to those who were probably the owners of the houses and, therefore, the
heads of the households.53 It seems quite logical to conclude that the divi-
sions were among households or members of households with the domi-
nant part composed of the wealthy household heads.54 Thus, we can see
that the church supper had become tangled in household rivalries.
Paul’s point, expressing outright condemnation, is that the wealthy
should eat and drink their own meals in their own homes. If they can-
not wait for others (11:33), if they must satisfy their own appetite, they
can at least keep the church’s common meal free from such malpractices
as can only bring disgrace to the celebration. Their behaviour makes the
church meal lose its character as a love-feast. Paul’s condemnation is clear
and sound: ἤ τῆς ἐκκλησίας τοῦ θεοῦ καταφρονεῖτε, καὶ καταισχύνετε τοὺς μὴ
ἔχοντας. The attitude of Paul is filled with such indignation that he makes
a series of rhetorical questions with the desire to reduce the “sated” to a
position of humiliation similar to that which they have been reducing the
poor members of the church.55
The division in Corinth is dangerous because, in magnifying the divi-
sive works of men, it denies the work of God. It threatens the very life and
unity of the church. The poor member, who can bring hardly anything for
himself, will, of course, feel ashamed when he sees the food brought by
his Christian fellows. The wealthy member’s attitude is not controlled by
love, but rather by selfishness. As a solution, Paul urges loyalty to lead-
ers, loyalty to God. It is by failure in Christian love that the Corinthians
profane the sacramental aspect of the supper, not by liturgical error. Paul
insists that there can be no real memorial of the Lord’s meal as long as
their liturgical meetings are marred by unworthy behaviour and by social
division and factionalism. They should instead be marked by the same
concern “for others” that the Lord Jesus showed at the Last Supper.56
53 Fitzmyer, First Corinthians, 435.

54 Barton, “Paul’s Sense of Place,” 237. He explains that the rich distinguished them-
selves from the poor by timing of their meal—they ate first and without waiting for others
to arrive (11:21, 33); by its quantity and quality (11:21); and by their refusal to share, since
“each one goes ahead with his own meal” (11:21). By these means also, the rich sought
to extend their influence in the church. Their eating practices were a demonstration of
status, both to themselves and to the others, and an attempt to dominate by imposing
shame (11:22).
56 Fitzmyer, First Corinthians, 426ff.
Conclusion
The Corinthian congregation, which should be a congregation of brothers

and sisters, is a shameless example of social cleavage.57 What is happen-
ing in the church’s gatherings is so notorious a repudiation of Christian
standards of conduct and practice that Paul seems to be puzzled by it.
Τί εἴπω ὑμῖν, he says. Their conduct in this regard cannot receive any
praise, but only disapprobation.
Paul attacks the problem indirectly, yet at its very core. To be a gen-
uine Christian participating in the Lord’s Table means to be concerned
with the needs of others; this goes along with Paul’s own principles
and is also part of the believer’s life. We can see that the apostle’s main
concern is the significance of the Lord’s table vis-à-vis unity in Christ.58
In short, to dine alone at church means to decline to join with the church
in an expression of common fellowship. In this way, it manifests contempt
toward the sacrament. The fellowship meal should unite the members as
a joint family which gathers together with a common purpose in mind, to
build the church in brotherly love, irrespective of social status.
57 Bornkamm, Early Christian, 126ff.

The Christ-Pattern For Social Relationships:
Jesus as Exemplar in Philippians And Other Pauline Epistles
Mark Keown
Laidlaw College, New Zealand
Introduction
Philippians1 is a multivalent letter with a number of interlinking threads,

including the gospel, unity, suffering, perseverance, joy, eternal hope, wit-
ness, false teaching, material generosity, and mindset. Yet central to the
letter is the issue of social relationships. In this discussion we will first
note how the theme of social relationships runs through the letter, includ-
ing divine-human relations, relationships within the church community,
and also relationships toward society. We will then shift our attention to
the Christ-hymn and in particular Phil 2:6–8, setting this passage in its
context and explaining its rhetorical import within the fabric of the Phi-
lippian letter. We will discuss how the pattern of the Christ-hymn is para-
digmatic for Paul’s understanding of social relationships both in terms of
church and world in Philippians. Finally, we will survey the other Pauline
epistles (aside from the Pastorals), demonstrating that this Christ-pattern
underpins Paul’s understanding of social relationships in those writings as
well. The upshot of this will be to demonstrate that Paul’s understanding
of social relationships in all contexts is theologically driven, particularly
by his Christology and by the pattern of the cross.
Social Relationships in Philippians
A cursory look at Philippians shows how the theme of social relationships

runs through the letter. This essay suggests that there are four dimensions
1 We will not discuss the historical and social setting of Philippians in this discus-
sion. Suffice to say, it was either written from Ephesus in the mid 50’s (e.g. Reumann),
from Caesarea in the later 50’s (e.g. Hawthorne), or from Rome in the early 60’s. This
writer considers the last most likely (see Mark J. Keown, Congregational Evangelism in
Philippians: The Centrality of an Appeal for Gospel Proclamation to the Fabric of Philippians
[Milton Keynes: Paternoster, 2008], 42–47), however, the precise setting does not affect
this discussion greatly.
302 mark keown
to this: divine relationships, God-human relationships, intra-church rela-

tionships, and relationships with the unbelieving world.
Partnership in the Godhead

The first social relationship to be considered involves relationality within
what we would call today the members of the Godhead (an idea Paul
anticipates but does not develop). In Philippians, God and Christ are
paired as granters of peace and grace (1:2), so the letter is premised on
partnership between God and Christ. For example, in the thanksgiving
and prayer Paul moves freely from speaking of God as an object of prayer
and witness and as the goal of glory, to speaking about Christ’s return (1:6,
10), his role as the source of affection (1:8), and as the producer of fruit in
believers (1:11). Another example of interaction in the Godhead in Philip-
pians is found in 1:12–18 where “the word of God” (v. 14) is used inter-
changeably with “Christ” (three times) as the content of Paul’s message.2
The partnership of the Spirit and Christ is seen in 1:19, where the Spirit
is “the Spirit of Jesus Christ.” Similarly, in 2:1 encouragement is found in
Christ, in fellowship in the Spirit, and in love from an undefined member
of the Godhead.3 In 2:4, Christ is “in form God” and has “equality with
God.”4 In 2:9–11, God exalts Christ, to whom all bow, so that God, in turn,
is glorified. In 2:13, it is God who works in believers. Although Paul does
not use the language of the Spirit here, it is implied.5 In 2:19–30, the focus
is Christ who guides Paul’s mission (vv. 19, 24), whose interests should
dominate, in whom they should welcome Epaphroditus, and for whom
Epaphroditus almost died. Yet it is God who spared Epaphroditus as he
served Christ (2:27). Believers, in contrast to Judaizers and Jews, worship
by the Spirit of God and yet glory in Christ (3:3). Saving righteousness is
from God and involves knowing Christ and believing in him (3:9). In 3:12,
Christ Jesus is the one who has taken a hold of Paul, yet in v. 14 it is God
2 B.M. Metzger notes that the external evidence for λόγον τοῦ θεοῦ λαλεῖν is superior.
A Textual Commentary on the Greek New Testament: A Companion Volume to the United
Bible Societies’ Greek New Testament (2d ed.; New York: United Bible Societies, 1994), 544.
3 Gordon D. Fee, Paul’s Letter to the Philippians (NICNT; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans,
1995), 179 calls this an “intentional Trinitarian sub-structure.”
4 Taking τὸ εἴναι ἴσα θεῷ here as something the preincarnate Jesus had and did not
exploit, rather than something he did not have and sought after. See the discussion of
Peter T. O’Brien, Commentary on Philippians (NIGTC; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1991), 205–
16, which adequately deals with the technical issues and in my view correctly interprets
the text.
5 N.T. Wright, Justification: God’s Plan and Paul’s Vision (London: SPCK, 2009), 86.
the christ-pattern for social relationships 303
who has called Paul heavenward in Christ Jesus. In 4:6–7, prayer leads to
the peace of God flooding the believers’ lives and protecting their minds
“in Christ Jesus.” This, and right thinking, will mean that the God of peace
will be with the Philippians (4:9). In 4:19, Paul declares that God will pro-
vide for his needs in accordance to his glorious riches in Christ Jesus and
so God is glorified (4:20). Throughout the letter then, Paul moves freely
between the members of the Godhead, never defining their relationship,
yet indicating the divine partnership from which all relationality should
derive. This latter point is best seen in 2:1 where the divine heart of God—
Father, Son and Spirit—forms the basis for an appeal for unity that will
follow and will complete Paul’s joy (2:2–4).
God-Human Relationships
Equally important in Philippians is relationality between the triune God
and humanity. Christians in Philippians are recipients of the glorious
beneficence of God—Father, Son and Spirit. God the Father and Jesus
pour out grace and peace on believers (1:3, 6; 4:23). God will bring to com-
pletion the work of mission for which they are engaged (1:6).6 Christ is
the bringer of deep affection and compassion to Paul and the Philippians
(1:8). Paul’s prayer for love indicates that it is God who fills believers with
love, and it is Christ who fills believers with the fruit of righteousness
(1:11). The Spirit helps believers and brings salvation/deliverance (1:19).7
Christ is a source of overflowing joy (1:26). Christians are also recipients
of the gifts of faith and suffering through the work of God (1:29; cf. 3:10).
In 2:1, Christ is the source of encouragement, God the source of love, com-
passion and affection, and the Spirit the source of fellowship. God works
in believers as they work out their faith (2:12–13). God is also healer, who
spared Epaphroditus from illness and Paul from grief (2:28). The Spirit
inspires and enables worship (3:3). God imparts righteousness through
Christ (3:9). It is with Christ that Paul and other believers walk in rela-
tionship (3:10). Paul describes how Christ has taken grip of him, and how
God has called him heavenward “in Christ Jesus” (3:12–14). God brings
revelation to believers that will ensure the resolution of disagreement
6 Context suggests Paul is referring to the good work of the mission. However, it could
refer to salvation. See the discussion in Keown, Congregational Evangelism, 216–24.
7 It is likely that Paul means σωτηρίαν in his usual eschatological sense. However, it
could mean deliverance. See the discussion in R.P. Martin, Philippians (WBC 43; Dallas:
Word, 2004), 49.
304 mark keown
(3:15). God has imparted to believers the glory of heavenly citizenship

(3:20; 1:27) and will transform them at Christ’s return (3:20–21; 4:3). Christ
is the source of joy, steadfastness, and unity (4:1, 2, 4). He is proximate
to believers to answer prayer and bring peace (4:5–7, 9). He strengthens
believers to cope with all material circumstances (4:13, 19).
Philippians speaks of appropriate and inappropriate human responses
to this God of grace and mercy. An appropriate response is to live as a
heavenly citizen (1:27; cf. 3:10) characterised by faith (1:25, 27; 2:17; 3:9),
service (1:1; 2:8, 17, 22), prayer and worship (1:4, 9), gratitude (1:3), gospel
ethics, and Spirit-fruit (1:11). This fruit includes joy (1:4, 18, 26; 2:2, 16–17;
3:1; 4:4), love (1:9, 16, 19), humility (2:3), good will (1:15), hope (1:6, 11, 19–22;
2:16–17; 3:11, 12–14, 20–21; 4:3–4), selflessness (2:3–4, 20), gentleness (4:5),
and peace (1:2; 4:6–7, 10). Other appropriate responses include: confidence
in God (1:6), courageous proclamation of the gospel and mission engage-
ment (1:12–18, 20, 22, 27–30; 2:15–16, 22, 30),8 perseverance (1:25, 27; 3:12–14;
4:1), suffering (1:7, 16, 30; 2:16, 26; 3:10), encouragement, comfort, partner-
ship, tenderness, compassion (2:1), unity of purpose in the gospel and in
Christ (1:27; 2:1–4; 4:2–3), obedience (2:12), Spirit-impelled work (2:12–13),
relational purity (2:14),9 rejection of false teachings (ch. 3), right think-
ing (4:8–9), and material generosity (1:5; 2:25–30; 4:10–19). Inappropriate
responses are false ethics and motives such as envy, rivalry, selfish ambi-
tion, self-glory, self-centeredness (1:15–18; 2:3–4), complaining, arguing
(2:14), disunity (2:1–4; 4:2–3); and worse, Judaizing and pagan distortions
of the gospel (3:2, 18–19).10 It is apparent that the vertical relationship
between God and humanity in Philippians forms a foundation for rela-
tionships between believers.
Paul and the Philippians

Thirdly, there is Paul’s relationship with the Philippians. As is not unex-
pected in a letter which has strong resonances with the “friendship letter
8 See Keown, Congregational Evangelism, passim.

9 The emphasis in Phil 2:14–15 is not moral purity, but relational purity as evidenced
by the context where unity is central (2:2–4, 14–15).
10 This assumes that the “dogs” in Phil 3:2 are external Judaizing opponents and that the
“enemies of the cross” are opponents in Philippi who either reject the gospel or distort it
in the direction of libertinism. Similarly, see R. Jewett, “Conflicting Movements in the Early
Church as Reflected in Philippians,” NovT 12 (1970): 40–53, 362–90.
genre,”11 Paul goes to great lengths to endorse the Philippians and to speak
of his great love for them. The whole letter in and of itself speaks of this as
Paul reaches out to commend and correct them. Paul emphasizes his love
for them in different ways. He speaks of remembering them and praying
for them with joy (1:4), fondly recalling their partnership with him already
during the initial evangelization of the town (1:5); he holds them in his
heart (1:7);12 they share his grace (1:7);13 he longs for them with the affec-
tion of Christ (1:8); he prays for them that they will be loving and fruitful
(1:9); he commends their prayers for him (1:19); and despite his desire to
die and be with Christ, he speaks of his confidence that he will be released
to come to them for their benefit (1:22–26; 2:24). He includes them in his
experience, they participating in his own “agony” for the gospel (1:30). The
manner of his appeals for love and unity indicate that he has a high view
of their love and attitudes despite their nascent divisions (1:9; 2:2). His
commendation of Epaphroditus draws them in, he being one of them, a
hero, who has given his all for the gospel and for Paul (2:25–30). In 4:1, he
emphasizes his love for them with five terms of endearment (ἀδελφοί μου
[‘my brothers and sisters’], ἀγαπητοί [‘beloved’ (2×)], ἐπιπόθητοι [‘longed-
for ones’], χαρά [‘joy’], στέφανός μου [‘my crown’]). His appeal in 4:2 is not
a command but an exhortation (παρακαλέω)14 and includes commenda-
tion of the women for their gospel engagement, along with assurance of
eternal salvation (4:3). Finally, 4:10–19 is laden not only with gratitude for
their present gifts, but with affirmation of the Philippians for their previ-
ous financial support (esp. 4:10, 15–16).
11 See Fee, Philippians, 2–7. It also has resonances with the “family letter” genre which
is also relational (see L. Alexander, “Hellenistic Letter-Forms and the Structure of Philip-
pians,” JSNT 27 (1989): 87–101; cf. S. Fowl, “Christology and Ethics in Philippians 2:5–11,”
in R.P. Martin and Brian J. Dodd (eds.), Where Christology Began: Essays on Philippians 2
(Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1998), 143–45. Bonnie Thurston rightly notes that
Philippians bears resemblance to a friendship letter form and deliberative rhetoric
(Bonnie B. Thurston and Judith M. Ryan, Philippians and Philemon [SP; Collegeville: Liturgi-
cal Press, 2005], 34–39). See also the caution of Markus Bockmuehl against ascribing these
too directly (The Epistle to the Philippians [BNTC; Peabody: Hendrickson, 1998], 34–40).
12 The Greek διὰ τὸ ἔχειν με ἐν τῇ καρδίᾳ ὑμᾶς can be read “I have you in my heart” or
equally “you have me in your heart.” This could be intentionally ambiguous to highlight
the mutuality of love between Paul and the Philippians.
13 This can be salvation (“my sharers in grace”) or mission (“sharers in my grace”). The
context prefers the latter (see Keown, Congregational Evangelism, 227–31).
14 See Otto Schmitz, “παρακαλέω,” TDNT 5:795, who notes “the admonition which is
addressed to those already won and which is designed to lead them to conduct worthy of
the Gospel . . . The exhortation is distinguished from a mere moral appeal by this reference
back to the work of salvation as its presupposition and basis.”
306 mark keown
Paul and Timothy

Fourthly, there is Paul’s relationship with Timothy, which exemplifies
partnership. The letter’s greeting names Paul and Timothy together as
slaves (δοῦλοι) (1:1). Timothy here is co-sender and perhaps amanuensis
rather than co-author. His naming recalls the partnership between Paul
and Timothy observed by the Philippians in previous visits (Acts 16:11–40;
20:1–6). It prepares the way for Paul’s news that Timothy is on the way
to them (see 2:19–23). The language Paul uses of Timothy emphasizes
Timothy’s partnership with Paul for Christ, for the gospel, and for the
Philippians (2:20–22).
Social Relationships in the Church

Fifthly, and dominant in the letter, there are the social relationships that
exist within the church. Especially important in 1:12–18 are Paul’s relation-
ships in Rome. The Romans are divided in their attitude to Paul, some
falsely motivated by selfish ambition, envy, rivalry, and a desire to cause
Paul suffering. Others are rightly motivated out of love, good will, and
knowledge of Paul’s role in the defense (ἀπολογία) of the gospel (cf. 1:7).
Paul’s appeals in Philippians regularly relate to interpersonal relation-
ships between the Philippians. These include, first, his appeal for love in
2:2 developed in the direction of humility, unity of purpose, elevation of
others, and self-denial. A second appeal is his command to do everything
without complaining15 or arguing (2:14). Finally, there is the direct appeal
of 4:2–3 to heal the division between the contentious women Euodia and
Syntyche. Throughout the letter, more subtle allusions to internal unity
are found, including the aforementioned references to partnership within
the divine, to human partnership with the divine, to the partnership of
Paul and the Philippians, and to partnership with Timothy. Other possible
hints include the reference to “overseers and deacons”16 who are singled
out and whose partnership together and with the church is of importance
to Paul’s appeal (1:1). The phrase “fellowship (κοινωνία) in the gospel” and
in grace speaks of the partnership of the Philippians with Paul (1:5, 7). The
prayer for love in 1:9, while general, in all likelihood has its main focus on
15 This recalls Israel’s grumbling in the wilderness (Exod 16:7–12; Num 17:20–25; cf.
1 Cor 10:10).
16 This is especially so if we take ἐπισκόποις καὶ διακόνοις as “overseers who serve.” See
Martin, Philippians, 8–12. However, while possible, this has not won popular support.
the division in Philippi. The reference to Roman division relates rhetori-

cally to the division at Philippi (1:12–18). Paul’s appeal for heavenly citi-
zenship in accord with the gospel touches the unity question especially
in the clauses “stand firm in one Spirit/spirit”17 and “contending as one
soul.” Paul’s appeal for imitation in 3:17 uses the compound συμμιμητής
(‘fellow-imitator’) rather than merely the more usual μιμητής18 (‘imitator’)
indicating that they are to imitate Paul together. His confidence that God
will reveal the truth at points of disagreement also alludes to the question
of their unity (3:16).
Relationships with Unbelieving Society

Finally, and building on these foundations of social relationality, there are
leaking through the crevices of the letter various allusions to the Philippi-
ans’ relationships with unbelievers in the world. Paul’s situation brings this
to the fore initially and speaks paradigmatically to the Philippians. Paul in
Rome is engaging with the political power structures of Rome. Assuming
Roman provenance, he is incarcerated among the elite of the Roman guard.
He is there due to preaching the gospel, an act of social interaction which
daringly challenges the worldviews of his hearers, calling for submission
to a new ruler, religion, lifestyle, and value system. He may or may not be
literal in his use of δεσμός (‘chains’; see 1:7, 13, 14, 17). If literal, he is chained
24 hours a day to soldiers working on behalf of Nero, the ruler of the
Empire that dominates Paul’s world.19 If not, he is at least under their guard,
perhaps in rented accommodation awaiting trial or perhaps in harsher
confines.20 Whichever is correct, his situation is precarious. He is in chains
“in Christ,” and while hopeful of release, is unsure whether he will live or
die (1:19–26; cf. 1:27; 2:12; 3:10).
It is certain that any further proclamation of the gospel by Paul will
increase his danger. The gospel of Jesus as Lord cut to the heart of Roman
power, Jesus himself having been killed by the Romans as a pretender to
Caesar’s throne. His call to a new way of living was socially and politically
17 The link to 2:1 would suggest that Paul has in mind “one Spirit.” See Fee, Philippians,
163–66. However, πνεῦμα here may be intentionally ambiguous to incorporate the notion
of unity in the one Spirit which extends to the unity of one spirit of believers. That is, it
may suggest both rather than either/or (cf. perichoresis).
18 See 1 Cor 4:16; 11:1; Eph 5:1; 1 Thess 1:6; 2:14.
19 See Fee, Philippians, 92; cf. Brian Rapske, Paul in Roman Custody (vol. 3 of The Book
of Acts in Its First Century Setting; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1994), 25–28.
20 Bockmuehl, Philippians, 64.
308 mark keown
subversive. To continue to proclaim him would be dangerous. Similarly,

if others were to engage in visible proclamation, Paul’s safety would simi-
larly be threatened (1:17). Yet Paul does not prescribe any retreatism or
quietism. Rather, the body of his letter starts with a statement concerning
his joy at the advance of the gospel. Rather than suppress the gospel, the
imprisonment of the apostle has served to advance the gospel, as though
an invading army were infiltrating enemy territory. This is happening in
two ways. Soldiers and others are now clear about why he is incarcerated,
and the use of προκοπή suggests some have been converted (1:13).21 Fur-
thermore, a large number of Roman Christians22 are inspired by Christ
through Paul’s example to share the message with great boldness (1:14).23
These are not all well-motivated,24 preachers of the gospel being divided
with some functioning out of false motives and others good (1:15–18).
Yet Paul’s attitude is one of joy; joy that Christ is being proclaimed in
every way.25 Rhetorically this speaks to the Philippians. They are simi-
larly divided, although not with the malice of these Romans. They too are
encountering persecution at the hands of their highly Romanized fellow
Philippians, their experience being analogous to Paul’s on his previous
trip to Philippi where the Jewish Paul and Silas clashed with Roman cus-
toms (Acts 16:20). Paul appeals to them not to respond to pagan persecu-
tion and rejection with retreatism or quietism; rather, they are to continue
to contend for the faith of the gospel in unity as part of their heavenly
21 The notion of “advance” suggests more than that the gospel was transmitted, but
that there is growth in its effect. The term, which can carry a military sense, suggests
that some at least are hearing the message and being converted. The gospel is invading
the Roman world. This is ironical; the gospel of a pretender killed by Rome, preached by
one imprisoned by Rome, is now invading Rome itself! See further I. Loh and E.A. Nida,
A Handbook of Paul’s Letter to the Philippians (UBS Handbook Series 20; New York: UBS,
1977), 20; Martin, Philippians, 43.
22 There is much debate on whether ἀδελφοί in 1:14 is used in the technical sense of
co-workers (e.g. E.E. Ellis, “Paul and His Co-Workers,” in idem, Prophecy and Hermeneutic
in Early Christianity: New Testament Essays [WUNT; Tübingen: J.C.B. Mohr (Paul Siebeck),
1978], 3–22; J. Gnilka, Der Philipperbrief [HTKNT; Freiburg: Herder, 1976], 59) or in its gen-
eral sense as “brothers and sisters.” The case for the latter is in the view of this writer far
more persuasive; see Keown, Congregational Evangelism, 75–86; Fee, Philippians, 115.
23 Paul uses a strong combination of Greek terms to emphasize their courage: “per-
suaded (πείθω) in the Lord by my chains to dare (τολμάω) excessively (περισσοτέρως) (and)
fearlessly (ἀφόβως) to preach the word.”
24 It is clear that this is referring to the same context and not to preachers generally for
these reasons: (1) the connective καί; and (2) they can influence Paul directly.
25 See the discussion in Keown, Congregational Evangelism, 95–102 concerning Paul’s
εἴτε—εἴτε constructions. The statement “only that in every way Christ is proclaimed” is a
theological axiom supported by a contextual “whether—or” motive statement.
citizenship (1:27–30).26 Paul himself exemplifies this attitude as he states

his expectation that he will not be put to shame and that he will have
sufficient courage as he confronts Nero so that Christ is exalted whether
he lives or dies.
Philippians 2:1–11 deals with the attitudes believers are to take with
them in this struggle: love, selflessness, humility, exalting others and put-
ting them first. This builds on the emphasis on the gospel and its proc-
lamation in 1:3–30. The ἵνα (‘so that’) clause in 2:10–11 also indicates that
the overall purpose of God is the voluntary submission of all humanity to
Jesus Christ as Lord.27
The appeal in Phil 2:12–14 for obedience, Spirit-impelled work, and
peaceful relationships, initially appears internal in focus. Yet in 2:15–16
it is linked to society. Believers are to shine like stars in the world28 in
the midst of the corrupt pagan world of Philippi, Macedonia and beyond.
This is an appeal for witness through the quality of their lives as indi-
viduals and as a church, the church being the family of God (“children of
God”) who emulate the character of their God (2:1). In 2:16 this is linked to
evangelism. While a persuasive case can be made for reading λόγον ζωῆς
ἐπέχοντες passively as “hold fast to the word of life,”29 the parallels with
1:27–30 and 4:2 along with the resonances of Dan 12:1–3 suggest an out-
ward focus: “hold forth the word of life.”30 The Philippians are to continue
to contend for the gospel (cf. 1:27; 4:2–3), offering it to their world out of a
church that exemplifies social unity, love, humility, and servanthood. The
Philippians themselves, Timothy along with Euodia, Syntyche, Clement,
26 While some like J.P. Dickson (Mission Commitment in Ancient Judaism and Pauline
Communities [WUNT 2.159; Tübingen: J.C.B. Mohr (Paul Siebeck), 2003], 111) take this pas-
sively of social relations, a strong case can be made for taking this proactively based on the
athletic συναθλέω and the parallels with 4:2–3; along with the rhetorical impact of 1:14–18;
and that the opponents are Romanised Philippians and not false teachers. See O’Brien,
Philippians, 150–51; Fee, Philippians, 166–67; Bockmuehl, Philippians, 99; Peter S. Oakes,
Philippians: From People to Letter (SNTSMS; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001),
80; Keown, Congregational Evangelism, 107–24, for arguments that this relates to proactive
evangelization.
27 See the Thurston and Ryan, Philippians, 84; Bockmuehl, Philippians, 146; Keown,
Congregational Evangelism, 307–9.
28 So Fee, Philippians, 246. Or as “lights in the sky” (e.g. Martin, Philippians, 145–46; John
Reumann, Philippians: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary [AB 33B; New
Haven: Yale University Press, 2008], 392–93); the overall impact is the same.
29 See Dickson, Mission Commitment, 108–10; Martin, Philippians, 146; Reumann, Philip-
pians, 394 (although acknowledging that “holding forth” is sustainable).
30 J.B. Ware, The Mission of the Church in Paul’s Letter to the Philippians in the Context of
Ancient Judaism (Leiden: Brill, 2005), 291–301; Thurston and Ryan, Philippians, 96; Keown,
Congregational Evangelism, 128–47.
310 mark keown
Epaphroditus, and others, are excellent examples of this contention, hav-

ing served with Paul in the gospel (1:5; 2:22, 25; 4:2–3). Like Paul they are
to press on with this mission, holding to the gospel of faith, and sharing
it with the world to win people to Christ and the goal of eternal life and
bodily transformation (3:12–14; cf. 3:20–21).
Another example of social relationships in Philippians is found in ch. 3,
where Paul deals with two potential threats31 to the faith of the Philip-
pians. The first threat is false teachers urging the Philippians to judaize.32
These Judaizers are clearly an external threat, as there was no significant
Jewish population in Philippi and Paul is repeating an earlier threat. Paul’s
response to this threat is strong. He ironically and harshly describes them
as dogs, evil workers, and using a play on “circumcision” (κατατομή/
περιτομή), even as mutilators of the flesh. He rejects their claims to being
God’s people, claiming that right for Christians alone; he writes off his own
superb Jewish credentials as “crap” (σκύβαλα) and rejects righteousness
by law for righteousness by faith. In 3:18–21, Paul deals with the second
threat, which comes from enemies of the cross, pagans and “Christians”
influenced toward Greco-Roman libertinism (cf. 1:28–30) whose “god is
their stomach” and whose destiny is destruction and shame. Where the
core of the gospel is threatened from within the broader “Christian” com-
munity, Paul urges direct rejection. Here therefore, as in Galatians and
2 Cor 10–12, Paul imposes a limit on social interaction where the gospel
is being irrevocably violated (cf. 1 Cor 5:9–13). Interestingly, at no point in
his letters does Paul speak of fellow believers in this way. Even when faced
with wayward Corinthians, he continues to speak of them as “saints” and
“brothers and sisters.”
The Christ-Pattern and Social Relationships
All this would appear rather self-evident at a surface level reading of

Philippians. However, consideration of the function of 2:6–8 within the
31 While a number of people, including Thurston and Bockmuehl, take “the enemies of
the cross” as the same group, I find this unconvincing. While “their god is their stomach”
can be seen as an ironical challenge to Jewish food rituals, it fits much more snugly with
Greco-Roman libertine attitudes.
32 The play on the notion of circumcision in Phil 3:2–3 (κατατομή/περιτομή) and the
defense of a law-free gospel (3:4–9) argue for these being Judaizers rather than Gnostics,
pneumatics or other enemies. See Thurston and Ryan, Philippians, 116–20; Bockmuehl,
Philippians, 182–84.
framework of Philippians suggests a deeper Christological centre to Paul’s

understanding of social relationships. To this we now turn.
Introductory Issues
Philippians 2:5–11 is a minefield for interpreters. Although space precludes
a substantive discussion, certain things need to be said. In the first place,
whatever its authorship, genre, strophic pattern, origins, and original con-
textual meaning, 2:5–11 functions in the context of Paul’s rhetoric to the
Philippians. As the preceding verses reveal (2:1–4), it is Paul’s answer to
specific issues within the community. It is an appeal for unity and for the
attitude depicted in the hymn. As such, while the hymn has kerygmatic
appeal, it is primarily ethical in intent.33 Its function is to tell the Philip-
pians the attitude that is required of them in order to bring about unity.
It serves as the ultimate and foundational illustration of Paul’s appeal.
Scholarship is divided over whether: 1) the hymn declares Christ as God
who did not seek to hold onto or utilize his divine power or status for
his own ends;34 or 2) the hymn states that Christ is an image bearer who
unlike Adam,35 Satan,36 and/or the Emperor,37 did not seek to usurp God
and divine power in the purpose of his mission. As such, he was exalted
by God. The approach taken here is to argue that this either/or discussion
is misguided. The story flows from Jesus “being in form God” to humanity,
and in his humanity, being obedient to death. As such, it establishes a link
between image-bearing humanity (i.e. Adam) and the divine one whom
humanity images (i.e. God). The very point Paul is making is that the one
who exists is (present tense of ὑπάρχω) in the form of God and equal with
God, yet at some point in time became in form a slave (δοῦλος) as divine-
human image-bearer, and was obedient to death. Thus, in his incarnation,
33 See the discussion in O’Brien, Philippians, 186–203, which I find comprehensive and
excellent in its decisions. On genre see G.D. Fee, “Philippians 2:5–11: Hymn or Exalted
Prose?” BBR 3 (1992): 29–46.
34 Some who take it his way include O’Brien, Philippians, 185–202; Fee, Philippians,
191–97; Keown, Congregational Evangelism, 301–3; Thurston and Ryan, Philippians, 77–92.
35 Some of those who believe that this passage should be read against an Adam-Christ
Christology are M.D. Hooker, “Philippians 2:6–11,” in E.E. Ellis and E. Grässer (eds.), Jesus
und Paulus: Festschrift für Werner Georg Kümmel zum 70. Geburtstag (Göttingen: Vanden-
hoeck and Ruprecht, 1978), 151–64; J.D.G. Dunn, Christology in the Making: A New Testament
Enquiry into the Origins of the Doctrine of the Incarnation (2d ed.; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans,
1989), 114–21; N.T. Wright, The Climax of the Covenant (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1991), 56–98;
Fowl, “Christology and Ethics,” 143–45.
36 E.g. E. Stauffer, New Testament Theology (trans. J. Marsh; London: SCM Press, 1955).
37 E.g. E.M. Heen, “Phil 2:6-11 and Resistance to Local Timocratic Rule,” in Paul and the
Roman Imperial Order (ed. R.A. Horsley; Harrisburg: Trinity, 2004), 138.
312 mark keown
he did not grasp for power, use power to his own advantage, or use illegiti-
mate force. Rather, he showed the very nature of God and what it means
to be truly human, an image bearer of the divine.
As such the story transcends all parallels, whether they be Nero or other
political powers (e.g. Nebuchadnezzar, Cyrus, Alexander the Great, the
Caesars, Herod, the man of lawlessness), spiritual forces inimical to God
(the gods, Satan, demons) or Adam, who was also ἄνθρωπος and who also
bore the image of God. It is the story of stories. Of special note, of course,
given Paul and the Philippians’ context, is Roman power. Jesus is anti-
thetical to Rome and to Caesar, whose power was established using brute
military and political force. In Christ, one finds not the love of power, but
the power of love.
The Christ-Pattern in Philippians 2:6–8

So what does the hymn say? It speaks of one who, being in essence God,
divested himself of his status and rank.38 He emptied himself, not of his
divinity, but of the turning of this divinity to his own advantage as a
means to coerce humanity into homage by force. He took the form of a
slave, the King and creator coming among humanity as the lowest of the
low. He became truly human, an image bearer, a son of Adam and Eve.
He chose the path of humility and not of power and self-exaltation. He
was completely and utterly obedient to God through his whole life, liv-
ing sinlessly up to his death (see 2 Cor 5:21). The hymn also speaks of his
death; not an ordinary death, but death by crucifixion. This is the death
of a slave or criminal and political subversive, stripped naked, beaten,
publically humiliated, rejected, a visible declaration to the world that one
should not mess with Roman power.
The hymn then functions as the ultimate demonstration of true power
in contrast to political and military force. Power is not found in a sword,
in wisdom, in rank, in status, in wealth, in signs, in glorious demonstra-
tions of military or spiritual force; rather, it is found in selflessness, ser-
vanthood, sacrifice, suffering, and death on behalf of others. In these ways
Christ reveals God and is the true Adam. He demonstrates what God is
like and what humanity should be like: love. This is the pattern of the cross.
God is love incarnate and crucified. Salvation is achieved through appar-
38 On status issues in Philippians see J.H. Hellerman, Reconstructing Honor in Roman
Philippi: Carmen Christi as Cursus Pudorum (SNTSMS 132; Cambridge: Cambridge Univer-
sity Press, 2005).
ent powerlessness and weakness. The “deep magic,” the explosive force of
love, is the real power that undergirds the cosmos.
The placement of this passage and its appeal for cruciform thinking
(2:1–5) indicates that for Paul, the cross is not merely about salvation
(incredibly important and central though that is), it is about social rela-
tionships, ethics, and all of life. It is the foundation of his understanding of
Christian life, both within the family of God and as the church engages
with the world. In sum then, the Christ-pattern is that way of life which
should characterize believers. It is marked with love, humility, selflessness,
sacrifice, service, suffering, and even death on behalf of the gospel and Christ.
The latter point must be emphasized. Philippians 2 must be read in light
of Phil 1, where Paul’s emphasis is on the gospel and its proclamation both
in Rome (1:12–22) and in Philippi (1:27–30). Paul, the Romans (1:14–18),
and more importantly the Philippians, are partners in this mission (1:5).
Christ’s death then is a purposeful sacrifice on behalf of God in his world.
At its heart is the salvation of all humanity. In its broadest scope, it is the
restoration of all of God’s world, society, and creation. It is not social wel-
fare without reference to the transformation that comes through Christ.
Neither is it a pietistic devotion to personal conversion and transforma-
tion without cosmic scope. The personal, relational, creational, and cos-
mic are intertwined and centred on Christ.
The Christ-hymn stands as the centre-point of the letter. Paul in placing
it here reminds the Philippians of the love that formed them (2:1) and the
love that they should show (2:2). It is his antidote to the classic Roman
attributes of selfish ambition, conceit, complaint, contention, and divi-
sion (2:2–4, 14; 4:2–3). This is the way that they too should live. They are
to renounce such attitudes and emulate the pattern of the cross in their
social relationships, whether internally or in the world.
Scholars have attempted to link this directly to Isa 53 and John 13.39 This
would appear futile if we are looking for direct dependence. However,
I would argue that there is a direct conceptual link. Behind the Christ-
hymn there lurks Isaiah’s servant who would come and die vicariously for
39 For links to Isa 53 see L. Cerfaux, “L’hymne au Christ-Serviteur de Dieu (Phil 2,6–11 =
Is 52,13–53,12),” in Recuil Lucien Cerfaux. II. Études d’exégèse et d’histoire religieuse (3 vols.:
Gembloux: Duculot, 1954), 425–37; J. Jeremias, “Zu Phil. 2,7: ‘ΕΑΥΤΟΝ ΕΚΕΝΩΣΕΝ’,” NovT 6
(1963): 182–88. See the comments in Demetrius K. Williams, Enemies of the Cross of Christ:
The Terminology of the Cross and Conflict in Philippians (JSNTSup 223; Sheffield: Sheffield
Academic Press, 2002), 65. On John 13, see G.F. Hawthorne, Philippians (WBC; Waco: Word,
1983), 78, 87 and idem, “The Imitation of Christ: Discipleship in Philippians,” in R. Longe-
necker (ed.), Patterns of Discipleship in the New Testament (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1996),
171–72; cf. Martin, Philippians, 119.
314 mark keown
the world (Isa 53). Similarly, Jesus’ statements concerning leadership as

servanthood (Mark 10:39–45) are echoed in its thematic range. The notion
of “taking up your cross” is another parallel notion, even if there is no
direct dependence (see Mark 8:34 and par.).
The Function of the Christ-Pattern in Philippians

If this is the case, it is important to discuss how the notion of the Christ-
pattern functions in the letter to the Philippians with particular reference
to society, both that of the church and the world. The data gathered above
concerning social relationships can now be re-read through the lens of
these three verses. Through Philippians Paul gives a series of reference
points that function as examples. At the heart of each example is adher-
ence to the Christ-pattern, positively or negatively. Christ, of course, is the
primary example; he, in the cause of the mission of God to see every knee
bow and every tongue confess Christ’s lordship, came in self-emptying
and humbling servanthood to suffer and die for humanity. Thus, relation-
ships with society are profoundly christological and cruciform.
Paul
Paul functions through the letter as the primary example of the Christ
pattern to the Philippians.40 He appears to take very seriously the need
to embody the message and writes of a whole life devoted to demonstrat-
ing his identification with the Christ-pattern. He begins by calling him-
self a slave, identifying with Christ (1:1; 2:8). His attitude of love indicates
his motivation (esp. 1:7–8; 2:12; 4:1; cf. 1:9, 16). Through the letter he, like
Christ, is totally motivated by the gospel mission (e.g. 1:5, 7, 12–26; 2:17, 22;
3:12–14; 4:3, 15). He wants to fully participate in Christ and is prepared to
suffer and die for him, to give his life for the mission (1:7, 12–14, 17, 20–21,
30; 2:17–18; 3:10, 13). He renounces all claims to glory, forsaking what is
behind and pressing on to the end, with the goal of attaining to the resur-
rection and the transformation of the body (3:3–6, 12–14, 20–21). Consis-
tently, Paul emphasizes his determination to live the Christ-pattern and
he encourages the Philippians to do the same.
The Philippians
The Philippians themselves also function paradigmatically. Paul speaks
of their “overseers and deacons,” emphasizing their partnership (1:1). He
40 Similarly, from the perspective of discipleship, see Hawthorne, “The Imitation of

Christ,” 172.
recalls their common service in the gospel from the first evangelization (1:5)
and how they shared in his grace of service (1:7). He appeals for them to
contend in unity, prepared to suffer for the cause and to see their suffering
as a gift from God (1:28–30). In light of 2:6–8, 2:1–4 and 2:12–16 should be
read as appeals to continue in the Christ-pattern of servanthood, reflected
in love, humility, unity, obedience, working out of salvation, witness, and
proclamation. The appeal of 3:15–17 is for the Philippians to live as Paul
does, pressing on in service to win an eternal reward. In 3:17, Paul appeals
to them to “take note of those who live according to the pattern we gave
you.” The pattern or τύπος here is the Christ-pattern, which Paul, Timothy,
and Epaphroditus demonstrate. The Philippians are to live this pattern.
Philippians 4, with its appeal for perseverance, unity and gentleness to all,
recalls this pattern (4:1–5). Finally, the gifts of the Philippians are described
by Paul as sacrifices, gifts springing from hearts of generous service (4:18).
The link between material giving and the example of Christ is not unique
to Philippians for Paul. In 2 Cor 8–9, he appeals to the example of Christ
(2 Cor 8:9) as a model to the Corinthians of the “grace” of sacrificial giving.
Interestingly, the example of another church used in this other passage is
the Macedonian church, no doubt including the Philippians. According to
Paul, they have demonstrated grace by giving to the Jerusalem Collection
voluntarily, lavishly and beyond their means, with joy even in the midst
of severe trial and poverty (2 Cor 8:1–5). Thus the Philippians have already
demonstrated that they are living the Christ-pattern. Paul’s appeal is that
they continue to do so.
Epaphroditus
The supreme example within the Philippian community is Epaphroditus.41
He is highly commended by Paul, described with five epithets emphasizing
his commitment (brother, co-worker, fellow-soldier, apostle, servant). The
final term λειτουργός (‘servant, minister’) emphasizes his servant spirit, as
he brings gifts to help Paul in Roman prison (2:25; 4:18). He demonstrates
the Christ-pattern in his selfless concern, not being worried for himself
but for the Philippians (2:26). In this way he subordinates his own needs
to that of the mission, just as Paul does in Rome (1:19–26) and as Christ
did for all humanity. The words “he almost died” (2:27, 29) recall Christ’s
obedience to death (2:8) and Paul’s crisis in Rome (1:19–23). Epaphroditus
is highly commended and the Philippians are urged to welcome him with
joy and to honour the likes of him (2:29). This appeal to honour such
41 See, on Epaphroditus and Timothy, Hawthorne, “Imitation of Christ,” 174–75.

316 mark keown
people demonstrates the value Paul wants the Philippians to place in liv-
ing the Christ-pattern. Such honour will urge others to do the same. The
reason for Epaphroditus’ near death was so that he could provide the help
that the Philippians wanted to provide but could not (2:30). He is thus
a supreme example of the Christ-pattern from among the Philippians
themselves.
Timothy
The example of Timothy is also a demonstration of the Christ-pattern. As
noted previously, he is described with Paul as a slave or δοῦλος of Christ
Jesus, and thus identified with Paul and Christ (1:1; 2:8). He is unique
among Paul’s co-workers, concerned not only for Paul and Christ’s con-
cerns, but genuinely interested in the Philippians (2:20). He has demon-
strated his devotion by serving (δουλεύω) and proving himself in gospel
mission working alongside Paul (2:22). He is thus another example of the
Christ-pattern, utterly selfless and prepared to sacrifice his own interests
for the gospel. As such, he is to be emulated.
The Romans
The positively motivated Romans are a rhetorical example taken from
Paul’s current context. They are motivated not only with refreshed courage
thanks to Paul (1:14), but also sincerely, out of goodwill, love, and respect
for Paul (1:15–17). They thus reflect the Christ-pattern. On the other hand,
the negatively motivated Romans, while commended by Paul for cour-
age and for preaching Christ, demonstrate a flawed understanding of the
Christ-pattern. They are falsely motivated by pretense, preaching out of
envy, rivalry, selfish ambition, and a desire to cause Paul increased suffer-
ing. While Paul rejoices that Christ is proclaimed (1:18), his letter indicates
that he is far from happy with Christians who are not motivated out of
selfless, sacrificial, loving, and suffering service.
The Enemies
The enemies described in Phil 3 serve as false examples of the Christ-
pattern. Whereas Paul demonstrates the appropriate attitude of living by
faith, the Judaizers of 3:2 are characterized by confidence in the flesh. Paul
rejects their efforts to please God through obedience to the law, indicat-
ing that if anyone might claim such an achievement, it is he (3:4–6). Yet
he renounces all such claims, relying completely on the cross for salva-
tion by faith (3:7–9). He completely identifies with the cross, desiring to
know Christ and the power that raised him (i.e. the Spirit), participating
in his sufferings even to the point of death (cf. 2:8). As such, as Christ
was rewarded, so will Paul be at the resurrection of the dead (3:10; cf.
vv. 12–14, 20–21). The enemies of the cross are just that—enemies. In their
pagan libertinism they “walk” (περιπατέω), not in imitation of Paul and
the Christ-pattern (3:17), but with a concern for satisfying the flesh and
with shameful behaviour (3:18). They thus reject the crucifixion of Christ
for salvation and as a life pattern.
The Appeal of Philippians: Live the Christ-Pattern

Paul’s appeal to the Philippians, with all its detail (see above), is essen-
tially an appeal to rediscover the Christ-pattern leading to a healing of
their relationships. This is the way that citizens of heaven live on earth;
it is what it means to “work out our salvation”; it is the path to unity.
This pattern should govern all relationships, whether with God, within
the community of faith, or as believers engage in society. Internally, the
focus is on Euodia and Syntyche (4:2–3) to lay down any notion of selfish
ambition, vain conceit, and conflict (2:2–4, 14), and to humble themselves,
taking on the attitude of Christ exemplified in the Christ-pattern. Exter-
nally, engagement with society grows out of relationships patterned on
the cross within the community. These must be forged out of a furnace
of love, service, sacrifice, selflessness, and suffering, as believers humbly
share live out their lives. This will spill over as observers encounter the
church, whether gathered or as people go about their lives. The life of the
community and social relations are utterly linked. As they go about their
lives as bakers, tentmakers, civil servants, doctors, slaves, metalworkers
and more, believers are to live the Christ-pattern. They are to “shine like
stars” in the universe, demonstrating purity in their relationships as chil-
dren of God emulating their Father. They are to show courage as they do
this, being prepared to continue to serve and share the gospel whatever
the cost. This is the pattern laid down by Christ, demonstrated by Paul,
and seen by the Philippians in Timothy, Epaphroditus, and others.
The Christ-Pattern and the Other Pauline Epistles

We will now examine how this Christ-pattern of humility, selflessness,
love, unity, sacrifice, and service punctuates Paul’s letters. This exercise
will be fairly cursory, so that deeper examination will be required in the
future. However, there is strong evidence throughout the Pauline epistles
318 mark keown
that Paul’s understanding of the Christian life is cruciform, built on the

foundation of the Christ-pattern.42
Romans
The first eleven chapters of Romans lay down a version of Paul’s gospel
(1:2–4, 16) crafted by Paul around the central theme of righteousness (1:17)
for two main reasons. First, he writes in order to establish his creden-
tials and to gather Roman support as he prepares for his impending visit
to Jerusalem and then to Rome and onto Spain. Secondly, he writes to
address ethnic issues which are present in Rome, most notably the rela-
tionship of Gentiles and Jews in the Roman Church.43 Throughout, the
cross and the atoning death of Christ and his resurrection are the focus
of Paul’s thought (e.g. 1:2–3). Paul goes to great lengths to state that sal-
vation and inclusion in the people of God for Jew and Gentile alike is
found through faith in Christ alone (e.g. 1:5). Romans 1:18–3:20 establishes
the universal subjugation of humanity to sin and their need for salvation.
This section outlines the antithesis of the Christ-pattern: renunciation of
God, idolatry, selfishness, and self-sufficiency. Romans 3:21–31 represents
a kind of centre of the letter: the cross for salvation, the demonstration of
God’s righteousness being the means by which Jew and Gentile alike are
declared righteous. In Rom 4 Paul establishes through Abraham that this
righteousness is from faith for all.
In Rom 5–8 Paul further explicates this righteousness mostly in the
indicative in a variety of directions, yet at times connecting it subtly with
Christian living touching on the Christ-pattern. Suffering in believers is
anticipated along with faith (cf. Phil 1:29), and is seen as redemptive in
producing Christian character with the Spirit giving hope in the context
of the Christian struggle (5:4–5). Paul moves seamlessly from suffering and
hope to Christ’s death as a demonstration of God’s love, suggesting that
believers’ suffering is participation in Christ’s death (5:6–8; cf. Phil 3:10). In
6:1–4, believers are said to participate in Christ’s death, as demonstrated
by baptism, so that their sinful humanity is crucified in Christ. They are
thus free not to sin, but to live the Christ-pattern, triumphing over sin,
living out their lives as slaves of righteousness as did Jesus (6:5–23). Thus
Christian living is cruciform living. In 7:1–8:17, believers are set free from
the law and its power to excite sin and death, so that they can now live
42 See M.J. Gorman, Cruciformity: Paul’s Narrative Spirituality of the Cross (Grand Rapids:
Eerdmans, 2001).
43 Similarly and in more detail, see Douglas J. Moo, The Epistle to the Romans (NICNT;
Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1996), 16–22.
by the Spirit and not the flesh. The Spirit is the power of God for cruci-
form living. Significantly this section climaxes not in eternal glory, but
in suffering. Believers are co-heirs with Christ, sharing “in his sufferings
in order that we may also share in his glory” (8:17). Thus, Christian life is
cruciform life in Christ with the present full experience of the Friday of
crucifixion leading to the future glory of the Sunday of resurrection. In
8:18–25, the whole of creation remains subject to death, decay and cor-
ruption (cf. 1 Cor 15:26) awaiting its final liberation at the return of Christ
and the revelation of God’s people (cf. 1 Cor 15:20–28). Believers live in this
present reality, experiencing human suffering and at times persecution at
the hands of a fallen world. Yet, in the midst of this, they are sustained by
the indwelling presence of the eschatological Spirit who enables them to
be victors and conquerors sustained by the love of God (8:22–39).
After Rom 9–11 where Paul deals with the place of historic Israel in the
purposes of God, Paul turns to Christian living in the light of the work
of Christ. The Roman believers are urged in 12:1 to present their bodies
“as living sacrifices” (θυσίαν ζῶσαν) to God as spiritual worship. This is an
allusion to the cross where Christ presented his body as a sacrifice for
humankind. This, then, is effectively an appeal to emulate the Christ-pat-
tern. In 12:2 this is said to involve renouncing the pattern (συσχηματίζω)
of the world and being transformed with a new mindset, discerning God’s
will. Believers are to replace the pattern of the world with that of a cruci-
form life. What this means is worked out in terms of humility and spiritual
gifts (12:3–9). This is followed by injunctions which recall the Christ-
pattern, including love, goodness, esteem of others, zeal, spiritual fer-
vor, service, joy, patience in persecution (θλῖψις), prayer, sharing with
the poor, love of strangers, blessing persecutors, identification with oth-
ers, unity, renunciation of pride, social relations with the lowly, and a
refusal to take revenge that seeks peace and leaves retribution to God
(12:10–21). This entire section of Paul’s letter can be read as another out-
line of the Christ-pattern, of what it means to present oneself as a living
sacrifice.44
In Rom 13:1–7, despite the oppressive and violent rule of Rome, Paul
urges believers to submit to governing authorities as God’s servants and to
pay taxes. In 13:8–10, the emphasis falls on the central relational command
of Christ and the New Testament: to love one another. This fulfils the law.
This love is the heart of the Christ-pattern, the central motivating force for
44 There is no definitive list of the attributes. Like Paul’s charismata lists, each is con-
textually framed.
320 mark keown
believers. They are also to renounce licentiousness, dissension, and envy

for the Christ pattern. This is expressed as “clothe yourselves with the
Lord Jesus Christ.” They are to live by the Spirit and not by the flesh.
Romans 14–15 deal with a specific issue concerning different views on
eating and holy days within the Roman church. While Paul agrees that
believers have the freedom to eat (e.g. 14:20), he encourages the Romans
to accept one another without judgment (14:1–13). He urges believers to act
in such a way that they do not create stumbling blocks or obstacles, and to
act out of love and a concern for others’ salvation (14:13–15; cf. 14:21). There
is thus space for liberty over non-essentials. Where differences exist, love
and salvation allow for diversity; what matters is acting in righteousness,
peace, and joy in the Spirit by which all may serve Christ (14:16–18). Believ-
ers should work for peace and mutual edification (14:19). If by eating, a
believer brings down another, they should not eat (14:21). People should
live according to their own understandings on such disputable matters
(14:22–23). Romans 15:1–2 summarizes this as the strong bearing with the
weak so as not to please themselves. Believers should live to build up their
neighbors. Importantly for this discussion, in 15:3 Christ is made an exam-
ple: “for even Christ did not please himself.” Paul quotes Ps 69:9, indicating
that Christ in his rejection and suffering did not resort to pleasing himself.
This recalls the Christ-pattern whereby Christ is an example to believers
of the attitude that should underpin their whole lives. Paul urges unity
(15:5) and insists that the Romans should accept one another. Here again
he appeals to the Christ-pattern: “as Christ accepted you, in order to bring
praise to God” (15:6–7). In 15:7–8, Paul stresses Christ’s submission, stating
that Christ has become a servant (διάκονος) of the circumcision for the
purpose of Gentile salvation (15:9). Again, the Christ-pattern is brought
to mind.
In the remainder of Romans, Paul speaks of his own mission, again refer-
ring to himself as a servant (λειτουργός) of Christ (15:16; cf. Phil 2:25) in his
ministry of proclamation, especially in virgin territory. As such, he wants
to go onto Spain after delivering his collection to Jerusalem (15:23–33).
In his greetings in ch. 16, Paul makes reference to a number of men and
women who demonstrate commitment to service (16:1) and work (16:3, 9,
12), and who are approved and tested (16:10) on behalf of Christ. These are
examples of believers who live out the Christ-pattern.
1 Corinthians
In 1 Cor the Christ pattern is the backdrop of Paul’s appeal for unity
(1:10–11). The emphasis in chs. 1–4 is internal relationships, which must be
patterned on the cross. Paul responds to divisions in Corinth by remind-

ing the Corinthians that Christ is not divided and that they are baptised
into Christ (1:13–15). He then discusses the wisdom of the cross, which is
foolishness to unbelieving Jews and Gentiles because it is an expression of
powerlessness and foolishness (1:17–25). Yet for believers, many of whom
are from the lower echelons of society, it is the power of God for salva-
tion (1:17, 26–31). Paul reminds his recipients of his proclamation, which
centres on the cross and is empowered by the Spirit (2:1–5). Here power
means signs and wonders, or perhaps the power of the gospel message.
It is the power of the Spirit that saves and does miracles. At a deeper
level, however, this power also transforms hearts, lives and relationships
with love. The cross, rejected by Greeks, Romans and Jews alike as weak-
ness and foolishness, is in fact ironically the ultimate power, the power of
love. In ch. 3 this emphasis is communicated more directly when Paul and
Apollos are described as servants (διάκονοι) (3:5), calling to mind Christ as
servant. They work for the gospel for which they will be judged (3:10–17).
Paul restates that he and others like him are servants (ὑπηρέτης) entrusted
with the gospel. In 4:8–13, extremely ironically, he brings out the suffering
and sacrifice of this servanthood. His appeal for imitation and for adher-
ence to his “way of life in Christ Jesus” is effectively an appeal to live the
pattern of the cross. This way of living will heal their divisions.
In 1 Cor 5–15, Paul turns to issues within the church. Yet leaking through
this at various points is the cruciform pattern in relation to society. In 5:9–
13, Paul corrects their misinterpretation of his earlier letter, urging them
to remain engaged in the world among sinners. This recalls Christ’s fel-
lowship with sinners in the Gospels. In 6:1–8, Paul critiques their practice
of taking each other to court. This is probably due to those of wealth and
status in the Corinthian church using the court system with its systems of
patronage to shame poorer members of the church.45 While Paul’s critique
does not engage Christ directly or the damage that this litigation is doing
to the Corinthians’ mission, it is likely that both of these lie behind his
concern. A missiological concern for the salvation of unbelievers is seen
in his discussion of marriages between believers and unbelievers (7:13–
17). In 7:17–24, Paul urges ongoing engagement with unbelievers through
remaining in one’s station in life after conversion. His concern in 7:29–35,
while complex, has at its heart a concern that believers live not for the
concerns of the world but for the purposes of Christ above all else. First
45 See R. Hays, 1 Corinthians (Interpretation; Louisville: John Knox Press, 1996), 93–94.
322 mark keown
Corinthians 8 speaks of sacrifice for others within the framework of love

and salvation over liberty. Again, this is the pattern of the cross applied to
interpersonal relationships (8:11). In ch. 9 Paul deals simultaneously with
two issues: his apostolic authority, and his renunciation of freedom for
the cause of the gospel. His concern is patronage from the Corinthians,
a benefit that he renounces so to avoid hindering the gospel and bur-
dening the Corinthians. This illustrates the notion of voluntarily limiting
freedom as a sacrifice for the gospel mission. Paul’s goal is to win as many
as possible to Christ (9:19–22; cf. Phil 2:10–11). As an athlete he strives for
this purpose; his hope is that the Corinthians will do the same (9:24–27;
cf. Phil 3:12–14). In ch. 10 he confronts an alleged “freedom” to remain
engaged in idolatry. His warning is strong: avoid this (esp. 10:14) or face
potential judgement (10:1–10) and engagement with demons (10:20).
In 1 Cor 10:23–11:1, Paul brings this section of his letter (i.e. 8:1–11:1) to a
climax. He affirms that believers have the freedom to eat what they will
(10:23–26; cf. Ps 24:1). Then he imagines believers at the home of unbe-
lievers. This indicates that what he is saying governs both internal and
external relations, and that the two are intimately linked. Paul urges the
Corinthians to act out of love over liberty, being prepared to sacrifice
their rights for the salvation of believers and unbelievers alike. The cli-
max of this section is 10:31–11:1. In 10:31, Paul encourages doing all things,
including eating, for the glory of God. This parallels Phil 2:10–11, where
the outcome of Christ’s voluntary sacrifice is salvation and the glory of
God. This is Paul’s hope here as believers make sacrifices for the salvation
of others. In 10:32 he directly urges the believers not to do anything that
would cause any person to stumble, whether an unsaved Jew or Greek, or
whether a Christian. This is living the Christ-pattern in the world, whether
in church or out of church. This is a rejection of Greek dualism, since they
are to live this way 24/7. In 10:33, Paul brings the discussion back to his
own example. He seeks to “please everyone in every way,” an idea that
recalls 9:19–22. Paul is not pleasing them for his own self-aggrandisement,
but in a missiological sense for their salvation. First Corinthians 10:33b–c
strongly resonates with the Christ-pattern seen in Philippians. Paul states
that he is not seeking his own good, but the good of the many. His pur-
pose is “that they may be saved” (v. 33c). This same imperative guided
Christ as he came and gave himself completely and utterly over to sacri-
fice, service, suffering, and death for the purpose of seeing every knee bow
and every tongue confess that Jesus is Lord. First Corinthians 11:1 sums up
Paul’s appeal. The Corinthians are to imitate Paul as he imitates Christ.
That is, just as Paul lives the Christ-pattern with his every fibre; they are
to do the same. Their lives should be patterned after the cross. They are
to be governed by a soteriological imperative.
The pattern of the cross also underlies Paul’s appeal for unity at the
Lord’s Supper (11:17–34). In fact, the meal itself recalls and proclaims the
cross. Divisions at the table violate the unity that the cross expresses, so
that believers cannot recall the cross in a divided state. As a consequence
of their divisions, the Corinthians are experiencing judgement. They must
return to the pattern of the cross in order to avoid God’s wrath. Chapters
12–14 also allude to the cross, even if Paul does not directly discuss it.
These three chapters form a chiasm, with chs. 12 and 14 dealing with issues
related to spiritual gifts. The appeal for love in ch. 13 lies at the centre of
this chiasm, being the climax of Paul’s intent here. Paul states that gifts
must be governed by love. All gifts are from God and therefore no believer
can claim superiority of any sort in their person or giftedness. All must be
equally valued; there is no rank and status on the basis of gifts (12:1–26).
Gifts are for the “common good” (12:7) and not self aggrandisement. In
ch. 14, Paul elevates prophecy over tongues on the basis that prophecy
builds up others (esp. 14:3–5, 12, 17). He applies this to unbelievers and
outsiders in 14:22–25. This section presupposes that unbelievers will be
present at the Corinthian worship, suggesting that they have been invited
to participate by believers. Thus, one dimension of Paul’s understand-
ing of church is the presence of unbelievers. Worship has a missiological
dimension. Within this framework believers are to do nothing to cause
visitors to be alienated from the gospel. Paul prefers prophecy to tongues,
as prophecy will potentially lead to their conversion whereas tongues will
alienate. The command in 16:14 sums up the application of the Christ-
pattern expressed throughout 1 Corinthians: “do everything out of love.”
2 Corinthians
Second Corinthians communicates the Christ-pattern strongly using the
language of suffering and death. It begins with Paul speaking of his suf-
fering and his own near death (1:3–11). In 1:5 he writes: “the sufferings of
Christ flow over into our lives,” indicating that believers identify with and
participate in the pattern and life of Christ. Similarly, in 4:7–12 he writes,
“we always carry around in our body the death of Jesus” (4:10). The purpose
of this is stated: “so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body.”
Again, in 4:12, Paul speaks of participating in the pattern of the cross: “for
we who are alive are always being given over to death for Jesus’ sake” (4:11).
He goes on, “so then, death is at work in us” (4:12). Paul can speak of his
experience of externally wasting away, yet he writes off these struggles as
324 mark keown
“light and momentary” in comparison to the eternal glory that they are
achieving (4:16–17).
The pattern of the cross is also reflected in Paul’s love and forgiveness
toward the punished sinner (2:5–11). Similarly, it is seen in his motivation
to see people won to Christ (2:12–16). His refusal to preach for profit or
personal gain indicates his commitment to fidelity and his refusal to com-
promise the ethics of the gospel (2:17; 4:2).
The catalogue in 2 Cor 6:3–10 represents an extraordinary example
of Paul’s commitment to the Christ-pattern: “We put no stumbling block
in anyone’s path, so that our ministry (διακονία) will not be discredited.
Rather, as servants (διάκονοι) of God we commend ourselves in every way:
in great endurance; in troubles, hardships and distresses; in beatings,
imprisonments and riots; in hard work, sleepless nights and hunger; in
purity, understanding, patience and kindness; in the Holy Spirit and in
sincere love; in truthful speech and in the power of God; with weapons
of righteousness in the right hand and in the left; through glory and dis-
honor, bad report and good report; genuine, yet regarded as impostors;
known, yet regarded as unknown; dying, and yet we live on; beaten, and
yet not killed; sorrowful, yet always rejoicing; poor, yet making many rich;
having nothing, and yet possessing everything” (cf. 2 Cor 7:5).
The Jerusalem Collection is for Paul an act of grace patterned after
Christ’s extraordinary sacrifice (8:9). The pattern is seen in the wonder-
ful radical giving of the Macedonians (8:1–5 [see above]). The passage
includes a recurrence of terms relevant to the Christ-pattern, including
“grace” (χάρις) (8:1, 4, 6, 7, 9, 16, 19; 9:8, 14, 15), “partnership” (κοινωνία) (8:4;
9:13), “service” (διακονία) (8:4; 9:1, 12, 13), “generosity” (ἁπλότης) (8:2; 9:11,
13), “love” (ἀγάπη) (8:7, 8, 24), and “blessing, gift” (εὐλογία) (9:5, 6).
Paul renounces “the weapons of the world,” which are antithetical to
the cross, for the cross worked out in life (i.e. a life “obedient to Christ”
[10:3]). Paul’s refusal to commend himself indicates his desire to renounce
an attitude of self-promotion at others’ expense (10:7–13). Rather he boasts
of others, including the Corinthians (10:13–16) and the Lord (10:17; cf.
Jer 9:24). His defense of his renunciation of his right to earn a living from
Corinthian patronage recalls 1 Cor 9 and is driven by love, with Paul not
wanting to be a burden (11:7–9). He then turns to ironically boasting
of his sufferings for Christ that demonstrate his identification with the
Christ-pattern. He does not seek his own glory or advancement in any way
(11:17–30). He boasts of himself as being a “servant (διάκονος) of Christ” to
a greater degree than his opponents (11:23), which implies that greatness
is found in servanthood. This is further demonstrated in his suffering, his
identification with the cross and his participation in Christ. He renounces

spiritual experiences of which he could boast (12:1–6), preferring to boast
of suffering, namely, the mysterious thorn in his flesh which demon-
strates his reliance on Christ and his identification with him (12:7–10). He
mentions in passing his miracles (12:11–12), yet much more intensely his
determination to sacrifice his right to their patronage. He does not wish
to be a burden, so he reverses cultural expectations surrounding patron-
age and chooses to be a father and a patron to the Corinthians (12:14).
Second Corinthians 12:15 sums up Paul’s attitude: “I will gladly spend for
you everything I have and expend myself as well.” Similarly, in 12:19 Paul
affirms: “everything we do is for your strengthening.” The cross is explic-
itly mentioned in 13:4 as the pattern for Paul’s understanding of ministry.
Ministry requires weakness in Christ, life by the Spirit, and suffering and
service for others: “To be sure, he (Christ) was crucified in weakness, yet
he lives by God’s power. Likewise, we are weak in him, yet by God’s power
we will live with him to serve you.” Paul, then, boasts of his identification
with the Christ-pattern.
Galatians
The pattern of the cross in terms of social relations is seen in Galatians
at several points. The problem in Galatia is the rejection of the gospel of
grace by faith for a gospel of faith in Jesus plus circumcision and adher-
ence to the law for salvation and inclusion in the people of God. This has
behavioural implications. Paul’s critique of Peter in 2:11–15 is essentially
set against the backdrop of the pattern of the cross whereby Peter drew
back on the basis of ethnic bias from the unity that the cross declares.
The pattern of the cross sees no one favoured, but rather unity in service
across all ethnic groups, both genders, and every social level (3:28). The
oneness of being in Christ should be reflected in the social relationships
of the believing community. The community of faith should be marked
not by adherence to Jewish law but by the freedom of grace (5:4) and love
(5:6, 13, 14). Believers should “serve (δουλεύω) one another in love,” which
is the Christ-pattern (5:13). Believers should live by the Spirit and not the
flesh. Living by the Spirit (5:16–18, 25) means to live out the pattern of
the cross seen in the ethical and social values of the “fruit of the Spirit”
(5:22–25) and goodness (6:1–6, 10). Conversely, sinful “fleshly” behaviours
such as conflict are incongruous with the Christ-pattern and hence with
Christian life (5:15, 19–21). Goodness should not only mark relationships
within the community of faith, but relationships with all people (6:10).
Paul states that he has been crucified to the world, and that because he
326 mark keown
lives out the Christ-pattern he suffers for the cross: “for I bear on my body
the marks of Jesus” (6:17).
Ephesians
The first three chapters of Ephesians do not focus directly on the cross,
nor do they speak explicitly about living according to the Christ-pattern.
Rather, Paul46 speaks about salvation and the Christian life in general
terms (e.g. 2:10) and in terms of the unity of Jews and Gentiles (2:11–22;
3:6). Implied here, however, is the principle that people in the church of
God will live out this unity. The ethical section of Ephesians is replete
with themes which have links to the Christ-pattern, although most of
these are implicit. For example, Paul’s appeal for humility, patience, love
and unity (4:2–3) is based upon a “oneness” (4:4–6) that presumes identi-
fication in and with the Christ-pattern. The expressing of spiritual gifts of
grace is linked to Christ (4:7, 12, 15–16), works of service (4:11; cf. v. 16), and
speaking the truth in love (4:15). All of this is for the purpose of building
up the church (4:12–15).
The injunctions of Eph 4:17–32 cover a renunciation of licentiousness
(4:17–19) and a life “in accordance with the truth that is in Jesus” (4:21)—
i.e. putting off the old patterns of living for a new pattern of righteous-
ness and holiness (4:24). Paul applies this to good speech, self-provision,
the renunciation of anger, conflict and malice, kindness, compassion, and
forgiveness. Significantly, in 5:32 this is related to Christ: “just as in Christ
God forgave you.”
Ephesians 5:1–2 centres on God and the pattern of the cross. Paul appeals
to the Ephesians to “be imitators of God, therefore, as dearly loved chil-
dren, and live a life of love, just as Christ loved us and gave himself for us
as a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God.” Social relationships are to be
based on the heart of God (cf. Phil 2:1) and particularly on the pattern of
sacrifice and service laid down by Christ at the cross. This is worked out
in terms of gratitude, purity of speech, life, and worship (5:3–20).
In Eph 5:21 Paul introduces the Haustafel of 5:21–6:9. The governing
imperative “submit to one another out of reverence for Christ” is worked
out in terms of household relationships. Wives are to submit to their hus-
bands, seemingly in line with social customs (5:22–24). Then, somewhat
surprisingly in a culture where it was rare for husbands to be told to love
their wives and where ἀγάπη was not seen as virtuous for men, husbands
46 Assuming Pauline authorship. See Peter T. O’Brien, The Letter to the Ephesians (PNTC;
Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1999), 57.
are told to love their wives.47 The pattern for this love is the cross: “just
as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her.” This is thus the
language of service, love, selflessness, sacrifice and preparedness to suffer.
This is a remarkable counter-cultural appeal calling for the paterfamilias
to serve his wife in love. Any thoughts of authoritarianism or autocratic
leadership dissolve in the pattern of the cross. What follows is further
appeals to the children, slaves, and paterfamilias in terms of relation-
ships to others in the ancient household. Significantly, each focuses on
the paterfamilias, redefining maleness and leadership in the household
around the notion of the Christ-pattern (i.e. service).
Colossians
The pattern of the cross surfaces in Colossians in terms of Paul’s identifi-
cation with Christ’s sufferings.48 Having reminded the Colossians of their
reconciliation to God through the cross (1:22), Paul refers to his suffering
on behalf of the Colossians (1:24; cf. 1:29; 2:1). He states that in his suffer-
ings “[he] fill[s] up in [his] flesh what is lacking in regard to Christ’s afflic-
tion, for the sake of his body, which is the church.”
The forgiveness and victory of the cross (2:13–15) forms the basis (“there-
fore”) for Paul’s appeal to the Colossians to resist those who judge them
on the basis of their freedom in Christ (2:16–23). The reference to “false
humility” in 2:18 contrasts with the genuine humility of Christ (cf. Phil
2:3, 8). Those who exhibit such pride have “lost connection” with Christ
in whom the church grows (2:19). The guides to Christian living in 3:1–4:6
grow out of life in Christ, the believer living out their resurrection life in
accordance with him (3:1–4 [Christ mentioned 5x in 4 verses]). Through-
out the passage, while the Christ-pattern is not explicit, it forms the foun-
dation of Paul’s thought as he appeals for renunciation of sin and unity in
Christ of all peoples (3:5–11). In 3:12–16, Paul urges the Colossians to clothe
themselves with the pattern of the cross: compassion, kindness, humil-
ity, gentleness, patience, tolerance, forgiveness, love, and unity. They are
to “forgive as the Lord forgave you” indicating the centrality of the cross
and the Christ-pattern to social relationships. They are to let the peace
of Christ and word of Christ indwell them that they may live whole lives
47 See A.T. Lincoln, Ephesians (WBC 42; Dallas: Word, 2002), 374, who notes that exhor-
tations for husbands to love wives are infrequent. Neither does ἀγαπᾶν occur in Greco-
Roman household codes. On virtue lists, see John T. Fitzgerald, “Virtue/Virtue Lists,” in
ADB 6:857–59; J.D. Charles, “Vice and Virtue Lists,” DNTB 1252–57.
48 Again assuming Pauline authorship. See Peter T. O’Brien, Colossian, Philemon (WBC
44; Waco: Word, 1982), liii–liv.
328 mark keown
at peace, with gratitude and in grateful worship. The household code of

3:18–4:1 lacks the expanded thought of Eph 5:21–6:9, but it makes clear
that social relationships are to be saturated with the attitudes mentioned
in 3:12–14. After an appeal for prayer, Paul reminds his addressees to
relate to unbelievers with “grace” (4:6), indicating emulation of the Christ-
pattern outside the church.
The final greetings in Colossians commend believers who live accord-
ing to the Christ-pattern. Of special note for this discussion is Tychicus
(4:7), the deliverer of the letter on Paul’s behalf. He is a “beloved and faith-
ful minister (διάκονος) and fellow-slave” (σύνδουλος), serving in the gospel
mission (cf. Phil 1:1; 2:7, 22) and contending in prayer. Also noteworthy
is Epaphras (4:12–13), who was probably one of Paul’s Ephesian disciples
(Acts 19:9–10) and who may have planted the church in Colossae (Col 1:7).
He is described as a “our beloved fellow-slave, who is a faithful servant of
Christ on your behalf ” (1:7), and as “a slave (δοῦλος) of Christ Jesus,” who
wrestles in prayer for the Colossians, who supports and works with Paul,
and who is working hard for the Asian believers (4:12–13).
1 Thessalonians
First Thessalonians begins without explicit reference to the cross, but
includes commendation for the attitudes of the cross. These include the
Thessalonians’ “work of faith, labour of love, and [their] endurance of
hope of our Lord Jesus Christ” (1:3). The genitive of production,49 “labour
of love,” calls to mind Jesus’ love-motivated contention for humanity. First
Thessalonians 1:4–10 has at its heart the Christ-pattern. The believers in
Thessalonica became “imitators of us and the Lord,” indicating their living
out of the pattern of Christ seen in Paul. They did this “in severe suffering”
(ἐν θλίψει πολλῇ) indicating that they, like the Philippians, are experiencing
unspecified but no doubt dreadful (πολλῇ) persecution on behalf of Christ
(cf. Phil 1:29–30; 2:8). In their imitation, they became a model (τύπος; cf.
Phil 3:17) to all other believers as they set about the work of Christ in the
face of severe suffering. This indicates, early in Paul’s career (c. 50 c.e.)
his concern for the Christ-pattern and its extension to all believers. The
Thessalonians’ imitation includes not only their receipt of the message
with great joy but their ongoing work of gospel mission. The “Lord’s mes-
sage rang out” from the Thessalonians throughout Macedonia and Achaia
49 D.B. Wallace, Greek Grammar Beyond the Basics: An Exegetical Syntax of the Greek
New Testament (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1996), 104–5.
and beyond. This might be passive, as in a report of their faith, but it more
likely suggests active evangelistic engagement.50
The Christ-pattern is implicit in 1 Thess 2:1–2 as Paul reminds his
addressees of his initial visit to them. On that trip, after being terribly per-
secuted in Philippi (2:2; cf. Acts 16:16–40; Phil 1:30), he and his team came
courageously (παρρησιάζομαι cf. Phil 1:14, 20) to preach to the Thessalo-
nians “in the face of strong opposition” (ἀγών; cf. Phil 1:30). Their motives
were not deceptive or self-seeking but pure (2:3–5; cf. Phil 1:14–18; 2:1–4).
Paul emphasizes selflessness through his concern not to burden the Thes-
salonians (2:9; cf. 1 Cor 9) and rather to treat them with a mother’s gentle-
ness (2:7; cf. Phil 4:4). His willingness to share the gospel and his life with
them, because of his love for them, emulates the heart of Christ. His deter-
mination to be self-supporting demonstrates his preparedness to spend
himself for the mission (2:9). His use of the father metaphor of “encourag-
ing, comforting and urging” emphasizes this (cf. Phil 2:1–4).
First Thessalonians 2:14–15 also indicates their identification with
Christ as they imitate the Judean churches and suffer persecution from
their fellow-Thessalonians. This correlates with the persecution of Christ
and the first preachers of the gospel. They thus live the Christ-pattern as
they preach the gospel.51
In 1 Thess 2:17–3:5 the pattern is implicit as Paul speaks of his “intense
longing” (ἐν πολλῇ ἐπιθυμίᾳ) and of the Thessalonians as his joy, crown, and
glory (2:19–20; cf. Phil 1:6, 8; 4:1). Timothy, another paradigm of the Christ-
pattern (although not explicitly linked here), is sent (3:1–5), and reports
of their faith, love, longing, perseverance, for which Paul gives thanks and
prays for increase (3:6–13). The appeal of 4:1–10 implicitly brings elements
of the Christ-pattern to the fore, including purity and love. In 4:11–12,
external relations come to the fore, with Paul urging the Thessalonians
to relate to their external social world with quietness and self-sufficiency
so as to win the respect of their fellow Thessalonians. These are the same
people who are causing them suffering (2:14), yet they are to respond with
quietness and hard work in order to win their respect. The issue of the
death of believers and Christ’s return dominates 4:13–5:11. Paul’s final com-
mands, while not explicitly linking behaviour to the cross, indicate again
some of the features of the Christ-pattern: love, peace, work, renunciation
of revenge, joy, prayer, gratitude, Spirit-life, and goodness (5:12–27).
50 See J. Ware, “The Thessalonians as a Missionary Congregation: 1 Thessalonians 1,5–8,”

ZNW 83 (1992): 126–31; Keown, Congregational Evangelism, 250–60.
51 See Keown, Congregational Evangelism, 260–66.
330 mark keown
2 Thessalonians
Second Thessalonians 2 begins with two essential dimensions of the
Christ-pattern: love (2:3) and perseverance in suffering, with believers
leaving revenge to God (2:4, 6–10).52 The man of lawlessness is the very
antithesis of the Christ-pattern, using deception, leading a rebellion, oppos-
ing God and—unlike Christ who renounced taking up divinity for his own
advantage—“set[ing] himself up in God’s temple, proclaiming himself to
be God” (2:4). The man of lawlessness who embodies the arrogance of
Caesar and other ancient despots is thus the polar opposite of the Lord
Jesus Messiah, who became obedient to death, even death on a cross. In
2:5, Paul states that he has told his addressees this many times. Given that
2 Thessalonians was written years before Philippians (c. 50 c.e.), it is pos-
sible that the contrast with this eschatological figure stands in the back-
drop of the Christ-hymn. This figure works with the power of counterfeit
miracles rather than love and service (2:9). Paul’s thanksgiving implicitly
links into the Christ-pattern, emphasising Christ’s love and God’s election
through the gospel, and urging them to persevere in “the teachings we
passed on to you,” no doubt with the Christ-pattern at its heart (2:12–15).
Paul then prays for them, emphasising God’s love and urging them onto
“every good deed and word.” The injunctions of 2 Thess 3 are not explicitly
linked to the cross or the Christ-pattern. However, the appeals against lazi-
ness reiterate the function of “work” in the Christ-pattern (cf. Phil 2:12–13).
Believers are not to live in quietistic passive withdrawal, but are to engage
in God’s world, working to provide for themselves and so refusing to be a
burden to others. Paul himself, in his commitment to his mission and to
self-provision, is an intentional model (τύπος) to them.
Philemon
Paul’s appeal to Philemon emphasises Philemon’s love (vv. 5, 7) and part-
nership in faith expressed in good works (v. 6). His request for Philemon
to take back the runaway prodigal slave Onesimus speaks of a breaking
down of social barriers in the gospel. Paul self-sacrificially (v. 13) sends
Onesimus back and urges that this prodigal be received, not with Roman
justice, but with the acceptance and grace of the gospel as a brother (vv.
16–17). Paul’s preparedness to pay any outstanding financial loss recalls
Christ’s sacrifice and the grace of the Good Samaritan (vv. 18–19; cf. Luke
10:25).
52 On Pauline authorship see F.F. Bruce, 1 & 2 Thessalonians (WBC 45; Word: Waco,
1982), xxxiv–xxxv.
Conclusion
This essay has argued that the pattern demonstrated in Christ’s sacrificial
death undergirds social relationships in the mind of Paul. It began with an
examination of Philippians, arguing that social relationships are an impor-
tant emphasis in this letter. Closer analysis noted that Paul’s perspective
on social relationships is forged out of the social relations within the Tri-
une God, whom the Philippians worship and seek to emulate. Supremely,
social relations are to be built on the pattern seen in the life of Christ.
The function of the Christ-hymn in Phil 2:6–11, and especially vv. 6–8, is
to demonstrate what true divinity and humanity looks like. Paul lays out
Christ’s example, particularly his self-giving, humility, obedience, service,
suffering, and death. This example has not only saved the Philippians, it
also forms a pattern for their behaviour. Paul yearns for the Philippians to
renounce false attitudes and to take up the Christ-pattern in their social
relationships. This is seen in a variety of ethical attitudes formed around
obedience, love, humility, service, sacrifice, suffering, and even death. The
framework in which these operate is the gospel of salvation. Philippians
is full of examples, positive and negative, of this Christ-pattern (e.g. Paul,
the Romans, the Philippians in their mission and giving, Epaphroditus,
Timothy, the Judaisers, the enemies of the cross of Christ, Euodia, and
Syntyche). The appeal of Philippians is for a cruciform pattern of living.
If this pattern is followed, unity is assured, the church will be strong, and
the gospel will continue to advance.
A brief analysis of the other Pauline epistles has confirmed that the
Christ-pattern underpins all of Paul’s letters, as he urges his readers to live
as Christ did, to participate fully in the life of Christ, serving others to see
every knee bow and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord.
Honouring Epaphroditus: A Suffering and Faithful
Servant Worthy of Admiration
H.H. Drake Williams, III

Tyndale Theological Seminary, Badhoevedorp, the Netherlands
Introduction
The apostle Paul had many traveling companions whom he mentions

briefly within his letters. One of these was Epaphroditus, who is mentioned
only in Phil 2:25 and 4:18. He traveled with Paul and was the delegate sent
by the Christian community in Philippi to Paul with a financial gift during
a time of imprisonment. What is of particular interest with Epaphroditus
is that Paul commands the Philippian church to honour him in Phil 2:29.
It is one of the few times in his writing where he ascribes specific honour
to one person.1 The purpose of this article is to explore why Paul encour-
ages the Philippians to honour Epaphroditus and men like him.
Fresh investigation into honour and Paul’s colleagues is important par-
ticularly in the light of the discussion of authority in Pauline literature.
Some see the section in which Paul commends Epaphroditus as filled
with power terminology and enforcement. In his monograph entitled
Rediscovering Paul, Norman R. Petersen sees power involved when he
refers to the Phil 2 passage concerning Epaphroditus remarking, “Paul
urges subordination to those who perform certain jobs in the local
churches.”2 R.W. Funk sees Phil 2:25–30 as one of a number of sections
that emphasize Paul’s presence and thus enforce apostolic authority and
power within the church.3 In her comments about Phil 2:19–30, Carolyn
Osiek sees power language and finds such wording to be manipulative and
1 Cf. Stephanus in 1 Cor 16:15–18. P.T. O’Brien, The Epistle to the Philippians (NIGTC;
Grand Rapids/Carlisle: Eerdmans, 1991), 341. In 1 Thess 5:12, Paul encourages the Thes-
salonians to honour those who labour amongst them, but he does not provide the name
of a specific individual.
2 N.R. Petersen, Rediscovering Paul: Philemon and the Sociology of Paul’s Narrative World
(Philadelphia: Fortress, 1985), 119.
3 R.W. Funk, “The Apostolic Parousia: Form and Significance,” in W.R. Farmer, C.F.D.
Moule and R.R. Niebuhr (eds.), Christian History and Interpretation: Studies Presented to
John Knox (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1967), 249–68.
334 h.h. drake williams, iii
patronizing.4 Some see an elevation of particular Christians as a means of

power enforcement. For example, Elisabeth Castelli has specifically raised
this when Paul calls his followers to imitate him.5 Such an argument has
been extended to others beyond Paul within early Christian literature.6
Not everyone focuses on power language within Phil 2. In contrast,
Reidar Aasgaard views the language of Phil 2:25–30 as a means to empha-
size solidarity and mutuality with the Philippians.7 Other scholars see
this passage as a means to “provide [the Philippians] with still another
striking illustration of the self-sacrificing service that is demanded of all
Christians.”8
The following will examine the evidence that is available concerning
Epaphroditus. It will specifically consider the way that Paul describes
Epaphroditus in Phil 2:25–30 and in relation to the broader epistle.9 It will
also consider a Greco-Roman viewpoint on honour and also Paul’s view-
point of suffering. Together these will provide good reason why Epaphro-
ditus is worthy of honour.
Honour for Epaphroditus in Philippians 2
Epaphroditus was a Gentile Christian emissary sent to Paul from the

Philippian church in order to help him in his time of need. Epaphroditus
was a Gentile. His “name occurs very frequently in inscriptions both Greek
and Latin, whether at full length Epaphroditus, or in its contracted form
4 E.g., C. Osiek, “Philippians,” in E. Schüssler Fiorenza (ed.), Searching the Scriptures: A

Feminist Commentary (New York: Crossroad, 1997), 244; Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza also
sees patriarchal language in this section. See E. Schüssler Fiorenza, In Memory of Her: A
Feminist Theological Reconstruction of Christian Origins (London: SCM Press, 1983), 234.
5 E. Castelli, Imitating Paul: A Discourse of Power (LCBI; Louisville: Westminster/John
Knox, 1991).
6 Cf. D.M. Reis, “Following in Paul’s Footsteps: Mimēsis and Power in Ignatius of Anti-
och,” in A. Gregory and C. Tuckett (eds.), Trajectories through the New Testament and the
Apostolic Fathers (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005), 287–306.
7 R. Aasgaard, ‘My Beloved Brothers and Sisters!’: Christian Siblingship in Paul (JSNTSup
265; New York: T&T Clark, 2004), 298; cf. K. Schäfer, Gemeinde als ‘Bruderschaft’: Ein Beitrag
zum Kirchenverständnis des Paulus (EH 23.333; Frankfurt: Peter Lang, 1989), 380f.
8 P.T. O’Brien, The Epistle to the Philippians: A Commentary on the Greek Text (NIGTC;
Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1991), 329. Cf. G.F. Hawthorne, Philippians (WBC 43; Waco:
Word, 1983), 114; R.A. Culpepper, “Co-Workers In Suffering: Philippians 2:19–30,” RevExp
77.3 (1980): 353, 357.
9 While Epaphroditus’s name appears in Phil 4, the passage merely mentions him as
the bearer of a gift.
honouring epaphroditus 335
Epaphras.”10 Likely his name derives from a combination of Epaphras with

Aphrodite. Aphrodite was a common name at that time, and it would be
quite likely that his family was a worshipper of this goddess of charm and
beauty.
When he came to be with Paul, Epaphroditus devoted himself to the
work of Christ. He was both Paul’s attendant and assistant in mission-
ary service. He laboured with Paul so devotedly that he lost his health
and became sick nearly to the point of death, but he then recovered (Phil
2:27). Afterwards, Paul sent him back to Philippi with what is known now
as the Epistle to the Philippians to assuage his friends, who had heard of
his serious illness. Paul implored the Philippian church to receive him
with joy and hold him in honour. The following explains from Phil 2 why
Paul encourages the Philippians to hold Epaphroditus in honour.
Honour from Paul

In Phil 2:25, Paul describes Epaphroditus as τὸν ἀδελφὸν καὶ συνεργὸν καὶ
συστρατιώτην μου. The words are closely connected in Paul’s mind since
the definite article and personal pronoun govern all three nouns. It is the
only time in Paul’s writing that he refers to one co-worker with these three
words.11 These Greek nouns help to explain why Paul calls the Philippians
to honour Epaphroditus.
In using these words in Phil 2:25, Paul is expressing a sense of mutuality
between himself and Epaphroditus. Throughout the letter to the Philippi-
ans, Paul has used the word ἀδελφός in relation to the Philippian congre-
gation as a whole.12 His relations with the Philippians are close, positive,
and unstrained. This is in comparison with recipients of his other letters
in which he also uses the word ἀδελφός but has either a more distant rela-
tionship as with the Romans or a more strained relationship as with the
Corinthians.13 Thus when Paul uses ἀδελφός in Phil 2:25 with Epaphrodi-
tus, he reveals that he has a close and positive relationship with him.
10 J.B. Lightfoot, St. Paul’s Epistle to the Philippians: A Revised Text with Introduction,
Notes, and Dissertations (London: Macmillian, 1913; repr. Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1953),
123.
11 The words do appear in Phlm 1–2. In this passage Timothy is referred to as ἀδελφός,
Philemon as συνεργός and Archippus as συστρατιώτης. L.G. Bloomquist, The Function of
Suffering in Philippians (JSNTSup 78; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1993), 175.
12 See Phil 1:12, 14; 3:1, 13, 17; 4:1, 8, 21.
13 Aasgaard, Beloved, 268–72.
A further sense of kinship can be seen from the surrounding words

συνεργός and συστρατιώτης. Both of these words are prefixed with the
preposition συν-, indicating an affinity between Epaphroditus and Paul.
Both are co-labourers and fellow soldiers. In addition, Epaphroditus’ ill-
ness and loyalty in ministering to Paul show a solidarity with Paul and
the Philippians. Together, ἀδελφός, συνεργός, and συστρατιώτης exhibit
solidarity.14
These words, however, do not solely show mutuality but also a special
status. Paul can use each of these words to display a sense of higher stand-
ing. With the word ἀδελφός, a sense of higher standing can be seen when
he uses ἀδελφός along with the first person pronouns μου or ἡμῶν. This is
exhibited in other occurrences in his other letters. For example, Phoebe
is called “sister” as well as “servant or deacon” in Rom 16:1.15 Sosthenes
and Timothy are called “brother” but are also co-senders of Paul’s letters
(cf. 1 Cor 1:1; 2 Cor 1:1; Phlm 1). Titus is a brother but also a co-preacher
with Paul. Apphia is a sister but also an important co-worker (Phlm 12).16
Other times when Paul uses ἀδελφός with respect to specific individuals
in his writing, it indicates a special standing, particularly with regard to
his missionary activity. In Phlm 1 and 16, Paul addresses both Philemon
and Onesimus as brothers. Timothy and Apphia are called brother and
sister respectively by Paul at the same time that Archippus is recognized
to be a fellow soldier (Phlm 1–2).17 A sense of higher standing may also
be found in other places within Philippians when Paul speaks of specific
brothers who are with him in prison (Phil 4:21). While the use of ἀδελφός
may grant a sense of family feeling and increase a sense of mutuality and
solidarity, it need not be limited to an equality of standing. It is likely that
in Phil 2:25 Paul envisions both mutuality as well as respect.
A sense of higher standing can be seen by the following two words that
Paul uses to describe Epaphroditus: συνεργός and συστρατιώτης. The term
συνεργός is a word that Paul does not use for believers in general but uses
for specific coworkers like Apollos, Timothy, Silas, Titus, Silvanus, Clement,
Aristarchus, Mark, Justus, Philemon, Demas, Luke, Urbanus, Priscilla and
Aquila. He also uses it for Euodia and Syntche, whom he describes as
14 Schäfer, Gemeinde als ‘Bruderschaft,’ 380f.

15 The ESV, NASB, KJV, and NIV translate διάκονος as “servant.” The NRSV translates
διάκονος as “deacon.” For further discussion on the word see D.J. Moo, The Epistle to the
Romans (NICNT; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1996), 913–14.
16 Aasgaard, Beloved, 298.
17 See also possibly 1 Thess 4:9–12. Aasgaard, Beloved, 203, 249–50.
having “laboured side by side with me in the gospel together” (Phil 4:3).18
They are described as being coworkers with God (1 Cor 3:9; 1 Thess 3:2),
coworkers in Christ (Rom 16:3, 9), coworkers with Paul (Rom 16:21; 1 Cor 3:9;
Phlm 24), and coworkers with the Christian community (2 Cor 1:24; 8:23).
One who was a συνεργός was likely commissioned by God for the task of
missionary preaching.19 Since Epaphroditus is called a συνεργός, a sense of
distinction is thus further envisioned.
Paul’s third description of Epaphroditus is that he is a συστρατιώτης,
a fellow soldier. Of the three terms that Paul gives to his companion
Epaphroditus, this is the most specific and shows a sense of elevation the
most. P.T. O’Brien rightly describes this word as one who is a “coworker
in the gospel who faced conflicts, perhaps even adversaries, (cf. Phil 1:27,
28) together with Paul.”20 Paul’s mission faced many struggles, even as
a military campaign where fellow soldiers were needed. He and his col-
leagues waged spiritual warfare (στρατεύομαι: 1 Cor 9:7; 2 Cor 10:3). The
gospel ministry is also likened to a military campaign in other parts of
his writing (στρατεία: 2 Cor 10:4; cf. 2 Tim 2:3). Epaphroditus likely faced
warfare-like struggles with Paul, enduring persecution and trial, perhaps
even imprisonment.21 While Epaphroditus has an affinity with the Philip-
pian Christian community, he also holds the distinction of being a fellow
sufferer in the gospel mission.
Other occurrences of συστρατιώτης in the New Testament and Greek lit-
erature indicate that it is used to distinguish people. The word συστρατιώτης
is only used one other time in the undisputed Pauline letters. In Phlm 2
Paul refers to Archippus with this word. Archippus was a respected Pau-
line companion. He probably was a member of Philemon’s family circle,
holding some official position in the church.22 He, like Epaphroditus,
served in a more independent commission under Paul’s gospel ministry
(Col 4:17).23 If other Greek literature of the time is considered in relation
to the word συστρατιώτης, it reveals a high sense of honour. In Polyaenus
8, 22, 23 this word is used in the context of a soldier being made equal to
18 The translation is from the ESV unless otherwise stated.

19 W.H. Ollrog, Paulus und seine Mitarbeiter: Untersuchungen zu Theorie und Praxis der
paulinischen Mission (WMANT 50; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener, 1979), 63–72.
20 O’Brien, Philippians, 331.
21 Ollrog, Paulus und seine Mitarbeiter, 77.
22 Colossians 4:17 states, “And say to Archippus, ‘See that you fulfill the ministry that
you have received in the Lord.’ ”
23 J.B. Lightfoot, The Epistles of St Paul: Colossians and Philemon (London: Macmillan,
1875), 307. Note also that the word στρατιώτης is used in 2 Tim 2:3 with regard to Timothy,
another recognized leader within the church with specialized service.
the commander-in-chief, equating the warrior with the king.24 Seen in this
way, the word συστρατιώτης encourages the reader to view Epaphroditus
as a special independent co-worker who has endured many difficulties
for Paul’s gospel mission. As he returns to Philippi, he is like a wounded
comrade in arms worthy of honour, being sent home for rest.25
Honour from the Philippians

Not only does Paul use words that set Epaphroditus apart, but he also
refers to the way that the Philippians view Epaphroditus. For the Philippi-
ans, Epaphroditus is ὑμῶν δὲ ἀπόστολον καὶ λειτουργὸν τῆς χρείας μου (‘your
messenger and minister to my need’).26 The word ὑμῶν is in an emphatic
position, setting this in strong contrast to the μου of the previous half of
the verse where Paul gives his own descriptions of Epaphroditus. This
reveals that Epaphroditus has been sent from the Philippians and is not
merely Paul’s fellow worker.
While ἀπόστολος and λειτουργός may be functioning as a hendiadys
and could be translated as “your messenger sent to minister to my need,”
the terms are worth considering individually.27 Epaphroditus was recog-
nized by the Philippians as an ἀπόστολος. While this word is frequently
used of people that were commissioned by the risen Lord as authoritative
representatives, it can also be used for those who are messengers of the
church (cf. 2 Cor 8:23).28 Epaphroditus should be looked upon in this way
as an emissary of the Philippian church rather than directly sent by the
risen Lord. He was sent from the Philippians to minister to Paul, a task of
importance.29
He was also a λειτουργός (‘minister’), which is a term of respect.
In the Greek world this word is linked with distinguished public service.
In the Septuagint, it is used for the service that priests and Levites offer
24 BAGD, 795.
25 G.D. Fee, Paul’s Letter to the Philippians (NICNT; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1995),
275.
27 The translation is from Lightfoot, Colossians and Philemon, 123. Cf. O’Brien, Philip-
pians, 331.
28 Second Corinthians 8:23 reads, “As for Titus, he is my partner and fellow worker for
your benefit. And as for our brothers, they are messengers (ἀπόστολοι) of the churches,
the glory of Christ.” Ollrog says rightly that he is “Gemeindegesandte” (Ollrog, Paulus und
seine Mitarbeiter, 99).
in the temple. The words λειτουργία and the verb λειτουργέω appear
frequently in sections that describe priestly function (cf. Exod 28–39;
Num 4, 7, 8; 1 Chr 23; 2 Chr 5:14; 8:14; Ezek 40–46). When the word
λειτουργός is used in the New Testament, the writer of Hebrews employs
it in relationship to service of angels to the Lord (Heb 1:7) and service of
those in the temple (Heb 8:2). Paul uses it for Roman authorities to whom
taxes are to be given (Rom 13:6) and the honour of being involved in the
gospel ministry (Rom 15:16). In its only other appearance in Philippians, it
is used with priestly service in mind in Phil 2:17. There Paul writes, “Even
if I am to be poured out as a drink offering upon the sacrificial offering
(λειτουργίᾳ) of your faith, I am glad and rejoice with you all.”
When λειτουργός is read in light of Phil 1:5, 7, 29 and 2:17, it denotes
distinguished service, likely of a priestly type of activity which resembled
Paul’s service.30 Together λειτουργός and ἀπόστολος signify distinguished
service. Thus, by using the words to describe the Philippians’ messenger,
Paul shows that Epaphroditus deserves to be honoured.
Honour by Action
As Paul continues writing in Phil 2:27ff., he tells the Philippians that he is
now returning Epaphroditus to them. He urges them to receive their emis-
sary with high esteem. He does so not only by the way that he describes
Epaphroditus but also by the way that he states what Epaphroditus has
done, namely, his sacrificial service. He came close to death on account
of the work of Christ.
This reason why Epaphroditus should be held in high esteem can be
partially found in Phil 2:30. In this text, Paul declares that Epaphroditus
risked his life for the sake of the work of Christ. So far in Philippians, Paul
has used the word for work (ἔργον) twice. He has used it once for the good
work which God had started in the Philippians’ lives (Phil 1:6) and then of
the fruitful labour that Paul anticipates upon his release from prison (Phil
1:22). Epaphroditus had left home and undertaken a substantial journey,
subjected himself to physical and emotional stresses, and even possible
persecution. These are all evidence of the work of Christ.
30 Bloomquist, Function of Suffering, 136.

The manner of that subjection is seen by the participle παραβολευσάμενος

in Phil 2:30.31 This word can be translated “have no concern for one’s life.”32
It is a rare word and may have been coined by Paul. He could have derived
it from παραβάλλεσθαι which means “to throw down a stake” or “to make a
venture.” It is possible that he derived it from the noun παράβολος which
means “gambling,” “rash,” or “reckless.” Another possibility is that Paul
took it from παραβολᾶνοι which means “persons who risk their lives to
nurse those sick with the plague.”33 In any case, it explains how he drew
near to death (μέχρι θανάτου ἤγγισεν) since the word παραβολευσάμενος is
an adverbial participle modifying ἤγγισεν. The following translation for
Phil 2:30 is to be preferred: “because he came close to death for the work
of Christ, having no concern for his life to complete what was deficient in
your service to me.”34
Epaphroditus’s motivation can be found in the purpose clause in Phil
2:30 which begins with ἵνα. He risked his life in order that he could “make
up for the help you could not give me.”35 The ἵνα particle should lead one
to see that Epaphroditus’s efforts were for the purpose of completing the
Philippians’ service.
Paul was not aggravated at the Philippians’ expecting the congregation
to do more for him. There is nothing from the surrounding context that
suggests that Paul had negative feelings for them. Rather, Paul viewed
Epaphroditus as the Philippians’ sacrificial ambassador to meet his needs
from afar (cf. 1 Cor 16:17). Epaphroditus helped to fill a void in Paul’s life
as the Philippian congregation had done previously. In Epaphroditus
Paul sees the whole Philippian congregation involved in sacred service
(λειτουργία) to him (cf. Phil 2:17). Both Epaphroditus’ effort and motiva-
tion lead Paul to encourage the Philippians to honour this man and men
like him.
31 The majority text reads παραβουλευσάμενος (‘having no concern for’) instead of

παραβολευσάμενος (‘exposing to risk, danger’). The strong manuscript tradition of P46, ‫א‬,
A, B, D favours the reading παραβολευσάμενος. Hawthorne, Philippians, 114.
32 BDAG, 613.
33 See further the discussion in Hawthorne, Philippians, 120.
34 The NASB version is close to this. It reads, “because he came close to death for the
work of Christ, risking his life to complete what was deficient in your service to me.”
35 Fee, Philippians, 283.
Summary
Paul’s writing about Epaphroditus indicates both a mutuality as well as dis-
tinction with regard to the Philippian congregation. When Paul describes
Epaphroditus as “my brother and fellow worker and fellow soldier,” he is
using terminology that reveals that he is both a mutual comrade with the
Philippians but also a distinguished Christian servant. He is one identi-
fied with Paul’s mission and has even faced conflicts and adversaries with
Paul. The description that the Philippians gave Epaphroditus as messenger
and minister also indicates a special status. Finally, his effort and motiva-
tion in ministry leads Paul to set him apart. Epaphroditus sacrificed to the
point of death for the purpose of completing the work of ministering to
Paul. For these reasons he is worthy of honour.
Honour for Epaphroditus in Comparison with Secular Honours
Honouring a person like Epaphroditus stands in sharp contrast with

Greco-Roman values as seen within the Roman colony of Philippi. Many
scholars acknowledge the cultural and political background present at
Philippi. Conflict between the Christian and the Roman contexts has even
been proposed by some to be the core problem that Paul is addressing
in his letter to the Philippians.36 The following section will explore the
extent and influence of Roman society in honouring its own leaders and
its influence in the Roman colony of Philippi. It will then conclude by
considering Paul’s plea to honour Epaphroditus in light of this.
Philippi was a Roman colonial city.37 It was originally named Krenides
due to the springs which fed the river and the marshlands. It was re-
founded by Philip II of Macedon, the father of Alexander the Great, and
the city took Philip’s name. The Romans under Aemilius Paulus con-
quered Macedonia in 167 b.c.e. The construction in approximately 130
b.c.e. of the Via Egnatia, the main road from Rome to the East, guaran-
teed that Philippi would be an important city influenced by Rome. In the
autumn of 42 b.c.e., Philippi saw the death-struggle of the Roman repub-
lic between Octavian and those conspirators against Julius Caesar—Bru-
tus and Cassius. Octavian’s victory ensured that Philippi would remain
36 M. Tellbe, “The Sociological Factors behind Philippians 3:1–11 and the Conflict at
Philippi,” JSNT 55 (1994): 111.
37 Other Roman colonies that were visited by Paul include Pisidian Antioch, Iconium,
Lystra, and Corinth.
a Roman colony. After the battle of Actium in 31 b.c.e., the colony was
reinforced, largely by Roman soldiers. Its name was changed to Colonia
Iulia Augusta Philippensis, and it received the much-coveted Ius Italicum,
which involved numerous privileges, including exemption of its territory
from taxation. Philippi proudly proclaimed its association with Rome.38
Roman Values of Honour and Wealth for Leaders

Roman colonies replicated Roman values. Aulus Gellius, the Latin author
and grammarian (c. 123–69 c.e.) describes this close connection in his
work Attic Nights:
[Colonies] are as it were transplanted from the State and have all the laws
and institutions of the Roman people, not those of their own choice. This
condition, although it is more exposed to control and less free, is neverthe-
less thought preferable and superior because of the greatness and majesty
of the Roman people, of which those colonies seem to be miniatures, as it
were, and in a way copies.39
Philippi was as Roman as any colony. The theatre was influenced by
Roman drama. The forum was established in Roman style in the center of
the city. The inscriptions that are found within the city from the first and
second century AD are exclusively Latin. A whole host of Roman gods are
also found in Philippi, such as Jupiter, Neptune, Mercury, and Silvanus.
The lifestyle of Philippi was thoroughly Roman.40
Roman colonies such as Philippi were in intense competition with
each other to please the emperor in Rome. They modeled their civic
governments after Rome, which was a city that valued human honour.
J.E. Lendon writes about honour in political government saying,
Offices were social distinctions, and . . . the hierarchy that was marked to
contemporaries was not any official hierarchy, in our sense, but a social
hierarchy—a hierarchy of prestige and standing—in which official rank was
a vital criterion of ranking.41
38 R. Wallace and W. Williams, The Three Worlds of Paul of Tarsus (London: Routledge,
1998), 88. For further background, see L. Bormann, Philippi: Stadt und Christengemeinde zur
Zeit des Paulus (NovTSup 78; Leiden: Brill, 1995), 11–83.
39 Aulus Gellius, Noct. att. 16.13.8–9. Cf. J.H. Hellerman, Reconstructing Honor in Roman
Philippi: Carmen Christi as Cursus Pudorum (SNTSMS 132; Cambridge: Cambridge Univer-
sity Press, 2005), 66.
40 P. Pilhofer, Philippi. Band 1: Die erste christliche Gemeinde Europas (Tübingen: Mohr,
1995), 91–92.
41 J.E. Lendon, Empire of Honour: The Art of Government in the Roman World (Oxford:
Clarendon Press, 1997), 21. See also 74–77.
It was generally the wealthy who could take leadership positions, since
the leading posts were without salary. A Roman colony drew from taxa-
tion only a part of the expenses needed for the running of a city; leaders
in governing positions were required to bear the extra cost. For example,
in the Roman colony of Corinth the position of curator of the grain was
filled during times when grain supplies were low, sometimes in famine.
It was a position of great responsibility and of high honour as this person
dispersed grain to a populace in need. At times, great manipulation of
market forces was necessary in order to increase grain. It was the curator
of the grain who would bear the cost of this.42 Those without necessary
means were warned not to take such posts.43
While the wealthy took leadership roles, they were not solely philan-
thropic. High offices attracted privileges of esteem and honour. Dio Chrys-
ostom (c. 40–120 c.e.) the orator, writer, philosopher, and historian, wrote
about leadership in Roman colonies saying,
[Leaders governed] . . . not for the sake of what is truly best and in the inter-
est of their country itself, but for the sake of reputation and honours and the
possession of greater power than their neighbours, in the pursuit of crowns
and precedence and purple robes, fixing their gaze upon these things and
staking all upon their attainment.44
Also he states,
. . . this much is clear, that neither you nor any others, whether Greeks or
barbarians, who are thought to have become great, advanced to glory and
power for any other reason than because fortune gave to each in succession
men who were jealous of honour and regarded their fame in after times as
more precious than life. For the pillar, the inscription, and being set up in
bronze are regarded as a high honour by noble men . . . For all men set great
store by the outward tokens of high achievement, and not one man in a
thousand is willing to agree that what he regards as a noble deed shall have
been done for himself alone and that no other man shall have knowledge
of it.45
42 A.D. Clarke, Secular and Christian Leadership in Corinth: A Socio-historical and Exe-
getical Study of 1 Corinthians 1–6 (AGJU 18; Leiden: Brill, 1993), 16–17; cf. B.W. Winter, “Secu-
lar and Christian Responses to Corinthian Famines,” TynBul 40 (1989): 86–106.
43 Plutarch, Mor. 822D, F; Dio Chrysostom, Or. 17.18. A.D. Clarke, Serve the Community of
the Church: Christians as Leaders and Ministers (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2000), 46.
44 Dio Chrysostom, Or. 34.29. See also Plutarch, Mor. 821F. Clarke, Serve the Community,
47.
45 Dio Chrysostom, Or. 31.17, 20, 22. Clarke, Serve the Community, 47.
Thus, honour was tied to wealth as well as leadership within the Roman
colony.
There was a rigid distinction between elite and non-elite leaders. In
the government, for example, senators who could claim ancestry held a
superior standing over newly appointed ones. Higher standing could be
measured by a variety of different customs within Greco-Roman society
such as attire, occupation, seating at banquets and other public events,
and also in the legal system.46
These same characteristics of wealth and honour were also expected
within the leadership of religious organizations within the Roman colonies.
Like civic posts, priesthoods were also positions of honour. For example,
in Corinth, a priest named Aulus Arrius Proclus held both religious and
political positions and was honoured for both.47 In Roman Carthage, there
was also a great overlap between civic office and religious post. Scholar
James B. Rives writes in summary of this:
In Carthage, then, the local ordo exercised an authority over public religion
much the same as that of the Senate in republican Rome. It was responsible
for selecting, organizing, and financing the sacra publica of the new colony,
and in that process for defining its collective religious identity.48
The imperial cult functioned as the government in the Roman colony by
the same system of honour and esteem. This imperial cult which treated
certain human beings, particularly the Roman emperor, as a god, was ever
present throughout the Roman Empire and extended its influence into
Philippi.
The imperial cult functioned with respect to cravings for human hon-
our based upon wealth.49 An example of this can be seen from a competi-
tion that took place in 56 c.e. at the Roman colony of Corinth. This event
recognized the enthronement of Nero, which was associated with impe-
rial festivals and extensive publicity. As a result of this event, local elite
leaders were honoured.50 This is one example among others that leads
Andrew D. Clarke to summarize the connection between honour, wealth,
and the Roman imperial cult in the following way:
46 Hellerman, Reconstructing Honor, 11–12.

47 Clarke, Secular and Christian Leadership, Appendix A, 42.
48 J.B. Rives, Religion and Authority in Roman Carthage from Augustus to Constantine
(Oxford: Clarendon, 1995), 30.
49 Lendon, Empire of Honour, 166.
50 A.J.S. Spawforth, “The Achaean Federal Cult Part I: Pseudo-Julian, Letters 198,” Tyn-
Bul 46 (1995): 151–68; B.W. Winter, “The Achaean Feder Imperial Cult II: The Corinthian
Church,” TynBul 46 (1995): 169–78.
Thus, the imperial cult provided, amongst other formalities, a platform

for the celebration of the principal ruler, the accrual of honour and profile
to the local leaders, and the opportunity for all citizens to indulge in com-
munal festivities.51
It was a means to achieve personal and social advancement for its leaders
who were already the social elite.52
There is ample evidence that the imperial cult was widespread and
influential in Philippi. The remains of two temples devoted to emperor
worship have been found there.53 Inscriptions have been found that men-
tion official priests (sacerdotes), namely an augur, two high priests (pontif-
ices), and a number of priests ( flamines) to Julius, Augustus, and Claudius.
Besides these inscriptions, the head of the administration in Philippi was
a high priest of the cult to Emperor Augustus. Philippi was also a city that
had the rank of sexviri Augustales, an order devoted to the worship of the
emperor.54 It exerted its influence from before Paul’s arrival in Philippi for
many centuries, into the beginning of the third century.55 It was central to
religious life in first-century Philippi.56 As with civic posts, honour came
with all of these positions in the imperial cult.57
Love for honour was not only seen in the civic administration of
Greco-Roman colonies and the imperial cult but also in voluntary orga-
nizations. Roman society was filled with various voluntary associations,
such as unions, clubs, and guilds.58 While civic posts appealed to the
wealthy in the community, the voluntary association appealed to those
who were less well-to-do. People would join of their own will for common
51 Clarke, Serve the Community, 57.

52 Lendon, Empire of Honour, 160. P. Garnsey and R. Saller state that the imperial cult
was “a conveyor of imperial ideology, a focus of loyalty for the many, and a mechanism
for the social advancement of a few” (The Roman Empire: Economy, Society, and Culture
[Berkeley: University of California Press, 1987], 167). See also D.W.J. Gill and B.W. Winter,
“Acts and Roman Religion,” in D.W.J. Gill and C. Gempf (eds.), The Book of Acts in its
Graeco-Roman Setting (vol. 2 of The Book of Acts in Its First-Century Setting; Grand Rapids:
Eerdmans, 1994), 93–94.
53 Bormann, Philippi, 41.
54 Tellbe, “Sociological Factors,” 109.
55 S.R.F. Price, Rituals and Power: The Roman Imperial Cult in Asia Minor (Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 1984), 59.
56 Bormann, Philippi, 30–67.
57 See further inscription evidence, particularly for the flamines and sexviri Augustales,
in Hellerman, Reconstructing Honor, 82–83.
58 Groups included within this would be: collegium, factio, eranos, secta, synodos, sodal-
itas, secta, thiasos. Cf. S.G. Wilson, “Voluntary Associations: an Overview,” in J.S. Kloppen-
borg and S.G. Wilson (eds.), Voluntary Associations in the Graeco-Roman World (London:
Routledge, 1996), 1.
interests and would contribute their time and resources.59 These asso-
ciations could share a common profession or religion, or be based on a
particular household.
As with the civic posts, the desire for honour was evident amongst
these voluntary organizations. This could be seen amongst groups with
political, social, and religious dimensions.60 Indeed, this could be seen in
associations well below civic government. Lendon states:
The existence of communities of honour far beneath the aristocracy can
be illustrated in many contexts. Members of the lower classes naturally
structured religious sodalities, trade guilds, and burial insurance clubs
on the same basis as their social betters organized cities, relying on the
better-off members to underwrite the expenses of the organization out of
philotimia, in exchange for honour in the form of an ostentatiously higher-
piled plate at club banquets, and statues, and honorific decrees paid by the
organization.61
Indeed, this love for honour was seen throughout society.
Love for honour was particularly seen within Philippian society. An
abundance of inscriptions that show a culture based upon honour was
present in Philippi. In his study entitled Reconstructing Honor in Philippi:
Carmen Christ as Cursus Pudorum, Hellerman isolates over twenty such
inscriptions. These inscriptions show evidence of honour given to the one
whose name is inscribed in stone.62 They publicly document elite status
such as tribal identity, military service, municipal offices, and civic recog-
nition. The number of such inscriptions, he states, indicates “the incessant
desire of members of the aristocracy to proclaim their social status pub-
licly in the form of monuments erected throughout the colony.”63
Religious organizations in Philippi also show honour given to the most
privileged members. These organizations were dedicated to the worship
of Cybele, Isis, Serapis, Dionysus, Silvanus, and others.64 While less is
known about many of these religious groups, there is inscriptional evi-
dence from the Silvanus cult. This was a Roman religious cult that was
59 S. Walker-Ramisch, “Associations and the Damascus Document: A Sociological

Analysis,” in J.S. Kloppenborg and S.G. Wilson (eds.), Voluntary Associations in the Graeco-
Roman World (London: Routledge, 1996), 131.
60 See the helpful discussion in Clarke, Serve the Community, 65–75.
61 Lendon, Empire of Honour, 97–98.
62 Dio Chrysostom Or. 31.20: “the pillar, the inscription, and being set up in bronze are
regarded as a high honour by noble men.” Clarke, Serve the Community, 47.
63 Hellerman, Reconstructing Honor, 89. Inscriptional evidence is found on pp. 89–107.
64 For further on several of these, see Pilhofer, Philippi 1, 105; Cf. P. Pilhofer, Philippi.
Band 2: Katalog der Inschriften von Philippi (Tübingen: Mohr, 2000), 347.
composed of freeborn men, freedmen and slaves, but no elite members of

society. While elite members were not a member of this cult, inscription
evidence indicates that values of honour and social status were important
within this sect. The value of honour permeated the Silvanus society even
though it was not composed of elite people within society.65
Greco-Roman society was known for honouring the rich and the pow-
erful, and this practice was especially common in Philippi. It can be found
in the civic government, the Roman imperial cult, voluntary associations,
and other religious organizations. These latter groups would be the most
sociologically similar to the Christian church in Philippi.
Roman Values and the Philippian Church

It is evident that the social, cultural, and religious background of Greco-
Roman society was influencing the Philippian congregation. It is likely
that this conflict began from Paul’s first encounter with the city. Luke,
who is sensitive to Roman backgrounds, describes Philippi saying that,
“Philippi . . . is a leading city of the district of Macedonia and a Roman
colony” (Acts 16:12). In Paul’s encounter with the Philippians, Luke also
states that Paul and his coworkers were accused of “advocat[ing] customs
that are not lawful for . . . Romans to accept or practice” (Acts 16:21). This
passage represents the only place where Luke plainly describes a direct
clash with Roman values in the narrative of Acts. This narrative is also the
only time in Acts that Paul claims his Roman citizenship (Acts 16:37).
Repeatedly throughout the narrative in Acts, Luke draws reference to
social status in Philippi. He draws special attention to the offices of the
magistrates (στρατηγοί) in Acts 16:20, 22, 35, 36, 38. These are designated
specifically only in Paul’s visit to Philippi, although they would have been
established in other places Paul visited, such as Pisidian Antioch.66 In the
conflict in Pisidian Antioch, however, Luke refers to the leaders of that
city as “devout women of high standing and the leading men of the city”
(τὰς σεβομένας γυναῖκας τὰς εὐσχήμονας καὶ τοὺς πρώτους τῆς πόλεως).67
It is possible that Paul’s visit to Philippi clashed with the imperial cult
even as early as the account recorded in Acts 16:11–40. The encounter

66 See also that Luke mentions the police officer (ῥαβδούχος) in Acts 16:35, 38 and the
jailer (δεσμοφύλαξ) in Acts 16:23, 27, 36. These are also the only occurrences of these words
in Acts.
with the demon within the slave girl leads to the conflict in Philippi. She
is said to have a spirit of divination (πνεῦμα πύθωνα) which likely refers
to the Pythian prophetess at Delphi which was closely connected to the
cult of Apollo.68 If this is the case, this would place Paul in conflict with
the imperial cult since the cult of Apollo had close associations with it.
Thus, perhaps from the very beginning of his trip to Philippi, a clash with
Roman values was present.69
Within the letter to the Philippians, there are several places where
Paul is conscious of status and Roman values of honour. The introduction
to the epistle is addressed to “overseers and deacons” (Phil 1:1). It is the
only Pauline letter that begins by addressing people of status. It is also
one of two letters in which Paul introduces himself as a servant (δοῦλος;
cf. Rom 1:1). It is likely that these two forms of address were intentional,
countering the social values of the Roman colony.70
Roman wording and terminology is used and redefined in the letter
to the Philippians. For example, Paul uses the word πολιτεύεσθε in Phil
1:27 when he encourages the Philippians, “Only let your manner of life be
worthy of the gospel of Christ.” In Phil 3:20 he uses the word πολίτευμα
when he writes, “But our citizenship is in heaven.” These Greek words
carry clear political overtones that have not gone unnoticed.71 By using
these Roman words in a Christian context, it appears that Paul is encour-
aging the Philippians to consider the superiority of their calling in the
gospel over the claims of Rome.
The Philippian letter also evidences a clash concerning who is the
true lord. Paul uses the word κύριος fifteen times within this short
letter.72 Roman values would have given true authority to Caesar, but Paul
redefines who the true lord is. He uses the word to refer to his own rela-
tionship with Jesus as Lord (Phil 3:8), to the relationship that Jesus has
to the church as its Lord (Phil 1:2), and to Jesus as Lord of the world
(Phil 2:10–11; 3:20–21). It is the only way that Paul refers to Jesus Christ
within the Philippian letter besides one reference to Jesus Christ as Lord
68 F.F. Bruce, The Acts of the Apostles: The Greek Text with Introduction and Commentary
(3d rev. ed.; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1990), 360–61.
69 Cf. Dio 62.20.5; Suetonius, Nero 25, 53. Tellbe, “Sociological Factors,” 109.
71 Cf. R.R. Brewer, “The Meaning of πολιτεύεσθε in Philippians 1:27,” JBL 73 (1954): 76–83;
A.T. Lincoln, Paradise Now and Not Yet: Studies in the Role of the Heavenly Dimension in
Paul’s Thought with Special Reference to his Eschatology (SNTSMS 43; Cambridge: Cam-
bridge University Press, 1981), 97–101.
72 Cf. Phil 1:2, 14; 2:11, 19, 24, 29; 3:1, 8, 20; 4:1, 2, 4, 5, 10, 23.
and Saviour (σωτήρ in Phil 3:20). Such emphasis on the lordship of Christ
appears in direct contrast to the lordship expected from the Roman impe-
rial cult and potentially from other deities as well.73 While he may not
be writing with the imperial cult specifically in mind, Paul is at least
“re-mapping the universe.”74
A final striking contrast with Roman values can be found in Paul’s
autobiography in Phil 3:4b–6. The passage reads:
If anyone else thinks he has reason for confidence in the flesh, I have more:
circumcised on the eighth day, of the people of Israel, of the tribe of Benja-
min, a Hebrew of Hebrews; as to the law, a Pharisee; as to zeal, a persecutor
of the church; as to righteousness, under the law blameless.
Paul’s language and content is directed against the Judaizers, who were
encouraging the Gentiles within the Philippian congregation to be cir-
cumcised.75 Rather than having the meritorious mark of circumcision or
any other Jewish achievements, Paul will proclaim a greater attainment,
knowledge of Christ Jesus (Phil 3:8–9).
While the content of this text from Phil 3:5–6 is Jewish, the form of
his statement exhibits Roman influence. A short display of one’s honours
was commonplace within Roman society. Paul’s presentation within Phil
3:5–6 has been noticed to be a short and tight presentation unlike other
places in Paul’s writing where he at greater length displays his creden-
tials.76 In texts such as Gal 1:13–14 and 2 Cor 11:22–29, Paul displays his sta-
tus markedly different than he does in Phil 3:5–6. While the content of the
Gal 1:13–14 passage parallels Phil 3:4b-6, the literary form is different. The
Galatians passage uses complete sentences that flow from the surround-
ing context. In the 2 Cor 11:22–29 passage, Paul uses finite verbs unlike the
Phil 3:4b-6 depiction. Furthermore, as he describes himself in 2 Cor 11, he
gives his Jewish and Christian privileges. The form of Paul’s description of
73 See further Tellbe, “Sociological Factors,” 111–13.

74 P. Oakes, “Re-mapping the Universe: Paul and the Emperor in 1 Thessalonians and
Philippians,” JSNT 27.3 (2005): 318–22.
75 The majority viewpoint is that Paul is arguing against Christian Judaizers. See Fee,
Philippians, 294; O’Brien, Philippians, 357, and also D.K. Williams, Enemies of the Cross of
Christ: The Terminology of the Cross and Conflict in Philippians (London: Sheffield Aca-
demic Press, 2002), 54–60. For the viewpoint that the Judaizers were non-Christian, see
Hawthorne, Philippians, 125–26.
76 O’Brien, Philippians, 368–69.
himself in the Phil 3:4b-6 passage parallels other Greco-Roman inscription

evidence from Philippi.77
Paul uses this Roman form of presenting honour to further his argu-
ment. He presents his experience as one who had human honour. Paul,
however, traded this honour, suffering the loss of all things, for what he
deemed to be of higher value—knowledge of Christ (Phil 3:8–11).
Thus, there is ample evidence that Roman values of honour were coun-
tered within Paul’s letter to the church at Philippi. Paul had likely con-
fronted Roman values from his initial encounter with the Philippians as
is recorded in Acts 16. His letter to the Philippians contains a number of
passages that can be seen as in conflict with Roman values. It would not
be surprising then to see his encouragement to honour Epaphroditus as
being counter to Roman ways of giving honour.
Summary
Roman society was an empire based on honour. This desire to pursue
honour can be seen within civic life, the imperial cult, and other voluntary
and religious associations within the broader Roman Empire and specifi-
cally in Philippi. Honour was also linked to the wealth of the individual
who would provide for these organizations in Roman culture.
In contrast to Roman culture, Paul urges the Philippians to honour
Epaphroditus because of his near sacrifice to death for the goal of complet-
ing his service to Paul. While Epaphroditus was the person who brought
money to Paul, he was not merely a Geldmangel.78 He had exposed his
life to death for the work of Christ and was motivated to complete the
Philippians’ service to their servant Paul. These values are at odds with
the Roman values of honour and wealth.79
Worthy of Honour like Jesus Christ and the Apostle Paul
One other factor deserves consideration regarding the appeal to honour

Epaphroditus—Paul’s view of Christian service. Epaphroditus’ service and
motivation are worthy of honour because they are patterned after the

78 Ollrog, Paulus und seine Mitarbeiter, 98–99.
79 Clarke, Serve the Community, 227–28.
suffering of Jesus Christ and fit the pattern of ministry that Paul is promot-
ing in the letter to the Philippians.
Worthy Like the Suffering Christ

As mentioned previously, Jesus Christ is presented as Lord most fre-
quently within Philippians. He is exalted, however, due to his humility.
A critical portion of the letter to the Philippians is Phil 2:6–11.80 This pas-
sage recounts Jesus’ incarnation, particularly as he leaves heaven as an
equal with God, humbling himself by taking the form of a servant, and
then obediently subjecting himself to death on a cross (μέχρι θανάτου,
θανάτου δὲ σταυροῦ). Death on a cross was recognized as a great humilia-
tion at that time by Jews, Christians, and Romans alike.
Deuteronomy 21:22–23 states:
If a man has committed a crime punishable by death and he is put to death,
and you hang him on a tree, his body shall not remain all night on the tree,
but you shall bury him the same day, for a hanged man is cursed by God.
You shall not defile your land that the LORD your God is giving you for an
inheritance.
Jews and Christians in the first century were familiar with this passage.
Paul quotes it in Gal 3:13 in a setting where Jewish thinking is evident.
Hebrews 12:2 also connects crucifixion and shame.
Greek literature also portrays the death of Jesus on the cross as humili-
ating. For example, Celsus, the Greek philosopher, criticized Christianity
because of Jesus’ shameful death. Origen quotes Celsus in the following
way:
Nor do we at all say, as Celsus scoffingly alleges, “Believe that he whom I
introduce to thee is the Son of God, although he was shamefully bound, and
disgracefully punished, and very recently was most contumeliously treated
before the eyes of all men.”81
80 For a bibliography of works on this passage through 1991, see O’Brien, Philippians,
186–88. More recent bibliographic information can be found in P. Oakes, Philippians: From
People to Letter (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001) and P.A. Holloway, Conso-
lation in Philippians: Philosophical Sources and Rhetorical Strategy (Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 2001).
81 Origen, Cels. 6.10. M. Hengel, Crucifixion in the Ancient World and the Folly of the Mes-
sage of the Cross (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1977), 7.
Others such as the Greek satirist Lucian also spoke of the despicable death
of the cross.82
Romans were well aware of the cruelty and humiliation surround-
ing crucifixion. Cicero called it succinctly “that plague.”83 Josephus, who
had Roman sympathies, describes crucifixion as “the most wretched of
deaths.”84 It was the supreme Roman penalty and a typical punishment
for rebels, violent criminals, thieves, and slaves.85 Death on a cross was
humbling in the ancient world. There is every reason to think that the
Philippians would have recognized Jesus’ crucifixion as the low point of
his human existence.
Having described this humiliation even to death, Paul goes on in
Phil 2:9–11 to state that Jesus’ status is reversed.86 Instead of being made
low, God makes his name to be honoured above every name and gives
him the highest position. Honour is likely in view here, as Hellerman
points out. Individuals had the opportunity to grant honour to each other
in the Roman world. It was particularly beneficial to be honoured by a
man of high standing, such as the Emperor. As God now elevates Jesus,
J.H. Hellerman sees God as a supreme emperor elevating Jesus from his
low status of crucified one to exaltation, so that every tongue will confess
that Jesus Christ is Lord.87
Such a parallel extends to Epaphroditus, too. Epaphroditus is identified
with Christ’s death. The most striking connection is that Epaphroditus
came near to death (μέχρι θανάτου) for the work of Christ (Phil 2:30). The
only other time that this Greek phrase is used in all of the New Testa-
ment is in the Christological hymn of Phil 2:8, where Paul writes, “And
being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient
to the point of death (μέχρι θανάτου), even death on a cross.”88 Other ver-
bal parallels such as the appearance of the verb ἡγέομαι in Phil 2:6 and
82 Lucian writes, “For they say that their tyrants, following his figure and imitating his
build, have fashioned timbers in the same shape and crucify men upon them; and that it
is from him that the sorry device gets its sorry name.” Lucian, Jud. voc. 12. Hengel, Cruci-
fixion, 8–9.
83 Cicero, Verr. 2.5.162. Cf. Apuleius, Metam. 1.15.4 and Hengel, Crucifixion, 36–37.
84 B.J. 7.202ff. Hengel, Crucifixion, 8.
85 E.g., Cicero, Phil. 13.21; Seneca, Dial. 4 (Ira 2), 5.5; Apuleius, Metam. 1.14.2, 1.15.4, 3.17.4,
4.10.4; Firmicus Maternus, Math. 8.22.3. Hengel, Crucifixion, 46–63.
86 Commentators note the decisive change signalled by the Greek words διὸ καί.
O’Brien, Philippians, 233; Fee, Philippians, 220.
87 There was evidence of the Emperor granting status in first-century Philippi to a sol-
dier and senator. See further Hellerman, Reconstructing Honor, 129–56.
88 Culpepper, “Co-Workers In Suffering,” 350.
2:25, and θάνατος in Phil 2:8 and Phil 2:27, 30, suggest the further influence
of Christ’s abasement with regard to Paul’s discussion of Epaphroditus.
These verbal parallels suggest to the Philippians that Epaphroditus was
made low like Christ. As Paul looked back on the life of Epaphroditus,
he found mirrored in his life the experience of Christ.89 As one who was
made low like Christ, he is now worthy of being exalted.
Worthy Like the Suffering Paul

Epaphroditus’s connection with Paul also helps to provide an explanation
as to why he is found worthy of honour. This can be seen by the way that
Paul speaks about suffering.
Suffering is a prominent theme throughout the Philippian letter. The
letter begins with Paul writing that he is in chains for the Christian gos-
pel (Phil 1:7, 14). In Phil 3:13, he states that he strains forward to what lies
ahead. He is in sadness for those who walk as enemies of the cross of
Christ (Phil 3:18). He has felt need, want, hunger, and trouble, all for the
sake of his mission (Phil 4:12–14). Indeed, part of the knowledge of Christ
for Paul is sharing in Christ’s sufferings, even becoming like him in his
death (Phil 3:10).
He describes the Christian life in terms of suffering and affliction in
several places. In Phil 1:29–30, he tells the Philippians, “It has been granted
to you that for the sake of Christ you should not only believe in him but
also suffer for his sake, engaged in the same conflict that you saw I had
and now hear that I still have.” The Philippians were sharing in this expe-
rience of suffering (cf. συγκοινωνός in Phil 1:7) and sharing in his trials
(συγκοινωνέω in Phil 4:14).90
Rather than being a mere by-product of ministry, or something incon-
sistent with successful ministry, Paul presents suffering as an indispen-
sible part of his apostolic ministry.91 In 2 Corinthians, which contains
lengthy passages discussing his apostolic ministry, Paul places suffering
front and center. He states that he is being led unto death for the apostolic
ministry (2 Cor 2:14–16). He likens this experience to being as a weak jar
of clay with a great treasure inside (2 Cor 4:7). While he carries around
89 Bloomquist, Function of Suffering, 194.

90 Cf. Bloomquist, Function of Suffering, 147.
91 Cf. P.H. Davids, “Suffering in James and Paul,” in B. Chilton and C.A. Evans (eds.),
The Missions of James, Peter, and Paul: Tensions in Early Christianity (NovTSup 115; Leiden:
Brill, 2005), 450; A. Perriman, “The Pattern of Christ’s Sufferings: Col 1:24 and Phil 3:10–11,”
TynBul 42 (1991): 63–79.
the death of Jesus in his body, it is the life of Jesus that radiates forth
(2 Cor 4:10). Later in 2 Corinthians, he boasts about his weakness rather
than his strength. His weakness becomes a display of God’s strength (cf.
2 Cor 11:30; 12:9; 13:4).92 Rather than being a secondary experience, “Paul’s
suffering, like the death of Christ, also becomes a platform for the display
of God’s resurrection power.”93
As one who experienced suffering in the context of ministry, Epaphro-
ditus’ experience parallels Paul’s. He gave of himself fully, even experienc-
ing the feelings of death. His suffering fits the pattern of true service to
Christ. Thus, Epaphroditus is worthy of honour.
Conclusion
This article has examined why a lesser known companion of Paul’s was
deemed worthy of great honour. Whereas R. Aasgaard suggests that
Epaphroditus should be seen as an equal, Paul’s description of Epaph-
roditus, when seen in the broader context of his letters, indicates that
Epaphroditus should be seen as more than an equal.94 He was a distin-
guished person who had strong affinities with both Paul and the Philippi-
ans. Whereas Petersen and others see power language and subordination
in Paul’s description of Epaphroditus, it is better to see Epaphroditus as
having strong affinity with the Philippians. Furthermore, Epaphroditus’
elevation can be seen as the outcome of his decision to align himself with
a humble, suffering Saviour and with Paul’s pattern of humble suffering
in the ministry.
Epaphroditus is a striking example of self-sacrifice, as some have
suggested.95 His example, however, is seen in even sharper relief when
compared to the Greco-Roman world, which encouraged power and
wealth in leadership. Instead of seeking honour through power and wealth,
92 See further T.B. Savage, Power through Weakness: Paul’s Understanding of the Christian
Ministry in 2 Corinthians (SNTSMS 86; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996).
93 S.J. Hafemann, Suffering and the Spirit: An Exegetical Study of II Cor 2:14–3:3 within
the Context of the Corinthian Correspondence (WUNT 2.19; Tübingen, Mohr, 1986), 82. Cf.
M. Wolter, “Der Apostel und seine Gemeinden als Teilhaber am Leidensgeschick Jesus
Christ,” NTS 36 (1990): 535–57.
94 R. Aasgaard does note that hierarchy can be found in sibling language in Paul. In
the case of Epaphroditus, he emphasizes mutuality with the Philippians more (Beloved,
20–21, 297–98, 308–10).
95 O’Brien, Philippians, 329; Hawthorne, Philippians, 114; Culpepper, “Co-Workers In
Suffering,” 357.
Epaphroditus’ self-abasement and sacrifice fulfilled the mission that

the Philippians sent him to accomplish, namely, humble service to the
apostle Paul. His sacrifice to the point of death in order to complete this
mission made him truly worthy of honour.
INDEX OF MODERN AUTHORS AND EDITORS
Aarsleff, H. 66 Beard, M. 115

Aasgaard, R. 10, 334–336, 354 Beare, F.W. 46
Abbott, T.K. 199 Begg, C. 84
Achtemeier, P.J. 222 Belleville, L.L. 233
Adams, E. 21 Berger, P.L. 9
Adams, S.A. 5, 27, 127, 129, 132, 141, 154 Best, E. 47
Adewuya, J.A. 253 Betz, O. 198, 203
Aejmelaeus, L. 220 Bird, M.F. 132
Ahn, Y.S. 60 Blach, D.L. 37
Akasheh, K.B. 193 Black, C.C., II 86
Aland, B. 44 Black, D.A. 143, 145, 164, 166, 170
Alexander, L.C.A. 132, 133, 305 Blaisdell, J.A. 137
Alkier, S. 189 Blanke, H. 54
Allen, D. 144, 145, 175, 178, 180 Blok, A. 61, 62, 75
Allison, D.B. 67 Bloomquist, L.G. 335, 339, 353
Allo, E.B. 291, 293 Bock, D.L. 130, 132
Anderson, J.C. 159 Bockmuehl, M. 305, 307, 309, 310
Anderson, R.D. 78, 198 Boissevain, J. 59
Ando, C. 67, 74 Bolkestein, H. 57
Argyle, A.W. 133 Bond, H.K. 113
Asano, A. 10 Boring, M.E. 77
Ascough, R.S. 21, 190–192, 193, 218, 223, Bormann, L. 342, 345
224, 226 Bornkamm, G. 80, 288, 299
Astin, A.E. 95 Bowden, H. 103
Atkinson, J.E. 102 Boyle, A.J. 103
Aune, D.E. 132 Bradley, K.R. 60
Austin, R.G. 106 Branick, V.P. 21
Braund, S.M. 101
Badcock, F.J. 127 Brewer, R.R. 348
Badian, E. 59, 60 Breytenbach, C. 112
Bahr, G. 149, 150 Brown, A. 61
Baker, R.J. 107 Brown, C.C. 61
Bally, C. 58 Brown, J.V. 146
Banks, R. 4, 21–24 Brown, M.J. 92
Barclay, J.D.G. 113, 254, 282, 283 Brox, N. 127
Barrett, C.K. 44, 132, 246, 279, 287, 291, Bruce, F.F. 4, 16–20, 43, 133, 135, 295, 330,
293, 295 348
Barth, M. 54 Brucker, R. 189
Barthes, R. 58, 72 Bruden, G. 103
Barton, C.A. 89 Burke, T.J. 10
Barton, S.C. 8, 113, 190, 294, 298 Byrnes, M. 86
Basso, K.H. 38
Batluck, M. 4 Cadbury, H.J. 133
Batten, A. 58, 60 Campbell, W.S. 135, 138
Bauckham, R. 48–50, 54, 191 Camps, W.A. 108
Baur, F.C. 1, 133 Capes, D.B. 40
358 index of modern authors and editors
Carroll, M. 85, 91 Dodson, J.R. 86, 112

Carroll R., M.D. 128 Döllinger, J. 144
Carson, D.A. 194 Donfried, K. 69, 80
Castelli, E.A. 2, 334 Downs, D.J. 190–192, 208
Cavallin, H.C.C. 86 Drews, A. 193
Cerfaux, L. 313 Dudley, D. 89
Champlin, E. 60 Dunn, J.D.G. 43, 49, 186–188, 194, 199,
Charbonneaux, J. 115 206, 222, 223, 285, 311
Charles, J.D. 327 Dupont, J. 135, 139, 252
Charles, R. 2 Durkheim, É. 9
Cheung, A.T. 229, 232, 255, 273 Dutch, R.S. 10
Chilton, B.D. 1, 353 Dvorak, J.D. 26
Chow, J.K. 2, 9, 230
Christopherson, A.D.D. 132 Earl, D.C. 94
Chung, M. 2 Ebel, E. 190
Clarke, A.D. 2, 60, 61, 154, 230, 343–346, Ebrard, J.H.A. 144
350 Eckstein, P. 189, 207
Classen, C.J. 78, 189 Edgar, D.H. 60
Coleman, K.M. 115 Edwards, C. 85, 91, 115, 118
Colish, L. 111 Egelhaaf-Gaiser, U. 190
Conzelmann, H. 42, 43, 77, 132, 133, 137, Ehrensperger, K. 2
239, 257, 259, 262 Ehrman, B.D. 45
Cooley, A. 88 Eilers, C. 57, 59, 60, 63, 68, 73, 79
Coutsoumpos, P. 6, 286 Elledge, C.D. 86
Cowles, H. 144 Ellingworth, P. 144, 167, 168, 181
Craffert, P.F. 72 Elliott, J.H. 36, 38, 41
Crawford, M.H. 115 Ellis, E.E. 126, 193, 308, 311
Crook, Z.A. 61, 64, 65, 68, 69, 75, 77, 81 Ellis, W. 293
Culpepper, R.A. 334, 352, 354 Engberg-Pedersen, T. 231
Erasmo, M. 85
D’Alessandro Behr, F. 111 Erler, M. 115
D’Arms, J.H. 57, 60, 63 Ernest, J.D. 64
Dahl, N.A. 81 Esler, P.F. 8, 10, 36, 38, 41–44
Danker, F.W. 57, 58, 79–82 Evans, C.A. 1, 120, 353
Davids, P.H. 353 Evans, E. 244
Davies, P.J.E. 85, 88, 116, 120 Evans, H.B. 109
Davis, P.J. 109
Dawes, G. 249 Farla, P.J. 229
de Boer, M.C. 233 Farmer, W.R. 333
de Saussure, F. 4, 58, 66–70, 72, 73, 75, Faw, C.E. 86
76, 79 Fee, G.D. 230–232, 238, 239, 244–246,
de Ste Croix, G.E.M. 15, 61 254, 262, 274–277, 291, 293, 298, 299,
Deissmann, G.A. 3, 10, 11, 13 302, 305, 307, 309, 311, 338, 340, 349
Dench, E. 109 Filson, F. 11
Derrida, J. 67, 72 Finley, M.I. 11, 15
Descola, P. 41 Fisk, B.N. 232
deSilva, D.A. 57, 181 Fitch, J.G. 103–105
Dewards, C. 85 Fitzgerald, J.T. 327
Dicken, F. 129 Fitzmyer, J.A. 133, 135, 136, 200, 205, 217,
Dickson, J.P. 194, 214, 309 285, 298
Dietrich, D.J. 1 Flemming, D. 195
Dodd, B.J. 305 Foakes Jackson, F.J. 135
Dodd, C.H. 166 Fögen, T. 101
index of modern authors and editors 359
Ford, J.M. 145 Hahn, F. 186, 187

Fotopoulos, J. 229–231, 243, 244, 248, 290 Hahne, H.A. 119
Fowl, S.E. 2, 305, 311 Hahneman, G.M. 129
Freisen, S.J. 10 Hainz, J. 187, 188
Frey, J. 132, 225 Halliday, M.A.K. 26, 128
Friesen, S.J. 14–21 Hammond, M.G.L. 152
Frilingos, C.A. 2, 115 Hammond, N.G. 95
Fung, R.Y.K. 223 Hansen, G.W. 189, 226
Funk, R.W. 333 Hansen, W.A. 144
Furnish, V.P. 195, 196, 204, 210, 214, 219, Harland, P. 190
224, 287 Harnack, A. 137, 144
Fustel de Coulanges, N.D. 60 Harris, J.R. 144
Futrell, A. 85, 101 Harrison, J.R. 4, 58, 64–66, 68, 71, 75, 79,
80, 87–90, 93, 103, 112, 114, 116, 119, 121
Gadamer, H.-G. 70 Hartmann, K. 150
Gaertner, J.F. 109 Hartshorne, C. 58
Gager, J.G. 9, 13 Hasan, R. 128
Galloway, L. 229 Hastings, J. 57
Gardner, P.D. 229, 247 Hatch, W.H.P. 165
Garland, D.E. 206, 207, 218, 231, 232, 243, Hawthorne, G.F. 287, 313–315, 334, 340,
245, 246, 252, 261, 270–275, 277, 278 349, 354
Garnsey, P. 60, 296, 345 Hays, R.B. 83, 230, 321
Garrett, S.R. 36 Heard, R.E. 158
Gaventa, B.R. 112 Heen, E.M. 311
Geertz, C. 38, 41 Hehnert, J. 135
Gelardini, G. 163 Heinrici, G. 240
Gelzer, M. 59, 60 Hellerman, J.H. 312, 342, 344–348, 350,
Gempf, C. 146, 154–156, 345 352
George, D.B. 111 Hemer, C.J. 136
Giblin, C.H. 239 Hengel, M. 9, 37, 135, 158, 351, 352
Gill, C. 101 Henry, A.S. 64
Gill, D.W.J. 146, 345 Hentschel, A. 209
Glad, C. 231 Héring, J. 233
Glover, T.R. 18 Hetherington, S. 98
Gnilka, J. 187, 308 Hill, C.E. 129
Godet, F. 45 Hill, T.D. 85, 89, 100, 101
Gooch, P.D. 229, 230, 248, 263, 275 Himes, M.J. 1
Gorman, M.J. 318 Hock, R.F. 196, 230
Goulder, M.D. 1 Hoehner, H.W. 185, 188, 201, 208
Grant, F. 37 Hoffmann, F. 89
Grant, R.M. 11, 287 Holloway, P.A. 351
Grässer, E. 311 Holmberg, B. 2, 8, 9, 43, 226
Graver, M. 101 Hooker, M.D. 311
Green, G.L. 47 Hope, V.M. 85, 88, 91, 96, 97, 112
Green, J.B. 8, 60 Hopkins, K. 85, 115
Gregory, A.F. 133, 334 Horrell, D.G. 3, 10, 34, 44, 72, 230, 232
Grisé, Y. 85 Horsley, G.H.R. 190
Guthrie, G.H. 144 Horsley, R.A. 21, 23, 57, 60, 61, 230, 252
Gutsfeld, A. 190, 191 Howard, J.E. 144
Hug, J.L. 144
Haacker, K. 215–217 Hughes, P.E. 144
Haenchen, E. 137 Hunston, S. 26
Hafemann, S.J. 354 Hurd, J.C. 231, 233, 237, 239, 244, 273
Ibscher, G. 57 Lo Bue, F. 144

Inwood, B. 100 Lock, W. 237
Loh, I. 308
Jantzen, G.M. 85, 115, 116, 118 Long, A. 111
Jeremias, J. 37, 313 Longenecker, B.W. 13–15, 21, 132
Jewett, R. 46, 80, 83, 112, 113, 233, 304 Longenecker, R. 313
Johnson, S.E. 285 Louw, J. 189
Johnston, A. 86 Lovering, E.H. 60
Joubert, S. 58, 64, 65, 75 Lowe, B. 4
Judge, E.A. 3, 9, 11, 13, 65, 71, 75, 88, 89, Luckmann, T. 9
227 Luther, M. 144
Juterczenka, S. 228 Lytle, G.F. 61
Kaestli, J.-D. 127 MacGillivray, E.D. 58, 61, 69, 74–77, 80

Kajanto, I. 110 Mack, B. 189
Kaufman, F. 98 Meynet, R. 189
Kaufman, R. 59 Mackay, C.S. 63, 68, 73
Keck, L.E. 112 MacMullen, R. 57
Kee, H.C. 9 Maddox, R. 133
Keown, M.J. 6, 301, 303, 304, 308, 309, 329 Magee, B.R. 229, 238
Ker, J. 100 Malan, F.S. 225
Kern, P.H. 78 Malherbe, A.J. 11, 13, 231
Ketter, P. 144 Malina, B.J. 35–56, 60
King, M. 91, 97 Manson, T.W. 80, 144, 159
Kistemaker, S.J. 161, 182 Marchal, J.A. 2
Klauck, H.-J. 233 Marguerat, D. 136
Klieber, R. 190 Markschies, C. 9
Kloppenborg, J.S. 60, 190, 345, 346 Marshall, I.H. 74–76, 82, 126–128, 200,
Knight, G.W., III 126, 128, 147 221, 285, 287, 288
Knight, W.F.J. 86 Marshall, J. 58, 64, 65, 68, 70, 71
Koch, D.A. 190, 191 Marshall, P. 196, 230
Koester, H. 37 Martin, J.R. 26
Köhler, J.F. 144 Martin, R.P. 127, 201, 210, 211, 214, 219,
Kuhn, T. 58, 72 287, 293, 303, 305, 306, 308, 309, 313
Kuper, A. 41 Mason, H.J. 64
Kurz, W. 135, 137, 141 Mason, S. 84
Kyle, D.G. 85, 89, 101, 104, 115, 116 Matthiessen, C.M.I.M. 26
Mauerhofer, 194
Ladd, G.E. 166 McCready, W.O. 190
Lake, K. 135, 144 McDonnell, M. 90
Lake, S. 144 Meeks, W.A. 3, 4, 9–14, 16, 21, 37, 190, 218,
Lambrecht, J. 46 287, 294, 296, 297
Lampe, P. 10, 286, 289 Meggitt, J.J. 4, 10, 14, 16
Lanciani, R. 116 Mellor, R. 89
Land, C.D. 5 Merklein, H. 233
Lane, W.L. 161, 167 Metzger, B.M. 130, 302
Laneri, N. 106 Meyer, H.A. 269
Lattimore, R. 91 Miller, J.H. 61
Lawall, G. 103, 104 Milligan, R. 143
Lendon, J.E. 90, 342, 344–346 Minyard, J.D. 98
Leonard, W. 143 Mitchell, M.M. 185, 196, 230, 233
Levin, D.N. 106 Moessner, D.P. 133
Lightfoot, J.B. 335, 337, 338 Moffatt, J. 144
Lincoln, A.T. 327, 348 Mommsen, T. 59, 60
Linnemann, E. 143 Moo, D.J. 194, 318, 336
Moore, S.D. 159 Piper, J. 119

Morgenstern, O. 149 Pitts, A.W. 5, 114, 153, 161, 171
Mosser, K. 161 Plantzos, D. 87
Motto, A.L. 100 Plass, P. 85, 89, 101, 115
Moule, C.F.D. 126, 127, 147, 333 Plümacher, E. 138
Moulton, J.H. 175 Plummer, A. 276
Mounce, W.D. 128, 147 Plumptre, E.H. 144
Moxnes, H. 60 Pobee, J.S. 86
Mullins, T. 82 Pogoloff, S.M. 292
Murphy-O’Connor, J. 233, 237, 246, 250, Pollini, J. 106
274, 277, 286 Porter, S.E. 3, 4, 8, 27, 114, 126–128, 136,
Mustakallio, A. 220 137, 146, 153, 161, 171, 189, 220, 231, 240,
241
Nanos, M.D. 231, 250, 256, 258, 261–264, Praeder, S.M. 136, 138, 141
270, 276 Price, S.R.F. 345
Neuenzeit, P. 288 Probst, H. 229, 230
Newton, D. 229, 230, 242, 274, 278 Punt, J. 2
Neyrey, J.H. 37, 60, 53, 61, 253
Nicols, J. 57, 73 Quinn, J.D. 127
Nida, E.A. 189, 308
Niebuhr, R.R. 333 Ramsay, W.R. 144
Noyes, R., Jr. 100 Rapske, B. 307
Raschle, C.R. 111
O’Brien, P.T. 187, 188, 220, 302, 309, 311, Rawlings, L. 103
326, 327, 333, 334, 337, 338, 349, 351, 352, Reasoner, M. 61, 80
354 Reeves, R. 40
Oakes, P.S. 80, 87, 309, 349, 351 Reid, D. 287
Öhler, M. 190 Reidlinger, A. 58
Okell, E.R. 103 Reis, D.M. 334
Olberding, A. 98, 101 Reumann, J. 309
Oliver, G.J. 91 Richards, E.R. 40, 44, 52, 128, 149, 150, 174
Ollrog, W.H. 193, 337, 338, 350 Richards, K.H. 290
Orgel, S. 61 Ridley, R. 88
Osiek, C. 8, 58, 61, 64, 65, 333, 334 Riggenbach, E. 144
Riley, K. 103
Page, D.L. 104 Rives, J.B. 344
Pahl, M.W. 129, 132 Robbins, V. 69, 136
Papanghelis, T.D. 85, 107 Robertson, A.T. 241, 276, 291, 292
Parente, F. 63 Robinson, J.A.T. 276
Parsons, M.C. 132, 133 Rock, I.E. 113
Pearson, A.C. 57 Rohrbaugh, R.L. 60
Pehkonen, N. 220 Rose, A. 103
Peirce, C.S. 58 Rosner, B.S. 206
Pelikan, J. 144 Rothschild, C.K. 143, 144
Perriman, A. 353 Rowe, C.K. 133
Pervo, R.I. 132, 133, 135 Rudich, V. 101, 118
Peterman, G. 71 Rumsey, A. 241
Petersen, N.R. 3, 25, 333 Ryan, J.M. 55, 305, 309, 310
Peterson, D.G. 132
Philips, J. 143 Sabou, S. 86
Phillips, T.E. 2, 148 Safrai, S. 224
Phua, R.L.S. 229, 231 Saller, R.P. 57, 59, 60–63, 69–73, 75, 78,
Pickett, R.W. 60, 80 79, 81, 84, 85, 345
Pilgrim, H. 245 Sampley, J.P. 57
Pilhofer, P. 342, 346 Sanders, J.N. 158
Sanders, J.T. 82 Stirewalt, M.L. 195, 197

Savage, T.B. 354 Stowasser, M. 190
Schäfer, A. 190 Stowers, S.K. 46, 72
Schäfer, K. 334, 336 Strathmann, H. 144
Schäfer, R. 198, 222 Strobel, A. 127
Scheid, J. 88 Stuart, M. 143
Scheidel, W. 14 Stuhlmacher, P. 186, 188, 194, 222, 223
Scherberich, K. 190 Sumney, J.L. 220
Schildgen, B.D. 159 Sundberg, A.C. 129
Schille, G. 193 Swarat, U. 191
Schinkel, D. 190 Syme, R. 59, 60
Schmithals, W. 43, 233
Schmitz, O. 305 Talbert, C.H. 127, 136, 288, 291, 295, 296
Schnabel, E.J. 193 Tannehill, R.C. 86, 137
Schnackenburg, R. 188 Taylor, C.C.W. 98
Schnelle, U. 87, 112 Taylor, J.E. 113
Schofield, M. 115 Tellbe, M. 340, 345, 349
Scholer, D.M. 9 Theissen, G. 3, 4, 9, 11, 13, 14, 37, 45, 230,
Schowalter, D.N. 10, 21 231, 252, 285, 286, 288, 292, 294, 297
Schüssler Fiorenza, E. 334 Thibault, J.C. 109
Schütz, J.H. 2 Thielman, F. 160, 161
Schwartz, D.R. 226 Thiselton, A.C. 42, 43, 58, 70, 219, 225,
Schwartz, S. 63 238, 239, 244–247, 251, 252, 257, 262, 269,
Scodel, R. 103 272, 276, 278
Scroggs, R. 9 Thompson, G. 26
Scullard, H.H. 95 Thompson, M.B. 191
Sealey, D. 86 Thrall, M.E. 254
Seeberg, A. 206 Thurston, B.B. 55, 305, 309, 310
Segal, C. 98 Tidball, D. 8
Seland, T. 225 Tolmie, D.F. 2
Selby, H.A. 38 Tombs, D. 189
Sellin, G. 233 Toner, J. 115
Senft, C. 233 Towner, P.H. 126, 185, 200
Shelton, J.-A. 102 Toynbee, A.J. 85
Shen, M. 229 Toynbee, J.M.C. 85
Sherwin-White, A.N. 57, 60, 63, 66 Trout, J.M. 144
Siebenmann, P.C. 239, 244 Tuckett, C.M. 127, 334
Sievers, J. 63 Turner, N. 175
Sklenar, R.J. 111 Tyson, J.B. 133
Smit, J.F.M. 229, 230, 232, 245
Smith, D.E. 290 Vaage, L.E. 60
Smith, R.E. 93, 94 van der Watt, J.G. 225
Sorek, S. 69 van Heaton, J.W. 86
Spawforth, A.J.S. 344 Van Unnik, W.C. 133
Spicq, C. 64, 81, 144 Van Voorst, R.E. 29
Stambaugh J.E. 37 Vielhauer, P. 136
Stamps, D.L. 189 Verboven, K. 58, 63, 69, 70
Stauffer, E. 311 Verheyden, J. 132, 133
Stein, A. 150 Vhymeister, N.J. 60
Stein, K. 144 vom Brocke, C. 202, 203
Stenschke, C. 5, 220 von Premerstein, A. 59, 60
Stern, M. 224 Vos, J.S. 189
Stevenson, T.R. 63, 74, 77, 78, 81
Stier, R. 144 Wachob, W.H. 60
Still, T.D. 3, 10, 72 Wagner, J.R. 195
Walker, J.F. 5 Wilk, F. 195

Walker, P. 163 Williams, H.H.D. 6
Walker-Ramisch, S. 346 Williams, D.K. 313, 349
Wallace, D.B. 328 Williams, G.D. 109
Wallace, R. 342 Williams, P.J. 163
Wallace-Hadrill, A. 57, 63 Williams, W. 342
Walters, J.C. 10 Willis, W. 229, 230, 232, 237–239, 242
Walters, P. 134 Wilson, F. 98
Ware, J.B. 309 Wilson, M. 101
Ware, J.P. 202, 329 Wilson, S.G. 127, 190, 345, 346
Warmington, E.H. 93–97 Wimbush, V.L. 60
Wasserman, E. 86 Winninge, M. 226
Watson, D.F. 58 Winter, B.W. 60, 61, 64, 69, 77, 80, 81, 87,
Webb, W.J. 257 121, 146, 154, 296, 343–345
Weber, M. 9, 11, 36 Winter, T.N. 151, 152
Wedderburn, A.J.M. 136–139 Wistrand, M. 101
Weima, J.A.D. 29 Witherington, B., III. 54, 55, 112, 135, 136,
Weiss, J. 233, 239, 252, 291 230, 232
Weiss, P. 58 Wolter, M. 354
Weißenborn 194 Woodman, A.J. 68, 73, 81
Welborn, L.L. 86, 115, 116 Woolf, G. 60
Wenham, D. 166 Wrede, W. 7
Westby, D.L. 9 Wright, N.T. 7, 113, 119, 302, 311
Westcott, B.F. 175
Westfall, C.L. 127, 128 Yeo, K.K. 229, 230, 249, 275
Weullner, W. 69
White, J. 82 Zahn, J. 144
White, P.R.R. 26 Zahn, T. 131
Wickham, E.C. 144 Zanker, P. 87, 117, 118
Wilcox, A. 101 Zill, L. 144
index of Ancient Sources
Old Testament
Gen Pss
1:31 119 2:7 167, 179
3:17–19 119 8:6 168
19:1–4 119
Exod 24:1 248, 322
2–39 339 69:9 320
106:20 113
Num 110:1 120
4 339
7 339 Isa
8 339 53 313, 314
Deut Jer
21:22–23 351 9:24 324
1 Chr Ezek
23 339 40–46 339
2 Chr Dan
5:14 339 12:1–3 309
8:14 339
New Testament
Matt Q
13:55 49 3:7–9 157
16:17 170 7:24–28 157
26:69 50
John
Mark 1:18 178
6:3 49 1:45 49
8:34 314 3:12 169
10:39–45 314 3:16 178
10:46 50 3:18 178
15:40 50, 54 4:17 241
13 313
Luke 19:25 50
1:3 132
3:2 50 Acts
7:12 178 1:1 132, 133
8:42 178 3:15 178
9:38 178 4:1–22 203
10:25 330 4:36 50
22:25 74 5:17–42 203
index of ancient sources 365
Acts (cont.) 18:24 12, 144

5:31 178 19:9–10 328
6:11–8:4 203 20 181
9:1 203 20:1–6 306
9:43 50 20:1 213
12:1–24 203 20:4 209, 210
13 161–63, 179, 183 20:5–16 135
13:15 161, 179 20:5–15 146
13:16–47 179 20:7–12 141
13:16–41 171 20:13 135
13:16 179 20:18–35 171
13:26 179, 180 20:19 181
13:27 168 20:21 181
13:33 168 20:28 181
13:34 179 20:31 181
13:38 180 21:1–18 135, 146
13:39 179 21:10–14 137
13:46–47 171 21:13 171
13:47 168 21:19 214
14:15–17 171 21:25 162, 255
15:1 198 21:38 50
15:2 197 22:1–21 171
15:15 203 22:3 167
15:20 162, 225 22:17–21 198
15:22–31 222 23:1–6 171
15:22 50 24:10–21 171
15:25 198 25:8–11 171
15:36–41 53 26:2–29 171
16 350 26:2 181
16:10–17 135, 146 26:18 181
16:10 137 26:23 181
16:11–40 306, 347 26:25 181
16:12 347 27:1–28:16 135, 146
16:13–18 137 27:10 172
16:16–40 329 27:21–26 172
16:20 308, 347 27:28 163
16:21 347 27:31 172
16:22 347 27:33–34 172
16:23 347 28:17–20 171
16:27 347 28:18 181
16:35 347 28:25–28 171
16:36 347 28:25 181
16:37 347 28:30–31 113
16:38 347
17:22–31 171, 180 Rom
17:28 180 1 256
17:29–31 281 1:1–6 81–83
17:29 180 1:1 51, 83, 193, 348
17:31 180 1:2–4 318
17:34 219 1:2–3 318
18:5 195 1:3–4 114, 122
18:6 171 1:3 83, 84
18:7 18 1:4 81, 83, 168
18:19 218 1:5 318
366 index of ancient sources
Rom (cont.) 5:12–21 92, 105, 112

1:7 51, 83, 121 5:12–14 114, 119
1:8–15 199 5:12 119
1:8 80, 200, 217 5:14 90, 112, 113, 119
1:11–15 215 5:14b 120
1:11–12 82 5:15 112
1:11 82 5:15b–16a 119
1:13–15 82 5:15b 105
1:13 82 5:16b 105
1:14 82, 121, 122 5:17 90, 112, 113, 119
1:15 82 5:17b 105, 113, 119, 120
1:16 80, 81, 83, 121, 5:18–19 119, 123
168, 215, 318 5:18 119
1:17 318 5:20 112, 119
1:18–3:20 80, 113, 318 5:20b 105, 119
1:18–23 123 5:21 90, 112, 113, 119
1:20 119 5:21b 105, 113, 120
1:20b–23 122 6:1–23 80, 121
1:21–23 81, 99 6:1–4 318
1:23 113 6:1 81
1:23a 119 6:2–23 81
2:2 238 6:4b 119
2:4 80 6:5–23 318
2:6–11 122 6:9 120
2:16 114, 123 6:14 120
3:3 80 6:16 243
3:8 215, 217 6:22 82
3:12 80 7:1–8:17 318
3:19 238 7 45, 46
3:21–31 318 7:5–6 123
3:23 113 7:6 120
3:25–26 80 7:6b 119
3:27 122 7:7–25 80
4 318 7:14 238
4:1–12 169 7:24 123
4:4 83 8:2–11 80
4:5 169 8:4–6 120
4:9 169 8:9–11 120
4:11 169 8:9 121
4:13 169 8:12 83
4:15 80 8:13–16 120
4:17 80 8:14–16 123
5–8 318 8:14 121
5 5 8:16 121
5:1–11 80 8:17–25 122
5:1 122, 193 8:17 319
5:3–5 122 8:18–25 319
5:3 122 8:20–21a 113
5:4–5 318 8:20 119
5:4 122 8:21 120
5:6–21 80 8:22 238, 319
5:6–10 121, 276 8:23 120
5:6–8 262, 318 8:24 115
5:11 122 8:26–27 123
Rom (cont.) 14:22–23 320

8:26 238 15:1–3 121
8:27 120 15:1–2 320
8:28 238 15:3 320
8:31–39 123 15:5–12 121
8:32 80 15:5 320
8:34 120 15:6–7 320
8:35–37 121 15:7–9 121
8:35 113 15:7–8 320
8:38–39 113 15:9 320
8:38 170 15:10–12 167
9–11 215, 319 15:12 114
9 80 15:14–15 80
9:3 277 15:14 170
9:5 82 15:15–24 121
10:1 168 15:16 320, 339
10:10 168 15:18 80
11 215 15:19 222
11:2 243 15:20 80
11:7 169 15:21 203
11:11 168 15:22–24 199, 215
11:26 114 15:23–33 320
11:30–31 121 15:24–28 83
12–15 87 15:24 194, 216
12:1–2 121 15:25–26 207
12:1 319 15:25 213, 214
12:2 121, 319 15:26–28 215
12:3–9 319 15:26 80, 205, 215
12:3 225 15:27 83, 210, 213, 215
12:5 121 15:28 215
12:8b 121 15:31 207, 213, 215, 216,
12:9–21 121 222
12:10–21 319 15:32–33 199
12:13 205 15:32 224
12:14–21 121 16 12, 29, 49
12:16b 122 16:1–16 29
12:17 80 16:1–2 29, 193, 194, 205,
13:1–7 80, 319 213
13:4 113 16:1 12, 49, 187, 205,
13:6 339 219, 320, 336
13:7 83 16:2 30, 205
13:8–10 121, 319 16:3–16 30
13:8 83 16:3–5 12
13:11 168 16:3–4 30
14–15 268, 320 16:3 49, 320, 337
14:1–15:7 195 16:4 200, 217
14:1–15:6 195 16:5 30, 49
14:7–12 123 16:6 49
14:13–15 320 16:7 49
14:13 121 16:8 12, 30, 49
14:16–18 320 16:9 49, 320, 337
14:19 121, 320 16:10 49, 320
14:20 320 16:10b 92
14:21 320 16:11 30, 49
Rom (cont.) 4:9–13 86, 121

16:11b 92 4:11–12 239
16:12 49, 320 4:14–17 54
16:13 49 4:16 55, 307
16:14 49 4:17 35, 53, 54, 195,
16:15 49, 193 206, 224, 226
16:16 217 5–15 321
16:20 113, 114 5 253
16:21–24 30 5:1–5 279
16:21–23 217 5:6 243
16:21 12, 30, 35, 49, 5:9–13 310, 321
126, 337 5:9 253
16:22 12, 30 5:10 253
16:23 12, 30, 49, 54, 5:11 253
193, 213, 217 6:1–8 321
6:2 243
1 Cor 6:3 238, 243, 276
1–4 320 6:4 187
1–3 291 6:9 169, 243
1:1–2 51 6:15 243
1:1 54, 336 6:16 243
1:2 187, 193, 217, 218 6:19 243
1:4 44 7:10–16 263
1:9 170 7:13–17 321
1:10ff. 291 7:17–24 321
1:10–17 219 7:17 39, 195, 206, 218,
1:10–11 320 224, 226
1:10 294 7:19 246
1:11–12 228 7:29–35 321
1:11 197, 293 8:1–11:1 5, 229–31, 233,
1:12 219, 293 235, 241, 245,
1:13–15 321 249, 253–55, 271,
1:14 12, 213, 217 280–82, 322
1:17–25 321 8–10 250, 277
1:17 321 8:1-9:23 234, 270, 273,
1:18–32 86 277, 280-82
1:18–29 119 8:1–13 5, 232–39, 241–
1:18–25 278 46, 248–50, 252,
1:26–31 321 254, 255, 257,
1:26 273 258, 263–68, 270,
2:1–5 321 271, 274, 277–81,
2:6 113 322
2:8 86, 113 8:1–12 278
3 321 8:1–9 245
3:3–15 222 8:1–8 235, 236
3:4–9 228 8:1–7 245, 246, 251
3:4 293 8:1–7a 250
3:5 321 8:1–6 245
3:9 337 8:1–3 245, 269, 272
3:10–17 321 8:1 231, 236–39,
3:16 243 241–45, 248, 257,
3:20 167 268, 269, 271,
3:22 228 272, 274, 276
4:8–13 321 8:1a 246
1 Cor (cont.) 8:14 276

8:1b–3 246, 271 8:15 276
8:1c–3 244 8:16 276
8:2–3 243, 248, 272 8:20 276
8:4–7 245, 272 9:1–27 232, 234, 278,
8:4–6 231, 237, 243–45, 279, 322, 324,
248, 270 329
8:4 236, 238, 240–42, 9:1–23 257, 270, 280
244, 245, 265, 9:1–18 278, 281
268, 274 9:1 233, 278
8:5–6 245, 268 9:3 279
8:5 114, 251, 269 9:5–6 208
8:6 236, 245, 251 9:5 226
8:7–13 249, 258, 259 9:6 17
8:7–12 256, 257 9:7 337
8:7–9 260 9:12 279
8:7 236, 243, 245–48, 9:13–23 278
251, 252, 254, 9:13 243
256, 259, 261, 9:19–23 255, 257, 278,
263, 268, 269 280, 281
8:7a 244, 258 9:19–22 322
8:7b 250–52, 258 9:24–10:22 254, 277, 280,
8:8–9 240 282
8:8 231, 236, 237, 9:24–10:13 255
239, 240, 243, 9:24–27 234, 322
246–48, 265, 9:24 243
268–70, 272–74, 10–11 285
277, 279 10 255
8:8a 247, 248, 272 10:1–22 234, 273
8:8b 247, 248, 272 10:1–10 322
8:9–13 243, 269 10:11 119
8:9–12 236, 263, 273 10:13 170
8:9–11 246–48, 279 10:14–22 254, 255, 263,
8:9 236, 239, 240, 279
246–48, 257, 259, 10:14 322
269, 273, 277 10:15–17 238, 291
8:10–13 273 10:16 293, 297
8:10–11 260, 262–64, 10:17 291, 293
268, 277 10:20–22 275
8:10 236, 247, 259, 10:20 322
260, 262, 269, 10:21 254, 295
274, 275, 277, 10:22–34 294
279 10:23–11:1 234, 255, 257,
8:11–13 261 277, 278, 280,
8:11–12 276 282, 322
8:11 236, 257, 260–62, 10:23–33 206
269, 276, 277, 10:23–31 206
322 10:23–26 322
8:12 236, 257, 262–64, 10:23 231
269, 277 10:25 248, 251, 280
8:13 236, 248, 257, 10:27–28 280, 281
263–65, 268, 270, 10:29 45, 248
276, 278, 279, 10:31–11:1 322
281, 282 10:31 322
1 Cor (cont.) 14:17 323

10:32–33 276 14:22–25 323
10:32 206, 257 14:22 39
10:33–11:1 257 14:26–40 207
10:33–34 294 14:26–32 290
10:33 257, 294, 322 14:33 206, 207, 218
10:33b–c 322 14:33b–36 13
10:33c 322 14:36 218
11 287 15:3–5 239
11:1 43, 55, 257, 307, 15:6b 115
322 15:8 45
11:2 294 15:9 199
11:3 243 15:10 42
11:16 39, 206, 207, 218, 15:20–28 319
224, 226 15:21 119
11:17ff. 291 15:24 113
11:17–34 13, 287, 323 15:26 319
11:17–22 86 15:28 168
11:17 291 15:34 259
11:18 193, 292 15:40–49 170
11:19 294 15:50 170
11:20–21 285 15:55–56 119
11:20 295 15:56 115
11:21–22 293, 295 16:1–4 13, 212, 213
11:21 207, 287, 288, 16:1 205, 206, 208, 212
290, 295, 296, 16:2–3 208
298 16:3 222
11:22 207, 287, 294, 16:6 13, 194
295, 297, 298 16:8 218
11:23–32 294 16:10 35
11:23–26 295 16:11 194
11:23–25 289 16:12 12, 54
11:27–30 86 16:14 323
11:27–29 294 16:15–18 333
11:28–32 294 16:15 205, 243
11:29 294 16:17 12, 340
11:30 115, 294 16:18 205
11:31–32 238, 240 16:19–20 218, 220
11:32a 294 16:19 12
11:33–34 293, 296
11:33 287, 298 2 Cor
11:34b 294 1:1 35, 51, 54, 187,
12–14 290, 323 195, 205, 219, 336
12 323 1:3–11 323
12:1–26 323 1:5 323
12:1 240 1:6 168
12:2 243, 281 1:8–9a 115
12:7 323 1:16 194, 203, 222
12:12–31 207 1:18 170
13 323 1:19 35, 51, 195
14 323 1:24 337
14:3–5 323 2:5–11 324
14:3 161 2:11 113
14:12 323 2:12–16 324
2 Cor (cont.) 9:6 324

2:14–16 86, 353 9:8 201, 324
2:17 324 9:10–11 201
3:4–18 119 9:11–14 215
4:2 324 9:11 324
4:7–12 323 9:12 201, 213, 324
4:7 354 9:13 213, 219, 324
4:8–12 86, 121 9:14 200, 214, 324
4:10 323, 354 9:15 324
4:11 323 10–12 310
4:12 323 10:3 324, 337
4:16–17 324 10:4 337
5:1 238 10:7–13 324
5:11–21 276 10:13–16 324
5:16 238 10:17 324
5:17 119 11 349
5:21 119, 123, 312 11:3 113
6:1–7:2 255, 257 11:5–15 210
6:2 168 11:7–9 324
6:3–10 86, 324 11:8–9 195
6:9b 121 11:9 192, 195, 210
6:14–7:1 254 11:10 196, 205, 219
6:14 254 11:14 113
6:16 254 11:17–30 324
6:17 254 11:21b–33 86
7:1 254 11:22–29 349
7:5 324 11:23 324
7:10 168 11:28 196, 199, 201
8–9 196, 315 11:30 354
8 227 12:1–6 325
8:1–5 195, 315, 324 12:7–10 325
8:1 209, 211, 324 12:7 113
8:2–5 210 12:9 354
8:2 195, 204, 324 12:11–12 325
8:4 207, 324 12:13 196
8:6 210, 324 12:14 325
8:7 227, 324 12:15 325
8:8 210, 324 12:16 210
8:9 315, 324 12:19 325
8:10–13 210 13:4 86, 325, 354
8:13–14 210 13:12 219
8:13 210
8:16 324 Gal
8:18 210, 211 1–2 198, 222
8:19–21 211 1:1–2 51
8:19 211, 324 1:1 197
8:22 211 1:2 185, 197, 198
8:23 211, 337, 338 1:4 119
8:24 212, 227, 324 1:10 42
9:1 207, 212, 324 1:12 43, 182
9:2–4 213, 227 1:13–14 349
9:2 205, 212 1:13 199
9:4 213 1:16 170
9:5 212, 213, 324 1:17–18 222
Gal (cont.) 4:11 326

1:18–19 198 4:12–15 326
1:22–24 198 4:12 326
1:22 198, 203 4:15–16 326
1:23–24 198 4:15 326
2 7 4:16 199, 326
2:1 222 4:17–32 326
2:10 209 4:17–19 326
2:11–14 17, 53 4:21 326
2:11 222, 325 4:24 326
2:13 222 4:27 113
2:14 222 5:1–2 326
2:20 45 5:1 307
3:13 351 5:3–20 326
3:28 325 5:3 208
4:4–6 119 5:5 243
4:13 243 5:9 168
4:19 55 5:21–6:9 326, 328
5:4 325 5:21 326
5:6 325 5:22–24 326
5:13 325 5:23–25 188
5:14 325 5:27 188
5:15 325 5:29 188
5:16–18 325 5:32 188, 326
5:19–21 325 6:4 170
5:22–25 325 6:12 113, 170
5:25 325 6:16 113
6:1–6 325 6:18–19 201
6:10 52, 325 6:18 204
6:15 119
6:17 326 Phil
1 313
Eph 1:1 31, 35, 51, 193,
1:1 51, 185 304, 306, 314,
1:3 170 316, 328, 348
1:13 168, 179 1:2 302, 304, 348
1:15 201, 204, 205 1:3–30 309
1:16–17 201 1:3 303, 304
1:18 201 1:4 304, 305
1:20 120, 170 1:5 304–306, 310,
1:22 188 313, 315, 339
2:2 113 1:6 302–304, 329,
2:6 170 339
2:10 168, 326 1:7–8 314
2:11–22 326 1:7 304–307, 315,
2:19 201 339, 353
3:6 326 1:8 302, 303, 305,
3:8 199, 202 329
3:10 170, 188 1:9 304–306, 314
3:18 201, 202 1:10 302
3:21 188 1:11 302–304
4:1 206 1:12–26 314
4:2–3 326 1:12–22 313
4:4–6 326 1:12–18 302, 304, 306,
4:7 326 307
Phil (cont.) 2:9–11 302, 352

1:12–14 314 2:10–11 309, 322, 348
1:12 335 2:10 113, 170
1:13 307, 308 2:11 348
1:14–18 309, 313, 329 2:12–16 315
1:14 302, 307, 308, 2:12–14 309
316, 329, 335, 2:12–13 303, 304, 330
348, 353 2:12 168, 304, 314
1:15–18 220, 304, 308 2:13 302
1:15–17 316 2:14–15 304
1:15 304 2:14 304, 306, 313
1:16 304, 314 2:15–16 304, 309
1:17 307, 308, 314 2:16–17 304
1:18 304, 316 2:16 304, 309
1:19–26 307, 315 2:17–18 314
1:19–23 315 2:17 304, 314, 339, 340
1:19–22 304 2:19–30 302, 333
1:19 168, 302–305 2:19–23 55, 306
1:20–21 314 2:19 31, 35, 302, 348
1:20 304, 329 2:20–22 306
1:21–26 121 2:20 52, 53, 304
1:22–26 305 2:21 46, 52
1:22 304, 339 2:22 304, 310, 314, 316,
1:25 304 328
1:26 303, 304 2:24 302, 305, 348
1:27–30 304, 309, 313 2:25–30 6, 304, 305, 333,
1:27 206, 304, 307, 334
309, 337, 348 2:25 31, 310, 315, 320,
1:28–30 310, 315, 328, 353 333, 335, 336, 353
1:28 168, 337 2:26 304, 315
1:29 303, 318, 339 2:27ff. 339
1:30 304, 305, 314, 2:27 115, 302, 315, 335,
329 353
2 6, 313, 333–35 2:28 303
2:1–11 309 2:29 315, 333, 348
2:1–5 313 2:30 115, 304, 316, 339,
2:1–4 46, 304, 311, 315, 340, 352, 353
329 3 304, 316
2:1 302–304, 307, 3:1 304, 335, 348
309, 313, 326 3:2–4:1 220
2:2–10 167 3:2–3 310
2:2–4 303, 304, 313, 317 3:3–6 314
2:2 304–306, 313 3:3 302, 303
2:3–4 304 3:4–6 316
2:3 304, 327 3:4b–6 349, 350
2:4–9 310 3:5–6 349
2:4 46, 302 3:6 199
2:5–11 311 3:7–9 316
2:6–11 331, 351 3:8–11 350
2:6–8 301, 310, 312, 315, 3:8–9 349
331 3:8 348
2:6 352 3:9 302–304
2:7 328 3:10 303, 304, 307,
2:8 304, 314–17, 327, 314, 317, 318, 353
328, 353 3:11 304
Phil (cont.) 1:18 194

3:12–14 303, 304, 310, 314, 1:21 167
317, 322 1:22–23 169
3:12 302 1:22 327
3:13 314, 353 1:24 194, 202, 327
3:14 302 1:26 202
3:15–17 315 1:29 327
3:15 304 2:1 199, 200, 327
3:16 307 2:2 199
3:17 55, 307, 315, 317, 2:13–15 327
328, 335 2:16–23 327
3:18–21 304, 310, 314, 317, 2:18 327
349 2:19 199, 327
3:18–19 304 3:1–4:6 327
3:18 317, 353 3:1–4 327
3:20–21 348 3:1 120
3:20 304, 348, 349 3:5–11 327
4 315, 334 3:12–16 327
4:1–5 315 3:12–14 328
4:1 304, 305, 314, 3:18–4:1 328
329, 335, 348 4:6 328
4:2–3 12, 304, 306, 309, 4:7 328
310, 313, 317 4:12–13 199, 328
4:2 31, 32, 211, 304, 4:12 199
305, 309, 348 4:13 189, 200
4:3–4 304 4:14 12, 126, 146, 159
4:3 304, 305, 314, 337 4:15–16 200, 220
4:4 304, 329, 348 4:16 185, 200, 219
4:5–7 304 4:17–19 17
4:5 304, 348 4:17 337
4:6–7 303, 304
4:8–9 304 1 Thess
4:8 335 1 47
4:9 55, 303, 304 1:1 35, 50, 51, 187,
4:10–19 304, 305 202
4:12–14 353 1:3 328
4:14–16 192 1:4–10 328
4:15–16 305 1:5 243
4:15 195, 243, 314 1:6–8 204
4:18 315, 333 1:6 307
4:19 303, 304 1:7–8 205
4:20 303 1:7 202
4:21 220, 335, 336 1:8 197, 202
4:22 13, 92, 220 1:9 202, 251, 281
4:23 303, 348 1:16 55
2:1–2 329
Col 2:1 202, 243
1:1 54 2:2 243, 329
1:2 51, 170 2:3–12 47
1:4 204 2:3–5 329
1:7 328 2:5 243
1:10 206 2:7–9 55
1:12 201 2:7 329
1:14–19 167 2:9 329
1 Thess (cont.) 2 Tim

2:11 243 1:2 51
2:12 206 1:5 170
2:14–15 329 1:12 170
2:14 55, 203, 222, 307, 1:15 200, 243
329 2:3 337
2:16 204 2:10 168
2:17–3:5 329 3:11 222
2:19–20 329 3:15 168
3:1–5 329 3:16 170
3:1 196 4:1 194
3:2 35, 51, 54, 337 4:8 170
3:3 243 4:11 126, 127, 146, 156,
3:4 243 221
3:6–13 329 4:16 200, 221
3:6 35 4:21 220
3:13 202, 205
4:1–10 329 Titus
4:2 243 1:4 51
4:9–12 336 3:12 194
4:10 204
4:11–12 329 Phlm
4:13–5:11 329 1–2 51, 335, 336
4:13–18 202 1 35, 54, 336
4:13a 115 5 205, 330
4:13b 115 6 330, 336
5:2 243 7 205, 330
5:8 168 10–12 54
5:9 168 10 12
5:12–27 329 11 12
5:12 333 13 330
5:24 170 16–17 330
5:26 220 16 54, 55, 336
5:27 220 17 13
18–19 330
2 Thess 24 126, 146, 337
1:1 51, 197
1:4 197 Heb
1:10 202 1:1–14 167
2:3 330 1:1–4 175
2:4 330 1:1 161, 182
2:5 330 1:2 181
2:6–10 330 1:3 120, 181
2:6 243 1:4 175
2:9 330 1:5 168
2:12–15 330 1:7 339
2:13 168, 202 1:14 168
3 330 2:1–4 169
3:3 170 2:1 170
3:7 243 2:3 168, 182
2:2–4 175
1 Tim 2:5 161
1:2 51 2:6 181
1:8 238 2:8 168
Heb (cont.) 10:11 175

2:10 169, 178–81 10:12 175
2:11 181 10:18 181
2:12 351 10:23 170
2:14 170, 175 10:26–39 169
2:15 175 10:27 175
2:16 169 10:29 181
3:1 169, 170 10:30 180
3:7–4:13 169 11:3 181
3:12–15 175 11:7 168
3:19 170 11:11 181
4:2 170 11:16 169
4:8 175 11:17 169, 178
4:12 175 11:26 181
4:13 175 11:32 161
5:1–3 175 12:2 178
5:5 168 12:3 175
5:7–10 175 12:5 170
5:7 181 12:7 170
5:9 169 12:9 180
5:11–6:12 169 12:11 170
5:11 161 12:14–29 169
6:1–2 171 12:17 181
6:1 180 12:19 181
6:4 169 12:22 169
6:5 181 13:7 181
6:9 161, 168, 170 13:12 181
7:14 181 13:17 181
7:19 179 13:22–25 162
8:1 120, 161 13:22 161, 162, 179
8:2 339 13:24 181
8:5 169 13:32 54
9:1–2 181
9:5 161 Jas
9:12 181 4:2 169
9:22 181
9:23 169 1 Pet
9:25–28 179 5:9 203, 225
9:27 180
9:28 168 1 John
10:2 181 4:9 178
Apocrypha
2 Esd 8:1 112

4:2 112 9:19 112
6:9 112
7:13 112 Wis
7:47 112 1:12–16 112
7:122–123 112 2:23–24 112
Pseudepigrapha
4 Ezra 4:29ff. 112

4:26–32 112 7:45–51 112
Josephus
Ant. 20.259 140

1.4 140 20.268 140
1.5 140
1.7 140 B.J.
1.18 140 1.3 140
1.25 140 1.9–12 140
3.259 140 2.114 140
6.350 140 2.221 92
7.380 84 7.135 140
10.151 140 7.454–55 140
10.218 140
14.77 140 C. Ap.
14.265–67 140 1.1 133
16.187 140 2.1 133
20.12 92 73–78 113
Rabbinic Works
Sipre
Lev 5:17 [120a] 112
Apostolic Fathers
Ign. Eph. Ign. Trall.

7:1 259 10:1 259
10:2–3 261
Ign. Smyrn.
5:1 259
Nag Hammadi
Gos. Thom. 28 157

21 157 47 157
Classical and Ancient Christian Writings
Aelius Aristides Anti-Marcionite

Sarapis Prologue to the
54.20–28 286 Gospel of Mark 158
Appian 62.20.5 104, 348

Bell. civ. 62.26ff 118
2.143.599 88
Catull.
Apuleius 101 115
Metam.
1.14.2 352 Cicero
1.15.4 352 Att.
3.17.4 352 12.14.3 115
4.10.4 352 13.32 149
Brut.
Aristophanes 11.42–3 154
Ach. De or.
1085–1149 286 2.12.53–54 154
2.15.62 154
Arrian Fam.
Epict. diss. 4.6 115
prol. 150 12.7.2 93
16.4.3 149
Athenaeus 16.10.2 149
Deipn. 16.17.1 149
5.177 297 Mil.
5.178 296 34.92 90
12.527 296 Phil.
13.21 352
Augustine Top.
Pecc. merit. 1.4–5 83
1.50 143, 166 Tusc.
2.17.41 89
Aulus Gellius Verr.
Noct. att. 2.5.162 352
1.2 151
15.7.3 116 Clement of Alexandria
16.13.8–9 342 Strom.
17.19 151 5.12.82.4 130
29.1 151
Dio Chrysostom
Calpurnius Siculus Or.17
Ecl. 18 343
1.42ff. 103 Or. 31
1.63–68 110 17 343
42–44 110 20 343, 346
46–50 110 22 343
Einsied. Ecl. Or. 34
2.22ff. 103 29 343
Cassius Dio Diogenes

40.54 151 Lives
53.27.2–4 88, 120 1.5 141
56.25.7 90 1.18 141
56.35.1–41.9 88 1.27 141
60.8.5 102 1.39 141
60.34 92 1.41 141
62.9.4 104 1.85 141
Diogenes (cont.) 8.26 141

1.97 141 8.27 141
1.102 141 8.44 141
1.120 141 8.74 141
2.15 141 8.84 141
2.21 141 8.91 141
2.46 141 9.4 141
2.50 141 9.9 141
2.58 141 9.10 141
2.88 141 9.28 141
2.93 141 9.44 141
2.96 141 9.56 141
2.110 141 9.59 141
2.112 141 9.82 141
2.120 141 9.84 141
2.144 141 9.93 141
3.13 141 9.101 141
3.45 141 9.108 141
3.50 141 9.109 141
4.1 141 10.16 141
4.3 141
4.20 141 Dionysius of Halicarnassus
4.27 141 Thuc.
4.45 141 18 154
4.54 141 41 154
4.61 141
4.65 141 Eunapius
5.8 141 Vit. Phil.
5.11 141 453 140
5.40 141 454 140
5.60 141 459 140
5.68 141 460 140
5.79 141 461 140
5.90 141 462 140
6.19 141 463 140
6.79 141 466 140
6.100 141 470 140
7.23 141 473 140
7.31 141 475 140
7.86 141 476 140
7.87 141 478 140
7.124 141 480 140
7.129 141 495 140
7.131 141 500 140
7.138 141
7.143 141 Euripides
7.145 141 Suppl.
7.152 141 238–44 297
7.156 141
7.157 141 Eusebius
7.160 141 Hist. eccl.
7.176 141 1.5.3 131
7.184 141 2.8.2 131
8.13 141 2.11.1 131
Eusebius (cont.) Irenaeus

2.22.1 131 Haer.
2.22.6 131 3.1.1 130, 159
3.3.5 166 3.12.11 130
3.4.4 131 3.13.3 130
3.4.6 126 3.14.1 130
3.4.7–8 131 3.14.3 130
3.31.5 131 3.14.4 130
3.39.15 158, 159 3.15.1 130
6.14.2–4 173
6.14.2–3 165 Isocrates
6.14.5–7 158 Evag.
6.14.34 165 76 154
6.25.5 158
6.25.11–14 143, 173 Jerome
6.25.13 165 Comm. Matt.
6.25.14 130 6.495 158
Epist.
Firmicus Maternus 129.3 143, 166
Math. Vir. ill.
8.22.3 352 7 126, 131
8.1–2 158
Hippolytus Vir. ill. praef.
Haer. 2 140
7.30.1 158 3 140
5 140
Homer 7 140
Od. 9 140
1.226–227 286 11 140
12 140
Horace 16 140
Carm. 18 140
1.4.13–14 106 25 140
1.11 107 35 140
2.1 107 37 140
2.3.25–28 106 38 140
2.11 107 45 140
2.14 107 53 140
2.14.2–4 106 54 140
2.20 107 61 140
3.5.1–4 120 62 140
Saec. 73 140
41–60 114 75 140
Ep. 80 140
1.16 l 80 106 82 140
2.1.156–157 74 92 140
Sat. 108 140
2.6 ll 93–97 106 109 140
2.7 ll 83–88 107 115 140
124 140
Jerome (cont.) 3.59–82 98, 115

129 140 3.78–86 99
131 140 3.566–945 115
132 140 3.894–930 99
134 140 3.1024–1094 115
135 140 3.1024–1043 99
3.1045–1052 99
Justin Martyr 3.1068–1075 99
Dial. 5.373–379 115
103.19 130 6.1182–1251 116
6.1182–1183 115
Juvenal 6.1206–1212 115
3.81 292
3.152–156 292 Muratorian Canon
8.199–200 90 2–8 129
8.242–243 87 4–7 130
34–39 129
Livy
12.42 155 Origen
28.27 155 Cels.
30.30 155 3.52 165, 174
37.53 155 6.10 351
6.11 130
Lucan 7.29 165, 174
Phars. Comm. Jo.
1.34–66 111 1.23.149 130
1.44–45 111 Comm. Matt.
2.308–313 111 15.15 130
2.380–383 111 17.25 130
2.888 111 Ep. Afr.
9.569–571 111 9 165, 174
10.566–584 111 Fr. Heb.
14.1309 130
Lucian Princ.
Jud. voc. 1 165, 174
12 352 2.3.5 165, 174
Lex. 2.7.7 165, 174
5 296 3.1.10 165, 174
6 286 3.2.4 165, 174
9 286 4.1.13 165, 174
13 286 4.1.24 165, 174
“The Way to Write History”
24 154, 155 Ovid
58 155 Consolatio ad Liviam
59–60 110
Lucretius 61–70 110
1.102–135 98, 115 129–133 110
1.107–11 98 187–190 110
2.44–46 98, 115 211–212 110
3.35–47 115 369–376 110
Ovid (cont.) Book 3

Metam. 4.2 140
15.807–842 114 6.1 140
15.888–890 114, 120 11 140
4.430–436 112 14.2 140
Pont. 25.3 140
1.5.85–86 109 41.2 140
1.8.24–27 109 45.1 140
1.257–58 110 50.2 140
2.3.43–44 109 52 140
3.1.5–6 110 Book 4
Tr. 10.1 140
1.2.60–66 109 13.3 140
2.8.240 109 22.2 140
2.208–214 109 25.6 140
3.2.23–24 109 34.2 140
3.3.56 109 34.4 140
3.3.73–76 109 42.1 140
3.6.32 109 43.1 140
3.8.37–39 109 Book 5
5.2.74–76 109 1 140
2 140
Philostratus 8 140
Life of Apollonius 9 140
Book 1 12 140
2.3–3.5 140 19.2 140
4 140 24.2 140
9.1 140 27.1 140
9.2 140 27.3 140
16.2 140 39 140
19.2 140 41.1 140
20.3 140 43.4 140
21.1 140 Book 6
24.2 140 1.2 140
25.1 140 2 140
38.1 140 27.4 140
Book 2 35.1 140
2.1 140 35.2 140
2.2 140 40.1 140
4 140 Book 7
9.3 140 1 140
13.2 140 2.3 140
13.3 140 3 140
14.1 140 23.1 140
16 140 31.2 140
17.1 140 35 140
18.2 140 39.2 140
19.2 140 39.3 140
21.1 140 42.6 140
23 140 Book 8
42 140 1 140
43 140 2 140
Philostratus (cont.) 587 140

5.2 140 590 140
5.4 140 593 140
6.1 140 595 140
8 140 597 140
9 140 598 140
20 140 602 140
29 140 603 140
30.1 140 604 140
31.3 140 605 140
Vit. soph. 606 140
479 140 607 140
480 140 612 140
483 140 613 140
484 140 615 140
486 140 617 140
488 140 620 140
491 140 626 140
492 140 627 140
494 140 628 140
496 140
497 140 Pliny the Elder
498 140 Nat.
499 140 35.6ff. 106
502 140
503 140 Pliny the Younger
504 140 Letters
506 140 2.6 287
514 140
515 140 Plutarch
516 140 Cat. Min.
520 140 23.3–7 149, 151
523 140 Mor.
524 140 608–612 115
527 140 821F 343
536 140 822D 343
537 140 822F 343
540 140 Quaest. conv.
543 140 1.2 292
549 140 613F 297
550 140
552 140 Polyaenus
562 140 8 337
564 140 22 337
565 140 23 337
566 140
567 140 Polybius
574 140 1.1.1 140
576 140 1.1.4 140
582 140 3.4.13 140
583 140 3.62 155
585 140 6.53 106
Polybius (cont.) 1.11.1–2 87

11.28 155 1.21.1 118
15.6.4 156 De Prov.
21.1 156 2.10–11 101
29.21.8–9 140 Dial.
31.23.1–5 140 4 352
36.1 148, 155 5.5 352
36.1.1–2 140 Ep.
36.1.3–7 140 1.2 100
36.11.1–4 140 4.4 100
36.12.1 140 7.2–5 101
38.5.1–6.7 140 7.3–5 90
38.21.1 140 12.8–9 100
39.8.1–3 140 21 101
24.3–5 100
Propertius 24.6–7 100
2.7.5–6 87 24.14 100
2.15.41–48 87 30.2 100
3.18.1–34 107 30.9 118
3.18.11–30 107 61.1–4 100
3.18.15–16 107 61.2 118
3.18.31–34 107 67.9–10 100
4.11.1–14 108 69.6 118
4.11.5–6 108 70 118
4.11.11–14 108 70.19 101
4.11.15–28 108 77.18–20 101
4.11.29–60 108 80.6 112
4.11.41–41 108 82 100
4.11.73–76 108 82.3–6 101
4.11.99–102 108 82.12–13 100
82.17–18 118
ps.-Seneca 82.20–24 100
Oct. 90.25 149
440–444 118 93.5 101
93.8–10 101
ps.-Socrates 99 101
Ep. 99.7–13 101
14.4 152 99.13 90
99.18–19 101
Quintilian 99.22 101
Inst. 99.25–28 101
4.2.17 151 99.30 101
4.2.25 151 101.10 122
7.2.24 151 101.11 122
10.3.19 150 101.12 122
101.13 122
Seneca Herc. fur.
Apoc. 23 103
4 103 39ff. 103
Apol. 92–98 104
9.2 149 174–182 105
Ben. 438ff 103
1.4.2 57 550ff. 104
Clem. 556ff. 104
1.4.1–1.5.2 121 637ff. 104
1.9.1–2 87 698ff. 104
Seneca (cont.) Tacitus

830–874 104 Ann.
858ff. 104 1.1 140
882ff. 103 1.73 140
925ff. 103 1.80 140
955–973 103 2.27 140
959 103 2.32 140
966 103 2.35 140
987–991 103 2.43 140
1018–1026 103 2.45 140
Ira 2.46 140
1.2.4 90 2.62 140
2 352 2.73 88
Marc. 2.88 140
6.1–3 102 3.3 140
10.5–6 102 3.7 140
19.4–20.3 102 3.16 140
Oct. 3.18 140
397–406 114 3.24 140
431–435 114 3.25 140
504–532 118 3.29 140
Polyb. 3.48 140
2.1–5.5 102 3.55 140
6.2 92 3.65 140
7.1–4 102 3.65.2 89
7.1 92 4.1 140
7.4 92 4.4 140
9.1–3 102 4.5 140
12.3–5 102 4.6 140
12.3–4 102 4.10 140
13.1–4 102 4.11 140
14.4–17.6 102 4.13 140
Tranq. 4.18 140
11.1–6 89 4.20 140
Tro. 4.21 140
371–408 104 4.31 140
4.32 140
Statius 4.53 140
Silv. 4.57 140
2.1 115 4.67 140
5.5 115 4.69 140
4.71 140
Suda 6[5].9 140
Λ 682 130 6[5].10 140
6.4 140
Suetonius 6.7 140
Jul. 6.10 140
55.3 151 6.20 140
Nero 6.22 140
21 103 6.25 140
25 348 6.27–29 140
53 103, 348 6.38 140
Tit. 6.40 140
3 150 6.45 140
Tacitus (cont.) Tertullian

11.4 140 Marc.
11.5 140 4.2.4 130
11.11 140 4.5.3 158
11.22 140 Pud.
11.24 155 20 144
11.27 140
11.29 140 Thucydides
12.24 140 1.13 140
12.27 140 1.13.4 140
12.31 140 1.18.1 140
12.35 140 1.22.1–2 140
12.36 140 1.22.1 148, 153
12.38–40 140 2.4.8 140
12.40 140 2.102.6 140
12.43 140 5.26.4–6 140
12.54 140 7.87.5 140
13.1 140 8.41.2 140
13.19 140
13.20 140 Virgil
13.31 140 Aen.
13.33 140 1.286–291 120
13.43 140 6.637ff. 105
13.49 140 6.756–853 105, 106
14.9 140 6.760–787 106
14.14 140 6.788–807 106
14.17 140 6.808–835 106
14.29 140 6.836–846 106
14.33 140 6.847–853 106
14.40 140 8.663–9 116
14.48 140 Ecl.
14.59 140 4.1–63 120
14.62 140
14.64 140 Xenophon
15.37 140 Ages.
15.49 140 1.1 140
15.50 140 1.6 140
15.53 140 1.12 140
15.54 140 2.7 140
15.62–64 89, 101 2.9 140
15.63 140 3.1 140
15.67 140 3.2 140
15.72 140 3.5 140
15.78 140 5.5 140
16.3 140 5.6 140
16.6 140 5.7 140
16.14 140 6.1 140
16.16 89, 140 7.1–2 140
16.18 140 7.1 140
16.21ff. 118 8.3 140
16.21 140 8.4 140
16.34–35 89 8.5 140
16.60–64 118 8.7 140
31.3 92 9.1 140
10.1 140 Mem.

11.1 140 3.14.1 286
11.9 140
11.14 140
Papryi, Ostraca, Epigraphical Citations, etc.
ILS P.Mur.
137 120 164 150
8393 115
P.Oxy.
P.Amh. 724 150
II 33 162 II 276 162
P.Egerton
frag. 2 recto 157

Beyond Belief The Secret Gospel Elaine Pagels

Transféré par

Informations du document

Titre original

Copyright

Formats disponibles

Partager ce document

Partager ou intégrer le document

Options de partage

Avez-vous trouvé ce document utile ?

Ce contenu est-il inapproprié ?

Droits d'auteur :

Formats disponibles

Beyond Belief The Secret Gospel Elaine Pagels

Transféré par

Droits d'auteur :

Formats disponibles

Paul and His Social Relations

The titles published in this series are listed at brill.com/past

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Copyright 2013 by Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, The Netherlands.

This book is printed on acid-free paper.

Paul and His Social Relations: An Introduction ..................................... 1

How Do We Define Pauline Social Relations? ........................................ 7

Paul, Timothy, and Pauline Individualism: A Response to

Paul, Patronage and Benefaction: A “Semiotic” Reconsideration ..... 57

Paul and the “Social Relations” of Death at Rome

The Relationships of Paul and Luke: Luke, Paul’s Letters, and

The Authorship of Hebrews: A Further Development in the

The Significance and Function of References to Christians in the

“We Put No Stumbling Block in Anyone’s Path, so that Our

Paul, the Corinthians’ Meal, and the Social Context ............................ 285

The Christ-Pattern for Social Relationships: Jesus as Exemplar in

Honouring Epaphroditus: A Suffering and Faithful Servant Worthy

Index of Modern Authors and Editors ...................................................... 357

The next three volumes currently scheduled to appear are as follows:

Volume 8: Paul and Pseudepigraphy (2013)

As noted before, I would like to invite any scholars interested in making

McMaster Divinity College

JSNT Journal for the Study of the New Testament

STAC Studies and Texts in Antiquity and Christianity

Stanley E. Porter and Christopher D. Land

Pauline scholars have always been interested in Paul’s relationships. In

in Pauline studies, particularly for those who wish to employ Acts as a

it is now increasingly important that these interactions be examined

14 Collegeville: Liturgical Press, 2008.

The Lord’s Supper is crucial to the communal life of the Christian

he was in contact. Whether we are reading his letters, ecclesial or per-

and approaches garnered from various sociological and anthropological

(as opposed to the “old consensus” of Deissmann and others) regarding

13 Meeks, First Urban Christians, 51–73.

d­ eterminers of status in the ancient world, by which a person is measured.

16 Meeks, First Urban Christians, 54.

some wealth; as well as possibly some others mentioned in Acts. Meeks

18 Meeks, First Urban Christians, 73.

20 Meggitt, Paul, 14–15.

interpretations are reasonably agreed. Whereas this agreement may at first

The socio-historical approach to Paul’s social relations has no doubt

The socio-historical approach to examining Pauline social relations remains

24 F.F. Bruce, The Pauline Circle (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1985).

26 Bruce, Pauline Circle, 15–22.

meetings of other Christians. Although the circumstances are not known,

28 Bruce, Pauline Circle, 81–100.

the historical is grounded simply in the evidence as presented by the text

the individuals as a means of populating such a composite picture, Bruce

Pauline social relations can also be examined in terms of ecclesial rela-

30 Longenecker, “Socio-Economic Profiling,” 52.

35 Banks, Paul’s Idea, 109–17.

responsible to be an orderly gathering that looks out for the common

What I wish to propose here is that there is another means of discuss-

Letter Salutations as Encoding Pauline Social Relations

gospel of God,” which last group is further expanded. As a result, there is

Letter Closings and the Encoding of Paul’s Associates

The Encoding of Pauline Friendship and Pauline Conflict

Further examples could be given of how it is that Paul linguistically, by

Paul’s social relations will no doubt continue to be a subject of discussion

reading may pass over? Do Paul’s exhortations to the churches demon-

Bruce Malina’s Place in the World of Social-Scientific Criticism

Social-scientific criticism has been defined as “that phase of the exegeti-

1. Some scholars investigate social constructs (i.e. groups, institutions,

JSNT Journal for the Study of the New Testament

STAC Studies and Texts in Antiquity and Christianity

d eterminers of status in the ancient world, by which a person is measured.

1. Some scholars investigate social constructs (i.e. groups, institutions,

form of his or her name is preferred. Romans 16 is a prime example.68 Of

2. Patronymics were added (e.g. Jesus son of Joseph in John 1:45).

or subordinate in status. This is significant because Paul also refers to