Semeia 80: The Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles in Intertextual Perspectives

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emeia is an experimental journal devoted to the exploration of new and emergent areas and methods of biblical criticism. Studies employing the methods, models, and findings of linguistics, folklore studies, contemporary literary criticism, structuralism, social anthropology, and other such disciplines and approaches are invited. Although experimental in both form and content, Semeia proposes to publish work that reflects a well-defined methodology that is appropriate to the material being interpreted. Semeia is complemented by Semeia Studies, also published by Scholars Press. As a monograph series, Semeia Studies encourages publication of more elaborate explorations of new and emergent approaches to the study of the Bible. founding editor (1974–1980): general editor: editors for Semeia Studies:

Robert W. Funk David Jobling, St. Andrew’s College, Saskatoon Fred W. Burnett, Anderson University

Danna Nolan Fewell, Perkins School of Theology

associate editors: Alice Bach, Stanford University; Randall C. Bailey, Interdenominational Theological Center; Phyllis Bird, Garrett Evangelical Seminary; Athalya Brenner, University of Amsterdam; Sheila Briggs, University of Southern California; Fred W. Burnett (Semeia Studies Editor), Anderson University; Danna Nolan Fewell (Semeia Studies Editor), Perkins School of Theology; Stephen D. Moore, Theological School, Drew University; Ilana Pardes, The Hebrew University; Gary Phillips, University of the South; Adele Reinhartz, McMaster University; Bernard Brandon Scott, Phillips Graduate Seminary; R. S. Sugirtharajah, University of Birmingham, UK; Gerald O. West, University of Natal; Gale A. Yee, Episcopal Divinity School. assistant to the general editor: Audrey Swan, University of Saskatchewan Issues of Semeia are unified around a central theme and edited by members of the editorial board or guest editors. Future themes and editors are given at the back of each issue of Semeia. Inquiries or manuscripts should be sent to the General Editor: David Jobling, St. Andrew’s College, Saskatoon, SK S7N OW3, Canada. Inquiries or manuscripts for Semeia Studies should be sent to one of the series editors: Fred W. Burnett Danna Nolan Fewell Dept. of Religious Studies Perkins School of Theology Anderson University Southern Methodist University Anderson, IN 46012-3462 Dallas, TX 75275 Semeia and Semeia Studies are sponsored by the Society of Biblical Literature as part of its research and publications program. A subscription unit to Semeia consists of four issues (77–80 for 1997), and costs $25 for SBL or AAR members; $40 for non-members and institutions. Members and subscribers outside the U.S., Canada, and Mexico are requested to add a $6.00 postal surcharge. All payments should be in U.S. currency or its equivalency. Single issues are $19.95. Subscriptions should be sent to Scholars Press Membership Services, P.O. Box 15399, Atlanta, GA 30333. Orders for single issues (including multiple-copy orders) should be sent to SCHOLARS PRESS CUSTOMER SERVICES, P.O. Box 133089, Atlanta, GA 30333-3089, Phone: (888) 747-2354 (toll free) or (404) 727-2354, Fax: (404) 727-2348.

SEMEIA 80

THE APOCRYPHAL ACTS OF THE APOSTLES IN INTERTEXTUAL PERSPECTIVES

Guest Editor: Robert F. Stoops, Jr. Board Editor: Dennis R. MacDonald, Jr.

© 1997 by the Society of Biblical Literature

Published by SCHOLARS PRESS P.O. BOX 15399 Atlanta, GA 30333-0399

Printed in the United States of America on acid free paper

the apocryphal acts of the apostles

semeia 80

CONTENTS Contributors to this Issue ……………………………………………………

v

Introduction: Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles in Intertextual Perspectives Robert F. Stoops, Jr. …………………………………………………

1

I. WHICH CAME FIRST? 1.

Which Came First? Intertextual Relationships Among the Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles Dennis R. MacDonald ……………………………………………… 11

2.

Egging on the Chickens: A Cowardly Response to Dennis MacDonald and Then Some Richard I. Pervo ……………………………………………………..

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The Acts of Peter in Intertextual Context Robert F. Stoops, Jr. …………………………………………………

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3.

II. INTERTEXTUAL RELATIONSHIPS BETWEEN THE NEW TESTAMENT AND THE APOCRYPHAL ACTS OF THE APOSTLES 4.

Intertextuality in the Acts of Thomas Harold W. Attridge …………………………………………………. 87

5.

Apocryphal Intertextual Activities: A Reframing of Harold W. Attridge’s “Intertextuality in the Acts of Thomas” Christopher R. Matthews …………………………………………… 125

6.

Paul’s Conversion in the Canonical Acts and in the Acts of Paul Willy Rordorf Translated by Peter W. Dunn …………………………………… 137

7.

The Acts of Paul and the Legacy of the Lukan Acts Julian V. Hills ………………………………………………………. 145

8.

The Acts of Paul: Replacement of Acts or Sequel to Acts? Richard Bauckham …………………………………………………... 159

9.

The Acts of Paul and the Canonical Acts: A Phenomenon of Rereading Daniel Marguerat Translated by Ken McKinney …………………………………... 169

10.

Canon and Antitype: The Relationship Between the Acts of Peter and the New Testament Christine M. Thomas ……………………………………………….. 185

11.

The Acts of Peter and Luke’s Intertextual Heritage Christopher R. Matthews …………………………………………… 207

12.

An Ancient Jewish Christian Rejoinder to Luke’s Acts of the Apostles: Pseudo-Clementine Recognitions 1.27–71 F. Stanley Jones ……………………………………………………… 223 III. CULTURAL CONTEXT AS INTERTEXT IN THE APOCRYPHAL ACTS OF THE APOSTLES

13.

This World or Another? The Intertextuality of the Greek Romances, the Apocryphal Acts and Apuleius’ Metamorphoses Judith B. Perkins ……………………………………………………. 247

14.

The Nuptial Chamber Revisited: The Acts of Thomas and Cultural Intertextuality Richard Valantasis ………………………………………………….. 261

15.

An Illustration in the Admont “Anselm” and its Relevance to a Reconstruction of the Acts of John David R. Cartlidge ………………………………………………….. 277 IV. GENERAL RESPONSE Historical, Rhetorical, Literary, Linguistic, Cultural and Artistic Intertextuality: A Response Vernon K. Robbins ………………………………………………………. 291

CONTRIBUTORS TO THIS ISSUE Harold W. Attridge Divinity School Yale University 409 Prospect St. New Haven, CT 06510 Richard J. Bauckham St. Mary’s College University of St. Andrews St. Andrews Fife, KY16 9JU United Kingdom David R. Cartlidge Maryville College 502 E. Lamar Alexander Parkway Maryville, TN 37804 Julian V. Hills Department of Theology Marquette University P.O. Box 1881 Milwaukee, WI 53201-1881 F. Stanley Jones Religious Studies California State University Long Beach, CA 90840 Dennis R. MacDonald Claremont School of Theology 1325 North College Ave. Claremont, CA 91711 Daniel Marguerat Faculté de Théologie Université de Lausanne BFSH2 CH-1015 Lausanne Switzerland

Christopher R. Matthews Weston Jesuit School of Theology 3 Phillips Place Cambridge, MA 02138 Judith B. Perkins Saint Joseph College Department of Classics West Hartford, CT 06119 Richard I. Pervo Department of Classical and Near Eastern Studies University of Minnesota Minneapolis, MN 55455 Vernon K. Robbins Department of Religion Emory University Atlanta, GA 30322 Willy Rordorf Faculté de Théologie Université de Neuchâtel CH 2000 Neuchâtel Switzerland Robert F. Stoops, Jr. Department of Liberal Studies Western Washington University Bellingham, WA 98225 Christine M. Thomas Department of Religious Studies University of California Santa Barbara, CA 93106 Richard Valantasis Hartford Seminary 199 North Beacon Street Hartford, CT 06105

INTRODUCTION: APOCRYPHAL ACTS OF THE APOSTLES IN INTERTEXTUAL PERSPECTIVES Robert F. Stoops, Jr. Western Washington University

This volume represents the recent work of the SBL Seminar on Intertextuality and Christian Apocrypha and responses to it. The Seminar took up the issue of intertextuality as a rubric that might be broad enough to bridge the gap between social-historical interests of many of its members and the text-critical research being done by European scholars working on the same body of literature. For the Seminar, intertextuality has functioned as an umbrella term, useful for integrating different approaches, and as a constant reminder of the complexity of communication in both the ancient and contemporary worlds. The title chosen for this volume is meant to suggest a number of things. It intentionally gives the apocryphal Acts pride of place. The papers included in this volume focus on specific documents and their concrete relationships to other texts rather than to theory. Among other things, this volume continues the work of Semeia 38, The Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles, which has taken its place as an important collection in the study of early Christian Apocrypha. Many of the contributors to that volume are represented in this one as well, and the advances that have been achieved within this field of study over the past dozen years are evident. New critical editions of some of the most important texts have been published (Junod and Kaestli; Prieur; MacDonald), standard translations have been revised (Schneemelcher; Elliott), and new collections have appeared (Desreumaux and Norelli; Bovon and Geoltrain). The number of scholars working in the field and the number of studies published annually have both increased several-fold, and a new journal, Apocrypha, dedicated to the field has begun publication. As the title suggests, this volume does include more explicit discussion of methodological issues than did Semeia 38. The term intertextuality, in spite of being a relatively recent coinage, has a range of meanings. It can designate anything from the literary-critical concept of the “anxiety of influence” to the sociology-of-knowledge proposition that the production and reception of texts is always conditioned by a larger web of “texts,” both written and unwritten. Members of the Seminar have been attracted to different parts of the critical literature employing the concept of intertextuality. Like others, we have found ourselves using a word in common but meaning different things by it, or at least having different centers of gravity, depending on individual

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predilections and associations—precisely the phenomenon that the study of intertextuality is meant to highlight. Many of the studies presented here address questions familiar to more traditional literary or source criticism, but they do so in ways that draw out the broader intertextual implications. They not only deal with the most obvious sort of intertextual borrowing and allusion but also attempt to assess the possibility of cross-fertilization from oral tradition and other cultural influences. Does a reference to an event known from other sources demonstrate the use of a written Vorlage, a text remembered, an established oral tradition, or a cultural commonplace? These are not new questions, but an intertextual perspective demands that they be asked consistently, because it recognizes that every act of communication is both an appropriation of a shared network of language and ideas and, at the same time, a distinctive performance within that network. Other studies emphasize the interaction of the specific text and the “general text” of the culture within which it was written. A borrowed motif or story may be modified and put to new uses in a new context. In other cases, the literary text deliberately seeks to de-construct and/or re-construct the intertexts of the social, religious, and literary worlds within which it was formed. All of these projects can legitimately be classified as studies of intertextuality, and each contribution was either produced or modified under the influence of the other models. Rather than arguing over the proper intertextual method, the Seminar has preferred to use the term connectively, emphasizing the overlap among these various endeavors and the benefits of cross-fertilization in our own work. The term perspective was chosen in part for its connotations. It is deeply connected with the issues of objectification and individualism that the more radical theorists of intertextuality seek to undermine. Perspective, as in “getting things in proper perspective,” has implied a privileged point of view, a place to stand intellectually, from which everything of importance can be seen in its proper place and in relationship to everything else. Since the Renaissance this has meant a privileging of the rational—both that which is logical and that which is susceptible of mathematical description. Intertextuality challenges overly simplistic notions of logic, but it does not have to mean, and does not mean in this volume, an abandonment of rational thought. It does call into question the notion of an absolute, fixed truth that can in principle be fully delineated. If the boundaries of intertextuality are notoriously difficult to draw, that is, in itself, an important observation to be made from within the methodological framework offered by intertextuality. Perspectives also characterizes the Seminar’s approach to intertextuality as a set of methods consciously chosen to help us see ancient texts in new ways, while also signaling an awareness of the limitations of each chosen perspective. Many of these studies, especially those in part three, suggest the

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kinds of insights that have been missed in the study of ancient religious documents while scholarship remained focused within rather narrow ways of looking at the relics of the past. The plural is meant not to only subvert the absolutist connotations of the term perspective but also to indicate the diversity of methodological models falling under the designation intertextual represented in the volume. A quick perusal of the “Works Consulted” at the end of each study will reveal that the contributors are indebted to different theoretical perspectives in different degrees. There is no party line promoted here; no single “point of view” has carried the day. Contemporary critics frequently explore intertextuality with a keen awareness of the problematic character of communication. However, the understanding that all systems of signification and communication are conditioned, cultural constructs is not new. The Sophists had arrived at similar conclusions about the conventional nature of language and culture by the middle of the fifth century BCE. They came to these conclusions through the study of both literature, which meant poetry, and philosophy. They did so at the very time when texts in the form of books were becoming a significant factor in Greek culture (Pfeiffer: 16–17, 25–32). Even if Kerford is correct in his argument that the Sophists were more interested in the problems of predication than radical relativism, it remains true that as a group they recognized and discussed the complex and problematic interrelations among things, ideas, and verbal communication. Protagoras’s famous dictum: “Man is the measure of all things, the things that are that they are and things that are not that they are not” served as a rallying cry of humanism in the Renaissance, but it began life as the starting point of an epistemological argument. Protagoras and his associates recognized the role of human experience and social convention in the making of meaning at all levels. The Sophists, collectively, applied their insights into the workings of language to the practical concerns of persuasion, having noted that communication does in fact take place, however imperfectly. They contributed significantly to the shift from the inspired verse of the rhapsodes to the carefully crafted speech of persuasive rhetoric, a move which ultimately made possible the genres of prose narrative to which the apocryphal Acts and much of the New Testament belong. The importance of the Sophists is perhaps best reflected in their chief critic. Plato’s grand reification of ideas and its correlate metaphysics were worked out largely in an attempt to escape the consequences of the Sophists’ insights into the nature of language. While every possible position in the spectrum may not have been articulated in the ancient world, the epistemological extremes were held down by the Skeptics, Epicureans, and other heirs of the Sophists on one side and Platonists on the other. Platonists, however, remained a small minority, even among intellectuals, until near the time the apocryphal Acts were composed, when the question of how ultimate truths

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might be grasped by human beings once again became an important theme in philosophy, religion, and literature. Literary production in the ancient Mediterranean world, beginning with school exercises, was explicitly intertextual in another sense as well. Quotation, imitation, and adaptation were basic tools of composition. Reading, too, was deliberately intertextual. Homer was read as a philosophical allegory, and Vergil’s Aeneid was recognized as a masterpiece largely because of its complex and explicit intertextuality. The so-called Second Sophistic movement that was contemporary with the production of many of the apocryphal Acts was more concerned with questions of style than epistemology. It was characterized by an intense awareness of literary conventions, both their own and those of earlier ages. While the adherents of the Second Sophistic exploited literary convention and rhetoric primarily to reinforce values of the society of the day, the authors of the apocryphal Acts used some of the same devices to call those social conventions into question in various ways. Many of the apocryphal Acts appear to have actively participated in a significant paradigm shift that took place simultaneously within Christianity and the larger culture. In the later second and early third centuries, the quest for meaning took a turn toward the transcendent, and dualism, often in forms influenced by Platonism, was congenial to many. The apocryphal Acts, like other texts produced at that time, were meant to persuade an audience; they were designed to reinforce a faith already held, or perhaps intended, however unrealistically, to bring about conversion. Most often they aimed at swaying the audience toward a particular understanding of Christianity. Our authors found themselves inescapably engaged both with other Christians and with the larger culture. It appears that in the process of constructing their texts they borrowed frequently from those who had gone before, sometimes transforming the borrowed material into something quite different. The issues we gather under the label of intertextuality were neither new nor unfamiliar to the period and culture that produced the apocryphal Acts. Perhaps because that world was familiar with these issues, intertextuality, which is hailed by some of its current practitioners as a means of overcoming bourgeois notions of individuality, has proven a fruitful methodology for interpreting texts produced prior to the full development of modern, bourgeois notions of individuality. The first section of this issue explores the synoptic relationships among the most important apocryphal Acts. The subject is under active discussion again after a seventy-five-year hiatus. The new editions produced by the Association pour l’étude de la littérature apocryphe chrétienne have already proposed new, earlier, dates for the Acts of John (Junod and Kaestli) and the Acts of Andrew (Prieur). MacDonald’s essay offers a comprehensive overview of the synoptic problem on the basis of the verbal parallels he has identified. His study outlines a set of criteria for determining literary dependence and

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applies those criteria to establish an overview of the intertextual relationships among the five earliest surviving apocryphal Acts. The most important parallel passages are examined in detail, and a new stemma of dependence is proposed which identifies the Acts of Paul as the first of the apocryphal Acts. The two responses to sections of MacDonald’s analysis suggest the difficulty of reaching unanimity on the question of synoptic relations among the apocryphal Acts. Richard Pervo assesses the evidence for the priority of the Acts of John. MacDonald’s criteria are critiqued but favorably assessed. Several of the crucial parallels are reexamined with the goal of distinguishing different types of intertextual relations among these three apocryphal Acts. Pervo is not convinced that the Acts of John shows dependence on the Acts of Paul. He concludes that the best preserved version of the Acts of Peter did make use of the Acts of John, overturning the usual understanding shared by MacDonald. Robert Stoops offers a defense of the priority of the Acts of Peter after examining the modes of intertextuality observable in that text and the major blocks of evidence for intertextuality between the Acts of Peter and the Acts of Paul. Although the relationship is more complex than a simple literary dependence of one fixed text upon another, the preponderance of the evidence suggests that the Acts of Peter is likely to have been a source for portions of the Acts of Paul. Sensitivity to the life of texts multiplies the possibilities for intertextual relations and, therefore, makes it more difficult to obtain agreement. Awareness of the issues raised by the theorists of intertextuality has not produced more certain conclusions, but it has, perhaps, reduced the chances of falling prey to overly simplistic solutions. In the second section, this broadened sensitivity is applied to the question of the intertextual relations between the New Testament and Christian apocrypha. These studies document the reception of New Testament texts in this body of second and third century documents. They also demonstrate the implications of these intertextual relationships for understanding the composition of the New Testament texts themselves. Harold Attridge offers a broad survey of New Testament influence in the Acts of Thomas, examining the frequency and range of material from the New Testament and Gospel of Thomas used by the author of the Acts of Thomas. The variety of ways in which this material has been incorporated in the distinct Syriac and Greek versions is also traced. In each version explicit citations of dominical tradition are supplemented with embellishing allusions to both dominical and Pauline traditions. In some places allusion is used to achieve more precise special effects, such as the characterization of Thomas as the twin of Christ. These strategies of intertextuality reveal that the gospels had more influence in shaping the Acts of Thomas than did the canonical Acts of the Apostles. The response by Christopher Matthews seeks to draw out more explicitly the implications of

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Attridge’s work for the understanding of intertextuality in early Christian literature. He suggests that the use of the New Testament in the Syriac and Greek versions is conditioned by distinctive cultural intertexts. The next four studies address the more narrowly focused, and hotly debated, question of the intertextual relationship between the Acts of Paul and the canonical Acts of the Apostles. Each essay focuses on a particular aspect of that relationship between the Acts of Paul and the canonical Acts. Each defends a distinctive position regarding their intertextual relationship. Willy Rordorf points to the differences in the accounts of Paul’s conversion to argue that the Acts of Paul shows no knowledge of the canonical Acts. Rordorf suggests that the apparent reminiscences and important differences can be accounted for if each author knew Galatians 1 but developed that tradition differently. Julian Hills offers a direct challenge to Rordorf’s position. Building on his earlier analysis (1994), Hills argues that the verbal overlap between Acts and the Acts of Paul is too great to be explained by the use of common traditions, formulaic expressions, and the like. Hills refines his method with a study of possible quotations from Acts in early liturgies. He then returns to the analysis of four examples of devotional language and nine examples of unusual expressions common to Acts and the Acts of Paul, concluding that the author of the Acts of Paul was indeed familiar with the Lukan Acts. Richard Bauckham accepts Hills’ 1994 argument and asks: If the author of the Acts of Paul not only knew, but in many ways imitated, the canonical Acts, what was the purpose of that imitation? Bauckham defends the thesis that the Acts of Paul was composed at least in part as a sequel to the canonical text. This position is defended against the arguments of Richard Pervo (1995) that a more aggressive form of intertextuality obtains, namely a deliberate attempt to correct and possibly supplant both the Lukan Acts and the Pastoral Epistles. Daniel Marguerat finds the alternatives put forward by Rordorf, Bauckham, and Pervo unsatisfactory. He agrees that the author of the Acts of Paul made use of the canonical Acts and proposes a model of deliberate rereading to account for the kind of intertextual and literary creativity exercised by the author in elaborating Luke’s scheme. He believes that the relationship is one of reformulation rather than rejection. The motivations were partly literary and partly theological. The canonical Acts lacks a sense of closure and fails to mention Paul’s letters. The new text treats Paul in a manner closer to hagiography, transferring the role of model disciple to Thecla. It offers a rereading of Luke’s text, which accommodates its content to changed historical circumstances. The final three studies in this section deal with variants of Petrine tradition and their relationship to the developing New Testament. Christine Thomas’ “Canon and Antitype: The Relationship Between the Acts of Peter

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and the New Testament” emphasizes the fluid nature of ancient texts. Almost every manuscript witness constitutes a new performance of the text and is the product of numerous intertextual interactions. She argues that each compositional level of the Acts of Peter demonstrates a different relationship to the canonical Acts and other books of the emerging New Testament canon. In “The Acts of Peter and Luke’s Intertextual Heritage,” Christopher Matthews argues that the variant accounts of Peter’s encounter with Simon Magus found in the apocryphal Acts allow for the identification of a tradition that was modified by Luke to serve new purposes. The transmission history of the apocryphal Acts invites a reformulation of our notion of text. The apocryphal Acts, like most ancient documents were not fixed entities; the interaction of orality, textuality, and rhetoric did not end with the first written composition. The study by F. Stanley Jones gives a detailed analysis of the multifaceted transformation of a portion of the canonical Acts in Jewish-Christian tradition as represented by the source behind Pseudo-Clementine Recognitions 1.27–71. That author’s varied procedures in appropriating Acts are examined: positive reception of Acts, rewriting of Acts, and direct opposition to Acts. What emerges in this complex intertextual relationship is an early, explicit commentary on Acts in narrative form. Standing alongside the Lukan, Marcionite, and gnostic versions of early church history, this Jewish-Christian source describes how the conversion of the entire Jewish people and priesthood was disrupted by a ruthless murderer named Paul. Reconsideration of the ways texts are produced and function has lead to the dissolution of the boundaries between written texts and the “general text” of the culture within which writing and reading take place. The essays in the third section focus on the cultural context as the intertext for written communication. The apocryphal Acts of the Apostles were generated where various movements within Christianity intersected with other elements of the Roman empire. The encounter with the general text of the larger culture shaped expectations about how the world works. The apocryphal Acts, in their turn, sought to reshape those fundamental assumptions. All three of these studies touch on the revalorization of marriage within the apocryphal Acts, but their diversity shows how multifaceted the interaction with even one social institution could be. The essay by Judith Perkins addresses the role of the general text and the ways in which specific texts both reflect and attempt to construct a social world. She argues that the apocryphal Acts exploit the conventions of romance literature in order to invert the values usually associated with it. Perkins challenges the common understanding of the genre of romance as being concerned with personal identity in face of an erosion of civic identity under Roman rule. She suggests that the central couple’s love and fidelity, maintained in the face of extraordinary threats, and culminating in marriage,

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are a type for the concord and harmony that provided the foundation for society. In romance, chastity is sanctioned in the interests of preserving and replicating the elite, patriarchal society of the Hellenistic cities. In the apocryphal Acts, however, the apostles preach sexual continence for the sake of spiritual purity. The Christian version of chastity disrupts the bonds of marriage provoking persecution at the hands of distraught husbands or lovers. The rejection of contemporary social structures in favor of a new ideal is a central feature of Christianity as it is represented in these texts. Apuleius’ Metamorphoses works from different motives and employs different devices, but it rings a similar change on the conventions of both romance literature and Roman society through parody. Properly locating the romances as an intertext allows the full religious and social significance of the themes of marriage, chastity, and death in the apocryphal Acts to emerge. Richard Valantasis shows that the nuptial chamber scene in Acts of Thomas 11–15 has three different cultural intertexts. The figure of Jesus relates the ritual to theological speculation on immutability. The bride’s response invokes current cultural associations with heavenly marriage. The groom’s response correlates the scene to systems of male formation aimed at union with the divine figure. Each of these discourses “revisits” the nuptial chamber with distinct intertextual connections. Ritual, rather than reading, is the context for invoking cultural intertexts. The important point that intertextuality is operative even when the “texts” are not all written is reinforced in David Cartlidge’s treatment of a medieval manuscript illustration. He shows how the apocryphal Acts contributed to the general text of European Christianity through nonliterary channels. A narrative scene drawn from the Acts of John is inserted visually into a text which has no other direct connection to the apocryphal Acts. The image is probably meant to reinforce the value of chastity among nuns. The final section of the essay brings this volume full circle by showing how a pictorial document from a later age can aid the reconstruction of the text of the Acts of John. The interests of the Seminar represented in this volume overlap with those of many other biblical scholars. With this volume we hope to continue a dialogue not only with others using the term intertextuality but also with those working on orality and textuality, rhetoric, education, and social formation in the context of biblical studies. The Christian apocrypha have proven to be rich resources for understanding developments in early Christianity including the reception of biblical texts and the relationship of Christianity to the larger social world. More nuanced considerations of the composition and use of texts in interaction with oral tradition and the general text of the culture should lead to further refinements of those insights. We have found that the discovery of the multifaceted relationships existing among texts, traditions, and social structures has to be made over

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and over, even by those who are old hands at source-, form-, and redactioncriticism. That experience gives us reason to believe that this volume will prove useful to those working on analogous texts, including those of the New Testament. We make no claims to be normative, but the kind of work represented here aims at a more adequate understanding and appreciation of the apocryphal Acts, both individually and as a group, through subjecting them to the interconnected set of questions raised when they are viewed in intertextual perspectives.

WORKS CONSULTED Bovon, François and Pierre Geoltrain, eds. 1997 Ecrits apocryphes chrétiens. Bibliotheque de la Pléiade. Paris: Gallimard Desreumaux, Alain and Enrico Norelli, eds. 1993–96 Apocryphes: Collections de poche de l’AELAC. Turnhout: Brepols. Elliot, James Keith, ed. 1993 The Apocryphal New Testament: A Collection of Apocryphal Christian Literature in English Translation. Oxford: Clarendon. Genette, Gérard 1982 Palimpsestes: La littérature au second degré. Paris: Seuil. Hills, Julian V. 1994 “The Acts of the Apostles in the Acts of Paul.” SBLSP 33: 24–54. Junod, Eric and Jean-Daniel Kaestli 1983 Acta Ioannis. CChrSA 1. Turnhout: Brepols. Kerford, George B. 1981 The Sophistic Movement. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. MacDonald, Dennis R. 1990 The Acts of Andrew and the Acts of Andrew and Matthias in the City of the Cannibals. SBLTT 33, Christian Apocrypha 1. Atlanta: Scholars. MacDonald, Dennis R., ed. 1986 The Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles. Semeia 38. Pervo, Richard I. 1995 “A Hard Act to Follow: The Acts of Paul and the Canonical Acts.” Journal of Higher Criticism 2/2:3–32. Pfeiffer, Rudolf 1968 History of Classical Scholarship: From the Beginnings to the End of the Hellenistic Age. Oxford: Clarendon.

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Prieur, Jean-Marc 1989 Acta Andreae. CChrSA 5–6. Turnhout: Brepols. Schneemelcher, Wilhelm, ed. 1992 New Testament Apocrypha: Revised Edition of the Collection Initiated by Edgar Hennecke. 2 vols. Trans. R. McL. Wilson. Louisville: Westminster/ John Knox.

WHICH CAME FIRST? INTERTEXTUAL RELATIONSHIPS AMONG THE APOCRYPHAL ACTS OF THE APOSTLES Dennis R. MacDonald Claremont School of Theology

abstract The study of intertextual relationships in the earliest apocryphal Acts of the Apostles should be grounded as far as possible in a clear understanding of their inter-relationships as written texts. Close attention to the language of the apocryphal Acts reveals a significant degree of verbal overlap. The synoptic study of parallel passages shows that the intertextual relationship is most often one of literary dependence. This study develops a set of criteria by which the direction of literary dependence can be established and then applies those criteria to resolve the chronological relationships among the three earliest of the apocryphal Acts: the Acts of Paul, the Acts of Peter and the Acts of John. The Acts of Paul appears to be a literary source for both the Acts of Peter and the Acts of John. The Acts of Peter may also have been used by the author of the Acts of John. Thus, the intertextual relationships establish the chronological priority of the Acts of Paul. The final part of this paper seeks to clarify the intertextual relationships among the remaining early Acts by focusing on the Acts of Andrew, especially its use by the Acts of Thomas.

The vastly improved editions of the apocryphal Acts of the Apostles published in the past decade make it possible to see ever more clearly the complexity of the literary interdependence among the earliest Acts. As yet there is no dominant model for explaining the intertextuality of the synoptic Acts, but a consensus seems slowly to be emerging concerning several lines of dependence. It is generally agreed that the Acts of Thomas, the latest of the soidisant “Leucian Acts,” betrays reliance on the Acts of Peter, the Acts of John, and the Acts of Andrew. The Acts of Andrew in turn seems to rely on the Acts of Peter and probably the Acts of John. Some interconnection exists between the Acts of Peter and the Acts of Paul, although scholars dispute which of these came first. This minimal assessment allows for the following skeletal alignment which would satisfy most specialists. Acts of Paul

Acts of Peter

Acts of Andrew Acts of Thomas

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Acts of John

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The aim of this paper is to refine this stemma by arguing that the Acts of Peter shows signs of dependence on the Acts of Paul and that the Acts of John show signs of dependence on both the Acts of Paul and the Acts of Peter. In the second part of the paper I will clarify the relationship of the Acts of Andrew to these early Acts and to later Acts, especially the Acts of Thomas. By now it should come as no surprise that intertextual study of the apocryphal Acts is humbugged by the fragmentary nature of most of the Acts, and, as Christine Thomas loves to remind us, the fragments we do have often are fragments of free recensions with only remote relationships to the originals, if indeed one can speak of originals at all.1 Despite our interests in writing in the indicative, we all know that, in light of the fragile nature of these texts, our work should be cast in the subjunctive. Furthermore, we usually read the works of other scholars as though they should have written in the optative. This said, I would insist that careful textual comparisons of these witnesses not only are possible but indispensable if we are to understand the role of intertextuality among the apocryphal Acts. At times the contents of two or more of these Acts reflect each other so closely that one can place them in parallel columns as one would the Synoptic Gospels. In order to determine the intertextual connections among these Acts, I have isolated the passages they have in common that cannot be explained as coincidence, as reliance on other texts, or as evidence of popular traditions or compositional commonplace. These texts will appear below in parallel columns to facilitate comparison.2 Demonstrating literary connection between two texts is one thing; determining the direction of that dependence quite another, as those familiar with the debates concerning the intertextual relations among the Synoptic Gospels can attest. My analysis of the literary relationships among the apocryphal Acts employs the following criteria for establishing the direction of dependence: 1. The criterion of generative external traditions. When parallel passages exist, one of them may display reliance on antecedent literature or on oral tradition which may sufficiently account for its genesis, voiding the necessity of positing reliance on the other Acts. If the parallel in the other Acts shows no such reliance on external tradition, it may well have derived from the Acts that did. 1 See, for instance, her contribution to this volume. 2 For the most part, I follow the translation of the Acts of Paul by Schneemelcher and Kasser. For the other apocryphal Acts I use the translations prepared for the forthcoming Polebridge collection of New Testament Apocrypha: the Acts of John by Richard Pervo; the Acts of Peter by Robert Stoops; the Acts of Thomas by Harold Attridge; and the Acts of Andrew by myself, which can also be found in my 1990 edition of the Acts of Andrew.

macdonald: which came first?

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2. The criterion of internal consistency. Frequently two Acts share episodes that must be genetically related, but neither of them can be traced to external traditions. In such cases, one can at times determine which is the earlier by assessing which provides the episode its more native environment. This assessment may be based on motifs, characterizations, plot sequence, even vocabulary. Conversely, one can often detect scars caused by an author artlessly grafting foreign materials into the story from the other Acts. 3. The criterion of secondary improvement. Sometimes one of the texts seems to repair its parallel in the other Acts. For example, one document may contain a theologically objectionable concept which becomes more palatable in the other. Often, one of the two Acts presents an apostle in a less favorable light than the other. Insofar as tradition generally improved apostolic public relations, in such cases one can rather confidently monitor the direction of dependence. These three criteria, although not exhaustive, suffice for mapping the intertextual connections among the earliest apocryphal Acts. In the parallels that follow, square brackets ([]) isolate parallels that appear in a different order from the other materials in that column. In order to assist the reader, the most obvious parallels are highlighted. The three Acts at the top of the diagram above, those of Paul, Peter, and John, each have claims on being the earliest. Each of them relies on independent, early traditions about the apostles, and each finds probable external attestation around the end of the second century. Furthermore, each shares with the other two Acts content apparently caused by intertextual borrowing. Understanding the details and direction of their dependence is important to understanding the origins and development of the apocryphal Acts collectively. Analysis of selected “synoptic” passages according to the criteria outlined above can, I believe, resolve the question of priority. The ACTS OF PAUL and the ACTS OF PETER: Which Came First? Carl Schmidt, a pioneer in the modern study of the Acts of Paul, saw evidence of literary interplay between it and the Acts of Peter. At first (1904), he thought Paul’s Acts was the earlier; later, he reversed himself and succeeded in convincing nearly all subsequent interpreters to view Peter’s Acts as the more primitive (1936). I will argue that Schmidt should have followed his original intuitions. The points of contact between the Acts of Paul and the Acts of Peter appear primarily in the voyages of the apostles to Rome and in their martyrdoms.

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The Voyages of Paul and Peter The voyage of Peter to Rome survives in a single manuscript of a third or fourth century Latin translation (Actus Vercellenses). The voyage of Paul now exists primarily in a single tattered Greek manuscript (Pap. Hamburg). Despite these textual problems, one can see at once that the two voyages are literarily related. According to the Acts of Paul, the apostle disclosed to the church in Corinth that he soon would depart for Rome. This scene of departure parallels two passages at the beginning of the Acts of Peter: Paul’s departure from Rome for Spain, and Peter’s departure from Jerusalem for Rome. Acts of Paul 9 (Pap. Hamburg 6–7) the days were ended (and the time drew near) for Paul to depart for Rome, grief came upon the brethren as to when they should see him again. (Cf. Acts 20:36) . . . Then Cleobius was filled with the Spirit and said: “Brethren now must Paul fulfill all his assignment, and go up to the of death . . . and depart out of this world.” [They were greatly distressed when they heard this.]

. . . But since Paul was cut to the heart and no longer fasted with them, when an offering (prosfora`~) was celebrated by Paul [. . . and all the brethren contributed according to their ability so that Paul might not be troubled.]

Acts of Peter 1–4 When Paul was about to leave, there was great weeping throughout the whole fellowship because they believed they would not see Paul again. . . . [T]here came a sound from heaven and a loud voice saying, “Paul, the servant of God, is chosen for service during his lifetime. By the hand of Nero, an impious and evil man, he will be killed before your eyes.” Again great fear came over the brethren because of the voice that came from heaven and many were confirmed. They brought Paul bread and water for sacrifice (sacrificium) so that after prayers he should distribute (them) to each one. . . . They put whatever was necessary in the ship and gave him two youths who would sail with him.

A few pages after it sends Paul off to Spain, the Acts of Peter sends Peter from Jerusalem to Rome. This second voyage parallels the continuation of Paul’s departure for Rome in the Acts of Paul.

macdonald: which came first? Acts of Paul 9–10 (Pap. Hamburg 7) On the following day, after they had spent the whole night according to the will of God, Paul said, “Brethren, I shall set out on the day of preparation and sail for Rome that I may not delay what is ordained and laid upon me.” . . . As he embarked on the ship, while all prayed, Artemon the captain (kubernhvth~) was there. He had been baptized by Peter.

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Acts of Peter 5 Peter, admonished by this vision, reported it to brethren without delay, saying, “I must go up to Rome to defeat the foe and enemy of our Lord.” . . . [H]e embarked on a ship, that already had its gangway drawn up. The captain (gubernius) named Theon looked for Peter.

The Acts of Paul mentions Artemon’s baptism by Peter in passing, whereas the Acts of Peter narrates the baptism of captain Theon in detail. Theon converted because he received a vision that partially parallels Paul’s vision of Jesus walking to him on water. Acts of Paul 10 (Pap. Hamburg 7) . . . [W]hen they were upon the open sea, and it was quiet,

Paul fell asleep, fatigued by the fastings and night watches of the brethren. And the Lord came to me walking on the sea, and he nudged Paul and said. . . .

Acts of Peter 5 . . . [B]ut he [Peter] fasted during the voyage. . . . [Theon speaks:] “During the night while the ship was under my watch I fell asleep and I had a vision. A human voice was speaking to me from heaven . . . and said to me. . . .”

Because of this vision, Theon converted and was baptized by Peter. Paul’s ensuing conversation with Jesus in the Acts of Paul is the famous quo vadis which also appears in the Acts of Peter just prior to Peter’s martyrdom. In both Acts, Jesus appears to the apostle, who asks his Lord where he is going; in both Jesus states that he is about to be crucified again, this time vicariously through the death of the apostle. Acts of Paul 10 (Pap. Hamburg 7) [Paul is sailing to Rome] And the Lord (kuvrio~) came to him, walking upon the sea, and he nudged Paul and said: “Stand up and see (eijdevv)!” And he awakening said (ei\pen), “Thou art my Lord (kuvrio~) Jesus Christ, the king .

Acts of Peter 35 As he went out through the gate, he saw (ei\den) the Lord (kuvrion) coming into Rome. Upon seeing (ijdwvn) him, he said (ei\pen), “Lord (kuvrie),

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semeia But why so gloomy and downcast, Lord (kuvrie)? And if thou Lord (kuvrie), for I am not a little distressed that thou art so.” Lord (kuvrio~) said (ei\pen): “Paul, I am about to be crucified afresh (a[nwqen . . . staurou`sqai).” And Paul said (kai; ei\pen Pau`lo~): “God forbid, Lord (kuvrie) that I should see this!” But the Lord said (ei\pe) to Paul: “Paul

get thee up, go to Rome (eij~ th;n ÔRwvmhn) and admonish the brethren. . . .” Paul went with great sadness.

why are you here?”

The Lord (kuvrio~) said (ei\pen) to him: “I am going into Rome to be crucified.” (staurwqh`nai) Peter said (kai; oJ Pevtro~ ei\pen) to him: “Lord (kuvrie), are you to be crucified again (pavlin staurou`sai)?” He said (ei\pen) to him: “Yes, Peter, I am to be crucified again (pavlin staurou`mai).” After Peter came to himself and saw the Lord returning to heaven, he turned back into Rome (eij~ th;n ÔRwvmhn) rejoicing and glorifying the Lord, because he himself had said to him: “I am to be crucified,” which was going to happen to Peter.

Jesus guided Paul’s ship to port in the Acts of Paul; after Peter had baptized Theon, God sped the ship to Puteoli with a stiff breeze in the Acts of Peter. When the ships arrived in Italy, each captain (Artemon and Theon) introduced their friends (Claudius and Ariston) to the apostles (Paul and Peter).

Acts of Paul 10 (Pap. Hamburg 8) . . . [H]e (Artemon) said to him: “Claudius, <see here Paul> the beloved of the Lord, who is with me.”

Acts of Peter 6 . . . [H]e (Theon) said to him (Ariston): “The God who has considered you worthy to serve him has also given me his gift by the hands of his holy servant Peter, who sailed with me from Judea because he was commanded to come to Italy by our Lord.” When Ariston heard this, he threw himself on Theon’s neck.

macdonald: which came first? Claudius embraced Paul and greeted him.

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Embracing him, he asked Theon to lead him to the ship to show Peter to him.

Both Paul and Peter then continued their journeys to Rome. Acts of Paul 11 (Martyrdom 1) The news was spread abroad, and many souls were added to the Lord, so that there was a rumor throughout Rome,

and a great number of believers came to him.

Acts of Peter 7

The report flew around the city to the scattered brethren that Peter the disciple of the Lord had come on account of Simon. . . . The whole multitude ran together in order to see the Lord’s apostle.

Scholars who hold to the priority of the Acts of Peter invariably cite as their best evidence the quo vadis scenes. Like lemmings marching to the sea, commentators have repeated Carl Schmidt’s observation that Jesus’ statement in the quo vadis more naturally applies to the crucifixion of Peter than to the beheading of Paul. But surely it is possible to take this reference to crucifixion metaphorically as martyrdom. Perhaps the author of the Acts of Paul, who obviously knew several of Paul’s epistles, had in mind the apostle’s desire to die a death like Jesus’: “I want to know Christ and the power of his resurrection and the sharing of his sufferings by becoming like him in his death” (summorfizovmeno~ tw`/ qanavtw/ aujtou`; Phil 3:10). Paul also claimed to have been crucified with Christ (Gal 2:19: Cristw`/ sunestauvrwmai; and Rom 6:6: sunestaurwvqh; cf. Gal 5:24). According to the pseudo-Pauline author of Colossians, Paul wrote: “I am now rejoicing in my sufferings for your sake, and in my flesh I am completing what is lacking in Christ’s afflictions” (1:24). Such sentiments might easily have inspired the author of the Acts of Paul to compose his quo vadis scene. Furthermore, the author of the Acts of Peter, having read the metaphor of Jesus’ being crucified again in the Acts of Paul, may have used it to anticipate Peter’s cross. In favor of this interpretation is the drastic improvement in apostolic intelligence and disposition in the Acts of Peter. Paul, none too swift with tropes, did not understand that it was he who was to die. He requested not to see Jesus’ recrucifixion and went away sorrowful—not because he was about to perish, but because his Lord was. Peter caught on to Jesus’ meaning at once and was thrilled: “he turned back into Rome, rejoicing and glorifying the Lord, because he himself had said to him, ‘I am to be crucified.’” Peter’s macabre but enlightened euphoria surely is secondary to Paul’s more appropriate but thickheaded depression.

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Furthermore, one can understand why the quo vadis scene would have been omitted from the voyage and placed later in the Acts of Peter. The prediction of the death of the apostle more naturally belongs in the context of the apostle’s martyrdom. Insofar as Paul’s voyage immediately precedes his martyrdom, the quo vadis is altogether appropriate there. Peter’s voyage, on the other hand, does not conclude his ministry but initiates it. A prediction of his death so early in the narrative might seem premature, so the author lifted it out of the voyage, replaced it with the baptism of Theon—inspired to do so perhaps by the reference to Artemon’s baptism by Peter in the Acts of Paul— and used the quo vadis later, just prior to Peter’s martyrdom where it rightly belongs. Even more telling are the draconian measures needed in the Acts of Peter for inserting the episode into the martyrdom. In the Acts of Paul, Jesus appears to Paul while the apostle sails for Rome. But in the Acts of Peter, the apostle already is in Rome, so the author needs to get the apostle out of town in order to meet the ambulating Jesus who will inspire him to return. The author decided to make the apostle leave town on a tip that Agrippa was looking for him, but he or she then risked depicting Peter as a coward. The following torturous transition does the trick by getting the apostle on the run without tarnishing his heroism. Xanthippe learned of her husband’s conspiracy with Agrippa. She sent to Peter and told him so that he should leave Rome. The rest of the brethren, along with Marcellus, asked him to depart. Peter, however, said to them: “Shall we run away brethren?” They answered, “No, but so that you will still be able to serve the Lord.” Having been persuaded by the brethren, he departed alone, saying, “Let none of you leave with me! Rather, I will go alone, after I have changed my appearance” (35).

The Greek word drapeteuvwmen, translated here “shall we run away,” is a military expression for desertion. It is extremely rare in early Christian writings; in fact, neither drapeteuvw nor its cognates appear in the New Testament, the Apostolic Fathers, or other apocryphal Acts—with one exception: the martyrdom of Paul in the Acts of Paul. When a prefect and a centurion tell Paul they are willing to help him escape, he replied, “I am no deserter (drapevth~) from Christ, but a lawful soldier of the living God.” In light of the consistent use of military imagery of Paul’s martyrdom (see below, the discussion of the martyrdoms), it seems to be the more native environment for a reference to desertion. The Martyrdoms of Paul and Peter Both apostles were arrested and brought before Roman authorities who condemned them to die:

macdonald: which came first? Acts of Paul 11 (Martyrdom 3) . . . Paul also was brought bound. . . . When Caesar heard this, he commanded (ejkevleusen) all the prisoners to be burned with fire and Paul to be beheaded according to the law of the Romans.

Acts of Peter 36 . . . four soldiers arrested him and took him to Agrippa, who, because of his sickness, commanded (ejkevleusen) that he be crucified on the charge of godlessness.

After these judgments, people in both Acts protest the verdict. Acts of Paul 11 (Martyrdom 3) . . . the Romans (ÔRwmaivou~) took their stand at the palace and cried (boh`sai): “It is enough, Caesar! for these men are ours (viz. Romans). Thou dost destroy the power of the Romans!” (ÔRwmaivwn).

Acts of Peter 36 . . . the people called out (ejkbowvntwn) incessantly with a single voice: “What injustice has Peter done, Agrippa? What evil has he done to you? Tell the Romans (ÔRwmaivoi~), lest this man die and the Lord destroy us!”

Both apostles are led off to execution anyhow. Acts of Paul 11 (Martyrdom 5) Then Paul stood (staqeiv~) with his face to the east, and lifting up his hands to heaven prayed at length.

Acts of Peter 37 When he approached and stood by (parastavnto~) it, he began to speak. . . .

After prayer, both apostles die. Acts of Paul 11 (Martyrdom 5) . . . and after communing in prayer in Hebrew with the fathers he stretched out his neck without speaking further. But when the executioner struck off his head, milk (gavla) spurted upon the soldier’s clothing. And when they saw (ijdovnte~) it, the soldier and all who stood by (parestw`te~) were amazed, and glorified God who had given Paul such glory. And they went off and reported to Caesar what had happened.

Acts of Peter 40 [Peter prayed.] The multitude standing by (parestov~) pronounced the “Amen” with a great resounding noise. Together with that “Amen,” Peter gave his spirit over to the Lord. When Marcellus saw (ijdwvn) that blessed Peter had breathed his last, he took him down from the cross with his own hands. . . . He washed (him) in milk (gavlakti) and wine. . . .

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Marcellus gave Peter’s body an appropriate burial; the Acts of Paul says nothing concerning the disposition of apostolic remains. In both Acts, the apostle returns from death to strengthen someone’s faith: Paul appears to the prefect Longus and the centurion Cestus; Peter to the plutocrat Marcellus. Furthermore, in both Acts a character comes to Nero with a warning: Paul’s ghost and “someone.” Acts of Paul 11 (Martyrdom 6) Then Paul came about the ninth hour, when many philosophers and the centurion were standing with Caesar, and he stood before them all and said: “Caesar, here I am—Paul, God’s soldier. I am not dead, but alive in my God. But for thee, unhappy man, there shall be many evils and great punishment, because thou didst unjustly shed the blood of the righteous, and that not many days hence.” . . . But when Nero heard (it) he was greatly troubled, and commanded the prisoners to be set free.

Acts of Peter 41 One night he saw someone scourging him and saying, “Nero,

you cannot persecute or destroy the servants of Christ. Keep your hands off them!” Nero became very frightened as a result of this vision, and he left the disciples alone.

The two martyrdoms end like this: Acts of Paul 11 (Martyrdom 7) And when Titus and Luke heard this from them, with great joy (eujfrosuvnh~) they gave them the seal in the Lord (ejn kurivw/) glorifying the God and father, of our Lord Jesus Christ unto whom be the glory for ever and ever. Amen (doxavzonte~ to;n qeo;n kai; patevra tou` kurivou hJmw`n ∆Ihsou` Cristou`, w/| hJ dovxa eij~ tou;~ aijwn` a~ tw`n aijwnv wn. ajmhvn).

Acts of Peter 41 Thereafter, the brethren continued rejoicing (eujfrainovmenoi) in unison and delighting in the Lord (ejn kurivw/), glorifying the God and Savior of our Lord Jesus Christ with the Holy Spirit, to whom be glory for ever and ever. Amen (doxavzonte~ to;n qeo;n kai; swth`ra tou` kurivou hJmw`n ∆Ihsou` Cristou`, su;n aJgivw/ pneuvmati, w/| hJ dovxa eij~ tou;~ aijwn` a~ tw`n aijwnv wn. ajmhvn).

The martyrdom of Paul satisfies our criterion of generative external traditions insofar as it owes its inspiration not to the Acts of Peter but to the story of Eutychus in Acts 20:9–12 and especially to oral traditions about

macdonald: which came first?

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Paul’s death. At the beginning of the martyrdom of Paul, as in Acts 20, Paul is preaching to a group of believers gathered at a large building. In both stories young men perch on window sills and fall to their deaths. Acts 20:9 A young man named Eutychus (. . . dev ti~ neaniva~ ojnovmati Eu[tuco~) who was sitting in the window (kaqezovmeno~ ejpi; th`~ qurivdo~) began to sink off into a deep sleep while Paul talked still longer. Overcome by sleep, he fell to the ground three floors below (e[pesen ajpo; tou` tristevgou) and was picked up dead.

Acts of Paul 11 (Martyrdom 1) But Caesar’s cupbearer, named Patroclus (kaiv ti~ oijnocovo~ tou` kaivsaro~ ojnovmati Pavtroklo~)…sat at a high window (ejpi; qurivdo~ kaqesqei;~ uJyhlh`~) and listened to him teaching the word of God. But since the wicked devil was envious of the love of the brethren, Patroclus fell from the window (e[pesen ajpo; th`~ qurivdo~) and died.

In both stories people descend before Paul does and lift up the corpse (Acts 20:9: h[rqh; Acts of Paul: a[rante~). Paul gives short speeches in both Acts, the lads are healed, and others lead them away alive (Acts 20:12: h[gagon de; to;n pai`da zw`nta; Acts of Paul: ajpevpemyan zw`nta). The author of the Acts of Paul apparently fashioned his Patroclus after Luke’s Eutychus. The martyrdom story itself seems to have been crafted from orally transmitted tales of Paul’s death, which seem to have been well-known. Clement of Rome (1 Clem 5.5–7) and Ignatius (Ephesians 12:12) imply that the fact of Paul’s execution was Christian commonplace, but all one learns of the tragic circumstances is that Paul was executed by the empire. Additional evidence of an orally transmitted Pauline martyrdom may survive in an oblique reference to the daughters of Philip who told their bishop Papias of Hierapolis the story of a certain Barsabas Justus who miraculously escaped the effects of poisoned potion (Eusebius Eccl. Hist. 3.39.9). A Barsabas Justus appears in Acts 1:23 but also in the martyrdom of the Acts of Paul, which, like the daughters of Philip, seems to know of Barsabas Justus rescued from mortal danger. The text in question appears here in extenso in order to illustrate the author’s consistent use of political and military metaphors which will contrast with what one finds in the Acts of Peter. Nero speaks to Patroclus: “So he is to be king of the ages, and destroy all the kingdoms?” Patroclus said to him: “Yes, all the kingdoms under heaven he destroys, and he alone shall be forever, and there shall be no kingdom which shall escape him.” But he struck him on the face and said: “Patroclus, dost thou also serve in that king’s army?” And he said: “Yes, lord Caesar, for indeed he raised me up when I was dead.” And Barsabas Justus of the flat feet, and Urion the Cappadocian, and Festus

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semeia the Galatian, Nero’s chief men, said: “We also are in the army of the king of the ages.” But he shut them up in prison, after torturing dreadfully men whom he greatly loved, and commanded that the soldiers of the great king be sought out, and he issued a decree to this effect, that all who were found to be Christians and soldiers of Christ should be put to death. And among the many Paul also was brought bound; to him all his fellow-prisoners gave heed, so that Caesar observed that he was the man in command. And he said to him: “Man of the great king, but (now) my prisoner, why did it seem good to thee to come secretly into the empire of the Romans and enlist soldiers from my province?” But Paul, filled with the Holy Spirit, said before them all: “Caesar, not only from thy province do we enlist soldiers, but from the whole world. For this charge has been laid upon us, that no man be excluded who wishes to serve my king. If thou also think it good, do him service! For neither riches nor the splendor of this present life will save thee, but if thou submit and entreat him, then shalt thou be saved. For in one day he will destroy the world with fire.”

Later Nero reverses his policy of violence against Christians and releases Barsabas Justus and friends. The Acts does not disclose by what good fortune Barsabas Justus was spared when others were killed, but the story told by the daughters of Philip would provide an ideal explanation: Nero compelled him to drink poison, a standard punishment for traitors, but God prevented the poison from harming his soldier (MacDonald, 1983:23–24, 32–33, 61–62, and 66–68). The probable dependence of the Acts of Paul on the Eutychus story in Acts 20:7–12 and on traditional tales of Paul’s martyrdom makes it unnecessary to appeal to the Acts of Peter to account for its inspiration. The martyrdom in the Acts of Peter is a different matter altogether. The apostle dies not from suspicions of sedition but from the frustrated libidos of powerful Romans. When four concubines of “the prefect Agrippa” and Albinus’s wife Xanthippe convert to celibacy, the men plot to kill Peter. L’Amour leads to la mort. A few political and military metaphors survive from the Acts of Paul, but merely as clichés. This motif of the vindictive, jilted spouse appears nowhere else in the Acts of Peter but it typifies the Acts of Paul, especially the stories of Thecla and Artemilla, which in turn probably came from oral tradition. External evidence of oral traditions behind the passion of the Acts of Peter has not yet been demonstrated. Indeed, the little one learns about Peter’s martyrdom from external sources suggests rather that Peter, like Paul, died at the hands of Nero, not by his over-sexed and under-satisfied underlings. It therefore would appear that the author of the Acts of Peter stole from Paul to pay Peter, preferring an anti-romantic explanation of the apostle’s death to the anti-Roman one in the Acts of Paul. Our evidence for such dependence does not end with the deaths of the apostles but continues in their post-mortem appearances to Nero. Paul’s appearance to the emperor in the Acts of Paul makes good narrative sense,

macdonald: which came first?

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insofar as Nero had ordered his execution. In the Acts of Peter, on the other hand, the emperor was curiously absent. Problem: How might the author introduce Nero into the narrative in order to merit a nocturnal visit? Answer: the author devised the following lame explanation which again betrays reliance on the Acts of Paul. Later, when Nero learned that Peter had departed from life, he reproached the prefect Agrippa because Peter had been killed without his permission. He had wanted to punish him more severely and to exact greater vengeance, because Peter had caused some of his close companions to separate from him by making them disciples. He remained so angry that for a long time he would not even speak to Agrippa, and he sought to destroy all of the brothers and sisters who had been made disciples by Peter.

The author obviously has botched up the narrative chronology. In the first place, he or she uses an awkward back-reference to inform the reader that earlier “Peter had made disciples of some of his [Nero’s] servants and caused them to leave him.” The Acts of Paul, however, placed the conversion and desertion of Nero’s servants quite appropriately prior to Paul’s arrest; indeed, their conversion was the reason for his execution. Second, the author of Peter’s Acts also used a back-reference to explain that Nero himself earlier had “sought to destroy all those brethren who had been made disciples by Peter.” Again, a parallel passage appears in the Acts of Paul, but before the arrest, where it ought to be. Acts of Paul 11 (Martyrdom 2) And he commanded that the soldiers of the great king be sought out (zhtei`sqai), and he issued a decree to this effect, that all who were found to be Christians (pavnta~ tou;~ euJriskomevnou~ Cristianouv~) and soldiers of Christ should be put to death (ajnairei`sqai).

Acts of Peter 41 he sought (ejzhvtei) to destroy (ajpolevsai) all of the brothers and sisters who had been made disciples by Peter (pavnta~ tou;~ uJpo; tou` Pevtrou maqhteuqevnta~ ajdelfouv~).

These chronological dislocations in the Acts of Peter derive from a desire to make Nero culpable for Peter’s crucifixion in order to set the scene for his rebuke by the heavenly “someone.” As we have seen, in the Acts of Paul Paul himself comes back from the grave to confront Nero. The author of the Acts of Peter, apparently wary of identifying the apostle too closely with the death and resurrection of Jesus, recoiled from having the risen Peter himself return to haunt the emperor. The benedictions at the end of the two martyrdoms are nearly identical, except for the phrase “with the Holy Spirit” in the Acts of Peter. If the texts of

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these two benedictions were native to their Acts, the one in the Acts of Paul is the more original. The author of the Acts of Paul would have had no reason for omitting the Holy Spirit if copying the Acts of Peter. On the other hand, one can easily imagine the author of the Acts of Peter discovering a reference to God and Christ in the Acts of Paul and prodding his or her pen to triangulate the Godhead. In conclusion, it is also worth noting that the author of the Acts of Peter twice referred to Paul’s ministry and imprisonment in Rome. At the beginning of the Acts, Paul leaves for Spain and will return later to die. Again at the end, the Acts of Peter states that Marcellus kept progressing in the faith “until the coming of Paul to Rome.” On the other hand, the Acts of Paul knows nothing of Peter at the imperial capital. It therefore would appear that the author of the Acts of Peter borrowed from the Acts of Paul. The ACTS OF PAUL and the ACTS OF JOHN: Which Came First? Eric Junod and Jean-Daniel Kaestli champion the priority of the Acts of John.3 They base their judgment primarily on the motif of Jesus’ polymorphism, his post-resurrection appearances in various guises (694–700). The Acts of John and the Acts of Paul contain similar stories involving polymorphism; the Acts of John and the Acts of Peter contain similar discourses on Jesus’ protean presence. Thus Junod and Kaestli ask: Did the Acts of John borrow from the Acts of Peter the notion of a discourse on polymorphism by the Lord and from the Acts of Paul . . . the idea of a scénario romanesque? Or rather was it the origin of this double usage of polymorphism? The question is open. We obviously incline toward the second possibility. Of all the Acts, our text (viz. Acts of John) is the one that demonstrates, far and away, the most concern in using and in underlining the theological importance of this motif. (699)

The Acts of John unquestionably gives more significance to Jesus’ polymorphism than the Acts of Peter or the Acts of Paul, but this of itself is no guarantee that John’s Acts came first. One could also argue that the seeds of polymorphism planted already in the other Acts here came to full bloom. One must determine the direction of intertextual dependence by comparing all of the passages they have in common, not just those concerning polymorphism. Unfortunately, textual disrepair impedes comparison. Both the Acts of Paul and the Acts of John narrate the destruction of a pagan temple. The text of

3 “We are convinced . . . that the peculiar christology of our text, its silence with regard to Scripture, and its distance from the institution and rites of the church plead for a dating as early as possible” (695).

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the Acts of John is secure, but the parallel passage in the Acts of Paul now exists only in a badly damaged Coptic manuscript (Pap. Heidelberg). Both apostles, accompanied by other believers, debate religion with pagans in a temple: Paul in the temple of Apollo of the Sidonians; John in that of Artemis of the Ephesians. Both apostles state that their God is more powerful than the god of the shrine, and both threaten their audiences with destruction. Both apostles then pray, and after their prayers, one half of each temple collapses. Acts of Paul 5 (Pap. Heidelberg 37) [Someone says:] “Apollo the god of the Sidonians is fallen [viz. his statue fell]

and half of his temple!” (tpev=e mpefrpeei).

Acts of John 42 At those very words the altar of Artemis immediately shattered into fragments, and all the dedicatory objects in the temple suddenly pitched to the ground, more than seven statues were split and their bows broken. A good half of the shrine collapsed (to; tou` naou` h{misu katevpesen).

In the Acts of Paul the crowds respond with grief and fear; in the Acts of John they convert on the spot. If more of the text of the Acts of Paul had survived, one might be able to assess with confidence which Acts relied on the other, but even from the little that survives, the nod for priority must go to the Acts of Paul. Both stories of the destruction of the temple speak of half of the temple collapsing, but only in Paul’s Acts can one understand why only one half was destroyed: believers had been incarcerated in the half left standing. In another parallel episode it is the text of the Acts of John that fails us. A large gap exists between chapters 36 and 87,4 in which a woman named Drusiana converted and thereafter repelled the sexual advances of her husband Andronicus. According to chapter 63, he “enclosed her in a tomb, asserting, ‘Either be to me the wife you once were, or die!’” In fact, she preferred to die (cf. Allberry: 143.11–12, 192.32–193.1). Eventually and miraculously, Drusiana escaped from the tomb and Andronicus converted. Even though the episode of Drusiana in the tomb no longer exists, she herself indicates, after the fact, what happened while she was there. Here the story overlaps with motifs from the Artemilla story of the Acts of Paul. Acts of Paul 7 (Pap. Hamburg 3) [T]he matron left and the blessed Paul with [. . .] darkness. . . . A youth (neanivskoı) similar to [. . .] of Paul.

Acts of John 87 The Lord appeared to me when I was in the tomb. He resembled John and resembled a youth (neanivskoı).

4 Chapters 37–86 exist, but they belong elsewhere in the Acts.

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Both passages pertain to women in a prison or a tomb. In the Acts of Paul a young man (neanivskoı) takes on the appearance of Paul; in the Acts of John it is Jesus who takes on the appearance of John and a young man (neanivskoı). Taken in isolation, these parallels prove little, insofar as this puer speciosus pops up frequently in early Christian literature. He appears again later in the Acts of John, but in this case, we are not dealing with an isolated motif but with extensive parallels between it and the story of Paul, Artemilla, and the baptized lion. Here at last the texts of the two Acts are sufficiently preserved to permit detailed comparison. Paul is shackled in an Ephesian jail where Artemilla and her friend Eubula come to him. In the Acts of John, Drusiana is in an Ephesian tomb— again!—this time dead. John and Andronicus come to the tomb wanting to get in, but they cannot find the key. Paul wants to get out of prison but he cannot unlock his chains. Despite these obstacles, neither apostle wants a locksmith. Acts of Paul 7 (Pap. Hamburg 3) The women said to Paul: “Do you want us to bring a smith, so that once freed you might baptize us in the sea?” Paul said (kai; ei\pen Pau`loı) “No, I do not want that, since I trust in God, who saved the whole world from chains.”

. . . As Paul was making his plea in this way, a very attractive boy (pai`ı livan eujeidh;ı ejn cavriti) came in and loosed Paul’s bonds, and with a smile (meidiavsantoı) the boy immediately withdrew.

Acts of John 72–73 When, despite a search that had begun at the outset, the keys could not be located, John said (oJ de; ∆Iwavnnhı ei\pe) to Andronicus, “They are quite likely lost because Drusiana is not in the tomb. Nevertheless, let us go ahead, so that you may not lapse. The doors will open on their own, just as the Lord has provided many other things for us.” When we reached the tomb, the doors came open at John’s command, and they saw an attractive smiling youth (tina eu[morfon neanivskon meidiw`nta) by Drusiana’s grave. . . . After saying this, the beautiful one ascended into the heavens as we looked on.

Later in both episodes the young man reappears, this time luminously. The passage from the Acts of John is spoken by a lad raised back to life.

macdonald: which came first? Acts of Paul 7 (Pap. Hamburg 3–4) A youth (neanivskoı) [similar. . .] of Paul, shining (faivn[wn]) not by a lamp (luvcnw/) but by the chastity of the body (ajpo; th`ı tou` swv[matoı aJgiw]suvn[h]ı) led them forth.

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Acts of John 76 “I . . . found an attractive young man (tina neanivskon eu[morfon) shielding her [Drusiana’s corpse) with his cloak. Rays of light (lamphdovneı fwtovı) leapt from his face (ajpo; th`ı o[yewı) onto hers.”

Later both women are raised from death. Acts of Paul 7 (Pap. Hamburg 4) Once again the youth smiled (meidiavsantoı tou` neanivskou), and the matron breathed again.

Acts of John 80 . . . John said, “Drusiana arise.” Then and there she arose and left the grave.

These two episodes share too much in common to attribute to happenstance or to oral tradition. Our task now is to assess which account borrowed from the other. The Acts of Paul seems to be the earlier. The women’s offer to fetch Paul a locksmith makes perfect sense in light of the apostle’s incarceration. Furthermore, Paul’s response fits their offer: if God delivered the whole world, God could deliver him from his chains. On the other hand, the entire business about the misplaced keys in the Acts of John taxes the reader’s credulity. John and Andronicus should have seen to the keys before going to the tomb. Worse is John’s theologizing: “They are quite likely lost because Drusiana is not in the tomb,” which surely means that God hid them in order to symbolize her soul’s departure. Undeterred by divine symbolism, John commanded the doors to open. The Acts of Paul, therefore, seems to have met the criterion of internal consistency insofar as the motifs it shares with the Acts of John appear in their more likely native environment. Furthermore, the beautiful young man plays a far more central role in the plot of the Acts of Paul than he does in the Acts of John. It was he, after all, who released Paul from his chains; his radiance allowed Paul and his entourage to travel to and from the sea at night without the need of a lamp, and it was he, not Paul, who raised Artemilla back to life. By comparison, the youth in the Acts of John was nearly unemployed. He had nothing to do with the opening of the doors to the tomb; John accomplished that with a word. The youth merely notified the apostle that he was there to help Drusiana. And big help he was! He covered her nakedness with his cloak. Like the young man in the Acts of Paul, he radiated light, but the light did not help anybody go anywhere or see anything, except for serendipitously illuminating the face of the

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corpse. Whereas the youth in the Acts of Paul raised Artemilla back to life, it was John who raised Drusiana. Surely it is more likely that divine power was shifted from the heavenly youth to the apostle in the Acts of John than that it was shifted from the apostle to the youth in the Acts of Paul. John’s Acts, demonstrating signs of secondary improvement, also meets the third of our criteria. Notice also that Artemilla plays a role similar to that played earlier by Thecla, whose story probably derived from oral tradition. Like Thecla, Artemilla refused to sleep with her would-be lover who then sought to destroy the apostle. Just as chaste Thecla had been thrown into an arena to face wild beasts, because of Artemilla’s chastity Paul was thrown into an arena to face a lion. The episode in the arena appropriates the oral tale of Androcles and the lion, an appropriation quite possibly made in Pauline circles prior to the Acts of Paul (MacDonald, 1983:17–33). Be that as it may, one might reasonably conjecture that the author found inspiration for the story of Artemilla, Paul, and the baptized lion from traditional stories. If this were indeed the case, one need not posit dependence also on the Acts of John. On the other hand, the absence of independent external attestation to Drusiana—let alone the complexity and sophisticated integration of her story in John’s Acts— makes it less likely that the author was dependent on a traditional legend. In other words, the Acts of Paul also satisfies our criterion of generative external traditions.

ACTS OF PETER and ACTS OF JOHN : Which Came First? At a few points these Acts contain similarities with each other that cannot have derived from a common dependence on the Acts of Paul, at least not on the Acts of Paul that now survives. Acts of Peter 20 and Acts of John 98 each contain speeches regarding Jesus’ polymorphism. Both speeches refer to the transfiguration story, but their distinctive wording demonstrates that they did not derive independently from the gospels; they are literarily related to each other. Both speeches mention Jesus’ ability to appear to people as enormous or small or old or embodied or disembodied. Both also discuss the paradox of a divine sufferer. Notice also the similarities between these two lists of predicates: Acts of Peter 20 as the door, light, way, bread, water, life, resurrection, refreshment, pearl, treasure, seed, abundance, mustard seed, vine, plow, grace, faith, word.

Acts of John 98 as word or mind or Christ or door or way or bread or seed or resurrection or son or father or spirit or life or truth or faith or grace.

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Of the fifteen predicates in the Acts of John nine appear also among the eighteen in the Acts of Peter, occasionally even in the same order. The speech in the Acts of John is much longer, expresses a more thoroughly philosophical docetism, and gives the impression of an expansion of the speech in the Acts of Peter. Furthermore, the transfiguration tradition is more indigenous to the Petrine tradition than the Johannine. The canonical Gospels stress the role of Peter, and 2 Peter appeals to the transfiguration in order to validate the truth of Peter’s preaching. From the parallels that follow, it would appear that the Acts of Peter was not inspired by the Acts of John but by Matthew 17:1–9 and 2 Peter 1:16–18. Matthew 17:1–9 Six days later, Jesus took with him (paralambavnei) Peter and James and his brother John, and led them up a high mountain, by themselves. And he was transfigured before them, and his face shone like the sun. . . . When the disciples heard this, they fell to the ground and were overcome by fear.

2 Peter 1:16–18 . . . but we had been eyewitnesses of his majesty (megaleiovthtoı). . . .

Acts of Peter 20 When our Lord Jesus Christ wished us to see his majesty (maiestatem) on the holy mountain, and I and the sons of Zebedee saw the splendor of his light.

I fell as though dead. We ourselves I closed my eyes, and I heard this voice come from heaven, while we were with him on the holy mountain.

But Jesus came and touched them saying, “Get up and do not be afraid.” And when they looked up, When I stood, they saw no one except I saw him again in a way Jesus himself alone.

heard this voice such as I cannot describe. . . .

and lifted me up.

that I was able to comprehend.

The Acts of Peter here repeatedly displays parallels with Matthew and 2 Peter, both of which already had emphasized Peter’s role in the story. In only one instance (the use of the verb paralambavnei, “he took with him”) does the Acts of John agree with the biblical texts without a parallel in the Acts of Peter.

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semeia Acts of Peter 20 When our Lord Jesus Christ wished us to see his majesty on the holy mountain, and I and the sons of Zebedee saw the splendor of his light. I closed my eyes, and I heard this voice such as I cannot describe . . .

Acts of John 90 On another occasion he had James, Peter, and me accompanying him (paralambavnei, cf. Matt 17:1) to the mountain on which he was wont to pray. we saw upon him a kind of light which a mortal of perishable speech could not possibly describe.

It therefore would appear that the Acts of Peter better satisfies the criterion of generative traditions. Furthermore, the author of the Acts of John obviously took exception to the Petrine character of the transfiguration tradition and attempted to replace Peter with John as the recipient of special revelation. The passage that follows in John’s Acts is a second transfiguration account in which Jesus speaks only to John. “Peter and James were vexed that I [John] was speaking with the Lord and gestured that I should leave the Lord by himself and come to them” (91). Here we find a conscious polemic against Peter’s primacy in the transfiguration traditions such as one finds in the Acts of Peter. Unfortunately, a significant problem internal to the Acts of John puts this hypothesis in jeopardy. Many scholars suggest that Acts of John 94–102 and 109 were added to the Acts after its original composition. If this be the case, the parallels presented above would demonstrate only that the Acts of Peter influenced a later redaction of the Acts, not necessarily the Acts of John at its more generative stage. Therefore, if one were to assess the intertextual connections between the Acts about Peter and John, one should look for parallels in undisputedly early sections of the Acts of John. There are indeed a few tantalizing points of overlap that meet these requirements, but once again the interpreter confronts the problem of derivative and incomplete texts. Acts of Peter 21–26 narrates the healing of a group of blind, elderly women and Peter’s performing several other miracles in a theater; the text survives in a single Latin manuscript. The Acts of John too once narrated the healing of many elderly women in a theater, but the surviving text breaks off in the middle of a speech just prior to the actual healing. Even so, it is possible to determine a likely direction of dependence.5 5 The Acts of Paul also contained an episode in a theater, at Sidon, but the text is too fragmentary to permit an assessment of its relationship to these scenes in the Acts of Peter and the Acts of John. There also exist parallels between the scenes of apostolic departures in Acts of Peter 2–4 and Acts of John 58–59, but it is possible that each could have derived independently from Acts 20:17–38 (Paul’s departure from Miletus/Ephesus) or more likely from Acts of Paul 9–10 (Pap. Hamburg 6–7).

macdonald: which came first? Acts of Peter 22–23 . . . he got up to go to the forum (veniret ad forum). The brothers and sisters together with all who were in Rome assembled (convenerunt), each paying a single gold piece to take a seat. Senators, prefects, and officials flocked in (concurrerunt) as well.

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Acts of John 31 “All who wish to view the power of God, assemble in the theater (givnesqe ejn tw`/ qeavtrw/) tomorrow. By dawn the crowd had already formed (sunh`lqon). When the Roman governor learned what was happening, he, too, hastened (speu`sai) to take his place among the multitude. Now a certain chief magistrate and leading Ephesian citizen. . . .

Both Acts then express the desire of the crowd for miraculous evidence of divine power. In the case of the Acts of Peter, the apostle must demonstrate that his powers exceed those of Simon Magus, “the magician.” In the Acts of John the apostle must live up to the statement of Andronicus that John had promised “impossible and incredible things.” In both Acts the spectators show concern that the ensuing deeds are not mere magic but true miracles. Both apostles also use the opportunity to preach. Acts of Peter 23 and 25 After a long silence (post multum silentium) Peter said: “People of Rome (Viri Romani), you be (estote) our true judges! . . . so that when they see they will be able to believe that he is raised by the power (virtute) of God.”

Acts of John 32–33 When it was very silent (sigh`ı pollh`ı genomevnhı), John opened his mouth and began to speak: “People of Ephesus (a[ndreı ∆Efevsioi), you first should know (gnw`te). . . . By his power (dunavmei) I shall reprove unbelief, even that of the chief magistrate, by raising up these women.”

Peter raised the boy; John healed the women, and both crowds believed in God. Even though these parallels are not as extensive as those treated above, they suggest that the two stories somehow are related. In favor of the priority of the Acts of Peter is the motif of magic which appears in both but is more native to Peter’s Acts which gives center stage to the magical competition between Peter and Simon Magus. Both men perform miracles in order to produce belief, but in the end it is Peter’s miracles that prove the more spectacular. The contest in the forum is the anticipated shootout, the demonstration of

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their powers before senatus populusque Romanus. The parallel episode in the Acts of John, on the other hand, serves primarily to set up the conversion of Drusiana and the hostility of Andronicus. Little would be lost from John’s Acts if this scene disappeared (much of it has!), whereas Peter’s Acts would be hollow without this contest between Peter and Simon. It therefore would seem reasonable to conclude that of the two magical contests in these two Acts, that in the Acts of Peter better meets our criteria of external generative traditions and internal consistency. On the basis of the parallels discussed above, I propose the following intertextual map for the relationships among the apocryphal Acts devoted to Peter, Paul, and John and their relationships to the canonical Acts: Canonical Acts Acts of Paul Acts of Peter Acts of John

The Intertextual Location of the ACTS OF ANDREW among the Apocryphal Acts The stemma offered above can be completed by establishing the position of the Acts of Andrew in relation to these early Acts and the Acts of Thomas. In my view, the Acts of Andrew was written after all four of these Acts and contains evidence of literary borrowing from at least two of them. For the most part I agree with Jean-Marc Prieur, whose edition of the Acts of Andrew provides a superb discussion of this issue. I propose the following chart for describing the role of the Acts of Andrew among the earlier Acts, excluding for now consideration of the Acts of Andrew and Matthias and the relationship of the Acts of Thomas to the Acts of Paul or the canonical Acts. Canonical Acts Acts of Paul Acts of Peter Acts of John Acts of Andrew

Acts of Thomas

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Before providing evidence for these relationships, I think it important to note that the Acts of Andrew shows little interest in Luke’s Acts. I presume that the author or authors of Andrew’s Acts knew the canonical Acts because of its relatively late date, ca. 200, and its probable context among Christian intellectuals in Alexandria. Prieur suggests that Paul’s farewell discourse to the elders of Ephesus at Miletus (Acts 20:18–35), might have informed Andrew’s farewell to the church at Thessalonica (Gregory, Epitome 20), but similar scenes also appear in the Acts of Paul and the Acts of Peter. If the author did in fact know of the canonical Acts, one might well ask not only why so little evidence of Acts appears in the Acts of Andrew, but why the author composed episodes that potentially conflict with it. For example, Paul is never mentioned in the Acts of Andrew, even though much of the apostle’s ministry takes place in Thessalonica and Philippi, and at least one episode in Corinth. One might reasonably argue that the author made Andrew, not Paul, the first evangelist to Macedonia and Achaea, but the silence concerning Paul and the content of Acts is noteworthy nonetheless. This chart also suggests that the author of the Acts of Andrew was not influenced by the Acts of Paul, even though one episode in the Acts of Andrew preserved only in the Latin epitome by Gregory of Tours strongly resembles Thecla’s battle with the beasts at Antioch (Gregory, Epitome 18c). Maximilla of Patras in some respects resembles Thecla of Iconium, but here again I see no evidence of direct literary borrowing. So, too, Prieur (384): “The resemblances between the Acts of Andrew and the Acts of Paul are numerous, but they do not imply the use of one by the author of the other.” I think the primary literary influence on the Acts of Andrew was Homeric epic (1990:53–55; 1994), especially the Odyssey. But Prieur has identified many parallels with the Acts of Peter and the Acts of John that probably should be attributed to direct literary influence of these Acts on the Acts of Andrew. The following comments represent a summary of Prieur’s evidence, with occasional parallel columns to demonstrate the similarities. The ACTS OF ANDREW and the ACTS OF PETER Prieur assembled an impressive number of parallels between the Acts of Peter and the Acts of Andrew, especially in the structure of the martyrdom, where, in my view, the influence of Homeric epics is absent, except for the echo of Odysseus’s being tied to his mast in Andrew’s being tied to his cross planted at the edge of the sea. Prieur concluded, in my view judiciously, that “we believe it very possible that [the author of the Acts of Andrew] knew the Acts of Peter and that he was particularly inspired by the martyrdom” (402). This assessment would seem justified by the following parallels. Acts of Peter 36–40 Agrippa, frustrated by uncooperative concubines,

Acts of Andrew (Passion 51 and 54–64) Aegeates, frustrated by his uncooperative wife,

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semeia “commanded him [Peter] to be crucified (ejkevleusen aujto;n staurwqh`nai).”

Peter was led off to the cross; the faithful follow. “And when he had come to the cross (proselqovntoı . . .tw/` staurw/)` he began to say, ÔO (w\) name of the cross (staurou`), hidden mystery (musthvrion). . . . I seize you now. I am standing at the end of my earthly career. I will make known what you are. I will not conceal the mystery (musthvrion) of the cross (staurou`).’”

“commanded him [Andrew] to be flogged (ejkevleusen aujto;n masticqh`nai) with seven whips. Then he sent him off to be crucified (ajnaskolopisqh`nai). Andrew was led off to the cross; the faithful follow. “He left everyone and approached the cross (provseisi tw/` staurw/)` and spoke to it in a loud voice, ‘Greetings, O cross (w\ staruev)! . . . I come to you, whom I have known.

I recognize your mystery (musthvrion), why you were planted. So then, cross (staurev) that is pure, radiant, full of life and light, receive me. Peter asked to be crucified upside Andrew told the crowd to have the down (like Adam, who arrived executioners crucify him. in the world head first). He then was tied to his cross at the edge of the sea (like Odysseus at the mast). “After they hanged him up as he When Andrew had said these things, wished, he began to speak again. he addressed a general speech to everyone. ‘Men (a[ndreı), ‘Men (a[ndreı), whose calling it is to hear. . . .’” who are present with me. . . .’” In Peter’s speech, he interpreted In Andrew’s speech, he interpreted the unusual mode of his death the unusual mode of his death as a return to the state as the departure of his soul to of Adam prior the fall. his true homeland (like Odysseus). At the end of the speech Peter At the end of the speech Andrew prays. prays “When the multitude surrounding “When he had said these things and him cried Amen, Peter . . . further glorified gave up his spirit to the Lord the Lord (kuvrion), he gave up his spirit (to; pneu`ma; tw/` kurivw/ parevdwken).” (parevdwken to; pneu`ma), so that we wept. “When Marcellus saw that the blessed “After the departure of the blessed Peter had given up the ghost, apostle, Maximilla, accompanied by without communicating with Stratocles, completely disregarding anyone, since it was not allowed, those standing around her, came he took him down from the cross forward, untied the corpse of the with his own hands, and blessed one, and having provided bathed him in milk it with the necessary and wine. attention,

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And he . . . anointed his body, and filled a very costly marble coffin with Attic honey and buried him in his own tomb.” buried it at nightfall.”

Although there are several other compelling points of contact between the two works, these should suffice to demonstrate a literary connection between them. Insofar as the Acts of Peter almost certainly is earlier that the Acts of Andrew, the dependence must be that of the latter on the former. The ACTS OF ANDREW and the ACTS OF JOHN The relationship of the Acts of Andrew to the Acts of John is more difficult to assess, not because the points of contact between the works are fewer— indeed, they probably are more numerous than with the Acts of Peter—but because the parallels have less to do with similar episodes than with shared rhetorical conventions and ecclesiastical and philosophical orientations. Even so, the conclusion of Prieur seems to me entirely justified: “The Acts of Andrew and the Acts of John bathed in the same spiritual and cultural universe and without doubt emanate from a very similar milieu. . . . It is thus very possible that there was a literary dependence between the two” (399–400). Prieur then defers to the judgment of Eric Junod and Jean-Daniel Kaestli that the Acts of John was the earliest of the apocryphal Acts; ergo, the direction of dependence must be from the Acts of John to the Acts of Andrew. I have serious misgivings about the Acts of John being the earliest of the Acts, but I do think it reasonable to map the direction of dependence from John’s Acts to Andrew’s. I find it more difficult, however, to find parallel passages as convincing as those between the crucifixions of Peter and Andrew. The discourses, the polymorphism, and the philosophical vocabulary of the Acts of John may indeed have influenced the Acts of Andrew, but it is difficult to show that the author of the latter modeled a single episode after the Acts of John.6 The ACTS OF ANDREW and the ACTS OF THOMAS. Several years ago Harry Attridge and I presented papers on the compositional language of the Acts of Thomas. He argued for a Syriac original; 6 The only possible exceptions occur in connection with the death of Andrew. Compare Acts of John 58.9–10 and the beginning of Acts of Andrew, Passion 34. Prieur also makes a fascinating observation that it is Peter and John who appear to Andrew in a dream to inform him how he is to die (403). John leads the apostle up a luminous mountain and tells him that his death will imitate Peter’s (GE 20). According to Prieur, the text suggests the author of the Acts of Andrew had the deaths of Peter and John in mind as he had read them in their Acts.

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I argued for a Greek, and I did so largely on the basis of the apparent reliance of the author of Thomas’s Acts on those of Andrew. I do not wish to argue the point again here. At this point I want merely to provide a listing of what I consider to be the most important parallels between the two works. Once again, I think Prieur was entirely correct when he concluded that “the resemblances we have advanced as evidence are so numerous, so precise that they compel us to admit a literary dependence between the Acts of Andrew and the Acts of Thomas” (393). Furthermore, he argues convincingly for the priority of the Acts of Andrew, by citing Yves Tissot, who claims the Acts of Thomas was the result of a complex history of composition and redaction of various sources. I would add that frequently the two Acts share philosophical, especially Platonic vocabulary, and when they do so, Andrew’s Acts always seems to be the more native context. The parallels between the Acts of Andrew and the Acts of Thomas, in my opinion, are far more interesting than those between the Acts of Andrew and either the Acts of Peter or the Acts of John. In the first place, they argue compellingly for Greek as the compositional language of the Acts of Thomas and provide an invaluable control on its composition and redaction. Second, the author of the Acts of Thomas seems to have known the Acts of Andrew with the Acts of Andrew and Matthias already attached to the beginning. In my view, the Acts of Andrew never existed without the story of Andrew’s rescue of Matthias. It is impossible to present more than a sampling of Prieur’s evidence, which richly rewards a careful reading. The parallels are most striking in the martyrdom of Thomas, but this may only be because this part of the Acts of Andrew is best preserved. I will select a few parallels from the martyrdoms and then a few from the beginnings of the Acts, where the text parallels the beginning of the Acts of Andrew and Matthias. Let me begin with the arrests of the apostles. In the Acts of Andrew, a slave pointed out the disciple to Aegeates as “the man responsible for the present disruption of your household (hJ oijkiva sou ajkatastatei`).” He then “ran from the proconsul, seized Andrew, and forcibly brought him to Aegeates, wrapping around (peribalwvn) his neck the towel that the blessed one used to wear over his shoulder.” In this way, the apostle was brought to the proconsul, who “ordered him locked up (ejkevleusen aujto;n ejgkleisqh`nai)” (AcAnd, Passion 25). Andrew was then thrown in prison. Similarly in Acts of Thomas 106, Charisius went to Thomas and called him “destroyer and enemy of my house (ejcqre; tou` ejmou` oi[kou). Then, “Charisius took a kerchief from one of this servants, put it on the neck of the apostle, and said, ‘Drag him off and take him away.’” Andrew was thus dragged off to King Misdaeus, who “ordered his subjects to scourge him (ejkevleusen . . . aujto;n masticqevnta) . . . and cast him bound into the prison.” This unusual

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motif of using a towel or a kerchief around the neck of the prisoner surely suggests a literary connection. Both narratives then proceed by having the imprisoned apostles preach to the faithful and by having Maximilla and Mygdonia reaffirm their intentions not to sleep with their husbands. Both Aegeates and Charisius, distraught, appeal to them to return to their beds. Acts of Andrew, Passion 23 After crying for some time . . . he went to his spouse, fell (prospeswvn) at her feet weeping (meta; dakruvwn), and said (e[legen) . . .

Acts of Thomas 116–17 While Charisius was speaking (levgontoı) with tears (meta; dakruvwn) . . . , [h]e came near (proselqw;n) and said . . .

Both men desperately appeal to the women to return to their former status as lovers. Both Maximilla and Mygdonia answer similarly. She told him, “I am in love (filw`), Aegeates. I am in love, and the object of my love is (ejstin) not of the world.”

Mygdonia said to him, “He whom I love (filw`) is better than you and your possessions. For your possessions, being earthly, return to earth. But he whom I love is (ejstin) heavenly.”

Charisius then answers with words borrowed from Aegeates in Acts of Andrew, Passion 36. Acts of Andrew, Passion 36 “Answer me tomorrow . . . after you have considered (skeyamevnh). . . . If you would be the woman you once were (eij h\sqa pavlai) . . . , I would treat you well in every way (pavnta poihvsaimi). What is more, I will release (ajpoluvsw) the stranger whom I have in prison (ejn tw/` desmwthrivw)/ . . . . I will do you no harm.”

Acts of Thomas 117 “Think the matter over (skevyou) during the night! If you will be with me as you were before (ejanv h\sqa to; privn) . . . , I will fulfill all (pavnta poihvsw) your wishes, and . . . I shall release from the prison (ejk tou` desmwthrivou ajpoluvsw) and set him free . . . And I shall not trouble you.”

After receiving these threats, Maximilla and Mygdonia both leave their husbands and go to the apostles in jail, who strengthen their resolve. Parallels

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similar to these can be drawn throughout the two martyrdoms. Again consult Prieur. The parallels presented above not only show striking similarities between the Greek of the Acts of Andrew and the Acts of Thomas, but in a few cases the Syriac retains no equivalent to the Acts of Andrew. The Acts of Thomas has such parallels not merely with the martyrdom of Andrew, which unquestionably came from the original Acts, but also with the beginning of the Acts of Andrew and Matthias. Indeed, the first two sentences in the Acts of Andrew and Matthias and the Acts of Thomas are nearly identical. Acts of Andrew and Matthias 1 At that time, (kat∆ ejkei`non to;n kairo;n) all the apostles (pavnteı oiJ ajpovstoloi) were gathered together at one place and divided the regions among themselves by casting lots, so that each would leave for his allotted share. The lot fell (kata; klh`ron ou\n e[lacen) on Matthias to go to the region of the cannibals.

Acts of Thomas (Greek) 1 At that time, (kat∆ ejkei`non to;n kairo;n) all we apostles (pavnteı oiJ ajpovstoloi) were in Jerusalem. . . . and we divided the regions of the world, so that each of us would go to the region that fell to his lot and into the country to which the Lord sent him. The lot fell (kata; klh`ron ou\n e[lacen) for India to be for Judas Thomas, also called Didymas.

The Acts of Thomas continues by describing Thomas’s fear of going to India, which resembles Andrew’s refusal in Acts of Andrew and Matthias 4 to go to Myrmidonia. Acts of Andrew and Matthias 4 I cannot travel there . . . (ouj dunhvsomai ajpelqei`n) for you know, Lord, that I too am flesh (savrx) and cannot go (dunhvsomai poreuqh`nai) there quickly.

Acts of Thomas (Greek) 1 He did not want to travel, (oujk ajpelqei`n) saying that he could not do so (mh; duvnasqai) nor leave because of the weakness of the flesh (th`ı sarkovı), and “I am a Hebrew man, so how could I go (pw`ı duvnamai poreuqh`nai) to the Indians?

Andrew’s refusal appears entirely in direct discourse and makes perfect sense. Myrmidonia is so far away that no “flesh,” only an angel, could possibly sail there in three days. On the other hand, the expression of Thomas’s refusal to sail to India is torturous. The author begins by saying that Thomas

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“did not want to go,” says it again, but now in indirect discourse, “saying that he could not go or leave because of the weakness of the flesh.” The author fails to explain why this weakness would have prohibited a voyage. So the author seems to add a more reasonable excuse, this time in direct discourse: “I am a Hebrew man, so how can I go to the Indians?” Jesus appears to Thomas, telling him not to fear (mh; fobou`), for his grace will be with him (hJ ga;r cavriı mouv ejstin meta; sou`). Similarly, Jesus appears to Matthias, telling him not to be terrified (mh; ptohqh/`ı), and the apostle prays that the Lord’s grace will be with him (hJ cavriı sou diamevnh/ met∆ ejmou`). Similarities likewise exist between the two Acts with respect to the journeys of the apostles to their barbarian lands, although here the parallels are more thematic than lexical. Both apostles arise the next morning, go as ordered to the shore, board the boats they find there, and sit down. Both apostles converse with another passenger about ships: Andrew asks Jesus concerning his remarkable sailing technique (tevcnh); Thomas tells Abban the merchant about his carpentry, including the making of “ships and oars for ships and masts and pulleys.” This delights Abban, who is looking for just such a skilled craftsman (tecnivthı). Several other parallels exist between the Acts of Andrew and Matthias and the beginning of the Acts of Thomas which I discuss in the introduction to my edition of the Acts of Andrew (1990:31–38), but these should suffice to suggest some literary connection. If one grants a literary connection, the next question to ask is the direction of that dependence. I, of course, would insist that the most economical explanation is that the copy of the Acts of Andrew known to the author of the Acts of Thomas included the rescue of Matthias as the beginning. But at least two other scenarios are possible. First, it is possible that the Acts of Andrew and Matthias was not originally part of the Acts of Andrew but was written at about the same time and also was used by the author of the Acts of Thomas. Second, one might propose that the author of the Acts of Andrew and Matthias knew the Acts of Thomas, and imitated the apostolic land lottery and the voyage of Thomas to India. Both of these options are possible, but each is unnecessarily complex. According to the first, the author of the Acts of Thomas would have to have known and borrowed from two Andrean apocryphal Acts, not just one. According to the second, one would need to posit a chain of dependence: Acts of Andrew → Acts of Thomas → Acts of Andrew and Matthias, which does not make good sense of the apparent direction of dependence argued for earlier. Similar evidence of dependence both on the Acts of Andrew and the Acts of Andrew and Matthias also appears in the Acts of Philip and the Acts of John by Prochorus (MacDonald, 1990:38–44). If, as I have argued, the Acts of Andrew began with some version of the Acts of Andrew and Matthias, additional influence of Andrew’s Acts might be detected in many later apoc-

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ryphal Acts, such as the Acts of Mark, the Martyrdom of Matthew, the Acts of Peter and Andrew, and perhaps the Acts of Xanthippe and Polyxena (MacDonald, 1990:44–47). It appears then that the Acts of Andrew plays an extremely important role in the intertextual history of the apocryphal Acts. It seems to know both the Acts of Peter and probably the Acts of John. It is known and used, in turn, by the author of the Acts of Thomas. Moreover, it informed a number of later Acts, especially if the Acts of Andrew originally commenced with the Acts of Andrew and Matthias.

WORKS CONSULTED Allberry, Charles R. C., ed. 1938 A Manichaean Psalm-Book. Manichaean Manuscripts in the Chester Beatty Collections 2. Stuttgart: W. Kohlhammer. Attridge, Harold W. 1990 “The Original Language of the Acts of Thomas.” Pp. 241–45 in Of Scribes and Scrolls: Studies on the Hebrew Bible, Intertestamental Judaism and Christian Origins. Ed. Harold W. Attridge, John J. Collins, and Thomas H. Tobin, S.J. College Theology Society Resources in Religion 5. Lanham, MD: University Press of America. Junod, Eric and Jean-Daniel Kaestli 1983 Acta Iohannis. CChrSA 1–2. Turnhout: Brepols. MacDonald, Dennis R. 1983 The Legend and the Apostle: The Battle for Paul in Story and Canon. Philadelphia: Westminster. 1990

The Acts of Andrew and the Acts of Andrew and Matthias in the City of the Cannibals. SBLTT 33, Christian Apocrypha 1. Atlanta: Scholars.

1994

Christianizing Homer: The Odyssey, Plato and the Acts of Andrew. New York: Oxford University Press.

1995

“Is There a Privileged Reader? A Case from the Apocryphal Acts.” Semeia 71:29–44.

Prieur, Jean-Marc 1989 Acta Andreae. CChrSA 5–6. Turnhout: Brepols. Schmidt, Carl 1904 Acta Pauli aus der Heidelberger koptischen Papyrus Handschrift Nr. I. Leipzig: J. C. Hinrichs. Reprinted Hildesheim: Georg Olms, 1959. Schmidt, Carl and Wilhelm Schubart 1936 PRAXEIS PAULOU, Acta Pauli nach dem Papyrus der Hamburger Staatsund Universitätsbibliothek. Glückstadt and Hamburg: J. J. Augustin.

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Schneemelcher, Wilhelm and Rodolphe Kasser 1992 “The Acts of Paul.” Pp. 213–70 in New Testament Apocrypha: Revised Edition of the Collection Initiated by Edgar Hennecke. Vol. 2. Writings Relating to the Apostles, Apocalypses and Related Subjects. Ed. Wilhelm Schneemelcher. Trans. R. McL. Wilson. Louisville: Westminster / John Knox. Tissot, Yves 1981 “Les Actes apocryphes de Thomas, exemple de receuil composite.” Pp. 223–32 in François Bovon et al., Les Actes apocryphes des apôtres. Christianisme et monde païen. Publication de la Faculté de Théologie de l’Université de Genève 4. Geneva: Labor et Fides.

EGGING ON THE CHICKENS: A COWARDLY RESPONSE TO DENNIS MACDONALD AND THEN SOME Richard I. Pervo University of Minnesota

abstract Within a context of some general reflections on the procedures and findings of the SBL Seminar, this contribution makes some particular criticism of the criteria set forth by Dennis R. MacDonald, with a specific critique of his attempt to establish the dependence of the Acts of John upon the Acts of Paul. Following this is a discussion of the relationships between the Acts of Peter and the Acts of John, based to a substantial degree upon the theological character of each book. From this perspective the Acts of John appears to be prior to the Acts of Peter.

1. General Remarks The SBL Seminar on Intertextuality in the Christian Apocrypha has been more successful than its general lack of “assured results” may seem to indicate. The task began as a nineteenth-century enterprise, envisioning the production of a synoptic edition of apocryphal Acts. The only possible product at its conclusion would seem to be an edition of “Acts Parallels” like the New Gospel Parallels edited by Robert Funk. The reasons for this are, I believe, multiple. Some are very models of post-modern, major, general methodological earthquakes. Indeed, the Seminar has at times seemed to provide substantial ammunition for proponents of chaos theory. In the forefront of the methodological questions stand the sophisticated theories of intertextuality produced in recent years and that skepticism which has done considerable damage to the “assured results” of earlier research by seeking to expose them as little more than scholarly inventions. There appears to be merit in the simultaneous examination of approaches deriving from a variety of perspectives and laboring on a number of fronts. One effect of the Seminar has been a sometimes frustrating but not unproductive polyphonic dialogue. The goal has become less the selection of the correct method than learning how to listen to practitioners of different methods. Another reason might be characterized as “literary.” There is no room for doubt that the available texts of the apocryphal Acts reveal interdependence,

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but it has become clear that the “use of sources” is, in general, of a different order from that observable among the Synoptic Gospels.1 Why is this so? The question has important ramifications for understanding of the development of early Christian thought and literature, but it is rarely posed or answered in thoughtful ways. Is one to see this as a result of the relative proliferation of texts, in that the author of the Acts of Andrew, for example, had more material in hand than the author of Matthew? This is debatable. It is more likely that authors and, to some degree, audiences, were acquiring greater sophistication. The apocryphal Acts constitute important evidence for the rapid evolution of narrative technique (Pervo, 1994; 1996) as well as of a more cultured use of “sources.” The latter is an aspect of the former, since the adept incorporation (and, often, concealment) of sources is a mark of Greco-Roman belles lettres, thus the common complaint that ancient biographers and historians often seem to cite the authorities they do not utilize and neglect to mention those from which they borrow. Technical factors also require some attention. Classical source criticism did not always recognize that, for those engaged in working with rolls, the revision or partial incorporation of another work was an arduous task that, as redaction criticism has revealed, rarely achieved anything approaching perfection. Since even copyists could not, whatever their intent, produce exact duplicates, it is not appropriate to impose rigorous standards upon revisers or borrowers. F. Stanley Jones (1993) has raised the related question of book production. Harry W. Gamble’s important survey of the field has brought much clarity to this issue (1995). As the etymologies (e[kdosi~, editio) indicate, publication involved the “giving out” of works, orally or in writing. (A contemporary analogy would be the ten or so copies provided authors by publishers for promotional purposes). The “book trade” proper, the production of copies to benefit a merchant, was never large and operated in a vastly different social world from the network of aristocratic friends who shared manuscripts with one another, as book dealers were often former slaves or others of the lower orders. Composers of “good literature” did not write to make money directly, but to acquire and respond to patronage.2 Vendors

1 This is, as stated, a generalization. Of the three synoptic Evangelists, the work of Luke (e.g. Luke 4:16–30 vs. Mark 6:1–6a) is at points closest to the types of intertextuality observed among the apocryphal Acts. In this context it may be interesting to note that the author of Luke also composed the first Acts, exhibiting in that work not only the use of different types of sources (including Mark), but also different, “freer,” approaches to these sources. 2 Martial is often urged as an exception, but his epigrams have always hovered at the margins of the classics, and his own comments reveal the difficulties of attempting to make a living by selling books. P. Howell (1980:106) states that there is evidence for but two authors who were paid by booksellers. Pompilius Andronicus was so impoverished that he sold a work for 16,000 sesterces (Suet. Gram. 8). The elder Pliny is said to have claimed that he could have sold his commentarii for 400,000 sesterces (Pliny Ep. 3.5.17). Royalties are not in view.

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of “new” works could not afford large inventories. Most of their sales were based upon individual orders. A large number of early Christian manuscripts, including, no doubt, those of apocryphal Acts, were produced for reading in assemblies gathered for worship or, possibly, for edification or instruction. Private copies also appeared, especially from the third century onwards. These texts were almost certainly made in response to individual orders and special requests. With the emergence of the Christian empire, beginning in the fourth century, a sort of Christian “book market” does appear (Gamble:132–43). This phenomenon may well be of importance to the editorial history of the apocryphal Acts, then, but it is of little interest for their production and early dissemination. 2. The proposals of Dennis R. MacDonald It stands very much to MacDonald’s credit that he has set forth a general list of clear and explicit criteria, always exposed to debate and modified over time. This in no gratuitous compliment, for most examinations of literary dependency work with implicit principles and/or ad hoc observations. The eclectic character of MacDonald’s criteria is both a strength and a drawback, the latter because one is juggling both chickens and eggs, the management of which requires some different techniques and skills (as well as different presuppositions, etc.), the former because it recognizes that the enterprise is no less an art than a science and too complex to yield to a rigid scheme. For a variety of sufficient reasons, the Seminar has focused (as shall I, below) upon samples. Although MacDonald and other contributors have attempted to frame their proposals within general contexts, the discussion has not yet reached the level of refinement perceptible in, for example, Synoptic Gospel studies, where Matthean, Markan, Lukan, and Johannine redactional, theological, and literary proclivities are rather well identified. In the long run, those arguments that are illustrated with numerous parallels and girded by known authorial interests will be most convincing. A final general comment is that, were this project to begin anew, I should suggest beginning with neither egg nor chicken, but with omelets. This is to say that investigations of some of the later and clearly dependent works (an example of which is the Acts of Xanthippe) might provide some clues to the techniques of later, at least, authors and thereby aid in the exposure of some blind alleys and fallacies, and, quite possibly, lead to the sharpening of criteria. MacDonald has in the past done himself a disservice by pointing out such “parallels” as kai; oJ dei`na ei\pen. No TLG search is required to reveal that such verbs as eijmiv, levgw, and e[rcomai are simply too common or required to be of value in establishing lexical grounds for dependence. Such “evidence” will capture the eyes of casual readers and lead them to a prema-

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ture dismissal of his proposals. There is a danger in this, and much, source criticism, of intermingling arguments based upon philology, in particular the recurrence of words and phrases, and those related to motifs and Motivgeschichte. These approaches require different methods, as the former represents source criticism in its strictest sense, while the latter pushes the envelope of intertextuality toward its limits. MacDonald’s third criterion, dealing with “secondary improvement” is a useful tool. However, as he refines it, the definition approaches the assumption that the history of the apocryphal Acts in relation to one another can be plotted along stable trajectories: Sometimes one of the texts seems to repair its parallel in the other Acts. For example, one document may contain a theologically objectionable concept which becomes more palatable in the other. Often, one of the two Acts presents an apostle in a less favorable light than the other. Insofar as tradition generally improved apostolic public relations, in such cases one can rather confidently monitor the direction of dependence. ( p. 13; unattributed page references are to MacDonald in this volume)

As a criterion for the editing of individual Acts this movement is often demonstrable. Material will either be adjusted to catholic theology and ethics or deleted. As a criterion for date and dependence it requires more nuance. To whom, for example, is rigorous celibacy, even within marriage, objectionable? To Manicheans? The Manichaean Psalter provides evidence for episodes excised by catholic critics, and MacDonald has noted one famous example (pp. 24–28). A leading, all but insuperable, difficulty with this criterion is that the varied and fragmentary editions of the apocryphal Acts are quite likely to exhibit not only use of other Acts in their original composition but also their continuing influence upon one another. An appropriate analogy would be the determination of relationships among the Synoptic Gospels with evidence derived only from contaminated and harmonized Byzantine manuscripts. Is polymorphy best characterized as a motif? 3 Although this classification may at times be true, in particular with reference to what Junod and Kaestli call “romantic episodes”(1983:669), the phenomenon is in general best viewed as a theologoumenon, like virginal conception or Davidic descent, that writers may exploit for various purposes. A specific case: Acts of Paul 7/Acts of John 72–73 Prison-escape scenes are so widely attested (Pervo, 1978:54–90; 1987: 21–24, 147 n.15) that the determination of intertextual relations can be quite 3 Contributors to the Seminar often speak of “Polymorphism.” This evokes notions of a system (like Marxism or even Docetism). “Polymorphy” identifies the phenomenon in a less tendentious fashion.

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difficult. In this instance keys provide one key to the argument. MacDonald finds that, whereas the proposal to hunt up a locksmith is appropriate in Acts of Paul 7, the entire business about the misplaced keys in the Acts of John taxes the reader’s credulity. The question of when taxes must be rendered to credulity is a matter for debate. Those who come equipped with a robust hermeneutic of suspicion will probably find a good deal of disappointment in the apocryphal Acts—and other popular narrative. MacDonald states that John and Andronicus should have seen to the keys before going to the tomb. “Worse is John’s theologizing: ‘They are quite likely lost because Drusiana is not in the tomb,’ which surely means that God hid them in order to symbolize her soul’s departure. Undeterred by divine symbolism, John commanded the doors to open” (p. 27). I should like to venture another reading: Acts of John 72 implies that the keys were kept on the site, not at home. Inspection of the normal hiding place revealed their absence. On the surface level John’s response is not at all “theological,” but an indication that he suspects foul play. That their disappearance has symbolic meaning is a reasonable proposal, but, on the narrative level, it is merely a bit of good detection.4 Indeed, in chapter 73, the apostle expresses surprise at the epiphany of the handsome youth. MacDonald’s subsequent argument on the role of the youth is also debatable. He is not an agent but an angelus interpres. Finally, the suggestion that transfer of agency from Christ to the apostle is a “secondary improvement” can also be inverted: action of this sort, portraying the apostle as a qei`o~ ajnhvr extraordinaire is, from the theological perspective that has governed much scholarship until recently, a mark of degeneracy. 5 In conclusion it should be noted that these critical remarks do not presume to overturn MacDonald’s thesis, but to note where he seems to be on thin ice. It is not impossible that the Acts of John made use of the Acts of Paul, even if this particular example is not fully convincing. 3. The ACTS OF PETER and the ACTS OF JOHN Confession: I should like to make my prejudices clear. I should prefer that the Acts of John display theological independence and therefore not be dependent upon the Acts of Peter. The following argument proceeds from the earlier assertion that polymorphy is primarily a theologoumenon. To begin with the obvious: in antiquity polymorphy was a normal property of divine beings, whose wardrobes, so to speak, included a variety of costumes from

4 An apposite literary prototype is the detection of Daniel in Susanna and Bel et Draco. 5 One of the characteristics often alleged in support of the superiority of the canonical Acts to its apocryphal parallels is that healings and the like are attributed to God or Christ rather than to the apostle(s). Pervo (1987) criticizes this dogma.

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which gods could select that form deemed most suitable to the desired epiphany. When dressing for earthly amours Zeus, for example, chose from his armoire such outfits as a bull, a swan, and a golden shower. Although the background quite apparently reflects the assimilation of varied myths and cults, the concept performed a useful intellectual service as a tool for exploration and explication of the problem of the one and the many and, in general, for syncretistic speculation.6 This concept is not inherently dualistic. Indeed, polymorphy was an admirable technique for the expression of monarchian thought, which proved far too monistic for orthodox theology. Nor, despite, so to speak, appearances, is polymorphy inherently docetic, certainly not in the sense that matter/body is evil, although Docetism found in polymorphy a congenial notion. Nor does polymorphy come into Christian thought relatively late in the day. Polymorphy rather seems to be an early element in the development of Christology, one that long persisted, not least at the level of “popular” theology, but not exclusively there. Nowhere do the apocryphal Acts present polymorphy as novel. It serves, in general, as a useful means for the development of both literary and theological aims. Polymorphy per se is not a sound basis upon which to erect a theory of literary dependence. In the Acts of John this popular notion of polymorphy is thoroughly integrated into the theological system and message of the work (Pervo, 1992). I find this to be less apparent in the Acts of Peter, but stand ready for correction by those who have meditated more carefully upon the theology of that work. I am also aware that one should remain attentive to Junod and Kaestli’s example of Rohde’s serious misplacement of Chariton in the sequence of ancient novels as an indication of the danger of allowing one’s theory of development to drive the machine (Junod and Kaestli, 1983:694). What follows is not a theory of development but a focused survey of the question of dependence. Cloudy Illumination: The Sermon on the Transfiguration(s): Acts of John 87–93//Acts of Peter 20–21 This material probably constitutes as strong a case as any for interdependence. In both Acts the featured apostle edifies a Christian assembly or 6 A notable example of the exploitation of polymorphy is the Metamorphoses of Apuleius. The apparently “pre-Pauline hymn” embedded in Phil 2:6–11 displays similar interests and techniques. See also Luke 24:13–35 (and Ps-Mark 16:12 Meta; de; tau`ta dusi;n ejx aujtw`n peripatou`sin ejfanerwvqh ejn eJtevra/ morfh`/ poreuomevnoi~ eij~ ajgrovn, which may be an interpretation of Luke or a variant tradition); John 20:11–18; 21:1–14; Mark 6:45–52; 9:2–8. The transfiguration of Stephen (Acts 6:15) is also apposite, since a similar description appears in Acts of Thomas 8 and Acts of Paul 3.3. The concepts of Mark 6:45–52 (cf. John 21:1–14) are developed in Acts of Paul 10 (the “Quo vadis” episode), and Acts of Peter 5. The Acts of Thomas utilize the theme for both literary and theological ends, the latter most obviously in the notion of a heavenly twin (11). The appearance of the Lord in the form of Paul in Acts of Paul 3.21 enhances the apostle’s role as a savior figure.

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group by delivering a sermon that includes an account of the intracanonical Transfiguration Story (Mark 9:2–8). From the perspective of the history of traditions, the Transfiguration “belongs,” so to speak to Peter, who has initial rights to this cockcrow.7 Once, however, the authority behind the Johannine tradition had been identified as John the son of Zebedee, the path lay open for exploitation of this (and other) episodes as Johannine property (Pervo, 1992). The Setting Acts of John 87 comes in the aftermath of Drusiana’s delivery from live burial and the subsequent conversion of her husband. (The preceding material has not survived, but this reconstruction of the narrative outline is certain.) She has evidently just related the appearances of Christ in the forms of John and a young man. This perplexes the faithful, whom John seeks to console and instruct through a demonstration, based upon his personal recollections, that polymorphy exhibits Christ’s glorious divinity. What Drusiana had seen was neither unusual nor undesirable. This is a topical sermon, as it were, with a pastoral focus, based upon a recent experience in the life of the community. Acts of Peter 20 follows shortly upon Peter’s initial triumph over Simon, who has taken thought for the better part of valor and withdrawn for a season from the city. Marcellus, a Senator, has flushed the leaven of Simon out of his house, distributed alms, and summoned the elderly to assemble in the newly lustrated facilities to hear Peter, whom he thereupon asks to come. The apostle accepts his kind invitation. On his way in, Peter restores the sight of a widow (cf. Tob 11:7–13 and, in particular, Acts 3:1–8) with a formula that indicates the symbolic meaning of this gift: Jesus is the source of light inaccessible that no darkness can hide.8 Entering the triclinium, the apostle finds

7 Mark 9:2–8; 2 Pet 1:16–18; cf. Gospel of Peter 10.39–41. 2 Peter (presuming that this refers to the Transfiguration) is very close to the world of the apocryphal Acts, for the claim to be a witness of this event is used to undergird Peter’s apostolic authority. It is not impossible that Acts of Peter 20 relies upon 2 Peter, as L. Vouaux (1922:342 n.2), proposes. Dominus noster volens me majestatem suam videre in monte sancto, videns autem luminis splendorem eius (Lipsius-Bonnet: 67.11–12 [hereafter by page and line alone]) is quite suggestive. (In the same note Vouaux states that the Acts of John includes a number of items that the author of the Acts of Peter took pains to avoid.) The apocryphal Acts and other Christian Apocrypha do not hesitate to increase the number of Christophanies. From the Pauline perspective, rivals to the Transfiguration may be found in the account of his “conversion,” already used three times by the author of Acts, and the vision described in 2 Cor 12:2–4. The latter provides grounds for both the Gnostic Apocalypse of Paul (Nag. Ham. V.2) and the later work of the same title. 8 These may be references to 1 Tim 6:16 oJ movno~ e[cwn ajqanasivan, fw`~ oijkw`n ajprovsiton, o}n ei\den oujdei;~ ajnqrwvpwn oujde; ijdei`n duvnatai• w|/ timh; kai; kravto~ aijwnv ion, ajmhvn. Cf. also 1 John 1:5 Kai; e[stin au{th hJ ajggeliva h}n ajkhkovamen ajp∆ aujtou` kai; ajnaggevllomen uJmi`n, o{ti oJ qeo;~ fw`~ ejstin kai;

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a service in progress. The Gospel is being read. He puts a stop to this by rolling up the book 9 and launching into a sermon. The subjects of his homily are the limits of human vision and the manifold grace of God. Divine light is unbearable. Incarnation was but condescension to human weakness. Christ is omnipresent. Polymorphy is grounded in something very much like pantheism (Hic [Christus] est omnia 68.14). The arrival of the ninth hour causes them to arise for prayer (chap. 21. cf. Acts 3:1 and the subordinate role of John in that passage). Intercession provides a window that other blind widows will not overlook. Peter prays for them, joined in due course by all. In response an intolerable light fills the room and gives sight to the blind, who, upon interrogation, state that they had seen the Lord in a variety of forms.10 Both texts record the experience of believers who have seen Christ in different forms. If these accounts are related, does one exhibit clear priority on the grounds of its function within the setting? This is not an open-and-shut case. Both texts proclaim the awful majesty of the divine. In the Acts of John polymorphy gives rise to a sermon on polymorphy. The subject of the Acts of Peter is the ineffable brilliance of divine light, refracted in numerous forms. The theme of polymorphy has no particular motivation or consequence in the Acts of Peter, whereas it will recur in the Acts of John (73). That the liturgical context in the Acts of Peter is “standard” (cf. inter alia, Justin 1 Apol 67 11) is evidence for neither priority nor dependence. In the Acts of John the address comes in response to an immediate problem. The Acts of Peter presents a sermon by Peter that could come at any one of a number of junctures in the story, although its symbolic association with the gift of sight is quite apt. I thus incline to find the setting in the Acts of John more “original” in that the theme is more integral, whereas in the Acts of Peter it is more artistic. Scriptural Allusions Both texts contain evocations of Jewish and Christian scriptures. The Acts of Peter appear to allude to more texts (Vouaux: 349 vs. Junod and Kaestli:

skotiva ejn aujtw`/ oujk e[stin oujdemiva. (It is also quite possible that all three reflect the liturgical language of the second century.) 9 Note that the verb implies a scroll. Is this due to the evocation of Luke 4:16–30 (esp. v. 20)? Nonetheless, it may be taken to imply that the codex form was not the norm when the Acts of Peter was written and, consequently, that a four-fold Gospel was not established, for a roll could not easily contain more than one gospel. 10 Acts of John 31–37 also features a mass healing of widows, followed by 87–105, the section under consideration. Form-critical (“growth of tradition”) principles would suggest priority for the Acts of Peter here, since John emerges as the competitive victor, in that his action was more public and comprehensive. 11 The context of that description of Sunday worship sheds light upon the social function of the Acts of Peter, for the apologist speaks there of money gathered to support orphans, widows, the sick, and others in need

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190–98, with the caveat that Vouaux’s criteria are less rigorous). The Acts of John plays with scripture rather more boldly. Acts of John 88 contains a rather daring revision of a call story like that in Mark 1:16–20 (cf. also John 21:1–14), and plays upon rivalries among the apostles. Chapter 91 reports a vexation of Peter and James evocative of Mark 10:41 (Pervo, 1992:60). Chapters 88–93 focus on descriptions of Jesus’ quite diverse appearance and qualities. Each Acts, therefore, utilizes the intracanonical account of the Transfiguration, with its reference to Peter, James, and John. Acts of John 90.1 exhibits the verb used in Mark 9:2 (paralambavnei), inverting the order to read “me, James, and Peter.” In the Acts of Peter the others are reduced to a prepositional phrase: me . . . cum filiis Zebedei (67.13).12 The Acts of John suggests knowledge of the Lukan account and assimilation with the Garden of Gethsemane.13 In the extant Acts of Peter this is the single metamorphosis reported. The Acts of Peter give two strong indications of reliance upon Matthew: 1. “Videns autem luminis splendorem eius” (67.12–13. Cf. Matt 17:5 e[ti aujtou` lalou`nto~ ijdou; nefevlh fwteinh; ejpeskivasen aujtouv~). 2. “Et dans mihi manum elevat me” (67.18–19. Cf. Matt 17:7 kai; prosh`lqen oJ jIhsou`~ kai; aJyavmeno~ aujtw`n ei\pen• ejgevrqhte kai; mh; fobei`sqe. Note also 14: 31). The theme fits nicely with the opening healing of the Acts of Peter 20.14 Most importantly, the sermon in the Acts of Peter is a meditation upon a text that has just been read to the assembly: “Nunc quod vobis lectum est iam vobis exponam” (67.10–11—Acts 17:23 is probably no more than a formal parallel). Peter is supplying additional information, “based upon personal experience” (as in AcPet 7, the denial), as well as interpretation. John also provided reminiscences, together with interpretation, but his sermon is not a meditation upon an extant text. This would appear to give weight to the view that, if there is dependence here, the Acts of Peter is likely to be secondary.15 Apostolic “P.R.” In the Acts of Peter condescension is divine: Christ appears in human form to relate to human weakness (20, 67.2–4). In the Acts of John it is the apostle, who, at the beginning of his speech, condescends. (88.4–5; note the 12 2 Peter names no other witnesses. 13 Act of John 90.2 speaks of the mountain on which Jesus was wont to pray (cf. Luke 9:28, etc.) Jesus prays at a distance from the disciples (90.6). Luke 9:32 also assimilates the Transfiguration to the “Gethsemane” scene. 14 If the “touching” of John’s beard (AcJohn 90.15) is based upon Matthew, it would be a transformation rather than a citation. 15 The far from impossible converse is that the author of the Acts of John rejected the Acts of Peter’s assumption of the existence of authoritative gospels.

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close verbal parallels, including the citation in Schneemelcher, n. 96, p. 319.) By MacDonald’s criterion, this would be a “secondary improvement.” As stated, I find that criterion difficult to apply. However the intertextual questions are resolved, the Acts of Peter appears as a consistently more “catholic” writing. Other Elements Devotees of the Acts of John are likely to find within these two chapters of the Acts of Peter a number of notable affinities. Each has a “catalogue of epithets.” (Italicized items occur in both lists.) Acts of Peter 20 door light way bread water life 16 resurrection refreshment pearl 17 treasure seed abundance mustard-seed vine 18 plow grace faith word

Acts of John 98 logos (word ) mind Jesus Christ door way bread seed resurrection son father spirit life truth faith grace

What is to be made of this formal parallel? In the Acts of John these epithets are synonyms for the “Cross of Light” (cf. also AcPet 37–39) and function, like the Johannine ejgw eijmi sayings, in parabolic fashion (Pervo, 1992:64). The Acts of Peter utilizes many of the same metaphors, but in a pantheistic or, perhaps better, monarchian sense. They proclaim the omnipotence of God/Jesus. The Acts of John speak of the inscrutability of the divine no less than of its universality. Schneemelcher wisely recommends caution here.19 It 16 Light, way, bread, water, and life are, of course, leading Johannine symbols. 17 Pearl, treasure, seed, (abundance), and mustard-seed bring to mind the parables of Matthew 13. 18 Vine, grace, faith, and word are also primary symbols in the fourth gospel. 19 Schneemelcher (275) notes that such catalogues appear elsewhere, citing Justin Dial. 100.4, and Diognetus 9.6.

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may thus be reckless to suggest once more that these images seem more at home in the catalogue of the Acts of John than in that of the Acts of Peter. Immediately preceding the above list in the Acts of Peter is a series of antitheses: This (God) who is both great and little, beautiful and ugly, young and old, appearing in time and yet in eternity wholly invisible; whom no human hand has grasped, yet is held by his servants, whom no flesh has seen, yet now he is seen; whom no hearing has found yet now he is known as the word that is heard; whom no suffering can reach, yet now is (chastened) as we are; who was never chastened, yet now is chastened. (Trans. Schneemelcher: 304)

These antitheses bring to mind the description of the passion in the Acts of John 101: You heard that I suffered, yet I suffered not; and that I suffered not, yet I did suffer; and that I was pierced, yet I was not lashed; that I was hanged, yet I was not hanged; that blood flowed from me, yet it did not flow. . . . (Trans. Schäferdiek:185–86)

One is most reluctant to make too much of these “parallels,” for the antithetic style is a normal feature of “Asianic” rhetoric, 20 and the catalogues are far from identical. Nonetheless, two intriguing observations seem in order: 1. Both of these items are found in close proximity to the Transfiguration passage in each text (AcJohn 87–93; AcPet 20–21). 2. These affinities from the Acts of John belong to a passage (94–102) that appears to be a later addition to that text. (Pervo, 1992:58, with references). I therefore incline toward the view that the Acts of Peter 20–21, in its present form, exhibit use of the Acts of John 87–105. This inclination is enhanced by theological and redactional views of the Acts of John. To presume the editorial hypothesis: if the Acts of Peter were the source, both the “original author” and the editor of the Acts of John would have turned toward the same section of the Acts of Peter for resources. Even if the hypothesis about the secondary character of the Acts of John 94–102 is set aside, priority still appears to belong to the Acts of John. This tentative conclusion can only apply to the relation between the Acts of John and the edited translation of the Acts of Peter available in the Actus Vercellenses.21

20 See, for example, Melito’s Homily on the Pasch. 21 For comments on the editing of the Actus Vercellenses, see Thomas.

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Two Detached Episodes The now independent stories found in Cod. Berol. 8502.4 (Coptic; Parrott, 1979; and Roy, 1987) and Pseudo-Titus De Dispositione Sanctimonii (Vouaux: 8–41 [with Latin text]; de Santos Otero: 53–74; Schneemelcher: 279, 287) are of interest because they reflect views that would be unremarkable in the context of the Acts of John but are atypical of the surviving Acts of Peter. If these episodes derive from an earlier and less catholic edition of the work, they may raise additional questions about its relationship to the Acts of John. Both tales take a strong view on celibacy, and an even stronger view on women as the cause of male lust. In the Coptic text Peter is challenged in the midst of a Sunday healing service as to why he does not heal his beautiful, crippled, virgin daughter. She is promptly healed, then immediately returned to her former condition. The reason for this apparently insensitive display of brute power is that the daughter had already become an occasion of temptation by the tender age of ten, at which stage of her maturation the wealthy Ptolemy had seen her bathing with her mother.22 After Ptolemy’s proposals of marriage were declined, he had the girl kidnapped.23 Shortly thereafter she reappeared at the parental door, crippled. Ptolemy repented and left his property to the church. Pseudo-Titus relates the fate of a peasant (“gardener,” cf. John 20:11–18) and his virgin daughter. In response to Peter’s prayer that she receive what was best for her, she dropped dead. Her father did not appreciate this benefaction and demanded that she be raised. His wish came true. Shortly thereafter she eloped with a visitor. There is a clear affinity with Acts of John 63–64 and 48–54 (which also features a farmer and child). For their own welfare, and, more importantly, that of men, women are better dead or disabled.24 The Coptic text shows links with both the NT (cf. Mark 1:29–2:12) and, possibly, the Actus Vercellenses, in particular chaps. 20–21, with its liturgical setting and the vision that dissuaded Ptolemy from suicide, a great light, accompanied here by a voice.25 The grounds for a literary relationship between these two stories and the Acts of John are not particularly strong. The the-

22 Peter and his family are firmly located in a Greco-Roman urban environment in which (evidently mixed or open) baths can be a source of difficulty. For a critique of such exposure see Clement Paid. 3.5. (Baths also occur in the Acts of Andrew, Greg Epit 5, 23, and 27.) At this point two pages of the ms. are missing. Into this gap march Augustine, c. Adimantum 17, the Acts of Philip, and the Acts of Achilles and Nereus. With regard to the former see Vouaux: 38–41. The latter give interesting data on the transformation of apocryphal Acts, perhaps one end of a line on which stands the Actus Vercellenses. For discussion see Vouaux and the references in Roy (177). 23 This presents in summary form what could constitute a stimulating episode of an ancient romantic novel. 24 On misogyny in the Petrine tradition see Roy: 184. 25 Cf. also Acts 9:1–9. Roy (219) says that the Acts of Peter 21 could serve as a commentary on 138, 7–10: “Then he did see with the eyes of his flesh and with the eyes of his soul. . . .”

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ology of these two isolated praxeis is, however, quite “Johannine” in that it “spiritualizes” miracles as symbols of spiritual healing and rebirth, whereas in the Actus Vercellenses they are palpable demonstrations of divine power that have a probative force. This leads me to conclude, once more, that, if there is dependence, the Acts of John seems to be prior. Conclusion There does appear to be a relationship between the Acts of Peter and the Acts of John. The question of source is very difficult to establish on purely linguistic grounds. Both utilize the polymorphy of the Transfiguration story to undergird the authority of the featured apostle. Both make this concept an aspect of their respective theologies. If the author of the Acts of John is more successful in this regard, does this achievement constitute an argument for originality? That, too, is a difficult question. Both works are incomplete and have received what competent critics claim to be interpolations. My hesitant conclusions depend upon both redactional theory and the view that the Acts of John preserves a more coherent and distinct theology than does the Acts of Peter. Both of these views are debatable. Whatever solution one adopts, it seems clear that intertextuality includes competition. In this case the Acts of Peter could get along better without the Transfiguration than could the Acts of John. Peter had many eggs in his basket of claims to primacy. It is equally true that the Acts of John evidently got on better without it, since the passage in question survived in but a single manuscript.26 P. J. Lalleman, “The Relation between the Acts of John and the Acts of Peter” (J. Bremmer, ed., The Apocryphal Acts of Peter: Magic, Miracles and Gnosticism [Leuven: Peeters, 1998], 161–77), reached me after this article was in proof. Lalleman makes a detailed case for the dependence of APt upon AJ.

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WORKS CONSULTED Funk, Robert W. 1990 New Gospel Parallels. Rev. ed. Sonoma, CA: Polebridge. Gamble, Harry W. 1995 Books and Readers in the Early Church: A History of Early Christian Texts. New Haven: Yale University Press. Howell, Peter 1980 A Commentary on Book One of the Epigrams of Martial. London: Athlone. Jones, F. Stanley 1993 “Principal Orientations on the Relations between the Apocryphal Acts (Acts of Paul and Acts of John; Acts of Peter and Acts of John).” SBLSP 32: 485–505.

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Junod, Eric and Jean-Daniel Kaestli 1983 Acta Iohannis. CChrSA 1–2. Turnhout: Brepols. Lipsius, Richard A. and Max Bonnet, eds. 1891 Acta apostolorum apocrypha. Vol 1. Leipzig: Hermann Mendelssohn. Reprinted Hildesheim: Georg Olms, 1959. Parrott, Douglas M., ed. 1979 Nag Hammadi Codices V, 2–5 and VI with Papyrus Berolinensis 8502, 1 and 4. NHS11. Leiden: E. J. Brill. Pervo, Richard I. 1978 “The Literary Genre of the Acts of the Apostles.” Ph.D. dissertation, Harvard University. 1987

Profit with Delight. Philadelphia: Fortress.

1992

“Johannine Trajectories in the Acts of John.” Apocrypha 3:47–68.

1994

“Early Christian Fiction.” Pp. 239–54 in Greek Fiction: The Greek Novel in Context. Ed. J. R. Morgan and Richard Stoneman. London: Routledge.

1996

“The Ancient Novel Becomes Christian.” Pp. 685–711 in The Novel in the Ancient World. Ed. G. Scheming. Mnemosyne Supplementum 159. Leiden: E. J. Brill.

Roy, Louise 1987 L’Acte de Pierre, Bibliotheque Copte de Nag Hammadi, “Textes” 18 Quebec: L’Université Laval. de Santos Otero, Aurelio 1992 “The Pseudo-Titus Epistle.” Pp. 53–74 in New Testament Apocrypha: Revised Edition of the Collection Initiated by Edgar Hennecke. Vol. 2, Writings Relating to the Apostles; Apocalypses and Related Subjects. Ed. Wilhelm Schneemelcher. Trans. R. McL. Wilson. Louisville: Westminster/John Knox. Schäferdieck, Knut 1992 “The Acts of John.” Pp. 152–209 in New Testament Apocrypha: Revised Edition of the Collection Initiated by Edgar Hennecke. Vol. 2, Writings Relating to the Apostles; Apocalypses and Related Subjects. Ed. Wilhelm Schneemelcher. Trans. R. McL. Wilson. Louisville: Westminster/John Knox. Schneemelcher, Wilhelm 1992 “The Acts of Peter.” Pp. 271–321 in New Testament Apocrypha: Revised Edition of the Collection Initiated by Edgar Hennecke. Vol. 2, Writings Relating to the Apostles; Apocalypses and Related Subjects. Ed. Wilhelm Schneemelcher. Trans. R. McL. Wilson. Louisville: Westminster/John Knox. Thomas, Christine M. 1992 “Word and Deed: The Acts of Peter and Orality.” Apocrypha 3:125–64. Vouaux, Léon 1922 Les Actes de Pierre. Introduction, textes, traduction et commentaire. Paris: Letouzey & Ané.

THE ACTS OF PETER IN INTERTEXTUAL CONTEXT Robert F. Stoops, Jr. Western Washington University

abstract In his analysis of chronological relationships among the early apocryphal Acts, Dennis MacDonald focused on the question of literary dependence. This study surveys the modes of intertextuality evident in the Acts of Peter and brings the results to bear on the question of it relationship to the Acts of Paul. Intra-textual variants demonstrate the author’s techniques of deliberate variation and rhetorical composition. A range of intertextual relationships can be discerned as well. The author’s strategies are dictated largely by the nature of the sources. The Old Testament is treated as oracular communication; isolated verses are carefully quoted. The sayings of Jesus are also appealed to as authorities, but are not cited as scripture. Gospel-like narratives are most often referred to as exemplary events but, with one important exception, are not dealt with in detail. Other probable sources, including the canonical Acts, Justin’s Apologies and the Martyrdom of Polycarp are treated with great freedom. The review of intertextuality within the Acts of Peter suggests that if the authors of apocryphal Acts borrowed from one another, the borrowed material would be modified and directed to new rhetorical purposes. Therefore, it is necessary to consider parallels in narrative structure as well as verbal congruities in analyzing the intertextual relationship between the Acts of Peter and the Acts of Paul. Those parallels reveal a close relationship between the two texts in some places. The quo vadis scene remains the strongest evidence that the Acts of Peter served as a source for the Acts of Paul. This conclusion is supported by the differing relationships of these two apocryphal Acts to the general text of the culture within which they were written.

In his study of synoptic relations among the early apocryphal Acts in this volume, Dennis MacDonald argues that chronological priority should be assigned to the Acts of Paul rather than to the Acts of Peter, which held the honor from the time of Carl Schmidt’s publication of the Hamburg Papyrus (1936) until recently, or to the Acts of John, which now has its champions (Junod and Kaestli). MacDonald quite rightly claims that close verbal parallels offer the clearest and most reliable way of establishing the existence of intertextual relationships. Employing a set of three criteria for determining the direction of dependence, MacDonald concludes that both the Acts of Peter and the Acts of John show signs of literary dependence on the Acts of Paul. However, literary

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dependence in the form of direct citation, borrowing or copying is not the only form of intertextual relationship at work in the apocryphal Acts. If the evidence of verbal parallels is not as conclusive as MacDonald believes it to be, other types of intertextuality must be taken into account. It is particularly important to consider how stories and their components were used in the ancient world, because influence could take many paths (Valantasis). Several factors must be considered in any discussion of the intertextual relationship between the Acts of Peter and the Acts of Paul. The extended narratives of apostolic voyages have particular importance for the question of literary dependence. The martyrdoms of the two apostles share some motifs while expressing fundamentally different attitudes toward the larger world. In addition, the Acts of Peter refers briefly to Paul’s martyrdom under Nero, which is described in more detail in the Acts of Paul. The Acts of Paul, in turn, refers to a ship’s captain who had been baptized by Peter, and the Acts of Peter narrates that event, albeit with a different name. The two documents also share the famous quo vadis scene, in which the apostle is met by Christ, who reports that he is about to be crucified again. The picture is complicated by the fact that these episodes intersect in interesting, but significantly different, ways in each of the Acts. Answers to the questions of chronology and literary dependence will probably require new manuscript evidence, if they are to be settled at all. Nevertheless, it remains important to construct clear models of intertextuality, because those models have implications for the larger project of understanding both early Christianity and its literature. Intertextual connections were an important part of the original meaning of the apocryphal Acts. It often does make a difference whether the audience of one document was expected to know another set of texts and what sort of authority they might have attributed to them. Limiting my discussion to the Acts of Peter allows for the consideration of a broader range of intertextual relationships. Consideration of other possible intertexts leads me to read the quo vadis and martyrdom sections of the Acts of Peter differently from the way MacDonald does. In the end, the chronological question requires that synoptic studies be supplemented with an attempt to locate the written texts within the developing general text—or culture—of the Roman Empire in the second half of the second century. The Acts of Peter, like the other apocryphal Acts, participates in a complex network of intertextual relationships. Before its use of other documents as sources, authorities, or the targets of allusion can be discussed, the relationship of this “text” to other texts at the level of surviving manuscripts must be noted. The Acts of Peter as we read it in any modern edition or translation is pieced together from incomplete witnesses. The manuscript base is narrow, especially compared to that of Biblical books, so the peculiarities of each witness have a significant impact on the character of the reconstructed text. The

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majority of what we know as the Acts of Peter survives only in a Latin translation. The single manuscript of that translation, the Actus Vercellenses, is actually a copy of Rufinus’ translation of the Pseudo-Clementine Recognitions, to which the material we identify as the Acts of Peter has been appended with no title or other sign that it should be considered a separate text. A scribe apparently truncated the Acts of Peter in order to graft it (or rather its Latin translation) onto the Recognitions, which normally ends with a report of Simon Magus’ departure for Rome. Zahn (843–44) argued on the basis of the stichometry of Nichephoros that roughly one-third of the original is missing. Several references to earlier events in Jerusalem make it likely that the opening part of the text narrating events in that city has been lost (Schmidt, 1903: 146–48; 1926:497–99). The manuscripts of the martyrdom section, whether in the original Greek or one of the many translations, all belong to menologies, collections of hagiographic materials prepared for liturgical use in celebration of the saints’ days. The final chapters have been excerpted with little or no attention to what went before. A vellum leaf from Oxyrhynchus (P Oxy 849) offers the Greek of a small portion of Acts of Peter 25–26 but is too brief to determine the length of the version it represents (Grenfell and Hunt). Finally, the “Act of Peter” found at the end of P Berol 8502 is a Coptic translation, with slight editorial modifications, of an episode drawn from the missing Jerusalem portion of the Acts of Peter.1 Modes of Intertextuality The author of the Acts of Peter appropriated “texts” of various types, both those that were written and other less easily delimited kinds of texts. Among the clearest sources of information concerning the author’s compositional techniques and treatment of sources are the intra-textual variants. Several narrative units appear more than once within the Acts of Peter, but they are not woodenly repeated. Rather they give evidence of rhetorical purpose in the reshaping of units of tradition. One striking doublet, the paired resurrections of widows’ sons in Acts of Peter 25–28, displays the author’s freedom and intent in handling such stories. Each story begins with a widow who approaches Peter through the crowd in the forum to report that her only son has died. Each mother is sent home to retrieve the body of her son. Each son is restored to life through

1 This picture, which suggests the difficulty of making sweeping generalizations about intertextual relations, could be further complicated if the Acts of Peter as represented in the Actus Vercellenses is the product of several layers of redaction as many now believe (Poupon; Thomas, 1992 and in this volume). For reasons that will become apparent below, I do not think it is necessary or helpful to postulate multiple layers of redaction in the Acts of Peter where the evidence is not compelling.

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Peter’s prayers. These stories demonstrate intertextuality in the broadest sense. They are clearly variants, or performances, of the same basic story. It is useless to ask which is more original, since each employs a widespread story pattern filled out with motifs that would have been familiar to both author and audience from written texts (e.g. 1 Kgs 17:17–24, Lk 7:11–16) and oral tradition. Since each story also employs phrases characteristic of the Acts of Peter, they were both probably composed by the author of the Acts of Peter on the basis of traditional materials. While there is enough verbal congruence to construct a synopsis in the style of MacDonald, the stories are recognized as variants primarily on the basis of similar narrative frameworks and shared story components. In fact, the wording of the two stories appears to be deliberately varied for both literary and rhetorical effect. Each of the resurrections is designed to appeal to a particular portion of the potential audience and carries a message directed to that group (Stoops, 1986:94). The story of the poor widow’s son assures the humble of Christ’s care and of their importance in the church. The story of the dead senator reminds the wealthy believers of their obligation to contribute the material means necessary for the care of the poor. Both groups remain obligated to Christ as the source of salvation—in all of its senses. These parallel resurrection stories show that the author could, and did, vary narrative details to produce new stories with their own character, point, and internal consistency. It is reasonable to expect that other traditional materials, including any borrowed from other apocryphal Acts, would have been transformed and put to new purposes in similar fashion. Imitation and variation were both expected and valued in the literary practice of the Roman empire. At the highest levels of literary creativity stood poets like Vergil, whose Aeneid is one of the most deliberately intertextual works of literature ever produced. It engages in a running dialogue with the Homeric epics and the tradition of allegorical interpretation of Homer, while working in allusions to Roman poets from Ennius to Catullus. Its full effect depends on the audience’s recognition of both the imitation and the transformation of its predecessors. The writers of apocryphal Acts were not operating on the level of Vergil, but they were working in an environment that expected imitation and variation, in part because of the role that the Aeneid assumed in the Roman curriculum. At less sophisticated levels, training in both literature and rhetoric included the transformation of traditional elements, both to fit new arguments and as a matter of good style. Quintilian’s discussion of the first stages of literary education (Inst. Orat. 1.9.1–6) reveals the importance of adaptation and paraphrase in composition. He suggests that paraphrasing fables is the place to begin learning to write. Students should then proceed to transform poetry into prose, after which come exercises in embellishing or abridging as ap-

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propriate. Quintilian considers paraphrasing the poets a good way to impart both knowledge and style. Scholars associated with the Chreia Project at the Institute for Antiquity and Christianity have shown that the skills of paraphrase, elaboration, and adaptation were essential parts of literary and rhetorical education in the later Hellenistic and Roman periods. The introductory handbooks of rhetoric, Progymnasmata, discuss the chreia (creiva), a short narrative about a specific individual containing a “useful” saying or action, as the simplest unit suitable for preliminary exercises for those who had completed secondary education, i.e. literary studies, and were moving on to rhetoric (Mack: 31). Reminiscences (ajpomnhmoneuvmata), the sort of material that makes up the bulk of the apocryphal Acts, are distinguished primarily by their greater length. Both are valued, along with the even more succinct maxims (gnw`mai), because they are useful for life (biwfelhv~; Theon Progymnasmata = Hock and O’Neil: 82–83; Hermogenes Progymnasmata 3 = Hock and O’Neil: 174–75). In the practice of composition, reminiscences would be subject to the same sort of manipulation as chreiai. Theon of Alexandria discussed a number of operations that might be performed on a chreia to vary the mode of expression (Hock and O’Neil: 94–107). Some, like inflection through the grammatical cases, are purely mechanical. Others are evaluative, giving reasons for praise or criticism. Of most interest is the fact that the student is also expected to be able to either expand or condense the chreia appropriately. Hermogenes was a contemporary of Marcus Aurelius and therefore not far removed in time from the writers of the early apocryphal Acts. He suggested that the various exercises should ideally be integrated into a coherent speech. He breaks down the elements of elaboration into praise, paraphrase, rationale, contraries, analogy, example, authority, and exhortation (Hock and O’Neil: 176–77). As he lists the types of elaboration, Hermogenes gives examples that develop a consistent argument from these various angles. Burton Mack and Vernon Robbins, among others, have shown that elements of rhetorical composition can be found in the New Testament, not only in the speeches of Acts or the arguments of Paul’s letters, but also underlying narrative portions of the Gospels as well. Exercises in rhetoric established patterns of elaboration for both narrative and sayings (Mack and Robbins: 63–65, 195–208). Although formal patterns of argument were not rigidly applied outside of school exercises (Mack and Robbins: 197–98), they suggest the kind of associative logic by which blocks of narrative could be developed. The development of a “complete argument” in these exercises often looks more like composition by theme and variation than a rigorous syllogism. The fundamental idea is expressed and then reinforced with different kinds of material. Robbins (1996b) applies these patterns to the analysis of larger

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narratives within the Gospels. George Kennedy has even suggested that the concerns of more sophisticated rhetorical technique can be usefully sought within the canonical Gospels (97–113). While it is unlikely that the authors of any of the apocryphal Acts studied with the likes of Theon, Hermogenes, or Quintilian, they almost certainly had some formal training, which probably employed handbooks and stock examples. The school exercises by which their thought patterns were shaped relied heavily on narrative. They responded to narrative with a ready imitation, one skilled at both elaboration and abridgement but ultimately guided by the rhetorical task of application. Stories may have been told for entertainment at times in the ancient world, but the evidence suggests that they were written almost always for purposes of instruction or persuasion. Cultural engagement is an essential aspect of writing. Written narratives were used either to reinforce or to critique existing values, and their users were well aware of their implications. The two stories of resurrected sons in the Acts of Peter are integrated into the main plot through their association with yet a third resurrection story. The setting for all three is a public contest between Simon Magus and Peter held in the Julian Forum (AcPet 23–28). The fundamental issue is introduced when Peter is challenged to “show us the power of your God,” a challenge that gets repeated later. A verbal debate precedes the contest of miracles. Simon is denounced as a fraud and a coward, but he recovers enough to offer some typical anti-Christian arguments. Peter responds by citing an authority, the evidence of prophecy. Because the crowd is not in a position to understand this evidence (an internal critique), the decision falls to demonstrations of power through action. The movement from word to action follows the pattern predicted when Jesus, speaking in a vision, commissioned Peter to go to Rome (AcPet 5). That vision underscores the evidentiary function of miracle stories in the Acts of Peter. Neither the audience within the text nor the audience of the text can miss the point when the prefect introduces the miracle contest: “It is for you to judge which of them is acceptable to God, the one who brings death or the one who brings life.” Just after Simon kills a young man, who happens to be a favorite of the emperor, by speaking into his ear, the contest is interrupted by the approach of the first bereft widow, a poor Christian. After she is sent off to fetch the body of her son, Peter prays and the boy Simon had killed returns to life. Peter’s God is acclaimed as the one true God. Although the question of whose god is more powerful has been settled by the combination of the exposure of Simon’s character, the appeal to scriptural authority, and demonstration through action, the narrative continues. The poor widow’s son is brought in, and Peter prays again. The youth returns to life and reports his own vision explaining Christ’s care. The story of the poor widow’s son both reinforces the original demonstration of divine

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power and makes a specific application by showing how that power is beneficial and what the proper human response to it should be. At this point the second widow, a non-believer of senatorial rank who has heard about Peter from her slaves, approaches through the crowd to ask that her dead son be restored to life. This third resurrection, which strikes many modern eyes as excessive, serves two purposes. First, it allows for a further specification of the application; this mother and son serve as a foil to the first pair in terms of socio-economic status and faith. Peter’s discussion of the status of the slaves freed for the funeral procession and the donations later made by the mother and son both suggest the duties incumbent upon the wealthy members of the new community. Second, when this mother returns with the body of her son, Simon is given a chance to replicate the miracles worked through Peter. He fails, of course, and his failure provides the counterexample that clinches the case in the minds of the witnesses. These witnesses are, in fact, a bit overzealous in their conviction, since Peter has to protect Simon from their wrath, and is later venerated as a god himself (AcPet 29). The narrative in these chapters never loses sight of the underlying issue, the power of miracles to elicit faith, but the elaboration through variation on the basic theme introduces specific applications. Together the complex of three resurrections and its agonistic frame fuse two of the leading themes in the Acts of Peter, religious competition and Christ’s care for those who belong to him.2 Another kind of intertextuality is also evident in this section of the Acts of Peter. In his speech in Acts of Peter 23, the apostle refers to events that have already been narrated, such as the first encounter with Simon in Jerusalem and the story of Eubula, and to events that are coming. More importantly, Peter refers to events that are not narrated and to ideas that are not explicated in the text at all. The birth of Christ is referred to in Peter’s initial speech (AcPet 23). The future service of the poor widow’s son as a deacon and a bishop is predicted in Acts of Peter 27.3 It is, of course, not unusual for a narrative text to have a network of internally linked elements; examples could be multiplied throughout the Acts of Peter. The frequent visions which

2 Similar rhetorical devices can be seen at work elsewhere in the Acts of Peter. The development of the Peter’s daughter story lends itself nicely to this kind of analysis. A mixed chreia, combining an action and saying, is elaborated into a narrative sequence of speeches, and counterexamples, all of which ultimately support a saying on providence. Interestingly, this story is found condensed back to the simplest chreia form in Augustine (Contra Adiamantum 17), who seems to be citing the Acts of Peter, and in Acts of Philip 142, which probably draws on the Acts of Peter. Some of the problematic seams noted by Poupon and Thomas should be reevaluated in light of these compositional techniques. 3 His service is never narrated. How it relates to the time frame of the Acts of Peter is not clear. This loose thread may have served as the beginning of Pseudo-Linus tradition.

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foretell the events about to unfold guarantee that cross-referencing is a significant element in the text. The written text is also incorporated into a framework that extends beyond the narrated time, and some elements of background knowledge are assumed. Although the crowd in the forum does not understand the prophecies, the audience (or most of it) presumably does. Peter’s speech on the cross (AcPet 38–39) ultimately extends the frame of reference to cover the whole span from Adam and the beginning of all things to eternity. The Acts of Peter expects its audience to have a frame of intertextual reference that extends well beyond the immediate narrative. Several conclusions with consequences for understanding the intertextual strategies of the Acts of Peter, and other apocryphal Acts, can be drawn from this overview. First, the transformation of appropriated sources is to be expected. A story, whatever its “original” source, would be reshaped to suit the purposes at hand, unless the source had extraordinary authority. However, since shared material would typically be adapted to the author’s purposes in both the source and in the dependent text, it is often difficult to decide which setting is native. Second, the apocryphal Acts, like other writings of the time, were meant to address the general text of their society and culture. They were meant to instruct and/or persuade an audience about how to live. For all their fantastic elements, the apocryphal Acts do not aim at creating a self-contained imaginative world. They engage the external world in practical ways and expect those who read or hear the text to bring a certain amount of information and certain predispositions to it. Third, smaller units of tradition, whether originating in written or oral sources, are likely to be shaped into larger rhetorical units with both a point and a kind of coherence that may have been more obvious to ancient ears than to modern eyes. Many of the transitions that appear to be redactional seams may be better understood as deliberate juxtapositions of complimentary types of argument within a thematically unified whole. Moreover, elaboration and other forms or manipulation, such as that seen in the two resurrection stories of Acts of Peter 25–28, were not carried out simply for aesthetic effect, but rather to construct an argument and to bring out the “usefulness for life” implicit in the stories. The apocryphal Acts should not be read as though they were poorly written histories patched together from whatever materials lay to hand.4 When borrowing can be detected, it is not necessarily a case of “robbing Paul to pay Peter” as MacDonald wryly suggests. Paucity of information, origi-

4 This approach is continued by Schneemelcher, even in his most recent edition (1992), both with regard to the apocryphal acts collectively (2.76) and the Acts of Peter in particular (2.281).

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nality, or imagination should not be the explanations of first resort. Rather it is important to look for ways in which the various resources available to these authors were reshaped into larger, purposeful units. Doing so requires sensitivity to ancient as well as modern models of intertextuality.5 Uses of Biblical texts in the ACTS OF PETER Citations of, and allusions to, Biblical texts and traditions provide one of the most important intertextual frameworks for the Acts of Peter. Peter’s preaching is summarized as: “Peter explained the writings of the prophets and the things which our Lord Jesus Christ had done, both in word and in deeds” (AcPet 13). The formulation is probably traditional (Acts 1:1, Eusebius Hist. eccl. 3.39.15), but it accurately reflects a distinction between Old Testament scripture, all of which is considered prophetic, and gospel-like traditions about Jesus, which are treated more like chreiai. The traditions about Jesus undoubtedly came from both written (AcPet 20) and oral (AcPet 40) sources, but that distinction is not particularly important for the author. The intertextuality of Old Testament references in Peter’s speeches is not ambiguous. Modern readers may think in terms of proof texts, but for the ancient world it is more appropriate to think in term of oracles. The prophetic writings require interpretation, but properly understood they reveal the will of God. The details of wording are, therefore, important, and they are quoted carefully. These assumptions can be seen in Peter’s argument against Simon in the forum where Peter cites a list of prophecies pointing to the Christ: Do you dare to speak thus, when the prophet says of him: “His birth who can declare it?” (Isa 53:8); and another prophet says: “We saw him, and he possessed neither beauty nor grace” (Isa 53:2); and “In the last times a boy will be born from the Holy Spirit. His mother knows not a man, nor does anyone say he is his father” (cf. Isa 9:6). Again he says: “She has given birth and not given birth.”6 And again: “Is it a small thing for you to contend” and “Behold, a virgin shall conceive in her womb” (Isa 7:13–14). Another prophet, giving honor to the Father says: “We have neither heard

5 Assessing the historical authenticity of traditions is a modern preoccupation. The criteria of the rhetorical handbooks are that a narrative should be apt and plausible—what happened or could have happened. Otherwise the story is a fable, but even that line was not hard and fast, and any form could be used to support an argument. Similar issues are raised in discussions of history-writing, which emphasized the importance of ethical purpose over the cataloguing of events. Narrative of all types could be turned to rhetorical purpose. The task of the rhetorical handbooks was to show how it should be done. Stories as well as speeches were meant to be edifying, but not in the rather shallow way that term is sometimes used to dismiss the apocryphal Acts. 6 This prophecy is attributed to Ezekiel by Tertullian (De carne Christi 22). Cf. Clement Alex. Strom. 7.16 and Epihanius Haeres 30.30.

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semeia her voice, nor has a midwife entered” (cf. Ascension of Isaiah 11.14). Yet another prophet says, “He was not born from the womb of a woman, but he descended from a heavenly place,” and “a stone was cut without hands and has struck down all the kingdoms” (Dan 2:34), and “a stone which the builders rejected, this was placed in the head of the corner” (Ps 118:2). He also calls him a stone “chosen and precious” (Isa 28:16). Again, the prophet says of him: “Behold, I saw coming on a cloud one like a son of man” (Dan 7:13). (AcPet 24)

The citations are probably drawn from a testimony list compiled for apologetic and homiletic purposes (Turner: 129). Not all of them are canonical. There is little in the surviving portions of the Acts of Peter to suggest that the author was familiar with the Old Testament as a continuous narrative or expected the audience to be. Knowledge of the context of the brief Old Testament citations does not enhance their meaning or effectiveness.7 It is, rather, knowledge of a theological context that is required for proper understanding. Peter concludes by addressing the crowd gathered in the forum: O Romans, if you were acquainted with the prophetic writings, I would expound everything to you. Because of these (scriptures) it was necessary that the Kingdom of God also should come to completion through a mystery. However, these things will be revealed to you later. (AcPet 24)

In a few instances, Old Testament events are cited alongside examples from the New Testament without direct quotation. Peter’s speech in Acts of Peter 7, which catalogues the works of the devil, moves directly from Adam to Judas and Herod then shifts back to the Egyptian Pharaoh. Only the barest familiarity with the key events of Biblical history is necessary to understand such references. The modes of intertextuality by which New Testament materials are appropriated are more complicated. Gospel-like materials are most often treated as sayings heard or events narrated. They are not cited as scripture (i.e. written texts) with one important exception, the worship scene in Acts of Peter 20. The sayings of Jesus are sometimes quoted directly and are treated as authoritative. Narrative units are referred to more obliquely, with little or no attention to their wording—indeed the wording of the written text is called into question in Acts of Peter 20, where a Gospel serves as the basis for Peter’s sermon. The sayings of Jesus, like the Old Testament scriptures, are assumed to be direct communications from God and function as authorities quite apart from their original context in a written document. In Acts of Peter 40, a do-

7 The Acts of Paul in contrast regularly uses Old Testament stories as exemplars of proper behavior.

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minical saying is integrated into a narrative that applies the saying to the new question of honoring the relics of the apostle-cum-martyr. Peter came to Marcellus at night and said, “Marcellus, haven’t you heard the saying of the Lord: ‘Leave the dead to be buried by their own dead?’” When Marcellus answered, “Yes,” Peter said to him: “These things that you have provided for the dead, you have lost; for you, even while you remain alive, care for the dead as though dead.”

The fact that Peter speaks to Marcellus in a vision reinforces the lesson, but the clear implication is that Marcellus should have been able to decide the proper course of action on the basis of the saying. There is the nice irony in the fact that Peter, who in the ordinary sense is dead, lectures Marcellus, who is accused of being spiritually dead, on the question of proper funeral rites. In Peter’s speech from the cross (AcPet 38) a (non-canonical) saying is quoted to confirm the explication of the mystery of creation, suggesting that its authority is comparable to that of the scriptures. When this one (the first human being), who also cast his own beginning onto the earth, was pulled down, he established the whole cosmic order, since he was suspended as an image in which he displayed the things on the right as on the left and those on the left as on the right. He interchanged all the signs of their nature, so that he considered beautiful the things which are not beautiful, and good the things that are in reality bad. Concerning these things, the Lord said in a mystery: “Unless you make the things on the right as the things on the left and the things on the left as the things on the right and the things above as the things below, and the things behind as the things in front, you will not recognize the kingdom.” (Cf. 2 Clem. 12.2, Gos. Thom. 22, AcPhil 140, and AcThom 92)

Narratives about Jesus, or Peter, are cited more loosely than the sayings. The stories are treated as familiar and were probably known in both written and oral forms. They contribute to the speeches and to the narrative portions of the Acts of Peter, constituting part of the pool of traditions drawn on for story patterns, motifs, and examples. Written Gospels and similar traditions provide patterns for some of the miracle stories, for the martyrdom, and possibly for other parts of the Acts of Peter as well. Peter notes on several occasions that he was a witness to Jesus’s miracles, but the author’s favorite episodes are the story of Peter’s attempt to walk on water and his denial of Christ. All of these come together when Peter introduces himself to the Roman crowd in Acts of Peter 7: I was with him, and I walked on water. I myself remain as a witness to him. When he was active in the world, performing signs and wonders, I was present. I confess, dearest brothers and sisters, that I denied our Lord Jesus Christ not only once but three times, for there were wicked dogs surround-

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semeia ing me just as the Lord’s prophet <said> (Ps 22:16). But the Lord did not blame me, and he turned toward me. He had compassion on the weakness of my flesh, so that later I lamented bitterly and mourned my faith that was so weak, because I was deprived of sense by the devil and did not keep in mind the word of my Lord.

Similarly, in Acts of Peter 10 the repentant Marcellus quotes the saying on faith as a mustard seed and refers to Peter’s failure to walk on water in making an argument that Peter should intercede for him: Christ, our Lord, whom you preach in truth, said to your fellow apostles in your presence: “If you have faith like a grain of mustard, if you say to this mountain, “Move!” it will move immediately.” Peter, this Simon called you unfaithful, because you doubted on the water. I also heard that he said, “Those who are with me do not understand me.”8 So if you (pl.) on whom he placed his hands, whom he also chose, and with whom he worked marvels, doubted, I repent, since I have this evidence; and I take refuge in your prayers.

These distinctive stories about Peter are, quite naturally linked to the themes of weakness of faith and forgiveness, which are fundamental to the Acts of Peter as a whole. There is an obvious fit between the figure of Peter and the issues that concern the Acts of Peter, so that these references not only contribute to the narrative but also reinforce the important ideas of the text. On the other hand, Simon’s attempt to use both the story of Peter’s water walking and a (non-canonical) saying of Jesus against Peter suggests that gospel materials require proper understanding as much as the prophetic oracles of the Old Testament. The author’s attitude toward a written Gospel is made explicit in Acts of Peter 20. At least one “Gospel” (probably Matthew) had achieved a quasiscriptural status for the author. Acts of Peter 20 depicts such a text being read in worship. When Peter enters the room, he rolls up the scroll (cf. Luke 4:20) and begins to explain the event, which is the transfiguration. The text itself is not quoted.9 The written is subordinated to the spoken even within this written version of Peter’s life. The written word is characterized as weak and the product of limited understanding, an idea which recalls the delightfully ambiguous phrasing of 2 Pet 3:15, where Paul is said to have “written according to the wisdom that was given to him.” The authority of written texts is again called into question in Acts of Peter 39, the speech from the cross:

8 Cf. AcJohn 92. 9 The text is also referred to as “the holy scriptures of our Lord,” but the Latin translation frequently inserts the title”Lord”; the reference to “scriptures” may reflect the understanding of the translator rather than the author.

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I thank you, King, with this voice that is apprehended through silence, that is not heard openly, that does not proceed through the organs of the body, that does not enter ears of flesh, that is not heard by corruptible substance, that is neither subsisting in the cosmos and poured forth in the earth, nor is it written in books, nor does it belong to one person while not belonging to another.

Because the issue is association with the flesh, the Old Testament is probably not meant to be included in this depreciation of the written. The scriptures, along with the sayings of Jesus, constitute direct communication from God. In explaining the character of the gospel, Peter apparently shows a preference for the “living word” of oral tradition, because it provides a more direct encounter with the Spirit. The uneasy recognition of texts combined with a preference for the living word or oral tradition was widely shared among Christians in the second half of the second century. A rather striking parallel appears in the mention of apostolic memoirs (ajpomnhmoneuvmata) in Justin Martyr, who notes that the president of the congregation explicates the readings according to his ability (1 Apology 67.3, Dialogue 103.6). The use of New Testament and related traditions elsewhere in the Acts of Peter is consistent with this mixed assessment of the authority of the texts. If Gospels contribute significantly to the representation of Peter, the canonical Acts provides material about Paul. Knowledge of the canonical Acts as a text is demonstrated by the author’s adaptation of Acts 2:47 (“the Lord added to their number day by day those who were being saved”). Variants of this editorial phrase is used in similar transitional constructions in Acts of Peter 9 (“many believers in the Lord were added”), 31 (“many were added to the Lord’s grace each day”), and 33 (“the crowd who were being led to the holy name of the Lord’s grace daily”). These parallels show familiarity with the text of Acts; they do not prove that the author of the Acts of Peter was transcribing from an open copy of the canonical text. Although it was known as a text, the canonical Acts is clearly less authoritative than the gospel traditions. It is used without any acknowledgment that its contents might be familiar; it is simply part of the pool of tradition, used no differently than non-canonical or even non-Christian sources. One clear case of narrative overlap, the confrontation with Simon Magus (Acts 8:9–24), is treated quite freely (Matthews, 1992 and in this volume; Stoops, 1994:398–402). Some of the details in the Acts of Peter suggest direct use of the scene in Acts 8; but other details have been changed. The initial encounter is located in Jerusalem rather than Samaria (AcPet 17, 23). Peter is accompanied by Paul (AcPet 23, if the phrase is not a later gloss) rather than Philip. The picture of Simon in Acts of Peter 15 also employs elements of Paul’s encounter with another Magus, Bar-Jesus, in Acts 13:6–12. A similar transformation of elements from Acts 5:1–11 appears in the story of Peter’s

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daughter (P. Berol.) The story complex in Acts of Peter 25–29 also has several possible echoes of Acts (Stoops, 1994:395). The use of Acts is heaviest in connection with Paul and, therefore, in the part of the Actus Vercellenses identified as the first three chapters of the Acts of Peter. Paul’s imprisonment in Rome and his debates with Jews in Acts of Peter 1 can be related to Acts 28:16–31. Some elements of the farewell scene (AcPet 1–3) may be patterned after Acts 20:38; and Paul’s speeches (AcPet 2) employ two motifs that are probably drawn from Acts: forgiveness of things done previously in ignorance (Acts 17:30), and God’s knowledge of human hearts (Acts 1:24, 15:7). The picture of Paul as one who had once been a blasphemer and persecutor has parallels both in Acts and the Pauline letters. These parallels to Acts in the first three chapters of the Acts of Peter have sparked a good deal of controversy. Ficker (7) and Michaelis (317, 321–22) take them as proof that the Acts of Peter was intended to be read as a continuation of the canonical account. Others, beginning with Harnack (100–106), have argued that they are secondary additions that introduced both Paul and the theme of second repentance into the text (Vouaux: 27–33). The effort to identify the boundaries of the interpolations has led to increasingly elaborate theories of redaction (Poupon; Thomas). To my mind, the application of Occam’s razor suggests that hypothetical layers of redaction should not be used to explain features that do not really require explanation. The presence of two apostles in one text is established already in the canonical Acts. Concern for the return of apostates is not only possible in the mid-second century; 10 it is essential to the Acts of Peter throughout. Schmidt’s analysis remains the simplest: the Acts of Peter as represented by the Actus Vercellenses begins with Paul in Rome because that text treats material from the Acts of Peter as a continuation of the Pseudo-Clementine Recognitions (1926:509–12). The Acts of Peter does not assume that its audience is familiar with Acts. It is neither a continuation nor a correction of Luke’s text. The author of the Acts of Peter may have been trying to write something similar to Acts, but the Gospels remain the primary model (Stoops, 1994:403–4). The Pauline letters also belong among the sources used by the Acts of Peter. It is surprising that the Pauline letters are not treated as more authoritative, given their early status as a supplement to the Old Testament canon. They provided a number of names, a few phrases and probably the idea that Paul traveled from Rome to Spain. The author of the Acts of Paul was more successful at spinning narratives out of the details of the letters. The only narrative dealing with Peter explicitly (Gal 2:11–14) is less than complimentary to Peter and is, of course, not employed. The Acts of Peter shares with 1 and 2 Peter an interest in the connection between the church in Rome and the churches of northern Asia Minor. Both 10 See the letter of Dionysus of Corinth quoted in Eusebius Hist. eccl. 4.23.6.

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warn against false teachers who corrupt the faith. Both assign particular importance to the prophets and to the transfiguration scene (2 Pet 1:17–18, AcPet 20). Both acknowledge Paul as a fellow apostle, but somehow manage to subordinate his authority to that of Peter (2 Pet 3:15–16). However, there are even greater differences. Beyond the difference of genres, there are important theological differences. The letters are more concerned with apocalyptic eschatology, and persecution is seen as a more immediate threat. More importantly, their attitude toward backsliders (2 Pet 2:20–22) is diametrically opposed to that of the Acts of Peter, while the ethical instruction that is central to the letters is not a primary concern in the Acts of Peter. Both the letters and the Acts apparently belong to the same broad stream of Petrine tradition, but a direct link between them cannot be demonstrated. Extra-Biblical Sources Given the nascent status of the New Testament canon in the second half of the second century, it is almost inconceivable that the author of the Acts of Peter intended to write something with the status of scripture. Accordingly, the author drew on a variety of sources. The Acts of Peter clearly has affinities with Justin Martyr in its treatment of gospel traditions (AcPet 20; 1 Apology 66.3, Dialogue 103.6). It also apparently agrees with Justin in placing Simon in Rome under Claudius (1 Apology 26.1). The Acts of Peter sees demonic forces at work behind Simon. Justin insists that all forms of competing cult and heresy are the work of demons (1 Apology 14, 21, 26, 56–58). The reference to the statue of Simon Magus recalls but does not replicate the similar passage in Justin (1 Apology 26.2). This distinctively Roman tradition was probably known indirectly since there are significant differences of detail and the author of the Acts of Peter does not know Roman geography. Although the Acts of Peter shares some traditions about Simon Magus with Justin, much of what Justin had to say about Simon is not reflected in the apocryphal text. There are further parallels between the story of Peter’s martyrdom, and Justin’s report of the execution of a Christian teacher named Ptolemy in Rome (2 Apology 2). In each case the teacher is persecuted because a wife no longer shares her husband’s lust (AcPet 33–35). The story of Chryse (AcPet 30) also shares the motif of accusing a woman of having sexual relations with slaves as a sign of her depravity. It is probable that the author was familiar with the content of Justin’s works, either because they shared the same environment, or more likely because Justin was able to circulate his works through a substantial network of friends.11

11 Schmidt (1903:88–89) was convinced that Justin served as a source for the Acts of Peter. Schneemelcher (280) is unwilling to say whether the author knew Justin’s writings or not.

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The Martyrdom of Polycarp also shares several important motifs with the Martyrdom of Peter (=AcPet 30–41). These parallels seem to go beyond the influence of the passion narrative in each case (cf. Campenhausen). Polycarp is persuaded to leave town by believers, as is Peter. Polycarp’s dream of a fiery death serves the same function as the quo vadis in Acts of Peter 35. Polycarp delivers a lengthy public prayer while being burned, comparable to Peter’s speech from the cross. There is a limitation of the honors shown to the remains of the martyr in both cases, and both deaths bring an end to a more general persecution. These parallels are not sufficient to compel belief that the author of the Acts of Peter used the Martyrdom of Polycarp or the works of Justin, but the observations made about the ways sources are handled in the Acts of Peter increase the chances that these parallels stem from some sort of intertextual connection. At the very least they suggest a common cultural environment. A few non-Christian traditions can also be traced in the Acts of Peter. The figure of Marcellus may be based in part on a historical person, a governor of Bithynia who was charged with extortion for his practices as governor and with treason for replacing the portrait head on a statue of Augustus with the head of Tiberius (Ficker: 44–55). The story in which a departing demon destroys a statue in Acts of Peter 11 has strong affinities with Philostratus’ Life of Apollonius 4.20. The story seems to be more at home in the Life of Apollonius while it is mixed with other traditions in the Acts of Peter. Although classicists have been reluctant to admit the existence of the source Philostratus attributes to Damis, he must have had some sources for his Life. The author of the Acts of Peter may have known such a source of some of the traditions on which it was based. Chronology, of course, makes it possible that Philostratus is dependent on the Acts of Peter. The Acts of Peter participates in a rich set of intertextual relations and employs a variety of strategies in dealing with borrowed material. Differences in the treatment of sources does not necessarily imply different layers of redaction; rather the differing character of the intertexts comes into play. The inspired writings and dominical sayings can directly support an argument, even if they require a context of understanding to be fully functional. Gospel stories can be adapted to the occasion of each retelling, but are referred to as though they are familiar. Acts and the extra-Biblical sources are used without attribution. The treatment of narrative materials suggests that it may be very difficult to determine whether sources are oral or written; most of this material could easily pass back and forth between written and oral media. This means, again, that any apocryphal Acts used by the author of the Acts of Peter would have been used quite freely. The same, of course, applies to the use of the Acts of Peter by other apocryphal Acts. It also means that the full range of cultural intertexts must be kept in mind when analyzing the Acts of Peter and its intertextual relationships.

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Relationship to the ACTS OF PAUL The intertextual relationship(s) between the Acts of Peter and the Acts of Paul remains one of the most interesting and vexed questions concerning the synoptic relations among the apocryphal Acts.12 MacDonald documents the numerous verbal parallels and several apparent cross-references. It is likely that one author knew the other text in some form, although the possibility that intermediate texts or oral traditions play a role must be kept in mind.13 Whatever the transmission vector, the review of intertextuality in the Acts of Peter suggests that either author would have transformed any motifs borrowed from earlier sources, unless those sources had extraordinary authority as scripture. MacDonald’s criteria for determining the direction of influence do not allow sufficiently for the rhetorical purposes in the modification of traditions. Moreover, they work best when they are narrowly applied, but that may not always be appropriate. In principle, questions concerning external traditions, or sources, can be separated from judgments about internal coherence and from the specification of the development of theologoumena. However, in practice, the identification of generative external traditions depends on seeing a coherence between those traditions and the internal data. If the criterion of secondary improvement is applied to narrative elements as well as to ideas, it could conflict with the assumption that internal consistency is a sign of originality. The borrower might sometimes improve the coherence of the story, especially if the second authors were not all the unimaginative plagiarists they are sometimes made to be. I will concentrate my comments on the two large blocks of material discussed by MacDonald: the voyages of the apostles and the martyrdom narratives.14 Even this small sample reveals the complexity of the problem 12 For similar consideration of the case of the Acts of John see Pervo’s reflections on MacDonald’s criteria in this volume and the essay of Judith Perkins. Perkins’ treatment of the intertextual relationship between the Acts of John and the Acts of Peter is particularly interesting because she shows how differently the two authors use similar narratives, adapting shared motifs to their distinctive messages. She believes that the Acts of John shows awareness of, and disagreement with, the Acts of Peter. 13 If MacDonald is too strictly literary in his approach, Valantasis’ appeal to freely circulating stories as the primary means of transmission of tradition has a problem of control. Because Rome is the common element, Valantasis gives it center stage (236–37); but the Acts of Peter is about more than Rome, and much of the action in the original may have been placed in Jerusalem. 14 Concluding doxologies are among the features of a manuscript most likely to be modified by a scribe. Those at the conclusions of the Acts of Peter and the Acts of Paul appear in only the Athos manuscript and the Syriac tradition. I do not believe that useful conclusions can be based on a comparison of these elements. The episode at Myra (AcPaul 4 [P Heid 28–35]) also offers some interesting parallels to the Acts of Peter (Stoops, 1992:233), but the text is too fragmentary to allow firm conclusions.

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since the two scenes are interconnected and overlap to some degree. The description of Paul’s voyage to Rome in Acts of Paul 9–10 (Pap. Hamburg [=PH] 6–8) offers many parallels, in order, to Acts of Peter 1–6, which reports both the preparations for Paul’s journey from Rome to Spain and Peter’s journey from Caesarea to Rome. The parallels are particularly striking if one thinks in terms of narrative units rather than exact verbal parallels. Within this larger parallel structure, three items have caught the attention of those who wish to define the relationship between the two texts: the mention of Paul’s martyrdom in Acts of Peter 1, the reference to Peter’s baptism of a ship’s captain in Acts of Paul 10 (PH 7), and the quo vadis scenes in Acts of Paul 10 (PH 7) and Acts of Peter 35. These items require separate discussion. The sequence of parallel narrative elements begins with the revelation of Paul’s fate. In Acts of Paul 9–10 (PH 6–7), as Paul prepares for his departure for Rome, the faithful express concern that they will never see him again. A certain Cleobis, filled with the Spirit, makes Paul’s destiny as a martyr explicit. The crowd responds by praying that their weakness be considered. The parallel scene in Act of Peter 1 begins with Paul’s opportunity to leave his imprisonment in Rome. He seeks divine guidance and is told that he should make his way to Spain. When Paul reports his vision to the believers, they lament and worry that they will not see him again. When they ask Paul to return within a year because they are children in faith, a voice from heaven predicts Paul’s return to Rome at the end of his life to face martyrdom under Nero. Both stories may borrow from Paul’s farewell to the Ephesian elders in Acts 20:17–38. In each text, the revelation of Paul’s fate is followed by the celebration of a eucharist, which is disrupted, although in very different ways. In the Acts of Paul no procession to the port is narrated. He simply embarks on a ship, the captain of which had been baptized by Peter. This detail reinforces the frequent mentions of providence at work in Paul’s journey to Rome and martyrdom. In the Acts of Peter only Paul’s trip to the port is narrated. He is accompanied by many believers, including one named Cleobis. Paul’s departure is delayed by storm, but he is finally put on board with provisions and two companions. His voyage is not described, and Paul disappears from the Acts of Peter at this point.15 The narrative shifts to the arrival of Simon Magus in Rome. His corruption of the faithful makes Peter’s journey to Rome necessary. The voyage parallels continue with the narrative of Peter’s journey to Rome in Acts of Peter 5–6. Preparations, which were dealt with extensively in Paul’s case, get more cursory treatment when repeated for Peter, but even that serves a narrative purpose. Peter receives a vision in which his contest 15 Paul’s disappearance seems abrupt, no doubt contributing to the idea that Acts of Peter 1–3 is secondary. However, if Paul did have a role in the opening section, the Acts of Peter provides a mirror image of the canonical Acts where Peter is important in the first half but disappears to another place at Acts 12:17.

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with Simon is laid out, but his martyrdom is not mentioned (AcPet 5). He departs with no fanfare after reporting the vision to the believers. He finds a ship (providentially) ready to leave. Peter’s hurried departure underscores the serious nature of the crisis brought on by Simon in Rome and sets the scene for his interactions with the captain of the ship. On each apostle’s voyage, the captain shows hospitality. In the Acts of Paul, the captain is obviously a Christian and holds fellowship with Paul as a fellow believer. Acts of Peter 5 reports that Peter embarked without provisions because of the urgency of his journey. Although Theon, the captain, is not yet a believer, he demonstrates his virtue by offering to share his goods with the apostle. Later the roles are reversed when Peter shares the eucharist with Theon. The motif of fellowship, thus, has a more significant function in the Acts of Peter. Each apostle is becalmed during his voyage. Paul’s response is to fall asleep from the weariness induced by spiritual exercises; he is awakened by Christ and the Pauline version of the quo vadis follows. The calm is superfluous. The apostolic nap is awkward, but it does give the author a chance to reiterate the theme of endurance. The elements which seem somewhat strained in the Acts of Paul create the context for Theon’s baptism in the Acts of Peter. It is Theon who falls asleep—at the helm. He hears a voice which tells him to honor Peter, whose presence guarantees the safety of the voyage. As a result he begins to listen to Peter’s instruction concerning the mighty acts of God. When the ship is becalmed, the other sailors fall asleep, creating an opportunity for Theon’s baptism. Theon and Peter climb overboard, and Christ appears walking on the water and greets them in a way appropriate to the liturgical moment. The remainder of each voyage is rapidly completed. Paul’s ship is guided by the thalassopatetic Christ. Peter’s ship is hurried to port by a favorable wind. Once in Italy, each apostle is greeted at the harbor by a believing friend of the captain (AcPet 6; AcPaul 10, PH 8). Paul is offered a place to stay and finally overcomes his sadness when he joins a worship service. Peter is informed of the situation in Rome and immediately continues his journey by road. The parallels of narrative motif are both dense and extensive. Although similar narrative elements are put to distinctive uses in each text, the evidence suggests that the two texts share more than familiarity with a common tradition. The number of sequential parallels requires some sort of intertextual dependence.16 The mixing of stories, transformation of names, and dropping of details all point to reliance on a text reasonably well placed in 16 The overlap between Acts of Paul and Acts of Peter 1–6 constitutes a strong argument in favor of the unity of the opening chapters of the Acts of Peter. It shows that Acts of Peter 1–6 belong together at an early stage—either before the Acts of Paul employed the text or when Acts of Peter was composed on the basis of the Acts of Paul. This continuity of narrative structure needs to be accounted for by those who would argue that chapters 1–3 are secondary additions. If they are, the additions must have been quite early.

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memory. Given the difficulty of consulting texts and the fact that the author might have been pacing the room dictating, reliance on memory would have been the normal procedure. Furthermore, nothing prevented those who had read or heard the text from retelling the story. In this way written material might reenter the oral realm and continue to be modified. It would still be appropriate to speak of intertextual dependence in some sense. In the Acts of Peter these stories constitute a carefully constructed transition from one location to another. Either the author of the Acts of Peter created a narrative to explain the baptized captain and managed to distribute material from the Acts of Paul over three scenes (the journeys of two apostles and the encounter at the gate) with such skill that most of the dangling details found meaningful contexts, or the author of the Acts of Paul combined elements from the two apostolic voyages in the Acts of Peter with parts of the quo vadis to construct a travel narrative that brought Paul to the city of his martyrdom. I find the second alternative more plausible. The Prediction of Paul’s Martyrdom The prediction of Paul’s “pefection” under Nero embedded in Acts of Peter 1 is sometimes understood as an explicit reference to the martyrdom section of the Acts of Paul. This impression is reinforced by the fact that Paul’s death is not narrated in the Acts of Peter, even though his return to Rome is mentioned again in the last chapter. Some knowledge of Paul’s martyrdom is clearly taken for granted, but the author of the Acts of Peter refers to other events outside the narrative frame. The treatment of this event is unusual but not unique in the Acts of Peter. Knowledge of Paul’s martyrdom is not the same as knowledge of the Martyrdom of Paul as a text. That the author of the Acts of Peter could have known traditions concerning Paul’s death in Rome is certain (cf. 1 Clem. 5.4–7; Ign. Rom. 4.3). That the author felt free to rework and improve whatever traditions lay to hand is likely. The way that Paul’s death is referred to in the Acts of Peter neither requires nor precludes knowledge of a written source. More importantly, nothing specific ties this reference to the depiction of Paul’s death in the Acts of Paul. In some important ways it contradicts the version found in the Acts of Paul. The chronological assumptions are unclear. Peter and Simon both apparently arrive under Claudius, in agreement with Justin. The believers in Acts of Peter 1 request that Paul not stay away more than a year; the heavenly voice states that he will serve in Spain for the “span of his life” and identifies Nero as “that godless and wicked man” but not as the current emperor.17 The Acts of Peter has Paul spending his last year(s) in 17 It is impossible to tell how much time is imagined to elapse between the contest with Simon and the martyrdom of Peter; the summary at the beginning of chapter 33 may cover a long period.

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Spain and presumably returning to Rome from that direction. The Acts of Paul, as it survives, shows no interest in or knowledge of Paul’s activity in Spain, and clearly has Paul sailing toward martyrdom in Italy from Corinth (AcPaul 10, PH 7). Where the reference to Paul’s death in Acts of Peter 1 goes beyond the minimal tradition it contradicts the Acts of Paul but seems to agree with 1 Clement 5.7: “He [Paul] taught righteousness to the whole world (kovsmo~), and having come to the limits of the West, he bore witness (marturhvsa~) before the rulers and thus departed from the world. . . .” If the case for the dependence of the Acts of Peter on the Acts of Paul is going to be made, it will have to be made elsewhere. The Baptized Captain The two apostolic voyages to Rome are linked in part by the note in the Acts of Paul that Artemon, the captain of Paul’s ship, had been baptized by Peter. It is precisely on his voyage to Rome that Peter baptized the captain of his ship according to the Acts of Peter. Although the names are different, it is unlikely that we should imagine two such stories circulating in oral tradition. The numerous parallels in the surrounding narrative suggest that some form of literary dependence obtains. MacDonald suggests that the story in the Acts of Paul served as a source for the Acts of Peter, because he believes that the associated quo vadis story is native to the Acts of Paul. The generative tradition for Theon’s story is to be found in the gospel tradition of Jesus’ walking on water, especially Matt 14:22–33. The Acts of Peter shows particular interest in Peter’s dubious effort to replicate the miracle. It treats this story as an example of weak faith which was later corrected (AcPet 7). More generally, Peter’s attempt to walk on water became a symbol for baptism in early Christian art and typology. Thus, Peter’s willingness to climb out of the boat, in order to baptize a sailor, is a particularly poignant reflection on the gospel traditions. Theon serves as the model convert. He is, of course, isolated from Simon’s corrupting influence. The becalming, the sleep, and the presence of Christ are all tied to the story of Theon’s baptism. They were transferred to the Acts of Paul along with the travel narrative. The author of the Acts of Paul adapted this material to provide a transition from Paul’s journeys to the story of his martyrdom. The themes of endurance and the kingship of Christ, which are important throughout the Acts of Paul are incorporated into the story by means of the quo vadis episode. Quo Vadis? The quo vadis scene has attracted much attention in previous discussions of the relationship between these two apocryphal Acts. The story is distinctive, but it is embedded in a different context in each work. MacDonald’s argument (pp. 17–18; unattributed page references are to MacDonald in this

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volume) that the original home of the motif of “being crucified again” cannot be decided by the mode of each apostle’s death is both valid and important. The fact that Paul is beheaded and Peter is crucified (upside down) cannot decide the question. However, the weakness of Schmidt’s argument (1930:152; 1936:127–30) does not prove his conclusion wrong. It means only that other grounds must be found for making the decision. MacDonald is also correct in suggesting that motifs in the Pauline letters (e.g. Col 1:24) provide sufficient warrant for the idea of being crucified again. However, there is no reason to think that stories about Paul, or the Acts of Paul in particular, have an exclusive claim on these elements of the Pauline tradition. The Acts of Peter is not fully Pauline in its theology, but it could presumably draw more than a few names and locations from the Pauline letters. Imitatio Christi might be among those things, especially since other early Christian traditions reinforced the association of martyrdom with the death of Jesus (Campenhausen). Locating the generative tradition in the Pauline letters does not guarantee that the Acts of Paul contains the earlier version of this story. Two serious problems remain with this scene in the Acts of Paul, if the phrase “I am about to be crucified again” is taken as a reference to Paul’s death. The encounter with Christ contributes nothing to the plot line and evokes a strange reaction. The apocryphal Paul and the audience both already know that the apostle is headed toward martyrdom. Paul’s greeting of Christ as “King” suggests the reasons for Paul’s execution, but his reaction to Christ’s statement that he is to be crucified again is problematic. The sadness felt by Paul is apparently shared by Christ and needs explanation, especially since the encounter ends with a renewed admonition to minister to the faithful in Rome, rather than encouragement in the face of personal martyrdom. At this point the difficulties associated with the application of MacDonald’s third criterion of improvement surface. The claim that Peter demonstrates an improvement in apostolic intelligence (p. 17) assumes that we know what represents improvement in the eyes of the original author or audience. MacDonald’s evaluation of Paul’s response as “thickheaded” is not likely to have been shared by the author of the Acts of Paul. Nothing in the text requires taking the statement “I am to be crucified again” as a reference to Paul’s coming execution. An audience unfamiliar with the episode in the Acts of Peter might more naturally take it as a reference to the general persecution of Christians in Rome, in which case Paul’s response would be appropriate. In this case, it makes a difference whether the audience is assumed to know the other text or not. We should allow for the possibility that the author of the Acts of Paul borrowed the motif but put it to different use. Peter’s reaction is more in line with early Christian martyr ideology, where the victim’s welcoming of death is important; Ignatius intended to force-feed himself to the lions, if necessary. Peter’s joyful response shows acceptance of his martyrdom. The Martyrdom of Polycarp offers a close parallel

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to, and may have served as a source for, the Acts of Peter. In later martyrologies willingness to embrace death is a standard feature. It is, perhaps, the relatively small role that this motif plays in the Acts of Paul that needs explaining. MacDonald describes Peter’s deliberations and interrupted flight as forced. I see them as both consistent with Peter’s character and closely parallel to the story told of Polycarp’s martyrdom. Polycarp also leaves the city at the behest of other believers, in spite of his own doubts. He then has a dream predicting a fiery death and responds by returning willingly with those who come to arrest him. Both stories parallel the gospel accounts of Jesus’ willingness to face death. The quo vadis extends the pattern of Peter’s need for spiritual aid, but it does so in a way that ameliorates Peter’s fault. This time, he undertakes his flight from the city in order to serve others, and he immediately recognizes and responds to the corrective encounter with Christ. If the quo vadis story in the Acts of Peter is more coherent than MacDonald suggests, the question remains as to whether that coherence should be taken as evidence of native context or secondary improvement. MacDonald identifies the proper home of the quo vadis scene as martyrdom (p. 18). The story is more intimately linked to the apostle’s martyrdom in the Acts of Peter. The parallels to the Martyrdom of Polycarp and the way in which the quo vadis continues Peter’s history of spiritual missteps suggest that its more native context is the one in the Acts of Peter. In addition, Valantasis has pointed out another important connection between the quo vadis scene and the speech on the cross, which has no parallel in the Acts of Paul: In the context of the Acts of Peter, however, the quo vadis? episode identifies both the martyrdom and the ministry of contending in Rome with the passion, death, and victory of Christ. Within the Acts of Peter, the episode creates a character identification between Jesus and Peter, between the crucifixion of Jesus and the crucifixion of Peter—both of which restore the created universe (the New Adam) to its proper functioning. (238)

MacDonald’s criterion of generative tradition can be applied to two elements of these composite voyage narratives. The motif of Christ walking on water is drawn from gospel traditions, but it is both generally associated with Peter and important throughout the Acts of Peter. The “crucified again” has roots in the Pauline tradition, but is not restricted to Paul. The rest of the quo vadis scene is most likely a composition of the Acts of Peter, where it has its native context as an important element of the martyrdom narrative, and culminates the motif that even Peter’s faith needs periodic reinforcement. Parallels in the Martyrdoms The second major block of potentially significant intertextual interaction is found in the martyrdom accounts. The relationship is not as close in this

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section as in the apostolic voyages. When similar motifs appear in the two martyrdoms, they are handled differently because the fundamental issues are different. The verbal link MacDonald notes between drapevth~ in the Martyrdom of Paul 3 (AcPaul 11) and drapeteuvw in the Martyrdom of Peter 6 (AcPet 36) is potentially important. MacDonald believes that both words should be understood as military terms. However, the word was commonly used of runaway slaves, a meaning which fits the situation in the Acts of Peter perfectly. Peter is frequently designated a “servant of God,” and it is only the context in the Acts of Paul which suggests a military meaning. In the Acts of Paul, military language is consistently used to characterize the apostle and other believers. Christ’s role as king is emphasized. The conflict of loyalties is absolute and provides sufficient motivation for persecution. The importance of this theme is evident in the way the author has reshaped the story of Eutychus drawn from Acts 28. However, in the Acts of Peter the Kingdom of God is a spiritual reality, which lacks political overtones. As MacDonald notes, the other military terms in the Acts of Peter are little more than clichés. Conflict between loyalty to Christ and duty to civil society is noted in the Acts of Peter, but it is not connected to persecution or martyrdom. It is, rather, viewed from the Christian side as a matter of civic obligations interfering with loyalty to Christ. In Acts of Peter 3 Demetrius, a senator, is obstructed in his desire to accompany Paul by his obligations as a magistrate (magistratus). Similarly, Marcellus experiences a conflict between his roles as a senator and as a patron of the faithful in Acts of Peter 8 and 22. It is clear why the author of the Acts of Paul would seize on the military connotations of the term. It is not clear, to me, why the author of the Acts of Peter would have ignored them if the term had been borrowed from the Acts of Paul. MacDonald is correct in stating that the motivations for persecution have different generative traditions in these two Acts (p. 22). However, I believe that he has misconstrued the line of thought in the Acts of Peter. Peter is the victim of the lust of men whose partners have been converted. MacDonald finds the motif highly artificial, but there is a reasonably close parallel in Justin’s Second Apology 2, where Justin reports that a Christian teacher was executed because of the ire of a husband whose Christian wife chose to remain chaste. Justin does not advocate absolute celibacy, only that sex be reserved for procreation. His condemnation of the execution as unjust relies on the fact that this position was shared, at least as a professed ideal, by many Romans. Neither Justin nor the Acts of Peter is as radical in rejecting sexuality as the Acts of Paul and later apocryphal Acts. Concubinage is, of course, condemned, but the situation with Albinus’ wife is probably analogous to the case reported by Justin. The problem is the husband’s unrestrained lust which gives rise to rage. The point is that the persecution is not rational in either case. The Roman crowd seems to recognize this when they shout:

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“What injustice has Peter done, Agrippa? What evil has he done to you? Tell the Romans, lest this man die and the Lord destroy us!” (AcPet 36). There is no need to appeal to the world of romance to explain the execution of Peter, although it too is part of the broader background of this text.18 Other elements of the martyrdom of Peter which MacDonald and others have found strange have probably been influenced by the Martyrdom of Polycarp or other intertexts sharing similar views of martyrdom. The appearances of the apostles after their executions correspond to the resurrection appearances of the gospels, but they are significantly different in tone and content from each other. Paul’s appearance to Nero has its closest parallels in the lives of philosophers, since it demonstrates Paul’s superiority to the emperor. It is not accidental that Nero is in the company of philosophers when Paul appears to him (AcPaul 6). Paul’s martyrdom has a salutary effect; it leads to the release of Christian prisoners. The appearances in the Acts of Peter are different. Peter appears to Marcellus, to remind him, by way of a saying of Jesus, that the dead are not important.19 The unnamed “someone,” who appears to Nero (AcPet 41) could be either Peter or Christ, himself. The Acts of Peter is not wholly averse to this sort of ambiguity, as shown by Marcellus’ vision in 22. It does not, however, go as far as the other four Acts in identifying the apostle with Christ. Each martyrdom has its own coherence, but they are significantly different from each other. With the exception of Peter’s speech to the cross (which has no parallel in AcPaul ), there is little in the Martyrdom of Peter that could not be derived from patterns in the Gospels, especially if influence from the Martyrdom of Polycarp and the writings of Justin Martyr is allowed for. The quo vadis scene in the Acts of Peter, for instance, corresponds in function to the Garden of Gethsemane episode in the New Testament Gospels. Where the martyrdom section of the Acts of Peter goes beyond the Gospels, knowledge of the Acts of Paul does not help to explain the divergence. Sources other than the Acts of Paul offer closer parallels. The same observation could be made in the other direction. Clearly the canonical Acts has contributed more to the Martyrdom of Paul than has the Martyrdom of Peter. If there is a direct intertextual relationship between the two martyrdoms, it is not as strong as other intertextual influences on each text. The General Text: Cultural Intertextuality in the ACTS OF PETER The differences in the motivations of the martyrdom sections of the Acts of Paul and the Acts of Peter are not just a matter of historical curiosity. They

18 See the essay by Judith Perkins in this volume. 19 Possible intertexts range from Socrates’ quip to Crito in Phaedo to the end of the Martyrdom of Polycarp.

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are part of a broader pattern of differences reflecting significantly different relationships to the larger intertext of cultural context. If texts gain their meanings through interactions with other contemporary semiotic systems, analysis of the presuppositions that are, or are not, made in each document can supplement the conclusions concerning relative chronology formed on the basis of other types of intertextuality. The Acts of Peter is organized around the theme of competition. Traditional stories of various types are reworked and turned to these new persuasive purposes at the point of their integration into the larger document (Stoops, 1982). The text employs the language of patronage for purposes of religious propaganda. The fact that Simon primarily seduces people who are already Christians is also important. The issues of weakness of faith and return of apostates are closely linked both to the contest and to the image of Peter throughout this text. What this means in the Acts of Peter is that the conflict with society is less intense than in the Acts of Paul. If spiritual realities are ultimately said to transcend this world (AcPet 39), the bulk of the Acts of Peter deals with very practical concerns of health and money. The miracles are treated as signs of divine power, but they are valued in large part as instances of concrete aid in this world. Although the competition represented by Simon is blamed on demonic influence (as it is in Justin), the emphasis falls on the possibility of overcoming this evil influence. Simon is ultimately defeated, and a different motivation for Peter’s martyrdom has to be offered. Those who are responsible for the death of Peter are driven mad by lust. Conflict with the values of the larger society is implied elsewhere in the Acts of Peter, but the burning passion of the perpetrators would not be condoned by Roman society. Even Nero thinks they should have restrained themselves, albeit for the wrong reasons. The Acts of Paul offers a more daring theological program, one in which confrontation with civil society is inescapable. The Acts of Paul repeatedly stresses the kingship of Christ and the conflict of loyalties implied. Political opposition is linked with a more radical version of sexual purity. Sex is inherently polluting; even lions are expected to abstain. In the Acts of Paul, the broad conflict of loyalties provides an adequate explanation for the death of the apostle. The social conflicts resulting from strict celibacy are transferred to Thecla and elaborated in detail. The differences in attitude can be accounted for largely in historical terms. Under Marcus Aurelius the first widespread persecutions authorized at the highest level of Roman government took place. These events became known, even in areas not directly affected, through documents like the Martyrs of Lyons. Coupled with the decline in military security and loss of economic prosperity that became obvious after the death of Marcus Aurelius,

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the wave of officially sanctioned persecution reinforced Christian alienation from society. The Acts of Paul reflects the changed attitude.20 These arguments are not decisive for establishing priority, because cultural patterns do not often develop at the same rate in different places. In fact, the Acts of Peter, at least in the surviving portions, shows less interest in imprisonment and violent attacks against the apostle than the canonical Acts does. The Acts of Peter and the Acts of Paul were probably not widely separated in time or space; they are so closely related that we may never be able to decide which came first with certainty. However, our interest in their similarities and shared materials should not blind us to their real differences. These two texts may share a number of stories, but they are about fundamentally different ways of being Christian in the world. Conclusion Intertextuality is not merely an interesting feature of the apocryphal Acts. It is an essential element of how these texts (and others) were composed and read. The Acts of Peter demonstrates a range of intertextual relationships to both canonical and non-canonical texts. Its modes of intertextuality include citation, explicit reference, and less direct allusion. In many places the Acts of Peter modifies its sources through rereading or rewriting, but it is not always clear that these portions were meant to be recognized as such. In considering intertextuality in the apocryphal Acts, or other works from the same period, variation and elaboration of shared or borrowed materials are to be expected. Structured arguments are also to be expected, although not always in modes that are obvious to eyes trained by a different set of conventions. There is evidence of a direct intertextual relationship between the Acts of Paul and the Acts of Peter. That evidence, particularly the handling of the quo vadis scene and the treatment of martyrdom, favors the conclusion that the Acts of Peter is the earlier document. The compiler of the Acts of Paul made use of material from the Acts of Peter, probably on the basis of familiarity with some version of the text rather than common sources. However, it was not a matter of simple transcription to fill gaps in the narrative. The author of the Acts of Paul reshaped the material borrowed from the Acts of Peter and from the canonical Acts to communicate a message focused on the kingship of Christ and sexual purity. The larger social world was viewed almost entirely in terms of conflict and the need to escape from its entanglements. The Acts

20 The two attitudes could coexist with one another. Justin Martyr’s Second Apology still expresses hope that the political powers can be persuaded and is similar to the Acts of Peter, but the account of Justin’s own martyrdom recognizes only the simple choice of loyalties, like the Acts of Paul.

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of Peter had been concerned with promoting faith in the face of active competition within Roman society.

WORKS CONSULTED Campenhausen, Hans, Freiherr von 1964 Die Idee des Martyriums in der alten Kriche. 2d ed. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Classen, Lionel 1971 Ships and Seamanship in the Ancient World. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Ficker, Gerhard 1903 Die Petrusakten: Beiträge zu ihrem Verständnis. Leipzig: Barth. Grenfell, Bernhard P. and Arthur S. Hunt, eds. 1908 The Oxyrhynchus Papyri. Vol. 6. London: Egypt Exploration Fund. Harnack, Adolf von 1900 Mizellen zu den Acta Pauli. TU 20.3. Leipzig: J. C. Hinrichs. Hock, Ronald F. and Edward N. O’Neill 1986 The Chreia in Ancient Rhetoric: Volume I. The Progymnasmata. SBLTT 27; Greco-Roman Series 9. Atlanta: Scholars. Junod, Eric and Jean-Daniel Kaestli 1983 Acta Iohannis. CChrSA 1–2. Turnhout: Brepols. Kennedy, George A. 1984 New Testament Interpretation through Rhetorical Criticism. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. Lipsius, Richard. A. and Max Bonnet, eds. 1891 Acta apostolorum apocrypha 1. Leipzig: Hermann Mendelssohn. Reprinted Hildesheim: Georg Olms, 1959. MacDonald, Dennis R. 1994 “Luke’s Eutychus and Homer’s Elpenor:Acts 20:7–12 and Odyssey 10–12.” Journal of Higher Criticism 1:5–24. Mack, Burton L. and Vernon K. Robbins 1989 Patterns of Persuasion in the Gospels. Foundations & Facets; Literary Facets. Sonoma: Polebridge. Matthews, Christopher R. 1992 “Philip and Simon, Luke and Peter: A Lukan Sequel and Intertextual Success.” SBLSP 31:133–46. Michaelis, Wilhelm 1956 Apokryphe Schriften zum Neuen Testament. Bremen: Carl Schuenemann.

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Parrott, Douglas M., ed., 1979 Nag Hammadi codices III,3–4 and VI, with Papyrus Berolinensis 8502, 1 and 4. Leiden: E. J. Brill. Perkins, Judith B. 1993 “The Acts of Peter as Intertext: Response to Dennis MacDonald.” SBLSP 32:627–33. Poupon, Gerard 1988 “Les ‘Actes de Pierre’ et leur remainement.” ANRW 25.4363–82. Leiden: E. J. Brill. Robbins, Vernon K. 1996a Exploring the Texture of Texts: A Guide to Socio-Rhetorical Interpretation. Valley Forge: Trinity. 1996b

“Narrative in Ancient Rhetoric and Rhetoric in Ancient Narratives.” SBLSP 32:368–84.

Schmidt, Carl 1903 Die alten Petrusakten im Zusammenhang der apokryphen Apostelliteratur, nebst einem neuentdeckten Fragment, untersucht. TU 24.1. Leipzig: J. C. Hinrichs. 1924

“Studien zu den alten Petrusakten.” ZKG 43:321–48.

1926

“Studien zu den alten Petrusakten.” ZKG 45:481–515.

1930

“Zur Datierung der alten Petrusakten.” ZNW 29:150–55.

Schmidt, Carl and Wilhelm Schubart 1936 PRAXEIS PAULOU, Acta Pauli nach dem Papyrus der Hamburger Staatsund Universitäts-Bibliothek. Glückstadt: J. J. Augustin. Schneemelcher, Wilhelm 1992 “The Acts of Peter.” Pp. 271–321 in New Testament Apocrypha: Revised Edition of the Collection Initiated by Edgar Hennecke. Vol. 2, Writings Relating to the Apostles; Apocalypses and Related Subjects. Ed. Wilhelm Schneemelcher. Trans. R. McL. Wilson. Louisville: Westminster/John Knox. Stoops, Robert F., Jr. 1982 “Miracle Stories and Vision Reports in the Acts of Peter.” Ph.D. dissertation, Harvard University. 1986

“Patronage in the Acts of Peter.” Semeia 38:91–100.

1991

“Christ and Patronage in the Acts of Peter.” Semeia 56:143–57.

1992

“Peter, Paul, and Priority in the Apocryphal Acts.” SBLSP 31:225–33.

1994

“Departing to Another Place: The Acts of Peter and the Canonical Acts of the Apostles.” SBLSP 33:390–404.

Tardieu, Michel 1984 Ecrits gnostiques: codex de Berlin. Sources gnostiques et manichéens 1. Paris: Editions du Cerf.

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Thomas, Christine M. 1992 “Word and Deed: The Acts of Peter and Orality.” Apocrypha 3:125–64. Turner, C. H. 1931 “The Latin Acts of Peter.” JTS 32:119–33. Valantasis, Richard 1992 “Narrative Strategies and Synoptic Quandaries: A Response to Dennis MacDonald’s Reading of Acts of Paul and Acts of Peter.” SBLSP 31:234–39. Vouaux, Léon 1922 Les Actes de Pierre. Introduction, textes, traduction et commentaire. Paris: Letouzey et Ané. Zahn, Theodor 1892 Geschichte des neutestamentlichen Kanons. Vol. 2.2. Erlangen/Leipzig: Deichert. Reprinted Hildesheim: Georg Olms, 1975.

INTERTEXTUALITY IN THE ACTS OF THOMAS Harold W. Attridge Yale Divinity School

abstract The Acts of Thomas employs Christian scriptures, its most important intertexts, in a variety of ways. The Greek and Syriac recensions show significant differences in their treatments of these intertexts. Some dominical sayings are cited as explicit authorities in the Greek version. The references are less direct in the Syriac. Allusions to texts of the emerging New Testament are also used to embellish stories and speeches throughout the Acts of Thomas. The Greek generally displays a fuller engagement with the literature that came to be the New Testament, while the Syriac employs more Old Testament allusions. This difference suggests that the two versions developed in environments that had different “canons” of authoritative scripture. The early episodes of the Acts of Thomas may develop New Testament stories in a thematic way. The first episode appears to share material with the Gospel of Thomas as well. Throughout the Acts of Thomas allusions to gospel material play a role in characterizing Thomas as the twin brother of Jesus.

One goal of the Intertextuality in Christian Apocrypha Seminar has been to illuminate the ways in which the apocryphal Acts achieve literary effects by virtue of their relationships with other literature. Such relationships can, as we have seen, involve very different kinds of things, from dependent interpretation, through suggestive allusion, to naive or parodic mimesis. What is true in general for the apocryphal Acts is also true for the example of the genre that I shall explore in this paper, the Acts of Thomas.1 The Acts of Thomas relates the adventures of the apostle Judas Thomas as he preaches a highly ascetical or encratite form of Christianity on the way to and in India. Like other apocryphal Acts combining popular legend and religious propaganda, the work serves various didactic purposes while offering edifying entertainment for a Christian audience. The work was most probably composed in third-century Syria, in either Syriac, as I have argued previously in this seminar and elsewhere (1990), or in Greek as Dennis MacDonald has maintained, or perhaps in both virtually simultaneously. Both traditions exhibit secondary expansion, although, in general, the Syriac has gone further in making the work conform to standards of “orthodox” (i.e., Nicene) 1 For literature on the Acts of

Thomas, see Klijn; Drijvers.

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Christology. The work achieved wide circulation in the two linguistic spheres, both in its full form, and in various abbreviated or excerpted forms.2 The two streams of transmission reveal interesting differences in their intertextual relations. Any discussion of issues of intertextuality must also recognize that the work is generically diverse. Its largest component is the narrative of Thomas’ adventures; yet even this is complex. The first six acts are loosely connected episodes highlighting Thomas’ miraculous powers, and some of these episodes may have circulated independently (Tissot). The second half of the Acts is a more integrated composition with an interrelated development of plot and characterization through several episodes. Here the work displays a typical Christian transformation of erotic motifs at home in the romantic novels of the Hellenistic and Roman period. The dramatic tension increases as Thomas’ ascetic gospel is accepted by two upper-class women, to the consternation of their powerful husbands. The ladies’ love for Thomas, and for the God he represents, upsets the social order in favor of a new, celibate “family.” This portion of the work ends, and the tension is resolved, with the apostle’s martyrdom. In addition to narratives of Thomas’ adventures, the Acts contain distinctive poetic and liturgical elements. The “Hymn of the Bride” (chaps. 6–7) and the “Hymn of the Pearl” (chaps. 108–13) may have been independent poems adapted to the Acts of Thomas. Their elusive symbolism has elicited a multiplicity of readings (Poirier). Ritual actions culminate many episodes. Hence the work is replete with descriptions of liturgies, especially initiations (chaps. 25–27, 49, 121, 132, 157) and eucharistic celebrations (chaps. 27, 29, 49–50, 121, 133, 158).3 The generic diversity of the Acts of Thomas suggests that the issue of intertextual effects may be framed in various ways. Whatever other texts may stand in some relation to the Acts of Thomas, the most obvious work or set of works to which this Christian novel relates is the scripture, particularly Christian scriptures. Other acts and secular novels may serve as sources or generic models for the author or compilers of the Acts of Thomas, but early Christian literature, which by the third century was achieving an increasingly authoritative status, serves as an explicit and implicit partner in the devel2 For a review of the textual evidence, see Lipsius-Bonnet: xv–xxvii, and Klijn: 4–7. In brief, the most complete versions of the work are the eleventh-century Greek MS Romanus Vallicellanus B 35 (siglum: U) and the tenth-century Syriac MS, British Museum add. 14,645, dated to 936, both of which include the Hymn of the Pearl. The earliest witness is the Syriac MS Sinai 30, dating to the fifth century. Bonnet’s edition of the Greek utilized twenty other MSS, only one of which, the eleventh-century Parisinus graecus 1510 (siglum: P), rivals U in its scope, lacking only the Hymn of the Pearl. 3 For some of the distinctive characteristics of these sections, see Brock; Winkler, 1978, 1982; and Meyers.

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opment of the plot and in the articulation of the moral themes that course through the work. Three modes of relating to scriptural sources require exploration: explicit citation of dominical sayings; allusions to scriptural language and motifs as elements embellishing dialogue and narrative; allusions, at times ironic, to scriptural language, motifs, and narrative structures as constitutive elements of the narrative strategy of the Acts of Thomas. I. Explicit Citation of Dominical Tradition The Acts of Thomas often explicitly cites authoritative sayings. Most are sayings of Jesus that appear on the lips of Thomas as he preaches or teaches. These sayings can usually be identified with passages from the New Testament, although it is not always clear whether the sayings derive from a fourfold gospel or from some harmony, such as the Diatessaron, which was so influential in Syria (Petersen). Some sayings do diverge from known textual attestations and may reflect oral traditions or alternative sources of sayings, such as the Gospel of Thomas. The first prominent example of such explicit citation appears in a homily delivered by Thomas at the end of the second act (AcThom 28), after convincing King Gundafar that true treasures are heavenly. This exhortation is replete with scriptural allusions: . . . When you have been freed from these vices, you become free of worry, grief, and fear, and what was said by the Savior pertains to you, “Do not be concerned about tomorrow, for tomorrow will take care of itself ” (Matt 6:34). Remember the saying that was said of old, “Observe the ravens and look at the birds of heaven, that they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and God takes care of them. How much more important are you, who have such little faith (cf. Matt 6:26, Luke 12:24; Gos. Thom. 27)?” But await his coming, set your hopes in him, and believe in his name. For he is the judge of the living and the dead (cf. Acts 10:42) and will render to each person according to that person’s deeds (cf. Ps 62:13; Prov 24:12; Sir 35:22[Gk]; Matt 16:27; Rom 2:6; 2 Tim 4:14; 1 Pet 1: 17; Rev 2:23), and at his coming and his final appearance no one, when about to be judged, will be able to offer an excuse that he had not heard. For his heralds are making their proclamation in the four corners (literally, the four regions or zones, cf. Rom 10:14–18) of the world. Repent, therefore, believe the proclamation, and accept the gentle yoke and the light burden (cf. Matt 11:30 and Gos. Thom. 90), so that you might live and not die. You have acquired these things; guard them. You have come from the darkness, so that the light might receive you (cf. John 8:12; 12:35–36). Come to the one who is truly good, so that you might receive grace from him and you will place his sign in your souls.4

4 Translations are my own, and are from a forthcoming collection of apocryphal Acts to be published by Polebridge Press.

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Two explicit citations to the sayings of the Savior closely parallel the Sermon on the Mount. Apart from the easily identified allusions, the text uses some general biblical language (e.g. “judgment according to deeds”) that could come from a variety of sources as well as some material that probably alludes to a known saying (“gentle yoke and light burden”). The only major difference between the Greek and the Syriac at this point is that the latter uses more varied citation formulae. “Don’t be anxious” is introduced as a “saying,” while “Observe the ravens” is something that “has been written.” The second case of explicit citation of dominical sayings appears toward the end of the next act (AcThom 36), after Thomas has overcome a deadly serpent. Here, however, Jesus is only implicitly the author of the remarks: . . . If we speak of wealth that exists and appears in this world, we say its name, but we do not want it, since it has been said, ‘A rich man will enter the kingdom of heaven with difficulty’ (cf. Matt 19:23; Mark 10:23 and Luke 18:24). If we speak about clothing, which the wealthy put on in this life, it has been named and it is said, ‘Those who wear soft clothing are in the houses of kings’ (cf. Matt 11:8 and Luke 7:25). If we speak about costly dinners, we have received a command to abstain from them, ‘not to be weighed down with intoxication, drunkenness and worldly concern’ (Luke 21:34), speaking about the things which do occur. It is also said, ‘Do not be concerned for your soul, about what you will eat or drink, nor about your body and what you will put on it, because the soul is greater than the food and the body than the clothing’ (cf. Matt 6:25). If we speak about temporal rest, the judgment for this too has been determined. But we speak about the world above, about God, angels, watchers, and holy ones, about ambrosial food and the drink of the true vine (cf. John 15:1), about permanent garments, which do not grow old,5 about which eye has not seen, nor has ear heard, nor has there entered into the heart of sinful human beings what God has prepared for those who love him.6 It is about these things that we speak and preach. It is about this that we are speaking and about this that we are preaching. Believe in him then, my son, that you may live and hope in him that you may not die.

The formula used to introduce the citations from Scripture once again refers to what was “said.” Of the clearly labeled sayings, the first (“a rich man will enter with difficulty”) has parallels in Mark 10:23 and Luke 18:24, but the phrase “Kingdom of heaven” is distinctively Matthean. The second (“those who wear soft clothing”) is a Q logion found at Matthew 11:8 and Luke 7:25, but the formulation with “soft clothing” is Matthean; Luke has instead

5 Cf. Luke 12:22–33. For this motif, cf. also chaps. 37, 88, 124, 135, and the clothing imagery of the hymns, chaps. 7 and 108–10. 6 Cf. 1 Cor 2:9, although, as is well known, the saying was commonplace (Strugnell and Stone).

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“clothing of honor.” The third (“do not be concerned”) is another well known Q saying. Thomas’ version has elements that resemble both Matthew (the explicit “or what you shall drink”) and Luke (“because the soul is greater” rather than Matthew’s question). The conflated form of the saying may suggest the use of a harmony or citation of the saying from memory. The other possible allusions to scriptural sources are not identified as “sayings” and are less specific. The notion that God does not need sacrifices is commonplace in prophetic literature and is reflected in the NT, e.g. at Matt 9:13; Acts 7:42; Heb 10:5–8; 13:15–16. The notion is also commonplace in the Hellenistic critique of traditional religion (Attridge, 1976). Although the theme is familiar, there does not seem to be a specific allusion to scripture. The Syriac here has none of the explicit citations of dominical sayings. Their absence from the more “orthodox,” Syriac version suggests that they might not be original to the Acts of Thomas, but were added by Greek scribes to provide a scriptural ground for the apostle’s moralizing. The most interesting difference between the two versions is to be found in the reference to the heavenly reality to which the apostle summons the youth. While the Greek refers to the “true vine,” a clear Johannine allusion with sacramental overtones, the Syriac uses a typological reference to paradise: If we speak about temporary rest, punishment is imposed upon it. But we are talking about God, our Lord Jesus, the angels, the watchers, the holy ones, and about the new world, about the produce of the tree of life, and the drink of life, about something which eye has not seen and which ear has not heard and there has not entered into the human heart what God has prepared from of old for those who love him. It is about this that we are speaking and about this that we are preaching. Believe in him then, my son, that you may live and hope in him that you may not die.

The difference between the two versions here may well be related to varying sacramental practices. As a dissertation by Andrew McGowan of Notre Dame will soon show, a water-based eucharist was widespread in the early Syriac church. The Syriac version here may reflect that early sacramental practice, while the Greek, with its oenological reference, corrects the text toward the practice of the Great Church. In Acts of Thomas 53, in a prayer uttered before resuscitating a dead woman, the apostle addresses God recalling Matt 7:7 (= Luke 11:9): “and you have granted us your gifts without measure, saying, ‘Ask and it shall be given to you; seek and you shall find, knock and it shall be opened to you.’” The Syriac agrees with the Greek at this point. The recollection in a prayer of the dominical injunction to pray is hardly surprising. At Acts of Thomas 82, Thomas evokes the image of Jesus by citing sayings of his “twin.” Although for formal purposes I have classed this passage here, with other citations of dominical sayings, it could also be considered in light

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of its function as part of the phenomenon to be discussed below, the characterization of Thomas as the alter ego of Jesus. When the apostle saw this, he said to them, “Why do you turn away those who have come so eagerly to hear the word? Is it the case that you want to be near me, but have been kept away? It is just as was said about the crowd that came to the Lord, ‘Having eyes you do not see, and having ears you do not hear.’” And he said to the crowds, “Let him who has ears for hearing listen,” and “Come to me all you who labor and are burdened, and I shall give you rest.”

The remark about not having functioning eyes and ears, derived from Jer 5:21, appears in precisely this form in Mark 8:18. The verse is lacking in the Synoptic parallels, Matt 16:5–12 and Luke 12:1. The admonition to use one’s ears to hear is commonplace (cf. Matt 11:15; 13:9, 43; Mark 4:9, 23; 7:16; Luke 8:8; 14:35; Gos. Thom. 8, 21), although the precise form of this saying is closer to that of Luke 8:8 and 14:35. The call to come and be refreshed is unique to Matt 11:28. The Syriac has the first and the last of the sayings, but lacks the call to use the ears. Perhaps this saying had esoteric overtones that the Syriac redactors of the Acts of Thomas wanted to avoid. At Acts of Thomas 83–86, in the inaugural homily that Thomas preaches in the Indian kingdom of Mizdai (or Misdaios), he entrances the heroine of the story, Mygdonia, who yearns to become his disciple. In the process, Thomas makes a few brief references to sayings of the Lord: This, rather, is the command we have received from the Lord, that what does not please us when done by another, we are not to do to anyone else (cf. Matt 7:12; Luke 6:31; Gos.Thom. 6). Refrain, therefore, first, from adultery, for this is the origin of all evils, then from theft, which enticed Judas Iscariot and led to his hanging (cf. Matt 27:5). . . . For forty days and forty nights he fasted (cf. Matt 4:2), tasting no food. . . . Meekness is his boast. For he said to Peter, our fellow apostle, ‘Turn aside your sword and replace it in its sheath. If I wanted to do this, would I not have been able to obtain more than twelve legions of angels from my Father (cf. Matt 26:52–53)?’”

The citation of the Golden Rule is found only in the Greek version. The rule appears in various forms in antiquity (Dihle). The negative formulation does not correspond to the Q version. It is, however, found in Didache 1.2 and is embedded in Gospel of Thomas 6: “Do not do what you hate.” Whatever the precise source of the command in the Acts of Thomas, the saying apparently reflects Syrian traditions. The other explicit citation of a saying of Jesus in the Greek version of the homily clearly stems from Matt 26:52–53. For the rest there are some scattered allusions to the NT, but in general, the utilization of Scripture in this homily is remarkably thin. The homily in the Syriac differs in many other details. It highlights, even more prominently than the Greek, the virtue of chastity. As for its intertex-

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tual elements, in addition to the reference to Judas Iscariot as an example of avarice, it uses stock examples of vice from the Hebrew Scriptures (AcThomSyr 84). Italics indicate material not paralleled in the Greek: We should refrain from adultery, the start of all evils, and from murder, because of which the curse came upon Cain (Gen 4:11), from theft, which brought Judas Iscariot to hanging, and from gluttony, which removed Esau from his birthright (Gen 25:29–34), and from avarice, since when one is ensnared by it one does not watch what one is doing, and from vain pride, from destructive slander, from wicked actions, from shameful deeds, from odious intercourse, and from sordid sleeping from which comes eternal condemnation.

For explicit citations of dominical sayings, therefore, the Acts of Thomas uses primarily material familiar from the Gospels, whatever the immediate source of the sayings may have been. It uses sayings of Jesus in a fairly straightforward fashion, to articulate evangelical calls to conversion or as authoritative warrants for a life of virtuous simplicity. Such use is precisely what one might expect in the homiletic contexts depicted. Two interesting points of contrast emerged between the Greek and the Syriac unconnected with the explicit citations of dominical sayings. The Greek seemed at one point to have a preference for a New Testament allusion that may be connected with a particular sacramental practice. The Syriac in one context used a broader array of OT allusions in its homiletic repertoire. II. Embellishing Allusions a. Abundant and massive allusions Phrases recalling scriptural passages already appeared in some of the passages in which dominical logia were cited. Similar allusions are found in many passages throughout the text. These allusions generally do not contribute significantly to the plot or characterization of the work, but do evoke the authoritative language of the sacred text. Although the following list is probably not complete, it illustrates the phenomenon. Obvious and extensive allusions to gospel sayings or episodes appear at several critical junctures. At Acts of Thomas 47–48, a prayer invokes Jesus: Jesus, who is in need as if 7 and who saves as one who has no need; Who catches the fish for breakfast and for dinner; 8

7 Sense requires such a restoration. The Syriac lacks the clause. 8 On such a breakfast, cf. John 21:6, 11, 12; for dinner, Mark 6:35–44; 8:1–9 and par.

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semeia Who fills everyone with a little loaf; 9 Jesus who rests from the weariness of travel as a human being (John 4:6) and who walks over the waves as God (cf. Mark 6:48 and parr.; cf. also chap. 66) . . . the firstborn of many brethren 10 Who is called a deceiver (Matt 27:63) . . . Let it renew them from their previous activities and let them put off the old humanity (Cf. Eph 4:22; Col 3:9, 10) with its activities and put on the new, which is proclaimed to them by me.

The allusions are clear and involve language from the synoptic gospels, John, and the Pauline epistles. They appropriately evoke the compassionate Savior who is addressed in the prayer. It may be noteworthy that the two Pauline allusions are lacking in the Syriac. Not all allusions are positive or edifying. At Acts of Thomas 32, a deadly serpent responds to Thomas with an aretalogy, a form in which a deity hymns its powers. The serpent’s poem cites several biblical episodes in which evil was at work: “I am a crawler, with a crawler’s nature, and a harmer with a harmer’s nature. I am the son of him who harmed and struck down the four standing brothers.11 I am the son of him who sits on a throne over what is under heaven, who takes back his own from those who have borrowed them. I am the son of him who girds the sphere. I am akin to him who is around the ocean, whose tail lies in his own mouth. I am the one who entered through the fence in Paradise 12 and told Eve what my father commanded me to say to her. I am the one who incited and enflamed Cain so that he slew his own brother. On my account thorns and thistles grew on the earth. I am the one who cast the angels down from on high and bound them with lust for women,13 so that they might beget earthly children and I might accomplish my will through them. I am the one who hardened the heart of Pharaoh,14

Again the feeding stories (Mark 6:35–44; 8:1–9 and par.) are in view. Rom 8:29. The same Pauline phrase appears again at Acts of Thomas 60, only in the Greek version. 11 This verse, not in the Syriac, may refer to a Jewish legend about four killed by the primal serpent. Cf. b. S˘abb. 55a; b. B. Bat. 17a. 12 Cf. y. Pe 35 with our bodily eyes and whose greatness we have received in faith. Indeed, we have seen it in deeds. His human body we have felt with our hands (cf. John 20:24–29, for Thomas, and 1 John 1:1), his appearance we saw transformed for our eyes, but his heavenly form we were unable to see on the mountain (cf. Matt 17: 1–13 and parr.). He it is who overthrew the rulers and constrained death. He is truth that is not deceived and he has paid the poll tax for himself and his disciples (cf. possibly Matt 17:24–27). When the ruler saw this he was frightened and the powers with him were troubled. The ruler bore witness about who he was and where he was from, but he did not know the truth, since he is alien to the truth (cf. John 18–19, esp. 18:38). Having authority over the world and its pleasures, possessions, and delight, 36 all of them and commands his subjects not to use them.

The central portion of the little aretalogy, precisely paralleled in the Syriac, characterizes Thomas as an eyewitness of Jesus. It uses an allusion to John 20, and perhaps to 1 John 1:1, to remind the reader that Thomas had personal, physical contact with Jesus. Thomas also claims to recall the transfiguration, but he appropriately excludes himself from the disciples who could see the divine form of Jesus on the mountain. At Acts of Thomas 144–47, Thomas’ final remarks contain a pastiche of allusions: When he finished these remarks, he stood up and prayed as follows, “Our Father, who are in heaven, hallowed be your name. Let your kingdom come, let your will be done on earth as it is in heaven. Forgive us our debts as we have forgiven our debtors. Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from the evil one.37 My Lord and

34 Cf. Matt 13:55; Mark 6:3; Luke 4:22.

The verse appears to conflate Matthew and Luke.

35 The verb is added from the Syriac. Cf. John 1:15–18. 36 The verb is added from the Syriac. 37 Cf. Matt 6:9–13. The Syriac includes the petition for bread, “Give us constant bread of the day.”

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semeia my God,38 hope, confidence, and teacher, you taught me to pray in this way. Behold, I say this prayer and fulfill your command. Be with me until the end. You are the one who sowed life in me from childhood and preserved me from corruption. You are one who brought me into the poverty of this world and invited me to true wealth.39 You are the one who made yourself known to me and showed me that I am yours. I have abstained from touching a woman so that what you require of me might not be found defiled. My mouth is insufficient 40 to thank you nor is my mind able to conceive of your love for me, you who, when 41 become rich and obtain possessions, showed me in deed that great wealth upon earth is loss. But I believed in your revelation and remained in worldly poverty until the time when you, who are true wealth, appeared, filled your people who are worthy of wealth, and released them from want, care, and greed. I therefore have now brought your work to completion and fulfilled your commandment. I have become poor, needy, a stranger, a slave, one despised, a prisoner, hungry, thirsty, naked, and weary.42 Let not my confidence be disappointed; let my hope in you not be put to shame; let my toils not be in vain; let not my prayers and constant fasts go for naught; and let my deeds done for you not be diminished. Let not the devil snatch the seed of grain from the earth,43 (146) so that it might send its roots deep and its spreading branches into heaven (cf. Mark 4:32 and Gos. Thom. 20), so that its fruits might be displayed on the earth and those who are worthy of you might be delighted with it. Behold, the moneys and the possessions that you have given me I have put in the bank.44 Give them back to me with interest as you promised. With your one talent 45 I have earned another ten. Let them be added to my account as you have ordered (cf. Matt 25:14–30; Luke 19:11–27). I have forgiven the debt of those who owed me a talent. Do not let it be requested back from me, for you have forgiven me that debt (cf. Matt 18:23–35). At your invitation I have come to dinner, leaving field and wife behind (cf. Luke 14:18–20). Let me not be cast outside,46 but

38 The two major Greek witnesses, U and P, differ considerably to the end of 149. The translation follows U except for chap. 147. 39 For the contrast of heavenly wealth and earthly poverty, cf. Gos. Thom. 29, 85, 110. 40 Cf. Gos. Thom. 13, where Thomas says, “My mouth is wholly incapable of saying who you are like.” 41 The verb is added, following the Syriac and P. 42 The passage recalls Paul’s lists of tribulations, e.g. at 2 Cor 11:23–29, but also the list of needs that will receive a reward at Matt 25:31–66. 43 Cf. Matt 13:19; Mark 4:15; and Luke 8:12. The Syriac adds another allusion to a parable: “and let not tares be found in it for your land does not accept his tares and they cannot fall into the storage bins of your husbandman.” 44 The money that Thomas received from Jesus (chap. 3) has apparently been invested in the mission. 45 Literally a “mina,” as at Luke 19:18–25. 46 Cf. Matt 22:11–14. The Syriac makes the allusion to the new parable more explicit: “To the wedding feast I have been invited and I have put on white clothes.” The Greek may have deliberately conflated two parables, but it is more likely that a similar phrase has been accidentally omitted in the Greek tradition.

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let me blamelessly taste of the meal. Grant that I may appear worthy and not go into the outer darkness bound hand and foot (cf. Matt 22:2, 11). My lamp with a bright gleam has awaited the master and received him when the wedding banquet was over, and may I 47 not find it in danger of being extinguished when the oil .48 Let my eyes look for you and my heart rejoice because I have fulfilled your will and done your command, <so that I may be likened to>49 your active and reverent servant who in his prudent diligence neglects nothing.50 For I stayed on watch all night and grew weary guarding my house against a break-in by thieves (cf. Matt 24:42–44, 45–51; Luke 12:39–40). ,53 and all of your fullness has been fulfilled in me. I’ve not turned back, but advanced forward, that I might not be ashamed. I’ve brought the dead to life and overcome the living one and filled up what was lacking, that I might receive the crown of victory and that the power of Christ might be brought to perfection in me. I’ve received shame upon earth; grant me a requital and recompense in heaven>.

Both the Greek and Syriac versions adopt the same strategy here in using scriptural allusions in the climactic speech. The most important allusions contribute to the theme of Thomas as the ideal disciple, by showing that he has fulfilled the injunctions of the Gospel. The existence of a shorter form of the speech in one Greek MS is probably an abbreviated version. At Acts of Thomas 158, a eucharistic prayer alludes to appropriate scriptural episodes:

47 I emend “he did” to “may I” with P and Syriac. 48 Cf. Luke 12:35. “Gives out” is supplied from P. 49 “So that . . . to” is supplied from P and Syriac. 50 The Greek of U is badly corrupt. “Who . . . nothing” follows the Syriac. 51 The paragraph is added from P and Syriac. U has only: “Let my furrows not become crooked. My fields have become white. They await the harvest.” 52 Following the Syriac. P reads: “the worst people.” This is a possible allusion to Luke 12:18. 53 “Within” is added from the Syriac. Cf. Gos. Thom. 22.

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semeia When they emerged he took bread and a cup, blessed them, and said, “We eat your holy body that was crucified for us and we drink for our salvation your blood that was shed for us. Therefore, let your body become our salvation and your blood produce remission of sins. In return for the gall that you drank on our account, let the gall of the devil be removed from us. In return for the vinegar that you drank for us,54 let our weakness be empowered. In return for the spittle that you received (Matt 27:30; Mark 15:19) on our account, may we receive the dew of your beneficence. By the reed with which they beat you 55 on our account, may we receive the perfect dwelling. Because you received a crown of thorns (Matt 27:29; Mark 15:17; John 19:2) on our account, may we who love you put on an unfading crown. In return for the shroud in which you were wrapped (Matt 27:59; Mark 15:46; Luke 23:53), let us gird ourselves with your unconquerable power. In return for the new tomb 56 and the burial, may we receive renewal of soul and body. Because you arose and came back to life, may we arise to life and stand before you in just judgment.”

This prayer, with its abundant allusions to the passion of Jesus, is strategically placed just before the passion of Thomas. b. Isolated allusions In addition to the passages that have massive allusions to scripture, there are many isolated phrases throughout the narrative that evoke “classical” Christian texts. In most cases the allusion does not create any ironic tension nor does it contribute to the development of a Leitmotif. Instead the allusions provide a familiar authoritative verbal texture to the narrative. The narrative frame, Acts of Thomas 1, alludes to the lists of the apostles in the Gospels: At that time all of us apostles were in Jerusalem, namely Simon called Peter, Andrew his brother, James son of Zebedee, John his brother, Philip, Bartholo-

54 For the vinegar and gall, cf. Matt 27:34; Mark 15:23. 55 Presumably the reed that the soldiers had placed in Jesus’s hand was used to beat him. Cf. Matt 27:29, 31. 56 The newness of the tomb is noted in Matt 27:60 and John 19:41.

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mew, Thomas, Matthew the tax-collector, James son of Alphaios, Simon the Cananean, and Jude son of James.

This list follows Matt 10:2–4, although, like Luke 6:14–16, it omits Thaddaeus, who appears after James son of Alphaios in Matthew’s list, and adds Jude the son of James. This scene may derive not from the Gospels directly, but from similar scenes in other examples of the genre. A phrase in the “Hymn of the Bride” (AcThom 7) “They have also drunk the wine that does not bring them any thirst or longing” is reminiscent of John 4:13; but it is a common sapiential motif. This is one of the few allusions in the two major poetic pieces to an element of scripture. A prayer at Acts of Thomas 25 incorporates scriptural imagery: The apostle, in joyous rapture, said, “I praise 57 you, Lord Jesus, that you have revealed your truth among these men. For you alone are the true God and no other. And you are the one who knows all things that are unknown to the multitudes. You, Lord, are the one who ever shows pity and mercy to human beings. For human beings, because of their innate error,58 have neglected you, but you have not neglected them. Now, at my earnest request, accept the king and his brother and include them in your flock, having cleansed them with your bath and anointed them with your oil59 from the error which encompasses them. Guard them also from the wolves,60 supporting them in your meadows. Give them drink from your ambrosial fountain,61 which is never muddied and never gives out. For they ask and beseech you and want to be your servants and ministers, and for this reason they desire to be separated from your enemies and, for your sake, to be hated and mistreated by them and to die at their hands, as you suffered all these things on our behalf, so that you might preserve us, being our Lord and truly our good shepherd (cf. John 10:11, 14; Heb 13:20; 1 Pet 5:4). Grant that they might have in you alone their boldness, as well as the aid for and hope of their salvation which comes from you, which they expect from you alone. Grant also that they might be confirmed in your mysteries and from your graces and gifts they will have the perfect good things and will flourish in your service and will bear perfect fruit in your Father.”

The allusions to scriptural motifs are fairly general and possibly derive from liturgical traditions.

57 This prayer formula with oJmologevw, perhaps similar to the Qumran hodayoth, is used at Matt 11:25. It appears again at chaps. 94, 107, and in one MS at 145. 58 For the force of error (plavnh), cf. chaps. 37, 38, 44, 67, 80, 98, 156, and Gos. Truth 17, 14. 59 The usual order in both Syriac and Greek (chaps. 49, 121, 132, 157) is anointing, then baptism. The Syriac here keeps that order. 60 For the proverbially threatening wolves, cf. Matt 7:15; 10:16 (= Luke 10:3); John 10:12; Acts 20:29. Here, cf. chaps. 39, 67, 79. 61 For similar imagery, cf. John 4:14; 7:38; Gos. Thom. 13. Here, cf. chaps. 37, 39, 130.

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At Acts of Thomas 27, the apostle is about to initiate new converts when they hear a heavenly voice: The apostle stood up and sealed them. The Lord was revealed to them through a voice saying, “Peace be with you, brethren.” They only heard the voice, and did not see his form, for they had not yet received the sealing of the seal.

Hearing the voice, but not seeing the form replicates Paul’s experience according to Acts 9:7. The content of Jesus’s greeting recalls his remark to the disciples on Easter night (John 20:19). At Acts of Thomas 40, Thomas encounters a talking ass, who tells him: “I am of the lineage which attended on Balaam. Your lord and teacher also sat upon one from that lineage who was related to me.” The ass, the antithesis of the talking serpent, also recounts his lineage. His most remote ancestor is found in Num 22:21. His NT counterpart appears at Matt 21:2, 7. At Mark 11:2 and Luke 12:28, he is only a colt. Acts of Thomas 65 evokes the language of Mark 9:24: “The general then raised his voice and said, ‘I believe in you, Jesus, and I ask and beseech you, aid the little faith that I have in you.’” The phrase about aiding little faith is unique to Mark. Allusions to the canonical Acts of the Apostles are rare. One episode recalls, in a very general way, a portion of Acts. Acts of Thomas 122 records an escape from prison. The episode recalls the incarceration of Paul and his companions at Philippi, as recounted in Acts 16:23–28. As in that episode, the guards were awakened from sleep to find the doors of the prison open, but the prisoners within. The motif of miraculous escape from prison is commonplace in ancient narrative and there may not be a direct textual connection (Conzelmann: 132 who notes Peterson: 183–208). Yet, as in the canonical Acts, the apostle and his companions do not avail themselves of the opportunity for release.62 Here their restraint is not a device to enable them to shame their jailers, as in Acts 16, but rather shows their willingness to accept their fate. c. Isolated Pauline Allusions The appearance of Pauline allusions among the more extensive combinations of scriptural allusions was of some significance. Some isolated allusions likewise recall Pauline texts. At Acts of Thomas 12, Thomas preaches to the bride and groom whom he invites to a life of celibacy: Remember, my children, what my brother told you and to whom he commended you. Know that if you abandon this sordid intercourse, you will 62 Peter, of course, had a different attitude in Acts 5.

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become holy temples, pure, freed from afflictions and pains, both manifest and hidden, and you will not assume cares for a livelihood or for children, the final result of which is destruction.

The final phrase has a Pauline ring, reminiscent of Phil 3:19, but it may derive from homiletic tradition. At Acts of Thomas 27, Thomas prays over the oil to be used in the first anointing scene, “Come, holy name of Christ, which is above every name.” The opening of the epiclesis recalls Phil 2:9. Little else in the prayer, with the possible exception of a concluding Trinitarian formula, recalls canonical scripture. The motifs in the prayer relate to other early Christian traditions that have yet to be adequately determined. At Acts of Thomas 38, a penitent crowd appeals to Thomas: But if he has mercy on us, pities, and saves us, overlooking our former activities, frees us from the evils that we have done in our error, and does not make a careful accounting with us, nor remembers our former sins, we shall become his servants and shall do his will to the end.

The hope that God would overlook former sins, evokes passages such as Rom 3:25; Acts 17:30. Acts of Thomas 51 records a case of punishment for sacramental transgression: There was a young man who had committed an unspeakable deed. When he approached and took the eucharist to his mouth his two hands shriveled up, so that they were no longer able to reach his mouth.

Paul recognized that there would be punishment for unworthy reception of the sacrament (cf. 1 Cor 11:30) but there is no specific allusion here. At Acts of Thomas 55, part of the description of the tour of Hell, “These are the souls who have exchanged the intercourse of men and women” echoes Paul’s description of homoerotic behavior at Rom 1:26–27. At Acts of Thomas 62, General Sifor, seeking aid for his possessed wife, tells Thomas, “I have heard that you do not accept pay from anyone, but you provide to those in need whatever you do have.” Paul, too, perhaps following the Socratic ideal, refused pay, according to 1 Cor 9:12; 2 Cor 11:7–9. There may be a vague recollection of that apostolic ideal here. If so, the allusion could be a contribution to the theme of the ideal disciple. At Acts of Thomas 72, Thomas prays: Jesus, you who have taken on (human) form and have come to be as a human being and appeared to all of us so that you might not keep us apart from your love, it is you, Lord who have given yourself for us, bought us by your blood, and obtained us as a high-priced possession. What can we give you, Lord, as a recompense for your life that you have given for us?

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The reference to purchase by blood, found in both Greek and Syriac traditions, echoes Gal 3:13. The notion that Christ’s life has been “given for us” may echo Matt 16:26 and Jn 16:3. There may be, at least in the case of the first phrase, more than a casual scriptural allusion. In the third portion of this paper we shall examine some structurally significant elements of the narrative. One is the characterization of Thomas as slave/twin/apostle of Jesus. His status as slave, who can be sold like chattel, may be a conceit dependent on the notion that he has been purchased by Christ’s blood. At Acts of Thomas 87, Mygdonia responds to Thomas’s homily: I beg of you, take thought for me and pray for me, that I might obtain mercy from the God whom you proclaim, become his habitation, be transformed by prayer, hope, and faith in him, receive the seal, and become a holy temple where he might dwell.

The language of the temple as body is familiar from Pauline texts, 1 Cor 3: 16–17; 6:19; 2 Cor 6:16. It could, however, be more generally available and nothing depends on a Pauline allusion. At Acts of Thomas 137, Tertia, the royal friend of Lady Mygdonia, records her response to the apostle’s preaching, using at least one Pauline phrase: Tertia replied, “I must thank you for sending me to Mygdonia. For I went and heard about a new life and I saw the new apostle of the God who gives life to those who believe in him and fulfill his commands. So I ought to pay you back for this favor and give you good advice in exchange for yours. For you will be a great king in heaven if you listen to me and fear the God who is proclaimed by the stranger and keep yourself in holy chastity for the living God. For this kingdom is passing away (cf. 1 Cor 7:31) and your life of ease will turn into tribulation. But go to that man, believe him, and you will live forever.”

Like Paul, Thomas, Tertia, and Mygdonia draw an ascetical conclusion from their eschatological conviction. Allusions to Pauline texts do not play a major role in the Acts of Thomas, and in some cases the allusions listed here may be quite indirect. Nonetheless, Pauline language does form part of the scriptural aura of the text. d. Isolated Johannine Allusions Scattered allusions to Johannine texts dot the narrative. At Acts of Thomas 37, the results of coming to belief in Jesus are portrayed in terms of a fountain of living water: Instead, believe in our Lord Jesus Christ, whom we proclaim, so that your hope may be in him and you might have life in him forever and ever, so that he might be your companion in this place of wandering and a harbor for

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you in this stormy sea. For you will have as well a fountain gushing forth (phgh; bruvousa) in this parched place, a bin full of food in the place of the hungry, rest for your souls, and a healer for your bodies.”

The phrase recalls John 4:14 (Jesus’ water becoming a fountain ‘leaping up to life eternal’ [u{dato~ ajllomevnou]), and despite the lack of precise verbal similarity there may be an allusion to the notion found in John. Alternatively, the text may be based on the saying found at Gospel of Thomas 13, where Jesus proclaims to Thomas “I am not your master. Because you have drunk, you have become intoxicated from the bubbling spring which I have measured out.” At Acts of Thomas 39, an invocation of Christ includes a specifically Johannine motif: “O Jesus Christ, you who are spiritual and full of perfect compassion, . . . The sweet and everlasting spring; The firmly established, pure and never-disturbed fountain (cf. chaps. 25, 37, 130); . . . Our true and unconquered athlete; 63 Our holy and victorious general; 64 The glorious one who furnishes to his own joy that never ceases and respite that contains no tribulation whatsoever; The good shepherd, who gives himself up for his sheep (cf. John 10:11), who has conquered the wolf, redeemed his own lambs, and led them to good pasture, we praise and hymn you, your unseen Father, and your Holy Spirit and the Mother 65 of all creation.”

The prayer is of interest for many reasons. The possible allusions to identifiable sources are limited. John 10:11 (the Good Shepherd) does seem to be in view. The image of Jesus as Athlete may also evoke Heb 12:1–3. The phenomenon of using scriptural language to characterize the addressee in prayer has appeared elsewhere in our survey. e. Isolated Allusions to the Gospel of Thomas H.-C. Puech first suggested the possibility that the Acts of Thomas knew the Gospel of Thomas, finding parallels at Acts of Thomas 14 (Gos. Thom. 37), Acts of Thomas 92 (Gos. Thom. 22), Acts of Thomas 136 (Gos. Thom. 2), Acts of Thomas

63 The imagery reappears at chaps. 50 and 85. Athletic imagery is applied to Christ in the NT, e.g. at Heb 12:1–3; to ascetics in The Book of Thomas the Contender (NHC 2,7). 64 This title is used of a major character in the latter half of the Acts. Cf. chap. 62. 65 For references to the “Mother,” cf. chaps. 27 and 50; Syriac, “one who hovers over.”

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147 (Gos. Thom. 22), Acts of Thomas 170 (Gos. Thom. 52). The character of the parallels is not close enough, in the judgment of Barbara Aland, to warrant a judgment of dependence, but most scholars agree that there is enough material to indicate that the Acts of Thomas and the Gospel of Thomas stand in the same stream of tradition (Patterson: 118–20). Puech’s list of possible allusions is full, but not complete (286). A comprehensive review of the evidence here for connection between the two texts may be of some use: It is possible that the episode of a lion who tears apart the insolent waiter of Acts of Thomas 8 is connected with the lion who devours human beings of Gospel of Thomas 7.66 At Acts of Thomas 12, Jesus appears to a couple about to be married and preaches a homily about sexual renunciation: Know that if you abandon this sordid intercourse, you will become holy temples, pure, freed from afflictions and pains, both manifest and hidden, and you will not assume cares for a livelihood or for children, the final result of which is destruction. . . . You will be members of a wedding party who go into that bridal chamber which is full of immortality and light.

The homily, as well as the whole episode that frames it, recalls Gos. Thom. 5: Jesus said, “Many are standing at the door, but it is the solitary who will enter the bridal chamber.” It is Jesus, the archetypal solitary one, who enters the earthly bridal chamber while many stand about. He tells the young couple how they might enter the true, heavenly bridal chamber by following his example. It is impossible to prove a specific allusion either to the Gospel or to this specific saying. It is clear, however, that the Gospel and the Acts of Thomas do stand in the same symbolic tradition. Acts of Thomas 14 contains a possible allusion to a baptismal liturgy and a stray saying of Jesus: Truly, Father, I’m deeply in love. I pray to my Lord that the love that I’ve felt tonight might remain with me and I’ll ask for that husband whom I perceived today. Therefore, I shall no longer remain covered, since the garment of shame has been taken away from me.

The shorter Greek recension (A CD FTX PUY QR S), much abbreviated for this chapter, agrees with the Syriac in reading at this point “garment of shame.” The longer Greek reads “mirror of shame.” For the motif, see Gospel of Thomas 37, and the fragment of the Gospel of the Egyptians in Clement of Alexandria Stromateis 3.91.67 For some early Christians, the baptismal disrob-

66 On the imagery in general, see Jackson. 67 For discussion of the tradition, which may involve a baptismal formula, see Smith; MacDonald.

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ing symbolized the repudiation of the “shameful garments” of either conventional social roles or “the flesh” in general. Which is the more primitive reading? “Mirror of shame” is an odd phrase whose meaning is difficult to construe. That status as the lectio difficilior would argue in its favor. “Garment of shame” (or perhaps, at the level of the story, “garment of modesty” with a double entendre, equating the bride’s modest garb with a mark of shame because of what it portends) makes good sense in the immediate narrative context. Because the phrase has significant connections both with early Christian liturgy and with early Christian practice, it is certainly intelligible within a work of the early third century. Greek scribes might have changed it because later, more orthodox readers felt uncomfortable with the description of a woman’s veil as “a garment of shame.” Such scribes, missing the allusions to early baptismal practice and theology and convinced that virgins should be veiled, substituted “mirror” for “garment.” Perhaps they construed the veil as a piece of shiny silk that mirrored the image of the husband and thereby preserved the modesty of the virgin bride.68 The cluster of possible allusions to the Gospel of Thomas in the first ode of the Acts of Thomas is striking. While no single incidence is definitive, the combination does suggest some connection between the two texts, at least at this portion of the Acts of Thomas. Acts of Thomas 47 is acquainted with a tradition about Thomas knowing three secrets, found at Gospel of Thomas 13. This passage will be discussed below, in connection with the characterization of Thomas. At Acts of Thomas 92, Carish embodies a saying of Jesus: In the morning Carish went out and dressed. He tied his left sandal on his right foot. Pausing he said to Mygdonia, “What’s going on? First the dream, then this behavior!” Mygdonia responded, “This doesn’t seem to be an ill omen, but quite auspicious. In fact, there will be a change from a foul practice to what is better.” He washed his hands and went to greet King Mizdai.

Carish’s slip is oddly reminiscent of Gospel of Thomas 22: Jesus said to them, “When you make the two one, and when you make the inside like the outside and the outside like the inside, and the above like the below, and when you make the male and the female one and the same, so that the male no be male nor the female be male; and you fashion eyes in place of an eye, and a hand in place of a hand, and a foot in place of a foot, and a likeness in place of a likeness; then will you enter [the kingdom].”

68 The mirror/garment would thus be like the tunic of the Hymn of the Pearl. See Acts of Thomas 111–12.

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The significance of Mygdonia’s comment probably depends on the allusion to the saying that the kingdom is present when opposites are overcome, whether it is known through the Gospel of Thomas or not. The Hymn of the Pearl at Acts of Thomas 108–13 has been linked with numerous texts, including the parable of the prodigal son (Kruse). Most of these links are not close enough to establish any literary relationship. The Gospel of Thomas does have one saying relevant to understanding the Hymn: Jesus said, “When you see your likeness, you rejoice. But when you see your images which came into being before you, and which neither die nor become manifest, how much you will have to bear!” (Gos. Thom. 84)

The notion of a heavenly twin or “double” is certainly present here and in the image of the silk robe that the Parthian prince regains on his return to the East (AcThom 112). (75) Since I remembered not its form, for in childhood I had left my father’s house, (76) suddenly, when I confronted it as my mirror, the garment seemed like me. (77) I looked upon the whole of it, complete, and in it faced myself entire, (78) for we were two in separation, yet we were also one in single form.

Yet there need be no more than a phenomenological parallel here. Both texts share a common assumption about the relation of the self to a heavenly counterpart with whom one is reunited at death. At Acts of Thomas 130 and 136 there appears an allusion to a saying preserved in the Gospel of Thomas. In remarks to Carish at Acts of Thomas 130, Thomas says: “anyone who hates the light of day and night will behold the light incomprehensible (cf. John 1:5), and as they attain rest they come to rule.” Reference to the “light” evokes a common Johannine motif, but without a specific reference. The motif of “resting and ruling” reappears several chapters later: The apostle said, “The storeroom of the holy king has been opened (cf. Matt 13:52) and those who partake worthily in the goods therein find rest, and as they attain rest they come to rule. Yet no one unclean or base comes to it first, for he knows what is within our hearts and he knows the depths of our thought, and it is not possible for anyone to hide from him (cf. Ps 43 (44):22 and Heb 4:12–13).

The indication that one who delves into the treasures (of wisdom) that the revealer has provided will find rest and “rule” closely parallels Gos. Thom. 2, particularly in its Greek form. The Coptic text reads:

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Jesus said, “Let him who seeks continue seeking until he finds. When he finds, he will become troubled. When he becomes troubled, he will be astonished and will rule over the universe.”

The Greek, preserved in P. Oxy. 654.5–9 adds “and having ruled he will find rest (ka[i; basileuvsa~ e;panapa-]hvsetai).” The order of “resting” and “ruling” differs between the Greek fragment and the Acts of Thomas, but the presence of both motifs remains a significant parallel. The saying is also preserved in Clement of Alexandria Stromateis 2.9.45,5; 5.14.96,3. The parallels are interesting and may illuminate the phrase in the Acts of Thomas, but they are not sufficient to demonstrate dependence or literaryintertextual play. At Acts of Thomas 147, Thomas’s prayer “My mouth is insufficient to thank you” echoes Gospel of Thomas 13, where Thomas says, “My mouth is wholly incapable of saying who you are like.” We have already noted the significant collection of allusions to scripture in Acts of Thomas 147. Among them is the following: The prisoner whom you entrusted to me I slew, that the one who is released by me might not lose his confidence. That which is within I have made without, and that which is without <within>,69 and all of your fullness has been fulfilled in me.

The reference to overcoming of opposition recalls Acts of Thomas 92, where the same notion was ironically embedded in a narrative about Carish, husband of Mygdonia. Both texts seem to refer to the saying of Gospel of Thomas 22. At Acts of Thomas 170, Puech detected an allusion to Gospel of Thomas 52: His disciples said to him, “Twenty-four prophets spoke in Israel, and all of them spoke in you.” He said to them, “You have omitted the one living in your presence and have spoken (only) of the dead.”

III. Allusions to Achieve Special Effects Certain allusions to scriptural sources perform more than an embellishing function. Some instead set the tone for an episode or, through their appeal to a scriptural paradigm, add some special dimension to the plot or characterization of a particular episode.

69 “Within” is added from the Syriac. Cf. Gos. Thom. 22.

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a. Characterization of Thomas At Acts of Thomas 3, a brief prayer of Thomas evokes the Lord’s Prayer: Early on the following day the apostle prayed and entreated the Lord, “I’m going where you want, Lord Jesus. Let your will be done.”

Similar phrasing occurs at Acts of Thomas 30, when Thomas encounters a deadly serpent: “Lord, was it for this reason that you made me come out here, to see this trial? Therefore, let your will be done.”

The second evocation of the prayer, recalling Matt 6:10, also alludes to the request at the end of the prayer to avoid peirasmovn. The initial evocation of the prayer, forms an inclusio with Acts of Thomas 144, the beginning of the final remarks of Thomas, cited above. The use of the petition to let God’s will be done serves as a frame for the whole Acts of Thomas and comments on what it is to be an apostle, one utterly devoted to doing the Lord’s will. As the initial episode makes clear, Thomas is the “slave” of his brother Jesus, perhaps, as noted above, because Christ purchased him with his blood. His servile status is expressed in a narrative fashion through the sale of Thomas by Jesus to the Indian merchant, Chaban. Having been treated thus, and having expressed himself with the relevant verse of the Lord’s prayer, Thomas is ready to tell others that to do the will of his master is his goal in life. He does so in a way that again evokes scripture. When he arrives at the wedding banquet in Andrapolis he tells another guest: “I’ve come here,” he answered, “for something more important than food or drink, that is, to do the will of the king.” The comment evokes John 4:34 and the assertion of Jesus that his food is to do his father’s bidding. The comment is ironic, since Thomas has come to do the will of a heavenly king and not simply to fulfill the command of an earthly king. To avoid earthly food and merriment and thereby to do the will of the true King is true food and drink for the apostle. The ironic effect is due in large part to a play on the saying of Jesus in John 4. The theme continues, as a kind of Leitmotif, later in the Acts of Thomas, e.g. at Acts of Thomas 79, where Thomas is described as “the one who does the will of him who sent him.” Another Leitmotif uses a different scriptural allusion to characterize Judas Thomas. Acts of Thomas 10 describes the apostle’s prayer: “The apostle arose and began to pray, ‘My Lord and my God,’” Similar invocations appear at Acts of Thomas 39, 47–48, 60, 81. This address may come from liturgical tradition, although it is more likely a reminiscence of John 20:28. Thomas’ most famous saying in the canonical gospels would thus function as an identifying tag. If, as Gregory Riley has argued, the Thomas tradition did not originally affirm the physical resurrection of Jesus , this allusion to the doubting Thomas may

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be of particular significance. Although there may be a residual docetism in the Acts of Thomas (Riley), it is explicitly committed to a more “orthodox” Christology than originally represented by the Thomas tradition. Its appropriation of the fourth gospel is part of that more orthodox stance and nothing remains of Thomas’s doubts. Service of his master and his twin will eventually lead Thomas to martyrdom, to be described at the end of the Acts of Thomas. As in other respects, the opening chapter foreshadows that conclusion, and does so by depicting Thomas in the guise of Jesus’ passion. At Acts of Thomas 5, Thomas is seated at the wedding banquet to which all the inhabitants of Andrapolis have been invited. As a good guest, he anoints himself with fragrant oil, as would be appropriate for the feast. The anointing, however, has a sacramental quality, foreshadowing the baptismal anointings that will take place later in the text: The apostle anointed the top of his head, drew the ointment down to his nostrils, daubed it into his ears, applied it to his teeth, and carefully anointed the area of his heart. He took the proffered garland woven of myrtle and other flowers and placed it on his head. He also took and held a bamboo reed in his hand.

The crown and the reed are more than elements of the feast; they evoke the passion of Jesus, as described in Matt 27:28–29. These elements will reappear in the eucharistic prayer at Acts of Thomas 158, which clearly evokes the passion of Jesus just before the passion of Thomas. The anointing of Thomas at the banquet scene thus foreshadows his own martyrdom in a fashion similar to the anointing of Jesus in the Gospels (cf. Matt 26:6–13; Mark 14:3–9; Luke 10:38–42; John 12:1–8). Insofar as the anointing here foreshadows the anointings that are a significant part of the initiation ritual in the Acts of Thomas, this scene provides an interpretation of that anointing. The ritual makes the individual disciple fit to imitate his twin in martyrdom. The ways in which Thomas imitates Jesus as his twin and slave are manifold. The theme elicits comment throughout the text. At Acts of Thomas 39, a talking ass addresses Thomas: Twin of Christ, the apostle of the Most High and initiate into the hidden message of Christ, You who have received his hidden sayings, the collaborator of the Son of God; You who though free became a slave (cf. Phil 2:6–7, as well as chap. 1) and, by being sold into slavery, have led many to freedom. . . .

An ass is speaking, like Balaam’s ass of Num 22:21. An explicit allusion to that verse appears in the next chapter. It addresses Thomas in language redolent of Phil 2:6–7 and “leading captivity captive” (Eph 4:8). It thereby

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comments on the narrative frame of the Acts of Thomas, showing that the life of Jesus’s twin is constructed to be a narrative replication of the drama of Christ. Here, by the way, we probably find the conceptual hook on which the Hymn of the Pearl was hung. The sojourn in Egypt there was equated with the liberating “slavery.” Thomas the twin and slave of Jesus is also an intimate, to whom special secrets have been revealed. At Acts of Thomas 47, Thomas prays prior to an exorcism: Jesus, the hidden mystery which has been revealed to us, You are the one who reveals to us all sorts of mysteries, The one who set me apart from my companions and said to me three words by which I am inflamed, and which I cannot tell others. . . .

The Syriac lacks the number three, but is clear that Thomas has a special set of mysteries to reveal.70 At Gospel of Thomas 13, Jesus is reported to have told Thomas three secrets. Thomas claims that if he repeats them, the other disciples will try to stone him, but fire from the stones will consume them. The Acts of Thomas is certainly heir to a tradition that Thomas received special secrets from Jesus. The comment does not depend for its effect on knowledge of the tradition in the Gospel of Thomas. At Acts of Thomas 82, Thomas evokes the image of Jesus by citing sayings of his “twin.” (See above under Explicit Citations of Dominical Sayings.) At Acts of Thomas 88, Thomas addresses his new convert, Lady Mygdonia. He again echoes scriptural phrases and makes a promise in the name of Christ: The apostle said, “I pray and request for all of you, brethren, who believe in the Lord and for you, sisters, who hope in Christ, that the word of God might tabernacle 71 in you all and dwell in you. For we don’t determine these things. . . . Jesus alone remains forever (cf. Heb 13:8 and chap. 117), along with those who hope in him. . . . Even if I do depart, I shall not leave you alone (John 14:18, and more remotely, Matt 28:20), but Jesus, through his mercy, will be with you.”

The final formulation, evoking John 14:18, is particularly interesting. Thomas’s citation of the words of Jesus from John promises that Thomas will not leave Mygdonia alone because Jesus will be with her. The promise is easy to make for the Jesus’ twin. At Acts of Thomas 96, Carish ironically shows Thomas to be a genuine disciple. Once again the irony depends on the reminiscence of the relevant 70 Cf. Acts of Thomas 131 for Thomas as secretive. 71 John 1:14. The following comment affirming the priority of grace, may also reflect 1:13, “not from the will of man, but of God.”

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biblical materials. Carish notes characteristics that he believes show Thomas to be a low-life good-for-nothing. These traits, however, evoke the injunctions laid upon disciples by Jesus: . . . As for the fact that he neither eats nor drinks, don’t think that it is for the sake of righteousness. He does so simply because he doesn’t own a thing. What do you think someone would do who doesn’t even have enough bread for the day? 72 It is because he is a pauper that he has only a single cloak (cf. Matt 10:10). As for the fact that he doesn’t accept anything from anyone, by acting in this way he admits that he does <not truly> 73 heal.

The notion that Thomas imitates the experience of Jesus in his passion was already suggested in the opening scene. Details in the narrative of Thomas’s encounter with authority continue the theme. At Acts of Thomas 73, Thomas uses a pregnant expression familiar from Mark 14:41 and John 12:23, “Lord Jesus, the hour is come.” Thomas uses the phrase as Siphor comes to him for assistance in exorcising his wife and daughter. This is, in some ways, the beginning of Thomas’s passion, and certainly the opening scene in the climactic episode of Thomas, Siphor and Mygdonia. Again at Acts of Thomas 104, further echoes of John characterize Thomas as Jesus’ twin: The apostle stood before the king, who said to him, “Tell who you are and by what authority you do these things.”74 The apostle remained silent (cf. Matt 26: 63; Mark 14:61). The king commanded his servants to give the apostle a hundred and twenty-eight lashes and cast him bound into prison. They bound him and led him away. The king and Carish were considering how they might put him to death (Cf. Matt 22:15; Mark 3:6; 12:13), but the crowd worshipped him as a god. They had it in mind to say that the stranger had insulted the king and was a deceiver. The apostle went off to the prison in joyful exultation75 and said, “I praise you,76 Jesus, because you made me worthy not only of faith in you, but also of enduring much for your sake.”

The allusions to Christ’s passion are obvious. Irony again surfaces in the response of the crowd. They worship the apostle as a god, improperly to be sure, but, insofar as the apostle reflects his master, the erroneous crowd is not too much deceived. Their worship of Thomas is obviously misplaced, but it

72 Possibly an ironic allusion to the Lord’s prayer, with hJmerhvsion an interpretation of ejpiouvsion. For the prayer, cf. chap. 144. 73 I emend “of healing” (tou` qerapeuvein) to “not truly heal” (mh; ejn ajlhqeiva/ qerapeuevin), with the Syriac. 74 An allusion to John here seems likely. 75 He thus obeyed Matt 5:12. 76 For this formula, cf. chaps. 25 and 94.

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is ironically fitting that he who imitates Jesus should be considered that for which Jesus was, at least according to John, executed. As Thomas prepares for his own passion, he evokes in prayer the image of Jesus in the garden confronting his adversaries. At Acts of Thomas 157, the apostle prays over the oil to be used in a baptismal anointing: “Therefore, let the gift come, through which you breathed on your enemies and made them retreat and fall prone (John 18:6).” The baptismal oil thus strengthens the baptizands and can serve as an apotropaic device to ward off the threat of the enemy. The imitatio Christi theme connected with the passion surfaces again in at least one detail of the martyrdom of Thomas at Acts of Thomas 164–65: He stood up and took Judas outside the city (cf. John 19:17; Acts 7:58; Heb 13: 12) . . . with the officer holding him by the hand and leading him to punishment. . . . One leads me, since I am from a single source, to which I am going away. Yet now I have learned that my Lord, since he was from a single source (cf. Heb 2:10–11), to whom I am going away, who is ever with me in an invisible fashion,—that he was struck by a single man, but I, since I am from four elements, am struck by four men.”

The detail that the execution took place outside the city appears to be a casual, and not unexpected, comment. It is, however, a detail that appears in three NT texts. An echo of one of these texts, The Epistle to the Hebrews, follows in the repeated note that Thomas and Jesus are from a single source. This allusion is particularly significant for the “twin” theme, since Hebrews goes on to affirm that the savior was “not ashamed” to call the “many sons” whom he led on high “brothers” (Heb 2:11–12). The final appearance of Thomas at Acts of Thomas 169 establishes a final parallel with the Twin. Sifor and Vizan did not wish to go down into the city, but they spent the whole day there in vigil. Judas appeared to them and said, “I am not here (cf. Matt 28:6; Mark 16:6; Luke 24:6), why do you sit and guard me? For I have ascended (cf. John 20:17) and received what I had hoped for. Stand up then and go; not long from now you will be brought to me.”

As the angel at the tomb had told the first visitors on Easter that Jesus was not present, Thomas now gives a similar message. His final comments recall the Johannine Jesus’ dialogue with Mary Magdalene, although the temporal framework has shifted. While Jesus had not yet ascended when he spoke to Mary, Thomas already has gone on high to be forever with his Twin. b. Scriptural Allusion in Thematic Development The Acts of Thomas expended considerable care on the construction of the character of Thomas as the slave/twin/apostle of Jesus and used scriptural

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allusion to do so. Similar care in the deployment of allusion to scripture also characterizes at least the initial episodes of the text (LaFargue). The first episode of the Acts of Thomas (AcThom 1–16) constitutes a dramatic development of the notion that people are called to a true or heavenly “marriage,” a union with a heavenly lover that will lead to a celibate lifestyle on earth. The development of the theme takes place through Thomas’s attendance at an earthly marriage, which he manages to transform into something resembling its spiritual counterpart. Allusions to scripture play a prominent part in the development of the theme. At Acts of Thomas 4, Thomas hears an announcement that echoes two biblical phrases. He has come to the realm of a king who is about to marry off his daughter. A herald issues a proclamation that everyone is to attend the wedding feast: The king has sent heralds to make a general proclamation that everyone is to attend the wedding, rich and poor, slave and free, aliens and citizens. If anyone declines to attend, that person will be answerable to the king.

The first echo, the baptismal formula of Gal 3:28, which reappears in chap. 129, suggests that the earthly wedding to be celebrated by the princess is but a pale reflection of the heavenly wedding, “the marriage that lasts forever” (AcThom 124) that is available to celibate believers. That encratite soteriology will become explicit in the preaching of Thomas to the newlyweds (AcThom 12), and, later in the work, in his interaction with married women such as Mygdonia. Whether the Acts of Thomas is alluding to the scriptural text or to liturgical tradition is not entirely clear, but it is not relevant to the way the allusion works.77 The reappearance of the formula at Acts of Thomas 129 functions, as did the Lord’s prayer, as another inclusio, knitting together at a thematic level the initial and final episodes: While Thomas was speaking, they entered the home of Carish and found Mygdonia seated and Marcia (or Narkia) standing by her with her hand on Mygdonia’s cheek. She said, “O mother, may the remaining days of my life be cut off for me, may all my hours be as one hour, and may I depart this life, that I might the sooner go and see that handsome man, whose reputation I have heard. He is alive and gives life to those who believe in him, where there is neither day and night, nor light and darkness, nor good and evil, nor rich and poor, male and female, free and slave (cf. chap. 4 and Gal 3:28), nor anyone who is haughty and who holds the lowly in subjection.”

The “man” is the apparition of Judas Thomas, the twin of Jesus, whom the women had seen. Union with him is now their goal.

77 For the use of the saying in early Christian circles, see MacDonald.

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The second echo in Acts of Thomas 4 is less obvious, but the remark of the herald that those who refuse the invitation of the king to the wedding probably alludes to the parable of the great banquet, particularly in its Matthean form (Matt 22:1–14) where those who turn down the invitation are subject to severe punishment.78 The symbolism of the wedding banquet in the Acts of Thomas is an encratite extension of the allegorization in which Matthew has engaged. A nod in the direction of a scriptural warrant for the use of marital imagery is a fitting way to begin the development of this central theme of the work as a whole. While the whole of the first episode echoes texts related to baptism and the wedding banquet staged by the heavenly King, the next episode (AcThom 17–29) dramatizes the injunction in the Sermon on the Mount to seek treasures in heaven (Matt 6:19–20). Thomas promises to build King Gundafar of India a palace. He has already portrayed himself as a skilled carpenter and master builder (AcThom 3) and does so again for the king (AcThom 17). Part of the literary effect of the episode derives from the dramatic irony involved. The audience knows that true treasures are to be found in heaven; Gundafar does not. So Thomas takes his money and spends it on the poor, thus building quite a heavenly reward for the king. The king learns of that spiritual palace when his brother dies, then is revived by Thomas. Upon his resuscitation, he tells of the wondrous heavenly mansion and convinces Gundafar of its worth. c. Demons and Scripture After the elaborate and intricate play of the first two episodes on expectations generated by scriptural passages, there are relatively few such structurally significant allusions to or citations of authoritative scriptural texts. One set of allusions that work with a certain irony involves demons. At Acts of Thomas 45, a demon about to be exorcised appeals to Thomas to go away. He begins, as demons are wont to do, by asking Thomas “What do you want of us, apostle of the Most High?” in language reminiscent of Matt 8:29. He goes on to ask “For what purpose do you need possessions of others, not being satisfied with your own?” The expression is an old proverbial one, but it does appear at Heb 13:5 as part of an exhortation to simplicity. The demons’ use of the phrase is delightfully ironic. The demons obviously know their scripture, for at Acts of Thomas 46 a demon, upon being expelled, says to the woman whom he had possessed: I leave you, my most beautiful companion, whom I found long ago and took delight in. I leave you behind, my stalwart sister, my beloved one in whom I am

78 The other versions of the parable (Luke 14:16–24; Gos. Thom. 64), as is well known, lack the allegorical touch.

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well pleased. . . . Remain in peace, having obtained a refuge in one greater than I. I shall go away and seek one like you, and if I do not find such, I’ll return to you again.

The demon’s remark clearly alludes to two texts. The reference to the beloved in whom he delighted echoes the voice from heaven at the baptism of Jesus (Matt 3:17; Mark 1:11; Luke 3:22). The Syriac lacks this demonic parody. The promise to return is in line with the description of what demons do in Matt 11:43–45. At Acts of Thomas 76, a demon again alludes to scripture: Likewise in my case, if I don’t do the will of the one who sent me, then before the appropriate and ordained time I will be returned to my own nature. As Christ helps you in what you do, so my father helps me in what I do. As (Christ) constructs vessels for you that are worthy for you to inhabit, so (my father) seeks out vessels for me through which I might perform his activities.

The reference to John 4:34 recalls the positive uses of the tag to describe Thomas. Conclusion The Acts of Thomas is clearly a work that relies heavily on other literature, specifically the Christian scriptures. Authoritative statements of the values that the Acts of Thomas inculcates are couched in terms taken from Scripture, even when those values represent a considerable development of NT norms. More importantly, the presentation of the chief character in the text constantly echoes the portrait of Jesus in the NT. As in other cases of intertextual relations between the apocryphal Acts and the NT, it is not the Acts of the Apostles that looms large on the literary horizon, but the Gospels. This situation is, of course, appropriate, for while the Acts of Thomas, at least in Greek, may frequently use Pauline language to make its points, it is not Paul but Jesus who is Judas Thomas’s Twin.

WORKS CONSULTED Aland, Barbara Ehlers 1970 “Kann das Thomasevangelium aus Edessa stammen?” NovT 12:284–317. Attridge, Harold W. 1976 First-Century Cynicism in the Epistles of Heraclitus. HTS 29. Missoula: Scholars.

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semeia “The Original Language of the Acts of Thomas.” Pp. 241–45 in Of Scribes and Scrolls: Studies on the Hebrew Bible, Intertestamental Judaism and Christian Origins. Ed. Harold W. Attridge, John J. Collins, and Thomas H. Tobin, S.J. College Theology Society Resources in Religion 5. Lanham, MD: University Press of America.

Brock, Sebastian P. 1979 The Holy Spirit in the Syrian Baptismal Tradition. The Syrian Churches Series 9. Poona: Anita. Conzelman, Hans 1987 Acts of the Apostles. Hermeneia. Philadelphia: Fortress. Cullmann, Oscar 1991 “Infancy Gospels,” Pp. 445–47 in New Testament Apocrypha: Revised Edition of the Collection initiated by Edgar Hennecke. Vol. I. Ed. Wilhelm Schneemelcher. Trans. R. McL. Wilson. Louisville: Westminster/John Knox. Dihle, Albrecht 1962 Die goldene Regel: eine Einführung in die Geschichte der antiken und frühchristlichen Vulgarethik. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Drijvers, H. J. W. 1992 “The Acts of Thomas: Introduction” Pp. 322–39 in New Testament Apocrypha: Revised Edition of the Collection initiated by Edgar Hennecke. Vol. 2. Writings Relating to Apostles, Apocalypses and Related Subjects. Ed. Wilhelm Schneemelcher. Trans. R. McL. Wilson. Louisville: Westminster/ John Knox. Himmelfarb, Martha 1983 Tours of Hell: An Apocalyptic Form in Jewish and Christian Literature Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Howard, George, ed. 1981 Teaching of Addai. SBLTT 16, Early Christian Literature 4. Chico, CA: Scholars. Jackson, Howard 1985 The Lion Becomes Man: The Gnostic Leontomorphic Creator and The Platonic Tradition. SBLDS 81. Atlanta: Scholars. Klijn, A. F. J. 1962 The Acts of Thomas: Introduction-Text-Commentary. NovTSup 5. Leiden: E. J. Brill. Kruse, H. 1978

“The Return of the Prodigal. Fortunes of a Parable on its Way to the Far East.” Orientalia 47:163–214.

LaFargue, Michael 1985 Language and Gnosis. HDR 18. Philadelphia: Fortress.

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Lipsius Richard A. and Max Bonnet, eds. 1903 Acta Apostolorum Apocrypha 2,2: Acta Philippi et Acta Thomae accedunt Acta Barnabae. Leipzig: Hermann Mendelssohn. Reprinted Hildesheim: Georg Olms, 1959. MacDonald, Dennis R. 1987 Neither Male Nor Female. The Fate of a Dominical Saying in Paul and Gnosticism. HDR 20. Philadelphia: Fortress. Meyers, Ruth A. 1988 “The Structure of the Syrian Baptismal Rite.” Pp. 31–43 in Essays in Early Eastern Initiation. Ed. Paul Bradshaw. Alcuin/GROW Liturgical Study 8. Bramcote: Grove. Patterson, Stephen L. 1993 The Gospel of Thomas and Jesus. Sonoma, CA: Polebridge. Petersen, William 1990 “Tatian’s Diatessaron.” Pp. 403–30 in Ancient Christian Gospels: Their History and Development. Ed. Helmut Koester. Philadelphia: Trinity. Peterson, Erik 1959 Frühkirche, Judentum und Gnosis: Studien und Untersuchungen. Freiburg: Herder. Poirier, Paul-Hubert 1981 L’hymne de la perle des Actes de Thomas: introduction, texte-traduction, commentaire. Homo Religiosus 8. Louvain: La Neuve. Puech, Henri-Charles 1963 “The Gospel of Thomas.” Pp. 278–307 in New Testament Apocrypha. Vol. 1. Gospels and Related Writings. Ed. Edgar Hennecke. Rev. ed. Wilhelm Schneemelcher. Trans. R. McL. Wilson. Philadelphia: Westminster. Riley, Gregory 1994 Resurrection Reconsidered. Minneapolis: Augsburg-Fortress. Smith, Jonathan Z. 1965 “The Garments of Shame.” HR 5:217–38 Strugnell, John and Michael Stone 1979 The Books of Elijah, Parts 1 and 2. SBLTT 18. Missoula: Scholars. Tissot, Yves 1981 “Les Actes apocryphes de Thomas, exemple de receuil composite.” Pp. 223–32 in François Bovon et al., Les Actes apocryphes des apôtres. Christianisme et monde païen. Publication de la Faculté de Théologie de l’Université de Genève 4. Geneva: Labor et Fides. Winkler, Gabriele 1978 “The Original Meaning of the Prebaptismal Anointing and its Implications.” Worship 52:24–45.

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semeia Das armenische Initiationsrituale: entwicklungsgeschichtliche und liturgievergleichende Untersuchung der Quellen des 3. bis 10. Jahrhunderts. Orientalia Christiana Analecta 217. Roma: Pontificium Institutum Studiorum Orientalium.

APOCRYPHAL INTERTEXTUAL ACTIVITIES : A RESPONSE TO HAROLD W. ATTRIDGE’S “INTERTEXTUALITY IN THE ACTS OF THOMAS” Christopher R. Matthews Weston Jesuit School of Theology

abstract Harold Attridge’s “Intertextuality in the Acts of Thomas” presents the fundamental data on the scriptural intertextual matrix of the Acts of Thomas. His results may be reconfigured by adopting a broader definition of intertextuality in which “text” includes much more than literature. For example, different intertextual milieus account for the numerous points of contrast between the Greek and Syriac Acts of Thomas. A broader intertextual approach to Christian apocryphal literature complicates traditional historical-critical analysis by multiplying the antecedents to composition. While the ultimate sources for the intertextual appropriation of scripture in any given instance in the Acts of Thomas may seem apparent, we may need to think more in terms of a recollective and creative style of composition rather than a particularly literary engagement with written texts.

In its most basic sense, the theory of intertextuality asserts that “all writers are first readers, and that all writers are subject to influence . . . all texts are necessarily criss-crossed by other texts” (Worton and Still: 30).1 Our seminar on Intertextuality in Christian Apocrypha has explored various points along the intertextuality continuum, though it is probably fair to say that the accent has fallen on the identification of sources and their effects.2 Such work is clearly valuable to our common task, however, since it logically and materially prepares the way for further intertextual insights. Harold Attridge’s “Intertextuality in the Acts of Thomas” presents the fundamental data on the scriptural intertextual matrix in which the Acts of Thomas took shape. Although Attridge focuses on literary interrelations, his study implicitly explores a wider range of “texts” out of which the Acts of Thomas as we know it emerged. 1 As the authors of the “Introduction” to the van Iersel Festschrift (Draisma: 7) put it: “Texts do not exist without other texts. During the reading of a text the ‘dejà-lu’ of other texts interferes constantly.” Julia Kristeva introduced the term “intertextuality” and sketched its oft-repeated connotation: “tout texte se construit comme mosaïque de citations, tout texte est absorption et transformation d’un autre texte” (cited in Vorster: 20). 2 As Valantasis (1995:380) equitably states; see also Valantasis, 1992: 234–35.

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In my response, I wish to highlight the service Attridge has performed and also explore some alternate ways of characterizing the findings. My comments consciously invoke a selected set of recent scholarly works which, I believe, bear essentially upon the methodological and phenomenological issues raised by our attempts to gain intellectual purchase on the “construction” of early Christian apocryphal texts. In addition to the van Iersel Festschrift edited by Draisma, the following (in chronological order) are key: Ong, Dewey, Gamble, and Thomas. Although Walter J. Ong’s research on orality concentrates on the primary orality of people “totally unfamiliar with writing” (6), his observations on the residual orality of Western manuscript culture 3 serve as a beneficial corrective to modern, “chirographic and typographic bias” (77). Ong’s findings should inform our notion of “creativity” with respect to ancient Christian documents, tempering our esteem for the unique with the recognition that manuscript culture had taken intertextuality for granted. Still tied to the commonplace tradition of the old oral world, it deliberately created texts out of other texts, borrowing, adapting, sharing the common, originally oral, formulas and themes, even though it worked them up into fresh literary forms impossible without writing (133).

Here it is clear, as John M. Foley and some other contributors to Semeia 65 (including Werner Kelber) assert, that a polarized model of orality versus literacy fails to account for the reality of early Christian culture.4 Indeed, as Harry Y. Gamble has now ably chronicled, “the earliest Christian writers participated in the rhetorical culture of antiquity and . . . the earliest Christian literature cannot be set outside the larger literary culture” (35). Yet Gamble’s findings in no way contradict the work of Ong, Foley, and others which indicates that early Christian writing, even though pervasive, was never analogous to a product from the era of printing. The object in writing was not

3 “Manuscript culture in the west remained always marginally oral. . . . Writing served largely to recycle knowledge back into the oral world. . . . Manuscript cultures remained largely oral-aural even in retrieval of material preserved in texts. Manuscripts were not easy to read . . . and what readers found in manuscripts they tended to commit at least somewhat to memory” (Ong: 119). 4 See Foley, which is a response to Kelber. Noting that even Albert Lord “insisted on a variety of ‘mergings’ of oral tradition and literacy,” Foley identifies “orality alone” as “a ‘distinction’ badly in need of deconstruction. . . . The widespread phenomenon of texts with oral traditional roots offers one illustration of the thesis that the blanket concept of ‘orality’ subverts more than it distinguishes: exclusive focus on the false typology of orality versus literacy will disenfranchise those works that, while surviving only in writing, still depend fundamentally on a pre-textual traditional dynamics and . . . on a traditional idiom that to an extent persists in the textual arena” (170, 172).

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above all to overcome the variation inherent in oral transmission. There are serious implications here for our search for verbatim intertexts.5 Thus with regard to the apocryphal Acts, Christine M. Thomas suggests on the basis of a thorough examination of the transmissional fluidity of the Acts of Peter that such fluidity may “actually [be] the norm for this category of texts” (190).6 Turning to Attridge’s “Intertextuality in the Acts of Thomas,” I suggest that it may be useful to reconfigure some of his study’s findings through the adoption of a broader definition of “intertextuality.” Thus the goal of our seminar, to emend Attridge’s opening sentence, “has been to illuminate the ways in which the apocryphal Acts achieve literary effects by virtue of their relationships with” various intertexts. The point is that for most intertextual theorists, “text” includes much more than literature.7 Granted such use of language may be annoying (“A text is not a text?”),8 but some accommodation to the common usage of literary theorists may yield at least a heuristic payoff. In this wider sense, our concern is not only with literary effects but with the creation of the “documents” themselves. An intertextual approach in conjunction with an ancient rhetorical milieu that valued imitation highlights a mode of creativity that may have been as pertinent to ancient authors as it is foreign to modern readers. Thus our determinations of “dependent interpretation” or “naive mimesis” may underrate the literary strategies of the purveyors of the apocryphal Acts. Characterizing the effort behind the Acts of Thomas as “combining popular legend and religious propaganda” (p. 87; unattributed page references are to Attridge in this volume) may be taken as shorthand for the intertextual process of assimilating a variety of intertexts (many, as a matter of course, beyond identification) that resulted in the Acts of Thomas.

5 “Persons whose world view has been formed by high literacy need to remind themselves that in functionally oral cultures the past is not felt as an itemized terrain, peppered with verifiable and disputed ‘facts’ or bits of information” (Ong: 98). Also pertinent is the following comment, mutatis mutandis, by Lord (100): “Our real difficulty arises from the fact that, unlike the oral poet, we are not accustomed to thinking in terms of fluidity. We find it difficult to grasp something that is multiform. It seems to us necessary to construct an ideal text or to seek an original, and we remain dissatisfied with an ever-changing phenomenon.” 6 “At the earliest level, in the Actus Vercellenses, multiforms of the same narrative appear side by side; in the later texts of the trajectory, the individual narrative units are all constructed uniquely, and the storyline itself varies somewhat from one to another: each text includes some units, deletes others, expands and epitomizes. Most significantly, the motivations and causation of events are constantly in flux, even on a written level. They alter to reflect the current social and political realities of their tradents and audiences” (Thomas: 187–88). 7 Thus, Worton and Still (33 n. 2): “While in the narrow sense a text means a piece of writing . . . , text is also used in a much more general sense to mean anything perceived as a signifying system” (emphasis original). For the broader definition of “text” in intertextual endeavors, see Valantasis, 1992, 1995; see also Cartlidge. 8 This is why Gérard Genette, whose work gives considerable attention to Greco-Roman authors, suggested replacing the term “intertextuality” with “transtextuality” (or textual transcendence); see Worton and Still: 22.

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Important intertextual implications may be drawn from the notion that the Acts of Thomas may have been composed in Syriac and Greek “virtually simultaneously” (p. 87). The numerous points of contrast between the Greek and Syriac Acts of Thomas catalogued by Attridge clearly indicate that the two versions participated in different intertextual milieus. Thus their preferred canonical intertexts in each case are different. The Old Testament was a stronger intertext for the Syriac than for the Greek tradition. The latter incorporated the Pauline writings, which were neglected by the Syriac. Beyond textual and scribal phenomena, the effects of varying sacramental practices reveal the operation of other, nonliterary intertexts. “Both traditions exhibit secondary expansion,” signaling “interesting differences in their intertextual relations” (pp. 87–88). The “milieu,” another intertext,9 will account for many of these differences to the degree that it can be reconstructed; Attridge has already provided the general outlines. The fact that the Acts of Thomas is “replete with descriptions of liturgies, especially initiations . . . and eucharistic celebrations” (p. 88) already directs us to more significant aspects of this broader intertext. Attridge’s study explores “three modes of relating to scriptural sources” in the Acts of Thomas: (1) explicit citation of dominical sayings, (2) embellishing allusions, and (3) allusions to achieve special effects. I. Explicit Citation of Dominical Tradition As Attridge observes, the Acts of Thomas often cites sayings of Jesus that can be located in the New Testament, although their precise sources are “not always clear,” since some “diverge from known textual attestations and may reflect oral traditions or alternative sources of sayings” (p. 89). We should allow that such variants reflect composition “on the fly,” i.e. via memory, an intertextual appropriation of common or personal knowledge. In such a situation perhaps some of the scriptural “allusions” in Acts of Thomas 28 should be upgraded to new intertextually appropriated “variants” of dominical sayings; after all, citation was happily pre-critical. The formula used to introduce the scriptural citations in Acts of Thomas 28 and 36, namely, what was “said,” denotes the most common method by which early Christians came to know the scriptures,10 indicating that our authors need not be tied directly to 9 Kelber (158–59) notes that “once we think of tradition as interactive processes, we concede the presence of a dynamic that is other than either orality or literacy. . . . Tradition in this encompassing sense is a circumambient contextuality or biosphere in which speaker and hearers live. . . . Tradition in this broadest sense is largely an invisible nexus of references and identities from which people draw sustenance, in which they live, and in relation to which they make sense of their lives.” 10 As Gamble (5) observes, “not only the writing of Christian literature, but also the ability to read, criticize, and interpret it belonged to a small number of Christians in the first several cen-

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texts for their citations. As Attridge comments with respect to the parallel to Matt 6:25 in Acts of Thomas 36: “The conflated form of the saying may suggest the use of a harmony or citation of the saying from memory” (p. 91). Memory may be more operative here than we are accustomed to believe.11 As if the parameters for reconstruction were not already complicated enough, “the Syriac here [AcThom 36] has none of the explicit citations of dominical sayings,” which “suggests that they might not be original to the Acts of Thomas, but were added by Greek scribes to provide a scriptural ground for the apostle’s moralizing” (p. 91). We thus have to contend with a secondary/ continuous intertextuality in the transmission process. Further, some differences between the Greek and Syriac traditions “may well be related to varying sacramental practices” (p. 91). Liturgical influences too form part of the ongoing intertextual process. Adopting a broader nuance for the term intertextuality is not inimical to Attridge’s conclusion to part one; indeed, it clarifies the qualification: “For explicit citations of dominical sayings, therefore, the Acts of Thomas uses primarily material familiar from the Gospels, whatever the immediate source of the sayings may have been” (p. 93).12 II. Embellishing Allusions It is impossible here to catalogue and remark on the numerous observations made by Attridge. Thus I will comment in a more staccato fashion on the remaining sections of his study. In general such basic research as Attridge presents here allows us to develop greater powers of discernment with respect to intertexts which, although obvious to the initial hearers, have become lost in the background noise thrown up by intervening centuries. Allow me to commend to the studious the data and comments assembled by Attridge and continue with my intertextual slant.

turies,” about ten percent. Nevertheless, “in Greco-Roman society the illiterate had access to literacy in a variety of public settings. . . . They were not, then, barred from the practical benefits of literacy nor from an acquaintance with the substance of texts” (8). “Most early Christian texts were meant to speak to the whole body of the faithful to whom they were read. These writings envisioned not individual readers but gathered communities, and through public, liturgical reading they were heard by the whole membership of the churches” (40, emphasis original). 11 See Small, whose discussion of “the intertwining between memory and writing in classical antiquity” treats the (1) physical problems of ancient writing, (2) training in mnemotechnics, and (3) the ancient concept of accuracy as “gist.” Thus on point one: “The main consequence of a visual display of text [i.e. scriptura continua] . . . was that ancient authors relied on their memories instead of the written word or note even when quoting others” (161). 12 Attridge’s supplementary conclusion identifies various intertexts at play in the two traditions of the Acts of Thomas: “The Greek seemed at one point to have a preference for a New Testament allusion that may be connected with a particular sacramental practice. The Syriac in one context used a broader array of OT allusions in its homiletic repertoire” (p. 93).

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a) Abundant and massive allusions The authoritative language evoked here, of course, is not just located in the sacred “text” understood as a literary resource, since its mediation for most (even readers and writers) would be oral/aural. Thus the clear allusions in Acts of Thomas 47–48 “involve language [that we associate with texts] from the synoptic gospels, John, and the Pauline epistles” (p. 94). The contrast in both content and tenor between the Greek and Syriac versions of Acts of Thomas 59–61 is highlighted by the distinctively Syrian piety in Acts of Thomas 61, which reflects “an important emphasis of the Gospel of Thomas.” So “while there is no direct verbal allusion, the ideal of radical ascetical piety is continuous between Gospel and Acts” (p. 97 and n. 24). Thus “radical ascetical piety” functions as an intertext between the Syrian Acts and the Gospel of Thomas.13 Our awareness of the circumstances contributing to the production of apocryphal Acts is enhanced by the identification of such intertexts that function alongside “direct verbal allusion.” The Greek tradition’s concern “to solidify the connection of the first portion of the narrative to the canonical New Testament” (p. 97) complicates the task of identifying what the Acts of Thomas looked like before this work. Should we assume that it looked more like the Syriac? Or do the preferred intertexts here (the Old Testament, “radical ascetical piety,” etc.) begin to push us in the direction of “multiforms”? To observe that the “integrated novella of Thomas and Mygdonia” is perhaps “loosely modeled” on the Acts of Paul and Thecla (p. 97) is to recognize the latter as a significant intertext. Replication with a difference is favored over pure originality. Similarities with other apocryphal characters are a matter of artful “coincidence.” Although the “precise allusion” intended by the wild ass’s reference to Jesus teaching his own teacher in Acts of Thomas 79 is unclear, Attridge has identified the likely intertexts (Luke 2 and Inf. Gos. Thom. 6, 15), which we may suppose have been invoked by memory. Prayers such as Acts of Thomas 80 show that “the appropriate way to address Christ is with scriptural allusions” (p. 99). Prayer, at least in public settings (such as a reading of the Acts), seems to be a consciously intertextual activity. Speeches (e.g. AcThom 144–47) are also an occasion to employ scriptural allusions. Such speeches are prayerlike in their intertextual alliance with scripture. Some prayers, such as the eucharistic prayer at Acts of Thomas 158, are better equipped than others to draw on scripture without recourse to the text. Thus Acts of Thomas 158 “alludes to appropriate scriptural episodes” (p. 103), but whether it is scripture or liturgical experience that is operative

13 For the insight possible from such an assessment, see Valantasis, 1995:386–89.

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here is difficult to judge. The specter of intertextuality is a bane for customary historical-critical precision, since it multiplies the antecedents to composition, replacing quantifiable data at numerous points with unmeasurable, chaotic, and unrecoverable influences.14 The utilization of beatitudes in Acts of Thomas 94, which reflects not only the Sermon on the Mount but also Acts of Paul and Thecla 5–6 (p. 100) and numerous other apocryphal Acts,15 should serve as a model for the nature of the intertextual appropriation and extension of scriptural forms elsewhere. Allusions to the character of Jesus in Acts of Thomas 143, some recognizable from the Gospels, seem to illustrate a condensed style of exegesis and hermeneutics. While the ultimate sources for some of this material seem apparent, we may need to think more of a recollective style of composition rather than a particularly literary engagement with the Gospels. Where does the unfamiliar material come from? How can we evaluate the weight of the material “unknown” to us? Much of it may have been quite viable to the original writers/listeners. Does the interspersing of the scriptural material indicate the secondary presence of the latter, or did the “author” in such cases recollect the material in the way it appears in the text? What would this mean for the authority of scriptural allusion? b) Isolated allusions This category encompasses the “many isolated phrases throughout the narrative that evoke ‘classical’ Christian texts.” Such “allusions provide a familiar authoritative verbal texture to the narrative” (p. 104). Again, we trace these allusions back to texts. Should the accent lie on authoritative or familiar? Various bits of data here, such as apostle lists (AcThom 1), may amount to “common knowledge.” Prevalent sapiential motifs (see p. 105 on AcThom 7/ John 4:13) and possible reference to liturgical traditions (AcThom 25) give flesh to the Acts. The “ass that spoke” (AcThom 40), beyond the obvious intertexts (Num 22:21; Matt 21:2, 7), shares the gift of the gab with various talking beasts in Christian apocrypha and elsewhere (e.g. Aesop). The phrase “aid the little faith” in Acts of Thomas 65 does seem to evoke the unique language of Mark 9:24 (p. 106), but at some point it might have become a “stock phrase.” Although a common motif in ancient narrative, the canonical (Acts

14 In this sense our enterprise perhaps has more in common with “complexity theory” and the study of “chaos” in physics. As Ferris (40) puts it: “Between these two regimes of the simple and the complex there can arise behavior that is partly linear and partly chaotic. . . . This twilight zone between determinism and chaos is, loosely speaking, the domain of complexity.” 15 On the use of beatitudes in the apocryphal Acts as exampled by the Acts of Philip, see Bovon: 31.

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12:6–11, 16:23–28) and extra-canonical (Acts of Paul—Ephesus) intertexts for miraculous prison escapes may underlie Acts of Thomas 122. c) Isolated Pauline Allusions “Allusions to Pauline texts do not play a major role in the Acts of Thomas, and in some cases the allusions . . . may be quite indirect. Nonetheless, Pauline language does form part of the scriptural aura of the text” (p. 108). As the allusions become more and more indirect, do our identifications of their scriptural antecedents overshadow the manner in which these allusions were available to our apocryphal authors and perhaps over-privilege the status of this kind of language? “Vague recollection” (p. 107) may be an appropriate and accurate category, and the “homiletic tradition” (p. 107) may often be closer to the mark in terms of the immediate source for many of these allusions. Throughout the Acts of Thomas, alongside the various scriptural intertexts, numerous other potentially important intertexts remain obscure. Thus in Acts of Thomas 27, “the motifs in the prayer relate to other early Christian traditions that have yet to be adequately determined” (p. 107). d) Isolated Johannine Allusions Continuing the point just made, “allusions to identifiable sources are limited” in the prayer at Acts of Thomas 39 (p. 109). Is the good shepherd of John 10:11 in view? The good shepherd motif, as early Christian art indicates, was popular and easily detachable from its Gospel context. e) Isolated Allusions to the Gospel of Thomas Attridge’s comprehensive review of the evidence for connections between the Acts of Thomas and the Gospel of Thomas supports the consensus view that these texts stand “in the same stream of tradition.” That is, at the very least they share the same intertextual milieu.16 In this sense, at least, a “phenomenological parallel” between “the notion of a heavenly twin or ‘double’” at Acts of Thomas 112 (“Hymn of the Pearl”) and Gospel of Thomas 84 (p. 112) begins to give some definition to the shared intertextual environment. The striking cluster of allusions to the Gospel of Thomas in the first episode of the Acts of Thomas may indicate a more tangible connection for that portion (p. 111). In most cases literary relationships cannot be established so that the precise nature of any given parallel remains in the ambiguous and irrecoverable realm of intertextuality (difficulty in identifying the intertextual nexus is related to the “oral” character of these texts—they mimic speech which “disappears” as soon as it is uttered). The acquaintance that Acts of Thomas 47

16 See Valantasis, 1995, on cultural intertextuality. A revised version of that essay appears in the present volume, 261–76.

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exhibits with the tradition about Thomas knowing three secrets found at Gospel of Thomas 13 is intriguing. The saying of Jesus “embodied” by Carish at Acts of Thomas 92, while “oddly reminiscent” of Gospel of Thomas 22, was, of course, widely available. III. Allusions to Achieve Special Effects The literary-critical observations Attridge presents here indicate how scripture is called into service as an aid to narrative structure and character definition. a) Characterization of Thomas Not only is Thomas’ demeanor established at Acts of Thomas 3 and 30 with words familiar from the Lord’s Prayer (“let your will be done”) but this same petition at Acts of Thomas 144 forms an inclusio with the initial instance, and thus “serves as a frame for the whole Acts of Thomas and comments on what it is to be an apostle, one utterly devoted to doing the Lord’s will” (p. 114). Such language is certainly available in liturgical settings; one would not think of its location as Matt 6:10. The notion “let your will be done” is readily separable from the Lord’s Prayer, although the latter remains the principal intertext. Similarly, Thomas’ “My Lord and my God” invocation may spring loose from its mooring in John to serve as “an identifying tag.” If, however, Thomas’ comment in Acts of Thomas 5 (“I’ve come here for something more important than food or drink”) evokes John 4:34 and “cites” this intertext for “ironic effect” (p. 114), then it is clear that some extremely sophisticated allusions are operative among the banal. “Thomas in the guise of Jesus’ passion” (p. 115), in the same section, is also more complex than the average allusion. That the “life of Jesus’ twin is constructed to be a narrative replication of the drama of Christ” (p. 116) is not surprising. Nor is it unique. Numerous other apostles are discovered in the “same” replication to varying degrees in other apocryphal Acts. Certainly the “overlap” between Christ’s passion and Thomas’ martyrdom is to be expected (e.g. AcThom 104; p. 117). How is Thomas’ emulation of his master different from the imitatio Christi that is displayed by all apostles and disciples? What we find in Luke’s Acts in this regard is already quite sophisticated for Peter, Stephen, Philip, and Paul. This method of characterization is thus an early component of Christian narrative and the concept itself an important intertext. b) Scriptural Allusion in Thematic Development Scriptural allusions are employed to explicate the “notion that people are called to a true or heavenly ‘marriage’” in Acts of Thomas 1–16 (p. 119). With respect to the echo of Gal 3:28 in Acts of Thomas 4 and 129, Attridge remarks:

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“Whether the Acts of Thomas is alluding to the scriptural text or to liturgical tradition is not entirely clear, but it is not relevant to the way the allusion works” (p. 119). This assessment might fairly be applied to numerous other allusions, as has been suggested above. “After the elaborate and intricate play of the first two episodes [AcThom 1–29] on expectations generated by scriptural passages, there are relatively few such structurally significant allusions to or citations of authoritative scriptural texts” (p. 120). How do we characterize what is going on intertextually in these latter passages? What takes over? c) Demons and Scripture The demonic parody of scripture that extends to the voice from heaven at Jesus’ baptism in Acts of Thomas 46 (!) and Thomas’ tag line (AcThom 76, “do the will of the one who sent me”) indicates that intertextual appropriation is not only free but bold. The detection at Acts of Thomas 45 of an intertext from Heb 13:5 proves that exhaustive study does have an impact on the silence of the intertexts. Conclusion While one must agree with Attridge that “the Acts of Thomas is clearly a work that relies heavily on other literature, specifically the Christian scriptures” (p. 121), this “literature” need not always have been in written form to have had its effect.

WORKS CONSULTED Bovon, François 1988 “The Synoptic Gospels and the Noncanonical Acts of the Apostles.” HTR 81:19–36. Cartlidge, David R. 1990 “Combien d’unités avez-vous de trois à quatre?: What Do We Mean by Intertextuality in Early Church Studies?” SBLSP 29:400–411. Dewey, Joanna, ed. 1994 Orality and Textuality in Early Christian Literature. Semeia 65. Draisma, Sipke, ed. 1989 Intertextuality in Biblical Writings: Essays in Honour of Bas van Iersel. Kampen: Kok.

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Ferris, Timothy 1995 “On the Edge of Chaos. The Quark and the Jaguar: Adventures in the Simple and Complex, by Murray Gell-Mann.” New York Review of Books, 21 September 1995:40–43. Foley, John M. 1994 “Words In Tradition, Words In Text: A Response.” Semeia 65:169–80. Gamble, Harry Y. 1995 Books and Readers in the Early Church: A History of Early Christian Texts. New Haven: Yale University Press. Kelber, Werner H. 1994 “Jesus and Tradition: Words In Time, Words In Space.” Semeia 65:139–67. Lord, Albert B. 1960 The Singer of Tales. Harvard Studies in Comparative Literature 24. Cambridge/London: Harvard University Press. Ong, Walter J. 1982 Orality and Literacy: The Technologizing of the Word. New Accents. London/New York: Routledge, 1988. Small, Jocelyn P. 1995 “Artificial Memory and the Writing Habits of the Literate.” Helios 22:159–66. Thomas, Christine M. 1995 “The Acts of Peter, the Ancient Novel, and Early Christian History.” Ph.D. diss., Harvard University. Valantasis, Richard 1992 “Narrative Strategies and Synoptic Quandaries: A Response to Dennis MacDonald’s Reading of Acts of Paul and Acts of Peter.” SBLSP 31:234–39. 1995

“The Nuptial Chamber Revisited: The Acts of Thomas and Cultural Intertextuality.” SBLSP 34:380–93. A revised version of this essay appears in the present volume, 261–76.

Vorster, Willem S. 1989 “Intertextuality and Redaktionsgeschichte.” Pp. 15–26 in Draisma (above). Worton, Michael, and Judith Still, eds. 1990 Intertextuality: Theories and Practices. Manchester/New York: Manchester University Press.

PAUL’S CONVERSION IN THE CANONICAL ACTS AND IN THE ACTS OF PAUL Willy Rordorf University of Neuchâtel, Switzerland

abstract Both the canonical Acts and the Acts of Paul know the account of Paul’s conversion, yet each presents the event according to their respective points of view. Acts emphasizes the motifs of blindness and light, because Paul is destined to illumine humanity through his missionary activity. Paul’s baptism also normalizes his entry into the Church. The Acts of Paul interprets the apostle’s conversion with motifs drawn from traditions about Jesus. The Acts of Paul shows no knowledge of the canonical Acts.

It is well known that Luke tells the story of Paul’s conversion three times, once in the narrative of Acts 9:3–19 and twice in speeches by the Apostle looking back on the event—in Acts 22:6–16 and 26:12–18. Luke recounts Paul’s baptism on two of these instances: in Acts 22:16, Ananias says to him, “Rise and be baptized, and wash away your sins, calling on his name”; in Acts 9:17–18, Ananias instructs Paul more explicitly while laying hands on him: “Brother Saul, the Lord Jesus . . . has sent me that you may regain your sight and be filled with the Holy Spirit.” This last account ends with the words: “Then he rose and was baptized.” At the third retelling of Paul’s conversion, in chapter 26, there is no mention of Ananias’ involvement, nor of the laying on of hands, nor of Paul’s baptism. Several interpreters (e.g. Wendt: 166f.; Hirsch) have stressed that this last version conforms the best to Paul’s own account of his conversion in Gal 1:11–12: “For I would have you know, brethren, that the gospel which was preached by me is not man’s gospel. For I did not receive it from man, nor was I taught it, but it came through a revelation of Jesus Christ.” Given this testimony, it is hard to see why Paul would have needed the laying on of hands and baptism in order to receive the Spirit.

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Now in the Acts of Paul, as preserved on a papyrus manuscript of the Bodmer Library of Geneva,1 we find Paul at Ephesus recounting his conversion as follows: 2 My brothers, listen to what happened to me while I was at Damascus during the time when I used to persecute the faith in God. When His mercy— which proceeds from the Father—came to me, it was his Son whom he announced (eujaggelivzein) to me so that I might live in Him, for there is no life outside of the life in Christ. So it was that I entered into a great assembly (ejkklhsiva), helped by blessed Judas, the Lord’s brother, the one who from the beginning had given to me the high love of the faith. At that time I lived my life as a believer in grace, aided by this blessed prophet and by the revelation of Christ, begotten before all time. Since He was proclaimed, I rejoiced in the Lord, nourished by His words. As a result, when I was able to be judged worthy of the ministry of the word, encouraged (protrevpein) by Judas, I spoke to the brothers, and I did it in such a way that I was loved by those who heard me. But when evening came, I left the agape which Lemma, the widow, with her daughter Ammia, were giving. I walked, therefore, at night, desiring to go to Jericho of Palms.3

Richard I. Pervo has recently enumerated the differences between this account and the one in Acts 9: In the APl the conversion takes place in Damascus by way of a charismatic experience. Not blinded, he entered the house of Judas, who is here identified with the brother of the Lord, who provides him with instructions in the faith. As providence would have it, the believers are just then assembled at worship. Paul testifies at the behest of Judas. That night he leaves Damascus voluntarily, accompanied by two women, bound for Jericho. (20)

I would like to complete Pervo’s enumeration. Whereas he points out that nothing is said in the Acts of Paul concerning the Christophany on the way to Damascus nor concerning the blinding of Paul which follows, details which appear in the three Lukan accounts,4 Pervo fails to see the most significant

1 Cf. Kasser, who is also preparing the editio princeps. The small papyrus fragments at Manchester (Crum; P. Cherix is preparing the editio princeps) and at Yale (Stephens: 3–7), which seem to have originally been a part of the Acts of Paul and make reference to Paul’s stay in Damascus, have no bearing on the present study. 2 R. Kasser kindly allowed me to use his new French translation which has since appeared in the Pléiade (Gallimard) collection of Christian apocryphal writings (Bovon and Geoltrain: 1151–61). The English translation is based on Kasser’s French. 3 The Coptic translator has mistaken “palms” for “Phoenicia” (foivnix; cf. Deut 34:3, 2 Chr 28:15). 4 R. Bauckham does not adequately respond to the problem when he says, “Pervo holds that the APaul here locates in Damascus the conversion of Paul which Acts 9 locates on the way to Damascus. But this is to read Acts 9 in a conventional modern way and to be misled by the word

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differences between the two versions: Ananias’ mediating role, his laying on of hands and his baptism of the apostle, is missing in the Acts of Paul, as in Acts 26. Moreover, the description of Paul’s call to the faith differs significantly from that in Acts: it is not the Son who appears to Paul, but the Father who announces that Son to him, through the mercy which proceeds from the Father, with the result that Paul receives the life in Christ. Now this accords well with Gal 1:15–17: “But when he who had set me apart before I was born, and had called me through his grace, was pleased to reveal his Son to me, in order that I might preach him among the Gentiles, I did not confer with flesh and blood. . . . “5 Paul himself states, as in the Acts of Paul, that it was God who, by his grace (cf. “mercy” in AcPaul), revealed6 his Son to him; indeed, this revelation is not an external but an internal event, since God’s mercy comes to Paul so that he might live in Christ. What is Judas’s role? In Acts 9:11, Paul stays in Judas’s home. In the Acts of Paul, he appears in Ananias’ place, but he neither lays hands on Paul, nor does he baptize him. Instead, he bestows upon Paul “the high love of the faith” and having judged him worthy of the ministry of the word, he encourages him to speak to the brothers. It seems to me that these two functions are related to his qualifications: As Jesus’ brother, he can give Paul the high love of the faith; as a prophet, he can discern Paul’s ability to preach. Judas’s role in the Acts of Paul is thus totally different from Ananias’ role in the Acts of the Apostles. His contribution to Paul’s conversion is much more modest than that of Ananias. He helps him, he serves as an example (?) to him and encourages him, but he is not the person by whom Paul receives the Holy Spirit.7 Nevertheless, it is necessary to stress that the Acts of the Apostles and the Acts of Paul differ here from Gal 1:16–17, where Paul insists that he did not confer with flesh and blood and that he did not see those who were apostles before him. This report leaves room for neither Ananias nor Judas. We must ask ourselves what this innovation concerning Paul in the two later traditions could signify. There is another difference between the canonical Acts and the Acts of Paul. Whereas Acts recounts at length Paul’s proclamation to the Jews and his escape by night from Damascus to avoid a plot by the Jews against his life (9:20–25; cf. 26:19–21, and 2 Cor 11:32–33), in the Acts of Paul, he speaks only

conversion which neither text uses. Acts 9 says nothing about Paul’s conversion on the way to Damascus. All that happens is that Paul is instructed by Jesus to go on to Damascus and wait there to be told what to do (Acts 9:6). The author of the APaul is interested, not in this, but in the point at which the Spirit from God fell upon Paul, which happens at Acts 9:17, in Damascus” (3). 5 I thank Peter W. Dunn who brought this point to my attention (Dunn: chap. 7). 6 The term used here is eujaggelivzein (cf. Gal 1:16f.!); but right after, the same event is referred to by ajpokavluyi~ Cristou` (an objective genitive, as in the Acts of Paul and Thecla 1). 7 He intervenes, to be sure, “from the beginning,” but only after the revelation of Christ.

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to his Christian brothers and he departs from Damascus, again by night, but not on account of a threat against his life. In Gal 1:17, Paul states next that he departed for Arabia without going up to Jerusalem. In Acts, this information is not only omitted in silence, but contrary to the testimony of Galatians, Paul goes directly to Jerusalem (9:26, 22:17, 26:20). On the other hand, Galatians seems to have left its mark on the Acts of Paul,8 which tells us that Paul goes to Jericho with two women. It is often incorrectly assumed that Paul has left for Jericho on his way to Jerusalem.9 It is much more likely that, in the eyes of the author, the oasis of Jericho represents the gateway to Arabia, which in turn is equivalent to the desert.10 There in the desert, the Apostle converts and baptizes a lion. Later, we will discuss the significance of the baptized lion. In the meantime, we shall analyze how each of the Acts, the canonical Acts and the Acts of Paul, presents according to their respective points of view the account of Paul’s conversion. 1) The Canonical Acts a) The canonical Acts repeats what happens to Paul on the way to Damascus three times in a stereotypical fashion (9:3–9, 22:6–11, 26:12–18): a light descends suddenly from the sky, he falls to the ground, and a voice says, “Saul, Saul why are you persecuting me?” He responds, “Who are you Lord?” The voice responds, “I am Jesus whom you are persecuting” (Burchard, Lohfink, Reymond). Clearly, this event is important to Luke, but we must ask (1) where does he get this story and (2) why does he recount it? In attempting to answer the first question, we can only say this account cannot have come from Galatians, since, as we have seen, it contradicts Gal 1:15–17 on several points. 1 Cor 15:8 (w[fqh) does not offer any greater basis for comparison; nor does 2 Cor 4:6. In answer to the second question, the reason why Luke insists on recounting this version of the story can be found in the imagery of the light which will open the eyes and illumine the darkness of humanity through the Paul’s missionary activity, as explained in Acts 26:17:

R. Bauckham (4 n. 7) points this out. Cf. above all Schneemelcher 218, 237, and especially 238: “On Paul’s journey from Damascus to Jericho (i.e. probably to Jerusalem) the baptism of the lion took place, according to Paul’s later account in Ephesus.” 10 For Paul, however, Mt. Sinai is in Arabia (Gal 4:25). In my view, Bauckham goes too far in his search for an explanation: “Our author also knows that several LXX texts closely associate Jericho with somewhere called Araba (Hebrew hbri meaning the plain of the Jordan, but transliterated in the LXX as ∆Arabav (Josh 3:16; 2 Kgs 25:4–5; Jer 52:7–8). He takes Araba to be Arabia. Given that Paul is not likely to be wandering aimlessly into the Arabian desert, but must, our author assumes, be making for some center of biblical importance, Jericho, located in Arabia by the LXX as he thinks, meets the requirements” (4). 8 9

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[I am] delivering you from the people and from the Gentiles—to whom I send you to open their eyes, that they may turn from darkness to light and from the power of Satan to God, that they may receive forgiveness of sins and a place among those who are sanctified by faith in me.

Thus, the apostle’s temporary blindness makes use of this imagery (Hamm). b) Galatians never mentions the apostle’s baptism. If we set aside what 1 Cor 15:8–11 says concerning his vocation, we are left with the impression that Paul considers himself a completely self-sufficient apostle because of Christ’s appearance to him. Since the other apostles were not baptized, it is difficult to see why Paul has to be (Fuller). But for Luke, this entry into the Church “according to the rules” apparently becomes so important that he retells it two more times. In his eyes, Saul, the terrible persecutor of the Church, would have needed the remission of his sins even as he was receiving his mission as an apostle. In addition, it is well known that in Acts, Paul is called an “apostle” only twice in conjunction with Barnabas. The character of Ananias seems to be introduced into the story in order to recount Paul’s reception of baptism. This is a flagrant contradiction of Paul’s affirmation that he did not confer with flesh and blood after his conversion. c) Why is Luke completely silent about Paul’s three-year stay in Arabia? Why does he make Paul preach first to the Jews and then go up to Jerusalem? Even the commentators on Acts have a lot of trouble trying to explain these strange divergences (Haenchen: 333–34). 2. The ACTS OF PAUL The Acts of Paul significantly diverges from Galatians only once, when it mentions the role of Judas. As with the mention of Ananias’ role in Acts, the mention of Judas’s role in the Acts of Paul is a contradiction of Paul’s own affirmation in Gal 1:16. The explanation of their divergence lies in the theological perspective of the author of the Acts of Paul. Whereas Pervo states, “The desire to associate Paul harmoniously with the Jerusalem leaders and Jesus’ family is at work here” (n. 90), Richard Bauckham suggests the following interpretation: Who is this Judas mentioned in Acts 9? The Jewish tradition of exegesis, continued by Christians, would not allow obscure characters like this to remain obscure; they had to be identified with someone important of the same or similar name. The author of the APaul knows the Gospels and the Pauline epistles well; he knows that one of Jesus’ brothers was called Judas and he knows that the brothers of Jesus were travelling missionaries (1 Cor. 9:5), and so this must be the Judas Paul meets in Damascus. So identified, Judas becomes a much more important figure than the Ananias of Acts 9, who cannot be identified with any better known figure of the apostolic period. So it is

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Now, in a very interesting article, Ann G. Brock places this episode back into the general framework of the Acts of Paul. She maintains that the Acts of Paul has the tendency to imitate the “Gospel” genre in order to describe Paul’s activity, making the apostle’s image conform to that of Christ. She writes, “Paul’s actions often parallel those of Christ as he is depicted in the New Testament. For instance, Paul preaches in beatitudes, performs miracles, is martyred, and then makes an appearance to others” (120). Seen in this light, the meaning of the Damascene episode in the Acts of Paul becomes clear. Brock continues: [Paul] establishes God the Father as the source of his message: “The [. . .] Father, he it is who preached to me the Gospel of the Son”; and then, he traces his apostolic lineage by pointing out that he entered the great church through the blessed Judas, the brother of the Lord. (124)

Brock’s observation appears sound, especially in the light of the story of the baptized lion which immediately follows the account of Paul’s conversion in the Acts of Paul. Like Jesus, Paul retires to the desert, in order to be tempted. As Jesus is with the wild beasts in the desert (Mark 1:13), Paul faces a ferocious lion. Like Jesus, he is victorious in this desert temptation. This is why I think H. J. W. Drijvers is probably right to identify Judas with the twin brother of Jesus named Didymus Judas Thomas, to whom the Gospel of Thomas is attributed, for the story of the baptized lion seems to be tied to Logion 7 which states, “Blessed is the lion which the man shall eat; the lion will become a man. Cursed is the man whom the lion shall eat; the man will become a lion.”11 Paul, like Jesus (!), is tempted in the desert after his calling, but through baptism, he masters (“eats”) the power of the enemy which is humanized and lies down henceforth at his feet. One last question must be answered. Did the author of the Acts of Paul know the canonical Acts? Both Pervo and Bauckham think so. But I would like to ask them both the same question: How do they explain the considerable divergences between the two documents which we have discussed above?12 Why does the author of the Acts of Paul intentionally change what he finds in the Lukan account? Why does he omit the Christophany on the way 11 On the other hand, I do not share his encratite interpretation of the Acts of Paul (cf. 1993: 488f; Dunn: chap. 4). The connection which Drijvers draws between the “valley of bones” in the Acts of Paul and Ezekiel 37 is certainly correct—contra R. Bauckham (4): “this is the valley of Tophet, LXX tavfeq, which either our author has interpreted by reference to tavfh (burial-place) (cf. also LXX Jer 19:2, 6: poluvandrion, ‘burial-place’) or the Coptic translator has mistaken for tavfh.” 12 Bauckham’s response (4) is not satisfactory: “Ananias, along with much else in the narrative in Acts 9, goes unmentioned, because our author is not interested in repeating what his readers well know, but in explaining what Luke left unexplained.”

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to Damascus? Why doesn’t he know anything about Paul’s temporary blindness? Why doesn’t he mention the laying on of hands and baptism which Paul receives? Why does he only know about Paul’s preaching to the brothers which occurs after a test of his ability? How is it that he passes freely from Damascus, in the company of a widow and her daughter? In my opinion, the simplest and convincing response to these questions is the one which I gave with respect to other parallel episodes between the Acts of Paul and the canonical Acts in an article of 1988: The author of the Acts of Paul did not know the canonical Acts. Indeed, with respect to Paul’s conversion, it is clear that he draws his information from Galatians, as Dunn has also argued, and not from Acts. (I thank Peter W. Dunn for the English translation of my article.)

WORKS CONSULTED Bauckham, Richard 1994 “Response to Hills and Pervo.” Unpublished paper distributed at the SBL Seminar on Intertextuality in Early Christian Apocrypha, Chicago, IL, November 19. A revised version appears in this volume, pp. 159–68. Bovon, François and Pierre Geoltrain, eds. 1997 Ecrits apocryphes chrétiens. Bibliotheque de la Pleiade. Paris: Gallimard. Brock, Ann G. 1994 “Genre of the Acts of Paul. One Tradition Enhancing Another.” Apocrypha 5:119–36. Burchard, Christoph 1970 Der dreizehnte Zeuge. Traditions- und kompositionsgeschichtliche Untersuchungen zu Lukas’ Darstellung der Frühzeit des Paulus. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck und Ruprecht. Crum, Walter E. 1920 “New Coptic Manuscripts in the John Rylands Library.” BJRL 5:501. Drijvers, Han J. W. 1990 “Der getaufte Löwe und die Theologie der Acta Pauli.” Pp. 181–89 in Carl-Schmidt-Kolloquium an der Martin-Luther-Universität 1988. Ed. Peter Nagel. Wissenschaftliche Beiträge 9. Halle: Martin-Luther-Universitätsverlag. Dunn, Peter W. 1996 “The Acts of Paul and the Pauline Legacy in the Second Century.” Ph.D. diss., Cambridge University. Fuller, R. H. 1979 “Was Paul Baptized?” Pp. 533–39 in Les Actes des apôtres. Ed. J. Kremer. Leuven: Peeters.

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Haenchen, Ernst 1971 The Acts of the Apostles: A Commentary. Trans. Bernard Noble and Gerald Shinn. Oxford: Basil Blackwell. Hamm, D. 1990

“Paul’s Blindness and Its Healing: Clues in Symbolic Intent (Acts 9, 22 and 26).” Biblica 71:63–72.

Hirsch, Emannel 1929 “Die drei Berichte der Apostelgeschichte über die Bekehrung des Paulus.” ZNW 28:62–69. Kasser, Rodolphe 1960 “Acta Pauli, 1959.” RHPR 40:45–57. Lohfink, Gerhard 1996 Paulus vor Damaskus. Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk. Pervo, Richard I. 1994 “A Hard Act to Follow: The Acts of Paul and the Canonical Acts.” MS distributed to the SBL Seminar on Intertexuality in Early Christian Apocrypha, Chicago, IL, November 19. Subsequently published as Journal of Higher Criticism (1995) 2/2:3–32. Reymond, Sophie 1993 L’expérience du chemin de Damas. Approche narrative d’une expérience spirituelle. Diplôme de Spécialisation en Sciences Bibliques. Université de Lausanne. Rordorf, Willy 1988 “Im welchem Verhältnis stehen die apokryphen Paulusakten zur kanonischen Apostelgeschichte und zu den Pastoralbriefen?” Pp. 225–41 in Text and Testimony: Essays on New Testament and Apocryphal Literature in Honor of A. F. J. Klijn. Ed. Tjitze Baarda. Kampen: Kok. Reprinted in Willy Rordorf, Lex orandi-lex credendi: Gesammelte Aufsätze zum 60. Geburtstag. Paradosis 36. Freiburg-Neuchâtel: Freiburg Universitätsverlag. 1993

“Was wissen wir über Plan und Absicht der Paulusakten?” Pp. 485–96 in Lex orandi-lex credendi: Gesammelte Aufsätze zum 60. Geburtstag. Paradosis 36. Freiburg-Neuchâtel: Freiburg Universitätsverlag.

Schneemelcher, Wilhelm 1992 “The Acts of Paul.” Pp. 213–70 in New Testament Apocrypha: Revised Edition of the Collection initiated by Edgar Hennecke. Vol. 2: Writings Relating to the Apostles, Apocalypses and Related Subjects. Ed. Wilhelm Schneemelcher. Trans. R. McL. Wilson. Louisville: Westminster/Knox. Stephens, Susan A. 1985 Yale Papyri in the Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library II. American Studies in Papyrology 24. Chico, CA: Scholars. Wendt, Hans. H. 1913 Die Apostelgeschichte. Meyer Kommentar, part 3, 9th ed. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht.

THE ACTS OF PAUL AND THE LEGACY OF THE LUKAN ACTS Julian V. Hills Marquette University

abstract This essay continues the debate about the use or non-use of Acts in the Acts of Paul. It responds to two specific claims made by Willy Rordorf: that the language shared by these writings is to be accounted for in part as deriving from the common stock of Christian devotional language and in part as comprising the standard (and by no means rare) vocabulary and idiom of koiné Greek. After outlining an analogous case—the possible presence of quotations from Acts in early liturgies—I offer some considerations of method that may permit the fresh assessment of four examples of devotional language and nine of unusual expressions common to Acts and the Acts of Paul.

Introduction How are the Acts of Paul and the NT Acts of the Apostles literarily related—if at all? The first step is to establish whether or not the author of the later work knew the earlier. On this, three positions have been staked out this century. Carl Schmidt, who edited the Coptic Heidelberg papyrus and (with Wilhelm Schubart) the Greek Hamburg papyrus, held that the author of the Acts of Paul knew and used Acts (1905:198–217; 1936:108–12); in this judgment he was followed by Léon Vouaux (113–23). Willy Rordorf, who is preparing the new critical edition of the Acts of Paul for the Brepols Corpus Christianorum Series Apocryphorum, judges that this is not so: “The Acts of Paul, I am persuaded, were written without any acquaintance with the canonical Book of Acts” (1993c:433). Between Schmidt and Rordorf stands Wilhelm Schneemelcher: “Knowledge of Acts is probably to be assumed in a Church ‘novel’ writer at the end of the second century”; however, “the literary genus, the aims in view, and the completely different situation tell in favour of literary independence” (1992:233; also 1974): the author of the Acts of Paul knew Acts but did not use it. So how are we to move beyond this three-way impasse? One approach would be to establish a consensus as to some general criteria by which dependence or independence is to be judged in this case. With reference to Paul’s use of the OT, Richard B. Hays has recently drawn up

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a very useful set of criteria for identifying allusions: availability; volume; recurrence; thematic coherence; historical plausibility; history of interpretation; satisfaction (16–19). To these seven Richard L. Brawley has added an eighth, which recognizes that allusions come not only “on the phraseological plane” but “may also replicate the form, genre, setting, and plot of their precursor” (422). One might add a counterpart to the eighth, that, while some allusions will be thematically parallel, others may be purely verbal—of no consequence at all to the theme or plot of the later writing other than as supplying words that say what the author needs to have said. The problem is that almost every one of these criteria is likely open to debate in the present case. For example: (a) availability: Was the Lukan Acts available to the author of the Acts of Paul? The answer depends in part, of course, on social, geographical, and ecclesiastical factors of which we can know next to nothing. It seems virtually certain that Justin, in the 150s, was familiar with Acts (see Haenchen: 8–9; Fitzmyer: 1566, on Acts 26:23; but Barrett [41–44] is more cautious). Irenaeus and his near contemporaries certainly quote from Acts. Chronologically, then, there is no impediment to the supposition that the narrative of the Acts of Paul has been influenced by the NT Acts. But this will hardly satisfy Rordorf, and rightly so: that the author of the Acts of Paul could have known Acts says almost nothing about whether he or she did, in fact, know it. Again, if one or more of the apocryphal acts was familiar with another, perhaps there will be a case or two of what may be called secondary or derivative dependence. (b) volume: Just how much of the book of Acts does the Acts of Paul seem to know? Needless to say, this is where judgments begin to differ, especially since it is not this later author’s style to quote any work sequentially, in great quantity, or with explicit clues that scripture (or some other, less authoritative, text) is being quoted—“as it is written,” “as the Lord/scripture says.” But it may not matter how much of Acts the later author is supposed to have known, or quoted. Surely all it would take is one or more convincing cases—of sufficient length or distinctiveness, to be sure. Whether by the late second century Acts was in any sense “canonical” is almost irrelevant. (c) thematic coherence: Does the alleged use of Acts in the Acts of Paul cohere with the theme of the later work? This is a more subtle criterion, since it may suggest that authors are at all times thinking conceptually, rather than merely verbally: as already indicated, there may be occasions where precisely the right words are to be found where no thematic correspondence exists. If progress is to made, then, it will have to be on the basis of several concurrent approaches to the problem. And though this was not the specific design of the 1994 meeting, it was one of the fruits of it.

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The 1994 SBL Seminar on Intertextuality in Christian Apocrypha Richard I. Pervo and I presented papers on the relation between Acts and the Acts of Paul. Our two studies were strikingly different in scope, design, and style. Pervo set out to show that the Acts of Paul “seeks to correct aspects of the canonical text” (1995: Preface), whereas my purpose was to demonstrate only that the author of the Acts of Paul was aware of the Lukan Acts. Pervo was concerned with the very ground plan of the later Acts—its thematic inspiration, its center of gravity, its plot; my concern was simply with its language, its diction—actual words and phrases that might indicate knowledge, however derived, of the NT in general and Acts in particular. Pervo’s essay was characteristically flamboyant, his examples and analogies drawn widely—from Greek drama to twentieth-century cinema; by comparison mine was pedestrian—the quotation and detailed discussion of some forty-seven places in the Acts of Paul (and, in an appendix, the listing of many more) that may or may not reflect knowledge of the NT text, including sixteen from Acts. I was especially interested to discover that though the Acts of Paul sometimes exactly replicates a NT phrase, at other times it is only the structure or the idea that is recalled (for probably the best example, see Hills: 37, on AcPaul 3.40=Gal 2:8). So we have to do with an author who can use his or her sources in several ways; indeed, he or she may not have thought of “sources” at all, but simply of the literary environment—scribal activity, familiarity with a lectionary cycle: what was read or heard as a way of life. Responses were invited from Richard J. Bauckham (1994), who had recently written on the Acts of Paul as a sequel to Acts (1993), and from Rordorf (1994). These responses have not been published, but were duplicated and distributed among those attending the November 19 meeting. Bauckham’s response was delivered in person. He noted that “the convergence” of Pervo’s and my judgment was “impressive, because the authors reach this conclusion [i.e. the dependence of the Acts of Paul on Acts] on entirely different evidence in each case.” He was convinced, he said, that the author of the Acts of Paul was “so familiar with the text of Acts that phrases from Acts came rather readily to mind for use at an appropriate point in his narrative” (Bauckham, 1994:1). Rordorf was unable to be present. This is especially unfortunate because his was (apparently) the lone dissenting voice over against my judgment, and Pervo’s, that the Acts of Paul betrays knowledge of Acts. A faceto-face discussion of our differences, with reference to specific texts, would have been most welcome. Instead, in his response Rordorf supplied only the briefest commentary to my paper, devoting the best of his time to Pervo. He was “impressed,” he said, with the “meticulousness and the clarity” of my

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study. Regarding my conclusions, however, he remained “hesitant” (1994: 3)—indeed, as it turns out, utterly unpersuaded. Two points in Rordorf’s critique involve central issues of method. First, he observes that “[Hills] bases his arguments repeatedly on the idea that a hapax legomenon or a rare expression in Acts (or in the NT) that reappears in the APl is a sign of direct borrowing”; in this, for Rordorf, my paper “relies too heavily on the hazards of the conservation of texts from antiquity,” because “the spoken language was much richer than the few written vestiges which we still have.” Indeed, “what gives us the right to say that a word was rare, just because it figures only rarely in ancient texts?” The second point is how Rordorf himself accounts for the examples that I assembled: “Personally, I am satisfied with what W. Schneemelcher calls ‘devotional language’ as an explanation of the ‘reminiscences’ of Acts in the APl” (1994:4). In the next two sections I shall address these objections (in reverse order), and in the Conclusion reflect on what is at stake in the continuing debate. “Devotional language” as a criterion for dependence Schneemelcher judges that “only in the beatitudes in AThe [=AcPaul 3] 5f. are there two sentences which agree word for word with [NT verses, namely,] Mt 5:8 and 5:9.” Otherwise “we cannot prove with certainty the use of particular passages; often it is rather only a question of the use of current devotional language” (1992:233). By “devotional language” we are presumably to understand titles, petitions, hymnic phrases, liturgical fragments, and the like—material whose setting is the worship and catechesis of the early church. The following might be considered typical: (a) Acts of Paul 3.24 “Father, who didst make (oJ poihvsa~) heaven and earth”; also Acts of Paul 8 “One is God, who has made heaven and earth”—cf. Acts 4:24; 14:15, the only two NT texts in which poiei`n occurs with “heaven and earth.” (b) Acts of Paul 3.34 “the name of Jesus Christ” (twice); also Acts of Paul 4—cf. Acts 2:28; 3:6; 4:10; 8:12; 10:48; 16:18 (see also 2 Thess 3:6 “in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ”). In the NT, only in Acts 8:12; 8:16; 19:5; and 10:48 is the phrase or its equivalent used in connection with baptism, as in Acts of Paul 3.34. (c) Acts of Paul 11.4 “who is coming to judge the world (th;n oijkoumevnhn kri`nai)”—cf. Acts 17:31 “he will judge the world (krivnein th;n oijkoumevnhn) in righteousness,” the only NT occurrence of krivnein with oijkoumevnh. One or more of these examples might possibly be argued as instances of dependence of the Acts of Paul on Acts. For now, as in 1994, I am willing to concede them all as part of the common stock of early Christian theological language. But in attributing any instance of devotional language to common tradition (=oral tradition? cf. Rordorf’s reference to “the spoken language”),

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we must beware a methodological trap that is best exposed by way of analogy: Lukan language in actual early liturgies. The following extracts are taken from the standard, venerable anthology of F. E. Brightman. To be sure, this is hardly a modern critical edition, to the extent that the concept even applies to early liturgy: though the Didache (9.1; 10.1) prescribes that the eucharist be celebrated “in this way” (ou{tw~), the tradition reflected in Hippolytus appears to prefer extemporary prayer, so long as it remains “orthodox” (Apostolic Tradition 10.4–5; Dix-Chadwick: 19). But the texts seem to be representative of good manuscript tradition where newer editions are available (see the texts of St. Basil and St. James printed in Fenwick). References in parentheses are to page/line numbers in Brightman. (a) Apostolic Constitutions 8 (19/27) “signs and wonders among the people (shmei`av te kai; tevrata ejn tw/` law/)` ”—cf. Acts 5:12 (see also 6:8), identical except that Acts lacks te (for which see e.g. 2 Cor 12:12; Heb 2:4); ejn tw/` law/` only in these verses and 2 Pet 2:1 (in a different context) in the NT. (b) St. James (49/33) “the gift of the Holy Spirit (hJ dwrea; tou` aJgivou pneumato~)”; also (54/29) ta;~ dwrea;~ tou` panagivou tou` pneu`mato~; St. Mark (123/ 22; 143/3, where the phrase is used to expand a near-quotation of 2 Cor 13: 14; 143/12); Coptic Jacobites (145/3; 162/38)—cf. Acts 2:38 th;n dwrea;n t. aJ. pn. 10:45 hJ dwrea; t. aJ. pn., the only NT pairings of the two nouns; Barnabas 1.2 has hJ dwrea; pneumatikhv. (c) St. James (61/22) “by the word of your grace (tw/` lovgw/ th`~ sh`~ cavrito~)”—cf. Acts 14:3; 20:32, in both of which for sh`~ there is aujtou` after cavrito~. In the NT these verses alone bring together the singular lovgo~ with cavri~; the plural (lovgoi~) with cavri~ appears only in Luke 4:22. (d) St. Mark (116/13) “and from all villainy (kai; ajpo; pavsh~ rJa/diourgiva~)”—cf. Acts 13:10 “full of all deceit and villainy (plhvrh~ . . . kai; pavsh~ rJa/diourgiva~).” Haenchen notes that “with the exception of rJa/diouvrghma [he must mean rJa/diourgiva; the neuter cognate occurs in Acts 18:14] every word of this verse may be found in the LXX” (400). (e) St. Mark (120/24) “on behalf of your . . . evangelist Mark, who has shown us the way of salvation (hJmi`n oJdo;n th`~ swthriva~)”; also (128/29) oJdo;n swthriva~; (131/14) th;n oJdo;n th`~ swthriva~—cf. Acts 16:17 (note v.l., hJmi`n for uJmi`n), the only biblical combination of oJdov~ and swthriva. (f) St. Mark (135/11) “O God, creator of light, Author [or: Prince] of life (zwh`~ ajrchgev)”; also Coptic Jacobites (153/24); St. Basil (327/10) to;n ajrchgo;n th`~ zwh`—cf. Acts 3:15, the only biblical occurrence of the title. Haenchen remarks that “we have a liturgical formula before us” (206 n. 5)—as the three liturgies cited indeed show that it was to become. (g) St. Basil (327/4) “he loosed the pangs of death, and, having arisen on the third day . . . (e[lusen ta;~ wjdi`na~ tou` qanavtou kai; ajnasta;~ th/` trivth/ hJmevra/)”—cf. Acts 2:24 o}n qeo;~ ajnevsthsen luvsa~ ta;~ wjdi`na~ qanavtou. For the final nominal phrase, but without definite articles, see 2 Kgs 2:6; Ps 114:3.

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Polycarp Philippians 1.2 has o}n h[geiren oJ qeov~, luvsa~ ta;~ wjdi`na~ tou` a/d{ ou, and this is an especially interesting case. At first Haenchen confidently affirms Polycarp’s independence over against Acts: “Both are variants of an old kerygmatic formula, liturgically amplified. This is evident from the variations in detail” (6; Haenchen does not observe that in Acts for qanavtou there is the variant a/{dou in D latt syp mae bo; Irlat; see also Ps 17:6 LXX). Yet in the body of his commentary he writes that “o}n oJ qeo;~ ajnevsthsen (h[geiren) is a Lucan formulation”—note the inclusion of the parenthetical verb, as in Polycarp. Indeed, “o{n betrays the hand of Luke” (180, with copious references in n. 13). Then, finally, Haenchen states that “the expression [i.e. ‘the pangs of death’] entered into liturgical use and probably from there into Acts” (180–81). But the continuation in St. Basil (327/9) confirms that Acts is, in fact, being quoted: kaqovti oujk h\n dunato;n kratei`sqai uJpo; th`~ fqora`~. So where does this liturgical language come from? And herein lies the trap I spoke of. If I judge that it comes from Acts, by the standard set in Rordorf’s remarks quoted above I might be guilty of relying too much on the accident of manuscript survival (see further on “Rare expression” below). But if I conclude that it comes from a more general devotional tradition, even from actual liturgies or catechetical materials, then I have to imagine that every example quoted here must be explained by this chain of events: first, that some prior tradition (exemplified in what we may call text or tradition “A,” no longer extant) had already brought together the word(s) that appear in Acts (=text “B”); second, that this new text (=Luke’s Acts) simply copied (rather than newly created) exactly (or almost so) this combination of words, which thus became part of the text of the NT only incidentally—by direct borrowing from the earlier text or tradition “A”; and third, that yet another work or tradition (=text “C”: here, the quoted liturgies; later in this essay, the Acts of Paul) owes its language not to Luke’s Acts but to that earlier text or tradition “A.” All of this is of course historically possible. But methodologically it is prejudicial—perhaps little more than an assertion so framed as to be invulnerable to critique. Whatever the final verdict, should it ever come, the following examples cannot so easily be written off: (a) Acts of Paul 3.18 “the mighty acts (ta; megalei`a) of God” (also 3.1 “the mighty acts of Christ”)—cf. Acts 2:11 (“the mighty acts [ta; megalei`a] of God”), the only NT occurrence of megalei`o~ in any form (but note the v.l., megalei`a for megavla, in Luke 1:49). There is some similar phraseology in Hermas, Vision 4.2.5 and Hermas, Similitude 9.18.2; but nothing else from the first or second century. (b) Acts of Paul 3.24 “O God, the knower of hearts (qee; kardiognw`sta)”— cf. Acts 1:24 “Lord, who knowest the hearts of all (kuvrie kardiognw`sta pavntwn)”; 15:8 “God who knows the heart (oJ kardiognwvsth~ qeov~).” The title is found neither in the LXX nor in other pre-Christian (or, for that matter, non-

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Christian) writings. Haenchen claims that it was “a favorite expression of post-apostolic Christendom,” but on rather slender post-apostolic evidence (Herm. Vis. 4.3.4; Pseudo-Clementine Homilies 13.10; cf. Pseudo-Clementine Recognitions 1.33.1); other authorities cited (Clement of Alexandria, the Apostolic Constitutions) are doubtless familiar with Acts (26). H. J. Cadbury and Kirsopp Lake are even more specific: “kardiognwvsth~ is found chiefly in Christian liturgical use” (15 n. 24), a claim attributed in the Moulton-Milligan Vocabulary (321) to Erwin Preuschen. The expression is found in the prayer for episcopal consecration in Hippolytus Apostolic Tradition 3.4 (Dix-Chadwick, 5), i.e. in a work usually dated ca. 215 CE, and in later liturgies (see Brightman, 144/4, 197/12). (c) Acts of Paul 7 “God alone abides, and the sonship that is given through him in whom one is to be saved (movno~ de; oJ qeo;~ mevnei kai; hJ di∆ aujtou` didomevnh uiJoqesiva ejn w/| dei` swqh`nai)”; also earlier in 7: “hear in what manner thou must be saved (kaqa; dei` se swqh`nai)”—cf. Acts 4:12 “There is salvation in no one else, for there is no other name under heaven given among humankind by which we [v.l. you] must be saved (oujk e[stin ejn a[llw/ oujdeni; hJ swthriva, oujde; ga;r o[nomav ejstin e{teron uJpo; to;n oujrano;n ejn w/| dei` swqh`nai hJma`~ [v.l. uJma`~; syp omits the pronoun]).” Citing Hermas, Vision 4.2.4 (“salvation can be found through nothing [di∆ oujdeno;~ duvnh/ swqh`nai] save through the great and glorious name”), Haenchen suggests that Luke has taken over a “Jewish formula” (i.e. “the Name”) and, like others before him, has given it a Christian significance (217–18 and n. 7). But it is the short phrase ejn w/| dei` swqh`nai that must command our greater attention. TLG (1992) reports only one pre-Christian use of dei` with swqh`nai in close proximity, and nothing among the so-called apostolic fathers. More important still is the grammar of the phrase. In both Acts and the Acts of Paul what looks like the antecedent to the relative pronoun is filled out with an adjectival participle: o[noma to; dedomevnon and hJ didomevnh uiJoqesiva. In Acts the antecedent is resumed with ejn w/,| the meaning obviously being “in which” or “by which name.” But to what does ejn w/| refer in Acts of Paul 7? Clearly it is not to the feminine noun uiJoqesiva. Nor presumably can it be “God,” since this would make God only the location or the agent of salvation. It must then be aujtou`, referring to Jesus Christ; in which case for what precedes it the whole weight of meaning is dictated by the final phrase (beginning with ejn), which I take to be something known and quoted from Acts. (d) Acts of Paul 10 “So long as [Israel] kept the things of God he gave them of the fruit of the loins (ejk karpou` th`~ ojsfuvo~),” i.e. a line of descendants— cf. Acts 2:30 “[David knew that God] would set one of his descendants (ejk karpou` th`~ ojsfuvo~ aujtou`) upon the throne.” The noun ojsfuv~ is of course found elsewhere in the NT (Matt 3:4; Mark 1:6; Luke 12:35; Eph 6:14; Heb 7:5, 10; 1 Pet 1:13), but apart from Acts 2:30 never with karpov~. Haenchen’s note on the textual tradition is instructive: “The Western text (except D [i.e. not

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D but pc gig p r syp; Irlat]) replaces ojsfuvo~ with the koiliva~ of LXX [e.g. Gen 30:2; Ps 131(132):11]. This contradicts Lucan usage, in which koiliva means ‘womb.’ D’s reading, kardiva~, goes back to a wrong retranslation of the Latin praecordia (=’belly’ and ‘heart’) in d [note Hab 3:16 v.l.].” “Rare expression” as a criterion for dependence Rordorf asks, “What gives us the right to say that a word [or phrase] was rare, just because it figures rarely in ancient texts?” It is a fine question, because it reminds us both of the literary treasures that have been lost (e.g. the famed library at Alexandria) and of the inevitable loss of the spoken word— oral tradition—if it is not reduced to writing. Nevertheless, it is surely legitimate to judge a word or expression rare or common to the best of our knowledge. Whatever is lost, there is no need to minimize the extent of the literary and non-literary remains that history has, in fact, preserved: how many volumes in the Greek (or Latin) Migne or the Loeb Classical Library; of published papyri; of texts now amassed on the invaluable TLG CD-ROM and registered in its directory, the Canon of Greek Authors (Berkowitz, 1990). It is one of the regular tasks of grammar and lexicography to catalogue what is typical phraseology and what is not, quite apart from strict grammatical categories of the regular and irregular. As for rare words, they are to be measured not only by statistics—how many occurrences, when, and where—but by what alternatives were likely open to an author or authors. A third preliminary point concerns the size of the two texts being compared. Rordorf playfully asks whether a phrase of his might be considered a quotation if it occurred also in a work of Goethe or Schiller—“that would be honoring my literary culture a bit too much, don’t you think?” (1994: 4). Well, perhaps it would, but this is in part because of the huge output of Goethe, especially, but also of Schiller, when compared with Acts and the Acts of Paul; and it would depend also on whether there were several instances or only one, and whether there might be something distinctive, or characteristic, about one or more of them. There are in fact a number of cases of rare expression that I must argue derive from Luke’s Acts. Space precludes the quotation of every possible candidate, but the following will suffice for the present discussion. (a) Acts of Paul 3.3 “now [Paul] appeared like a man, and now he had the face of an angel (ajggevlou provswpon)”—cf. Acts 6:15 “All who sat in the council saw that his face was like the face of an angel (wJsei; provswpon ajggevlou).” Close verbal parallels of an early date are hard to find (see Barrett: 329–30). Acts of Andrew 11, in the epitome of Gregory of Tours, says something similar: “the face of the apostle shone like the face of an angel of God” (MacDonald, 1990:222–23). But it is the occasion of the phrase in the Acts of Paul that is particularly intriguing, and suggests not a fresh locution but the near-

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quotation of a phrase from elsewhere. Onesiphorus and his family are watching out for Paul, whom Titus has described for them. When Paul arrives, what Onesiphorus sees is related—“small of stature, with a bald head,” etc. But the last part of the description is difficult in context, since it would require more time for its observation than the narrative seems to allow (“now like a man, and now . . . “). (b) Acts of Paul 3.42 Tryphaena “threw herself down on the floor (e[pesen eij~ to; e[dafo~) where Paul had sat and taught”—cf. Acts 22:7, part of the second account of Paul’s conversion: “I fell to the ground (e[pesa eij~ to; e[dafo~) and heard a voice.” The commentaries and lexicons can cite only 4 Macc 6:7 as having the same combination of verb + prepositional phrase; to this reference may be added Testament of Abraham 9 (in the heavily Christianized recension A), where Abraham e[pesen ejpi; provswpon eij~ to; e[dafo~ before the archangel Michael (Stone: 20). (c) Acts of Paul 5 (in P. Heid. only) Paul prays: “O God, look down upon their threats”—cf. Acts 4:19, where Peter and John, released from prison, pray: “Now, Lord, look upon their threats.” Apart from Acts 4:29 the noun ajpeilhv (threat), preserved also in the Coptic of Acts of Paul 5, is found in the NT only at Acts 4:17 (as an addition in Y M syp; cf. E [it]); 9:1; Eph 6:9; and in other early Christian literature only in 1 Clement 58.1; Hermas, Mandate 12.6.2. No other case is remotely similar to Acts 4:29. (d) Acts of Paul 7 The governor seeks advice on what to do with Paul: “Ye men of Ephesus (a[ndre~ ∆Efevsioi) . . . “—cf. Acts 19:35, where the town clerk (grammateuv~) speaks to the noisy crowd: “Men of Ephesus (a[ndre~ ∆Efevsioi) . . . .” This form of address is not un-Greek (see e.g. Plato Apology 29D a[ndre~ ∆Aqhnai`oi), and it appears already in Acts 1:11 (a[ndre~ Galilai`oi; also 3:12; 5:35; 13:16; 21:28). See further on item (g) below. (e) Acts of Paul 7 (Schmidt, 1936:32–35; absent, because in a very fragmentary context, from Schneemelcher, 1992:252) “But the guards had sunk into a deep sleep (oiJ de; fuvlake~ baqei` u{pnw/ kathnevcqhsan)”—cf. Acts 20:9 Eutychus “sank into a deep sleep (kataferovmeno~ u{pnw/ baqei`).” The indebtedness of the Acts of Paul to the story of Eutychus in Acts 20:7–12 is extremely probable (see MacDonald, 1994:9–11 and nn. 15–16). This dependence is usually noticed in connection with the attention given by Patroclus to Paul, preaching in Acts of Paul 11.1 (though it is also observed that the name Eutychus appears in Acts of Paul 8). But here in Acts of Paul 7 a detail from the story of Eutychus that is lacking in Acts of Paul 11.1 makes an appearance: that the guards were “brought down” by a “deep sleep.” The phrase katafevresqai + u{pnw/ barei`, while not irregular, is not common, as the commentaries and lexicons make quite clear. (f) Acts of Paul 7 (Schmidt: 38–39; absent, because in a very fragmentary context, from Schneemelcher, 1992:253) “And [Paul] gave his testimony (kai; ejdivdou to; martuvrion)”—cf. Acts 4:33 “the apostles gave their testimony (ajpedivdoun to; martuvrion).” Early Christian literature offers nothing comparable.

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(g) Acts of Paul 9 “Paul, full of the Holy Spirit, said, ‘Brethren (w\ a[ndre~ ajdelfoi`) . . .”; also (without w\ ) later in 9; 10; 11.1; twice in Kasser’s “Appendix” (Schneemelcher, 1992:388)—cf. Acts 1:16, the first of thirteen uses of the address in Acts. The single biblical occurrence elsewhere is in 4 Macc 8:19, which makes it probably an exaggeration to speak of it reflecting “LXX style” (Barrett: 96). Bauckham has already recognized this as one of the “verbally identical or closely similar phrases” in Acts and the Acts of Paul (1993: 112 n. 17). (h) Acts of Paul 11.1 “The news [of Paul’s arrival and teaching] was spread abroad, and many souls were added to the Lord (kai; pollai; yucai; prosetivqento tw/` kurivw)/ ”; also Kasser’s “Appendix” (Schneemelcher, 1992:265) “a great crowd was added to the faith”—cf. Acts 2:41 “and there were added (kai; prosetevqhsan) that day about three thousand souls (yucaiv)”; 11:24 “and a large company was added to the Lord (kai; prosetevqh o[clo~ iJkano;~ tw/` kurivw/); also 2:47; 5:14. Acts 2:41 offers the only early Christian evidence for prostiqevnai + yuchv, and 11:24 for prostiqevnai + tw/` kurivw/. So unless the author of the Acts of Paul has lifted these phrases from the Acts of Peter (9 “many more were added as believers in the Lord”; Martyrdom 31 [2] “very many were added to the grace of the Lord”; 33 [4] “the mass of the people who were daily added to the holy name by the grace of the Lord”), where, however, there is no mention of “souls,” the words must surely come from Acts. (i) Acts of Paul 11.6 Paul warns Nero that he will be the recipient of “many evils and great punishments . . . and that not many days hence (ouj meta; polla;~ hJmevra~ tauvta~)”—cf. Acts 1:5 “before many days (ouj meta; polla;~ tauvta~ hJmevra~) you shall be baptized with the Holy Spirit.” (P. Hamb. has exactly the phrase in Acts, i.e. with tauvta~ hJmevra~; Schmidt: 70, lines 8–9). This unusual temporal expression has been variously explained— as a Latinism or a Semitism, or as an echo of Exod 2:23 LXX (Cadbury and Lake: 7 n. 5). But however Luke came up with it, the combination of pollav~ with tauvta~ marks it out as unprecedented, and in post-NT writings it is apparently found only in quotations of Acts 1:5. Two features lend it a distinctly Lukan flavor: first, that it is an example of litotes (deliberate understatement); second, that it brings together poluv~ with a temporal expression (cf. Luke 15:13 met∆ ouj polla;~ hJmevra~; Acts 13:31; 16:18 ejpi; polla;~ hJmevra~; 24:10; 27:14 met∆ ouj poluv; 28:6). And it is possible to conjecture something more. Just as Acts begins with the promise of the gift of the Holy Spirit, so now the Acts of Paul is about to end (AcPaul 11 is the martyrdom) with a promise: the death of Nero, the man widely regarded by later generations as the proto-persecutor. Conclusion Data rarely speak for themselves. The examples of devotional language and of rare expression that I have collected above may persuade some but

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not others that the author of the Acts of Paul did, in fact, know our canonical Acts. But what makes all of this anything more than an exercise in word counting? There are at least three contributions that an investigation such as this has to make, in concert with the studies of Bauckham and Pervo. First, if we are to come to know the author of the Acts of Paul, we shall need to know something of his or her background—what training there was, what education, what awareness of the traditions and texts that were plausibly accessible. How innovative was this new production, and what were its raw materials: not only the great building blocks of itinerary and theological program but the very words, expressions, idioms, in which that grand plan was to be clothed? Just as it is certain that this author knew and used the Pauline letters, and we can therefore begin to discover how they are used, may we now set about the same discovery with reference to Acts? Second, in claiming to be interested not merely in dependence over against independence but in “intertextuality,” our Seminar has acknowledged that textual relations inevitably work both forwards (from Acts, say, to the Acts of Paul) and backwards. Whether or not the Acts of Paul shows knowledge of Acts, we know more of Acts through our knowledge of this late second-century writing: questions of genre take on a sharper focus, the portrait of Paul in the early church is revealed in its greater variety, and the religious and theological potential of earlier language is seen worked out in both expected and unexpected ways. Finally, there is the role that apocryphal writings may properly play in our reconstruction, not to mention our general consciousness, of the development of early Christian life and thought. Great discoveries this century have inspired an enormous volume of research into previously hidden or neglected writings and communities. Yet the average college or seminary course, at least in the U.S., is still largely untouched by it, save for the occasional reference to “parallels” or “backgrounds.” A new situation will be brought about only when we are able in plain language to bring to light the character of these writings, their authors, and their communities—to enable them to be recognized as genuine and passionate representatives of the communal life they lived just a few decades after the NT writers. Part of what makes up this character is whatever literature has shaped it. And so it remains of more than passing interest to know if the author of Acts of Paul knew Luke’s Acts— whether he or she had inherited that legacy, and what difference it had made.

WORKS CONSULTED Barrett, C. K. 1994 A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Acts of the the Apostles. Vol. 1. Preliminary Introduction and Commentary on Acts I–XIV. ICC. Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark.

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Bauckham, Richard 1993 “The Acts of Paul as a Sequel to Acts.” Pp. 105–52 in The Book of Acts in Its First Century Setting. Vol. 1. The Book of Acts in Its Ancient Literary Setting. Ed. Bruce W. Winter and Andrew D. Clarke. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans; Carlisle, England: Paternoster. 1994

“Response to Julian Hills and Richard Pervo.” Unpublished MS, distributed at the SBL Seminar on Intertextuality in Early Christian Apocrypha, Chicago, IL, November 19. A revised version appears in this volume, 159–68.

Berkowitz, Luci, et al., eds. 1990 Thesaurus Linguae Graecae: Canon of Greek Authors and Their Works. 3d ed. New York: Oxford University Press. Brawley, Richard L. 1992 “Canon and Community: Intertextuality, Canon, Interpretation, Christology, Theology, and Persuasive Rhetoric in Luke 4:1–13.” SBLSP 31:419–34. Brightman, F. E. 1896 Liturgies Eastern and Western. Vol. 1. Eastern Liturgies. Oxford: Clarendon. Dix, Gregory and Henry Chadwick 1992 The Treatise on the Apostolic Tradition of St. Hippolytus of Rome. Reissued with corrections. London: Alban; Ridgefield, CT: Morehouse. Fenwick, John R. K. 1992 The Anaphoras of St. Basil and St. James: An Investigation into Their Common Origin. Oriens Christiana Analecta 240. Rome: Pontifical Oriental Institute. Fitzmyer, Joseph A. 1985 The Gospel According to Luke (X–XXIV): Introduction, Translation, and Notes. AB 28A. New York: Doubleday. Haenchen, Ernst 1971 The Acts of the Apostles: A Commentary. Philadelphia: Westminster. Hays, Richard B. 1989 Echoes of Scripture in the Letters of Paul. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Hills, Julian V. 1994 “The Acts of the Apostles in the Acts of Paul.” SBLSP 33:24–54. Lake, Kirsopp, and Henry J. Cadbury 1979 The Beginnings of Christianity. Part I: The Acts of the Apostles. Vol. 4. English Translation and Commentary. Originally published 1933. Reprinted, Grand Rapids: Baker.

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MacDonald, Dennis R. 1990 The Acts of Andrew and the Acts of Andrew and Matthias in the City of the Cannibals. SBLTT 33. Christian Apocrypha Series 1. Atlanta: Scholars. 1994

“Luke’s Eutychus and Homer’s Elpenor: Acts 20:7–12 and Odyssey 10–12.” Journal of Higher Criticism 1:5–24.

Moulton, James Hope and George Milligan 1929 The Vocabulary of the Greek Testament Illustrated from the Papyri and Other Non-Literary Sources. London: Hodder and Stoughton. Pervo, Richard I. 1995 “A Hard Act to Follow: The Acts of Paul and the Canonical Acts.” Journal of Higher Criticism 2/2:3–32. Rordorf, Willy 1993a “In welchem Verhältnis stehen die apokryphen Paulusakten zur kanonischen Apostelgeschichte und zu den Pastoralbriefen?” Pp. 225–41 in Text and Testimony: Essays on the New Testament and Apocryphal Literature in Honor of A. F. J. Klijn. Ed. Tjitze Baarda. Kampen: Kok. Reprinted in Rordorf, 1993c:449–65. 1993b

“Terra Incognita: Recent Research on Christian Apocryphal Literature.” Studia Patristica 25:142–58. Reprinted in Rordorf, 1993c:432–48.

1993c

Lex orandi-lex credendi: Gesammelte Aufsätze zum 60. Geburtstag. Paradosis 36. Freiburg-Neuchâtel: Freiburg Universitätsverlag.

1994

“Response to the Seminar Papers of Richard I. Pervo and Julian V. Hills.” Unpublished MS, distributed at the SBL Seminar on Intertextuality in Early Christian Apocrypha, November 19.

Schmidt, Carl, ed. and trans. 1905 Acta Pauli aus der Heidelberger koptischen Papyrushandschrift Nr. 1. 2d ed. Leipzig: Hinrichs. Reprinted Hildesheim: Olms, 1965. Schmidt, Carl and Wilhelm Schubart 1936 PRAXEIS PAULOU: Acta Pauli nach dem Papyrus der Hamburger Staatsund Universitäts-Bibliothek. Veröffentlichungen aus der Hamburger S t a a t s und Universitäts-Bibliothek 2. Glückstadt and Hamburg: J. J. Augustin. Schneemelcher, Wilhelm 1964 “Die Apostelgeschichte des Lukas und die Acta Pauli.” Pp. 236–50 in Apophoreta: Festschrift für Ernst Haenchen. Ed. Walther Eltester. Berlin: Töpelmann. Reprinted in Schneemelcher, 1974:204–22. 1974

Gesammelte Aufsätze zum Neuen Testament und zur Patristik. Analekta Vlatadon 22. Thessaloniki: Patriarchal Institute for Patristic Studies.

1992

“The Acts of Paul.” Pp. 213–70 in New Testament Apocrypha: Revised Edi-

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Stone, Michael E., trans. 1972 The Testament of Abraham: The Greek Recensions. SBLTT 2. Pseudepigrapha Series 1. Missoula, MT: Scholars. Vouaux, Léon 1913 Les Actes de Paul et ses lettres apocryphes: Introduction, textes, traduction, et commentaire. Paris: Letouzey et Ané.

THE ACTS OF PAUL: REPLACEMENT OF ACTS OR SEQUEL TO ACTS? Richard Bauckham University of St. Andrews, Scotland

abstract In view of the evidence that the author of the Acts of Paul knew the Lukan Acts well, there are two proposed explanations of the fact that the story of Paul in the Acts of Paul differs very widely from that in the Lukan Acts: either the Acts of Paul is intended as a sequel to Acts, narrating a period of Paul’s life subsequent to Luke’s narrative (Bauckham), or the author of the Acts of Paul intended to correct and to supplant Acts, with which he differed on theological and historical grounds (Pervo). This essay supplements my earlier argument for the former proposal, defending it as preferable to Pervo’s alternative proposal. Since the narrative of Paul’s conversion in Damascus is the only instance in which the two works unquestionably narrate the same events, it provides a useful test case for the two proposals. It is also argued that the reasons Pervo offers for the divergence of the Acts of Paul from the Lukan Acts do not adequately explain the full extent of this divergence, and do not satisfactorily account for the contrasting relationships of the Acts of Paul to the Lukan Acts and to the Pastoral Epistles.

Julian Hills has made a persuasive case for believing that the author of the Acts of Paul knew the canonical Acts of the Apostles (1994). It prompts the question: what is actually going on in the kind of borrowings from the Lukan Acts which Hills has studied? Evidently they reveal an author who did not merely turn up a passage in Acts in order to use it as a source, but was so familiar with the text of Acts that phrases from Acts came rather readily to his mind for use at an appropriate point in his narrative. Is this use of phrases from Acts a deliberate literary strategy, aimed at giving his narrative the same kind of literary feel as the familiar text of Acts, and thereby assisting its authority? Perhaps, but in that case we might have expected rather more of this kind of thing than there is. Perhaps it is more a case of a writer whose close familiarity with Acts naturally creates reminiscences of the text of Acts in his own text. If the author of the Acts of Paul was very familiar with the Lukan Acts, this poses the question, more sharply than it has often been posed in the past: Why does the story of Paul as the Acts of Paul tells it differ so very widely

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from Luke’s story of Paul? The explanations that the author of the Acts of Paul did not know Acts at all or even that, though he must have been aware of Acts, he was not at all familiar with it, seem to be ruled out by Hills’s work. In my judgment, the choice has now to be between two proposals. Surprisingly, we had to wait until 1993 and 1995 for these proposals to be made with any clarity or argued in any detail. One proposal is my own argument that the Acts of Paul was written as a sequel to the Lukan Acts, by which I mean that it purports to tell the story of the final period of Paul’s life, after the point which Luke’s story of Paul reaches in Acts 28. The other proposal is Richard Pervo’s argument that the author of the Acts of Paul was seriously dissatisfied with Luke’s account of Paul and wrote to correct it and to provide an alternative account, probably to supplant Acts. I argued the case that the Acts of Paul was written as a sequel to the Lukan Acts in a detailed study published in 1993. I offered this hypothesis as a solution to two puzzling facts about the literary relationships of the Acts of Paul: its complete lack of correspondence to the story of Paul in the Lukan Acts (including persons, events, and itinerary) and its close correspondence to information about Paul in the Pastoral Epistles (persons and places). I argued that the author of the Acts of Paul knew the Acts of the Apostles and the Pauline letters, and from his reading of the latter he concluded that the story of Paul in Acts was incomplete, not only because it did not record his martyrdom, but also because, after the events recorded in Acts, Paul engaged in further missionary travels in the eastern Mediterranean before returning to Rome and suffering martyrdom. He conceived his work, therefore, as a kind of sequel to Acts, continuing and concluding the story of the great apostle. As sources for his narrative of Paul’s post-Acts career he used primarily those Pauline letters which he supposed could not be located in the narrative told by Acts and which must therefore have been written in the postActs period (1 and 2 Corinthians, 2 Timothy, Titus). These supplied him with references to places visited by Paul, persons associated with Paul, and events of Paul’s life in this period. He also made careful use of Clement’s brief summary of Paul’s sufferings (1 Clem. 5:5–7). From the minimal information provided by these sources he developed a narrative sequence of stories by means of the kind of creative exegesis which can easily be paralleled in Jewish scriptural exegesis (such as that deployed by the authors of the “rewritten Bible” texts of the Second Temple period, many of them well-known to second-century Christians) and in Hellenistic biography (in which minimal historical facts could be imaginatively developed into stories about the biography’s subject). The author of the Acts of Paul respected and made use of such historical sources as he had, but developed the rest of his narrative by the use of a kind of creative historical imagination. Pervo’s alternative hypothesis about the relationship between the Acts of Paul and the Lukan Acts is argued with considerable interaction with my

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own work, which he appreciates but also critiques. He argues that the author of the Acts of Paul had serious theological and historical reservations about Luke’s story of Paul, and that he wrote to correct and probably to supplant the Lukan Acts. He intends to tell the same story as Luke told, but he deliberately tells it very differently. He writes a replacement of Luke’s story of Paul, not a sequel. This hypothesis is probably the only other serious possible answer, besides my own, to the question of the overall relationship in which the Acts of Paul stands to Acts. Whether either proposal can be conclusively proved against the other, I am inclined to doubt. Perhaps only the discovery of the lost opening section of the Acts of Paul could settle the matter absolutely. In the present essay I shall not repeat the argument I have developed in my earlier study of the Acts of Paul, but rather take up some of the issues which arise in the debate between Pervo and myself. They will serve both to clarify my argument at certain points and to develop my case. The status of the Acts of the Apostles in the church in the period when the Acts of Paul was written (the second half of the second century, I assume, and probably later rather than earlier in that period) is clearly relevant to the use of it by the author of the Acts of Paul. Is he, at this date, likely to have regarded the Lukan Acts as trustworthy history and to have accorded it an authoritative status? These two points are distinct, though related, and I shall treat them in turn. I do not think Acts held such a status that the author of the Acts of Paul could not have considered it unhistorical or have sought to correct its account of Paul, as Pervo proposes. It is true that I estimate the historical value of Acts more highly than Pervo does, but this has little bearing on the discussion. The issue is not what we contemporary scholars think of Acts, but what people in the later second century thought of it. It does matter that I think the genre of Acts to be some kind of historiography, because this means the author of the Acts of Paul is likely to have seen it as such, but, of course, this would not prevent him from judging it to be unreliable history. My thesis requires that he thought it good history, but I do not mean that he had no choice but to think it good history. Some of his contemporaries unquestionably thought it good history, deriving from an eyewitness: Irenaeus is very explicit, as is the author of the Muratorian Canon, which I am still convinced dates from the late second century. This view was probably quite widespread by the end of the second century, partly because of its usefulness against Marcionism. It is noteworthy that what little survives by way of apologetic defense of Acts is directed against Marcionites. Between Montanists and anti-Montanists, for example, Acts seems to be uncontroversial. Since the author of the Acts of Paul was certainly no Marcionite, he would need good reason to take a view of Acts which was coming to be identified with Marcionism. The later we date the Acts of Paul, the more weight this

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point may have. But it does not mean that the author of the Acts of Paul could not have regarded Acts in the way that Pervo proposes. Historical value is not, of course, the same thing as scriptural or canonical status. In my earlier study of the Acts of Paul I spoke of “the emerging New Testament canon.” I did not mean that there was yet a fixed canon with defined limits. But I did mean that the notion of Christian writings from the apostolic period having an authoritative status comparable with the Old Testament was current, and that some such writings were very widely accepted as scriptural. Others were debatable. The author of the Acts of Paul could have treated Acts as scripture, but he need not have done. He could have aspired to scriptural status for his own work, though this would be more likely had he attributed it to Luke or some other figure from the apostolic age. But it is also possible, as I suggested, that the extensive post-biblical Jewish literature about biblical persons and events, which was read and valued by many Christians who did not regard it as canonical Old Testament scripture, provided a model for similar Christian literature expanding and supplementing those writings which were coming to be treated as apostolic scripture. (This is not a point about how the writers of this Jewish literature viewed it, but about how second-century Christian readers of it must have viewed it.) My use of this analogy of the Jewish literature often characterized as “rewritten Bible” (works such as Jubilees and Pseudo-Philo’s Biblical Antiquities) requires some clarification. Pervo raises the question of the way such authors regarded the texts of the Hebrew Bible which they rewrote, expanded and supplemented. I think this probably varied. But a very important point needs to be made about the interpretation of authoritative scriptural texts in both Judaism and Christianity, once there were such texts. What looks to us like radical revision or correction of the text is regularly understood and presented as interpretation. There is no end to the exegetical ingenuity which reads acceptable meanings out of unacceptable passages and gives a theological thrust to whole tracts of scripture which is quite different from what our historical exegesis judges the theology of the text to have been. This happens just as much in the Targums and the rabbinic literature, where there is no doubt about the sacred authority of the scriptural text, as it does in the literature of early Judaism. What is characteristic of the Jewish tradition is the use of skilled, disciplined techniques of exegesis to do this, and such techniques often lie behind the so-called “rewritten Bible” literature. The point is that what looks to us like a very free treatment of the scriptural text is often quite compatible with ascribing authoritative status to the text. However, if we compare the way even the freest of Jewish rewritten Bible literature relates to the scriptural text with the way the Acts of Paul, in Pervo’s view, relates to the Lukan Acts, the latter is way beyond the range of rewriting to be found in the former. While the writers of the rewritten Bible literature make many excursions from the biblical story-line, they

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constantly bring their readers back to it and do so in the very words of scripture. The author of the Acts of Paul goes his own way, regardless of Luke’s story line. This brings us appropriately to a very interesting test case of my proposal, which Pervo has usefully highlighted. On my view of the Acts of Paul, there is only one point at which its author intends to tell the same story as the Lukan Acts. This is when the Paul of the Acts of Paul, speaking to the Christians in Ephesus, tells them about his conversion: Men (and) brethren, hearken to what befell me when I was in Damascus, at the time when I persecuted the faith in God. The Spirit which fell from the Father, he it is who preached to me the Gospel of his Son, that I might live in him. Indeed, there is no life except the life which is in Christ. I entered into a great church through (?) the blessed Judas, the brother of the Lord, who from the beginning gave me the exalted love of faith. I comported myself in grace through (?) the blessed prophet, and the revelation of Christ who was begotten before ages. While they preached him, I was rejoicing in the Lord, nourished by his words. But when I was able, I was found <worthy> to speak. I spoke with the brethren—Judas it was who urged me—so that I became beloved of those who heard me. But when evening came I went out, lovingly (?) accompanied by the widow Lemma and her daughter Ammia (?). I was walking in the night, meaning to go to Jericho in Phoenicia, and we covered great distances. But when morning came, Lemma and Ammia were behind me, they who . . . agape, for I (?) was dear , so that they were not far from me (?). There came a great and terrible lion out of the valley of the buryingground. (translation of the Genf Coptic Papyrus from Schneemelcher: 264)

Pervo maintains that this account of Paul’s conversion is in irreconcilable conflict with Acts 9, and so supports his view of an author who disagreed with Luke’s account of Paul and aimed to replace it, rather than my view of an author who aimed to supplement Luke’s Acts. On the latter view, of course, it is not necessary for the account in the Acts of Paul to repeat every part of the narrative in the Lukan Acts, only for it not to conflict with Acts. That in the Acts of Paul “the only significant element of the conversion takes place in Damascus by way of a charismatic experience” (Pervo: 23) is not inconsistent with Acts. Neither account uses the word conversion, and we should not be misled by a popular modern way of speaking of Paul’s conversion on the road to Damascus. In Acts 9 all that happens to Paul on the road is that he is instructed by Jesus to go on to Damascus and wait there to be told what to do (9:6). The author of the Acts of Paul is interested, not in this, but in the point at which the Spirit from God fell upon Paul, which happens at Acts 9:17, in Damascus. The author of the Acts of Paul is engaged

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in harmonizing Acts 9 and Galatians 1, which says that God revealed his Son to (or in) Paul (1:16). When, in the fuller narrative of Acts, did this revelation take place? Surely not on the road to Damascus, when Paul hears Jesus speak but learns nothing of the Gospel message about the Son of God. It happens when, in Damascus, Paul receives the Spirit: “The Spirit which fell upon me from the Father, he it is who preached to me the Gospel of his Son, so that I might live in him.” This is interpretation of Acts in the light of Galatians, but (in the author’s view) no contradiction of Acts. In Acts the events take place in the house of Judas. According to the Acts of Paul this Judas, identified as the Lord’s brother Judas, introduced Paul into the assembly of believers in Damascus. The author of the Acts of Paul is engaged in a style of exegesis of his text typical of Jewish scriptural hermeneutics. Who is this Judas mentioned in Acts 9? The Jewish tradition of exegesis, continued by Christians, would not allow obscure characters like this to remain obscure; they had to be identified with someone important of the same or similar name (examples in Bauckham: 134, n. 72). The author of the Acts of Paul knows the Gospels and the Pauline epistles well; he knows that one of Jesus’ brothers was called Judas, and he knows that the brothers of Jesus were traveling missionaries (1 Cor 9:5). So this must be the Judas Paul meets in Damascus. So identified, Judas becomes a much more important figure than the Ananias of Acts 9, who cannot be identified with any better known figure of the apostolic period. So it is natural for our author to suppose that it will be Judas who takes Paul under his wing and introduces him into the church in Damascus. Ananias, along with much else in the narrative in Acts 9, goes unmentioned because our author is not interested in repeating what his readers well know, but in explaining what Luke left unexplained. As everyone who has tried to harmonize Acts 9 and Galatians 1 knows, Paul’s visit to Arabia is a problem. Luke keeps Paul in Damascus for some time until he is obliged to flee a Jewish plot, when he goes to Jerusalem. Paul in Galatians says he went at once to Arabia, then returned to Damascus, and only later went to Jerusalem (1:15–18). If the accounts are to be harmonized, it has to be supposed that Luke passes over the visit to Arabia in silence and that it occurred soon after Paul’s conversation, before Luke’s account of his flight from Damascus. This is what the author of the Acts of Paul supposes. When, in his narrative, Paul sets off for Jericho, this is not the flight from Damascus which Luke records in Acts 9:25, but the earlier journey to Arabia, which has to be inserted into Luke’s narrative on the evidence of Galatians. Our author is not a storyteller who gives his imagination totally free rein; he is a careful, harmonizing exegete, who conjoins his storytelling skill with answering exegetical questions, just as many a Jewish exegete in the “rewritten Bible” tradition did. The combination of exegetical attention to a presupposed text with extensive storytelling expansion of the text is very like that

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found, for example, in Pseudo-Philo’s Biblical Antiquities. But why Jericho? Our author, a learned exegete, knows the Septuagint better than Palestinian geography. He knows that Jericho is the city of palms: povli~ fonivkwn (2 Chr 28:15). (Since foinivkwn could mean “of the Phoenicians,” it has been mistranslated in our Coptic text of this section of the Acts of Paul.) Our author also knows that several LXX texts closely associate Jericho with somewhere called Araba (Hebrew hbri, meaning the plain of the Jordan, but transliterated in LXX as ∆Arabav: Josh 3:16; 2 Kgs 25:4–5; Jer 52:7–8). He takes Araba to be Arabia. Given that Paul is not likely to be wandering aimlessly into the Arabian desert, but must, our author assumes, be making for some center of biblical importance, Jericho, located in Arabia by the LXX as he thinks, meets the requirements. Should we doubt whether our author could indulge in such odd biblical geography, we should consider the one further geographical indication in the quoted passage: “There came a great and terrible lion out of the valley of the burying-place.” This is the valley of Tophet (LXX: tavfeq), which either our author has interpreted by reference to tavfh (“burial-place”) (cf. Also LXX, Jer 19:2, 6: poluavndrion, “burial-place”) or the Coptic translator has mistaken for tavfh. Thus, in this test-case passage, where the author of the Acts of Paul is without question narrating the same events as Luke, it is clear that he is not correcting Luke’s account, but engaged in the kind of harmonizing and imaginative expansion of his sources for which there are ample parallels in the Jewish and Christian exegesis of his time. What of the rest of the narrative, in which I contend that the author is not providing an alternative version of the story of Paul told in Acts but narrating a later period of Paul’s life? Here I think there are serious weaknesses in Pervo’s understanding of the relationship of the Acts of Paul to the Lukan Acts. The problem of the Acts of Paul as I posed it in my previous work lies in the significant contrast between its relationship to the Lukan Acts and its relationship to the Pastoral Epistles, or more specifically 2 Timothy and Titus. The Acts of Paul corresponds remarkably closely to 2 Timothy and Titus with regard to the places where Paul had been, the people he had encountered, and the events which had occurred to which these letters make brief allusion. If we add the similar data in 1 and 2 Corinthians, it looks very much as though the Acts of Paul is a narrative intended to account for the allusions to people, places, and events which these four Pauline letters supply. This is not all it does, but it is a plausibly important element in what it does. By contrast, hardly any of the very large numbers of persons who appear in the Lukan Acts appear in the Acts of Paul. (Judas in Damascus, whom we have just considered, is the exception that proves the rule, since at this point, uniquely, the Acts of Paul unquestionably is narrating the same episode in Paul’s life as Luke does.) Though most (not all) of the places visited by Paul in the Acts of

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Paul are visited by Paul in Acts, Paul’s movements from place to place are quite different. Most of the events in the Lukan Acts are similarly ignored by the author of the Acts of Paul, and where he does, rarely, take a narrative in Acts as a model for a narrative of his own, he writes another story. The way the story of Eutychus at Troas is transformed into the story of Patroclus at Rome (much the closest parallel between the two works) contrasts sharply with the way the Acts of Paul faithfully reproduces the names and places provided by the Corinthian and Pastoral letters. What needs explaining is this contrast between the author’s use of certain Pauline letters, evidently treated as very valuable sources of basic information about Paul’s life, and his virtually complete disregard for similar information in Acts. Even when he borrows a story—Eutychus at Troas—he willfully changes persons and place. Pervo explains this treatment of Acts as stemming from our author’s serious reservations about Acts, reservations which were both historical and theological. To take these in turn, there is nothing implausible in the argument that the author of the Acts of Paul felt the need to correct the narrative of Acts in various ways, nothing implausible in Pervo’s specific suggestions as to why he should have felt this need at specific points, and nothing implausible in the hypothesis that he thought the Corinthian and Pastoral letters better historical sources than Acts. None of this, however, explains the full extent of his neglect of Acts. Why does none of the named persons in Luke’s accounts of Paul in Philippi, Ephesus and Corinth (Silas, Timothy, Lydia, Titius Justus, Crispus, Gallio, Sosthenes, Apollos, Tyrannus, Sceva, Erastus, Demetrius, Gaius, Aristarchus, Alexander) occur in the extensive narratives set in those places in the Acts of Paul, where some twenty-two completely different people appear instead? (Aquila and Priscilla are here the exception that proves the rule, since they do appear in both works and also in the Corinthian and Pastoral letters.) An author convinced that Luke’s narrative needed correcting would not thereby have been prevented from borrowing some basic data of this kind. The author of the Acts of Paul seems determined, not to retell a story Luke got wrong, but to tell a completely different story. It does not help to add the claim that the author of the Acts of Paul had serious theological reservations about Luke’s portrayal of Paul. That there are significant theological differences between the Acts of Paul and the Lukan Acts is clear, but they are certainly no greater than those between the Acts of Paul, on the one hand, and 2 Timothy and Titus, especially Titus, on the other hand. Pervo himself points this out, adding that therefore the Acts of Paul “has taken almost no theology and very little on the subjects of ethics or church and society from Acts and the Pastoral Epistles” (31, n. 126). But in that case our author’s theological difference from Acts provides no explanation of his fundamentally different treatment of Acts and at least two of the Pastoral letters, making all that he can out of the factual data on Paul’s life

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provided by the Pastorals, while resolutely ignoring all of the more plentiful factual data provided by Acts. This is why I continue to prefer my own solution: that the Acts of Paul tell a story chronologically subsequent to Acts, about a period of Paul’s life to which the author believed the Corinthian and Pastoral letters referred. Finally, however, we should be cautious in our reading of the theological differences between the Acts of Paul and the Lukan Acts. We should be very wary of assuming that the way we perceive the theological differences between two such early Christian works, on the basis of our carefully historical attempts to reconstruct the theology of each in its own terms, corresponds to the way the author of one of these works would have perceived his relationship to the other work. Most second-century Christians reading older Christian literature, provided it was not obviously tainted with any of a few well-known heretical positions, were much more inclined to appropriate and to harmonize than to distinguish theological positions. They read appreciatively a variety of early Christian works of whose theological differences New Testament scholars are very conscious, but in which secondcentury Christians were more likely to perceive the common apostolic message. The theologically different Pauls of Acts, the major Paulines, and the Pastorals did not seem different to Irenaeus or to others who followed him in accepting all this literature as valuable and authoritative. Since the bias was to harmonize and to read one’s own perspective into what one read, one would only reject a work as theologically unacceptable if it blatantly contradicted one’s own cherished views. Marcionites could not accept Acts, because Luke’s Paul preaches the same message as the other apostles and has a positive view of the Old Testament. But Luke’s Paul does not contradict the Paul of the Acts of Paul in such an unavoidable way. He does not preach abstention from sex, but neither does he praise marriage; he does not express an imminent apocalyptic expectation, but he does refer to the parousia and the judgment to come. For the author of the Acts of Paul, Luke’s Paul no doubt needed supplementing, but he did not need to be rejected. Supplemented by its sequel, Acts could be read in an acceptable way.

WORKS CONSULTED Bauckham, Richard 1993 “The Acts of Paul as a Sequel to Acts.” Pp. 105–52 in The Book of Acts in Its First Century Setting. Vol. 1, The Book of Acts in Its Ancient Literary Setting. Ed. Bruce W. Winter and Andrew D. Clarke. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans and Carlisle: Paternoster.

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Hills, Julian V. 1994 “The Acts of the Apostles and the Acts of Paul.” SBLSP 33:24–54. Pervo, Richard I. 1995 “A Hard Act to Follow: The Acts of Paul and the Canonical Acts.” Journal of Higher Criticism 2/2:3–32. Schneemelcher, Wilhelm 1992 “The Acts of Paul.” Pp. 213–70 in New Testament Apocrypha: Revised Edition of the Collection initiated by Edgar Hennecke. Vol. 2, Writings Relating to the Apostles, Apocalypses and Related Subjects. Ed. Wilhelm Schneemelcher. Trans. R. McL. Wilson. Louisville: Westminster/John Knox.

THE ACTS OF PAUL AND THE CANONICAL ACTS: A PHENOMENON OF REREADING Daniel Marguerat University of Lausanne, Switzerland

abstract The model of literary intertextuality identified as “hypertextuality” by Gérard Genette and designated “rereading” in this essay explains the simultaneous closeness and distance observed in the relationship between the Acts of Paul and the canonical Acts of the Apostles. The Acts of Paul neither ignores nor rejects the canonical Acts; rather, it transforms the narrative in light of new theological interests and changed historical circumstances. The author of the Acts of Paul was motivated by a desire to complete the story of Paul’s life, but also sought to elevate the status of the apostle in keeping with the developing hagiographic tradition. In the later part of the second century, the enemies of Christianity were no longer Jewish, but rather Roman authorities. Therefore, debates with Jews fade in the Acts of Paul, but conflict with Roman society is reflected in stories of persecution at the hands of Roman officials. Finally, as the apostle became more closely associated with the divine figure of Christ, other characters, in particular Thecla, moved into the role of ideal disciple.

“It is understandable that the relation of the APl [Acts of Paul ] to Luke’s Acts (and to the rest of the NT) has always been the subject of special interest.” This statement by Schneemelcher (1992:232) announces the perplexity of all those who investigate the mysterious relation of the similarities and differences between the Acts of Paul and the canonical Acts, at least in the Pauline sections (Acts 9:13–28). We can count among the similarities in the two documents: the missionary itinerancy of Paul, the shared geographical field, the same title “Acts” (Pravxei~; del Cerro: 215–16). Among the differences, we find in the Acts of Paul a different constellation of characters, a different itinerary, different interlocutors, a more hagiographic treatment of the figure of the apostle, and a different proclamation (Bauckham: 107–11). This fascinating play of proximity and distance finds an equally enigmatic analogy within the canon of the New Testament, the relationship between the synoptic tradition and the Gospel of John. Radical solutions have been proposed. In 1904, Carl Schmidt defended the thesis of utilization: the author of the Acts of Paul plunders and falsifies the canonical data (215). On the other side, in 1988 Willy Rordorf denied all

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contact between the two documents, but the price paid is a manipulation of the calendar. Ignorance of Acts on the part of the author of Acts of Paul is rendered plausible by dating the Acts of Paul late and dating the Lukan Acts early, thus separating them by twenty or thirty years. Between these two extremes, the position of Schneemelcher opens a middle way, namely, the editing of the Acts of Paul was done with the knowledge of the Acts of Luke but without depending literarily on it; the author knew of independent Pauline traditions (1974; 1992:212). The solution is clever, because it considers the undeniable relationship as well as the incontestable dissimilarity, but it leaves open both the question of the modalities (how did the author of Acts of Paul both know and ignore the Acts of Luke?) and the question of motivation (why edit a rival version of the life of Paul side by side with Acts?).1 In my view, these different hypotheses are burdened by the same methodological error: the literary dependence between two passages is understood exclusively in terms of similitude. Either, identical elements can be found in the two texts and dependence is admitted, or there is no real proof that the Acts of Paul takes over of elements of the Lukan account and autonomy is declared. In both cases, it is postulated that a relationship of dependence can only be identified by the presence of similar narrative sequences or by language common to both texts.2 However, the linguistic approach to the notion of intertextuality encourages us to think of literary dependence in a much more flexible manner: the whole system of similarities and differences becomes the indicator of the second document’s dependence on the source document. The thesis I defend here is that the rapport between the Acts of Paul and the Acts of Luke must be understood as a phenomenon of rereading and that this phenomenon necessarily implies both a relation and a distance between the Acts of Paul and the Lukan writing. My demonstration will have three steps. First, I will set out the literary approach of intertextuality. Then, I will apply these categories to the narrative sequences in the Acts of Paul that have been the subject of contention (i.e. those where the proximity between the two texts is strongest). Finally, I will attempt to explain the reasons for rereading the Acts of Luke at the end of the second century.

1 Schneemelcher stops short by considering the Acts of Paul as “intended in the first instance for the edifying and entertainment of the community” (1992:233). Such a degradation of Acts of Paul in relation to the canonical version is not only anachronistic at the end of the second century—the mention by Tertullian dates the Acts of Paul toward the last decade of the second century, but it does not consider the rivalry created between the two parallel versions of the life of the apostle. 2 See the work of Julian Hills (1994, and the essay in this volume) for a detailed discussion of the verbal similarities between the canonical Acts and the Acts of Paul.

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I. Rereading and Intertextuality The aporia from which Scheneemelcher’s position came has been noted in a brilliant contribution by Richard Bauckham, “The Acts of Paul as a Sequel to Acts.” The why and how left unresolved by Schneemelcher are elucidated in the following manner: the author of Acts of Paul narrates the last period of the life of the apostle between his first visit to Rome (Acts 28) and his arrival for martyrdom; his account exploits the data of the Pastoral Epistles, the Corinthian correspondence, and 1 Clem. 5.5–7, which he employs according to the rules of a narrative exegesis (Bauckham: 112). It is necessary to see that Bauckham’s whole construction is founded on a historical postulate, the narrative difference between Acts of Paul and Acts goes back to a difference in the stories, the one (Acts of Paul) being the sequel to the other. But this postulate is orchestrated—this is what precisely interests me—by a hermeneutic thesis that touches intertextuality. According to Bauckham, the account of Acts of Paul concretizes narrative creativity, coming directly from the line of the “rewritten Bible” in the extracanonical Jewish literature (Biblical Antiquities of Pseudo-Philo, Joseph and Aseneth, Artapanus, 4 Baruch, etc.).3 From a heuristic point of view, the perspective opened here advances the debate greatly; to speak of a narrative rewriting of a first text (the Pauline correspondence according to Bauckham) is to propose a new kind of relationship between the source-text and the second-text, one which breaks with classic literary criticism centered on the study of verbal identities. Let us continue with Bauckham. From his equation, Acts of Paul-ActsPastoral Epistles, I set the third item aside for the moment, to concentrate on the relationship between the Acts of Paul and Acts. The motivation Bauckham attributes to the author of Acts of Paul, the fruit of his historical postulate, is not convincing. Four reasons lead one to the conclusion that the Acts of Paul does not aim to fill a lack of information concerning the end of the apostle’s life: a) In the text of Acts of Paul that has come down to us there is no evidence supporting the idea of a sequel to a “first volume” of a biography of Paul, which would be the Book of Acts. b) Even if the text of the Acts of Paul presents great gaps and its beginning is lost, the manuscript tradition,4 and the example of the other apoc3 Bauckham’s key example (132–34, 145) is the “narrativization” in the Hamburg Papyrus (PH2) and the Bodmer Coptic Papyrus (PG) of the fight with the lion attested in 2 Titus 4:7. 4 A Coptic fragment from Manchester (11 lines edited by Crum) evokes an event in Damascus, that C. Schmidt postulates to the account of Paul’s conversion which would be at the beginning of the Acts of Paul (1936:117–27); W. Schneemelcher followed him (1992:214). The discovery of the Bodmer Coptic Papyrus confirms Schmidt’s thesis, since the two fragments share a sermon of the apostle and his entry into the assembly of the Damascan brothers. One difficulty is the sending of Paul to Jerusalem according to the Manchester fragment, to Jericho according to PG. It

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ryphal Acts5 lead us to presume the presence of an initial vocational account. c) The narrative sequences that the Acts of Paul and Acts share suggest a rereading rather that an account of different events. d) From the point of the view of the effect on the reader, the narrative scenario of the Acts of Paul and its outcome in Rome undeniably create the impression of modeling after the canonical Acts.6 If the idea of a continuation of Acts does not find grounds for acceptance, the hermeneutic thesis demands follow-up. The linguist Gérard Genette (7–12) has thought through the question of intertextuality and has laid out a typology distinguishing five types of transtextual relation, in an ascending order of abstraction and globality: 1) The term “intertextuality” is limited to the effective presence of a text in another (by citation or plagiarism); 2) Paratextuality accompanies the text with a title, a preface or notes. 3) Metatextuality is a critical rapport that comments on the text by citing it (or by not citing it). 4) Hypertextuality designates any relation linking a text B (hypertext) and an earlier text (hypotext) “onto which it is grafted in a manner that is not commentary.” 5) Architextuality represents the most abstract form, at the limit of perceptibility, of reference to a primordial text. I believe that the relationship between the Acts of Paul and Acts corresponds to what Genette calls “hypertextuality” and that this concept leads to an understanding of Acts of Paul as a rereading rather that as a historical supplement to the Acts of Luke. Genette describes the reception of a reread text into the text doing the rereading as an operation of transformation at the term of which the second “evokes (the reread text) more or less, without necesis improbable that the Heidelberg Papyrus (PHeid) could have contained an account of the trip to Jerusalem in these lacking pages. The placement of this fragment after the Sidon and Tyre episodes (Bauckham: 109) does not convince. I am obliged to the competence of my colleague, J.-D. Kaestli, and thank him for having indicated to me the existence of the Manchester fragment and helping me with the conclusions that can be drawn concerning the beginning of the Acts of Paul. 5 The beginnings of the oldest of the apocryphal Acts of the apostles (AcAnd, AcJohn, AcPet) remain unknown, except for the Acts of Thomas. The latter and the later Acts (from the 4th century on) begin by relating the attribution of the mission fields to the apostles and this scene corresponds to a sending out to mission; one can think that the initial account of Paul’s conversion at Damascus plays the same role in the Acts of Paul (Kaestli: 1981). 6 For a detailed critique of Bauckham’s thesis, see the penetrating article by Richard I. Pervo, especially 17–31.

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sarily mentioning or quoting it”(11), as, for example, the Aeneid of Virgil and Ulysses by James Joyce reread the Odyssey (12). To say it differently, the relationship of the hypertext to the hypotext is characterized by a perceivable dialectic of continuity and shifting of accent, modeling and distance. This model of rereading is not foreign to Biblical and parabiblical literature. In addition to the haggadic literature mentioned by Bauckham, Steck has seen this movement at work in the prophetic tradition. Within the New Testament, viewing the composition of the Johannine farewell discourses (John 13–17) from the angle of a rereading proves to be fruitful (Dettwiler), and examination of the relation of Paulinism and deutero-Paulinism (Colossians, Ephesians) should also be helpful. But, in my opinion, the privileged field for the application of this model of rereading is the Christian apocryphal literature and especially the apocryphal Acts of the apostles, in their relation to the writings that became canonical, for the phenomenon of rereading lies in three axioms that make possible a judicious clarification of this relationship (cf. Dettwiler: 46–52): 1) The text that rereads distinguishes itself from the text reread by a dialectical game of explicatory amplification or a shift of emphasis. 2) The rereading does not abrogate the validity of the text being reread; on the contrary, it presupposes the latter. 3) The motivation to reread comes from the internal evolution of the tradition and changes in the historical situation. Let us return to the Acts of Paul and its relation to the canonical Acts. Can we identify the presence in the Acts of Paul of the phenomenon Genette calls the “hypotext”? Beside the common theme of the two documents (the pravxei~ of the venerable apostle), there is, in my view, a structural indicator leading in this direction, the plot of Acts of Paul. Whatever stood in the (now lost) beginning, the itinerary of Paul in the Acts of Paul is grafted onto the itinerary of the canonical Acts. Carl Schmidt already observed that even if the sites visited are not in the same order, they remain the same (1904:207–14). More than once, the related incidents are similar (though not identical): Paul’s expulsion from Antioch of Pisidia (AcPaul 2; Acts 13:50), the conflict with the silversmiths in Ephesus (AcPaul 7 and PG; Acts 19:40), the apostle’s imprisonment in Philippi (AcPaul 8 and 3 Cor 2.2; Acts 16:16–40), Paul’s arrival in Rome, where he rents a lodge to preach (AcPaul 11:1; Acts 28:16, 30). More than once, missionary activity is mentioned where the Lukan account only signals a brief stopover by the apostle (Myra: Acts 27:5, AcPaul 4; Sidon: Acts 27:3, AcPaul 5), as if the narrator of the Acts of Paul seized on a narrative gap present in the Lukan hypotext to slip in the tradition at his disposition. Beside this, the apostle’s activity is reported according to a schematic structure: voyage-preaching-persecution-miracle-departure (Kasser: 48 n. 31). It is

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easy to identify the echo of the stereotyped presentation of Paul’s preaching to the Jews in Acts (Acts 13:42–52; 14:1–7; 17:1–9, 10–14; 18:1–10; 19:8–10). The Acts of Paul adds the miraculous to the Lukan stereotype. In short, appeals to the memory of the readers of the Acts of Paul are not lacking in the disposition of the plot. We rejoin Schmidt’s intuition, according to whom the presbyter of the Acts of Paul took over the geographic frame of the Acts but freely composed his own itinerary and network of characters within it (Schmidt, 1904:207; 1936:112).7 This tension between taking over a model and creative freedom, typical of a hypertext, does not imply a rejection of the hypotext by the author rereading; I insist on this point, despite R. Pervo’s recent proposition that the Acts of Paul wants to correct, rival, and supersede the Acts of Luke.8 II. The Rereading at work (ACPAUL 7; 11.1; PG) The procedure has to be demonstrated in more detail. How does the dialectic interplay of the taking over and displacement manifest itself? With this in mind, I choose to examine the sequences where the two documents seem to overlap; there are three such passages. The first common passage is the Ephesian riot (Acts 19:1–40; AcPaul 7 and PG).9 A great number of convergences can be found in the two versions: the riot is set off by an antiidolatrous sermon given by Paul in the house of Aquila and Priscilla (according to PG; cf. Acts 18:26); Paul is dragged to the theater, where he is faced with the anger of the craftsmen (Acts 19:24: ajrgurokovpo~; PH 1.28: crusocovoi), a representative of the authorities tries to minimize the apostle’s offense. But the divergences are just as numerous: the Paul of the Acts of Paul defends himself with a speech in the theater (the emphases are taken over from the speech in Lystra (Acts 14) or the Athenian speech (Acts 17) concerning prophetic criticism of idolatry); on the contrary, in the Lukan account Paul’s person is almost completely obscured by Demetrius’ speech and the intervention of the grammateuv~. Moreover, Paul according to Luke is declared in7 Considering the relative stability of the geography, the change of population in passing from Acts to the Acts of Paul is impressive: with the exception of Aquila and Priscilla, none of the characters cited by Luke in Philippi, Ephesus, and Corinth (Silas, Timothy, Lydia, Titus, Justus, Crispus, Gallio, Sosthenes, Apollos, Tyrannus, Seva, Erastus, Demetrius, Gaius, Aristarchus, Alexander) can be found in the apocryphal account; in their place, twenty-two new names appear. 8 While Bauckham eliminates any idea of competition by making the Acts of Paul the sequel of Acts, Pervo (17, 31) suggests rightly that Acts of Paul is modeled on the Lukan account, but he overestimates on the opposite side the critical relationship to the point of making the Acts of Paul into the theological enemy of Acts. On the contrary, the second axiom of rereading states that rewriting presupposes a recognition (even if critical) of the validity of the hypotext. 9 Rordorf (1988:232–36) and Pervo (12–15) present comparisons of this sequence, but the results they arrive at are frankly contradictory.

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nocent, whereas the Acts of Paul has him thrown to the lions. Like Rordorf (1988:236), we could postulate the independence of the two versions and attribute their similarities to a common account carried by oral tradition. But the analogy of the plots and the accumulation of shared details induce us to think that we have an instance of rereading and invite us to observe in what the displacement consists. The main operation is the reorganization of the (more complex) account of Luke around the figure of the apostle, who plays the main role, while the account of Acts tends rather to hide him behind those who want to lynch him or to protect him from the lynching. In addition, the plot is enriched with facts gleaned from the Corinthian correspondence; 2 Cor 1:8–9a contributes the imprisonment in Ephesus, and 1 Cor 15: 52, the fight against the lions in Ephesus. My second example comes from two accounts of resurrections from the dead: Acts 20:7–12 and Acts of Paul 11.1 (MartPaul 1): on the one hand, Eutychus and Patrocles on the other.10 Both are called pai`~, both fall from a window (quvri~) while listening to Paul preach, both die and are reanimated through the apostle’s intervention. Here and there the setting changes. Eutychus, the believer, is not Patrocles, the cup-bearer of Caesar. On the one hand, the believing assembly celebrates its service under the care of the apostle who is soon to be martyred; on the other hand, Paul is also close to his end, but the fall of Patrocles the pagan is interpreted as a diabolical aggression to test the love of the brothers (MartPaul 1). For Acts, ecclesiology is at stake, whereas for the Acts of Paul, the miracle has an apologetic purpose. Beyond these differences, the focalization of the account on the character and action of Paul is obvious in the Acts of Paul, which indulges in a narrative dramatization around his prayer. While the Paul of Luke declares soberly: “Do not be alarmed, for his life is in him” (this statement points to the Lukan theology of the power of the word), the Paul of the Acts of Paul theatrically proclaims: “Now, brethren, let your faith appear; come all of you, and let us weep to the Lord Jesus Christ, that this lad may live and we might continue in tranquility.” We have passed from a theology of the life-giving word (the miracle is certified by the apostle) to a theology of effective prayer (the miracle is orchestrated by the apostle). Other indications of an evolution from Acts to the Acts of Paul are worth mentioning: a) the disappearance in the Acts of Paul of the (symbolic) motif of the lamps in the Lukan account to the benefit of a concentration on the lifedeath passage; b) the fall of Patrocles is no longer attributed to simple sleepiness but to diabolic action; c) the initiative is given to Paul in the Acts of Paul (cf. Acts 20:10); d) high social status is attributed to Patrocles. Note that the author of the Acts of Paul has given this event a decisive function in the plot

10 See also the essay of MacDonald on these passages, especially pp. 9–11.

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of his narrative, since the reanimation of Patrocles provokes, by way of the anger of Nero, the death of the apostle. It is an impressive reorientation which preserves the scheme of the original book. The case of the conversion of Paul, which constitutes my third example, is much more complex. It is known that Luke presents three versions (Acts 9, 22, and 26). The beginning of the Coptic papyrus (PG) refers to this event in a speech of the apostle, and this concise mention has lead scholars to imagine the existence of a more detailed account in the lost beginning of the Acts of Paul.11 It is understandable that Rordorf chose it to reaffirm his thesis of the autonomy of the Acts of Paul.12 The hero of the Acts of Paul reports the charismatic experience where God announced “his Son . . . , so that I might live in Him, since there is no life outside the life in Christ.”13 He continues by telling how he entered “the great assembly, helped by Judas, the blessed, the brother of the Lord, who, from the beginning gave me the great love of the faith,” before leaving at nightfall toward Jericho. A glance at the version in Acts 9 reveals the blatant differences: the Christophany on the road to Damascus, the temporary blinding of the apostle (9:8–9), the imminent role played by Ananias (9:10–19), the apostle’s baptism (9:18), the confrontation with the Jews of Damascus (9:20, 22–24), and the flight, after being lowered in a basket, toward Jerusalem (9:25–26) are not found in the parallels in the Acts of Paul. On the other hand, this version immediately calls to mind the text in Gal 1:15–16a: “when God, who had set me apart before I was born and called me through his grace, was pleased to reveal his Son to me, so that I might proclaim (eujaggelivzein) him among the Gentiles.” So, in my opinion, neither the autonomy of the two writings, nor the synthesis of Acts 9 and Galatians 1 provides a good explanation. For, as I said, Acts 9 is not the only version of the conversion of Paul in Damascus; the author of the Acts of the Apostles presents two rereadings of this event (chaps. 22 and 26) that are attributed to Paul (as in PG). The speech before Agrippa (Acts 26) presents the maximal narrative transformation of Acts 9, since it makes the character of Ananias disappear and places the revelation of the apostle’s vocation to the Gentiles in the mouth of Jesus (26:16–18); the fading away of Ananias in no way implies that the author of Acts contradicts himself in the space of fifteen chapters; rather, he recomposes the event 11 Erbetta (257) and Schneemelcher (1992:214–15) hold this hypothesis, which goes back to Schmidt (1936:117–19). R. Bauckham (115–16) contests it. 12 See Rordorf’s “Paul’s Conversion in the Canonical Acts and in the Acts of Paul” in this volume, 00–00. 13 Here is the translation, kindly communicated by the author, that W. Rordorf proposes for the beginning of the text: “My brothers, listen to what happened to me while I was in Damascus at the time I persecuted the faith in God. When His mercy that proceeds from the Father reached me, it is his Son that announced (eujaggelivzein) it to me so that I might live in Him, since there is no life outside of the life in Christ. This is how I entered the great assembly (ejkklhsiva). . . .

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by modifying the narrative point of view.14 This fact is of capital importance, for it establishes that a process of rereading had begun within the confines of the Lukan account. The version of the Acts of Paul connects like a later link in the chain. How should we understand the displacements of the apocryphal account from the Lukan chain? a) In Acts 9, Ananias plays a determining role of mediation between the enemy who has been turned around by God and the Christian community. His replacement by Judas (the host of Paul in Acts 9:11 is metamorphosed into the brother of the Lord) corresponds to the known tendency in tradition to heighten the status of secondary roles (Bultmann: 67–68, 241, 310). The same phenomenon has been noted in the metamorphosis of Eutychus (Acts 20) into Patrocles (AcPaul 11). b) Thrown to the ground, blinded and fasting, repugnant in the eyes of Ananias, contested by the Jews, and condemned to flee Damascus in a basket, the Paul of Acts 9 already emerges as a much better figure in Acts 22 and 26. The hieratization of the character is only heightened in the Acts of Paul, where the venerated apostle has found in Judas, an initiatory master at his own level. Here there emerges an image of the apostle modeled on the figure of Christ, but I will come back to this later. c) The audience and the Jewish adversaries of the Lukan Paul disappear in the apocryphal account; the conflict with the Synagogue has become obsolete for Christianity in the last decade of the second century. d) As to the reason for the substitution of Jericho for Jerusalem, I haven’t the slightest idea. Let us conclude on this point. It has appeared, in comparing the three sequences common to these writings,15 that the rereading by the Acts of Paul plays freely on narrative variations of a plot that is identifiable in the Acts of Luke. But this phenomenon is the continuation of a process that had already begun in the canonical Acts. The example of Acts 9–22–26 touches on the techniques of rereading, which not only plays on variants and narrative amplification but also remains silent concerning motifs that are supposedly known to the readers 14 The disappearance of Ananias in Acts 26 and the multiple other transformations between Acts 9, Acts 22 and Acts 26 have remained for a long time a crux interpretum of classical literary criticism, which postulates the existence of different sources and questions the author’s coherence. On the contrary, from a narratological perspective, one should valorize these variations, which can be attributed to the author and his desire to shift the viewpoint of the enunciator from one version to the other. I presented such a reading in “Saul’s Conversion (Acts 9.22.26) and the Multiplication of Narrative in Acts.” 15 Pervo (15–16) adds to this list the farewell discourse of Paul (Acts 20:17–21:14; AcPaul 9), by bringing out three common motifs: 1) the sadness of the assistance; 2) the premonition of Paul on what awaits him; 3) the prophetic revelations concerning the destiny of the apostle. We think that these motifs are more specific to a farewell situation than to this precise event.

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of the text that rereads. One understands that the author of the Acts of Paul does not describe an apostle, the founder of communities, but an itinerant preacher welcomed by believers wherever he goes.16 The portrait of the missionary-founder, already painted by the author of the work addressed to Theophilus, does not have to be redone. Again, the author of the Acts of Paul neither replaces nor overlaps the Lukan narrative; he rereads it. I am conscious that by situating the Acts of Paul as a rereading of the canonical Acts, I rejoin an old, indeed very old, thesis, since it is already postulated by the Muratorian canon. The author of the Muratorian canon seems obliged to justify the incompleteness of Luke’s work by evoking his eyewitness status: But the Acts of all the apostles are written in one book. For the “most excellent Theophilus” Luke summarizes the several things that in his own presence have come to pass, as also by the omission of the passion of Peter he makes quite clear, and equally by (the omission) of the journey of Paul, who from the city (of Rome) proceeded to Spain. (Translation of Schneemelcher, 1963:43–44)

If the author of the Muratorian canon felt this incompleteness, why does the writing of the Acts of Paul not proceed from the same sentiment? III. Why Reread? As I have noted above, the motivation for rereading comes from an internal evolution of the tradition and changes in the historical situation. In the reading of the Acts of Paul, in my view, one perceives four reasons why the Lukan biography of the apostle needed to be rewritten. The first reason comes from the need to complete the apostle’s biography; the second resides in the hagiographic thrust; the third reason is to be sought in the changed historical circumstances; and I discern a fourth reason in the connection that the tradition makes between Christ and the apostle. First, there was a desire to complete the biography of the venerated apostle. From a narrative point of view, Luke’s work terminates with a suspended end. Although Paul’s stay in Rome is described as an imprisonment limited to two years (Acts 28:30), and although the term of his death is announced in the farewell speech (Acts 20:22–25), the account of Acts does not narrate the death of the apostle. Luke has good theological reasons for this choice: his work magnifies the course of the Word and the promise which Paul’s arrival in Rome signifies, in the figure of the chained apostle.17 The 16 The disappearance of the pioneer dimension in the activity of Paul in the Acts of Paul has always surprised investigators; we would nonetheless mention that this feature is already present in Acts 28:14–15 (Paul’s arrival in Rome). 17 By arranging his work with an open ending, Luke uses a literary pattern attested in Graeco-Roman literature (Marguerat, 1993).

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Acts of Paul adopts a more deliberately biographical perspective; the necessity of filling in the silence of the Luke’s narrative with an account of the martyrdom of the apostle imposed itself, much like supplying the Gospel of Mark with the long ending (Mark 16:9–20) had previously imposed itself. Two other deficiencies must have also been felt. On the one hand, the canonical Acts pass over the epistolary activity of Paul in silence. The fragment of the Acts of Paul dedicated to the correspondence between Paul and the Corinthians reestablishes the missing link between the Paul of Acts and the Paul of the Epistles. On the other hand, the refusal of the Book of Acts to assign Paul the title of ajpovstolo~ violated the use of the “apostle” found in both Paul’s letters and the second century tradition that appealed to him. Second, comparison of the figure of Paul as painted by Luke to the one created by the Acts of Paul betrays a clear progression of hagiographic tendency. In the Acts of Paul, the personage becomes hieratic: Paul intervenes alone, without collaborator, without relying upon the protective role of Barnabas (cf. Acts 9:27; 11:25), but with his travel companions, Demas and Hermogenes, who are false friends and will betray him through jealousy (AcThecla 12–14). With the exception of the Acts of Thecla, Paul appears constantly in the account as the solitary, admirable, infallible hero, persecuted for his courage to announce Christ. No evolution in his character is perceptible, such as the Acts of Luke shows in the account of the conversion of the persecutor and the abandonment of his name Sau`lo~ (Acts 13:2). In spite of the uncertainty that the gaps in the text leave us, it is improbable that the account of the Acts of Paul gave the conversion of the apostle in Damascus the importance that assures the triple mention of the event in the canonical Acts. From the Acts of Luke to the apocryphal account, veneration of the apostle has moved up a notch. Third, motivation for a rereading of the Lukan Acts is to be sought in the changed historical situation. We have already noted the disappearance of Paul’s conflict with the Jews, which occupied an important place in the canonical Acts. With the exception of a fragment of PHeid 40, the apostle is never contested by the practitioners of the Torah. This change militates in favor of an actualization of the figure of Paul in second-century conditions rather than a duplication of the account in Acts. Paul’s activity in Rome (resurrection of Eutychus and confrontation with Nero [MartPaul]) shows that the account has been modeled in a period when, for Pauline Christianity, the enemy is the Roman Empire and Jerusalem can be forgotten. The horizon of Lukan theology is quite different; Jerusalem represented the theological origin, while the empire holds the promise of Christian expansion. We must note that in giving Paul the status of the exemplary pastor and making him enter Rome as a free man (AcPaul 10), the author of the Acts of Paul does not simply contradict the Lukan account (where the apostle goes to Rome in chains) but chooses a feature present in the canonical Acts where the apostle though a prisoner, acts as a man sovereignly free (28:16–31; cf. already

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27:9–10, 21–26, 33–35, 43; 28:6). It is easier to imagine the reconfiguration of Acts 28 in the Acts of Paul than that Paul arrived in Rome twice.18 Fourth, a reason that has hardly held the attention of exegetes is particularly apparent in the Acts of Paul and Thecla. There, the hieratism of the apostle’s figure mentioned above provokes a transfer of the figure of the exemplary disciple to Thecla, and, consequently, the apostle is modeled after the figure of Christ. Let us go into detail. Comparison with the Lukan account forces us to see a transfer of paradigm. Thecla inherits the status of exemplary disciple that Acts attributes to Paul. This transfer is especially striking when we note the terminology: Thecla “listened day and night to the word of God announced by Paul (AcThecla 7);” “she was brought to the faith (th/` pivstei ejphvgeto; AcThecla 7)” “she remained fixed to the word of Paul (ajtenivzousa; AcThecla 10);” “she sat at his feet to hear the wonders of God (kaqivsasa para; tou;~ poda~ aujtou: AcThecla 18).” In the Acts of Luke, the word is not Paul’s but God’s; but above all, it is Paul who was reared at the feet of Gamaliel (para; tou;~ povda~ Gamalih;l pepaideumevno~: Acts 22:3). The faith of Thecla increases (kajkeivnh~ h[uxanen hJ pivsti~: AcThecla 18), while in Acts, it is Paul who affirms himself after his conversion and gains more and more confidence in the controversy with the Jews in Damascus (Act 9:22: Sau`lo~ de; ma`llon ejnedunamou`to). But there is more. In the curious episode of the Acts of Paul and Thecla 21, Thecla is brought to the theater of Iconium to be burned. Then “as a lamb in the wilderness looks about for the shepherd, so Thecla sought for Paul.” Then, in the crowd, she “sees the Lord with the features of Paul seated and says: ‘as if I could weaken, Paul has come to look after me.’ And she stared at him in the ecstasy, but he ascended to heaven.” The fact that Christ takes on human features is not unique, since we find this process in the Acts of Thomas, of Andrew, of John and of Peter.19 However, we cannot avoid comparing this passage with Paul’s vision of Christ on the Damascus road, at least in the version that he gives in the speech of Acts 26:14–18. Here it is Thecla who has the vision, and the figure of Paul superimposes itself on the Lord’s. The function is, however, quite different on both sides: Christ restores Paul’s life in Acts 9, while the appearance of Paul comforts Thecla at the prospect of martyrdom (AcThecla 21–22). To this play of analogies, let us add the scene in Antioch. During her torture, Thecla throws herself into a pit full of water, but she is miraculously saved (AcThecla 33). Again, it could be that a theme of the canonical Acts

18 So Rordorf ([1987]:466–74) and Bauckham (108 n6, 131) join together on the thesis of a second voyage of Paul to Rome confirming the data of the Pastorals (cf. 2 Tim 4:16). 19 Christ takes on the features of Thomas in the AcThom (151–55), of a young handsome man in the AcAnd (32), of John and a young man in the AcJohn (87); in the AcPet, he takes on the face of the apostle (22) or a young man shining with light (5) or of a man of an undefinable age (21). In AcPaul 7 (PH 3–4), the Lord manifests himself in the figure of a very good-looking boy.

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(Paul saved from the waters during the shipwreck of Malta; Acts 27) has been transferred to the heroine of the Acts of Paul. Clearly the figure of Paul is actualized here in a way that renders him fit for the new level of the veneration the apostle received during the second century (Marguerat and Rebell). He is no longer the disciple, but the saint, the blessed one; his image rejoins that of Christ until it temporarily fuses with it.20 The Acts of Paul here fits into a trajectory which we can identify in the other apocryphal Acts of the apostles: by successive shifts, the Christ draws nearer to the divine, the apostle tends to be identified with the savior,21 and new figures take on the role of witness. IV. Conclusion A literary approach to intertextuality, with the help of the categories set out by Genette, makes possible a new approach to the relationship between the Acts of Paul and the canonical Acts. Differing from classical literary criticism, which does not locate literary dependence outside of verbal or narrative similarities, hypertextextuality designates a phenomenon of rereading in which the source text is recomposed and reinterpreted within a second text. It is then that the ensemble of similarities and divergences becomes significant in the rereading operation. My contribution consists in showing how this category accounts for the dialectical play of closeness and divergence that is observed between the Acts of Paul and the Acts of Luke. The rereading of the biography of Paul in the Acts of Paul witnesses to the veneration of the apostle within the Pauline movement. This recomposition of the figure of the saint has used creativity and delved into Christian imagination; but it has also used traditions preserved among the apostle’s followers, as demonstrated by the memory of the place of women crystallized in the Acts of Paul and Thecla, without which our knowledge of the Pauline mission, reduced to the Pastorals, would be denatured. The reception of the Acts of Paul in ancient iconography equally attests to the popular success of this rereading in the Middle Ages. No matter what Tertullian thought (De baptismo 17.5), the presbyter who wrote “for love for Paul” did not miss his target. (I wish to thank Ken McKinney for the translation of this article)

20 Brock has noted this (122–25); but she concludes wrongly that the genre of Acts of Paul is to be sought in an imitation of the gospels. The determination of a literary genre depends on formal criteria rather than indication of content; it would be better to investigate the common dependence of the gospels and the apocryphal Acts on the Lives of the Graeco-Roman philosophers. 21 Junod and Kaestli have noted the phenomenon of the polymorphic Christ in the apocryphal Acts of the apostles, remarking that he manifests himself in situations of distress of the hero to liberate him or permit him to reach the imprisoned apostle (88–90).

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WORKS CONSULTED Bauckham, Richard J. 1993 “The Acts of Paul as a Sequel of Acts.” Pp. 105–52 in The Book of Acts in the First Century Setting. Vol. 1, The Book of Acts in Its Ancient Literary Setting. Ed. B. W. Winter, A. D. Clarke. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans. Brock, Ann G. 1994 “The Genre of the Acts of Paul. One Tradition Enhancing Another.” Apocrypha 5:119–36 Bultmann, Rudolf 1968 The History of the Synoptic Tradition. Trans. John Marsh. Rev. ed. New York: Harper & Row. del Cerro, G. 1993 “Los Hechos apócrifos de los Apóstoles. Su genero literario.” EstB 51:207–32. Crum, Walter E. 1920 “New Coptic Manuscripts in the John Rylands Library.” BJRL 5: 497–503. Dettwiler, Andreas 1995 Die Gegenwart des Erhöhten. Eine exegetische Studie zu den johanneischen Abschiedsreden (Joh 13,31–16,33) unter besonderer Berücksichtigung ihres Relecture-Charakters. FRLANT 169. Göttingen, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Erbetta, Mario 1966 Gli Apocrifi del Nuovo Testamento. Vol. 2. Atti e leggende. Turin: Marietti. Genette, Gérard 1982 Palimpsestes. La littérature au second degré. Paris: Seuil. Hills, Julian V. 1994 “The Acts of the Apostles in the Acts of Paul.” SBLSP 33:24–54. Junod, Eric and Jean-Daniel Kaestli 1983 Acta Iohannis. CChrSA 1. Turnhout: Brepols. Kaestli, Jean-Daniel 1981 “Les scènes d’attribution des champs de mission et de départ de l’apôtre dans les Actes apocryphes.” Pp. 249–64 in Les Actes apocryphes des apôtres. Ed. François Bovon. Geneva: Labor et Fides. Kasser, Rodolphe 1960 “Acta Pauli, 1959.” RHPR 40:45–57. MacDonald, Dennis R. 1994 “Luke’s Eutychus and Homer’s Elpenor: Acts 20:7–12 and Odyssey 10–12.” Journal of Higher Criticism 1:5–24. Marguerat, Daniel 1993 “The End of Acts (28,16–31) and the Rhetoric of Silence.” Pp. 74–89 in Rhetoric and the New Testament. Essays from the 1992 Heidelberg Conference.

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Ed. Stanley E. Porter and Thomas H. Olbricht. JSNTSup 90. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. 1995

“Saul’s Conversion (Acts 9.22.26) and the Multiplication of Narrative in Acts.” Pp. 127–55 in Luke’s Literary Achievement. Ed. Christopher M. Tuckett. JSNTSup 116. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press.

Marguerat, Daniel and Walter Rebell 1995 “Les Actes de Paul. Un portrait inhabituel de l’apôtre.” Pp. 107–24 in Le mystère apocryphe. Ed. Jean-Daniel Kaestli and Daniel Marguerat. Essais bibliques 26. Geneva: Labor et Fides. Pervo, Richard I. 1995 “A Hard Act to Follow: The Acts of Paul and the Canonical Acts.” Journal of Higher Criticism 2/2:3–32. Rordorf, Willy [1987] “Nochmals: Paulusakten und Pastoralbriefe.” Pp. 466–74 in Lexorandi-lex credendi. Paradosis 36. Freiburg: Universitätsverlag, 1993. 1988

“In welchem Verhältnis stehen die apokryphen Paulusakten zur kanonischen Apostelgeschichte und zu den Pastoralbriefen?” Pp. 224–41 in Text and Testimony: Essays on the New Testament and Apocryphal Literature in Honour of A. F. J. Klijn. Ed. T. Baarda. Kampen: Kok. Reprinted as pp. 449–65 in Lex orandi—lex credendi. Paradosis 36. Freiburg: Universitätsverlag, 1993.

Schmidt, Carl 1904 Acta Pauli aus der Heidelberger koptischen Papyrushandschrift. Leipzig: J. C. Hinrichs. Reprinted Hildesheim: Georg Olms, 1965. 1936

PRAXEIS PAULOU, Acta Pauli nach dem Papyrus der Hamburger Staatsund Universitätsbibliothek. Glückstadt and Hamburg: J. J. Augustin.

Schneemelcher, Wilhelm 1963 “The Muratori Canon.” Pp. 42–45 in New Testament Apocrypha. Vol. 1, Gospels and Related Writings. Ed. Edgar Hennecke. Rev. ed. Wilhelm Schneemelcher. Philadelphia: Westminster. 1974

“Die Apostelgeschichte des Lukas und die Acta Pauli” Pp. 204–22 in Gesammelte Aufsätze zum Neuen Testament und zur Patristik. Ed. Walther Bienert and Knut Schäferdieck. Analekta Vlatadôn 22. Thessolonica: Patriarchal Institute for Patristic Studies.

1992

“Acts of Paul.” Pp. 213–70 in New Testament Apocrypha: Revised Edition of the Collection Initiated by Edgar Hennecke. Vol. 2, Writings Relating to Apostles, Apocalypses and Related Subjects. Ed. Wilhelm Schneemelcher. Trans. R. McL. Wilson. Louisville: Westminster/John Knox.

Steck, O. H. 1993 “Prophetische Prophetenauslegung.” Pp. 198–244 in Wahrheit des SchriftWahrheit der Auslegung. Eine Zürcher Vorlesungsreihe zu G. Ebelings 80. Geburtstag. Ed. Hans Friedrich Geisser. Zurich: Theologischer Verlag.

CANON AND ANTITYPE: THE RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN THE ACTS OF PETER AND THE NEW TESTAMENT Christine M. Thomas University of California, Santa Barbara

abstract Because neither the text of the Acts of Peter nor that of the canonical New Testament remained static, the relationship between them cannot be represented as a fixed set of connections at one point in time. Rather, it must be seen as a diachronic series of contacts. This essay explores the intertextual relationship between the two corpora as a process of moving from no literary dependence early in their relationship to direct generic modelling of the Acts of Peter on the canonical Acts of the Apostles, including the imitation of words and phrases. The relationship became more explicit, but less substantive, over time. Early in the development of the Acts of Peter, for example, it duplicates the narrative material of Acts in describing the apostle’s confrontation with Simon Magus, but the two accounts are not literarily dependent: they are multiforms, or variant versions, of the same narrative. The last stage of the development of the Acts of Peter in the Actus Vercellenses, the addition of chapters 1–3, shows a clear attempt, not to retell, but to supplement the narrative of Acts by presenting Paul’s journey to Spain. Here, the characterization of Paul is taken wholesale from the canonical account, and text is replete with verbal allusions to the text of Acts.

Introduction Dark skepticism could cloud the question of whether the Acts of Peter knew any text of the New Testament as it now exists. The allusions are problematic and rarely airtight;1 it would be possible to explain away each of them, one by one, by recourse to common sources or to the general world of discourse in early Christian literature. Citation and allusion in antiquity are always difficult to demonstrate, since verbatim exactitude is seldom found even in explicit quotations. A major problem for analysis is the fact that much of the Acts of Peter is not preserved in its original Greek, but rather in the Latin of the Actus Vercellenses; only the martyrdom and the Oxyrhynchus vellum 1 One can find the citations and allusions to early Christian literature listed in the apparatuses of the texts of Lipsius and Vouaux, of the translations of Elliott, Scheneemelcher, and Stoops (forthcoming), and in Biblia Patristica.

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(Grenfell and Hunt: 6–12) preserve the Greek. Moreover, some allusions are more easily delimited than others. The Acts of Peter employ a number of peculiarly Christian turns of phrase which are found in more than one text in the New Testament, so the precise source cannot be determined. Yet, cumulatively, patterns of usage do emerge. The sheer density of potential intertextual connections to the gospels, Pauline letters, Acts of the Apostles, and other early Christian works carries a combined weight of proof that no single instance affords. Léon Vouaux noted citations from every New Testament book save the Revelation, the Johannine letters, and the letter of Jude (45). Determining the intertextual relationship between the Acts of Peter and the New Testament is complicated, however, by the fact that neither the New Testament, nor its works, nor the Acts of Peter themselves are textual monoliths. During the second and third centuries, no New Testament as such existed, and the collection of early Christian works considered authoritative varied considerably with geography. The designation, “New Testament” is used in this article for mere convenience, and with a plea for the indulgence of the reader in so often naming the non-existent. Moreover, the texts of the works that were to become the New Testament were as yet unstable during this period. For example, the Acts of the Apostles, the New Testament text thematically most closely related to the Acts of Peter, was relatively unstable, living on in later redactions such as the Western text (Epp). For the Acts of Peter, it is likewise possible to isolate several levels of composition: early brief written sources; a continuous Greek narrative of the late second century; a third-century redaction in Greek, which added chapters 1–3 and 41 to the text; and the translation of this document into Latin in the third or fourth century (Poupon; Thomas, 1992, 1999). Each of these may be viewed as merely one instantiation of a narrative constellation with a fluid history of composition. Thus, the intertextual relationship between the Acts of Peter and the works of the New Testament would not be a static series of interconnections at one point in time, but a dynamic and diachronic series of contacts, which altered in nature as the synoptic gospels, Pauline letters, and Acts of the Apostles moved closer to canonical status, and the Acts of Peter progressively moved toward the margins of Christian literature. In short, this essay will explore the possibility that the Acts of Peter employed the works of the New Testament differently at different points in their history. Early in the history of the Acts of Peter, no direct literary dependence existed at all. At the later end of the chronological spectrum, however, the redactor(s) of the Acts of Peter borrowed directly and explicitly from works that had, by that time, become normative, and consciously modelled their work on the Acts of the Apostles. This diachronic model may seem all too complex, but it does explain a persistent conundrum: how can the Acts of Peter demonstrate in some passages a surprising disregard for the basic narrative line of the supposedly normative texts of the New Testament, and

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in other passages reverently lift entire phrases from them? It is not a matter of preferring one mode of intertextuality over the other, but of placing all of them in their proper chronological framework. This more complex model offers an “inside view” of the incipient New Testament of the second and third centuries as it became a point of reference for the authors and redactors of the Acts of Peter. Typology of Possible Intertextual Relationships between the Acts of the Apostles and the ACTS OF PETER Intertextual relationships can range from the use of words or phrases from one text by another to the employment of an entire document as a generic model. What the Acts of Peter do can be illuminated by what they do not. For example, they never use any text of the New Testament canon as a source document. Within their own narrative trajectory, the various editions of the Acts of Peter do use their predecessor texts as sources in this sense. Such a relationship exists, for example, between the pseudo-Linus text and the Greek martyrdom of the Acts of Peter. Although there are no exact verbal congruences between these texts and neither text explicitly cites the other, the narrative overlap is almost total, and pseudo-Linus gives the impression of having worked over the Greek martyrdom line by line. The Actus Vercellenses offer a Latin version of the martyrdom that differs in translation philosophy. Where the text attributed to Linus translates nearly every individual phrase of the Greek text, condensing it at some points, but chiefly expanding it, the Actus Vercellenses offer a concise and literal reduction of the Greek text, striking in its brevity in contrast with the Linus text. The three versions are, in some passages, close enough to print in synopsis (see for example the Greek martyrdom, chap. 4; Pseudo-Linus, chap. 2; AcVerc 33). Variances consist of the deletion or inclusion of phrases, and differences in vocabulary. The overall sequence of the narrative and its details, however, is the same for all three texts. The source relationship between these three Petrine texts can profitably be compared to that among the Gospels of Mark, Matthew, and Luke. In cases such as these, the later documents were most probably meant to supersede the former as an “improved version” of them; only by historical contingency, and not by the purpose of the redactor, did both the earlier and later versions become part of the ongoing manuscript tradition. Traces of previous redactions in the Actus Vercellenses suggest that they, too, may have incorporated earlier source documents (Thomas, 1992:135–44). If this is the case, the Actus Vercellenses have been “successful” to date in superseding these sources, since we have none of them. Instead of this type of close source relationship, the intertextual relationship between the Acts of Peter and the New Testament is characterized rather

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by a general lack of narrative overlap between the texts. They are recording different events, and are thus complementary texts. Aside from the references that the Actus Vercellenses make to Paul’s previous career (chaps. 1–3), the two documents have in common only Peter’s report of the encounters between himself and Simon in Jerusalem that preceded the contest in Rome. Peter also narrates the “Petrine” gospel episodes of walking on the water (Matt 14:28–31) and the triple denial of Christ after the resurrection (Mark 14:66–72 par.); but these are brief reports used for didactic purposes, and do not form part of the narrative substance of the Acts of Peter, as the episode with Simon once did.2 None of these narrative units in the Actus Vercellenses shows much verbal similarity with the Acts of the Apostles or the synoptics; these few episodes do, however, represent one of the sorts of intertextual links that the Acts of Peter have with the New Testament, that of narrative convergence. By far the most common usage of the New Testament texts is quotation and allusion.3 The epistles and the Acts are never explicitly cited by the Acts of Peter; the words of Jesus are, as are also some prophecies from the Hebrew Bible. Unlike the words of Jesus, the Acts and epistles are not treated as privileged sources; the information, motifs, and phrases from them are used with a general disregard for their meaning in the original context. Thus the New Testament, and particularly the Acts of the Apostles, should not determine our reading of the Acts of Peter (Stoops, 1994:390–91, 404). The gospel accounts are themselves likewise treated with some criticism. In Actus Vercellenses 20, Peter responds to a written account of the transfiguration (Lipsius: 67, ll.1–4), and notes that, although the text is sufficient for faith, it is also “weak” (infirma). This passage is valuable for a general understanding of the textual world of the Actus Vercellenses both because of its metatextual aspect, in that Peter digresses on the proper method of reading the Scriptures (qualiter debeat sancta scribtura domini nostri pronuntiari), and its metalinguistic aspect, in that Peter attributes the seeming weakness (vobis infirma videntur) of the Scriptures to the limited capacity of human beings to understand the

2 The numerous back references in the Actus Vercellenses to episodes taking place in Judea demonstrate that this was once part of the original narrative; the Actus Vercellenses are a truncation of a longer work (Schmidt, 1926). 3 In an important article on the apocryphal gospels, François Bovon distinguishes among five types of usage that prove employment of written sources: selection, elimination, citation, adaptation, and imitation (1988). I here likewise identify quotation (citation) and allusion (adaptation) as two major uses of other texts by the Acts of Peter. By “imitation,” Bovon means the attribution of a saying or deed typical of Jesus to another figure, such as the use of the beatitude form by Paul in the Acts of Paul; for the Acts of Peter, it would be possible to analyze this aspect as well, since the work is structured around some actions typical of Jesus, such as healing, teaching, and martyrdom. In this essay, however, I choose instead to develop another category, which I have called narrative convergence.

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divine. Not only does Peter lay aside the gospel account for an eyewitness exposition from memory; in his various speeches he relies on the texts denoted in a summary as “the prophetic writings, and the things which Jesus did both in words and deeds” (de profeticas scribturas et quae dominus noster Iesus Christus egisset et verbo et factis; AcVerc 13, Lipsius: 61, ll.8–10).4 This general preference for the authority of the words of Jesus and the prophecies of the Hebrew Bible over any of the early Christian writings, which is evident throughout the Acts of Peter, thus corresponds with the metatextual statements of the narrative itself about the relative weight of these texts. Mapping Allusions and Quotations across the ACTUS VERCELLENSES Because the Actus Vercellenses is a composite document, laced with sections of later redaction, there is some utility in “mapping” the density of allusions over its various constituent parts. The later additions include chapters 1–3 and 41, which mention characters not found elsewhere in the text, such as Paul and Nero. The introduction of Nero is also at odds with the dramatic date of the rest of the narrative, which is said to have taken place twelve years after the ascension of Christ (chap. 5). Moreover, the hypotactic Latin style of chapters 1–3 differs slightly from that in the section from chapters 5 through 36, especially in chapters 5 and 11–15, in which the sentences are shorter and more often paratactic, and the vocabulary more repetitive. For these reasons, it is likely that chapters 1–3 were added later for the purpose of bringing the martyrdom of Peter into the chronological framework which was later to become traditional for the church (Poupon: 4380), and of introducing the ministry of Paul in Rome, known both from Luke’s Acts and the Pauline epistles. There is also some question about the status of chapter 4; Poupon sees some traces of redaction, but finds them hard to delimit (4372–73). Whereas parts of chapter 4 can be more complex, the episode of Simon flying over the city, which forms the center of the chapter, has marked parataxis and short sentences, so it is more accurate to describe chapter 4 as heavily reworked, rather than an interpolation. The density of intertextual allusions is high in these later sections (chaps. 1–3 and 41). Phrases and names from Luke’s Acts, Pauline, pseudo-Pauline, and pastoral letters abound, especially in Paul’s speech in chapter 2. Chapter 41 also alludes to events that are narrated in full only in another apocryphal text, the Martyrdom of Paul. In contrast to the first and last chapters, long sections of the narrative of the Actus Vercellenses have very few intertextual references. Chapters 11–15, a brace of miracle stories, have no convincing references to any other text.

4 Translations mine.

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Chapters 22–27, which narrate most of the contest between Peter and Simon, allude, with two exceptions (Acts 8:18–19, the Simon episode; and Rom 16:25 in AcVerc 24), only to the Hebrew Bible and to synoptic tradition; the Pauline epistles and the Acts of the Apostles do not figure here at all. Chapters 37–40, the crucifixion and address from the cross, cite only four logia of Jesus, three of which are extracanonical. Intertextual allusions are most dense in the speeches in the Actus Vercellenses, but individual speeches vary a great deal in the selection of texts to which they refer. Peter’s first speech in Rome alludes to Acts 4:10, 12 (chap. 7), a reference that also appears later (chap. 17);5 he also cites stories known from the gospel narratives (especially Matthew and Luke), and the speech contains verbal reminiscences of Ephesians 6, and possibly other Pauline and pseudo-Pauline epistles: coepit itaque uoce maxima Petrus dicere: Viri, qui adestis, qui speratis in Christo, uos qui in breui temptationem pass‹ur›i 6 estis, discite cuius rei causa deus filium suum misit in saeculo, aut cuius rei ‹causa› per uirginem Mariam protulit, si non aliquam gratiam aut procurationem p‹er›ficeret,7 uolens omne scandalum et omnem ign‹o›rantiam 8 et omnem inergaemam diaboli, initia et uires infirm‹are› 9 quibus pr‹ae›ualebat 10 olim, antequam deus noster in saeculo refulgeret. qui‹a›11 multis et uariis infirmitatibus per ignorantiam in mortem ruebant, motus misericordia{m} deus omnipotens misit filium suum in saeculo, cui ego interfui; et super aquas ambulaui‹t›,12 cuius testis ipse ego permaneo. . . . (Lipsius: 53, ll.19–30) Peter began to declaim at the top of his voice, “Men who are present here, who hope in Christ, who will suffer temptation for a little while, learn why it is that God sent his son into the world, and why he brought him forth through the Virgin Mary. Was it not to achieve some grace or means of salvation,13 because he wanted to refute all the offenses and ignorance, and all the activities of the devil, his elements and powers by which he once pre-

5 An allusion to Acts 4:12 is also found in AcPaul 7 (Hills: 47–48). 6 Ms reads passi. 7 Ms reads proficeret. 8 Ms reads ignarantiam. 9 Ms reads infirmes. The sentence is corrupt. Lipsius suggests this reading, or uires infirmes dissoluere, since the uolens is best completed by an infinitive. Usener suggests reading dolens (cited in Lipsius). Turner reads uolens tollere, which yields a good sense (123); I prefer to read along with Lipsius, since, at many other points in the manuscript, the scribe mistakenly substitutes a cognate in the incorrect part of speech. 10 Ms reads proualebat. 11 Ms reads qui. 12 Ms reads ambulaui. Although the episode of Peter walking on the water is recounted at length in chapter 10, the emphasis in this passage is on Christ’s miraculous deeds, so the third person is the more likely reading. 13 Vouaux suggests that procuratio may be a translation of oijkonomiva, meaning the divine economy of salvation (272 n.1 ad loc.).

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vailed, before our God shone forth in the world? Because in their many and varied weaknesses they fell into death through ignorance, the almighty God, moved by his mercy, sent his son into the world. I was with him. And he walked on the water, and I myself remain as his witness. . . .”

Though no text is cited explicitly, the allusions are dense, and the effect is that Peter’s speech sounds “biblical,” in fact, rather “Pauline.” Thematically, the speech belongs to the latest level of redaction, for in the part that immediately follows this citation, Peter attempts to console the lapsed Christians by telling them how Christ forgave him when his faith wavered, when he denied Jesus three times out of fear. The last allusion even makes reference to a specific gospel: in this speech, Peter recounts that Christ turned toward him after his third denial, a detail found only in Luke (22:61): fui abnegans eum dominum nostrum Iesum Christum, et non tantum semel, sed et ter … et conuersus ad me et misertus est infirmitatem carnis meae. . . . (Lipsius: 54, ll.2–3, 5–6) “I denied our Lord Jesus Christ, and not once, but three times . . . and he turned to me and had compassion on the weakness of my flesh.”

Poupon has argued convincingly that concern with the lapsed belongs to the latest layer of redaction of the Actus Vercellenses (4378–82), a redaction that he would date to the third century, but that I would place in the late second (Thomas: 1999). The speech in chapter 7 is most likely an interpolation at this layer of redaction. In the direct discourse of the speech, Peter addresses those who have believed in Christ, yet the frame narrative mentions that he is surrounded merely by a large crowd in Rome (multitudo omnis, Lipsius: 53, l.17). Peter begins speaking in chapter 7, and is only informed in chapter 8 of the true situation at Rome by those who are there. Finally, Peter has two speeches in quick succession, one in chapter 7 and one in chapter 8, the latter unconcerned with the issue of the lapsed. The speech in chapter 7, with its dense intertextual references to the entire range of works to be included in the New Testament, thus belongs to a redaction of the late second or early third century. Speeches that belong to what, for independent reasons of redactional tendency, seem to be early narrative layers of the Actus Vercellenses do not contain these allusions to other early Christian writings. The narratives of the contest (chaps. 23–28) and the martyrdom (chaps. 37–40) differ from the previous speech in containing direct quotations, with brief attribution, of testimonia from the Hebrew Bible, or words of the Lord (chaps. 38–39). In their contest before the Roman public, Simon argues that Jesus cannot be divine, and Peter responds by citing prophetic scriptures (chap. 24): [Simon] conversus ad populum dixit: Viri Romani, deus nascitur? crucifigitur? . . . Petrus autem dixit: Anatema in tuis uerbis in Christo! audaciam habuisti haec loqui,

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semeia profeta dicente de eo: ‘Genus eius quis enarrauit?’ et alius 14 profeta dicit: ‘Et uidimus eum et non habuit speciem neque decorem.’ et: ‘In nouissimis temporibus nascitur puer de spiritu sancto: mater ipsius uirum nescit, nec dicit aliquis patrem se esse eius.’ et iterum dicit: ‘Peperit et non peperit.’ et iterum: ‘Non minimum pr‹a›estare vobis agonem.15 ecce in utero concipiet uirgo.’ et alter propheta dicit honorificatum patrem: ‘Neque uocem illius audiuimus neque obs‹t›etrix 16 subit.’ alter propheta dicit: ‘Non de uulua mulieris natus, sed de caelest‹i› 17 loco descendit’ et ‘Lapis praecisus est sine manibus et percussit omnia regna’ et ‘Lapidem quem reprobauerunt aedificantes, hic factus est in caput anguli’ et lapidem eum dicit ‘Electum, praetiosum.’ et iterum dicit profeta de eo: ‘Et ecce uidi super nubem uenientem sicut filium hominis.’ (Lipsius: 71, ll.27–28; 71, ll.30–72, ll.13) And he [Simon] turned to the public and said, “Men of Rome, is God born? Is he crucified?” . . . But Peter said, “May your words against Christ be cursed! Have you dared to say this when the prophet says about him, ‘Who has declared his generation?’ and another prophet says, ‘And we saw him, and he possessed neither grace nor beauty.’ And, ‘In the last times, a boy is born of the Holy Spirit; his mother knows no man, and no one claims to be his father.’ And again, it says, ‘She has given birth and has not given birth.’ And again, ‘Is it a small thing for you to contend? Behold, a virgin will conceive in her womb.’ And another prophet says to honor the father, ‘We have neither heard her voice, nor is a midwife come in.’ Another prophet says, ‘He was not born from a woman’s womb, but has come down from a heavenly place’ and ‘A stone has been cut without hands and has struck down all the kingdoms,’ and ‘He has made the stone that the builders rejected into the head of the corner,’ and he calls him a stone that is ‘choice and precious.’ And, again, the prophet says of him, ‘And behold, I saw above the cloud one coming like the son of man.’”

Unlike Peter’s speech in chapter 7, the use of texts in this case is explicit citation.18 The point here is not to make Peter’s speech sound “Petrine” or “biblical,” but to employ proof texts in an argument. The attributions are vague, usually a mere alius profeta dicit. The selection of prophecies, moreover, shows 14 Vouaux prefers to read alias (366 ad loc.). 15 Lipsius transposes this sentence to the end of chapter 24, thinking that it was mistakenly copied in the wrong spot, attributing it to Simon as direct speech and substituting praestabo for praestare. Vouaux (368–69, n. 4 ad loc.) and Turner (129) independently argue that this phrase should stand in its place, since it is found in the LXX of Isa 7:13; Vouaux suggests that it was probably included here by the author, not because it made any particular sense in the argument, but because it referred to an ajgwvn. 16 Ms reads obsetrix. 17 Ms reads caeleste. 18 At least in the case of the Acts of Peter, one would need to revise the statement of Bovon and Junod that the Apocryphal Acts refer to no external literary corpus, in contrast to the rest of Christian literature, which they view as a literature of reference; in this speech, the reference to prophetic writings is explicit. They are some of the same specific citations that one finds in the synoptic gospels, and they appear at an early level of the Acts of Peter. Bovon and Junod do note that the Acts of Peter are perhaps an exception to their statement (171).

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noawareness of canonical boundaries: alongside the favoriteChristian prophecies from Isa 7:14 and 53:2 and 8, Ps 118:22 (LXX 117) and Dan 2:34 and 7:13, the use of some of which is attributed to Jesus in the gospels (Ps 118:22: Mark 12:10–11 par.; Dan 7:13: Mark 13:26 par., Mark 14:62 par.), one finds prophecies from the Ascension of Isaiah, and from sources that no longer survive. The most persistent set of allusions in the Actus Vercellenses is to Acts 2: 47, appearing some four times (Stoops, 1994:395–96).19 Without exception, these allusions appear in the summary passages of the Actus Vercellenses, which, as in Luke, are curt sentences that link longer narrative sequences. The phrase appears between Peter’s speech and his first encounter with Simon in Marcellus’s house: adiciebantur bene plures in domino credentes (chap. 9; Lipsius: 56, l.20). The phrase appears in a summary passage narrating healings performed by Peter, separating the episode of Chryse from the story of Simon’s attempt to fly over the city (chap. 31): kai; pavsh~ novsou swmatikh`~ ijwn` to ejn ojnovmati ∆Ihsou` Cristou` pisteuvonte~, kai; pavnpolloi eij~ th;n tou` kurivou cavrin kaqæ eJkavsthn hJmevran prosetivqento (Lipsius: 80, l.18–20). The phrase separates the end of the episodes concerning Simon from the beginning of the narrative about Peter’s arrest and execution (chap. 33): ÔO de; Pevtro~ h\n ejn th/` ÔRwvmh/ ajgalliwvmeno~ meta; tw`n ajdelfw`n ejn tw`/ kurivw/ kai; eujcaristw`n nukto;~ kai; hJmevra~ ejpi; tw`/ o[clw/ tw/` kaqhmerinw`/ tw`/ prosagomevnw/ tw/` ojnovmati tw`/ aJgivw/ th`/ tou` kurivou cavriti (Lipsius: 84, ll.11–14). The last allusion concludes the entire narrative, leaving a lasting imprint of the ultimate meaning of the text (chap. 41): Kai; h\san to; loipo;n oiJ ajdelfoi; oJmoqumado;n eujfrainovmenoi kai; ajgalliw`nte~ ejn kurivw,/ doxavzonte~ to;n qeo;n kai; swth`ra tou` kurivou hJmw`n ∆Ihsou` Cristou` (Lipsius: 102, ll.6–8). A distinctly Lukan phrase from the Acts, then, performs a similar redactional task, that of joining self-contained narrative units and lending the events a more general significance. There are, then, two levels of allusion in the Acts of Peter. They differ both in the body of texts employed, and in the nature of the use of these texts. Some parts of the Acts of Peter refer to the sayings of Jesus and the prophecies of the Hebrew Bible, and to no other Christian writings. Allusions to these are usually direct citations, introduced with quotation formulae. They are employed as proof texts (chap. 24), or used as base texts for a detailed exegesis (chaps. 38 and 39). Other parts of the Acts of Peter employ the full range of early Christian writings, from the Gospels, to the Acts, to the Pauline and non-Pauline epistles, and to writings that would become extra-canonical, but were still well within the range of texts within common use at this point in time, such as the Acts of Paul. The use made of these texts is more strictly allusive. They are not used as proof texts.

19 Hills notes correctly that there is some affinity to Acts 2:41 in these passages, but the lack of any mention of “souls” places these references closer to Acts 2:47. The Acts of Paul 11, on the other hand, is a fairly clear allusion to 2:41 (44).

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The difference is best illustrated by the gospel materials. The sayings of Jesus are treated as prophetic oracles and sacred texts, and the synoptics are not necessarily the source texts for these. The narrative material that is peculiar to the synoptics, however, is used in brief reports as background for the present narrative, such as the various references to Peter’s experiences in the gospels, or the transfiguration account that forms the basis of the sermon by Peter. As illustrated by the use of the transfiguration (chap. 20), the authors of the Acts of Peter express no compunction about correcting these accounts, something they do not do with the words of Jesus, which are transmitted with reverent exactitude. In addition to these allusions to narrative content, all the Christian texts are mined as a source of appropriate “Christian” language. Conscious dependence in this case is sometimes impossible to prove, for the linguistic overlap between the Acts of Peter and the early Christian texts reflects the development of a general “Christian” world of discourse; certain turns of phrase could be picked up by vague memory from one or several sources. Many of the “New Testament” allusions in the Acts of Peter thus cannot be assigned to one text alone, but bear similarity to several. This second type of allusion, the more general use of texts as sources for Christian language, was present already in the continuous Greek narrative translated by the Actus Vercellenses, and not just in the later redaction identified by Poupon, or in the Latin translation.20 Allusions to the Acts of the Apostles in the Coptic fragment of the Acts of Peter confirm this independently. The Coptic fragment was translated from the Greek and not the Latin, and is the only extant narrative unit that takes place in Jerusalem (Schmidt, 1903). As such, it is a witness to the earlier portion of the Acts of Peter unpreserved in the Latin version, and is free of the redactional work identified by Poupon.21 It contains the second sort of general allusion described above. In the Coptic episode, Peter claims that he sold a plot of land and did not keep back the price, which is a reminiscence of the story of Ananias and Sapphira (Acts 5:1–11); there are also stylistic allusions to the Gospels in the summary description of Peter’s healings (Matt 4:24; Mark 6:55 par.; Matt 11:5 par.). Thus knowledge of and dependence on Luke’s Acts is already present in the earliest Greek narrative.

20 In the course of copying and of translation from Greek to Latin, the Actus Vercellenses may have become even more “biblical” in tone. In chapter 34, Codex Patmos (9th c. CE) reads: qoruvbou ou\n megivstou o[nto~ ejn th/` ÔRwvmh. Codex Vatopedi (10th–11th c. CE) reads: qoruvbou ou\n ouj mikrou` ktl., much closer to Acts 19:23: ∆Egevneto dev . . . tavraco~ oujk ojlivgo~ peri; th`~ oJdou`. In documents of this sort, then, accommodation of the text to biblical turns of phrase during the mere process of translation or copying cannot be ruled out. 21 Poupon accepts that the third-century redaction also included the truncation of the document (4381); I argue that the truncation of the document took place only when it was appended to an excerpt of the Clementine Recognitions in the seventh century, and that the chapters 1–3 were interpolated prior to this (1999).

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The first type of allusion, direct citation of the oracles of Jesus or the Hebrew prophets, appears in parts of the text that, for source-critical reasons, stand apart as possible source documents for the continuous narrative. The collection of miracle stories (chaps. 11–15), conspicuous for the complete lack of allusions, probably existed as a written source, for it contains redactional interpolations expressing theological concerns that are earlier than the third-century redaction (Thomas, 1992:138–44); the contest in the forum (chaps. 23–28) also shows signs of early written redaction, and the martyrdom proper (chaps. 37–40) presents, in Peter’s discourse from the cross, a philosophical heterogeneity from the rest of the Acts of Peter. Narrative Congruences, or the Lack Thereof Points of substantive or narrative overlap exist between the Acts of Peter and other Christian writings, although they are much less exact and compelling than the verbal allusions discussed above. The characterization of Paul in the Acts of Peter is taken wholesale from the Acts of the Apostles (Stoops, 1994:391–94) and this is not difficult to explain if chapters 1–3 were later additions. Paul is under guard at Rome (Acts 28:30); he disputes with the Jews there (28:23–29; cf. AcVerc 1, Lipsius: 45, ll.15–46, l.1). The motif of Paul, and other Christians, as opponents of the Jews is missing elsewhere in the Actus Vercellenses; elsewhere, both Peter and Simon Magos are Jews (chap. 6, Lipsius: 51, ll.27–28; and chap. 22, Lipsius: 70, l.1). Paul is also presented as the great former persecutor of the church (“I once was a persecutor, now I suffer persecution,” AcVerc 2; Lipsius: 47, ll.18–19), a role that can also be found in the Acts and the Pauline epistles (Acts 8:3; 9:1, 15–16, as well as Phil 3:6, Gal 1:13). The beginning of the Actus Vercellenses is more than a mere allusion, as well; it presents itself as the logical conclusion of the narrative in the Acts of the Apostles. There, Paul is last seen preaching freely under house arrest. In the Actus Vercellenses, he is able to leave for Spain only as a direct result of this preaching in Rome. He converts the wife of one of his guards, who, in turn, sees the light and gives Paul permission to leave. The characterization of Peter, however, is weighted more toward the gospels; at only one point does it overlap with Luke’s Acts, in Peter’s encounter with Simon in Jerusalem. As it exists in the Actus Vercellenses, this episode does not show clear dependence on Luke’s Acts. The author of Actus Vercellenses freely contradicts that account: the conflict with Simon is placed in Jerusalem, not Samaria;22 Paul is present (if one accepts this read-

22 The Didascalia Apostolorum also locate Simon in Jerusalem, not Samaria (6.7–9). This work has some relationship to the Simonian and Petrine materials known from the Acts of Peter, for it also knows of Simon’s trip to Rome, and his failed attempt to fly over the city.

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ing),23 rather than John. Within the framework of Luke’s Acts, Paul’s presence at the conflict with Simon would cause problems, since he is not yet a convert when the episode takes place in the Acts of the Apostles. The closest parallel between the two versions is the motif of the offer to buy a power associated with the laying on of hands; this is also recognized by Stoops, who treats extensively the relationship between Acts and the Acts of Peter (Stoops, 1994). The laying on of hands as an expression of the bestowal of the holy spirit is a theological concern peculiar to Luke. Yet this is not the only signification of the action. The gesture appears again and again in synoptic tradition as the means by which Jesus worked miracles (Mark 1:41 and parallels, 6:5, 7:32, 8:23, etc.). Peter himself heals by laying on hands (AcVerc 20). Moreover, Simon’s request in the Actus Vercellenses is not to learn to bestow the spirit, but to learn “to lay on hands and perform such wonders” (manum inponere et tales uirtutes facere, Lipsius: 71, l.17), similar to Jesus’ activity in the gospels. In short, the motif is too generally distributed throughout Christian literature to point to a formative influence of the Acts of the Apostles on the Acts of Peter at this point. As Stoops argues, even in the account in the Acts of the Apostles, the request to learn how to bestow the spirit seems out of place; more natural would be a desire on Simon’s part to learn to work wonders (400), which is what he is requesting in the Actus Vercellenses. In this passage of the Actus Vercellenses, we may have a version of the story close to what the author of the Acts of the Apostles knew when he or she set to work. Other considerations also suggest that the two narratives developed independently: the Acts of Peter contain a wealth of detail about Simon that is unknown in the Acts of the Apostles and must come from some other source. No textual relationship need be postulated between the two accounts. The Acts of Peter trajectory, even at this point, may have known the Acts of the Apostles; given the standard chronology, it is a historical possibility. But no patently textual use of them is being made here. Whether a non-textual use of a text is at hand here, such as the memory of a text read or heard, or whether the similarities exist as multiforms of an orally-circulating tale, cannot be determined. They would look the same, and perhaps, for the ancient world, have nearly the same import (Cartlidge). It is easier, and perhaps more meaningful, to ask not the question of whether two texts are literarily dependent on one another and “know” one another, but rather, whether one text is appropriating another by means of textually-based procedures. This still does not loose the Gordian knot, since use from memory can sometimes be extraordinarily accurate for smaller passages such as sayings. Determining whether text or memory is the source 23 The “Syriac History of Peter” does not attest Paul’s presence, reading, “Did you not fall at my feet and at those of the other apostles in Jerusalem. . . ?” (Poupon: 4372).

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may be impossible in some cases; but to make the distinction between textual process and memory, rather than written source and oral source, might be closer to the thought-world of the authors and audiences of the ancient world. Albert Lord has suggested that, in societies with less of a fixation on textuality, a written text can be treated as equivalent to an oral performance: the oral poet feels free to use either one as a non-fixed entity and a basis for a new performance from memory (Lord: 41). Christopher Matthews has argued that Simon’s title in the Acts of Peter, the “Great Power of God,” or the “Power of God” (magnam virtutem Dei, Dei virtutem, chaps. 4, 8, 31), has its source in Acts 8:10 (136).24 In Luke, however, Simon is called “The Power of God which is called Great” (hJ duvnami~ tou` qeou` hJ kaloumevnh megavlh, Acts 8:10), which is not a direct match, at one sole point. Indeed, the phrase tou` qeou` in both of the usages sounds epexegetical, and therefore secondary.25 It is equally likely that tou` qeou` reflected the general Christian understanding of Simon’s title, and thus cannot be viewed in itself as an instance of Lukan redaction entering into the Actus Vercellenses. Luke may already have found the epexegetical expansion in his traditional sources. The story about Simon does not have the same import in both narratives. In Luke’s Acts, Simon’s offer of money to receive the power to bestow the holy spirit becomes the conclusion of his encounter with the apostles in Samaria. In the Acts of Peter, the final refutation of Simon in Jerusalem seems to have been, not this event, but the Eubula incident, after which Simon is said to have left Jerusalem (chap. 17). Peter refers to the Eubula episode when he first faces Simon in the forum (chap. 23): uidetis enim, hunc se repraehensum esse <modo> 26 tacentem ‹et› me eum exfugasse a Iudaea propter inposturas quas fecit Eubulae, honestae feminae et simplicissim‹a›e,27 magica arte faciens. unde effugatus a me hu{n}c venit, putans quoniam posset latere inter uos: et ecce stat in comminus. dic Simon, non tu Hierosolymis procidisti ad pedes mihi et Paulo, uidens per manus nostras remedia quae facta sunt, dicens: ‘Rogo uos, accipite a me mercedem quantum uultis, ut possim manum inponere et tales uirtutes facere.’ (Lipsius: 71, ll.9–17) 24 Matthews finds it more likely that the episode in Luke’s Acts was originally assigned to Philip in Samaria (139–46); Luke then attributed the deed to Peter for his own purposes, and thus the Acts of Peter would be dependent on Luke in assigning it to Peter as well. 25 Simon, in the Apophasis Megale cited in Hippolytus (Ref. 6.9–18) is said to have called himself merely the “Great Power.” This text is, indeed, neither a particularly early nor direct source on Simon Magus. Josef Frickel’s investigation has shown that Hippolytus was not quoting the Apophasis Megale itself, but rather a paraphrase, a Simonian work that philosophizes the contents of the document it paraphrases. In the title, however, it may preserve Simon’s original designation. 26 The text is corrupt. I follow Gunderman in Lipsius in reading modo for the ms reading modi. Turner’s suggestion is esse amodo (129). I also follow Gunderman in adding et after tacentem. 27 Ms read simplicissime; the emendation is Vouaux’s (364 ad loc.).

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semeia “For you see that this man has been refuted, standing merely silent, and that I chased him out of Judea because of the ruses that he inflicted on Eubula, a dignified and most decent woman, by employing his magical techniques. After he was driven from there by me, he came here, believing that he could lie low among you. And here he stands in front of you! Tell me, Simon, did you not fall at the feet of Paul and me in Jerusalem, when you saw the healings that were done by our hands, and did you not say, ‘I beg you, let me pay you as much as you want, so that I can lay on hands and work such miracles!’”

The episode with Simon regarding miracle-working, to which Peter alludes, would have taken place before the Eubula incident. Here, Peter mentions his earlier confrontation with Simon as an afterthought. The intertextual nexus of the narrative treatment of Paul in the Actus Vercellenses is very different from that of Peter. For reasons of the story alone, the treatment of Peter in the Actus Vercellenses overlaps narratively with Luke’s Acts, yet there is no textual contact at this point. The treatment of Paul shows textual dependence on a stylistic level, but the narrative of Actus Vercellenses 1–3 is a complement to Luke’s Acts, not a direct overlap, because it narrates subsequent events. In this respect, Luke’s Acts play the same role in the characterization of Paul that the Gospels do for the characterization of Peter. Although this is not sufficient to prove that Actus Vercellenses 1–3 are a later addition to the text, if one accepts the hypothesis on the grounds of other data, it presents an interesting index of the time that has passed between the formation of the narratives about Peter in the Actus Vercellenses and of those about Paul. The stories about Peter can, at points, overlap with and contradict the account in Acts; but the stories of Paul accept the Acts of the Apostles as a point of departure and merely complete them. In addition to the synoptic Gospels, the Acts, and the Pauline epistles, the Acts of Paul also have a significant intertextual relationship with the Acts of Peter. The problem of the dependence of the two is a vexed one; the Acts of Paul seem to have borrowed the Quo Vadis story from the Actus Vercellenses (chap. 35); but the Actus Vercellenses seem to depend on the Acts of Paul at another point (chap. 41). Poupon suggests a solution that should now seem predictable: the Acts of Paul do depend on the Actus Vercellenses, but since chapter 41 is a later addition to the Actus Vercellenses, it is possible that it borrowed from the Acts of Paul (4370). This hypothesis is also substantiated by the type of relationship that exists between these passages. The hypothetically earlier part of the Acts of Peter (chap. 35) is used by the Acts of Paul in imitation of the narrative, which is a sort of narrative congruence; the hypothetically later part of the Acts of Peter (chap. 41) is merely a report that alludes to the narrative of the Acts of Paul, a brief reference to a much longer story told elsewhere: in the Mar-

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tyrdom of Paul (chap. 2), Nero decides to persecute the Christians because his servants Patroklos, Barsabbas Justus (of the flat feet), Urion the Kappadokian, and Festus the Galatian have converted; Patroklos was earlier raised from the dead by Paul himself. The Actus Vercellenses seem to allude to this account (chap. 41): kai; gavr tivna~ tw`n pro;~ cei`ra aujtou` oJ Pevtro~ maqhteuvsa~ ajposth`nai aujtou;~ ejpoivhsen. . . ejzhvtei ga;r pavnta~ tou;~ uJpo; tou` Pevtrou maqhteuqevnta~ ajdelfou;~ ajpolevsai. (Lipsius: 100, l.18–102, l.1) . . . for by making disciples of some of his servants Peter had caused them to leave him . . . for he sought to destroy all those brothers and sisters who had been made disciples by Peter.

Though the names of the servants are not given here, and Peter rather than Paul is the one responsible for converting them, they remain Nero’s servants. The conversions play the same role in both texts, as well; they anger Nero and become the indirect cause of the Great Persecution. They also appear at the same point in the narratives, that is, in the martyrdoms. In the Actus Vercellenses, the redactor of chapters 1–3 and 41 is explicitly trying to tie the stories of the two apostles together by this allusion. Although the use of the Quo Vadis story in the Acts of Paul is secondary to its use in the Actus Vercellenses, it is not a case of citation or allusion, but rather the adaptation of a narrative unit in a different context. Carl Schmidt presented the Greek Papyrus of the Hamburg Staats- und Universitätsbibliothek in his 1936 edition of the Acts of Paul. Its publication solved a scholarly riddle (see also Schmidt, 1930); Origen was thought to be absent-minded in attributing the Quo Vadis scene to the Acts of Paul (Commentary on John, 20:12), for until Pap. Hamburg, the Quo Vadis scene was known only as a component of the Acts of Peter preserved in the Actus Vercellenses. In the Hamburg papyrus, however, the scene appears in the context of Paul’s journey from Corinth to Italy. Schmidt recognized that Jesus’ statement to him there, “I am about to be crucified afresh,” was singularly inappropriate as a foreshadowing of the martyrdom of Paul, who was to be beheaded, and argues, because of this and other intertextual contacts, that the Acts of Paul turned to the Acts of Peter to fill in details about Rome (Schmidt, 1930, 1936:128–30). The martyrdom of Peter provides the more appropriate narrative context for the Quo Vadis narrative.28 The points of contact between the two acts, however, betray in only one detail the exactness one would expect from the use of a written source. Only

28 MacDonald presents arguments against this (1992, and in the present volume).

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the words of Jesus, a[nwqen mevllw staurªou`sqaiº (AcPaul), or pavlin staurou`mai (AcVerc), are closely similar.29 Peter meets Jesus as he is on the road leading away from Rome, fleeing certain martyrdom. Paul is not in flight, but rather about to arrive in Rome; nor is he on land. The device used to bring Jesus in contact with Paul, walking on water, is familiar from Gospel tradition. Even the reaction of the apostles is diametrically opposite: Peter is overjoyed that he will follow his Lord in martyrdom. Paul, on the other hand, does not cheer up until he meets the Christians at Rome. Clearly redactional interests play a part: in the Actus Vercellenses, the appearance of the Lord turns the ever-irresolute Peter back to Rome and signifies the identification of the apostle with his Lord, over which he rejoices. In the Acts of Paul, however, Jesus’ words may not apply specifically to Paul, but may rather foreshadow the general persecution of Christians under Nero (chap. 11). The relationship between the Acts of Peter and the Acts of Paul thus has some analogies to that between the Acts of Peter and the Acts of the Apostles. The early point of contact is a substantive one; the Acts of Paul borrow the entire Quo Vadis story in filling out their own narrative. They do not do this in a textual fashion, however; little regard is given to the specific details, and only the word of Jesus itself is preserved with exactness. The second level of contact between the two texts, in the martyrdom of the Actus Vercellenses, occurs during a later redaction of that text. At this point, the Acts of Paul were surely a written text, and the Actus Vercellenses do not borrow the story, but only allude to it as though it were generally known, repeating the specific names and events. Narrative congruence, then, can involve both textual and non-textual uses of one text by another. The least textual use is the retelling of a narrative known elsewhere, such as the cases of the Quo Vadis narrative or the encounter between Simon Magus and the apostles. The assumption of details of characterization from another text, such as the characterization of Peter as the wavering apostle, or the presentation of Paul in Actus Vercellenses 1–3, can admit varying degrees of textuality. The most textual uses of other writings by the Acts of Peter involve the formation of one narrative as the continuation of another, as in Actus Vercellenses 1–3, and the inclusion of brief reports of narratives told fully in another text.

29 In the Hamburg papyrus, Jesus’ statement that he is to be crucified anew, and Paul’s response to it, do not even appear in the text, but are written at the bottom of the page; their point of insertion is indicated in the text by a P (Schmidt, 1936:54, ll.39–40). These lines clearly appeared in the ancient Acts of Paul—they are not a later insertion—for Origen knew them, and the scribal error is easy to explain; but it is interesting to note that, with these two lines absent, nothing in the remaining account is reminiscent of the Quo Vadis scene in the Actus Vercellenses.

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The Issue of Genre The question of the generic dependence of the Acts of Peter on the works of the New Testament would need to be answered for each stage of its development. In the early stages, other Christian texts had no bearing on the Acts of Peter trajectory. Written versions of these narratives earlier than the Greek narrative, such as the miracle source, the contest, and the martyrdom, developed independently of this literature, and contained no stylistic allusions or verbal overlaps. The miracle source (chaps. 11–15), which faint traces suggest may have been a written unit before its incorporation into the Actus Vercellenses, contains no allusions to other Christian texts at all. The contest and the martyrdom likewise have no references to specifically Christian texts; the sacred texts in use at this point in time, probably prior to the last half of the second century, are the Hebrew Bible and the words of Jesus, which are cited as testimonia or proof texts, not used as narrative models. The one direct narrative overlaps with the New Testament, the Jerusalem encounter with Simon, seems to be a product of independent development, a multiform. The great narrative model for the miracle stories and the martyrdom of Peter, the life of Jesus, was not necessarily known from a specific text. The relationship between the Acts of Peter and other early Christian literature became more explicit, but less substantive as time passed. Verbal allusions to other works clustered in the speeches that gave theological direction to the narrative. The author who linked the three main narrative blocks, possibly as early as the third quarter of the second century, repeatedly echoed Acts 2:47 in the summary passages that unite the various written and traditional sources. These allusions to Acts give a rare insight into the way in which the author of this text read his or her composition. The author here took Acts as a generic model, but viewed his or her own literary product as a comparable, and perhaps competing, account of the progress of Christianity in apostolic times, accompanied by the “mighty works of God.”30 The use of other New Testament works, particularly the epistles, which appears in the speeches of the Acts of Peter, alludes to the larger body of as-yetuncanonical Christian literature. As in the case of the Septuagintisms in the gospels, this was a manner of legitimating the new composition, placing it among this emerging world of texts through its use of appropriate language. If the suggested dating holds, early Christian works such as Acts of the Apostles were thus influencing the vocabulary and discourse of the Acts of Peter trajectory already in the third quarter of the second century. This 30 This phrase, which appears throughout the Acts of Peter (chaps. 5, 17), may also be an allusion to Acts (2:11). Stoops believes this phrase to be moot to the question of dependence on Acts, since it is known from Sirach 36:7 (1994:397–98); but, since knowledge of Acts is evident elsewhere in the language of the Acts of Peter, they would be a more likely source than the LXX.

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would cohere well with the external attestation of the Acts of the Apostles in other sources. It begins to be cited with real frequency by Justin Martyr, Clement of Alexandria, Irenaeus, and Tertullian (Biblia Patristica). The nature of the narrative congruence in these later levels of the Acts of Peter also attests to the normativity of these Christian texts. With the addition of chapters 1–3, Luke’s Acts became a substantive and generic model for the Actus Vercellenses, which no longer claim equality, or attempt to compete: the narrative about Paul presents itself as a continuation of Luke’s Acts. The Actus Vercellenses here complement and supplement the account of Acts; they do not reproduce the same narrative content. As for the allusions, the late redactor merely intensified the trend of quarrying the synoptic gospels, Acts, and Pauline epistles for appropriately biblical language, as is evident in the interpolations (chaps. 1–3, 41) and reworked passages (chaps. 7 and 10). Despite these allusions, the “submerged” source material of the Acts of Peter still affects the generic presentation of the text insofar as it determines the narrative structure. The Acts of Peter differ generically from Luke’s Acts, for example, in that the former ends with the martyrdom of its protagonist, a choice Luke did not make. The comparison of the Acts of Peter with the Gospels is an important point (Stoops, 1994:403; Bovon, 1981). In the shape of its narrative and in its focus on one character, who performs miracles, successfully faces opposition, and suffers martyrdom, the obvious precursors to the Acts of Peter are the Gospels.

WORKS CONSULTED Biblia patristica, Centre d’Analyse et de Documentation Patristiques 1986 Biblia patristica: Index des citations et allusions bibliques dans la littérature patristique. Paris: Éditions du Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique Vol. 1. Bovon, François 1981 “La vie des apôtres: traditions bibliques et narrations apocryphes.” Pp. 141–58 in Bovon et al., Les Actes apocryphes des apôtres: Christianisme et monde païen. Publications de la Faculté de Théologie de l’Université de Genève 4. Geneva: Labor et Fides. 1988

“The Synoptic Gospels and the Noncanonical Acts of the Apostles.” HTR 81:19–36.

Bovon, François and Eric Junod 1986 “Reading the Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles.” Semeia 38:161–71. Cartlidge, David R. 1986 “Transfigurations of Metamorphosis Traditions in the Acts of John, Thomas, and Peter.” Semeia 38:53–66.

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“Combien d’unités avez-vous de trois à quatre? What Do We Mean by Intertextuality in Early Church Studies?” SBLSP 29:400–411.

Elliott, J. K. 1993 The Apocryphal New Testament. Oxford: Clarendon. Epp, Eldon Jay 1966 The Theological Tendency of Codex Bezae Cantabrigiensis in Acts. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Frickel, Josef 1968 Die Apophasis Megale in Hippolyts Refutatio VI, 9–18: Eine Paraphrase zu Apophasis Simons. Orientalia Christiana Analecta 182. Rome: Pont. Inst. Orientalium Studiorum. Geerard, Maurice 1992 Clavis apocryphorum Novi Testamenti. Turnhout: Brepols. Grenfell, Bernard P. and Arthur S. Hunt, eds. 1908 The Oxyrhynchus Papyri. Vol. 6. London: Egypt Exploration Fund. Hills, Julian V. 1994 “The Acts of the Apostles in the Acts of Paul.” SBLSP 33:24–54. Junod, Eric 1983 “Créations romanesques et traditions ecclésiastiques dans les actes apocryphes des apôtres: l’alternative fiction romanesque—vérité historique: une impasse.” Augustinianum 23:271–85. Kaestli, Jean-Daniel 1983 “Le rôle des textes bibliques dans la genèse et le développement des légends apocryphes: le cas du sort final de l’apôtre Jean.” Augustinianum 23:319–36. Lipsius, Richard A. and Max Bonnet, eds. 1891 Acta Apostolorum Apocrypha. Vol. 1. Leipzig: Hermann Mendelssohn. Reprinted Hildesheim: Georg Olms, 1959. Lord, Albert B. 1986 “The Merging of Two Worlds: Oral and Written Poetry as Carriers of Ancient Values.” Pp. 19–64 in Oral Tradition in Literature: Interpretation in Context. Ed. John Miles Foley. Columbia: University of Missouri Press. MacDonald, Dennis R. 1983 The Legend and the Apostle: The Battle for Paul in Story and Canon. Philadelphia: Westminster. 1992

“The Acts of Paul and The Acts of Peter: Which Came First?” SBLSP 31:214–24.

1994

Christianizing Homer: The Odyssey, Plato, and the Acts of Andrew. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

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Matthews, Christopher R. 1992 “Philip and Simon, Luke and Peter: A Lukan Sequel and Its Intertextual Success.” SBLSP 31:133–46. Pervo, Richard I. 1987 Profit with Delight: The Literary Genre of the Acts of the Apostles. Philadelphia: Fortress. Poupon, Gerard 1988 “Les ‘Actes de Pierre’ et leur remaniement.” ANRW 2.25/6:4363–83. Rordorf, Willy 1988 “In welchem Verhältnis stehen die apokryphen Paulusakten zur kanonischen Apostelgeschichte und zu den Pastoralbriefen?” Pp. 225–41 in Text and Testimony: Essays on New Testament and Apocryphal Literature in Honor of A. F. J. Klijn. Ed. Tjitze Baarda. Kampen: Kok. Schmidt, Carl 1903 Die alten Petrusakten im Zusammenhang der apokryphen Apostelliteratur nebst einem neuentdeckten Fragment. TU n. s. 9.1. Leipzig: J. Hinrichs. 1926

“Studien zu den alten Petrusakten: II. Die Komposition.” ZKG 45: 481–513.

1930

“Zur Datierung der alten Petrusakten.” ZNW 29:150–55.

Schmidt, Carl and Wilhelm Schubart 1936 PRAXEIS PAULOU: Acta Pauli nach dem Papyrus der Hamburger Staatsund Universitäts-Bibliothek. Glückstadt/Hamburg: Augustin. Schneemelcher, Wilhelm, ed. 1992 New Testament Apocrypha: Revised Edition of the Collection Intiated by Edgar Hennecke. Vol. 2: Writings Relating to Apostles, Apocalypses and Related Subjects. Trans. R. McL. Wilson. Louisville: Westminster/John Knox. Stoops, Robert F., Jr. 1983 “Miracle Stories and Vision Reports in the Acts of Peter.” Ph.D. diss., Harvard University. 1994 forthcoming

“Departing to Another Place: The Acts of Peter and the Canonical Acts of the Apostles.” SBLSP 33:390–404. “Acts of Peter” in New Testament Apocrypha. Sonoma, CA: Polebridge.

Thomas, Christine M. 1992 “Word and Deed: The Acts of Peter and Orality.” Apocrypha 3:125–64. 1999

“The ‘Prehistory’ of the Acts of Peter.” Pp. 39–62 in The Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles: Harvard Divinity School Studies. Ed. François Bovon, Ann Graham Brock, and Christopher R. Matthews. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

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Turner, C. H. 1931 “The Latin Acts of Peter.” JTS 32:119–33. Vouaux, Léon 1922 Les Actes de Pierre: Introduction, textes, traduction et commentaires. Paris: Letouzey et Ané.

THE ACTS OF PETER AND LUKE’S INTERTEXTUAL HERITAGE Christopher R. Matthews Weston Jesuit School of Theology

abstract The early Christian stories about the struggles between the apostle Peter and Simon “the magician” in the Acts of Peter represent an intertextual appropriation of a tantalizing piece of Lukan inventiveness. When one pays careful attention to the construction of Acts 8:5–25 and the traditional base from which it springs, it appears probable that the scene between Peter and Simon in 8:18–24 is a Lukan creation. Even though new stories about Peter and Simon were initially elaborated on the basis of their first appearance in Luke’s narrative, they soon took on a life of their own and served as a key ingredient of the “intertextual complex” out of which the Acts of Peter emerged.1

The ability to employ imagination in the service of narrative goals, though it is seldom alluded to, may be one fundamental similarity that the canonical Acts shares with the apocryphal Acts of the apostles. The principal contention of this paper is that the early Christian stories about the struggles between the apostle Peter and Simon “the magician” in the Acts of Peter represent an intertextual appropriation of a tantalizing piece of Lukan inventiveness.2 Attention to the composition of Acts 8 indicates that it was Luke’s

1 This revised version of my 1992 presentation to the Intertextuality in Christian Apocrypha Seminar (Matthews, 1992) understands “intertextuality” in a much less mechanical way than in the earlier paper. I will not repeat my discussion of methodological and phenomenological issues relating to intertextuality, orality, and ancient methods of composition in a manuscript culture found in my “Apocryphal Intertextual Activities: A Response to Harold Attridge’s ‘Intertextuality in the Acts of Thomas’” earlier in this volume. Readers may refer to my 1996 article for more explicit treatment of my assumptions on these topics. I have also limited the discussion of tradition and redaction in Acts 8 to the minimum needed to make my point in the current context. Further details on some points can be found in the 1992 study. 2 Although it is impossible to treat the pseudo-Clementine literature here, my assumption is that the controversies between Peter and Simon Magus portrayed there also ultimately stem, “intertextually,” in the manner described here, from Luke’s account (which in this case might include the intertextual influence of the stories developed in the Acts of Peter). Note Schneemelcher’s comment that “it is perfectly possible that the author of the Pseudo-Clementine basic document, which is to be dated to the period around 260 . . . , knew the material which is also

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novel juxtaposition of these two paradigmatic figures, in the absence of any substantiating tradition, that provided the prototype for the various successive and successful elaborations of this entertaining and edifying episode. Before moving to arguments that center on Luke’s text, it will be helpful to address the relation of the canonical Acts to the apocryphal Acts, the relation between the canonical Acts and the Acts of Peter, and the extent to which intertextual processes illuminate the latter relation. I. Acts and the ACTS OF PETER Around the end of the nineteenth century it was not uncommon for scholars well acquainted with Christian apocryphal literature to assume that Luke’s Acts was determinative for the origin and genre of the apocryphal Acts. One may include Carl Schmidt, Edgar Hennecke, and Léon Vouaux in this camp (see Plümacher: 12–13). Josef Flamion argued early on, however, that it was not possible to derive the ideas, language, structure, or genre of the apocryphal Acts of the apostles from the canonical Acts. Flamion’s position has remained basically uncontested, even though his notion of the apocryphal Acts as conscious imitations of the Greek novel by “gens d’école” has not fared well (Kaestli: 59–60). Thus Eckhard Plümacher (12, 54) concludes that in spite of various similarities in detail, the relation between the canonical Acts and the apocryphal Acts is confined to external matters, while Richard Pervo underlines the generic relation between Acts and the apocryphal Acts as “representatives of a subgroup within the broad category of the ancient novel (1987:135).” Yet it would be rash to deny that at times the apocryphal Acts find inspiration in the canonical Acts (Bovon: 150; Kaestli: 64–65). Therefore it is reasonable to conclude with François Bovon (156) that “les Actes apocryphes des apôtres partent parfois d’un indice des Actes canoniques ou plutôt des Evangiles. Par leur parole, ils comblent les silences de l’Ecriture.” Apart from the obvious overlap of the Peter–Simon scenes, there are certain details in the Acts of Peter that suggest contact of some kind with the canonical Acts. The use of “the name” (AcPet 5, 6, 11, etc.) and “the way” (7, 12), for example, recall favorite expressions of Luke (“the name”: e.g. Acts 4:17, 18; 5:28, 40; 8:12; 9:15, 27, 28; and “the way”: 9:2; 19:9, 23; 22:4; 24:14, 22). Also striking are the statements in the Acts of Peter on the growth of the Christian community (9, 13), especially its daily increase (31, 33), which reflect the archetype of Luke in Acts 2:47. Even so, most of the characters and events featured in the Acts of Peter owe nothing specific to Acts, which gives rise to Wilhelm Schneemelcher’s judgment (282) that the Acts of Peter is neither a

used in the APt. It has not yet been possible to determine in what form this material lay before him.”

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“continuation” of the canonical Acts nor an “alternative account” but rather “an attempt to supplement the canonical Acts with regard to the personal history of Peter.”3 Yet one continuation or supplement appears to be particularly indebted to Luke’s work, namely, the further elaboration in the Acts of Peter of the encounter depicted in Acts 8:18–24 between the apostle Peter and Simon “the magician.” Their sparring to a great extent forms the unifying thread that binds together the disparate parts of the Acts of Peter.4 Although this “continuation” likely received its initial impetus from Acts for reasons to be made clear below, it is reasonable to assume that it very early took on a life of its own and developed largely without regard for Luke’s text. And so it is possible, in terms of the intertextual model proposed here, both to assert that the Acts of Peter is ultimately “dependent” on Luke’s account and at the same time to suggest that there is no need to invoke a model of literary dependence to explain the appearance of the Peter–Simon stories in the Acts of Peter. To posit a relation between the Acts of Peter and Luke’s vignettes on Peter and Simon is hardly to court controversy. Hans Lietzmann exhibits no hesitation in tracing the action between Peter and Simon portrayed in the Acts of Peter to the canonical account. In his view (79–80) “[t]here is no trace . . . of genuine local knowledge, nor of a local Roman tradition. Instead, inventive power operated the more energetically. The conflict of Peter with the Samaritan sorcerer Simon, given in Acts 8:9–24, was spun out further, and provided the basis of the entire narrative.” Although Schneemelcher is more circumspect than Lietzmann with regard to the author’s knowledge of Roman traditions, he also traces the action in the Acts of Peter back to the Lukan account (282): “Obviously the brief narrative of Acts 8:9ff. gave the impetus for the formation of legends centering on the figure of Simon. But it becomes very clear in APt that this narrative given in Acts is completely recast.” Helmut Koester (326–27), however, offers a dissenting voice on this issue: To be sure, Luke also tells about the Samaritan magician Simon (Acts 8:9–24), but this Lukan report already presupposes the existence of the Simon legend that the Acts of Peter used. The encounter with Simon in Acts 8:14ff names Peter and John, who meet Simon in Samaria; according to Act. Verc. 23, Peter and Paul meet Simon in Jerusalem. This was probably what Luke had also

3 Note Bauckham’s argument (1993) that the Acts of Paul extends the narrative of Acts beyond the end of Luke’s account, and Pervo’s counterproposal (1995) that the Acts of Paul “seeks to correct, possibly to supplant, the canonical work.” See also Bauckham’s essay in this volume. 4 Schneemelcher (280) comments: “The contest with Simon . . . is in every way an especially important element in the whole composition.” Stoops characterizes the Acts of Peter as an account of the “contest between the apostle Peter and Simon Magus” (5, 286–88).

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semeia found in his source, and it is easily understandable why he replaced Paul with John, because the conversion of Paul would not be told until the next chapter (Acts 9:1ff).5

The supposition that Luke shares a source with the Acts of Peter, however, raises numerous difficulties. Apart from the well-known problem of isolating sources in the canonical Acts (Dupont; Haenchen, 1971:81–90, 117–21), it is difficult to imagine what Sitz im Leben would account for an early source (i.e. prior to Luke) depicting Peter and Paul battling heretics side by side in Jerusalem. Moreover, this view does not sufficiently consider either Luke’s redactional activity or the redactional operations of the “author” of the Actus Vercellenses. With regard to the latter issue, Gérard Poupon (especially 4372 and 4380) has recently shown that the redactor of the Actus Vercellenses is to be credited with the interpolation of chapters 1–3, 30, and 41, the revision of chapters 4, 6, and 10, and the addition of Paul in chapters 23 and 40 (see also Thomas: 38–54). One of the primary goals of these changes was to associate more closely the activity of Paul with Peter in Rome. Thus the mention of Simon falling at the feet of Peter and Paul in Acts of Peter 23 of the Actus Vercellenses is a redactional move that functions to unite the future founders of the church of Rome already in Jerusalem. As Poupon notes (4372), in the Syriac version of this story, Simon falls at the feet of Peter and the other apostles. There is nothing mysterious about the opinions held by Lietzmann, Schneemelcher, and others who find a conspicuous link between the stories about Peter and Simon in the Acts of Peter and the account in the canonical Acts. The connections appear to be relatively straightforward. Thus Simon is introduced in Acts of Peter 4 as a miracle worker who claims to be the “great power of God,” the very title attributed to Simon by the Samaritans according to Acts 8:10. In addition to the use of variations on this title for Simon elsewhere in the Acts of Peter (10, 31, 32), other elements connected with his characterization in Acts are reprised there. These include references to his mass appeal (Acts 8:10–11/AcPet 4, 6, 12), practice of magic (Acts 8:9, 11/AcPet 5, 6, 17, 23, 28, 31; the Acts of Peter includes signs and wonders in this category: e.g. 12, 23, 31, 32), misuse of money (Acts 8:18–19/AcPet 17, 23), and wickedness (Acts 8:22–23/AcPet 6, 12, 17, 23). While these elements are suggestive, especially their cumulative impact, the general nature of some of them (the opponent’s mass appeal, magical ability, and wickedness) hardly allows the issue of “dependence” to be settled clearly. Yet two of these 5 In an earlier attempt to demonstrate the existence of a Petrine Grundschrift underlying Luke’s account in 8:5–25, Waitz suggested that the preaching and miracle working portrayed in 8:5–13 had originally depicted actions of Peter and was secondarily attributed to Philip. In support of this thesis he referred to the encounter between Peter and Simon in the Acts of Peter, which he claimed went back not to Acts 8 but to its source.

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features are particularly arresting in the current context. Deliberations surrounding the use of money (especially its improper use) form a recognizably important theme in both the Third Gospel (Johnson; Karris) and the canonical Acts (in addition to 8:18–20, see 3:6; 5:1–11; 16:16–20; 19:23–27; 24:24–26). Also telling is the form of the title that the “church” in Acts of Peter 4 reports Simon as claiming: “He says that he is the great power of God.”6 While it seems probable that the designation “great power” should be accepted as a traditional epithet for Simon,7 “of God” (AcVerc: dei) reflects Luke’s addition of tou` qeou` to Simon’s title in Acts 8:10, a redactional clarification that is familiar from his Gospel.8 The presence of Lukan redactional material in the Acts of Peter allows the issue of the intertextual influence of Luke’s work to be broached without apology. Of course the recognition of some Lukan influence does not guarantee that we can clarify with precision how some intertextual process(es) contributed to the composition of the Acts of Peter as we know it in the Actus Vercellenses. Nevertheless it is instructive to attend to the fact that “intertextuality involves not only chirographs” but also “the interplay between the ‘circumambient orality’ of the culture and written texts” (Cartlidge: 408).9 Thus it is quite feasible to posit the operation of an “intertextual” process behind the Acts of Peter that included the canonical Acts in a manner that is much more complex than any notion of direct literary dependence. In short, we may hypothesize that various stories narrated by Acts were interiorized through aural means and then continually adapted and expanded in fresh performances. The pairing of Peter and Simon was particularly fecund and eventually resulted in the Acts of Peter.10

Translations of the Acts of Peter are taken from Schneemelcher. In addition to the commentaries, see Beyschlag: 104–5; Lüdemann, 1975:47. Beyschlag and Lüdemann disagree on the implications this title has for reconstructing Simon’s claim (a “divine man” versus a divinity). 8 So Beyschlag and Lüdemann. Lake and Cadbury (91) note Luke’s addition of tou` qeou` in the Gospel at 9:20; 22:69; and 23:35 and suggest that it is quite possible that the same addition was made at Acts 8:10. Haenchen (1971:303) designates tou` qeou` in Acts 8:10 “a mere gloss.” Note that kaloumevnh in Acts 8:10 is also a Lukan addition, in line with his practice elsewhere (see 1:12, 23; 3:11; 9:11; 10:1; 13:1; 15:22, 37; 27:8, 14, 16). 9 “Circumambient orality” is Walter J. Ong’s phrase (see Cartlidge: 405 and n. 33). For more treatment of these matters, see my response to Attridge in this volume and Matthews, 1996. See Kelber’s comments (158–59; cited above, p. 128 n. 9) on tradition as a “circumambient contextuality or biosphere in which speaker and hearers live.” 10 The point is not to deny the extensive use of written texts by early Christians but to accent the process of their being read aloud as the normal way both literate and unliterate people came to internalize their content (Gamble: 40). Consequently memory (Small: 161) is a more important factor when it comes to composition than direct literary dependence. Along these lines, see Stillman’s case for the “oral-only” dependency of the Gospel of Peter upon the canonical Gospels. 6 7

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It is hardly surprising in view of the numerous scenes that feature Peter and Simon in the Acts of Peter that details from Acts 8 would be readily called to mind in the course of successive elaborations of their encounters. The narrative of Marcellus’ confession at the feet of Peter in Acts of Peter 10 exhibits the results of this kind of intertextual impact of Acts upon the Acts of Peter. Marcellus’ appeal for Peter’s intercessory prayer to prevent his consignment to eternal fire clearly reflects Simon’s plea in Acts 8:24 for Peter’s prayerful assistance in escaping destruction: Marcellus . . . said . . . “Do not consider my faults, but pray for me to the Lord. . . . Pray therefore for me like a good steward of God, that I be not consigned—with the sins of Simon—to eternal fire. . . .”(AcPet 10) Simon answered, “Pray for me to the Lord, that nothing of what you have said may happen to me.”(Acts 8:24)11

Marcellus’ plea continues with his recital of the futility of obtaining Peter’s favor with money, which betrays knowledge of Simon’s unsuccessful attempt in Acts 8:18–20 to purchase the power to bestow the Spirit: “If I knew, Peter, that you could be won over with money, I would give my whole fortune . . . .” (AcPet 10) [Simon] offered them [Peter and John] money. . . . But Peter said to him, “May your silver perish with you, because you thought you could obtain God’s gift with money!” (Acts 8:18, 20)

Finally, Marcellus attributes his lapse from the faith to Simon’s divine claim: “But I protest that he would not have deceived me except by saying that he was the power of God.” (AcPet 10) Simon had previously practiced magic in the city and amazed the people of Samaria, saying that he was someone great. All of them . . . listened to him eagerly, saying, “This man is the power of God that is called Great.” (Acts 8:9–10)

Once again, it is not Simon’s traditional title (“the great power”) that is employed in Acts of Peter 10, but the Lukan version. The references in Acts of Peter 31 (“God, whose power I am”) and 32 (“Power of God . . . God himself, whose power you are”) also appear to be variants based on the Lukan version of Simon’s title. The flexibility inherent in the intertextual appropriation of earlier “texts” in new circumstances is highlighted by the fact that the events portrayed in

11 NRSV here and following. Apart from the problems involved in comparing Latin to Greek, precise attention to the original languages here is not crucial as the notion of direct literary dependence is not in view for the process envisaged here.

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Acts 8:18–24 have also been incorporated into the scene in Acts of Peter 23, but this time, as one acquainted with Acts would expect, as details of Simon’s past encounter with Peter. In the middle of his opening speech against Simon in the Forum, Peter says: “Tell me now, Simon, did you not fall at my feet and Paul’s in Jerusalem . . . and you said, ‘I beg you, take payment from me as much as you will, so that I can lay hands (on men) and work such benefits.’ When we heard these words of yours we cursed you (saying) ‘Do you think you can tempt us to wish for possession of money?’” (AcPet 23)

The location in Jerusalem is connected with the tradition of Peter’s twelve year stay there (AcPet 5; Schneemelcher: 280; perhaps inspired by Acts 8:1?), while the inclusion of Paul reflects the interests of the redactor of the Actus Vercellenses, as noted above. In any case, that Paul could supplant John in some new oral (or written) performance should not be understood as remarkable. The use just delineated of drawing upon the same incident from Acts 8: 18–24 in the portrayal of two different characters in the Acts of Peter seems to be related to the “decision” in the Acts of Peter to abandon decisively the open-ended nature of the Acts account with respect to Simon’s repentance. Note that in Acts of Peter 23 Simon’s groveling is not connected with any plea for intercession but with his impious proposal. In the Acts of Peter Simon’s ultimate fate is not in doubt, since his explicit association with Satan attests to his ineligibility for repentance. That the development of the narrative in the Acts of Peter at times proceeds in tandem with an intertextual recollection of material from the canonical Acts may be telegraphed in Acts of Peter 28 where Peter forbids the burning of Simon by first saying: “For if even this man can repent, that is better,” but then adding: “but if he cannot, let him possess the inheritance of his father the devil.” The association between Simon and the devil/Satan stressed throughout the Acts of Peter is absent from the Acts account (pace Garrett: 75). Since an opportunity for repentance, open to Simon in the canonical Acts, goes against the plot of the Acts of Peter, Simon’s prayer for mercy in Acts 8:24 is “available,” as it were, for Marcellus in Acts of Peter 10. Coincidentally, the depiction in Acts of Peter 10 of Marcellus’ reintegration into the community after his apostasy appears to be a revision of an earlier story treating Marcellus’ first entry into the Christian community (Poupon: 4374–77; Thomas: 43–44), which is a scenario remarkably similar to what we have in Acts 8 with Simon. The redactor, concerned to illustrate the possibility of repentance for the lapsed, found (or, more likely, remembered) Simon’s plea for mercy in Acts 8:24 tailor-made for his purposes in Acts of Peter 10. In the instances just enumerated it appears that an intertextual appropriation of Luke’s Acts is operative during the compositional development of the Acts of Peter. This is not to say, however, as has already been intimated,

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that the genesis of the Peter–Simon contest as such in the Acts of Peter was the result of some strictly literary process or even recollection of Acts 8. It is more likely that initial variations on Luke’s scene between Peter and Simon took place orally. Then at some later point these proliferating oral legends, now no longer dependent upon their generative context in Acts 8, coalesced with the other material found in the Actus Vercellenses to form the Acts of Peter. During the process of the redaction of the Acts of Peter, which to judge from the state of the text available in the Actus Vercellenses was quite complex (Thomas: 150–69), it seems likely that the canonical Acts was intertextually appropriated in various ways as the examples above illustrate. II. A Lukan Genesis Let us suppose for the sake of argument that agreement has been reached on the question of the ultimate genealogical relationship between the Peter– Simon contest in the Acts of Peter and the narrative in canonical Acts 8, whether through orally transmitted legends or intertextual “citations” or some combination of the two. Such a consensus would still understate the extent of Luke’s contribution to later expansions of the encounter between Peter and Simon to the degree that one supposes that Luke serves merely as the purveyor of a particularly engaging bit of tradition. What I wish to underline is that when one pays careful attention to the construction of Acts 8:5–25 and the traditional base from which it springs, it appears probable that the scene between Peter and Simon in 8:18–24 is a Lukan creation. It supplements Luke’s traditional information (underlying 8:5–13) concerning the activity of Philip in Samaria and the influence of a certain Simon in the same geographical sphere. The pages that follow will support this contention with a brief overview of how tradition and redaction in Luke’s account in Acts 8:5–25 are to be assessed and a critical response to opposing reconstructions. My point is straightforward: If Luke first learned of Simon “the magician” in connection with a tradition based on Philip’s activity in Samaria, and if in the absence of any traditional information he literarily brought Simon into contact with Peter, then all subsequent stories concerning Peter and Simon, ipso facto, have their sufficient cause in Luke’s transfer of a traditional element from Philip’s “biography” to Peter’s. III. Tradition and redaction in Acts 8:5–25 The problems involved in assessing the combination of tradition and redaction in Acts 8:5–25 center on the shift from Philip, who functions as the main character in 8:5–13, to Peter, who assumes this position in 8:14–25, and the presence of Simon in both of these sections (Koch: 67–68). The account of Philip’s successful preaching mission in Samaria in 8:5–13, including his transformative impact upon Simon (v. 13), is supplemented in 8:14–25 in a most unusual way. With no trace of Philip, Peter and John suddenly emerge

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from Jerusalem to serve instrumentally in the Samaritans’ reception of the Spirit, which inexplicably had not accompanied their baptism by Philip in the name of the Lord Jesus (8:14–17)! Then Simon, whose conversion was portrayed in no uncertain terms in 8:13 (and whose reception of the Spirit would be logically indicated by 8:14–17), profanely offers the apostles money when he witnesses the giving of the Spirit through their hands. To what extent has Luke appropriated traditional information in the construction of 8:5–25? Various options have been explored in the history of scholarship on this question. Some have reckoned with an exclusively Petrine tradition, others have insisted that the core of this passage goes back to a tradition of Philip’s activity in Samaria, and still others have argued for various combinations of traditions connected with Philip, Peter, and Simon. With various arguments Julius Wellhausen, Martin Dibelius, and Ernst Haenchen all see in the scene between Peter and Simon the remnants of a traditional story concerning Philip and Simon, while Gerd Lüdemann credits 8:18–24 entirely to Luke. I have discussed their exegetical positions elsewhere (1992:39–41). What is significant is that all of these critics agree in identifying the presence of Peter in Acts 8 as due solely to Luke’s redactional activity, and their determination should be taken as cogent. On the basis of such convincing analyses of Luke’s compositional procedures in Acts 8:5–25, one may assign to Luke full responsibility for the juxtaposition of Peter and Simon in the narrative. Dietrich-Alex Koch, however, claims to discover a traditionally based Peter–Simon scene underlying 8:18–24, and Patrick L. Dickerson professes to be able to detect its source.12 Yet Dickerson’s attempt to isolate words and phrases from up to three different source documents underlying 8:5–13; 8:14–17; and 8:18–25 is unpersuasive for a number of reasons. For example, one of the hinges of his argument is the supposition that elements of the “biography” of the gnostic Simon that come to us from later sources can assist us in detecting a source for the account of Peter’s rebuke of Simon in Acts 8:18–24. Thus Dickerson (220–25), in a variation on Lüdemann’s argument (1987) concerning the occurrence of ejpivnoia (intent) in Acts 8:22, suggests that the appearance of duvnami~ megavlh (great power) in 8:10b may be traced to “the source” behind 8:14–25 (222). But this is extremely speculative on two counts: (1) with respect to what we can know about Simon13 and (2) with

12 Dickerson’s study came to my attention in the final stages of the revision of this paper and, consequently, can not be addressed in detail. Apart from his constant reference to “sources,” I find his treatment of the interrelation of what I would identify as traditions concerning Philip and Simon to be helpful. 13 R. McL. Wilson’s claim (490) that “all attempts so far made have failed to bridge the gap between the Simon of Acts and the Simon of the heresiologists” is still valid, despite Lüdemann, 1987. On Lüdemann’s positions, see Bergmeier. Wayne Meeks’s (141) twenty-one-year-old judgment on research on Simon Magus remains valid today: “The quest for the historical Simon (and Helena!) is even less promising than the quest for the historical Jesus.”

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regard to the confidence placed in the critic’s ability first to see through Luke’s linguistic revision of his sources and then to isolate such sources from redaction and free composition. The overwhelmingly Lukan nature of the vocabulary and syntax of Acts 8:4–25 can easily be demonstrated (e.g. Haenchen, 1971:301–5; Koch: 68–72; Lüdemann, 1989:94–97). Additional reasons for my disagreement with Dickerson’s assumption of sources underlying Acts 8:14–25 will become clear in the following comments on Koch’s position, which prudently does not claim to be able to identify sources. IV. Philip’s role in pre-Lukan tradition Koch’s reconstruction holds that the continuous narrative in Acts 8:5–25 is based on the following three pre-Lukan elements (72): a general report concerning the missionary activity of Philip in Samaria, a report about the activity and worship of Simon in Samaria, and the portrayal of a sharp conflict between Peter and Simon. In Koch’s view (78–80) Luke retrojected the Peter–Simon narrative into the Philip section at 8:9–11, 13 in order to elaborate his narrative about the missionary activity of Philip, for which he had no concrete material at his disposal. Koch’s presentation may be admired for its thoroughness and attention to detail. Nevertheless, his analysis is vulnerable to damaging criticism at key points (Matthews, 1992:142–45). The most glaring problem initially is the bald assumption that the conflict between Peter and Simon is based in Luke’s tradition. The only evidence for tradition that he uncovers within 8:14–25 is the supposedly telltale switch from ejxousiva in v. 19 to dwrea; tou` qeou` in v. 20.14 But it is hardly clear that dwrea; tou` qeou` preserves any notion inconsistent with Luke’s idea of the point at issue in his scene between Peter and Simon. If the phrase in v. 20 meant something substantially different from what Simon requests in v. 19, then one must suppose that Luke was unaware of the tension. This seems highly unlikely. Equally problematic is Koch’s easy assimilation of the traditional information about Simon in 8:9–10 to a tradition of a conflict with Peter, since it ignores the obvious redactional introduction of Peter (and John) in 8:14–17, as well as the array of Lukan themes on display throughout vv. 14–24: the 14 Lüdemann (1989:99) comments that “such a differentiation is over-sharp, and is of no use for dividing redaction from tradition, especially as the theme of the Spirit dominates the section vv. 14–17 which Koch also sees as redactional, and the special theme of the laying on of hands and the bestowal of the Spirit fits smoothly with vv. 14–17.” One wonders whether the later tradition about Peter’s struggles with Simon “Magus” (the name Koch uses in his tradition summary) has exerted some influence on his assumptions about the tradition of a “sharp conflict” (71) here. In fairness, Koch asserts at the outset (65) that his study proceeds without reference to later developments concerning Simon.

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Spirit, the role of Jerusalem (and the apostles) in legitimizing new stages of mission, the improper use of money, and the inferiority of magic.15 One of the strengths of Koch’s study is his recognition of the traditional basis of Philip’s activity in Samaria and his judgment that 8:14–17 does not contain an alternate tradition that attributed the conversion of Samaria to Peter. Indeed Haenchen’s estimation (1973:277) of the latter possibility is incisive: Had there been an original tradition which attributed the conversion of Samaria to Peter and John, a later tradition which credited the same accomplishment to a lesser figure (i.e. Philip) would hardly have arisen. Thus the scene in 8:14–17, which emphasizes that the Samaritan church is legitimate only when it has been sanctioned by Jerusalem, is a Lukan construction, as is clear from the parallel case in 11:19–24.16 The issue seems to boil down to Koch’s preference for a Peter–Simon tradition here, and his view that Peter, given his status in the early phase of Palestinian Christianity, was the natural choice for the role of Simon’s opponent (77). But a variation on Haenchen’s argument just adverted to casts doubt on this conclusion: had there been an original tradition which depicted the rejection of Simon by Peter, Luke would hardly have detracted from this event by transferring some of the best material to a lesser figure. The reverse, however, is quite easy to imagine. An old tradition credited Philip with the conversion of Simon the magician. Later, Luke expanded upon this tradition and cast Peter in the lead role. Koch’s notion that Luke introduced Simon into the Philip portion of the narrative to expand his scanty material on Philip is contradicted by the significant role that Philip plays in Luke’s overall scheme. Before turning to such a vague solution as this, one must heed the obvious traditional connection between Philip and Simon, namely, their presence in Samaria (Haenchen, 1971:306–7). Careful analysis of Luke’s portrayal of Philip in Acts 8:5–13 indicates the momentous importance of Philip’s enterprise in the eyes of Luke. Philip’s activity serves to illustrate the evangelistic endeavors of the anonymous missioners dispersed by persecution according to Acts 8:4 (cf. 11:19–26). The obvious significance of this outward movement for Luke is underscored by its correspondence with the programmatic prediction of the risen Jesus in 1:8 concerning the geographical advance of the Christian mission. Indeed, the two Philip sto15 Koch himself (n. 21 on pp. 71–72) convincingly demonstrates the entirely Lukan nature of the language employed in 8:20–24. The same can be said for 8:18–19 (Lüdemann, 1989:97). Note that the separation of baptism from the reception of the Spirit in 8:12–17, an ad hoc construction that also is called upon elsewhere (10:44–48; 19:1–7), reinforces the thoroughly Lukan character of this passage. See e.g. Conzelmann: 65; Lüdemann, 1989:96–97. 16 As in 8:14, in 11:19–24 when word of the success of the Hellenists reaches the Jerusalem church, Barnabas is dispatched in an official capacity and recognizes the new development on Jerusalem’s behalf. Remarkably, even Peter must submit to the watchful authority of Jerusalem (11:1–18).

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ries that are presented in Acts 8 (8:5–13: Samaria; 8:26–39: an Ethiopian as a representative of the “ends of the earth”) dovetail so perfectly with Luke’s geographical schema for the progress of the Christian mission in 1:8 that one suspects that they gave rise to Luke’s conception. It is therefore with great confidence that one can accept it as probable that Philip’s role in 8:5–13 as the first missionary to Samaria depends on preLukan tradition. The surprising fact that Philip should be the one first mentioned to conduct such unprecedented evangelizing activity, given his rather inauspicious introduction in 6:5, lends plausibility to this surmise. Furthermore, although no direct speech is provided for Philip, Luke’s characterization of the manner and content of his speaking is comparable to Lukan descriptions of the preaching of Jesus, the apostles, and Paul. As Robert C. Tannehill puts it: “The narrative emphasizes that Philip is performing the same kind of preaching mission as Jesus and the apostles (104).” Indeed detailed examination of the language used to describe Philip’s speech and action makes it clear that Luke has expended considerable stylistic effort to ensure that Philip is understood to proclaim a message identical with that of Jesus in the Gospel of Luke and to perform equivalent miracles (Matthews, 1993:48–59). And when, in line with the prediction in Acts 1:8, Philip goes beyond the bounds of Jesus’ missionary territory by doing these things in Samaria, it is clear that a major transition has been reached in Luke’s “documentation” of the expansion of the early church. Again such attention to a relatively minor figure fully warrants the assumption that Luke was in possession of traditional information recounting Philip’s activities in Samaria. Returning to Koch’s study, let me finally note his problematic attribution of 8:12–13 to Luke. Koch asserts that Luke added these verses to illustrate the far-reaching effects of Philip’s mission. From Koch’s perspective this explains the ambiguous nature of the ending of Peter’s encounter with Simon in 8:21–24. But it is too much to believe that Luke would be so clumsy as to create the scene in 8:13 only to have it thwart his faithful rendering of the alleged tradition in hand in 8:21–24. In the end the two objections that Koch (73–74) raises against Haenchen’s championing of the Philip-Simon tradition, namely, bringing figures together who have no foothold in the tradition and transforming the subject of the Simon tradition, reveal his own reconstruction to be untenable. In my view the evidence indicates that Luke discovered a tradition that boasted of Philip’s missionary success in Samaria with the claim that he converted the leader of a rival sect (Smith: 736). For the composition of Acts 8:14–25 it is enough to assume that Luke was intrigued by the shadowy character of the wonderworker Simon (Haenchen, 1971:308). Luke took advantage of his presence in Samaria to bring him into contact with Peter on the latter’s redactional swing through that territory. It seems doubtful to me that Luke knew anything about a gnostic Simon. There is no reason to sup-

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pose that Luke had access to gnostic-tinged traditions or sources, but misunderstood their import. Nor is there any reason to suppose that he knew anything about Simonians or was influenced by them in any way in the construction of his account. The fact that the Acts of Peter is also ignorant of Simonians and their gnostic leader provides additional confirmation to the argument here that the encounters between Peter and Simon in the Acts of Peter stem ultimately from their initial meeting in Luke’s redaction. V. Conclusion Attention to the operation of literary creativity in Acts 8 has led to the recognition that subsequent tales of the agonistic adventures of Peter and Simon are indebted to Luke’s fortuitous pairing of these characters. Stories about Peter and Simon, initially elaborated on the basis of their first appearance in Luke’s narrative, quickly took on a life of their own and were a key ingredient of the “intertextual complex” out of which the Acts of Peter emerged. Thus the Acts of Peter is both a production essentially free from literary dependence upon Acts and an intertextual testament to Luke’s literary achievement.

WORKS CONSULTED Bauckham, Richard 1993 “The Acts of Paul as a Sequel to Acts.” Pp. 105–52 in The Book of Acts in Its First Century Ancient Literary Setting. Vol. 1, The Book of Acts in Its Setting. Ed. Bruce W. Winter and Andrew D. Clarke. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans and Carlisle: Paternoster. Bergmeier, Roland 1986 “Die Gestalt des Simon Magus in Act 8 und in der simonianischen Gnosis—Aporien einer Gesamtdeutung.” ZNW 77:267–75. Beyschlag, Karlmann 1974 Simon Magus und die christliche Gnosis. WUNT 16. Tübingen: MohrSiebeck. Bovon, François 1981 “La vie des apôtres: traditions bibliques et narrations apocryphes.” Pp. 141–58 in Bovon et al., Les Actes apocryphes des apôtres. Christianisme et monde païen. Publications de la Faculté de Théologie de l’Université de Genève 4. Geneva: Labor et Fides. Cartlidge, David R. 1990 “Combien d’unités avez-vous de trois à quatre? What Do We Mean by Intertextuality in Early Church Studies?” SBLSP 29:400–411.

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Conzelmann, Hans 1987 Acts of the Apostles: A Commentary on the Acts of the Apostles. Hermeneia. Philadelphia: Fortress. Dibelius, Martin 1956 Studies in the Acts of the Apostles. Ed. Heinrich Greeven. London: SCM. Dickerson, Patrick L. 1997 “The Sources of the Account of the Mission to Samaria in Acts 8:5–25.” NovT 39:210–34. Dupont, Jacques 1964 The Sources of Acts: The Present Position. Trans. Kathleen Pond. London: Darton, Longman & Todd. Gamble, Harry Y. 1995 Books and Readers in the Early Church: A History of Early Christian Texts. New Haven: Yale University Press. Garrett, Susan R. 1989 The Demise of the Devil: Magic and the Demonic in Luke’s Writings. Minneapolis: Fortress. Haenchen, Ernst 1971 The Acts of the Apostles: A Commentary. Philadelphia: Westminster. 1973

“Simon Magus in der Apostelgeschichte.” Pp. 267–79 in Gnosis und Neues Testament: Studien aus Religionswissenschaft und Theologie. Ed. KarlWolfgang Tröger. Gütersloh: Mohn.

Johnson, Luke T. 1977 The Literary Function of Possessions in Luke-Acts. SBLDS 39. Missoula: Scholars. Kaestli, Jean-Daniel 1981 “Les principales orientations de la recherche sur les Actes apocryphes des apôtres.” Pp. 49–67 in François Bovon et al., Les Actes apocryphes des apôtres. Christianisme et monde païen. Publications de la Faculté de Théologie de l’Université de Genève 4. Geneva: Labor et Fides. Karris, Robert J. 1978 “Poor and Rich: The Lukan Sitz im Leben.” Pp. 112–25 in Perspectives on Luke–Acts. Ed. Charles H. Talbert. Danville, VA: Association of Baptist Professors of Religion; Edinburgh: Clark. Kelber, Werner H. 1994 “Jesus and Tradition: Words In Time, Words In Space.” Semeia 65:139–67. Koch, Dietrich-Alex 1986 “Geistbesitz, Geistverleihung und Wundermacht. Erwägungen zur Tradition und zur lukanischen Redaktion in Act 8 5–25.” ZNW 77: 64–82.

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Koester, Helmut 1982 Introduction to the New Testament. Vol. 2, History and Literature of Early Christianity. Hermeneia–Foundations and Facets. Philadelphia: Fortress. Lake, Kirsopp, and Henry J. Cadbury 1979 The Beginnings of Christianity. Part I: The Acts of the Apostles. Vol. 4, English Translation and Commentary. Ed. F. J. Foakes Jackson and Kirsopp Lake. Reprint. Grand Rapids: Baker. Lietzmann, Hans 1949 A History of the Early Church. Vol. 2, The Founding of the Church Universal. 2d ed. Trans. B. L. Woolf. Reprint. Cleveland/New York: World Meridian Books, 1961. Lüdemann, Gerd 1975 Untersuchungen zur simonianischen Gnosis. GThA 1. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. 1987

“The Acts of the Apostles and the Beginnings of Simonian Gnosis.” NTS 33:420–26.

1989

Early Christianity according to the Traditions in Acts: A Commentary. Minneapolis: Fortress.

Matthews, Christopher R. 1992 “Philip and Simon, Luke and Peter: A Lukan Sequel and Its Intertextual Success.” SBLSP 31:133–46. 1993

“Trajectories through the Philip Tradition.” Th.D. diss., Harvard University.

1996

“Peter and Philip Upside Down: Perspectives on the Relation of the Acts of Philip to the Acts of Peter.” SBLSP 35:23–34.

Meeks, Wayne 1977 “Simon Magus in Recent Research.” RelSRev 3:137–42. Pervo, Richard I. 1987 Profit with Delight: The Literary Genre of the Acts of the Apostles. Philadelphia: Fortress. 1995

“A Hard Act to Follow: The Acts of Paul and the Canonical Acts.” Journal of Higher Criticism: 2/2:2–32.

Plümacher, Eckhard 1978 “Apokryphe Apostelakten.” PWSup 15:11–70. Poupon, Gérard 1988 “Les ‘Actes de Pierre’ et leur remaniement.” Pp. 4363–83 in ANRW II 25/6.

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Schneemelcher, Wilhelm 1992 “The Acts of Peter.” Pp. 271–321 in New Testament Apocrypha: Revised Edition of the Collection Initiated by Edgar Hennecke. Vol. 2, Writings Relating to the Apostles, Apocalypses and Related Subjects. Ed. Wilhem Schneemelcher. Trans. ed. R. McL. Wilson. Louisville: Westminster/Knox. Small, Jocelyn P. 1995 “Artificial Memory and the Writing Habits of the Literate.” Helios 22:159–66. Smith, Morton 1965 “The Account of Simon Magus in Acts 8.” Pp. 735–49 in Harry Austryn Wolfson Jubilee Volume. On the Occasion of His Seventy-Fifth Birthday, English Section. Vol. 2. Jerusalem: American Academy for Jewish Research. Stillman, Martha K. 1997 “The Gospel of Peter: A Case for Oral-Only Dependency?” ETL 73: 114–20. Stoops, Robert F., Jr. 1983 “Miracle Stories and Vision Reports in the Acts of Peter.” Ph.D. diss., Harvard University. Tannehill, Robert C. 1990 The Narrative Unity of Luke-Acts: A Literary Interpretation. Vol. 2, The Acts of the Apostles. Minneapolis: Fortress. Thomas, Christine M. 1995 “The Acts of Peter, the Ancient Novel, and Early Christian History.” Ph.D. diss., Harvard University. Waitz, Hans 1906 “Die Quelle der Philippusgeschichten in der Apostelgeschichte 8,5–40.” ZNW 7:340–55. Wellhausen, Julius 1914 Kritische Analyse der Apostelgeschichte. AGG 15/2. Berlin: Weidmann. Wilson, R. McL. 1979 “Simon and Gnostic Origins.” Pp. 485–91 in Les Actes des Apôtres: Traditions, rédaction, théologie. Ed. Jacob Kremer. BETL 48. Gembloux: Duculot; Leuven: Leuven University Press.

AN ANCIENT JEWISH CHRISTIAN REJOINDER TO LUKE’S ACTS OF THE APOSTLES: PSEUDO-CLEMENTINE RECOGNITIONS 1.27–71 F. Stanley Jones California State University, Long Beach

abstract This essay first displays in parallel columns similar passages in Acts and Pseudo-Clementine Recognitions 1.27–71. Analysis reveals that this particular section of the Pseudo-Clementines extensively used material from Luke’s Acts of the Apostles. The study determines what sort of spin this second-century Jewish Christian author put on the adopted material in his own portrayal of early church history. It concludes that the author of Recognitions 1.27–71 intended to rival, even replace, Luke’s Acts with his own work. Recognitions 1.27–71 is thus disclosed as an exceptional and very early critical commentary on the Book of Acts.

I. Introduction It is widely thought that Pseudo-Clementine Recognitions (=Rec) 1.27–71 derives from a special source. This critical position has maintained itself since the mid-nineteenth century (Jones, 1995a:4–34). Detailed studies have isolated secondary accretions and find the original material preserved in Recognitions 1.27.1–32.4, 34.1–44.1, 53.4–71.6. This source related history from creation through the seventh year after Jesus’ death, when the disciples hold a disputation with the Jewish sects in the temple. A neglected aspect of this source is its unusual relationship to Luke’s Acts of the Apostles. Most investigators have judged that Recognitions 1.27–71 employed Acts. For others, the peculiar connections with Acts lead to the view that Recognitions 1.27–71 had access instead to a source of Acts or should even be considered a source of Acts (history of research: Jones, 1995b:620–22). A synoptic presentation of the evidence may prove helpful in resolving the debate and in advancing the discussion.1 1 For exegetical details and references to the commentaries and secondary literature, see Jones, 1995b; only complementary notes are included in this study. All but essential and complementary notes and references have similarly been omitted from the third part of this study. Translations of the Recognitions are generally adopted from Jones, 1995a. The translation of passages from Acts is a modified NRSV. At points the English has been made more literal to bring

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semeia II. Literary Parallels between the Canonical Acts and RECOGNITIONS 1

A. Most Secure Instances Three passages provide considerable security about the existence of a literary relationship between Luke’s Acts and the source of Recognitions 1.27–71. 1. In Recognitions 1.65.2–3 Gamaliel calms down the assembled crowd of Jews with words that are very similar to Acts 5:34–39. Acts

Syriac Recognitions

Latin Recognitions

(5:34) But a Pharisee in the council named Gamaliel, a teacher of the law, respected by all the people, stood up and ordered the men to be put outside for a short time. (35) Then he said to them, “Men, Israelites, consider carefully what you propose to do to these men. . . . (38) So in the present case, I tell you, keep away from these men and let them alone; because if this plan or this undertaking is of human origin, it will be brought to nought; (39) but if it is of God [or: of God’s will], you will not be able to overthrow them—in that case you may even be found fighting against God!” They were persuaded by him.

(1.65.2) But Gamaliel, who was the head of the nation and who was, because it was advantageous, secretly our brother in the matter regarding faith, perceived that they were intensely gnashing their teeth in the great anger towards us with which they were filled. He said these things: (3) “Cease and keep your peace, O people, the children of Israel, for we do not know the nature of this trial that has come upon us. Therefore, leave these men alone, for if this matter is of human origin, it will come to nought, but if it is of God, why then are you transgressing in vain, as you are not able to do a thing? For it befits the will of God to be continually victorious over all things.” (1.62.7) “Who is there who possesses a mind to whom it is not clear that our concern is not human in origin but rather that this is the will of God, for whom all things are possible?”

(1.65.2) But when Gamaliel the head of the people (who was secretly our brother in faith but who by our counsel was among them) perceived that they were vehemently raging and were affected with great fury against us, rising he said, (3) “Be quiet for a little while, O men, Israelites, for you do not perceive the temptation that impends upon us. Therefore, desist from these men. And if something that they do is of human contrivance, it will quickly come to an end, but if it is from God, why do you sin without reason and accomplish nothing? For who is able to outstrip the will of God?” (1.62.7) “To whom with a faculty of understanding is it not apparent that this is the work not of human sophistry but rather of the divine will and favor?”

out the correspondences with the parallel texts. Changes have also been introduced from textual variants that might be relevant to the parallels. In particular, the “Western” text has been reviewed (see Ropes; Boismard and Lamouille, 1984a, 1984b). The reader may want to consult a critical Greek New Testament.

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In common are the figure of Gamaliel, the address, “Men, Israelites,” and the contrast between something of human origin that will perish and something from God (cf. Rec 1.62.7). The similarities are remarkable and suggestive of a literary relationship. Since the address, “Men, Israelites,” recurs in several of Luke’s (redactional) speeches (Acts 2:22, 3:12, 5:35, 13:16, 21:28), it would seem to be a clearly redactional element in Acts; to begin with such an address is part of the uniformity of the Lukan speeches (statistics in Boismard and Lamouille, 1984b:209). While it is possible that Luke originally adopted the phrase from the tradition behind Recognitions 1, his repeated redactional use of the phrase and his placement of it at the beginning of his speeches make it much more likely that Acts was used by the author of Recognitions 1. This line of reasoning would suggest furthermore that the entire motif of Gamaliel trying to appease the Jewish throng (cf. Rec 1.66.4–67.7) was borrowed by Recognitions 1 from Acts. 2. Recognitions 1.71.3–4 describes how the enemy arranged with Caiaphas the high priest to persecute or massacre all who believed in Jesus. It details how he departed for Damascus with letters from the high priest Caiaphas (and the other priests) to bring destruction on the believers. This passage has close resemblances to Acts 9:1–2, 22:4–5, 26:10–12. Acts (9:1) Meanwhile Saul, still breathing threats and murder against the disciples of the Lord, went to the high priest (2) and asked him for letters to the synagogues at Damascus, so that if he found any who belonged to the Way, men or women, he might bring them bound to Jerusalem. (22:4) “I persecuted this Way up to the point of death . . . , (5) as the high priest and the whole council of elders can testify about me. From them I also received letters to the brothers in Damascus, and I went there.” (26:10) “And that is what I did in Jerusalem; with authority received from the chief priests . . . (11) Since I was so furiously enraged at them, I pursued them even to foreign cities. (12) With this in mind I was traveling to Damascus with the authority and commission of the chief priests.”

Syriac Recognitions (1.71.3) After three days, one of the brothers came and told us what had happened since the time that we were in the temple. For the priests were asking him to be with them as a priest in all their reckonings. They did not know that he was a member of our faith. Then, he told us how the enemy, before the priests, promised Caiaphas the high priest that he would massacre all those who believe in Jesus. (4) He departed for Damascus to go as one carrying letters from them so that when he went there, the nonbelievers might help him and might destroy those who believe. He wanted to go there first because he thought that Peter had gone there.

Latin Recognitions (1.71.3) After three days one of the brothers came to us from Gamaliel, whom we mentioned above, and brought us secret messages: That hostile person had received a commission from Caiaphas the high priest to persecute all who believed in Jesus, (4) and to go to Damascus with his letters so that even there, when he had gained the help of the nonbelievers, he might bring destruction on the believers; but he was hastening particularly to Damascus because he believed that Peter had fled there.

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In particular, mention of the high priest, his letters, and a departure for Damascus all in close proximity makes a literary relationship likely. In contrast to Recognitions 1.27–71, Acts elsewhere writes about “letters” from Jerusalem (Acts 15:30, 23:33), and thus the inclusion of “letters” in Acts 9:2 seems to reflect Lukan redactional conceptions. The view that Acts is the source of the material in Recognitions 1 receives further support from the observation that Damascus does not enter further into the Pseudo-Clementine account (at least, as we have it: here the story next relates the enemy’s encounter with the emigrant Jerusalem congregation in Jericho), whereas in Acts the story continues in Damascus (with no mention of Jericho). 3. Recognitions 1.36.2 has the same citation from the Old Testament as Acts 3:22–23. LXX

Acts

Syriac Recognitions

Latin Recognitions

(Deut 18:15) A prophet like me from your brothers will the Lord your God raise up for you. Listen to him. (16) According to everything that you asked of the Lord . . . (19) And whoever should not listen to whatever that prophet should say in my name—I will take vengeance on him (Lev 23:29). Every soul that shall not be humbled on that day shall be exterminated from its people.

(3:22) “The Lord your God will raise up for you a prophet like me from your brothers. Listen to him in everything that he will say to you. (23) And every soul that does not listen to that prophet shall be exterminated from its people.”

(1.36.2) “The Lord your God will raise up for you a prophet like me. Listen to him in all matters. Everyone who is not obedient to him will die in death.” This shows that he will give up his soul to destruction.

(1.36.2) “The Lord your God will raise up for you a prophet like me; hear him with respect to all that he might say to you. For whoever should not hear that prophet—his soul will be banished from its people.”

This common citation would not be very remarkable if there were not several shared distinctive features in the wording. First, the two texts agree in rearranging Deut 18:15 by having “the Lord your God will raise for you” before “like me” rather than after it as in the preserved Septuagint. Second, both texts agree in the cited phrase against the preserved Septuagint by having “your” and “you” in the plural rather than in the singular. Third, both texts join Deut 18:16a (“in everything”) directly onto the end of the sentence in Deut 18:15, rather than opening a new sentence with these words as in the Septuagint. Fourth, the two texts share a reference to the soul that will be destroyed, which derives not from Deut 18:19 but rather from Lev 23:29, as is especially clear in the citation in Acts. Thus, the two texts share the mixed

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Old Testament citation from Deut 18:15–16, 19 and Lev 23:29. Fifth, both texts have “that prophet” as the object of the second occurrence of the verb “to listen”; Deut 18:19 differs. The evidence for a literary relationship between Acts and Recognitions 1 in this third case is the strongest yet encountered. Inversely, there are fewer indications of the nature of the dependency; the option of common employment of a third source (such as a “testimony book”) has been suggested. It is, however, significant that the citation from Deut 18:15 recurs in Acts 7:37. Here again the order of the phrases differs in the same way from the preserved Septuagint, and the second person pronoun is plural, in contrast to the Septuagint. If one were to follow a tendency of modern research in giving Stephen’s speech traditional priority over the other (redactional) speeches of Acts, Acts 7:37 could be viewed as the basis for the redactionally mixed citation in Acts 3:22–23, especially since this Christological perspective is developed in Acts 7 (it is emphasized that Moses was a rejected leader, Acts 7:35, 39), though not elsewhere in Acts. In Recognitions 1 the view that Jesus is the prophet predicted by Moses recurs, but the citation does not reappear. Given this state of affairs, along with the evidence of cases 1 and 2, Acts should be judged most likely the origin of the citation in Recognitions 1. B. Probable Instances A number of parallels add probable or possible support to the judgment that Recognitions 1 is dependent on Acts. These parallels are listed here in two groups according to the order of Recognitions 1.27–71. 4. Recognitions 1.34.2 contains a summary statement of the Old Testament genealogy of Isaac, Jacob, and the twelve patriarchs; in its brevity, this statement noticeably resembles Acts 7:8. Armenian Recognitions

Acts

Syriac Recognitions

(7:8) And so he begot Isaac and circumcised him on the eighth day; and Isaac (begot) Jacob, and Jacob (begot) the twelve patriarchs.

(1.34.2) And the one whom he called Isaac was given to her. Isaac begot Jacob, and Jacob the twelve, and the twelve the seventy-two.

(1.34.2: not preserved)

(7:11) Now there came a famine. (7:14) Then Joseph sent and invited his father Jacob and all his relatives, seventy-five in all.

(3) Now when a famine arose, their whole family went to Egypt. . . . They multiplied in the blessing and promise of God.

(1.34.3) Through the blessing of God and through the centuries they had been multiplied.

Latin Recognitions (1.34.2) And he received the one whom he called Isaac, of whom Jacob was born, and from Jacob the twelve patriarchs, and from them the seventy-two. (3) When a famine arose, these came to Egypt with their whole house, and having multiplied through

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(7:17) But as the time drew near for the fulfillment of the promise that God had made to Abraham, our people in Egypt increased and multiplied.

the blessing and promise of God . . .

Recognitions 1 says “the seventy-two” followed the twelve in the genealogy. The presence of such a number corresponds roughly with the mention of “seventy-five” in Acts 7:14. Seventy-two, however, is a most unusual number to have going to Egypt. It is most readily explained as an awkward attempt by Recognitions 1 to speak of seventy-two followers of Moses, which the author needed as a prefiguration of Jesus’ followers (Rec 1.40.4). The residual discontinuity speaks for Recognitions 1 having changed the text as found in Acts 7. Recognitions 1 is apparently summarizing the story of Joseph found in Acts 7:9–16. He intersects again with the wording of Acts in the description of the multiplication of the people and the promise of God (Acts 7:17). 5. Recognitions 1.41.1–2 reports that though Jesus performed signs and wonders, he was crucified (cf. also Rec 1.59.7); nevertheless, this was transformed to good. These remarks loosely parallel Acts 2:22–24 (cf. also Acts 10:38–40). Acts

Syriac Recognitions

Latin Recognitions

(2:22) Jesus of Nazareth, a man attested through signs and wonders that God did through him among you, as you yourselves know—(23) this man, handed over to you according to the definite plan and foreknowledge of God, you crucified and killed by the hands of those outside the law. (24) But God raised him up, having freed him from death, because it was impossible for him to be held in its power.

(1.41.1) But one is not able to perform the signs and wonders that he did in his advent, for Moses performed signs in Egypt, (2) and the prophet like him who arose performed signs among the people, banished every sickness, and proclaimed eternal life. Owing to the evil transgression of the wicked, they brought upon him the punishment of the cross. He, however, transformed even this, through his power, into the good and beautiful.

(1.41.1) And what will he say about the signs and wonders that he performed? For Moses performed miracles and healings in Egypt. (2) The one likewise whom he predicted would arise as a prophet like himself, though he cured every sickness and every infirmity in the people, did innumerable miracles, and preached eternal life, was brought to the cross by the impious. This deed, however, was changed to good by his power.

“Signs and wonders” is a phrase found sporadically across the several groups of New Testament writings, but nowhere nearly as frequently as in Acts (statistics in Boismard and Lamouille, 1984b:250), where a redactional preference must have been at work (as the parallel occurrences in summarizing passages

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indicate, e.g. Acts 2:43, 5:12, 6:8, 14:3, 15:12). Dependency on Acts thus seems most likely. These findings might indicate that the recurrence of the phrase in Recognitions 1.58.1, 3 is also dependent on Acts, particularly Acts 7:36, though here there is a precedent in the Septuagint of Deut 29:2. 6. Recognitions 1.71.2 states that there were “about five thousand men” who had fled from Jerusalem to Jericho. Acts 4:4 similarly reports that “the number of men was about five thousand.” Acts

Syriac Recognitions

Latin Recognitions

(4:4) But many of those who heard the word believed; and the number of men was about five thousand.

(1.71.2) Before the dawn, we went down to Jericho. We numbered about five thousand men.

(1.71.2) Before light we went down to Jericho, approximately five thousand men.

Whereas this is the only mention of a specific number of Christians in Recognitions 1, Luke likes to report figures on the growth of the church in Jerusalem (Acts 1:15: one hundred and twenty; Acts 2:41: three thousand; Acts 4:4: five thousand; Acts 21:20: tens of thousands). These numbers seem to be redactional fictions. They bolster the clearly Lukan redactional effort to make the rise of Christianity a major event on the stage of world history. Thus, it is likely that Recognitions 1 came up with the figure “five thousand men” on the basis of Acts. The importation of the number into Recognitions 1 might further be confirmed by the statement in Recognitions 1.43.1 and 71.1 that the believers actually outnumbered the nonbelievers, for five thousand seems to be a little low for this framework. C. Possible Instances 7. The angel who approached Abraham in Recognitions 1.32.4 also probably appeared to Moses in the original version of Recognitions 1.34.4 (changed by the Basic Writer to the true prophet: Jones, 1995a:151–52); the angel in Acts 7:30, 35 is similar.

Acts (7:30) Now when forty years had passed, an angel appeared to him in the wilderness of Mount Sinai, in the flame of a burning bush. (7:35) It was this Moses whom they rejected when they

Syriac Recognitions

Armenian Recognitions

(1.32.4) The angel (1.32.4: not approached him and preserved) testified to him concerning his election and the land that was incumbent upon his race.

Latin Recognitions (1.32.4) Hence also an angel came to him in a vision and instructed him more fully concerning the things he had begun to perceive. And he also showed him what was due to his race and posterity.

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said, “Who made you a ruler and a judge?” and whom God now sent as both ruler and liberator through the angel who appeared to him in the bush.

(1.34.4) But as they were being mistreated, the prophet of truth, Moses, came to them. He punished the oppressing Egyptians.

(1.34.4) The true prophet saw their afflictions, appeared to Moses, and visited the oppressing Egyptians.

(1.34. 4) While they were being afflicted, the true prophet appeared to Moses. He also visited the Egyptians.

8. The theory on sacrifices in Recognitions 1.36.1, 37.1, 64.1 bears some resemblances to Acts 7:42–43, though there are no verbal correspondences. Acts

Syriac Recognitions

Latin Recognitions

(7:42) But God turned away from them and handed them over to worship the host of heaven, as it is written in the book of the prophets: “Did you offer to me slain victims and sacrifices forty years in the wilderness, O house of Israel? (43) No; you took along the tent of Moloch, and the star of your god Rephan, the images that you made to worship; so I will remove you beyond Babylon.”

(1.36.1) Because of this, even Moses, as he came down from Mount Sinai and saw the crime, understood, as a good and faithful steward, that it was not possible for the people easily to cease and stop all of the desire of the love of idolatry, in which thing, which had been added to it [sc. the people] from the evil upbringing with the Egyptians, there had been the great length of time. Therefore, he allowed them to sacrifice. But he told them to do this in the name of God so that it might be possible for one half of this desire to be cut down and rendered void. Now concerning the correction of this other half in another time and through the hand of another as would be meet in providence . . . (1.37.1) Along with these things he also separated out for them a place in which alone it would be lawful for them to perform sacrifices. (1.64.1) “For we know that he [sc. God] is even more angered about your sacrificing after the end of the time for sacrifices.”

(1.36.1) In the meantime when the faithful and wise steward Moses perceived that the vice of sacrificing to idols had become deeply ingrained in the people owing to the association with the Egyptians and that it was not possible for the root of this evil to be taken from them, he allowed them to sacrifice, but he permitted this to be done to God alone, in order that he might eliminate, so to speak, half of the deeply ingrained vice. But he reserved the other half to be amended by another person and at another time. . . .

(1.37.1) Furthermore, he appointed a place in which alone it would be legal for them to sacrifice to God. (1.64.1) “‘For we ascertain as certain,” I said, “that God is even more irritated with regard to the sacrifices you are offering, because at any rate the time of sacrifices has already expired.”

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9. The view that Jesus would amend what Moses had allowed in Recognitions 1.36.1 resembles Acts 6:14. Acts

Syriac Recognitions

Latin Recognitions

(6:14) For we have heard him say that this Jesus of Nazareth will destroy this place and will change the customs that Moses handed on to us.

(1.36.1) Now concerning the correction of this other half in another time and through the hand of another as would be meet in providence . . .

(1.36.1) But he reserved the other half to be amended by another person and at another time.

10. Recognitions 1.43.3 reports on the growth of the church in Jerusalem as does Acts 6:7 (cf. also Acts 4:4 and Rec 1.43.1, 53.2). Acts

Syriac Recognitions

Latin Recognitions

(6:7) The word of the Lord continued to spread; the number of the disciples increased greatly in Jerusalem, and a great many of the priests became obedient to the faith. (4:4) But many of those who heard the word believed.

(1.43.3) The church in Jerusalem, which was established by our Lord, was growing. (1.43.1) For again increasingly, as if by the jealousy of God at all times, we were increasing to be more than they were, so that even their priests were afraid lest by the providence of God, as to their shame, the whole nation should come to our faith.

(1.43.3) The church of God established in Jerusalem was growing, having multiplied abundantly. (1.43.1) For as a sign that these things were being done by divine virtue, we, who were very few, in the passing of days and at the stipulation of God were being made much more than those. Thus the priests eventually became afraid lest to their confusion by the providence of God the entire people should come to our faith. (1.53.2) Innumerable multitudes are coming to the faith of his name.

(1.53.2) And many were continually coming to the faith of the word concerning him.

This type of information seems to reflect the Lukan redactional tendency discussed above (no. 6) with regard to Recognitions 1.71.2. 11. Recognitions 1.44.1 places the debate (and the subsequent persecution) at the time of the Passover; Acts 12:3 reports an arrest of Peter during the days of Unleavened Bread. Acts (12:3) After he saw that it pleased the Jews, he proceeded to arrest Peter also. This was during the days of Unleavened Bread.

Syriac Recognitions (1.44.1) Therefore, as we twelve apostles were gathered in the days of the Passover with the greater part of the community at Jerusalem, we assembled together with the brothers in the day of the festival.

Latin Recognitions (1.44.1) But when we twelve apostles assembled for the day of the Passover with a great multitude and each of our brothers had entered the church . . .

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12. Recognitions 1.53.1, 65.2, 5 report that the unbelievers among the Jews were filled with anger, particularly after the disciples’ speeches; this motif is also found in Acts 7:54 (cf. also Acts 5:33). Acts

Syriac Recognitions

Latin Recognitions

(7:54) When they heard these things, they became enraged and ground their teeth at him. (5:33) When they heard this, they were enraged and wanted to kill them. (34) But a Pharisee in the council named Gamaliel . . .

(1.53.1) Hence because there was not a little debate about Christ, those from the Jews who did not believe were excessively gnashing their teeth over us, as they were undecided, lest the one against whom they had previously sinned and offended truly be [the Christ]. (1.65.2) But Gamaliel . . . perceived that they were intensely gnashing their teeth in the great anger towards us with which they were filled. (1.65.5) Now those who were gnashing their teeth and were filled with fury and hate kept silent.

(1.53.1) Because of this there is not a little debate about Christ, and all the unbelievers of the Jews are stirred up against us with immense rage, fearing lest he should be he, against whom they sinned.

(1.65.2) But when Gamaliel . . . perceived that they were vehemently raging and were affected with great fury against us . . . (1.65.5) When these things had been said, their fury was somewhat repressed.

13. Recognitions 1.55.1 reports the initiation of a discussion between the disciples and the Jewish sects, including the high priest and the priests. This forum is similar to Acts 4:5–6. The disciples stand in both accounts (Rec 1.55.2; Acts 4:7, cf. Acts 5:25, 27). Acts

Syriac Recognitions

Latin Recognitions

(4:5) The next day their rulers, elders, and scribes assembled in Jerusalem, (6) with Annas the high priest, Caiaphas, John, and Alexander, and all who were of the high-priestly family. (7) When they had made the prisoners stand in their midst . . . (5:25) . . . standing in the temple . . . (5:27) They stood them in the Sanhedrin.

(1.55.1) Since the high priest with the rest of the priests had often bidden us either to teach or to learn the things regarding Jesus, our whole company went up to the temple at the counsel of the whole church, (2) and we stood on the stairs with our whole company of believers.

(1.55.1) Nevertheless, as we began to say, since the high priest, through the priests, was often asking us that we might hold a discussion with each other about Jesus, when it seemed appropriate and pleased the entire church, we went up to the temple. (2) When we were standing on the stairs together with our faithful brothers . . .

14. Recognitions 1.55.2, 66.4 report the achievement of silence on the stairs before the debate; compare Acts 15:12, 21:40 (similarly on steps; the stairs are also mentioned in Acts 21:35).

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Acts

Syriac Recognitions

Latin Recognitions

(15:12) The whole assembly kept silence and listened. (21:35) When Paul came to the steps . . . (21:40) When he had given him permission, Paul stood on the steps and motioned to the people with his hand; and when there was a great silence . . .

(1.55.2) We stood on the stairs with our whole company of believers. When everyone was silent, when there was great stillness . . . (1.66.3) All of us took the places of the preceding day. . . . (4) When there was a great stillness . . .

(1.55.2) When we were standing on the stairs together with our faithful brothers and when absolute silence of the people had been achieved . . . (1.66.3) Therefore we stood in the places where we were earlier. . . . (4) And when the utmost silence had been achieved . . .

These scenes are part of a broad motif of “silence” shared by both writings (see the concordances). For the concluding phrase, “he was silent,” after each disciple’s speech in Recognitions 1, compare the words “and he was silent” that close Paul’s speech in the “Western” text of Acts 13:41. 15. Recognitions 1.57.3 states that because the disciples had a command not to enter the city of the Samaritans (cf. Matt 10:5), James and John were hesitant to respond to the objection of a Samaritan. The reference to the city of the Samaritans seems somewhat out of place here since the discussion is taking place in Jerusalem. Acts 8:5, in contrast, reports that Philip went down to the city of the Samaritans. Thus, it could well be that at this point Recognitions 1 (in which reference to the city of the Samaritans seems out of place) is jabbing at Acts. Acts 8:14, 25 also have John in Samaria. Acts

Syriac Recognitions

Latin Recognitions

(8:5) Philip went down to the city of Samaria and proclaimed the Messiah to them. (8:14) Now when the apostles at Jerusalem heard that Samaria had accepted the word of God, they sent Peter and John to them. (8:25) Now after they had testified and spoken the word of the Lord, they returned to Jerusalem, proclaiming the good news to many villages of the Samaritans.

(1.57.3) Now because they had received a command that they should not enter into their city, they devised a way by which they neither would speak with these with whom they refused to speak nor be silent, appear to have been conquered, and damage the good faith of the many. Wisely then they spoke with them by means of silence.

(1.57.3) Even though they were under a command not to enter their cities nor to convey to them the word of proclamation, nevertheless lest their speech injure the faith of others if it was not refuted, they responded so wisely and energetically that they put them to silence forever.

16. Recognitions 1.60.5 mentions the person who became an apostle in the place of Judas; there is a similar report in Acts 1:23, 26. Acts (1:23) So they proposed two, Joseph called

Syriac Recognitions (1.60.5) After this one, Barabbas, who had become

Latin Recognitions (1.60.5) After him, Barnabas, also called

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Barsabbas, who was also known as Justus, and Matthias. (1:26) And they cast lots for them, and the lot fell on Matthias; and he was added to the eleven apostles.

an apostle in the stead of Judas the traitor, exhorted the people not to hate and dishonor Jesus.

Mathias, who was elected apostle in the place of Judas, began to warn the people not to hate Jesus or blaspheme him.

17. In Recognitions 1.62.1–2 Caiaphas tells Peter to stop preaching Jesus in ways similar to the scene with Peter and John before the Sanhedrin in Acts 4 (cf. also Acts 5:27–28). Acts

Syriac Recognitions

Latin Recognitions

(4:5) The next day their rulers, elders, and scribes assembled in Jerusalem, (6) with Annas the high priest, Caiaphas, John, and Alexander, and all who were of the high-priestly family. (4:13) Now when they saw the boldness of Peter and John and realized that they were uneducated and ordinary men, they were amazed and recognized them as companions of Jesus. (4:17) “But to keep it from spreading further among the people, let us warn them to speak no more to anyone in this name.” (18) So they called them and ordered them not to speak or teach at all in the name of Jesus. (5:27) The high priest questioned them, (28) saying, “We gave you strict orders not to teach in this name.”

(1.62.1) After him, Caiaphas gave heed to me, sometimes as if exhorting me and sometimes as if finding fault with me. He said, “Be silent and do not proclaim about Jesus that he is the Christ, for you are bringing destruction on yourself since you have gone astray after him and are leading others astray.” (2) Again, he found fault with me as with someone rash, “For while you were untaught and a fisher by trade, you became a teacher by chance.” (5) “Now if it is as you say, that I am simple, ignorant, and a fisher, and I am professing to know more than the wise elders,” I said to him, “then this is what should especially frighten you.” (1.63.1) Thus we the ignorant and fishers testified against the priests concerning God who alone is in the heavens.

(1.62.1) Then, Caiaphas again looked at me, in one moment as if warning and in another as if accusing, and said that I should henceforth cease from the proclamation of Christ Jesus, lest I do this to my destruction and, myself deceived in error, also lead others astray through my error. (2) Then he further accused me of audacity because though I was an unlearned fisher and a boor, I was so bold as to assume the office of a teacher. (5) “Now if even as a simpleton, as you say, an ignoramus, a fisher, and a boor I understand more than the wise elders, this,” I said, “should cause you greater fear.” (1.63.1) As we thus pursued these and other matters in this strain, we the ignorant and fishers appropriately taught and bore witness to the priests concerning the one sole God of heaven.

Though few verbatim parallels remain once the Syriac is compared, the objection that Peter is untaught (ijdiwvth~) corresponds noticeably with Acts 4:13. It is repeated in Recognitions 1.62.5, 63.1 (cf. also 62.7).

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18. Recognitions 1.63.2 states that the Jewish people should accept Jesus before the disciples go to the nations. A similar sequential ordering of the proclamation is found in Acts 13:46. Acts

Syriac Recognitions

Latin Recognitions

(13:46) Then both Paul and Barnabas spoke out boldly saying, “It was necessary to preach the word of God first to you. Since you reject it and judge yourselves to be unworthy of eternal life, we are now turning to the nations.”

(1.63.2) Finally I counseled them that before we should go to the nations to preach the knowledge of the God who is above all, they should reconcile their people to God by receiving Jesus.

(1.63.2) At the end I warned them that before we should go to the nations to preach to them the knowledge of God the Father, they should be reconciled to God by accepting his Son.

19. Recognitions 1.65.4 postpones the conclusion of the discussion between the Jewish sects and the apostles till the next day because the day is passing away (cf. Rec 1.71.2). This image is quite similar to Acts 4:3. Acts

Syriac Recognitions

Latin Recognitions

(4:3) So they arrested them and put them in custody until the next day, for it was already evening.

(1.65.4) “Now, since this day is passing away, I wish to speak with them here before you all tomorrow so that I may confute their word of error.”

(1.65.4) “Now therefore because the day is already turning into evening, while you listen in this same place tomorrow, I myself will dispute with these so that I might publicly reveal and plainly confute every error.” (1.71.2) Now when evening came, the priests also closed the temple. We withdrew to James’s house and spent the night there in prayer.

(1.71.2) When evening arrived, the priests closed the temple, and we came to James’s house and prayed there.

20. Recognitions 1.66.1 reports that the disciples went to James, reported to him, ate, lodged with him, and prayed all night (cf. also Rec 1.71.2 and 44.1). This scene bears similarities to the accounts of the upper room in Acts 1:13–14 (cf. the house[s] in Acts 2:46 [eating] and the house of Mary in Acts 12:12) and of Paul’s visit with James in Acts 21:18–19. Acts

Syriac Recognitions

Latin Recognitions

(1:13) When they had entered the city, they went to the room upstairs where they were staying. . . . (14) All these were constantly devoting themselves to prayer, together with certain women, including

(1.66.1) We came and related to James what had been said. As we spoke to him, we ate, and we all lodged with him and were praying all night that on the following day, in the coming discussion, our

(1.66.1) But as we came to our James, expounding everything that had been said and done, we stayed with him after the food had been eaten, while we were making supplications to the omnipotent God

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Mary the mother of Jesus, as well as his brothers. (2:46) Day by day, as they spent much time together in the temple, they broke bread at home and ate their food with glad and generous hearts. (12:12) As soon as he realized this, he went to the house of Mary, the mother of John whose other name was Mark, where many had gathered and were praying. (21:18) The next day we went with Paul to James, and all the elders were present. (19) After greeting them, he related one by one the things that God had done among the Gentiles through his ministry.

word of truth might prevail and be victorious. (1.71.2) When evening arrived, the priests closed the temple, and we came to James’s house and prayed there. (1.44.1) Therefore, as we twelve apostles were gathered in the days of the Passover with the greater part of the community at Jerusalem, we assembled together with the brothers in the day of the festival. Each of us was beseeching James to tell us the summaries of the things that had happened among the people, and he told us in a few words.

throughout the entire night that the discourse of the future disputation might reveal the indubitable truth of our faith. (1.71.2) Now when evening came, the priests also closed the temple. We withdrew to James’s house and spent the night there in prayer. (1.44.1) But when we twelve apostles assembled for the day of the Passover with a great multitude and each of our brothers had entered the church, James asked what things had been done by us in the various localities, and we briefly explained while the people listened.

21. Recognitions 1.66.2 reports on the disciples’ “ascending to the temple” (so also Rec 1.53.4, 55.1), a phrase used in Acts 3:1 (though also in Luke 18:10 and John 7:14, and common elsewhere [Schneider: 519–20]). Acts (3:1) Peter and John were going up to the temple at the ninth hour of prayer.

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(1.66.2) On the next day, James the bishop also ascended to the temple with our entire congregation.

(1.66.2) Therefore, on the following day James the bishop, both with us and with the entire church, ascended to the temple. (1.53.4) It seemed right to us to go up to the temple. (1.55.1) When it seemed appropriate and pleased the entire church, we went up to the temple.

(1.53.4) We drew up a plan to go up to the temple. (1.55.1) Our whole company went up to the temple at the counsel of the whole church.

22. Recognitions 1.67.3 has Gamaliel encourage the disciples to tell the people, if they know something; the image and wording are similar to Acts 13:15. Acts

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(13:15) The officials of the synagogue sent them a message, saying, “Brothers, if you have any wisdom, tell the people.”

(1.67.3) “So as to excite and entice us,” he said, “if you know something, do not be reluctant to tell our people also, for they are your brothers in respect to the fear of God.”

(1.67.3) “And you, brothers, if you know something further, may it not be displeasing to offer it to the people of God, that is, your brothers.”

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23. Recognitions 1.69.8 has James continue to speak for seven days before the disruption by the “enemy.” Acts 21:27 has Paul engage in seven days of purification before an uproar. Acts (21:27) When the seven days were almost completed, the Jews from Asia, who had seen him in the temple, stirred up the whole crowd.

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(1.69.8) In seven full days he persuaded all the people together with the high priest so that they should immediately make haste to proceed to baptism.

(1.69.8) When he had said a number of things also about baptism, he persuaded the whole people and the chief priest during seven succeeding days to hasten immediately to acquire baptism. (1.70.3) He [sc. the enemy] began to stir up the people and to instigate disturbances.

(1.70.3) He [sc. the enemy] began to create a great commotion.

24. Recognitions 1.69.8 describes the high priest (with the entire people) as ready to proceed to baptism; Acts 6:7 speaks of the conversion of many priests. Acts (6:7) A great many of the priests became obedient to the faith.

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(1.69.8) He persuaded all the people together with the high priest so that they should immediately make haste to proceed to baptism. (1.70.4) . . . the priests . . .

(1.69.8) He persuaded the whole people and the chief priest . . . to hasten immediately to acquire baptism. (1.70.4) . . . the priests . . .

25. Recognitions 1.69.8 makes baptism the goal of James’s speech; this bears a similarity to Acts 2:38 (especially when the absence of this motif in Hegesippus is considered; more on Hegesippus below). Acts

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(2:38) Peter said to them, “Repent, and be baptized every one of you in the name of Jesus Christ so that your sins may be forgiven; and you will receive the gift of the Holy spirit.”

(1.69.8) He also spoke much concerning . . . baptism. In seven full days he persuaded all the people together with the high priest so that they should immediately make haste to proceed to baptism.

(1.69.8) When he had said a number of things also about baptism, he persuaded the whole people and the chief priest during seven succeeding days to hasten immediately to acquire baptism.

26. Recognitions 1.70.1–2 reports that the enemy entered the temple with a few others and began shouting with an address of the Israelite men. This scene runs parallel to the shouting before the attack on Stephen in Acts 7:57

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and to Paul’s entrance into the temple with others in Acts 21:26, which occasions shouting and an address of the Israelite men in Acts 21:28. Acts (7:57) But they covered their ears, and with a loud shout all rushed together against him. (21:26) Then Paul took the men, and the next day, having purified himself, he entered the temple with them. (21:27) The Jews from Asia, who had seen him in the temple, stirred up the whole crowd. They seized him, (28) shouting and saying, “Men, Israelites. . . .”

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(1.70.1) Then a certain man who was the enemy entered the temple near the altar with a few others. He cried out and said, (2) “. . . O people, the children of Israel. . . .” (4) He let forth an outcry.

(1.70.1) When the matter had reached the point that they should come and be baptized, a certain hostile person entered the temple with only a few others and began to shout and say, (2) “. . . O men, Israelites? . . .” (4) He thus began to stir up everything with outcries.

27. Recognitions 1.70.2 has the enemy say, “What are you doing, O men, Israelites?” Acts 14:15 has Paul say, “Men, what are you doing?” 28. Recognitions 1.71.2 reports on the closing of the temple, similar to Acts 21:30. Acts (21:30) They seized Paul and dragged him out of the temple, and immediately the doors were shut.

Syriac Recognitions (1.71.2) When evening arrived, the priests closed the temple.

Latin Recognitions (1.71.2) Now when evening came, the priests also closed the temple.

29. Recognitions 1.71.2 has the church leave Jerusalem for Jericho; this is roughly parallel to the scattering of the church in Acts 8:1 (cf. Acts 11:19). Acts 8:2 then reports the burial of Stephen, while Recognitions 1.71.5 (Syriac) reports the burial of two brothers. Acts (8:1) That day a severe persecution began against the church in Jerusalem, and all except the apostles were scattered throughout the villages of Judea and Samaria. (2) Devout men buried Stephen and made loud lamentation over him. (11:19) Now those who were scattered because of the persecution that took place over Stephen traveled as far as Phoenicia, Cyprus, and Antioch.

Syriac Recognitions

Latin Recognitions

(1.71.2) Before the dawn, we went down to Jericho. (1.71.5) Now after thirty days he came upon us there in Jericho. We buried two brothers in that place at night. Each year their graves are suddenly white.

(1.71.2) Before light we went down to Jericho. (1.71.5) After about thirty days he passed through Jericho on his way to Damascus, at which time we had gone out to the graves of two of the brothers that would be whitened of themselves each year.

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D. Conclusion For the student accustomed to seeing Lukan redaction in, for example, Acts’ figure of the rational Gamaliel, the dependency of Recognitions 1 on Acts will perhaps seem obvious. Thoroughgoing reconsideration of the possibility that Acts and Recognitions 1 might jointly derive from common tradition, however, raises more than a few questions about assumed Lukan redaction. It is an instructive exercise. Nevertheless, even under these conditions, several passages remain in which Lukan redaction in Acts appears to be present in Recognitions 1 (see nos. 1, 2, 3, 5, 6, 10) or in which the context in Recognitions 1 appears to be secondary when compared with the context in Acts (see nos. 2, 4, 6, 15). Nothing was found that would indicate the reverse or common dependency on a third source. The conclusion must therefore be drawn that Recognitions 1 is dependent on Acts. Once this literary relationship is established, it is proper to consider virtually all of the passages listed above as instances of Recognitions 1’s dependency on Acts. The author of Recognitions 1 was accordingly influenced by the entire book of Acts throughout all sections of his writing. It remains to consider exactly how this Jewish Christian has treated Acts and to determine why he proceeded as he did. III. A Jewish Christian Rejoinder to Luke’s Acts of the Apostles A. Introduction If, as was concluded above, the author of Recognitions 1 truly knew and used Acts, Recognitions 1.27–71 presents a very early “commentary” on Acts.2 This is a noteworthy discovery, especially since this “commentary” is definitely not written in the standard (basically) uncritical and accepting mode of the ancient church but seems instead to be highly critical. How should the author’s employment of Acts be characterized? It is worth recalling at this point that the author of Recognitions 1.27–71 used not only the Acts of the Apostles but also a number of other sources, particularly Hegesippus and the Book of Jubilees (Jones, 1995a:138–49). The employment of such “historical” sources suggests that the author of Recognitions 1.27–71 sees himself writing a new history of earliest Christianity and thus that his mode of operation might be compared with other ancient historians. Secondary literature on the ancient historians has tended to focus on the exceptional classical figures as the foundation for modern historiography. 2 I avoid saying “the first commentary” particularly because I view the text-critical apparatus to the New Testament as the oldest commentary on the New Testament writings. Harnack’s suggestion (257*) that critical remarks on Acts were contained in the first section of Marcion’s Antitheses has not carried the day.

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There are very few summarizing overviews of the unexceptional historians and their modus operandi. It is not that scholarship is unaware that “historical writing of the Alexandrine period suffered immensely under the influences of rhetoric and even more under the addiction of these times to fables, gossip, and anecdotes, under the pleasure one had in sensationalistic historical portrayal, and under the novelistic manner that almost all historians of Alexander the Great approved for fulfillment of their task, thereby setting a very bad example” (Susemihl: 1.532, my translation). Students of the Classics have simply seen no particular reason to expound on the procedures of these “historians,” who were already castigated (tongue in cheek?) by Clement of Alexandria for being plagiarists of the first degree (Stromata 6.2; Hellenistic comments on this phenomenon in Peter: 450, and especially Stemplinger). From what is known, it is nevertheless readily imaginable that someone might have taken some uJpomnhvmata of Hegesippus and the Acts of the Apostles as the basis for the composition of a better history of earliest Christianity. The use of sources without naming them would further form no major exception in ancient historiography; it was rather the rule for finished works (Stemplinger: 177–85; Peter: 434–38). Eloquent rhetorical paraphrase (Stemplinger: 118–21, 212–15; Aelius Theon of Alexandria Progymnasmata [Spengel 2:62–64, Walz 1:152–57]; Quintilian 1.9.2, 10.5.4–11; Joannes Doxopatres [Walz 2:269–70]) of the sources was the goal (Peter: 432–33; to rival the original: Quintilian 10.5.5). The type of parallels between Acts and Recognitions 1.27–71 listed above would thus fit well with such an understanding. The single instance of greater verbatim agreement, the citation from the Old Testament in Acts 3:22–23, is readily explainable as being the one element the author of Recognitions 1.27–71 felt no need to paraphrase. The fact that he did not verify (and correct) the citation is what inadvertently betrays most clearly his indebtedness to Acts. Indeed, the author seems to have been fascinated by this distinctive Old Testament citation; at some point he must have copied it directly out of a manuscript of Acts; and he made it into a central Christological conception for his writing. This insight raises the questions of the degree to which Acts influenced the overall design of Recognitions 1.27–71 and how the author of Recognitions 1.27–71 paraphrased and rearranged his sources, particularly Acts. B. The Influence of Acts on the Overall Design of Recognitions 1.27–71 The author of Recognitions 1 appears to have been inspired by Acts, first of all, even to write such a historical review of apostolic events. Since Lucian describes the task of the historian as lying in the good arrangement of the events and in their very vivid presentation (How to Write History 51), it may be asked whether Recognitions 1 displays tendencies to improve the overall arrangement and presentation of events in Acts.

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One instance for examination is an acknowledged goal of the Acts of the Apostles, namely, to show how the gospel got transferred from the Jews to the Gentiles. The author of Recognitions 1.27–71 doubtless conceived his narrative as similarly explaining how the break between Christianity and Judaism occurred. By concentrating on one major encounter between the apostles and the Jewish sects and priesthood (instead of the barrage of instances in Acts), the author of Recognitions 1.27–71 has definitely provided a better arranged and more vivid account: The entire Jewish nation and priesthood was on its way to be baptized when one ruthless “enemy” disrupted all order and thus disturbed the logical outcome of the debate. The author engages in graphic presentation of the gory details, with blood flying in all directions. Recognitions 1 also seems to have been influenced by the review of biblical history in Acts 7 as an example of how to proceed. Acts 7 perhaps sparked the idea of composing not just a book of Acts but a “universal history” (on this term see, for example, Mortley: 226–32). The Book of Jubilees proved particularly helpful as Recognitions 1 began his account with the creation story (compare also the numerous retellings of biblical history preserved at Qumran: 1QapGen, 1Q22, 4Q158, 4Q160, 4Q225, 4Q226, 4Q227, 4Q252, 4Q253, 4Q254, 4Q364, 4Q365, 4Q377, 4Q382, 4Q422). Recognitions 1’s version is better than Acts 7 insofar as it not only begins at creation but also pursues some clear goals. For example, material from Jubilees is adopted to explain how the land of Israel belonged to the Hebrew race even before the time of Abraham. This theme is pursued by the author throughout his composition and forms a remarkable witness to Christian justification for Christian inheritance of the land. The author has thereby developed a distinctively Christian form of deuteronomistic theology. C. Variations on Acts’ Portrayal of Early Christian History An element of Acts that is conspicuously missing from Recognitions 1.27–71 is the attribution of miracles to the disciples. Conventional wisdom states that the apocryphal Acts generally increase the miraculous aspect. Recognitions 1.27–71, however, mentions only the signs and wonders performed by Jesus. None of the apostles does anything miraculous. The canons of ancient historiography render it likely that the author saw his history as superior to Luke’s precisely in the avoidance of such “wonders” (cf. Polybius 12.24.5). He similarly omits the Holy Spirit as an active personal historical agent (such as in Acts 16:6) and avoids any other sort of direct miraculous impingement of the divine realm on historical events (contrast, e.g. Acts 10:30). The motivation for the Gentile mission comes, not from the Holy Spirit (Acts 10:47 etc.), but rather from the fact that since some Jews had not believed, others must be called to fill up the number shown to Abraham (Rec 1.42.1).

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A motif in Acts that caught the attention of Recognitions 1 is Luke’s concern to illustrate the public aspect of the development of Christianity. The author of Recognitions 1.27–71 transforms this interest in the world stage into a sharpened focus on the Jewish stage—Jerusalem and the temple. He uses Luke’s illustrious personalities and tallied masses to bolster his case that all the Jews were on the verge of conversion before the disruption by Paul. D. Variations on Acts’ Portrayal of Leading Personalities Recognitions 1.27–71 concentrates on a few leading personalities and develops their characters to a considerably greater extent than Acts does. Just as Lucian advises a focus on the generals rather than on an individual soldier (How to Write History 49), so the author of Recognitions 1.27–71 has eliminated much of the clutter of Acts to focus on the decisive personalities. The author of Recognitions 1.27–71 has corrected Acts’ identification of the high priest as Annas to Caiaphas, a gospel figure with much greater profile. Similarly, in Recognitions 1 Gamaliel is no longer merely a Pharisaic member of the Sanhedrin who is respected by all (Acts 5:34). He has now become the head of the nation and is furthermore secretly already a Christian (Rec 1.65.2). James the brother of Jesus is so exalted in Recognitions 1 that his presence completely transforms the picture of the Jerusalem congregation. There is no trace of an early Christian “communism” with uncertain leadership in Recognitions 1.27–71; instead, a bishop (appointed by the Lord himself) governs the congregation with all straightforwardness (Rec 1.43.3). The success in the conversion of the Jews, which Acts largely attributes to Peter (Acts 2:41, 4:4), is neatly transferred to James (Rec 1.69.8). The twelve apostles function virtually as James’s twelve presbyters. Doubtless the author of Recognitions 1.27–71 is drawing additionally on Hegesippus for this image (preserved in Eusebius Ecclesiastical History 2.23.4). It also was from here (Eusebius Ecclesiastical History 2.23.8, 4.22.7) that the author came up with the entire idea of having the apostles debate with the Jewish sects. In his portrayal of Paul, the author of Recognitions 1.27–71 seems to be exercising Lucian’s prescribed freedom for a historian to call a respected and powerful figure a “destructive and mad human” (How to Write History 38). It is interesting to study how Acts skirts the issue of whether Paul was a murderer: first it is reported that Paul stood over the cloaks and approved while Stephen was stoned (Acts 7:58, 8:1); then it is stated that he dragged off men and women and put them in prison (Acts 8:3); next it is said that Paul was “breathing threats and murder against the disciples” (Acts 9:1); then it is reported that he persecuted the Way “up to the point of death” (Acts 22:4). Only in a final summary (Acts 26:10) does the author give an indication of the degree to which he thought Paul was actually involved in the death of be-

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lievers: Paul cast his vote against the believers as they were being put to death. The author of Recognitions 1.27–71, in contrast, decides to “call figs, figs” (Lucian How to Write History 41). He openly portrays Paul as a disrupter of all order and rationality and as a violent murderer (the murder of James at Paul’s hands was probably originally described in the source at Recognitions 1.70.8; two further Christians were probably originally murdered by Paul as he passed through Jericho in Rec 1.71.5). It is impossible to know if the author had independent information on Paul (he is likely to have known other Jewish Christian tales about Paul—see other apparently old tradition in Rec 1.54.2, 54.8) or has simply perceived the tendency of Acts and attempted to correct it. E. Conclusion Should it be said that the author of Recognitions 1.27–71 intended to replace Luke’s Acts of the Apostles? This study has suggested that the use of Acts in Recognitions 1.27–71 should be viewed within the context of ancient historical writings. Just as a competitive rivalry motivated the rhetorical deliverance of speeches, so too in the writing of history authors saw themselves in competition with each other (Peter: 431; samples in Lucian How to Write History 13–32). Each historian strove to compose a better history. One focus of these writers was doubtless on an ideal and on the attempt to approximate the ideal as best possible. Another focus would have been on the competition at hand. The preface to Luke’s gospel, for example, seems to display both focuses: Luke wanted to write a better gospel and probably simultaneously intended to replace the work of his predecessors. The author of Recognitions 1 similarly seems to have his eye both on an ideal and on the competition. While Acts was not its only source, Recognitions 1’s extensive use of Acts and its apparent concern to correct this source seem indicative of the author’s desire to replace Acts. Perhaps it remains possible that the author might have wanted to enter his writing as merely another work alongside Acts (he seems to have known and used more than one gospel), but the conflicting point of view makes this possibility less likely, particularly given the rather late canonical recognition of Acts (Cadbury: 156–58). In any event, the author wanted his voice heard and consciously composed his writing from a perspective that he knew differed from Acts. Drawing on additional sources such as Hegesippus and Jubilees, he produced an impressive and straightforward account of the break between Judaism and Christianity and of the issues dividing them. His work surely contributed to the call for a translation of Recognitions 1–3 into Syriac and to the popularity of the Recognitions, once translated by Rufinus, throughout the Middle Ages in the West. Recognitions 1 has furthermore sparked the historical interest of modern critical scholarship and has aided the rediscovery

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of the lost Jewish Christian wing of the ancient church. Any careful reading of Recognitions 1.27–71 will, moreover, advance critical understanding of Luke’s Acts of the Apostles. Finally, Recognitions 1.27–71 supplies a clear and distinctive point of reference for the debate over the use of Acts in the apocryphal Acts of the Apostles; it forms perhaps the most remarkable chapter (though a neglected one) in the history of the reception of Acts. In sum, the author of Recognitions 1.27–71 has been enormously successful with his composition, despite the fact that the Acts of the Apostles survived as a competing history and dominated the public mind through its unrivaled inclusion in the canon.

WORKS CONSULTED Boismard, Marie-Émile and Arnaud Lamouille 1984a Le Texte occidental des Actes des Apôtres: Reconstitution et réhabilitation. Vol. 1: Introduction et textes. Synthèse 17. Paris: Éditions Recherche sur les Civilisations. 1984b

Le Texte occidental des Actes des Apôtres: Reconstitution et réhabilitation. Vol. 2: Apparat critique, index des caractéristiques stylistiques, index des citations patristiques. Synthèse 17. Paris: Éditions Recherche sur les Civilisations.

Cadbury, Henry J. 1955 The Book of Acts in History. London: Adam and Charles Black. Harnack, Adolf von 1924 Marcion: Das Evangelium vom fremden Gott: Eine Monographie zur Geschichte der Grundlegung der katholischen Kirche. 2d ed., exp. and imp. TU 45. Leipzig: J. C. Hinrichs. Jones, F. Stanley 1995a An Ancient Jewish Christian Source on the History of Christianity: PseudoClementine “Recognitions” 1.27–71. SBLTT 37, Christian Apocrypha 2. Atlanta: Scholars. 1995b

“A Jewish Christian Reads Luke’s Acts of the Apostles: The Use of the Canonical Acts in the Ancient Jewish Christian Source behind PseudoClementine Recognitions 1.27–71.” SBLSP 34:617–35.

1997

“PsCl Concordances: Mistakes/Corrections.” Zeitschrift für Antikes Christentum 1:126–28.

Mortley, Raoul 1990 “The Hellenistic Foundations of Ecclesiastical Historiography.” Pp. 225–50 in Reading the Past in Late Antiquity. Ed. Graeme Clarke. Rushcutters Bay: Australian National University Press.

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Peter, Hermann 1911 Wahrheit und Kunst: Geschichtschreibung und Plagiat im klassischen Altertum. Leipzig and Berlin: B. G. Teubner. Ropes, James Hardy 1926 The Beginnings of Christianity. Part I. The Acts of the Apostles. Vol. 3, The Text of Acts. Ed. F. J. Foakes Jackson and Kirsopp Lake. London: Macmillan. Schneider, Johannes 1964 “(baivnw,) ajnabaivnw, katabaivnw, metabaivnw.” TDNT 1:518–23. Stemplinger, Eduard 1912 Das Plagiat in der griechischen Literatur. Leipzig and Berlin: B. G. Teubner. Strecker, Georg 1986–89 Die Pseudoklementinen III: Konkordanz zu den Pseudoklementinen. GCS. Berlin: Akademie. Susemihl, Franz 1891–92 Geschichte der griechischen Litteratur in der Alexandrinerzeit. 2 vols. Leipzig: B. G. Teubner.

THIS WORLD OR ANOTHER? THE INTERTEXTUALITY OF THE GREEK ROMANCES, THE APOCRYPHAL ACTS AND APULEIUS’ METAMORPHOSES Judith B. Perkins Saint Joseph College

abstract The emergence of a new genre, the Greek prose romance, and the intertextual relationships between this genre and other ancient novelistic narratives show how social change could be negotiated through literary interactions. A cultural debate around the concept of the human “self” and its relation to the social developed in these texts. The romances endorsed the traditional Classical/Hellenistic ideal of a human “self” focused on self-control and selfmastery. Their narrative focus on marriage (disrupted or delayed) celebrated the strength of the social order as epitomized by the central couple’s union preserved through every circumstance. Self-worth and value were thus ultimately located in communal social institutions. The apocryphal Acts and Apuleius’ Metamorphoses challenged this ideal, representing a “self” in need of outside direction and support, and rejecting this world for the divine. Through the repudiation of the tropes of sex and marriage, these texts challenged the prevailing social structures and institutions. That this new “self”understanding eventually came to dominate in the late antique and medieval world can be attributed, at least in part, to textual interactions such as the ones discussed here.

In every society humans create and interpret their social world through the imbricated framework of their cultural beliefs, symbols and representations. Culture and society are never completely separate or separable, but ceaselessly engage in an ongoing dialectic. It is through this dialectic that new cultural and social formulations emerge and take hold. Cultural artifacts, therefore, are not simply products of a society, but themselves agents in the creation, maintenance and transformation of society’s structures and “self”-understandings. They act as a primary medium of a society’s change and reformulation. This being the case, the emergence of new artistic forms or subject matter often both indicates and enables broader societal changes. I suggest that the emergence of a new genre, the Greek prose romance, and the intertextual relationships this genre, almost immediately, entered into with other ancient novelistic narratives, such as the apocryphal Acts of the Apos-

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tles and Apuleius’ Metamorphoses, provide an example of how social change is negotiated through literary interactions. A cultural debate around the concept of the human “self” and its relation to the social developed in these texts. The romances endorsed the traditional Classical/Hellenistic ideal of a human “self” focused on self-control and self-mastery and locating self-worth and value in communal social institutions. The apocryphal Acts and the Metamorphoses challenged this ideal, representing a “self” in need of outside direction and support, and rejecting this world for the divine. That it was this latter “self” understanding that eventually came to dominate in the late antique and medieval world resulted, at least in part, from textual interactions such as these, and others like them. This argument also will provide the beginnings of a warrant for my thesis that the ancient novelistic form (including the Greek romances, the Roman novels, the apocryphal Acts, and the “unromantic” fragmentary Greek novels) introduced a privileged site for inhabitants of the early Roman empire to rethink their relation to society and its structures. A precise chronology for the Greek romance is still not settled, but its emergence is generally dated to the late Hellenistic and early Roman period. The five extant romances (those by Chariton, Xenophon, Longus, Achilles Tatius and Heliodorus) all apparently come from the short span between the first and third centuries ce. Despite differences of narrative detail and elaboration, all share a common plot. They focus on a young couple’s falling in love, their separation, trials, tribulation, and their marriage or final reunion with its implicit promise of a life together happily ever after. Earlier readings of the genre interpreted the emphasis on love in the romance as a reflection of the new isolation and quest for individual identity of the inhabitants of the Greek east, whose traditional civic identity had been eroded under Roman hegemony (Reardon, 1969; 1971). But more recent critics have suggested that the interpretation of the romances emphasizing isolation and individuality ignores the centrality of marriage in the genre (Cooper). Marriage is the conventional literary/social happy ending; it acts as an affirmation of society and its future (Perkins). The appearance of the Greek romance coincided with the resurgence and flourishing of the Hellenistic cities under Roman rule and should not be read as a testament to social anomie, but as an affirmation and projection of the social vigor and faith of the governing elites of these cities. In this period, the trope of the marriage union had come to provide an image of social harmony; thus Marcus Aurelius displayed a picture of his wife on coins proclaiming concordia (Veyne: 165). The unity of the married couple served as a symbolic idealization of the contemporary social order. As Peter Brown has explained: . . . by the beginning of the late antique period. . . . The Roman ideal of marital concord had taken on a crystalline hardness: the married couple were presented less as a pair of equal lovers than as a reassuring microcosm of the social order. (Brown: 16–17)

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The ideal romance with its narrative focus on marriage (disrupted or delayed) shared in this symbolism; it celebrated the strength of the social order as epitomized by the central couple’s union preserved through every circumstance. This emphasis in the romance on the couple’s love shows not a new valorization of personal attachments in the ancient world, but, rather, offers a romanticized emblem for the long tradition in antiquity of the individual’s submission to and embrace of the social order. The wedding or reunion of the wedded couple that ends each romance celebrates the burgeoning elite societies of the early empire. The couple’s love and fidelity were a type for the concord and harmony idealized as providing the basis for this society. The validity of this reading of the Greek romance as a form idealizing and affirming contemporary Greco-Roman society and its social structures is supported, I suggest, by the intertextual reactions to this message in other narratives of the period. Intertextuality allows for a resegmentation of literary meaning; meaning occurs not in texts, but between them. Thus intertextuality invites a reading of one text (its plot, words, episodes, imagery) as part of another text in a single unit of meaning (Clayton and Rothstein: 24). It is my contention that when the Greek romances are read as segments of a single dialogue with other texts of the period, such as the apocryphal Acts, their meaning and function most clearly emerge. Michael Riffaterre offers a useful definition of intertextuality: that form of reference experienced when the reader finds that a text presupposes another and that the latter provides the former with the means of interpreting it and justifying its formal and semantic peculiarities. . . . This intertext represents a model on which the text builds its own variations. (Riffaterre: 2)

Some of the “formal and semantic peculiarities” of the early apocryphal Acts (those of Paul, Peter, John, Andrew, and Thomas) disappear once they are perceived to result from the intertextual relation between the Acts and the Greek romance. The narrative emphases and peculiarities of the Acts are part of the ongoing challenge they offer to the social discourse embodied in the romance. The significance of both sets of narratives is clarified when they are read as part of an intertextual dialogue. The early Acts also show a close coincidence of theme and plot. Each treats the actions of an apostle, in particular his preaching on sexual continence and the problems this preaching caused between women converts and their husbands and/or lovers. In each narrative, the persecution of the apostle occurs as a result of the division he has caused between the members of such a couple. The Acts thus posit the disruption of marriage bonds as a central feature in their representation of Christianity and of the apostle’s mission. The Acts of Peter describes the effect of the apostles’ teaching on marriage relations in Rome (translations of apocryphal Acts are from Schneemelcher):

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In the Acts of Thomas a wife offends her husband by acquiescing to the apostle’s call to abstain from sexual unity or risk “eternal condemnation” (AcThom 84). Thomas, in fact, refers to the marriage relationship as “filthy intercourse” (AcThom 12). The apostle Andrew similarly insists that his convert, Maximilla, utterly reject sexual relations and refuse her husband’s call to, in Andrew’s words, “a loathsome and unclean way of life.” All the apocryphal Acts indicate that it was this disruption of the social bonds of marriage that resulted in the apostle’s persecution. Andrew recognizes that he will die as a result of his preaching on continence: “Tomorrow Aegeates will hand me over to be crucified. . . . For Maximilla the handmaid of the Lord will enrage the enemy in him . . . by not putting her hand to ways that are alien to her” (MartAnd). And Charisius explicitly warns Thomas: “ If you persuade her not to return I will both slay thee and take myself out of life”(AcThom 128). The romance provides the context for understanding this repeated emphasis in the Christian Acts on the rejection of marriage. The Acts’ rejection of marriage challenges both the affirmation of marriage in the Greek romances and the affirmation of the contemporary social structures this marriage tokens. The apocryphal Acts embody an anti-social message. Through their rejection of the marriage union and the future of ongoing society such unions imply, they call for an end to contemporary society as it exists. The apocryphal Acts are able to invest their narrative with its radical significance through their intertextual reversal of the depiction of marriage and chastity in the romance. In their total rejection of sex in human society, the apocryphal Acts refer implicitly to what they exclude. Their depiction of sex and marriage acquires additional significance by providing the reverse image of the equation between marriage and society constructed in the romance. If the romance celebrates society and its future through the trope of marriage, the portrayal in the apocryphal Acts repudiates any confidence in the prevailing social structures. Through their rejection of sex and marriage, the Acts reject the operating social structure and institutions. A comparison of the treatment of sexual continence in the apocryphal Acts with the emphasis on chastity in the romances makes the differences in their attitudes toward the social order clear. The apostles’ call for radical and universal sexual continence obviously entails the demise of human society and, as a recurring feature in the apocryphal Acts, functions to create their anti-social significance. The focus on chastity operates quite differently in the romances, where chastity and the couple’s heroic efforts to preserve it provide a major theme (except in Longus). In Xenophon’s Ephesian Tale, for

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example, the preservation of chastity structures almost the entire plot of the narrative. After the couple are married and about to set out on a voyage, Habrocomes proposed an oath to Anthia, “Let us swear to one another, my dearest, that you will remain faithful to me and not submit to any other man and I should never live with another woman” (1.11.4; see Reardon [1989] for translations of novels). The rest of the romance, in essence, simply records various challenges to and consequences of this oath, depicted in different geographical locations. Anthia is depicted as experiencing ten attempts on her virtue in Xenophon’s rather short narrative. As she enumerates when the two are finally reunited: I have found you again, after all my wanderings over land and sea, escaping robbers’ threats and pirates’ plots and pimps’ insults, chains, trenches, fetters, poisons and tombs. But I have reached you, Habrocomes, lord of my soul, the same as when I first left you in Tyre for Syria. No one persuaded me to go astray; not Moeris in Syria, Perilaus in Cilicia, Psammis or Polyidus in Egypt, not Anchialus in Ethiopia, not my master in Tarentum. I remain chaste for you having tried every stratagem to preserve my chastity. (5.14.1–2)

And Habrocomes could answer with the same assurance of his purity: “I swear to you, by this day we have longed for and reached with such difficulty, that I have never considered any girl attractive, nor did the sight of any other woman please me; but you have found Habrocomes as pure as you left him in prison in Tyre” (5.14 4). In the Ephesian Tale, Xenophon represents chastity as an ideal that both hero and heroine made heroic efforts to protect. To this end, Anthia poisoned herself and stabbed a man to death. Habrocomes endured torture (2.6.3–4) and crucifixion (4.2.1). Both did, it is true, experience in their far-flung wanderings moments of doubt and wavering, but in the end each, at great cost, preserved his or her chastity, and it is on this preservation that the romance focuses. This focus on chastity in the romance inscribes an inherent endorsement of the prevailing social structures and their careful preservation, for chastity works to restrict the body to those socially approved and designated by the society and to preserve family and social arrangements. Its primary concern is with the proper passing on and allotment of property and social rights and privileges. Chastity is, in essence, one of society’s most overt manifestations of its power over both nature and its members; it acts as the embodiment of social control. In the romance the function of chastity is to insure the continuance of society as it exists. Chariton’s treatment of a particularly egregious lapse of chastity exposes this romantic agenda. In Chariton’s romance, Callirhoe, already pregnant by her husband, Chaereas, is abducted and sold to Dionysius, the steward of the governor of Miletus. She is faced with a stark decision—to marry Dionysius

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and pass the child off as his, or to refuse the marriage and die. When she chooses to marry Dionysius and violate the obligation she owes her husband to preserve her chastity, the narrative stresses that she chose not what she desired, but what she saw as most beneficial to her family and her city. The text makes clear that Callirhoe was acutely aware of the poles of her choice, “chastity or child” (2.10.7). To help her make her decision she imagined a debate with all the interested parties present, herself, the child, and Chaereas. She cast her vote first: “I want to die Chaereas’ wife and his alone. To know no other husband—that is dearer to me than parents, country or child” (2.11.1). But the narrative makes clear that parents, country and child, that is, society, past, present and future, had a stronger claim than personal desire. The other two votes overrode her desire for chastity; she dramatized her internal debate: And you my child—what is your choice for yourself ? To die by poison . . . or to live, and have two fathers—one the first man in Sicily, the other in Ionia? When you grow up, you will easily be recognized by your family . . . and you will sail home in triumph, in a Milesian warship, and Hermocrates will welcome a grandson already fit for command. Your vote is cast against mine. . . . Let us ask your father too. No, he has spoken, . . . “I entrust our son to you.” (2,11.2–3)

Callirhoe chose against her own wishes and for the continuation of her line. If chastity is construed as the physical manifestation of society’s claim upon its subjects, then in these terms Callirhoe has obeyed the spirit if not the letter of its mandate in her marriage to Dionysius. To underline her inherent chastity even after her marriage, the narrative compared the new mother to the two goddesses most vigilant in protecting their chastity: “First she took her son in her own arms: that formed a beautiful sight, such as no painter has ever yet painted nor sculptor sculpted nor poet recounted, since none of them has represented Artemis or Athena holding a baby in her arms” (3.8.6). Even Chaereas recognized the necessity for his wife’s choice against chastity. At the end of the narrative when he finally renders an account of their adventures to the Syracusean assembly, he explicitly explained that Callirhoe married Dionysius for the Syracuseans’ benefit: When Callirhoe realized she was pregnant by me, she found herself compelled to marry Dionysius, because she wanted to preserve your fellow citizen (polivthn). . . . “Yes, Syracuseans! There is growing up in Melitus one who will be a Syracusean, a wealthy one, and reared by a distinguished man—for Dionysius is indeed of distinguished Greek heritage.” (8.7.11)

Callirhoe did violate chastity’s claims, but she did so against her own desires and for her society. And as Chaereas’s explanation made clear, all that was essential had been salvaged. The institution of chastity exists to insure the line-

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age and wealth of a society’s members. The beneficiary of Callirhoe’s violation—a wellborn, wealthy citizen—justified and redeemed her action. The goal of chastity is to preserve society; the goal of universal sexual continence, to end it. Within this paradigm, romances are documents of social affirmation; their intertexts, the apocryphal Acts, documents of social indictment. The conventional endings of the apocryphal Acts further act to underline the narratives’ repudiation of their contemporary society. All the Acts end with the apostle’s death, and all the apostles, except for John, die at the hands of representatives of the state. These endings also acquire significance when read against the intertextual model offered in the Greek romance. Marriage or reunion is the goal of the protagonists in the romance, but death provides the longed for goal in the Acts. Thomas explained this to those present at his death: “If I wished not to die, [you know] I am able. But this apparent death is not death, but deliverance” (AcThom 160). And Andrew is angered to learn that his followers had sought his release from execution: “O the great dullness of those instructed by me . . . What is this great love toward the flesh . . . ?”(MartAnd). Marriage is the traditional social happy ending; it is the ritual that celebrates and insures society’s future. Narratives that end in death and see no pleasure or hope in this world repudiate their society and suggest a search for new solutions for human being in this world. I suggest that in this intertextual dialogue between the apocryphal Acts and the Greek romance, we are allowed to observe in process cultural and social negotiations with far-reaching consequences. The chronology of these novelistic narratives is relevant. The second and third centuries are a pivotal moment in the transition from the civic person of Classical and Hellenistic antiquity, who located authority externally in various social institutions, to the person of the late antique and medieval world, who searched within for otherworldly authority. Christianity as a social institution particularly benefited from this transformation, but it could not have established such change without wider social and cultural support. Apuleius’ Metamorphoses, another example of the novelistic genre, provides evidence that such support did, in fact, exist. Around the middle of the second century in Roman Africa, Apuleius, an eminent orator of his day and a self-avowed Platonic philosopher (Hijmans), wrote a Latin narrative that has puzzled commentators until the present (Winkler). Their problem has been how to relate the narrative’s ending (the protagonist’s heart-felt description of his conversion and dedication of himself to the goddess Isis) to the main body of the novel that, following a Greek model, relates the adventures and tribulations of a young Greek, Lucius, turned into an ass through the mistaken application of a magic potion. I suggest that this is one of those problems that the recognition of intertextuality helps to ameliorate. Recall Riffaterre’s suggestion that the intertext supplies the means of “interpreting it [a text] and of justifying its formal and semantic peculiarities.” Like the

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apocryphal Acts, and employing a similar register of reversed imagery focused on marriage and death, the Metamorphoses requires the intertextual context of the Greek romance to resolve its semantic particularities. And like the apocryphal Acts, the Metamorphoses contests the social affirmation offered in the Greek romances and looks beyond contemporary social institutions for salvation. Before examining how the Metamorphoses relates intertextually to the romances, a summary of its structure may be useful. The narrative breaks down into four segments. The first three books describe Lucius’ travels and adventures and end with his transformation into an ass and abduction by bandits. The second section, Books 4 to the midpoint of 8, focuses on the robbers and stories associated with Charite, the beautiful maiden abducted with Lucius. In the middle of this section and, in fact, at the midpoint of the novel, is set the beautiful tale of Cupid and Psyche. This is presented as a story told by the bandits’ old housekeeper to soothe the distraught Charite. After the Charite episodes, until the end of Book 10, as Paula James has noted, “the theme of adultery provides the momentum” (235). The narrative moves through a dark concatenation of multiple tales of adultery and revenge and social disorder until the ass, faced with enacting a perverted “marriage” with a condemned woman in the public amphitheater, escapes. In the final book, Lucius experiences a vision of the goddess Isis who comforts him and promises salvation. The next morning he arises, eats the roses offered by the priest of Isis (the anodyne for his misshapen form) and returns to manhood. The book concludes with descriptions of his various initiations and his life dedicated to the goddess. The Metamorphoses’ intertextual dialogue with the Greek romance emerges most clearly at two points, the Charite complex and the ending of Book 10. Indeed Apuleius seems to have framed the Charite episodes to work as an explicit anti-romance. By invoking all the romantic conventions in their most conventional manifestations, he sets up his readers only to demolish their expectations with the shocking denouement of his story (Schlam 1978). Charite enters the narrative as a typical romance heroine, abducted by robbers on her very wedding day (4.26). She laments her fate reflecting, as do all romantic heroines, her elite perspective : “Poor me,” she cried, “torn from a wonderful home, my big household, my dear servants, my honorable parents; a piece of booty from an unfortunate robbery, turned into a slave . . . deprived of all the pleasures I was born and raised to . . . ” (4.24). Her husband is described as so handsome that the whole city had chosen him as their public son ( filium publicum; 4.26). This diction, similar to that used in the Greek romances, emphasizes the social significance of this couple’s union; Xenophon, for example, refers to Anthia and Habrocomes as the city’s “common children” (1.10.5). And as all the romance heroines do, Charite encounters a series of disasters and horrifying situations. After their abduction, for example, she and the

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ass manage to escape, but are quickly recaptured. The robbers hold a debate offered in excruciating detail on the possibilities for her punishment; just as in Xenophon’s romance, Anthia’s captors mulled over various modes for her death before finally throwing her into a pit with savage dogs. Book 6 ends with the description of the robbers’ choice for Charite’s death, one incorporating all the possibilities they had considered. They determine first to kill the ass and stuff the girl alive inside him and leave the body exposed to the sun: the girl will endure the bites of beasts when the worms lacerate her limbs, the scorching of fire when the sun scorches the ass’s stomach with its excessive heat, and the agony of the cross when the dogs and vultures draw out her very guts . . . her nostrils will burn from the terrible odor; and lengthy fasting will make her waste away with deadly starvation. (6.32)

No romance reader expects the maiden actually to endure such torments; the romance is above all else the genre of averted suffering. True to form, the readers’ expectations are met, it appears, when, just at this optimum moment, Charite’s fiancé, Tlepolemus, arrives pretending to be a famous bandit. He drugs her captors, and helps rescue her (an unusual act for a Greek romance hero, as David Konstan has pointed out). But following the script of the romantic happy ending, the couple then return home to public rejoicing (7.13). The robbers’ loot is turned over to public custody (publicae custodelae), and the girl legally handed over to her Tlepolemus (Tlepolemo puellam lege tradidere, 7.13). The narrative focus then shifts to another topic and readers expect in this romance context that they have seen the last of Charite and Tlepolemus and assume the couple lived “happily ever after.” Apuleius, however, is not constructing the affirmation of society imaged in the happy ending of the romances. The romantic conventions only function to recall the intertext and increase readers’ horror at the real denouement of this story. Like the apocryphal Acts, the Charite story ends not with a marriage but with the deaths of the protagonists. And just as in the apocryphal Acts these deaths function, through their reversal of the romance endings, to reject the strength of contemporary social structures that the romances affirmed. At the beginning of Book 8, a young man arrives and sitting down in Lucius’ hearing, begins a tale in the tragic style: “Grooms and shepherds and goatherds too, our Charite is no more. The poor thing, by the most grievous disaster (casu gravissimo), and not alone has gone to join the shades” (8.1). The story he tells reverses and nullifies the conclusion of the pseudo-romantic Charite story constructed earlier in the narrative. The young man relates how after the couple’s return and reunion, a suitor, still passionate for Charite, kills her husband during a boar hunt. This murderer, Thrasyllus, soon proposes to Charite, and she immediately recognizes his guilt. Moreover her husband, Tlepolemus, had appeared in a dream and told her how he had been slain and warned her not to marry his killer. Charite plots revenge and

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to ensnare Thrasyllus agrees to meet him secretly and sleep with him. Apuleius marks his reversal of his intertext by his explicit use of perverted marriage diction around this rendezvous, described as Thrasyllus’ deadly marriage (scaena feralium nuptiarum, 8.11). When they meet, Charite drugs Thrasyllus and, anticipating putting his eyes out, savagely exults: “I shall pour a libation on my Tlepolemus’ tomb with the gore from your eyes, and I shall dedicate those eyes as a funeral offering to his sacred shade. . . . This is how your eyes give pleasure to a virtuous woman. This is how the marriage torches lighted your wedding chamber. The Avengers (ultrices) will be your bridal attendants and Bereavement (orbitatem) your groomsman . . .” (8.13). Using the references to the marriage torches, wedding chamber and bridal attendants to frame Charite’s anticipation of her revenge, Apuleius specifically transposes the traditional romantic structure with its anticipation of social harmony. In Apuleius’ version there is no happy ending in this life. Charite goes on to stab herself at her husband’s grave, becoming his perpetual spouse (perpetuam coniugem), as the text notes, only in the tomb. The blinded Thrasyllus starves himself. Apuleius’ narrative, by continuing after the conventional romantic happy ending, insists on the illusive nature of human happiness, at least that to be found in human social relations. After the Charite episode, until the end of Book 10, Apuleius provides story after story of social disruption, death, and adultery. If literary marriage affirms society, literary adultery suggests its disintegration. This last section leading up to Lucius’ conversion piles up stories of adultery; one very brief example will serve to show how Apuleius uses adultery to figure complete social destruction. Lucius tells the tale of a horrible crime he has heard about in his travels. On a large estate a steward married to a fellow slave fell in love with a free woman. Incensed at this insult to her marriage bed (contumeliam tori, 8.22), his wife takes drastic action. First she burns his accounts and everything stored in the granaries; next she moves “against her own flesh knotting a noose round her neck, she tied the baby she had borne her husband to the same rope and hurled herself into a deep well, dragging down with her the little one attached” (8.22). Upset by these deaths, their master devises a savage punishment. He smears the steward with honey and ties him to a tree to be devoured by ants. The narrative describes his death in graphic terms and displays how this adulterous destruction of social bonds results in the complete eradication of human form: “This torture continued over a long period, until his flesh and inner organs were gnawed away. So the man was devoured, and the ants stripping his limbs bare, so that nothing but the bones were left adhering to the tree of death. They hung there, stripped of their flesh, gleaming starkly white” (8.22). In this brief tale, Apuleius emphasizes the various social disruptions the steward’s adultery causes. First he breaks a status boundary—he desired a free woman. Then he destroys the economic and social structures support-

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ing his social world. Through his action, the owner of the estate loses all his business records and stores. His own family is completely annihilated as a mother kills her baby. In his final picture of the steward reduced to hanging white bones, Apuleius conveys the haunting reality of human life detached from society and social meaning—a pile of bones. To reflect their critique of contemporary society the apocryphal Acts called for an end to all human marriage. Apuleius’ critique takes the form of an extended presentation of broken or perverted marriages. In both the apocryphal Acts and Apuleius, it is their intertextual challenge to the Greek romance that gives the critiques their potency. Book 10, the last book before Lucius’ rescue by Isis, also ends in a marriage of sorts. But unlike the marriages that end romances, this one does not affirm social unity but instead marks the apogee of social disorder. In the misleading rhythm typical of the Metamorphoses, Lucius’ life seems to be improving in Book 10. Working with two cooks, he manages to steal and eat their leftovers and grow fat on human food. When his ability to mimic human actions is discovered, his master further exploits his talents. Lucius becomes a performing ass, reclining at table, drinking wine from a cup, dancing. Thus he attracts the attention of a rich and powerful matrona who becomes consumed with passion for him. She arranges for them to meet in luxurious surroundings, and Lucius describes in detail their grotesque lovemaking. His master learns of his ass’s ability to copulate with a human partner and decides to offer this act as the showpiece in civic games he is organizing. But, as Lucius explains, his wellborn wife (egregia uxor, 10.23), as he calls her, could not perform with him in these games because of her high position, her dignitas. Another partner finally is found for him—a woman condemned to the beasts for the murders (some particularly savage) of five people. Lucius laments “this was the sort of woman with whom I was supposed to celebrate the solemnities of marriage in public.” The term he uses, matrimonium confarreaturus (10.25), refers to the most sacred form of marriage in the Roman tradition (Gardner: 12, 84). Apuleius continues the marriage diction around this perverted union; the condemned woman is described as the one assigned to a “distinguished marriage (praeclaris nuptiis destinatam)” with Lucius (10.34). The bed prepared for their coupling in the amphitheater is termed their “nuptial couch (torus genialis)” (10.34). At this point Lucius, appalled with the ignominy in store for him and fearful of the beasts at the games, breaks his rope and runs off to his final encounter with Isis and salvation. At the end of Book 10, in Platonic terms—and Apuleius was a Platonist—the narrative has reached its lowest point. Rather than offering the union of the mortal with the divine, this narrative offers a union of mortal and beast. This marriage diction at the end of Book 10 invokes the traditional ending of the intertextual romances only to corrupt it. The marriages ending the

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romances tokened social harmony and the vigor and confidence of the governing elites of the Greek cities. As noted above, Marcus Aurelius, a contemporary of Apuleius, employed his wife’s image on his coins to represent the basis of his empire’s social concord. Apuleius’ depiction of a wellborn, distinguished matrona kissing, whispering endearments, mating with an ass satirizes the ideology supporting the emperor’s portrayal. It also, perhaps, questions the pretensions of the elite. What after all can comprise the dignitas of a woman who, as the narrative notes, was itching from the very tips of her toes to receive the ass’s huge member (quamquam ex unguiculis perpruriscens, mulier vastum genitale susciperet, 10.22)? Read in the context of the Greek romances, the sham marriages ending Book 10 function to debase contemporary social arrangements and reflect little hope that society can build a solid foundation for ongoing social life on human efficacy or human social relations. In this reading, Lucius’ turn to Isis in the final book is eminently appropriate as a conclusion to the novel as a whole (Shumate). The futility of human effort is, in fact, the same lesson Lucius had learned in the course of his travels as an ass. All along he has known the anodyne for his changed shape. He has only to eat some roses to be changed back into human form. But whenever roses are presented, or about to be presented, Lucius cannot benefit from their salutary powers (3.29; 4.2; 7.15; 10.29). It is only with Isis’ help that he obtains his cure (Schlam 1991: 64). In her apparition she instructed him how to procure his roses (11.6). And when the following morning, during an Isis procession, Lucius does eat the roses offered by a priest and returns to his human shape, one of the crowd assigns the credit appropriately: “He is the one transformed (reformavit) back into human shape today by the majestic force of the all powerful goddess” (11.16). The conclusion of the Metamorphoses supports our reading of the marriage diction in the apocryphal Acts. Marriage in this historical period was used to figure functioning social institutions. By their repudiation of marriage and embrace of death as the happy ending, the Acts were rejecting temporal social structures and human self-reliance for other-worldly support. It is my contention that in the second and third centuries ce a cultural debate was taking place around the conception of the human “self”—a debate with far-reaching consequences. The debate developed in the space between the Classical/Hellenistic concept of a human “self” who pursued self-mastery as a moral goal while finding personal meaning in civic life and institutions and the late antique and medieval “self” who looked toward divine support. One important site for the cultural dialogue around this topic was the novelistic prose narratives of the early empire. Their intertextual relationship and handling of a circumscribed range of imagery around marriage and death provided a privileged location to enact this cultural dialectic on the relation of the “self” to the social.

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WORKS CONSULTED Apuleius 1989

Metamorphoses. Trans. J. Arthur Hanson. LCL. Cambridge: Harvard University Press.

Bowie, Ewen L. 1994 “The Readership of Greek Novels in the Ancient World.” Pp. 435–59 in The Search for the Ancient Novel. Ed. James Tatum. Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press. Brown, Peter 1988 The Body and Society. New York: Columbia University Press. Clayton, Jay and Eric Rothstein, eds. 1991 Influence and Intertextuality in Literary History. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press. Cooper, Kate 1996 The Virgin and The Bride: Idealized Womanhood in Late Antiquity. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Gardner, Jane. F. 1986 Women in Roman Law and Society. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press. Hijmans, B. 1987 “Apuleius, Philosophus Platonicus.” ANRW II.36:395–475. James, Paula 1987 Unity in Diversity: A Study of Apuleius’ Metamorphoses with Particular Reference to the Narrator’s Art of Transformation and the Metamorphosis Motif in the Tale of Cupid and Psyche. Hildesheim: Olms-Weidmann. Konstan, David 1994 Sexual Symmetry: Love in the Ancient Novel and Related Genres. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Lipsius, Richard A. and Maximilian Bonnet, eds. 1891–98 Acta apostolorum apocrypha. 3 vols. Leipzig: Hermann Mendelssohn. Reprinted 1959; Darmstadt: Georg Olms. Perkins, Judith 1995 The Self as Sufferer: Pain and Narrative Representation in the Early Christian Era. London: Routledge. Reardon, Brian P. 1969 “The Greek Novel.” Phoenix 23:291–309. 1971

Courants littéraires des IIe et IIIe siècles après J. C. Paris: Les Belles Lettres.

Reardon, Brian P., ed. 1989 Collected Ancient Greek Novels. Berkeley: University of California Press.

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Riffaterre, Michael 1986 “Textuality: W. H. Auden’s ‘Musee des Beaux Arts’.” Pp. 1–13 in Textual Analysis. Ed. Mary Ann Caws. New York: MLA. Schlam, Carl 1978 “Sex and Sanctity: The Relationship of Male and Female in the Metamorphoses.” Pp. 95–105 in Aspects of Apuleius’ Golden Ass. Ed. B. L. Hijmans and R. van der Paardt. Groningen: Bouma’s Boekhuis. 1991

On Making an Ass of Oneself: The Metamorphoses of Apuleius. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press.

Schneemelcher, Wilhelm, ed. 1992 New Testament Apocrypha: Revised Edition of the Collection Intiated by Edgar Hennecke. Vol. 2, Writings Relating to Apostles, Apocalypses and Related Subjects. Trans. R. McL. Wilson. Louisville: Westminster/John Knox. Shumate, Nancy 1996 Crisis and Conversion in Apuleius’ Metamorphoses. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Tatum, James 1979 Apuleius and the Golden Ass. Ithaca: Cornell University Press. Veyne, Paul 1987 “The Roman Empire.” Pg. 6–233 in A History of Private Life. Vol 1, From Pagan Rome to Byzantium. Ed. Paul Veyne. Trans. Arthur Goldhammer. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Winkler, John J. 1985 Auctor and Actor: A Narratalogical Reading of Apuleius’ The Golden Ass. Berkeley: University of California Press.

THE NUPTIAL CHAMBER REVISITED: THE ACTS OF THOMAS AND CULTURAL INTERTEXTUALITY Richard Valantasis Hartford Seminary

apjoeis r= Hwb nim n=oumusthrion oubaptisma mn= oucrisma mn=oueucaristia mn=ouswte mn=nounumfwn The Lord [did] everything in a mystery, a baptism and a chrism and a eucharist and a redemption and a bridal chamber. Gospel of Philip 67:27b–30a

abstract Because texts materialize cultural systems of communication and discourse, intertextuality includes the interaction of cultural texts of all sorts, including performances, concepts, images, and metaphors, as well as literary texts. Acts of Thomas 11–15 offers three rich interpretations of the nuptial chamber from the perspectives of Jesus, the bride, and the groom. These interpretations engage theological discourses on immutability and philosophical systems of initiation, male formation, and mysticism. The heavenly marriage is also applied to the spiritual formation of Christian women. Each of these discourses revisits the nuptial chamber with distinct (and now correlated) intertextual connections. The intertextuality of the nuptial chamber reflects cultural rather than literary invocation within the complex web of written, spoken, and performed communication that constituted the cultural fabric of the second and third centuries.

The dominant model of intertextuality for most scholars of the New Testament is more closely akin to “source criticism” than to a more literary or cultural understanding of intertextuality (Vorster). Probably because New Testament scholars are most comfortable with philological relationships, they have sought to uncover the historical sequence of the writing of the various apocryphal Acts of the Apostles by discovering the sources used by the author/compiler in the creation of a particular apocryphal act. In other words, this seminar has turned primarily to the question of which of the apocryphal Acts came first and, therefore, which one could have been used in the production of a later text. The model for invoking and creating texts has

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been based on the literal dependence of systems of language, or sequences of narratives, or correlations of scenes and characters. We have sought to define intertextuality at its most literal level. Although I found this approach to the intertextuality of the apocryphal Acts interesting, I perceived that the seminar had not yet begun to address some larger questions of intertextuality. It was Averil Cameron’s analysis that spurred me to explore wider horizons. In her study of the development of Christian rhetoric through narrative, Cameron emphasized the important cultural role that the apocryphal Acts played in the development of an intentionally Christian rhetoric and society. Cameron wrote: Like these Christian Lives in the fourth century and later, the stories in the apocryphal Acts had an important part to play in the creation of a Christian universe of myth, which would be both totalizing in itself and capable of development at different intellectual and literary levels. The canonical Gospels had left many loose ends and required expansion from an early date; since they themselves constituted stories—at least in part—this expansion also naturally took story form. That it frequently resulted in multiple or contradictory versions was a considerable help in achieving elasticity that proved in later years to be such a strength. While second-century writers like Clement of Alexandria developed a presentation of Christian ideas in the terms of Greek philosophy, and Tertullian applied to Christian themes the skills of traditional rhetoric, these works, “popular” or even heretical by orthodox standards, created a set of Christian stories for the next generations. Not just in the canonical books, or through official church teaching, but in the whole spread of Christian inventiveness in the first centuries it was thus established what kind of reality Christianity would construct for the empire when the time came. (113–15)

Cameron suggested a strong correlation between these texts and the development of a complex and highly interactive social and religious culture. The apocryphal Acts signified in a larger arena than that of the textual production of the apocryphal Acts: these acts constructed cultural realities, mediated symbolic universes, suggested alternative understandings of social relations; they invoked not just other literary texts, but other cultural processes. Cameron further extended the cultural dynamic in these texts: The apocryphal Acts cannot be marginalized; they too were integrally related to the general culture of the second and third centuries. But more specifically, they provided for Christians a set of texts in which the Christian self was expounded, first in narrative terms and then in terms of asceticism; the writing of Christian texts would shape Christian lives. (116)

Cameron’s constellation of text and Christian identity points toward a wider appreciation of the intertextuality of literary text, rhetoric, and cultural formation.

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It is this wider understanding of intertextuality as a cultural phenomenon that I wish to address in this paper. And that wider understanding begins with the consideration of the term “text” and what might be construed or accepted as a “text.”1 Our seminar has taken “text” at its literal level: a unified written document (even though that “unity” may in fact refer to a compilation or construction from a variety of sources). I would suggest a different approach to textuality that will also lay the foundation for cultural intertextuality. Although there has been much recent literary and theoretical study of the phenomenon of “text” and “canonical text,” two scholars of social semiotics, Robert Hodge and Gunther Kress, best articulated for me the cultural aspects of textuality. Hodge and Kress differentiated text from discourse: . . . the field of semiosis does not consist simply of an accumulation of messages. Messages pass in clusters back and forth between participants in semiotic act. In the study of verbal communication two words are generally used for this larger unit of semiotics, ‘text’ and ‘discourse’. We will use ‘text’ in an extended semiotic sense to refer to a structure of messages or message traces which has a socially ascribed unity. ‘Text’ comes from the Latin word textus, which means ‘something woven together.’ ‘Discourse’ is often used for the same kind of object as text but we will distinguish the two, keeping discourse to refer to the social process in which texts are embedded, while text is the concrete material object produced in discourse. ‘Text’ has a different plane, where it has meaning insofar as it projects a version of reality. ‘Discourse’ refers more directly to the semiosic plane. (5–6)

This understanding of “text” may be summarized in this way: gathered messages form texts which are the material objects imbedded in discursive practice. Texts are instruments for sending messages, for communicating, and for articulating. Umberto Eco described this relationship of text to discourse in this way: I am saying that usually a single sign-vehicle conveys many intertwined contents and therefore what is commonly called a ‘message’ is in fact a text whose content is a multileveled discourse. (5–7)

Texts materialize cultural systems of communication and discourse: a text, that is, may be construed as any cultural phenomenon which communicates discursively provided that it has some material base; while a discourse may 1 Voelz argues that “texts” are products of a variety of cultural discourses, and, therefore, “that intertextuality concerns itself, not only with the relationship of text of verbal signs and other texts of verbal signs (or, more specifically, between a text of written verbal signs and other texts of written verbal signs), but it also and especially concerns itself with the relationship between a text of signs of any sort and other sets of signs as text, whether verbal or non-verbal in nature” (28).

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find its textual referent in a wide variety of cultural and material expressions. Both text and discourse, however, are systems of communication differentiated primarily by their mode of expression. Intertextuality, therefore, is not limited merely to written or literary texts, but may revolve, in fact, about the invocation and interaction of cultural “texts” which would include performances, concepts, images and metaphors, as well as literary texts and any number of other cultural phenomena interrelating materially. It is this sort of cultural intertextuality that this paper will investigate. I will look at the intertextuality of the nuptial chamber based upon the end [chapters 12, 14, and 15] of the first act in the Acts of Thomas.2 This nuptial chamber scene describes what is a common cultural phenomenon which we know from a wide assortment of early Christian literature as “the nuptial chamber.” The end of the first act in the Acts of Thomas provides three rich interpretations of the nuptial chamber from the perspectives of the three main characters: Jesus, the bride and the groom. Each of these characters presents a different understanding of the nuptial chamber, and each of these different interpretations are, in turn, related to different discourses. These interpretative reactions to the nuptial chamber display differing interpretations according to the gender of the person, and each of these interpretations creates a different meaning for the cultural phenomenon of the nuptial chamber by invoking different cultural systems for their understanding. Jesus presents the nuptial chamber as a means of constructing an immortal and impassible life, far distant from the cares and tribulations of physical marriage and child rearing, and from the distractions which these physical children provide. The Bride characterizes the nuptial chamber as a marriage to an impassible husband, modeled on the traditional understanding of social marriage, but transferred to a spiritual realm. The groom extols the bridal chamber as the means of union with a divinity. Each of these invoke other discourses, that is, each of these relate intertextually to different cultural phenomena: the philosophical systems of impassability of the spiritual, the social understanding of marriage, the initiation of entitled males into philosophical community, and the extension of that male system of formation to women. This paper presents three intertextual theses (inter-religious intertextuality; intra-traditional intertextuality; and discursive intertextuality) based upon the nuptial chamber in Acts of Thomas. Each thesis argues a different sort of intertextuality expanding the applications for interpreting the nuptial chamber scene, and each thesis advances the analysis with reference to cultural phenomena beyond the texts themselves.

2 The “rough” and literal translation is my own, based on the Greek text in Lipsius-Bonnet, 2:116–22.

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The First Thesis—Inter-Religious Intertextuality The first thesis relates that an intertextual reading of the groom’s response to Jesus’ invitation and exhortation shows that Christianity incorporated non-Christian philosophical systems of male formation into Christian formation. The nuptial chamber was a site for the grafting onto Christian formation of the system of male formation and initiation known to us in the Hermetic treatise Discourse on the Eighth and Ninth. This form of intertextuality shows how cultural patterns function as texts which may be invoked in totally different environments. It is generally acknowledged that The Discourse on the Eighth and Ninth exemplifies a treatise of initiation by a mystagogue of an initiant into the higher realms of the philosophical religion of Hermes Trismegistus (Valantasis: 63–104; Keizer). The Coptic text represents the earliest witness for Hermetism, preceding the Latin and Greek texts, because it represents a thirdcentury text in an early fourth-century papyrus. It is roughly synchronous with the developing apocryphal Acts of the Apostles, although it may have older philosophical and religious derivation (I. Hadot; P. Hadot; Rabbow). The Discourse on the Eighth and Ninth revolves about the transformative relationship between the mystagogue who guides the initiation and transfers power from the outer regions of the cosmos to the initiant (Valantasis: 86–104). The divine power comes to reside in the mystagogue, and through him, in the initiant at the point of his illumination. The goal of the initiation in the Discourse on the Eighth and Ninth is the enlightenment of the initiant, and this enlightenment completes the human quest for self-knowledge and understanding: “I will offer up the praise in my heart, as I pray to the end of the universe and the beginning of the beginning, to the object of man’s quest [m=pzhthma n·nrwme], the immortal discovery, the begetter of light and truth, the sower of reason, the love of immortal life” (Discourse on the Eighth and Ninth 60:17–25). Enlightenment evolves from the search inaugurated in the relationship between initiant and mystagogue. The relationship between the initiant and the mystagogue is marked by intense love which infuses both with the divine power for transformation: “Let us embrace each other affectionately, O my son. Rejoice over this! For already from them the power, which is light, is coming to us. For I see! I see the indescribable depths” (Discourse on the Eighth and Ninth 57:26–32). The interior power bubbles forth into the mystagogue and transfixes his attention: “I have found the beginning of the power that is above all powers, the one that has no beginning. I see a fountain bubbling with life. I have said, O my son, that I am Mind. I have seen! Language is not able to reveal this” (Discourse on the Eighth and Ninth 58:10–16). The discourse emphasizes the surplus of presence, the overabundance of power and superabundance of mentation located in the ritual embrace of the initiant and the mystagogue.

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The relationship mediates (or transfers) power from the cosmic spheres to the mystagogue and (after the embrace) to the initiant, and it is signified in a sign of love (the performative embrace). The mode of expression in Discourse on the Eighth and Ninth is hymnic. Although the content of the illumination remains revelatory, and the orientation of the mystagogue is intellectual and oriented toward the study and production of books (Valantasis: 147–55), the response of the initiant consistently explodes into various hymnic expressions: O Grace! After these things I give thanks by singing a hymn to thee. For I have received life from thee, when thou madest me wise. I praise thee. I call thy name that is hidden within me. a ô ee ô êêê ôôôô ii ôôô ooooo ôôôô uuuuuu ôô ôôôôôôôôô ôôôôôôô ôô ôô. Thou art the one who exists with the spirit. I sing a hymn to thee reverently. (Discourse on the Eighth and Ninth 61:3–17)

Ecstatic utterance and adulation define the discourse of this communication, so that the process of initiation appears to result not so much in understanding, but in an experience of enlightened understanding. The hymnic quality underscores the ecstatic basis of the initiation and its enlightenment, and emphasizes the transcendent impulse in the relationship between initiant and mystagogue. The chief benefit of the initiation (beyond the illumination) is that the initiant joins a fellowship of other men who have been initiated into the brotherhood: Therefore, O my son, it is necessary for you to recognize your brothers and to honor them rightly and properly, because they come from the same father. For each generation I have called. I have named it, because they were offspring like these sons. Then, O my father, do they have (a) day? O my son they are spiritual ones. For they exist as forces that grow other souls (w pavhre Henp=n=a=tikon ne euvoop gar n= nenergeia eur=auGane nn · keyuch). Therefore I say that they are immortal. (Discourse on the Eighth and Ninth 53:6–21)

The brotherhood produced by these initiations consists of spiritual people who claim immortality; their spiritual status defines their primary identity. The initiation process births communities of men having similar experiences. The Discourse on the Eighth and Ninth presents a model of male philosophical and religious formation and initiation which revolves about the intense relationship between a mystagogue and an initiant and which results in a fully empowered male participant in an elite community. That same model stands behind the response of the groom to Jesus’ exhortation in Acts of Thomas 15.

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In the Acts of Thomas, Jesus presents the option to the groom of entering the bridal chamber, giving birth to spiritual children, and entering a place of immortality and light: But if you are persuaded and preserve your souls pure for God, you will birth living children whom those damages cannot attack; and you will be free from care as you lead an undisturbed life without grief and concern, and as you expect to receive the marriage which is incorrupt and true; and you will be bridal attendants in it, entering together into that bridal chamber which is full of immortality and light.

The difference here between what Jesus offers and what the groom describes is that both men and women are in the bridal chamber, whereas in the Hermetic treatise and the groom’s response, only men are described. The goal remains consistent with the Hermetic treatise, even though the composition of community has shifted. The groom describes Jesus in a hymn, addressed to the Lord who is made manifest through the Jesus: “I give thanks to you, Lord, who was preached by the strange man and was found in us” (Eujcaristw` soi kuvrie oJ dia; tou` xevnou ajndro;~ khrucqei;~ kai; ejn hJmi`n eujreqeiv~). The hymnic mode of expression underscores that Jesus functions as a mystagogue in the narrative, one “who indicated himself to me and who revealed to me everything concerning me in which I am” (oJ seautovn moi uJpodeivxa~ kai; pavnta ta; kat∆ ejme; ejn oi|~ eijmi ajpokaluvya~ moi) and “who led me to search after myself and to know who I was and who and how I now exist, so that again I might become that which I was” (uJpodeivxa~ moi zhth`sai ejmauto;n kai; gnw`nai tiv~ h[mhn kai; tiv~ kai; pw`~ uJpavrcw nu`n, i{na pavlin gevnwmai o{ h[mhn). At the heart of the groom’s response is the relationship of initiant and mystagogue, a relationship expressed through praise and adulation. That new relationship not only sets the groom to searching, but also transforms him: power is released to the groom to find himself and to know his origin and his destiny. The address of the groom’s response replicates the posture in the Hermetic treatise: the initiant gives praise to “the Lord” (in this case) in the presence of the mystagogue (Jesus in the nuptial chamber), even as the initiant recognizes that power has been posited within his immediate relationship to Jesus, his mystagogue. The relationship of the groom to Jesus exhibits the same intensity and love as that Discourse on the Eighth and Ninth, founded as it is on the unequal relationship of guide to disciple. The groom says that Jesus “cheapened himself down to me and to my smallness in order that, setting me upon your greatness, you might unite me to yourself” ( i{na ejmev th/ ` megalwsuvnh/ parasthvsa~ eJnwvsh/ ~ seautw/`) and that his “love boils within me (ou\ hJ ajgavph ejn ejmoi; bravssei), and I am not able to speak as it is proper, but that which I proceed to say about him is short and altogether little and happens not be

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analogous with his glory.” The parallel concerns between the Acts of Thomas and Discourse on the Eighth and Ninth are striking: there is discussion of propriety and proper expression, of profound love, of the interconnection of the very high with the very low (both in their relationship and in the cosmos), and of the insufficiency of language to articulate the profundity of their experience. The emphasis in both treatises on the need for proper deportment, proper language, and the unequal nature of the relationship indicates that this form of male initiation began with inequality and ends with equality. These two texts are in dialogue with one another. Although each one may be understood apart from the other, together they speak of a common cultural phenomenon that crosses the boundaries of religious theology and practice. Uniting the discourses in two very different communities (ascetic Christianity and the Hermetic communities of males), the formative initiation of males into an elite religious community seems to have pervaded the cultural milieu while transgressing a wide assortment of social, religious, and philosophical boundaries. That initiation, perhaps taken for granted by educated or entitled males, probably found its entry into Christianity through such mysteries as the nuptial chamber, where Jesus could easily become the mystagogue, and the initiant the groom. This form of intertextuality opens possibilities for interpreting the apocryphal Acts in wider religious and cultural perspective. The Second Thesis—Intra-Traditional Intertextuality The second thesis relates that an intertextual reading of texts transmitted under the name of “Thomas” (Didymus Judas Thomas) indicates that intertextual conversations were themselves taken seriously by transmitters of traditions and that they used the intertextual identification of “Thomas” to provide a medium for their transmission. In this case the Acts of Thomas and the Gospel of Thomas are intertexts simply because they transmit messages under the common sign “Thomas” and, therefore, they establish themselves as communicating one with the other. One part of their communication revolves about the role of women, and their spiritual formation: the Gospel of Thomas Saying 114 3 provides an intertextual correlative to the bride’s response in the Acts of Thomas. The tradition of male formation exhibited in the male formation of the groom’s response (invoking the system of formation displayed in the Discourse on the Eighth and Ninth) is authorized for women in saying 114 of the Gospel of Thomas under the direct authority of Jesus. Moreover, the ambiguous gender issues regarding Jesus and his various spouses

3 The text by Bentley Layton and translation by Thomas O. Lambdin for the Gospel of Thomas is from Layton (1:37–128).

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in Acts of Thomas are made more explicit in the trinary (rather than binary) gender structure of the Gospel of Thomas saying. The Gospel of Thomas Saying 114 consists of three parts. In the first part, Peter complains about Mary’s presence: “Simon Peter said to them: ‘Let Mary leave us, for women are not worthy of life’ (peje simwn petros nau je mare mariHam ei ebol n=Hhtn= je n=sHiome m=pva an m=pwnH).” The denigration of women as unworthy of life and as not deserving participation in the community sets the stage. Simon Peter’s objection, however, is made to a larger group of males (the “us” is plural) and seems not to be addressed to Jesus alone. Simon Peter’s predominantly male community seems peripherally to have included Mary, whom he would like to reject from the community. Peter here represents the sort of male community described in the Discourse on the Eighth and Ninth in which all of the characters and functions are male, even female roles are played by males (Valantasis: 83–84). In the second part, Jesus responds to Simon Peter with an offer: “Jesus said, ‘I myself shall lead her in order to make her male, so that she too may become a living spirit resembling you males’ (peje i=s= je eisHhhte anok Tnaswk m=mos jekaas eeinaas n=Hoout vina esnavwpe Hwws n=oup·na · ‚ efonH efeine m=mwtn= n=Hoout).” Jesus finds a way to include the women in the community as it is defined by Simon Peter by his taking on the role of mystagogue and effecting through his guidance a form of gendered transformation. In the Hermetic literature the male mystagogues are frequently described as “pregnant” or as “giving birth to a brotherhood,”4 so that this gendered transformation exactly invokes for women the possibility of attaining the status open only to the other (just as the Hermetic men could take on the gendered functions of women). That Jesus is a mystagogue, a sort of third gender, is made clear by the characterization of Peter and his group as “you males” (not “us males,” if Jesus were including himself in the category). Jesus tells Simon Peter (not Mary) that he himself will provide whatever is necessary for Mary to become a full member of the community (in this case articulated as “becoming male” and “resembling . . . males”). The dominant category, however, seems not to be either the woman or the man, nor even the task of becoming male, but the task of becoming a “living spirit” which merely “resembles you males.” Jesus the mystagogue may function in relationship to both males in their formation and females in their formation, and both formations are equally transformative, both formations lead toward “becoming spirit.” This saying, however, relates the spiritual formation instantiated in the Discourse on the Eighth and Ninth to the groom’s response in the Acts of Thomas, but not the bride’s response. In the bride’s response to Jesus’ exhorta4 The mystagogue in Discourse on the Eighth and Ninth says, for example: “Indeed the understanding dwells in you; in me it is as though the power were pregnant. For when I conceived from the fountain that flowed to me, I gave birth” [52:16–20].

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tion, the bride simply perpetuates the social constraint of marriage through substituting a heavenly or spiritual husband for a social husband: “And that I negated this husband and these marriage activities which pass away from before my eyes [is] because I am bound in another marriage” (kai; o{ti ejxouqevnisa to;n a[ndra tou`ton kai; tou;~ gavmou~ touvtou~ tou;~ parercomevnou~ ajp∆ e[mprosqen tw`n ojfqalmw`n mou, ejpeidh; eJtevrw/ gavmw/ hJrmovsqhn). The woman, as bride, perpetuates the social structures in which she is locked, while transferring her allegiance to a permanent, not temporal, husband. The perpetuation of social constraints extends even to sexual intercourse: “And that I do not have intercourse with this temporary man, the end of which exists with lust and bitterness of soul, [is] because I am yoked with a true husband” (kai; o{ti ouj sunemivghn ajndri; proskaivrw/, ou| to; tevlo~ meta; lagneiva~ kai; pikriva~ yuch`~ uJpavrcei, ejpeidh; ajndri; ajlhqinw/`/ sunezeuvcqhn). That the bride makes her speech to her father further underscores this patriarchal structure. The lack of equivalence between the bride’s response and the groom’s response, especially given the intertextuality with the Thomas traditions and Hermetism, is striking. This intertextuality within the Thomas tradition, then, shows the continuing conversation about the role and status of women. One part of the tradition affirms the equality of women with men in the development of a spiritual status, while another part of the same tradition affirms the control and domestication of women.5 This form of intertextuality does not posit a community which transmits information about itself under the heading of “Thomas people” or “Thomas community,” but rather an intertextual strategy for making available a number of texts that are related verbally and theologically to one another: the conversation is textual rather than “expressions” of isolated communities. This intertextual strategy may reflect certain aspects of the lives of people in various communities, but the primary identity of these communities may not revolve about the centrality of Thomas to their revelation, so that by intertextual linking these traditions may be understood as in relationship to one another while remaining available to a larger community of people.6 What was pursued as signs of distinct communities may more profitably be pur-

5 Steve Patterson of Eden Seminary (St. Louis, Missouri) has suggested to me in a private conversation about this disjunction that the Acts of Thomas parallel the perspective of the Pastoral Epistles, regulating the place of women by restricting an earlier free participation in the Christian life. This would mean that chronologically, the Gospel of Thomas logion would precede the Acts of Thomas narrative which attempts to redefine the role of women. It would, thus, be parallel to Dennis R. MacDonald’s thesis regarding the Pastoral Epistles and the Acts of Paul and Thecla. 6 The analogy here would be to the presence of “Thomas” in John’s gospel, where the Thomas-traditions may operate in a totally different environment and even be incorporated into a diametrically opposite narrative agenda. For a fuller discussion see Riley.

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sued as intertextual relationships capable of being employed in diverse communities. The Third Thesis—Discursive Intertextuality The third thesis relates that an intertextual reading of the bride’s response indicates that there was a significant conversation about the status and meaning of marriage within Christianity. By placing the discourse in the Gospel of Philip 7 beside Jesus’ exhortation and the bride’s response, the contours of that cultural conversation become evident. The nuptial chamber provided the locus for that conversation in the narrative context of the Acts of Thomas. The Gospel of Philip provides, in a sense, the theological and ascetical underpinning to the nuptial chamber as it is presented by Jesus’ exhortation in the Acts of Thomas. This form of intertextuality shows how texts within an historical environment may point toward a larger discourse in which a variety of different texts may be participating in diverse ways. The contours of that conversation revolve about a number of different issues about marriage and heavenly marriage, or the nuptial chamber.8 The first is the problematizing of children.9 Both in Acts of Thomas and Gospel of Philip children represent a serious distraction from spiritual activity. In the Acts of Thomas children are portrayed as causing the parents distraction and crushing them: They become either moonstruck or half-dry or crippled or deaf or speechless or paralytic or stupid. And even if they are healthy, they will again be impossible, accomplishing useless and disgusting deeds, for they are found either in debauchery or in murder or in fraud or in fornication and by all these things you will be crushed (givnontai ga;r h[ selhniazovmenoi h[ hJmivxhroi h[ phroi; h[ kwfoi; h[ a[laloi h[ paralutikoi; h[ mwroi;: eja;n de; kai; w}sin uJgiaivnonte~, e[sontai pavlin ajpoivhtoi, a[crhsta kai; bdelukta; e[rga diaprattovmenoi: eujrivskontai ga;r h[ ejn moiceiva/ h[ ejn kloph/ ` h[ ejn porneiva/, kai; ejn touvtoi~ pa`sin uJmei`~ suntribhvsesqe).

For the Gospel of Philip, the act of procreation itself determines the fate of the participants: The human being has intercourse with the human being. The horse has intercourse with the horse, the ass with the ass. Members of a race usually 7 The text of the Gospel of Philip is that of Layton, and the translation is by Wesley W. Isenberg (Layton: 1:142–215). 8 The problematizing of marriage among ascetics is not unusual. It is a tradition evidenced in Paul’s Corinthian correspondence (1 Corinthians 7), which continues throughout earliest Christianity. 9 The male tradition of formation, discussed in the first theme, also problematizes children, by emphasizing the creation of a “brotherhood” of initiated males. The mystagogue in the Hermetic treatise emphasizes his role as womb, mother, producer of male offspring (Valantasis: 83).

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semeia have associated [with] those of like race. So spirit mingles with spirit, and thought consorts with thought, and [light] shares [with light (taei te qe evare pp·n·a twH mn= pp·n·a auw plogos vaFr=koinwnei mn= plogos auw pouoein vaFr=koinwnei mn= pouoein). If you (sg.)] are born a human being, it is [the human being] who will love you. If you become [a spirit], it is the spirit which will be joined to you. If you become thought, it is thought which will mingle with you. If you become light, it is the light which will share with you (ekvanvwpe n=ouoein pouoein petnar=koinwnei nm=mak). If you become one of those who belong above, it is those who belong above who will rest upon you. If you become horse or ass or bull or dog or sheep or another of the animals which are outside or below, then neither human being nor spirit nor thought nor light will be able to love you. Neither those who belong above nor those who belong within will be able to rest in you, and you will have not part in them. (Gos. Phil. 78:25–79:14)

Here, the question of the generation of offspring aside, intercourse itself inaugurates the decadent system of separation and isolation which results in the problematizing of every aspect and effect of intercourse. The act and its logical consequence create problems for those who are searching for their spiritual selves. The option which Jesus presents, therefore, in the Acts of Thomas portrays the nuptial chamber as the place for the reversal of that problematization through the production of immortal children: But if you are persuaded and preserve your souls pure for God, you will birth living children whom those damages cannot attack; and you will be free from care as you lead an undisturbed life incorrupt and true. . . . (ejan; de; peisqh`te kai; thrhvshte ta;~ yuca;~ uJmw`n aJgnav~ tw/` qew/` genhvsontai uJmi`n pai`de~ zw`nte~, w\n aiJ blavbai au\tai ouj qiggavnousin, kai; e[sesqe ajmevrimnoi, a[sulton diavgonte~ bivon cwri;~ luvph~ kai; merivmnh~, prosdokw`nte~ ajpolhvyesqai ekei`non to;n gavmon to;n a[fqoron kai; ajlhqinovn).10

Jesus exhorts the couple to enter into a union that will produce spiritual children and that will lead to the sort of contemplative rest necessary for living the spiritual life. Second, the nuptial chamber in both treatises is a place of union, immortality, and light. In the Acts of Thomas, Jesus exhorts the couple: . . . and as you expect to receive the marriage which is incorrupt and true, and you will be bridal attendants in it, entering together into that bridal 10 There are a number of correlative issues which the Gospel of Philip presents problematizing children and sexual intercourse: that the perfect man begets children who do not die [58:20b–59:6]; that people become what they look at, so that looking only upon spiritual things creates spiritual people [61:20b–35]; and that the children reflect the image in the woman’s mind during intercourse [78:12–24]. These construction principles make the production of physical children problematic, creating the theological disposition toward the nuptial chamber as far surpassing, and much more attractive, than the production of earthly children.

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chamber which is full of immortality and light (prosdokw`nte~ ajpolhvyesqai ekei`non to;n gavmon to;n a[fqoron kai; ajlhqinovn, kai; e[sesqe ejn aujtw/` paravnumfoi suneisercovmenoi eij~ to;n numfw`na ejkei`non to;n th`~ ajqanasiva~ kai; fwto;~ plhvrh~).

The Gospel of Philip, with its more developed theology of the sacramental bridal chamber, presents the interrelation of sacraments as spiritual rebirth and light: A bridal chamber is not for the animals (mare pastos vwpe n=nqhrion), nor is it for the slaves, nor for defiled women; but it is for free men and virgins. Through the holy spirit we are indeed begotten again, but we are begotten through Christ in the two. We are anointed through the spirit. When we were begotten we were united. None can see himself either in water or in a mirror without light. Nor again can you (sg.) see in light without water or mirror. For this reason it is fitting to baptize in the two, in the light and the water. Now the light is the chrism. (Gos. Phil. 69:1–14a)

Jesus underscores this perspective: “He said on that day in the thanksgiving, ‘You who have joined the perfect light with the holy spirit, unite the angels with us also, as being the images’” (Gos. Phil. 58:10b–14a). The initiation in both treatises involves illumination, a location of one’s self within light—a light which signifies immortality. By linking these texts intertextually (even as briefly as I have just done), the contours of a significant cultural discourse emerge. That discourse revolves about the production of spiritual communities of women and men who have renounced earthly marriage in favor of a heavenly nuptial chamber. It explores the relationship of the heavenly marriage to other sacraments (in the Gospel of Philip most notably) and in relationship to the social structures of physical marriage. It addresses the relative valuation of the spiritual over the physical, the light over the darkness, the animal over the human, spiritual brotherhood over the physical brotherhood. All of these, and others that may emerge, point toward a discursive field in which various texts position themselves, the boundaries of which are not visible until all the texts are explored intertextually. The Nuptial Chamber Revisited—On Intertextual Relations The nuptial chamber of the Acts of Thomas interacts with a wide variety of cultural processes ranging from male philosophical initiation to an interChristian conversation about the role of women. Within the religious culture of late second and third centuries CE these cultural phenomena formed the complex web in which communication (whether written or spoken, published or performed) occurred. People knew about these aspects of their culture, in the same way that we late twentieth-century people know about

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many things which are not directly part of our own sphere of living (such as militias and Japanese religious cults). A participant within a culture learns these complexes in order, first, to become a part of a culture, and second, to be competent to communicate within a culture. As Christianity developed during the second and third centuries CE, its texts became a part of this cultural fabric, and hence they became part of the intertextual fabric of the time. Cultural intertextuality seems simply to be a fact of life in a communicating culture. In his magisterial and influential commentary on the Acts of Thomas, A. F. J. Klijn lists a plethora of parallel texts to these chapters addressed above (192–99). His parallels constellate around the various ideas expressed in the scene: chapter 12 links virginity and the baptismal font; chapter 14 contrasts corruption and incorruption and locates salvation in the incorruptible realm (the unusual marital union is acknowledged, but unexplored); and chapter 15 emphasizes the redemption and self-knowledge sung by the groom (with some comparison to gnostic theology). Parallels form a sort of intertextuality, posited from the perspective that ideas precede textuality and form the basis of comparisons in the author’s mind which knows those ideas. The source-critical approach to intertextuality favors the listing of parallels where ideas are carried through other media and texts in a given culture, much as Klijn has done. But this is a unidimensional and univocal perspective on intertextuality. The existence of these parallels begs the question of intertextuality, questioning the relationship of texts both literary and cultural to one another. If, for example, there is no reference (either textual or semiotic), no invocation, no intertextual linking of the nuptial chamber to baptism, what makes that connection possible? Why choose baptism over the more explicit sacramental system of the Gospel of Philip in which the nuptial chamber forms one of a series, perhaps even a progression, of sacraments? This latter system (or perhaps some other system unknown to us) seems more directly invoked by the Acts of Thomas than any sort of Syrian baptismal practice and theology. Ideas, parallels, and correlative systems do not necessarily create intertextual relationships, because the intertextuality (at least for ancient texts) must be located within the nexus of cultural expression. Cultural intertextuality (as I call it) connects a text to the nexus of “texts” in which it is produced and among which it is situated. I have explored this sort of nexus for the nuptial chamber under three different kinds of headings: inter-religious, intra-traditional, and discursive intertextuality. Although they do not exhaust the possible perspectives through which the nuptial chamber may be viewed in late second- and third-century Christianity, they provide three different cultural texts (some literary, some performative, some social) which link the nuptial chamber to the wider social and intellectual culture of its day. The nuptial chamber intersected a number of cultural patterns from philosophy, from within Christianity, from the narrative world of the ancient

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novels, from the theological world of the mystery religions, and from the social world of marriage and childrearing. There are perhaps other connections, other texts, other intertexts which would open yet other avenues of exploration of the nuptial chamber and widen our understanding of so pervasive a cultural and religious process of formative Christianity. Perhaps later ascetic and monastic invocations and explications of the nuptial chamber will open to view other culturally discursive practices from an earlier era. My three examples do not exhaust the possibilities, but the goal, it seems to me, is to read and interpret the text dynamically located in the textual context and world, and to observe (if not experience) the reverberations between texts (both literary and cultural) in any given historical culture. As we know from our own attempts at communication, every expression in a culture links to other expressions (in semiotic theory this is called the theory of infinite semiosis), which means that the texts we invoke in our communication are multitude. I suggest the same occurs in ancient Christian texts: the expressive plane is far more complex and rich than we acknowledge. The nuptial chamber especially demands cultural intertextual reading. Each time scholars have visited it in any one of the apocryphal Acts, new cultural links are made. From Klijn’s parallels to my three forms of intertextuality, the nuptial chamber revisited offers almost unlimited potential for connection to other performances, practices, theologies, social relations, symbolic universes, asceticism, gender constructions, and power dynamics (to name only a few) which flow so richly in second- and third-century ce cultural expressions. Like Jesus, after Thomas, to revisit the nuptial chamber is to create a new intertextual site where the riches of the classical tradition may meet the new understandings of gender and the role of women, and much more, for cultural intertextuality at the careful level of our New Testament study renders more and more complexity, revealing more and more the cultural realities which our texts materialize.

WORKS CONSULTED Cameron, Averil 1991 Christianity and the Rhetoric of Empire: The Development of Christian Discourse. Sather Classical Lectures 55. Berkeley: University of California Press. Eco, Umberto 1979 A Theory of Semiotics. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Hadot, Iseltraut 1986 “The Spiritual Guide.” Pp. 436–59 in Classical Mediterranean Spirituality: Egyptian, Greek, Roman. Ed. A. H. Armstrong. New York: Crossroad.

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Hadot, Pierre 1987 Exercices Spirituels et Philosophe Antique. 2d ed. Paris: Etudes Augustiniennes. Hodge, Robert and Gunther Kress 1988 Social Semiotics. Ithaca: Cornell University Press. Keizer, Lewis W. 1974 The Eighth Reveals the Ninth: A New Hermetic Initiation Disclosure (Tractate 6, Nag Hammadi Codex VI). Seaside, CA: Academy of Arts and Humanities. Klijn, A. F. J. 1962 The Acts of Thomas: Introduction, Text, Commentary. NovTSup 5. Leiden: E. J. Brill. Layton, Bentley, ed. 1989 Nag Hammadi Codex II, 2–7 Together with XIII,2*, Brit. Lib. Or.4926(1), and P. OXY. 1, 654, 655. NHS 20. Leiden: E. J. Brill. Lipsius, Richard A. and Max Bonnet, eds. 1903 Acta Apostolorum Apocrypha. Vol. 2,2. Leipzig: Hermann Mendelssohn. Reprinted Hildesheim: Georg Olms, 1959. MacDonald, Dennis R. 1983 The Legend and the Apostle: The Battle for Paul in Story and Canon. Philadelphia: Westminster. Rabbow, Paul 1954 Seelenführung. Methodik der Exerzitien in der Antike. Munich: Koesel. Riley, Gregory J. 1990 “Doubting Thomas: Controversy Between the Communities of Thomas and John.” Ph.D. diss., Harvard University. Valantasis, Richard 1991 Spiritual Guides of the Third Century. Minneapolis: Fortress. Voelz, James W. 1989 “Multiple Signs and Double Texts: Elements of Intertextuality.” Pp. 27–34 in Intertextuality in Biblical Writings: Essays in honour of Bas van Iersel. Ed. Sipke Draisma. Kampen: J. J. Kok. Vorster, Willem S. 1989 “Intertextuality and Redaktionsgeschichte.” Pp. 15–26 in Intertextuality in Biblical Writings: Essays in honour of Bas van Iersel. Ed. Sipke Draisma. Kampen: J. J. Kok.

AN ILLUSTRATION IN THE ADMONT “ANSELM” AND ITS RELEVANCE TO A RECONSTRUCTION OF THE ACTS OF JOHN David R. Cartlidge Maryville College (TN)

There is something fascinating about science. One gets such wholesome returns of conjecture out of such a trifling investment of fact. —Mark Twain, Life on the Mississippi

abstract Although relatively rare among manuscript illuminations, the scene of John the Evangelist leaving his betrothed to cling to Christ is probably based on ancient prototypes. The scene may have originated in illustrated copies of the Acts of John. These images, of which the twelfth-century Admont miniature is the oldest surviving example, lend support to the hypothesis that the Acts of John once began with a narrative account of John’s turn away from marriage toward Christ. Whatever their origin, these scenes provide evidence of the reception of Johannine legends in the Medieval period.

The Admont Miniature In 1104 ce, Anselm of Canterbury was in Lyons—in exile—again. He sent a copy of his Prayers and Meditations (orationes sive meditationes quas ego dictavi) and an accompanying letter to Mathilda of Tuscany. A generation later, in about 1160, a Salzburg-area scriptorium produced a copy of the manuscript from one of Mathilda’s exemplars for a “humilitas abbatissa,” “who may have been the Abbess of Diemuth of the nunnery of Trauenkirchen in Upper Austria (Pächt; Wentzel, 1954; 1959). This manuscript is now in the library of the Monastery of Admont, in Styria: Admont, Stiftsbibliothek, MS lat. 289. Of the eleven illustrations in the Admont Anselm, one—at folio 56ro—is of interest to a discussion of the relationships among the various rhetorical versions of legends of John the Evangelist. The miniature at folio 56ro (figure 1.) is a composition which employs two originally discrete images. The right-hand scene is that of John the Evangelist resting on the bosom of Christ. This image descends from a long line of depictions of the Last Supper and is directly related to John 13:23. The Admont illustrator has given us the first extant version of this scene divorced

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Figure 1. Anselm, Prayers and Meditations, Stiftsbibliothek, ms. lat. 289, fol. 56ro. Benedikterstift Admont. Photo by permission of the Stiftsbibliothek.

from its Last Supper context. Thus, the Admont illustration is the earliest of a popular line of medieval devotional images, including statuettes, known as the “Christ-John-Group.” According to Wentzel (1959), there are at least forty-one of these figures, most of them from Austria and southern Germany. The left-hand scene has no extant predecessors. The man, dressed as a philosopher, strides to the right, and his hands gesture to the woman to stay. He is leaving her. Her downcast eyes, her right hand raised to her cheek, and her head tilted toward the man are common iconographic symbols of resignation and sorrow. Her frozen stance, in contrast to the man’s dynamic posture, creates an energy in the miniature’s left-hand scene which is in sharp contrast to the scene of repose on the right. The inscription in the top border of the illustration is from a hymn attributed to Notger which celebrates John’s clinging to the bosom of Christ (Pächt). The Admont miniature illustrates Anselm’s prayer to John the Evangelist at folio 55: cui familiare fuit recumbere supra illud gloriosum pectus altissimi (Migne, PL CLVIII, col. 709–10). We have an image of John the Evangelist’s leaving his betrothed and finding repose on the bosom of Christ. The miniaturist has liberated the

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Christ-John scene from its Eucharistic context, and, with his addition of the scene of John’s escape from the calls of the flesh has created a new illustration: a picture not only to the glorification of the pectus altissimi but also a didactic reinforcement of the Anselm text’s vision of a higher life, a piety of which John’s virginal chastity is the model. The style of the illuminations in the Admont Anselm is saturated with “a strong and direct Byzantine influence” (Pächt: 77), which, in the case of our miniature, shows itself in the flowing robes of the saint in the left-hand scene, in the classic cast of Christ’s and John’s robes in the right-hand scene, and in the naturalistic poses of the figures (Weitzmann, 1954; 1975:1–2). The Admont Anselm’s beardless, youthful Christ is, however, not Byzantine. This style is typical of the twelfth-century Italian Giant Bibles, “which incorporate so much of the iconography of the Early Christian Genesis cycles” (Pächt: 77–78). It seems, therefore, that when the exemplar of the Admont Anselm migrated from Tuscany to be copied in the Salzburg-area scriptorium it brought with it aspects of Italian iconography. This style distinguishes the illuminations of the Admont version from several other illuminated examples of the Anselm text (Pächt). The Admont Anselm contains “a practically unknown group” of illustrations (Pächt: 58). It is, therefore, not surprising that the image at folio 56ro is not discussed in standard “encyclopediae” on Christian iconography such as Künstle (2.341–47), Lechner (7.108–30), Réau (3.2.708) or Schiller. The miniature is recorded in the Index of Christian Art at Princeton University. Both Otto Pächt and Hans Wentzel agree that the Admont Anselm’s illustrations appear to have been separated from their archetypes by several steps. They do not look as if they had been “invented for this particular type of illumination” (Pächt: 76). The miniature at 56ro is, therefore, a compound of images which the Admont illustrator adapted from two distinct cycles. The Christ-John scene derives from a Eucharistic context; the left-hand scene is from a cycle of the life and death of John the Evangelist. The relevance of the Admont miniature for the study of Christian Apocrypha is immediately apparent to those familiar with current discussions of the contents of the Greek Acts of John. Junod and Kaestli (1983:1.81–86) hypothesize two narratives that the now-lost beginning of the Acts of John contained; they present the narratives as alternatives. One is a scene in which Christ assigns to the gathered apostles their missions. The alternative is a scene of the call of the apostle John to leave his betrothed for a life of virgin chastity. Junod and Kaestli base this second hypothesis upon the summary prayer which John utters in Acts of John 113. In the prayer, John recounts how Christ prevented his marriage—three times, no less—to call John to himself in virginal chastity: “John, if I did not need you I would have let you marry” (1983:1:311–12; Lipsius-Bonnet: 2.212.6–213.4). The detailed nature of John’s account in Acts of John 113 of his “rescue” from temptations may well be a sign

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that is it based on a narrative account. Schäferdiek (172) joins Junod and Kaestli (1983:1:85), however, in considering this hypothesis “an open question.” Another feature of the Admont miniature strikes a chord resonant to one who is familiar with the apocryphal Acts. The face of John the Evangelist in the left-hand scene and that of Christ in the right-hand scene are identical except that John, on the left, is nimbed; Christ, in the right scene, is crossnimbed (“Trinity nimbus”). The replication of the figures calls to mind the tendency in the apocryphal Acts to portray the apostle and the redeemer as “interchangeable” (e.g., AcJohn 87). It is unlikely, however, that an echo of the Acts of John’s polymorphism is at work in the illustration; Romanesque illuminators tended to have two or three stock faces which they employed in all their work (Cahn: 22). The illustrator of the Admont Anselm has employed this custom. The face of an angel at fol. 40 and of another angel at fol. 21vo are also the face of John and of Christ at fol. 56ro. The Admont illustrator has also employed the same facial type for John’s betrothed at the left scene and for John himself on the right at fol. 56ro. The Admont Image and Some Principles of Manuscript Illumination Adolph Katzenellenbogen (513) emphasizes that Kurt Weitzmann (1948) was the first to discuss in a systematic and comprehensive manner “the problem of how miniature and text are related to each other in principle” (Katzenellenbogen: 513). Weitzmann himself points to the work of J. J. Tikkanen (Tikkanen: 1888; 1889), who brought art historians’ discussions into a new phase of intertextual studies when he demonstrated that the Genesis mosaics in the Church of San Marco, Venice, are based upon the miniatures of the fifth- or sixth-century Cotton Genesis (British Museum, Cotton Otho B. VI). Ernst Kitzinger (102) calls Tikkanen’s discovery “one of those elemental breakthroughs in scholarship that will never be undone.” Following Weitzmann’s direction this breakthrough has generated a principle in art history. Although it is not universally acclaimed, virtually every historian of Christian art must take the hypothesis into account: the great number of “biblical” (which includes Christian and Jewish apocrypha) images in the Middle Ages were generally not inventions of that epoch. In spite of the paucity of illuminated manuscripts from the early Church and the Carolingian age (a scarcity which in no small part is due to the iconoclastic wars), many art historians assume that extant image cycles in churches and in manuscripts are copies and adaptations extracted from full cycles of narrative images which the early church developed to illustrate sacred texts and to decorate churches. Weitzmann sums up the hypothesis succinctly: After a miniature has once or perhaps more than once changed its textual affiliation it is sometimes impossible to find the basic text, which may be lost.

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The picture may then become a valuable document for reconstructing a literary story. The Iliac tablet in the Museo Capitolino has two friezes at the bottom of the central part, one with scenes from the Aethiopis of Arctinus and the other for the Little Iliad of Lesches of Mitylene with episodes which are not told in the Chrestomathy of Proclus or anywhere else, and thus are a valuable documentary source for the reconstruction of the lost poems. (Weitzmann, 1948; 2nd ed., 1970:150–51)

There are miniatures which do appear to be inventions of medieval illustrators; they are rare. Examples of such miniatures are scenes in psalters of the birth of David, scenes which are clearly based on images of Jesus’ or the Virgin’s birth (Weitzmann, 1948:151). However, one should assume that the vast majority of extant medieval biblical scenes had ancient archetypes. In this vein, M. R. James hypothesized a textual base for the many pictorial scenes of John baptizing Drusiana (236, note). We must emphasize another principle operating in the realm of art history, a rule of thumb which has direct bearing on our main subject. There was a basic conservatism which dominated the production and transmission of Christian art. The modern concept of the aesthetic autonomy of the artist played little or no role in the transmission of the church’s pictorial images. Artistic autonomy and inventiveness are products of the Romantic era in Western history. Jonathan J. G. Alexander points out that in the choice of illumination by the painter and the patron “[i]t is important to stress . . . how very important tradition was in the art of the Middle Ages, and how difficult a matter it could be to alter an accepted image or to apply illustration to a text which had not before received it” (52). In sum, we are positing a profusely illuminated edition of the Acts of John which existed in the early church and from which subsequent cycles of the “Life of John the Evangelist” in church art descended. What then is the basic text which our miniature illuminated in the early church? One candidate is Acts of John 113 itself (Pächt: 78, n. 1). It is possible that the Admont illustrator or a predecessor invented the scene of John’s leaving a woman from his knowledge of either Acts of John 113 or from the hagiographical legends which abounded in the Middle Ages and which reflect the story of Christ’s calling John to a service of virginal chastity. But such an invention, as we pointed out above, is unlikely. Jacobus de Voragine’s Legenda Aurea (ca. 1250) is a popularized “lives of the saints” arranged according to the liturgical calendar and, in the case of each saint, employing the readings from the Bible and hagiography for the saint’s feast day(s). Although the Legenda Aurea was first published a century later than the Admont Anselm, it is a classic compilation of the hagiographical legends which abounded throughout the Middle Ages. In his story of John the Evangelist, de Voragine begins with an emphasis of the saint’s chastity and virginity:

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semeia The gift referred to in the second meaning of the name [“one to whom a gift is given”] is John’s freedom from fleshly corruption, because he was chosen as a virgin and so is one who had in him the grace of virginal chastity: he had thought of marrying but instead was called by the Lord. (Voragine: 1:50; emphasis mine)

We do not know precisely de Voragine’s source for his vague allusion to the legend of John’s leaving his betrothed. Jerome knows the story (Against Jovinian 1:26) as does Augustine (Tractate on the Gospel of John 124.7). It is likely, however, that his version was derived from liturgical texts for the feast days of John the Evangelist (Rézeau: 2.270–81); the narrative images of the saints in twelfth- and thirteenth-century monuments and manuscripts often follow that pattern. The Admont Image And Johannine Cycles The church’s early attribution of John’s virginity was strong, yet none of the extant pictorial cycles of the Evangelist’s life and death carry a narrative scene in which he is called out of virginity to the celibate state. Nor do we have any hint of an isolated image of this scene until the Admont illustration. The earliest recorded pictorial cycles which contain selections of John’s Acts are lost to us. There was a sixth-century mosaic of the apostle preaching and baptizing on the south wall of the Church of the Apostles, Constantinople (Dalton: 392–95). According to Künstle (2:344–45.), who gains his information from Wilpert (2,: fig. 64), there was a seventh-century cycle in the Church of San Giovanni Laterano. Wilpert supplies drawings of a portion of this fresco cycle which features the Evangelist’s “oil martyrdom” before the Porta Latina at the order of Domitian. There are two scenes: an executioner cutting John’s hair (partially destroyed—we see John’s head and the scissors) and John entering and exiting the kettle of boiling oil. It is consistent with narrative cycles of the apostles, that we begin to see the emergence of cycles of John’s deeds during the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. By the thirteenth century these scenes number in the dozens.1 The Johannine cycles were often associated with a renewed interest in the Apocalypse of John. They were used as the introduction and conclusion of illustrated editions of the Apocalypse, and in the decoration of churches.2 Vir1 Examples of the earliest narrative Johannine scenes are (1) ninth-century, ascension of John—Bibliothèque nationale, gr. 510, fol. 32vo (Gregory of Nazianzen Homilies); (2) tenth-century, John has his grave dug—University Library at Göttingen, Sacramentary, fol. 15vo; (3) eleventh century, John in his coffin with manna flowing from the grave—Rome, the Old Lateran Palace, Oratory of Gregory the Great, fresco; (4) twelfth-century, six scenes from the Life of John— Church of San Marco, Venice, north dome mosaics. 2 The first extant manuscript of the Apocalypse to include the Johannine life-cycle is The Trinity College Apocalypse (ca. 1240; James, Delisle and Meyer). Window 68 in the Cathedral at Auxerre combines the two cycles in stained glass (Raguin: 134).

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tually none of these cycles agrees in every detail. There is no one manuscript or monument group which contains all the narrative scenes of John’s life and death. A count of Johannine narrative scenes which are in my database comes to at least fifty-one separate images, if we include the Admont illustration and two scenes hypothesized by M. R. James. The usual beginning of the cycle is John’s preaching to the idolaters and his baptizing Drusiana. Our point is that when an image appears which is not among the usual scenes in a cycle we can assume that it is not by accident that a miniature which apparently lay dormant for centuries has now appeared at a particular time in a specific place. The choice of scenes from the vast store of images that existed in the church (especially in its scriptoria and ateliers) for any one manuscript’s illumination or for the decoration of a particular church was governed by the theological/social statement which the patron(s) and the artist(s) wished to make (Kessler and Simpson; Weitzmann, 1951). An example of such a selection process in the Johannine cycles is the popularity of the so-called “oilmartyrdom” of John the Evangelist in the early church’s rhetorical and pictorial art. Legend has it that John died a “peaceful” death at an old age. How then could John the Evangelist be counted among the martyrs? The answer to that question was that John’s passage through the boiling oil qualified him as a true martyr. Another example of an iconographic program which includes a single scene from a Johannine cycle is on the twelfth-century baptismal font in the Church of St. Barthelemy. The artist evidently wanted St. John the Evangelist on the font. He therefore included a scene from the Johannine cycle: John’s baptism of the philosopher Craton joins Peter’s baptism of Cornelius and John the Baptist’s baptism of two youths. In his discussion of the Admont image of John’s leaving his betrothed, Pächt calls our attention to a miniature in the St. Alban’s Psalter, St. Godehard, Hildesheim (fol. 57), which shows St. Alexis leaving his wife on their wedding night and heading off on a crusade: It is, of course, the same ascetic theme [as the Admont illustration], the turning away from earthly love to the all-absorbing love of God . . . the parallelism in the choice of the subject is in itself symptomatic; its common background is the new current of ascetic spiritualism which first manifests itself in the writings of Peter Damian. . . .(78)

Wentzel ascribes to this erotic-mystical association the cause for the proliferation of the Christ-John-Group of which the Admont miniature is also the first extant image (1954:658). It is not a coincidence, then, that the Admont illustration emerged when it did. There is an additional nuance possible in the Admont illustration. Brendan Cassiday suggested to me that the woman abandoned is holding a book, as well as, as American slang has it, “left holding the bag.” Dorothy M. Shep-

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ard argues convincingly that the images indicate that the Admont Anselm was produced for the use of nuns. In her paper Shepard does not mention the scene at fol. 56ro. Her hypothesis, however, indicates that this picture as well could have conventual meaning. The message to the woman may be “get thee to a nunnery,” without, of course, Hamlet’s sub-text of insult toward Ophelia. If one accepts the premises of image transmission which we outlined above, the Admont miniature joins the church fathers’ witness to suggest that there was in the early church a rhetorical scene of John’s leaving his betrothed,3 a scene which an archetype of the Admont illustration depicted. This image originated in the early church in a densely illustrated narrative of the “acts” of John the Evangelist. The images of this narrative migrated to serve as illuminations for other texts. During the Middle Ages, these images were once again assembled into cycles which were based on the liturgical readings. The images of choice for these cycles varied according to the theological programs of the patrons of the churches and manuscripts for which they were gathered. In the case of the Admont miniature, the popularity of an erotic-mystical piety in Austria chose the image of John’s call to virginal chastity. There are two images from the later middle ages which may touch the same subject. The first is a 13th-century glass panel in the Parish Church of Twycross, Leicestershire (originally the panel was in Ste.-Chapelle, Paris), identified as “John the Evangelist and a Woman.” The panel portrays a figure with John-the-Evangelist-type features moving to the right, with a female figure behind him, either following the apostle or left abandoned. The scene is vague and cannot be positively linked with any one scene from Johannine legends (Aubert: 345–46, pl. 101 [1] and [9]). A scene which clearly displays John’s abandoning of carnal pleasures occurs in at least one later manuscript illustration, the anonymous, 15th-century French manuscript, Les Louanges de Monseigneur Saint Jean l’ Evangeliste (Figure 2). The composition of this scene is very different from that of the Admont illustration: on the left, a man and woman face each other. To the right, Christ pulls John the Evangelist away from the scene on the left, that is, from a “bride and groom.” Inscription: “Comment Saint Jehan fu appellé de JesusChrist des noces charneles aux noces et mariage espirituel qui contient toute pureté.” Clearly, the image is based on the same legend as is the Admont illumination, but the Laborde image shares no iconographic similarities with the image at Admont (Laborde: pl. XI).

3 Tertullian, de monogamia 17, if the reference is to John the Evangelist. See Hengel (166 n. 33), who believes that Tertullian refers to John the Evangelist, contra Junod (1987). Epiphanius, Panarion 58.4.5–6.

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Figure 2. Les Louanges de Monseigneur St. Jean Evangelist. Pl. XI. The original was in the Imperial Library of St. Petersburg in 1930. Photo: Cartlidge.

It is quite possible, then, to see the Admont image as a buttress to JunodKaestli’s second hypothesis, namely, that a narrative of John’s call to virginal chastity existed in the missing portion of the Acts of John. It could be argued that, as many of the scenes in the medieval cycle of Johannine narrative images appear to have as their rhetorical inspiration texts of the Johannine legends other than those in the Acts of John, that particular text was not the repository of the scene. But the Acts of John has the edge in the field of play. Among its lacunae is a lost beginning; the Acts of John has a place to put such a narrative. In addition, it has Acts of John 113. There is much work to be done in order to receive more “wholesome returns of conjecture” on the relationship of miniature to text in Christian Apocrypha. A first step is the development of parallel stemmas which can be compared, those of text-traditions and those of texts’ associated miniatures. According to Dennis MacDonald there are illustrated versions of Acts of John (in the form of Pseudo-Abdias) in the British Museum. One would hope to discover Pseudo-Prochoros, Pseudo-Melito, or the so-called “Acts of John in

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Rome” in the same manner. The iconoclastic period and the Council of Nicea in 787 ce join the vast number of uncatalogued manuscript illuminations to raise the odds against that boon.4 On the other hand, as more and more libraries join the Bodleian (Ohlgren) and the National Library of Vienna in publishing catalogs of the manuscript illustrations in their collection, the chances of such a discovery increase. Addendum The author wishes to announce the availability of Apocicon, an electronically searchable database of Christian art which parallels narratives and descriptions in early Christian Apocrypha. This database contains references to about 2000 images, most of them produced before 1400 CE. As the database was originally designed for the author’s convenience, it holds certain idiosyncratic references. However, it also contains references to many images of general interest from early Christian art, Jewish art, and pagan art. There are some entries which are incomplete and which contain errors. Editing the file continues. Example of an entry: APOC [T] PHOTO [1145.00] CYCLE [Life of the Virgin, Joachim’s Offering Refused] MEDIUM [mosaic; church decoration] ARTIST [ ] PROVENANCE [Kariye Djami (Camii; or Chora)] LOCATION [in situ] CITY [Istanbul] STATE [Turkey] DATE [1320] CENTURY [14] TEXT [Pr-Jac 1:2; Ps-Matt 2; (see Syriac and Armenian Versions)] DESCRIPTION [The High Priest stands in a golden arched sanctuary. The altar and ciborium are behind him. He faces almost frontally with his hands extended in a clearly rejective gesture (unusual in this scene). The second half of the scene, with Joachim and Anna presenting their offering, is destroyed. Inscription: “The presentation . . .”] BIBLIOGRAPHY [Underwood, Kariye Djami, I, nr. 82, II, pl. 86, 87 // Lafontaine-Dosogne in Underwood, IV, p. 163. //] There are files which accompany the database: 1. A table of authorities; 2. An introduction to the database and searching methods; 3. A short bibliographical reference of materials on the art of the Christian Apocrypha; 4. An electronically searchable version of John Dominic Crossan’s Inventory of Biblical Scenes on Pre-Constantinian Christian Art; contains references to the art-images in Snyder, 1985.

4 For the history of the Acts of John among the heretics and its condemnation by heresiologists and church councils, see Junod and Kaestli (1983:1:1).

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A reader who wishes an electronic copy of this database should get in touch with David R. Cartlidge Maryville College Maryville, TN 37804 Fax: 423–981–8010 We plan to make the database available on the Maryville College web-server; when that occurs, general notice will be given through AAR/SBL information channels.

WORKS CONSULTED Alexander, Jonathon J. G. 1992 Medieval Illuminators and Their Methods of Work. New Haven: Yale University Press. Aubert, Marcel, Louis Grodecki, Jean LaFond, and Jean Verrier 1959 Les Vitraux de Notre-Dame et de la Sainte-Chapelle de Paris. Corpus Vitrearum Medii Aevi, France. Vol. I. Paris: Caisse Nationale des Monuments Historiques. Cahn, Walter 1982 Romanesque Bible Illumination. Ithaca: Cornell University Press. Dalton, Ormonde Haddock 1911 Byzantine Art and Archaeology. Oxford: Clarendon. Reprinted New York: Dover, 1961. Delisle, Leopold and Paul Meyer 1901 L’Apocalypse en Français au XIIIe siècle: (Bibl. nat. fr. 403). Société des anciens textes français 44. Paris: Firmin-Didot. Reprinted New York: Johnson, 1965. Hengel, Martin 1989 The Johannine Question. Philadelphia: Trinity. James, Montague Rhodes 1909 The Trinity College Apocalypse. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Junod, Eric 1987 “La virginité de l’apôtre Jean: recherches sur les origines scripturaires et patristiques de cette tradition.” Cahiers de Biblia Patristica 1:113–36. Junod, Eric and Jean-Daniel Kaestli 1982 “L’histoire des Actes apocryphes des Apôtres du IIIe au IXe siècle: le cas des Actes de Jean.” Cahiers de la revue de théologie et de philosophie 7. 1983

Acta Iohannis. CChrSA 1–2. Turnhout: Brepols.

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Katzenellenbogen, Adolph 1948 Review of Weitzmann, Illustrations in Roll and Codex. Speculum 23:513. Kessler, Herbert L. and Marianna Shreve Simpson, eds. 1985 “Pictorial Narrative in Antiquity and the Middle Ages.” Pp. 75–91 in Studies in the History of Art. Vol. 16. Washington: National Gallery of Art. Kitzinger, Ernst 1975 “The Role of Miniature Painting in Mural Decoration.” Pp. 99–142 in K. Weitzmann, W. Loerke, E. Kitzinger, and H. Buchthal, The Place of Book Illumination in Byzantine Art. The Art Museum, Princeton University. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Künstle, Karl 1926–28 Ikonographie der Christlichen Kunst. 2 Vols. Freiburg: Herder. Laborde, Comte Alexandre de 1936 “Les Principaux Manuscrits à Peintures Conservés dans l’Ancienne Bibliothèque Impériale Publique de Saint-Petersbourg.” 2 Vols. Bulletin de la Société Française de Reproduction de Manuscrits à Peintures. Paris. Lechner, M. 1974 “Johannes der Evangelist (der Theologe).” Cols. 108–30 in Lexikon der Christlichen Ikonographie, Vol. 7. Ed. Wolfgang Braunfels. Freiburg: Herder. Lipsius, Richard. A. and Max Bonnet, eds. 1898 Acta Apostolorum Apocrypha. Vol. 2.1. Leipzig: Hermann Mendelssohn. Reprinted Hildesheim: Georg Olms, 1959. Ohlgren, Thomas 1977 Illuminated Manuscripts: An Index to Selected Bodleian Library Color Reproductions. New York: Garland. Omont, Henri A. 1929 Miniatures des plus anciens manuscrits grecs de la Bibliothèque National du VIe au XIVe siècle. Paris: H. Champion. Pächt, Otto 1956 “The Illustrations of St. Anselm’s Prayers and Meditations.” Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 19:68–83. Raguin, Virginia Chieffo 1982 Stained Glass in Thirteenth-Century Burgundy. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Réau, Louis 1955–59 Iconographie de l’Art Chrétien. Paris: Presses universitaires de France. Rézeau, Pierre 1982 Les Prières aux Saints en Français: la Fin du Moyenáge Age. 2 Vols. Geneva: Librairie Droz.

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Schäferdiek, Knut 1992 “The Acts of John.” Pp. 152–209 in New Testament Apocrypha: Revised Edition of the Collection Initiated by Edgar Hennecke. Vol. 2. Writings Relating to the Apostles, Apocalypses and Related Subjects. Ed. Wilhelm Schneemelcher. Trans. R. McL. Wilson. Louisville: Westminster/John Knox. Schiller, Gertrud 1966–91 Ikonographie der Christlichen Kunst. 5 Vols. Plus Index Volume. Gütersloh: Gerd Mohn. Shepard, Dorothy M. 1988–89 “Conventual Use of St. Anselm’s Prayers and Meditations.” Rutgers Art Review IX–X:1–17. Snyder, Graydon F. 1985 Ante Pacem: Archaeological Evidence of Church Life Before Constantine. Macon, GA: Mercer University Press. Tikkanen, Johan Jacob 1888 “Le Rappresentazioni Della Genesi in S. Marco a Venezia e Loro Relazione con la Bibbia Cottoniana.” Archivio Storico Dell’arte. (repr. Soest, 1972)

“Die Genesismosaiken von S. Marco in Venedig und Ihr Verhältnis zu Den Miniaturen der Cottenbibel.” Acta Societatis Scientiarum Fennicae 17. Helsingfors.

de Voragine, Jacobus 1993 The Golden Legend: Readings on the Saints. 2 Vols. Trans. William Granger Ryan. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Weitzmann, Kurt 1948 Illustrations in Roll and Codex: A Study of the Origin and Method of Text Illustration. 2d ed., 1970. Studies in Manuscript Illustration. Princeton: Princeton University Press. 1951

The Fresco Cycle of S. Maria di Castelseprio. Princeton Monographs in Art and Archeology XXVI. Princeton: Princeton University Press.

1954

“The Classical Heritage in the Art of Constantinople.” Alte und Neue Kunst 3:41–59. Reprinted in Studies in Classical and Byzantine Manuscript Illumination: Collected Essays. Ed. Herbert L. Kessler. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

1969

“Book Illustration of the Fourth Century.“ Pp. 257–81 in Akten des VII. Internationalen Kongress für Christliche Archäologie, 1969. Reprinted in Studies in Classical and Byzantine Manuscript Illumination. Ed. Herbert L. Kessler. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

1975

“The Study of Byzantine Book Illumination, Past, Present, and Future.” Pp. 1–60. in The Place of Book Illumination in Byzantine Art. The Art Museum, Princeton University. Princeton: Princeton University Press.

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Wentzel, Hans 1954 “Christus-Johannes-Gruppe,” Reallexikon zur Deutschen Kunstgeschichte 3:658f. 1959

“Unbekannte Christus-Johannes-Gruppen.” Zeitschrift für Kunstwissenschaft 13:155–76.

Wilpert, Josef 1916 Die Römischen Mosaiken und Malereien der Kirchlichen Bauten Vom IV. Bis Zum XIII. Jahrhundert. 4 Vols. Freiburg: Herder.

HISTORICAL, RHETORICAL, LITERARY, LINGUISTIC, CULTURAL, AND ARTISTIC INTERTEXTUALITY— A RESPONSE Vernon K. Robbins Emory University

Reading this volume of essays is like surveying analysis and interpretation of the New Testament from the middle of the nineteenth century to the present. The nineteenth century is known for the rise to prominence of historical-critical interpretation. With it emerged historical-theological intertextuality, which dominated in one form or another for more than a century. During the 1970s, a whole new range of intertextualities began to emerge: literary-cultural, rhetorical-cultural, linguistic-cultural, socio-cultural, and what might simply be called cultural intertextuality. All of these types of intertextualities are present in this volume, plus artistic intertextuality. The volume opens with essays and responses by Dennis MacDonald, Richard Pervo, and Robert Stoops that take historical-critical analysis and interpretation as their point of departure and build twentieth-century insights into it. The issues here are like those that dominated the middle of the nineteenth century, when the discovery of early fourth-century Greek codices gave vibrant life to close comparison of NT texts to determine which ones had been used as sources for the composition of others (Kümmel: 144–205; Baird: 295–329). One of the keys to this kind of scholarship is the development of a coherent set of criteria for establishing chronological order. Dennis MacDonald introduces three criteria for determining relationships of dependence among the apocryphal Acts: (1) generative external traditions; (2) internal consistency; and (3) secondary improvement. These criteria are related to criteria text critics use to establish a chronology of variant readings among manuscripts. Here the interpreters are engaged in detailed intertextual analysis and interpretation but of a type that approaches the words, phrases, clauses, and sentences as historical artifacts. With this type of analysis, the interpreter focuses on texts as objects that represent historical activity. On the level of the form of the words, phrases, clauses, and sentences, texts are scribal artifacts representing past scribal activity. On the level of the content of the words, texts are historical artifacts representing past action and speech. Especially characteristic of this approach during the nineteenth century was vigorous exploration of the synoptic problem, which inverted conventional wisdom about the order of dependence between the gospels of Matthew and

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Mark. Matthew, which for centuries had been viewed as a source for Mark and Luke, emerged as a substantive expansion of Mark. Mark, which for centuries had been viewed as an epitome of Matthew, emerged as one of two major sources for the composition of Matthew and Luke. For the purpose of public assessment of MacDonald’s work, Pervo and Stoops accept the criteria he sets forth and both question his particular application of them. Pervo praises MacDonald for setting forth “a general list of clear and explicit criteria,” and Pervo considers this to be a significant advance over the work of previous scholars. He questions MacDonald’s use of the criterion of “secondary improvement,” asserting that his application presupposes a stable trajectory for the history of the apocryphal Acts alongside one another. The correlate of a secondary improvement is a mark of degeneracy, Pervo states, and here interpretation is especially open to the subjective judgment of the interpreter. Comparing the prison escape episodes in Acts of Paul 7 and Acts of John 72–73, Pervo questions MacDonald’s interpretation of the keys in the two accounts, suggesting that his insights could be inverted, because the response in Acts of John is not at all theological. The Acts of Paul, in Pervo’s view, could be dependent on the Acts of John, rather than vice versa as MacDonald views it. Then, turning to Acts of Peter and Acts of John, Pervo argues that, from a theological perspective, MacDonald’s view could be inverted to suggest that Acts of John is prior to the best extant version of Acts of Peter. For Pervo, Acts of Peter 20–21 exhibits use of Acts of John 87–105. The topic of polymorphy in Acts of John appears to be a more original, integral theme, while in Acts of Peter it is more artistic. Also, the presentation of the Transfiguration appears to be more secondary in Acts of Peter. In addition, Acts of Peter is a consistently more “catholic” writing, a tendency that appears to be a “secondary improvement.” Pervo’s argument that many of MacDonald’s insights could simply be inverted calls to mind John Dominic Crossan’s analysis a decade ago of the relation of Gospel of Peter to the NT gospels. For traditional interpreters, Gospel of Peter appears to be a compilation text that freely used and adapted portions of the Markan, Matthean, Lukan, and Johannine Passion accounts. Crossan displays a historical-critical and theological analysis and interpretation that inverts this process. For him, an early continuous narrative embedded in the Gospel of Peter, which he calls the Cross Gospel, was the earliest written account of the Passion. Mark, Matthew, Luke, and John subsequently used various portions of this Cross Gospel as a resource when they composed their accounts (Crossan). A major challenge for interpreters engaged in historical-theological interpretation is to break through “intuitive” presuppositions to display “counterintuitive” possibilities. The counterintuitive views that withstand rigorous public testing regularly set a new paradigm for research. The counter-intuitive views that do not withstand rigorous testing function as catalytic, or

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simply bothersome, “static” in the context of ongoing analysis. In other words, a major driving force in this kind of discussion is an artful “scientific” mode of procedure. The goal is to establish insights into the data which will “free” interpreters from conventional presuppositions that limit the focus and horizons of analysis. MacDonald’s preference for the priority of Acts of Paul and Acts of Peter could be the unwitting result of an intuition that the earliest apocryphal Acts would likely be an expansion, initially, of the activities of Paul in canonical Acts and, secondly, of the activities of Peter in the synoptic gospels and canonical Acts. Pervo uses basic literary analysis to raise a counterintuitive possibility that Acts of Peter could be prior to Acts of Paul. Then he uses historical-theological analysis to raise a counterintuitive possibility that Acts of John could be prior to Acts of Peter. Perhaps, in his view, both the Acts of Paul and the Acts of Peter were dependent on the Acts of John, rather than the other way around. For him, it would be preferable theologically if at least the Acts of John were independent of the Acts of Peter, because of the polymorphic presentation of Jesus in Acts of John. The success of Pervo’s counterintuitive moves in the study of the apocryphal Acts will be dependent on discovery of additional evidence that might win public support for his alternatives. Only a significant configuration of additional evidence would put the Acts of John in a position of independence or priority and shift the burden of proof upon those who would place the Acts of Paul in a position of priority, followed by the Acts of Peter. In public debate driven by scientific impulses, warrants of the time play a major role. Pervo uses literary and historical-theological criteria, two modes of analysis that have been important in NT studies for many years. Stoops applies yet another mode, insights into rhetorical composition in antiquity. This leads not only to careful analysis of rhetorical attribution, recitation, elaboration, and abbreviation, but also to analysis of cultural intertexture in Acts of Peter and Acts of Paul.1 With this analysis, Stoops moves the discussion beyond historical-theological intertextuality to rhetoricalcultural intertextuality. For Stoops, Acts of Peter and Acts of Paul present two fundamentally different cultural worlds. Acts of Peter is organized around the theme of personal competition, and major concerns in the narrative are health, money, and Simon’s seduction of people who are already Christians. Acts of Paul, in contrast, offers a daring theological program in which confrontation with civil society is inescapable. Sex and celibacy are dominant topics in a narrative that presents political rather than personal confrontation. Acts of Peter exhibits basic features of religious propaganda, while Acts of Paul, in Stoops’s view, is a response to the first widespread persecution of Christians authorized by Marcus Aurelius. As Stoops carries out his 1 For definition, discussion, and exhibition of cultural intertexture, see Robbins, 1996a: 108–15, 129–42; 1996b:58–62.

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rhetorical-cultural analysis, he introduces a phenomenon of historical intertexture in support of his conclusion that the Acts of Paul used the Acts of Peter.2 Stoops, then, does not limit himself to the practices of historical-theological interpretation as he analyzes the intertexture of these two apocryphal Acts. Rather, he views the words in the text as rhetorical-cultural phenomena that emerged in an environment characterized by a dialectical relation among rhetorical, cultural, and historical phenomena. Here, then, we see a movement beyond historical-theological intertextuality to rhetorical-cultural intertextuality. While Stoops’s analysis and argumentation are highly persuasive, the major difficulty, which he admits, is the extant texts of Acts of Peter. Christine Thomas’s essay addresses this problem directly, but she has her eye more on literary intertextuality than rhetorical-cultural intertextuality. For her, the textual tradition of Acts of Peter is an ongoing, dynamic process that occurs simultaneously with the emergence of multiple textual recensions and translations of NT literature. Early in the process, Acts of Peter shows no relation to NT texts. As the tradition continues, it emerges in a Latin version in Actus Vercellenses that is a clear attempt to supplement the narrative of canonical Acts by presenting Paul’s journey to Spain. The Quo Vadis story in Acts of Paul is, in her view, clearly secondary to its use in the Actus Vercellenses version of Acts of Peter. Only the words of Jesus that he is about to be crucified again (anoµthen in Acts of Paul and palin in Acts of Peter) are really close. While Acts of Paul was surely a written text by this time, the Actus Vercellenses does not borrow the story but only alludes to it as though it were generally known. The relationship between Acts of Peter and other early Christian literature became more explicit but less substantive as time passed. The obvious precursors to Acts of Peter are, in agreement with Stoops (and Bovon), the canonical gospels rather than canonical Acts. Thomas’s approach, then, remains within the domain of literary intertextuality. In this domain it calls attention to the inner nature of the extant textual tradition of Acts of Peter and calls for attentiveness to the textual version one is using at every point in the discussion. Christopher Matthews expands the analysis of “literary-cultural intertextuality” as he joins the discussion of Acts of Peter. For him, Acts of Peter reveals a “cultural internalization” of a Lukan compositional achievement in canonical Acts. Acts of Peter, he argues, reveals literary-cultural rather than oral-scribal dependence on canonical Acts. In other words, for Matthews various stories and phrases in canonical Acts have become a culture of speaking and thinking that creates a context for repositioning themes from one person in canonical Acts to another person in Acts of Peter. For this reason, he argues, it is possible that Acts of Peter is simultaneously: (1) a production free from

2 For the nature of historical intertexture, see Robbins, 1996a:118–20, 124–27.

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“literary” dependence on canonical Acts; and (2) an intertextual testament to Luke’s literary achievement in early Christian thought, story, and practice. With this argument, Matthews moves beyond historical-theological intertextuality into literary-cultural intertextuality without including rhetoricalcultural intertextuality. For him, Lukan Acts has become culturally internalized by the writer of Acts of Peter in a manner that allows the writer to transfer themes from one person to another in later literary composition. While interpretation of Acts of Peter in this volume takes us from historical-theological intertextuality to rhetorical-cultural and literarycultural intertextuality, analysis and interpretation of Acts of Paul takes us through these modes of intertextuality into linguistic-cultural intertextuality. Willy Rordorf’s essay shares with Matthews’s essay a literary-cultural approach to intertextuality. Rordorf argues that both canonical Acts and Acts of Paul know Galatians 1. Again, the relation is not oral-scribal but literarycultural. This means that the content of Galatians 1 has been internalized by the writers of canonical Acts and Acts of Paul in a manner that allows the writers to compose various stories and speeches that reflect the content and themes of Galatians 1. The bold step in Rordorf’s argument is to assert that Acts of Paul is not dependent on canonical Acts in its portrayal of the conversion of Paul. Julian Hills continues in the domain of literary-cultural analysis, but his approach to the entire text of Acts of Paul and canonical Acts calls attention to common devotional language that, in his view, must derive from canonical Acts. Again, this is not an argument for oral-scribal dependence but for literary-cultural dependence. For him, a significant range of expressions distinctive to canonical Acts has been internalized by the writer who composed Acts of Paul. This writer, then, is a participant in what could appropriately be called a canonical Acts culture. Especially the devotional language of the writer of Acts of Paul reveals, in Hills’ view, a relation to expressions distinctive to use of language in canonical Acts. Richard Bauckham’s essay continues the literary-cultural mode of analysis and interpretation characteristic of a number of essays in this volume, but his eye is on 2 Timothy, Titus, and 1–2 Corinthians as he investigates Acts of Paul. Bauckham’s essay brings to mind Ferdinand Christian Baur’s introduction of a new understanding of the chronological emergence of NT and early Christian literature while holding to an intuitive truth that the Gospel of Matthew was the earliest and most reliable Gospel, even though trends were moving in another direction in the context (Kümmel: 139; Baird: 268). Bauckham will not entertain the possibility that Acts of Paul did not know canonical Acts. For him, this is an established, “intuitively accurate” tradition of scholarship that he cannot challenge. Bauckham argues that Acts of Paul is rewritten Bible, a mode of composition to be found in the Old Testament apocrypha and Pseudo-Philo’s Biblical Antiquities. This gives both canonical Acts and Acts of Paul a form of canonical validation, placing canonical Acts in the

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position of the Bible and Acts of Paul in the position of traditional reformulation. Nothing, then, is to be construed as extraordinary in the compositional procedures of Acts of Paul. From this position, Bauckham formulates a position that Acts of Paul is a rewritten form of canonical Acts. The author has rewritten Acts following the chronological and geographical schema presented in 1–2 Corinthians, 2 Timothy, Titus, and Clement’s brief summary of Paul’s sufferings in 1 Clement 5:5–7. The author considers his story to be chronologically subsequent to canonical Acts. The story in Acts of Paul is not, Bauckham counters against Pervo, a deliberate correction of canonical Acts with a desire to supplant the NT narrative. Rather, it is a narrative sequence of stories the writer of Acts of Paul developed “by means of the kind of creative exegesis which can easily be paralleled in Jewish scriptural exegesis . . . and in Hellenistic biography.” Acts of Paul, in Bauckham’s view, is creative exegesis rather than polemical narrative. Bauckham pits a literary-cultural analysis based on conservative traditional intuitions against Pervo’s historical-theological analysis that perceives the theological differences to be grounded in significant theological controversy. For Bauckham, the theological differences between canonical Acts and Acts of Paul are “no greater than those between Acts of Paul, on the one hand, and 2 Timothy and Titus, especially Titus, on the other hand.” This last argument may appear to be a strange move on Bauckham’s part, since one might expect him to establish a measure of tolerance for exegetical creativity on the basis of variation within the NT canon itself. Rather, he argues that, unless the later literature was obviously tainted with a few well-known heretical positions, “[m]ost secondcentury Christians reading older Christian literature . . . were much more inclined to appropriate and to harmonize than to distinguish theological positions.” For Bauckham, then, a writing can be accepted as “creative exegesis” rather than “theological polemic” if it does not contain some obvious heretical point of view. In Bauckham’s view, then, NT writings gave rise to a “Christian culture” in which certain inner participants in that culture could creatively rewrite NT narratives within boundaries that can be accepted as “canonically acceptable boundaries.” The theological differences between these writings and NT writings is not to be seen as an attempt to correct or supplant earlier writings. Rather, these writings have a “literary-cultural intertextuality” that should be accepted as creative exegesis in the mode of rewritten Bible. Daniel Marguerat accepts Bauckham’s analysis as a “brilliant contribution” but disagrees decisively with the literary-cultural mode Bauckham uses to explore it. Using a linguistic-cultural intertextual typology developed by Gérard Genette, Marguerat identifies the relation of Acts of Paul to canonical Acts as “hypertextuality.” This means that Acts of Paul is “grafted” to canonical Acts in a manner that is a “rereading” rather than a commentary. Acts of Paul, the hypertext, stands in “a perceivable dialectic of continuity and shifting of accent, modeling and distance” to the hypotext, canonical Acts. In

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contrast to Bauckham, Marguerat points to the contrast between the synoptic gospels and the Gospel of John as analogous to the relation of canonical Acts to Acts of Paul. For Marguerat, countering Bauckham, there is no evidence that Acts of Paul is a sequel to canonical Acts. Rather, Acts of Paul exhibits a rereading of canonical Acts occasioned by changes in the historical situation. Conflicts with Roman authorities created an occasion for elevating the status of Paul in keeping with developing hagiographic tradition, and the portrayal of Paul more closely to the divine figure of Christ in the narrative moved other characters, in particular Thecla, into the role of ideal disciple. Marguerat’s analysis and interpretation moves beyond literary-cultural intertextuality into linguistic-cultural intertextuality. Here the reader encounters a much more robust concept of culture, one that emerges through a perception of linguistic activity throughout all of culture, rather than simply linguistic activity within the boundaries of literature in a culture. Analysis of Acts of Thomas in the second and third parts of this volume takes the reader from literary-cultural intertextuality to cultural intertextuality in a late twentieth-century mode. Harold Attridge’s approach to intertextual analysis of the Acts of Thomas is literary-cultural, but the focus remains on oral-scribal intertextuality rather than moving to literary-cultural intertextuality like the studies of Rordorf or Hills. Attridge’s literary analysis and interpretation explicitly exhibits the characteristics of literary interpretation as it has developed during the last thirty years in NT studies. Around 1970, interpreters like Dan O. Via, Robert Tannehill, R. Alan Culpepper, David Rhoads, and David Barr decided to move away from issues of historical dependence to issues of the internal literary nature of NT texts. Attridge adopts this orientation, describes the internal nature of the Acts of Thomas as story, and comprehensively displays every kind of oral-scribal intertexture he can discover in the text.3 Acts of Thomas explicitly cites sayings of Jesus known from the canonical gospels and Gospel of Thomas. The presence of a typological reference to the tree of life in the Garden of Eden in the Syriac version, in place of a series of dominical sayings in the Greek version of Acts of Thomas 36, leads Attridge to a conclusion that varying sacramental practices in the “Great Church” and the Syriac church may account for the variation. Overall, Attridge observes that Acts of Thomas is not greatly influenced by canonical Acts. Rather, the influence is primarily from early Christian gospels. Christoper Matthews applauds Attridge not only for the wide scope of his search and display but for his discovery of the differences between the Syriac and Greek recensions. Matthews uses the occasion to reflect on the need to search for broader intertextual milieus in intertextual studies. In Part III of this volume, Richard Valantasis moves beyond literarycultural analysis to a cultural-intertextual analysis and interpretation of Acts

3 For the range of oral-scribal intertexture, see Robbins, 1996a:97–118; 1996b:40–62.

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of Thomas in a mode characteristic of late twentieth-century analysis of intertextuality. For him, intertextuality refers to the interaction of cultural texts of all sorts: performances, concepts, images and metaphors, as well as literary texts. Texts are “any cultural phenomenon with a material base that communicates.” Thus, “texts materialize cultural systems of communication and discourse.” Texts can be distinguished from discourse by understanding that “discourse is the social process in which texts are embedded,” while a text is a concrete material object produced in discourse. Valantasis refers to his focus of interest as cultural intertextuality. From my perspective his mode of analysis is thoroughly at home in socio-rhetorical interpretation (Robbins 1996a; 1996b; 1996c). Proceeding in a manner characteristic of socio-rhetorical interpretation, Valantasis constructs a taxonomy of cultural intertextuality: (a) interreligious; (b) intra-traditional; and (c) discursive. Inter-religious intertextuality in Acts of Thomas incorporates non-Christian philosophical systems of male formation into Christian formation. The groom’s response to Jesus’ invitation and exhortation to the bridal chamber in Acts of Thomas exhibits this mode of intertextuality and results in a fully empowered male participant in an elite philosophical community. Intra-traditional intertextuality in Acts of Thomas reveals that Thomas tradition becomes a site for “continuing conversation about the role and status of women” in Christianity. Within this intra-traditional intertextual context, the bride in Acts of Thomas replaces a social husband with a heavenly or spiritual husband. This kind of intertextual analysis and interpretation does not posit a “Thomasine community.” Rather, it identifies a “textual” conversation that occurs in “discourse associated with a particular person,” in this instance Thomas. This is a mode of analysis and interpretation that should, in my view, supplement and refine other kinds of “trajectory” analyses in the future. It will be important to include the inter-religious and intra-traditional intertextuality of Infancy Gospel of Thomas in this analysis. From the point of view of inter-religious intertextuality, in Infancy Thomas Jesus resists persistent attempts to initiate him into Hellenistic civilization by teaching him “Greek” letters. From the point of view of intra-religious intertextuality, Jesus resists and becomes civilized through a process in which the divine powers within him gradually transform into beneficent actions as a result of the efforts of the divine Jesus himself, without the aid of cultural paideia. This reveals the manner in which Thomas tradition is a site for negotiating the power of the individual to seek and find understanding that can transform divine attributes within him or her into a person who can participate fully in the saving activity of God. Valantasis exhibits discursive intertextuality in Acts of Thomas by placing the bride’s response, which reveals the status and meaning of marriage in Christianity, alongside discussion of procreation and children in Gospel of Philip. Between these texts one sees a cultural discussion about birth of spiri-

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tual children. In other words, in the cultural environment of these two writings a concept of spiritual procreation calls for a context of contemplative rest necessary for spiritual life that replaces a context in which a person is preoccupied with physical children who take a person away from concerns of the soul. Valantasis treats us to a fully-developed cultural mode of intertextual analysis that, if followed by other interpreters, can contribute richly to interpretation of NT and early Christian literature in the years to come. Judith Perkins’s analysis of the relation among Greek romances, the apocryphal Acts, and Apuleius’ Metamorphoses moves yet one step further into analysis and interpretation of cultural intertextuality. One of the major achievements of Perkins’s essay is to draw a carefully defined distinction between society and culture. Only a few people engaged in textual interpretation draw such a distinction clearly and carefully. For Perkins, “society” refers to structures and institutions that are widespread, well-known, and accepted publicly. “Culture,” in contrast, refers to internal meanings of things that regularly set one over against commonly accepted values and goals. In her words, culture is the creation and interpretation of the social world by humans “through the imbricated framework of their cultural beliefs, symbols and representations.” There is always, Perkins states, an ongoing dialectic between society and culture, and “[i]t is through this dialectic that new cultural and social formations emerge and take hold.” Perkins’s analysis proposes that the second and third centuries were a pivotal point in a transition from the civic person of classical Hellenistic antiquity, where authority was located externally in various social institutions, to the person of the late antique and medieval world who searched within for otherworldly authority. Christianity as a social institution benefitted from this transformation, since it was a social formation that nurtured and supported people who presupposed and engaged in this search for otherworldly authority. In Perkins’s approach we see social and cultural intertextual analysis and interpretation in a rich, full form. For her, each writing calls for careful internal analysis and interpretation, but it also calls for a perception that these writings are participants in widespread, dynamic social and cultural processes of interaction. Perkins’s essay, along with her book The Suffering Self, invites this interpreter to reflect on yet another shift that appears to have been occurring from the second century BCE to the second century CE. Apocalyptic views during the two centuries prior to the Common Era brought into prominence the presupposition that divine powers were finding it necessary to bring about, very soon, the destruction (death) and renewal of the present created order. During the first two centuries of the Common Era, this worldview modulated into a “death-appropriating” view of the world in which baptism into death-renewal, dying daily, or martyrdom as a seal of eternal life became a way of internalizing the death, destruction, and renewal required by divine

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powers. In apocalyptic, God or one or more of God’s emissaries must enter this world to end this order and create a new one. In the apocryphal Acts, internalization of the death (destruction) of earthly sex, marriage, and other practices became a way of renewing the self and the world without the actual destruction and recreation of the present created order. By adopting a mode of life that invited God to offer “outside direction and support” to the self, humans could accept death and destruction for themselves in the place of death and destruction for the world in which humans live and move and have their being. Central to this is a direct reversal of the traditional approach to human “self” focused on self-control and self-mastery. A central requirement of this new world view is that people search within themselves for the external divine power that can nurture and support them through all of life’s vicissitudes, including death. F. Stanley Jones has contributed an informative essay by displaying in parallel columns twenty-nine instances in which the Syriac and Latin versions of the Pseudo-Clementine Recognitions 1.27–71 may have an oral-scribal intertextual relation to canonical Acts. He considers three of his examples to be secure, three more examples to be probable, and twenty-three more to be possible. After making very brief interpretive remarks in the context of his displays of parallel texts, he proposes that Recognitions is a very early commentary on canonical Acts. It is an unusual commentary among early Christian writings, he proposes, because it is highly critical of canonical Acts. In contrast, he suggests, most early Christian commentary is basically uncritical and accepting of its predecessor text. He calls attention to the use of Hegesippus and Jubilees, especially, as additional sources and suggests that the author perceived himself to be writing a new history. While Jones’s essay establishes a good foundation for future study, it is limited by a focus only on oral-scribal intertexture between canonical Acts and the Syriac and Latin versions of Recognitions 1.27–71. Analysis of rhetorical, literary, linguistic, or cultural intertexture could advance the discussion to a point where it might be used to address Pervo’s proposal that many early Christian writings show a desire by their authors to rival and displace earlier works. In addition, it might be especially helpful in a future study to introduce the Western text of canonical Acts into this analysis. Is there any substantive intertextuality between the Codex Bezae Cantabrigiensis version of canonical Acts and the Syriac and Latin versions of Recognitions 1.27–71? Careful intertextual interpretation of the variations among canonical Acts, the Cantabrigiensis text, and the Syriac and Latin versions of Recognitions 1.27–71 could contribute to a discussion in which interpreters are trying to decide if a subsequent text should be viewed as “rewritten Bible” or “highly critical commentary” designed to rival or displace the predecessor text. In addition, the absence of attribution of miracles to apostles in Recognitions 1.27–71 is an important insight, since canonical Acts, like the Gospel of Luke, has a vibrant

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thaumaturgic texture that begins with the miraculous pregnancy of Elizabeth and ends with Paul’s miraculous escape from shipwreck and from a viper bite during the voyage to Rome. In the context of widespread imitatio of Jesus’ miracles by apostles in canonical Acts and the apocryphal Acts, the absence of such imitatio in Recognitions 1.27–71 is a highly significant variation. In this essay Jones has started a conversation that could bear rich fruit in future analysis and interpretation. David Cartlidge’s essay presents a fascinating reminder that artistic depictions of scenes are candidates for significant intertextuality with written literature. His analysis of the scene of John the Evangelist’s leaving of his betrothed to cling to Christ presents another mode of intertextual analysis and interpretation interpreters must learn to incorporate. One of the underlying reasons for the separation between NT studies and study of patristic, Byzantine, and Medieval Christian literature is an oral-scribal focus that has resisted both cultural and artistic analysis and interpretation. Intertextual investigation naturally leads out from literary analysis into rhetorical, linguistic, cultural, and artistic intertextuality. Many thanks to Cartlidge for this careful study of the relation of an artistic portrayal on an illuminated manuscript to literary depiction of John’s turning away from traditional marriage toward Christ. This rich volume of essays teaches us many things, but two things in particular stand out to this respondent. First, it is very important to be attentive to the specific text or range of texts with which a particular text has a dynamic intertextual relation. A number of interpreters in this volume notice that apocryphal Acts have a dynamic relation to NT gospels rather than to canonical Acts. Others notice that during particular phases certain writings establish a dynamic intertextual relation with portions of the Hebrew Bible. One of the tasks of careful intertextual analysis and interpretation is to exhibit the writings with which a later writing does or does not have a substantive intertextual relation. In the context of all of the studies of the use of the Old Testament in the NT, there still has been no careful, systematic, and comprehensive analysis of the overall nature of NT intertextuality to all the writings in the Old Testament. The Q material exhibits dynamic intertextuality with the stories and heritage of Solomon, Jonah, Noah, and Lot. In addition, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob come into view, and a program of redemption in Isaiah breathes vibrantly through many passages. Noticeably absent from this list are David, Adam and Eve, and Elijah and Elisha. Moses and Torah are present in the temptation account, and in one possible reference to Moses and the prophets. The Gospel of Matthew interweaves rich, intertextual resources from the Torah and from the Moses story into Q material in the Sermon on the Mount and in other tradition in the Matthean account. In contrast, the Gospel of Luke expands on the program of Isaiah in the Q material, emphasizing the bringing of good news not only to the poor,

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the lame, the blind, and the leprous, but also to those who are excluded because of arbitrary boundaries and stereotypes. Both Matthew and Luke interweave into this material miracle and controversy stories with dynamic intertextuality with Moses, Elijah, and Elisha stories they have gotten from Mark and elsewhere. Still the story of David does not play a strong role in all of this material. Rather, the crucifixion story and Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem provide the context for inviting the story of David decisively into the story of Jesus by means of Psalms attributed to David. Then, both Matthew and Luke create a context for Jesus’ birth in the Davidic city of Bethlehem and present genealogies through Joseph to David. By this means, both the city of Jesus’ death and the city of Jesus’ birth acquire rich intertextuality with the story of David, who provides a thick heritage for presentation of Jesus as Messiah of Israel. In contrast to all of this, the Epistle of James has its major intertextuality with the story of Abraham (Robbins, 1996c). Analysis and interpretation that exhibit the inner nature of the intertextual growth and emergence of NT literature could be a major step forward in NT interpretation. With this kind of insight, we could gain a new perception of the manner in which early Christians wove together the inner fabric of Christian story, Christian wisdom, Christian argumentation, and Christian theology. Second, this volume teaches us the importance of analysis and interpretation of overall socio-cultural shifts as a context for textual interpretation. Jonathan Z. Smith and Peter Brown have called our attention to the overall shift from holy place to holy person during late antiquity. Judith Perkins has made a strong case for an overall shift from a traditional classical approach to inner self-discipline in a context of traditional community institutions to inner virtue dependent on an outside deity in a context of communities that challenge the values of traditional institutions. If we build further on these insights, it will be possible for interpretation of NT and early Christian literature to begin to takes its rightful place in broader discussions in the humanities and social sciences, and in environments where careful, systematic analysis and interpretation is being made of the literature, rituals, and practices of religions throughout the world. Many thanks to the writers of the essays in this volume.

WORKS CONSULTED Baird, William 1992 History of New Testament Research. Volume One: From Deism to Tübingen. Minneapolis: Fortress. Crossan, John Dominic 1988 The Cross that Spoke: The Origins of the Passion Narrative. San Francisco: Harper & Row.

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Kümmel, Werner Georg 1970 The New Testament: The History of the Investigation of Its Problems. Trans. S. M. Gilmour and H. C. Kee. Nashville: Abingdon. Perkins, Judith 1995 The Suffering Self: Pain and Narrative Representation in the Early Christian Era. London: Routledge. Robbins, Vernon K. 1996a The Tapestry of Early Christian Discourse: Rhetoric, Society and Ideology. London: Routledge. 1996b

Exploring the Texture of Texts: A Guide to Socio-Rhetorical Interpretation. Valley Forge, PA: Trinity Press International.

1996c

“Making Christian Culture in the Epistle of James,” Scriptura 59:341–51.

Future Issues of Semeia Titles are descriptive rather than final, and the order given here is not necesarily definitive.

Thinking in Signs: Semiotics and Biblical Studies . . . Twenty Years After Daniel Patte, Vanderbilt University

Levinas and Biblical Studies Tamara Eskenazi, Hebrew Union College Gary A. Phillips, University of the South

What Counts as “Experimental” in Biblical Studies Now?: Semeia After Twenty-Five Years David Jobling, St. Andrew’s College, Saskatoon

“Yet With a Steady Beat”: U. S. Afrocentric Biblical Interpretation Randall C. Bailey, Interdemoninational Theological Center

In Search of the Present: The Bible through Cultural Studies Stephen D. Moore, Theological School, Drew University

Semeia: An Experimental Journal For Biblical Criticism (ISSN 0095-571X) is published quarterly by Scholars Press, 819 Houston Mill Road, Atlanta, GA 30329, on behalf of the Society of Biblical Literature. Periodical postage paid at Atlanta, GA and at additional mailing offices. POSTMASTER: Send address changes to Membership Services, Scholars Press, P.O. Box 15399, Atlanta, GA 30333-0399.

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