Animals in the Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles: The Wild Kingdom of Early Christian Literature (Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen Zum Neuen Testament 2.Reihe) 9783161497315, 3161497317

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Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament · 2. Reihe Herausgeber / Editor Jörg Frey (München) Mitherausgeber / Associate Editors Friedrich Avemarie (Marburg) Judith Gundry-Volf (New Haven, CT) Hans-Josef Klauck (Chicago, IL)

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Janet E. Spittler

Animals in the Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles The Wild Kingdom of Early Christian Literature

Mohr Siebeck

Janet E. Spittler: born 1976; 2007 MA and PhD; since 2007 Assistant Professor of Early Christianity and Greek at Texas Christian University, TX, USA.

e-ISBN PDF 978-3-16-151590-3 ISBN 978-3-16-149731-5 ISSN 0340-9570 (Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament 2. Reihe) Die Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliographie; detailed bibliographic data is available in the Internet at http://dnb.d-nb.de. © 2008 by Mohr Siebeck Tübingen. This book may not be reproduced, in whole or in part, in any form (beyond that permitted by copyright law) without the publisher’s written permission. This applies particularly to reproductions, translations, microfilms and storage and processing in electronic systems. The book was printed by Gulde-Druck in Tübingen on non-aging paper and bound by Buchbinderei Held in Rottenburg. Printed in Germany.

For my parents

Preface This study began on the fourth floor of Swift Hall at the University of Chicago during a seminar on the Acts of Thomas led by Hans-Josef Klauck in the Spring of 2002. I asked a silly question: what’s the difference between an ass and a wild ass? Later that day, on a whim, I did a little research on what was known, or thought to be known, about wild asses in Greco-Roman antiquity. I was soon rewarded with some very detailed information about the wild and domestic varieties (both of which appear in the Acts of Thomas) and, what’s more, with what I thought to be a very coherent answer to my next question: why is the wild ass so interested in asceticism? The immediate result was a decent term paper. But more importantly, I had stumbled upon an enormous and enormously interesting body of literature from the first centuries C.E. with which I was almost completely unfamiliar: a half dozen or so natural history texts, comprising thousands of surprisingly entertaining descriptions of all variety of animals; compendia of paradoxes; essays of Plutarch that I’d never read before; a dialogue of Philo that I’d never even heard of. The more I read, the more I noticed the same themes and anecdotes popping up in multiple texts across various genres. The authors of this “animal-related” literature were clearly in some sort of conversation with each other; when I returned to the other animals in the Acts of Thomas and then the (as I began to notice) quite numerous animals in the other apocryphal acts, it became clear that these texts, too, were part of the conversation. The long term result, then, of my silly question was a doctoral dissertation, accepted by the faculty of the department of New Testament and Early Christian Literature of the University of Chicago in August of 2007. The revised version is presented in the pages that follow. I would like, first and foremost, to thank my co-advisors, Hans-Josef Klauck and Margaret M. Mitchell, who provided both challenging feedback and constant encouragement throughout the writing of the dissertation. I cannot imagine a better pair of advisors. I am grateful, too, to my readers, Elizabeth Asmis and David Martinez, for their valuable input and support. And I must thank Hans Dieter Betz, who – despite claiming to have retired the year I started graduate school – continued to teach seminars from which I benefited greatly and generously agreed to read and comment on almost every chapter in this book. I thank the editor of Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen

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zum Neuen Testament 2. Reihe, Dr. Jörg Frey, for including the book in this fine series, and also Ilse König, for her patient help in producing the final manuscript copy. Much of the material presented here was first presented at the Early Christian Studies Workshop at the University of Chicago, and was much improved by the critiques and discussions that followed. I am therefore very grateful to all the students and faculty that have participated in the workshop over the years 2002–07, particularly Laurie Brink, Matt Calhoun, Brandon Cline, David DeMarco, Fanny Dolansky, Joel Dries, Tish Duncan, Gene Fojtik, Justin Howell, Annette Huizenga, Meira Kensky, Young-Ho Park, Trevor Thompson and Jay Weaver. I am eternally grateful to my family, particularly my five siblings, Ricky, Al, Susan, Tommy, and Connie, whose confidence occasionally leads me to believe that I might be as competent as they seem to think I am. My mom and dad, Joan and Tom Spittler (to whom I dedicate this book), have simply been the best parents on earth – and pretty good proofreaders, too. Finally, I want to thank my favorite contemporary American poet, Keith Driver, for putting up with me all these years. Texas, June 2008

Janet Elizabeth Spittler

Table of Contents Preface...................………………………………………………………….VII Abbreviations …………………………………………………………..…XII

Chapter I: Introduction ....................................................................1 A. The Scene....……………………………..………………………………..1 B. The Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles…...………………………………..6 C. The Program……………………………...……………………………...10

Chapter II: Animals in Graeco-Roman Thought ...........................12 A. Natural History.........................................................................................12 B. The Philosophical Debate over Animal Rationality .................................15 C. Animals in Patristic Literature..................................................................26 D. Animals and Christian Asceticism ...........................................................43 E. Conclusion ................................................................................................49

Chapter III: Animals in Ancient Prose Narrative...........................51 A. Introduction...............................................................................................51 B. Animal Anecdotes.....................................................................................55 C. Animal Episodes .......................................................................................65 D. Compositional Technique in the Apocryphal Acts...................................72 E. Conclusion ................................................................................................73

Chapter IV: Animals in the Acts of Andrew...................................76 A. Introduction ..............................................................................................76 B. Animals in the Liber de Miraculis............................................................81 C. Animals in the Martyrdom of Andrew .....................................................84 D. Animals in the Acts of Andrew and Matthias ...........................................89 E. The Eagle in the Armenian Acts of Andrew..............................................91 F. The Exception That Proves the Rule.........................................................92

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Chapter V: Animals in the Acts of John.........................................94 A. Introduction...............................................................................................94 B. Bedbugs.....................................................................................................96 C. The Snake That Stopped the Necrophiliac..............................................110 D. The Partridge...........................................................................................116 E. Conclusions.............................................................................................124

Chapter VI: Animals in the Acts of Peter.....................................126 A. Introduction.............................................................................................126 B. Canis Loquens.........................................................................................130 1. Talking Animals...................................................................................133 2. Dogs .....................................................................................................141 3. Simon Says ... Nothing.........................................................................145 4. Borrowing from Peter to Pay Paul? .....................................................146 C. Tuna Redivivus........................................................................................148 D. Conclusions: respiciens ..........................................................................154

Chapter VII: Animals in the Acts of Paul.....................................156 A. Introduction............................................................................................156 B. Thecla: from Insect to Beast-fighter ......................................................162 Excursus: Man-eating Seals...................................................................181 C. Paul and the Baptized Lion ....................................................................182 D. Conclusion: Multiple Lion Tales ...........................................................187

Chapter VIII: Animals in the Acts of Thomas ..............................190 A. Introduction............................................................................................190 B. The Lovesick, Murderous Snake ...........................................................193 C. Two Ass Tales........................................................................................199 1. Ass, Wild Ass..................................................................................209 2. Wild Asses in the Natural Historians ..............................................213 3. Body, Soul, Spirit ............................................................................216 D. Conclusions............................................................................................222

Chapter IX: Conclusion................................................................224 Bibliography..................................................................................................233 Index of Ancient Sources ..............................................................................249 Index of Modern Authors ..............................................................................260 Index of Subjects...........................................................................................261

Abbreviations Acts Andr. Matt. Actus Ver.

Hist. an. Laudatio

Lib. de Mir. Narratio

Nat. Nat. an. NTApoc5

Soll. an.

Acts of Andrew and Matthias in the City of the Cannibals. Actus Vercellenses. This manuscript, containg the Latin Acta Petri cum Simone, is often referred to by scholars simply as the Acts of Peter. Historia animalium. Aristotle. “Acta Andreae Apostoli cum laudatione contexta.” Edited by Maximillian Bonnet. Analecta Bollandiana 13 (1894): 309–52. Liber de Miraculis Beati Andreae apostoli (Epitome). “Martyrium Sancti Apostoli Andreae.” Edited by Maximillian Bonnet. Analecta Bollandiana 13 (1894): 353–72. Naturalis historia. Pliny the Elder. De natura animalium. Aelian. New Testament Apocrypha. Edited by Wilhelm Schneemelcher. Translated by R. McL. Wilson. 2 vols. Revised ed. Louisville: Westminster/John Knox, 1991–1992. De sollertia animalium. Plutarch.

Chapter I

Introduction A. The Scene The best preserved and perhaps most beautiful Roman mosaic found north of the Alps is the 2nd or 3rd century pavement of the villa at Nennig in Saarland on the river Mosel. Set within a geometric pattern are seven medallions depicting various scenes from the arena: a secutor (armed gladiator) fights a retarius (net-fighter), while a referee looks on; two bestiarii whip a bear that has overcome a third man; a tiger sinks its claws into a wild ass’ back; two gladiators fight with clubs and whips; two musicians stand with their instruments, a water organ and curved horn; another bestiarius spears for the second time a leopard as it bites at the first spear lodged in its back; finally, an old man walks alongside a lion, his arm across the animal’s shoulder. 1 Such images of men and animals were entirely common in the first centuries C.E. In the mosaics and paintings found throughout the Roman empire, animals are ubiquitous; some mosaics present a virtual field guide in tile, depicting dozens of different species of beasts, fish, and fowl. Especially favored are pastoral and aquatic landscapes, scenes from the hunt, and, as in the Nennig mosaic, scenes from the arena. These images are in turn sweetly idyllic and breathtakingly violent. The particular grouping in the Nennig pavement strikes me as worthy of note. These seven scenes, all of which could indeed be witnessed in a single day at the amphitheater, offer an overlapping depiction of animal and human behavior. Truly, the arena was the place to go to see both animals acting like people (performing fantastic tricks and feats of skill) and people acting like animals (slaughtering one another with almost unimaginable brutality). It is above all this shared brutality that is laid out in tile at Nennig. The cruelty of animals is evident in the fierce expression of the tiger as it attacks the seemingly helpless ass and in the vividly rendered droplets of blood that spurt from the animal’s wounded back; yet the leopard attempting to free itself from the spear is perhaps a more sympathetic creature than the gleeful, broadly smiling bestiarius standing over it. Similarly, it is unclear whether one is intended to pity the fallen man or the outnumbered and rather diminutive bear. The sav1 For a discussion of this mosaic, see Reinhard Schindler, Das römische Mosaik von Nennig (Saarbrücken: Buchdruckerei und Verlag Karl Funk, 1960).

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Chapter I: Introduction

agery of the fight between the heavily armed secutor and the lightly clad retarius is hardly diminished by the presence of a rod-bearing referee. The gladiatorial battle is an unfair pairing of men of unequal stature; as Reinhard Schindler notes, it is a classic pitting of power and size against cunning and agility. 2 The image of musicians might be taken as a contrasting scene of tranquility, but the curved pipe and water organ are in fact the instruments of war and gladiatorial combat, used primarily to give battle signals. They are not to be confused with, for example, the lyre of Orpheus, which charms and tames humans and animals alike. The only image of relative peace is the medallion depicting the old man and the lion. They walk with matching strides; there is no sign of collar and leash or any restraint other than the man’s arm, casually draped over the lion’s back. Although the presence of a bloody wild ass’ head beneath the lion’s left paw and a whip in the man’s left hand remind the viewer that both of these creatures are potentially brutal, this medallion seems to be a depiction of friendship or, at the very least, a friendly working relationship. A downloaded printout of this old man and lion has hung above my writing desk since I began this project several years ago, in part because with just a little squinting the bald man becomes the apostle Paul, and the lion his executioner-turnedsavior from the Acts of Paul. But only in returning to the image in the composition of this introduction does it occur to me that the lion is the only creature in the mosaic that looks directly at the viewer. 3 The gazes of every other man and animal are directed either at each other or off to the side, beyond their own scenes – at one of the other spectacles simultaneously taking place in the sand, the viewer might imagine. The lion’s expression has been taken by some as ferocious, but it seems to me, if anything, rather sad. And there may be good reason for sadness: besides perhaps a friendship, the lion and old man likely also share the status of slave. The wretchedness of the king of the beasts forced into submission and servitude is only surpassed by the human being – pinnacle of all creation, by more than one ancient account – reduced to slavery. What do these images say about the natures of human beings and animals? Here, they are presented as equally savage and yet equally vulnerable to attack and pitiable when overcome; nevertheless, they seem capable of surmounting both savagery and vulnerability in friendship – conspicuously, a 2

Ibid. 5. One might contrast here Diego Velázquez’s Las Meninas, particularly in Foucault’s interpretation. Foucault notes that the dog, lying on the floor in the foreground, is “the only element in the picture that is neither looking at anything nor moving, because it is not intended, with its deep reliefs and the light playing on its silky hair, to be anything but an object to be seen” (The Order of Things: An Archaeology of the Human Sciences [New York: Vintage, 1994], 14). Cf. Laura Hobgood-Oster’s alternate interpretation in Holy Dogs & Asses: Animals in the Christian Tradition (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 2008), 12–13. 3

A. The Scene

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friendship between man and animal. What is the spectator to make of such scenes, whether looking at these medallions or seeing the real thing at the arena? When animals act like human beings and men like animals, what difference is left between them? 4 What are the boundaries and/or connections? Put more anthropocentrically, where does the human being fit, if at all, among the other creatures of the natural world? These questions were asked and variously answered throughout antiquity, but the conversation intensified in the late republican and imperial period. At this time there was, in the first place, a burgeoning of natural historical literature. Aristotle had centuries earlier produced a large body of work describing the characteristics and behavior of animals. A strong renewed interest, however, is found in the works of authors like Pliny the Elder (23–79 C.E.), Aelian (ca. 175–235 C.E.) and Oppian (early 3rd century C.E.), who produced long and detailed descriptions of animals, including numerous anecdotes of animals acting with apparent skill and cleverness, with care and affection for each other and for human beings, and even with awe and respect for the gods. The importing and display of an increasing variety of creatures at the animal shows in Rome and elsewhere undoubtedly provided both material and a more popular demand for such literature. And while crowds packed the Coliseum and arenas across the empire to watch animals acting like people (that is, alternately with violence and apparent intelligence) the status of animals vis-à-vis human beings was being rather hotly debated by philosophers. Again, this is not a new topic in the history of Greek thought: an interest in the relationship between animals and human beings is evident as early as Hesiod. 5 A notable increase in interest from the 1st century B.C.E. has by some been attributed to a Pythagorean revival which, in its notions of reincarnation and call for vegetarianism, reopened questions of 4

While I suggest here that in the arena the lines of separation between human and animal are blurred, Ingvild Sælid Gilhus, in contrast, writes that, as opposed to the practice of animal sacrifice (where the mutual relationship of animals and humans is emphasized), through the pitting of man against animal “the arena served to brutalize and radicalize the divisions between humans and non-humans.” See Animals, Gods and Humans: Changing Attitudes to Animals in Greek, Roman and Early Christian Ideas (New York: Routledge, 2006), 36. Similarly, Jo-Ann Shelton writes that an element common to many beast spectacles in the ancient Mediterranean was “the desire to demonstrate the superiority of humans over the natural world” and “to celebrate the ability of humans to develop culture that separated and protected them from the menacing savagery and unpredictability of nature” (“Beastly Spectacles in the Ancient Mediterranean World,” in A Cultural History of Animals in Antiquity [ed. Linda Kalof; vol. 1 of A Cultural History of Animals, ed. Linda Kalof and Brigitte Resl; Oxford: Berg, 2007], 97). I would certainly agree that much of what went on in the arena was constructed to emphasize the separation of and antagonism between human and animal; this fact, however, makes it all the more striking that it is in these spectacles that the line between the two seems instead to disintegrate. 5 See below, chapter II.

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Chapter I: Introduction

the connections and boundaries between man and beast.6 Equally important may be the “rediscovery” and editing of Aristotle’s works at Rome in the first century B.C.E. and the circulation of an epitome of his Historia animalium. 7 The primary issue disputed in later antiquity was whether or not animals are rational. The implications of this question varied among the different philosophical schools, but the Stoics set the terms of the debate, categorically and famously denying reason (lo,goj) to animals. Sceptics and Neopythagoreans generally weighed in on the side of animal rationality, though with various motives. Although the strongest proponent of animal rationality, Plutarch, was a Middle Platonist, among Middle Platonists as a group there was no single “orthodox” position on the issue; rather, particular interests and emphases pushed individual philosophers in one direction or the other. Notably, the material collected by the natural historians provided the primary evidence for practically all of the arguments brought forward in the debate, with precisely the same anecdotes often being used by philosophers drawing opposite conclusions. Descriptions of animal behavior and characteristics are quite common in the prose narratives of late antiquity. Authors like Achilles Tatius (late 2nd century C.E.), Heliodorus (3rd century C.E.), Lucian of Samosata (ca. 120– 190 C.E.) and Philostratus (ca. 170–247 C.E.) find numerous opportunities to relate anecdotes showcasing their knowledge of the natural world. In addition to anecdotal reports on the nature of animals, these and other late antique prose authors frequently write individual animals directly into their narratives, casting animals into prominent roles in key episodes. Jewish and Christian writers, too, show an interest in the animal world. Philo (20 B.C.E.–50 C.E.), in fact, participates in the philosophical debate directly in his dialogue De animalibus. In the first half of this work (in the person of his nephew Alexander), he offers arguments for the rationality of animals. In the remainder of the text, however, Philo himself takes up Stoic arguments to affirm man’s dominion over the irrational animal kingdom (i.e. the man-animal relationship described in Gen. 1:26). 8 Among Christian authors, Origen (185–ca. 254 C.E.) provides the most extensive and direct response to the philosophical question, presenting, like Philo, largely Stoic arguments against the Middle Platonist view of his posthumously represented opponent 6 Gilhus, 272, n. 1. On the source of the “revival” and the extent to which the interest in Pythagoreanism evident in Middle Platonism is a renewal or simply a continuation, see Christoph Riedweg, Pythagoras: His Life, Teaching and Influence (trans. Steven Rendall; Ithaca and London: Cornell University Press, 2002), 123–4. 7 See below, chapter II. 8 Gen 1:26: “Then God said, ‘Let us make humankind in our image, according to our likeness; and let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the birds of the air, and over the cattle, and over all the wild animals of the earth, and over every creeping thing that creeps upon the earth’” (NRSV).

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Celsus (fl. 2nd century C.E.). Justin (100–165 C.E.), Tatian (d. ca. 185 C.E.) and Athenagoras (ca. 133–190 C.E.) make more passing reference to the question of animal rationality. For Tertullian (ca. 160–230 C.E.), the primary issue is the defense of creation as the work of the one highest God, as opposed to the flawed product of Marcion’s biblical demiurge. Elsewhere in patristic literature, for example the epistles of Clement and Barnabas, animals are considered primarily with reference to the Genesis creation narrative, the exegesis of which is often but by no means exclusively allegorical. Animals also make frequent appearances in early Christian narrative texts, including much of the ascetic literature of the desert fathers, in particular the Vita Antonii of Athanasius (ca. 296–373 C.E.). Although the asceticism (i.e. vegetarianism) of Pythagoreanism typically accompanied a high regard for the animal kingdom, in the literature of early Christian ascetics, it is the savagery of animals that is most often emphasized, with animals frequently representing the temptations and corruptions of humankind. The situation is similar in much of the “gnostic” 9 literature of Nag Hammadi, where animals often represent the evils of the natural world, being the creation, as for Marcion, not of God but of a wicked demiurge. Animals loomed large in the visual backdrop of the Graeco-Roman world of the first centuries C.E. as perhaps the most popular subjects of the paintings and mosaics that decorated both private and public spaces. 10 As the preceding overview indicates, however, their presence is felt no less in the thought and literature of the time. As one scholar has suggested, “in the first centuries C.E., there was continuous cultural work to establish new categorical boundaries between humans and animals.” 11 This work was carried out by scientists, historians, literary authors, philosophers and theologians – Greeks, Romans, Jews, and Christians. In the course of the discussion, emphases shifted and party lines were crossed. The most basic issues, however, remained: what are the differences between animals and humans and where does the human being fit in the natural world?

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The use of this term will be discussed below, chapter II. See, for example, Salomon Reinach, Répertoire de Peintures Grecques et Romaines (Paris: E. Leroux, 1922), passim, esp. 284-377; Harald Mielsch, Griechische Tiergeschichten in der antiken Kunst (Mainz am Rhein: Philipp von Zabern, 2005); John R. Clarke, Art in the Lives of Ordinary Romans: Visual Representation and Non-elite Viewers in Italy, 100 B.C.– A.D. 315 (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 2003). 11 Gilhus, 36. 10

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B. The Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles Given the attention paid to animals in natural historical, philosophical and literary texts of the first three centuries C.E., as well as their frequent presence in the arenas (where Christians also made appearances), it is perhaps to be expected that animals are included in all five of the major apocryphal acts of the apostles, i.e., the Acts of John, Acts of Peter, Acts of Andrew, Acts of Paul, and Acts of Thomas. But the prominence of animals, not just in anecdotes and metaphors but in actual speaking roles, is striking. Animals sometimes turn up where we might expect them (e.g. in the arena) doing things we might expect them to do (e.g. attempting to maul Christians), but perhaps even more frequently they are presented in quite unexpected ways doing extraordinary things: a snake falls in love with a beautiful woman and, in a fit of jealousy, kills her human lover (Acts Thom. 30–38); the colt of an ass approaches Thomas as he stands on a highway and speaks, asking Thomas to bless him by riding upon him, and calling Thomas a “fellow-initiate” and “fellow-worker” (Acts Thom. 39–41); a dog acquires a human voice and acts as go-between for Peter and Simon Magus (Acts Pet. 9–12); a bed full of bedbugs obeys the apostle John’s annoyed command, leaving his bed and waiting outside the door until morning (Acts John 60–61); a snake appears in a woman’s tomb and incapacitates a budding necrophiliac, curling up on his body and sleeping until John and company arrive (Acts John 71–86). Often, when Christians are condemned to fight the beasts they are, rather, rescued and protected by animals: Thecla, condemned to fight the beasts in Antioch, is defended by a lioness, who kills a bear and lion before dying from her wounds (Acts Thecla 33); Paul, condemned to fight the beasts in Ephesus, meets in the arena a lion whom he had baptized and had been, coincidentally, captured and condemned to death “even as you, Paul,” as the lion says (Acts Paul 7). Animals play significant roles in various fantastic occurrences, whether as objects of miracles (such as the salt-fish returned to life in Acts Pet. 13) or simply as animals doing ordinary animal things, but in accordance with some prophecy or act of divine will (such as the lion that kills the rude cup-bearer and the dog who retrieves his hand in Acts Thom. 8). They appear in self-contained episodes (such as the partridge that John takes pleasure in observing in Acts John alternate 60) and in dreams (as in that of Charisius in Acts Thom. 91). Both the sheer number of animals appearing in the apocryphal acts (some thirty different species, by my count) and the often very significant roles they play demand further investigation. This has previously been done only to a limited extent, perhaps because of the tendency (evident in both early and more recent scholarship on the apocryphal acts) summarily to conclude that the animals in these texts are there primarily for their entertainment value,

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adding to the fantastic nature and thus popular appeal of the texts. 12 To put it another way, if the major apocryphal acts have, as many have suggested, the dual purpose of entertaining and edifying, the animal episodes do the former, while other material – especially speeches and hymns – do the latter. But the fact that an episode entertains does not preclude it from having a broader significance. Quite the contrary: entertainment and edification (or education) often go hand-in-hand. We even have a new word for this in English: “edutainment,” the coining of which has been attributed to a producer of National Geographic documentaries, most of which are about animals and the natural world – a fact which is, I think, significant in relation to the present study. 13 Of the scholarship that does exist, the baptized lion in the Acts Paul has received the most attention, 14 followed by the phenomenon of articulate animals in the Acts Peter, Acts Paul, and Acts Thom.; 15 beyond these topics, a handful of articles have treated individual episodes. 16 Robert Grant has provided an extremely helpful survey of animals in early Christianity, but the apocryphal acts were not his focus. 17 Similarly, Ingvild Saelid Gilhus’ enormously help12

Rosa Söder counts the presence of talking animals in the apocryphal acts as part of the “teratologische Element,” but goes no further in the analysis: “Im folgenden sei nun nur kurz auf das Teratologische an sich hingewiesen, ohne Rücksicht auf den Zweck, für den es verwendet wird” (Die Apokryphen Apostelgeschichten und die romanhafte Literatur der Antike [Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1932; repr., Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1969], 110). Schneemelcher, more recently, gives examples of “popular narratives” likely not the invention of the authors, three out of four of which are animal episodes (“Second and Third Century Acts of the Apostles,” in NTApoc.5 2:83). 13 “Edutainment” has even made it into the OED; the first citation is from a 1983 issue of Fortune magazine. 14 Bruce Metzger, “Paul and the Baptized Lion,” Princeton Seminary Bulletin 39 (1945): 11–21. This article provides an English translation of the Hamburg papyrus (i.e., the episode of Paul and the lion), but deals more with the nature of apocryphal vis-à-vis canonical literature than the particulars of this episode; H. J. W. Drijvers, “Der getaufte Löwe und die Theologie der Acta Pauli,” Carl-Schmidt-Kolloquium an der Martin-Luther-Universität 1988 (ed. Peter Nagel; Halle: Abt. Wissenschaftspublizistik der Martin-Luther-Universität HalleWittenberg, 1990), 181–89; Wilhelm Schneemelcher, “Der getaufte Löwe in den Acta Pauli,” in Mullus: Festschrift Theodor Klauser (ed. Alfred Stuiber and Alfred Hermann; Münster: Aschendorffsche Verlagsbuchhandlung, 1964), 316–26. 15 Christopher Matthews, “Articulate Animals: A Multivalent Motif in the Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles,” in The Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles: Harvard Divinity School Studies (ed. Francois Bovon, Ann Graham Brock and Christopher Matthews; Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1999), 205–32; cf. Judith Perkins, “Animal Voices,” Religion and Theology 12 (2005): 385–96. 16 See, e.g., Horst Schneider, “Thekla und die Robben,” Vigiliae christianae 55 (2001): 45–57; Tamás Adamik, “The Serpent in the Acts of Thomas,” in The Apocryphal Acts of Thomas (ed. Jan N. Bremmer; Leuven: Peeters, 2001), 115–24; idem, “The Baptized Lion in the Acts of Paul,” in The Apocryphal Acts of Paul and Thecla (ed. Jan N. Bremmer; Kampen: Kok Pharos Publishing House, 1996), 60–74. 17 Robert Grant, Early Christians and Animals (New York: Routledge, 1999).

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ful recent book, Animals, Gods and Humans: Changing Attitudes to Animals in Greek, Roman and Early Christian Ideas, treats the apocryphal acts only briefly. There is, as of yet, no study of animals in toto as they appear throughout the five major acts. This book attempts to fill this gap in our understanding of these texts by presenting a comprehensive analysis of animal-related passages. The thesis is threefold: first is the fundamental point that the animals in these texts are more than just amusing anecdotes, intended to entertain while other parts of the texts edify. I will demonstrate that the authors use animal episodes conspicuously, intentionally and really quite effectively to develop characters, to advance plot, and to make and illustrate philosophical and theological points. Second, I argue that a full understanding of the significance of animal episodes requires detailed comparison with contemporary animal-related literature. The abundance of comparative material includes Greek prose fiction, historiography, biography, fables, philosophical treatises and, most importantly, the natural history works that comprise animal-related anecdotes used as sources by so many authors in late antiquity. So, for example, for the modern reader to understand what a wild ass is doing in the Acts Thom., it is crucial to find out what information about the wild ass was circulating in late antiquity – what, if anything, a third century reader might be expected to know about the animal, and how, if at all, it might have been encountered in other contemporary literature. Third, I argue that these animal episodes offer real insight into where the authors of these texts stood with respect to key philosophical and theological questions of the day. This study shows that, in their presentation of animals, the apocryphal acts are very much a part of the literary and philosophical scene described above. You don’t have to squint much to see the bald old man in the mosaic at Nennig as the apostle Paul with his baptized lion. In The Body and Society, Peter Brown, borrowing a turn of phrase from Claude Levi-Strauss, suggests that the authors of the apocryphal acts used women “to think with.” That is, to the extent that ancient men thought of women as being “less clearly defined and less securely bounded by the structures that held men in place in society,” “Christian men used women ‘to think with’ in order to verbalize their own nagging concern with the stance that the Church should take to the world.” 18 I tend to agree, but I think as clear a case can be made, doubling back to Levi-Strauss’ original reference, that these authors used animals “to think with,” not with respect to the Christian’s place in the social world, but to his place in the natural world. 19 Who and what the 18

Peter Brown, The Body and Society. Men, Women, and Sexual Renunciation in Early Christianity (New York: Columbia University Press, 1988), 153. 19 Levi-Strauss’ famous statement that animals are chosen for totems not because they are “good to eat” but are “good to think with” (from Le totémisme aujourd’hui [Paris: Presses

B. The Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles

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human being, particularly the Christian, might be relative to the created world and other creatures – questions like these were at the front of their minds. Tracking the representation of animals in these texts allows us to discover how our authors were thinking about these things, and the various conclusions they wished to promote through their writings. The resulting picture is not uniform; there is no consistent opinion on animals in particular or Nature more broadly expressed throughout the major apocryphal acts. A positive portrayal of animals is, however, common to four of the five. This is of particular interest in that one might expect the very rigorous asceticism or encratism espoused in these texts to result in a very negative depiction of animals, based either on a literal understanding of eating, drinking and procreating as animalistic activities, or on the metaphorical association of human passions and desires with internal beasts to be subdued. Indeed, much of the early Christian literature in which animals appear (as will be discussed below) begins with these notions and does present animals with thoroughly negative connotations. The apocryphal acts, in their prominent and often positive portrayal of animals, offer an untapped opportunity to flesh out and generally enrich our understanding of early Christian conceptions of the natural world and the Christian’s place within it. The task is not without contemporary signficance. The question of humanity’s place within the natural world is still open, and debates over the ways in which we as a species should interact with other species and our environment could not be more important. As others have persuasively argued, the very negative attitude towards animals that prevailed in early Christianity have been extremely influential over the last millennia and continue to influence how we act towards animals and the natural environment in general. Sorabji writes particularly clearly on the topic, concluding that “by and large, despite some opposing tendencies, my impression is that the emphasis of Western Christianity was on one half, the anti-animal half, of a much more wideranging and vigorous ancient Greek debate. And I think this helps to explain why until very recently we, or at least I myself, have been rather complacent about the treatment of animals.” 20 Without suggesting that a book on 2nd and 3rd century Christian narratives will solve global warming, I would like to think that it, like Sorabji’s work, might bring to light the diversity of ancient thought – in this instance, Christian thought – on animals, perhaps adding something to more contemporary conversations.

universitaires de France, 1962], 127–8) is often quoted in studies of animals in antiquity (see, e.g., Gilhus, p. 4 and Patricia Cox Miller, The Poetry of Thought in Late Antiquity [Aldershot: Ashgate, 2001], 15). It remains a very helpful concept for understanding the representation of animals in ancient thought and literature. 20 Sorabji, 204–5.

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Chapter I: Introduction

C. The Program The following two chapters are dedicated to an analysis of the role of animals in the literature, philosophy and theology of antiquity. I will begin in chapter two with a brief overview of the natural historical literature of antiquity, particularly the first centuries C.E. The works of Pliny, Aelian, Oppian and others – each a collection of literally thousands of descriptive reports on animals – represent well the sort of sources drawn upon by other authors for information (both general accounts and particular stories) about the animal kingdom. These texts give the modern reader an excellent sense of what was known (or thought to be known) about animals in precisely the period in which the apocryphal acts were written. Next, I will outline the influential and enduring philosophical debate surrounding animal rationality. The literature of this debate, fascinating in its own right and remarkably current, 21 offers tremendous insight into how animals were conceptualized in late antiquity. I will then present an overview of animals in patristic literature, highlighting the various and overlapping currents in early Christian thought concerning animals, closing the chapter with a discussion of the role of animals in the literature of Christian asceticism. In chapter three, I will discuss animal-related anecdotes and episodes in prose narrative roughly contemporary with the apocryphal acts of the apostles. Understanding the compositional techniques used by these authors is crucial for understanding how the authors of the acts were working with animals in their own narratives. The goal throughout chapters two and three is to establish a sense of both the literary world and the world of ideas in which the authors of the apocryphal acts are writing: what was known about animals? what sources were available? what were central themes and topics in thinking about animals? how did animals appear in the work of contemporary authors? to what narrative purposes were they put? The answers to these questions will provide a basis from which to interpret the individual episodes within the various acts. The remaining chapters will proceed text by text, beginning with the Acts And. The decision to begin with Acts And. is not based on any presumption about chronology of composition; indeed, there is no true consensus as to which of the apocryphal acts is the earliest. I will begin with the Acts And., rather, because its depiction of animals differs starkly from the other acts. Whereas in the other four apocryphal acts animals are often (if not exclusively) presented positively, in the Acts And. animals, both real and in metaphor, represent only savagery and inhuman behavior. In this respect, the text 21 See, for example, Gary Steiner, Anthropocentrism and Its Discontents: The Moral Status of Animals in the History of Western Philosophy (Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press, 2005).

C. The Program

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has much in common with some of the gnostic literature found at Nag Hammadi, including the Acts of Peter and the Twelve Apostles, and also such “orthodox” works as Athanasius’ Vita Antonii. The Acts And. is, to my mind, the exception that proves the rule. The fact that one of the five major apocryphal acts, so similar in so many other respects to the other four, is so different in its treatment of animals indicates that the use of animal episodes in these narratives cannot simply be reduced to a generic feature. Chapters five through eight, then, will consider the four remaining apocryphal acts in turn. Each will be analyzed independently, and individual conclusions will be drawn for each. In the concluding chapter, I will return to the broader landscape, indicating how the study of animals in the apocryphal acts both increases our understanding of where these texts fit within the thought and literature of their day and broadens our view of early Christian thinking on the natural world.

Chapter II

Animals in Graeco-Roman Thought A. Natural History The first centuries C.E. saw a substantial growth of interest in natural historical literature. Many of these texts have roots in the empirical works of Aristotle and Theophrastus (whose peri. zw|,wn is lost), but other early sources (noted by Aristotle himself) 1 include the travel narratives and descriptions of foreign lands by authors like Herodotus and Ktesias as well as treatises on agriculture by Greek, Roman and even Punic 2 authors. The most important extant zoological texts include Aristotle’s Historia animalium (especially books eight and nine), books eight through ten of Pliny the Elder’s Naturalis historia, Aelian’s De natura animalium and Oppian’s Cynegetica and Halieutica. 3 The vast number of natural history texts available in the first centuries C.E. as well as their often complex literary dependence upon one another is evident in Pliny’s work. In the dedicatory preface (to the emperor Titus) he names literally hundreds of authorities drawn upon for his own compendium, but notes also that in the process of collecting and comparing these sources he “discovered that the older authors were transcribed word for word, without acknowledgment, by the most reliable and contemporary authors” (Pliny, Nat. 1.22). 4 Despite the great number of natural historical texts in circulation, a handful of texts that were used as sources by multiple authors in the 1st–3rd centuries C.E. can be identified. Particularly influential was an epitome of Aristotle’s Hist. an. made by Aristophanes of Byzantium (c. 257–180 B.C.E.), used ex-

1

Other sources mentioned by Aristotle include Aeschylus (633a19), Alcmaeon (492a14), Democritus (623a32), Diogenes of Apollonia (511b30), Herodorus of Herecleia (563a7), Musaeus (563a18), Polybus (512b12), Simonides of Ceos (542b7), Syennesis of Cyprus (511b23) and Homer (513b27, 519a18, 574b34, etc.). 2 The agricultural treatise by the Carthaginian Mago was recognized as authoritative in late republican Rome (see, e.g., Cicero, De or. 1.249). 3 The authorship of these two texts is problematic; see the discussion by A. W. Mair, Oppian (LCL, New York: G. P. Putnam’s Sons, 1928), xiii–xxiii; cf. Sotera Fornaro, “Oppianos” DNP 8:1259–60. 4 All translations, unless otherwise noted, are my own.

A. Natural History

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tensively by Aelian and others.5 While the epitome is not extant, quotations of it tend to suggest that a disproportionate amount of the material in books eight and nine – that is, the more narrative descriptions of animal behavior – survived the epitomizing. The works of King Juba II of Mauretania (c. 50 B.C.E.–23 C.E.) on Arabia, Africa, and Assyria were also significant sources, particularly for information regarding elephants. Leonidas of Byzantium (c. 2nd century C.E.) seems to have been a source of ichthyological information; also quite important was Alexander of Myndos’ ornithological handbook, which is frequently quoted by Athenaeus (in his Deipnosophistae), Oppian, and Aelian. Aelian also identifies and groups together material taken from several earlier sources, including Ktesias’ Indica and Persica, Megasthenes’ (c. 350–290 B.C.E.) Indica, and the writings of Amyntas, a bematistes of Alexander the Great who apparently recorded ethnographic and natural historical information about the king’s travels through Asia. Whether Aelian, who lived and wrote in Rome with full access to libraries and other resources provided by the patronage of Julia Domna, knows these texts directly or only through previous compendia is difficult to determine. It has been argued by M. Wellman that the voluminous work of the first century C.E. lexicographer Pamphilus of Alexandria was his chief source; 6 Pamphilus, in turn, relied upon many authors, including Aristophanes of Byzantium, Artemidoros, and Didymos Chalkenteros, 7 author of yet another compendium incorporating yet another set of sources. There was no single method of organization among the various natural history works; generally speaking, information and reports on a given animal are grouped together, the animals in turn being grouped roughly by type (e.g. land animals, from large to small) or, in some texts, by locality (e.g. animals of Egypt). The sort of information provided and the format of presentation varies 5

On Aristophanes’ epitome, see Rudolf Pfeiffer, History of Classical Scholarship: From the Beginnings to the End of the Hellenistic Age (Oxford: Clarendon, 1968), 171–209; W. J. Slater, Aristophanis Byzantii fragmenta (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1986); on Christian usage, see Grant, Early Christians, pp. 46, 73, 77. Aristotle’s writings (which, according to Strabo, were left to Theophrastus and in turn to Neleus of Scepsis, in whose cellar they remained until purchased by a collector and brought to Athens in the 1st century B.C.E.) were brought to Rome when Athens was captured by Sulla in 86 B.C.E.; there, they were edited and organized by Andronicus of Rhodes. See Martha Nussbaum, “Aristotle,” OCD 165–69. 6 Max Wellman and Rudolf Keydell authored a series of articles in Hermes attempting to parse out the sources behind Aelian’s Nat. an., including Sostratus, Alexander of Myndos, Juba and Pamphilus. See Max Wellman, “Sostratus, ein Beitrag zur Quellenanalyse des Aelian” and “Alexander von Myndos,” Hermes 26 (1891): 321–350, 481–566; “Leonidas von Byzanz und Demostratos,” Hermes 30 (1895): 161-176; Rudolf Keydell, “Oppians Gedicht von der Fischerei und Aelians Tiergeschichte,” Hermes 72 (1937): 411–34; cf. Lorenz Grasberger, “Zur Kritik des Aelianos,” Jahrbuch für classische Philologie 95 (1867): 185–193. 7 This Didymos is perhaps identical with Arius Didymos, the first century B.C.E. Stoic philosopher and confidant of Augustus; see David T. Runia, “Arius,” DNP 1:1156–1157.

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significantly among the authors and even within individual texts. While, for example, Pliny’s Nat. is more or less a cohesive account, in which Pliny’s own voice is consistently present, Aelian’s Nat. an. is more a compilation of largely disconnected entries. Nevertheless, both works include straightforward statements about animals, such as, “the elephant is the largest [of land animals] and the closest to humans in intelligence” (Pliny, Nat. 8.1) alongside anecdotes in which characteristics are illustrated, such as, “one of these animals, who was unusually slow in learning what he was taught, and having been frequently punished with blows, was found going over his lessons at night” (Pliny, Nat. 8.3). Observations, moreover, are not limited to the animals’ characteristics or behavior: these texts abound with references to the animals’ associations with various gods, their roles in myth and literature, and their roles in human society in general. The natural history texts provided endless material for numerous authors and rhetoricians, particularly those engaged in the philosophical debate over animal rationality. While the chain of compendia dependent upon previous compendia is bewilderingly complex, it is clear that the vast majority of authors writing about animals, including, as we will see, thinkers on both sides of the animal rationality debate, were working from largely similar if not the same sources. And the natural historians themselves were clearly aware of the philosophical issues of the day. Aelian includes reference to the question of rationality in the prologue to his work on animals: For the human has both been allotted speech (lo,goj), the most valuable thing of all, and has been granted reason (logismo,j), which is most helpful and beneficial; and he also knows to fear and worship the gods. But that there should exist among the irrational animals (a;loga) by nature a certain virtue, and that they should have allotted to them many of the wondrous human excellences – this is a great thing indeed. (Nat. an. prologue)

Here Aelian approaches the basic Stoic position, i.e. that only man has external reason (i.e. speech), internal reason (logismo,j) and knowledge and reverence for the gods, but the statement is only lip-service: the work in fact provides hundreds of examples of animals displaying all of these qualities. Aelian, moreover, does not see his work as simply a resource for other scholars. He has made his tome accessible, writing in “plain speech” (h`` sunh,qhj le,xij) (Nat. an. prologue), and has intentionally avoided the organization and classification of entries, choosing rather to “attract through the variety” of his material, weaving together his narrative “so as to resemble a meadow or a chaplet beautiful with its many colours, the many creatures, as it were, contributing their flowers” (Nat. an. epilogue). 8 This work is meant to be interesting and entertaining in itself – “edutainment,” to use the new term – and

8

Here, I’ve followed Scholfield’s nice translation.

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anyone who doesn’t enjoy, Aelian suggests, can “give it to his father” (Nat. an. prologue). 9

B. The Philosophical Debate over Animal Rationality The nature of animals vis-à-vis human beings was a topic of discussion and debate in Greek thought and literature from the earliest period, with Hesiod denying that any law of right exists among animals. 10 The topic never really lost interest. The variety of angles and issues involved (concerning, e.g., the nature of the soul, the ethical treatment of animals, vegetarianism/asceticism, animal sacrifice, etc.) gave occasion for treating the subject alongside a wide range of philosophical issues. The specific question of whether or not animals have reason came to the fore in Aristotle’s extensive treatments of the animal kingdom; the full force of Aristotle’s conclusions for moral philosophy and theories of justice would be felt in Stoic and, to a lesser extent, Epicurean philosophy. As will be seen below, the Stoic sources give the impression that the issue of animal rationality was a philosophical line in the sand: to grant reason to animals was to fundamentally misunderstand the nature of human beings and their summum bonum. 11 However, this degree of clarity and inflexibility is not typical of ancient authors who address the subject; much more common is either a crossing of the line or waffling, making the summary and categorization of the views of the various schools a complicated task. John Dillon’s comments on the diversity of opinions in Middle Platonism (on multiple issues) are instructive here. Arguing against the usefulness of terms like “orthodox” and “eclectic” in the characterization of later Platonists, he writes, “we must rather see things in terms of the pull of various attractions, Peripatetic, Stoic and Pythagorean, which produce various sets of attitudes within an overall 9 Aelian apparently knows fathers like mine, whose always voracious reading (including multiple drafts of this book) has only broadened in scope and picked up in pace since his retirement. 10 Hesiod, Op. lines 275ff.: “The son of Kronos made this law for men:/ that animals and fish and winged birds/ should eat each other, for they have no law (di,kh)./ But mankind has the law of Right from him,/ which is the better way” (trans. Wender). Note, however, that for Hesiod the distinction is not based on the capacities of human beings and animals, rational or otherwise; rather, justice is simply a gift from the gods. For a discussion of Hesiod’s views on animals, see Gary Steiner, Anthropocentrism and its Discontents: The Moral Status of Animals in the History of Western Philosophy (Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press, 2005), 43–45. 11 See A. A. Long, “The Logical Basis of Stoic Ethics,” in Stoic Studies (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1996), 141–2; repr. from Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society 71 (1970/71), 93.

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Chapter II: Animals in Graeco-Roman Thought

Platonic framework.” 12 This description applies equally well to the positions of ancient philosophers of almost any stripe – not just Platonists – on the status of animals, though we might expand the list of “attractions” to include the influence of sacred texts, the genre within which one is writing, and the heat of polemic (this last perhaps better described as “repulsion” than “attraction”). The majority of the Pre-Socratics seem in general not to have been quite so interested in fine distinctions between intellect, intelligence, thought, and perceptions, and even less so in the precise attribution or denial of these capacities to human beings and animals. 13 There is evidence, however, that in the late 6th century B.C.E. Alcmaeon differentiated the human being from animals on the grounds that the human alone has understanding, while other animals simply perceive without true comprehension. Protagoras and Anaxagoras (in the 5th century B.C.E.) seem to have distinguished the human from other animals along similar lines, arguing that technology (te,cnh) is possessed only by human beings. 14 In Richard Sorabji’s analysis, Plato wavers on the question of animal rationality, even through his last works. 15 It is perhaps fair to say that Plato most often assumes that animals lack reason, while in individual (often entertaining or more playful) passages he is inclined to grant rational behavior to individual creatures. A nice example of this appears in the Republic 376b where, as will be discussed in more detail below, Socrates describes the recognitional capacity of the guard dog as an indication of its “love of learning” (filomaqe,j) and ultimately its “philosophical” nature. With Aristotle, however, the question takes on a more central significance. He famously and influentially denied reason to animals in De anima, declaring in book three (428a) that, while all animals have perception to varying degrees and some even have imagination, no animals have lo,goj. 16 Again, while this notion was not entirely new, 17 it was Aristotle who would exert the 12

John Dillon, The Middle Platonists (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1977), 256. See Richard Sorabji, Animal Minds and Human Morals: The Origins of the Western Debate (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1993), 8–9; cf. Stephen T. Newmyer, “Animals in Ancient Philosophy,” in A Cultural History of Animals in Antiquity, 154–158. 14 Ibid., 9. See also Alcmaeon fr. 1a DK (from Theophrastus Sens. 25); Anaxagoras fr. 21b (from Plutarch, Fort. 98f); Plato, Prot. 321d; 322a. In Plato’s representation of Protagoras, the initial gift of technology (from Prometheus) led to the knowledge and worship of the gods, articulate speech, and the invention of dwellings and clothing, all of which differentiate humans from other animals. 15 Sorabji, 9–12; Sorabji cites, for example, the apparent granting of intellect (nou/j) to animals in Leg. 961d, as compared with the clear denial of reason to animals just a few paragraphs further, in 963e. 16 See also Aristotle, Pol. 1.2. 17 See, for example, Protagoras’ views in Plato’s Prot. and Gorg. or Nicias’ views in Lach. For a discussion of these passages see William Fortenbaugh, “Aristotle: Animals, Emotion, and Moral Virtue,” Arethusa 4 (1971): 138–42. 13

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most influence on later generations of thinkers, and it was with Aristotle that the effects of this declaration – not just for the status and treatment of animals but for the philosophy of mind – began to be felt.18 While Aristotle’s statement in De an. is straightforward enough, it is not entirely clear that this position is maintained throughout his works. In the introduction to Hist. an. book eight, for example, he attributes “likenesses of intelligent understanding” (th/j peri. th.n dia,noian sune,sewj e;neisin ))) o`moio,thtej) to many animals, stating that “just as in a human there is skill and wisdom and intelligence (te,cnh kai. sofi,a kai. su,nesij), thus there is in certain animals a different natural capability of a similar type (tij e`te,ra toiau,th fusikh. du,namij) (Hist. an. 588a). The picture is complicated still more in the introduction to book nine: The characteristics (h;qh) of the dimmer and shorter-lived animals are less visible to us in observation, but more visible in the longer-lived. For they are seen to have a certain natural capability (tina du,namin ))) fusikh,n) involving each of the affections of the soul – intelligence and stupidity (fro,nhsin kai. euvh,qeian), courage and cowardice, gentleness and ill-temper, and the other dispositions of such sort. Some, at the same time, take part in a certain learning and instruction (maqh,sewj kai. didaskali,aj), some from each other, some from humans – that is, as many as have some hearing (not just as many as hear sounds but also as many as perceive the differentiation of signs). (Hist. an. 608a)

Here, in the attribution of “intelligence” and “a certain learning” to animals, any sharp differences from human capacities seem to break down. The proviso from book eight, suggesting that in art, wisdom, and intelligence animals have capabilities analogous to those of man, seems completely lost when Aristotle discusses the character of animals “in mind and ignorance” (nou/n te kai. a;noian) (Hist. an. 610b); here he describes the stupidity of sheep and the apparent intelligence of numerous creatures. The deer, for example, “seems to be intelligent” (dokei/ ei=nai fro,nimon) (Hist. an. 611a). One may point out that this is only “seeming” intelligence; nevertheless, the 18 Sorabji has argued that the denial of reason to animals requires a compensatory expansion of the category “perception” in order to account for animals’ ability to navigate the world and behave as we observe them behaving. Aristotle adds to the objects of direct, particular perception (i.e. the individual objects of the five senses, proper) perceptions that are perceived by multiple senses, such as movement, rest, number, shape, size; further he adds the category of indirect perception, e.g. that “the white object is the son of Dares.” This last type of perception, granted to at least some if not all animals, has a certain propositional (or at least predicational) content. It is this perception that allows animals to function in the world: they may perceive, for example, that “that small, gray, smelly object is a rabbit” or “that small, gray, smelly object is food” and react accordingly. Sorabji maintains that this “single decision in Aristotle, the denial to animals of reason and belief, led in Aristotle and the Stoics to a massive re-analysis of psychological capacities: of perception, of perceptual appearance, of belief, of concept-possession, of memory, of intention and preparation, of anger and other emotions, and of speech” (103).

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copious examples provided (from animals’ use of medicinal herbs to their clever ways of protecting themselves and their kin from danger) are convincingly presented. Evidence of the “seeming” intelligence of cranes includes their organization and apparent use of language: They have both a leader and ‘whistle-blowers’ among the end birds so that their cry is heard. And when they set down, the others sleeping with their heads under their wing ... the leader with his head uncovered keeps the watch, and whenever he perceives something he signals (shmai,nei) with a shout. (Hist. an. 614b)

In other passages, Aristotle drops the language of “seeming” altogether: “Many other quadruped animals, too, act intelligently for their own benefit (poiei/ pro.j boh,qeian au`toi/j froni,mwj)” (Hist. an. 612a). Newmyer suggests that this seeming fluctuation in Aristotle’s estimation of animals’ rational capacities may be correlated with the primary subjects of his works, inasmuch as he is “attributing to them more highly developed mental faculties in his narrowly zoological treatises while stressing their intellectual inferiority to humans in his more anthropocentric works.”19 Fortenbaugh, emphasizing that any fluctuation in Aristotle’s opinion is itself only “seeming,” argues along similar lines that when considering these different works we must distinguish the “biological view” of the zoological treatises from the “bipartite psychology” of the ethical treatises. That is, the strict use of language that is required in the description and classification of human actions in the Ethics may be cumbersome in describing animal behavior, and therefore Aristotle leaves it behind for the sake of convenience. We may, according to Fortenbaugh, safely read the description of animal “intelligence” not as identical to human lo,goj, but as something similar or analogous, whether or not this point is made explicit in each individual passage. 20 This view may well be correct, but even skilled readers in antiquity seem to have missed these distinctions (or at least felt they could get away with glossing over them). Porphyry, for example, quotes Aristotle and lists him among the ancient philosophers (including also Plato, Empedocles, Pythagoras and Democritus) who acknowledged that animals do participate in reason. 21 Aristotle’s own student Theophrastus – again, according to Porphyry – went even further, explicitly attributing reason (logismo,j) and perception (ai;sqhsij) to animals, concluding that animals are “kin” (oivkei/on) and “a relative” (suggene,j) to human beings in every respect. 22 While Aristotle at times seems to waver, the Stoics are steadfast and largely uniform in their appraisal of the status of animals. Where Theophras19

Newmyer, 160. Fortenbaugh, 152–157. 21 Porphyry, Abst. 3.6.7. 22 Ibid. 3.25.1–4. See discussion in Newmyer, 163. 20

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tus sees kinship between human and animal, the Stoics categorically rule it out. Only human beings and God have a share in reason; reason is, in turn, the foundation of our kinship both with God and with each other, and it is only within this bond of kinship that notions of justice and injustice apply. Animals exist only for human beings’ use, and thus any use to which we put them (whether as laborers in the field or as a meals on the plate) is without injustice. 23 Chrysippus is often cited as the originator of the view, as in the following passage from Cicero: But just as [Stoics] think that there are bonds of justice (ius) among men, thus they think there is no justice between man and beast. For Chrysippus very clearly said that all other things were born for the sake of men and gods, but they [i.e. men and gods] exist for their own fellowship and society, so that men can use beasts for their own purposes without injustice. (Fin. 3.67)

In fact, lo,goj, and its restriction to man and god, is the central point of their zoology, to the degree that they can be said to have one. Animals are virtually by definition without reason. Epictetus puts it as follows: The ass, for example, is not born to be of primary importance, is it? No, but because we had need of a back that was able to carry something. But, by Zeus, we had need that it should be able also to walk around; therefore it has further received the faculty of using external impressions; for otherwise it would not be able to walk around. And at about that stage there was an end. But if it, like man, had somehow received the faculty of understanding the use of its external impressions, it is also clear that consequently it would no longer be subject to us, nor would it be performing these services, but would be our equal and our peer. (Discourses 2.8.7–8, Oldfather)

Clearly, this understanding of animals is not primarily rooted in observation but rather in a prior understanding of the nature and relationship of man and God. Again, Epictetus: “What then? Are not also those [animals] the work of God?” They are, but they are not of primary importance and they are not parts of God. You are of primary importance and you are a fragment of God; you have in yourself a certain part of him. Why then are you ignorant of your own kinship? (Discourses 2.8.10–11) 24

For Stoics, animals are created by God for our use; not to use them as they are intended would itself be an injustice and, practically speaking, an impossibility. Plutarch characterizes the position as follows: The Stoics and Peripatetics argue above all … that justice would not exist, but would be completely without form and substance if all animals have a share in reason. For either it is neces23

On Stoic anthropocentrism and its consequences with regard to animals, see Urs Dierauer, Tier und Mensch im Denken der Antike (Amsterdam: Grüner, 1977), 238–45. 24 Cf. Epictetus’ use of the term “kinship” (sugge,neia) with its use in the Acts Thom. (see below, chapter VIII).

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sarily injustice if we do not spare them; or, if we do not make use of them, life is impossible and impracticable; in a certain sense we will live the life of beasts if we forego the use of beasts. (Soll. an. 963f–64a)

There is no sliding scale here. Reason is either present or it is not, and its presence or absence is the defining characteristic of man and animal. This passage suggests, moreover, that, for Stoics, attributing reason to animals would make human beings animalistic not only by definition but also in practice, in terms of the carrying on of daily life. The Stoic view was not only conceived independent of scientific observation but often had to present itself over and against everyday observations of animal behavior that seem to indicate animal intelligence. Thus Seneca, for example, cites the common examples of the industrious and cooperative bee and the remarkably skilled spider, but concludes as follows: That art is born, not learned; thus no animal is any more skilled than another: you will observe that all spider-webs are equal, and that the holes of all honeycomb cells are the same shape. Whatever art yields is uncertain and uneven; but what comes from Nature is equally distributed. (Ep. 121.23)

The Stoics did not discount the appearance of rationality in the animal kingdom; it was the attribution of this rationality to the individual animal (as opposed to Nature more broadly) that they denied. Regardless of where Plato himself stood on the question of animal rationality, it is the Middle Platonist Plutarch who provides the most comprehensive opposition to the Stoic position, dedicating several entire dialogues to the issue. Extant in their entirety are Whether Land or Sea Animals Are Cleverer (Po,tera tw/n zw|w/n fronimw,tera( ta. cersai,a h' ta. evnu,dra) and Bruta animalia ratione uti (or Gryllus); fragmentary are two discourses entitled De esu carnium, which are part of an apparently larger series expounding the virtue and necessity of vegetarianism. In De esu the issue is the just and ethical treatment of animals as well as man’s place and proper conduct in the natural world. The content of Whether Land or Sea Animals Are Cleverer is perhaps better described by the Latin title (De sollertia animalium, “On the cleverness of animals”) since the primary concern seems to be not the comparison of the two but the demonstration of rationality in both. The work begins with Autobulus and Soclarus (Plutarch’s father and a family friend, respectively) discussing an encomium of hunting that had been read the day before and which had inspired the topic of the present day’s debate comparing land and sea animals. When Soclarus describes hunting as “a pure spectacle of skill and intelligent courage against mindless strength and violence,” the real topic of the essay begins to be revealed (Soll. an. 959d).

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Autobulus, likely representing Plutarch’s own voice, 25 suggests that hunting is the source in human beings of bloodlust and insensitivity to suffering, and thus “beastliness” (qhriw/dej) is strengthened and gentleness deadened (Soll. an. 959e). When he suggests as a better practice the Pythagorean kindness to animals, Soclarus introduces the Stoic objection and the reader is instantly aware of the real significance of the descriptions of “clever” animal behavior that follow. The debate concerning the relative cleverness of land or sea animals is a deft conceit which allows the introduction of seemingly endless evidence disputing the Stoic denial of reason to all animals. In both De esu and Soll. an., the Pythagorean influence is clearly evident, as is Plutarch’s connection of Platonism with Pythagoras. 26 Whereas for the Stoics the primary issue seems to have been the nature of the human being vis-à-vis both animals and God (that is, the fundamental difference from the former and kinship to the latter), Plutarch seems far more concerned with the effect of these conceptions on the behavior of man – ironically, the “beastliness” and “coarseness” that he thinks the abuse and slaughter of animals brings on. Above all else, however, these works are polemical, part and parcel of Plutarch’s broader critique of Stoicism. The critique continues in Gryllus, a highly entertaining dialogue between Odysseus and one of his companions, changed into a hog by Circe; here, Plutarch takes a more satirical tack. The arguments for animal rationality are presented by the hog, Gryllus (literally “oinker” or “grunter”), who refuses Odysseus’ offer to return him to his human state. Not only are animals rational, they live in far better accord with Nature than most human beings do, argues the hog. In this respect, they are the veritable ideal Stoics! Moreover, the clarity produced by his transformation into an animal has allowed Gryllus to better evaluate Stoic argumentation: “I marvel at those arguments with which I was persuaded by the sophists to consider all creatures but human beings irrational and senseless” (Gryllus 992c). A Cynic tone is present in this dialogue: in intelligence, but perhaps more importantly in temperance and general ethical behavior, animals come out ahead of man. A similar Cynic sensibility is found in the discourses of Dio Chrysostom, who, although in general leaning more towards Stoicism, remarks repeatedly on the fact that even “irrational animals” consistently act so much more “wisely,” so to speak, than man. 27 The Middle Platonist Celsus apparently also disputed the denial of reason to animals. 28 Like Plutarch, his position was polemical, though the opponents 25

This includes a complimentary reference to Plutarch himself, naturally: see Soll. an. 964d. Cf. Sorabji, 160–61, 178–79. 26 See Plutarch, Soll. an. 964d–f. 27 This is particularly the case in the Diogenes discourses; see, e.g., Dio Chrysostom, Or. 6.13, 18, 21, 27, 31–4, 41, 59 and 62. 28 See Sorabji, 200–1.

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are Christians, not Stoics. According to Origen, Celsus’ primary quarrel was with the anthropocentrism of the notion that God created all things for human beings. As best as can be determined from Origen’s citations of Celsus’ True Account, his argument proceeded along much the same lines as Plutarch’s, recounting “the history of animals” (h` tw/n zw,|wn i`stori,a) and the “sagacity which is exemplified in them” (h` evmfainome,nh auvtoi/j avgci,noia) in order to show God’s care for them and to displace the human being from the primary place in the scheme of the natural world (Cels. 4.74). Origen’s quotations from Celsus’ work, which contain many stock examples used by authors on both sides of the debate, will be discussed in more detail below. We should note here, however, that Origen himself is, with the prominent exception of his Stoic views on animals, very much the Middle Platonist himself. Philo, too, weighs in on the issue in one of his lesser-known works, Anim. (preserved only in Armenian), a dialogue entirely devoted to the question of animal rationality. Like Origen, Philo, otherwise best described as a Middle Platonist, comes down squarely on the side of the Stoics. 29 In this matter, the Hebrew Bible and Stoic opinion are in general agreement: animals were created for human beings’ use, and to say otherwise is the height of injustice and sacrilege. More than two thirds of the Anim., however, is a presentation of the anti-Stoic arguments attributed to Philo’s nephew Alexander, some of which are never really answered in Philo’s own response. Newmyer is surely right in suggesting that “the reader comes away from Philo’s treatise with a much more favorable impression of animal intellect than Philo, as a proponent of the Stoic position, could have intended,” 30 though “should have intended” is perhaps a better completion of the thought. For Sceptics, at stake is, as always, the suspension of judgment. Sextus, for example, refutes the notion that animals are irrational while arguing that an animal’s perceptions differ from but are neither more nor less reliable than a human being’s. 31 The dog is chosen as representing the lowest of all animals, and thus the argument is presumably even stronger with respect to animals that are in general more highly esteemed. 32 As with Plutarch and Celsus, the context is polemical: here, the Stoics are singled out as the primary dogmatist opponents. 33 Using arguments often identical to those produced by Plutarch, Sextus concludes that the dog chooses what is fitting, avoids what is not, can understand and act upon his own feelings, and participates in virtue. “This is,” writes Sextus in a nod toward Cynicism, “why some philosophers have glori29

This is, of course, not the only area in which a Stoic influence on Philo is felt; his allegorical exegesis of the Hebrew Bible is clearly rooted in Stoic exegesis of Homer. 30 Newmyer, 169. 31 See Sextus Empiricus, Pyr. 1.40–78. 32 Ibid. 1.62. 33 Ibid. 1.65.

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fied themselves with the name of this animal” (Pyr. 1.72). Sextus, switching to birds, argues that animals have the capacity for external or expressed reason (i.e. speech) as well, again using examples of avian behavior found also in Plutarch. 34 In our primary Neopythagorean text on the topic, Porphyry’s Abst., the central issue is the necessity of vegetarianism and the living of a good, just, philosophical life. Clearly also at play for this school is metempsychosis, though not all Neopythagoreans (e.g. Iamblichus) agreed that humans could be reincarnated as animals. In Abst. Porphyry provides our best source of material on the debate as a whole, quoting long sections of both texts that are extant (e.g. Plutarch’s Soll. an. 959e-963f) and some that are not, reproducing the arguments of Hermarchus the Epicurean, Heraclides of Pontus, and (as we have seen) Theophrastus, among others. Issues involved in the debate are also addressed in the lives of Pythagoras by both Porphyry and Iamblichus, who provide reports of Pythagoras’ opinions as well as anecdotes describing his interactions (often including communication) with animals. There is disagreement among the Epicureans as to the status and just treatment of animals. At issue was the animal’s ability to enter into an agreement to avoid causing or suffering harm. While Epicurus may have allowed that such agreements between animal and man were a possibility,35 his successor Hermarchus (as quoted in Porphyry’s Abst., 1.12.5–6) clearly does not. 36 Jo-Ann Shelton argues persuasively that for Lucretius the relationship between humans and domestic (primarily agricultural) animals is a type of contract: in exchange for abundant food and a life free of anxiety (caused by their predators), animals provide humans with labor, wool and food. 37 Lucretius certainly attributes “cunning” (dolus) to at least some animals (De re. nat. 5.855ff.) and, although describing them as “dumb” (mutae), acknowledges that animals utter varying sounds corresponding to varying situations (5.1056ff.). Perhaps the passage most revealing of Lucretius’ attitude towards animals is his description of the bereaved cow, searching for the calf that has, without her knowledge, been sacrificed at a temple altar. 38 She searches for the calf, recognizing its hoofprints and returning again and again to her empty stall; she cannot be fooled by other calves and cannot be distracted by tender grass or fresh water. The primary purpose of the passage is to illustrate the theory that atoms differ in form, but as Shelton writes, “most readers soon 34

Ibid. 1.73–78. See Diogenes Laertius, 10.150. 36 See discussion in Sorabji, 161–166. 37 Jo-Ann Shelton, “Lucretius on the Use and Abuse of Animals,” Eranos 94 (1996): 48– 64. Note that the benefits gained by animals in this agreement – a life without anxiety – is precisely the Epicurean ideal of human life. 38 Lucretius, De re. nat. 2.352–366. 35

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forget the physics, and long remember the grief of the bereaved cow, so sharply poignant is Lucretius’ description.” 39 Moreover, the passage is framed by descriptions of content and playful flock-mothers and their offsrping, that is, animals living the anxiety-free life their contract with human beings should guarantee. “Thus,” Shelton concludes, “the bereaved cow passage both clarifies an element of Epicurean physics and reinforces an ethical point important to Lucretius. By rousing our pity, it forces upon us the realization that irrational fear of gods has led humans to actions which violate their agreement to provide herd animals with security.” 40 While positions on animals varied both among and within philosophical schools – and sometimes within the corpus of individual philosophers – the types of arguments and evidence introduced are remarkably consistent. As noted above, the Stoics set the terms of the debate as it was carried out in the first centuries C.E. Because they divided rationality into internal and external (denying that animals share in either), arguments in opposition set about demonstrating that animals have a capacity for both. Evidence of internal rationality includes examples of animals using syllogistic thinking or learning complicated new tricks, as well as their knowledge and use of medicinal plants; evidence of external rationality, i.e. the capacity for articulate speech, includes instances not simply of animals (like birds) trained to replicate human speech but anecdotes which make clear that they communicate information to one another. The Stoics did not simply, however, deny that animals participate in reason proper. Because their concept of emotion was tied to the making of judgments, animals, incapable of judgment, must be devoid of emotion as well.41 Opponents of the Stoics, then, collected and presented an abundance of anecdotes demonstrating that animals act with apparent emotions, favorite examples including love between mates of certain species and the love of parents for their offspring. Similarly for the Stoics, both memory and foresight were tied to the presence of reason; animals, therefore, could not have a share in either. 42 Opponents thus collected an equal abundance of observations and anecdotes indicating that animals do remember and do have foresight (evident in their making preparations). Finally, the Stoics denied that justice and injustice exist either between man and animal or among animals themselves. Op39

Shelton, “Lucretius,” 55. Ibid. Further descriptions of animals acting with emotions and generally enjoying their lives are assembled and discussed by Newmyer, 167–168. 41 Although this was not the case for Posidonius; see Sorabji, 58–61; see also Plutarch’s description of the Stoic position, Soll. an. 961d. 42 See Sorabji, 51–55. The complete lack of memory and foresight in animals is, naturally, a difficult position to defend; as Sorabji notes, Seneca makes a distinction between an animal’s capacity to “be reminded” of something and its inability to “remember” independent of any present stimulus (Ep. 124). 40

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ponents, in turn, gave examples of animals acting with apparent justice and other types of virtues; and because the presence of vice implies its opposite, evidence of animals behaving poorly – jealously, mendaciously, vengefully, etc. – were introduced as well. In Plutarch’s Soll. an., more than fifty (Teubner) pages are filled with example after example of animals acting with intelligence, including observations of animals in settings natural, domestic and theatric. Philo uses similar, at times overlapping, material in the first two thirds of his dialogue, as does Sextus in Pyr. and perhaps also Celsus. As noted above, Porphyry borrows material directly from Plutarch, supplementing with passages from Theophrastus and other sources. Ironically, much of the material put to use in demonstrating animal rationality is taken over from Aristotle (though, again, whether or not Aristotle was recognized in antiquity as the first to deny reason to animals is unclear). Examples of animal behavior range from the pedestrian – spiders and their webs, bees working cooperatively, parrots trained to talk – to the bizarre and surely impossible. Much of the information is at least quasiscientific, but perhaps the majority is a blend of science and personal observation, legend, myth, and anecdote. Perhaps most interesting is the fact that, regardless of what side of the debate one takes and to what end, the evidence remains the same – often literally the same recycled passages. The description of the pinna and the so-called “pinna-guard” is one such example. As Aristotle reports in Hist. an., the pinna, a type of mussel, has a symbiotic relationship with the pinna-guard, a type of crab. 43 The pinna-guard was thought to work cooperatively with the pinna, standing guard while the mussel holds it mouth agape; then, once some prey had wandered into the mussel’s jaws, the pinna-guard was thought to pinch the pinna and quickly dart inside its mouth so that both it and the prey were caught inside, and thus both pinna and pinna-guard would have a feast. This description is taken up by both Philo (in the voice of his pro-animal rationality nephew Alexander) and Plutarch as evidence of intelligence and, more particularly, a sense of cooperation and fairness among animals. 44 Philo himself (in his response to Alexander), however, understands this phenomenon as analogous to the relationship of plants to one another, such as the olive tree and ivy: while there is an appearance of attraction and affection, these are not genuine but reflect only “nature’s supreme reasoning” (Anim. 95, Terian). Cicero introduces the description of the pinna and pinna-guard twice, in Fin. and Nat. d. In the former, he cites the behavior of these animals in comparison with man, arguing that in “human beings this bond of mutual aid is far more intimate” and thus “it follows that we are by nature fitted to form unions, societies and states” (Fin. 3.64). In the latter, he cites this behavior as exempli43 44

Aristotle, Hist. an. 547b–548a. Philo, Anim. 60; Plutarch, Soll. an. 980b.

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fying not individual intelligence or a sense of cooperation, but rather “how great a care for its own preservation nature has implanted in living things” (Nat. d. 2.124). Here it is clear that the same observation (the behavior of the pinna and pinna-guard), taken from most likely the same source (ultimately, Aristotle), with even the same understanding of the activity described (Cicero admits there is cooperation here), is enlisted by authors on opposite sides of the animal debate. For Plutarch and Alexander, it is clearly an instance of animal rationality; for Cicero, it is evidence of the rationality of Nature. The two sides were at an impasse. At every point the Stoics argued that the apparent presence of reason was in fact the presence and activity of Nature’s reason; all opposed respond: yes, exactly – Nature has endowed these creatures with reason. The frustration is obvious in the introductory section of Plutarch’s Soll. an.: Now, as to those who stupidly say about [animals] that they do not feel pleasure or anger or fear or make preparations or remember, but the bee “as it were” (w`sanei,) remembers and the swallow “as it were” makes preparations and the lion “as it were” grows angry and the deer “as it were” is afraid – I don’t know how they’ll deal with those who say animals do not see or hear but “as it were” see and “as it were” hear, and that they do not make noise but “as it were” make noise, and that they do not live at all but “as it were” live; for the things said by such men are no more contrary to the evidence – or so I am convinced. (Soll. an. 961f)

Despite the fact that (or perhaps because) neither side had any hope of convincing the other, the debate continued throughout the first three centuries C.E.

C. Animals in Patristic Literature It is not my intention in the following section to present a comprehensive and exhaustive study of animals as they appear in patristic literature. More detailed contributions toward that end have been offered by Robert Grant,45 Patricia Cox Miller, 46 Ingvild Saelid Gilhus, 47 and, with a different goal and a focus on Augustine, Richard Sorabji. 48 My purpose is, rather, to chart the major themes and currents in patristic discussions of animals – to highlight the ways in which these authors participate in the broader conversation and, in particular, the ways in which they interact with both biblical texts relating to animals and the natural historical literature discussed above. Patristic sources are, as one might expect, not at all uniform in either their understanding of animals (whether real animals in nature or as they appear in 45

Op. cit. See especially Part I (“Poetic Images and Nature”) of Poetry of Thought, 15–99. 47 Op. cit. 48 Op. cit. 46

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a particular biblical text) or in their use of animals in their own writings (in literary figures, as evidence in arguments, etc.). There are, however, several identifiable streams and rivulets of thought which join, divide, and join again throughout much of the Christian literature of the first centuries C.E. First is the interpretation of scriptural (i.e. LXX) passages relating to animals. This stream often involves the exegesis of the creation account in Genesis 1–2 and the dietary laws of Leviticus; the strongest current here is allegorical interpretation, though (here as elsewhere) the separation of the allegorical and the literal is often easier said than done. 49 An interconnected stream of thought involves the more targeted search for evidence supporting Christian beliefs – above all, the identity of Jesus as Messiah and the truth of the resurrection of the dead – in the biblical text as well as in the natural world itself. A third stream, observable particularly in the writings of the second and third century apologists, is in fact a direct tributary to the philosophical debate over animal rationality. While I have found the identification of these three streams of thought helpful in charting the role of animals in patristic sources, they are just that: streams of thought, not rigid categories. The following survey will proceed chronologically, noting overlapping themes as they appear. The forerunner of Christian allegorical interpretation of animals (indeed, of Christian allegorical exegesis in general) is Philo. In addition to his work Anim. (discussed above), Philo offers an allegorical reading of the prohibition of certain animal foods in De specialibus legibus 4.100ff. After explaining that Moses outlawed the consumption of the most “fleshy and fat” animals as likely to excite the passions (not allegory per se), Philo goes on to lay out the symbolic significance of the designation of particular animals as clean or unclean: For this reason as many animals as have either solid hooves or many toes are unclean; the former, because they intimate that the nature of good and evil is one and the same … the latter, because it indicates that in life there are many highways and more byways (polla.j o`dou.j ma/llon dV avnodi,aj) to deceit. (Spec. 4.109)

The epistle of Barnabas, in all likelihood also originating in Alexandria, interprets the dietary laws of Leviticus along similar lines, but takes the allegory one step further. For the author of Barn., the restrictions are to be understood

49

On the recent discussion concerning allegorical interpretation and the traditional distinctions between Alexandrian and Antiochene exegesis, see Frances M. Young, Biblical Exegesis and the Formation of Culture (Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 1999), passim, esp. 161–213. Cf. also Elizabeth A. Clark, Reading Renunciation: Asceticism and Scripture in Early Christianity (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1999); David Dawson, Allegorical Readers and Cultural Revision in Ancient Alexandria (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1992); Margaret M. Mitchell, “Patristic Rhetoric on Allegory: Origen and Eustathius Put 1 Samuel 28 on Trial,” JR 85/3 (2005), 414–445.

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not as truly referring to one’s consumption of certain foods but to one’s association with various types of men: “Neither shall you eat the eagle or the hawk or the kite or the crow.” You shall not, he means, attach yourself or become like men such as these, who do not know how to provide nourishment for themselves through labor and sweat, but plunder other people’s possessions in their lawlessness. (Barn. 10. 4)

Here the actual (or ‘literal,’ so to speak) characteristics of animals in nature inform the allegorical interpretation of the text. Note that the author, like Philo in Anim., is clearly familiar with current natural historical information concerning animal behavior and attributes. Aelian, for example, confirms the thieving nature of these birds: “To the robberies of the kite there is no end” (Nat. an. 2.47). Again like Philo, the author of Barn. emphasizes the human being’s place at the pinnacle of creation, but while the animals still represent human beings, the human beings of Genesis seem to represent primarily Christians: For the scripture is talking about us when [God] says to the son, “Let us create man according to our own image and likeness, and let them rule over the beasts of the earth and the birds of the sky and the fish of the sea.” (Barn. 6.12)

Here the designation of the Christian as true human and non-Christian as beast is limited to the allegorical interpretation of the text. Later in the century, this reclassification takes a more literal turn, as will be discussed below. A sustained discussion of the Genesis creation account is found in the wellknown chapter 20 of 1 Clement. W. C. van Unnik writes: “This chapter is considered to be one of the crown-witnesses for Stoic influence upon this letter. It is a clear proof that 1 Clement has left the sphere of the Bible and that the ‘theologia naturalis’ makes its joyeuse entrée in the church.” 50 Here, animals are described along with humans as the co-beneficiaries of the abundant provisions put forth by the earth: “The earth teems, according to his will, at the appropriate seasons and raises up abundant nourishment for men, beasts and all living creatures on it” (1 Clem. 20.4). It is certainly true that the description of creation found here draws heavily on Stoic ideas (if not sources directly), 51 but van Unnik is right to emphasize the purpose of this letter, that is, not to offer an argument as to the correct understanding of the creation of 50

W. C. Van Unnik, “Is 1 Clement 20 Purely Stoic?” in Sparsa Collecta: The Collected Essays of W. C. Van Unnik (Leiden: Brill, 1983), 53; repr. from VC 4 (1950). Cf. Adolf von Harnack, Einführung in die alte Kirchengeschichte, das Schreiben der römischen Kirche an die korinthische aus der Zeit Domitians (I. Clemensbrief) (Leipzig: J. C. Hinrichs, 1929), 81– 84. 51 Parallels to Stoic literature are collected in Louis Sanders, L’Hellénisme de saint Clément de Rome et le Paulinisme (Louvain: Studia Hellenistica in Bibliotheca Universitatis, 1943).

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the natural world but to provide, through an account of the order and harmony of creation, a model for the ever-schismatic church at Corinth to emulate. 52 In 1 Clem. 25 we find a more allegorical discussion not of a biblical text, but of a real creature from nature (sic), the phoenix, reports of which are found also in Herodotus, 53 Ovid, 54 Seneca, 55 Pliny 56 and Aelian 57 (though not in Aristotle). In the versions of Herodotus and Aelian, the phoenix is noted both for its long life span (500 years) and for the fact that every 500 years, on the occasion of the death of a parent bird, the offspring brings the corpse in a lump of myrrh from its habitat in Arabia to bury it in the temple at Heliopolis in Egypt. Pliny, however, records a slightly different account, according to which the Phoenix prepares its own sepulcher out of cinnamon and frankincense every 540 years, and the young Phoenix is actually born of the bones and marrow of its already deceased parent. The young bird then carries what is left of its parent (along with the spice-tomb) to the temple at Heliopolis for burial. 1 Clem. presents Pliny’s version with all its details (though substituting myrrh for cinnamon and retaining the even number found in Herodotus). The occurrence is described as an “incredible sign” (to. para,doxon shmei/on), and the author concludes with the following rhetorical question: Do we regard it as any great wonder, then, that the creator of the universe will bring about the resurrection of all those serving him with holiness in the conviction of good faith, when even through a bird he shows us the greatness of his promise?” (1 Clem. 26.1) 58

The example of the phoenix serves two purposes here: on the one hand, as an instance of resurrection from the natural world, it offers plausibility to the 52 Van Unnik concludes, “The Stoa starts from the phaenomena and finds in them the (pantheistic) God; the Christian author knew, that God ‘spake, and it was done; He commanded, and it stood fast’ (Ps. 33:9), for him the ta,xij is not a good in itself, but the result of God’s will. The point of view of the Stoics is anthropocentric, that of 1 Clement theocentric, his ‘theos’ being the God of the Old Testament” (53–54). The difference between the Stoic and Christian, however, may be overstated here. Newmyer is closer in describing Stoicism and Christianity as “two systems of thought that taught the primacy of the human being over other creatures and sought to point the way to salvation for that uniquely gifted and favored child of god, the human being” (165). 53 Herodotus, Hist. 2.73. 54 Ovid, Metam. 15.361–410. 55 Seneca, Ep. 42.1. 56 Pliny, Nat. 10.2. 57 Aelian, Nat. an. 5.58. 58 Support for this interpretation of the phoenix was perhaps found in the LXX translation of Ps 91:13, where the Hebrew (Ps 92:13) tƗmƗr (“date palm”) in the phrase “the righteous flourish like a date palm,” is translated with foi/nix, which, literally meaning “purple” or “crimson,” can refer to both the tree and the bird. Celsus also introduces the story of the Phoenix (and thus Origen also knows it), though in the Cels. 4.98 it is the Herodotean version and Origen introduces no resurrection-related interpretation.

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Christian doctrine; on the other hand, through this animal God has “shown the greatness of his promise,” the implication being that God has written the phoenix into creation to be interpreted by Christians in precisely this way. As Robert Grant has indicated, attitudes toward the phoenix as a type of the resurrection varied among patristic authors. While Tertullian, Cyril of Jerusalem, Epiphanius and others also mention it, Clement of Alexandria seems intentionally to avoid it in his paraphrasing of 1 Clem. Celsus apparently introduced the example of the phoenix into his argument against the Christian’s anthropocentric view of nature (see below), but with reference only to the animal’s apparent piety in caring for its deceased parents. Origen, in his response, does not refer to resurrection; without disputing the reports about the phoenix’s unusual behavior, he objects only to the admiration of the creature as opposed to the creator. 59 Justin Martyr, too, presents allegorical interpretation of animals in biblical texts, understanding, much as the author of 1 Clem., certain animals to represent aspects of or events from the life of Jesus. In one of the most interesting instances, an animal’s physical characteristics are understood to represent the cross. In the Dialogus cum Tryphone 91 Justin quotes Deut. 33:13–17, reading v. 17 as the LXX does, with “unicorn” (mono,kerwj) for the Hebrew “wild ox” (rƟ’Ɲm): “His beauty is as of a firstling of a bull, and his horns are the horns of a unicorn; with them he will butt the nations to the edge of the earth.” For Justin, the horns (sic) of a unicorn can be nothing other than a type of the cross: The one beam of the cross stands upright, from which the upper part is lifted up like a horn when the crossbeam is fitted on, and the ends of the crosspiece resemble horns joined to that one horn. And the part that is fixed in the middle of the cross, on which the bodies of the crucified are supported, also projects like a horn, and it, too, looks like a horn when it is shaped and joined to the other horns. (Dial. 91.2) 60

Here, in contrast with the use of the phoenix in 1 Clem., it is ultimately the biblical text of Deuteronomy that is the object of the interpretation, not nature itself, but the distinction is a fine one. In Justin we also find the first explicit reference in a patristic source to any debate concerning the status of animals. The first hint comes early in the Dial., where Justin describes the majority of philosophers as trying “to convince us that God takes care of the universe with its genera and species, but not of me and you and of each individual” (Dial. 1.4). This statement seems compatible with the Middle Platonic position but more likely refers to the Sto59

Origen, Cels. 4.98; see Grant’s discussion, Early Christians and Animals, 39–41. Here, I’ve followed Thomas B. Falls’ translation; I find it very difficult to picture what Justin has in mind, though in the same passage, he interprets Moses’ bronze serpent set on a pole in a similar way (cf. John 3:14). 60

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ics, as these philosophers are also identified as determinists who “claim that things will always be as they are now, and that you and I shall live in the next life just as we are now, neither better nor worse” (Dial. 1.4). Justin enters into the debate proper when reporting his conversation with the “respectable old man.” In fact, the question of the nature of animals vis-à-vis humanity plays a prominent role in this conversation, which Justin presents as the starting point of his conversion to Christianity. In chapter four, the old man asks Justin, “Do all the souls ... of all the animals have the capacity [to perceive God]? Or is there one soul of a human and another of a horse or an ass” (Dial. 4.2)? The discussion that follows, parsing out the differences between human being and animal, results only in the agreement that souls can perceive God, and justice and piety are admirable. Along the way, however, all the major points in the debate over animal rationality are hit upon. Animals’ ability (or inability) to see God, their lack of intellect (nou/j), their capacity for injustice, the inferiority (or superiority) of their bodies, the faculty of speech, and the possibility of a human’s reincarnation as animal – all these topics are discussed in rapid succession. 61 The old man’s conclusion is telling: “Those philosophers, then, know nothing about these things, for they can’t even say what the soul is” (Dial. 5.1). In this important passage, the confusion surrounding the nature of human and animal has provided a swift method of undermining the conclusions of contemporary thinkers, clearing the route for Justin’s conversion. It serves virtually as a topos for quickly demonstrating the futility and inadequacy of philosophy. 62 The impression that Justin is familiar with the animal rationality debate finds support in a passing comment made in chapter three. As an illustration of the difference between first- and second-hand knowledge, Justin’s old man says: Now, if someone were to say to you that there exists in India an animal different from all others, of such and such type, of varied shape and colors, you would not know it unless you had seen it, nor would you be able to say anything about it, unless you had heard of it from someone who had seen it. (Dial. 3.6)

This reference to reports of Indian animals with strange characteristics is strongly reminiscent of the natural historical reports associated with and introduced as evidence in the animal rationality debate. Because Justin does not enter into the debate directly, it is somewhat difficult to place his position with reference to his contemporaries. He gives no 61

Justin Martyr, Dial. 4.3–6. Given Lucian of Samosata’s ridicule of the debate over animal rationality in Asin., it seems likely that this fundamental disagreement among the major philosophical groups of late antiquity provided an easy target for those who would point out the inconsistencies and failures of all brands of philosophy with respect to fundamental human questions. See discussion below. 62

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indication that he prefers the Stoic position, as Philo, for example, clearly does. To the contrary, in chapters four and five of the Dialogue he rejects the very terms of the debate. His primary concern is to expose the failings of philosophy; its inability even to differentiate conclusively human beings from animals is a convenient case in point. Justin’s own position concerning the natures of human and animal, I think, becomes clearer in yet another allegorical interpretation of physical characteristics. In the 1 Apol., Justin identifies man’s upright stature itself as both what separates man from animal and as a type of the crucified Jesus: “And the human form differs from that of the irrational animals in nothing other than its being erect and having the hands stretched out ... and this shows nothing other than the form of the cross” (1 Apol. 55). Here Justin reframes the philosophical debate to suit his own kerygmatic purpose, indicating that the primary difference between human being and animal is not in intellect, speech or capacity for acting with justice, but the upright posture that mimics the salvific act of Christ himself. Tatian, who was Justin’s student in Rome before returning east after Justin’s death, is notoriously hostile towards Graeco-Roman philosophy in his Oratio ad Graecos. Nevertheless, he certainly received the philosophical training that was part and parcel of the educational system, as is clear in his brief critique of Greek philosophy in chapters two and three. He refers directly to the animal rationality debate in chapter fifteen: For man is not, as the squawkers teach, a rational animal, with the capacity of intellect and understanding; for according to them even the irrational animals are proven to have the capacity of intellect and understanding. Rather, man alone is the “image and likeness of God,” and by man I mean not the one acting like animals, but the one having advanced beyond humanity towards God himself. (Orat. 15.1–2)

It is difficult to determine to which philosophical group in particular (if any, in particular) Tatian refers with the term “squawkers,” but it is a cute choice of words. With this hapax legomenon (korako,fwnoi, literally meaning “raven-voiced”) he tars them with their own feathers, so to speak, pointedly referring to one of the most common topics of the animal rationality debate: whether the squawking of birds is a language humans don’t understand or simply nonsense. In any case, Tatian shares Justin’s concern for the differentiation of human being and animal, similarly emphasizing the inability of simply the presence or absence of “intellect” (nou/j) and “understanding” (evpisth,mh) to do so. Tantalizingly, he mentions a previous work: “Concerning this topic, I have already written a more detailed account in ‘On animals’ (Peri. zw,|wn)” (Orat. 15.2). Unfortunately, this text is not extant, though I can only imagine it provided a much more detailed and direct interaction with the

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animal rationality debate. 63 It is clear, at least, that Tatian was familiar with several of the animal anecdotes typically introduced as evidence for animal rationality, such as animals’ knowledge of medicinal plants. In a critique of the Greeks’ use of “pharmacy,” including both drugs and spells, he asks: “Why do you not go to the lord of greater power, but rather heal yourself, just like the dog with grass, the deer with a snake, the pig with river-crabs and the lion with monkeys” (Orat. 18.2)? 64 He is also happy to drop learned tidbits about animals into similes: “Stop parading foreign words around and, like the jackdaw, decking yourself out with feathers that are not your own” (Orat. 26.1). Like Justin, Tatian finds the defining characteristic of the human being in the form of his creation, here in “the image and likeness of God.” Tatian makes the notable step, however, of restricting his definition of the human to include only those who have “advanced towards God,” presumably Christians such as himself. He goes on to explain what is meant by “divine image and likeness”: That which is incomparable is nothing other than Being itself, and that which is comparable is nothing other than what is similar. Now, the perfect God is fleshless, but man is flesh. The soul is a bond of flesh, but the flesh is retentive of the soul (desmo.j de. th/j sarko.j yuch,( scetikh. de. th/j yuch/j h` sa,rx); if such a form of constitution is as a temple, God wishes to dwell in it through the spirit as his representative; but if the dwelling (skh,nwma) is not such as this, then man is better than the beasts in articulate speech alone; as for the rest of his way of life, it is the same as theirs, since he is not a likeness of God. (Orat. 15.2-3)

Here it is the human being’s connection with God (a connection involving flesh and soul) 65 which differentiates man and animals; the criterion that is so important in the philosophical debate, articulate speech, is for Tatian ultimately insignificant. In Theophilus of Antioch we find the first thorough-going interpretation of the Genesis creation account, an early example of the hexaemeral literature (i.e., treatises and homilies on the six days of creation) that begins with Philo’s De opificio mundi and extends through Milton’s Paradise Lost. 66 Theophilus’ reading of the text is in some respects literal; as to the truth of the Genesis account of Adam and Eve’s activities in paradise, he writes: “And 63 Robert Grant concludes from the brief mention in Orat. that the work was “intended to show that true ‘man’ could be differentiated from animals not by his mind and reason but by his not acting like an animal” (Early Christians, 74). 64 Cf. Plutarch, Soll. an. 974a ff.; Philo, Anim. 38–41; Sextus, Pyr. 1.70–71; Aelian, Nat. an. 5.39, 15.17. 65 Tatian, Orat. 15.1. 66 For a study of the genre, see Frank Egelston Robbins’ dissertation, The Hexaemeral Literature: A Study of the Greek and Latin Commentaries on Genesis (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1912).

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that these things are true, the fact itself shows. How can one fail to notice the pain of childbirth that women suffer” (Autol. 2.23)? Elsewhere his interpretation is more allegorical, understanding, for example, the quadrupeds and wild animals of the sixth day of creation as “a type (tu,poj) of human beings that are ignorant of God, impious, attending only to earthly things, and unrepentant” (Autol. 2.17). Also emphasized by Theophilus is the original goodness of all animals: it was the sin of the human that made various animals poisonous or otherwise dangerous; when the human being again returns to his natural state, no longer doing evil, these animals will return to the “tameness they had from the beginning” (th.n avrch/qen h`mero,thta) (Autol. 2.17). As to the animal rationality debate, Theophilus, who displays a fairly broad knowledge of Greek literature and philosophy, 67 only brushes against it when he includes the instincts of animals for generating and raising offspring (“not for their own use, but for men to have”) in a list of the wonders of creation (Autol. 1.6). Athenagoras touches upon the animal debate primarily in his De resurrectione. In the first half of the treatise, the topic of animals enters the discussion as he takes up some of the more practical concerns that might be raised by those who doubt the reality of the resurrection. What happens if a shipwrecked Christian’s body is eaten by fish? What if – and here’s the real problem – that fish is then eaten by another Christian? Much of Athenagoras’ argumentation is grotesque. He writes that the nature of the human being is such that one is unable to assimilate the flesh of another human, and so whatever particles of human flesh might accidentally be consumed would exit the body and thus be available for re-assimilation by their original owner at the resurrection. 68 In the midst of such scatological arguments, however, it is clear that Athenagoras has constructed a rather ingenious criterion for distinguishing human and animal: in its inability to assimilate the flesh of another human, the human species seems to be physically engineered for resurrection. Moreover, he manages to introduce one of the most important aspects of the Stoic position in the animal rationality debate, that is, the possibility – or rather, for both Athenagoras and the Stoics, the impossibility – of doing injustice to animals: The noetic natures (ai` nohtai. fu,seij) 69 would not be wronged through the resurrection of human beings; for the resurrection of human beings is no impediment to their existence – no 67 Robert Grant suggests that Theophilus had read the Iliad, Odyssey, Theogony, and at least some of the dialogues of Plato; his further knowledge of Greek sources likely came from “the handbooks highly popular in the second century”; see Robert Grant, Theophilus of Antioch: Ad Autolycum (Oxford: Clarendon, 1970), xi–xii. 68 See William Schoedel’s helpful outline of the treatise: Legatio and De Resurrectione (Oxford: Clarendon, 1972), xxxiii–iv. 69 This category could refer to angels or other divine beings.

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injury, no outrage. Nor indeed [would] the nature of irrational animals nor the soulless (tw/n avlo,gwn h` fu,sij ouvde. tw/n avyu,cwn) [be wronged], for they will not exist after the resurrection, and there can be no injustice in the case of what does not exist. (Res. 10.2)

Animals are met again in the second half of the treatise, where Athenagoras treats, among other topics, the purpose of the human being’s creation. In a series of statements that recall Cicero’s summary of Chrysippus’ view (“that all other things were born for the sake of men and gods, but they [i.e. men and gods] exist for their own fellowship and society”) (Fin. 3.67), he writes: [God] did not make man for the sake of any of the other works made by him, for none of the creatures that use reason (lo,goj) and judgment (kri,sij), neither greater nor inferior, has been created or is created for the need of another, but for the life and preservation of the beings themselves. (Res. 12.3)

further: irrational creatures [are] by nature ruled over and fulfill the needs of man, each one in whatever way is natural, and it is not natural for them to make use of men. It was not and is not right that the ruling and governing being should exist for the needs of what is inferior, nor should the rational being serve the irrational that are unfit to rule. (Res. 12.4)

and finally: [God] created man ... for the sake of the life of the created themselves, a life not to be kindled for a short time then altogether extinguished. To the crawling things, I suppose, and the flying and swimming things, or indeed, to put it more generally, to all irrational creatures did He apportion such a short life; but to those who bear in themselves the image of the creator, and carry with them a mind, and have a share in rational judgment, He has allotted eternal preservation. (Res. 12.5–6)

The apparently low opinion of animals expressed here by Athenagoras can, however, get a little dangerous. A contempt for even “crawling things” might indicate a broader contempt for all creation and the creator, himself. 70 Tertullian ascribes just such a view to Marcion in his Adversus Marcionem: Since you put to scorn those tiny animals which the great Artificer has designedly made great in competence and ability, so teaching us that greatness approves itself in littleness, even as, the apostle says, strength does in weakness: imitate, if you can, the bee’s house-building, the ant’s stablings, the spider’s network, the silkworm’s spinning: tolerate, if you can, even those creatures in your bed and on your bed-cover, the poison of the cantharis, the midge’s sting, the mosquito’s trumpet and spear. How great must the greater things be, when by things so little you are so gratified or distressed that not even in those little things can you despise their Creator. (14.1–2, Evans) 70 Indeed, Grant writes: “it was easy for theologians to ascribe insects’ activities to an inferior Creator-god, for several of them took part in the biblical plagues brought on the Egyptians,” Early Christians, 32.

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Two aspects of this passage are notable. First, Tertullian draws on several of the most common stock examples of animal intelligence, skill, and industry (that is, the bee, ant and spider), and thus indicates a familiarity with the basic terms of the animal rationality debate. 71 Second, Tertullian here directly confronts the “biblical demiurgic tradition,” in the person of Marcion, with respect to the interpretation of animals. For authors such as Tatian and Athenagoras, the accent in discussing animals is on the differentiation of true humans from inferior animals; in defending creation as the good product of the highest God, Tertullian must instead stress the good qualities of animals. But, much like the Stoics emphasizing the good qualities of animals as signs of the workings of Nature, Tertullian must be careful (here using an argument from the lesser to the greater) to emphasize these qualities as evidence of the goodness of the creator, not the creature itself. If allowing or denying reason to animals was, at least from the Stoic perspective, something of a line in the philosophical sand, the identification or differentiation of the Christian God and the creator God of the Hebrew Bible was an unbridgeable chasm between protoorthodox Christians and those generally now referred to as Gnostics. Whereas proto-orthodox Christians regarded the God of Jesus and the God of the Hebrew Bible as one and the same, Valentinus, Marcion, and others regarded the God of the Hebrew Bible as the demiurge, creator of the severely flawed (if not simply wicked) material world. 72 As regards the status of animals, then, early Christians like Tertullian often walk a tightrope, on the one hand denying reason to animals, but on the other being careful to preserve the basic goodness of the created world, of which animals are prime representatives. With Clement of Alexandria, we return to an allegorical exegesis of animals in the biblical texts, including the interpretation of dietary laws. 73 Due to his well-known saturation with Greek philosophy, however, it is hardly surprising that over the course of his voluminous extant writings, Clement interacts with most of the major topics of the philosophical debate over animal rationality, though he never treats the issue in a direct or sustained way. 74 Not only is he familiar with the debate, his quotations are our (sometimes only) source for the relevant opinions of the Pre-Socratic Democritus and the Aca-

71 Cf. Sherwood Owen Dickerman, “Some Stock Illustrations of Animal Intelligence in Greek Psychology,” TAPA 42 (1911): 123–30. 72 On the “diversity among demiurges” in the various strands of early Christian “gnostic” groups, see Williams, 98–101. 73 Clement, Strom. 7.18, 2.20, etc. 74 Clement discusses, for example, the definition of “man” (Strom. 8.6) and the proper use of animals (including eating them) (Strom. 8.6); in Strom. 2.20, Clement introduces the wellknown, if quite mistaken, etymology of pig (u-j) from “sacrifice” (qu,j), suggesting that the pig is “only good for slaughter.”

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demics Xenocrates and Polemon. 75 Like the Stoics and Athenagoras, Clement is very clear in defining the human being as rational 76 and, in fact, provides a lengthy discussion of the differentiation and definition of plants and animals, which draws heavily from Aristotle and Stoic sources. 77 By closely linking virtue with rationality and sin with irrationality, however, he ultimately restricts the term “human being” in its truest sense to the virtuous Christian, and thus Clement arrives – by a slightly different route – at the same place as Tatian. In Paedagogus he offers the following interpretation of Ps 49:12 and Sirach 33:6: Now, since the first man sinned and disobeyed God, it says, “he is like the beasts”; the human being, transgressing reason and rightly considered irrational, is likened to the beasts. For which reason also Wisdom says, “A horse for covering – the pleasure lover and adulterer is like the irrational beast”; therefore it also adds, “When anyone sits upon him he neighs.” The human being, it’s saying, no longer speaks; for the one who transgresses against reason is no longer rational, but an irrational animal; the one upon whom all pleasures sit is given over to desires. (Paed. 1.13)

Here, allegorical interpretation of animals in Psalms and Sirach leads to a literal understanding of sinful human beings as animals. A human being can regain his “human” status by rational thought and action (as some of the philosophers) or, better, through the lo,goj – that is Jesus – who “tames” the animals that humanity has become: A horse is led by a bit, and a bull is led by a yoke, and a wild beast is caught by a trap. But man is transformed by the Word, by whom wild beasts are tamed, and fishes are baited, and birds pulled down. He is the one, truly, who devises the bit for the horse, the yoke for the bull, the trap for the wild beast, the rod for the fish, the snare for the bird. He both governs the state and tills the earth; he rules and serves, and creates the universe. (Paed. 3.12)

Here, where the Word’s activity as author of creation is described, it is impossible – or rather, missing the point – to separate allegory and the literal.

75 In Strom. 5.13 he reports: “In general, at any rate, Xenocrates the Chalcedonian does not give up hope of cogitation concerning the divine even among the irrational animals, and Democritus (though he wouldn’t want to) agrees according to the consequences of his dogmas; for he has made the same images fall from the divine essence upon both humans and animals.” In 7.6 he reports: “It seems that Xenocrates, himself treating of the Food from Animals, and Polemon, in writing On Life according to Nature, clearly say that nourishment from flesh is not beneficial, since it has already been worked over and assimilated to the souls of the irrational creatures.” 76 Clement, Strom. 8.6. 77 Ibid., 8.4ff. Grant writes: “Like Aelian, he used a good source (an epitome of Aristotle’s History of Animals by Aristophanes of Byzantium), but added a good deal of erudite nonsense,” Early Christians, 46.

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The interpretation of animals at Alexandria is perhaps at its zenith in the Physiologus, a (partly) second century 78 “natural history” text, nicely described by Robert Grant as “[using] the traits of many animals in order to draw moral or theological lessons from their behavior or illustrate biblical texts.” 79 It is laid out like a reference work, with forty-eight (or fifty-three, in the Byzantine redaction) entries on various animals (as well as two plants and several stones). A typical entry has five elements: it often begins (1) with a quotation from the Old Testament, in which either the animal or a behavior attributed to it is mentioned; there follows (2) a description of the animal’s “nature” (fu,sij), which generally corresponds to information known from other natural history sources and begins with the phrase, “the Physiologus said concerning [this animal]”; this information is then given (3) a moral or theological interpretation, which is illustrated by or associated with (4) a quotation from the New Testament, before closing with the sentence (5), “the Physiologus spoke well about [this animal].” The entry on the crow is a nice example: Jeremiah spoke well to Jerusalem: “You sat deserted like a female crow” (3:2). The Physiologus said about the female crow that she is monogamous, and whenever her husband dies, she no longer joins with another man, nor the male crow with another woman. The synagogue of the Jews, the earthly Jerusalem that killed the Lord – no longer is Christ her husband: “For I betrothed you to one husband, to present a pure virgin to the Lord” (2 Cor 11:2), but they committed adultery with wood and stone. If, then, also we hold our husband in our heart, the adulterous devil does not come in; but if the male word should leave our soul, the adversary crawls in: “For the guardian of Israel will never slumber, never sleep” (Ps 121:4) [and the robbers no longer enter into your spiritual (noera,) heart]. The Physiologus spoke well about the female crow. (Physiologus 27)

Patricia Cox Miller, in a much needed reply to the rather low opinion of the Physiologus held by earlier scholars, 80 emphasizes the juxtaposition of images in these entries, especially the positioning of the animal’s character and its allegorical interpretation between the quotations of Old Testament and New Testament:

78 The dating of this text is difficult, in part because it is an anthology and has been reworked over time. The early dating (second century) has been challenged by Peterson, who locates quotations of Gregory Nazianzen in the text that would push the date forward to at least the very end of the fourth century. It has been argued effectively, however, by Ursula Treu that such quotations (if indeed they are such) are to be seen as later additions to the text. For a discussion of the date, see Ursula Treu, “Zur Datierung des Physiologus,” ZNW 57 (1966) 101–04. 79 Robert Grant, Early Christians and Animals, 52. 80 Max Wellman writes, for example, “It is surprising that the Physiologus played such a remarkable role in world literature, given its trivial contents which clearly reflected the decline of the intellect,” quoted by Cox Miller in Poetry of Thought, 61–2.

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What is significant, from our perspective, is that the animal is the “between,” the imaginative ground that gives rise not only to connections between two scriptural traditions but also to metaphoric understandings of the divine and human worlds that are related precisely through the realm of the beasts. 81

This structure, however, sandwiching natural historical information between scriptural quotations, is not really a fixed feature of these entries: many omit the initial scriptural quotation, beginning directly with a natural historical observation and concluding with either a quotation from the New Testament or simply with the moral or theological interpretation.82 Most significant from my perspective is the centrality of nature here. When animals appear in scripture, evidence from the natural world provides the interpretive key. What’s more, a scriptural reference is not necessary: nature can be interpreted directly. As Cox writes, for this author (and, as we have seen, others) “nature was a symbolic language, a theological text.” 83 Our final Alexandrian, Origen, continues in the allegorical interpretation of the creation narrative, even mocking those who read it literally: Who is stupid enough to think that like a farmer God planted a garden in Eden to the east and in the garden made a tree of life, visible and perceptible to the senses, of such a kind that he who ate its fruit with his physical teeth would receive life? (Princ. 4.3.1, Grant)

But Origen, too, interprets nature directly. In a passage that calls to mind the interpretation of the phoenix in 1 Clem., Origen offers the example of animals that reproduce without intercourse in his discussion of the virgin birth: To Greeks, however, who disbelieve in the virgin birth of Jesus I have to say that the Creator showed in the birth of various animals that what he did in the case of one animal he could do, if he wished, also with others and even with human beings. Among the animals there are certain females that have no intercourse with the male, as writers on animals say of vultures. This animal preserves the continuation of the species without any copulation. (Cels. 1.37, Chadwick)

Much like the passage in 1 Clem., this evidence from the animal kingdom argues for the plausibility of the virgin birth while also suggesting that it was for this very purpose that God created these animals in the first place. In the Cels., however, allegorical interpretation generally takes a back seat to philosophical dispute. Here we find the most direct and sustained engagement of a Christian author with the animal rationality debate. As noted above, part of Celsus’ attack on Christians involved their anthropocentric notion that 81

Cox Miller, Poetry of Thought, 62–3. See, e.g., Phys. nos. 2 (the solar lizard), 14 (hedgehogs), 15 (the fox), 23 (the beaver), 25 (the otter), 26 (the ichneumon), 29 (the frog), 31 (the salamander), 33 (the swallow), 36 (the antelope), 39 (the sawfish), 43 (the elephant), and 45 (the wild ass and the monkey). 83 Cox Miller, Poetry of Thought, 65. 82

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God created animals for humankind’s use. In book four of Cels., Origen reports that Celsus “brings as charge against us that we claim that God made all things for man” (4.74), to which Origen himself provides a lengthy response. He further describes Celsus’ attack, writing that “from the history of animals and from the sagacity (avgci,noia) which is exemplified in them, he wants to show that he created everything no more for men than for irrational animals” (4.74). This description, particularly the reference to evidence from the “history of animals” and their “sagacity,” already suggests that Celsus has constructed an argument similar to the anti-Stoic arguments found in Plutarch and the position represented by Alexander in Philo’s Anim. Origen certainly recognizes it as such: For just as ... hatred blinds men from seeing that they are accusing even their dearest friends by the allegations which they suppose they are making against their enemies, in the same way also Celsus, confounded in his own reasoning, did not see that he accuses also the philosophers of the Stoa, inasmuch as they quite rightly place man and the rational nature in general before all irrational beings, saying that [God] has made everything primarily for the sake of this rational nature. (Cels. 4.74)

In fact, there is such substantial overlap between Celsus’ argument and those of Philo, Sextus Empiricus and Plutarch, that common sources seem likely. 84 Celsus hits upon many of the most common stock examples of animal behavior batted back and forth in the debate: their knowledge of medicinal plants, their foresight and making of preparations, their cooperative work efforts, their care and sense of duty towards one another, and their knowledge and reverence of the divine. Most interesting is a section Origen characterizes as an encomium of ants, apparently an extended discussion of their behaviors culminating in a favorable comparison with humankind. 85 Origen, explicitly aligning himself with the Stoic view, answers Celsus’ points one by one, in most instances simply reproducing the stock response of that school. As Henry Chadwick observed, Origen’s responses to Celsus are often “not more than a utilization of the standard, traditional arguments worked out in the controversies between Academy and Stoa before the eclecticism of Antiochus of Ascalon”; and further, “if his opponent takes one side, he will take the other.” 86 To Celsus’ description of the apparent rationality at work in ant and bee behavior, Origen gives the Stoic response: “Here too he has not seen how things accomplished through reason and thought differ from those which are the product of irrational nature and a bare constitution (kataskeuh/j yilh/j)” (Cels. 4.81). When Celsus offers an animal’s knowledge 84

See Henry Chadwick, “Origen, Celsus and the Stoa,” JTS 48 (1947), 36–7; cf. Horacio E. Lona, Die “Wahre Lehre” des Kelsos (Freiburg: Herder, 2005), 269–71. 85 Origen, Cels. 4.83ff. 86 Chadwick, 39.

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of medicinal plants as evidence of rationality, Origen responds much as Seneca did (quoted above) in explaining the apparent skill involved in creating spider webs: Granted that other antidotes are known by animals – why would this mean that it is not nature but reason in the animals which discovers these things? If it were reason that was doing the discovering, one single antidote would not be found exclusively among snakes, or even, let’s say, a second or a third, and another single one among eagles, and so on with the other animals; there would be as many as exist among humans. Now it is clear from the fact that aids are inclined exclusively to the nature of each animal that it is not wisdom or reason but a certain natural predisposition – made by the Logos – towards such things as exist for the salvation of the animals. (Cels. 4.87)

Here Origen, like Seneca, appeals to the uniformity of the so-called “reason” across a given species as evidence that the rational agent is Nature rather than the individual creature. Of particular interest for the present study is Origen’s especially strong reaction to Celsus’ suggestions that certain animals are “faithful to the Deity” because they “have knowledge of him” and that certain wise men are able to communicate with animals, birds in particular (Cels. 4.88). Celsus points to elephants as keepers of oaths who are also faithful to the Deity; Origen claims not to know where Celsus gets this information, himself only having heard of elephants as generally docile creatures. In fact, elephants and their oaths were known to Pliny 87 and Dio Cassius, 88 and their worship of the sun and moon is reported by Aelian. 89 Origen’s response is emphatic: “It is a lie that many of the animals lay claim to divine notions; for none of the irrational animals has any notion of God” (Cels. 4.96). Somewhat surprisingly, Origen grants the practice of divination through animals a certain effectiveness, though he attributes the effect to the involvement of demons with animals: Wanting to lead the race of human beings away from the true God, [the demons] put on like costumes (u`podu,nontai) the most rapacious and wild and treacherous of animals (tw/n zw|,wn ta. a`rpaktikw,tera kai. avgriw,tera kai. a;lla panourgo,tera) and spur them to do what they want, when they want; or, they turn the imaginations of such animals to flight and such movements, so that human beings, ensnared through the divination of such animals, do not seek God, who encompasses everything, or devote themselves to pure piety, but fall to the study of the earth and birds and snakes, and even foxes and wolves. (Cels. 4.92)

In a particularly interesting move, Origen associates this use of animals by demons with the dietary restrictions in Leviticus: because Moses “understood the various natures of animals” (fu,seij katanoh,saj zw|,wn diafo,rouj) and “their qualities and those of demons akin to each animal” (tw/n e`ka,stw| zw|,w| 87

Pliny, Nat. 8.1. Dio Cassius, Hist. rom. 39.38. 89 Aelian, Nat. an 7.44, 4.10. 88

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suggenw/n daimo,nwn), he “declared unclean the animals regarded by the Egyptians and the rest of humankind to be mantic” (Cels. 4.93). This understanding stands in contrast to the straightforwardly allegorical intepretation of Barn., where the characteristics of unclean animals represent human behaviors to be avoided. Origen reads Leviticus figuratively, inasmuch as the declaration of certain animals as unclean represents their association with demons. The association itself, however, is not at all figurative; it is, rather, the result of (or perhaps reflection of) very real, shared characteristics. As Jean Daniélou nicely puts it, “Origen thus succeeds in fashioning his doctrine of animals and demons at one and the same time from the facts of natural history and from symbolic analogies.” 90 As to the communication of humans and animals, Origen quotes Celsus as writing as follows: The intelligent among men say that [the birds] have communions, clearly more sacred than ours, and that they themselves somehow know what is being said and show that they do in fact know, when, having said ahead of time that the birds declared they would go off some place and would do such and such, they show that [the birds] have gone and done what they predicted. (Cels. 4.97)

It seems very likely that Celsus here refers to reports about Apollonius of Tyana, who, in Philostratus’ narrative, learned the language of birds in Arabia. 91 Origen replies simply: “No intelligent (suneto,j) man has related any such things” (Cels. 4.97). While it is unclear whether Origen has heard the reports concerning Apollonius or not, it is hard to imagine that he is completely unfamiliar with similar stories told about Pythagoras. 92 Interesting for us, however, is the fact that stories of pious animals and inter-species communication were, at the very time Origen was writing, being told about the apostles in the apocryphal acts. This discussion of patristic opinions on animals could easily be extended to include Christian authors of the 5th, 6th and 7th centuries, in both east and west. 93 The preceding overview has touched upon only the currents most relevant to the study that follows. We have seen both the allegorical interpretation of scripture based on the literal, so to speak, behavior and characteristics of animals in nature, as well as the allegorical interpretation of nature directly. We have also, however, seen these two variations combined in, for

90 Jean Daniélou, Gospel Message and Hellenistic Culture (vol. 2 of A History of Early Christian Doctrine before the Council of Nicaea; trans. John Austin Baker; Philadelphia: Westminster, 1973), 437. 91 Philostratus, Vit. Apoll. 1.20; 4.3. 92 Cf. Iamblichus, De vita Pythagorica 13 and 27. 93 For this, see Grant, Early Christians, 76–162, and Robbins, Hexaemeral Literature, passim.

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example, Justin’s allegorical interpretation of Deuteronomy based on an already allegorical interpretation of the physical characteristics of the unicorn. Finally, we have seen the interpretation of the characteristics of animals as evidence – virtually written into creation by God – of the reality of the multiple elements of Christian doctrine. In all these overlapping streams of discourse on animals, contact with natural historical sources is evident. Meanwhile, other patristic authors come into direct contact with the philosophical debate over animal rationality, on the one hand generally arguing for a sharp distinction between human being and animal, while, on the other, maintaining (against Marcion and other representatives of the biblical demiurgic traditions) that the natural world with its many creatures is the good product of a good creator. As will be seen in the next section, biblical demiurgic traditions did in fact produce numerous works in which the goodness of the creator and his creatures was denied. In these texts, the negative attitude toward the natural, physical world correlates with a negative attitude toward the human body, commonly reflected in a strict asceticism. These works, then, alongside more orthodox narratives (such as Athanasius’ Vita Antonii), provide particularly interesting comparative material for our study of the apocryphal acts inasmuch as, in the apocryphal acts, a very similar asceticism is accompanied by a quite opposite depiction of the animal world.

D. Animals and Christian Asceticism Although the Acts Andr., Acts John, Acts Pet., Acts Paul, and Acts Thom. were collected into a single corpus by the Manicheans as early as the third century C.E., 94 modern scholars have long been aware of their diversity in style, content and theological outlook, calling for individual analysis and interpretation. Common to all five, however, is a rigorous asceticism, specifically an emphasis on “purity” (a`gnei,a), involving dietary restrictions and, most prominently, the abstention from all sex (and hence procreation) – even within marriage. 95 It is, in fact, the break-up or prevention of marriages that most often causes the apostles to run afoul of the local authorities and, in the case of all but John, leads to their deaths. The call to purity is often expressed 94 See Knut Schäferdiek, “The Manichean Collection of apocryphal Acts ascribed to Leucius Charinus,” in NTApoc.5 2.87–100. 95 See, for example, Mart. Pet. 33-34; Acts Thec. 7; Acts Thom. 12; Acts Andr. 39; Acts John 63. Note that in the Acts John the term “purity” (a`gnei,a) occurs only once (29), but “piety” (qeose,beia) and its cognate adjective occur seven times, often in contexts where “purity” is used by other authors: “[Drusiana] has long since separated even from her husband on account of piety (dia. qeose,beian)” (63).

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in the harshest of terms. In the Acts Thom., the risen Jesus, doppelganger of Thomas, advises a bride and groom in their wedding chamber: “Know this, that if you get rid of this filthy intercourse you become temples, holy and pure, freed from the scourges and pains … and you will not gird yourselves with the cares of life and children, the end of which is destruction” (Acts Thom. 12). It is only natural, so to speak, to connect sex and procreation with the animal world: along with eating and drinking, this is something that human beings and animals clearly share. These shared behaviors, however, take a particularly menacing turn when they are linked to mortality, as was done, for example, in the early Christian encratic circles to which texts like Acts Thom. belong. Tatian is particularly clear on the subject. Peter Brown summarizes his position as follows: For Tatian and his followers, Adam and Eve stood for humanity as it had first been created by God. They had been ‘holy’ beings in the strict sense: they were beings who belonged exclusively to the one category, that of the non-animal, as possessors of the Spirit of God and destined to live forever. The basic anomaly of human existence, by which human beings, though once endowed with the spirit, now die like the non-human beasts, had begun when Adam and Eve abandoned their marriage to the Spirit of God and found themselves forced, by mortality, to enter into relations with each other in a manner not originally intended for them by God. 96

Other strict ascetics went a step further, attributing the Fall itself directly to the sexual act: “They asserted that Eve had met the serpent, who represented the animal world, and that the serpent had taught Eve to do what animals do – to have intercourse. Joined to the animal kingdom…[they] found themselves on a slippery slope that led, through sexuality, to the animal kingdom, and, hence, to the grave.” 97 Sex and procreation were literally understood as animal acts. To reject these acts was, at least for some early Christians, to break with the natural, animal world, which human beings were never intended to be a part of in the first place. Even for those who approved of human reproduction and regarded sex for that purpose a licit behavior (if one in need of regulation), sex without the goal of procreation was strongly associated with animals. Clement of Alexandria, for example, was particularly disgusted by the hare and the hyena for their non-reproductive sexual activity, interpreting the Deuteronomic designation of these animals as unclean as a rejection of this behavior. 98 In addition to this literal association, there is a long tradition in Greek literature of casting the human being’s baser desires and passions metaphori96

Peter Brown, Body and Society, 93; cf. Tatian, Orat. 12ff. Brown, Body and Society, 93–4; cf. Clement of Alexandria’s quotation of his opponents in Strom. 3.102.3: “They say that the human being became like a beast when he arrived at the practice of intercourse.” 98 Clement, Paed. 2.10.83.3–5. 97

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cally as animals. Most influential is undoubtedly Plato’s description (in the Republic, 588b–589b) of the human soul as a trichotomous hybrid, comprising a protean and multi-headed beast, a lion, and a man, all enclosed in a single individual. When a person acts immorally, he strengthens the beast and the lion within, weakening the man and allowing the two animals to bite, fight, and try to eat each other.99 The imagining of the human being’s struggle with the immoral passions as a struggle to tame and control inner beasts was popular throughout antiquity and beyond. 100 The Tabula of Cebes, an ecphrasis-driven, moralistic dialogue of the first century C.E., provides a nice example. Here, the man who has overcome the vices is described as having conquered the “greatest of beasts”: “What sort of beasts (qhri,a) do you mean? I very much want to hear!” “First,” he said, “Ignorance and Deceit – or don’t these seem like beasts to you?” “And wicked ones at that,” I said. “Next are Grief and Lamentation and Avarice and Incontinence, and every other Vice. He masters all these and is not himself mastered, as was the case before.” (Tabula of Cebes, 23.1–2)

This text is a fictional dialogue in which an older man describes and explains a painting representing the paths of vice and virtue (like Achilles’ shield, far too complex to be executed in any but literary form). That such paintings, depicting the human being’s struggle against vice as combat with beasts, actually existed is confirmed by, for example, the intricate fifth century mosaic from Daphne, depicting Megalopsychia (personified “magnanimity”) surrounded by mythic hunters battling wild animals. 101 Given both the natural association of sex and procreation with animals and the figurative description of the human being’s passions and desires in animal terms, one reasonably expects that the literature of asceticism would depict animals negatively – as opponents to be contended with or simply as representatives of the base and wicked. This is largely the case, for example, in 99 The connection of the base with animals extends to the outer human being as well in Plato’s suggestion that gluttons and drunks will be reincarnated as asses, the unjust, tyrranical, and violent as wolves, hawks or kites (Phaed. 81e–82a). On Plato’s use of animal metaphors more broadly, see Jean Frère, “Les Métaphores Animales de la Vaillance dans l’Œuvre de Platon,” in Animal dans l’Antiquité (ed. Barbara Cassin and Jean-Louis Labarrière; Paris: Librairie Philosophique J. Vrin, 1997), 423–34. 100 See, for example, Patricia Cox Miller’s discussion of animals in Origen: “Origen on the Bestial Soul: A Poetics of Nature,” in Poetry of Thought, 35–59; repr. from VC 36 (1982). 101 See discussion in Blake Leyerle, Theatrical Shows and Ascetic Lives: John Chrysostom’s Attack on Spiritual Marriage (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 2001), 1–3.

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Athanasius’ fourth century Vit. Ant. Here, animals are the preferred shapes for demons to assume when attacking the desert monk: As if breaking the four walls of the little room, the demons seemed to come through them, having changed their shape to an apparition of beasts and reptiles. And the place was full of the apparition of lions, bears, leopards, bulls and serpents, asps, and scorpions and wolves. And each of these moved according to its own form: the lion gnashed its teeth, wanting to attack; the bull seemed to gore; the serpent immediately began to writhe; the rushing wolf was barely restrained. (Vit. Ant. 9.5–7) 102

Notably, the animals listed here (with the exception of the bull) are unclean for eating according to Leviticus 11. Behind the particular forms of these demons, then, likely stands the interpretation of unclean animals as symbolizing demons, perhaps specifically Origen’s notion that “there is a certain fellowship between each species of demon and each species of animal” (Cels. 4.93). 103 Real animals – i.e. not demons in disguise – also appear in this text. While not all are explicitly wicked, 104 many are enlisted into the devil’s service: “in the night [the devil] set wild animals upon him. And almost all the hyenas in that desert came out from their dens” (Vit. Ant. 52). Antony, perhaps owing to his ascetic lifestyle, seems to have a certain power over real animals: when he takes up residence in a snake-infested fort, the animals flee “as if pursued”; after praying before a crocodile-filled canal, Antony and his company are allowed to cross unharmed. 105 Another encounter with beasts takes place when desert animals enter his garden, trampling seeds and plants on their way to drink from his spring: Carefully taking hold of one of the beasts he began speaking to them all: “Why do you harm me when I do no harm to you? Leave and, in the name of the Lord, do not come near these parts again!” And from that time on, as if fearing his command, they no longer came near that place. (Vit. Ant. 50)

As Gilhus has indicated, the obedience of these animals is not to be mistaken for friendship or a truce: Even if it is said of Antony that “the wild animals made their peace with him” … although he does not kill them, his relationship with animals does not imply a peaceful cohabitation. He has made his Garden of Eden in the desert … and made animals obey him as they did Adam,

102 Cf. Vit. Ant. 51.5. The mention of snakes and scorpions recalls Luke 10:19 (“See, I have given you authority to tread on snakes and scorpions, and over all the power of the enemy”), which Antony later quotes (24.5). 103 See discussion in Daniélou, 436–7; cf. David Brakke, Demons and the Making of the Monk (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2006), 31. 104 The camel in Vit. Ant. 54, for example, is rather neutral. 105 Vit. Ant. 12 and 15; cf. the “obedient bed bugs” in the Acts John, below, chapter V.

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but he does not want them. The message that comes through is that there was no place for animals in the new paradise that Antony had made in the desert. 106

Antony masters the beasts, but does not keep them as pets; he does not tame these animals, he eradicates them – at least from his own presence. A similar understanding of animals is evident in much of the literature of Nag Hammadi, of which Gilhus writes, “animals…have been made to symbolize the evils of biological life and the depths of human corruption.” 107 In the Teachings of Silvanus, where the spiritual, rational life is contrasted with “animality,” 108 the individual who does not guard himself against the passions of love and “base wickedness” will become like a city “filled with … all kinds of savage wild beasts,” for “thoughts which are not good are evil wild beasts” (85.7–16, Peel and Zandee). In the Authoritative Teaching, “a senseless person exists in bestiality” (24.20–6, MacRae), while in The Interpretation of Knowledge, “the [world] is from [beasts] and it is a [beast] … and no beast exists in [the] Aeon” (11.20–32, Turner). In the Acts of Peter and the Twelve Apostles the man who worries about his physical needs is beset on all sides by threatening animals: “[The one who] is anxious about [meat] and green vegetables, the lions eat because of the meat. [If] he evades the lions, the bulls devour him because of the green vegetables” (5.26–6.8, Parrot and Wilson). In another variation on the theme, Clement of Alexandria reports that Basilideans regarded human passions as attachments or growths on the individual’s soul; these growths take on the natures of various beasts (including the wolf, ape, lion and goat), assimilating the lusts of the soul to animals according to likeness (ta.j evpiqumi,aj th/j yuch/j toi/j zw|,oij evmferw/j evxomoiou/n) (Strom. 2.20.112). In a monograph dedicated entirely to the interpretation of the enigmatic logion seven of the Gospel of Thomas (involving a lion that becomes man), Howard M. Jackson concludes that “the lion as a symbol of sexual desire for Gnostic ascetics is but a special application of a broader tradition that used beasts as metaphors of the pa,qh,” a tradition that “stems from the likeness that Plato has Socrates paint of the human soul in the ninth book of the Republic.” 109 The importance of the Republic 588b–589b for gnostic authors is con106

Gilhus, 222. Ibid. 208. 108 Teach. Silv. 93.9–21: “If you cast out of yourself the substance of mind, which is thought, you have cut off the male part and turned yourself to the female part alone. You have become psychic since you have received the substance of the formed. If you cast out the smallest part of this so that you do not acquire again a human part – but you have accepted for yourself the animal thought and likeness – you have become fleshly since you have taken on animal nature” (Peel and Zandee, NHL, 385). 109 Howard M. Jackson, The Lion Becomes Man. The Gnostic Leontomorphic Creator and the Platonic Tradition (SBLDS 81; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1983), 212. Jackson translates logion 7 as follows: “Jesus said: Blessed is the lion whom the man shall eat and the lion 107

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firmed by the inclusion of a Coptic translation/adaptation of the text in Nag Hammadi Codex VI. Whereas in Plato’s original the lion has the potential to confer benefit insofar as the individual is able to harness its spirited nature, in the Coptic version no such possibility is acknowledged. Jackson concludes that “no ascetic could go so far as to allow himself any alliance with the savagely bestial lion, whether representing Plato’s qumo,j, or lust, or any other passion.” 110 Jackson further connects these notions of animals in general and the lion in particular with depictions of the biblical demiurge. This wicked creator-god was often understood as a theriomorph, as is the case with the lion-headed Ialdabaoth of the Apocryphon of John. 111 According to Jackson, this leontomorphic creator is the product of multiple streams of late antique thought, including (in addition to Plato’s inner lion) astrological, zoological and iconographical associations of the lion with the “lust for ge,nesij,” 112 as well as the interpretation of various Hebrew Bible (particularly prophetic) passages in which Yahweh is described as a lion or passages (particularly from Psalms) in which lions are associated with persecution. Jackson writes: “Gnostic enemies of the creator in the form of the god of the Jews found such metaphors suitably savage and evolved in addition a tradition which allegorized the ‘lions’ and other beasts of many Psalms, where they are already symbols for human or demonic persecutors of the righteous (now the Gnostics), as figurative references to Yahweh and his ministers.” 113 It is notable, even ironic, that this negative conception of animals is associated with a Platonic metaphor, given the positive position vis-à-vis animals that Platonists (e.g. Plutarch) take in the animal rationality debate. The apparbecomes man; but foul is the man whom the lion shall eat and the lion shall become man” (1– 2). 110 Jackson, 209. Jackson continues: “This originally Platonic tradition using the lion and other animals as symbols of passion continued to be a standard feature of ascetic Christian exegesis, both in its more orthodox as well as in its Gnostic streams. The emergence of a gnosticized version of Socrates’ parable in Coptic at Nag Hammadi attests, as it were, the return of the tradition to its source and its reinterpretation in light of all the changes in outlook that six or seven hundred years of water under the bridge had wrought. The document’s redactor was an ascetic of precisely the same mold as, and possibly indeed a member of, the second-century encratites who fashioned logion seven of Gos. Thom. and treasured the whole collection” (213). 111 Cf. On the Origin of the World 119.16–8, where Adam and Eve, after being enlightened, despise their beastly creators: “When they saw that the ones who had modeled them had the form of beasts, they loathed them” (Bethge, Layton, Societas Coptica Hierosolymitana, NHL, 184). See Michael A. Williams, Rethinking Gnosticism (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1996), 122–3. 112 Jackson, 212. 113 Jackson, 43. See, e.g., Job 10:16–7; Hos 5:14, 11:10, 13:7–8; Isa 38:13; Jer 25:30, 37–38; Joel 3:16; Amos 1:2, 3:8; Pss 7:1–2, 10:9, 17:12, 22:13, 16, 21, 35:17; 57:4; 58:6; cf. 1 Pet 5:8.

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ent shift is not so difficult to understand, however, to the extent that it hinges not on the existence of a close relationship between human beings and animals but on the significance and evaluation of that relationship. The authors of texts like the Authoritative Teaching or the Interpretation of Knowledge would agree that human and animal are closely linked, sharing many characteristics. But this position is the flipside of Plutarch’s coin: instead of indicating the intelligence, forethought, caring, and piety of animals, the fundamental likeness of human and animal reflects the depravity of most human beings. Moreover, this is presented as an untenable situation, the result of an error – whether understood as stemming from the fall of man or from creation itself. The identification of human beings with animals is the very situation that the brands of Christianity represented in the Nag Hammadi texts attempt to rectify through, among other things, ascetic lifestyles. How these very negative associations with animals were actually felt by such Christians in the second and third centuries and how, if at all, these ideas carried over from literary representations into an individual’s opinions of and interactions with actual animals are complex, likely unanswerable questions. As has been recently and convincingly argued, a belief in a wicked creator, for example, does not necessarily result in a whole-sale rejection of the creation. 114 In his discussion of the “anticosmism” and “world-rejection” typically attributed to Gnostics, Williams quite rightly asks: “Do we imagine people who were incapable of enjoying springtime flora or a dip in the Mediterranean?” 115 We might also ask whether the ascetics who authored and read the texts quoted above made a practice of kicking puppies. While I tend to doubt that the hostility toward animals found in these texts was played out so literally, the ubiquity of the negative portrayal of animals is surely significant. At the very least, the markedly positive portrayals of animals in the Acts John, Acts Pet., Acts Paul, and Acts Thom. certainly deserve attention and serious consideration.

E. Conclusion We have thus far surveyed animals in natural historical literature, in the philosophical debate over animal rationality and in early Christian sources, including the literature of early Christian asceticism. While not an exhaustive study, this overview highlights the most prominent elements of ancient thinking about animals and those that are most relevant to the analyses of the apocryphal acts that follow. Before beginning these analyses, however, we must 114 115

See Williams, 96–115. Ibid. 96.

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consider the issue of genre. The apocryphal acts, in contrast to the majority of the material described above, are narratives – a significant difference to be sure. In the next chapter, then, we will examine animals as they appear in ancient prose narratives roughly contemporary to the apocryphal acts with an eye towards both compositional technique and the narrative purposes served.

Chapter III

Animals in Ancient Prose Narrative A. Introduction The widespread interest in animals that we have seen in natural historical, philosophical, and patristic texts is evident also in the frequent inclusion of animals in prose literary works. Within the admittedly broad category “ancient prose narrative” I include novels (e.g., Achilles Tatius’ Leucippe et Clitophon), biography (e.g., Philostratus’ Vita Apollonii or Plutarch’s Vitae Parallelae) and historiography (e.g., Dio Cassius’ Historiae Romanae or PseudoCallisthenes’ Historia Alexandri Magni). Early Christian narratives, including gospels, martyrdoms and acts, clearly belong in this group, as has been increasingly recognized over the past decades. 1 The category may seem almost too large to be useful, particularly in its inclusion of both fiction and nonfiction works, but the differentiation of novels, biography and historiography has proved far more difficult than one might imagine. 2 The line, for instance, between historical fiction and sensationalized history is blurred beyond recognition in texts like the Historia Alexandri Magni (tellingly also known as the “Alexander Romance”). 3 Similarly, works like the Vita Aesopi (again, also known as the “Aesop Romance”) have variously been categorized as both 1

On this crucial point the work of the scholars associated with the Society of Biblical Literature’s “Ancient Fiction and Early Christian and Jewish Narrative” group has been fundamental; representative are the papers collected in Ronald F. Hock, J. Bradley Chance, Judith Perkins, eds., Ancient Fiction and Early Christian Narrative (SBLSymS 6; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1998). 2 See, for example, B. E. Perry, The Ancient Romances: A Literary-Historical Account of their Origins (Sather Classical Lectures 37; Berkeley: University of California Press, 1967), esp. 32ff.; J. R. Morgan, “History, Romance, and Realism in the Aithiopika of Heliodorus,” Classical Antiquity 1 (1982): 221–65; idem, “Make-believe and Make Believe: the Fictionality of the Greek Novels,” in Lies and Fiction in the Ancient World (ed. C. Gill and T. P. Wiseman; Exeter: University of Exeter Press, 1993), 175–229; James Tatum, “The Education of Cyrus,” in Greek Fiction: The Greek Novel in Context (ed. J. R. Morgan and Richard Stoneman; London: Routledge, 1994), 15–30; Thomas Hägg, “Callirhoe and Parthenope: The Beginnings of the Historical Novel,” in Oxford Readings in the Greek Novel (ed. Simon Swain; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999), 137–60. 3 See Richard Stoneman, “The Alexander Romance: From history to fiction,” in Greek Fiction, 117–129.

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biography and novel. 4 Whether or not one traces the roots of ancient fiction to historiography, 5 it seems likely that the historiographer’s (paradigmatically Herodotus’) ethnographic and geographic interests are at the root of the often quite vivid descriptions of the characteristics and behavior of animals found in ancient prose narratives of all varieties. Other passages in which animals figure prominently, however, evince a more fictive sensibility in the weaving of animals into plot lines. Thinking along these lines, I identify two basic types of animal-related passages in the prose narratives of the first to third centuries C.E. First are “animal anecdotes,” by which I mean passages where information is reported about animals. This type includes, first and foremost, the passages dubbed (among scholars at Tübingen in the early 20th century) “die naturwissenschaftlich-paradoxographischen Exkurse der neusophistischen Literatur.” 6 In these passages, found particularly in Achilles Tatius’ Leuc. Clit., Heliodorus’ Aeth., and Philostratus’ Vit. Apoll., the authors rely on a variety of difficult-todisentangle sources, introducing natural historical information about plants, animals and geographical locales into their works. These reports, which often comprise detailed descriptions of the characteristics and behavior of certain animals, are sometimes given in the voice of the narrator or author, but are often placed in the mouths of characters, with various narrative effects. The second type of animal-related passage is the “animal episode,” by which I mean a passage where an animal actually plays a role in the primary level of the narrative. To be clear, whereas in an “animal anecdote” the narrator or character might relate information about, for example, the nature of lions, in an “animal episode” the character might meet a lion in the forest. The distinction I am making with these categories is based in form rather than content. In fact, the actual information conveyed might be identical: the lion anecdote might describe the lioness’ fierce protection of her young, whereas the lion episode might introduce into the narrative a particular lioness who finds herself in a situation where her young are threatened and reacts. On the face of it, it might seem that the animal anecdote would tend to be more disconnected from the broader narrative – that it truly is, as some have called it, an excursus, which at best suspends (at worst interrupts) the progress of the story. One might suspect that this disconnect only expands with the in4 See, for example, Richard Pervo, “A Nihilist Fabula: Introducing The Life of Aesop,” in Hock, Chance and Perkins, Ancient Fiction, 77–120. 5 Morgan, for example, sees the ancient novel anticipated in historiographical and biographical works; see Morgan, “History”; cf. Tatum, “Education of Cyrus”; Hägg, “Callirhoe and Parthenope.” 6 See Hans Rommel, Die naturwissenschaftlich-paradoxographischen Exkurse bei Philostratos, Heliodoros und Achilleus Tatios (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1923), iii.

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clusion of more natural historical detail. As we will see, however, this is not at all the case. To the contrary, these passages are often deeply connected to the surrounding narrative precisely through the natural historical information; in the description of animal behavior, the informed reader often finds not just parallels to elements of the larger plot, but even signficant foreshadowing of events and key interpretive aids. When an anecdote seems to interrupt the narrative, then, it may be preferable to think of it more as an “interlude” than an “excursus,” indicating that such passages, much like musical interludes or intermezzi, can touch upon and highlight themes present in the main sections of the work. In the case of the animal episode, which typically lacks explicitly detailed zoological information, one might expect that its meaning is primarily determined by and best understood within its immediate narrative context. However, as we will see below, these episodes are often greatly elucidated when read with the benefit of contemporary natural historical information. In other words, for the fullest understanding of the episode, the ancient reader is expected to have a certain knowledge of the behavior and characteristics of the animals included. The terms “anecdote” and “episode” may, for some modern readers, call to mind the terminology of the Greek rhetorical handbooks. However, it is not my intention to directly correlate, for example, “episode” with dih,ghma and “anecdote” with crei,a, as used in the handbooks of Theon and others.7 The crei,a, in particular, has a rather specific definition: according to Theon, it is “a brief statement or action with a sharp point, attributed to a definite personage or something analogous to a personage (crei,a evsti. su,ntomoj avpo,fasij h' pra/xij metV euvstoci,aj avnaferome,nh ei;j ti w`risme,non pro,swpon h' avnalogou/n prosw,pw|)” (Progymnasmata 96.19). To be sure, animals appear in some of the most famous crei,ai. A favorite, given by Diogenes Laertius, goes: “When Plato defined a human as a two-footed, featherless animal – and was held in high esteem, Diogenes plucked a rooster, brought it into the school and said, ‘This is Plato’s human’” (Vit. phil. 6.40)! But neither the animal episodes nor anecdotes under discussion in this study quite fit this definition. Nevertheless, my choice of terms – and the evocation of the rhetorical handbooks – is a conscious one. The scholarship of the last three decades dedicated to the use and function of crei,ai in ancient prose, including Christian literature, is very helpful in understanding the use and function of our animal passages. 8 Two as7

The most recent critical edition of Theon’s Progymnasmata is that of Michel Patillon (Paris: Belles Lettres, 1997); another critical edition, with English translation and commentary, is given by James R. Butts, “The Progymnasmata of Theon: A New Text with Translation and Commentary” (Ph.D. diss., The Claremont Graduate School, 1987). 8 I am referring to the work of the “Chreia Project” at the Institute for Antiquity and Christianity, Claremont; see Ronald F. Hock and Edward N. O’Neil, eds., The Chreia in An-

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pects of the crei,a are of particular interest. First is its flexibility – its potential to be employed in a virtually infinite number of contexts with a variety of effects. 9 As will be discussed below, this is a prominent feature of animal anecdotes. Second is its potential for elaboration and expansion. Here, the work of Burton Mack is instructive. The elaboration (evrgasi,a) of the crei,a can be external, that is, various elements (including praise of the character, explanation of the logic, analogies, further examples, and exhortation) can be added to the basic saying or action. 10 But, as Mack emphasizes, the crei,a can also be internally expanded, that is, the essential narrative elements (e.g., in the Diogenes crei,a quoted above, the acquisition and plucking of a rooster) can be developed into fuller narratives. Mack writes: Noting its own essential narrativity on the one hand, and its own internal rhetoricity on the other, the possibilities for the expansion and elaboration of a chreia in a larger narrative frame are multiple and complex. An author can create an entire episode by amplification of the scene, the dialogue, and the dramatic aspects of a chreia without losing track of the fundamentally rhetorical point at the core of its simple form. Elaboration of that rhetorical point can occur within the narrativized episode, as well as in discourse that lies outside the narrative scene of the chreia. 11

In this respect, Mack views the crei,a and its elaboration as “forms of composition that bridge between rhetorical speech on the one hand and discursive, narrative literature on the other.” 12 I see a similar literary process at work in the incorporation of animal anecdotes and episodes into prose narratives. In the case of the anecdotes, essentially standalone reports about animals are developed through external elaborations that weave them into the surrounding story, often with great sophistication. Animal episodes are, rather, internally developed; the animal is, to use Mack’s term, “narrativized.” In some instances, as we will see, animal episodes are actually dramatized versions of well known anecdotes about animals circulating in natural historical texts; thus, in some instances, the two categories are merged. Mack’s persuasive notion of the crei,a bridging the gap between rhetorical and narrative discourse suggests to me the possibility that these animal anecdotes and episodes (and natural historical anecdotes cient Rhetoric (2 vols.; SBLTT 27; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1986 and 2002); Burton L. Mack and Vernon K. Robbins, Patterns of Persuasion in the Gospels (Sonoma, CA: Polebridge, 1989); see also George A. Kennedy, Invention and Method: Two Rhetorical Treatises from the Hermogenic Corpus (SBLWGRW 15; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2005). 9 On this point, see Hock and O’Neil, 2:89–93. 10 The elaboration of a crei,a is given its most straightforward treatment in the rhetorical handbook of Hermogenes, 7.10–8.14. See discussion in Mack and Robbins, 51–2. 11 Mack and Robbins, 64. 12 Ibid. 32.

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more broadly) might have a similar function, spanning historical and fictional narratives. The animal anecdote strikes me as a literary unit born of historiography and geography; the animal episode, on the other hand, seems clearly at home in the budding novelistic literature of the first centuries C.E. The fact that both types actually appear across all varieties of late ancient prose narrative underscores the difficulty in parsing out generic differences between history and fiction.

B. Animal Anecdotes Reports about the characteristics and behaviors of local animals have been a part of Greek historiography since its beginnings. Although Herodotus describes his task as recording the “achievements” of peoples and their conflicts, his ethnographic descriptions contain reports about local animal species, most prominently in his descriptions of Egypt and the animals there held sacred. 13 Later Greek historians continue and expand this interest, some dedicating volumes specifically to geographic concerns, including the description of local animals (as Diodorus Siculus does), others peppering their accounts of political events with brief references to and descriptions of animals (as is more typical of Dio Cassius, for example). 14 The inclusion of such descriptions in Greek novels has been taken as the authors’ attempts at mimicking historiography or at creating a more general sense of realism. 15 While animal anecdotes and other natural-historical interludes undoubtedly do offer a certain verisimilitude, this is by no means the extent of their function in novelistic works. As will be seen below, the animal anecdote is often used to characterize an individual, particularly when the report is placed in that character’s own mouth. The inclusion of a learned discourse on the nature of animals is an excellent way to depict the individual who tells it as particularly educated and/or clever. These anecdotes also, as noted above, often have an intepretive 13

Herodotus, Hist. 1.1, 2.66–75. Diodorus Siculus (c. 90–30 B.C.E.) dedicates the first six of the forty books in his Bibliotheca historica to geographical reports on the various lands he treats, notably including his description of sacred animals in Egypt. Unlike Herodotus, Diodorus attempts to explain the origins of the practice, offering multiple possible rationales (1.83–90). Dio Cassius, in contrast, shows relatively little interest in geographical reports, perhaps because his is a history of Rome and not of exotic foreign lands. When animals do appear, it is most often in the arena (see, e.g., his brief description of the rhinoceros in Hist. Rom. 51). 15 Shadi Bartsch gives a particularly interesting interpretation of this “realism” vis-à-vis the patent artificiality of the narrative technique in Achilles Tatius’ Leuc. Clit. and Heliodorus’ Aeth.; see Decoding the Ancient Novel: The Reader and the Role of Description in Heliodorus and Achilles Tatius (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1989), 144–70. 14

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function. They foreshadow events in the main plot or even act as a mise en abyme, offering an interpretive key to the surrounding narrative. And these narrative techniques are not limited to authors of fictional works. These or analogous functions are at play in the most straightforwardly historiographical texts, as well: detailed zoological information may certainly add to the impression that the author is knowledgable about his topic, and descriptions of the animals in a foreign locale can be used to characterize the people inhabiting that land. The fact that both historiographical and fictional narratives share an interest in this material again underscores the complex relationship between these genres, as will become even clearer as we consider particular examples. There are two basic methods by which ancient authors incorporate animal anecdotes into narrative texts: they are either told in the voice of the author/narrator or by one character to another. In the works of Herodotus, Diodorus Siculus, Dio Cassius and other historiographers, the former method is used almost exclusively. 16 But in much of the ancient prose narrative of the first centuries C.E., the two methods occur side by side. Philostratus’ Vit. Apoll., the Hist. Alex., and the novels of Achilles Tatius and Heliodorus provide mulitple examples. A long and very interesting section of book two of the Vit. Apoll. is devoted to an extensive discussion of elephants, touched off when the sage Apollonius and his traveling companion, Damis, come across a young mahout and his elephant near the Indus river. 17 The section begins with a Socratic dialogue, Apollonius posing questions to Damis concerning the relative qualities of the mahout and horseman and concluding that it is the nature of the elephant, not the mahout’s skill, that allows for the easy management of the behemoth: “He rules himself, O Damis, and it is the obedience of his nature that leads, rather than the one who sits upon him and steers” (Vit. Apoll. 2.11). Immediately following this statement is a lengthy description of the characteristics of elephants – the various breeds, their use in war, the differences between African and Indian varieties, and an historical note about Alexander the 16 This is perhaps to be expected inasmuch as these historiographical works do not contain full-fledged “characters” as such, though figures such as Herodotus’ Croesus certainly come close. A possible exception to this tendency is Herodotus’ occasional attribution of information to other sources, often an unnamed “they,” which shifts the blame for any inaccuracies away from the author. 17 The fact that a “real” elephant appears here on the primary level of the narrative might suggest that this is an animal episode, not anecdote. In what follows, however, it is clear that the appearance of this animal serves only to initiate the discussion that follows; moreover, that discussion is not really about this particular elephant, but about the capacities of all elephants. The same goes for the following discussion touched off by the sight of a herd of elephants crossing the river.

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Great. This material is presented in the voice of the author, though the section is given a rather awkward introduction, in which the identity of “they” in “they say” is unclear: “When they came upon the Indus, they say that they saw a herd of elephants crossing the river and heard the following about the beast” (evpi. de. to.n VIndo.n evlqo,ntej avge,lhn evlefa,ntwn ivdei/n fasi peraioume,nouj to.n potamo,n( kai. ta,de avkou/sai peri. tou/ qhri,ou) (Vit. Apoll. 2.12). In the next section there is another description of the elephant’s characteristics, this time attributed to the Mauretanian king and natural historian, Juba. Philostratus, as author/narrator, critiques Juba’s opinions on tusks –“I do not accept the report,” he writes (evgw. dV ouv prosde,comai to.n lo,gon) – before adding his own observations on the beast (Vit. Apoll. 2.12–13). The narrative then returns to Apollonius, who, we are reminded, has just seen a herd crossing the river. Apollonius takes this opportunity to begin another dialogue with Damis, this time discussing the “understanding and wisdom” (xu,nesi,j te kai. sofi,a) evident in their behavior, as well as the affection of parents for their young (Vit. Apoll. 2.14). Apollonius expands the conversation with examples from elsewhere in the animal kingdom, describing the behavior of bears, lions, dolphins and other creatures, offering illustrations of each one’s care and affection for its offspring before Damis turns the conversation back to the intelligence of elephants. There follows another quotation of Juba, this time explicitly from Apollonius’ mouth: “And I found among the writings of Juba how [elephants] even assist one another in the hunt…” (evgw. de. eu-ron evn toi/j VIo,ba lo,goij( w`j kai. xullamba,nousin avllh,loij) (Vit. Apoll. 2.16). Finally, the section closes with the following statement from the author: “Many such things were examined (evfilosofei/to) by them, taking these occasions for matters worthy of discussion” (Vit. Apoll. 2.16). The reports and discussions of elephants and other animals in this section serve multiple purposes. First, they underscore the erudition of the individual who tells them – here, both the author, Philostratus (who goes so far as to correct the famous Juba), and the subject of his biography, Apollonius (who apparently has also read Juba). The author takes this opportunity both to display his hero’s and his own knowledge of the natural world and to offer opinions on related controversies, including the philosophical debates discussed in chapter two above. Although there is little reference to opposing views, the debate over animal rationality is clearly invoked (particularly in the discussion of animals’ care for their young and the intelligence displayed by elephants). Moreover, Apollonius’ opinion (coming down, as a Pythagorean would, on the side of animal rationality) is made clear. Beyond what the reader learns about Apollonius’ (and Philostratus’) character through these anecdotes, there is the potential for one to actually learn something about animals – or at least think s/he has. The information provided, particularly the details, allow the reader to join the ranks of educated men like Apollonius and

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Philostratus (or, again, feel as though s/he has). And it might not go without saying that these anecdotes have significant, inherent entertainment value; human beings, then as now, are simply interested in the characteristics and behavior of animals. The reader, ultimately, is the beneficiary of the erudition displayed in more ways than one: s/he is both educated and entertained by these reports and, what’s more, is provided with some nice material to share over drinks at the next symposium, showcasing his/her own erudition. A slightly different effect is produced by the descriptions of animals in the Hist. Alex. There, reports of the extraordinary characteristics of the fauna native to the far-flung lands visited by Alexander are given primarily in epistolary sections, purportedly written by the king himself to his mother, Olympias. Alongside descriptions of the strange human beings he comes across 18 stand animal reports like the following: Many animals crossed our path: six-footed ones, three-eyed and five-eyed ones ten cubits in length, and many other types of beasts. And some fled, but others leapt at us. We came to a certain sandy place, where beasts like wild asses – twenty cubits each – emerged. They did not have two eyes each, but six, though they saw with only two. They were not aggressive, but rather gentle. (Hist. Alex. recension b 2.37)

In the same letter, Alexander reports an incident in which a dried salt-fish returns to life when washed in a particular spring, and multiple encounters with talking birds, all of which will be discussed in some detail below. 19 These sections are surely entertaining; to make a modern comparison, the material has a “Ripley’s Believe it or Not” sensibility (as opposed to the more “Discovery Channel” or “Animal Planet” tone of Vit. Apoll.). As in the Vit. Apoll., the report serves to characterize the individual giving it: Alexander is, in these passages, revealed as an adventurer and explorer par excellence. Notably, by embedding these reports in letters written by Alexander, the author also portrays him as an ethnographer and geographer – quite the renaissance man. Animal anecdotes are put to particularly sophisticated use in the novels of Achilles Tatius and Heliodorus. A classic example is found in book one of Achilles Tatius’ Leuc. Clit. Here, our hero and narrator, 20 Clitophon, has 18

These include “wild people like giants” with “fiery faces,” “mob-people” (ovcli/tai), “apple-eaters” (mhlofa,goi), dog-headed people and people with no heads at all, but eyes and mouths in their chests (Hist. Alex. recension b 2.33; 3.28). 19 See below, chapter VI. 20 As is well known, Achilles Tatius employs the rather complicated narrative technique of the “frame tale,” embedding story within story. The novel opens with a first-person narrator in the city of Sidon, making an offering in the temple of Astarte for his safe arrival after weathering a storm at sea. In the temple is a painting of Europa and the bull, which the narrator describes in a detailed ecphrasis. A young man, also viewing the painting, strikes up a conversation and offers to tell his own love-story; this young man is Clitophon, who then

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fallen in love with the young Leucippe and attempts to woo her. Happening upon Leucippe walking with a friend in the garden and “wanting to get the girl in the mood for love” (1.16), he begins to address his own friend Satyrus, taking the mighty power of love evident even in nature as his topic. He begins by pointing out a peacock, offering some natural historical detail about the male’s efforts to attract the female. 21 The author then places in Clitophon’s mouth a series of examples of love and marriage in nature, drawing from a pre-existing topos. These examples include “love” among stones (e.g., the iron-loving magnet), plants (e.g., the palm tree, which forms male-female pairs that wither when separated), and between rivers (e.g., Arethusa and Alpheus, which travel great distances to flow together). Similar sets of examples are used by other authors of late antiquity, including Menander Rhetor (fl. late 3rd century C.E.), Himerius (c. 300–80 C.E.) and Himerius’ student, Gregory Nazianzen (329–89 C.E.). 22 Moving on to snakes, Clitophon describes the “mystery of love” involving the viper and the moray: The (male) viper, a land snake, burns for the (female) moray, a sea snake – in form, a snake, but in effect, a fish. Therefore, whenever these wish to come together in matrimony, the male goes down to the shore and hisses toward the sea, as a signal (su,mbolon) to the moray; she recognizes the agreed sign, and comes out of the waves. But she does not go immediately to the bridegroom, for she knows that he carries death in his fangs, but climbs onto a rock and waits until he has cleaned his mouth. Thus they both stand, looking at one another: the mainland lover and the beloved mariner. When the lover vomits forth the source of fear for his bride, and she has seen the death spewed out on the ground, then she comes down from the rock to the land and embraces her lover, and no longer fears his kisses. (Leuc. Clit. 1.18)

This little anecdote, which appears in a host of ancient sources, 23 is used here to maximum effect. The character Clitophon is able, not just to “get the girl in the mood,” but to impress her with his knowledge of natural history. 24 The author likewise impresses his reading audience, even including some of the terms of the philosophical debate concerning animals. The discussion is introduced by a question regarding the relationship of the gods to animals: “Does Love, then, have such strength that he is able to inflame even the birds” (Leuc. becomes narrator of the remainder of the novel. The novel closes at the end of Clitophon’s story, with no further mention of this first ego-narrator. In this animal anecdote and the following passages discussed, Clitophon as narrator reports his own actions and speeches in direct discourse. 21 Achilles Tatius, Leuc. Clit. 1.17. Cf. Pliny, Nat. 10.43; Oppian, Cyn. 2.589; Dio Chrysostom, Or. 12.2ff.; Aelian, Nat. an. 5.21; Lucian, Dom. 11. 22 Notably, Achilles Tatius and Gregory Nazianzen show the closest parallels; see citations and discussion in Rommel, 63–72. 23 See, for example, Pliny, Nat. 9.39 (76); Aelian, Nat. an. 1.50, 9.66; Basil, Hex. 7.5; cf. Athenaeus, Deipn. 7 (312e), who disputes the report. 24 On the intentional display of erudition by novel characters, see below.

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Clit. 1.17)? Perhaps most importantly, the anecdote serves a key function within the broader narrative. Clitophon has ostensibly chosen this anecdote to relate because it is a natural love story; yet perhaps it is a little too creepy and threatening to serve simply that purpose. Indeed, Aelian presents the anecdote rather as a story of the “frenzied” (oivstrh,saj) desire of an “evil bridegroom” (numfi,oj kai. ma,la ponhro,j), and his feigned gentleness (Nat. an. 1.50). 25 The story of a female from the sea arriving at the shores of a very seductive but potentially dangerous male lover does, however, describe the situation of our star-crossed lovers rather well. Achilles Tatius, in fact, dwells on the first meeting of Clitophon and Leucippe, emphasizing Clitophon’s long, intractable gaze – not unlike the viper’s stare at the moray on the rocks. 26 The attentive reader might well see Clitophon as something of a numfi,oj ponhro,j and suspect the hazards that await poor Leucippe. In the last passage of book three, we find another detailed description of an animal’s characteristics and behavior. Here, our hero Clitophon and the general Menelaus are about to go out to battle, only awaiting the arrival of two thousand troops stationed at Heliopolis. A messenger arrives, however, reporting that the “sacred bird” had just arrived at their city “bearing the tomb of its father,” and the troops would be delayed for five days as the necessary rituals were performed. Our hero and narrator Clitophon reports that, unfamiliar with this creature, he asked what sort of bird this could be: “kai. ti,j o` o;rnij ou-toj( o[stij,” e;fhn, “tosau,thj timh/j hvxi,wtai* poi,an de. kai. komi,zei tafh,n*” “Foi,nix me.n o` o;rnij o;noma( to. de. ge,noj Aivqi,oy( me,geqoj kata. taw/na\ th/| croia|/ taw.j evn ka,llei deu,teroj)” “What bird is this,” I said, “that is worthy of so much honor? And what sort of tomb does it carry?” “The bird is called Phoenix; an Ethiopian species, in size like a peacock, but the peacock is second to it in beauty of color.” (Leuc. Clit. 3.25) 27

There follows a detailed description which corresponds in general to those of Herodotus and Pliny 28 but adds some nice details that work particularly well with Achilles Tatius’ narrative purposes. In addition to providing the reason for the delay that allows the important events at the beginning of book four to take place, various elements of the description of the phoenix have parallels in the main narrative. Particularly interesting is the inclusion (unique among ancient reports of the phoenix) of the necessity of the Egyptian priest to confirm that this bird is in fact the phoenix, which he does by comparing the animal to an illustration in one of the sacred books of the temple. The bird, for its part, 25

Cf. Aelian, Nat. an. 9.66. Achilles Tatius, Leuc. Clit. 1.4. 27 Note that, rather oddly, the answer comes with no indication as to who is speaking. 28 See above, chapter II. 26

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understands that its identity is suspect (avpistou,menoj), and thus willingly displays even the private parts of its body (ta. avpo,rrhta ))) tou/ sw,matoj) for verification. 29 On the one hand, this passage answers the very reasonable question of how anyone would recognize a bird that only appears in a region once every five hundred years. 30 On the other hand, this emphasis on correct identification and recognition after long absence evokes a well-known generic feature of the romance novel, where hero and heroine are separated from each other and from their homelands for long periods. 31 Further, the singularly irritating nature of this delay (what are the odds!), are echoed in the events that immediately follow in the opening of book four. The recently reunited Clitophon and Leucippe are assigned to their own quarters in the military camp as they wait for the troops’ arrival; for Clitophon, this is the perfect opportunity to “exercise the rights of a husband,” since they are now, after surviving shipwrecks, robbers, sacrifices and murders, “in Fortune’s calm” (Leuc. Clit. 4.1). 32 Leucippe, however, had just the night before been warned in a dream by Aphrodite to preserve her virginity a little longer, and thus there is another frustrating delay for Clitophon. In a more particular parallel to the story of the phoenix, Leucippe is also “suspect” and must eventually submit to an inspection (though not narrated, likely involving the exposure of her genitals) to verify her virginity. 33 The animal anecdotes in Leuc. Clit. considered thus far are all given in direct discourse, one character reporting to another. But the novel also includes multiple anecdotes simply related by Clitophon as narrator, including reports about the discovery of purple dye (thanks to a hungry dog crunching up some oyster shells), the characteristics of cattle from the Nile region, and the very popular hippopotamus. The crocodile, too – an endlessly fascinating creature to Romans, the inclusion of which is almost obligatory in a novel set in Egypt – is described. 34 Many reports in natural historical sources record the croco29

Achilles Tatius, Leuc. Clit. 3.25. Herodotus himself indicates that his reports about the bird’s appearance are based on wall paintings (Hist. 2.73). 31 On “recognition” in ancient novels, see F. Zimmerman, “Die ‘VEfhsiaka, des sog. Xenephon von Ephesos. Untersuchungen zur Technik und Komposition,” Würzburger Jahrbuch für die Altertumswissenschaft 4 (1949/50): 252–86; Tomas Hägg, Narrative Techniques in Ancient Greek Romances (Stockholm: Svenska Institutet i Athen, 1971), 201. 32 Cf. Achilles Tatius, Leuc. Clit. 7.11–14. 33 Bartsch connects the phoenix’ behavior to Leucippe’s in 4.9, where (having temporarily gone mad) the girl struggles against men trying to hold her down, “not thinking to hide those parts that a woman does not want to be seen” (ouvde.n fronti,zousa kru,ptein o[sa gunh. mh. o`ra/sqai qe,lei). Bartsch writes, “If the phoenix exposes himself, so, shortly afterward, does the heroine” (156). 34 Achilles Tatius, Leuc. Clit. 2.11, 2.15, 4.2, 4.19. 30

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dile’s mutually beneficial relationship with the Egyptian plover, an example both of cooperation among animals and the potential for beasts to lay aside their fiercer natures and act peacefully with one another. 35 Clitophon’s description, however, is restricted to the crocodile’s most fearful characteristics: its frightful tail, rows of sharp teeth, surprising speed and enormous strength. This description of the crocodile is the last passage in book four and, just as the description of the phoenix at the close of book three, it foreshadows events to come. The emphasis on the spiky protrusions of its tail and the gaping mouth that seems to lead directly to its belly clearly call to mind the very crocodile-like sea monster desribed in book three, in an ecphrasis on a painting of Andromeda. 36 The link is easy to interpret: danger lies ahead for Leucippe – and indeed, she is immediately captured by pirates. Heliodorus, too, makes ample use of animal anecdotes in his Aeth. In this text, as in Leuc. Clit., these anecdotes are sometimes put in the mouths of characters, at other times told directly by the narrator. A particularly interesting instance of the former type is found in book three, where the wise sage Calasiris advises Charicles, foster-father of the heroine Chariclea. In an effort to gain Charicles’ confidence and thus access to Chariclea, Calasiris attempts to explain the girl’s strange behavior (in fact, a case of love-sickness) as the result of the evil eye; to do so, he makes a comparison to the ability of the plover and basilisk to heal or harm human beings by means only of the gaze. After a description of the evil eye, Calasiris says: If you require it, I can provide as an example an account from nature, recorded in the sacred books about animals (bi,bloij i`erai/j tai/j peri. zw|,wn). The plover heals those with jaundice: the one suffering this ailment – if he just looks at the bird, 37 it flees and turns away, closing its eyes; not, as some think, that it grudges the benefit, but because its gaze attracts and transfers [the patient’s] disease to itself, like some current, and on that account it avoids the sight of him like a wound. And among snakes, the one called ‘basilisk’ by its breath and glance alone shrivels and cripples whatever happens upon it, as perhaps you have heard. So it’s no wonder that some people cast the evil eye on those who are most dear and to whom they are

35

See, e.g., Aelian, Nat. an. 3.11; 12.15; Plutarch, Soll. an. 980e. Compare, for example, the description of the sea monster’s mouth (avne,w|kto de. pa/sa me,cri th/j tw/n w;mwn sumbolh/j( kai. euvqu.j h` gasth,r) with the description of the crocodile’s (kai. avpo,stasi,j evsti pollh,( kai. me,cri tw/n w;mwn to. ca,sma( kai. euvqu.j h` gasth,r). Achilles Tatius, Leuc. Clit. 3.7; 4.19. 37 Lumb, Maillon and Rattenbury indicate that a word seems to be missing at this point in the text (hence the disjunction in the translation). They suggest qerapeu,tai (or something similar), so that the text would read: “If the one ailing from this disease just looks at the bird, he is healed.” 36

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well disposed; being jealous by nature, they do not what they want to do, but what it is their nature to do. (Aeth. 3.8) 38

We note that here, yet again, knowledge of the animal kingdom characterizes the wise man. Calasiris’ identification of his source as “the sacred books on animals” (bi,bloij i`erai/j tai/j peri. zw|,wn) underscores the notion that such knowledge is the area of sages. The information given here and the entire preceding discussion of the evil eye corresponds (at times word for word) to a passage in Plutarch’s Quaestionum convivialum, leading Rommel to suggest dependence on a common source. 39 Remarkably, with this report on the nature of birds and snakes, the character Calasiris seems to employ the anecdote self-consciously, not just to appear erudite, but in a deliberate attempt to snow Charicles. Bartsch identifies this phenomenon in her work on description in Achilles Tatius and Heliodorus: It should be noted, too, that paradoxographical and philosophical digressions may also be used in a self-conscious way by the characters themselves, with the result that these passages do not explain character motivation or replace patches of specific narrative time with parallel sequences of nondefined time, but instead serve to further the purposes of the characters who deliberately utter them. The most obvious incident of this in the Aethiopica is Calasiris’s long and apparently learned digression on the evil eye, in which he explains it to Charicles as a disease transmitted through the air, adorning his account with analogies from the world of natural science (3.7.2–8.2). This digression is presented as an explanation of why Charicleia is sick; that is, Calasiris claims for it the status of an ‘explanatory’ digression … but it is in reality – as he lets us know – merely a trick piece of pseudoscience that he is using to win Charicles’ confidence and respect, and thereby to get access to Charicleia. 40

While, as Bartsch argues, the character here has his own ulterior motive in the inclusion of this anecdote (i.e., to become Charicles’ respected and trusted advisor), the evidence from nature of the potentially powerful effects of the gaze serves an important function for the author, too. This is, after all, the story of a rejected Ethiopian princess who, though born legitimately to two Ethiopian parents, has the lighter skin and general appearance of a Greek because her mother was looking at a painting of Andromeda at the moment of her conception. The basic premise of the novel requires, for even a modicum of realism, the belief that the gaze might have such an effect. An example of the amazing power of the gaze among animals certainly lends some credence 38 Another example is Calasiris’ description of the characteristics of the Nile in 2.28. Note that Calasiris here describes to another character (Cnemon) how he had at an earlier date given this information (which is thus included) to one of the more “urbane” Greek visitors to the temple in Egypt where he resided and acted as tour guide. Cf. 1.18, where the narrator gives possible explanations for the crowing of cocks. 39 Rommel, 60–61. 40 Bartsch, 154–5.

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to the notion. And again, these reports about Egyptian animals both educate and entertain the reader. As Calasiris himself elsewhere notes, “most appealing to Greek ears is any report or story of Egypt” (Aivgu,ption ga.r a;kousma kai. dih,ghma pa/n ~Ellhnikh/j avkoh/j evpagwgo,taton) (Aeth. 2.27). A description of an animal by the novel’s narrator is found in book ten, where the physical characteristics of a giraffe, a gift to the king of Ethiopia, are given in detail. The sketch, emphasizing the animal’s resemblance to both the camel (in its long neck) and the leopard (in its spotted coat), ends with the report that the crowd “offhandedly” (auvtoscedi,wj) dubbed it a “camelopard” (kamhlopa,rdalij), which is in fact the normal Greek name for the giraffe. The passage, then, becomes an aetiology for the name of the beast. But here, too, we find connections to the surrounding narrative. The giraffe is depicted as, above all, strange. Its appearance is foreign, and this unfamiliarity sends the other animals into a state of confusion. The result is the spooking of two horses and the flight of a bull, a dangerous situation that is finally brought to order by the brave actions of the hero Theagenes. The connection is perhaps more subtle than others we’ve seen, but I would argue that the foreign appearance of this creature recalls the foreign appearance of Chariclea, herself. The ensuing confusion and chaos among the other animals remind the reader (as does the retelling of the events surrounding her birth in the remainder of the chapter) that it was her strange complexion that set in motion the chain of events that make up the narrative as a whole. Theagenes’ spectacular ability to handle the situation, simultaneously coralling the horses and taking down the raving bull, perhaps assure the reader that, although Chariclea’s situation is still tense, a happy ending is on the horizon. Before moving on to animal episodes, it is important to note that, while in many of these passages all the natural historical details are given (making the novels a source of information for the reader), in other passages a knowledge of these details is assumed by the author. This is the case in the brief mention of the phoenix in Aeth. 6.3. There, a young man explains that he has been sent on an errand by his girlfriend to capture a flamingo from the Nile, to which his friend ironically replies: “How very small her requirements are, if she has demanded only a flamingo and not the phoenix itself!” An even clearer example is in the demise of the villain Thermouthis; his death from the bite of an asp is reported by the narrator as “an end not inappropriate to his manner,” perhaps having taken place “by the will of the Fates” (Aeth. 6.3). While death by snakebite might generally be understood as appropriate for bad men, the statement makes far more sense when read in light of Aelian’s report of the Egyptian asp called “Thermouthis”: this asp does not harm good men, but kills the impious, sometimes sent for this purpose by Isis herself. 41 A 41

Aelian, Nat. an. 10.31.

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similarly obscure reference is in Longus’ Daphn., where the old man Philetas describes how he chased the young god Eros, who would appear in his garden: “He nimbly and easily escaped me, now running under the roses, now hiding in the poppies, like the chick of a partridge” (2.4). 42 The sense of the simile becomes clear when read, again, in light of Aelian’s report on the bird. Apparently, the ability of the young partridge to evade the hunter was one of its most well-known characteristics. 43

C. Animal Episodes As explained above, I define “animal episodes” as animal-related passages in which animals are not simply described but actually play an active role in the narrative. Within this category, I have identified three specific types of episodes that provide particularly helpful comparative material for understanding the apocryphal acts. First are episodes that primarily depict a particular individual’s interaction with an animal. Such episodes typically serve to characterize that individual, often – as in several of the animal anecdotes described above – as a wise man or sage. Second, though related to the first category, are episodes in which the characteristics and/or behavior of a particular animal are interpreted as a portent by a character within the narrative. These episodes can serve multiple functions, most prominently the foreshadowing of later plot developments. Third are episodes in which independently circulating reports about animals are dramatized within the narrative. These episodes are, as we will see, the most flexible in terms of function. The first type is prominent in the biographical literature of late antiquity, particularly in the depiction of individuals associated with the Pythagorean tradition. Three episodes involving Pythagoras’ own interactions with animals are told by both Iamblichus and Porphyry in their respective (late 3rd century C.E.) biographies of the philosopher. In the first, Pythagoras whispers in the ear of an ox that has taken to eating beans (forbidden food for Pythagoreans), with the result that it abstains from this food for the rest of its life. 44 Similarly, 42

Animal anecdotes are not as common in Longus’ novel as they are in Leuc. Clit. and Aeth., but they do occur; the clearest example is at 1.30, where there is a brief report on the cow’s ability to swim. Vivid descriptions of pastoral scenes are, however, characteristic of this novel; on the accuracy of these descriptions and the extent of Longus’ knowledge of natural history, see W. Geoffrey Arnott, “Longus, Natural History, and Realism,” in The Search for the Ancient Novel (ed. James Tatum; Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1994), 199–215. 43 Aelian, Nat. an. 3.16; cf. 11.38. 44 Iamblichus, De vit. Pyth. 13; Porphyry, Vit. Pyth. 24. This passage is discussed in more detail below.

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coming upon the Daunian bear, which had attacked multiple area residents, Pythagoras stroked it for some time, fed it acorns and maize (or barley and fruits), then had it take an oath not to injure any other living creatures.45 The third episode begins with Pythagoras in the vicinity of Olympus, talking with his disciples about birds, signs and prodigies – specifically, that birds do serve as messengers of the gods to divine and/or pious men. In Porphyry’s version, an eagle flying overhead then spontaneously comes down to Pythagoras, who strokes it for some time before sending it off again. 46 In Iamblichus’ version, Pythagoras actually “drew [the eagle] down” (katagagei/n) (De vit. Pyth. 13). Both Iamblichus and Porphyry group these three episodes together. Iamblichus introduces them as evidence that “Pythagoras possessed in his word (evn tw|/ lo,gw|/) a certain analytical and admonitory quality extending to irrational animals (me,cri tw/n avlo,gwn zw|,wn)”; he concludes the section by stating that “through these and similar actions [Pythagoras] showed that he had Orpheus’ dominion among beasts (evn toi/j qhri,oij) and that he charmed them and held them fast by the power going forth from the sound of his mouth (th|/ avpo. tou/ sto,matoj th/j fwnh/j proi?ou,sh| duna,mei)” (De vit. Pyth. 13.62). Similarly, Porphyry introduces the sections as evidence that “his admonition reached even the irrational animals (me,cri kai. tw/n avlo,gwn zw|,wn diiknei/to auvtou/ h` nouqe,thsij)” (Vit. Pyth. 23). Porphyry does not conclude the section as Iamblichus does, but rather adds another animal related episode, which I quote in full: Having come upon some fisherman who were drawing up in their net a great haul from the deep, he predicted how many they had caught, giving the precise number of fish. And when the fisherman promised that they would do whatever he commanded if it proved to be so, he commanded them to throw the fish back alive (once they had counted them accurately). Now, what is even more amazing is that, while he stood there, not one of the fish died, although they remained out of the water for as long as it took to count them. (Vit. Pyth. 25)

Notably, this episode does not illustrate Pythagoras’ power over individual animals, but his compassion for them and a broader power to miraculously know their number and prevent their deaths.47 It is not surprising that Apollonius of Tyana, chiefly a Pythagorean, is also depicted as interacting with animals in Philostratus’ Vit. Apoll. Early on, the reader is told that Apollonius understands the language of animals, having

45

Iamblichus, De vit, Pyth. 13; Porphyry, Vit. Pyth. 23. The form of this oath (verbal or non-verbal on the part of the bear) is unclear in both accounts. 46 Porphyry, Vit. Pyth. 25. 47 Miracles involving fish are, of course, well known in the New Testament; to this passage I would compare in particular the miraculous catch of fish in Luke 5:1–10 and John 21:1–11.

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learned the skill while living in Arabia. 48 This ability is publicly demonstrated in book four, where the sudden chattering of some sparrows interrupts one of Apollonius’ lectures. The sage explains to his distracted audience what the birds were saying: a boy carrying a bowl of grain had slipped in a nearby alley, leaving barley strewn on the street; one sparrow had come to tell his friends and invite them to share in the windfall. Most of his audience runs off to verify the report; to the few that remain, Apollonius praises the happy communism of sparrows. 49 As mentioned above, this story – or one quite like it – is attributed by Origen to Celsus, who uses it as evidence for articulate speech among animals. Either a report originally about Apollonius was extracted from its narrative context (whether by Celsus or a predecessor) and introduced into the animal rationality debate or Philostratus has taken an existing story (perhaps even originating in the context of the animal rationality debate) and introduced it into his own narrative, casting Apollonius in a leading role. If the latter is the case, this episode would belong to the third type of episodes (to be described below). Both possibilities (equally likely, to my mind) underscore the transportability and re-usability of these animal anecdotes across generic and thematic lines. While the sage understands animals, the animals also seem to understand him – if not his language, then his character. When Apollonius approaches the temple of Dictynna on Crete late one night, the fierce dogs (“as good as bears”) that are supposed to guard it instead greet him, “fawning and approaching him as they would not have done even to those very familiar” (Vit. Apoll. 8.30). Their reaction is, in fact, so unusual that the human guards of the temple, convinced that he had charmed the dogs with some magic, imprison him. Another animal episode takes place while Apollonius is in Egypt. There he meets a tame lion, which is led around on a string by its owner and constantly fawns on everyone; this lion, however, pays particular attention to Apollonius, whining at him, prostrating itself at his knees and licking him more than anyone else. Apollonius immediately explains that the soul of an Egyptian king inhabits this lion, to which the lion roars his agreement and begins to weep. 50 In these two episodes, Apollonius’ character is revealed not by his own words or actions but by the actions of animals in response to him. Episodes recounting his interactions with animals are also used to reveal to the reader the extraordinary character of Alexander the Great. Particularly memorable is the story of the acquisition of his famous horse, Bucephalus. According to Plutarch (in his biography of Alexander) Bucephalus, a very large and beautiful colt, is offered for sale at a very high price to King Philip; 48

Philostratus, Vita Apoll. 1.20. Ibid. 4.3. 50 Ibid. 5.42. 49

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seeing that the horse is far too wild to be broken, Philip declines. The young Alexander, however, convinces his father to allow him to try his hand with the horse, promising to forfeit the cost of the animal if he fails. Alexander, who has noticed that Bucephalus was disturbed at the sight of his own shadow, simply turns the animal toward the sun, immediately calming him. Alexander then quickly succeeds in breaking the horse, to the amazement of all; Philip reportedly sheds tears of joy, saying “Oh son, seek a kingdom equal to yourself; Macedonia is not big enough for you” (Plutarch, Alex. 6.5). This episode clearly underscores Alexander’s keen skill in observation, his intelligence (particularly with respect to animals), and his great courage and confidence. His father takes all of this as an indication of his great potential as a future king, as the reader of Plutarch’s biography is surely intended to as well. The Hist. Alex. includes a different version of Alexander’s acquisition of Bucephalus. There, the horse is a gift to Philip and is not just wild but a literal “man-eater” (avnqrwpofa,goj) (Hist. Alex. recension b 1.13). Philip accepts the gift, but orders that the horse be kept in an iron cage, and that any disobedient subjects should be thrown to him. Later, the fifteen year old Alexander happens by the place where the horse is kept, hears his neighing, and asks about it. In this version of their meeting, Bucephalus makes the first move: But the horse, hearing the sound of Alexander’s voice, neighed again, not in a terrifying manner as on all previous occasions, but sweetly and clearly as though instructed by God. And when Alexander went up to the cage, straightaway the horse extended its forefeet to Alexander and licked him, indicating who its master was. Alexander observed the striking appearance of the horse and the remains of numerous slaughtered men at its feet, but elbowed aside the horse’s guards and opened the cage. He grasped its mane; it obeyed him, and he leapt on it without a bridle, then rode through the center of the city of Pella. (Hist. Alex. recension b 1.17)

Here, the emphasis is not on Alexander’s cleverness or courage (though the latter is surely present in his opening the cage despite seeing the remains of the horse’s victims). Alexander’s character, like that of Apollonius in the episodes discussed above, is revealed by the animal’s spontaneous and miraculous reaction to the young man – which in turn reveals to the reader how extraordinary Alexander must be. This episode, like Plutarch’s version, ends with a statement by Philip. Here, however, the incident is more than just an indication of the great things to come for Alexander. In this version, Philip has received an oracle at Delphi, promising that “whoever shall leap upon the horse Bucephalus and ride through the center of Pella” would be king of the whole world (Hist. Alex. recension b 1.15). Philip, then, seeing Alexander riding through Pella greets him by saying, “Hail, Alexander, world ruler” (1.18). In the Hist. Alex., then, the well-known story of Alexander and Bucephalus becomes an animal portent as well.

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A final example of this type of episode (i.e., episodes depicting primarily the interactions of a particular individual with an animal) comes from Longus’ pastoral novel Daphn. and has a very different tone. In 1.26, the young lovers lie in the grass, Daphnis watching Chloe sleep. Suddenly, a grasshopper (te,ttix), fleeing a swallow (celidw,n), jumped into Chloe’s bosom for refuge. The girl is first startled by the wing of the swallow brushing by her cheek, then is startled again when the grasshopper begins to sing: “And the grasshopper sang from her bosom like a suppliant avowing thanks for salvation” (kai. o` te,ttix evk tw/n ko,lpwn evph,chsen o[moion i`ke,th| ca,rin o`mologou/nti th/j swthri,aj) (Daphn. 1.26). 51 Daphnis, laughing, cannot resist retrieving the grasshopper. When Chloe sees the source of the chirping, she kisses it and puts it back in her bosom, where it continues to sing. Aside from offering Daphnis an excuse to reach into Chloe’s chiton, this episode illustrates particularly the girl’s character: her complete innocence and thoroughly good nature are underscored in her reaction and care for this tiny creature. And in this episode, too, there are connections to the surrounding narrative. A ko,lpoj may refer to either a “bosom,” “lap” or “fold of cloth” but also to a “bay” or “harbor.” The grasshopper’s song of thanks for salvation in the safety of a ko,lpoj evokes the sailor saved from shipwreck, giving thanks in a temple at the harbor. 52 Moreover, this little episode foreshadows events to come: Daphnis will soon be captured by pirates and survive a shipwreck thanks to Chloe’s quick actions; swimming to shore, he will “fall into her bosom” (evmpi,ptei te auvth/j toi/j ko,lpoij) (Daphn. 1.31). 53 The second type of animal episode, that in which an animal’s behavior or characteristics are interpreted by a character as a portent, is related to the first type, as we have already seen. These episodes occur in historiography, biography and fiction, frequently involving birds (as might be expected, given the practice of auspicium). But the appearance and actions of numerous species are taken in these texts as portentous, even when the occurrence is not obviously such. Naturally, these episodes foreshadow future events in the narrative; they also, however, often serve to characterize the individual who interprets the meaning of the portent as wise in general and, more specifically, as 51

For a discussion of this episode with respect to natural historical information (ancient and modern), see Arnott, 201–09. 52 Achilles Tatius’ novel, as noted above, in fact begins with just such an occurrence. See Leuc. Clit. 1.1ff. 53 Note that Chloe rescues Daphnis, who has been kidnapped along with a herd of cattle, by loudly playing a pipe given to her by the cattle’s herder. When the cattle hear and recognize the piping, they immediately jump off the boat into the water to follow the music, causing the boat to capsize and the heavily armed pirates to drown. This episode, like many in the novel, emphasizes the young couple’s closeness to the animals in their care and the pastoral setting in general.

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someone with an acute sensitivity to nature and the significance of natural phenomena. Of the many examples of this type of episode, I will here give only a few. One occurs at the opening of Aeth. book six: as the heroine Chariclea, her caretaker Calasiris, and their travelling companions walk along the banks of the Nile, they spot a crocodile “creeping across [their path] from right to left” (Aeth. 6.1). While most of the party takes the occurrence casually and without distress (sunh,qwj te kai. avqoru,bwj), Calasiris, who has already proven himself wise in animal matters, announces that it portends obstacles in their path – and indeed, there are many obstacles yet to come. Another character, Cnemon, is excessively frightened by the crocodile, a fact which Calasiris associates with the man’s earlier immoderate reaction to the mention of the name “Thisbe,” a woman by whose machinations (similar to those of Potiphar’s wife) he had suffered greatly. The association of the crocodile with this woman offers the reader a hint at what sorts of obstacles to expect. In both Plutarch’s biography and the Hist. Alex., multiple animal portents accompany Alexander’s rise to power. Both texts offer a similar story surrounding the founding of Alexandria: the king’s architects, with no chalk at hand, outline a plan of the city with barley meal; Alexander is very pleased with the design, but birds suddenly swoop in and devour the barley. Alexander is quite disturbed by the omen, but his mantics persuade him that the birds’ actions indicate that the city will be a source of nourishment to people of every nation, inasmuch as birds (as the Hist. Alex. explains) fly to all corners of the world. 54 Plutarch’s version of the episode may also hint at future events: Alexander’s unwarranted fear at this occurrence perhaps suggests an early state of the superstition (deisidaimoni,a) and constant fear of portents that will consume the king toward the end of his life. 55 A final example of a portentous episode comes from the Vit. Apoll. In book one, Apollonius and Damis come across the body of a slain lioness; as her body was disemboweled by the huntsmen, eight whelps were “born” from her womb. The sight is a “great marvel” (me,ga qau/ma) in both the post-mortem nature of the birth as well as the great number of young (since, as the narrator reports, lionesses have litters of three at most). This story, various elements of which appear in other natural historical sources,56 is interpreted by Apollonius as a portent, indicating that their journey will last one year (for the mother) and eight months (for the whelps). When Damis, comparing a similar portent from Homer, asks why nine years are not indicated, Apollonius explains that the cubs, as unborn and thus incomplete animals, cannot correspond to years, 54

Plutarch, Alex. 26.6; Hist. Alex. recension b 1.32. Plutarch, Alex. 75.2. 56 Cf. Aelian, Nat. an. 4.34. 55

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“for wholes must be compared with wholes” (te,leia ga.r telei,oij parablhte,a) (Vit. Apoll. 1.22). Here, Apollonius is revealed as both recognizing and accurately interpreting an animal portent and, further, as a superior Homeric exegete. This passage crosses over to the final type of animal episode to be discussed here, that is, episodes in which independently circulating reports of animals are dramatized by the author within his narrative. Perhaps the most famous stories about animals circulating in late antiquity were those that first took place in the arena. Such stories are reported in the natural history texts, the literature of the animal rationality debate, and various other genres. Some of the most memorable are recorded by Martial in his collection of epigrams, the Liber spectaculorum. A similarly grotesque, post-mortem birth is, in fact, the subject of a series of three of Martial’s poems. The first is as follows: When, amid the cruel engagements of Caesar’s hunt, a light spear had pierced a pregnant sow, one of her progeny leapt out of its wretched mother’s wound. O merciless Lucina, was this a delivery? She would have been ready to die wounded by more weapons so that a sad path should open up for all her young. Who denies that Bacchus was brought forth by his mother’s death? A deity was delivered by that means, you must believe it: so was born a beast. (Lib. spec. 14 (12), Coleman) 57

It seems likely that this famous event (or a similar report) inspired Philostratus’ composition of his own episode, transferring the crux of the story – the post-mortem birth – into his narrative, casting Apollonius and Damis as viewers and ultimately interpreters of the phenomenon. This narrativization of events from the arena and animal anecdotes from natural historical and other sources is carried out clearly and repeatedly in the comic novel of Lucian of Samosata. Lucian, writer of essays, dialogues, narratives, and all things sarcastic, was well aware of the philosophical debate over animal rationality, but preferred not to join in the fray directly. As I have argued elsewhere, his Metamorphoseis (of which only the epitome, Asinus, is extant) is in fact a very funny satire of the debate and all its participants. 58 In this novel, better known in the Latin adaptation of Apuleius, animal anecdotes are not related by characters or narrator; rather, the main character, a man who has been turned into an ass, is cast into the anecdotes. The brief narratives that are collected in natural history texts and related as evidence within the animal rationality debate become episodes in the novel, with Lucius, the man-turnedass, playing the role of the animal. The most spectacular example is at the 57 See Kathleen M. Coleman’s commentary on the three epigrams: M. Valerii Martialis Liber Spectaculorum (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006), 126–39. 58 J. E. Spittler, “Lucius or the Ass and the Animal Rationality Debate” (paper presented at the annual meeting of the SBL. Philadelphia, PA, November 2005).

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climax of the novel, when Lucius, as ass, is scheduled to give what seems to be a very lewd version of the well-known performance of several elephants at Rome. 59 This performance, described by Philo’s Alexander, Aelian and Pliny the Elder, should sound familiar to anyone who has read Asin. 60 For shows given by Germanicus Caesar, elephants were trained to perform; a special dance instructor was brought in to teach them to dance complicated steps, keeping in time to music. This was impressive, but as Aelian writes, what happened next was enough to drive the spectators wild: mattresses for low couches were laid out in the sand of the theater, then came cushions and upon these embroidered spreads – clear evidence of a house of great prosperity and old money. Expensive goblets were set nearby and bowls of gold and silver, and in them a large amount of water; quite imposing tables of both citron-wood and ivory were set up, and upon them meats and breads, enough to fill the stomachs of the most voracious animals. When the preparations were complete and abundant, the guests came in, six males and females equal in number; the former wore masculine clothing, the latter feminine, and they reclined in order, two by two, male and female. At a signal they modestly stretched out their trunks like hands and ate quite decorously. And not one of them seemed gluttonous or greedy or intent on taking a larger portion, as the Persian who appears in Xenophon the golden. When it was time to drink a bowl was placed before each one, and, drawing up the water with their trunks, they drank in an orderly way, then squirted the water – in fun, not insult. (Nat. an. 2.11)

It is impossible not to see this report (circulating as early as Philo’s Animal.) as the source for Asin. sections 47–50, where Lucius, man trapped in an ass’ body, is caught by his owner devouring “people food.” The owner is so entertained by the ass that “thinks he’s people,” that he arranges for Lucius to give performances on stage. The elaborate set, the fancy foods, the private dance instructor, even the signaling of the wine steward for more drink – all the elements are there. This episode is one of dozens in the novel where animal anecdotes otherwise known in natural history texts or the literature of the animal rationality debate are dramatized and expertly spoofed. 61

D. Compositional Technique in the Apocryphal Acts Animals in the apocryphal acts of the apostles are introduced only in episodes, not in anecdotes. This fact undoubtedly relates both to the linear nature of the 59 Cf. Lucian, Asin. 48–49 and Pliny, Nat. 8.2; Aelian, Nat. an. 2.11; Plutarch, Soll. an. 968C; Philostratus, Vita Apoll. 2.13; Philo, Anim. 23–8, etc. 60 Philo, Anim. 27; Pliny, Nat. 8.2; Aelian, Nat. an. 2.11. See also Plutarch, 968c and Philostratus, Vit. Apoll. 2.13. 61 I would compare, for example, Asin. 16 with Epictetus, Discourses 3.55; Asin. 17–18 with Plutarch, Soll. an. 974aff., Philo, Anim. 38-41, Sextus, Pyr. 1.70–71; Asin. 19 with Philo Anim. 40 and 83; Asin. 28 with Plutarch, Soll. an. 968d, etc.

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narratives, with little use of flashbacks or other techniques of embedding stories within stories, 62 and to their register, literally less “sophisticated” than the second-sophistic works of Achilles Tatius, Heliodorus and Philostratus. Nevertheless, both the anecdotes and episodes described above offer valuable comparative material. They indicate, first, the variety of purposes served by animal-related passages in late antique prose narratives. Chief among these, as we have seen multiple times over, are the characterization of individuals and the foreshadowing of events; this foreshadowing, moreover, often goes beyond a simply predictive function, so that elements of the animal anecdote or episode actually color the reader’s interpretation of another scene. Second, the consideration of these anecdotes and episodes indicates how animals are used to achieve these purposes. We have seen that characteristics or behaviors of the animals (whether given within the narrative or assumed) are often key in understanding the full significance of the passage. Very particular aspects of an animal may be connected to other sections of the text, either offering new shades of meaning or emphasizing points made elsewhere. Further, both a person’s actions and general attitude toward animals and an animal’s actions and attitudes toward a person are employed to give the reader insight into the nature of that individual. All of these purposes and methods are at work in the apocryphal acts of the apostles. As I analyze these texts in what follows, I will frequently return to these other prose narratives for comparison.

D. Conclusion Gazing at the lion with trainer in the mosaic at Nennig, what thoughts might have occurred to an ancient viewer? Perhaps she is reminded of a fable – one she copied over as a child or set in verse. She might take this opportunity to impress a companion with some erudite tidbit about the lion’s physiology, or maybe she recalls some fantastic feat she had witnessed (or heard about) at the arena – a lion capturing hares in its mouth without harming them or winning a battle with a bear. In a contemplative mood, she might look into the lion’s eyes and wonder what the lion is thinking, or if the lion thinks at all. She might ponder the sad fate of the king of the beasts, now caged and whipped for the entertainment of men. On the other hand, she might marvel at the artist’s skill in representing the animal’s muscles and sinews; perhaps she even compares the work of the artist with that of a divine craftsman, who de62 One exception is the flashback in the Acts John 87–105, where the apostle describes his own experiences with Jesus, creating a mini-gospel within the acts. Notably, in P. Bodmer LXI (the Coptic papyrus fragment containing Paul’s baptism of the lion) Paul himself recounts his first meeting with the beast.

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signed and fashioned the lion itself. Maybe the viewer is a Christian. Perhaps she’s read some Ignatius, and can only think of those powerful jaws and the grinding of bones into flour. 63 Or maybe she sees the bald old man and, like I do, thinks of Paul – maybe she remembers a story about Paul and a lion. Thus far we have considered the role of animals in the thought and literature of antiquity, particularly the first centuries C.E. We began in chapter two with the natural history texts that provided both material for other authors and a direct source of information for ancient consumers of animal-related lore and trivia. As we have seen, it was from these wells that the participants on both sides of the philosophical debate over animal rationality drew much of their evidence. Despite (or perhaps because of) the fact that the Stoics and particularly the Middle Platonists (as represented by Plutarch and Celsus) were at loggerheads, the question of animal rationality and the larger issue concerning the human being’s place in the natural world remained open and hotly disputed for centuries. Christian authors enter into the debate proper to varying degrees. When the question of animal rationality is addressed directly, patristic authors typically take the position of the Stoic, arguing for a sharp distinction between human and animal, though reason alone (that is lo,goj without the Lo,goj) is not a sufficient criterion for distinguishing true human from beast. Animals are also the object of exegesis in patristic sources, whether it is scripture or nature itself that is the direct object of interpretation. Here we have seen a strong current of allegory, but have also noted the frequent difficulty in separating the allegorical from the literal. We have seen, too, that the evaluation of animals is complicated when the biblical demiurgic tradition enters the discussion. In the literature of Christian asceticism of various stripes, animals are most often depicted negatively, whether as figures of the ‘bestial’ desires to be conquered or as creatures alligned with the enemies of Christianity – or both. Finally, we have considered animals as represented in prose narrative roughly contemporary with the apocryphal acts of the apostles. As we move forward in the interpretation of the acts, comparison with these narratives will be particularly helpful, offering insights into how and to what purposes ancient prose authors were working with animals. Certainly, there are other elements of Graeco-Roman thought and literature that are relevant to this study. Two particular areas that warrant further consideration are the representation of animals in ancient art and the roles played by animals in ancient religion, including Orphism, Mithraism and Isis cult. The preceding pages by no means present an exhaustive study of animals in the Graeco-Roman world; rather, I have selected for discussion here the material that I have found most useful in the analyses that follow. 63

Ignatius, Rom. 4.

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My task in the remaining chapters is to bring the apocryphal acts into this mix. The interpretive process will be one of give and take. On the one hand, the texts described above will be comparative material used to elucidate the individual animal episodes in the apocryphal acts. The interpretation of these episodes – indeed, the increased understanding of these texts as a whole – is the primary goal of this study. On the other hand, I contend that the apocryphal acts bring something new to the conversation, that these texts are an untapped resource for understanding Greco-Roman views on animals, human beings, and the place of both in the natural world. Balancing this give and take will be one of the more challenging aspects of the project, but the potential reward is substantial. Questions concerning humanity’s place in the natural world are clearly not limited to the ancient world; but ancient – and particularly early Christian – opinions still exert significant infuence on contemporary discussions. Thus fleshing out the ancient conversation, viewing it in the fullest possible light, is a relevant and important undertaking.

Chapter IV

Animals in the Acts of Andrew A. Introduction The Acts Andr., like all the major apocryphal acts (save Acts Thom.), is not extant in its entirety, and the text-critical issues are complex. There is no dearth of textual witnesses to the travels and martyrdom of the apostle Andrew; to the contrary, there is an abundance of such texts. The particular problem is in sorting through the bulk of material and determining what is likely to have belonged to the earliest or “primitive” text. In point of fact, the very title of this chapter is misleading to the extent that contemporary scholars have not convincingly concluded what the “Acts of Andrew” actually looked like, even in its most basic outline. 1 Before turning to the animal-related episodes, then, it is necessary to review the text-critical situation and identify the major points of contention in contemporary scholarship. The extant materials can be divided into four broad categories: 1) texts including exclusively or primarily Andrew’s rescue of the apostle Matthias from prison, 2) texts including exclusively or primarily the martyrdom of Andrew, 3) texts comprising both Andrew’s peregrinations and martyrdom, including his activities with Matthias, and 4) fragmentary texts offering witness to isolated episodes. 2 Of the first category, our chief witness is the Acta Andreae et Matthiae apud anthropophagos (Acts Andr. Matt.), edited by M. Bonnet from multiple manuscripts dating from the 9th to 16th centuries C.E. 3 This apparently popular narrative, extant also in Latin, Coptic, Armenian, Ethiopic, Syriac and Arabic, relates Andrew’s journey to the city of the cannibals to rescue the tortured and imprisoned Matthias.

1 For a recent and very thorough analysis of the textual situation of the Acts Andr., see Lautaro Roig Lanzillotta, Acta Andreae Apocrypha: A New Approach to the Character, Thought and Meaning of the Primitive Text (Genève: Patrick Cramer Éditeur, 2007). 2 For a comprehensive list of all textual witnesses related to Andrew, see Roig Lanzillotta, Acta Andreae Apocrypha, 3–9. 3 M. Bonnet, Acta Apostolorum Apocrypha II/1 (Leipzig: H. Mendelssohn, 1898; repr., Hildesheim: G. Olms, 1959), 65–127.

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Within the second category, one is confronted with a multitude of divergent versions of Andrew’s martyrdom in Patras. These texts differ in length and the degree of detail included, but also in character and content. 4 Bonnet edited multiple recensions of the martyrdom (in both Greek and Latin) in AAA II/1 and Analecta Bollandiana. 5 More recently, Jean-Marc Prieur has produced an edition of and commentary on the Acts Andr. for CCSA. In volume two he presents a new edition of the Martyrium prius (a recension of the martyrdom first edited by Bonnet), including four new manuscripts, and also reproduces Bonnet’s edition of the Liber de miraculis beati Andreae Apostoli (to be discussed below). 6 Most importantly, however, Prieur offers under the title Actes d’André grecs a textual reconstruction of the events in Patras leading up to and including the apostle’s martyrdom. In this reconstruction Prieur collates the bulk of textual witnesses (including previously unknown material), apparently taking the two manuscripts S and H (both of which are longer recensions) as his frame. 7 The third category of materials, i.e. comprehensive accounts including Andrew’s peregrinations and martyrdom, includes four distinct texts, three Greek, one Latin. Two of the Greek texts, the Narratio and Laudatio, were edited by Bonnet from multiple manuscripts dating to the 10th–11th and 11th– 12th centuries, respectively. 8 A third Greek text, the Vita Andreae by the monk Epiphanius, is available in Dressel’s edition of one manuscript, but two (apparently superior) manuscripts are as of yet unpublished. 9 The comprehensive text in Latin is the aforementioned Liber de miraculis Beati Andreae apostoli, written in the late sixth century by Gregory of Tours. While each of these four texts describes both the apostle’s travels and martyrdom – including an episode involving Andrew’s rescue of Matthias – they by no means present a homogeneous group; rather, they offer at times widely diverging versions of both halves of the narrative. 10 The fourth category includes, among multiple fragments that seem to relate to Andrew, two important texts. The first is a fragment “ex actis Andreae”

4

See Roig Lanzillotta, Acta Andreae, 58–61. Maximillian Bonnet, Acta Apostolorum Apocrypha II/1, 1–64; “Passio sancti Andreae apostoli,” Analecta Bollandiana 13 (1984): 373–78. 6 Jean-Marc Prieur, Acta Andreae (CCSA 6; Turnhout: Brepols, 1989). 7 Ibid. 442–549. On Prieur’s use of the manuscripts S and H, see Roig Lanzillotta, Acta Andreae, 29–30. 8 Maximillian Bonnet, “Acta Andreae Apostoli cum Laudatione Contexta,” Analecta Bollandiana 13 (1894): 309–52; “Martyrium Sancti Apostoli Andreae,” Analecta Bollandiana 13 (1894): 353–372. 9 Roig Lanzillotta, Acta Andreae, 7. 10 Ibid. 54–55 and 63–65. 5

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from Vaticanus graecus 808, a manuscript dated to the 10th–11th century. 11 This fragment is discursive in style, consisting primarily of five speeches – one given by the villain, Aegeates, the remaining four by the apostle. The long-standing judgment that Vat. gr. 808 offers a particularly good window into the character of the original Acts Andr. 12 has recently been argued at length by Roig Lanzillotta. 13 The second fragment is the fourth century (and thus our earliest witness) Papyrus Copt. Utrecht 1 (PCU 1). This text, which ends with the title “The Act of Andrew,” apparently contained only one extended episode of the apostle’s peregrinations. It originally filled fifteen pages of the manuscript, but pages one through eight, eleven, and twelve are now missing. The remainder, then, is five pages of text, which seem to correspond to c. 18 of the Liber de miraculis. While this complex textual situation leaves many unknowns concerning the form and character of the original text – if indeed any such “original” can be identified – the primary question addressed in modern scholarship is whether or not the earliest text included both Andrew’s peregrinations and his martyrdom. In other words, was the original Acts Andr. a comprehensive text from which individual sections were broken off and circulated separately, or did additional material accrue through later editorial activity to a text originally confined to the apostle’s final days? In the last two decades of contemporary scholarship, the focus of this question has been narrowed to the presence or absence of Acts Andr. Matt. in the earliest text. Working simultaneously with, but independently of, Prieur, Dennis R. MacDonald published another edition of the Acts Andr. in 1990. As MacDonald writes, the two editions for the most part agree, with the exception of their positions on this primary question. 14 MacDonald includes Acts Andr. Matt., refuting Prieur’s (and Flamion’s) 15 arguments for exclusion before stating his positive case for the plausibility – even interpretive necessity 16 – of reading Acts Andr. Matt. as part of the original Acts Andr. 11

Roig Lanzillota produces a new critical edition in Acta Andreae, 107–135. Ibid. 41–42. 13 Ibid. 53–106. 14 MacDonald, The Acts of Andrew and The Acts of Andrew and Matthias in the City of the Cannibals (SBLTT 33; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1990) 2–3. 15 J. Flamion, Les Actes Apocryphes de l’Apôtre André: Les Actes d’André et de Mathias, de Pierre et d’André et les textes apparentés (Louvain: Bureaux du Recueil, 1911), 269–309; cf. MacDonald’s critique of Flamion in “The Acts of Andrew and Matthias and the Acts of Andrew,” Semeia 38 (1986), 11–16. 16 MacDonald argues that the Acts Andr. is a Christianization of Homer, specifically that the “looping itinerary” (beginning and ending in Achaea) which results when one reads the Acts of Andrew and the Acts of Andrew and Matthias together is best understood (and the narrative as a whole most profitably interpreted) when one recognizes the Odyssey as the lit12

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The arguments proceed along multiple lines, but the strongest evidence on each side of the debate might be summarized as follows. The most convincing indication that the Acts Andr. Matt. does indeed belong to the earliest text is the inclusion of an episode involving the rescue of Matthias not just in the Liber de Mir. but – in one form another – in all the comprehensive accounts of Andrew’s peregrinations and martyrdom, including the Narratio, Laudatio, and Epiphanius’ Vita. Further, MacDonald collects a substantial list of church fathers from the east that seem to know a version of Andrew’s story that contains both his martyrdom and adventures with cannibals. 17 At least as persuasive, however, is the list of thematic and stylistic differences between the Acts Andr. Matt. and the multiple Greek versions of the martyrdom. Chief among these is the lack of chastity-propaganda in the Acts Andr. Matt. – indeed the total absence of any female characters whatsoever. Also quite prominent are the contrary characterizations of Andrew: in the martyrdoms he is a perfected human being, whereas in the Acts Andr. Matt. he is a flawed figure, resisting Jesus’ commands and liable to other criticisms. 18 Finally, the philosophical registers of the two texts seem at odds; Hilhorst and Lalleman may not have put too sharp a point on it in writing, “the Acts Andr. is a treatise in philosophical religion whereas the Acts Andr. Matt. is just a juicy story.” 19 There does, however, seem to be a middle path, which takes both sets of evidence into account. Roig Lanzillotta has called attention to the substantial differences between the multiple versions of Andrew’s adventures with Matthias in the comprehensive accounts. Particularly notable is the fact that none of these versions has any mention of cannibals. Instead, the Liber de miraculis sets the action in the city of Myrmidon; in the Narratio the episode takes place at Sinope, where the residents are “bloodthirsty” (ai`mabo,roi) but not literally cannibals; in the Laudatio and Vita, the action takes place in Sinope, where the residents (particularly the Jews) behave so barbarically “that for this reason they are called, by some, cannibals” (w`j evk tou,tou para, tisi kai. avnqrwpofa,gouj auvtouj ovnomasqhnai) (Laudatio 317.18[7]). And, indeed, the residents of Sinope will eventually attack Andrew, biting his flesh like wild erary model or “hypertext” with which (and against which) the author worked. MacDonald writes: “Andrew left Achaea to rescue Matthias and eventually returned there because the author wished his readers to recognize similarities with Odysseus’s departure from Achaea to rescue Helen of Troy and his eventful no,stoj, or ‘homecoming’, to Ithaca” (Christianizing Homer [New York: Oxford University Press, 1994], 5). 17 MacDonald, “The Acts of Andrew and Matthias and the Acts of Andrew,” 11–15. 18 See, for example, Acts Andr. Matt. 4, 27, 28 and 33. 19 A. Hilhosrt and Pieter J. Lalleman, “The Acts of Andrew and Matthias: Is it part of the original Acts of Andrew?” in The Apocryphal Acts of Andrew (ed. Jan N. Bremmer; Leuven: Peeters, 2000), 9.

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dogs, even biting off one of his fingers. But, despite this beastly behavior, there is no indication that the Sinopeans intend to ingest the apostle, whereas the residents of the city of the cannibals in Acts Andr. Matt. seem entirely motivated by the demand for humans to supply their highly developed food production system. Roig Lanzillotta concludes that none of the comprehensive accounts uses the Acts Andr. Matt. as a source and, similarly, none of them could likely serve as a source for the others. But there are key elements of each story (e.g. Andrew’s miraculous entrance to the city and liberation of Matthias from prison, 20 and his torture by dragging through the city 21 ) that suggest there is a common source behind all these variations. It seems at least as likely as not that this source was a part of the original Acts Andr., acknowledging that, beyond the minimal outline provided by the common elements just described, very little about this massively re-worked text can be known. Roig Lanzillotta is similarly pessimistic about the possibility of isolating a “primitive” text within any of the extant portions of the narrative, with the exception of Vat. gr. 808. 22 In what follows, therefore, I will proceed with caution, identifying the specific texts in which the passages considered are found and refraining from drawing conclusions as to the attitude towards animals in an “original” Acts Andr. The designation Acts Andr. will be used, for the sake of convenience, to refer to the entire body of ancient Andrew-related literature, recognizing the great diversity of texts included. Despite the rather frustrating textual situation, it may nevertheless be possible to identify consistencies and chart trajectories in the representation and narrative use of the animal kingdom. In fact, the representation of animals in almost every textual witness to the Acts Andr. is fundamentally negative. 23 In this respect, the narratives involving Andrew, which (certainly in terms of plot structure and central themes) are quite similar to the other major apocryphal acts, present a notable contrast. The representation of animals in the Acts Andr. stands far closer to the literature of ascetics discussed above in chapter two, including, for example, multiple texts from Nag Hammadi.

20

Acts Andr. Matt. 19; Laudatio, 318.19–20 (8); Narratio, 357.1–5 (5); Lib. de Mir. 1. Acts Andr. Matt. 28; Laudatio, 330.24–331.4 (25); Narratio, 357.6–20 (6); Lib. de Mir. 1. 22 Lanzillotta, Acta Andreae, 53–100. 23 The exception is an episode concerning an eagle (to be discussed below), found in the Armenian translation (edited from four manuscripts by C. Tchérakian and translated into French by L. Leloir in Écrits Apocryphes sur les Apôtres. Traduction de l’édition arménienne de Venise. I: Pierre, Paul, André, Jacques, Jean (CCSA 3; Turnhout: Brepols, 1986), 205– 227. 21

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I have chosen to begin our consideration of animals in the apocryphal acts of the apostles with the one Acts that’s not like the others – the exception that, I contend, proves the rule. The Acts Andr. allows us to see what the negative attitude towards animals (as found in texts with a comparable attitude towards asceticism) looks like within the apocryphal acts genre. This view, in turn, will cast the markedly positive portrayals of animals in the Acts John, Acts Pet., Acts Paul, and Acts Thom. into sharp relief. In the remainder of the chapter I will consider first the texts describing Andrew’s peregrinations, focusing on the Lib. de. mir. (which includes the most animal-related material). Next I will discuss the martyrdom accounts, taking the manuscripts S and H (which provide the frame of Prieur’s edition) as a starting point, while paying careful attention to other accounts, particularly the parallel material found in the comprehensive Narratio and Laudatio as well as the Vatic. gr. 808. I will then treat the representation of animals in the Acts Andr. Matt., again with comparison to the parallel material in the comprehensive accounts. Finally, I will close with a brief discussion of the episode involving an eagle from an Armenian version of the Andrew narrative.

B. Animals in the Liber de Miraculis As noted above, the Lib. de mir. is an abridgement written by Gregory, Bishop of Tours, at the end of the 6th century. Gregory, in his prologue to the work, identifies his source as a book (which he has discovered) that treats the activities of the apostle Andrew but suffers from “too much verbosity” (nimiam verbositatem) (Lib. de. mir. prologue). 24 Where comparative material is available, it seems that Gregory endeavoured to create not just an epitomized but catholicized version of the narrative, suppressing many of the speeches and emending the more rigorously encratic episodes to allow marriage, for example. 25 Granted that the Lib. de mir. is an epitome revised also for content, even the most basic elements of the four episodes in which animals are featured indicate a thoroughly negative evaluation of the animal world. 24 See Flamion’s argument concerning the status of Gregory’s epitome as the most comprehensive witness to the original Acts Andr. (Actes d’Andre, 213–263). Citations of line numbers of the Lib. de mir. are from Prieur’s reproduction of Bonnet’s text. 25 At Lib. de mir. 11, for example, Gregory seems to have changed an episode in which Andrew disrupts plans for a normal marriage into the prevention of a marriage between siblings; Gregory has the apostle say: “We do not scorn or avoid marriages … but we do condemn incest” (Lib. de mir. 11.25–6).

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The first to appear are seven demons in the city of Nicaea which, much like the demons in Athanasius’ Vit. Ant., have taken the form of animals – here, dogs. Andrew, at the citizens’ request, banishes the demons from the area, commanding them to go someplace “dry and fruitless” (arida et infructuosa) where the name of God is not invoked (Lib. de. mir. 6.20–23). Unfortunately, these dog-demons beat the apostle to the yet to be evangelized and thus apparently still “dry and fruitless” Nicomedia. When he arrives in the city Andrew meets the funeral procession of a young man. 26 Having asked the circumstances of his death, he is told that while the boy was alone in his room, seven dogs suddenly entered, attacked and mauled him. Andrew immediately recognizes these as the seven dog-demons of Nicaea, and, with tear-filled eyes, prays to Jesus that the child be resuscitated lest the “adversary of the human race” (adversarius humani generis) rejoice in his destruction (Lib. de mir. 7.15–88). The young man is revived and returned to his parents, but the fate of the dogs is never narrated (either as a result of Gregory’s epitomization or because they have simply played out their limited role). This early episode, however, sets up an important dichotomy that will carry throughout the text: animals, here dogs, are associated with demons and the devil; they are on the opposing team, adversaries of the human race. 27 The next animals to appear are not ferocious, but present a certain risk nonetheless. In 16, a man named Nicolaus approaches the apostle and offers to give him a gilded carriage with four white horses and four white mules if only he will heal his ailing daughter. 28 Andrew, not tempted by “these visible things” (haec visibilia), naturally refuses to accept the animals, requesting instead the man’s belief in God as payment (Lib. de mir. 16.6–7). The expensive carriage and beasts hold none of the value that Nicolaus attributes to them. Both this passage and the raising of the young man seem to reproduce miracle reports from the synoptic gospels (i.e. Luke 7:11–15 and Mark 5:23, 7:26 and

26

Cf. Luke 7:11ff. These dogs do not appear in Narratio, Laudatio or Vita; each text does, however, include an episode taking place at Nicaea. In Narratio, Andrew casts out multiple demons, who have taken up residence at the east gate of the city, making it impassible (4). Laudatio and Vita include an episode at Nicaea involving not dogs but a dragon, which the apostle kills by shoving an iron rod in “the life-bearing form of the cross” into “one of the dragon’s eyes and out the other” (Laudatio 324.9-17 [16]). This episode, to the extent that it involves a dragon, resembles the episode in Lib. de mir. 19 in which the apostle rids a woman’s estate of an enormous snake, resurrecting a boy whom the snake has killed (see below). 28 Cf. the Persians’ “chariot of Zeus,” drawn by eight white horses with gilded yokes, as described by Herodotus (Hist. 7.40) and Xenophon (Cyr. 8.3); Pharaoh’s chariot, driven by Joseph and drawn by four snow-white horses, is similarly described in Joseph and Aseneth 5.5. On the request to heal an ailing daughter, cf. Mark 5:23, 7:26 and parallels. 27

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parallels); notably, the primary revision of these pericopes – as far as can be determined from Gregory’s epitome – is the addition of animals. In 18, “a certain enemy of the apostolic proclamation” denounces Andrew to the proconsul Virinus, who then sends soldiers to arrest him (Lib. de mir. 18.1–2). This section, which includes multiple attempts at arrest, the resurrection of a soldier, and ultimately Andrew’s damnatio ad bestias, is recounted in greater detail than the rest of Gregory’s epitome. One such detail is the perhaps menacing report that soldiers are sent “with horses” (cum equitibus) to arrest the apostle; when these soldiers, attacked by the crowds, fail to make the arrest, the proconsul “roared like a lion” (fremuit ut leo) (Lib. de mir. 18.7, 15). When Andrew is finally arrested and sentenced to fight the beasts, a series of animals are set upon him in the arena. First a “ferocious and horrible boar” (aprum ferocem et orribilem) is released (Lib. de mir. 18.55–57); it circles the apostle three times, but does him no harm. Next a bull, led in by thirty soldiers and incited by two hunters, is set against Andrew; it does not touch the apostle, but manages to tear the hunters to pieces before, with a bellow, falling down dead. Finally, the proconsul, boiling with rage, sends a most ferocious leopard against Andrew; this decision has a terrible consequence when the leopard leaps into the stands, attacks the proconsul’s own son, and throttles him to death. This is not the only instance in the apocryphal acts where an apostle, condemned to fight the beasts, miraculously survives. Both Paul and Thecla have close encounters with animals in the arena, as will be discussed in detail in chapter seven below. In these episodes, however, Paul and Thecla survive due to the actions of friendly beasts: the lion intended to maul Paul turns out to have been the one baptized by Paul in an earlier episode; when a bear and a particularly ferocious lion threaten Thecla, she is protected by a lioness. While these narratives, as will be discussed, leave somewhat open the question of agency – is the lioness acting on an innate recognition of Thecla’s sanctity or does God act through it? – these animals are clearly on the Christian team. In the Lib. de mir. we find something quite different. Although this is an edited and abbreviated text, it is still clear that these animals do not refuse to harm the apostle due to some good will on their part; they seem, rather, to be unable to touch him. The bull’s attack on the hunters and the leopard’s attack on the young man are not to be interpreted as the enactment of a divine plan, but rather as the chickens coming home to roost. Virinus has already been described as having “roared like a lion”; thus the one who raged like a lion in his pursuit of the apostle is now victim, through his son, of a real beast’s raging. That these animals are in no way serving the purposes of God is made explicit at the close of the episode. Andrew resurrects the proconsul’s son, saying to the crowd: “Now understand that you worship the true God, by

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whose strength the beasts are overcome” (Cognoscite nunc, quia verum Deum colitis, cuius virtute bestiae superatae sunt) (Lib. de. mir. 18.70–71). Immediately after these events, Andrew is asked by the mother of a youth who was among the apostle’s company to come to her estate. An enormous snake (twenty-five cubits long) is living there and wreaking havoc on the entire region. Andrew agrees and as soon as he arrives the snake, with a loud hiss, comes out to meet him. Andrew addresses him: “Hang that head, murderer, which you lifted up in the beginning to the destruction of the human race; subject yourself to the servants (famulis) of God and die” (Lib. de mir. 19.11-12)! The snake immediately gives a low roar, coils itself around a nearby oak tree and, vomiting a river of blood and venom, dies. Andrew then proceeds to the woman’s manor, where a young boy who had been attacked by the snake is lying dead. Andrew effects the boy’s resurrection (with the help of the proconsul’s wife, no less), and all present come to believe in God. Snakes appear in multiple apocryphal acts, playing significant roles in both the Acts John and the Acts Thom., as will be discussed in chapters five and eight below. As one might expect in Christian and Jewish texts, they are generally associated with the devil. The snake in Lib. de mir. is clearly linked with the serpent of Genesis 3 and the fall of the human race, and yet remains a real snake. It is perhaps the devil’s kin or servant and is, as a member of the species, implicated in the crime of Genesis 3, but this is not explicitly the devil or a demon in disguise (as were the dogs of Lib. de mir. 6–7). Stories of enormous snakes terrorizing various locales were common in ancient prose fiction and natural history texts. Most important in this episode is the division of sides. The animal is on the devil’s team and must be subjected to the famulis, that is, the “servant” or perhaps better “member of the household” of God. In the Lib. de mir. the categories are clear-cut: on the one side are the devil, demons, beasts and bestial men; on the other are God and human beings.

C. Animals in the Martyrdom of Andrew In the Greek recensions 29 of the martyrdom of Andrew animals appear almost exclusively in metaphors and similes, most often used to describe the martyrdom’s chief villain, the proconsul Aegeates. Indeed, the very name “Aegeates,” although sometimes construed as relating to the Aegean sea, may also be derived from ai;x, “goat.” The apostle’s opponent, then, is the “goat-man” – and quite appropriately so: like the famously hedonistic and caprine satyrs and

29 In the following discussion of the martyrdom of Andrew I will refer to Prieur’s edition (as Actes d’André grecs), noting the particular manuscript sources where relevant.

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the reportedly lascivious animal itself, 30 Aegeates is characterized by his uncontrolled appetite for both food and sex. As in the Lib. de mir. the impression left by such characterization is stark and consistent. Andrew starts down the road to martyrdom when he heals Maximilla, Aegeates’ wife. 31 She is brought to belief in the true God, but her husband is not. Andrew crosses paths with the family again when he heals the beloved servant of Aegeates’ brother Stratocles. He, too, comes to belief in God, and Andrew remains in their household, teaching and conversing with Maximilla, Stratocles, and his wife Iphidama, who was actually the first of the trio to encounter the apostle and accept his teachings. The first animal metaphor appears in an episode extant in manuscripts H and S; here, Aegeates, who has been away from home, unexpectedly returns and nearly catches a group of Christians gathered in Maximilla’s bedroom to hear the apostle speak. When Maximilla is informed of Aegeates’ return, she quite rightly fears his reaction. Andrew, therefore, prays to the Lord as follows: “Lord Jesus, do not let Aegeates enter into this bedroom until your servants have departed without fear … Let [Maximilla] be strengthened along with Stratocles, and quench the rage of the savage lion (le,ontoj hvgriwme,nou) armed against us, saving us all” (Actes d’André grecs, 13.13–15). Aegeates, already on his way to Maximilla’s bedroom, is immediately struck with a severe gastric ailment, and must hurry to his toilet where he sits for several undoubtedly uncomfortable hours (u`po. th/j gastro.j wvclh,qh kai. h|;tei se,llan kai. pollh.n w[ran kaqezo,menoj evpemelei/to e`autou/) (Actes d’André grecs, 13.16–17). One can easily imagine a comic reading of this episode: Aegeates is clearly mocked. 32 But the passage is notable for several other reasons. First, Aegeates is compared to a savage lion before he has even had the chance to get angry. It is possible that his character had been revealed as such in a previous episode (e.g., the episode in which Maximilla is healed by the apostle) not preserved in the Greek recensions, but there is no positive indication of that. In the Lib. de mir. and in Laudatio, Aegeates is rather pathetic, weeping at the bedside of the sick Maximilla, holding a sword and threatening to kill himself if she dies. 33 When Andrew heals her, Aegeates offers him money, which the apostle of course refuses – but there is no report of any angry exchange. 34 The description as a “savage lion” is perhaps better understood in connection with 30

See, for example, Plutarch, Quaest. rom. 111. This information is not contained in any of the Greek recensions, but is gleaned from the Lib. de. mir. 30 and Laudatio 338.9ff. (38). 32 For a brief survey of scatological humor in the Hebrew Bible and Graeco-Roman literature in connection with this passage, see István Czachesz, “‘Whatever goes into the Mouth…,’” in Bremmer, The Apocryphal Acts of Andrew, 56–69. 33 Lib. de mir. 30; Laudatio 338.18–21 (38). 34 Ibid. 31

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Aegeates’ amorous intentions. He has returned from a long trip and is making a bee-line for his wife’s bedroom. In the rigorously ascetic worldview apparent in all recensions of the martyrdom, this may be enough to warrant the metaphor. 35 The method employed (apparently by Jesus) to delay Aegeates’ arrival is also of interest. On his way to satisfy sexual desires, the proconsul is waylaid by the consequences of satisfying his gastronomic cravings. Aegeates finally arrives at Maximilla’s bed, though she manages to put him off for the night. The animal metaphors continue, however, when Andrew, to whom Maximilla has now gone for help, prays for her: “I beg you, my God, Lord Jesus Christ, the one who knows what will be; I commend to you as my worthy child Maximilla. Let your word and power be strong in her; let the spirit in her conquer even Aegeates, the haughty and hostile snake (to.n Aivgea,thn u`bristh.n kai. avnti,dikon o;fin), and finally let, Lord, the soul in her remain pure, sanctified in your name. Especially protect her from this filthy pollution; indeed, put our wild and ever-uncivilized (to.n a;grion kai. avei. avpai,deuton) enemy to sleep.” (Actes d’André grecs, 16.1–9)

Here Aegeates is called a snake, a clear association (if not direct identification) of the man with the devil. 36 He is, moreover, “wild” (a;grioj) and perpetually “uncivilized” or, perhaps better, “uneducated” (avpai,deutoj) – no small charge in a text that expresses a strong interest in philosophy. 37 Later, Andrew again associates Aegeates with a snake, this time identifying him as the son of the snake, here quite clearly denoting the devil. Addressing Maximilla, he says: “And do not yourself be persuaded by the intercourses (o`mili,ai) of Aegeates and the flatteries of his father the snake” (Actes d’André grecs, 40.14–5). 38 Another animal figure is used to describe Aegeates in Actes d’André grecs 46. He has given Maximilla an ultimatum: either return to his bed or Andrew dies. When she, in consultation with the apostle, chooses to remain pure, Aegeates has only to consider what method of execution to use. We are told that, having arrived at crucifixion as best of them all, “he departed with his companions and fatted himself (evsiti,zeto) like a beast (w`j qh,r)” (Actes d’André

35

On lions in general, see below chapter VII; on the lion’s erotic affiliations, see the references collected by Jackson (178–9), including the depiction of Eros/Harpocrates riding upon a lion (cf. Lucian’s description, Dial. d. 20[12].2) and the representation of the Egyptian Bes with a lion-headed phallus. 36 Cf. M. Pesthy, “Aegeates, the Devil in Person,” in Bremmer, The Apocryphal Acts of Andrew, 47–55. 37 See, for example, Actes d’André grecs, 59.12–21. 38 Note the double entendre in o`mili,a, which can mean both verbal communication and sexual intercourse. The identical phrase is found in Vat. gr. 808; see Lanzillotta, Acta Andreae, 122.

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grecs, 46.12). Notably, Vat. gr. 808 (ln. 201) omits the phrase w`j qh,r. 39 Narratio, on the other hand, gives the following: th/j ou=n w[raj protrepome,nhj evpi. to. a;riston pro,eisin a[ma toi/j o`moi,oij auvtw|/ gastridou,loij siti,zesqai oi-a, tij qh.r ai`mobo,roj tw|/ qumw|/ bre,mwn pro.j bora.n sarkw/n avqw|,wn\ Now, as it was high time for breakfast, he went off with his fellow slaves-to-appetite to fatten himself like some blood-sucking beast, roaring with rage for a carnivorous meal of guiltless flesh. (Narratio 364.13-15 [20])

In this passage, identified by Lanzillotta as a “very interpretative and amplifying version” of an earlier text represented by Vat. gr. 808, 40 the beastly rhetoric is clearly intensified. A similar instance of amplification in Narratio is found in one of Andrew’s speeches from the cross: whereas at Actes d’André grecs, 62.19–20 the apostle describes Aegeates as “wreathed with his material garment” (th|/ peribolh|/ auvtou/ th|/ u`lw,dei perihnqisme,noj), in Narratio the “venom of vipers is on his lips and his garment is like a wolf’s hide” (ivo.j avspi,dwn u`po. ta. cei,lh auvtou/( kai. h` peribolh. auvtou/ w`j lu,kou dora,); further, “he’s beast-brained and a man-eater” (qhrio,gnwmoj kai. avnqrwpokto,noj) (Narratio 371.5–6 [34]). The linking of animality and the appetites is a strong theme throughout most versions of the martyrdom, perhaps particularly manuscripts S and H. 41 The conflict between Andrew and the proconsul is driven entirely by the latter’s appetite for sex with his wife, and yet there is recurring reference to his appetite for food and the dietary habits of all the main characters. Aegeates seems to enjoy topping off his cruelty with a good meal: in 31, after ordering guards to make sure Maximilla did not leave her room, it is noted that he “returned to his dinner.” In contrast, Maximilla and Iphidama lose their appetites when faced with troubling situations. In Actes d’André grecs 27, when Aegeates has reported the imprisonment of Andrew, Maximilla says to Iphidama: “Sister, here we are eating while our benefactor, after the Lord, has been locked up!” For his part, Andrew seems never to eat. After he is crucified but spends four days teaching from his cross, the crowds exclaim: “For four days he has hung, and eaten nothing, but he has fed us to the full with his words” (Actes d’André grecs, 59.18–19).

39

Lanzillotta, Acta Andreae, 128. Ibid. 68. 41 The use of animals in the narrative and as figures to describe the apostle’s opponent is less frequent in Laudatio, where Aegeates is more often described as “entirely polluted” (pammiaro,j); this may reflect a broader theme in Laudatio, contrasting healing and health (represented by Maximilla and Andrew) with pollution and disease (represented by Aegeates). See Laudatio 346.10 (46) and 348.29–30 (49). 40

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In addition to this spiritual diet, we are given more information as to the types of foods consumed by Christians. In Actes d’André grecs 25.18 we are told that Stratocles, although having many slaves, does his own shopping, buying “vegetables and bread” (la,cana)))kai. a;rtouj). Similarly, we are told that Iphidama and Maximilla typically eat “bread with olives” (a;rton meta. evlaiw/n) for lunch (Actes d’André grecs, 27.2–3). This vegetarian diet stands in contrast to the diet of the Christians’ opponents. In a rather enigmatic speech, Andrew says the following: VErw/ de, ti pro.j se. e[teron kai. tou.j su.n evmoi. badi,zontaj avdelfou.j peri. tw/n avllotri,wn h`mi/n avnqrw,pwn.) ~H daimonikh. fu,sij me,crij mh. e;ch| th.n ai`matw,dh trofh.n mhde. to. diV auvth/j no,stimon avnaspa|/ mh. avnairoume,nwn zw|,wn( evxasqenei/ kai. eivj ouvde.n cwrei/ nekroume,nei o[lh) “And I will tell you something else – you and the brethren who are walking with me – about the human beings that are alien to us. As long as the demonic nature does not have its bloodred nourishment, and does not draw in its succulence, since animals are not killed, it grows weak and comes to nothing, being wholly dead.” (Actes d’André grecs, 53.18–22)

This seems, at first reading, to be primarily a critique of animal sacrifice – a là Athenagoras – as a practice that serves only to nourish evil demons. 42 But Andrew prefaces this statement by saying it is “concerning human beings that are alien to us” (peri. tw/n avllotri,wn h`mi/n avnqrw,pwn). The “demonic nature” (daimonikh. fu,sij) here described seems to refer at once to the demons to whom the animals are sacrificed and the human beings that eat the meat; man and demon are here united in the consumption of flesh. The triad of demons, bestial men and beasts is completed when we return to the few animals that appear in the primary level of the martyrdom’s narrative, that is, outside of literary figures. In each instance, these animals are referred to as devourers of human flesh: when Aegeates punishes the conniving maid Eucleia, who aided (and betrayed) Maximilla in deceiving him, he cuts off her tongue, hands, and feet, then leaves her on a rubbish heap for several days without nourishment, until she becomes “meat for the dogs” (kusi.n bora,) (Actes d’André grecs, 22.9–10). 43 He has similar plans for Andrew, ordering that when he is crucified his ligaments not be cut so that he might survive long enough “to be eaten alive by dogs” (zw/nta u`po. kunw/n brwqh/nai) (54.18–19). It is surely significant that, while Andrew is not eaten by dogs on the cross, the maid Eucleia, whose crime was to disguise herself as Maximilla and have sex with Aegeates (a task that she took on with enthusiasm), really is devoured: in this text, bestial people eat beasts and beasts eat bestial people. As in the Lib. de mir., in 42 Cf. Athenagoras, Leg. 27. For a detailed discussion of pagan and Christian critiques of animal sacrifice, see Gilhus, 138–60. 43 Note the term bora,, which is used primarily for the food of carnivorous beasts, including in the context of cannibalism.

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the Greek martyrdoms the lines are clearly drawn: on the one side are the devil, demons, beasts and bestial people; on the other are God and true human beings, i.e., Christians. The significance of this schema is underlined in Andrew’s final speech from the cross: “If you take the coming together of the soul into the body for the soul itself, so that after the departure there is no longer anything, you have the thoughts of animals and must be counted among the wild beasts” (qhri,wn u`ponoi,aj e;cete kai. qhrsi.n u`ma/j deinoi/j evnariqmei/n avnagkai/on) (Actes d’André grecs, 56.6–9). Others have, quite rightly, compared Andrew’s farewell speech to Socrates’ discussion of the nature of the soul and its separation from the body in Phaed. 44 Socrates, too, introduces animals into the discussion: the souls of gluttons and drunks will be reincarnated as asses, the unjust, tyrranical and violent as wolves, hawks or kites. 45 But there is a significant difference here: while for Plato immoderate human beings will posthumously become animals, for the author of this passage they are in fact animals already.

D. Animals in the Acts of Andrew and Matthias Like the Greek martyrdoms of Andrew, animals appear in the Acts Andr. Matt. primarily in similes used to describe characters or, perhaps better, sets of characters within the narrative. Acts Andr. Matt. begins with a casting of lots among the apostles, dividing up the regions of the world for evangelizing. It is Matthias’ clearly unfortunate lot to travel to the horrific-sounding “region of the cannibals” (cw,ra avnqrwpafa,gwn), to which he nevertheless departs without hesitation. The reader is informed that the residents of this city “did not eat bread or drink wine, but were in the habit of eating the flesh of human beings and drinking their blood” (ou;te a;rton h;sqion ou;te oi=non e;pinon( avllV h=san evsqi,ontej sa,rkaj avnqrw,pwn kai. pi,nontej auvtw/n to. ai-ma) (Acts Andr. Matt. 1). In order to keep themselves supplied with such fare, the residents would capture any human being who – apparently not having read the guidebooks – might wander through their gates. They would pluck out the eyes of the unfortunate visitor and force him to drink a potion “prepared with sorcery and magic” (evk farmakei,aj kai. magei,aj skeuasqe,n), by which his “heart was deranged and his mind exchanged” (hvlliou/to auvtou/ h` kardi,a kai. o` nou/j auvtou/ methlla,sseto) (Acts Andr. Matt. 1). 46 Presumably, their minds were

44

MacDonald, Christianizing Homer, 263–9. Plato, Phaed. 81e-82a. 46 On the sense of metala,ssw, see Aristophanes, Av. 117. 45

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“exchanged” for the minds of farm animals, as the captives were then fed – and apparently ate – a diet of hay. 47 When Matthias arrived at the city, he, too, was immediately imprisoned with his eyes torn out. The potion, however, did not have its intended effect: the narrator reports that, when his captors provided hay for Matthias to eat, he refused, “for his heart was not deranged and his mind was not exchanged” (Acts Andr. Matt. 2). Matthias instead prays to Jesus, asking him to look at what they have done to him, “how they have made [him] like cattle” (pw/j pareplhsi,asa,n me toi/j kth,nesin) (Acts Andr. Matt. 2). Jesus, of course, hears Matthias’ prayer and sends Andrew to rescue him. After miraculously entering both the city and prison without detection, Andrew is similarly disturbed at seeing the imprisoned men, naked and eating hay “like dumb cattle” (w[sper ta. kth,nh a;loga); he, however, cries out to himself: “Oh, Andrew! Look and see what they have done to human beings like you (toi/j o`moi,oij sou avnqrw,poij), how they have made them like mindless cattle (pw/j pareplhsi,asan auvtou.j toi/j kth,nesin toi/j avnoh,toij)” (Acts Andr. Matt. 20). Multiple themes are at play here. The scene has clear parallels to the Od. book ten, where Odysseus’ crew are captured by Circe, drugged with a magical potion and turned into swine. 48 But notably, the effect on the victims is opposite: whereas Circe’s potion transforms the men’s bodies into those of swine, leaving their minds unchanged, 49 the potion of the cannibals leaves one’s body the same, only affecting the heart and mind. If the author of Acts Andr. Matt. intentionally evokes the story of Circe’s island – as seems entirely plausible – the point seems to be in this reversal: in his version, the horror is not in being a human mind trapped in an animal’s body, but in unwittingly acting the part of the animal, ignorant of one’s own nature. The episode may be read, in this sense, as a Gnostic riff on the theme of metamorphosis. Another clear theme, shared with the Greek martyrdoms of Andrew, is a critique of animal sacrifice. The inhabitants of the city of the cannibals slaughter their victims in the city’s center, allowing their blood to drain into a trough from which they will each draw and drink, without which sustenance they believe they will surely perish. Here, there is much in common with Andrew’s description of animal sacrifice in his speech from the cross (quoted above). We have noted an overlap between the demons to whom the animals are sacrificed and the human beings that eat the meat in the Greek martyrdoms; in Acts Andr. Matt. we find the devil and demons directing the slaughter, making suggestions to the crowds as to potential victims. 50 47

Acts Andr. Matt. 2. See MacDonald, Christianizing Homer, 39–40. 49 Homer, Od. 10.240. 50 Acts Andr. Matt. 24. 48

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The attitudes towards animals evident in Acts Andr. Matt. and the Greek martyrdoms are perhaps more complimentary than comparable. Whereas the Greek martyrdoms depict villains as animals, in Acts Andr. Matt. the villainy of the cannibals is in making their victims like animals. In fact, the cannibals in Acts Andr. Matt. (as opposed to either Aegeates in the Greek martyrdoms or Matthias’ captors in Laudatio or Narratio), are not typically described as “beastly” at all. Put another way, the problem in the city of the cannibals is not that the cannibals are acting like ravenous wolves, but that the victims are acting like sheep. The negative attitude towards animals, particularly in any identification of human beings with animals, is consistent throughout both the Acts Andr. Matt. and the Greek martyrdoms; but these texts do seem to represent the two different sides of that coin – or, perhaps better, two different narrative trajectories from the same starting point.

E. The Eagle in the Armenian Acts of Andrew The Armenian version of the Acts Andr. includes within the apostle’s farewell speech a lengthy parable comparing the human being – more specifically, the soul – to an eagle: “…it is like the regal bird, the eagle, that flies from earth on high, and is adorned with the rays of sunlight by nature high-flying, appearing adorned with resplendent beauty. If he, soaring with light wings, flies around the earth, having left the usual traveling orbit of those living in light, he is corrupted by the earth, and his wings grow heavy. And the eagle is indeed transfigured, for although his nature is appropriate to the earth, nesting is unbecoming to his wings. While being drawn to earth, he appears ridiculous to those who see him. Such things, brothers, are also known to us about our nature. When, like the eagle, we fly toward our natural heavenly light and adorn ourselves with the luminous commandments and the virtues of the spiritual, we will be levitated by these and made to glow from natural lanterns and to be resplendent upon the growth of the plant of our beautiful and spiritual wings.” 51

There is substantial uncertainty as to whether or not this passage, found in no other witness, belongs to an original Acts Andr. 52 If it is a later addition, it nevertheless fits within the body of materials relating to Andrew in several respects. Here again we find clear parallels to Platonic metaphor: this winged soul has much in common with Plato’s figure of the soul as a chariot drawn 51

MacDonald, Acts of Andrew, 402–3 (translation from the Armenian by Thomas J. Samuelian). 52 Prieur concludes, based on the poor correspondence of the section with Greek witnesses and views on the resurrection at odds with the remainder of the acts, that the parable of the eagle is a later addition; see “Acts of Andrew,” 104; cf. MacDonald, Acts of Andrew, 321–3 and 401–5, where the Armenian is presented and translated in English.

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by two winged horses (in Phaedr. 246a–248e). 53 Even closer is perhaps Socrates’ description of the individual who has a recollection of true beauty and thus begins to grow wings: “While they are sprouting, he is eager to fly, but he cannot. He gazes upward as though he were a bird and cares nothing for what is here below, so that he is accused of being mad” (Plato, Phaedr. 249c, Helmbold and Rabinowitz). This seeming madness is matched in the eagle’s apparent incongruity when seen on earth, according to Andrew’s metaphor: “When it will appear that someone is well-endowed and resplendent, then he will rise from the dead. Then a person appears worthy to all who see him, with splendid beauty going up to the Lord. But if he remain on earth, he will appear the most humble – a joke to common fowl – for he will make himself resemble the lowliest bird.” 54 The parable of the eagle, if it did belong to the original Acts Andr., might be taken as an example of an animal depicted quite positively – and indeed, this contributes to my suspicion that the passage is a much later addition. Nevertheless, this eagle is not truly at home in the animal kingdom. It is rather something of an impostor, at least in part (i.e., as far as its wings are concerned) unfit for life on earth: “nesting is unbecoming to his wings” and “he appears ridiculous to those who see him.” 55 Even if this figure is taken, in contrast to all other animal figures in the Acts. Andr., as the positive use of an animal to represent the human being or human soul, alienation from the natural world is nevertheless emphasized.

F. The Exception That Proves the Rule The Acts Andr. – that is, the sum of materials relating to the apostle Andrew’s peregrinations and martyrdom – has a great deal in common with the other major apocryphal acts of the apostles. The antagonism between the apostle and the powerful husband of a wealthy female convert, the failed damnatio ad bestias and successful crucifixion, the many miracles, healings and resurrections performed by the apostle, and, most particularly, the strict asceticism emphasizing the rejection of all sexual behavior, including that within marriage and for procreation – all these elements are shared. And yet this text differs drastically from the other four in its portrayal of animals. The worldview that stands behind the representation of animals in the Acts Andr. is easy to understand: here, particularly in the Greek martyrdoms, we have virtually a narrative illustration of the negative views of animals found 53

See Prieur, Acta Andreae, 235; MacDonald, Christianizing Homer, 255–7. MacDonald, The Acts of Andrew, 403 (Samuelian). 55 Ibid. 401. 54

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in Tatian, Athenagoras, Clement of Alexandria, and Origen, paralleling, too, the representation of animals in the Gnostic texts of Nag Hammadi. This worldview, moreover, reflects the author’s philosophical interests, particularly an interest in the Platonic understanding of the soul, including (somewhat ironically, given the typical Middle Platonic position in the animal rationality debate) the animal-related metaphors that permeate the text. More difficult to understand is the driving force behind the depiction of animals in the other apocryphal acts. Why do animals feature so prominently in the Acts John, Acts Pet., Acts Paul and Acts Thom.? Why are they so often presented in a positive light, often coming out on top in the comparison with human beings? To be sure, not all animals in these texts are heroes. The picture is, however, far more complex than the clearly defined categories of the Acts Andr. The remaining apocryphal acts, moreover, are not a unified corpus – in fact, none is even a unified whole in itself. In this matter, as in so many others, determinations must be made on a case-by-case basis. In the chapters that follow, I will analyze animal episodes within their own narrative contexts, often with the help of comparative material from the LXX, contemporary Greek prose fiction and biography, philosophical treatises on the status of animals, and, most importantly, the natural history compilations that provided source material for so many authors of the day. The first goal is always to arrive at a better understanding of the individual passage: why has the author included this episode about this animal at this particular point in the text? The bigger picture, however, must always be in view: why are animals so good for these authors “to think with” and what on earth are they thinking?

Chapter V

Animals in the Acts of John A. Introduction The Acts John describes the activities of the apostle John (son of Zebedee) in Asia Minor, primarily in and around Ephesus, the traditional location of his death and burial. Like all the apocryphal acts, it is an anonymous text. Egypt, Syria and Asia Minor have all been suggested by contemporary scholars as possible locations for its composition; there is, likewise, no firm agreement as to its date, though most place it in the mid-second century C.E. 1 The first known mention of the Acts John (by name) is by Eusebius, who lists the text among other spurious books including the Acts Paul and Acts Andr. 2 The text was condemned multiple times and the making and possession of copies forbidden. 3 The condemnation seems to have been effective: no complete manuscripts of the text survive. In fact, the text that we call the “Acts of John” is a reconstruction of modern scholars; the material included is primarily recovered from a later, 5th century text, the so-called Acts of John by Prochorus. This text appears to have incorporated relatively long sections of an original Acts John (18–55, 58–86 and 106–115) 4 into other material, which primarily describes the activity of John on the island of Patmos. Fortunately, the earlier material is recognizable by its consistent narrative style and a theological stance substantially different from the later material, and there is little disagreement among contemporary scholars as to the authenticity of the texts culled from the Acts of John by Prochorus. Other sources for the early text include an hagiographical manuscript containing 87–105; that 1 See Eric Junod and Jean-Daniel Kaestli, Acta Iohannis (CCSA 1–2; Turnhout: Brepols, 1983), 2:694–702; Knut Schäferdiek, “Johannes-Akten,” RAC 18:577–581; H. Engelmann, “Ephesus und die Johannesakten,” ZPE 103 (1994): 297–302; cf. Pieter J. Lallemann, The Acts of John: A Two-Stage Initiation into Johannine Gnosticism (Leuven: Peeters, 1998), 256–70; Klauck, Apokryphe Apostelakten, 31–2. 2 Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 3.25. 3 See Eric Junod and Jean Daniel Kaestli, L’histoire des Actes apocryphes des apôtres du IIIe au IXe siècle: le cas des Actes de Jean (Genève: [Revue de théologie et de philosophie]; Lausanne: diffusion et commande, Impr., 1982). 4 The numbering, which is ultimately arbitrary, originates with Theodore Zahn’s 1880 edition: Acta Joannis (Erlangen: A. Deichert, 1880; repr., Hildesheim: Gerstenberg, 1975).

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this material belongs to the Acts John is confirmed by their quotation (and condemnation) in the Acts of the second Nicene Council. An 11th century manuscript contains the brief episode concerning John and the partridge (one of the texts to be discussed below); Bonnet includes this episode in his edition of the Acts John as 56–57, but Junod and Kaestli, in their more recent edition of the text, 5 substitute at the same place in the narrative a Smyrnean story found in two manuscripts from Constantinople. The result is two separate episodes both bearing the chapter numbers 56–57. The most recently discovered source is several leaves from a codex found in the remains of a Manichaean library in Kellis, Egypt (P. Kellis 1); this manuscript ultimately seems to be the product of Manichaean editing, and derives from the early Acts John as opposed to providing a primary witness to it. 6 There is disagreement concerning the arrangement of the pieces and the extent of what is missing. The reconstructed text has three clear lacunae, including one at the beginning of the work. The Stichometry of Nicephorus lists the Acts John at near 2500 stichoi, roughly the same length as the Gospel of Matthew; the reconstructed text comes in at 1700 stichoi, i.e. some two thirds of the original. Though the Stichometry is by no means infallible, these numbers seem reasonable. What exactly was contained in the missing material is a topic of much debate, but one which, barring the discovery of new papyri or manuscripts, will not be resolved. This already complex text-critical situation is further complicated by the identification of possible interpolations within the early text itself. Many scholars have noted the strongly gnostic character of 94–102 and 106; Junod and Kaestli, finding this material too much at variance with the rest of the Acts John, have argued that it is a later insertion originating in a Johannine community far more gnostic (perhaps specifically Valentinian) than that from which the original Acts John stems. 7 Others have argued that these sections do not differ enough from the remainder of the text to warrant an interpolation theory; some even suggest that they are an integral part of the original composition. 8

5

Citations of the Acts John in this chapter will be, unless otherwise noted, from Junod and Kaestli’s edition (op. cit.). 6 The first edition is by G. Jenkins, “Papyrus 1 from Kellis: A Greek text with affinities to the Acts of John,” in The Apocryphal Acts of John (ed. Jan N. Bremmer; Kampen: Pharos, 1995), 197-216. Another edition was published by I. Gardner and K. Worp, “Leaves from a Manichaean Codex,” ZPE 117 (1997): 139-55. For a summary of the debate concerning the relationship of these fragments with the Acts John, see Lallemann, The Acts of John, 7-8. 7 Junod and Kaestli, Acta Iohannis, 2:627. 8 See, for example, Knut Schäferdiek, “The Acts of John” in Schneemelcher, New Testament Apocrypha vol. 2, 164.

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There are three episodes in the Acts John in which animals feature prominently: 60–61 reports the interactions of the apostle with bedbugs that are keeping him awake; in 63–86, a snake appears in the tomb of the recently deceased heroine, Drusiana, and protects her body from the necrophilia planned by the wicked Callimachus; and in 56–57 (according to Bonnet’s text), John has an enigmatic exchange with a priest concerning the behavior of a partridge. Both 63–86 and 60–61 belong to the undisputed original Acts John; the story of the partridge is, as noted above, transmitted apart from the rest of the text, and its inclusion in the original has been doubted. 9 The very fragmentary state of the Acts John makes it particularly difficult to make such determinations. The partridge episode does, however, fit rather nicely (as we will see) with the bedbug episode, inasmuch as both present the apostle interacting pleasantly with the animals, while also drawing lessons from their behavior to reprove human beings. Moreover, the construction of this very interesting little episode, relying on natural historical information concerning the partridge for its meaning, is typical of the animal episodes in the Acts Peter, Acts Paul and, especially, the Acts Thom. 10 In what follows, these three animal episodes will be analyzed independently, the primary goal being a nuanced interpretation of each. In the conclusion of the chapter, I will discuss the possibility of establishing the general understanding of and attitude towards the animal kingdom and natural world within the narrative. While we have seen that in the Acts Andr. animals are represented thoroughly negatively, we will find that the picture in the Acts John is not quite so monochrome – that is, animals are not thoroughly good. This mixed bag is itself, however, a substantial shift from the depictions of animals found in the Acts Andr., the Nag Hammadi literature, and the other ascetic texts discussed in chapter two. Unfortunately, the fragmentary state of the Acts John again presents difficulties; for this reason any final observations concerning the whole will be more suggestive than conclusive. I will, nevertheless, even hazard a few tentative guesses as to the relationship of the extant pieces and the content of those that are missing.

B. Bedbugs Acts John 60–61 is part of the second travel narrative in the acts. The apostle has decided to return to Ephesus in order to encourage the community he left 9

See Junod and Kaestli, Acta Iohannis, 1:151–3. There is a possibility, in fact, that the author of the Acts Thom. knew the Acts John; see Junod and Kaestli, L’histoire des Actes, 36–40; cf. Knut Schäferdiek, “Herkunft und Interesse der alten Johannesakten,” ZNW 74 (1983): 249–51; Klauck, Apokryphe Apostelakten, 158. 10

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behind while traveling through the surrounding cities of Asia Minor. 11 This section is narrated in the first person, the only passage in the apocryphal acts in which a first person singular narrator appears. 12 In 60–61 we find the apostle and his traveling companions, including the narrator, at an abandoned inn, trying to get some sleep: During the first day, when we arrived at a certain deserted inn (tini pandocei,w| evrh,mw), and not having a cot for the blessed John to rest (evn th|/ tou/ makari,ou VIwa,nnou avnapau,sei), we witnessed a certain comic story 13 of his (pai,gnion auvtou/ e[n ti ei;domen). There was a certain cot there, without bedding, lying in a certain 14 place. And so we brought coverings, spread them out upon it, and urged him to recline on it and be rested (avnapeso,nta evn auvtw/| avnapau,esqai) while all the rest of us slept on the ground. Now, when he lay down he was very much annoyed by a great number of bedbugs (u`po. kori,wn pampo,llwn diwclei/to); and since they were getting more annoying to him, and the night was already taking its course, with all of us listening, he said to them: “I say to you, oh bedbugs, be reasonable,15 one and all, and, having left your home in this hour, be quiet in one place and keep away from the servants of God (~Umi/n le,gw( w= ko,reij( euvgnwmonh,sate su.n e`ni. pa,ntej( kai. katalipo,ntej th/| w[ra| tau,th| to.n oi=kon u`mw/n h`suca,sate evn e`ni. to,pw|( kai. e;ste po,rrw tw/n dou,lwn tou/ qeou).” Now, while we were laughing and talking for a while, John went to sleep; but we were talking quietly and were not disturbing him. Now, at daybreak I got up first, along with Verus and Andronicus; and we saw at the door of the house a multitude of bedbugs. While we were astonished at the sight of their multitude, and all the brothers were awakened by them, John kept sleeping. And after he woke up, we indicated to him what we saw. Having gotten up out of the cot, and looking at them...he said to the bedbugs: “Since you have been quite reasonable, having observed my command, go to your place.” (kai. qeasa,menoj auvta.j ))) 16 ei=pe pro.j ta.j ko,reij\ VEpeidh. euvgnwmone,sterai gego,nate fula,xante,j mou to. evpiti,mion( 17 e;lqete eivj to.n to,pon u`mw/n)) And when he had said these things and had got up from the cot, the bedbugs came running from the door to the cot and running up its legs crawled into the springs. And John again spoke: “This animal, having heard the voice of a man, remained still in itself and did not transgress; we, hearing the voice of God, disobey the commandments and are slothful. For how long?” (To me.n zw|/on tou/to fwnh.n avnqrw,pou avkou/san e;meinen evfV e`autou/ hvremh/san

11

For a proposed outline of the contents of the Acts John, including John’s travels, see Schäferdiek, “The Acts of John,” 163–4. 12 There is a strong likelihood that this first person narrator was introduced in the lost opening sections of the work; it is possible, moreover, that he was identified as Leucius, the disciple of John in the traditions of Asia Minor and the individual to whom authorship of the Manichean collection of apocryphal acts would later be attributed. See Knut Schäferdiek, “The Manichean Collection,” 87–94. 13 The exact sense of pai,gnion is debated; see below. 14 The repeated indefinite pronoun tij is noticeably odd in the Greek, hence my noticeably odd translation. 15 euvgnwmone,w, very literally “be well minded,” can have the sense of either “be sensible” or “be nice”; by “be reasonable” I am attempting to capture both. 16 In one manuscript (H), some twenty illegible letters follow auvta/j; see Junod and Kaestli, Acta Iohannis, 1:249. 17 “Having avoided my punishment” is another possible translation of this phrase.

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kai. mh. paraba,n\ h`mei/j de. fwnh.n qeou/ avkou,ontej kai. evntolw/n parakou,omen kai. r`a|qumou/men\ kai. me,cri po,te*)

As possible parallels to this passage, Junod and Kaestli, in their commentary on the Acts John, cite and discuss seven texts, which they divide into four categories: 1) accounts of heroes that are disturbed in their sleep by animals, 2) accounts of insects that abandon their regular abodes for a limited time, 3) accounts in which the prodigious behavior of insects is linked to an educational moral, and 4) Pythagorean traditions in which the sage exhorts an animal to a serene coexistence and the animal obeys. 18 The first category includes the report from Diodorus Siculus that Heracles, having arrived at the borders of Regine and Locris and, on account of the labor of the journey, trying to rest – they say that when he was annoyed by crickets he prayed to the gods that the ones annoying him might disappear (fasi.n u`po. tw/n tetti,gwn auvto.n evnoclou,menon eu;xasqai toi/j qeoi/j avfanei/j gene,sqai tou.j evnoclou/ntaj auvto,n); the gods granted his prayer, and for this reason not only did they disappear for the time being, but even in all subsequent times there have been no crickets at all in that place. (Diodorus Siculus, Bibl. Hist. 4.22) 19

Aelian tells a similar story of Perseus, returning from battling the Gorgon, and the croaking frogs of Seriphus; in the case of Perseus, the pests are only silenced, but, as with Heracles in Locris, the effects of the prayer are permanent. 20 In the second category, Junod and Kaestli include the accounts of the miraculous removal of flies from the sacrificial altars at Pisa; Aelian writes as follows: Let it not be the case that the honor of remembrance herein not be given by us to the fly (th|/ mui,a), also; for it, too, is a handicraft of nature (fu,sewj ))) pla,sma evsti,n). The flies of Pisa during the Olympic festival make a truce, so to speak, both with the visitors and with the locals. At any rate, although so many sacrifices are being made and blood is being spilled and flesh hung out, the flies willingly disappear and cross over to the opposite bank of the Alphaeus. Indeed they differ very little from the local women, except that the flies by their deeds show themselves to be much more self-restrained (evgkrate,sterai) than the women; for while the law of the contest and of continence during it drives the women out, the flies willingly stay away from the sacrifices (ta.j me.n ga.r o` th/j avgwni,aj kai. th/j katV auvth.n swfrosu,nhj no,moj evlau,nei ta.j gunai/kaj( ai` mui/ai de. e`kou/sai toi/j i`eroi/j avfi,stantai) and during the ceremonies remove themselves for the designated time of the games. (Nat. an. 5.17) 21 18

Junod and Kaestli, Acta Iohannis, 2.535–38. See also Junod and Kaestli, Acta Iohannis, 2:535–6. 20 Aelian, Nat. an. 3.37. Interestingly, Aelian notes that Theophrastus, “tossing out the myth” (evkba,llwn to.n mu/qon), asserts that it is in fact the cold water of Seriphus that silences the frogs. 21 Another version of the story appears in Pausanias, Descr. 5.14.1. 19

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As an example of their third category (accounts in which the prodigious behavior of insects is linked to an educational moral), Junod and Kaestli cite another, related passage from Aelian. In book eleven, he reports that the flies around the temple of Apollo at Actium will also depart for a time, though only once they have been sated on the blood of an ox sacrificed specifically for them. Aelian concludes the anecdote by noting that “while these [flies] depart once they have been bribed, the flies of Pisa depart without bribe. The latter, then, are superior, doing what is required out of reverance for the god and not for a reward” (dekasqei/sai me.n ou=n avpalla,ttontai au-tai( ai` de Pisai/ai avde,kastoi) krei,ttuoj a;ra evkei/nai( aivdoi/ tou/ qeou/( avlla. mh. misqou/ ta. de,onta pra,ttousai) (Nat. an. 11.8). Junod and Kaestli’s fourth category includes two passages (briefly discussed above) in which Pythagoras persuades an animal to abandon its characteristic animal behavior and take up habits more amenable to the Pythagorean lifestyle. Iamblichus reports that Pythagoras “possessed in his word (evn tw|/ lo,gw|/) a certain analytical and admonitory quality extending to irrational animals (me,cri tw/n avlo,gwn zw|,wn),” and records the following story in his biography of the philosopher: Upon seeing at Tarentum an ox in a mixed pasturage eating green beans, approaching the kine-tender [Pythagoras] advised him to tell the ox to abstain from the beans. The kinetender, playing along with him about “speaking” (prospai,xantoj de. auvtw|/ tou/ bouko,lou peri. tou/ eivpei/n) said he didn’t know how to speak “ox-ish” (kai. ouv fh,santoj eivde,nai boi?sti. eivpei/n), but if [Pythagoras] knew—and what’s more, had some advice—then he should counsel the ox; after he approached the bull and whispered into its ear for a long time, it immediately willingly abstained from beans, and indeed they say that that ox never again tasted beans at all, and, growing old, remained for a very long time in Tarentum at the temple of Hera, being called the sacred ox of Pythagoras by all, and being fed human food, which those who met it would offer it. (De vit. Pyth. 13.61)

A similar story is told about the ferocious Daunian bear, whom Pythagoras convinces to stop harming living creatures. 22 Having collected this comparative material, Junod and Kaestli draw the following conclusions. Of the narratives of heroes disturbed in their sleep, 22

The story of the Daunian bear: “Granted that one must believe the so many ancient and remarkable [sources] who have given accounts about him, Pythagoras had acquired in his speech a certain analytic and admonitory quality extending even to irrational beasts, in this way teaching that, with instruction, all things are possible for those who have a mind, even in the case of those regarded as wild and lacking a share in reason. Thus they say that he restrained the Daunian bear, who was so terribly injuring the inhabitants of that region, gently touching it for a long time, feeding it maize and acorns by hand, he compelled it by oath to no longer touch a living thing and sent it off; and the bear, having departed immediately into the mountains and thickets, was never ever again from that time on seen attacking even an irrational animal” (De vit. Pyth. 13.60). Porphyry narrates both these stories in Vit. Pyth. 23–4.

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they maintain that the similarities to Acts John 60–61 “pertain only to the logic of the situation described”: whereas the stories of Heracles and Perseus are etiological (explaining the perpetual absence or silence of pests in a particular locale), Acts John 60–61 reports a one-time event with no lasting effect; while both heroes pray to the gods to remove the annoyance, the apostle speaks directly to the pests. 23 Similarly, in the accounts of flies that temporarily abandon their abodes, Junod and Kaestli see more differences than similarities: in these stories, in contrast to the Acts John, the phenomenon is repeated at regular intervals and is associated with a religious festival.24 In Aelian’s reports comparing first the flies of Pisa to the women of Pisa and then the flies of Actium and with those of Pisa, however, Junod and Kaestli find a striking analogy: “en effet, l’anecdote des punaises a elle aussi la forme d’une comparaison: la bonne conduite des animaux à l’égard de Jean est opposée à la désobéissance des hommes à l’égard de Dieu.” 25 Likewise, they find in the passages from Iamblichus and Porphyry, if not evidence of a direct influence of neo-Pythagorean traditions on the Acts John, at least “une conception analogue des relations entre l’homme sage et l’animal; le héros exhorte l’animal à une sereine coexistence, et l’animal se laisse librement persuader.” 26 Eckhard Plümacher cites the same seven texts, finding, in agreement with Junod and Kaestli, more differences than similarities in the stories of the awakened heroes and of animals temporarily abandoning their abodes. As opposed to Junod and Kaestli, however, Plümacher sees no close parallel in Aelian’s comparisons of the behavior of flies (with women and with other flies); he is, moreover, unconvinced by their discussion of similarities between Acts John 60–61 and the neo-Pythagorean traditions, concluding that the interpretive key to our story must be sought elsewhere. 27 While I agree that none of the cited texts parallels every aspect of Acts John 60–61, it seems mistaken to exclude them from consideration on that basis. To the contrary, precisely this type of variation is characteristic of the animal anecdotes and episodes so popular in the first through third centuries C.E. 28 23

Junod and Kaestli, Acta Iohannis, 2:536. Ibid. 2.536–7. 25 Ibid. 2.537. 26 Ibid. 2.538. 27 Eckhard Plümacher, “Paignion und Biberfabel,” Apocrypha 3 (1992): 72–3. For Plümacher, meaning of the story hinges on its designation as a pai,gnion. For a discussion of this argument, see below. 28 In fact, there is substantial variation within and overlap between the four categories established by Junod and Kaestli: the insects that temporarily abandon their abodes act in one instance out of good will (Aelian, Nat. an. 5.17) in another under compulsion from a god (Pausanias, Descr. 5.14.1), in another in response to a bribe (Aelian, Nat. an. 11.8); more24

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The various accounts concerning flies at altars provide a nice illustration. In the first version from Aelian (quoted above), the behavior of the flies at Pisa is construed as an act of self-restraint on the part of the flies; this behavior, moreover, is contrasted with the behavior of women during the same event. Pausanias, too, knows that the flies of Pisa sometimes move to the other side of the Alphaeus, but according to his version they do so only when the Eleans make a sacrifice to Zeus “averter of flies” (VApo,muioj); moreover, Pausanias associates the initial instance of this sacrifice with Heracles, 29 perhaps indicating some connection with the account from Diodorus (quoted above), in which Heracles prays for the silencing of crickets. As noted, Aelian also knows of flies that will abandon their abodes in response to a sacrifice, but he associates these flies not with Pisa but with Actium, and the sacrifice is not made to a fly-averting god, but is for the flies themselves. There are, then, significant differences among these three accounts; nevertheless, key similarities indicate a strong likelihood that all three accounts of altar flies have their root in popular knowledge of a single phenomenon, i.e., the miraculous absence of flies during sacrifices. Particularly interesting is the fact that the three versions illustrate three distinct points – almost morals of the stories. Pausanias’ account occurs in the midst of a discussion of various sacrificial practices; the story of Heracles’ sacrifice at Olympia is etiological, giving the origin of a particular practice. In Aelian’s first version of the story, a comparison between animal and human behavior is made: even flies show more selfrestraint than women. In the second, Aelian emphasizes rather the ethical superiority of acting out of reverence for the gods as opposed to hope of reward. It is the variation in the details of these accounts that allows these different renderings of the significance of the phenomenon. I would argue, then, that all the texts cited above, each of which shares certain elements with but also differs from Acts John 60–61, offer fruitful material for comparison. By identifying both the distinctive elements and the shared elements that are emphasized in the Acts John, we may well identify the author’s particular purpose in relating the story. The list of comparative material might, in fact, be expanded. The ability to communicate with animals is a widely attested phenomenon in the GraecoRoman world. There are reports of people who are able to understand animal language (e.g. Melampsus, Tiresias, Apollonius of Tyana and all Arabs) 30 and over, these same two reports from Aelian are the only examples given under category three, that is, accounts in which the prodigious behavior of insects is linked to a moral. 29 Pausanias, Descr. 5.14.1; cf. the Etymologicum Magnum 131.23: VApo,muioj: ou-twj o` Zeu.j para. toi/j VHlei,oij tima/tai( ~Hrakle,ouj i`drusame,nou evpi. avpotroph|/ tw/n muiw/n) 30 See, for example, Porphyry, Abst. 3.3. Arabs, as Eusebius reports in his rather angry response to Philostratus’ Vit. Apoll., acquire the ability to understand the language of birds by

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of those who are able to speak to animals and make themselves understood. In some cases the ability is taken as evidence of the individual’s divine or otherwise powerful nature (as is the case in the Pythagorean traditions quoted above); in other instances the ability is much more pedestrian. Numerous authors tell a version of the following story about the Roman triumvir Crassus; the following is Porphyry’s version: It is also narrated of dumb animals (i`storei/tai de. kai. tw/n avfqo,ggwn) that they very readily obey their masters – and thus differ from servants. At any rate, the [pet] moray of the Roman Crassus would come right up to him when called by name (h` gou/n Kra,ssou tou/ ~Rwmai?kou/ mu,raina ovnomasti. kaloume,nh prosh|,ei tw|/ Kra,ssw), and Crassus was so well disposed to it that he mourned when it died, though he had previously borne the death of three sons with moderation. (Abst. 3.5) 31

Two earlier versions of the story lack the note about Crassus’ sons, reporting instead an exchange between Crassus and his political rival Domitius. Plutarch’s version (Soll. an. 976a) is as follows: “And once when Domitius said to him, ‘Did you not weep when a moray died?’ he replied, ‘Did you not bury three wives without weeping?’” 32 Ancient sources treating the particular species that the author of the Acts John has selected to appear in his episode will also be quite helpful. Bugs of this sort (ko,reij, our cimex lectularius) are typically discussed by natural historians and philosophers along with lice (fqei/rej) and fleas (yu,llai). Aristotle finds them interesting in that (as he thinks) they are produced from the moisture of animals as it congeals; 33 for most authors, however, they are quite simply the paradigmatic annoying vermin. 34 They are a plague in particular to eating part of the heart and liver of dragons; Apollonius, while traveling in Arabia, took a day off from his Pythagorean vegetarianism in order to acquire this ability. Eusebius tells this story in order to debunk the report that Apollonius had on one occasion miraculously understood the speech of sparrows. Oddly, Eusebius does not argue that the entire notion is ridiculous; his point seems, rather, to go something like this: “It wasn’t a miracle – it was just something he learned to do by eating dragon liver in Arabia.” See Contra Hieroclem, 10. 31 See also Aelian, Nat. an. 8.4, Plutarch, Soll. an. 976a. 32 One might imagine that this barbed quip concerning Domitius and his wives was the original reason for the repetition and circulation of the anecdote. But both Plutarch and Porphyry (and to a lesser extent, Aelian) introduce this anecdote as evidence in arguments supporting animal rationality: the point is not what is revealed about the humans involved, but simply the fact that the animal involved understands language; the fact that the animal can be favorably compared to humans with respect to obedience is icing on the cake. This minor anecdote about Crassus and his moray, then, is another example of the same animal story being told in varying contexts with varying purposes and significance. 33 Aristotle, Hist. an. 556b. 34 See Otto Keller, Die Antike Tierwelt (2 vols.; Leipzig: Wilhelm Engelmann, 1913), 2:399–400.

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the poor man, but even the gods can be bitten: in Aristophanes’ Ranae, Dionysus, before making his journey to the underworld, requests advice from Heracles about which inn has the fewest bedbugs. 35 Their apparent uselessness is frequently cited in debates concerning divine intent in the creation of animals. 36 If God created all animals for humankind’s use, as the Stoics and others held, what are bugs for? Chrysippus responds: “to wake us up” (Plutarch, Stoicorum Rep. 1044d-e). 37 Having assembled an already substantial body of comparative material, we might pause here to analyze Acts John 60–61 with an eye towards our author’s interaction with current themes and motifs. The episode begins much as the two accounts of heroes disturbed in their sleep: like both Heracles and Perseus, John is traveling and, having stopped along the way, is kept awake by pests. Whereas in both the stories of Heracles and Perseus the hero prays to a god to intercede, at this point John’s actions more closely parallel those of Pythagoras in the traditions concerning the ox and the Daunian bear. In both the Pythagorean texts and Acts John 60–61, the effect is achieved through a direct command from Pythagoras and John, respectively. We may conclude that in these texts the point is not that Pythagoras and John have the ear of the gods; the focus is rather the power of the sage or the apostle himself. There is substantial variation, however, in the conclusion of these stories. In the Pythagorean episodes, the result is the permanent conversion of the animals to a Pythagorean lifestyle: the Tarentian ox from that moment on eats no beans (presumably the only item in his diet that violated Pythagorean dietary restrictions), and the Daunian bear takes up a diet of acorns, never harming another creature again. Similarly, the stories of Heracles and Perseus result in the permanent silencing of the pests. In the Acts John, the apostle sends the bedbugs back to the cot, specifically referred to as their “home” (to.n oi=kon u`mw/n) and their “place” (to.n to,pon u`mw/n). Presumably, they will return to their previous annoying behavior, though this is not made explicit. Further variation is found in the interpretations of the occurrences given by the author or narrator. Diodorus Siculus records the story of Heracles and the cicadas directly after the tale of a famous hunter who suffered an “accidental” death after angering the goddess Artemis. Diodorus Siculus writes of the hunter’s fate that “one shouldn’t marvel at this occurrence, for many instances are recalled which show the vengeance of this goddess against the impious. But in the case of Heracles quite the opposite happened on account of his piety” (Bibl. Hist. 4.22). The story illustrates both the piety of Heracles and the 35

Aristophanes, Ranae 115. See, for example, Porphyry, Abst. 3.20. 37 See also rabbinic materials, e.g. Gen. Rab. 10.7, quoted by Elijah Judah Schochet, Animal Life in Jewish Tradition: Attitudes and Relationships (New York: Ktav, 1984), 186. 36

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reality of the goddess’ punishments. An etiological function may also be at work; as Junod and Kaestli note, Aelian’s story of Perseus and the frogs (which begins “in Seriphus you will never hear frogs croaking”) is primarily etiological. Notably, the Pythagorean texts, the story of the flies at Pisa, and even Porphyry’s report about Crassus and his moray include, like the Acts John 60–61, a comparison between animals and humans. In the Pythagorean texts, it is again the power of Pythagoras that is emphasized: he has acquired in his speech a certain “analytic and admonitory” quality or capacity “extending even to the irrational animals” (me,cri tw/n avlo,gwn zw,|wn) (Iamblichus, Vit. Porph. 13.60); thus, while animals stand beneath humans on a scale of rationality, an outstanding individual like Pythagoras can bridge the gap. While, as noted above, our passage in the Acts John undoubtedly also highlights John’s power, John himself gives a different interpretation, contrasting the good behavior of the animals with the poor behavior of humankind. Very similar comparisons are made by Aelian, with respect to the relative piety and selfcontrol of flies and women, and Porphyry, with respect to the relative obedience of a moray and human servants. 38 The comparison of the conduct of animals and humans, with humans consistently failing to measure up, is in fact a common topic in Graeco-Roman literature of the first centuries C.E., 39 and a wide variety of animals are cited. The fact that of all possible creatures bedbugs appear in our passage serves, as I think is also the case with the flies of Pisa, to heighten the contrast and strengthen the criticism of human behavior: even the lowliest of creatures surpass human beings in their piety and/or obedience. As noted above, these bugs are the paradigmatic useless and annoying creatures of Graeco-Roman thought; their only use, if it can be called such, is to rouse us. As Junod and Kaestli note, a prominent theme in the Acts John as a whole is the notion that “to be at rest” or “be still” (h`suca,zein or hvremei/n) is the proper spiritual attitude of a Christian.40 In our episode, John, using the same term used elsewhere in the Acts John to describe his own behavior (h`suca,zein), commands the animals famous precisely for preventing rest to themselves be at rest – and they obey! We have finally arrived at the crux of this episode. The point is not just to present the apostle’s ability to communicate with and persuade animals (though he can), nor to underscore human38

As Junod and Kaestli note, a similar statement is made by Apollonius; see Philostratus, Vit. Apoll. 4.3. 39 Dio Chrysostom is particularly fond of such comparisons, particularly in his Diogenes discourses (6, 8, 9 and 10). 40 Junod and Kaestli, Acta Iohannis, 2:540–1; see Acts John 54.12, 63.14, 67.5, 78.6, 82.12, 106.7, 107.7, 109.10, 113.23.

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kind’s woeful conduct by comparison with lowly animals (though we should be ashamed); the point is first and foremost to prescribe to Christians a specific behavior, that is “to be at rest.” This may explain why at the end of the episode John sends the bugs back to the cot. The bugs’ function is illustrative; once the point is made, they go back to where they came from. Junod and Kaestli have rightly indicated the contrast between “being still” (hvremei/n) and “being slothful” (r`aqumei/n), as humankind is described at the end of the passage. 41 In fact, these are two opposing forms of inaction, the former being an attitude of peace and repose, the latter being (almost exclusively negative) idleness. John’s summary statement, then, is chiastic: animals, hearing man, are (A) at rest in a positive way and (B) don’t transgress; humans, hearing God, (B1) do transgress and are (A1) at rest in a negative way. It is possible, in fact, that a comparison of different types of “rest” is at play throughout the episode. The brothers’ laughter in chapter 60 is typically read as a direct response to John’s address to the bedbugs – how silly that he talks to the bugs like they’re people! The syntax, however, is not explicit. 42 While I would not rule out this reading, 43 the close of chapter 60 leaves me with the sense that the brothers are behaving rather poorly: they are laughing and talking while the apostle is trying to sleep, even after he has loudly voiced his frustration at being kept awake. The narrator’s assurance that they were “talking quietly” and “were not disturbing him” is perhaps not entirely to be believed; it seems to me possible that the author expects the reader to see through these protestations and connect the disruptive behavior of the brothers with the bedbugs. Another quite attractive explanation for the laughter of the disciples is in the possibility of a pun in the word for “bedbugs” (ko,reij) on the word for “girls” (ko,rai). That is, when John orders the “bedbugs” out of his bed, it sounds like he’s ordering the “girls” out of his bed – a rather lighthearted reference to his encratic lifestyle. Two pieces of textual evidence argue for this reading: first, one manuscript (M) actually gives ko,rai as the (incorrect) nominative plural form of the word in line ten of 61, making “bedbugs” and “girls” true homonyms; second, all witnesses give ko,rij, typically a masculine noun, feminine articles throughout the episode. Neither of these facts is conclusive, per se. The variation in the nominative plural could easily be the re41

Junod and Kaestli, Act Iohannis¸ 2:541. See Junod and Kaestli, Acta Iohannis 2:539; cf. Plümacher, “Paignion,” 74, for whom the point is of central importance to the interpretation of the text, particularly in identifying the exact sense of pai,gnion. 43 This interpretation in fact finds a strong parallel in Iamblichus’ account of Pythagoras and the Tarentian ox, where the kine-tender jokingly “plays along” with Pythagoras (Vit. Pyth. 13.60). 42

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sult of confusion over the declension of the noun; two other witnesses (RZ) give ko,ridej, and that such mistakes were made is confirmed by the note of a scholiast (on Aristophanes) that the nominative singular of ko,reij is ko,rij, and that it declines w`j o;fij. 44 Further, the use of ko,rij as a feminine noun is perhaps not uncommon; Phrynichus and Soranus (both writing, as our author, in the second century C.E.) do the same. 45 The gender of the bedbugs is further confused by the use of the masculine/neuter pronoun to refer to them as the narrator introduces John’s initial command: e;fh auvtoi/j (“he said to them”). But puns – in ancient Greek as in contemporary English – do not require true homonyms or homophones to work, and so the presence of a pun here is certainly not to be ruled out. At this point, it will be helpful to return to Plümacher’s interepretation of the episode, which depends (as noted above) on the understanding of the term pai,gnion. He argues that pai,gnion as used in this episode is best taken as refering to Roman mime – that is, that this episode in the Acts John is based on a pre-existing piece of Roman street theater. According to Plümacher, the original mime-pai,gnion would have gotten its laugh from the comic paradox of asking animals to act like people (in understanding and obeying human command) and, what’s more, the fact that they do. 46 The pun on “girls” lends an erotic note – ubiquitous in mime – to the piece. This erotic aspect is expanded upon in that the girls/bedbugs, banned from the bed, wait outside the door: Plümacher suggests that this is a reference to the paraklausithyron literary motif, that is, the motif of the locked-out lover waiting on the beloved’s doorstep. 47 According to Plümacher, it was the use of the term h`suca,zein (“be quiet”) in the pre-existing mime (which had likely made the move from theater to novelistic literature prior to his coming across it) that caught our author’s attention and suggested the opportunity for a Christian re-working.48 44

Scholia in Aristophanem, Commentarium in nubes 634.1. Phrynichus, Eclogae 277; Soranus, Gynaecia 3.29. 46 Plümacher compares the bedbugs episode with Lucian’s Asinus 46–50, where the term pai,gnion is used (49.4) to describe Lucius the ass’ performances. Lucius eats human food, and generally behaves like a human being (easy enough, as he is a man that has been transformed into an ass) to the great amusement of first private then public audiences. See Plümacher, “Paignion,” 82. 47 A classic instance of this motif is Propertius’ elegy 1.16, a poem written in the voice of the doorway (!) of a rather promiscuous woman; the doorway in turn quotes the words of her spurned lover, who keeps constant vigil at the door, hoping for admission. On the development of the motif, see Erich Burck, “Das Paraklausithyron: Die Entwicklungsgeschichte eines Motivs der antike Liebesdichtung,” in Vom Menschenbild in der Römischen Literatur (Heidelberg: Carl Winter, 1966), 244–56. 48 “Den Solcherart die Freiheit von aller Emotion und Ambition bezeichnenden damit, wie er meinte, zugleich auch das proprium chrlistlicher Existenzweise umschreibenden Terminus technicus h`suca,zein fand der Autor der Johannesakten nun, obschon ganz untechnisch 45

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I am not convinced by Plümacher’s argument concerning the term pai,gnion and see no clear evidence that this episode has roots in mime. I do agree, however, that reference to the paraklausithyron motif is clear, and this erotic theme certainly strengthens the possibility that the pun on “bedbugs/girls” is intended. The possibility is further strengthened by a rather famous precedent for punning on this very word. In Aristophanes’ Nub., the hapless protagonist Strepsiades is tortured by bedbugs. When visiting his neighborhood “think-arium,” Strepsiades is instructed by Socrates to lie down and think out one of his problems but is driven to distraction by the bugs: avpo,llumai dei,laioj) evk tou/ ski,mpodoj da,knousi, mV evxe,rpontej oi` Kori,nqioi( kai. ta.j pleura.j darda,ptousin kai. th.n yuch.n evkpi,nousin) I’m dying, poor wretch – the Corinthians creeping out of my bed are biting me, and devouring my ribs and sucking out my life. (Aristophanes, Nub. 708–711)

Here, “Corinthians” (Kori,nqioi) is used for “bedbugs” (ko,reij); Dover has suggested that ko,reij was current slang for Corinthians (like “Jerries” for “Germans” in WWII England), and that “the point of the joke is its reversal,” that is, the use of Kori,nqioi for ko,reij. 49 The scholia on this passage explain the joke similarly, pointing to enmity between Athens and Corinth. Particularly interesting, however, is the vocabulary used in the scholia to describe the figure, e.g., avnti. tou/ eivpei/n oi` ko,reij oi` Kori,nqoi pai,zwn ei=pen (“instead of saying ‘bedbugs’ he, joking, said ‘Corinthians’) (Scholia in Aristophanem, Scholia in nubes scholia anonyma recentiora 710f). 50 Here, we find both our bedbugs and the verbal form of pai,gnion (in the participle pai,zwn), referring to a pun. Perhaps, then, pai,gnion in our passage should be taken as “a punny joke.” This is, admittedly, a little awkward as the object of the verb ei;domen (“we saw”), but the sense might be “we witnessed the apostle making one of his jokes.” gebraucht, in der Wanzenanekdote. Ich zweifle nicht daran, daß es diese wenngleich nur punktuell vorhandene, so doch ins Auge springende Koinzidenz des Vokabulars der Anekdote mit der ihm eigenen popularphilosophischen Begrifflichkeit gewesen ist, die den Verfasser zu dem Entschluß bewogen hat, das Romanstück, das ein so wesentliches Element seiner theologischen Vorstellungen vorwegzunehmen schien, in die Johannesakten zu integrieren. Mit Hilfe der admonitio 61,13–16 hat er das pagane Paignion zu einem an Christen appellierenden Paradebeispiel für vorbildliches h`suca,zein umfunktioniert und es auf diese Weise zum Vehikel seiner – dem heiteren Geist des Paignion stracks zuwider laufenden – Botschaft gemacht. Einzig solcher interpretatio christiana haben wir es aber zu danken, daß wir das vergnügliche Stückchen antiker Unterhaltungsliteratur auch heute noch lesen können; ohne sie hätte das Wanzepaignion den Lauf der Zeiten schwerlich überlebt” (Plümacher, “Paignion,” 91). 49 K. J. Dover, ed., Clouds (Oxford: Clarendon, 1968), 188. 50 Cf. 710g; Commentarium in nubes, 696a, 710.

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The comparison with Aristophanes is, in any case, instructive beyond the question of the existence of a pun. Nub. depicts undoubtedly the most famous instance of bedbug infestation in Greek literature; literal and figurative, they are a recurring theme throughout the play. In fact, the comedy opens with a clever, enjambed play on bedbugs: Strepsiades can’t sleep because he is dakno,menoj/ u`po. th/j dapa,nhj kai. th/j fa,tnhj kai. tw/n crew/n (“bitten/ by expenses and the manger and debt”) (Nub. 12–13). As Dover suggests, at the end of line 12 the audience assumes vermin are keeping him up; in line 13 we learn that the biting is metaphorical. 51 Strepsiades is plagued by real bedbugs, too, and their reappearance throughout the play is the source of multiple comic turns. In the passage quoted above (where Socrates instructs Strepsiades on thinking through a problem) the poor wretch has trouble concentrating; when Socrates asks if he’s thinking and what about, he replies: “if there’ll be anything left of me when the bedbugs are finished” (u`po. tw/n ko,rewn ei; mou, ti perleifqh,setai) (Nub. 725). Bedbugs in the Nub. are, as in the natural historical sources quoted above, the paradigmatic annoying creatures. But what’s more, they are a metaphor for the worst kind of distraction – they’re the cares and worries that keep you up at night, distract you from (here comic) contemplation, and never give you a moment’s peace. In the Nub., the actual worry is over debt incurred by a gambling son, but surely other real-world worries could be metaphorically represented by bedbugs. Artemidorus writes that in dreams bedbugs “are symbols of despair and worries” (dusqumiw/n kai. fronti,dwn eivsi. shmantikoi,), and indicate a state of unhappiness and uneasiness among members of the household, “most often the women” (evpi. to. plei/ston pro.j gunai/kaj) (Onir. 3.8). The notion that women (particularly wives) might be the source of cares and worries for an individual – a distraction that might keep one from more important thoughts – is well known in early Christianity. Paul, after all, writes precisely this in 1 Cor 7:32-4 as he explains why it is preferable for the Christian to remain unmarried: o` a;gamoj merimna/| ta. tou/ kuri,ou( pw/j avre,sh| tw/| kuri,w|\ o` de. gamh,saj merimna/| ta. tou/ ko,smou( pw/j avre,sh| th/| gunaiki,( kai. meme,ristaiÅ kai. h` gunh. h` a;gamoj kai. h` parqe,noj merimna/| ta. tou/ kuri,ou( i[na h=| a`gi,a kai. tw/| sw,mati kai. tw/| pneu,mati\ h` de. gamh,sasa merimna/| ta. tou/ ko,smou( pw/j avre,sh| tw/| avndri, (“The unmarried man is concerned about the matters of the Lord – how he might please the Lord; but the married man is concerned about the matters of the world – how he might please his wife – and he is divided. The unmarried woman is concerned about the matters of the Lord – that she might be holy in body and spirit; but the married woman is concerned about the matters of the world – how she might please her hus51

Dover, 94.

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band.”) 52 This element perhaps provides the link that holds our episode together: when the apostle sends the bedbugs out of his bed he symbolically removes the cares and worries that prevent the ideal state of peace and quiet, which figures so prominently in the text; that the bedbugs are, through the pun and paraklausithyron motif, associated with girls and lovers reminds the reader of one particularly dangerous (for this author the most dangerous) source of such cares and worries. So, how did the whole episode come together? How did the author go about composing this passage? A primary question is the extent to which the author “composed” it at all. Plümacher, again, has argued that the author took over a pre-existing piece, adapting it for his own particular purpose, primarily by adding the closing admonition. 53 I would hesitate to draw such firm conclusions. Clearly, the author of the Acts John worked with sources, but the form of these sources – written? oral? already “Christianized”? – seems to me, in this case, impossible to determine with any certainty. I would instead propose a compositional process something like the following. At the root of this episode are stories about heroes disturbed from rest by animals, such as we find in the reports about Heracles and Perseus quoted above. Like Plümacher, I strongly suspect that the element of rest is what suggested such stories for Christian (particularly of our author’s brand) adaptation. Traditions about extraordinary individuals (e.g., Apollonius of Tyana) communicating with animals set the stage for our author to highlight the apostle’s extraordinary, sagelike, qualities. The choice of the bedbug as the particular annoying creature is, to my mind, the really clever part: how perfect that the paradigmatic disrupters of sleep, ko,reij, are a near homophone of the most dangerous potential disrupter of the ideal Christian “rest,” ko,rai! The closing admonition, a contrast between the good behavior of animals with the less than praiseworthy behavior of human beings, is both an effective way to emphasize the message and a notion quite at home in second century Greek literature. This may seem like a rather complicated genealogy or, perhaps better, a circuitous literary journey for one amusing episode to have made. But this, as I have argued, is characteristic of animal anecdotes and episodes. As was seen in the case of flies at altars (as told by Pausanias and twice by Aelian), stories like these “make the rounds,” so to speak, turning up in various literary contexts with various purposes. Such episodes were circulating both in written form (a phenomenon which, with a little luck in the vagaries of the survival of texts, can be tracked), but undoubtedly also “in the air.” To what extent the 52 For a discussion of these verses, including comparison with similar Pythagorean and Cynic calls for the individual not to divide his attentions, see Andreas Lindemann, Der Erste Korintherbrief (HNT 9/1; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2000), 180–1. 53 Plümacher, “Paignion,” 71–2; cf. Junod and Kaestli, Acta Iohannis, 2:529.

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author of the Acts John (or any of the authors to be discussed below) either created from scratch or took over existing materials is a question not likely to be answered with any certainty. More interesting (and certainly more accessible) is the final product: we can see how the material has been shaped and used to often very good effect in its present narrative context. Whether the activity of our author is best described as “creating” or “selecting and shaping” is perhaps of relatively little importance. Either way, the author is revealed as intelligent and capable – an author immersed in the literary context of late antiquity and well able to make good use of the material available to him. 54

C. The Snake That Stopped the Necrophiliac Acts John 63–86 narrates the second half of the adventures of the heroine, Drusiana. The first half, in which she comes to belief in John’s gospel and, in committing herself to a celibate life, runs afoul of her husband Andronicus, is not extant. Fortunately, it is summarized in 63: Andronicus, angry at her refusal to perform her marital obligations, had locked Drusiana up in a tomb; he is himself soon converted to Christianity and thus Drusiana escapes a wretched death. Her troubles are not over, however, for in this episode a wealthy young man named Callimachus falls in love with her and, despite knowing she is married to Andronicus, makes advances. He is, of course, rebuffed, but Drusiana, despondent that she has become “a stumbling-block to one uninitiated in piety” and counting herself “partly to blame,” prays to the Lord for death (64). Her prayer is promptly answered, and her body laid in a tomb. Callimachus, however, proves more persistent than she had anticipated. Driven by Satan, he pays Fortunatus, a money-grubbing servant of Andronicus, to give him access to the tomb. “If you were not willing to lie with me while living, I shall assault your corpse after death,” he says (70). He and Fortunatus break into the tomb and together begin to strip the body, Callimachus continuing to address the dead woman: “Could you not have done this while alive? this which perhaps would not have grieved you if you’d done it willingly?” When the body is left with only “a fringed undergarment” to cover her nakedness, a snake appears and bites Fortunatus, killing him (71). The snake 54 Plümacher, reacting to the often very low estimation of the literary ability of the author of the Acts of John (particularly that of Hennecke), concludes that he rather “gehörte keineswegs zu den avpaideuto,tatoi te kai. avgroiko,tatoi, als welche Kelsos die christlichen Lehrer seiner Zeit diffamieren zu sollen meinte, sonder darf zu jenen Christen gezählt werden, die der «classe cultivée» zuzurechnen sind” (“Paignion,” 108-9).

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does not bite Callimachus, but winds itself around his legs, hissing terribly; when Callimachus falls – apparently dead – the snake climbs up and sits on top of his body. The next morning, John and Andronicus go to the tomb to break bread. They cannot find the keys to the tomb (Fortunatus presumably having stolen them), but the doors open of their own accord. Inside they find Drusiana halfnaked, Fortunatus dead, the snake sleeping on top of Callimachus, and a beautiful young man who can only be the risen Jesus. 55 John, recognizing him, asks why he has come; he replies that he is there on account of Drusiana, whom he will raise if only for a short time, and on account of Callimachus. The beautiful young man, however, immediately ascends to heaven and the task of raising the dead falls to John. 56 John first raises Callimachus, telling the “venomous reptile” (ivobo,lon e`rpeto,n) to “depart from the one who is intended to serve Jesus Christ” (avpo,sthqi tou/ me,llontoj VIhsou/ Cristw|/ douleu,ein) (75). Callimachus immediately rises and recounts how the snake appeared, killed Fortunatus, and then frightened him out of his wits. But what really “made me a corpse,” he says, was a vision of a beautiful young man, covering Drusiana’s body with his cloak, and saying to Callimachus, “die that you may live” (76). Callimachus now reports that his old, faithless, lawless, godless self has died, and a new man has been raised by John. When Drusiana is raised she insists, against the objections of Callimachus, that the wicked Fortunatus be raised as well. Drusiana herself raises Fortunatus, who immediately says he would rather be dead and runs away. The entire episode closes as follows: And thus having prayed and having shared the eucharist of the Lord with all the brothers, he left the tomb; and having arrived at the house of Andronicus, he said to the brothers: “Brothers, some spirit in me has foretold that Fortunatus is about to turn black and die from the strike of the snake; but quickly – let someone go and learn if this is so. And one of the youths ran off and found him now swollen, with the blackness having spread and touched his heart; and returning, he reported to John that he had died three hours ago. And John said: “Devil, you have your child.” (86)

This episode clearly differs substantially from the episode concerning the bedbugs both in form and tone. Although the longest continuous narrative in 55

The Acts John is well known for the phenomenon of the polymorphic Jesus; Jesus can take different forms at different times, can appear differently to various observers at the same time, and can be in multiple places at the same time. 56 The narrative here is unclear: John “hears a voice,” apparently the beautiful young man (i.e. Jesus), saying “I intend to raise Drusiana,” but then the young man immediately ascends; Andronicus, however, a few lines later, reports that he heard the voice say to John (with an imperative) “raise Drusiana,” though there is no narrative acknowledgment of the discrepancy.

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the extant Acts John, it is not at all straightforward, with a sequence of events that is often confusing. The snake plays a key (if supporting) role in this episode, but its portrayal is ambiguous: whose side is it on? On the one hand, it seems to be acting in concert with the risen Jesus: they seem to appear simultaneously in the tomb, the snake dispatching Fortunatus as Jesus covers Drusiana with his cloak. The snake kills the truly evil, unsavable man while only frightening and then guarding the other. Most importantly, it prevents the outrageous act of necrophilia, as Callimachus himself confirms. When asked by the apostle if the crime had actually been committed, he replies: “How could I have accomplished this, when the fearful animal (to. deino.n zw|/on) dispatched Fortunatus with one bite right before my eyes – and rightly so (eivko,twj), since he was encouraging so great a madness in me, even after I had already ceased from much of it” (76). And yet, John orders the snake to depart, calling it a “venomous reptile” (ivobo,lon e`rpeto,n) (75) and giving it no praise for its actions. It is to be sure a terrifying creature for Callimachus, but after the initial hissing, it harmlessly lies upon him and sleeps. Its exit from the scene is not narrated beyond John’s command that it leave. Presumably, it is the same snake that has killed Fortunatus for the second time at the close of the episode, at which point it, again the reader presumes, returns to its natural habitat. Without doubt, the snake as a species has the most varied associations of all animals in the ancient world. 57 It is, first and foremost, feared for its poisonous bite; this fear is perfectly rendered by Homer: As a man who has come on a snake in the mountain valley suddenly steps back, and the shivers come over his body, and he draws back and away, cheeks seized with a green pallor; so in terror of Atreus’ son godlike Alexandros lost himself again in the host of the haughty Trojans. (Iliad 3.33–37, Lattimore)

In its chthonic associations (dwelling in underground lairs, emerging from the earth), it is often imputed with mantic powers; it is worshipped in various forms in various locales, most notably in Egypt,58 and played a role in the Eleusynian mysteries, Sarapis cult and Mithras cult. 59 It is associated with various gods, including Zeus, Apollo and Athena; the theme of the Drachekampf is widespread, notable battles including those of Apollo v. Python and Heracles v. Hydra. 60 Its natural association with poison perhaps led 57 See, for example, Keller, 2:284–305; Jan Bremmer, “Schlange,” DNP 11:181–84; Reinhold Merkelbach, ”Drache,” RAC 4:226–50; Jane Ellen Harrison, Prolegomena to the Study of Greek Religion (3rd ed.; Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1922; repr. 1991), 325–31. 58 See, for example, Herodotus, Hist. 2.74; Aelian, Nat. an. 11.2, 17. 59 Bremmer, “Schlange,” 181–84. 60 Merkelbach, ”Drache,” 236.

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to its association with cures and the medical arts more generally, as undoubtedly did its apparent achievement of perpetual youth through the shedding of its skin. Asclepius’ association with the snake is still visible today in the symbol of the American Medical Association. The snake makes frequent appearances in fables and is particularly common in natural history texts. It often functions as a tool of punishment for the gods (most famously in the GraecoRoman tradition in the case of Laocoön and his sons), but may also be employed by the gods for more benign tasks. Despite this seeming excess of comparative materials, it is possible to identify a group of texts which inform particular aspects of the snake in our episode. Junod and Kaestli have suggested that the death of Fortunatus finds a parallel in Heliodorus’ romance novel, the Aethiopica. There, as noted in chapter three above, Thermouthis, a wicked henchman not unlike Fortunatus, by will of the fates meets his deserved end via snakebite.61 Junod and Kaestli also cite a passage from Aelian describing a snake sacred to the Egyptians, which “spares good people but kills the impious” (fei,desqai me.n auvth.n tw/n avgaqw/n( tou/j de. avsebou/ntaj avpoktinnu,nai) (Aelian, Nat. an. 10.31). 62 Elsewhere, Aelian specifically links at least one famous serpent with the protection of chastity (though not of dead girls, as in our episode). On certain holy days, the maids of Lavinium are said to bring barley-cake offerings to a certain snake in a grove near the shrine of Hera: And should they be virgins (kai. eva.n me.n parqe,noi w=si), the serpent (o` dra,kwn) accepts the food inasmuch as it is holy and fit for a creature loved by the gods (a`gna.j ))) prepou,saj zw|,w| qeofilei/); if not, [the cakes] remain untasted, [the serpent] having foretold and divined the corruption. (Nat. an. 11.16)

Snakes are common inhabitants of temples and shrines, less frequently associated with tombs and graves; 63 Aelian does, however, tell the story of a snake who kills and then stays with the dead bodies. The Macedonian prince Pindus, who had developed a friendship of sorts with a large snake, was slain by his brothers while hunting in the country: And then [the snake] came out of his lair and, coiling around the unholy men (toi/j avnosi,oij periplakei.j), killed them, choking them to death; and he did not leave his post until the rela61

Junod and Kaestli, Acta Iohannis, 2:550; see Heliodorus, Aeth. 2.20.2. See discussion in chapter I, above. 62 As noted above, this serpent is called ‘Thermouthis,’ thus a connection between this story and the episode in Aeth. is stronger than either with our passage. 63 Snakes are associated, however, with the tombs of heroes, the snake representing the presence of the hero himself: “In snake form the hero dwelt in his tomb, and to indicate this fact not uncommonly on vase-paintings we have a snake depicted on the very grave mound itself” (Harrison, 328).

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tives of the young man, having missed him, arrived and found him lying there. And, although they were lamenting him, they did not dare to approach to care for the corpse, for fear of its guardian (tou/ frourou). But [the snake], by some secret nature understanding that he was keeping them away, slowly departed, leaving the man to obtain from his relatives the final kind service. (Nat. an. 10.48)

There is also a tradition that snakes are generated from the very corpses of evil men: The spine of a human corpse (r`a,cij avnqrw,pou nekrou), they say, turns the festered marrow into a snake; and the beast escapes and creeps forth, the fiercest creature from the gentlest (to. avgriw,taton evk tou/ h`merwta,tou). Now the physical remains of the good and noble are at rest, and have peace as a reward (kai. tw/n me.n kalw/n kai. avgaqw/n ta. lei,yana avnapau,etai( kai. e;cei a=qlon h`suci,an), just as also the soul of such men [has as its reward] the things sung of and celebrated by wise men; but the spines of evil men give birth to such things even after life (ponhrw/n de. avnqrw,pwn r`a,ceij toiau/ta tiktousi kai. meta. to.n bi,on). Whether this is entirely myth (to. pa/n mu/qo,j evstin) or if these things are really to be believed, by my judgment the corpse of a wicked man bears the wage of his ways by becoming the father of a snake (w`j kri,nein evme,( o;fewj gene,sqai path.r tou/ tro,pou misqo.n hvne,gkato). (Nat. an. 1.51)

Junod and Kaestli, referring to the Thermouthis’ death in Heliodorus’ Aeth. and the tradition of the Egyptian snake which “spares good people but kills the impious,” suggest that “one can seriously wonder whether the author of the Acts John did not know this tradition and if he was not inspired by it in his description of the different ways in which the snake has treated Fortunatus and Callimachus.” 64 It is unnecessary, however, to predicate a single textual influence; rather, our author is drawing on a more widespread understanding of snakes as punishers of the wicked, whether they act through their own sense of loyalty and justice, some divine sensibility, or through the command of a god. Snakes may be particularly suited to this task because of their own almost genetic association with wickedness (born of evil men, as in Aelian’s formulation above), and hence the ambiguity with which they are often presented: they are frightful creatures, but their actions are just or divinely appointed, so that the good need not fear. Snakes have, in fact, played this role in both Graeco-Roman and Jewish traditions from the earliest periods. The locus classicus in the Greek tradition is perhaps Laocoön and his sons, who (most vividly described in Virgil’s Aeneid and depicted in the famous 1st century sculpture now at the Vatican) are crushed by two serpents sent by Athena. In the Hebrew Bible, we recall that 64 Junod and Kaestli, Acta Iohannis, 2:550. The French: “On peut sérieusement se demander si l'auteur des Acts John ne connaissait pas cette tradition et s'il ne s'en est pas inspiré lorsqu'il décrit le traitement différent que le serpent fait subir à Fortunatus et à Callimaque.” That they select these two passages in particular I think reflects their belief that the Acts John was composed in Egypt.

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God sends “fiery serpents” (in the LXX, “deadly snakes” [tou.j o;feij tou.j qanatou/ntaj]) to punish the Israelites for speaking against God and Moses. 65 The rabbinic tradition, too, provides examples of snakes dispensing divine justice. There are reports, for instance, of a serpent sent to kill a deceitful priest hiding behind an altar of Baal, 66 and even of a venomous snake that prevents the theft of the cloak of Rabbi Eleazar b. Pedath, while the rabbi is busy studying Torah. 67 Finally, the Physiologus describes the snake as having four different “natures” (te,ssaraj fu,seij), the third of which seems most relevant to our episode: The third nature of the snake: when the snake sees a naked person (o[tan i;dh| o` o;fij a;nqrwpon gumno,n), it is afraid and turns away; and whenever it sees him clothed, it springs upon him. Let us, too, perceptively perceive (nohtw/j noh,swmen) that at the time when our father Adam was naked in the garden, the devil was not able to constrain him. Therefore, if you, too, have on the clothing of the old person (to. e;nduma tou/ palaiou/ avnqrw,pou), that is the fig leaves of pleasure (ta. su,kina th/j h`donh/j), as the one grown old in wicked days (w`j pepalaiwme,noj h`merw/n kakw/n), [the devil] springs upon you. (Physiologus, 11)

If our author was familiar with this tradition about snakes, 68 it is possible that the stripping of Drusiana’s body, in addition to heightening the tension and indicating how very close she came to defilement by a necrophiliac, serves a more symbolic function: her literal nakedness reflects her spiritual casting off of the “old person” and her innocent state, not susceptible to the attack of the devil. The risen Jesus providing her with a new cloak might then represent her taking on of the new, spiritual body. Callimachus, still clothed as his old self (i.e. the faithless, lawless, godless man), was vulnerable to the snake’s bite, but through it has become a new man. We should note here that one other snake appears in the Acts John: at the beginning of 94 (that is, the beginning of the section which Junod and Kaestli have identified as a gnostic interpolation) there is reference to “the lawless Jews, given the law by a lawless snake.” While the snake in the tomb is rather ambiguously presented, I see no development of the gnostic themes that are 65

Cf. Virgil, Aen. 2.220ff; Num 21:1–9. Yalqut 2:214, discussed in Schochet, 129. 67 Eruvin 54b, discussed in Schochet, 130. 68 Otto Schönberger, in his translation and commentary on the Physiologus, suggests that this third nature goes back to Egyptian images of the victorious, naked Horus standing above a snake (Physiologus [Stuttgart: Reclam, 2001], 112). If the author of the Acts John is familiar with this tradition, Junod and Kaestli’s argument for Egypt as the location of composition may be strengthened – particularly if one believes the Physiologus is also an Egyptian product; on the other hand, inclusion in the Physiologus may be taken to indicate simply that the tradition was widely known. 66

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suggested here. 69 This variance in the depiction of snakes within the Acts John, while certainly not conclusive in and of itself, may argue for the interpolation theory (i.e. that 94–102 do not belong to the earliest form of the text).

D. The Partridge Acts John 56–57 (= Parisinus gr. 1468 V) narrates an exchange between John and a certain priest concerning a partridge. Because the episode is brief (and the Greek terms are key), I quote it in full: VEn mia/| ou=n tw/n h`merw/n w`j h=n VIwa,nnhj kaqezo,menoj( pe,rdix dia,ptasa kai. evlqou/sa evkoni,zeto e;mprosqen auvtou/\ o` ou=n VIwa,nnhj ble,pwn auvto. evqau,mazen) i`ereu.j de, tij evlqw,n( ei-j tw/n avkroatw/n w;n( eivselqw.n pro.j VIwa,nnhn ei=den th.n pe,rdika konizome,nhn e;mprosqen auvtou/( kai. skandalisqei.j evn e`autw|/ e;legen\ ~O toiou/toj kai. thlikou/toj te,rpetai evpi. pe,rdikoj konizome,nhj) Gnou.j de. o` VIwa,nnhj tw|/ pneu,mati th.n evnqu,mhsin auvtou/ ei=pen pro.j auvto,n\ :Ameinon h=n kai. se,( te,knon( o`ra/n pe,rdika konizome,nhn kai. mh. eivj aivscra.j kai. bebh,louj pra,xeij molu,nesqai) o` ga.r pa,ntwn th.n evpistrofh.n kai. th.n meta,noian avname,nwn dia. tou/to evntau/qa, se h;gagen\ evpei. evgw. pe,rdikoj konizome,nhj ouv crh|z, w\ h` ga.r pe,rdix h` sh, evstin yuch,) Tau/ta avkou,saj o` presbu,thj kai. ivdw.n o[ti ouvk e;laqen( avlla. pa,nta ta. evn th|/ kardi,a| auvtou/ ei=pen auvtw/| o` avpo,stoloj tou/ Cristou/( pesw.n evpi. pro,swpon evpi. th.n gh/n evbo,a le,gwn\ Nu/n oi=da o[ti o` qeo.j oivkei/ evn soi,( maka,rie VIwa,nnh\ kai. maka,rioj( o[stij ouvk evpei,rasen evn soi. to.n qeo,n) o` ga.r se. peira,zwn to.n avpei.raston peira,zei) Pareka,lei de. auvto.n eu;cesqai u`pe.r auvtou/( kai. kathch,saj auvto.n kai. dou.j kano,naj avpe,lusen eivj to.n oi=kon auvtou/ doxa,zwn to.n evpi. pa,ntwn qeo,n) Now, on one of these days, as John was sitting down, a partridge, fluttering about, came and was rolling in the dust before him; John, watching it, was marveling. A certain priest, one of the “hearers,” came and, having approached John, saw the partridge rolling in dust before him, and, scandalized, was saying to himself: “Such a man of so advanced an age is taking delight at a partridge rolling in dust.” But John, knowing with his spirit what the man was thinking, said to him: “It would be better for you, child, to look at a partridge rolling in dust and not be defiled in shameful and profane deeds. For the one who awaits the conversion and repentance of all led you here on this account, since I have no need of a partridge rolling in dust. The partridge, therefore, is your soul.” The old man, having heard these things and having perceived that he did not escape notice but rather the apostle of Christ told him all the things in his heart, after falling on his face on the ground, was shouting, saying: “Now I know that God dwells in you, blessed John; and blessed is anyone who does not test God in you. For the one testing you tests the untestable.” And he was urging him to pray on his behalf;

69

These themes are evident, however, in the snake episode in the Acts Thom. There, a talking snake identifies himself as “a reptile of reptile nature, a baleful son of a baleful father … I am son of him who girds the sphere about and I am kinsman of him who is outside the ocean, whose tail is set in his own mouth; I am the one who entered through the fence into Paradise and said to Eve all the things my father charged me to say to her,” etc. (Acts Thom. 32). See below, chapter VIII.

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and when [John] had instructed him and had given him the rules, he dismissed him to his house, glorifying the God of all.

This is an odd episode. The partridge is explicitly identified by the apostle as in some sense symbolic (“the partridge is your soul”), and yet it is not immediately clear on what basis the comparison is working or what the effect of the passage as a whole is meant to be. 70 It is best to begin with some obvious questions: what exactly is the partridge doing? why does John marvel (evqau,mazen) and take delight (te,rpetai)? by what is the priest scandalized? what does the partridge rolling in dust have to do with defilement? in what way does the partridge represent the priest’s soul (yuch,), and why does this statement bring about the priest’s immediate conversion? The outline of the story is not unfamiliar: the priest observes the apostle engaged in some apparently scandalous activity and is shocked; an exchange follows in which the apostle shows not only that the activity is not shameful, but that it symbolically reveals a deeper truth about which the priest was unaware. We might compare the controversy and pronouncement story in Mark 2:23 (where the disciples pluck grain on the sabbath, the Pharisees are appalled, and Jesus ultimately pronounces, “the sabbath was made for man and not man for the sabbath; so the Son of man is lord even of the sabbath”), though in our passage the pronouncement is more personal and is followed by an immediate conversion. The turning point of the episode is John’s first statement to the priest: “It would be better for you to look at a partridge rolling in dust and not be defiled in shameful and profane deeds.” The substance of this statement is not entirely clear, primarily because the second half of the comparison is missing: “it would be better” than what? The comparison is apparently between the behavior of the apostle and the priest. John’s statement might be expanded to say, “it would be better for you to look at a partridge rolling in dust and not be defiled in shameful and profane deeds than not to look at the partridge and actually be defiled.” John may be looking, even delighting, at the partridge, but he is certainly not defiled by deeds. The implication is that the priest, who 70 Patricia Cox Miller compares this episode, particuarly John’s comparison of the priest’s soul to a partridge, to Origen’s discussion of sacrificial animals in Leviticus, where he writes: “I do not desire that you seek all these offerings in visible animals nor that you think them to be found in mute cattle that ought to be offered to God. Seek these offerings within yourself and you will find them within your soul. Understand that you have within yourself herds of bulls, those that were blessed in Abraham. Understand that you have herds of sheep and herds of she-goats in which the patriarchs were blessed and multiplied. Understand also that within you are the birds of the sky. Marvel not that we say these are within you. Understand that you are another world in miniature and that there is within you the sun, the moon, and the stars.” (Hom. Lev. 5.2, trans. Barkley) See Miller, Poetry of Thought, 41–3. Origen’s homily on Jeremiah 17 is also quite instructive here, as will be discussed.

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is scandalized at the notion of looking (and taking delight) at the partridge, actually does shameful and profane deeds, and is thereby defiled. But how does the bird fit? Partridges are discussed in some detail in the natural histories of Aristotle, Pliny, Aelian and Oppian; Plutarch describes partridge behavior in his Soll. an. and Brut. an., as does Philo in Anim. and Porphyry in his Abst.; Artemidorus tells us the meaning of partridges in dreams, and the characteristics of the bird are discussed at length when one is served for dinner in Athenaeus’ Deipn.. The partridge makes an appearance in the Aesopic fables of Babrius and in Antigonus’ collection of miraculous stories; it is found in Sirach 11:29-34 and Jer 17:11, and the passage from Jeremiah is repeated and interpreted in the Physiologus. As one might expect, various, at times contradictory, characteristics are ascribed to the partridge. Nevertheless, several distinctive features for which the bird was particularly known are identifiable. Notably, Origen, in his commentary on Jer 17:11–16, is faced with precisely the inerpretive questions that we now consider in understanding the literary function of the partridge. 71 He writes, “we have now arrived at the notorious problem of understanding who the partridge is (evpi. to. diabo,hton zh,thma evlhlu,qamen ivdei/n ti,j evstin o` pe,rdix) (Hom. Jer. 17.1). Origen suggests that in order to interpret the passage in which this bird appears, “it is necessary to collect from what exists concerning the nature of animals (peri. fu,sewj zw,wn) what is reported about the partridge (ti,na i`sto,rhtai peri. tou/ pe,rdikoj), in order that, knowing what there is about the animal, we might know whether it is necessary to classify the partridge, with reference to the present statement, for the better or for the worse” (Hom. Jer. 17.1). In other words, Origen, when faced with an animal figure the meaning of which he is unsure (here, Origen debates whether the partridge is intended to represent Jesus or the devil) turns first to natural historical sources to discover what there is to know about this bird. We will do the same, though with slightly different results, as will be discussed below. Junod and Kaestli have rightly indicated 72 the importance of the following passage from Aristotle’s Hist. an. in interpreting our text: Of birds, some are dust-rollers, some bathe in water (tw/n ovrni,qwn oi` me.n konistikoi,( oi` de. lou/ntai), and others are neither dust-rollers nor bathe in water. Those that are not strong fliers but are rather land-bound (evpi,geioi) are dust-rollers (konistikoi,), such as the chicken, partridge, francolin, lark and pheasant (oi-on avlektori.j pe,rdix avttagh.n koru,daloj fasiano,j); some of the straight-taloned birds and as many as spend their time around rivers or marshes or the sea, bathe in water; some both roll in the dust and bathe in water, like the dove and the sparrow; many of the crooked-taloned birds do neither. (Hist. an. 633a-b) 71 72

I thank Jay Weaver for bringing this passage to my attention. Junod and Kaestli, Acta Iohannis, 2:151.

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Aristotle’s division of birds into various types of bathers (which is quoted verbatim and discussed by Athenaeus) indicates that the “rolling in dust” described in Acts John is not only a characteristic behavior of the partridge but is even a technical term (found in Aristotle in both the verb koni,w and the substantive adjective konistiko,j, in the Acts John in the later verb form koni,zw) used to distinguish between basic categories of birds. Elsewhere, Aristotle describes a similar dusty behavior, but with a different purpose; this action is presented in similar terms also by Philo, Plutarch, Aelian and Antigonus. 73 In Soll. an., as evidence of both the cleverness and parental care of the partridge, Plutarch writes that these birds teach their young, who cannot yet fly, to hide when pursued by lying on their backs and holding some piece of turf over their bodies as camouflage; meanwhile, the mothers lead the pursuers in another direction, and “by distracting them, fluttering about (diapeto,menai) at their feet, and rising just a little, almost to the point of allowing capture, they draw them away from their young” (Soll. an. 971c). 74 In addition to koni,w/koni,zw, then, another term from natural historical reports on the partridge (though less specific and not technical) is shared with the Acts John: “flutter” (diape,tomai). Partridges were known for their use as decoys in catching both other animals and other partridges, hence their appearance in the Aesopic fable of Babrius as paradigmatic traitors 75 and the following line from Sirach 11:30: “Like a decoy partridge in a cage, so is the heart of a proud man, and like a spy he observes your weaknesses.” According to Artemidorus, partridges in dreams represent godless and impious people, and those who bite the hand that feeds them. He writes that they are difficult to tame and inconstant, and “they alone among birds do not have reverence for the gods” (Onir. 2.46). Conversely, Aelian tells us that the partridge is the “delight of the daughter of Zeus and Leto” (Nat. an. 10.35). In a section treating the incubation habits of birds, Aristotle writes that the male partridge shares egg-sitting duties with the female 76 – a behavior that is reported also in rabbinic material. 77 He contradicts himself, however, when discussing animal behavior, writing as follows: 73

Aristotle, Hist. an. 613b; see also Aelian, Nat. an. 11.38; Philo, Anim. 35; Antigonus, Hist. mirab. 39. 74 Cf. rereference to the partridge chick’s ability to escape capture in Longus’ Daphn., quoted above. This is one of the traits discussed by Origen in Hom. Lev. 17.1; however, while Plutarch and Longus seem to admire the partridge’s cleverness and concern for their young, Origen takes it as evidence primarily of a deceitful nature. 75 Babrius, Fable 138; see also Aristotle, Hist. an. 560b. Origen also notes this characteristic in Hom. Lev. 17.1. 76 Aristotle, Hist. an. 564a. 77 See m. Hul. 12:2, Hul. 138b, quoted by Schochet, 98.

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dia. de. to. ei=nai avfrodisiastikoi,( o[pwj mh. evpw|a,zh| h` qh,leia( oi` a;rrenej ta. w|va. diakulindou/si kai. suntri,bousin eva.n eu[rwsin\ On account of being lecherous, the males roll the eggs away and crush them if they find them, so that the female can’t brood. (Hist. an. 613b)

When the female is brooding, she is unavailable to satisfy the male’s overly amorous desires and so he destroys his own young. The partridge thus earns a nasty reputation: as Aristotle puts it, “the bird is of bad character and wicked” (kako,hqej to. o;rneo,n evsti kai. panou/rgon) (Hist. an. 613b). This aspect of the partridge is undoubtedly the most famous, especially in later antiquity. Aelian, Pliny, Plutarch, and Antigonus all give similar reports. Athenaeus, who quotes Aristotle and others including Aristophanes, Archilochus, and Sophocles as sources on the partridge, concludes that “the animal is employed symbolically for lust” (to. de. zw|/on evpi. lagnei,aj sumbolikw/j parei,lhptai) (Deipn. 9.389a). Our final passage for consideration is Jer 17:11, which Origen describes, with reference to the meaning of the partridge, as a “notorious question” (diabo,hton zh,thma). The LXX reads as follows: “The partridge called out; it gathered a brood which it did not hatch, acquiring its wealth but not by right; in the midst of his days they will leave it, and at its end it will be a fool.” This trait of the partridge is not mentioned elsewhere in the Greek corpus, nor does Origen seem to know it – hence the interpretive difficulty, no doubt. 78 The verse is, however, taken up (quoted in full) in the Physiologus, and interpreted as follows: o` Fusiolo,goj e;lexe peri. tou/ pe,rdikoj o[ti avllo,tria wva. qa,lpei kai. nossopoiei/\ evpa.n de. auvxh,swsin( e[kaston ge,noj avni,ptatai pro.j tou.j ivdi,ouj gonei/j kai. mo,non a;frona avfia/sin auvto,n) Ou[tw kai. o` dia,boloj a`rpa,zei to. ge,noj tw/n nhpi,wn tai/j fresi,n\ evpa.n de. eivj me,tron h`liki,aj e;lqwsin( a;rontai evpiginw,skein tou.j gonei/j au`tw/n tou.j ouvrani,ouj( toute,sti to.n Cristo.n kai. th.n VEkklhsi,an kai. tou.j a`gi,ouj profh,taj kai. avposto,louj( kai. mo,non a;frona avfia/sin auvto,n) Kalw/j ou=n e;lexen o` Fusiolo,goj peri. tou/ pe,rdikoj) The Physiologus said about the partridge that it broods and hatches foreign eggs; when they grow up, each race (ge,noj) flies back to its own parents and leaves [the partridge] foolish and alone. Thus also the devil seizes the race of those who are childish in thoughts; but when they come to a certain age they begin to recognize their own heavenly parents, that is Christ and the church and the holy prophets and apostles, and leave him foolish and alone. Well, then, did the Physiologus speak about the partridge. (Physiologus, 18)

78 The peculiarity could be a result of the translation from Hebrew to Greek; the Hebrew term is qǀrƝ’, which, a rare term itself, “usually” refers to a partridge (BDB, 896). I could not, however, find this behavior attributed to any bird (though certainly more searching could be done); the famous trait of the cuckoo, i.e. laying eggs in another bird’s nest, comes the closest.

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Various other aspects of the partridge are known, especially in Aristotle and Aelian, 79 but we have now treated their most distinctive and most famous traits. It remains to determine which, if any, of these traits sheds light on the Acts John 56–57. We asked above what the partridge has to do with defilement; the bird’s reputation for salaciousness and lechery-driven infanticide certainly provides an answer. Athenaeus plainly states that the partridge “is employed symbolically for lust.” This, I would argue, also goes a long way towards explaining why the priest is scandalized: John is taking delight in observing the behavior of a famously lascivious creature. In their commentary, Junod and Kaestli first consider both Aristotle’s treatment of the partridge (as to its salaciousness and general wickedness) and Jer 17; they conclude that these themes are not operative in our text. They argue that the partridge represents the man’s soul, but his soul is never identified as “wicked” and “diabolic”; “moreover,” they write, “it would be difficult to imagine the apostle marveling at the spectacle of a bird that represents wickedness and the devil … even if it were with the goal of winning over a conversion!” 80 I agree that the partridge of Jer 17 and particularly the Physiologus’ diabolical interpretation are not of primary importance in interpreting this text; 81 I am not ready, however, to rule out the possibility of an apostle marveling at the spectacle of a salacious creature. I will return to this point in a moment, but for now will follow their argument. Leaving lust aside, Junod and Kaestli turn to Aristotle’s description of the partridge’s bathing habits and our author’s repeated – five times – report that the partridge “rolls in the dust.” They conclude as follows: “John marvels while observing a bird that is cleaning itself of filth. The priest is scandalized that a spectacle so base is holding the attention of the apostle. The priest must

79 These include the partridge’s friendships and enmities with other animals (e.g. Aelian, Nat. an. 4.1, 5, 16; 5.48), their use of marjoram to cure wounds (Aelian, Nat. an. 5.46), their protection against sorcery (Aelian, Nat. an. 1.35), other mating habits (e.g. Aristotle, Hist. an. 510a, 564b, 560b), their diet (e.g. Aristotle, Hist. an. 621a), and their calls (e.g. Aristotle, Hist. an. 536b, 614a and Porphyry, Abst. 3.4). 80 Junod and Kaestli, Acta Iohannis, 1:150. The French: “De surcroît, on imaginerait mal l’apôtre s’émerveillant au spectacle d’un oiseau qui représenterait la méchanceté ou le diable ... même si c’était dans le but d’entraîner une conversion!” The wording of this conclusion recalls Origen’s conclusions concerning the partridge: “If this animal is malicious, if it is unclean, if it is villanous, if it is even deceitful, then, clearly, to categorize it for the better and to claim that it is able to serve as metaphor for the savior seems to be impious” (Hom. Jer. 17.2). 81 The emphasis on childish v. mature thoughts in the Physiologus does, however, call to mind the otherwise unexplained fact that John calls the priest (identified as an “old man” [presbu,thj]) “child” (te,knon).

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open his eyes: the partridge that washes itself is the soul of the priest; God is waiting for him to cleanse himself of all his shameful actions.” 82 I quite agree that the partridge as “dust-bather” is the key to interpreting this episode. I would maintain, however, that the partridge’s lusty character is also at play. First, the priest’s sharp reaction to the scene requires something more sordid than the apostle watching an animal cleaning itself, and, as argued above, the salacious reputation of the bird provides this. Second, I am not convinced that the partridge cleaning itself in the dust is a behavior the priest is meant to imitate. It seems equally plausible that the partridge is a purely negative example: a filthy, salacious animal that literally bathes in dirt. This possibility is particularly attractive when we consider the verb used to describe Aristotle’s other type of birds. These birds lou/ntai (“bathe in water”); this, of course, is the term used for baptism throughout the apocryphal acts, 83 including Acts John 84, 89 and 95. By this interpretation, the priest’s soul is a partridge, that is, a filthy salacious creature trying to clean itself in the dirt; God is waiting for the priest to repent, that is, wash off his shameful and profane deeds in a real bath. Dust-rolling birds are, moreover, identified by Aristotle as “land-bound” (evpi,geia). In early Christian literature, this adjective (more often translated as “earthly”) is consistently used in opposition to “heavenly,” as in John 3:12: eiv ta. evpi,geia ei=pon u`mi/n kai. ouv pisteu,ete( pw/j eva.n ei;pw u`mi/n ta. evpoura,nia pisteu,seteÈ (“If I tell you earthly things and you do not believe, how will you believe if I tell you heavenly things?). 84 The apostle’s first statement in our episode, then, suggests that it is better to observe a salacious creature and not be one, than to avert your eyes while harboring your own shameful deeds. Returning to the apostle’s marveling, if rolling in dust is indeed itself presented negatively in this text, it seems quite possible that John is amazed at how very wicked the creature is. Wonder at even the despicable behavior of animals is certainly not beyond the pale, either in the ancient or contemporary world. Perhaps John marvels (qauma,zein) because that is the typical first century Greek response (if not simply the typical human response) to interesting 82 Junod and Kaestli, Acta Iohannis, 1:151. The French: “Jean s’émerveille en observent un oiseau qui se dépouille de ses saletés. Le prêtre, lui, se scandalise qu’un spectacle si bas retienne l’attention de l’apôtre. Il faut que celui-ci lui ouvre les yeux: la perdrix qui se lave, c’est l’âme du prêtre dont Dieu attend qu’elle se purifie de toutes ses actions honteuses.” 83 See also Acts Thom. 43, 89, 132; Acts Paul 34 and 40. 84 Cf. 1 Cor 15:40, 2 Cor 5:1, Phil 2:10, Phil 3:19, Jas. 3:15. The term appears in Acts John 112, in John’s final prayer before dying: he addresses God as o` tw/n u`perourani,wn path,r\ o` tw/n evpourani,wn despo,thj\ o` tw/n aivqeri,wn no,moj kai. tw/n averi,wn dro,moj\ o` tw/n evpigei,wn fu,lax kai. tw/n u`pogei,wn fo,boj (“Father of those above the heavens, master of the heavenly, law of the ethereal and path of the airy, guard of the earthly and terror of those beneath the earth”).

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animal behavior. The inherent interest of such things is, after all, why descriptions were included in the very popular natural history and paradoxographical texts of late antiquity. 85 We might even compare Homer’s Penelope, who keeps twenty geese and “take[s] delight in watching them” (sfi.n ivai,nomai eivsoro,wsa) (Od. 19.537). On the other hand, the apostle himself identifies a purpose in the behavior of the partridge, and it pertains not to the apostle (“I have no need of a partridge rolling in dust”) but to the priest (“the one who awaits the conversion and repentance of all led you here on this account”). John sees in the partridge’s behavior a lesson for the priest – something that will lead to conversion and repentance. It is a lesson in self discovery (“the partridge is your soul”), which the priest immediately recognizes as true. The partridge may itself be a wicked and filthy creature, but its effect is ultimately positive. John’s reaction to the partridge may be amazement at the goodness of creation; he wonders at the cleverness of the creator in weaving into his creation such valuable information for the observant interpreter to discover – a perspective we have already seen in the work of Origen and others. 86 Before closing, we should note that another version of the story circulated in late antiquity. In the fifth century, John Cassian reports that the apostle, while sitting and stroking a partridge, was approached by a philosopher dressed as a hunter; the hunter, amazed (miratus) that a man of such reputation would submit himself to small and humble amusements, asks why he occupies himself with such things. John replies by making a comparison to the bow that the philosopher carries. One doesn’t keep the bow constantly pulled taut, otherwise it would lose its strength; similarly, one must occasionally relax the mind, or else it is weakened by constant exertion. 87 There are enough key similarities here (beyond the presence of a partridge) to indicate that this is a version of the same story. The priest has become a philosopher, but the objection to the apostle’s conduct remains. Here, the reason for the objection is explicitly stated: it is that the apostle is wasting his time by entertaining himself with a partridge. The story is straightforwardly told to combat the notion that such entertainment is without purpose; any comparison of the philosopher with the partridge is completely absent, as is any reference to the animal’s characteristics. That this is a very different partridge story becomes even clearer when its context in the Collationes is considered. John Cassian introduces it in a discussion of guests: although the arrival of brothers and the consequent disruption of peace and quiet of the anchorite life might seem like an annoyance to be avoided, they should embrace such interruptions as a beneficial break for body and spirit. 85

This behavior does, in fact, appear in Antigonus’ Hist. mirab. (see n. 73 above). See above, chapter II. 87 John Cassian, Collationes 24.21. 86

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On the one hand, this story shares with the bedbug episode a depiction of the apostle as a relatively fun-loving guy, capable of entertaining himself and others. On the other hand, it is difficult to imagine the author of the Acts John advocating anything that would disrupt peace and quiet. The story has changed dramatically to fit a different context (the anchorite lifestyle) and serve a very different purpose. But here again, the malleable nature of the animal episode is underscored. 88

E. Conclusions In this chapter, I have read the animal episodes in the Acts John in the context of contemporary animal-related literature. Beyond the individual interpretations that have resulted from this comparative work, it has become quite clear that, as a general principle, knowledge of the current natural historical information and widely circulating traditions about particular animals is crucial in understanding the roles played by those animals in the narrative. Further, the analyses indicate that the author of the Acts John has used animal episodes much like the authors of other late antique prose literature, particularly in his characterization of individuals through their interactions with animals, and in his reference to specific traits and behaviors of animals to make contact with and underscore key themes in the narrative. Like his contemporaries, our author draws from an available stock of reports and stories about animals – anecdotes and episodes circulating either orally, in written form or both – and has crafted episodes to suit his particular purposes. But what do the preceding analyses indicate with regards to the view of animals in the Acts John? The fragmentary nature of the text unfortunately precludes much generalization; nevertheless, the following observations can be made. In 60–61 and 63–86, both of which our best textual evidence suggests belong to the original Acts John, the animals come off rather well. The snake, so often elsewhere identified with the devil, is in this passage ambiguous at worst; at best, it is the instrument of God, enacting a just punishment. The bedbugs are explicitly compared to human beings and are judged superior. Not only is their obedience exemplary, their capacity to be at rest – de88 This version of the partridge story occurs again in Jacobus de Voragine’s Golden Legend, where it is attributed to Cassiodorus. David R. Cartlidge and J. Keith Elliott report that the scene is depicted on a fourteenth-century vestment in the Musée royal des beaux-arts in Brussels, along with other scenes from John’s life. Cartlidge and Elliott, however, do not differentiate between the two versions of the story (giving the text of Acts John, while referring to the “parable of the bow and the partridge”), and so it is unclear what exactly is found on the vestment. See Art & the Christian Apocrypha (New York: Routledge, 2001), 206–7.

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spite the fact that it is their very nature to disturb rest – is a highly ironic and thus highly effective way to underscore human beings’ failings in that respect. Even in the case of the partridge, where I have argued that the animal represents very negative qualities, the apostle is presented as interacting pleasantly with nature. Again, while the fragmentary state of the text makes sweeping judgments of little value, these texts do present a sharp contrast to the representations of animals as found in the Acts Andr. Finally, we should note the following lines from John’s dying prayer in 112. Among a long list of appellations, he calls upon God as: o` dia. pa,shj fu,sewj e`auto.n gnwri,saj\ o` kai. me,cri zw,|wn e`auto.n khru,xaj\ o` th.n e;rhmon kai. avgriwqei/san yuch.n h[meron kai. h;remon poih,saj\ you who made yourself known through all nature; you who proclaimed yourself even as far as the animal kingdom; you who made even the desolate and wild soul tame and quiet.

Junod and Kaestli rightly point out that the notion of God making himself known through all nature or creation is common in both Christian and other contemporary Greek sources. 89 I am less convinced, however, of their conclusion that these lines do not refer to the episode concerning the bedbugs. They stress that what takes place with the bugs is in any case not a proclamation. I would argue that a type of proclamation is made through the bedbugs; moreover, I see here a suggestive paronomasia on “desolate” (e;rhmon erêmon), “tame” (h[meron hêmeron) and “still” (h;remon êremon), which repeats the vocabulary of the now “quiet” bedbugs at the “deserted” inn. The inclusion of these lines in John’s final prayer, along with the odd description in 60 of the episode as “a certain one” of the apostle’s “comic stories,” suggests the tantalizing possibility that more animal episodes may be among the lost portions of the original Acts John.

89 Junod and Kaestli point, for example, to the Corpus Hermeticum, 5.2ff; 11.22ff, and Origen, Cels. 4.74ff. (Junod and Kaestli, Acta Iohannis, 2:575).

Chapter VI

Animals in the Acts of Peter A. Introduction The Acts of Peter has received relatively substantial scholarly attention in the last hundred years, much of it focused on the date of composition and its literary connection to other apocryphal acts. In the first decades of the twentieth century, scholarship was driven by the discovery of new texts; 1 in the last decades, increasing interest in the phenomenon of intertextuality has fueled a productive debate over the relationship between the Acts Pet., Acts John and Acts Paul. 2 The debate is complicated by the truly daunting text-critical situation and recent publications in which some of the more basic assumptions about this text have been brought into question. The earliest explicit mention of the Acts Pet. is made by Eusebius, who excludes the text (along with the Kerygma Petri, Gospel of Peter, and Apocalypse of Peter) from the inventory of traditional “catholic” scripture. Eusebius does not describe any of the contents of these texts, only citing the fact that no church writers, either of the early days or his contemporaries, make use of their testimony. 3 Carl Schmidt saw reference to the Acts Pet. in several earlier sources, including the Muratorian Canon, Clement of Alexandria’s Stromateis and Hippolytus’ Refutatio, 4 but much doubt has been cast on these asser1 Early commentators on the Acts Pet. include Carl Schmidt, Die alten Petrusakten im Zusammenhang der apokryphen Apostelliteratur nebst einem neuentdeckten Fragment (Leipzig: J. C. Hinrichs, 1903); idem, “Studien zu den alten Petrusakten,” ZKG 43 (1924): 321–48 and 45 (1927) 481–513; idem, “Zur Datierung der alten Petrusakten,” ZNW 29 (1930) 150–5; Gerhard Ficker, Die Petrusakten (Leipzig: Johann Ambrosius Barth, 1903); idem, “Petrusakten,” in Handbuch zu den neutestamentlichen Apokryphen (ed. E. Hennecke; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1904), 395–491; and Jean Flamion, “Les Actes Apocryphes de Pierre,” RHE 9 (1908): 233–54, 465–90; 10 (1909): 5–29, 215–77; 11 (1910): 5–28, 22356, 447–70, 675–92; 12 (1911): 209–30, 437–50. 2 See, for example, Dennis R. MacDonald, “The Acts of Paul and The Acts of Peter: Which Came First?”; Robert F. Stoops, Jr., “Peter, Paul, and Priority in the Apocryphal Acts”; and Richard Valantasis, “Narrative Strategies and Synoptic Quandries: A Response to Dennis MacDonald’s Reading of Acts of Paul and Acts of Peter,” in Society of Biblical Literature Seminar Papers (1993): 214–39. 3 Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 3.3.2; cf. 3.25.6–7. 4 See Schmidt, Die alten Petrusakten, 99–111.

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tions. 5 More merit has been granted to the possibility that Origen’s description of Peter’s upside-down crucifixion (in the Commentary on Genesis as related by Eusebius) and Commodian’s reference to both the talking dog and talking infant (passages to be discussed below) indicate a familiarity with our text. 6 In each case, however, one can only conclude that the author was familiar with certain traditions about the life and activities of Peter, not with a single, stable text. It is perhaps more likely that the Didascalia, in which Peter describes his contest with Simon Magus and the magician’s demise, actually did use the Acts Pet. as a source, though here again there is no conclusive evidence of literary dependence. 7 The very title “Acts of Peter” is more than a little problematic. There is no extant Greek text bearing that name; we have, rather, a single Latin MS from the 6th or 7th century dubbed the Actus Vercellenses, 8 which begins with Paul’s departure from Rome for Spain, but concentrates on Peter’s activities in that city, including his contests with Simon Magus and his martyrdom. Also extant are three Greek manuscripts containing Peter’s martyrdom (corresponding to chapters 30–41 of the Actus Ver.), 9 one Greek fragment from a parchment codex (corresponding to chapters 25–6 of the Actus Ver.), 10 and one Coptic fragment containing the story of Peter’s paralyzed daughter (not included in the Actus Ver.). 11 The title “Acts of Peter” has long been used by scholars to designate a presumed original and unified, but no longer extant, Greek text; it is also, however, frequently used to refer to the sum of the manuscripts and fragments listed above. 12 Yet, as Matthew Baldwin has recently and extensively argued, there is no firm evidence to suggest such an identification. 13 Various strata of material have been detected in the Actus Ver., with the result that various timelines of composition, redaction and translation have been proposed. There is general agreement that the Latin translation dates to the mid-4th century, 14 that the material describing the ac5

See, e.g., Wilhelm Schneemelcher, “The Acts of Peter,” in NTApoc5, 2:272–3. Commodian, Carmen Apologeticum 624–630; Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 3.1.1–2. 7 Didascalia, 6.7–9. Schmidt is more optimistic in his evaluation of these passages; see Die alten Petrusakten, 146–8. 8 The Actus Vercellenses takes its name from the northern Italian town of Vercelli where the codex is housed. 9 These are: the 9th century Codex Patmiacus 48 (P); the 10th/11th century Codex Athous Vatoped. 79 (A); and the 11th century Codex Ochrid. bibl. mun. 44 (O20). 10 P.Oxy 849. 11 P.Ber. 8502. 12 In NTA5, for example, all of these texts are collected under this title. 13 See Matthew C. Baldwin, Whose Acts of Peter? Text and Historical Context of the Actus Vercellenses (WUNT 2.196; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2005), 26–62. 14 See, for example, C. H. Turner, “The Latin Acts of Peter,” JTS 32 (1931): 119; Jan M. Bremmer, “The Novel and the Apocryphal Acts: Place, Time, and Readership,” in Groningen 6

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tivities of Paul (1–3) and the introduction of Nero into the martyrdom (41) are interpolations, and that the original beginning (perhaps one third of the whole, with reference to the stichometry of Nicephorous) is lost. 15 Gérard Poupon finds in chapters 1–3, 41 and elsewhere evidence of redaction emphasizing the possibility of second penance, which suggests, for him, an edition produced in the early third century. 16 Christine Thomas detects similar redactional activity, but would date this “Greek redaction” (including chapters 1–3 and 41 and serving as the basis of the Latin translation found in the Actus Ver.) to the late second century. Thomas also talks about a “continuous Greek text,” without chapters 1–3 and 41, produced around 170 C.E. and itself comprising pre-existing traditions about Peter. 17 Baldwin calls into question the very notion that “a single ancient work entitled Acts of Peter” existed in the second century, let alone that the 4th century Latin text of the Actus Ver. in any way represents the text of this lost “original,” arguing instead for a late, post-Decian (i.e. post-250 C.E.) appearance of any written Acts Pet. 18 In contrast, Hans-Josef Klauck, emphasizing that the Greek fragment from Oxyrhynchus could well be dated (on the basis of paleography, not content) to the late 3rd century instead of the 4th, suggests 250 C.E. as a terminus ante quem for the composition of a Greek Acts Pet., ultimately settling at 180–90 C.E. as a likely figure. 19 For many scholars the dating of an original Greek Acts Pet. hinges on its literary relationship to the Acts Paul. As will be discussed below, the dating of the Acts Paul to ca. 180–90 C.E. is relatively secure, 20 and thus establishing its literary relationship to the Acts Pet. – as either dependent upon it or as its source – offers perhaps our best shot at fixing a date for the other text. And indeed, several similar episodes in the Acts Paul and Acts Pet. have led many scholars to posit a literary dependence between the two. The most notable of Colloquia on the Novel, vol. IX (ed. H. Hofmann and M. Zimmerman; Groningen: Egbert Forsten, 1998), 163–4; Baldwin, in a more detailed assessment, dates the Latin translation to the late 4th century at the earliest, see Whose Acts of Peter, 193. 15 This was first put forward by Adolf Harnack (followed by Léon Vouaux), who suggested that chapters 1–3 of the Actus Ver. were taken over from the Acts Paul (see A. Harnack, Patristische Miszellen, TU 20.3 [Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1901], 102–6; L. Vouaux, Les Actes de Pierre [Paris : Letouzey et Ané, 1922]. 27–33); Schmidt and Ficker disputed this claim (see Schmidt, Petrusakten, 82 and Ficker, “Petrusakten,” 428–9). More recently Poupon has persuasively argued that chapters 1–3 and 41 are interpolations (see Gérard Poupon, “Les ‘Actes de Pierre’ el leur remaniement,” ANRW 2.25/6 [1988] 4372–4). 16 Poupon, “Les ‘Actes de Pierre’ el leur remaniement,” 4363–83. 17 See Christine M. Thomas, The Acts of Peter, Gospel Literature, and the Ancient Novel (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003), 14–39. 18 See Baldwin, 302–14. 19 Klauck, Apokryphe Apostelakten, 93–6. 20 See chapter VII below.

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these are the quo vadis scene, famous from the Greek martyrdom of Peter (not to mention Sienkiewicz’s novel and the Hollywood epic), and the odd introduction of Nero into the final chapter, including the report – otherwise unknown in the Acts Pet., but a key plot element in the Acts Paul – that the emperor was angered by the conversion of his servants. A saying of Jesus from the quo vadis scene, “I am about to be crucified again,” is quoted by Origen but assigned to the Acts Paul, not Acts Pet. 21 In the early part of the 20th century, no such scene was known in the Acts Paul. Schmidt concluded, nevertheless, that Origen had attributed the quotation to its original source, that is, that the Acts Pet. had borrowed the scene from a section of the Acts Paul, now lost. But then the Hamburg papyrus, containing the text referred to by Origen, was discovered. 22 In the Acts Paul, the episode takes place at sea, as Paul journeys to Rome; this episode, moreover, including a baptized ship’s captain, shares significant plot elements with the story of the captain Theon in the Actus Ver. 5. Given this new information, Schmidt reversed his opinion, in 1930 arguing that the Acts Pet. was used as a source by the author of the Acts Paul, even in the introduction of Nero. The Acts Pet., then, was dated prior to the Acts Paul, to ca. 180 C.E. This position held sway through much of the twentieth century, but has more recently been brought into question. Dennis MacDonald, developing a set of three criteria for analysis,23 has argued that in each instance noted above it is rather the Acts Pet. that depends upon the Acts Paul. Robert Stoops refutes many of his arguments, concluding that, while the state of the texts bars a final determination, the available evidence suggests the priority of the Acts Pet. 24 Willy Rordorf, though convinced by MacDonald’s interpretation in several instances, is perhaps correct in suggesting that “tertium datur,” that is, that the two authors may have independently drawn upon a common stock of oral tradition. 25 Rordorf is certainly correct in suggesting that Poupon’s work, identifying interpolations in the Actus Ver. as well as the motivation behind the redaction, has substantial consequences for any discussion of literary dependence and deserves more careful consideration. 26

21

Origen, Comm. Jo. 20.12. Note that the “quo vadis” scene, as it is invariably called, does not in fact include the question “where are you going” in the version found in the Acts Paul. 23 MacDonald, “The Acts of Paul and The Acts of Peter,” 215; see discussion below. 24 Stoops, “Peter, Paul, and Priority,” 233. Cf. Valantasis, “Narrative Strategies,” 236–7. 25 Willy Rordorf, “The Relation between the Acts of Peter and the Acts of Paul: State of the Question,” in Jan. N. Bremmer ed., The Apocryphal Acts of Peter: Magic, Miracles and Gnosticism (Leuven: Peeters, 1998), 186–7. 26 Baldwin interacts significantly with Poupon’s theses, particularly of the African origin of the Acts Pet.; see Baldwin, 189–93. 22

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The two episodes to be discussed in what follows are both found only in the Actus Ver., 27 and so I will use this title except when making conjectures about the translation of Greek terms; how early these episodes were composed and collected into a unified Greek Acts Pet. (particularly if the difference is only a matter of 50 years or so) is largely irrelevant to the present study. The issue of literary dependence is, however, of at least ancillary significance: both the Acts Paul and Actus Ver. include a talking animal, one of which is the first talking animal in extant early Christian narratives. I shall, therefore, briefly take up the question of which came first – the lion or the dog?

B. Canis Loquens The Actus Ver. begins not with Peter but Paul. Having spent an unspecified length of time in Rome, Paul is commanded by the Lord (and given permission 28 by a prison officer) to leave Rome, and, after some prayer-filled delays, departs for Spain. Soon after, Simon Magus arrives. The majority of the Christian community at Rome, perhaps feeling somewhat abandoned by Paul, 29 swiftly turns to worship Simon after observing only his miraculous flying entrance into the city. 30 Peter arrives at Rome to find the Christian

27 A later version of the story is, however, found in the Acts of Nereus and Achilleus, dated by Hans Achelis to the 6th century (see Acta SS. Nerei et Achelei: Text und Untersuchung [TU 11.2; Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1893], 68). This clever adaptation is told in epistolary form from Marcellus’ point of view. Here (13), the dog is a particularly nasty one (avgriw,taton ku,na) which Simon himself ties up at the gate of Marcellus’ house, saying: “Now let’s see if Peter can get in here!” (:Idwmen avrti,wj( evan. o` Pe,troj du,nhqh|/ evnqa,de eivselqei/n). The dog, however, is miraculously tamed by Peter, who, as in the Actus Ver., sends it in to Simon with a message to deliver. The actual speaking of the dog is not, in fact, narrated and it is not entirely clear that it really does acquire a human voice. More time is spent describing how the dog attacks Simon and chases him out of town. Peter saves Simon, commanding that the dog not leave a mark on his body; the dog does, however, catch hold of Simon’s tunic, and thus the magician flees naked and humiliated with the dog and a pack of (undoubtedly laughing) children chasing behind him. 28 Here, Turner’s suggestion of permisit for the manuscript’s permansit seems correct (Turner, 119). 29 In Actus Ver. 4 it is reported, “non minime fratres scandalizabantur ad invicem, praeterea quod non esset Romae Paulus, neque Timotheus neque Barnabas, quoniam in Macedonia missi erant a Paulo, et non esse, qui nos confortaret, praeterea qui nuper cathechizati errant.” 30 The exceptions, here, are the presbyter Narcissus and two women in the lodging house of the Bithynians (hospitum Bithynorum). Ficker has suggested that this, along with the name of the Senator Marcellus, whom he connects with the Augustan proconsul of Bithynia, Granius Marcellus, is evidence of the text’s Bithynian provenance. See discussion in Jan N.

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community in shambles. 31 Its most prominent member, the Senator Marcellus, who formerly opened his household to pilgrims and the poor, has turned to follow Simon, even hosting him in his own home. Learning about the situation from the few remaining faithful Christians, Peter is persuaded to go to Marcellus’ house to confront Simon directly. Peter first approaches the gatekeeper (hostarius) and tells him to go call Simon. The gatekeeper, however, immediately reveals that Simon has given him orders that, if Peter should come to the door, he should say that Simon is not inside. After praising the young man for his honest report, Peter turns to the crowd and announces, “You are about to see a great and marvelous portent!” Looking around (respiciens), he sees a big dog tied up with a large chain; as soon as Peter releases (solvit) the dog it acquires a human voice (vocem humanam accipens) and speaks: “What do you command me to do, servant of the indescribable, living God?” To which Peter said: “Go in and say to Simon in the midst of his company, ‘Peter says to you: Come out in public; I have come to Rome on account of you, you shameless man and troubler of simple souls!’” And immediately 32 running off, the dog entered and, charging into the midst of those who were with Simon and lifting up his fore-paws, used a loud voice and said: “You, Simon! Peter, servant of Christ, standing at your door, says to you: ‘Come out in public; for I have come to Rome on account of you, you most shameless man and deceiver of simple souls!’” But Simon, hearing these things and observing the incredible sight, lost the words (excidit a verbis) by which he was deceiving those standing around him, and all were stupefied. (Actus Ver. 9)

The first to come out is not Simon but Marcellus. Apparently among the company inside, he immediately comes out and throws himself at Peter’s feet, repenting of his sin in following Simon. 33 As Christine Thomas has indicated, this material (Actus Ver. 10), followed by an exorcism and the miraculous restoration of a shattered statue (Actus Ver. 11), interrupts the progress of the dog episode (which picks up again in Actus Ver. 12), and likely is the work of a redactor knitting together multiple pre-existing sources. 34 In Actus Ver. 11, as soon as Marcellus and Peter are reconciled, a demoniac among the bystanders begins laughing loudly. When called forth by Peter, he reports that there is a Bremmer, “Women, Magic, Place and Date” in Jan N. Bremmer ed., The Apocryphal Acts of Peter: Magic, Miracles and Gnosticism (Leuven: Peeters, 1998), 15. 31 Implicit here may be a subtle criticism of Paul: whereas Paul was the first to arrive at Rome, Peter is presented as essentially re-founding the community. 32 Turner’s suggestion of ilico for the manuscript’s loco is adopted here. See Turner, p. 125. 33 Notably, Marcellus confesses to Peter that he was previously “not firmly established in the faith of God which is in Christ” (Actus Ver. 10); this, again, could contain a subtle criticism of Paul, implying that his missionary activity was less than effective. 34 Christine Thomas, The Acts of Peter, 29–30.

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great contest going on inside the house between Simon and the dog and that “the dog says even more than [Peter] commanded him” (plura dicit canis quam que mandasti ei) (Actus Ver. 11). Moreover, he predicts that when the dog has completed the mysterium that Peter commanded it will fall at his feet and die. Peter immediately exorcises the demon, which knocks over and smashes a statue of Caesar on its way out of the courtyard. 35 Marcellus is distraught, expecting punishment if word gets back to the emperor that his image has been destroyed; Peter rebukes the lack of faith evident in Marcellus’ reaction and instructs the senator to restore the statue with a sprinkling of water, which he successfully does. In Actus Ver. 12, the narration abruptly returns to the dog and Simon. The redactional seam is rather clumsily exposed, inasmuch as Marcellus is now back inside his house with Simon and the dog. Picking up directly where the story left off in Actus Ver. 9, Simon responds to the dog: “Tell him I’m not in here.” The dog replies: “You most shameless and impudent man, most inimical to all those living and believing in Christ Jesus. A dumb animal, having acquired a human voice [is] sent to you to charge and prove you a cheat and liar; have you thought for so many hours 36 only to say ‘Tell him I’m not here’? Are you not ashamed to send out your weak and useless voice (vocem tuam infirmem et inutilem) against Peter, the minister and apostle of Christ, as if you were able to hide from the one who commanded me to speak to your face? And this is not for your sake, but for these whom you were deceiving and sending into destruction. Thus you will be cursed, enemy and corruptor of the true path of Christ, who will test the iniquities you have done with undying fire, and you will be in the outer darkness.” (Actus Ver. 12)

This is, in my opinion, one of the funniest moments in the often entertaining apocryphal acts. The dog, flabbergasted, plainly states what the reader is thinking: this is a talking dog – how could Simon be so witless as to think that the apostle who sent the talking dog will be fooled by the old ‘say I’m not here’ trick? Having thus expressed his disgust, the dog runs back out to Peter, who is sitting in the midst of the crowd. He reports “what happened with Simon,” then makes a prediction:

35

A very close parallel to this episode is in Philostratus’ Vit. Apoll. 4.20. There, Apollonius recognizes demon possession in a licentious young man who, like the demoniac in Actus Ver. 11, is given to laughter in inappropriate situations. Apollonius commands the demon to leave the young man and provide a physical indication that he has departed. The demon says that he will knock down one of the nearby statues (this episode takes place at the king’s portico in Athens). The statue then slowly begins to tip and then fall, to the amazement of all present. 36 Although the episode picks up directly from 9, this remark (“have you thought for so many hours”) indicates that some time has passed, perhaps representing an editor’s effort to smooth the seams.

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“Peter, you will have a great contest against Simon, the enemy of Christ, and those serving him; but you will convert to faith many of those deceived by him. On account of this you will receive the wages (mercedes) of your work from God.” (Actus Ver. 12)

With that, the dog collapses at Peter’s feet and gives up the ghost (deposuit spiritum). Some among the crowd, watching the talking dog with wonder, begin to throw themselves at Peter’s feet; others, however, request another sign (to be discussed below) in order that they, too, might believe that Peter is a minister of the living God (ut credamus tibi tamquam ministro dei vivi) (Actus Ver. 12). This episode is highly entertaining but also, I think, only deceptively simple. Depending on dating (as noted above), this may be the first instance in the apocryphal acts and, in fact, all extant early Christian literature of an animal acquiring a “human voice” and taking an active part in a narrative. 37 The motif of the “articulate animal” will come to play a significant role in later apocryphal acts, especially the Acts Thom., but its full import and literary genealogy are, in my opinion, not yet entirely understood. 38 Dogs, moreover, play a relatively minor role in biblical texts, but significant and varied roles in Graeco-Roman thought and literature, and several of the most well known and often discussed traits of dogs seem to be at work in our text. 1. Talking Animals There are two loci classici of the talking animal in ancient literature: Balaam’s ass, in Jewish literature, and Achilles’ horse, in Greek. The talking serpent of Genesis, though it may be the most famous talking animal in the Judaeo-Christian tradition, represents a separate and distinct category. There is no indication that the serpent has acquired speech or that the fact of it speaking is in any way extraordinary in itself. The Garden of Eden is here perhaps comparable to the Golden age setting of the Graeco-Roman fables – an age when animals spoke the language of men, as the prologue to Babrius’ fables indicates: In the Golden age the rest of the living creatures, too, had articulate voices and knew the words with which we tell stories to one another, and there were assemblies held in the midst of the forests. (Aesopic Fables of Babrius in Iambic Verse, prologue, 5–7)

37 There are, of course, references to the talking serpent of Genesis (e.g. 2 Cor 11:3) and to Balaam’s talking ass (2 Pet 2:15–16); the latter will be discussed further below. 38 Matthews has provided a very helpful treatment of the topic in “Articulate Animals”; more can be said, however, concerning the differences among these stories in the apocryphal acts and the diverse purposes which they serve.

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Here, as in Genesis, the speech of animals is neither acquired nor extraordinary, and therefore the fable literature does not offer particularly helpful comparison to our text. Most commentators have taken the episode concerning Balaam and his ass (Num 22:20–35) as the primary literary precedent for our talking dog,39 undoubtedly influenced in part by the fact that another apocryphal talking animal, the talking colt of an ass in the Acts Thom., identifies himself as the descendant of that very animal. 40 Ficker, identifying Balaam’s ass as the literary Stammmutter of our talking dog, notes that “das redende Fohlen in den A. Tho. 40 kennt auch seine Herkunft genau.” Ficker also points to Balaam’s talking ass in the canonical Petrine literature: in 2 Pet 2:15–16 we find reference to the “voiceless beast of burden” (u`pozu,gion a;fwnon) that “speaking with the voice of a human, prevented the madness of the prophet” (evn avnqrw,pou fwnh/| fqegxa,menon evkw,lusen th.n tou/ profh,tou parafroni,an). While Num 22 surely is part of the literary heritage of our author, the talking dog also shares certain characteristics with the talking horse in the Il. book 19, and contains features not present in either of these classic episodes. In the last lines of the Il. 19, as Achilles prepares to ride out in battle, he addresses his horses, charging them to return their charioteer to the Danaans and not leave him fallen, like Patroclus. To Achilles’ dismay, if not complete surprise, the horse Xanthus answers, telling him that they will bring him back this time, but it is his destiny soon to be killed: “We shall still keep you safe for this time, O hard Achilleus. And yet the day of your death is near, but it is not we who are to blame, but a great god and powerful Destiny. For it was not because we were slow, because we were careless, that the Trojans have taken the armor from the shoulders of Patroklos, but it was that high god, the child of lovely-haired Leto, who killed him among the champions and gave the glory to Hektor. But for us, we two could run with the blast of the west wind who they say is the lightest of all things; yet still for you there is destiny to be killed in force by a god and a mortal.” (Homer, Il. 9.418)

When Xanthus finishes speaking, “the Erinyes stopped his human voice” (VErinu,ej e;sceqon auvdh,n) (Il. 9.418). Achilles is “greatly vexed” (ovcqh,saj) by Xanthus’ comments (“Xanthus, why do you prophesy my death? You don’t have to./ I myself know well that it is my fate to die here/ far from my beloved father and mother” [9.420-22]), but it is more the content (and perhaps the pre-battle timing) of the speech than the fact of the speech itself that disturbs him. In both Num 22 and Il. 19 it is clearly stated that a god has granted the capacity for speech to the animal. In Num 22:28 we read: “and the Lord opened 39 40

See, e.g., Ficker, “Petrusakten,” 429–30; Matthews, 212, 223–24. Acts Thom. 40. For a detailed discussion, see below, chapter VIII.

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the mouth of the ass” (in the LXX, kai. h;noixen o` qeo.j to. sto,ma th/j o;nou). Similarly, in Il. 19.407 we are told that Hera “had put a voice in him” 41 or, more literally, “made him a speaking creature” (auvdh,enta dV e;qhke). 42 The episode in the Actus Ver. is less clear. In Actus Ver. 9 we read only that the dog “acquires a human voice” (vocem humanam accipere). In Actus Ver. 12, the dog rebukes Simon for thinking he could hide from “the one who commanded me to speak to your face”; this statement may imply that the apostle actually granted the faculty of speech to the animal, but may also be understood to refer simply to the command to deliver the message. It is entirely possible that this ambiguity is intended: as is often the case in the miracle stories of the apocryphal acts, Jesus and the apostle may here share an overlapping agency. In both Num 22 and Il. 19, it is clear, too, that, while the god has granted the capacity for speech, the animal speaks its own mind. Interestingly, in both instances the animal speaks in its own defense. 43 In Num 22, the ass has acted in Balaam’s best interest, turning away from the sword-bearing angel and thus saving Balaam’s life, as the angel confirms in v. 33. When given a voice, it defends itself against Balaam’s violence and the charge that he has intentionally made a fool of the prophet (v. 30): “Am I not your donkey, which you have ridden all your life to this day? Have I been in the habit of treating you this way?” Similarly, Xanthus defends himself against both the charge that he was somehow to blame for Patroclus’ death and the notion that he might contribute to the death of Achilles. Moreover, in both Num 22 and Il. 19 the animal has been given a human voice in order to speak only to the human protagonist of the episode. The situation is substantially different in Actus Ver. Here, the animal’s role in the narrative begins only with the acquisition of voice; he has not been blamed for anything and does not defend himself. Instead, (in Actus Ver. 9) he immediately asks Peter for orders: “What do you command me to do, servant 41

Trans. Lattimore. For a discussion of the role of Hera and the Erinyes in this passage, see Sarah Iles Johnston, “Xanthus, Hera and the Erinyes,” TAPhA 122 (1992): 85–98. Johnston proposes that “if we read Il. 19.407 carefully, we note that it does not say that Hera caused Xanthus to speak at the very moment that he replied to Achilles – nor does it say that she put the words of lines 408–17 in his mouth. Rather, line 407 says that Hera made Xanthus to be auvdh,enta, a ‘speaking creature.’ Hera could have endowed Xanthus with this quality at any time” (87). While there may be a certain degree of ambiguity, the placement of the phrase (auvdh,enta dV e;qhke) immediately before the direct quotation and the fact that the Erinyes stop his voice at the end of the speech strongly suggest that this capacity was granted for this limited time only. 43 Others have noted this similarity; see, e.g., M. Oldfield Howey, The Horse in Magic and Myth (London: W. Rider, 1923; repr., Mineola: Dover, 2002), 159–60. 42

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of the indescribable, living God?” His initial role is messenger, not from God to Peter, but from Peter to Simon. Nevertheless, the dog does still speak his own mind, adding material to the message Peter commands him to deliver, even reflecting on his own condition in Actus Ver. 12: “A dumb animal, having acquired a human voice [is] sent to you to charge and prove you a cheat and liar; have you thought for so many hours only to say ‘Tell him I’m not here’?” This point is emphasized in the report of the demon (likely a redactional addition to the dog episode) in Actus Ver. 11: “Peter, there is a great contest between Simon and the dog whom you sent; for Simon says to the dog, ‘Say I’m not here,’ but the dog is saying more to him than what you commanded” (plura dicit canis quam que mandasti ei). 44 Furthermore, once he has gone off the script supplied by Peter, the dog delivers a prophecy to both Simon and the apostle. To Simon he predicts, as does Achilles’ horse, imminent death: “Thus you will be cursed, enemy and corruptor of the true path of Christ, who will test the iniquities you have done with immortal fire, and you will be in the outer darkness” (Actus Ver. 12). His prediction for Peter also alludes to the apostle’s death (in the “wages” to be received from God), but the death will be preceded by triumph: “Peter, you will have a great contest with Simon … and will receive the wages of your work from God” (Actus Ver. 12). 45 No particular reason for the death of the dog at the close of the episode is given; the report of the demon in Actus Ver. 11 predicts it (“after he has completed the mystery that you have commanded him, he will die before your feet”), but does not offer any explanation. Neither Num 22 nor Il. 19 end with the animal’s death; in Num 22, no information about the future of the ass is given, while in Il. 19.418, as noted above, the Erinyes put an end to Xanthus’ capacity for human speech. This action, though much debated in classical scholarship, is often understood in connection with the Erinyes’ role as “guardians of the natural order”; by this interpretation, the granting of speech to a horse has somehow transgressed the laws of nature and thus must immediately be stopped. 46 Another theory was proposed by Jane Harrison, who argued that the Erinyes are to be identified with the Moirai, and thus in prophesying Achilles’ fate Xanthus was acting as their mouthpiece; they close his mouth when he has finished speaking “not because he transgresses their law

44

See Thomas, The Acts of Peter, 29–30. Cf. Martyrium Petri, 36. 46 This interpretation, whose proponents include E. R. Dodds (see The Greeks and the Irrational [Berkeley: University of California Press, 1951], 7), is criticized by Johnston, who argues that there is no evidence that the Erinyes were in fact understood to be “guardians of the natural order” (see Johnston, 90–3). 45

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but because he has uttered it to the full.” 47 While the biblical text gives no indication of the fate of Balaam’s ass, rabbinic sources fill in the blank. As Christopher R. Matthews has indicated, Numbers Rabbah 20:4 reports that “as soon as she [Balaam’s talking ass] finished speaking, she died, so that people should not say, ‘This is the animal that spoke,’ and so make of her an object of reverence.” 48 Another explanation from Num. Rab. suggests that Balaam’s ass died so that people could not say: “This was the animal that degraded Balaam.” 49 While the dog’s death could be taken as a rather sad moment in the story, it is also possible to interpret its death as a just punishment. The dog, as noted above, is not blamed for anything in this episode, but that does not necessarily mean it is without guilt: how did Simon gain entry into the household in the first place? was the guard dog not doing its job? Any or all of these explanations could be applied to the death of our dog; the narrative is just not explicit. A further motivation for our author to kill off the dog might have been the maintenance of believability: if the speaking were a singular event and the dog immediately died, no one can ask why there are no further corroborative reports of such an unusual occurrence. And many such reports did in fact circulate in the first centuries C.E. Not only were certain extraordinary individuals purported to have the ability to understand animal language (e.g. Pythagoras and Apollonius of Tyana), but natural historians describe cases of animals speaking human language (typically Greek or Latin). Aelian, though himself quite unconvinced of the veracity of the account, repeats an Egyptian report of a lamb, born with eight feet, two tails, two heads, four horns, and the ability to speak (r`h/xai fwnh,n) (Nat. an. 12.3). 50 Aelian grants poetic license to Homer (for giving speech to Xanthus) and to Alcman (who seems also to have granted speech to a horse),51 but with regard to the Egyptian report he asks: “How can anyone pay attention to the Egyptians when they boast of such things” (Nat. an. 12.3)? He does not, however, on these grounds exclude the account from his zoological compendium. Pliny, too, includes accounts of talking animals. In the reign of Tiberius a particular raven was famous for flying by the forum every morning and greeting Tiberius, then Germanicus and Drusus Caesar, by name – a routine 47

Harrison, Prolegomena, 216. See discussion in Johnston, 92. Num. Rab. 20:4, quoted in Schochet, Animal Life, 95. See Matthews, “Articulate Animals,” 224. 49 Num. Rab. 20:14, quoted in Schochet, Animal Life, 127-8. See below, chapter VIII. 50 Aelian, Nat. an. 12.3. Interestingly, Aelian dates the birth of this monstrous lamb to the time of the pharaoh Bocchoris, in whose reign Tacitus places Moses and the exodus of the Jews from Egypt (Hist. 5.2–5). 51 An alternate version of the talking-horse story, in which Poseidon is the father of the horses Xanthus and Cyllarus and gives them to Hera, who in turn gives them to the Dioscuri; this Xanthus seems to have spoken to Castor. See Johnston, 86. 48

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which the wild bird developed on its own, with no human training. The residents of the city were so impressed by this performance that, when it was killed by a local shop-keeper, they celebrated a large funeral for the bird (complete with Ethiopian-borne, draped bier) and expelled its murderer. 52 Pliny also reports that talking oxen were frequent occurrences among the prodigies of the old days. 53 In his discussion of the nature of dogs, a closer parallel appears: Pliny notes (albeit quite briefly) that a talking dog (locutus canis) was among the prodigies accompanying the expulsion of Tarquinius Superbus (Nat. 8.63). A variation on this report appears also in the 11th century historian Zonaras’ Epitome of Histories, in a passage where he is dependent upon now-lost sections of Dio Cassius’ Roman history. Zonaras gives an alternate version of Tarquinius’ sons’ journey to consult the oracle at Delphi: when asked about the future of Tarquinius’ reign, Apollo responded that “he will fall from power when a dog uses a human voice” (th/j avrch/j evkpesei/sqai auvto.n o[te ku,wn fwnh|/ avnqrwpi,nh| crh,saito). 54 Here, the talking dog is taken metaphorically, referring to Brutus and indicating, as the oracle does in Livy’s version, that he will come to power in Rome. 55 Talking birds appear in the Hist. Alex., where they both deliver warnings and predict triumph for the king. In one of the epistolary sections of the text, Alexander writes to his mother, Olympias, and Aristotle, reporting his travels and adventures after his victorious battle with (and the death of) Darius. 56 Alexander travels into the interior desert and through a succession of strange lands populated with fantastic plants, animals and people. 57 Having reached the veritable ends of the earth and nearly the Land of the Blessed, he spots two birds, normal except for their human faces, flying above him. The birds 52

Pliny, Nat. 10.60. Ibid. 8.70. 54 Zonaras, Epitome of Histories, books 1–12, vol. 2, p. 116; L. Dindorf, Ioannis Zonarae epitome historiarum (3 vols.; Leipzig: Teubner, 1868–1875). 55 In Livy’s version the oracle responds that the first of the young men (which included Tarquinius’ two sons and his nephew Brutus) to kiss his mother would hold sway over Rome. While the brothers drew lots to determine which of the two would kiss their mother first, the clever Brutus, pretending to trip, fell to the ground and kissed the earth, mother of us all (Hist. Rom. 1.56). 56 Hist. Alex. recension b, 2.40. 57 These include: a forest full of trees bearing apples the size of melons and populated by giant men called “Phytoi”; another “green land” full of giant men with faces like lions and fleas the size of frogs; a land populated by giant, hairy cannibals who “did not have human intelligence, but barked like dogs” (cf. Actus Ver. 9–12); a great river full of magic stones, fish that cook in cold water, and birds that burst into flames when touched; a sandy place full of strange animals including six-eyed, tame wild asses; a land with headless, though somehow Greek-speaking, men and “huge seals” (cf. Acts Paul 34) crawling about on dry ground, and a small island populated by (again) Greek-speaking, carnivorous crabs. 53

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call out to him – in Greek, naturally – warning him not to tread on the land of God but promising victory in battle with the kingdom of Porus. 58 In another letter to his mother (preserved in both the a and b recensions), Alexander reports having come across two more talking birds: one, a dove caged in a shrine at Nysa, the other a similar golden dove caged in a palace of Cyrus. The first bird speaks to Alexander, warning him not to try to match the deeds of the gods; the other, he is told, would speak to kings in whatever language was called for. 59 The fact that these warnings and predictions are delivered not by human prophets but talking animals is in part just a function of the fantastic character of the Hist. Alex. But it also, perhaps, underlines the necessity of heeding the advice given: a human prophet may be mistaken and his motives questioned, but who would be foolish enough to ignore the warnings of a miraculously talking animal? The animal prophet is in itself a portent that lends a sense of veracity to the message proclaimed. A final instance confirms that the talking animal was a well-known figure in second century Greek literature. Lucian’s Gallus is a dialogue between Micyllus the cobbler and his cock, who, to Micyllus’ great surprise, begins one morning to speak Greek. When the rooster wakes Micyllus too early from a pleasant dream, Micyllus curses the bird and the bird responds, speaking, like Xanthus and Balaam’s ass, in his own defense: “I thought I would do you a favor by cheating the night as much as I could” (Gallus 1, Harmon). Then comes the following funny exchange: M: Zeus, god of portents, and Heracles, averter of harm! What is this evil? The rooster spoke like a human! R: Do you think it’s a portent if I talk the same language as you humans? M: How is it not a portent? Gods, avert the bad omen from us! R: It seems to me, Micyllus, that you are thoroughly uneducated and haven’t even read the poems of Homer, in which indeed the horse of Achilles, Xanthus, giving a long ‘farewell’ to neighing, stood and spoke in the thick of the fray, reciting whole epic verses, not prose as I did; he even made prophecies and foretold the future, but he was not thought to be doing anything extraordinary, nor did the one who heard him call upon, as you did, the averter of harm, though he regarded what he heard as ominous. (Gallus 2)

The cobbler’s cock turns out to be Pythagoras reincarnated, and the dialogue something of a ‘Cynic sermon,’ to use Harmon’s phrase. In any case, as with all the targets of Lucian’s send-ups, it is clear that the talking animal was a figure quite current in the mid- to late-second century.

58 59

Hist. Alex. recension b, 2.40. Hist. Alex. recensions a and b, 3.28.

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The particular types of animals that speak in these texts are significant. That birds are the most common species to acquire human voice is not so difficult to understand. Not only do some birds (parrots, etc.) mimic human speech, the impression that birds are communicating meaningfully with each other plays a significant role in the animal rationality debate (as discussed in chapter two, above). There is Homeric precedent for speaking birds, though only within a dream: in Od. 19, Penelope describes how an eagle kills her flock of geese, then speaks to her, interpreting his own actions. 60 There is biblical precedent, too, but in the context of an apocalyptic vision: the only speaking animal in the New Testament is the eagle of Rev 8:13, which cries, “woe, woe, woe to those who dwell on the earth, at the blasts of the other trumpets which the three angels are about to blow!” Birds, of course, have a very close connection with prophecy in the practice of augury; the observation of birds provides access to signs sent by the gods. For a bird to open its mouth and prophecy directly is, in a sense, simply to cut out the middle-man. A connection between horses or asses and the acquisition of human speech is not so clear. Some have suggested that the horse has a particular association with death and fate in Greek thought, and for this reason is the ideal messenger to deliver the prophecy of Achilles’ death in Il. 19. 61 In the case of Balaam’s ass, it may be that the animal’s reputation for stubbornness (granted, more commonly attributed to mules than asses) 62 is drawn upon to make Balaam’s extreme anger and frustration understandable to the reader; more likely is that the ass’ pitiful reputation as whipping-boy of the animal kingdom serves to elicit the reader’s sympathy. 63 It is significant, in any case, that both loci classici of talking animals involve transport animals – the constant companions of traveling men. Keller suggests: “Wie der naive Mensch mit seinem Pferde spricht, so läßt der naive Dichter das geliebte Tier ihm wieder antworten.” 64 It is not necessary, however, to attribute naiveté to our authors to imagine how the human habit of talking to one’s horse or ass might give rise to such stories.

60 Homer, Od. 19.535–581. This is, in fact, a complicated passage, in which interpretation is layered upon interpretation. In the dream, the eagle identifies himself as Odysseus, and the slaughtered geese as the suitors; Penelope describes the dream to the real (still disguised) Odysseus, who confirms the eagle’s interpretation. For a brief discussion, see John Heath, The Talking Greeks: Speech, Animals and the Other in Homer, Aeschylus, and Plato (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005), 41. 61 See, for example, Ludolf Malten, “Das Pferd im Totenglauben,” Archäologisches Institut des Deutschen Reiches Jahrbuch 29 (1914): 179–225; Keller, 2.248. 62 See Keller, 2.259–270. 63 Keller calls the ass “der Prügeljunge unter den Tieren,” 265. 64 Ibid. 252.

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2. Dogs Returning now to the Actus Ver., we might ask why our author chose a dog, of all animals, to receive a human voice. In the Hebrew Bible and New Testament dogs are almost always portrayed negatively. They serve as shepherds,65 but are most commonly described as scavengers 66 and devourers of corpses. 67 The dog as guard not of flocks but households is found only in the Exodus narrative, where the Lord promises that, when the first-born of the Egyptians die, “not a dog will growl” at the Israelites, showing that the Lord makes a distinction. 68 Perhaps the most positive description of the dog is in Tobit, where the young Tobias’ dog follows him in his travels. 69 The dog is a more ambivalent creature in Greek literature, much as it is today, capable of representing both very positive and negative qualities. 70 It is the embodiment of loyalty and companionship, but may also represent unchecked aggression or impudence. 71 Steadfast and vigilant men are often compared favorably to dogs, though the servile and shameless (both men and women) may also be described as dog-like. 72 This ambivalence is itself at times referenced and put to good effect, as when in Aeschylus’ Agamemnon Clytemnaestra describes herself as the “dog of the house” (dwma,twn ku,na), faithful to Agamemnon and hostile to his enemies. The audience, well aware of the treachery and homicide about to take place, may well find this an ironic choice of metaphor for a “bitch” like Clytemnaestra. 73 James Redfield observes that the Homeric dog occupies the “agrou ep’ eschatiƝn, the space between the wild and the tame.” 74 According to Redfield, in the Iliad the dog is tame and yet never fully civilized, metonymically representing the unruly part of man. In Homeric metaphor, as in the Hebrew Bible, the comparison of man to dog is almost always derogatory; as Redfield notes, 65

See, e.g., Job 30:1. See, e.g., Matt 7:6, 15:26, 27; Mark 7:27, 28. 67 See, e.g., 1 Kgs 14:11; 16:4; 21:19, 23, 24; 22:38; 2 Kgs 9:10, 36; Ps 22:16; 68:23; Isa. 56:11; Jer 15:3; Luke 16:21; Phil 3:2; Rev 22:15. 68 Exo 11:7. The line is borrowed by Judith in her crafty speech to Holofernes (Jdt 11:7). 69 Tob 5:16, 11:4. 70 For a comprehensive discussion of the dog in the ancient world, see Keller, 1:91–151. Cf. Christian Hünemörder, “Hund, als Tier: Literatur, Religion, Medizin,” DNP 5:757–8. 71 See, for example, the use of the term kunoqarsh,j (“impudent as a dog”) in Theocritus, Idyll 15.53. 72 See, for example, Homer, Il. 6.344, 356; 8.299, 423; 13.623; Od. 17.248; 18.338; see Hünemörder for further citations. 73 Aeschylus, Ag. 607ff. See also Aristophanes, Eq. 1015ff., where the mention of a dog in an oracle is given two competing interpretations (one positive, one negative). 74 James Redfield, Nature and Culture in the Iliad (Durham and London: Duke University Press, 1994), 193. 66

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“in the vocative, ‘dog’ is invariably an insult.” 75 The objectionable qualities indicated by such comparisons include the dog’s thievishness and scavenging nature, but also (perhaps unexpectedly to the contemporary reader) its unfaithfulness, as a creature whose affections can be bought with gifts that satisfy its appetite. 76 The obvious exception is Odysseus’ own dog, Argos, whose loyalty matches or exceeds that of the hero’s human kin. Argos is the only one who recognizes the disguised Odysseus upon his return to Ithaca; this reunion after nineteen years and Argos’ immediate death is one of the most touching passages of the entire epic. 77 A dog’s fantastic capacity to recognize its master and differentiate friend and foe is illustrated, too, at the beginning of book sixteen, as the rather ferocious guard dogs of Eumaios, who had previously attacked the stranger Odysseus, fawn on Telemachus and thus announce the arrival of a well-known friend. 78 It is this capacity of the dog that is taken up in Plato’s Republic 375a–376c. There, Socrates searches for the qualities that will make for the ideal guardian of the republic and, in a play on the rhyming fu,lax (“guard”) and sku,lax (“puppy”), suggests that nature has provided the perfect model in the dog: “it is their innate character to be most gentle toward friends and acquaintances but the opposite toward strangers” (Rep. 375e). Here is an animal with all the passion and ferocity one would want in a guard, but also the ability to discern and direct that ferocity only at true enemies. Because the only criterion for this friendliness or fierceness is a learned familiarity, Socrates concludes that the dog (and the guardians of the republic to be modeled after it) must be both filomaqh,j (“a lover of learning”) and filo,sofoj (“a lover of wisdom”) (Rep. 376b). Fidelity and intelligence are the primary qualities associated with dogs – particularly guard dogs – in the natural history texts; numerous illustrative anecdotes are provided by Aristotle, Pliny, Aelian, Oppian and others. 79 Plutarch and Aelian both tell the story of a guard dog at the temple of Asclepius in Athens who, discovering a temple robbery in progress but failing to wake the sacristans with his barking, followed the robber through the night, sticking to his heels until the robbery was discovered and investigators caught up with 75

Ibid. 194. Ibid. See, for example, Il. 1.159, 225, 231; 3.180; 9.373; 10.216. 77 Homer, Od. 17.290–327. 78 Ibid. 16.1–10. 79 Aristotle, Hist. an. 488b, 612a; Pliny, Nat. 8.146–153; Aelian, Nat. an. 6.25, 59, 62; 7.10, 29, 40; Oppian, Cyn. 1.368–538. Karl August Neuhausen has argued that the discussion of guards in Plato’s Rep. book 2 is, in fact, the common source of the numerous positive evaluations of dogs in later literature, particularly that of Sextus Empiricus. See “Platons ‘philosophischer’ Hund bei Sextus Empiricus,” Rheinisches Museum für Philologie 118 (1975): 240–264. 76

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the pair. 80 In arguments concerning the rationality of animals, the dog serves as a crucial example for rationality proponents, undoubtedly because Chrysippus himself, a chief denier of reason to animals, is credited with a wellknown anecdote that seems to illustrate a dog’s intelligence. 81 In the Actus Ver. 9, our dog is chained up in front of Marcellus’ house and clearly must be taken to be a guard dog. What’s more, this dog is narratively paired with a human guard, the hostarius (“doorkeeper”) who declines to deliver Peter’s message to Simon. 82 I strongly suspect, in fact, that the (not extant) Greek text of this passage used Plato’s pun, contrasting fu,lax with sku,lax. Whereas in the Republic the dog merely serves as Nature’s model for the ideal human guard, here the animal proves itself superior: it not only distinguishes the familiar from the foreign but recognizes the divine even in the unknown, immediately addressing Peter as “servant of the indescribable, living God” (Actus Ver. 9). 83 The contrast is sharpened in that the hostarius, who has been told to expect Peter’s arrival, states explicitly that he is not sure who he is: “I do not know whether you are Peter or not, sir” (Actus Ver. 9). Both the dog’s recognition of Peter and its death at the close of the episode are somewhat reminiscent of the Argos scene in the Od. 17; other elements of the episode, however, suggest an ironic reversal of Odysseus’ homecoming. Odysseus returns to reclaim an estate that is being devoured in his absence by Penelope’s suitors. In the Actus Ver. 8 we are told that Marcellus had, prior to Simon’s arrival, been giving his own estate away to widows, orphans and the poor, such that the emperor himself commented: “I am keeping you out of every office, lest you give to the Christians by polishing off the provinces.” Simon’s arrival at Marcellus’ house puts an end to the generosity. Marcellus now strikes and chases away the beggars that arrive at the door, 84 calling them 80

Plutarch, Soll. an. 969e-970a; Aelian, Nat. an. 7.13. The example appears in Philo, Plutarch, Porphyry (taken over from Plutarch), Sextus and Aelian, always in very similar terms. Sextus’ version is as follows: “According to Chrysippus, who is particularly hostile to the irrational animals, the dog even shares in their celebrated dialectic. Thus our author says that the dog focuses on the fifth unprovable with several disjuncts when he comes to a crossroads and, having tracked down the two roads along which the wild animal did not go, starts off at once along the third without tracking down it. For, our early author says, he is implicitly reasoning as follows: ‘The animal went either this way or this or this; but neither this way nor this: therefore this way’” (Sextus Empiricus Pyr. 1.69). See above, chapter II. 82 Note that the hostarius fails Simon as well, immediately revealing that Simon is expecting and attempting to avoid Peter. 83 A comparable episode is found in Philostratus’ Vit. Apoll., where the fierce guard dogs of the temple of Dictynna in Crete do not bark but rather fawn on the divine man (Philostratus, Vit. Apoll. 8.30). 84 Compare Antinoös’ behavior towards Odysseus, who arrives at his own palace disguised as a beggar (Homer, Od. 17.374–488). 81

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“impostors” (impostores) and repenting his former good deeds. But the true impostor, Simon, has now taken up residence in Marcellus’ house, and it is only with the arrival of Peter, the stranger whose true identity is recognized only by the dog, that he is removed. I would not suggest in this instance any direct imitation or parody of the Od., with a one-to-one correspondence of characters. While it is tempting to imagine Peter as a new Odysseus, with Simon as Antinoös and Marcellus as Telemachus (if not Penelope), the schema quickly breaks down. Marcellus, for example, is the homeowner, and Peter is not returning but arriving for the first time. Nevertheless, the author of our episode is certainly working with a motif that finds its classic expression in the Homeric epic. The dog-house-master connection is a recurrent theme in the Od., and the implication is always the same: “Dog, house, and master are of a kind.” 85 The language of house and master is found in Peter’s long rebuke of the devil, spoken just after he is told of Simon’s occupation of Marcellus’ house and just before he leaves to confront him there: “You can have your gates (ianuas) 86 of darkness; in vain do you knock on doors that are not yours (aliena ostia) but Christ Jesus’, who guards (qui ea custodit). Yes, you – devouring wolf, wanting to steal cattle 87 that are not yours but Christ Jesus’, who guards them with the greatest of care” (qui custodit ea diligenter summa cum diligentia) (Actus Ver. 8). This statement makes clear that we are dealing in this episode with multiple houses and masters: the literal house of Marcellus, occupied successively by Christians and the arch-heretic Simon, is a microcosm of the land dispute taking place between God and the devil – the disputed area being this entire world. Interestingly, the guardian at the gates of the world – the cosmic dog, as it were – in this analogy is Jesus. Jesus, like the dog, is unsurpassed in recognizing “his own” and identifying who belongs on which side of the gate. Peter is, of course, himself a guardian at the gates in Mt 16:18–9: “And I say to you, you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of Hades will not overpower it. I will give you the keys of the kingdom of heaven, and whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven.” 88 He is awarded this 85

See William Beck, “Dogs, Dwellings, and Masters: Ensemble and Symbol in the Odyssey,” Hermes 119.2 (1991): 158–67. 86 Here, I follow Turner’s suggestion of ianuas for tenebras (Turner, 125). 87 The Latin here, pecora, is often translated as “sheep”; while the term can certainly refer to various sorts of flocks and herds, including sheep, it is more properly “cattle” (as opposed to ovis for “sheep”; see, e.g. John 10:12 in the Vulgate). It’s a small point, but pecora perhaps connotes a more general devouring of an estate (as the suitors devour Odysseus’) as opposed to the particular theft of a sheep from its flock, so familiar from New Testament metaphor. 88 In the Actus Ver., of course, what Peter “looses” is the dog. Are we meant here to recall Jesus’ statement and, if so, how would it apply: when Peter releases (solvit) the dog on earth,

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position, moreover, after displaying positively dog-like behavior: he has recognized and correctly identified Jesus, like Argos and Plato’s “philosophical dog,” contrary to outward appearance and circumstance. We might note, too, that in Peter’s first encounter with Simon (in the canonical Acts 8:9–24) Simon approaches Peter as that other kind of dog – the unfaithful kind that can be bribed (8:18); Peter, of course, proves his faifthfulness, like the guard dog at the temple of Aesclepius, by refusing Simon’s money (8:20–23). A final aspect of the guard dog motif worth noting involves its comparison with the canonical good shepherd. I would argue that the guard dog is almost an urbanization of that metaphor. Just as, in a pastoral setting (such as we find in the gospels), the good shepherd is the protector, the one who knows his sheep, keeps the herd together as they wander in the wilderness, and holds predators at bay, the guard dog, in a more urban setting (such as we find in the Actus Ver.) protects the household, knows whom to allow in and whom to keep out, and can recognize impostors. This new metaphor responds both to a new urban context and, perhaps, to a different type of community with similar but not identical concerns. 3. Simon Says ... Nothing As we have seen, then, the guard dog was a well-known figure in ancient literature of various genres, and the depiction of the dog in Actus Ver. seems to play upon its familiar characteristics. The talking animal, too, was a wellknown motif: if you didn’t know that, you haven’t been reading your Homer, scolds Lucian’s talking rooster. But, as was noted at the outset, our episode is more complex than it seems. We have already discussed the contrast between human guard and guard dog in this passage, the dog proving itself superior. There is also, however, a contrast in speech: as the dog obtains a human voice, Simon loses his. When the dog finishes his initial speech to Simon, it is reported that “hearing these things and seeing this incredible sight, Simon lost the words (excidit a verbis) by which he was seducing those around him, and all were stupefied (omnium stupentium)” (Actus Ver. 9). Simon’s seductive, deceptive words had been effective prior to Peter’s arrival, but they are swiftly shown to be inferior even to the speech of an animal. The dog itself makes the comparison:

what corresponding effect in heaven is imagined? The phrasing in the Actus Ver., which is consistent with the Vulgate’s translation of Matt 16:18–19 (cf. accedens solvit eum, canis autem solutus…dixit and quodcumque solveris super terram erit solutum in caelis), suggests a comparison, though I am not certain what conclusion is to be drawn.

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“You most shameless and impudent man, most inimical to all those living and believing in Christ Jesus. A dumb animal (mutu animal), having acquired a human voice [is] sent to you to charge and prove you a cheat and liar; have you thought for so many hours only to say ‘Tell him I’m not here’? Are you not ashamed to send out your weak and useless voice (vocem tuam infirmem et inutilem) against Peter, the minister and apostle of Christ, as if you were able to hide from the one who commanded me to speak to your face?” (Actus Ver. 12)

This drips with irony: the smooth-talker is dumb-struck when the dumb dog talks. It works better in Greek than in English (or Latin): Simon loses his lo,goi when confronted by an a;logon who has acquired lo,goi. The point is underscored in Actus Ver. 15. Simon, beaten (like a dog) and chased from Marcellus’ house, arrives at the gates of the home where Peter is staying and calls him out. Peter sends another messenger: a woman with an infant, seven months old, at breast. This time the infant acquires the voice of a man (vocem virilem) and, like the dog, verbally assaults Simon: “A dog accuses you and you are not confounded; I, an infant, am compelled by God to speak and still you do not blush!”

Simon had previously been at a loss for words, reduced to stupid speech (“say I’m not here”); now, he loses all capacity: “Jesus Christ says to you: ‘Be struck dumb (ommutesce), compelled by my name and leave Rome until the next Sabbath.’”

The clincher comes in the last lines of the episode: And straightaway he was struck dumb and, under compulsion, departed from Rome until the Sabbath; and he was staying in a stable.

Simon has now become the dumb animal – the a;logon – in the stables. 4. Borrowing from Peter to Pay Paul? Scholars have long debated the relative dating of the (Greek) Acts Pet. and the Acts Paul; as noted above, the subject has generated renewed interest in the last two decades. MacDonald has argued for the priority of the Acts Paul, in the process articulating several criteria for determining the direction of influence in the case of two (or more) passages that indicate a literary dependence. His criteria are 1) “the criterion of generative external tradition,” which suggests that when one of two parallel passages displays “reliance on antecedent literature or on oral tradition” and the other does not, the latter is likely to depend on the former; 2) “the criterion of internal consistency,” which suggests that, of two parallel episodes, the text which “provides the episode its more native environment” is likely to be the source; 3) “the criterion of secondary improvement,” which suggests that when one text “seems to repair its parallel in the other Acts,” the former is likely to depend on the latter.

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As discussed above, the debate over dependency has largely focused on the quo vadis episode and the inclusion of Nero in both the Acts Paul and Acts Peter. But the talking animal motif, also shared by the two, has, in the most recent treatments of the issue, received little attention. 89 Did the author of the Acts Pet. pick up the notion from the Acts Paul or is it the other way around? MacDonald’s criterion of generative tradition is not particularly helpful in this instance. We have seen that the talking animal is a widespread motif, with classic examples in both Graeco-Roman and Jewish literature; establishing a clear “reliance on antecedent literature or on oral tradition” for this particular motif in either the dog or lion story is not feasible. As will be discussed below, the episode of the talking lion in the Acts Paul must certainly be identified as a Christianized version of Androcles and the lion, the well known story of an unlikely friendship between man and beast, reported by Aelian and Aulus Gellius. 90 While this story of remarkable coincidence strains credulity, Androcles’ lion doesn’t talk; this element has been added by the Christian author. But why? True, Paul’s lion verbally requests baptism – but surely the author could have devised a way for the lion to do so without speaking Greek! A narrative describing the lion nodding its head or motioning toward water with its paw might have been charming. Indeed, several other versions of the man-who-helps-a-lion story include entertaining details describing the animal’s efforts to convey his problem to the (undoubtedly terrified and thus) rather slow to understand man. 91 In our episode in the Actus Ver. the talking animal is, in contrast, an integral part of the narrative – the episode is impossible to imagine without it. Moreover, to apply MacDonald’s second criterion, the dog episode provides for the talking animal “its native environment,” that is, a narrative situation in which the broad range and full force of the motif is put to good use. 92 As to MacDonald’s third criterion, I see evidence of “secondary improvement” in the Acts Paul, to the extent that (if the reader will bear with me in a little foolishness) a story about a lion that talks is an improvement over a story of a lion that doesn’t. MacDonald’s criteria, then, if applied to this episode indicate the priority of the Acts Pet., not Acts Paul.

89 Carl Schmidt identified the lion of the Acts Paul as the literary descendant of our talking dog (PRAXEIS PAULOU [Glückstadt: J. J. Augustin, 1936]). 90 See below, chapter VII. 91 Cf., in particular, Pliny’s report concerning a certain Elpis, who spent quite some time cowering in a tree before correctly interpreting a wounded lion’s purpose (Nat. 8.57–8). See below, chapter VII. 92 MacDonald, “The Acts of Paul and The Acts of Peter,” 215. See above.

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These criteria are helpful, and do rather nicely articulate several of the ways in which literary influence and dependence are manifested. It seems entirely possible, however, that criteria two and three might work against each other; that is, that a passage may display “internal consistency” but may also fit its environment so well that “secondary improvement” is suspected. This seems to be the case in MacDonald’s assessment of the quo vadis scene. 93 MacDonald suggests, further, that the “secondary improvement” often occurs in the presentation of the apostles, “insofar as the tradition generally improved apostolic public relations.” 94 I’m not so convinced, however, that each of the acts was motivated to improve the reputation of all of the apostles equally. It seems likely to me that we might find evidence of a certain degree of “apostolic competition,” and that an individual text might subtly suggest the superiority of its own hero, over and against other apostles. Ultimately, there are simply too many variables in both textual traditions to determine conclusively the direction of influence between the Acts Pet. and Acts Paul. If pressed, I would maintain that the Acts Pet. is the earlier, not least because I find it easier to imagine the talking animal motif within the apocryphal acts originating with our dog. At the same time, the results of this study, demonstrating above all the frequent and subtstantial interaction between the apocryphal acts and contemporary thought and literature, emphasize the difficulty of pinpointing with certainty discrete instances of direct dependence.

C. Tuna Redivivus At the end of Actus Ver. 13, some of the crowd, amazed at the talking dog (magna cum admiratione canem loquentem) fall at Peter’s feet, apparently having come to belief. Others ask to see another sign (alium signum) so that they might believe that Peter is a minister of the living God (ut credamus tibi tamquam ministro dei vivi) (Actus Ver. 13), for Simon, too, had done many signs and thus they had followed him. “Looking around” (respiciens), Peter sees a salt-fish (sarda) 95 hanging in a window. Taking the fish, he asks the people: “If you will now see this, swimming in the water like a fish, will you 93

Ibid. 215–219. Ibid. 215. 95 The term sarda, related to English “sardine,” can refer to the small variety of fish (pilchard, herring, etc.) that we tend to eat pickled; it is difficult, however, to imagine such a fish hanging in a window, as the story describes it. Pliny the Elder tells us, however, that the saltwater pelamys longa (pelamys being the name of a young or small tunny/tuna) is called sarda (Nat. hist. 32.151); similarly, Athenaeus refers to the sa,rda as a regional (Sardinian) variety of tunny/tuna (Deipn. 3.120f). 94

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be able to believe in him whom I preach?” They agree that they will, and Peter throws the fish into a nearby fishpond, saying: “In your name, Jesus Christ, in whom there is not yet belief, in the presence of all these people, live and swim like a fish.” The fish immediately came to life and began to swim (vixit et natare coepit), and not just for an hour or so – this could be some illusion (fantasma); that this fish has truly returned to life is proved by its continual swimming (at least long enough to attract crowds from all over to gather) and the fact that it even eats all the bread tossed at it by spectators.96 Now a great number follow Peter and believe in the Lord. On subsequent days and nights, Peter expounds on the prophetic scriptures and the things done by “our Lord Jesus Christ in both word and deeds” (Actus Ver. 13). The Christian themes alluded to in this episode are clear: the resurrection of the dead is represented in the resurrection of the fish; Peter’s first career as fisherman and second life as a “fisher of men” are referenced; 97 the bath of baptism has its counterpart in the revivifying plunge taken by the sarda; and the use of the fish as a symbol of both Christ and Christians is surely at play. 98 This is one of multiple revivifications performed by Peter in the Actus Ver. Peter’s face-to-face contest with Simon Magus (Actus Ver. 23–8) is, in fact, a resurrection competition in which three consecutive young men are raised. 99 Our fish-revivification might be read as foreshadowing the later, more notable human resurrection accounts. On the other hand, this miracle is made even more impressive in that this fish is not only not recently deceased, but has been dried and salted. It simply doesn’t get any deader than that. 100 What’s more, there are narrative elements in this resurrection account that evoke the gospel accounts of Jesus’ resurrection appearances, in particular Luke’s: just as in Lk 24:41–3 Jesus asks for and eats food (a piece of broiled fish, no less) as evidence of the physical nature of his return, in the Actus Ver. the fish eats bread (the body of Christ?) to the same effect. Further, each episode ends in the expounding of the scriptures (cf. Lk 24:44–45 and Actus Ver. 13). 96

Note the similar phrasing of the result of this miracle (sardam piscem factum) with that of Jesus’ miracle at Cana in the Vulgate (aquem vinam factam). 97 In addition to the call story in Mark 1:16–18, Matt 4:18–20 and Luke 5:1–11 (note that in Luke’s version, it is the miraculous catch of fish that prompts Peter to follow Jesus), Peter is associated with fishing in John 21:1–13 (where, again, it is in the context of a miraculous catch of fish that Peter recognizes Jesus as Lord) and Matt 17:24–27, where Jesus instructs Peter to find the shekel for a tax payment in the mouth of a fish. 98 See Jan Bremmer, “Women, Magic, Place and Date,” 12, n. 38. 99 For a discussion of this sequence see, e.g., Christine Thomas, “Revivifying Resurrection accounts,” in Apocryphal Acts of Peter, 65–83. 100 Note Herodotus’ use of ta,ricoj (“preserved fish,” a term to be discussed further below) and cognates to refer to the preservation of corpses by Egyptian custom, Hist. 2.85–9.

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While the report of the resurrection of a salt-fish, in its easy association with Christian themes, is particularly well suited for use by our author, there are at least three clear parallels to this episode in Greek literature which should also be considered. One is the final episode in Herodotus’ Histories. In 9.116, it is reported that Artauctes, the scoundrel Persian governor of the Chersonesus, had plundered the heroon of Protesilaos at Elaious, stealing the treasure and defiling the precinct by keeping his harem in the sanctuary. In the final episode of the Histories as Artauctes, now captured by the Athenians, sits in prison, a sign (te,raj) appears to one of the guards: the salt-fish that he is roasting begin to flop and gasp as if just caught (neoa,lwtoi). All those present marvel at the sign, but, reassuring the chef, Artauctes himself provides the correct interpretation: Xei/ne VAqhnai/e( mhde.n fobe,o to. te,raj tou/to\ ouv ga.r soi. pe,fhne( avllV evmoi. shmai,nei o` evn VElaiou/nti Prwtesi,lewj o[ti kai. teqnew.j kai. ta,ricoj evw.n du,namin pro.j qew/n e;cei to.n avdike,onta ti,nesqai) ‘Athenian stranger, don’t fear this wonder, for it did not appear for you; rather, Protesilaos at Elaious is giving me a sign that, although dead and dried (lit.: ‘being a ta,ricoj’), he has power from the gods to punish the one who has wronged him.’ (Hist. 9.120) 101

This passage presents two significant parallels to our episode in Actus Ver. 13. 102 At the end of Actus Ver. 12, the crowds ask Peter for a sign (signum) and by revivifying the fish Peter obliges. Similarly, the “wonder” (te,raj) reported by Herodotus is not simply a miraculous occurrence, but is specifically designated as a sign: shmai,nei o` evn VElaiou/nti Prwtesi,lewj. In addition, Artauctes, in his interpretation of the sign, clearly identifies the hero with the fish: Protesilaos is himself in some sense a ta,ricoj. In the Actus Ver. the identification of Jesus with the fish is implicit but, in my opinion, clearly present. 103 In these two episodes, then, the sign functions in much the same way: in the Histories, just as the fish, though quite dead, have the power to leap and gasp, Protesilaos, though dead, has the even greater power to punish; in the Actus Ver., just as the fish, though quite dead, has the power to live again, Jesus, though dead, has the power to live again and eternally. We should not overlook the possibility that early audiences of the Actus Ver. might have recognized this famous story from Herodotus, and perhaps even imported from 101 See Gregory Nagy’s very helpful discussion of this passage in “The Sign of Protesilaos,” Métis (1987): 207–13, and Pindar’s Homer: the lyric possession of an epic past, (Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1990), 269–73. 102 As another parallel, it is noteworthy that Artauctes, like Jesus and Peter, is ultimately crucified (Hist. 9.121–122). 103 Alternatively, the fish could be identified not simply with Jesus but with all Christians, as Tertullian’s reference to Christians as pisciculi in Bapt. 1 might suggest.

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that episode the notion that this “fish” has the power to punish, as Jesus clearly did. Further justification for this suggestion may be found in the fact that Protesilaos was in fact enjoying a literary revivification in the first centuries C.E., as G. W. Bowersock has demonstrated. 104 This hero, famous as the first Greek to die at Troy according to Homer 105 and, most significantly for the present study, as one of the few human beings allowed to return from Hades, re-enters the literary record with a vengeance in the mid-first century. As Bowersock persuasively argues, Protesilaos becomes the “new representative of bodily resurrection,” 106 being invoked as such by Chariton, Petronius, Aelius Aristides and Lucian. 107 He is featured in Philostratus’ early third century dialogue the Heroicus, where he is depicted as not only returned from the dead, but as the regular conversation partner of a vineyard worker at the sacred precinct at Elaious. Philostratus makes direct reference to the Artauctes episode in the Heroicus 9.5. The vineyard worker, showing a Phoenician guest around the heroon, says: To. de. ge i`ero,n( evn w|- kata. tou.j pate,raj o` Mh/doj u[brizen( evfV w|- kai. to. ta,ricoj avnabiw/nai, fasi( tou/to h`gou/( w= xe,ne\ Consider this heroon, stranger, in which the Mede committed outrage in the time of our fathers, for which reason, they say, the salt-fish came back to life.

The fact that this reference is so brief – that the salt-fish resurrection can be mentioned with no explanatory detail – suggests that the story would have been fresh (no pun intended) in the minds of the second century reader. 108 A second parallel appears in the same epistolary section of the Hist. Alex. in which the talking birds are described. 109 In 39, Alexander and company 104 See discussion in G. W. Bowersock, Fiction as History (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1994), 99–119. 105 Il. 2.695–709. 106 Bowersock, 113. 107 See Chariton, Chaer. 5.10.1; Petronius, Satyr. 129.1; Aelius Aristides Orat. 3.365; Lucian, Dial. mort. 28 (23), Luct. 5.6. 108 Herodotus’ phrase describing the salt-fishes’ return to life is quoted also by Athenaeus, Deipn. 3.119d. See also discussion in Peter Grossardt, Einführung, Übersetzung und Kommentar zum Heroikos von Flavius Philostrat (SBA 33; 2 vols.; Basel: Schwabe, 2006), 2:405–6. 109 This letter, as noted above, appears in recensions b and g; manuscripts L, P, l and C (Byz.) have a longer version of section 39, in which the story of an old man and his two sons among Alexander’s soldiers is inserted, and section 41, in which a more fleshed-out conclusion to the revivified fish story, involving both the cook and Alexander’s daughter Kale, is given. For the complete text history, see Leif Bergson, Der griechische Alexanderroman, Rezension b (Stockholm: Almquist & Wiksell, 1965) v–xxix.

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arrive – in what to my knowledge is the first use of the phrase – at a land “where the sun doesn’t shine” (o[pou o` h[lioj ouv la,mpei), the location of the “Land of the Blessed” (maka,rwn cw,ra). Taking a select group of soldiers, 110 Alexander, travelling through the darkness some fifteen scoi/noi (= 900 stades or 105 miles), arrives at a translucent spring where the water flashes like lightning. 111 He immediately gets hungry and so asks his cook to bring him something to eat. The cook goes to prepare a salt-fish, but something miraculous happens: Taking a salt-fish (o` de. ta,ricon labw.n), he went to the translucent water of the spring to wash the meat. And immediately upon being submerged in the water, it returned to life and fled the hands of the cook (kai. euvqe,wj brace.n evn tw|/ u[dati evyucw,qh kai. e;fuge ta.j cei/raj tou/ magei,rou). Now, all those locales were wet. But the cook revealed to no one what had happened.

It is only after returning from the Land of the Blessed that the cook finally mentions that the fish was revivified; Alexander is enraged and punishes him. In manuscripts L, P, l, and C, a longer version is given, in which the cook takes a jar full of the water with him and shares it with Kale, a daughter of Alexander by his concubine Ounna, in a successful effort to seduce her. The result of drinking this water is immortality for both. 112 On the most basic level of the narrative, this episode shares with the Actus Ver. the element of water; in both instances it is upon submersion that the fish returns to life. While this may seem like a necessary element for a fishrevivification, the Protesilaos story shows that it is not. Notably, the spring in the Land of the Blessed has the power both to resurrect the dead and provide immortality for the living: Alexander, although not realizing it at the time, had discovered the fountain of youth. Thus, what we have identified in the Actus Ver. 13 as a suggestive allusion (to the water of baptism that ultimately produces immortality) is also a primary component in at least some versions of the episode in the Hist. Alex. As in Herodotus, this episode in full context also includes a prediction of future events, though here it is not an interpretation of the miraculous event 110

Alexander also takes along female asses that have foals, leaving the foals behind; the idea, explained as the company leaves the land, is that the female asses will be drawn to the sounds of their foals’ voices, and thus lead them back through the dark region to their point of departure (Hist. Alex. 40). 111 Cf. Acts Paul 34. 112 Alexander, upon discovering this, sends his daughter away to live as an immortal spirit, dubbing her “Neraid” (and thus the story provides the origin of the Nereids). He orders that a millstone be tied around the cook’s neck and he be thrown into the sea to live out eternity; from his name (in this version given as Andreas), the part of the sea called “Andreas” (the Adriatic?) gets its name.

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itself; rather, like the Actus Ver. 13, in the Hist. Alex. the prophetic utterance is delivered to the hero by a speaking animal (or, in this case, two). Just as in the Actus Ver. 12, the talking dog, after reporting the events that took place in Marcellus’ house, announces to Peter that he will contend with Simon, convert many and receive his reward, so here Alexander is first warned by two Greek-speaking birds with human faces that he should not tread upon the Land of the Blessed, but then is told that, turning back, he will conquer king Poros in the east. In a third literary parallel to the Actus Ver. 13, the salt-fish resurrection finds a funny twist. In his biography of Antony, Plutarch describes, as an example of the many “pranks” he pulled (ta. u`pV auvtou/ paizo,mena), a certain fishing trip with Cleopatra (Ant. 929a). When the rather macho Antony was embarrassed by his poor catch, he sent fishermen to dive into the water and secretly attach previously caught fish to his hook, which he then reeled in in an effort to impress the Egyptian queen. Cleopatra, naturally, was not fooled. Nonetheless, she feigned amazement, praised his skills and invited her friends to come watch him fish the next day. When the crowd had assembled and Antony had let down his line, she ordered her own servant to dive in and secretly to attach salt-fish (ta,ricoj) to his hook. Antony, thinking he’d really caught something for once, pulled in this improbable haul to the amusement of Cleopatra and her friends. Here, the salt-fish story is comically reversed: what should be perfectly alive – “fresh caught” or neoa,lwtoi, to use Herodotus’ term – turns out to be emphatically dead. This episode is an anti-miracle report: it exposes a trick and ridicules a “great man.” Particularly interesting for scholars of early Christianity, however, is Cleopatra’s statement, with which Plutarch closes the episode: ‘Para,doj h`mi/n(’ e;fh ‘to.n ka,lamon( auvto,krator( toi/j Fari,taij kai. Kanwbi,taij a`lieu/sin\ h` de. sh. qh,ra po,leij eivsi. kai. basilei/ai kai. h;peiroi)’ “Please hand over,’ she said, ‘the fishing-rod, Emperor, to the Pharitan and Canopian fishermen; your game is cities and kingdoms and continents.” (Ant. 929a)

Here we find, first of all, a very interesting comparison to Mark 1:17 and parallels. Cleopatra essentially tells Antony what Jesus tells Peter and Andrew: put down the fishing gear and start hunting for bigger game. This passage from Plutarch would, of course, only complicate the interpretation of the figure “fisher of men” in the gospels. As others have pointed out, the metaphor is at first glance perfectly suitable, but upon reflection one notes that fishing does not typically have salutary results for the fish. 113 Likewise, one certainly 113 For discussion of the issues in interpreting the phrase “fishers of men” in the gospels, see: Charles W. F. Smith, “Fishers of Men: Footnotes on a Gospel Figure,” The Harvard

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would not want to be Antony’s prey. For the present study, however, it is notable that in this revivification-in-reverse, it is Antony’s role as fisherman that comes to the fore. Again, what was detected as an allusion in the Actus Ver. (i.e., Peter as “fisher”) is the central element of another salt-fish anecdote.

D. Conclusions: respiciens The talking dog episode begins with the promise of something spectacular, the revivified fish with the request for a repeat performance. In Actus Ver. 9, after his fruitless exchange with the human gatekeeper, Peter turns to the crowd and says: “You are about to see a great and marvelous portent” (magnum et mirabile monstrum visuri estis). 114 It is only after making this promise, however, that Peter actually looks around and sees the dog. Similarly, it is only when the crowd asks for yet another sign that Peter sees the salt-fish hanging in the window. In both instances, then, the decision to do a miracle precedes the introduction of the subject of the miracle. Both miracle accounts, moreover, begin with the same verb, respiciens: And Peter, seeing a big dog tied with a large chain … (Et respiciens Petrus canem magnum catena grande ligatum…) (Actus Ver. 9) Peter, having turned around and seeing a salt-fish hanging in a window… (Petrus autem conversus respiciens sardam ad fenestram suspensam…) (Actus Ver. 13)

The narrator presents Peter as working with what is at hand – he improvises. And as in any good improvisational performance, seemingly random or haphazard material becomes precisely what is needed at the moment. In reading the narrative one easily imagines the character Peter’s thought process after promising a portent in Actus Ver. 9: he looks around and – aha! – the dog; here is the gatekeeper who truly recognizes friend and foe and will, as mute animal receiving speech, ironically and decisively reprove the deceptive speech of Simon. And in Actus Ver. 13: what could be more ordinary, more mundane, than a salt-fish hanging in the window? And yet, this rather minor miracle weaves together multiple, significant Christian themes. The narrative description of Peter’s process in performing these wonders serves as a good analogy for the compositional process of the episodes’ author. He has not, as we have seen, created the salt-fish-revivified story from scratch; he has, rather, looked around at what was literarily at hand. The notion of salt-fish returning to life was available in ancient literature and lore. Theological Review 52, no. 3 (1959): 187–203; J. Manek, “Fishers of Men,” Novum Testamentum 2 (1957): 138–41. 114 Here, I accept Lipsius’ correction of mirabile monstrum for mirabilemnostrum.

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The genius of our author is not in creating but in selecting this story and using it to such full effect, even happily uniting multiple elements (where other authors focus on one) and mixing them with existing Christian motifs. The same process is evident in the case of the dog. The talking animal is a familiar figure in ancient literature, put to various narrative purposes including (as in the Alexander Romance) prophecy; in our episode it is joined with the notion of the dog as ideal guardian, which is effectively used to contrast human and animal (in the dog and human gatekeeper), and perhaps metonymically to stand for Jesus’ and/or Peter’s role as gatekeeper in the cosmic property dispute between God and the devil. These two episodes, then, while thoroughly entertaining are not solely so. They reveal a text that is very much connected to the literature of its time and benefits from comparative interpretation. They reveal, too, an author who, even in apparently lighter moments, is capable of weaving together complex and meaningful narratives. But what can be said about the author’s attitudes toward animals and the natural world more broadly? As with the bedbugs in the Acts John, we have seen in the dog episode an animal compared to a human being, the former proving itself the better. The natural characteristics of the dog (particularly the ability to identify friend and foe and guard a household) are used to underscore ideal Christian qualities. This dog, moreover, is far more than a go-between: it says more than Peter commanded, cursing Simon and predicting his death, even demonstrating an awareness of the “truth of Christ.” 115 The fact that, when an animal’s mouth is opened, this is what comes out is instructive: it indicates a worldview in which knowledge of Christ and Christianity extends beyond humanity into the animal kingdom; the comparison of animal and human, moreover, suggests that this knowledge might be superior among non-human creatures. Something of the author’s attitude toward animals may also be discerned in the revivified fish tale. This episode, much like the nature miracles in the synoptic gospels, indicates the magnitude and extent of the apostle’s power in the natural world. 116 It is not simply his power over nature, however, that is emphasized. By choosing a fish as the object of the miracle, the author underscores the existing connection of this creature with Christianity, implicitly confirming the suitability of the association.

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Actus Ver. 12. Bultmann’s form-critical treatment of nature miracles remains extremely valuable; see Rudolf Bultmann, History of the Synoptic Tradition (trans. John Marsh; 2nd ed.; New York: Harper & Row, 1968), 215–44. 116

Chapter VII

Animals in the Acts of Paul A. Introduction In the Acts of Paul, 1 animals literally take center stage. Here, they appear primarily in the arena: Paul, condemned to fight the beasts in Ephesus, is reunited with a talking lion he had previously encountered and baptized. In the well-known Thecla narrative, the Christian heroine, condemned to fight the beasts in Antioch, is confronted with a series of animals, including a lioness who defends her against the other beasts, sacrificing its own life to save Thecla’s. At the climax of the episode, Thecla, threatened with the introduction of more and fiercer beasts, baptizes herself in a trench containing some remarkably menacing seals. Beyond the arena walls, animals play an important figurative role in Thecla’s story, appearing in two key similes used to characterize our heroine. These episodes comprise (at least for this reader) the most memorable moments in the whole of the Acts Paul; if asked for a sample of the material contained therein, I would certainly start with one of these stories from the arena. Ancient readers seem to agree. Tertullian, in his De baptismo (c. 200), apparently refers to Thecla’s self-baptism when he writes: quod si quae Acta Pauli, quae perperam scripta sunt, exemplum Theclae ad licentiam mulieram docendi tinguendique defendunt, sciant in Asia presbyterum qui eam scripturam construxit, quasi titulo Pauli de suo cumulans, convictum atque confessum id se amore Pauli fecisse loco decessisse. But if certain Acts of Paul, which are falsely so named, claim the example of Thecla for allowing women to teach and to baptize, let men know that in Asia the presbyter who compiled that document, thinking to add of his own to Paul’s reputation, was found out, and though he professed he had done it for love of Paul, was deposed from his position. (Bapt. 17.5) 2

In his commentary on the book of Daniel, Hippolytus, arguing for the believability of the report concerning Daniel in the lions’ den, appeals to compara1

The extent of the material to be included under this title will be discussed below. I have reproduced the text of Ernest Evans, along with his translation (see De baptismo liber. Homily on baptism. Text edited with an introduction, translation, and commentary by Ernest Evans [London: S.P.C.K., 1964], 36). The variant readings will be discussed below. 2

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tive material: “Now, if we believe that, when Paul was condemned to the beasts, the lion that was set upon him fell at his feet and licked him, how do we not believe what happened in the case of Daniel” (Comm. Dan. 3.29.4)? Later in the third century, Commodian mentions Paul and a lion (alongside Peter and the talking dog) in his Carm. apol.: “So that many might believe Paul’s preaching about him, [God] made the lion speak to the people with divine voice” (Paulo praedicanti crederent ut multi de illo, Leonem populo fecit loqui voce divina) (Carm. apol. 627–8). 3 Finally, Jerome mentions the “peri,odoi Pauli et Theclae” and “the whole story about the baptized lion” (totam baptizati leonis fabulam) in his section on Luke in the Vir. ill., arguing that if these events had really taken place, Luke, the inseparable companion of Paul, surely would have reported them in Acts (Vir. ill. 7). These four reports, along with two brief quotations in Origen and mention by Eusebius, are the earliest attestations of material now included in the Acts Paul. 4 The inherent interest of a talking, baptized lion is obvious, as are the problems that such a report might raise; the story of Thecla has several points of particular interest, not the least of which are her multiple, exciting interactions with animals. Therefore, it is no surprise that the two texts relevant to the present study, i.e. the Thecla narrative and the episode of Paul and the lion, are precisely the two that garnered such attention from the early church fathers. The text that circulates today under the name “Acts of Paul” 5 is, like the Acts John, ultimately a modern reconstruction, though in this case the attestation is early, broad, and has been greatly improved over just the last century. The modern reconstruction comprises three distinct bodies of material: 1) the Acts of Paul and Thecla (hereafter, Acts Thecla), 6 2) 3 Corinthians (a letter 3 Here, I’ve accepted Alfons Kurfess’ suggested emendation of dicerent in line 27 to crederent; see “Zu dem Hamburger Papyrus der Pra,xeij Pau,lou,” ZNW 38 (1939): 164–170. 4 Origen, Princ. 1.2.3; Comm. Jo. 20.12; Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 3.3.25. 5 E.g., in Schneemelcher, NTApoc5 2:237–70. The title “Acts of Paul,” in Greek Pra,xeij Pau,lou, appears in both the 3rd century P.Hamb, and the 6th century P.Heid. (see Schmidt, PRAXEIS PAULOU, 72; idem. Acta Pauli, 90). Tertullian, in Bapt. 17.5, uses the title Acta Pauli, but there is a textual variant at this point, as will be discussed below. “Acta,” in any case, is a somewhat odd occurrence, inasmuch as pra,xeij referring to the apocryphal acts of the apostles was typically translated into Latin with actus, not acta. On this point, see A. Hilhorst, “Tertullian on the Acts of Paul,” in The Apocryphal Acts of Paul and Thecla (ed. Jan Bremmer; Kampen: Kok Pharos, 1996), 155. Origen quotes from a work entitled Acta Pauli in Princ. 1.2.3 (that is, in Rufinus’ Latin translation), though the phrase quoted is not found among extant remains of the Acts Paul. In what follows I will use Acts of Paul (as it typically is in modern scholarship) to refer to the entire complex of materials concerning Paul, including the Acts Thecla, 3 Corinthians, the Martyrium Pauli and the other various fragments collected in, for example, the translation in Schneemelcher, NTApoc5 2:37–70. 6 The title Acta Pauli et Theclae was given to the text by its first modern editor, Ernestus Grabe, in 1698. Its use is continued in Lipsius’ edition as a translation of the Greek title

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exchange between Paul and the Corinthians), and 3) the Martyrium Pauli. Each of these circulated independently and has its own tradition history. 7 Lipsius’ edition of the Acts Thecla is based on eleven Greek manuscripts, but more than 80 are now known; to this very substantial quantity of texts can be added translations into Latin, Coptic, Slavic and Ethiopian. 8 That the three complexes at one point circulated together is established by the Heidelberg Coptic Papyrus (P.Heid); this manuscript, discovered in 1894 and dated by Schmidt to the 6th century, contains portions of all three. 9 Additional material is supplied by various papyrus fragments with overlapping content, including the Greek Papyrus of the Hamburg Staats- und Universitäts-bibliothek (P.Hamb.), which contains reports of Paul’s activities in Ephesus and Corinth, his journey to Rome, and part of the martyrdom. Most importantly for the present study, P.Hamb. includes the report of Paul’s reunion with a speaking lion in the arena at Ephesus (though the episode begins in medias res, with Paul standing before the governor, about to be sentenced to the beasts). A Coptic papyrus (P.Bodmer XLI) contains another important fragment, relating a more complete version of this episode, including the first half in which Paul recounts his first meeting with (and baptism of) the speaking lion. 10 Despite these advances on the text, key questions about the Acts Paul, particulary concerning the episodes to which we will shortly turn, remain unanswered. First, the relationship of the Acts Thecla to the other material concerning Paul is unclear. While P.Heid. indicates that, at least in the 6th cenPra,xeij Pau,lou kai. Qe,klhj, found in the 11th century codex Paris. gr. 520; more common, however, among the codices cited by Lipsius is the title martu,rion th/j a`gi,aj prwtoma,rturoj qe,klhj (or some variation thereof). The title Actus Theclae et Pauli appears in the Decretum Gelasianum 5, where it is listed among the apocryphal works. As noted above, Jerome introduces the Greek term peri,odoi in his apparent reference to the narrative. In what follows I will use the title Acts of Paul and Thecla to refer to the text given in Lipsius’ edition. 7 On 3 Corinthians, see Gerard Luttikhuizen, “The apocryphal correspondence with the Corinthians and the Acts of Paul,” in Bremmer, The Apocryphal Acts of Paul, 75-91; on the Martyrium Pauli, see Willy Rordorf, “Die neronische Christenverfolgung im Spiegel der Apokryphen Paulusakten,” NTS 28 (1981-2): 365–74; repr. in Lex orandi. Lex credendi (Paradosis 36; Freiburg: Universitätsverlag, 1993), 368–77; see also A. López Garcia, “Plit.Palau Rib 18: Martyrium Pauli, I 18-22,” ZPE 110 (1996): 132. 8 See L. Vouaux, Les Actes de Paul et ses Lettres Apocryphes (Paris: Letouzey et Ané, 1913); Schneemelcher, “Acts of Paul,” 217; Klauck, Apokryphen Apostelakten, 62–3. 9 Schmidt, Acta Pauli, 5. 10 The editio princeps of this papyrus (referred to in NTApoc5 as “PG”) has recently appeared: R. Kasser and P. Luisier, “Le Papyrus Bodmer XLI en édition princeps. L’épisode d’Éphèse des Acta Pauli en copte et en traduction,” Le Muséon 117 (2004): 281–384. Prior to the publication of this excellent edition, scholars relied on a description and partial French translation of the papyrus given by Kasser in “Acta Pauli 1959,” RHPR 40 (1960): 45–57. An English translation is given in Schneemelcher, NTApoc5, 2:263–5.

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tury, the Acts Thecla circulated as one section of a longer Acts Paul, there is far more evidence of the work circulating independently. Was the Acts Thecla an independent composition that was later incorporated into the Acts Paul or an original section of the whole, later broken off? There is a general agreement among contemporary scholars that the story told in the Acts Thecla existed in some form (whether written or oral) before the composition of the Acts Paul, but that it nevertheless was included in the earliest form of the larger text. 11 Most see the hand of the author of the Acts Paul in the extant manuscripts of the Acts Thecla, indicating that, whatever the form of his source material, he substantially reworked it. 12 As to when the Acts Paul was composed (and when the Acts Thecla was incorporated), the attestations quoted above are our best evidence, but are themselves problematic. Much ink has been spilled over Tertullian’s reference in Bapt. 17.5, the primary question being whether Tertullian knows the entire Acts Paul or only the Acts Thecla. 13 He refers to the “Acts of Paul” (Acta Pauli), but the content described involves just Thecla. Unfortunately, this work has text-critical issues of its own, and – as so often seems to be the case – it is with precisely the crucial words that variant readings occur: at least one manuscript seems to have lacked the title Acta Pauli, while some have suggested that the phrase exemplum Theclae is an editorial gloss. 14 Moreover, legitimate objections to the easy correlation of Tertullian’s statement with the Acts Thecla have been raised. Stevan Davies, in particular, has pointed to several discrepancies, the most significant being the fact that, although Thecla does baptize herself, nowhere is she given or does she claim the right to baptize others. 15 It is, then, 11

See Dennis R. MacDonald, The Legend and the Apostle: The Battle for Paul in Story and Canon (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1983), 17–33; Stevan Davies, “Women, Tertullian, and the Acts of Paul,” Semeia 38 (1986): 141–2; Willy Rordorf, “Tradition and Composition in the Acts of Thecla,” Semeia 38 (1986): 43–52. Rordorf, citing Carl Schmidt, begins by suggesting that the “style and vocabulary of the Greek remains of the APl so resemble the AThl that the identity of the author of the two narratives can hardly be doubted” (44), but concludes that the Thecla narrative, “introduced into the APl by the presbyter of Asia Minor” nevertheless “has retained some particularites of the oral narrative” (52). The issue has been taken up more recently by Ann Graham Brock, “Genre of the Acts of Paul: One Tradition Enhancing Another,” Apocrypha 5 (1994): 119–36. 12 On this point, see especially Brock, passim. 13 See Davies, “Women, Tertullian, and the Acts of Paul,” and the response by MacKay; cf. Willy Rordorf, “Tertullian et les Actes des Paul (à propos de bapt. 17,5),” in Lex orandi, 475–84; Hilhorst, “Tertullian,” passim. 14 Hilhorst, “Tertullian,” 150–56. 15 Davies goes on to argue that the text referred to by Tertullian is not the Acts Thecla at all, but an otherwise unknown apocryphal letter of Paul (in the style of 3 Corinthians), used by feminist groups in early Christianity as explicit legitimation of their practice of baptizing and teaching. Davies’ argument has been the subject of much critique (by MacKay, Rordorf,

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not so clear that this text would have provided evidence that Paul had allowed women to baptize, as Tertullian’s next sentence implies it did: “For how believable does it seem that the one who did not even uniformly permit a woman to learn would give a female the power of teaching and baptizing” (Bapt. 17.5)! 16 For the discussion that follows, we might limit the question of the relationship between the Acts Thecla and the Acts Paul to the relationship between Acts Thecla and the episode of the baptized lion, the first half of which is preserved in the Coptic P.Bodmer LXI, the second half in the Greek P.Hamb. This issue, however, is even more difficult to resolve, in that the episode of the baptized lion, absent from P.Heid., does not appear with the Acts Thecla in any of the extant papyrus fragments or manuscripts. Jerome provides the earliest attestation of both the Acts Thecla and the baptized lion episode, but, returning to his statement, we might ask how clearly it indicates that the two belong to the same work: “Therefore, the ‘Travels of Paul and Thecla’ and the whole story of the baptized lion we must reckon among the apocryphal writings” (Igitur peri,odoi Pauli et Theclae et totam baptizati leonis fabulam inter scripturas apocryphas computemus) (Vir. ill. 7). Two separate generic designations are used here: peri,odoi, a common term for travel narratives, and fabula, a story or fable. The best argument in favor of Jerome’s having read both within the same text is his appeal to Tertullian’s report about the presbyter of Asia: Jerome writes that this man was convicted of being “the author of the book” (quod auctor esset libri), “book” in the singular (Vir. ill. 7). At the same time, Jerome’s reference to Tertullian reminds us that the latter does not mention the baptized lion – and this in his work on baptism! As Tertullian attempts to discredit a text being used to support the right of women to baptize, why would he not mention the fact that the same text might be used to support the baptism of animals? I suspect that what Tertullian had before him, whether it contained only the Acts Thecla or other apocryphal material concerning Paul as well, did not include the episode of the baptized lion. What then of Hippolytus’ attestation? What text or tradition does he know? This question, too, is problematic. First, Hippolytus does not mention either the lion’s baptism or the fact that it speaks – clearly the two most notable elements of the story as preserved in P.Hamb. and P.Bodmer LXI. He clearly refers to an incident involving Paul (“if we believe that, when Paul was condemned to the beasts…”), but the action described (“the lion that was set upon

Hilhorst and Graham op. cit.). While the suggestion is speculative at best, Davies raises significant issues with respect to the passage from Tertullian that, to my mind, remain unresolved. 16 Tertullian, Bapt. 17.5.

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him fell at his feet and licked him”) does not actually occur in P.Hamb. 17 Granted that the text is badly damaged at this point, 18 it seems that the lion “came at a run and lay by his legs like a docile lamb” (h=lqe drome[,wj kai. avnekli,qh] para. ta. s[k]e,lh [tou/ P]au,lou w`j avmno.j euvdi,daktѽoj]), but never licked him (P.Hamb. 4.30–31). This may seem like a small point, but it is notable that Thecla’s lion does lick her, and the action is described with precisely the same term (perie,leicen) (Acts Thecla 28). Perhaps Hippolytus knows a tradition about Paul and a lion different from that found in P.Bodmer LXI and P.Hamb. – one that includes a miraculous occurrence in the arena but lacks the lion’s baptism and acquisition of human voice, i.e., a story more like that told of Thecla and the lioness. Taken together, the extant remains and attestations paint an obscure picture, but I am left with the distinct impression that multiple lion stories – associated with both Paul and Thecla, and perhaps with more variation than the extant texts represent – circulated in the late second and early third centuries. The relationship between these stories, particularly whether or not the lion episodes extant in P.Bodmer LXI/P.Hamb. and the Acts Thecla are ultimately the compositions of the same author, will be discussed below. Whatever the relationship between these two Christian anecdotes, Paul and Thecla’s stories were by no means the only celebrated “lion tales” making the literary rounds in the first centuries C.E. As we will see, multiple anecdotes describing unlikely friendships between man and lion circulated in the second and third centuries, including the story of Androcles, to which the story of Paul and the baptized lion bears a clear resemblance. In the Acts Thecla, Thecla’s interaction with the lioness is just one of multiple animal-ordeals she faces in the arena (having been sentenced to fight the beasts). The arena episode itself is the climax of the larger narrative, which begins with Paul’s entrance into her city and ends with her peaceful death after “enlightening many with the word of God” (Acts Thecla 43). Animals – figurative and literal – appear throughout. In what follows, I will discuss the use of animals in the text from beginning to end, first in figures of speech, then as actual players in the action of the story. I contend that tracking Thecla’s interactions with and figurative representations as animals offer key insights into both the author’s characterization of the heroine and the basic thrust of the narrative. The episode of Paul and the baptized lion is, at least in part due to its fragmentary state, not so integrated into a broader narrative context, and will be discussed as an independent episode. I will conclude with a discussion of the possible relationships between the multiple lion anecdotes

17

Hippolytus, Comm. Dan. 3.29.4. Schmidt does, however, reconstruct a good bit more than is translated in Schneemelcher, NTApoc5 2:253. 18

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of the first centuries C.E., including the purposes they serve in the Acts Paul and Acts Thecla.

B. Thecla: from Insect to Beast-Fighter The heroine is not introduced until the Acts Thecla 7. Paul has arrived in Iconium and has been received into the house of Onesiphorus, where he speaks “the word of chastity” (to.n peri. a`gnei,aj lo,gon). Thecla sees many women, including many virgins, going in to visit Paul; moreover, the architecture of these homes is apparently such that Thecla, sitting at a nearby window, can hear Paul’s speech but cannot see him. Completely taken by his words, Thecla stays at the window night and day. Disturbed by this behavior, her mother, Theocleia, sends for Thamyris, Thecla’s fiancé. She reports on the situation with Thecla as follows: And Theocleia said, “I have a new story to tell you, Thamyris. For three days and three nights Thecla has not risen (evgei,retai) from the window, neither to eat nor to drink; rather, focusing as if at something merry (avteni,zousa w`j pro.j euvfrasi,an), she is so devoted (pro,skeitai) to a foreign man, teaching deceptive and wily words, that I wonder how a virgin of such modesty could be so sorely troubled. Thamyris, this man is shaking up the city of the Iconians and, what’s more, your Thecla! All the women and youths are going in to him, being taught by him that ‘it is necessary,’ he says, ‘to fear a one and only God and to live purely.’” (Acts Thecla 8–9)

Theocleia’s description of Thecla’s behavior sounds in some respect like a classic case of love-sickness; the inability to eat, drink or (as is implied by the fact that Thecla never leaves the window) sleep are well known symptoms. 19 Other, more subtle allusions may be present, too. That Thecla has stayed at the window for “three days and three nights” without “rising” (evgei,rein) suggests a comparison with the buried Jesus, perhaps signifying that some transition into a new life is taking place. While the focused gaze (avteni,zousa) and devotion (pro,skeitai) are quite compatible with ancient depictions of infatuation, these terms are not particularly associated with the lexis of love. Both terms appear in a variety of contexts. Luke’s well known use of avteni,zw shows no trace of eroticism, but might be profitably compared with the multiple occurences of the term in the Mithras Liturgy. 20 pro,skeitai has a broad 19

See Christopher A. Faraone, Ancient Greek Love Magic (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1999). 20 avteni,zw appears in Heliodorus, Aeth. 10.13.3 and 7.27.3; cf. PGM IV 556, 629, 657, 694, 712; IV 3216, 3220; for its use in the New Testament, see Lk. 4:20; 22:56; Acts 1:10; 3:4,12; 6:15; 7:55; 10:4; 11:6; 13:9; 14:9; 23:1; 2 Co. 3:7, 13; see also Iamblichus, Protrepticus 60.22 (avteni,zontej th|/ yuch|/ pro.j th.n avlh,qeian).

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semantic range and, though it is used once by Longus to describe Daphnis’ romantic devotion to Chloe, is more frequently used to describe religious devotion (though neither romantic nor religious usage is particularly common). 21 Theocleia’s pairing of eating and drinking with euvfrasi,a (“merriment”) evokes also the familiar addage “eat, drink and be merry”; while the exact phrasing of the saying varies, the verbal form of euvfrasi,a (euvfrai,nw) is typically used, as in Luke 12:19 (fa,ge( pi,e( euvfrai,nou) and Ecc 8:15 (ouvk e;stin avgaqo.n tw/| avnqrw,pw| u`po. to.n h[lion o[ti eiv mh. tou/ fagei/n kai. tou/ piei/n kai. tou/ euvfranqh/nai). 22 Theocleia’s statement might be read as a punning expression of Thecla’s seemingly incongruent behavior: she doesn’t eat, doesn’t drink but nevertheless acts as if something merry is going on outside the window. As Malherbe has pointed out, evsqi,ein kai. pi,ein served in hellenistic literature as a (perhaps unfair) summary of Epicurean philosophy, i.e. the hedonistic lifestyle. 23 The stock figure representing this lifestyle was, by New Testament times, the 7th century Assyrian Sardanapalus, upon whose grave was purportedly the inscription e;sqie( pi/ne( pai/ze. 24 Notably, for the present study, Sardanapalus was in this respect commonly contrasted with the Cynic hero Heracles, who, like Thecla (as will be discussed below), was a wellknown qhrioma,coj( “beastfighter.” 25 Theocleia’s puzzled evaluation of the scene, then, perhaps hints at what lays ahead for Thecla, that is, a rejection of sensual pleasures in favor of a struggle with figurative and literal beasts and a different kind of “merriment.” Theocleia’s description of the scene continues, now comparing Thecla herself to an animal. Lipsius’ Greek text reads as follows: e;ti de. kai. h` quga,thr mou w`j avra,cnh evpi. th/j quri,doj dedeme,nh toi/j u`pV auvtou/ lo,goij kratei/tai evpiqumi,a| kainh|/ kai. pa,qei deinw|/) avteni,zei ga.r toi/j legome,noij u`pV auvtou/ kai. e`a,lwtai h` parqe,noj) (Acts Thecla 9)

R. McL. Wilson translates:

21

Longis, Daph., 3.15; cf. Dio Cassius 51.25, of devotion to Dionysos. Cf. 1 Cor 15:32 (quoting Isa 22:13), Luke 15:23; Tob 7:10; 1 Esd 9:54. 23 See Abraham J. Malherbe, “The Beasts at Ephesus,” JBL 87 (1968), 76–77. 24 See, e.g., Athenaeus, Deipn. 12.39.38. 25 I am on this point heavily indebted to Malherbe’s discussion of Paul’s statement in 1 Cor 15:32, that he “fought the beasts at Ephesus.” Malherbe connects Paul’s use of the verb qhriomacei/n with his quotation of what amounts to an Epicurean slogan (if also a quotation from Ecclesiastes) in the second half of the verse: fa,gwmen kai. pi,wmen( au;rion ga.r avpoqnh,|skomen. Noting the association of Heracles as “beastfighter” with the (often Cynic) struggle against hedonism, Malherbe argues that Paul here uses the figurative language of “the sage’s struggle” to describe his battle with adversaries in Ephesus. 22

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“And my daughter also, who sticks to the window like a spider, is (moved) by his words (and) gripped by a new desire and a fearful passion; for the maiden hangs upon the things he says, and is taken captive.” 26

The syntax is somewhat difficult, as evidenced by Wilson’s parenthetical supplementation of an extra finite verb and conjunction. 27 The sense, too, is confused: Thecla is compared to a spider (w`j avra,cnh) but, as the simile is developed, she does not really play the spider’s role. Thecla is not the one spinning the web, but the one “bound” (dedeme,nh) and “captured” (e`al, wtai) in it; the web in which she is caught seems rather to be, at least according to her mother Theocleia, woven by Paul with his words. In fact, “spider” in the nominative case is not avra,cnh but o` avra,cnhj. While h` avra,cnh can be used as the feminine form, it also (and perhaps more properly) is the term for a “spider’s web,” as is clear in the grammarian pseudoAmmonius’ De adfinium vocabulorum differentia 76: “avra,cnh me.n ga.r qhlukw/j to. u[fasma – kai. ouvdete,rwj( to. avra,cnion – avrsenikw/j de. o` avra,cnhj to. zw|/on” (“The feminine arachnê is the web – and also the neuter arachnion – whereas the masculine ho arachnês is the animal”). 28 I therefore propose a very small change to Lipsius’ edition, which might make better sense of the passage. Reading avra,cnh with an iota subscript, 29 thus making it the dative case (avra,cnh|), the following translation is possible: “And what’s more, my daughter, bound to the window by his words as if by a spider’s web, is overpowered by a new desire and fearful passion. For the virgin focuses on the words spoken by him and is captured.”

26 R. McL. Wilson trans., “Acts of Paul and Thecla,” in Anthology of Ancient Greek Popular Literature (ed. William Hansen; Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1998), 56. The translation given in Schneemelcher (English translation having been edited by R. McL. Wilson) is in this instance identical, though elsewhere there are minor differences. 27 The textual tradition perhaps reflects this difficulty: C (cod. Paris. gr. 1468) has de,detai kai. for dedeme,nh and toi/j legome,noij u`pV auvtou/ avkou,ousa for toi/j u`pV auvtou/ lo,goij, omitting the similar phrase from the next sentence. Two Latin manuscripts move the spider/web from section 9 to 8, placing it directly before the first ocurrence of avteni,zein; c reads sed adhaesit ut aranea in fenestra while d reads inhaesit ut aranea. These variants may testify to early readers’ confusion in interpreting the phrase, but inasmuch as aranea is used for both “spider” and “spider’s web,” these texts offer no clarification. 28 See LSJ, 234, col. 2. Cf. also cf. Aelius Herodianus, De prosodia catholica, 3.1.68, ln. 33; ibid. peri. kli,sewj ovnoma,twn, 3.2.679, ln. 30. 29 What I propose here is not, in fact, an emendation to the text, itself. Because the iota subscript ceased to be written sometime in the first century B.C.E., only to be reintroduced as late as the 11th century (see Smyth, 5a), there would have been no orthographic difference between avra,cnh and avra,cnh| during the time when the Acts Thecla was composed and copied. I thank Peter Dunn for a helpful email exchange on this point.

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This reading has several things to recommend it. The otherwise difficult to place dative phrase toi/j u`pV auvtou/ lo,goij, which prompted Wilson to supply another finite verb and conjunction (“is [moved] by his words [and]”), now construes with the participle (with avra,cnh| in apposition): “bound by his words as if by a spider’s web.” 30 And the verb a`li,skomai (“capture”) is in fact used with reference to spiders’ webs by, for example, Plutarch. 31 That there was some uncertainty surrounding the terms for “spider” and “spider’s web” (which might account for the confusion in early translations of the phrase), but that the distinction was still made, is confirmed by ancient grammarians. 32 That avra,cnh meaning “spider’s web” was current in the second century, is confirmed by its use in generically similar literature such as the Hist. Alex. 33 The translation of this one phrase may seem of minor significance, but the simile – the first real description of the girl – in fact has a substantial impact, which differs greatly depending on whether Thecla is compared to the spider or its prey. 34 The spider is one of the most common stock illustrations of intelligent behavior among animals in antiquity. 35 Its dexterity and geometrical acumen in weaving are appreciated, but its cunning, too, is emphasized. Pliny’s description is typical: “How skillfully it conceals the snares that lurk in its checkered net” (quanta arte celat pedicas scutulato rete grassantes) (Nat. 11.81, Rackham). Far from this crafty creature, Thecla is presented in these opening sections as quite meek: she sees other women going in to Paul, but for some reason cannot bring herself to do so; it is Thamyris who approaches Paul and ultimately initiates Thecla’s contact with him. While some early Christian readers might have objected to the characterization of Paul as the menacing spider and his words as the ensnaring web, Theocleia’s description of Thecla as helpless victim seems quite apt. 36 Although no particular

30 Compare similar uses of de,omai with a dative of means: Lk 8:29; Jn 11:44; Ac 12:6, etc. We might also compare the use of this verb in Greek magic, specifically binding spells; on this topic, see John G. Gager, Curse Tablets and Binding Spells from the Ancient World (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1992). 31 See Plutarch, Soll. an. 966f–967a. 32 See above, n. 28. 33 Hist. Alex. recension b, 1.27. 34 For an interpretation based on Thecla’s identification with the spider, see Elisabeth Esch, “Thekla und die Tiere,” in Aus Liebe zu Paulus? Die Akte Thekla neu aufgerollt (ed. by Martin Ebner; SBS 206; Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 2005), 159–79. 35 Examples, taken from Galen, Maximus of Tyre, Stobaeus, Plutarch, Seneca, Tertullian, Philo and Aelian, are collected and discussed by Dickerman, 123–30. 36 A contemporary, pop-psychologist reader might see Thecla as trapped in the web of an overbearing mother and jealous boyfriend.

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animal is named as the spider’s prey, the fly or gnat comes to mind. 37 By implication, then, Thecla is portrayed in this first scene as one of the weakest, most insignificant creatures on earth. 38 The implied comparison of Paul’s words (described by Theocleia in 8 as “deceptive and wily”) to a web sounds particularly appropriate to anyone familiar with Sir Walter Scott (or Bartlett’s Familiar Quotations): “Oh what a tangled web we weave/ when first we practise to deceive.” 39 While to the contemporary reader a web might seem a fairly good metaphor for an effective bit of rhetoric – carefully organized and skillfully constructed, designed to capture the hearer’s attention and ultimately his/her judgment – the ancient authors do not seem to have used it in this way. Although the admirable craft of the spider was at least in one instance compared with that of painters, 40 I am unaware of any comparison with orators. The association of the spider’s web with weaving (especially insofar as weaving was women’s work) was perhaps so strong as to preclude analogy with other crafts. The spider’s web is, however, both metaphorically and literally associated with the snares of women. When, in Xenophon’s Memorabilia, Socrates is introduced to the beautiful and popular Theodote, their exchange concerning the attraction of friends includes the following: “But,” he said, “do you leave it to luck, that some friend might buzz to you like a fly, or do you have some contrivance, too?” “How,” she said, “would I find a contrivance for that?” “By Zeus,” he said, “much more readily than the spiders. For you know how they hunt for their sustenance: after weavng a doubtless delicate web, spiders use as nourishment whatever happens to fall into it.” (Mem. 3.11.5–6) 41

Another classic example is in Aeschylus’ Agamemnon¸ where the Chorus laments: Alas, alas, my King, my King, [1490] how shall I bewail you? How voice my heartfelt love for you? To lie in this spider's web, breathing forth your life in an impious death! Ah me, to

37

Spiders were, however, also known to take down bigger game, such as frogs and lizards (see Pliny, Nat. 1.84). 38 The fly is, oddly enough, associated with resurrection by Lucian in his ironic encomium of the insect. In Musc. laud. 7, he writes that when ashes are sprinkled on a dead fly, she has a rebirth (paliggenesi,a) and a second life. This report is, to my knowledge, elsewhere unattested, and I tend to doubt the notion is at play in the Acts Thecla. On the paradoxical notion of an insignificant creature that conquers the most powerful (as the fly does the elephant in Lucian’s encomium), see below. 39 Sir Walter Scott, Marmion, Canto vi. Stanza 17. 40 See, e.g., Philo, Anim. 17–9. 41 Notably, Socrates in this passage confesses that he uses magical techniques to attract his own friends.

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lie on this ignoble bed, struck down in treacherous death wrought [1495] by a weapon of double edge wielded by the hand of your own wife! (Ag. 1489–95, Smyth)

In her murderous plotting, Clytemnaestra literally traps her husband in a web (i.e. net). That a metaphor associated primarily with women is applied to Paul and his words is notable, particularly in this text where gender plays a central role. The author may have intentionally put into a female character’s mouth a female-related figure; note that the male crowds in 14 accuse Paul of sorcery, the method of entrapping boyfriends which Socrates confesses to using in the passage from Xenophon quoted above. 42 Alternatively, the choice of this simile for Theocleia’s description of the situation may reflect her thoroughly negative assessment of Paul, that is, as a man stooping to use a woman’s method to snare her daughter. A third possibility is that the associations with the female gender are entirely secondary to the fundamentally negative evaluation of the spider in antiquity. Aside from its skill in weaving, the spider was generally regarded a noxious creature to be avoided and despised. 43 Sacred areas associated with Apollo, for example, were known to be free of spiders and other harmful creatures; 44 conversely, the presence of spiders in temples, the visible evidence of which is their webs, was an evil omen. 45 Artemidorus reports that in dreams poisonous spiders (fala,ggia) represent “wicked people” (poneroi. avnqrw,poi) (Onir. 2.13). Epictetus gives a particularly hostile evaluation of the spider in his discourse on cleanliness: Truly, nature did not make even the animals that are companions to human beings dirty. A horse doesn’t roll around (kuli,etai) in the mud, does he? or a well-bred dog? No, but the hog, and the rotten-stinking geese, and worms, and spiders, the animals farthest removed from association with human beings. (Disc. 4.11.31)

The connection of spiders with dirt and wallowing is a little odd; though spiders may inhabit dusty locations, they do not seem like filthy creatures per se, and indeed this connection is not found in other ancient authors. Epictetus’ broader point, however – stressing the distance between the lowest of animals, 42

See Xenophon, Mem. 3.11.16–17. Generally speaking, spiders seem not to have loomed as large in the ancient popular zoological imagination as they do today. While poisonous spiders were naturally feared, there is no notion approaching the contemporary arachnaphobia. Spiders are not, as many animals are, commonly featured in Graeco-Roman painting or decorative art; spider’s webs are occasionally depicted, representing peace when placed on armor and weapons. See Keller, Die antike Tierwelt, 2:469–70. 44 See, e.g., Aelian, Nat. an. 10.49. 45 The most famous example is the web on the statue of Demeter in the temple in Thebes three months before the arrival of Alexander (see Diodorus Siculus, Bibl. 17.10.2). An infestation of spiders on the army standards was a similar omen for Pompey shortly before the battle at Dyrrhachium (Dio Cassius, Hist. Rom. 41.14). Cf. Aelian Var. Hist., 12.57. 43

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rolling in the mud, and the human being – is relevant to the interpretation of the next episode in the narrative. At Acts Thecla 18, Paul, at the instigation of Thamyris, has been arrested and imprisoned. Bribing the guards with her jewelry, Thecla gains entrance to the prison and goes to Paul, kissing his chains. When Paul is removed from the jail and taken before the judge, Thecla “rolled on the place where Paul sat in jail and taught” (evkuli,eto evpi. tou/ to,pou ou- evdi,dasken o` Pau/loj kaqh,menoj evn th|/ fulakh|/) (Acts Thecla 20). To the contemporary reader this perhaps conjures up a cat, curling up in the recently vacated warm spot on the couch. To the ancient reader, the connotation may have been less endearing. The verb kuli,w (a late form of kuli,ndw) is commonly used transitively to mean “roll” (e.g. “roll a stone”); when used in the middle voice of persons and animals, however, it often denotes “wallowing” like pigs in the mud, as the noun form does in 2 Pet 2:22: “The sow is washed only to wallow in the mud” (u-j lousame,nh eivj kulismo.n borbo,rou). 46 The verb is also used in the context of grief in both the Il. (22.414, of Priam after Hector’s death) and the Od. (4.541, of Menelaos, having learned of Agamemnon’s death). A similar expression of grief is likely intended in Acts Thecla 20; nevertheless, it is notable that this particular expression of grief – in which one is reduced to rolling on the ground like an animal – is chosen. This wallowing, particularly in a prison cell, also evokes the Phaedo, where Socrates says: “The lovers of knowledge are conscious that their souls, when philosophy receives them, are simply fastened and glued to their bodies: the soul is only able to view existence through the bars of a prison, and not in her own nature; she is wallowing (kulindoume,nhn) in the mire of all ignorance.” (Phaed. 82e)

Plato uses the verb earlier in the same passage to describe the souls of the wicked or impure, which are sometimes seen “rolling around on tombs and graves” (peri. ta. mnh,mata, te kai. tou.j ta,fouj kulindoume,nh) (Phead. 81b); these souls are, in turn, themselves connected with animals when Socrates suggests that the souls of drunken, gluttonous men would likely pass into “asses and animals of that sort” (Phaed. 81e). This too, then, is a rather unflattering description of Thecla. She has, metaphorically speaking, moved from an insect caught in a web to an animal wallowing in the mire. In 21, Thecla herself has been removed from the jail, brought before the judge and sentenced to death at the stake. Here, an explicit animal simile is used: h` de. Qe,kla w`j avmno.j evn evrh,mw| periskopei/ to.n poime,na( ou[twj evkei,nh to.n Pau/lon evzh,tei) kai. evmble,yasa eivj to.n o;clon ei=den to.n ku,rion kaqh,menon w`j Pau/lon( kai. ei=pen ~Wj avnu-

46

Cf. Lucian, Anach. 1.

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pomonh,tou mou ou;shj h=lqen Pau/loj qea,sasqai, me) Kai. prosei/cen auvtw|/ avteni,zousa\ o` de. eivj ouvranou.j avpi,ei) And Thecla – like a lamb in the wilderness looking around for the shepherd, thus she was seeking Paul. And looking into the crowd she saw the Lord, sitting there in the form of Paul, and she said, “As if I were unable to endure, Paul came to watch over me.” And she continued focusing on him, but he departed into heaven.

This passage presents several interesting parallels to Theocleia’s description of Thecla in 9. The lamb in the wilderness, looking around for its shepherd, certainly evokes all the piteous helplessness of an insect in a spider’s web. Thecla has only changed from prey to sacrificial victim. The element of the ensnaring web and the (implied) menacing spider are not present here, but the absent shepherd suggests an abandonment that is underscored in “Paul’s” departure into heaven at Thecla’s apparent moment of need. In both 9 and 21, the verb avteni,zw is used of Thecla. The verb typically (though not exclusively) refers to vision, with the sense of “stare intently.” In 9, however, it is not an image but “words” (lo,gouj) that Thecla focuses on; the reader is, moreover, expressly told that Thecla cannot see Paul, and thus the non-visual nature of the attention is emphasized. Notably, Thecla does not really stare at Paul in 21 either; it is rather the Lord, disguised as Paul, whom she spots and focuses on in the crowd. In both passages, too, Thecla is transfixed: in 9 she is fixed to the window, metaphorically trapped in a web; in 21 she is literally fixed to a stake. Having spotted “Paul” in the crowd, Thecla says (presumably to herself), “As if I were unable to endure, Paul came to watch over me,” after which “Paul” disappears. What is the reader to make of this? Thecla has just been described as a lamb in the wilderness – she may well be unable to endure! In the simile Paul is her absent shepherd, and now he seems truly to have abandoned her. Where is Paul, after all, if it’s not him but the Lord that she sees in the crowd? And why does even the Lord then leave her? 47 The effect is truly pathetic; Thecla seems helpless and alone. And yet there is power in this helplessness: when Thecla is brought, naked, into the theater, we are told that the governor “marveled at the power in her” (evqau,masen th.n evn auvth|/ du,namin). When the wood is lit, the fire blazes; but God causes rain and hail to fall, the fire is quenched, and Thecla is saved. There is rejoicing when she and Paul are reunited near Iconium, but more trouble when the pair enter Antioch and Thecla catches the eye of the politically powerful Alexander. After refusing his advances and publicly humiliating him, Thecla once more finds herself 47 Brock sees evidence of a literary fissure here, indicating that the author/compiler of the Acts Paul has grafted Paul onto a legend concerning Thecla in which he did not originally appear; see “Genre of the Acts of Paul,” 128.

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before the judgment-seat and once more she is condemned to death, this time a damnatio ad bestias. A rich woman named Tryphaena, who had recently lost her own daughter and is a relative of the emperor, takes Thecla under her protection until the games, arranged by Alexander himself, 48 are to take place. The first animal we meet is a fierce lioness (le,ainh pikra,), to whom Thecla is bound in a procession that takes place the day before the beast fight is held (Acts Thecla 28). 49 As Bremmer has remarked, this bit of information is somewhat odd. 50 While the tying of condemned criminals to beasts in the arena is a known practice (most likely done to provoke otherwise reluctant man-eaters), it makes little sense in the context of a procession. The next sentence, moreover, describes Thecla not as bound but as “sitting upon” (evpa,nw kaqezome,nh) the lioness. It is tempting to suggest that our author here alludes, if obliquely, to a “fatal charade,” a term dubbed by K. M. Coleman to describe the public execution of criminals in which the damnati are compelled to play the role of characters from Graeco-Roman myth and history. 51 Perhaps Thecla, posed in this way, was meant to evoke images of Dionysos, Eros or, more likely, Cybele – each of whom was occasionally portrayed riding on a lion. 52 The impracticality of tying a criminal to a beast in the procession is in this case irrelevant: the lioness, to the crowd’s astonishment, immediately begins to lick Thecla’s feet (perie,leicen auvth/j tou.j po,daj) (Acts Thecla 28). After the procession Thecla is returned to Tryphaena, but at dawn Alexander himself comes to collect Thecla, saying: “Give me the lady beast-fighter that I might take her away” (do.j avpaga,gw th.n qhrioma,con) (Acts Thecla 30). Tryphaena resists Alexander’s demands, but when soldiers are sent she leads 48

On the holding of games by annual magistrates and private patrons, see K. M. Coleman, “Fatal Charades: Roman Executions Staged as Mythological Enactments,” JRS 80 (1990), 50–1. 49 A preview-parade of the people and animals that would appear in the arena seems to have been a standard part of the shows. See Jan Bremmer, “Magic, Martyrdom and Women’s Liberation,” 53; Bremmer cites G. Ville, La gladiature en Occident des origins à la mort de Domitien (Rome, 1981) 364f.; cf. also Apuleius, Metam. 10.19 and 29 (note that in 10.29 the procession takes place the day of the show), and the Hamburg Papyrus p. 4, ln. 12, where it is reported that Paul (prior to his fighting of the beasts in Ephesus) is “paraded through the city” (evqriambeu,eto u`po. th/j po,lewj). 50 Bremmer, “Magic, Martyrdom and Women’s Liberation,” 53. Bremmer notes that the Latin translators, apparently also noting this improbability, place Thecla on top of the cage in which the fierce lioness is confined. 51 K. M. Coleman, “Fatal Charades,” 44. 52 See J. M. C. Toynbee, Animals in Roman Life and Art (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins Press, 1996), 63–9. Cybele, more often depicted in a chariot pulled by lions, is also shown riding the the animal. A fragment of a relief from the Palazzo-Villa Rinuccini in Florence is a nice example; see M. J. Vermaseren, Corpus Cultus Cybelae Attidisque, vol. VII. Musea et Collectiones Privatae (Leiden: Brill, 1977), 16.

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Thecla to the arena herself. This action- and animal-packed sequence unfolds quickly, so I quote it in full: Thecla, taken from Tryphaena’s hand, was stripped, given a girdle and thrown into the stadium. Both lions and bears were thrown in against her. A fierce lioness (pikra. le,aina) ran forward and lay down at her feet; the crowd of women gave a great shout. A bear ran against her, but the lioness ran to meet it and tore the she-bear (th.n a;rkon) up. Now, again a (male) lion, who belonged to Alexander and was trained against men, ran against her; the lioness, tangling with the lion, was destroyed together with it. The women mourned all the more, since her helper, the lioness, had died. Then they threw in many beasts, as she stood, arms stretched out, praying. When she finished her prayer, she turned and saw a great trench full of water and said, “Now is the time for me to wash” (Nu/n kairo.j lou,sasqai, me). And she cast herself in, saying “In the name of Jesus Christ I baptize myself on the last day!” Watching this, the women and all the crowd cried out, “Don’t throw yourself into the water!” and even the governor cried, that the seals were about to eat such a beauty. Now, she threw herself into the water in the name of Jesus Christ, but the seals, seeing the light of a lightning-flash, floated up dead. And there was a cloud of fire around her, so that the beasts did not touch her nor was she seen naked. When other, more fearful beasts were thrown in, the women cried out (wvlo,luxan) and threw in leaves – some nard, some cassia, others cardamom – so that there was a multitude of perfume. Now all the beasts that had been thrown in, as if overpowered by sleep, did not touch her; so Alexander said to the governor, “I have bulls even more fearful – let us bind the lady beast-fighter (th.n qhrioma,con) to them!” Frowning, the governor gave in, saying “Do what you wish.” And they bound her by her feet between two bulls and placed burning irons beneath their genitals, so that, being further enraged, they might kill her. The bulls indeed leaped forward, but the scorching flame (perikaiome,nh flo,x) burned through the ropes and it was as if she was not bound. (Acts Thecla 33–35)

Meanwhile, there is a report that Tryphaena (who has really only fainted) is dead. When the report reaches the ears of the governor and Alexander, fearing the emperor’s reaction, Alexander asks that Thecla be released. Summoning Thecla “from the midst of the beasts” (evk me,sou tw/n qhri,wn), the governor asks: “Who are you, and what is it about you that not one of the beasts touched you?” She replies: “I am the slave (dou,lh) of the living God. As to what it is about me – I believed in the one with whom God is well pleased, his son; on his account not one of the beasts touched me” (Acts Thecla 37). Thecla is then released and “all the women cried out in a loud voice and, as if from one mouth, gave praise to God, saying ‘One is God who saved Thecla,’ so that all the city was shaken by the sound” (Acts Thecla 38). 53

53 Cf. Theocleia’s report in 9 that Paul “is shaking up the city of the Iconians” (th.n VIkonie,wn po,lin avnasei,ei).

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As has often been noted, 54 gendered roles are peculiarly prominent in this episode. Not only is the mother-daughter relationship emphasized (in Tryphaena’s virtual adoption of Thecla) but seemingly all the women in the city immediately take up Thecla’s cause, protesting the judgment 55 and quite vocally expressing their horror during the fight itself. They even take action as a group, throwing fragrant leaves into the stadium, effectively rendering the beasts harmless. Again as others have noted, this female solidarity extends even to the beasts, with the lioness (presumably the very one Thecla had ridden the previous day) rushing to Thecla’s aid and giving up her own life. 56 While there are reports of the gendered pairing of beasts and criminals – Perpetua and Felicitas, for example, were attacked by a “savage cow” in the devil’s attempt to “match their gender with the beast” (Mart. Per. Fel. 20) – this would be, to my knowledge, the only instance of an arena animal sticking up for its gender. 57 Then again, it is unclear if that is really what is going on. The beasts may not, in fact, divide along gender lines: it is a she-bear that attacks Thecla and that the lioness kills. 58 There are reports, however, of lions (of either gender) differentiating between male and female humans. Pliny, describing lions as the only beasts that will show mercy to suppliants, writes that they will, when raging, direct their attacks at men, not women. 59 There are multiple reports, moreover, that lions can understand and heed human speech, particularly that of women. Describing the close relationship of Moors and lions, Aelian claims that when a lion, as it is apparently wont to do, goes looking for food at a Moor’s house when only the wife is home, the woman will scold it: “Aren’t you ashamed, Lion, that you, king of the beasts, come to my hut and ask a woman to feed you?” The Lion then, “filled with shame, quiet, with downcast eyes,” departs (Nat. an. 3.1). Pliny repeats Juba’s account of a Gaetulian woman who escaped an 54 See, for example, MacDonald, Legend, 34–7; Virginia Burrus, Chastity as Autonomy (Lewiston: E. Mellen Press, 1987); Mellisa M. Aubin, “Reversing Romance? The acts of Thecla and the ancient romance,” in Hock et al., Ancient Fiction, 257–72. 55 Acts Thecla 27. 56 Note that this lioness is called Thecla’s “helper” (h` bohqo,j); Thecla later refers to Jesus as her “helper among the beasts” (o` bohqo.j evn qhri,oij). On female solidarity in Acts Thecla, see Aubin, 269. 57 In Plutarch’s Soll. 977d, the advocate of sea animals denies that any land animals have the courage to help one another in danger; his particular rejection of the notion that animals of the same species band together in the arena to protect one another indicates that this behavior was observed and understood by others as an act of solidarity. It is notable that, along with the bear, boar and panther, he names the lioness (not lion). 58 a;rktoj seems to occur in both the feminine and masculine, though LSJ notes that instances of the masculine are dubious. The seals (fw/kai), too, could be females; the noun is always feminine. 59 Pliny, Nat. 8.48.

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advancing pride of lions by identifying herself as a female, fugitive and weakling. 60 In each of these anecdotes it is not so much the female qua female that the lion pities; it is, rather, the weakness of the female that makes it beneath the lion’s dignity to threaten and attack. Among lions themselves, ironically, no such gender difference is claimed. While Aelian counts the lion’s mane as further evidence that “even among beasts the male is given higher honors by Nature” (Nat. an. 11.26), he elsewhere notes that lion and lioness do not, like other carnivores, hunt together, for “both are confident in the strength of their bodies and neither has need of the other” (Nat. an. 4.3). Similarly, the title character of Plutarch’s Gryllus tells Odysseus, “you yourself have often seen in the case of panthers and lionesses that the females are by no means inferior to the males in bravery and strength” (Gryllus 988b). 61 The fierceness and bravery of the lioness in particular is well known; the legendary Assyrian queen Semiramis is reported to have rejoiced neither when she captured a lion nor killed a leopard, but only when she had hunted down a lioness. 62 There are numerous stories of friendships between lions and humans. According to Pliny, the Carthaginian Hanno was the first to tame a lion; 63 in the Roman empire, trained lions were a popular feature in animal shows, and both emperors and private citizens are reported to have kept lions as pets. 64 Among these is queen Berenice, whose pet lion would lick her face with its tongue and “smooth away her wrinkles” (ta.j r`uti,daj evle,aine) (Aelian, Nat. an. 5.39). 65 Multiple accounts of lions requesting help from humans circulated in late antiquity. Aelian repeats 66 the following anecdote of a bear, two lions and a woodcutter from Thrace. A bear comes upon an unguarded lion’s den and kills the lion’s cubs; when the lion and lioness return, filled with grief, they attack the bear, who quickly climbs a tree and remains where they can’t reach her. The lioness stays on guard at the foot of the tree, but the lion, sadly roam60

Pliny, Nat. 8.48. Note that Gryllus here contrasts these fierce feline females with cowardly human women, who allow their homes to be overrun while their husbands are away at war. 62 Aelian, Var. hist. 12.39. Similarly, Perdiccas the Macedonian gained admiration for successfully stealing cubs from a lioness’ den (12.39). Cf. Pliny, Nat. 8.52. 63 Pliny, Nat. 8.55. 64 Caracalla is reported to have kept a large number of lions as pets; Elagabalus kept several exarmati (i.e. de-clawed and de-toothed) lions who would make surprise and – to the unwitting guests – terrifying appearances at dinner parties. See discussion in Toynbee, 64–5. Cf. also Aelian’s report that one Onomarchus, Tyrant of Catana, and the son of Cleomenes (persons otherwise unknown) kept lions as dinner companions (su,ssitoi) (Nat. an. 5.39). 65 It is unclear which Berenice (perhaps wife of Ptolemy III?) is referred to here. Note the pun on le,aina (“lioness”) and leai,nw (“smooth”). 66 Aelian attributes the account to Eudemus (either Aristotle’s student or another by the same name); Nat. an. 3.21. 61

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ing the mountain, comes upon a woodcutter. The woodcutter is terrified and drops his axe, but the lion licks his face, picks up the axe in its mouth and offers it to him. The man is confused, but follows the lion back to its lair where the lioness, who also fawns on him, motions towards the bear in the tree and, through her sad expression, gives him a notion of what has taken place. The woodcutter then chops down the tree and brings down the bear, which the lions immediately tear to pieces; afterwards, the lion returns the man unharmed to where he first found him. 67 Pliny offers two accounts of lions approaching men for aid. In one, a Syracusan named Mentor, while visiting Syria, comes across a lion; he is terrified, but the lion, though blocking his path and not allowing him to run away, licks at his feet. Mentor then notices a swollen wound on the lion’s paw and extracts the offending thorn. The incident is memorialized, according to Pliny, in a picture at Syracuse. 68 Pliny knows of a similar incident involving a Samian named Elpis; in this instance, it is a splintered bone stuck in the lion’s jaw, and poor Elpis spends some time in a tree – calling out to Father Liber – before correctly interpreting the situation and relieving the lion of its torment. This lion shows its gratitude by bringing Elpis the spoils of his hunt; Elpis shows his gratitude to Father Liber by erecting a commemorative temple on Samos. 69 These accounts of friendship between man and animal extended to the arena. Most famous is that of Androcles, which both Aelian 70 and Aulus Gellius, who identifies Apion as his source, 71 tell in much the same way: Androcles was an escaped Roman slave who ended up in Libya. In the desert one hot day he took refuge in a cave that turned out to be a lion’s den, the permanent resident of which soon returned. The lion, however, had a wounded paw and the scene plays out, much like in the stories of Mentor and Elpis, with much fawning and motioning on the lion’s part followed by fear then recognition and careful action by the man. Androcles, however, goes on to live in the cave with this lion for three years, sharing dinner and general companionship. Androcles eventually leaves (fed up with too-long hair and an annoying itch, 67

Aelian, Nat. an. 3.21. Aelian tells another story of a lion’s revenge upon a bear, this time involving also a dog, all three being the tamed pets of a certain hunter. One day the bear, unprovoked, savagely attacked and killed the dog; the lion, stricken with grief and filled with righteous anger, kills the bear in revenge (Nat. an. 4.45). 68 Pliny, Nat. 8.56. 69 Ibid. 8.57–8. 70 Aelian, Nat. an. 7.48; Cf. Phaedrus’ fable, extant in prose paraphrase, in the 11th century codex Ademari 35 (Ben Edwin Perry’s #563 in the appendix of Babrius and Phaedrus, LCL). 71 Aulus Gellius, Noct. att. 5.14. According to Aulus Gellius, Apion, a learned man and author of a book called Aegyptiacorum, claimed to have been an eye witness of the event at the arena in Rome.

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according to Aelian) but is promptly captured by the Roman authorities, returned to his master, and sentenced to fight the beasts. By chance, Androcles’ lion friend had been captured by the Romans as well, and is, quite coincidentally, the very beast released into the arena for Androcles to fight. The lion immediately recognizes Androcles and fawns on him, lying at his feet. Androcles then recognizes the lion 72 and the two embrace. According to Aelian, Androcles is suspected of being a magician (go,hj) and another animal, this time a leopard, is set against him. The lion, however, protects Androcles, tearing the leopard to pieces. The individual giving the shows then summons Androcles and learns the whole story, which is quickly disseminated to the crowd; they demand freedom for both man and lion, who then, according to Aulus Gellius, become fixtures at the local shops, Androcles keeping the lion on a slender leash. Seneca mentions, in passing, a similar incident: “We have seen in the amphitheater a lion who, having recognized one of the beastfighters as his former master, protected him from the attack of the other beasts” (Ben. 2.19). There is even a graffito, scratched beneath a painting of a rushing lion on the inner wall of the theater at Corinth, which reads: o` leo[n]to avnagnou.j lei,cei swt/h/r[a t]o.n u`po. tau/ron The lion recognizes the man under the bull as his savior and licks him.

This graffito may, as the archaeologist who discovered it suggested, have been written by someone who was familiar with the story of Androcles; on the other hand, there may have been multiple incidents in which lions acted in this way. 73 Martial, in his Lib. spect., describes various impressive and unusual occurrences involving lions. In one epigram, a tamed tigress (“wont to lick the right hand of her care-free master”) tears a fierce lion to pieces; 74 in another, with an act of courage comparable to Heracles’ slaying of the Nemean beast, a woman kills a lion. 75 Martial is really quite taken with the lion’s ability to catch hares in its mouth and release them again unharmed, writing eight different epigrams on the subject. 76 In some of these poems, the impressive training is emphasized; in others, Martial describes it as an act of mercy on the lion’s part, comparing the beast to his ultimate master, the emperor. Particularly interesting is epigram 104, where Martial refers to the animal’s 72

Note that here the animal has the superior power of recognition. Theodore Leslie Shear, “Excavations in Corinth in 1926,” AJA 30 (1926): 453. 74 Martial, Lib. spect. 18. 75 Ibid. 6. Martial also includes epigrams describing tame lions that turn, including one that bit its master’s hand (Lib. spect. 10) and another that killed two young arena employees, who were raking the bloody sand (Epig. 2.75). 76 Martial, Epig. 1.6, 14, 22, 44, 48, 51, 60, 104. 73

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shame at attacking a weaker creature and writes, “this mercy is not acquired by art, rather the lions know whom they serve.” In yet another epigram, Martial laments the demise in a venatio of a particularly splendid lion. 77 Several instances of the mourning of the deaths of particular animals in the arena are, in fact, attested. Pompey was surely unpleasantly surprised when, as elephants were cruelly slaughtered at his 55 B.C.E. shows, the crowd took the animals’ side, cursing Pompey and demanding the end of the massacre. 78 Statius addresses an entire poem (a variation on the poem of consolation) to a tame lion that was killed in the arena; he offers the dead lion solace in that both people and Senate (populusque patresque) mourned its death and Caesar himself shed a tear – a particularly nice parallel to the author’s emphasis on the mourning of the women at the lioness’ death in the Acts Thecla. 79 Returning to Thecla, we might note first that the failure of the lioness to attack was not, in itself, a particularly miraculous event. Describing the terrified animals’ tendency to claw their way back into their cages, Jennison writes: “That there were so many successful executions is more remarkable than the number of failures.” 80 The lioness’ behavior towards Thecla – the licking and fawning, followed by the killing of the bear and lion – is also by no means singular; the story of Androcles provides a very close parallel. What is quite different is that no back-story is given. This is odd even in comparison with Paul’s feline encounter (to be discussed below). Not only is there no mention of a previous relationship between Thecla and the lioness, the reader is given no explicit indication of how to interpret this occurrence – no explanation for the lioness’ actions is offered. It is not an answer to prayer: Thecla does pray in the arena, but this happens only after the lioness has died, when the many other beasts are released and Thecla baptizes herself in the pool of seals. At this point, divine protection is evident: a flash of lightening kills the seals; a cloud of fire surrounds her and prevents the beasts from touching her. It may be preferable, then, to read the lioness’ actions not just as narrative evidence of divine protection or the animal’s ability to recognize something special in Thecla, but also as a metonym, perhaps representing Thecla’s own larger battles. If the lioness is understood as standing for Thecla, then surely the fierce lion would stand for Alexander, and indeed – just as Martial’s lions “know whom they serve,” and thus act with mercy worthy of Caesar, this lion, explicitly identified as belonging to Alexander, knows its master and is comparably savage. The anecdotes and descriptions (quoted above) of the lion’s 77

Ibid. 8.55 [53]. Pliny, Nat. 8.20–1; Dio Cassius, 39.38.2–4; Seneca, Brev. Vit. 13.6; Cicero, Fam. 7.1.3. 79 Statius, Silvae, 2.5. 80 George Jennison, Animals for Show and Pleasure in Ancient Rome (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1937) 169; see also his discussion of “training man-eaters,” 194–5. 78

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differentiation of gender and refusal to attack a weaker creature help flesh out the comparison: the powerful Alexander should be ashamed to attack the vulnerable Thecla. At the same time, knowledge from natural historical reports of the female of the species’ strength and bravery – now given narrative support in the behavior of this particular lioness – offer hope that this human female will be able to endure. The events following Thecla’s baptism in the pool of seals (to which we will return shortly) are not, to my mind, entirely clear. A “cloud of fire” (nefe,lh puro,j) is around her, such “that the beasts did not touch her” (w[ste mh,te ta. Qhri,a a[ptesqai auvth/j) and “she was not seen naked” (mh,te qewrei/sqai auvth.n gumnh,n) (Acts Thecla 34). But this phenomenon must have been of limited duration inasmuch as, when even more fearful beasts are cast in, the women in the crowd must act to save Thecla. Their actions, moreover, are curious. Their first response is to “cry out”; the verb used here, ovlolu,zw, refers almost exclusively to women crying out to the gods, 81 which strengthens the notion that a certain sense of female-solidarity is at play in this episode. They then throw in “herb” or “leaf” (oddly, the singular fu,llon, where one would expect the plural fu,lla for “leaves” or “foliage”) of various types, including nard, cassia and amomom or cardamom. These plants produce a multitude of fragrances and, here, have a soporific effect. As a result, the beasts once again “did not touch her.” We might ask why these women had these plants at hand and whether their effect on the beasts is to be understood as a miracle or the natural consequence of inhaling these fragrances. The use of fragrance at the amphitheater is attested; Seneca describes a mechanism that allowed for the spritzing of the audience.82 Nard, cassia and amomom were all valued for their strong and pleasant scents. We should perhaps imagine that the women in our narrative had brought these leaves to the arena as nosegays, though I am unaware of any explicit evidence of such a custom. None of these plants were particularly well known for their sleep-inducing qualities (as, for example, poppy and mandrake were).83 Nevertheless, amomom incense and leaves are recommended for insomnia by several ancient medical writers 84 and the scent of wild nard is described as soporific. 85 The effect, then, of a great abundance of these plants on the animals in the arena is perhaps best understood as natural and not particularly miraculous. Even after this collective action by the women of the crowd, Alexander is determined. He brings in two extremely frightful bulls, and suggests to the 81

Cf. Aeschylus, Eum. 1043; Euripides, Bacch. 689; id. El. 691. Seneca, Nat. 2.9.2. See Coleman, “Fatal Charades,” 52, n. 70. 83 See, e.g., Aristotle, Somn. vig. 456b. 84 See, e.g., Aëtius, Libri med. 5.120; Paulus, Epit. med. 2.41.1. 85 See, e.g., Dioscurides Pedanius, De materia medica, 3.44.1–2; recension e, 1.10. 82

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governor: “Let’s bind the lady beast-fighter to them!” With the governor’s reluctant permission, Alexander has Thecla bound by her feet between the bulls, and burning irons are used to enrage the animals. 86 We are told the burning irons are placed beneath the bulls’ avnagkai/a, literally, their “necessaries.” This term was not commonly used for any parts of the body, though here it clearly seems to be. It has been translated into English as both “bellies” 87 and “genitals.” 88 Some infer a sadistically sexual element here, one scholar describing the scene as “a beautiful naked woman with her legs ripped apart by bulls enraged to frenzy by the application of hot irons to their sexual organs,” and concluding that “such an image could only come from a disturbed mind.” 89 I tend to agree that avnagkai/a is most likely meant to indicate “genitals,” 90 but the sexual sadism involved can be overstated. As to the actual cause of death imagined in this passage, it seems more likely that Thecla is to be trampled to death by the bulls (as opposed to pulled apart), perhaps playing the part of the mythological Dirce in a “fatal charade.” Indeed, as Coleman has noted, it is easy to imagine an arena re-enactment of the punishment of Dirce, who was bound to a bull and thus killed by Amphion and Zethus (for mistreatment of their mother, Antiope). It is quite likely, in fact, that this is what Clement of Rome refers to in the much debated passage from 1 Clem. 6.2, where he describes the martyrdom of Christian women: “On account of jealousy, women, persecuted as Danaids and Dirces, having suffered terrible and unholy torture, reached the firm road of faith and received the noble honor, though weak in body.” 91 Here, however, this method of punishment is ineffective: as the bulls leap, the ropes are burned by the flame, break, and Thecla is freed. There is some confusion as to the source of the flame, both in the Greek and Latin texts 92 and, consequently, in translations. Wilson, for example, translates “the flame that blazed around her,” apparently taking this flame to be identical with the “cloud of fire” that surrounded her in 34. If indeed, however, Thecla is still surrounded by a cloud of fire capable of burning through rope, it is difficult to fathom how the arena workers managed to 86

Martial, too, describes the use of fire to enrage bulls (Lib. spect. 19). R. McL. Wilson gives “bellies” in his translation in NTApoc5 and in Hansen, Anthology of Ancient Greek Popular Literature, 61. 88 Stevan Davies reproduces the NTApoc5 translation as “bellies,” but interprets them as “sexual organs” in Revolt of the Widows: The Social World of the Apocryphal Acts (Carbondale: Southern Illionois University Press, 1980), 106; cf. MacDonald, Legend, 36; Aubin, “Reversing Romance,” 270. 89 Davies, Revolt of the Widows, 106; cf. Aubin, 270. 90 The astrologer Vettius Valens uses the phrase tou.j avnagkai,ouj to,pouj, literally “the necessary places,” to refer to genitals (Anthologiae 2.37.133); cf. 1 Cor 12:22. 91 See discussion in Coleman, “Fatal Charades,” 65–66. 92 See the relatively extensive textual variations listed in Lipsius’ apparatus. 87

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tie her to the bulls in the first place. It seems better to understand this “scorching flame” as a product of the “burning irons” used to goad the bulls. As described above, the exaggerated report of Tryphaena’s death convinces Alexander to call off the execution. Falling at the feet of the governor, he says: “Have mercy on me and the city, and release the lady beast-fighter, lest the city also perish with her” (Acts Thecla 36)! 93 This is the third time Alexander has referred to Thecla as “the lady beast-fighter” (h` qhrioma,coj), a fact which is remarkable for two reasons. First, this term in the feminine occurs only in the Acts Thecla. Although there are multiple reports of women – particularly Christians – thrown to the beasts, the term itself is nowhere else used. 94 Here it appears three times, significantly, at the beginning, climax and end of this exciting scene (itself the veritable climax of the narrative as a whole): first, when Alexander collects Thecla from Tryphaena’s house on the morning of the show, next, when he decides to tie her to the bulls (her final ordeal), and finally when he begs the governor for her release. Second, Thecla never actually fights the beasts – aside from the friendly licking of the lioness, she is never touched. And yet the repetition of this unusual term, “lady beastfighter,” rather emphatically identifies her as combatant, not rescued victim. The masculine form of the noun, itself not particularly common, is most often used of Heracles (slayer of multiple beasts, most memorably the Nemean lion); 95 notably, it is to Heracles that Martial compares the celebrated woman who brought down the lion at the games in Rome. 96 Early Christian popular art, moreover, represents Thecla as a victorious combatant. Annewies van den Hoek and John J. Herrmann, Jr., have identified Thecla as the woman represented on African Red Slip Ware, posed as orans (arms lifted), stripped to the waist, with two lions sitting on either side at her feet. A tabula ansata is inscribed DOMINA VICTORIA, which van den Hoek and Herrmann argue should be translated as an acclamation: “Lady, victory (is yours)!” 97 93

Acts Thecla, 36. On women’s participation in the arena (as gladiators, etc.), see Dorothea Schäfer, “Frauen in der Arena,” in Fünzig Jahre Forschungen zur Antiken Sklaverei an der Mainzer Akademie, 1950–2000 (ed. Heinz Bellen and Heinz Heinen; Stuttgart: Franz Steiner, 2001), 243–268. 95 See, e.g., Lucian, Lex. 19. The inclusion of the term in the Lex. (i.e., “Word-flaunter” or “Captain Thesaurus”) is itself an indication of the relative rarity of the term. 96 Martial, Lib. spect. 6b. 97 Annewies van den Hoek and John J. Herrmann, Jr., “Thecla the Beast Fighter: A Female Emblem of Deliverance in Early Christian Popular Art,” The Studia Philonica Annual 13 (2001): 212–49. Their translation of the phrase DOMINA VICTORIA is based on an analogy with other examples of African Red Slip Ware with scenes from the arena; some of these vessels include acclamatory inscriptions such as TELEGENI NIKA, “Telegenius, be victorious!” (referring to either an individual venator or a family or association of venatores); see pp. 216–20. 94

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In the Acts Thecla, Thecla is indeed a victor. By tracking her associations and interactions with animals, figurative and literal, we discover exactly what type of victor she is: the insect trapped in the spider’s web has become conqueror of the beasts. There is no substantial transformation of her character, no acquisition of strength; Thecla, seemingly powerless and helpless, conquers nonetheless. This particular paradoxical turn of events calls to mind the popular fable of the lion, the elephant and the fly, various versions of which circulated throughout antiquity. The gist of it is as follows: the lion, despite being the powerful king of the beasts, fears the rooster and laments this embarrassing situation until, one day, it discovers that even the great elephant can be vanquished by a gnat flying into its ear canal. 98 This story is told in Achilles Tatius’ novel by a slave named “Conops” (i.e. “Gnat”); another character replies with the story of a braggart gnat who challenges a lion to a fight and wins, tiring the lion by buzzing around his face and flying right through his snapping jaws, only to fly right into a spider’s web. 99 This doubly ironic story – showing how even the tiniest creature can get too big for its britches – indicates the popularity of this weakness-conquers-strength anecdote. 100 Reading Thecla as an ironic conqueror – as the fly that gets the better of the much larger beast – allows one to account for elements of her character (particularly the alternating depictions of her as powerful and helpless) that are otherwise difficult to reconcile, leading to readings of Thecla as both feminist heroine and a disappointing, “pale reflection” of a liberated woman. 101 When 98 See, e.g., Aesiopica 259; on the fly tormenting the elephant (though not in its ear) see Lucian, Musc. laud. 20. 99 Achilles Tatius, Leuc. Clit. 2.21–2. 100 Compare the version in Aesiopica 255, which concludes with the gnat lamenting that a warrior as great as he should be destroyed by a creature as insignificant as a spider. Thecla, however, does not get too big for her britches – though she does indeed stitch her tunic into a man’s garment (Acts Thecla 40). 101 For the latter interpretation, see E. Margaret Howe, “Interpretations of Paul in The Acts of Paul and Thecla,” in Pauline Studies (ed. Donald A. Hagner and Murray J. Harris; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1980), 33–49. Howe writes, “Rather than presenting a viewpoint more liberal than Paul, the Acts of Paul and Thecla presents a viewpoint which is more restrictive. If we look to this document for an exalted portrayal of the liberated woman, who in the face of negative social pressures affirms her call to full-time ministry, and as a woman fulfils the rôle for which she is destined by God, we are in fact headed for disappointment. Thecla is but a pale reflection of such a figure. Her avenue to the stated destiny is shadowed by the denial of all within her that is essentially female. She must deny herself the fulfilment of marriage, and must cut her hair and wear her clothes as though she were a man. This alone will permit her to be accounted worthy of such a leadership position. … although the leading character of the story is Thecla, she exists only as an extension of Paul’s influence and personality … The document marks a retreat from the affirmation of womanhood into the byways of self-abnegation, and from the positive development of a woman’s potential in leadership, to the acceptance of artificially structured rôles” (46–47).

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asked by the governor “who are you” (ti,j ei= su,*), the character Thecla is given the opportunity to select her own metaphor. Her own choice, though not an animal, is suitably ironic and Pauline: she is the “handmaid (dou,lh) of the living God,” and thus the governor, with a flourish reminiscent of John’s Pilate, presents her to the crowd: “I release to you the pious Thecla, handmaid of the living God” (Acts Thecla 38). Excursus: Man-Eating Seals When Thecla declares her intent to baptize herself in a pool full of seals (fw,kai), the announcement is met with horror by all who are present, who weep “that the seals were about to eat such a beauty” (Acts Thecla 34). To the contemporary reader, whose mental image of seals undoubtedly includes a beachball and whiskered noses, this passage is quite strange and demands some explanation. Horst Schneider makes an attempt in his very helpful article, “Thekla und die Robben.” 102 As it turns out, seals were not typically understood as bloodthirsty creatures in the ancient world any more than they are today. Schneider is able, however, to identify several references to seals in Graeco-Roman literature that perhaps explain their portrayal in our text. Key are the following. First, we have one reference to seals appearing in the arena as combatants: according to Calpurnius Siculus seals fought polar bears in the games held by Nero in 57 C.E. 103 Second, as Pliny indicates, seals were the only animals besides eagles who were thought never to be struck by lightening, and thus their skins were sometimes used for protection during thunderstorms. 104 Third, they are known in Homer as a species of kh/ta (or, as Schneider puts it, “unheimliche, stinkende Meeresungeheuer”105 ) and, besides smelling terrible, they are indeed murderous: we recall that in Od. book 15 when Eumaios describes the demise of his treacherous nursemaid, she is thrown overboard to be “chum for the fishes and seals.” Noting that the term kh/toj for the (LXX-reading-) Christian undoubtedly also called to mind the Leviathan and Jonah’s whale, Schneider concludes that the seal episode in the Acts Thecla could be the product of an author who, while never having seen seals in person, had heard of them as some sort of wild and dangerous sea-monster that occasionally appeared in the arena. What’s more, the fact that they supposedly were never struck by lightning makes their demise in our episode perfectly ironic: God rescues Thecla by sending a lightning bolt which kills the seals but leaves Thecla unharmed. 102

Horst Schneider, “Thekla und die Robben,” VC 55 no 1 (2001): 45–57. See Calpurnius Siculus, Ecl. 7. 64–66. I would add to this Apollonius’ reference to a seal he once saw “kept shut up at Aegae in the circus” in Philostratus, Vit. Apoll. 2.14. 104 See Pliny, Nat. 2.146. 105 Schneider, 55. 103

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C. Paul and the Baptized Lion Prior to the 1930’s, the story of Paul and the lion was known, as discussed above, only through references by Jerome and Nicephorus Callistos. A story of Paul and a baptized lion is also known in the Ethiopic Epistle of Pelagia; as Schmidt concludes, however, this is likely a re-working (with new setting) of an earlier Greek version. 106 With the discovery and publication of P.Hamb. an actual text was finally placed before scholars. The subsequent introduction of the Coptic fragment (P.Bodmer LXI), even when it was widely available only in French and English translation (and partial, at that), increased interest in the episode, with the result that, of all the animals in the apocryphal acts of the apostles, the baptized lion in the Acts Paul has received by far the most attention from scholars. The extant and legible portion of P.Hamb. begins in Ephesus. The unfortunately imperfect text picks up with Paul before the governor, Hieronymus. On charges apparently stemming from some sort of dispute with the local goldsmiths and (as is so often the case in the apocryphal acts) the suspicions of certain husbands, Paul is sentenced to fight the beasts. A recently captured lion, of extraordinary size and fearful demeanor, is singled out as the beast that Paul will fight. When the day of the show arrives and the lion is loosed on the apostle, it approaches at a run, but then lies down at Paul’s legs “like a lamb” (P. Hamb. 4.30). 107 The lion then speaks in a human voice, and, though the text is illegible here, man and animal presumably exchange greetings. 108 As the crowd shouts accusations of sorcery, it occurs to Paul that this is the lion he baptized, and so he asks: “Are you the lion that I baptized ([o]]n e;lousa)?” And the lion, replying, said to Paul: “Yes.” And Paul spoke to it a second time: “And how were you hunted down?” And the lion said with one 109 voice: “Just like even you were, Paul.” (P. Hamb. 5.1–4)

The governor then releases many beasts against Paul and sets archers against the lion. A heavy hailstorm, however, begins to fall (though the sky is clear); many are killed, including the other animals, and everyone else flees. Only Paul and the lion are untouched. Paul leaves the stadium and goes down to the harbor, boarding one of the many ships taking frightened people away from 106

See Schmidt, Acta Pauli, xxv. The Ethiopic text is translated by E. J. Goodspeed, “The Epistle of Pelagia,” AJSL 20, 2 (1904), 95ff. 107 Here, I’ve accepted Schmidt’s suggested restoration of the fragmentary text. 108 Schmidt here supplies the very likely: ca,rij meta. sou/) 109 The text here reads mia, though Schmidt regards it as a scribal mistake, suggesting ivdi,a| (“his own”) as an improvement. Hans-Josef Klauck has (in conversation) suggested qei,a| (“divine”), on analogy with Commodian’s report that in this text and the Acts of Peter, animals speak cum voce divina, “with divine voice” (Carmen apologeticum 627–8).

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the city. The lion, we are told “departed for the mountains, as was customary for it” (P.Hamb. 5.18). A fourth century Coptic papyrus (P.Bodmer LXI) supplies a more complete version of this story, most notably the first half, i.e., Paul’s first encounter with the lion and its baptism. 110 In this text, Paul, while staying at the house of Priscilla and Aquila in Ephesus, 111 recounts the incident in his own words. It seems to have happened some time in the past, not long after Paul’s conversion on the road to Damascus: Paul is traveling with a widow and her daughter and one evening, as the three are deep in prayer, a massive lion approaches. When he has completed the prayer, the lion casts itself at his feet; Paul asks, “Lion, what do you want?” The lion responds, “I want to be baptized” (P.Bodmer LXI, 4.12–14). As the women continue in prayer, Paul leads the lion down to a nearby river. Standing on the bank, Paul cries out to God; the text is apparently imperfect here, but the prayer addresses God as (among other things) the one “who with Daniel shut the mouths of lions,” and asks that he grant that “we accomplish the plan (oivkonomi,a) which you have appointed” (5.5–10). Paul then takes the lion by the mane and immerses him three times. The lion comes up out of the water, shakes out his mane, and says “grace be with you,” to which Paul replies, “and also with you” (5.16–17). The lion then runs off, rejoicing, into the country; he meets a lioness, but “did not yield himself to her” (5.21–24). For Schneemelcher, whose 1964 article “Der getaufte Löwe in den Acta Pauli” remains influential, the baptized lion is really quite singular. 112 Although it bears some relationship to the other animals that appear in the apocryphal acts, for Schneemelcher, speaking, obedient, grateful and otherwise magical animals “sind noch keine getaufte Tiere.” Baptism of animals – there’s the rub. Key for Schneemelcher, relying rather heavily on the Coptic papyrus (P. Bodmer LXI) in his interpretation of the episode, 113 is Paul’s prayer that the oivkonomi,a (“plan”) that God has appointed be accomplished. According to his analysis, the author of the Acts Paul is driven by a desire to present the salvation of the world as all-encompassing. The baptized lion in-

110

See Kasser and Luisier; an English translation is given in Schneemelcher, NTApoc5 2:263–5. 111 Cf. Acts 18:18–19. 112 In fact, in 1964 (prior to the discovery of Xenophontos 32 of the Acts of Philip, where animals speak and request the eucharist) the baptized lion was a bit more unique. See Matthews, “Articulate Animals,” 210, n. 14. 113 Schneemelcher, in fact, suggests that a satisfactory interpretation of the episode without the Coptic text is virtually impossible: “Eine befriedigende Deutung des getauften Löwen war bisher, da man nur die Tatsache der Taufe, nicht aber die näheren Umstände kannte, kaum möglich” (Schneemelcher, “Der getaufte Löwe,” 323).

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dicates that “auch die Kreatur nicht außerhalb dieses Heilsplanes steht.”114 The motivation for the passage was not, as Kurfess had previously suggested, an illustration of Rom 8:19-23, where the salvation of all creation is described. For Schneemelcher, it is perhaps a stretch to attribute such theological reflection (not to mention knowledge of the Pauline corpus) to our author. Nevertheless, in his view, a similar notion is evident. 115 In arriving at his conclusions, Schneemelcher raises the possibility that the impetus for this episode was the report that Paul had faced a lion in the arena and emerged unscathed; the author would then have created the story of the baptism as an (appropriately novelistic) explanation for this miraculous occurrence. Schneemelcher rejects the hypothesis, noting that no other stories of miraculous apostolic interaction with animals require such an explanation. 116 I would not, however, be so quick to dismiss it. It is, to my mind, entirely likely that at the root of this story are reports of Paul having survived damnatio ad bestias, whether drawn from the comments in 1 Cor 15:32 (“What do I gain if, humanly speaking, I fought with beasts at Ephesus?”) and 2 Tim 4:17 ( “So I was rescued from the lion's mouth”) or from some independent tradition.117 And with Metzger and Klauck, I would emphasize the importance of Androcles for understanding our passage. 118 It is, in my opinion, difficult to read the story of Paul and the lion as anything other than a Christianization of this very popular tale of friendship between man and animal. I would propose, then, the following “composition history” of the episode: Our author, knowing a tradition that Paul met a lion in the arena and escaped unharmed, finds in the story of Androcles (in one version or another) a readymade narrative structure, well suited to his novelistic enterprise. The story of Androcles, however, is necessarily in two parts: there is the event itself (the lion’s refusal to attack and its friendly behavior), witnessed by crowds in the arena, but there is also the back-story (the really interesting part), which must be supplied by Androcles himself. 119 The report of Paul’s miraculous survival, then, had to be supplemented. In the story of Androcles (as well as that of Mentor and Elpis) there is an exchange of benefits: the man helps the lion and in exchange the lion does not eat him; if the man is lucky, he might even get a share of the lion’s hunting spoils. This is of course the element of the story played upon in Seneca’s reference to it in De beneficiis. In his Christi114

Ibid. 325. Schneemelcher, “Der getaufte Löwe,” 324. 116 Ibid. 117 Cf. Klauck, Apokryphe Apostelakten, 79. 118 Ibid. 79–80. 119 Notably, in the Coptic Papyrus Paul gives his own first-person account of his first meeting with the lion, quite comparable to the first-person account of Androcles in Aulus Gellius’ version. 115

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anization of this element, our author has Paul bestow on the lion the benefit of baptism. One might object that it would be rather extreme for the author to choose, of all the imaginable ways the apostle could have helped the lion, baptism. Two counter points might be made. First, even in the non-Christian versions of the tale, it is life that is exchanged. Clearly, the lion in each instance grants life to the man, but it’s an even trade: in the story of Elpis, for example, it is made explicit that if the bone is not removed from the lion’s jaw, it would surely starve to death. In the Christianization, the stakes are simply raised from physical life to spiritual life. Second, as Schneemelcher in fact suggests, baptism may not have been quite as sacrosanct, so to speak, for our author as it was for his more orthodox contemporaries. This may be, after all, the same author who narrates Thecla’s potentially problematic selfbaptism. 120 But if one takes as the starting point for this episode the combination of an (at least quasi-) historical report about Paul and a lion and the story of Androcles, the exegetical rub shifts from the baptism to the talking. Androcles’ lion doesn’t talk; why should Paul’s? Surely the request for baptism could have been made non-verbally; in fact, much of the charm and entertainment value in the non-Christian tales of lion-human friendship derives from the description of the animal’s attempt at communication and the man’s delayed arrival at comprehension. The fact that this animal simply speaks rather ruins that aspect of the story, and certainly undermines any sense of realism. So why does Paul’s lion speak? A few possibilities present themselves. First, it is possible that the Acts Paul is here dependent upon the talking dog of the Acts Pet. (or, perhaps better to say, a tradition concerning Peter and a talking dog later included in the Actus Ver.). 121 Maybe our author even (in an act of apostolic one-upsmanship) gives Paul a talking lion, king of the beasts, to top Peter’s dog. Also possible is that the talking reflects a lingering unease with the baptism of a beast; by giving the animal a human voice the author underscores the fact that this is no ordinary lion, perhaps also implying that the sacrament should not be extended to animals (one’s pet, for example) who do not speak up and ask for it. A third possibility is perhaps the most intriguing but also, given the state of the texts, the most difficult to evaluate. Both P.Hamb. and P.Bodmer LXI indicate that the episode takes place on Pentecost, 122 that is, a day strongly associated with miraculous speech. In P.Bodmer LXI, moreover, Paul’s telling of his encounter with the lion is precipitated by the appearance 120

Schneemelcher, “Der getaufte Löwe,” 325. See above, chapter VI. Schneemelcher, in fact, raises and dismisses the possibility, though he considers it more broadly as an explanation for the episode in its entirety (see Schneemelcher, “Der getaufte Löwe,” 324). 122 P.Hamb. 1.31; P.Bodmer LXI, 1.16–2.12. 121

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of an angel, whom all can see but whose language only Paul speaks. 123 It is tempting to surmise that our author somehow linked the lion’s speech with the language miracles of Pentecost, but, given the fragmentary nature of our texts, nothing further can be said. Identifying a “composition history” of the episode does not, of course, limit its meaning. The various versions of the story itself (including the nonChristian stories and, in addition to the Greek and Coptic texts of the Acts Paul, the Epistle of Pelagia and perhaps even the George Bernard Shaw play) indicate that adaptations of the same narrative can have very different significance. A single version, too, may lend itself to multiple readings, particularly on a symbolic level. The various interpretations of this episode provide, in fact, a veritable study in the multivalence of animals as symbols. For H. J. W. Drijvers, the episode hinges on the identification of the lion with death. In P.Bodmer LXI we are told that the lion enters the scene from “the valley of the burying-ground” (4.4-6) 124 and, after being baptized, departs rejoicing into the country, where it meets a lioness but does not “turn his face to her” (5.22). In the encratite thought-world to which the Acts Paul belong, death is associated with sexuality; in the baptism episode, then, the lion symbolizes the movement from death/sexuality to life/encratism. 125 In support of Drijvers, Tamás Adamik has argued from natural history sources that the lion was indeed particularly associated with sexuality. 126 Many other animals are, however, more closely linked with sexuality and lechery, and thus the association is better left, as Drijvers does, as a secondary association rooted in encratite thought. 127 A stronger case can be made for the connection of lions and death. The lion is a frequent subject in sepulchral art, in depictions either of lion hunts or of lions devouring their prey. J. M. C. Toynbee has argued that the 123

The angel delivers a message of warning: “there is a great tumult coming upon you at Pentecost” (P.Bodmer LXI, 2.4–6). In the immediate context (i.e., before the reader knows this animal will soon be met again) the lion story seems to be Paul’s effort at encouraging the community: sometimes even in the face of certain death (e.g., when one meets a lion in the wilderness) there is a positive outcome. Paul’s conclusion of the story, however, is obscure: “See now, you also, Aquila and Priscilla, have become believers in the living God; and in that you have been instructed (?) you have preached the Word (?)” (NTApoc5 265, including question marks; cf. Coptic text and French translation in Kasser and Luisier, 322–3). The text immediately preceding involves the lion’s encounter with a lioness: “A lioness met him, and he did not turn his face to her but turned away and fled towards to the woods” (P. Bodmer LXI p. 5, lns. 21-24). It seems that Aquila and Priscilla are being compared to the lion – but what could this mean? 124 Cf. Eze 37:1ff. 125 Drijvers, “Der getaufte Löwe,” 187–88. 126 Tamás Adamik, “The Baptized Lion in the Acts of Paul,” 67. Adamik cites Pliny Nat. 8.42. 127 Drijvers, op. cit.

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latter is “a symbol of the ravening power of death,” while the former “can be interpreted as victories of the soul over death.” 128 Rordorf, too, reads the lion as a symbol of sexuality ultimately leading to death, though he emphasizes the platonic use of the lion as symbol for the passionate or spirited part (qumo,j) of the tripartite soul. 129 Adamik would broaden the symbolic horizon even further, taking the lion as a symbol also of power, wisdom and justice, noting also its association with the tribe of Judah, in Gen 49:9, and consequently with Christ, in Rev 5:5. 130 Any or all of these leonine symbols could be at play in our episode; none detracts from the more simple enjoyment of the story as the Christian version of a highly entertaining anecdote about the unlikely friendship between a man and a lion. As H. J. W. Drijvers reminds us, an author may have multiple intentions in the composition of a single text. Of our episode he writes: “[Der getaufte Löwe] hat einem klar erkennbaren Symbolwert, der auf jeden Fall für einem Teil der Hörer und Leser deutlich war. Das führt mich zu der These, daß die Acta Pauli einerseits als ein volkstümliches Erbauungsbuch betrachtet warden können, und andererseits auch auf einer anderen symbolischen Ebene gelesen warden können.” 131

D. Conclusion: Multiple Lion Tales We have considered both Thecla’s interactions with a friendly lioness and the episode of Paul and the baptized lion in comparison with contemporary lionrelated literature. I have proposed a composition history for the baptized lion, accepting the suggestion of Metzger and others that this is essentially a Christianized version of the Androcles episode. But what about Thecla’s lioness? This episode does not bear as close a resemblance to any other single lion account as Paul’s lion does to Androcles’. Nevertheless, several key elements are known in other reports from the arena: I’m thinking here of Martial’s report of a tigress killing a tiger and, in particular, Statius’ long description of the death of a beloved tame lion, whose loss was mourned by the crowds and Caesar himself. 132 It seems very likely that the author of the Acts Thecla has taken existing, widely circulating reports of memorable events from the arena 128

Toynbee, 65–8. Willy Rordorf, “Quelques jalons pour une interpretation symbolique des Actes de Paul,” in Early Christian Voices. In Texts, Traditions and Symbols. Essays in Honor of François Bovon (ed. D. H. Warren, A. G. Brock, D. W. Pao; Boston/Leiden, Brill, 2003), 251– 265; cf. Klauck, Apokryphe Apostelakten, 80. See Plato, Rep. 588–9. 130 Adamik, 73. 131 Drijvers, “Der getaufte Löwe,” 188. 132 Statius, Silvae, 2.5. 129

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and has dramatized them in his narrative, casting Thecla in the center of it all. The comparison of both Christian episodes with contemporary lion literature reveals an author who is well versed in the popular anecdotes of his day, but also one who knows how to create some popularity for his own composition. It is already clear that the reports he borrows and reworks or dramatizes (if the reader will excuse the pun) “have legs.” These are stories that people want to hear and tell; Christianized versions can (if you will) “piggy-back” on the existing popularity of the original tale. Finally, is there a discernable attitude towards animals and the natural world in these episodes? While, as discussed above, the multiple lion stories circulating in the first centuries C.E. served various purposes, the strongest theme is the unlikely friendship between human and beast – the same theme represented in tile in the Roman mosaic at Nennig. However, various elements within this larger theme might be emphasized: Pliny, for instance, tells the stories of Mentor and Elpis as examples of mercy among animals (clementiae exempla) (Nat. hist. 8.56); Aelian, in contrast, introduces and concludes Androcles’ story as evidence that animals have the capacity for memory (i;dion dh. tw/n zw|,wn kai. h` mnh,mh) (Nat. an. 7.48). What are the emphases, then, in the Christian episodes? As noted above, the reaction of the lioness to Thecla is spontaneous; there is no back-story, no previous favor to the animal on Thecla’s part. Here, Thecla’s character is underscored; much like the episode involving Apollonius of Tyana and the temple dogs (described above), the behavior of the lioness towards the heroine confirms that there is something special or possibly, as is the case with Apollonius, something divine about her. Thecla herself, as we have seen, identifies this quality at the end of the narrative: she is the slave of God. 133 A fundamental assumption at play in this episode is the capacity of the lioness to recognize the divine. While not all animals in the narrative are on God’s side, so to speak, the teams do not divide along species-lines as they do in the Acts Andr., with all beasts and beastly humans opposed to Christianity. Here, animals have the same ability to choose their masters that human beings do. The positive attitude towards the animal kingdom, granting them the ability to recognize divine qualities among human beings, is even more pronounced in the episode of the baptized lion. In the Coptic papyrus, not only does the lion recognize Paul as someone special, it recognizes both his ability to confer baptism, and the power of the act. Here, the conclusion to Pliny’s reports on Mentor and Elpis offers a nice comparison: “Let us not wonder that thereafter the tracks of human beings are looked for by beasts, when they hope for help from one of the animal race” (ne miremur postea vestigia hominum intellegi a feris, cum etiam auxilia ab uno animalium sperent) (Nat. hist. 133

Acts Thecla 37.

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8.58). According to Pliny, injured animals seek out human beings because they know that humans can help them – that they have a “healing touch.” Likewise, the lion, wishing to save his spiritual life, seeks out – of all creatures – the aid of the Christian. And, just as in Pliny’s report, the information conveyed about both lions and human beings is mutually corroborated. The lion’s recognition of Paul confirms that he is indeed a divine or otherwise holy man; at the same time, the lion’s behavior toward a man known to the reader to be a saint confirms the animal’s capacitiy to recognize him as such.

Chapter VIII

Animals in the Acts of Thomas A. Introduction While, as we have seen, there is little agreement among scholars on the chronology of the apocryphal acts of the apostles, there is a general consensus that the Acts Thom. was composed in Syria in the early third century C. E., making it the last of the five major acts to be written.1 Most also agree that the text was composed in a bilingual environment; while certain “Syrianisms” indicate that Syriac may have been the original language of composition, the Greek translation most likely appeared either simultaneously or soon thereafter. 2 Of the extant witnesses, however, the Greek text is generally regarded as representing the earliest tradition.3 This is the only major apocryphal act that seems to be extant in its entirety, though only one manuscript (the 11th century Paris gr. 1510) contains the whole text. The story begins at a drawing of lots: in Acts Thom. 1, the apostles are dividing up and assigning regions of the world for their missionary activity. Thomas draws India, but instantly refuses to go, claiming his “weakness of the flesh” would prevent such travel, and asking, “How can I, a Hebrew, go and preach the truth among the Indians?” Jesus appears to him in the night, telling him to go to India without fear, but the apostle is obstinate: “Send me wherever you will, but somewhere else! I am not going to the Indians!” The risen Jesus ultimately has his way, selling Thomas – with the help of some crafty semantics – as a carpenter slave to an Indian merchant. After Jesus and the merchant have worked out an agreement, the two approach Thomas in the agora: “Is this your master?” (ou-to,j evstin o` despo,thj sou*) the merchant asks, indicating Jesus; “Yes, he’s my Lord” (nai.( ku,rio,j mou, evstin), Thomas responds, and the sale is thus made official. The narrative that follows comprises thirteen acts (pra,xeij) describing Thomas’ travels and adventures in India: the first six are each a self-contained unit; at act seven a continuous 1 See A. F. J. Klijn, The Acts of Thomas. Introduction, Text and Commentary (2nd ed.; Leiden: Brill, 2003), 15; H. J. W. Drijvers, “The Acts of Thomas,” in Schneemelcher, NTApoc.5, 2.323. 2 Klijn, Acts of Thomas, 3; cf. Vööbus, 66–67. 3 Drijvers, “Acts of Thomas,” 323.

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narrative begins that extends to the martyrdom of the apostle. As with all of the apocryphal acts, scholars have long noted motifs and plot elements shared with “popular literature,” especially the Graeco-Roman romance novels. 4 H. J. W. Drijvers, however, is undoubtedly correct in suggesting that it is not justified to describe the ATh – as is widely done – as popular literature, in which we can recognize motifs of the ancient novel in a popular and cruder form. Rather they came into being in a learned milieu, to which symbolism and typology were familiar and in which certain forms of biblical exegesis had already developed, which comes to light also in other writings from the same area in space and time. 5

As the preceding chapters have shown, the simplistic designation as “popular literature,” with the recognition of only crude literary skill, is no more justified in the cases of the Acts John, Acts Pet. or Acts Paul. Nevertheless, the fact that the Acts Thom. survives in its entirety allows a unique opportunity to view compositional technique across the narrative as a whole. Biblical quotation and allusion are present throughout the text, as are references to a bevy of natural historical information about the animals included. Close readings of the episodes in which animals figure prominently reveal a complex and often subtle narrative, confirming Drijvers’ evaluation. In this text, biblical and zoological sources are brought together with great effect. In addition to indicating the author’s literary skill, the animal episodes in the Acts Thom. offer key insights into the much debated question of the author’s basic worldview. For the better part of the last century, scholars regarded the Acts Thom. as a gnostic text. 6 This position is supported by the majority of interpretations of the hymnic portions of the text, particularly the “Hymn of the Pearl,” 7 many taking it, following Reitzenstein, Foerster and Bornkamm, as a version of the so-called gnostic “redeemed Redeemer” myth. 8 More recently this assumption has been questioned. Drijvers, for ex4 See, for example, Söder, op. cit.; cf. Richard I. Pervo, “Early Christian Fiction,” in Greek Fiction: The Greek Novel in Context (ed. J. R. Morgan and Richard Stoneman; London: Routledge, 1994), 239–254. 5 Drijvers, “Acts of Thomas,” 327. 6 See, for example, Günther Bornkamm’s introduction to the Acts Thom. in Neutestamentliche Apokryphen vol. 2 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1964), 297–308; cf., more recently, Helmut Koester, History and Literature of Early Christianity (New York: DeGruyter, 1982), 207–9. 7 See, for example, Erwin Preuschen, Zwei gnostische Hymnen (Gieszen: J. Ricker, 1904). For an opposing view, however, see Gerard P. Luttikhuizen, “The Hymn of Jude Thomas, the Apostle” in The Apocryphal Acts of Thomas (ed. Jan N. Bremmer; Leuven: Peeters, 2001), 101–14. 8 See Luttikhuizen, “Hymn,” 103–6 for a brief history of the question in modern scholarship.

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ample, writes: “All the characteristic marks of the classic gnostic systems are completely lacking. There is no mention of a fall in the Pleroma; the creation is not the work of a wicked Demiurge, and matter is therefore not in itself evil.” 9 Indeed, the nature of the physical world is very much the issue in both the Acts Thom. itself and the interpretations of it. The text espouses a rigorous asceticism akin to that in the other major apocryphal acts: all sexual relations, even within marriage, are forbidden; the apostle, when not fasting, seems to survive only on bread and salt; all property and wealth are to be given away. In this text, however, the teaching is delivered with particularly harsh language, as in the following: “Know this, that if you get rid of this filthy intercourse you become temples, holy and pure, freed from the scourges and pains … and you will not gird yourselves with the cares of life and children, the end of whom is destruction” (Acts Thom. 12). Some scholars, therefore, have read the Acts Thom. as completely rejecting the created world. Arthur Vööbus writes: “[The Acts Thom.] takes a hostile attitude to all that is in this world,” 10 and further, “this understanding of the fundamentals...is shared fully with other groups such as Marcionites, Valentinians and various branches of Encratites.” 11 In contrast, Drijvers, again, sees no true “contempt for the human condition and hatred of the body” in the Acts Thom. or elsewhere in Syrian Christianity. 12 This is a thorny issue to be sure. There is no clear evidence that the author of the Acts Thom. maintains a distinction between the God of Jesus and the creator of this world (as Marcionites and Valentinians do), 13 and thus this material creation – God’s creation – should be on some level good. Nevertheless, it is difficult not to read the extreme asceticism of the text with Vööbus as a rejection of the body and all other aspects of the material, natural world. In this text, the tension between rigorous asceticism and a positive view of animals and nature (described in chapter two), really comes to a head. Given the context of these two seemingly incompatible aspects of the Acts Thom., the three acts in which animals figure prominently provide overlooked opportunities to investigate the representation and evaluation of the created world. My aim in the following analyses, then, is to offer, in addition to new interpreta9

Drijvers, “Acts of Thomas,” 336–7. See also Klijn, “The Acts of Thomas Revisited” in The Apocryphal Acts of Thomas (ed. Jan N. Bremmer; Leuven: Peeters, 2001), 8. 10 Arthur Vööbus, History of Asceticism in the Syrian Orient (Louvain: Secrétariat du CorpusSCO, 1958), 85. 11 Ibid. 89. 12 H. J. W. Drijvers, “Hellenistic and Oriental Origins” in East of Antioch (London: Variorum Reprints, 1984), 31. The proper understanding of the Acts Thom. on this point is key in the broader discussion of the origins and development of asceticism in Syria. 13 See, for example, Acts Thom. 34, where Jesus is described as enlightening “his own creation.”

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tions of these episodes (particularly those concerning the colt’s ass and the wild asses), a contribution to the discussion of the evaluation of the natural world in the Acts Thom. as a whole. I will show that the tension between rigorous asceticism and a positive evaluation of the material world is resolved through the clever casting of animals with very telling characteristics into key roles in the narrative.

B. The Lovesick, Murderous Snake Act three is the first of the acts in the Acts Thom. in which animals play important, even speaking roles. This act begins, as each of the three do, with Thomas on the road. The episode is relatively brief and will be discussed in detail, therefore I quote it in its entirety: And the apostle left to go where the Lord commanded him; and when he arrived near the second mile [mark] and turned a little from the road, he saw a corpse of a handsome youth lying [there], and said: “Lord, was it for this that you led me to come out here, in order that I might see this trial? Well then, let your will be done, as you wish.” And he began to pray and to say, “Oh Lord, judge of the living and the dead, of the living who are standing and the dead who lie [here], both master of all and father – but father, not of the souls in bodies (ouv tw/n evn sw,masin ouvsw/n yucw/n), but of those that have departed (avlla. tw/n evxelqousw/n); for you are master and judge of the souls in pollutions. Come in this hour in which I call upon you and show your glory in this man lying here.” And having turned to those following him, he said: “This matter did not come about idly; rather, the enemy enacted and wrought this thing so that in it he might strike. Indeed, observe that he used no other form and acted through no other animal than his subject (diV a;llou zw|,ou avllV h' dia. tou/ u`phko,ou auvtou/).” And when he said these things, a great snake (dra,kwn me,gaj) came out from [its] lair, darting its head and lashing its tail upon the ground, and in a loud voice said to the apostle: “I will say before you for what reason I killed this man, since you came for this purpose, to put to shame my deeds.” And the apostle said, “Yes, tell it.” And the snake [said]: “There is a certain lovely woman in this district up ahead; and as she was passing through my [abode], upon seeing her I loved her, and I followed and kept watch over her. And I found this youth kissing her, and he even had sex with her and did other shameful things with her. Now these things are easy for me to disclose to you, for I know you are Christ’s twin, the one who always hinders our nature (to.n fu,sin h`mw/n), but not wanting to trouble this girl, I did not kill him at that time, but I waited and struck and killed him as he came by in the evening, indeed especially since he dared to do this on the Lord’s day.” The apostle questioned him, saying: “Tell me of what sort of seed and what sort of race you are (poi,aj spora/j kai. poi,ou ge,nouj u`pa,rceij)?” And he said to him: “I am a reptile of reptile nature (e`rpusth.j e`rpustou/ fu,sewj) and a harmful son of a harmful father. I am the son of that one who misled and struck the four standing brothers; I am the son of that one who sits upon the throne in the [region] under heaven, of the one who takes his own from those who borrow; I am the son of that one who girds the sphere; I am kin of that one who is outside the ocean, whose tail lies in his own mouth; I am the one who went in through the fence into paradise and told Eve as much as my father commanded me to tell her; I am the one who kindled and inflamed Cain to kill his own brother, and on account of me thorns and prickles

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sprang up on the earth; I am the one who threw the angels down from above, having bound them with desires for women so that earthborn children might be born of them and that I might do my will with them; I am the one who hardened Pharaoh’s heart, so that he might murder the children of Israel and enslave them in a yoke of hardness; I am the one who led the multitude astray in the wilderness, when they made the calf; I am the one who inflamed Herod and kindled Caiaphas with the false accusation of the lie before Pilate, for this was fitting for me; I am the one who inflamed and bought off Judas so that he hand over the Christ to death; I am the one who inhabits and holds fast the abyss of Tartarus, but the son of God did me wrong – me unwilling – and picked out his own from me; I am kinsman of that one who will come from the east, to whom indeed authority is given to do whatever he wishes on the earth.” And when the snake had said these things, with all that crowd listening, the apostle, lifting up his voice on high, said: “Finally stop, most shameless one, and be ashamed, entirely mortified. For your end, destruction, has come. Indeed, do not dare to speak what you have done through those who have become subject to you. I command you in the name of Jesus, that one who until now is doing battle against you on account of his own people, that you suck out your poison which you cast into this man and, drawing it up, take it out of him.” But the snake said: “The time of our destruction has not yet come, as you said; why do you compel me to take what I cast into this man and die before my time? For, indeed, whenever my father should draw up and suck out what he injected into creation, then his end has come.” But the apostle said to him: “Show, then, the nature of your father.” And going forth, the snake set his mouth upon the youth’s wound and sucked the bile out of him. And little by little, the youth’s color, as it was purple, whitened, and the snake swelled up. Now when the snake drew all the bile into himself, the youth got to his feet and stood, and, running, fell at the feet of the apostle. The snake, having swelled, burst and died, 14 and his poison and bile was poured out. In the place where his poison poured out a great chasm appeared, and that snake was swallowed up. The apostle said to the king and his brother: “Send workers and fill up that place, and lay foundations and build a house upon it, so that it might be a dwelling for strangers.” (Acts Thom. 30–33)

The snake’s role ends here, but the act continues with a conversation between the young man and the apostle, the tearful youth describing his out-of-body visions of Jesus and begging Thomas to allow him to see him again. The youth assures the apostle that he is a new man, saying: “I have destroyed that kinsman of the night who compelled me to sin by his deeds, and I have discovered that figure of light to be my own kinsman ... I found the one who showed beautiful things to me so that I might partake of them, who, driving away the fog, enlightens his own creation, healing its wounds and overthrowing its enemies” (Acts Thom. 34). Thomas and the youth walk to the city, hand in hand, and the apostle instructs him to think less of his physical body and this world, quoting Matt 6:25–26: “do not be anxious about your life, what you will eat or drink, nor about your body, what you will wear, for life is more than food and the body is more than clothing.” Thomas tells the youth that he must remove himself from “desires that do not endure, and wealth that 14

Cf. the death of Judas, Acts 1:18.

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is left here, and that possession which is of the earth and grows old, and clothing which deteriorates, the beauty which grows old and disappears, and even the entire body which grows old and becomes dust, turning back to its own nature” (Acts Thom. 37). If the youth turns to Christ, the apostle explains, “he will be a spring gushing in a thirsty land, a room full of food in the place of the hungry, and rest for your souls and a doctor also of your bodies” (Acts Thom. 37). The act ends with the crowds, who we learn have been listening, begging that Thomas’ God overlook their previous sins; the apostle replies that God will not count against them sins committed in ignorance. Before the snake even appears on the scene in act three, the apostle recognizes that the youth has been murdered by the animal that is the “subject” (u`ph,kooj) of the enemy. When asked by Thomas “of what sort of seed and what sort of race” it is, the snake identifies itself with the evil serpent of paradise – the primary, though not exclusive, role of the snake in ancient Jewish and Christian literature. His self-identification comprises fourteen “I am” phrases: with the first five, he identifies himself as the “son of” (ui`o,j eivmi) or “kinsman of” (suggenh,j eivmi) another, the next eight are simple “I am” (evgw, eivmi) statements, and in the last he identifies himself again as the “kinsman of” another. The eight “I am” statements all have biblical reference, 15 though only in the case of Eve in paradise is the snake actually implicated in the biblical text. 16 The first five identifications are a little more difficult. As Adamik has suggested, 17 the snake’s description of himself as a “reptile of a reptile nature” (e`rpusth.j e`rpustou/ fu,sewj) could again refer to Gen. 3:14: “The Lord God said to the serpent, ‘Because you have done this, cursed are you above all cattle, and above all wild animals; upon your belly you shall go, and dust you shall eat all the days of your life.’” This seems likely especially insofar as the Greek term refers directly to the fact that the animal “creeps” on the ground, the punishment here inflicted on the snake by God for the temptation of Eve. The “four standing brothers” are something of a mystery. These may represent the four elements, or perhaps the four archangels who stand before God’s throne; either interpretation is plausible, neither is definitive.18 The next statement, “I am son of the one who sits on the throne in the [region] under heaven,” seems to refer to to the devil as ruler of this world, as, for example, 15 Cf. Gen 3:1ff, 4:5ff, 3:18, 6:1–4; Exo 1ff, 32; Matt 2, Luke 23:6–16; Matt 26:3ff, 27:11ff, John 18:28ff; Matt 26:14–16; Rev 9:11. 16 Note also that in the biblical text Paradise is not yet fenced; this motif is found, however, in The Life of Adam and Eve (Apocalypse of Moses) 17. See Adamik, “Serpent,” 118–9. 17 Adamik, “Serpent,” 119. 18 See discussions in Klijn, Acts of Thomas, 93; Adamik, “Serpent,” 119–121; and Drijvers, “Acts of Thomas,” 328–9.

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in John 12:31, 14:30 and 16:11. The one “who takes his own from those who borrow” recalls the following exchange from Acts Thom. 29: When he said these things, some of those present said to him: “It is time for the creditor to take his debt.” And [Thomas] said to them: “The master of the debt always wants to take more, but let us give what is necessary to him.” And when he had blessed them he took bread and oil and herbs and salt, and blessed and gave to them; but he himself continued in his fasting, for the Lord’s day was about to dawn.

In this passage, the satisfaction of hunger seems to be equated with paying a debt, a notion found also in Origen. 19 The snake as the one “who girds the sphere,” lying outside the ocean, with its tail in its mouth is the ouroboros, ubiquitous in Greek antiquity. While the snake in its own speech points quite clearly to biblical texts to identify itself, the plot of the episode points to parallels in Greek literature, particularly in the natural historians. It should be noted, first, that India was well known in antiquity for snakes of enormous size. 20 Aelian, for example, reports the following: When Alexander was agitating some parts of India and seizing others, he came upon many different animals, and among them a snake that lived in a cave, and which the Indians, regarding it as sacred, would supplicate with much superstition. And so the Indians took every measure in begging Alexander not to set upon the animal; he agreed. Now as the army was passing the cave and there was a noise, the snake perceived it; for it is the sharpest-hearing and sharpest-sighted of animals. And so it let out a great hiss and snort, so that all were terrified and astonished. It was said to be seventy cubits long, but not even all of it was exposed, for it only stuck out its head. Indeed, its eyes are reported to be the size of a large, round, Macedonian shield. (Nat. an. 15.21) 21

Snakes of India were of such size that they could wage constant warfare with elephants, according to the reports of both Aelian and Pliny. 22 Pliny quotes Megasthenes in writing that “in India snakes grow so large that they are able to swallow stags and bulls” (Nat. 8.13). Philostratus, in the Vit. Apoll., interrupts the story of the Pythagorean sage for a rather lengthy report on the astounding qualities of the snakes of India. He reports: “The entire Indian region is enveloped with snakes of enormous size; the marsh is full of them, the mountains are full, not one hill is empty” (Vit. Apoll. 3.6). The snakes of the marsh have beards and eyes made of “fiery stone”; the mountain snakes have 19

Origen, Comm. Matth. 17.27; see Klijn, Acts of Thomas, 88. In fact, most far-flung regions of the world seem to have been regarded as bursting with “snakes of enormous size”; see, for example, Aelian, Nat. an. 2.21. 21 An abbreviated version of the same story is found also in Nat. an. 16.39, where the report is attributed to Onesicritus of Astypalaea. 22 Aelian, Nat. an. 6.21; Pliny, Nat. 8.11. 20

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golden scales, bushy beards, and prominent eyebrows. Both types are enormous and terrifying, and have quasi-magical powers. 23 Stories of snakes in love with human beings were actually quite popular in antiquity, with several variations on the theme circulating in the first centuries C.E. One anecdote tells of a snake that is in love with a girl and visits her at night, coiling itself around her body, then departing at daybreak. Plutarch gives it as follows: The snake that fell in love with the Aetolian girl used to visit her at night, and slipping under her body next to her skin and coiling himself up he did her no harm, neither intentionally nor accidentally, but always decorously departed at daybreak. Now, since it did this constantly, her relatives moved the woman to a far-off house. For three or four nights it did not come but, as is likely, went about searching and wandering; but somehow finding her and encircling her, not gently, as he was accustomed to, but more roughly, he bound her hands to her body with its coils and lashed her legs with the end of its tail, displaying an anger with a certain light and affectionate forbearance more than punishment. (Soll. an. 972e–f)

A virtually identical anecdote is told by Aelian of a girl in the land of the “Judaeans or Edomites” in the time of Herod the king. Aelian concludes the account with the following remark: “Therefore he who rules even Zeus himself and the other gods [i.e., Eros] does not overlook the irrational beasts (a;loga), but indicates how it is with them through these and other occurrences” (Nat. an. 6.17). Another lovesick snake anecdote involves a young and handsome Thessalian shepherd: Now a snake of enormous size fell in love with Aleuas and crept up to him and kissed his hair and with its tongue licked and cleaned the face of its beloved, and brought him as gifts the many spoils of its hunting. Now if a ram was in love with Glauce the harpist, and a dolphin an ephebe at Iassus, what prevents a snake, too, from falling in love with a shepherd in the bloom of youth – the most sharp-sighted creature from being a good judge of magnificent beauty? (Aelian, Nat. an. 6.17)

Yet another version describes a female snake in love with an Egyptian gooseherd: Visiting her beloved, she warned him in a dream about the plots hatched against him by another beast, which was her mate, so to speak; out of jealousy against the boy on account of its wife, the male was attempting to do these things. For his part, the boy would listen and obey and guard himself. Homer gave voice to a horse, but Nature (fu,sij), who Euripides said “cares nothing for laws,” gave voice to an Asp. (Aelian, Nat. an. 4.54) 24

23

Philostratus, Vit. Apoll. 3.6–8. Note that Aelian cites as the locus classicus for the talking animal Achilles’ talking horse from the Il. 19.404. 24

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This passage parallels several aspects of the episode in the Acts Thom.: not only is there a snake in love with a human, but we see here also both the jealous, murderous wrath of a snake, and a talking snake (if only in a dream). The popularity of these stories, evident in their repetition and variations in multiple sources, suggests a strong likelihood that the author of the Acts Thom. was familiar with one or more versions. Like the author of the Acts Paul (in the episode of Paul and the baptized lion), he has taken an existing anecdote and dramatized it as an episode within the larger narrative. In the process, our author has taken full advantage of a thematic overlap between biblical sources and the popular anecdotes of the natural historians and essayists. The biblical snake, i.e. the tempter associated with the introduction of sexuality, fits rather well with these stories of lustful snakes. The anecdotes as told by Aelian and Plutarch are meant primarily to demonstrate that animals are capable of (or even victims of) love, just as humans; for Plutarch, this anecdote is told as evidence in the debate over animal rationality. The author of the Acts Thom., in his narrativization, has tweaked the story just a bit, highlighting rather that animals are capable of human licentiousness and jealous revenge. The fact that the Acts Thom. takes place in India means that the stage is perfectly set for a story of this sort: everyone knows that India is literally crawling with enormous, perhaps even magical, snakes. Notably, the fact that this animal speaks is not, unlike the episodes of the talking dog and talking lion in the Acts Pet. and Acts Paul, treated as miraculous per se; it is not commented on by the apostle or any other character. Perhaps the biblical precedent in the serpent of Genesis, whom this snake clearly identifies as his kinsman, is to be taken as a sufficient explanation for the phenomenon; this seems to be the case with the ass’ colt, as will be discussed below. Like the dog in the Acts Pet., however, the snake dies at the end of the episode. The death of this snake vis-à-vis the death or survival of other speaking animals will be taken up shortly; at the moment, we might make a few observations specific to this episode. After sucking its own poison out of the corpse of the youth, the snake swells and explodes, pouring poison and bile on the earth; a chasm then appears where the poison has spilled and the snake is swallowed up into the earth. A rather opposite situation is reported by Aelian. He writes that the earth will refuse to receive a snake that has committed manslaughter: But any snake that kills a human being, as the Indians say (and they cite as witnesses many of those from Libya and the inhabitants of Thebes in Egypt), can no longer go down and enter its own home, since the earth does not receive it, but casts it out of the family fold like an exile, so to speak. From then on, like a vagrant and wanderer it moves around, in the open air through summer and winter; neither its mate goes near it any more, nor do those begotten by it recognize their father. (Nat. an. 12.32)

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The apostle’s instructions that the chasm be filled and a “dwelling for strangers” be built on the site are quite mysterious. I can only point to the slaying of the snake at the founding of Thebes 25 and the appearance of numerous snakes at the founding of Alexandria 26 as parallels connecting snakes with the foundations of buildings. Any connection between snakes and “dwellings for strangers” in particular remains obscure.

C. Two Ass Tales As act four begins, the apostle is standing on a highway and speaking to a crowd when the colt of an ass walks up, stands directly before him, opens his mouth and says: “Oh, twin of Christ, apostle of the most high and fellow-initiate of the hidden word of Christ, you who receive his hidden sayings, the co-worker of the son of God, you who although being free became a slave and although bought have brought many into freedom; kinsman of the great race (o` suggenh.j tou/ mega,lou ge,nouj) that condemned the enemy and ransomed his own, you who became the cause of life for many in the land of the Indians; for you came to wayward men, and through your appearance and your divine words they now turn to the God of truth who sent you; get up and sit upon me and rest until you arrive at the city.” (Acts Thom. 39)

The apostle replies: “Oh, Jesus Christ cognizant (noere,) of the perfect compassion; oh, quiet and peace (h` h`suci,a kai. h` hvremi,a), now speaking even in the unreasoning animals (evn toi/j avlo,goij zw|,oij); oh, hidden rest apparent also through action, our savior and nourisher, preserving us and giving us rest in foreign bodies (evn sw,masin avllotri,oij); oh, savior of our souls; bubbling sweet and unending, fountain well-fixed and pure and never turbid; oh, defender and helper in the contest of your own slaves; you who turn away the enemy and scare him away from us, you who contend in many contests on our behalf and make us win in everything; our athlete, true and unconquered; our commander, holy and victorious; glorious one, providing to your own a joy that never passes away and a remission that has no affliction at all; the good shepherd who gave himself up for his own sheep and who conquered the wolf and ransomed his own lambs and led them into good pasture; we glorify and praise you and your invisible father and your holy spirit and the mother of all creation (th.n mhte,ra pasw/n kti,sewn).” (Acts Thom. 39) 27 25

Apollodorus, Bibliotheca 3.22; Pausanias, Descr. 9.10.1–5. Hist. Alex. 1.32. 27 In the Syriac text, the apostle speaks before the ass: “And Judas said: ‘It is not without the direction of God that this colt has come hither. But to you I say, o colt, that, by the grace of our Lord, there shall be given to you speech before these multitudes who are standing here; and do you say whatsoever you wish that they may believe in the God of truth, whom we preach.’” The Syriac continues, “And the mouth of the colt was opened, and it spoke like a man by the power of our Lord, and said to him … ” (trans. A.F.J. Klijn, The Acts of Thomas, 26

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Next, despite affirming that Christ is in some manner speaking in this ass, “after standing there for some time as if astounded,” 28 the apostle asks: “Who 29 are you and to whom do you belong? for the things emerging from your mouth are astounding and paradoxical – things which are hidden to the many” (Acts Thom. 40). To this, the ass’ colt replies: “I am of that race that served Balaam (th/j genea/j eivmi evkei,nhj th/j evxuphrethsame,nhj tw|/ Balaa,m), and your Lord and your teacher sat upon one belonging to me by race (kata. ge,noj). And now I was sent to give you rest by sitting upon me; and that I may take faith 30 and that portion might be added to me (prosteqh|/ moi h` meri.j evkei,nh) which I am now about to obtain through the service which I do for you; and whenever I serve you, it will be taken from me” (Acts Thom. 40).

The apostle, however, refuses to ride upon the colt, saying: “That one who has given this gift to you is powerful enough that it be fulfilled to perfection in you and those who belong to you by race; for I am too weak and feeble for this mystery” (Acts Thom. 40).

When the colt persists, begging and supplicating the apostle, Thomas relents and rides the colt as far as the city gates. As to the multitude to whom the apostle was speaking prior to the colt’s arrival, we are told, “they were speaking with him, some going ahead and some following, and all were running, wishing to see the outcome and how he would dismiss the colt” (Acts Thom. 40). Upon arrival at the gates, Thomas dismounts the colt and dismisses him, saying: “Depart and be kept where you were” (Acts Thom. 41). The ass’ colt immediately drops dead at the feet of the apostle, to the great sorrow of the 108). Klijn seems to take the Syriac as the more original text in this instance, though without argumentation. The Greek text, however, may well be the original. It accords well with the other two episodes involving articulate animals inasmuch as in the case of both the snake and the wild ass their speaking roles begin with no particular effort to introduce or explain the phenomenon. The apostle’s statement in the Syriac (“It is not without the direction of God that this colt … ”) is reminiscent of several rabbinic stories reporting rabbis’ recognitions of animals serving as the instruments of God, particularly to deliver divine punishment, as in the following example: “Rabbi Jannai was sitting and lecturing at the gate of his town, when he saw a snake coming on in great haste, slithering to and fro, from side to side. ‘This [snake] is going to carry out a mission,’ observed he. Immediately a report spread in the town, ‘So-andso has been bitten by a snake and died’” (Eccles R. 5:8f., par.5, quoted from Shochet, 132). 28 Greek reads pollh.n de. w[ran staqei.j o` avpo,stoloj e;kplhktoj w[sper gegonw,j; I have translated Bonnet’s suggestion of w[sper e;kplhktoj gegonw,j, simply inverting the word order. 29 Greek reads ti,noj ei= kai. ti,noj u`pa,rceij; I have translated Bonnet’s suggestion of ti,j for the first ti,noj. 30 Syriac reads: “that thereby the faith of these might be confirmed”; Klijn prefers the Greek text inasmuch as he believes the colt “has to be identified with the people of God on which Christ is riding” (Klijn, Acts of Thomas, 111), a suggestion that will be treated below.

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gathered multitude. They ask Thomas to “make him live” and to “raise him,” but the apostle refuses, saying: “I am able to raise him through the name of Jesus Christ, but this is entirely beneficial; for the one who gave speech to him so that he might talk was able to make him not die; I do not raise him not because I am unable, but because this is suitable and beneficial to him (to. sumballo,menon auvtw|/ kai. sumfe,ron).” (Acts Thom. 41)

Thomas then commands them to dig a trench and bury the body, which they do, and thus act four closes. Despite the fact that this episode directly follows that of the speaking snake (and so the notion of a speaking animal has already been introduced) the appearance of the colt on the scene is rather abrupt; his arrival is unexpected and his speech begins, at least in the Greek text, without introduction. 31 Even if the snake’s capacity for speech is understood with reference to the serpent of Genesis, the reader may still wonder why this ass can talk and why he so particularly desires that the apostle, who has expressed no urgent need for rest, ride upon his back to the city. Although the apostle asks only “who are you and to whom do you belong,” all these questions are immediately answered in the colt’s reply. The answers are provided by the colt’s genealogical citation of biblical precedent: as Balaam’s ass was given voice and spoke to his master in Num 22, thus this colt, too, as member of that race, has the power of speech; just as an ass provided conveyance to Jesus for his entry into Jerusalem, so the colt would offer this service to the apostle, Thomas. Thomas’ initial refusal to ride the colt is a bit perplexing, but it is by no means the only instance in the Acts Thom. where the apostle expresses ignorance of (feigned or real) and resistance to the divine plan. 32 More difficult to understand is the close of this act. The reader no doubt shares the internal audience’s grief: why must this animal die? why is the apostle unrelenting in his refusal to revive it? The apostle explains that he is able to resurrect the colt, but will not do so because its death was apparently intended by God, and this death is beneficial (sumfe,ron) to it. It is unclear, however, precisely how this immediate and premature – this is a colt, after all – death is beneficial to the animal. Klijn suggests that in the Acts Thom. death is always to be preferred to life, pointing to Thomas’ statement in 21, in which he describes death as being 31

See note 27 above. Thomas’ flat refusal to go to India at the beginning of the text surely falls into this category (Acts Thom. 1–2), as does his question to the captain in act eight, when the wild asses yoked to his cart have, without direction, gone directly to the intended destination: “But the apostle said to the captain? ‘Where is your dwelling, and where are you taking us?’ And [the captain] said to him: ‘You yourself know that we stand before the door; and these [wild asses] who have come with you through your command know better than I’” (Acts Thom. 71). 32

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“set free” from the world, and to the Syriac of 147, in which Thomas, in a final prayer, claims “the dead I have not brought to life and the living I have not brought to death.” 33 While in the Acts Thom. death – at least for the believer – is not to be feared, I am not convinced that it is always to be preferred. Two individuals, the youth who was slain by the snake in act three and the girl who was murdered by her lover in act six, are in fact brought to life. The resurrection of the youth, moreover, directly precedes this episode, and thus it is easy to understand the multitude’s expectation that Thomas will raise the ass’ colt as well. As to Thomas’ statement in the Syriac version of 147 (“the dead I have not brought to life”), it is technically true that Thomas himself has not directly raised anyone: the youth is brought to life when the snake sucks out his poison; in act six, it is the murderous youth who, with instruction from Thomas, actually raises his victim. The Greek text of 147, which reads “the dead I have brought to life and the living I have put to death,” is therefore not necessarily to be preferred to the Syriac. It is significant, however, that both the Greek and Syriac texts of 42 report that Thomas is planning to visit the parents of “the youth whom he brought to life,” the Greek text including also “after he was killed by the snake.” This passage follows immediately the death of the ass’ colt, and thus the reader is quickly reminded that resurrection is something that the apostle, on another occasion, has been willing to perform. As discussed with reference to Peter’s talking dog, 34 Matthews finds a more attractive solution in rabbinic traditions concerning the fate of Balaam’s ass. Num. Rab. 20:4 reports that “as soon as she [Balaam’s talking ass] finished speaking, she died, so that people should not say, ‘This is the animal that spoke,’ and so make of her an object of reverence.” 35 Another explanation from Num. Rab., however, takes a different tack, suggesting that Balaam’s ass died so that people should not say: “This was the animal that degraded Balaam.” The explanation continues: This serves to inform you that the Holy One, blessed be He, has consideration for the dignity of mankind, and, knowing their needs, He shut the mouth of the beasts [i.e., created them dumb]. For had they been able to speak, it would have been impossible to put them to the service of man or to stand one’s ground against them. For here was the ass, the most stupid of all beasts, and there was the wisest of all wise men, yet as soon as she opened her mouth he could not stand his ground against her! 36

33

Klijn, Acts of Thomas, 112. See above, chapter VI. 35 Num. Rab. 20:4, quoted from Schochet, Animal Life, 95. See Matthews, “Articulate Animals,” 224. 36 Num. Rab. 20:14, quoted from Schochet, 127–8. 34

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As we have seen, the immediate death of an animal at the close of its speaking role is a repeated occurrence in the apocryphal acts; the talking dog in the Acts Pet. also dies at the apostle’s feet, 37 as does the snake in Acts Thom. act three, though in this instance the animal’s death is clearly not to be construed simply as the avoidance of animal veneration. As Matthews notes, however, if the death of the ass’ colt is indeed an instance of “precautionary death,” this motif is not carried through the entire text. The talking wild ass of act eight, as we will see, does not die at the end of the episode, but is sent off by the apostle, along with his three companions, to return to his pastures; the narrative even describes how Thomas “stood and watched them so that they not be harmed by anyone, until, having gone into the distance, they were invisible” (Acts Thom. 81). That the talking wild ass is not required to die, a fact that is perhaps emphasized in the apostle’s concern for its and its companions’ safety, seems to rule out the appeal to Num. Rab. to explain the death of the ass in act four. In fact, the numerous parallels between act four and act eight (in each the apostle encounters on the highway an ass that has the power of speech and that, through an unusual set of circumstances, provides conveyance to the apostle) led Günther Bornkamm to describe these two acts, I think correctly, as doublets. 38 Both the similarities and key differences, not least of which is the divergence of the endings, require that the two acts be read in tandem. Act eight begins as Thomas departs from his assembly of converts, leaving them in the care of the deacon Xenophon, and goes with the captain of the king Misdaeus, introduced in act seven, whose wife and daughter have been possessed by demons. Not long after setting out in a wagon, the beasts of burden (u`pozu,gia) 39 that are drawing the vehicle grow tired from the heat and are unable to continue. Thomas, seeing a herd of wild asses grazing by the road, instructs the captain to go into the herd and say: “Judas Thomas the apostle of the Christ, the son of God, says, ‘let four of you come, of whom we have need’” (Acts Thom. 69). The captain, although afraid “because they were many,” walks toward the herd and the herd comes to meet him. After the captain has delivered the request, the wild asses respond immediately, running to the wagon and competing to be yoked. The four strongest are yoked, but the others walk before and behind the wagon. After some distance, the apostle sends these away, saying, “I say to you, dwellers of the desert, go home to 37

Acts Pet. 12. Günther Bornkamm, Mythos und Legende in den apokryphen Thomas-Akten: Beiträge zur Geschichte der Gnosis und zur Vorgeschichte des Manichäismus (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1933), 35. 39 The exact meaning of this term, that is, to which particular beasts of burden it typically refers, will be discussed below. 38

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your pastures; for if I had need of you all, you would all come with me. But now go to your land, where you were dwelling” (Acts Thom. 70). The four wild asses then pull the wagon directly to the door of the captain’s home, apparently with no direction from the driver. As they arrive, a crowd, having heard that wild asses had been yoked to a wagon, is already gathered. The apostle asks – apparently facetiously – the captain, “where is your house, and where are you taking us,” to which the captain responds, “you yourself know that we stand before the doors, and these [wild asses], who have come with you through your command, know better than I” (Acts Thom. 71). Thomas then begins to speak, praying to the Lord and asking that he command what is to be done. Thomas then speaks to one of the wild asses, commanding him (in much the same fashion in which he had previously commanded the captain) to go into the courtyard and call the demons out to be destroyed by Judas Thomas, apostle of Christ. The wild ass goes in, followed by the crowd, and gives his first speech: “I speak to you, enemies of Jesus called Christ; I speak to you, closing your eyes so as not to see the light; for the most evil nature is not able to be turned into the good; I speak to you, children of Gehenna and destruction, of that one unceasing in evil until now, who always renews his works and the things fitting his nature; I speak to you, most shameless ones, destroyed by your own selves; what might I say about your destruction and end? what I shall advise I do not know; for there are many and innumerable things to hear. Your deeds are greater than the chastisement kept in wait for you. But I speak to you, demon, and your son who accompanies you; for now I have been sent against you; but why do I make many words of your own nature and root, which you yourselves know and are unashamed? Judas Thomas the apostle of Christ Jesus, who was sent through much love and arrangement here, speaks to you; now while all the crowd is standing here, come out and tell me of what race you are.” (Acts Thom. 74)

The woman and her daughter come out of the house, looking wretched. The apostle is moved to pity and commands that the demons depart; the women fall down, seemingly dead. The demon, just cast out of the woman and apparently taking some visible yet unspecified form, challenges the apostle’s authority to perform exorcisms at this time, then asks to be allowed to go and dwell elsewhere, delivering a speech comparing his relationship with his father to the apostle’s relationship with Christ. Thomas commands the demon to “no longer enter a dwelling of man; rather, go out and depart and dwell entirely outside the habitation of men” (Acts Thom. 77). The demon challenges the apostle once again, pointing to the fact that the majority of humanity still worships and sacrifices to idols. The apostle replies that these, too, will be abolished, and the demons finally disappear. The women, however, still lie on the ground, dead. As Thomas stands by, seemingly helpless, the wild ass, exasperated by Thomas’ inaction, delivers the following speech:

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“Why are you standing there idle, apostle of Christ the most high, who is watching [to see] that you ask for the noblest teachings? Why, then, do you delay? For your teacher wants to display his magnificent [deeds] through your hands; why are you just standing there, herald of the hidden one? For your {master} wants through you to reveal the secret things, keeping them for his worthy ones to hear them. Why are you silent, you who work magnificent [deeds] in the name of the Lord? For your master urges you, generating boldness in you. Therefore, don’t fear; for he will not abandon your soul, which belongs to you by race (yuch.n th.n prosh,kousa,n soi kata. ge,noj). So, begin to call upon him and he will readily listen to you. Why are you just standing there, wondering at all his deeds and actions? For these are small things which he has shown through them. How would you even describe his great gifts? You are not sufficient to tell them. Why do you wonder about his bodily healings, which he enacts? And especially knowing that sure and enduring healing of his [which] he offers to/by his own nature (th|/ ivdi,a| fu,sei). Why do you look off to this temporary life and think nothing of the eternal? And to you crowds, standing here and waiting for the cast down to be raised up, I say, believe the apostle of Jesus Christ! Believe the teacher of truth! Believe the one pointing out the truth to you! Believe Jesus! Believe in Christ who was born in order that those born might live through his life, who was brought up through childhood in order that the perfection might appear through his humanity. He taught his own teachers, for he himself is a teacher of truth and the wisest of the wise; he who even offered a gift in the temple in order to show that every offering is sanctified. This is the apostle of that one, an informer of the truth. This is the one who does the will of the one having sent him. False apostles will come, and prophets of lawlessness, whose end will be in accord with their deeds, preaching and ordaining by law that [men] flee from all impiety while they themselves are constantly found in sins; dressing themselves in sheep’s clothing, but inwardly ravenous wolves; those who, not satisfied with one wife, destroy many women (oi[tinej mia|/ gunaiki. ouvk avrkou,menoi polla.j gunai/kaj evxafani,qousin); those who, while saying they think slightly of children, destroy many sons, whose right of vengeance they give; those who are not satisfied with their own possession but want all useful things to be provided to them alone, proclaiming themselves his disciples. And they say one thing with their mouths, but they think another in their hearts; encouraging others to secure themselves from evils, but they themselves do no good. They are thought to have self control (sw,fronej) and they command others to keep away from fornication, theft and greed, but all these things – they live their lives in them, while teaching others not to do them.” (Acts Thom. 78–79)

When the wild ass concludes, Thomas prays to the Lord, giving a lengthy doxology, and finally asks that the women’s souls be healed. The women immediately sit up and are helped inside by the captain’s servants. The apostle then accompanies the wild asses to the city gates, tells them to “depart in peace” to their pastures, then, as noted above, keeps watch until they disappear in the distance so that they not be harmed by anyone. Clearly there is much to be said about this strange episode. First, we note that the wild asses are substitutes for “beasts of burden” (u`pozu,gia). The term does not specify particular animals, but refers rather to any yoked beast, typically oxen, horses or mules. As LSJ notes, however, the term as it appears in

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the LXX, New Testament and later Greek refers primarily to asses. 40 In this context, it seems likely that the swap of “beasts of burden” for “wild asses” is meant to be a swap of domestic asses for wild asses. It is significant that the captain is afraid when approaching the herd, “because they were many”; these animals are apparently somewhat fearful creatures. We note, next, that the animals respond immediately to the relayed command of the apostle, responding before the message has even been delivered. They not only comply, but set off at a run, competing to serve the apostle. This devotion exceeds virtually every human example in the text. As noted above, the wild asses that are not selected to pull the wagon but stay with the wagon, walking ahead and behind, are dismissed by the apostle, told to go home to their pastures. Here, the wild asses are described as “dwellers of the desert,” emphasizing again the contrast between domesticated and wild. When the group arrives at the city, the wild asses miraculously know the way to the captain’s house. 41 This miraculous knowledge is underscored by the apostle’s ignorance, though this ignorance is perceived by the captain as feigned. Also miraculous, apparently, is the fact that they are yoked at all; it is this report that initially draws the crowds. Further, we note that in this act, Thomas enlists two different envoys to deliver messages: first, he sends the captain to call the wild asses; next he sends the wild ass to call the demons. Comparing the captain to the wild ass, we note that the captain repeats verbatim what Thomas commands him to say. The wild ass, in contrast, expands the message substantially, including a rather philosophical address in which he displays an in-depth knowledge of the nature of demons. 42 Moreover, the ultimate command, “come out and tell me of what race you are,” is the wild ass’ own invention. Finally, we note that, while the wild ass is serving as Thomas’ envoy, as the text reads it is the wild ass who has the active role in casting out the demons. Perhaps the most startling moment in the act, if not the entire text, comes in 78, where the wild ass, in apparent exasperation, turns to the apostle and says (to put it in more contemporary English): “Why are you just standing 40 H. G. Liddell, R. Scott, and H. S. Jones, “u`pozu,gion,” LSJ, 1881. See, e.g., Exo 4:20, Jos 7:24, 2 Sam 16:2, 1 Esd 5:43; cf. 2 Pet 2:16, where the term is used of Balaam’s ass, and Matt 21:5, where it is used of Jesus’ mount in his entry into Jerusalem. 41 This element is paralleled in rabbinic accounts of the burial of Hosea: Hosea, who wished to die and be buried in Israel but died in Babylon, asks on his deathbed that his body be placed on the back of a camel, which would then be allowed to roam freely; wherever the camel stopped, his body should be buried. When Hosea died and his wish was carried out, the camel brought his body directly to the Jewish cemetery at Safed. See Louis Ginzberg, Legends of the Jews (Philadelphia: The Jewish Publication Society of America, 1910–38), 4:261; see also, Shochet, Animal Life, 130. 42 Cf. Actus Ver. 9–12, where the dog says “more than [Peter] commands.”

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there? Christ is waiting for you!” This time, the ass’ speech is not instigated by the apostle; in fact, the ass seems now to be acting as envoy from Jesus to Thomas. The wild ass has access to Jesus’ wishes and intentions and feels it necessary to make these known to Thomas, who apparently is ignorant. Further, the wild ass has access to Thomas’ inner thoughts: “why do you stand there wondering at his deeds?” The wild ass even becomes envoy from Jesus to the very crowds – in effect an apostle – exhorting them to believe in Christ. As to the content of his exhortation, most interesting is his criticism of “false apostles and prophets of lawlessness.” These are hypocritical men who preach that others should flee from impiety, while they themselves often sin, their particular sin being the corruption of women and children. We might begin the comparison of act four and act eight by charting the similarities and differences in plot elements and the characterizations of the two types of animals. It is notable, first, that both animals are met on the highway, and that in each case the encounter is unexpected. In each case, too, the apostle is conveyed to a new city. Similarly, both acts end with the apostle explicitly dismissing the ass (or asses), using the same (admittedly common) word in each dismissal: “Depart and be kept where you were (a;pelqe kai. diafula,cqhti o[pou h=j),” in act four (41), and “Depart with peace to your pastures (avpe,lqete metV eivrh,nhj evpi. ta.j noma.j u`mw/n),” in act eight (80). 43 The most striking similarity, of course, is that both the ass’ colt and the wild ass are able to speak. Their speeches, moreover, share common themes and vocabulary. Each describes Thomas as having knowledge of “hidden” things: the ass’ colt calls Thomas a “co-initiate of the hidden word of Christ, who receives his hidden sayings” (summu,sthj tou/ lo,gou tou/ Cristou/ tou/ avpokru,fou( o` deco,menoj auvtou/ ta. avpo,krufa lo,gia) (39); the wild ass in turn calls Thomas the “herald of the hidden” (kh/rux tou/ avpokru,fou) (78). Each refers also to Thomas’ “race”: the ass’ colt describes Thomas as a “kinsman of the great race that condemned the enemy and ransomed his own” (o` suggenh.j tou/ mega,lou ge,nouj tou/ to.n evcqro.n katadika,santoj kai. tou.j ivdi,ouj lutrwsame,nou) (39); the wild ass assures Thomas that the Lord “will not abandon [his] soul, which belongs to [him] by race” (ouv ga.r avfh,sei yuch.n th.n prosh,kousa,n soi kata. ge,noj) (78). Both animals provide the apostle with a measure of rest: the ass’ colt specifically states that he has been sent to give the apostle rest (kavgw. nu/n avpesta,lhn se. avnapau/sai kaqesqe,nta evpa,nw mou) (40); the wild asses, we are told, “pull the cart evenly with quietude, so that they not disturb the apostle of God” (tou/ hvnio,cou ei-lkon evn h`suci,a| oi` o;nagroi o`malw/j i[na mh. tara,xwsan to.n avpo,stolon tou/ qeou/) (71). The vocabulary of “rest” and “quiet” (a com43

Cf. Acts Thom. 70.

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mon theme in the Acts Thom. and in Syrian Christianity more generally) 44 is prominent also in two speeches delivered by the apostle Thomas in these two acts. In act four, directly following the ass’ colt’s initial statement, the apostle calls upon Jesus in this way: “Oh, Jesus Christ … oh, quiet and peace (w= h` h`suci,a kai. h` hvremi,a), now speaking even in the unreasoning animals; oh, hidden rest (w= avpo,krufe avna,pausij) apparent also through action, our savior and nourisher, preserving us and giving us rest in foreign bodies (avnapau,wn evn sw,masin avllotri,oij)” (39). In act eight, following the wild ass’ second speech, the apostle calls upon Jesus again: “Oh, Christ, at rest and alone wise (avnapepaume,ne kai. mo,ne sofe,) … glory to you, merciful and peaceful (h;reme)” (80). The significance of “rest,” “quiet,” and “peace” in this context will be treated in more detail below. Several more general plot elements occur in both episodes. The fascination of the crowd, a familiar element of most apocryphal acts, is present in spades (e.g., in act eight, “all were silent and watched to see what they would do,” and in act four, “all the crowd that was present looked at him, waiting to hear how he would answer the colt”) (78, 40). The aforementioned hesitation of the apostle Thomas is present, even emphasized, in act eight as well, as the wild ass asks Thomas: “why do you stand there idle … why do you delay (ti, e[sthkaj avergh.j … ti, ou=n bradu,neij)” (78)? One final parallel is the express description in each act of a procession into the city: in act four, Thomas rides the ass’ colt as the crowds go along on foot, “some leading ahead and others following him (oi] me.n proa,gontej auvto.n oi] de. avkolouqou/ntej)” (40). This description, quite clearly in imitation of the gospel accounts of Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem (Mark 11:9 and par.) is present also in act eight, where, as the cart pulled by four wild asses departs, of the remaining asses “some were leading ahead and others were following (oi] me.n proh/gon( oi] de. hvkolou,qoun)” (70). These parallels confirm Bornkamm’s suggestion that the two episodes are doublets. And as is often the case in doubled episodes, the parallels cast the differences into sharp relief. Most primary are the fact that the ass’ colt dies while the wild asses live, and that the ass of act four is domestic, while the asses of act eight are wild. Differences are apparent also in the manner in which these animals come into the service of the apostle. While in both cases the asses are met on the road, the domestic ass presents himself to the apostle and offers his services, even begging that the apostle thus bless him; the wild asses, in contrast, are called by the apostle (through the captain as envoy) and their services are requested. Further, in act four the apostle expresses no need of a ride – it is the ass’ colt who requests the favor – whereas in act eight the apostle explicitly says he “has need” of the wild asses. The wild asses, again, 44

Cf. Acts John; see above, chapter V.

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immediately comply, running to Thomas, bowing before him, and competing to be yoked to the wagon. 45 An obvious point, though nonetheless significant, is that there are multiple wild asses and only one domestic ass’ colt; related is the fact that Thomas rides upon the colt whereas the wild asses are under a yoke. The term “yoke,” both noun (zugo,n) and verb (zeu,gnumi) (along with its compounds), is highly suggestive in the Syrian context in which the Acts Thom. were composed. The complex suzugi,a, meaning “yoking together,” “coupling” or “union,” is the term used by Tatian to describe the ideal joining of soul and spirit in a human being. In Orat. Graec. 15, for example, Tatian suggests that “we must seek out that which we once had but have now lost, and both yoke our soul to the holy spirit and exert ourselves in the union according to God (crh. loipo.n h`ma/j o[per e;contej avpolwle,kamen tou/to nu/n avnazhtei/n zeugnu,nai te th.n yuch.n tw|/ pneu,mati tw|/ a`gi,w| kai. th.n kata. qeo.n suzugi,an pragmateu,esqai).” The significance of the “yoking” of the wild asses in act eight is not at once obvious; further comparison with Tatian’s views, especially as regards any body-soul-spirit typology at work in this act, will be taken up below. For now we might note that there is both a contrast between the yoked wild asses and the unyoked ass’ colt and a contrast between the stronger wild asses and the unsatisfactory beasts of burden, that is, the u`pozugi,a (a term which, as noted above, most likely refers again to domestic asses), which quickly become fatigued and are unable to bear the yoke and draw the wagon. Other differences between the two episodes involve the content of the animals’ speech: whereas the ass’ colt’s speaking role is limited to his introduction and supplication of the apostle, the wild ass delivers two lengthy speeches, the first at Thomas’ command and the second of his own volition. Further, the speeches of the wild ass show an in depth perception of the nature of demons, the identity of the apostle, and Christian teachings more broadly. Particularly noteworthy is his warning to the crowd of “false apostles and prophets of lawlessness,” who will exhort others to abstain from fornication, theft, and greed but themselves indulge in all these sins. 1. Ass, Wild Ass Perhaps the best way to start sorting out the significance of the contrasting elements of these two acts is through a consideration of how these two animals are represented and characterized in the broader literary context within which our author is working. Because he demonstrates a familiarity with the Hebrew Bible in general and with asses therein in particular (in the colt’s selfidentification as a descendant of Balaam’s ass), I will begin with a brief sur45

Acts Thom. 70.

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vey of asses and wild asses and their associations as they appear in both the Hebrew text and the Septuagint. The ass is a very common animal in the Hebrew Bible, serving as the primary riding animal for individuals, rich and poor, as well as a beast of burden, carrying packs and pulling the plow. 46 Abraham rides an ass with Isaac on his way to Moriah; Moses sets his wife and son on an ass for the journey back to Egypt; Joseph’s brothers ride asses to Egypt, returning with the asses loaded with grain, and it is upon an ass that the king will ride to Jerusalem in the influential passage from Zech 9. 47 The law which forbids the yoking of an ox and ass together (Deut. 22:10) is often taken as a call for the humane treatment of animals, inasmuch as the unequal burden would cause the animals pain. 48 Asses are also the particular subject of another law, which requires that every firstling of an ass be redeemed with a lamb (Exo 13:13). The ass is the only unclean animal singled out for redemption under this law, which fact rabbinic sources attribute to the service asses rendered to the Israelites by carrying their burdens as they left Egypt. 49 In Gen 49:14–15, the ass provides the metaphor for Issachar: “Issachar is a strong ass, crouching between the sheepfolds; he saw that the resting place was good, and that the land was pleasant; so he bowed his shoulder to bear, and became a slave at forced labor.”50 While the ass is the work-horse, so to speak, of the Hebrew Bible, the wild ass is just the opposite; where the ass is primarily characterized by its labor in the service of humankind, it is the very wildness of the wild ass – its separation from city, family, ready food, etc. – that is emphasized. The term “wild ass,” or Hebrew pere’, appears ten times, in Gen 16:12, Job 6:5, 11:12, 24:5 and 39:5, Psa 104:11, Isa 32:14, Jer 2:24 and 14:6 and Hos 8:9. In the LXX pere’ is generally translated by either o;nagroj or o;noj a;groj, though in Hos 8:9 and Jer 2:24 the translation reworks the Hebrew to the extent that the term disappears. The most familiar reference to the wild ass in the Old Testament is found in Gen 16:12. This is, of course, the description of Ishmael as a “wild ass of a man,” a pere’ ’ƗdƗm. Here, the angel of the Lord reveals to Hagar that through her son a multitude will be produced, and yet Ishmael will be at odds with all his kin. This sense of disenfranchisement is felt also in Hosea 8:9; 46

See Schochet, Animal Life, 12; Schlomo Pesach Toperoff, The Animal Kingdom in Jewish Thought (Northvale, NJ: Jason Aronson Inc., 1995), 11–15. 47 Gen 22:3: Ex 4:20: Gen 42:26; Zech 9:9. It is interesting that the horse plays a relatively minor role in the Hebrew Bible; it is not the typical mode of transport and seems to carry heavy associations (particularly in Zechariah) with warfare (see Shochet, Animal Life, 41–2). 48 See, for example, Toperoff, Animal Kingdom, 11. 49 Ibid. 11–12. 50 Genesis Rabbah 99:40 comments, “as the ass carries burdens, so Issachar carries the yoke of the Torah.” See also Toperoff, Animal Kingdom, 12.

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here, the wild ass “wandering alone” is a metaphor for Israel, swallowed up among the nations. Again in Daniel, king Nebuchadnezzar, “driven from humanity,” dwelled with the wild asses. Obversely, in Isa 32:14 the city’s desolation is marked by wild asses inhabiting its hills and watchtowers. In Job 24:5, Job compares the poor of the earth to wild asses scavenging for food, reaping in the fields of others, gleaning from the vines of the wicked. This image of the wandering, homeless, wretched creature is, however, turned on its head by God himself in his response to Job. In 39:5–8, God describes the wild ass as free and swift, loosed from bonds; it scorns the noise of the city and doesn’t heed the shouts of the driver; it ranges the mountains as its pasture, and all green things are its food. In Job, the wild ass’ separation from human society is seen by Job as a wretched, desolate existence but by God as freedom from constraints, with all the necessities of life provided in God’s creation. A similar notion is found in Psalm 104:10–11, where the Lord is praised for his provision of creation, including the following: “You make springs gush forth in the valleys; they flow between the hills, giving drink to every wild animal; the wild asses quench their thirst.” 51 This theme is quite at home in the Acts Thom, which quotes the saying concerning the ravens from Matt 6:26 and Luke 12:24: “Look at the ravens and consider the birds of the heaven, that they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and God provides for them. How much more for you?” 52 Asses, both domestic and wild, are also well represented in Aesop’s fables, collections of which were assembled and circulated in the first century C.E. in both Latin and Greek. 53 The relative pros and cons of being a domestic or

51

Cf. Acts Thom. 37, lns. 16–17. Acts Thom. 28. In Jer 14:6, a punishing draught is manifest in the hunger of the wild ass; in Jer 2:24 the wild ass is explicitly associated with lust, here a metaphor for the city of Jerusalem: “ … a wild ass at home in the wilderness, in her heat sniffing the wind! Who can restrain her lust?” It is notable that in this instance it is explicitly a female wild ass that is described. One last reference to wild asses in the Old Testament is found in Zophar’s reply to Job in Job 11:12. Describing the limitations of man’s knowledge of God, he says, wƟ’îš nƗbûb yillƗbƝb wƟǥayir pere’ ƗdƗm yiwƗlƝd. The precise meaning of the Hebrew is unclear; the RSV translates, “But a stupid person will get understanding, when a wild ass is born human.” Perhaps “an empty-headed man will get a mind when a colt of a wild ass is born human” is a bit more literal. Regardless, the phrase clearly denotes impossibility. Why, of all animals, a wild ass should stand in this position – something like the monkey in the English phrase “I’ll be a monkey’s uncle” – is a bit obscure, especially given that Ishmael is described in Gen 16:12 as being born a pere’ ’ƗdƗm, a “wild ass of a man.” 53 See Ben Edwin Perry’s informative introduction to the Loeb edition of Babrius and Phaedrus (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1965). For a discussion of the relationship between Talmudic, Indian and Graeco-Roman fables, see Joseph Jacobs, “Aesop’s Fables Among the Jews,” JE 1:221–22. 52

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wild ass are the topics of fables 30 and 194. 54 In fable 30, a wild ass sees an ass carrying a large freight and reproaches him for his servitude, saying, “I am really lucky, that living freely and passing my time without toil, I have acquired in the wild even pasturage in the mountains. But you are nourished by another and continuously you are subjected to slaveries and scourges.” At that very moment, however, a lion appears. He doesn’t attack the domestic ass, because his driver is with him, but devours the wild ass. The moral of the story is, “the unconstrained and stiff-necked, taking care of their own interests and needing help from no one, may swiftly come to ruin.” In fable 194, however, the situation is exactly reversed. Here, the wild ass sees a domesticated ass grazing in a field and congratulates him for his good nourishment and resulting fine physique. Later, however, the wild ass sees him carrying a load and being beaten by his driver, at the sight of which he says, “I no longer deem you happy. For I see that you have abundance not without great evils.” The moral of this story is, “gains surrounded with dangers and sufferings are not enviable.” These two fables, presenting opposite evaluations of the same situation, fit especially well with the two divergent characterizations of the wild ass in Job. Thus in both Hebrew Bible traditions and Aesop’s fables, the domestic and wild ass serve as paradigms for the respective benefits and losses associated with living either a life of labor, with the benefit of protection and food but the obligation of servitude, or the life of the wilderness, with freedom but without the benefits and protection that community provides. Important to note, however, is that, in the Hebrew Bible, the wild ass is provided for: his sustenance is freely given by God. That the wild ass may stand for “wildness” in general is confirmed in Artemidorus’ Onir., where we find the wild ass twice. When a wild ass appears in one’s dreams, it “foretells a cruel and not entirely noble enemy; for he has some kinship with an ass. One must remember that all wild animals have something in common with enemies. Therefore, it is always better to overpower them than to be overpowered by them; for it indicates that one is superior to his enemies and will be victorious” (Onir. 2.12). Later on, Artemidorus writes, “worker animals and animals with hard lives, like worker asses and oxen, indicate workers and the subjected. Worker animals that are unrestrained, like bulls and herd oxen and brood mares and wild asses, indicate rebellious and high-spirited people” (Onir. 4.56). Here again, the ass and wild ass serve as paradigms in the broader contrast of domestic and wild.

54

Hausrath’s numbering.

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2. Wild Asses in the Natural Historians Wild asses appear in all the major natural history texts of the first centuries C.E. The Indian variety is given special attention, receiving a rather lengthy treatment in Aelian, from which I will quote several portions: I have learned that there are wild asses in India (o;nouj avgri,ouj) no smaller in size than horses. And their body is white, but they have a near purple head, while the eyes give off a dark-blue color. They have a horn on their forehead, as much as a cubit and a half in length, and the lower part of the horn is white, the upper part is crimson, and the middle part is jet-black. (Nat. an. 4.52)

The horns of these asses, moreover, have magical powers: And they say that one who has drunk from this horn does not know and has no experience of incurable diseases; for, he will never be seized with spasms, nor by the illness called ‘sacred,’ nor will he be destroyed by poison. And should he have drunk some poison previously, he will vomit it up and become healthy. (Nat. an. 4.52) 55

While domesticated asses are known for sluggishness or for tiring quickly, 56 the Indian wild ass is known for its great speed: They are much faster than not only asses, but even horses and deer. They start out slowly, but they gradually gain strength, and to pursue them is, to make a poetic turn of phrase, unattainable. (Nat. an. 4.52)

Further, they are incredibly strong and quite dangerous; perhaps here we see the reason for the captain’s fear: Nothing survives when struck by [their horns]; everything gives way and is cut in two and, should it happen, is shattered and becomes useless. [It has already been documented] that having attacked at the ribs of horses, they have torn them in two and ripped out their guts … Their kicks are also terrible. And their bites reach so deep that everything grasped is torn away. (Nat. an. 4.52) 57

The pugnacious nature of these animals is seen also in their use by the Indian king as combatants in public contests. 58 The image of this wonderful-horrible beast as described by Aelian provides the contemporary reader with a crucial correction to the more pedestrian image of the wild ass that might first come to mind. Villagers certainly would come in droves to see an animal like this yoked to a wagon; it would be a 55

See also Nat. an. 3.41. The horn’s curative powers are also noted in Philostratus’ Vit. Apoll. 3.2. Clever Apollonius, however, when asked if he believes in these powers replies: “I will believe if I learn that the king of the Indians hereabout is immortal.” 56 See Aelian, Nat. an. 7.19 and 14.10. 57 See also Philostratus, Vit. Apoll. 3.2. 58 Aelian, Nat an. 15.15.

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great miracle indeed for such animals to respond with swift obedience to the apostle’s command. Although the healing properties of the wild ass’ horn do not figure in our episode (horns are not mentioned at all), simply the fact that Indian wild asses had such a magical reputation makes it much easier to imagine why they, of all possible animals, would be chosen to play such a central role in the Acts Thom. Oppian, in his Cynegetica, also describes the wild ass, but here it is not specifically the Indian variety. He describes the animal’s appearance as follows: Next let us tell of the pretty ankled, fleeting, rushing, swift-footed, strong-hoofed, towering wild ass. He is bright-eyed, with a strong body, broad to behold, silver in color, long-eared, a most swift runner. A black stripe goes around the middle of his back, surrounded on either side by snowy bands. (Cyn. 3.183–7)

The most significant information for our inquiry follows. Oppian writes: The tribes of the swift-footed wild asses are quite jealous and they adorn themselves happily with many wives. The females follow wherever the husband leads: they hurry to the pasture whenever he wants to command them, and to the river springs, the wine of beasts, and back to their bosky homes when evening brings sleep. A wild and shameless frenzy excites jealousy in all the males against their own infant sons. For when the female is in the labor of Eileithyia, the male sits nearby and waits for his own offspring. And when the infant foal falls at its mother’s feet, if it is a female, the father is fond of his child and, licking it with his tongue, greets his dear offspring warmly; but if he sees that it is a male, then indeed the raving beast stirs up wrath with deadly jealousy about the mother and he attacks, eager to cut his child’s genitals with his jaws, lest afterward a new clan should flourish. (Cyn. 3.191–207)

Obviously, there are a number of interesting points in this passage. First, we note that the male leader of the herd is a libidinous creature, each keeping many wives which he guards jealously. We note, somewhat incidentally, that again nature’s provisions for the animal are emphasized: the river springs are called “the wine of beasts.” Above all we note that the herd leader castrates his male offspring out of jealousy for the foal’s mother and presumably jealousy over the rest of his harem. The same behavior is described by Pliny: Hyenas occur in great numbers in Africa, which produces also a multitude of wild asses (asinorum silvestrium). In this genus, individual males control herds of females. They fear rivals of their libido and consequently they guard their own pregnant females and castrate the male offspring with a bite; as a countermeasure, pregnant females seek hiding places and desire to give birth in secret. They also enjoy copious libidos. (Nat. 8.46)

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A very similar statement is found in Solinus, where the behavior, as in Pliny, is associated with the African wild ass. 59 It is this aspect of the wild ass that is picked up in the Physiologus, which reports the following: Concerning the wild ass: It is written in Job, “who has set the wild ass free?” The Physiologus has said concerning the wild ass that he is the leader of a herd, and should any of the roaming females 60 give birth to males, their father cuts all their genitals, so that they not produce seed. For the patriarchs sought to sow bodily seed, but the apostles, [to sow] noetic children, practiced encratism, seeking heavenly seed, as it is written, “be of good cheer, sterile woman who does not give birth; break out and shout, you who do not have birth pangs; for the children of the desert are more than those of the woman who has a husband.” The old is the seed of promise; the new is of encratism. The Physiologus spoke well about the wild ass. (Physiologus 9) 61

Here, the Physiologus interprets the castration of the young males as an encratistic act. The logic is somewhat unclear: if the apostles are the colts, who is the father? is involuntary castration quite parallel to choosing chastity? Nevertheless, for the Physiologus these animals serve as a natural-world example of the encratism practiced by the apostles; they are representatives of the new promise, realized not through physical reproduction but through heavenly seed, spiritual children. 62 59 See Solinus, Collectanea rerum memorabilium 27.27: “Inter ea quae dicunt herbatica eadem Africa onagros habet, in quo genere singuli imperitant gregibus feminarum. Aemulos libidinis metuunt. Inde est quod gravidas suas servant, ut in editis maribus si qua facultas fuerit generandi spem morsu detruncent, quod caventes feminae in secessibus partus occulunt.” 60 This term is difficult to translate. The Greek is noma,dej, from h` or o` noma,j, which means simply “roaming” or “pasturing.” Here it clearly refers to females, thus I have translated “roaming female.” LSJ does, however, indicate that this term can be used metaphorically for “prostitute,” and I wonder if there is not at least some sense of that here. 61 See F. Sbordone, Physiologus (Milan: “Dante Alighieri,” 1936). It should be noted that thirst is again at play in another version of this section, which quotes not just Job but also Ps 104:11 (103:ll in the LXX): `O de. Dabi.d o` yalmw|do.j ou[tw boa|/ kai. le,gei( poreu,sontai ga.r o;nagroi eivj di,yan auvtou/. 62 The Physiologus treats the wild ass in one other passage where he states, “there is another nature of the wild ass. The Physiologus said that it is found in kingdoms, and on the 25th of the month of Phameroth they know from the wild ass that the equinox has come; for should it bray twelve times, the king and the palace know that the equinox has come. Likewise also the monkey, should it urinate seven times at night, it is the equinox. Now, the wild ass is the devil, since the night, that is, the people of the gentiles, has become equal to the day, that is, the prophets who believed. And the monkey takes the form of the devil, for he has a beginning but no end, that is, a tail, just as also the devil in the beginning was one of the archangels, but his end was not found. The Physiologus has spoken well about the ass and the monkey.” This very strange piece is unparalleled but, if nothing else, displays the adaptability of these animals as symbols.

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Applying this knowledge to our reading of the wild ass’ speech in Acts Thom. 79, we notice that he criticizes false apostles and prophets of lawlessness, those who are “not satisfied with one wife” but “destroy many women.” These individuals “command others to keep away from fornication, theft and greed, but all these things – they live their lives in them, while teaching others not to do them.” This is in fact almost exactly the behavior reported by the natural historians concerning the wild asses. They castrate their young, enforcing chastity, while they themselves have entire herds of women. They “say one thing with their mouths” – quite literally with their bite – while practicing something else entirely. The wild ass is thus the perfect ironic messenger of this particular message. And yet, as the Physiologus indicates, the wild ass, based on this behavior, was identified more broadly with the practice of encratism itself. Beyond the ironic, then, the wild ass provides a natural-world example of sexual abstinence. This interpretation is the more plausible in light of the fact that in the Acts Thom. we find a herd of young male asses; 63 according to the natural historians, these animals would have to be a herd of eunuchs. 3. Body, Soul, Spirit The information thus far gathered may be incorporated into a reading of the narrative as follows. In act four, the apostle agrees, with reluctance, to ride the colt of an ass, an animal known for its labor and servitude to humankind; this animal speaks, identifying itself as belonging the race of Balaam’s ass and the ass upon which Jesus rode into Jerusalem; the journey of Jesus into Jerusalem is mirrored also by the explicit description of some people “leading ahead and some following.” When the colt is dismissed by the apostle, told to “go where you were,” it dies, a development which the apostle describes as “beneficial” to it, refusing to resurrect the colt, though the crowds have come to expect resurrections. In act eight, the apostle calls upon the service of four wild asses, expressing his need of them; the wild asses, formidable creatures known both for quasi-magical power and the practice of castration and thus sexual abstinence, respond at once to the apostle’s call, competing to be “yoked” to the cart. These animals draw the cart directly to the destination, without instruction. Upon arrival, one wild ass is asked by the apostle to call out two demons; the wild ass, acquiring speech, does that and more, delivering ultimately two lengthy speeches, in one of which he warns of false prophets of lawlessness who preach abstinence and purity but themselves commit the sins of fornication, theft and greed. At the close of the act, these animals 63 In Acts Thom. 70, they are referred to explicitly as pw,louj – “colts”; it should be noted, however, that manuscripts U and V have as variant readings pollou,j and auvtou,j, respectively.

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are dismissed by the apostle to their pastures, and are watched over until they disappear from sight. And so what is to be made of these two journeys with asses? Key for Günther Bornkamm is the vocabulary of “rest” that, as noted above, is so frequent, particularly in act four. The wild ass asks that the apostle “sit upon [him] and rest” (evpikaqe,sqhti, moi kai. avnapa,hqi), after which Thomas calls upon Jesus as “quiet and peace” (w= h` h`suci,a kai. h` hvremi,a). As Bornkamm writes, in the Acts Thom. these terms, with few exceptions, refer to the heavenly peace which is alotted to believers after their earthly trials. 64 Bornkamm, therefore, has suggested that both are reflections of the Himmelsreise, the mythological journey of the soul to heaven. 65 As he himself notes, however, the “merkwürdige Ende des Tieres” remains unexplained. Bornkamm suggests that another allegory has been woven into act four. Pointing to Thomas’ prayer to Jesus in 39, in which Jesus is called upon as the one “preserving us and giving us rest in alien bodies” (diafula,sswn h`ma/j kai. avnapau,wn evn sw,masin avllotri,oij), he argues that “das Reittier soll offenbar nichts anderes sein als ein Sinnbild des Leibes, der die Seele trägt, aber die Erlösung nicht selbst erlangen kann.” 66 This ass-as-body typology, however, fits only uncomfortably with the notion of the heavenly journey and heavenly rest. If the colt’s ass is meant to represent the body, it seems odd that it would die only at the completion of the heavenly journey: if bodily resurrection is assumed, why would Thomas refuse to raise the ass? if bodily resurrection is rejected, why would the ass accompany the soul on the heavenly journey at all? Moreover, the ass offers the apostle rest during the journey, not the promise of it upon arrival. Finally, Bornkamm’s suggestion does little to clarify why the colt’s ass dies while the wild asses return to their pastures. Klijn is in general agreement with Bornkamm in understanding the wagon pulled by wild asses symbolically as a chariot ascending to heaven, citing the Odes of Solomon 38.1–2. 67 Klijn, however, rejects Bornkamm’s ass-as-body typology as incompatible with the prominent role the ass plays in 41, suggesting that the ass stands rather for mankind, as in the following passage from Severus of Antioch: “When I see the ass’s colt, I understand the people taken 64

Bornkamm, Mythos und Legende, 34. “Der Begriff avna,pausij bezeichnet mit verschwindenden Ausnahmen immer die himmlische Ruhe; ebenso das Verbum avnapau,ein. Die Ruhe ist die himmlische Gabe, die den Gläubigen nach den irdischen Mühen zuteil wird, sie wird aus der himmlische Welt, die selbst h`suci,a ist und deren Gottheit als avna,pausij oder h`suci,a (u.a.) angerufen wird, gegeben.” 65 Ibid. 35. 66 Ibid. 37. 67 “I went up into the light of Truth as into a chariot, and the Truth led me and caused me to come. And caused me to pass over chasms and gulfs, and saved me from cliffs and valleys” (trans. Charlesworth). See Klijn, Acts of Thomas, 147.

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from among the people, Lord, whom you released from the bonds of error and upon whom you spiritually sat and rested, as upon the back of the holy cherubim.” 68 As to the death of the ass, Klijn, as discussed above, suggests only that in the Acts Thom. “death must be preferred to life.” 69 But Bornkamm’s interpretation of the ass as in some sense representing the body in this text is not so easily dispensed with. The comparison of the body to an ass is current in the first and second centuries C.E. Epictetus provides a nice example in his discussion of the human being’s proper attitude toward the body and possessions: You must regard your body like a loaded-down little ass (w`j ovna,rion evpisesagme,non), as long as it is possible, as long as it is granted; and should it be commandeered and a soldier seize it, let it go – don’t resist or grumble. Otherwise, after taking a beating you’ll lose your little ass no less. And if you are bound to regard your body thus, see what is left for you to do concerning the other things – as many as are provided on account of the body. When that is a little ass, the other things become little bridles for the little ass, little saddles, little shoes, barley, hay. Let those things go, too; release them more quickly and happily than the little ass itself. (Discourses 4.1.79–80)

Here, the body is not insignificant – an ass (even a diminutive “little ass”) is a valuable possession! Nevertheless, it may be taken from you at any time and there’s nothing you can do to resist. How silly, then, to worry about the “little bridles” and “little shoes” for a “little ass” that isn’t even yours to keep. This Stoic attitude towards the body and worldly possessions is quite compatible with early Christian moralizing in general and the Acts Thom. in particular. It is comparable, just for one example, to Jesus’ statement in Matt 6:25 (“do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing?”), which is, as will be discussed below, quoted in the Acts Thom. The notion that the ass stands for the body in the Acts Thom. becomes much more attractive when the journey to the city is construed not so much as a Himmelsreise, but rather, more along the lines of Epictetus’ thinking, as the journey of a human being through life. I propose that both the ass and wild asses represent not just the body, but two different models of how to live in a body. These two different modes of living, in turn, correspond to two different modes of Christianity, only one of which – the one represented by the wild ass – leads to eternal life. The first step in making this argument is to flesh out, so to speak, the anthropology of the Acts Thom. H. J. W. Drijvers has argued convincingly that the theology, anthropology and soteriology of the Acts Thom. are heavily in68 69

Klijn, Acts of Thomas, 110, quoting Severus of Antioch 52.2.4, in Patrol. Orient. 6.95. Ibid. 112.

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fluenced by the thought of Tatian. Drijvers goes so far as to say that “the basic idea of the ATh goes back to Tatian, whose Orat. Graec. contains all the elements which are brought out in symbolic and narrative fashion in the ATh.” 70 Tatian espouses a tripartite anthropology, the human being being composed of body, soul and spirit. He writes: The soul is a bond of flesh, but the flesh is retentive of the soul (desmo.j de. th/j sarko.j yuch,( scetikh. de. th/j yuch/j h` sa,rx); if such a form of constitution is as a temple, God wishes to dwell in it through spirit as his representative (dia. tou/ presbeu,ontoj pneu,matoj); but if there is no such dwelling (skh,nwma), then man is better than the beasts in articulate speech alone; as for the rest of his way of life, it is the same as theirs, since he is not a likeness of God. (Orat. Graec. 15.21–27)

For Tatian, the soul is in itself mortal, but has the capacity for immortality in its “yoking together” or “union” with spirit: For [the soul] dies and is dissolved with the body if it does not know the truth, and it rises later at the end of the world with the body, receiving death through immortal punishment; but again it does not die, although it may dissolve for a time, if it has recognized God. Of itself it is dark and there is nothing light in it, and thus it is said: “the dark does not comprehend the light.” For the soul itself did not preserve the spirit, but was preserved by it; and the light comprehended the darkness, in that the word is the light of God, but the unbelieving soul is dark. For this reason, if it lives alone it declines down toward matter, dying along with the flesh; but if it obtains union (suzugi,a) with the spirit of God it is not without help, and goes up to the regions where the spirit leads it. (Orat. Graec. 13.12–24)

While this passage emphasizes the potential immortality of the soul, Tatian clearly believes in bodily resurrection, too; in a passage in which he opposes the views of the pagan philosophers with his own, Tatian writes: “[They say] that the soul alone is immortal, I say that the bit of flesh with it is, too (evgw. de. kai. to. su.n auvth|/ sarki,on)” (Orat. Graec. 25.8–9). Further, Tatian writes that “[the soul] could never appear apart from the body, nor is the flesh raised apart from the soul” (Orat. Graec. 15.9–10). Against reading the ass and wild asses as representing the body and Thomas as representing the soul, I would argue that the asses represent rather the embodied soul, with Thomas, as rider of the ass or driver of the cart to which the wild asses are yoked, representing not the soul but the spirit. While I would not suggest that an identification of Thomas with spirit is maintained throughout the text (what, then, would explain the apostle’s resistance to Jesus in the opening sections, or his occasional seeming ignorance of Jesus’ intentions), the consistent representation of the apostle as the twin of Christ allows him to function allegorically as such in these episodes. In this reading, the differences between the two “rides” come into clearer focus. In act four, the em70

H. J. W. Drijvers, “The Acts of Thomas,” in Schneemelcher, NTApoc5 2:334.

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bodied soul is the domestic ass; it is a beast of burden, laden with obligations, in a state of servitude to man in exchange for provision and protection; the spirit (i.e. Thomas) is reluctant to ride upon it, perhaps because the ass in its servitude tends downward – its nose literally to the grindstone – and concerns itself with material things. It wishes to provide rest to the apostle, but it is perhaps the “temporary rest” of 36, where the apostle (quoting Matt 6:25) explains to the resurrected youth: “It is said, ‘do not be anxious for your soul, what you shall eat or drink, nor what you shall wear on your body, for the soul is greater than nourishment and the body than clothing’; and if we speak of this temporary rest (avna,pausin th.n pro,skairon tau,thn), judgment is appointed for this, too.” Or again, perhaps it is the “rest in foreign bodies (evn sw,masin avllotri,oij) described by Thomas in his prayer to Jesus (which immediately follows the arrival of the ass). 71 The ass dies when Thomas, as spirit, separates from it, sending it back to “where [it] was.” The crowd is dismayed and asks the apostle to raise it. The reader (whether ancient or modern) is also likely confused: this ass speaks, recognizes Thomas as the apostle of the Most High, knows about Jesus, and has been sent to give Thomas rest. Why does it die? why is it not resurrected? The answer comes in act eight, as the wild ass provides a different model of the embodied soul. This creature is a eunuch, a natural ascetic, living in the open pastures, 72 free of obligation; it receives its sustenance from God, just as the birds in the sky of Matt 6:30 (cited in Acts Thom. 28). The wild asses hear the call of the spirit and come at a run, competing to be “yoked” or “united” with it. They provide strong replacements, moreover, for the previous beasts of burden (domestic asses) that have become weary under this yoke. These animals are not specifically recruited to provide rest for the apostle, but the language of the episode unmistakably points in this direction: they draw the wagon “smoothly with stillness, so that they not disturb the apostle of God” (evn h`suci,a| … o`malw/j( i[na mh. tara,xwsin to.n avpo,stolon tou/ qeou/) (71). 73 The talking wild ass shows a complete knowledge of the nature of demons, as well as a complete understanding of the Christian “truth,” warning the multitudes of false apostles and prophets. The wild asses represent, in effect, the author’s ideal Christian: they live an encratic life in the wilderness, free from sexual impurity and all the tempta71 This “temporary rest” or “rest in foreign bodies” is perhaps to be understood as freedom from the “diseases and disturbances” (no,soi kai. sta,seij) caused in the body by demons, according to Tatian. See Orat. Graec. 16. 72 Cf. Acts Thom. 25, where Thomas prays that the Lord “guard [his flock] from the wolves, keeping them in your pastures” (fu,laxon de. auvtou.j kai. avpo. tw/n lu,kwn( fe,rwn auvtou.j evn toi/j soi/j leimw/si). 73 The wild asses, in fact, seem always to move with “stillness”; cf. section 70, ln. 15.

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tions of society; they are provided for by God while providing in themselves, through their purity, the ideal conditions for uniting with the spirit of God. At the close of the episode, plot constraints demand that Thomas and the wild ass part ways; the wild ass cannot very well accompany the apostle throughout the remainder of the narrative, all the way to his martyrdom. Nevertheless, the wild ass and his companions do not die, as the domestic ass does the moment that Thomas dismounts. Instead, the apostle accompanies the wild asses to the gates of the city, watching over them as they depart to their pastures, disappearing (dissolving?) in the distance. The domestic ass does not share the encratic lifestyle, and therefore does not avoid death as the wild ass does. If the use of two varieties of ass to represent two varieties of Christian seems a bit unusual, we should note that it is not without parallel. In his Dial., Justin (interpreting, with Matthew, Zech 9:9 as referring to two animals), compares the ass and colt of an ass to Jews and Gentiles, respectively: “For as the unharnassed colt is a symbol of those [believers] of the Gentiles, thus also the harnassed ass is a symbol of those from your people; for you have law laid upon you through the prophets” (w`j ga.r tw/n avpo. tw/n evqnw/n su,mbolon h=n o` avsagh.j pw/loj( ou[twj kai. tw/n avpo. tou/ u`mete,rou laou/ h` u`posagh.j o;noj\ to.n ga.r dia. tw/n profhtw/n no,mon evpikei,menon e;cete) (Dial. 53). Note, too, that the contrast drawn here is not just between the young and the old, but between the “unharnassed” colt and “harnassed” ass – and thus comes very close to the comparison of wild and domesticated. It is significant that the colt’s ass is not completely wicked – not like the snake of act three; the ass clearly has a notion of the spirit and desires the blessing that association with the spirit provides, as evidenced by its desire for Thomas to ride upon it. Lacking the encratism of the wild ass, however, the domestic ass is still mortal and liable, as Tatian would have it, to a resurrection to eternal punishment. Perhaps this explains Thomas’ refusal to raise it: this death is more “beneficial” to it. It is important to note, moreover, that whereas the audience (both the internal audience and, I suspect, most readers) is confused by the ass’ death, the apostle is confused, rather, by the initial request – he does not understand why he should ride this ass. He says: “That one who has given this gift to you is powerful enough that it be fulfilled to perfection in you and those who belong to you by race; for I am too weak and feeble for this mystery.” (Acts Thom. 71)

The death of the ass, in contrast, seems to be quite comprehensible to Thomas. Understanding the ass’ colt as an imperfect model of the Christian, as an embodied soul not truly suitable for union with the spirit, makes sense of this paradox. Thomas, as spirit, recognizes the incompatibility of union with the animal and resists; the ass’ death, however, he instantly recognizes as appropriate.

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D. Conclusions In act three we have seen the snake in a symbolic usage drawn from the Jewish and Christian stock of traditions concerning the alliance of the snake and the devil, beginning with the temptation of Eve in paradise. This stock of symbols, laid plain in the snake’s own self-identifying speech, is here combined with a popular story from natural history texts regarding the behavior of snakes; the author of the Acts Thom. makes elegant use of the overlap between Jewish and Christian notions of snakes as wicked tempters and the lustful, sometimes vengeful roles they play in these anecdotes. In narrativizing the existing anecdote, our author has created an episode that synthesizes biblical allusion (even citation) with current natural historical information. Much the same technique is seen in acts four and eight. We have seen that in both the Hebrew Bible and Aesop’s fables, the domestic ass and wild ass stand as symbols for the relative benefits of slavery and freedom: the ass labors under obligation but is fed and protected by man; the wild ass wanders alone, preferring the freedom from human obligation and simple provisions of God to the ass’ burden. In addition, the wild ass, as reported by the natural historians, is a eunuch, a natural-world example of the encratism encouraged by the author of the acts. The overlay of symbols drawn from the animal world and actual information about animals is perhaps to be expected; symbols of this type presumably derive ultimately from zoological observation, and the observation is no doubt in turn influenced by existing notions of an animal’s qualities or character. This interplay is used to full advantage by the author of the Acts Thom. In light of both the standard figurative usage of domestic and wild asses and the current natural historical reports, I have argued the ass’ colt and wild asses are to be read as typologies of the human being, representing two models of the embodied soul. The wild ass is the ideal model for the Christian life, practicing encratism, not worrying about material needs. The domestic ass is still making poor decisions, laboring under physical burdens, thinking too much of material gains. The snake might be added as a third (unthinkable, for the reader of the Acts Thom.) way; this animal, subject of the devil, represents the human being who actively pursues alliance with the enemy (i.e. Satan), choosing the lesser over the greater. Tatian’s comments on the nature of man bear repeating: The soul is a bond of flesh, but the flesh is retentive of the soul (desmo.j de. th/j sarko.j yuch,( scetikh. de. th/j yuch/j h` sa,rx); if such a form of constitution is as a temple, God wishes to dwell in it through the spirit as his representative; but if there is no such dwelling (skh,nwma), then man is better than the beasts in articulate speech alone; as for the rest his way of life is the same as theirs, since he is not a likeness of God. (Orat. Graec. 15.21–27)

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This is a Syrian Christian formulation of a very common notion: as discussed above, in the Graeco-Roman world, lacking the capacity of speech was very nearly the defining characteristic of animals, hence the term a;loga for “beasts.” The animals in the Acts Thom., of course, actually do have articulate speech; perhaps this fact alone hints that man is intended to see himself in these animals. At the same time, the significance of these animals qua animals is not to be lost. In a text that at moments teeters on the edge of rejecting the material, created world, it is surely significant that animals, which must on some level be construed as representatives of this world, are cast in exemplary roles. That this world is a creation of God – and that it is good – is evident, for our author, both in that at least some of its animals (undoubtedly not a smaller percentage than among humans) actually practice encratism, and in that by doing so they provide examples for the edification of human beings.

Chapter IX

Conclusion The primary goal of this investigation has been an increased understanding of the animal episodes that figure prominently in the Acts John, Acts Pet., Acts Paul, and Acts Thom., but had not received the sustained attention they deserve. The analyses have been conducted largely on the basis of comparison with contemporary animal related-literature – chiefly the natural historical literature that flourished at the time when the apocryphal acts were produced, but also the animal anecdotes and episodes composed by authors of fiction, historiography, biography and other genres; this comparison provides the modern reader with the knowledge of the current information and traditions about specific animals that has proved crucial in understanding the often complex and clever ways in which our authors use those animals in their narratives. The comparison has also underscored the extent to which the authors of the apocryphal acts are embedded in the literary culture of their day. Their compositional techniques mirror those of Philostratus, Lucian, Achilles Tatius, Heliodorus and the anonymous author the Hist. Alex. among others; although the stylistic register of the apocryphal acts in general does not match that of the more sophisticated of these novels and biographies, our authors might be singled out for praise in their often very skillful uniting of biblical traditions and natural historical information. Analyses of the animal episodes, then, buttress the already quite solid argument for considering these texts an integral part of the broader first and second century C.E. prose narrative scene. These animal episodes, however, indicate more than the apocryphal acts’ embeddedness in a literary landscape. As described in detail in chapter one, the evaluation of animals vis-à-vis human beings was a major theme in Graeco-Roman – including Christian and Jewish – thought in antiquity. The issue involved not just the evaluation of animals (are they rational or not?), but the evaluation of the natural world itself and the place of the human being within it. And the issue was of particular importance for Christians, to the extent that some groups within early Christianity took very negative positions towards animals, the created world, and the creator God. The fact that animals play prominent roles in the apocryphal acts – works that espouse a rigorous asceticism shared by many Christians that held such negative views – demands an investigation of what, if anything, the representation of animals in

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these texts reveals about the views of their authors and the early communities that used them. I have carried out this investigation thus far on a case-by-case basis, in most instances being somewhat limited by the fragmentary nature of the texts. Nevertheless, I believe that these texts do offer something new to the conversation – that these texts provide a view of the animal kingdom substantially different from the prevailing early Christian opinions, and that the understandings of animals evident in these texts fill out the complex and varied picture of ancient thought concerning the natural world. It is to this point, then, that I will devote my concluding remarks. A fundamental assumption of this work, necessary for moving beyond the literary interpretation of individual episodes, is that the representations of animals in a narrative text in some respect relate to attitudes towards “real” animals in the “real” world. This assumption seems, to me, uncontroversial. To put it another way, it is impossible that an animal in a narrative text be kept completely separate and distinct from the reader’s knowledge or experience of members of the species in the world outside the narrative. A more tenuous assumption of this work – one that requires support – is that the representation of animals in narrative texts may be used to identify a particular attitude towards animals, whether it is a specific stance that the author is attempting to convey to the reader or a more general view that is implicit in the text. Throughout this study, I have read animals in narratives as metaphors, symbols, allegories and metonyms; I have argued that they are used to characterize heroes and villains, to foreshadow events to come and to advance the plot directly. I have read animals as some of the most multi-purposed and effective tools in the authors’ boxes. But can they be read as anything other than figures? Do these episodes say anything about “real animals” outside the narratives? Origen, in fact, poses precisely this question in his interpretation of animals in scripture. Quoting from Isaiah, he offers the following analysis: ‘In tribulation,’ [Isaiah] says, ‘and distress, the lion and the cub of the lion; whence too those born of flying vipers, who carried their riches on asses and camels to a people who will not benefit them.’ Now is it in any way possible for these things to be understood to be spoken about corporeal beasts (de corporalibus bestiis ), even by those who are strongly friends of the literal (etiam his, qui valde amici sunt litterae)? Truly, how can ‘a lion and the cub of a lion’ or ‘flying vipers’ carry their riches on camels and asses? But clearly, on the contrary, the prophet, filled with the Holy Spirit, enumerates the powers of the worst demons (potestates daemonum pessimorum) and represented them as placing ‘the riches’ of their own deceptions on stupid and perverse souls which he compares figuratively to camels and asses (quas camelis et asinis per figuram comparat). (Hom. Lev. 16.6)

Origen’s conclusion in this instance is clear: lions and vipers don’t carry riches on the backs of camels and asses, therefore it is not “corporeal beasts” that are ultimately referred to here. Origen argues (much like Philo and others

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before him) that the absurdity of the literal sense forces the reader to take these animals figuratively. His conclusion that the lion and flying vipers must be understood as “the worst demons,” and the camels and asses as “stupid and perverse souls” certainly does not follow of necessity; Hanson may well be right when he suggests that Origen “will not recognize an ordinary metaphor when he sees one, or, if he recognizes it, will not leave it alone.” 1 Nevertheless, Origen’s identification of one way to distinguish the figurative use of animals from the reference to “corporeal beasts” (what I would call “real animals”) is appealing in its straightforwardness, even if it is a little obvious: if animals are represented as doing things they do not or cannot do, this is surely a good indication to the reader that a figurative meaning is intended; the author has employed the animal figuratively to add something not to the reader’s understanding of that animal, but to add to the reader’s understanding of the referent to which the animal as figure is applied. What if we ask Origen’s questions of the animal episodes in the Acts John, Acts Pet., Acts Paul, and Acts Thom.? “Now is it in any way possible for these things to be understood to be spoken about corporeal beasts?” What about the bedbugs in the Acts John? When they first appear in the narrative they are certainly represented realistically. Their annoying presence in the bed at an abandoned inn is quite natural; this is not only plausible, it is the creature’s regular behavior in its most typical habitat. Do real bedbugs obey commands to stop this activity and abandon their homes? Actually, yes – at least, as we have seen, natural historical literature offers precedent for thinking such a thing possible. The partridge’s behavior in the Acts John is, as we have seen, precisely that attributed to it in natural historical sources; likewise, the snake in Drusiana’s tomb kills the wicked Fortunatus while sparing the other man, just as Aelian describes the characteristic behavior of the “Thermouthis” snake of Egypt. In the Acts Peter, the dog’s capacity to recognize friend and foe is emphasized; the reader would expect no less from this species. In the Acts Paul, a lion forms an alliance with a man in an exchange of benefits; in the Acts Thecla a lioness, perhaps recognizing the exceptional quality of the heroine, refuses to attack, instead protecting the woman. These are extraordinary events well worth recounting, but are certainly not unprecedented in reports from the arena. In the Acts Thom., a snake falls in love with a human being – as this species was apparently wont to do! A talking colt of a wild ass delivers a speech praising the ascetic lifestyle and warning against hypocrites; indeed, if this animal – a eunuch, castrated by his jealous father – could speak, isn’t this precisely what it would say? Granted, animals in the natural world do not in general speak Greek. But this fact is not contradicted in these epi1 R. P. C. Hanson, Allegory and Event: A Study of the Sources and Significance of Origen’s Interpretation of Scripture (Richmond: John Knox, 1959), 246.

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sodes; to the contrary, that assumption is what makes the events reported miraculous. Time and again, the depictions of animals in the Acts John, Acts Pet., Acts Paul, and Acts Thom. correspond to reports found in natural historical sources and the anecdotes and episodes circulating in various genres of first and second century C.E. prose. To answer Origen’s question, I think yes, “those who are strongly friends of the literal” could understand these episodes to be referring to “corporeal beasts.” But they are surely figurative, too. I have argued, for example, that our understanding of the episode of John and the bedbugs is greatly increased when we recognize the bedbug as the paradigmatic disrupter of rest, a metaphor for whatever disturbs the individual from the ideal Christian peace and quiet. The figurative sense of each episode considered in this study is rooted primarily in the most well-known natural characteristics of the animal involved. We have seen that for many early Christians (e.g. the author of 1 Clement and Origen), nature itself is at times treated as a text to be interpreted. I propose that for the authors of the apocryphal acts, nature is a text to be borrowed from – a text that abounds in figures particularly suited, moreover, to Christian use. But our authors’ activity should not be understood as simply a plundering of nature for ready-made characters or metaphors; there are important implications at play. The episode of John and partridge is a helpful heuristic example, inasmuch as it describes a character’s (i.e. the apostle’s) own construction and interpretation of an animal figure. I have argued that John’s amazement in observing the partridge is an amazement at the activity of God in creating the animal. This wonder is prompted not by some spectacular characteristic of this animal per se, but by the fact that the creator has imbued creation with such meaning: God has provided in this animal, a salacious creature that cleans itself in filth, an illustration of the defiled man’s soul. I suspect a similar wonder stands behind the composition and inclusion of almost all the animal episodes considered in the preceding chapters – and such a wonder at creation is no small matter in the context of second century Christianity, when the activities of the creator God were suspect in many quarters, if not rejected entirely. That the animals in these texts have an important narrative function (the analysis of which has been the focus of this investigation) is clear; but the very fact that animals can be (and are so frequently) used in this way reveals something to the reader about the nature of real animals in the real world. God not only created these animals, he imbued them with significance – a Christian significance that is evident to the sensitive observer of nature and the observant reader of texts. I think our authors would agree with Levi-Strauss that animals are “good to think with” (and good to write with), and I think they would regard this fact as no accident: for our authors, animals are “good to

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think with” – particularly when one is thinking Christian thoughts – because God has created them that way. This basic attitude towards the animal kingdom allows for nuanced views of animals, human beings and our place within the natural world. That this world is a creation of God is, to my mind, not in question in these texts. But more than that, the portrayals of the created world and its creatures are not simplistic pictures of good v. evil, tame v. wild, gentle v. savage. As I have argued, many of the animals in the apocryphal acts are depicted quite positively, often recognizing and revering the apostles and the Christian gospel, modeling Christian behavior superior to their human counterparts. But not all animals are presented in this way: the lioness protects, the she bear attacks; the colt of the wild ass is a eunuch, the partridge is full of lust, rolling in filth. And yet, each of these animals has great value in its capacity to reveal to human beings, as natural figures, God’s message. A final comparison will, I hope, epitomize what I find so distinctive and compelling about the animal episodes in the Acts John, Acts Pet., Acts Paul, and Acts Thom. Any reader well acquainted with early Christian apocryphal literature will already have wondered where the Acts of Philip fit in this landscape. This text, though not one of the five second and third century major apocryphal acts, 2 contains perhaps the most notable animal episode of all. In act 8 of this work, the apostle and his companions travel to Ophioryme, the city of the viper-worshippers; as they enter the “wilderness of the snakes” (th.n e;rhmon tw/n drakainw/n), a great leopard emerges from the forest, throws itself at the apostles’ feet, and speaks with “a human voice” (fwnh|/ avnqrwpi,nh|), asking the apostle to command it to “speak perfectly” (telei,wj lalei/n) (Acts Phil. 8.16). After the apostle obliges, the leopard, taking up a “perfect human voice” (telei,an avnqrwpi,nhn fwnh,n), relates his own encounter with a talking animal: in the first hour of the night it had come across a herd of goats, captured a kid, and taken it to the forest to eat it; but when the leopard struck it, the kid acquired a human voice and spoke to the leopard “like a small child” (w`j paidi,on mikro,n), pleading for its life (Acts Phil. 8.17). The leopard reports the kid’s speech as follows: “O leopard, cast off from yourself the wild heart (th.n avgri,an kardi,an) and the beastly frame of mind (to. qhriw/dej th/j gnw,mhj), and acquire tameness (peripoi,hson au`tw|/ h`mero,thta); for the apostles of the divine greatness are about to pass through this wilderness, to perfectly perfect (tele,sai telei,wj) the promise of the glory of the only-begotten son of God” (Acts Phil. 8.17). The leopard reports “I was at a loss” (hvpo,roun), but “little by little my heart was changed (kata. mikro.n 2 On the relationship between the Acts Phil. and the 2nd and 3rd century apocryphal acts (particularly the Acts Thom.), see Frédéric Amsler, Acta Philippi (CCSA 12; Turnhout: Brepols, 1999), 70–72, 260–67, 435–37.

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hvlla,gh mou h` kardi,a) and my wildness was turned into tameness (h` avgrio,thj mou evstra,fh eivj h`mero,thta)” (Acts Phil. 8.17). It was at that moment that the leopard saw the apostles, recognized them as servants of “the good God” (tou/ avgaqou/ qeou/) and ran to them. Concluding his account, the leopard asks the apostle that it be allowed to go with the apostle wherever he goes, and that it might put off its “beastly nature” (th.n qhriw,dh fu,sin) (Acts Phil. 8.17). The apostle, however, asks the leopard to take him to the kid so that they might heal its wounds. When they arrive, Philip (and Bartholomew) offer a prayer, asking the “philanthropic Jesus” (fila,nqrwpe VIhsou/) to provide “life and breath and a secure constitution” (zwh.n kai. pnoh.n kai. su,stasin bebai,an) for these animals, so that they might “leave behind the beastly and bovine nature, come into tameness and no longer eat flesh, nor the kid, the food of cattle” (katalei,ywsi me.n th.n qhriw,dh fu,sin kai. th.n kthnw,dh( e;lqwsi de. eivj h`mero,thta kai. mhke,ti fa,gwsi sa,rkaj( mhde. o` e;rifoj trofh.n kthnw/n). And further, “let there be a human heart in them, and they shall follow us wherever we go, eating whatever we do in your glory” (kardi,a de. avnqrwpi,nh gene,sqw evn auvtoi/j( kai. avkolouqh,sousin h`mi/n o[pou av.n poreuw,meqa( evsqi,onta a[per h`mei/j evn th|/ do,xh| sou) (Acts Phil. 8.19). The leopard and the kid then offer their own prayer, praising and blessing the one who watched over and remembered them in the wilderness, “transformed” (metene,gkaj) their “beastly and wild nature” (th.n fu,sin ))) th.n qhriw,dh kai. avgri,an) into “tameness” (h`mero,thta), granted them the “divine word” (to.n qei/on lo,gon), and “placed in them a tongue and a notion to speak and confess your name” (e;qhkaj evn h`mi/n glw/ssan kai. no,hma tou/ eivpei/n kai. o`mologh/sai to. o;noma, sou) (Acts Phil. 8.20). The leopard and kid then join the apostle’s company and proceed to the city of the viper-worshippers. In act twelve, the two animals return to the stage. The episode begins with the human characters receiving the eucharist; the leopard and kid, however, weep bitterly “because they were not deemed worthy” (o[ti kai. auvta. ouv kathxiw,qhsan) of it (Acts Phil. 12.1). When Philip asks why they are so distraught, the leopard delivers on behalf of itself and the kid a lengthy speech – really a well-crafted rhetorical defense of their grief 3 – arguing that, if God has deemed them worthy to witness and participate in the miraculous events (which took place in the preceding acts), surely the apostle should deem them worthy of the eucharist. Even if the leopard, because it is a “wild beast” (qhri,on ))) a;grion), must be excluded, why should the kid be unworthy, it asks. “It is a great wonder indeed,” the leopard says, “that a wild beast and the kid of goats have left behind our own natures and have become as human be3 The leopard says: “I will speak on behalf of myself and the kid, and I will defend our grief” (lalh,sw ma/llon u`pe.r evmautou/ kai. tou/ evri,fou( kai. avpologh,somai th.n lu,phn h`mw/n), 12.2.

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ings, and truly God dwells in us” (o[ti qhri,on a;grion kai. e;rifoj aivgw/n kateli,pomen th.n ivdi,an fu,sin kai. gego,namen w`j a;nqrwpoi( kai. avlhqw/j o` qeo.j oivkei/ evn h`mi/n) (Acts Phil. 12.4). Finally, the leopard implores Philip and company as follows: “Now we beg of you, apostles of the good savior, that you grant us without hesitation this portion of which we have need, and that also our beastlike bodies be changed (kai. to. sw/ma h`mw/n to. qhriw/dej avllagh/|) by you and that we might leave behind the animal form (katalei,ywmen th.n zwotu,pon morfh,n). For we believe that this will come about through you, because the most important thing is the mind which is within all reasonings and the heart itself (dio,ti avnagkaio,tero,j evstin o` nou/j o` w'n e;ndoqen pa,ntwn logismw/n kai. auvth/j th/j kardi,aj); 4 and look – it dwelled with us and led us with keen perceptions; and waking us with its sleepless reasoning, it transforms us from the depth of wildness into tameness, little by little, until we become completely human, both in body and in soul. And we shall be in harmony with each other, so that we might be deemed worthy of the bread, of which we have heard the mystery of the glory. Therefore, we ask you to accept this glorious wonder from God, who watches over every nature, even the wild, on account of his great heart.” (Acts Phil. 12.4–6)

The apostle then praises Christ as the creator of the world, the one “who made the heavens, secured the abyss and condemned the enemy in it” (Acts Phil. 12.7), before asking that he transform the shape of the beasts to match the already transformed shape of their souls. Philip then sprinkles the leopard and kid with water (a prelude to the eucharist), and their posture becomes erect, their paws become feet and hands, and their faces take a human form. The episode closes with the animals praying, “you stripped us of our beastly shame and clothed us in the tameness of the saints; we praise and bless you, because you have brought us from disgrace to glory; we believe that there is life in neither creature nor human, where God does not make a visitation for our salvation” (Acts Phil. 12.8). At first blush, these episodes seem to have much in common with the animal episodes analyzed in the preceding chapters. Speaking animals who recognize and revere the apostles are certainly no longer a surprise. The leopard’s request for the eucharist recalls the lion of the Acts Paul; even its reflection on its own beastly nature finds a parallel in the dog of the Acts Pet. (“I’m a talking dog…”) (Actus Ver. 12). The biblical reference – these episodes clearly relate to the promise of Isa 11:6, that “the leopard shall lie down with the kid” – may be compared with the ass’ identification of its own biblical precedent, in the Acts Thom. Matthews, reading these episodes alongside the 4 Here, I’ve translated the comparative avnakaio,teroj as standing for a superlative, with the genitives construing with the preposition e;ndoqen; it is also possible, however, to take avnakaio,teroj as a true comparative, with the genitives construing with it instead: “because the mind which is within is more important than all reasonings and the heart itself.”

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talking animal episodes in the Acts Pet., Acts Paul, and Acts Thom., concludes that, although shifting emphases in the theme can be observed in the move from the second to fourth century texts, “the fundamental story line, which connects speaking beasts with the spread of the gospel through the apostles, coincides with its second-century prototypes,” the essential point being that “animals possess an innate sense for the divine and a desire to serve God and the servants of God.” 5 Matthews is surely right in connecting all the “articulate animals,” and much can be gained by reading all these episodes together, as his own article exemplifies. I would, however, dispute the notion that the fundamental story-line remains constant throughout. I have argued that one function of the animal episodes in the Acts John, Acts Pet., Acts Paul, and Acts Thom. is to underscore the goodness of creation and its creatures and to emphasize, against those who espouse a wicked biblical demiurge, that it is the product of God. The Acts Phil. surely shares this concern, explicitly identifying and emphasizing Jesus and/or God as the creator and overseer of creation. 6 But while the most basic elements of this notion remain, the attitude towards animals and the natural world has changed dramatically. In the preceding chapters, we have seen that the authors of the four earlier texts draw heavily upon the natural behavior characteristics of the animals included in their compositions; I have argued, further, not just that the narrative functions of these animals rely on knowledge of these characteristics, but that our authors’ recognition and use of these characteristics as figures to convey Christian meaning indicate an appreciation of God’s work in creating such creatures. These episodes in the Acts Phil., while in a sense depicting the leopard and kid realistically (as hunter and prey, respectively), reveal no interest in the particular characteristics of the animals. To the contrary, they seem only to stand in for the two basic classes of animals – i.e., the wild and the domestic, or perhaps the savage and the meek. 7 Whereas in the Acts Thom. the wild creature proved the superior, here all wildness stands in stark opposition to the “tameness of the saints” (Acts Phil. 12.8). We began this investigation with the Acts Andr., where beasts and true human beings (i.e., Christians) are sharply divided – where only beastly humans eat animals, and animals devour beastly humans. In the Acts Phil., despite the seemingly sympathetic depiction of the leopard and kid, I propose that we have come 5

Matthews, “Articulate Animals,” 231. See, e.g., Acts Phil. 8.5–6; 8.10, 13. 7 On this point, see Matthews, “Articulate Animals,” 229. Cf. Amsler who argues that the choice of leopard and kid reflects the author’s desire to evoke Cybele and Attis (insofar as the leopard and kid are attributes of the goddess and hero, repectively), as part of an effort to undermine the cult of Cybele that was popular at the time in Asia Minor (“The Apostle Philip, the Viper, the Leopard, and the Kid. The Masked Actors of a Religious Conflict in Hierapolis of Phrygia,” SBLSP (1996): 432–37. 6

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full circle: in order to become true Christians, these animals must become humans. 8 While, in the Acts Phil., God is explicitly identified as creator of this world, it is to fila,nqrwpoj VIhsou/j – “Jesus, lover of humanity” – that Philip prays (Acts Phil. 8.19). These episodes do not indicate any present goodness in the animal kingdom to recognize and respond to Christianity, nor do they even emphasize such a potential within the animal kingdom; they indicate, rather, the transformative power of Christianity over the animal kingdom. Much like the Acts Andr., then, the Acts Phil. casts the depiction of animals in the Acts John, Acts Pet., Acts Paul, and Acts Thom. in stark relief. The animals in these four texts are truly animals, and they stay that way. Earlier contributions to the topic of animals in early Christian thought have justifiably focused on the predominantly pessimistic evaluations of the animal kingdom. Both Sorabji and Gilhus, while noting the glimmers of variant views, conclude that it was the most negative strands of Graeco-Roman thought concerning animals that were taken up and maintained in Christian opinion through the modern period. Chief among the glimmers, for both Sorabji and Gilhus, are the odd second and third century narratives that occasionally present animals interacting positively with apostles and martyrs. 9 I hope that this investigation has succeeded in bringing the animals in these texts into the full light of day. As a final point, I would only emphasize the great power of narrative to bear and sustain complex meaning, even when it flies in the face of more normative positions. Regardless of official views on animals within Christian communities over the past two millennia, these animal episodes have been told and retold in writing, in art, and in person. Human beings’ declared judgments do not necessarily correspond to the stories we tell; I suspect our true opinions lie closer to the latter than the former.

8 This text, then, is no more “pro-animal” than a text suggesting that women may be full participants in the Christian community if only they first become men is pro-woman. Incidentally, the Acts Phil., in which Philip’s sister Mariamne plays a substantial role, suggests something rather like this; see Acts Phil. 8.4. 9 See Sorabji, 203; Gilhus, 250–58.

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Index of Ancient Sources I. Old Testament and Apocrypha Genesis 1:26 1–2 3:14 16:12 49:9 49:14–15

4 27 19 210 187 210

Exodus 4:20 11:7 13:13

30:1 39:5–8

141 212

206, 210 141 210

Psalms 7:1–2 10:9 17:22 22:16 68:23 49:12 92:13 104:11

48 48 48 141 141 37 29 210, 215

Leviticus 11:1–47

27, 46

Ecclesiastes 8:15

163

Numbers 21:1–9 22:20–35

115 134–7, 201–3

Deuteronomy 22:10 33:13–17

210 30

Isaiah 11:6 22:13 32:14 38:13 56:11

230 163 210–1 48 141

Jeremiah 2:24 14:6 15:3 17:11 25:30, 37–8

210 211 141 117, 120, 121 48

Ezekiel 37:1ff.

186

Hosea 5:14 8:9 11:10; 13:7–8

48 210 48

2 Samuel 16:2

207

1 Kings 14:11 21:19–24

141 141

2 Kings 9:10, 36 Job 10:16–17 11:12 24:5

141 48 212 212

250

Index of Ancient Sources

Amos 1:2; 3:8

48

Zechariah 9:9

210, 221

Judith 11:7

141

1 Esdras 5:43 9:54

206 163

Tobit 5:16 7:10 11:4

141 164 141

II. New Testament Matthew 4:18–20 6:25–26 6:30 7:6 15:26–27 16:18–19 17:24–27 21:5 26:4–16

149 194, 218, 220 220 141 141 145 149 206 196

Mark 1:16–18 2:23 5:23 7:26–28

149 117 82 83, 118, 141

Luke 5:1–11 7:11–15 12:19 12:24 15:23 16:21 23:6–16 24:41–43 24:44–45

149 82 163 212 163 141 195 150 150

John 3:12 3:14 10:12 12:31 14:30 21:1–13

122 30 144 196 196 149

Acts 1:18 8:9–24

194 145

Romans 8:19–23

184

1 Corinthians 7:32–4 12:22 15:32 15:40

108 179 163, 184 123

2 Corinthians 5:1 11:3

122 133

Philippians 3:2 3:19

141 122

2 Timothy 4:17

184

James 3:15

122

1 Peter 5:8

48

2 Peter 2:15–16 2:22

133, 134, 206 168

Revelation 8:13 9:11 22:15

140 195 141

251

Index of Ancient Sources

III. Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles Acts of Andrew Actes d’André grecs 13.13–17 16.1–9 22.9–10 25.18 27.2–3 40.14–15 46.12 53.18–22 54.18–9 56.6–9 59.12–21 62.19–20

Narratio 85 86 88 87 88 86 86 88 88 89 86, 87 87

Acts of Andrew and Matthias 1 2 19 20 24 28

89, 91 89, 90 80 90 90 80

79 82 80 85 87 87

Liber de Miraculis prologue 1 6–7 6:20–23 7.15–88 11.25–26 16.6–7 18.1–2 18.7, 15 18.55–57 18:70–71 19 19.11–12 30

81 80 84 82 82 81 82 82 83 83 83 84 84 85

80 87 87

codex Vaticanus gr. 808 lns. 200–01

86

Acts of John 56–57 60–61 63–86 87–105 94 94–102 112

116–24 96–110 110–16 73 115 95 122

Acts of Peter Actus Vercellenses 9–12 13

Laudatio 317.18 (7) 324.9–17 (16) 330.24–331.4 (25) 338.9ff. (38) 346.10 (46) 348.29–30 (49)

357.1–20 (5–6) 364.13–15 (20) 371.5–6 (34)

130–48 148–54

Acts of Paul Acts of Paul and Thecla 7 8–9 9 18 20 21 28 30 33–35 34 36 37 38 43

162 162 163 167 168 169 161, 170 170 171 177, 181 179 171, 188 171, 181 161

P.Bodmer LXI 1.16–2.12 2. 4–6

185 186

252 4.4–6 4.12–14 5.5–10 5.21–24 5.22

Index of Ancient Sources 186 183 183 183, 186 186

30–37 39–41 69–79 71 74 78–79 79 80 81

P.Hamburg 1.31 4.30 5.1–4 5.18

185 161, 182 182 182–3

Acts of Philip 8.16 8.17 8.19 8.20 12.1 12.4–6 12.7 12.8

Acts of Thomas 1 12 21 25 29

194–199 199–210 203–9 201, 204 206 207 217 209 203

190 44, 192 202 222 196

228 228, 229 229, 232 229 229 230 230 230, 231

IV. Other Ancient Texts A. Anonymous Works Authoritative Teaching 24.20–26 47

2.40 3.28

Barnabas 6.12 10.4

Interpretation of Knowledge 11.20–32 47

Didascalia 6.7–9

28 28

139, 152 58, 139

Josephus et Aseneth 5.5 82 127

Etymologicum Magnum 131.23 101 Historia Alexandri Magni recensio b 1.13 68 1.15 68 1.17 68 1.18 68 1.27 166 1.32 70, 200 2.37 58 2.39 152

Martyrium Perpetuae et Felicitatis 20 172 On the Origin of the World 119.16–18 48 Physiologus 9 11 18 27

215 115 121 38

Scholia in Aristophanem, Scholia in nubes (scholia anonyma recentiora) 710f 107

253

Index of Ancient Sources

Tabula of Cebes 23.1–2

45

Teachings of Silvanus 85.7–16 47

B. Attributed Works Achilles Tatius Leucippe et Clitophon 1.16 59 1.17 59–60 1.18 59 2.11 62 2.15 62 2.21–22 180 3.7 62 3.25 60–1 4.1 61 4.2 62 4.19 62 7.11–14 61 Aelian De natura animalium prologue 1.35 1.50 1.51 2.11 2.47 3.1 3.11 3.21 3.37 4.1, 5, 16 4.3 4.34 4.52 4.54 5.17 5.21 5.39 5.46 5.48 6.17 6.25, 59, 62

14 121 59–60 114 72 28 172 62 173 98 121 173 70 213 198 98, 100 59 33, 173 121 121 197 142

7.10, 29, 40 7.13 7.48 8.4 9.66 10.31 10.35 10.48 10.49 11.2 11.8 11.16 11.17 11.26 11.38 12.3 12.15 12.32 15.15 15.17 15.21 epilogue

142 143 174, 188 102 59–60 64, 113 119 114 167 112 99–100 113 112 173 119 137 62 199 213 33 196 14

Varia historia 12.39 12.57

173 167

Aelius Aristides Orationes 3.365

151

Aelius Herodianus De prosida catholica 3.1.68, ln. 33 164 Aeschylus Agamemnon 607ff. 1489–95

141 166

254

Index of Ancient Sources

Antigonus

Artemidorus

Historiarum mirabilium collectio 39 119

Onirocritica 2.12 2.13 2.46 3.8 4.56

Apuleius Metamorphoses 10.19, 29

212 167 119 108 212

170 Athanasius

Aristophanes Aves 117

89

Equites 1015ff.

141

Nubes 12–13 708–11 725

108 107 108

Ranae 115

103

Vita Antonii 9.5–7 50 52

46 46 46

Athenaeus Deipnosophistae 3.119d 3.120f 7.312e 9.389a 12.39.38

151 149 59 120 163

Athenagoras Aristotle De anima 428a

16

Historia animalium 488b 510a 536b 547b–548a 556b 560b 564a 564b 588a 608a 610b 611a 612a 613b 614b 621a 633a–b

142 121 121 25 102 119, 121 119 121 17 17 17 17 18, 142 119, 120 18 121 119

De somno et vigilia 456b 177

De resurrectione 10.2 12.3 12.5–6

35 35 35

Aulus Gellius Noctes atticae 5.14

174

Basil Homiliae in hexaemeron 7.5 59 Calpurnius Siculus Eclogae 7.64–66

181

Chariton De Chaerea et Callirhoe 5.10.1 151

255

Index of Ancient Sources Cicero

Diodorus Siculus

Epistulae ad familiares 7.1.3 176

Bibliotheca historica 4.22 98, 103 17.10 167

De finibus bonorum et malorum 3.20 35 3.64 25 3.67 19 De natura deorum 2.124

26

Clement of Alexandria Paedagogus 1.13 3.12 Stromateis 2.20 5.13 7.18 8.6

37 37 36, 47 37 36 36–7

Clement of Rome 1 Clement 20.4 25 26.1 6.2

Diogenes Laertius Vitae philosophorum 6.40 53 Dioscurides Pedanius De materia medica 3.44.1–2 177 Epictetus Discourses 2.8.7–8 2.8.10–11 3.55 4.1.79–80 4.11.31

19 19 72 218 167

Eusebius 28 29 29 178

Contra Hieroclem 10

102

Historia ecclesiastica 3.1.1–2 127 3.3.2 126

Commodian Heliodorus Carmen apologeticum 624–30 127 627–28 157, 182 Dio Cassius Historiae Romanae 39.38.2–4 41.14 51 51.25

41, 176 167 55 163

Dio Chrysostom Orationes 12.2

59

Aethiopica 2.27 3.8 6.1 6.3

64 63 70 64

Herodotus Historiae 1.1 2.66–75 2.73 2.74 2.85–89 7.40 9.116, 120-22

55 55 29, 61 112 149 82 150

256

Index of Ancient Sources

Hippolytus

53 91.2

Commentarium in Danielem 3.29.4 161 Homer Ilias 1.159 1.225 1.231 2.695–709 3.180 9.373 9.418 10.216 19.407 19.418 22.414

142 142 142 151 142 142 134 142 135 136 168

Odyssea 4.541 17.248 17.290–327 17.374–488 18.338 19.535–581 19.537

168 141 142 144 141 140 123

221 30

Longus Daphnis et Chloe 1.26 1.31 2.4 3.15

69 69 65 163

Lucian Anacharsis 1

168

Asinus 16 17–18 19 28 47–50 46–50

72 72 72 72 72 106

Dialogi mortuorum 28 151 De domo 11

59

Gallus 1–2

139

Lexiphanes 19

179

Muscae laudatio 20

180

Iamblichus De vita Pythagorica 13.60 13.61 13.62 23 25

99, 105 99 66 66 66

John Cassian Lucretius Collationes 24.21

123

Justin Martyr Apologia i 55

De rerum natura 5.855ff. 5.1056ff.

23 23

Martial 32

Dialogus cum Tryphone 1.4 31 4.2 31 5.1 31

Epigrammata 2.75

175

Liber spectaculorum 6b 179

257

Index of Ancient Sources 10 14 18 19

175 71 175 178

Oppian Cynegetica 1.368–538 2.589 3.183–87 3.191–207

142 59 214 214

Commentarii in evangelium Joannis 20.12 129 39 22, 40 40 40 41 41 41 42, 46 41 42 29

Homiliae in Jeremiam 17.1 118 17.2 121 Homiliae in Leviticum 16.6 225 17.1 119 De principiis 1.2.3 4.3.1

157 39

Ovid Metamorphoses 15.361–410

Graeciae description 5.14.1 98, 100–1 Petronius

Origen

Contra Celsum 1.37 4.74 4.81 4.83ff. 4.87 4.88 4.92 4.93 4.96 4.97 4.98

Pausanias

Satyricon 129.1

151

Philo De animalibus 17–19 35 38–41 40 60 83 95

166 119 33, 72 72 25 72 25

De specialibus legibus 4.100ff. 27 Philostratus Heroicus 9.5

151

Vita Apollonii 1.20 1.22 2.11 2.12–13 2.14 2.16 3.2 3.6 3.6–8 4.3 4.20 8.30

67 71 56 57, 72 57, 181 57 213 197 188 104 132 67, 143

Phrynichus 29

Eclogae 277

Paulus

Plato

Epitomae medicae libri septem 2.41.1 177

Phaedo 81e–82a, e

106

45, 89, 168

258

Index of Ancient Sources

Phaedrus 246a–248e 249c

91 92

Republic 375a–376c 376b 588b–589b

142 16 45, 47

Pliny Naturalis historia 1.22 1.84 2.146 8.1 8.3 8.13 8.20–21 8.46 8.48 8.52 8.55 8.56 8.57–58 8.63 9.39 10.2 10.43 10.60 11.81

12 165 181 14 14 196 176 214 172 173 173 174, 188 147 138 59 29 59 138 165

Plutarch Alexander 6.5 26.6 75.2 Antonius 929a Gryllus 988b 992c

963f–964a 966f–967a 968d 969e–970a 971c 972e–f 974a 976a 977d 980b 980e

20 165 72 143 119 197 33 102 172 25 62

De Stoicorum repugnantiis 1044d–e 103 Porphyry De abstinentia 1.12.5–6 3.3 3.4 3.5 3.6.7 3.20

23 101 121 102 18 103

Vita Pythagorae 23 23–4 25

66 99 66

Pseudo-Ammonius De adfinium vocabulorum differntia 76 164

68 70 70 153 173 21

Quaestiones romanae et graecae 111 84 De sollertia animalium 959d–e 20 961f 26

Seneca De beneficiis 2.19

174

De brevitate vitae 13.6

175

Epistulae 42.1 121.23 124

29 20 24

Naturales quaestiones 2.9.2 177

259

Index of Ancient Sources Sextus Empiricus

Tertullian

Pyrrhoniae hypotyposes 1.40–78 22 1.69 143 1.70–71 33, 72 1.72 23

Adversus Marcionem 14.1–2 35

Solinus

Theon

Collectanea rerum memorabilium 27.27 215–6

Progymnasmata 96.19

Soranus

Theophilus

Gynaecia 3.29

106

Statius Silvae 2.5

Ad Autolycum 1.6 2.17 2.23

158, 160

53

34 34 34

Virgil 176, 187 Aeneid 2.220ff.

Tatian Oratio ad Graecos 13.12–24 15 15.1 15.1–2 15.2–3 15.9–10 15.21–27 16 18.2 26.1

De baptismo 17.5

115

Vettius Valens 219 209 33 32 33 219 219, 222 220 33 33

Anthologiae 2.37.133

178

Xenophon Cyropaedia 8.3

82

Memorabilia 3.11.5–6 3.11.16–17

166 16

Index of Modern Authors Adamik, Tamas, 7, 186–7, 195–6 Baldwin, Matthew, 127–8, 130 Bartsch, Shadi, 63 Bonnet, Maximillian, 76 Bornkamm, Gunther, 191, 203, 208, 216, 217 Bowersock, G. W., 151 Brown, Peter, 8, 45 Chadwick, Henry, 40–1 Christine Thomas, 128, 131, 149 Coleman, Kathleen, 71, 170, 177–8

Klijn, A. F. J. 190, 192, 195–6, 199–202, 217 Levi-Strauss, Claude, 8, 9, 227 MacDonald, Dennis R., 78–9, 89–92, 126, 129, 146–8, 159, 171, 178 Mack, Burton, 54–5 Matthews, Christopher R., 7, 133–4, 136– 7, 183, 202–3, 230–1 Metzger, Bruce, 7, 184, 187 Miller, Patricia Cox, 9, 27, 39, 46, 117–18 Newmyer, Stephen, 22

Daniélou, Jean, 42, 47 Davies, Stevan, 159–60, 177–8 Dover, K. J., 107, 135 Drijvers, H. J. W., 7, 186–7, 190–2, 196, 218

Plümacher, Eckhard, 100, 105–9 Poupon, Gerard, 128–30 Prieur, Jean-Marc, 77–8, 81, 84, 91

Ficker, Gerhard, 126, 128, 130, 134 Fortenbaugh, William, 17–8

Redfield, James, 141 Roig Lanzillotta, Lautaro, 76–9, 80, 86–7 Rommel, Hans, 52, 59, 63 Rordorf, Willy, 129, 158–60, 187

Gilhus, Ingvild Saelid, 3–5, 8–9, 27, 47– 8, 88, 232 Grant, Robert, 7, 8, 13, 26, 30, 33–4, 36– 9, 43 Herrmann, John J., 179 Jackson, Howard M., 48, 49, 85 Junod, Eric, 94–100, 103–5, 109, 113–6, 119, 122, 127 Kaestli, Jean-Daniel, 94–100, 103–5, 109, 113–16, 119, 122, 127 Keller, Otto, 102, 112, 140–1, 167 Klauck, Hans-Josef, 94, 96, 128, 159, 182, 184, 187

Schmidt, Carl, 7, 126–9, 146, 157–59, 161, 182 Schneemelcher, Wilhelm, 7, 95, 127, 157–8, 164, 183–5, 190, 219 Schneider, 7, 181 Shelton, Jo-Ann, 3, 23–4 Sorabji, Richard, 9, 16, 17, 21–5, 27, 232 Stoops, Robert, 126, 129 Van den Hoek, Annewies, 179 Van Unnik, W. C., 28–9 Wellman, M., 13, 39 Williams, Michael A., 36, 49, 50

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Chapter III: Animals in Ancient Prose Narrative

Index of Subjects Achilles Tatius, 4, 51–2, 55–6, 58–63, 69, 73, 180, 224 acorns, 61, 99, 103 Acts of Andrew, 6, 76–93 Acts of Andrew and Matthias, 76–80, 89– 91 Acts of John, 6, 43, 49, 73, 81, 84, 94– 125, 155, 157, 191, 224, 226 Acts of Paul, 6–7, 43, 49, 81, 93–4, 96, 122, 126, 128–30, 139, 146–8, 152, 156–89, 226–8, 230–1 Acts of Paul and Thecla, 6, 7, 83, 156–81, 185, 187–8, 226 Acts of Peter, 6, 126–55 Acts of Philip, 228–32 Acts of Thomas, 6–8, 190–223 Aelian, 3, 10, 12–5, 28–9, 33, 37, 41, 59– 60, 62, 64–5, 70, 72, 98–102, 104, 109, 112–14, 118–21, 137, 142–3, 147, 165, 167, 172–5, 188, 196–8, 213, 226 Aelius Aristides, 151 Aesop, 51–2, 118–9, 134, 212, 222 Africa, 13, 56, 130, 179, 214–5 Alcmaeon, 12, 16 Alexander of Myndos, 13 Alexander the Great, 13, 51, 56, 58, 67–8, 70, 138–9, 152–3, 155, 167, 169–71 allegory, 5, 27–30, 34, 36–9, 42–3, 74, 217, 219 Anaxagoras, 16 Androcles, 147, 161, 174–6, 184–8 animal rationality, 4, 5, 15–26, 31–4, 36, 39, 43, 48–9, 57, 67, 71–2, 74, 93, 102, 140, 198 animal reverence for gods, 40–1, 101, 119 animal sacrifice, 3, 15, 23, 36, 88, 90, 98– 9, 101, 204 anthropocentrism, 10, 15, 22 anthropology, 218–19 Antigonus, 118–20, 123 Apollo, 99, 112, 138, 167

Apollonius, 42, 56–7, 66–8, 70–1, 101–2, 104, 42, 56–7, 66–8, 70–1, 101–2, 104, 109, 132, 137, 181, 188, 213 Apuleius, 71, 170 Arabia, 13, 29, 67, 101–2 arena, 1, 3, 6, 55, 71, 73, 83, 156, 158, 161, 170, 172, 174–79, 181, 184, 187, 226 Argos, 142–3, 145 Aristophanes of Byzantium, 12–3, 37 Aristotle, 3–4, 12–3, 15–8, 25–6, 29, 37, 102, 118–22, 138, 142, 173, 177 Artemidorus, 108, 118–9, 212 Artemis, 103 asceticism, 5, 9–10, 15, 27, 43–9, 74, 80– 1, 85, 92, 96, 192–3, 220, 224, 226 Asclepius, 113, 143 asps, 46 asses, 1, 2, 6, 19, 31, 45, 71–2, 89, 106, 133–7, 139–41, 152, 199–23 Athanasius, 11, 43, 46, 81 Athena, 112, 115 Athenaeus, 13, 59, 118–21, 149, 163 Athenagoras, 5, 34–5, 37, 88, 92 augury, 140 Aulus Gellius, 147, 174–5, 184 Babrius, 118–9, 133–4, 174, 211 Balaam, 133–5, 137, 139, 200–2, 206, 210, 216 baptism, 73, 122, 147, 149, 153, 156, 158, 160–1, 177, 183–6, 188 Barnabas, 5, 27 basilisk, 62 beans, 65, 99, 103 bears, 1, 6, 46, 57, 66–7, 73, 83, 99, 103, 171–4, 176, 181, 228 beastfighter, 1, 162, 170–1, 175, 177, 179 bedbugs, 6, 96–110, 125, 155, 226–7 bees, 25 Berenice, 173

Index of Subjects biblical demiurge, 5, 36, 43, 48, 74 birds, 4, 15, 18, 23–4, 28, 32, 37, 41–2, 58–9, 63, 66–7, 69–70, 101, 117–9, 122, 138–40, 152–3, 211, 220 boars, 83, 173 Bucephalus, 67–8 bulls, 30, 37, 46–7, 58, 64, 83, 99, 117, 171, 175, 177–9, 196, 212 calves, 23, 194 cannibalism, 76, 78–80, 88–91, 138 castration, 215–6 cattle, 4, 61, 69, 90, 117, 144, 229 Celsus, 5, 21–2, 25, 29–30, 39–42, 67, 74 Chariton, 151 Chrysippus, 19, 35, 103 Cicero, 12, 19, 25–6, 35, 176 Clement of Alexandria, 30, 36–7, 44, 47, 92, 126, 227 Clement of Rome, 5, 28–9 Cleopatra, 153–4 Clytemnaestra, 141, 166 colts, 6, 67, 134, 193, 198–203, 207–11, 215–7, 221–2, 226, 228 Corinth, 29, 107, 157–59, 175 cows, 23–4, 65, 172 cranes, 18 Crassus, 102, 104 crocodiles, 46, 61–2, 70 crucifixion, 32, 86, 92, 127, 129, 150 Cybele, 170, 232 Cynics, 21–2, 109, 140, 163 damnatio ad bestias, 83, 92, 169, 184 Daniel, 156–7, 183, 211 deer, 17, 26, 33, 213 Delphi, 68, 138 Democritus, 12, 18, 36–7 demons, 41–2, 46, 48, 81–2, 84, 88, 90, 132, 136, 203–7, 209, 216, 220, 225–6 devil, 38, 46, 82, 84, 86, 88, 90, 111, 115, 118, 121, 124, 144, 155, 172, 196, 215, 222 Didymos Chalkenteros, 13 Dio Cassius, 41, 51, 55–6, 138, 163, 167, 176 Diodorus Siculus, 55–6, 98, 103, 167, 181 Diogenes Laertius, 23, 53 Dionysos, 163, 170 Dirce, 178

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dogs, 2, 6, 16, 22, 33, 58, 61, 67, 79, 81– 2, 84, 88, 127, 130–48, 153–5, 157, 167, 174, 185, 188, 198, 202–3, 206, 226, 230 dogmatists, 22 eagles, 28, 41, 66, 80–1, 91–2, 140, 181 ecphrasis, 58, 62 Egypt, 13, 29, 55, 60–4, 67, 86, 94, 112– 5, 137, 141, 149, 153, 197–8, 210, 226 elephants, 13–4, 39, 41, 56–7, 72, 176, 180, 196 Eleusynian mysteries, 112 Empedocles, 18 encratism, 9, 44, 48, 81, 105, 186, 215–6, 220–3 Ephesus, 6, 94, 96, 156, 158, 163, 170, 182–4 Epictetus, 19, 72, 167, 218 Epicureans, 15, 23–4, 163 Epistle of Pelagia, 182, 186 Eros, 65, 86, 170, 197 Ethiopia, 60, 63–4, 138, 158 eucharist, 111, 183, 229–30 Eusebius, 94, 101–2, 126–7, 157 evil eye, 62–3 females, 38–9, 47, 59–60, 72, 79, 92, 119–2, 152, 160, 167, 172–3, 177, 180, 197, 211, 214–5 fish, 4, 6, 15, 28, 34, 37, 39, 58–9, 66, 138, 149–55, 181 flies, 98–101, 104, 109, 165–6, 180 frogs, 98, 103–4, 138, 165 giraffes, 64 gladiators, 1–2, 179 gnats, 165, 180 gnosticism, 11, 36, 47–9, 90, 92, 94–5, 115–6, 129, 131, 191–2 goats, 47, 84, 117, 228–9 grasshoppers, 69 Gregory Nazianzen, 38, 59 Hanno, 173 Heliodorus, 4, 51–2, 55–6, 58, 62–3, 73, 113–4, 162, 224 Hera, 113, 135, 137 Heracles, 98, 100–1, 103, 109, 113, 139, 163, 175, 179 Hermarchus, 23

264

Index of Subjects

Herodotus, 12, 29, 53, 55–6, 60–1, 82, 112, 149–51, 153 Hesiod, 3, 15 Himerius, 59 Himmelsreise, 217–8 Hippolytus, 127, 156, 160–1 hippopotamus, 61 historiography, 8, 51–2, 55, 69, 224 hogs, 21, 167 Homer, 12, 22, 70–1, 78, 90, 112, 123, 134, 137, 139–42, 144–5, 151, 181, 198 horses, 31, 37, 56, 64, 67–8, 82–3, 91, 133–7, 139–41, 167, 198, 206, 210, 213 Hydra, 113 hyenas, 46, 214 Iamblichus, 23, 42, 65–6, 99–100, 104–5, 162 Ignatius of Antioch, 74 India, 31, 56, 190, 196–9, 201, 212–4 Indus River, 56–7 insects, 35, 98–101, 168–9, 180 Issachar, 210 Jerome, 158–9, 160, 182 Jesus, 27, 30, 32, 36–7, 39, 44, 73, 79, 82, 85–6, 90, 111–2, 115, 117–8, 129, 132, 135, 144–6, 149–51, 154–5, 162, 171– 2, 190, 192, 194, 199, 201, 204–8, 216–20, 229, 231–2 Job, 48, 141, 210–2, 215 Juba, 13, 57, 172 Julia Domna, 13 Justin Martyr, 5, 30–3, 43, 221 Ktesias, 12–3 Leonidas of Byzantium, 13 leopards, 1, 46, 64, 83, 173, 175, 228–31 lightning, 152, 171, 181 lionesses, 52, 70, 83, 156, 161, 170–4, 176–7, 179, 183, 186–8, 226, 228 lions, 1–2, 6–8, 26, 33, 45–8, 52, 67, 73– 4, 83, 85–6, 130, 147–8, 156–8, 160–1, 163, 170–6, 187–9, 198, 212, 225–6, 230 Lucian, 4, 31, 59, 71–2, 151, 166, 168, 179–80, 224 Lucretius, 23–4

magic, 67, 89, 129, 131, 138, 162, 165 magnets, 59 males, 38–9, 47, 59–60, 72, 119, 167, 171–3, 197, 214, 216 Marcion, 5, 35–6, 43 Martial, 71, 175, 179–9 medicine, animal knowledge of, 18, 24, 33, 40–1, 113, 121 Megasthenes, 13, 196 Melampsus, 101 Menander Rhetor, 59 metamorphosis, 90 Middle Platonists, 4, 15–6, 20–2, 30, 74, 93 Mithras, 112, 162 morays, 59, 60, 102, 104 Mosaic dietary law, 27, 36, 41 Moses, 27, 30, 41, 115, 137, 195, 210 mothers, 24, 58, 63, 70–1, 83, 119, 134, 138–9, 162, 164–5, 171, 178, 200, 214 mules, 82, 140, 206 mussels, 25 Myrmidon, 79 Nag Hammadi, 5, 47–9, 80, 92, 96 nakedness, 90, 111, 115, 130, 169, 171, 177–8 Nebuchadnezzar, 211 necrophilia, 6, 96, 110–1, 113, 115 Neopythagoreans, 4, 23 Nicaea, 81–2 Nile, 61, 63–4, 70 novels, 51–2, 55–6, 58–72, 106, 113, 180, 184, 191, 224 Odysseus, 21, 78, 90, 140, 142–4, 173 Oppian, 3, 10, 12, 13, 59, 118, 142, 214 Origen, 4, 22, 27, 29–30, 39–42, 45–6, 67, 92, 117–21, 123, 127, 129, 157, 196, 225–7 Orpheus, 2, 66 oxen, 30, 65, 99, 103, 105, 210 Pamphilus of Alexandria, 13 paradoxography, 63, 123, 118, 120 paraklausithyron, 106–7, 109 partridges, 6, 65, 95–6, 116–24, 226–8 Pausanias, 98, 100–1, 109, 199 peacocks, 59–60

Index of Subjects Perseus, 98, 100, 103–4, 109 Petronius, 151 Philo, 4, 22, 25, 27–8, 32–3, 40, 72, 118– 9, 143, 165–6, 225 Philostratus, 4, 42, 51–2, 56–8, 66–7, 72– 3, 101, 104, 132, 143, 151, 181, 196–7, 213, 224 phoenix, 29–30, 60–2, 64 Physiologus, 38, 115, 118, 120–1, 215–6 pinna-guard, 25–6 Plato, 16, 18, 20, 34, 47, 53, 89, 92, 140, 168, 187 Pliny, 3, 10, 12, 14, 29, 41, 59–60, 72, 118, 120, 138, 142, 147, 149, 165, 172–4, 176, 181, 186, 188–9, 196, 214 plover, 62 Plutarch, 4, 16, 19–26, 33, 40, 48–9, 51, 62–3, 67–8, 70, 72, 74, 84, 102, 118– 20, 143, 153–4, 165, 172–3, 197–8 Pompey, 167, 176 Porphyry, 18, 23, 25, 65–6, 99–101, 103– 4, 118, 121, 143 portents, 65, 68–71, 139, 154 Protagoras, 16 Protesilaos, 150–1, 153 puns, 105–9, 143, 151, 173, 178, 188 Pythagoras, 66, 99, 103–5, 137, 140 Pythagoreans, 3, 15, 21, 57, 65–6, 98, 100, 102–4, 109, 196 ravens, 138, 211 resurrection, 27, 29–30, 34, 84, 91, 149– 51, 153, 166, 202, 216–7, 219 rooster, 53–4, 139, 145, 180 sages, 56, 62, 65, 67, 98, 100, 103, 109, 196 salt-fish, 6, 58, 149–55 Sarapis, 112 Sardanapalus, 163 Sceptics, 4, 22 scorpions, 46 seals, 139, 157, 171–2, 176–7, 181 Semiramis, 174

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Seneca, 20, 24, 29, 41, 165, 175–7, 184 Sextus Empiricus, 22–3, 25, 33, 40, 72, 143 sheep, 17, 91, 117, 144–5, 199, 205, 210 Simon Magus, 6, 127, 130–46 Sinope, 79–80 snakes, 6, 33, 41, 46, 59, 62–4, 82–4, 86, 96, 110–6, 124, 193–203, 221–2, 226, 228 Socrates, 16, 47–8, 89, 107–8 142, 166–8 Solinus, 214–5 sparrows, 67, 102, 119 spiders, 20, 25, 35–6, 41, 164–7, 169, 180 Stoics, 4, 13–5, 17–22, 24, 26, 28–9, 32, 34, 36–7, 40, 74, 103, 218–9 swallows, 26, 39, 69 Syracuse, 174 Tabula of Cebes, 45 talking animals, 7, 58, 116, 127, 130–48, 152–5, 156–7, 182–7, 193–216, 231 Tatian, 5, 32–3, 36–7, 44, 92, 209, 218– 22 Tertullian, 5, 30, 35–6, 151, 156–7, 159– 60, 165 Theon, 53, 129 Theophrastus, 12–3, 16, 18, 23, 98 tigers, 1, 187 Tiresias, 101 tombs, 6, 29, 60, 96, 110–3, 116, 168, 226 Troy, 79, 150 unicorns, 30, 42 vegetarianism, 3, 5, 15, 20, 23, 80, 102 vipers, 59–60, 87, 225–6, 228–9 wild asses, 1, 8, 39, 58, 138, 203–23. wolves, 41, 45–7, 87, 89, 91, 144, 199, 205, 220 Xanthus, 134–9 Zeus, 19, 82, 101, 112, 119, 139, 197