For Your Sake He Became Poor: Ideology and Practice of Gift Exchange between Early Christian Groups 9783110723885, 9783110723946, 9783110724004, 2021930953

Citation preview

Georges Massinelli For Your Sake He Became Poor

Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft

Edited by Matthias Konradt, Judith Lieu, Laura Nasrallah, Jens Schröter, and Gregory E. Sterling

Volume 251

Georges Massinelli

For Your Sake He Became Poor

Ideology and Practice of Gift Exchange between Early Christian Groups

ISBN 978-3-11-072388-5 e-ISBN (PDF) 978-3-11-072394-6 e-ISBN (EPUB) 978-3-11-072400-4 ISSN 0171-6441 Library of Congress Control Number: 2021930953 Bibliographic Information published by the Deutsche Nationalbibliothek The Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliografie; Detailed bibliographic data are available in the Internet at http://dnb.dnb.de. © 2021 Walter de Gruyter GmbH, Berlin/Boston Printing and binding: CPI books GmbH, Leck www.degruyter.com

Acknowledgements This book has been made possible by the support, guidance, and assistance that I have received from many special people. I would first like to thank my dissertation advisor, Prof. John T. Fitzgerald. His detailed and wide-ranging comments greatly enriched my research, but his mentorship far surpassed what is in this book. I will always value the many things he taught me about what goes into being a scholar and a theologian. I would like to acknowledge professors Blake Leyerle, Gary Anderson, and David Lincicum. Their questions and suggestions always opened new and rich avenues of investigation into the deep processes at play in Early Christianity. With them, I would also like to acknowledge the University of Notre Dame for welcoming me as a student and supporting me inside and outside the classroom. I would also like to thank my colleagues and friends in the Ph.D. program at Notre Dame for their continuous support, encouragement, and insights throughout my years in the program. I would like to express my heartfelt gratitude to the friars of the Assumption BVM Franciscan Province and the Sisters of St. Francis of Perpetual Adoration. They welcomed me in their homes and supported me in every possible way, especially through their friendship and prayer. Finally, I would like to thank my fellow Franciscan friars in Umbria, who granted me marvelous opportunities to study the Bible and the beginnings of Christianity in Italy, in Jerusalem, and at Notre Dame.

https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110723946-001

Abstract Exchange of financial support between geographically distant groups was a characteristic practice in early Christianity. The Pauline collection for the poor in Jerusalem was one of the most ambitious undertakings in Christian origins. Recent assessments of the Pauline collection have focused on patronage to explain the social relations between Jerusalem and the Pauline groups and the strategies adopted by Paul in promoting and completing the collection. This study challenges this approach and proposes that other factors shaped Paul’s stance with respect to the collection and the practical details of its execution. A comparison with the worries that surrounded patronage in the Greco-Roman world shows that patronage is not the appropriate framework to understand the Pauline collection. Paul was interested in reassuring the Corinthians, most of whom lived around subsistence level, about the financial outcome of the collection and in dispelling doubts that he might take advantage of them. In Paul’s eyes, the collection was not only an action modeled on the self-sacrifice exemplified by Jesus and divine generosity, but also an exchange within a reciprocal relationship with the Jerusalem group. The Jerusalem believers had already offered spiritual gifts to the Pauline groups and would provide material help if need were to arise in Corinth. This study surveys similar instances of intergroup support between Christian communities in the first three centuries CE. This examination demonstrates that intergroup support was a widespread phenomenon in early Christianity, involving churches from most of the Mediterranean Basin and known even outside of Christian circles. Transfers of money were organized according to a consistent pattern probably modeled on local charitable practices. Intergroup support especially addressed financial needs connected with the ransom or sustenance of Christians imprisoned for their faith. Bishops had a key role in the organization and administration of financial support. Although there was no direct link between the Pauline collection and later instances of intergroup support, the Pauline collection had similar characteristics and can be seen as part of a more widespread economic practice.

https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110723946-002

Contents Acknowledgements Abstract  . . .. ..

V

VII

.. .. . .. .. .. .

Introduction 1 1 Gift Exchange in Early Christianity Studies of Early Christian Collections 3 3 Modern Interpretations The Collection within the Framework of Greco-Roman Patronage 9 18 An Emerging Tendency Gift Exchanges in the First Three Centuries 21 22 Patronage, the Gift, and Economic Anthropology The Maussian Gift 23 The Maussian Gift and Greco-Roman Antiquity 28 31 Beyond the Gift A Fresh Model for Early Christian Gift Exchange 37

 . . . . .. .. .. . . .

Patronage and Exploitation in the World of Paul Introduction 43 46 Defining Patronage Patronage or Benefaction? 54 61 Patronage as a Problem Economic Exploitation 63 Social Degradation 73 84 Political Dependency Ideology and Reality of Patronage 96 Patronage in Israel 101 110 Conclusions

 . . .. .. ..

Multiplicity of Exchange Forms in the World of Paul Introduction 112 113 Forms of Reciprocal Exchange Gratitude 113 Friendship 119 Literary Amicitia 128

43

112

X

. .. .. ... ... .. ... ... ... .

Contents

Forms of Nonreciprocal Exchange 135 State Support 135 145 Interest-Free Loans 146 Greek and Roman Interest-Free Loans Jewish Interest-Free Loans 149 154 Almsgiving 155 Beggary in the Greco-Roman World Jewish Almsgiving 158 165 Almsgiving and Reciprocity Conclusions 169

 . . . . . . .

173 Concerns over Paul’s Collection Introduction 173 The Specter of Impoverishment 178 193 Disparity between Groups Greed 197 206 Coercion Distress 214 Conclusions 219

 . . . . . . .

224 Paul’s Description of the Collection 224 Introduction χάρις 224 Self-Sacrifice 232 245 Almsgiving An Obligation of Gratitude 255 Equality 261 272 Conclusions

 . . . . . . . .

Early Christian Collections in the First Three Centuries Introduction 280 Antioch’s Relief for Judea 281 292 Asia’s Delegation for Peregrinus Rome’s Provisions for Corinth 299 312 Rome’s Aid for Syria and Arabia 317 Carthage’s Financial Assistance for Numidia Rome’s Ransom for Cappadocia 324 Conclusions 329



Conclusions

334

280

Contents

Bibliography 341 Ancient Sources 341 Dictionaries and Encyclopedias 347 General Works Index of Names

392

Index of Ancient Sources

401

346

XI

1 Introduction 1.1 Gift Exchange in Early Christianity A gift is far more than simply an object we give to another person. A gift conveys a message. Gifts symbolize us and our feelings, are in fact pieces of ourselves that we entrust to someone who is important to us. Yet, a gift can also deceive. We all perform our roles in the drama of gift giving, pretending to give freely and with no strings attached, but on many occasions, we have no choice but to give a gift, and we expect at the very least polite acceptance and gratitude in return. We feel shame when we fail to give a gift that was expected or anger when our gift is not well received. Be it a welcome cake to a new neighbor, a bouquet of roses to a lover, a wedding ring to a spouse, or a large donation to a charity, gifts have a huge part in everyday life and a surprisingly profound impact on the economy. A gift is also more than mere self-expression or social performance. Involving, by necessity, two or more individuals, a gift always establishes, perpetuates, or alters relationships. It is inherently social. Gift exchanges create, shape, and structure the societies in which we live. Gift exchanges generate interdependence, build and transform communities, and foster human solidarity. Gift exchange is the society.¹ Early Christians were immersed just like us in a world of gifts and, not surprisingly, used the concept of the gift to shape their understanding of the message of Jesus. Jesus was the gift of God’s love (John 3:16), and so was the Spirit (Acts 5:32; 2 Cor 5:5; 1 Thess 4:8). The cross was Jesus’s gift of self (Gal 1:4). At the Last Supper, Jesus offered the gifts of his body and blood (Matt 26:26 – 29). Yet, gift giving was not merely a theological metaphor for early Christians, but also their everyday experience and the foundation of their identity. Jesus invited his followers to sell their possessions and give to the poor (Matt 19:21). He encouraged them to lend expecting nothing in return (Luke 6:35) and give alms expecting rewards only from God (Matt 6:2– 4). The generosity Jesus taught his disciples inspired, in the early groups of believers, an ideal ethos of communion of

 Mary Douglas, “Foreword: No Free Gifts,” foreword to The Gift: The Form and Reason for Exchange in Archaic Societies, by Marcel Mauss (London: Routledge, 2002), ix. See also Filippo Carlà and Maja Gori, “Introduction,” in Gift Giving and the “Embedded” Economy in the Ancient World, ed. Filippo Carlà and Maja Gori, Akademiekonferenzen 17 (Heidelberg: Universitätsverlag Winter, 2014), 23 – 25. In Seneca’s words: De beneficiis dicendum est et ordinanda res, quae maxime humanam societatem alligat (“What we need is a discussion of benefits and the rules for a practice that constitutes the chief bond of human society”; Ben. 1.4.2; trans. Basore). https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110723946-003

2

1 Introduction

goods, resource sharing, and redistribution of wealth according to need (Acts 2:44; Acts 4:32– 35).² We do not know to what extent the idealized portrait of the early Jerusalem believers in Acts corresponded to actual practice, but we do know that Paul spent a substantial part of his missionary work raising a “collection for the saints” from the Greek-speaking communities he founded (1 Cor 16:1). This collection stands out as the largest—both in time and in space—economic project of earliest Christianity of which we have information. The Pauline collection is also striking for its unique character: a gift between religious groups united by common beliefs but geographically remote and culturally dissimilar; a gift from a plurality of donors—even separate groups of donors—to a collective recipient; a gift from poor people to poor people. Interpreters have repeatedly attempted to find adequate parallels to Paul’s collection in the economic practices of Greco-Roman or Jewish antiquity, but all attempts have failed to provide a fully satisfactory analog. This is not altogether surprising given the tight link between gift-giving practices and social structure. In some ways, the distinctiveness of Paul’s collection simply mirrors the unique features of early Christianity, a plurality and diversity of groups. Inasmuch as it was such an unusual socioeconomic practice, the collection provides a powerful probe into some of the key questions about the social life of Pauline Christianity and its most distinctive features: their economic circumstances and activities, their leadership structures and styles, their interrelations and competitions, and the ideological basis of their social identity and interactions. The importance that Paul attached to this fundraising endeavor suggests that it was intimately connected with his views about the life of the groups and that his directions for the collection were partly aimed at establishing the kind of community and intergroup relations that he desired to see. Moreover, since a considerable portion of the texts that discuss the collection are situated in the midst of Paul’s communication with Corinth in a time when his leadership and authority were disputed, the strategies he adopted for the collection were part of and influenced by his desire to re-establish friendly relations with a troubled group. As mentioned, Paul’s collection was an unfamiliar form of gift in the GrecoRoman world, but it was not an isolated incident in early Christianity. There is sparse but consistent evidence that during the first three centuries CE, early Christian churches gave and received financial support from other churches in times of need. The broad time frame and the widespread geographical distribu-

 Joshua Noble, “Common Property, the Golden Age, and Empire in Acts 2:42– 47 and 4:32– 35” (PhD diss., The University of Notre Dame, 2018).

1.2 Studies of Early Christian Collections

3

tion of such instances suggest that mutual help between churches was part and parcel of a common ethos among early Christians. Giving and receiving aid between communities belonged to the core of Christian identity.

1.2 Studies of Early Christian Collections Early Christian collections have become the focus of scholarly attention only in relatively recent times, most likely as a result of an increased interest in economic realities and their significance for society and identity formation. Despite its short history, research on the Pauline collection has seen an exponential growth in the last years resulting in an intense dialogue among interpreters and showing some signs of inchoate convergence. A survey of recent studies brings into focus the direction of collection studies in the last two decades.

1.2.1 Modern Interpretations The first monograph-length study on Paul’s collection was Wilbur M. Franklin’s Heidelberg dissertation, Die Kollekte des Paulus. ³ Franklin argues that the immediate relief of the pressing need in the Jerusalem community was neither the

 Wilbur M. Franklin, Die Kollekte des Paulus (Scottdale: Mennonite, 1938). Besides treatments of the collection in commentaries on the Pauline letters, a few brief analyses of Paul’s collection were published in the early 20th century. In 1915, J. R. Willis wrote a short article on the collection (“Collection,” Dictionary of the Apostolic Church 1:223 – 25) in which he linked it with Paul’s meeting with the “pillar apostles” (Gal 2:10) as a means of emphasizing “the spirit of toleration and good-will then established” (“Collection,” 224). Willis contended that Paul had three main reasons for raising the collection: a “spiritual debt” of the Gentiles to the Jews, a general duty of wealth to poverty, and the establishment of “a bond of fellowship and communion” between Jewish and Gentile Christians (“Collection,” 225). A few years later, in 1921, Karl Holl included Paul’s collection in his discussion of Paul’s notion of the church. Holl thought that “the poor” in Gal 2:10 were the Jerusalem community and that the collection was a stipulation that the mother church imposed on Gentile Christians: every Gentile community was under an obligation to support the mother community (“Der Kirchenbegriff des Paulus in seinem Verhältnis zu dem der Urgemeinde,” in Karl Holl, Der Osten, vol. 2 of Gesammelte Aufsätze zur Kirchengeschichte [Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1928], 61). Johannes Munck reacted by stating that Holl disregarded Paul’s repeated assertion that the collection was voluntary (Paul and the Salvation of Mankind, trans. Frank Clarke [Richmond: John Knox, 1959], 288 – 89). According to Munck, the collection was to be interpreted as the fulfillment of the prophetic promises that the Gentiles would journey to Jerusalem in the last days and that Israel would be saved (Paul and the Salvation of Mankind, 303 – 4).

4

1 Introduction

only nor the primary purpose of Paul’s collection because Paul took several years to complete it and Jerusalem’s need did not seem urgent at all.⁴ In addition to the practical but secondary purpose of poverty relief, the collection fulfilled an obligation of the Gentile Christians toward the mother church in Jerusalem from which they had received spiritual gifts (Rom 15:27).⁵ As such, the collection was, according to Franklin, a sign of the common love and brotherhood of all Christian communities, a sign that could heal the friction between Gentile and Jewish groups in the church.⁶ In his Habilitationsschrift, Die Geschichte der Kollekte des Paulus für Jerusalem, Dieter Georgi reconstructs a “history” of the Pauline collection from its origin at the Jerusalem meeting to its eventual conveyance to Jerusalem.⁷ This, of course, means that for Georgi both Gal 2:10 and Acts 24:17 refer to Paul’s collection.⁸ According to Georgi, the economic implications of the Jerusalem agree Franklin, Die Kollekte des Paulus, 52. So also Andreas Lindemann, “Die Jerusalem-Kollekte des Paulus als ‘diakonisches Unternehmen,’” Wort und Dienst 28 (2005): 100.  Franklin, Die Kollekte des Paulus, 53.  Franklin, Die Kollekte des Paulus, 54.  Dieter Georgi, Remembering the Poor: The History of Paul’s Collection for Jerusalem (Nashville: Abingdon, 1992).  Georgi, Remembering the Poor, 33, 125. Although most authors seem to assume it, the identification of the alms of Acts 24:17 with the collection from the Pauline communities is unclear. It does not emerge from the text of Acts and presumes the knowledge of Paul’s letters. Indeed, despite the importance it has in the Pauline letters, there is no mention anywhere in Acts of the preparation and raising of the collection (Clayton R. Bowen, “Paul’s Collection and the Book of Acts,” JBL 42 [1923]: 49). Acts 24:17 would at best be a vague allusion to its delivery (Maurice Goguel, “La collecte en faveur des Saints,” RHPR 5 [1925]: 316). On the other hand, Bowen observes that, if read within the context of Acts, the reference to almsgiving—possibly a mention of the collection in Luke’s source—aligns with the purpose of Paul’s visit that Acts provides, namely, to perform an act of worship (Acts 21:23 – 26; 24:11) (“Paul’s Collection and the Book of Acts,” 57). Robert C. Tannehill contends that here the knowledge of Paul’s letters misleads the reader. According to Tannehill, the almsgiving and offerings Paul brought to Jerusalem had no connection with the collection. They were instead temple offerings and were meant to refute the accusations mentioned in Acts 21:28 that Paul was against his people (“I came to bring alms to my nation”) and the temple (The Narrative Unity of Luke-Acts: A Literary Interpretation, 2 vols., Foundations and Facets [Philadelphia: Fortress, 1986 – 1990], 300). Keith F. Nickle maintains that if Acts 24:17 refers to the collection, then it is a “distorted reference” because the collection is described “as a delivery by Paul of traditional Jewish contributions from the Diaspora to Jerusalem.” If this distortion is intentional, Nickle continues, it is part of a broader suppression of the collection from Acts and must be interpreted in that context (The Collection: A Study in Paul’s Strategy, SBT 48 [Naperville: Allenson, 1966], 70, 148 – 50). F. F. Bruce, who believes Acts 24:17 is a reference to Paul’s collection, argues that the most probable explanation for the ambiguity of this verse and, more generally, Luke’s failure to provide information about the collection is that the collection “failed so disastrously to achieve its purpose” (The Acts of the Apostles, 3rd ed.

1.2 Studies of Early Christian Collections

5

ment on remembering the poor had only secondary importance. Its main significance was that of a symbolic “confession of unity of the community of Jesus Christ.”⁹ Georgi sees the collection as a circulation of grace that encompasses the entire Christian community in all its parts: Paul is convinced that the outpouring of God’s acts and gifts of grace, first received and passed on by the congregation in Jerusalem, is flowing back to them in the form of the collection and the thanksgiving it represents. This response will incite the Jerusalem church to gratitude and renewed giving, thus sustaining the circular movement.¹⁰

Georgi is especially inspired by Paul’s use of the category of equality (ἰσότης), which he deems connected with Philo’s cosmic interpretation of the term as a divine force. God’s original gift of grace to believers makes them righteous and equal and becomes mutual support, both material and spiritual, between Christians.¹¹ Keith F. Nickle’s The Collection interprets the collection as Paul’s attempt to preserve the unity of the church threatened by the existence of “two conflictingly oriented missionary enterprises,” one to the Gentiles and the other to the Jews.¹² This construal originates from Nickle’s reading of the collection in light of the conflicts described in Gal 2. More specifically, Nickle proposes that there were three levels of significance in Paul’s treatments of the collection, all connected to church unity: “an act of charity among fellow believers”; an expression of solidarity showing that “God was calling Gentiles to faith”; “an eschatological pil-

[Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1990], 481). Alternatively, John Knox believes that the collection was a “peace offering” to solve intergroup conflicts and that Luke omitted it as incompatible with his view that the church had been at peace from the beginning (Chapters in the Life of Paul, rev. ed. [Macon: Mercer University Press, 1987], 51). See also Robert M. Grant, Early Christianity and Society: Seven Studies (New York: Harper & Row, 1977), 127; Jouette M. Bassler, God and Mammon: Asking for Money in the New Testament (Nashville: Abingdon, 1991), 110; Dietrich-Alex Koch, “Kollektenbericht, ‘wir’-Bericht und Itinerar: Neue (?) Überlegungen zu einem alten Problem,” NTS 45 (1999): 379 – 80; David J. Downs, “Paul’s Collection and the Book of Acts Revisited,” NTS 52 (2006): 62– 68; Steven J. Friesen, “Injustice or God’s Will: Early Christian Explanations of Poverty,” in Wealth and Poverty in Early Church and Society, ed. Susan R. Holman, Holy Cross Studies in Patristic Theology and History (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2008), 27– 29; Verlyn D. Verbrugge and Keith R. Krell, Paul and Money: A Biblical and Theological Analysis of the Apostle’s Teachings and Practices (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2015), 197– 200.  Georgi, Remembering the Poor, 42.  Georgi, Remembering the Poor, 121.  Georgi, Remembering the Poor, 89.  Nickle, The Collection, 72– 73.

6

1 Introduction

grimage of the Gentile Christians to Jerusalem” demonstrating to the Jews “the divine gift of saving grace to the Gentiles.”¹³ In his conclusions, Nickle repeats traditional lines of interpretation.¹⁴ The real significance of his study lies in its third chapter, which adopts a comparative approach to Paul’s collection by investigating “Analogies to Paul’s Collection in Contemporary Judaism.” After analyzing the Jewish temple tax, charity for the poor, the post-70 CE patriarchal tax, and evidence from Qumran, Nickle concludes that Paul drew inspiration from the Jewish temple tax not merely for the logistics of the project but especially “because the symbolism of the Temple tax corresponded so precisely with the hopes for the unity of the Church with which Paul had invested his project.”¹⁵ Regardless of the limited significance of this interpretation, Nickle’s study marks an important turn in scholarship toward searching for possible analogies to the collection within the context of the economic practices in Paul’s world. While Nickle focuses on the Jewish temple tax, Klaus Berger argues that the best comparative framework for Paul’s collection is Jewish almsgiving. Berger identifies Paul’s collection with the alms Paul brought to Jerusalem for his nation, Israel, in Acts 24:17.¹⁶ Berger singles out the theological motif of “almsgiving for Israel” in Jewish texts, namely, that almsgiving could have an expiatory function for Godfearers.¹⁷ However, Berger believes that the theological foundation of this motif goes together with its social function of vouching for a Godfearer’s association with Israel and his or her desire to belong to Israel.¹⁸ Berger detects this same pattern in two additional Lukan passages (Luke 7:5 and Acts 10:2) and suggests that this is the meaning of Paul’s collection: “Almsgiving to the poor (of Israel) is the phrase that describes the relationship between the Pauline communities and the Jewish-Christian community in Jerusalem.”¹⁹ In brief, almsgiving for Israel’s poor, and therefore Paul’s collection, was a way of expressing

 Nickle, The Collection, 142.  See, for instance, the similar views of Adolf von Harnack, The Mission and Expansion of Christianity, trans. and ed. James Moffatt, 2nd ed., 2 vols., Theological Translation Library 19 – 20 (New York: Putnam’s Sons, 1908), 1:183.  Nickle, The Collection, 99.  Klaus Berger, “Almosen für Israel: Zum historischen Kontext der paulinischen Kollekte,” NTS 23 (1977): 181.  Godfearers were Gentiles who accepted some Jewish beliefs and practiced Jewish rites but did not become full converts to Judaism.  Berger, “Almosen für Israel,” 190 – 92.  “Almosen an die Armen (Israels) ist hier das Stichwort, mit dem das Verhältnis der paulinischen Gemeinden zur judenchristlichen Gemeinde in Jerusalem dargestellt wird” (Berger, “Almosen für Israel,” 197).

1.2 Studies of Early Christian Collections

7

one’s affiliation to Israel without undergoing the formal rituals of conversion through circumcision.²⁰ Berger’s model was revived and expanded by Byung-Mo Kim’s Die paulinische Kollekte. According to Kim, 2 Cor 8 – 9 describes the collection as expressing the status of grace of the Gentile givers and their communion with Jewish Christian receivers. The so-called apostolic council (Gal 2:1– 10) confirmed a law-free gospel for both Jews and Gentiles, but in everyday life in a mixed community, Jews would continue to observe the law, while Gentiles would not. Given these external differences, the so-called apostolic decree urged both Jews and Gentiles to express their community of faith through the collection. Kim argued that this understanding of Paul’s collection corresponded to the model of almsgiving. Just as Godfearers in early Judaism, with neither circumcision nor law, expressed their incorporation into the law-abiding people of Israel through almsgiving, so too Gentile Christians, with neither circumcision nor law, expressed their state of grace and their community of faith with Jewish-Christians through the collection.²¹ Hans Dieter Betz’s study of the Pauline collection is a literary analysis on 2 Cor 8 – 9 in the form of a commentary. Betz is interested in partition theories that see Second Corinthians as composed of distinct fragments of letters and in the specific function of chapters 8 and 9 within the whole letter. After extensively reviewing secondary literature on this issue, he proposes to verify the various theories through a detailed literary analysis by means of the tools provided by ancient rhetoric.²² Betz concludes that these two chapters constitute two sep Nicholas Taylor, however, observes that “in none of the cases Berger cites does the righteous Gentile actually become part of the covenant community of Israel” (Paul, Antioch and Jerusalem: A Study in Relationships and Authority in Earliest Christianity, JSNTSup 66 [Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1992], 119). Despite the soteriological significance of almsgiving witnessed in Jewish texts, almsgiving alone did not grant membership in the covenant community.  Byung-Mo Kim, Die paulinische Kollekte, TANZ 38 (Tübingen: Francke, 2002), 183 – 86.  Hans Dieter Betz, 2 Corinthians 8 and 9: A Commentary on Two Administrative Letters of the Apostle Paul, Hermeneia (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1985). The presence of rhetorical devices in the letters of Paul has been noticed since antiquity, but in recent years some scholars have proposed to employ the categories of Greco-Roman rhetoric to understand the Pauline letters as a whole: their integrity, structure, and argument. Although Betz was certainly one of the first proponents and practitioners of this approach, its most important early theorist was George A. Kennedy (New Testament Interpretation through Rhetorical Criticism, Studies in Religion [Chapel Hill: The University of North Carolina Press, 1984]). There has been a long debate over the applicability and suitability of the rhetorical method of interpretation. Scholars have investigated Paul’s knowledge of and education in classical rhetorical theory, the appropriateness of ancient rhetoric for letters, and the functional correlations between genres and parts of letters and speeches. See Hans Dieter Betz, “The Literary Composition and Function of Paul’s Letter to the Galatians,”

8

1 Introduction

arate letters. In 2 Cor 8, a strictly administrative part (vv. 19 – 24) is preceded by an argumentative section (vv. 1– 15) that urges the Corinthians to resume the collection. 2 Cor 9 is rather an advisory letter that encourages the completion of the collection.²³ Although Betz situates Paul in his (mainly Greco-Roman) cultural context, he does not focus on the collection per se but mainly on the literary features of the fragments of letters under examination.²⁴ In contrast to Betz, Verlyn D. Verbrugge uses literary analysis in order to investigate the collection and particularly Paul’s role as a leader in early Christian groups. Verbrugge examines possible letter forms that may have inspired Paul in 1 Cor 16:1– 2 (a commanding letter) and 2 Cor 8 – 9 (a letter of request) and draws conclusions about Paul’s exercise of leadership—more authoritative when the relationship with the Corinthians was good, less assertive and more subtle when his authority was questioned—and about the collection.²⁵ According to Verbrugge, the most reliable source in the case of Paul’s collection is Romans since it is free “from the problems and the financial conflicts that affected the way he wrote about it to the Corinthians.”²⁶ In his reading of Romans, the collection was Paul’s effort to create “unity between the Jewish and the Gentile segments of the church,” and Paul’s communities were under an obligation to carry out this project “not because Jerusalem said so but because he as their leader said so.”²⁷ Verbrugge’s work points out the interaction between Paul’s

NTS 21 (1975): 353 – 79; Carl Joachim Classen, “St Paul’s Epistles and Ancient Greek and Roman Rhetoric,” in Rhetoric and the New Testament: Essays from the 1992 Heidelberg Conference, ed. Stanley E. Porter and Thomas H. Olbricht, JSNTSup 90 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1993), 265 – 91; Peter Lampe, “Rhetorical Analysis of Pauline Texts—Quo vadit?” in Paul and Rhetoric, ed. J. Paul Sampley and Peter Lampe (New York: T&T Clark, 2010), 3 – 21; Troy W. Martin, “Invention and Arrangement in Recent Pauline Rhetorical Studies: A Survey of the Practices and the Problems,” in Paul and Rhetoric, 48 – 118; Stanley E. Porter, “Paul of Tarsus and His Letters,” in Handbook of Classical Rhetoric in the Hellenistic Period: 330 B.C.–A.D. 400, ed. Stanley E. Porter (Leiden: Brill, 1997), 533 – 85.  Betz, 2 Corinthians 8 and 9, 139.  Kieran J. O’Mahony performs a rhetorical analysis of 2 Cor 8 – 9 similar to Betz’s. His main purpose is to demonstrate the applicability and suitability of ancient rhetoric for the study of Paul’s letters, but he nonetheless argues that Paul’s collection in Corinth had three purposes: “To test how genuine their commitment is; to re-establish the authority of Paul; and to bring this fractious, sectarian community back into the wider κοινωνία of the gospel” (Pauline Persuasion: A Sounding in 2 Corinthians 8 – 9, JSNTS 199 [Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2000], 161– 62).  Verlyn D. Verbrugge, Paul’s Style of Church Leadership Illustrated by His Instructions to the Corinthians on the Collection (San Francisco: Mellen Research University Press, 1992), 366 – 70.  Verbrugge, Paul’s Style of Church Leadership, 368.  Verbrugge, Paul’s Style of Church Leadership, 368.

1.2 Studies of Early Christian Collections

9

rhetoric and his relationship with early Gentile groups as well as the strict connection between the collection and the way Paul wielded his authority over Christian believers. Burkhard Beckheuer focuses, in Paulus und Jerusalem, on the theological elements of the collection texts. He argues that although Paul was no theologian and did not formulate a systematic theology, it is possible to recognize his theological understanding of the collection.²⁸ Beckheuer takes account of the complexity of Paul’s discourse, resists the temptation of reducing it to a single point of view, and describes it as being comprised of several distinct elements. Beckheuer’s conclusion demonstrates the many theological components of Paul’s reflection on the collection, from the eschatological perspective of the “good work,” to the Christological meaning of “grace,” to his mission theology in Romans.²⁹

1.2.2 The Collection within the Framework of Greco-Roman Patronage The year 2000 marked an important turning point for the study of Paul’s collection. By then, a number of studies had read social relations in the Pauline groups through the lens of Greco-Roman patronage, and Stephan J. Joubert applied this new approach to the collection in his monograph Paul as Benefactor. ³⁰ Joubert deliberately chooses beneficence and patronage as the interpretative framework of his analysis of the Pauline texts and starts from the hypothesis that “the collection is to be understood in terms of the social convention of benefit exchange.”³¹ He further maintains that in order to move beyond the level of simple description and investigate the “ideologies and social forces involved in the collection,” one needs to make use of the analytical tools of the social sciences, in particular the theories of gift exchange of Marcel Mauss and C. A. Gregory.³²

 Burkhard Beckheuer, Paulus und Jerusalem: Kollekte und Mission im theologischen Denken des Heidenapostels, European University Studies: Series 23: Theology 611 (Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 1997), 9.  Beckheuer, Paulus und Jerusalem, 270 – 75.  Stephan J. Joubert, Paul as Benefactor: Reciprocity, Strategy and Theological Reflection in Paul’s Collection, WUNT 2/124 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2000). For early studies that used patronage to interpret New Testament texts, see below pp. 173 – 74, especially n. 559.  Joubert, Paul as Benefactor, 6, 11.  Joubert, Paul as Benefactor, 14– 15, 18 – 21; Mauss, The Gift; C. A. Gregory, Gifts and Commodities, Studies in Political Economy (London: Academic Press, 1982).

10

1 Introduction

According to Joubert, at the meeting between Antioch’s delegation and the “pillar apostles” (Gal 2:1– 10), Jerusalem became the collective benefactor of Paul and Antioch. The Jerusalem apostles offered “their recognition of the ‘law-free’ gospel in Antioch and Paul’s apostleship,” for which they requested, in return, “material assistance from Paul for the poor in their midst.”³³ The groups established by Paul were also under a similar obligation to Jerusalem because of the spiritual gifts that they had received from them (Rom 15:27).³⁴ Therefore, Joubert understands the collection as a reciprocation of gratitude for the benefactions Paul and his groups received from Jerusalem. According to Joubert, the collection was a counter-gift, which Paul assumed would be accepted and, as such, would put the Jerusalem group under a new obligation toward Paul and his groups. In this description of the reversal of mutual obligations, Joubert appears especially indebted to Mauss’s idea of competitive reciprocity, according to which, by returning a gift, the original receiver puts the giver under a new obligation, effectively reversing the roles of the exchange partners.³⁵ Joubert’s work was a landmark in the attempt to apply theories of gift giving to the collection, yet it does not sufficiently explore the ways in which gift giving was realized in ancient patronage and beneficence. He observes that gift giving created “clear status demarcations, with the giver in the superior position,”³⁶ but he does not fully take into account the specific practices of Greco-Roman patronage and benefaction. In Greco-Roman antiquity, patronage was instrumental in perpetuating social hierarchy and the power differential between the parties, but these characteristics normally preceded the relationship and were the reason why a social inferior sought help and support from a superior. Greco-Roman patronage and benefaction were clearly one-way relationships in which the partners never swapped their relative status unless a dramatic turn of events took place. If Paul and his groups became Jerusalem’s benefactors after being their beneficiaries, their dealings did not conform to the realities of benefaction as Joubert claims.³⁷ In brief, Joubert analyzes the collection entirely within the pat Joubert, Paul as Benefactor, 114.  Joubert, Paul as Benefactor, 150 – 51.  Analyzing the potlatch—a gift-giving feast of the Tlingit and the Haida in the American Northwest—Mauss states: “Nowhere is the individual prestige of a chief and that of his clan so closely linked to what is spent and to the meticulous repayment with interest of gifts that have been accepted, so as to transform into persons having an obligation those that have placed you yourself under a similar obligation” (The Gift, 47; my emphasis).  Joubert, Paul as Benefactor, 22.  Steven J. Friesen, “Paul and Economics: The Jerusalem Collection as an Alternative to Patronage,” in Paul Unbound: Other Perspectives on the Apostle, ed. Mark D. Given (Peabody: Hendrickson, 2010), 48; David J. Downs, “Is God Paul’s Patron? The Economy of Patronage in Pauline

1.2 Studies of Early Christian Collections

11

terns of Greco-Roman beneficence but does not adequately explain the ways in which the collection differed from the benefaction model. The same year, Steven S. H. Chang defended his dissertation, “Fund-Raising in Corinth,” in which he analyzes the collection texts as a probe into the socioeconomic structure of the Corinthian group, primarily in order to contribute to the debate on the economic level of Pauline Christianity.³⁸ Chang thinks that at least some wealthy members of the Corinthian group viewed the collection as an act of patronage, but he does not provide any evidence of this other than a very general, Finleyan statement that “economic exchange in the Graeco-Roman world was ‘embedded’ into the larger societal structure.”³⁹ The equation of the collection with patronage was for Chang a threat to intergroup relations since patronage was “a means to affirm the superior social status of a few wealthy Corinthians over the poor Christians of Jerusalem.”⁴⁰ In his view, Paul responded to this perceived danger by theologizing the collection “as a debt within an alternative system of patronage dominated by God himself.”⁴¹ Paul revised benefaction “in light of a more egalitarian relationship” between Jerusalem and his groups.⁴² Chang’s reading of competitive gift giving within the system of patronage seems more realistic than Joubert’s, but the Theology,” in Engaging Economics: New Testament Scenarios and Early Christian Reception, ed. Bruce W. Longenecker and Kelly D. Liebengood (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2009), 140 n. 30; L. L. Welborn, “‘That There May Be Equality’: The Contexts and Consequences of a Pauline Ideal,” NTS 59 (2013): 77– 78. More generally, David Cheal observes that a gift cannot create or radically change the nature of a relationship by itself: “Gift transactions create nothing but only add to and extend what already exists” (The Gift Economy [London: Routledge, 1988], 174).  Steven S.H. Chang, “Fund-Raising in Corinth: A Socio-Economic Study of the Corinthian Church, the Collection and 2 Corinthians” (PhD diss., University of Aberdeen, 2000), 3.  Chang, “Fund-Raising in Corinth,” 215. M. I. Finley’s view of ancient Greco-Roman economy is that people in ancient societies did not conceptualize economic activity as separate from the other aspects of life, especially social relations. Ancient economy was embedded in ancient society (The Ancient Economy, updated ed. [Berkeley: University of California Press, 1999], 21).  Chang, “Fund-Raising in Corinth,” 216.  Chang, “Fund-Raising in Corinth,” 225. Chang’s reference to an “alternative” socioeconomic system among early Christians echoes Richard A. Horsley’s article published in 1997, in which he argued that Pauline Christianity structured itself as an “alternative” to the social, political, and economic institutions of its time. Horsley briefly discusses the role of the collection within this alternative structure: “By contrast with the vertical and centripetal movement of resources in the tributary political economy of the empire, Paul organized a horizontal movement of resources from one subject people to another for the support of ‘the poor among the saints at Jerusalem’” (“1 Corinthians: A Case Study of Paul’s Assembly as an Alternative Society,” in Paul and Empire: Religion and Power in Roman Imperial Society, ed. Richard A. Horsley [Harrisburg: Trinity Press International, 1997], 251).  Chang, “Fund-Raising in Corinth,” 225.

12

1 Introduction

texts hardly justify the hypothesis that the Corinthians understood themselves as patrons of the Jerusalem group.⁴³ Sze-kar Wan’s article “Collection for the Saints as Anticolonial Act” also appeared in 2000.⁴⁴ He starts from the New Perspective position that Paul’s primary aim was the inclusion of all Gentiles “into the metanarrative of Israel.” Such a universalism, however, implied for Wan “opposition to and criticism of all Roman imperial political, social, and cultural hegemonic forces, expressions, and institutions, including the patronage system.”⁴⁵ Within this general view of Paul’s mission, Paul’s treatment of the collection was an example of an anti-patronal act because it expressed his desire “to decouple the Corinthians’ contribution from their patronal expectation that the Jerusalem church could become obligated to them as a result of the gift.”⁴⁶ For Wan, evidence of this desire is Paul’s avoidance of the language of poverty in 2 Cor 8 – 9 in reference to the Jerusalem group, since their reception of financial support would automatically have rendered Jerusalem a client of Corinth. On the contrary, Paul’s introduction of God’s generosity dissolved the Corinthian patronage into stewardship of the gifts entrusted to them.⁴⁷ Three years later, James R. Harrison’s Paul’s Language of Grace in Its GraecoRoman Context addressed the collection through a comparison of the use of χάρις (grace) terminology in Paul and benefaction ideology.⁴⁸ Harrison examines the occurrences of χάρις in inscriptions, papyri, and literary sources and points to its connection with the “ethos of reciprocity.” By this, Harrison means that χάρις, when used in conjunction with ἀποδιδόναι or ἀπόδοσις, indicates something more than a thanksgiving; it is rather “the return of favours for favours done,” a counter-gift.⁴⁹ Given the background of χάρις in the conventions of ben-

 It is notable that when Chang discusses the view of the collection as an act of patronage, there is a general lack of scriptural references (e. g., “Fund-Raising in Corinth,” 215 – 17). As Miriam T. Griffin pointedly notes about the application of social-sciences models to historical settings: “In the redescription of ancient society that emerges from [sociological] analysis, historical facts recede further and further into the background” (“Of Clients and Patrons,” review of Patronage in Ancient Society, ed. Andrew Wallace-Hadrill, The Classical Review 40 [1990]: 402).  Sze-kar Wan, “Collection for the Saints as Anticolonial Act: Implications of Paul’s Ethnic Reconstruction,” in Paul and Politics: Ekklesia, Israel, Imperium, Interpretation: Essays in Honor of Krister Stendahl, ed. Richard A. Horsley (Harrisburg: Trinity, 2000), 191– 215.  Wan, “The Collection for the Saints as Anticolonial Act,” 196.  Wan, “The Collection for the Saints as Anticolonial Act,” 210 – 11, 214.  Wan, “The Collection for the Saints as Anticolonial Act,” 214.  James R. Harrison, Paul’s Language of Grace in Its Graeco-Roman Context, WUNT 2/172 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2003).  Harrison, Paul’s Language of Grace, 40 – 43.

1.2 Studies of Early Christian Collections

13

efaction, Harrison thinks that the New Testament use of χάρις “carried as many dangers as advantages” and needed careful definition.⁵⁰ It was through such careful definition that Paul separated the grace of Christ from the beneficence of human beings and other gods as “unilateral, not reciprocal.”⁵¹ In Harrison’s view, just as Paul’s discourse on χάρις was a differentiation from Greco-Roman discourse on reciprocal obligations, so too the collection, a practice of χάρις, was correcting benefaction ideology and practice. In fact, Harrison accepts Joubert’s claim that because of the social conventions of Paul’s world, the idea of obligation was implicit in the collection, but he points to the profuse language of χάρις and Paul’s unilateral view of grace to suggest that “Paul engages in an implicit critique of the Graeco-Roman benefaction system.”⁵² He argues that Paul’s collection was an “attempt at socially and theologically redefining Graeco-Roman conventions of beneficence” and the formulation of “an alternative vision of social relations by means of his theology of grace.”⁵³ Harrison’s argument that Paul’s collection was an implicit critique of an implicit idea of obligation seems to rest on the shaky foundations of too many assumptions. Gary Webster Griffith’s dissertation “Abounding in Generosity” follows a path similar to Harrison’s and starts from Seneca’s view of benefaction in De beneficiis and Epistulae morales 81.⁵⁴ Again, Paul’s discussion of χάρις aimed, according to Griffith, to distinguish Christian grace from Greco-Roman conventions of gift giving.⁵⁵ Griffith shares Chang’s view that Paul’s introduction of God as a third partner along with Corinth and Jerusalem changes the dynamic of benefaction: “That which in the Graeco-Roman world of benefaction implies obligation with regard to the giving and receiving of gifts, for Christians reflects the privilege of being recipients of God’s grace.”⁵⁶ Griffith does not put great emphasis on the negative aspects of Greco-Roman benefaction conventions, yet the fact that he detects Paul’s need to qualify the collection in a different way suggests

 Harrison, Paul’s Language of Grace, 62– 63.  Harrison, Paul’s Language of Grace, 228. Friesen regards Harrison’s insistence on the unilateral character of divine grace as “preoccupation with certain kinds of Christian theology that emphasize God’s unmerited grace” (“Paul and Economics,” 49).  Harrison, Paul’s Language of Grace, 311.  Harrison, Paul’s Language of Grace, 311, 343.  Gary Webster Griffith, “Abounding in Generosity: A Study of Charis in 2 Corinthians 8 – 9” (PhD diss., University of Durham, 2005).  Griffith, “Abounding in Generosity,” 89.  Griffith, “Abounding in Generosity,” 249 – 50.

14

1 Introduction

opposition or at least difference between benefaction ideology and Paul’s view of the collection. When the preceding studies mention Jewish sources, they only do so to emphasize a deep penetration of Greco-Roman benefaction ideology into Jewish culture and society. Deborah Elaine Watson’s dissertation “Paul’s Collection in Light of Motivations and Mechanisms for Aid to the Poor in the First-Century World” commendably brings the typically Jewish forms of aid to the poor back into the discussion, arguing that the collection can be explained by the interaction between Paul’s Jewish heritage and the Greco-Roman milieu of his readership.⁵⁷ In her opinion, “the disparity of thought and practice” of aid to the poor between Paul the Jew and his Gentile addressees is the cause of the ten-

 Deborah Elaine Watson, “Paul’s Collection in Light of Motivations and Mechanisms for Aid to the Poor in the First-Century World” (PhD diss., University of Durham, 2006), 12. Her view of the contrast between the Greco-Roman fundamental disregard and the Jewish concern for the poor seems deeply influenced by Hendrik Bolkestein’s classical but not necessarily correct opinion (Wohltätigkeit und Armenpflege im vorchristlichen Altertum: Ein Beitrag zum Problem “Moral und Gesellschaft” [Utrecht: Oosthoek, 1939], 420; see Watson, “Paul’s Collection,” 129, 185; this view is essentially followed by Paul Veyne, Bread and Circuses: Historical Sociology and Political Pluralism, trans. Brian Pierce [London: Allen Lane, 1990], 19 – 34; it has been recently rehashed by Ramsay MacMullen, “Social Ethic Models: Roman, Greek, ‘Oriental,’” Historia 64 [2015]: 487– 510). The contrast between Jewish and Greco-Roman attitudes toward the poor should not be overly emphasized. Benefaction and patronage penetrated, at least to a certain degree, into Jewish social relations (Seth Schwartz, Were the Jews a Mediterranean Society? Reciprocity and Solidarity in Ancient Judaism [Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2010]; G. W. Peterman, Paul’s Gift from Philippi: Conventions of Gift-Exchange and Christian Giving [Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997], 22– 50; Joubert, Paul as Benefactor, 93 – 99; however, for Jewish abstention from patronage and euergetism, see Erlend D. MacGillivray, “Re-Evaluating Patronage and Reciprocity in Antiquity and New Testament Studies,” JGRChJ 6 [2009]: 37– 81). John M. G. Barclay argues that the Torah’s ethos of aid to the poor was similar to that of benefaction ideology, a “modulation” of the expectations of reciprocity in which “both giver and recipient could figure benefaction as receiving its most important return not from the human recipient but from God” (Paul and the Gift [Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2015], 39 – 45; emphasis in the text). Barclay seems to stretch the notion of reciprocity to a degree that makes it hardly recognizable. It is debatable that there is still reciprocity when the recipient is not involved in the return gift or when the gift does not put any obligation on the recipient, not even in the vague sense of Marshall Sahlins’s generalized reciprocity (Stone Age Economics [Chicago: Aldine-Atherton, 1972], 194). On the other hand, Annaliese Parkin points out the existence of a pagan version of almsgiving (for lack of a better term), an otherwise typically ancient Near Eastern practice, whose extent in the Greco-Roman world is hard to assess but certainly had some significance (“‘You Do Him No Service’: An Exploration of Pagan Almsgiving,” in Poverty in the Roman World, ed. Margaret Atkins and Robin Osborne [Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006], 60 – 82; see also, Bruce W. Longenecker, Remember the Poor: Paul, Poverty, and the Greco-Roman World [Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2010], 60 – 107).

1.2 Studies of Early Christian Collections

15

sions in the texts.⁵⁸ She views the collection as just another expression of the same assistance to the poor of which there are countless examples in Jewish and early Christian texts. Paul’s rhetoric aimed at bridging the cultural distance between the Greco-Roman and Jewish worlds with regard to poverty.⁵⁹ Watson’s appeal to Jewish heritage appears to be a productive way of accounting for Paul’s alleged aversion to patronage and benefaction, while her consideration of Jewish forms of support of the poor effectively broadens awareness of the range of ways in which early Christians could conceive of gift giving in addition to patronage. David J. Downs’s The Offering of the Gentiles makes an additional contribution to the study of the collection in its socioeconomic context. In order to clarify “the relation between the Jerusalem collection and other forms of benefaction in the ancient world,” Downs focuses on the economic life of ancient voluntary associations, which possibly constitute a close comparative model for early Christian groups and could thus provide useful information.⁶⁰ He presents evidence that the presuppositions and expectations of benefaction ideology were at work in associations also.⁶¹ Through a detailed analysis of the collection texts, Downs reaches the conclusion that Paul interpreted the collection in terms of two main metaphors, namely, worship and harvest. These metaphors, especially the cultic one, allow Paul to distance himself from the ideology of patronage and “subvert the values of patronage and euergetism by depicting an alternate mode of benefaction, one that brings glory, praise, and thanksgiving to God rather than to human benefactors.”⁶²

 Watson, “Paul’s Collection,” 121– 22.  Watson, “Paul’s Collection,” 185.  David J. Downs, The Offering of the Gentiles: Paul’s Collection for Jerusalem in Its Chronological, Cultural, and Cultic Contexts, WUNT 2/248 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2008), 27– 28. The role of associations as a comparative model for the study of the social makeup of the Pauline groups was emphasized in the second half of the twentieth century by Wayne A. Meeks (The First Urban Christians: The Social World of the Apostle Paul, 2nd ed. [New Haven: Yale University Press, 2003], 77– 80). See also John S. Kloppenborg and Stephen G. Wilson, eds., Voluntary Associations in the Graeco-Roman World (New York: Routledge, 1996); Richard S. Ascough, Paul’s Macedonian Associations: The Social Context of Philippians and 1 Thessalonians, WUNT 2/161 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2003); Richard S. Ascough, “Voluntary Associations and the Formation of Pauline Christian Communities: Overcoming the Objections,” in Vereine, Synagogen und Gemeinden im kaiserzeitlichen Kleinasien, ed. Andreas Gutsfeld and Dietrich-Alex Koch, Studies and Texts in Antiquity and Christianity (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2006), 149 – 83; John S. Kloppenborg, “Associations in the Ancient World,” in The Historical Jesus in Context, ed. Amy-Jill Levine, Dale C. Allison, and John Dominic Crossan, Princeton Readings in Religion (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2006), 323 – 38.  Downs, The Offering of the Gentiles, 90.  Downs, The Offering of the Gentiles, 158, 163.

16

1 Introduction

Downs chooses voluntary associations as a comparative framework because of their similarities with early Christian communities, but this focus may be too narrow to understand the collection properly, since the economic life and the gift-giving experience of individuals in Paul’s world significantly exceeded interactions with fellow members in an association. In addition, Downs discerns the anti-patronal nature of the metaphor of worship, as Paul employed it, in the comparative social experience he had chosen and in a metaphor’s nature of downplaying “certain features of a concept or experience,” in this case, “the inherently competitive and potentially oppressive nature of benefaction in the Greco-Roman world.”⁶³ Certainly, Paul’s metaphor of worship has the capacity to challenge patronal conventions and expectations, but that this was actually its function in Paul’s communities is not sufficiently clear from the texts. Mark A. Jennings applies to the collection Jerome H. Neyrey’s idea that New Testament writings employ patronage language to describe a believer’s relationship with God.⁶⁴ In Jennings’s view, Paul copiously uses terms and concepts of benefaction ideology in 2 Cor 8 – 9 in order to identify God as the Corinthians’ benefactor and himself as a patron proxy or mediator between the Corinthians and God. Jennings argues that this rhetorical strategy aimed in part to deny the Corinthians “the right to claim a patronal status over the Jerusalem community.”⁶⁵ In particular, Paul’s emphasis on equality in 2 Cor 8:13 – 15 gainsays possible misunderstandings about the relationship between Corinth and Jerusalem in patronal terms and defines it as friendship between equal partners. Paul’s depiction of God as the Corinthian believers’ patron supports this view by having them “see God, instead of those in Jerusalem, as the recipient of their gift.”⁶⁶ In “The Jerusalem Collection as Κοινωνία,” Julien M. Ogereau carries out a detailed study of the word κοινωνία and points out the political connotations of Paul’s uses of this term, which, Ogereau argues, was probably understood by Paul’s readers as “describing some kind of partnership or association with socio-political ramifications.”⁶⁷ Ogereau connects Paul’s references to κοινωνία and ἰσότης (equality) in the collection with the community of goods in the earliest Jerusalem church described in Acts 2:44 and 4:32, suggesting that there is

 Downs, The Offering of the Gentiles, 158.  Mark A. Jennings, “Patronage and Rebuke in Paul’s Persuasion in 2 Corinthians 8 – 9,” JGRChJ 6 (2009): 107– 27. For Neyrey’s views, see his Render to God: New Testament Understandings of the Divine (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2004).  Jennings, “Patronage and Rebuke,” 125.  Jennings, “Patronage and Rebuke,” 125.  Julien M. Ogereau, “The Jerusalem Collection as Κοινωνία: Paul’s Global Politics of SocioEconomic Equality and Solidarity,” NTS 58 (2012): 371.

1.2 Studies of Early Christian Collections

17

substantial agreement between Paul and Luke on social relations among Christians.⁶⁸ The political implications of Paul’s language, then, lead Ogereau to conclude that Paul “aimed at reforming the structural inequalities of Graeco-Roman society” and thereby “challenged ancient socio-political theories and dissolved ancient prejudices based on socio-ethnic distinctions.”⁶⁹ A similar argument is advanced by L. L. Welborn in “‘That There May Be Equality’: The Contexts and Consequences of a Pauline Ideal.” He develops his argument through an analysis of the word ἰσότης and identifies three distinct ideological frames of reference for ancient discussions of equality: friendship, politics, and philosophical cosmology. The equality promoted by Paul consisted, according to Welborn, in “the equalization of resources between persons of different social classes through voluntary redistribution,” a project that must have seemed “perverse […] to anyone shaped by the conventional notion of obligations between benefactors and beneficiaries.”⁷⁰ Finally, Steven J. Friesen’s “Paul and Economics” treats the collection as an illustration of his broader perspective on the socioeconomic reality of the Pauline groups: their poverty, income stratification, and economic inequality. His observations differ from those so far presented in that they do not focus on Paul’s discourse about the collection (“the level of ideology”) but on its practical details (“the flow of goods and services”).⁷¹ Friesen notices three aspects that set the collection apart from benefaction and patronage: “the contributor was communal”; “the collection came from people with modest resources […] not from the wealthy or well-to-do”; “Paul promoted occasional economic redistribution, not public largesse that diverted attention from the daily exploitation of the majority.”⁷² According to Friesen, Paul’s intent was “to promote financial redistribution among poor people, Gentile and Jewish, in the assemblies of the eastern Mediterranean,” and the way Paul deliberately arranged this instance of fundraising “contradicted the normal expectations of patronage and replaced them with an economy of voluntary redistribution among the saints.”⁷³  Ogereau, “The Jerusalem Collection as Κοινωνία,” 376 – 77.  Ogereau, “The Jerusalem Collection as Κοινωνία,” 377.  Welborn, “That There May Be Equality,” 81, 89; emphasis in the text.  Friesen, “Paul and Economics,” 49. Similarly, Richard A. Horsley briefly observes the unusual character of Paul’s collection as a financial practice. In his view, the collection stood out as “a lateral movement of resources” radically conflicting with “the upward and centripetal movement of resources and wealth” characteristic of any empire (1 Corinthians, ANTC [Nashville: Abingdon, 1998], 223 – 24). Although not explicitly addressing patronage, Horsley already points out the potentially subversive character of the collection qua economic practice.  Friesen, “Paul and Economics,” 49 – 51.  Friesen, “Paul and Economics,” 51.

18

1 Introduction

1.2.3 An Emerging Tendency This necessarily brief review of recent contributions on Paul’s collection reveals the effort scholars have made to situate this apparently unique phenomenon in its historical context. The difficulty of finding a completely satisfactory model for the collection is a direct reflection of the distinctiveness of Christianity in its very first stages. Indeed, the collection mirrors the features of the earliest Christian movement with its local groups, ethnic diversity, translocal ties, and ethos of brotherly love. Recent studies have focused especially on Greco-Roman benefaction and patronage, presumably on account of this model’s alleged centrality in the social life of the ancient Mediterranean. It is generally agreed that patronage, either in the formal institution of Roman patrocinium or in other unregulated forms of personal dependency between individuals or groups, is the touchstone of all extramercantile economic interactions in Greco-Roman antiquity.⁷⁴ As a result, Paul’s collection, too, needs to be understood in light of ancient benefaction. Based on this premise, interpreters usually point to some ideas present in Paul’s discussion of the collection as links between the collection and patronage. The most conspicuous point is the one raised extensively by Joubert, namely, that there is reciprocity language in such passages as Rom 15:27 and 2 Cor 8:14.⁷⁵ The ethos of patronage is also detected in textual details that allegedly point to status hierarchy and obligation.⁷⁶ Paul’s repeated assertions that every contributor should give voluntarily, under no compulsion, and according to his or her means and desires (2 Cor 8:3, 8, 12; 9:5, 7) are read as attempts to undermine the strong sense of obligation toward the benefactor that is characteristic of patronage, an obligation frequently reaching the level of personal dependency.⁷⁷ Furthermore, Paul’s brief but critical remark on equality as the outcome of the collection (2 Cor 8:13 – 15) supposedly challenges the heavy emphasis

 For a discussion of the differences between the Roman institution of patrocinium and the sociological concept of patronage, see below section 2.2.  Joubert, Paul as Benefactor, 131, 183.  Harrison, Paul’s Language of Grace, 292– 93.  Harrison, Paul’s Language of Grace, 323. In the collection texts, the language of obligation only appears in Rom 15:27 (“They are in debt toward them, for if the Gentiles had a share in their spiritual gifts, they are also obligated to serve them with material gifts”), a verse in which the ethos of reciprocity appears more clearly. There, however, reciprocity seems to be espoused, not challenged, by Paul.

1.2 Studies of Early Christian Collections

19

on the different economic and social levels of benefactor and beneficiaries in benefaction ideology.⁷⁸ These arguments for connecting Paul’s collection with patronage suffer from a number of weaknesses. First, the presence of the language of reciprocity is a possible link to patronage but not a necessary one, for reciprocity governs several kinds of relationships.⁷⁹ Moreover, where reciprocity language appears, it has the positive function of soliciting the contribution of the Corinthians (Rom 15:27; 2 Cor 8:14). By incorporating reciprocity in his argument, Paul appears to adopt, and implicitly approve of, the ethos of reciprocity rather than attack it for anti-patronal purposes. Second, to infer that Paul wanted to avoid the perceived threats of status differentiation and obligation because he emphasized voluntariness and equality is mirror-reading. In fact, Paul never directly denounces the Corinthians for attempting to use the collection as a means of self-aggrandizement at the expenses of the Jerusalem community, nor does he ever claim that Jerusalem would be indebted to the Corinthians. Mirror-reading sometimes needs to be used in exegesis, but the reliability of its results is always highly questionable in the absence of corroborating evidence.⁸⁰ In addition, Paul’s tone in the collection texts is not polemical but exhortative and does not indicate that he was challenging some specific Corinthian attitude other than their reluctance to contribute.⁸¹ Third, the textual elements that scholars usually connect with patronage are a relatively small portion of Paul’s discourse on the collection and do not account for most of what he writes. Keeping in mind these general remarks, it is worth assessing the thesis that Paul’s description of and arrangement for the collection were primarily a response to fear that intergroup relationships might be shaped on patron-client relations. For all the nuances of individual studies, the last two decades of scholarship on the collection seem to have woven a coherent narrative along the following lines. Although marked by unusual features, Paul’s collection was essentially a gift and certain to be seen, like any other gift in the Greco-Roman world, as an act of patronage with all its trappings of social hierarchy and reciprocal obligations. Paul and other Christian leaders promoted an egalitarian ethos

 Ogereau, “The Jerusalem Collection as Κοινωνία,” 377; Welborn, “That There May Be Equality,” 80.  For instance, Paul uses reciprocal language to describe marriage relationships (1 Cor 7:2– 4).  John M. G. Barclay discusses mirror-reading as an exegetical method extensively by describing its dangers and the precautions that interpreters should take when using it (“Mirror-Reading a Polemical Letter: Galatians as a Test Case,” JSNT 31 [1987]: 73 – 93).  Paul’s only remark that comes close to an accusation is that the Corinthians should not give “grudgingly” (μὴ ἐκ λύπης; 2 Cor 9:7). See below, section 4.6.

20

1 Introduction

that was radically incompatible with the social relations that existed in patronage and therefore could not approve of this kind of relationship between Christians or Christian groups. In consequence, Paul organized the practical details of the collection in such a way as to set it apart from the conventions of patronage, and his rhetoric aimed at preventing the Corinthians from seeing the collection as an act of patronage and themselves as patrons of the Jerusalem group. This coherent narrative can already be observed in the work of Chang, who concludes his analysis of the socioeconomic significance of the collection for the Corinthians by stating: An examination of the collection passages verifies the consensus view that there were indeed wealthy members of relatively high social standing in the Corinthian church. These wealthy members allowed competitive values, such as greed and honour, to spoil the “charitable” spirit of the collection. They saw the collection as an opportunity of patronage and as a means to enhance their own social standing within the association of the church. Paul was therefore forced to react with a highly charged socio-economic and theological response, which downplays the role of the Corinthians in the overall collection and frames the collection as a debt within an alternative system of patronage dominated by God himself.⁸²

Compelling as it may sound, this reconstruction is based on a set of hypotheses that need further discussion. First, it is argued that any gift in the Greco-Roman world was tantamount to an act of patronage inasmuch as the ethos of reciprocity entangled all givers and receivers of gifts in a dense web of obligations and counter-obligations. In other words, gift giving, personal dependency, and social status were inextricably interconnected in the social code of the ancient Mediterranean. Gifts were instruments of power aimed at establishing domination over their recipients.⁸³ The second thesis that underlies recent accounts of the collection is that Paul, as well as other early Christian leaders, could not tolerate patronal relationships between Christian individuals or, in the case of the collection, groups. For instance, Friesen claims that “Paul went to great lengths to distance himself or any individual from the role of benefactor.”⁸⁴ Similarly, E. A. Judge suggests

 Chang, “Fund-Raising in Corinth,” 225.  Claude Lévi-Strauss, The Elementary Structures of Kinship, trans. James Harle Bell, John Richard von Sturmer, and Rodney Needham (London: Eyre & Spottiswoode, 1969), 53.  Friesen, “Paul and Economics,” 50.

1.2 Studies of Early Christian Collections

21

that, although Paul’s relationships could be read in terms of patronage, “he clearly has no value to place upon patronal relations as such.”⁸⁵ Finally, interpreters maintain that we can make sense of the Pauline collection texts by keeping the benefaction background in mind and that Paul’s rhetoric aimed at establishing social relations and specific strategies of poverty relief that were alternative to the dominant system of patronage. Paul’s collection was not simply an expression of Christian charity toward the poor but an intentionally subversive activity that was meant to radically change the social relations of Christians among themselves and with the wider world.⁸⁶ Friesen adds to this line of argument by claiming that Paul went beyond the simple rhetorical redefinition of a charitable act and arranged the collection in such a way that its very practicalities contradicted the social conventions of patronage.⁸⁷

1.2.4 Gift Exchanges in the First Three Centuries Research on Paul’s collection has recently focused on reading the Pauline letters in light of the social practices of their Greco-Roman or Jewish context, especially emphasizing the distinctiveness of the collection. The Pauline collection, however, was not an isolated phenomenon in early Christianity. There is limited but compelling evidence of intergroup support in the ante-Nicene period. The most ancient attestation, roughly contemporary with Paul’s collection and occasionally identified with it, occurs in Acts 11:27– 30, a passage describing Antioch’s relief fund for the brothers in Judea. Interspersed throughout the first three centuries CE, other incidents of financial assistance meant to alleviate the poverty of a sister community or to provide for believers condemned to the mines or otherwise imprisoned or captive. This kind of economic help for Christians of geographically distant areas was so widespread that it is even attested by the non-Christian author Lucian in his satirical short story De morte Peregrini. ⁸⁸ Although these instances of early Christian intergroup support have been studied individually, the last complete overview of this phenomenon as a whole dates back to a relatively short section in Adolf von Harnack’s Die Mission und Ausbreitung des Christentums in den ersten drei Jahrhunderten, published in

 the   

E. A. Judge, “St Paul as a Radical Critic of Society,” in Social Distinctives of the Christians in First Century, ed. David M. Scholer (Peabody: Hendrickson, 2008), 106. Downs, The Offering of the Gentiles, 158, 163. Friesen, “Paul and Economics,” 49 – 51. Lucian, Peregr. 13.

22

1 Introduction

1902.⁸⁹ The cultural climate in which Harnack’s brief survey was penned was understandably very distant from today’s awareness of the socioeconomic implications of Christian practices. Harnack understood aid from one church to another as one among many other means of intercourse “provided by epistles, circular letters, collections of epistles, the transmission of acts or of official records, or by travellers and special messengers,” all of which are testimony to the ecumenical character of primitive Christianity and expression of the “consciousness that every individual member belonged to the holy unity of Christendom.”⁹⁰ The main category under which Harnack interpreted the mutual support between churches was the duty of brotherly love for brothers in need. It is quite remarkable that since Harnack no one has undertaken a comprehensive study of this fairly widespread practice of mutual support in early Christianity. Some recent studies have looked at individual cases with an awareness of the social implications of gift giving,⁹¹ but there is need for a renewed consideration of intergroup exchanges as expressions of a widespread phenomenon in order to perceive their diversity and shared elements and comprehend what this practice reveals of the early Christian ethos and social relations.

1.3 Patronage, the Gift, and Economic Anthropology I have suggested above that one of the fundamental assumptions undergirding recent interpretations of Paul’s collection is that in the ancient world, a financial gift automatically implied a benefactor’s attempt to enmesh his or her beneficiary in a relationship of dependency and subordination. This idea stems from mainstream theories of exchange. Modern reconstructions of socioeconomic life in the ancient Mediterranean are deeply influenced by early twentieth-century anthropological and ethnographic research on gift giving in primitive societies and its later developments. Such reconstructions have had a profound impact on recent studies of Paul’s collection that adopt a comparative approach. It is, therefore, useful to appreciate the theoretical foundations of these studies and assess

 Harnack, The Mission and Expansion of Christianity, 1:181– 94.  Harnack, The Mission and Expansion of Christianity, 1:181.  For instance, Taylor, Paul, Antioch and Jerusalem, 88 – 144; Bruce W. Winter, “Acts and Food Shortages,” in The Book of Acts in Its Graeco-Roman Setting, ed. David W. J. Gill and Conrad Gempf, The Book of Acts in Its First Century Setting 2 (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1994), 59 – 78; Cavan W. Concannon, Assembling Early Christianity: Trade, Networks, and the Letters of Dionysios of Corinth (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2017).

1.3 Patronage, the Gift, and Economic Anthropology

23

the possible suitability of alternative interpretive paradigms that do not make the same broad assumptions about the role of gift giving in society.

1.3.1 The Maussian Gift Economic anthropology is the study of the interrelationship between culture and economic behavior.⁹² Whereas economists produce normative frameworks for a productive society, economic anthropologists observe that other factors in addition to, sometimes in lieu of, productivity determine the economic aspects of a given society.⁹³ The study of gift giving, its motives, forms, and expectations, is an especially important subfield of economic anthropology.⁹⁴ Economists have always recognized the importance of altruism for the welfare of the individual and society as a whole, but at the beginning of the twentieth century, anthropologists used ethnographical data on economic behavior in “primitive” societies to forge social theories of gift giving. Bronislaw Malinowski’s Argonauts of the Western Pacific is a monograph on Kula, a form of exchange he observed in the Trobriand Islands. In the Kula system, soulava shell necklaces and mwali shell bracelets were ceremonially gifted and later reciprocated between exchange partners, a bracelet for a necklace. These exchanges involved a large number of social relations within a wide region of Melanesia. Malinowski’s most important observation is that Kula exchanges were controlled by reciprocity:

 Economic anthropology is mainly defined by the debate between formalists and substantivists. According to Chris Hann, the former apply “mainstream (‘neoclassical’, rational choice models based on homo oeconomicus) economics to anthropological material”; the latter maintain that modern economics can only explain market-dominated societies, while precapitalist societies are marked by the “cultural and social embeddedness” of the economy (“The Gift and Reciprocity: Perspectives from Economic Anthropology,” in Handbook of the Economics of Giving, Altruism and Reciprocity, 2 vols., Handbooks in Economics 23, ed. Serge-Christophe Kolm and Jean Mercier Ythier [Amsterdam: Elsevier, 2006], 1:209 – 10, 213 – 14). For a discussion of the formalist-substantivist debate, see Richard R. Wilk and Lisa Cliggett, Economies and Cultures: Foundations of Economic Anthropology, 2nd ed. (Boulder: Westview, 2007), 3 – 14.  Wilk and Cliggett, Economies and Cultures, 4.  For an introduction to the economics of altruism, see Serge-Christophe Kolm, “Introduction to the Economics of Giving, Altruism and Reciprocity,” in Kolm and Ythier, Handbook of the Economics of Giving, Altruism and Reciprocity, 1:1– 122.

24

1 Introduction

The main principle underlying the regulations of actual exchange is that the Kula consists in the bestowing of a ceremonial gift, which has to be repaid by an equivalent counter-gift after a lapse of time.⁹⁵

Malinowski infers two fundamental aspects of gift giving from Kula exchanges. First, it is essential that the reciprocation of the gift be delayed. On its surface, the time separation between the gift and counter-gift clearly distinguishes giftgiving practices from barter or other mercantile exchanges. An immediate reciprocation of a gift for an equivalent counter-gift would be tantamount to a refusal of the gift qua gift and would debase the entire exchange.⁹⁶ More profoundly, the interval of time between a gift and its reciprocation is occupied by a sense of indebtedness and obligation that links the parties together. As long as some obligation exists between two individuals or groups, they are joined in solidarity. The second principle deduced by Malinowski is that the value of the counter-gift cannot be enforced and is left to the original receiver. Malinowski notes that despite the desire to accumulate wealth, the marketistic laws of maximization of profit did not apply to Kula exchanges: “Although, like every human being, the Kula native loves to possess and therefore to acquire and dreads to lose, the social code of rules, with regard to give and take by far overrides his natural acquisitive tendency.”⁹⁷ Indeed, in the social code of Kula, the higher one’s social rank, the stronger was one’s obligation to give.⁹⁸ The interplay of gift, reciprocation, and social hierarchy was later expounded by Marcel Mauss in his Essai sur le don, without question the most influential study on the anthropology of gift giving to this day.⁹⁹ Firstly, Mauss extends the concept of gift to what he calls prestations totales, which, in addition to “movable and immovable goods, things economically useful,” also include “acts of politeness: banquets, rituals, military services, women, children, dances, festivals, and fairs” that are essentially symbolic favors and services.¹⁰⁰ According to Mauss, all gifts establish transactions that imply the three obligations to give,

 Bronislaw Malinowski, Argonauts of the Western Pacific: An Account of the Native Enterprise and Adventure in the Archipelagoes of Melanesian New Guinea, Routledge Classics (London: Routledge, 1922), 103.  Malinowski, Argonauts of the Western Pacific, 103.  Malinowski, Argonauts of the Western Pacific, 103.  Malinowski, Argonauts of the Western Pacific, 108.  Mauss and Malinowski have had the greatest impact on the delevopment of theories of gift giving. Beate Wagner-Hasel, however, points out the early contributions of Karl Bücher (“Karl Bücher and the Birth of the Theory of Gift Giving,” in Carlà and Gori, Gift Giving, 51– 69).  Mauss, The Gift, 5.

1.3 Patronage, the Gift, and Economic Anthropology

25

to receive, and to reciprocate.¹⁰¹ These three social norms attached to the gift create multiple links between givers and receivers and confer stability on their relationship, a “bond of alliance and commonality.”¹⁰² To explain the obligation to reciprocate and how gifts create such strong interpersonal ties, Mauss argues that in archaic societies a gift remains part of its donor. It never really abandons the giver, nor is it really ever possessed by the receiver: “To make a gift of something to someone is to make a present of some part of oneself.”¹⁰³ In his analysis of the potlatch among the Tlingit and Haida people, Mauss emphasizes the importance of gifts for personal honor: Nowhere is the individual prestige of a chief and that of his clan so closely linked to what is spent and to the meticulous repayment with interest of gifts that have been accepted, so as to transform into persons having an obligation those that have placed you yourself under a similar obligation. […] It is a competition to see who is the richest and also the most madly extravagant. Everything is based upon the principles of antagonism and rivalry.¹⁰⁴

The interchangeability of material goods and services with social prestige and rank explains the general willingness to participate in the social ritual of gift giving. Behind the appearance of generous gifts lurks a competition for social superiority. Gifts are “apparently free and disinterested but nevertheless constrained and self-interested.”¹⁰⁵ Malinowski and Mauss firmly established gift giving in the theoretical framework of reciprocity, and this is also the main category employed in Marshall Sahlins’s Stone Age Economics. Sahlins includes the entire range of possible transactions under the umbrella notion of reciprocity, from “the assistance freely given, the small currency of everyday kinship, friendship and neighborly relations” to “self-interested seizure, appropriation by chicanery or force.”¹⁰⁶ For the purposes of classification, he distinguishes between three forms of reciprocity that describe the extremes and the middle point of a spectrum of possible exchanges. In negative reciprocity, each partner of the exchange tries to extract maximum profit from the transaction through bargain, deceit, or even theft

 Mauss, The Gift, 39 – 43.  Mauss, The Gift, 13.  Mauss, The Gift, 12. Alvin W. Gouldner prefers to see the origin of reciprocity in moral codes. He contends that the norm of reciprocity is universal, “a dimension to be found in all value systems” (“The Norm of Reciprocity: A Preliminary Statement,” American Sociological Review 25 [1960]: 171).  Mauss, The Gift, 37.  Mauss, The Gift, 3.  Sahlins, Stone Age Economics, 191.

26

1 Introduction

and violence.¹⁰⁷ Balanced reciprocity refers to transactions in which the reciprocation is equivalent to the goods received. In balanced reciprocity, the flow of goods must be two-way, and failure to reciprocate disrupts the relationship.¹⁰⁸ Generalized reciprocity is the expression of solidarity through sharing, hospitality, and generosity. The characteristic of this last kind of reciprocity is that the time, quantity, and quality of the reciprocation are left indefinite.¹⁰⁹ In spite of the idea that there is a spectrum of possible expectations of reciprocity, Sahlins’s model reduces all exchanges essentially to the same logic, so that he considers even pure gifts only “putatively altruistic.”¹¹⁰ The line of thought initiated by these early authors has inspired most contributions in economic anthropology. Individual differences and nuances do exist, yet it is possible to discern the traits of a mainstream view of the gift. The following words of Peter Blau constitute a good summary of this view: An apparent ‘altruism’ pervades social life; people are anxious to benefit one another and to reciprocate for the benefits they receive. But beneath this seeming selflessness an underlying ‘egoism’ can be discovered; the tendency to help others is frequently motivated by the expectation that doing so will bring social rewards.¹¹¹

 Sahlins, Stone Age Economics, 195.  Sahlins, Stone Age Economics, 194– 95.  Sahlins, Stone Age Economics, 194.  Sahlins, Stone Age Economics, 193. S. N. Eisenstadt and L. Roniger spell out the self-interested function of generalized reciprocity and the kind of advantage such a regime generates for the individual: “From the point of view of the individuals participating in any social activity, the various mechanisms of generalized exchange assume the functions of security or insurance systems against the risks and uncertainties of the ‘open’ market or power interchange or struggle” (Patrons, Clients and Friends: Interpersonal Relations and the Structure of Trust in Society, Themes in Social Sciences [Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1984], 34). Contrary to these views of reciprocity, Christopher Gill suggests that in Greek ethical thought, the ideals of reciprocity and solidarity (either involving mutual benefit between the exchange partners) “can provide the basis for other-benefitting motivation” (“Altruism or Reciprocity in Greek Ethical Philosophy?” in Reciprocity in Ancient Greece, ed. Christopher Gill, Norman Postlethwaite, and Richard Seaford [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998], 303 – 28).  Peter M. Blau, Exchange and Power in Social Life (New York: Wiley, 1964), 17. Blau’s point is nicely demonstrated by Mrs. Caruk’s candid, as well as contradictory, statement: “I don’t [give gifts] to get something back. I do it because I want to give. It’s nice to get presents back—something from my kids on Mother’s Day, or just because they were thinking of me—but I don’t expect it. They don’t have to give because their mother expects them to” (field interview quoted in Cheal, The Gift Economy, 42). Although other-benefiting actions can be regarded as altruism, a stronger notion of altruism is restricted to actions for the well-being of others in which “there is no anticipation or expectation of reward for the altruist” (Kristen Renwick Monroe, “Explicating Altruism,” in Altruism and Altruistic Love: Science, Philosophy, and Religion in Dialogue, ed. Stephen G. Post, Lynn G. Underwood, Jeffrey P. Schloss, and William B. Hurlbut [Oxford: Ox-

1.3 Patronage, the Gift, and Economic Anthropology

27

What is really important to bear in mind about this account of gift giving is that it breaks social exchange down to two elements: an appearance that can be as

ford University Press, 2002], 107). John M. G. Barclay suggests that this stronger understanding of altruism depends on “distinctly modern trends in theology and philosophy” (Luther and Kant) and cautions against applying it to pre-modern discussions of gift giving: “In ancient terms, a morally conceived and achieved benefit for others is situated in a social matrix of solidarity or reciprocity; in such a context, benefits are designed to create or cement relations of mutuality, such that a return to the giver does not diminish or pollute the gift, but constitutes its fulfilment” (“Benefiting Others and Benefit to Oneself: Seneca and Paul on ‘Altruism,’” in Paul and Seneca in Dialogue, ed. Joseph R. Dodson and David E. Briones, Ancient Philosophy and Religion 2 [Leiden: Brill, 2017], 109 – 11; see also Kelly Rogers, “Aristotle on Loving Another for His Own Sake,” Phronesis 39 [1994]: 291– 302; David Konstan, In the Orbit of Love: Affection in Ancient Greece and Rome [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2018], 21– 31). Jon Elster considers reciprocity as one instance in which self-interest can mimic altruism, namely, an egoistic motivation generates an altruistic behavior: “Selfish individuals behave altruistically because they are afraid of being punished by altruistic interaction partners if they don’t, or hope to be rewarded by them if they do. The argument relies on an idea of conditional altruism, in which the altruist is motivated to reward those who show a cooperative attitude and to punish those who don’t” (“Altruistic Behavior and Altruistic Motivations,” in Handbook of the Economics of Giving, Altruism and Reciprocity, 1:189). For an extended discussion of “self-centered altruism and generalized reciprocity,” see Matthieu Richard, Altruism: The Power of Compassion to Change Yourself and the World, trans. Charlotte Mandell and Sam Gordon (New York: Little, Brown, and Company, 2015), 83 – 93. For discussions of altruism and egoism, see C. Daniel Batson, The Altruism Question: Toward a Social-Psychological Answer (Hillsdale: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates, 1991); Ellen Frankel Paul, Fred D. Miller, Jr., and Jeffrey Paul, eds., Altruism (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993); Elliott Sober and David Sloan Wilson, Unto Others: The Evolution and Psychology of Unselfish Behavior (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1998); Post, Underwood, Schloss, and Hurlbut, Altruism and Altruistic Love; Eckhart Arnold, Explaining Altruism: A Simulation-Based Approach and Its Limits, Practical Philosophy 11 (Frankfurt: Ontos, 2008); C. Daniel Batson, Altruism in Humans (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011). Within this conceptual framework, Blau’s statement represents the perspective of many theorists of gift giving in clear terms: egoistic motivations underlie most altruistic behaviors. Gouldner explicitly enlists egoistic motivations in the maintenance of reciprocity and the stabilization of social systems: “Egoism can motivate one party to satisfy the expectations of the other, since by doing so he induces the latter to reciprocate and to satisfy his own. […] There is an altruism in egoism, made possible through reciprocity” (“The Norm of Reciprocity,” 173). In this sense, reciprocity allows the channeling of egoism into acceptable social forms that safeguard stability (Gouldner, “The Norm of Reciprocity,” 172– 76; Susana Narotzky, New Directions in Economic Anthropology, Anthropology, Culture and Society [London: Pluto, 1997], 46; Mark Osteen, “Introduction: Questions of the Gift,” in The Question of the Gift: Essays across Disciplines, ed. Mark Osteen, Routledge Studies in Anthropology 2 [London: Routledge, 2002], 4), or in Lévi-Strauss’s words: “There is a link, a continuity, between hostile relations and the provision of reciprocal prestations. Exchanges are peacefully resolved wars, and wars are the result of unsuccessful transactions” (The Elementary Structures of Kinship, 67).

28

1 Introduction

diverse as human imagination and includes altruism, generosity, theft, and violence, and a deeper reality that is always the same and equates with the self-interest and profit motives that also underlie market exchange.¹¹² By introducing the idea of a deeper, truer reality, this standpoint negates the authenticity of altruistic motives that donors provide for their gifts and fuels suspicion against every form of generosity. What makes it possible for this double-layered system to function is the norm of reciprocity. A gift can be freely offered as an act of generosity only because the expectations of reciprocation are unspoken but socially and morally binding.¹¹³

1.3.2 The Maussian Gift and Greco-Roman Antiquity Economic anthropology is a source of inspiration for the interpretations of ancient cultural and social artifacts. This was famously reflected in M. I. Finley’s adoption of a substantivist approach to describe the economy of the ancient Mediterranean civilizations as embedded in social relations and public policies.¹¹⁴ However, it was A. R. Hands who introduced the use of the Maussian theory of the gift to describe ancient Greco-Roman generosity in Charities and Social Aid in Greece and Rome. Hands explicitly espoused Mauss’s view of the gift

 In Jonathan Parry’s critique of the mainstream view: “The gift is always an ‘Indian gift’— that is, one for which an equivalent return is expected—and the notion of a ‘pure gift’ is mere ideological obfuscation which masks the supposedly non-ideological verity that nobody does anything for nothing” (“The Gift, the Indian Gift and the ‘Indian Gift,’” Man 21 [1986]: 454– 55). See also John Davis, Exchange, Concepts in Social Thought (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1992), 25; Osteen, “Introduction,” 5. The origin of this contrast between appearance and reality can be located in Mauss’s Essai sur le don, which sets out to examine one specific characteristic of gifts: “The so to speak voluntary character of these total services, apparently free and disinterested but nevertheless constrained and self-interested” (The Gift, 4). See also Narotzky, New Directions in Economic Anthropology, 43 – 44.  Hans van Wees, “The Law of Gratitude: Reciprocity in Anthropological Theory,” in Gill, Postlethwaite, and Seaford, Reciprocity in Ancient Greece, 15, 19. Mary Douglas, in a foreword to the 1990 English translation of Mauss’s Essai sur le don aptly titled “No Free Gifts,” underscores the social significance of reciprocity. In her view, free gifts do not exist and should not exist, because only through reciprocation do gifts establish mutual ties between the exchange partners and thus enhance social solidarity (“Foreword,” vii). For an analysis of the idea that free gifts do not create social relations, see Lames Laidlaw, “A Free Gift Makes No Friends,” in Osteen, The Question of the Gift, 45 – 66.  See above, p. 11 n. 39.

1.3 Patronage, the Gift, and Economic Anthropology

29

and delineated the workings of reciprocity in the specific context depicted by classical sources.¹¹⁵ According to Hands, gift giving in antiquity was mainly an aristocratic practice that functioned as an offer of self-serving friendship between men of equal rank, who supported each other by supplying “services analogous to those provided by bankers, lawyers, hotel owners, insurers and others today.” In case of need, a man could rely on “those whose ‘friendship’ he had secured by prior services,” so that friendships were the most valuable treasure one could acquire.¹¹⁶ Hands also referred to the Aristotelian discussion of friendship between individuals of unequal status, a set of ideas that is often seen as a theorization of patronage relations. According to Aristotle, in friendship between people of different economic capacity, material assistance was repaid in the form of “social and political allegiance,” in the words of Hands.¹¹⁷ This kind of social capital was so central to the Greco-Roman elite that its acquisition constituted “an essential motive of their beneficence.”¹¹⁸ The pursuit of social recognition through financial generosity was called philotimia or philodoxia (love of honor or glory), terms that feature prominently in honorary inscriptions.¹¹⁹ Since Hands’s work, the interaction between economic anthropology and reconstructions of the classical past has flourished. Finley himself, in an appendix to his The World of Odysseus, acknowledges that “gift-giving in the Homeric poems is consistent, I might even say absolutely consistent, with the analysis made by Mauss.”¹²⁰ Analogously, Richard P. Saller believes that the Roman ideology of patronage was based on the notion of reciprocity in a way similar to “that which Marcel Mauss explored in relation to other societies.”¹²¹ Hans van Wees analyzes Greek guest-friendship (ξενία) as a form of competitive generosity in

 A. R. Hands discussed reciprocity in Greco-Roman social intercourse in two chapters devoted respectively to the initial gift and the reciprocation (Charities and Social Aid in Greece and Rome, Aspects of Greek and Roman Life [Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1968], 26 – 48 and 49 – 61).  Hands, Charities and Social Aid in Greece and Rome, 33 – 35.  Hands, Charities and Social Aid in Greece and Rome, 33.  Hands, Charities and Social Aid in Greece and Rome, 49.  Hands, Charities and Social Aid in Greece and Rome, 43 – 44. See also Bolkestein, Wohltätigkeit und Armenpflege, 152– 56, 318 – 19.  M. I. Finley, The World of Odysseus, rev. ed. (New York: Viking, 1978), 145. See also Lucio Bertelli, “The Ratio of Gift-Giving in the Homeric Poems,” in Carlà and Gori, Gift Giving, 103 – 34.  Richard P. Saller, Personal Patronage Under the Early Empire (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1982), 22. See also Suzanne Dixon, “The Meaning of Gift and Debt in the Roman Elite,” EMC 37 (1993): 451– 64.

30

1 Introduction

a sustained parallel with Malinowski’s description of Trobriand Kula. ¹²² Sitta von Reden interprets the Homeric portrayals of gift giving in light of Mauss’s belief that the gift embodies the donor and therefore needs to be returned.¹²³ Entire collections of essays have been devoted to understanding Greco-Roman antiquity through the lens of Mauss’s theory and its subsequent permutations.¹²⁴ From the study of Greco-Roman antiquity, the Maussian tradition found its way into New Testament studies and Pauline studies in particular. Gary Stansell, for instance, provides a description of a “Maussian model” through which he analyzes gifts, reciprocity, and charity in the gospels.¹²⁵ Joubert, Chang, Harrison, and others make explicit references to Mauss and other anthropological work in their treatments of the Pauline collection.¹²⁶ In a more general way, Peter Marshall uses Mauss’s description of gift giving as the theoretical foundation of his analysis of relations and conflicts in the Pauline communities, even drawing direct parallels between Greco-Roman conventions and Mauss’s ethnographical material from the American Northwest.¹²⁷ Other studies employ Sahlins’s

 Hans van Wees, “Greed, Generosity and Gift-Exchange in Early Greece and the Western Pacific,” in After the Past: Essays in Ancient History in Honour of H.W. Pleket, ed. Willem Jongman and Marc Kleijwegt, Mnemosyne Supplements 233 (Leiden: Brill, 2002), 341– 78.  Sitta von Reden, Exchange in Ancient Greece (London: Duckworth, 1995), 27, 45, 79 – 80.  Gill, Postlethwaite, and Seaford, Reciprocity in Ancient Greece; Michael L. Satlow, ed., The Gift in Antiquity, The Ancient World: Comparative Histories (Malden: Wiley-Blackwell, 2013). See also the extensive analysis of Greek euergetism by Marc Domingo Gygax, Benefaction and Rewards in the Ancient Greek City: The Origins of Euergetism (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2016). Michael L. Satlow also provides a short list of relevant studies on classical antiquity that use reciprocity as a major interpretive category (“Introduction,” in Satlow, The Gift in Antiquity, 6). For the use of Mauss to discuss literary patronage, see Phebe Lowell Bowditch, Horace and the Gift Economy of Patronage, Classics and Contemporary Thought 7 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2001). For the use of Mauss in analysis of Rabbinic literature, see Catherine Hezser, “Rabbis and Other Friends: Friendship in the Talmud Yerushalmi and in Graeco-Roman Literature,” in The Talmud Yerushalmi and Graeco-Roman Culture, ed. Peter Schäfer and Catherine Hezser, 3 vols., TSAJ 71, 78, 93 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1998 – 2002), 2:189 – 254.  Gary Stansell, “Gifts, Tributes, and Offerings,” in The Social Setting of Jesus and the Gospels, ed. Wolfgang Stegemann, Bruce J. Malina, and Gerd Theissen (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2002), 349 – 64.  Joubert, Paul as Benefactor, 18 – 22; Chang, “Fund-Raising in Corinth,” 69 – 71; Harrison, Paul’s Language of Grace, 17– 23. For a more general discussion of economic practices in Paul, see Thomas R. Blanton, A Spiritual Economy: Gift Exchange in the Letters of Paul of Tarsus, Synkrisis (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2017). Blanton adopts the fundamental ideas of Mauss but in a nuanced fashion, observing, for instance, that “the ‘gift’ is often, but not always, followed by a reciprocal gift” (A Spiritual Economy, 8 – 10; my emphasis).  Peter Marshall, Enmity in Corinth: Social Conventions in Paul’s Relations with the Corinthians, WUNT 2/23 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1997), 1– 2, 12.

1.3 Patronage, the Gift, and Economic Anthropology

31

model of generalized, balanced, and negative reciprocity to present the socioeconomic background of the New Testament.¹²⁸ Even studies of a broader scope, when they adopt the category of the gift to discuss New Testament theology, assume the Maussian description of gift giving. Jerome H. Neyrey, for instance, bases his exposition of New Testament conceptions of God on a number of social-science models, the first of which is “patron and benefactor, that is, God-in-relationship.”¹²⁹ Opening his study of Paul’s theology, John M. G. Barclay states matter-of-factly: “Even the slightest knowledge of antiquity would inform us that gifts were given with strong expectations of return.”¹³⁰ Barclay provides a long description of Mauss’s Essai sur le don, and his reception of Mauss’s model is carefully nuanced. Yet, he replicates some criteria that I have shown at work in collection studies: he connects gifts with favors and benefactions, prestige, honor, and power; he suggests that the expectation of a return should be confidently assumed.¹³¹

1.3.3 Beyond the Gift The Maussian tradition about gift giving and reciprocity holds, to this day, a preeminent position in economic anthropology and, as I have suggested, in studies of classical antiquity and the New Testament. This tradition, however, has not gone unchallenged.¹³² One aspect that has attracted criticism is the implication that the theory of the gift and reciprocity is universal and applies to every (precapitalist) society regardless of place and time.¹³³ Meeker, Barlow, and Lipset

 Douglas E. Oakman, Jesus and the Economic Questions of His Day, Studies in the Bible and Early Christianity 8 (Lewinston, NY: Edwin Mellen, 1986), 78 – 79; Ekkehard W. Stegemann and Wolfgang Stegemann, The Jesus Movement: A Social History of Its First Century (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1999), 34– 35; Zeba A. Crook, Reconceptualising Conversion: Patronage, Loyalty, and Conversion in the Religions of the Ancient Mediterranean, BZNW 130 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2004), 54– 55; Alan Kirk, “‘Love Your Enemies,’ the Golden Rule, and Ancient Reciprocity (Luke 6:27– 35),” JBL 122 (2003): 667– 86; Jerome H. Neyrey, “God, Benefactor and Patron: The Major Cultural Model for Interpreting the Deity in Greco-Roman Antiquity,” JSNT 27 (2005): 469.  Neyrey, Render to God, xvii.  Barclay, Paul and the Gift, 11.  Barclay, Paul and the Gift, 22– 23.  For overviews of criticisms of the Maussian tradition, see Hann, “The Gift and Reciprocity,” 212– 16; Osteen, “Introduction,” 4– 11.  See, for instance, Alain Testart, “Uncertainties of the ‘Obligation to Reciprocate: A Critique of Mauss,’” in Marcel Mauss: A Centenary Tribute, Methodology and History in Anthropology 1, ed. Wendy James and N.J. Allen (New York: Berghahn, 1998), 98; Veyne, Bread and Circuses, 19.

32

1 Introduction

suggest instead that Mauss’s and others’ conclusions depend critically on their choice of populations in the circum-Pacific belt. They acknowledge that Mauss reviewed examples from other world regions, but they also observe that “reciprocal cerimonial exchanges are manifest and central institutions only among specific peoples.”¹³⁴ They argue that the centrality of reciprocity in those cultures depends on their ecological conditions, food production technology, and political organization.¹³⁵ They also provide the counterexample of the Murik, East African pastoralists among whom giving and receiving do not play any relevant social roles. Among the Murik, generosity and hospitality exist but do not follow Mauss’s laws of giving, receiving, and returning the gift.¹³⁶ E. A. Judge already remarked on the unjustified extension of geographically and temporally specific phenomena: Even if one accepts the assumptions of social determinism, the problem with this kind of explanation is that we simply do not know enough about the day-to-day workings of rank and status in the Roman world of the Caesars and St Paul. The theories have usually been hammered out in the laboratory of a South-Seas-island anthropologist, and then transposed half-way around the world, and across two millennia, without adequate testing for applicability in the new setting: so powerful is the assumption of the indelible pattern of human social behaviour.¹³⁷

James Woodburn offers an argument against the interpretation of food sharing in hunter-gatherer societies in terms of generalized reciprocity (I share the excess meat that I have now, so that I can claim meat back from others when they in turn have excess meat). Woodburn describes food sharing among the Hadza of Tanzania, in which “donation is obligatory and is disconnected from the right

 Michael E. Meeker, Kathleen Barlow, and David M. Lipset, “Culture, Exchange, and Gender: Lessons from the Murik,” Cultural Anthropology, 1 (1986): 6 – 7.  Meeker, Barlow, and Lipset, “Culture, Exchange, and Gender,” 16 – 17.  Meeker, Barlow, and Lipset, “Culture, Exchange, and Gender,” 18 – 21.  E. A. Judge, “Rank and Status in the World of the Caesars and St Paul,” in Judge, Social Distinctives, 140. Similarly, Zeba A. Crook challenges the use of Sahlins’s model for the GrecoRoman world. Sahlins infers his categories from “primitive,” that is stateless, societies, while Greco-Roman antiquity, especially in New Testament times, had a well-defined administrative and political system (“Reflections on Culture and Social-Scientific Models,” JBL 124 [2005]: 515 – 32). Alan Kirk, on the other hand, points out that any reading of data issuing from ancient material necessarily adopts, at least unconsciously, some theoretical model and recommends that “cautious ancillary employment of social-science models within the framework of historical and exegetical analysis would seem the better course” (“Karl Polanyi, Marshall Sahlins, and the Study of Ancient Social Relations,” JBL 126 [2007]: 190).

1.3 Patronage, the Gift, and Economic Anthropology

33

to receive.”¹³⁸ He insists that interpreting Hadza sharing as reciprocity violates their ideology. The Hadza stress the moral value of sharing and reject all forms of exchange—barter, trade, or sale—as unacceptable.¹³⁹ Woodburn generalizes his findings thus: “It makes no sense to construct analyses of human social life which are based implicitly or explicitly on the notion of a universal necessity to reciprocate.”¹⁴⁰ More radically, some scholars have questioned the Maussian tradition’s conclusion that there are no free gifts.¹⁴¹ David Cheal, for instance, analyzes a number of interviews about gift-giving habits. He observes that not all instances of gift giving can be explained by “a simple model of profit-seeking exchange.” Even when reciprocation is the usual expectation, certain circumstances appear to “override the norm of reciprocity” and require asymmetrical transactions with net loss.¹⁴² A variety of motives can justify loss-making. Debt avoidance, for instance, may lead some to assume a defensive posture toward gifts and give more than they have received. On the other hand, a couple of newlyweds “were completely unconcerned about an extraordinarily expensive gift which they had received from some old friends” and presumably did not need, or have the means, to reciprocate.¹⁴³ Cheal stresses that gift transactions reproduce the relationships between the exchange partners, and it is not surprising that asymmetrical reciprocity or lack of reciprocation tends to occur in nurturing relationships, wherein maintenance of social ties is far more important than economic gain.¹⁴⁴ Cheal’s remarks reveal the complexities of gift giving and challenge the universality of profit motives advocated by the Maussian tradition as an oversimplification. In fact, Cheal’s emphasis on loss-making transactions calls into question Mauss’s fundamental thesis that the same self-interest underlies both

 James Woodburn, “‘Sharing Is Not a Form of Exchange’: An Analysis of Property-Sharing in Immediate-Return Hunter-Gatherer Societies,” in Property Relations: Renewing the Anthropological Tradition, ed. C. M. Hann (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), 50.  Woodburn, “Sharing Is Not a Form of Exchange,” 54.  Woodburn, “Sharing Is Not a Form of Exchange,” 61– 62.  Satlow, “Introduction,” 6. The inexistence of free gifts is made explicit by Jacques Derrida, who argues that the inextricability of gift and reciprocation renders a gift qua gift impossible (Donner le temps: 1. La fausse monnaie [Paris: Galilée, 1991], 22– 28). Pierre Bourdieu addresses the same contradiction describing gift giving as a social process supported by collective self-deception. Gift exchange can exist only because exchangers comply with the social expectations inherent in it (“Marginalia—Some Additional Notes on the Gift,” in The Logic of the Gift: Toward an Ethic of Generosity, ed. Alan D. Schrift [New York: Routledge, 1997], 232).  Cheal, The Gift Economy, 52.  Cheal, The Gift Economy, 53.  Cheal, The Gift Economy, 57– 59.

34

1 Introduction

primitive and modern economies, gift and market exchanges.¹⁴⁵ In principle, economists think that profit is the basic criterion of exchange, regardless of the specific forms in which it takes place, whereas sociologists focus on the norm of reciprocity.¹⁴⁶ Both kinds of analysis, however, are similar in that the forms of exchange that do not conform to the basic criterion of analysis are said to be distortions that disguise the true nature of the exchange, namely, profit or reciprocity: “Both deny the reality of natives’ understandings of what they do; and both assert that ‘reality’ has a variable depth, can be both underlay and overlay.”¹⁴⁷ In his study Exchange, John Davis sets out to overcome the dichotomy between appearance and reality of exchanges by giving credence to the donors’ understanding of their gifts.¹⁴⁸ For Davis, the main consequence of this approach is that one must accept the common experience that there are different kinds of exchange and not try to reduce all of them to a single interpretive criterion. He proposes that all societies possess a range of kinds of exchange, a “repertoire” of exchanges that connote the economic world of each society (Table 1 reproduces the British repertoire of exchanges according to Davis). In this sense, part of a person’s cultural identity is formed through the exchanges practiced in his or her social context.¹⁴⁹ It is easy to see that repertoires are strictly local in their nature, not only because some kinds of exchange are culturally dependent (simony, for example, only exists in a Christian context) but also because forms of exchange like barter that seem to be universal acquire special features in specific contexts.

 Cheal, The Gift Economy, 7; Keith Hart, Money in an Unequal World: Keith Hart and His Memory Bank (New York: Texere, 2000), 192– 96.  Davis, Exchange, 10.  Davis, Exchange, 27; John Davis, “An Anthropologist’s View of Exchange,” Social Anthropology 4 (1996): 219.  Davis, Exchange, 28; Hann, “The Gift and Reciprocity,” 212.  Hann, “The Gift and Reciprocity,” 215.

1.3 Patronage, the Gift, and Economic Anthropology

35

Table 1: The British Repertoire of Exchanges¹⁵⁰ almsgiving altruism arbitrage banking barter bribery burglary buying/selling charity commodity-dealing corruption donation employment exploitation

expropriation extortion futures trading giving huckstering insider dealing insurance marketing money-lending mortgaging mugging pawning profiteering prostitution

reciprocity renting retailing robbery scrounging shoplifting shopping simony social wage swapping theft tipping trading wholesaling

Davis indicates that it is possible to develop a classification of kinds of exchange in order to discern the specific characteristics of each and separate them from one another. He proposes to classify the items in a society’s repertoire of exchanges according to three criteria: intended exchange results, commodities, and relationships.¹⁵¹ The intended exchange result is the relation of income to outgo for each exchange partner, which can be gain, balance, or loss. In barter, for instance, both partners expect to make a gain from the exchange by acquiring something they need. In extortion, on the other hand, one partner suffers a loss. Gifts between friends should ideally be equal. Exchanges also differ in the commodity exchanged. We might buy food items in a shop but not use them in futures trading. Each form of exchange is conventionally tied to a range of objects that can circulate through it. Some exchange items are objects but others can be abstractions, such as labor in employment or property claims in expropriation. Finally, exchanges are defined by the relationship between the exchange partners. Money offered by a grandparent to a grandchild is a gift. The same amount of money offered to a waiter is a tip. But money offered to a politician would be regarded as corruption. Of course, these three exchanges imply drastically different expectations and moral evaluations by the exchange partners.

 David, Exchange, 29.  Davis, Exchange, 37. Elsewhere, Davis adds time of return to the defining criteria of exchange, asking four basic questions: “Which people should exchange? What goods should they exchange? What should be the balance of income and outgo? What should be the period for making the return?” (“An Anthropologist’s View of Exchange,” 213).

36

1 Introduction

These last examples show a major advantage of Davis’s model: “It takes as central these moral and religious and legal distinctions which all people make among kinds of exchange,” and which other perspectives relegate to a secondary role with respect to the overarching profit or reciprocity motive.¹⁵² In other words, this model is mainly descriptive and takes into consideration two essential aspects of the social reality of exchange: its complex and multifaceted character and the way people experience, understand, and evaluate exchange. According to Davis, the major shortcoming of this model is also its strongest quality. Since classifications are inherently incomplete, fluid, and unstable, it is difficult to use this model to make predictions about economic behavior and design economic policies. The ambiguities and uncertainties of a repertoire, on the other hand, allow for “manipulation, fixing, deceit—all sorts of creative and interested chicanery and goodwill.”¹⁵³ This is obvious in market exchanges but can also be true of charity, when self-interested gain is disguised as altruism. In order to clarify how exchanges can be manipulated, Davis points to the notion of anomaly. An anomaly is simply an item that, because of its atypical characteristics, resists classification.¹⁵⁴ As such, however, an anomaly challenges people’s organization of reality, thus creating a sense of discomfort in them and forcing them to confront the anomaly. Mary Douglas indicates a number of ways in which social groups handle anomalies, from physical control to avoidance to ritual use.¹⁵⁵ Davis adds to this by suggesting that anomalies “may be an opportunity, give people room for manoeuvre, scope for inventiveness and creativity.”¹⁵⁶ In dealing with anomalous exchanges, actors can manipulate exchange categories in order to pursue their personal aims. To illustrate how the manipulation of exchanges functions, Davis provides the example of the Trobriand village of Omarakana. In 1918, the village chief decided to display his prestige by imposing a “tribute” on his fellow villagers as a sign of deference. The overwhelming majority of the villagers that responded to the chief’s request, however, called their contribution “urigubu,” a gift normally offered to a man by his wife’s brother or close kinsman. Less than half of the contributors, however, were relatives of the chief’s wives. The others, who were not related to the chief by marriage, still presented their tribute as urigubu, stretching the meaning of the word. As a result, they complied with the chief’s

 Davis, Exchange, 44– 45.  Davis, Exchange, 45.  Mary Douglas, Purity and Danger: An Analysis of Concepts of Pollution and Taboo (London: Routledge, 2002), 47.  Douglas, Purity and Danger, 48 – 50.  Davis, Exchange, 54.

1.4 A Fresh Model for Early Christian Gift Exchange

37

request but avoided acknowledging his claim to superior status by manipulating one component of the exchange. They exploited the ambiguities of categories by substituting one relationship, between a chief and a villager, for another, between a man and his wife’s brother.¹⁵⁷ Davis’s view of exchange seems especially appropriate for the discussion of Paul’s collection. First, the collection takes place in a cultural and economic context rich with many kinds of exchange, and Paul himself makes reference to a number of them. The brief review of recent literature on the collection has shown that Paul uses, among others, the languages of grace, fellowship, worship, reciprocity, and equality to describe his project. Second, the repeated failure to find a compelling parallel for the collection attests to its anomalous character. Despite the many attempts of interpreters, the collection resists precise classification. In fact, Paul appears to be playing with exchange categories when he defines the collection in such a multifaceted way. Davis’s model is only one among several possible descriptions of economic exchange in society. Its focus on the experience of the exchangers and its consideration for the complexity of socioeconomic intercourse and the possibilities open to socioeconomic actors allow for a reassessment of Paul’s collection in its historical context. By overcoming the presumption of self-interest in every exchange, Davis’s description makes it possible to move beyond the preoccupation with patronage and better describes the mechanisms of Paul’s collection and later instances of intergroup support.

1.4 A Fresh Model for Early Christian Gift Exchange The limitations of patronage as an interpretative model for Paul’s collection and of the Maussian theory of the gift call for a reevaluation of the dominant, scholarly narrative about Paul’s collection described above (section 1.2.3). In this study, I adopt the model of socioeconomic exchange developed by Davis in order to offer an alternative understanding of the collection, one that takes into account the complexity of gift-giving practices and economic transactions in Paul’s world and focuses on the meanings Paul himself attributes to the collection. Three main theses are challenged: that the collection was liable to be understood as an act of patronage; that Paul saw this interpretation of the collection as a major problem; that Paul arranged and described the collection as an alternative to patronage.

 Davis, Exchange, 55 – 56.

38

1 Introduction

First, an examination of socioeconomic transactions in the Greco-Roman and Jewish world of the first century CE demonstrates that the mere fact of being a gift is no sufficient reason for construing the collection as an attempt to establish a patron-client relationship with the Jerusalem community. In the repertoire of exchanges of the Early Empire, there were several kinds of exchange that did not carry the same disturbing social implications as patronage. Some did not presuppose reciprocation at all (e. g., alms for beggars), while others, albeit based on reciprocity, did not entail social subordination or personal dependency (e. g., friendship between equals).¹⁵⁸ The repertoire of gift-giving practices available to early Christians was considerably more diverse than what the reduction to patronage presupposes. Paul’s disapproval of patronage is relevant only if one accepts the claim that the collection could be misconstrued as an act of patronage. Even granting this premise, there is little evidence in the collection texts pointing to the problematic aspects of patronage, namely, status inequality and obligation.¹⁵⁹ As previously mentioned, authors draw attention to Paul’s emphasis on equality and voluntariness, as well as economic procedures that were different from those of patronage, and suggest that Paul was opposing patronage’s inequality and obligation, but these conclusions appear to be based on mirror-reading.¹⁶⁰ A close examination of the collection texts reveals no need to use mirror-reading to discover a number of problems underlying the collection—e. g., impoverishment (2 Cor 8:11– 12; 9:4, 11), exploitation (1 Cor 16:3 – 4; 2 Cor 8:20 – 21; 12:16 – 18), and pressure from Paul (1 Cor 16:2; 2 Cor 9:5). These worries have no connection with a possible patronage of or over Jerusalem.¹⁶¹ The fact that Paul discussed, several  Parkin, “You Do Him No Service,” 81; David Konstan, “Patrons and Friends,” CP 90 (1995): 329; Alex Gottesman, “The Beggar and the Clod: The Mythic Notion of Property in Ancient Greece,” TAPA 140 (2010): 292. Peter Garnsey, for instance, excludes the possibility that charity, “a one-sided relationship between an active benefactor and an essentially passive beneficiary,” might be assimilated to patronage (Famine and Food Supply in the Graeco-Roman World: Responses to Risk and Crisis [Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988], 58).  It is unclear whether Paul saw any problems at all with the customs of patronage. Harrison notes that, whether or not Paul approved of patronage as a social system, “he still endorsed the traditional conventions of clientage (Rom 15:24; 16:12), employed reciprocity terminology (2 Cor 6:13; Phil 4:15; 1 Tim 5:4), and argued for the social expression of reciprocity within his churches (Rom 13:8 – 10; 15:27; 2 Cor 8:13 – 15; Phil 4:10 – 20; Phlm)” (Paul’s Language of Grace, 21).  Harrison, Paul’s Language of Grace, 305 – 6 n. 63; Friesen, “Paul and Economics,” 49 – 51; Welborn, “That There May Be Equality,” 80.  The collection texts reveal, nonetheless, anxiety about the strained relationship between Paul and the Corinthians, which parallels some perceived issues relating to patronage. For example, Paul might have been accused of using coercion (2 Cor 9:7) and of being greedy (2 Cor 9:5); he might be shamed by a failure of the collection (2 Cor 8:10 – 11; 9:4). Whether Paul

1.4 A Fresh Model for Early Christian Gift Exchange

39

times and with various degrees of explicitness, a number of difficulties concerning the collection, none of which were related to patronage, urges us to reject patronage as the background for understanding the collection. The last point—that Paul conceived the collection as an alternative to and implicit critique of patronage—also depends on the previous two. Paul’s rhetoric can, however, be more easily understood as a multifaceted response to the specific problems that he or the Corinthians raised.¹⁶² The anomalous character of the collection as an economic phenomenon—the believers in the Pauline groups were in all probability unfamiliar with anything like it—may partly explain the distrust and hesitation of the Corinthians. As Davis suggests, however, this anomalous nature also provides Paul with space for creativity, space which he uses by manipulating the categories of exchange and describing the collection in several ways (e. g., an obligation of gratitude, self-sacrifice, or almsgiving). In doing so, he partly addresses aspects of the collection that were perceived as troublesome and partly expresses and advances his own views about Christian leadership and relations between Christian groups. In this sense, Paul’s words transcend anti-patronal criticism and voice his beliefs and desires for the faith and life of the groups he was leading. In its development, this study is characterized by a double movement. A first line of argument challenges the current narrative about Paul’s collection as an act of patronage by situating it in the context of first-century gift exchanges and by comparing patronage with the problematic issues explicitly raised by the texts. At the same time, a second line of argument offers a new interpretation of what Paul was trying to accomplish through his discussion of the collection. These two arguments are not separate but are developed progressively together. In brief, I propose that fears connected with a possible patron-client relationship between Corinth and Jerusalem and more widely associated with patronage as the warp and woof of Greco-Roman society do not constitute the appropriate backdrop against which to understand Paul’s collection. I suggest, instead, that Paul drew not on a single but on several social conventions of gift exchange, which, along with typical Greco-Roman forms of exchange, included one practice deriving from Jewish tradition (almsgiving) and a specifically Christian exemplum (Christ’s self-giving). He did this in order to respond to his

acts, or is perceived as acting, as a patron of the Corinthians, however, has no direct bearing on the nature of their relations with Jerusalem. See below, section 4.7.  For instance, patronage can hardly account for Paul’s appeal to the Lord Jesus Christ’s becoming poor for the sake of the Corinthians (2 Cor 8:9), if not in terms of a vague exhortation to generosity. On the other hand, it may be argued that this appeal addresses Corinthian fears of impoverishment (see below, section 4.2) by casting poverty itself in a positive light.

40

1 Introduction

and the Corinthians’ worries over the collection, convey his vision of intergroup relations, and pursue his aims with regard to the groups he founded, his role in them, and their status among other groups of Christ-believers, with special regard to the Jerusalem community. This study also expands research to other exchanges of financial support in the first centuries of Christianity. The primary objective is to track the developments of research since Harnack’s survey and to offer a new overview of this phenomenon as a whole. Harnack’s view of intergroup support as an expression of the ecumenical unity of early Christianity appears to depend on the way most sources describe exchanges of financial help as part of an idealized Christian past. The evidence, however, shows that tensions existed between Christian groups as well as an affinity with the competitive character of benefaction ideology.¹⁶³ Competition for regional and extra-regional prominence played a significant role in these exchanges. The secondary objective is to provide a comparative context for the Pauline collection in order to demonstrate that it was not an isolated experience but rather the beginning of a widespread Christian practice and to substantiate my claims about the socioeconomic framework of Paul’s collection and his view of it. Despite some minor variations, exchanges of financial support between early Christian groups followed a consistent pattern, took place on a wide geographical scale, and occasionally involved groups of churches on a regional base. Persecution constituted a major factor in interactions between Christian groups, and financial support was regarded as a way to participate actively in the suffering of Christian confessors. This study is articulated in five major chapters. Chapter Two examines Greco-Roman patronage and beneficence in order to identify what problems Paul’s contemporaries perceived in these practices (i. e., economic, social, and political exploitation). This survey provides a basis for comparison with the issues that Paul actually raises in the collection texts. Chapter Two also probes evidence of patronage in the Jewish context and especially in first-century CE Palestine in order to inquire about the problems that the Jerusalem believers could have seen with the gift from the Gentile groups.

 Cyprian, for instance, appended a list of contributors to his letter to the Numidian bishops (Ep. 62). Although the list has been lost, G. W. Clarke argues that “the donors were not too numerous if they could be so specified and that, therefore, the bulk of the donation [the considerable sum of 100,000 sesterces] was made up of some sizable contributions rather than consisted of an accumulation of widows’ mites only” (in Cyprian, The Letters of St. Cyprian of Carthage, ed. G. W. Clarke, 4 vols., ACW 43, 44, 46, 47 [New York: Newman, 1984– 1989], 3:285). See below, section 6.6.

1.4 A Fresh Model for Early Christian Gift Exchange

41

Chapter Three draws attention to other Jewish and Greco-Roman forms of exchange in order to provide a sample of the kinds of exchange that constituted the repertoire of exchanges available to early Christians and show that not all exchanges carried the same negative connotations as patronage. Chapter Three discusses exchanges that were not based on reciprocity (e. g., governmental support, interest-free loans, almsgiving), as well as exchanges that, although based on reciprocity, were not exploitative or socially degrading (e. g., gratitude, friendship, literary patronage). This chapter does not intend to be an exhaustive survey of all ancient exchanges but demonstrates the diversity of gift-giving practices in the ancient world. As a result, the common belief that patronage was the only or the natural way to understand the collection, as well as any gift in antiquity, is shown to be highly questionable. Chapter Four turns to the Pauline texts about the collection (Rom 15:25 – 28; 1 Cor 16:1– 4; 2 Cor 8 – 9). It seeks to identify the potential problems that Paul and the Corinthians might have perceived in it: impoverishment of the Corinthians (2 Cor 8:2– 3, 9, 11– 12, 13; 9:4, 11); imbalance between groups (2 Cor 8:13); distrust of Paul or his co-workers (1 Cor 16:2– 4; 2 Cor 7:2; 8:20 – 21; 9:4– 7; 12:16 – 18); distress (2 Cor 9:7). A comparison is performed between the perceived problems of the collection and those generally associated with patronage and beneficence as identified in Chapter Two. It is argued that a Corinthian domination of the Jerusalem group was not an issue under consideration and that interpretations in terms of patronage rely on questionable assumptions about gift exchange and on mirror-reading of only a few Pauline expressions. Moreover, analysis of the above-mentioned problems provides further substantiation for recent descriptions of the economic level of the Pauline groups and of Corinth in particular and for the strained relationship between Paul and the Corinthians. Chapter Five analyzes the Pauline collection texts a second time in order to determine the forms of exchange to which Paul resorted in his attempt to define the collection: an obligation of gratitude (Rom 15:25 – 27), friendship (Rom 15:26; 2 Cor 8:4, 13 – 14; 9:13), χάρις (1 Cor 16:3; several times in 2 Cor 8 – 9), self-giving (2 Cor 8:5, 9), and almsgiving (2 Cor 9:6 – 12). This discussion inquires whether and how each of these models addresses the perceived problems identified in Chapter Three or introduces Paul’s views of Christian faith and life. Chapter Five demonstrates that the backdrop of patronage needs not be assumed in order to clarify the collection texts and that these express notions about poverty, intergroup relations, and Christian leadership, and thus endeavor to shape the role of Paul and the Pauline groups within earliest Christianity. Chapter Six addresses other instances of intergroup support in early Christianity for which we have evidence: Antioch’s relief fund (διακονία) for Judea “during the reign of Claudius” (Acts 11:27– 30); Asia’s delegation to help Peregrinus

42

1 Introduction

Proteus in prison with a considerable amount of money from the common fund (ἀπὸ τοῦ κοινοῦ; πολλὰ χρήματα; Lucian, Peregr. 13) circa 132– 134 CE;¹⁶⁴ Rome’s abundance (δαψίλεια) for Corinth at the time of Dionysius of Corinth (171 CE) and the provisions (ἐφόδια) Rome sent to Corinth “from the beginning” (Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 4.23.10); Rome’s assistance (ἐπαρκεῖτε) for Syria and Arabia “on every occasion” (a general reference made by Dionysius of Alexandria, who served as bishop in 248 – 264 CE; Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 7.5.2); Carthage’s financial assistance (subsidia nummaria) for Numidia (Cyprian, Ep. 62) around 253 CE; Rome’s delegation to ransom (τοὺς ἀπολυτρουμένους) Cappadocian captives under Dionysius, bishop of Rome (259 – 268 CE; Basil, Ep. 70). These instances are fairly diverse in their historical contexts, literary genres, and rhetorical aims, but their analysis demonstrates that support between early Christian groups was a widespread phenomenon, that it was therefore part of a common ethos, and that there was occasional interference from benefaction ideology. The final chapter recapitulates the main points made in this study and highlights its major contributions. In particular, it calls attention to the ways in which this study supports, contradicts, or qualifies previous scholarship on Paul’s collection, it provides a comprehensive view of early Christian intergroup exchanges in the first three centuries, and it highlights similarities and differences between Paul’s collection and later instances.

 The date of Peregrinus’s imprisonment is based on a reconstructed chronology by Gilbert Bagnani (“Peregrinus Proteus and the Christians,” Historia 4 [1955]: 112).

2 Patronage and Exploitation in the World of Paul 2.1 Introduction The cultural context in which Paul and early Christians operated was characteristically marked by an apparent contradiction between severe, widespread poverty and grandiose wealth. The impression of boundless generosity of the wealthy Greco-Roman aristocracies is perhaps heightened by the elite bias of the sources we have¹⁶⁵ and by their all-pervasive celebration of lavish donations to individuals, groups, and civic bodies, but there is no doubt that munificence was at the core of the prescribed and, to a large degree, practiced morality of the Greco-Roman world.¹⁶⁶ Patronage and benefaction were a central element

 P. A. Brunt, “The Roman Mob,” in Studies in Ancient Society, ed. M. I. Finley, Past and Present Series (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1974), 95 – 99; Justin J. Meggitt, Paul, Poverty and Survival (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1998), 12– 13; Greg Woolf, “Writing Poverty in Rome,” in Atkins and Osborne, Poverty in the Roman World, 83 – 99; Watson, “Paul’s Collection,” 15 – 17; L. L. Welborn, “The Polis and the Poor: Reconstructing Social Relations from Different Genres of Evidence,” in Methodological Foundations, vol. 1 of The First Urban Churches, ed. James R. Harrison and L. L. Welborn, Writings from the Greco-Roman World Supplement Series 7 (Atlanta: SBL Press, 2015), 189 – 93.  For overviews of Greco-Roman patronage and benefaction, see Th. Mommsen, Römische Forschungen, 2 vols. (Berlin: Weidman, 1864), 1:319 – 90; A. von Premerstein, “Clientes,” PW 4:23 – 55; G. E. M. de Ste Croix, “Suffragium: From Vote to Patronage,” The British Journal of Sociology 5 (1954): 33 – 48; E. Badian, Foreign Clientelae (264 – 70 B.C.) (Oxford: Clarendon, 1958); Matthias Gelzer, The Roman Nobility (New York: Barnes & Noble, 1969); Norbert Rouland, Pouvoir politique et dépendance personelle dans l’Antiquité romaine: Genèse et rôle des rapports de clientèle, Latomus 166 (Brussels: Latomus, 1979); Saller, Personal Patronage; Philippe Gauthier, Les cités grecques et leurs bienfaiteurs, BCH Supplément 12 (Athens: École française d’Athènes, 1985); Élizabeth Deniaux and Pauline Schmitt Pantel, “La relation patron-client en Grèce et à Rome,” Opus 6 – 8 (1987– 1989): 147– 63; Veyne, Bread and Circuses; Frederick W. Danker, Benefactor: Epigraphic Study of a Graeco-Roman and New Testament Semantic Field (St Louis: Clayton, 1982); John H. Elliott, “Patronage and Clientism in Early Christian Society: A Short Reading Guide,” Forum 3 (1987): 39 – 48; P. A. Brunt, “Clientela,” in P. A. Brunt, The Fall of the Roman Republic and Related Essays (Oxford: Clarendon, 1988), 382– 442; Andrew Wallace-Hadrill, ed., Patronage in Ancient Society (London: Routledge, 1989); Thomas W. Gallant, Risk and Survival in Ancient Greece: Reconstructing the Rural Domestic Economy (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1991); Halvor Moxnes, “Patron-Client Relations and the New Community in Luke-Acts,” in The Social World of Luke-Acts: Models for Interpretation, ed. Jerome H. Neyrey (Peabody: Hendrickson, 1991), 241– 68; Élizabeth Deniaux, Clientèles et pouvoir à l’époque de Cicéron, Collection de l’École française de Rome 182 (Rome: École française de Rome, 1993); Suzanne Dixon, https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110723946-004

44

2 Patronage and Exploitation in the World of Paul

of Greco-Roman aristocratic ideology. In fact, instead of being a response to socioeconomic inequality and poverty, the lavishness of the wealthy was a condition of their legitimacy and, as a consequence, of the reproduction of the social inequality it purported to address.¹⁶⁷ Through benefaction, the notables of society expressed their social superiority and thereby fashioned themselves as the politically ascendant class.¹⁶⁸ In such a “system” of patronage, generosity was too often exploitation in disguise.¹⁶⁹ “The Meaning of Gift and Debt,” 451– 64; Lukas Bormann, Philippi: Stadt und Christgemeinde zur Zeit des Paulus, NovTSup 78 (Leiden: Brill, 1995), 206 – 24; Nancy Jean Vyhmeister, “The Rich Man in James 2: Does Ancient Patronage Illumine the Text?” AUSS 33 (1995): 266 – 72; Markus Prell, Sozialökonomische Untersuchungen zur Armut im antiken Rom: Von den Gracchen bis Kaiser Diokletian, Beiträge zur Wirtschafts- und Sozialgeschichte 77 (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner, 1997), 260 – 69; David A. DeSilva, “Patronage and Reciprocity: The Context of Grace in the New Testament,” ATJ 31 (1999): 32– 84; Stephan J. Joubert, “One Form of Social Exchange or Two? ‘Euergetism,’ Patronage, and Testament Studies,” BTB 31 (2001): 17– 25; Claude Eilers, Roman Patrons of Greek Cities, Oxford Classical Monographs (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002); Koenraad Verboven, The Economy of Friends: Economic Aspects of Amicitia and Patronage in the Late Republic, Latomus 269 (Brussels: Latomus, 2002); Miriam T. Griffin, “De beneficiis and Roman Society,” JRS 93 (2003): 92– 113; Peter Lampe, “Paul, Patrons, and Clients,” in Paul in the GrecoRoman World: A Handbook, ed. J. Paul Sampley, 2 vols., rev. ed. (London: Bloomsbury T&T Clark, 2016), 2:204– 38; Brad Inwood, Reading Seneca: Stoic Philosophy at Rome (Oxford: Clarendon, 2005); Miriam T. Griffin, Seneca on Society: A Guide to De Beneficiis (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013); John Nicols, Civic Patronage in the Roman Empire, Mnemosyne Supplements 365 (Leiden: Brill, 2014); Sabien Colpaert, “Euergetism and the Gift,” in Carlà and Gori, Gift Giving, 181– 201; Peter Garnsey and Richard P. Saller, The Roman Empire: Economy, Society and Culture, 2nd ed. (Oakland: University of California Press, 2015), 173 – 84; Gygax, Benefaction and Rewards; David Engels, Benefactors, Kings, Rulers: Studies on the Seleukid Empire between East and West, Studia Hellenistica 57 (Leuven: Peeters, 2017). For women as patrons, see Suzanne Dixon, “A Family Business: Women’s Role in Patronage and Politics at Rome 80 – 44 B.C.,” Classica et Mediaevalia 34 (1983): 91– 112; Elizabeth P. Forbis, “Women’s Public Image in Italian Honorary Inscriptions,” AJP 111 (1990): 493 – 512; Emily A. Hemelrijk, Matrona Docta: Educated Women in the Roman Élite from Cornelia to Julia Domna (London: Routledge, 1999), 97– 145; Emily A. Hemelrijk, “City Patronesses in the Roman Empire,” Historia 53 (2004): 209 – 45; Emily A. Hemelrijk, “Patronage of Cities: The Role of Women,” in Roman Rule and Civic Life: Local and Regional Perspectives, ed. Luuk de Ligt, Emily A. Hemelrijk, and H. W. Singor (Amsterdam: Gieben, 2004), 415 – 27; Margaret L. Woodhull, “Matronly Patrons in the Early Roman Empire: The Case of Salvia Postuma,” in Women’s Influence on Classical Civilization, ed. Fiona McHardy and Eireann Marshall (London: Routledge, 2004), 75 – 91; Carolyn Osiek and Margaret Y. MacDonald, “Women Patrons in the Life of House Churches,” in Carolyn Osiek and Margaret Y. MacDonald with Janet H. Tulloch, A Woman’s Place: House Churches in Earliest Christianity (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2006), 194– 219; Emily A. Hemelrijk, “Patronesses and ‘Mothers’ of Roman Collegia,” Classical Antiquity 27 (2008): 115 – 62.  John T. Fitzgerald, “Benefactor: Greco-Roman Antiquity,” EBR 3:840 – 41.  Veyne, Bread and Circuses, 104– 8, 129 – 31.

2.1 Introduction

45

In a contractual, albeit informal, relation such as patronage, exploitation can be understood in two different ways. On the one hand, exploitation is inherent in the relation itself inasmuch as the parties seek and indeed achieve gain from each other. This kind of exploitation is inscribed in the arrangement itself and is usually described in terms of the services and goods (beneficia or officia) that parties provide for one another.¹⁷⁰ On the other hand, exploitation can also violate the mutual arrangement if what one party demands or extracts from the other, by force or otherwise, is beyond the limits of customary officia. ¹⁷¹ Although the latter form of exploitation more readily aroused complaints, conventional services, too, could be felt as burdensome and degrading despite being endured as a legitimate part of the patron-client relation. Although many of the extant Greco-Roman sources broadcast positive propaganda about benefaction, others reveal, each from its distinctive viewpoint, awareness of the exploitative potential and actuality of patronage. To be sure, they do not usually advocate total eradication of patron-client relations, but they either expose the gap between benefaction ideology and practice (implicitly promoting closer adherence to ideal patronage) or point to measures taken to counter or restrain exploitation. If Paul really feared that the collection could be seen as an act of patronage or understood the collection as a countermeasure to patronal tendencies, he was no isolated example in the first-century CE Med-

 Van Wees, “The Law of Gratitude,” 45 – 47; Gallant, Risk and Survival, 145 – 46. Similarly, Sahlins notes: “Everywhere in the world the indigenous category for exploitation is ‘reciprocity’” (Stone Age Economics, 134). For patronage as a system, see Terry Johnson and Christopher Dandeker, “Patronage: Relation and System,” in Wallace-Hadrill, Patronage in Ancient Society, 219 – 42.  Gallant, Risk and Survival, 148 – 49. Ordinarily, the Latin term beneficium is translated as “benefit” or “good,” but the term properly refers to the action of conferring a benefit. Seneca, for instance, defines beneficium as benevola actio (“kind action”; Ben. 1.6.1). Of course, within the framework of benefaction, a beneficium normally bestows some material object or advantage. For a discussion of the term, see John M. Cooper and J. F. Procopé, Seneca: Moral and Political Essays, Cambridge Texts in the History of Politcal Thought (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), 184– 86.  Veyne illustrates these twofold forms of exploitation through the concept of “historical pact” or “historical contract”: “[Euergetism] ended in the establishment of an implicit contract between the notables and the plebs, but this contract was historical. […] The plebs does not revolt against the principle of social inequality, but it will launch a hostile demonstration if the rich break the historic contract which obliges them to be generous to the public” (Bread and Circuses, 155 – 56). In other words, social inequality and exploitation are socially functional as long as they remain within the boundaries of the customary structure of social relations but become dysfunctional as soon as they overstep those very same boundaries. See also Garnsey, Famine and Food Supply, 58.

46

2 Patronage and Exploitation in the World of Paul

iterranean. Therefore, comparison with ancient criticism of patronage and benefaction constitutes the litmus test for the relation between Paul’s collection and patronage. This chapter builds upon the extensive body of research on patronage and benefaction and focuses on what the sources reveal about the exploitative dimensions of these social practices in order to reconstruct ancient critical views, primarily in the Greco-Roman world of the Pauline communities but also in the Jewish context of the intended recipients of Paul’s collection. A few introductory remarks are nonetheless needed so as to clarify what kinds of practices are relevant to this discussion and how they are to be identified.

2.2 Defining Patronage The use of patronage as an interpretive category of Greco-Roman social relations suffers from lexical ambiguity. In fact, the English term is etymologically linked to the Latin patrocinium—a semi-legal relationship between a patronus and his cliens, which was characterized by relatively specific and well-known expectations and formalities—but its usage in the humanities is heavily influenced by the social sciences.¹⁷² The sociological terminology, of course, is connected with the historical institution of patrocinium, but its meaning has evolved autonomously, so that between the two there is only partial overlap. Roman patrocinium is one form of patronage, but patronage exists, even in Greco-Roman society, in many forms. On the other hand, the notion of patronage conceived in the social sciences cannot be expected to describe the peculiarities of the Roman institution.¹⁷³ Therefore, generalizations should be avoided, since it cannot be safely assumed that what Romans said and thought about patrocinium also applied to other forms of patronage and vice versa.¹⁷⁴

 For a discussion of this lexical ambiguity, see Jonathan Marshall, Jesus, Patrons, and Benefactors: Roman Palestine and the Gospel of Luke, WUNT 2/259 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2009), 4– 7. Peter White observes that the connotations of the modern word “patronage” mostly owe to medieval usage and feudal culture (“Amicitia and the Profession of Poetry in Early Imperial Rome,” JRS 68 [1978]: 79; see also Eilers, Roman Patrons of Greek Cities, 3). The same ambiguity can be observed for the term client, the Latin cliens, and the social concept of clientage.  Deniaux and Schmitt Pantel, “La relation patron-client,” 159; Verboven, The Economy of Friends, 12; Bormann, Philippi, 188 – 89; Marshall, Jesus, Patrons, and Benefactors, 5 – 6.  Fergus Millar, “The Political Character of the Classical Roman Republic, 200 – 151 B.C.,” JRS 74 (1984): 16 – 17; MacGillivray, “Re-Evaluating Patronage,” 42; Verboven, The Economy of Friends, 50 – 51. With reference to Richard Saller’s use of sociological categories to study Roman patrocinium, A. N. Sherwin-White cautions: “By combining the modern and the ancient terminology of patronage in the same words [Saller] unduly widens the scope of the Roman con-

2.2 Defining Patronage

47

A clear illustration of this linguistic problem is what we identify as literary patronage, financial support of poets and writers by wealthy individuals of the elite, like Maecenas, whose very name has come to mean “patron of literature and art.”¹⁷⁵ Despite modern usage of the phrase “literary patronage,” this expression never appears in ancient texts. Greek and Roman poets or writers did depend, at least in part, on support from affluent people, but they did not necessarily understand themselves, their benefactors, or their relationship with them in terms of clientes and patroni. They simply did not employ these social or legal categories.¹⁷⁶ This avoidance of patrocinium language might nonetheless be interpreted as a claim to intellectual autonomy and social success in order to mask the unpleasant reality of dependency, as Horace’s Ep. 1.15 suggests. After describing the shameful ways of the scurra (Horace’s derogatory term for a client) Maenius—Maenius would go to any length and suffer any humiliation to fill his greedy belly (ventri… avaro; Ep. 1.15.32)—Horace adds a few closing lines of bitter self-pity: Such a man, in truth, am I. When means fail, I praise a safe and lowly lot, resolute enough where all is paltry: but when something better and richer comes my way I, the same man, say that only men like you are wise and live well—whose invested wealth is displayed in handsome villas. (Ep. 1.15.42– 46; trans. Fairclough)¹⁷⁷

Horace dons, if only for a moment, the mask of the voracious scurra as pathetic commentary on his dependency on others, yet the language of patrocinium, here in its most degrading variety, is only applied to the poet as self-deprecating caricature. Although the technical language probably does not exactly apply, Horace feels he behaves like a client, and a shameful one at that.¹⁷⁸ cepts” (“Patronage under the Principate,” review of Richard Saller, Personal Patronage under Early Empire, The Classical Review 33 [1983]: 273).  Barbara K. Gold demonstrates that a poet could establish a variety of relations with his patron (Literary Patronage in Greece and Rome [Chapel Hill: The University of North Carolina Press, 1987]; see also Barbara K. Gold, ed., Literary and Artistic Patronage in Ancient Rome [Austin: University of Texas Press, 1982], and Peter White, Promised Verse: Poets in the Society of Augustan Rome [Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1993], 14– 27).  White, “Amicitia and the Profession of Poetry,” 78 – 82; White, Promised Verse, 13 – 34; Eilers, Roman Patrons of Greek Cities, 2– 3.  See the similar attitude of Slavus, a slave, in Horace, Sat. 2.7.29 – 35. See Sergio Yona, Epicurean Ethics in Horace: The Psychology of Satire (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2018), 296 – 97. For the quotations of classical authors, I use the translations in the Loeb Classical Library, whenever available, with only minor changes.  Cynthia Damon, The Mask of the Parasite: A Pathology of Roman Patronage (Ann Arbor: The University of Michigan Press, 1997), 126 – 27; White, Promised Verse, 29 – 30. Damon also provides

48

2 Patronage and Exploitation in the World of Paul

Awareness of this lexical ambiguity calls for a clarification of terms. Roman historian Dionysius of Halicarnassus portrays the institution of patrocinium by Romulus, the founder of Rome, as a means of προστασία (protection, care, but also leadership) of the poor and the lowly. In order to prevent turmoil, Romulus decreed that every Roman plebeian should entrust himself to the care of a patrician of his choice (Ant. rom. 2.9; see also Plutarch, Rom. 13).¹⁷⁹ Dionysius describes two ways of entering patron-client relations: free choice (Ant. rom. 2.9) and birth (Ant. rom. 10.4).¹⁸⁰ By the end of the Republic, however, the acceptance of an unrequited favor might have been enough to make one someone’s client.¹⁸¹

evidence that the relationship between Maecenas and Horace was perceived by others as a patron-client relationship (The Mask of the Parasite, 127– 30). More generally, Richard P. Saller maintains that literary patronage was a form of patronage. In doing so, he assumes a sociological understanding of patronage that has a rather loose definition (“Martial on Patronage and Literature,” CQ 33 [1983]: 256). Fergus Millar, on the other hand, argues for a total disconnect between the production of Latin literature and the categories of patronage (“Ovid and the Domus Augusta: Rome Seen from Tomoi,” JRS 83 [1993]: 7).  The reliability of Dionysius’s information is debated. Rouland believes that his description, as well as that of Plutarch, corresponds to reality in its basic elements (Pouvoir politique et dépendance personelle, 46). Bormann rather sees it as Dionysius’s biased attempt to legitimize the power structure of patronage in his social context (I century BCE; Philippi, 201– 5). Others point to the political ideology of the Middle Republic (III – II century BCE; Verboven, The Economy of Friends, 59; Andrew Drummond, “Early Roman Clientes,” in Wallace-Hadrill, Patronage in Ancient Society, 91– 92; see below p. 99 n. 321). See a detailed discussion in Brunt, “Clientela,” 400 – 414. Contrary to Dionysius’s account, Géza Alföldy maintains that in monarchic times, plebeians and clients were two essentially separate social groups. While the Roman plebs was an urban group that had obtained a certain degree of autonomy from the patricians—and indeed was able to confront them and seek political equality in the so-called Conflict of the Orders (V – III century BCE)—clients were a predominantly rural underclass (Römische Sozialgeschichte, 3rd ed., Wissenschaftliche Paperbacks 8 [Wiesbaden: Franz Steiner, 1984], 19 – 20; see also Prell, Sozialökonomische Untersuchungen, 260). For a critique of theories on early Roman clientship, see Drummond, “Early Roman Clientes,” 95 – 100.  Von Premerstein identifies four methods of establishing a patron-client relationship. Deditio: after defeat in war, the vanquished party might propose an arrangement of dependency to the conqueror. Manumissio: a freed slave remained under the tutelage of his former owner. Applicatio: individuals freely entrusted themselves to a patron. Birth: the children of a client were considered clients of their father’s patron (“Clientes,” 26 – 36). See also Badian, Foreign Clientelae, 2– 7; Rouland, Pouvoir politique et dépendance personnelle, 94– 103; Eisenstadt and Roniger, Patrons, Clients and Friends, 53 – 61.  According to Verboven, neither the establishment nor the cessation of a patron-client relationship was marked by any formalities: “A patron-client relation could start with any favour or gift that a client was unable to repay. […] A patron-client relation ended whenever either wanted to break off the relationship” (The Economy of Friends, 54). See also Badian, Foreign Clientelae, 8 – 9. Rouland, however, maintains that the relationship was somewhat formally established

2.2 Defining Patronage

49

From the point of view of clients, patrons were supposed to provide three kinds of assistance. Financial support was probably essential to the survival of clients of humble economic conditions, at least in times of crisis. Patrons doled out small amounts of money or food (the so-called sportula) on a daily basis but could also offer loans or help a client set up a business and attract customers.¹⁸² Second, patrons would provide assistance to clients in courts of justice.¹⁸³ They could speak on behalf of their clients and act as their attorneys. The importance of this form of help to members of the lower social strata was such that offering this kind of service could be a means for a patron to expand his client base in view of a political career.¹⁸⁴ Finally, members of the elite sought

through a verbal contract of sorts between the parties (Pouvoir politique et dépendance personnelle, 269 – 70).  Rouland, Pouvoir politique et dépendance personnelle, 271– 75. The sportula was a form of economic help that clients received from patrons on occasion of the morning salutatio. It consisted of either food or money. At the time of Martial, it is usually thought to have amounted to ten sesterces, and Rouland estimates that it was a meager handout and could hardly provide for clients’ necessities (Pouvoir politique et dépendance personnelle, 527– 31, 545 – 49). See also Saller, Personal Patronage, 128 – 29; Lampe, “Paul, Patrons, and Clients,” 2:209; Verboven, The Economy of Friends, 95 – 99; J. Le Gall, “La ‘nouvelle plèbe’ et la sportule quotidienne,” in Mélanges d’archéologie et d’histoire offerts à André Piganiol, ed. Raymond Chevallier, 3 vols. (Paris: S.E.V.P.E.N., 1966), 3:1449 – 53. Verboven calculates, instead, that although the sportula might have seemed a trifling sum in the eyes of poets (who generally belonged to the order of equites and were thus comparatively well-off), it “would have represented a handsome income even for most of the urban residents of Rome.” Despite uncertainty over figures about expense and income levels, Verboven argues that the sources provide reliable evidence of the existence of “a lower grade of clients depending on their patrons for bare necessities,” although these were by no means the poorest in Roman society, i. e., the beggars (The Economy of Friends, 110 – 13). Stanisław Mrozek provides evidence for a similar situation in Italian cities in the imperial period. He concludes that in some cities, distributions of food and money allowed the existence of a group of social parasites (Les distributions d’argent et de nourritoure dans les villes italiennes du Haut-Empire romain, Latomus 198 [Brussels: Latomus, 1987], 104). For the variety of material gifts that could be exchanged between patrons and clients, see Verboven, The Economy of Friends, 78 – 82.  For an overview of patronage in law courts, see Gelzer, The Roman Nobility, 70 – 86.  Rouland, Pouvoir politique et dépendance personnelle, 292. James M. May demonstrates that counsel of an influential patron could have a decisive impact on Roman court proceedings, not simply because of his rhetorical ability but also for his reputation and public standing (“The Rhetoric of Advocacy and Patron-Client Identification: Variation on a Theme,” AJP 102 [1981]: 308 – 15). Letters of recommendation reveal the importance and frequency of the solicitations from patronal networks during a trial. A patron could provide assistance by asking for such favors as a transfer of jurisdiction, withdrawal of a charge, adjournment of a trial, or, more generally, “special consideration for the friend or client in whose interest he is writing” (de Ste

50

2 Patronage and Exploitation in the World of Paul

the patrocinium of influential aristocrats who could back their political ambitions and help them secure public offices.¹⁸⁵ The economic advantage that patrons were able to gain from their clients was probably fairly limited. However, two plebiscitary laws dating to the end of the third century BCE presuppose that patrons attempted to extract financial benefit from their clients. The lex Publicia de cereis of 209 BCE restricted the ability of patrons to demand expensive gifts at the Saturnalia. According to the lex Publicia, presents to patrons on this occasion were limited to candles. The lex Cincia de donis et muneribus of 204 BCE prohibited payment or gifts to an attorney for defense in court. Given the importance of judicial assistance in patronclient relations, this regulation appears to have aimed to prevent patrons from taking advantage of their clients threatened by lawsuits.¹⁸⁶ There was little that clients could actively do for their patrons in courts. As custom and law prohibited clients and patrons from testifying against each other, the role of clients was essentially passive. Their silent presence in the courtroom, however, signaled their patron’s reputation and authority and gave him some advantage.¹⁸⁷ In the republican period, the real importance of clients was in the political field. Politicians who were campaigning would walk the streets surrounded by a throng of clients to display their power and prestige. This power was not just appearance since patrons would give precise directions to their clients about casting votes in the Plebeian Council and electing Plebeian Tribunes.¹⁸⁸ In the Early Empire, the legislative assemblies lost practically all power. The emperor determined laws and appointments to the magistratures through his puppets, while the assemblies only ratified his decisions.¹⁸⁹ This new state of af-

Croix, “Suffragium,” 42– 45; see also Deniaux, Clientèles et pouvoir, 275 – 80; Verboven, The Economy of Friends, 305 – 9).  Rouland, Pouvoir politique et dépendance personnelle, 296.  Rouland, Pouvoir politique et dépendance personnelle, 243 – 46, 303. This kind of legislation appears to have been largely ineffective. Despite these attempts to relieve clients of burdens, the practice of clients giving presents to their patrons was still alive and well in the Early Empire (Brunt, “Clientela,” 422). See below p. 66 n. 240.  Rouland, Pouvoir politique et dépendance personnelle, 303.  Rouland, Pouvoir politique et dépendance personnelle, 307– 22. In Brunt’s opinion, the direct impact of clients on elections was fairly limited compared to the prestige they conferred to their patrons: “The votes of humble clients, who might often be mere dependants of a single family, could seldom affect [elections], at least in the centuriate assemblies, but a display of their loyalty might impress uncommitted voters” (“Clientela,” 430 – 31).  Rouland, Pouvoir politique et dépendance personnelle, 494– 98; de Ste Croix, “Suffragium,” 34– 37.

2.2 Defining Patronage

51

fairs implied substantial changes for the political role of clients.¹⁹⁰ In spite of the loss of voting power, clients continued having some influence. Not all elections were determined by the emperor, especially those for minor offices, and powerful families still had some leverage in the political arena.¹⁹¹ In this new context, however, the main role of clients was to exhibit their patron’s social standing and power. For this reason, two practices of social ostentation came especially to the fore as essential parts of a client’s life. Clients were required every day to attend the morning salutatio and greet their patron. Clients would later take part in the adsectatio, a parade through the streets of Rome to accompany their patron to the forum.¹⁹² On the other hand, the loss of political significance of the Roman plebs in the Principate also meant that people of modest resources were in even greater need of protection from those who controlled power and wealth, and evidence up to the Late Empire suggests a continual increase of patronage.¹⁹³ The Roman institution of patrocinium had well-defined characteristics, only briefly sketched above. Historical reconstructions of its details are debated, but there is general agreement on its main features. Powerful and wealthy Romans, however, bestowed their benefits, financial or otherwise, upon many individuals without necessarily establishing a relationship recognizable or labeled as patrocinium. ¹⁹⁴ The sociological concept of patronage, as opposed to the historical

 In the Early Empire, clientship lost most of its political role (Lampe, “Paul, Patrons, and Clients,” 2:208). In the preceding centuries, however, the increasing independence of the plebs and the evolution of the tribunate were early signs of weakening ties between the elite and their former dependents. “If the prolonged success of the patricians in preserving their supremacy suggests that they could rely on numerous clients, their ultimate failure is conclusive that the majority of citizens felt no obligation to obey their behests” (Brunt, “Clientela,” 414).  Rouland, Pouvoir politique et dépendance personnelle, 508. Lampe mentions, for instance, clients’ support of their patrons’ elections in Pompeii in imperial times (“Paul, Patrons, and Clients,” 2:209). Contra von Premerstein, who maintains that with the rise of the Empire, the emperor concentrated all patronage ties on himself as universal patron (Rouland, Pouvoir politique et dépendance personnelle, 500).  Rouland, Pouvoir politique et dépendance personnelle, 484– 88, 515 – 17; Garnsey and Saller, The Roman Empire, 176.  Brunt, “Clientela,” 439 – 40.  Brunt discusses the absence of patrocinium language in ancient discussions of the ways in which Roman aristocrats exercised their influence over other social bodies. He demonstrates that relationships with a degree of social dependency existed in several areas of Roman social and political life but were not usually referred to in terms of clientes and patroni (“Clientela,” 387– 400). Badian also favors flexibility in the definition of clientship: “We must not expect foreign clientelae to conform to one pattern, as ultra-formalistic interpretation of the concept might have persuaded us to do. […] And this, we shall find, is true in the public as in the private

52

2 Patronage and Exploitation in the World of Paul

Roman institution, becomes useful precisely because of its blurred contours. This indeterminacy is, of course, to be expected, since the notion of patronage is useful to the social sciences only insofar as it can function as a general heuristic category applicable to many concrete instances. In sociological terms, patronage is, along with escape and resistance, one possibility available to vulnerable individuals confronting the powerful. In a patron-client relationship, the socially and economically inferior accept the authority, and the demands, of a patron in an attempt to extract all the benefits they possibly can from the relationship.¹⁹⁵ Many recent studies of Greco-Roman antiquity and the New Testament employ a bare-bones definition of patronage as an asymmetrical, durable, and reciprocal relationship.¹⁹⁶ It is easy to notice that this description is rather flexible and embraces many kinds of relationships in addition to patrocinium. It is dubious, however, whether the term’s overly broad range is very helpful in describing social realities. Mother and child, physician and patient, general and soldier could all be considered patrons and clients, but the social dynamics involved in these relationships do not seem analogous. Anthropological studies provide additional criteria for identifying and characterizing patron-client relations.¹⁹⁷ First, the services exchanged between the parties are not only economic but often political ones: support, allegiance, votes, and protection. Moreover, they can take the form of promises of faithfulness and solidarity, thus enhancing the durability of the relationship through a strong element of mutual obligation. In spite of their long-lasting character and the obligations they involve, patron-client relations are, at least in theory, volun-

sphere” (Foreign Clientelae, 11; see also John Nicols, “Pliny and the Patronage of Communities,” Hermes 108 [1980], 367).  Davis, Exchange, 62.  Saller, Personal Patronage, 1. Saller’s definition, which he inferred from a number of anthropological studies, has had remarkable success among scholars. It is used by Johnson and Dandeker, “Patronage,” 224; Paul Millett, “Patronage and Its Avoidance in Classical Athens,” in Wallace-Hadrill, Patronage in Ancient Society, 16; Joubert, Paul as Benefactor, 23 n. 22; Bowditch, Horace; Ruurd R. Nauta, Poetry for Patrons: Literary Communication in the Age of Domitian, Mnemosyne Supplements 206 (Leiden: Brill, 2002), 18; Alicia Batten, “God in the Letter of James: Patron or Benefactor?” NTS 50 (2004): 257– 72; Downs, The Offering of the Gentiles, 85 – 86; Joshua F. Rice, Paul and Patronage: The Dynamics of Power in 1 Corinthians (Eugene: Pickwick, 2013), 31– 35, to name but a few. Millett integrates Saller’s definition by adding that the party of superior status controls the relationship, opening patronage to the possibility of exploitation (“Patronage and Its Avoidance in Classical Athens,” 16). For a criticism of Saller’s definition, see Eilers, Roman Patrons of Greek Cities, 6 – 7; Downs, “Is God Paul’s Patron?” 133 – 35.  For instance, Eisenstadt and Roniger, Patrons, Clients and Friends, 48 – 49; Moxnes, “Patron-Client Relations,” 248.

2.2 Defining Patronage

53

tary. They can be created and broken off at any moment.¹⁹⁸ The patronage system can disrupt competing social and political relations. In fact, patron-client relations are informal or, at best, semi-legal, so that they run parallel and sometimes in opposition to the official laws and administrative system of the state.¹⁹⁹ Similarly, they are vertical relations that cut through and undermine horizontal solidarity between peers.²⁰⁰ Finally, the asymmetry of patron-client relations is open to manipulation by patrons, the more powerful party, and liable to exploitation. These additional elements allow us to perceive the complexity and paradoxality of patronage, which is well expressed by Eisenstadt and Roniger: [Patronage] creates several paradoxical contradictions which constitute one of the major features of the patron-client nexus—the most important among which are, first a rather peculiar combination of inequality and asymmetry in power with seeming mutual solidarity expressed in terms of personal identity and interpersonal sentiments and obligations; second, a combination of potential coercion and exploitation with voluntary relations and mutual obligations; third, a combination of emphasis on such mutual obligations and solidarity or reciprocity between patrons and clients with the somewhat illegal or semi-legal aspect of these relations.²⁰¹

The scope of patronage offered by the social sciences clearly includes Roman patrocinium but also exceeds it. In addition to clientes, there were other individuals, even groups, who sought the backing of powerful and wealthy benefactors and pledged loyalty in return.²⁰² Therefore, the question as to which exchange

 There are a few exceptions to the voluntary character of patronage. For example, Roman emancipated slaves remained under the patrocinium of their former owners (Rouland, Pouvoir politique et dépendance personnelle, 98 – 102), and Athenian metics were required by law to stay under the tutelage of a prostates (David Whitehead, The Ideology of the Athenian Metic [Cambridge: Cambridge Philological Society, 1977], 89 – 92).  To complicate this picture, it must be observed that individuals could assume different roles within their networks of relationship being, at the same time, someone’s patron and someone else’s client. See Guido O. Kirner, “Apostolat und Patronage (I): Methodischer Teil und Forschungsdiskussion,” ZAC 6 (2002): 24.  The opposition between patronal ties and horizontal solidarity can also be seen when the collective action of peers functions as a form of resistance to patronal overreach.  Eisenstadt and Roniger, Patrons, Clients and Friends, 49.  MacGillivray observes that most relations witnessed in ancient sources would not have been recognized as patrocinium: “Such exchanges would rather arguably have imposed a general reciprocal demand upon the recipient, quite independent from the formalized strictures of patronage” (“Re-Evaluating Patronage,” 43). There were nonetheless many forms of social interaction in the Greco-Roman world that, although not conforming to the formalities of patrocinium, far exceeded “a general reciprocal demand.” For example, the relationship between benefactors and associations would not have classified as patrocinium but included the elements of

54

2 Patronage and Exploitation in the World of Paul

relations in the ancient Mediterranean society conformed to patronage is clearly relevant, especially when investigating possible links of Paul’s collection with the establishment of a patron-client relation between early Christian groups. Caution must be taken, in any case, against lumping different kinds of exchange relations together and presuming that they had the same connotations.²⁰³

2.3 Patronage or Benefaction? I have so far been using the terms “patronage” and “benefaction” as virtually interchangeable, but there has been some discussion as to whether the two were the same or different kinds of social relations in the Greco-Roman world. More specifically, it appears that whereas the language of patrocinium was typically Roman and was used by Romans to characterize relations between individuals, between individuals and cities, and notably between Rome itself and its clientcities, benefaction was rather, though not exclusively, a phenomenon of the Greek East, where benefactors of social bodies such as cities or associations were honored with a number of titles, including εὐεργέτης (benefactor).²⁰⁴ From this title also derives the neologism “euergetism.” This term was popular-

solidarity, loyalty, social prestige, and political gain (Onno M. van Nijf, The Civic World of Professional Associations in the Roman East, Dutch Monographs on Ancient History and Archaeology [Amsterdam: Gieben, 1997], 73 – 128; John K. Chow, “Patronage in Roman Corinth,” in Paul and Empire: Religion and Power in Roman Imperial Society, ed. Richard A. Horsley [Harrisburg: Trinity Press International, 1997], 117– 20). More generally, Brunt maintains that several relationships in addition to patrocinium “might approximate to clientship, where one party was permanently superior to the other in influence and resources” (“Clientela,” 384– 85).  Griffin challenges the usefulness of the sociological approach to patronage in a specific society. She claims that the imposition of a sociological, universalist perspective causes historical facts to “recede further and further in the background” (“Of Clients and Patrons,” 402). My adoption of sociological descriptions of patronage, however, aims to detect kinds of exchange relations that, albeit not identified as patrocinium, carry the same or similar socioeconomic implications.  Joubert, Paul as Benefactor, 52– 53; Holland Hendrix, “Benefactor/Patron Networks in the Urban Environment: Evidence from Thessalonica,” Semeia 56 (1991): 40; Bruce A. Lowe, “Paul, Patronage and Benefaction: A ‘Semiotic’ Reconsideration,” in Paul and His Social Relations, Pauline Studies 7, ed. Stanley E. Porter and Christopher D. Land (Leiden: Brill, 2013), 64. For a detailed treatment of this debate, see Marshall, Jesus, Patrons, and Benefactors, 32– 42. Gygax provides evidence that civic benefaction and public honors were at work from as early as the first half of the sixth century BCE (Benefaction and Rewards, 61).

2.3 Patronage or Benefaction?

55

ized especially by Paul Veyne’s Le pain et le cirque (1976) and designates “gifts to the community and acts of patronage toward the city.”²⁰⁵ Stephan Joubert argues that patronage and benefaction were “two different, but related, forms of social interchange.”²⁰⁶ Joubert’s distinction between these two forms of reciprocal exchange is carefully nuanced, but the main dissimilarities he points out appear to be the greater emphasis on status differential and potential exploitation in Roman patronage and the predominantly collective character of Greek benefaction.²⁰⁷ In essence, the difference between these two forms of social interaction comes down to geographical distribution and the more personal dimension of patronage, wherein exploitation was more easily exercised and personally felt, and the more collective nature of benefaction.²⁰⁸ This basic distinction corresponds, in fact, to the different workings of politics in Rome and Greece. In the Roman aristocratic system, personal connections established through patronage were conducive to furthering political, military, or economic careers. In the Greek world dominated by the polis, benefactions to the

 Veyne, Bread and Circuses, 1. Here, I use Veyne’s understanding of euergetism. Other authors restrict the idea of euergetism to those instances in which the benefactor was publicly recognized as such through the bestowal of honorific rewards—statues, banquets, public celebrations, inscriptions, the title of εὐεργέτης (see, for instance, Gauthier, Les cités grecques et leur bienfaiteurs; Gygax, Benefaction and Rewards). For a history of the neologism “euergetism” and a discussion of its uses, see Gygax, Benefaction and Rewards, 1– 5.  Joubert, Paul as Benefactor, 66 – 69; Joubert, “One Form of Social Exchange or Two?” 21– 24. See also Batten, “God in the Letter of James,” 258 – 64.  In addition, Joubert claims that while in patronage the relative social positions of patron and client never changed regardless of their fulfillment of mutual expectations, in benefaction beneficiaries “proudly fulfilled their obligations toward their benefactors, thus placing the latter in their debt once more” (“One Form of Social Exchange or Two?” 23). Joubert is here indebted to Mauss’s view of competitive reciprocity. See above, p. 25. Joubert himself, however, admits that the social status of benefactors did not change because of the reciprocation of beneficiaries (Paul as Benefactor, 68). Honorific inscriptions exhort benefactors and other citizens to repeat, increase, and imitate benefactions as, for example, this epigraph dedicated to Demetrius Olynthius: ὅπως ἂν καὶ ἄλλοι φιλοτιμῶνται εἰς τοὺς θιασώτας, εἰδότες ὅτι χάριτας ἀπολήψονται παρὰ τῶν θιασωτῶν ἀξίας τῶν εὐεργετημάτων (“So that others too may be zealous for the members of the Thiasos, knowing that they will receive favors from the members of the Thiasos worth as much as their gifts”; IG II 1263). Such statements made by beneficiaries about the continued benefactions received by individuals need not be read, with Joubert, as requirements for donors “to maintain their public honour, as well as their role and status as benefactors” (Paul as Benefactor, 68). They can easily be interpreted as encouragement for further gifts. See Peterman, Paul’s Gift from Philippi, 86; Crook, Reconceptualising Conversion, 63 – 64.  A certain degree of variation in practices according to different places and cultures is to be expected. See, for example, Eilers, Roman Patrons of Greek Cities, 112– 13; Marshall, Jesus, Patrons, and Benefactors, 40 – 42.

56

2 Patronage and Exploitation in the World of Paul

entire civic body brought public honors that could be used as political currency.²⁰⁹ The sources, however, reveal the existence of patronage of cities or collegia in the West as well as benefaction to individuals in the East.²¹⁰ Therefore, we can properly speak only of prevalence of one or the other form in each cultural context.²¹¹ The mutual influences of these two forms of social interaction, especially as a result of cultural exchange at the end of Rome’s Republic and in the Early Empire, have been observed, but the kinds of sources employed to define these social relations merit further consideration.²¹² Joubert constructs his description of benefaction between individuals on the basis of Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics and Seneca’s De beneficiis (others will routinely include Cicero’s De officiis). These ethical treatises describe the ideal benefactor, who is utterly selfless and does not make his benefaction contingent upon the gratitude of the beneficiary (e. g., Seneca, Ben. 4.13).²¹³ This aristocratic ideal of the benefactor appears to be widely shared in ancient Greco-Roman higher classes.²¹⁴ Like every moral code,

 MacGillivray, “Re-Evaluating Patronage,” 47– 48.  Joubert, Paul as Benefactor, 31– 34, 38 – 51; Hendrix, “Benefactor/Patron Networks,” 40, 56 n. 1. Gygax elaborates this point for the Greek East: “It is true that in the Greek polis generally, and in the democratic polis of the classical period in particular, gifts to individuals might be understood as bribes and were for this reason not always well regarded. But it is also true that the distinction between services to individuals and to the community was often unclear. […] In fourth-century Athens, where the idea of ‘service to the polis’ was much better defined than it was in archaic times, some individuals who had been brought to trial defended themselves by referring not only to benefactions addressed to the whole polis but also to those performed for smaller groups and individuals” (Benefactions and Rewards, 77).  Carolyn Osiek, “The Politics of Patronage and the Politics of Kinship: The Meeting of the Ways,” BTB 39 (2009): 145.  For the relevance of source types in descriptions of patronage, see the insightful remarks of Nicols, Civic Patronage, 13 – 16. See also Osiek, “The Politics of Patronage,” 146.  For a discussion of Aristotle’s discourse on “magnificence” as a theory of euergetism, see Veyne, Bread and Circuses, 14– 18. For the interplay between selflessness and gratitude in Seneca’s De beneficiis, see Inwood, Reading Seneca, 65 – 94. For the essential traits of Seneca’s view of benefaction, see Stephan J. Joubert, “Coming to Terms with a Neglected Aspect of Ancient Mediterranean Reciprocity: Seneca’s View on Benefit-Exchange in De beneficiis as the Framework for a Model of Social Exchange,” in Social Scientific Models for Interpreting the Bible: Essays by the Context Group in Honor of Bruce J. Malina, Biblical Interpretation Series 53, ed. John J. Pilch (Leiden: Brill, 2001), 47– 63.  Griffin shows that the ideals advocated by Seneca were shared by the Roman aristocracy in the Early Empire (“De beneficiis and Roman Society,” 102– 6). She also refutes the idea that patronage and benefaction are the subject matter of Seneca’s De beneficiis. Despite occasional mentions of patron-client relations, Seneca actually treats gift exchange between equals for

2.3 Patronage or Benefaction?

57

however, it should not be taken as a description of reality. Its intent is, on the contrary, prescriptive.²¹⁵ Analogously, discussions of civic benefaction are mainly based on the conventions of honorific inscriptions.²¹⁶ Their language is by its nature eulogistic and cannot be expected to denounce exploitative circumstances.²¹⁷ This kind of material does not openly denounce the common abuses of patron-client relations but can, nonetheless, be seen as corrective in nature. It reflects an awareness of the problems of patronage and addresses them by means of exhortation as opposed to criticism. On the other hand, descriptions of Roman patronage are usually based on other kinds of material: epistolary correspondence, historiography, legal material (legislation and law-court speeches), and comic and satiric literature.²¹⁸ These writings reveal the exploitative dimen-

the creation of new social relations (Seneca on Society: A guide to De Beneficiis [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013], 31– 40; see also Bormann, Philippi, 171).  Crook, Reconceptualising Conversion, 62. After an analysis of the language used in benefaction ideology, T. R. Stevenson drily remarks: “We are of course dealing with theoretical concepts which are hardly literal reflections of social or political realities” (“The Ideal Benefactor and the Father Analogy in Greek and Roman Thought,” CQ 42 [1992]: 430). For a reading of Cicero’s De officiis as a call for ethical, social, and political reform, see A. A. Long, “Cicero’s politics in De Officiis,” in Justice and generosity: Studies in Hellenistic Social and Political Philosophy: Proceedings of the Sixth Symposium Hellenisticum, ed. André Laks and Malcolm Schofield (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), 213 – 40. Surprisingly, Stephen Charles Mott is of the opposite opinion: “The more mercenary aspects of such a relationship with both divine and human benefactors did not escape the criticism of the moralists. Their criticism, however, can be taken as further evidence of the prevalence of the custom” (“The Power of Giving and Receiving: Reciprocity and Hellenistic Benevolence,” in Current Issues in Biblical and Patristic Interpretation: Studies in Honor of Merrill C. Tenney Presented by His Former Students, [Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1975], 67).  Joubert, Paul as Benefactor, 51– 56; Batten, “God in the Letter of James,” 261– 64; MacGillivray, “Re-Evaluating Patronage,”48 – 53; Katrin Engfer, Die private Munifizenz der römischen Oberschicht in Mittel- und Süditalien: Eine Untersuchung lateinischer Inschriften unter dem Aspekt der Fürsorge, Philippika 110 (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2017).  For a detailed analysis of the language of honorific epigraphy, see Danker, Benefactor, 317– 66. Veyne analyzes the role of Protogenes, a benefactor of Olbia on the Black Sea. He demonstrates the various ways in which the city was dependent on the wealth of Protogenes, yet the city’s decree that honors its benefactor hides this social reality: “Nothing in the wording of the decree reveals that dependence. If we were to judge by the style alone (ignoring the content), we should see the community honouring a benefactor who has merely behaved as a good citizen” (Bread and Circuses, 108).  For example, Saller, Personal Patronage; Rouland, Pouvoir politique et dépendance personnelle; Deniaux, Clientèles et pouvoir; Damon, The Mask of the Parasite. Ingrid E. M. Edlund analyzes the cultural translation effort of Polybius’s historiography, which describes Roman patronage conventions in Greek and primarily for Greeks. Although she questions the Greek understanding of Roman patron-client relations, she demonstrates that even a Greek historiog-

58

2 Patronage and Exploitation in the World of Paul

sions of patronage precisely because of their interest in blaming, correcting, chastising, and ridiculing factors of social distress.²¹⁹ The significance of the differing sociopolitical functions of the various sources in portraying patronage or benefaction becomes patent when one notices that in Latin inscriptions the term patronus does not assume the otherwise usual meaning of advocate, patron of communities, or ex-master of freedmen, but the more general sense of benefactor.²²⁰ Similarly, when Rome took control of the Greek East, the transliteration πάτρων was used in association with other honorific vocabulary.²²¹ Analogously, Dionysius of Halicarnassus provides an idealized depiction of early patronage as a human and civil partnership (Ant. rom. 2.9: φιλανθρώπους καὶ πολιτικὰς ἀπεργαζόμενος αὐτῶν τὰς συζυγίας) and a contest of kindness (Ant. rom. 2.10: ὁ ἀγὼν τῆς εὐνοίας). Apparently, the figure of the ideal benefactor or patron was, certainly with some nuances, a common trait of both the Greek and Roman thought-worlds and inspired ethical thought and conceptions of the Golden Age in both cultures.²²² Even satiric critiques of the

rapher such as Polybius was capable of fully describing the dynamics of patronage in both the Roman and the Greek context (“Invisible Bonds: Clients and Patrons through the Eyes of Polybios,” Klio 59 [1977]: 129 – 36).  Reggie M. Kidd brilliantly observes: “Contemporary moralists complement the inscriptional evidence not only by expanding the data base, but by allowing a darker side to come into view. By their very nature honorific inscriptions praise. Moralists often warn, even excoriate. […] And they pass along to us invaluable (sometimes unconscious) insights into the failures of the system” (Wealth and Beneficence in the Pastoral Epistles: A “Bourgeois” Form of Early Christianity, SBLDS 122 [Atlanta: Scholars, 1990], 88 – 89).  Saller, Personal Patronage, 10. Saller’s evidence comes from North Africa. In Rome itself, civic euergetism was often regarded as suspicious: “Euergetism in the public sphere by private individuals was held to be incompatible with the collective rule of the oligarchy and subsequently with the one-man rule of an emperor” (Garnsey, Famine and Food Supply, 84). See the example of Spurius Maelius, below pp. 87– 88 and especially n. 291.  Lowe, “Paul, Patronage and Benefaction,” 64. For Roman civic patronage in the Greek East, see J. Touloumakos, “Zum römischen Gemeindepatronat im griechischen Osten,” Hermes 116 (1988): 304– 24; Eilers, Roman Patrons of Greek Cities; Andrew Erskine, “The Romans as Common Benefactors,” Historia 43 (1994): 70 – 87; Jean-Louis Ferrary, “The Hellenistic World and Roman Political Patronage,” in Hellenistic Constructs: Essays in Culture, History, and Historiography, ed. Paul Cartledge, Peter Garnsey, and Erich Gruen, Hellenistic Culture and Society 26 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1997), 105 – 19; Filippo Canali De Rossi, Il ruolo dei patroni nelle relazioni politiche fra il mondo greco e Roma in età repubblicana ed augustea, Beiträge zur Altertumskunde 159 (Munich: Saur, 2001); Nicols, Civic Patronage, 70 – 74.  A close parallel to Dionysius’s account of the origins of Roman patronage is Isocrates’s description of the private mores of the Athenian Golden-Age forefathers (Areop. 32– 35; see Millett, “Patronage and Its Avoidance in Classical Athens,” 26 – 28). T. R. Stevenson argues that in the Greco-Roman world, “procreative/tutelary figures” such as gods, rulers, benefactors, and fathers

2.3 Patronage or Benefaction?

59

worst aspects of patronage can be read, against the backdrop of this ideal depiction, as an appeal to the conscience of patrons to ameliorate social relations, bringing them back to the (ideal) past.²²³ If benefaction ideology was to a certain degree a Roman phenomenon also, exploitation was apparently present also in civic benefaction and in the Greek world. In his harangues against Verres, the corrupt governor of Sicily, Cicero vilified and discredited his adversary by contrasting his claims about being the patronus of Sicily (Verr. 2.4.89 – 90) with his actions to the detriment of the very community he had pledged to protect.²²⁴ Cicero was well aware that the special connection that a public benefactor could establish with a community could easily be maneuvered to the sole advantage of their patron. More generally, the system of public euergetism and honors did not merely exalt individual benefactors but rather set the wealthy and honorable apart from other members of society and functioned to establish and reinforce social hierarchy by ascribing prestige to a specific subsection of society, the aristocracy.²²⁵ As for exploitation of personal ties, this is a well-known phenomenon in classical Greece, but it was present in later periods also, when Greek moralists such as Plutarch and Lucian condemned and ridiculed the behaviors of patrons and clients of their times.²²⁶ were assigned power as custodians and champions of the ideas of conception, growth, regeneration, and protection (“Social and Psychological Interpretations of Graeco-Roman Religion: Some Thoughts on the Ideal Benefactor,” Antichthon 30 [1996]: 12– 13). As an illustration of common benefaction ideology in both the Greek and the Roman world, it is worth noting that Joubert constructs his depiction of benefaction from the works of Aristotle and Seneca, a Greek and a Roman writer (Paul as Benefactor, 37– 51).  Marguerite Garrido-Hory, “Le statut de la clientèle chez Martial,” Dialogues d’histoire ancienne 11 (1985): 388; Duncan Cloud, “The Client-Patron Relationship: Emblem and Reality in Juvenal’s First Book,” in Wallace-Hadrill, Patronage in Ancient Society, 211. See below p. 100 n. 326.  Eilers, Roman Patrons of Greek Cities, 155. Provincial governors were often patrons of cities in the province (Ferrary, “The Hellenistic World,” 110 – 11; John Nicols, “Patrons of Provinces in the Early Principate: The Case of Bithynia,” ZPE 80 [1990]: 101– 8). For an extensive analysis of patronage in the Verrines, see Nicols, Civic Patronage, 165 – 85.  Veyne, Bread and Circuses, 129 – 30; Gygax, Benefaction and Rewards, 74.  Stephen Hodkinson describes classical Sparta in light of a contrast between the traditional values of the old pre-classical aristocracy and the new values of uniformity, priority of collective interests, and conformity. Despite the apparent conflict between these sets of values, Hodkinson shows that the practical workings of Spartan society included exploitation of powerful connections, display of wealth and social superiority, and domination by a small elite (“Social Order and Conflict of Values in Classical Sparta,” Chiron 13 [1983]: 239 – 81; see also Paul Cartledge, Agesilaos and the Crisis of Sparta [Baltimore: The John Hopkins University Press, 1987], 140 – 42). More generally, the sources give testimony to the presence of patronage in pre-democratic and democratic Athens (M. I. Finley, Politics in the Ancient World [Cambridge: Cambridge

60

2 Patronage and Exploitation in the World of Paul

These few examples demonstrate that the boundaries between patronage and benefaction are difficult to establish and probably more a result of diverse language use than a reflection of social realities. Romans and Greeks shared a common ideology of benefaction based on reciprocal respect and solidarity, an ideology that emerged from and was perpetuated by moral discourse and honorific practices. Prescriptive discourse, however, is no description of reality, certainly not of its most worrisome facets, facets that scholars tend to identify with patronage and constitute the substance of legal material, political contest, and social criticism. In fact, the ideology of patronage may be seen as a direct attempt to address those problematic dimensions of patronage by means of positive exhortations instead of denunciation. The distinction between Greek and Roman practice does exist but needs not be overly emphasized.²²⁷ Although

University Press, 1983], 24– 49; Millett, “Patronage and Its Avoidance in Classical Athens,” 18 – 37; Veyne, Bread and Circuses, 71– 83; Gallant, Risk and Survival, 149). Plutarch employed the character of the κόλαξ (flatterer) as a foil for the moral and political significance of trustworthy, truthful friendship and frank speech. Troels Engberg-Pedersen remarks that the flatterer was the embodiment of a set of counter-values that “found expression in the system of patronage” (“Plutarch to Prince Philopappus on How to Tell a Flatterer from a Friend,” in Friendship, Flattery, and Frankness of Speech: Studies on Friendship in the New Testament World, ed. John T. Fitzgerald, NovTSup 82 [Leiden: Brill, 1996],77– 78). Admittedly, Engberg-Pedersen observes that “Plutarch, of course, lived in a ‘Roman’ world with a circle of Roman friends” (“Plutarch to Prince Philopappus,” 78 n. 11), but it is difficult to assess the cultural identity of a Greek-speaking individual in the Roman Empire. Konrat Ziegler makes a list of Plutarch’s friends, which included both Greek and Roman individuals (“Plutarchos,” PW 21.1:665 – 96). See also C. P. Jones, Plutarch and Rome (Oxford: Clarendon, 1971), 39 – 64. Lucian presents the παράσιτος (parasite), a character very close to the flatterer (see the development of this twofold comedic persona in Heinz-Günther Nesselrath, Lukians Parasitendialog: Untersuchungen und Kommentar, Untersuchungen zur antiken Literatur und Geschichte 22 [Berlin: De Gruyter, 1985], 88 – 121; HeinzGünther Nesselrath, Die attische Mittlere Komödie: Ihre Stellung in der antiken Literaturkritik und Literaturgeschichte, Untersuchungen zur antiken Literatur und Geschichte 36 [Berlin: De Gruyter, 1990], 309 – 17). The connection between the parasite and patronage is investigated by Damon (The Mask of the Parasite).  DeSilva, “Patronage and Reciprocity,” 37– 38. In a carefully nuanced analysis, Marshall describes the relation between patronage and benefaction in terms of areas of overlap (“Asymmetrical relationship; disparity between parties in access to certain goods and services; non-legal/ contractual relationship; reciprocity and relationship expected; increase in honor intended; potentially viewed with either favor or distaste by the general population; relationship to gods can be expressed in these terms; and the language of grace predominates”) and differences (benefactor is an honorary title, while patrocinium is a relationship; patronage involved daily survival matters, legal protection, and advice, while benefactors provided occasional luxury items; the title “benefactor” was ascribed by the beneficiary, while patrocinium was granted by the patron; Greeks reserved the title patronus to Romans but used “benefactor” for both Romans and

2.4 Patronage as a Problem

61

one can imagine that patronage was not as pervasive in Greece as it was, allegedly, in Rome, the Greeks were fully aware of the ways hierarchical connections and trust relationships could be exploited and abused for personal gain and social or political advancement. Finally, the exploitative character of predominantly personal patronage vis-à-vis the benign nature of public benefaction appears to be an oversimplification. With regard to the reconstruction of a repertoire of exchanges of Paul’s world, however, both the supportive and exploitative aspects of either patronage or benefaction are relevant and represent judgments people could and did express about these social practices.

2.4 Patronage as a Problem Generally speaking, the formation of a patron-client relationship rested on an agreement in which the two parties accepted the terms of this relationship. Of course, one might question the freedom with which either party consented, especially as patronage was for many in the Greco-Roman world one of very few ways out of poverty and thus a matter of survival, but the fact that patrocinium was a socially, and in part legally, acknowledged relation implied the recognition of a set of services and goods that the parties ostensibly agreed to provide for each other. In spite of the tacit agreement between parties, benefaction ideology, with its reciprocity and mutuality of obligations, framed as generosity what appears to be an exchange relation marked by asymmetry of power, potential coercion, and exploitation.²²⁸ In fact, given the contractual nature of the patron-client relationship—a nature expressed by the notion of fides (“trust”)—the legitimacy and durability of the relation depended on continued acceptance and satisfaction of either party’s expectations. The use of the language of fides for such relationships (in fide esse, in fidem venire, in fidem se dare, in fidem suscipere) suggests that, at least at the level of ideology, these extra- or semi-legal relations were based on trust and on a mutual moral commitment.²²⁹

Greeks; patrocinium was not common in the East between the end of the reign of Augustus and the beginning of the reign of Trajan). See Marshall, Jesus, Patrons, and Benefactors, 44– 49.  Gallant, Risk and Survival, 149, 159; Verboven, The Economy of Friends, 36.  Teresa Morgan analyzes the use of fides/πίστις in the description of Greco-Roman social relations (family members, lovers, masters and slaves, friends, patrons and clients, freedmen, and professionals and experts). She states: “Relationships of pistis/fides are often of considerable duration, but […] they are frequently marked, especially in literature, at moments of crisis or decision, or when an exceptional instance of the quality is called for” (Roman Faith and Christian

62

2 Patronage and Exploitation in the World of Paul

At any given moment, however, trust could break down, and one party could deem that the other was demanding too much or not providing what was needed and therefore end the relationship. Such limits were not fixed. James Scott contends that “the irreducible minimum terms the peasant/client traditionally demands (‘expects’ is perhaps more appropriate) for his deference are physical security and a subsistence livelihood” and that a violation of these minimum terms implies the loss of legitimacy of the patrons.²³⁰ The question of exploitation, then, revolves around a client’s subjective evaluation of the relationship and its usefulness.²³¹ Scott does not take into consideration exploitation suffered by patrons because he assumes that patrons, having the upper hand, can generally impose compliance with their terms and thus are not usually exploited. This, however, does not necessarily preclude patrons from perceiving clients’ services as inadequate and feeling exploited. In first-century CE Rome, the financial support provided by patrons was no more than a supplement to other sources of income, so that the issue of subsistence raised by Scott was not directly relevant for patronal legitimacy—patrons were not individually responsible for their clients’ subsistence.²³² Moreover, economic conditions were not the only aspect

Faith: Pistis and Fides in the Early Roman Empire and Early Churches [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015], 74– 75). In fact, relationships based on trust are a primary element in risk-buffering strategies. See Gallant, Risk and Survival, 143 – 69. With respect to patronage, Morgan points out that the fides of patrons or clients is leveraged as social capital in order to establish and extend one’s social network and achieve personal goals. She also observes the anxiety that surrounds fides and its manipulation by unscrupulous actors (Roman Faith and Christian Faith, 61– 64). For the role of fides in Roman patrocinium, see also Badian, Foreign Clientelae, 1– 2, 7– 11; Eisenstadt and Roniger, Patrons, Clients and Friends, 52– 61; Lampe, “Paul, Patrons, and Clients,” 2:206 – 8; Deniaux and Schmitt Pantel, “La relation patron-client,” 148. Saller challenges the significance of fides for the nature of the patron-client relation by claiming that “the importance of the moral aspect of the patronage relationship is very difficult to evaluate” (Personal Patronage, 8 n. 3). Here, however, I am interested in the level of ideology, not in evaluating the degree in which benefaction ideology impacted real relations. Quite the contrary, this chapter focuses on the ways in which actual behavior violated the proclaimed ideology.  James Scott, “Patronage or Exploitation?” in Patrons and Clients in Mediterranean Societies, ed. Ernest Gellner and John Waterbury (London: Duckworth, 1977), 22. Gallant analogously argues that clients expected “subsistence insurance at the lowest premium possible” (Risk and Survival, 160; see also Hands, Charities and Social Aid in Greece and Rome, 33).  Scott, “Patronage or Exploitation?” 25.  Rouland, Pouvoir politique et dépendance personnelle, 528. The modest scale of patronal financial support is implied by Martial when he describes the behavior of those clients who visited several salutationes every day to gather multiple sportulae. Martial urges the slave Condylus to stop whining about his condition. Despite being a slave, Condylus enjoys such security as to sleep untroubled, while the client Gaius needs to rise early in the morning and visit many masters (tot dominos; Epigr. 9.92; see below, p. 80). Martial mentions the same ritual of multiple

2.4 Patronage as a Problem

63

that came under consideration in evaluations of patronage. Social and political circumstances also had some relevance. Clients’ and patrons’ complaints in all of these domains need to be considered in order to gain an accurate understanding of the problematic aspects of patronage in the ancient world.

2.4.1 Economic Exploitation Patrons could provide their clients with a number of economic advantages such as the daily sportula, silverware, clothing, or loans to buy land, to further a career, to start a business, or to bribe an officeholder.²³³ In comparison to other services offered by patrons—i. e., recommendations (commendatio and suffragium) and legal aid—economic support was the most significant factor for clients of modest resources and the area where most complaints were raised.²³⁴

morning salutationes in Epigr. 12.26. See J. Le Gall, “Rome, ville de fainéants?” Revue des études latines 49 (1971): 266 – 77; Rouland, Pouvoir politique et dépendance personnelle, 547.  Lampe, “Paul, Patrons, and Clients,” 2:209 – 10; Rouland, Pouvoir politique et dépendance personnelle, 527– 31. For an extensive, systematic treatment of the economic aspects of patronage, see Verboven, The Economy of Friends. Deniaux points to recommendation letters as examples of patronal activity that show powerful men taking action on behalf of their friends or friends of their friends, introducing them to a local governor, promoting their friends’ business affairs in the province of the governor, and asking the governor to favor their friends. Some letters express hope that the subject may enter the recipient’s fides, thus establishing a new client relationship (Clientèles et pouvoir, 261– 65). See also Henriette Pavis d’Escurac, “Pline le Jeune et les lettres de recommandation,” in La mobilité sociale dans le monde romain: Actes du colloque organisé à Strasbourg (novembre 1988) par l’Institut et le Groupe de Recherche d’Histoire Romaine, ed. Edmond Frézouls (Strasbourg: AECR, 1992), 55 – 69; Verboven, The Economy of Friends, 290 – 329. The patron who mediates on behalf of his client in these ways is sometimes referred to as a “broker” (DeSilva, “Patronage and Reciprocity,” 33 – 34; Moxnes, “Patron-Client Relations,” 248 – 49). Not only did brokerage serve the advancement of the client, but it also reinforced the connection between the recommender and the recipient of the letter. See Eisenstadt and Roniger, Patrons, Clients and Friends, 53, 62; Verboven, The Economy of Friends, 292; Francesco Trisoglio, “La lettera di raccomandazione nell’epistolario ciceroniano,” Latomus 43 (1984): 751– 75.  Rouland stresses the great importance of financial aid in the first century CE, but economic support appears to have been the primary motive for clients of limited resources in other periods also (Pouvoir politique et dépendance personnelle, 272, 531– 32). This perception may be partly due to the importance of Martial and Juvenal, and their emphasis on economic factors, for the reconstruction of patronal practices in the Early Empire. In fact, Garrido-Hory observes that the problem of subsistence is “obsessively” repeated in Martial’s epigrams (“Le statut de la clientèle,” 382). Moreover, Juvenal’s portrayal of clientship may be partly indebted to Martial. See Robert E. Colton, “Juvenal’s Thirteenth Satire and Martial,” Classical Bulletin 52 (1975 – 1976):

64

2 Patronage and Exploitation in the World of Paul

That impoverishment led clients to depend on food provisions from their patrons is a point amply illustrated by the comedic character of the hungry parasite.²³⁵ Martial points to an extreme case when he teases a certain Philo, who has no alternative but to scrounge a dinner: “Philo swears he has never dined at home, and it is so. He doesn’t dine at all whenever no one has invited him” (Epigr. 5.47; trans. Shackleton Bailey).²³⁶ Such caricatures of indigent clients

13 – 15; Robert E. Colton, “A Client’s Day: Echoes of Martial in Juvenal’s First Satire,” Classical Bulletin 52 (1975 – 1976): 35 – 38; and more generally, Robert E. Colton, Juvenal’s Use of Martial’s Epigrams: A Study of Literary Influence, Classical and Byzantine Monographs 20 (Amsterdam: Hakkert, 1991). See also R. Marache, “Juvénal et le client pauvre,” Revue des études latines 58 (1980): 363 – 69. Claire Taylor stresses the difficulty in analyzing poverty by means of ancient sources. On the one hand, literary evidence cannot always be taken as realistic portrayal of the life of the poor. On the other hand, the interpretation of material objects—what types of houses, pottery, tools the poor possessed—may be influenced by modern assumptions about ancient life. See Claire Taylor, Poverty, Wealth, and Well-Being: Experiencing Penia in Democratic Athens (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2017), 7– 10. For other patronal services in the Early Empire, see Rouland, Pouvoir politique et dépendance personnelle, 519 – 27.  For an introduction to Roman parasites and their Greek forerunners, see Cynthia Damon, “Greek Parasites and Roman Patronage,” HSCP 97 (1995): 181– 95. The literary evidence to which I often turn in order to explore ancient perceptions of patronage cannot be expected and did not intend to be a realistic description of social reality. Yet, literary works were able to address contemporary society and function as sources of amusement as well as moral lessons only insofar as their vignettes were recognizable caricatures of real behaviors. Damon observes: “To be sure, the world that satire reflects is stylized and even literary, and Cicero (the only orator from whom we have complete speeches extant) is not a social critic but a pleader who reshapes reality for the purposes of his case. Yet neither satire nor oratory achieves its purpose unless it reveals something that people will take to be valid about reality. The worlds created are not impossible fictions but interpretations of the familiar” (The Mask of the Parasite, 9). See also Millett, “Patronage and Its Avoidance in Classical Athens,” 31 n. 1; Saller, “Martial on Patronage and Literature,” 246– 47; Welborn, “The Polis and the Poor,” 200 – 205.  The centrality of food and especially dinners in discussions of social dependency and patronage is certainly related to the acute problem of subsistence but also to the crucial functions of meals for Greco-Roman social life, social representation, and negotiation of social relations. It was primarily at the triclinium that social relations were measured, displayed, and challenged. Hal Taussig states: “Such everyday actions as reclining and drinking became ritual frames of reference through which to engage important societal issues of status, diversity, gender, and identity. […] The meals reproduced in a safe environment and in coded manner intimidating social issues so that they could be thought about (reflected), made better in the meal setting than in the society at large (perfected), or addressed obliquely in the society itself (deployed). By and large, the meals’ ritual component provided perspective and social intelligence for the longerterm address of an intractable social issue” (In the Beginning Was the Meal: Social Experimentation and Early Christian Identity [Minneapolis: Fortress, 2009], 145 – 46). See also John D’Arms, “The Roman Convivium and the Idea of Equality,” in Sympotica: A Symposium on the Symposion, ed. Oswyn Murray (Oxford: Clarendon, 1990), 308 – 20. All of this implies what we might call the

2.4 Patronage as a Problem

65

are so dominated by hunger that Plutarch can portray them in the same terms as crabs: “His body is all belly; eyes that look all ways; a beast that travels on its teeth” (Adul. am. 9; trans. Babbitt). Juvenal captures the philosophy of life of parasites in the succinct maxim that opens his Sat. 5: “The highest good is to live off someone else’s crumbs” (Bona summa putes aliena vivere quadra; Sat. 5.2; trans. Morton Braund). Even when hunger is not so overstated, food remains the primary reward for client service. A satisfied Pyrgopolinices, for example, promises to his astute and helpful client: “So long as you act as you have till now, you’ll be eating constantly; I’ll always share my table with you” (Plautus, Mil. glor. 50 – 51; trans. De Melo).²³⁷ Wretched Gelasimus dreams of a generous and persistent patron who would not have his invitation turned down: “Come over to dinner, do, promise it in truth, stop objecting. Is it convenient? I tell you, I want it done, I won’t let you avoid coming” (Plautus, Stic. 184– 186; trans. De Melo). These comic descriptions of clients employ the stock character of the parasite, focusing especially on his gargantuan hunger. This specific feature is convenient for eliciting laughter, but the extensive use of the parasite motif suggests a denunciation of the interested, literally insatiable nature of clients.²³⁸

triclinium bias of the sources. “Even social historians who would rather rummage for evidence in the Subura or conduct interviews in the cramped attics of insulae or the shanty towns built in Rome’s cemetery belt, are often compelled to view the poor from the triclinia of the wealthy” (Woolf, “Writing Poverty in Rome,” 84). Greco-Roman associations, especially for the prominent role that dinners had in them, were one of the few social spaces in which the wealthy and the poor could enjoy some degree of co-membership and offered such “a controlled, ritualized context in which elites and non-elites could interact” and thus form patron-client alliances (Gallant, Risk and Survival, 161– 62). On the role of public banquets in the definition of social relations in ancient Greece and especially in Greek benefaction, see Pauline Schmitt Pantel, La cité au banquet: Histoire des repas publics dans les cités grecques, Collection de l’École française de Rome 157 (Rome: École française de Rome, 1992), especially 179 – 208. Therefore, it is possible that the constant emphasis on food and hunger partly depends on their centrality to interaction between different social strata and stands for a wider set of forms of social deprivation.  Plautus and other authors of Roman comedy derived the character of the parasite from Greek literature as “a negative reflection of the cliens” (Damon, The Mask of the Parasite, 8). The connection between parasites and clients is made plain by Plautus when, for example, he has the parasite Curculio introduce himself as a freedman (Curc. 413, 543, 582), a reference to patrocinium that was familiar to Plautus’s audience (Damon, The Mask of the Parasite, 47– 48).  A variation on the parasite is the captator (inheritance-hunter), who adopts all sorts of parasitic strategies in order to secure the inheritance of his or her prey. The captator becomes a common character beginning with Horace’s Sat. 2.5. Elements of it already appear in earlier literature, but the specific language, including the name captator, was first used by Horace. Like parasites, inheritance-hunters deploy gifts, flattery, and physical attendance to ingratiate themselves with their victims. Sexual services are an important tool at the disposal of inheritancehunters, but they are not unheard of among parasites, too (Damon, The Mask of the Parasite,

66

2 Patronage and Exploitation in the World of Paul

Social critics also point their fingers at patronal greediness. Plautus, for example, portrays Menaechmus complaining about other patrons’ behavior: Everybody wants to have many clients: whether they’re good or bad they don’t ask; they ask about the money rather than the reputation of the clients’ reliability. If someone’s poor and not bad, he’s considered useless, but if a rich one’s bad, he’s considered a useful client. People who don’t honor the laws or what’s fair and good keep their patrons busy. (Men. 574– 580; trans. De Melo)

It appears that in Menaechmus’s view, patrons do not look for honesty in their clients but rather for a combination of wealth and corruption. These lines refer to a patron’s duty of legal representation for his clients, and the mixture of affluence and wrongdoing suggests that the preferred clients are those who will both need a good attorney and be able to remunerate him bountifully.²³⁹ Limiting the ability of patrons to exploit clients in legal trouble by requiring high wages was probably the primary aim of the above-mentioned lex Cincia de donis et muneribus, which prohibited paying for legal counsel. Livy briefly mentions the lex Cincia and claims it aimed to counter the plebs’ status of dependency: “What brought about the Cincian law except that the plebeians had already begun to be vassals [vectigalis] and tributaries [stipendiaria] of the Senate?” (Hist. 34.4; trans. Sage). Both terms, vectigalis and stipendiaria, which Livy applies to the Roman plebs, refer to forms of taxation. Therefore, the Roman historian, just like Menaechmus, implies that the legal aid associated with patronage had been twisted into a system of wealth extraction.²⁴⁰

185 – 88). Damon points out the connections between the parasite and the legacy-hunter and concludes: “Both types ‘consume’ their hosts, but whereas the parasite needs his ration daily, the captator can afford to wait for his prize” (The Mask of the Parasite, 118 – 22). See also A. Rhoda Mansbach, “Captatio: Myth and Reality” (PhD diss., Princeton University, 1982); Edward Champlin, Final Judgments: Duty and Emotion in Roman Wills, 200 B.C.–A.D. 250 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1991), 87– 102; Verboven, The Economy of Friends, 197– 99; Elke Hartmann, “Femmes riches et captateurs d’héritage à Rome durant le Haut-Empire,” Annales. Histoire, Sciences Sociales 67 (2012– 2013): 431– 52; Yona, Epicurean Ethics in Horace, 207– 32. Besides food, clothing, by virtue of its visible symbolic power, features prominently in discussions on the problematic nature of patron-client relationships. For an extended discussion, see N. K. Rollason, Gifts of Clothing in Late Antique Literature (London: Routledge, 2016), 36 – 46.  Damon, The Mask of the Parasite, 64.  The lex Cincia did not stop this custom entirely, as later introduction of further legislation on this matter suggests. At first, both parties in a trial were required to swear that they had not paid their patrons. Later, a ceiling of 10,000 sesterces was placed on gifts to patrons. The main practical effect of the lex Cincia was that gifts could not be legally enforced, but they were still “freely” given. See Verboven, The Economy of Friends, 76 – 78.

2.4 Patronage as a Problem

67

Other legislation also reveals patronal abuses of power. Discussing the origin of the custom of exchanging candles at the Saturnalia, Macrobius reports this piece of information: I also find it recorded that when many men used the occasion of the Saturnalia to extort gifts from clients out of greedy self-interest, so that the less well off were burdened, Publicius, a tribune of the plebs, passed a measure forbidding anything but candles to be sent to the wealthy. (Sat. 1.7.33; trans. Kaster)

Regardless of the exact purpose of the lex Publicia, it is clear that Macrobius envisions the possibility of patronal oppression of the weaker strata of Roman society.²⁴¹ In a few strokes, he depicts a reality wherein the less affluent and especially the poor carry the burden of the wealthy’s greediness. In fact, clients often raise complaints against patronal avarice, especially when patrons fail to provide for their clients.²⁴² Martial stages a peeved client who plans revenge against his stingy patron: Because you hold banquets so often without inviting me, Lupercus, I have discovered a way to annoy you. I am angry: though you go on asking me, sending, begging—“What will you do?” you say. What will I do? I’ll—come. (Epigr. 6.51; trans. Shackleton Bailey)

This witty client knows that the best way to get back at his niggardly patron is not to bear a grudge but rather to do what annoys him the most and enjoy the food of his table.²⁴³ Yet, even when they receive an invitation to dinner, clients are often disappointed by the poor quality of the food they are offered, especially if compared with the spectacle of succulent courses that they see their patrons devour. The voice of Martial’s epigram asks sarcastically:

 Brunt thinks that the lex Publicia had a wider scope and restricted gifts in general, not only from clients (“Clientela,” 422).  Garrido-Hory, “Le statut de la clientèle,” 386 – 87. Juvenal describes a patron who, instead of sharing with his clients, devours “the choicest produce of woodland and sea, reclining alone among empty couches” (Sat. 1.135– 136; trans. Morton Braund). Juvenal jokingly predicts that such patrons will eventually make parasites extinct (Sat. 1.139), yet he immediately goes on to envision a tragic end for this patron, too: “The funeral takes place to the cheers of his angry friends” (Sat. 1.146; trans. Morton Braund). See John T. Fitzgerald, “Last Wills and Testaments in Graeco-Roman Perspective,” in Early Christianity and Classical Culture: Comparative Studies in Honor of Abraham J. Malherbe, ed. John T. Fitzgerald, Thomas H. Olbricht, and L. Michael White, NovTSup 110 (Leiden: Brill, 2003), 648 – 53.  Damon, The Mask of the Parasite, 149.

68

2 Patronage and Exploitation in the World of Paul

Since I am asked to dinner, no longer, as before a purchased guest, why is not the same dinner served to me as to you? You take oysters fattened in the Lucrine lake, I suck a mussel through a hole in the shell; you get mushrooms, I take hog funguses; you tackle turbot, but I brill. Golden with fat, a turtledove gorges you with its bloated rump; there is set before me a magpie that has died in its cage. Why do I dine without you although, Ponticus, I am dining with you? The dole has gone: let us have the benefit of that; let us eat the same fare. (Epigr. 3.60; trans. Shackleton Bailey)²⁴⁴

The repeated “why” expresses frustration, if not indignation, at this host’s disregard for common politeness. But the real point is voiced by Martial’s play on words: Cur sine te ceno cum tecum, Pontice, cenem? The opposition between sine te and tecum reveals that the mistreatment of clients symbolically represents the breakdown of patron-client relations as Martial, somewhat idealistically, imagines them.²⁴⁵ That serving food of different qualities goes beyond simple avarice and betrays the ideal nature of patronage is further argued by Martial through a comparison with the quintessence of friendship: Do you wonder that there is no Pylades today, no Orestes? Pylades, Marcus, drank the same wine, nor was Orestes given better bread or thrush; dinner was equal and identical for the pair. You devour Lucrine oysters, I am fed with watery mussels; my palate, Marcus, is as gentlemanly as yours. Cadmean Tyre clothes you, greasy Gaul clothes me; wearing soldiers’ wool, am I to love you in your purple? If I am to play Pylades, somebody must play Orestes to me. Words don’t do it, Marcus. To be loved, love. (Epigr. 6.11; trans. Shackleton Bailey)

The disappointing food served by Marcus to his client allows Martial to expand on the ills of the (his) present age. Just as today (hoc tempore), there are no longer true friends like Orestes and Pylades, so also have true patrons disappeared. If Marcus really wants to have faithful and devoted clients, he needs to go back to that amor which alone can elicit sincere gratitude and reciprocation: Ut ameris, ama. ²⁴⁶

 See also Martial, Epigr. 3.82; 10.49; Pliny, Ep. 2.6. On the bad quality of food offered by patrons, see Martial, Epigr. 2.19.  Patronal disregard of their duties toward clients is also expressed in Martial, Epigr. 9.2.10: “Your client is committed and dragged off to prison while you go poking” (ducitur addictus, te futuente, cliens; trans. Shackleton Bailey). This client’s patron is too distracted by his love affairs (te futuente) to come to the help of his client, who is being enslaved for debt (addictus).  In Greek tragedy and poetry Orestes and Pylades, as well as some other couples, are the symbols of lifelong friendship (already in Pindar, Pyth. 11.15). See John T. Fitzgerald, “Paul and Friendship,” in Sampley, Paul in the Greco-Roman World, 1:334. Amores, a short piece attributed to Lucian, uses the couple of friends to buttress an argument in favor of pederasty (46). Lucian’s brief outline of this friendship ends with the mention of Orestes’s sacrifice for Pylades, an action by which Orestes “showed himself almost to be the lover rather than the beloved”

2.4 Patronage as a Problem

69

Patrons’ rapacity extended well beyond dinner menus. Horace’s Carmen 2.18 censures a landowner who always craves expansion of his lands and engulfs all that surrounds them, even the sea (2.18.20 – 22). In one of very few illustrations of rural patronage, Horace paints a bleak picture of agrarian despair:²⁴⁷ What of the fact that you repeatedly tear up the stones that mark your neighbour’s farm, and in your greed leap over your tenants’ boundaries [limites clientium]? Husband and wife are driven out, carrying in their arms their family gods and ragged children. (Carm. 2.18.23 – 28; trans. Rudd)

In Horace’s condemnation of the vanity of riches there is no room for the lightheartedness of satire, and the desolation caused by the greed of this powerful individual is not only exacerbated by its pointlessness in front of the common

(μόνον οὐκ ἐραστὴς αντ᾽ἐρωμένου γενόμενος; Amores 47; trans. MacLeod). The use of the activepassive terminology ἐραστής-ἐρώμενος is a clear reference to a homoerotic relationship. See James Jope, “Interpretation and Authenticity of the Lucianic Erotes,” Helios 38 (2011): 103 – 20. A similar fate befell the Homeric friendship between Achilles and Patroclus, in which conjugal language is used to define this friendship between male heroes. See David M. Halperin, “Heroes and Their Pals,” in David M. Halperin, One Hundred Years of Homosexuality and Other Essays on Greek Love (New York: Routledge, 1990), 75 – 87; David Konstan, Friendship in the Classical World, Key Themes in Ancient History (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), 41. In light of the phrasing of Martial’s last maxim (Ut ameris, ama; also playing on an active-passive opposition, though in reference to the same individual), the choice of Orestes and Pylades might be here an allusion to homosexual love and, thus, sexual favors offered (or in this case denied) by a client. Such motifs, of course, are commonplace in Martial and would only add gender shaming to this epigram’s invective. For homosexual motifs in the behavior of clients in Juvenal, see Damon, The Mask of the Parasite, 185 – 88; Franco Bellandi, “Naevolus cliens,” Maia 26 (1974): 279 – 81. More generally, Ellen Oliensis observes that Roman Augustan poetry often represents the social subordination of clients in terms of “femininity,” or sexual subordination (“The Erotics of Amicitia: Readings in Tibullus, Propertius, and Horace,” in Roman Sexualities, ed. Judith P. Hallett and Marilyn B. Skinner [Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1997], 151– 71). Irenaeus describes the relationship of a certain Marcus with some wealthy women by connecting flattery, lavish gifts, and sexual favors (Haer. 1.13). See Alan B. Wheatley, Patronage in Early Christianity: Its Use and Transformation from Jesus to Paul of Samosata, Princeton Theological Monographs Series (Eugene, Pickwick, 2011), 78 – 80.  In this chapter, I primarily focus on patronage within urban society, which is the kind of relation most relevant to the study of Pauline Christianity. Moreover, because our sources originate from and predominantly describe the urban environment, the reconstruction of rural patronage in the first century CE is a difficult enterprise. See Garnsey, Famine and Food Supply, 58 – 63; Peter Garnsey and Greg Woolf, “Patronage of the Rural Poor in the Roman World,” in Wallace-Hadrill, Patronage in Ancient Society, 153 – 70; Keith Hopwood, “Bandits, Elites and Rural Order,” in Wallace-Hadrill, Patronage in Ancient Society, 171– 87. For a profile of possible patronal services in a rural context, see Gallant, Risk and Survival, 163 – 66.

70

2 Patronage and Exploitation in the World of Paul

destiny of death (Carm. 2.18.29 – 40) but also made offensive by the depredation of the very clients he had sworn to protect. In fact, the mention of the clientes is probably unnecessary to this poem but intensifies the viciousness of this offender by adding violation of fides to his greed. His insatiability is deplorable in and of itself, but it also leads him to break the social pact between the wealthy and their dependents that those limites embody. The boundaries between the landowner’s and the client’s fields are the only barrier that preserves social order. Once they are broken social chaos erupts, personified by a homeless, wretched family, gods and ragged children included. The picture of agrarian brutality portrayed in Horace’s Carmen closely echoes the Solonic crisis of sixth-century BCE Attica. Solon appears to have enacted a comprehensive reform that was especially aimed at solving the predicament of the masses of peasants who had become dependent on the wealthy Athenians because of either semi-servitude—the hektēmoroi were probably required to hand a sixth of their crops over to an overlord—or debt-slavery.²⁴⁸ The Aristotelian Consitution of Athens describes the situation at the time of Solon in these terms: The Athenian constitution was in all respects oligarchical, and in fact the poor themselves and also their wives and children were actually in slavery to the rich; and they were called Clients and Sixth-part-tenants [πελάται καὶ ἑκτημόροι] (for that was the rent they paid for the rich men’s land which they farmed, and the whole of the country was in few hands), and if they ever failed to pay their rents, they themselves and their children were liable to arrest; and all borrowing was on the security of the debtors’ persons down to the time of Solon: it was he who first became head of the People. (Ath. pol. 2.2; trans. Rackham)²⁴⁹

 Arnold Wycombe Gomme, Tim J. Cornell, and P. J. Rhodes, “Solon,” OCD4 1380 – 81; Louis Gernet, “Les nobles dans la Grèce antique,” Annales d’histoire économique et sociale 10 (1938): 37. For benefaction practices in archaic Greece, see Gygax, Benefaction and Rewards, 58 – 106.  The Constitution of Athens uses, here, the term οἱ πένητες to describe the poor. This term generally identifies individuals who needed to work to provide for themselves, as opposed to οἱ πλούσιοι, who could enjoy leasure. While πενία was a social category constructed on the opposition between work and leisure, πτωχεία has traditionally been interpreted as a term to define the lowest economic status (extreme poverty, destitution, and beggary). See Bolkestein, Wohltätigkeit und Armnepflege, 184; Ernst Bammel, “πτωχός, πτωχεία, πτωχεύω,” TDNT 6:887; Finley, The Ancient Economy, 41; Gildas Hamel, Poverty and Charity in Roman Palestine, First Three Centuries C.E., Near Eastern Studies 23 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1990), 167– 75; Gesila Nneka Uzukwu, “The Poverty and Wealth of the Macedonians: A Grammatical and Rhetorical Analysis of 2 Cor 8:1– 5,” in Theologizing in the Corinthian Conflict: Studies in the Exegesis and Theology of 2 Corinthians, ed. Reimund Bieringer, Ma. Marilou Ibita, Dominika A. Kurek-Chomycz, and Thomas A. Vollmer, Biblical Tools and Studies 16 (Leuven: Peeters, 2013), 320 – 21 n. 3. However, the distinction between πενία and πτωχεία is not always clear. See Welborn, “The Polis and the Poor,” 194– 95. Claire Taylor observes that literary mentions of πτωχοί

2.4 Patronage as a Problem

71

The poor peasants are identified through the two words πελάται and ἑκτημόροι. Their meaning is not altogether clear, and the translation “clients” is perforce a loose one, as there was no institutionalized patrocinium in pre-Roman Greece. However, πελάτης is also the Greek word Dionysius of Halicarnassus uses when he describes the institution of patronage by Romulus (Ant. rom. 2.9.2), and Plutarch provides it as a Greek equivalent to the transliterated Latin word (ἐκείνους δὲ κλίεντας, ὅπερ ἐστὶ πελάτας; Plutarch, Rom. 13). Therefore, at least in the Early Empire, a πελάτης was a person in a relationship of dependency similar to clientship.²⁵⁰ According to the Constitution of Athens, the Solonic

tend to elicit a variety of strong emotional responses such as pity, sympathy, and outrage and evoke ideas about outcasts, exiles, and foreigners. According to Taylor, “Ptochoi are outsiders” (Poverty, Wealth, and Well-Being, 39). Although the difference between the two terms is grounded in economic realities, they mostly reflect views and experiences of those realities. See the larger discussion in Taylor, Poverty, Wealth, and Well-Being, 31– 67. According to archaic Greek mores, beggars were associated with the strangers. The conventions of guest-friendship demanded that hospitality be offered to both, and both were under the protection of Zeus Xenios. In Homer Od. 6.198 – 210, Nausicaa directs her servants to tend to Odysseus, who appears naked and begging: “Him must we now tend; for from Zeus are all strangers and beggars [πρὸς γὰρ Διός εἰσιν ἅπαντες/ξεῖνοί τε πτωχοί τε], and a gift, though small, is welcome” (Od. 6.207– 8; trans. Murray). See Bertelli, “The Ratio of Gift-Giving,” 111– 18; Lucia Cecchet, “Gift-Giving to the Poor in the Greek World,” in Carlà and Gori, Gift Giving, 158 – 59. By giving Odysseus clothes, Nausicaa provides him with an identity. Odysseus is no longer an outsider. For the symbolic role of gifts of clothing in the Homeric poems, see Rollason, Gifts of Clothing, 23 – 26. Going back to Taylor’s analysis, whereas πενία describes relative poverty as part of the social order (πένητες contribute through their work to the well-being of the community), πτωχεία denotes poverty as a socially disruptive factor as when, for instance, wealthy and worthy individuals fall into destitution or when beggary is discussed (Taylor, Poverty, Wealth, and Well-Being, 38). In this perspective, πενία entails social inclusion, albeit limited with respect to the wealthy, and πτωχεία is tantamount to radical social exclusion. This distinction becomes especially relevant for self-representation. In an oft-cited passage from Aristophanes’s Plutus, Chremylus describes the life of Penia (personified poverty) as “blisters in the bathhouse and masses of hungry children and old ladies, […] lice, gnats, and fleas” and similar marks of destitution. Penia retorts that what Chremylus describes is not πενία, but the life of beggars (τῶν πτωχῶν). Chremylus insists that there is no difference: πενία is the sister of πτωχεία. Penia finally explains: “No, the life I represent is certainly nothing like that and never will be. You see, you’re describing the beggar’s life [πτωχοῦ βίος], which means living without possessions; by contrast, the poor man’s life [τοῦ πένητος ζῆν] means being thrifty and hard working, and though he has nothing to spare, he doesn’t lack the necessities either” (Plut. 535 – 554; trans. Henderson). There is a certain degree of sarcasm in the condescending way in which Chremylus sees Penia’s claims, and it likely reflects Athenian elite attitudes toward the πένητες. Yet, Penia’s words represent the desire of the economically weaker strata to represent themselves as socially acceptable.  István Hahn argues that πελάτης was an inclusive designation for several categories of the legally disadvantaged and economically dependent rural population. What connected these

72

2 Patronage and Exploitation in the World of Paul

crisis was the peasants’ reaction to increasing economic exploitation by patronal land-owners, and Solon’s reform was the eventual, successful outcome of their resistance.²⁵¹ Patrons’ attempts to exploit their dependents and their repeated failures to ensure decent living conditions and solve economic problems for their clients constantly led to weakening of patron-client ties. Evidence of this is the substantial number of laws that were passed during the last centuries of the Roman Republic against the interests of the nobility. Despite the presumed allegiance of their clients, patrons did not seem to have a sufficient hold on their votes to block unfavorable legislation.²⁵² For example, the enactment of the agrarian

groups was the motif of personal dependency, which was also the primary reason for the identification between πελάτης and cliens made by Greek writers when they discussed Roman social relations (“Pelatai und Klienten,” in Concilium Eirene XVI: Proceedings of the 16th International Eirene Conference, Prague 31.8 – 4.9 1982, ed. A. Frolíková and P. Oliva [Prague: Kabinet pro studia řecká, řísmká a latinská ČSAV, 1983], 59 – 64; see also Gernet, “Les nobles dans la Grèce antique,” 36 – 37; Edlund, “Invisible Bonds,” 132).  Millett, “Patronage and Its Avoidance in Classical Athens,” 21.  Brunt, “Clientela,” 422– 24. Johnson and Dandeker argue that patronage, as a system, is fundamentally incompatible with exploitation because of “patron competition and client choice.” In other words, patrons cannot “systematically” exploit clients who have, at any given moment, the opportunity to withdraw from the patron-client relationship and seek alternative patrons. As a consequence, Johnson and Dandeker suggest that “where [exploitative] relations existed, patronage was absent or in the process of decay” (“Patronage,” 232– 33). This seems consistent with the evidence presented by Brunt. As a counterbalancing factor, however, client choice and availability of alternative patrons might have been perceived as restricted in an economy of limited good, “one in which all of the desired things in life such as land, wealth, health, friendship and love, manliness and honor, respect and status, power and influence, security and safety, exist in finite quantity and are always in short supply” (George M. Foster, “Peasant Society and the Image of Limited Good,” American Anthropologist 67 [1965]: 293 – 315, here 296; emphasis in the text; see also George M. Foster, “A Second Look at Limited Good,” Anthropological Quarterly 45 [1972]: 57– 64; Bruce J. Malina, “Limited Good and the Social World of Early Christianity,” BTB 8 [1978]: 162– 76; Walter F. Taylor, Jr., “Cultural Anthropology as a Tool for Studying the New Testament,” Trinity Seminary Review 18.1 [1996]: 13 – 27; 18.2 [1997]: 69 – 82, here 71). For example, Umbricius, the defeated parasite at the center of Juvenal’s Sat. 3, decides to leave Rome (Sat. 3.21– 29). His failure to succed in Rome is not primarily due to lack of ability but to the sudden influx of more skilled competitors from the Greek East who monopolize all available patrons and leave none for wretched Umbricius (“[The Greek parasite] never shares a friend—it’s his national defect—but monopolises him”; qui gentis vitio numquam partitur amicum, solus habet; Sat. 3.121– 122; trans. Morton Braund; see Damon, The Mask of the Parasite, 175 – 79). The perceived dearth of opportunities that drives fictional Umbricius away from Rome may also have compelled real clients to accept a certain level of exploitation as long as patrons met their basic needs and allowed them to survive (Scott, “Patronage or Exploitation?” 22– 26). For the interplay between the rhetoric of equality inherent in patronage

2.4 Patronage as a Problem

73

laws of the Gracchi and the substantial implementation of their agrarian reform demonstrate that the tensions created by aristocratic exploitation of public land were stronger than the bonds of clientship.²⁵³ The evidence here presented shows that the exchange of services and goods that characterized patron-client relations was not always perceived as ancient theorists such as Seneca portrayed it. While this social bond was supposed to be based on mutual fides or even amor, the sources betray a reality of mutual exploitation, in which the economic factor was critical. In fact, a few rich clients would seek the patronage of an influential individual to further a political career or to finance a business venture, but the vast majority of clients came to patronage from economic disadvantage, sometimes from a daily struggle for survival. As the comic character of the parasite clearly shows, dignitas may not have counted to such individuals as much as a decent sportula.

2.4.2 Social Degradation Ancient Greeks and Romans felt a deep sense of personal worth, which they mainly expressed through the categories of honor and shame.²⁵⁴ Shame was

and the concept of limited good with specific reference to Ancient Greece, see Gallant, Risk and Survival, 143 – 69.  Andrew William Lintott, “Agrarian Laws and Policy,” OCD4 42. The actual aims of Tiberius Gracchus are a matter of debate, and possibly economic tensions were not the (sole) reason for the agrarian reform. See E. Badian, “Tiberius Gracchus and the Beginning of the Roman Revolution,” ANRW 1.1:668 – 731; Alföldy, Römische Sozialgeschichte, 68 – 70. Whether or not the Gracchi were interested in the welfare of the poor, their ability to pass laws against the immediate interests of the senatorial ranks suggests some degree of erosion of patron-client bonds. On the Gracchan reforms, see below, pp. 139 – 40.  For the paradigm of honor and shame in Mediterranean societies, see J. G. Peristiany, ed., Honour and Shame: The Values of Mediterranean Society, The Nature of Human Society (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1966); Julian Pitt-Rivers, “Honour and Social Status,” in Peristiany, Honour and Shame, 19 – 77; Julian Pitt-Rivers, “Honor,” International Encyclopedia of Social Sciences 6:503 – 11; David D. Gilmore, ed., Honor and Shame and the Unity of the Mediterranean, American Anthropological Association Special Pubblication 22 (Washington: American Anthropological Association, 1987); J. G. Peristiany and Julian Pitt-Rivers, eds., Honor and Grace in Anthropology (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992). For honor and shame in the classical world, see E. R. Dodds, The Greek and the Irrational (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1951); Arthur W. H. Adkins, Merit and Responsibility: A Study in Greek Values (Oxford: Clarendon, 1960); P. A. Brunt, The Fall of the Roman Republic and Related Essays (Oxford: Clarendon, 1988); P. A. Brunt, Roman Imperial Themes (Oxford: Clarendon, 1990), 288 – 323; Bernard Williams, Shame and Necessity, Sather Classical Lectures 57 (Berkeley: University of California Press,

74

2 Patronage and Exploitation in the World of Paul

one of the immediate consequences of destitution, as poverty deprived individuals of secure and equal access to social life and was therefore conducive to social marginality, vulnerability, and exclusion.²⁵⁵ This, of course, was most evident in the case of slaves, whose social powerlessness and irrelevance (“social death” in the perceptive phrase of Orlando Patterson) was only paralleled by the total shame ascribed to them.²⁵⁶ Umbricius, the parasite of Juvenal’s Sat. 3, is quite explicit about the marginalizing ramifications of poverty. Though you swear an oath on the altars of the Samothracian or Roman gods, a poor man is thought to disregard the divine lightning bolts, with the acquiescence of the gods themselves. Then what do you make of this, that this same man provides everyone with material and substance for amusement if his cloak is dirty or torn, if his toga’s rather mucky and one shoe’s gaping open where the leather is split, or if several scars display their coarse new thread where a gash has been sewn up? There’s nothing harder about unfortunate poverty than the way it makes people ridiculous. (Sat. 3.144– 153; trans. Morton Braund)

A poor man’s word has no value, and his body only serves to elicit mockery.²⁵⁷ Aristotle theorizes the connection between honor, social superiority, and patron-

2008); N. R. E. Fisher, Hybris: A Study in the Values of Honour and Shame in Ancient Greece (Warminster: Aris & Phillips, 1992); Halvor Moxnes, “Honor and Shame,” in The Social Sciences and New Testament Interpretation, ed. Richard L. Rohrbaugh (Peabody: Hendrickson, 1996), 19 – 40.  Poverty is not measured so much by lack or insufficiency of income as by deprivation of “socially perceived necessities” (Peter S. Oakes, “Constructing Poverty Scales for GraecoRoman Society: A Response to Steven Friesen’s ‘Poverty in Pauline Studies,’” JSNT 26 [2004]: 369). According to Amartya Sen, who develops a theory of poverty as social exclusion, “no concept of poverty can be satisfactory if it does not take adequate note of the disadvantages that arise from being excluded from shared opportunities enjoyed by others” (Social Exclusion: Concept, Application, and Scrutiny, Social Development Papers 1 [Manila: Asian Development Bank, 2000], 44). This means that poverty is primarily experienced by the subject as being socially inadequate. See Neville Morley, “The Poor in the City of Rome,” in Atkins and Osborne, Poverty in the Roman World, 35 – 36; Taylor, Poverty, Wealth, and Well-Being, 12, 19 – 24; Ryan S. Schellenberg, “Subsistence, Swapping, and Paul’s Rhetoric of Generosity,” JBL 137 (2018): 221– 23. The link between poverty, social deprivation, and honor is especially conspicuous in the Roman system of the census. This system distributed Roman citizens in different classes according to their wealth, thus publicly measuring their social status. Consequently, impoverishment entailed reduction in rank, loss of career prospects, and severance of ties with one’s (previous) peers. See Woolf, “Writing Poverty in Rome,” 91– 92.  Orlando Patterson, Slavery and Social Death: A Comparative Study (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1982), 13.  Franco Bellandi, “Giovenale e la degradazione della clientela (interpretatione della sat. VII),” Dialoghi di archeologia 8 (1974): 390; Engfer, Die private Munifizenz, 50. The humiliation of poverty is one of the themes of Menander’s Georgos. In a fragment preserved by Stobaeus (Ecl. 4.32b.24), he writes: “It’s easy, Gorgias, to scorn a poor man, even when he’s wholly in

2.4 Patronage as a Problem

75

age. Describing friendship based on superiority (καθ᾽ὑπεροχήν), he observes that even if the material goods exchanged between the partners were the same— which is hardly the case when the inferior party is poor—“it would seem that in this way the superior comes off worse” (i. e., he puts himself at the level of the inferior; Eth. eud. 7.10.12; trans. Rackham). Even worse, their friendship is reduced to a λειτουργία, that is, a compulsory contribution and not an exchange of (putatively) free gifts (Eth. nic. 8.14.1).²⁵⁸ Therefore, the inferior party is called upon to redress this imbalance and restore equality by bestowing honor (τιμή) on the superior (Eth. eud. 7.10.13; Eth. nic. 8.14.2). This is part of the ideological backdrop to the centrality of φιλοτιμία (love of honor) in Greco-Roman benefaction.²⁵⁹ In light of this use of honor as social currency, it is no surprise that when clients lost most of their political power in the early Principate, practices of social ostentation became their primary contribution to their patron’s standing and were heavily stressed. Even before this development occurs, Cicero emphasizes the role of one’s entourage to acquire social prominence: All those who are nearest and most in your family circle must with every effort be brought to feel affection and wish you all possible success; so too must your fellow tribesmen, neighbours, and clients, then your freedmen, and finally even your slaves, for the talk which makes one’s public reputation [ad forensem famam] generally emanates from sources in one’s own household [a domesticis emanat auctoribus]. (Comm. pet. 17; trans. Shackleton Bailey)

the right; the target of his words is thought to be pure grabbing. Wear a shabby cloak—you’re promptly called a swindler, even though the injured party!” (trans. Arnott). The speaker observes that poverty exposes people to injustice and ridicule and renders them powerless to defend their own honor. In another passage, Menander mentions the shame of poverty when it is visible to all: “That obstinate, perverse brute poverty—and [in] the city, too—will cease. One should be rich, perhaps—or live without a crowd of witnesses to notice one’s bad luck. In such conditions [country] solitude’s the answer” (Menander, Georg. 77– 82; trans. Arnott). Here, the most difficult aspect of poverty is that all can see it, and the flight toward solitude and the country expresses the social marginality that poverty engenders.  Hands, Charities and Social Aid in Greece and Rome, 37. That the term “liturgy” has a negative connotation for Aristotle is made clear in Pol. 5.7.11: “It is better to prevent [the wealthy] from undertaking costly but useless public services, even if they wish to” (βέλτιον δὲ καὶ βουλομένους κωλύειν λειτουργεῖν τὰς δαπανηρὰς μὲν μὴ χρησίμους δὲ λειτουργίας; trans. Rackham). See also Eth. eud. 7.10.15 (opposed to τοῦ ἀγαθοῦ); Eth. nic. 8.14.1 (opposed to φιλίαν); Eth. nic. 9.6.4 (associated with τοῖς πόνοις). See below p. 91 n. 303 and p. 99 n. 322.  Bolkestein, Wohltätigkeit und Armnepflege, 152– 56, 318 – 19; Hands, Charities and Social Aid in Greece and Rome, 35 – 45.

76

2 Patronage and Exploitation in the World of Paul

The reference to the forensis fama allows us to perceive the importance and instrumentality of a large following for the social and political ambitions of the elite. The transfer of social capital from the domus to the forum happened not only through the “talk” (sermo) of one’s retinue but also through the very visible size of the mass of attendants. This was, at least in part, the function of the salutatio and adsectatio that constituted a substantial part of a client’s life in Rome.²⁶⁰ The size of a patron’s following was directly connected to his ability to both attract and support a substantial number of clients. These practices, therefore, publicly paraded his social and economic power and his “generosity,” thus contributing to his political success: “A large company of daily escorts,” Cicero sermonizes, “makes a great impression and adds great prestige” (Comm. pet. 36; trans. Shackleton Bailey).²⁶¹  In addition to augmentation of social prestige, other factors may have played a role in ostentatious practices. Veyne points to a psychological dimension of such rituals when he observes that the visible display of social superiority did not necessarily need an audience and could simply contribute to a patron’s sense of self-satisfaction (Bread and Circuses, 70; see also Verboven, The Economy of Friends, 99 – 102). Beyond individual psychological gratification, however, such customs—salutatio, adsectatio, but also public eulogies and honorific statuary and epigraphy— produced a representation of social relations and contributed to their legitimization. Eisenstadt and Roniger point out that social control is achieved through “a combination of organisational and coercive measures, together with the structuring of the cognitive imagery of the social order and of the major reference orientations available in society” (Patrons, Clients and Friends, 38). Even in the absence of an audience, ostentatious practices have the power to shape the “cognitive imagery of social order” and thus perpetuate it. Veyne seems to underestimate this facet of self-representation when he claims that Greek euergetism “did not serve to maintain the relations of production any more than to give balance to political society” but only to acquire and display social superiority (Bread and Circuses, 152– 55). Gygax argues that elite contributions to the polis, as well as other “ostentatious waste,” in archaic Greece had a similar function. The elite distinguished themselves from the demos by means of a specific lifestyle: “sports, hunting, politics, poetry, and music—in other words, […] activities that implied that they had freed themselves from the need to do physical labor, and that were inaccessible to peasants, artisans, and traders” (Benefaction and Rewards, 74). Display of superiority may be an end in itself for the individual, but from a societal perspective, it inevitably advertizes and sanctions well-defined relations of power. See, e. g., Andrew D. Clarke, Secular and Christian Leadership in Corinth: A Socio-Historical and Exegetical Study of 1 Corinthians 1 – 6, AGJU 18 (Leiden: Brill, 1993), 32. For a clarification of this twofold dimension of self-representation, see the discussion of emic and etic approaches to cultural analysis in Sydel Silverman, “Patronage as Myth,” in Gellner and Waterbury, Patrons and Clients in Mediterranean Societies, 7– 19.  Similarly, Martial has a wealthy man make a list of the symbols of his high status; along with lands, ivory, crystal, and Syrian slaves, he mentions “my chair […] crowded by full-dressed clients” (et mea sit culto sella cliente frequens; Epigr. 9.22.10; trans. Shackleton Bailey). See Garrido-Hory, “Le statut de la clientèle,” 383. Common people could also exploit patronal philotimia. In the Hellenistic period, people would use the civic assembly to propose public, voluntary

2.4 Patronage as a Problem

77

The patron-client relation and its protocols could also be exploited to the social advantage of clients. In Sat. 1.9, Horace describes a man approaching him with the typical flattery, tenacity, and servility of a parasite. This particular one, however, is looking not for the usual invitation to dinner but for something apparently only Horace can get him, an introduction to Maecenas: “How stands Maecenas with you,” he thus begins afresh, “a man of few friends and right good sense? No one ever made wiser use of his luck. You might have a strong backer, who could be your understudy, if you would introduce your humble servant.” (Sat. 1.9.43 – 47; trans. Fairclough)

As Horace does not seem to consent to his insistent requests, the unyielding man has a backup plan that also involves a client’s primary skill as a retainer: “I will not give up. I’ll look for the fitting time; I’ll meet him in the streets; I’ll escort him home” (Sat. 1.9.58 – 59; trans. Fairclough). This specific version of the flatterer is not poor like most clients—he has enough money to think about bribing Maecenas’s slaves (Sat. 1.9.57)—nor does he need legal aid—he defends his own lawsuit (Sat. 1.9.36 – 41). He already has financial means but now wants the necessary social connections to climb the social ladder.²⁶² While Horace’s vexing acquaintance was rather enthusiastic about the possibilities inherent in an impromptu adsectatio, other clients rather dreaded the subscriptions for specific causes (epidoseis). In that situation, the wealthy felt pressured—indeed, this was the whole purpose of the ruse—at least to promise a contribution to the epidosis. If they later failed to honor their promise, they were publicly shamed with defamatory placards. For example, when Dicaeogenes did not contribute the 300 drachmas he had promised, “his name was posted on a list of defaulters in front of the statues of Eponymous Heroes, which was headed: ‘These are they who voluntarily promised the people to contribute money for the salvation of the city and failed to pay the amounts promised’” (Isaeus, Or. 5.37– 38; trans. Forster). On this use of epidoseis, see Veyne, Bread and Circuses, 88 – 90; Gygax, Benefaction and Rewards, 19 – 26, 45 – 57. A similar strategy to obtain large contributions to epidoseis was to publish subscription lists with the names of the contributors and the amounts they had given. See Aneurin Ellis-Evans, “The Ideology of Public Subscriptions,” in Epigraphical Approaches to the Post-Classical Polis: Fourth Century BC to Second Century AD, ed. Paraskevi Martzavou and Nikolaos Papazarkadas, Oxford Studies in Ancient Documents (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013), 119 – 20. For general studies on epidoseis, see Léopold Migeotte, Les souscriptions publiques dans les cités grecques, Hautes études du monde gréco-romain 17 (Geneva: Droz, 1992); Angelos Chianotis, “Public Subscriptions and Loans as Social Capital in the Hellenistic City: Reciprocity, Performance, Commemoration,” in Martzavou and Papazarkadas, Epigraphical Approaches to the Post-Classical Polis, 89 – 106.  For an analysis of the flatterer in Horace, Sat. 1.9, see Yona, Epicurean Ethics in Horace, 190 – 201. Similarly, Martial describes a senator who, despite his position and presumable wealth, adopts a client’s tactics to further his career (Epigr. 12.26).

78

2 Patronage and Exploitation in the World of Paul

requirements of clientship and submitted themselves reluctantly to such tedious and unpleasant rituals. The morning salutatio, whose institution Seneca dates back to the Gracchan era (Ben. 6.34), and the following adsectatio were ways for patrons to display their prestige.²⁶³ Clients, however, swallowed it as a painful loss of time. They were required to wake up early in the morning, walk through chilly streets, and mingle with what they saw as an obnoxious crowd.²⁶⁴ Martial stages a client complaining about the overlong and tiresome obligations to which he is subjected despite having served as a client for a long time: The duties of a new and recent friend you bid me perform towards you, Fabianus: that shivering at early morning I should pay my respects to you continually; that your chair should drag me through the midst of the mud; that when I am weary I should follow you at the tenth hour, or later, to the warm baths of Agrippa, although I myself bathe at those of Titus. Is this what I have deserved, Fabianus, for my thirty Decembers of service, to be always a raw recruit to your friendship? Is this what I have deserved, Fabianus, that, when my toga (my own purchase) is threadbare, you think that I have not yet deserved my discharge? (Epigr. 3.36; trans. Shackleton Bailey)

Morning cold, muddy streets, and long hours of wait were an ordinary part of a client’s long and hardly tolerable day, but things could get worse if a client also had to endure mistreatment from his patron. Martial, for instance, portrays the frustration of a client who, wanting to greet his patron upon his return from Lybia, was sent home several times with poor excuses (Epigr. 9.7), or another one who walked a long distance through the city only to find out that his patron had not waited for him (Epigr. 5.22). Martial even goes so far as to expose a patron’s anger at his clients as a pretense to avoid giving them gifts (Epigr. 3.37; 12.13). Similarly, Juvenal draws from contemporary events—he alludes to rumors that Publius Egnatius Celer, who was from Tarsus, had spread about his pupil Barea Soranus (Sat. 3.116 – 118)—to criticize the nonchalance with which some patrons turn their backs on their clients as soon as nasty, albeit unfounded, rumors reach their ears: You see, once he’s dripped a drop of the poison which comes naturally to him and his race into that receptive ear, I am hustled away from the threshold and my long years of slavery have been wasted. Nowhere is the ditching of a client more casual. (Sat. 3.122 – 125; trans. Morton Braund)

 Rouland, Pouvoir politique et dépendance personnelle, 484.  Martial, Epigr. 2.5; 5.22; 8.44; 9.92; 10.10; 10.70; 12.26; 12.68; 14.125; Pliny, Ep. 3.12.2– 3.

2.4 Patronage as a Problem

79

In these few lines, Juvenal knits together several strands of grievance to emphasize the frailty of patron-client relations. Not only do patrons too easily sever such personal ties, but they do so on the shaky grounds of mere slander, a vice, Juvenal intimates, that is an import from the East and does not befit a true Roman.²⁶⁵ In addition, a single word of malicious gossip is capable of offsetting years of devoted service, revealing that the formalities of patrocinium were reduced to a mere travesty of fides. Finally, what seems to hurt Juvenal the most is the casual attitude of this patron in dismissing his client. This complete lack of concern exposes the worthlessness of the client in his patron’s eyes. All these nuances have the cumulative effect of portraying clientship as a deeply humiliating experience, an experience to which clients only submit out of sheer necessity.²⁶⁶ In his grumbling, Juvenal makes a largely conventional move by referring to a client’s existence as servitium (slavery). The equation between clientela and servitium is a common comedic device that Plautus repeatedly employs in his plays.²⁶⁷ Curculio, for example, acts as the typical parasite for his patron Phaedromus by arranging his love affair with the slave girl Planesium. The true (slavish) nature of Curculio’s actions and deportment, however, is revealed by Thera This passage of Sat. 3 plays on ethnic clichés. The association of social misconduct, specifically slander, with Greek identity gives Juvenal the opportunity to fire an arrow of national chauvinism: “There’s no room for any Roman here in Rome” (Non est Romano cuiquam locus hic; Sat. 3.119; trans. Morton Braund).  Martin Goodman observes that humiliation might have served to emphasize a patron’s higher status (Rome and Jerusalem: The Clash of Ancient Civilizations [New York: Knopf, 2007], 223).  Damon, The Mask of the Parasite, 32– 33. Monique Crampon indicates that Plautus expresses the dependency of his parasites through, among other elements, the word family of vincio (“to bind, to fetter”) and other related vocabulary that allude to debt imprisonment and forms of rural slavery (“Le parasitus et son rex dans la comédie de Plaute: La revanche du language sur la bassesse de la condition,” in Forms of Control and Subordination in Antiquity, ed. Toru Yuge and Masaoki Doi [Leiden: Brill, 1988], 511– 12). Beyond the rhetorical level, the connection between non-elite free laborers and slaves has grounds in Roman society. See G. E. M. de Ste Croix, The Class Struggle in the Greek World: From the Archaic Age to the Arab Conquests (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1981), 179 – 204; William V. Harris, “On the Applicability of the Concept of Class in Roman History,” in Forms of Control and Subordination in Antiquity, ed. Toru Yuge and Masaoki Doi (Leiden: Brill, 1988), 603 and 608 n. 29; Prell, Sozialökonomische Untersuchungen, 146 – 50; and the more nuanced and well-documented survey of Susan Treggiari, “Urban Labour in Rome: Mercenarii and Tabernarii,” in Non-Slave Labour in the Greco-Roman World, ed. Peter Garnsey (Cambridge: Cambridge Philological Society, 1980), 48 – 64. For an analysis of widespread Roman disapproval of free labor and its relation to slavery, see Dieter Nörr, “Zur sozialen und rechtlichen Bewertung der freien Arbeit in Rom,” Zeitschrift der Savigny-Stiftung für Rechtsgeschichte: Romanistische Abteilung 82 (1965): 67– 105, especially 74– 76.

80

2 Patronage and Exploitation in the World of Paul

pontigonus, who, unaware of Curculio’s real status, candidly mistakes him for a slave (Curc. 623 – 624). Martial uses the association between clients and slaves to expose patrons who themselves hunt for protectors: “To be a slave is enough; I won’t any longer be a slave’s slave” (vicarius) (Epigr. 2.18; trans. Shackleton Bailey; also 2.32).²⁶⁸ He also amusingly hyperbolizes the parallel by claiming that being a client is far worse than slavery: Condylus, you lament that you have been so long a slave; you don’t know a master’s afflictions [mala … domini] and a slave’s advantages [servi commoda]. A cheap little mat gives you carefree slumbers: there’s Gaius lying awake all night on feathers. From daybreak on Gaius in fear and trembling salutes so many masters: but you, Condylus, do not salute even your own. “Gaius, pay me back what you owe,” says Phoebus, and from there so says Cinnamus: nobody says that to you, Condylus. You fear the torturer? Gaius is cut by gout in foot and hand and would rather take a thousand lashes. You don’t vomit of a morning or lick a woman’s pudenda, Condylus; isn’t that better than being your Gaius three times over? (Epigr. 9.92; trans. Shackleton Bailey)

Martial’s initial witty reversal of fortunes, wherein the master suffers mala and the slave enjoys commoda, is manifestly contradicted by the following lines. Contrary to Gaius’s claims, pluma (feathers) is softer and more comfortable than a vilis tegeticula (mat), just as gout and morning vomiting are a not-so-subtle allusions to Gaius’s table intemperance. Yet, Gaius really has many masters and creditors. Part of the irony of this epigram, however, lies in the fact that, without even realizing it, Gaius adopts the same whining attitude that he himself denounces as the irksome trait of a typical slave. The parallel between clients and slaves is an amusing move for comic relief, but there are indications that patrons could behave toward their clients in ways similar to their treatment of slaves.²⁶⁹ Comedic parasites are subjected to a number of requests that are designedly humiliating.²⁷⁰ In Persae, Saturio, who is a parasite to the slave Toxilus, is asked to sell his own lovely daughter in order to procure money for his patron. Saturio initially hesitates, but then Toxilus threatens, “Don’t fool yourself, you’ll never eat here today until you confirm that you’ll do for me what I ask of you. And unless you bring your daughter  Martial pays no attention to the problem of slavery or the social condition of slaves and, in most cases, uses the language of slavery as a metaphor to describe the condition of clients, the social group that raises Martial’s interest. See Garrido-Hory “Le statut de la clientèle,” 395 n. 16; Mario Attilio Levi, “I ceti dipendenti negli epigrammi di Marziale,” Index 17 (1989): 227.  Rouland, Pouvoir politique et dépendance personnelle, 534– 35.  Damon, The Mask of the Parasite, 99. According to Francis L. Jones, client duties, at least in Martial’s description, “were calculated to destroy a man’s self-respect and independence of spirit” (“Martial, the Client,” CJ 30 [1934– 1935]: 356).

2.4 Patronage as a Problem

81

here with you as quickly as possible, I’ll throw you out of our gang,” to which Saturio responds enthusiastically, “Please sell me as well if you wish, so long as you sell me with a full belly” (Plautus, Pers. 140 – 145; trans. De Melo).²⁷¹ There is no need for clients to swallow the whims of their patrons in order to feel humiliation. Despite being the focus of every parasite’s desires—for either culinary or social reasons—even invitations to dinners are themselves humbling beneficia. ²⁷² Horace highly cherished the value of Maecenas’s friendship and fellowship, yet he used the dinners at Maecenas’s as a symbol of his humble circumstances (and a foil for his immortal fame): “I, sprung from humble parents, I whom you, my dear Maecenas, send for to be your guest, shall not die, shall not be confined by the waters of the Styx” (Carm. 2.20.5 – 8; trans. Rudd). The social prestige of patrons is combined with clients’ humiliation when a dinner is a very different experience for a patron and his clients. Different food, wine, servants, and even water contribute to highlight the uneven distribution of honor and shame among tablemates (Juvenal, Sat. 5.24– 155; Martial, Epigr. 3.60; 3.82; 10.49; Pliny, Ep. 2.6).²⁷³ Juvenal bluntly points out the malice of such a custom: You might imagine that Virro is intent on saving money. No—he does it deliberately, to pain you. After all, what comedy or farce is better than a whining gut? So, let me tell you, his entire intention is to make you vent your anger in tears and keep you gnashing and grinding your teeth. In your own eyes you are a free man and my Lord’s guest. He reckons you’re enslaved by the smell of his kitchen—and he’s not far wrong. (Sat. 5.156 – 163; trans. Morton Braund)²⁷⁴

Virro’s dinner is in fact a cynical ploy to laugh at his client Trebius’s expense. But closing his narration, Juvenal does not spare Trebius, either. If he suffers humiliation, it is his own fault, because he is not master of himself: “The man who

 For the parallel between clients and slaves in Juvenal, see Bellandi, “Giovenale e la degradazione della clientela,” 390 – 99. Vincent J. Rosivach provides evidence that in Athens, poverty was often equated with slavery because it led the poor to do work that slaves were normally expected to do and, more generally, because it caused dependency (“Some Athenian Presuppositions about ‘The Poor,’” GR 38 [1991]: 192– 93).  Damon, The Mask of the Parasite, 132.  Gerd Theissen suggests that some of the divisions in the Corinthian group were caused by similar practices (The Social Setting of Pauline Christianity: Essays on Corinth [Eugene: Wipf & Stock, 2004], 147– 63, especially 160). See also John K. Chow, Patronage and Power: A Study of Social Networks in Corinth, JSNTSup 75 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1992), 183. Discussing Christian meals in Corinth, Paul raises the subject of shame and blames the group for humiliating the poor among them (1 Cor 11:22: καταισχύνετε τοὺς μὴ ἔχοντας;).  The humiliation inherent in this dinner is framed in the language of freemanship and slavery. See Bellandi, “Naevolus cliens,” 290, especially n. 21.

82

2 Patronage and Exploitation in the World of Paul

treats you like this has good taste. If there is nothing you can’t put up with, then you deserve it all. […] That’s the kind of banquet you deserve, and that’s the kind of friend” (Sat. 5.170 – 173; trans. Morton Braund). The very last word of Juvenal’s Sat. 5 is a reference to friendship (Tali dignus amico; Sat. 5.173). It is a powerful epilogue that reveals the heart of the problems with patronage. It is often noted that patron-client relations are regularly cloaked in the language of amicitia, as a polite euphemism for a harsh social reality.²⁷⁵ This view seems to underestimate the close relation between patronage and amicitia. In fact, the final, utterly disillusioned commentary of Juvenal on Virro’s dinner points to the humiliating failure of the dinner itself. A social event that was supposed to create, cement, and celebrate friendship has turned into a farce. Ironically, while Trebius, the client, realizes the very open humiliation to which he is subjected—or, better, willingly subjects himself—Virro, the vicious patron who tortures Trebius, seems completely unaware that he takes part in a game that soils all players and, even worse, whose price is the death of friendship. The ideal of patronage as a relation based on fides, indeed a friendship, is still echoed by the verses of the poets and by that still uncontaminated word, amicus, but actions of both patrons and clients betray it in all respects.²⁷⁶  Saller, Personal Patronage, 11– 15; Rouland, Pouvoir politique et dépendance personnelle, 455 – 64; Verboven, The Economy of Friends, 49 – 50. Saller states: “Neither the word amicus nor the words patronus and cliens are fully satisfactory pointers to patronage relationships. The latter two were avoided for reasons of politeness except in inscriptions. The category of amicitia, on the other hand, encompasses a larger group of social relations than we are concerned with in this study, since it includes exchange relationships between men of equal, as well as unequal, social status. Where the term amicus occurs with respect to a friendship between men known to be of unequal status, we can assume a patronage relationship” (Personal Patronage, 15). Martial exposes the habit of cloaking mistreatment with the language of amicitia. For instance, the voice of a client in Epigr. 2.43 contrasts his patron’s repeated maxim, κοινὰ φίλων (“friends have all in common”), with the huge differences between their clothing, food, and lifestyle. See also Martial, Epigr. 7.86. The maxim κοινὰ φίλων seems to have had a role in discussions about benefaction, generosity, and upper-class ethos. See discussion in Alan C. Mitchell, “‘Greet the Friends by Name’: Greco-Roman Topos on Friendship,” in Greco-Roman Perspectives on Friendship, ed. John T. Fitzgerald, SBLRBS 34 (Atlanta: Scholars, 1997), 244– 46.  Damon, The Mask of the Parasite, 170 – 71; Konstan, “Patrons and Friends,” 336 – 38. A similar use of amicitia occurs in Juvenal’s Sat. 10, where a praetor’s escort of “friends made by the sportula” (quos sportula fecit amicos) is listed among other ornaments of public prestige at which Democritus, the great philosopher of the past, would have only laughed (and we can imagine Juvenal chuckling with him). See Bellandi, “Giovenale e la degradazione della clientela,” 386 – 88. According to Richard A. LaFleur, this employment of the motif of amicitia is commonplace in Juvenal: “Juvenal’s picture of the state of friendship in his day is consistently dismal. […] Only rarely in Juvenal do the words amicus and amicitia bear an interpretation of honest, genuine friendship. […] It appears that in the overwhelming majority of instances the relationship

2.4 Patronage as a Problem

83

When uttered by Martial’s patrons, instead, the word amicus loses all of its moral value and becomes a cynical, bitter joke: This man, whom your table, whom your dinner has made your friend—do you think his heart one of loyal friendship? ‘Tis boar he loves, and mullet, and sow’s udders, and oysters, not you. Were I to dine so well, he would be my friend. (Epigr. 9.14; trans. Shackleton Bailey)²⁷⁷

The notion of fida amicitia (loyal friendship) is still part of the poet’s thoughtworld but has been subverted by social reality. The clearest verbal expression of false friendship, however, is flattery. Adulation is one of the typical weapons of comedic parasites, especially when their prey are boastful soldiers.²⁷⁸ Gnatho (i. e., “Jaw”), for instance, recounts a dialogue he had with a dejected fellow client: [The interlocutor:] “In my unhappy state I can’t play the buffoon or take a beating.” [Gnatho:] “What? Is that how you suppose it’s done? You’re on quite the wrong track. Once upon a time, long ago, in a previous generation, that was the way our type earned a living. Now there’s a new way to catch our prey, and I am the original inventor. There is a type of men who want to be the first in everything but aren’t. I track these down. I don’t set out to make them laugh at me; I laugh at them instead while at the same time expressing admiration for their wit. Whatever they say, I praise it; if they then say the opposite, I praise that too. They deny, I deny; they affirm, I affirm. In short it’s my self-imposed rule to agree to everything. It’s by far the most profitable way to earn a living these days.” (Terence, Eun. 245 – 254; trans. Barsby)

Martial and Juvenal also portray parasites who use Gnatho’s technique.²⁷⁹ Their success, however, does not depend on the overbloated pride of a miles but on their mind-numbing tediousness that causes their prey to capitulate: “Everything he will praise, will admire everything, until, having endured to the end a thou-

implied is an unfriendly one, especially that between superior and inferior, haughty and humble, strongman and weakling, master and slave. Juvenal has often in mind the perverted state of the patron-client relationship” (“Amicus and Amicitia in Juvenal,” Classical Bulletin 51 [1974]: 56 – 57). See also Richard A. LaFleur, “Amicitia and the Unity of Juvenal’s First Book,” Illinois Classical Studies 4 (1979): 158 – 77. Garrido-Hory illustrates the similar rhetorical use of amicus for clients in Martial. This usage highlights the outrageous condition of clients and the moral judgment on patrons by pointing to the ties of affection that should but fail to give additional strength to patrons’ obligations of assistance and protection toward clients (“Le statut de la clientèle,” 384– 85).  See similar themes in Martial, Epigr. 5.44; Persius, Sat. 1.48 – 56.  Plautus, Mil. glor. 9 – 17, 58 – 71; Men. 143 – 151; Terence, Eun. 410 – 430.  For instance, Martial, Epigr. 12.82; Juvenal, Sat. 3.100 – 108.

84

2 Patronage and Exploitation in the World of Paul

sand boredoms, you say ‘Come and dine’” (Martial, Epigr. 12.82; trans. Shackleton Bailey). Some patrons, however, know how to exploit the talents of a flatterer: When Selius is spreading his nets for a dinner, take him with you to applaud, whether you are reciting or acting as counsel. “A good point! Weighty that! How ready! A hard hit! Bravo! That’s happy!” That is what I wanted. You have now earned you dinner; hold your tongue. (Martial, Epigr. 2.27; trans. Shackleton Bailey)

Martial’s reference to retia (nets) underscores the predatory nature of the flatterer, who uses words to hunt his prey down, yet Selius is the instrument of the patron’s plan (hoc volui; That is what I wanted). Thus, flattery embodies the breakdown and falsity of a friendship only driven by mutual exploitation and, as such, is inherently shameful. Theophrastus, in fact, introduces his illustration of the flatterer stating: “You might call flattery talk that is shameful, but also profitable to the flatterer” (Char. 2.1; trans. Rusten and Cunningham).²⁸⁰ In spite of the ideal vision of patronage as creating friendship and its role in the pursuit of honor, Greco-Roman authors expressed great frustration at the distortion of patron-client relations that they perceived around themselves. The external appearance of the exchange of munera did not correspond to personal elements such as loyalty, gratitude, and mutual support—in a word, fides. This departure from amicitia was itself a shameful affair that affected both patrons’ and clients’ behaviors. Patrons degraded their clients, disrespecting them and subjecting them to humbling service. In so doing, however, they also brought shame on themselves by surrounding themselves with false friends and becoming dependent on flattering words.

2.4.3 Political Dependency In addition to economic and social advantages, patronage was also exploited for political advancement and domination. An early example is the ascent of Pisistratus in sixth-century BCE Athens. After two exiles, Pisistratus was apparently

 Millett briefly discusses the uses of the flatterer in Greek comedy and its relation to clientship (“Patronage and Its Avoidance in Classical Athens,” 30 – 33). He observes: “This relation between the kolax [flatterer] and his rich ‘victim’ has many of the hallmarks of a client-patron arrangement,” but he may be going too far when he claims that “if there is a common Athenian equivalent for ‘client’ it must be kolax.” Flatterers are related to clients but only as comedic caricatures of social dependency.

2.4 Patronage as a Problem

85

able to obtain the tyranny and imposed reasonably stable rule by taking advantage of factional conflicts.²⁸¹ The sources indicate that he consolidated his power by opposing other Athenian aristocrats and securing the support of the rural poor.²⁸² The Constitution of Athens reports the general traits of Pisistratus’s leadership in a comparatively approving tone: Pisistratus’s administration of the state was, as has been said, moderate, and more constitutional than tyrannic; he was kindly and mild in everything, and in particular he was merciful to offenders, and moreover he advanced loans of money to the poor for their industries [τοῖς ἀπόροις προεδάνειζε χρήματα πρὸς τὰς ἐργασίας], so that they might support themselves by farming. (Aristotle, Ath. pol. 16; trans. Rackham).

The verb προδανείζειν is fairly rare, but there are indications that the phrase προδανείζειν χρήματα might refer to interest-free loans.²⁸³ Regardless of the presence or absence of interest, loans were not at all different from gifts in the ancient world as a means of establishing trust relationships.²⁸⁴ Therefore, Pisistratus’s policy may be seen as an attempt to expand his political influence over a large part of the Athenian population by means of financial support of the economically disadvantaged. Pisistratus might even have competed with other weal-

 Herodotus recounts: “In course of time there was a feud between the Athenians of the coast under Megacles son of Alcmeon and the Athenians of the plain under Lycurgus son of Aristolaïdes. Pisistratus then, having an eye to the sovereign power, raised up a third faction. He collected partisans and pretended to champion the hillmen” (Hist. 1.59; trans. Godley). See M. H. Chambers, “The Formation of the Tyranny of Pisistratus,” in Proceedings of the VIIth Congress of the International Federation of the Societies of Classical Studies, ed. János Harmatta, 2 vols. (Budapest: Akadémiai Kiadó, 1984), 1:69; Charles W. Fornara and Loren J. Samons II, Athens from Cleisthenes to Pericles (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1991), 151– 57; Rosalind Thomas, “Pisistratus,” OCD4 1151– 52. Gygax stresses that tyrants were not “revolutionary leaders of the demos who fought against the aristocracy, but members of the elite who acted according to elitist laws and values. […] Their political struggles against other members of the elite—not against the elite per se—were struggles for power and corresponded to an aristocratic ideal: that a man should strive to become the first and best. […] Since they had many enemies within their own social class, tyrants looked to the demos for the support without which many of them would have been unable to hold onto power” (Benefaction and Rewards, 92– 93).  For Pisistratus’s anti-aristocratic policies, see Fritz Schachermeyr, “Peisistratos,” PW 19.1:174– 76.  For detailed discussion of προδανείζειν, see Léopolde Migeotte, “Note sur l’emploi de prodaneizein,” Phoenix 34 (1980): 219 – 26. For interest-free loans in the Greco-Roman world, see below section 3.3.2.1.  For the similarities between loans and gifts, see below, section 3.3.2.1.

86

2 Patronage and Exploitation in the World of Paul

thy landowners in order to centralize patronage and underpin his hold on power with the support of the rural population.²⁸⁵ A few decades later, it was Cimon who dominated the political scene of Athens. And he did so in munificent fashion. Athenaeus reports a description of Cimon excerpted from the fourth-century BCE historian Theopompus: Cimon of Athens did not station guards to protect the crops in his fields or his orchards, allowing any citizens who wanted to enter them and pick the produce and take anything in his fields that they needed. In addition, he opened his house to everyone: a simple dinner sufficient for large numbers of people was always available, and Athens’ poor came to his house, went inside, and ate. He also took care of the individuals who asked for something on an occasional basis, and the story goes that he was always accompanied by two or three young men who carried small change, and that he ordered them to hand it out, whenever someone approached him with a request. They also say that he contributed to funeral expenses, and often did the following: whenever he saw a citizen who was badly dressed, he ordered one of the young men accompanying him to trade clothes with the man. As a consequence of all this, he had a fine reputation and was their leading citizen. (Deipn. 12.533a – c; trans. Olson)²⁸⁶

This extended portrait of Cimon exhibits an impressive number of features of patronal conventions: lavish gifts, free dinners, care for the needy, even a retinue of neaniskoi to escort him through town.²⁸⁷ The social and political consequences of Cimon’s liberality do not escape Theopompus’s notice: good repute (ηὐδοκόμει) and leadership (πρῶτος ἦν τῶν πολιτῶν). The latter detail is not simply honorific, as Cimon led Athens’s military campaigns as strategos for over two decades.²⁸⁸  Chambers, “The Formation of the Tyranny of Pisistratus,” 1:69 – 72; Millett, “Patronage and Its Avoidance in Classical Athens,” 23; Gygax, Benefaction and Rewards, 99. In the Hellenistic and Roman periods, this kind of policy was ordinarily pursued by kings and emperors who immortalized themselves through “gifts of almost supernatural proportions” and “claimed precedence in the state by virtue of their outstripping all others in terms of benefits conferred” (Hands, Charities and Social Aid in Greece and Rome, 55 – 56).  See the fundamentally corresponding descriptions by Aristotle, Ath. pol. 27.3, and Plutarch, Cim. 10.1– 2. See discussion in Schmitt Pantel, La cité au banquet, 180 – 86.  Claude Mossé, for instance, explicitly interprets this account in terms of patronage (Politique et société en Grèce ancienne [Aubier, France: Flammarion, 1995], 110 – 11).  Simon Hornblower, The Greek World 479 – 323 BC, 3rd ed., Routledge History of the Ancient World (London: Routledge, 2002), 19 – 23; Gygax, Benefaction and Rewards, 154; Cecchet, “GiftGiving to the Poor,” 167– 68. On Cimon’s political use of philanthropy, see W. Robert Connor, The New Politicians of Fifth-Century Athens (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1971), 19 – 22; Fornara and Samons, Athens from Cleisthenes to Pericles, 68 – 70. Millett tentatively suggests that Cimon’s use of wealth was not unique: “It may be presumed that Cimon was unique only in the scale of his patronage and the level of success he achieved. This would explain how mem-

2.4 Patronage as a Problem

87

Livy recounts a similar but more explicitly political effort by Spurius Maelius: Then Spurius Maelius, of the equestrian order, a man for those times very rich, undertook to do a useful thing in a way that set a very bad example and had a motive still worse. For having bought up corn in Etruria with his own money, through the agency of friends and clients there—which very circumstance had hindered, I can well believe, the public efforts to bring down prices—he set about distributing it gratis. The plebeians were captivated by this munificence; wherever he went, conspicuous and important beyond the measure of a private citizen, they followed his train; and the devotion and hope he inspired in them gave him no uncertain assurance of the consulship. (Hist. 4.13.1– 4; trans. Foster)²⁸⁹

Spurius Maulius schemed—at least, so the Roman Senate thought—to seize the power by manipulating the provision of food and securing popular support

ories of his methods came to be preserved in anecdotal form. In the absence of appropriate evidence, he has to stand proxy for others, lesser aristocrats, deploying their wealth along similar lines” (“Patronage and Its Avoidance in Classical Athens,” 24– 25). In fact, Deniaux and Schmitt Pantel provide some additional, albeit later, examples (“La relation patron-client,” 151). See also Gygax, Benefaction and Rewards, 143 – 44. With respect to a later period, Veyne states that euergetistic building projects normally had political aims: “The Hellenistic kings were to present to the free cities, as well as to those that were their subjects, buildings both sacred and secular, in order to win over those free cities to support of their policies, and, even more, so as to shine on the international stage” (Bread and Circuses, 86). Moreover, it was Greek aristocratic policy to attach liturgies to public office in order to make public office inaccessible to commoners (Aristotle, Pol. 6.4: “The most supreme offices […] must have expensive duties [λειτουργίας] attached to them, in order that the common people may be willing to be excluded from them”; trans. Rackham). See Veyne, Bread and Circuses, 92– 94. Gifts of various kinds might also operate on the international level as symbols of dependency. Accepting a foreigner’s gift often signified a pledge of obedience. See examples in Veyne, Bread and Circuses, 103.  Livy briefly interjects a remark about public efforts to regulate food price (“Which very circumstance had hindered, I can well believe, the public efforts to bring down prices”). This might be his subtle way of airing suspicion that Spurius Maelius was involved in food-price speculation in order to exploit food shortage to political ends. For food-price speculation and anti-speculation measures in the Greco-Roman world, see Garnsey, Famine and Food Supply, 74– 79, 110 – 13, 205 – 6, 214– 15, 238 – 39; Joaquín Muñiz Coello, “Attitudes and Responses to Disasters: The Graeco-Roman Records,” in Ancient Disasters and Crisis Management in Classical Antiquity, ed. Toni Ñaco del Hoyo, Roger Riera, and Daniel Gómez-Castro, Akanthina 10 (Gdánsk: Foundation for the Development of Gdánsk University, 2015), 31– 32. Morris Silver argues that private speculation has a positive economic function and “serves to even out the consumption of grain over time” by preventing overconsumption after the harvest and selling grain when it is scarce (“Modern Ancients,” in Commerce and Monetary Systems in the Ancient World: Means of Transmission and Cultural Interaction, ed. Robert Rollinger, Christoph Ulf, and Kordula Schnegg, Oriens et Occidens 6 [Stuttgart: Franz Steiner, 2004], 77).

88

2 Patronage and Exploitation in the World of Paul

through largitiones frumenti. ²⁹⁰ Just as in the case of Cimon, Spurius Maelius gained public honors that rendered him more than a mere private citizen (conspectus elatusque supra modum hominis privati), thus preparing his political career.²⁹¹ Patronage, however, could also be exploited by well-to-do, ambitious cli-

 The distribution of food to the public was an effective political strategy even in less troubled times. See Engfer, Die private Munifizenz, 201.  Senatorial suspicion against Spurius Maelius, however, led to accusations of aspiring to tyranny, seizure of his corn, and his eventual execution (Livy, Hist. 4.14.6). See Rouland, Pouvoir politique et dépendance personnelle, 203; Deniaux and Schmitt Pantel, “La relation patronclient,”157– 58; Muñiz Coello, “Attitudes and Responses to Disasters,” 31. For Roman manipulation of votes through patronage networks, see de Ste Croix, “Suffragium,” 33 – 48; Badian, Foreign Clientelae, 160 – 65; Alexander Yakobson, Elections and Electioneering in Rome: A Study in the Political System of the Late Republic, Historia 128 (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner, 1999), 65 – 123. Alföldy also mentions the use of clientship as an instrument of mutual control between noble families (Römische Sozialgeschichte, 37– 38). Brunt has challenged the preceding consensus that patronage was central to Roman politics and, to some degree, elections (“Clientela”; followed by Yakobson, Elections and Electioneering, 67– 78; Fergus Millar, The Crowd in Rome in the Late Republic, Jerome Lectures 22 [Ann Arbor: The University of Michigan Press, 1998], 216). In doing so, however, Brunt refers specifically to individuals in a relationship of patrocinium with a candidate. These, even counting clients of friends and connections, could hardly be in such a number as to determine an election. “In modern accounts of Roman society the place of patronage has assumed enormous proportions. It is often supposed that the great families had hordes of clients who would vote at their behest. Yet assemblies in and after the time of the Gracchi, and occasionally before then, passed laws, and more rarely elected magistrates, contrary to the wishes of almost all nobility. It follows that their clients were in a minority, or were not dependable. […] The importance of patronage is most plausibly used to explain the success of the nobility in elections to the higher magistracies. But it need not be the sole, nor even the chief, explanation” (P. A. Brunt, “The Fall of the Roman Republic,” in P. A. Brunt, The Fall of the Roman Republic and Related Essays [Oxford: Clarendon, 1988], 27– 28). For the purposes of this analysis, it is sufficient to see that benefits offered by a candidate in various forms (legislation, games, money, or food distributions) created some degree of dependency among the beneficiaries and could influence elections. The case of Spurius Maelius, as understood by Livy, is a clear example of that. To be sure, the Roman plebs did not all become his clients, yet his generosity boosted his hopes of being elected consul. For a discussion of the use of the sociological notion of patronage in analysis of Roman elections, see Yakobson, Elections and Electioneering, 78 – 84. Irma Bitto points out another way patrons used clients as political currency. She interprets Julius Caesar’s establishment of his own patronage over Italian colonies and other key settlements as evidence of a specific political strategy. What had previously been an electoral weapon, assumed now the propagandist character of expressing Italian consensus in favor of Caesar (“La concessione del patronato nella politica di Cesare,” Epigraphica 32 [1970]: 172– 80). For examples of the use of personal patronage in relations between Rome and foreign civic bodies, see David Braund, “Function and Dysfunction: Personal Patronage in Roman Imperialism,” in Wallace-Hadrill, Patronage in Ancient Society, 137– 43.

2.4 Patronage as a Problem

89

ents, the so-called homines novi, for their own political aims.²⁹² Gaius Marius, for instance, appears to have initially progressed through the cursus honorum as a client of the Metelli: “[Marius] set out upon a political career, and was made tribune of the people with the assistance of Caecilius Metellus, of whose house he had always been a hereditary adherent” (Plutarch, Mar. 4.1; trans. Perrin). Although the expression τὸν οἶκον ἐθεράπευεν is at best an allusion to clientship, the reference to a hereditary relation (πατρόθεν) seems to be a clear indication of patronage.²⁹³ Marius’s status as a client comes once more into play during his praetorship (116 BCE), when he stood trial for allegedly bribing voters. During the trial, Caius Herennius was called as a witness but declined to give testimony, invoking the ancient mores that exempted patrons from testifying against their clients. Here the language is indisputable: Caius Herennius was also brought in as a witness against Marius, and pleaded that it was contrary to established usage for patrons [τοὺς πάτρωνας] (the Roman term for our representatives at law [τοὺς προστάτας]) to bear witness against clients [πελατῶν], and that law relieved them of this necessity; and not only the parents of Marius but Marius himself had originally been clients [πελάτας] of the house of the Herennii. (Plutarch, Mar. 5.3 – 4; trans. Perrin)²⁹⁴

With regard to public benefaction and its political function in Rome, the role of aedileship and praetorship in the cursus honorum was fundamental. Aediles were in charge of organizing the games and added to the limited funds that

 Ronald Syme, The Roman Revolution (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1952), 369 – 86; Clarke, Secular and Christian Leadership, 35; Paul M. M. Leunissen, “Conventions of Patronage in Senatorial Careers under the Principate,” Chiron 23 (1993): 101– 20; Werner Eck, “Imperial Administration and Epigraphy: In Defence of Prosopography,” in Representations of Empire: Rome and the Mediterranean World, ed. Alan K. Bowman et al., Proceedings of the British Academy 114 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002), 137, 141– 43.  Élizabeth Deniaux, “Un problème de clientèle: Marius et les Herenii,” Philologus 117 (1973): 190; Rouland, Pouvoir politique et dépendance personnelle, 299 – 300. Plutarch employs more patent language when he discusses the rise of Mucius: “[Tiberius Gracchus] procured the election of a tribune in the place of Octavius. The new tribune was not a man of rank or note, but a certain Mucius, a client of Tiberius” (πελάτην αὐτοῦ) (Ti. Gracch. 13.2; trans. Perrin). Tiberius tried to exploit his connection with Mucius when he himself was up for re-election. See Rouland, Pouvoir politique et dépendance personnelle, 338. Cicero also recommended some of his clients through letters and endorsed their candidacy. See Deniaux, Clientèles et pouvoir, 289; de Ste Croix, “Suffragium,” 34; Verboven, The Economy of Friends, 312– 15.  The use of the technical language of patronage, complete with trans-cultural translation, is confirmed by the legal reference to the patronal exemption from testifying against clients. See Deniaux, “Un problème de clientèle,” 179 – 96; Rouland, Pouvoir politique et dépendance personnelle, 288; Verboven, The Economy of Friends, 54– 55.

90

2 Patronage and Exploitation in the World of Paul

the Senate granted for this purpose out of their own pockets.²⁹⁵ They did so in order to arrange the most magnificent games they could and thus gain popularity and electoral votes for their later political careers. Without assuming these offices and incurring the related expenses, Roman aristocrats stood no chance of being elected to higher offices (aedileship was also connected with distributions of food, which contributed to their public image).²⁹⁶ In addition to pledging their votes, clients could create political pressure by resorting to violence. Cicero, for example, felt threatened by his adversary Catiline and “surrounded himself secretly with a bodyguard of friends and clients” (Sallust, Bell. Cat. 26.4; trans. J. C. Rolfe), praesidia that in fact saved his life (Cicero, Cat. 1.10).²⁹⁷ However, clients could also be used as offensive weapons. Cato, for instance, had his clients beat up his accuser Asinius Pollio, and Calvus, who was defending Cato in court, had to resort to threats in order for Cato’s clients to stop the beating (Seneca the Elder, Contr. 7.4.7). Clients could also be deployed in the forum to stop or disrupt votes through threats and violence (e. g., Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Ant. Rom. 9.41.5).²⁹⁸ The manipulation of patron-client relations to political ends was a widely recognized fact, but Livy’s tone in his account of Spurius Maelius’s tactics demonstrates that some, at least publicly, disapproved of such maneuvers. In fact, ancient political bodies occasionally adopted a number of policies that may be regarded as attempts to contain and undermine patronal influence.²⁹⁹ After detailing the way Cimon gained popular support through public largesse, the Constitution of Athens describes the strategy that Pericles adopted to counter Cimon’s munificence: As Pericles’ means were insufficient for this lavishness, he took the advice of Damonides of Oea […], since he was getting the worst of it with his private resources, to give the multitude

 For a detailed description of the role of games in benefaction, see Engfer, Die private Munifizenz, 173 – 200.  Lily Ross Taylor, Party Politics in the Age of Caesar, Sather Classical Lectures 22 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1949), 30 – 31; Gelzer, The Roman Nobility, 111; Veyne, Bread and Circuses, 212– 14, 239 – 40; Deniaux and Schmitt Pantel, “La relation patron-client,” 157; Yakobson, Elections and Electioneering, 26 – 43.  For other examples of a bodyguard of clients, see Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Ant. Rom. 5.7.5; 9.22.2– 3; 9.41.5.  For more on violent use of clients, see Rouland, Pouvoir politique et dépendance personnelle, 142– 46, 488 – 90; Taylor, Party Politics, 68 – 69; Eisenstadt and Roniger, Patrons, Clients and Friends, 57.  Braund musters evidence that the obligations of personal patronage were sometimes felt to be at odds with the public interest (“Function and Dysfunction,” 143 – 51).

2.4 Patronage as a Problem

91

what was their own, and he instituted payment for jury-courts. (Aristotle, Ath. pol. 27.4; trans. Rackham)

The institution of pay for public office here mentioned by Aristotle was a fundamental trait of Pericles’s policy.³⁰⁰ What stands out in this brief comment, however, is Pericles’s intention to neutralize Cimon’s patronage. That this is Aristotle’s point is made clear by his introductory remark about Cimon: “Pericles first made service in the jury-courts a paid office, as a popular counter-measure [ἀντιδημαγωγῶν] against Cimon’s wealth” (Ath. pol. 27.2; trans. Rackham).³⁰¹ By inserting the description of Cimon’s generosity between this double mention of Pericles’s policy innovation, Aristotle intimates that public pay was a measure specifically aimed at mitigating or, better, breaking the economic dependency of the poor on wealthy patrons like Cimon by substituting it with forms of state support.³⁰² The jury-court pay mentioned by Aristotle was only one among other forms of public pay for holding office, attending the assembly, and serving in the fleet. It is difficult to quantify the coverage of these measures and the degree to which they were able to support the poorest citizens of Athens, but this policy is likely part of the reason why patronage appears to have been uncommon or scarcely influential in the Athenian democracy.³⁰³

 M. I. Finley, “The Athenian Empire: A Balance Sheet,” in M. I. Finley, Economy and Society in Ancient Greece, ed. Brent D. Shaw and Richard P. Saller (New York: Viking, 1982), 58. For other forms of public pay or support instituted in Athens in the V – IV centuries BCE, see Garnsey, Famine and Food Supply, 80. See also below section 3.3.1.  Veyne, Bread and Circuses, 75.  Finley connects the account of the Constitution of Athens with the long-lasting plight of impoverished peasants: “A large sector of citizenry always lived on the margin of a subsistence level, in constant danger of falling below. [This] condition had not been changed by the long series of measures that began with Solon and culminated in the fifth-century democracy. The peasant (in Athens and other poleis, though not all) was no longer threatened with debt bondage, but that was a negative benefit. Where could he turn for succour in times of bad harvests or other disasters? Either to a more prosperous local landowner or to the state. In other words—and that is what Aristotle was in effect saying—he could become the client of a Cimon or the client of the state” (Politics in the Ancient World, 40). See also Deniaux and Schmitt Pantel, “La relation patron-client,” 148 – 49.  Millett, “Patronage and Its Avoidance in Classical Athens,” 37– 43; Deniaux and Schmitt Pantel, “La relation patron-client,” 152– 53; David Braund, “Herodotos on the Problematics of Reciprocity,” in Gill, Postlethwaite, and Seaford, Reciprocity in Ancient Greece, 163; Rosivach, “Some Athenian Presuppositions,” 195. The incompatibility of patronage with democracy is further illustrated by ambiguous aristocratic attitudes toward the liturgies (mandatory contributions that the rich were required to make to the polis for various purposes). When oligarchic power was limited by democratic institutions, liturgies were felt as an oppressive tribute, and

92

2 Patronage and Exploitation in the World of Paul

The Periclean policy of state-backed economic support is not an isolated instance in the ancient world. A similar example of government strategy to impair

the notables tried to avoid them. On the other hand, when oligarchs were in power, liturgies were regarded as an honor appropriate to their political role. See Veyne, Bread and Circuses, 80 – 83, and below n. 322. For similar ambiguity toward liturgies in the Hellenistic and Roman periods, see Friedemann Quass, Die Honoratiorenschicht in den Städten des griechischen Ostens: Untersuchungen zur politischen und sozialen Entwicklung in hellenistischer un römischer Zeit (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner, 1993), 270 – 346. In order to explain the unpopularity of liturgies, Paul Millett argues that in democratic Athens, the system of liturgies kept the conflict between elite and the demos under control through reciprocity between the two social groups but “under circumstances in which the dêmos had the upper hand. The relationship was one of what might be termed ‘lop-sided’ reciprocity, with the wealthy humbly petitioning for a return and the dêmos, in the person of the jurors, responding as they saw fit” (“The Rhetoric of Reciprocity in Classical Athens,” in Gill, Postlethwaite, and Seaford, Reciprocity in Ancient Greece, 243 – 45; see also John K. Davies, Wealth and the Power of Wealth in Classical Athens, Monographs in Classical Studies [Salem: Ayer, 1981], 88 – 132; von Reden, Exchange in Ancient Greece, 84). Gauthier qualifies the view that patronage and democracy were incompatible by pointing out the constant involvement of the elite in public life: “L’évergétisme civique me paraît, lui, devoir s’épanouir au sein des cités démocratiques, où les notables, à moins de renoncer délibérément, par conviction ou par temperament, à toute activité publique, avaient milles occasions d’être sollicités et de prouver leur ‘excellence’: dans l’exercice des fonctions importantes (Périclès), dans l’accomplissement des liturgies (Cimon), lors des scouscriptions publiques (Alcibiade), etc.” (Les cités grecques et leurs bienfaiteurs, 30). Gygax provides examples of the use of benefaction to garner political power in democratic Athens. This, however, was generally restricted to the liturgies, i. e., benefaction demanded and regulated by the demos. According to Gygax, the liturgies put the demos “in a position of apparent superiority to the wealthy, even though liturgies simultaneously revealed the economic inferiority of the demos” (Benefaction and Rewards, 149 – 51, 154– 55). Differences in benefaction between the archaic and the classical period existed but should not be exaggerated. The balance of power in benefaction, however, shifted to some degree in favor of the demos. Gygax also notes that this state of affairs was possible because of the substantial financial revenues of the Athenian empire at its height (fifth century BCE) and that when Athens’s power waned (fourth-century BCE), the Athenian state “turned to its wealthiest citizens and metics for economic assistance” (Benefaction and Rewards, 148, 199). According to Gygax, the introduction of honorific statuary and epigraphy in later centuries may have been part of a strategy to contain the political influence of the wealthy Athenian elite: “The awarding of honors as formal counter-gifts thus may reflect not only a financial strategy but also a concern to escape subordination via riskier forms of reciprocation” such as political support (Benefaction and Rewards, 223). For contrast between oligarchic views and democracy, see de Ste Croix, The Class Struggle, 76; von Reden, Exchange in Ancient Greece, 84– 89. Deniaux and Schmitt Pantel suggest that Pericles’s anti-patronal attitude was an exception rather than the common stance of supporters of democracy (“La relation patron-client,” 151), but the continuation of his policies as well as the later introduction of similar ones bespeak the opposite. Rollason interprets the negative references to gifts of clothing in classical Greek literature as a sign of a changing attitudes toward gift giving in democratic Athens (Gifts of Clothing, 26 – 29).

2.4 Patronage as a Problem

93

patronal networks is provided by the debt-easement, debt-annulment, and slavemanumission policies of which we have ample evidence in the ancient Near East and in the Hebrew Bible (e. g., Lev 25:8 – 55; Deut 15:1– 18).³⁰⁴ These can be interpreted as means of undermining or weakening elite control over the peasantry; at the very least, this was one of their effects. The misharum edicts, Old Babylonian royal acts canceling debts, freeing slaves, and restoring lands to their original owners, are usually thought to have addressed economic plights not unlike the Solonic debt crisis.³⁰⁵ The fact that they were customarily issued at the beginning of a new king’s reign suggests, however, that economic viability might not be their only or primary purpose. Rather, they might have intended to ease the transfer of power. By canceling existing forms of economic dependency, newly crowned kings would not only improve the economic prospects of their kingdoms, but also undercut the financial and political base of competing elites and introduce themselves as champions of the masses.³⁰⁶ Similarly at Rome, Gaius Gracchus’s introduction of the corn dole in 123 BCE granted him considerable popularity. Gaius Gracchus began to lay plots against the Senate, and made the unprecedented suggestion that a monthly distribution of corn should be made to each citizen at the public ex-

 For debt slavery in the ancient Near East, see Raymond Westbrook, “Slave and Master in the Ancient Near Eastern Law,” Chicago-Kent Law Review 70 (1995): 1631– 76.  For instance, Dietz Otto Edzard comments on the Edict of Ammi-saduqa, stating: “The king’s intervention in the country’s economy, annulling private debts and rescinding certain taxes (both are temporary and not permanent measures), has a twofold aim: to prevent the collapse of the economy under too great a weight of private indebtedness (the normal interest rate for barley was 33⅓%, for silver 20 %); and to prevent excessive accumulation of private wealth in too few hands” (“The Old Babylonian Period,” in The Near East: The Early Civilizations, ed. Jean Bottéro, Elena Cassin, and Jean Vercoutter, Delacorte World History 11 [New York: Delacorte, 1967], 225). For a description of misharum edicts, see Jeffries M. Hamilton, Social Justice and Deuteronomy: The Case of Deuteronomy 15, SBLDS 136 (Atlanta: Scholars, 1992), 48 – 53; Gregory C. Chirichigno, Debt-Slavery in Israel and the Ancient Near East, JSOTSup 141 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1993), 85 – 92; Moshe Weinfeld, Social Justice in Ancient Israel and in the Ancient Near East, Publications of the Perry Foundation for Biblical Research in the Hebrew University of Jerusalem (Jerusalem: The Magnes Press, 1995), 75 – 96; Westbrook, “Slave and Master,” 1657– 60. There were also instances in which a court or a king could release individual slaves at their own discretion. See Westbrook, “Slave and Master,” 1656 – 57.  Marvin L. Chaney, “Debt Easement in Israelite History and Tradition,” in The Bible and the Politics of Exegesis: Essays in Honor of Norman K. Gottwald on His Sixty-Fifth Birthday, ed. David Jobling, Peggy L. Day, and Gerald T. Sheppard (Cleveland: Pilgrim, 1991), 131; Roland Boer, The Sacred Economy of Ancient Israel, Library of Ancient Israel (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2015), 160 – 61. Chaney also discusses similar Greek, Roman, and Israelite policies (“Debt Easement,” 132– 39).

94

2 Patronage and Exploitation in the World of Paul

pense. Thus he quickly got the leadership of the people by one political measure. […] Directly after that he was chosen tribune for the following year. (Appian, Bell. civ. 1.21; trans. White)

Appian notes in passing that the lex frumentaria was a plot against the Senate but fails to explain how the corn dole affected senators. In light of the preceding examples, it seems likely that this reduction of economic dependency of the Roman plebs would have weakened patronal ties and thus eroded the political base of the Senate.³⁰⁷ In fact, Appian seems to suggest that Gaius Gracchus’s re-election against the opposition of the Senate was proof of his strategy’s success.³⁰⁸ The incompatibility between patronage and democracy, or more generally full participation in the political life, arises from the dependency in which clients place themselves. Indeed, Aristotle represents the prevalent sentiment when he defines the polis as the partnership of the free (ἡ δὲ πόλις κοινωνία τῶν ἐλευθέρων ἐστίν; Pol. 3.4.7). And the contrast between freedom and dependency is fundamentally defined in terms of slavery: “One who is a human being belonging by nature not to himself but to another is by nature a slave” (Pol. 1.2.7; trans.

 Rouland, Pouvoir politique et dépendance personnelle, 341– 43. Veyne observes that “the corn dole was, by definition, the anthitesis of euergetism” but suggests that it was introduced mainly because of the “amateurish” character of patronage, which could not be trusted to manage such a large and complex enterprise as the provision of grain for Rome (Bread and Circuses, 236 – 42). Distributions of bread, however, could also be expressions of benefaction when they were funded not by the state but by subscriptions among wealthy citizens, thereby strengthening, instead of weakening, economic dependency among the poor strata of the city (see the case of Spurius Maelius discussed above, pp. 87– 88). See Veyne, Bread and Circuses, 99 – 100.  Fannius, a consul during Gaius Gracchus’s tribunate, opposed the corn dole by suggesting that Gracchus had tyrannical aspirations and comparing him to such famous tyrants as Dionysius, Phalaris, and notably Pisistratus. See Oratorum Romanorum fragmenta liberae rei publicae, ed. Enrica Malcovati, 4th ed., 2 vols. (Turin: Paravia, 1976 – 1979), 144– 45. James Tan argues that Gaius Gracchus’s emphasis on state management of public resources threatened the amount of power that Roman aristocrats traditionally enjoyed, in the exercise of their functions, over those resources. This limitation of aristocratic libertas was construed as tyranny (Power and Public Finance at Rome, 264 – 49 BCE, Oxford Studies in Early Empires [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2017], 160 – 62). More generally, Tan maintains that the conflict between the Gracchi and the Roman aristocracy of the time did not arise from the loss of revenues that their policies entailed—state revenues had always been distributed through patronal connections—but from “the social implications of redistributing Roman resources through the state instead of private networks” (Power and Public Finance at Rome, 168). In fact, Roman power did not reside as much in the seizure of public wealth as in the ability to use state resources for the creation of political bases.

2.4 Patronage as a Problem

95

Rackham).³⁰⁹ We have already seen that the circumstances of a client were often associated with slavery, but a client’s condition of dependency is not “natural” as that of a slave. In other words, a client has “voluntarily” given his eleutheria away, thus choosing to be like a slave and relinquishing his role in the polity.³¹⁰ The ploys of cunning parasites, however, are also seen as a risk to the political autonomy of patrons. In his denunciation of Verres, Cicero describes Quintus Apronius, a close and influential connection of Verres, as a man “who proclaims himself by his life, nay, by his very shape and countenance [corpore atque ore], a vast devouring human morass” (immensa aliqua vorago est et gurges) (Verr. 3.23; trans. Greenwood). By alluding to Apronius’s voracity and ensuing corpulence, Cicero implies that his relationship with Verres was a parasitic one. Cicero’s target, however, was not Apronius but Verres, whose weakness he proceeds to illustrate. So far as Metellus [the governor of Sicily after Verres] himself is concerned, Apronius could not seduce him, as he seduced Verres, by means of money and dinner parties and women and vile filthy conversation—methods whereby he had not crept quietly and imperceptibly into Verres’ affection, but had rapidly secured complete mastery of the man and his praetorship. (Verr. 3.158; trans. Greenwood)

Providing dinners, women, and conversation are typical duties of the most servile parasites, but Apronius was so talented that he managed to reverse the roles so as to become Verres’s master and, thus, the real governor (totum hominem totamque eius praeturam possederat). Paradoxically, this most foolish pa-

 The idea that slavery was a natural state was object of debate. Aristotle himself acknowledges that some thinkers “maintain that for one man to be another man’s master is contrary to nature, because it is only convention that makes the one slave and the other a freeman and there is no difference between them by nature, and that therefore it is unjust, for it is based on force” (Pol. 1.2.3; trans. Rackham). For the Greek controversy on slavery and Aristotle’s views, see P. A. Brunt, Studies in Greek History and Thought (Oxford: Clarendon, 1993), 343 – 88. For Stoic views on slavery, see John T. Fitzgerald, “The Stoics and the Early Christians on the Treatment of Slaves,” in Stoicism in Early Christianity, ed. Tuomas Rasimus, Troels Engberg-Pedersen, and Ismo Dunderberg (Grand Rapids: BakerAcademic, 2010), 141– 75.  Millett observes: “The basis of [philosophical] disapproval [of flattery] is plain: the kolax is forced to compromise his eleutheria by adapting his behaviour to gratify his potential benefactor, on whose favours he is dependent” (“Patronage and Its Avoidance in Classical Athens,” 33). Plautus illustrates this in the flippant fashion of comedy. The parasite Artotrogus willingly accepts loss of independence in order to fill his belly and responds to Pyrgopolinices’s empty boasts: “If anyone sees a man perjuring himself more than this or more boastful than he is, he can have me for himself. I’ll sell myself to him; but there’s one thing: his olive spread tastes awfully good” (Mil. glor. 21– 24; trans. De Melo).

96

2 Patronage and Exploitation in the World of Paul

tron allowed himself to be stripped of his eleutheria and, with it, handed his political power over to his client.³¹¹ In conclusion, despite ideology presenting patronage as a relationship of mutual help, social agents in the ancient world were able to manipulate patron-client ties to advance their political agendas and to obtain political leadership. These maneuvers were so common that policies were occasionally implemented in order to counter the influence of wealth on the political life of the state or to favor other power groups. In particular, the erosion of personal freedom connected with patronal obligations and dependency was interpreted as loss of political autonomy and reduced participation in the life of the polis.

2.5 Ideology and Reality of Patronage The preceding overview of the ways in which patron-client relations were used and abused for personal gain by either patrons or clients paints a grim picture of ancient patronage in the Greco-Roman world. Even taking into account the caustic style of satirical exaggeration or the vituperative rhetoric of forensic speeches, the distance between the body of evidence examined above and the tone of honorific epigraphy is impressive. The ideology of patronage proclaimed by those inscriptions as well as by authors such as Seneca and Cicero in their treatises on beneficia seems often invalidated by facts. Yet, this ideology endured as a source of inspiration for the Greco-Roman ethos, especially among the elite. The instructions of Seneca are not just the fantasy of a deluded utopian, but rather the expression of the morality that was current in his society and is also witnessed by other writers. Some of Publilius Syrus’s Sententiae, for instance, are perfectly aligned with benefaction ideology: “He receives more benefits who knows how to return them” (Beneficia plura recipit qui scit reddere; 64; trans. J. Wight Duff and Arnold M. Duff), and “He who gave to a worthy person received his benefit in giving” (Beneficium dando accepit qui digno dedit; 68; trans. J. Wight Duff and Arnold M. Duff).³¹²

 Damon comments: “In presenting Apronius as a parasite, Cicero suggests that he was at Verres’ service in affairs no matter how disreputable; in presenting him as a meretrix, he suggests that Verres had relinquished the responsibilities of the dominant member of the relationship and allowed himself to be governed by his subordinate” (The Mask of the Parasite, 217– 18).  For other examples, see Hands, Charities and Social Aid in Greece and Rome, 29 – 30. Danker emphasizes that honorific inscriptions and their portrayal of benefaction exercised tremendous influence over all kinds of written documents and thus popularized the euergetistic ethos (Benefactor, 488). For additional evidence of this widespread morality, see Griffin, “De

2.5 Ideology and Reality of Patronage

97

The importance of benefaction ideology in the Greco-Roman worldview is confirmed by the relatively frequent use of benefaction language in theological discussions. For instance, Plato attributes the fact that no one leaves the netherworld to the generosity of the god Hades, “the great benefactor [μέγας εὐεργέτης] of those in his realm, who also bestows such great goods on those who are on this side” (Crat. 20; trans. Fowler).³¹³ The idea of the beneficent gods becomes important for Stoics, whose theology emphasizes divine providence.³¹⁴ According to Stoic thought, providence (πρόνοια), together with eternity and indestructibility, is one of the fundamental attributes of god that humans can deduce from their “natural preconceptions” of god, conceptions derived from their common experience.³¹⁵ Occasionally, the provident nature of god is couched in the language of benefaction. Chrysippus, for instance, expresses the preconception of the gods as εὐεργετικοὺς καὶ φιλανθρώπους (Chrysippus quoted in Plutarch, Stoic. rep. 38). Musonius Rufus uses the same language in Diss. 17: “Generous, beneficent, and humane: such is the god of which we conceive” (μεγαλόφρων δὲ καὶ εὐεργετικὸς καὶ φιλάνθρωπος· τοιοῦτον γὰρ ἐπινοοῦμεν τὸν θεόν; my trans.).³¹⁶ Musonius continues by explaining human generosity as imitation of god: “So also one must consider the human being as the copy of [god]” (τὸ ἐκέι-

beneficiis and Roman Society,” 102– 6. Griffin mainly draws from Pliny for complementary evidence of elite morality. She points to Veyne’s idea that Pliny’s letters were meant to be “didactic, exemplary” (Bread and Circuses, 9), but their publication might have aimed to provide a favorable self-portrait of Pliny as the ideal senator—i. e., the letters may represent propaganda rather than practiced morality (Verboven, The Economy of Friends, 72– 73; Dixon, “The Meaning of Gift and Debt,” 453).  Plato ascribes the title of benefactor to Hades because of the god’s other name, Pluto (Πλούτων), which Plato sees as deriving from wealth (πλούτος) and meaning “giver of wealth”: “As for Pluto, he was so named as the giver of wealth, because wealth comes up from below out of the earth” (τὸ δὲ Πλούτωνος, τοῦτο μὲν κατὰ τὴν τοῦ πλούτου δόσιν, ὅτι ἐκ τῆς γῆς κάτωθεν ἀνίεται ὁ πλοῦτος, ἐπωνομάσθη; Crat. 19). See other references in Fitzgerald, “Benefactor: GrecoRoman Antiquity,” 838. Philo commonly describes the Jewish God as εὐεργέτης: Leg. 1.96; Post. 154; Deus 110; Sobr. 55; Decal. 41; Virt. 41.  There is debate as to whether Aristotle conceived god as provident. See the contrasting opinions of Richard Bodéüs, Aristotle and the Theology of the Living Immortals, SUNY Series on Ancient Greek Philosophy (Albany: State University of New York, 2000); and Mor Segev, Aristotle on Religion (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2017).  Keimpe Algra, “Stoic Theology,” in The Cambridge Companion to the Stoics, Cambridge Companions to Philosophy, ed. Brad Inwood (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003), 157– 58.  Musonius Rufus, C. Musonii Rufi reliquiae, ed. O. Hense (Leipzig: Teubner, 1905), 90, lines 11– 13. See Fitzgerald, “Benefactor: Greco-Roman Antiquity,” 838.

98

2 Patronage and Exploitation in the World of Paul

νου μίμημα; my trans.).³¹⁷ The system of benefaction represents the ideal society in which people act generously and beneficently like god. The Stoic poet Aratus brings the ideas of god’s benefaction and human resemblance to the beneficent god together in a famous verse: “We are [Zeus’s] offspring. And he is kind to human beings” (τοῦ γὰρ καὶ γένος εἰμέν· ὁ δ᾽ ἤπιος ἀνθρώποισιν) (Phaen. 5; my trans.).³¹⁸ This description of the divine in terms of beneficent and charitable gods reflects the understanding of benefaction and patronage as ideal models for interpretating and regulating the world as well as human actions. Presence of this common ideology of benefaction can also be discerned in the denunciations of exploitative patronage themselves. In fact, in order to succeed, the finger-pointing of social critics worked on the underlying assumption of how social relations should be. We have already mentioned the references to amicitia in Juvenal and Martial and how amicitia was harnessed to decry mistreatment and humiliation of clients and, indeed, the abasement of the whole system of patronage.³¹⁹ Another typical device employed to contrast social reality with the ideals of generosity was the appeal to the past.³²⁰ Dionysius of Halicar-

 Musonius Rufus, C. Musonii Rufi reliquiae, 90, lines 13 – 14. Similarly, in Diss. 16, Musonius includes generosity in the divine law established by Zeus: “Indeed, Zeus, the common father of all, both humans and gods, commands and urges you. And his command and law are that the human being be […] beneficent” (εὐεργετικόν) (C. Musonii Rufi reliquiae, 86, line 19 – 87, line 3; my trans.). The Letter of Aristeas also puts forward the notion of human imitation of God’s benefaction: “[King Ptolemy] asked another guest, ‘How can one make his friends like himself?’ He said, ‘If they saw that you have great care [πολλήν σε πρόνοιαν ποιούμενον] for the multitude whom you rule. You will do this by observing how God benefits [ὁ θεὸς εὐερτεγεῖ] the human race. He provides them with health and food and all the rest at proper time’” (Let. Aris. 190; my trans.). This guest espouses the Stoic view that humans should learn from God how to benefit others and makes use of the specific notion of providence (πρόνοια). See also Let. Aris. 210, 281, where the language of mimesis is explicit.  Luke puts this verse on the mouth of Paul in the Areopagus speech (Acts 17:28). In that context, the quotation serves to denounce idols, which lack life, movement, and existence. Gods, on the other hand, are expected to have these properties since humans, who are god’s offspring, have them.  See above p. 82. For Seneca, amicitia is an integral part of benefaction ideology as it should be the outcome of benefit exchange (Ben. 2.18.5; 2.21.2), but Juvenal and Martial point out that this is not (always) the case (e. g., Juvenal, Sat. 5.173; Martial, Epigr. 9.14). See Griffin, Seneca on Society, 37– 39; LaFleur, “Amicus and Amicitia in Juvenal.”  This specific use of an idealized past to comment on patron-client relations is part of a wider line of thought that employs the myth of the Golden Age to denounce the lamentable conditions of the present. See Peta G. Fowler and Don P. Fowler, “Golden Age,” OCD4 621. As Elisabetta Drudi shows, the Golden Age is an ideological device to evaluate the present, either in hope of renewed prosperity and social equality or in condemnation of contemporary mores

2.5 Ideology and Reality of Patronage

99

nassus projects his vision of social harmony between politically and economically unequal social groups onto the glorious times of Rome’s origin (Ant. rom. 2.9).³²¹ The oligarch Isocrates urges the Athenians to return to the golden time of Solon when, so Isocrates claims, patronage held wealthy and poor together in cordial cooperation (Aerop. 32– 35).³²² Martial evokes the mythical past of the friendship between Orestes and Pylades (Epigr. 6.11).³²³ Juvenal combines recollection of the past with the theme of vanished friendship.³²⁴ In Sat. 15, he extols human sympathy, the creator of friendship (causam dicentis amici; 15.134), as what separates human beings from other creatures (separat hoc nos a grege mutorum; 15.142 – 143). The mutual feelings between people lead them to help and support one another (mutuus ut nos adfectus petere auxilium et praestare iuberet; 15.149 – 150). This lofty tribute to human harmony, however, only prepares Juvenal’s bitter recognition that it no longer exists: But these days [iam] there is no more harmony among snakes. The wild beast with similar spots spares its relatives. […] Savage bears agree among themselves. But for human beings it is not enough to have beaten out lethal steel on the wicked anvil. […] We are looking at peoples whose anger is not satisfied by killing someone but who think his torso, arms, and face are a kind of food. What, then, would Pythagoras say? Wouldn’t he run off, anywhere, if he now [nunc] saw these horrors? Pythagoras was the one who abstained from eating all

(“The Golden Age and Roman Imperial Autocracy: The Power of Myth-Making in Creating Political Consensus” [PhD diss., The University of Notre Dame, 2018]).  The myth of patronage origins in Dionysius of Halicarnassus corresponds to views of patron-client relations more generally ascribed to the mos maiorum (the custom of the ancestors)—e. g., in Cato, Masurius Sabinus, Caesar, and Aulus Gellius—and thus to the ideal Roman past (Aulus Gellius, Noct. att. 5.13). Verboven states about the ideological dimension of the mos maiorum: “It would be wrong to think of the mos maiorum as a receptacle of ancient custom. It was rather a living ideology construed around the customs people ascribed to the maiores. Thus the mos maiorum was that which the Roman people believed to have been the salutary custom of their forefathers. Of course there was a tendency towards petrification when written texts began recording the tenets of the mos, but this was only the case from the third century onwards. Although Fabius Pictor may have been the first to record some beliefs of the mos maiorum, it was very likely not until Cato’s Origines that substantial parts of it were written down. Thus the mos maiorum reflects the ideology of the Middle Republic and not historical reality in archaic Rome” (The Economy of Friends, 58 – 61, here 59; emphasis in the text).  Isocrates makes a similar move when he complains about the burden of liturgies (Aerop. 52– 53). See Millett, “The Rhetoric of Reciprocity,” 252– 53.  Martial also looks back on the good patrons of old—“the Pisos and the Senecas and the Memmiuses and the Crispuses”—in comparison to whom his present patrons are terribly disappointing (Epigr. 12.36; trans. Shackleton Bailey; see also 1.107). See also Elaine Fantham, Roman Literary Culture: From Plautus to Macrobius, 2nd ed. (Baltimore: John Hopkins University Press, 2013), 193 – 94.  Bellandi, “Giovenale e la degradazione della clientela,” 394– 95.

100

2 Patronage and Exploitation in the World of Paul

living things as if they were human and who didn’t treat his belly to every kind of bean. (Sat. 15.159 – 174; trans. Morton Braund)

The glorious past when harmony and friendship reigned, epitomized by Pythagoras’s vegetarianism, is contrasted with Juvenal’s present (iam, nunc), a present in which social relations are such a wicked kind of cannibalism that not even beasts would dare go that far (or that low).³²⁵ The true paradox, here, is that human beings have become less than human, less than animals in their social life.³²⁶ The tension between this widespread morality of patronage and the social relations described above suggests that the former does not describe a practiced ethos—the latter being a mere deviation from the norm or comic hyperbole—but rather endeavors to ameliorate actual relationships.³²⁷ On the other hand, Martial  More generally, Greek culture associated vegetarianism with the Golden Age. See Daniel A. Dombrowski, “Philosophical Vegetarianism and Animal Entitlements,” in The Oxford Handbook of Animals in Classical Thought and Life, ed. Gordon Lindsay Campbell (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014), 536– 37. The Hebrew Bible espouses the same notion of ideal meatless origins (Gen 1:29).  LaFleur, “Amicus and Amicitia in Juvenal,” 57. Cloud makes the argument in more general terms: “[Juvenal’s] point is that purely materialistic considerations have replaced the traditional humane values of the past and he chooses the client-patron relationship, and particularly the sportula, to exemplify the inversion of moral standards” (“The Client-Patron Relationship,” 211). See also, in reference to Martial, Garrido-Hory, “Le statut de la clientèle,” 388. Juvenal also combines degradation of amicitia and appeal to the ideal past (represented this time by Democritus) in Sat. 10. See above p. 82 n. 276. Analogously, Juvenal complains about the disappearance of Maecenas, Proculeius, and other patrons of poets of the past by repeatedly contrasting their time (tunc) with Juvenal’s present (Sat. 7.94– 97). Bellandi argues that the patronage of the arts of the Augustan time that Juvenal evokes is an idealized one and that Juvenal borrows this idealization ready-made from Horace, the protégé of Maecenas himself (“Giovenale e la degradazione della clientela,” 402– 14). See also Vincenzo Tandoi, “Giovenale e il mecenatismo a Roma fra I e II secolo,” Atene e Roma 23 (1968): 125 – 145.  In his study of Greco-Roman discourse on anger control, William V. Harris proposes a similar alternative in relation to texts and societal attitudes: “Are [texts] attempting to assert an accepted societal norm, or alternatively to improve on one? When the curtain rises on Greek history, there are of course norms of behaviour already in place. We shall often wish to distinguish between, on the one hand, what an anthropological study has called ‘the acquired conventions, norms or habits that dictate what emotion can be shown to whom and in which contexts,’ in this case, when anger can be shown and to whom and in which contexts; and on the other hand, non-conventional rules demanding, again with respect to anger, stricter standards of emotional control or behaviour” (Restraining Rage: The Ideology of Anger Control in Classical Antiquity [Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2001], 18). The same kind of questions may be asked with regard to ethical statements about patron-client relations. Are Cicero and Seneca upholding widespread patronal conventions, or attempting to improve less-than-honorable behavior? In particular, it is noteworthy that Harris goes on to provide Juvenal’s Satirae and Seneca’s De

2.6 Patronage in Israel

101

and Juvenal cannot be regarded as providing a factually accurate representation of first-century patronage, either.³²⁸ Between the extremes of moral utopia and satirical dystopia, however, there is a wide spectrum of possibilities, and reallife patron-client relations could arguably fall practically anywhere between these two extremes.³²⁹

2.6 Patronage in Israel Since one of the parties involved in Paul’s collection was the Jerusalem group of Christ-believers, it is worth examining the practice and perceptions of patronage in first-century CE Palestine and specifically Jerusalem. The aim, here, is not to answer the question as to whether the system of patronage was inherent in or foreign to Jewish society and culture, a very relevant question in its own right.³³⁰ Rather, it is more germane to ascertain, first, whether the intended recip-

ira as examples of “accepted conventions” and “stricter standards,” respectively (Restraining Rage, 18). An analogous conclusion can be reached about Juvenal’s and Seneca’s descriptions of patronage.  Cloud, for example, points out instances of distortion in Juvenal’s description of clientship and suggests caution in using poetry—but this applies to a certain degree to all texts, even nonliterary texts—as a source for historical reconstruction: “The point or points that the poet is trying to make may be dictated by the rules of the genre or by his own fancy or more probably in ancient Rome by a mixture of the two, but will rarely be an unmediated report of some personal experience: any appearance of naturalism is delusory” (“The Client-Patron Relationship,” 216). See also Woolf, “Writing Poverty in Rome,” 86; Crampon, “Le parasitus,” 507, 520 n. 1; Levi, “I ceti dipendenti,” 225; Ray Laurence, “Writing the Roman Metropolis,” in Roman Urbanism: Beyond the Consumer City, ed. Helen M. Parkins (London: Routledge, 1997), 14– 17.  As Nicols, maybe on the cynical side, puts it: “Though some men of wealth and talent may have been influenced by these ideals [of Cicero’s and Seneca’s treatises] to accept obligations, most were hard-headed and hard-hearted enough to calculate their own advantage” (Civic Patronage, 274).  For studies that have posed this question for pre-exilic Israel, see Niels Peter Lemche, “Kings and Clients: On Loyalty between the Ruler and the Ruled in Ancient ‘Israel,’” Semeia 66 (1994): 119 – 32; Niels Peter Lemche, “From Patronage Society to Patronage Society,” in The Origins of the Ancient Israelite States, ed. Volkmar Fritz and Philip R. Davies, JSOTSup 228 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1996), 106 – 20; Hannes Olivier, “God as Friendly Patron: Reflections on Isaiah 5:1– 7,” IDS 30 (1996): 293 – 303; T. R. Hobbs, “Reflections on Honor, Shame, and Covenant Relations,” JBL 116 (1997): 501– 3; Ronald A. Simkins, “Patronage and the Political Economy of Monarchic Israel,” Semeia 87 (1997): 123 – 44; Raymond Westbrook, “Patronage in the Ancient Near East,” JESHO 48 (2005): 210 – 33; Walter J. Houston, Contending for Justice: Ideologies and Theologies of Social Justice in the Old Testament, JSOTSup 428 (London: T&T Clark, 2006); Boer, The Sacred Economy of Ancient Israel, 105 – 8. For the Hellenistic period,

102

2 Patronage and Exploitation in the World of Paul

ients of Paul’s collection were familiar with the conventions of patronage and could interpret a gift from the Gentile groups as an act of patronage and, secondarily, what judgments they could form on such a gift or, more specifically, if they perceived the problems described above. Although the Hebrew Bible expresses an ethos according to which Israelites should depend only on God and avoid other relationships of dependency based on gift exchange,³³¹ alternative, competing views can also be detected. Biblical narratives exhibit a clear sense of the value of reciprocity and provide numerous examples in which gifts are exchanged in connection with such favors as protection (e. g., Gen 12:10 – 16: Abram and Sarai in Egypt; Gen 32:13 – 21: Jacob and Esau; Gen 42– 43: Joseph and his brothers; 1 Sam 25:14– 35: David and Abigail), political support (Judg 9:1– 6: Abimelech and the lords of Shechem; 1 Sam 8:10 – 18: Samuel’s view of kingship), labor (e. g., Gen 29:15 – 30: Jacob and Laban), and military intervention (e. g., 1 Sam 18:20 – 29: Saul and David).³³² Elsewhere, gifts are occasionally declined in order to avoid personal dependency (e. g., Gen 14:21– 24: Abraham and the king of Sodom; Gen 23:1– 17: the cave of Machpelah; 1 Kgs 13:1– 10: Jeroboam and the man of God).³³³ Analogously, wisdom literature teaches to bestow favors on those who will reciprocate (Sir

see Martin Goodman, The Ruling Class of Judaea: The Origins of the Jewish Revolt against Rome A.D. 66 – 70 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987), 51– 75; Seth Schwartz, “Josephus in Galilee: Rural Patronage and Social Breakdown,” in Josephus and the History of the Greco-Roman Period: Essays in Memory of Morton Smith, ed. Fausto Parente and Joseph Sievers, StPB 41 (Leiden: Brill, 1994), 290 – 306; Paul Spilsbury, “God and Israel in Josephus: A Patron-Client Relationship,” in Understanding Josephus: Seven Perspectives, ed. Steve Mason, JSPSup 32 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1998), 172– 91; MacGillivray, “Re-Evaluating Patronage,” 54– 80; Seth Schwartz, Were the Jews a Mediterranean Society?; Susan Sorek, Remembered for Good: A Jewish Benefaction System in Ancient Palestine, The Social World of Biblical Antiquity 5 (Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix Press, 2010).  Goodman, Rome and Jerusalem, 227; Schwartz, Were the Jews a Mediterranean Society? 18, 26 – 27.  In several of these instances, women are exchanged as “gifts” between the exchange partners. Lévi-Strauss showed that the rules of gift exchange and reciprocity apply to marriage and related customs in many societies: “The inclusion of women in the number of reciprocal prestations from group to group and from tribe to tribe is such a general custom that a whole volume would not be sufficient to enumerate the instances of it” (The Elementary Structures of Kinship, 63).  For discussion of some examples in light of gift exchange theory, see Charles H. Hinnant, “The Patriarchal Narratives of Genesis and the Ethos of Gift Exchange,” in Osteen, The Question of the Gift, 105 – 17; Victor H. Matthews, “The Unwanted Gift: Implications of Obligatory Gift Giving in Ancient Israel,” Semeia 87 (1999): 91– 104. For similar attitudes in the Roman world, see Verboven, The Economy of Friends, 102.

2.6 Patronage in Israel

103

12:1– 6), advises to avoid being exploited by the wealthy (Sir 13:4– 7), and warns against the dangers of accepting gifts (Prov 15:27 LXX).³³⁴ Against the backdrop of biblical gift culture, a fundamental question asks what degree of assimilation and reshaping of Hellenistic and Roman cultural artifacts, specifically patronage, could be found in first-century CE Palestine and Jerusalem in particular. The recent scholarly trend portrays a relatively marginal impact of Greco-Roman culture on either Galilee or Judea.³³⁵ However, Jerusalem and Caesarea Maritima constitute a special case because of the longer history of contact with Greek culture and the activity of the Herods, and this is especially

 For Rabbinic use of gifts to display and negotiate status, see Tzvi Novick, “Charity and Reciprocity: Structure of Benevolence in Rabbinic Literature,” HTR 105 (2012): 35 – 38.  Marshall, Jesus, Patrons, and Benefactors, 54– 57. For discussion of Hellenization and Romanization in Palestine, see Elias Bickermann, The God of the Maccabees: Studies on the Meaning and Origin of the Maccabean Revolt, SJLA 32 (Leiden: Brill, 1979); Victor Tcherikover, Hellenistic Civilization and the Jews (Philadelphia: The Jewish Publication Society of America, 1961); Martin Hengel, Judaism and Hellenism: Studies in Their Encounter in Palestine during the Early Hellenistic Period, 2 vols. (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1974); Louis H. Feldman, “How Much Hellenism in Jewish Palestine?” HUCA 57 (1986): 83 – 11; Martin Hengel and Christoph Markschies, The “Hellenization” of Judaea in the First Century after Christ (London: SCM, 1989); Fergus Millar, The Roman Near East: 31 BC–AD 337 (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1993); Burton L. Mack, The Lost Gospel: The Book of Q and Christian Origins (San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 1993), 51– 68; Marianne Sawicki, Crossing Galilee: Architectures of Contact in the Occupied Land of Jesus (Harrisburg: Trinity Press International, 2000); Ramsay MacMullen, Romanization in the Time of Augustus (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2000); Warwick Ball, Rome in the East: The Transformation of an Empire (London: Routledge, 2000); Jonathan L. Reed, Archaeology and the Galilean Jesus: A Re-Examination of the Evidence (Harrisburg: Trinity Press International, 2000); John J. Collins and Gregory E. Sterling, ed., Hellenism in the Land of Israel, Christianity and Judaism in Antiquity Series 13 (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 2001); Douglas E. Oakman, “Models and Archaeology in the Social Interpretation of Jesus,” in Social Scientific Models for Interpreting the Bible: Essays by the Context Group in Honor of Bruce J. Malina, ed. John J. Pilch, Biblical Interpretation Series 53 (Leiden: Brill, 2001), 102– 31; John Dominic Crossan and Jonathan L. Reed, Excavating Jesus: Beneath the Stones, behind the Texts (San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 2001); Mark A. Chancey, The Myth of a Gentile Galilee, SNTSMS 118 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002); Christopher Howgego, “Coinage and Identity in the Roman Provinces,” in Coinage and Identity in the Roman Provinces, ed. Christopher Howgego, Volker Heuchert, and Andrew Burnett (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004), 1– 17; Martin Goodman, “Coinage and Identity: The Jewish Evidence,” in Coinage and Identity in the Roman Provinces, ed. Christopher Howgego, Volker Heuchert, and Andrew Burnett (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004), 163 – 66; Mordechai Aviam, “First Century Jewish Galilee: An Archaeological Perspective,” in Religion and Society in Roman Palestine: Old questions, New Approaches, ed. Douglas R. Edwards (London: Routledge, 2004), 7– 27; Mark A. Chancey, Greco-Roman Culture and the Galilee of Jesus, SNTSMS 134 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005); Carol Bakhos, ed., Ancient Judaism in Its Hellenistic Context, JSJSup 95 (Leiden: Brill, 2005).

104

2 Patronage and Exploitation in the World of Paul

true for the presence of Greco-Roman-style patronage and benefaction in these cities.³³⁶ Second Maccabees, for instance, employs the language of benefaction to commend the high priest Onias as “benefactor of the city” (τὸν εὐεργέτην τῆς πόλεως; 4:2) and has Antiochus IV Epiphanes mention his benefactions, both public and private (τῶν ἐργεσιῶν κοινῇ καὶ κατ᾽ἰδίαν; 9:26), and demand reciprocation from the Jews in the form of goodwill toward him and his son.³³⁷ The presence of benefaction culture in Palestine was, probably, most evident in the legacy of Herod the Great.³³⁸ Josephus describes at length Herod’s benefactions (Ant. 16.136 – 149) and claims undeniably that Herod was by nature extraordinarily munificent (εὐεργετικωτάτῃ κεχρῆσθαι τῇ φύσει; Ant. 16.150). The marks of his benefaction were visible not only in Syria and Greece (Ant. 16.146 – 147), but also in Palestine (Ant. 15.267– 279).³³⁹ Josephus, however, implies that Herod’s actions toward his subjects were not as kind as toward his foreign beneficiaries because he was unable to elicit the positive response that he desired from the Jews, whose customs were incompatible with those of the Greeks (Ant. 15.275 – 278). Herod loved honors, but philotimia was incompatible with Jewish values:³⁴⁰

 Marshall, Jesus, Patrons, and Benefactors, 92– 109; Gregory E. Sterling, “Judaism between Jerusalem and Alexandria,” in Hellenism in the Land of Israel, ed. John J. Collins and Gregory E. Sterling, Christianity and Judaism in Antiquity Series 13 (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 2001), 263 – 301.  See also 1 Macc 11:33; 3 Macc 3:19; 6:24; 4 Macc 8:6, 17. Especially noteworthy is 1 Macc 14:25 – 49, which describes the Jewish people’s expression of gratitude to Simon in clearly euergetistic fashion. See Marshall, Jesus, Patrons, and Benefactors, 104– 5; Sorek, Remembered for Good, 41– 42. For the Septuagint use of benefaction language, see Crook, Reconceptualising Conversion, 80 – 82.  Sorek, Remembered for Good, 44– 51. A Greek inscription on a stone weight, in all likelihood from the Jerusalem region, has been found in which the title εὐεργέτης is applied to Herod. See Y. Meshorer, “A Stone Weight from the Reign of Herod,” IEJ 20 (1970): 97– 98. Most of the evidence, however, is literary and thus shaped by the rhetorical aims of the writers. See Sorek, Remembered for Good, 38.  Seth Schwartz, “Euergetism in Josephus and the Epigraphic Culture of First-Century Jerusalem,” in From Hellenism to Islam: Cultural and Linguistic Change in the Roman Near East, ed. Hanna M. Cotton et al. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009), 82– 83. Herod’s extranational campaign of benefactions and building projects conforms to widespread euergetistic practice. See Veyne, Bread and Circuses, 102– 3; John S. Kloppenborg, “Fiscal Aspects of Paul’s Collection for Jerusalem,” Early Christianity 8 (2017): 177– 78. For a detailed analysis of the adoption of benefaction and patronage by the Herodian house, see Marshall, Jesus, Patrons, and Benefactors, 125 – 73.  Schwartz, “Euergetism in Josephus,” 84.

2.6 Patronage in Israel

105

The very same attention that he showed to his superiors [Herod] expected to have shown to himself by his subjects, and what he believed to be the most excellent gift that he could give another he showed a desire to obtain similarly for himself. But, as it happens, the Jewish nation is by law opposed to all such things and is accustomed to admire righteousness rather than glory [τὸ δίκαιον αντὶ τοῦ πρὸς δόξαν]. It was therefore not in his good graces, because it found it impossible to flatter the king’s ambition with statues or temples or such tokens. And this seems to me to have been the reason for Herod’s bad treatment of his own people and his counsellors, and of his beneficence toward foreigners and those who were unattached to him. (Ant. 16.157– 159; trans. Marcus)

The fairly vague notion of a contrast between Jewish righteousness and Greek glory has the hallmarks of apologetic self-positioning within a hegemonic culture,³⁴¹ and elsewhere Josephus provides more pragmatic reasons for Herod’s behavior.³⁴² Moreover, Josephus’s recourse to the topos of flattery sounds suspiciously like an attempt to divert his readers’ attention from what they could have regarded as ingratitude. Having said that, Jewish reluctance toward “statues or temples or such tokens” might be not too far off the mark. In fact, especially if compared with the widespread “epigraphic habit” of the Roman world, the inscriptional remains of public honors from the Roman period in Jerusalem are few and far between.³⁴³ This lack of monumental expressions of gratitude

 Gregory E. Sterling sees Josephus’s Antiquitates Judaicae in terms of what he calls “apologetic historiography,” i. e., an attempt for an author belonging to a minority ethnic group within the Hellenistic world to define the identity of his or her group in relation to the larger (Greek) culture (Historiography and Self-Definition: Josephos, Luke-Acts and Apologetic Historiography, NovTSup 64 [Leiden: Brill, 1991], 16 – 19). See also Todd Penner, In Praise of Christian Origins: Stephen and the Hellenists in Lukan Apologetic Historiography, Emory Studies in Early Christianity 10 (New York: T&T Clark International, 2004), 223 – 61. Erich S. Gruen adds to Sterling by emphasizing that Hellenistic Jews’ constructions of their self-image were especially focused on its relation to and precedence over Greek culture and society: “Writers and intellectuals devoted considerable creativity to the presentation of that relationship. They developed strategies both to articulate the intertwining bonds between Judaism and Hellenism and to display the primacy of the former” (Heritage and Hellenism: The Reinvention of Jewish Tradition, Hellenistic Culture and Society 30 [Berkeley: University of California Press, 1998], 290 – 91). Josephus’s appeal to Jewish abhorrence of “statues or temples or such tokens” also appears to be part of his apologetic strategy. See Schwartz, “Euergetism in Josephus,” 82– 83.  Josephus briefly mentions but immediately discards a psychological explanation that was popular at his time—“that there were divergent and warring tendencies within [Herod]” (Ant. 16.152; my trans.). He espouses, instead, the view that Herod’s unrestrained philotimia led him to incur enormous expenses that eventually fell on his subjects and antagonized them (Ant. 16.153– 154).  MacGillivray, “Re-Evaluating Patronage,” 73 – 80; Schwartz, Were the Jews a Mediterranean Society? 89 – 92; Schwartz, “Euergetism in Josephus,” 75 – 79. For a description and analysis of

106

2 Patronage and Exploitation in the World of Paul

might have been part of the reasons for Herod’s wrongdoings against the people of Jerusalem but does not necessarily imply a wholesale rejection of benefaction. Rather, the apparent contrast between literary evidence of euergetism and paucity of inscriptional honors might be the result of a specific strategy through which Jerusalem Jews appropriated and remodeled benefaction conventions and created their peculiar configuration of euergetism, possibly under the influence of Jewish iconoclastic attitudes and in consideration of Jerusalem’s theological place in Judaism.³⁴⁴ Josephus also provides us with abundant evidence of personal patronage. Not only does he portray himself as a patron of Galilean landowners, but he also makes them his “friends and companions” (φίλους τε καὶ συνεκδήμους ἐποιησάμην; Vita 79), surrounds himself with such friends (Vita 144), invites them to dinner (Vita 220), and can use them for political violence (Vita 99; 305 – 306, 368). Josephus strengthens this self-portrait by having the Galileans acclaim him “benefactor and savior of the region” (εὐεργέτην καὶ σωτῆρα τῆς χώρας; Vita 244; see also Vita 259), typical titles awarded in Greek honors. Moreover, Josephus is, in turn, the emperors’ client receiving both favors and material gifts from Vespasian, Titus, and Domitian (Vita 422– 429).³⁴⁵ The Pseudepigrapha occasionally use benefaction language. In the correspondence between king Ptolemy II and the high priest Eleazar preserved in the Letter of Aristeas (35 – 46), Eleazar acknowledges the benefits that Ptolemy has bestowed on the Jews and shows gratitude by offering sacrifices on behalf

the few euergetistic inscriptions linked with Jerusalem, see Marshall, Jesus, Patrons, and Benefactors, 100 – 102; Sorek, Remembered for Good, 41– 44. For honorific inscriptions and their distribution in the diaspora, see Tessa Rajak, The Jewish Dialogue with Greece and Rome: Studies in Cultural and Social Interaction, AGJU 48 (Leiden: Brill, 2001), 376 – 89; Walter Ameling, “The Epigraphic Habit and the Jewish Diasporas of Asia Minor and Syria,” in Hanna M. Cotton et al., From Hellenism to Islam, 203 – 34; Sorek, Remembered for Good, 56 – 60. For the “epigraphic habit” in the Roman world, see Ramsay MacMullen, “The Epigraphic Habit in the Roman Empire,” AJP 103 (1982): 233 – 46.  Schwartz, Were the Jews a Mediterranean Society? 106 – 7. For similar attitudes in diaspora communities, see Rajak, The Jewish Dialogue, 388 – 89; Ameling, “The Epigraphic Habit,” 212– 16. Schwartz also points out that Jerusalem was not the only exception to the general honorific customs and provides evidence of other “unusual local variants” of euergetistic practices (Were the Jews a Mediterranean Society? 106 – 7).  Schwartz, “Josephus in Galilee,” 290 – 306; Jerome H. Neyrey, “Josephus’ Vita and the Encomium: A Native Model of Personality,” JSJ 25 (1994): 195 – 201; MacGillivray, “Re-Evaluating Patronage,” 63. For additional references to patronage in Josephus, see Harrison, Paul’s Language of Grace, 138 – 40; Spilsbury, “God and Israel,” 179 – 81.

2.6 Patronage in Israel

107

of the king and his family (Let. Aris. 44– 45).³⁴⁶ Similarly, 4 Baruch presents the inquiry, and implicity intercession, of Jeremiah about the fate of Abimelech, the Ethiopian: “He has done many good deeds [πολλὰς εὐεργεσίας] to the people and to your servant Jeremiah. For he pulled me out of the pit of mud. And I do not want him to see the destruction and the devastation of the city. He rather should not be grieved” (3:12– 13; trans. Jens Herzer). This prayer of Jeremiah refers to Jer 38:7– 13, where Ebed-melech, the Ethiopian, intercedes with King Zedekiah on behalf of Jeremiah and has him rescued from a cistern. Subsequently, God promises to save Ebed-melech from the impending destruction of Jerusalem (Jer 39:15 – 18). 4 Baruch fills the gap between the two appearances of the Ethiopian and explains his salvation as a reward for his benefaction toward the prophet.³⁴⁷ The Letter of Aristeas also sees benefaction as a way to success. One of the questions that King Ptolemy asks during a banquet centers on economy: “How can a rich man remain rich?” The first part of the answer warns against acting inappropriately or dissolutely. The second part, however, would find most GrecoRoman patrons in agreement: “Let him lead his subject to have goodwill toward him by means of benefaction” (εὐεργεσίᾳ) (Let. Aris. 204– 5; my trans.). Benefaction is expedient to both good reputation and financial prosperity. On the other hand, ingratitude is condemned. In the Testament of Job, Job narrates the loss of his property (T. Job 16). Part of it was destroyed by Satan himself, but the rest of Job’s herds were seized by his fellow countrymen, whom Job had greatly benefited (ὑπὸ τῶν συμπολιτῶν μου τῶν παρ᾽ ἐμοῦ εὐεργετηθέντων σφοδρῶς; T. Job 16:3). Now, however, they have risen against him. Job’s misfortunes are all the more bitter because of the insult of ungrateful beneficiaries. Similarly, 2 Baruch numbers ingratitude among the reasons for condemning the nations after the fall of Jerusalem: “You always receive benefits. You were always ungrateful” (ὑμεῖς γὰρ εὐεργετούμενοι ἀεί· ἠχαριστεῖτε ἀεί; 2 Bar 13:11– 12).³⁴⁸

 The benefits of Ptolemy are primarily the release of Jews deported from Judea by the king’s father and the translation of the Hebrew Bible. After describing his magnanimous actions toward the Jewish prisoners (Let. Aris. 35 – 37), Ptolemy declares himself a benefactor of the Jews: “It is our wish to grant favors [χαρίζεσθαι] to them and to all the Jews throughout the world, including future generations. We have accordingly decided that your Law be translated into Greek letters from what you call the Hebrew letters, in order that they too should take their place with us in our library with the other royal books” (Let. Aris. 38; trans. R. J. H. Shutt).  4 Baruch (Paraleipomena Jeremiou), ed. by Jens Herzer, SBL Writings from the Greco-Roman World 22 (Atlanta: Socieyt of Biblical Literature, 2005), 66 – 70.  2 Baruch is preserved in Syriac, but a Greek fragment containing 2 Bar 12:1– 13:2 and 13:11– 14:3 was found at Oxyrhincus. See Apocalypse de Baruch, ed. by Pierre Bogaert, 2 vols., SC 144, 145 (Paris: Cerf, 1969), 1:40 – 43.

108

2 Patronage and Exploitation in the World of Paul

The evidence that we have about Jewish criticism of patronage and benefaction appears to follow the general lines traced for the Greco-Roman world. Philo, for instance, exposes the mercantile nature of the benefaction business: Look round you and you shall find that those who are said to bestow benefits sell rather than give, and those who seem to us to receive them in truth buy. The givers are seeking praise or honour as their exchange and look for repayment of the benefit, and thus, under the specious name of gift, they in real truth carry out a sale; for the seller’s way is to take something for what he offers. The receivers of the gift, too, study to make some return, and do so as opportunity offers, and thus they act as buyers. For buyers know well that receiving and paying go hand in hand. (Cher. 122; trans. Colson and Whitaker)

Philo strips the gift exchange involved in benefaction of all its social and cultural meaning and reduces it to a mere economic transaction, wherein givers and receivers, despite rhetoric and appearance, only seek their own personal profit.³⁴⁹ This portrayal serves primarily as a foil to divine generosity, yet it is not unlike Menaechmus’s view of patronal behavior (Plautus, Men. 574– 580).³⁵⁰ Josephus does not elaborate on the topos of flattery but demonstrates familiarity with it when he recasts Jewish refusal to erect statues and temples for Herod as their unwillingness to flatter their king (Ant. 16.158). By labeling traditional Greek honors as flattery, Josephus makes reference to a well-known danger of euergetistic practice, a danger that would have sullied both Herod and the Jewish people with shame. Josephus again constrasts true generosity and parasitic behavior in his comments on the witch of Endor: Here it is but right to commend the generosity of this woman who […] offered [Saul] with open friendliness the one thing which in her poverty she possessed. And this she did, not in return for any benefit received, nor in quest of any favour to come—for she knew that he was about to die—whereas men are by nature wont either to emulate those who have bestowed some kindness upon them or to be beforehand in flattering (προθεραπευόντων) those from whom they may possibly receive some benefit. (Ant. 6.340 – 341; trans. Thackeray and Marcus)

Like comedic parasites, false friends are on the hunt for potential benefactors and nag their prey with their servile behavior even before they receive anything. As in Greco-Roman critiques of patron-client relations, patrons too are censured for their attitude toward their own benefactions. In order to explain why God

 Harrison, Paul’s Language of Grace, 130 – 31.  See above, p. 66.

2.6 Patronage in Israel

109

chose the desert as the place where he gave Moses the commandments, Philo engages in an unfavorable representation of the city, a space inhabited by pride: Most cities are full of countless evils, both acts of impiety towards God and wrongdoing between man and man. […] In cities there arises that most insidious of foes, pride [τῦφος] admired and worshipped by some who add dignity to vain honors [τὰς κενὰς δόξας] by means of gold crowns and purple robes and a great establishment of servants and cars. (Decal. 2– 4; trans. Colson)³⁵¹

In line with general Jewish attitudes, Philo rejects traditionally Greek symbols of honor.³⁵² By framing them as expressions of typhos (vanity or arrogance), however, he condemns not only the means of expression but also the reprehensible, selfish motive that drives patrons’ philotimia. ³⁵³ These brief remarks suggest that Josephus and Philo repeated the same kinds of concerns put forward by Greco-Roman authors, with additional objections against honorific statuary and epigraphy—elements which do not seem to play any role in Paul’s collection.³⁵⁴ It is obviously impossible to know

 The city is a complex and multifaceted symbol, and Philo uses it in several ways with various aims. Criticisms of the city often have an exhortatory purpose. See David T. Runia, “The Idea and the Reality of the City in the Thought of Philo of Alexandria,” JHI 61 (2000): 370 – 72.  In a brief passage of Knights, Aristophanes has two characters compete in parasitic fashion to become Demos’s steward. When Paphlagon tries to flatter Demos with his oracles—“You shall wear a crown of Roses and rule over every land”—Sausage Seller outdoes him: “And [my oracles] predict that you shall wear a crown and a purple robe, and ride in a golden chariot” (Eq. 959 – 969; trans. Henderson). As in Philo, crowns, purple robes, and luxury vehicles are publicly recognizable symbols of honor, whose vanity is here exposed by the flattery of the speaker. For the various kinds of public honors awarded to benefactors—a crown being the most frequently mentioned—see Danker, Benefactor, 467– 68.  Philo’s arguments against benefaction are largely conventional and can be found in contemporary authors such as Plutarch (Am. prol. 2) or Dio Chrysostom (Or. 7.88– 89). Philo, however, stands out for his consistency in rejecting benefaction, a system which Greco-Roman moralists, despite their criticisms, fundamentally upheld. See Harrison, Paul’s Language of Grace, 132.  For additional comments on first-century Jewish views on Hellenistic and Roman statuary, see Steven Fine, Art, History and the Historiography of Judaism in Roman Antiquity, BRLA 34 (Leiden: Brill, 2014), 51– 62. Rabbinic literature also witnesses to similar practices and evaluations of patronage. For a discussion of the knowledge and existence of patronage in the Rabbinic period, see Catherine Hezser, The Social Structure of the Rabbinic Movement in Roman Palestine, TSAJ 66 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1997), 329 – 489; Daniel Sperber, Roman Palestine 200 – 400: The Land: Crisis and Change in Agrarian Society as Reflected in Rabbinic Sources, Bar-Ilan Studies in Near Eastern Languages and Culture (Ramat-Gan: Bar-Ilan University, 1978), 119 – 35. Rabbinic writings narrate stories of rabbis who form the patriarch’s retinue, follow him in his journeys, and adopt the morning ritual of the salutatio, gathering daily to greet the patriarch as their patron (e. g., y. Taʿan. 4:2; y. Šabb. 12:3). The rabbis also express concerns on the potential exploi-

110

2 Patronage and Exploitation in the World of Paul

what views of benefaction the members of the Jerusalem Christian group had, and they could conceivably have had a diverse range of opinions and attitudes toward it depending on such factors as individual socio-economic location, education, and intensity of contact with Greco-Roman culture and society. The evidence nonetheless indicates that they might plausibly have shared the same anxieties as their Greco-Roman peers.

2.7 Conclusions The exploitative nature of patronage and benefaction is not simply an intellectual construct of the social sciences or a distorted perception of modern scholars who look at ancient social relations with radically different cultural assumptions. The exploration of the Greco-Roman sources reveals that, behind the facade of ideology constructed by the remains of honorific material culture, mutual exploitation between patrons and clients was a common occurrence, though we must assume that patrons generally had the upper hand. This state of affairs was present, although in different degrees and with distinct emphases, both in the Latin West and in the Greek East. The (perhaps ineffective) evolution of Roman jurisprudence against aristocratic dominance suggests slow but ongoing erosion of the role of patrons in clients’ political and social action. While such erosion is likely a sign of dysfunctional, that is, exploitative patron-client relations, literary references to clients and patrons, especially in satirical and comedic works, offer more direct evidence of exploitation. For the masses of the urban poor, patronage was primarily a question of survival. The sources ridicule destitute clients for their rapacity, epitomized by the insatiable hunger that determines their every action. Ironically, a similar greed characterizes descriptions of patrons, who only provide cheap food for their clients and constantly attempt to take advantage of them as much as possible. Legal and historical sources corroborate this picture and reveal ways in which political figures tried to improve economic conditions by stifling patronal abuse. Economic oppression was the most critical factor in criticisms of patronage. In fact, the vast majority of clients came from economic disadvantage, although not total destitution, and were an easy target for unscrupulous patrons.

tative and oppressive nature of gift giving (e. g., y. Demai 4:4). See Hezser, “Rabbis and Other Friends,” 229 – 32, 235 – 37. For rabbinic criticism of patronal protection, see Burton L. Visotzky, “Goys ‘Я’n’t Us,” in Heresy and Identity in Late Antiquity, ed. Eduard Iricinschi and Holger M. Zellentin, TSAJ 119 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2008), 304– 7.

2.7 Conclusions

111

Poverty also implied shame and social marginality, traits that come to the fore in the descriptions of clients. Patrons pursued their quest for public honor at the expense of the social degradation of their dependents, who submitted to all kinds of indignity and humbling chores. Writers frequently portray the demeaning lives of clients with the language of slavery, the very embodiment of shame. Patrons, too, covered themselves with disgrace when, through their abuses, they contradicted the high ideals of patronage as an institution meant to create social cohesion. Civic benefaction and personal patronage were also instruments of political dominance. Through generosity, the ultra-wealthy gained a large following of clients who not only boosted their patrons’ political careers with their votes but also attained political goals through threats and physical violence. So great was the influence of patronage over the political life of the state that democratic and popular leaders designed and enacted policies such as public pay and food distributions in order to disrupt or weaken patron-client ties. Even if these descriptions were just comic exaggeration or gross distortion of reality, their consistency and prevalence would nonetheless indicate that they represent ways in which individuals in the Greco-Roman world perceived patronage, expressed criticism against exploitation, and negotiated their participation in asymmetrical relationships. These descriptions of exploitation are conspicuously at odds with the morality repeatedly proclaimed in the Greco-Roman world, both in literature and in epigraphs, according to which patronage was supposed to foster fides and amicitia between the parties. This contrast suggests that ancient moral thinkers and social critics did not reject the institution of patronage per se, an institution that, despite its failures, they still regarded as one of the highest forms of social life. Rather, they blamed the distortion of patronage on the abandonment of traditional values and general corruption of their contemporary society. The situation was not different in first-century Jewish Palestine. Especially through the building projects of the Herods, Palestinian Jews and Jerusalemites were familiar with the customs and expectations of patronage and benefaction, and the writings of Philo and Josephus express criticisms in many ways analogous to those of their Gentile peers. The scarcity of honorific statuary and epigraphy in Palestine is no sign of rejection of patronage, but a peculiarly Jewish configuration of euergetism influenced by their rejection of images and the special theological significance of Jerusalem.

3 Multiplicity of Exchange Forms in the World of Paul 3.1 Introduction The analysis of the negative aspects of patronage in Chapter Two highlighted the role of benefaction in establishing and perpetuating power relations in the ancient world. This specific social function of patronage is one of the reasons why it has attracted the attention of many scholars who are interested in biblical and early Christian denunciations of social inequality. Because of this almost exclusive emphasis on patronage and benefaction, however, students of early Christianity at times fail to appreciate the full complexity and heterogeneity of gift exchange within the world of nascent Christianity as well as its multifaceted social meanings. When patronage is used as a foil for the social equality purportedly advocated by Jewish and Christian worldviews, the discussion hardly moves beyond the alternatives between reciprocity and solidarity, patriarchalism and mutualism.³⁵⁵ Naturally, the most careful analyses are finely nuanced and acknowledge that real social relations are not simply black and white. Nonetheless, the primary alternative between two opposite forms of social interaction renders the description of societies simplistically one-dimensional, while reality is, needless to say, far more complex. The incredible variety of meanings that people attach to their exchanges—and thus to their social relations—far surpasses any binary options. In order to increase awareness of the many possibilities for exchange available to a particular social group, John Davis suggests, as we have seen, the assemblage of a repertoire of exchanges specific to that group.³⁵⁶ Such a repertoire is a classification of the group’s economic exchanges that points out their distinctive features: the identity of the exchange partners, the kinds of commodities exchanged, and the economic result that the partners intend to obtain. In this chapter, there is neither the space nor the need to carry out a comprehensive examination of all the kinds of exchange that existed in the world of early Christians. Instead, a limited number of exchange practices will be sufficient to convey a sense of their diversity. A focus on the presence or absence of the ethos of

 For instance, Schwartz, Were the Jews a Mediterranean Society?; Meggitt, Paul, Poverty and Survival.  Davis, Exchange, 28 – 46. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110723946-005

3.2 Forms of Reciprocal Exchange

113

reciprocity will qualify common assumptions about its pervasiveness in Mediterranean societies and clarify its role in exchange relations. Moreover, the meanings that native exchangers ascribed to their economic transactions are a probe into their views on social relations.

3.2 Forms of Reciprocal Exchange In spite of the web of expectations that social conventions attach to them, gifts have, by their very definition, the formal appearance of free donations. Because of this formal character, all expectations connected with gifts cannot be enforced by law. They are, nonetheless, upheld by virtue of the moral norm of reciprocity. In this sense, reciprocity holds exchange partners accountable to one another and thus provides stability and endurance to social relations. It is the socialmoral framework of reciprocity that allows institutions such as patronage to function. The scope of reciprocity, however, largely surpasses the realm of patronage. It encompasses relations between kin, neighbors, coworkers, and virtually all stable relationships. In fact, every failure to reciprocate, if perceived as intentional, is typically regarded as a violation of societal expectations and has the potential to result in the breakdown of the relationship, that is, estrangement or enmity.³⁵⁷ In other words, reciprocity regulates all close, stable relationships, both positively and negatively.³⁵⁸ In what follows the value of gratitude is examined as the linguistic, emotional, and moral expression of reciprocal expectations. Then, two examples of relationships based on reciprocity, friendship and literary amicitia, are presented along with their differences and similarities with patronage and benefaction.

3.2.1 Gratitude Among the several Greek words that expressed reciprocity, χάρις and its Latin counterpart gratia were characterized by striking semantic flexibility inasmuch as they not only connoted a favor conferred and the ensuing thanks given in return, but also the attitudes of graciousness and gratitude that characterized both  Marshall, Enmity in Corinth, 15.  Gygax observes that demands of reciprocation for gifts were more explicit in the ancient Greek context than they are in modern Western societies. He suggests that the centrality of gift giving for many economic, social, and political activities in ancient Greece required certainty about the obligations of reciprocity (Benefaction and Rewards, 27– 28).

114

3 Multiplicity of Exchange Forms in the World of Paul

the exchange and the partners involved.³⁵⁹ The terms χάρις and gratia naturally applied to patronage and benefaction but were in no way restricted to those practices. In fact, they encompassed a wide variety of relationships regulated by the principle of reciprocity, from expressions of state clemency toward enemies to relationships between parents and children.³⁶⁰ Cicero, for instance, claimed that gratitude was the mother of all virtues: filial affection, patriotism, piety and religion, friendship, and devotion to tutors and teachers (Planc. 80 – 81). In this sense, gratitude did not point to a single kind of relationship between individuals or groups but was rather the formal expression of the reciprocity that shaped all kinds of durable relations.³⁶¹ As a result, occasional references to exploitative uses of gratitude existed—Cicero, for instance, advised his brother against being swayed by gratia in the administration of justice (Quint. fratr. 1.1.20; 1.2.10)—but depended on the specific nature of the relationship between the exchange partners rather than on some inherent quality of gratitude. On the contrary, it was often suggested that when the recipient of a gift or favor could not afford a material return, being grateful was sufficient. Cicero, for example, states: “The poor man of whom we spoke cannot return a favour in kind, of course, but if he is a good man he can do it at least in thankfulness

 Gelzer, The Roman Nobility, 75 – 76; Stephen Charles Mott, “The Greek Benefactor and Deliverance from Moral Distress” (PhD diss., Harvard University, 1971), 106; Marshall, Enmity in Corinth, 23 – 24. For initial links between χάρις and reciprocity in archaic Greek, see Joseph William Hewitt, “The Terminology of ‘Gratitude’ in Greek,” CP 22 (1927): 142– 61; Mary Scott, “Charis in Homer and the Homeric Hymns,” Acta Classica 26 (1983): 8 – 12; Mary Scott, “Charis from Hesiod to Pindar,” Acta Classica 27 (1984): 1– 13; Bonnie MacLachlan, The Age of Grace: Charis in Early Greek Poetry (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1993); Peter J. Leithart, Gratitude: An Intellectual History (Waco: Baylor University Press, 2014), 25 – 30. For the role of gratitude in Jewish views of the covenant with God, see Jon D. Levenson, The Love of God: Divine Gift, Human Gratitude, and Mutual Faithfulness in Judaism, Library of Jewish Ideas (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2016), 48 – 58. The Latin gratia covered the range of χάρις (see Leithart, Gratitude, 20) but also came to indicate the influence acquired through benefactions. See Cicero, Rosc. Amer. 15; Planc. 47; Verr. 2.1.136; Brunt, “Clientela,” 390; Saller, Personal Patronage, 21; Marshall, Enmity in Corinth, 24. For religious uses of χάρις, see Mott, “The Power of Giving and Receiving,” 64– 67; Harrison, Paul’s Language of Grace, 53 – 57, 85 – 87; Leithart, Gratitude, 20 – 25.  See Brunt, “Clientela,” 389; Konstan, Friendship, 81– 82; Leithart, Gratitude, 41.  Analyzing the use of χάρις in the papyri, Harrison points out that “the benefaction ethos— as expressed in reciprocity—informed both hierarchical and non-hierarchical relationships among family and friends” (Paul’s Language of Grace, 80).

3.2 Forms of Reciprocal Exchange

115

of heart” (Off. 2.69; trans. Miller).³⁶² Similarly, Seneca repeatedly stressed the importance of giving regardless of any foreseeable return (Ben. 1.2.3; 4.29.3).³⁶³ The centrality of χάρις and gratia to ancient linguistic representations of gift exchange appears clear in a pseudo-Platonic definition of a gift: Δωρεά· ἀλλαγὴ χάριτος (“Gift: an exchange of χάρις”; [Def.] 414a).³⁶⁴ Another definition, this time derived from the Epitome of Peripatetic Ethics of Arius Didymus, the contemporary of Augustus, and preserved by Stobaeus, reveals the special polysemy of these words in the domain of reciprocity: “We speak about favor [χάριν] in threefold manner: the useful service on account of itself; the exchange of a useful service in return; the memory of that service” (Ecl. 2.7.23; my trans.).³⁶⁵ Sophocles played on the pliability of the word χάρις when he had Oedipus complain to Creon that Creon only bestowed “gifts” for which Oedipus no longer wished, “at a time when his kindness brought no kindness” (ὅτ᾿ οὐδὲν ἡ χάρις χάριν φέροι; Oed. col. 779; trans. Lloyd-Jones). In other words, the ill-timed favors of Creon generated no sense of indebtedness, because Oedipus knew that Creon, in spite of his flattering words, actually meant harm (Oed. col. 781– 782). In Rhet. 2.7, Aristotle discusses how to use gratitude (χάριν ἔχειν) in the courtroom and describes under which conditions the mention of a favor inspires gratitude: “If the recipient is in pressing need, or if the service or the times and circumstances are important or difficult, or if the benefactor is the only one, or the first who has rendered it, or has done so in the highest degree” (Rhet 2.7.2; trans. Freese). Aristotle’s observation that the time of a favor may determine whether it engenders gratitude explains Oedipus’s complaint about Creon’s untimely acts of kindness.³⁶⁶

 Cicero artfully expressed this concept with a play on the phrases referre gratiam (return a favor) and habere gratiam (being grateful): etiamsi referre gratiam non potest, habere certe potest. For similar comments on Cicero, Planc. 68 – 69, see Konstan, In the Orbit of Love, 102– 4.  DeSilva, “Patronage and Reciprocity,” 40 – 41; Leithart, Gratitude, 53.  Bolkestein, Wohltätigkeit und Armenpflege, 159. In accordance with Mauss’s interpretation of gift giving, the Greeks also believed that the duty of reciprocation was not incompatible with the idea that gifts should be free. For instance, Aristotle states that “a ‘gift’ is a ‘giving which needs no giving in return’” (ἡ γὰρ δωρεὰ δόσις ἐστὶν ἀναπόδοτος) (Top. 4.4; trans. Forster).  DeSilva, “Patronage and Reciprocity,” 38 – 39. As Bolkestein emphasizes, this special polysemy of χάρις and gratia can lead to a problematic ambiguity when it is unclear whether phrases such as χάριν ἀποδιδόναι refer to actual counter-favors or to mere expressions of gratitude (Wohltätigkeit und Armenpflege, 160; see also Harrison, Paul’s Language of Grace, 40 – 43).  David Konstan, The Emotions of the Ancient Greeks: Studies in Aristotle and Classical Literature, The Robson Classical Lectures (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2006), 156 – 68.

116

3 Multiplicity of Exchange Forms in the World of Paul

The sense of indebtedness that favors were supposed to elicit corresponds broadly to the modern notion of gratitude.³⁶⁷ Gratefulness was the emotional side of the moral duty to reciprocate, a duty also revealed by the sources. Aristotle states: “[To return a kindness] is a special characteristic of grace, since it is a duty [δεῖ] not only to repay a service done one, but another time to take the initiative in doing a service oneself” (Eth. nic. 5.5.7; trans. Rackham).³⁶⁸ Similarly, Cicero considered it imperative to return a favor (Off. 1.47).³⁶⁹ Therefore, χάρις can be seen as both the emotional base and the linguistic articulation of the moral norm of reciprocity as it manifested itself in various kinds of exchange.³⁷⁰ Somewhat paradoxically, the language of gratitude held together the requirement to do favors only for the sake of others, with no expectation of a return, and the absolute necessity of being grateful and, if possible, reciprocating favors. The normative dimension of gratitude becomes evident when favors are equated to loans (e. g., Seneca, Ben. 1.1.3; 4.12.1) or in the many polemical attacks against ingratitude. Seneca, for example, considered ingratitude the most hateful of crimes:

 Konstan, Friendship, 81.  The reciprocal obligation connected with gratitude is expressed by many phrases that combine χάρις with verbs involving the prefixes ἀπο- and ἀντι-, but also by proverbial expressions such as “a favor always begets a favor” (χάρις χάριν γάρ ἐστιν ἡ τίκτουσ᾿ ἀεί; Sophocles, Aj. 522; my trans.). See Bolkestein, Wohltätigkeit und Armenpflege, 159; Konstan, The Emotions, 167; Leithart, Gratitude, 19 – 20. Although there was an expectation of a material return of gratitude, verbal expressions of gratitude also had their role. Peterman shows that verbal gratitude usually consisted in expressions of indebtedness (Paul’s Gift from Philippi, 73 – 83). According to Gygax, feelings of indebtedness “represented a kind of spontaneous, provisional counter-gift” (Benefaction and Rewards, 29).  See also Seneca, Ben. 1.4.3; 2.35.3 – 4. More generally, honorable men were supposed to outdo their benefactor in a competition of liberality by returning more than they received. See, e. g., Cicero, Off. 1.48; Seneca, Ben. 1.4.3 – 4; Joubert, Paul as Benefactor, 49. A person who did not strive to shine in this contest ran the risk of being deemed ungrateful. See Seneca, Ep. 81.18.  Harrison, Paul’s Language of Grace, 48; DeSilva, “Patronage and Reciprocity,” 42; Leithart, Gratitude, 49. Konstan examines Aristotle’s treatment of gratitude and observes that gratitude is only felt when the favor received is perceived to be entirely gratuitous with no expectation of a return. On the other hand, when the nature of the gift is shown to be interested or constrained, the feeling of gratitude is lessened. See David Konstan, “The Emotion in Aristotle Rhetoric 2.7: Gratitude, Not Kindness,” in Influences on Peripatetic Rhetoric: Essays in Honor of William W. Fortenbaugh, ed. David C. Mirhady, Philosophia Antiqua 105 (Leiden: Brill, 2007), 239 – 50; Konstan, In the Orbit of Love, 108 – 12. Gygax points out instances in which the sources reveal the negative feelings of those who receive gifts: the sense of being in debt; the perception that one’s counter-gift is regarded as repayment and not as generosity; the discomfort with being unable to reciprocate (Benefaction and Rewards, 29 – 32).

3.2 Forms of Reciprocal Exchange

117

Homicides, tyrants, thieves, adulterers, robbers, sacrilegious men, and traitors there always will be; but worse than all these is the crime of ingratitude, unless it be that all these spring from ingratitude, without which hardly any sin has grown to great size. (Ben. 1.10.4; trans. Basore)³⁷¹

As generosity was theoretically free, ingratitude could not be prosecuted by law, yet shame constituted a strong social sanction against it.³⁷² An illustration of the shameful nature of ingratitude is Cicero’s claim that “there is nothing which so violates humanity, or so much lowers us to the level of brute beasts, as to allow ourselves to give the impression of being, I will not say unworthy of, but overcome by, a favour” (Planc. 81; trans. Watts).³⁷³ The general absence of legal punishment for ingratitude was part of the pretense that return gifts were themselves “free” gifts, yet paradoxically the social and moral penalty of shame expressed the absolute imperative of reciprocation.³⁷⁴ In sum, in the Greco-Roman context the emotional and the normative aspects of gratitude blended together as the foundation and shaping factor of all reciprocal relations with a wide range of nuances. The language of gratitude could potentially cloak exploitative or primarily

 See also Demosthenes, Cor. 131; Cicero, Off. 2.63; Seneca, Ben. 4.16.2; 4.18.1. Xenophon defines ingratitude as failure to return a favor when possible (Mem. 2.2.1).  See Seneca, Ben. 3.1.1; 3.17.1– 12. Notice, however, that the obligation of gratitude was often presented as having the force of law. See Mott, “The Power of Giving and Receiving,” 61. In particular, the Socrates of Xenophon’s Memorabilia indicates that extralegal sanctions may be a way of enforcing “divine” unwritten laws. These laws are deemed of divine origin because they are observed by all people although people have not agreed on them. In other words, since they have no human origin, they must be divine laws (Mem. 4.4.19). Among these laws, Socrates mentions “the duty of requiting benefits” (τοὺς εὖ ποιούντας ἀντευεργετεῖν; Mem. 4.4.24). Socrates observes that those who break this unwritten law endure the punishment of losing good friends and having to pursue the friendship of people who now despise them (Mem. 4.4.24). The punishment for this specific law is social in nature, but Socrates includes it among the divine laws because it enforces itself. See discussion in David Johnson, “The Rational Religion of Xenophon’s Socrates,” in Resemblance and Reality in Greek Thought: Essays in Honor of Peter M. Smith, ed. Arum Park (London: Routledge, 2017), 186 – 92. Although scarce, there is some evidence of legal action against an ungrateful person. See Charles S. Rayment, “The Suit for Ingratitude,” CJ 43 (1948): 429 – 31; Charles S. Rayment, “Late Imperial Extensions of the Suit for Ingratitude,” CJ 47 (1951): 113 – 14. Moreover, freedmen were required by law to include their former masters in their will as a sign of gratitude for emancipating them. See John T. Fitzgerald, “Last Wills and Testaments,” 659 – 60 n. 98.  For more references to ingratitude, see Mott, “The Power of Giving and Receiving,” 62.  DeSilva, “Patronage and Reciprocity,” 44.

118

3 Multiplicity of Exchange Forms in the World of Paul

instrumental relationships, but it could as well express higher ideals of generosity.³⁷⁵ Although the reception of χάρις implied the negative emotion of indebtedness, some sources associate χάρις with joy.³⁷⁶ This ambiguity of gift giving is clearly expressed by Plutarch’s comments on a maxim that he attributes to Epicurus: Epicurus, who places happiness [τἀγαθόν] in the deepest quiet, as in a sheltered and landlocked harbour, says that it is not only nobler, but also pleasanter [ἥδιον], to confer than to receive benefits. For chiefest joy doth gracious kindness give. [χαρᾶς γὰρ οὕτω γόνιμόν οὐδέν ἐστιν ὡς χάρις] Surely he was wise who gave the Graces the names Aglaïa (Splendour), Euphrosynê (Gladness), and Thalia (Good-cheer); for the delight and joy are greater and purer for him who does the gracious act. And therefore people are often ashamed to receive benefits, but are always delighted to confer them. (Max. princ. 3; trans. Fowler)

It is important to note that Plutarch uses the connection between joy and generosity as an encouragement to give.³⁷⁷ The observation that generous giving produces joy is deployed in a hedonistic argument for liberality.³⁷⁸

 Verboven explains that attitudes toward gratia were “highly ambiguous as people could be both motivated by altruïsm and self-interest” (The Economy of Friends, 39).  The common Greek word for joy, χαρά, is etimologically related to χάρις. However, the word χάρις itself is sometimes used in the sense of delight or that which causes delight. See Hans Conzelmann, “χαίρω, κτλ,” TDNT 9:373.  More specifically, Plutarch is arguing that philosophers should establish friendly relationships with powerful men in order to benefit the entire community through their advice to its leaders. If they offer their guidance, Plutarch claims, they will increase their own joy.  Plutarch makes the Epicurean connection between moral good and the pleasure of giving explicit in introducing Epicurus’s quotation, when he links τἀγαθόν and τὸ ἡδύ. From a contemporary perspective, economist James Andreoni analyzes charitable giving as “impure altruism.” He takes into consideration the possibility that donors “experience a ‘warm glow’ from having ‘done their bit’” (“Giving with Impure Altruism: Applications to Charity and Ricardian Equivalence,” Journal of Political Economy 97 [1989]: 1448; “Impure Altruism and Donations to Public Goods: A Theory of Warm-Glow Giving,” The Economic Journal 100 [1990]: 464). By the vague expression “warm glow,” Andreoni refers to the empirical observation that “people ‘enjoy’ making gifts,” without enquiring the causes of such joy (“Giving with Impure Altruism,” 1449). Joy is seen as an apparently selfish motivation, hence the category of impure altruism. The presence of the warm glow explains, according to Andreoni, why individuals prefer private gifts to government contributions, although the former are less effective in supporting charitable institutions (“Giving with Impure Altruism,” 1457). See also David C. Ribar and Mark O. Wilhelm, “Altruistic and Joy-of-Giving Motivations in Charitable Behavior,” Journal of Political Economy 110 (2002): 425 – 57.

3.2 Forms of Reciprocal Exchange

119

Seneca has a positive view of benefaction as a process that gives joy to all parties involved: “What then is a benefit? It is the act of a wellwisher who bestows joy and derives joy from the bestowal of it” (Ben. 1.6.1; trans. Basore).³⁷⁹ Although Seneca insists on the need to reciprocate gifts with gratitude (Ben. 1.4.3; 2.35.3 – 4), he also believes that the donor should give with no regard for any possible return (Ben. 1.2.3; 4.29.3), but for the sake of giving. In Ben. 16.1, Seneca seems to imply that the joy of giving is one, if not the primary, motivation for generosity. Seneca’s view, however, needs to be distinguished from the hedonistic argument. Generosity should not be pursued simply to experience joy. Joy is rather one of the psychological signs that accompany virtuous behavior and, therefore, confirm its positive moral value.³⁸⁰ Seneca praises benefaction because it is good in itself, and the accompanying joy is further proof of this.³⁸¹ Joy motivates generosity because it shows it intimately to be a virtue.

3.2.2 Friendship The impressive number and length of Greco-Roman literary treatments of friendship suggest that it had a central place in social life.³⁸² The nature of the relation-

 The joy of the recipient, which is not the focus of Seneca’s definition, arises from the assistance that he or she receives. See David Konstan, “The Joy of Giving: Seneca De beneficiis 1.6.1,” in Paradeigmata: Festschrift for Øivind Andersen on the Occasion of his 70th Birthday, ed. Eyjólfur Kjalar Emilsson, Anastasia Maravela, and Mathilde Skoie, Papers of the Norwegian Institute in Athens (Athens: Norwegian Institute, 2014), 172. Seneca is nonetheless aware that gifts can sometimes raise negative feelings in the recipients (e. g., Ben. 2.10.4).  Margaret Graver argues that the Stoics were interested in what sort of emotions marked the inner life of ideal moral agents. Joy, as opposed to pleasure, is associated with normative morality: “As such it invests the experience of the ideal agent with an intuitive appeal, and this in itself makes it structurally important for descriptions of optimal human functioning” (“Anatomies of Joy: Seneca and the Gaudium Tradition,” in Hope, Joy, and Affection in the Classical World, ed. Ruth R. Caston and Robert A. Kaster, Emotions of the Past [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2016], 125).  Seneca also considers the possibility of anonymous gifts and suggests that such gifts are a test of one’s intentions, whether one gives for the advantage of the recipient or to be regarded as generous by others. In this instance, joy can only come from the act of giving and proves that the giver has the right intention: “You will be content to have yourself your witness; otherwise your pleasure comes, not from doing a favour, but from being seen to do a favour” (Ben. 2.10.2; trans. Basore). See comments in Konstan, “The Joy of Giving,” 172.  In addition to narrative examples and minor references, entire treatises or longer sections of treatises addressed friendship: Plato, Lysis; Aristotle, Eth. nic. 8 – 9; Eth. eud. 7; Cicero, Amic.; Plutarch, Adul. amic.; Amic. mult. We also know of authors who wrote treatises περὶ φίλου or περὶ

120

3 Multiplicity of Exchange Forms in the World of Paul

ship to which the words φιλία and amicitia apply, however, is debated.³⁸³ While the traditional, scholarly consensus sees this relationship as primarily instrumental and sometimes overtly political, more recent assessments emphasize its affective aspects.³⁸⁴ According to the latter, friendship was a voluntary rela-

φιλίας that have been lost but are mentioned by Plutarch, Diogenes Laertius, or Athenaeus: Simmias of Thebes, Speusippus, Xenocrates, Theophrastus, Clearchus, Cleanthes, and Chrysippus. For other references to friendship in classical literature, see Jonathan Powell, “Friendship and Its Problems in Greek and Roman Thought,” in Ethics and Rhetoric: Classical Essays for Donald Russell on His Seventy-Fifth Birthday, ed. Doreen Innes, Harry Hine, and Christopher Pelling (Oxford: Clarendon, 1995), 31– 32. For friendship in the Hebrew Bible, see Saul M. Olyan, Friendship in the Hebrew Bible, ABRL (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2017). See also Jeremy Corley, “Friendship According to Ben Sira,” in Der Einzelne und seine Gemeinschaft bei Ben Sira, ed. Renate Egger-Wenzel and Ingrid Krammer, BZAW 270 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 1998), 65 – 72.  The very meaning of the words φιλία and amicitia is subject to disagreement. For an overview of archaic uses of φίλος, see John Ferguson, Moral Values in the Ancient World (London: Methuen, 1958), 53 – 54; John T. Fitzgerald, “Friendship in the Greek World Prior to Aristotle,” in Fitzgerald, Greco-Roman Perspectives on Friendship, 15 – 18 and references in the footnotes therein; Simon Goldhill, Reading Greek Tragedy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1986), 79 – 83; David Robinson, “Homeric φίλος: Love of Life and Limbs, and Friendship with One’s θυμός,” in “Owls to Athens”: Essays on Classical Subjects Presented to Sir Kenneth Dover, ed. E.M. Craik (Oxford: Clarendon, 1990), 97– 108; Luigi Pizzolato, L’idea di amicizia nel mondo antico classico e cristiano, Filosofia 238 (Torino: Einaudi, 1993), 12– 15. Renata Raccanelli observes that, although friendship is a very common experience, the rigorous definition of friendship is one of the most persistent questions in discussions of this topic (L’amicitia nelle commedie di Plauto, Scrinia 12 [Bari: Edipuglia, 1998], 8). In Plato’s Lysis, for instance, after long debate, the characters admit their inability to define friendship. Socrates openly acknowledges: “Today, Lysis and Menexenus, we have made ourselves ridiculous—I, an old man, as well as you. For these others will go away and tell how we believe we are friends of one another—for I count myself in with you—but what a ‘friend’ is, we have not yet succeeded in discovering” (Lysis 223B; trans. Lamb). This definitional ambiguity inherent in friendship is mirrored by the wide range of relationships to which, as most authors recognize, the concept applies, yesterday and today.  Friendship as an instrumental relation: Hands, Charities and Social Aid in Greece and Rome, 32– 33; Arthur W. H. Adkins, “‘Friendship’ and ‘Self-Sufficiency’ in Homer and Aristotle,” CQ 13 (1963): 30 – 45; Gallant, Risk and Survival, 153– 69; Saller, Personal Patronage, 11– 15; Paul Millett, Lending and Borrowing in Ancient Athens (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991), 109 – 26; Benjamin Fiore, “The Theory and Practice of Friendship in Cicero,” in Fitzgerald, GrecoRoman Perspectives on Friendship, 59 – 76. Friendship as a political relation: Wilhelm Kroll, Die Kultur der ciceronische Zeit, 2 vols., Das Erbe der Alten 2.22 (Leipzig: Dieterich’sche, 1933), 1:55 – 56; Taylor, Party Politics, 7– 9; Gelzer, The Roman Nobility, 101– 10; Lynette G. Mitchell, “New for Old: Friendship Networks in Athenian Politics,” GR 63 (1996): 11– 21. Friendship as primarily affective: P. A. Brunt, “Amicitia in the Late Roman Republic,” in P. A. Brunt, The Fall of the Roman Republic and Related Essays (Oxford: Clarendon, 1988), 351– 81; Powell, “Friendship and Its Problems”; David Konstan, “Greek Friendship,” AJP 117 (1996): 71– 94; Konstan, Friend-

3.2 Forms of Reciprocal Exchange

121

tion based on mutual goodwill.³⁸⁵ Cicero, for instance, in a letter in response to Metellus Celer, who had mentioned their mutual feelings (pro mutuo inter nos animo; Fam. 1.1), provides this concise definition of friendship: “As for your reference to ‘our reciprocal sentiments,’ I do not know how you define reciprocity in friendship. I conceive it to lie in good will equally received and returned” (Fam. 2.3; trans. Shackleton Bailey).³⁸⁶ This fundamental reciprocity of goodwill, moreover, leads to profound communion, enjoyment of each other’s company, and pursuit of each other’s advice. These sentiments surface throughout the correspondence between Cicero and his intimate friend Atticus, to whom he writes: “I must tell you that what I most badly need at the present time is a confidant— someone with whom I could share all that gives me any anxiety, a wise, affectionate friend to whom I could talk without pretence or evasion or concealment” (Att. 18.1; trans. Shackleton Bailey; see also Fam. 73.9). The affection that constituted the heart of friendship had material aspects also. Indeed, goodwill was commonly expressed by eagerness to provide aid for a friend, especially in times of need.³⁸⁷ Refusal or even simple failure to help a friend in a crisis was tantamount to a demonstration of lack of true affection that was likely to transform friendship into enmity.³⁸⁸ Therefore, friendship ship; Verboven, The Economy of Friends, 41– 45. For friendship in rabbinic literature, see Hezser, “Rabbis and Other Friends.” A special case is constituted by the relationship called ξενία, usually translated as “guest-friendship”, which was a form of enduring hospitality of strangers involving gift exchange. The language used in the context of ξενία is closely related to that of friendship. See Bolkestein, Wohltätigkeit und Armenpflege, 87– 88; Finley, The World of Odysseus, 99 – 103; Konstan, Friendship, 33 – 37; Bertelli, “The Ratio of Gift-Giving,” 111– 18; and especially the extensive treatment of Gabriel Herman, Ritualised Friendship and the Greek City (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987).  Konstan, Friendship, 53. For the relationship of the emotions to friendship in the Hebrew Bible, see Olyan, Friendship, 109 – 10.  See also Aristotle, Eth. nic. 8.2.4: “To be friends therefore, men must (1) feel goodwill for each other, that is, wish each other’s good, and (2) be aware of each other’s goodwill, and (3) the cause of their goodwill must be one of the lovable qualities mentioned above [i. e., the good, the pleasant, and the useful]” (trans. Rackham). See Robert M. Berchman, “Altruism in Greco-Roman Philosophy,” in Altruism in World Religions, ed. Jacob Neusner and Bruce D. Chilton (Washington: Georgetown University Press, 2005), 7– 9. Most of the classical sources on friendship presumably reflect elite attitudes. Nonetheless, Paul J. Burton claims that non-elite friendship, which he believes to be mirrored by Plautus, was substantially in accord with elite views (“Amicitia in Plautus: A Study of Roman Friendship Processes,” AJP 125 [2004]: 209 – 43, especially 214 n. 18).  Koenraad Verboven, “Friendship among the Romans,” in The Oxford Handbook of Social Relations in the Roman World, ed. Michael Peachin (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011), 407– 8. For kinds of aid to friends, see Gallant, Risk and Survival, 157.  Konstan, Friendship, 56 – 57.

122

3 Multiplicity of Exchange Forms in the World of Paul

involved, and was proved by, a close correspondence between affection and deeds, a correspondence expressed in terms of loyalty and fidelity (fides).³⁸⁹ Plautus provides us with an eloquent example of what we could call “popular morality” of friendship.³⁹⁰ In Trinummus, Philto meets Lesbonicus, a friend of his son Lysiteles, and Lesbonicus’s slave Stasimos, and the three have this brief exchange: Les What is your son up to? Phil He wishes you well (bene volt tibi). Les He reciprocates with me. Sta (aside) That phrase “he wishes well” is useless unless one acts well (nequam illud verbum est “bene volt” nisi qui bene facit). I also want to be free (volo esse liber); I want it in vain. (437– 440; trans. De Melo)³⁹¹

Stasimos presents himself as living proof that wishes and intentions are worthless unless they are backed by deeds.³⁹² The importance of reciprocity of services between friends is the basis for intepretations of friendship as an instrumental relation, but this kind of reciprocity is rather to be understood as the material expression of goodwill.³⁹³ A good example of reciprocity between friends is provided by Xenophon:

 Konstan, Friendship, 58 – 59. For the centrality of loyalty in friendship, see Fitzgerald, “Friendship,” 31. For exchange of beneficia as proof of fides in Plautus, see Burton, “Amicitia in Plautus,” 223 – 39. Closely related to loyalty, truthfulness was also an essential trait of friendship. This manifested itself as an emphasis on veritas and παρρησία and as a contrast between friendship and flattery. See Pizzolato, L’idea di amicizia, 119 – 20; David Konstan, “Friendship, Frankness, and Flattery,” in Fitzgerald, Friendship, Flattery, and Frankness of Speech, 7– 19; Clarence E. Glad, “Frank Speech, Flattery, and Friendship in Philodemus,” in Fitzgerald, Friendship, Flattery, and Frankness of Speech, 21– 59; Fiore, “The Theory and Practice of Friendship,” 62; Edward N. O’Neil, “Plutarch on Friendship,” in Fitzgerald, Greco-Roman Perspectives on Friendship, 113 – 17; Raccanelli, L’amicitia, 47– 48. The general contrast in Hellenistic writings between frank speech and flattery symbolized the distinction between social equality and social dependency, which were primarily realized in friendship and patronage, respectively.  Burton considers Plautus a means of access to “popular Roman attitudes and perceptions about such issues as amicitia” (“Amicitia in Plautus,” 214).  See also Plautus, Truc. 216.  Raccanelli, L’amicitia, 37– 38.  Brunt, “Amicitia,” 532; Raccanelli, L’amicitia, 20 – 21; Verboven, The Economy of Friends, 45; Verboven, “Friendship,” 411. Konstan, in his effort to emphasize the centrality of affection in friendship, seems to deny, or at least understate, the reciprocal character of friendship: “If it is true that ‘the two concepts of obligation and reciprocity lay at the heart of the ideology of interpersonal relations,’ relations among friends (as opposed to neighbors, fellow demesmen, relatives, and the like) appear to be precisely the area that is exempt from such expectations of fair

3.2 Forms of Reciprocal Exchange

123

“Then tell me, now; if you wanted to get an invitation to dine with an acquaintance (τινὰ τῶν γνωρίμων) when he offers sacrifice, what would you do?” “Of course I would begin by inviting him myself when I offered sacrifice.” “And suppose you wanted to encourage one of your friends (τῶν φίλων τινά) to look after your affairs during your absence from home, what would you do?” “Of course I should first undertake to look after his affairs in his absence.” “And suppose you wanted a stranger (ξένον) to entertain you when you visited his city, what would you do?” “Obviously I should first entertain him when he came to Athens.” (Mem. 2.3.11– 13; trans. Merchant)

Xenophon’s association of friendship with other kinds of relationships based on reciprocal exchange confirms that the distinctive feature of friendship is affection rather than reciprocity. Nonetheless, the exchange aspects of friendship conform to the general rule of reciprocity.³⁹⁴ Modern ideas about interpersonal feelings may lead us to think that exchange of favors and goods somewhat taints the mutual affection between friends by introducing an element of self-interest in their relationship. As reciprocation was expected, indeed required, acts of kindness between friends would not be “pure” gifts and thus could not express “pure” affection. Koenraad Verboven, however, points out that affections, like actions and other behaviors, are part of the socialization process and therefore tend to conform to social prescriptions:

return” (Friendship, 82; see also David Konstan, “Reciprocity and Friendship,” in Gill, Postlethwaite, and Seaford, Reciprocity in Ancient Greece, 283 – 86). However, he concedes that friendship was contingent on mutual obligations: “The Greeks were generally agreed that if you mistreated your friends or failed to come to their assistance in an emergency you deserved to lose them. In this respect, friendship imposed ethical obligations, which were frequently, and understandably, illustrated in economic terms” (Friendship, 80). In other words, friendship, albeit primarily a matter of affection, was incompatible with neglect of reciprocal obligations in material aspects. As Julian Pitt-Rivers puts it, “There must be reciprocity in friendship, for failure to reciprocate in action is a denial of the reciprocity of sentiment” (“The Kith and the Kin,” in The Character of Kinship, ed. Jack Goody [Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1973], 96 – 97). For reciprocity between friends, see Julia Annas, “Plato and Aristotle on Friendship and Altruism,” Mind 86 (1977): 534; Saller, Personal Patronage, 11– 15; Millett, Lending and Borrowing, 116 – 23.  Frederic M. Schroeder claims that in Xenophon, φίλοι bears the political sense of “allies” (“Friendship in Aristotle and Some Peripatetic Philosophers,” in Fitzgerald, Greco-Roman Perspectives on Friendship, 26 n. 2). However, the kind of service Xenophon mentions in this passage—to look after one’s affair (ἐπιμελεῖσθαι τῶν σῶν) during one’s absence—seems to take place in the private sphere.

124

3 Multiplicity of Exchange Forms in the World of Paul

Although emotional friendship can (and should) be distinguished from instrumental friendship from a conceptual and motivational point of view, from a normative point of view affection and utility coincide in the institution of friendship as it emerges in the Greek and Roman world.³⁹⁵

As a result, subtle distinctions between affection, self-interest, altruism, and reciprocity, while good analytical tools for theoretical investigation, might not be perceived by those who experience friendship according to accepted societal norms. Julian Pitt-Rivers, in his reflections on kinship and friendship, observes that both feelings and actions fall under the pressure of social expectations: “All these ‘amiable’ relations imply a moral obligation to feel—or at least to feign—sentiments which commit the individual to actions of altruism, to generosity.”³⁹⁶ Yet, ancient theorists did make distinctions. Aristotle, for instance, developed a tripartite taxonomy of friendship as based on virtue, utility, or pleasure (Eth. eud. 7.2.13; Eth. nic. 8.2.1), a view partly echoed by Cicero, who states: “As a matter of fact there are some who think that friendship is to be sought solely for advantage, others, for itself alone, and others for itself and for advantage” (Inv. 2.167; trans. Hubbell).³⁹⁷ When adopting a more businesslike stance, Cicero himself acknowledged the practical advantages of friendship: We cannot do everything by ourselves; each has his part to play, in which he can be more useful [magis utilis] than others. That is why friendships are formed—that the common interest [commune commodum] may be furthered by mutual services [mutuis officiis]. (Rosc. Amer. 111; trans. Freese)

Although this brief statement should not be generalized as expressing Cicero’s entire view of friendship, statements such as this demonstrate that mutual advancement was part of the reasons for establishing friendships.³⁹⁸ David Konstan explains this apparent contradiction between friendship as an affective relation and friendship as an expedient source of profit by suggesting that the references to interest reflect ideas about the social function of friendship. In other words, friendship is characterized “as a spontaneous and unconstrained sentiment

 Verboven, The Economy of Friends, 44.  Pitt-Rivers, “The Kith and the Kin,” 90.  For the kinds of friendship in Aristotle, see Konstan, Friendship, 72– 78; Schroeder, “Friendship in Aristotle,” 37– 45. For Cicero’s dependency on Aristotle, see Cicero, Amic. 20 – 22; Schroeder, “Friendship in Aristotle,” 47– 48. For the tripartite taxonomy in Plutarch, see Amic. mult. 3; O’Neil, “Plutarch on Friendship,” 108. For a comparison between Aristotle’s classification and the Hebrew Bible, see Olyan, Friendship, 107.  See, e. g., Q. Cicero, Comm. pet. 16 – 17. See also Konstan, Friendship, 60 – 67, 128 – 29.

3.2 Forms of Reciprocal Exchange

125

and as a social institution with its particular code of behavior.”³⁹⁹ By confining the element of interest to the social facet of friendship, Konstan emphasizes the preeminence of affection as the core aspect of friendship.⁴⁰⁰ His appeal to the social perspective to shed light on this “overdetermination” of friendship indicates, however, that the contrast between affection and utility is not inherent in the relationship itself but rather pertains to the point of view from which one examines it. This contrast can be effectively analyzed through the etic and emic approaches.⁴⁰¹ From the emic perspective—that is, the meaning that friends attach to their own relationship—friendship is primarily constituted by the mutual affection that they have for each other. From the etic perspective—that is, how the relationship is perceived by external observers—friendship is an exchange relationship based on reciprocity and bringing mutual advantage. This twofold approach allows us to overcome the real/ideal dichotomy and reconcile the two aspects of Greco-Roman friendship.⁴⁰² In addition to affection and reciprocity, friendship was especially marked by constant references to equality. A number of maxims attributed to Pythagoras highlighted this characteristic: “Friends have everything in common” (κοινὰ τὰ τῶν φίλων), “Friendship is equality” (φιλότης ἰσότης), and “A friend is another I” (φίλος ἐστὶν ἄλλος ἐγώ).⁴⁰³ But beyond the popularity of such adages,

 Konstan, Friendship, 13 – 14, 130; my emphasis.  Konstan also argues that the scholarly emphasis on self-interested friendship is a byproduct of the adoption of certain anthropological models for understanding Greco-Roman society, that is, models that foreground social interaction rather than emotional experience (Friendship, 3 – 6).  For a succinct description of etics and emics, see Silverman, “Patronage as Myth,” 9 – 11. For more extended discussions, see Ward H. Goodenough, Description and Comparison in Cultural Anthropology (Chicago: Aldine, 1970), 104– 19; Marvin Harris, “History and Significance of the Emic/Etic Distinction,” Annual Review of Anthropology 5 (1976): 329 – 50; Nick Jardine, “Etics and Emics (Not to Mention Anemics and Emetics) in the History of the Sciences,” History of Science 42 (2004): 261– 78.  Koenraad Verboven applies the etic/emic framework to ancient gift exchange more generally. “From an ‘etic’ point of view, gift-exchange is characterized by (1) reciprocity, (2) a time lag between gift and counter-gift, and (3) personal but (4) non-specific obligations.” From an emic point of view, “beneficia, gratia and fides, and their close connection with existimatio, served as a template to make sense of social practice” (“‘Like Bait on a Hook’: Ethics, Etics and Emics of Gift-Exchange in the Roman World,” in Carlà and Gori, Gift Giving, 142– 49).  Κοινὰ τὰ τῶν φίλων: e. g., Euripides, Andr. 376 – 77; Orest. 735; Plutarch, Adul. am. 24; Frat. amor. 20; Diogenes Laertius, Vit. 6.37; 6.72; 8.10; 10.11. Φιλότης ἰσότης: e. g., Aristotle, Eth. nic. 8.5.5; 9.7.3. Φίλος ἐστὶν ἄλλος ἐγώ: e. g., Zeno of Citium quoted by Diogenes Laertius, Vit. 7.23. See Ferguson, Moral Values, 54– 55; Johan C. Thom, “‘Harmonious Equality’: The

126

3 Multiplicity of Exchange Forms in the World of Paul

friendship, even between social unequals, disregarded all differences of rank and status.⁴⁰⁴ Cicero, for instance, commended the deportment of Scipio: It is of the utmost importance in friendship that superior and inferior should stand on an equality. For oftentimes a certain pre-eminence does exist, as was that of Scipio in what I may call “our set.” But he never affected any superiority over Philus, or Rupilius, or Mummius, or over his other friends of a lower rank. […] Indeed Scipio desired that he might be the cause of enhancing the dignity of all his friends. And this of course every man should adopt and imitate. (Amic. 69 – 70; trans. Falconer)

Social hierarchy was not erased by friendship, yet friendship overcame social distance and protected individual dignity. Scholars often consider this paradoxical quality of ancient friendship, which held equality and hierarchy together, as a form of politeness that masked social dependency, especially in patron-client relations.⁴⁰⁵ In a society dominated by rank, however, the reason for this (only) rhetorical denial of social difference might have been to make possible such social interactions as sharing intimacy and receiving advice that would have been

Topos of Friendship in Neopythagorean Writings,” in Fitzgerald, Greco-Roman Perspectives on Friendship, 77. For equality in friendship in the Hebrew Bible, see Olyan, Friendship, 105 – 6.  Fitzgerald, “Paul and Friendship,” 342– 43. For equality between unequals as a general, paradoxical feature of friendship, see Pitt-Rivers, “The Kith and the Kin,” 98. For friendship between social unequals in the Hebrew Bible, see Olyan, Friendship, 113 – 14. Konstan locates the association of friendship with the ideology of equality among Athenian civic ideals: “Friends were to be relied upon for assistance in times of crisis, but the assumption was that friends were more or less of equal station, and that the obligations that friendship might impose were in principle mutual and symmetrical. Frankness or liberty of speech was thus taken for granted as a principle obtaining among friends, as indeed it obtained among fellow-citizens in general, all of whom were equally entitled to express themselves openly and without fear of neighbors or of those in power” (“Friendship, Frankness and Flattery,” 8 – 9; see also Konstan, “Reciprocity and Friendship,” 298 – 301). In her analysis of friendship in Plautus, Raccanelli observes that the vast majority of Plautine friendships were obtained between peers both in age and in social status. The few instances of friendship between unequals (between a young and an old man in Miles gloriosus, between a father and a son in Asinaria, and between a slave and his master in Captivi) involve unease at the disparity between the friends (L’amicitia, 53 – 54). Burton, on the other hand, suggests that the prevalence of pairs of equal friends in Plautus may be due to “the rigid plot conventions of New Comedy and the conservative tendency of comedy generally towards tidy resolutions and unproblematic closure. […] Status barriers […] are regularly not transgressed” (“Amicitia in Plautus,” 215; emphasis in the text).  White, “Amicitia and the Profession of Poetry,” 81; LaFleur, “Amicitia,” 171; Saller, Personal Patronage, 15; Richard P. Saller, “Patronage and Friendship,” in Wallace-Hadrill, Patronage in Ancient Society, 57; Verboven, The Economy of Friends, 49.

3.2 Forms of Reciprocal Exchange

127

otherwise unthinkable across social ranks. More generally, the argument of politeness overlooks the possibility of affection between social unequals.⁴⁰⁶ In order to illustrate the interplay of social hierarchy and equality in friendship, let us go back to Juvenal’s Sat. 5 and to the dinner Virro serves to “pain” the parasite Trebius.⁴⁰⁷ By means of the by now familiar topos of different food offered to differently ranked guests—Virro and the other Virros savor fine apples “whose aroma on its own is a meal,” while Trebius only gets an apple half-chewed by a monkey (Sat. 5.146 – 155)—the social inadequacy of Trebius is exposed to public ridicule. Juvenal caps Trebius’s humiliation by revealing the false friendship that links the two: “That’s the kind of banquet you deserve, and that’s the kind of friend” (Sat. 5.174; trans. Morton Braund). To be really effective, Juvenal’s cynical mockery relies on two interconnected assumptions: that the language of friendship was used to conceal social difference, and that “true” friendship was supposed to be something completely different from disparagement and humiliation.⁴⁰⁸ Here, however, Juvenal’s biting sarcasm holds hierarchy and equality together for the purpose of exposing the pathology of his society.

 Konstan, Friendship, 137; Fiore, “The Theory and Practice of Friendship,” 73. Aristotle appears to deny the possibility of friendship between unequals when he states: “There being then, as has been said, three kinds of friendship [φιλίας], based on goodness, utility and pleasantness, these are again divided in two, one set being on a footing of equality and the other on one of superiority. Though both sets, therefore, are friendships [φιλίαι], only when they are on an equality are the parties friends [φίλοι]; for it would be absurd for a man to be a friend [φίλος] of a child, though he does feel affection [φιλεῖ] for him and receive it [φιλεῖσθαι] from him” (Eth. eud. 7.4.1– 2; trans. Rackham). Although the translation might be confusing, Konstan argues convincingly that φιλία and φιλέω indicate feelings of affection but not necessarily friendship. On the contrary, the noun φίλος consistently refers to friends (“Greek Friendship,” 75 – 78). Thus, Aristotle envisaged affection between unequals but not friendship; friendship required equality. Friendship between unequals is a phenomenon that emerges from later, Hellenistic texts (Konstan, “Reciprocity and Friendship,” 289 – 91). For a discussion of similarities and differences between friendship (generally between equals) and patronage (generally between social unequals), see White, Promised Verse, 30 – 34; Konstan, “Patrons and Friends”; Konstan, Friendship, 135– 37; Verboven, The Economy of Friends, 49 – 62.  See above, p. 81.  Konstan, Friendship, 139. There is some debate on the relation between friendship and patronage in the ancient world, especially about the apparent use of friendship language in the context of patron-client relationship. See Rouland, Pouvoir politique et dépendance personnelle, 455 – 64; Saller, Personal Patronage, 11– 15; Saller, “Patronage and Friendship”; Konstan, “Patrons and Friends”; Konstan, Friendship, 135– 40; Verboven, The Economy of Friends, 49 – 62. The polite or euphemistic use of amicitia to describe patron-client relations, however, only emphasizes the ideological distance between the two societal institutions. “Euphemisms work by collapsing meanings that are socially acknowledged to be antithetical” (Konstan, “Patrons and Friends,” 341).

128

3 Multiplicity of Exchange Forms in the World of Paul

3.2.3 Literary Amicitia Literature constitutes a major source for contemporary knowledge of the ancient Greco-Roman world, yet its production and consumption—with the exception of theatre—was a relatively marginal phenomenon that involved a comparatively small section of society, namely, the literate elite.⁴⁰⁹ Within this social group, writers represented partners of exchange who could contribute priceless goods, that is, items that were not economically quantifiable but to which the writers themselves and their exchange partners attached outstanding value.⁴¹⁰ In this sense, poets and writers stood for a larger class of producers of cultural artifacts, the “men of learning.”⁴¹¹ Given the restricted elite with whom poets interacted, it is no surprise that the powerful and wealthy featured prominently in their oeuvre. Moreover, it was customary to dedicate poetry and other literary works to some addressee: a young man who might profit from the wisdom imparted by a writer, a prominent figure whom a poet wished to honor, or a peer with whom a poet shared an intimate friendship (or even a muse whose inspiration he or she celebrated).⁴¹² Most of these addressees were rich sponsors who played more than an occasion For literary patronage in the Greco-Roman world, see Gordon Williams, “Poetry in the Moral Climate of Augustan Rome,” JRS 52 (1962): 28 – 46; Gordon Williams, Tradition and Originality in Roman Poetry (Oxford: Clarendon, 1968); Susan Treggiari, “Intellectuals, Poets and Their Patrons in the First Century B.C.,” EMC 21 (1977): 24– 29; White, “Amicitia and the Profession of Poetry”; Gold, Literary and Artistic Patronage in Ancient Rome; Gold, Literary Patronage; Alex Hardie, Statius and the Silvae: Poets, Patrons and Epideixis in the Graeco-Roman World, ARCA Classical and Medieval Texts, Papers and Monographs 9 (Liverpool: Francis Cairns, 1983); Richard Stoneman, “The Ideal Courtier: Pindar and Hieron in Pythian 2,” CQ 34 (1984): 43 – 49; White, Promised Verse; Matthew S. Santirocco, “Horace and Augustan Ideology,” Arethusa 28 (1995): 225 – 43; Hemelrijk, Matrona Docta; Bowditch, Horace; Nauta, Poetry for Patrons.  The presentation of poems was never immediately connected with any financial reward. White suggests that this was a matter of etiquette: “To expunge a favor received by promptly doing a favor in return was held to be bad manners” (Promised Verse, 16; see also Gordon Williams, “Phases in Political Patronage of Literature in Rome,” in Gold, Literary and Artistic Patronage in Ancient Rome, 7). The delay of reciprocation, however, emphasizes the incommensurability of the goods exchanged between writers and the great persons they honored. Partial exceptions to this general rule were dramatists, whose plays were bought by aediles or theatre producers, and poems dedicated to emperors, who presented poets with lavish gifts on the occasion of the declamation of such poems. Both of these cases, however, occurred outside of a stable relationship between writer and sponsor, which explains the absence of delay in reciprocation (Gold, Literary Patronage, 40 – 42; White, Promised Verse, 16).  Hemelrijk, Matrona Docta, 99.  See examples in Dino De Sanctis, “ω φιλτατε: Il destinatario nelle opere del giardino,” Cronache ercolanesi 41 (2011): 217– 30.

3.2 Forms of Reciprocal Exchange

129

al role in the life of a poet.⁴¹³ Some enjoyed so central a position in the life of a poet that their relationship was not only long-lasting but also essential to the very literary journey of the poet himself or herself. Although poets appear frequently in this sort of exchange relationship, writers of other genres also enjoyed the support of wealthy sponsors. For instance, the Jewish historian Josephus addresses a certain Epaphroditus in his works (Vita 430; Ant. P.8; Ag. Ap. 1.1; 2.2; 2.296).⁴¹⁴ These special relationships occurred in a wide variety of forms depending on the individual characteristic of the poets and the sponsors with whom they shared their poetry: their economic and social status, political goals, literary taste, and connections. Some, like Livius Andronicus, Caecilius, and Terence, were originally slaves and were freed in recognition of their talents. Others, like Naevius, Ennius, and Pacuvius, were freemen of low status and earned, through their poetry, privileges such as citizenship and financial support. Still others, like Lucretius, Horace, and Virgil, were themselves members of the elite who associated with individuals more powerful than they were but did not strictly need aid to live the “leisurely” life of a poet.⁴¹⁵ Generally speaking, the wider the social distance between poet and sponsor, the more explicitly aligned with and supportive of the sponsor’s goals was the poetry. For instance, earlier, less affluent poets often immortalized and celebrated their sponsors through the fabula praetextata, an early form of historical drama that had substantial potential for political use and commentary on contemporary life.⁴¹⁶ On the contrary, later poets, less dependent on financial support, often declined  I intentionally use the nonspecific term “sponsor” and refrain from using the terms “patron” and “friend” to avoid assumptions that the specific relationship studied here was equivalent or similar to the ones previously treated. There were significant areas of overlap between these forms of social exchange, but also notable differences.  Tessa Rajak suggests that Epaphroditus was “a freedman bibliophile of Alexandrian provenance” (Josephus: The Historian and His Society, 2nd ed. [London: Duckworth, 2002], 223 – 24).  Gold, Literary Patronage, 42– 67; White, “Amicitia and the Profession of Poetry,” 88 – 89; Peter White, “Positions for Poets in Early Imperial Rome,” in Gold, Literary and Artistic Patronage in Ancient Rome, 52– 53; James E. G. Zetzel, “The Poetics of Patronage in the Late First Century B.C.,” in Gold, Literary and Artistic Patronage in Ancient Rome, 89 – 90. In a detailed, statistical analysis, White observes a gradual evolution in the social status of Latin poets: “The dramatists and writers of epic who created the earliest Latin poetry were of course outsiders to the city and its social hierarchy. But from the end of the second century BCE, Roman knights and senators make up an ever-increasing proportion of those poets whose background can be determined” (Promised Verse, 8).  Gold, Literary Patronage, 47– 48. The celebration of a powerful individual could also aim to attract his or her attention and thus establish a relationship. See Zetzel, “The Poetics of Patronage,” 90 – 91.

130

3 Multiplicity of Exchange Forms in the World of Paul

more or less explicit invitations to treat political and historical topics and sought the comfort of more personal, intimate themes.⁴¹⁷ Whether or not they needed financial support, poets did receive gifts of various kinds from the great men and women with whom they associated. In light of phenomena occurring centuries later during the Renaissance, scholarship has been and is very interested in the impact of this (economic) relationship on the literary works of Greco-Roman antiquity: what degree of freedom of expression poets enjoyed, whether they were influenced or pressured by their sponsors, and whether they wrote primarily to please powerful individuals and obtain favors. In other words, scholars focus on the problem of the integrity of the poet and, a fortiori, of their poetry. This issue, albeit extremely valuable in its own right, is not as relevant for this study as the nature of the relationship between poets and sponsors (the presence of reciprocity, goods and services exchanged, mutual expectations) and the judgments that were expressed about it. Peter White describes the relationship between poets and wealthy sponsors in terms of amicitia, in a very loose sense.⁴¹⁸ He maintains that poets were part of the group of retainers that every powerful individual assembled in his or her house and argues that there was no fundamental difference between them and other dependents in regard to what they were expected to do and the kinds of economic support they received.⁴¹⁹ From this perspective, the relationship between poets and the wealthy appeared very similar to either patronage or friendship. The main difference, however, lay in the goods and services exchanged.⁴²⁰ The primary benefit that poets sought and obtained was not financial support but rather access to the elite world of literary consumption. Through their networks of connections and high-ranking friendships, powerful and influential sponsors could provide audiences for aspiring poets; and their houses, as the setting of recitations, were essential for the publicity and visibility of the

 See, e. g., the discussion on Propertius’s preference for elegy in Barbara K. Gold, “Propertius 3.9: Maecenas as Eques, Dux, Fautor,” in Gold, Literary and Artistic Patronage in Ancient Rome, 103 – 17.  In his seminal paper, “Amicitia and the Profession of Poetry,” White understands literary amicitia essentially in terms of a patron-client relationship—“Poets can be observed to perform the same sort of activities in dealing with their benefactors as other dependants”—with references to the entire apparatus of salutatio, adsectatio, and sportula (“Amicitia and the Profession of Poetry,” 76; similarly in Treggiari, “Intellectuals,” 24– 29; White, “Positions for Poets,” 57– 59; Bowditch, Horace; Nauta, Poetry for Patrons). In his later, more extensive treatment, White allows more space for affection and love in the friendship language that describes the link between poets and sponsors (Promised Verse, 13).  White, “Amicitia and the Profession of Poetry,” 78.  Hardie, Statius, 41– 42; Bowditch, Horace, 24– 25.

3.2 Forms of Reciprocal Exchange

131

poets.⁴²¹ In the case of writers who were themselves affluent, the necessity of access to elite society is even clearer. Poets like Lucilius and Lucretius did not need any economic support, yet they had influential sponsors who could open doors for them to the Roman public.⁴²² The wealthy sponsors were very much concerned with publicity themselves, and there is no doubt that mention of their military feats in a popular poem or a heroic celebration was very appealing to them.⁴²³ Poets were thought to bestow immortality on the subjects of their verse, especially epic verse, but they could also confer glory in the here and now, a much coveted prize in a competitive society such as Rome. Poetry was, for the Greco-Roman elite, a social activity in which poets and their wealthy amici gave luster to each other. The wealthy controlled and shaped literary tastes by encouraging and endorsing poets of their liking, while these increased their powerful sponsors’ renown by peppering their poems with flattering references.⁴²⁴ There was, however, another side to the relationship between poets and their sponsors. The leisurely life of the powerful men and women of antiquity, especially those not, or no longer, directly involved in politics or military campaigns, was spent surrounded by a circle of companions. This entourage was partly a visible sign of prestige, but the desire for companionship went deeper than social appearance. Poets, always welcome companions because of the central role that poetry played in the cultural life of Greco-Roman antiquity, were even more so if the great sponsors had literary aspirations themselves—such was the case, for instance, of Maecenas, Asinius Pollio, and others.⁴²⁵

 White, “Amicitia and the Profession of Poetry,” 83 – 86; T. P. Wiseman, “Pete nobiles amicos: Poets and Patrons in Late Republican Rome,” in Gold, Literary and Artistic Patronage in Ancient Rome, 37; White, Promised Verse, 18; Hemelrijk, Matrona Docta, 99. Poets did receive financial support in various forms (especially large one-time sums, property, and the opportunity to accompany the great man on lucrative missions), but these kinds of benefits were in no way different from those regularly involved in other amicitiae (White “Amicitia and the Profession of Poetry,” 86 – 87; Wiseman, “Pete nobiles amicos,” 38 – 42; White, “Positions for Poets,” 53 – 56; White, Promised Verse, 15 – 17).  Gold, Literary Patronage, 54.  For the circumstances that created “the need for literary self-advertisement,” see Hardie, Statius, 39 – 40.  White, “Positions for Poets,” 60; White, Promised Verse, 21– 22; Saller, Personal Patronage, 28 n. 91; Bowditch, Horace, 25. Pindar, who like many early Greek poets traveled from city to city offering his services, frames his relationship with Hieron of Syracuse in terms of ξενία, a term that emphasizes reciprocity. See Gold, Literary Patronage, 26 – 27. For ξενία, see above n. 384.  White, Promised Verse, 23 – 25.

132

3 Multiplicity of Exchange Forms in the World of Paul

These general remarks suggest that the relationship between poets and wealthy sponsors was crucial to the production and fruition of literature in the ancient world. In fact, this relationship was so important that it became a central subject treated in poems. It was subsumed into the world of poetry itself, whose focus progressively shifted from the real-world relationship to poetic self-representation.⁴²⁶ James E. G. Zetzel argues that the many addresses to powerful individuals in the Augustan poets—and this is true more generally—do not point to historical facts but are rather a function of the poems themselves. “Whatever the real Maecenas did for the real people Horace, Virgil, and Propertius need not be connected in any very clear way to what they wrote about him. He is an element in poetry, and as such is subject to the same creative transformations that anything else in poetry is.”⁴²⁷ The Roman poets were following a long poetic tradition that goes back to archaic Greece. For instance, in his praise of the athletic triumphs of Timasarchus and his family, Pindar sings: But if indeed you bid me yet to erect for your maternal uncle Callicles a stele whiter than Parian marble— refined gold displays all its radiance, and a hymn of noble deeds makes a man equal in fortune to kings—let him who dwells by the Acheron find my voice ringing out. (Nem. 4.79 – 86; trans. Race)

Pindar apparently refers, here, to the (imagined?) request of a lyric celebration of Timasarchus’s uncle, yet what he is really celebrating is the poetic power to “make a man equal to kings” and even to make his own words resound in the realm of the dead along the bank of the Acheron. The mention of these great men, in praise of whom he presumably wrote, allows Pindar to extol the poet’s prerogative to give immortality to those who have become the object of his verse. Pindar’s art, not Callicles’s athletic accomplishments, is the real point of these verses.⁴²⁸

 Gold, Literary Patronage, 66.  Zetzel, “The Poetics of Patronage,” 87– 102, here 98.  Gold, Literary Patronage, 24. For Pindar presenting himself as equal to Hieron of Syracuse in Pyth. 2, see Stoneman, “The Ideal Courtier,” 43 – 49. In a paradoxical conclusion to his 1982 article, Zetzel underlines the role of poetry in immortalizing its subjects: “The fact that poetry is immortal and can share that immortality with its subjects is itself a reversal of the traditional Roman roles of patron and clients. […] In the long run it is only because of Catullus, Virgil, and Horace that we care at all about Nepos or Maecenas. It is not the poets who are the clients, but the patrons” (“The Poetics of Patronage,” 101).

3.2 Forms of Reciprocal Exchange

133

Similarly, Cicero’s Pro Archia—a speech in defense of the poet Archias, who was caught in the middle of the political friction between the Luculli, his protectors, and Pompey’s faction—defends the citizenship Archias obtained through the intervention of the prominent family of the Luculli from the attack of their Pompeian adversaries. It is an extended discussion of the relationship between the poet Archias and the Luculli. Cicero, however, maintains that Archias’s poetry does not merely celebrate the Luculli but has the greater and more significant function of exalting and immortalizing the prowess of the Roman people (Arch. 21– 22) and encouraging heroism in future generations (Arch. 23): Literature exalts the nation whose high deeds it sings, and at the same time there can be no doubt that those who stake their lives to fight in honour’s cause find therein a lofty incentive to peril and endeavour. (Arch. 23; trans. Watts)

This particular discussion of a relationship between a poet and a powerful family takes place in the courtroom rather than in a poem, but once again, it turns into a panegyric of poetry itself.⁴²⁹ Moreover, Cicero’s solemn and universal language suggests that Archias and the Luculli are just a vehicle, a pretext for him to celebrate all poetry. As it appears, the reference to powerful men and women served as a means for poets to reflect and express their thoughts on their identity and on the nature of their craft. The clearest example is offered by the many times Augustan poets shaped their poems in the form of a recusatio. In a fashion initiated by Callimachus, the poet implied that he or she had been asked to write of some grave matter—kings, heroes, and gods, the stuff of epic—but courteously declined to do so on the grounds that he or she did not possess the necessary genius to treat such lofty themes.⁴³⁰ For instance, in Elegiae 3.9, also a recusatio, Propertius cleverly uses references to Maecenas, who chose not to pursue a senatorial career, as an exemplum of humility for Propertius himself and his abstention from epic poetry: “I have adopted your rule of life, Maecenas, and am constrained to surpass you by your own example” (Eleg. 3.9.21– 22; trans. Goold). While dedicating his poem to his friend (Maecenas, eques Etrusco de sanguine regum are the very first words of this elegy), Propertius exploits Maecenas’s life choices—that is, to remain an

 See Gold, Literary Patronage, 75 – 76.  Williams, Tradition and Originality, 46 – 47.

134

3 Multiplicity of Exchange Forms in the World of Paul

eques despite his kingly Etruscan blood—to justify his commitment to elegy and elegiac themes.⁴³¹ The use of the recusatio was a very powerful tool for poetic self-representation, and the Augustan poets explored its enormous potential extensively. Its use was so widespread that one wonders whether and how often specific or even general requests were actually made to the poets or were pure fiction themselves. Moreover, the self-depreciating humility displayed in verse is so conventional that it sounds like mere affectation.⁴³² The power of the recusatio found strength essentially in its ambiguity. On the one hand, it gave a silent but reassuring nod to the request of the sponsor. In fact, although secondarily and obliquely, by denying their aptness for celebrating the great deeds of a powerful individual, the poets implied that those deeds were great, in fact too great for them to praise, and thus formulated a kind of indirect, allusive panegyric. In the very act of refusing to write encomia for a powerful sponsor, such a poet implicitly paid tribute to him or her. Moreover, although not usually in the style and with the content that were desired, sponsors did receive poems at their request.⁴³³ On the other hand, by formally resisting the demands of the powerful, poets claimed and indeed exercised autonomy. For all their polite show of humility, it is clear that they did not write political panegyric because they did not want to, whatever their reasons. By withholding their assent to their sponsors’ requests, they evaded the obligations of reciprocity—even as they, in fact, wrote a poem in (ambiguously negative) response to the request—and therefore made a strong assertion of independence and freedom.⁴³⁴ As a result, the poets played the game of exchange while claiming distance and superiority over its rules.⁴³⁵ Another device which writers adopted to exploit their relationship with influential individuals was the harsh wording with which they sometimes chose to express the requests they received. While some of these are expressed in softer tones, others convey a sense of coercion. For instance, Seneca the Elder opens the preface to his Controversiae with harsh wording: “You demand [exigitis]  Gold, “Propertius.” This poetic use of addressees within the argument of a poem was a common strategy. Horace goes so far as to co-opt Augustus himself for his own agenda in Ep. 2.1. See Santirocco, “Horace,” 238 – 42.  For the conventionality of the recusatio and the dubious reality of the requests to poets, see Bowditch, Horace, 59 – 60.  Williams, Tradition and Originality, 47; Bowditch, Horace, 37.  In Ep. 1.7.29 – 34, another refusal of Maecenas’s request, Horace is well aware of the obligation to reciprocate and says he is ready to give everything up and return all of Maecenas’s gifts (cuncta resigno; inspice si possum donata reponere laetus), if need be.  More generally, Bowditch argues that in his epistles to Maecenas, Horace refashions their relationship in terms of egalitarian friendship (Horace, 161– 210).

3.3 Forms of Nonreciprocal Exchange

135

something that is more pleasant to me than easy. In fact, you command [iubetis] me to indicate what I think about the declaimers of my days” (Cont. 1. pr. 1; my trans.). The few instances in which we have the requests in the words of their authors, however, indicate that they were not formulated in the strong language reported by poets. The forceful words used by writers were part of their self-representation. On the one hand, writers portrayed themselves in a familiar relationship with the powerful elite. On the other hand, the urgency and the burden of the requests, albeit fictitious, increased and advertised the worth of their literary productions.⁴³⁶ Similarly, Josephus intimates that he only wrote the Jewish Antiquities because of pressure and persuasion from his sponsors, Epaphroditus above all (Ant. P.8 – 9). Of course, these and similar expressions are literary tributes to the greatness of literature written by people of letters and cannot be taken as realistic descriptions of social relations. They nonetheless give witness to the ways poets represented, and perhaps thought of, themselves as equal or even superior to their powerful connections by reason of their art.

3.3 Forms of Nonreciprocal Exchange Close, stable relations are built upon active reciprocation of gifts between the exchange partners. These relations, however, do not exhaust all forms of gift giving in the experience of early Christians. Some kinds of gifts may be linked to no expectations of reciprocation for reasons that span from public welfare and safety to personal morality and religiosity. This section analyzes three examples of nonreciprocal gifts that, though not all necessarily aimed to support the poor, surely had a substantial impact on the survival of the economically most vulnerable.

3.3.1 State Support As Finley incisively remarks, the ancient state showed little interest in fighting poverty.⁴³⁷ He goes on to mention the grain dole in Rome and the alimenta in Italy as exceptions to the general political apathy, but it is highly questionable whether even these policies aimed primarily to alleviate the widespread poverty of the urban population. In fact, it is difficult to imagine that the welfare of the

 White, Promised Verse, 64– 71; Santirocco, “Horace,” 237– 38.  Finley, The Ancient Economy, 40.

136

3 Multiplicity of Exchange Forms in the World of Paul

poor was such a pressing concern for the oligarchic elites who dictated public policy (even in democratic Athens) as to influence their decisions. This does not mean, however, that public policy never positively impacted the poor. On the one hand, improving the economic conditions of the lower social strata could be conducive to other goals of direct interest to the aristocracies. On the other hand, policies of public support not directly designed for the poor could still benefit some indigent individuals. State-funded distributions of land, food, and money did not entail reciprocity. Theoretically, a common paternalistic rhetoric required people to express gratitude to the state by showing patriotism, but these distributions were enacted neither in repayment nor in view of any specific service.⁴³⁸ Distributions of land took two interconnected forms: the establishment of colonies and agrarian reforms. The phenomenon of colonization—a term unfortunately charged with modern European imperialistic ideology that is not necessarily reflective of ancient realities—existed throughout antiquity, from the great flourishing of Greek settlements in the archaic period to the veteran colonies of the Roman Empire.⁴³⁹ The creation of new colonies and the transforma-

 Cicero argues: “What is patriotism, what is service to one’s country in war and peace, if it is not a recollection of benefits received from that country?” (Planc. 80). See also Valerius Maximus, Fact. ac dict. 5.3. These expressions, however, have a general validity and are not directly connected with public distributions.  For Greek and Roman colonization, see Gianfranco Tibiletti, “Ricerche di storia agraria romana,” Athenaeum 28 (1950): 183 – 239; A. J. Graham, Colony and Mother City in Ancient Greece (New York: Barnes & Noble, 1964); E. T. Salmon, Roman Colonization under the Republic, Aspects of Greek and Roman Life (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1970); P. A. Brunt, Italian Manpower 225 B.C.–A.D. 14 (Oxford: Clarendon, 1971); John Boardman, The Greeks Overseas: Their Early Colonies and Trade, 4th ed. (London: Thames & Hudson, 1980); Lawrence Keppie, Colonisation and Veteran Settlement in Italy 47 – 14 B.C. (London: The British School at Rome, 1983); Lawrence Keppie, “Colonisation and Veteran Settlement in Italy in the First Century A.D.” Papers of the British School at Rome 52 (1984): 77– 114; Nancy H. Demand, Urban Relocation in Archaic and Classical Greece: Flight and Consolidation, Oklahoma Series in Classical Culture (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1990); Gocha R. Tsetskhladze and Franco De Angelis, eds., The Archaeology of Greek Colonisation: Essays Dedicated to Sir John Boardman, Oxford University Committee for Archaeology Monograph 40 (Oxford: Oxford University Committee for Archaeology, 1994); Daniel J. Gargola, Lands, Laws, and Gods: Magistrates and Ceremony in the Regulation of Public Lands in Republican Rome, Studies in the History of Greece and Rome (Chapel Hill: The University of North Carolina Press, 1995); Greg Woolf, Becoming Roman: The Origins of Provincial Civilization in Gaul (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998); Elizabeth Fentress, ed., Romanization and the City: Creation, Transformations, and Failures, Journal of Roman Archaeology Supplementary Series 38 (Portsmouth: Journal of Roman Archaeology, 2000); MacMullen, Romanization in the Time of Augustus; Guy Bradley and John-Paul Wilson, eds., Greek and Roman Colonization: Origins, Ideologies and Interactions (Swansea: The Classical Press of

3.3 Forms of Nonreciprocal Exchange

137

tion of existing towns or villages into colonies were driven by a variety of motives, such as exploitation of natural resources, control of strategic locations for trade or military objectives, pacification of conquered territories, or cultural and political dominance.⁴⁴⁰ One of the reasons for establishing colonies—or at least one of its side effects—might have been an attempt to solve the recurring problem of urban overpopulation, which was in turn usually a result of rural exodus due to temporary intensification of the endemic poverty among the peasantry.⁴⁴¹ Thus, in the words of Finley, “One dealt with the poor, when circumstances made it essential to deal with them, by getting rid of them at someone else’s expense.”⁴⁴² In fact, Livy suggests that the establishment of colonies was partly a social policy to handle unrest among the urban population (Hist. 4.47.6 – 7; 5.24.4– 5; 6.16.6). The so-called agrarian reforms, namely redistributions of land from wealthy landholders to the general population, were a second method of providing arable land to landless citizens.⁴⁴³ According to Livy, the first lex agraria in Rome

Wales, 2006); Saskia T. Roselaar, Public Land in the Roman Republic: A Social and Economic History of Ager Publicus in Italy, 396 – 89 BC, Oxford Studies in Roman Society and Law (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010).  For instance, Gargola observes that in the Middle Republic, Roman colonies were placed “in locations open to enemy attack, in recently subjugated regions liable to revolt, at crucial river crossings and road junctions, and on vulnerable sections of coastline” (Lands, Laws, and Gods, 52). Ethella Hermon argues that the different forms of exploitation of the ager publicus were means of domination by asserting the physical presence of Rome in its Empire (“La loi agraire de Tiberius Gracchus,” Ktèma 1 [1976]: 179 – 81). Besides strategic goals, the distribution of land was a populistic move that could be used for political reasons and personal advantage. See Prell, Sozialökonomische Untersuchungen, 274; Gargola, Lands, Laws, and Gods, 138 – 39.  Bolkestein, Wohltätigkeit und Armenpflege, 249 – 51, 349 – 59; Hinnerk Bruhns, “Armut und Gesellschaft in Rom,” in Vom Elend der Handarbeit: Probleme historischer Unterschichtenforschung, ed. Hans Mommsen and Winfried Schulze, Bochumer historische Studien 24 (Stuttgart: Klett-Cotta, 1981), 42; Prell, Sozialökonomische Untersuchungen, 272. Peter Garnsey and Ian Morris provide evidence that archaic Greek colonization was often a response to fast population growth and short-term food crisis (“Risk and the Polis: The Evolution of Institutionalised Responses to Food Supply Problems in the Ancient Greek State,” in Bad Year Economics: Cultural Responses to Risk and Uncertainty, ed. Paul Halstead and John O’Shea, New Directions in Archaeology [Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989], 102– 3). Garnsey excludes overpopulation as a significant stimulus to Athenian colonization in the classical period. Imperialistic motives seem more relevant (Famine and Food Supply, 129 – 31). Overpopulation was probably a factor for Roman colonization (Famine and Food Supply, 179 – 81).  Finley, The Ancient Economy, 171. See also Salmon, Roman Colonization, 15.  For Roman agrarian legislation and land distribution practices and protocols, see the comprehensive study of Gargola, Lands, Laws, and Gods. See also Gianfranco Tibiletti, “Il possesso dell’ager publicus e le norme de modo agrorum sino ai Gracchi,” Atheneum 26 (1948): 173 – 236;

138

3 Multiplicity of Exchange Forms in the World of Paul

was enacted in 486 BCE, when two thirds of the land of the Hernici, an Italian tribe settled in Latium, was distributed among the Latins and the urban plebs (Hist. 2.41.1). Another common strategy was to impose a law de modo agrorum, a limit on the amount of public land owned or leased by a single individual, which resulted in new land available for distribution (e. g., Livy, Hist. 6.35.5).⁴⁴⁴ Since these policies implicitly threatened the interests of the landown-

27 (1949): 3 – 41; Tibiletti, “Ricerche di storia agraria romana,” 245 – 266; D. C. Earl, Tiberius Gracchus: A Study in Politics, Latomus 66 (Brussels: Latomus, 1963); Jérome Carcopino, Autour des Gracques: Études critiques, 2nd ed., Collection d’études anciennes (Paris: Les belles lettres, 1967); Alvin H. Bernstein, Tiberius Sempronius Gracchus: Tradition and Apostasy (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1978); David Stockton, The Gracchi (Oxford: Clarendon, 1979); Hermon, “La loi agraire”; Yanir Shochat, Recruitment and the Programme of Tiberius Gracchus, Latomus 169 (Brussels: Latomus, 1980); Andrew Lintott, Judicial Reform and Land Reform in the Roman Republic: A New Edition, with Translation and Commentary, of the Laws from Urbino (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992); Luciano Perelli, I Gracchi, Profili 19 (Rome: Salerno, 1993); Roselaar, Public Land. The land that was to be redistributed was the so-called ager occupatorius, namely, public land that had come in the private use—but never private property—of powerful individuals because it was unused or through expulsion of previous occupants. As the ager occupatorius was formally considered a state asset, it was subject to public policy (by and large, Roman politics did not interfere with private property). See Gargola, Lands, Laws, and Gods, 130. Some sources suggest that Lycurgus redistributed the land among the Spartans in the archaic period (Aristotle, Pol. 5.6.2; Plutarch, Lyc. 8). See discussion in Stephen Hodkinson, Property and Wealth in Classical Sparta (London: Duckworth, 2000), 65–81. Polybius relates the story of Chaeron, who, in the early second century BCE, confiscated land from the wealthy and distributed it to the poor. This is presented by Polybius as part of his unlawful conduct (Hist. 24.7).  Such laws de modo agrorum, which limited private exploitation of public land, were enacted at various times in Roman history. The most famous one was the lex Licinia agraria of 367 BCE, which limited private holding of public land to five hundred iugera per capita. See Gargola, Land, Laws, and Gods, 136 – 38; Karl Christ, Krise und Untergang der römischen Republik, 4th ed. (Darmstadt: WBG, 2000), 117– 18. The same limit was later imposed by Tiberius Gracchus (Plutarch, Ti. Gracch. 8.2). Demographic and social goals ascribed by ancient authors, especially Appian and Plutarch, to the laws de modo agrorum and archaic land distributions may be the result of a “Gracchan” view of the matter, retroprojecting concerns of the Gracchan reform onto previous legislation. See Tibiletti, “Il possesso dell’ager publicus,” 192– 206, 229 – 30; Lintott, Judicial Reform, 37; Gargola, Lands, Laws, and Gods, 139. Hermon goes as far as to suggest that post-Gracchan authors created an agrarian tradition—she refers explicitly to the lex Licinia agraria—modeled on the Gracchan reforms (“La loi agraire,” 181– 82). However, at least one mention of a lex de modo agrorum—in a fragment from Cato’s Pro Rhodiensibus preserved by Gellius, Noct. att. 6.3.37 (167 BCE)—predates the Gracchan reform. See Tibiletti, “Il possesso dell’ager publicus,” 191– 92. Alternative goals of such legislation might have been to grant occupation of public land to plebeians, to stifle competition among the elite, to curb the number of slaves, or to impose a moral censure of greed. For a discussion of the motives of the laws de modo agrorum, see Tibiletti, “Il possesso dell’ager publicus,” 173 – 74; Perelli, I Gracchi, 75 – 96; Gargola, Land, Laws, and Gods, 138 – 45.

3.3 Forms of Nonreciprocal Exchange

139

ing elite, they usually faced determined opposition (Livy, Hist. 2.41.2; 6.35.6). This was exactly the situation faced by Tiberius Gracchus’s agrarian reform in second century BCE republican Rome. A combination of factors had caused a drastic decline in the conditions of the Italian peasantry, resulting in dwindling numbers of rural population and urban migration.⁴⁴⁵ These issues had the twofold consequence of compromising the Roman military pool, which drew primarily from rural areas, and creating an unstable mass of impoverished and unproductive citizens in Rome. According to the sources, Tiberius’s lex Sempronia agraria aimed to solve both these predicaments.⁴⁴⁶ Appian implies that agrarian reforms were enacted to ensure that the Romans “might have plenty of allies at home” (Bell. civ. 1.7).⁴⁴⁷ Plutarch, on the other hand, has Tiberius deliver an impassioned speech on behalf of the impoverished: “The wild beasts that roam over Italy,” he would say, “have every one of them a cave or lair to lurk in; but the men who fight and die for Italy enjoy the common air and light, indeed, but nothing else; houseless and homeless they wander about with their wives and children. And it is with lying lips that their imperators exhort the soldiers in their battles to defend sepulchres and shrines from the enemy; for not a man of them has an hereditary altar, not one of all these many Romans an ancestral tomb, but they fight and die to support others in wealth and luxury, and though they are styled masters of the world, they have not a single clod of earth that is their own.” (Ti. Gracch. 9.5; trans. Perrin)

 The causes of rural decline and urban migration in the second century BCE are usually identified with a) the devastation left by Hannibal’s army after many years of occupation of southern Italy, b) the great expansion of large estates, whose wealthy owners were the only ones to have the capital necessary to make the land productive, at the expense of small landowners, and c) the massive influx of cheap workforce in the form of prisoners-slaves from the many wars of conquest. See Bolkestein, Wohltätigkeit und Armenpflege, 352– 57; Bruhns, “Armut,” 30 – 32; Lintott, Judicial Reform, 41– 43; Prell, Sozialökonomische Untersuchungen, 272; Christ, Krise und Untergang, 68 – 77; Engfer, Die private Munifizenz, 59 – 60. For a critical discussion of modern reconstructions of second century BCE Italy, see Badian, “Tiberius Gracchus,” 673 – 82.  Although Tiberius Gracchus did not devise innovative policies to deal with old problems but only rehashed previous strategies, the reform that he introduced marked a fundamental turning point in Roman history for its broader scale and the rigor of its implementation. Besides setting limits to private use of public land like previous laws de modo agrorum, the lex Sempronia agraria provided for the settlement of landless citizens on land thus freed, a special commission being appointed to oversee the transfer. See Tibiletti, “Il possesso dell’ager publicus,” 175; Badian, “Tiberius Gracchus,” 701– 6; Hermon, “La loi agraire,” 182– 84; Lintott, Judicial Reform, 44– 45; Gargola, Lands, Laws, and Gods, 147– 50; Christ, Krise und Untergang, 123 – 25.  According to Appian, these “allies at home” were the peoples of the Italian peninsula. For a discussion of the inclusion of Italians in Tiberius’s reform, see Yanir Shochat, “The Lex Agraria of 133 B.C. and the Italian Allies,” Athenaeum 48 (1970): 25 – 45. For the connection between rural poverty and military power, see Bruhns, “Armut,” 32– 34.

140

3 Multiplicity of Exchange Forms in the World of Paul

It is impossible to know whether Tiberius did in fact make use of such arguments and, if he did, whether it was more than just an emotional appeal to mask more expedient political aims, but it seems that in Tiberius’s view, the state’s prosperity depended on the welfare and growth of the Italian rural population.⁴⁴⁸ While land distributions represented a large-scale attempt to reduce urban overpopulation, they could not immediately solve the recurring food provision crises that overpopulation inevitably entailed. Since in conjunction with crop failure or shortage—usually due to adverse weather or war⁴⁴⁹—food prices would climb beyond affordable levels, the usual solution was to make staple food available at normal or reduced price.⁴⁵⁰ In early periods, the extra cost

 After Tiberius’s death, there were repeated attempts to improve the conditions of the rural population in the Italian peninsula, often in view of the political support its citizens could offer. See Bolkestein, Wohltätigkeit und Armenpflege, 361– 64; Lintott, Judicial Reform, 46 – 58 Prell, Sozialökonomische Untersuchungen, 274– 78; Gargola, Lands, Laws, and Gods, 175 – 89.  Besides food shortages due to natural causes, food price could also rise as a result of supply monopoly or speculation. These pernicious practices, however, were kept under control through appropriate penal legislation and public policies. See Bolkestein, Wohltätigkeit und Armenpflege, 257– 59.  For grain distributions in the Greco-Roman world, see Emin Tengström, Bread for the People: Studies of the Corn-Supply of Rome during the Late Empire (Stockholm: Svenska Institutet i Rom, 1974); Geoffrey Rickman, The Corn Supply of Ancient Rome (Oxford: Clarendon, 1980), 156 – 97; Veyne, Bread and Circuses, 236 – 45; Garnsey, Famine and Food Supply; Perelli, I Gracchi, 176 – 80. For food price regulation in the Roman world, see Paul Erdkamp, The Grain Market in the Roman Empire: A Social, Political and Economic Study (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005), 283 – 306. In the imperial period, there is evidence of occasional distributions of food (banquets for select individuals or bread and a mixture of wine and honey for the entire city population). See Mrozek, Les distributions d’argent et de nourriture, 37– 53. A similar but distinct policy of the imperial period was the distribution of alimenta, an allowance for feeding children in some Italian cities sponsored by the emperor himself. Despite having the appearance of a social policy—government subsidies for population increase in Duncan-Jones’s interpretation—the choice of children as beneficiaries and the similarities between this imperial endowment and some private alimentary schemes suggest that the aim of the alimenta was rather the self-representation of the emperor as benefactor of Italy. Moreover, at least part of the recipients appears to have been of relatively high status and able to afford honorific inscriptions for the emperor, which makes the possibility of the alimenta being a poverty-relief policy less likely. See Bruhns, “Armut,” 46 – 48; Richard Duncan-Jones, The Economy of the Roman Empire: Quantitative Studies, 2nd ed. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1982), 288 – 319; John R. Patterson, “Crisis: What Crisis? Rural Change and Urban Development in Imperial Appennine Italy,” Paper of the British School at Rome 55 (1987): 115 – 46; Mrozek, Les distributions d’argent et de nourriture, 58 – 62; Greg Woolf, “Food, Poverty and Patronage: The Significance of the Epigraphy of the Roman Alimentary Schemes in Early Imperial Italy,” Papers of the British School at Rome 58 (1990): 197– 228; Prell, Sozialökonomische Untersuchungen, 287– 91; Willem Jongman, “Beneficial Symbols: Alimenta and the Infantilization of the Roman Citizen,” in Jongman and Kleij-

3.3 Forms of Nonreciprocal Exchange

141

was carried by private donors—either as individuals or contributing to open subscriptions—a phenomenon under the wider notion of benefaction.⁴⁵¹ State-funded grain distributions were first instituted by Gaius Gracchus in 123 BCE under the name of frumentationes and continued to the Late Empire. The lex Sempronia frumentaria provided for monthly distributions of grain at fixed cost (the later lex Clodia frumentaria of 58 BCE would provide grain at no cost; see Cassius Dio, Hist. 38.13.1) financed by the Treasury, possibly through provincial tributes. Originally, the cost difference between the frumentationes and the market was probably modest, since the primary aim of Gaius’s policy was state supervision and control of this specific economic sector by preventing price fluctuation.⁴⁵² Whether or not land and grain distributions were inspired by the endemic poverty of both rural and urban population, as some sources suggest, these policies never directly addressed the poor, but only citizens.⁴⁵³ A famous anecdote related by Cicero illustrates the point: The famous Piso, named Frugi, had spoken consistently against the Grain-law. When the law was passed, in spite of his consular rank, he was there to receive the grain. Gracchus

wegt, After the Past: Essays in Ancient History in Honour of H.W. Pleket, 47– 80; John T. Fitzgerald, “Orphans in Mediterranean Antiquity and Early Christianity,” Acta Theologica Supplementum 23 (2016): 39.  Garnsey, Famine and Food Supply, 15; Bruhns, “Armut,” 34– 35; Engfer, Die private Munifizenz, 241– 47. See the example of Spurius Maelius discussed above, p. 87– 88, as well as other examples in Bolkestein, Wohltätigkeit und Armenpflege, 259 – 67.  Veyne states: “The Gracchan law did not aim to enable the plebs to live in idleness and to purchase its abstention from politics at the price of its inertia. It was not a measure of public assistance or charity. Its principle was not the division of the benefits of conquest among all citizens of the conquering people. It sought merely to apply in a serious way the principle which affirmed that corn was not a commodity like others and that it was the state’s task to act so that the market was supplied with corn” (Bread and Circuses, 237). See also Rickman, The Corn Supply, 158 – 60; Perelli, I Gracchi, 178. Bruhns argues that the frumentationes, limited as they were to citizens residing in Rome, were a recognition of the political role of Rome’s growing urban population (“Armut,” 35 – 36).  As evidence that these measures did not aim to address poverty, Engfer observes that women without a husband or father and their underage children were not included in the distributions, but only male urban citizens: “Rechtstatus, Geschlecht und Alter waren die bestimmenden Kriterien für den Erhalt von Getreide, nicht die Bedürftigkeit.” (Die private Munifizenz, 64– 65). Bruhns argues that ancient policies were never directed to the poor because of the social categories of the ancient world, which divided society not along economic but status lines: citizen/noncitizen, citizen/freedman/slave. Social policies follow these structural lines. The polarity citizen/slave was especially relevant as the massive influx of slaves into the workforce rendered it unnecessary to hire free labor and thus compromised the economic conditions of landless citizens, a plight that social policies in favor of citizens tried to ease (“Armut,” 37– 40).

142

3 Multiplicity of Exchange Forms in the World of Paul

noticed Piso standing in the throng; he asked him in the hearing of the Roman people what consistency there was in coming for the grain under the terms of the law which he had opposed. “I shouldn’t like it, Gracchus, to come into your head to divide up my property among all the citizens; but should you do so I should come for my share.” (Tusc. 3.48; trans. King)

Albeit directed to the general male citizen population, distributions certainly had a significantly greater impact on individuals of modest means than on a consul such as Piso. What was a minimal gift of grain or a negligible piece of land to the Roman elite, probably constituted a considerable improvement in the survival chances of the urban poor.⁴⁵⁴ State-funded distributions of cash are known from classical Greece. Democratic Athens paid a number of μισθοί for public services such as holding office, sitting on a jury, or military service.⁴⁵⁵ All of these were in actuality forms of reward for services done for the community.⁴⁵⁶ They were purportedly meant to enable citizens of modest means, who could not have otherwise afforded absenting themselves from work, to participate in the workings of the state, thus fulfilling the fundamental democratic principle of equality of all citizens.⁴⁵⁷ A special instance, however, was the μισθὸς ἐκκλησιαστικός, a daily allowance instituted by Agyrrhius at the turn of the fourth century BCE in the amount of one obol, later increased to two and then three obols (Aristotle, Ath. pol. 41.3).⁴⁵⁸ This specific  Rickman, The Corn Supply, 160 – 61; Engfer, Die private Munifizenz, 65. However, the extent to which the poorest urban population could benefit from these policies is questionable. In addition to the requirement of citizenship and residence in Rome or Italy, beneficiaries still needed the means to afford the fixed price of grain or to make the assigned plot of land economically productive.  For an overview, see Mogens Herman Hansen, “Misthos for Magistrates in Classical Athens,” SO 54 (1979): 5 – 22.  Schmitt Pantel notes that the μισθός was no remuneration for work but a form of countergift from the collectivity for those who gave their time for it (La cité au banquet, 196).  Bolkestein, Wohltätigkeit und Armenpflege, 267; Claude Mossé, Les institutions politiques grecques à l’époque classique, Collection U2 28 (Paris: Armand Colin, 1967), 34; Finley, Politics in the Ancient World, 40; Lisa Kallet, “The Athenian Economy,” in The Cambridge Companion to the Age of Pericles, ed. Loren J. Samons II (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007), 77; Taylor, Poverty, Wealth, and Well-Being, 153– 55.  Otto Schultheß, “Μισθός,” PW 25:2087; James J. Buchanan, Theorika: A Study of Monetary Distributions to the Athenian Citizenry during the Fifth and Fourth Centuries B.C. (Locust Valley: Augustin, 1962), 22. Mossé points out the political motives of Agyrrhius and others in proposing this attendance pay (Politique et société en Grèce ancienne, 112– 13). There is evidence of similar payments implemented in Iasos and Rhodes, and possibly in other democratic poleis. See Schultheß, PW 25:2088 – 89; G. E. M. de Ste Croix, “Political Pay outside Athens,” CQ 25 (1975): 48 – 52.

3.3 Forms of Nonreciprocal Exchange

143

pay was apparently introduced to solve the chronic problem of low attendance at public assemblies—a quorum was required for the assembly to have legislative power—and it appears to have been effective in this regard (Aristophanes, Eccl. 183 – 189).⁴⁵⁹ Of course, Agyrrhius and others after him were only able to exploit the populistic appeal of this policy because the financial success of the Athenian hegemony made it possible.⁴⁶⁰ The μισθὸς ἐκκλησιαστικός shared with the other μισθοί the alleged purpose of enabling equal participation in the political life of the polis regardless of individual socioeconomic circumstances, but it was exceptional as a state-funded distribution of cash not in exchange for some public service but for the mere exercise of a right of citizenship, an exercise that was essential to democratic ideals and practice.⁴⁶¹ The Athenian trend toward cash distributions from the state for no specific public service becomes even more apparent in the case of the θεωρικόν. There is some discussion as to the origin of these distributions, but by the mid-fourth century BCE cash was doled out to all Athenian citizens on the occasion of fes-

 Mossé, Les institutions politiques grecques, 37– 38, 45. Philippe Gauthier points out that according to Aristophanes and an inscription from Iasos, only the first attendees to arrive received the μισθὸς ἐκκλησιαστικός and argues that it was an incentive to punctuality (“Sur l’institution du misthos de l’assemblée à Athènes (Ath. Pol. 41,3),” in Aristote et Athènes=Aristoteles and Athens, ed. Marcel Piérart [Fribourg: Séminaire d’histoire ancienne de l’Université de Fribourg, 1993], 231– 50).  Buchanan, Theorika, 26; Millett, “Patronage and Its Avoidance in Classical Athens,” 39; P. J. Rhodes, “Democracy and Empire,” in The Cambridge Companion to the Age of Pericles, ed. Loren J. Samons II (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007), 29 – 30.  Buchanan, Theorika, 26. The political impact of the μισθὸς ἐκκλησιαστικός was unquestionably superior to its economic impact. The limited number of meetings of the assembly—four every year in addition to few extraordinary meetings—would not be enough to make this a substantial source of revenue. On the other hand, its success in increasing popular participation probably changed the makeup of the assembly by achieving a higher ratio of poor and rural citizens. See Mossé, Les institutions politiques grecques, 45 – 46. Similar considerations can be made for other forms of public pay at Athens. Claire Taylor observes: “Service, and therefore pay, could not be relied upon at any given time: most offices were selected by lot, thereby introducing a degree of randomness into selection; they were held for limited periods of time; and many political duties probably did not require frequent attendance. Although 3 obols as payment for serving on a jury was no doubt welcome and perhaps even raised citizens from bare subsistence to having a higher standard of living if they served often enough, the complexities of selection meant that one could not rely on being chosen and therefore could not depend on the stability of that income” (Poverty, Wealth, and Well-Being, 155). Gygax believes that public pay was part of Pericles’s wider strategy to democratize Athens, “the use of public money to help the poorest citizens, but in a way that made them servants of the polis rather than an object of charity” (Benefaction and Rewards, 157– 58).

144

3 Multiplicity of Exchange Forms in the World of Paul

tivals, ostensibly to allow them to attend the theater.⁴⁶² The θεωρικόν was financed by the surplus revenues of the state, which means that it was in effect a redistribution of state income (see, e. g., Isocrates, De pace 82).⁴⁶³ This kind of policy was rooted in the ideas that what was in the public treasury belonged to the whole citizenry and that all state profits should be shared.⁴⁶⁴ Plutarch makes reference to a sixth-century BCE precedent for the θεωρικόν. Whereas the Athenians were wont to divide up among themselves the revenue coming from the silver mines at Laureium, he [Themistocles], and he alone, dared to come before the people with a motion that this division be given up, and that with these moneys triremes be constructed for the war against Aegina. (Them. 4.1; trans. Perrin)⁴⁶⁵

Plutarch’s implication that this redistribution was customary (ἔθος ἐχόντων ᾿Aθηναίων διανέμεσθαι; Cornelius Nepos, Them. 2.2 says yearly, quotannis) may indeed reflect the later practice of the θεωρικόν. However, it is relevant that all sources agree that the money came from state income. Finally, as it was true of the μισθοί, so the θεωρικόν was allotted not to the poor but to all citizens. Aristotle, from a theoretical point of view, states that “the truly democratic statesman must study how the multitude may be saved from extreme poverty” and suggests that “the proper course is to collect all the proceeds of the revenues into a fund and distribute this in lump sums to the needy” (τοῖς ἀπόροις) (Pol. 6.3.4; trans. Rackham).⁴⁶⁶ Demosthenes, however, remarks about his time: “All the rich citizens [οἱ γὰρ εὔποροι πάντες] come up to receive their share of this increase, as indeed they have a perfect right to do” (4 Philip. 38; trans. Vince). This brief overview of state-funded distributions of land, food, and cash has demonstrated the variety of motives that inspired these policies, not least their  Bolkestein, Wohltätigkeit und Armenpflege, 270. For an extended discussion of when the θεωρικόν was first instituted, see Buchanan, Theorika, 29 – 60.  P. J. Rhodes, The Athenian Boule (Oxford: Clarendon, 1972), 105.  Bolkestein, Wohltätigkeit und Armenpflege, 270; Hands, Charities and Social Aid in Greece and Rome, 98; Garnsey, Famine and Food Supply, 79 – 81.  See also Herodotus, Hist. 7.144; Aristotle, Ath. pol. 22.7. A similar attempt to divert the theoric fund to military expenditure was made by Demosthenes (1 Olynth. 19 – 20). See Buchanan, Theorika, 60 – 74.  In the same context, Aristotle provides the concrete example of the Tarentines: “They get the goodwill of the multitude by making property communal for the purpose of use by the needy” (Pol. 6.3.5; trans. Rackham). This, however, is not a poverty relief policy, but a policy aimed to mitigate the vulnerability of democracy to corruption. See Alexander Fuks, “Τοῖς ἀπορουμένοις κοινωνεῖν: The Sharing of Property by the Rich with the Poor in Greek Theory and Practice,” Scripta Classica Israelica 5 (1979 – 1980): 46 – 63; Cecchet, “Gift-Giving to the Poor,” 162.

3.3 Forms of Nonreciprocal Exchange

145

demagogic appeal. The sources, however, occasionally suggest that these measures aimed to relieve poverty among lower income groups. For instance, Appian indicates that the land freed by the lex Licinia agraria as well as by the lex Sempronia agraria was meant to be distributed to the poor (τοῖς πένησι; Bell. civ. 1.8 – 9). Analogously, Plutarch says that the lex Sempronia frumentaria “lowered the market price to the poor” (τοῖς πένησι) (C. Gracch. 5.2; trans. Perrin). As for the θεωρικόν, we have already seen Aristotle’s judgment. Even if poverty relief was not the primary purpose of state distributions, these statements suggest that ancient writers were deeply aware of the impact that such policies had on the indigent, those for whom even a little help meant staying above the level of subsistence.⁴⁶⁷ Furthermore, the existence of other motivations is not incompatible with the motive of poverty relief.⁴⁶⁸ In fact, Tiberius Gracchus seemed to think that the economic advancement of the Italian peasantry significantly overlapped with the military aims of Rome (and his personal popularity among the urban plebs). Analogously, the μισθὸς ἐκκλησιαστικός both offered financial incentives to the poorer citizens and enabled the machinery of democracy to work. While it is difficult to evaluate whether these policies proceeded from humanitarian or simply instrumental motives, their beneficial effects on the lives of the poor were clearly perceived.

3.3.2 Interest-Free Loans On the face of it, interest-free loans seem the epitome of reciprocity inasmuch as they require the repayment of the exact amount that was initially given. In reality, however, the ancient world was well aware that money is a value-creating commodity and that its investment to produce wealth always involves a certain risk.⁴⁶⁹ Lending practices ordinarily take these aspects into account by introducing interest and security.⁴⁷⁰ Specifically, interest payment can be regarded as reciprocation for a lender’s favor of making his or her money available to a borrow-

 Gygax, Benefaction and Rewards, 156 – 61.  See similar considerations by Longenecker, Remember the Poor, 94– 96.  Vincent Gabrielsen, “Banking and Credit Operations in Hellenistic Times,” in Making, Moving and Managing: The New World of Ancient Economies, 323 – 31 BC, ed. Zofia H. Archibald, John K. Davies, and Vincent Gabrielsen (Oxford: Oxbow, 2005), 137.  Isac Leo Seeligmann, “Darlehen, Bürgschaft und Zins in Recht und Gedankenwelt der hebräischen Bibel,” in Gesammelte Studien zur Hebräischen Bibel, ed. Erhard Blum, FAT 41 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2004), 338 – 39.

146

3 Multiplicity of Exchange Forms in the World of Paul

er and taking the risk of losing it. If interest is forgone, reciprocation can still be offered in a variety of forms but may also be simply absent.

3.3.2.1 Greek and Roman Interest-Free Loans In the ancient Greco-Roman world, interest-free loans were fairly common at every level of society—between kin, neighbors, and friends, within associations, and from and to cities or sanctuaries—and were understood within the framework of reciprocal relations, especially benefaction and friendship.⁴⁷¹ Interestfree loans fulfilled the same economic, social, and political functions as interest-bearing loans and gifts. As they addressed financial needs of various kinds, they created social ties and possibly dependency.⁴⁷² For instance, Cornelius Nepos describes at length the munificent way in which Atticus behaved toward the Athenians and how they held him in great esteem (Att. 2.4– 4.5). His account of Atticus’s stay in Athens states: There he lived in such a manner that he was deservedly very dear to all the Athenians. For not to mention his influence [gratiam], which was great even in his youth, he often relieved their public necessities by his wealth. For example, when the state needed to negotiate a loan and could not do so on fair terms, he always came to the rescue, and in such a way that he never exacted from them excessive interest, nor would he allow them to remain in debt beyond the stipulated time. And both those conditions were to their advantage, since he did not by indulgence allow their debt to grow old, nor yet to increase by the piling up of interest. He added to this service [officium] still another act of generosity; for he made

 For interest-free loans in the Greco-Roman world, see Jacques Michel, Gratuité en droit romain, Etudes d’histoire et d’ethnologie juridiques (Brussels: Université Libre de Bruxelles, 1962), 103 – 27; Robert P. Maloney, “Usury in Greek, Roman and Rabbinic Thought,” Traditio 27 (1971): 81– 82; Israël Shatzman, Senatorial Wealth and Roman Politics, Latomus 142 (Brussels: Latomus, 1975), 75 – 83; Alfons Bürge, “Vertrag und personale Abhängigkeiten im Rom der späten Republik und der frühen Kaiserzeit,” Zeitschrift der Savigny-Stiftung für Rechtsgeschichte: Romanistische Abteilung 97 (1980): 130 – 38; Dixon, “The Meaning of Gift and Debt”; Veyne, Bread and Circuses, 73 – 74; Millett, Lending and Borrowing, 127– 59; Verboven, The Economy of Friends, 120 – 25.  Saller, Personal Patronage, 120. The possibility of offering credit to an individual is based on trust, namely, sufficient confidence that the loan will be repaid. This fundamental trust can be externalized outside the relationship between creditor and donor through the mediation of lending institutions—i.e., banks—and the guarantee of legally enforceable contracts. Alternatively, trust is built upon a reciprocal relationship between creditor and debtor. Although the ancient world had a banking system, it appears that loans granted by non-professional moneylenders were very common. See Verboven, The Economy of Friends, 117– 18; Millett, Lending and Borrowing, 153 – 154; Peter Temin, The Roman Market Economy, The Princeton Economic History of the Western World (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2013), 146 – 47.

3.3 Forms of Nonreciprocal Exchange

147

a distribution of grain to the entire people, giving each man six bushels of wheat, the equivalent of the measure which at Athens is called a medimnus. (Att. 2.4– 6; trans. Rolfe)

The language of gratia and officium and the reference to a grain dole characterize Atticus as a benefactor of Athens, and the provision of loans (the language suggests multiple instances) is part of his activities as a public benefactor.⁴⁷³ In classical Athens, interest-free loans usually took the form of ἔρανος loans.⁴⁷⁴ These were shared loans that borrowers collected from multiple lenders, usually relatives and friends. Each separate loan was interest-free and characterized by a strong emphasis on reciprocity, so that the loan was expected to be repaid as soon as possible.⁴⁷⁵ Such loans, however, could extend well beyond one’s circle of personal connections and be regarded as a civic duty. In a model speech of self-defense, Antiphon has the orator formulate an argument based on ethos (the orator’s own praiseworthy character): I have made several substantial payments to the Treasury, I have more than once served as Trierarch, I have furnished a brilliant chorus, I have often advanced money to friends [πολλοῖς δὲ ἐρανίζοντα], and I have frequently paid large sums under guarantees given for others; my wealth has come not from litigation, but from hard work; and I have been a religious and law-abiding man. If my character is such as this, you must not deem me guilty of anything sinful or dishonourable. (1 Tetr. 2.12; trans. Maidment)

Two aspects of the speaker’s good character are based on lending activities: offering ἔρανος loans and standing security. These activities, however, are grouped with public duties such as the εἰσφορά, trierarchies and choregies. All together, these activities portray the speaker as a public benefactor.⁴⁷⁶

 Bürge, “Vertrag und personale Abhängigkeiten,” 134. For interest-bearing loans represented as benefaction, see Rosivach, “Some Athenian Presuppositions,” 194.  M. I. Finley, Studies in Land and Credit in Ancient Athens, 500 – 200 B.C.: The Horos-Inscriptions (New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press, 1952); Christian Ammitzbøll Thomsen, “The Eranistai of Classical Athens,” GRBS 55 (2015): 154– 75.  For ἔρανος loans and their connections with other social institutions with the same name, especially communal ἔρανος banquets, see Oddone Longo, “Eranos,” in Mélanges Edouard Delebecque (Aix-en-Provence: Université de Provence, 1983), 247– 58.  See also Theophrastus, Char. 23.5 – 6; Millett, Lending and Borrowing, 157. Plutarch includes interest-free loans among the signs of Crassus’s generosity: “Crassus was generous with strangers, for his house was open to all; and he used to lend money to his friends without interest, but he would demand it back from the borrower relentlessly when the time had expired, and so the gratuity of the loan was more burdensome than heavy interest. When he entertained at table, his invited guests were for the most part plebeian and men of the people, and the simplicity of the meal was combined with a neatness and good cheer which gave more pleasure than lavish ex-

148

3 Multiplicity of Exchange Forms in the World of Paul

In Roman law, interest-free loans were called mutua. They were considered officia that could not be refused a friend, a patron, or a client (e. g., Cicero, Att. 207.4).⁴⁷⁷ In fact, this kind of loan was strictly connected with financial gifts.⁴⁷⁸ For instance, Horace describes the fictional patron Philippus convincing his client Volteius to buy a Sabine farm by “giving him seven thousand sesterces, and offering him a loan of seven thousand more” (dum septem donat sestertia, mutua septem promittit, persuadet uti mercetur agellum; Ep. 1.7.80 – 81; trans. Fairclough). Occasionally, when someone had difficulty repaying a mutuum, the lender simply wrote it off, thus making it to all intents and purposes a gift.⁴⁷⁹ In fact, the ethos of reciprocity that regulated the exchange of gifts between friends or between patrons and clients imposed an obligation on the receiver that was not unlike that of a loan.⁴⁸⁰ In sum, Greco-Roman interest-free penditure” (Crass. 3.1; trans. Perrin). Clearly, Plutarch’s evaluation of Crassus’s generosity is ambivalent. More generally, however, reference to past benefactions, whether through loans or otherwise, was a common apologetic strategy (e. g., Gorgias, Pal. 30 – 32).  Bürge, “Vertrag und personale Abhängigkeiten,” 130 – 31; Verboven, The Economy of Friends, 120 – 21. Although most of the evidence about the role of loans within personal relationships relates to the elite, the several mentions of mutua in Latin comedy suggest that they had a similar role among the less affluent. These latter instances also present negative aspects of loan transactions, especially the difficulty in obtaining a loan from a wealthy “friend,” that conform with general views of patron-client relations. See references in Verboven, The Economy of Friends, 121 n. 21; Bürge, “Vertrag und personale Abhängigkeiten,” 131– 32.  Dixon demonstrates that Romans—but this is true of other societies—employed loans within the framework of patronage: “Loans within the élite were usually made to create or cement relationships as much as to make a cash profit. Interest was certainly charged and enforced but, as elsewhere, the transaction was both economic and social in its implications. Many of the examples cited by Seneca to illustrate aspects of proper behaviour in relations of obligation concern political expenditure—in itself a type of debt relation, where public munificence was an investment in political support—financed by loans from relations and friends,” e. g., Seneca, Ben. 2.20 – 25 (“The Meaning of Gift and Debt,” 460; emphasis in the text; see also Saller, Personal Patronage, 120 – 22; Thomas Wiedemann, “The Patron as Banker” in “Bread and Circuses”: Euergetism and Municipal Patronage in Roman Italy, ed. Kathryn Lomas and Tim Cornell [London: Routledge, 2003], 12– 27). On the ambiguity between gifts and loans in patron-client relations, see Verboven, The Economy of Friends, 74. Analogously, Hayim Lapin argues that the Mishna’s prohibition against sending gifts in conjunction with a loan request or as gratitude after receiving a loan (m. B. Meṣiʿa 5:10) is a reaction against these signs of “inequality and residual obligation,” namely, patronal exploitation of loans (Early Rabbinic Civil Law and the Social History of Roman Galilee: A Study of Mishnah Tractate Babaʾ Meṣiʿaʾ, BJS 307 [Atlanta: Scholars, 1995], 191– 92).  Dixon, “The Meaning of Gift and Debt,” 462; Verboven, The Economy of Friends, 123 – 24. See also the example of Demosthenes, who converted his loans of ransom money to a group of captives into free gifts (Fals. leg. 169 – 70).  Saller, Personal Patronage, 122.

3.3 Forms of Nonreciprocal Exchange

149

loans were regulated by the principle of reciprocity inasmuch as the help provided by the lender was requited in the usual forms of patronage and friendship.⁴⁸¹

3.3.2.2 Jewish Interest-Free Loans The Jewish understanding of interest-free loans was more complex than in the Greco-Roman tradition.⁴⁸² On the one hand, some texts present features that, for the most part, resemble discourse about benefaction.⁴⁸³ Lending was a form of generosity associated with gifts (Ps 37:21, 26; 112:5). The debtor became dependent on his creditor (Prov 22:7). Being a lender was regarded as God’s blessing, while being in debt was a curse (Deut 15:6; 28:12– 13,43 – 44). A creditor could easily turn into a merciless, exploitative person (2 Kings 4:1; Sir 8:12; 20:15). Legal texts on loans, on the other hand, are primarily interested in the defense of the poor.⁴⁸⁴ Assnat Bartor draws attention to the Exodus prohibition against lending at interest (Exod 22:24– 26) and argues that the biblical lawgiver identifies with the point of view of the poor borrower.⁴⁸⁵ The motive clause (Exod

 The similarity of loans and patronage is patent when one considers the central role of trust in both social interactions.  Boer points out the fundamental difference between credit and debit. Althought there is overlap between the two, “credit ensures the mutual allocation and reallocation of all goods within the community,” whereas “debt is a mechanism for securing limited labor power, for ensuring the flow of relative wealth to the lender, and for reinforcing economic hierarchies.” According to Boer, biblical texts on lending assume the positive social and economic role of credit (The Sacred Economy of Ancient Israel, 157).  Seeligmann, “Darlehen,” 320 – 24; Leslie J. Hoppe, There Shall Be No Poor Among You: Poverty in the Bible (Nashville: Abingdon, 2004), 26 – 28.  Seeligmann, “Darlehen,” 333.  Assnat Bartor, “The Representation of Speech in the Casuistic Laws of the Pentateuch: The Phenomenon of Combined Discourse,” JBL 126 (2007): 236 – 38. Similarly, Norbert Lohfink suggests that this early provision concerning the poor is in stark contrast with the other ancient Near Eastern lawcodes, which permit charging interest, and argues that this was a conscious deviation from the norm. The change in attitude toward the poor is reflected in the shift from the usual casuistic language to the paraenetic style of the second person address. “The divine legislator of the Covenant Code comes more to the fore in the laws about the poor than in the other laws” (“Poverty in the Laws of the Ancient Near East and of the Bible,” TS 52 [1991]: 39 – 42). The second person address and the paraenetic style are even more evident in Deut 15:1– 11 (analyzed below). See Lohfink, “Poverty,” 46. The biblical text assumes that the borrower to whom the Exodus statute applies is poor (Exod 22:24: “If you lend money to my people, to the poor among you”; for “my people” as indicating the impoverished, see S. Stein, “The Laws on Interest in the Old Testament,” JTS 4 [1953]: 162; Seeligmann, “Darlehen,” 339 – 40, especially n. 48). The law of Exod 22:24– 26 does not seem to address commercial loans but rather small-scale credit for the support of the needy. The same is true for the prohibition against interest in Lev 25:35 – 37,

150

3 Multiplicity of Exchange Forms in the World of Paul

22:26: “For it may be your neighbour’s only clothing to use as cover; in what else shall that person sleep?”; NRSV) apparently reflects the words that a borrower who was unable to repay his loan would say to his lender who wanted to take his cloak in pawn. By incorporating these words into legislation, the lawgiver voices and appropriates the claims of the poor and champions their rights.⁴⁸⁶ The legal concern for the poor borrower also emerges from another statute that pertains to loans. In Deut 24:10 – 13, the command to return a pledge before sunset if the debtor is poor is associated with a further stipulation that forbids the creditor to enter the house of the debtor and take a pledge. The creditor was to wait outside for the debtor to bring a pledge out to him. This statute safeguarded the debtor from the humiliation of having his house invaded and searched and, more pragmatically, prevented the creditor from choosing a pledge while Deut 23:19 – 20 appears to take an ethnic perspective by extending the interdiction to all Israelites and allowing interest-bearing loans to foreigners. Scholars argue that the permission to charge interest on loans to foreigners presumes that these loans are commercial in nature. See, e. g., Edward Neufeld, “The Prohibitions Against Loans at Interest in Ancient Hebrew Laws,” HUCA 26 (1955): 361– 62; Seeligmann, “Darlehen,” 346. It is not clear, however, that loans to Israelites could not be commercial. According to Johann Hejcl, the prohibition against interest is an “ethnologische Erscheinung,” a phenomenon that depends on the social, cultural, and economic stage of development of Israel as a tribal society tied by obligations of mutual help within the kinship group (Das alttestamentliche Zinsverbot im Lichte der ethnologischen Jurisprudenz sowie des altorientalischen Zinswesens, BibS [F] 12/4 [Freiburg: Herdersche, 1907], 60 – 61). Richard A. Horsley does not relate this prohibition to a hypothetical evolutionary stage of Israelite society, but to a specific economic environment, namely, village communities where lending and borrowing practices were a critical safety net for survival in times of crisis (Covenant Economics: A Biblical Vision of Justice for All [Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2009], 41; see also J. David Pleins, The Social Vision of the Hebrew Bible: A Theological Introduction [Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2001], 53). F. Charles Fensham points to the intertwined political and religious dimensions of ancient Near Eastern policies in favor of the poor. In a religious worldview that saw gods as champions of the impoverished, protection of the poor “was a policy of virtue, a policy which proved the piety and virtue of the ruler” (“Widow, Orphan, and the Poor in Ancient Near Eastern Legal and Wisdom Literature,” JNES 21 [1962]: 129 – 139). For a discussion of the literary relationships between the various formulations of the law on interest, see Michael Fishbane, Biblical Interpretation in Ancient Israel (Oxford: Clarendon, 1985), 174– 77.  Bartor states: “God, the lawgiver, is the poor person’s patron. Through the technique of combined discourse [combined discourse is an utterance that grammatically belongs to one speaker, here the lawgiver, but is in fact a mixture of different points of view, here the lawgiver and the poor] the lawgiver helps readers understand their attitude toward the poor. The combination of the ‘objective’ voice of the lawgiver and the engaged, personal voice of the poor person illustrates God’s intervention and concern for the welfare of the indigent. By ‘coloring’ his speech with the poor person’s language and experience, the lawgiver brings the reader close to the indigent’s point of view, thus evoking empathy and sympathy toward him” (“The Representation of Speech,” 237).

3.3 Forms of Nonreciprocal Exchange

151

that the debtor might need for his basic sustenance. The prohibition against taking a mill or an upper millstone as a pledge appears to have had the same purpose (Deut 24:6).⁴⁸⁷ The concern of biblical legislation for the needy finds its high point in Deut 15.⁴⁸⁸ The seventh-year šɘmiṭṭâ (Deut 15:1– 3) was a debt-release provision similar to the misharum edicts of the Old Babylonian period.⁴⁸⁹ However, the šɘmiṭṭâ was not a favor granted by a ruler’s benevolence, with all its political consequences, but an expression and enforcement of God’s view of social relations within Israel.⁴⁹⁰ The biblical legislator goes on to mandate lending to the poor of Israel with generosity (Deut 15:7– 8). The justification for this commandment is very pragmatic. Since loans were to be voided in the sabbatical year, it was anticipated that the wealthy would be reluctant to lend at a time when they knew for sure that their loans would be canceled—in fact, such loans were to all intents and purposes tantamount to gifts. The needy would thus be left without support.⁴⁹¹ Regardless of its background in the sabbatical year laws, this commandment is a remarkable development in biblical lending legislation. While the prohibition against interest regulated the process of lending so as to protect the weaker members of society (thus acknowledging the exploitative potential of loans),

 Seeligmann, “Darlehen,” 333; Hoppe, There Shall Be No Poor, 27– 28. For a discussion of security and pledges in biblical law, see Tikva Frymer-Kensky, “Israel,” in Security for Debt in Ancient Near Eastern Law, ed. Raymond Westbrook and Richard Jasnow, Culture and History of the Ancient Near East 9 (Leiden: Brill, 2001), 251– 63.  In Deut 15, no mention is made of interest. However, the general prohibition against interest-taking expressed in Deut 23:19 – 20 is assumed.  See above, p. 93. For interpretations of Deut 15:1– 3, its relation to the sabbatical year legislation in Exodus and Leviticus, and its similarities to misharum edicts, see Chirichigno, DebtSlavery, 263 – 75; Weinfeld, Social Justice, 152– 68.  Hoppe, There Shall Be No Poor, 30 – 32.  According to the Mishnah, Hillel addressed the reluctance to lend caused by the šɘmiṭṭâ by instituting the prozbul, a special stipulation that allowed lenders to collect loans during sabbatical years (m. Šeb. 10:3 – 6). See Maloney, “Usury in Greek, Roman and Rabbinic Thought,” 107– 8; Martin Goodman, “The First Jewish Revolt: Social Conflict and the Problem of Debt,” JJS 33 (1982): 421– 24; Maurice Gilbert, “Prêt, aumône et caution,” in Der Einzelne und seine Gemeinschaft bei Ben Sira, ed. Renate Egger-Wenzel and Ingrid Krammer, BZAW 270 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 1998), 180; Elisha Ancselovits, “The Prosbul—A Legal Fiction?” The Jewish Law Annual 19 (2011): 3 – 16; Hillel Gamoran, “The Prozbul: Accomodation to Reality,” Jewish Law Association Studies 22 (2012): 103 – 11; John T. Fitzgerald, “Fixed Texts, Sociohistorical Contexts, and Hermeneutical Implications,” in “The One Who Sows Bountifully”: Essays in Honor of Stanley K. Stowers, ed. Caroline Johnston Hodge, Saul M. Olyan, Daniel Ullucci, and Emma Wasserman, BJS 356 (Providence: Brown Judaic Studies, 2013), 23 – 24.

152

3 Multiplicity of Exchange Forms in the World of Paul

the commandment to lend to the poor essentially defined loans as a charitable practice.⁴⁹² The duty to lend to the poor was a constant dimension of Jewish charity. Ben Sira, in the Second Temple period, clearly echoes the Deuteronomic commandment and characterizes lending as an expression of ἔλεος, compassion that inspires charitable actions (Sir 29:1– 2).⁴⁹³ Moreover, Ben Sira appears to associate lending with almsgiving in Sir 29:1– 20, where almsgiving is discussed along with the commandment to lend and an exhortation to guarantee a neighbor’s loan.⁴⁹⁴ The Gospel of Matthew regards lending as a duty and connects it with a more general call to give generously: “Give to everyone who begs from you, and do not refuse anyone who wants to borrow from you” (Matt 5:42; NRSV). The Gospel of Luke also discusses lending in connection with charity and benefaction—lending is discussed in parallel with love (ἀγαπᾶτε) and doing good (ἀγαθοποιεῖτε)— but expands the commandment to lend even to the cases where there is no realistic expectation that the loan will be repaid (Luke 6:32– 35). Luke, just as Deut 15:7– 11 and Sir 29:1– 7, knows that failure to repay loans causes widespread unwillingness to lend and aggravates the plight of the poor. This is why they all regard lending, especially in disadvantageous conditions, as an act of charity. Philo considers interest-free loans as an expression of God’s φιλανθρωπία (Spec. 2.74– 78; Virt. 82– 87).⁴⁹⁵ He completely refutes the notion that interestbearing loans might be an expression of charity, since they cause the poor to fall into deeper poverty. In fact, moneylenders take advantage of the poor’s naïveté and bait them into damaging themselves financially (Spec. 2.74). On the other hand, God’s kindness toward humankind is clearly illustrated by the Mo-

 Seeligmann, “Darlehen,” 337; Walter J. Houston, “‘You Shall Open Your Hand to Your Needy Brother’: Ideology and Moral Formation in Deut. 15.1– 18,” in The Bible in Ethics: The Second Sheffield Colloquium, ed. John W. Rogerson, Margaret Davies, and M. Daniel Carroll R., JSOTSup 207 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1995), 308 – 9; Anthony Giambrone, Sacramental Charity, Creditor Christology, and the Economy of Salvation in Luke’s Gospel, WUNT 2/439 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2017), 192.  Jan Joosten, “‫חסד‬, ‘Benevolence’, and ἔλεος, ‘Pity,’” in Jan Joosten, Collected Studies on the Septuagint: From Language to Interpretation and Beyond, FAT 83 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2012), 98 – 99.  Bradley C. Gregory, Like an Everlasting Signet Ring: Generosity in the Book of Sirach, Deuterocanonical and Cognate Literature Studies 2 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2010), 128 – 221.  Milo Van Veldhuizen analyzes Philo’s use of the term φιλανθρωπία. He suggests that Philo uses this word, which is rare in the Septuagint, as a device to reach his diverse audience. The meaning of φιλανθρωπία in Philo, however, derives from his interpretation of Scripture and is close to God’s grace, primarily through the gift of the Law (“Moses: A Model of Hellenistic Philanthropia,” Reformed Review 38 [1985]: 215 – 16).

3.3 Forms of Nonreciprocal Exchange

153

saic legislation, first and foremost by the prohibition of interest. In his explanation of the biblical laws on lending, Philo echoes the views and the language of Deut 15:7– 11: “Without restriction of hand and heart […] give free gifts to those who need” (Virt. 83; trans. Colson). Moreover, he acknowledges the possibility that people may be unwilling to lend if no gain is to be made.⁴⁹⁶ Instead of promising heavenly treasure, Philo points to virtue as the only worthy wealth: “With the capital in place of the interest which they determine not to accept they receive a furthest bonus of the fairest and most precious things that human life has to give, mercy, neighborliness, charity, magnanimity, a good report and good fame” (Virt. 84; trans. Colson).⁴⁹⁷ Rabbinic literature focuses on the prohibition against interest and clearly extends it to commercial loans.⁴⁹⁸ Rabbi Ishmael (late first or early second century CE) emphasizes the obligatory character of the biblical statutes on loans by referencing Deut 15:8 (Mek. Kaspa 1). Rabbi Simeon (second century CE) comments on Ps 15:5, a praise of interest-free lending as a righteous practice, by pointing out the rewards earned by a generous lender: Whoever has money and does not put it out at usurious rate—concerning him does Scripture say, … who does not put out his money at interest and does not take a bribe against the innocent. He who does these things shall never be moved (Ps. 15:5). Thus you have learned that those who lend money at usurious rates tremble and pass away from the world. Now just what this [trembling] is I do not know. But it is along the lines of that which is said, Rescue those who are being taken away to death; hold back those who are stumbling to the slaughter (Prov. 24:11). (t. B. Meṣiʿa 6:18; trans. Neusner)

This appeal to salvation from death as a reward to a righteous lender echoes the Deuteronomic promise of God’s blessing on those who follow the invitation to generous lending: “Give liberally and be ungrudging when you do so, for on

 This idea is explicitly formulated by Philo: “He forbids anyone to lend money on interest to a brother, meaning by this name not merely a child of the same parents, but anyone of the same citizenship or nation. For he does not think it just to amass money bred from money as their yearlings are from cattle. And he bids them not take this as a ground for holding back or showing unwillingness to contribute, but without restriction of hand and heart to give free gifts to those who need, reflecting that a free gift is in a sense a loan that will be repaid by the recipient, when times are better, without compulsion and with a willing heart” (Virt. 82– 83; trans. Colson). See Maloney, “Usury in Greek, Roman and Rabbinic Thought,” 98.  Philo uses language that is close to the Gospels. However, he contrasts earthly treasuries (ἐν ταμείοις καὶ μύχοις γῆς) and heaven, which is the possession of virtue (Virt. 85).  See m. B. Meṣiʿa 5.4. For rabbinic extension of the prohibition against interest, see Maloney, “Usury in Greek, Roman and Rabbinic Thought,” 99 – 102. For the obligation to give in rabbinic Judaism, see Giambrone, Sacramental Charity, 196.

154

3 Multiplicity of Exchange Forms in the World of Paul

this account the Lord your God will bless you in all your work and in all that you undertake” (Deut 15:10; NRSV). This divine recompense seems to be the element that breaks the circularity of reciprocity. The return from lending does not come from the borrower but from a third party, namely, God, who proclaims himself protector of the poor (e. g., Prov 22:22– 23).⁴⁹⁹ This discussion of interest-free loans in the world of early Christians has highlighted some differences between the Greco-Roman and the Jewish practice. Although both regard such loans as a form of support of the indigent in times of need, Greeks and Romans incorporated them within the larger categories of benefaction and patronage, as a means of acquiring honor and representing themselves as praiseworthy members of society. Jewish literature appears to have been aware of the power dynamics at play in lending practices, yet by including God in the transaction, it broke away from the expectations of reciprocity—naturally, besides the restitution of the capital—and thus the bond of dependency between lenders and borrowers.

3.3.3 Almsgiving Almsgiving, the bestowal of money or other material goods to a person in need, apparently constitutes the form of poverty relief that is most remote from reciprocity. The almost complete lack of expectations from a recipient of alms is closely connected with the absence of a durable relationship between the exchange partners, so much so that the donee is usually an anonymous and faceless individual. A gift to a friend, a relative, or a business partner in need would not be regarded as alms. Alms are offered to individuals with extremely tenuous connections to the givers, such as fellow citizens, members of a same social or ethnic group, or simply people living in the vicinity. Most commonly, however, alms are given to beggars.⁵⁰⁰ This silent fading away of the recipients of alms log-

 David J. Downs, Alms: Charity, Reward, and Atonement in Early Christianity (Waco: Baylor University Press, 2016), 31– 32.  As an example of the anonymity of beggars, consider Acts 3 – 4, where the person asking for alms is described as “a man lame from birth” (Acts 3:2; NRSV), “the one who used to sit and ask for alms at the Beautiful Gate of the temple” (Acts 3:10; NRSV), “this man” (Acts 3:16), “someone who was sick” (Acts 4:9; NRSV), “the man who had been cured” (Acts 4:14; NRSV), and “the man on whom the sign of healing had been performed” (Acts 4:22; NRSV). Never do we know his name, although everybody seemed to know him. On the other hand, Luke gives us the name of one beggar: Lazarus (Luke 16:19 – 31). It is striking, however, that Lazarus has neither words nor actions of his own in the parable, nothing that really distinguishes him from any

3.3 Forms of Nonreciprocal Exchange

155

ically implies, as we will see, that the motives for giving shift away from the relationship between giver and receiver toward other areas.⁵⁰¹

3.3.3.1 Beggary in the Greco-Roman World The emperor Julian complained that Jews and Christians outdid pagans in aid for the poor: “It is disgraceful that, when no Jew ever has to beg, and the impious Galilaeans support not only their own poor but ours as well, all men see that our people lack aid from us” (Ep. 22, 430D; trans. Wright). A few elements reinforce the impression that almsgiving was a specifically Jewish and Christian practice and that other Greeks and Romans lacked this solution to the plight of the pauperized masses. First, it was a popular cliché that Jews were beggars.⁵⁰² Martial even stages Jewish mothers instructing their children in the art of panhandling (Epigr. 12.57.13; see also Juvenal, Sat. 3.14– 16). Such comments, especially on the sharp tongue of a satirist, sound like corny jokes based on ethnic prejudice but may quite possibly reflect some truth about differences between Roman and Jewish evaluations of begging.⁵⁰³ Second, neither the Greek nor the Latin classical vocabulary had words for almsgiving.⁵⁰⁴ Finally, when other beggar. See Susan R. Holman, The Hungry Are Dying: Beggars and Bishops in Roman Cappadocia, Oxford Studies in Historical Theology (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001), 54.  For the disappearance of the receivers of alms, see Holman, The Hungry Are Dying, 54; Richard Finn, “Portraying the Poor: Descriptions of Poverty in Christian Texts from the Late Roman Empire,” in Atkins and Osborne, Poverty in the Roman World, 133 – 34; Sorek, Remembered for Good, 198 – 99. Konstan observes a similar tendency in Seneca’s definition of beneficium in Ben. 1.6.1. As mentioned above (p. 119), Seneca says that joy is a sufficient reason for generosity with no consideration for reciprocation of even gratitude. Konstan rightly comments: “The problem with this view is that it eliminates entirely the role of the beneficiary” (In the Orbit of Love, 108).  Prell, Sozialökonomische Untersuchungen, 74– 76; MacGillivray, “Re-Evaluating Patronage,” 71.  See also Watson, “Paul’s Collection,” 107– 8.  Bolkestein, Wohltätigkeit und Armenpflege, 213, 340 – 41. The English term “alms,” as well as corresponding terms in several other European languages, derives from the Greek ἐλεημοσύνη, which in turn stems from ἔλεος and originally conveys the same meaning of “pity” towards those who suffer misery or misfortune undeservedly. This was its earliest meaning in Greek literature and in many instances in Jewish writings or the Septuagint. The term ἐλεημοσύνη later came to indicate acts of compassion or mercy motivated by pity. See John T. Fitzgerald, “Alms: Greco-Roman Antiquity,” EBR 1:835 – 37. The term first came to mean alms in Jewish texts and only appeared with this meaning in a pagan author in the third century CE (Diogenes Laertius, Vit. 5.17). See Hendrik Bolkestein, “Almosen: Nichtchristlich,” RAC 1:301– 2; Roman Garrison, Redemptive Almsgiving in Early Christianity, JSNTSup 77 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1993), 38 – 39.

156

3 Multiplicity of Exchange Forms in the World of Paul

Greeks and Romans encouraged providing for the needy, they took it for granted that the recipients needed to be worthy individuals who deserved the help they were about to receive (e. g., Seneca, Vit. beat. 23.5 – 24.1) and not those whom they regarded as lazy beggars.⁵⁰⁵ Beggary was a common element of the Greco-Roman social landscape, but it was met with little sympathy.⁵⁰⁶ Quite the contrary, supporting the most destitute was regarded as a silly notion that brought shame upon the well-intentioned but fundamentally misguided donor.⁵⁰⁷ Plautus, for instance, portrays Philto giving the following advice to his son Lysiteles, who planned to support a friend in poverty. A man who gives a beggar something to eat or drink does him bad service: what he gives him gets wasted and he prolongs his life in misery. My saying this doesn’t mean that I don’t want what you want or that I wouldn’t do it with pleasure; but when I’m saying this word against that particular fellow, I’m advising you beforehand to have pity on others only to the extent that others won’t have to have pity on you. (Trin. 339 – 343; trans. De Melo)

The witty play on words that closes Philto’s remarks (ut ita te aliorum miserescat, ne tis alios misereat) expresses an extraordinarily harsh judgment on support of the poor, which is presented as a deplorable affair. The giver of alms, not the receiver, should be the object of pity.⁵⁰⁸ The coin one would hand to a beggar, moreover, was viewed as such a trifling matter as to be of no real interest for the donor. Seneca makes this point clearly when he distinguishes between beneficia and small, everyday acts of kindness:  Bolkestein, Wohltätigkeit und Armenpflege, 213 – 14; C. R. Whittaker, “The Poor,” in The Romans, ed. Andrea Giardina (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1993), 294; Parkin, “You Do Him No Service,” 62; Bassler, God and Mammon, 18 – 20. Following Bolkestein, Martin R. P. McGuire argues that charity toward the poor did not belong to the Roman ethos (“Epigraphical Evidence for Social Charity in the Roman West: C.I.L., I2, 1212; VIII, 7858; IX, 4796,” AJP 67 [1946]: 129 – 50).  For beggary in Greece, Bolkestein, Wohltätigkeit und Armenpflege, 203 – 10; Cecchet, “GiftGiving to the Poor,” 157– 79; in Rome, see Prell, Sozialökonomische Untersuchungen, 68 – 74.  The common assumption was that beggars were responsible for their own condition because of idleness. Occasionally, it was acknowledged that destitution could be caused not by laziness, but by adverse circumstances. See Fitzgerald, “Alms: Greco-Roman Antiquity,” EBR 1:835. Bolkestein observes that the mere existence of beggary was commonly held as bringing collective shame on a civic body (Wohltätigkeit und Armenpflege, 207).  Parkin, “You Do Him No Service,” 65 – 66. This negative association between pity and beggary emerges in Nero’s edict on the freedom and tax exemption that he granted Greece. Nero clarifies that this favor was not granted out of pity (as if to miserable individuals), but out of goodwill (οὐ δι᾽ ἔλεον ὑμᾶς, ἀλλὰ δι᾽ εὔνοιαν εὐεργετῶ; IG VII 2713 lines 21– 22).

3.3 Forms of Nonreciprocal Exchange

157

A benefit [beneficium] is a useful service [opera utilis], but not every useful service is a benefit; for some services are too small to have the right to be called benefits. In order to produce a benefit, there must be a combination of two conditions. The first is the importance of the service; for there are some that fall short of the dignity of the claim. Who ever called a morsel of bread a benefit, or tossing anyone a copper, or enabling him to get a light? And sometimes these are more helpful than very large gifts; yet, for all that, their cheapness detracts from their value even when the necessity of the moment has made them necessities. A second condition, which is most important, that must supplement the other, is that the motive of my action must be the interest of the one for whom the benefit is destined, that I should deem him worthy of it, should bestow it willingly and derive pleasure from my gift; but none of those services of which we were just speaking bears any of these marks, for we bestow them, not with the thought that the recipients are worthy, but carelessly and as mere trifles, and our gift is made, not so much to a man, as to humanity. (Ben. 4.29.2– 3; trans. Basore)⁵⁰⁹

Although Seneca highlights the importance of disinterested action, the contrast he draws between the usefulness of small services and the importance (magnitudo) of beneficia reproduces the conviction that small gifts do not change the condition of a beggar and are therefore pointless.⁵¹⁰ “To some I shall not give although they are in need,” Seneca argues elsewhere, “because, even if I should give, they would still be in need” (Vit. beat. 24.1; trans. Basore). In other words, the destitute were regarded as unsuitable partners in a long-term relationship, in part because of their inability to reciprocate benefits.⁵¹¹ These negative assessments of material gifts to the destitute were probably connected with the self-understanding of the Greco-Roman elite who expressed them and with their taste for grandiose self-representation, while Plautus’s more plebeian hostility to beggars may have originated from lower-class competition for elite generosity.

 See also Aristotle, Eth. nic. 4.2.3. Notice once again, in Seneca’s last sentence, the fading of the individual recipient into the impersonal, abstract concept of humanitas. See Fitzgerald, “Alms: Greco-Roman Antiquity,” EBR 1:836 – 37. A similar idea is found in Diogenes Laertius, Vit. 5.21. Accused of giving a contribution to an undeserving man, Aristotle answered: “It was not the man that I assisted, but humanity” (“οὐ τῷ ἀνθρώπῳ,” φησίν, “ἔδωκα, ἀλλὰ τῷ ἀνθρωπίνῳ”). On the other hand, Cecchet believes that giving food to beggars was partly aimed to display “superior status, decisive power, and surplus of means” in Homeric society (“Gift-Giving to the Poor,” 160). This is consistent with the positive evaluation of gifts to beggars in the Homeric poems.  Bolkestein, “Almosen: Nichtchristlich,” 302; Roman Heiligenthal, “Werke der Barmherzigkeit oder Almosen? Zur Bedeutung von ἐλεημοσύνη,” NovT 25 (1983): 293.  Gottesman, “The Beggar and the Clod,” 299 – 306.

158

3 Multiplicity of Exchange Forms in the World of Paul

Still, beggars did exist, and the simple fact of their survival suggests that someone must have provided for them.⁵¹² A striking piece of evidence is the existence of able-bodied people who feigned injuries in order to beg. As Annaliese Parkin observes, “faking illness or disability is a common stratagem [only] if sick and disabled people are very successful in soliciting alms.”⁵¹³ All things considered, however, the evidence we have for Greco-Roman charitable giving is so scant that conclusions about participants and motives of this practice remain for the most part conjectural. Without entirely dismissing the possibility that some members of the Greco-Roman elite engaged in almsgiving, Parkin cautiously reads the evidence as indicating that charitable giving was primarily a nonelite practice prompted by pity.⁵¹⁴ Despite its cynical twist, this seems to be the assumption behind Plautus’s abovementioned remark: “I’m advising you beforehand to have pity on others only to the extent that others won’t have to have pity on you” (Trin. 342– 343; trans. De Melo).

3.3.3.2 Jewish Almsgiving Although there is only little evidence for almsgiving in Greco-Roman culture, its centrality to patristic thought and Rabbinic Judaism is an easy fact to observe. Both bodies of literature emphasized the redemptive power of almsgiving.⁵¹⁵

 Barclay, Paul and the Gift, 43.  Parkin, “You Do Him No Service,” 71.  Parkin, “You Do Him No Service,” 69 – 72. For additional evidence and discussion, see Longenecker, Remember the Poor, 74– 87. With reference to early Christian almsgiving, Denise Kimber Buell suggests in a way similar to Parkin’s that there was room for agency of the poor: “The model of almsgiving to address poverty could be embraced and practiced by Christians who lived near or at subsistence level. In these cases, almsgiving would function more like mutual assistance, insofar as a person might be a recipient at one time and an almsgiver at another” (“‘Be Not One Who Stretches Out Hands to Receive but Shuts Them When It Comes to Giving’: Envisioning Christian Charity When Both Donors and Recipients Are Poor,” in Holman, Wealth and Poverty, 47).  See L. Wm. Countryman, The Rich Christian in the Church of the Early Empire: Contradictions and Accomodations, Text and Studies in Religion (New York: Edwin Mellen, 1980); Boniface Ramsey, “Almsgiving in the Latin Church: The Late Fourth and Early Fifth Centuries,” TS 43 (1982): 226 – 59; Garrison, Redemptive Almsgiving; Richard Finn, Almsgiving in the Later Roman Empire: Christian Promotion and Practice (313 – 450), Oxford Classical Monographs (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006); Christopher M. Hays, “By Almsgiving and Faith Sins Are Purged? The Theological Underpinnings of Early Christian Care for the Poor,” in Longenecker and Liebengood, Engaging Economics, 260 – 80; Michael L. Satlow, “‘Fruit and Fruit of Fruit’: Charity and Piety among Jews in Late Antique Palestine,” JQR 100 (2010): 244– 77; Alyssa M. Gray, “Redemptive Almsgiving and the Rabbis of Late Antiquity,” JSQ 18 (2011): 144– 84; Peter Brown,

3.3 Forms of Nonreciprocal Exchange

159

Late ancient Jews and Christians regarded almsgiving as a meritorious act through which people could obtain forgiveness of sins. Cyprian, in the first treatise entirely devoted to almsgiving, states: The Holy Spirit speaks in the Scriptures, saying: “By alms and by faith sins are cleansed.” [LXX Prov 15:27] Surely not those sins which had been contracted before [baptism], for they are purged by the blood and sanctification of Christ. Likewise again he says: “As water quenches fire, so do alms quench sin.” [Sir 3:30] Here also it is shown and proved that just as with laver of the waters of salvation the fire of Gehenna is extinguished, so by almsgiving and good works the flame of sins is quenched. (Eleem. 2; trans. Deferrari)

In this fundamental passage of Cyprian’s De opere et eleemosynis, three elements are especially noteworthy. First, almsgiving, as well as other good works, has redemptive force and quenches the flame of sin. Second, the preceding point is reaffirmed through a connection between almsgiving and baptism. Of course, the relation between the two is hierarchical, and Cyprian takes care to make clear that baptism precedes almsgiving both theologically and temporally. Yet, within this hierarchy, almsgiving performs a role partially overlapping that of baptism. Finally, Cyprian believes that this vision of almsgiving is based on scriptural authority.⁵¹⁶ Similarly, rabbinic sources preserve several parallel versions of a story about Monobases’s generosity toward the poor during a famine: Monobases the king [of Adiabene] went and gave away [to the poor all of] his possessions. His relatives sent [the following message] to him: “Your ancestors increased the wealth [left for them by] their ancestors. But you went and gave away both your own and those of your ancestors!” He replied to them: […] “My ancestors stored up in this world, but I have stored up treasures for myself in the world-to-come, as it is stated [in Scripture], ‘[Charitable]righteousness (ṣɘdāqâ) saves from death’ (Prov 10:2; 11:4)—now the term ‘death’ here means only that [one who gives charity] will not die an eternal death.” (y. Peʾah 15b; trans. Roger Brooks)

The Jerusalem Talmud interprets Monobases’s largesse as ṣɘdāqâ, a term which originally indicated righteousness but by the time of the rabbis had come to Through the Eye of a Needle: Wealth, the Fall of Rome, and the Making of Christianity in the West, 350 – 550 AD (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2012), 83 – 88.  Cyprian goes on to quote a number of biblical passages to support his view of almsgiving, especially from the sapiential tradition and the gospels. See Michel Poirier, introduction to La bienfaisance et les aumônes, by Cyprian, ed. Michel Poirier, SC 440 (Paris: Cerf, 1999), 33 – 40. It was a common belief in early Christianity that almsgiving was commanded by Scripture. See Hays, “By Almsgiving and Faith,” 268 – 73. For a list of biblical passages used by early Christian authors in discussions of almsgiving, see Finn, Almsgiving, 178 n. 9.

160

3 Multiplicity of Exchange Forms in the World of Paul

mean almsgiving.⁵¹⁷ Just like Cyprian, the Talmud sees alms as a source of redemption and bases its view on biblical statements.⁵¹⁸ For the purposes of this study, it is important to ascertain whether this view of almsgiving was relevant at the time of Paul also. Was it as important a practice for (at least some groups of) first-century Jews as it eventually became in later Christianity and Judaism? Did they think that it had a soteriological role? Did they use its saving power as an argument to encourage generous giving? Gary A. Anderson has shown that a number of Second Temple texts already expressed the view of almsgiving that would become prevalent in later centuries.⁵¹⁹ For instance, in the book of Daniel, after interpreting an ominous dream for King Nebuchadnezzar, Daniel suggests a way for the king to escape a grim fate: “Atone for your sins with ṣidqâ, and your iniquities with miḥan to the poor, so that your prosperity may be prolonged” (Dan 4:24). The NRSV translates the two Aramaic terms ṣidqâ and miḥan with “righteousness” and “mercy” respectively because those were the semantic areas commonly associated with the roots ṣdq and ḥnn. In Daniel, however, at least miḥan, but probably ṣidqâ also, is to be directed specifically to the poor. The two roots also appear in a significant number of proverbs and wisdom psalms in connection with generous giving or lending to the poor (Pss 37:21, 26; 109:12; 112:3 – 5, 9; Prov 8:18; 10:2; 11:4; 14:21, 31; 19:17; 28:8). In these instances, the two roots seem to refer not just to the general virtues of righteousness and mercy but specifically to material help (loans and gifts) to the needy.⁵²⁰ Their combined use in Dan 4:24 suggests

 For the evolution of the meaning of ṣɘdāqâ in the Jewish context, see Franz Rosenthal, “Sedaka, Charity,” HUCA 23 (1950 – 1951): 411– 30; Klaus Berger, Die Gesetzesauslegung Jesu: Ihr historischer Hintergrund im Judentum und im Alten Testament, WMANT 40 (NeukirchenVluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1972), 157– 58; Sorek, Remembered for Good, 237– 40; Maria Häusl, “Introduction,” in Ṣedaqa and Torah in Postexilic Discourse, ed. Susanne Gillmayr-Bucher and Maria Häusl, Library of Hebrew Bible/Old Testament Studies 640 (London: Bloomsbury T&T Clark, 2017), 4– 8.  Garrison, Redemptive Almsgiving, 56 – 59.  Gary A. Anderson, “Redeem Your Sins by the Giving of Alms: Sin, Debt, and the ‘Treasury of Merit’ in Early Jewish and Christian Tradition,” Letter & Spirit 3 (2007): 39 – 69; Sin: A History (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2009), 135– 51; “How Does Almsgiving Purge Sins?” in Hebrew in the Second Temple Period: The Hebrew of the Dead Sea Scrolls and of Other Contemporary Sources, ed. Steven E. Fassberg, Moshe Bar-Asher, and Ruth A. Clements (Leiden: Brill, 2013), 1– 14.  Avi Hurwitz, “Reshitam Ha-Miqra’it shel Munahim Talmudiyyim: Le-Toledot Tsemihato shel Musag Ha-Sedaqâh,” in Mehqarim be-Lashon 2 – 3 (Jerusalem: Center for Jewish Studies, 1987), 156 – 58; Garrison, Redemptive Almsgiving, 49 – 51. Contra Heiligenthal, “Werke der Barmherzigkeit,” 296 n. 16; Downs, Alms, 50 – 56.

3.3 Forms of Nonreciprocal Exchange

161

that Daniel also uses them this way, but Daniel adds to this nexus of ideas by regarding support of the poor as a means to atone for sins.⁵²¹ The book of Tobit, a Jewish novel in Greek from about the same time as Daniel, employs the Greek term ἐλεημοσύνη to indicate generosity to the poor.⁵²² In Tob 4:5 – 11, Tobit formulates a long exhortation for his son Tobias to give alms.⁵²³ In the last lines, he says: So you will be laying up a good treasure for yourself against the day of necessity. For almsgiving [ἐλεημοσύνη] delivers from death and keeps you from going into the Darkness. Indeed, almsgiving [ἐλεημοσύνη], for all who practise it, is an excellent offering in the presence of the Most High. (Tob 4:9 – 11; NRSV)

Tobit clearly states the redemptive power of almsgiving as deliverance from death. In doing so, however, he makes reference to two of the above-mentioned ṣɘdāqâ proverbs: “Treasures gained by wickedness do not profit, but righteousness [ṣɘdāqâ] delivers from death” (Prov 10:2; NRSV) and “Riches do not profit in the day of wrath, but righteousness [ṣɘdāqâ] delivers from death” (Prov 11:4; NRSV).⁵²⁴ Tobit draws elements from both proverbs, but what stands out is that the term ṣɘdāqâ, which originally had a more general sense, is now inter-

 Anderson argues that the redemptive character of generosity toward the poor is explained by the introduction of the metaphor of debt into Jewish discourse about sin, an introduction linked to Aramaic linguistic usage (Sin, 142– 43; “How Does Almsgiving Purge Sins?”).  For almsgiving in Tobit, see Anderson, Sin, 144– 49; Gary A. Anderson, Charity: The Place of the Poor in the Biblical Tradition (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2013), passim; Downs, Alms, 58 – 70; Francis M. Macatangay, When I Die, Bury Me Well: Death, Burial, Almsgiving, and Restoration in the Book of Tobit (Eugene: Pickwick, 2016), 29 – 46. The Greek translator of Dan 4:24 renders ṣidqâ with ἐλεημοσύναις. The plural indicates that the translator interpreted the Aramaic noun not as an abstract virtue (“righteousness”) but as concrete actions (“acts of mercy”). See Garrison, Redemptive Almsgiving, 52. More generally, wisdom tradition employs ἐλεημοσύνη, as well as δικαιοσύνη, as an inclusive term for a range of merciful deeds toward people in need of help. See Heiligenthal, “Werke der Barmherzigkeit,” 290 – 92. In Tobit, for instance, ἐλεημοσύνη identifies giving food to the hungry and clothing to the naked—which are to be regarded as alms—but also burying abandoned dead bodies (Tob 1:16 – 18). Downs rightly emphasizes that “the word ἐλεημοσύνη contributes a broader understanding of Tobit’s compassionate actions, one that doubtless includes his charitable giving (so 1:6– 8, 17a) but should not be limited to economic dispossession” (Alms, 59). As ἐλεημοσύνη is an inclusive term, however, what the book of Tobit states about merciful deeds in general must be taken to apply to almsgiving in particular.  In Tob 4, the term ἐλεημοσύνη refers unequivocally to material gifts to the poor. See Heiligenthal, “Werke der Barmherzigkeit,” 291, 296 n. 17; Downs, Alms, 62– 63.  Garrison, Redemptive Almsgiving, 54; Anderson, Sin, 145.

162

3 Multiplicity of Exchange Forms in the World of Paul

preted as referring to almsgiving and translated into Greek as ἐλεημοσύνη.⁵²⁵ Generosity toward the needy is prescribed by Tobit on the basis of its power to save from death. To be sure, it is difficult to know whether Tobit’s understanding of the authority of Proverbs was in any way comparable to how the Jerusalem Talmud or Cyprian would see it centuries later, but their appeal to biblical statements is strikingly similar. The book of Ben Sira also makes a number of references to almsgiving.⁵²⁶ For instance, in an extended exhortation to support the poor through loans, alms, and standing surety for them (Sir 29:1– 20), Ben Sira writes: Nevertheless, be patient with someone in humble circumstances, and do not keep him waiting for your alms. Help the poor for the commandment’s sake, and in their need do not send them away empty-handed. Lose your silver for the sake of a brother or a friend, and do not let it rust under a stone and be lost. Lay up your treasure according to the commandments of the Most High, and it will profit you more than gold. Store up almsgiving in your treasury, and it will rescue you from every disaster; better than a stout shield and a sturdy spear, it will fight for you against the enemy. (Sir 29:8 – 13; NRSV)

Just as in Tobit, almsgiving is connected with the now familiar themes of treasury, salvation, and true profit. Ben Sira adds a reference to God’s commandments and therefore implies that almsgiving is commanded by God.⁵²⁷ Anderson observes that there is no such commandment in the Torah and that its “nearest equivalent” is the law of the šɘmiṭṭâ (Deut 15:1– 11), which, as discussed above, defines loans as a charitable practice.⁵²⁸ Ben Sira discusses the topics of loans (Sir 29:1– 7) and surety (Sir 29:14– 20) in connection with almsgiving. Ben Sira’s exhortation and the Deuteronomic passage are linked by the topics of loans as a means of helping the poor (Deut 15:1– 2,7– 8; Sir 29:1– 7,14– 20), risk of losing money (Deut 15:9; Sir 29:4– 7,10), and divine recompense for generosity (Deut 15:10; Sir 29:11– 13). A similar rationale seems to apply to both discussions about loans. As we have seen in Deut 15:1– 11, the approach of the sabbatical year renders loans tantamount to gifts, but the wealthy should not refrain  See above, p. 160 n. 517.  For almsgiving in Ben Sira, see Anderson, Charity, 41– 52; Gregory, Like an Everlasting Signet Ring, 171– 290; Downs, Alms, 71– 81.  Heiligenthal, “Werke der Barmherzigkeit,” 297.  Anderson, Charity, 49 – 50.

3.3 Forms of Nonreciprocal Exchange

163

from lending because their generosity will be rewarded with blessings from God.⁵²⁹ So, too, Sir 29:1– 7,14– 20 indicates that the wicked borrowers’ failure to repay makes loans and surety extremely risky and may discourage people from helping the poor. When Ben Sira discusses almsgiving, however, his perspective changes radically. There is no risk in almsgiving, for this form of generosity accrues not earthly credit, but another kind of treasure, more profitable than gold and effective against disaster and enemies. As a consequence, the profit from this generous act does not depend on the uncertain compliance of debtors with the moral and legal duty to repay their debts, a duty which, as Ben Sira pragmatically admits, is too often disregarded (Sir 29:5 – 6). Paradoxically, lending, one risks being defrauded and losing one’s money, but there is no risk in almsgiving.⁵³⁰ One only apparently loses one’s alms, because that money is changed into more secure treasure.⁵³¹ According to Ben Sira, almsgiving is a better kind of generosity not only for the poor recipients of alms, but especially for almsgivers, who upgrade, as it were, their fortune and obtain protection from adversities and enemies.⁵³² This set of ideas also appears in the gospels.⁵³³ For instance, Matthew narrates the encounter between Jesus and a rich man (with parallels in Mark 10:17– 22 and Luke 18:18 – 23): Then someone came to him and said, “Teacher, what good deed must I do to have eternal life?” And he said to him, “Why do you ask me about what is good? There is only one who

 See above, p. 151.  Gilbert, “Prêt, aumône et caution,” 181.  Gregory argues that “the fact that Ben Sira seems to presuppose that the logic of such an action [i. e., that by giving money away, one stores up treasure] would have been intelligible to his audience implies that it was a well-known understanding at the time.” He makes reference to Prov 19:17, “Whoever is kind to the poor lends to the Lord, and will be repaid in full” (NRSV), to suggest that God is the one who guarantees the accumulation of the treasure of almsgiving. See Gregory, Like an Everlasting Signet Ring, 192– 93. The gospels will express this notion through the phrase “heavenly treasure” (Matt 6:20; 19:21; Mark 10:21; Luke 12:33; 18:22).  Gregory, Like and Everlasting Signet Ring, 219 – 20. The Testament of Job uses the language of benefaction to describe the traditional Jewish view of almsgiving. After God vindicates and restores Job, Job is portrayed as a magnificent benefactor: “Again I sought to do good works for the poor [εὐεργεσίας ποιεῖν τοῖς πτωχοῖς]. And [all] my friends [φίλοι] and as many as knew me as a benefactor [εὐποίουντα] came to me. […] Then the Lord blessed all my possessions and doubled them for me” (T. Job 44:2– 3,7; trans. Kraft et al.). Despite the use of benefaction language, the model of charity is entirely constistent with that of Tobit and Ben Sira.  For almsgiving in the gospels, see Gregory, Like and Everlasting Signet Ring, 208 – 13; Downs, Alms, 103 – 33.

164

3 Multiplicity of Exchange Forms in the World of Paul

is good. If you wish to enter into life, keep the commandments.” He said to him, “Which ones?” And Jesus said, “You shall not murder; You shall not commit adultery; You shall not steal; You shall not bear false witness; Honour your father and mother; also, You shall love your neighbour as yourself.” The young man said to him, “I have kept all these; what do I still lack?” Jesus said to him, “If you wish to be perfect, go, sell your possessions, and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.” When the young man heard this word, he went away grieving, for he had many possessions. (Matt 19:16 – 22; NRSV)

In this text, Jesus associates the radical divestment of one’s possessions required by discipleship with the trope of laying up treasure through almsgiving to the poor. According to Tobit’s reading of Prov 10:2 and 11:4, the metaphor of the treasure implies the redemptive character of almsgiving (Tob 4:9 – 11), but Jesus reinforces this by explicitly locating this treasure in heaven and thus indicating that it can be used in heavenly transactions with God.⁵³⁴ This story suggests that almsgiving, along with keeping the commandments, is one good deed to do in order to have eternal life.⁵³⁵ This brief overview has shown that the redemptive character of almsgiving is no late antique theological innovation but an idea that arose in the Second Temple period and gradually developed so as to acquire prevalence in early Christianity and Rabbinic Judaism. Alms to the poor are repaid by God with blessings, atonement of sins, and salvation from death, a kind of divine exchange well illustrated by another of the above-mentioned proverbs: “Whoever is kind to the poor lends to the Lord, and will be repaid in full” (Prov 19:17; NRSV). The use of lending as a metaphor for almsgiving is especially telling as it brings up the theme of reciprocity in reference to a practice that is so markedly one-sided. Obviously, we cannot properly speak of reciprocity in this case, since the one who receives alms and the one who repays them are not the same person, yet the image of the loan and the promise of future repayment indicate that generosity to the poor creates a long-term relationship between the donor and the divine recompenser, a relationship that “endures forever” (Ps 112:3, 9).

 Downs, Alms, 109 – 10.  Anderson, Sin, 167– 69. Gregory considers the role of almsgiving in the story of the rich man as that of a “super commandment” that surpasses in importance the legal prescription and is inseparably linked with the commandment to follow Jesus. In his reading, almsgiving constitutes a fundamental element of gospel ethics (Like an Everlasting Signet Ring, 210).

3.3 Forms of Nonreciprocal Exchange

165

3.3.3.3 Almsgiving and Reciprocity Some early Christian texts envision a special form of reciprocity in almsgiving. Late antique Christian writers and preachers argued that almsgiving benefits donors by virtue of the prayers and supplications that recipients of alms raise on their behalf.⁵³⁶ One early attestation of this belief is in the early second-century writing known as the Shepherd of Hermas.⁵³⁷ The second similitude of the Shepherd is an extended exhortation, in parabolic form, to interdependence between rich and poor members of a Christian group.⁵³⁸ The Shepherd describes how the elm and the vine support each other and can only bear fruit together.⁵³⁹ The elm, in fact, appears to be fruitless, yet the vine only produces good grapes if it grows up the elm (Herm. Sim. 2.2– 4). The Shepherd provides an interpretation of this image: The rich person has money, which is poor in the sight of the Lord, and is distracted about wealth. Such a person’s petition and praise are therefore very small in the sight of the Lord, and what he or she has is weak and small and has no holy power. So when the rich person relies upon the poor person and supplies to him or her what is needed, the rich person believes that whatever is done to the poor will be able to find its reward from God; for the poor person is rich in prayer of petition and praise, and his or her intercession has great power before God. Therefore the rich person supplies everything to the poor one without hesitating. So the poor one, sustained by the rich, prays to God in thanksgiving for the one who gives; and the rich person is continually concerned about the poor, that the poor may continue unceasing in life, for the rich one knows that the prayer of the poor is acceptable and rich in the sight of the Lord. (Herm. Sim. 2.5 – 6; trans. Osiek)

The Shepherd’s view of almsgiving is straightforward. The rich provide material support for the poor, and the poor express their gratitude by interceding for them before God.⁵⁴⁰ First, the Shepherd states clearly that the reward comes from God.

 Finn, Almsgiving, 179 – 82.  For the date of the Shepherd of Hermas, see Carolyn Osiek, Shepherd of Hermas: A Commentary, ed. Helmut Koester, Hermeneia (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1999), 18 – 20.  For an analysis of the second similitude in the Shepherd, see Carolyn Osiek, Rich and Poor in the Shepherd of Hermas: An Exegetical-Social Investigation, CBQMS 15 (Washington: The Catholic Biblical Association of America, 1983), 78 – 90; Martin Leutzsch, Die Wahrnehmung sozialer Wirklichkeit im “Hirten des Hermas,” FRLANT 150 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1989), 113 – 37; Norbert Brox, Der Hirt des Hermas, Kommentar zu den Apostolischen Vätern 7 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1991), 290 – 97; Osiek, Shepherd, 161– 64; Downs, Alms, 250 – 54.  Roman writers commonly used the image of the elm and the vine to emphasize mutuality in discussions of personal relationships, especially erotic or matrimonial ones. See Leutsch, Die Wahrnehmung, 113 – 21; Brox, Der Hirt, 291– 93.  See also Herm. Sim. 5.3.7. A similar concept is expressed in 1 Clem. 38.2: “Let the rich support the poor; and let the poor give thanks to God, because he has given him someone through

166

3 Multiplicity of Exchange Forms in the World of Paul

The nature of this reward is initially left unspecified but eventually clarified in Herm. Sim. 2.9: “The one who does these things will not be abandoned by God but will be enrolled in the books of the living” (trans. Osiek), a biblical image of salvation and eternal life (e. g., Rev 20:15).⁵⁴¹ Second, the Shepherd emphasizes the “power” of the poor. The similitude stresses mutual dependence rather than hierarchy between the rich and the poor, so much so that it is fairly difficult, if not impossible, to establish how they relate to the symbolic elements of the parable, the elm and the vine, and whether the rich support the poor or vice versa.⁵⁴² The language of power and divine approval, however, consistently favors the poor and expresses a traditional bias toward them.⁵⁴³ Third, in spite of this evident bias, the Shepherd does not seem to express any desire to change the socioeconomic circumstances of the poor.⁵⁴⁴ The relationship between the poor and the rich is one of economic dependency and is accepted as enduring whom his need may be met” (trans. Holmes). In 1 Clement, however, the ideas of intercession and divine reward are lacking. See Osiek, Rich and Poor, 79 – 83.  Osiek, Rich and Poor, 87; Helen Rhee, Loving the Poor, Saving the Rich: Wealth, Poverty, and Early Christian Formation (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2012), 65 – 66. Downs underplays the mention of the books of the living by claiming that they are records of deeds (namely, to be later assessed at the final judgment) and not of persons (as a pledge of future salvation). He writes: “The subject of the future verb ἔσται in 2.9c is ταῦτα (not ὁ ποιῶν)”—the schema Atticum—“and the clause should be translated: ‘The one who does these things will not be abandoned by God, but they [i. e., the things done] will be written in the books of the living.’ […] The rich Christian may be able ‘to do some good work’ (2.10), but the rich believer is not promised atonement or salvation on the basis of material support of the poor” (Alms, 253). The thrust of Downs’s argument is clear, but it appears to rest on a questionable grammatical assumption. The complete sentence is: ταῦτα οὖν ὁ ποιῶν οὐκ ἐγκαταλειφθήσεται ὑπὸ τοῦ θεοῦ, ἀλλ᾿ ἔσται ἐπιγεγραμμένος εἰς τὰς βίβλους τῶν ζώντων. Most manuscripts have lacunae, but at least some Greek manuscripts and the Latin translations have the masculine singular participle from ἐπιγράφειν or similar verbs, while the neuter plural assumed by Downs is an unnecessary emendation of the text with no support in the manuscript tradition. See Altchristliche Texte, ed. Carl Schmidt and Wilhelm Schubart, Berliner Klassikertexte 6 (Berlin: Weidmann, 1910), 14; Hermas, Hermae Pastor: Veterem latinam interpretationem e codicibus, ed. Adolphus Hilgenfeld (Leipzig: Reisland, 1873), 73; and the critical editions Der Hirt of Hermas, ed. Molly Whittaker, GCS (Berlin: Akademie, 1967); and Hermas le pasteur, ed. Robert Joly, SC 53 (Paris: Cerf, 1958). The periphrastic future perfect ἔσται ἐπιγεγραμμένος unequivocally requires a masculine singular subject and surely refers to ὁ ποιῶν (not ταῦτα). Hence, the books of the living record persons, just as the “books of life” in Herm. Vis. 3.2, which Downs believes “reveal inclusion in heavenly and/or eternal life” (Alms, 253).  For detailed discussions—with opposite conclusions!—of the correlation between the parabolic elements and the social groups, see Osiek, Rich and Poor, 85 – 86; Brox, Der Hirt, 293 – 96.  Osiek, Rich and Poor, 84. For similar ideas in John Chrysostom, see Blake Leyerle, “John Chrysostom on Almsgiving and the Use of Money,” HTR 87 (1994): 43.  Friesen, “Injustice or God’s Will,” 34; Downs, Alms, 251.

3.3 Forms of Nonreciprocal Exchange

167

and, as a matter of fact, natural.⁵⁴⁵ This lack of concern for socioeconomic inequalities might reflect a shift of the membership within some Christian groups toward a greater presence of individuals with wealth and high status.⁵⁴⁶ The kind of paternalism implied by the Shepherd of Hermas creates a relationship of dependency between the rich and the poor in many ways similar to patronage, a relationship in which the fides of the clients is expressed as intercessory prayer.⁵⁴⁷ Hermas appears to advocate the institutionalization of a “Christian” patronage as the solution to the problem of poverty in Christian groups. The rich are urged to use their wealth to establish clientelistic relationships with the poor. The poor in turn are to reciprocate the financial support of the rich with their “rich” intercession.⁵⁴⁸ That the Shepherd does not address socioeconomic change, however, does not necessarily mean that it prescribes social dependency or endorses hierarchy. On the contrary, its emphasis falls rather on mutual dependency and mutual assistance.⁵⁴⁹ An active reciprocation of the poor is also envisioned by one of the most notoriously intractable verses of the Gospel of Luke, namely, the conclusion of the so-called Parable of the Unjust Steward: “Make friends for yourselves by means of dishonest wealth so that when it is gone, they may welcome you into the eternal homes” (Luke 16:9; NRSV). The reference to friends reflects the reciprocity motive of the steward’s actions. He appears to be generous toward his master’s debtors by writing off part of their debts, but clearly, his goal is to “make friends” among them, friends who will support him when he loses his job (Luke 16:3 – 4).

 For the enduring character of the relationship between the poor and the rich, see Leutzsch, Die Wahrnehmung sozialer Wirklichkeit, 123.  Rhee, Loving the Poor, 58 – 59. Buell observes: “The model [of almsgiving] does not lend itself to a critique of economic differences. That is, even when almsgiving is legible as potentially mutual and when the poor can be interpreted as agents of charity, this does not mean that these practices in themselves embody radical critiques of economic difference. The active/passive division between giver and receiver in the almsgiving model more frequently has been used to justify and sustain economic divisions within Christian communities, rather than to serve as a basis to critique them as unjust” (“Be Not One Who Stretches Out Hands,” 47).  Osiek, Shepherd, 163 – 64.  Leutzsch, Die Wahrnehmung sozialer Wirklichkeit, 124– 26. Brox criticizes Leutzsch’s interpretation of Herm. Sim. 2 in terms of patronage because he thinks that the personal relationship between two individuals (“Eins-zu-Eins-Beziehung”) that the metaphor of the elm and the vine usually describes in Roman literature does not necessarily apply to the Shepherd (Der Hirt, 293 n. 3).  James S. Jeffers, Conflict at Rome: Social Order and Hierarchy in Early Christianity (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1991), 133 – 34; Wayne A. Meeks, The Origins of Christian Morality: The First Two Centuries (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1993), 46 – 47.

168

3 Multiplicity of Exchange Forms in the World of Paul

The parable’s moral, however, shifts the reciprocation to heaven and tells the gospel’s audience that their friends will reciprocate their earthly generosity by welcoming them “into the eternal homes.” Two elements indicate that the parable’s conclusion refers to almsgiving. First, the “dishonest wealth” (τοῦ μαμωνᾶ τῆς ἀδικίας) echoes the “treasures of wickedness” (θησαυροὶ ἀνόμους in the Septuagint) in the familiar ṣɘdāqâ proverb Prov 10:2.⁵⁵⁰ Second, Luke observes that dishonest wealth eventually fails (ὅταν ἐκλίπῃ). Of the heavenly treasure, on the other hand, Luke says that it does not fail (Luke 12:33: θησαυρὸν ἀνέκλειπτον ἐν τοῖς οὐρανοῖς; here the heavenly treasure is explicitly linked with alms). Therefore, the parable’s interpretation suggests that since material wealth does not endure, we should employ it to “make friends” by means of alms. The heavenly treasure, however, does not directly appear in Luke 16:9 and is replaced by heavenly friends in the eternal homes. The close correspondence between the two, however, becomes clear if we compare the wording of Luke 16:9 and the above-mentioned Luke 12:33. Make friends for yourselves (ἑαυτοῖς ποιήσατε φίλους) by means of dishonest wealth so that when it is gone, they may welcome you into the eternal homes. (Luke 16:9; NRSV) Sell your possessions and give alms. Make purses for yourselves (ποιήσατε ἑαυτοῖς βαλλάντια) that do not wear out, an unfailing treasure in heaven. (Luke 12:33; NRSV)⁵⁵¹

Although the heavenly friends seem to assume the redemptive function of the heavenly treasure (even to the level of grammar), Luke 16:9 deeply reconfigures the traditional motif of almsgiving. The recipients of alms acquire agency and therefore become able to reciprocate in an enduring relationship with their donors.⁵⁵² The Shepherd of Hermas and Luke both put the recipients of alms in a position of power. In Luke, however, the poor’s power and agency are postponed to the eschaton and coincide with the failure of dishonest wealth. Only in heaven, it seems, only when mammon is finally out of the way can the power rela-

 The similarity is even more evident if we compare the Lukan expression with Ben Sira’s rendering of the proverb: “Do not depend on dishonest wealth (χρήμασιν ἀδίκοις), for it will not benefit you on the day of calamity” (Sir 5:8; NRSV). See Giambrone, Sacramental Charity, 258.  For the relation between the two verses, see Richard H. Hiers, “Friends by Unrighteous Mammon: The Eschatological Proletariat (Luke 16:9),” JAAR 38 (1970): 33.  Francis E. Williams, “Is Almsgiving the Point of the ‘Unjust Steward’?” JBL 83 (1964): 293 – 97; Anthony Giambrone, “‘Friends in Heavenly Habitations’ (Luke 16:9): Charity, Repentance, and Luke’s Resurrection Reversal,” RB 120 (2013): 540 – 43.

3.4 Conclusions

169

tions based on economic inequality be transfomed into friendly and equal ones.⁵⁵³ The Shepherd of Hermas explicitly frames the poor’s agency in terms of intercession, but Luke’s reference to a welcome into the eternal homes is rather vague. It is difficult to infer from these few words in what the friends’ agency exactly consists and how it interacts or is shared with God’s own agency. Nonetheless, there appears to be some degree of incorporation of reciprocity into an exhortation to almsgiving.⁵⁵⁴ Within this new reciprocal relation, the poor are no longer helpless individuals dependent on the ephemeral favor of the powerful but friends who will reciprocate in heaven the gifts they have received on earth.

3.4 Conclusions This survey of kinds of exchange alternative to patronage and benefaction is by necessity only partial. Besides market exchanges, many other forms of economic interaction existed in the social world of early Christians. For instance, it is hard to overestimate the centrality to the Roman economy of the coerced exchange of labor for livelihood in the several forms of slavery. Although partial, this overview demonstrates the existence of a variety of exchange practices and the possibility of exchange relationships not based on reciprocity. The ethos of reciprocity was nonetheless central to gift giving and sustained most close and enduring relationships in the Greco-Roman world. The vocabulary of gratitude (χάρις and gratia) was the linguistic representation of this ethos and expressed the material aspects, moral dimension, and emotional base of gift exchange. On the other hand, the notion of ingratitude imposed

 The poor have a similar eschatological role in Herm. Sim. 1. The Shepherd urges Christians: “Take charge of the widows and orphans and do not neglect them, but spend your wealth and all possessions that you have received from God for such fields and houses. […] It is much better to buy such fields, possessions, and houses, which you will find in your city when you arrive” (Herm. Sim. 1.8 – 9; trans. Osiek). This similitude reflects on the transitory nature of this world (“this city” in the Shepherd’s metaphorical language) and encourages Christians to prepare for the world to come (“your city”). In line with a common ancient trope, Christians live in this world as foreigners and prepare to enter their eschatological homeland. Within this conceptual framework, charity toward the poor is an important way to prepare, because Christians will find those poor individuals welcoming them in the world to come. See Osiek, Shepherd, 158 – 60. See also Const. ap. 4.3.  This idea of the otherworldly power of the poor appears in patristic thought, see Countryman, The Rich Christian, 111– 13; Susan R. Holman, Caroline Macé, and Brian J. Matz, “De Beneficentia: A Homily on Social Action Attributed to Basil of Caesarea,” VC 66 (2012): 470 – 71.

170

3 Multiplicity of Exchange Forms in the World of Paul

strong social sanctions on gift-giving practices, mainly through a sense of shame over unrequited favors. Contrary to patronage and benefaction, other exchange relationships based on reciprocity were not exploitative and did not imply status hierarchy. Friendship, for instance, was based on reciprocity not of goods and services but of goodwill. The sources reveal the material aspects of friendship, especially the demand for assisting a friend in times of need. These kinds of expectations were socially determined and coexisted with the primacy of affection in the subjective experience of friendship. Equality between friends was regarded as an essential characteristic of friendship, even when it was obtained between social unequals. Treating each other as equals was, in fact, necessary for friends to share intimacy, enjoy companionship, and receive advice across social ranks. The consumption of culture in the ancient world was almost exclusively an elite phenomenon, theater being the notable exception, and was facilitated by wealthy and well-connected sponsors who offered poets and other producers of cultural artifacts access to the elite public who enjoyed their works. Sponsors, on their part, gained not only influence and prestige through the occasional mention in the verses of their protégés, but also companions who suited their literary tastes and aspirations and enriched their lives. Although the relationships between poets and their sponsors could sometimes resemble the less noble dependency characteristic of patronage, poets employed these relationships in their poetry for self-representation. In the very act of honoring their sponsors, poets portrayed themselves as those who alone could bestow fame and immortality on individuals and peoples. Through the literary device of the recusatio, a poetic refusal to write on subjects deemed too noble for their inadequate skill, poets paid tribute to their sponsors while, at the same time, asserting independence and freedom from the obligations of reciprocity. Other forms of exchange were not regulated by the principle of reciprocity. Greco-Roman sources describe a number of state policies for the distribution of land, food, and cash. Distributions of land took the sometimes-interconnected forms of colonization and agrarian reforms. Land was obtained or redistributed for settlement for such diverse purposes as exploitation of resources, control of trade and military sites, and political dominance. It is possible that these policies had the secondary purpose of solving urban overpopulation and the depletion of the peasantry. Food price control policies were enacted to handle the recurring food crises and food price fluctuations in Rome. In imperial times, they took the form of the free grain dole, which was state largesse rather than price control. Distributions of cash were a specifically Athenian phenomenon that can be understood against the backdrop of conflict between democratic and oligarchic leaders. By sharing in the revenues of the state, Athenian citizens be-

3.4 Conclusions

171

came financially independent of wealthy patrons, were enabled to participate in the workings of democracy, and thus felt the full benefits of the democratic system of government, which they backed. None of these policies was directly aimed at poverty relief, yet their impact was presumably greatest on the poorest elements of the citizenry. Noncitizens were generally excluded from these schemes, but colonization projects constituted a partial exception to this exclusion. The sources occasionally suggest that a concern for poverty relief was part of the reason for these policies. At any rate, by enhancing the self-sufficiency of citizens, these policies effectively weakened patron-client ties, countered the political power of patrons and benefactors, and were instrumental in the rise of alternative, non-oligarchic political figures. In the Greco-Roman context, loans, whether interest-bearing or interest-free, were part of the larger system of patronage and benefaction and served the same functions as gifts. Although some Jewish sources have a similar approach to loans, their legal traditions about lending practices exhibit a special interest in the defense of the poor from exploitation and humiliation. The laws on the seventh-year debt release and especially the exhortation to lend even in the proximity of the release define loans as a charitable practice with no expectations of reciprocation (Deut 15:1– 11). Almsgiving, the provision of money, food, or clothing to the poor, was also a primarily Jewish practice. Despite literary expressions of a general dislike for beggars, however, the mere existence of beggars suggests that charitable giving to the destitute was not entirely absent from the Greco-Roman context. It was possibly a non-elite practice prompted by pity with little resonance in GrecoRoman sources, which were generated by the elite and reflected elite ethos. In the Jewish and early Christian texts, on the contrary, almsgiving is prominent. Generosity toward the most destitute is commanded on the basis of biblical authority and linked with divine rewards such as blessings, atonement of sins, and salvation from danger or death. The Gospel of Luke and the Shepherd of Hermas provide early indications of a development in the understanding of the redemptive character of almsgiving. The poor receivers of alms acquire some agency and mediate, through powerful intercession, divine rewards for the generous gifts that they receive. It appears that this evolution incorporates some degree of reciprocity into almsgiving, although the agency of the poor properly consists only in the brokerage of divine benefaction. The examples presented here provide evidence for two main conclusions. First, the social function of reciprocity in the Greco-Roman world was not primarily connected with gift giving but rather with the establishment and maintenance of stable relationships. The ethos of gratitude and the social threat of un-

172

3 Multiplicity of Exchange Forms in the World of Paul

gratefulness mediated the creation and destruction of relations, presumably to some degree at every level of society. When the expectations of reciprocity were lowered, the relations between exchange partners tended to become ephemeral and impersonal. This was especially evident in state support, where the donor became a distant institution governed by law and policy. Although gratitude toward the state was advocated, this was in no way equivalent to a real interpersonal relationship. At the other end of the spectrum was almsgiving, where the recipient of the gift was simply a poor person, any poor person, a faceless and nameless individual who, quickly forgotten, disappeared from a donor’s existence. This loss of the personal dimension was also connected with the displacement of motives for giving away from the relationship between the giver and the receiver. While in the quintessentially reciprocal relationship, friendship, one was supposed to give for the good of the friend, nonreciprocal gifts were motivated by concern for the welfare of the state, the pity of the donor, or desire for eternal rewards. Second, this survey allows us better to perceive the role of patronage and benefaction in the ancient world. On the one hand, patronage and benefaction were not the only framework for giving and for support of the poor. The repertoire of exchanges with which early Christians were familiar offered several alternative ways to deal with the fact of poverty. On the other hand, the boundaries between patronage and other kinds of exchanges were easily permeable and subject to manipulation. This was especially evident in the cases of friendship and literary amicitia. Scholars, in fact, disagree on what the exact differences between patronage and these relations were, and the very ambiguity of the languages of amicitia and patrocinium reveals that friendship was highly exposed to power manipulation. The same vulnerability also characterized nonreciprocal relations. Late antique Christians, for instance, could use almsgiving as a means to distinguish themselves, acquire honor and authority, and thus consolidate their leadership roles within Christian communities and society at large.⁵⁵⁵ The pliability of some forms of poverty relief ultimately reflects the vulnerability of the destitute themselves, who had very little agency and few instruments to escape dependency.

 Finn states: “Spiritual authority brought popular support which might help a bishop to retain his see, whether because recipients of alms might prove loyal agents and defenders of the bishop who provided for them, or because it served to legitimate the bishop’s rule over his entire congregations” (Almsgiving, 208 – 10; see more generally pp. 205 – 14). This use of almsgiving appears, however, to have developed starting from the fourth century and reflects the changed social and political circumstances of Christianity.

4 Concerns over Paul’s Collection 4.1 Introduction Recent scholarship on the Pauline collection interprets Paul’s repeated emphasis on the voluntariness of the contribution and the equality between Corinth and Jerusalem as Paul’s way of framing the collection as an anti-patronal act. This kind of mirror-reading is based on the assumption that it was natural for people in the Greco-Roman world to see any gift as an act of patronage. However, exploring the repertoire of exchanges of Paul’s world has demonstrated that early Christians, both in Corinth and in Jerusalem, could understand the Pauline collection in a variety of ways besides patronage. This chapter turns to the collection texts and investigates whether there is more direct, explicit evidence that the collection was seen as an anti-patronal act or, more precisely, whether Paul feared that the collection could be construed as an act of patronage toward Jerusalem, with negative implications of status hierarchy and obligation. Although early Christians had many ways to interpret the collection, patronage remains, in principle, one of the possible ways in which Paul and the Corinthians could see it. In fact, Pauline studies in recent years have employed patronage as a heuristic tool to interpret a number of Pauline texts with some success. This idea was first introduced into the field of New Testament studies by Frederick W. Danker’s analysis of benefaction ideology and practices in epigraphs. Danker concludes: The language and themes of Graeco-Roman inscriptions that reflect the pervasive interest in the function of a benefactor offer a manageable hermeneutical control base for determining the meaning that an auditor or reader of literary documents is likely to have attached to certain formulations and thematic treatment.⁵⁵⁶

Peter Marshall applies Danker’s insight to the Corinthian correspondence and interprets the social relations in Corinth through the lens of friendship and enmity. For Marshall, however, friendship is primarily “giving for a return,” that is, a patronal relationship.⁵⁵⁷ According to his reading of First Corinthians, the tensions

 Danker, Benefactor, 29. Danker especially emphasizes the use of benefaction ideology in New Testament descriptions of God and the human response to divine beneficence (Benefactor, 493). Similarly, Moxnes applies the social model of patronage to Luke-Acts, arguing that the Lukan writings exploit the model to substantiate Jesus’s claim to power as the “broker” of God’s own power (“Patron-Client Relations,” 265 – 66).  Marshall, Enmity in Corinth, 1– 34, 143 – 47. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110723946-006

174

4 Concerns over Paul’s Collection

that transpire from the collection stemmed from Paul’s transgression of the social expectations of patronage—especially his refusal of financial support from people of higher status in the group—which resulted in enmity.⁵⁵⁸ Other studies have built upon the same fundamental ideas, demonstrating that Paul was familiar with the social conventions of patronage and that these dynamics can be seen at work in his letters.⁵⁵⁹ While it is plausible that Paul or the Corinthians could interpret the collection as an act of patronage, the absence of explicit focus on the problematic aspects of patronage raises considerable doubts about this possibility, especially in light of the fact that Paul does deal directly and, in some cases, extensively with several other problems. It is clear that the fundraising effort encountered major difficulties in Corinth. After a year, the Corinthians had yet to make good on their promise to contribute (2 Cor 8:10 – 11; 9:5). Something was holding them back.  Marshall, Enmity in Corinth, 233 – 44. In Mauss’s language, Paul contravened the obligation to receive a gift. See above pp. 24– 25.  Chow programmatically employs patronage as a model for the study of the Corinthian correspondence (Patronage and Power, 30). His main conclusion is that the conflict at Corinth was partly caused by Paul’s refusal to accept financial support, a choice that shamed wealthy patrons in the community (Patronage and Power, 188 – 89). Rice expands the work of Danker, Marshall, and Chow by analyzing patronage as “the means whereby political, economic, and divine power was understood and exchanged in the ancient world” (Paul and Patronage, 154). In his analysis of First Corinthians, he shows how Paul handled conflict within the community by negotiating human and divine power (Paul and Patronage, 155). In reaction to previous studies, David E. Briones does not believe that patronage is a helpful framework for understanding Paul’s financial choices. He argues that acceptance of gifts from communities—for instance, from the Philippians (Phil 4:10 – 20)—was the norm for Paul. On the other hand, “Paul refused monetary support [from Corinth], not because he detected the Corinthians’ motive to patronize him, as many assume, but because he evaded any associations with the monetary practices of itinerant Sophists and philosophers, who avariciously capitalized on their initial visits into cities” (Paul’s Financial Policy: A Socio-Theological Approach, Library of New Testament Studies 494 [London: Bloomsbury, 2013], 177, 224– 25). See also R. Russell, “The Idle in 2 Thess 3.6 – 12: An Eschatological or a Social Problem,” NTS 34 (1988): 105 – 19; Caroline F. Whelan, “Amica Pauli: The Role of Phoebe in the Early Church,” JSNT 49 (1993): 67– 85; Bruce W. Winter, Seek the Welfare of the City: Christians as Benefactors and Citizens, First-Century Christians in the Graeco-Roman World (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans; Carlisle: Paternoster, 1994); Bruce W. Winter, After Paul Left Corinth: The Influence of Secular Ethics and Social Change (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2001), 184– 205; Joan Cecelia Campbell, Phoebe: Patron and Emissary, Paul’s Social Network: Brothers and Sisters in Faith (Collegeville: Liturgical Press, 2009), 78 – 92; Osiek, “The Politics of Patronage,” 143 – 52; Erlend D. MacGillivray, “Romans 16:2, προστάτις/προστάτης, and the Application of Reciprocal Relationships to New Testament Texts,” NovT 53 (2011): 183 – 99; Verbrugge and Krell, Paul and Money, 81– 103. For overviews of social analysis of patronage and of its use in the interpretation of the New Testament, see Elliott, “Patronage and Clientism,” 39 – 48; DeSilva, “Patronage and Reciprocity.”

4.1 Introduction

175

Moreover, Paul would presumably not have spent so many words on the collection if he thought that everything was running smoothly. This chapter, therefore, investigates the array of worries that emerges from the collection texts in order to evaluate whether they can support the claim that Paul’s words refute a patronal interpretation of the collection. The identification of the worries that lie behind Paul’s instructions for the collection is not an easy task and requires a close reading of the collection texts. In particular, the frequent use of disclaimers provides valuable clues, especially when they appear in the form of a correctio or with simple negations (οὐ or μή).⁵⁶⁰ For instance, when Paul abruptly shifts from expressing his wishes for the Corinthians to declaring, “I do not say this as a command, but I am testing the genuineness of your love” (2 Cor 8:8), one wonders why Paul raises the idea of a command. Was Paul afraid of being perceived as an overbearing leader? Was he worried that someone could misread his intentions? Were some in Corinth actually complaining about Paul’s leadership style? The relatively large number of such instances in the collection texts indicates that Paul felt a need to tread carefully so as not to compromise the fundraising effort and to clarify his words and intentions as best as possible. This chapter starts from the issues highlighted by these clues and expands to related topics in the collection texts and, when necessary, to other Pauline passages. Before proceding with the analysis, it is necessary to clarify which Pauline passages are to be included among those that I have so far called “the collection texts,” namely, 1 Cor 16:1– 4 (the only one in which Paul uses the technical term for a collection, λογεία), 2 Cor 8 – 9, and Rom 15:25 – 28. In addition, there is debate as to whether Gal 2:10 is a reference to the collection: “[The leaders in Jerusalem] asked only one thing, that we remember the poor, which was actually what I was eager to do” (NRSV).⁵⁶¹ The main argument for claiming that Gal 2:10 refers to the collection is that the phrase “the poor” refers not to all the poor but specifically to those belonging to the Jerusalem group. A weaker version of this claim is that, because of its collocation in an agreement between Paul and

 “Correctio is the correction of the speaker’s own utterance, which is recognized to be improper by the speaker himself, or might perhaps be regarded as improper by the audience” (Heinrich Lausberg, Handbook of Literary Rhetoric: A Foundation for Literary Study [Leiden: Brill, 1998], §784). In the collection texts, correctio appears in its weaker form: “οὐ x, ἀλλά y” (2 Cor 8:5,8,10,13,21).  Longenecker traces this debate in patristic literature and contemporary scholarship (Remember the Poor, 157– 82; see also Bruce W. Longenecker, “The Poor of Galatians 2:10: The Interpretative Paradigm of the First Four Centuries,” in Longenecker and Liebengood, Engaging Economics, 205 – 21).

176

4 Concerns over Paul’s Collection

the Jerusalem leaders, the phrase implicitly refers to the poor “in Jerusalem,” namely, those among the Jerusalem believers.⁵⁶² A stronger version of this claim is that “the poor” does not refer to the economically disadvantaged in Jerusalem but that it is a theological designation, or maybe self-designation, of the Jerusalem group as a whole.⁵⁶³ This latter interpretation only appears in the middle of the fourth century and seems to be related to the claim of the Ebionites— a second- to fourth-century Jewish-Christian group whose name in Hebrew means “the poor” (‫—)אביונים‬that they had inherited their name, and thus their legitimacy, from early Jerusalem Christianity.⁵⁶⁴ Even discarding the titular use of “the poor” as a late phenomenon, the agreement to “remember the poor” may still imply that the poor in question are economically disadvantaged members of the Jerusalem group.⁵⁶⁵ A second argument for identifying Gal 2:10 as a collection text centers on Paul’s mention of “the churches of Galatia” in 1 Cor 16:1.⁵⁶⁶ Paul states that he

 This reading appears to be influenced by the wording of Rom 15:26, where the collection is intended for “the poor among the saints in Jerusalem.” See discussion below, p. 181.  See below, p. 181 n. 584.  The claim that the Ebionites had a connection with the early Jerusalem group is reported by Epiphanius of Salamis: “Their boastful claim, if you please, is that they are poor because they [i.e., their ancestors] sold their possessions in the apostles’ time and laid them at the apostles’ feet, and have gone over to poverty and renunciation; and thus, they say, they are called ‘poor’ by everone” (Pan. 30.17.2; trans. Frank Williams). Leander E. Keck argues convincingly that “the poor” as a theological title for the Jerusalem group was not used by first-century Jerusalem believers but was later an apologetic device of the Ebionites (“The Poor Among the Saints in Jewish Christianity and Qumran,” ZNW 57 [1966]: 64– 66). See also Leander E. Keck, “The Poor Among the Saints in the New Testament,” ZNW 56 (1965): 100 – 129; Richard Bauckham, “The Origin of the Ebionites,” in The Image of the Judaeo-Christians in Ancient Jewish and Christian Literature, ed. Peter J. Tomson and Doris Lambers-Petry (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2003), 162– 81; Longenecker, Remember the Poor, 170 – 73.  This seems, in fact, to be the opinion held by many scholars. Longenecker quotes Nils Dahl, Lloyd Gaston, David R. Catchpole, Douglas Campbell, Larry W. Hurtado, Ian J. Elmer, Richard A. Horsley, Barry Gordon, Stephan Joubert, Michael Gould, and Timothy J. M. Ling as interpreting Gal 2:10 as a reference to the collection (Remember the Poor, 184– 85). See also Bengt Holmberg, Paul and Power: The Structure of Authority in the Primitive Church as Reflected in the Pauline Epistles (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1980), 35.  This early mention of a collection among the Galatians has no echoes in later discussions of the collection. In particular, Rom 15:26, which seems to see the collection as already completed, only mentions Macedonia and Achaia. Goguel argues that the Galatians did not join the other groups and speculates that they might have brought their collection to Jerusalem independently (“La collecte en faveur des Saints,” 303 – 4). Chang, on the other hand, interprets the omission of Galatia in Rom 15:26 as a sign that “the Galatian effort failed or was less significant than the contribution made by the churches of Macedonia and of Achaia” (“Fund-Raising

4.1 Introduction

177

has given directions to the Galatians on how to proceed with the collection, directions that he repeats for the Corinthians (1 Cor 16:2– 4). This, however, does not seem to be a reference to Gal 2:10, which is not a set of directions, certainly not the directions found in 1 Cor 16:2– 4, but a mere reference to Paul’s remembering the poor. Neither are passages such as Gal 6:2 and Gal 6:6 – 10 relevant to the collection. They address the financial support of other believers and teachers, but there are no recommendations such as those Paul gives to the Corinthians.⁵⁶⁷ The actual text of Gal 2:10, however, does not specify the identity of the poor to be remembered. Moreover, if we exclude Gal 2:10, the collection texts make no reference to the agreement between Paul and the Jerusalem leaders or to the collection as satisfying any kind of stipulation, even when they stress the notion of a Gentile debt toward Jerusalem (Rom 15:27).⁵⁶⁸ On the contrary, Paul repeatedly insists that contributions must be made freely and under no compulsion (2 Cor 8:3 – 4,12; 9:2,5,7).⁵⁶⁹ It seems, therefore, unlikely that the collection was mandated as part of the agreement with the Jerusalem leaders. Rather, Gal 2:10 seems to refer to charity toward all individuals in poverty, probably among the believers, without any geographical restriction.⁵⁷⁰ If one agrees that Gal 2:10 has in view not the collection, but a general attitude toward the destitute, it is nonetheless

in Corinth,” 183). Verbrugge and Krell observe that in his last trip to Jerusalem according to Acts, Paul was accompanied by two Galatian believers, Gaius from Derbe and Timothy from Lystra (Acts 20:4) and argues that the Galatians did make a significant contribution. Similarly, they infer a participation of the Asian groups from the presence of Tychicus and Trophimus (Acts 20:4) (Paul and Money, 185 – 90). See also Larry W. Hurtado, “The Jerusalem Collection and the Book of Galatians,” JSNT 5 (1979): 46 – 62; Jost Eckert, “Die Kollekte des Paulus für Jerusalem,” in Kontinuität und Einheit: Für Franz Mußner, ed. Paul-Gerhard Müller and Werner Stenger (Freiburg: Herder, 1981), 72– 73; David G. Horrell, “Paul’s Collection: Resources for a Materialist Theology,” Epworth Review 22 (1995): 74; Wedderburn, “Paul’s Collection,” 103 – 7; Downs, The Offering of the Gentiles, 40 – 42; Longenecker, “Good News to the Poor,” 56, especially n. 38.  F. F. Bruce, The Epistle to the Galatians: A Commentary on the Greek Text, NIGTC (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1982), 127.  Georgi, Remembering the Poor, 46 – 47; A. J. M. Wedderburn, “Paul’s Collection: Chronology and History,” NTS 48 (2002): 99; Downs, The Offering of the Gentiles, 35 – 36.  In contrast to Gal 2:10, where μνημονεύω implies obligation. See Taylor, Paul, Antioch and Jerusalem, 116 – 17.  Vernon Bartlet, “‘Only Let Us Be Mindful of the Poor’: Gal 2.10,” The Expositor 9 (1899): 218 – 25; Taylor, Paul, Antioch and Jerusalem, 116; Watson, “Paul’s Collection,” 154– 57, 159 – 60; Longenecker, Remember the Poor, 202; Verbrugge and Krell, Paul and Money, 122 – 29.

178

4 Concerns over Paul’s Collection

probable that Paul saw the collection as part of his general commitment to remember the poor.⁵⁷¹

4.2 The Specter of Impoverishment A cursory reading of introductions to the Pauline letters may leave the impression that poverty and poverty relief were at best marginal elements in Paul’s thought. It is a fact that although discourse on economic issues appears in all of Paul’s uncontested letters, the vocabulary of poverty is extremely rare. This state of affairs has led some scholars to believe that Paul had little concern for the poor, a striking departure from the teaching of Jesus.⁵⁷² A few recent voices, however, have brought attention to scholarly underestimation of the impact of poverty on the life and thought of the Pauline groups.⁵⁷³ After extensive study of this issue, Bruce Longenecker concludes that despite the limited discussion about care for the poor in his extant letters, Paul, in accordance with other early Christian writers, considered caring for the poor a key aspect of Christian identity.⁵⁷⁴ Poverty was an everyday experience in the Pauline groups. No doubt, Christians routinely encountered poverty on the streets of Greco-Roman cities, but Paul’s exhortations to generosity primarily address intragroup needs (e. g., Rom 12:13). How prevalent poverty was in the Pauline groups, however, is a matter of contention. In order to overcome binary descriptions of the Greco-Roman economy—a society split between a small ultra-wealthy elite and an amorphous  James D. G. Dunn, The Theology of Paul the Apostle (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998), 706 n. 170. Georgi argues that Paul’s words in Gal 2:10 refer to a past attitude toward Jerusalem and that subsequent events—“frictions within the Antiochene congregation, his separation form Barnabas, and, possibly, his temporary break-up with Antioch as a whole”—caused his commitment to wane (Remembering the Poor, 43 – 47). See also Chang, “Fund-Raising in Corinth,” 188 – 90.  Peter H. Davids, “The Test of Wealth,” in The Missions of James, Peter, and Paul: Tensions in Early Christianity, ed. Bruce Chilton and Craig Evans, NovTSup 115 (Leiden: Brill, 2005), 373 – 74; Longenecker, Remember the Poor, 1– 2, especially n. 1.  Especially, Meggitt, Paul, Poverty and Survival; Steven J. Friesen, “Poverty in Pauline Studies: Beyond the So-called New Consensus,” JSNT 26 (2004): 323 – 61; Bruce W. Longenecker, “Good News to the Poor: Jesus, Paul, and Jerusalem,” in Jesus and Paul Reconnected: Fresh Pathways into an Old Debate, ed. Todd D. Still (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2007), 45 – 59. For an overview of scholarship on this topic and more recent trends, see Bengt Holmberg, Sociology and the New Testament: An Appraisal (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1990), 21– 76; Longenecker, Remember the Poor, 1– 11.  Longenecker, Remember the Poor, 298 – 99.

4.2 The Specter of Impoverishment

179

majority of destitute people⁵⁷⁵—scholars have attempted to construct economic scales as heuristic tools to read economic data.⁵⁷⁶ These endeavors necessarily suffer from a number of obstacles, such as difficulties in measuring economic level from ancient sources, accessing the life conditions of the lowest economic levels, and accounting for variations across space and time. Therefore, their results should be used with caution. They can, nonetheless, provide a rough picture of the urban landscape. According to Longenecker, whose estimates for the prevalence of poverty are more conservative, 25 % of the urban population lived below subsistence level, 30 % lived at but periodically fell below subsistence level, and 25 % lived slightly above subsistence level in a reasonably stable way. The remaining 20 % of the urban population were wealthy or earned a moderate surplus.⁵⁷⁷ Without putting too much weight on the precise numbers, these data indicate that a majority of the urban population were fighting for survival on a daily basis, while the third abovementioned group, albeit not destitute, was nonetheless economically vulnerable to fairly common events such as inclement weather, food shortages, or military activity.⁵⁷⁸ In other words, for most people in urban centers poverty was either a reality or a very real threat.⁵⁷⁹

 This is the assumed framework of Meggitt, Paul, Poverty and Survival. See comments in Dale B. Martin, “Review Essay: Justin J. Meggitt, Paul, Poverty and Survival,” JSNT 24 (2001): 51– 64; Bruce W. Longenecker, “Socio-Economic Profiling of the First Urban Christians,” in After the First Urban Christians: The Social-Scientific Study of Pauline Christianity Twenty-Five Years Later, ed. Todd D. Still and David G. Horrell (London: T&T Clark, 2009), 43 – 45; Peter S. Oakes, “Methodological Issues in Using Economic Evidence in Interpretation of Early Christian Texts,” in Longenecker and Liebengood, Engaging Economics, 28 – 29; Welborn, “The Polis and the Poor,” 196 – 97. Walter Scheidel, on the other hand, argues for the existence an economic continuum in ancient Roman society (“Stratification, Deprivation and Quality of Life,” in Atkins and Osborne, Poverty in the Roman World, 40 – 54).  Friesen, “Poverty in Pauline Studies,” 337– 58; Bruce W. Longenecker, “Exposing the Economic Middle: A Revised Economy Scale for the Study of Early Urban Christianity,” JSNT 31 (2009): 243 – 78; Walter Scheidel and Steven J. Friesen, “The Size of the Economy and the Distribution of Income in the Roman Empire,” JRS 99 (2009): 61– 91.  Longenecker, “Exposing the Economic Middle,” 264.  Engfer claims that unemployment was a constant threat to the livelihood of wage and day laborers, especially in the winter months, when seasonal work came for the most part to a standstill (Die private Munifizenz, 66). For the endemic problem of unemployment in Greco-Roman society, see Ardle Mac Mahon, “Unemployment,” The Encyclopedia of Ancient History 6915 – 16.  Friesen, “Poverty in Pauline Studies,” 358. Oakes observes that poverty does not depend as much on income level relative to subsistence as on “the resources needed to live a non-poor life in society,” which clearly entail far more than mere subsistence. He argues that most people in the Roman empire did not possess these kinds of resources and would therefore be considered poor (“Constructing Poverty Scales,” 367– 71). See also Stegemann and Stegemann, The Jesus Movement, 80 – 86. For an evaluation of the living conditions of the Corinthian urban population

180

4 Concerns over Paul’s Collection

The precise conditions of Christ-believers are even more difficult to assess. In order to profile the economic level of Pauline communities, scholars follow two approaches. On the one hand, they carry out prosopographic surveys of people mentioned in Paul’s letters.⁵⁸⁰ The data so gathered is fragmentary since very few of these individuals can reliably be placed on an economic scale, and it seems questionable whether they are a representative sample of the Pauline groups. Moreover, there is a possibility that people expressly mentioned in Paul’s letters tend to represent the more prosperous sections of the groups, those who had more financial, political, and cultural capital and therefore more agency, with the result that these profiles are skewed toward higher economic levels.⁵⁸¹ On the other hand, scholars take into consideration Paul’s statements about the

from archaeological remains, see Dirk Jongkind, “Corinth in the First Century AD: The Search for Another Class,” TynBul 52 (2001): 139 – 48; Jerome Murphy-O’Connor, St. Paul’s Corinth: Texts and Archaeology, 3rd ed. (Collegeville: Liturgical, 2002), 178 – 85; David G. Horrell, “Domestic Space and Christian Meeting at Corinth: Imagining New Contexts and the Building East of the Theatre,” NTS 50 (2004): 349 – 69; David L. Balch, “Rich Pompeiian Houses, Shops for Rent, and the Huge Apartment Building in Herculaneum as Typical Spaces for Pauline House Churches,” JSNT 27 (2004): 27– 46; Edward Adams, “First-Century Models for Paul’s Churches: Selected Scholarly Developments since Meeks,” in Still and Horrell, After the First Urban Christians, 66 – 68; Peter S. Oakes, Reading Romans in Pompeii: Paul’s Letter at Ground Level (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2009). For methodological considerations on the use of archaeological remains in discussion of ancient economy and practices, see Carolyn Osiek, “Archaeological and Architectural Issues and the Question of Demographic and Urban Forms,” in Handbook of Early Christianity: Social Science Approaches, ed. Anthony J. Blasi, Jean Duhaime, and Paul-André Turcotte (Walnut Creek: Altamira, 2002), 83 – 103; Oakes, “Methodological Issues,” 17– 21; Welborn, “The Polis and the Poor,” 219 – 23.  Theissen, The Social Setting of Pauline Christianity, 73 – 96; Meeks, The First Urban Christians, 55 – 63; David G. Horrell, The Social Ethos of the Corinthian Correspondence: Interests and Ideology from 1 Corinthians to 1 Clement, STNW (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1996), 96 – 101; Friesen, “Poverty in Pauline Studies,” 352– 57; Longenecker, Remember the Poor, 235 – 53; L. L. Welborn, “Inequality in Roman Corinth: Evidence from Diverse Sources Evaluated by a Neo-Ricardian Model,” in Roman Corinth, vol. 2 of The First Urban Churches, ed. James R. Harrison and L. L. Welborn, Writings from the Greco-Roman World Supplement Series 8 (Atlanta: SBL Press, 2016), 67– 74.  Steven J. Friesen, “Prospects for a Demography of the Pauline Mission: Corinth among the Churches,” in Urban Religion in Roman Corinth: Interdisciplinary Approaches, ed. Daniel N. Schowalter and Steven J. Friesen, HTS 53 (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2005), 358– 61. Friesen also points out the role of some methodologies used in New Testament scholarship in the underestimation of poverty in the Pauline groups (“Prospects for a Demography of the Pauline Mission,” 361– 64).

4.2 The Specter of Impoverishment

181

groups and their economic relations and transactions.⁵⁸² These statements, however, all have specific rhetorical aims and can hardly be considered objective descriptions.⁵⁸³ Despite the uncertainties inherent in these kinds of approaches, economic scales for urban economic levels and economic profiles of Pauline communities indicate that very few believers can be placed among those who earned a moderate surplus, while most lived near subsistence level. For the latter, the reality of poverty was a factor of primary importance in making decisions such as whether and how much to contribute to a voluntary donation such as the collection. It is no surprise that the Corinthians were reluctant to participate in it. The topic of poverty surfaces several times and in various ways in the collection texts. The recipients of the gift are identified as “the poor of the saints in Jerusalem” (Rom 15:26). It is possible that the term πτωχοί was used as a specific title or self-designation for the Jerusalem believers and had a theological, rather than socioeconomic, meaning—those who feel especially close to God in the way that the destitute and the oppressed do.⁵⁸⁴ Nevertheless, in the collection texts, including Rom 15:26, Paul consistently chooses to refer to the Jerusalem group as “the saints” (Rom 15:25,31; 1 Cor 16:1; 2 Cor 8:4; 9:1,12). It is therefore more likely that Paul uses the term πτωχοί as a socioeconomic marker and that the phrase in Rom 15:26 has a partitive sense: “The poor among the saints in Jerusalem.”⁵⁸⁵ At

 Theissen, The Social Setting of Pauline Christianity, 70 – 73 and 96 – 99; Meeks, The First Urban Christians, 63 – 72; Friesen, “Poverty in Pauline Studies,” 350 – 52; Longenecker, Remember the Poor, 253 – 58.  Longenecker, for instance, tries to take into account the rhetorical dimension of some of Paul’s statements about poverty or abundance and adjust his assessments accordingly (Remember the Poor, 253 – 58). Such an approach seems to a certain degree subjective. See the insightful observations of Peter S. Oakes, “Economic Approaches: Scarce Resources and Interpretive Opportunities,” in Studying Paul’s Letters: Contemporary Perspectives and Methods, ed. Joseph A. Marchal (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2012), 79 – 80.  Holl, “Der Kirchenbegriff des Paulus,” 59 – 60; Bammel, TDNT 6:909. For the Jewish background of “the poor” as a title, see Georgi, Remembering the Poor, 33 – 38. Regardless of the theological or socioeconomic meaning of πτωχοί, it is likely that, in the context of the collection, the poor are members of the Jerusalem group. However, Michael Bachmann believes that the intended recipients of the collection are both Christ-believers and other Jerusalem Jews (“‘… an sie und an alle’ (II Kor 9,13): Zum Adressatenkreis der sog. Jerusalemkollekte paulinischer Gemeinden,” TZ 69 [2013]: 435 – 45). Paul also uses the phrase οἱ πτωχοί in Gal 2:10, without any further clarification. See above pp. 175 – 76.  Munck, Paul and the Salvation of Mankind, 287– 88; Nickle, The Collection, 138 – 39 n. 290; Georgi, Remembering the Poor, 114; C. E. B. Cranfield, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Epistle to the Romans, 2 vols., ICC 32 (London: T&T Clark, 1975 – 1979), 2:772; James D. G. Dunn, Romans, 2 vols., WBC 38, (Dallas: Word Books, 1988), 2:875; Meggitt, Paul, Poverty and

182

4 Concerns over Paul’s Collection

any rate, even if the phrase were understood theologically, its immediate, socioeconomic denotation would have profound significance in the context of the collection.⁵⁸⁶ In addition to the designation “the poor,” there are other indications of the impoverished circumstances of the Jerusalem recipients of the collection. When Paul exhorts the Corinthians to seek equality with the Jerusalem believers, he contrasts the abundance of the former with the situation of need (ὑστέρημα) in which the latter find themselves, a situation that exists “in the present time” (2 Cor 8:14).⁵⁸⁷ The same word appears in 2 Cor 9:12, where Paul uses a collocation (“to supply the needs”; προσαναπληροῦν τὰ ὑστερήματα) that he elsewhere employs to describe the financial support that he receives from Macedonia (2 Cor 11:9). In addition, the quotation from Ps 112:9 in 2 Cor 9:9 situates the collection within the primary Jewish form of poverty relief, namely, almsgiving.⁵⁸⁸ The evidence about the economic conditions of the recipients of the collection is, all things considered, quite scant.⁵⁸⁹ As a result, feelings of pity or compas-

Survival, 159 n. 22; Downs, The Offering of the Gentiles, 20; Robert Jewett, Romans: A Commentary on the Book of Romans, Hermeneia (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2007), 929. Georgi, who believes that “the poor” is a title in Gal 2:10, rejects the titulary usage for Rom 15:26 (Remembering the Poor, 175 – 76 n. 51). See also Keck, “The Poor Among the Saints in the New Testament,” 100 – 129; Keck, “The Poor Among the Saints in Jewish Christianity and Qumran,” 54– 78; Douglas J. Moo, The Epistle to the Romans, NICNT (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1996), 903 – 4.  Joubert, Paul as Benefactor, 90.  As Hans Klein observes, the need to create equality raised in 2 Cor 8:13 – 15 presupposes the existence of a shortage in Jerusalem (“Die Begründung für den Spendenaufruf für die Heiligen Jerusalems in 2Kor 8 und 9,” in Der zweite Korintherbrief: Literarische Gestalt—historische Situation—theologische Argumentation: Festschrift zum 70. Geburtstag von Dietrich-Alex Koch, ed. Dieter Sänger, FRLANT 250 [Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2012], 128). The word ὑστέρημα generally refers to incompleteness, but it often occurs in opposition to cognates of περισσός to indicate economic poverty (Mark 12:44; Luke 21:4; Phil 4:12). In 2 Cor 8:13, Paul describes the collection as “relief for others” (ἄλλοις ἄνεσις), which, as Nickle observes, implies that the Jerusalem believers were under strained financial conditions (The Collection, 110). Nickle makes a similar observation also in reference to Rom 15:27: “The comparison between the ‘spiritual blessings’ which were shared by the Jerusalem Christians with the Gentiles (by which the implication is present that the Gentiles lacked such blessings before) with the ‘material blessings’ which the Gentile Christians were now sharing with Jerusalem implied that a definite lack of material substance was present within the Jerusalem community” (The Collection, 110).  For the connection of this quotation with almsgiving, see below, section 5.4.  Some additional evidence for the destitution of the Jerusalem believers can be found in Acts. If historically accurate, the account of the famine under Claudius (Acts 11:27– 30) demonstrates at least temporary poverty. Along similar lines, Meggitt argues that “a localised food shortage” was the reason for poverty among the Jerusalem believers (Paul, Poverty and Survival, 160 – 61 n. 31). Persecution, as witnessed in Acts, may also have contributed to the impoverish-

4.2 The Specter of Impoverishment

183

sion toward the Jerusalem poor do not seem to have played a major motivational role, nor does consideration for their actual circumstances.⁵⁹⁰ Evidence for the low economic level of the contributors to the collection is more substantial. In an extended description of Macedonian participation in the fundraising, Paul describes their condition as one of “abysmal poverty” (ἡ κατὰ βάθους πτωχεία αυτῶν; 2 Cor 8:2). There is no certainty as to whether this poverty was shared with the general population of Macedonia or was a specific predicament of believers there, possibly due to persecution.⁵⁹¹ Paul may

ment of the Jerusalem group. Moreover, it is sometimes argued that poverty was partly a result of the resource sharing policy adopted in the Jerusalem group (Acts 2:44; 4:32– 37; note that, according to Acts 4:34, resource sharing did not cause the problem of economic need, but solved it). See Nickle, The Collection, 23 – 24; C. H. Dodd, The Epistle to the Romans (London: Fontana, 1959), 233; Joachim Jeremias, Jerusalem in the Time of Jesus: An Investigation into Economic and Social Conditions during the New Testament Period, trans. F. H. Cave and C. H. Cave (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1969), 109 – 19; Dunn, Romans, 876; Scot McKnight, “Collection for the Saints,” DPL 144; Barry Gordon, The Economic Problem in Biblical and Patristic Thought, Supplements to Vigiliae Christianae 9 (Leiden: Brill, 1989), 77– 81; Walter Schmithals, “Die Kollekten des Paulus für die Christen in Jerusalem,” in Belehrter Glaube: Festschrift für Johannes Wirsching zum 65. Geburtstag, ed. Elke Axmacher and Klaus Schwarzwäller (Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 1994), 234– 35; Holmberg, Paul and Power, 35 – 36; Davids, “The Test of Wealth,” 365 n. 28. For a general survey of poverty in Roman Palestine in the first three centuries CE, see Hamel, Poverty and Charity, 94– 141.  Nils Alstrup Dahl and Paul Donahue, Studies in Paul: Theology for the Early Christian Mission (Minneapolis: Augsburg, 1977), 31; Klein, “Die Begründung für den Spendenaufruf für die Heiligen Jerusalems in 2Kor 8 und 9,” 128; Beckheuer, Paulus und Jerusalem, 104. In this sense, Paul agrees with conventional Greco-Roman approaches to giving. See Hands, Charities and Social Aid in Greece and Rome, 61. In Greco-Roman culture, pity was not directed to the poor but to those struck by misfortune, especially if unmerited. See Bolkestein, Wohltätigkeit und Armnepflege, 112– 14; Hands, Charities and Social Aid in Greece and Rome, 77– 88; David Konstan, Pity Transformed (Classical Inter/Faces. London: Duckworth, 2001). Joubert, on the other hand, claims that “Paul did not hesitate to include the plight of the Jerusalem believers in his theological motivations for the collection” and cites Rom 15:26, 2 Cor 8:13 – 15, and Gal 2:10 (which probably does not directly refer to the collection). Joubert ascribes this inclusion of the circumstances of the Jerusalem believers to Paul’s Jewish background (Paul as Benefactor, 130). As I have argued, these references to the economic situation in the Jerusalem group appear to be at best peripheral to Paul’s exhortation.  Livy reports that the conditions imposed by Rome upon conquering Macedonia (168 BC) were seen as economically crippling (Hist. 45.30). See Alfred Plummer, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Second Epistle of St Paul to the Corinthians, ICC 34 (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1915), 233; Betz, 2 Corinthians 8 and 9, 50 – 51, especially n. 87. C. K. Barrett observes that the situation described by Livy relates to more than two centuries before Paul and interprets the Macedonian poverty as a consequence of persecution (A Commentary on the Second Epistle to the Corinthians, HNTC [New York: Harper & Row, 1973], 219). See also E.-B. Allo, Seconde Épître

184

4 Concerns over Paul’s Collection

overstate the extreme character of Macedonian poverty for the rhetorical purpose of emphasizing the wondrous nature of their contribution and thus challenging the Corinthians to emulate their generosity,⁵⁹² but given the indications of contacts between believers of different regions (e. g., 1 Thess 1:7– 9; 2 Cor 11:9), there is reason to believe that Paul refers here to economic realities that were well known in Corinth. Turning to the believers in Corinth, there is some indication that those called on to contribute lived themselves in relative poverty.⁵⁹³ Admittedly, Paul seems to state the opposite when he alludes to their present abundance (ἐν τῷ νῦν καιρῷ τὸ ὑμῶν περίσσευμα; 2 Cor 8:14). However, abundance here does not necessarily mean anything more than that they were, in Paul’s opinion, in a position to share part of their resources with Jerusalem.⁵⁹⁴ In fact, two elements indicate that Paul’s exhortation is directed, at least in part, to Corinthians of relatively modest means. First, Paul asks the Corinthians—but he claims to have given this same directive to the Galatians also—to put aside whatever amount of money they could on a weekly basis (1 Cor 16:2).⁵⁹⁵ This kind of approach seems to assume that a majority of the participants had no savings, which they could have used for the collection, and that they were in no position to make any long- or even medium-term financial plans. They lived on a week-toweek basis.⁵⁹⁶

aux Corinthiens, 2nd ed., Études bibliques (Paris: Gabalda, 1956), 213. Jean Héring conjectures that earthquakes at the time of Claudius may have contributed to economic difficulty in the region (La seconde épître de Saint Paul aux Corinthiens, CNT 8 [Neuchatel: Delachaux & Niestlé, 1958], 67 n. 2).  Uzukwu, “The Poverty and Wealth of the Macedonians,” 320 – 23.  For a study of the economic conditions in ancient Corinth, see Welborn, “Inequality in Roman Corinth,” 47– 84.  Longenecker maintains that in 2 Cor 8:14, “Paul is likely speaking of Corinthian ‘abundance’ in terms relative to the Jerusalem communities. Or the reference to ‘abundance’ might be a subtle way of arm-twisting those in ES4 [having moderate surplus] from within the Corinthian communities, seeking a generous donation from them for Paul’s collection efforts” (Remember the Poor, 257). Schellenberg, on the other hand, observes that Paul depicts the Corinthians as “potential recipients of the Jerusalem assembly’s abundance” and therefore “economically vulnerable” (“Subsistence,” 227– 28). See also, for an opposite interpretation, Countryman, The Rich Christian, 114.  Kloppenborg observes that the Corinthians needed, and possibly asked for, instructions not because they were unfamiliar with collecting money, but because of the translocal character of the collection, namely, “how to ensure that such funds collected for that purpose would be delivered to their intended recipients, and how an accounting of the full amount would be guaranteed” (“Fiscal Aspects,” 165).  Friesen, “Paul and Economics,” 50; Longenecker, Remember the Poor, 253 – 54.

4.2 The Specter of Impoverishment

185

In 1 Cor 16:2, Paul also urges the Corinthians to put aside for the collection whatever extra they earn (ὅ τι ἐὰν εὐοδῶται).⁵⁹⁷ Both the indefinite pronoun τί and the particle ἐάν (for ἄν) give indefinite force to the sentence and downplay the importance of the amount donated.⁵⁹⁸ Moreover, this clause appears to imply that contributions should be proportional to a household’s resources.⁵⁹⁹ This is consistent with Paul’s statements elsewhere. In 2 Cor 8:11– 12, Paul claims it is important that the Corinthians bring the collection to completion, but that as far as the size of their donation is concerned, they should give according to their means. Paul uses in 2 Cor 8:11 the short phrase ἐκ τοῦ ἔχειν, which is fairly ambiguous. One possible translation is “from what you have,” which would imply that the Corinthians are not expected to give more than they have. Alternatively, the preposition ἐκ may indicate an underlying principle of proportionality for the contribution (“in accordance with what you have”).⁶⁰⁰ The phrase appears to be clarified in the following verse: “The gift is acceptable according to what one has—not according to what one does not have” (καθὸ ἐὰν ἔχῃ εὐπρόσδεκτος, οὐ καθὸ οὐκ ἔχει; 2 Cor 8:12 NRSV).⁶⁰¹ In this sentence, the relative adverb καθό establishes a principle of proportionality: the contribution need not be unreasonably large (nor unfairly small) but rather correspond to one’s present resources.⁶⁰² As in 1 Cor 16:2, the particle ἐάν suggests that all Corinthi-

 For the debate on the precise meaning of the verb εὐοδόω here, see Anthony C. Thiselton, The First Epistle to the Corinthians: A Commentary on the Greek Text, NIGTC (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans; Carlisle: Paternoster, 2000), 1322– 24.  For the indefinite force of the clause, see Thiselton, The First Epistle to the Corinthians, 1323. Paul’s directive to set aside money “at home” (παρ᾿ ἑαυτῷ; 1 Cor 16:2) may indicate a noncompetitive strategy in which less affluent Corinthians could avoid being shamed by wealthier donors. See Thiselton, The First Epistle to the Corinthians, 1324; Joubert, Paul as Benefactor, 161.  Joubert, Paul as Benefactor, 161; Andreas J. Köstenberger and David A. Croteau, “Reconstructing a Biblical Model for Giving: A Discussion of Relevant Systematic Issues and New Testament Principles,” BBR 16 (2006): 254.  Betz, 2 Corinthians 8 and 9, 65; Margaret E. Thrall, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Second Epistle to the Corinthians, 2 vols, ICC (London: T&T Clark, 1994– 2000), 2:537 n. 217; Alexander Weihs, “‘Gott liebt einen fröhlichen Geber’: Zur Strategie und Theologie paulinischer Spendenakquise in Korinth (2Kor 8 – 9),” in Das frühe Christentum und die Stadt, ed. Reinhard von Bendemann and Markus Tiwald, BWANT 198 (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 2012), 174.  Hans Windisch maintains that καθὸ ἐὰν ἔχῃ in 2 Cor 8:12 rephrases the expression ἐκ τοῦ ἔχειν in 2 Cor 8:11 (Der zweite Korintherbrief, 9th ed., KEK 6 [Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1924], 256).  Paul initially expresses the same idea with regard to the Macedonian contribution—they gave “according to their means”—but then adds that they gave “beyond their means” (2 Cor 8:3). In that context also, the proportionality of the gift is conveyed through the preposition κατά. The statements in 2 Cor 8:11– 12 about the fair proportion between an individual’s resour-

186

4 Concerns over Paul’s Collection

ans are expected to contribute, no matter how large or small their contributions may be.⁶⁰³ All of these details cumulatively indicate that at least part but probably a majority of the Corinthian participants in the collection—but, as I have noted, this conclusion also applies to Macedonia and Galatia—belonged in the economically vulnerable urban population.⁶⁰⁴ This group of contributors was very likely the most significant in Corinth, as they appear to be Paul’s primary addressees in writing about the collection and issuing directives on its preparation. On the one hand, this seems to corroborate descriptions of the Pauline communities as pri-

ces and contribution may reflect Paul’s intention to clarify that his praise of the Macedonians in 2 Cor 8:1– 5 was not meant to place the Corinthians under undue pressure. See Windisch, Der zweite Korintherbrief, 257; Allo, Seconde Épître aux Corinthiens, 220; Héring, La seconde épître de Saint Paul aux Corinthiens, 69; Ralph P. Martin, 2 Corinthians, WBC 40 (Waco: Word Books, 1986), 265; Joubert, Paul as Benefactor, 181– 82. For Paul’s unassertive leadership style, see below section 4.5. Kim, on the other hand, claims that Paul exhorts the Corinthians to imitate the self-sacrifice of the Macedonians and give all they possess (Die paulinischen Kollekte, 33). However, the relative adverb καθό (from καθ᾽ ὅ) expresses proportionality and not totality. Yochanan Muffs detects a similar attitude in Ben Sira’s discussion of sacrifice. Ben Sira’s Hebrew text encourages to give ‫“( בטוב עין ובהשגת יד‬With sparkling eye as much as you can give”; Sir 35:12). According to Muffs, the unusual phrase ‫ השגת יד‬is a reference to Lev 5:11, “If you cannot afford [‫ ]ואם־לא תשיג ידו‬two turtledoves or two pigeons,” a provision for the extremely poor to offer what they can afford (the two verses use forms derived from the stem nśg). The phrase ‫ השגת יד‬describes, in Muffs’s opinion, generosity according to one’s means. On the other hand, the phrase ‫ בטוב עין‬can be translated as “generously.” Like Paul in the collection text, Ben Sira joins together generosity and moderation in sacrificial offerings. Generosity is necessary in sacrifices, but it should not endanger the poor’s survival chances. See Yochanan Muffs, Love and Joy: Law, Language and Religion in Ancient Israel (New York: The Jewish Theological Seminary of America, 1992), 177– 79. In direct reference to almsgiving to the poor, Tobit encourages his son Tobias to give in proportion to his finances, whether he has plenty (κατὰ τὸ πλῆθος) or only little (κατὰ τὸ ὀλίγον; Tob 4:8). Rabbinic literature preserves this view of support of the poor (e. g., y. Pe’ah 1:1; see Muffs, Love and Joy, 180 – 81).  In 2 Cor 9:7, Paul urges the Corinthians to give “each as you have determined in your heart” (ἕκαστος καθὼς προῄρηται τῇ καρδίᾳ). In the preceding verse, Paul explicitly discusses the size of the contributions, urging the Corinthians to give bountifully in order to reap correspondingly. This suggests that the clause introduced by καθώς also deals with the amount to be given. The Corinthians should each give “as much as” they have decided. The point, here, is not that the Corinthians should give within their means—in fact, the context implies that the more they give, the better—but, as I will suggest in section 4.5, that they should give freely without feeling pressured by Paul’s expectations. In 2 Cor 9:8, Paul goes on to assure the Corinthians that God will make them self-sufficient and thus enable them to share their resources with others. Meggitt sees this statement of Paul as an indication of the Corinthians’ poverty, since Paul did not take their self-sufficiency for granted (Paul, Poverty and Survival, 97 n. 112).  Schellenberg, “Subsistence,” 228.

4.2 The Specter of Impoverishment

187

marily comprised of the poorer strata of urban society.⁶⁰⁵ If there were enough wealthy patrons to render the participation of the rest negligible, Paul does not seem to give them great credit.⁶⁰⁶ On the other hand, it is especially noteworthy that the collection was gathered mostly from among the poor. It is hard to estimate the size of the groups of believers in the first century CE and, therefore, how impactful the collection could have been on its Jerusalem recipients, but it is likely that the cumulative total of the collection, given the poor finances of the Gentile groups, was not such as to change the circumstances of the Jerusalem group dramatically. Its symbolic importance almost certainly outweighed its economic consequences.⁶⁰⁷ The collection texts also provide evidence for fear, among the Corinthians, of falling into poverty or into more severe poverty. It seems that some felt participation in the collection to be a danger to the precarious state of their personal finances and, therefore, their ability to support themselves.⁶⁰⁸ Paul praises the Macedonians for having given not only according to their means but also beyond their means (2 Cor 8:3). In other words, they drew not from their surplus funds but from the resources they could have otherwise used for their ordinary needs.⁶⁰⁹ Paul is aware that this is a potentially worrying piece of information and immediately clarifies that the Macedonians did so on their own volition. Paul’s wording, with the repetition of δύναμιν, is especially forceful, yet the juxtaposition between the two phrase κατὰ δύναμιν and παρὰ δύναμιν conveys a fundamental uncertainty about the consequences of the collection for the Macedonians, whether it was an appropriate (κατά) or a damaging (παρά) act.⁶¹⁰ In  See above, p. 178 n. 573.  Longenecker, Remember the Poor, 254.  L. L. Welborn, An End to Enmity: Paul and the “Wrongdoer” of Second Corinthians, BZNW 85 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2011), 178. Franklin, indeed, observes that, despite the poverty prevailing in Jerusalem, Paul did not rush the collection but took several years to complete it and concludes that poverty relief was not the only aim of the collection and that, in Paul’s eyes, the spiritual goal of the collection was more important than the material one (Die Kollekte des Paulus, 52). See also Nickle, The Collection, 129 – 30. Renato Iori suggests, on the other hand, that a relatively small amount of money would not have justified the presence of several delegates with Paul (La solidarietà nelle prime comunità cristiane: La dottrina degli Atti e di San Paolo [Rome: Città Nuova, 1989], 85 – 87).  Nickle, The Collection, 18 n. 23.  Héring, La seconde épître de Saint Paul aux Corinthiens, 67; Martin, 2 Corinthians, 253.  Windisch observes that the Macedonians, because of their specifically Christian attitude of self-sacrifice, intensified their own affliction. Although Paul shares this self-sacrificial mindset (see below, section 5.3), he does not impose it on others (Der zweite Korintherbrief, 258). Uzukwu argues that the expression παρὰ δύναμιν in 2 Cor 8:3 only serves to heighten the pathos of Paul’s words and “was never meant to be taken at face value” (“The Poverty and Wealth of the Mace-

188

4 Concerns over Paul’s Collection

fact, the phrase παρὰ δύναμιν also has negative meaning in papyri that contain complaints about excessive financial burdens that cannot be met. Similarly, Paul’s reminiscence of his own deadly tribulation in 2 Cor 1:8 uses the closely related phrase ὑπὲρ δύναμιν.⁶¹¹ Although voluntarily accepted, the collection did expose the Macedonians to danger and increased their economic vulnerability, a situation that Paul describes with the word θλῖψις (2 Cor 8:2). This term has the very general sense of “affliction” but is occasionally associated with destitution (e. g., Rom 8:35; Rev 2:9).⁶¹² Here, the subsequent mention of the deep poverty of the Macedonians indicates that Paul regarded impoverishment as part of the affliction they experienced.⁶¹³ This use of the term θλῖψις as a synonym for economic distress is confirmed by another occurrence in Paul’s later remarks about the Corinthians: “I do not mean that there should be relief for others and pressure [θλῖψις] on you” (2 Cor 8:13; NRSV). In this case, economic vulnerability is not simply the context in which the collection takes place, as is the case in Macedonia, but the foreseeable and feared outcome of the collection. Paul’s defensive statement appears to address worries in Corinth that the collection could result in self-impoverishment. Paul repeatedly reassures the Corinthians that the outcome of the collection needs not be financially challenging for them. First, the Corinthians are free to choose the amount of money that they wish to give. Paul makes this point when he tells the Corinthians that they are only to give according to what they have (2 Cor 8:11– 12). Especially in light of Paul’s claim that the Macedonians gave beyond their means, this instruction to the Corinthians appears to be an attempt to put their minds at rest.⁶¹⁴ The Macedonians acted on their own voli-

donians,” 328). It is nonetheless very significant that Paul stakes his reputation on this claim by interjecting a noteworthy μαρτυρῶ (κατὰ δύναμιν, μαρτυρῶ, καὶ παρὰ δύναμιν; see also Rom 10:2; Gal 4:15).  Paul employs the similar phrase ὑπὲρ δύναμιν in 2 Cor 1:8 to describe the overwhelming danger (θλῖψις as in 2 Cor 8:2) he had experienced. Windisch considers this phrase synonymous with παρὰ δύναμιν (Der zweite Korintherbrief, 245). For παρὰ δύναμιν in the papyri, see Peter Arzt-Grabner, 2. Korinther, Papyrologische Kommentare zum Neuen Testament 4 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2014), 413.  The sense of economic difficulty is especially prevalent in the language of the documentary papyri. See Arzt-Grabner, 2. Korinther, 167.  Betz, 2 Corinthians 8 and 9, 43; Martin, 2 Corinthians, 253.  Nickle, The Collection, 92 n. 143 and 95. In reference to 2 Cor 8:14, Windisch observes that Paul’s vocabulary closely parallels the story of the widow in the Temple (Mark 12:44). However, while the widow gives out of her poverty (ἐκ τῆς ὑστερήσεως αὐτῆς), Paul does not require such

4.2 The Specter of Impoverishment

189

tion. Paul never asked them to endanger themselves, nor will he ask the Corinthians to do as much as the Macedonians did.⁶¹⁵ In fact, while Paul later discusses the size of the gift to be offered and encourages generosity, he still assures the Corinthians that they must give only as much as they have decided in their hearts (2 Cor 9:7).⁶¹⁶ In addition to freedom to give according to their means, Paul also reassures the Corinthians by promising them that the outcome of the collection will be, contrary to their fears, abundance and enrichment. On the one hand, this abundance has a human source. Paul sees the relationship between the Corinthians and the Jerusalem recipients as ideally based on equality and reciprocity. Just as the collection serves, presently, the purpose of establishing equality between the two groups, so also if at some time in the future the balance is lost because of impoverishment among the Corinthians, their Jerusalem partners will restore equality by providing for their needs (2 Cor 8:14).⁶¹⁷ On the other hand, God guar-

an extraordinary deed from the Corinthians. They only need to give out of their abundance (τὸ ὑμῶν περίσσευμα). See Windisch, Der zweite Korintherbrief, 258.  Windisch, Der zweite Korintherbrief, 258; Plummer, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Second Epistle of St Paul to the Corinthians, 244.  Furnish, II Corinthians, 447.  Beverly Roberts Gaventa, “The Economy of Grace: Reflections on 2 Corinthians 8 and 9,” in Grace upon Grace: Essays in Honor of Thomas A. Langford, ed. Robert J. Johnston, L. Gregory Jones, and Jonathan R. Wilson (Nashville: Abingdon, 1999), 61 n. 21. There is debate over the exact meaning of the second part of 2 Cor 8:14: “So that their [Jerusalem’s] abundance may be for your [the Corinthians’] need” (NRSV). A plain reading of this ἵνα clause indicates that Paul thought a reversal of the flow of support between Corinth and Jerusalem was possible. See Plummer, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Second Epistle of St Paul to the Corinthians, 245; Barrett, A Commentary on the Second Epistle to the Corinthians, 226; Thrall, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Second Epistle to the Corinthians, 2:540 – 41. Some interpreters, however, believe that this possibility is unrealistic and that Paul’s words are purely theoretical. See Héring, La seconde épître de Saint Paul aux Corinthiens, 70; Furnish, II Corinthians, 419 – 20. Betz also thinks that a material reciprocation from Jerusalem was hard to believe and reads this statement through the lens of Rom 15:27 as a reciprocation in spiritual benefits to remedy the spiritual deficiency of the Corinthians (2 Corinthians 8 and 9, 68 – 69). See also Nickle, The Collection, 120 – 21, especially n. 179; Joubert, Paul as Benefactor, 140 – 44. However, writing to the Romans about the spiritual gifts that the Corinthians received is not the same as writing to the Corinthians about their own spiritual poverty. On the contrary, Paul adopts the opposite strategy in 2 Cor 8:7 and praises, almost flatters, the Corinthians for excelling “in everything—in faith, in speech, in knowledge, in utmost eagerness, and in our love for you” (NRSV). The idea of a present or future spiritual want of the Corinthians does not fit the context. Kim observes, moreover, that Paul would never have accepted that the Corinthians needed spiritual help from Jerusalem. Paul believed his gospel to the Gentiles to be as complete as Peter’s gospel to the Jews (Die paulinische Kollekte, 38). On the other hand, that Paul explicitly addresses the

190

4 Concerns over Paul’s Collection

antees the positive outcome of the collection. According to the agricultural logic that “the one who sows bountifully will also reap bountifully” (2 Cor 9:6; NRSV), the Corinthians will be abundantly enriched by God who will provide for them with both spiritual and material blessings (2 Cor 9:8,10 – 11).⁶¹⁸ The theological guarantee for charity toward the poor conforms to traditional Jewish views. Tobit, for instance, imparts this instruction: “Give alms from your possessions, and do not let your eye begrudge the gift when you make it. Do not turn your face away from anyone who is poor, and the face of God will not be turned away from you” (Tob 4:7; NRSV). The benevolent face of God looks on the givers of alms. Moreover, Tobit recognizes that in poverty, his son Tobias may fear depleting his limited resources because of almsgiving. He, therefore, bolsters his exhortation in two ways. First, like Paul, he suggests that his son give according to his means: “If you have many possessions, make your gift from them in proportion; if few, do not be afraid to give according to the little you have” (Tob 4:8; NRSV). Second, he promises his son that God will protect him from future adversities in the day of necessity (Tob 4:10 – 11). Similarly, Ben Sira admits that lending practices, albeit a duty, entail financial risks for lenders (Sir 29:4– 7,14– 20). Almsgiving, however, is different. Ben Sira reassures his readership that, by almsgiving, they can lay up treasure that profits more than gold, rescues from every disaster, and fights against enemies (Sir 29:11– 13).⁶¹⁹

eventuality of a fall into material poverty suggests that this was not only a realistic scenario but also one very much feared by some in Corinth. See Meggitt, Paul, Poverty and Survival, 159 – 61. For further discussion, see below, section 5.6.  Windisch, Der zweite Korintherbrief, 278; Allo, Seconde Épître aux Corinthiens, 233 – 36; Longenecker, Remember the Poor, 275; Thrall, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Second Epistle to the Corinthians, 2:574– 75; Bart B. Bruehler, “Proverbs, Persuasion and People: A Three-Dimensional Investigation of 2 Cor 9.6 – 15,” NTS 48 (2002): 218. There is debate as to whether the harvest metaphor has an eschatological character (Windisch; Nickle) or not (Betz; Thrall; Kim) and whether it implies spiritual gifts (Martin), material provisions (Georgi; Furnish), or both (Windisch; Harrison; Thrall; Downs). Although the metaphorical language of sowing and harvesting in 2 Cor 9:6 – 10 is open to either material or spiritual interpretations (or both), the context suggests that at least part of the recompense for charity consists of material abundance. Moreover, the idea of having self-sufficiency (αὐτάρκεια; 2 Cor 9:8) implies some measure of material possessions, certainly the absence of deprivation. See Georgi, Remembering the Poor, 98; Betz, 2 Corinthians 8 and 9, 110. In Phil 4:11, for instance, Paul claims to have learned to be self-sufficient (αὐτάρκης) to clarify that he was not in need of financial help from the Philippians. Cyprian also acknowledges that generosity may be hindered by fear of impoverishment and quotes 2 Cor 9:10 – 12 to reassure his readers (Eleem. 9).  Gregory concludes his comments on this aspect of Sir 29 by stating: “God has promised to repay the gift to the poor (Prov 19:17) and he can be trusted to do so” (Like an Everlasting Signet

4.2 The Specter of Impoverishment

191

Paul’s reassurances to the Corinthians about their financial future in 2 Cor 8:1– 15 culminate in a quotation from Exod 16:18, on the wondrous property of the manna. The wording of the quotation (“The one who had much did not have too much, and the one who had little did not have too little”; NRSV) fits Paul’s immediately preceding statements about equality perfectly. Equality, Paul argues, is the result of a constant flow of goods from those who, at a certain moment, have surplus to those who are in need, so that, as the Exodus quotation states, no one has too little or too much. However, a consideration of the original context of the quotation reveals its broader significance.⁶²⁰ According to the Exodus narrative, the Israelites complained to Moses and Aaron that the journey through the desert would cause them to die of hunger (Exod 16:2– 3). In response, God sent the manna, “a fine flaky substance” that appeared every morning when the dew evaporated (Exod 16:14). Each Israelite was instructed to gather the amount of manna necessary to support the people belonging to his tent, one measure per person. If any was left over until the following morning, it became rotten and inedible. Exodus presents the daily cycle of the manna as a way for God to test Israel’s obedience, whether they would accept dependence on God’s daily providence rather than accumulate extra food for the future (Exod 16:4).⁶²¹ The verse Paul quotes proves that the Israelites successfully passed God’s test. Although some of them gathered more manna, some less, “when they measured it with an omer, those who gathered much had nothing over, and those who gathered

Ring, 194). For a similar line of argument in the patristic period, see Holman, Macé, and Matz, “De Beneficentia,” 468 – 69.  Contra Hans Lietzmann, who claims that Paul is only interested in the wording and not in the context of Exod 16:18 (An die Korinther I-II, 4th ed. expanded by Werner Georg Kümmel, HNT 9 [Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1949], 135). Richard B. Hays, on the other hand, argues that attention to the context is essential to understanding Paul’s use of this quotation. With reference to the interpretative trajectory that starts with Deut 8:2– 3—the manna story “as a lesson about Israel’s absolute dependence on God”—“Paul sees in this manna story an economic parable whose moral is that God provides for those who rely on him for their daily bread, taking no thought for the morrow” (Echoes of Scripture in the Letters of Paul [New Haven: Yale University Press, 1989], 88 – 91).  William H. C. Propp, Exodus, 2 vols., AB 2 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1974), 593. Other traditions about the manna also emphasize the themes of testing and dependence on God alone (Deut 8:3,16; Ps 78:23 – 25). For an analysis of biblical and post-biblical elaborations on the manna traditions, see Bruce J. Malina, The Palestinian Manna Tradition: The Manna Tradition in the Palestinian Targums and Its Relationship to the New Testament Writings, AGJU 7 (Leiden: Brill, 1968).

192

4 Concerns over Paul’s Collection

little had no shortage” (Exod 16:18; NRSV).⁶²² Thanks to God’s providence, no Israelite suffered deprivation despite the precariousness of the desert conditions. The similarity between Israel’s scarce sustenance and day-by-day survival in the desert and the shaky finances of the Corinthians seems to be the interpretative context for Paul’s quotation of Exod 16:18. Both are afraid of an impending crisis, and both defy the leadership of God’s envoy. Paul reassures the Corinthians that just as God’s generosity provided for Israel until they reached the Promised Land, so too they will find support in their precarious financial situation.⁶²³ They will never experience any shortage as long as they trust in God’s providence and in God’s apostle.⁶²⁴ Paul’s repeated negative and positive remarks, that the Corinthians will not be required to give beyond their means and will receive every blessing in abundance, suggest that Paul felt a pressing need to reassure the Corinthians about their economic future. This kind of need for reassurance fits the picture of donors with modest resources, who feel that participation in the collection is a real chal-

 There is uncertainty as to whether this wondrous result of the daily collection of manna depended on human or divine agency—an ambiguity that is arguably present in Paul’s collection texts also. Interpreters are divided in explaining how the gathered manna amounts exactly to the prescribed measure even though some gather a large and some a small quantity of it. Some attribute the fact to human agency: the generosity of those who had gathered more than they needed might have supplied the shortfall of others; pooling and redistribution of the manna collected; self-restraint on one’s greed; accurate assessment. See John M. G. Barclay, “Manna and the Circulation of Grace: A Study of 2 Corinthians 8:1– 15,” in The Word Leaps the Gap: Essays on Scripture and Theology in Honor of Richard B. Hays, ed. J. Ross Wagner, C. Kavin Rowe, and A. Katherine Grieb (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2008), 411– 12; Murray J. Harris, The Second Epistle to the Corinthians: A Commentary on the Greek Text, NIGTC (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans; Carlisle: Paternoster, 2005), 593 especially n. 21. Others prefer to see divine agency at work, considering the fact as a miracle. See Windisch, Der zweite Korintherbrief, 259; Barrett, A Commentary on the Second Epistle to the Corinthians, 227. The latter explanation seems supported by the concurrent, overnight decay of the manna and its preservation on the Sabbaths. Apparently, through the nightly decay of the manna, God ensures that the Israelites do not transgress the limitation of the collection to the daily need. Even if we interpret this decay naturalistically, its sabbatical persistence is clearly miraculous. Malina analyzes Exod 16 with source criticism and ascribes Exod 16:16 – 20 to a narrative expressing Priestly concerns (especially the Sabbath rest) and highlighting “the miraculous nature of the manna” (The Palestinian Manna Tradition, 19). Of course, this does not necessarily mean that the passage was read as a miracle by Paul and his contemporaries, although the general tenor of the section seems to point in that direction.  Schellenberg, “Subsistence,” 229.  Barclay observes that in Jewish sources, the manna is expanded and reshaped as “a paradigm case of God’s graciousness to his people” (“Manna and the Circulation of Grace,” 419). Paul follows this larger tradition.

4.3 Disparity between Groups

193

lenge and an unwelcome source of additional economic pressure.⁶²⁵ Paul’s words seem thus to reveal deep anxiety among the Corinthians about the collection and its impact on their economic stability. The Corinthians were afraid of an impending fall into poverty, a fall that the collection would only precipitate. The simple fact that Paul had to address the discouraging possibility that the Corinthians might, at some point in the future, find themselves in financial need (ὑστέρημα; 2 Cor 8:14) suggests that this worry was plaguing them intensely. In other words, the collection texts acknowledge and come to grips with one dreadful psychological dimension of poverty, namely, the chronic anxiety and daily struggle for the basic necessities of life and for the ability to participate in society.⁶²⁶ It should not be assumed that all Corinthians worried about impoverishment to the same degree, yet the considerable number of references to need and poverty suggests that this was a major, if not the major, obstacle to Corinthian participation in the collection. Anxiety about the economic future can therefore hardly be overstated as a key factor in the planning and description of Pauls’ collection.

4.3 Disparity between Groups Paul’s brief treatment of equality in 2 Cor 8:13 – 15, with its references to a possible future need in Corinth, plays an important role in the larger discussion of the ways in which poverty affected Corinthian participation in the collection. In itself, however, this passage seems to address a different, albeit related, problem: fear of economic imbalance between Corinth and Jerusalem, the latter enjoying relief while the former suffer distress. This specific problem flows naturally from the preceding verses, 2 Cor 8:11– 12, where Paul attempts to assuage anxiety

 Nickle, The Collection, 102 n. 18.  Garnsey and Woolf, “Patronage of the Rural Poor in the Roman World,” 153; Meggitt, Paul, Poverty and Survival, 5; Longenecker, “Socio-Economic Profiling,” 38. Meggitt, for instance, maintains that “all free workers, skilled and unskilled, lived in constant fear of unemployment and its consequences” (Paul, Poverty and Survival, 58; my emphasis). Similarly, Richard L. Rohrbaugh maintains that, in Roman society, “the fear of loss, of the downward mobility that was so common, was nearly universal” and that the general attitude was “best represented by the deepseated and often undifferentiated fears about powerlessness and lack of control in life” (“Methodological Considerations in the Debate Over the Social Class Status of Early Christians,” JAAR 52 [1984]: 543). Watson goes so far as to claim that “even the well-to-do minority who did not experience poverty worried about it” (“Paul’s Collection,” 17). It is possible that Paul’s continuous “anxiety for all the churches” (2 Cor 11:28) includes worries about the economic circumstances of believers. In fact, Paul describes the economic hardships that he himself, as an apostle, endured (2 Cor 11:27) and those endured by the Corinthians (2 Cor 11:20).

194

4 Concerns over Paul’s Collection

about the financial pressure that the collection creates. Accordingly, Paul assures the Corinthians in 2 Cor 8:13 that he does not mean to put them under pressure. Yet he couples this thought with a reference to “relief for others” (ἄλλοις ἄνεσις). It is striking that the notion of the collection as a means of poverty relief only appears for the first time in 2 Cor 8:13—as I have noted, feelings of pity and compassion for the poor as well as consideration for their circumstances play a very minor role in the collection texts.⁶²⁷ Now, poverty relief surprisingly emerges as an argument against contributing to the collection. In fact, the main idea of 2 Cor 8:13—an idea that the verse immediately rejects—is that the relief that the collection aims to bring others would make the possible financial difficulty engendered in Corinth seem even worse. In other words, self-sacrifice for the sake of others is to be rejected. Paul does not fully develop this thought, so that, unfortunately, we can only speculate on its rationale. It may mean that the collection was regarded as a mere exchange of circumstances between Corinth and Jerusalem.⁶²⁸ The following discussion on equality suggests, alternatively, that enriching others at one’s own expense may have been considered an unfair transaction.⁶²⁹ Either way, Paul quickly opposes this opinion by prefacing it with οὐ γὰρ ἵνα: “I do not mean that there should be relief for others and pressure on you” (2 Cor 8:13; NRSV).⁶³⁰

 See above, pp. 182– 83.  Barrett, A Commentary on the Second Epistle to the Corinthians, 226; Joubert, Paul as Benefactor, 140.  The wording of the statement, “relief to others,” is especially revealing in its negative undertones. By avoiding naming the recipients of the collection, this statement radically changes the perspective on the collection. It is no longer regarded as a gift to “the saints” (Rom 15:26 – 27; 1 Cor 16:1; 2 Cor 8:4; 9:1,12) but simply a transfer of wealth to “others.” The title “the saints,” in fact, implies that the recipients of the collection are characterized by a particular theological status, which renders the collection far more than an economic transaction. Moreover, “the saints” is a title that also identifies the Corinthians (1 Cor 1:2; 6:1– 2; 16:15; 2 Cor 1:1) as well as believers of other groups (e. g., 2 Cor 13:12). By calling the recipients of the collection “others,” this statement downplays the common identity that all believers share and that undergirds the fundraising effort.  The entire verse is marked by ellipsis. A verb, probably γένηται, needs to be supplied in the dependent clause introduced by ἵνα. This ἵνα clause can be read as a purpose (“[My purpose] is not that there might be relief…”), object (“I do not [wish] that there be relief…”), or result clause (“[The result of this collection] is not that there might be relief…). Regardless of the ambiguity of the phrasing, the sense it conveys is that imbalance between the two groups is neither the intended nor the expected result of the collection. See Betz, 2 Corinthians 8 and 9, 67; Thrall, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Second Epistle to the Corinthians, 2:439 n. 230.

4.3 Disparity between Groups

195

This rejection of the value of self-sacrifice for others is in stark contrast to Paul’s views expressed elsewhere, sometimes with strikingly similar language.⁶³¹ For instance, Paul boasts to the same Corinthians that he endured tribulations for their consolation and salvation (2 Cor 1:6; 4:12; see also Eph 3:13; Col 1:24). Elsewhere, stating that he would not be of burden to the Corinthians financially, Paul declares: “I will most gladly spend and be spent for you” (2 Cor 12:15; NRSV).⁶³² Notably, Paul advances a positive view of self-sacrifice twice in the collection texts, precisely to encourage generosity. First, one reason why the Macedonians deserved praise is that, through their contributions, they “gave themselves” to God and to Paul (2 Cor 8:5). The idea of giving one’s self, one’s body, or one’s life often refers to Jesus’s own self-sacrifice (with δίδωμι: Matt 20:28; Mark 10:45; Luke 22:19; Gal 1:4; Titus 2:14; 1 Tim 2:6; with other verbs: John 10:11,15,17; 13:37– 38; 15:13; Rom 12:1; Gal 2:20; Eph 5:2,25; Heb 9:14,25; 1 John 3:16). Paul, by using the same phrase for the Macedonians, implies that they did something similar to Jesus by giving beyond their means and so rendered their generosity an act of self-sacrifice.⁶³³ Second, Paul tells the Corinthians that Jesus became poor for their sake, that they might become rich (2 Cor 8:9). Here, Paul uses self-impoverishment as a metaphor for self-sacrifice, whether he has in mind Jesus’s incarnation or his death or both.⁶³⁴ The similarity between this verse and 2 Cor 8:13 is significant, since Paul connects here Jesus’s impoverishment with the Corinthians’ enrichment, just as 2 Cor 8:13 connects the pressure on the Corinthians with the relief of others.⁶³⁵ All of this evidence confirms

 Windisch, Der zweite Korintherbrief, 258.  Paul places rhetorical emphasis on this verse by using two forms of the same verb (δαπανήσω καὶ ἐκδαπανηθήσομαι). According to Windisch, while the first, an active form, refers to financial support, the second, passive, indicates self-sacrifice (Der zweite Korintherbrief, 400). The first verb, however, also has sacrificial meaning as it implies that Paul, as a true parent for the Corinthians, will spend not only his money but also his time, energy, and love for them, in fact, all he has. In this sense, the second verb clarifies the real meaning of the first. See Barrett, A Commentary on the Second Epistle to the Corinthians, 324; Martin, 2 Corinthians, 443; Thrall, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Second Epistle to the Corinthians, 2:846 – 47.  Windisch, Der zweite Korintherbrief, 247; Betz, 2 Corinthians 8 and 9, 47– 48; Furnish, II Corinthians, 414; Downs, The Offering of the Gentiles, 135.  Allo, Seconde Épître aux Corinthiens, 217; Nickle, The Collection, 120; Kim, Die paulinische Kollekte, 29. For and overview of the interpretative possibilities of Jesus’s self-impoverishment, see Thrall, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Second Epistle to the Corinthians, 2: 532– 34. For the topic of self-sacrifice in the collection texts, see below, section 5.3.  Longenecker argues that 2 Cor 8:9 is the verse that most clearly shows Paul’s use of Jesus’s self-sacrifice to underpin the entire collection effort (Remember the Poor, 310).

196

4 Concerns over Paul’s Collection

that Paul did not believe the collection to be an unfair transaction for the Corinthians. It is possible that Paul highlights the contrast between Corinthian distress and relief for others in order to introduce the concept of equality, which seems to be highly significant to his thinking about relationships between groups of believers. In fact, equality is partly a matter of wealth but also has implications involving honor, status, and justice that transcend economy. In other words, Paul may be raising the theoretical problem of imbalance for the primary purpose of illustrating his view of the collection as a tool to foster intergroup relationships that are based on equality. The contrast between the positive role of self-sacrifice in other Pauline texts and the rejection of distress for the relief of others in 2 Cor 8:13, however, suggests that Paul is here reporting someone else’s thinking. It is likely that some in Corinth regarded Paul’s requests on behalf of a distant and largely unknown group of believers as an unfair burden or that this criticism was part of the rhetoric of those who opposed Paul’s authority in Corinth.⁶³⁶ Although Paul’s statements elsewhere indicate that he generally approved of enduring sacrifices for the sake of others, he fails to make this point when he addresses the opposite opinion of some in Corinth. He prefers to respond by highlighting equality rather than self-sacrifice. Unfortunately, we can only make assumptions about why Paul chooses this response. On the one hand, Paul may regard intergroup relationships based on mutuality and reciprocity as more viable and stable than ones in which a group goes to the extremes of self-deprivation. His comments on the Macedonian participation, however, with them giving beyond their means (2 Cor 8:3), do not seem to voice censure against their extreme behavior. Rather, the text implies some degree of praise for their self-sacrificial approach to the collection.⁶³⁷ On the other hand, Paul may be adopting a nonconfrontational approach and focusing on equality in order to assuage the Corinthian worry about an imbalanced relationship.⁶³⁸

 Martin, 2 Corinthians, 266; Kim, Die paulinische Kollekte, 35; Dieter Sänger, “‘Jetzt aber fürcht auch das Tun zu Ende’ (2Kor 8,11): Die korinthische Gemeinde und die Kollekte für Jerusalem,” in Sänger, Der zweite Korintherbrief, 276 – 82. For the strategy of criticizing the collection to oppose Paul, see below sections 4.4 and 4.5.  In a similar way, Tobit’s charity is also presented as self-destructive. Tobit’s desire to share his food with a poor person leads him eventually to lose his vision and become dependent on his wife. Stuart Weeks observes: “Tobit is a pious man, to be sure, but his piety comes close to being obsessive and self-destructive.” Yet, as Weeks remarks, Tobit’s charity is “supposed to evoke admiration” (“A Deuteronomistic Heritage in Tobit?” in Changes in Scripture: Rewriting and Interpreting Authoritative Traditions in the Second Temple Period, ed. Hanne von Weissenberg, Juha Pakkala, and Marko Marttila, BZAW 419 [Berlin: De Gruyter, 2011], 393).  Allo, Seconde Épître aux Corinthiens, 220; Martin, 2 Corinthians, 266.

4.4 Greed

197

This is congruent with Paul’s conciliatory tone throughout 2 Cor 8 – 9, where his criticisms are fairly muted. In Chapter Two, I have surveyed grievances related to economic exploitation within the patronage and benefaction system in the world of Paul and pointed to some complaints about unfair economic exchanges.⁶³⁹ Ancient sources portray clients who come to patronage from economic disadvantage and speak out against the greed of patrons who fail to honor their commitment to support their clients, taking advantage of them instead. Poets and satirists present disillusioned clients who blame their patrons for enriching themselves at the expense of their clients and thus betraying the fides they had promised. There are some similarities between the objections of some Corinthians who saw the prosperity of Jerusalem as aggravating their financial distress and the protests of Greco-Roman clients. In fact, their complaint sounds vaguely similar to a client’s grumbling against a demanding patron. Rather than seeing the collection as an act of patronage toward the Jerusalem believers, the Corinthians would have identified more easily with the circumstances of clients. The statement in 2 Cor 8:13, according to which the collection brought relief to others but put pressure on the Corinthians, is the one that most clearly depicts the relationship between Corinth and Jerusalem in hierarchical terms. According to this statement, the Corinthians, despite being the donors, see themselves in the lower echelon of the hierarchy. They see the collection not as benefaction but as exploitation.

4.4 Greed Paul expresses a further worry about the collection in 2 Cor 9:5, when he recommends that at his arrival in Corinth, the collection be found ready “as a blessing and not as greed” (ὡς εὐλογίαν καὶ μὴ ὡς πλεονεξίαν). This rather literal translation reflects the obscurity of the Greek text, where Paul uses the two abstract nouns εὐλογία and πλεονεξία to describe the collection. Applying these terms to the collection is problematic. While the first term is occasionally used as a euphemism for a gift (e. g., Gen 33:11; 1 Sam 25:27; 2 Kgs 5:15) and thus causes no major problem,⁶⁴⁰ the exact sense of πλεονεξία, normally “greed”, in this context

 See above, section 2.4.1.  Windisch states that εὐλογία, “blessing,” describes the collection’s effects on the receivers (Der zweite Korintherbrief, 274). Nickle maintains that the use of εὐλογία in 2 Cor 9:5 highlights the “motivation” of the collection: in his view, selflessness (The Collection, 121– 22 n. 183). See also, Héring, La seconde épître de Saint Paul aux Corinthiens, 74.

198

4 Concerns over Paul’s Collection

is debated.⁶⁴¹ One possibility is that it warns the Corinthians against being greedy, or rather stingy, in the collection. Paul would be urging the Corinthians not to be stingy but to contribute with lavishness and unselfishness. Several interpreters who favor this understanding base their conclusion on two items. First, the verse creates a parallel between πλεονεξία and εὐλογία, so it seems natural that both terms apply to the same reality, and εὐλογία clearly refers to the Corinthian gift. Second, the following verse begins with the explicative phrase τοῦτο δέ, focuses on the magnitude of the contribution, and contrasts εὐλογία with the adverb φειδομένως, “sparingly”, an idea close to that of stinginess.⁶⁴² This reading, however, really stretches the meaning of πλεονεξία, which is, properly speaking, the desire to have more and not the unwillingness to give.⁶⁴³ Moreover, Corinthian niggardliness does not fully explain why Paul insists that the collection be ready at his arrival.⁶⁴⁴ A preferable solution is to read πλεονεξία as referring to Paul and his coworkers. If the collection is not ready at Paul’s arrival despite the presence of the brothers sent expressly for this purpose, he will need to use his authority to obtain it forcefully, an action that would cause humiliation for Paul (and

 For a brief overview of ancient discussions about greed, see Abraham J. Malherbe, “The Christianization of a Topos (Luke 12:13 – 34),” NovT 38 (1996): 123 – 35.  Georg Heinrici, Der zweite Brief an die Korinther, 7th ed., KEK 6 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1890), 267– 68; Windisch, Der zweite Korintherbrief, 274– 75; Lietzmann, An die Korinther I – II, 137– 38; Nickle, The Collection, 121– 22 n. 183; Martin, 2 Corinthians, 285 – 86; Jan Lambrecht, Second Corinthians, SP 8 (Collegeville: Liturgical Press, 1999), 146; Thrall, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Second Epistle to the Corinthians, 2:571– 73; Harris, The Second Epistle to the Corinthians, 629 – 30; Raymond F. Collins, Second Corinthians, Paideia Commentaries on the New Testament (Grand Rapids: BakerAcademic, 2013), 183.  Gerhard Delling, “πλεονέκτης, πλεονεκτέω, πλεονεξία,” TDNT 6:266 – 69; Philipp Bachmann, Der zweite Brief des Paulus an die Korinther, Kommentar zum Neuen Testament 8 (Leipzig: Deichert, 1909), 326. See also the detailed analysis of Richard Chevenix Trench, Synonyms of the New Testament (London: Macmillan, 1871), 77– 80. The Greek word for stinginess is ἀνελευθερία, which Aristotle defines this way: “In regard to giving and getting money, the observance of the mean is Liberality; the excess and deficiency are Prodigality and Meanness [ἀνελευθερία], but the prodigal man and the mean man exceed and fall short in opposite ways to one another: the prodigal exceeds in giving and is deficient in getting, whereas the mean man exceeds in getting and is deficient in giving” (Eth. nic. 2.7.4; trans. Rackham).  Paul had apparently used the argument that “Achaia has been ready since last year” to coax the Macedonians to donate (2 Cor 9:2– 4). However, a meager contribution does not seem to contradict Paul’s words to the Macedonians—as far as we know from the Corinthian correspondence—especially in light of his idea that “the gift is acceptable according to what one has—not according to what one does not have” (2 Cor 8:12). Admittedly, Paul does encourage the Corinthians to give bountifully (2 Cor 9:6).

4.4 Greed

199

for the Corinthians) and make him appear greedy.⁶⁴⁵ In addition to respecting the exact meaning of πλεονεξία, this reading is strongly supported by Paul’s use of the cognate verb πλεονεκτεῖν in 2 Cor 12:17– 18: “Did I take advantage of you [ἐπλεονέκτησα ὑμᾶς] through any of those whom I sent to you? I urged Titus to go, and sent the brother with him. Titus did not take advantage of you [ἐπλεονέκτησεν ὑμᾶς], did he?” (NRSV). These verses, which refer to a previous dispatch of Titus and an unnamed brother,⁶⁴⁶ suggest that Paul had reasons to fear being perceived as greedy by the Corinthians.⁶⁴⁷ Paul’s reference to πλεονεξία in 2 Cor 9:5 might therefore be an indication that Paul was worried about the optics of him personally gathering the collection, an action that might have confirmed suspicions already circulating in Corinth. This worry appears to have been so important as to shape, at least in part, the way Paul organized the practical aspects of the collection. Paul thought it “necessary” to send brothers ahead to arrange the collection before his arrival (2 Cor 9:5) so as to distance himself from this financial matter and its practicalities. The same unease is also visible in 1 Cor 16:1– 4, where Paul asks the Corinthians to put money aside in advance “so that the collection need not be taken when I come” (1 Cor 16:2). Moreover, he seems reluctant to take upon himself the task of transporting the gift to Jerusalem, preferring to send any whom the Cor-

 Bruehler aptly translates πλεονεξία as “a forced extortion” (“Proverbs, Persuasion and People,” 212). John Chrysostom already interpreted this greed in reference to Paul (Hom. 2 Cor. 19). See also Plummer, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Second Epistle of St Paul to the Corinthians, 256; Allo, Seconde Épître aux Corinthiens, 232; Barrett, A Commentary on the Second Epistle to the Corinthians, 236; Furnish, II Corinthians, 439. Paul and the Corinthians would be humiliated if the collection were not ready at his arrival because he had boasted to the Macedonians about the Corinthians’ eagerness to participate in the collection (2 Cor 9:2– 4).  For a discussion of which visit by Titus Paul has in mind, whether the one in 2 Cor 8:6 or that in 2 Cor 8:16 – 24, see Goguel, “La collecte en faveur des Saints,” 305 – 10; Allo, Seconde Épître aux Corinthiens, 330 – 32; Thrall, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Second Epistle to the Corinthians, 2:854; Margaret M. Mitchell, “Paul’s Letters to Corinth: The Interpretive Intertwining of Literary and Historical Reconstruction,” in Urban Religion in Roman Corinth: Interdisciplinary Approaches, ed. Daniel N. Schowalter and Steven J. Friesen, HTS 53 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2005), 326 – 27.  These rhetorical questions are introduced by Paul’s disclaimer that he does not want the Corinthians’ possessions (2 Cor 12:14). As Windisch observes, this accusation of greediness was commonly made against swindlers, sophists, and charlatans and is now raised against Paul (Der zweite Korintherbrief, 399). See also the use of πλεονεκτεῖν in 2 Cor 7:2, another verse connected with Titus’s dealings with the Corinthians. Martin suggests that Paul “might have been cited for causing ruin by ‘taking’ people’s money in order to help others in distant lands” (2 Corinthians, 217– 18).

200

4 Concerns over Paul’s Collection

inthians may choose,⁶⁴⁸ and agrees to accompany the Corinthian delegates only if the circumstances warrant it (1 Cor 16:3 – 4).⁶⁴⁹ For all his exhortation to generous contribution, Paul does his best to distance himself from the actual, physical money.⁶⁵⁰ Part of the reason why Paul does not want to be involved too directly in the practical aspects of the fundraising may be that he wished to avoid spending time and social capital soliciting contributions and begging the wealthier members of the Corinthian group or that he did not want his presence to put undue pressure on the voluntary gift. More important, Paul’s strategy makes it clear that he has no personal interest in the matter.⁶⁵¹ The parallel between 1 Cor 16:1– 4 and 2 Cor 9:3 – 5 provides additional confirmation for interpreting πλεονεξία as referring to fears of perceived apostolic greed. In both passages, Paul gives detailed instructions for collecting the money and appends a brief comment that justifies the instructions by expressing fear through the negative μή. This parallel between the two passages indicates that there may be correspondence between the worry expressed in 2 Cor 9:5 (greed; μὴ ὡς πλεονεξίαν) and that in 1 Cor 16:2 (collecting money at Paul’s arrival; μὴ ὅταν ἔλθω τότε λογεῖαι γίνωνται). Paul fears that if the money is collected in his presence, it might have the appearance of greed on his part. Paul’s attempt to avoid being perceived as greedy is consistent with common suspicions among early Christians that leaders could act greedily. Greed is often mentioned in broader catalogues of vices, especially vices attributed to the Gentiles (Rom 1:29; 1 Cor 5:10 – 11; 6:10; Eph 4:19; 5:3,5; Col 3:5; 1 Thess 4:6; Mark 7:22; Did. 2.6; 3.5; Barn. 19.6; 20.1; Pol. Phil. 2.2; 4.1,3), but in a significant number of  Paul uses the verb δοκιμάζω in 1 Cor 16:3 (οὓς ἐὰν δοκιμάσητε), which implies that the Corinthians would vet their delegates so as to make the transfer of the collection secure. See Kloppenborg, “Fiscal Aspects,” 171.  Dahl and Donahue, Studies in Paul, 32; Bassler, God and Mammon, 98. The appointment of delegates in 2 Cor 8:16 – 21 may also be an attempt to overcome mistrust of Paul. See Walter Rebell, Gehorsam und Unabhängigkeit: Eine sozialpsychologische Studie zu Paulus (München: Chr. Kaiser, 1986), 53. There are several ways of construing the clause ἐὰν δὲ ἄξιον ᾖ in 1 Cor 16:4. It may refer to the worthiness (that is, size) of the collection, to the Corinthians’ determination as to whether Paul should accompany the gift, or to the circumstances in Jerusalem. See possibilities in Thiselton, The First Epistle to the Corinthians, 1326.  For similar concerns with respect to the practical aspects of the collection, transportation, and appropriation of the Temple tax, see Nickle, The Collection, 74– 93; Watson, “Paul’s Collection,” 141– 42, 168. For examples about funds management in associations, see Kloppenborg, “Fiscal Aspects,” 165 – 66.  Archibald Robertson and Alfred Plummer, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the First Epistle of St Paul to the Corinthians, ICC 33 (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1914), 385; Joseph A. Fitzmyer, First Corinthians, AB 32 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2008), 615; Georgi, Remembering the Poor, 55; Kloppenborg, “Fiscal Aspects,” 173.

4.4 Greed

201

instances, it specifically addresses the behavior of Christian leaders. In addition to the rhetorical questions in 2 Cor 12:17– 18 discussed above, Paul professes freedom from greed in his dealings with the Corinthians in 2 Cor 7:2: “We have wronged no one, we have corrupted no one, we have taken advantage [ἐπλεονεκτήσαμεν] of no one” (NRSV).⁶⁵² This motif goes beyond a strained relationship with the Corinthians. Reminding the Thessalonians of his ministry among them, Paul feels the need to state that he was not moved by greed (1 Thess 2:5). He also reiterates the point by mentioning that he worked so as not to become a burden to the Thessalonians (1 Thess 2:9).⁶⁵³ While Paul asserts that he is not subject to acquisitiveness, early Christians appear to regard greed as one of the distinctive traits of corrupt leaders. The Second Letter of Peter employs the term πλεονεξία to censure “false prophets” and “false teachers” who try to corrupt true faith: “In their greed they will exploit you with deceptive words” (2 Pet 2:3; NRSV; see also 2 Pet 2:14). In other New Testament texts about Christian leaders, the worry about financial malpractice is conveyed through the idea of “shameful gain” (αἰσχρὸν κέρδος, Titus 1:11; αἰσχροκερδής, 1 Tim 3:8; Titus 1:7; αἰσχροκερδῶς, 1 Pet 5:2).⁶⁵⁴ Deacons, bishops, and elders who perform their ministry out of greed render the money so obtained a source of shame.⁶⁵⁵ Similar expectations of freedom from acquisitiveness and criticisms of greed can also be found outside Christian writings in ethical discussions and documentary papyri, especially in reference to officials and political figures.⁶⁵⁶

 This verse, too, probably refers to accusations concerning the collection. See Furnish, II Corinthians, 369; Thrall, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Second Epistle to the Corinthians, 2:482.  Todd D. Still maintains that “Paul regarded his work as an artisan in Thessalonica to be […] a sign of his unimpeachable character” (“Did Paul Loathe Manual Labor? Revisiting the Work of Ronald F. Hock,” JBL 125 [2006]: 781– 95).  Although Paul does not use the more emotionally and morally charged term for greed, αἰσχροκέρδεια, it is interesting that Theophrastus uses it as a key concept to describe the typical evil patron who abuses his friends and defrauds his guests (Char. 30).  The Didache regards greed as a distinctive trait for identifying false prophets (Did. 11.6,12; also Herm. Mand. 11.11– 12), while at the same time, it requires bishops and deacons to be free from love of money (ἀφιλάργυροι; Did. 15.1; also Pol. Phil. 5.2; 6.1; 11.1– 2). For fraudulent behaviors of bishops and deacons in later centuries, see Étienne Chastel, Études historiques sur l’influence de la charité durant les premiers siècles chrétiens, et considérations sur son rôle dans les sociétés modernes (Paris: Capelle, 1853), 98 n. 3.  For greed in ethical discourse, see Chang, “Fund-Raising in Corinth,” 208 – 9. It was normal to regard those who held political and administrative offices as inclined to financial corruption. Aristotle, for instance, mentions acquisitiveness of people in office as the primary cause for political instability (Pol. 5.2.4; see Ryan K. Balot, Greed and Injustice in Classical Athens [Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2001], 49). Arzt-Grabner observes that ordinances and decrees pre-

202

4 Concerns over Paul’s Collection

The prevalence of the motif of greed in relation to the moral character of Christian (and non-Christian) leaders suggests that it was a conventional topos in Paul’s cultural context. At the same time, probably because of the popularity of the topos of greed, the financial aspects of social life were apparently a source of anxiety and a point of more intense scrutiny for individuals in leadership positions. This kind of widespread suspicion about the financial trustworthiness of authority figures may partly justify Paul’s protestations of financial integrity in the otherwise friendly atmosphere of 2 Cor 9:5 or 1 Thess 2:5. Paul’s repeated remarks on greed in Second Corinthians in connection with the collection (2 Cor 9:5; 12:17– 18; possibly 7:2) may nonetheless indicate that some in Corinth had in fact leveled charges of financial wrongdoing against Paul.⁶⁵⁷ Apparently, 2 Cor 12:14– 16 indicates this suggestion. After reminding the Corinthians that he had received no money from them (2 Cor 12:13: “I myself did not burden you”; NRSV), Paul declares that he has no desire for their possessions (2 Cor 12:14).⁶⁵⁸ This sudden disclaimer is followed by another reference to financial fraud: “Since I was crafty, I took you in by deceit” (2 Cor 12:16; NRSV). Paul gives voice with these words to the accusation, or at least suspicion, of the Corinthians against him.⁶⁵⁹ The subsequent mention of Titus sent to the Corinthians suggests a link with the collection.⁶⁶⁰ Although the details are uncertain, the Corinthians seem to have believed that Paul had feigned disinterest for their finances by supporting himself through labor but planned to defraud them through his envoys under the guise of the collection.⁶⁶¹

served in documentary papyri specifically urge officials to perform their duties without greed (πλεονεξία) and that other texts show precisely these groups to be prone to enriching themselves excessively in the exercise of their functions (2. Korinther, 431– 32). For an overview of greed in the New Testament, see Delling, TDNT 6:271– 73.  Delling, TDNT 6:273; Windisch, Der zweite Korintherbrief, 221.  Paul’s use of the verbs καταναρκᾶν (2 Cor 12:13 – 14) and καταβαρεῖν (2 Cor 12:16) connects his claim that he was not a burden to the Corinthians with the parallel statements that he worked to support himself in 1 Thess 2:9 and that he was supported by friends from Macedonia in 2 Cor 11:9.  Windisch, Der zweite Korintherbrief, 402– 3; Goguel, “La collecte en faveur des Saints,” 305 – 6; Thrall, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Second Epistle to the Corinthians, 2:851; Blanton, A Spiritual Economy, 68 – 70. See the detailed analysis of Welborn, An End to Enmity, 164– 81.  Welborn, An End to Enmity, 174.  Windisch, Der zweite Korintherbrief, 403; Plummer, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Second Epistle of St Paul to the Corinthians, 363; Allo, Seconde Épître aux Corinthiens, 328 – 29; Lietzmann, An die Korinther I-II, 159; Downs, The Offering of the Gentiles, 51; Bassler, God and Mammon, 98 – 99; Verbrugge and Krell, Paul and Money, 160. Nickle provides comparative evi-

4.4 Greed

203

A possible oblique reference to accusations connected with the collection may be the rationale that Paul appends to his extended description of the commission of Titus and the other brother whom he has chosen to complete the collection: “We intend that no one should blame us about this generous gift that we are administering, for we intend to do what is right not only in the Lord’s sight but also in the sight of others” (2 Cor 8:20 – 21; NRSV).⁶⁶² Paul considers being blamed for misbehavior in the collection a real possibility and takes steps in order to avert a crisis.⁶⁶³ Once again, these steps include Paul’s being as far removed as possible from the handling of the money and involved a number of intermediaries endorsed by the Christian groups. The presence of specific references in 2 Cor 12:14– 18—as well as the precautions he takes in 2 Cor 8:20 – 21—may indicate that Paul was responding to real accusations or at least suspicions in Corinth. It should be noted, however, that the topics of greed, deceit, and deviousness, as well as claims to financial self-sufficiency, may all be elements of a conventional portrayal of Christian leaders with no direct link to actual problems. Alternatively, Paul may be responding to real accusations by deploying the conventional morality of his time. In fact, these motifs appear together in Paul’s description of his ministry among the Thessalonians (1 Thess 2:1– 12). The tone of the two texts could not be more dissimilar—very defensive, almost outraged in Second Corinthians, friendly and calm in First Thessalonians—yet the statements Paul makes about himself are very much alike. As shown in Table 2, Paul and his coworkers did not use deception or treachery (1 Thess 2:3; 2 Cor 12:16). They were not moved by greed (1 Thess 2:5; 2 Cor 12:17– 18). They chose to labor and support themselves instead so as not to be of burden (1 Thess 2:9; 2 Cor 12:14,16). They, in fact, acted like parents towards their children (1 Thess 2:11; 2 Cor 12:14).

dence of the great care taken in the collection and transportation of the temple tax to prevent delegates and officials from taking advantage of their duties (The Collection, 82– 86).  Plummer, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Second Epistle of St Paul to the Corinthians, 250; Betz, 2 Corinthians 8 and 9, 76 – 77; Furnish, II Corinthians, 434– 45; Thrall, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Second Epistle to the Corinthians, 2:551– 52; Harris, The Second Epistle to the Corinthians, 605 – 7.  Windisch, Der zweite Korintherbrief, 265; Goguel, “La collecte en faveur des Saints,” 304; Allo, Seconde Épître aux Corinthiens, 227; Betz, 2 Corinthians 8 and 9, 76 – 77; Furnish, II Corinthians, 434– 35; Kim, Die paulinische Kollekte, 46 – 50, Andrzej Wodka, Una teologia biblica del dare nel contesto della colletta paolina (2Cor 8 – 9), Tesi Gregoriana: Serie teologia 68 (Rome: Pontificia università Gregoriana, 2000), 216 – 18. According to Nickle, it is a significant parallel between the temple tax and Paul’s collection that “special care was taken to ensure that no opportunity might be provided for the personal vilification of those directly connected with the funds” (The Collection, 89).

204

4 Concerns over Paul’s Collection

Table 2: Greed and Christian Leadership  Thess 

 Cor 

Our appeal does not spring from deceit or impure motives or trickery. (v. )

Nevertheless (you say) since I was crafty, I took you in by deceit. (v. )

We never came with words of flattery or with a Did I take advantage of you through any of pretext for greed. (v. ) those whom I sent to you? (v. ) Titus did not take advantage of you, did he? (v. ) You remember our labor and toil, brothers and I will not be a burden, because I do not want sisters; we worked night and day, so that we what is yours. (v. ) might not burden any of you. (v. ) Let it be assumed that I did not burden you. (v. ) We dealt with each one of you like a father with his children. (v. )

Children ought not to lay up for their parents, but parents for their children. I will most gladly spend and be spent for you. (vv.  – )

Whether real accusations were made against Paul or not, it seems clear that Paul’s response follows a very precise pattern that presumably addresses broader concerns than the current tensions in Corinth, although it certainly applies to the situation there also.⁶⁶⁴ These elements are part of Paul’s view of what a Christian leader’s behavior should be, a view that, as I have suggested, is also reflected in other early Christian writings and beyond. Claims to or demands of freedom from greed found in early Christian literature are therefore to be understood as part of a more general and partly stereotypical depiction of honorable leaders and do not necessarily imply any reference to specific circumstances or allegations. The impression that Paul’s statements rest on a conventional topos about greed is reinforced by its association with the motif of flattery in 1 Thess 2:5. I have pointed out in Chapter Two that flattery and greed converge in depictions of parasites as socially degraded individuals who manipulate words and corrupt the very meaning of friendship in order to exploit others and satisfy their needs,

 Abraham J. Malherbe addresses the problem as to whether or not 1 Thess 2:1– 12 is an apology that counters concrete accusations. He reads the passage against a Cynic background and suggests that it does not need to be read as an apology (“‘Gentle as a Nurse’: The Cynic Background of I Thess ii,” NovT 12 [1970]: 203 – 17; see also Abraham J. Malherbe, The Letters to the Thessalonians, AB 32B [New Haven: Yale University Press, 1974], 153 – 56). For more recent assessments of this issue, see Karl P. Donfried and Johannes Beutler, eds., The Thessalonians Debate: Methodological Discord or Methodological Synthesis? (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2000).

4.4 Greed

205

both physical needs and desire for social recognition.⁶⁶⁵ It appears that Paul wants to separate his leadership style from the negative traits embodied by the comedic parasites, especially their economic dependency and social degradation. Paul’s repeated insistence on economic self-sufficiency confirms his desire to distance himself from financial dependency and its social implications.⁶⁶⁶ By depicting himself as the anti-parasite, Paul certainly seeks to cast his leadership role in a positive light. The comedic trope, however, does not simply focus on the lack of honor of the parasite. Two other aspects seem relevant in Paul’s context. First, while a parasite’s word is devoid of truth, Paul’s teaching is trustworthy. Second, while a parasite inevitably breaks down social relationships, Paul’s behavior is an invitation to friendship. Paul’s rhetorical questions in 2 Cor 12:17– 18 express his disbelief that his friendly and honorable conduct had been mistaken for deceit and greed. The same anxiety surrounds Paul’s disclaimer that the collection should not appear “as greed” (2 Cor 9:5).

 On the topos of flattery and its unsuitability for leaders, see above, pp. 83 – 84.  Hans Dieter Betz reads Paul’s statement in 2 Cor 12:14– 18 and his refusal of financial support within the context of anti-sophistic polemic. He argues that by bringing up greed, Paul subtly raises suspicions to discredit his opponents as unreliable sophists (Der Apostel Paulus und die sokratische Tradition, BHT 45 [Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1972], 100 – 117). Betz himself, however, notices that the anti-sophistic polemic of the Socratic tradition utilizes the parasite taken from Attic comedy (Der Apostel Paulus, 109 – 10). The topos of greed was applied to sophists by Philo, who also uses the term πανοῦργος in reference to them (Post. 101). See, Bruce W. Winter, Philo and Paul among the Sophists: Alexandrian and Corinthian Responses to a Julio-Claudian Movement, 2nd ed. (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2002), 91– 94. It is not altogether clear that Paul’s references to greed are aimed at his opponents and not just self-defense, nor is it certain that Paul wants to label his opponents in Corinth as sophists (the thesis of Winter, Philo and Paul among the Sophists). What seems patent is that Paul employs the same strategy as anti-sophistic polemic, namely, he uses the parasite model when referring to greed. He does so with an apologetic or confrontational purpose in the tense wording of 2 Cor 12:14– 18. As Welborn convincingly argues, Paul uses the topos of the parasite polemically in 2 Cor 11:20 (“You put up with it when someone makes slaves of you, or preys upon you, or takes advantage of you, or puts on airs, or gives you a slap in the face”; NRSV) against the false apostles, also in connection with his claim that he did not burden anyone in Corinth (2 Cor 11:9) (An End to Enmity, 139 – 50). In the more relaxed correspondence with the Thessalonians, however, he rejects greed and flattery, or parasitic behavior, to portray himself as a reliable leader and his message as truthful teaching.

206

4 Concerns over Paul’s Collection

4.5 Coercion At several points in the collection texts, Paul insists that participation in the collection be voluntary (2 Cor 8:3,12; 9:7).⁶⁶⁷ In 2 Cor 9:7, he does so by introducing the negative element of coercion and stating vigorously that contributions must not be made “under compulsion” (ἐξ ἀνάγκης).⁶⁶⁸ This detail suggests that Paul’s emphasis on voluntariness is an attempt to ease worries among the Corinthians that they would be compelled to participate in the fundraising against their will or maybe Paul’s own worry that the Corinthians might feel so compelled.⁶⁶⁹ The juxtaposition between proclamations of purportedly free personal choice and sustained, repeated exhortation to generosity suggests that Paul was trying to achieve a fine balance between highlighting the significance of the collection and avoiding a negative reaction from the Corinthians. The Greek word ἀνάγκη is a general term that can convey a variety of nuances. Especially when used in impersonal sentences, it expresses an absolute necessity originating from a divine plan or simply from the nature of things (e. g., Matt 18:7; 1 Cor 9:16; Heb 9:16).⁶⁷⁰ In other instances, however, ἀνάγκη indicates a more active pressure from some external agent, in opposition to one’s own will.⁶⁷¹ Aristotle provides five definitions of the “necessary” (ἀναγκαῖον). The third of these meanings is “compulsion”:

 In addition, Georgi interprets Paul’s directives that the Corinthians put money aside on the first day of every week (1 Cor 16:1– 4) as his way of emphasizing “the importance of independent decision making on the part of the congregation,” an idea that Georgi relates to the motif of voluntariness in 2 Cor 8 – 9 (Remembering the Poor, 55). Paul’s disclaimer that his exhortation is not a command (ἐπιταγή; 2 Cor 8:8) can also be read as an assertion of voluntariness.  For μὴ ἐξ ἀνάγκης as implying voluntariness, see Nickle, The Collection, 93; Harrison, Paul’s Language of Grace, 308; Downs, The Offering of the Gentiles, 137.  Nickle maintains that by emphasizing voluntariness, Paul wanted the gift to signify “Christian love” (The Collection, 125). The association of grief and coercion in 2 Cor 9:7, however, suggests that this repeated emphasis was, at least in part, Paul’s way of addressing possible worries connected with the collection.  In 1 Cor 9:16 – 17, Paul uses the language of compulsion in a positive manner to describe the divine origin of his mission. See R. E. Hock, The Social Context of Paul’s Ministry: Tentmaking and Apostleship (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1980), 61– 62; Lincoln E. Galloway, Freedom in the Gospel: Paul’s Exemplum in 1 Cor 9 in Conversation with the Discourses of Epictetus and Philo, CBET 38 (Leuven: Peeters, 2004), 180 – 84.  Betz, 2 Corinthians 8 and 9, 105. The two meanings are not necessarily in contrast, since it is sometimes impossible to act according to one’s will. In such instances, necessity is experienced as a constraint on individual freedom, although there is no active agent who imposes the constraint (see Aristotle, Metaph. 5.5.4). For a discussion of ἀνάγκη in the Greek world and in the Septuagint, see Walter Grundmann, “ἀναγκάζω, ἀναγκαῖος, ἀνάγκη,” TDNT 1:344– 46.

4.5 Coercion

207

The compulsory and compulsion [τὸ βίαιον καὶ ἡ βία]; i. e. that which hinders and prevents, in opposition to impulse and purpose. For the compulsory is called necessary, and hence the necessary is disagreeable; as indeed Evenus says: For every necessary thing is by nature grievous. And compulsion is a kind of necessity, as Sophocles says: Compulsion makes me do this of necessity. And necessity is held, rightly, to be something inexorable; for it is opposed to motion which is in accordance with purpose and calculation. (Metaph. 5.5.2– 3; trans. Tredennick)

This Aristotelian definition has notable points of contact with Paul. First, it is worth briefly noting the connection between compulsion and grief. Aristotle observes that compulsion goes directly against an individual’s desire to act, be it on impulse or on purpose, and therefore triggers grief. The first term Aristotle uses to introduce this concept, λυπηρόν, closely parallels Paul’s association of λύπη and ἀνάγκη in 2 Cor 9:7.⁶⁷² Second, the term used by Aristotle to indicate the human will, προαίρεσις, also appears, in its cognate verb form, in 2 Cor 9:7: “Each of you must give as you have made up your mind” (καθὼς προῄρηται) (NRSV). Paul’s use of the verb προαιρεῖσθαι is a hapax legomenon in the NT, and the cognate noun προαίρεσις never occurs, all of which suggests deliberate word choice on Paul’s part. Third, compulsion translates, here, the term βία, which has the connotation of violence and violent force. This specific kind of ἀνάγκη is created by an external agent that exerts pressure on the subject against his or her will. In 2 Cor 9:7, the opposition between external pressure and personal will is reinforced by a mention of the heart, the seat of decision.⁶⁷³ Paul seems to appeal in 2 Cor 9:7 to a relatively sophisticated set of ideas and place some aspects of the collection within the context of a larger debate on human free will and violence. While it is unlikely that Paul had direct knowledge of Aristotle’s philosophical definitions, he may have borrowed language from popular philosophy, which employed these same categories.⁶⁷⁴ Epictetus, for instance, argues that the human will (προαίρεσις) is free from all constraints (ἀνανάγκαστος), because no external force can ever determine a person’s decision.⁶⁷⁵ Even in front of the threat of some evil, an individual has the choice be-

 See below, p. 215 n. 702.  Johannes Behm, “καρδία, καδριογνώστης, σκληροκαρδία,” TDNT 3:612; Bruehler, “Proverbs, Persuasion and People,” 214.  Georgi, Remembering the Poor, 95; Thrall, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Second Epistle to the Corinthians, 2:575 – 76.  A. A. Long, Epictetus: A Stoic and Socratic Guide to Life (Oxford: Clarendon, 2002), 161. For a general discussion of προαίρεσις in Epictetus, see Robert F. Dobbin, “Προαίρεσις in Epictetus,” Ancient Philosophy 11 (1991): 111– 35; Robert F. Dobbin, Epictetus: Discourses Book I (Oxford: Clarendon, 1998), 76 – 77; Elizabeth Asmis, “Choice in Epictetus,” in Antiquity and Humanity: Essays

208

4 Concerns over Paul’s Collection

tween maintaining his or her previous decision and changing it. Either way, Epictetus sees this choice as free and unconstrained by any threat (e. g., Diatr. 1.1.21– 25; 1.17.20 – 29; 4.1.68 – 75). Epictetus’s discussion is particularly interesting because it employs vocabulary that is similar to Paul’s, but their points of view are different. Epictetus emphasizes the unrestrained freedom of the will primarily because of his interest in asserting human autonomy and self-sufficiency in keeping with the Stoic tradition.⁶⁷⁶ In order to do so, however, Epictetus needs to restrict freedom, autonomy, and self-sufficiency to the will and urges his students to put their trust “in the only thing in which one can have confidence—in what is faithful, free from hindrance, cannot be taken away, that is, in your own moral purpose” (προαίρεσις) (Diatr. 3.26.24; trans. Oldfather).⁶⁷⁷ It is striking that when he describes this attitude as the way of life of “healthy” people, he provides three examples of categories of people who live this way: slaves, laborers, and philosophers (Diatr. 3.26.23). Epictetus himself experienced the life of a slave, but his suggestion that slaves can lead a desirable life derives from the notion that external constraints are completely immaterial.⁶⁷⁸ Epictetus’s philosophical point of view preserves the integrity of the self— even in the presence of external constraints—but at the price of overlooking

on Ancient Religion and Philosophy Presented to Hans Dieter Betz, ed. Adela Yarbro Collins and Margaret M. Mitchell (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2001), 387– 412; William O. Stephens, Stoic Ethics: Epictetus and Happiness as Freedom, Continuum Studies in Ancient Philosophy (London: Continuum, 2007), 16 – 25.  Long, Epictetus, 207– 22.  Accordingly, whatever falls in the realm of bodily activity is beyond the individual’s self-determination. Susanne Bobzien observes: “If we use the Epictetan criterion for what depends on us for future actions, the result is meagre. For nearly every activity that involves intentional bodily movements however small, we can imagine some external obstacles that will prevent it from being carried out. With (positive) actions such as walking, eating, or escaping one’s enemy, we can never be sure whether they will be in our power. Things look a bit better in cases in which assent is given in favour of not being active, i. e. in favour of refraining from action. In those cases one can argue (as Epictetus in effect does) that external influences cannot prevent one from ‘inactivity’. But the safest bets are assent and intention” (Determinism and Freedom in Stoic Philosophy [Oxford: Clarendon, 1998], 333 – 34). See also Long, Epictetus, 219.  Stephens, Stoic Ethics, 118. In fact, for Epictetus, true slavery is to value what is outside one’s προαίρεσις: “You have delivered yourself into slavery, you have bowed your neck to the burden, if you admire anything that is not your own, if you conceive a violent passion for anything that is in subjection to another and mortal” (Diatr. 4.1.77; trans. Oldfather). Analogously, the philosopher has been emancipated from slavery, so that Epictetus can declare: “No one has the power any longer to make a slave of me” (Diatr. 4.7.17; trans. Oldfather; see also 4.1.131). See Long, Epictetus, 169; Stephens, Stoic Ethics, 14– 15.

4.5 Coercion

209

the possibility of exploitation or inequality, as the praise of slave life reveals.⁶⁷⁹ In 2 Cor 9:7, on the other hand, Paul has an entirely different stance toward constraints and expressly excludes external compulsion on the Corinthians’ participation in the collection. He apparently believes that at least a certain degree of freedom from compulsion and external constraints is necessary to preserve the integrity of one’s προαίρεσις and of the collection as a form of charity. Epictetus’s considerations are of a general nature, although he probably has in mind specific circumstances, as the examples of slaves, laborers, and philosophers indicate. Paul’s statement about compulsion, however, is highly situational and relates to the circumstances of the Corinthians with respect to the collection. In this regard, Harrison has argued that the phrase ἐξ ἀνάγκης in 2 Cor 9:7 is a reference to the ethos of benefaction: Perhaps Paul’s secret fear was that the Corinthians might ultimately comply with his request and fulfill their promised contribution, not because of any sense of gratitude for the divine grace revealed in the impoverished Christ (2 Cor 8:9), but more due to the silent demands of Graeco-Roman reciprocity system.⁶⁸⁰

Thus, Paul’s emphasis on voluntariness would be an implicit rejection of the social pressure to give or reciprocate gifts that was ingrained in popular morality and which held together Greco-Roman society.⁶⁸¹ “Silent demands” could pressure the Corinthians into contributing if they needed to reciprocate a gift previously received from Jerusalem. In benefaction ideology, this would be a duty of gratitude, while failure to return the favor would bring utter shame and cause enmity. Despite the potential for exploitation inherent in reciprocity, it is hard to imagine that Paul would downplay the importance of gratitude as a moral norm. In fact, he explicitly employs the language of moral obligation when in Rom 15:27 he portrays the collection as reciprocation for the spiritual gifts that the Gentiles received from Jerusalem.⁶⁸² Although in Romans Paul seems to inter-

 For a similar view on the Stoic doctrine of self-sufficiency as coherent with the “context of slavery and exploitation,” see Dale B. Martin, “Paul without Passion: On Paul’s Rejection of Desire in Sex and Marriage,” in Constructing Early Christian Families: Family as Social Reality and Metaphor, ed. Halvor Moxnes (London: Routledge, 1997), 212.  Harrison, Paul’s Language of Grace, 313, see also 266.  For the moral dimension of reciprocity, see Gouldner, “The Norm of Reciprocity,” 171– 72.  Cranfield, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Epistle to the Romans, 2:773; Jewett, Romans, 930 – 31; Joubert, Paul as Benefactor, 150 – 51. Harrison himself concedes that “whatever reservations Paul might have had about the Graeco-Roman reciprocity system, he […] argued for the social expression of reciprocity within his churches” (Paul’s Language of Grace, 21). See further below, sections 5.5 and 5.6.

210

4 Concerns over Paul’s Collection

pret the collection as an obligation of gratitude toward Jerusalem, the language of obligation and indebtedness is absent from 2 Cor 8 – 9. Alternatively, the social pressure envisioned by Harrison could operate on the duty to uphold one’s word. Since the Corinthians had previously promised to contribute to the collection (2 Cor 8:10; 9:2,5), they were now bound to do so. In Harrison’s view, by excluding compulsion, Paul expresses the desire that the Corinthians participate out of gratitude toward God, not simply because of their duty to keep their word.⁶⁸³ This interpretation of the phrase μὴ ἐξ ἀνάγκης is at odds with the fact the Paul repeatedly uses the Corinthians’ promise as leverage to have them keep their word. He points out that it is “profitable” (συμφέρει) for the Corinthians to finish what they had declared themselves willing to do a year before (2 Cor 8:10 – 11). When he sends his coworkers ahead to arrange the collection, Paul clarifies that the coworkers will only carry out what the Corinthians themselves promised (2 Cor 9:5). Additionally, Paul involves himself personally and puts his honor at stake by telling the Corinthians that he had boasted about them to the Macedonians and that their reluctance to keep their promise would be a humiliation for both the Corinthians and Paul himself (2 Cor 9:2– 4). If anything, Paul is adding his own weight to the social pressure of keeping a promise.⁶⁸⁴ In my view, the phrase μὴ ἐξ ἀνάγκης does not mean to deny the Corinthians’ obligations to Jerusalem but rather to downplay those they have to Paul. Despite all his efforts to persuade the Corinthians to contribute to the collection, Paul refuses to assert his authority by compelling them to act against their will.⁶⁸⁵ In fact, Paul describes his exhortation as advice (γνώμη; 2 Cor 8:10) and not as a command (οὐ κατ᾽ ἐπιταγήν; 2 Cor 8:8).⁶⁸⁶ Paul undoubtedly wants the Corinthians to take part in the collection and provides several reasons why they should do so, but blind obedience is not among these. The letter to Philemon provides a close parallel to this refusal to demand mindless compliance. There is broad debate about what exactly Paul is asking from Philemon,

 Harrison, Paul’s Language of Grace, 312– 13.  For additional observations about Harrison’s argument, see Jennings, “Patronage and Rebuke,” 119 n. 31.  Bruehler argues that Paul’s insistence on the voluntary character of the collection reflects the economic level of its contributors. On the basis of modern studies on the behavior of low income individuals, he points out that persons in poverty may have more adverse reactions to compulsion than those with greater economic means. As a consequence, Paul’s emphasis on voluntariness seems aimed at individuals in financial difficulty (“Proverbs, Persuasion and People,” 214– 15).  Mitchell, “Paul’s Letters to Corinth,” 331.

4.5 Coercion

211

whether he wants Philemon to spare Onesimus punishment, to manumit him, or simply to grant him a “leave of absence” to serve Paul in prison.⁶⁸⁷ What is clear is that Paul employs a great deal of rhetoric to convince Philemon. In the end, however, he stops short of demanding obedience from his friend and writes: I wanted to keep [Onesimus] with me, so that he might be of service to me in your place during my imprisonment for the gospel; but I preferred to do nothing without your consent, in order that your good deed might be voluntary and not something forced [μὴ ὡς κατὰ ἀνάγκην … ἀλλὰ κατὰ ἑκούσιον]. (Phlm 13 – 14; NRSV)

The contrast between ἀνάγκη and ἑκούσιον repeats the opposition between free will and external compulsion in 2 Cor 9:7.⁶⁸⁸ It is clear, in this context, that Paul is not referring to general social expectations but to his personal relationship with Philemon as that of an apostle who has authority over a “friend and coworker” (Phlm 1). Although this contrast makes an appeal to what seems a general principle—acting of one’s own volition is preferable to acting under compulsion⁶⁸⁹— it also defines Paul’s distinctive leadership strategy, which is spelled out a few verses earlier: “Though I am bold enough in Christ to command you to do your duty, yet I would rather appeal to you on the basis of love” (Phlm 8 – 9; NRSV). Rhetorically, these assertions achieve the double goal of reminding Paul’s addressees of the authority he possesses while portraying Paul as a gentle leader.⁶⁹⁰  Peter T. O’Brien, Colossians, Philemon, WBC 44 (Dallas: Word Books, 1992), 267; Neil Elliott, Liberating Paul: The Justice of God and the Politics of the Apostle, The Bible & Liberation (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 1994), 40 – 48; James D. G. Dunn, The Epistles to the Colossians and to Philemon: A Commentary on the Greek Text, NIGTC (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans; Carlisle: Paternoster, 1996), 306; Joseph A. Fitzmyer, The Letter to Philemon, AB 34C (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2000), 23 – 24.  The term ἑκούσιος is a synonymous with αὐθαίρετος, another way Paul expresses the voluntary character of the collection in 2 Cor 8:3. See Plummer, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Second Epistle of St Paul to the Corinthians, 235.  Eduard Lohse, Colossians and Philemon, Hermeneia (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1971), 202; Fitzmyer, The Letter to Philemon, 112.  Lohse, Colossians and Philemon, 198; Fitzmyer, The Letter to Philemon, 104. The same rhetorical device seems at work in 2 Cor 8:8: “I do not say this as a command”—ἐπιτάσσειν in Phlm 8 is cognate of ἐπιταγή in 2 Cor 8:8. The implication that he might have issued a command but refrains from doing so simultaneously asserts authority and meekness. Jerry W. McCant emphasizes the rhetorical dimension of Paul’s claims in 2 Cor 8 – 9: “Despite disclaimers that he does not give ‘orders’, Paul clearly engages in vigorous rhetorical arm-twisting” (2 Corinthians, Readings: A New Biblical Commentary [Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1999], 83). In fact, the unassertive posture of Paul’s words presupposes that he had, or at least claimed to have, legitimate authority.

212

4 Concerns over Paul’s Collection

Outside of the Pauline corpus, this view of Christian leadership is present in 1 Pet 5:2, with language closely akin to Philemon and Second Corinthians: “Tend the flock of God that is in your charge, exercising the oversight, not coercing but respecting the freedom of the flock [μὴ ἀναγκαστῶς ἀλλὰ ἑκουσίως], as God would have you do it.” The adverbial phrase μὴ ἀναγκαστῶς ἀλλὰ ἑκουσίως is normally translated to the effect that Christian leaders should not feel coerced to take on leadership but do it of their own free will (e. g., “not under compulsion but willingly”; NRSV).⁶⁹¹ However, this phrase can be construed as referring not to how leadership is assumed, but how it is exercised. This reading is confirmed by the two pairs of opposites that parallel this phrase: “Not for sordid gain but eagerly. Do not lord it over those in your charge, but be examples to the flock” (1 Pet 5:2– 3; NRSV).⁶⁹² These latter expressions address the interaction between Christian leaders and “the flock” and suggest that the preceding adverbial phrases, too, give indications about the style of Christian leadership. This is precisely the way Gregory of Nazianzus, the first to use the phrase from First Peter, understands this verse: In the case of a ruler or leader it is a fault not to attain to the highest possible excellence, and always make progress in goodness, if indeed he is, by his high degree of virtue, to draw his people to an ordinary degree, not by the force of authority, but by the influence of persuasion. For what is involuntary apart from its being the result of oppression, is neither meritorious nor durable. For what is forced, like a plant violently drawn aside by our hands, when set free, returns to what it was before, but that which is the result of choice is both most legitimate and enduring, for it is preserved by the bond of good will. And so our law and our lawgiver enjoin upon us most strictly that we should “tend the flock not by constraint but willingly” [ποιμαίνειν τὸ ποίμνιον ἑκουσίως ἀλλὰ μὴ ἀναγκαστῶς]. (Or. 2.15; trans. Browne and Swallow)⁶⁹³

This text employs the quotation from 1 Pet 5:2 to put forward a view of Christian leadership that echoes Paul in rejecting violence and tyrannical attitudes while favoring persuasion and voluntariness.

 For instance, John H. Elliott interprets the adverbial phrase by stating: “The point here is that elders should not feel compelled or constrained to take up the task of shepherding but do it willingly” (1 Peter, AB 37B [New Haven: Yale University Press, 2011], 828). See also J. Ramsey Michaels, 1 Peter, WBC 49 (Dallas: Word Books, 1988), 283 – 84; Paul J. Achtemeier, 1 Peter: A Commentary on First Peter, Hermeneia (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1996), 326.  It is worth observing that First Peter also connects harmful leadership with financial malpractice (αἰσχροκερδῶς; “with shameful gain”). See above, p. 201.  See also Gregory of Nazianzus, Or. 12.5: “It is our practice not to lead by force, or by compulsion, but by good will” (μηδὲ ἀναγκαστῶς ἀλλ᾽ ἑκουσίως; trans. Browne and Swallow).

4.5 Coercion

213

The evidence presented here indicates that the phrase μὴ ἐξ ἀναγκής refers to Paul’s choice of leadership style. Paul’s use of the cognate verb ἀναγκάζειν to describe good and bad leadership in Galatians provides further support for this view. Paul employs the verb a first time to say that when Barnabas and Paul first met the leaders of the Jerusalem community, Titus, who was with them, “was not compelled to be circumcised, though he was a Greek” (οὐδὲ Τίτος ὁ σὺν ἐμοί, Ἕλλην ὤν, ἠναγκάσθη περιτμηθῆναι; Gal 2:3; NRSV). This happened during Paul’s second visit to Jerusalem, when his relationship with the Jerusalem leaders was positive, and there was no compulsion. The relationship, however, turned sour when Cephas began avoiding table fellowship with the Gentiles in Antioch. Paul’s scathing rebuke of Cephas was a denunciation of his leadership: “If you, though a Jew, live like a Gentile and not like a Jew, how can you compel the Gentiles to live like Jews” (πῶς τὰ ἔθνη ἀναγκάζεις ἰουδαΐζειν; Gal 2:14; NRSV). Finally, when Paul closes the letter in his own handwriting, he delivers a last attack on his opponents in Galatia: “It is those who want to make a good showing in the flesh that try to compel you to be circumcised” (οὗτοι ἀναγκάζουσιν ὑμᾶς περιτέμνεσθαι; Gal 6:12; NRSV). Throughout Galatians, the verb ἀναγκάζειν consistently implies a value judgment on Christian leaders, a positive one on those who do not compel, a negative one on those who do. In sum, Paul uses the negative connotation of ἀνάγκη and its cognates to describe not the obligations of the benefaction system but a style of leadership that is oppressive and of which he repeatedly disapproves. At the same time, he portrays himself as a different kind of leader, one who respects individual freedom and rejects compulsion.⁶⁹⁴ Of course, what freedom and compulsion actually meant is hard to determine. Most likely, neither Cephas nor Paul’s opponents used physical coercion or violence on their fellow Christians. Nor did Paul adopt a laissez-faire attitude toward the groups he led.⁶⁹⁵ There is a wide gamut of possibilities between the two extremes of laissez-faire and authoritarianism, and trying to assess whether Paul really had a comparatively liberal approach to leadership or just employed a rhetorical strategy to present himself as

 Paul reinforces this idea of himself as a liberal leader by carefully and explicitly defining the quality of his exhortation. His words are not meant as a command (ἐπιταγή; 2 Cor 8:8) but rather are offered as an opinion (γνώμη; 2 Cor 8:12).  For instance, Paul forbids table fellowship with those who are sexually immoral or greedy, with idolaters, revilers, drunkards, and robbers (1 Cor 5:11), utters threats (2 Cor 10:6, 11), and casts aspersions (Gal 3:1). Thrall also notices that even the moral persuasion that Paul employs in his letters could be seen as a form of compulsion (A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Second Epistle to the Corinthians, 2:576).

214

4 Concerns over Paul’s Collection

an appealing leader is a pointless exercise.⁶⁹⁶ In any case, the parallel with the Letter to Philemon may reveal aspects of Paul’s relationship with the Corinthians. Just as Paul adopted an unassertive attitude in the sensitive matter of Onesimus, which also had a financial side (Phlm 18 – 19), so the restraint that he exercised in showing dominance over the Corinthians was thoroughly compatible with the tense relationship witnessed in Second Corinthians, where his authority appeared to be challenged.⁶⁹⁷ This would make even greater sense if the confrontation revolved around financial matters or the collection itself.⁶⁹⁸

4.6 Distress In 2 Cor 9:7, in the midst of emphasizing the voluntary character of the collection, Paul introduces an unexpected remark: each Corinthian should give μὴ ἐκ λύπης. The noun λύπη refers here to emotional pain or sorrow as is the case elsewhere in Paul’s letters (Rom 9:2; 2 Cor 2:1,3,7; 7:10; Phil 2:27).⁶⁹⁹ The natural way to interpret the phrase ἐκ λύπης is as denoting cause, but this does not seem ap-

 Joubert thinks that Paul assumed a “‘mild’ patriarchal role” and only used “indirect” persuasion (Paul as Benefactor, 175). Jennings, on the other hand, believes that despite his compliance with “the appropriate vernacular of a patron,” Paul was in fact exerting direct authority (“Patronage and Rebuke,” 119 n. 32). There is, perforce, a certain degree of subjectivity in such judgments.  Verbrugge notices the change in style from 1 Cor 16:1– 4, “a commanding letter,” to 2 Cor 8 – 9, “rhetorical letters of request” (Paul’s Style of Church Leadership, 294). According to Verbrugge, increased criticism against his leadership and supervision of the collection made it “far more difficult for him to function as leader” and required him “to use more subtle means to motivate [the Corinthians] to continue with the collection,” as indicated by his changed style (Paul’s Style of Church Leadership, 367). A similar attitude appears in Pliny’s letter to Sabinianus on behalf of Sabinianus’s freedman who had committed a wrong against Sabinianus. After mentioning several times Sabinianus’s anger toward his freedman, Pliny frames his own intercession in a way that resembles Paul’s expressions: “I’m afraid you will think I am using pressure, not persuasion, if I add my prayers to his” (Ep. 3.21). In tense circumstances, Pliny does not want to add fuel to the flames by acting dictatorial.  Margaret E. Thrall, “The Offender and the Offence: A Problem Detection in 2 Corinthians,” in Scripture: Meaning and Method: Essays Presented to Anthony Tyrrell Hanson for His Seventieth Birthday, ed. Barry P. Thompson (Hull: Hull University Press, 1987), 65 – 78; Mitchell, “Paul’s Letters to Corinth,” especially 334; Verbrugge, Paul’s Style of Church Leadership, 118 – 27; Chang, “Fund-Raising in Corinth,” 239 – 48.  Rudolf Bultmann, “λύπη, λυπέω, ἄλυπος, περίλυπος, συλλυπέομαι,” TDNT 4:320.

4.6 Distress

215

propriate to the sentence.⁷⁰⁰ Commentators understand it rather as an adverbial phrase: “regretfully” (Plummer, Martin, Thrall), “grudgingly” (Furnish), or “reluctantly” (NRSV). These translations reflect a semantic shift from sadness to reluctance to give that follows from the idea that one cannot give joyfully if one gives unwillingly.⁷⁰¹ In fact, the wording of the verse makes a close connection between ἐκ λύπης and ἐξ ἀνάγκης, the latter being, as argued above, a denial of apostolic pressure on the Corinthians and an assertion of the voluntary character of their contribution to the collection. External coercion (ἀνάγκη) and internal distress (λύπη) are seen as two sides of the same coin.⁷⁰² The logical order, therefore, would go from the coercion that the Corinthians felt, to their emotional reaction of sorrow or maybe even indignation, to their unwillingness to contribute.⁷⁰³ The context of the phrase ἐκ λύπης supports its interpretation as a reference to the emotional reaction to coercion, yet these words possibly make a broader point. In fact, the collection texts seem to imply that the appropriate source of charity is joy. The generosity of the Macedonians overflowed from the abundance of their joy (2 Cor 8:2). Not only did they give despite the hardships they were enduring, but their contribution was all the more praiseworthy for the joyful at-

 The phrase has causal sense, for instance, in Plutarch, Fort. Rom. 10; Aesop, Fab 6.3. Betz, in fact, interprets ἐκ λύπης as a causal phrase and argues, without any elaboration, that “gifts can be the result of internal distress” (2 Corinthians 8 and 9, 105).  Plummer, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Second Epistle of St Paul to the Corinthians, 259; Martin, 2 Corinthians, 289.  Plummer, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Second Epistle of St Paul to the Corinthians, 259; Betz, 2 Corinthians 8 and 9, 105; Martin, 2 Corinthians, 290; Thrall, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Second Epistle to the Corinthians, 2:576. Seneca similarly emphasizes the links between obligation, sadness, and unwillingness to give and believes that gifts made with these attitudes do not deserve gratitude: “No gratitude is felt for a benefit when it has lingered long in the hands of him who gives it, when the giver has seemed sorry to let it go, and has given it with the air of one who was robbing himself. Even though some delay should intervene, let us avoid in every way the appearance of having deliberately delayed; hesitation is the next thing to refusing, and gains no gratitude. For, since in the case of a benefit the chief pleasure of it comes from the intention of the bestower, he who by his very hesitation has shown that he made his bestowal unwillingly has not ‘given,’ but has failed to withstand the effort to extract it” (Ben. 2.1.2; trans. Basore; see also Ben. 2.7.1).  Harrison describes λύπη as “the resentfulness of obligation” (Paul’s Language of Grace, 323). See also Allo, Seconde Épître aux Corinthiens, 233; Lietzmann, An die Korinther I – II, 138. In a number of New Testament texts, λύπη acquires the meaning of irritation, indignation, or shock at something that is outrageous (Matt 18:31; 26:22; Mark 14:19; Rom 14:15; Eph 4:30). See Ceslas Spicq, Notes de lexicographie néo-testamentaire, OBO 22, 3 vols. (Fribourg: Editions Universitaires Suisse, 1978 – 1982), 1:517– 19.

216

4 Concerns over Paul’s Collection

titude with which it was made. More to the point, just after urging the Corinthians not to give ἐκ λύπης, Paul paraphrases Prov 22:8 LXX to extol the virtue of the cheerful giver (2 Cor 9:7). There is reason to believe that this is not simply an ad hoc quotation to stress the idea of giving ungrudgingly but rather a text that inspired Paul to write the entire section 2 Cor 9:6 – 10 and, more generally, to form his thoughts about charity.⁷⁰⁴ The importance of Prov 22:8 – 9 LXX for Paul, with its emphasis on cheerful giving, suggests that his remark on λύπη does not derive primarily from reflections on coercion and willingness to give but rather from ideas about the right internal dispositions for gift giving. Paul sees sadness as an unsuitable attitude for charity, as opposed to cheerfulness, which deserves God’s blessing.⁷⁰⁵ A similar pattern of thought can be observed in Herm. Mand. 10.3: Therefore, put on joyfulness (τὴν ἱλατόρητα), which is always attractive and acceptable to God, and luxuriate in it. Every joyful person does good, intends good, and scorns sadness (τῆς λύπης). But the sad person always does evil, first, because he or she saddens the holy spirit that is given to the joyful person; second, he or she saddens the holy spirit by acting lawlessly, neither praying nor acknowledging the Lord. The prayer of the sad person has no power anywhere to ascend to the altar of God. […] So cleanse yourself from this evil sadness and you will live to God, and all will live to God, those who throw off sadness (τὴν λύπην) from themselves and put on real joyfulness (πᾶσαν ἱλαρότητα). (trans. Osiek)

This text does not clearly define what it means by λύπη—here, λύπη may be equivalent to acedia⁷⁰⁶—but it draws a clear contrast between sadness and joy (ἱλαρότης) wherein joy is acceptable to God and conducive to doing good, while sadness leads to lawlessness (ἀνομία; essentially a synonym for evil) and renders the sad person’s prayer incapable of reaching God. Regardless of its precise meaning or cause, λύπη is a state which corrupts a person’s actions, even otherwise virtuous deeds such as prayer or, in the case of the collection, generous giving.⁷⁰⁷ A biblical text that makes a similar point on the subject of charity is Deut 15:10. After mandating generous lending to the needy in the context of the prescriptions on the šɘmiṭṭâ,⁷⁰⁸ Deuteronomy raises the issue of probable loss of funds if a loan is granted when the šɘmiṭṭâ is near (Deut 15:9) and encourages

 On Paul’s use of Prov 22:8 LXX, see below, section 5.4.  Seneca gives similar advice about the appropriate attitude in giving (Ben. 2.6). See also Philo, Spec. 4.74.  Brox, Der Hirt, 248 – 49.  Osiek, Shepherd, 138.  For the šɘmiṭṭâ, see above, p. 151.

4.6 Distress

217

the Israelites to give despite the risk of financial loss (Deut 15:10). Besides a number of verbal links (λύπη, καρδία, εὐλογία, πᾶν ἔργον), two important features connect this text with 2 Cor 9:7.⁷⁰⁹ First, Deuteronomy considers the possibility that obeying the mandate of generous lending may cause distress (“Your heart shall not be sad when you give him [a loan]”; Deut 15:10; my trans.).⁷¹⁰ Deuteronomy describes the concern about financial loss as the product of an evil heart (‫ )בליעל לבבך‬in all likelihood an allusion to greed, and therefore considers the sadness involved in the generous act as the result of a frustrated miserliness.⁷¹¹ Paul does not make similar moral judgments about the Corinthians’ reluctance to give, although he certainly urges them to contribute generously.⁷¹² The reference to λύπη may, nonetheless, be a subtle hint that he considers the delay of their contribution morally questionable. Second, Deuteronomy bolsters its encouragement to the Israelites by promising God’s blessing on those who are generous. Deuteronomy provides similar assurances for other laws requiring financial sacrifice for the poor: the thirdyear tithe for the poor (Deut 14:28 – 29); the manumission of debt slaves every seventh year (Deut 15:12– 18); the prohibition against interest on loans (Deut 23:19 – 20); the overlooked sheaves, olives, and grapes (Deut 24:19 – 21). Promises of abundance from God aim to ease worries about economic distress caused by the requirements of the Torah.⁷¹³ Similarly, just after urging the Corinthians to contribute μὴ ἐκ λύπης, Paul promises God’s blessing of material abundance (2 Cor 9:8). I have already suggested that Paul’s promise is part of his larger strategy of offering the Corinthians reassurances about their economic future.⁷¹⁴ Paul’s reference to λύπη may be part of the same strategy.  For a discussion of the links between the collection texts and Deut 15, see Griffith, “Abounding in Generosity,” 163.  The Hebrew phrase (‫ )ירע לבבך‬does not indicate “grudging” giving (contra Duane L. Christensen, Deuteronomy, WBC 6, 2 vols. [Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 2001– 2002], 1:313) but sadness. The Septuagint translates this phrase with the verb λυπέω. It also appears in 1 Sam 1:8, where it is part of the description of Hannah’s sadness and dejection over her sterility and her co-wife Peninnah’s provocations. See also the expression ‫ לב רע‬in Prov 25:20. See S. R. Driver, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Deuteronomy, ICC (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1902), 181.  Deut 15:7– 11 reinforces the exhortation to generous lending by employing value-charged language: “do not harden your heart,” “your evil heart,” “your heart will be evil,” and “sin.” See Jeffrey H. Tigay, Deuteronomy, The JPS Torah Commentary (Philadelphia: The Jewish Publication Society, 1996), 147.  Windisch claims that the point of 2 Cor 9:7 is financial loss and that λύπη is the sadness one feels over the possessions one gives away and over the economic damage one suffers as a consequence (Der zweite Korintherbrief, 277).  Tigay, Deuteronomy, 144.  See above, pp. 189 – 90.

218

4 Concerns over Paul’s Collection

These similarities do not seem enough to claim that Paul intentionally alludes to Deut 15:10, yet the two texts exhibit a comparable concern for anxieties about the consequences of giving and an analogous response to encourage generosity.⁷¹⁵ If these anxieties constitute the appropriate context for Paul’s reference to λύπη in the collection, the exact meaning of the phrase is closer to distress, if not fear, over the potential economic hardship in the future.⁷¹⁶ Paul encourages the Corinthians to give cheerfully instead, confiding in God’s love and generosity toward those who share their resources. The Synoptic story of the rich young man also connects λύπη with generosity. When Jesus invites the young man to “go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor” (Mark 10:21; NRSV), the young man went away sad (λυπούμενος; Mark 10:22; Matt 19:22; or περίλυπος; Luke 18:23). The gospels add a clarificatory note: “He had many possessions.” The ensuing discussion about the difficulty of discipleship for those who have wealth (Mark 10:23 – 27) suggests that the focus of the story is on the rich man’s inability to enact the instructions of Jesus. He became sad because his attachment to his wealth, or his fear of impoverishment, prevented him from becoming a disciple. In other words, sadness was the result of his lack of generosity.⁷¹⁷ In this instance, sadness is not the inappropriate attitude for generosity, but the result of a failure to give to the poor. The story of the rich young man confirms, nonetheless, that early Christians associated the emotional states of the individual with his or her attitude to charity as a mark of Christian identity. Paul’s reference to distress has a clumsy formulation—it would be more natural to understand the phrase μὴ ἐκ λύπης as an expression of cause, like the following ἐξ ἀνάγκης—and an ambiguous meaning. It may be an exhortation to either ungrudging charity or cheerful giving without anxieties about the fu-

 Bruehler tentatively suggests that Paul may have intentionally quoted Deut 15:10 (“Proverbs, Persuasion and People,” 214).  John T. Fitzgerald observes that λύπη normally means “grief” or “distress” in reference to “someone that an individual once knew, admired, or loved, but who is now dead, or to something that an individual once owned but has now been lost, or to things said or done in the past that one now regrets,” namely, in reference to the past. “If, however, λύπη is being used in regard to a present situation or to a future contingency, ‘anxiety’ or ‘worry’ or some such synonym is often preferable” (“Galen’s De indolentia in the Context of Greco-Roman Medicine, Moral Philosophy, and Physiognomy” in Galen’s De indolentia: Essays on a Newly Discovered Letter, ed. Clare K. Rothschild and Trevor W. Thompson, Studien und Texte zu Antike und Christentum 88 [Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2014], 207). Galen narrates the story of a certain Philides, who died as a result of λύπη over the loss of his books (De indolentia, 7). Presumably, the fear of loss of possessions in the future can also generate λύπη.  Craig E. Evans, Mark 8:27 – 16:20, WBC 34B (Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 2001), 100.

4.7 Conclusions

219

ture. The former is coherent with the immediate context of the remark and especially with the close connection that the wording of the verse establishes between λύπη and ἀνάγκη. It is an amplification of the topics discussed in section 4.5 with an emphasis on the emotional aspects of coerced giving. The latter is consistent with Paul’s praise of joyful generosity and parallels other reflections on the attitudes and anxieties of the giver. It strengthens the argument made in section 4.2 that worries about a possible impoverishment were central to the Corinthian reluctance to contribute to the collection. Neither interpretation, however, adds anything substantial to the previous discussion of the problems raised by the collection texts. Rather, they confirm and reinforce the arguments made in those sections.

4.7 Conclusions The close reading of the collection texts has highlighted the major problems that worried Paul and the Corinthians in the fundraising effort for the poor in Jerusalem. Paul’s discussion of the collection shows that a majority of the believers who took part in the collection belonged in the economically vulnerable urban population and that poverty was a central circumstance of their life, one that determined their financial behavior and their attitude to charity in particular. There is some evidence for the low economic level of the Jerusalem recipients of the collection. Paul designates them as “the poor among the saints in Jerusalem” (Rom 15:26), mentions their situation of need (2 Cor 8:14), and describes the collection in terms of almsgiving, the primary Jewish form of poverty relief (2 Cor 9:9). Evidence for the indigence of the Gentile donors is more abundant and applies to all Pauline groups. Paul states that the Macedonians gave out of their “abysmal poverty” (2 Cor 8:2). Paul also instructed both the Corinthians and the Galatians to put aside small amounts of money on a weekly basis, a strategy that suits the financial constraints of small income earners (1 Cor 16:2). Moreover, Paul repeatedly downplays the importance of the size of donations and only requires that they be proportionate to one’s means (1 Cor 16:2; 2 Cor 8:11– 12), all of which implies that participants could only afford relatively small contributions. In addition to having modest means, the Corinthians feared sliding into further poverty and thought that the collection could contribute to that process. The Corinthians worried that Paul would demand contributions beyond their means and cause them to endure hardship (2 Cor 8:2– 3,13). Paul, on the other hand, provides the Corinthians with repeated reassurances about their economic future. They are free to give what they feel is right and according to their resources

220

4 Concerns over Paul’s Collection

(2 Cor 8:11– 12; 9:7). He, furthermore, depicts the outcome of the collection in terms of God’s blessing of abundance for those who give generously and cheerfully (2 Cor 8:14– 15; 9:6,8,10 – 11). The worries of the Corinthians as well as Paul’s words of reassurance are reflections of the chronic anxiety that plagues people who live around or only slightly above subsistence level. In such circumstances, the ability to provide for oneself most of the time coexists with an insecurity about the future that determines financial choices and shapes risk management strategies.⁷¹⁸ As a result, fear of impoverishment was understandably a major reason for the Corinthians’ hesitation to raise money for the collection. The collection texts do not address the circumstances of those believers in Corinth who were comparatively well off, if there were any. This may be in part because wealthier believers did not need as much encouragement to participate or as many reassurances about the future as poorer ones. Paul’s instructions and exhortations, however, suggest that the majority, if not the entirety, of the participants in the collection belonged in the lower economic strata and that their contributions constituted the most significant portion of the amount collected. Whether or not there were wealthy believers in Corinth, the collection was essentially a gift from the poor to the poor. These conclusions confirm recent assessments of the economic profile of Pauline groups that envisage no presence of the elite and very low membership of wealthy believers.⁷¹⁹ Even prosopographic studies, which are presumably biased toward wealthier economic levels given the higher probability that well-to-do individuals were named in Paul’s letters, only place a handful of believers comfortably above subsistence level, with the majority in the groups belonging in lower economic levels.⁷²⁰ Regardless of the exact composition of the Pauline groups, Paul seems to gear his words and strategies toward individuals of limited resources for whom poverty was either a reality or a genuine risk. Longenecker believes that Paul’s words generally seem to target people who lived slightly above subsistence level and that he could adjust his rhetoric up or down from there.⁷²¹ The emphasis on poverty in the collection texts and the anxiety about impoverishment that they betray seem to address believers as if they belonged to poorer levels than what Longenecker thinks is generally the case. This might occasionally be for rhetorical effect, as in the case of the abysmal poverty of the Macedonians

 Schellenberg, “Subsistence,” 223 – 24.  See above, p. 178 n. 573.  Friesen estimates that a maximum of 7 individuals in the Pauline groups had moderate surplus (“Poverty in Pauline Studies,” 348). Longenecker classifies 3 – 6 people in the moderate surplus category (Remember the Poor, 236 – 46).  Longenecker, Remember the Poor, 253 – 58.

4.7 Conclusions

221

(2 Cor 8:2), which makes their generosity shine even more, but the prevalence of the theme of poverty seems to reflect the real circumstances of most believers in the Pauline groups. The objection to enduring hardship for the relief of other people’s needs (2 Cor 8:13), which was probably held by some in Corinth, connects with the theme of poverty. This is inconsistent with the positive view of self-sacrifice for the sake of others that Paul, in keeping with virtually all early Christian writers, expresses in his letters and in the collection texts (2 Cor 8:5,9). However, Paul does not directly condemn this rejection of self-sacrifice and prefers to highlight the principle of equality (2 Cor 8:13 – 14), which appears to be part of Paul’s nonconfrontational approach throughout 2 Cor 8 – 9. The Corinthians’ self-perception of being at risk of severe poverty is largely incompatible with their seeing themselves as patrons of Jerusalem. Moreover, the complaint of some that the collection was a form of exploitation for the benefit of others closely parallels the ways in which classical authors portrayed clients protesting against their patrons’ abuses. The Corinthians were coming to the collection from a position of weakness and fear, a very different attitude from that of Greco-Roman patrons, who used benefaction to consolidate and enhance their privileged status. The analysis of Paul’s references to greed (2 Cor 9:5) and coercion (2 Cor 9:7) in the context of the collection are also unrelated to a possible self-perception of the Corinthians as potential patrons or benefactors of Jerusalem. Rather, they focus on the style of leadership in early Christian groups. In fact, Paul worries that the collection might be seen as an act of greed on his part, a worry probably justified by suspicions about the fundraising that some in Corinth were voicing in order to undermine Paul’s authority (2 Cor 12:14– 18). Regardless of the specific circumstances, however, Paul’s attitude to the financial aspects of leadership corresponds to wider views that also surface in First Thessalonians, views that were indeed shared by other Christian and non-Christian writers. Paul’s multiple disclaimers against the greed of leaders, himself included, also underscore that the handling of money was a sensitive area for Christian leaders, one that could compromise their relationship with the groups of believers. Paul’s combination of the motif of greed and flattery (1 Thess 2:5) suggests that he was aware of the connection between greed and the negative portrayals of economic dependency. It is also possible that accusations of greed against Paul were attempts at character assassination through the trope of the comedic parasite. By rejecting greed, Paul presents himself as the anti-parasite who teaches the truth and creates unity among the believers. Paul’s repeated emphasis on the voluntariness of contributions (2 Cor 8:3,8,12; 9:7), usually read as oblique allusion to the set of obligations involved

222

4 Concerns over Paul’s Collection

in benefaction ideology and practice, is rather to be regarded as Paul’s preference for a liberal leadership over coercion. Paul’s statements employ language similar to contemporary philosophical debates about free will and the integrity of the self but are situated within a larger discourse on the exercise of leadership in Christian groups. Christian leaders need to respect individual freedom and self-determination and avoid imposing their will through a heavy-handed use of authority. Coercion is for Paul one of the characteristics of the kind of leadership that is harmful to the believers, while his rejection of compulsion and his frequent emphasis on voluntary contribution to the collection are part of his self-depiction as a kind and liberal leader. If the collection was one of the reasons for his conflict with the Corinthians, Paul’s choice of soft leadership may be part of a broader strategy to improve relationships.⁷²² Paul’s reference to giving without sorrow or distress but joyfully (2 Cor 9:7) is ambiguous. Its immediate context suggests that it refers to the negative emotions raised by coercion, emotions which made the Corinthians reluctant to contribute to the collection. If this is the case, the theme of sorrow reinforces Paul’s emphasis on voluntariness in the collection and demonstrates that Paul’s liberal style of leadership is thoroughly compatible with a cheerful disposition among the Corinthians. There is evidence, however, that Paul may be making a larger point about the internal attitude of donors. Those who share their possessions should not fall prey to worries about their future but trust in God’s providence, since God loves the cheerful giver and bestows upon him or her an abundance of blessings, both spiritual and material. This reading of the motif of sorrow matches Paul’s many references to the Corinthians’ anxiety about impoverishment and his reassurances about their economic future. The survey of the Pauline texts in search for concerns over the collection for Jerusalem shows two major areas of anxiety: the fear of impoverishment in the Corinthian group and a mistrust of Paul’s leadership. It should be noted, however, that poverty is without question the most serious concern in Corinth and the one that Paul addresses more extensively. While each of the concerns that emerge from the texts may have contributed to delayed participation in the collection, the economic circumstances of the Corinthians and their financial insecurity likely played the larger role in their hesitation to give. The evidence gathered requires us to reject the common hypothesis that Paul’s words about the collection and the practical details of its implementation were an attempt to prevent a patronal interpretation of the collection highlight-

 See also comments on the linguistic features of 2 Cor 8 – 9 in Verbrugge and Krell, Paul and Money, 152– 57.

4.7 Conclusions

223

ing issues of status hierarchy and obligation. The text in which hierarchy emerges as a problem is 2 Cor 8:13, but here the Corinthians seem to perceive themselves as the weaker party in the deal, that is, abused clients who endure hardship from their patrons. Paul does not have to thwart patronal ambitions but rather dispel fears of exploitation by emphasizing the goal of equality. The theme of obligation, as scholars often note, is especially present in Paul’s assertion that the Corinthians should not give “out of compulsion” (2 Cor 9:7). As I have argued, Paul’s emphasis on voluntariness highlights tensions between Corinth and Paul as their leader, not between Corinth and Jerusalem. The elements of status hierarchy and obligation are in fact present in the collection texts but do not support the notion that the Corinthians saw the collection as an act of patronage toward Jerusalem.

5 Paul’s Description of the Collection 5.1 Introduction As a result of the problems discussed in Chapter Four, Paul’s collection for the poor in Jerusalem faced delays and hesitation in Corinth. Paul’s words in the Corinthian correspondence attempt to ease anxiety and remove obstacles that Paul knew or believed had caused those delays. In fact, the collection texts seem to devote considerable effort to clarifying what the collection implied for all participants, how it was to be carried out, and, importantly, how much the Corinthians were expected to contribute. In this process of clarification, Paul offers important indications about his views on the life of Christian groups and the exercise of leadership in them. The collection texts, however, cannot and should not be reduced to a series of reactive statements that deal with contingent difficulties. A significant portion of the collection texts is devoted to defining the nature and the meaning of the collection. In fact, the collection was an anomalous exchange in the ancient Greco-Roman world, and it is likely that some believers, failing to find a place for the collection in their “repertoire of exchanges,” felt confusion, discomfort, and possibly suspicion about it. As Davis suggests, however, anomalies “may be an opportunity, give people room for manoeuvre, scope for inventiveness and creativity.”⁷²³ This chapter examines the ways in which Paul demonstrates inventiveness and creativity by selecting and manipulating a number of exchange categories that were fairly common in his economic context and conceptual world and by using them to describe the collection. In choosing these exchange categories, Paul ascribes meanings to the fundraising effort that reveal his views on intergroup relations.

5.2 χάρις The treatment of the collection in the Corinthian correspondence is characterized by a pervasive presence of the term χάρις. In fact, χάρις appears 10 times in 2 Cor 8 – 9 (and once in 1 Cor 16:3), sometimes in reference to the collection itself (1 Cor 16:3; 2 Cor 8:6,7,19; possibly 2 Cor 8:1,4).⁷²⁴ In the context of gift giving, the term

 Davis, Exchange, 54.  In addition, Gordon D. Fee argues that in 2 Cor 1:15, χάρις also refers to the collection. He understands the difficult expression ἵνα δευτέραν χάριν σχῆτε as Paul deciding to pass through https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110723946-007

5.2 χάρις

225

χάρις was characterized by semantic flexibility and could indicate not only a favor conferred and the thanks given in return, but also more generally the attitudes of graciousness and gratitude that characterized both the exchange and the partners involved in the gift.⁷²⁵ In the Pauline letters, the polysemy of χάρις is even greater because of its use in reference to divine-human relationships.⁷²⁶ In fact, outside of the collection texts, human beings do not normally serve as dispensers of χάρις but are rather the recipients of divine χάρις, gifts from God to human beings.⁷²⁷ Because of the frequency and centrality of the term χάρις in Paul’s letters and in light of related debates about Paul’s soteriology, it exceeds the limits of this study to discuss the meaning or meanings of God’s χάρις in the Pauline corpus.⁷²⁸ Griffith provides a useful working description of χάρις in terms of gift giving: Corinth on his way back to Judea so as to give the Corinthians “a double opportunity for kindness,” i. e., a second opportunity to contribute, after his first visit with them had failed (“ΧΑΡΙΣ in II Corinthians I.15: Apostolic Parousia and Paul-Corinth Chronology,” NTS 24 [1978]: 533 – 38).  See above, section 3.2.1.  As Griffith observes, the theological sense that χάρις normally carries in Paul’s letters should alert us to the possibility that individual occurrences of the term in the collection texts may have multiple layers of meaning: “The central role of grace in Paul’s theology inclines us to suspect that any use of the term in his letters may be theologically weighted” (“Abounding in Generosity,” 249).  Gaventa, “The Economy of Grace,” 57– 58.  As Cranfield suggests, χάρις “may be said to sum up the whole gospel in a single word” (A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Epistle to the Romans, 1:71). The debate over χάρις is certainly made more complex by the retroprojection of centuries of theological disputes into the New Testament writings. Important studies on the subject are: Gillis P. Wetter, Charis: Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte des altesten Christentums (Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1913); James Moffatt, Grace in the New Testament (New York: Long & Smith, 1932); W. T. Whitley, ed., The Doctrine of Grace (New York: Macmillan, 1932); Thomas F. Torrance, The Doctrine of Grace in the Apostolic Fathers (Edinburgh: Oliver and Boyd, 1948); Lucien Cerfaux, “La théologie de la grace selon Saint Paul,” VSpir 83 (1950): 5 – 19; C. Ryder Smith, The Bible Doctrine of Grace and Related Doctrines (London: Epworth, 1956); Walter Grundmann, “Die Übermacht der Gnade: Eine Studie zur Theologie des Paulus,” NovT 2 (1957): 50 – 72; Raymond F. Surburg, “Pauline Charis: A Philological, Exegetical, and Dogmatical Study,” CTM 29 (1958): 721– 41; Darrel J. Doughty, “The Priority of ΧΑΡΙΣ: An Investigation of the Theological Language of Paul,” NTS 19 (1973): 163 – 80; Heinrich Dörrie, Herbert Dittmann, Otto Knoch, and Alfred Schindler, “Gnade,” RAC 11:313 – 446; Michael Theobald, Die überströmende Gnade: Studien zu einem paulinischen Motivfeld, FB 22 (Würzburg: Echter, 1982); Klaus Berger, “χάρις,” EDNT 3: 457– 60; Hendrikus Boers, “᾿Aγάπη and Χάρις in Paul’s Thought,” CBQ 59 (1997): 693 – 713; M. Winger, “From Grace to Sin: Names and Abstractions in Paul’s Letters,” NovT 41 (1999): 145 – 75; Brad Eastman, The Significance of Grace in the Letters of Paul, Studies in Biblical Literature 11 (New York: Lang, 1999); Paul Middleton, Angus Paddison, and Karen Wenell, eds., Paul, Grace and Freedom: Essays in Honour of John K. Riches (London: T&T Clark, 2009); Barclay, Paul and the Gift. For overviews

226

5 Paul’s Description of the Collection

Most of Paul’s uses of χάρις outside of 2 Corinthians 8 – 9 can be generalized in two categories. In one category, the emphasis is on grace imparted, the grace of God viewed from the perspective of God. It is the gift which provides salvation to all who receive it. […] God’s grace is his goodwill, but it is always goodwill expressed in the action of giving. The second category of usage for Paul is that of χάρις as empowerment. Here χάρις is also described as something given, but in this case it is viewed from the perspective of the recipient. χάρις received as empowerment is the grace given to Paul in his apostolic authority (Gal. 2.9; 1 Cor. 3.10; Rom. 12.3; 15.15), grace given for daily Christian living (1 Cor. 15.10; 12.9) and grace given to believers as χαρίσματα (1 Cor. 1.4– 7; 12.4– 31).⁷²⁹

God’s χάρις is, therefore, God’s goodwill, God’s gift of salvation to humans, and human empowerment from God. To these meanings, we need to add, in accordance with Greek usage, χάρις as the human expression of gratitude for God’s gifts (e. g., Rom 6:17; 1 Cor 15:17; 2 Cor 2:14).⁷³⁰ The abovementioned meanings appear in 2 Cor 8 – 9 also.⁷³¹ God’s χάρις is bestowed on believers (2 Cor 8:1) and empowers them to establish fellowship with Jerusalem through their generosity (2 Cor 8:4; 9:8,14).⁷³² It also expresses Paul’s gratitude for God’s gifts such as Titus’s eagerness to help carry out the collection (2 Cor 8:16) and, more generally, the accomplishment of the collection (2 Cor 9:15). In some instances, however, the term χάρις appears to denote not a divine but a human gift, namely, the Corinthians’ financial contribution for Jerusalem. Discussing the transportation of the collection to Jerusalem, Paul writes: “When I arrive, I will send any whom you approve with letters to take your gift [τὴν χάριν ὑμῶν] to Jerusalem” (1 Cor 16:3; NRSV).⁷³³ Later on, Paul sends Titus to Corinth to “complete this generous undertaking” (τὴν χάριν ταύτην) (2 Cor 8:6)

of the debate and further references, see Harrison, Paul’s Language of Grace, 8 – 13; Griffith, “Abounding in Generosity,” 14– 19.  Griffith, “Abounding in Generosity,” 246– 47.  For extended discussions of divine χάρις in Paul, see Harrison, Paul’s Language of Grace, 211– 88; Griffith, “Abounding in Generosity,” 90 – 110; Barclay, Paul and the Gift, 331– 574.  Klein, “Die Begründung für den Spendenaufruf für die Heiligen Jerusalems in 2Kor 8 und 9,” 108 – 9.  Barclay, “Manna and the Circulation of Grace,” 410; Weihs, “Gott liebt einen fröhlichen Geber,” 183. Wodka maintains that, in 2 Cor 8:1, χάρις refers not to God’s gift of salvation but has a more specific meaning concerning participation in the collection (Una teologia biblica del dare, 160 – 61).  This is the only instance in the Pauline letters in which χάρις is attached to the genitive of a person other than God or Jesus. Normally, the relation of χάρις to human beings is expressed in ways that make clear the divine origin of χάρις: humans receive χάρις (Rom 1:5; 5:17; 2 Cor 6:1); χάρις is given to someone (Rom 12:3,6; 15:15; 1 Cor 1:4; 3:10; 2 Cor 8:1; Gal 2:9; and Eph 1:6; 3:2,7,8; 4:7); God’s χάρις to someone, with someone, or on someone (1 Cor 15:10; 2 Cor 9:14).

5.2 χάρις

227

and urges the Corinthians to excel “in this generous undertaking” (ἐν ταύτῃ τῇ χάριτι) (2 Cor 8:7). Finally, he introduces an unnamed brother chosen by the assemblies to accompany Paul “with this generous undertaking” (σὺν τῇ χάριτι ταύτῃ) (2 Cor 8:19).⁷³⁴ Although the occurrence of χάρις in 1 Cor 16:3 is not especially remarkable,⁷³⁵ the pervasive presence of this term in 2 Cor 8 – 9 seems to indicate Paul’s intention to interpret the collection theologically as an act in which there is interaction between divine and human χάρις.⁷³⁶ In particular, divine χάρις prompts human generosity in the collection and makes it possible.⁷³⁷ This is clearest in 2 Cor 9:8: “God is able to provide you with every blessing [πᾶσαν χάριν] in abundance, so that by always having enough of everything, you may share abundantly in every good work” (NRSV). Paul presents the good work of the collection as the result of God’s gift of abundant χάρις to the Corinthians. The causality that Paul establishes between God’s χάρις and human generosity also undergirds the notion of the collection as a test of the reception of God’s gifts. The Macedonians, through the test of great affliction, excelled in generosity (ἐν πολλῇ δοκιμῇ; 2 Cor 8:2). Similarly, the Corinthians’ generosity will be proof of their genuine love (δοκιμάζων; 2 Cor 8:8). Even more explicitly, the epexegetic genitive

 The use of the demonstrative in these verses indicates that χάρις refers to the collection. See Chang, “Fund-Raising in Corinth,” 261.  The term χάρις only appears once in 1 Cor 16:1– 4, clearly in reference to the financial gift from Corinth. It is possible to speculate that Paul used this term with an implicit theological weight similar to that in 2 Cor 8 – 9, but the text does not provide any clear evidence to substantiate this conclusion.  Paul makes the importance of χάρις apparent by framing 2 Cor 8 – 9 between two references to God’s χάρις (2 Cor 8:1; 9:15).  Harrison makes this point by commenting on 2 Cor 8:4 (“Begging us earnestly for the privilege [τὴν χάριν] of sharing in this ministry to the saints”; NRSV). He argues that Paul viewed the collection “as a free act of grace, prompted by the effects of divine grace in [the Macedonians’] lives” (Paul’s Language of Grace, 297). Similarly, Georgi comments on 2 Cor 8:7 by stating: “Participation in the collection was the consequence of all the gifts of grace (charismata) [the Corinthians] had previously received” (Remembering the Poor, 82). See also Gaventa, “The Economy of Grace,” 55; Wodka, Una teologia biblica del dare, 164; Joubert, Paul as Benefactor, 136; Chang, “Fund-Raising in Corinth,” 259 – 60; Griffith, “Abounding in Generosity,” 250, 255; Downs, The Offering of the Gentiles, 164; Bassler, God and Mammon, 102– 3; Binz Antony, “‘He Who Supplies Seed to the Sower and Bread for Food’: The Pauline Characterization of God in 2 Corinthians 8 – 9,” in Bieringer, Ibita, Kurek-Chomycz, and Vollmer, Theologizing in the Corinthian Conflict, 307– 9. The Stoics also strictly connected divine and human generosity. In Stoicism, however, divine providence and generosity are merely the model for human ethical action. See above, section 2.5. On the other hand, Paul points to a more direct relation between divine and human χάρις and indicates that human generosity is one of the effects of divine χάρις.

228

5 Paul’s Description of the Collection

δοκιμὴ τῆς διακονίας ταύτης in 2 Cor 9:13 equates the collection with a test of the confession of faith rendered by the Corinthians and of their fellowship with other believers. Generous contribution to the collection is definitive proof that the Corinthians have received God’s χάρις appropriately and allowed it to bear fruit in their actions.⁷³⁸ Since the collection has its origin and source in God’s gift of χάρις, it is necessary that thanks be offered not to the human contributors but to the divine giver. In Paul’s words, the Corinthian generosity produces thanksgiving to God (2 Cor 9:11– 12).⁷³⁹ The expression of thanksgiving in response to acts of generosity conforms to normal expectations of gratitude in the Greco-Roman context. Paul, however, deviates from those expectations by redirecting thanksgiving from the human benefactors to God. In this way, he downplays the role of the human givers and their relationship with the recipients of the gift, while he presents the glory of God as the end result of human generosity (2 Cor 9:13). Not only is God the source and the end of generosity, but the act of giving itself is an experience of God’s χάρις. Paul opens 2 Cor 8 by introducing a specific topic: “The χάρις of God that has been granted to the churches in Macedonia.”⁷⁴⁰ Similar expressions (ἡ χάρις ἡ δεδομένη; ἡ χάρις ἡ δοθεῖσα) are relatively common in Paul and refer primarily not to the gift of salvation but to its effects in believers, namely, how divine χάρις empowers believers in different ways.⁷⁴¹ As expected, Paul proceeds to explain the effects of χάρις among the Macedonians. Not only did they contribute generously despite their abysmal poverty, but they also pleaded with Paul for “the privilege of sharing [τὴν χάριν καὶ τὴν κοινωνίαν] in this ministry for the saints” (2 Cor 8:4; NRSV).⁷⁴² The words τὴν χάριν καὶ τὴν κοινωνίαν, literally “the grace and the fellowship,” are a hendiadys by

 Davids, “The Test of Wealth,” 368 – 69.  Nathan Eubank reads the thanksgiving generated by the collection in light of Jewish almsgiving as an act of worship (“Justice Endures Forever: Paul’s Grammar of Generosity,” Journal for the Study of Paul and His Letters 5 [2015]: 169 – 87, here 181– 82).  Paul uses the introductory formula, “We want you to know,” and similar ones to state a topic or thesis to be explained in the following lines. With the verb γνωρίζειν: 1 Cor 15:1; 2 Cor 8:1; Gal 1:11. With the corresponding negative formula, “I do not want you to be unaware”: Rom 11:25; 1 Cor 10:1; 12:1; 2 Cor 1:8; 1 Thess 4:13.  In particular, divine χάρις grants authority to Paul over the assemblies (Rom 12:3; 15:15; 1 Cor 3:10; Gal 2:9; see also Eph 3:2,7,8) and spiritual gifts to believers (Rom 12:6; 1 Cor 1:4; see also Eph 4:7; 1 Tim 2:9).  Through a lofty description of the Macedonians “begging” Paul to be allowed to contribute, Paul rhetorically portrays the collection as something for which they themselves, not Paul, asked. Implicitly, Paul suggests that the Corinthians should be similarly eager to participate, without Paul having to press them.

5.2 χάρις

229

which Paul suggests that the Macedonians considered participation in the collection a way to receive and experience God’s χάρις.⁷⁴³ In fact, this occurrence of the term χάρις is the most ambiguous in 2 Cor 8 – 9, so that it is particularly difficult to determine whether it refers to the divine or the human gift. One might even regard this ambiguity as the most effective expression of Paul’s belief that the collection is at the same time human and divine χάρις. Regardless of the specific theological interpretation of the role of χάρις in Paul’s letters and especially in the collection, the previous remarks demonstrate the central point of Paul’s use of the language of χάρις, namely, that God is a key actor in what would otherwise be a merely human financial transaction. This does not simply mean that the collection has religious significance, but rather that God is viewed as an active partner in the economic exchange between the Gentile groups and Jerusalem.⁷⁴⁴ This is no isolated instance in Paul’s thought about economic dealings between believers. In Phil 4:10 – 20, Paul responds to gifts he has received from the Philippians and describes them in cultic terms: “A fragrant offering, a sacrifice acceptable and pleasing to God” (Phil 4:18; NRSV). Instead of thanking the Philippians for the gifts, Paul promises them that “God will fully satisfy every need of yours according to his riches in glory in Christ Jesus” (Phil 4:19; NRSV). The Philippians’ gifts are therefore directed ultimately to God as an act of worship and reciprocated by God who provides for their every need.⁷⁴⁵ A similar pattern is present in Gal 6:7– 10. Paul exhorts the Galatians to do good toward all (ἐργαζώμεθα τὸ ἀγαθὸν πρὸς πάντας; Gal 6:10), an expression that may correspond to, or at least include, acts of financial generosity.⁷⁴⁶ This charitable activity is described through an agricultural metaphor as sowing to the Spirit (ὁ σπείρων εἰς τὸ πνεῦμα; Gal 6:8), which results in reaping eternal life from the Spirit (ἐκ τοῦ πνεύματος θερίσει; Gal 6:8). Once again, charity is directed to God and reciprocated by God. This irruption of divine χάρις into an exchange of human χάρις disrupts the normal pattern of reciprocity between exchange partners on which stable human

 O’Mahony, Pauline Persuasion, 114.  There are other ways in which Paul expresses God’s intervention in the collection—God gives eagerness to Titus (2 Cor 8:16); God provides the donors with abundance (2 Cor 9:8); God is glorified and receives thanksgiving (2 Cor 9:11– 13,15)—but to point out God’s intervention seems to be the primary function of the language of χάρις.  Stephen E. Fowl, “Know Your Context: Giving and Receiving Money in Philippians,” Int 56 (2002): 56 – 57; Eubank, “Paul’s Grammar of Generosity,” 175 – 78.  Travis B. Williams, Good Works in 1 Peter: Negotiating Social Conflict and Christian Identity in the Greco-Roman World, WUNT 337 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2014), 139 – 43; Eubank, “Paul’s Grammar of Generosity,” 183 – 85.

230

5 Paul’s Description of the Collection

relationships are based.⁷⁴⁷ I have argued in Chapter Three that exchange relations with weakened or no expectations of reciprocation tend to become ephemeral and impersonal and that the motives for generosity shift from the relationship between exchange partners toward other areas.⁷⁴⁸ The theological weight of the language of χάρις engenders the same type of changes. The Corinthians are encouraged to give generously not primarily because of destitution in Jerusalem, but “for the glory of the Lord himself” (2 Cor 8:19) and to “glorify God” (2 Cor 9:13). Similarly, the Jerusalem recipients of the collection will be grateful for God’s gift (2 Cor 9:15) and express their thanksgiving to God (2 Cor 9:11– 12). Despite the material exchange that takes place between them, the language of χάρις fails to put Corinth and Jerusalem in relation directly with one another. They apparently interact only with God. The notion that the collection is for the glorification of God suggests that Paul viewed the collection as an act of worship.⁷⁴⁹ This view of charity has its roots in Second Temple Judaism, when acts of kindness, especially almsgiving, begin to be associated with sacrifices, and sometimes replace them, as a form

 Harrison suggests that Paul’s language of χάρις represents “Paul’s attempt at theologically and socially redefining Graeco-Roman conventions of beneficence for Corinthian house churches that were in danger of operating on the basis of reciprocity rather than grace” (Paul’s Language of Grace, 299). Paul’s use of reciprocity language elsewhere (Rom 15:27; 2 Cor 8:14) indicates that he did not see reciprocity as a danger. Harrison correctly points out, however, the tension between the language of χάρις, which stresses the vertical dimension of generosity, and reciprocity, which focuses on horizontal relationships.  See above, section 3.4.  Downs emphasizes the collection as an act of worship (The Offering of the Gentiles, 120 – 60). Downs also suggests that depicting the collection as an act of worship allows Paul to “subvert the values of patronage and euergetism,” especially by downplaying “the inherently competitive and potentially oppressive nature of benefaction in the Greco-Roman world” (The Offering of the Gentiles, 158). Although the metaphor of worship and the language of χάρις portray social relationships that are substantially different from those existing in patronage—indeed, they seem to ascribe no importance to the relationship between the exchange partners —this does not need to be read as an oblique criticism and rejection of patronage. Quite the contrary, Betz observes that in 2 Cor 8:1– 5, the praise of the Macedonians’ participation in the collection intends to “stimulate competition between rivals [Macedonia and Corinth] by means of comparison” (2 Corinthians 8 and 9, 48; see also Chang, “Fund-Raising in Corinth,” 266; Kloppenborg, “Fiscal Aspects,” 195 – 96), competitiveness between patrons being a characteristic of patronage. Similarly, in 2 Cor 9:5, Paul suggests that the Corinthians’ honor would be endangered in front of the Macedonians if their contribution were not ready at their arrival. Paul does not avoid the social dynamics of benefaction but rather uses competition and honor to encourage generosity.

5.2 χάρις

231

of service to God.⁷⁵⁰ We will see in section 5.4 that Paul makes direct use of the set of ideas surrounding almsgiving to illuminate aspects of the collection. For now, it is sufficient to observe that the language of χάρις partly matches the fundamental dynamics of Jewish almsgiving as gifts to human beings that function as acts of worship that glorify God. The strict relation between divine and human χάρις that characterizes 2 Cor 8 – 9 poses the question as to whether there are any similarities between these two forms of χάρις. The relation between divine and human χάρις is partly one of origin, the former being the source of the latter, but the language of 2 Cor 8 – 9 opens the possibility that the collection is in some way analogous to God’s gifts. This similarity becomes patent when the christological dimension of χάρις is taken into consideration. In fact, although divine χάρις has a wider scope, for Paul χάρις is first and foremost manifested in Jesus.⁷⁵¹ This dimension of χάρις is spelled out, for instance, in Rom 3:24: “[All] are now justified by [God’s] grace as a gift, through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus” (δικαιούμενοι δωρεὰν τῇ αὐτοῦ χάριτι διὰ τῆς ἀπολυτρώσεως τῆς ἐν Χριστῷ Ἰησοῦ; NRSV). In this verse, the language of χάρις in the prepositional phrase τῇ αὐτοῦ χάριτι is reinforced through the adverb δωρεάν (“freely”) that precedes it. Divine χάρις is operative in the redemption that happened “in Christ Jesus” (see also Rom 5:1– 2,15 – 21; Gal 1:15 – 16; 2:20 – 21; 5:4). Paul brings up the christological dimension of χάρις explicitly, albeit briefly, in 2 Cor 8:9. He presents “the χάρις of our Lord Jesus Christ” as a well-known fact, which he proceeds to explain with a formulation of christological faith in  Anderson shows early associations between almsgiving, acts of charity, and sacrifices in Jerusalem’s temple in the books of Tobit and Ben Sira (Charity, 17– 25). See also, Gregory, Like an Everlasting Signet Ring, 222– 53; Eubank, “Paul’s Grammar of Generosity,” 172– 73. Downs correctly observes that the metaphor of worship was not foreign to “pagans in localities throughout the Greco-Roman world” (The Offering of the Gentiles, 157). However, the use of this metaphor for economic realities, and particularly support of the poor, was especially common in Judaism. For instance, Ben Sira makes this connection in regard to almsgiving: “One who keeps the law makes many offerings; / one who heeds the commandments makes an offering of well-being. / One who returns a kindness offers choice flour, / and one who gives alms sacrifices a thank-offering” (Sir 35:1– 2). Incidentally, Ben Sira makes a clear reference to reciprocity in gift giving by using the term χάρις: “One who returns a kindness” (ἀνταποδιδοὺς χάριν; Sir 35:2). Here, however, χάρις has the regular meaning of a gift or favor from a human benefactor. See also Sir 20:13; 29:15; 30:16.  Barclay states: “The life, death, and resurrection of Jesus are thus, for Paul, the focal point of divine beneficence: the witness of Scripture and the history and identity of Israel are interpreted in this light. Grace is discovered in an event, not in the general benevolence of God, and its focal expression lies not in creation nor in any other divine gift, but in the gift of Christ, which constitutes for Paul the Gift” (Paul and the Gift, 566; emphasis in the text).

232

5 Paul’s Description of the Collection

economic terms.⁷⁵² By becoming human, Jesus renounced the richness of his previous divine condition and assumed human poverty, and through this poverty, he lifted up the believers, including the Corinthians, to the riches of salvation. It is important to note the pivotal role of the term χάρις. In fact, the christological statement does not seem to have any direct relation to the context other than the economic language in which it is couched. As such, it has no place in Paul’s exhortation to generous giving except for the fact that Paul defines it as an act of χάρις. Implicitly, Paul encourages the Corinthians to model their participation in the collection, also an expression of χάρις, on Jesus’s actions. I will discuss in the following section how the christological statement in 2 Cor 8:9 is supposed to shape participation in the collection. It suffices here to say that divine χάρις is not only the source that empowers human χάρις, but also the pattern for it, specifically in its manifestation in Christ. The language of χάρις is pervasive in 2 Cor 8 – 9 and is probably the major, overarching category that Paul employed for thinking about the collection while writing these words. As we will see, it overlaps with other themes in 2 Cor 8 – 9. Paul’s use of this language reveals that he viewed the collection theologically as a manifestation of God’s interactions with believers. In fact, divine χάρις empowers human generosity and, in Christ, provides a model for it. As a result, the relationship between early Christian groups is transformed so that the collection becomes for Corinth an opportunity to worship and glorify God. Similarly, the expected reciprocation for the gift is diverted from the donors toward the divine source of human generosity in the form of thanksgiving to God.

5.3 Self-Sacrifice A striking feature of the collection texts is the general absence of explicitly christological references. The one exception is 2 Cor 8:9: “You know the generous act of our Lord Jesus Christ, that though he was rich, yet for your sakes he became poor, so that by his poverty you might become rich” (NRSV).⁷⁵³ This reminder of

 Paul uses, in 2 Cor 8:9, the verb γινώσκειν followed by an epexegetical ὅτι to introduce an idea that is shared with his addressees. He uses similar turns of phrase in Rom 6:6; Gal 3:7; Phil 2:22; more often with οἴδα, Rom 2:22; 3:19; 5:3; 6:9; 7:14; 8:22,28; 13:11; 1 Cor 8:1,4; 12:2; 15:58; 16:15; 2 Cor 1:7; 4:14; 5:1,6; Gal 2:16; 4:13; Phil 4:15; 1 Thess 2:1; 3:3; 5:2; with the rhetorical negative οὐκ οἴδατε, 1 Cor 3:16; 5:6; 6:2,3,9,15,16,19; 9:13,24.  For the reception of this verse in early Christianity, see Pius Angstenberger, Der reiche und der arme Christus: Die Rezeptionsgeschichte von 2 Kor 8,9 zwischen dem zweiten und dem sechsten Jahrhundert, Hereditas: Studien zur alten Kirchengeschichte 12 (Bonn: Borengässer, 1997).

5.3 Self-Sacrifice

233

Jesus’s self-impoverishment is complete in itself, and its context does not seem to contribute to its meaning. Moreover, the rest of Paul’s exhortation is completely independent of this verse. Paul leaves the practical implications of this christological statement unexpressed, and were it not included, Paul’s argument would not be any less coherent.⁷⁵⁴ Paul, therefore, does not elaborate on the function of this reminder and allows the readers to work out its consequences on their own. He nonetheless provides some clues. First, Paul describes the impoverishment of Jesus for the enrichment of the Corinthians with the term χάρις, the key concept of 2 Cor 8 – 9, here the χάρις “of our Lord Jesus Christ.” It appears that the poverty of Jesus is one of the ways in which God’s χάρις reached the Corinthians and, at the same time, the impetus, if not empowerment, for their generosity in the collection. Second, the structure of the introductory formula in 2 Cor 8:9 corresponds to the opening of the discussion on the collection in 2 Cor 8:1– 2.⁷⁵⁵ Through the opening verb, Paul alerts his readers that important information is about to be presented. Then, the topic is stated. In both cases, the statement is about χάρις, the χάρις of God given to the Macedonians and the χάρις of Jesus. Finally, a ὅτι clause states how χάρις reveals itself in the contrast between pov-

 Windisch, Der zweite Korintherbrief, 251– 52; Fred B. Craddock, “The Poverty of Christ: An Investigation of II Corinthians 8:9,” Int 22 (1968): 159. Windisch famously expressed the disconnect between 2 Cor 8:9 and its context by dubbing this verse an insertion (“ein Einschiebsel”). Because of its loose connection with the context, Georgi argues that the christological statement —not necessarily the introductory words—is a traditional formula. Georgi also believes that “the reciprocal, even chiastic, structure and the sharp succinctness of the statement” confirm its traditional origin (Remembering the Poor, 197 n. 15; see also Rudolf Brändle, “Geld und Gnade (zu II Kor 8,9),” TZ 41 [1985]: 264– 65). Paul is no stranger to such stylistic traits (e. g., Rom 11:30 – 31; Gal 3:13; 5:1). Moreover, there is no other indication of traditions that employ that language of poverty (πτωχός, πτωχεία, πτωχεύω) christologically. A possible parallel for the second part of the statement is Jas 2:5: “Has not God chosen the poor in the world to be rich in faith?” It is more likely, however, that in 2 Cor 8:9, as well as in Jas 2:5, the economic matter at hand provides an opening for describing the gospel in economic language. In addition, Paul uses the semantic field of wealth very frequently to indicate God’s actions toward human beings (Rom 2:4; 9:23; 10:12; 11:12,33; 1 Cor 1:5; 4:8 with sarcasm; 2 Cor 6:10; Phil 4:19; see also Eph 1:7,18; 2:4,7; 3:8,16; Col 1:27; 2:2; 3:16; 1 Tim 6:17– 18; Titus 3:6). In particular, 2 Cor 6:10, “As poor, yet making many rich” (ὡς πτωχοὶ πολλοὺς δὲ πλουτίζοντες), constitutes a close parallel to 2 Cor 8:9, which removes any doubt that Paul could have penned the christological statement in the latter verse. In principle, 2 Cor 6:10 could have been inspired by the traditional formula that allegedly lies behind 2 Cor 8:9. However, 2 Cor 6:10 fits its context perfectly and repeats the association of sorrow, joy, poverty, and wealth that also appears in 2 Cor 8 – 9.  Windisch, Der zweite Korintherbrief, 252; George Panikulam, Koinōnia in the New Testament: A Dynamic Expression of Christian Life, AnBib 85 (Rome: Biblical Institute Press, 1979), 51.

234

5 Paul’s Description of the Collection

Table 3: 2 Cor 8:1 – 2 and 2 Cor 8:9  Cor : – 

 Cor :

Γνωρίζομεν δὲ ὑμῖν, ἀδελφοί,

γινώσκετε γάρ

τὴν χάριν τοῦ θεοῦ τὴν δεδομένην ἐν ταῖς ἐκκλησίαις τῆς Μακεδονίας,

τὴν χάριν τοῦ κυρίου ἡμῶν Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ,

ὅτι ἐν πολλῇ δοκιμῇ θλίψεως ἡ περισσεία τῆς χαρᾶς αὐτῶν

ὅτι δι᾿ ὑμᾶς ἐπτώχευσεν πλούσιος ὤν,

καὶ ἡ κατὰ βάθους πτωχεία αὐτῶν ἐπερίσσευσεν εἰς τὸ πλοῦτος τῆς ἁπλότητος αὐτῶν·

ἵνα ὑμεῖς τῇ ἐκείνου πτωχείᾳ πλουτήσητε.

erty and generosity. The parallel structures of these verses suggest that the christological statement in 2 Cor 8:9 has the same function as the mention of the Macedonians’ generosity in 2 Cor 8:1– 5. As I will discuss below, the links between these passages run deeper than form and literary function and touch upon the same understanding of Christian generosity. The exact meaning of 2 Cor 8:9 is debated. George Wesley Buchanan cautiously puts forward a literal interpretation. On the basis of a possible extended meaning of the word τέκτων in the gospels (Matt 13:55; Mark 6:3)—normally “carpenter,” but in Buchanan’s view, “one who supervises craftsmen”—Buchanan argues that Jesus belonged to the upper class and that he, like other Jews of his time, gave up his wealth for religious reasons.⁷⁵⁶ Buchanan reads Paul’s statement that Jesus, “though he was rich, yet for your sakes he became poor,” as proof that Paul knew about the alleged upper-class origin and the religious choice for poverty of Jesus, a choice that he presented to the Corinthians as an example to follow.⁷⁵⁷ Although the gospels offer no clear indication about the exact social location of Jesus, he is certainly never described as being or having been rich.⁷⁵⁸ Moreover, the gospels expressly approve of rich people who relinquish their possessions for religious motives (e. g., Mark 10:17– 31 and par.; Luke 19:1– 10). Had there been traditions about Jesus doing something of the sort, one would expect to find them highlighted in the gospels.

 Buchanan also points to features of Jesus’s teaching that he deems more appropriate to an upper-class audience, as well as Jesus’s association with wealthy individuals. George Wesley Buchanan, “Jesus and the Upper Class,” NovT 7 (1964): 202– 8.  Buchanan, “Jesus and the Upper Class,” 209.  See a detailed analysis in John P. Meier, A Marginal Jew: Rethinking the Historical Jesus, 5 vols., ABRL (New York: Doubleday/New Haven: Yale University Press, 1991– 2016), 1:278 – 85.

5.3 Self-Sacrifice

235

Most scholars read the economic language of 2 Cor 8:9 as a metaphor for other aspects of Jesus’s life.⁷⁵⁹ A parallel is commonly drawn with the christological hymn in Phil 2:6 – 11.⁷⁶⁰ In particular, the participial phrases πλούσιος ὤν (“Though he was rich”; 2 Cor 8:9) and ἐν μορφῇ θεοῦ ὑπάρχων (“Though he was in the form of God”; Phil 2:6) are interpreted as parallel descriptions of the preexistence of Jesus. Analogously, the verb ἐπτώχευσεν (“He became poor”; 2 Cor 8:9) corresponds to the expressions ἑαυτὸν ἐκένωσεν (“He emptied himself”; Phil 2:7) and ἐταπείνωσεν ἑαυτόν (“He humbled himself”; Phil 2:8), which refer to Jesus’s incarnation in a broad sense, inclusive of his passion and death on a cross.⁷⁶¹ There are also major differences between the two texts. In particular, 2 Cor 8:9 fails to mention the exaltation of Jesus after his death. On the other hand, through the phrase δι᾽ ὑμᾶς and the ἵνα clause that follows, Paul expresses the soteriological dimension of Jesus’s actions, an aspect strikingly absent from Phil 2:6 – 11.⁷⁶² In light of this parallel, Jesus’s impoverishment is interpreted as a description of his incarnation, the effect of which is the spiritual enrichment of the Corinthians.⁷⁶³

 Lietzmann, An die Korinther I – II, 134; Craddock, “The Poverty of Christ,” 159. Barrett, however, perceptively observes that Paul’s statement about Jesus’s poverty would have been implausible, had Jesus been known to lead an opulent life (A Commentary on the Second Epistle to the Corinthians, 223). The comparatively low economic status of Jesus is not the focus of Paul’s statement, yet it is presupposed by it.  Craddock, “The Poverty of Christ,” 166; Allo, Seconde Épître aux Corinthiens, 217; Panikulam, Koinōnia in the New Testament, 51– 52; C. E. B. Cranfield, “The Grace of Our Lord Jesus Christ: 2 Corinthians 8,1– 9,” CV 32 (1989): 107.  All of these aorist verbs can be interpreted in multiple ways. If they are taken as ingressive aorists, the emphasis falls on the transition between the form of God and the form of a slave or between richness and poverty, namely, on the moment the Son of God became incarnate. Alternatively, they can be read as complexive aorists referring to the human life of Jesus as a whole. See Allo, Seconde Épître aux Corinthiens, 217; Craddock, “The Poverty of Christ,” 165; Jan Lambrecht, Second Corinthians, SP 8 (Collegeville: Liturgical Press, 1999), 142. In Philippians, the phrase ἐταπείνωσεν ἑαυτόν includes a reference to Jesus’s death through the participial phrase γενόμενος ὑπήκοος μέχρι θανάτου (“becoming obedient to the point of death”; Phil 2:8). John M. G. Barclay argues that the phrase πλούσιος ὤν can be interpreted as an expression of cause and refers to Christ’s generosity (“because of the wealth of his generosity”; “‘Because He Was Rich He Became Poor’: Translation, Exegesis and Hermeneutics in the Reading of 2 Cor 8.9,” in Bieringer, Ibita, Kurek-Chomycz, and Vollmer, Theologizing in the Corinthian Conflict, 339 – 43).  Panikulam, Koinōnia in the New Testament, 53; Brändle, “Geld und Gnade,” 265. The phrase δι᾽ ὑμᾶς is in an emphatic position and stresses the soteriological aspect of the christological statement.  Windisch observes that 2 Cor 8:9 follows a pattern of “Austausch der Qualitäten” that Paul uses elsewhere. Windisch mentions 2 Cor 5:21, but Rom 8:3 – 4; Gal 3:13; 4:4– 5 can also be added

236

5 Paul’s Description of the Collection

Although the metaphorical interpretation of 2 Cor 8:9 seems preferable, the exact referents of Paul’s economic images in Jesus’s life are difficult, if not impossible, to determine with confidence. Jesus’s richness may allude to his divinity before the incarnation or his unique relationship with God.⁷⁶⁴ Jesus’s impoverishment may refer to his human birth, his death, or both, and may even include his lifestyle during his ministry (Matt 8:20; Mark 10:28 – 30). The references to the Corinthians’ enrichment are even less clear, whether it is material or spiritual enrichment and whether it is received in this life or at the Last Judgment. As a matter of fact, Paul is not concerned about defining the terms of this metaphorical language with precision and leaves them open to interpretation. The point he seems to make is not when or how Jesus became poor, but that he did. Therefore, the statement in 2 Cor 8:9 is best read as a general evocation of Jesus’s story of utter self-sacrifice for the good of others and as a reminder to the Corinthians that they are among its beneficiaries. In other words, as the introductory words declare, the entire existence of Jesus was an act of χάρις, and the Corinthians are among the recipients of this gift. Harrison observes that the portrayal of Jesus in 2 Cor 8:9 recalls the common motif of the endangered or impoverished benefactor.⁷⁶⁵ It was cause for public praise that a benefactor should take upon himself or herself either personal risks or financial expenditures for the sake of the community.⁷⁶⁶ A certain Menas mentioned in an inscription from Sestos in the Thracian Chersonese (133 – 120 BCE) is a typical example of such a benefactor:

(Der zweite Korintherbrief, 253). M. D. Hooker calls this Pauline pattern “interchange” and explores its implications (“Interchange in Christ,” JTS 22 [1971]: 349 – 61). See also Iori, La solidarietà nelle prime comunità cristiane, 127.  Traditionally, Jesus’s richness is interpreted as a reference to his preexistence or divinity. See Craddock, “The Poverty of Christ,” 166; Allo, Seconde Épître aux Corinthiens, 217; Lietzmann, An die Korinther I – II, 134; Georgi, Remembering the Poor, 83; Panikulam, Koinōnia in the New Testament, 52; Barrett, A Commentary on the Second Epistle to the Corinthians, 223; Cranfield, “The Grace of Our Lord Jesus Christ,” 107. In addition to the traditional interpretation of 2 Cor 8:9 as a reference to the incarnation, James D. G. Dunn puts forward a reading in terms of spiritual richness and poverty. Jesus would have lost the richness of his communion with God—as expressed, for instance, in his prayer to the Father—and fallen into the poverty of his desolation on the cross (Christology in the Making: A New Testament Inquiry into the Origins of the Doctrine of the Incarnation [Philadelphia: Westminster, 1980], 122). The use of κύριος in the introductory formula indicates that Paul writes 2 Cor 8:9 as an expression of relatively high Christology. Therefore, it is more likely that Jesus’s richness refers to his divinity.  Harrison, Paul’s Language of Grace, 250 – 56. For a discussion of the motif of the endangered benefactor in the New Testament and Greco-Roman literature, see Danker, Benefactor, 363 – 66,417– 35.  Danker, Benefactor, 363.

5.3 Self-Sacrifice

237

Menas son of Menes from his early age deemed it most honorable to offer himself for the assistance of the city and spared himself no expenditure or public service. He avoided no misery or danger and paid no heed to the loss of personal property that comes upon those who serve as ambassadors for the city. He deemed all these things of little account and put above all what is lawful and friendly toward the city. He always desired to provide something useful for the people through his efforts and so achieved everlasting glory for himself and his own by virtue of the thanksgiving that rises from the multitude. (OGIS 339, lines 3 – 10; my trans.)

In this inscription, the ideology of benefaction connects personal honor and public welfare strictly. The excellence of Menas, however, does not lie simply in the benefits that he provided to the city, but especially in the fact that he disregarded his possessions and personal safety and prioritized the prosperity of the community over and against his own.⁷⁶⁷ Paul’s description of Jesus’s self-impoverishment for the sake of enriching others clearly echoes this kind of rhetoric. As Harrison notes, Paul’s most striking departure from the traditional motif of the impoverished benefactor is his emphasis on the social humiliation associated with πτωχεία (or δοῦλος and σταυρός in Phil 2:7– 8).⁷⁶⁸ This deviation is all the more significant in light of the pervasiveness of the theme of poverty in the collection texts and of the fears of impoverishment among the Corinthians that I have highlighted in section 4.2. Paul depicts in a positive light the same socioeconomic condition about which the Corinthians felt intensely anxious. According to Paul, Jesus demonstrated his courage and worthiness by embracing poverty and social marginality, a stark contrast to the fearful attitude of the Corinthians. The fact that Paul describes Jesus’s self-impoverishment as an act of χάρις, the same word that he also applies to the collection, suggests that he implicitly invites the Corinthians to model their generosity after the selflessness of Jesus. However, Paul never explicitly says so. Georgi believes, for instance, that the mention of Jesus does not aim to encourage imitation, but is rather a reminder that God’s grace, the dynamic principle of the collection, has been revealed in Jesus.⁷⁶⁹ Paul would be urging the Corinthians to act not like Jesus, but according to the grace of salvation that they have received.⁷⁷⁰ This interpretation is support-

 See other examples in Harrison, Paul’s Language of Grace, 252– 54; Chianotis, “Public Subscriptions,” 105 – 6.  Harrison, Paul’s Language of Grace, 254– 55. For the strong emotional response associated with πτωχεία, see above p. 70 n. 249.  Georgi, Remembering the Poor, 83 – 84.  Furnish, II Corinthians, 418. David E. Briones equates the χάρις of God, which empowers human generosity (2 Cor 8:1– 5), and the χάρις of the Lord Jesus by stating: “Christ’s self-giving

238

5 Paul’s Description of the Collection

ed by Paul’s insistence that he is not giving commands, but only advice (2 Cor 8:8,10), and by his repeated assurances that the Corinthians need only give according to their means (2 Cor 8:11– 12; 9:7)—they do not need to impoverish themselves as Jesus did. There are, however, reasons to believe, with the overwhelming majority of commentators, that Paul intends Jesus’s self-impoverishment as an example to follow.⁷⁷¹ First, it is not unusual for Paul to offer Jesus as a model of Christian virtue (Rom 15:2– 3,7; 1 Cor 11:1; Phil 2:5; 1 Thess 1:6). Second, Paul appears to apply the same logic of self-impoverishment for others to the apostolic ministry by using remarkably similar words: “[We are treated] as poor, yet making many rich” (ὡς πτωχοὶ πολλοὺς δὲ πλουτίζοντες; 2 Cor 6:10).⁷⁷² Finally, Paul implies, as I will discuss below, that the Macedonians acted like Christ by going beyond their financial means to participate in the collection and lift the Jerusalem poor out of destitution despite being themselves in deep poverty (2 Cor 8:2– 4).⁷⁷³ Accepting poverty for the sake of others is one notable characteristic that links Jesus with his disciples. Stephen E. Fowl argues that the narration of Jesus’s story in some Pauline hymns (Phil 2:6 – 11; Col 1:15 – 20; 1 Tim 3:16) does not aim to impart notions about Christology or soteriology but functions rather as an “exemplar” for the

dynamically actuates the self-giving of the Macedonians, not only by imitating Christ but also by participating in the divine momentum of gift in the Christ event, with the result that both of these self-imparting acts are inseparable expressions of one and the same χάρις” (“Paul and Seneca on the Self-Gift,” in Dodson and Briones, Paul and Seneca in Dialogue, 143).  Windisch, Der zweite Korintherbrief, 252; Allo, Seconde Épître aux Corinthiens, 217; Lietzmann, An die Korinther I-II, 134; Nickle, The Collection, 120; Barrett, A Commentary on the Second Epistle to the Corinthians, 223; Cranfield, “The Grace of Our Lord Jesus Christ,” 107; Horrell, “Paul’s Collection,” 77; Gaventa, “The Economy of Grace,” 56 – 57; Harrison, Paul’s Language of Grace, 251; O’Mahony, Pauline Persuasion, 123 – 24; Downs, The Offering of the Gentiles, 134– 34. Furnish believes that Paul does not present the story of Jesus as an example for imitation. He bases this judgment on Paul’s insistence that the Corinthians need not become poor as a consequence of their contributions (II Corinthians, 418). There is no doubt that Paul avoids burdening the Corinthians with demands of self-sacrifice, yet he approves of the self-sacrificial behavior of the Macedonians (2 Cor 8:2– 5). The two aspects of self-sacrifice and moderate participation coexist in the collection texts as two acceptable attitudes toward the fundraising. For further comments on this antithesis, see below p. 274.  John T. Fitzgerald, Cracks in an Earthen Vessel: An Examination of the Catalogues of Hardships in the Corinthians Correspondence, SBLDS 99 (Atlanta: Scholars, 1988), 199 – 200.  Richard R. Melick Jr., “The Collection for the Saints: 2 Corinthians 8 – 9,” CTR 4 (1989): 101– 2.

5.3 Self-Sacrifice

239

particular situations faced by Christian groups.⁷⁷⁴ By exemplar, Fowl means a concrete formulation, as opposed to an abstract theological statement, that can illuminate specific problems by analogy, namely, by pointing out “similarities-in-difference.”⁷⁷⁵ In the Pauline hymns, the concrete formulation is the story of Jesus, and the specific problems pertain to the circumstances of the letters’ addressees. The letters, in turn, tease out the similarities between the two to encourage Christian imitation of Jesus’s actions.⁷⁷⁶ Admittedly, the metaphorical language of 2 Cor 8:9 makes it difficult to determine exactly what elements of the story of Jesus are described, and the similarities-in-difference with the collection among the Corinthians are left unsaid. Yet, the collection context of the statement and the wording in economic language make it sufficiently clear that the generous self-impoverishment of Jesus was to inspire a comparable generosity in Corinth. The contrast between the portrayal of Jesus as an impoverished benefactor and the fear of impoverishment that, apparently, made the Corinthians reluctant to contribute to the collection suggests that Paul uses the story of Jesus not only as an example for the Corinthians to imitate, but also as a challenge that exposes their hesitation as cowardice and renders Jesus’s generosity the standard for selfevaluation.⁷⁷⁷ In fact, by presenting the story of Jesus as an act of χάρις, Paul sug-

 Stephen E. Fowl, The Story of Christ in the Ethics of Paul: An Analysis of the Function of the Hymnic Material in the Pauline Corpus, JSNTSup 36 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1990), 198 – 202.  See Fowl’s extended discussion of the concept of similarities-in-difference in The Story of Christ in the Ethics of Paul, 92– 95.  Longenecker collects a number of texts from Galatians and the Corinthian correspondence, including 2 Cor 8:9 (he also quotes 1 Cor 11; Gal 5:13; 6:2,10), in which Paul uses Jesus’s story specifically to promote generosity: “The gospel story of Jesus’ own self-giving for the benefit of others provided a theological basis for Paul’s own efforts to build up communities in which the poor were not overlooked but were explicitly targeted as deserving of corporate support” (Remember the Poor, 310).  The idea of Jesus’s story as a challenge reveals the dynamics of honor and shame in the collection. For challenges as a way to ascribe honor and shame, see Bruce J. Malina and Jerome H. Neyrey, “Honor and Shame in Luke-Acts: Pivotal Values of the Mediterranean World,” in The Social World of Luke-Acts: Models for Interpretation, ed. Jerome H. Neyrey (Peabody: Hendrickson, 1991), 29 – 32. Betz suggests that, “2 Cor 8:9 can be interpreted as an example of the rhetorical concept of the honorable” (2 Corinthians 8 and 9, 60 – 61). Betz believes that the christological statement introduces the topic of honor because of its religious content. More generally, Paul presents the death of Jesus “for others” (here, δι᾽ ὑμᾶς) as honorable by drawing from the motif of heroic sacrifice that was common in Greco-Roman literature and culture. See Colleen M. Conway, Behold the Man: Jesus and Greco-Roman Masculinity (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008),70 – 73. The reference to Jesus’s death is not explicit in 2 Cor 8:9, but the topos of the en-

240

5 Paul’s Description of the Collection

gests that the collection is a test of the Corinthians’s χάρις, whether or not they will imitate their κύριος. The theme of the test occurs a few times in the collection texts (2 Cor 8:2; 9:13) and especially in the verse that precedes the christological statement: “I am testing [δοκιμάζων] the genuineness of your love against the eagerness of others” (2 Cor 8:8). In sum, the exact theological meaning of various details of the statement in 2 Cor 8:9 are uncertain and to a certain degree must be inferred by comparison with other Pauline texts—though this method is hardly conclusive. On the other hand, its function in the context of the collection is clearer. Paul presents the story of Jesus’s self-impoverishment for the sake of others, the Corinthians included, as a paradigmatic example for the Corinthians to follow and a challenge for them to prove their commitment to the Christian ethos, epitomized by the word love (τὸ τῆς ὑμετέρας ἀγάπης γνήσιον; 2 Cor 8:8). The description of the Macedonian participation in the collection has some significant connections with 2 Cor 8:9 and appears to confirm these conclusions.⁷⁷⁸ The themes of poverty, wealth, generosity, and the test are all knitted together in the narration of the collection among the Macedonians: “During a severe ordeal [ἐν πολλῇ δοκιμῇ] of affliction, their abundant joy and their extreme poverty [ἡ κατὰ βάθους πτωχεία] have overflowed in a wealth [τὸ πλοῦτος] of generosity on their part” (2 Cor 8:2; NRSV). Here, the terms poverty and wealth carry their literal economic meaning—possibly with some exaggeration—but the dynamic of the Macedonian contribution mimics the self-impoverishment of Christ in 2 Cor 8:9. Moreover, just as the christological statement implies a test of the Corinthians’ love (2 Cor 8:8), so also does the Macedonian collection prove their generosity.⁷⁷⁹ In addition to these thematic and lexical similarities, Paul employs for the Macedonians the same motif of the endangered or impoverished benefactor that he applies to Jesus. In 2 Cor 8:5, he writes: “They gave themselves [ἑαυτοὺς ἔδωκαν] first to the Lord and, by the will of God, to us” (NRSV).⁷⁸⁰ The phrase διδόναι ἑαυτόν is common in Greek to express someone’s total commitment to dangered benefactor is homogeneous with heroic sacrifice and conveys the same implications of honor.  Windisch maintains that 2 Cor 8:5 anticipates 2 Cor 8:9 (Der zweite Korintherbrief, 247; see also Furnish, II Corinthians, 414).  Kim, Die paulinische Kollekte, 19.  The reflexive pronoun ἑαυτούς is in emphatic position and in implicit contrast with the Macedonians’ monetary gift. Their contribution to the collection is a mere consequence of their gift of self. See Thrall, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Second Epistle to the Corinthians, 2:526. Furnish connects this detail with Paul’s statement in 2 Cor 12:14: “I do not want what is yours but you” (NRSV) (II Corinthians, 414). Paul prioritizes personal commitment over material contributions.

5.3 Self-Sacrifice

241

a cause.⁷⁸¹ In some instances, however, it refers to benefactors exposing themselves to danger for the sake of their beneficiaries.⁷⁸² The abovementioned Sestos inscription, for example, states that Menas “gave himself without hesitation for everything that would be of benefit to the city,” which involved toil and personal expenses.⁷⁸³ Paul applies a similar phrase to his own ministry to the Thessalonians: “So deeply do we care for you that we are determined to share with you not only the gospel of God but also our own selves” (μεταδοῦναι ὑμῖν … τὰς ἑαυτῶν ψυχάς; 1 Thess 2:8; NRSV).⁷⁸⁴ The reference to his gift of self to the Macedonian assembly enhances that portrayal and, as it will become clear below, adds Christ-like features to it.⁷⁸⁵ Seneca uses the equivalent Latin phrase (donare se ipsum) in order to emphasize the primacy of the interior dispositions of the giver over the material value of gifts. He tells a story about Socrates’s disciple Aeschines, who, being poor, could not offer his teacher as valuable a gift as his fellow disciples. He told Socrates: “Nothing that I am able to give to you do I find worthy of you, and only in this way do I discover that I am a poor man. And so I give to you the only thing that I possess—myself” (Ben. 1.8.1; trans. Basore). Seneca offers a favorable comment: “You see how even in pinching poverty the heart finds the means for generosity” (Ben. 1.9.1; trans. Basore). Aeschines, like the Macedo-

 Danker, Benefactor, 321– 23. In the case of the Macedonians, this commitment would have manifested itself generally in their missionary activity, collaboration with Paul, and, in the present context, generous contribution to the collection. See Betz, 2 Corinthians 8 and 9, 48. Wodka observes that the Macedonian’s behavior is described by a double use of the verb δίδωμι. God’s χάρις “given” to the Macedonians (τὴν χάριν τοῦ θεοῦ τὴν δεδομένην ἐν ταῖς ἐκκλησίαις τῆς Μακεδονίας; 2 Cor 8:1) enables them to “give” themselves (ἑαυτοὺς ἔδωκαν; 2 Cor 8:5) to God (Una teologia biblica del dare, 156).  For διδόναι ἑαυτόν as an expression of danger, see 1 Macc 6:44; 11:23; 14:29; Acts 19:31; 1 Clem 14.2; 55.1– 2,5; Ign. Smyrn. 4.2; Herm. Sim. 6.5.  OGIS 339, lines 19 – 28; my translation.  This statement occurs within Paul’s self-description as the ideal Christian leader (see above, p. 203 – 4). In this case also, the language of self-gift describes the group of missionaries as endangered benefactors who courageously carry out their duty even in the face of great opposition (1 Thess 2:2).  Iori, La solidarietà nelle prime comunità cristiane, 124, 128; Briones, “Paul and Seneca on the Self-Gift,” 136 – 40; Klein, “Die Begründung für den Spendenaufruf für die Heiligen Jerusalems in 2Kor 8 und 9,” 107. Melick also emphasizes the self-sacrificial undertones of the phrase παρὰ δύναμιν in 2 Cor 8:3 (“The Collection,” 107).

242

5 Paul’s Description of the Collection

nians and Jesus himself, regarded poverty not as an obstacle to generosity, but as an opportunity to offer the greatest gift, the gift of self.⁷⁸⁶ More important, Paul uses the phrase διδόναι ἑαυτόν to describe Jesus’s own self-sacrifice. In Gal 1:4, he describes Jesus as “[the one] who gave himself [ὁ δοὺς ἑαυτόν] for our sins to set us free from the present evil age” (NRSV). The language of this statement suggests that it may be part of or modeled on a pre-Pauline confession.⁷⁸⁷ The phrase ὑπὲρ τῶν ἁμαρτιῶν ἡμῶν to describe the redemptive effect of Jesus’s self-giving only occurs in 1 Cor 15:3, which is also widely deemed to be a pre-Pauline confession of faith.⁷⁸⁸ Moreover, the verb ἐξαιρεῖν and the phrase ὁ αἰὼν ὁ ἐνεστώς are hapax legomena in Paul.⁷⁸⁹ It is unclear whether the phrase ὁ δοὺς ἑαυτόν is Pauline or traditional, and the context does not entirely clarify its meaning. The words “for our sins” are connected with Jesus’s death in 1 Cor 15:3, which could mean that Gal 1:4 also points to Jesus dying “for our sins.” This seems to be confirmed when Paul uses this phrase again in Gal 2:20: “The Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me” (τοῦ παραδόντος ἑαυτὸν ὑπὲρ ἐμοῦ; NRSV). Here, the context strongly suggests that Paul refers to Jesus’s death (especially Gal 2:21: “Christ died for nothing”). Moreover, the use of the preposition ὑπέρ with a human being parallels the common phrase ἀποθνῄσκειν ὑπέρ, often used in descriptions of the soteriological effects of Jesus’s death (Rom 5:6 – 8; 14:15; 2 Cor 5:14– 15; 1 Thess 5:10).⁷⁹⁰ The language that Paul uses to describe the Macedonians’ participation in the collection and the use of the motif of the endangered benefactor are closely connected to the christological statement in 2 Cor 8:9. From this feature we can infer two main conclusions. First, Paul presents Jesus’s self-impoverishment not

 For Socrates and Aeschines as an exemplum of ideal benefaction, see Pietro Li Causi, “La teoria in azione: Il dono di Eschine e la riflessione senecana sui beneficia,” Annali Online di Ferrara–Lettere 3 (2008): 95 – 110; Briones, “Paul and Seneca on the Self-Gift,” 127– 35.  It is possible that Paul repurposes confessionary formulae in his epistolary praescripta. The praescriptum of Romans is also thought to contain elements of pre-Pauline faith formulae. See Jewett, Romans, 103 – 8.  Thiselton, The First Epistle to the Corinthians, 1186 – 89. Paul prefers to indicate human beings, rather than sins, as the object of the preposition ὑπέρ (Rom 5:6 – 8; 8:31– 32; 14:15; 2 Cor 5:14– 15,21; Gal 2:20; 3:13; 1 Thess 5:10; also Eph 5:2,25; 1 Tim 2:6; Titus 2:14). The phrase ὑπὲρ ἁμαρτιῶν is more common in Hebrews (5:1; 7:27; 10:12), where it refers to expiatory sacrifices in comparison with and in contrast to Christ’s sacrifice.  See detailed analysis in Richard N. Longenecker, Galatians, WBC 41 (Dallas: Word Books, 1990), 7– 8.  The phrase (παρα)διδόναι ἑαυτὸν ὑπέρ becomes common in the Pauline tradition: Eph 5:2,25; 1 Tim 2:6; Titus 2:14.

5.3 Self-Sacrifice

243

only as the source of grace, pace Georgi, but as an example that can actually be imitated. In fact, the Macedonians have already contributed to the collection in a Christlike fashion.⁷⁹¹ Second and more relevant, self-sacrifice is an important lens for Paul to view how the assemblies should participate in the collection. The significance that this kind of exchange has for Paul becomes all the more apparent because he mentions it repeatedly even as he hesitates to demand a similar self-sacrifice from the Corinthians. He asserts that he had not expected to find such an attitude in the Macedonians (2 Cor 8:5) and assures the Corinthians that they do not need to go that far in their contribution (2 Cor 8:13). This hesitation reveals a tension in Paul between the self-sacrificial generosity that he admires in Jesus and the Macedonians—and elsewhere claims for himself (2 Cor 6:10)—and his desire not to impose excessive burdens on others or possibly his fear of demanding too much from the Corinthians, thus provoking, or exacerbating, hostility. Paul presents Jesus’s story, and particularly his passion and death, as a model for Christian action in several texts (Rom 15:2– 3,7; 1 Cor 11:1; Phil 2:5; 1 Thess 1:6). This appears to be a common framework for Paul to think about Christian ethics, a framework that he also applies to the collection. Participation in the collection should model itself on the self-sacrifice of Christ, and indeed, this is exactly the way in which, according to Paul, the Macedonians have approached the fundraising effort, going beyond Paul’s expectations and beyond their own means.⁷⁹² The strong emphasis on the role of poverty both in Jesus’s story and in the Macedonian contribution suggests, however, that Paul is not just going through a familiar thought process but rather trying to make a specific point, especially in light of the worries about impoverishment that plagued the Corinthians. Christian identity is for Paul, at least in part, imitation of Jesus, and Paul knows from experience that this has a cost for the believers (2 Cor 4:7– 12; 6:4– 10). In the case of the collection, the Corinthians are urged to overcome

 Betz, 2 Corinthians 8 and 9, 42. Betz also underscores that Paul contrasts the Macedonians and the Corinthians in their approach to the collection, the former being enthusiastic, the latter more reluctant. By doing so, “Paul made use of the rhetorical figure of syncrisis, a technique used widely in ancient rhetoric and historiography to stimulate competition between rivals by means of comparison” (2 Corinthians 8 and 9, 49). This means that Paul uses the Macedonian example to challenge the Corinthians to be generous in a way similar to his use of Jesus’s self-impoverishment in 2 Cor 8:9. See also O’Mahony, Pauline Persuasion, 123.  Richard B. Hays observes in a more general fashion that “relinquishment of material goods is closely linked to the way of the cross” in several New Testament texts (The Moral Vision of the New Testament: Community, Cross, New Creation: A Contemporary Introduction to New Testament Ethics [San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 1996], 466).

244

5 Paul’s Description of the Collection

their fears and risk their economic safety for the sake of the Jerusalem Christians, thereby proving themselves imitators of Jesus.⁷⁹³ A further point worth underscoring is the expansion of the scope of self-sacrificial ethics from intragroup to intergroup relations. While in texts such as Rom 15:1– 2 or Phil 2:5 the imitation of Christ is the normative principle of behavior toward fellow members of the same local assembly, the collection texts extend Christlike conduct to relations with believers of other localities. The implication, apparently, is that the two kinds of relations have comparable significance, regardless of geographic, linguistic, or ethnic distinctions. Commenting on the Macedonians’ self-sacrifice, Hans Windisch makes reference to Paul’s ecclesiology of the body of Christ in Rom 12:4– 8 and 1 Cor 12:12– 27: “To care for other communities is to care for other members of the body of Christ.”⁷⁹⁴ Although Paul does not refer to this ecclesiological trope in the collection texts, this connection is entirely appropriate, especially because in the body-of-Christ theology, care for other members of Christ’s body includes financial support, with language matching that of the collection texts.⁷⁹⁵ These remarks suggest that the body of Christ has a more complex structure than that which Romans and 1 Corinthians indicate, a structure in which not only individuals but also entire groups are members.⁷⁹⁶

 Nickle observes in reference to 2 Cor 8:9: “Paul was seeking to counteract one of the excuses used by the Corinthians to avoid contributing, i. e. that their sending a substantial contribution to Jerusalem would leave them economically vulnerable” (The Collection, 18 n. 23).  “Fürsorge für andere Gemeinden ist Fürsorge für andere Gliedern des Leibes Christi.” Windisch, Der zweite Korintherbrief, 247.  Four terms connect Rom 12:7– 8 with the collection. The term διακονία occurs in 2 Cor 8:4; 9:1, 12– 13. The term ἀπλότης occurs in 2 Cor 8:2; 9:11,13. The term σπουδή (σπουδαῖος) occurs in 2 Cor 8:7– 8,16 – 17,22. The term ἱλαρότης is cognate of ἱλαρός in 2 Cor 9:7. In addition, it is likely that Rom 12:8 and 2 Cor 9:6 – 10 are two meditations on the same text (Prov 22:8 – 9 LXX). See discussion below, p. 249.  Oakes points out that Paul’s moral exhortation based on the body-of-Christ ecclesiology in Romans includes a possible reference to intergroup relations: “Contribute to the needs of the saints; extend hospitality to strangers” (Rom 12:13). Oakes notes: “Paul’s ‘one body in Christ’ statement in [Rom] 12:5 probably also includes some sense of translocal unity. A movement with translocal links, such as the early Jesus movement, needs people who move around, in order for the links to function. The translocal aspect of the early Jesus movement therefore validates the role of itinerants. More specifically, Paul, as an itinerant, acts as the person organizing financial support between these groups. Their financial support network depends on itinerant missionaries” (“Economic Approaches,” 82). Oakes seems to assume that the “saints” in Rom 12:13 are the Jerusalem believers and that Paul refers to the collection, but the statement seems to be more general. See Jewett, Romans, 764. Nonetheless, the connection between sup-

5.4 Almsgiving

245

5.4 Almsgiving It is striking to observe how little almsgiving is discussed in Paul’s letters, especially in comparison with the several references to almsgiving in the gospels and in Acts. The term ἐλεημοσύνη, which normally means “alms,” never appears in Paul’s letters, and the cognate verb ἐλεέω/ἐλεάω usually refers to God’s mercy toward human beings.⁷⁹⁷ This notable absence may simply mean that Paul did not deem the social distance implied by almsgiving suitable for intragroup relations, the ones on which Paul’s letters focus.⁷⁹⁸ This did not prevent Paul, however, from describing the collection as alms for the poor. In the central section of 2 Cor 9, Paul dwells on the agricultural themes of sowing and harvesting (2 Cor 9:6 – 10).⁷⁹⁹ Just as the harvesters reap in proportion to how much grain they have sown, so will the Corinthians reap abundance of blessing from God to the extent that they are generous toward Jerusalem.⁸⁰⁰ Al-

port of fellow believers and hospitality seems to allude to intergroup relations, if not the collection.  There is one exception in Rom 12:8, where ὁ ἐλεῶν refers to human mercy. See comments below, p. 249.  Meggitt, Paul, Poverty and Survival, 156.  Kim argues that a new section begins in 2 Cor 9:8. His main point is that while 2 Cor 9:5 – 7 focuses on the human donor, 2 Cor 9:8 – 15 centers on God’s gift of grace to humans (Die paulinische Kollekte, 74– 76). There are, however, crucial connections between these verses that require us to read them as a unit: 1) the presence of biblical quotations and allusions; 2) the quotations from Proverbs and Psalms both describe the collection as almsgiving; 3) the agricultural imagery that is present in 2 Cor 9:6 returns in 2 Cor 9:10.  The agricultural metaphor appears to be a topos that Paul uses to encourage generosity in financial matters. In 1 Cor 9:10 – 11, Paul argues for the right of apostles in general, and his right in particular, to receive financial support for their ministry. He first depicts the agricultural tasks of plowing and threshing as done with a view to receiving a share of the harvest, thus establishing the rationale for the expectation of remuneration for services rendered. Then he proceeds to describe apostolic support in terms of harvesting “fleshly” goods after having sowed “spiritual” ones. Similarly, Gal 6:7– 9 employs the metaphors of sowing and harvesting to support an exhortation to do good toward all, especially toward those who share the same faith. This appears to be a general exhortation to do good, yet the context indicates that it includes financial support of those who teach the word of God among the Galatians (Gal 6:6). Hurtado, following J. B. Lightfoot and H. Lietzmann, argues that the entire section Gal 6:6 – 10 is “a unified appeal for support” and that it alludes to the collection for Jerusalem (“The Jerusalem Collection and the Book of Galatians,” 53 – 57). Nickle interprets the similarity between Gal 6:6 – 10 and 2 Cor 9:6 – 10 as a sign of the impact of the collection on the vocabulary that Paul uses to encourage resource sharing (The Collection, 59 n. 55). See discussion in Bruce, The Epistle to the Galatians, 266. Nickle also suggests that Paul’s allusive remark to the Romans, “That I may reap some harvest among you as I have among the rest of the Gentiles” (Rom 1:13; NRSV), may indicate that

246

5 Paul’s Description of the Collection

though alien to the urban experience of Paul and the groups he led, agricultural metaphors were likely accessible to most people in the ancient world,⁸⁰¹ and their use was common in Paul’s context.⁸⁰² At the heart of 2 Cor 9:6 – 10 is a direct quotation of Ps 112:9: “He scatters abroad, he gives to the poor; his righteousness endures for ever” (2 Cor 9:9; NRSV). An intense debate revolves around the exact referent of this quotation. On the one hand, the original context of the psalm clearly identifies the giver as a human being, the one who fears the Lord and greatly delights in God’s commandments.⁸⁰³ This makes obvious sense in Paul’s exhortation, where he urges the Corinthians to give to the Jerusalem Christians. On the other hand, some argue that the righteous giver in the quotation is God.⁸⁰⁴ They observe that it is God, in this context, who provides the Corinthians with abundance and supplies seed to the sower and bread for food. In my opinion, the issue is conclusively solved in the following verse, where “their righteousness,” a concept Paul draws from the psalm, unquestionably refers to the Corinthians.⁸⁰⁵

“Paul contemplated the later voluntary participation of the Roman Christians in the collection” (The Collection, 69 – 70). Abraham J. Malherbe also points out Paul’s use of agricultural metaphors in Phil 4:10 – 20, which he interprets in light of the ancient discourse on friendship (“Paul’s Self-Sufficiency (Philippians 4:11),” in Fitzgerald, Friendship, Flattery, and Frankness of Speech, 130 – 31).  Klein, “Die Begründung für den Spendenaufruf für die Heiligen Jerusalems in 2Kor 8 und 9,” 115 n. 35.  See Betz, 2 Corinthians 8 and 9, 102.  Plummer, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Second Epistle of St Paul to the Corinthians, 261; Allo, Seconde Épître aux Corinthiens, 235; Barrett, A Commentary on the Second Epistle to the Corinthians, 238; Thrall, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Second Epistle to the Corinthians, 2:581; Joubert, Paul as Benefactor, 196 n. 107; Kim, Die paulinische Kollekte, 78 – 79.  Georgi, Remembering the Poor, 98; Anthony Tyrrell Hanson, Studies in Paul’s Technique and Theology (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1974), 179 – 80; Furnish, II Corinthians, 449; Betz, 2 Corinthians 8 and 9, 111; Beckheuer, Paulus und Jerusalem, 167; Wan, “Collection for the Saints as Anticolonial Act,” 213; Klein, “Die Begründung für den Spendenaufruf für die Heiligen Jerusalems in 2Kor 8 und 9,” 116; Antony, “He Who Supplies Seed,” 312; Verbrugge and Krell, Paul and Money, 178.  Bruehler, “Proverbs, Persuasion and People,” 216 – 17. See summaries of the exegetical possibilities in Furnish, II Corinthians, 446 – 50; Thrall, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Second Epistle to the Corinthians, 580 – 83. David I. Starling chooses a via media and suggests that the ambiguity of the referent of Paul’s quotation has a deeper purpose. By it, readers are “provoked to discuss and ponder the relationship between divine and human grace and righteousness, and encouraged to reframe their understandings of benefaction and righteousness” (“Meditations on a Slippery Citation: Paul’s Use of Psalm 112:9 in 2 Corinthians 9:9,” Journal of Theological Interpretation 6 [2012]: 254). Thomas D. Stegman similarly argues that Paul’s quo-

5.4 Almsgiving

247

Paul’s mention of righteousness is probably the most direct reference to almsgiving in the text.⁸⁰⁶ In Ps 112, the Greek word δικαιοσύνη, the one Paul often uses in soteriological discussions, translates the Hebrew ṣɘdāqâ, a word originally meaning justice or righteousness that eventually came to mean “almsgiving,” the provision of material help for the poor. It is hard to establish exactly when and why this semantic shift took place, but there are reasons to believe that a connection between ṣɘdāqâ and charitable acts toward the poor existed well before Paul’s time.⁸⁰⁷ More important, Ps 112 is among a small group of wisdom texts which employ the root ṣdq to denote kindness and righteousness in the specifically economic context of financial aid to the poor (Pss 37:21, 26;

tation of Ps 112:9 is intentionally vague and that it refers to both God and the righteous person: “Human beings can participate in and imitate God’s righteousness and generosity” (“Paul’s Use of Scripture in the Collection Discourse (2 Corinthians 8 – 9),” in Biblical Essays in Honor of Daniel J. Harrington, SJ, and Richard J. Clifford, SJ: Opportunity for No Little Instruction, ed. Christopher G. Frechette, Christopher R. Matthews, and Thomas D. Stegman [New York: Paulist, 2014], 163 – 65). Although the above debate proves beyond doubt that Paul’s quotation has provoked discussion among modern scholars, it seems questionable whether this was Paul’s purpose in quoting the psalm. It is possible that the difficulty some have accepting the anthropological interpretation of this quotation is loosely connected with the concept of righteousness as it appears in Galatians and Romans especially. Paul would see God’s gracious gift of righteousness and good works such as almsgiving as two mutually exclusive ways to God. This kind of concern transpires, for instance, in Anthony Tyrell Hanson’s comment: “It is very difficult to reconcile with Paul’s theology any view except that the ‘righteousness which remains for ever’ is Christ’s righteousness in Christians, rather than an ‘alms-righteousness’ of their own. We can hardly envisage Paul as preaching in Galatians and Romans a doctrine of justification in Christ, and in 2 Corinthians a doctrine of justification by alms-giving” (Studies in Paul’s Technique and Theology, 180). Note Hanson’s phrase “of their own,” which connects 2 Cor 9:9 with Paul’s discussion of justification in texts such as Rom 10:3 (“Being ignorant of the righteousness that comes from God, and seeking to establish their own, [the Jews] have not submitted to God’s righteousness”; NRSV) or Phil 3:9 (“[I may] be found in him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law, but one that comes through faith in Christ, the righteousness from God based on faith”; NRSV). Paul, it is maintained, could not possibly think that human generosity is a source of righteousness. The issue becomes even more sensitive if we think that righteousness is here explicitly identified with a good work and that a financial gift is associated with a concept often connected with soteriology, as though the Corinthians could hear Clement of Alexandria’s advice: “One buys immortality with money!” (Quis div. 32). In other words, the uneasiness with this quotation from Ps 112 seems to reflect the centuries-old, painful debate over the relationship between divine and human agency in Christian soteriology.  Kim argues that δικαιοσύνη is here to be understood as ἐλεημοσύνη (“almsgiving”; Die paulinische Kollekte, 79 – 80). See also Sorek, Remembered for Good, 237. Admittedly, Paul’s word choice is determined by the Septuagint translation of the psalm. We may assume that the ordinary meaning of δικαιοσύνη for Paul was not almsgiving but covenant righteousness.  For the evolution of the meaning of ṣɘdāqâ in the Jewish context, see above, p. 160 n. 517.

248

5 Paul’s Description of the Collection

109:12; 112:3 – 5, 9; Prov 8:18; 10:2; 11:4; 14:21, 31; 19:17; 28:8). Whether or not ṣɘdāqâ had assumed the technical meaning of “almsgiving” by Paul’s time, in choosing that quotation he demonstrates at least awareness of the economic nuances of ṣɘdāqâ/δικαιοσύνη.⁸⁰⁸ The quotation of Ps 112 suggests that Paul may refer to almsgiving, but it is hardly conclusive. Let us then turn to another scriptural reference. As an additional reason for generosity, Paul states that “God loves a cheerful giver” (ἱλαρὸν γὰρ δότην ἀγαπᾷ ὁ θεός; 2 Cor 9:7; NRSV). This is an allusion to the Septuagint version of Prov 22:8, which adds the following words to the Masoretic text: “God blesses a cheerful man and a giver” (ἄνδρα ἱλαρὸν καὶ δότην εὐλογεῖ ὁ θεός; my trans.).⁸⁰⁹ The connection between the two texts is clear if we consider that both “cheerful” and “giver” (ἰλαρός and δότης) are hapax legomena in the New Testament; “cheerful” only occurs 6 times in the Septuagint; “giver” is a hapax legomenon in the Septuagint also. Paul probably had that scriptural verse in mind.⁸¹⁰

 Berger reaches a similar conclusion for the use of δικαιοσύνη in Greek sources. In Greek thought, δικαιοσύνη is the highest expression of just and appropriate behavior toward fellow human beings and is contiguous with φιλανθρωπία (“benevolence”; Die Gesetzesaulegung Jesu, 149). It is often observed that Matt 6:1– 21 begins with an exhortation to do righteous acts (δικαιοσύνην ποιεῖν) and ends with the motif of the treasure in heaven. In that text, the introductory δικαιοσύνη cannot be restricted to almsgiving as it is followed by three instructions which, in addition to almsgiving (Matt 6:2– 4), also include prayer (Matt 6:5 – 15) and fasting (Matt 6:16 – 18). There is space for debate as to whether ἐλεημοσύνη in Matt 6:2– 4 refers specifically to almsgiving or more generally to acts of mercy (Downs, Alms, 113 – 16), yet the contextual association with the by-then traditional theme of the treasure in heaven strongly favors the first interpretation. Matt 6:1– 21 is especially relevant as it shows a complex relationship between δικαιοσύνη and almsgiving, where the former includes but is not limited to the latter (W. D. Davies and Dale C. Allison, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Gospel According to Saint Matthew, 3 vols., ICC [London: T&T Clark, 1988 – 1997], 1:577– 78). The status of δικαιοσύνη in 2 Cor 9:9, however, is different. Paul apparently uses it in a direct quotation from a Septuagint text which refers to almsgiving. We cannot know whether he would have chosen δικαιοσύνη to refer to almsgiving—he never uses ἐλεημοσύνη either—but it appears that he chose Ps 112:9 for that very purpose.  On the relationship between the Masoretic and Septuagint versions of this proverb, see Betz, 2 Corinthians 8 and 9, 106. The Septuagint uses the verb εὐλογέω, whose cognate εὐλογία appears four times in 2 Cor 9:5 – 6 and links the two sections 2 Cor 9:1– 5 and 2 Cor 9:6 – 10. Paul, however, uses the verb ἀγαπάω. Griffith suggests that “the change could be due to Paul quoting from memory or from him using a Greek text different from the Septuagint” (“Abounding in Generosity,” 167).  Betz suggests that the texts in Proverbs and Paul are different enough to question whether Paul is quoting Prov 22:8 or “a proverb which he knew by heart because it circulated in his cultural environment” (2 Corinthians 8 and 9, 106). Yet, the contextual presence of agricultural language in both texts and the rarity of that language support the idea of dependency between the

5.4 Almsgiving

249

The connection between these texts is related to two additional facts. First, although scholars are right in saying that the topos “you reap what you sow” was widespread well beyond biblical wisdom,⁸¹¹ there is no need to go very far to learn where Paul drew the idea to include it in this discussion. Proverbs 22:8 begins by saying: “The one who sows evil reaps iniquity” (my trans.). It is Prov 22:8, a verse to which Paul alludes in its Septuagint version, that connects the sowing and harvesting metaphor with generosity.⁸¹² Paul is simply expanding on the same notion. Second, read in its context, Prov 22:8 refers to almsgiving. In fact, the following verse says: “The one who gives alms to the poor [ὁ ἐλεῶν πτωχόν] will be supported. He gave of his own bread to the poor” (Prov 22:9 LXX; my trans.). The proximity of these two verses strongly suggests that the “cheerful giver” is the one who gives alms. It appears that Paul constructed 2 Cor 9:6 – 10 as an amplification of Prov 22:8 – 9 LXX, a text that illustrates almsgiving with agricultural themes and the motif of cheerful giving. Further proof of the importance Paul attached to this text from Proverbs comes from a brief instruction he gives in a paraenetic section in Romans: “The one who gives alms, in cheerfulness” (Rom 12:8; my trans.). Paul takes ὁ ἐλεῶν from Prov 22:9 and cheerfulness, ἰλαρότης,—another hapax legomenon in the NT—from Prov 22:8.⁸¹³ If we triangulate Prov 22, Rom 12, and 2 Cor 9, there remains little doubt that Paul, while never using the technical word ἐλεημοσύνη, does understand and frame the collection as almsgiving. Paul uses almsgiving texts from Psalms and Proverbs, but it is unclear whether he attributes any redemptive value to almsgiving, whether he thinks that through participation in the collection, the Corinthians will obtain favor from God. In Second Temple texts, this favor could take the form of deliverance from death and danger or atonement of sins.⁸¹⁴ Paul is less explicit in promising

two texts. The same thought appears in Sir 35:8 LXX, although with a lesser degree of lexical similarity.  For examples from Greek and Hellenistic Jewish literature, see Betz, 2 Corinthians 8 and 9, 102– 5; Barrett, A Commentary on the Second Epistle to the Corinthians, 235; Thrall, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Second Epistle to the Corinthians, 575.  Kim, Die paulinische Kollekte, 71– 72. Admittedly, 2 Cor 9:6 and Prov 22:8 are substantially different both in wording and in content, and they are only connected by the agricultural theme and the idea that the harvest is determined by the sowing. This is why interpreters point to several other agricultural proverbs as possible models for 2 Cor 9:6. See, for instance, Windisch, Der zweite Korintherbrief, 275 – 76; Stegman, “Paul’s Use of Scripture,” 159 – 61.  Cranfield, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Epistle to the Romans, 2:627– 28; Jewett, Romans, 754.  See above, section 3.3.3.2.

250

5 Paul’s Description of the Collection

these kinds of heavenly, divine return, before or beyond death, for earthly gifts to the poor. The initial metaphor of sowing and harvesting seems to imply a reward (“The one who sows sparingly will also reap sparingly, and the one who sows bountifully will also reap bountifully”; 2 Cor 9:6; NRSV), but the exact nature and the origin of the harvest remain ambiguous.⁸¹⁵ God is the subject of several verbs: God loves the cheerful giver (2 Cor 9:7); God provides the Corinthians with every blessing in abundance (2 Cor 9:8); God supplies and multiplies what the Corinthians sow (2 Cor 9:10).⁸¹⁶ But God’s love and blessing are never unequivocally connected with Corinthian generosity or lack thereof. In other words, the connection between charitable giving to the poor and divine recompense is thoroughly compatible with what Paul writes, perhaps even implied, but never explicitly stated.⁸¹⁷ The overall dynamic of generous giving and divine reward, however, is entirely consistent with traditional views of almsgiving as expressed in some Second Temple writings and the gospels.⁸¹⁸ Sirach 29 constitutes a telling parallel

 The harvest may be interpreted in terms of an eschatological reward. See Windisch, Der zweite Korintherbrief, 275; Beckheuer, Paulus und Jerusalem, 164. Against this view, Harrison, Paul’s Language of Grace, 304– 7.  In reference to 2 Cor 9:7, “God loves a cheerful giver,” Antony questions “if the love of God is a motivating factor or a reward for generous and charitable human actions” and argues that cheerful giving is “the human response to God’s grace in total freedom” (“He Who Supplies Seed,” 310). This reading of Paul’s quotation reveals theological unease with the idea that God’s love may reward human generosity and does not seem in accord with a plain reading of the quotation. See also above, p. 246 n. 805.  Davids, “The Test of Wealth,” 367– 68. Downs believes that through the metaphor of sowing and harvesting, “Paul encourages the Corinthians to give to the Jerusalem collection because their generosity will benefit both the recipients of their gift and the Corinthians themselves. […] Some measure of reward is implied” (Alms, 170). He further maintains that the reward the Corinthians receive from God is “the harvest of being in right-relationship with God and others” (Alms, 172). Downs seems to base this conclusion on Paul’s statement that God will increase “the harvest of your righteousness” (τὰ γενήματα τῆς δικαιοσύνης ὑμῶν; 2 Cor 9:10), where he understands the genitive as epexegetical. That is to say, the reward of the Corinthians’ righteous act is righteousness itself. This is, in fact, a very sophisticated ethical rationale, but apparently in dissonance with traditional understandings of almsgiving, according to which God’s reward is some form of deliverance, either before or after death. It seems more plausible that the phrase τὰ γενήματα τῆς δικαιοσύνης ὑμῶν is a genitive of production (“the harvest produced by your righteous acts”) especially in light of the semantic field of γενήματα (Daniel B. Wallace, Greek Grammar beyond the Basics [Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1996], 104– 6). Blanton reads 2 Cor 9:6 – 15 in terms of reciprocity: “In response to the divine benefaction of material goods, the Achaians are to donate material goods to those in Jerusalem, in response to which Israel’s god will provide further benefactions” (A Spiritual Economy, 21).  See above, section 3.3.3.2.

5.4 Almsgiving

251

useful to understanding Paul’s rhetoric about the collection. In fact, Ben Sira acknowledges the risks involved in the charitable practices of lending and standing surety for others. Lenders fear that ungrateful borrowers may endanger and possibly ruin those who help them (Sir 29:1– 7, 14– 20). On the other hand, almsgiving is a better and safer form of charity as it depends not on untrustworthy borrowers, but on God’s fidelity (Sir 29:8 – 13). Paul also faced fears among the Corinthians that the collection might make them financially vulnerable. His insistence on God’s generosity toward the cheerful giver in 2 Cor 9:6 – 10 can be seen as his attempt to dispel this kind of anxiety. The Corinthians can trust in God, who will support them with material and spiritual abundance. Generosity toward the poor does not exacerbate the economic circumstances of the donors. On the contrary, God bestows blessings on those who give generously and supports them with material gifts so that they may continue to give charitably.⁸¹⁹ Paul ends his discussion of the collection by highlighting that the Jerusalem receivers will respond to the gift with intercessory prayer on behalf of the Corinthians (2 Cor 9:14). Late antique Christian writers and preachers often argued that almsgiving would benefit donors by virtue of the prayers and supplications that recipients of alms would raise on their behalf. I have analyzed, in section 3.3.3.3, early examples of this belief in Luke 16:9 and Herm. Sim. 2, arguing that there appears to be some degree of incorporation of reciprocity into an exhortation to almsgiving and that the poor are no longer regarded as helpless individuals dependent on the ephemeral favor of the powerful, but as friends who reciprocate the gifts they have received on earth with powerful prayer and heavenly welcome. Luke and Hermas maintain the redemptive nature of almsgiving while conferring agency to the receivers of alms. The similarities with Paul are striking. In 2 Cor 9:6 – 10, Paul frames the collection as a charitable act toward the poor through references to scriptural texts on almsgiving. In the following verses, Paul describes the receivers of the gift as raising thanksgiving and prayers to God on behalf of the Corinthians (2 Cor 9:11– 14).⁸²⁰ Both actions are mentioned by Hermas, but more generally, the thanksgiving, although directed to God, underscores the special dynamics of rec-

 Muffs, Love and Joy, 181– 82.  Dieter Zeller suggests that the thanksgiving raised in Jerusalem also has an effect on the Corinthians: “Die Überfulle, die von Jerusalem zurückströmt (vgl. περίσσευμα 2 Kor 8,14b und περισσεύειν 9,12) ist dann das Dankgebet der unterstützten Gemeinde, das bei den Spendern Segen wirkt” (Juden und Heiden in der Mission des Paulus: Studien zum Römerbrief, FB 1 [Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1973], 234). See also Theobald, Die überströmende Gnade, 286; Countryman, The Rich Christian, 111– 12.

252

5 Paul’s Description of the Collection

iprocity in the collection, where the return gift is mediated by the divine.⁸²¹ In contrast to Hermas, Paul does not elaborate on what the intercessory prayer of the saints in Jerusalem produces, but the mentions of grace, abundance, increase of righteousness, and enrichment “in every way” (2 Cor 9:8 – 11) indicate that the Corinthians can expect a multiplicity of gifts from God, both spiritual and material.⁸²² The comparison of 2 Cor 9:6 – 15 with Hermas and Luke reveals a similar thought pattern in these early Christian references to almsgiving.⁸²³ The most remarkable aspect of these texts is the attribution of agency to the poor. Indeed, most ancient discussions of almsgiving were characterized by disappearance of the poor. Susan Holman, writing about patristic texts, states: The poor exist primarily as a passive tool for redemptive almsgiving, a signifier by which the Christian donor may gain honor and divine reward. Relieving destitution is not usually defined in terms which recognize the recipients as fellow bodies in a divinely created material world of equals in the sight of God.⁸²⁴

Alyssa Gray argues that this is also the case in Tannaitic writings,⁸²⁵ and it also applies to biblical and apocryphal wisdom texts. This lack of agency is patently obvious, for instance, in Luke’s parable of Dives and Lazarus (Luke 16:19 – 31). Despite being worthy of receiving a name, Lazarus does not do or say anything in the parable. He has no agency. He is a passive and silent presence around which the fate of the rich Dives is discussed. Luke’s Parable of the Unjust Steward, Paul, and Hermas, however, all portray the poor as possessing a certain degree of agency. They pray, intercede, and welcome their benefactors into eternal homes. They are effectively put in a position of power, albeit only in a divine world order that does not necessarily affect the earthly one. This appears to be a remarkable development that will gain wide currency in Late Antiquity and form the ethos and social relationships of generations of Christians.⁸²⁶

 Joubert, Paul as Benefactor, 152.  Windisch explicitly connects the collection with Luke 16:9 and suggests that Jerusalem’s reciprocation in 2 Cor 8:14 will take place at the Last Judgment, “wo die Heiligen von Jerus. für die kor. Brüder eintreten als Zeugen ihrer Opferfreudigkeit und ihre Aufnahme in das Reich der ewingen Hütten erwirken” (Der zweite Korintherbrief, 259).  Garrison suggests a dependence of Hermas from Luke or 2 Corinthians (Redemptive Almsgiving, 90), but the formulations are so dissimilar that analogous thought patterns seem to explain the connections better than direct dependence.  Holman, The Hungry Are Dying, 54.  Gray, “Redemptive Almsgiving,” 153.  This topos was already developed in Clement of Alexandria, Quis div. 33 – 35.

5.4 Almsgiving

253

I would like to suggest that this peculiar theological development reflects a change in role for the poor within the social world in which these texts were produced. The traditional approach to almsgiving, in which the poor are nameless and faceless individuals, portrays the poor as “others,” while the exclusive focus on the givers of alms—either to praise their generosity or to blame their lack thereof—suggests that, here as elsewhere, discourse about “others” is really a means of defining group identity and boundaries.⁸²⁷ Discussions of almsgiving appear to be primarily reflections on elite selfhood and ethos. That the poor slowly rise to agency represents a manipulation of the traditional understanding of almsgiving in response to shifts in the social constituency of early Christianity, in which the rich and the poor now live side by side and share the same religious, if not social, space. Studies on the economic level of the Pauline groups have sometimes produced conflicting results, but all seem to agree that at least part of the constituency of these early groups belonged in the lower economic strata of urban society.⁸²⁸ In early Christian groups, the poor were real people with whom the rich interacted not just on isolated occasions—as was normally the case with almsgiving to beggars like Lazarus—but in a closer and more enduring relationship. Contrary to Dives, wealthy Christians had let the poor into their homes, something akin to the kind of “Christian” patronage envisioned by Hermas.⁸²⁹ The attribution of redemptive agency to the poor represents, at the same time, a theological shift as well as a manipulation of the exchange category of almsgiving, which were apparently occasioned by the more diverse constituency of early Christianity. In other words, as the poor became members of the same

 According to Henri Tajfel and Joseph P. Forgas, “There exists, in human beings, a drive to evaluate their opinions and abilities, and […] such evaluations are accomplished by reference to the opinions and abilities of others.” They also argue that such a creation of group identity through comparisons with other status groups takes place primarily in discursive representations (what they call the “phantasy level”). They sum up their views pithily by saying: “We are what we are because they are not what we are” (“Social Categorization: Cognitions, Values and Groups,” in Social Cognitions: Perspectives on Everyday Understanding, ed. Joseph P. Forgas, European Monographs in Social Psychology 26 [London: Academic Press, 1981], 124– 26).  Adolf Deissmann, Paulus: Eine kultur- und religionsgeschichtliche Skizze, 2nd ed. (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1925); Adolf Deissmann, Das Urchristentum und die unteren Schichten, 2nd ed. (Göttingen: Vanderhoeck & Ruprecht, 1908); Judge, Social Distinctives; Theissen, The Social Setting of Pauline Christianity; Abraham J. Malherbe, Social Aspects of Early Christianity (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1977); Meeks, The First Urban Christians; Meggitt, Paul, Poverty and Survival; Friesen, “Poverty in Pauline Studies,” 323 – 61; Longenecker, “Exposing the Economic Middle,” 243 – 78; Longenecker, Remember the Poor.  See above, p. 167.

254

5 Paul’s Description of the Collection

social group as donors and, therefore, permanent exchange partners, the lasting nature of their relationship with wealthier believers required them to be able to reciprocate, to have some kind of agency.⁸³⁰ The connection between ability to reciprocate and suitability for social intercourse and financial support is fundamental. In fact, the general Greco-Roman disregard for beggars and other kinds of indigent people was partly motivated by their inability to repay the help they received.⁸³¹ In her foreword to Marcel Mauss’s The Gift, Mary Douglas clarifies why reciprocation is so essential to relationships: The whole idea of a free gift is based on a misunderstanding. There should not be any free gifts. What is wrong with the so-called free gift is the donor’s intention to be exempt from return gifts coming from the recipient. Refusing requital puts the act of giving outside any mutual ties. Once given, the free gift entails no further claims from the recipient. For all the ongoing commitment the free-gift gesture has created, it might just as well never have happened. According to Marcel Mauss that is what is wrong with the free gift. A gift that does nothing to enhance solidarity is a contradiction.⁸³²

Admittedly, the destitute have very little to reciprocate besides gratitude, but early Christian authors were able to find a model for agency in the biblical traditions about the powerful prayer of the poor (e. g., Exod 22:22,26; Job 34:28; Ps 9:13; 34:7).⁸³³ Paul’s manipulation of the traditions of Jewish almsgiving is also related to the social makeup of early Christianity, but in a different way. The collection has far weaker similarity with almsgiving than the care for the poor of the local group described, for instance, by Hermas. The poor whom the collection is supposed to help are not fellow members of the same local group. They are not just socially but also physically invisible to the Corinthian donors. At best, we can imagine that the Corinthians had sporadic interactions with a few Jerusalem believers who were traveling as delegates on behalf of the Jerusalem group or for other reasons—an instance, however, that fell into the well-established category

 For the Jerusalem group’s intercession as a form of reciprocation, see Joubert, Paul as Benefactor, 148, 151; Harrison, Paul’s Language of Grace, 298. In reference to later, patristic discussions of almsgiving, Finn observes a similar development: “The meaning of almsgiving as a redemptive activity winning the prayers of the πτωχοί turned the previously passive, who as such had little value, into more valued agents of redemption” (Almsgiving, 182– 83).  Barclay, Paul and the Gift, 43.  Douglas, “Foreword: No Free Gifts,” ix–x.  For the use of this notion by Chrysostom, see Leyerle, “John Chrysostom on Almsgiving,” 29 – 47.

5.5 An Obligation of Gratitude

255

of hospitality.⁸³⁴ The collection was directed toward unknown individuals, whose connection with the Corinthians was largely symbolic or, as Paul would put it, spiritual (Rom 15:27). Moreover, the collection aimed to create an enduring relationship between the predominantly Gentile groups led by Paul and the Jewish group in Jerusalem. The early Christian movement was characterized by an unusual degree of ethnic and cultural heterogeneity, which is copiously illustrated in the New Testament and especially in Paul’s letters. In the context of the collection, economic poverty is therefore coupled with ethnic and geographic distance. In light of this character of the collection, it is all the more striking that Paul seems to envisage an enduring exchange relationship between the two groups, to the point that he foresees a hypothetical time when the flow of goods goes from Jerusalem to Corinth (2 Cor 8:14). The Jerusalem group’s active role in the collection, namely, their intercession on behalf of the Corinthians, is essential to the establishment of a reciprocal relationship that can bridge geographic, ethnic, and cultural distance and endure through time.

5.5 An Obligation of Gratitude In the collection texts, Paul’s language generally relies on persuasion. He provides advice (2 Cor 8:10). He indicates to his addressees what is suitable (1 Cor 16:4), appropriate (2 Cor 8:10), and acceptable (2 Cor 8:12). He further warns against what could become cause for humiliation (2 Cor 9:4).⁸³⁵ He rarely uses imperatives, and when he does so, it is either by way of exhortation (2 Cor 8:11) or to give instructions on how to gather the collection (1 Cor 16:1– 2). Only once, when writing to the Romans, does Paul use the language of duty and obligation in reference to the collection: Macedonia and Achaia have been pleased to share their resources with the poor among the saints at Jerusalem. They were pleased to do this, and indeed they owe it to them [ὀφειλέται εἰσὶν αὐτῶν]; for if the Gentiles have come to share in their spiritual blessings, they ought [ὀφείλουσιν] also to be of service to them in material things. (Rom 15:26 – 27; NRSV)⁸³⁶

 For an overview of hospitality in early Christianity, see John Koenig, New Testament Hospitality: Partnership with Strangers as Promise and Mission, OBT 17 (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1985), with further reference on pp. 13 – 14 nn. 11– 12.  Kloppenborg observes that public shaming had a role in pressuring individuals to contribute to ἐπίδοσις-collections (“Fiscal Aspects,” 195).  The differences between Rom 15:26 – 27 and the other collection texts are especially significant because, for Paul, χάρις and obligation are mutually exclusive notions. In an argument about Abraham’s faith righteousness in Gen 15:6, Paul uses an example from daily life: “Now

256

5 Paul’s Description of the Collection

The verb ὀφείλειν and the cognate noun ὀφειλέτης have two related meanings, one specifically financial (“to be in debt”; “debtor”), the other metaphorical (“to be under an obligation”).⁸³⁷ Here, the phrasing is initially ambiguous and may be

to one who works, wages are not reckoned as a gift [κατὰ χάριν] but as something due” (κατὰ ὀφείλημα) (Rom 4:4; NRSV). He implies that what is due (κατὰ ὀφείλημα) cannot be χάρις. This radical contrast between a gift and an obligation is Paul’s way of expressing the general assumption that all gifts need to be purely free gifts, at least in theory. Note that Romans, the New Testament writing that uses the term χάρις most times (24) and arguably as a central concept, does not apply this term to the collection in Rom 15:25 – 28, whereas χάρις is a fundamental characterization of the collection in the Corinthian correspondence. Therefore, the perspective on the collection conveyed in the Corinthian correspondence is markedly different from what we read in Romans. Romans 15:26 – 27 contains one of the occurrences of the words κοινωνία and κοινωνέω in the collection texts (see also 2 Cor 8:4; 9:13). Traditionally, the term has been interpreted theologically as fellowship between believers and with Christ. In this view, the collection was a means for establishing fellowship and, therefore, unity with the Jerusalem group. See Nickle, The Collection, 122 – 25; Joubert, Paul as Benefactor, 129 – 30; Harrison, Paul’s Language of Grace, 297– 98; Downs, The Offering of the Gentiles, 161; G. W. Peterman, “Romans 15.26: Make a Contribution or Establish Fellowship?” NTS 40 (1994): 457– 63. Ogereau, however, observes that κοινωνία and its cognates may refer, in secular Greek, to business partnerships or other kinds of partnerships (e. g., marriage relationships, political alliances, participation in public projects). It generally corresponded to the Latin societas, an agreement between partners to share responsibilities for a specific purpose (Julien M. Ogereau, Paul’s Koinonia with the Philippians: A Socio-Historical Investigation of a Pauline Economic Partnership, WUNT 2/377 [Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2014], 151– 219; on the legal aspects of Roman societas, see J. Paul Sampley, Pauline Partnership in Christ: Christian Community and Commitment in Light of Roman Law [Philadelphia: Fortress, 1980], 11– 20). On this basis, Ogereau argues that κοινωνία describes “some kind of partnership or association with socio-political ramifications, which Paul envisaged between the Gentile churches and their Judean counterparts, and which would ultimately manifest itself in the form of a concrete monetary gift” (“The Jerusalem Collection as Κοινωνία,” 368 – 71). The language of Rom 15:26 (εὐδόκησαν γὰρ Μακεδονία καὶ ᾿Aχαΐα κοινωνίαν τινὰ ποιήσασθαι εἰς τοὺς πτωχοὺς τῶν ἁγίων τῶν ἐν Ἰερουσαλήμ) is not entirely clear, but in my reading, κοινωνία refers not to the relationship between the Gentile groups and Jerusalem, but to the Macedonians and the Achaeans, who decided to join their forces to the advantage of (εἰς) Jerusalem. The same construction with εἰς also occurs in 2 Cor 8:4 and 2 Cor 9:13. In those instances, the term seems to refer to a partnership among the Corinthians or possibly between the Corinthians and Paul. Outside the collection texts, fellowship with Christ or the Spirit is described by using the genitive (1 Cor 1:9; 10:16; 2 Cor 13:13; Phil 2:1; 3:10), whereas the construction with εἰς describes the purpose of the arrangement between Paul and the Jerusalem “pillars” (Gal 2:9) or the goal of the partnership with the Philippians (Phil 1:5).  Friedrich Hauck, “ὀφείλω, ὀφειλή, ὀφείλημα, ὀφειλέτης,” TDNT, 5:559 – 66. The semantic field of ὀφείλω also includes a specifically religious meaning, according to which those who offend the gods become debtors and owe penance to the gods. This meaning is present in the Septuagint (e. g., Tob 6:13; 3 Macc 7:10; 4 Macc 11:3; Prov 14:9; Wis 12:15) and in the New Testament (e..g, Luke 11:4; 13:4).

5.5 An Obligation of Gratitude

257

read as if the Gentiles had sent money to settle some debt that they owed Jerusalem. Paul, however, immediately clarifies that there was no contractual or mercantile transaction between them and that the Gentiles had, instead, a moral obligation toward Jerusalem because of the spiritual gifts they had received.⁸³⁸ Paul typically uses ὀφείλω and its cognates to characterize what he sees as an absolute moral duty, sometimes of a religious nature (e. g., Rom 15:1; 1 Cor 11:10; 2 Cor 12:14; Gal 5:3). In Rom 15:27, however, the obligation of the Gentiles is based not on some abstract principle, but on the need to reciprocate the gifts that the Gentiles received from Jerusalem.⁸³⁹ Paul describes these gifts with the term τὰ πνευματικά, literally “the spiritual things.” The term is fairly vague, and a number of possible interpretations have been proposed, including salvation, the gospel message, the work of the Spirit in the life of the group, and the success of the Gentile mission.⁸⁴⁰ It is unclear that Paul has any specific item in mind, and the use of the plural favors a multiplicity of spiritual gifts. The contrast which Paul draws between the spiritual gifts from Jerusalem (τὰ πνευματικά) and the “fleshly” return gift of the Gentiles (τὰ σαρκικά) lays the emphasis not on the specific gifts, but on their different nature. The antithesis between σάρξ and πνεῦμα is very common in Christian writings (e. g., Matt 26:41; John 6:63; 1 Pet 3:18) and is key to Rom 8. In Rom 15:27, however, τὰ σαρκικά does not carry the same negative denotation of weakness and sinfulness as in most

 For the duty to return gifts in Greco-Roman culture, see above, section 3.2.1.  Paul uses the verb ἐπιτελέω to describe the conclusion of the collection (τοῦτο οὖν ἐπιτελέσας; Rom 15:28). On the basis of inscriptional uses of the verb ἐπιτελέω to indicate the performance of sacred rites, Richard S. Ascough suggests that Paul saw the collection as a religious duty (“The Completion of a Religious Duty,” NTS 42 [1996]: 593 – 94). However, the conditional clause, “If the Gentiles have come to share in their spiritual blessings” (Rom 15:27), has almost causal sense—see discussion of conditional clauses with εἰ and indicative in Wallace, Greek Grammar beyond the Basics, 690 – 94—and implies that the collection is a consequence of the reception of spiritual gifts from Jerusalem. Downs, moreover, observes that Paul also uses the verb ἐπιτελέω in 2 Cor 8:6,11, where the language of duty is absent. Downs prefers to understand ἐπιτελέω in terms of cultic worship (The Offering of the Gentiles, 136 – 37). The idea of duty connected with the verb ὀφείλω and its cognate is sometimes interpreted as a reference to a financial burden that the Jerusalem group had imposed on Paul and the Gentile groups during the meeting described in Gal 2:1– 10. See Holmberg, Paul and Power, 39 especially n. 138. This reading is related to Holl’s view of the collection as taxation imposed on the Gentiles by Jerusalem (“Der Kirchenbegriff des Paulus,” 61). See extended discussion in Verbrugge, Paul’s Style of Church Leadership, 307– 14.  Cranfield, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Epistle to the Romans, 2:773 n. 3; Jewett, Romans, 931; Joubert, Paul as Benefactor, 131– 32.

258

5 Paul’s Description of the Collection

texts. It rather carries a neutral meaning relating to the material nature of the collection.⁸⁴¹ Paul employs exactly the same contrast when he discusses the financial aspects of his relationship with the Corinthians. He asserts his right as an apostle to receive financial support from them—a right he nonetheless immediately foregoes (1 Cor 9:12)—by saying: “If we have sown spiritual good [τὰ πνευματικά] among you, is it too much if we reap your material benefits [τὰ σαρκικά]?” (1 Cor 9:11; NRSV). John K. Chow has argued that Paul’s refusal to receive financial support from Corinth is related to his desire to avoid the obligations of patronage under the wealthier members of the Corinthian group.⁸⁴² In this light, the rhetoric of spiritual and material benefits aims to reverse the dynamics of power between Paul and his aspiring patrons. Whatever (fleshly) support the Corinthians may offer Paul, it is incommensurable with the spiritual gifts that Paul has bestowed on them.⁸⁴³ The similarities between 1 Cor 9:11 and the description of the collection in Rom 15:27 go beyond the common vocabulary of spiritual and material benefits. Although τὰ σαρκικά does not carry negative moral connotations, the contrast with τὰ πνευματικά establishes a clear hierarchy of benefits which, in turn, reflects a hierarchy of honor. It is only fair for the Gentiles to return material benefits in exchange for the spiritual ones they have received. Yet, the generosity of the Gentiles does not put them in a position of superiority over Jerusalem. In fact, the implication is that no material return can ever fully repay the spiritual gifts that they have received from Jerusalem. The collection fulfills their obligation of gratitude but does not grant them superior status. The sense of obligation conveyed by the ὀφείλω lexical group is somewhat attenuated by a brief yet significant reference to the voluntariness of the collection. Paul, in fact, repeats twice that Macedonia and Achaia were pleased to take part in the collection (Rom 15:26, 27). The anaphora εὐδόκησαν γάρ underlines that the Gentiles did not fulfill their obligation of gratitude toward Jerusalem

 Jewett, Romans, 931; Moo, The Epistle to the Romans, 905 n. 52.  Chow, Patronage and Power, 172. See also Hock, The Social Context of Paul’s Ministry, 59 – 64.  Fitzmyer, First Corinthians, 364. Paul’s rhetorical move of downplaying financial support in comparison with the intangible benefits that he can provide is surprisingly similar to the celebrations of poetry as a source of immortality for its mortal patrons. Just as poets perceived and claimed superiority for their role in the exchange with their sponsors, so does Paul believe that the spiritual goods that he offers the Corinthians earn him the right to material support. For this kind of self-understanding of poets and other cultural experts, see above, section 3.2.3.

5.5 An Obligation of Gratitude

259

halfheartedly but undertook the collection gladly.⁸⁴⁴ This portrayal of gift exchange is entirely consistent with the Greco-Roman morality of gift giving and, more generally, descriptions of gift practices in economic anthropology. In very general terms, the strong sense of duty inherent in giving, receiving, and returning gifts coexists naturally with the claim, and to a large extent the belief, that every gift is free and uncoerced.⁸⁴⁵ Paul’s reference to a duty of returning spiritual blessings from Jerusalem through material benefits is clearly based on a kind of reciprocity. The presence of the language and morality of reciprocity has led authors such as Joubert and Harrison to argue that, to a certain extent, Paul approved of and embraced the Greco-Roman system of benefaction.⁸⁴⁶ Its similarities with benefaction ideology, however, should not be overstated. As I have suggested in Chapter Three, the moral duty to show gratitude was essential to Greco-Roman gift-giving practices, but the scope of this morality widely surpassed the domain of patronage and benefaction and embraced other kinds of relationships based on equality, affection, and companionship.⁸⁴⁷ Regardless of the precise character of the relation between exchange partners, gratitude was always expected, at least in theory. Moreover, the relationship between Jerusalem and the Gentile groups is characterized by a hierarchy that, contrary to what was generally the case in GrecoRoman patronage, follows the outpouring of spiritual gifts, not the flow of material benefits. In patronage, the obligation of clients arose from their inability to repay the material benefits that they received from their patrons. By framing the collection as an exchange of spiritual and fleshly goods, Paul implies that the Gentiles, despite the financial support that they provided, could in no way adequately repay Jerusalem for their gifts and were thus their debtors.⁸⁴⁸

 According to Jewett, the use of the conjunction καί between εὐδόκησαν and ὀφειλέται εἰσίν suggests that Paul perceived no contradiction between willing giving and the duty to reciprocate (Romans, 930).  For economic anthropology, see above, section 1.3.1. For the Greco-Roman context, see above, section 3.2.1.  Joubert uses Rom 15:27 as the base for his argument that the collection was part of a reciprocal relationship between Jerusalem and Paul’s Gentile groups (Paul as Benefactor, 128 – 34). Harrison numbers Rom 15:27 among the indications that Paul endorsed, with some qualification, the Greco-Roman reciprocity system (Paul’s Language of Grace, 325).  See above, section 3.2.  Cranfield, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Epistle to the Romans, 2:774. The exchange of material benefits for spiritual gifts in Rom 15:27 and the relative superiority of Jerusalem because of the spiritual gifts they gave the Gentiles resemble the mutual interdependence between rich and poor believers advocated by the Shepherd of Hermas (Herm. Sim. 2). Discussing that text, I noted that, despite the clear difference between the exchange partners from a

260

5 Paul’s Description of the Collection

In Rom 15:27, Paul describes the Gentile groups that he established as indebted to Jerusalem and able to return merely fleshly gifts for the spiritual ones that they had received. It is, nonetheless, striking that he uses these ideas to describe the collection only as he writes to the Romans, a group of believers whom he had apparently not met (Rom 1:10 – 13; 15:22) and who had not been involved in the collection.⁸⁴⁹ When Paul directly addresses contributors to

religious perspective—a rich person has no holy power, while a poor person’s intercession has great power before God (Herm. Sim. 2.5)—the Shepherd lays no special emphasis on hierarchy between exchange partners and rather focuses on mutual dependence and collaboration. See above, p. 167. The same appears to apply to Rom 15:27 also. Despite the qualitative difference between the goods exchanged—τὰ πνευματικά for τὰ σαρκικά—the hierarchy between Jerusalem and the Gentiles is not underscored. Elsewhere, Paul uses the language of reciprocity in order to stress equality, not hierarchy (2 Cor 8:13 – 14). Nickle discusses the possibility that Rom 15:27 might be read as “subordinating Gentile to Jewish Christianity.” Although the benefits they each provided were clearly different, he argues, “the motivating force behind both actions was the same: the impulse of Christian love.” Equality of motives implies equal dignity. See Nickle, The Collection, 119 – 20. Nickle’s view is based on Paul’s specific use of the notion of debt in Rom 13:8: “Owe no one anything, except to love one another,” which Nickle employs as an interpretive principle for Rom 15:27.  The numerous greetings in Rom 16 suggest that Paul knew several members of the Roman group from his previous missionary activity in the eastern part of the Empire. The language of Rom 15:25 – 28 gives no indication that any of them was involved in the collection. It is, nonetheless, possible that Paul intended for the Romans to contribute to the collection. See E.-B. Allo, “La portée de la collecte pour Jérusalem dans les plans de Saint Paul,” RB 45 (1936): 536; Nickle, The Collection, 69 – 70. If Paul was not alluding to a financial contribution of the Romans to the collection, he nonetheless asked them to participate through their prayers for the success of his visit to Jerusalem (Rom 15:30 – 32). Paul’s use of the verb συναγωνίζομαι in Rom 15:30 is especially relevant. In benefaction ideology, the words related to ἀγών “describe heroic measures taken by those who endure challenges or hardships in behalf of others” (Danker, Benefactor, 364– 65; see also Sophia Aneziri, “Les synagonistes du théâtre grec aux époques hellénistique et romaine: Une question de terminologie et de fonction,” Pallas 47 [1997]: 56 – 59; Ivana Savalli-Lestrade, “ΥΠΕΡ ΤΗΣ ΠΟΛΕΩΣ: Les intervenants étrangers dans la justice et dans la diplomatie des cités hellénistiques,” Cahiers du centre Gustave Glotz 23 [2012]: 141– 79), and Paul uses this word group abundantly. Fighting through hardships is a characteristic feature of the Christian existence (1 Cor 9:25; Phil 1:30; cf. 1 Tim 4:10; 6:12; 2 Tim 4:7). Moreover, Paul carries out his ministry ἐν πολλῷ ἀγῶνι (1 Thess 2:2; cf. Col 1:29; 2:1), thus presenting himself as a benefactor of the Gentile groups. In Col 4:12, the author describes Epaphras as one who “is always wrestling [ἀγωνιζόμενος] in his prayers on your behalf” (NRSV). Epaphras’s intercessory prayers on behalf of the Colossians are the arena in which he fights for them. Similarly, Paul invites the Romans to join him in his fight [συν–αγωνίζομαι] for the gospel by praying for the success of his visit to Jerusalem, which included the delivery of the collection. Paul foresees real or perceived danger in this visit (Rom 15:31; see Dunn, Romans, 878) and, by exposing himself to this danger, acts as Jerusalem’s benefactor. His choice of συναγωνίζομαι to describe the

5.6 Equality

261

the collection, he adopts quite a different tone. He repeatedly asserts the right of the Corinthians to give as much, or as little, as they decide (1 Cor 16:2; 2 Cor 8:11– 12; 9:7). Even when he uses the language of reciprocity, he stresses equality (2 Cor 8:13 – 14). Verbrugge argues that Romans conveys Paul’s real view of the collection in a more candid fashion because it is unaffected by the problems and financial conflicts that troubled Paul’s relationship with the Corinthians.⁸⁵⁰ I do not entirely agree with Verbrugge’s implication that the treatments of the collection in 1 and 2 Corinthians are in some way inaccurate or misleading representations of Paul’s thought. Romans and the Corinthian correspondence should be regarded as two legitimate expressions of Paul’s thought. However, that Paul avoids the notion of obligation and the contrast between spiritual and fleshly gifts in 1– 2 Corinthians, ideas that appear unproblematic in Romans, may in fact be a strategic choice due to tensions between Paul and the Corinthians, be these actual or simply feared. In Chapter Four, I have suggested that Paul’s anxiety about greed does not necessarily reflect real accusations and financial tensions between the Corinthians and Paul himself. Alternatively, they may be simply evidence of Paul’s awareness that the handling of money was a sensitive area for Christian leaders, one that could compromise their relationship with the groups of believers.⁸⁵¹ It is therefore hard to determine whether Paul’s avoidance of the topics that he uses in Rom 15:27 was caused by real or feared tensions over the administration of the collection. Either way, the different strategies of Romans and the Corinthian correspondence are further proof of Paul’s careful consideration of the effects of his leadership style. As Verbrugge indicates, Rom 15:27, a verse directed to a third party that was not directly involved in the collection, appears to be in fact unaffected by the anxiety that marks other collection texts, although this does not necessarily mean that the latter are less genuine.

5.6 Equality Paul’s appeal to the notion of obligation in Rom 15:27 is steeped in the culture of reciprocity. Another clear endorsement of reciprocal exchanges in Paul’s collection texts occurs in 2 Cor 8:14: “In the present time, your abundance [becomes a Romans’ involvement suggests that they, too, can become Jerusalem’s benefactors, as long as they assist him with their prayers.  Verbrugge, Paul’s Style of Church Leadership, 368.  See above, sections 4.4 and 4.7.

262

5 Paul’s Description of the Collection

help] for their need, so that their abundance also may become [a help] for your need” (my trans.).⁸⁵² In this case, the chiastic structure of Paul’s statement makes manifest its reciprocal nature: τὸ ὑμῶν περίσσευμα ἵνα καὶ τὸ ἐκείνων περίσσευμα γένηται

εἰς τὸ ἐκείνων ὑστέρημα, εἰς τὸ ὑμῶν ὑστέρημα.⁸⁵³

By swapping the pronouns ὑμῶν and ἐκείνων, Paul indicates that the exchange taking place between Corinth and Jerusalem results (ἵνα) in a similar exchange in which givers and receivers trade places. Paul frames this assertion of the reciprocal nature of the collection between two references to ἰσότης, a term usually translated as “equality” or “fairness.”⁸⁵⁴ Paul raises the topic of equality in order to dispel the perceived risk that the collection may cause relief for others but increased pressure on the Corinthians (2 Cor 8:13).⁸⁵⁵ In fact, the statement in 2 Cor 8:14 can be seen as a digression by which Paul explains how the collection brings about equality, not imbalance, between the groups involved. As ἰσότης emphasizes the quantitative aspect of equality, Paul seems to suggest that the collection and the foreseeable reciprocation from Jerusalem establish a fair economic balance between the assemblies.⁸⁵⁶ Paul caps this section with a proof text from the Exodus manna story (Exod 16:18) that also responds to the fear of imbalance and assures the Corinthians that no one will have too much or too little, namely, no one will be under pressure while others find relief.⁸⁵⁷ Although it aims to explain what Paul means by equality, the statement in 2 Cor 8:14 suffers from a certain lack of clarity. Its first part refers to the collection, an exchange in which the abundance of the Corinthians supplies the material needs of the Jerusalem receivers. The second part of the statement describes a reciprocation from Jerusalem, but the nature and the timing of this  The wording of this verse is elliptic. In the first part, a finite verb must be supplied, some form of γίνομαι being the most natural addition to create a parallel with the second part. See Windisch, Der zweite Korintherbrief, 258. The phrase γίνομαι εἰς is unclear in this context. The preposition εἰς may carry the sense of “in payment for.” See BDAG, sub voce “εἰς,” 4 g.  O’Mahony points out the rich rhetorical features of this verse, which appears to be carefully constructed. He lists isocolon, homoeptoton, enthymeme, antithesis, and commutatio (Pauline Persuasion, 117– 21).  BDAG, sub voce “ἰσότης.”  See above, section 4.3.  Gustav Stählin states: “The equality expressed by ἴσος and its derivatives is primarily an equality of size or number, or perhaps of value or force, though not so much in a qualitative sense, for which originally ὅμοιος and its cognates are mostly used” (“ἴσος, ἰσότης, ἰσότιμος,” TDNT 3:343 – 45).  See discussion above, pp. 191– 92.

5.6 Equality

263

reciprocation are unclear. It is possible that Paul envisages a return of material benefits from Jerusalem.⁸⁵⁸ However, it may seem unrealistic to expect the Jerusalem group, now needing external support, to grow so rich as to be able to provide for other groups, at least not in the near future.⁸⁵⁹ Alternatively, the statement is read in synopsis with Rom 15:27 by arguing that the Jerusalem believers will reciprocate the material gifts from the Pauline groups with spiritual blessings.⁸⁶⁰ As it emerged in previous sections, the idea of a spiritual reciprocation has some support. In particular, the receivers’ thanksgiving to God and prayers of intercession on behalf of the Corinthians (2 Cor 9:12– 14) can be seen as a form of reciprocation according to the model later developed, for instance, in the Shepherd of Hermas.⁸⁶¹ A third reading shifts the focus away from the kind of reciprocation from Jerusalem and, instead, considers Paul’s words as a mere statement of principle on equality with no implications on whether Jerusalem will actually reciprocate (more on this interpretation below).⁸⁶² A second point of uncertainty is the timing of the reciprocation. In fact, the first part of the statement locates the Corinthians gift “in the present time” (ἐν

 Lietzmann, An die Korinther I-II, 135; Plummer, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Second Epistle of St Paul to the Corinthians, 245; Meggitt, Paul, Poverty and Survival, 160.  Nickle, The Collection, 121 n. 179. The idea that it would be impossible for the Jerusalem group to have material “abundance” (περίσσευμα) may overestimate the respective economic situations of Corinth and Jerusalem and, especially, the wealth of the Corinthian group. Most believers in Corinth probably lived at or near subsistence level. See above, section 4.2. A reversal in which Jerusalem reaches subsistence level and Corinth faces a temporary crisis seems entirely plausible. Moreover, Thrall observes that rejection of a possible economic upturn in the Jerusalem group “is due in part to our knowledge of events in the years almost immediately following the Corinthian correspondence,” i. e., the Jewish War. Paul could have thought that poverty among the Jerusalem Christians was temporary, possibly due to persecution (Thrall, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Second Epistle to the Corinthians, 2:542).  Allo, Seconde Épître aux Corinthiens, 220; Joubert, Paul as Benefactor, 142– 43. According to Welborn, “Paul is arguing that the poor Jerusalem saints are in the position of the superior party [in a friendship between unequals], by virtue of the spiritual wealth, which has alleviated the Corinthians’ deficiency,” an argument that, Welborn thinks, was seen as offensive in Corinth, thus provoking hostility (An End to Enmity, 422– 24). This description of the collection, as Welborn concedes, is only explicit in Rom 15:27. Paul, however, avoids two essential points of this argument when he writes to the Corinthians. He does not mention any spiritual wealth that the Corinthians may lack, nor does he say that they are in debt to Jerusalem. These two items could have been offensive, but Paul does not make them. The hostility or hesitation about the collection did not arise from wounded pride in Corinth.  Giuseppe De Virgilio, La teologia della solidarietà in Paolo: Contesti e forme della prassi caritativa nelle lettere ai Corinzi, Supplementi alla Rivista Biblica 51 (Bologna: Dehoniane, 2008), 254 n. 152. See above, section 3.3.3.3.  Héring, La seconde épître de Saint Paul aux Corinthiens, 70; Furnish, II Corinthians, 420.

264

5 Paul’s Description of the Collection

τῷ νῦν καιρῷ; 2 Cor 8:14), but the second part lacks any temporal determination, which may be appropriate if this is indeed a statement of principle. It seems natural, however, to complete the sentence with “at a later time,” namely, when the Corinthians are in need of support.⁸⁶³ In this interpretation, the reciprocation is delayed indefinitely to a time when the economic situation of the groups is reversed.⁸⁶⁴ However, the phrase ἐν τῷ νῦν καιρῷ or similar ones have in Paul a salvation-historical sense in reference to the present phase of history, in contrast with the time before Jesus and the end time (Rom 3:26; 8:18; 11:5; 2 Cor 6:2).⁸⁶⁵ If this phrase has the same meaning in 2 Cor 8:14, there are two ways to understand the verse. One possibility is that the same timing applies to both parts of the statement, to the effect that the exchange of support between groups is a characteristic of this phase of history. Alternatively, a reference to the eschatological time (ἐν τῷ ἐρχομένῳ καιρῷ) is implied in the second half of the statement, so that the reciprocation from Jerusalem takes place at the Last Judgment.⁸⁶⁶

 Lietzmann, An die Korinther I-II, 135.  Windisch observes that equality may be the result not of reciprocity, but of every single exchange: “Die ἰσότης ist der Ausgleich, der sowohl jetzt wie später durch ähnliche Aktion erreicht wird” (Der zweite Korintherbrief, 259). In other words, the equality obtained by the collection is not the mutuality of the relationship between the groups, but specifically the continuous flow of goods that tends toward the equalization of their material circumstances.  See also, οὗτος ὁ καιρός in Rom 13:11; Mark 10:30; Luke 12:56; 18:30. Windisch, Der zweite Korintherbrief, 258 – 59. Georgi provides additional support for the salvation-historical interpretation of ἐν τῷ νῦν καιρῷ by connecting Paul’s manna reference in 2 Cor 8:15 with Jewish apocalyptic traditions (2 Bar. 29:8) about a repetition of the manna miracle during the messianic era (Remembering the Poor, 90).  Windisch, Der zweite Korintherbrief, 259. The salvation-historical interpretation of the phrase ἐν τῷ νῦν καιρῷ is connected with the more general interpretation of the collection in eschatological terms. Paul and other representatives from the Gentile groups “go up to Jerusalem with gifts, as it had been prophesied that the Gentiles would when the last days had come” (Munck, Paul and the Salvation of Mankind, 303; see also Melick, “The Collection,” 104– 5). In light of Paul’s argument in Rom 9 – 11, this pilgrimage will provoke Israel to jealousy and lead them to “conversion.” See also Nickle, The Collection, 129 – 42; Georgi, Remembering the Poor, 99 – 102. Thrall observes that Paul never uses any of the relevant passages from the Hebrew Bible (e. g., Isa 2:2– 3; 60:5 – 7; Mic 4:1– 2) nor mentions the concept of the pilgrimage of the nations in the collection texts. Moreover, it is not clear that Paul thought that the mission to the Gentiles was completed, especially in light of his project of traveling to Spain (Rom 15:24, 28; A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Second Epistle to the Corinthians, 2:513; see also Harrison, Paul’s Language of Grace, 304– 7; Horrell, “Paul’s Collection,” 76; Verbrugge and Krell, Paul and Money, 135 – 38). In addition, it is notable that Paul only uses the language of ethnicity in discussing the collection in Rom 15:25 – 28, where τὰ ἔθνη is an inclusive term for the Pauline groups. In Romans, however, the collection is directed to “the saints,” who by assumption have no need of “conversion” as others in Israel possibly would. Moreover, the collection is portrayed

5.6 Equality

265

In light of my argument in Chapter Four that the Corinthians were worried about a possible financial crisis in the future, especially if this were to come about for the relief of others, it appears likely that Paul had in mind a reciprocation of material support in times of need or, at least, that he raised this prospect in order to reassure the Corinthians.⁸⁶⁷ This, however, needs not be to the exclusion of other kinds of help. Acts offers a portrayal of the relationship between the assemblies in Jerusalem and Antioch that, regardless of its historical accuracy, can help us imagine the kinds of assistance that groups of believers could provide for each other. Members of the Jerusalem assembly are scattered because of persecution and find refuge in Antioch (Acts 11:19 – 20). When a substantial group of believers is formed in Antioch, Jerusalem sends Barnabas to oversee and exhort them (Acts 11:22– 23). Later on, news of a severe famine reaches Antioch, and the believers send relief to Jerusalem through Barnabas and Paul (Acts 11:27– 30). Finally, when a dispute arises in Antioch about the circumcision of the Gentiles, the leaders of the Jerusalem group provide directives for a peaceful resolution of the crisis in Antioch (Acts 15:1– 35). Assemblies helped each other with regard to needs that ranged from hospitality, refuge, and financial support to leadership, exhortation, and instruction. Similarly, Paul’s statement in 2 Cor 8:14 may refer to a variety of needs and forms of reciprocation from Jerusalem, in all probability including financial help. Scholars have proposed a number of cultural backgrounds for Paul’s use of the concept of equality, which indeed was employed in several discourses. Georgi observes the similarities between 2 Cor 8:13 – 15 and Philo’s discussion on equality in Her. 141– 206.⁸⁶⁸ According to Philo, equality is one of the attributes of God, for “God alone is exact in judgement and alone is able to ‘divide in the middle’ things material and immaterial” (Her. 143; trans. Colson and Whitaker). Philo illustrates this idea by quoting the same verse on the manna as Paul:

as reciprocation for Jerusalem’s gifts and not as having any specific purpose. In the other collection texts, the language of ethnicity is absent, and Israel is never even mentioned. David Bolton revisits the eschatological interpretation of the collection. He concedes that the collection texts provide insufficient evidence of the pilgrimage-of-the-nations model. He argues, however, that the collection can be “placed within an eschatological Isaianic-Hoseac Heilsgeschichte framework” and read through the motif of the return from exile (“Paul’s Collection: Debt Theology Transformed into an Act of Love among Kin?” in Bieringer, Ibita, Kurek-Chomycz, and Vollmer, Theologizing in the Corinthian Conflict, 345 – 59).  De Virgilio, La teologia della solidarietà in Paolo, 253.  Philo’s Quis rerum divinarum heres is a commentary on Gen 15:2– 18, a narrative about God’s covenant with Abraham. The detail that Abraham divided the sacrificial animals, according to Philo, in “two equal pieces” (ἴσα τμήματα; Her. 141), offers him the opportunity to start a long digression on equality.

266

5 Paul’s Description of the Collection

The heavenly food of the soul, wisdom, which Moses calls “manna,” is distributed to all who will use it in equal portions by the divine Word, careful above all things to maintain equality. Moses testifies to this in the words, “He that had much, had not too much, and he that had less did not lack” (Ex 16:18), when they measured by the admirable and precious standard of proportion. […] For what fell to each was of set purpose so allotted, that there was neither short-coming nor superabundance. (Her. 191; trans. Colson and Whitaker)

Georgi explains the parallel uses of the notion of equality and the manna verse by claiming that Paul and Philo drew from related, albeit not identical, traditions.⁸⁶⁹ Georgi concludes that Paul emphasizes, in 2 Cor 8:13 – 14, the divine origin of giving and receiving. Only God can ensure equality and righteousness among humans.⁸⁷⁰ This mystical argument has faced some resistance among scholars, especially because Paul is regarded as a different kind of thinker from Philo.⁸⁷¹ In principle, Georgi’s interpretation seems to align with the way in which Paul connects divine and human generosity through the concept of χάρις. However, the context does not recommend an interpretation of statements on equality in theological terms. There is no clear reference to God in 2 Cor 8:13 – 14, and the quotation of the manna story, albeit certainly an allusion to God’s providence, does not necessarily mean that God intervenes directly in the creation of equality.⁸⁷² Moreover, Paul’s argumentation in 2 Cor 8:8 – 15 consists of a series of ethical arguments. The reference to “the χάρις of our Lord Jesus Christ” is only apparently a theological exception, as the christological statement

 Georgi, Remembering the Poor, 87.  Georgi, Remembering the Poor, 89. Georgi explicitly compares his understanding of equality in Paul with the concept of χάρις. As I argued in section 5.2, χάρις functions in 2 Cor 8 – 9 as a category that connects divine and human generosity, with an emphasis on divine χάρις as the source and origin of human giving. Similarly, Georgi implies that divine equality creates and maintains equality among humans. He thinks, in fact, that “in verse 13 Paul could have written ἐκ χάριτος,” instead of ἐξ ίσότητος (Remembering the Poor, 89). A similar argument is made by Stegman, “Paul’s Use of Scripture,” 155 – 59.  Barrett, A Commentary on the Second Epistle to the Corinthians, 226 – 27; Iori, La solidarietà nelle prime comunità cristiane, 137. Welborn criticizes Georgi’s interpretation because, in Welborn’s reading, it does not correctly point out the role of human agency in the collection: “Philo cites the Exodus passage as an example of perfectly equitable distribution accomplished by the divine λόγος. […] Paul, by contrast, does not quote the verse as an illustration of providential distribution, but rather as a paradigm of the equality that human beings can achieve through redistributive action” (“That There May Be Equality,” 87; emphasis in the text). Georgi’s position on the implications of divine equality for human agency is not entirely clear, but he suggests that “God grants the possibility of and empowerment for active involvement within the community,” ideas contained in 2 Cor 8:13 – 14 (Remembering the Poor, 98). Equality is, according to Georgi, a divine force that operates in connection with human agency, very much like χάρις.  See discussion above, pp. 191– 92.

5.6 Equality

267

is meant to encourage ethical imitation.⁸⁷³ It is, therefore, more likely that Paul’s teaching on equality is meant in ethical terms. Betz proposes an interpretation of 2 Cor 8:13 – 15 in light of the political discourse on equality. Since equality of citizenship rights (ἰσηγορία or ἰσονομία) was considered essential for the stability and harmony of the polis (e. g., Aristotle, Pol. 2.1.5), Betz argues that for Paul, equality was conducive to “unity within the church between Jews and Greeks.”⁸⁷⁴ Welborn expands this argument by pointing to the mixed ethnic constituency of the Corinthian group and to “the Jewish struggle for equal rights” in the first century CE.⁸⁷⁵ There is no doubt that Paul’s appeal to equality aims at the establishment of stable relations between early Christian groups. I have already noted the inherent link between reciprocity, which is patent in the language of 2 Cor 8:14, and long-lasting, steady relationships.⁸⁷⁶ However, emphasis should not be placed on ethnic conflicts as Betz and Welborn do. It is a striking characteristic of 2 Cor 8 – 9 that the language of ethnicity is entirely absent.⁸⁷⁷ Although the collection is a gift from Gentiles to Jews, Paul never describes the fundraising in such terms. Not even Jerusalem is ever mentioned in 2 Corinthians, the recipients of the collection being simply described as “the saints” (2 Cor 8:4; 9:12).⁸⁷⁸ Therefore, political inequality  See above, section 5.3.  Betz, 2 Corinthians 8 and 9, 68. For the Greek and Roman political discourse on equality, see Rudolf Hirzel, Themis, Dike und Verwandtes: Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte der Rechtsidee bei den Griechen (Leipzig: Hirzel, 1907), 228 – 68; E. J. Jonkers, “Aequitas,” RAC 1:141– 44; Klaus Thraede, “Gleichheit,” RAC 11:122– 42.  Welborn, “That There May Be Equality,” 82– 85. Martin pushes the ethnic interpretation of equality in 2 Cor 8:14 to the extreme. For him, the “abundance” of the Corinthians is not economic prosperity but “their enrichments-by-grace,” which they enjoy because they trust “Paul’s lawfree Gospel.” It is this kind of spiritual benefit that the Corinthians are to share with ethnic Israel (2 Corinthians, 267). This interpretation is not satisfactory for a number of reasons. First, it almost completely sets aside economic realities to emphasize a theological agenda. Second, the recipients of the collection are “the saints” which commonly refers to Christ-believers in Paul’s letters, not ethnic Israel in general. There is no indication of anti-Jerusalem polemic in the collection texts, nor any suggestion that the Jerusalem Christians have not received the gospel. Finally, Paul clearly states that the Corinthians were themselves recipients of “spiritual benefits” from the Jerusalem group (Rom 15:27), and not the opposite. See Thrall, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Second Epistle to the Corinthians, 2:542.  See above, section 3.4.  This is more generally the case of 2 Corinthians as a whole. The only occurrences of ethnic language are in 2 Cor 11:22, 24, where it does not seem to allude to ethnic conflict. In First Corinthians, where ethnic language is more abundant, Jews and Greeks seem to refer to elements outside Christian groups, not to intragroup conflict.  Jerusalem is mentioned in connection with the collection in 1 Cor 16:3, but without emphasis on ethnicity. The situation is markedly different in Rom 15:25 – 28, where Paul describes the

268

5 Paul’s Description of the Collection

along ethnic lines, albeit a real problem at the time, does not seem to be the frame Paul uses for the collection. A third area in which equality was a key concept is friendship. In my brief discussion of friendship, I have noted that friendship primarily consisted of reciprocal goodwill, a goodwill that was often shown through material gifts and benefits. Furthermore, equality and friendship were commonly associated with each other, as the popularity of such catchphrases as φιλότης ἰσότης demonstrates.⁸⁷⁹ The presence of reciprocity language and the reference to equality seem to connect 2 Cor 8:13 – 14 with ancient views about friendship.⁸⁸⁰ Seizing on these links, Welborn interprets Paul’s words in light of the Aristotelian theory of unequal friendship, which can legitimately be regarded as an expression of benefaction ideology.⁸⁸¹ Aristotle argues that when partners in a φιλία are of unequal status because of their different age, gender, or social role, equality is achieved by an exchange of honor in proportion to each partner’s status.⁸⁸² According to Welborn, Paul’s argument on equality aims to challenge Greco-Roman social practice: The poor Jerusalem saints are in the position of the superior party, by virtue of spiritual wealth, which has alleviated the Corinthians’ deficiency; so now, as the beneficiary, the Corinthians are obliged, by the logic of inverse proportion, to make an extraordinary gift to the Jerusalem Christians, in order to restore ‘equality’.⁸⁸³

collection as reciprocation from the Gentiles (τὰ ἔθνη) for the spiritual benefits they received from Jerusalem. In fact, Betz’s interpretation seems influenced by Romans: “[Paul] seems to have employed here the same thought found in Rom 15:27” (2 Corinthians 8 and 9, 68).  See above, section 3.2.2.  Kim, Die paulinische Kollekte, 40 – 41; Luke Timothy Johnson, “Making Connections: The Material Expression of Friendship in the New Testament,” Int 58 (2004): 158 – 71; Downs, The Offering of the Gentiles, 137.  Welborn, “That There May Be Equality,” 76 – 77. As an example of friendship between unequals, Aristotle mentions, among others, the relationship between benefactor and beneficiary (ὁ εὐεργέτης πρὸς τὸν εὐεργηθέντα; Eth. eud. 7.3.2).  The two partners in an unequal friendship contribute to the relationship in different measures according to their personal worth—Aristotle writes explicitly of different sums of money (Eth. eud. 7.10.11), but other dimensions of status are also relevant. If this is the case, however, Aristotle observes that the relationship is tantamount to an annoying λειτουργία (Eth. eud. 7.10.12; for the negative connotations of the term λειτουργία for Aristotle, see above, p. 91 n. 303 and p. 99 n. 322). In order to restore equality and render the relationship viable, each party receives honor in proportion to his or her contribution (Eth. eud. 7.10.13). This theory of exchange of money for honor reflects, indeed, the social practices of ancient benefaction.  Welborn, “That There May Be Equality,” 80 – 81.

5.6 Equality

269

There are two aspects of Welborn’s construal that seem questionable. First, it mainly relies on Rom 15:27, where the collection is indeed portrayed as reciprocation for the spiritual blessings that the Gentiles received from Jerusalem. In 2 Cor 8:14, however, there is an opposite dynamic. Here, it is the collection that elicits some kind of reciprocation from Jerusalem and not vice versa.⁸⁸⁴ Second, Aristotle’s category of “proportional” equality to describe obviously unequal relations is a semantic construct, possibly an apology for social inequality.⁸⁸⁵ It seems very unlikely that people would regard relationships between social unequals as expressions of equality, especially if the proportion between honor and status sustains social inequality. In fact, ancient references to such relations in terms of friendship are sometimes filled with sarcasm.⁸⁸⁶ The connection between equality, reciprocity, and friendship, however, can help us understand some aspects of Paul’s statement in 2 Cor 8:13 – 14. As I have discussed in section 3.2.2, Greco-Roman friendship consists primarily of mutual goodwill, and goodwill was usually manifested by eagerness to provide aid for a friend, especially in times of need. Material reciprocity was not precisely defined in terms of quantity or timeliness, but there was a clear expectation that friends would offer help whenever some need arose. This specific feature of friendship matches Paul’s words closely. Paul states explicitly that the support that Christian groups offer each other is a response to a situation of need (ὑστέρημα). Moreover, despite scholarly attempts to define the precise nature and time of Jerusalem’s reciprocation, Paul leaves these details unspecified. It appears, rather, that Jerusalem will reciprocate the collection with whatever kind of help is needed and whenever it is needed, to the extent that they can. In other words, equality stems not from a mathematical determination of reciprocal dues, but from an assurance of mutual help in times of need. There are obvious differences between ancient Greco-Roman friendship and the relationship between early Christian groups. Friendship usually occurs be-

 Welborn himself concedes that his argument is mainly driven by Paul’s statements in Romans: “This argument, advanced somewhat elliptically in 2 Cor 8.1– 15, is articulated explicitly in Rom 15.26 – 27” (“That There May Be Equality,” 81).  Aristotle seems to elaborate the concept of proportionality in order to allow for social intercourse between social unequals while preserving social differences and structures: “It would be ludicrous [γελοῖον] if one were to accuse God because he does not return love in the same way as he is loved, or for a subject to make this accusation against a ruler. […] It would be absurb [ἄτοπον] for a man to be a friend of a child, though he does feel affection for him and receive it from him” (Eth. eud. 7.3.4; 7.4.2; trans. Rackham). Aristotle uses the strong adjectives γελοῖον and ἄτοπον to present as logically inconsistent what he deems socially unacceptable.  See above, p. 82 n. 276.

270

5 Paul’s Description of the Collection

tween individuals, not groups.⁸⁸⁷ The equality existing between friends is determined by age, gender, social status, and similar measures that are difficult to determine for and apply to groups. In fact, the equality of which Paul writes seems to consist of equal willingness to help each other in times of need, rather than any specific measurable standard. It would have been clearer that Paul imagined the relations between Christian groups in terms of friendship, had he presented them as relations of mutual goodwill. This idea, however, does not come to the fore when Paul discusses equality in the collection. It is at best implied. The goodwill of the Corinthians toward Jerusalem does, nonetheless, become evident in Paul’s language throughout the rest of 2 Cor 8 – 9. Besides ἀγάπη, “love” (2 Cor 8:7,8,24), Paul repeatedly employs the two terms σπουδή (2 Cor 8:7,8) and προθυμία (2 Cor 8:11,12,19; 9:2), with either term’s meaning ranging from eagerness in practical affairs to care and consideration for others.⁸⁸⁸ This group of words points to the active participation that Paul wants the Corinthians to exhibit as proof of their inner benevolent disposition.⁸⁸⁹ There is no doubt, however, that the emphasis of the collection texts falls on action rather than mutual feelings, yet even in ancient friendship, actions are needed for feelings to be proved authentic. Paul’s language of equality and reciprocity in 2 Cor 8:13 – 14 describes the relationship between Christian groups as one of mutual assistance in times of need. Furnish, echoing a thought of Héring, describes 2 Cor 8:14 as “a formal

 Although friendship is usually viewed as a relationship between individuals, there is evidence that friendship language was used to describe relationships within a group or even behavior towards otherwise unknown individuals who shared a common ideal. This was the case, for example, among Epicureans and Neopythagoreans. See Konstan, Friendship, 108 – 13 and 114– 15. In particular, Iamblichus claims that “even when they did not know one another, the Pythagoreans tried to do friendly deeds on behalf of those they had never seen before, whenever they received sure sign that they shared the same doctrines” (De vita Pythagorica, 237; trans. Dillon and Hershbell). Iamblichus also provides anecdotes that illustrate this behavior (De vita Pythagorica, 237– 239).  Günther Harder, “σπουδάζω, σπουδή, σπουδαῖος,” TDNT 7:559 – 68; Karl Heinrich Rengstorf, “πρόθυμος, προθυμία,” TDNT 6:694– 700. For instance, an inscription from Priene praises the dedication of the judge Herokrates, “a worthy man who settled some of the lawsuits not lacking in eagerness, but showing great zeal (οὐθὲν ἐλλείπων προθυμίας, ἀλλὰ πᾶσαν σπουδὴν ποιούμενος), so that the opponents, now reconciled, could live with each other in harmony” (Friedrich Hiller von Gaertringen, ed., Inschriften von Priene [Berlin: Reimer, 1906], 55; inscription 53; lines 8 – 11). The efforts (σπουδή and προθυμία) with which Herokrates carried out his duty manifested his value as a man and his good disposition toward the citizenry.  In addition, Bruehler suggests that Paul’s exhortation to give ἐπ᾽ εὐλογίας, with blessing, “carries overtones of goodwill and kindness” (“Proverbs, Persuasion and People,” 213 – 14).

5.6 Equality

271

statement of the principle of equality.”⁸⁹⁰ In a sense, Paul’s statement is indeed general and portrays the relationship between Corinth and Jerusalem as it should ideally be rather than specific instances or exchanges. Furnish, however, implies that this statement is formal because Paul did not think that Jerusalem would ever need or be in a position to help Corinth. It was more an abstraction than a real possibility. The fear of impoverishment that troubled the Corinthians suggests, to the contrary, that Paul was responding to very concrete worries and that he presented solidarity between groups as a way to face economic threats.⁸⁹¹ In fact, ancient friendship had an important role in the creation of a support network of friends and neighbors beyond the restricted sphere of kinship, a role clearly highlighted through the emphasis on help in times of need.⁸⁹² For Paul, equality between early Christian groups meant that they were all part of a network of mutual support. This network was to leap into action, no doubt, during financial crises. However, mutual support was not limited to poverty relief and included a variety of other forms of help such as hospitality, refuge, leadership, exhortation, and instruction. The relative indeterminacy of Paul’s statement in 2 Cor 8:14 constitutes its most relevant quality, as it focuses not on a specific individual interaction, but on the enduring relationship between groups through exchanges of various kinds as need demands.⁸⁹³

 Furnish, II Corinthians, 420; Héring, La seconde épître de Saint Paul aux Corinthiens, 70.  Joubert, Paul as Benefactor, 141; Kim, Die paulinische Kollekte, 40. Meggitt expresses this idea: “By meeting the needs of the Jerusalem congregation, the communities were contributing to their own, long-term, economic stability” (Paul, Poverty and Survival, 161). Schellenberg also emphasizes that the creation of networks of relationships based on reciprocity is a characteristic feature of the behavior of those who live at or around subsistence level (“Subsistence,” 220 – 25).  See a discussion of friendship as a risk-buffering behavior in Gallant, Risk and Survival, 155 – 58. Berchman highlights the social character of friendship in Aristotle’s thought: “One who has a rational principle and who is concerned about the well-being of one’s genos—as a rational community or polis, is a friend” (“Altruism in Greco-Roman Philosophy,” 6). In fact, Aristotle believes that the good of one’s friends largely overlaps, if not corresponds to, one’s own best interest inasmuch as humans are political beings (Berchman, “Altruism in Greco-Roman Philosophy,” 9).  Petros Vassiliadis emphasizes the enduring character of intergroup relations and argues that Paul regarded equality as “the goal of social behavior on a permanent basis” (“Equality and Justice in Classical Antiquity and in Paul: The Social Implications of the Pauline Collection,” SVTQ 36 [1992]: 51– 59; emphasis in the text).

272

5 Paul’s Description of the Collection

5.7 Conclusions The analysis of the collection texts has demonstrated that Paul explains the collection by making reference to several kinds of exchange. The most important exchange category that Paul uses to describe the collection is χάρις. The term has a long history in the language and morality of gift giving, but in the early Christian context, its theological significance is especially relevant. Paul utilizes this term in order to point out the vertical dimension of the collection as a gift that has its ultimate origin in God, a gift that is at once human and divine. The Corinthians are the recipients of God’s χάρις and, in turn, are urged to offer their χάρις to Jerusalem in the form of the collection. Conversely, their participation in the collection is proof that they have received God’s χάρις fruitfully, a test of their earnest commitment to God. Furthermore, Paul predicts that the collection will produce thanksgiving not to the human donors, but to God, the divine origin of human generosity. A specific manifestation of divine χάρις is the Christ-event. In 2 Cor 8:9, Paul describes it in terms of self-impoverishment for the sake of the Corinthians (and presumably all believers). The economic language of this verse is an extended metaphor that is difficult to decipher in its details, yet it appears to portray the story of Jesus as one of self-sacrifice for the good of others. This christological interpretation implicitly addresses the Corinthians’ fear of impoverishment and urges them to display courage by imitating Jesus. A similar exemplary function can be discerned in the description of the Macedonians’ enthusiastic contribution to the collection (2 Cor 8:1– 5). By going beyond Paul’s hopes and giving themselves in their generous offering, they repeated Jesus’s self-sacrifice. Paul refrains from demanding this radical participation from the Corinthians, yet self-sacrifice seems to be an important and common way for him to think about Christian giving and, more generally, Christian behavior. Paul quotes the Hebrew Bible, specifically Ps 112:9 and Prov 22:8 LXX, in order to describe the collection in terms of almsgiving (2 Cor 9:6 – 10). This category of exchange allows Paul to introduce the notion of a reward for generosity through the agricultural metaphor of the harvest and the idea that God bestows love, blessing, and material abundance on those who give to the poor. Paul also portrays the Jerusalem recipients of the collection raising prayers on behalf of their benefactors, a motif that is commonly attached to late antique discussions of almsgiving and is similarly attested as early as in the Gospel of Luke and the Shepherd of Hermas. Through their intercession, the recipients of the collection rise from the anonymity of poverty to active agency and become partners of their benefactors in an exchange of spiritual and material gifts.

5.7 Conclusions

273

The role of the Jerusalem group comes especially to the fore in Rom 15:25 – 28. In this text, the collection is described as a debt of gratitude that the Gentile groups owe Jerusalem because they have received spiritual gifts from them. The language of obligation and indebtedness that Paul uses here strongly emphasizes the importance of reciprocity and its moral dimension. Paul spells out the spiritual and material nature of the gifts that the groups exchange, possibly emphasizing a hierarchy between the groups and the primacy of Jerusalem over the Gentile-Christians. It is significant that the strong sense of duty and the notion of hierarchy only appear when Paul writes to a group that is not directly involved in the collection. This, by comparison, highlights Paul’s more careful rhetoric in the Corinthian correspondence, where the tensions and anxieties connected with handling group finances cause Paul to adopt a less assertive posture. Reciprocity does nonetheless present itself in brief, albeit significant, words to the Corinthians (2 Cor 8:13 – 15). In this case, however, Paul dispels the notion that the collection might create hierarchy or imbalance between the assemblies and celebrates the collection as an exchange that creates equality between groups. Paul leaves the nature and timing of the reciprocation unspecified, which suggests that he sees the relationship between the groups as one that involves mutual help in times of distress according to circumstances and needs. This kind of open-ended commitment to mutual support is one of the characteristic features of the ancient conception of friendship, as is the emphasis on equality. For Paul, Christian groups were equal partners in a network of mutual support. Support could take many forms, including poverty relief but extending to hospitality, refuge, and instruction. Paul draws on a variety of kinds of exchange to describe aspects of the collection and convey his views of charity and intergroup relations. Some of these (χάρις, self-sacrifice, and almsgiving) are of a more distinctly religious nature and focus on the contributors’ relationship with God. The collection is a response to God’s gifts and an imitation of Jesus’s gift of self. It is an act of worship and an offering to God. In these categories, the agency of the recipients is not taken into consideration, and reciprocity has little or no role. Other categories of exchange (the obligation of gratitude and equality) are more rooted in the relationship between givers and receivers and emphasize reciprocity and mutuality. The collection is one act in a long-lasting, open-ended relationship between Jerusalem and the Pauline groups initiated by Jerusalem’s spiritual gifts and replicated through mutual help in times of need. When intergroup reciprocity is at the center, God is not mentioned. These data conform to the characteristic aspects of exchange relationships: the intensity of demands for reciprocity, the appearance or disappearance of the

274

5 Paul’s Description of the Collection

recipients of gifts, the stability and duration of the relationship between exchange partners, and the role of that relationship as a motivation for generosity. Specifically, the more the exchange demands reciprocity, the more the relationship between exchange partners becomes central to the exchange. Paul appears to combine diverse models of exchange because they provide him with different sets of meanings that he wants to apply to the collection. At its core, the collection is both a religious act and a gift that links groups together. Its motivations lie both in the divine-human relationship and in intergroup relations. The motif of the Jerusalem recipients’ intercession on behalf of their benefactors appears as an attempt to find a middle ground between these two dominant views of generosity. In this light, the collection is clearly a religiously motivated gift, but the Jerusalem group is not a passive element in the transaction. The Jerusalem Christians are rather partners who actively reciprocate the collection through their prayers. In this sense, Paul portrays the collection as an exchange à trois, in which God, Jerusalem, and the Pauline groups all interact with each other in a circulation of material and spiritual gifts. In spite of their diversity, it is possible to recognize ways in which the various categories of exchange are connected with each other. Harrison briefly notes that Paul’s discussion on equality qualifies the extent to which the paradigm of Christ’s self-impoverishment should be imitated by the Corinthians (that is, not to the point of self-endangerment).⁸⁹⁴ In other words, self-sacrifice and equality are not just presented side by side. They are rather two competing models of exchange that modulate and qualify each other.⁸⁹⁵ This observation can be extended to the other kinds of exchange and a progression of thought can be discerned in Paul’s longer discussion of the collection (2 Cor 8 – 9). Paul begins by presenting the exemplum of the Macedonians’ generosity (2 Cor 8:1– 5). The models that dominate are God-empowered χάρις and the gift of self. He then continues by presenting the collection as a test and reflecting on Jesus’s self-impoverishment (2 Cor 8:8 – 9). There is no mention here of the Jerusalem recipients and their par Harrison, Paul’s Language of Grace, 251.  John M. G. Barclay observes the tension in Paul’s text: “If Christ impoverished himself in his self-dispossession, this is precisely not what Paul requires of the Corinthians: I do not mean, he says, that there should be relief for others and hardship (θλῖψις) for you” (“Because He Was Rich He Became Poor,” 337– 38; emphasis in the text). Barclay, however, sees this tension as a flaw of the interpretion of 2 Cor 8:9 as Christ’s abandoning his wealth. Hays acknowledges, in part, the contrast between equality and self-sacrifice, but he downplays it: “[Paul] urges that there should be ‘a fair balance’ (isotēs) between those who have abundance and those who are in need. Such a practice of sharing is the minimal expression of conformity to Christ’s example of self-emptying” (The Moral Vision of the New Testament, 465). See also Horrell, “Paul’s Collection,” 77– 80; Lindemann, “Die Jerusalem-Kollekte,” 109; Watson, “Paul’s Collection,” 173 – 75.

5.7 Conclusions

275

ticipation, nor compassion for their difficult situation. The collection is entirely motivated on religious grounds. The problem arises, however, that the collection may be too onerous for the Corinthians or that it may exert excessive pressure on them to the advantage of Jerusalem (2 Cor 8:12– 13). Paul seems to believe that this problem may threaten the success of the collection and qualifies his previous statements by reassuring the Corinthians about the amount that they are required to contribute, their financial future, and the outcome of the collection. In doing so, he predicts that the Jerusalem recipients will reciprocate the collection by helping the Corinthians in times of hardship (2 Cor 8:13 – 15). The collection is neither a one-way donation, nor self-inflicted impoverishment, but the creation of an enduring relationship of mutual help with a friendly group of fellow believers. In 2 Cor 9, a similar pattern is identifiable. Paul introduces the collection as a ministry and a blessing (2 Cor 9:1– 5). It is, moreover, a cheerful gift that produces righteousness (2 Cor 9:6 – 10). There is no mention of Jerusalem, but only of the Macedonians and their participation. Yet, problems arise. The collection could be a cause of shame if the Corinthians are unprepared (2 Cor 9:4). It could be seen as a greedy act (2 Cor 9:5). It could be offered under duress (2 Cor 9:7). It could even cause the Corinthians to lose their economic self-sufficiency (2 Cor 9:8). Paul then reassures them that they only need to give as they have decided in their hearts (2 Cor 9:7) and that God will provide for them (2 Cor 9:8 – 11). Finally, Paul introduces the Jerusalem Christians, who reciprocate the collection by interceding on behalf of the Corinthians (2 Cor 9:14). The collection is not a one-way relationship, but an exchange of material and spiritual goods. The fact that 2 Cor 8 and 9 seem to follow the same pattern is consistent with many observations, since the time of Johann Salomo Semler’s commentary on 2 Corinthians (1776), that the two chapters did not originally belong together but were two independent fragments originally addressed to the Corinthians and other groups in Achaia respectively.⁸⁹⁶ If this is the case and Paul did in  Betz, 2 Corinthians 8 and 9, 3 – 4. For an overview of the many partition theories of 2 Corinthians, see Betz, 2 Corinthians 8 and 9, 3 – 36; Thrall, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Second Epistle to the Corinthians, 1:3 – 49, especially 36 – 43. For an evaluation of the debate and of the evidence with a special focus on 2 Cor 8 – 9, see Eve-Marie Becker, “Stellung und Funktion von 2. Korinther 8 – 9 im literarischen Endtext: Anmerkungen zum Stand der literarkritischen Diskussion,” in Bieringer, Ibita, Kurek-Chomycz, and Vollmer, Theologizing in the Corinthian Conflict, 283 – 304. For recent arguments against the separation of 2 Cor 8 and 9, see Stanley K. Stowers, “Peri Men Gar and the Integrity of 2 Cor. 8 and 9,” NovT 32 (1990): 340 – 8; Jan Lambrecht, “Paul’s Boasting about the Corinthians: A Study of 2 Cor. 8:24– 9:5,” NovT 40 (1998): 352– 68. For arguments in favor of the separation, see Klein, “Die Begründung für den Spendenaufruf für die Heiligen Jerusalems in 2Kor 8 und 9,” 119 – 28.

276

5 Paul’s Description of the Collection

fact write the two chapters at different times or possibly to different groups, the consistency of Paul’s line of thought is all the more remarkable, suggesting careful consideration of the underlying problems and of the ways to address them.⁸⁹⁷ Because of the structure of Paul’s argument—starting from religiously-oriented models of exchange then responding to problems with reciprocity-oriented ones—one may have the impression that Paul favors the former and only takes the latter into consideration to assuage economic anxiety among the Corinthians. Although plausible, this conclusion is not entirely justified. This evaluation of Paul’s hierarchy of values seems to a large degree subjective. As a matter of fact, in the other collection texts, religiously-oriented models do not come to the fore. In 1 Cor 16:3, Paul uses the term χάρις, but it does not seem to carry the theological weight that it does in 2 Cor 8 – 9. The religious significance of the collection is at best implied in 1 Cor 16:1– 4, while Paul prefers to present the collection in a down-to-earth manner by using the technical term λογεία and giving practical instructions as to its gathering and transportation.⁸⁹⁸ In Rom 15:25 – 28, on the other hand, reciprocity is front and center, and there is no reference whatsoever to God. A religious dimension denotes the passage— the Jerusalem believers are “the saints” (οἱ ἅγιοι), and they have offered spiritual gifts to the Gentiles (τὰ πνευματικά)—but the collection is fundamentally an affair between Jerusalem and the Gentile groups. Taking everything into account, the evidence does not allow the determination of whether purely religious motives had priority in Paul’s thinking over the establishment of stable and reciprocal intergroup relations or if the opposite was true. It is necessary to add a few remarks on the presence of benefaction ideology in the collection texts. I have suggested that Paul’s vision of the Jerusalem saints interceding on behalf of their Corinthian donors (2 Cor 9:14) may be seen as an early development of the reciprocity of material support and prayers between wealthy and poor members of Christian groups. A similar move in Herm. Sim. 2 has been interpreted as an attempt to institute a form of Christian patronage,⁸⁹⁹ but Paul’s brief reference to intercession does not rise to such a level of institutionalization. Rather, it is a way to ascribe some agency to the recipients of

 It is entirely plausible that the two chapters belonged together from the beginning and that Paul develops arguments with a similar pattern in each chapter. Lambrecht provides a possible explanation for the relation between the two chapters. He argues that 2 Cor 8 has “its pre-arranged structure” and was originally planned as an independent literary unit. 2 Cor 9, on the other hand, is an expansion on the topic of boasting, an idea that Paul feels is necessary to clarify after saying, in 2 Cor 8:24, that he boasted about the Corinthians (“Paul’s Boasting,” 367– 68).  Gerhard Kittel, “λογεία,” TDNT 4:282– 83; Beckheuer, Paulus und Jerusalem, 118 – 19.  See above, p. 167.

5.7 Conclusions

277

the collection and portray them as active exchange partners. The presence of reciprocity is more marked in 2 Cor 8:14. Paul’s emphasis on equality, however, suggests that he advocated mutual goodwill between Christian groups and readiness to support each other in times of need. This kind of intergroup relationship is a friendship of sorts, to the extent that the idea of friendship can apply to social groups, and part of a support network between early Christian groups. The view of intergroup reciprocity that Paul conveys in Rom 15:27 is closer to the asymmetry that characterizes patronage. Paul clearly expresses that the Gentile groups are under an obligation to reciprocate the gifts that they have received from Jerusalem. Moreover, the contrast between the spiritual gifts offered by Jerusalem and the (merely) fleshly ones given by the Gentiles in return seems to establish a hierarchy between the goods that the groups exchange. Finally, Paul uses the same language of fleshly and spiritual gifts when he discusses his financial relation with the Corinthians (1 Cor 9:11), a passage that has been read as Paul’s refusal of patronage from the Corinthians.⁹⁰⁰ The interpretation of this evidence is a complex undertaking, but some points can be made. First, reciprocity and obligation are not unique features of patronage. On the contrary, they characterize most stable relationships in Greco-Roman antiquity, as well as in many other societies. Second, Rom 15:27 seems a defense, rather than a rejection, of the obligation to reciprocate. The poor among the saints in Jerusalem are portrayed as having superior status by virtue of the spiritual gifts they have provided to the Gentiles. It is hard to understand, however, what kind of power the Jerusalem group, the economically vulnerable party in the exchange, could wield over the Gentile groups. In fact, the hierarchy that Rom 15:27 implies runs contrary to the normal expectations of patronage, which follow the flow of money, not the spiritual gifts. Third, Paul does not use this language in the Corinthian correspondence. There, he prefers to emphasize equality. If some in Corinth saw the collection as a means of establishing patronage over Jerusalem, he might have used the argument of Rom 15:27 to remind them that they were indebted to Jerusalem and that Jerusalem enjoyed superior (spiritual) status, but he does not do so. Any conclusion based on Paul’s failure to make this point in the Corinthian correspondence is an argument from silence. However, this omission is consistent with my argument in Chapter Four that the evidence does not support the idea that some Corinthians regarded the collection as an act of patronage. Lastly, the analysis of the collection texts in search for the models of exchange that Paul uses has produced very little evidence as to why a collection

 Chow, Patronage and Power, 172.

278

5 Paul’s Description of the Collection

was made for Jerusalem. Paul provides plentiful reasons why the Corinthians should contribute, but he does not say why he was gathering a collection to begin with. On the one hand, there is some evidence that the collection addressed material need in Jerusalem (Rom 15:26; 2 Cor 8:14; 9:12). Yet, consideration for the economic circumstances of the Jerusalem group and feelings of compassion play a very minor role, if any, as motivations for giving. On the other hand, the knowledge of the role of Jerusalem in Christian origins and of Paul’s complex relation with the early Jerusalem leaders causes readers of the Pauline corpus to make a number of assumptions about the collection as a recognition of the privileged position of the Jerusalem group in early Christianity and an attempt to create unity and mutual acceptance between the Jewish and Gentile branches of the nascent movement.⁹⁰¹ This background, however, does not feature prominently in the collection texts.⁹⁰² Strikingly, the words “Jerusalem,” “Israel,” “Jews,” or “Gentiles” are entirely absent from Paul’s longer treatment of the collection in 2 Cor 8 – 9. In fact, in 2 Cor 8 – 9 the collection is a ministry to “the saints” (2 Cor 8:4; 9:1, 12), a general term that here indicates the Jerusalem group but elsewhere can also apply to believers of other Christian groups (e. g., 2 Cor 1:1). We would not know that the collection was meant to support the Jerusalem group if we only had 2 Corinthians, which means that most of the evidence that we have about the collection is silent about the early ecclesial status of Jerusalem and Jewish-Gentile relations. Jerusalem is mentioned in 1 Cor 16:3 as the place where the collection will be delivered, but this passage does not seem to have any clear theological or motivational relevance. The only text that emphasizes the role of Jerusalem is Rom 15:25 – 28. In Rom 15:27 especially, the language of obligation and reciprocity implies that Paul saw the relationship between the Gentile groups—here, Paul refers to the Macedonian and Achaean believers as “the Gentiles” (τὰ ἔθνη)— and Jerusalem as a long-lasting relation of mutual support. Moreover, Paul states that this relationship was initiated by Jerusalem’s gift to the Gentiles, and his choice of the phrase τὰ πνευματικά to describe their gift indicates that Jerusalem, the dispenser of spiritual goods, enjoyed a higher spiritual status than

 Willis, “Collection,” 225; Holl, “Der Kirchenbegriff des Paulus,” 61; Franklin, Die Kollekte des Paulus, 54; Georgi, Remembering the Poor, 42; Nickle, The Collection, 72– 73; Dahl and Donahue, Studies in Paul, 32; Holmberg, Paul and Power, 37– 38; Lambrecht, Second Corinthians, 142; Eckert, “Die Kollekte des Paulus für Jerusalem,” 67– 72; Verbrugge, Paul’s Style of Church Leadership, 368; Lindemann, “Die Jerusalem-Kollekte,” 102; De Virgilio, La teologia della solidarietà in Paolo, 261; Verbrugge and Krell, Paul and Money, 141– 46.  Schmithals observes that Paul never states that the collection was meant to emphasize the unity of Christianity (“Die Kollekten des Paulus,” 231– 52).

5.7 Conclusions

279

the Gentiles, who could only contribute τὰ σαρκικά. The language of Rom 15:27 provides, in fact, some indication that Jerusalem’s primacy and Jewish-Gentile unity were in Paul’s mind with regard to the collection, although he only develops these thoughts in Romans and not very extensively.⁹⁰³ Again, it is impossible for us to say why he failed to raise these ideas in the Corinthian correspondence. He may have felt that they had little motivational power. Alternatively, he may have seen them as secondary with respect to other values.⁹⁰⁴

 The study that explores ethnicity in the collection most thoroughly is conducted by Wan (“Collection for the Saints as Anticolonial Act,” especially 203 – 10). His arguments are mostly based on Rom 15.  If one believes that Paul’s commitment to “remember the poor” at his meeting with the Jerusalem apostles (Gal 2:10) was a direct reference to the collection, the case for the collection as a gift that fosters Jewish-Christian unity is stronger. See Chang, “Fund-Raising in Corinth,” 187. Even so, the absence of this theme in 2 Cor 8 – 9 remains largely unexplained.

6 Early Christian Collections in the First Three Centuries 6.1 Introduction Paul’s collection for the poor in Jerusalem has been the subject of intense study in recent decades, especially in its relation to other forms of poverty relief in the Greco-Roman and Jewish worlds. Adolf von Harnack, however, observed already in 1902 that Paul’s collection was part of a wider phenomenon in early Christianity “in which one church comes to the aid of another in any case of need.”⁹⁰⁵ Harnack’s interpretation of intergroup support was that it proved the ecumenical character of primitive Christianity and was an expression of the gospel of love and charity. After discussing various kinds of early Christian charitable practices, Harnack took under consideration the hospitality of journeying Christians and care for other churches in poverty or peril as forms of charity that “went outside the circle of the individual church.”⁹⁰⁶ Harnack’s conclusions about the body of evidence concerning intergroup support, which consists of six instances in the first three centuries, deserve renewed consideration. In particular, Harnack’s view that exchanges of financial aid demonstrate the gospel-inspired unity of Christianity appears to depend heavily upon the judgments of the literary sources we possess. However, it will become apparent that most of these sources are literary constructions about the development of Christianity. Like Harnack centuries later, they coopt intergroup support to advance their general arguments and do not necessarily reflect the original motives of the involved actors. The two pieces of firsthand evidence, letters by Dionysius of Corinth and Cyprian of Carthage, suggest that competition for greater authority was also an important factor. The study of the literary evidence will also provide a more detailed description of intergroup support in early Christianity and highlight a number of its features. First, this phenomenon followed a consistent pattern with regards to the request, collection, transportation, and distribution of money. Second, imprisonment for the faith was the main reason for sending financial help to another church because of the great honor that persecuted Christians enjoyed. Third, the evidence covers a large area of the Mediterranean Basin and indicates that  Harnack, The Mission and Expansion of Christianity, 1:181. Countryman offers a similar judgment: “Gifts from one church to another were also important in that they helped maintain ties of communion throughout the world” (The Rich Christian, 119).  Harnack, The Mission and Expansion of Christianity, 1:177. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110723946-008

6.2 Antioch’s Relief for Judea

281

intergroup support was a known feature of the network of Christian groups. Fourth, the relative size of the churches involved in these exchanges and the central role assumed by bishops suggest that intergroup support played a meaningful role in the rise to regional or extra-regional prominence of certain churches and in the consolidation of episcopal authority in the local groups. In order to analyze the exchanges of financial help between Christian groups, this chapter examines each of the six instances for which we have evidence. It first contextualizes each exchange in its historical and literary context and reviews the major scholarly discussions around it. It then points out the practical aspects of the exchanges as well as their interpretations by the sources. Moreover, since several instances of intergroup support are described in the context of larger literary works, attention is paid to the ways in which the sources deploy stories about financial help to other communities for their particular aims, usually after the fact, and to the meanings and purposes of these exchanges in their original historical circumstances. The last section of this chapter highlights the common features of these instances of intergroup support and their significance for an understanding of early Christianity.

6.2 Antioch’s Relief for Judea The Book of Acts reports an instance of intergroup financial support in the very first decades of Christianity. In response to a prophetic prediction of a worldwide famine, the fast-growing group in Antioch of Syria decided to send relief to the brothers in Judea: At that time prophets came down from Jerusalem to Antioch. One of them named Agabus stood up and predicted by the Spirit that there would be a severe famine over all the world; and this took place during the reign of Claudius. The disciples determined that according to their ability, each would send relief to the believers living in Judea; this they did, sending it to the elders by Barnabas and Saul. (Acts 11:27– 30; NRSV)

Since the account in Acts mentions Paul, research on the Antiochene collection has focused primarily on what place this Jerusalem trip occupies in the Pauline chronology. A plain reading of Paul’s visits to Jerusalem in Galatians and Acts results in the identification of Paul’s first visit, three years after his calling (Gal 1:18 – 24), with his time in Jerusalem after escaping from Damascus (Acts 9:26 – 30) and his second visit, after fourteen years (Gal 2:1– 10), with the meeting at Jerusalem (Acts 15:1– 29). This picture, however, leaves out the trip that Barnabas and Paul made to Jerusalem to deliver the Antiochene collection. One easy explanation of the omission sometimes given by scholars is that Paul omitted

282

6 Early Christian Collections in the First Three Centuries

this collection visit because it was not germane to his claims in Galatians.⁹⁰⁷ However, the extremely limited number of contacts and the lack of familiarity between Paul and the Jerusalem group are key elements of his argument in Galatians that his gospel was not of human origin (Gal 1:11), and the omission of an official visit to Jerusalem on behalf of Antioch would suggest that Paul disingenuously hid evidence that undermined his argument, which would be a risky move in an apologetic letter like Galatians. Many attempts have been made to reconcile the evidence of Acts and Galatians, generally arguing that Luke (or one of his sources) duplicated one of the visits,⁹⁰⁸ altered the sequence of the events,⁹⁰⁹ or outright fabricated the Antiochene collection.⁹¹⁰

 J. B. Lightfoot, St. Paul’s Epistle to the Galatians (Andover: Draper, 1891), 331.  W. M. Ramsay identifies the Antiochene collection with the second visit in Galatians (St. Paul the Traveller and the Roman Citizen, [New York: Putnam’s Sons, 1896], 48 – 55; see also J. N. Sanders, “Peter and Paul in Acts,” NTS 2 [1955]: 133 – 43; Charles H. Talbert, “Again: Paul’s Visits to Jerusalem,” NovT 9 [1967]: 26 – 40). Eduard Schwartz argues that Paul’s visits in Acts 11 and 15 are a doublet and both describe the meeting in Gal 2:1– 10 (“Zur Chronologie des Paulus,” in Eduard Schwartz, Zum Neuen Testament und zum frühen Christentum, vol. 1 of Gesammelte Schriften [Berlin: De Gruyter, 1963], 135– 38; see also Kirsopp Lake, “The Apostolic Council of Jerusalem,” in The Acts of the Apostles: Additional Notes to the Commentary, ed. Kirsopp Lake and Henry J. Cadbury, vol. 5 of The Beginnings of Christianity, ed. F. J. Foakes and Kirsopp Lake, [Grand Rapids: Baker Book House, 1979], 201– 2; Joachim Jeremias, “Untersuchungen zur Quellenproblem der Apostelgeschichte,” ZNW 36 [1937]: 217– 18; Frank W. Beare, “The Sequence of Events in Acts 9 – 15 and the Career of Peter,” JBL 62 [1943]: 297– 98; Pierre Benoit, “La deuxième visite de Saint Paul à Jérusalem,” Bib 40 [1959]: 778 – 92; David R. Catchpole, “Paul, James and the Apostolic Decree,” NTS 23 [1977]: 432– 38; S. Dockx, Chronologies néotestamentaires et vie de l’Église primitive: Recherches exégétiques [Leuven: Peeters, 1984], 45 – 87; Rudolf Pesch, Die Apostelgeschichte, 2 vols., EKK 5 [Zürich: Benziger; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener, 1986], 1:356). Donald Fay Robinson suggests that Acts 11 is a doublet of Paul’s first visit to Jerusalem (Acts 9:26 – 30 and Gal 1:18 – 24) (“A Note on Acts 11:27– 30,” JBL 63 [1944]: 169 – 72).  Carl Clemen suggests that Luke misplaced traditions on the collection that he did not fully understand (Paulus: Sein Leben und Wirken, 2 vols. [Giessen: Ricker’sche, 1904], 1:215 – 16; similar arguments in Martin Dibelius, Aufsätze zur Apostelgeschichte, 4th ed. [Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1961], 17; Ernst Haenchen, The Acts of the Apostles: A Commentary, trans. Bernard Noble and Gerald Shinn [Philadelphia: Westminster, 1971], 377– 79). John Knox argues that Acts 11 describes the later collection among the Pauline groups, which Luke anticipates in order to advance his agenda of describing the church in harmony (Chapters in the Life of Paul, 49 – 51; see also Paul J. Achtemeier, The Quest for Unity in the New Testament Church: A Study in Paul and Acts [Philadelphia: Fortress, 1987], 42, 46; Gerd Lüdemann, Early Christianity According to the Traditions in Acts: A Commentary (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1987), 137– 38; Luke Timothy Johnson, The Acts of the Apostles, SP 5 [Collegeville: Liturgical, 1992], 208 – 9). Robert W. Funk observes that Luke orders his material geographically rather than chronologically and argues that he places a later collection in Acts 11 before discussing the expansion of Christianity westward from

6.2 Antioch’s Relief for Judea

283

Even more remarkable than the absence of the Antiochene collection from the Galatians sequence is that Paul never mentions this collection anywhere else, not even when he discusses the collection in Galatia, Macedonia, and Achaia. Paul tells the Corinthians that he asked the Galatians to set aside money on a weekly basis (1 Cor 16:1– 2) and that the Macedonians had completed their own collection (2 Cor 8:1– 5; also 2 Cor 9:2 – 4). Moreover, he reports to the Romans on the collection in Macedonia and Achaia (Rom 15:26). Never does he mention any collection in Syria, one that, if it had been successfully completed, could have been regarded as an important precedent. Strikingly, whereas Paul never alludes to the Antiochene collection, Acts never describes Paul’s collection in the other regions. Paul writes that the delivery of the collection was a primary reason for his last journey to Jerusalem (Rom 15:25). Acts, on the other hand, is vague as to why Paul decided to go to Jerusalem and only states that he sailed for Syria (Acts 18:18; 20:3). In his speech to Felix, the Paul of Acts claims that he came to Jerusalem “to bring alms to my nation and to offer sacrifices” (Acts 24:17; NRSV), words that are at best an indirect allusion to Paul’s collection.⁹¹¹ John Knox explains this conflicting evidence by shifting the focus from the chronological sequence of Paul’s visits to their character. He notices that both Acts and the Pauline corpus report an “acquaintance” visit (Acts 9:26 – 30 and Gal 1:18 – 24), a “conference” visit (Acts 15:1– 29 and Gal 2:1– 10), and an “offering” visit. The latter one is the delivery of the collection that Paul plans in Rom 15:25, but Luke moves it to an earlier phase in Paul’s career.⁹¹² Knox argues that Luke’s sources described the collection as a “peace offering” that aimed to improve relationships between early Christian groups. For Luke, this symbolic significance of the collection was at odds with his narrative that there had been peace in the church for many years. The displacement of the “offering” visit is Luke’s attempt to reshape its meaning.⁹¹³

Antioch (“The Enigma of the Famine Visit,” JBL 75 [1956]: 135; followed by Robert Jewett, A Chronology of Paul’s Life [Philadelphia: Fortress, 1979], 34, 69 – 75). See also Valentin Weber, Die antiochenische Kollekte: Die übersehene Hauptorientierung für die Paulusforschung (Würzburg: Bauch, 1917); Oscar Holtzmann, “Die Jerusalemreisen des Paulus und die Kollekte,” ZNW 6 (1905): 102– 4; D. R. De Lacey, “Paul in Jerusalem,” NTS 20 (1973): 82– 86; Richard I. Pervo, Acts: A Commentary, Hermeneia (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2009), 297.  Georg Strecker believes that the Antiochene collection is a Lukan creation that serves Luke’s agenda (“Die sogenannte zweite Jerusalemreise des Paulus (Act 11:27– 30),” ZNW 53 [1962]: 67– 77). See also Gerd Lüdemann, Paul Apostle to the Gentiles: Studies in Chronology, trans. F. Stanley Jones (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1984), 13 – 14.  See above, p. 4 n. 8.  Knox, Chapters in the Life of Paul, 31– 52.  Knox, Chapters in the Life of Paul, 51.

284

6 Early Christian Collections in the First Three Centuries

The reason that Knox provides for this displacement of the “offering” visit is not entirely convincing. It explains why Luke allegedly recasts the collection as famine relief—such a purpose is actually consistent with Luke’s view of the church in harmony—but not why he creates an additional Jerusalem visit at an earlier time. More important, Knox’s identification of the Antiochene collection with Paul’s collection requires that some key details of the account in Acts be Luke’s invention: the participation of Antioch, the famine, the prophecy of Agabus, and the presence of Barnabas.⁹¹⁴ As a result, if Acts 11:27– 30 describes the Pauline collection, Luke changed or manufactured its details to such an extent that this account has little relevance for historical research on Paul’s collection. On the other hand, if a separate Antiochene collection took place independent of Paul’s efforts in Galatia, Macedonia, and Achaia, then either its timing or Paul’s participation in it seems questionable.⁹¹⁵ In other words, despite many attempts, the available evidence does not unequivocally answer the two intertwined questions of the historicity of the Antiochene collection and of its relation to the Pauline collection. Keeping in mind the intractable nature of these historical questions, my approach is to take the text of Acts at face value and examine Luke’s perspective on intergroup exchange and its meaning for the early history of Christianity.⁹¹⁶

 Georgi, Remembering the Poor, 44; Downs, “Paul’s Collection,” 56. In another section of his study, Knox provides another possible explanation for the problems of the Antiochene collection, namely, that Luke’s mistake is to include Paul in its delivery: “If such a visit occurred at all, Paul had no part in it” (Chapters in the Life of Paul, 58). See also Martin Hengel, Acts and the History of Earliest Christianity (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1979), 111– 12.  Jacob Jervell, Die Apostelgeschichte, KEK 3 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1998), 329. Pesch argues that Luke transformed a tradition about Barnabas’s trip to Jerusalem into one about Barnabas and Paul (Die Apostelgeschichte, 1:356).  Two additional debates have animated the historical research on the Antiochene collection. The first revolves around the famine predicted by Agabus, which, according to Acts, took place under Claudius. Josephus reports that Queen Helena of Adiabene sent famine relief to Judea during the reign of Claudius (Ant. 20:51– 53, 101). This account has some notable lexical connections with the Antiochene collection in Acts, namely, the reference to a “great famine” (λιμός μεγάλη/ μέγα) and to Judea. In reporting about the famine in Acts 11:28, Eusebius refers to non-Christian historians who relate the same information. Unfortunately, he does not identify them (Hist. eccl. 2.8). Suetonius mentions frequent crop failures during the reign of Claudius (Claud. 18.2). See Ramsay, St. Paul, 48 – 49; Kenneth Sperber Gapp, “The Universal Famine Under Claudius,” HTR 28 (1935): 258 – 65; Joachim Jeremias, “Sabbatjahr und neutestamentliche Chronologie,” ZNW 27 (1928): 98 – 103; Jeremias, “Untersuchungen zur Quellenproblem der Apostelgeschichte,” 216 – 17; Jacques Dupont, “Notes sur les Actes des Apôtres,” RB 62 (1955): 52– 55; Stanislas Giet, “Nouvelles remarques sur les voyages de Saint Paul à Jérusalem,” RevScRel 31 (1957): 334– 35; F. F. Bruce, “Christianity Under Claudius,” BJRL 44 (1962): 309; Martin Hengel and Anna

6.2 Antioch’s Relief for Judea

285

There are striking similarities between the famine relief from Antioch and the Pauline collection. First, the material help is meant to support the Jerusalem group.⁹¹⁷ Just as some in the Pauline groups, possibly a majority, lived in poverty and feared impoverishment, so also the Antiochene believers were facing the alarming prospect of a famine, which would have threatened whatever resources they had. Yet, they autonomously decided to endanger their own subsistence and prioritize the welfare of the Jerusalem assembly.⁹¹⁸ Apparently, no collection was organized for the support of other groups at this early stage.⁹¹⁹ Second, just as Paul recommended that the Corinthians contribute in proportion to their means, so also the Antiochene Christians offered relief “according to each one’s ability” (καθὼς εὐπορεῖτό τις; Acts 11:29).⁹²⁰ Third, the groups chose dele-

Maria Schwemer, Paul Between Damascus and Antioch: The Unknown Years, trans. John Bowden (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1997), 240 – 41; Rainer Riesner, Paul’s Early Period: Chronology, Mission Strategy, Theology, trans. Doug Stott (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998), 128 – 34; Richard I. Pervo, Dating Acts: Between the Evangelists and the Apologists (Santa Rosa: Polebridge, 2006), 193 – 94; Pervo, Acts, 295. The second debate focuses on Acts 12:25, a verse that is usually associated with the Antiochene collection because the presence of Paul and Barnabas and the use of the term διακονία connect it with Acts 11:29 – 30. The textual tradition for this verse is divided. The reading “they came back to Jerusalem” (ὑπέστρεψαν εἰς Ἰερουσαλήμ) is attested by the majority of witnesses including ‫ א‬and B, but many important witnesses (e. g., P74, A, and D) have “they came back from Jerusalem” (ἐξ or ἀπό). Acts 11:30 seems to imply that Paul and Barnabas had departed for Jerusalem, and Antioch is their home community in this period, so the second reading is easier: Paul and Barnabas went back home from Jerusalem. Therefore, from a text-critical point of view, the first reading is a lectio difficilior to be preferred. Several attempts have been made to explain the more difficult text, but none is very convincing. See discussion in Charles H. Buck Jr., “The Collection for the Saints.” HTR 43 (1950): 15 – 16; Stanislas Giet, “Le second voyage de Saint Paul à Jérusalem,” RevScRel 25 (1951): 265 – 69; Dupont, “Notes sur les Actes des Apôtres,” 49 – 52; Jacques Dupont, “La mission de Paul à Jérusalem,” NovT 1 (1957): 275 – 303; Giet, “Nouvelles remarques,” 332– 34; Benoit, “La deuxième visite de Saint Paul à Jérusalem,” 778 – 92; Funk, “The Enigma of the Famine Visit,” 132– 36.  According to Acts 11:29, the collection is meant for the brothers in Judea. However, since Acts 12:25, which appears to refer to this collection and uses the same term διακονία, mentions Jerusalem, it is commonly assumed that the Antiochene collection was delivered to the Jerusalem believers. See Lüdemann, Early Christianity, 135; Friedrich Wilhelm Horn, “Die Kollektenthematik in der Apostelgeschichte,” in Die Apostelgeschichte und die hellenistische Geschichtsschreibung: Festschrift für Eckhard Plümacher zu seinem 65. Geburtstag, ed. Cilliers Breytenbach and Jens Schröter, AJEC 57 (Leiden: Brill, 2004), 143.  Pervo, Acts, 295; Craig S. Keener, Acts: An Exegetical Commentary, 4 vols. (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2012– 2016), 2:1859.  By the time of the Antiochene collection, Acts has introduced believers in several localities, e. g., Samaria (Acts 8:4– 25), Damascus (Acts 9:19), Lydda (Acts 9:32), and Joppa (Acts 9:36).  The conjunction καθώς, derived from κατά, expresses here a principle of proportionality between the financial well-being of the believers in Antioch and their contribution to the collec-

286

6 Early Christian Collections in the First Three Centuries

gates who delivered the collection to Jerusalem. This last similarity does not seem especially remarkable, but other ways of transporting the money were entirely conceivable (e. g., a Jerusalem delegate could have accepted the gift in Antioch). These similarities can be explained in a variety of ways. Paul may have known about the Antiochene collection and partially organized his fundraising effort in light of it.⁹²¹ Alternatively, Luke may have known at least some details of the Pauline collection and modeled his account of the Antiochene gift on it (Knox’s theory). On the other hand, even if the two collections are unrelated, they portray similar socioeconomic conditions in early Christian groups.⁹²² Luke did not present the Antiochene collection as public largesse of individual wealthy donors, but as the humble gathering of contributions from all members of the group, each according to his or her financial means. The size of these contributions was apparently secondary to their significance as an expression of the special bond uniting Antioch with Jerusalem and of the genuine faith of the contributors.⁹²³ In light of these general similarities between the Antiochene and the Pauline collection, some fundamental differences emerge. First, the Antiochene collection is organized in response to a precise event and an urgent need: an impending famine. Second, it is part of an enduring and important relationship between Jerusalem and Antioch, the assembly in Antioch and its interaction with Jerusalem constituting the center of Acts 11:19 – 15:35. Third, the relief is clearly defined as διακονία. In what follows, I will examine these three points.

tion. See C. K. Barrett, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Acts of the Apostles, 2 vols., ICC 33 (London: T&T Clark, 1994– 1998), 1:565. For similar uses in 2 Cor 8:3,12, see above, p. 185 n. 602.  According to Acts, Paul was a key actor in the Antiochene collection. However, Paul never mentions the Antiochene precedent in his letters, and when he instructs the Corinthians to give “whatever you may save”—an expression that echoes the criterion “according to each one’s ability” in Acts (Pervo, Acts, 297)—he refers to the Galatians, not Antioch (1 Cor 16:1– 2).  In both collections, the contributors are required to give according to their means (Acts 11:29; 1 Cor 16:2; 2 Cor 8:11– 12), an approach that allows for the participation of less wealthy individuals.  Keener, Acts, 2:1859; Carl R. Holladay, Acts: A Commentary, NTL (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2016), 247. In the narrative of the Christian beginnings in Antioch, news of the conversion of the “Hellenists” in Antioch reaches Jerusalem (Acts 11:22). Since in Acts 15:1 the question is raised as to the need for believers in Antioch to be circumcised, it is possible that the term “Hellenists” refers here to Gentiles. Barnabas is sent to inspect the situation in Antioch and finds the development encouraging. The narrative closes with the Antiochene collection, which seems to confirm Barnabas’s judgment of the believers in Antioch.

6.2 Antioch’s Relief for Judea

287

The Antiochene collection was occasioned by Agabus’s prediction of “a severe famine over all the world” (λιμὸν μεγάλην μέλλειν ἔσεσθαι ἐφ᾿ ὅλην τὴν οἰκουμένην; Acts 11:28; NRSV).⁹²⁴ There has been some debate as to the extent of this famine.⁹²⁵ The historical record provides no evidence of a worldwide famine during the reign of Claudius, but several localized food shortages are widely attested. Therefore, the phrase is best regarded as a literary hyperbole.⁹²⁶ In prophetic oracles, severe famines occur often among the signs of doom that accompany national catastrophes or the end times.⁹²⁷ This is the kind of disaster that Agabus predicts and that demands prompt action from the Antiochene group.⁹²⁸

 Agabus also appears in Acts 21:10 – 11, where he again comes down from Judea and predicts future events. Prophets in Acts do not simply convey God’s word, but rather predict the future. See Hermann Patsch, “Die Prophetie des Agabus,” TZ 28 (1972): 228 – 32; David Hill, New Testament Prophecy, New Foundations Theological Library (Atlanta: John Knox, 1979), 107– 8; Barrett, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Acts of the Apostles, 1:561; Joseph A. Fitzmyer, The Acts of the Apostles, AB 31 (New York: Doubleday, 1998), 481; Daniel Marguerat, Les actes des apôtres (1 – 12), CNT 5a (Geneva: Labor et fides, 2007), 416 – 17. Pervo believes that Acts 21 borrows this character from the collection source (Acts, 296). On the contrary, Barrett argues that Luke introduced Agabus into the collection narrative (A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Acts of the Apostles, 1:559). See also Lüdemann, Early Christianity, 137. For itinerant prophets in early Christianity, see Did. 11.  Charles Cutler Torrey argues that the phrase ὅλη ἡ οἰκουμένη is a Semitism that refers to Judea (The Composition and Date of Acts, HTS 1 [Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1916], 21). Pervo suggests that for Luke, the phrase may refer to the Roman empire (Luke 2:1; Acts 17:6; 19:27; 24:5) (Acts, 296 n. 67). Garnsey observes that famines could be circumscribed to a city under siege or affect relatively large regions. In particular, the food crisis that is usually identified with the one described in Acts 11:28 affected Egypt, Syria, Judea, and Greece over the years 45 – 47 CE (Famine and Food Supply, 21– 22).  Fitzmyer, The Acts of the Apostles, 481. Winter points to an inscription from Apollonia of Pisidia (CIG 3973) for comparison. According to Winter, the sentence “[famine] spread over all the world” (κόσμον ἐπέχεσθε πάντα) (l. 6) “should be seen as a natural poetic hyperbole, but with the proviso that sufficient detail emerges to indicate that at the very least this was a serious famine in the land which threatened both humans and livestock” (“Acts and Food Shortages,” 66 – 67). Garnsey distinguishes between famines, which imply “starvation and a substantially increased mortality rate in a community or region,” and food shortages, which are characterized by “rising prices, popular discontent, hunger, in the worst cases bordering on starvation.” Garnsey maintains that famines were a rare occurrence in antiquity, while food shortages were fairly common (Famine and Food Supply, 6; see also Riesner, Paul’s Early Period, 127– 30). The phrase “a large famine” (λιμὸς μεγάλη) suggests the former scenario.  See, for instance, Gen 41:27; Deut 32:24; 2 Sam 24:13; Isa 8:21; 14:30; Jer 15:2; 42:16; Ezek 14:13; Sib. Or. 12:157; Liv. Pro. 10:4; Matt 24:7; Mark 13:8; Luke 21:11; Rev 6:8; 18:8. David E. Aune suggests that Agabus, if he was indeed a historical figure, predicted the famine as a sign of the end times and that Luke “removed the eschatological features of the prediction of Agabus” (Prophecy in Early Christianity and the Ancient Mediterranean World [Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1983], 265).

288

6 Early Christian Collections in the First Three Centuries

Secular responses to food shortage in the Greek East mainly relied on benefactors.⁹²⁹ A wealthy individual was chosen as grain commissioner (curator annonae) and charged with solving the crisis by channeling private resources into the purchase and distribution of grain at an affordable cost.⁹³⁰ Part of the reason why the elite agreed to mitigate the impact of food shortages on the common population was to avoid the social unrest that inevitably accompanied price hikes.⁹³¹ This approach was also followed in Roman Judea. In the mid-20s BCE, Herod the Great managed a food shortage by having grain brought in from Egypt and distributed to the population (Ant. 15.299 – 316). In the late 40s CE, Helena, queen of Adiabene, imported provisions from Egypt and Cyprus (Ant. 20.51– 53,101).⁹³² This kind of response was put into place when a crisis

However, some features of Acts 11:28 are typical of oracular language. For instance, the verb σημαίνω may indicate an unclear, allusive utterance. However, Agabus’s oracle does not seem obscure. See Kirsopp Lake and Henry J. Cadbury, The Acts of the Apostles: English Translation and Commentary, vol. 4 of The Beginnings of Christianity, ed. F. J. Foakes and Kirsopp Lake, (Grand Rapids: Baker Book House, 1979), 131; Hans Conzelmann, Acts of the Apostles: A Commentary on the Acts of the Apostles, Hermeneia (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1987), 90; Barrett, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Acts of the Apostles, 1:562– 63. The verb μέλλω seems redundant but is common in oracles. See Pervo, Acts, 296. For οἰκουμένη in prophecy, see, e. g., Isa 13:5, 9; 14:17; Luke 21:26; Rev 3:10; 12:9; 16:14. Ulrich B. Müller points out the oracular phrase “through the Spirit” (διὰ τοῦ πνεύματος; Acts 11:28; see also Acts 21:4, 11) (Prophetie und Predigt im Neuen Testament: Formgeschichtliche Untersuchungen zur urchristlichen Prophetie, SNT 10 [Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus Gerd Mohn, 1975], 130 – 40; see also Aune, Prophecy, 265).  Winter observes: “In [prophetic] discourse it is of the very essence to speak in universals when giving notice of an event with far-reaching implications and demanding action” (“Acts and Food Shortages,” 68). The text of Acts does not clarify the time between Agabus’s prediction and the actual delivery of the collection.  Watson, “Paul’s Collection,” 31– 48.  The grain commissioner was naturally expected to spend part of his own resources for the solution of the crisis, but he would also use his influence to recruit other benefactors in a public ἐπίδοσις. See Hands, Charities and Social Aid in Greece and Rome, 95; Watson, “Paul’s Collection,” 43 – 46; Kloppenborg, “Fiscal Aspects,” 186 – 87; Erdkamp, The Grain Market, 265 – 83. For ἐπιδόσεις, see above, p. 76 n. 261.  Hands, Charities and Social Aid in Greece and Rome, 95 – 97; Garnsey, Famine and Food Supply, 82– 86; Winter, “Acts and Food Shortages,” 72– 75; Muñiz Coello, “Attitudes and Responses to Disasters,” 30 – 32. Garnsey and Morris observe that the class that produced benefactors who could respond to temporary crises also produced speculators. As a result, the provision of staple food was entirely regulated by the elite, who managed it as a tool of political and social power (“Risk and the Polis,” 104– 5).  Gapp maintains that the famine to which Helena responded was the same mentioned in Acts 11:28 (“The Universal Famine Under Claudius,” 260 – 61). See also Riesner, Paul’s Early Period, 132– 34.

6.2 Antioch’s Relief for Judea

289

was imminent or unfolding and, therefore, relied on the ready availability of substantial funds such as only wealthy benefactors could ensure. The Antiochene collection appears to be of a different nature. There is no indication that the believers in Antioch were particularly wealthy. In Acts 11:29, Luke uses the verb εὐπορέω to describe the measure of their contribution. This verb generally indicates financial prosperity.⁹³³ Here, however, it is used in a clause introduced by καθώς that expresses proportionality between one’s finances and one’s contribution.⁹³⁴ Participation in the collection was therefore not necessarily limited to the wealthy. It was rather open to all those who were willing to share their resources. Furthermore, whereas Luke frequently highlights individual benefactors (e. g., Barnabas, Acts 4:36 – 37; Cornelius, Acts 10:2), no single contributor is named in the Antiochene collection.⁹³⁵ Therefore, the relief from Antioch was a response to disaster that originated from the group as a whole. All believers were called on to contribute to the extent that they could.⁹³⁶ The Antiochene collection is portrayed as part of the stable relationship between Jerusalem and Antioch.⁹³⁷ Acts begins its narrative in Jerusalem, but in Acts 11:19, the focus shifts to Antioch.⁹³⁸ It was a characteristic of Christianity in Antioch, however, that it had a strong connection with the Jerusalem group. Initially, the gospel was brought to Antioch by Jerusalem believers who had been scattered by persecution (Acts 11:19). When the group became sizeable, the Jerusalem group sent Barnabas as a delegate (Acts 11:22). It appears that Barnabas was charged with surveying and overseeing the development of the nas-

 BDAG, sub voce “εὐπορέω.” Pervo infers from the use of this verb that some in Antioch were prospering (Acts, 297).  See a similar construction with the verb εὐοδόω in 1 Cor 16:2.  Winter observes that Luke mentions at least one person of high status in the Antiochene group: Manaen, σύντροφος of Herod Antipas. Had the group decided to adopt the customary Greek response, they could have chosen him as grain commissioner in charge of the fundraising (“Acts and Food Shortages,” 75).  Beverly Roberts Gaventa, The Acts of the Apostles, ANTC (Nashville: Abingdon, 2003), 181. Watson maintains that “it was the church members, and not the leaders, who took the decision to help the Christians at risk in Judaea” (“Paul’s Collection,” 153). In fact, Luke presents the decision as communal (Acts 11:29). Luke, however, does not really elaborate on the decision making process that led to sending relief to Judea.  Gaventa, The Acts of the Apostles, 180; Downs, “Paul’s Collection,” 56 – 57.  As Pervo notes, Acts does not lend itself to clear divisions (Acts, 290). Jerusalem preserves its symbolic role and is the scene of the meeting in Acts 15. Acts 12 describes events in Jerusalem. Acts 13:4– 14:20 recounts Paul’s first missionary journey. However, despite these movements, the narration consistently returns to the developments in Antioch.

290

6 Early Christian Collections in the First Three Centuries

cent community.⁹³⁹ This detail is fundamental inasmuch as it indicates that the Jerusalem group felt responsible for the care of the burgeoning Antioch group.⁹⁴⁰ Similarly, a group of prophets from Jerusalem visited Antioch (Acts 11:27).⁹⁴¹ When dissension arose in Antioch, the believers relied on Jerusalem’s advice to settle the controversy (Acts 15:1– 35), implicitly acknowledging Jerusalem’s authority over them.⁹⁴² In this context, the Jerusalem leaders sent a letter, the socalled apostolic decree, in which they claimed for themselves the right to “impose burdens” on the Antioch believers (Acts 15:28).⁹⁴³ There is no record of such a close relationship with Jerusalem for any other early Christian group. Nicholas Taylor argues that the two groups operated according to the pattern of the Greco-Roman institution of κοινωνία (see Gal 2:9) or societas—a consensual partnership in which partners joined their means, material or otherwise, for a common purpose.⁹⁴⁴ Whether or not Luke thought in such terms, it constitutes a good heuristic model for conceiving the relationship between these groups. In Luke’s narrative, Antioch and Jerusalem collaborate in the same project of preaching the gospel, albeit in different locales and with somewhat different approaches, and share their resources freely. Their interactions are extensive and

 Hengel and Schwemer, Paul Between Damascus and Antioch, 204.  Markus Bockmuehl suggests that Jerusalem Jews (and Jewish Christians) may have regarded Antioch as part of the Holy Land and, therefore, within the scope of their authority (Jewish Law in Gentile Churches: Halakhah and the Beginning of Christian Public Ethics [Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2000], 49 – 83). The status of Barnabas, and later Paul, with respect to Jerusalem is ambiguous. Although he was initially Jerusalem’s delegate, he and Paul later received a commission from the leaders of the group in Antioch (Acts 13:1– 3) and reported to them, not to Jerusalem, about the outcome of their mission (Acts 14:27). Moreover, they eventually acted as Antioch’s delegates to Jerusalem (Acts 15:2). See Horn, “Die Kollektenthematik,” 148; Hengel, Acts and the History of Earliest Christianity, 101– 2.  Barrett suggests that these prophets were part of the aid sent from Jerusalem (A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Acts of the Apostles, 1:561).  Taylor, Paul, Antioch and Jerusalem, 108; Horn, “Die Kollektenthematik,” 146.  On the historicity of the apostolic decree, see Catchpole, “Paul, James and the Apostolic Decree,” 428 – 44; Taylor, Paul, Antioch and Jerusalem, 140 – 42; Fitzmyer, The Acts of the Apostles, 561– 63.  Sampley interprets the Jerusalem meeting in Gal 2:1– 10 as the establishment of a partnership between Paul, Barnabas, and the Jerusalem pillars “around the mutual task of spreading the one gospel” (Pauline Partnership in Christ, 21– 50). Taylor builds on Sampley and maintains that a partnership existed not between the five individuals present at the meeting, but between the two groups in Antioch and Jerusalem, and that it predated the Jerusalem meeting (Paul, Antioch and Jerusalem, 88 – 144).

6.2 Antioch’s Relief for Judea

291

relatively frequent.⁹⁴⁵ The Antiochene collection can be understood as one expression, among many, of this special and unique partnership.⁹⁴⁶ As believers in Antioch supported their partners in material need, they contributed to the advancement of their common goal.⁹⁴⁷ In fact, Luke uses kinship language to frame the Antiochene collection as a gift to “brothers” that happened to live in Judea (Acts 11:29). Regardless of its historicity, Luke deploys the Antiochene collection as a significant element of his construction of the Antioch-Jerusalem relationship. Despite some signs of tension to which Luke barely alludes (e. g., Acts 15:1), Antioch and Jerusalem embodied, in their mutual support, the same harmony and unity as the primitive Jerusalem community in the portrayal of Acts 2:43 – 47 and 4:32– 35. Luke describes the collection with the word διακονία. The διακον- lexical group has a relatively wide range of meanings, both in secular Greek and in the New Testament, including table service, service in general, ecclesial ministry, and charitable service in the assemblies.⁹⁴⁸ This last meaning of διακονία as a charitable act is especially important in reference to Acts 11:29.⁹⁴⁹ The term notably appears in this sense in Acts 6:1, where a conflict about “the daily service” (ἡ διακονία ἡ καθημερινή) is discussed.⁹⁵⁰ The mention of widows indicates that the daily service was a strategy of support of the poor. Luke describes this activity as an institution within the group. It occurs on a daily basis and is overseen first by the Twelve, who call a meeting to resolve the conflict (Acts 6:2 – 4), and later by the Seven (Acts 6:5 – 6).⁹⁵¹ In other words, διακονία is an activity of the assembly that is organized by its leaders. The Antiochene collection is a very different kind

 Horn also points out that the interaction between the two groups must initially have been of a private nature, as a large part of the Antiochene believers had fled to Antioch from Jerusalem, where they presumably had relatives and friends (“Die Kollektenthematik,” 146).  Haenchen, The Acts of the Apostles, 375; Barrett, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Acts of the Apostles, 1:560.  Pervo suggests that “the early Christians of Antioch showed themselves as benefactors performing a valuable service in support of order,” namely, by avoiding the unrest the typically accompanied food shortages (Acts, 297). There is no hint in the text that avoiding social upheaval was a motivating factor for the collection. Moreover, benefactors were presumably interested in preventing unrest where they had assets to protect, not in distant localities.  Alfons Weiser, “διακονέω,” EDNT 1:302– 3.  Paul uses διακονία several times in reference to the collection (Rom 15:25, 31; 2 Cor 8:4, 19, 20; 9:1, 12, 13).  Fitzmyer suggests that this daily service refers to the distribution of the proceeds from the sale of properties (Acts 4:35) (The Acts of the Apostles, 348).  Hermann Wolfgang Beyer translates the phrase διακονεῖν τραπέζαις as “to supervise the meal” (“διακονέω, διακονία, διάκονος,” TDNT 1:84).

292

6 Early Christian Collections in the First Three Centuries

of διακονία.⁹⁵² Yet, its collective nature, the selection of Barnabas and Paul as individuals responsible for its transportation, and the delivery of the collection to “the presbyters” constitute remarkable parallels.⁹⁵³ The term διακονία seems to imply the official and ecclesial nature of the collection.⁹⁵⁴ In sum, although the historical reliability of his account is questionable, Luke presents the Antiochene collection as a form of crisis response that involved the group of believers as a whole, each according to her or his means. Contrary to common Greco-Roman strategies of famine relief, there is no evidence that this intervention relied on wealthy individuals. It is unclear what role the group’s leaders had in the collection of money, but Luke writes that Barnabas and Paul were charged with its delivery to Jerusalem. Luke deploys the collection as a significant part of his portrayal of the Antioch-Jerusalem relationship, a relationship whose harmony the financial support expressed and confirmed. The language of διακονία and the involvement of leaders from both groups impart a quasi-institutional character to this collection.

6.3 Asia’s Delegation for Peregrinus Sometime in the first half of the second century CE, possibly in the 130s, Peregrinus, also known as Proteus,⁹⁵⁵ embraced Christianity and was later imprisoned for his faith in Palestine or Syria. Christians from the region supported him in every possible way during this adversity, while the churches of Asia

 The distributions of the early chapters of Acts are the result of selling properties and sharing the proceeds. In the Antiochene collection, believers contribute according to their means. See Barrett, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Acts of the Apostles, 1:559; Pervo, Acts, 297; Horn, “Die Kollektenthematik,” 147– 48; Hengel and Schwemer, Paul Between Damascus and Antioch, 241– 43.  For the presbyters as officials in the assembly, see R. Alastair Campbell, The Elders: Seniority within Earliest Christianity, Studies in the New Testament and Its World (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1994), especially 141– 75; Pervo, Dating Acts, 114; Fitzmyer, The Acts of the Apostles, 483.  Luke Timothy Johnson sees the Antiochene collection in light of the presentation of Paul in Acts “as a sign of his recognition of the authority of Jerusalem” (The Literary Function of Possessions in Luke-Acts, SBLDS 39 [Missoula: Scholars, 1977], 217– 20).  Roger Pack, “The ‘Volatilization’ of Peregrinus Proteus,” AJP 67 (1946): 338 – 39. M. J. Edwards argues that the name Proteus was used by detractors of Peregrinus and not, or rarely, by his admirers (“Satire and Verisimilitude: Christianity in Lucian’s ‘Peregrinus,’” Historia 38 [1989]: 92). In fact, Lucian uses the nickname Proteus to claim that Peregrinus, like the Homeric Proteus, could transform himself into anything for the sake of fame (Peregr. 1).

6.3 Asia’s Delegation for Peregrinus

293

sent a delegation with money to contribute to the local efforts on behalf of Peregrinus. Peregrinus was a well-known Cynic philosopher in the second century CE, especially famous for his suicide on a pyre that he himself built near Olympia just after the Olympic Games in 165 CE.⁹⁵⁶ Several ancient writers provide information about him,⁹⁵⁷ but Lucian of Samosata is the only one who reports about Peregrinus’s interaction with Christianity.⁹⁵⁸ The short account of the life and death of Peregrinus entitled De morte Peregrini is Lucian’s attack on an individual whom he saw in a very negative light as a charlatan and a swindler only enamored of fame and glory.⁹⁵⁹ Lucian, himself a character in the story, recounts that he was in Elis when he learned that Peregrinus was going to burn himself during the Olympic Games (Peregr. 5). An unnamed individual, who in reality voices Lucian’s view of Peregrinus, delivers a long speech in which he denounces the Cynic philosopher as a fraud who only sought celebrity (Peregr. 7– 30).⁹⁶⁰ In this harangue against Peregrinus, the unnamed orator narrates Peregrinus’s time as a Christian (Peregr. 11– 14, 16). When Lucian reaches Olympia, he meets Peregrinus himself (Peregr. 32– 34), and finally witnesses the philosopher’s death by suicide at nearby Harpina (Peregr. 35 – 36). According to the unnamed speaker, Peregrinus learned about Christianity in Palestine, after he fled his homeland of Parium, where he was accused of patri-

 A. M. Harmon in Lucian, Lucian, trans. A. M. Harmon, 8 vols., LCL 14, 54, 130, 162, 302, 430, 431, 432 (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1913 – 1967), 5:24 n. 1; Bagnani, “Peregrinus Proteus and the Christians,” 108.  Lucian, Demon. 21; Aulus Gellius, Noct. att. 8.3; 12.11; Tatian, Orat. 25.1; Athenagoras, Leg. 26.3 – 5; Tertullian, Mart. 4.5; Philostratus, Vit. soph. 2.1; Ammianus, Res gest. 29.1.39; Eusebius, Chron. under Olympiad 236. Moreover, there is some evidence that De morte Peregrini was part of a larger debate on the historical figure of Peregrinus, but the other sides of the debate have vanished. See C. P. Jones, Culture and Society in Lucian (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1986), 130 – 32; Jacques Schwartz in Lucian, Philopseudès et De morte Peregrini, ed. Jacques Schwartz, Textes d’étude 12 (Paris: Les belles lettres, 1951), 65 – 66.  Marcel Caster argues that Lucian wrote De morte Peregrini in reaction to the increasing fame of Peregrinus and the emergence of organized worship with a statue erected in Parium that uttered oracles (Lucien et la pensée religieuse de son temps [Paris: Les belles lettres, 1937], 242). For the oracles, see Athenagoras, Leg. 26.4.  Nicola Terzaghi argues that, besides some basic historical facts, Lucian’s description of Peregrinus is based on a stock character (or a combination of several stock characters) (“Eumolpo e Peregrino,” in Studi in onore di G. Funaioli [Rome: Signorelli, 1955], 426 – 33).  Jacob Bernays, Lucian und die Kyniker (Berlin: Hertz, 1879), 5; Terzaghi, “Eumolpo e Peregrino,” 426; Jones, Culture and Society in Lucian, 119; Graham Anderson, “Lucian: Tradition versus Reality,” ANRW 34.2:1437.

294

6 Early Christian Collections in the First Three Centuries

cide (Peregr. 10).⁹⁶¹ Peregrinus rapidly became a leader of the Christian movement: He quickly made [the Christians] look like children,⁹⁶² being he alone a prophet and a leader of their thiasos and a head of their synagogue and all things. And he interpreted and explained some of their books, while he even wrote many himself. And they revered him as a god and consulted him as a lawgiver and gave him the title of protector, to be sure after that one whom they still worship, the man crucified in Palestine because he brought this new rite into the world. (Peregr. 11; my trans.)⁹⁶³

These initial lines shed some light on how Lucian presents Christianity and uses it in his argument against Peregrinus.⁹⁶⁴ First, Lucian had correct knowledge of some aspects of Christianity. For instance, he knew about Jesus, his role as the founder of Christianity, his death by crucifixion, and his enduring worship by Christians.⁹⁶⁵ Second, some of Lucian’s notion of Christianity reflects confusion and misunderstanding. For example, he uses the terms θιασάρχης and ξυναγω-

 Patricide was a common element of ancient invective. It is probably a fictional element in De morte Peregrini. See Caster, Lucien, 249, 350; J. Bompaire, Lucien écrivain: Imitation et création, Bibliothèque des écoles françaises d’Athènes et de Rome 190 (Paris: De Boccard, 1958), 342; Anderson, “Lucian,” ANRW 34.2:1436; Christopher Robinson, Lucian and His Influence in Europe (Chapel Hill: The University of North Carolina Press, 1979), 17.  I translate the word παῖδας with “children.” By taking advantage of them, Peregrinus proves that Christians are as gullible as children. The word could also be translated with “slaves,” underscoring the power that Peregrinus gained over Christians.  ἐν βραχεῖ παῖδας αὐτοὺς ἀπέφανε, προφήτης καὶ θιασάρχης καὶ ξυναγωγεὺς καὶ πάντα μόνος αὐτὸς ὤν, καὶ τῶν βίβλων τὰς μὲν ἐξηγεῖτο καὶ διεσάφει, πολλὰς δὲ αὐτὸς καὶ συνέγραφεν, καὶ ὡς θεὸν αὐτὸν ᾐδοῦντο καὶ νομοθέτῃ ἐχρῶντο καὶ προστάτην ἐπεγράφοντο, μετὰ γοῦν ἐκεῖνον ὃν ἔτι σέβουσι, τὸν ἄνθρωπον τὸν ἐν τῇ Παλαιστίνῃ ἀνασκολοπισθέντα, ὅτι καινὴν ταύτην τελετὴν εἰσῆγεν ἐς τὸν βίον.  For an analysis of the references to Christianity in De morte Peregrini, see Hans Dieter Betz, “Lukian von Samosata und das Christentum,” NovT 3 (1959): 229 – 34; Peter Pilhofer, “Das Bild der christlichen Gemeinden in Lukians Peregrinos,” in Lucian, Der Tod des Peregrinos: Ein Scharlatan auf dem Scheiterhaufen, ed. Peter Pilhofer, Manuel Baumbach, Jens Gerlach, and Dirk Uwe Hansen, Sapere 9 (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2005), 97– 110; Baudouin Decharneux, “La mise à la marge des chrétiens par Lucien de Samosate: L’exemple de Pérégrinos,” in Religion sous contrôle: Pratiques et experiences religieuses de la marge? ed. Bassir Amiri (Besançon: Presses universitaires de Franche-Comté, 2016), 161– 71.  Lucian calls Jesus “that crucified sophist” (ὁ ἀνεσκολοπισμένος ἐκεῖνος σοφιστής; Peregr. 13). In line with a long tradition, the term sophist is here a euphemism for a charlatan. See Caster, Lucien, 351; Hans Dieter Betz, Lukian von Samosata und das Neue Testament: Religionsgeschitliche und paränetische Parallelen, TUGAL 76 (Berlin: Akademie, 1961), 11.

6.3 Asia’s Delegation for Peregrinus

295

γεύς that do not belong to the lexicon of Christian leadership.⁹⁶⁶ In fact, this terminology suggests that Lucian viewed, or at least portrayed, Christianity as one of the many “new rites” (καινὴ τελετή) that were proliferating at the time.⁹⁶⁷ Lucian had no interest in the specific details of the Christian movement and used a generic vocabulary that, he probably thought, was good enough to get his point across.⁹⁶⁸ Christianity was, in his eyes, a marginal phenomenon like many others, and it made no difference to Lucian or to his readers whether Christians called their leaders prophets, bishops, or heads of a thiasos. Third and most important, Christians were for Lucian simply the first example in a long series of people duped by Peregrinus’s shrewdness and by his affectation of wisdom.⁹⁶⁹ Lucian describes Christians and their actions only because and insofar as they demonstrate Peregrinus’s empty love for glory and his nefarious ability to manipulate simpleminded victims.⁹⁷⁰ They are just another character in Lucian’s narrative. After rising through the ranks of Christianity, Peregrinus was thrown into prison (Peregr. 12).⁹⁷¹ This provides Lucian with an opportunity to convey a wide range of details about the ethos and actions of Christians that resonate very well with what we know from Christian sources (Peregr. 12– 13). Imprisonment increased Peregrinus’s reputation among Christians.⁹⁷² They tried to rescue Peregrinus from prison and, upon failing, assisted him in every possible way. They bribed the prison guards for the opportunity to be close to Peregrinus and provided him with meals and sacred books. They regarded Peregrinus as

 Schwartz in Lucian, Philopseudès et De morte Peregrini, 93 – 94; Betz, Lukian, 8; Jones, Culture and Society in Lucian, 122; Thomas Schirren, “Lukian über die KAINH TEΛETH der Christen (De morte peregrini 11),” Phil 149 (2005): 355; Peter Pilhofer in Lucian, Der Tod des Peregrinos, 58 – 60.  Caster, Lucien, 352; Betz, Lukian, 9; Jennifer Hall, Lucian’s Satire, Monographs in Classical Studies (New York: Arno, 1981), 213. The adjective “new” has a pejorative connotation here and intimates that Christianity was a recent fabrication. Lucian also describes Christianity as a “woundrous wisdom” (ἡ θαυμαστὴ σοφία τῶν Χριστιανῶν; Peregr. 11). Here, the adjective θαυμαστή is used sarcastically and presumes that the reader will share Lucian’s derision of Christianity. See Jones, Culture and Society in Lucian, 121 n. 19.  Barry Baldwin, Studies in Lucian (Toronto: Hakkert, 1973), 102.  Lucian casts Peregrinus as a fraud throughout De morte Peregrini, in particular by repeatedly using the language of theater (e. g., Peregr. 3, 21, 22, 36, 37).  Caster, Lucien, 350, 354; Baldwin, Studies in Lucian, 102.  Bagnani attempts a reconstruction of the chronology of Peregrinus’s imprisonment (“Peregrinus Proteus,” 107– 12).  T. Nicklas, “Ancient Christian Care for Prisoners: First and Second Centuries,” Acta Theologica Supplementum 23 (2016): 61.

296

6 Early Christian Collections in the First Three Centuries

a “new Socrates,” a topos in Christian martyrdom stories.⁹⁷³ They provided him with financial support. Lucian also gives insight into the basis of this Christian conduct. Christians despise death and all material things because they believe in immortality and because they consider themselves brothers of each other. As a result, Christians consider all things common property (κοινά; Peregr. 13). Later on, Peregrinus was set free by the new governor of Syria and was eventually rejected by Christians for some transgression, perhaps a violation of food laws (Peregr. 16).⁹⁷⁴ Lucian’s judgment on Christians is straightforward. They are κακοδαίμονες, “poor fellows” who have drawn a bad lot in life, and ἰδιῶται, “simpletons” of whom any charlatan can readily take advantage.⁹⁷⁵ This harsh judgment on Christianity is part of Lucian’s wider disdain for what he sees as empty superstitions.⁹⁷⁶ Some commentators perceive a sympathetic note in Lucian’s description of Christians, a leniency or a “mépris compatissant” toward naïve individuals who fall prey to the ploys of Peregrinus.⁹⁷⁷ However, the term κακοδαίμων is used at the very beginning of De morte Peregrini in reference to Peregrinus him-

 Adolf von Harnack, Sokrates und die alte Kirche (Giessen: Ricker, 1901); Jones, Culture and Society in Lucian, 122. Some authors have regarded De morte Peregrini as a parody of Christian martyrdom stories. See discussion in Hazel M. Hornsby, “The Cynicism of Peregrinus Proteus,” Hermathena 23 (1933): 65 – 84; Caster, Lucien, 355 – 57; Hall, Lucian’s Satire, 178; Wolfgang Spickermann, “Der brennende Herakles: Lukian von Samosata und Proteus-Peregrinos,” in Martyriumsvorstellungen in Antike und Mittelalter: Leben oder sterben für Gott?, ed. Sebastian Fuhrmann and Regina Grundmann, Ancient Judaism and Early Christianity 80 (Leiden: Brill, 2012), 111– 32.  According to Ilaria L. E. Ramelli, the mention of food laws is part of a set of narrative elements that point to Peregrinus’s participation in the Montanist movement (“Lucian’s Peregrinus as Holy Man and Charlatan and the Construction of the Contrast between Holy Men and Charlatans in the Acts of Mari,” in Holy Men and Charlatans in the Ancient Novel, ed. Stelios Panayotakis, Gareth Schmeling, and Michael Paschalis, Ancient Narrative Supplementum 19 [Eelde: Barkhuis, 2015], 107).  Hall, Lucian’s Satire, 213. For this meaning of the word ἰδιῶται, see Schwartz in Lucian, Philopseudès et De morte Peregrini, 96; Edwards, “Satire and Verisimilitude,” 95. Ramelli observes that, despite calling them simpletons, Lucian knew that second century Christianity was becoming an intellectual movement and that he ascribed to them literary activities (interpreting and writing sacred books) that were typical of the intellectuals of his time (“Lucian’s Peregrinus as Holy Man and Charlatan,” 111).  Caster, Lucien, 245, 351.  Caster, Lucien, 246; Bompaire, Lucien, 479; Betz, Lukian, 11; Baldwin, Studies in Lucian, 102; Robinson, Lucian, 50; Manuel Baumbach and Dirk Uwe Hansen, “Die Karriere des Peregrinos Proteus,” in Lucian, Der Tod des Peregrinos, 119.

6.3 Asia’s Delegation for Peregrinus

297

self (Ὁ κακοδαίμων Περεγρῖνος; Peregr. 1), clearly with no positive undertones.⁹⁷⁸ Christians were not simply the unfortunate victims of Peregrinus’s ruse. They brought shame upon themselves, for, by their beliefs and practices and especially by their generosity, they made themselves vulnerable to abuse and deceit.⁹⁷⁹ However, Lucian’s judgment should not be seen as a considered conclusion about a specific religious phenomenon. Gullibility is a feature of Christians as characters in the story of Peregrinus. It is more a statement about the disreputable nature of Peregrinus than a purposeful description of Christianity.⁹⁸⁰ Fact and fiction, history and satire are skillfully blended in Lucian’s description of Christianity.⁹⁸¹ This is especially true with respect to Lucian’s description of the Asian delegation sent to provide financial support to Peregrinus in prison.⁹⁸² We have no way to corroborate this information. Yet, even if it is not historically accurate, it still demonstrates Lucian’s familiarity with a specific form of Christian intergroup support and reveals his view of the practice: Indeed, some arrived even from the cities in Asia sent by the Christians [with money] from the common fund in order to aid, defend, and encourage the man. They show incredible speed whenever such a public action takes place. For they give everything at once. And so, much wealth came then from them to Peregrinus because of his chains, and he made no little profit. (Peregr. 13; my trans.)⁹⁸³

 Jones, Culture and Society in Lucian, 117 n. 4. Baldwin believes that the epithet κακοδαίμονες for Christians is “not worse than neutral” (Studies in Lucian, 102). Its use for Peregrinus indicates otherwise.  Caster, Lucien, 353.  Orestis Karavas, “Luciano, los cristianos y Jesucristo,” in Lucian of Samosata: Greek Writer and Roman Citizen, ed. Francesca Mestre and Pilar Gómez (Barcelona: Universitat de Barcelona, 2010), 117.  Betz, “Lukian,” 226. For an assessment of the historical accuracy of De morte Peregrini, see Bompaire, Lucien, 477– 80; Robinson, Lucian, 58 – 59; Edwards, “Satire and Verisimilitude,” 89 – 98. Lucian himself admits, as a character in Peregr. 39, to making up implausible stories about Peregrinus. See Jones, Culture and Society in Lucian, 119 – 20. Ulrich Victor suggests that by having an unnamed speaker tell the biography of Peregrinus, Lucian implies that he cannot personally vouch for the reliability of its details (introduction to Lucian, Alexandros oder der Lügenprophet, ed. Ulrich Victor, Religions in the Graeco-Roman World 132 [Leiden: Brill, 1997], 19).  Evidence of early contacts between the churches of Syria and Asia is found in the letters of Paul and Ignatius of Antioch.  Καὶ μὴν κἀκ τῶν ἐν ᾿Aσίᾳ πόλεων ἔστιν ὧν ἧκόν τινες, τῶν Χριστιανῶν στελλόντων ἀπὸ τοῦ κοινοῦ, βοηθήσοντες καὶ συναγορεύσοντες καὶ παραμυθησόμενοι τὸν ἄνδρα. ἀμήχανον δὲ τι τὸ τάχος ἐπιδείκνυνται, ἐπειδάν τι τοιοῦτον γένηται δημόσιον· ἐν βραχεῖ γὰρ ἀφειδοῦσι πάντων. καὶ δὴ καὶ τῷ Περεγρίνῳ πολλὰ τότε ἧκεν χρήματα παρ᾽ αὐτῶν ἐπὶ προφάσει τῶν δεσμῶν, καὶ πρόσοδον οὐ μικρὰν ταύτην ἐποιήσατο.

298

6 Early Christian Collections in the First Three Centuries

According to Lucian, several cities from the same region teamed up in a common effort. This implies a certain level of coordination between local churches on a regional basis, a feature present also in Paul’s collection for Jerusalem and Cyprian’s collection for the Numidian captives (Cyprian, Ep. 62).⁹⁸⁴ Lucian knew that these interventions were collective efforts which relied on the common fund (τὸ κοινόν) of the churches.⁹⁸⁵ Since Lucian saw Christianity through the lens of other religious groups, it is possible that he had no direct knowledge of Christian financial practices and simply applied to them the model of the common fund in religious associations. But even if this is so, he still saw the support for Peregrinus as a group activity and not as the benefaction of wealthy individuals. Like other instances of intergroup support, the delegation from Asia aimed to “aid, defend, and encourage” a fellow Christian in prison. Captives attracted Christian charity in a special way and elicited responses from members well beyond the confines of the local churches. Lucian makes explicit the reason why this misfortune, in particular, prompted widespread, concerted efforts. Lucian writes that Peregrinus “was arrested for [his faith] and thrown into prison, which itself also secured no little honor for him for the rest of his life” (Peregr. 12; my trans.). Even from his perspective as an outsider, it was clear that Christians considered it a great honor to be imprisoned for the faith.⁹⁸⁶ Imprisonment immediately set the machine of charity in motion in recognition of this honor.⁹⁸⁷ As a result, Peregrinus became rich “because of his chains” (ἐπὶ προφάσει τῶν δεσμῶν; Peregr. 13). Lucian repeatedly underscores the impressive size of the sum that Peregrinus received from the Christians (πολλὰ χρήματα, πρόσοδον οὐ μικράν, and μάλα πλούσιος in Peregr. 13; ἱκανὰ ἐφόδια and ἐν ἅπασιν ἀφθόνοις in Peregr. 16). Lucian’s description is probably hyperbolic, yet it suggests that many individuals contributed their own money in support of Peregrinus and that concern for an imprisoned fellow Christian was very widespread. In contrast to how other texts portray intergroup support, Lucian implies that the money sent from Asia was delivered not to the local church leaders, who were normally charged with the administration of church finances, but directly to Peregrinus. There is, however, good reason to be skeptical about this detail because Lucian repeatedly makes a point of saying that Peregrinus used im-

 For the collection in Carthage, see below, section 6.6.  For the common fund in Christian groups, see Countryman, The Rich Christian, 118 – 19; Rhee, Loving the Poor, 108 – 9.  Betz, Lukian, 9.  Ramelli argues that the behavior of Christians toward Peregrinus in prison is partly motivated by the fact that they saw him as a holy man (ὡς θεὸν αὐτὸν ἐκεῖνοι ᾐδοῦντο; Peregr. 11) (“Lucian’s Peregrinus as Holy Man and Charlatan,” 106).

6.4 Rome’s Provisions for Corinth

299

prisonment not only to gain fame, but also to turn a quick profit at the expense of Christians. Lucian implicitly argues that Peregrinus’s ability to become rich by taking advantage of gullible individuals is the distinctive trait of “a charlatan and a trickster” (γόης καὶ τεχνίτης ἄνθρωπος; Peregr. 13).⁹⁸⁸ This censure drives Lucian’s judgment on Christian intergroup support. It is, ultimately, a scandalous behavior not only because it originates in unproven beliefs (ἄνευ τινὸς ἀκριβοῦς πίστεως τὰ τοιαῦτα παραδεξάμενοι; Peregr. 13), but also because it is bound to be exploited. Lucian points out this connection by repeating the phrase ἐν βραχεῖ. Christians “hurry” to give out their money (ἐν βραχεῖ γὰρ ἀφειδοῦσι πάντων; Peregr. 13). Just as quickly, however, they make a charlatan rich (αὐτίκα μάλα πλούσιος ἐν βραχεῖ ἐγένετο ἰδιώταις ἀνθρώποις ἐγχανών; Peregr. 13). Once again, this is primarily an attack on Peregrinus, not a rejection of charity. The real problem with Christians, in the eyes of Lucian, is not their generosity, but their gullibility.⁹⁸⁹ In conclusion, whether or not the events he reported actually took place, Lucian demonstrates a fair degree of familiarity with Christian intergroup support. He was aware of the importance that Christians attached to imprisonment for the faith and of the honor and solicitude which they showed Christian prisoners. He knew that Christians used a common fund to minister to their captives and that this was considered a collective effort. Finally, the outsider perspective of Lucian is especially important as it indicates that exchanges of financial support were more frequent than the relative dearth of evidence might lead us to believe; they were frequent enough to be known by non-Christians.⁹⁹⁰

6.4 Rome’s Provisions for Corinth Around 170 CE, Christians in Corinth received economic help from the Roman church. We know about this interaction from a thank you letter that Dionysius, the bishop of Corinth, sent to the Romans and particularly to Soter, a Roman

 Rhee, Loving the Poor, 122. Paul faced similar accusations in Corinth (2 Cor 12:16). See above, section 4.4.  For Lucian’s criticism of religion as based on the masses’ gullibility, see Christopher Mount, “Belief, Gullibility, and the Presence of a God in the Early Empire,” in Credible, Incredible: The Miraculous in the Ancient Mediterranean, ed. Tobias Nicklas and Janet E. Spittler, WUNT 321 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2013), 85 – 90.  Nicklas observes, regarding Christian care for prisoners in general, that Lucian’s ability to ridicule Christian behavior relies on “a widespread, accepted image thereof” (“Ancient Christian Care for Prisoners,” 61– 62). This most likely applies also to intergroup support.

300

6 Early Christian Collections in the First Three Centuries

bishop at the time. Eusebius quotes fragments of this missive in a section of his Ecclesiastical History (4.23) that describes several letters of Dionysius. The first of these fragments refers to the Roman gift.⁹⁹¹ Dionysius held the office of bishop in the last part of the second century CE.⁹⁹² His extensive correspondence with church leaders from a relatively large area of the Roman Empire indicates that he was an influential figure who placed particular importance on the creation of a network of relationships between churches and church leaders. This impression is confirmed by the fact that other bishops not only interacted with him but also sought his advice and appealed to his authority to solve conflicts and theological disagreements in their communities.⁹⁹³ For instance, Dionysius wrote a letter to the church of Amastris as well as other Pontic churches at the request of two otherwise unknown Christians, Bacchylides and Elpistos (Hist. eccl. 4.23.6). There are many questions about the exact nature of their request, but the two clearly thought that Dionysius’s words could have a significant impact on distant communities, and so, apparently, did Dionysius himself.⁹⁹⁴ The “catholic” letters of Dionysius reveal the extent of his influence.⁹⁹⁵ Eusebius preserves a collection of nine letters, eight of which he summarizes,  In addition, Eusebius quotes another fragment of Dionysius’s letter to the Romans in Hist. eccl. 2.25.8 as a witness to traditions about the martyrdoms of the apostles Peter and Paul in Rome.  The letter to the Romans proves that Dionysius’s ministry overlapped with that of Soter. Other sources place Soter’s activity in 165 – 175 CE: Hegesippus (quoted in Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 4.22.3); Eusebius (Hist. eccl. 4.19.1; 4.30.3; 5.proemium); Irenaeus (Haer. 3.3.3; and in a letter to Victor quoted in Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 5.24.14). See Karl Leo Noethlichs, “Korinth—ein ‘Aussenposten Roms’? Zur kirchengeschichtlichen Bedeutung des Bischofs Dionysius von Korinth,” in Hairesis: Festschrift für Karl Hoheisel zum 65. Geburtstag, ed. Manfred Hutter, Wassilios Klein, and Ulrich Vollmer, JAC Ergänzungsband 34 (Münster: Aschendorff, 2002), 233 – 34; Concannon, Assembling Early Christianity, 3 – 4, especially n. 11. All information about Dionysius’s life comes from Eusebius, who relied exclusively on Dionysius’s letters. See Adolf von Harnack, Die Briefsammlung des Apostels Paulus und die anderen vorkostantinischen christlichen Briefsammlungen: Sechs Vorlesungen aus der altkirchlichen Literaturgeschichte (Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1926), 37. The data that other authors offer most likely depends on Eusebius and adds nothing to his report. It has been suggested that 2 Clement and two fragments from the Sacra Parallela (attributed to Ignatius of Antioch in the text) may also stem from Dionysius’s pen. See discussion in Pierre Nautin, Lettres et écrivains chrétiens des IIe et IIIe siècles, Patristica 2 (Paris: Cerf, 1961), 22 n. 1; Concannon, Assembling Early Christianity, 10 – 11.  Harnack, Die Briefsammlung, 37.  Dionysius himself notes elsewhere that he wrote letters at the request of “brothers” (Hist. eccl. 4.23.12).  Eusebius describes the letters with the adjective καθολικός, which normally indicates general letters without any specific addressees, but all of Dionysius’s letters have particular addres-

6.4 Rome’s Provisions for Corinth

301

while he provides excerpts only from the letter to the Romans. Dionysius wrote letters to churches that were linked to Corinth by historical connections or by maritime trade.⁹⁹⁶ Four letters are addressed to churches in Greece: the Lacedaemonians (Hist. eccl. 4.23.2), the Athenians (Hist. eccl. 4.23.2), and the Cretan churches of Gortyna and Knossos (Hist. eccl. 4.23.5; 4.23.7). Two more letters are addressed to churches in northern Asia Minor: the Nicomedians (Hist. eccl. 4.23.4) and the Amastrians (Hist. eccl. 4.23.6). The epistolary collection includes a response by Pinytos, bishop of Knossos, to Dionysius’s letter (Hist. eccl. 4.23.8) and, finally, a note to Chrysophora, the only letter sent to an individual.⁹⁹⁷ The content of the letters—at least according to Eusebius’s summaries—ranges from general exhortations to unity and peace to theological polemics, especially concerning Marcion, encratism, and penitential practices.⁹⁹⁸ Although there is general agreement that Dionysius gathered the letters himself,⁹⁹⁹ it is unclear why he did so. In one of the fragments that Eusebius quotes, Dionysius complains that “the apostles of the devil” made alterations to some of his letters “removing some things and adding others” (Hist. eccl. 4.23.12; my trans.).¹⁰⁰⁰ These expressions may refer to counterfeited letters that were circu-

sees. Harnack suggests that it is an honorific title or, less likely, a reference to the collective recipients of the letters (Die Die Briefsammlung, 79 n. 2). Harry Y. Gamble maintains that the adjective καθολικός refers in this case to the history of wide circulation of the letters (Books and Readers in the Early Church: A History of Early Christian Texts [New Haven: Yale University Press, 1995], 116). See also Andrew Carriker, The Library of Eusebius of Caesarea, Supplements to Vigiliae Christianae 67 (Leiden: Brill, 2003), 266.  Noethlichs, “Korinth,” 241.  Richard I. Pervo notes that Dionysius’s letter collection has the same structure—letters to groups followed by letters to individuals—as those of Paul and Ignatius of Antioch (The Making of Paul: Constructions of the Apostle in Early Christianity [Minneapolis: Fortress, 2010], 145, 333 n. 220).  Wilhelm Kühnert believes that the letters are arranged either chronologically or thematically (“Dionysius von Korinth—eine Bischofsgestalt des zweiten Jahrhunderts,” in Theologia scientia eminens practica: Fritz Zerbst zum 70. Geburtstag, ed. Hans-Christoph Schmidt-Lauber [Wien: Herder, 1979], 276).  Harnack, Die Briefsammlung, 37; Nautin, Lettres et écrivains chrétiens, 13 – 14; Pervo, The Making of Paul, 145; Concannon, Assembling Early Christianity, 211. Hugh Jackson Lawlor interprets Eusebius’s use of the verb ἐγκαταλέγω as a reference to a volume containing the letters (Hist. eccl. 4.23.7). He infers that if additions were made to Dionysius’s first collection, this happened before Eusebius received the letters (Eusebiana: Essays on the Ecclesiastical History of Eusebius Bishop of Caesarea [Oxford: Clarendon, 1912], 148).  While Eusebius explicitly states about the first two fragments that they were part of a letter to the Romans, the third fragment is introduced by more generic words (“The same [Dionysius] also says these things concerning his letters as having been altered”; Hist. eccl. 4.23.12; my trans.). Kühnert believes that this fragment is a postscript that Dionysius appended to the letters

302

6 Early Christian Collections in the First Three Centuries

lated in Dionysius’s name or, more likely, to misquotes or misrepresentations of his thought, either in writing or in speech, that he regarded as intentional attacks. Given that Dionysius was worried about ideas falsely attributed to him, it is very likely that he circulated some of his letters in order to clarify his stance on sensitive issues.¹⁰⁰¹ The first fragment from Dionysius’s letter to the Romans provides information about the Roman collection for Corinth: From the beginning, this is your custom, namely, to benefit all the brothers in various ways and to send provisions to many churches in every city, thus relieving the poverty of those who are in need and providing supplies to the brothers who are in the mines. You have been sending this help from of old. You preserve, as Romans, the inherited customs of the Romans. Your blessed bishop Soter not only preserved this custom but also augmented it by supplying the plenty sent out to the saints and by exhorting the brothers abroad with blessed words like an affectionate father. (Hist. eccl. 4.23.10; my trans.)¹⁰⁰²

The first remarkable detail in this fragment is that the collection is not an isolated incident in the life of the Roman church, but a manifestation of their common practice. Dionysius describes the generosity that the Romans displayed through (“Dionysius von Korinth,” 280). However, Eusebius constantly clarifies when he goes on to describe another letter, so the third fragment was likely part of the letter to the Romans. See Gamble, Books and Readers, 117. Noethlichs believes that Hist. eccl. 4.23.12 is part of the letter to the Romans because this is the only letter that Eusebius quotes directly (“Korinth,” 243).  Carriker, The Library of Eusebius, 266. Nautin reconstructs a more elaborate chain of events for the assemblage of Dionysius’s letters. He argues that through his letter to Amastris at the request of Bacchylides and Elpistos, Dionysius involved himself in the affairs of that local community. Palmas, the bishop of Amastris, whom Dionysius mentions in his letter, denounced Dionysius to Soter, the bishop of Rome, in a letter and misrepresented Dionysius’s words in the process. Soter, then, took the opportunity of the financial gift to Corinth to chastise Dionysius by letter. Finally, Dionysius responded to Soter by saying that his words had been misquoted and attaching other letters on the same topics. In other words, the letter collection was created as part of Dionysius correspondence with Rome and as a defense from specific accusations (Lettres et écrivains chrétiens, 15). Kühnert points out that Nautin’s reconstruction, convincing though it may be, relies on some dubious assumptions (“Dionysius von Korinth,” 277– 80). Harnack cautiously suggests that the letter to Chrysophora could be a later addition to Dionysius’s original collection (Die Briefsammlung, 79 n. 2).  ἐξ ἀρχῆς γὰρ ὑμῖν ἔθος ἐστὶν τοῦτο, πάντας μὲν ἀδελφοὺς ποικίλως εὐεργετεῖν ἐκκλησίαις τε πολλαῖς ταῖς κατὰ πᾶσαν πόλιν ἐφόδια πέμπειν, ὧδε μὲν τὴν τῶν δεομένων πενίαν ἀναψύχοντας, ἐν μετάλλοις δὲ ἀδελφοῖς ὑπάρχουσιν ἐπιχορηγοῦντας δι᾽ ὧν πέμπετε ἀρχῆθεν ἐφοδίων πατροπαράδοτον ἔθος Ῥωμαίων Ῥωμαῖοι φυλάττοντες, ὃ οὐ μόνον διατετήρηκεν ὁ μακάριος ὑμῶν ἐπίσκοπος Σωτήρ, ἀλλὰ καὶ ηὔξηκεν, ἐπιχορηγῶν μὲν τὴν διαπεμπομένην δαψίλειαν τὴν εἰς τοὺς ἁγίους, λόγοις δὲ μακαρίοις τοὺς ἀνιόντας ἀδελφούς, ὡς τέκνα πατὴρ φιλόστοργος, παρακαλῶν.

6.4 Rome’s Provisions for Corinth

303

the collection as part of their ἔθος.¹⁰⁰³ This word choice is particularly significant, for ἔθος denotes the customs of the Romans, their traditional behavior, and at the same time their character. In other words, their past actions reveal their inner disposition.¹⁰⁰⁴ Dionysius uses the phrases ἐξ ἀρχῆς and ἀρχῆθεν (“from the beginning”) and the adjective πατροπαράδοτον (“inherited from one’s fathers”) to emphasize that liberality toward other churches was an original and constant trait of the Romans, a fundamental part of their identity that they intentionally preserved and that Soter augmented. The most rhetorically refined expression of the inherent nature of the Romans’ generosity is the participial phrase: πατροπαράδοτον ἔθος ῾Ρωμαίων Ῥωμαῖοι φυλάττοντες (“You preserve, as [true] Romans, the inherited customs of the Romans”). The polyptoton ῾Ρωμαίων Ῥωμαῖοι implies that the Romans’ behavior proved the authentic nature of their character. Finally, Dionysius suggests that the Roman benefaction was universal and that its scope extended to “many churches in every city.” By memorializing the Romans’ past generosity and identifying a trait that endured in his time, Dionysius commended their moral character.¹⁰⁰⁵ Although Dionysius describes the enduring generosity of the Romans, he gives no direct information as to the reasons for the present collection nor as to whether the Corinthians had solicited help from Rome.¹⁰⁰⁶ In his praise of Rome’s past, however, Dionysius mentions two kinds of circumstances that prompted the generosity of the Romans. First, the Romans sent help to other communities who suffered under the scourge of poverty.¹⁰⁰⁷ Second, Dionysius refers to “the mines,” that is, condemnation to hard labor in mines or quarries, usually entailing enslavement. Although Dionysius describes this phenomenon as a familiar occurrence with the shorthand ἐν μετάλλοις and suggests that the Romans had already helped other communities deal with such punishments by sending money that could be used either to support enslaved Christians or to

 In the introduction to the fragment, Eusebius confirms that the Romans had preserved the same ἔθος until his time and that they had shown their generosity particularly in the context of persecution (Hist. eccl. 4.23.9).  Concannon, Assembling Early Christianity, 199.  David J. DeVore observes that Greek authors used letters as a way to portray the character of their heroes and that Eusebius also used this strategy to construct the early Christian ethos (“Character and Convention in the Letters of Eusebius’ Ecclesiastical History,” Journal of Late Antiquity 7 [2014]: 225). In Hist. eccl. 4.23.9 – 10, the fragment from Dionysius is an explicit reflection on the character of one particular church, a statement that Eusebius could easily harness for his project.  See discussion in Concannon, Assembling Early Christianity, 179 – 80.  Dionysius uses a redundant expression (τὴν τῶν δεομένων πενίαν; “the poverty of those who are in need”) to emphasize the extreme poverty of some churches.

304

6 Early Christian Collections in the First Three Centuries

buy their freedom, more certain evidence of the systematic condemnation of Christians to hard labor comes from later periods.¹⁰⁰⁸ At any rate, the focus of Roman financial help in the past appears to have been to alleviate economic hardship, possibly generated by persecution or enslavement of church members. The economic support sent to Dionysius probably had similar aims. Dionysius uses the term ἐφόδια for the financial help offered by Rome. As the etymology indicates (ἐφ᾽ ὁδόν, “for the road”), it generally denoted travel provisions, especially for armies or ambassadors. By extension, it came to mean “sustenance” and “necessities of life,” which is its meaning in Dionysius’s letter.¹⁰⁰⁹ The term conveys the idea of material goods that are necessary to ensure survival in temporarily precarious conditions. Rome helped other churches to “go through” and “overcome” momentary periods of crisis. Cavan W. Concannon suggests that the monetary gift from Rome was the result of “small donations by individuals and house collectives.” According to Concannon, had there been very substantial contributions, Dionysius’s letter would have named the contributors, and Eusebius would have taken the opportunity to mention them and so expand the network of individuals connected to the collection.¹⁰¹⁰ This is an argument e silentio, but it accords with Peter Lampe’s reconstruction of the organizational structure of early Roman Christianity. According to Lampe, before a monarchical episcopacy fully developed in Rome, individual “house communities” pooled resources into a central fund similar to, but distinguished from, the funds administered by the single groups, and a “minister of external affairs”—Soter would have been one such representative— used the central fund to provide aid to churches in other cities.¹⁰¹¹ In other words, the collection for Corinth was the sum of relatively small contributions offered from several house churches and managed by Soter.

 Carolyn Osiek, “The Ransom of the Captives: Evolution of a Tradition,” HTR 74 (1981): 365 – 86; Mark Gustafson, “Condemnation to the Mines in the Later Roman Empire,” HTR 87 (1994): 421– 33; Mohammad Najjar and Thomas E. Levy, “Condemned to the Mines: Copper Production and Christian Persecution,” BAR 37:6 (2011): 30 – 39; Concannon, Assembling Early Christianity, 198 n. 64.  For literary occurrences of ἐφόδια, see Concannon, Assembling Early Christianity, 185.  Concannon, Assembling Early Christianity, 187. Peter Lampe interprets the evidence from Dionysius, Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 7.5.2, and Basil, Ep. 70 (see below, sections 6.5 and 6.7) as indication that “Rome apparently had the largest budget and the most members able to donate” (From Paul to Valentinus: Christians at Rome in the First Two Centuries, trans. Michael Steinhauser [Minneapolis: Fortress, 2003], 101).  Lampe, From Paul to Valentinus, 402. For the common funds in Rome, see Rhee, Loving the Poor, 108 – 9.

6.4 Rome’s Provisions for Corinth

305

Lampe’s description brings to the fore the activity of Soter.¹⁰¹² In fact, although Dionysius exalts the benefactions of the Roman church as a whole, he also emphasizes the role of Soter, who “not only preserved this custom, but also augmented it” (Hist. eccl. 4.23.10; my trans.). It is unclear what Dionysius means by saying that Soter “augmented” the generosity of the Romans. It is possible that Soter added a substantial sum to the collection from his own personal finances, thus acting as the chief benefactor of the Corinthians.¹⁰¹³ Alternatively, Soter may have been particularly active in soliciting contributions from the Roman Christians.¹⁰¹⁴ Either way, Dionysius acknowledges the important leadership role of Soter in the collection. The summary of Dionysius’s nine letters in Hist. eccl. 4.23 is part of a larger strategy of Eusebius to avail himself of documents that were at his disposal, especially letters. By selecting and excerpting early Christian documents, Eusebius does not provide an unfiltered, neutral portrayal of the early church. He rather aims to construct and convey a precise vision of the Christian past, a vision that he implicitly puts forward as normative for present Christianity.¹⁰¹⁵ In particular, Eusebius’s descriptions of early Christian leaders such as Dionysius aim to provide models for church leaders of his time. This means that we must be cautious in evaluating the information that Eusebius provides and be aware that quotations have been selected not as documentary record but because they contribute to his literary and theological project. The aims and strategies of such a complex and extensive work as the Ecclesiastical History of Eusebius cannot be fully examined here, but David J. DeVore’s observations about Eusebius’s use of letters are relevant to the present discussion. First, his description of wide-ranging epistolary correspondence and mention of numerous individuals across multiple geographical areas portray early Christianity as a highly interconnected network of local churches. The enumeration of individual bishops and other Christians communicating frequently with each other suggests that letters were an important tool to foster Christian unity. Eusebius also describes epistolary efforts to forge new bonds between

 Lampe, in fact, believes that Soter’s activity, by way of his letters and charitable activity, was a fundamental step in the transformation of the “minister of external affairs” into a monarchical bishop, a process that was completed by the end of the second century with Victor (From Paul to Valentinus, 403).  Nautin, Lettres et écrivains chrétiens, 27 n. 3, Kühnert, “Dionysius von Korinth,” 287.  Concannon, Assembling Early Christianity, 187– 88.  DeVore, “Character and Convention,” 224, 230.

306

6 Early Christian Collections in the First Three Centuries

communities in order to extend the reach of the Christian network.¹⁰¹⁶ These functions of Christian letters are also observable in Eusebius’s presentation of the letters of Dionysius, who writes to church leaders and other Christians in diverse localities and responds to the invitation of Bacchylides and Elpistos to provide instruction for a distant church (Hist. eccl. 4.23.6). Second, Eusebius quotes a relatively large number of early Christian writers, yet only allows elite “orthodox” voices to speak in his pages.¹⁰¹⁷ In fact, Dionysius of Corinth is the only individual quoted in Hist. eccl. 4.23. Eusebius consistently silences not only “heretical” voices but even simple disagreements between individuals whom he considers orthodox. Not only is unity displayed and proved by this uniform agreement, but it is constantly promoted in the excerpts that Eusebius quotes.¹⁰¹⁸ As a result, heresy is portrayed as a fringe phenomenon, whereas Christianity appears to be theologically homogeneous, to advance in harmony, and to speak with one voice. Some controversy emerges from the letter collection. For instance, in his letter to Knossos, Dionysius urges the bishop Pinytos not to impose encratism on his church (Hist. eccl. 4.23.7). The collection includes a response by Pinytos and provides a brief summary of it. Although we could speculate that Pinytos reacted against Dionysius’s interference in his church’s affairs or at least defended his own conduct, Eusebius emphasizes Pinytos’s friendly attitude toward Dionysius (“Replying to [the letter], Pinytos admires and approves of Dionysius”; Hist. eccl. 4.23.8) and declares him perfectly orthodox. Similarly, in his letter to the Romans, Dionysius denounces “the apostles of the devil” and anathematizes them (Hist. eccl. 4.23.12), but Eusebius does

 DeVore, “Character and Convention,” 230 – 35. Helmut Koester argues, more generally, that the use of letters was “a political instrument for the organization and unification of the Christian churches” (“Writings and the Spirit: Authority and Politics in Ancient Christianity,” HTR 84 [1991]: 361– 63).  DeVore, “Character and Convention,” 235; B. Gustafsson, “Eusebius’ Principles in Handling his Sources, as Found in His Church History, Books I–VII,” StPatr 4 (1961): 439 – 41; Éric Junod, “Les hérétiques et l’hérésie dans le ‘programme’ de l’Histoire ecclésiastique d’Eusèbe de Césarée,” Rivista di storia del Cristianesimo 6 (2009): 421, 426 – 27. Walter Bauer has argued that the concepts of “orthodoxy” and “heresy” evolved through time by means of pressures and dynamics within Christianity (Orthodoxy and Heresy in Earliest Christianity [Philadelphia: Fortress, 1971], 229 – 40). See also Rowan Williams, “Does It Make Sense to Speak of Pre-Nicene Orthodoxy?” in The Making of Orthodoxy: Essays in Honour of Henry Chadwick, ed. Rowan Williams (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989), 1– 23. In Eusebius’s Ecclesiastical History, the selection of the sources is a literary means of constructing orthodoxy.  DeVore, “Character and Convention,” 242– 43; Gustafsson, “Eusebius’ Principles,” 436 – 38.

6.4 Rome’s Provisions for Corinth

307

not tell us who they were or what they claimed, thereby marginalizing their dissenting voice.¹⁰¹⁹ Third, through the letters he quotes, Eusebius constructs a shared past in which heroes and leaders of the Christian movement provide models of behavior for present Christians. The actions and words of past Christians constitute a common basis upon which later Christians can formulate a Christian ethos and embody the same values across the Christian world.¹⁰²⁰ This reference to common ancestors has also the power to create ties between distant Christian groups. By evoking a shared past, Eusebius could negotiate, strengthen, and mobilize relationships of both hegemony and equality between communities.¹⁰²¹ Two fragments from Dionysius’s letter to the Romans advance this Eusebian agenda. In Hist. eccl. 4.23.11, Dionysius tells the Romans that the Corinthian church customarily listened to 1 Clement in the dominical liturgy. In Hist. eccl. 2.25.8, in his discussion of the martyrdom of Peter and Paul in Rome, Eusebius quotes another fragment from Dionysius’s letter to the Romans, in which he claims that Rome and Corinth had both been planted and taught by the two apostles.¹⁰²² These references to earlier Christian figures create a shared past for Dionysius and Soter, whereas Dionysius’s mention of the apostolic foundation of Corinth seems to be his attempt to claim equal standing with Rome. In light of this analysis, it is easy to see that Dionysius’s letter to the Romans suited the Eusebian project of presenting a unified and orthodox Christianity.¹⁰²³ It portrays churches and their leaders participating in a sustained exchange not only of letters, but also of material support. It shows the layered interconnections that existed within orthodox Christianity. By pointing to Christian heroes of a shared past, it provides bonds between communities and exemplary models for shaping the Christian ethos. This is the general framework in which the Roman collection for Corinth finds its meaning as a way of creating, sustaining, and expressing the unity of orthodox Christianity. More specifically, Eusebius states clearly that the Roman collection exemplifies the enduring “ethos” of

 Nautin identifies the unnamed targets of Dionysius’s censure with Palmas, the bishop of Amastris, and speculates that Dionysius’s intervention in Amastrian affairs at the request of Bacchylides and Elpistos, not Palmas, caused the argument to which Hist. eccl. 4.23.12 refers (Lettres et écrivains chrétiens, 29 n. 1). However, when Eusebius mentions Palmas in the context of Dionysius’s letter to Amastris, there is no sign of tension or disagreement (Hist. eccl. 4.23.6).  DeVore, “Character and Convention,” 243 – 46.  Concannon, Assembling Early Christianity, 196.  Dionysius seems to read 1 Cor 1:12; 3:22; and 9:5 as implying that Peter had been present in Corinth. See Concannon, Assembling Early Christianity, 201.  Concannon, Assembling Early Christianity, 16.

308

6 Early Christian Collections in the First Three Centuries

the Roman Christians: “You will find nothing better than to quote, from this letter, the words that [Dionysius] writes approving of the Roman custom [τὸ … Ῥωμαίων ἔθος] that has been preserved until our days” (Hist. eccl. 4.23.9; my trans.). Eusebius implicitly encourages Christians to imitate the Roman collection as a means of building up unity in the church. It is more difficult to determine the significance of the Roman collection in Dionysius’s eyes. Eusebius, in fact, only quotes material that supports his general argument. If Dionysius had a different view, one must reconstruct it by catching subtle hints in the fragments and by speculating about their meaning. Obviously, the explanation of Rome’s motives, which lie under a double literary cover, is even harder to find. However, Eusebius’s understanding of the Roman collection should not be dismissed because it aligns with the general rhetoric of his oeuvre. In fact, financial help can function as a witness to harmonious relations, and Dionysius’s letter describes the collection with extremely positive words: benefaction (εὐεργετεῖν), relief (ἀναψύχοντας), provision (twice ἐφόσια, twice ἐπιχορηγέω), increase (ηὔξηκεν), plenty (δαψίλειαν), and affectionate paternity (πατὴρ φιλόστοργος). Dionysius’s tone, at least on its surface, is not far from that of Eusebius.¹⁰²⁴ Leaving aside the views of Eusebius, the extant fragments of Dionysius’s letter to the Romans provide some indication as to the occasion and purpose of the letter. Dionysius wrote ostensibly in response to the Roman gift. Although the specific vocabulary of χάρις and thanksgiving is absent from the fragments, Dionysius’s praise of the traditional Roman ethos and of Soter’s involvement in the collection conforms to the general expectations of gratitude and to the language of benefaction.¹⁰²⁵ The fragments suggest an additional reason for Dionysius’s writing. He makes a reference to a letter from the Romans that presumably accompanied the monetary gift.¹⁰²⁶ The precise content of the Roman letter is a matter for spec-

 Dionysius’s praise is so enthusiastic that Bauer even goes so far as to describe it as “the exaggerated style of a churchman subservient to Rome in the extreme degree” (Orthodoxy and Heresy, 122).  See, for instance, Danker, Benefactor, 323 – 32.  In Hist. eccl. 4.23.11, Dionysius reports that the Corinthian church read a letter from Rome during the church’s meeting on “the holy day of the Lord.” In Hist. eccl. 4.23.10, Dionysius lauds Soter for “blessed words” of exhortation, which might also be a mention of the letter. The exhortation of Soter is directed to τοὺς ἀνιόντας ἀδελφούς, literally “the brothers who go up” (Hist. eccl. 4.23.10). Gustave Bardy translates this phrase as “les frères qui viennent à lui [Soter],” which would be a reference to Soter’s hospitality. Concannon, however, prefers “the siblings abroad,” namely the Corinthians (Assembling Early Christianity, 180, 189 – 90). Moreover, in Hist. eccl. 2.25.8, Dionysius indicates that the Romans had brought up the apostolic work of

6.4 Rome’s Provisions for Corinth

309

ulation, but Dionysius describes it as an admonishment (νουθετεῖσθαι; Hist. eccl. 4.23.11). However, there is no definitive indication in the fragments as to the exact nature of Rome’s admonishment. ¹⁰²⁷ It could have addressed some specific behavior or been of a more general nature. More important, it could have been directed not against Dionysius, but to the Corinthians as a whole. In fact, it could even have been a general instruction that applied to all Christians.¹⁰²⁸ For his part, Dionysius does not seem to feel endangered by Rome’s admonishment. Quite the contrary, he apparently deploys the Roman letter for the edification and policing of the Corinthian church, just as he does 1 Clement, by having it read in the church’s gathering (Hist. eccl. 4.23.11). Had it been a harsh rebuke of Dionysius, it is hard to believe that he would have publicized it to his own church. Despite our very limited knowledge of the content of Rome’s letter, it is possible to draw a parallel with Dionysius’s letters to other churches. Just as Dionysius intervened in the local affairs of churches in Greece and Asia Minor, so Rome offered exhortation and admonishment to Corinth. Similarly, as Pinytos responded to Dionysius with his own exhortation (or, literally, “counter-exhortation,” ἀντιπαρακαλεῖ; Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 4.23.8), so Dionysius wrote to Peter and Paul “in such a remarkable admonishment” (διὰ τῆς τοσαύτης νουθεσίας). This last phrase possibly denotes the letter from Rome, which, as Dionysius says in Hist. eccl. 4.23.11, the Corinthians read “to receive admonishment” (νουθετεῖσθαι). See Concannon, Assembling Early Christianity, 191– 92. Adolf von Harnack identifies Rome’s letter to Corinth with the letter known as 2 Clement (Die Chronologie der altchristlichen Litteratur bis Eusebius, part 2 of Geschichte der altchristlichen Litteratur bis Eusebius, 2 vols. [Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1897– 1904], 1:438 – 50). See discussion in Concannon, Assembling Early Christianity, 193 – 94.  Nautin argues that Palmas, the bishop of Amastris, had denounced Dionysius to Soter for his stance on encratism and that Soter took the opportunity of the collection to raise Palmas’s complaints in a letter (Lettres et écrivains chrétiens, 29 – 30). Nautin’s reconstruction has been challenged as too speculative, especially concerning the role of Palmas. See Kühnert, “Dionysius von Korinth,” 277– 80. Alternatively, Concannon argues that it was Dionysius’s tendency to encroach on other churches’ affairs that earned him a rebuke from Soter (Assembling Early Christianity, 194– 95).  See, e. g., Rom 15:14; Col 1:28; 3:16; 1 Thess 5:12, 14; 2 Thess 3:15. The assumption that Rome’s rebuke was directed, at least in part, against Dionysius seems to be connected with a perceived defensive posture in Dionysius’s letter to the Romans. Nautin interprets Dionysius’s praise of the Romans as an attempt to pacify Soter and earn his support (Lettres et écrivains chrétiens, 30 – 31). Pervo suggests that by saying that he wrote on request from others (Hist. eccl. 4.23.12), Dionysius was trying to defend himself from the accusation of meddling in other churches’ affairs (The Making of Paul, 333 n. 222). Dionysius’s claim that Corinth received the same teaching as Rome from Peter and Paul (ἡμᾶς ὁμοίως ἐδίδαξαν; Hist. eccl. 2.25.8) is also seen as a possible reaction to an assertion of Roman authority over Corinth. See Pervo, The Making of Paul, 146; Concannon, Assembling Early Christianity, 190 – 91.

310

6 Early Christian Collections in the First Three Centuries

Rome.¹⁰²⁹ In light of these similarities, it can be argued that these exchanges of letters and, in the case of Rome, financial support represented attempts to establish influence over other churches and defensive reactions to these attempts. If this is the right way to understand the correspondence between Rome and Corinth at the time of Dionysius, then the monetary gift from Rome can properly be regarded as Rome’s effort to establish patronage over Corinth or, more precisely, expand and strengthen Roman hegemony over the Christian East by means of patronal bonds.¹⁰³⁰ Walter Bauer argues that gaining influence over Corinth was a key step in the eastward expansion of Rome’s authority and in the imposition of Roman orthodoxy over Christianity.¹⁰³¹ He believed, however, that “Rome succeeded in imposing its will on Corinth” at the time of 1 Clement.¹⁰³² By the time of Dionysius, Corinth had essentially become an outpost of Rome, and Dionysius’s letters served further to extend Roman orthodoxy over Greece and Pontus. Monetary gifts, at the time of Soter as well as at the time of 1 Clement, were a means of establishing hegemony and supporting Roman-friendly factions in Corinth.¹⁰³³ Bauer’s assessment of Rome’s political aims may be right, yet he seems to overestimate Rome’s hold over Dionysius. Dionysius demonstrates, in fact, a remarkable degree of autonomy in collecting and circulating his letters as an authoritative representation of his stances. Moreover, by claiming an apostolic foundation (Hist. eccl. 2.25.8),

 Nautin, Lettres et écrivains chrétiens, 30.  Concannon, Assembling Early Christianity, 191, 197.  Bauer, Orthodoxy and Heresy, 95 – 129. Bauer’s thesis profoundly changed views about the relationship between orthodoxy and heresy in early Christianity. While, previously, orthodoxy was considered the position of the majority of Christians and heresy a deviation from orthodoxy, Bauer argued that Christianity was originally diverse and that orthodoxy, Rome’s local version of Christianity, progressively emerged during the first two centuries CE as Rome was able to extend its influence over other regions. The importance of Bauer’s thesis was recognized by many scholars, although some pointed to methodological problems in Bauer’s book. After surveying scholarly reactions to Bauer’s thesis, Daniel J. Harrington concludes: “The thesis of Christian diversity is well established, […] but Bauer’s reconstruction of how orthodoxy triumphed [i. e., through Roman expansion] remains questionable” (“The Reception of Walter Bauer’s Orthodoxy and Heresy in Earliest Christianity during the Last Decades,” HTR 73 [1980]: 297– 98). Alain Le Boulluec reconsiders the question of orthodoxy and heresy by analyzing the writings of early heresiologists. He underscores the central role of Justin in the development of heresy and believes it was no coincidence that Justin’s notion of heresy was developed in Rome (La notion d’hérésie dans la littérature grecque IIe–IIIe siècles, 2 vols. [Paris: Études augustiniennes, 1985], 2:548). For recent assessments of Bauer’s thesis, see Paul A. Hartog, ed., Orthodoxy and Heresy in Early Christian Contexts: Reconsidering the Bauer Thesis (Cambridge: James Clarke & Co, 2015).  Bauer, Orthodoxy and Heresy, 104– 5.  Bauer, Orthodoxy and Heresy, 122.

6.4 Rome’s Provisions for Corinth

311

Dionysius suggests that Corinth had its own authoritative voice and was not subordinate to Rome.¹⁰³⁴ Concannon qualifies Bauer’s view. He argues that, although the Roman gift was “a political and theological intervention by Rome in Corinthian ecclesial affairs,” the subtle rhetoric of Dionysius aims to strengthen Corinth’s relationship with Rome while preserving independence.¹⁰³⁵ Concannon constructs his argument from two main pieces of evidence. First, he argues that Dionysius’s effusive praise of the traditional Roman “ethos” is a way to downplay the Corinthians’ indebtedness. The collection is more an expression of fidelity to Roman customs than of special regard for Corinth or particular interest in Corinthian politics.¹⁰³⁶ However, the language of Hist. eccl. 4.23.10, to which Concannon refers, is entirely consistent with the traditional motifs of benefaction and seems to be an expression of gratitude, and therefore of indebtedness.¹⁰³⁷ Moreover, the fact that generosity is a character trait of Roman Christianity increases, as opposed to downplays, their honor and influence (their gratia). Second, Concannon regards Dionysius’s reference to Peter and Paul as the founders and teachers of both the Roman and the Corinthian church (Hist. eccl. 2.25.8) as an assertion of equal standing between the two churches.¹⁰³⁸ This rhetorical move marks and reinforces historical and spiritual bonds with an important and helpful community, thereby emphasizing equality and sameness.¹⁰³⁹ It is worth analyzing this fragment in detail: In such a remarkable admonishment,¹⁰⁴⁰ you also joined the planting of the Romans and the Corinthians by Peter and Paul, for both of them, after having planted [the gospel] in our Corinth, taught us, too, in the same way, and after having taught together in the same way in Italy, they gave their testimony at the same time. (my trans.)¹⁰⁴¹

 Everett Ferguson, “The Church at Corinth Outside the New Testament,” ResQ 3 (1959): 170; Nautin, Lettres et écrivains chrétiens, 31; Noethlichs, “Korinth,” 247.  Concannon, Assembling Early Chritianity, 179, 208. The views of Bauer and Concannon do not contradict Eusebius’s portrayal of the collection as a means of unity, yet they uncover the undercurrents of power that mark this unity and reveal that the purported Christian harmony is in part a fine-tuned balance between competing interests.  Concannon, Assembling Early Christianity, 197– 200.  For the connection between gratitude and indebtedness, see above, section 3.2.1.  Concannon, Assembling Early Christianity, 200 – 208.  Harnack, Die Briefsammlung, 39; Concannon, Assembling Early Christianity, 207.  The word “admonishment” seems to be a reference to the letter that the Romans sent to Corinth with the money.  καὶ ὑμεῖς διὰ τῆς τοσαύτης νουθεσίας τὴν ἀπὸ Πέτρου καὶ Παύλου φυτείαν γενηθεῖσαν Ῥωμαίων τε καὶ Κορινθίων συνεκεράσατε. καὶ γὰρ ἄμφω καὶ εἰς τὴν ἡμετέραν Κόρινθον φυτεύ-

312

6 Early Christian Collections in the First Three Centuries

On the one hand, the text insists on equality. The unity of the two apostles Peter and Paul is presented in parallel to the unity of Rome and Corinth. The text says that the two apostles “taught in the same way” (ὁμοίως), namely, they both proclaimed the same gospel, yet it is implied that they taught similarly in Corinth and in Rome. In fact, the agreement between the two apostles requires that there be agreement between the two churches. On the other hand, Dionysius’s words may be read as claiming precedence for Corinth. Three actions—planting, teaching, and giving testimony—characterize the two apostles’ arc of ministry, an arc that begins in Corinth and ends in Rome. In particular, Dionysius implies that the Corinthians were the first to receive the apostolic teaching.¹⁰⁴² Mirror reading of these data plausibly indicates that Dionysius was reacting to Rome’s efforts to establish patronage over Corinth, but the aims of Rome remain to a degree speculative. On a more certain note, these data strongly indicate that part of the letter’s intent was to position the Corinthian church with respect to Rome and claim a place for Corinth within the emerging politics of Christianity. By writing to Rome and defining their historical connections, Dionysius constructed a narrative of Christian origins in which Corinth had as much prestige and honor as Rome. This strategy of Dionysius also finds corroboration in his relatively extensive correspondence with several other churches, in which he attempted to negotiate a central role for Corinth among the neighboring churches. Quite surprisingly, whereas Eusebius quotes the letters of Dionysius in support of his portrayal of a united and peaceful Christianity, Dionysius’s letters suggest that some tensions existed between the churches as to who had the authority to interfere in other communities’ affairs and admonish their bishops. These tensions affected exchanges of financial help and reactions to them, with the result that intergroup support became a way to shape relationships between churches and establish positions of strength.

6.5 Rome’s Aid for Syria and Arabia Dionysius of Corinth claimed that the provision of financial support to other churches was a characteristic custom of Christians in Rome. Another letter fragment preserved by Eusebius confirms this Roman practice. Large sections of

σαντες ἡμᾶς ὁμοίως ἐδίδαξαν, ὁμοίως δὲ καὶ εἰς τὴν Ἰταλίαν ὁμόσε διδάξαντες ἐμαρτύρησαν κατὰ τὸν αὐτὸν καιρόν.  Concannon, Assembling Early Christianity, 207.

6.5 Rome’s Aid for Syria and Arabia

313

books 6 and 7 of the Ecclesiastical History focus on the activity and writings of Dionysius of Alexandria, who was the bishop of Alexandria, Egypt, in the mid third century CE.¹⁰⁴³ Eusebius quotes a series of letters that Dionysius wrote or received in the middle of a protracted disagreement with Rome over the baptism of “heretics”: “whether it is necessary to purify through baptism those who turn away from any heresy” (Hist. eccl. 7.5.2; my trans.).¹⁰⁴⁴ Whereas Stephen, the bishop of Rome, believed that a new baptism was not necessary, citing the long-established practice of the Roman church (the one that eventually prevailed) to receive heretics through prayer and the imposition of hands, Cyprian of Carthage insisted that baptism was necessary for admission (Cyprian, Ep. 69 – 75; Eusebius, Hist eccl. 7.2– 3). Dionysius sided with Cyprian and defended his position in his letters to Rome. The first fragment that Eusebius quotes from this correspondence is an excerpt from Dionysius’s letter to Stephen (Hist. eccl. 7.5.1– 2). Eusebius says that the letter discusses the baptismal controversy, but, quite surprisingly, the fragment he chooses does not touch upon the dispute at all.¹⁰⁴⁵ Instead, he quotes a passage that exalts church harmony:

 Pierre Nautin and Emanuela Prinzivalli, “Dionysius of Alexandria,” Encyclopedia of Ancient Christianity 1:715 – 16. For the theological stances of Dionysius of Alexandria, see Wolfgang A. Bienert, Dionysius von Alexandrien: Zur Frage des Origenismus im dritten Jahrhundert, PTS 21 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 1978); Manlio Simonetti, Studi sulla cristologia del II e III secolo, SEAug 44 (Rome: Institutum Patristicum Augustinianum, 1993), 273 – 97.  The problems around the validity of the baptism of heretics became especially relevant at the conclusion of the Novatianist controversy. In 251 CE, when Cornelius was elected bishop of Rome, Novatian had himself ordained bishop and sought to establish an independent church hierarchy. After his death, a number of Novatianists sought admission to the “orthodox” church, thereby raising the issue of the validity of baptism administered by Novatianist schismatics. For a summary of the events that led to the controversy, see A. D’Alès, La théologie de Saint Cyprien, Bibliothèque de théologie historique (Paris: Beauchesne, 1922), 237– 42; Michael M. Sage, Cyprian, Patristic Monograph 1 (Cambridge: The Philadelphia Patristic Foundation, 1975), 295 – 335; J. Patout Burns Jr., “On Rebaptism: Social Organization in the Third Century Church,” JECS 1 (1993): 369 – 79; J. Patout Burns Jr., Cyprian the Bishop (London: Routledge, 2002), 100 – 131; Everett Ferguson, Baptism in the Early Church: History, Theology, and Liturgy in the First Five Centuries (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2009), 380 – 99. For the stance of Dionysius, see Henryk Pietras, “Il fondamento ecclesiologico della posizione di Dionigi di Alessandria nella controversia battesimale,” in Recherches et tradition: Mélanges patristiques offerts à Henri Crouzel, s.j. ed. André Dupleix, ThH 88 (Paris: Beauchesne, 1992), 199 – 210. Eusebius presents the correspondence of Dionysius on this topic in Hist. eccl. 7.4– 9.  Robert M. Grant observes that Eusebius does not emphasize doctrine in the Ecclesiastical History (Eusebius as Church Historian [Oxford: Clarendon, 1980], 59). A writing by Timotheus of Alexandria, preserved in an Armenian translation, contains another fragment of Dionysius’s letter to Stephen, which explicitly discusses “how it is proper to admit those who come to us from

314

6 Early Christian Collections in the First Three Centuries

Know now, brother, that all the churches in the East and even farther, which were previously divided, are united. Everywhere, their leaders are all in agreement, rejoicing immensely for the peace beyond hope that has prevailed: Demetrian in Antioch, Theoctistos in Caesarea, Mazabanes in Aelia, Marinus in Tyre since Alexander passed, Heliodorus in Laodicea since Thelymidres died, Helenus in Tarsus and all the churches in Cilicia, Firmilian and all [the churches in] Cappadocia. I have named only the most famous of the bishops so as not to burden my words with [too much] length and weight. Indeed, all of the Syrias and Arabia, which you assist on every occasion and to which you have written, and Mesopotamia, Pontus, and Bithynia, in brief, all [leaders] everywhere rejoice for this harmony and mutual love, glorifying God. (Hist. eccl. 7.5.1– 2; my trans.)¹⁰⁴⁶

The short piece of information concerning Roman generosity, “all of the Syrias and Arabia, which you assist on every occasion” (αἱ μέντοι Συρίαι ὅλαι καὶ ἡ ᾿Aραβία, οἷς ἐπαρκεῖτε ἑκάστοτε), is generic.¹⁰⁴⁷ Dionysius uses the verb ἐπαρκέω, which can denote defense and support of various kinds (e. g., Aristophanes, Plut. 830; Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 5.2.6), including but not limited to economic help for the needy. The use of the present tense and the adverb ἑκάστοτε suggest that Rome helped the Eastern churches repeatedly and that assistance was anticipated in the future. The geographical description, “all of the Syrias and Arabia,” is, on the one hand, relatively specific. Dionysius does not make similar claims for the other regions he mentions, which suggests that he had knowledge of particular interactions between Rome and the churches in Syria and Arabia. On the other hand, the descriptor includes a large portion of the Roman empire, and several individual churches were located in those regions. Given the geographical and temporal indeterminacy of the information, it is impossible to es-

without” (trans. F. C. Coneybeare). For the text of the fragment and a brief discussion, see F. C. Coneybeare, “Newly Discovered Letters of Dionysius of Alexandria to the Popes Stephen and Xystus,” The English Historical Review 25 (1910): 111– 14.  ἴσθι δὲ νῦν, ἀδελφέ, ὅτι ἥνωνται πᾶσαι αἱ πρότερον διεσχισμέναι κατά τε τὴν ἀνατολὴν ἐκκλησίαι καὶ ἔτι προσωτέρω, καὶ πάντες εἰσὶν ὁμόφρονες οἱ πανταχοῦ προεστῶτες, χαίροντες καθ᾽ ὑπερβολὴν ἐπὶ τῇ παρὰ προσδοκίαν εἰρήνῃ γενομένῃ, Δημητριανὸς ἐν ᾿Aντιοχείᾳ, Θεόκτιστος ἐν Καισαρείᾳ, Μαζαβάνες ἐν Αἰλίᾳ, Μαρῖνος ἐν Τύρῳ κοιμηθέντος ᾿Aλεξάνδρου, Ἡλιόδωρος ἐν Λαοδικείᾳ ἀναπαυσαμένου Θηλυμίδρου, Ἕλενος ἐν Ταρσῷ καὶ πᾶσαι αἱ τῆς Κιλικίας ἐκκλησίαι, Φιρμιλιανὸς καὶ πᾶσα Καππαδοκία· τοὺς γὰρ περιφανεστέρους μόνους τῶν ἐπισκόπων ὠνόμασα, ἵνα μήτε μῆκος τῇ ἐπιστολῇ μήτε βάρος προσάψω τῷ λόγῳ. αἱ μέντοι Συρίαι ὅλαι καὶ ἡ ᾿Aραβία, οἷς ἐπαρκεῖτε ἑκάστοτε καὶ οἷς νῦν ἐπεστείλατε, ἥ τε Μεσοποταμία Πόντος τε καὶ Βιθυνία καὶ συνελόντι εἰπεῖν ἀγαλλιῶνται πάντες πανταχοῦ τῇ ὁμονοίᾳ καὶ φιλαδελφίᾳ, δοξάζοντες τὸν θεόν.  From the time of Septimius Severus (circa 200 CE), the Levant was divided into four provinces: Syria Coele, Syria Phoenice, Syria Palaestina, and Arabia. See Arnold Hugh Martin Jones et al., “Syria,” OCD4 1421– 22. Dionysius’s words apparently refer to this wide eastern area of the empire.

6.5 Rome’s Aid for Syria and Arabia

315

tablish what causes required help or in what way it was offered. It can reasonably be assumed that the Romans sent financial aid,¹⁰⁴⁸ but the word choice of Dionysius does not bring to the fore the economic dimension of the relationship between Rome and the Syrian and Arabian churches. Rather, the verb ἐπαρκέω draws attention to the helpful attitude of Rome. It may be surprising that this is the only section from Dionysius’s letter to Stephen that Eusebius quotes, while he fails to cite any passage on the subject at hand, namely, the rebaptism of heretics. However, this fragment resonates clearly with Eusebius’s portrayal of early Christianity discussed above.¹⁰⁴⁹ The list of individual churches and church leaders to whose mutual relationships Dionysius bears witness is rather impressive: it accounts for the greater part of the eastern Roman empire. By claiming that he cut short the list of church leaders and only named “the most famous of the bishops,” Dionysius implies that there were other connections, indeed too many to be mentioned.¹⁰⁵⁰ Not only are all these communities interconnected, but they are also at peace with each other. This view of church unity is encapsulated in the polyptoton πάντες πανταχοῦ (“all [leaders] everywhere”), with which Dionysius depicts universal ecclesial harmony. Paradoxically, this fragment’s silence over the baptismal controversy may be one of the reasons why Eusebius chose it. Although Dionysius and Stephen had different views, Eusebius seems to gloss over their dissent and refers to Dionysius’s arguments in the letter only vaguely: “After having discussed this subject with him in the letter” (πλεῖστα δὴ οὖν αὐτῷ περὶ τούτου διὰ γράμματων ὁ Διονύσιος ὁμιλήσας; Hist. eccl. 7.5.4).¹⁰⁵¹ Similarly, Eusebius acknowledges that Stephen was “full of indignation” over the dispute (Hist. eccl. 7.5.3) but fails to convey his words.¹⁰⁵² By providing only a succinct summary of the opposing view of Stephen, Eusebius dismisses the relevance of the disagreement.¹⁰⁵³ Instead, he

 Harnack, The Mission and Expansion of Christianity, 1:184– 85.  See above, section 6.4; DeVore, “Character and Convention,” 230 – 46.  As DeVore says: “Dionysius is thus the central node of a formidable Christian network” (“Character and Convention,” 231).  The phrase περὶ τούτου refers to the matter of baptism of heretics previously discussed. Deferrari maintains that the plural διὰ γράμματων indicates, here, a single letter (Eusebius, Ecclesiastical History, trans. Roy J. Deferrari, 2 vols., FC 19, 29 [New York: Fathers of the Church, 1953 – 1955], 2:94 n. 1).  Burns observes that Eusebius, as most of the historical record, sides with Cyprian on the baptismal controversy and that the stance of Rome, which was ultimately successful, can only be inferred from the words of its critics (“On Rebaptism,” 367– 68). In fact, Eusebius never directly gives voice to Stephen’s position.  DeVore, “Character and Convention,” 237– 38.

316

6 Early Christian Collections in the First Three Centuries

follows his habit of only quoting what he sees as the orthodox voice of Dionysius. The aid from Rome to Syria and Arabia contributes to Eusebius’s picture of the early church. The help and letters from Rome to the Eastern churches show that the Romans were part of the same network as the Eastern communities.¹⁰⁵⁴ While the disagreement between Rome and the East is minimized, their bonds of charity are spelled out and emphasized, thus proving the profound and fundamental agreement of all Christianity. The passing reference to the Roman help to Syria and Arabia probably had a more complex function in Dionysius’s communication to Stephen than it does in Eusebius’s Ecclesiastical History. We do not possess the letter in its entirety, but we know its topic and that Dionysius and Stephen were on the opposite sides of the baptismal controversy. The message of the fragment quoted by Eusebius is that all Eastern churches were united, peaceful, and rejoicing, after having overcome previous divisions.¹⁰⁵⁵ Implicitly, Dionysius presents the newly recovered unity in the East as a model for the entire church and, particularly, as a pattern of behavior for Stephen.¹⁰⁵⁶ In the context of this picture of Eastern harmony, Dionysius adds that Rome, despite the present disagreement over ecclesial practices, had well-established, friendly relations with the East. The proof that it had participated in the Eastern unity was the aid and letters that the Romans had sent to churches in Syria and Arabia. Implicitly, the controversy should not stifle the spiritual bonds existing between Rome and the East. On the contrary, the disagreement needed to be removed so that harmony might flourish among all Christians. The text of Dionysius’s fragment does not elaborate on the meaning of the Roman interactions with the Syrian and Arabian churches, yet Greco-Roman conceptions of gift giving can help clarify this point. In reciprocal relationships, such as benefaction and friendship, the exchange of goods, services, and help was the material expression of the moral commitment that the exchange partners made to each other, a commitment epitomized by the notion of fides, that is, mutual loyalty and fidelity. Just as denying help was regarded as a breach

 Extra-epistolary relationships like the sending of material help contribute to the picture of an interconnected Christianity. See DeVore, “Character and Convention,” 234.  While the central section of the fragment consists of a list of churches and their leaders, the fragment begins and ends with similar concepts that frame its message: all the churches (πᾶσαι αἱ … ἐκκλησίαι, πάντες … οἱ πανταχοῦ προεστῶτες, πάντες πανταχοῦ), agreement (ὁμόφρονες, τῇ … εἰρήνῃ, τῇ ὁμονοίᾳ καὶ φιλαδελφίᾳ), and joy (χαίροντες καθ᾽ ὑπερβολήν, ἀγαλλιῶνται).  DeVore, “Character and Convention,” 238.

6.6 Carthage’s Financial Assistance for Numidia

317

of trust that led to the breakdown of the relationship, so also breaking one’s loyalty, for instance by taking the opposite side in the controversy, deprived gifts of their positive meaning. Dionysius mentions the exchange of aid and letters between Rome and some Eastern churches to remind Stephen that the Roman church had expressed goodwill and friendliness toward them. Indeed, the word choice, which focuses on the aid provided by Rome rather than the economic need of the Eastern churches, confirms that Dionysius intended to draw attention to Rome’s friendly attitude and behavior toward other communities. Between the lines, Dionysius is urging Stephen to remain faithful to Rome’s commitment to those communities by assuming a conciliatory approach to the controversy and doing his utmost to overcome disagreement. In other words, whereas Eusebius uses the aid from Rome as a sign of ecclesial unity, Dionysius appears to leverage Roman generosity toward other churches in order to control Stephen’s stance on the thorny issue of baptismal practice and promote an agreement that did not yet fully exist in reality. He describes the church in harmony in order to stifle dissent and encourage uniformity.

6.6 Carthage’s Financial Assistance for Numidia In 253 CE,¹⁰⁵⁷ Cyprian of Carthage sent the generous gift of one hundred thousand sesterces to a group of eight bishops of Numidia, the North African coastal region to the west of Carthage.¹⁰⁵⁸ We know about this gift from the cover letter written by Cyprian and preserved in his letter collection (Ep. 62). The Numidian bishops had previously requested this money to ransom some of their brothers and sisters who were “in captivity” (Ep. 62.1), and Cyprian entrusted the bishops with the administration of the collected sum.¹⁰⁵⁹ The precise reconstruction of the events behind this gift is no easy task because Cyprian’s language is highly rhetorical and not very descriptive. According to Cyprian, barbari had captured some Numidian Christians.¹⁰⁶⁰ The eight bish-

 Clarke in Cyprian, The Letters, 3:277– 78.  For the Numidian origin of the eight bishops, see G. W. Clarke, “Barbarian Disturbances in North Africa in the Mid-Third Century,” Antichthon 4 (1970): 80.  For evidence that the ransom of captives was a widespread Christian practice, see Osiek, “The Ransom of the Captives,” 365 – 86; Clarke in Cyprian, The Letters, 3:282.  At the time of Cyprian, the word barbarus did not refer specifically to the populations that would later overrun the Roman empire from the north, but more generally to foreign people as opposed to Greeks and Romans, in particular hostile groups (e. g., Suetonius, Galb. 7.1). As Greeks and Romans perceived themselves as the pinnacle of civilization, the word could also

318

6 Early Christian Collections in the First Three Centuries

ops were given the opportunity to free the captives by paying a sum of money.¹⁰⁶¹ Failure to pay would have entailed enslavement for the prisoners (libertatis … iactura; Ep. 62.2) and, especially troublesome to Cyprian, forced prostitution for the consecrated virgins (lenonum et lupanarium stupra; Ep. 62.2). Among the captives were both men and women. Some of the women were virgins in the technical sense of “members [of the church] consecrated to Christ and devoted to the everlasting honor of continence through the virtue of chastity” (Ep. 62.2; my trans.). The fact that the virgins were targeted suggests that the captors intentionally detained official representatives of the Christian communities, and thus, although Cyprian does not say so explicitly, that the men may have been members of the clergy or notable Christians.¹⁰⁶² The letter, with its references to barbari and to a ransom, seems to describe raids launched by bands of brigands who lived at the margins of the urbanized regions and attempted to extort money from city dwellers.¹⁰⁶³ It is difficult to reconstruct the events with

have the figurative meaning of uncivilized, savage individuals (e. g., Cicero, Verr. 2.4.112), being therefore a moral and social, rather than an ethnic, descriptor.  It is unclear whether the one hundred thousand sesterces constituted the whole ransom or only part of it, the rest being provided by the Numidians themselves. The latter may be the case as Cyprian thanks the bishops for allowing the Carthaginians to participate (nos … participes esse voluistis) in the solicitude of the Numidians and in this “good and necessary work” of theirs (Ep. 62.3). Cyprian presents the gift from Carthage as a contribution to the Numidian effort.  Charles Saumagne, Saint Cyprien évêque de Carthage “pape” d’Afrique (248 – 258): Contribution à l’étude des “persecutions” de Dèce et de Valérien, pref. Jean Lassus, Études d’antiquités africaines (Paris: Éditions du Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique, 1975), 170.  Sage, Cyprian, 287– 88; Rhee, Loving the Poor, 127. Charles Saumagne observes, however, that the selection of church representatives—virgins and, possibly, clergy—is not consistent with the indiscriminate raids that are typical of banditry. It is very unlikely that brigands would have been able to target the church’s virgins in a raid. Moreover, the fact that eight bishops are involved suggests that the phenomenon described by Cyprian affected a relatively large territory, more than what raiding bands could threaten. As an alternative explanation, Saumagne suggests that the Numidian churches received a collective fine from the local authority, who used it as a means of control and dominance over Christians in Numidia, whom they saw as an insubordinate group. In order to compel payment, some hostages were taken and temporarily kept in a state of “captivity,” under the threat of permanent enslavement if the bishops failed to pay the fine. According to Saumagne, the barbari are, in the eyes of an African Christian dissident such as Cyprian, the Roman leaders and their army (Saint Cyprien, 169 – 71). Clarke rejects this reconstruction as speculative, especially because the letter provides no indication that the activity of the barbari was directed specifically against Christians and was, therefore, a form of persecution, a point that Cyprian would likely have made (Clarke in Cyprian, The Letters, 3:278). For the same reasons, the attempts by Otto Ritschl (Cyprian von Karthago und die Verfassung der Kirche: Eine kirchengeschichtliche und kirchenrechtliche Untersuchung [Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1885], 248), Marguerite Rachet (Rome et les Berbères: Un problème militaire d’Auguste

6.6 Carthage’s Financial Assistance for Numidia

319

precision, but there is evidence of this kind of activity around the middle of the third century CE.¹⁰⁶⁴ The gift from Carthage was the community’s response to a letter from the Numidians, in which they presumably communicated these difficult circumstances and asked for help.¹⁰⁶⁵ Cyprian says that the sum was collected in the church of Carthage from “the clergy and the people” (Ep. 62.3). He also emphasizes, indirectly but not very subtly, his personal role in the collection by noting that he presided over the church of Carthage.¹⁰⁶⁶ It is possible that, by highlighting the part he played in collecting the money, Cyprian attempted to portray himself as a patron of the Numidian churches. There is evidence that Cyprian attracted followers and bolstered his authority in Carthage both by distributing his personal assets (Ep. 7.2) and by using the common funds of the church (Ep. 5.1).¹⁰⁶⁷ Similar strategies are now directed to other Christian communities of North Africa. Cyprian uses funds gathered from members of his church to support the Numidian captives and promises the bishops renewed support if need were to arise in the future (Ep. 62.4). Sometime after 257 CE,¹⁰⁶⁸ during the Valerian persecution, Cyprian kept his word and used his own financial resources, as well as those of a certain Quirinus, to assist the Numidian bishops, who had themselves been condemned to the mines (Ep. 77.3; 78.3; 79.1).¹⁰⁶⁹ The financial exchanges between Carthage and Numidia replicate the practice of poverty relief within the community at Carthage and, possibly, Cyprian’s role as patron of the poor.¹⁰⁷⁰

à Dioclétien, Latomus 110 [Brussels: Latomus, 1970], 246), and Paul Keresztes (“The Decian libelli and Contemporary Literature,” Latomus 34 [1975]: 772; “Two Edicts of the Emperor Valerian,” VC 29 [1975]: 82) to connect the events described in Ep. 62 with persecutions are not convincing.  Clarke, “Barbarian Disturbances,” 78 – 85.  In Ep. 62.3, Cyprian implies that the Numidians had requested help by stating: “You wished us to take part in your concern and in such a good and necessary work” (my trans.).  Cyprian rhetorically highlights his role by using a pluralis maiestatis and by ascribing his leadership role to God: ecclesia cui de domini indulgentia praesumus (“The church over which we preside by the favor of the Lord”; Ep. 62.3).  For a reading of Cyprian as patron of the church in Carthage, see Peter Brown, The Making of Late Antiquity, Carl Newell Jackson Lectures (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1978), 79 – 80; Charles Arnold Bobertz, “Cyprian of Carthage as Patron: A Social Historical Study of the Role of Bishop in the Ancient Christian Community of North Africa” (PhD diss., Yale University, 1988); Carole E. Straw, “Cyprian and Mt 5:45: The Evolution of Christian Patronage,” StPatr 18 (1989): 329 – 39; Peter Brown, Power and Persuasion in Late Antiquity: Towards a Christian Empire, The Curti Lectures (Madison: The University of Wisconsin Press, 1992), 90; Allen Brent, Cyprian and Roman Carthage (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010), 72– 74.  Clarke in Cyprian, The Letters, 4:277– 78.  Sage, Cyprian, 343 – 45; Saumagne, Saint Cyprien, 152– 54; Rhee, Loving the Poor, 123 – 24.  Burns, Cyprian, 154– 55.

320

6 Early Christian Collections in the First Three Centuries

The language of Ep. 62 celebrates the generosity of the Carthaginians. Cyprian repeatedly uses three adverbs to characterize the way in which they contributed: prompte, libenter, and largiter (Ep. 62.4). While the first two adverbs denote the interior dispositions of the donors, largiter refers rather to the size of the donations. Not only did the Carthaginians give freely and eagerly, but their gift was also very substantial. In fact, Cyprian specifies in the body of the letter that the collection had yielded one hundred thousand sesterces. This was a considerable sum, “something like the equivalent of the average monthly rations of some 3,000 unskilled workmen.”¹⁰⁷¹ Despite the initial characterization of the donors as “the clergy and the people,” a detailed list with the names of the individual contributors to the collection was attached to the letter. Unfortunately, the actual list is not preserved in the manuscript tradition. The creation of a list of contributors suggests that the money was not taken from the common fund of the community but collected from a limited number of wealthy Christians.¹⁰⁷² Since the list has been lost, it is difficult to assess its effects on the readers. Cyprian, however, describes it in some detail in the body of the letter: That you may remember in your prayers our brothers and sisters who have devoted themselves promptly and freely to this very necessary work, that they may always do so, and that you may pay them back for this good work in [your] sacrifices and supplications, I listed all their names. I, furthermore, added the names of our colleagues and priests, who also, when they were present, contributed something according to their means on behalf of their community. And in addition to our own sum of money, I also indicated and reported their small sums. You must remember all of them in your prayers and supplications, according to what faith and charity demand. (Ep. 62.4; my trans.)¹⁰⁷³

 Estimate by Clarke in Cyprian, The Letters, 3:285.  Clarke in Cyprian, The Letters, 3:285; Rhee, Loving the Poor, 127. Clarke’s assessment that the contributors were “not too numerous” is plausible, but some subscription lists recorded in Greco-Roman epigraphs could number hundreds of subscribers. See Ellis-Evans, “The Ideology of Public Subscriptions,” 118. For the presence of the wealthy in the third-century Carthage community, see Rhee, Loving the Poor, 106. For the common fund, see Cyprian, Ep. 2.2; 5.1; 7.2; 39.5.  Ut autem fratres nostros ac sorores, qui ad hoc opus tam necessarium prompte ac libenter operati sunt, ut semper operentur, in mente habeatis in orationibus vestris et eis vicem boni operis in sacrificiis et precibus repraesentetis, subdidi nomina singulorum, sed et collegarum quoque et consacerdotum nostrorum, qui et ipsi cum praesentes essent, et suo et plebis suae nomine quaedam pro viribus contulerunt, nomina addidi et praeter quantitatem propriam nostram eorum quoque summulas significavi et misi, quorum omnium secundum quod fides et caritas exigunt in orationibus et precibus vestris meminisse debetis.

6.6 Carthage’s Financial Assistance for Numidia

321

It appears that the intent of the list was to highlight single contributions. To this end, it provided the names of each donor (subdidi nomina singulorum; Ep. 62.4). For the first time, it is clear that not all members of the community participated in the collection, nor were they expected to do so. The list distinguished between the contributions of the Carthaginians and those of other churches (et collegarum quoque et consacerdotum nostrorum … addidi; Ep. 62.4). It detailed the amounts given by each church. Moreover, by describing the contributions of the other churches as summulae (“small sums”), Cyprian may be drawing attention to the fact that these were smaller than the collection gathered in Carthage (praeter quantitatem propriam nostram eorum quoque summulas significavi et misi; Ep. 62.4).¹⁰⁷⁴ The differences in amounts did not arise from a greater or lesser willingness to help the Numidians, but from the dissimilar availability of financial means in the various churches (quaedam pro viribus contulerunt; Ep. 62.4). The practice of compiling and publishing lists of contributors, usually in epigraphs, is well known for the public subscriptions from the Greek world.¹⁰⁷⁵ Such lists, known as ἐπιδόσεις, aimed to enhance the impact of the gifts by providing a visual representation of it. The layout of the inscriptions could be manipulated in various ways to emphasize the individual contributors or to provide a sense of collective engagement. For instance, some subscription lists reported the names of the contributors in a column and the amounts of the donations beside the names, allowing easy comparison between donors.¹⁰⁷⁶ The list described by Cyprian similarly puts the emphasis on the single participants in the collection. In addition, it allowed the ranking of different communities according to the amount provided by each.  Clarke questions whether the Latin summula had a deprecatory undertone for Cyprian (Clarke in Cyprian, The Letters, 1:186). The Latin text is somewhat ambiguous. Since Cyprian uses the pluralis maiestatis in the context, the phrase quantitatem propriam nostram may refer to Cyprian’s personal contribution to the collection. For Cyprian’s use of personal funds, see Brent, Cyprian and Roman Carthage, 73.  See above, p. 76 n. 261.  See, for instance, SEG XLIV 1219 A; SEG XLVIII 1343; SEG L 1133. For other ways to downplay or highlight individual contributors in epigraphs, see Ellis-Evans, “The Ideology of Public Subscriptions,” 117– 20. Some rabbinic writings (y. Hor. 48a; Lev. Rab. 5; Deut. Rab. 4) preserve a story about a certain Abba Jehudah, who contributed to a collection for the rabbis (‫)מגבת חכמים‬. Despite his financial difficulties, Abba Jehudah gave generously and was rewarded by having his name written “on top of the honor list” (‫)אותך כתבנו ראש טימוס‬. According to Heinrich W. Guggenheimer, the word ‫ טימוס‬is a transliteration from the Greek τῖμος, a poetic form of τιμή (“honor”) (The Jerusalem Talmud. Fourth Order: Neziqin. Tractates Sanhedrin, Makkot, and Horaiot, ed. Heinrich W. Guggenheimer, SJ 51 [Berlin: De Gruyter, 2010], 588 n. 233). This story, which probably describes a third- or fourth-century CE practice, provides evidence of subscriptions and subscription lists among the rabbis and of the use of visual devices to honor contributors.

322

6 Early Christian Collections in the First Three Centuries

Cyprian states that the purpose of the list was to enable the Numidians to reciprocate the charitable gift by means of intercessory prayers for the people listed. I have drawn attention to early instances of the notion that intercession can be a form of reciprocation for financial support.¹⁰⁷⁷ Cyprian clearly expresses this concept. Sacrifices and supplications are a debt owed to the donors as a requirement of faith and charity (quorum omnium secundum quod fides et caritas exigit in orationibus et precibus vestris meminisse debetis; Ep. 62.4) and are offered as a “return for the good work” (vicem boni operis; Ep. 62.4). Cyprian presents the list of contributors as an instrument for the Numidians to repay their debt of gratitude. Except for the substitution of prayers for honor, the list of contributors and the requirement of reciprocation conform to benefaction practices and suggest that Christians in Carthage could use this charitable undertaking to acquire social prestige locally and in the neighboring Numidian churches.¹⁰⁷⁸ In the first part of the letter, Cyprian provides a theological basis for the collection by drawing from Scripture. He organizes the rationale for giving under two headings: dilectio/caritas and religio. ¹⁰⁷⁹ By dilectio or caritas, Cyprian means the generous love that arises from compassion. He quotes Paul’s bodyof-Christ theology to argue that one Christian’s suffering affects all Christians and causes them sorrow (1 Cor 12:26; 2 Cor 11:29). This shared dolor prompts Christians to help each other and, in this case, provide for the ransom of captives (Ep. 62.1).¹⁰⁸⁰ This first motivation for generosity is rooted in the connection existing between all members of the church, a connection that transcends local membership and extends to other communities. Cyprian summarizes these horizontal motivations in the word humanitas (Ep. 62.2), the feeling of compassion

 See above, sections 3.3.3.3 and 5.4.  It is unclear from Cyprian’s letter exactly how the memorialization of the donors was supposed to happen, but if prayers were said publicly in the assembly and the contributors’ list was read aloud, this was likely meant to increase the honor of the donors.  Saumagne believes that Cyprian espouses religio but not dilectio (Saint Cyprien, 171). However, Cyprian seems to embrace both: “Not only love but also faith should stir us” (non tantum dilectio sed et religio instigare nos debeat; Ep. 62.1; my trans.). It is nonetheless true that religio is more important, because Cyprian believes that it can prevail when dilectio fails (Ep. 62.2).  Michael Andrew Fahey, Cyprian and the Bible: A Study in Third-Century Exegesis, Beiträge zur Geschichte der biblischen Hermeneutik 9 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1971), 453 – 54, 469. Cyprian uses the same combination of quotations (1 Cor 12:26; 2 Cor 11:29) in Ep. 17.1 as a biblical foundation for compassion toward those who suffer under persecution: Conpatior ego, condoleo fratribus nostris, qui lapsi et persecutionis infestatione prostrati. See also Ep. 55.15; 76.2.

6.6 Carthage’s Financial Assistance for Numidia

323

toward others that emerges from awareness that all humans share the same condition and are exposed to the same dangers.¹⁰⁸¹ Cyprian then explores the properly religious dimension of generosity (religio). As Christians, the captive brothers and sisters are temples of God and of God’s Spirit (1 Cor 3:16).¹⁰⁸² At the same time, by virtue of their baptism, they have put on Christ (Gal 3:27),¹⁰⁸³ and Christ identifies with them in their suffering, when they are sick or in prison (Matt 25:36). Cyprian rephrases Jesus’s logion in Matt 25:36 and applies it to the Numidian captives: “I was in the prison of captivity, and I lay confined and bound among barbarians, and you set me free from that prison of slavery” (in carcere captivitatis fui, et clausus et vinctus apud barbaros iacui, et de carcere illo servitutis liberastis me; Ep. 62.3; my trans.).¹⁰⁸⁴ Moreover, Cyprian transfers the theological language of salvation to the situation of the Numidians: “He who redeemed us from the danger of death, must be redeemed from the danger of captivity, so that he, who drew us out of the jaws of the devil, […] might be drawn out of the hands of the barbarians” (redimendus de periculo captivitatis, qui nos redimit de periculo mortis, ut qui nos de diaboli faucibus exuit […] de barbarorum manibus exuatur; Ep. 62.2; my trans.). It is Jesus himself whom the barbari are holding captive. Finally, Cyprian draws attention to the particular predicament of the church’s virgins, whose consecration means that their potential defilement would be a sacrilegious act (Ep. 62.2).¹⁰⁸⁵ All of these arguments add up to the notion that generosity is aroused not

 For humanitas in Greco-Roman morality, see Bolkestein, Wohltätigkeit und Armenpflege, 123 – 4, 305 – 6; Ferguson, Moral Values, 102– 17; Hands, Charities and Social Aid in Greece and Rome, 86 – 88; Richard A. Bauman, Human Rights in Ancient Rome (London: Routledge, 2000), 10 – 35; Andrea Balbo, “Humanitas in Imperial Age: Some Reflections on Seneca and Quintilian,” The Journal of Greco-Roman Studies 47 (2012): 63 – 93.  The biblical notion that the baptized are templa Dei is fundamental to Cyprian: Hab. virg. 2; Dom. or. 11; Zel. liv. 14; Ep. 6.1; 55.27; 69.11; 74.5. See Fahey, Cyprian, 445.  The text of Gal 3:27 is central to Cyprian’s view of Christian life: Laps. 30; Hab. virg. 13; Unit. eccl. 7; Ep. 74.1, 5; 76.2.  Cyprian uses the same rationale to encourage almsgiving. Jesus identifies with the poor in order to provide religious motives when compassion fails. After quoting Matt 25:31– 46, Cyprian concludes: “[Jesus] said that anything is given to him that is given to the needy and the poor and that he is harmed unless something is given to the needy and the poor, so that he who is not moved by respect of a brother in the church may be moved by the contemplation of Christ, and he who disregards toil and poverty in his fellow servant may be mindful of the Lord, who is present in the same person that he disdains” (Eleem. 23; my trans.).  For Cyprian, the virgins have a specifically religious status: “They are the flower of the tree that is the Church, the beauty and adornment of spiritual grace, the image of God reflecting the holiness of the Lord, the more illustrious part of Christ’s flock” (Hab. virg. 3; trans. Angela Elizabeth Keenan).

324

6 Early Christian Collections in the First Three Centuries

only by charity and compassion for fellow Christians, but also by faith and love for God. Finally, in the context of the theological description of the collection, Cyprian briefly ascribes soteriological value to this generous action: “When the day of judgment comes, you will receive [your] reward from the Lord” (cum iudicii dies venerit praemium de domino recepturi; Ep. 62.3; my trans.). The thought of Judgment Day and of an eschatological reward derives from the judgment scene in Matt 25:31– 46, which Cyprian quotes and adapts to the captivity of the Numidians. Some aspects of the collection in Carthage, such as the participation of only some members of the community and the creation of a list of contributors, are consistent with the practice and the competitive character of Greco-Roman benefaction. On the other hand, Cyprian’s rhetoric clearly points to egalitarian motivations for giving. Cyprian insists that, in the midst of a crisis, Christians should put themselves in the shoes of those who suffer: “Our faith is tested whether anyone would do for another what he would wish to be done for himself” (fides nostra temptetur an faciat unusquisque pro altero quod pro se fieri vellet; Ep. 62.2; my trans.). Cyprian’s guiding principles are humanitas and mutua dilectio, as well as religio. These diverging tendencies reveal the internal struggle of early Christianity in third-century North Africa, a struggle between conflicting views of generosity and, implicitly, intergroup relations.¹⁰⁸⁶

6.7 Rome’s Ransom for Cappadocia During the 260s, Dionysius, the bishop of Rome, sent a delegation to Cappadocia for the purpose of ransoming captive brothers.¹⁰⁸⁷ Information about this ex-

 Ellis-Evans observes similar trends in Hellenistic ἐπιδόσεις: “Treated as ideological artifacts, subscription lists also have something to say about the internal, intellectual struggle over the idea of polis in the post-classical period. In theory, public subscriptions are the quintessential communitarian institution: gifts given to the city on a voluntary basis for its betterment with no expectation of something in return. […] Conversely, the trend in later periods towards the dominance of small cliques who place ever greater emphasis in the epigraphic record on who they are and how much they have given is symptomatic of the ‘oligarchization’ of the polis” (“The Ideology of Public Subscriptions,” 120 – 21). The conflict in Cyprian’s Ep. 62, however, should not be read as evidence of “oligarchization” of the Christian communities. It is rather a reflection of the interaction between the egalitarian ideals professed in Christian morality with the highly hierarchical societal structure in which those ideals are proclaimed.  Dionysius was the bishop of Rome in the years 259 – 267. For biographical information, see Basil Studer, “Dionysius, pope,” Encyclopedia of Ancient Christianity 1:715. See also J. F. BethuneBaker, An Introduction to the Early History of Christian Doctrine to the Time of the Council of Chal-

6.7 Rome’s Ransom for Cappadocia

325

change is given a century later by Basil of Caesarea in a letter to Damasus of Rome (Ep. 70).¹⁰⁸⁸ The letter aimed to enlist the support of the West in solving ecclesial problems in the East, in particular the schism in Antioch of Syria and the persistence of Arianism.¹⁰⁸⁹ Basil sought the help of Athanasius, the bishop of Alexandria, Egypt, to make his case to Damasus and specified his strategy in a letter to Athanasius: We thought it appropriate to write to the bishop of Rome that he might examine the situation here and give us advice, so that, since it is difficult for people from there to be sent by a common decision of the synod, he himself might have full authority in this matter, selecting men able to endure the exertion of the journey and competent to admonish, through their gentleness and strong character, those among us who are perverted. (Ep. 69.1, 33 – 40; my trans.)¹⁰⁹⁰

cedon, 7th ed. (London: Methuen, 1942), 113 – 18; Luise Abramowski, “Dionys von Rom († 268) und Dionys von Alexandrien († 264/5) in den arianischen Streitigkeiten des 4. Jahrhunderts,” ZKG 93 (1982): 240 – 72.  The letter has no address, yet the mention of Dionysius implies that the letter was addressed to Rome, Damasus being the bishop contemporary with Basil.  Robert Pouchet, Basile le grand et son univers d’amis d’après sa correspondance: Une stratégie de communion, SEAug 36 (Rome: Institutum Patristicum Augustinianum, 1992), 250 – 51; Philip Rousseau, Basil of Caesarea, The Transformation of the Classical Heritage 20 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1994), 294– 96. There was conflict in Antioch between the Nicene and the anti-Nicene factions. In 360 CE, Meletius, the bishop of Antioch, was exiled for taking an anti-Arian stance, and by the time of his return from exile, Paulinus, a supporter of Nicaea, had been ordained bishop in his place with the result that the anti-Arians in Antioch were split into Nicene (homoousian) and non-Nicene (homoean, i. e., those who affirmed that the Son is “similar,” ὅμοιος, to God the Father, with no reference to substance). See Manlio Simonetti, “Antioch of Syria: Schism,” Encyclopedia of Ancient Christianity 1:155 – 56; and the more extensive treatment of Ferdinand Cavallera, Le schisme d’Antioche (IVe–Ve siècle) (Paris: Picard, 1905). The troubled situation of the East is a frequent theme in the letters of Basil. See Robert Pouchet, Vivre la communion dans l’Esprit Saint et dans l’Église: Études sur Basile de Césarée, Spiritualité orientale 92 (Bégrolles en Mauges, France: Abbaye de Bellefontaine, 2014), 85 – 86.  Ἐφάνη δὲ ἡμῖν ἀκόλουθον ἐπιστεῖλαι τῷ ἐπισκόπῳ Ῥώμης ἐπισκέψασθαι τὰ ἐνταῦθα καὶ δοῦναι γνώμην, ἵνα, ἐπειδὴ ἀπὸ κοινοῦ καὶ συνοδικοῦ δόγματος ἀποσταλῆναί τινας δύσκολον τῶν ἐκεῖθεν, αὐτὸν αὐθεντῆσαι περὶ τὸ πρᾶγμα, ἐκλεξάμενον ἄνδρας ἱκανοὺς μὲν ὁδοιπορίας πόνους διενεγκεῖν, ἱνακοὺς δὲ πραότητι καὶ εὐτονίᾳ ἤθους τοὺς ἐνδιαστρόφους τῶν παρ᾽ ἡμῖν νουθετῆσαι. For easier reference, I indicate the lines of the quotations from Basil’s letters in the edition by Yves Courtonne (Basil, Lettres, ed. and trans. Yves Courtonne, 2 vols., Collection des universités de France [Paris: Les belles lettres, 1957]).

326

6 Early Christian Collections in the First Three Centuries

Confronted with turmoil and divisions, despite the attempt of the council of Nicea to bring peace to the church,¹⁰⁹¹ Basil had a grand plan: to convince the West, represented by Damasus, and Egypt, represented by Athanasius, to join the East in siding with Meletius against his opponent Paulinus in the schism at Antioch.¹⁰⁹² In order to set this plan in motion, Basil wrote to Damasus urging him to send a delegation to the East “to bring together those who are divided, or to bring back to friendship the churches of God, or to make clearer to you [Damasus] who is to blame for the disorder” (ἢ τοὺς συμβιβάζοντας τοὺς διεστῶτας, ἢ εἰς φιλίαν τὰς ἐκκλεσίας τοῦ Θεοῦ ἐπανάγοντας, ἢ τοὺς γοῦν αἰτίους τῆς ἀκαταστασίας φανερωτέρους ὑμῖν καθιστῶντας; Ep. 70, 27– 30; my trans.). The delegation was to report to Damasus and make known to him with whom he should make common cause.¹⁰⁹³ The letter was probably sent unsealed to Athanasius in order for him to add his endorsement and recommendation.¹⁰⁹⁴ It is unclear whether the letter was ever forwarded to Damasus.¹⁰⁹⁵ The rhetoric of Ep. 70 is based on two key ideas. First, Basil presents the desired intervention of Damasus in Eastern affairs as an act of love and care. Second, he evokes the past as a source of inspiration for the present. Rome has demonstrated its concern for the churches of the East in the past, and now Basil calls

 Other unsuccessful attempts to solve the Arian controversy were made at the joint councils of Rimini in the West and Seleucia in the East (359), where the homoean position prevailed.  Basil’s plan eventually failed because both Damasus and Athanasius favored Paulinus, the Nicene bishop of Antioch, against Meletius who led the non-Nicene faction. See Manlio Simonetti, “Meletius of Antioch,” Encyclopedia of Ancient Christianity 2:756 – 57.  Wilhelm de Vries, “Die Obsorge des hl. Basilius um die Einheit der Kirche im Streit mit Papst Damasus,” OCP 47 (1981): 76. Unfortunately, Basil did not obtain the response he expected from Damasus. See Jean Gribomont, “Rome et l’Orient: Invitations et reproches de S. Basile,” Seminarium 27 (1975): 337.  Pouchet, Basile, 253.  Stanislas Giet, Les idées et l’action sociales de Saint Basile (Paris: Lecoffre, 1941), 316 n. 4; Charles Pietri, Roma christiana: Recherches sur l’Église de Rome, son organization, sa politique, son idéologie de Miltiade à Sixte III (311 – 440), 2 vols., Bibliothèque des écoles françaises d’Athènes et de Rome 224 (Rome: École française de Rome, 1976), 1:794 n. 4; Pouchet, Basile, 250 – 53. For the complex relationship between Basil and Damasus, see Emmanuel Amand de Mendieta, “Damase, Athanase, Pierre, Mélèce et Basile: Les rapports de communion ecclésiastique entre les Églises de Rome, d’Alexandrie, d’Antioche et de Césarée de Cappadoce (370 – 379),” in 1054 – 1954 L’église et les églises; neuf siècles de douloureuse séparation entre l’Orient et l’Occident: Études et travaux sur l’Unité chrétienne offerts à Dom Lambert Beauduin, 2 vols. (Chevetogne: Éditions de Chevetogne, 1954– 1955), 1:261– 77; Emmanuel Amand de Mendieta, “Basile de Césarée et Damase de Rome,” in Biblical and Patristic Studies: In Memory of Robert Pierce Casey, ed. J. Neville Birdsall and Robert W. Thomson (Freiburg: Herder, 1963), 122 – 66; de Vries, “Die Obsorge,” 55 – 86; Pouchet, Basile, 509 – 54.

6.7 Rome’s Ransom for Cappadocia

327

upon Damasus to show the same solicitude. The very first words of the letter establish Basil’s purpose: “To renew the laws of ancient love” (᾿Aρχαίας ἀγάπης θεσμοὺς ἀνανεοῦσθαι; Ep. 70, 1).¹⁰⁹⁶ This love creates unity among the members of the church, which in this case are the local communities (τῇ διὰ τῆς ἀγάπης ἑνώσει … εἰς μίαν μελῶν ἁρμονίαν ἐν σώματι Χριστοῦ; Ep. 70, 7– 8).¹⁰⁹⁷ By supporting Meletius and bringing the schism to an end, Damasus would show himself faithful to Rome’s glorious past. In fact, Basil insists that by doing so, Damasus would act according to the ancient customs of Rome as well as the actions of all the great Christians of old (τοῖς τε λοιποῖς τῶν πάλαι μακαρίων καὶ θεοφιλῶν ἀνδρῶν σύνηθες καὶ διαφερόντως ὑμῖν; Ep. 70, 33 – 34). In this context, Basil uses the word σύνηθες to introduce the theme of common customs, which reveal the character of those who practice them, and proceeds to describe the actions of Dionysius as exemplary of Christian behavior (Ep. 70, 35 – 43).¹⁰⁹⁸ Basil regarded the preservation of these customs and traditions as fundamental for the prosperity of the church.¹⁰⁹⁹ The past handed down by tradition was a repository of authentic Christian virtues.¹¹⁰⁰ Most of Basil’s references to Rome’s past love are nonspecific. The one exception is when Basil tells Damasus of a particular tradition (μνήμης ἀκολουθίᾳ; Ep. 70, 35) that was handed down about his predecessor Dionysius of Rome: We know by tradition, informed by our fathers and by a letter preserved among us up to this day, that Dionysius, that most blessed bishop, prominent among you for his right faith and the other virtues, visited our church of Caesarea by letter and encouraged our fathers by letter and sent people to ransom the brothers from captivity. (Ep. 70, 35 – 43; my trans.)¹¹⁰¹

 Basil expands the theme of love between the churches with numerous synonyms: δέσμα (bond; in the verbal form δέω); εὐσπλαγχνία (mercy); ἐπίσκεψις (visit); ἀντίληψις (succor); παράκλησις (consolation); ἐπιμέλεια (care); εἰρήνη (peace); ἕνωσις (unity); ἁρμονία (harmony); φιλία (friendship); and κοινωνία (fellowship). See Pouchet, Basile, 254; Pouchet, Vivre la communion, 74.  Pouchet, Basile, 254.  Pouchet, Basile, 254.  Pouchet, Vivre la communion, 484.  Rousseau, Basil, 25 – 26.  Οἴδαμεν γὰρ μνήμης ἀκολουθίᾳ, παρὰ τῶν πατέρων ἡμῶν αἰτηθέντων καὶ ἀπὸ γραμμάτων τῶν ἔτι καὶ νῦν πεφυλαγμένων παρ᾽ ἡμῖν διδασκόμενοι, Διονύσιον, ἐκεῖνον τὸν μακαριώτατον ἐπίσκοπον, παρ᾽ ὑμῖν ἐπὶ τε ὀρθότητι πίστεως καὶ τῇ λοιπῇ ἀρετῇ διαπρέψαντα, ἐπισκεπτόμενον διὰ γραμμάτων τὴν ἡμετέραν Ἐκκλησίαν τῶν Καισαρέων καὶ παρακαλοῦντα τοὺς πατέρας ἡμῶν διὰ γραμμάτων καὶ πέμπειν τοὺς ἀπολυτρουμένους ἐκ τῆς αἰχμαλωσίας τὴν ἀδελφότητα.

328

6 Early Christian Collections in the First Three Centuries

Basil mentions brothers in captivity but fails to specify the historical background of this Roman intervention. The sources indicate that during Dionysius’s episcopate, several rounds of invasions by the Goths and the Sassanid empire affected Cappadocia.¹¹⁰² In particular, Philostorgius describes the Gothic practice of taking captives and indicates that among the captives from Galatia and Cappadocia were members of the clergy (Hist. eccl. 2.5).¹¹⁰³ To describe Rome’s intervention, Basil uses the verb ἀπολυτρόω (πέμπειν τοὺς ἀπολυτρουμένους ἐκ τῆς αἰχμαλωσίας τὴν ἀδελφότητα; Ep. 70, 42– 43), which implies the payment of a sum of money. There are no indications as to the number of captives who were ransomed, the amount of money that was paid, or who provided the sum. The plural participle τοὺς ἀπολυτρουμένους indicates that several individuals were dispatched. Although other reconstructions are conceivable, it is plausible that these persons were representatives of the Roman church and that the money was taken from the common fund or collected especially for the purpose of freeing the Cappadocian captives. It is probable that Basil was thinking of a collective action of the Roman church, not private benefaction, for he mentions this event in order to urge Damasus to extend his moral authority over the East by sending official delegates from Rome (“send some of those who are in agreement with you”; ἀποστεῖλαί τινας τῶν ὁμοψύχων; Ep. 70, 27). In fact, Basil associates the delegation for the ransom of captives with the sending of a letter of exhortation. The precise phrasing, “who visited our church of Caesarea through letters” (ἐπισκεπτόμενον διὰ γράμματων τὴν ἡμετέραν Ἐκκλησίαν τῶν Καισαρέων; Ep. 70, 40 – 41; my trans.), conveys the impression that Dionysius exercised his episcopal authority and charity over Caesarea through letters and financial help.¹¹⁰⁴ This view of Dionysius’s extra-regional authority may be anachronistic for the third century CE, but it is likely the kind of authority that Basil was inviting Damasus to exercise a century later.¹¹⁰⁵ Basil asks Damasus to renew Dionysius’s solicitude and intervene in the East so as to free souls from the captivity of heresy:

 Ernst Kirsten, “Cappadocia,” RAC 2:867; Ramon Teja, “Die römische Provinz Kappadokien in der Prinzipatszeit,” ANRW 7.2:1088 – 91; Christian Marek, Geschichte Kleinasiens in der Antike, Historische Bibliothek der Gerda Henkel Stiftung (München: Beck, 2010), 441– 45.  For additional evidence for Christian captives in Cappadocia, see Teja, “Die römische Provinz Kappadokien,” 1123 – 24. Clarke suggests that the events in Cappadocia were similar to those faced by Cyprian in Numidia (“Barbarian Disturbances,” 79).  See Pouchet’s cautious remarks about Basil’s view of the authority of Rome (Basile, 250 n. 2 and 251 n. 3).  De Vries, “Die Obsorge,” 76.

6.8 Conclusions

329

For it is not the ruin of earthly buildings that we lament, but the capture of the churches; and it is not the slavery of bodies that we have in view, but the captivity of souls carried out every day by those who fight for heresy. (Ep. 70, 45 – 49; my trans.)¹¹⁰⁶

The play on the word “captivity” is rhetorically very effective—as Dionysius ransomed the Cappadocian “bodies” from physical captivity, so now Damasus must save the Eastern “souls” from the spiritual captivity of heresy and division¹¹⁰⁷— but the reason why Basil mentions Dionysius is more profound. He cites the activity of the bishop from the previous century to portray the ideal relationship between churches or even between larger sections of the church as the West and the East. The actions of Dionysius are normative because they belong to a past that both Rome and Cappadocia share. They reveal the “ancient love” that energized the origins of the church and that should lead, so Basil firmly believed, to a solution of the schism. Whereas it is difficult to determine the original motives of Dionysius, Basil uses intergroup support to portray ideal relations between the churches.

6.8 Conclusions The survey of the evidence for intergroup support in the first three centuries reveals a variety of causes, circumstances, and solutions to economic problems in Christian groups. However, some common features emerge. The fundraising was normally started by news of a financial difficulty in another community, often by a letter that explicitly asked for help. The economic problems that intergroup support aimed to solve were also varied. They ranged from temporary poverty due to a short-term crisis to the consequences of persecution and imprisonment of Christians. The money was taken from the common fund into which the local community pooled its resources. Occasionally, efforts were made to collect additional money with the specific purpose of responding to another church’s needs. Christian leaders, particularly bishops, had a central role in this endeavor, as they were the ones who received the request, managed the common fund, and

 Οὐ γὰρ οἰκοδομημάτων γηΐνων καταστροφήν, ἀλλ᾽ Ἐκκλησιῶν ἅλωσιν ὀδυρόμεθα· οὐδὲ δουλείαν σωματικήν, ἀλλ᾽ αἰχμαλωσίαν ψυχῶν καθ᾽ ἑκάστην ἡμέραν ἐνεργουμένην παρὰ τῶν ὑπερμαχούντων τῆς αἱρέσεως καθορῶμεν.  Basil prepares this play on words by using the language of captivity in reference to Arianism: “Power over the affairs [of the churches] has been given to those who take captive the souls of the pure” (παραδοθῆναι δὲ τοῖς αἰχμαλωτίζουσι τὰς ψυχὰς τῶν ἀκεραιοτέρων τὴν τῶν πραγμάτων ἰσχύν; Ep. 70, 17– 19).

330

6 Early Christian Collections in the First Three Centuries

mobilized additional resources. A delegation was charged with transporting and delivering the money to the community in need. The bishop wrote a cover letter in which he celebrated the common ties between the groups and offered encouragement. The financial support was, finally, received by the leaders of the community in difficulty, who, in turn, supervised its utilization. The evidence gives some indication as to the spread of intergroup support, involving churches from Italy, North Africa, Greece, Asia Minor, and the Levant— in other words, most of the Mediterranean Basin. Given the fragmentary nature of the evidence, it is likely that there were other instances that left no trace in the historical record. In fact, Dionysius of Corinth suggests it was a custom for Rome to help other churches “from the beginning” (Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 4.23.10). Unfortunately, we do not possess details about this custom. The charity that Christians showed members of their faith was extended beyond the local community to groups in the same or in other regions. The significance of intergroup support is confirmed not only by the number of its occurrences, but also by the fact that it was known well beyond the confines of the groups involved. The primary example of this is Lucian, who considered intergroup support a characteristic trait of the Christian ethos (Peregr. 13). It is equally remarkable that Dionysius of Alexandria had knowledge of the financial interactions between Rome and the churches of Syria and Arabia (Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 7.5.2). Although these communities were outside the purview of Dionysius’s authority, news of these intergroup ties had reached him in Egypt. The geographical spread of intergroup support indicates that local churches were interconnected in a wide network. It is also relevant that in some instances the sharing of financial resources took place not between individual communities, but among groups of churches, usually within a region. For instance, Dionysius of Alexandria says that Rome was assisting “all of the Syrias and Arabia,” an expression that potentially includes the entire eastern coast of the Mediterranean. Cyprian provides a more detailed description than Dionysius by saying that some of his fellow bishops had made contributions on behalf of their communities (Ep. 62.4). The names of these bishops were given separately in a list that was subsequently lost. Since they were in Carthage when they made their contributions, it may be assumed with some confidence that they were from the same region. Lucian similarly writes that Peregrinus received money “from the cities in Asia” (Peregr. 13).¹¹⁰⁸ The text of Lucian suggests that a plurality  The Greek term ᾿Aσία is ambiguous and can identify three geographical regions: the eastern coast of the Aegean Sea, which at the time of Lucian was a Roman province with the same name; the Anatolian peninsula, later known as Asia Minor; or the eastern world (seen from Greece). As Peregrinus was prisoner in Syria or Palestine, the first two options seem preferable.

6.8 Conclusions

331

of churches took part in supporting Peregrinus, but the degree of historical accuracy of Lucian for these details cannot be ascertained. The data seem to indicate that the flow of financial resources went from Christian groups in larger metropolises to others in smaller cities or marginal regions, in other words, from the center to the periphery. This was particularly the case with Rome, whose generosity was such a well-known fact that Harnack hypothesized a financial meaning for Ignatius of Antioch’s famous description of Rome as “presiding over charity” (προκαθημένη τῆς ἀγάπης; Ign. Rom. superscriptio).¹¹⁰⁹ On the one hand, one would expect that Christian groups in larger urban centers had a wealthier constituency or, at least, a greater number of wealthy members than communities in peripheral towns, or perhaps simply more members. They would be in a better position to provide financial help to other churches.¹¹¹⁰ On the other hand, the link between intergroup generosity and the rise to prominence of certain churches deserves consideration. Christian groups in economic need sought the support of those churches that wielded greater authority. Similarly, charitable activity toward other churches augmented the prestige of giving communities and conferred greater power on them. There is no need to assume causality between generosity and authority. However, it appears that requests for financial assistance signaled prominence for leading churches. This link can be observed in Dionysius of Corinth’s attempt to position Corinth on an equal footing with Rome at the same time that he receives help from Rome (Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 2.25.8). Basil, on the other hand, planned to leverage Rome’s charity to have Damasus exert his authority in the East (Ep. 70). Transfers of resources between Christian groups aimed to address urgent financial needs. Acts mentions a famine, and Dionysius of Corinth poverty, but most texts refer to imprisonment or hard labor imposed on Christians because of their faith. The money was to be used to ransom Christian prisoners or, if that proved impossible, to provide for them during their captivity. Oddly enough, it is Lucian who, despite his outsider perspective, makes the connection between persecution and intergroup support clear (Peregr. 12– 13). Imprisonment for the faith bestowed honor and fame upon Christian confessors and instilled in fellow believers a desire to participate in their suffering. Persecution was a direct threat to Christian identity and, therefore, triggered a collective response that rapidly transcended the confines of the local community. The most obvious way for  Harnack, The Mission and Expansion of Christianity, 1:185; Bauer, Orthodoxy and Heresy, 121.  Nautin argues that when faced with a calamity, Christians would spontaneously seek the help of the churches of the great cities, which had access to more abundant financial resources (Lettres et écrivains chrétiens, 27 n. 3).

332

6 Early Christian Collections in the First Three Centuries

those who lived in distant regions to share in the tribulation of Christian prisoners was to provide for them financially. Lucian claims, with a certain sarcasm, that Christians were surprisingly quick to do so, indeed, too quick for his taste. The emerging role of bishops also comes to the fore in intergroup support efforts. In several instances, the part of bishops in encouraging churches to act generosously is underscored. While individual donors are rarely mentioned —the list of contributors from Carthage being the exception—bishops are ordinarily named and honored for their activity on behalf of other Christian groups. The administration of the common fund and charitable services for the city’s poor were common ways to solidify episcopal authority at the local level. The evidence for intergroup support indicates that interactions with other churches were also ways for bishops to assume the role of spokespersons for their communities. No doubt, their increasing recognition by other churches contributed to their authority in the local community. The type of document in which intergroup support is described deserves attention. In the case of Dionysius of Corinth and Cyprian, we possess letters that were contemporary with the events, but in most cases, intergroup support is presented as part of a construction of the Christian past. In fact, even the fragments from Dionysius of Corinth’s letter to the Romans are preserved by Eusebius in his Ecclesiastical History. On the one hand, this means that intergroup support is portrayed in ways that support larger arguments and that reflect interests that were relevant in later periods. In particular, exchanges of financial support appear to have been part of a representation of the unity and harmony of Christianity. These ideas may have been the soil out of which intergroup generosity grew, yet the urgent worries of poverty and persecution were probably more significant in raising funds. On the other hand, the fact that intergroup support was commonly used in arguments for church unity indicates that generosity was generally seen as a sign of peaceful and friendly relations between Christian groups. The experience of gift giving between churches was regarded as proof that the ideals of unity and peace were realized and realizable among Christians. Still at the beginning of the twentieth century, this was Harnack’s view of intergroup support.¹¹¹¹ As it is often the case, these visions of the past are idealized and aim to inspire positive behavior in later generations. Thus, they tend to gloss over tensions and disagreements. The two texts that provide first-hand evidence on intergroup exchanges betray such delicate relations. In his thank you letter to the Romans, Dionysius of Corinth strives to claim autonomy from Rome by bringing up the

 Harnack, The Mission and Expansion of Christianity, 1:181.

6.8 Conclusions

333

apostolic foundation of the Corinthian church and the presence of both Peter and Paul in Corinth before they went to Rome (Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 2.25.8). The Roman gift and Dionysius’s response were ways to negotiate the relationship between the two churches and establish positions of strength in the network of early Christian communities. The collection sent from Carthage to Numidia was accompanied by a list of contributors strikingly similar to the benefaction practices of antiquity. In his cover letter, Cyprian describes the list extensively and insists on the indebtedness of the Numidians created by the gift (Ep. 62.4). Despite the egalitarian rhetoric of Cyprian, Christians in Carthage could use their gift to the Numidian captives to acquire social prestige locally and in the neighboring churches. The tone of these texts is inspired by communion and mutual respect, yet they reveal that peace and harmony were not the only driving forces in these intergroup exchanges. Competition, prominence, and honor also played an important role.

7 Conclusions Gift giving was an important way for early Christians to present themselves as followers of Christ and to connect their local groups with Christian communities in other cities. By giving to other churches, early Christians declared themselves members of a translocal, indeed ecumenical, body and celebrated their Christian identity and their faith. In pursuing these goals, however, Christians were confronted with the ambiguity and multiplicity of meanings that characterized generosity in their social and cultural context. On a more practical level, early Christians faced the difficulty of sharing resources while being poor and fighting to survive. Financial support for other Christian groups was, therefore, at the intersection of many key aspects of early Christian life and thought. By examining early Christian collections, this study has pursued three primary aims. The first was to challenge the recent approach to Paul’s collection for the poor in Jerusalem in light of benefaction ideology and practice. Chapter Two has reexamined the abundant material on patronage and benefaction in antiquity in order to determine what problems and worries were discussed with respect to these social exchanges. An extensive array of anxieties surrounded patronage, including its impact on the economy, politics, and social status. For the poor, patronage was primarily a question of economic survival. The destitute and the working poor sought the protection of patrons to preempt the sudden downturns of the instable economy of antiquity. However, the wealthy exploited patron-client relations for their financial advantage and were often the object of severe criticism for this. Clientship was generally perceived as a humiliating condition, involving social degradation comparable, at least in the rhetoric, to slavery. Particularly in the pre-imperial period, but to a certain degree also under the empire, patronage was essential to the establishment of political dominance. Throngs of clients displayed a patron’s social prestige and financial prosperity and could be deployed as voters and instruments of political violence. In light of this analysis of ancient patron-client relations, Chapter Four has examined the Pauline collection texts in search of the misgivings that hampered the completion of the collection. Two major areas of anxiety emerge from the texts: fear of impoverishment and mistrust of Paul’s leadership. The overwhelming majority, if not the totality, of believers in Corinth came from the lower economic strata of society. Financial insecurity was a constant worry for them and shaped their economic behavior and their attitudes to charity. The Corinthians saw the collection as an additional factor of economic risk, not as an instrument to establish their patronage over the Jerusalem group. Mistrust of Paul’s leadership role was partly associated with motifs that are featured in criticism of pahttps://doi.org/10.1515/9783110723946-009

7 Conclusions

335

tronage, but it was not directly relevant to the relationship between the Pauline groups and Jerusalem. As a result, the ideology of benefaction does not seem to be the appropriate framework to interpret the Pauline collection and the intergroup relations that it created. The Corinthians did not see the collection as an act of patronage. The way in which Paul described and organized the collection was not a reaction to an interpretation of the collection in terms of patronage. The second major aim of this study was to put forward an alternative explanation for Paul’s rhetoric in the collection texts. In order to achieve this goal, the collection texts have been examined through the lens of John Davis’s theory of exchange as a multiform phenomenon, in which exchange actors attribute a variety of meanings and social consequences to their economic interactions and may or may not expect to make a profit from them. Chapter Three has surveyed the economy of the ancient world to demonstrate that gift giving and support of the poor were involved in many different kinds of economic exchange that did not have the same implications as patronage. Exchange relationships based on reciprocity were not necessarily exploitative, nor did they automatically entail status hierarchy. In particular, poverty relief could be achieved through non-reciprocal exchanges that were very different from patronage. Chapter Five has demonstrated that, in the collection texts, Paul made a painstaking effort to define the collection in a way that responded to the worries of the Corinthians and expressed the early Christian ethos. Paul explained the meaning of the collection by making reference to several kinds of exchange. Some of these were of a religious nature and focused on the contributors’ relationship with God, reciprocity having little to no role in them. Others were more rooted in the relationship between givers and receivers and emphasized reciprocity. Paul raised the theme of reciprocation as part of his attempts to ease Corinthian worries about impoverishment. He reassured the Corinthians by promising reciprocation from fellow believers in Jerusalem and rewards from God. In sum, Paul deployed the repertoire of exchanges of the ancient Mediterranean in order to present the collection as both a religious act and a gift linking groups together. The third and final aim of this study was to expand research to include other exchanges of financial support in early Christianity, provide a comparative context for the Pauline collection, and demonstrate that it was not an isolated experience but rather the beginning of a widespread Christian practice. In Chapter Six, the analysis of intergroup support in the first three centuries CE has revealed a common pattern involving similar problems (especially imprisonment or hard labor because of persecution) as well as comparable organizational arrangements (the use of the common fund, the sending of a delegation, the active

336

7 Conclusions

role of bishops, the cover letter). Despite the fragmentary character of the evidence, it appears that the geographical extent of intergroup financial exchanges coincided with the expansion of Christianity around the Mediterranean. Moreover, details about financial exchanges were widely known, even by Christian groups that were not directly involved in them and beyond the boundaries of Christianity. Key figures in these exchanges were the bishops, whose recognition increased through such activity both inside and outside of their local churches. The study of later instances of intergroup support provides useful comparative material for the Pauline collection. It is especially striking that the Pauline collection and the collection texts are never mentioned in the patristic texts that describe intergroup support. Although we only possess fragments of it, Dionysius of Corinth’s letter to the Romans does not make any reference to the past involvement of the Corinthians in supporting Jerusalem. Dionysius describes the practice of reading letters addressed to the Corinthians in their assembly meetings (Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 4.23.11) but fails to mention the letters of Paul and their teachings on intergroup support. Cyprian quotes the Pauline letters when he provides the theological foundation for Carthage’s assistance to the Numidians (1 Cor 3:16; 12:26; 2 Cor 11:29; in Ep. 62.1– 2), but these are part of his argument for generosity elsewhere, which does not rely on the Pauline collection texts. The relation between the Pauline and the Antiochene collection (Acts 11:27– 30) is complicated and still highly debated, but even assuming that a connection existed between the two, Luke seems to have ignored it, perhaps intentionally. With the possible exception of the Antiochene collection, there seems to have been no direct link between the Pauline collection and the other instances of intergroup support for which we have evidence. This suggests that the Pauline collection, despite its importance in Paul’s ministry, was not particularly influential in shaping later Christian intergroup practice—a similar conclusion can be drawn for the influence of the Antiochene collection, which also appears in the New Testament. This disconnect makes all the more striking the similarities that Paul’s fundraising bears with the general pattern of early Christian intergroup support.¹¹¹² First, financial help to other churches aimed to solve temporary poverty or the consequences of persecution and imprisonment. There is substantial uncertainty as to the causes of poverty in the Jerusalem group that inspired Paul to organize a collection, but the famine in the mid-40s CE described in Acts 11:28 (as well as by Josephus, Ant. 20.51– 53, 101) may have con-

 See the essential features of intergroup support highlighted above, pp. 329 – 30.

7 Conclusions

337

tributed to the general impoverishment of the Jerusalem Christians.¹¹¹³ Moreover, believers in Jerusalem faced persecution and imprisonment like later generations, with Paul himself experiencing imprisonment in Jerusalem after organizing the collection. Second, the money was normally taken from the local church’s common fund, but occasionally efforts were made to collect additional resources to be sent to another group. There is no evidence for the existence of a common fund in the Pauline groups, yet the Pauline collection resembles later practices in that it involved all group members and was portrayed as a collective action. Carthage’s assistance for Numidia is especially significant, for it included contributions from other churches, presumably on a regional basis (Cyprian, Ep. 62.4). Similarly, Paul’s collection was gathered from a network of groups that were linked by the missionary activity of Paul and his coworkers.¹¹¹⁴ In most instances of intergroup support, the role of Christian leaders, especially bishops, came to the fore. The personal connections between bishops functioned as part of the connective tissue of early Christianity, in particular through their epistolary activity. Externally, bishops represented their churches, while internally, they organized charity and mobilized resources. The role of Paul in the collection for Jerusalem is absolutely consistent with that of later Christian leaders from these points of view. He was in all likelihood the main connection between the Pauline groups and Jerusalem. Through his letters, personal visits, and coworkers, he fostered the groups’ participation in the collection. Moreover, a delegation of church members was normally charged with the delivery of the collected money. This detail is also described in Paul’s letters (1 Cor 16:3). Finally, in 1 Cor 16:3, Paul offers to write a cover letter for the Corinthian gift, like bishops would do in later centuries. We do not know if a letter was actually written, but there was probably no need of a letter from Paul since he later decided to make the journey to Jerusalem with the delegates (Rom 15:25, 28; 1 Cor 16:4). The similarities between the several known instances of early Christian intergroup support and Paul’s collection become especially significant if we consider that 1) there seem to be no good non-Christian models that could be associated with them and that 2) there seems to be no genetic relation between them—in fact, the Pauline collection seems to have been forgotten and was never deployed

 In the mid-50s CE, when Paul was organizing the collection, the immediate effects of the famine would have been a past event—in fact, Paul does not seem to be dealing with an emergency (see Franklin, Die Kollekte des Paulus, 52)—yet the crisis of the 40s might have left the Jerusalem group financially weak.  Lucian similarly describes a collective effort by the Christians of the cities of Asia (Peregr. 13).

338

7 Conclusions

as an argument for intergroup generosity. Hence, the question arises as to why early Christian responses to financial need in other groups could be so remarkably similar across time and space. One possible answer is that Christian intergroup support was shaped by the ethical and social structure of early Christianity. In other words, Christians conceived similar responses because they shared a similar ethos. In particular, it seems possible that early Christians treated intergroup support as an expansion of intragroup generosity and extended to other groups the same methods of poverty relief that they used to assist members of their local groups. The role of the common fund and Cyprian’s use of the same biblical arguments and moral concepts for both kinds of generosity point in this direction.¹¹¹⁵ The evidence suggests that, in several cases, this expansion from local to intergroup generosity was triggered by persecution, which was seen as a threat to Christian identity. In other words, confessors, by virtue of their fidelity to their religious commitment, had a high symbolic value that enabled early Christians to develop a sense of translocal bonds and collective identity, and financial support to confessors was a practical way for Christians to express their religious identity. This tight link between Christian identity and intergroup support may, at least in part, explain why Jerusalem was the sole focus of the earliest fundraising efforts, a question that the Pauline collection texts do not fully answer. It is particularly interesting that Luke describes a “worldwide famine” (Acts 11:28) but only a very localized response for Judea. If the same reasoning applies as in the case of persecution, a gift to Jerusalem, a highly symbolic community in the first century CE, may have been a way for believers to express their identity as followers of Christ. It is worth underscoring the translocal bonds that existed between early Christian groups and allowed them to develop a common identity. Intergroup support and other forms of interaction at the regional and extra-regional level are evidence that early Christians, already in the first century CE, believed that they were part of a social body that crossed geographic, ethnic, and cultural boundaries. Although this translocal character appears to be an important feature of early Christianity, it was made possible and facilitated by the material conditions that the expansion of Rome had created, especially the internal peace that reigned in the Empire and the greatly increased physical mobility provided by the many land roads and sea routes. The prevalence of intergroup sup-

 In a similar way, Paul uses Prov 22:8 – 9 LXX as a biblical foundation for generosity at the local level (Rom 12:8) and for the collection (2 Cor 9:7). See above, section 5.4.

7 Conclusions

339

port is a reflection of the structure that Christianity was able to develop around a unified Mediterranean. A major difference between the Pauline collection texts and the writings that describe later instances of intergroup support is that Paul’s letters provide an insight into the internal debates of a gifting group. In particular, they reveal the problems that such an enterprise encountered and the efforts that Paul made to overcome them. All other texts have an external perspective and often describe intergroup support as part of an idealized past. As a result, we see Paul striving to establish himself as a leader of the Corinthian group, whereas the letters of Dionysius of Corinth and Cyprian, for instance, are more focused on the position of the churches over which they presided with respect to their exchange partners. Cyprian’s letter to the Numidians constitutes a partial exception to this general rule, for although it does not directly describe the internal discussions in Carthage, its rhetoric parallels that of other writings which present Cyprian’s teaching activity (especially Eleem. 23). Cyprian classifies the motivations for giving as humanitarian (humanitas, dilectio, and caritas) and religious (religio), giving preeminence to the religious motivation because, in his view, it prevails even when charity fails (Ep. 62.1– 2). Paul similarly describes the collection by using some exchange categories that are religiously inspired and others that are based on human relationships, yet Cyprian formulates a theory of generosity that is structured in a way that clearly surpasses the Pauline texts. More important, what Cyprian calls humanitas includes a feeling of compassion for the suffering of fellow Christians, even the capacity to feel someone else’s anguish as one’s own (Ep. 62.2). This emphasis on compassionate love is a major departure from the Pauline collection texts, which do not take into consideration the condition of the Jerusalem receivers.¹¹¹⁶ This findings provide two major contributions to research on early Christianity. The first is that it abandons patronage and self-interested reciprocity as the sole explanatory principles of every economic exchange in antiquity. Patronage was indeed a predominant form of social intercourse, yet this was especially true among the elite and when political considerations came into play. Exchanges in the private sphere, among friends and kin, as well as economic relations between the poorer members of society have not yet been sufficiently explored and could be used more extensively to further our understanding of the lives of early Christians. There is still a need to determine what lower-strata economic

 Paul does, however, include compassionate love as a regulating principle for intragroup relations. In fact, Cyprian bases his assertions on Pauline texts (e. g., 1 Cor 12:26).

340

7 Conclusions

relations really looked like, how they shaped early Christian groups, and how long they were a primary factor in Christianity. John Davis’s model of exchange, which I have adopted, has exposed the limitations of the exclusive focus on patronage and shown the complexity of exchange in the ancient Mediterranean. It is, however, primarily a descriptive model that does not go below the surface of what people say and (purportedly) think about their exchanges. Further analysis, away from the patronage model, is needed. The second important contribution is the inclusion of other early Christian collections as comparative material for the Pauline collection. Against this background, Paul’s collection for Jerusalem no longer stands alone as an anomaly in the ancient economy. On the contrary, the many similarities between these instances of early Christian intergroup support suggest that this specific kind of exchange was connected with the ethos and social structure of early Christianity. This study has explored the potential of this line of research only to a limited extent. Further analysis is necessary to contextualize the evidence of intergroup support in the theology and charitable practices of the Christian groups involved. Research on this material also promises to shed further light on the Pauline collection itself and, more generally, on the relation between the internal life of Christian groups and their interactions with other Christian communities.

Bibliography Ancient Sources 4 Baruch (Paraleipomena Jeremiou). Edited by Jens Herzer. SBL Writings from the GrecoRoman World 22. Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2005. Altchristliche Texte. Edited by Carl Schmidt and Wilhelm Schubart. Berliner Klassikertexte 6. Berlin: Weidmann, 1910. Apocalypse de Baruch. Edited by Pierre Bogaert. 2 vols. SC 144, 145. Paris: Cerf, 1969. The Apostolic Fathers: Greek Texts and English Translations. Translated by Michael W. Holmes. 3rd ed. Grand Rapids: BakerAcademic, 2007. Appian. Roman History. Translated by Horace White. 4 vols. LCL 2, 3, 4, 5. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1912 – 1913. Aristeas. ΑΡΙΣΤΕΑΣ ΦΙΛΟΚΡΑΤΕΙ. Edited by H. St. J. Thackeray. Pages 519 – 74 in Henry Barclay Swete, An Introduction to the Old Testament in Greek. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1900. Aristophanes. Acharnians; Knights. Translated by Jeffrey Henderson. LCL 178. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1998. Aristophanes. Frogs; Assemblywomen; Wealth. Translated by Jeffrey Henderson. LCL 180. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2002. Aristotle. The Athenian Constitution; The Eudemian Ethics; On Virtues and Vices. Translated by H. Rackham. LCL 285. Revised edition. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1952. Aristotle. Metaphysics; Oeconomica; Magna moralia. Translated by Hugh Tredennick and G. Cyril Armstrong. 2 vols. LCL 271, 287. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1933 – 1935. Aristotle. The Nicomachean Ethics. Translated by H. Rackham. LCL 73. Revised edition. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1934. Aristotle. Politics. Translated by H. Rackham. LCL 264. Revised edition. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1944. Aristotle. Posterior Analytics; Topica. Translated by Hugh Tredennick and E. S. Forster. LCL 391. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1960. Aristotle. The “Art” of Rhetoric. Translated by John Henry Freese. LCL 193. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1926. Athenaeus. The Learned Banqueters. Translated by S. Douglas Olson. 8 vols. LCL 204, 208, 224, 235, 274, 327, 345, 519. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2006 – 2012. Athenagoras. Supplique au sujet des chrétiens et Sur la resurrection des morts. Edited by Bernard Pouderon. SC 379. Paris: Cerf, 1992. Aulus Gellius. Attic Nights. Translated by John C. Rolfe. 3 vols. LCL 195, 200, 212. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1927. Basil of Caesarea. Letters. Edited by Roy J. Deferrari and Agnes Clare Way. 2 vols. FC. New York: Fathers of the Church, 1951 – 1955. Basil of Caesarea. Lettres. Edited and translated Yves Courtonne. 2 vols. Collection des universités de France. Paris: Les belles lettres, 1957. Besah and Taanit. Vol. 18 of The Talmud of the Land of Israel: A Preliminary Translation and Explanation. Translated by Jacob Neusner. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1987. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110723946-010

342

Bibliography

Callimachus. Hymns and Epigrams. Lycophron. Lycophron. Aratus. Aratus. Translated by A. W. Mair and G. R. Mair. LCL 129. Revised edition. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1955. Cassius Dio. Roman History. Translated by Earnest Cary. 9 vols. LCL 32, 37, 53, 66, 82, 83, 175, 176, 177. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1914 – 1927. Die Chronik des Hieronymus. Vol. 7 of Eusebius Werke. Edited by Rudolf Helm. GCS. Berlin: Akademie, 1956. Cicero. De inventione; De optimo genere oratorum; Topica. Translated by H. M. Hubbell. LCL 386. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1949. Cicero. De officiis. Translated by Walter Miller. LCL 130. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1913. Cicero. De senectute; De amicitia; De divinatione. Translated by William Armistead Falconer. LCL 154. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1923. Cicero. In Catilinam I-IV; Pro Murena; Pro Sulla; Pro Flacco. Translated by C. MacDonald. LCL 324. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1977. Cicero. Letters to Atticus. Translated by D. R. Shackleton Bailey. 4 vols. LCL 7, 8, 97, 491. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1999. Cicero. Letters to Friends. Translated by D. R. Shackleton Bailey. 3 vols. LCL 205, 216, 230. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2001. Cicero. Letters to Quintus and Brutus; Letter Fragments; Letter to Octavian; Invectives; Handbook on Electioneering. Translated by D. R. Shackleton Bailey. LCL 462. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1972. Cicero. Pro Archia; Post reditum in senatu; Post reditum ad Quirites; De domo sua; De haruspicum responsis; Pro Plancio. Translated by N. H. Watts. LCL 158. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1923. Cicero. Pro Publio Quinctio; Pro Sexto Roscio Amerino; Pro Quinto Roscio Comoedo; De lege agraria. Translated by John Henry Freese. LCL 240. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1930. Cicero. Tusculan Disputations. Translated by J. E. King. LCL 141. Revised edition. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1945. Cicero. The Verrine Orations. Translated by L. H. G. Greenwood. 2 vols. LCL 221, 293. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1928 – 1935. Clement of Alexandria. Quel riche sera sauvé? Edited by Carlo Nardi and Patrick Descourtieux. SC 537. Paris: Cerf, 2011. Cornelius Nepos. Cornelius Nepos. Translated by John C. Rolfe. 3rd ed. LCL 467. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1984. Cyprian. La bienfaisance et les aumônes. Edited by Michel Poirier. SC 440. Paris: Cerf, 1999. Cyprian. Epistolarium. 6 vols. CCSL 3B – D. Part III, 1 – 3 of Cyprian, Opera. Edited by G. F. Diercks. Turnhout: Brepols, 1994 – 1999. Cyprian. The Letters of St. Cyprian of Carthage. Edited by G. W. Clarke. 4 vols. ACW 43, 44, 46, 47. New York: Newman, 1984 – 1989. Cyprian. Treatises. Translated by Roy J. Deferrari, Angela Elizabeth Keenan, Mary Hannan Mahoney, and George Edward Conway. FC. Washington: The Catholic University of America Press, 1958. Demai. Vol. 2 of The Talmud of the Land of Israel: A Preliminary Translation and Explanation. Translated by Richard S. Sarason. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1993.

Ancient Sources

343

Demosthenes. De corona; De falsa legatione. Translated by C. A. Vince and J. H. Vince. LCL 155. Revised edition. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1939. Demosthenes. Olynthiacs; Philippics; Minor Public Speeches; Speech Against Leptines. Translated by J. H. Vince. LCL 238. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1930. Dio Chrysostom. Discourses; Fragments; Letters. Translated by J. W. Cohoon and H. Lamar Crosby. 5 vols. LCL 257, 339, 358, 376, 385. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1932 – 1951. Diogenes Laertius. Lives of Eminent Philosophers. Translated by R. D. Hicks. 2 vols. LCL 184, 185. Revised edition. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1931 – 1972. Dionysius of Halicarnassus. The Roman Antiquities. Translated by Earnest Cary. 7 vols. LCL 319, 347, 357, 364, 372, 378, 388. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1937 – 1950. Epictetus. The Discourses as Reported by Arrian; Fragments; Encheiridion. Translated by W. A. Oldfather. 2 vols. LCL 131, 218. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1925 – 1928. Epiphanius of Salamis. The Panarion of Epiphanius of Salamis: Book I (Sects 1 – 46). Translated by Frank Williams. 2nd ed. Nag Hammadi and Manichean Studies 63. Leiden: Brill, 1987. Euripides. Children of Heracles; Hippolytus; Andromache; Hecuba. Translated by David Kovacs. LCL 484. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1995. Euripides. Helen; Phoenician Women; Orestes. Translated by David Kovacs. LCL 11. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2002. Eusebius of Caesarea. Ecclesiastical History. Translated by Roy J. Deferrari. 2 vols. FC 19, 29. New York: Fathers of the Church, 1953 – 1955. Eusebius of Caesarea. Histoire Ecclésiastique. Edited by Gustave Bardy. 4 vols. SC 31, 41, 55, 73. Paris: Cerf, 1952 – 1960. Gaertringen, Friedrich Hiller von, ed. Inschriften von Priene. Berlin: Reimer, 1906. Gregory of Nazianzus. Discours 1 – 3. Edited by Jean Bernardi. SC 247. Paris: Cerf, 1978. Gregory of Nazianzus. Discours 6 – 12. Edited by Marie-Ange Calvet-Sebasti. SC 405. Paris: Cerf, 1995. Hermas. Hermae Pastor: Veterem latinam interpretationem e codicibus. Edited by Adolphus Hilgenfeld. Leipzig: Reisland, 1873. Repr., Whitefish: Kessinger, 2009. Hermas. Der Hirt of Hermas. Edited by Molly Whittaker. GCS. Berlin: Akademie, 1967. Hermas. Hermas le pasteur. Edited by Robert Joly. SC 53. Paris: Cerf, 1958. Herodotus. Herodotus. Translated by A. D. Godley. 4 vols. LCL 117, 118, 119, 120. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1920 – 1925. Homer. Odyssey. Translated by A. T. Murray. Revised by George E. Dimock. 2nd ed. 2 vols. LCL 104, 105. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1995. Horace. Odes and Epodes. Translated by Niall Rudd. LCL 33. Revised edition. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2012. Horace. Satires, Epistles, and Ars poetica. Translated by H. Rushton Fairclough. LCL 194. Revised edition. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1929. Horayot and Niddah. Vol. 34 of The Talmud of the Land of Israel: A Preliminary Translation and Explanation. Translated by Jacob Neusner. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1982. Iamblichus. On the Pythagorean Way of Life: Text, Translation, and Notes. Translated by John Dillon and Jackson Hershbell. SBLTT 29. Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1991. Inscriptiones Graecae. Editio minor. Berlin: de Gruyter, 1924–.

344

Bibliography

Irenaeus. Contre les hérésies: Livre I. Edited by Adelin Rousseau and Louis Doutreleau. 2 vols. SC 263, 264. Paris: Cerf, 1979. Irenaeus. Contres les hérésies: Livre III. Edited by Adelin Rousseau and Louis Doutreleau. 2 vols. SC 210, 211. Paris: Cerf, 1974. Isaeus. Isaeus. Translated by Edward Seymour Forster. LCL 202. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1927. Isocrates. Isocrates. Translated by George Norlin and Larue van Hook. 3 vols. LCL 209, 229, 373. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1928 – 1945. The Jerusalem Talmud. Fourth Order: Neziqin. Tractates Sanhedrin, Makkot, and Horaiot. Edited by Heinrich W. Guggenheimer. SJ 51. Berlin: De Gruyter, 2010. Josephus. The Life; Against Apion. Translated by H. St. J. Thackeray. LCL 186. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1926. Josephus. Jewish Antiquities. Translated by H. St. J. Thackeray, Ralph Marcus, and Louis H. Feldman. 9 vols. LCL 242, 281, 326, 365, 410, 433, 456, 489, 490. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1930 – 1965. Julian. The Works of the Emperor Julian. Translated by Wilmer Cave Wright. 3 vols. LCL 13, 29, 157. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1913 – 1923. Juvenal and Persius. Translated by Susanna Morton Braund. LCL 91. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2004. Livy. History of Rome. Translated by B. O. Foster, Frank Gardner Moore, Evan T. Sage, Alfred C. Schlesinger. 14 vols. LCL 114, 133, 172, 191, 233, 295, 301, 313, 332, 355, 367, 381, 396, 404. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1919 – 1959. Lucian. Alexandros oder der Lügenprophet. Edited by Ulrich Victor. Religions in the GraecoRoman World 132. Leiden: Brill, 1997. Lucian. Lucian. Translated by A. M. Harmon, K. Kilburn, and M. D. MacLeod. 8 vols. LCL 14, 54, 130, 162, 302, 430, 431, 432. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1913 – 1967. Lucian. Philopseudès et De morte Peregrini. Edited by Jacques Schwartz. Textes d’étude 12. Paris: Les belles lettres, 1951. Lucian. Der Tod des Peregrinos: Ein Scharlatan auf dem Scheiterhaufen. Edited by Peter Pilhofer, Manuel Baumbach, Jens Gerlach, and Dirk Uwe Hansen. Sapere 9. Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2005. Macrobius. Saturnalia. Translated by Robert A. Kaster. 3 vols. LCL 510, 511, 512. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2011. Martial. Epigrams. Translated by D. R. Shackleton Bailey. 3 vols. LCL 94, 95, 480. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1993. Mekilta de-Rabbi Ishmael. Translated by Jacob Z. Lauterbach. 3 vols. Philadelphia: The Jewish Publication Society of America, 1961 Menander. Menander. Translated by W. G. Arnott. 3 vols. LCL 132, 459, 460. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1979 – 2000. Midrash Rabbah: Deuteronomy. Translated by J. Rabbinowitz. 3rd ed. London: Soncino, 1983. Midrash Rabbah: Leviticus. Translated by J. Israelstam and Judah J. Slotki. 3rd ed. London: Soncino, 1983. Minor Attic Orators: Antiphon; Andocides. Translated by K. J. Maidment. LCL 308. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1941. Minor Latin Poets. Translated by J. Wight Duff and Arnold M. Duff. 2 vols. LCL 284, 434. Revised edition. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1935.

Ancient Sources

345

The Mishnah: A New Translation. Translated by Jacob Neusner. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1988. Musonius Rufus. C. Musonii Rufi reliquiae. Edited by O. Hense. Leipzig: Teubner, 1905. The Old Testament Pseudepigrapha. Edited by James H. Charlesworth. 2 vols. Garden City: Doubleday, 1983 – 1985. Oratorum Romanorum fragmenta liberae rei publicae. Edited by Enrica Malcovati. 4th ed. 2 vols. Turin: Paravia, 1976 – 1979. Orientis Graeci inscriptiones selectae. Edited by Wilhelm Dittenberger. 2 vols. Leipzig: Hirzel, 1903 – 1905. Peah. Vol. 2 of The Talmud of the Land of Israel: A Preliminary Translation and Explanation. Translated by Roger Brooks. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1990. Philo. Philo. Translated by F. H. Colson and G. H. Whitaker. 10 vols. LCL 226, 227, 247, 261, 275, 289, 320, 341, 363, 379. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1929 – 1962. Philostorgius. Church History. Edited and translated by Philip R. Amidon. SBL Writings from the Greco-Roman World 23. Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2007. Pindar. Nemean Odes; Isthmian Odes; Fragments. Translated by William H. Race. LCL 485. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1997. Plato. Cratylus; Parmenides; Greater Hippias; Lesser Hippias. Translated by H. N. Fowler. LCL 167. Revised edition. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1939. Plato. Lysis; Symposium; Gorgias. Translated by W. R. M. Lamb. LCL 166. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1925. Plato. Platonis opera. Edited by John Burnet. 5 vols. OCT. Oxford: Clarendon, 1899 – 1907. Plautus. Amphitryon; The Comedy of Asses; The Pot of Gold; The Two Bacchises; The Captives. Translated by Wolfgang De Melo. LCL 60. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2011. Plautus. Casina; The Casket Comedy; Curculio; Epidicus; The Two Menaechmuses. Translated by Wolfgang De Melo. LCL 61. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2011. Plautus. The Merchant; The Braggart Soldier; The Ghost; The Persian. Translated by Wolfgang De Melo. LCL 163. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2011. Plautus. Stichus; Three-Dollar Day; Truculentus; The Tale of a Traveling-Bag; Fragments. Translated by Wolfgang De Melo. LCL 328. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2013. Pliny the Younger. Letters; Panegyricus. Translated by Betty Radice. 2 vols. LCL 55, 59. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1969. Plutarch. Lives. Translated by Bernadotte Perrin. 11 vols. LCL 46, 47, 65, 80, 87, 98, 99, 100, 101, 102, 103. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1914 – 1926. Plutarch. Moralia. Translated by Frank Cole Babbitt, W. C. Helmbold, Philip H. De Lacy, Benedict Einarson, Paul A. Clement, Herbert B. Hoffleit, Edwin L. Minar Jr, F. H. Sandbach, Harold North Fowler, Lionel Pearson, Harold Cherniss, and Edward N. O’Neil. 17 vols. LCL 197, 222, 245, 305, 306, 321, 337, 405, 406, 424, 425, 426, 427, 428, 429, 470, 499. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1927 – 2004. Polybius. The Histories; Unattributed Fragments. Translated by W. R. Paton and S. Douglas Olson. 6 vols. LCL 128, 137, 138, 159, 160, 161. Revised edition. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2010 – 2012. Propertius. Elegies. Translated by G. P. Goold. LCL 18. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1990.

346

Bibliography

S. Cyril of Jerusalem; S. Gregory Nazianzen. Vol. 7 of Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers of the Christian Church. Translated by Edward Hamilton Gifford, Charles Gordon Browne, and James Edward Swallow. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1952. Sallust. The War with Catiline; The War with Jugurtha. Translated by J. C. Rolfe. Revised by John T. Ramsey. LCL 116. Revised edition. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2013. Seneca the Elder. Declamations. Translated by M. Winterbottom. 2 vols. LCL 463, 464. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1974. Seneca the Younger. Epistles. Translated by Richard M. Gummere. 3 vols. LCL 75, 76, 77. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1917 – 1925. Seneca the Younger. Moral Essays. Translated by John W. Basore. 3 vols. LCL 214, 254, 310. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1928 – 1935. Shabbat. Vol. 11 of The Talmud of the Land of Israel: A Preliminary Translation and Explanation. Translated by Jacob Neusner. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1991. Sophists. Vol. 8 of Early Greek Philosophy. Translated by André Laks and Glenn W. Most. LCL 531. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2016. Sophocles. Ajax; Electra; Oedipus Tyrannus. Translated by Hugh Lloyd-Jones. LCL 20. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1994. Sophocles. Antigone; The Women of Trachis; Philoctetes; Oedipus at Colonus. Translated by Hugh Lloyd-Jones. LCL 21. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1994. Stobaeus. Anthologium. Edited by Curt Wachsmuth and Otto Hense. 5 vols. Berlin: Weidmann, 1884 – 1912. Suetonius. Suetonius. Translated by J. C. Rolfe. 2 vols. LCL 31. Revised edition. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1997 – 1998. Tatian. Oratio ad Graecos: Rede an die Griechen. Edited by Jörg Trelenberg. BHT 165. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2012. Terence. The Woman of Andros; The Self-Tormentor; The Eunuch. Translated by John Barsby. LCL 22. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2001. The Testament of Job According to the SV Text. Edited by Robert A. Kraft et al. SBLTT 5. Missoula: The Society of Biblical Literature, 1974. Theophrastus. Characters. Herodas. Mimes. Sophron. Mimes. Other Mime Fragments. Translated by Jeffrey Rusten and I. C. Cunningham. 3rd ed. LCL 225. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2002. The Tosefta. Edited by Jacob Neusner and Richard S. Sarason. Translated by Jacob Neusner et al. 6 vols. Hoboken: Ktav, 1977 – 1986. Valerius Maximus. Memorable Doings and Sayings. Translated by D. R. Shackleton Bailey. 2 vols. LCL 492, 493. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2000. Xenophon. Memorabilia; Oeconomicus; Symposium; Apology. Translated by E. C. Merchant and O. J. Todd. LCL 168. Revised edition. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2013.

Dictionaries and Encyclopedias Aufstieg und Niedergang der römischen Welt: Geschichte und Kultur Roms im Spiegel der neueren Forschung. Edited by Hildegard Temporini and Wolfgang Haase. Berlin: de Gruyter, 1972 –.

General Works

347

Bauer, W., F. W. Danker, W. F. Arndt, and F. W. Gingrich. Greek-English Lexicon of the New Testament and Other Early Christian Literature. 3rd ed. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1999. Dictionary of the Apostolic Church. Edited by James Hardings. 2 vols. Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1915 – 1916. Encyclopedia of Ancient Christianity. Edited by Angelo Di Bernardino. 3 vols. Downers Grove: IVP Academic, 2014. The Encyclopedia of Ancient History. Edited by Roger S. Bagnall, Kai Brodersen, Craige B. Champion, Andrew Erskine, and Sabine R. Huebner. 13 vols. Malden: Wiley-Blackwell, 2012. Encyclopedia of the Bible and Its Reception. Edited by Hans-Josef Klauck et al. Berlin: de Gruyter, 2009–. Exegetical Dictionary of the New Testament. Edited by Horst Balz and Gerhard Schneider. 3 vols. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1990 – 1993. International Encyclopedia of Social Sciences. Edited by David L. Sills. 19 vols. New York: Macmillan, 1968. The Oxford Classical Dictionary. Edited by Simon Hornblower and Antony Spawforth. 4th ed. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012. Paulys Real-Encyclopädie der classischen Altertumswissenschaft. New edition by Georg Wissowa and Wilhelm Kroll. 50 vols. in 84 parts. Stuttgart: Metzler and Druckenmüller, 1894 – 1980. Reallexikon für Antike und Christentum. Edited by Theodor Klauser et al. Stuttgart: Hiersemann, 1950–. Spicq, Ceslas. Notes de lexicographie néo-testamentaire. OBO 22. 3 vols. Fribourg: Editions Universitaires Suisse, 1978 – 1982. Theological Dictionary of the New Testament. Edited by Gerhard Kittel and Gerhard Friedrich. Translated by Geoffrey W. Bromiley. 10 vols. Grand Rapids: Eedrmans, 1964 – 1976.

General Works Abramowski, Luise. “Dionys von Rom († 268) und Dionys von Alexandrien († 264/5) in den arianischen Streitigkeiten des 4. Jahrhunderts.” ZKG 93 (1982): 240 – 72. Achtemeier, Paul J. 1 Peter: A Commentary on First Peter. Hermeneia. Minneapolis: Fortress, 1996. Achtemeier, Paul J. The Quest for Unity in the New Testament Church: A Study in Paul and Acts. Philadelphia: Fortress, 1987. Adams, Edward. “First-Century Models for Paul’s Churches: Selected Scholarly Developments since Meeks.” Pages 60 – 78 in After the First Urban Christians: The Social-Scientific Study of Pauline Christianity Twenty-Five Years Later. Edited by Todd D. Still and David G. Horrell. London: T&T Clark, 2009. Adkins, Arthur W. H. “‘Friendship’ and ‘Self-Sufficiency’ in Homer and Aristotle.” CQ 13 (1963): 30 – 45. Adkins, Arthur W. H. Merit and Responsibility: A Study in Greek Values. Oxford: Clarendon, 1960.

348

Bibliography

Alföldy, Géza. Römische Sozialgeschichte. 3rd ed. Wissenschaftliche Paperbacks 8. Wiesbaden: Steiner, 1984. Algra, Keimpe. “Stoic Theology.” Pages 153 – 78 in The Cambridge Companion to the Stoics. Edited by Brad Inwood. Cambridge Companions to Philosophy. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003. Allo, E.-B. “La portée de la collecte pour Jérusalem dans les plans de Saint Paul.” RB 45 (1936): 529 – 37. Allo, E.-B. Seconde Épître aux Corinthiens. 2nd ed. Études bibliques. Paris: Gabalda, 1956. Amand de Mendieta, Emmanuel. “Basile de Césarée et Damase de Rome.” Pages 122 – 66 in Biblical and Patristic Studies: In Memory of Robert Pierce Casey. Edited by J. Neville Birdsall and Robert W. Thomson. Freiburg: Herder, 1963. Amand de Mendieta, Emmanuel. “Damase, Athanase, Pierre, Mélèce et Basile: Les rapports de communion ecclésiastique entre les Églises de Rome, d’Alexandrie, d’Antioche et de Césarée de Cappadoce (370 – 379).” Pages 261 – 77 in vol. 1 of 1054 – 1954 L’église et les églises; neuf siècles de douloureuse séparation entre l’Orient et l’Occident: Études et travaux sur l’Unité chrétienne offerts à Dom Lambert Beauduin. 2 vols. Chevetogne: Éditions de Chevetogne, 1954 – 1955. Ameling, Walter. “The Epigraphic Habit and the Jewish Diasporas of Asia Minor and Syria.” Pages 203 – 34 in From Hellenism to Islam: Cultural and Linguistic Change in the Roman Near East. Edited by Hanna M. Cotton et al. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009. Anderson, Gary A. Charity: The Place of the Poor in the Biblical Tradition. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2013. Anderson, Gary A. “How Does Almsgiving Purge Sins?” Pages 1 – 14 in Hebrew in the Second Temple Period: The Hebrew of the Dead Sea Scrolls and of Other Contemporary Sources. Edited by Steven E. Fassberg, Moshe Bar-Asher, and Ruth A. Clements. Leiden: Brill, 2013. Anderson, Gary A. “Redeem Your Sins by the Giving of Alms: Sin, Debt, and the ‘Treasury of Merit’ in Early Jewish and Christian Tradition.” Letter and Spirit 3 (2007): 39 – 69. Anderson, Gary A. Sin: A History. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2009. Anderson, Graham. “Lucian: Tradition versus Reality.” ANRW 34.2:1422 – 47. Andreoni, James. “Giving with Impure Altruism: Applications to Charity and Ricardian Equivalence.” Journal of Political Economy 97 (1989): 1447 – 58. Andreoni, James. “Impure Altruism and Donations to Public Goods: A Theory of Warm-Glow Giving.” The Economic Journal 100 (1990): 464 – 77. Aneziri, Sophia. “Les synagonistes du théâtre grec aux époques hellénistique et romaine: Une question de terminologie et de function.” Pallas 47 (1997): 53 – 71. Angstenberger, Pius. Der reiche und der arme Christus: Die Rezeptionsgeschichte von 2 Kor 8,9 zwischen dem zweiten und dem sechsten Jahrhundert. Hereditas: Studien zur alten Kirchengeschichte 12. Bonn: Borengässer, 1997. Annas, Julia. “Plato and Aristotle on Friendship and Altruism.” Mind 86 (1977): 532 – 54. Antony, Binz. “‘He Who Supplies Seed to the Sower and Bread for Food’: The Pauline Characterization of God in 2 Corinthians 8 – 9.” Pages 305 – 17 in Theologizing in the Corinthian Conflict: Studies in the Exegesis and Theology of 2 Corinthians. Edited by Reimund Bieringer, Ma. Marilou Ibita, Dominika A. Kurek-Chomycz, and Thomas A. Vollmer. Biblical Tools and Studies 16. Leuven: Peeters, 2013.

General Works

349

Arnold, Eckhart. Explaining Altruism: A Simulation-Based Approach and Its Limits. Practical Philosophy 11. Frankfurt: Ontos, 2008. Arzt-Grabner, Peter. 2. Korinther. Papyrologische Kommentare zum Neuen Testament 4. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2014. Ascough, Richard S. “The Completion of a Religious Duty.” NTS 42 (1996): 584 – 99. Ascough, Richard S. Paul’s Macedonian Associations: The Social Context of Philippians and 1 Thessalonians. WUNT 2/161. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2003. Ascough, Richard S. “Voluntary Associations and the Formation of Pauline Christian Communities: Overcoming the Objections.” Pages 149 – 83 in Vereine, Synagogen und Gemeinden im kaiserzeitlichen Kleinasien. Edited by Andreas Gutsfeld and Dietrich-Alex Koch. Studies and Texts in Antiquity and Christianity. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2006. Asmis, Elizabeth. “Choice in Epictetus.” Pages 387 – 412 in Antiquity and Humanity: Essays on Ancient Religion and Philosophy Presented to Hans Dieter Betz. Edited by Adela Yarbro Collins and Margaret M. Mitchell. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2001. Atkins, Margaret, and Robin Osborne, eds. Poverty in the Roman World. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006. Aune, David E. Prophecy in Early Christianity and the Ancient Mediterranean World. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1983. Aviam, Mordechai. “First Century Jewish Galilee: An Archaeological Perspective.” Pages 7 – 27 in Religion and Society in Roman Palestine: Old questions, New Approaches. Edited by Douglas R. Edwards. London: Routledge, 2004. Bachmann, Michael. “‘… an sie und an alle’ (II Kor 9,13): Zum Adressatenkreis der sog. Jerusalemkollekte paulinischer Gemeinden.” TZ 69 (2013): 435 – 45. Bachmann, Philipp. Der zweite Brief des Paulus an die Korinther. Kommentar zum Neuen Testament 8. Leipzig: Deichert, 1909. Badian, E. Foreign Clientelae (264 – 70 B.C.). Oxford: Clarendon, 1958. Badian, E. “Tiberius Gracchus and the Beginning of the Roman Revolution.” ANRW 1.1: 668 – 731. Bagnani, Gilbert. “Peregrinus Proteus and the Christians.” Historia 4 (1955): 107 – 12. Bakhos, Carol, ed. Ancient Judaism in Its Hellenistic Context. JSJSup 95. Leiden: Brill, 2005. Balbo, Andrea. “Humanitas in Imperial Age: Some Reflections on Seneca and Quintilian.” The Journal of Greco-Roman Studies 47 (2012): 63 – 93. Balch, David L. “Rich Pompeiian Houses, Shops for Rent, and the Huge Apartment Building in Herculaneum as Typical Spaces for Pauline House Churches.” JSNT 27 (2004): 27 – 46. Baldwin, Barry. Studies in Lucian. Toronto: Hakkert, 1973. Balot, Ryan K. Greed and Injustice in Classical Athens. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2001. Barclay, John M. G. “‘Because He Was Rich He Became Poor’: Translation, Exegesis and Hermeneutics in the Reading of 2 Cor 8.9.” Pages 331 – 44 in Theologizing in the Corinthian Conflict: Studies in the Exegesis and Theology of 2 Corinthians. Edited by Reimund Bieringer, Ma. Marilou Ibita, Dominika A. Kurek-Chomycz, and Thomas A. Vollmer. Biblical Tools and Studies 16. Leuven: Peeters, 2013. Barclay, John M. G. “Benefiting Others and Benefit to Oneself: Seneca and Paul on ‘Altruism.’” Pages 109 – 26 in Paul and Seneca in Dialogue. Edited by Joseph R. Dodson and David E. Briones. Ancient Philosophy and Religion 2. Leiden: Brill, 2017.

350

Bibliography

Barclay, John M. G. “Manna and the Circulation of Grace: A Study of 2 Corinthians 8:1 – 15.” Pages 409 – 26 in The Word Leaps the Gap: Essays on Scripture and Theology in Honor of Richard B. Hays. Edited by J. Ross Wagner, C. Kavin Rowe, and A. Katherine Grieb. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2008. Barclay, John M. G. “Mirror-Reading a Polemical Letter: Galatians as a Test Case.” JSNT 31 (1987): 73 – 93. Barclay, John M. G. Paul and the Gift. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2015. Barrett, C. K. A Commentary on the Second Epistle to the Corinthians. HNTC. New York: Harper and Row, 1973. Barrett, C. K. A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Acts of the Apostles. 2 vols. ICC 33. London: T&T Clark, 1994 – 1998. Bartlet, Vernon. “‘Only Let Us Be Mindful of the Poor’: Gal 2.10.” The Expositor 9 (1899): 218 – 25. Bartor, Assnat. “The Representation of Speech in the Casuistic Laws of the Pentateuch: The Phenomenon of Combined Discourse.” JBL 126 (2007): 231 – 49. Bassler, Jouette M. God and Mammon: Asking for Money in the New Testament. Nashville: Abingdon, 1991. Batson, C. Daniel. Altruism in Humans. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011. Batson, C. Daniel. The Altruism Question: Toward a Social-Psychological Answer. Hillsdale: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates, 1991. Batten, Alicia. “God in the Letter of James: Patron or Benefactor?” NTS 50 (2004): 257 – 72. Bauckham, Richard. “The Origin of the Ebionites.” Pages 162 – 81 in The Image of the JudaeoChristians in Ancient Jewish and Christian Literature. Edited by Peter J. Tomson and Doris Lambers-Petry. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2003. Bauer, Walter. Orthodoxy and Heresy in Earliest Christianity. Philadelphia: Fortress, 1971. Bauman, Richard A. Human Rights in Ancient Rome. London: Routledge, 2000. Baumbach, Manuel, and Dirk Uwe Hansen. “Die Karriere des Peregrinos Proteus.” Pages 111 – 28 in Lucian, Der Tod des Peregrinos: Ein Scharlatan auf dem Scheiterhaufen. Edited by Peter Pilhofer, Manuel Baumbach, Jens Gerlach, and Dirk Uwe Hansen. Sapere 9. Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2005. Beare, Frank W. “The Sequence of Events in Acts 9 – 15 and the Career of Peter.” JBL 62 (1943): 295 – 306. Becker, Eve-Marie. “Stellung und Funktion von 2. Korinther 8 – 9 im literarischen Endtext: Anmerkungen zum Stand der literarkritischen Diskussion.” Pages 283 – 304 in Theologizing in the Corinthian Conflict: Studies in the Exegesis and Theology of 2 Corinthians. Edited by Reimund Bieringer, Ma. Marilou Ibita, Dominika A. KurekChomycz, and Thomas A. Vollmer. Biblical Tools and Studies 16. Leuven: Peeters, 2013. Beckheuer, Burkhard. Paulus und Jerusalem: Kollekte und Mission im theologischen Denken des Heidenapostels. European University Studies: Series 23: Theology 611. Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 1997. Bellandi, Franco. “Giovenale e la degradazione della clientela (interpretazione della sat. VII).” Dialoghi di archeologia 8 (1974): 384 – 437. Bellandi, Franco. “Naevolus cliens.” Maia 26 (1974): 279 – 99. Benoit, Pierre. “La deuxième visite de Saint Paul à Jérusalem.” Bib 40 (1959): 778 – 92.

General Works

351

Berchman, Robert M. “Altruism in Greco-Roman Philosophy.” Pages 1 – 30 in Altruism in World Religions. Edited by Jacob Neusner and Bruce D. Chilton. Washington: Georgetown University Press, 2005. Berger, Klaus. “Almosen für Israel: Zum historischen Kontext der paulinischen Kollekte.” NTS 23 (1977): 180 – 204. Berger, Klaus. Die Gesetzesauslegung Jesu: Irh historischer Hintergrund im Judentum und im Alten Testament. WMANT 40. Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1972. Bernays, Jacob. Lucian und die Kyniker. Berlin: Hertz, 1879. Bernstein, Alvin H. Tiberius Sempronius Gracchus: Tradition and Apostasy. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1978. Bertelli, Lucio. “The Ratio of Gift-Giving in the Homeric Poems.” Pages 103 – 34 in Gift Giving and the “Embedded” Economy in the Ancient World. Edited by Filippo Carlà and Maja Gori. Akademiekonferenzen 17. Heidelberg: Universitätsverlag Winter, 2014. Bethune-Baker, J. F. An Introduction to the Early History of Christian Doctrine to the Time of the Council of Chalcedon. 7th ed. London: Methuen, 1942. Betz, Hans Dieter. Der Apostel Paulus und die sokratische Tradition. BHT 45. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1972. Betz, Hans Dieter. “The Literary Composition and Function of Paul’s Letter to the Galatians.” NTS 21 (1975): 353 – 79. Betz, Hans Dieter. “Lukian von Samosata und das Christentum.” NovT 3 (1959): 226 – 37. Betz, Hans Dieter. Lukian von Samosata und das Neue Testament: Religionsgeschitliche und paränetische Parallelen. TUGAL 76. Berlin: Akademie, 1961. Betz, Hans Dieter. 2 Corinthians 8 and 9: A Commentary on Two Administrative Letters of the Apostle Paul. Hermeneia. Philadelphia: Fortress, 1985. Bickermann, Elias. The God of the Maccabees: Studies on the Meaning and Origin of the Maccabean Revolt. SJLA 32. Leiden: Brill, 1979. Bienert, Wolfgang A. Dionysius von Alexandrien: Zur Frage des Origenismus im dritten Jahrhundert. PTS 21. Berlin: De Gruyter, 1978. Bieringer, Reimund, Ma. Marilou Ibita, Dominika A. Kurek-Chomycz, and Thomas A. Vollmer, eds. Theologizing in the Corinthian Conflict: Studies in the Exegesis and Theology of 2 Corinthians. Biblical Tools and Studies 16. Leuven: Peeters, 2013. Bitto, Irma. “La concessione del patronato nella politica di Cesare.” Epigraphica 32 (1970): 172 – 80. Blanton, Thomas R. A Spiritual Economy: Gift Exchange in the Letters of Paul of Tarsus. Synkrisis. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2017. Blau, Peter M. Exchange and Power in Social Life. New York: Wiley, 1964. Boardman, John. The Greeks Overseas: Their Early Colonies and Trade. 4th ed. London: Thames & Hudson, 1980. Bobertz, Charles Arnold. “Cyprian of Carthage as Patron: A Social Historical Study of the Role of Bishop in the Ancient Christian Community of North Africa.” PhD diss., Yale University, 1988. Bobzien, Susanne. Determinism and Freedom in Stoic Philosophy. Oxford: Clarendon, 1998. Bockmuehl, Markus. Jewish Law in Gentile Churches: Halakhah and the Beginning of Christian Public Ethics. Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2000. Bodéüs, Richard. Aristotle and the Theology of the Living Immortals. SUNY Series on Ancient Greek Philosophy. Albany: State University of New York, 2000.

352

Bibliography

Boer, Roland. The Sacred Economy of Ancient Israel. Library of Ancient Israel. Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2015. Boers, Hendrikus. “᾿Aγάπη and Χάρις in Paul’s Thought.” CBQ 59 (1997): 693 – 713. Bolkestein, Hendrik. “Almosen: Nichtchristlich.” RAC 1:301 – 2. Bolkestein, Hendrik. Wohltätigkeit und Armenpflege im vorchristlichen Altertum: Ein Beitrag zum Problem “Moral und Gesellschaft.” Utrecht: Oosthoek, 1939. Bolton, David. “Paul’s Collection: Debt Theology Transformed into an Act of Love among Kin?” Pages 345 – 59 in Theologizing in the Corinthian Conflict: Studies in the Exegesis and Theology of 2 Corinthians. Edited by Reimund Bieringer, Ma. Marilou Ibita, Dominika A. Kurek-Chomycz, and Thomas A. Vollmer. Biblical Tools and Studies 16. Leuven: Peeters, 2013. Bompaire, J. Lucien écrivain: Imitation et création. Bibliothèque des écoles françaises d’Athènes et de Rome 190. Paris: De Boccard, 1958. Bormann, Lukas. Philippi: Stadt und Christgemeinde zur Zeit des Paulus. NovTSup 78. Leiden: Brill, 1995. Bourdieu, Pierre. “Marginalia—Some Additional Notes on the Gift.” Pages 231 – 41 in The Logic of the Gift: Toward an Ethic of Generosity. Edited by Alan D. Schrift. New York: Routledge, 1997. Bowditch, Phebe Lowell. Horace and the Gift Economy of Patronage. Classics and Contemporary Thought 7. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2001. Bowen, Clayton R. “Paul’s Collection and the Book of Acts.” JBL 42 (1923): 49 – 58. Bradley, Guy, and John-Paul Wilson, eds. Greek and Roman Colonization: Origins, Ideologies and Interactions. Swansea: The Classical Press of Wales, 2006. Brändle, Rudolf. “Geld und Gnade (zu II Kor 8,9).” TZ 41 (1985): 264 – 71. Braund, David. “Function and Dysfunction: Personal Patronage in Roman Imperialism.” Pages 137 – 52 in Patronage in Ancient Society. Edited by Andrew Wallace-Hadrill. London: Routledge, 1989. Braund, David. “Herodotos on the Problematics of Reciprocity.” Pages 159 – 80 in Reciprocity in Ancient Greece. Edited by Christopher Gill, Norman Postlethwaite, and Richard Seaford. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998. Brent, Allen. Cyprian and Roman Carthage. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010. Briones, David E. “Paul and Seneca on the Self-Gift.” Pages 127 – 49 in Paul and Seneca in Dialogue. Edited by Joseph R. Dodson and David E. Briones. Ancient Philosophy and Religion 2. Leiden: Brill, 2017. Briones, David E. Paul’s Financial Policy: A Socio-Theological Approach. Library of New Testament Studies 494. London: Bloomsbury, 2013. Brown, Peter. The Making of Late Antiquity. Carl Newell Jackson Lectures. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1978. Brown, Peter. Power and Persuasion in Late Antiquity: Towards a Christian Empire. The Curti Lectures. Madison: The University of Wisconsin Press, 1992. Brown, Peter. Through the Eye of a Needle: Wealth, the Fall of Rome, and the Making of Christianity in the West, 350 – 550 AD. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2012. Brox, Norbert. Der Hirt des Hermas. Kommentar zu den Apostolischen Vätern 7. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1991. Bruce, F. F. The Acts of the Apostles. 3rd ed. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1990. Bruce, F. F. “Christianity Under Claudius.” BJRL 44 (1962): 309 – 26.

General Works

353

Bruce, F. F. The Epistle to the Galatians: A Commentary on the Greek Text. NIGTC. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1982. Bruehler, Bart B. “Proverbs, Persuasion and People: A Three-Dimensional Investigation of 2 Cor 9.6 – 15.” NTS 48 (2002): 209 – 24. Bruhns, Hinnerk. “Armut und Gesellschaft in Rom.” Pages 27 – 49 in Vom Elend der Handarbeit: Probleme historischer Unterschichtenforschung. Edited by Hans Mommsen and Winfried Schulze. Bochumer historische Studien 24. Stuttgart: Klett-Cotta, 1981. Brunt, P. A. “Amicitia in the Late Roman Republic.” Pages 351 – 81 in P. A. Brunt, The Fall of the Roman Republic and Related Essays. Oxford: Clarendon, 1988. Brunt, P. A. “Clientela.” Pages 382 – 442 in P. A. Brunt, The Fall of the Roman Republic and Related Essays. Oxford: Clarendon, 1988. Brunt, P. A. “The Fall of the Roman Republic.” Pages 1 – 92 in P. A. Brunt, The Fall of the Roman Republic and Related Essays. Oxford: Clarendon, 1988. Brunt, P. A. The Fall of the Roman Republic and Related Essays. Oxford: Clarendon, 1988. Brunt, P. A. Italian Manpower 225 B.C.–A.D. 14. Oxford: Clarendon, 1971. Brunt, P. A. Roman Imperial Themes. Oxford: Clarendon, 1990. Brunt, P. A. “The Roman Mob.” Pages 74 – 102 in Studies in Ancient Society. Edited by M. I. Finley. Past and Present Series. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1974. Brunt, P. A. Studies in Greek History and Thought. Oxford: Clarendon, 1993. Buchanan, George Wesley. “Jesus and the Upper Class.” NovT 7 (1964): 195 – 209. Buchanan, James J. Theorika: A Study of Monetary Distributions to the Athenian Citizenry during the Fifth and Fourth Centuries B.C. Locust Valley: Augustin, 1962. Buck, Charles H. Jr. “The Collection for the Saints.” HTR 43 (1950): 1 – 29. Buell, Denise Kimber. “‘Be Not One Who Stretches Out Hands to Receive but Shuts Them When It Comes to Giving’: Envisioning Christian Charity When Both Donors and Recipients Are Poor.” Pages 37 – 47 in Wealth and Poverty in Early Church and Society. Edited by Susan R. Holman. Holy Cross Studies in Patristic Theology and History. Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2008. Bürge, Alfons. “Vertrag und personale Abhängigkeiten im Rom der späten Republik und der frühen Kaiserzeit.” Zeitschrift der Savigny-Stiftung für Rechtsgeschichte: Romanistische Abteilung 97 (1980): 105 – 56. Burns, J. Patout Jr. Cyprian the Bishop. London: Routledge, 2002. Burns, J. Patout Jr. “On Rebaptism: Social Organization in the Third Century Church.” JECS 1 (1993): 367 – 403. Burton, Paul J. “Amicitia in Plautus: A Study of Roman Friendship Processes.” AJP 125 (2004): 209 – 43. Campbell, Joan Cecelia. Phoebe: Patron and Emissary. Paul’s Social Network: Brothers and Sisters in Faith. Collegeville: Liturgical Press, 2009. Campbell, R. Alastair. The Elders: Seniority within Earliest Christianity. Studies in the New Testament and Its World. Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1994. Canali De Rossi, Filippo. Il ruolo dei patroni nelle relazioni politiche fra il mondo greco e Roma in età repubblicana ed augustea. Beiträge zur Altertumskunde 159. Munich: Saur, 2001. Carcopino, Jérome. Autour des Gracques: Études critiques. 2nd ed. Collection d’études anciennes. Paris: Les belles lettres, 1967.

354

Bibliography

Carlà, Filippo, and Maja Gori. “Introduction.” Pages 7 – 47 in Gift Giving and the “Embedded” Economy in the Ancient World. Edited by Filippo Carlà and Maja Gori. Akademiekonferenzen 17. Heidelberg: Universitätsverlag Winter, 2014. Carlà, Filippo, and Maja Gori, eds. Gift Giving and the “Embedded” Economy in the Ancient World. Akademiekonferenzen 17. Heidelberg: Universitätsverlag Winter, 2014. Carriker, Andrew. The Library of Eusebius of Caesarea. Supplements to Vigiliae Christianae 67. Leiden: Brill, 2003. Cartledge, Paul. Agesilaos and the Crisis of Sparta. Baltimore: The John Hopkins University Press, 1987. Caster, Marcel. Lucien et la pensée religieuse de son temps. Paris: Les belles lettres, 1937. Catchpole, David R. “Paul, James and the Apostolic Decree.” NTS 23 (1977): 428 – 44. Cavallera, Ferdinand. Le schisme d’Antioche (IVe – Ve siècle). Paris: Picard, 1905. Cecchet, Lucia. “Gift-Giving to the Poor in the Greek World.” Pages 157 – 79 in Gift Giving and the “Embedded” Economy in the Ancient World. Edited by Filippo Carlà and Maja Gori. Akademiekonferenzen 17. Heidelberg: Universitätsverlag Winter, 2014. Cerfaux, Lucien. “La théologie de la grace selon Saint Paul.” VSpir 83 (1950): 5 – 19. Chambers, M. H. “The Formation of the Tyranny of Pisistratus.” Pages 69 – 71 in vol. 1 of Proceedings of the VIIth Congress of the International Federation of the Societies of Classical Studies. Edited by János Harmatta. 2 vols. Budapest: Akadémiai Kiadó, 1984. Champlin, Edward. Final Judgments: Duty and Emotion in Roman Wills, 200 B.C.–A.D. 250. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1991. Chancey, Mark A. Greco-Roman Culture and the Galilee of Jesus. SNTSMS 134. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005. Chancey, Mark A. The Myth of a Gentile Galilee. SNTSMS 118. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002. Chaney, Marvin L. “Debt Easement in Israelite History and Tradition.” Pages 127 – 39 in The Bible and the Politics of Exegesis: Essays in Honor of Norman K. Gottwald on His SixtyFifth Birthday. Edited by David Jobling, Peggy L. Day, and Gerald T. Sheppard. Cleveland: Pilgrim, 1991. Chang, Steven S. H. “Fund-Raising in Corinth: A Socio-Economic Study of the Corinthian Church, the Collection and 2 Corinthians.” PhD diss., University of Aberdeen, 2000. Chastel, Étienne. Études historiques sur l’influence de la charité durant les premiers siècles chrétiens, et considérations sur son rôle dans les sociétés modernes. Paris: Capelle, 1853. Cheal, David. The Gift Economy. London: Routledge, 1988. Chianotis, Angelos. “Public Subscriptions and Loans as Social Capital in the Hellenistic City: Reciprocity, Performance, Commemoration.” Pages 89 – 106 in Epigraphical Approaches to the Post-Classical Polis: Fourth Century BC to Second Century AD. Edited by Paraskevi Martzavou and Nikolaos Papazarkadas. Oxford Studies in Ancient Documents. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013. Chirichigno, Gregory C. Debt-Slavery in Israel and the Ancient Near East. JSOTSup 141. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1993. Chow, John K. Patronage and Power: A Study of Social Networks in Corinth. JSNTSup 75. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1992.

General Works

355

Chow, John K. “Patronage in Roman Corinth.” Pages 104 – 25 in Paul and Empire: Religion and Power in Roman Imperial Society. Edited by Richard A. Horsley. Harrisburg: Trinity Press International, 1997. Christ, Karl. Krise und Untergang der römischen Republik. 4th ed. Darmstadt: WBG, 2000. Christensen, Duane L. Deuteronomy. 2 vols. WBC 6. Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 2001 – 2002. Clarke, Andrew D. Secular and Christian Leadership in Corinth: A Socio-Historical and Exegetical Study of 1 Corinthians 1 – 6. AGJU 18. Leiden: Brill, 1993. Clarke, G. W. “Barbarian Disturbances in North Africa in the Mid-Third Century.” Antichthon 4 (1970): 78 – 85. Classen, Carl Joachim. “St Paul’s Epistles and Ancient Greek and Roman Rhetoric.” Pages 265 – 91 in Rhetoric and the New Testament: Essays from the 1992 Heidelberg Conference. Edited by Stanley E. Porter and Thomas H. Olbricht. JSNTSup 90. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1993. Clemen, Carl. Paulus: Sein Leben und Wirken. 2 vols. Giessen: Ricker, 1904. Cloud, Duncan. “The Client-Patron Relationship: Emblem and Reality in Juvenal’s First Book.” Pages 205 – 18 in Patronage in Ancient Society. Edited by Andrew Wallace-Hadrill. London: Routledge, 1989. Concannon, Cavan W. Assembling Early Christianity: Trade, Networks, and the Letters of Dionysios of Corinth. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2017. Collins, John J., and Gregory E. Sterling, eds. Hellenism in the Land of Israel. Christianity and Judaism in Antiquity Series 13. Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 2001. Collins, Raymond F. Second Corinthians. Paideia Commentaries on the New Testament. Grand Rapids: BakerAcademic, 2013. Colpaert, Sabien. “Euergetism and the Gift.” Pages 181 – 201 in Gift Giving and the “Embedded” Economy in the Ancient World. Edited by Filippo Carlà and Maja Gori. Akademiekonferenzen 17. Heidelberg: Universitätsverlag Winter, 2014. Colton, Robert E. “A Client’s Day: Echoes of Martial in Juvenal’s First Satire.” Classical Bulletin 52 (1975 – 1976): 35 – 38. Colton, Robert E. “Juvenal’s Thirteenth Satire and Martial.” Classical Bulletin 52 (1975 – 1976): 13 – 15. Colton, Robert E. Juvenal’s Use of Martial’s Epigrams: A Study of Literary Influence. Classical and Byzantine Monographs 20. Amsterdam: Hakkert, 1991. Coneybeare, F. C. “Newly Discovered Letters of Dionysius of Alexandria to the Popes Stephen and Xystus.” The English Historical Review 25 (1910): 111 – 14. Connor, W. Robert. The New Politicians of Fifth-Century Athens. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1971. Conway, Colleen M. Behold the Man: Jesus and Greco-Roman Masculinity. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008. Conzelmann, Hans. Acts of the Apostles: A Commentary on the Acts of the Apostles. Hermeneia. Philadelphia: Fortress, 1987. Cooper, John M., and J. F. Procopé. Seneca: Moral and Political Essays. Cambridge Texts in the History of Politcal Thought. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995. Corley, Jeremy. “Friendship According to Ben Sira.” Pages 65 – 72 in Der Einzelne und seine Gemeinschaft bei Ben Sira. Edited by Renate Egger-Wenzel and Ingrid Krammer. BZAW 270. Berlin: De Gruyter, 1998.

356

Bibliography

Cotton, Hanna M., et al., ed. From Hellenism to Islam: Cultural and Linguistic Change in the Roman Near East. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009 Countryman, L. Wm. The Rich Christian in the Church of the Early Empire: Contradictions and Accomodations. Text and Studies in Religion. New York: Edwin Mellen, 1980. Craddock, Fred B. “The Poverty of Christ: An Investigation of II Corinthians 8:9.” Int 22 (1968): 158 – 70. Crampon, Monique. “Le parasitus et son rex dans la comédie de Plaute: La revanche du language sur la bassesse de la condition.” Pages 507 – 22 in Forms of Control and Subordination in Antiquity. Edited by Toru Yuge and Masaoki Doi. Leiden: Brill, 1988. Cranfield, C. E. B. A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Epistle to the Romans. 2 vols. ICC 32. London: T&T Clark, 1975 – 1979. Cranfield, C. E. B. “The Grace of Our Lord Jesus Christ: 2 Corinthians 8,1 – 9.” CV 32 (1989): 105 – 9. Crook, Zeba A. Reconceptualising Conversion: Patronage, Loyalty, and Conversion in the Religions of the Ancient Mediterranean. BZNW 130. Berlin: De Gruyter, 2004. Crook, Zeba A. “Reflections on Culture and Social-Scientific Models.” JBL 124 (2005): 515 – 32. Crossan, John Dominic, and Jonathan L. Reed. Excavating Jesus: Beneath the Stones, behind the Texts. San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 2001. Dahl, Nils Alstrup, and Paul Donahue. Studies in Paul: Theology for the Early Christian Mission. Minneapolis: Augsburg, 1977. D’Alès, A. La théologie de Saint Cyprien. Bibliothèque de théologie historique. Paris: Beauchesne, 1922. Damon, Cynthia. “Greek Parasites and Roman Patronage.” HSCP 97 (1995): 181 – 95. Damon, Cynthia. The Mask of the Parasite: A Pathology of Roman Patronage. Ann Arbor: The University of Michigan Press, 1997. Danker, Frederick W. Benefactor: Epigraphic Study of a Graeco-Roman and New Testament Semantic Field. St Louis: Clayton, 1982. D’Arms, John. “The Roman Convivium and the Idea of Equality.” Pages 308 – 20 in Sympotica: A Symposium on the Symposion. Edited by Oswyn Murray. Oxford: Clarendon, 1990. Davids, Peter H. “The Test of Wealth.” Pages 355 – 84 in The Missions of James, Peter, and Paul: Tensions in Early Christianity. Edited by Bruce Chilton and Craig Evans. NovTSup 115. Leiden: Brill, 2005. Davies, John K. Wealth and the Power of Wealth in Classical Athens. Monographs in Classical Studies. Salem: Ayer, 1981. Davies, W. D., and Dale C. Allison. A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Gospel According to Saint Matthew. 3 vols. ICC. London: T&T Clark, 1988 – 1997. Davis, John. “An Anthropologist’s View of Exchange.” Social Anthropology 4 (1996): 213 – 26. Davis, John. Exchange. Concepts in Social Thought. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1992. De Lacey, D. R. “Paul in Jerusalem.” NTS 20 (1973): 82 – 86. De Sanctis, Dino. “ω φιλτατε: Il destinatario nelle opere del giardino.” Cronache ercolanesi 41 (2011): 217 – 30. De Virgilio, Giuseppe. La teologia della solidarietà in Paolo: Contesti e forme della prassi caritativa nelle lettere ai Corinzi. Supplementi alla Rivista Biblica 51. Bologna: Dehoniane, 2008.

General Works

357

Decharneux, Baudouin. “La mise à la marge des chrétiens par Lucien de Samosate: L’exemple de Pérégrinos.” Pages 161 – 71 in Religion sous contrôle: Pratiques et experiences religieuses de la marge? Edited by Bassir Amiri. Besançon: Presses universitaires de Franche-Comté, 2016. Deissmann, Adolf. Paulus: Eine kultur- und religionsgeschichtliche Skizze. 2nd ed. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1925. Deissmann, Adolf. Das Urchristentum und die unteren Schichten. 2nd ed. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1908. Demand, Nancy H. Urban Relocation in Archaic and Classical Greece: Flight and Consolidation. Oklahoma Series in Classical Culture. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1990. Deniaux, Élizabeth. Clientèles et pouvoir à l’époque de Cicéron. Collection de l’École française de Rome 182. Rome: École française de Rome, 1993. Deniaux, Élizabeth. “Un problème de clientèle: Marius et les Herenii.” Philologus 117 (1973): 179 – 96. Deniaux, Élizabeth, and Pauline Schmitt Pantel. “La relation patron-client en Grèce et à Rome.” Opus 6 – 8 (1987 – 1989): 147 – 63. Derrida, Jacques. Donner le temps: 1. La fausse monnaie. Paris: Galilée, 1991. DeSilva, David A. “Patronage and Reciprocity: The Context of Grace in the New Testament.” ATJ 31 (1999): 32 – 84. DeVore, David J. “Character and Convention in the Letters of Eusebius’ Ecclesiastical History.” Journal of Late Antiquity 7 (2014): 223 – 52. Dibelius, Martin. Aufsätze zur Apostelgeschichte. 4th ed. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1961. Dixon, Suzanne. “A Family Business: Women’s Role in Patronage and Politics at Rome 80 – 44 B.C.” Classica et Mediaevalia 34 (1983): 91 – 112. Dixon, Suzanne. “The Meaning of Gift and Debt in the Roman Elite.” EMC 37 (1993): 451 – 64. Dobbin, Robert F. Epictetus: Discourses Book I. Oxford: Clarendon, 1998. Dobbin, Robert F. “Προαίρεσις in Epictetus.” Ancient Philosophy 11 (1991): 111 – 35. Dockx, S. Chronologies néotestamentaires et vie de l’Église primitive: Recherches exégétiques. Leuven: Peeters, 1984. Dodd, C. H. The Epistle to the Romans. London: Fontana, 1959. Dodds, E. R. The Greek and the Irrational. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1951. Dodson, Joseph R., and David E. Briones, eds. Paul and Seneca in Dialogue. Ancient Philosophy and Religion 2. Leiden: Brill, 2017. Dombrowski, Daniel A. “Philosophical Vegetarianism and Animal Entitlements.” Pages 535 – 54 in The Oxford Handbook of Animals in Classical Thought and Life. Edited by Gordon Lindsay Campbell. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014. Donfried, Karl P., and Johannes Beutler, eds. The Thessalonians Debate: Methodological Discord or Methodological Synthesis? Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2000. Dörrie, Heinrich, Herbert Dittmann, Otto Knoch, and Alfred Schindler. “Gnade.” RAC 11:313 – 446. Doughty, Darrel J. “The Priority of ΧΑΡΙΣ: An Investigation of the Theological Language of Paul.” NTS 19 (1973): 163 – 80. Douglas, Mary. “Foreword: No Free Gifts.” Foreword to The Gift: The Form and Reason for Exchange in Archaic Societies, by Marcel Mauss. London: Routledge, 2002.

358

Bibliography

Douglas, Mary. Purity and Danger: An Analysis of Concepts of Pollution and Taboo. London: Routledge, 2002. Downs, David J. Alms: Charity, Reward, and Atonement in Early Christianity. Waco: Baylor University Press, 2016. Downs, David J. “Is God Paul’s Patron? The Economy of Patronage in Pauline Theology.” Pages 129 – 56 in Engaging Economics: New Testament Scenarios and Early Christian Reception. Edited by Bruce W. Longenecker and Kelly D. Liebengood. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2009. Downs, David J. The Offering of the Gentiles: Paul’s Collection for Jerusalem in Its Chronological, Cultural, and Cultic Contexts. WUNT 2/248. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2008. Downs, David J. “Paul’s Collection and the Book of Acts Revisited.” NTS 52 (2006): 50 – 70. Driver, S. R. A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Deuteronomy. ICC. Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1902. Drudi, Elisabetta. “The Golden Age and Roman Imperial Autocracy: The Power of Myth-Making in Creating Political Consensus.” PhD diss., The University of Notre Dame, 2018. Drummond, Andrew. “Early Roman Clientes.” Pages 89 – 115 in Patronage in Ancient Society. Edited by Andrew Wallace-Hadrill. London: Routledge, 1989. Duncan-Jones, Richard. The Economy of the Roman Empire: Quantitative Studies. 2nd ed. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1982. Dunn, James D. G. Christology in the Making: A New Testament Inquiry into the Origins of the Doctrine of the Incarnation. Philadelphia: Westminster, 1980. Dunn, James D. G. The Epistles to the Colossians and to Philemon: A Commentary on the Greek Text. NIGTC. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans; Carlisle: Paternoster, 1996. Dunn, James D. G. Romans. 2 vols. WBC 38. Dallas: Word Books, 1988. Dunn, James D. G. The Theology of Paul the Apostle. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998. Dupont, Jacques. “La mission de Paul à Jérusalem.” NovT 1 (1957): 275 – 303. Dupont, Jacques. “Notes sur les Actes des Apôtres.” RB 62 (1955): 45 – 59. Earl, D. C. Tiberius Gracchus: A Study in Politics. Latomus 66. Brussels: Latomus, 1963. Eastman, Brad. The Significance of Grace in the Letters of Paul. Studies in Biblical Literature 11. New York: Lang, 1999. Eck, Werner. “Imperial Administration and Epigraphy: In Defence of Prosopography.” Pages 131 – 52 in Representations of Empire: Rome and the Mediterranean World. Edited by Alan K. Bowman et al. Proceedings of the British Academy 114. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002. Eckert, Jost. “Die Kollekte des Paulus für Jerusalem.” Pages 65 – 80 in Kontinuität und Einheit: Für Franz Mußner. Edited by Paul-Gerhard Müller and Werner Stenger. Freiburg: Herder, 1981. Edlund, Ingrid E. M. “Invisible Bonds: Clients and Patrons through the Eyes of Polybios.” Klio 59 (1977): 129 – 36. Edwards, M. J. “Satire and Verisimilitude: Christianity in Lucian’s ‘Peregrinus.’” Historia 38 (1989): 89 – 98. Edzard, Dietz Otto. “The Old Babylonian Period.” Pages 177 – 231 in The Near East: The Early Civilizations. Edited by Jean Bottéro, Elena Cassin, and Jean Vercoutter. Delacorte World History 11. New York: Delacorte, 1967.

General Works

359

Eilers, Claude. Roman Patrons of Greek Cities. Oxford Classical Monographs. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002. Eisenstadt, S. N., and L. Roniger. Patrons, Clients and Friends: Interpersonal Relations and the Structure of Trust in Society. Themes in Social Sciences. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1984. Elliott, John H. “Patronage and Clientism in Early Christian Society: A Short Reading Guide.” Forum 3 (1987): 39 – 48. Elliott, John H. 1 Peter. AB 37B. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2011. Elliott, Neil. Liberating Paul: The Justice of God and the Politics of the Apostle. The Bible & Liberation. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 1994. Ellis-Evans, Aneurin. “The Ideology of Public Subscriptions.” Pages 107 – 21 in Epigraphical Approaches to the Post-Classical Polis: Fourth Century BC to Second Century AD. Edited by Paraskevi Martzavou and Nikolaos Papazarkadas. Oxford Studies in Ancient Documents. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013. Elster, Jon. “Altruistic Behavior and Altruistic Motivations.” Pages 182 – 206 in vol. 1 of Handbook of the Economics of Giving, Altruism and Reciprocity. Edited by SergeChristophe Kolm and Jean Mercier Ythier. 2 vols. Handbooks in Economics 23. Amsterdam: Elsevier, 2006. Engberg-Pedersen, Troels. “Plutarch to Prince Philopappus on How to Tell a Flatterer from a Friend.” Pages 61 – 79 in Friendship, Flattery, and Frankness of Speech: Studies on Friendship in the New Testament World. Edited by John T. Fitzgerald. NovTSup 82. Leiden: Brill, 1996. Engels, David. Benefactors, Kings, Rulers: Studies on the Seleukid Empire between East and West. Studia Hellenistica 57. Leuven: Peeters, 2017. Engfer, Katrin. Die private Munifizenz der römischen Oberschicht in Mittel- und Süditalien: Eine Untersuchung lateinischer Inschriften unter dem Aspekt der Fürsorge. Philippika 110. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2017. Erdkamp, Paul. The Grain Market in the Roman Empire: A Social, Political and Economic Study. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005. Erskine, Andrew. “The Romans as Common Benefactors.” Historia 43 (1994): 70 – 87. Evans, Craig E. Mark 8:27 – 16:20. WBC 34B. Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 2001. Fahey, Michael Andrew. Cyprian and the Bible: A Study in Third-Century Exegesis. Beiträge zur Geschichte der biblischen Hermeneutik 9. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1971. Fantham, Elaine. Roman Literary Culture: From Plautus to Macrobius. 2nd ed. Baltimore: John Hopkins University Press, 2013. Fee, Gordon D. “ΧΑΡΙΣ in II Corinthians I.15: Apostolic Parousia and Paul-Corinth Chronology.” NTS 24 (1978): 533 – 38. Feldman, Louis H. “How Much Hellenism in Jewish Palestine?” HUCA 57 (1986): 83 – 11. Fentress, Elizabeth, ed. Romanization and the City: Creation, Transformations, and Failures. Journal of Roman Archaeology Supplementary Series 38. Portsmouth: Journal of Roman Archaeology, 2000. Ferguson, Everett. Baptism in the Early Church: History, Theology, and Liturgy in the First Five Centuries. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2009. Ferguson, Everett. “The Church at Corinth Outside the New Testament.” ResQ 3 (1959): 169 – 72. Ferguson, John. Moral Values in the Ancient World. London: Methuen, 1958.

360

Bibliography

Ferrary, Jean-Louis. “The Hellenistic World and Roman Political Patronage.” Pages 105 – 19 in Hellenistic Constructs: Essays in Culture, History, and Historiography. Edited by Paul Cartledge, Peter Garnsey, and Erich Gruen. Hellenistic Culture and Society 26. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1997. Fine, Steven. Art, History and the Historiography of Judaism in Roman Antiquity. BRLA 34. Leiden: Brill, 2014. Finley, M. I. The Ancient Economy. Updated edition. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1999. Finley, M. I. “The Athenian Empire: A Balance Sheet.” Pages 41 – 61 in M.I. Finley, Economy and Society in Ancient Greece. Edited by Brent D. Shaw and Richard P. Saller. New York: Viking, 1982. Reprinted from Imperialism in the Ancient World. Cambridge Classical Studies. Edited by P. D. A. Garnsey and C. R. Whittaker. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1979. Finley, M. I. Economy and Society in Ancient Greece. New York: Viking, 1982. Finley, M. I. Politics in the Ancient World. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983. Finley, M. I. Studies in Land and Credit in Ancient Athens, 500 – 200 B.C.: The HorosInscriptions. New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press, 1952. Finley, M. I. The World of Odysseus. Revised edition. New York: Viking, 1978. Finn, Richard. Almsgiving in the Later Roman Empire: Christian Promotion and Practice (313 – 450). Oxford Classical Monographs. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006. Finn, Richard. “Portraying the Poor: Descriptions of Poverty in Christian Texts from the Late Roman Empire.” Pages 130 – 44 in Poverty in the Roman World. Edited by Margaret Atkins and Robin Osborne. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006. Fiore, Benjamin. “The Theory and Practice of Friendship in Cicero.” Pages 59 – 76 in GrecoRoman Perspectives on Friendship. Edited by John T. Fitzgerald. SBLRBS 34. Atlanta: Scholars, 1997. Fishbane, Michael. Biblical Interpretation in Ancient Israel. Oxford: Clarendon, 1985. Fisher, N. R. E. Hybris: A Study in the Values of Honour and Shame in Ancient Greece. Warminster: Aris & Phillips, 1992. Fitzgerald, John T. “Alms: Greco-Roman Antiquity.” EBR 1:835 – 37. Fitzgerald, John T. “Benefactor: Greco-Roman Antiquity.” EBR 3:837 – 41. Fitzgerald, John T. Cracks in an Earthen Vessel: An Examination of the Catalogues of Hardships in the Corinthians Correspondence. SBLDS 99. Atlanta: Scholars, 1988. Fitzgerald, John T. “Fixed Texts, Sociohistorical Contexts, and Hermeneutical Implications.” Pages 17 – 27 in “The One Who Sows Bountifully”: Essays in Honor of Stanley K. Stowers. Edited by Caroline Johnston Hodge, Saul M. Olyan, Daniel Ullucci, and Emma Wasserman. BJS 356. Providence: Brown Judaic Studies, 2013. Fitzgerald, John T. “Friendship in the Greek World Prior to Aristotle.” Pages 13 – 34 in GrecoRoman Perspectives on Friendship. Edited by John T. Fitzgerald. SBLRBS 34. Atlanta: Scholars, 1997. Fitzgerald, John T. “Galen’s De indolentia in the Context of Greco-Roman Medicine, Moral Philosophy, and Physiognomy.” Pages 203 – 20 in Galen’s De indolentia: Essays on a Newly Discovered Letter. Edited by Clare K. Rothschild and Trevor W. Thompson. Studien und Texte zu Antike und Christentum 88. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2014. Fitzgerald, John T. “Last Wills and Testaments in Graeco-Roman Perspective.” Pages 637 – 72 in Early Christianity and Classical Culture: Comparative Studies in Honor of Abraham J.

General Works

361

Malherbe. Edited by John T. Fitzgerald, Thomas H. Olbricht, and L. Michael White. NovTSup 110. Leiden: Brill, 2003. Fitzgerald, John T. “Orphans in Mediterranean Antiquity and Early Christianity.” Acta Theologica Supplementum 23 (2016): 29 – 48. Fitzgerald, John T. “Paul and Friendship.” Pages 331 – 62 in vol. 1 of Paul in the Greco-Roman World: A Handbook. Edited by J. Paul Sampley. 2 vols. Revised edition. London: Bloomsbury T&T Clark, 2016. Fitzgerald, John T. “The Stoics and the Early Christians on the Treatment of Slaves.” Pages 141 – 75 in Stoicism in Early Christianity. Edited by Tuomas Rasimus, Troels EngbergPedersen, and Ismo Dunderberg. Grand Rapids: BakerAcademic, 2010. Fitzgerald, John T., ed. Greco-Roman Perspectives on Friendship. SBLRBS 34. Atlanta: Scholars, 1997. Fitzmyer, Joseph. A. The Acts of the Apostles. AB 31. New York: Doubleday, 1998. Fitzmyer, Joseph. A. First Corinthians. AB 32. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2008. Fitzmyer, Joseph. A. The Letter to Philemon, AB 34C. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2000. Forbis, Elizabeth P. “Women’s Public Image in Italian Honorary Inscriptions.” AJP 111 (1990): 493 – 512. Fornara, Charles W., and Loren J. Samons II. Athens from Cleisthenes to Pericles. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1991. Foster, George M. “Peasant Society and the Image of Limited Good.” American Anthropologist 67 (1965): 293 – 315. Foster, George M. “A Second Look at Limited Good.” Anthropological Quarterly 45 (1972): 57 – 64. Fowl, Stephen E. “Know Your Context: Giving and Receiving Money in Philippians.” Int 56 (2002): 45 – 58. Fowl, Stephen E. The Story of Christ in the Ethics of Paul: An Analysis of the Function of the Hymnic Material in the Pauline Corpus. JSNTSup 36. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1990. Fowler, Peta G., and Don P. Fowler. “Golden Age.” OCD4 621. Franklin, Wilbur M. Die Kollekte des Paulus. Scottdale: Mennonite, 1938. Friesen, Steven J. “Injustice or God’s Will: Early Christian Explanations of Poverty.” Pages 17 – 36 in Wealth and Poverty in Early Church and Society. Edited by Susan R. Holman. Holy Cross Studies in Patristic Theology and History. Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2008. Friesen, Steven J. “Paul and Economics: The Jerusalem Collection as an Alternative to Patronage.” Pages 27 – 54 in Paul Unbound: Other Perspectives on the Apostle. Edited by Mark D. Given. Peabody: Hendrickson, 2010. Friesen, Steven J. “Poverty in Pauline Studies: Beyond the So-called New Consensus.” JSNT 26 (2004): 323 – 61. Friesen, Steven J. “Prospects for a Demography of the Pauline Mission: Corinth among the Churches.” Pages 351 – 70 in Urban Religion in Roman Corinth: Interdisciplinary Approaches. Edited by Daniel N. Schowalter and Steven J. Friesen. HTS 53. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2005. Frymer-Kensky, Tikva. “Israel.” Pages 251 – 63 in Security for Debt in Ancient Near Eastern Law. Edited by Raymond Westbrook and Richard Jasnow. Culture and History of the Ancient Near East 9. Leiden: Brill, 2001.

362

Bibliography

Fuks, Alexander. “Τοῖς ἀπορουμένοις κοινωνεῖν: The Sharing of Property by the Rich with the Poor in Greek Theory and Practice.” Scripta Classica Israelica 5 (1979 – 1980): 46 – 63. Funk, Robert W. “The Enigma of the Famine Visit.” JBL 75 (1956): 130 – 36. Furnish, Victor Paul. II Corinthians. AB 32 A. New York: Doubleday, 1984. Gabrielsen, Vincent. “Banking and Credit Operations in Hellenistic Times.” Pages 136 – 64 in Making, Moving and Managing: The New World of Ancient Economies, 323 – 31 BC. Edited by Zofia H. Archibald, John K. Davies, and Vincent Gabrielsen. Oxford: Oxbow, 2005. Gallant, Thomas W. Risk and Survival in Ancient Greece: Reconstructing the Rural Domestic Economy. Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1991. Galloway, Lincoln E. Freedom in the Gospel: Paul’s Exemplum in 1 Cor 9 in Conversation with the Discourses of Epictetus and Philo. CBET 38. Leuven: Peeters, 2004. Gamble, Harry Y. Books and Readers in the Early Church: A History of Early Christian Texts. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1995. Gamoran, Hillel. “The Prozbul: Accomodation to Reality.” Jewish Law Association Studies 22 (2012): 103 – 11. Gapp, Kenneth Sperber. “The Universal Famine Under Claudius.” HTR 28 (1935): 258 – 65. Gargola, Daniel J. Lands, Laws, and Gods: Magistrates and Ceremony in the Regulation of Public Lands in Republican Rome. Studies in the History of Greece and Rome. Chapel Hill: The University of North Carolina Press, 1995. Garnsey, Peter. Famine and Food Supply in the Graeco-Roman World: Responses to Risk and Crisis. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988. Garnsey, Peter, and Ian Morris. “Risk and the Polis: The Evolution of Institutionalised Responses to Food Supply Problems in the Ancient Greek State.” Pages 98 – 105 in Bad Year Economics: Cultural Responses to Risk and Uncertainty. Edited by Paul Halstead and John O’Shea. New Directions in Archaeology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989. Garnsey, Peter, and Richard P. Saller. The Roman Empire: Economy, Society and Culture. 2nd ed. Oakland: University of California Press, 2015. Garnsey, Peter, and Greg Woolf. “Patronage of the Rural Poor in the Roman World.” Pages 153 – 70 in Patronage in Ancient Society. Edited by Andrew Wallace-Hadrill. London: Routledge, 1989. Garrido-Hory, Marguerite. “Le statut de la clientèle chez Martial.” Dialogues d’histoire ancienne 11 (1985): 380 – 414. Garrison, Roman. Redemptive Almsgiving in Early Christianity. JSNTSup 77. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1993. Gauthier, Philippe. Les cités grecques et leurs bienfaiteurs. BCH Supplément 12. Athens: École française d’Athènes, 1985. Gauthier, Philippe. “Sur l’institution du misthos de l’assemblée à Athènes (Ath. Pol. 41,3).” Pages 231 – 50 in Aristote et Athènes=Aristoteles and Athens. Edited by Marcel Piérart. Fribourg: Séminaire d’histoire ancienne de l’Université de Fribourg, 1993. Gaventa, Beverly Roberts. The Acts of the Apostles. ANTC. Nashville: Abingdon, 2003. Gaventa, Beverly Roberts. “The Economy of Grace: Reflections on 2 Corinthians 8 and 9.” Pages 51 – 62 in Grace upon Grace: Essays in Honor of Thomas A. Langford. Edited by Robert J. Johnston, L. Gregory Jones, and Jonathan R. Wilson. Nashville: Abingdon, 1999.

General Works

363

Gellner, Ernest, and John Waterbury, eds. Patrons and Clients in Mediterranean Societies. London: Duckworth, 1977. Gelzer, Matthias. The Roman Nobility. New York: Barnes & Noble, 1969. Georgi, Dieter. Remembering the Poor: The History of Paul’s Collection for Jerusalem. Nashville: Abingdon, 1992. Gernet, Louis. “Les nobles dans la Grèce antique.” Annales d’histoire économique et sociale 10 (1938): 36 – 43. Giambrone, Anthony. “‘Friends in Heavenly Habitations’ (Luke 16:9): Charity, Repentance, and Luke’s Resurrection Reversal.” RB 120 (2013): 529 – 52. Giambrone, Anthony. Sacramental Charity, Creditor Christology, and the Economy of Salvation in Luke’s Gospel. WUNT 2/439. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2017. Giet, Stanislas. Les idées et l’action sociales de Saint Basile. Paris: Lecoffre, 1941. Giet, Stanislas. “Nouvelles remarques sur les voyages de Saint Paul à Jérusalem.” RevScRel 31 (1957): 329 – 42. Giet, Stanislas. “Le second voyage de Saint Paul à Jérusalem.” RevScRel 25 (1951): 265 – 69. Gilbert, Maurice. “Prêt, aumône et caution.” Pages 179 – 89 in Der Einzelne und seine Gemeinschaft bei Ben Sira. Edited by Renate Egger-Wenzel and Ingrid Krammer. BZAW 270. Berlin: De Gruyter, 1998. Gill, Christopher. “Altruism or Reciprocity in Greek Ethical Philosophy?” Pages 303 – 28 in Reciprocity in Ancient Greece. Edited by Christopher Gill, Norman Postlethwaite, and Richard Seaford. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998. Gill, Christopher, Norman Postlethwaite, and Richard Seaford, eds. Reciprocity in Ancient Greece. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998. Gilmore, David D., ed. Honor and Shame and the Unity of the Mediterranean. American Anthropological Association Special Pubblication 22. Washington: American Anthropological Association, 1987. Goguel, Maurice. “La collecte en faveur des Saints.” RHPR 5 (1925): 301 – 18. Gold, Barbara K., ed. Literary and Artistic Patronage in Ancient Rome. Austin: University of Texas Press, 1982. Gold, Barbara K. Literary Patronage in Greece and Rome. Chapel Hill: The University of North Carolina Press, 1987. Gold, Barbara K. “Propertius 3.9: Maecenas as Eques, Dux, Fautor.” Pages 103 – 17 in Literary and Artistic Patronage in Ancient Rome. Edited by Barbara K. Gold. Austin: University of Texas Press, 1982. Goldhill, Simon. Reading Greek Tragedy. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1986. Goodenough, Ward H. Description and Comparison in Cultural Anthropology. Chicago: Aldine, 1970. Goodman, Martin. “Coinage and Identity: The Jewish Evidence.” Pages 163 – 66 in Coinage and Identity in the Roman Provinces. Edited by Christopher Howgego, Volker Heuchert, and Andrew Burnett. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004. Goodman, Martin. “The First Jewish Revolt: Social Conflict and the Problem of Debt.” JJS 33 (1982): 417 – 27. Goodman, Martin. Rome and Jerusalem: The Clash of Ancient Civilizations. New York: Knopf, 2007. Goodman, Martin. The Ruling Class of Judaea: The Origins of the Jewish Revolt against Rome A.D. 66 – 70. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987.

364

Bibliography

Gordon, Barry. The Economic Problem in Biblical and Patristic Thought. Supplements to Vigiliae Christianae 9. Leiden: Brill, 1989. Gottesman, Alex. “The Beggar and the Clod: The Mythic Notion of Property in Ancient Greece.” TAPA 140 (2010): 287 – 322. Gouldner, Alvin W. “The Norm of Reciprocity: A Preliminary Statement.” American Sociological Review 25 (1960): 161 – 78. Graham, A. J. Colony and Mother City in Ancient Greece. New York: Barnes & Noble, 1964. Grant, Robert M. Early Christianity and Society: Seven Studies. New York: Harper & Row, 1977. Grant, Robert M. Eusebius as Church Historian. Oxford: Clarendon, 1980. Graver, Margaret. “Anatomies of Joy: Seneca and the Gaudium Tradition.” Pages 123 – 42 in Hope, Joy, and Affection in the Classical World. Edited by Ruth R. Caston and Robert A. Kaster. Emotions of the Past. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2016. Gray, Alyssa M. “Redemptive Almsgiving and the Rabbis of Late Antiquity.” JSQ 18 (2011): 144 – 84. Gregory, Bradley C. Like an Everlasting Signet Ring: Generosity in the Book of Sirach. Deuterocanonical and Cognate Literature Studies 2. Berlin: De Gruyter, 2010. Gregory, C. A. Gifts and Commodities. Studies in Political Economy. London: Academic Press, 1982. Gribomont, Jean. “Rome et l’Orient: Invitations et reproches de S. Basile.” Seminarium 27 (1975): 336 – 54. Griffin, Miriam T. “De beneficiis and Roman Society.” JRS 93 (2003): 92 – 113. Griffin, Miriam T. “Of Clients and Patrons,” review of Patronage in Ancient Society, edited by Andrew Wallace-Hadrill. The Classical Review 40 (1990): 399 – 403. Griffin, Miriam T. Seneca on Society: A Guide to De Beneficiis. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013. Griffith, Gary Webster. “Abounding in Generosity: A Study of Charis in 2 Corinthians 8 – 9.” PhD diss., University of Durham, 2005. Gruen, Erich S. Heritage and Hellenism: The Reinvention of Jewish Tradition. Hellenistic Culture and Society 30. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1998. Grundmann, Walter. “Die Übermacht der Gnade: Eine Studie zur Theologie des Paulus.” NovT 2 (1957): 50 – 72. Gustafson, Mark. “Condemnation to the Mines in the Later Roman Empire.” HTR 87 (1994): 421 – 33. Gustafsson, B. “Eusebius’ Principles in Handling his Sources, as Found in His Church History, Books I – VII.” StPatr 4 (1961): 429 – 41. Gygax, Marc Domingo. Benefaction and Rewards in the Ancient Greek City: The Origins of Euergetism. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2016. Haenchen, Ernst. The Acts of the Apostles: A Commentary. Translated by Bernard Noble and Gerald Shinn. Philadelphia: Westminster, 1971. Hall, Jennifer. Lucian’s Satire. Monographs in Classical Studies. New York: Arno, 1981. Hahn, István. “Pelatai und Klienten.” Pages 59 – 64 in Concilium Eirene XVI: Proceedings of the 16th International Eirene Conference, Prague 31.8 – 4.9 1982. Edited by A. Frolíková and P. Oliva. Prague: Kabinet pro studia řecká, řísmká a latinská ČSAV, 1983. Halperin, David M. “Heroes and Their Pals.” Pages 75 – 87 in David M. Halperin, One Hundred Years of Homosexuality and Other Essays on Greek Love. New York: Routledge, 1990.

General Works

365

Hamel, Gildas. Poverty and Charity in Roman Palestine, First Three Centuries C.E. Near Eastern Studies 23. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1990. Hamilton, Jeffries M. Social Justice and Deuteronomy: The Case of Deuteronomy 15. SBLDS 136. Atlanta: Scholars, 1992. Hands, A. R. Charities and Social Aid in Greece and Rome. Aspects of Greek and Roman Life. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1968. Hann, C. M., ed. Property Relations: Renewing the Anthropological Tradition. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998. Hann, Chris. “The Gift and Reciprocity: Perspectives from Economic Anthropology.” Pages 207 – 23 in vol. 1 of Handbook of the Economics of Giving, Altruism and Reciprocity. Edited by Serge-Christophe Kolm and Jean Mercier Ythier. 2 vols. Handbooks in Economics 23. Amsterdam: Elsevier, 2006. Hansen, Mogens Herman. “Misthos for Magistrates in Classical Athens.” SO 54 (1979): 5 – 22. Hanson, Anthony Tyrrell. Studies in Paul’s Technique and Theology. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1974. Hardie, Alex. Statius and the Silvae: Poets, Patrons and Epideixis in the Graeco-Roman World. ARCA Classical and Medieval Texts, Papers and Monographs 9. Liverpool: Francis Cairns, 1983. Harnack, Adolf von. Die Briefsammlung des Apostels Paulus und die anderen vorkostantinischen christlichen Briefsammlungen: Sechs Vorlesungen aus der altkirchlichen Literaturgeschichte. Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1926. Harnack, Adolf von. Die Chronologie der altchristlichen Litteratur bis Eusebius. Part 2 of Geschichte der altchristlichen Litteratur bis Eusebius. 2 vols. Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1897 – 1904. Harnack, Adolf von. The Mission and Expansion of Christianity in the First Three Centuries. Translated and edited by James Moffatt. 2nd ed. 2 vols. Theological Translation Library 19 – 20. New York: Putnam’s Sons, 1908. Harnack, Adolf von. Sokrates und die alte Kirche. Giessen: Ricker, 1901. Harrington, Daniel J. “The Reception of Walter Bauer’s Orthodoxy and Heresy in Earliest Christianity during the Last Decades.” HTR 73 (1980): 289 – 98. Harris, Marvin. “History and Significance of the Emic/Etic Distinction.” Annual Review of Anthropology 5 (1976): 329 – 50. Harris, Murray J. The Second Epistle to the Corinthians: A Commentary on the Greek Text. NIGTC. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans; Carlisle: Paternoster, 2005. Harris, William V. “On the Applicability of the Concept of Class in Roman History.” Pages 598 – 610 in Forms of Control and Subordination in Antiquity. Edited by Toru Yuge and Masaoki Doi. Leiden: Brill, 1988. Harris, William V. Restraining Rage: The Ideology of Anger Control in Classical Antiquity. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2001. Harrison, James R. Paul’s Language of Grace in Its Graeco-Roman Context. WUNT 2/172. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2003. Hart, Keith. Money in an Unequal World: Keith Hart and His Memory Bank. New York: Texere, 2000. Hartmann, Elke. “Femmes riches et captateurs d’héritage à Rome durant le Haut-Empire.” Annales. Histoire, Sciences Sociales 67 (2012 – 2013): 431 – 52.

366

Bibliography

Hartog, Paul A., ed. Orthodoxy and Heresy in Early Christian Contexts: Reconsidering the Bauer Thesis. Cambridge: James Clarke & Co, 2015. Häusl, Maria. “Introduction.” Pages 1 – 15 in Ṣedaqa and Torah in Postexilic Discourse. Edited by Susanne Gillmayr-Bucher and Maria Häusl. Library of Hebrew Bible/Old Testament Studies 640. London: Bloomsbury T&T Clark, 2017. Hays, Christopher M. “By Almsgiving and Faith Sins Are Purged? The Theological Underpinnings of Early Christian Care for the Poor.” Pages 260 – 80 in Engaging Economics: New Testament Scenarios and Early Christian Reception. Edited by Bruce W. Longenecker and Kelly D. Liebengood. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2009. Hays, Richard B. Echoes of Scripture in the Letters of Paul. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1989. Hays, Richard B. The Moral Vision of the New Testament: Community, Cross, New Creation: A Contemporary Introduction to New Testament Ethics. San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 1996. Heiligenthal, Roman. “Werke der Barmherzigkeit oder Almosen? Zur Bedeutung von ἐλεημοσύνη.” NovT 25 (1983): 289 – 301. Heinrici, Georg. Der zweite Brief an die Korinther. 7th ed. KEK 6. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1890. Hemelrijk, Emily A. “City Patronesses in the Roman Empire.” Historia 53 (2004): 209 – 45. Hemelrijk, Emily A. Matrona Docta: Educated Women in the Roman Élite from Cornelia to Julia Domna. London: Routledge, 1999. Hemelrijk, Emily A. “Patronage of Cities: The Role of Women.” Pages 415 – 27 in Roman Rule and Civic Life: Local and Regional Perspectives. Edited by Luuk de Ligt, Emily A. Hemelrijk, and H. W. Singor. Amsterdam: Gieben, 2004. Hemelrijk, Emily A. “Patronesses and ‘Mothers’ of Roman Collegia.” Classical Antiquity 27 (2008): 115 – 62. Hengel, Martin. Acts and the History of Earliest Christianity. Philadelphia: Fortress, 1979. Hengel, Martin. Judaism and Hellenism: Studies in Their Encounter in Palestine during the Early Hellenistic Period. 2 vols. Philadelphia: Fortress, 1974. Hengel, Martin, and Christoph Markschies. The “Hellenization” of Judaea in the First Century after Christ. London: SCM, 1989. Hengel, Martin, and Anna Maria Schwemer. Paul Between Damascus and Antioch: The Unknown Years. Translated by John Bowden. Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1997. Hendrix, Holland. “Benefactor/Patron Networks in the Urban Environment: Evidence from Thessalonica.” Semeia 56 (1991): 39 – 58. Héring, Jean. La seconde épître de Saint Paul aux Corinthiens. CNT 8. Neuchatel: Delachaux & Niestlé, 1958. Herman, Gabriel. Ritualised Friendship and the Greek City. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987. Hermon, Ethella. “La loi agraire de Tiberius Gracchus.” Ktèma 1 (1976): 179 – 86. Hewitt, Joseph William. “The Terminology of ‘Gratitude’ in Greek.” CP 22 (1927): 142 – 61. Hezser, Catherine. “Rabbis and Other Friends: Friendship in the Talmud Yerushalmi and in Graeco-Roman Literature.” Pages 189 – 254 in vol. 2 of The Talmud Yerushalmi and Graeco-Roman Culture. Edited by Peter Schäfer and Catherine Hezser. 3 vols. TSAJ 71, 78, 93. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1998 – 2002.

General Works

367

Hezser, Catherine. The Social Structure of the Rabbinic Movement in Roman Palestine. TSAJ 66. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1997. Hiers, Richard H. “Friends by Unrighteous Mammon: The Eschatological Proletariat (Luke 16:9).” JAAR 38 (1970): 30 – 36. Hill, David. New Testament Prophecy. New Foundations Theological Library. Atlanta: John Knox, 1979. Hinnant, Charles H. “The Patriarchal Narratives of Genesis and the Ethos of Gift Exchange.” Pages 105 – 17 in The Question of the Gift: Essays across Disciplines. Edited by Mark Osteen. Routledge Studies in Anthropology 2. London: Routledge, 2002. Hirzel, Rudolf. Themis, Dike und Verwandtes: Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte der Rechtsidee bei den Griechen. Leipzig: Hirzel, 1907. Hobbs, T. R. “Reflections on Honor, Shame, and Covenant Relations.” JBL 116 (1997): 501 – 3. Hock, R. E. The Social Context of Paul’s Ministry: Tentmaking and Apostleship. Philadelphia: Fortress, 1980. Hodkinson, Stephen. Property and Wealth in Classical Sparta. London: Duckworth, 2000. Hodkinson, Stephen. “Social Order and Conflict of Values in Classical Sparta.” Chiron 13 (1983): 239 – 81. Holl, Karl. “Der Kirchenbegriff des Paulus in seinem Verhältnis zu dem der Urgemeinde.” SPAW 12 (1921): 920 – 47. Repr. pages 44 – 67 in Karl Holl, Der Osten. Vol. 2 of Gesammelte Aufsätze zur Kirchengeschichte. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1928. Holladay, Carl R. Acts: A Commentary. NTL. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2016. Holman, Susan R. The Hungry Are Dying: Beggars and Bishops in Roman Cappadocia. Oxford Studies in Historical Theology. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001. Holman, Susan R., ed. Wealth and Poverty in Early Church and Society. Holy Cross Studies in Patristic Theology and History. Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2008. Holman, Susan R., Caroline Macé, and Brian J. Matz. “De Beneficentia: A Homily on Social Action Attributed to Basil of Caesarea.” VC 66 (2012): 457 – 81. Holmberg, Bengt. Paul and Power: The Structure of Authority in the Primitive Church as Reflected in the Pauline Epistles. Philadelphia: Fortress, 1980. Holmberg, Bengt. Sociology and the New Testament: An Appraisal. Minneapolis: Fortress, 1990. Holtzmann, Oscar. “Die Jerusalemreisen des Paulus und die Kollekte.” ZNW 6 (1905): 102 – 4. Hooker, M. D. “Interchange in Christ.” JTS 22 (1971): 349 – 61. Hoppe, Leslie J. There Shall Be No Poor Among You: Poverty in the Bible. Nashville: Abingdon, 2004. Hopwood, Keith. “Bandits, Elites and Rural Order.” Pages 171 – 87 in Patronage in Ancient Society. Edited by Andrew Wallace-Hadrill. London: Routledge, 1989. Horn, Friedrich Wilhelm. “Die Kollektenthematik in der Apostelgeschichte.” Pages 135 – 56 in Die Apostelgeschichte und die hellenistische Geschichtsschreibung: Festschrift für Eckhard Plümacher zu seinem 65. Geburtstag. Edited by Cilliers Breytenbach and Jens Schröter. AJEC 57. Leiden: Brill, 2004. Hornblower, Simon. The Greek World 479 – 323 BC. 3rd ed. Routledge History of the Ancient World. London: Routledge, 2002. Hornsby, Hazel M. “The Cynicism of Peregrinus Proteus.” Hermathena 23 (1933): 65 – 84. Horrell, David G. “Domestic Space and Christian Meeting at Corinth: Imagining New Contexts and the Building East of the Theatre.” NTS 50 (2004): 349 – 69.

368

Bibliography

Horrell, David G. “Paul’s Collection: Resources for a Materialist Theology.” Epworth Review 22 (1995): 74 – 83. Horrell, David G. The Social Ethos of the Corinthian Correspondence: Interests and Ideology from 1 Corinthians to 1 Clement. STNW. Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1996. Horsley, Richard A. Covenant Economics: A Biblical Vision of Justice for All. Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2009. Horsley, Richard A. 1 Corinthians. ANTC. Nashville: Abingdon, 1998. Horsley, Richard A. “1 Corinthians: A Case Study of Paul’s Assembly as an Alternative Society.” Pages 242 – 52 in Paul and Empire: Religion and Power in Roman Imperial Society. Edited by Richard A. Horsley. Harrisburg: Trinity Press International, 1997. Houston, Walter J. Contending for Justice: Ideologies and Theologies of Social Justice in the Old Testament. JSOTSup 428. London: T&T Clark, 2006. Houston, Walter J. “‘You Shall Open Your Hand to Your Needy Brother’: Ideology and Moral Formation in Deut. 15.1 – 18.” Pages 296 – 314 in The Bible in Ethics: The Second Sheffield Colloquium. Edited by John W. Rogerson, Margaret Davies, and M. Daniel Carroll R. JSOTSup 207. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1995. Howgego, Christopher. “Coinage and Identity in the Roman Provinces.” Pages 1 – 17 in Coinage and Identity in the Roman Provinces. Edited by Christopher Howgego, Volker Heuchert, and Andrew Burnett. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004. Hurtado, Larry W. “The Jerusalem Collection and the Book of Galatians.” JSNT 5 (1979): 46 – 62. Hurwitz, Avi. “Reshitam Ha-Miqra’it shel Munahim Talmudiyyim: Le-Toledot Tsemihato shel Musag Ha-Sedaqâh.” Pages 155 – 60 in Mehqarim be-Lashon 2 – 3. Jerusalem: Center for Jewish Studies, 1987. Inwood, Brad. Reading Seneca: Stoic Philosophy at Rome. Oxford: Clarendon, 2005. Iori, Renato. La solidarietà nelle prime comunità cristiane: La dottrina degli Atti e di San Paolo. Rome: Città Nuova, 1989. Jardine, Nick. “Etics and Emics (Not to Mention Anemics and Emetics) in the History of the Sciences.” History of Science 42 (2004): 261 – 78. Jeffers, James S. Conflict at Rome: Social Order and Hierarchy in Early Christianity. Minneapolis: Fortress, 1991. Jennings, Mark A. “Patronage and Rebuke in Paul’s Persuasion in 2 Corinthians 8 – 9.” JGRChJ 6 (2009): 107 – 27. Jeremias, Joachim. Jerusalem in the Time of Jesus: An Investigation into Economic and Social Conditions during the New Testament Period. Translated by F. H. Cave and C. H. Cave. Philadelphia: Fortress, 1969. Jeremias, Joachim. “Sabbatjahr und neutestamentliche Chronologie.” ZNW 27 (1928): 98 – 103. Jeremias, Joachim. “Untersuchungen zur Quellenproblem der Apostelgeschichte.” ZNW 36 (1937): 205 – 21. Jervell, Jacob. Die Apostelgeschichte. KEK 3. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1998. Jewett, Robert. A Chronology of Paul’s Life. Philadelphia: Fortress, 1979. Jewett, Robert. Romans: A Commentary on the Book of Romans. Hermeneia. Minneapolis: Fortress, 2007.

General Works

369

Johnson, David. “The Rational Religion of Xenophon’s Socrates.” Pages 176 – 98 in Resemblance and Reality in Greek Thought: Essays in Honor of Peter M. Smith. Edited by Arum Park. London: Routledge, 2017. Johnson, Luke Timothy. The Acts of the Apostles. SP 5. Collegeville: Liturgical, 1992. Johnson, Luke Timothy. The Literary Function of Possessions in Luke-Acts. SBLDS 39. Missoula: Scholars, 1977. Johnson, Luke Timothy. “Making Connections: The Material Expression of Friendship in the New Testament.” Int 58 (2004): 158 – 71. Johnson, Terry, and Christopher Dandeker. “Patronage: Relation and System.” Pages 219 – 42 in Patronage in Ancient Society. Edited by Andrew Wallace-Hadrill. London: Routledge, 1989. Jones, C. P. Culture and Society in Lucian. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1986. Jones, C. P. Plutarch and Rome. Oxford: Clarendon, 1971. Jones, Francis L. “Martial, the Client.” CJ 30 (1934 – 1935): 355 – 61. Jongkind, Dirk. “Corinth in the First Century AD: The Search for Another Class.” TynBul 52 (2001): 139 – 48. Jongman, Willem. “Beneficial Symbols: Alimenta and the Infantilization of the Roman Citizen.” Pages 47 – 80 in After the Past: Essays in Ancient History in Honour of H.W. Pleket. Edited by Willem Jongman and Marc Kleijwegt. Mnemosyne Supplements 233. Leiden: Brill, 2002. Jonkers, E. J. “Aequitas.” RAC 1:141 – 44. Joosten, Jan. “‫חסד‬, ‘Benevolence’, and ἔλεος, ‘Pity.’” Pages 97 – 111 in Jan Joosten, Collected Studies on the Septuagint: From Language to Interpretation and Beyond. FAT 83. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2012. Jope, James. “Interpretation and Authenticity of the Lucianic Erotes.” Helios 38 (2011): 103 – 20. Joubert, Stephan J. “Coming to Terms with a Neglected Aspect of Ancient Mediterranean Reciprocity: Seneca’s View on Benefit-Exchange in De beneficiis as the Framework for a Model of Social Exchange.” Pages 47 – 63 in Social Scientific Models for Interpreting the Bible: Essays by the Context Group in Honor of Bruce J. Malina. Edited by John J. Pilch. Biblical Interpretation Series 53. Leiden: Brill, 2001. Joubert, Stephan J. “One Form of Social Exchange or Two? ‘Euergetism,’ Patronage, and Testament Studies.” BTB 31 (2001): 17 – 25. Joubert, Stephan J. Paul as Benefactor: Reciprocity, Strategy and Theological Reflection in Paul’s Collection. WUNT 2/124. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2000. Judge, E. A. “Rank and Status in the World of the Caesars and St Paul.” Pages 137 – 56 in E. A. Judge, Social Distinctives of the Christians in the First Century: Pivotal Essays. Edited by David M. Scholer. Peabody: Hendrickson, 2008. Repr. from Rank and Status in the World of the Caesars and St Paul. University of Canterbury Publications 29. Canterbury: University of Canterbury, 1982. Judge, E. A. Social Distinctives of the Christians in the First Century: Pivotal Essays. Edited by David M. Scholer. Peabody: Hendrickson, 2008. Judge, E. A. “St Paul as a Radical Critic of Society.” Pages 99 – 115 in Social Distinctives of the Christians in the First Century. Edited by David M. Scholer. Peabody: Hendrickson, 2008. Repr. from Interchange 16 (1974): 191 – 203.

370

Bibliography

Junod, Éric. “Les hérétiques et l’hérésie dans le ‘programme’ de l’Histoire ecclésiastique d’Eusèbe de Césarée.” Rivista di storia del Cristianesimo 6 (2009): 417 – 34. Kallet, Lisa. “The Athenian Economy.” Pages 70 – 95 in The Cambridge Companion to the Age of Pericles. Edited by Loren J. Samons II. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007. Karavas, Orestis. “Luciano, los cristianos y Jesucristo.” Pages 115 – 20 in Lucian of Samosata: Greek Writer and Roman Citizen. Edited by Francesca Mestre and Pilar Gómez. Barcelona: Universitat de Barcelona, 2010. Keck, Leander E. “The Poor Among the Saints in Jewish Christianity and Qumran.” ZNW 57 (1966): 54 – 78. Keck, Leander E. “The Poor Among the Saints in the New Testament.” ZNW 56 (1965): 100 – 129. Keener, Craig S. Acts: An Exegetical Commentary. 4 vols. Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2012 – 2016. Kennedy, George A. New Testament Interpretation through Rhetorical Criticism. Studies in Religion. Chapel Hill: The University of North Carolina Press, 1984. Keppie, Lawrence. “Colonisation and Veteran Settlement in Italy in the First Century A.D.” Papers of the British School at Rome 52 (1984): 77 – 114. Keppie, Lawrence. Colonisation and Veteran Settlement in Italy 47 – 14 B.C. London: The British School at Rome, 1983. Keresztes, Paul. “The Decian libelli and Contemporary Literature.” Latomus 34 (1975): 761 – 81. Keresztes, Paul. “Two Edicts of the Emperor Valerian.” VC 29 (1975): 81 – 95. Kidd, Reggie M. Wealth and Beneficence in the Pastoral Epistles: A “Bourgeois” Form of Early Christianity. SBLDS 122. Atlanta: Scholars, 1990. Kim, Byung-Mo. Die paulinische Kollekte. TANZ 38. Tübingen: Francke, 2002. Kirk, Alan. “Karl Polanyi, Marshall Sahlins, and the Study of Ancient Social Relations.” JBL 126 (2007): 182 – 91. Kirk, Alan. “‘Love Your Enemies,’ the Golden Rule, and Ancient Reciprocity (Luke 6:27 – 35).” JBL 122 (2003): 667 – 86. Kirner, Guido O. “Apostolat und Patronage (I): Methodischer Teil und Forschungsdiskussion.” ZAC 6 (2002): 3 – 37. Kirsten, Ernst. “Cappadocia.” RAC 2:861 – 91. Klein, Hans. “Die Begründung für den Spendenaufruf für die Heiligen Jerusalems in 2Kor 8 und 9.” Pages 104 – 130 in Der zweite Korintherbrief: Literarische Gestalt—historische Situation—theologische Argumentation: Festschrift zum 70. Geburtstag von Dietrich-Alex Koch. Edited by Dieter Sänger. FRLANT 250. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2012. Kloppenborg, John S. “Associations in the Ancient World.” Pages 323 – 38 in The Historical Jesus in Context. Edited by Amy-Jill Levine, Dale C. Allison, and John Dominic Crossan. Princeton Readings in Religion. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2006. Kloppenborg, John S. “Fiscal Aspects of Paul’s Collection for Jerusalem.” Early Christianity 8 (2017): 153 – 98. Kloppenborg, John S., and Stephen G. Wilson, eds. Voluntary Associations in the GraecoRoman World. New York: Routledge, 1996. Knox, John. Chapters in a Life of Paul. Revised edition. Macon: Mercer University Press, 1987. Koch, Dietrich-Alex. “Kollektenbericht, ‘wir’-Bericht und Itinerar: Neue (?) Überlegungen zu einem alten Problem.” NTS 45 (1999): 367 – 90.

General Works

371

Koenig, John. New Testament Hospitality: Partnership with Strangers as Promise and Mission. OBT 17. Philadelphia: Fortress, 1985. Koester, Helmut. “Writings and the Spirit: Authority and Politics in Ancient Christianity.” HTR 84 (1991): 353 – 72. Kolm, Serge-Christophe. “Introduction to the Economics of Giving, Altruism and Reciprocity.” Pages 1 – 122 in vol. 1 of Handbook of the Economics of Giving, Altruism and Reciprocity. Edited by Serge-Christophe Kolm and Jean Mercier Ythier. 2 vols. Handbooks in Economics 23. Amsterdam: Elsevier, 2006. Kolm, Serge-Christophe, and Jean Mercier Ythier, eds. Handbook of the Economics of Giving, Altruism and Reciprocity. 2 vols. Handbooks in Economics 23. Amsterdam: Elsevier, 2006. Konstan, David. “The Emotion in Aristotle Rhetoric 2.7: Gratitude, Not Kindness.” Pages 239 – 50 in Influences on Peripatetic Rhetoric: Essays in Honor of William W. Fortenbaugh. Edited by David C. Mirhady. Philosophia Antiqua 105. Leiden: Brill, 2007. Konstan, David. “Friendship, Frankness, and Flattery.” Pages 7 – 19 in Friendship, Flattery, and Frankness of Speech: Studies on Friendship in the New Testament World. Edited by John T. Fitzgerald. NovTSup 82. Leiden: Brill, 1996. Konstan, David. Friendship in the Classical World. Key Themes in Ancient History. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996. Konstan, David. “Greek Friendship.” AJP 117 (1996): 71 – 94. Konstan, David. In the Orbit of Love: Affection in Ancient Greece and Rome. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2018. Konstan, David. “The Joy of Giving: Seneca De beneficiis 1.6.1.” Pages 171 – 76 in Paradeigmata: Festschrift for Øivind Andersen on the Occasion of his 70th Birthday. Edited by Eyjólfur Kjalar Emilsson, Anastasia Maravela, and Mathilde Skoie. Papers of the Norwegian Institute in Athens. Athens: Norwegian Institute, 2014. Konstan, David. “Patrons and Friends.” CP 90 (1995): 328 – 42. Konstan, David. Pity Transformed. Classical Inter/Faces. London: Duckworth, 2001. Konstan, David. “Reciprocity and Friendship.” Pages 279 – 301 in Reciprocity in Ancient Greece. Edited by Christopher Gill, Norman Postlethwaite, and Richard Seaford. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998. Konstan, David. The Emotions of the Ancient Greeks: Studies in Aristotle and Classical Literature. The Robson Classical Lectures. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2006. Köstenberger, Andreas J., and David A. Croteau. “Reconstructing a Biblical Model for Giving: A Discussion of Relevant Systematic Issues and New Testament Principles.” BBR 16 (2006): 237 – 60. Kroll, Wilhelm. Die Kultur der ciceronische Zeit. 2 vols. Das Erbe der Alten 2.22. Leipzig: Dieterich, 1933. Kühnert, Wilhelm. “Dionysius von Korinth—eine Bischofsgestalt des zweiten Jahrhunderts.” Pages 273 – 89 in Theologia scientia eminens practica: Fritz Zerbst zum 70. Geburtstag. Edited by Hans-Christoph Schmidt-Lauber. Wien: Herder, 1979. LaFleur, Richard A. “Amicitia and the Unity of Juvenal’s First Book.” Illinois Classical Studies 4 (1979): 158 – 77. LaFleur, Richard A. “Amicus and Amicitia in Juvenal.” Classical Bulletin 51 (1974): 54 – 58.

372

Bibliography

Laidlaw, Lames. “A Free Gift Makes No Friends.” Pages 45 – 66 in The Question of the Gift: Essays across Disciplines. Edited by Mark Osteen. Routledge Studies in Anthropology 2. London: Routledge, 2002. Lake, Kirsopp. “The Apostolic Council of Jerusalem.” Pages 195 – 212 in The Acts of the Apostles: Additional Notes to the Commentary. Edited by Kirsopp Lake and Henry J. Cadbury. Vol. 5 of The Beginnings of Christianity. Edited by F. J. Foakes Jackson and Kirsopp Lake. Grand Rapids: Baker Book House, 1979. Lake, Kirsopp, and Henry J. Cadbury. The Acts of the Apostles: English Translation and Commentary. Vol. 4 of The Beginnings of Christianity. Edited by F. J. Foakes and Kirsopp Lake. Grand Rapids: Baker Book House, 1979. Laks, André, and Malcolm Schofield, eds. Justice and Generosity: Studies in Hellenistic Social and Political Philosophy: Proceedings of the Sixth Symposium Hellenisticum. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995. Lambrecht, Jan. “Paul’s Boasting about the Corinthians: A Study of 2 Cor. 8:24 – 9:5.” NovT 40 (1998): 352 – 68. Lambrecht, Jan. Second Corinthians. SP 8. Collegeville: Liturgical Press, 1999. Lampe, Peter. From Paul to Valentinus: Christians at Rome in the First Two Centuries. Translated by Michael Steinhauser. Minneapolis: Fortress, 2003. Lampe, Peter. “Paul, Patrons, and Clients.” Pages 204 – 38 in vol. 2 of Paul in the GrecoRoman World: A Handbook. Edited by J. Paul Sampley. 2 vols. Revised edition. London: Bloomsbury T&T Clark, 2016. Lampe, Peter. “Rhetorical Analysis of Pauline Texts—Quo vadit?” Pages 3 – 21 in Paul and Rhetoric. Edited by J. Paul Sampley and Peter Lampe. New York: T&T Clark, 2010. Lapin, Hayim. Early Rabbinic Civil Law and the Social History of Roman Galilee: A Study of Mishnah Tractate Babaʾ Meṣiʿaʾ. BJS 307. Atlanta: Scholars, 1995. Laurence, Ray. “Writing the Roman Metropolis.” Pages 1 – 20 in Roman Urbanism: Beyond the Consumer City. Edited by Helen M. Parkins. London: Routledge, 1997. Lausberg, Heinrich. Handbook of Literary Rhetoric: A Foundation for Literary Study. Leiden: Brill, 1998. Lawlor, Hugh Jackson. Eusebiana: Essays on the Ecclesiastical History of Eusebius Bishop of Caesarea. Oxford: Clarendon, 1912. Le Boulluec, Alain. La notion d’hérésie dans la littérature grecque IIe – IIIe siècles. 2 vols. Paris: Études augustiniennes, 1985. Le Gall, J. “La ‘nouvelle plèbe’ et la sportule quotidienne.” Pages 1449 – 53 in vol. 3 of Mélanges d’archéologie et d’histoire offerts à André Piganiol. Edited by Raymond Chevallier. 3 vols. Paris: S.E.V.P.E.N., 1966. Le Gall, J. “Rome, ville de fainéants?” Revue des études latines 49 (1971): 266 – 77. Lemche, Niels Peter. “From Patronage Society to Patronage Society.” Pages 106 – 20 in The Origins of the Ancient Israelite States. Edited by Volkmar Fritz and Philip R. Davies. JSOTSup 228. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1996. Lemche, Niels Peter. “Kings and Clients: On Loyalty between the Ruler and the Ruled in Ancient ‘Israel.’” Semeia 66 (1994): 119 – 32. Leunissen, Paul M. M. “Conventions of Patronage in Senatorial Careers under the Principate.” Chiron 23 (1993): 101 – 20. Leutzsch, Martin. Die Wahrnehmung sozialer Wirklichkeit im “Hirten des Hermas.” FRLANT 150. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1989.

General Works

373

Levenson, Jon D. The Love of God: Divine Gift, Human Gratitude, and Mutual Faithfulness in Judaism. Library of Jewish Ideas. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2016. Levi, Mario Attilio. “I ceti dipendenti negli epigrammi di Marziale.” Index 17 (1989): 225 – 30. Lévi-Strauss, Claude. The Elementary Structures of Kinship. Translated by James Harle Bell, John Richard von Sturmer, and Rodney Needham. London: Eyre & Spottiswoode, 1969. Leyerle, Blake. “John Chrysostom on Almsgiving and the Use of Money.” HTR 87 (1994): 29 – 47. Li Causi, Pietro. “La teoria in azione: Il dono di Eschine e la riflessione senecana sui beneficia.” Annali Online di Ferrara–Lettere 3 (2008): 95 – 110. Lietzmann, Hans. An die Korinther I – II. 4th edition expanded by Werner Georg Kümmel. HNT 9. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1949. Lightfoot, J. B. St. Paul’s Epistle to the Galatians. Andover: Draper, 1891. Lindemann, Andreas. “Die Jerusalem-Kollekte des Paulus als ‘diakonisches Unternehmen.’” Wort und Dienst 28 (2005): 99 – 116. Lintott, Andrew William. “Agrarian Laws and Policy.” OCD4 42. Lintott, Andrew William. Judicial Reform and Land Reform in the Roman Republic: A New Edition, with Translation and Commentary, of the Laws from Urbino. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992. Lohfink, Norbert. “Poverty in the Laws of the Ancient Near East and of the Bible.” TS 52 (1991): 34 – 50. Lohse, Eduard. Colossians and Philemon. Hermeneia. Philadelphia: Fortress, 1971. Long, A. A. “Cicero’s politics in De Officiis.” Pages 213 – 40 in Justice and generosity: Studies in Hellenistic Social and Political Philosophy: Proceedings of the Sixth Symposium Hellenisticum. Edited by André Laks and Malcolm Schofield. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995. Long, A. A. Epictetus: A Stoic and Socratic Guide to Life. Oxford: Clarendon, 2002. Longenecker, Bruce W. “Exposing the Economic Middle: A Revised Economy Scale for the Study of Early Urban Christianity.” JSNT 31 (2009): 243 – 78. Longenecker, Bruce W. “Good News to the Poor: Jesus, Paul, and Jerusalem.” Pages 37 – 65 in Jesus and Paul Reconnected: Fresh Pathways into an Old Debate. Edited by Todd D. Still. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2007. Longenecker, Bruce W. “The Poor of Galatians 2:10: The Interpretative Paradigm of the First Four Centuries.” Pages 205 – 21 in Engaging Economics: New Testament Scenarios and Early Christian Reception. Edited by Bruce W. Longenecker and Kelly D. Liebengood. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2009. Longenecker, Bruce W. Remember the Poor: Paul, Poverty, and the Greco-Roman World. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2010. Longenecker, Bruce W. “Socio-Economic Profiling of the First Urban Christians.” Pages 36 – 59 in After the First Urban Christians: The Social-Scientific Study of Pauline Christianity Twenty-Five Years Later. Edited by Todd D. Still and David G. Horrell. London: T&T Clark, 2009. Longenecker, Bruce W., and Kelly D. Liebengood, eds. Engaging Economics: New Testament Scenarios and Early Christian Reception. Grand Rapids: 2009. Longenecker, Richard N. Galatians. WBC 41. Dallas: Word Books, 1990. Longo, Oddone. “Eranos.” Pages 247 – 58 in Mélanges Edouard Delebecque. Aix-en-Provence: Université de Provence, 1983.

374

Bibliography

Lowe, Bruce A. “Paul, Patronage and Benefaction: A ‘Semiotic’ Reconsideration.” Pages 57 – 84 in Paul and His Social Relations. Edited by Stanley E. Porter and Christopher D. Land. Pauline Studies 7. Leiden: Brill, 2013. Lüdemann, Gerd. Early Christianity According to the Traditions in Acts: A Commentary. Minneapolis: Fortress, 1987. Lüdemann, Gerd. Paul Apostle to the Gentiles: Studies in Chronology. Translated by F. Stanley Jones. Philadelphia: Fortress, 1984. Mac Mahon, Ardle. “Unemployment.” The Encyclopedia of Ancient History 6915 – 16. Macatangay, Francis M. When I Die, Bury Me Well: Death, Burial, Almsgiving, and Restoration in the Book of Tobit. Eugene: Pickwick, 2016. MacGillivray, Erlend D. “Re-Evaluating Patronage and Reciprocity in Antiquity and New Testament Studies.” JGRChJ 6 (2009): 37 – 81. MacGillivray, Erlend D. “Romans 16:2, προστάτις/προστάτης, and the Application of Reciprocal Relationships to New Testament Texts.” NovT 53 (2011): 183 – 99. Mack, Burton L. The Lost Gospel: The Book of Q and Christian Origins. San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 1993. MacLachlan, Bonnie. The Age of Grace: Charis in Early Greek Poetry. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1993. MacMullen, Ramsay. “The Epigraphic Habit in the Roman Empire.” AJP 103 (1982): 233 – 46. MacMullen, Ramsay. Romanization in the Time of Augustus. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2000. MacMullen, Ramsay. “Social Ethic Models: Roman, Greek, ‘Oriental.’” Historia 64 (2015): 487 – 510. Malherbe, Abraham J. “The Christianization of a Topos (Luke 12:13 – 34).” NovT 38 (1996): 123 – 35. Malherbe, Abraham J. “‘Gentle as a Nurse’: The Cynic Background of I Thess ii.” NovT 12 (1970): 203 – 17. Malherbe, Abraham J. The Letters to the Thessalonians. AB 32B. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1974. Malherbe, Abraham J. “Paul’s Self-Sufficiency (Philippians 4:11).” Pages 125 – 39 in Friendship, Flattery, and Frankness of Speech: Studies on Friendship in the New Testament World. Edited by John T. Fitzgerald. NovTSup 82. Leiden: Brill, 1996. Malherbe, Abraham J. Social Aspects of Early Christianity. Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1977. Malina, Bruce J. “Limited Good and the Social World of Early Christianity.” BTB 8 (1978): 162 – 76. Malina, Bruce J. The Palestinian Manna Tradition: The Manna Tradition in the Palestinian Targums and Its Relationship to the New Testament Writings. AGJU 7. Leiden: Brill, 1968. Malina, Bruce J., and Jerome H. Neyrey. “Honor and Shame in Luke-Acts: Pivotal Values of the Mediterranean World.” Pages 25 – 65 in The Social World of Luke-Acts: Models for Interpretation. Edited by Jerome H. Neyrey. Peabody: Hendrickson, 1991. Malinowski, Bronislaw. Argonauts of the Western Pacific: An Account of the Native Enterprise and Adventure in the Archipelagoes of Melanesian New Guinea. Routledge Classics. London: Routledge, 1922. Repr., London: Routledge, 2014. Maloney, Robert P. “Usury in Greek, Roman and Rabbinic Thought.” Traditio 27 (1971): 79 – 109.

General Works

375

Mansbach, A. Rhoda. “Captatio: Myth and Reality.” PhD diss., Princeton University, 1982. Marache, R. “Juvénal et le client pauvre.” Revue des études latines 58 (1980): 363 – 69. Marek, Christian. Geschichte Kleinasiens in der Antike. Historische Bibliothek der Gerda Henkel Stiftung. München: Beck, 2010. Marguerat, Daniel. Les actes des apôtres (1 – 12). CNT 5a. Geneva: Labor et fides, 2007. Marshall, Jonathan. Jesus, Patrons, and Benefactors: Roman Palestine and the Gospel of Luke. WUNT 2/259. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2009. Marshall, Peter. Enmity in Corinth: Social Conventions in Paul’s Relations with the Corinthians. WUNT 2/23. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1997. Martin, Dale B. “Paul without Passion: On Paul’s Rejection of Desire in Sex and Marriage.” Pages 201 – 15 in Constructing Early Christian Families: Family As Social Reality and Metaphor. Edited by Halvor Moxnes. London: Routledge, 1997. Martin, Dale B. “Review Essay: Justin J. Meggitt, Paul, Poverty and Survival.” JSNT 24 (2001): 51 – 64. Martin, Ralph P. 2 Corinthians. WBC 40. Waco: Word Books, 1986. Martin, Troy W. “Invention and Arrangement in Recent Pauline Rhetorical Studies: A Survey of the Practices and the Problems.” Pages 48 – 118 in Paul and Rhetoric. Edited by J. Paul Sampley and Peter Lampe. New York: T&T Clark, 2010. Martin Jones, Arnold Hugh, et al. “Syria.” OCD4 1421 – 22. Martzavou, Paraskevi, and Nikolaos Papazarkadas, eds. Epigraphical Approaches to the PostClassical Polis: Fourth Century BC to Second Century AD. Oxford Studies in Ancient Documents. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013. Matthews, Victor H. “The Unwanted Gift: Implications of Obligatory Gift Giving in Ancient Israel.” Semeia 87 (1999): 91 – 104. Mauss, Marcel. The Gift: The Form and Reason for Exchange in Archaic Societies. London: Routledge, 2002. May, James M. “The Rhetoric of Advocacy and Patron-Client Identification: Variation on a Theme.” AJP 102 (1981): 308 – 15. McCant, Jerry W. 2 Corinthians. Readings: A New Biblical Commentary. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1999. McGuire, Martin R. P. “Epigraphical Evidence for Social Charity in the Roman West: C.I.L., I2, 1212; VIII, 7858; IX, 4796.” AJP 67 (1946): 129 – 50. Meeker, Michael E., Kathleen Barlow, and David M. Lipset. “Culture, Exchange, and Gender: Lessons from the Murik.” Cultural Anthropology, 1 (1986): 6 – 73. Meeks, Wayne A. The First Urban Christians: The Social World of the Apostle Paul. 2nd ed. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2003. Meeks, Wayne A. The Origins of Christian Morality: The First Two Centuries. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1993. Meggitt, Justin J. Paul, Poverty and Survival. Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1998. Meier, John P. A Marginal Jew: Rethinking the Historical Jesus. 5 vols. ABRL. New York: Doubleday/New Haven: Yale University Press, 1991 – 2016. Melick, Richard R. Jr. “The Collection for the Saints: 2 Corinthians 8 – 9.” CTR 4 (1989): 97 – 117. Meshorer, Y. “A Stone Weight from the Reign of Herod.” IEJ 20 (1970): 97 – 98. Michaels, J. Ramsey. 1 Peter. WBC 49. Dallas: Word Books, 1988.

376

Bibliography

Michel, Jacques. Gratuité en droit romain. Etudes d’histoire et d’ethnologie juridiques. Brussels: Université Libre de Bruxelles, 1962. Middleton, Paul, Angus Paddison, and Karen Wenell, eds. Paul, Grace and Freedom: Essays in Honour of John K. Riches. London: T&T Clark, 2009. Migeotte, Léopold. “Note sur l’emploi de prodaneizein.” Phoenix 34 (1980): 219 – 26. Migeotte, Léopold. Les souscriptions publiques dans les cités grecques. Hautes études du monde gréco-romain 17. Geneva: Droz, 1992. Millar, Fergus. The Crowd in Rome in the Late Republic. Jerome Lectures 22. Ann Arbor: The University of Michigan Press, 1998. Millar, Fergus. “Ovid and the Domus Augusta: Rome Seen from Tomoi.” JRS 83 (1993): 1 – 17. Millar, Fergus. The Roman Near East: 31 BC–AD 337. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1993. Millar, Fergus. “The Political Character of the Classical Roman Republic, 200 – 151 B.C.” JRS 74 (1984): 1 – 19. Millett, Paul. Lending and Borrowing in Ancient Athens. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991. Millett, Paul. “Patronage and Its Avoidance in Classical Athens.” Pages 15 – 47 in Patronage in Ancient Society. Edited by Andrew Wallace-Hadrill. London: Routledge, 1989. Millett, Paul. “The Rhetoric of Reciprocity in Classical Athens.” Pages 227 – 53 in Reciprocity in Ancient Greece. Edited by Christopher Gill, Norman Postlethwaite, and Richard Seaford. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998. Mitchell, Alan C. “‘Greet the Friends by Name’: Greco-Roman Topos on Friendship.” Pages 225 – 62 in Greco-Roman Perspectives on Friendship. Edited by John T. Fitzgerald. SBLRBS 34. Atlanta: Scholars, 1997. Mitchell, Lynette G. “New for Old: Friendship Networks in Athenian Politics.” GR 63 (1996): 11 – 21. Mitchell, Margaret M. “Paul’s Letters to Corinth: The Interpretive Intertwining of Literary and Historical Reconstruction.” Pages 307 – 38 in Urban Religion in Roman Corinth: Interdisciplinary Approaches. Edited by Daniel N. Schowalter and Steven J. Friesen. HTS 53. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2005. Moffatt, James. Grace in the New Testament. New York: Long & Smith, 1932. Mommsen, Th. Römische Forschungen. 2 vols. Berlin: Weidman, 1864. Monroe, Kristen Renwick. “Explicating Altruism.” Pages 106 – 22 in Altruism and Altruistic Love: Science, Philosophy, and Religion in Dialogue. Edited by Stephen G. Post, Lynn G. Underwood, Jeffrey P. Schloss, and William B. Hurlbut. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002. Moo, Douglas J. The Epistle to the Romans. NICNT. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1996. Morgan, Teresa. Roman Faith and Christian Faith: Pistis and Fides in the Early Roman Empire and Early Churches. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015. Morley, Neville. “The Poor in the City of Rome.” Pages 21 – 39 in Poverty in the Roman World. Edited by Margaret Atkins and Robin Osborne. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006. Mossé, Claude. Les institutions politiques grecques à l’époque classique. Collection U2 28. Paris: Armand Colin, 1967. Mossé, Claude. Politique et société en Grèce ancienne: Le “modèle” Athénien. Paris: Flammarion, 1995.

General Works

377

Mott, Stephen Charles. “The Greek Benefactor and Deliverance from Moral Distress.” PhD diss., Harvard University, 1971. Mott, Stephen Charles. “The Power of Giving and Receiving: Reciprocity and Hellenistic Benevolence.” Pages 60 – 72 in Current Issues in Biblical and Patristic Interpretation: Studies in Honor of Merrill C. Tenney Presented by His Former Students. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1975. Mount, Christopher. “Belief, Gullibility, and the Presence of a God in the Early Empire.” Pages 85 – 106 in Credible, Incredible: The Miraculous in the Ancient Mediterranean. Edited by Tobias Nicklas and Janet E. Spittler. WUNT 321. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2013. Moxnes, Halvor. “Honor and Shame.” Pages 19 – 40 in The Social Sciences and New Testament Interpretation. Edited by Richard L. Rohrbaugh. Peabody: Hendrickson, 1996. Moxnes, Halvor. “Patron-Client Relations and the New Community in Luke-Acts.” Pages 241 – 68 in The Social World of Luke-Acts: Models for Interpretation. Edited by Jerome H. Neyrey. Peabody: Hendrickson, 1991. Mrozek, Stanisław. Les distributions d’argent et de nourriture dans les villes italiennes du Haut-Empire romain. Latomus 198. Brussels: Latomus, 1987. Muffs, Yochanan. Love and Joy: Law, Language and Religion in Ancient Israel. New York: The Jewish Theological Seminary of America, 1992. Müller, Ulrich B. Prophetie und Predigt im Neuen Testament: Formgeschichtliche Untersuchungen zur urchristlichen Prophetie. SNT 10. Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus Gerd Mohn, 1975. Munck, Johannes. Paul and the Salvation of Mankind. Translated by Frank Clarke. Richmond: John Knox, 1959. Muñiz Coello, Joaquín. “Attitudes and Responses to Disasters: The Graeco-Roman Records.” Pages 13 – 42 in Ancient Disasters and Crisis Management in Classical Antiquity. Edited by Toni Ñaco del Hoyo, Roger Riera, and Daniel Gómez-Castro. Akanthina 10. Gdánsk: Foundation for the Development of Gdánsk University, 2015. Murphy-O’Connor, Jerome. St. Paul’s Corinth: Texts and Archaeology. 3rd ed. Collegeville: Liturgical Press, 2002. Najjar, Mohammad, and Thomas E. Levy. “Condemned to the Mines: Copper Production and Christian Persecution.” BAR 37:6 (2011): 30 – 39. Narotzky, Susana. New Directions in Economic Anthropology. Anthropology, Culture and Society. London: Pluto, 1997. Nauta, Ruurd R. Poetry for Patrons: Literary Communication in the Age of Domitian. Mnemosyne Supplements 206. Leiden: Brill, 2002. Nautin, Pierre. Lettres et écrivains chrétiens des IIe et IIIe siècles. Patristica 2. Paris: Cerf, 1961. Nautin, Pierre, and Emanuela Prinzivalli. “Dionysius of Alexandria.” Encyclopedia of Ancient Christianity 1:715 – 16. Nesselrath, Heinz-Günther. Die attische Mittlere Komödie: Ihre Stellung in der antiken Literaturkritik und Literaturgeschichte. Untersuchungen zur antiken Literatur und Geschichte 36. Berlin: De Gruyter, 1990. Nesselrath, Heinz-Günther. Lukians Parasitendialog: Untersuchungen und Kommentar. Untersuchungen zur antiken Literatur und Geschichte 22. Berlin: De Gruyter, 1985. Neufeld, Edward. “The Prohibitions Against Loans at Interest in Ancient Hebrew Laws.” HUCA 26 (1955): 355 – 412.

378

Bibliography

Neyrey, Jerome H. “God, Benefactor and Patron: The Major Cultural Model for Interpreting the Deity in Greco-Roman Antiquity.” JSNT 27 (2005): 465 – 92. Neyrey, Jerome H. “Josephus’ Vita and the Encomium: A Native Model of Personality.” JSJ 25 (1994): 177 – 206. Neyrey, Jerome H. Render to God: New Testament Understandings of the Divine. Minneapolis: Fortress, 2004. Nicklas, T. “Ancient Christian Care for Prisoners: First and Second Centuries.” Acta Theologica Supplementum 23 (2016): 49 – 65. Nickle, Keith F. The Collection: A Study in Paul’s Strategy. SBT 48. Naperville: Allenson, 1966. Nicols, John. Civic Patronage in the Roman Empire. Mnemosyne Supplements 365. Leiden: Brill, 2014. Nicols, John. “Patrons of Provinces in the Early Principate: The Case of Bithynia.” ZPE 80 (1990): 101 – 8. Nicols, John. “Pliny and the Patronage of Communities.” Hermes 108 (1980): 365 – 85. Nijf, Onno M. van. The Civic World of Professional Associations in the Roman East. Dutch Monographs on Ancient History and Archaeology. Amsterdam: Gieben, 1997. Noble, Joshua. “Common Property, the Golden Age, and Empire in Acts 2:42 – 27 and 4:32 – 35.” PhD diss., The University of Notre Dame, 2018. Noethlichs, Karl Leo. “Korinth—ein ‘Aussenposten Roms’? Zur kirchengeschichtlichen Bedeutung des Bischofs Dionysius von Korinth.” Pages 232 – 47 in Hairesis: Festschrift für Karl Hoheisel zum 65. Geburtstag. Edited by Manfred Hutter, Wassilios Klein, and Ulrich Vollmer. JAC Ergänzungsband 34. Münster: Aschendorff, 2002. Nörr, Dieter. “Zur sozialen und rechtlichen Bewertung der freien Arbeit in Rom.” Zeitschrift der Savigny-Stiftung für Rechtsgeschichte: Romanistische Abteilung 82 (1965): 67 – 105. Novick, Tzvi. “Charity and Reciprocity: Structure of Benevolence in Rabbinic Literature.” HTR 105 (2012): 33 – 52. Oakes, Peter S. “Constructing Poverty Scales for Graeco-Roman Society: A Response to Steven Friesen’s ‘Poverty in Pauline Studies.’” JSNT 26 (2004): 367 – 71. Oakes, Peter S. “Economic Approaches: Scarce Resources and Interpretive Opportunities.” Pages 75 – 91 in Studying Paul’s Letters: Contemporary Perspectives and Methods. Edited by Joseph A. Marchal. Minneapolis: Fortress, 2012. Oakes, Peter S. “Methodological Issues in Using Economic Evidence in Interpretation of Early Christian Texts.” Pages 9 – 34 in Engaging Economics: New Testament Scenarios and Early Christian Reception. Edited by Bruce W. Longenecker and Kelly D. Liebengood. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2009. Oakes, Peter S. Reading Romans in Pompeii: Paul’s Letter at Ground Level. Minneapolis: Fortress, 2009. Oakman, Douglas E. Jesus and the Economic Questions of His Day. Studies in the Bible and Early Christianity 8. Lewinston, NY: Edwin Mellen, 1986. Oakman, Douglas E. “Models and Archaeology in the Social Interpretation of Jesus.” Pages 102 – 31 in Social Scientific Models for Interpreting the Bible: Essays by the Context Group in Honor of Bruce J. Malina. Edited by John J. Pilch. Biblical Interpretation Series 53. Leiden: Brill, 2001. O’Brien, Peter T. Colossians, Philemon. WBC 44. Dallas: Word Books, 1992. Ogereau, Julien M. “The Jerusalem Collection as Κοινωνία: Paul’s Global Politics of SocioEconomic Equality and Solidarity.” NTS 58 (2012): 360 – 78.

General Works

379

Ogereau, Julien M. Paul’s Koinonia with the Philippians: A Socio-Historical Investigation of a Pauline Economic Partnership. WUNT 2/377. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2014. Oliensis, Ellen. “The Erotics of Amicitia: Readings in Tibullus, Propertius, and Horace.” Pages 151 – 71 in Roman Sexualities. Edited by Judith P. Hallett and Marilyn B. Skinner. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1997. Olivier, Hannes. “God as Friendly Patron: Reflections on Isaiah 5:1 – 7.” IDS 30 (1996): 293 – 303. Olyan, Saul M. Friendship in the Hebrew Bible. ABRL. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2017. O’Mahony, Kieran J. Pauline Persuasion: A Sounding in 2 Corinthians 8 – 9. JSNTS 199. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2000. O’Neil, Edward N. “Plutarch on Friendship.” Pages 105 – 22 in Greco-Roman Perspectives on Friendship. Edited by John T. Fitzgerald. SBLRBS 34. Atlanta: Scholars, 1997. Osiek, Carolyn. “Archaeological and Architectural Issues and the Question of Demographic and Urban Forms.” Pages 83 – 103 in Handbook of Early Christianity: Social Science Approaches. Edited by Anthony J. Blasi, Jean Duhaime, and Paul-André Turcotte. Walnut Creek: Altamira, 2002. Osiek, Carolyn. “The Politics of Patronage and the Politics of Kinship: The Meeting of the Ways.” BTB 39 (2009): 143 – 52. Osiek, Carolyn. “The Ransom of the Captives: Evolution of a Tradition.” HTR 74 (1981): 365 – 86. Osiek, Carolyn. Rich and Poor in the Shepherd of Hermas: An Exegetical-Social Investigation. CBQMS 15. Washington: The Catholic Biblical Association of America, 1983. Osiek, Carolyn. Shepherd of Hermas: A Commentary. Edited by Helmut Koester. Hermeneia. Minneapolis: Fortress, 1999. Osiek, Carolyn, and Margaret Y. MacDonald. “Women Patrons in the Life of House Churches.” Pages 194 – 219 in Carolyn Osiek and Margaret Y. MacDonald with Janet H. Tulloch, A Woman’s Place: House Churches in Earliest Christianity. Minneapolis: Fortress, 2006. Osteen, Mark. “Introduction: Questions of the Gift.” Pages 1 – 41 in The Question of the Gift: Essays across Disciplines. Edited by Mark Osteen. Routledge Studies in Anthropology 2. London: Routledge, 2002. Osteen, Mark, ed. The Question of the Gift: Essays across Disciplines. Routledge Studies in Anthropology 2. London: Routledge, 2002. Pack, Roger. “The ‘Volatilization’ of Peregrinus Proteus.” AJP 67 (1946): 334 – 45. Parkin, Anneliese. “‘You Do Him No Service’: An Exploration of Pagan Almsgiving.” Pages 60 – 82 in Poverty in the Roman World. Edited by Margaret Atkins and Robin Osborne. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006. Parry, Jonathan. “The Gift, the Indian Gift and the ‘Indian Gift.’” Man 21 (1986): 453 – 73. Patsch, Hermann. “Die Prophetie des Agabus.” TZ 28 (1972): 228 – 32. Patterson, John R. “Crisis: What Crisis? Rural Change and Urban Development in Imperial Appennine Italy.” Paper of the British School at Rome 55 (1987): 115 – 46. Patterson, Orlando. Slavery and Social Death: A Comparative Study. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1982. Paul, Ellen Frankel, Fred D. Miller Jr., and Jeffrey Paul, eds. Altruism. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993. Pavis d’Escurac, Henriette. “Pline le Jeune et les lettres de recommandation.” Pages 55 – 69 in La mobilité sociale dans le monde romain: Actes du colloque organisé à Strasbourg

380

Bibliography

(novembre 1988) par l’Institut et le Groupe de Recherche d’Histoire Romaine. Edited by Edmond Frézouls. Strasbourg: AECR, 1992. Penner, Todd. In Praise of Christian Origins: Stephen and the Hellenists in Lukan Apologetic Historiography. Emory Studies in Early Christianity 10. New York: T&T Clark International, 2004. Perelli, Luciano. I Gracchi. Profili 19. Rome: Salerno, 1993. Peristiany, J. G., ed. Honour and Shame: The Values of Mediterranean Society. The Nature of Human Society. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1966. Peristiany, J. G., and Julian Pitt-Rivers, eds. Honor and Grace in Anthropology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992. Pervo, Richard I. Acts: A Commentary. Hermeneia. Minneapolis: Fortress, 2009. Pervo, Richard I. Dating Acts: Between the Evangelists and the Apologists. Santa Rosa: Polebridge, 2006. Pervo, Richard I. The Making of Paul: Constructions of the Apostle in Early Christianity. Minneapolis: Fortress, 2010. Pesch, Rudolf. Die Apostelgeschichte. 2 vols. EKK 5. Zürich: Benziger; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener, 1986. Peterman, G. W. Paul’s Gift from Philippi: Conventions of Gift-Exchange and Christian Giving. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997. Peterman, G. W. “Romans 15.26: Make a Contribution or Establish Fellowship?” NTS 40 (1994): 457 – 63. Pietras, Henryk. “Il fondamento ecclesiologico della posizione di Dionigi di Alessandria nella controversia battesimale.” Pages 199 – 210 in Recherches et tradition: Mélanges patristiques offerts à Henri Crouzel, s.j. Edited by André Dupleix. ThH 88. Paris: Beauchesne, 1992. Pietri, Charles. Roma christiana: Recherches sur l’Église de Rome, son organization, sa politique, son idéologie de Miltiade à Sixte III (311 – 440). 2 vols. Bibliothèque des écoles françaises d’Athènes et de Rome 224. Rome: École française de Rome, 1976. Pilhofer, Peter. “Das Bild der christlichen Gemeinden in Lukians Peregrinos.” Pages 97 – 110 in Lucian, Der Tod des Peregrinos: Ein Scharlatan auf dem Scheiterhaufen. Edited by Peter Pilhofer, Manuel Baumbach, Jens Gerlach, and Dirk Uwe Hansen. Sapere 9. Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2005. Pitt-Rivers, Julian. “Honor.” International Encyclopedia of Social Sciences 6:503 – 11. Pitt-Rivers, Julian. “Honour and Social Status.” Pages 19 – 77 in Honour and Shame: The Values of Mediterranean Society. Edited by J. G. Peristiany. The Nature of Human Society. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1966. Pitt-Rivers, Julian. “The Kith and the Kin.” Pages 89 – 105 in The Character of Kinship. Edited by Jack Goody. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1973. Pizzolato, Luigi. L’idea di amicizia nel mondo antico classico e cristiano. Filosofia 238. Torino: Einaudi, 1993. Pleins, J. David. The Social Vision of the Hebrew Bible: A Theological Introduction. Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2001. Plummer, Alfred. A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Second Epistle of St Paul to the Corinthians. ICC 34. Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1915.

General Works

381

Porter, Stanley E. “Paul of Tarsus and His Letters.” Pages 533 – 85 in Handbook of Classical Rhetoric in the Hellenistic Period: 330 B.C.–A.D. 400. Edited by Stanley E. Porter. Leiden: Brill, 1997. Post, Stephen G., Lynn G. Underwood, Jeffrey P. Schloss, and William B. Hurlbut, eds. Altruism and Altruistic Love: Science, Philosophy, and Religion in Dialogue. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002. Pouchet, Robert. Basile le grand et son univers d’amis d’après sa correspondance: Une stratégie de communion. SEAug 36. Rome: Institutum Patristicum Augustinianum, 1992. Pouchet, Robert. Vivre la communion dans l’Esprit Saint et dans l’Église: Études sur Basile de Césarée. Spiritualité orientale 92. Bégrolles en Mauges, France: Abbaye de Bellefontaine, 2014. Powell, Jonathan. “Friendship and Its Problems in Greek and Roman Thought.” Pages 31 – 44 in Ethics and Rhetoric: Classical Essays for Donald Russell on His Seventy-Fifth Birthday. Edited by Doreen Innes, Harry Hine, and Christopher Pelling. Oxford: Clarendon, 1995. Prell, Markus. Sozialökonomische Untersuchungen zur Armut im antiken Rom: Von den Gracchen bis Kaiser Diokletian. Beiträge zur Wirtschafts- und Sozialgeschichte 77. Stuttgart: Steiner, 1997. Premerstein, A. von. “Clientes.” PW 4:23 – 55. Propp, William H. C. Exodus. 2 vols. AB 2. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1974. Raccanelli, Renata. L’amicitia nelle commedie di Plauto. Scrinia 12. Bari: Edipuglia, 1998. Rachet, Marguerite. Rome et les Berbères: Un problème militaire d’Auguste à Dioclétien. Latomus 110. Brussels: Latomus, 1970. Rajak, Tessa. The Jewish Dialogue with Greece and Rome: Studies in Cultural and Social Interaction. AGJU 48. Leiden: Brill, 2001. Rajak, Tessa. Josephus: The Historian and His Society. 2nd ed. London: Duckworth, 2002. Ramelli, Ilaria L. E. “Lucian’s Peregrinus as Holy Man and Charlatan and the Construction of the Contrast between Holy Men and Charlatans in the Acts of Mari.” Pages 105 – 20 in Holy Men and Charlatans in the Ancient Novel. Edited by Stelios Panayotakis, Gareth Schmeling, and Michael Paschalis. Ancient Narrative Supplementum 19. Eelde: Barkhuis, 2015. Ramsay, W. M. St. Paul the Traveller and the Roman Citizen. New York: Putnam’s Sons, 1896. Ramsey, Boniface. “Almsgiving in the Latin Church: The Late Fourth and Early Fifth Centuries.” TS 43 (1982): 226 – 59. Rebell, Walter. Gehorsam und Unabhängigkeit: Eine sozialpsychologische Studie zu Paulus. München: Chr. Kaiser, 1986. Reden, Sitta von. Exchange in Ancient Greece. London: Duckworth, 1995. Reden, Sitta von. “The Commodification of Symbols: Reciprocity and Its Perversions in Menander.” Pages 255 – 78 in Reciprocity in Ancient Greece. Edited by Christopher Gill, Norman Postlethwaite, and Richard Seaford. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998. Reed, Jonathan L. Archaeology and the Galilean Jesus: A Re-Examination of the Evidence. Harrisburg: Trinity Press International, 2000. Rhee, Helen. Loving the Poor, Saving the Rich: Wealth, Poverty, and Early Christian Formation. Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2012. Rhodes, P. J. The Athenian Boule. Oxford: Clarendon, 1972.

382

Bibliography

Rhodes, P. J. “Democracy and Empire.” Pages 24 – 45 in The Cambridge Companion to the Age of Pericles. Edited by Loren J. Samons II. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007. Ribar, David C., and Mark O. Wilhelm. “Altruistic and Joy-of-Giving Motivations in Charitable Behavior.” Journal of Political Economy 110 (2002): 425 – 57. Rice, Joshua F. Paul and Patronage: The Dynamics of Power in 1 Corinthians. Eugene: Pickwick, 2013. Richard, Matthieu. Altruism: The Power of Compassion to Change Yourself and the World. Translated by Charlotte Mandell and Sam Gordon. New York: Little, Brown, and Company, 2015. Rickman, Geoffrey. The Corn Supply of Ancient Rome. Oxford: Clarendon, 1980. Riesner, Rainer. Paul’s Early Period: Chronology, Mission Strategy, Theology. Translated by Doug Stott. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998. Ritschl, Otto. Cyprian von Karthago und die Verfassung der Kirche: Eine kirchengeschichtliche und kirchenrechtliche Untersuchung. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1885. Robertson, Archibald, and Alfred Plummer. A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the First Epistle of St Paul to the Corinthians. ICC 33. Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1914. Robinson, Christopher. Lucian and His Influence in Europe. Chapel Hill: The University of North Carolina Press, 1979. Robinson, David. “Homeric φίλος: Love of Life and Limbs, and Friendship with One’s θυμός.” Pages 97 – 108 in “Owls to Athens”: Essays on Classical Subjects Presented to Sir Kenneth Dover. Edited by E.M. Craik. Oxford: Clarendon, 1990. Robinson, Donald Fay. “A Note on Acts 11:27 – 30.” JBL 63 (1944): 169 – 72. Rogers, Kelly. “Aristotle on Loving Another for His Own Sake.” Phronesis 39 (1994): 291 – 302. Rohrbaugh, Richard L. “Methodological Considerations in the Debate Over the Social Class Status of Early Christians.” JAAR 52 (1984): 519 – 46. Rollason, N. K. Gifts of Clothing in Late Antique Literature. London: Routledge, 2016. Roselaar, Saskia T. Public Land in the Roman Republic: A Social and Economic History of Ager Publicus in Italy, 396 – 89 BC. Oxford Studies in Roman Society and Law. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010. Rosenthal, Franz. “Sedaka, Charity.” HUCA 23 (1950 – 1951): 411 – 30. Rosivach, Vincent J. “Some Athenian Presuppositions about ‘The Poor.’” GR 38 (1991): 189 – 98. Rouland, Norbert. Pouvoir politique et dépendance personelle dans l’Antiquité romaine: Genèse et rôle des rapports de clientèle. Latomus 166. Brussels: Latomus, 1979. Rousseau, Philip. Basil of Caesarea. The Transformation of the Classical Heritage 20. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1994. Runia, David T. “The Idea and the Reality of the City in the Thought of Philo of Alexandria.” JHI 61 (2000): 361 – 79. Russell, R. “The Idle in 2 Thess 3.6 – 12: An Eschatological or a Social Problem.” NTS 34 (1988): 105 – 19. Ryder Smith, C. The Bible Doctrine of Grace and Related Doctrines. London: Epworth, 1956. Sage, Michael M. Cyprian. Patristic Monograph 1. Cambridge: The Philadelphia Patristic Foundation, 1975. Sahlins, Marshall. Stone Age Economics. Chicago: Aldine-Atherton, 1972.

General Works

383

Saller, Richard P. “Martial on Patronage and Literature.” CQ 33 (1983): 246 – 57. Saller, Richard P. “Patronage and Friendship.” Pages 49 – 62 in Patronage in Ancient Society. Edited by Andrew Wallace-Hadrill. London: Routledge, 1989. Saller, Richard P. Personal Patronage under the Early Empire. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1982. Salmon, E. T. Roman Colonization under the Republic. Aspects of Greek and Roman Life. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1970. Sänger, Dieter. “‘Jetzt aber fürcht auch das Tun zu Ende’ (2Kor 8,11): Die korinthische Gemeinde und die Kollekte für Jerusalem.” Pages 255 – 82 in Der zweite Korintherbrief: Literarische Gestalt—historische Situation—theologische Argumentation: Festschrift zum 70. Geburtstag von Dietrich-Alex Koch. Edited by Dieter Sänger. FRLANT 250. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2012. Sänger, Dieter, ed. Der zweite Korintherbrief: Literarische Gestalt—historische Situation— theologische Argumentation: Festschrift zum 70. Geburtstag von Dietrich-Alex Koch. FRLANT 250. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2012. Sampley, J. Paul. Pauline Partnership in Christ: Christian Community and Commitment in Light of Roman Law. Philadelphia: Fortress, 1980. Sampley, J. Paul, ed. Paul in the Greco-Roman World: A Handbook. 2 vols. Revised edition. London: Bloomsbury T&T Clark, 2016. Sanders, J. N. “Peter and Paul in Acts.” NTS 2 (1955): 133 – 43. Santirocco, Matthew S. “Horace and Augustan Ideology.” Arethusa 28 (1995): 225 – 43. Satlow, Michael L. “‘Fruit and Fruit of Fruit’: Charity and Piety among Jews in Late Antique Palestine.” JQR 100 (2010): 244 – 77. Satlow, Michael L. “Introduction.” Pages 1 – 11 in The Gift in Antiquity. Edited by Michael L. Satlow. The Ancient World: Comparative Histories. Malden: Wiley-Blackwell, 2013. Satlow, Michael L., ed. The Gift in Antiquity. The Ancient World: Comparative Histories. Malden: Wiley-Blackwell, 2013. Saumagne, Charles. Saint Cyprien évêque de Carthage “pape” d’Afrique (248 – 258): Contribution à l’étude des “persecutions” de Dèce et de Valérien. Preface by Jean Lassus. Études d’antiquités africaines. Paris: Éditions du Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique, 1975. Savalli-Lestrade, Ivana. “ΥΠΕΡ ΤΗΣ ΠΟΛΕΩΣ: Les intervenants étrangers dans la justice et dans la diplomatie des cités hellénistiques.” Cahiers du centre Gustave Glotz 23 (2012): 141 – 79. Sawicki, Marianne. Crossing Galilee: Architectures of Contact in the Occupied Land of Jesus. Harrisburg: Trinity Press International, 2000. Scheidel, Walter. “Stratification, Deprivation and Quality of Life.” Pages 40 – 59 in Poverty in the Roman World. Edited by Margaret Atkins and Robin Osborne. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006. Scheidel, Walter, and Steven J. Friesen. “The Size of the Economy and the Distribution of Income in the Roman Empire.” JRS 99 (2009): 61 – 91. Schellenberg, Ryan S. “Subsistence, Swapping, and Paul’s Rhetoric of Generosity.” JBL 137 (2018): 215 – 34. Schirren, Thomas. “Lukian über die KAINH TEΛETH der Christen (De morte peregrini 11).” Phil 149 (2005): 354 – 59.

384

Bibliography

Schmithals, Walter. “Die Kollekten des Paulus für die Christen in Jerusalem.” Pages 231 – 52 in Belehrter Glaube: Festschrift für Johannes Wirsching zum 65. Geburtstag. Edited by Elke Axmacher and Klaus Schwarzwäller. Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 1994. Schmitt Pantel, Pauline. La cité au banquet: Histoire des repas publics dans les cités grecques. Collection de l’École française de Rome 157. Rome: École française de Rome, 1992. Schroeder, Frederic M. “Friendship in Aristotle and Some Peripatetic Philosophers.” Pages 35 – 57 in Greco-Roman Perspectives on Friendship. Edited by John T. Fitzgerald. SBLRBS 34. Atlanta: Scholars, 1997. Schwartz, Eduard. “Zur Chronologie des Paulus.” Pages 124 – 69 in Eduard Scwhartz, Zum Neuen Testament und zum frühen Christentum. Vol. 1 of Gesammelte Schriften. Berlin: De Gruyter, 1963. Schwartz, Seth. “Euergetism in Josephus and the Epigraphic Culture of First-Century Jerusalem.” Pages 75 – 92 in From Hellenism to Islam: Cultural and Linguistic Change in the Roman Near East. Edited by Hanna M. Cotton et al. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009. Schwartz, Seth. “Josephus in Galilee: Rural Patronage and Social Breakdown.” Pages 290 – 306 in Josephus and the History of the Greco-Roman Period: Essays in Memory of Morton Smith. Edited by Fausto Parente and Joseph Sievers. StPB 41. Leiden: Brill, 1994. Schwartz, Seth. Were the Jews a Mediterranean Society? Reciprocity and Solidarity in Ancient Judaism. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2010. Scott, James. “Patronage or Exploitation?” Pages 21 – 39 in Patrons and Clients in Mediterranean Societies. Edited by Ernest Gellner and John Waterbury. London: Duckworth, 1977. Scott, Mary. “Charis from Hesiod to Pindar.” Acta Classica 27 (1984): 1 – 13. Scott, Mary. “Charis in Homer and the Homeric Hymns.” Acta Classica 26 (1983): 1 – 13. Seeligmann, Isac Leo. “Darlehen, Bürgschaft und Zins in Recht und Gedankenwelt der hebräischen Bibel.” Pages 319 – 48 in Gesammelte Studien zur Hebräischen Bibel. Edited by Erhard Blum. FAT 41. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2004. Segev, Mor. Aristotle on Religion. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2017. Sen, Amartya. Social Exclusion: Concept, Application, and Scrutiny. Social Development Papers 1. Manila: Asian Development Bank, 2000. Shatzman, Israël. Senatorial Wealth and Roman Politics. Latomus 142. Brussels: Latomus, 1975. Sherwin-White, A. N. “Patronage under the Principate.” Review of Personal Patronage under Early Empire, by Richard Saller. The Classical Review 33 (1983): 271 – 73. Shochat, Yanir. “The Lex Agraria of 133 B.C. and the Italian Allies.” Athenaeum 48 (1970): 25 – 45. Shochat, Yanir. Recruitment and the Programme of Tiberius Gracchus. Latomus 169. Brussels: Latomus, 1980. Silver, Morris. “Modern Ancients.” Pages 65 – 87 in Commerce and Monetary Systems in the Ancient World: Means of Transmission and Cultural Interaction. Edited by Robert Rollinger, Christoph Ulf, and Kordula Schnegg. Oriens et Occidens 6. Stuttgart: Franz Steiner, 2004. Silverman, Sydel. “Patronage as Myth.” Pages 7 – 19 in Patrons and Clients in Mediterranean Societies. Edited by Ernest Gellner and John Waterbury. London: Duckworth, 1977.

General Works

385

Simkins, Ronald A. “Patronage and the Political Economy of Monarchic Israel.” Semeia 87 (1997): 123 – 44. Simonetti, Manlio. “Antioch of Syria: Schism.” Encyclopedia of Ancient Christianity 1:155 – 56. Simonetti, Manlio. “Meletius of Antioch.” Encyclopedia of Ancient Christianity 2:756 – 57. Simonetti, Manlio. Studi sulla cristologia del II e III secolo. SEAug 44. Rome: Institutum Patristicum Augustinianum, 1993. Sober, Elliott, and David Sloan Wilson. Unto Others: The Evolution and Psychology of Unselfish Behavior. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1998. Sorek, Susan. Remembered for Good: A Jewish Benefaction System in Ancient Palestine. The Social World of Biblical Antiquity 5. Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix Press, 2010. Sperber, Daniel. Roman Palestine 200 – 400: The Land: Crisis and Change in Agrarian Society as Reflected in Rabbinic Sources. Bar-Ilan Studies in Near Eastern Languages and Culture. Ramat-Gan: Bar-Ilan University, 1978. Spickermann, Wolfgang. “Der brennende Herakles: Lukian von Samosata und ProteusPeregrinos.” Pages 111 – 32 in Martyriumsvorstellungen in Antike und Mittelalter: Leben oder sterben für Gott? Edited by Sebastian Fuhrmann and Regina Grundmann. Ancient Judaism and Early Christianity 80. Leiden: Brill, 2012. Spilsbury, Paul. “God and Israel in Josephus: A Patron-Client Relationship.” Pages 172 – 91 in Understanding Josephus: Seven Perspectives. Edited by Steve Mason. JSPSup 32. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1998. Stansell, Gary. “Gifts, Tributes, and Offerings.” Pages 349 – 64 in The Social Setting of Jesus and the Gospels. Edited by Wolfgang Stegemann, Bruce J. Malina, and Gerd Theissen. Minneapolis: Fortress, 2002. Starling, David I. “Meditations on a Slippery Citation: Paul’s Use of Psalm 112:9 in 2 Corinthians 9:9.” Journal of Theological Interpretation 6 (2012): 241 – 56. Ste Croix, G. E. M. de. The Class Struggle in the Greek World: From the Archaic Age to the Arab Conquests. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1981. Ste Croix, G. E. M. de. “Political Pay outside Athens.” CQ 25 (1975): 48 – 52. Ste Croix, G. E. M. de. “Suffragium: From Vote to Patronage.” The British Journal of Sociology 5 (1954): 33 – 48. Stegemann, Ekkehard W., and Wolfgang Stegemann. The Jesus Movement: A Social History of Its First Century. Minneapolis: Fortress, 1999. Stegemann, Wolfgang, Bruce J. Malina, and Gerd Theissen, eds. The Social Setting of Jesus and the Gospels. Minneapolis: Fortress, 2002. Stegman, Thomas D. “Paul’s Use of Scripture in the Collection Discourse (2 Corinthians 8 – 9).” Pages 153 – 169 in Biblical Essays in Honor of Daniel J. Harrington, SJ, and Richard J. Clifford, SJ: Opportunity for No Little Instruction. Edited by Christopher G. Frechette, Christopher R. Matthews, and Thomas D. Stegman. New York: Paulist, 2014. Stephens, William O. Stoic Ethics: Epictetus and Happiness as Freedom. Continuum Studies in Ancient Philosophy. London: Continuum, 2007. Sterling, Gregory E. Historiography and Self-Definition: Josephos, Luke-Acts and Apologetic Historiography. NovTSup 64. Leiden: Brill, 1991. Sterling, Gregory E. “Judaism between Jerusalem and Alexandria.” Pages 263 – 301 in Hellenism in the Land of Israel. Edited by John J. Collins and Gregory E. Sterling. Christianity and Judaism in Antiquity Series 13. Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 2001.

386

Bibliography

Stevenson, T. R. “The Ideal Benefactor and the Father Analogy in Greek and Roman Thought.” CQ 42 (1992): 421 – 36. Stevenson, T. R. “Social and Psychological Interpretations of Graeco-Roman Religion: Some Thoughts on the Ideal Benefactor.” Antichthon 30 (1996): 1 – 18. Still, Todd D. “Did Paul Loathe Manual Labor? Revisiting the Work of Ronald F. Hock.” JBL 125 (2006): 781 – 95. Still, Todd D., and David G. Horrell, eds. After the First Urban Christians: The Social-Scientific Study of Pauline Christianity Twenty-Five Years Later. London: T&T Clark, 2009. Stockton, David. The Gracchi. Oxford: Clarendon, 1979. Stoneman, Richard. “The Ideal Courtier: Pindar and Hieron in Pythian 2.” CQ 34 (1984): 43 – 49. Stowers, Stanley K. “Peri Men Gar and the Integrity of 2 Cor. 8 and 9.” NovT 32 (1990): 340 – 8. Straw, Carole E. “Cyprian and Mt 5:45: The Evolution of Christian Patronage.” StPatr 18 (1989): 329 – 39. Strecker, Georg. “Die sogenannte zweite Jerusalemreise des Paulus (Act 11:27 – 30).” ZNW 53 (1962): 67 – 77. Studer, Basil. “Dionysius, pope.” Encyclopedia of Ancient Christianity 1:715. Surburg, Raymond F. “Pauline Charis: A Philological, Exegetical, and Dogmatical Study.” CTM 29 (1958): 721 – 41. Syme, Ronald. The Roman Revolution. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1952. Tajfel, Henri, and Joseph P. Forgas. “Social Categorizarion: Cognitions, Values and Groups.” Pages 113 – 40 in Social Cognitions: Perspectives on Everyday Understanding. Edited by Joseph P. Forgas. European Monographs in Social Psychology 26. London: Academic Press, 1981. Talbert, Charles H. “Again: Paul’s Visits to Jerusalem.” NovT 9 (1967): 26 – 40. Tan, James. Power and Public Finance at Rome, 264 – 49 BCE. Oxford Studies in Early Empires. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2017. Tandoi, Vincenzo. “Giovenale e il mecenatismo a Roma fra I e II secolo.” Atene e Roma 23 (1968): 125 – 145. Tannehill, Robert C. The Narrative Unity of Luke-Acts: A Literary Interpretation. 2 vols. Foundations and Facets. Philadelphia: Fortress, 1986 – 1990. Taylor, Claire. Poverty, Wealth, and Well-Being: Experiencing Penia in Democratic Athens. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2017. Taylor, Lily Ross. Party Politics in the Age of Caesar. Sather Classical Lectures 22. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1949. Taylor, Nicholas. Paul, Antioch and Jerusalem: A Study in Relationships and Authority in Earliest Christianity. JSNTSup 66. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1992. Taylor, Walter F. Jr. “Cultural Anthropology as a Tool for Studying the New Testament.” Trinity Seminary Review 18.1 (1996): 13 – 27; 18.2 (1997): 69 – 82. Tcherikover, Victor. Hellenistic Civilization and the Jews. Philadelphia: The Jewish Publication Society of America, 1961. Teja, Ramon. “Die römische Provinz Kappadokien in der Prinzipatszeit.” ANRW 7.2:1083 – 124. Temin, Peter. The Roman Market Economy. The Princeton Economic History of the Western World. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2013.

General Works

387

Terzaghi, Nicola. “Eumolpo e Peregrino.” Pages 426 – 33 in Studi in onore di G. Funaioli. Rome: Signorelli, 1955. Testart, Alain. “Uncertainties of the ‘Obligation to Reciprocate: A Critique of Mauss.’” Pages 97 – 110 in Marcel Mauss: A Centenary Tribute. Edited by Wendy James and N.J. Allen. Methodology and History in Anthropology 1. New York: Berghahn, 1998. Theissen, Gerd. The Social Setting of Pauline Christianity: Essays on Corinth. Eugene: Wipf & Stock, 2004. Theobald, Michael. Die überströmende Gnade: Studien zu einem paulinischen Motivfeld. FB 22. Würzburg: Echter, 1982. Thiselton, Anthony C. The First Epistle to the Corinthians: A Commentary on the Greek Text. NIGTC. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans; Carlisle: Paternoster, 2000. Thom, Johan C. “‘Harmonious Equality’: The Topos of Friendship in Neopythagorean Writings.” Pages 77 – 103 in Greco-Roman Perspectives on Friendship. Edited by John T. Fitzgerald. SBLRBS 34. Atlanta: Scholars, 1997. Thomas, Rosalind. “Pisistratus.” OCD4 1151 – 52. Thomsen, Christian Ammitzbøll. “The Eranistai of Classical Athens.” GRBS 55 (2015): 154 – 75. Thraede, Klaus. “Gleichheit.” RAC 11:122 – 64. Thrall, Margaret E. A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Second Epistle to the Corinthians. 2 vols. ICC. London: T&T Clark, 1994 – 2000. Thrall, Margaret E. “The Offender and the Offence: A Problem Detection in 2 Corinthians.” Pages 65 – 78 in Scripture: Meaning and Method: Essays Presented to Anthony Tyrrell Hanson for His Seventieth Birthday. Edited by Barry P. Thompson. Hull: Hull University Press, 1987. Tibiletti, Gianfranco. “Il possesso dell’ager publicus e le norme de modo agrorum sino ai Gracchi.” Athenaeum 26 (1948): 173 – 236; 27 (1949): 3 – 41. Tibiletti, Gianfranco. “Ricerche di storia agraria romana.” Athenaeum 28 (1950): 183 – 266. Tigay, Jeffrey H. Deuteronomy. The JPS Torah Commentary. Philadelphia: The Jewish Publication Society, 1996. Torrance, Thomas F. The Doctrine of Grace in the Apostolic Fathers. Edinburgh: Oliver and Boyd, 1948. Torrey, Charles. The Composition and Date of Acts. HTS 1. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1916. Touloumakos, J. “Zum römischen Gemeindepatronat im griechischen Osten.” Hermes 116 (1988): 304 – 24. Treggiari, Susan. “Intellectuals, Poets and Their Patrons in the First Century B.C.” EMC 21 (1977): 24 – 29. Treggiari, Susan. “Urban Labour in Rome: Mercenarii and Tabernarii.” Pages 48 – 64 in NonSlave Labour in the Greco-Roman World. Edited by Peter Garnsey. Cambridge: Cambridge Philological Society, 1980. Trench, Richard Chevenix. Synonyms of the New Testament. London: Macmillan, 1871. Trisoglio, Francesco. “La lettera di raccomandazione nell’epistolario ciceroniano.” Latomus 43 (1984): 751 – 75. Tsetskhladze, Gocha R., and Franco De Angelis, eds. The Archaeology of Greek Colonisation: Essays Dedicated to Sir John Boardman. Oxford University Committee for Archaeology Monograph 40. Oxford: Oxford University Committee for Archaeology, 1994.

388

Bibliography

Uzukwu, Gesila Nneka. “The Poverty and Wealth of the Macedonians: A Grammatical and Rhetorical Analysis of 2 Cor 8:1 – 5.” Pages 319 – 30 in Theologizing in the Corinthian Conflict: Studies in the Exegesis and Theology of 2 Corinthians. Edited by Reimund Bieringer, Ma. Marilou Ibita, Dominika A. Kurek-Chomycz, and Thomas A. Vollmer. Biblical Tools and Studies 16. Leuven: Peeters, 2013. Van Veldhuizen, Milo. “Moses: A Model of Hellenistic Philanthropia,” Reformed Review 38 (1985): 215 – 24. Vassiliadis, Petros. “Equality and Justice in Classical Antiquity and in Paul: The Social Implications of the Pauline Collection.” SVTQ 36 (1992): 51 – 59. Verboven, Koenraad. The Economy of Friends: Economic Aspects of Amicitia and Patronage in the Late Republic. Latomus 269. Brussels: Latomus, 2002. Verboven, Koenraad. “Friendship among the Romans.” Pages 404 – 21 in The Oxford Handbook of Social Relations in the Roman World. Edited by Michael Peachin. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011. Verboven, Koenraad. “‘Like Bait on a Hook’: Ethics, Etics and Emics of Gift-Exchange in the Roman World.” Pages 135 – 53 in Gift Giving and the “Embedded” Economy in the Ancient World. Edited by Filippo Carlà and Maja Gori. Akademiekonferenzen 17. Heidelberg: Universitätsverlag Winter, 2014. Verbrugge, Verlyn D. Paul’s Style of Church Leadership Illustrated by His Instructions to the Corinthians on the Collection. San Francisco: Mellen Research University Press, 1992. Verbrugge, Verlyn D., and Keith R. Krell. Paul and Money: A Biblical and Theological Analysis of the Apostle’s Teachings and Practices. Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2015. Veyne, Paul. Bread and Circuses: Historical Sociology and Political Pluralism. Translated by Brian Pierce. London: Allen Lane, 1990. Visotzky, Burton L. “Goys ‘Я’n’t Us.” Pages 299 – 313 in Heresy and Identity in Late Antiquity. Edited by Eduard Iricinschi and Holger M. Zellentin. TSAJ 119. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2008. Vries, Wilhelm de. “Die Obsorge des hl. Basilius um die Einheit der Kirche im Streit mit Papst Damasus.” OCP 47 (1981): 55 – 86. Vyhmeister, Nancy Jean. “The Rich Man in James 2: Does Ancient Patronage Illumine the Text?” AUSS 33 (1995): 265 – 83. Wagner-Hasel, Beate. “Karl Bücher and the Birth of the Theory of Gift Giving.” Pages 51 – 69 in Gift Giving and the “Embedded” Economy in the Ancient World. Edited by Filippo Carlà and Maja Gori. Akademiekonferenzen 17. Heidelberg: Universitätsverlag Winter, 2014. Wallace, Daniel B. Greek Grammar beyond the Basics. Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1996. Wallace-Hadrill, Andrew, ed. Patronage in Ancient Society. London: Routledge, 1989. Wan, Sze-kar. “Collection for the Saints as Anticolonial Act: Implications of Paul’s Ethnic Reconstruction.” Pages 191 – 215 in Paul and Politics: Ekklesia, Israel, Imperium, Interpretation: Essays in Honor of Krister Stendahl. Edited by Richard A. Horsley. Harrisburg: Trinity, 2000. Watson, Deborah Elaine. “Paul’s Collection in Light of Motivations and Mechanisms for Aid to the Poor in the First-Century World.” PhD diss., University of Durham, 2006. Weber, Valentin. Die antiochenische Kollekte: Die übersehene Hauptorientierung für die Paulusforschung. Würzburg: Bauch, 1917. Wedderburn, A. J. M. “Paul’s Collection: Chronology and History.” NTS 48 (2002): 95 – 110.

General Works

389

Weeks, Stuart. “A Deuteronomistic Heritage in Tobit?” Pages 389 – 404 in Changes in Scripture: Rewriting and Interpreting Authoritative Traditions in the Second Temple Period. Edited by Hanne von Weissenberg, Juha Pakkala, and Marko Marttila. BZAW 419. Berlin: De Gruyter, 2011. Wees, Hans van. “Greed, Generosity and Gift-Exchange in Early Greece and the Western Pacific.” Pages 341 – 78 in After the Past: Essays in Ancient History in Honour of H.W. Pleket. Edited by Willem Jongman and Marc Kleijwegt. Mnemosyne Supplements 233. Leiden: Brill, 2002. Wees, Hans van. “The Law of Gratitude: Reciprocity in Anthropological Theory.” Pages 13 – 49 in Reciprocity in Ancient Greece. Edited by Christopher Gill, Norman Postlethwaite, and Richard Seaford. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998. Weihs, Alexander. “‘Gott liebt einen fröhlichen Geber’: Zur Strategie und Theologie paulinischer Spendenakquise in Korinth (2Kor 8 – 9).” Pages 164 – 88 in Das frühe Christentum und die Stadt. Edited by Reinhard von Bendemann and Markus Tiwald. BWANT 198. Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 2012. Weinfeld, Moshe. Social Justice in Ancient Israel and in the Ancient Near East. Publications of the Perry Foundation for Biblical Research in the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. Jerusalem: The Magnes Press, 1995. Welborn, L. L. An End to Enmity: Paul and the “Wrongdoer” of Second Corinthians. BZNW 85. Berlin: De Gruyter, 2011. Welborn, L. L. “Inequality in Roman Corinth: Evidence from Diverse Sources Evaluated by a Neo-Ricardian Model.” Pages 47 – 84 in Roman Corinth. Vol. 2 of The First Urban Churches. Edited by James R. Harrison and L. L. Welborn. Writings from the GrecoRoman World Supplement Series 8. Atlanta: SBL Press, 2016. Welborn, L. L. “The Polis and the Poor: Reconstructing Social Relations from Different Genres of Evidence.” Pages 189 – 243 in Methodological Foundations. Vol. 1 of The First Urban Churches. Edited by James R. Harrison and L. L. Welborn. Writings from the GrecoRoman World Supplement Series 7. Atlanta: SBL Press, 2015. Welborn, L. L. “‘That There May Be Equality’: The Contexts and Consequences of a Pauline Ideal.” NTS 59 (2013): 73 – 90. Westbrook, Raymond. “Patronage in the Ancient Near East.” JESHO 48 (2005): 210 – 33. Westbrook, Raymond. “Slave and Master in the Ancient Near Eastern Law.” Chicago-Kent Law Review 70 (1995): 1631 – 76. Wetter, Gillis P. Charis: Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte des altesten Christentums. Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1913. Wheatley, Alan B. Patronage in Early Christianity: Its Use and Transformation from Jesus to Paul of Samosata. Princeton Theological Monographs Series. Eugene, Pickwick, 2011. Whelan, Caroline F. “Amica Pauli: The Role of Phoebe in the Early Church.” JSNT 49 (1993): 67 – 85. White, Peter. “Amicitia and the Profession of Poetry in Early Imperial Rome.” JRS 68 (1978): 74 – 92. White, Peter. “Positions for Poets in Early Imperial Rome.” Pages 50 – 66 in Literary and Artistic Patronage in Ancient Rome. Edited by Barbara K. Gold. Austin: University of Texas Press, 1982. White, Peter. Promised Verse: Poets in the Society of Augustan Rome. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1993.

390

Bibliography

Whitehead, David. The Ideology of the Athenian Metic. Cambridge: Cambridge Philological Society, 1977. Whitley, W. T., ed. The Doctrine of Grace. New York: Macmillan, 1932. Whittaker, C. R. “The Poor.” Pages 272 – 99 in The Romans. Edited by Andrea Giardina. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1993. Wiedemann, Thomas. “The Patron as Banker.” Pages 12 – 27 in “Bread and Circuses”: Euergetism and Municipal Patronage in Roman Italy. Edited by Kathryn Lomas and Tim Cornell. London: Routledge, 2003. Wilk, Richard R., and Lisa Cliggett. Economies and Cultures: Foundations of Economic Anthropology. 2nd ed. Boulder: Westview, 2007. Williams, Bernard. Shame and Necessity. Sather Classical Lectures 57. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2008. Williams, Francis E. “Is Almsgiving the Point of the ‘Unjust Steward’?” JBL 83 (1964): 293 – 97. Williams, Gordon. “Phases in Political Patronage of Literature in Rome.” Pages 3 – 27 in Literary and Artistic Patronage in Ancient Rome. Edited by Barbara K. Gold. Austin: University of Texas Press, 1982. Williams, Gordon. “Poetry in the Moral Climate of Augustan Rome.” JRS 52 (1962): 28 – 46. Williams, Gordon. Tradition and Originality in Roman Poetry. Oxford: Clarendon, 1968. Williams, Rowan. “Does It Make Sense to Speak of Pre-Nicene Orthodoxy?” Pages 1 – 23 in The Making of Orthodoxy: Essays in Honour of Henry Chadwick. Edited by Rowan Williams. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989. Williams, Travis B. Good Works in 1 Peter: Negotiating Social Conflict and Christian Identity in the Greco-Roman World. WUNT 337. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2014. Willis, J. R. “Collection.” Dictionary of the Apostolic Church 1:223 – 25. Windisch, Hans. Der zweite Korintherbrief. 9th ed. KEK 6. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1924. Winger, M. “From Grace to Sin: Names and Abstractions in Paul’s Letters.” NovT 41 (1999): 145 – 75. Winter, Bruce W. “Acts and Food Shortages.” Pages 59 – 78 in The Book of Acts in Its GraecoRoman Setting. Edited by David W. J. Gill and Conrad Gempf. The Book of Acts in Its First Century Setting 2. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1994. Winter, Bruce W. After Paul Left Corinth: The Influence of Secular Ethics and Social Change. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2001. Winter, Bruce W. Philo and Paul among the Sophists: Alexandrian and Corinthian Responses to a Julio-Claudian Movement. 2nd ed. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2002. Winter, Bruce W. Seek the Welfare of the City: Christians as Benefactors and Citizens. FirstCentury Christians in the Graeco-Roman World. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans; Carlisle: Paternoster, 1994. Wiseman, T. P. “Pete nobiles amicos: Poets and Patrons in Late Republican Rome.” Pages 28 – 49 in Literary and Artistic Patronage in Ancient Rome. Edited by Barbara K. Gold. Austin: University of Texas Press, 1982. Wodka, Andrzej. Una teologia biblica del dare nel contesto della colletta paolina (2Cor 8 – 9). Tesi Gregoriana: Serie teologia 68. Rome: Pontificia università Gregoriana, 2000. Woodburn, James. “‘Sharing Is Not a Form of Exchange’: An Analysis of Property-Sharing in Immediate-Return Hunter-Gatherer Societies.” Pages 48 – 63 in Property Relations:

General Works

391

Renewing the Anthropological Tradition. Edited by C. M. Hann. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998. Woodhull, Margaret L. “Matronly Patrons in the Early Roman Empire: The Case of Salvia Postuma.” Pages 75 – 91 in Women’s Influence on Classical Civilization. Edited by Fiona McHardy and Eireann Marshall. London: Routledge, 2004. Woolf, Greg. Becoming Roman: The Origins of Provincial Civilization in Gaul. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998. Woolf, Greg. “Food, Poverty and Patronage: The Significance of the Epigraphy of the Roman Alimentary Schemes in Early Imperial Italy.” Papers of the British School at Rome 58 (1990): 197 – 228. Woolf, Greg. “Writing Poverty in Rome.” Pages 83 – 99 in Poverty in the Roman World. Edited by Margaret Atkins and Robin Osborne. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006. Wycombe Gomme, Arnold, Tim J. Cornell, and P. J. Rhodes. “Solon.” OCD4 1380 – 81. Yakobson, Alexander. Elections and Electioneering in Rome: A Study in the Political System of the Late Republic. Historia 128. Stuttgart: Franz Steiner, 1999. Yona, Sergio. Epicurean Ethics in Horace: The Psychology of Satire. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2018. Zeller, Dieter. Juden und Heiden in der Mission des Paulus: Studien zum Römerbrief. FB 1. Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1973. Zetzel, James E. G. “The Poetics of Patronage in the Late First Century B.C.” Pages 87 – 102 in Literary and Artistic Patronage in Ancient Rome. Edited by Barbara K. Gold. Austin: University of Texas Press, 1982. Ziegler, Konrat. “Plutarchos.” PW 21.1 (1951): 636 – 962.

Index of Names Abramowski, Luise 325 Achtemeier, Paul J. 212, 282 Adams, Edward 180 Adkins, Arthur W. H. 73, 120 Alföldy, Géza 48, 73, 88 Algra, Keimpe 97 Allison, Dale C. 248 Allo, E.-B. 183, 186, 190, 195 – 196, 199, 202 – 203, 215, 235 – 236, 238, 246, 260, 263 Amand de Mendieta, Emmanuel 326 Ameling, Walter 106 Anderson, Gary A. 160 – 162, 164, 231 Anderson, Graham 293 – 294 Andreoni, James 118 Aneziri, Sophia 260 Angstenberger, Pius 232 Annas, Julia 123 Antony, Binz 227, 246, 250 Arnold, Eckhart 27 Arzt-Grabner, Peter 188, 201 Ascough, Richard S. 15, 257 Asmis, Elizabeth 207 Aune, David E. 287 – 288 Aviam, Mordechai 103 Bachmann, Michael 181 Bachmann, Philipp 198 Badian, E. 43, 48, 51, 62, 73, 88, 139 Bagnani, Gilbert 42, 293, 295 Bakhos, Carol 103 Balbo, Andrea 323 Balch, David L. 180 Baldwin, Barry 295 – 297 Balot, Ryan K. 201 Barclay, John M. G. 14, 19, 27, 31, 158, 192, 225 – 226, 231, 235, 254, 274 Barlow, Kathleen 31 – 32 Barrett, C. K. 183, 189, 192, 194 – 195, 199, 235 – 236, 238, 246, 249, 266, 286 – 288, 290 – 292 Bartlet, Vernon 177 Bartor, Assnat 149 – 150 https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110723946-011

Bassler, Jouette M. 5, 156, 200, 202, 227 Batson, C. Daniel 27 Batten, Alicia 52, 55, 57 Bauckham, Richard 176 Bauer, Walter 306, 308, 310 – 311, 331 Bauman, Richard A. 323 Baumbach, Manuel 296 Beare, Frank W. 282 Becker, Eve-Marie 275 Beckheuer, Burkhard 9, 183, 246, 250, 276 Bellandi, Franco 69, 74, 81 – 82, 99 – 100 Benoit, Pierre 282, 285 Berchman, Robert M. 121, 271 Berger, Klaus 6 – 7, 160, 225, 248 Bernays, Jacob 293 Bernstein, Alvin H. 138 Bertelli, Lucio 29, 71, 121 Bethune-Baker, J. F. 324 Betz, Hans Dieter 7 – 8, 183, 185, 188 – 190, 194 – 195, 203, 205 – 206, 215, 230, 239, 241, 243, 246, 248 – 249, 267 – 268, 275, 294 – 298 Beutler, Johannes 204 Bickermann, Elias 103 Bienert, Wolfgang A. 313 Bitto, Irma 88 Blanton, Thomas R. 30, 202, 250 Blau, Peter M. 26 – 27 Boardman, John 136 Bobertz, Charles Arnold 319 Bobzien, Susanne 208 Bockmuehl, Markus 290 Bodéüs, Richard 97 Boer, Roland 93, 101, 149 Boers, Hendrikus 225 Bolkestein, Hendrik 14, 29, 70, 75, 115 – 116, 121, 137, 139 – 142, 144, 155 – 157, 183, 323 Bolton, David 265 Bompaire, J. 294, 296 – 297 Bormann, Lukas 44, 46, 48, 57 Bourdieu, Pierre 33

Index of Names

Bowditch, Phebe Lowell 30, 52, 128, 130 – 131, 134 Bowen, Clayton R. 4 Bradley, Guy 136 Brändle, Rudolf 233, 235 Braund, David 88, 90 – 91 Brent, Allen 319, 321 Briones, David E. 174, 237, 241 – 242 Brown, Peter 158, 319 Brox, Norbert 165 – 167, 216 Bruce, F. F. 4, 177, 245, 284 Bruehler, Bart B. 190, 199, 207, 210, 218, 246, 270 Bruhns, Hinnerk 137, 139 – 141 Brunt, P. A. 43, 48, 50 – 51, 54, 67, 72 – 73, 88, 95, 114, 120, 122, 136 Buchanan, George Wesley 234 Buchanan, James J. 142 – 144 Buck, Charles H. Jr. 285 Buell, Denise Kimber 158, 167 Bürge, Alfons 146 – 148 Burns, J. Patout Jr. 313, 315, 319 Burton, Paul J. 121 – 122, 126 Cadbury, Henry J. 288 Campbell, Douglas 176 Campbell, Joan Cecelia 174 Campbell, R. Alastair 292 Canali De Rossi, Filippo 58 Carcopino, Jérome 138 Carlà, Filippo 1 Carriker, Andrew 301 – 302 Cartledge, Paul 59 Caster, Marcel 293 – 297 Catchpole, David R. 176, 282, 290 Cavallera, Ferdinand 325 Cecchet, Lucia 71, 86, 144, 156 – 157 Cerfaux, Lucien 225 Chambers, M. H. 85 – 86 Champlin, Edward 66 Chancey, Mark A. 103 Chaney, Marvin L. 93 Chang, Steven S. H. 11 – 13, 20, 30, 176, 178, 201, 214, 227, 230, 279 Chastel, Étienne 201 Cheal, David 11, 26, 33 – 34 Chianotis, Angelos 77, 237

393

Chirichigno, Gregory C. 93, 151 Chow, John K. 54, 81, 174, 258, 277 Christ, Karl 138 – 139 Christensen, Duane L. 217 Clarke, Andrew D. 76, 89 Clarke, G. W. 40, 317 – 321, 328 Classen, Carl Joachim 8 Clemen, Carl 282 Cliggett, Lisa 23 Cloud, Duncan 59, 100 – 101 Collins, John J. 103 Collins, Raymond F. 198 Colpaert, Sabien 44 Colton, Robert E. 63 – 64 Concannon, Cavan W. 22, 300 – 301, 303 – 305, 307 – 312 Coneybeare, F. C. 314 Connor, W. Robert. 86 Conway, Colleen M. 239 Conzelmann, Hans 118, 288 Cooper, John M. 45 Cornell, Tim J. 248 Corley, Jeremy 120 Countryman, L. Wm. 158, 169, 184, 251, 280, 298 Craddock, Fred B. 233, 235 – 236 Crampon, Monique 79, 101 Cranfield, C. E. B. 181, 209, 225, 235 – 236, 238, 249, 257, 259 Crook, Zeba A. 31 – 32, 55, 57, 104 Crossan, John Dominic 103 Croteau, David A. 185 Dahl, Nils Alstrup 176, 183, 200, 278 D’Alès, A. 313 Damon, Cynthia 47, 57, 60, 64 – 67, 69, 72, 79 – 82, 96 Dandeker, Christopher 45, 52, 72 Danker, Frederick W. 43, 57, 96, 109, 173 – 174, 236, 241, 260, 308 D’Arms, John 64 Davids, Peter H. 178, 183, 228, 250 Davies, John K. 92 Davies, W. D. 248 Davis, John 28, 34 – 37, 39, 52, 112, 224, 335, 340 De Angelis, Franco 136

394

Index of Names

De Lacey, D. R. 283 De Sanctis, Dino 128 De Virgilio, Giuseppe 263, 265, 278 Decharneux, Baudouin 294 Deissmann, Adolf 253 Demand, Nancy H. 136 Deniaux, Élizabeth 43, 46, 50, 57, 62 – 63, 87 – 92 Derrida, Jacques 33 DeSilva, David A. 44, 60, 63, 115 – 117, 174 DeVore, David J. 303, 305 – 307, 315 – 316 Dibelius, Martin 282 Dittmann, Herbert 225 Dixon, Suzanne 29, 43 – 44, 97, 146, 148 Dobbin, Robert F. 207 Dockx, S. 282 Dodd, C. H. 183 Dodds, E. R. 73 Dombrowski, Daniel A. 100 Donahue, Paul 183, 200, 278 Donfried, Karl P. 204 Dörrie, Heinrich 225 Doughty, Darrel J. 225 Douglas, Mary 1, 28, 36, 254 Downs, David J. 5, 10, 15 – 16, 21, 52, 154, 160 – 166, 177, 182, 190, 195, 202, 206, 227, 230 – 231, 238, 248, 250, 256 – 257, 268, 284, 289 Driver, S. R. 217 Drudi, Elisabetta 98 Drummond, Andrew 48 Duncan-Jones, Richard 140 Dunn, James D. G. 178, 181, 183, 211, 236, 260 Dupont, Jacques 284 – 285 Earl, D. C. 138 Eastman, Brad 225 Eck, Werner 89 Eckert, Jost 177, 278 Edlund, Ingrid E. M. 57, 72 Edwards, M. J. 292, 296 – 297 Edzard, Dietz Otto 93 Eilers, Claude 44, 46 – 47, 52, 55, 58 – 59 Eisenstadt, S. N. 26, 48, 52 – 53, 62 – 63, 76, 90 Elliott, John H. 43, 174, 212

Elliott, Neil. 211 Ellis-Evans, Aneurin 77, 320 – 321, 324 Elmer, Ian J. 176 Elster, Jon 27 Engberg-Pedersen, Troels 60 Engels, David 44 Engfer, Katrin 57, 74, 88, 90, 139, 141 – 142, 179 Erdkamp, Paul 140, 288 Erskine, Andrew 58 Evans, Craig E. 218 Fahey, Michael Andrew 322 – 323 Fantham, Elaine 99 Fee, Gordon D. 224 Feldman, Louis H. 103 Fentress, Elizabeth 136 Ferguson, Everett 311, 313 Ferguson, John 120, 125, 323 Ferrary, Jean-Louis 58 – 59 Finley, M. I. 11, 28 – 29, 59, 70, 91, 121, 135, 137, 142, 147 Finn, Richard 155, 158 – 159, 165, 172, 254 Fiore, Benjamin 120, 122, 127 Fishbane, Michael 150 Fisher, N. R. E. 74 Fitzgerald, John T. 44, 67 – 68, 95, 97, 117, 120, 122, 126, 141, 151, 155 – 157, 218, 238 Fitzmyer, Joseph. A. 200, 211, 258, 287, 290 – 292 Forbis, Elizabeth P. 44 Forgas, Joseph P. 253 Fornara, Charles W. 85 – 86 Foster, George M. 72 Fowl, Stephen E. 229, 238 – 239 Fowler, Don P. 98 Fowler, Peta G. 98 Franklin, Wilbur M. 3 – 4, 187, 278, 337 Friesen, Steven J. 5, 10, 13, 17, 20 – 21, 38, 166, 178 – 181, 184, 220, 253 Frymer-Kensky, Tikva 151 Fuks, Alexander 144 Funk, Robert W. 282, 285 Furnish, Victor Paul. 189 – 190, 195, 199, 201, 203, 215, 237 – 238, 240, 246, 263, 270 – 271

Index of Names

Gabrielsen, Vincent 145 Gallant, Thomas W. 43, 45, 60 – 62, 65, 69, 73, 120 – 121, 271 Galloway, Lincoln E. 206 Gamble, Harry Y. 301 – 302 Gamoran, Hillel. 151 Gapp, Kenneth Sperber 284, 288 Gargola, Daniel J. 136 – 140 Garnsey, Peter 38, 44 – 45, 51, 58, 69, 87, 91, 137, 140 – 141, 144, 193, 287 – 288 Garrido-Hory, Marguerite 59, 63, 67, 76, 80, 83, 100 Garrison, Roman 155, 158, 160 – 161, 252 Gaston, Lloyd 176 Gauthier, Philippe 43, 55, 92, 143 Gaventa, Beverly Roberts 189, 225, 227, 238, 289 Gelzer, Matthias 43, 49, 90, 114, 120 Georgi, Dieter 4 – 5, 177 – 178, 181 – 182, 190, 200, 206 – 207, 227, 233, 236 – 237, 243, 246, 264 – 266, 278, 284 Gernet, Louis 70, 72 Giambrone, Anthony 152 – 153, 168 Giet, Stanislas 284 – 285, 326 Gilbert, Maurice 151, 163 Gill, Christopher 26, 30 Gilmore, David D. 73 Goguel, Maurice 4, 176, 199, 202 – 203 Gold, Barbara K. 47, 128 – 134 Goldhill, Simon 120 Goodenough, Ward H. 125 Goodman, Martin 79, 102 – 103, 151 Gordon, Barry 176, 183 Gori, Maja 1 Gottesman, Alex 38, 157 Gould, Michael 176 Gouldner, Alvin W. 25, 27, 209 Graham, A. J. 136 Grant, Robert M. 5, 313 Graver, Margaret 119 Gray, Alyssa M. 158, 252 Gregory, Bradley C. 152, 162 – 164, 190, 231 Gregory, C. A. 9 Gribomont, Jean 326 Griffin, Miriam T. 12, 44, 54, 56, 96 – 98 Griffith, Gary Webster 13, 217, 225 – 227, 248

395

Gruen, Erich S. 105 Grundmann, Walter 206, 225 Gustafson, Mark 304 Gustafsson, B. 306 Gygax, Marc Domingo 30, 44, 54 – 56, 59, 70, 76 – 77, 85 – 87, 92, 113, 116, 143, 145 Haenchen, Ernst 282, 291 Hahn, István 71 Hall, Jennifer 295 – 296 Halperin, David M. 69 Hamel, Gildas 70, 183 Hamilton, Jeffries M. 93 Hands, A. R. 28 – 29, 62, 75, 86, 96, 120, 144, 183, 288, 323 Hann, Chris 23, 31, 34 Hansen, Dirk Uwe 296 Hansen, Mogens Herman 142 Hanson, Anthony Tyrrell 246 – 247 Hardie, Alex 128, 130 – 131 Harnack, Adolf von 6, 21 – 22, 40, 280, 296, 300 – 302, 309, 311, 315, 331 – 332 Harrington, Daniel J. 310 Harris, Marvin 125 Harris, Murray J. 192, 198, 203 Harris, William V. 79, 100 Harrison, James R. 12 – 13, 18, 30, 38, 106, 108 – 109, 114 – 116, 190, 206, 209 – 210, 215, 226 – 227, 230, 236 – 238, 250, 254, 256, 259, 264, 274 Hart, Keith 34 Hartmann, Elke 66 Hartog, Paul A. 310 Häusl, Maria 160 Hays, Christopher M. 158 – 159 Hays, Richard B. 191, 243, 274 Heiligenthal, Roman 157, 160 – 162 Heinrici, Georg 198 Hemelrijk, Emily A. 44, 128, 131 Hendrix, Holland 54, 56 Hengel, Martin 103, 284, 290, 292 Héring, Jean 184, 186 – 187, 189, 197, 263, 270 – 271 Herman, Gabriel 121 Hermon, Ethella 137 – 139 Hewitt, Joseph William 114

396

Index of Names

Hezser, Catherine 30, 109 – 110, 121 Hiers, Richard H. 168 Hill, David 287 Hinnant, Charles H. 102 Hirzel, Rudolf 267 Hobbs, T. R. 101 Hock, R. E. 206, 258 Hodkinson, Stephen 59, 138 Holl, Karl 3, 181, 257, 278 Holladay, Carl R. 286 Holman, Susan R. 155, 169, 191, 252 Holmberg, Bengt 176, 178, 183, 257, 278 Holtzmann, Oscar 283 Hooker, M. D. 236 Hoppe, Leslie J. 149, 151 Hopwood, Keith 69 Horn, Friedrich Wilhelm 285, 290 – 292 Hornblower, Simon 86 Hornsby, Hazel M. 296 Horrell, David G. 177, 180, 238, 264, 274 Horsley, Richard A. 11, 17, 150, 176 Houston, Walter J. 101, 152 Howgego, Christopher 103 Hurlbut, William B. 27 Hurtado, Larry W. 176 – 177, 245 Hurwitz, Avi 160 Inwood, Brad 44, 56 Iori, Renato 187, 236, 241, 266 Jardine, Nick 125 Jeffers, James S. 167 Jennings, Mark A. 16, 210, 214 Jeremias, Joachim 183, 282, 284 Jervell, Jacob 284 Jewett, Robert 182, 209, 242, 244, 249, 257 – 259, 283 Johnson, David 117 Johnson, Luke Timothy 268, 282, 292 Johnson, Terry 45, 52, 72 Jones, C. P. 60, 293, 295 – 297 Jones, Francis L. 80 Jongkind, Dirk 180 Jongman, Willem 140 Jonkers, E. J. 267 Joosten, Jan 152 Jope, James 69

Joubert, Stephan J. 9 – 11, 13 – 14, 18, 30, 44, 52, 54 – 57, 59, 116, 176, 182 – 183, 185 – 186, 189, 194, 209, 214, 227, 246, 252, 254, 256 – 257, 259, 263, 271 Judge, E. A. 20 – 21, 32, 253 Junod, Éric 306 Kallet, Lisa 142 Karavas, Orestis 297 Keck, Leander E. 176, 182 Keener, Craig S. 285 – 286 Kennedy, George A. 7 Keppie, Lawrence 136 Keresztes, Paul 319 Kidd, Reggie M. 58 Kim, Byung-Mo 7, 186, 189 – 190, 195 – 196, 203, 240, 245 – 247, 249, 268, 271 Kirk, Alan 31 – 32 Kirner, Guido O. 53 Kirsten, Ernst 328 Klein, Hans 182 – 183, 226, 241, 246, 275 Kloppenborg, John S. 15, 104, 184, 200, 230, 255, 288 Knoch, Otto 225 Knox, John 5, 282 – 284, 286 Koch, Dietrich-Alex 5 Koenig, John 255 Koester, Helmut 306 Kolm, Serge-Christophe 23 Konstan, David 27, 38, 69, 82, 114 – 116, 119 – 127, 155, 183, 270 Köstenberger, Andreas J. 185 Krell, Keith 5, 174, 177, 202, 222, 246, 264, 278 Kroll, Wilhelm 120 Kühnert, Wilhelm 301 – 302, 305, 309 LaFleur, Richard A. 82 – 83, 98, 100, 126 Laidlaw, Lames 28 Lake, Kirsopp 282, 288 Lambrecht, Jan 198, 235, 275 – 276, 278 Lampe, Peter 8, 44, 49, 51, 62 – 63, 304 – 305 Lapin, Hayim 148 Laurence, Ray 101 Lausberg, Heinrich 175 Lawlor, Hugh Jackson 301

Index of Names

Le Boulluec, Alain 310 Le Gall, J. 49, 63 Lemche, Niels Peter 101 Leunissen, Paul M. M. 89 Leutzsch, Martin 165, 167 Levenson, Jon D. 114 Levi, Mario Attilio 80, 101 Lévi-Strauss, Claude 20, 27, 102 Levy, Thomas E. 304 Leyerle, Blake 166, 254 Li Causi, Pietro 242 Lietzmann, Hans 191, 198, 202, 215, 235 – 236, 238, 245, 263 – 264 Lightfoot, J. B. 245, 282 Lindemann, Andreas 4, 274, 278 Ling, Timothy J. M. 176 Lintott, Andrew William 73, 138 – 140 Lipset, David M. 31 – 32 Lohfink, Norbert 149 Lohse, Eduard 211 Long, A. A. 57, 207 – 208 Longenecker, Bruce W. 11, 145, 158, 175 – 181, 184, 187, 190, 193, 195, 220, 239, 253 Longenecker, Richard N. 242 Longo, Oddone. 147 Lowe, Bruce A. 54, 58 Lüdemann, Gerd 282 – 283, 285, 287 Mac Mahon, Ardle 179 Macatangay, Francis M. 161 MacDonald, Margaret Y. 44 Macé, Caroline 169, 191 MacGillivray, Erlend D. 14, 46, 53, 56 – 57, 102, 105 – 106, 155, 174 Mack, Burton L. 103 MacLachlan, Bonnie 114 MacMullen, Ramsay 14, 103, 106, 136 Malherbe, Abraham J. 198, 204, 246, 253 Malina, Bruce J. 72, 191 – 192, 239 Malinowski, Bronislaw 23 – 25, 30 Maloney, Robert P. 146, 151, 153 Mansbach, A. Rhoda 66 Marache, R. 64 Marek, Christian 328 Marguerat, Daniel 287 Markschies, Christoph 103

397

Marshall, Jonathan 46, 54 – 55, 60 – 61, 103 – 104, 106 Marshall, Peter 30, 113 – 114, 173 – 174 Martin, Dale B. 179, 209 Martin, Ralph P. 186, 187 – 188, 190, 195 – 196, 198 – 199, 215, 267 Martin, Troy W. 8 Martin Jones, Arnold Hugh 314 Matthews, Victor H. 102 Matz, Brian J. 169, 191 Mauss, Marcel 9 – 10, 24 – 25, 28 – 33, 55, 115, 174, 254 May, James M. 49 McCant, Jerry W. 211 McGuire, Martin R. P. 156 Meeker, Michael E. 31 – 32 Meeks, Wayne A. 15, 167, 180 – 181, 253 Meggitt, Justin J. 43, 112, 178 – 179, 181 – 182, 186, 190, 193, 245, 253, 263, 271 Meier, John P. 234 Melick, Richard R. Jr. 238, 241, 264 Meshorer, Y. 104 Michaels, J. Ramsey. 212 Michel, Jacques 146 Middleton, Paul 225 Migeotte, Léopold 77, 85 Millar, Fergus 46, 48, 88, 103 Miller, Fred D. Jr. 27 Millett, Paul 52, 58, 60, 64, 72, 84, 86, 91 – 92, 95, 99, 120, 123, 143, 146 – 147 Mitchell, Alan C. 82 Mitchell, Lynette G. 120 Mitchell, Margaret M. 199, 210, 214 Moffatt, James 225 Mommsen, Th. 43 Monroe, Kristen Renwick 26 Moo, Douglas J. 182, 258 Morgan, Teresa 61 – 62 Morley, Neville 74 Morris, Ian 137, 288 Mossé, Claude 86, 142 – 143 Mott, Stephen Charles 57, 114, 117 Mount, Christopher 299 Moxnes, Halvor 43, 52, 63, 74, 173 Mrozek, Stanisław 49, 140 Muffs, Yochanan 186, 251 Müller, Ulrich B. 288

398

Index of Names

Munck, Johannes 3, 181, 264 Muñiz Coello, Joaquín 87 – 88, 288 Murphy-O’Connor, Jerome 180 Najjar, Mohammad 304 Narotzky, Susana 27 – 28 Nauta, Ruurd R. 52, 128, 130 Nautin, Pierre 300 – 302, 305, 307, 309 – 311, 313, 331 Nesselrath, Heinz-Günther 60 Neufeld, Edward 150 Neyrey, Jerome H. 16, 31, 106, 239 Nicklas, T. 295, 299 Nickle, Keith F. 4 – 6, 181 – 183, 187 – 190, 193, 195, 197 – 198, 200, 202 – 203, 206, 238, 244 – 245, 256, 260, 263 – 264, 278 Nicols, John 44, 52, 56, 58 – 59, 101 Nijf, Onno M. van 54 Noble, Joshua 2 Noethlichs, Karl Leo 300 – 302, 311 Nörr, Dieter 79 Novick, Tzvi 103 Oakes, Peter S. 74, 179 – 181, 244 Oakman, Douglas E. 31, 103 O’Brien, Peter T. 211 Ogereau, Julien M. 16 – 17, 19, 256 Oliensis, Ellen 69 Olivier, Hannes 101 Olyan, Saul M. 120 – 121, 124, 126 O’Mahony, Kieran J. 8, 229, 238, 243, 262 O’Neil, Edward N. 122, 124 Osiek, Carolyn 44, 56, 165 – 167, 169, 174, 180, 216, 304, 317 Osteen, Mark 27 – 28, 31 Pack, Roger 292 Paddison, Angus 225 Parkin, Anneliese 14, 38, 156, 158 Parry, Jonathan 28 Patsch, Hermann 287 Patterson, John R. 140 Patterson, Orlando 74 Paul, Ellen Frankel 27 Paul, Jeffrey 27 Pavis d’Escurac, Henriette 63 Penner, Todd 105

Perelli, Luciano 138, 140 – 141 Peristiany, J. G. 73 Pervo, Richard I. 283, 285 – 289, 291 – 292, 301, 309 Pesch, Rudolf 282, 284 Peterman, G. W. 14, 55, 116, 256 Pietras, Henryk 313 Pietri, Charles 326 Pilhofer, Peter 294 – 295 Pitt-Rivers, Julian 73, 123 – 124, 126 Pizzolato, Luigi 120, 122 Pleins, J. David 150 Plummer, Alfred 183, 189, 199 – 200, 202 – 203, 211, 215, 246, 263 Poirier, Michel 159 Porter, Stanley E. 8 Post, Stephen G. 27 Postlethwaite, Norman 30 Pouchet, Robert 325 – 328 Powell, Jonathan 120 Prell, Markus 44, 48, 79, 137, 139 – 140, 155 – 156 Premerstein, A. von 43, 48, 51 Prinzivalli, Emanuela 313 Procopé, J. F. 45 Propp, William H. C. 191 Raccanelli, Renata 120, 122, 126 Rachet, Marguerite 318 Rajak, Tessa 106, 129 Ramelli, Ilaria L. E. 296, 298 Ramsay, W. M. 282, 284 Ramsey, Boniface 158 Rebell, Walter 200 Reden, Sitta von 30, 92 Reed, Jonathan L. 103 Rhee, Helen 166 – 167, 298 – 299, 304, 318 – 320 Rhodes, P. J. 70, 143 – 144 Ribar, David C. 118 Rice, Joshua F. 52, 174 Richard, Matthieu 27 Rickman, Geoffrey 140 – 142 Riesner, Rainer 285, 287 – 288 Ritschl, Otto 318 Robertson, Archibald 200 Robinson, Christopher 294, 296 – 297

Index of Names

Robinson, David 120 Robinson, Donald Fay 282 Rogers, Kelly 27 Rohrbaugh, Richard L. 193 Rollason, N. K. 66, 71, 92 Roniger, L. 26, 48, 52 – 53, 62 – 63, 76, 90 Roselaar, Saskia T. 137 – 138 Rosenthal, Franz 160 Rosivach, Vincent J. 81, 91, 147 Rouland, Norbert 43, 48 – 51, 53, 57, 62 – 64, 78, 80, 82, 88 – 90, 94, 127 Rousseau, Philip 325, 327 Russell, R. 174 Ryder Smith, C. 225 Sage, Michael M. 313, 318 – 319 Sahlins, Marshall 14, 25 – 26, 30, 32, 45 Saller, Richard P. 29, 43 – 44, 46, 48 – 49, 51 – 52, 57 – 58, 62, 64, 82, 114, 120, 123, 126 – 127, 131, 146, 148 Salmon, E. T. 136 – 137 Samons, Loren J. II. 85 – 86 Sampley, J. Paul 256, 290 Sanders, J. N. 282 Sänger, Dieter 196 Santirocco, Matthew S. 128, 134 – 135 Satlow, Michael L. 30, 33, 158 Saumagne, Charles 318 – 319, 322 Savalli-Lestrade, Ivana 260 Sawicki, Marianne 103 Scheidel, Walter 179 Schellenberg, Ryan S. 74, 184, 186, 192, 220, 271 Schindler, Alfred 225 Schirren, Thomas 295 Schloss, Jeffrey P. 27 Schmithals, Walter 183, 278 Schmitt Pantel, Pauline 43, 46, 62, 65, 86 – 88, 90 – 92, 142 Schroeder, Frederic M. 123 – 124 Schwartz, Eduard 282 Schwartz, Jacques 293, 295 – 296 Schwartz, Seth 14, 102, 104 – 106, 112 Schwemer, Anna Maria 285, 290, 292 Scott, James 62, 72 Scott, Mary 114 Seaford, Richard 30

399

Seeligmann, Isac Leo 145, 149 – 152 Segev, Mor 97 Sen, Amartya 74 Shatzman, Israël 146 Sherwin-White, A. N. 46 Shochat, Yanir 138 – 139 Silver, Morris 87 Silverman, Sydel 76, 125 Simkins, Ronald A. 101 Simonetti, Manlio 313, 325 – 326 Sober, Elliott 27 Sorek, Susan 102, 104, 106, 155, 160, 247 Sperber, Daniel 109 Spickermann, Wolfgang 296 Spicq, Ceslas 215 Spilsbury, Paul 102, 106 Stansell, Gary 30 Starling, David I. 246 Ste Croix, G. E. M. de 43, 50, 79, 88 – 89, 92, 142 Stegemann, Ekkehard W. 31, 179 Stegemann, Wolfgang 31, 179 Stegman, Thomas D. 246, 249, 266 Stephens, William O. 208 Sterling, Gregory E. 103 – 105 Stevenson, T. R. 57 – 58 Still, Todd D. 201 Stockton, David 138 Stoneman, Richard 128, 132 Stowers, Stanley K. 275 Straw, Carole E. 319 Strecker, Georg 283 Studer, Basil 324 Surburg, Raymond F. 225 Syme, Ronald 89 Tajfel, Henri 253 Talbert, Charles H. 282 Tan, James 94 Tandoi, Vincenzo 100 Tannehill, Robert C. 4 Taylor, Claire 64, 70, 71, 74, 142 – 143 Taylor, Lily Ross 90, 120 Taylor, Nicholas 7, 22, 177, 290 Taylor, Walter F. Jr. 72 Tcherikover, Victor 103 Teja, Ramon 328

400

Index of Names

Temin, Peter 146 Terzaghi, Nicola 293 Testart, Alain 31 Theissen, Gerd 81, 180 – 181, 253 Theobald, Michael 225, 251 Thiselton, Anthony C. 185, 200, 242 Thom, Johan C. 125 Thomas, Rosalind 85 Thomsen, Christian Ammitzbøll 147 Thraede, Klaus 267 Thrall, Margaret E. 185, 189 – 190, 194 – 195, 198 – 199, 201 – 203, 207, 213 – 215, 240, 246, 249, 263 – 264, 267, 275 Tibiletti, Gianfranco 136 – 139 Tigay, Jeffrey H. 217 Torrance, Thomas F. 225 Torrey, Charles 287 Touloumakos, J. 58 Treggiari, Susan 79, 128, 130 Trench, Richard Chevenix 198 Trisoglio, Francesco 63 Tsetskhladze, Gocha R. 136 Underwood, Lynn G. 27 Uzukwu, Gesila Nneka 70, 184, 187 Vassiliadis, Petros 271 Verboven, Koenraad 44, 46, 48 – 50, 61, 63, 66, 76, 82, 89, 97, 99, 102, 118, 121 – 127, 146, 148 Verbrugge, Verlyn D. 5, 8, 174, 177, 202, 214, 222, 246, 257, 261, 264, 278 Veyne, Paul 14, 31, 43 – 45, 55 – 57, 59 – 60, 76 – 77, 87, 90 – 92, 94, 97, 104, 140 – 141, 146 Visotzky, Burton L. 110 Vries, Wilhelm de 326, 328 Vyhmeister, Nancy Jean 44 Wagner-Hasel, Beate 24 Wallace, Daniel B. 250, 257 Wallace-Hadrill, Andrew 43 Wan, Sze-kar 12, 246, 279 Watson, Deborah Elaine 14 – 15, 43, 155, 177, 193, 200, 274, 288 – 289 Weber, Valentin 283 Wedderburn, A. J. M. 177

Weeks, Stuart 196 Wees, Hans van 28 – 30, 45 Weihs, Alexander 185, 226 Weinfeld, Moshe 93, 151 Welborn, L. L. 11, 17, 19, 38, 43, 64, 70, 179 – 180, 184, 187, 202, 205, 263, 266 – 269 Wenell, Karen 225 Westbrook, Raymond 93, 101 Wetter, Gillis P. 225 Wheatley, Alan B. 69 Whelan, Caroline F. 174 White, Peter 46 – 47, 126 – 131, 135 Whitehead, David 53 Whitley, W. T. 225 Whittaker, C. R. 156 Wiedemann, Thomas 148 Wilhelm, Mark O. 118 Wilk, Richard R. 23 Williams, Bernard 73 Williams, Francis E. 168 Williams, Gordon 128, 133 – 134 Williams, Rowan 306 Williams, Travis B. 229 Willis, J. R. 3, 278 Wilson, David Sloan 27 Wilson, John-Paul 136 Wilson, Stephen G. 15 Windisch, Hans 185 – 190, 192, 195, 197 – 199, 202 – 203, 217, 233, 235, 238, 240, 244, 249 – 250, 252, 262, 264 Winger, M. 225 Winter, Bruce W. 22, 174, 205, 287 – 289 Wiseman, T. P. 131 Wodka, Andrzej 203, 226 – 227, 241 Woodburn, James 32 – 33 Woodhull, Margaret L. 44 Woolf, Greg 43, 65, 69, 74, 101, 136, 140, 193 Wycombe Gomme, Arnold 70 Yakobson, Alexander 88, 90 Yona, Sergio 47, 66, 77 Zeller, Dieter 251 Zetzel, James E. G. 129, 132 Ziegler, Konrat 60

Index of Ancient Sources Old Testament Genesis 1:29 12:10 – 16 14:21 – 24 15:2 – 18 15:6 23:1 – 17 29:15 – 30 32:13 – 21 33:11 41:27 42 – 43

100 102 102 265 255 102 102 102 197 287 102

Exodus 16 16:2 – 3 16:4 16:14 16:16 – 20 16:18 22:22 22:24 22:24 – 26 22:26

192 191 191 191 192 191 – 192, 262, 266 254 149 149 149 – 150, 254

Leviticus 5:11 25:8 – 55 25:35 – 37

186 93 149

Deuteronomy 8:2 – 3 8:3 8:16 14:28 – 29 15 15:1 – 2 15:1 – 3 15:1 – 11 15:1 – 18 15:6

191 191 191 217 151, 217 162 151 149, 162, 171 93 149

https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110723946-012

15:7 – 8 15:7 – 11 15:8 15:9 15:10 15:12 – 18 23:19 – 20 24:6 24:10 – 13 24:19 – 21 28:12 – 13 28:43 – 44 32:24

151, 162 152 – 153, 217 153 162, 216 154, 162, 216 – 218 217 150 – 151, 217 151 150 217 149 149 287

Judges 9:1 – 6

102

1 Samuel 1:8 8:10 – 18 18:20 – 29 25:14 – 35 25:27

217 102 102 102 197

2 Samuel 24:13

287

1 Kings 13:1 – 10

102

2 Kings 4:1 5:15

149 197

Job 34:28

254

Psalms 9:13 15:5 34:7

254 153 254

402

Index of Ancient Sources

37:21 37:26 78:23 – 25 109:12 112 112:3 112:3 – 5 112:5 112:9

Proverbs 8:18 10:2 11:4 14:21 14:31 19:17 22:7 22:22 – 23 24:11 25:20 28:8

149, 160, 247 149, 160, 247 191 160, 247 – 248 247 – 248 164 160, 248 149 160, 164, 182, 246 – 248, 272

160, 248 159 – 161, 164, 168, 248 159 – 161, 164, 248 160, 248 160, 248 160, 163 – 164, 190, 248 149 154 153 217 160, 248

Isaiah 2:2 – 3 8:21 13:5 13:9 14:17 14:30 60:5 – 7

264 287 288 288 288 287 264

Jeremiah 15:2 38:7 – 13 39:15 – 18 42:16

287 107 107 287

Ezekiel 14:13

287

Daniel 4:24

160 – 161

Micah 4:1 – 2

264

2 Maccabees 4:2 9:26

104 104

3 Maccabees 3:19 6:24 7:10

104 104 256

4 Maccabees 8:6 8:17 11:3

104 104 256

Proverbs 14:9 15:27 22 22:8

256 103, 159 249 216, 248 – 249, 272

Septuagint Tobit 1:6 – 8 1:16 – 18 1:17a 4 4:5 – 11 4:7 4:8 4:9 – 11 4:10 – 11 6:13

161 161 161 161 161 190 186, 190 161, 164 190 256

1 Maccabees 6:44 11:23 11:33 14:25 – 49 14:29

241 241 104 104 241

Index of Ancient Sources

22:8 – 9 22:9

216, 244, 249, 338 249

Wisdom 12:15

256

Sirach 3:30 5:8 8:12 12:1 – 6 13:4 – 7 20:13 20:15 29

159 168 149 102 – 103 103 231 149 190, 250

29:1 – 2 29:1 – 7 29:1 – 20 29:4 – 7 29:5 – 6 29:8 – 13 29:10 29:11 – 13 29:14 – 20 29:15 30:16 35:1 – 2 35:2 35:8

152 152, 162 – 163, 251 152, 162 162, 190 163 162, 251 162 162, 190 162 – 163, 190, 251 231 231 231 231 249

10:22 10:23 – 27 10:28 – 30 10:30 10:45 12:44 13:8 14:19

218 218 236 264 195 182, 188 287 215

Luke 2:1 6:32 – 35 6:35 7:5 11:4 12:33 12:56 13:4 16:3 – 4 16:9 16:19 – 31 18:18 – 23 18:22 18:23 18:30 19:1 – 10 21:4 21:11

287 152 1 6 256 163, 168 264 256 167 167 – 168, 251 – 252 154, 252 163 163 218 264 234 182 287

New Testament Matthew 5:42 6:1 – 21 6:2 – 4 6:5 – 15 6:16 – 18 6:20 8:20 13:55 18:7 18:31 19:16 – 22 19:21 19:22 20:28 24:7 25:31 – 46 25:36 26:22 26:26 – 29 26:41

152 248 1, 248 248 248 163 236 234 206 215 164 1, 163 218 195 287 323 – 324 323 215 1 257

Mark 6:3 7:22 10:17 – 22 10:17 – 31 10:21

234 200 163 234 163, 218

403

404

Index of Ancient Sources

21:26 22:19

288 195

John 3:16 6:63 10:11 10:15 10:17 13:37 – 38 15:13

1 257 195 195 195 195 195

Acts 2:43 – 47 2:44 3–4 3:2 3:10 3:16 4:9 4:14 4:22 4:32 4:32 – 35 4:32 – 37 4:34 4:35 4:36 – 37 5:32 6:1 6:2 – 4 6:5 – 6 8:4 – 25 9:19 9:26 – 30 9:32 9:36 10:2 11 11:19 11:19 – 20 11:19 – 15:35 11:22 11:22 – 23 11:27 11:27 – 30

291 2, 16, 183 154 154 154 154 154 154 154 16 2, 291 183 183 291 289 1 291 291 291 285 285 281 – 283 285 285 6, 289 282 289 265 286 286, 289 265 290 21, 41, 182, 265, 281, 284, 336

11:28 11:29 11:29 – 30 11:30 12 12:25 13:1 – 3 13:4 – 14:20 14:27 15 15:1 15:1 – 29 15:1 – 35 15:2 15:28 17:6 17:28 18:18 19:27 19:31 20:3 20:4 21 21:4 21:10 – 11 21:11 21:23 – 26 21:28 24:5 24:11 24:17

284, 287 – 288, 336, 338 285 – 286, 289, 291 285 285 289 285 290 289 290 282, 289 286, 291 281, 283 265, 290 290 290 287 98 283 287 241 283 177 287 288 287 288 4 4 287 4 4, 6, 283

Romans 1:5 1:10 – 13 1:13 1:29 2:4 2:22 3:19 3:24 3:26 4:4 5:1 – 2 5:3 5:6 – 8 5:15 – 21

226 260 245 200 233 232 232 231 264 256 231 232 242 231

Index of Ancient Sources

5:17 6:6 6:9 6:17 7:14 8 8:3 – 4 8:18 8:22 8:28 8:31 – 32 8:35 9 – 11 9:2 9:23 10:2 10:3 10:12 11:5 11:12 11:25 11:30 – 31 11:33 12 12:1 12:3 12:4 – 8 12:5 12:6 12:7 – 8 12:8 12:13 13:8 13:8 – 10 13:11 14:15 15 15:1 15:1 – 2 15:2 – 3 15:7 15:14 15:15 15:22 15:24 15:25 15:25 – 27

226 232 232 226 232 257 235 264 232 232 242 188 264 214 233 188 247 233 264 233 228 233 233 249 195 226, 228 244 244 226, 228 244 244 – 245, 249, 338 178, 244 260 38 232, 264 215, 242 279 257 244 238, 243 238, 243 309 226, 228 260 38, 264 181, 283, 291, 337 41

15:25 – 28

405

15:28 15:30 15:30 – 32 15:31 16 16:12

41, 175, 256, 260, 264, 267, 273, 276, 278 41, 176, 181 – 183, 219, 256, 258, 278, 283 194, 255 – 256, 269 4, 10, 18 – 19, 38, 177, 182, 189, 209, 230, 255, 257 – 261, 263, 267 – 269, 277 – 279 257, 264, 337 260 260 181, 260, 291 260 38

1 Corinthians 1:2 1:4 1:4 – 7 1:5 1:9 1:12 3:10 3:16 3:22 4:8 5:6 5:10 – 11 5:11 6:1 – 2 6:2 6:3 6:9 6:10 6:15 6:16 6:19 7:2 – 4 8:1 8:4 9:5 9:10 – 11 9:11 9:12 9:13 9:16

194 226, 228 226 233 256 307 226, 228 232, 323, 336 307 233 232 200 213 194 232 232 232 200 232 232 232 19 232 232 307 245 258, 277 258 232 206

15:26 15:26 – 27 15:27

406

9:16 – 17 9:24 9:25 10:1 10:16 11 11:1 11:10 11:22 12:1 12:2 12:4 – 31 12:9 12:12 – 27 12:26 15:1 15:3 15:10 15:17 15:58 16:1 16:1 – 2 16:1 – 4

Index of Ancient Sources

16:3 – 4 16:4 16:15

206 232 260 228 256 239 238, 243 257 81 228 232 226 226 244 322, 336, 339 228 242 226 226 232 2, 176, 181, 194 8, 255, 283, 286 41, 175, 199 – 200, 206, 214, 227, 276 38, 184 – 185, 199 – 200, 219, 261, 286, 289 41, 177 41, 200, 224, 226 – 227, 267, 276, 278, 337 38, 200 200, 255, 337 194, 232

2 Corinthians 1:1 1:6 1:7 1:8 1:15 2:1 2:3 2:7 2:14 4:7 – 12 4:12 4:14 5:1

194, 278 195 232 188, 228 224 214 214 214 226 243 195 232 232

16:2 16:2 – 4 16:3

5:5 5:6 5:14 – 15 5:21 6:1 6:2 6:4 – 10 6:10 6:13 7:2 7:10 8 8–9

8:1 8:1 – 2 8:1 – 5 8:1 – 15 8:2 8:2 – 3 8:2 – 4 8:2 – 5 8:3 8:3 – 4 8:4

8:5 8:6 8:7 8:7 – 8 8:8 8:8 – 9 8:8 – 15 8:9

8:10 8:10 – 11

1 232 242 235, 242 226 264 243 233, 238, 243 38 41, 199, 201 – 202 214 8, 228, 275 – 276 7 – 8, 12, 16, 41, 175, 197, 206, 210 – 211, 214, 221 – 222, 224, 226 – 227, 229, 231 – 233, 266 – 267, 270, 274 – 276, 278 – 279 226 – 228, 241 233 – 234 186, 230, 234, 237, 272, 274, 283 8, 191, 269 183, 188, 215, 219, 221, 227, 240, 244 41, 219 238 238 18, 185, 187, 196, 206, 211, 221, 241, 286 177 41, 181, 194, 224, 226 – 228, 244, 256, 267, 278, 291 41, 175, 195, 221, 240 – 241, 243 199, 224, 226, 257 189, 224, 227, 270 244 18, 175, 206, 210 – 211, 213, 221, 227, 238, 240, 270 274 266 39, 41, 195, 209, 221, 231 – 236, 239 – 240, 242 – 244, 272, 274 175, 210, 238, 255 38, 174, 210

Index of Ancient Sources

8:11 8:11 – 12 8:12 8:12 – 13 8:13

8:13 – 14 8:13 – 15 8:14

8:14 – 15 8:14b 8:15 8:16 8:16 – 17 8:16 – 21 8:16 – 24 8:19 8:19 – 24 8:20 8:20 – 21 8:21 8:22 8:24 9 9:1 9:1 – 5 9:2 9:2 – 4 9:3 – 5 9:4 9:4 – 7 9:5

9:5 – 6 9:5 – 7 9:6

185, 255, 257, 270 38, 41, 185, 188, 193, 219 – 220, 238, 261, 286 18, 177, 185, 198, 206, 213, 221, 255, 270, 286 275 41, 175, 182, 188, 194 – 195, 197, 219, 221, 223, 243, 262, 266 41, 221, 260 – 261, 266, 268 – 270 16, 18, 38, 182 – 183, 193, 265, 267, 273, 275 18 – 19, 182, 184, 188 – 189, 193, 219, 230, 252, 255, 261 – 262, 264 – 265, 267, 269 – 271, 277 – 278 220 251 264 226, 229 244 200 199 224, 227, 230, 270, 291 8 291 38, 41, 203 175 244 270, 276 8, 245, 249, 275 – 276 181, 194, 244, 278, 291 248, 275 177, 210, 270 198 – 199, 210, 283 200 38, 41, 255, 275 41 18, 38, 174, 177, 197, 199 – 200, 202, 205, 210, 221, 230, 275 248 245 190, 198, 220, 245, 249 – 250

9:6 – 10 9:6 – 12 9:6 – 15 9:7

9:8 9:8 – 11 9:8 – 15 9:9 9:10 9:10 – 11 9:10 – 12 9:11 9:11 – 12 9:11 – 13 9:11 – 14 9:12 9:12 – 13 9:12 – 14 9:13 9:14 9:15 10:6 10:11 11:9 11:20 11:22 11:24 11:27 11:28 11:29 12:13 12:13 – 14 12:14 12:14 – 15 12:14 – 16 12:14 – 18 12:15 12:16 12:16 – 18

407

190, 216, 244 – 246, 248 – 249, 251, 272, 275 41 250, 252 18 – 19, 38, 41, 177, 186, 189, 206 – 207, 209, 211, 214, 216 – 217, 220 – 223, 238, 244, 248, 250, 261, 275, 338 186, 190, 217, 220, 226 – 227, 229, 245, 250, 275 252, 275 245 182, 219, 246 – 248 245, 250 190, 220 190 38, 41, 244 228, 230 229 251 181 – 182, 194, 251, 267, 278, 291 244 263 41, 228, 230, 240, 244, 256, 291 226, 251, 275 – 276 226 – 227, 229 – 230 213 213 182, 184, 202, 205 193, 205 267 267 193 193 322, 336 202 202 199, 202 – 204, 240, 257 204 202 203, 205, 221 195 202 – 204, 299 38, 41

408

12:17 12:17 – 18 12:18 13:12 13:13 Galatians 1:4 1:11 1:15 – 16 1:18 – 24 2 2:1 – 10 2:3 2:9 2:10

Index of Ancient Sources

204 199, 201 – 203, 205 204 194 256

2:14 2:16 2:20 2:20 – 21 2:21 3:1 3:7 3:13 3:27 4:4 – 5 4:13 4:15 5:1 5:3 5:4 5:13 6:2 6:6 6:6 – 10 6:7 – 9 6:7 – 10 6:8 6:10 6:12

1, 195, 242 228, 282 231 281 – 283 5 7, 10, 257, 281 – 283, 290 213 226, 228, 256, 290 3 – 4, 175 – 178, 181 – 183, 279 213 232 195, 242 231 242 213 232 233, 235, 242 323 235 232 188 233 257 231 239 177, 239 245 177, 245 245 229 229 229, 239 213

Ephesians 1:6 1:7 1:18 2:4

226 233 233 233

2:7 3:2 3:7 3:8 3:13 3:16 4:7 4:19 4:30 5:2 5:3 5:5 5:25

233 226, 228 226, 228 226, 228, 233 195 233 226, 228 200 215 195, 242 200 200 195, 242

Philippians 1:5 1:30 2:1 2:5 2:6 2:6 – 11 2:7 2:7 – 8 2:8 2:22 2:27 3:9 3:10 4:10 – 20 4:11 4:12 4:15 4:18 4:19

256 260 256 238, 243 – 244 235 235, 238 235 237 235 232 214 247 256 38, 174, 229, 246 190 182 38, 232 229 229, 233

Colossians 1:15 – 20 1:24 1:28 1:29 2:1 3:5 3:16 4:12

238 195 309 260 260 200 309 260

1 Thessalonians 1:6 238, 243

Index of Ancient Sources

1:7 – 9 2:1 2:1 – 12 2:2 2:3 2:5 2:8 2:9 2:11 3:3 4:6 4:8 4:13 5:2 5:10 5:12 5:14

184 232 203 – 204 241, 260 203 – 204 201 – 204, 221 241 201 – 204 203 – 204 232 200 1 228 232 242 309 309

2 Thessalonians 3:15 309 1 Timothy 2:6 2:9 3:8 3:16 4:10 5:4 6:12 6:17 – 18

195, 242 228 201 238 260 38 260 233

2 Timothy 4:7

260

Titus 1:7 1:11 2:14 3:6

201 201 195, 242 233

Philemon 1 8 8–9 13 – 14 18 – 19

211 211 211 211 214

Hebrews 5:1 7:27 9:14 9:16 9:25 10:12

242 242 195 206 195 242

James 2:5

233

1 Peter 3:18 5:2 5:2 – 3

257 201, 212 212

2 Peter 2:3 2:14

201 201

1 John 3:16 Revelation 2:9 3:10 6:8 12:9 16:14 18:8 20:15

188 288 287 288 288 287 166

13:11 – 14:3 29:8

107 264

Pseudepigrapha 2 Baruch 12:1 – 13:2 13:11 – 12

107 107

409

410

Index of Ancient Sources

4 Baruch 3:12 – 13

107

Letter of Aristeas 35 – 37 35 – 46 38 44 – 45 190 204 – 205 210 281

107 106 107 107 98 107 98 98

Lives of the Prophets 10:4 287 Sibylline Oracles 12:157 287 Testament of Job 16 16:3 44:2 – 3 44:7

107 107 163 163

368 422 – 429 430

106 106 129

Philo De cherubim 122

108

De decalogo 2–4 41

109 97

Ancient Jewish Writers Josephus Antiquitates judaicae Praefatio.8 129 Praefatio.8 – 9 135 6.340 – 341 108 15.267 – 279 104 15.275 – 278 104 15.299 – 316 288 16.136 – 149 104 16.146 – 147 104 16.150 104 16.152 105 16.153 – 154 105 16.157 – 159 105 16.158 108 20:51 – 53 284, 288, 336 20:101 284, 288, 336 Contra Apionem 1.1 129 2.2 129 2.296 129 Vita 79 99 144 220 244 259 305 – 306

106 106 106 106 106 106 106

De posteritate Caini 101 205 154 97 De sobrietate 55

97

De specialibus legibus 2.74 152 2.74 – 78 152 4.74 216 De virtutibus 41 82 – 83 82 – 87 83 84 85

97 153 152 153 153 153

Index of Ancient Sources

Legum allegoriae 1.96 97

143 191

265 266

Quis rerum divinarum heres sit 141 265 141 – 206 265

Quod Deus sit immutabilis 110 97

Rabbinic Literature Deuteronomy Rabbah 4 321

Leviticus Rabbah 5 321

Jerusalem Talmud Demai 4:4 110

Mekilta Kaspa 1

153

Horayot 48a

Mishnah Bava Metzi’a 5:4 5:10

153 148

Shevi’it 10:3 – 6

151

Tosefta Bava Metzi’a 6:18

153

Pe’ah 1.1 15b

321

186 159

Shabbat 12:3

109

Ta’anit 4:2

109

Early Christian Literature Athenagoras Legatio pro Christianis 26.3 – 5 293 26.4 293

Clement of Alexandria Quis dives salvetur 32 247 33 – 35 252

Barnabas 19.6 20.1

Clement of Rome 1 Clement 14.2 38.2 55.1 – 2 55.5

241 165 241 241

Didache 2.6

200

200 200

Basil of Caesarea Epistulae 69.1 325 70 42, 304, 325 – 329, 331

411

412

3.5 11 11.6 11.12 15.1

Index of Ancient Sources

200 287 201 201 201

Constitutiones apostolicae 4.3 169 Cyprian of Carthage De catholicae ecclesiae unitate 7 323 De dominica oratione 11 323 De habitu virginum 2 323 3 323 13 323 De lapsis 30

323

De opere et eleemosynis 2 159 9 190 23 323, 339 De zelo et livore 14 323 Epistulae 2.2 5.1 6.1 7.2 17.1 39.5 55.15 55.27 62 62.1 62.1 – 2 62.2 62.3

320 319 – 320 323 319 – 320 322 320 322 323 40, 42, 298, 317, 319 – 320, 324 317, 322 336, 339 318, 322 – 324, 339 318 – 319, 323 – 324

62.4 69 – 75 69.11 74.1 74.5 76.2 77.3 78.3 79.1

319 – 322, 330, 333, 337 313 323 323 323 322 – 323 319 319 319

Epiphanius of Salamis Panarion 30.17.2 176 Eusebius of Caesarea Chronicon 236 293 Historia ecclesiastica 2.5 328 2.8 284 2.25.8 300, 307 – 311, 331, 333 4.19.1 300 4.22.3 300 4.23 300, 305 – 306 4.23.2 301 4.23.4 301 4.23.5 301 4.23.6 300 – 301, 306 – 307 4.23.7 301, 306 4.23.8 301, 306, 309 4.23.9 303, 308 4.23.9 – 10 303 4.23.10 42, 302, 305, 308, 311, 330 4.23.11 307 – 309, 336 4.23.12 300 – 302, 306 – 307, 309 4.30.3 300 5.proemium 300 5.2.6 314 5.24.14 300 6–7 313 7.4 – 9 313 7.5.1 – 2 313 – 314 7.5.2 42, 304, 313, 330 7.5.3 315 7.5.4 315

Index of Ancient Sources

Gregory of Nazianzus Orationes 2.15 212 12.5 212 Ignatius Ad Romanos Superscriptio

331

Ad Smyrnaeos 4.2

241

Irenaeus Adversus haereses 1.13 69 3.3.3 300 Polycarp Ad Philippenses 2.2 4.1 4.3 5.2 6.1 11.1 – 2

200 200 200 201 201 201

Shepherd of Hermas Visiones 3.2 166 Similitudines 1.8 – 9 2 2.2 – 4 2.5 2.5 – 6 2.9 2.10 5.3.7 6.5

169 167, 251, 259, 276 165 260 165 166 166 165 241

Mandata 10.3 11.11 – 12

216 201

Tatian Oratio ad Graecos 25.1 293 Tertullian Ad martyras 4.5

293

215

Aratus Phaenomena 5

98

293

Aristophanes Ecclesiazusae 183 – 189

143

Equites 959 – 969

109

Plutus 535 – 554 830

71 314

Greco-Roman Literature Aesop Fabulae 6.3 Ammianus Res gestae 29.1.39 Antiphon 1 Tetralogia 2.12 Appian Bella civilia 1.7 1.8 – 9 1.21

147

139 145 94

413

414

Index of Ancient Sources

Aristotle Athenaion politeia 2.2 70 16 85 22.7 144 27.2 91 27.3 86 27.4 91 41.3 142

6.3.4 6.3.5 6.4

144 144 87

Rhetorica 2.7.2

115

Topica 4.4

115

Ethica Eudemia 7 7.2.13 7.3.2 7.3.4 7.4.1 – 2 7.4.2 7.10.11 7.10.12 7.10.13 7.10.15

Athenaeus Deipnosophistae 12.533a – c 86

119 124 268 269 127 269 268 75, 268 75, 268 75

Ethica Nicomachea 2.7.4 198 4.2.3 157 5.5.7 116 8–9 119 8.2.1 124 8.2.4 121 8.5.5 125 8.14.1 75 8.14.2 75 9.6.4 75 9.7.3 125 Metaphysica 5.5.2 – 3 5.5.4

207 206

Politica 1.2.3 1.2.7 2.1.5 3.4.7 5.2.4 5.6.2 5.7.11

95 94 267 94 201 138 75

Aulus Gellius Noctes Atticae 5.13 6.3.37 8.3 12.11

99 138 293 293

Cassius Dio Historia Romana 38.13.1 141 Cicero De amicitia 20 – 22 69 – 70

124 126

De inventione rhetorica 2.167 124 De officiis 1.47 1.48 2.63 2.69

116 116 117 115

Epistulae ad Atticum 18.1 121 207.4 148 Epistulae ad familiares 1.1 121 2.3 121 73.9 121

Index of Ancient Sources

Epistulae ad Quintum fratrem 1.1.20 114 1.2.10 114

Demosthenes 1 Olynthiaca 19 – 20

144

In Catilinam 1.10

90

4 Philippica 38

144

In Verrem 2.1.136 2.4.89 – 90 2.4.112 3.23 3.158

114 59 318 95 95

De corona 131

117

Pro Archia 21 – 22 23 Pro Plancio 47 68 – 69 80 80 – 81 81

133 133

114 115 136 114 117

Pro Sexto Roscio Amerino 15 114 111 124 Tusculanae disputationes 3.48 142 Cicero (Quintus Tullius) Commentariolum petitionis 16 – 17 124 17 75 36 76 Cornelius Nepos Atticus 2.4 – 6 147 2.4 – 4.5 146 Themistocles 2.2

144

De falsa legatione 160 – 170 148 Dio Chrysostom Orationes 7.88 – 89 109 Diogenes Laertius Vitae philosophorum 5.17 155 5.21 157 6.37 125 6.72 125 7.23 125 8.10 125 10.11 125 Dionysius of Halicarnassus Antiquitates Romanae 2.9 48, 58, 99 2.9.2 71 2.10 58 5.7.5 90 9.22.2 – 3 90 9.41.5 90 10.4 48 Epictetus Diatribai 1.1.21 – 25 1.17.20 – 29 3.26.23 3.26.24 4.1.68 – 75 4.1.77 4.1.131 4.7.17

208 208 208 208 208 208 208 208

415

416

Euripides Andromache 376 – 377

Index of Ancient Sources

2.5 2.7.29 – 35 125

Orestes 735

125

Galen De indolentia 7

218

Gorgias Palamedes 30 – 32 Herodotus Historiae 1.59 7.144 Homer Odyssea 6.198 – 210 6.207 – 208

65 47

148

85 144

71 71

Horace Carmina 2.18.20 – 22 2.18.23 – 28 2.18.29 – 40 2.20.5 – 8

69 69 70 81

Epistulae 1.7.29 – 34 1.7.80 – 81 1.15 1.15.32 1.15.42 – 46 2.1

134 148 47 47 47 134

Satirae 1.9 1.9.36 – 41 1.9.43 – 47 1.9.57 1.9.58 – 59

77 77 77 77 77

Iamblichus De vita Pythagorica 237 270 237 – 239 270 Isaeus Orationes 5.37 – 38

77

Isocrates Aeropagiticus 32 – 35 52 – 53

58, 99 99

De pace 82

144

Julian Epistulae 22.430D

155

Juvenal Satirae 1.135 – 136 1.139 1.146 3.14 – 16 3.21 – 29 3.100 – 108 3.116 – 118 3.119 3.121 – 122 3.122 – 125 3.144 – 153 5 5.2 5.24 – 155 5.146 – 155 5.156 – 163 5.170 – 173 5.173 5.174 7.94 – 97 10

67 67 67 155 72 83 78 79 72 78 74 127 65 81 127 81 82 82, 98 127 100 82, 100

Index of Ancient Sources

15 15.134 15.142 – 143 15.149 – 150 15.159 – 174

99 99 99 99 100

Livy Historia 2.41.1 2.41.2 4.13.1 – 4 4.14.6 4.47.6 – 7 5.24.4 – 5 6.16.6 6.35.5 6.35.6 34.4 45.30

138 139 87 88 137 137 137 138 139 66 183

Lucian Amores 46 47

68 69

De morte Peregrini 1 292, 297 3 295 5 293 7 – 30 293 10 294 11 294 – 295, 298 11 – 14 293 12 295, 298 12 – 13 295, 331 13 21, 42, 294, 296 – 299, 330, 337 16 293, 296, 298 21 295 22 295 32 – 34 293 35 – 36 293 36 295 37 295 39 297

Demonax 21

293

Macrobius Saturnalia 1.7.33

67

Martial Epigrammata 1.107 2.5 2.18 2.19 2.27 2.32 2.43 3.36 3.37 3.60 3.82 5.22 5.44 5.47 6.11 6.51 7.86 8.44 9.2.10 9.7 9.14 9.22.10 9.92 10.10 10.49 10.70 12.13 12.26 12.36 12.57.13 12.68 12.82 14.125

99 78 80 68 84 80 82 78 78 68, 81 68, 81 78 83 64 68, 99 67 82 78 68 78 83, 98 76 62, 78, 80 78 68, 81 78 78 63, 77 – 78 99 155 78 83 – 84 78

Menander Georgos 77 – 82

75

417

418

Index of Ancient Sources

Musonius Rufus Dissertationes 16 98 17 97 Persius Satirae 1.48 – 56

83

Philostratus Vitae sophistarum 2.1 293 Pindar Nemeonikai 4.79 – 86

132

Pythionikai 2 11.15

132 68

Plato Cratylus 19 20

97 97

Definitiones 414a Lysis 223B

115

120

Plautus Curculio 413 543 582 623 – 624

65 65 65 80

Menaechmi 143 – 151 574 – 580

83 66, 108

Miles gloriosus 9 – 17 21 – 24

83 95

50 – 51 58 – 71

65 83

Persae 140 – 145

81

Sticus 184 – 186

65

Trinummus 339 – 343 342 – 343 437 – 440

156 158 122

Truculentus 216

122

Pliny the Younger Epistulae 2.6 68, 81 3.12.2 – 3 78 3.21 214 Plutarch Caius Gracchus 5.2

145

Cimon 10.1 – 2

86

Crassus 3.1

148

De adulatore et amico 9 65 24 125 De amicorum multitudine 3 124 De amore prolis 2 109 De fortuna Romanorum 10 215

Index of Ancient Sources

De fraterno amore 20 125 De Stoicorum repugnantiis 38 97 Lycurgus 8

138

Marius 4.1 5.3 – 4

89 89

Maxime cum principibus philosophiam esse discutendum 3 118 Romulus 13

48, 71

Themistocles 4.1

144

Tiberius Gracchus 8.2 138 9.5 139 13.2 89 Polybius Historiae 24.7

138

Propertius Elegiae 3.9 3.9.21 – 22

133 133

Publilius Syrus Sententiae 64 68

96 96

Sallust Bellum Catilinae 26.4 90

Seneca the Elder Controversiae 1.praefatio.1 135 7.4.7 90 Seneca the Younger De beneficiis 1.1.3 116 1.2.3 115, 119 1.4.2 1 1.4.3 116, 119 1.4.3 – 4 116 1.6.1 45, 119, 155 1.8.1 241 1.9.1 241 1.10.4 117 2.1.2 215 2.6 216 2.7.1 215 2.10.2 119 2.10.4 119 2.18.5 98 2.20 – 25 148 2.21.2 98 2.35.3 – 4 116, 119 3.1.1 117 3.17.1 – 12 117 4.12.1 116 4.13 56 4.16.2 117 4.18.1 117 4.29.2 – 3 157 4.29.3 115, 119 6.34 78 De vita beata 23.5 – 24.1 24.1

156 157

Epistulae morales 81.18 116 Sophocles Ajax 522

116

419

420

Index of Ancient Sources

Oedipus Coloneus 779 115 781 – 782 115 Stobaeus Eclogae 2.7.23 4.32b.24

115 74

Suetonius Divus Claudius 18.2

284

Galba 7.1

317

Terence Eunuchus 245 – 254 410 – 430

83 83

Theophrastus Characteres 2.1 23.5 – 6 30

84 147 201

Valerius Maximus Facta et dicta memorabilia 5.3 136 Xenophon Memorabilia 2.2.1 2.3.11 – 13 4.4.19 4.4.24

117 123 117 117