The Apostles Peter, Paul, John, Thomas and Philip with Their Companions in Late Antiquity (Studies on Early Christian Apocrypha) 9042945532, 9789042945531

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Studies on Early Christian Apocrypha (17)

The Apostles Peter, Paul, John, Thomas and Philip with their Companions in Late Antiquity TOBIAS NICKLAS JANET E. SPITTLER JAN N. BREMMER (eds.)

PEETERS

THE APOSTLES PETER, PAUL, JOHN, THOMAS AND PHILIP WITH THEIR COMPANIONS IN LATE ANTIQUITY

STUDIES ON EARLY CHRISTIAN APOCRYPHA Edited by J.N. Bremmer (editor-in-chief), J.E. Spittler and T. Nicklas Advisory Board: I. Czachesz, P. Duncan, M. Pesthy, L. Roig Lanzillotta and L. Vuong Recent years have seen an increasing interest in so-called apocryphal literature by scholars in early Christianity, ancient history, the ancient novel and late antique/Byzantine literature. New editions and translations of the most important texts have already appeared or are being prepared. The editors of Studies on Early Christian Apocrypha welcome contributions, be they proceedings of conferences or monographs, on the early texts themselves, but also their reception in the literary and visual arts, hagiography included. 1. The Apocryphal Acts of John, J.N. Bremmer (ed.), Kampen 1996 2. The Apocryphal Acts of Paul and Thecla, J.N. Bremmer (ed.), Kampen 1996 3. The Apocryphal Acts of Peter: Magic, Miracles and Gnosticism, J.N. Bremmer (ed.), Leuven 1998 4. The Acts of John: a Two-stage Initiation into Johannine Gnosticism, P.J. Lalleman, Leuven 1998 5. The Apocryphal Acts of Andrew, J.N. Bremmer (ed.), Leuven 2000 6. The Apocryphal Acts of Thomas, J.N. Bremmer (ed.), Leuven 2001 7. The Apocalypse of Peter, J.N. Bremmer and I. Czachesz (eds.), Leuven 2003 8. Commission Narratives: A Comparative Study of the Canonical and Apocryphal Acts, I. Czachesz, Leuven 2007 9. The Visio Pauli and the Gnostic Apocalypse of Paul, J.N. Bremmer and I. Czachesz (eds.), Leuven 2007 10. The Pseudo-Clementines, J.N. Bremmer (ed.), Leuven 2010 11. The Ascension of Isaiah, J.N. Bremmer, T.R. Karmann and T. Nicklas (eds.), Leuven 2016 12. Thecla: Paul’s Disciple and Saint in the East and West, J.W. Barrier, J.N. Bremmer, T. Nicklas and A. Puig i Tàrrech (eds.), Leuven 2017 13. Figures of Ezra, J.N. Bremmer, V. Hirschberger and T. Nicklas (eds.), Leuven 2018 14. Ringen um Israel. Intertextuelle Perspektiven auf das 5. Buch Esra, V. Hirschberger, Leuven 2018 15. The Dormition and Assumption Apocrypha, S.J. Shoemaker, Leuven 2018 16. The Protevangelium of James, J.N. Bremmer, J.A. Doole, T.R. Karmann, T. Nicklas and Boris Repschinski (eds.), Leuven 2020

The Apostles Peter, Paul, John, Thomas and Philip with their Companions in Late Antiquity TOBIAS NICKLAS JANET E. SPITTLER JAN N. BREMMER (eds.)

PEETERS

LEUVEN – PARIS – BRISTOL, CT 2021

A catalogue record for this book is available from the Library of Congress. © 2021, Uitgeverij Peeters, Bondgenotenlaan 153, 3000 Leuven ISBN 978-90-429-4553-1 eISBN 978-90-429-4554-8 D/2021/0602/31 All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Contents

Preface

vii

List of Abbreviations

ix

Notes on Contributors

xi

I II

III IV

V VI VII

T. Nicklas, Retelling Origins: Stories of the Apostolic Past in Late Antiquity

1

A. Merkt, The Hetero-Topography of the Forum Romanum. How Late Antique Peter Traditions Generated an Augmented Reality of Public Space

21

J. Van Pelt, From the Acts of Peter to the Life of Leo of Catania: Distinguishing Magic and Miracle

55

J. Downie, Symbolic and Chronotopic Space: The Ephesus Episode in the Acts of the Apostles and the Apocryphal Acts of Paul

81

J. Snyder, Thinking with the Apostles about Sex, Intermarriage, and the Minority Experience

100

T.J. Kraus, Thecla and the Acts of Thecla: Searching for Traces in the Manuscript Tradition

118

K. Staat, ‘Useful’ Models: The Reception of the Apocryphal Acts of Paul and Thecla in Late-Antique Hagiographical Narratives about Female Virgins 151

VIII D. Syroyid, The Church Slavonic Redaction of the Acts of Saint Paul and Thecla by Dymytrii Tuptalo

175

vi IX

X XI

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CONTENTS

J.E. Spittler, The Acts of John by Prochorus in Patmos ms. 188: A Test-Case Illustrating the Composition and Development of Later Apocryphal Acts

192

J.N. Bremmer, Timothy, John and Ephesus in the Acts of Timothy

215

S. de Blaauw, Church Beyond Canon. Notes on the Martyrium of John the Evangelist in Rome and the Basilica of San Giovanni a Porta Latina

240

I. Muñoz Gallarte and Á. Narro, The Abridged Version(s) of the So-Called Family Γ of the Apocryphal Acts of Thomas

254

XIII C. Pricop, Thomas weitererzählt. Rezeption der apokryphen Thomasakten im Synaxarion des Thomas-Festes

270

XIV J. Verheyden, Fighting Paganism in the Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles: The Case of the Acts of Philip 295 XV C.J. Berglund, Discipleship Ideals in the Acts of Philip

314

Index of names, places and passages

333

Preface

Jewish and Christian apocryphal literature exercised a profound influence on European thought that extended beyond Antiquity and the Middle Ages into modernity. Among the early Christian writings, those concerning the apostles in Late Antiquity have long been neglected and deserve more attention than they have received until now. The Studies on Early Christian Apocrypha series, which originated in a Groningen and Budapest collaboration, first concentrated on the major Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles publishing five volumes on the Acts of John (1995), Paul and Thecla (1996), Peter (1998), Andrew (2000) and Thomas (2001). In the first decade of this century, it focused on early Christian apocalyptic literature and the pseudoClementines, which resulted in volumes on The Apocalypse of Peter (2003), The Visio Pauli and the Gnostic Apocalypse of Paul (2007) and the Pseudo-Clementines (2010). In 2013, a new start was made with a series of conferences in Regensburg, which has resulted in The Ascension of Isaiah (2016), Figures of Ezra (2018) and, in cooperation with Innsbruck, The Protevangelium of James (2020). In this seventeenth volume of the series, we present the proceedings of a conference on the apostles and their companions in Late Antiquity, which took place in Regensburg on 28-30 November 2019 and was organised by the Centre for Advanced Studies ‘Beyond Canon’ of the DFG-Kollegforschungsgruppe ‘Jenseits des Kanons’ (FOR 2770). The volume opens with an exploration of the nature of the stories about the apostles in Late Antiquity, highlighting some of the questions and problems these stories tried to answer. Chapter 2 takes us to the Forum Romanum and the Apostle Peter, and the latter’s antagonist Simon Magus appears again in the next chapter. The next five chapters focus on Paul and Thecla. The first two look at the relationship between the canonical Acts of the Apostles and the Acts of Paul by concentrating on spatial aspects as well as sex and intermarriage, respectively. Three chapters concentrate on Thecla and show that the

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Acts of Paul and Thecla and Thecla herself enjoyed a very high reputation, were seen as authoritative—if not canonical in certain circles, such as in the Ruthenian Orthodox Church—and were a source of inspiration for later hagiographers. Moving to John, we see the apostle at work in the fairly unfamiliar writings of The Acts of John by Prochorus and the Acts of Timothy, but also his connection with the church S. Giovanni a Porta Latina in Rome. The section on Thomas takes up the textual tradition of the Acts of Thomas with new manuscripts, and the reception of the Acts in the hagiography and liturgy of the Orthodox Churches. The last two chapters focus on Philip, of whose Acts a much longer recension was published late in the last century. The Acts shows that in fourth-century Hierapolis local paganism was still a factor to be taken into account and to be fought, but also that the treatise promoted ideals of civility and self-control, which were not that far removed from those in the Gospels. As has become usual, the volume ends with a detailed index. It is a great pleasure to thank Stephanie Hallinger, Ulrike LinderWindbichler and Tobias Nicklas, who organised the conference in Regensburg. Charlotte von Schelling and Marko Jovanovic helped in many ways with the conference and the editing. Finally, Tobias Nicklas and Janet Spittler were an invaluable help in preparing the papers for publication.

Jan N. Bremmer

Groningen, Christmas 2020

List of Abbreviations

AB ANRW AnTard BCH CCL DACL DOP EC EME FMS GRBS HR HThR JAC JBL JECS JRS JSNT JSP JSQ JThS MGH NovT NTS PG PL RAC RE REJ RevBén RevQ

Analecta Bollandiana Aufstieg und Niedergang der römischen Welt Antiquité Tardive Bulletin de Correspondance Hellénique Corpus Christianorum, Series Latina Dictionnaire d’Archéologie Chrétienne et de Liturgie Dumbarton Oaks Papers Early Christianity Early Medieval Europe Frühmittelalterliche Studien Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies History of Religions Harvard Theological Review Jahrbuch für Antike und Christentum Journal of Biblical Literature Journal of Early Christian Studies Journal of Roman Studies Journal for the Study of the New Testament Journal for the Study of the Pseudepigrapha Jewish Studies Quarterly Journal of Theological Studies Monumenta Germaniae Historica Novum Testamentum New Testament Studies Patrologia Graeca Patrologia Latina Reallexikon für Antike und Christentum Realencyclopädie der classischen Altertumswissenschaft Revue des Études Juives Revue Bénédictine Revue de Qumran

x RivAc RQA RTP SBL SC SR TWNT VigChris ZAW ZNW ZTK ZWT

LIST OF ABBREVIATIONS

Rivista di archeologia cristiana Römische Quartalschrift Revue de Théologie et de Philosophie Society of Biblical Literature Sources Chrétiennes Studies in Religion / Sciences Religieuses Theologisches Wörterbuch zum Neuen Testament Vigiliae Christianae Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft Zeitschrift für die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft Zeitschrift für Theologie und Kirche Zeitschrift für wissenschaftliche Theologie

Notes on Contributors

Carl Johan Berglund b. 1973, is Director of Studies at University College Stockholm (Stockholm School of Theology). He is the author of Origen’s References to Heracleon: A Quotation-Analytical Study of the Earliest Known Commentary on the Gospel of John (2020) and a dozen articles on Heracleon, Origen, ancient literary criticism, and the genre(s) of the Gospels. Sible Lambertus de Blaauw b. 1951, is Emeritus Professor of Early Christian Art and Architecture at the Radboud University, Nijmegen. He is Co-editor (Herausgeber) of the Reallexikon für Antike und Christentum and Member of the Akademie der Wissenschaften und der Literatur Mainz. His publications focusing on the material culture of Early Christian Rome and its heritage include Cultus et decor. Liturgia e architettura nella Roma tardoantica e medievale: Basilica Salvatoris, Sanctae Mariae, Sancti Petri (1994), the edited volume Storia dell’architettura italiana: Da Costantino a Carlo Magno (2010) and, recently, ‘The Paradise of Saint Peter’, in Sacred Thresholds: The Door to the Sanctuary in Late Antiquity (2018) and ‘Architektur und Textilien in den spätantiken Kirchen Roms’, in Contextus: Festschrift für Sabine Schrenk (2020). Jan N. Bremmer b. 1944, is Emeritus Professor of Religious Studies at the University of Groningen. His most recent publications include Initiation into the Mysteries of the Ancient World (2014), Maidens, Magic and Martyrs in Early Christianity (2017), The World of Greek Religion and Mythology (2019) and, as co-editor, The Ascension of Isaiah (2016), Figures of Ezra (2018), Marginality, Media, and Mutations of Religious Authority in the History of Christianity (2019) and The Protevangelium of James (2020). Janet Downie b. 1975, is Associate Professor of Classics at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. She is the author of At the

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Limits of Art: A Literary Reading of Aelius Aristides’ Hieroi Logoi (2013), as well as a range of articles on Greek literature of the Roman Imperial period, including ‘Götterlob zur Zeit Lukians: Die ProsaHymnen des Aelius Aristides’, in F. Berdozzo and H.-G. Nesselrath (eds), Griechische Götter unter sich: Lukian, Göttergespräche (2019). Thomas J. Kraus b. 1965, is a full-time teacher at a Gymnasium in Neumarkt, Germany, also teaching at the University of Zurich, Switzerland. His publications include Das Petrusevangelium und die Petrusapokalypse. Die griechischen Fragmente mit deutscher und englischer Übersetzung (2004), Ad fontes – Original Manuscripts and Their Significance for Studying Early Christianity (2007), as co-author, Gospel Fragments (2009), and, as co-editor, Sapienter et eloquenter. Studies on Rhetorical and Stylistic Features of the Septuagint (2011) and Book of the Seven Seals – The Peculiarity of Revelation, its manuscripts, attestation, and transmission (2016). Andreas Merkt b. 1967, is Professor of Early Church History, Patristic Studies and Christian Archeology at the University of Regensburg, Germany. He has authored a number of books such as 1 Petrus (2015), Das frühe christliche Mönchtum (2008), Das Fegefeuer (2005), Das patristische Prinzip (2001), Maximus I. von Turin (1997), and (co)edited several volumes, including Bischöfe zwischen Autarkie und Kollegialität (2019), Metamorphosen des Todes (2016), Reformen in der Kirche (2014), Volksglaube im antiken Christentum (2009), as well as the series Novum Testamentum Patristicum and Handbuch zur Geschichte des Todes im frühen Christentum und seiner Umwelt. Israel Muñoz Gallarte b. 1978, is Professor of Classics and the Origins of Christianity at the University of Cordoba (Spain). He has published extensively on Imperial Greek Literature (Plutarch), Early Christian Apocrypha, and Semantics. He is the author of Los sustantivos-Hecho en el Nuevo Testamento (Madrid: UCM, 2008) and co-editor of Plutarch in the Religious and Philosophical Discourse of Late Antiquity (2013). He is currently the lead researcher of the project Edition, Translation, and Commentary of the Apocryphal Acts of Thomas (PID2019-111268GB-100), supported by the Spanish Ministry of Science and Innovation.

NOTES ON CONTRIBUTORS

xiii

Ángel Narro b. 1985, is Associate Professor of Greek Philology at the University of València. His most recent publications include Vida y Milagros de Santa Tecla (2017) or El culto a las santas y los santos en época tardo-antigua y bizantina (2019). He is author of more than 50 scholarly articles and book chapters and serves as main editor of the journal Studia Philologica Valentina and the series Rhemata Textos Griegos. Tobias Nicklas b. 1967, is Professor of New Testament and Director of the Centre for Advanced Studies “Beyond Canon” at Universität Regensburg, Germany. He is research associate at the Department of New Testament at the University of the Free State, Bloemfontein, South Africa. His many publications include Das Petrusevangelium und die Petrusapokalypse. Die griechischen Fragmente mit deutscher und englischer Übersetzung (2004), Jews and Christians? Second Century ‘Christian’ Perspectives on the ‘Parting of the Ways’ (2014), Der zweite Thessalonicherbrief (2019) and Studien zum Petrusevangelium (2021). He is author of more than 100 scholarly articles, has (co-)edited more than 20 books, most recently Sola Scriptura Ökumenisch (2021), and serves as co-editor of Novum Testamentum Patristicum and Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament. Cosmin Pricop b. 1981, is Assistant Professor of New Testament Studies at the University of Bucharest, Romania. His publications include Die Verwandlung Jesu Christi. Historisch-kritische und patristische Studien (2016). Julia Snyder b. 1980, is Research Associate at the University of Cambridge. Her publications include Language and Identity in Ancient Narratives: The Relationship between Speech Patterns and Social Context in the Acts of the Apostles, Acts of John, and Acts of Philip (2014), as well as numerous essays and articles on apostle narratives and other early Christian texts. She is also co-editor of Scripture and Violence (2021), Reading the Political in Jewish and Christian Texts (2020) and Characters and Characterization in Luke-Acts (2016). Janet E. Spittler b. 1976, is Associate Professor of Religious Studies at the University of Virginia. She is the author of Animals in the Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles: The Wild Kingdom of Early Christian Literature (2008) and multiple essays on apocryphal Christian texts.

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Klazina Staat b. 1988, holds a junior postdoctoral fellowship of the Research Foundation Flanders-FWO at Ghent University, Belgium. In 2019 she defended her doctoral dissertation In Good Faith: Belief and Credibility in Latin Hagiographical Narratives about Chaste Couples, which was part of the ERC-funded research project ‘Novel Saints’. She has published on late antique Latin and Greek travel literature of pilgrims and hagiography, focusing, among others, on the reception of Thecla in stories about saints. Dariya Syroyid b. 1977, is Associate Professor at the Ukrainian Catholic University in Lviv, Ukraine. She has published many articles about Church Slavonic hagiography and homiletics, a series of translations from Church Slavonic into Modern Ukrainian, in particular, Lives of Saints by Dymytriy Tuptalo (2007-2015) and Didactic Gospels by Kyrylo Tranquilion Stavrovetskyy (2014), and is co-editor of the one issue of Mediaevistica Leopoliensis. Julie Van Pelt b. 1992, is a post-doctoral research fellow of the FWO – Flanders at the University of Ghent, Belgium. She obtained her PhD from the University of Ghent with a dissertation on Disguised Saints: A Literary Analysis of Performance in Byzantine Hagiography (2019). She specializes in the narratological study of early Christian narrative and late antique and early medieval Greek hagiography and is the author of several articles on topics including gender, fictionality and magic. Joseph Verheyden, b. 1957, is Professor of New Testament at the University of Leuven, Belgium. His many publications include, most recently as co-editor, Gospels and Gospel Traditions in the Second Century (2019), Theological and Theoretical Issues in the Synoptic Problem (2020), Imagining Paganism through the Ages (2020).

I. Retelling Origins: Stories of the Apostolic Past in Late Antiquity TOBIAS NICKLAS

In his well-known book The Rise of Western Christendom. Triumph and Diversity, A.D. 200-1000, Peter Brown describes how fifth-century Christians viewed the historical changes that lay behind them: All over the Roman empire, articulate Christians … claimed to enjoy the inestimable advantage, in a time of rapid change, of belonging to a group convinced that history was on their side. They looked back on the century which followed the conversion of Constantine as an age of triumph. They saw the changes of that time against a majestic, supernatural backdrop. Long ago, Christ had broken the power of the gods. When Christ was raised on the Cross at Golgotha, the invisible empire of the demons had crumbled. What happened on earth in the fourth century merely made plain the previous supernatural victory of Christ over his enemies. It was a ‘mopping-up’ operation. The dislodging of the demons from their accustomed haunts – the removal of their sacrificial altars, the sacking of their temples, the breaking of their statues – was presented as the grandiose, and satisfactorily swift equivalent, on the public level, of the well-known drama of exorcism. In exorcism, the gods were driven from the body of the possessed by the victorious power of the Cross. Now they would be driven, equally brusquely, from the temples, and the sign of the Cross would be carved on the doorposts to mark the triumphant “repossession” of the temple by Christ.1

In this chapter, I would like to read some late antique Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles (AAA) with these ideas in mind. I am interested in the question of why, even after the consolidation of the New Testament canon, older stories concerning the origins of the Church (or of regional Churches) as well as stories related to important foundational 1 P. Brown, The Rise of Western Christendom. Triumph and Diversity, A.D. 200-1000, rev. ed. (Oxford, 2013) 72-73.

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figures – such as the apostles and their companions – still circulated, sometimes being rewritten, even as many new ones emerged. My general thesis is that at least one function of many of these texts was to transport the characteristic attitudes described by Brown back to the very beginnings of the Christian movement. At the same time, these writings served many needs; they offered answers to questions and problems that had emerged in a new historical context, answers which could not be derived from the texts of the Biblical canon alone. Of course, a single essay does not allow me to deal with such a topic in full. Hence, I will illustrate my general ideas with some selected examples. As I am mainly interested in ‘stories describing origins’, both of Christianity as a whole and of individual regional churches, I will use the term ‘Apocryphal Acts’ in a fairly loose manner. Here and there, I will also use in my account writings that are usually labelled hagiographical in which, however, apostles or apostolic figures play a key role. As I intend to give only a very broad sketch of what should be done in much more detail (and on the basis of broader textual material) I will here posit the following general assumptions: 1. Thesis 1 Many Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles project contemporary experiences (or those of the recent past) onto stories about the foundation of the community or of a specific regional Church; thus, they try to integrate these experiences into the addressed community’s construction of identity. This is often done by describing “battles” against the Gods of the past. In many cases, miracle stories, which want to show that Jesus’ power is effective right up to the present and in regions far from the scenes of his historical life, play an important part in this task. Perhaps the most illuminating example of this thesis comes not from an Apocryphal Acts story, but rather from the Historia Monachorum in Aegypto, a fifth-century account of a pilgrimage to Egypt.2 In Hermopolis Magna, a group visits the ruins of a pagan temple. Even 2

For a more detailed discussion of this text, see A. Cain, The Greek Historia Monachorum in Aegypto. Monastic Hagiography in the Late Fourth Century (Oxford, 2016).

RETELLING ORIGINS

3

though this sanctuary had perhaps been destroyed not long before, they interpret the ruins in a completely different manner: […] Hermopolis in the Thebaid, where the Saviour attained with Mary and Joseph in fulfilment of the prophecy of Isaiah which says, ‘Behold, the Lord rides upon a swift cloud and he will come into Egypt. And the idols of Egypt will be shaken at his presence and will fall on the ground.’ And indeed we saw there the temple where all the idols fell to the ground at the entry of the Saviour into the city.3

This small excerpt thus connects a late fourth-century view of a ruined temple with a quotation from Isaiah 19:1, according to which ‘the Lord’, originally God Himself, would destroy ‘the idols of Egypt’.4 The quotation in turn is understood as being now fulfilled. However, in making this connection, the more historically probable explanations for the ruin of the temple (either its more or less abandonment over time, or a more dramatic destruction, perhaps in the time of Theodosius I) are passed over. Instead, the passage points to the Holy Family’s flight to Egypt, mentioned in the canon only briefly in Matt 2:13-15. This event later evolved into a set of extracanonical stories that in subsequent periods helped to transform important parts

3

Translation adapted from N. Russell, The Lives of the Desert Fathers: The Historia Monachorum in Aegypto (Oxford, 1980) 70; Greek original text according to A.-J. Festugière, Historia monachorum in Aegypto: Édition critique du texte grec et traduction annotée (Brussels, 1971) 46; also quoted in T. Nicklas, ‘New Testament Canon and Ancient Christian ‘Landscapes of Memory’’, Early Christianity 7 (2016) 7-23 at 12. For more evidence regarding Hermopolis Magna as a place of pilgrimage, see also P. Maraval, Lieux saints et pèlerinages d’Orient. Histoire et géographie. Des origines à la conquête arabe (Paris, 2004² [paperback repr. 2011]) 325 n. 108. The same story is also reported in § 10 of the Arabic Infancy Gospel (both recensions), but without mentioning the name of the ‘big village’ that the holy family enters. In Pseudo-Matthew §§ 22-23, the different witnesses offer different names for the place: Sohennen, Sotinen, but also Hermopolis. See O. Ehlen, ‘Das Pseudo-Matthäusevangelium’, in C. Markschies and J. Schröter (eds), Antike christliche Apokryphen in deutscher Übersetzung I: Evangelien und Verwandtes (Tübingen, 2012) 983-1002 at 1001 n. 32. 4 This tradition of interpretation is, of course, also known from Eusebius (DE 6.20), Athanasius (incarn. 36,4) and Cyril of Jerusalem (Cat. 10). See also Maraval, Lieux saints, 325 n. 108.

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of Egypt into a Christian landscape of memories’.5 In other words, the above passage tells of a special place, the site of an alleged past event that is understood as Egypt’s first encounter with what later developed into Christianity. We can observe comparable tendencies in some of the AAA. While in the Acts of John (§§ 37-47),6 the story of John’s victory over the priests of Artemis predates the Artemision’s later destruction,7 other texts may come closer to what we find in the Historia Monachorum. The Acts of Titus, for example, mention the transformation of a pagan temple into a healing shrine (or, more explicitly, ‘a δοκιμασία of relics’; § 9);8 it also links the destruction of pagan sanctuaries with the burial of the Apostle (§ 11). However, the text is not very explicit regarding the question of which church and which temples it refers to. Thus, it is not possible to relate the motif to the concrete historical destruction of a specific temple or sanctuary; instead these passages may have served to indicate, more generally, that the ‘victory’9 of Christianity over the entirety of the pagan past on the entire island of Crete should be related to Titus the apostle.10 5

For a more detailed discussion, see Nicklas, ‘New Testament Canon’, 9-18 (including a review of earlier literature). 6 For interpretations of these stories, see H. Hötzinger, ‘Lebens-entscheidender Wettstreit der Götter (Heilung vieler Krankheiten in Ephesus; Prodigium vor der Artemisstatue) – Act 37-45’, and A. Peiper, ‘Bekehrung praktisch: Verwandtschaft mit Jesus (Totenauferweckung des Artemispriesters) – ActJoh 46f’, both in R. Zimmermann et al. (eds), Kompendium der frühchristlichen Wundererzählungen 2: Die Wunder der Apostel (Gütersloh, 2017) 335-50 and 351-58. 7 Unfortunately, there are only a few brief references to the Acts of John in the recent volume by T. Georges (ed.), Ephesos. Die antike Metropole im Spannungsfeld von Religion und Bildung (Tübingen, 2017). For the destruction, see also Spittler, this volume, Chapter IX. 8 For more details regarding this text, see Nicklas, ‘Die Akten des Titus: Rezeption ‚apostolischer‘ Schriften und Entwicklung antik-christlicher ,Erinnerungslandschaften‘’, Early Christianity 8 (2017) 458-80, and R.I. Pervo, ‘The Acts of Titus’, in T. Burke and B. Landau (eds), New Testament Apocrypha. More Noncanonical Scriptures 1 (Grand Rapids, 2016) 406-15 (introduction plus English translation with notes). 9 I would prefer to avoid this term, but the texts do appear to view these events in this fashion. 10 Does this then function as an integrative element for the whole island of Crete? I would consider this possible.

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In some cases, the motif of a combat against the cults of the past may be related to the idea of a struggle between the Apostle as a representative of Jesus Christ, who acts through him, and against the powers of evil. This fight can be described in diverse ways. One may recall Peter’s well-known quarrel with Simon Magus, preserved, for example, in the Acts of Peter and in the Pseudoclementines. In these texts, Simon is not just perceived as a follower of a particular heresy that has to be overcome;11 instead, he is the arch-enemy, a close associate of the devil.12 Other texts, like the Acts of Andrew and Matthias in the City of the Cannibals, appear to play with this motif: the mission to the city of the Anthropophages, for instance, is described as a victory over the powers of evil, who had taken hold of the semi-mythological Mygdonia (Myrmidonia).13 This victory, again, is only possible with the help of Jesus who remains at the apostles’ side.14 Another concrete example is the Greek Martyrdom of Mark, which begins with the view that the apostle’s activities were a kind of exorcism of the whole country:15 At that time, when the apostles were spread over the whole inhabited world, it happened that, according to the will of God, the most Holy 11

This may differ from the historical figure of Simon Magus who, according to the earliest extracanonical sources, is the founder not only of the Simonians, but also of Gnosticism more generally. See, for example, A. Ferreiro, Simon Magus in Patristic, Medieval and Early Modern Traditions (Leiden, 2005) 10-13; J.N. Bremmer, ‘Simon Magus. The Invention and Reception of a Magician in a Christian Context’, Religion in the Roman Empire 5 (2019) 246-70; see also Merkt, this volume, Chapter II. 12 See also the discussion in T. Nicklas, ‘Inszenierung petrinischer Theologie in den Acta Petri (Actus Vercellenses)’, in J. Lieu (ed.), Peter in the Early Church: Apostle – Missionary – Church Leader (Leuven, 2021). 13 This place might be the city of Sinope, as can be seen in Theodosius, De situ terrae sanctae 13. See T. Nicklas, ‘Beyond “Canon”: Christian Apocrypha and Pilgrimage’, in id. et al. (eds), The Other Side: Apocryphal Perspectives on Ancient Christian ‘Orthodoxies’ (Göttingen, 2017) 23-38 at 33. 14 Regarding the story of Christ in this text, see J. Snyder, ‘Christ of the Acts of Andrew and Matthias’, in P. Dragutinovic et al. (eds), Christ of the Sacred Stories (Tübingen, 2017) 247-62. 15 The translation is my own and follows the Greek text offered in Codex Paris gr. 881, which is easily accessible in volume 115 of the Patrologia Graeca (PG 115, Sp. 164-69). The following discussion accords with the results of my broader investigation in T. Nicklas, ‘The Martyrdom of Mark in Late Antique Alexandria’, in B. Schliesser et al. (eds), Alexandria – Hub of the Hellenistic World (Tübingen, 2021) 519-42.

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Mark came to the country of Egypt […] This whole country was indeed uncircumcised at its heart (see Deut 10:16; 26:41; 30:6; Jer 4:4,14; Rom 2:29 and Acts 7:51) and worshipping idols, full of all kinds of impurity and venerating impure spirits, because at every house, at every road junction, and in every eparchy [a subcategory of a province; TN] shrines and sacred precincts were erected; fortune-telling with the help of the stars, magical practices, and any power was observed. Predominant among them was the demonic, which our Lord Jesus Christ through his presence dissolved and destroyed (§ 1).

The overall plot of the remaining story can be understood as a fight against the old ’demons’ of Egypt, especially Serapis. The great procession for this deity, for example, coincides with Easter Sunday and marks the start of Mark’s suffering (§ 7)16 and martyrdom one day later. Two additional observations are of interest here. First, there is space for a non-Christian interpretation of these events, even after Mark’s death. Serapis’s followers understood the miraculous rescue of Mark’s relics as a sign that ‘their triple-blessed Serapis, because of his birthday, had manifested his divinity on the man [that is, Mark; TN]’ (§ 10).17 This, I believe, is a sign that at least an early form of the text may derive from the period before the destruction of the Alexandrian Serapeion (probably around 392 CE).18 16

My own translation (see above, n. 15): ‘And it happened that our blessed feast of Passah took place on the Holy Sunday, at the 26th of the month Pharmuthis, that is, the eighth before the calendes of May, that is the 24th of April, which was also the day of their procession for Serapis. As they had found a convenient moment, they sent people whom they had instigated, threw him down while he performed the prayers of the divine anaphora, took him, threw a rope around his neck, dragged him and said: “Let us drag the buffalo to Boukolou.” The Holy Mark, however, when he was dragged this way, gave a prayer of thanks to Christ, the Savior, and said: “I thank you, Lord Jesus Christ, that you made me worthy to suffer this for your name”. And pieces of his flesh fell down to the earth and the stones were speckled by his blood.’ 17 The translation is my own. 18 Regarding the sources dealing with this event and its probable date, see, most recently, J. Hahn, ‘The Conversion of the Cult Statues: The Destruction of the Serapeum 392 A.D. and the Transformation of Alexandria into the “Christ-Loving City”’, in id. et al. (eds), From Temple to Church. Destruction and Renewal of Local Public Topography in Late Antiquity (Leiden, 2008) 335-65 at 339-34; S. Schmidt, ‘Der Sturz des Serapis - Zur Bedeutung paganer Götterbilder in der spätantiken Gesellschaft Alexandrias’, in T. Georges et al.

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Second, even more interesting may be the fact that all the events related in the text concern Jesus’ activity or, to be more precise, his ‘presence’ (§ 1). Thus, Mark not only brings the Gospel to Alexandria (§ 4)19 and performs many miracles (§ 6), he is also visited by Jesus ‘in the shape of his body, as he was with his disciples, in the shape before his suffering and burial’ (§ 8). It is not simply Mark, the apostle, evangelist and ‘servant of the Lord Jesus Christ’ (§ 3), who exorcises Egypt, it is the power of Jesus Christ, the Lord, through his enduring ‘presence’ (§ 1). This, in turn, adopts an idea that can already be seen at work behind the canonical Acts. While we may regard the Apostles or even Paul as the main characters of these texts, the real protagonists of Acts are Jesus Christ and his Spirit. Comparable observations can be made with many of the Apocryphal Acts as well. According to these texts, Jesus Christ’s powers are not something related to the past. He did not just act in a few places in Palestine; instead, his ongoing presence is mediated by the apostles, by the holy people related to him as well as their relics.20 All this is shown through his mighty deeds, which he works in the present in diverse places. We read, for example, about Brigid of Kildare’s miraculous transformation of water into beer, a deed carried out by the ‘one who [also] turned water into (eds), Alexandria (Tübingen, 2013) 149-72 at 149 n. 1-2; J. Dijkstra, ‘Religious Violence in Late Antique Egypt Reconsidered: The Cases of Alexandria, Panopolis and Philae’, J. Early Christian Hist. 5 (2015) 24-48 at 31-36; E. Eidinow, ‘Sarapis at Alexandria: The Creation and Destruction of a Religious “Public”’, in M. Dana and I. Savalli-Lestrade (eds), La cité interconnectée dans le monde gréco-romain (Bordeaux, 2019) 183-204. 19 Of course, here, readers of the Martyrdom may at first think of the Gospel of Mark; the text, however, never overtly refers to this particular Gospel. It only refers, more or less, to a Jesus story in the form of a Gospel, one which was to replace the old Greek mythology. 20 A wonderful example demonstrating that Mary, too, has supernatural powers that are related to a place is to be found in the Miracles of the Pege, an anonymous text probably dating from the tenth century. Pege was ‘one of the most famous Marian shrines of Byzantium’ (see A.-M. Talbot and S.F. Johnson [eds], Miracle Tales from Byzantium [Cambridge, Mass., 2012] vii). The text not only demonstrates Mary’s miraculous presence in Byzantium, but, more importantly, her close relations to the Byzantine Emperors – for instance, Leo I (457-474), who worked miracles through her (chap. 2), or Justinian I (527-565), whom she cured.

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wine in Galilee’ (Cogitosus, Life of Saint Brigid). In Passau in Bavaria as well, the miracles of Saint Severinus (ca. 410-482) do not just resemble the miracles of Jesus, but rather are actually worked through his power (see Eugippius’ Vita Sancti Severini).21 Some of these miracle stories also intend to show that the old gods and their powers have been replaced by Jesus Christ and those figures through whom he works. For example, Brigid of Kildare, as described by Cogitosus, is not only important because she was ‘a fit foundress of the monastic tradition in Kildare of which Cogitosus himself is probably a part’.22 Indeed, many of her miracles ‘involve the production of food or animal husbandry’, and through them, she takes over ‘the functions of a fertility goddess’.23 Other texts offer miracle stories that show the extent to which Christian thaumaturges superseded the powers of Greco-Roman divinities such as Asclepius, thus rendering the cult of these gods superfluous. The anonymous fifth-century text, Miracles of Thecla, furnishes a very clear case: none of the miracle stories narrated in this text are related to Thecla’s lifetime. Instead, the text is concerned with the continuing presence and power of Thecla at her shrine in Seleucia ad Calycadnum, the provincial capital of Isauria around which a lively and influential cult 21

For a more detailed treatment of the above examples, see T. Nicklas, ‘Das Bierwunder von Kildare und andere spätantike Transformationen biblischer Wundererzählungen’, in U. Eisen and H. Mader (eds), Rede von Gott in Gesellschaft: Multidisziplinäres (Re)Konstruieren antiker Kontexte. Festschrift Peter Lampe (Göttingen, 2021). While these stories (relating the origins of a Christian community, a regional church and its organisation) are often quite concerned with the establishment of borders between itself and the ‘pagan’ past (as well as its remaining presence), at least some examples appear to transfer contemporary struggles in the church into the apostolic past. I cannot go into detail here, but will simply refer to the emerging traditions concerning Barnabas and his mission in Cyprus. These became important arguments in the Cypriot Church’s struggle for independence from the See of Antioch. For detailed discussions, see T. Nicklas, ‘Barnabas Remembered: Apokryphe Barnabastexts und die Kirche Zyperns’, in J. Herzer and L. Seehausen (eds), Religion als Imagination. Festschrift Marco Frenschkowski (Leipzig, 2020) 167-88. 22 O. Davies and T. O’Loughlin, Celtic Spirituality (Mahwah, NJ, 1999) 32. 23 Ibid., 33 (see also the affinities between the story of Brigid and the ‘early Irish saga tradition’ [33] mentioned).

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had emerged.24 Of course, many of her miraculous cures (most often mediated through dreams) may resemble the cures associated with the shrines of Asclepius, but Thecla is not simply a surrogate of the pagan god, as is sometimes suggested.25 She also silences Apollo and his oracles (chap. 1,2), takes over Mount Kokysion (Silifke Kalesi, close to Seleucia) from the goddess Athena (chap. 2), and expels both Zeus and Aphrodite from Seleucia (chaps. 3 and 4). She is a protector of the city against foreign forces (chap. 5; cf. also chap. 6 about Ikonion), she drives out demons (chap. 7), guards the roads (chap. 13), and even helps those in distress at sea (chap. 15). These few examples readily show that the cult of Thecla appropriated many of the functions that previously had been performed by very different deities.26 2. Thesis 2 The ‘presentation’ of the apostolic past (or of a past related to important holy founder figures) is not just done on the level of narrative, but very often is related to aspects of material culture, that is, to ‘things’ 24

For an introduction to this text, see Talbot and Johnson, Miracle Tales from Byzantium, viii-xiv. For a brief introduction to the evidence attesting to a Thecla shrine in Isaurian Seleucia, see Maraval, Lieux saints, 356-57; T. Kristensen, ‘Landscape, Space, and Presence in the Cult of Thekla at Meriamlik’, JECS 24 (2016) 229-63. Regarding this place and its related cult, see S.J. Davis, The Cult of St Thecla. A Tradition of Women’s Piety in Late Antiquity (Oxford, 2009²) 36-80, and A. Arbeiter, ‘El santuario de Tecla (Ayatecla) en Seleucia’, in J.W. Barrier et al. (eds), Thecla: Paul’s Disciple and Saint in the East and West (Leuven, 2017) 152-204 (including a series of images). 25 P. Cox Miller, Dreams in Late Antiquity. Studies in the Imagination of a Culture (Princeton, 1994) 117 (also quoted by S.F. Johnson, The Life and Miracles of Thekla. A Literary Study [Cambridge, Mass., 2006] 173). Miller, Dreams, 117, for example, writes: ’The most spectacular instance of the Christian appropriation of Asclepius is found in the mid-fifth century in the cult of Saint Thecla in Seleucia […] She healed by appearing in dreams to the sick who were sleeping in her church. Proficient in the application of miraculous medicine, Thecla wore the mantle of Asclepius, now in the guise of the female saint. The conviction that dreams can heal was too deeply embedded in the cultural imagination for it to succumb to the vagaries of religious rivalry. In the figure of Thecla, oneiric aspirations to health lived on’. 26 Text and translation: Talbot and Johnson, Miracle Tales, 1-201.

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related by the story that can (at least theoretically) be seen and even touched. If we describe late antique Christianity as a mainly scriptural movement, we are in danger of overlooking the large percentage of Christians, who – even if some had a degree of literacy – did not have access to books, or at least were not able to make use of them as we do in modern times.27 Many late antique AAA do not only tell stories about an imagined Apostolic past, but they also relate aspects of these stories to places (and sometimes objects found at these places) that still can be seen or touched. The connecting factor is often an element in the story – usually towards the end – that transcends the time and space of the overall plot. For example, in the Acts of Titus, after a short description of the burial of Titus, the text shifts abruptly from the past to the present and refers to a concrete place: His precious tomb is in fact an altar, at which are the chains used to bind those afflicted by unclean spirits. In this place all who are deemed worthy to embrace the resting place of the saint experience healing (§ 11).28

To be more precise: if the story were only concerned with the Apostle’s past deeds, it could have ended with the account of his burial. This small additional motif, however, makes clear that the text is also concerned with a special place, in this case the apostle’s tomb (probably) in the Church of St Titus in Gortyn – a place where, according to our text, the apostle’s special powers were still effective. Other texts offer comparable suggestions with slight variations. I will mention only a few of them. In the Martyrdom of Mark, there is a scenario that is quite close to what we find in the Acts of Titus. After the miraculous rescue of Mark’s relics, we read: And pious men went, separated the just man’s body from the scene of the fire, brought him to a place where they performed their prayers and sang the psalms, and buried him according to the city’s custom. They preserved him in a place carved out of stone, honored his memory with fasting and prayers, as first gem that they had acquired in Alexandria and buried him in direction East (§ 10).

27

This does not mean that early Christianity was a phenomenon of the outcast and the uneducated. See, for example, the important contribution by U. Schnelle, ‘Das frühe Christentum und die Bildung’, NTS 61 (2015) 113-43. 28 Translation from Pervo, ‘Acts of Titus’.

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Contrary to the Acts of Titus, this passage does not explicitly refer to the persistence of Mark’s healing powers; the text rather describes his relics as the ‘first gem in Alexandria’. The exact function of this motif is not fully clear. The passage could say both that Mark’s relics are a real gem (in opposition to what one can find in pagan temples), and that they are the first among gems, after which the relics of other saints and martyrs followed. The second interpretation is probably supported by the text which, only a few lines later, calls Mark ‘the first martyr of our Lord Jesus Christ in Alexandria’. In any case, the text appears to conceive of Mark as an ongoing presence at his gravesite. Interestingly, neither the Acts of Titus nor the Martyrdom of Mark needs to describe or name the exact places to which they refer; instead, they appear to address an audience that already knows these places and perhaps has visited them. The visit to such a place, in turn, may be an occasion for the re-telling (or reading) of the story related to it (as we see, for example, in the Itinerarium of Egeria, who, during her visit of the tomb of Thecla in Seleucia, reads the Acts of Thecla).29 A comparable (and more concrete) story is told in the Greek/ Ethiopic Acts of the Holy Cornelius the Centurion.30 While the canonical book of Acts is not concerned with the subsequent fate of Cornelius (see Acts 10:1-11:18), the late antique apocryphal Acts of Cornelius recount that he followed the Apostles Peter and Timothy to Ephesus. From there, he started his own mission in Skepsis in the Troas, ‘a city subjected to idols’ (πόλιν εἰδώλοις ὑποκειμένην; Acts of Cornelius 2:1 [PG 114:1297]).31 In answer to Cornelius’ prayers, the shrine of Zeus is destroyed by an earthquake; the governor’s wife, Evanthia, and his son, Demetrius, appear to have been buried inside (2:10–12). Thus, the governor’s ‘great gods’ (2:13) are proven to be powerless. Cornelius is put into prison and hung up for the whole night with ‘his hands and feet bound together’ (2:14). While the governor – also named Demetrius – searches for the mortal remains of 29

See also Staat, this volume, Chapter VII. For a recent introduction and English translation, see T. Burke and W. Witakowski, ‘The Acts of Cornelius the Centurion’, in Burke and Landau, New Testament Apocrypha 1, 337-61. The only (though not always reliable) edition of the Greek can be found in PG 114, 1293-1324. 31 Translations, including chapter and verse divisions, follow Burke and Witakowski, ‘Acts of Cornelius’. 30

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his family, the voices of Evanthia and her son are heard praising the God of Cornelius (see 3:1–4). Cornelius is then released from prison, and ‘Demetrius, together with all those with him,’ (3:6) is baptised. After this, Evanthia and her son are returned from (evidently) beneath the earth (3:8) and even more people, convinced by this miracle, are baptized (3:8). This starts the conversion of the entire city. The remaining text, however, does not deal with Cornelius’ later deeds. Instead, it concentrates on his death and burial after an exemplary life (Acts of Cornelius 4). However, at his burial, a miracle occurs: And immediately, the earth sent up a very great bush, and it covered the coffin in a circle, so that no one afterwards knew that the coffin was inside, except for the ones who, at the time, were ministering with Demetrius for the burial (Acts of Cornelius 4:4).

Even after the burial is forgotten, the place of the bush is understood as ‘hinting at something divine’ (4:5) on account of the many miracles associated with it. The rest of the story concerns the miraculous rediscovery of the coffin containing his relics, the construction of a shrine, and the (again) miraculous transfer of his coffin. The coffin, which moves on its own (see Acts of Cornelius 5:9), stops near the shrine’s altar and, according to the text, ‘remains until now unmovable, an unfailing treasure of miracles, an enjoyment of much spiritual benefit and mercy’ (Acts of Cornelius 5:11).32 But even then the story is not yet finished. Bishop Philostorgios of Skepsis engages an artist to paint both the shrine and an image of Cornelius. These acts, too, cannot be done without a miracle; thus, when the painter is unable to cope with this task as he has never seen Cornelius’ face, he sends ‘irreverent voices to the holy one’, that is, he is cursing him (6:2). Thereupon, he falls from the ladder and seems to be dead. Of course, it is then Cornelius himself who appears to him and raises him. Cornelius thus not only makes the completion of the painting possible, but changes the painter’s life. This story only makes sense if it refers to a real shrine that sought to attract pilgrims, and which also had an image showing Cornelius – an image that was understood to be able to work wonders. Unfortunately, recent archaeological literature on Skepsis (the remains of which are buried under the waters of the Bayramic water 32

For this kind of miracle, although usually mentioned of people, see A.-J. Festugière, Études de religion grecque et hellénistique (Paris, 1972) 294-96.

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reservoir) is available only in Turkish. As far as I can tell, these excavations show that during the Byzantine period, Skepsis must have been an important Episcopal See.33 One of the few pieces of evidence about a church of Cornelius at Skepsis comes from an early Byzantine inscription found at Assos, according to which a bishop of Skamandroi was involved in the reconstruction of the destroyed Cornelius Church at Skepsis.34 Other texts could be mentioned by way of comparison. For example, the Acts of Barnabas cannot point to a comparably concrete place where the remaining relics of Barnabas are preserved. As this is problematic, a reinvention of his relics is enacted and a new text produced. Like the Acts of Cornelius (and also using comparable motifs), the later Barnabas Encomium is concerned with the miraculous preservation of his relics and their rediscovery after a period of neglect (lines 700–770).35 As the story of this discovery’s political impact on the independence of the Cypriot Church from Antioch is quite well known,36 I would like to focus on a different aspect. For the text is not only concerned with preserving memories of this event, it also relates them explicitly to the Barnabas Monastery, which was

33

See C. Basaran and B.E. Kasapoglu, 1995 Yili Skepsis Asagi Kent ve Nekropolisi Kurtarma Kazisi Üzerine Yeni Degerlendirmele (Ankara, 2014) 51. 34 See J. Sterrett, ‘Inscriptions of Assos’, Papers of the American School of Classical Studies in Athens 1 (1882-83) 64, Nr. 34 [non vidi!], quoted by B. Böhlendorf-Arslan, ‘Byzantinisches Leben im Naturraum Troas: Siedlungsverdichtung versus Einöde’, in F. Pirson (ed.), Manifestationen von Macht und Hierarchien in Stadtraum und Landschaft (Istanbul, 2012), 27798 at 290 n. 43 (I am grateful to Andreas Merkt who gave me this reference). J.M. Cook, The Troad. An Archaeological and Topographical Study (Oxford, 1973) 345-47, gives a short overview of nineteenth- and early twentieth-century excavations at Skepsis, but he does not make any mention of a possible cult of Cornelius. The same can be said of the inscriptions discussed by E. Schwertheimer, ‘Inschriften aus Alexandreia Troas, Antandros, Skepsis und Kebren’, in: id. and H. Wiegartz (eds), Die Troas. Neue Forschungen zu Neandria und Alexandria Troas II (Bonn, 1996) 99-124. 35 Edition: P. Van Deun, Sancti Barnabi Apostoli Laudatio auctore Alexandro monacho et SS. Bartholomaei et Barnabae Vita pro Menologio Imperiali conscripta (Turnhout, 1993). 36 On the subject of the relics and their role in the Cypriot church, see Nicklas, ‘Barnabas Remembered’.

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situated near ancient Salamis. Written by a monk named Alexander (Ἀλεξάνδρου μοναχοῦ ἐγκώμιον), who obviously lived there, it offers an extensive description of the monastery and its construction (lines 818–845), which, according to the text, was financed, at least in part, by the Emperor Zeno the Isaurian (474–491). The text is full of enthusiasm for the monastery’s beauties and recalls its numerous guest rooms. Most important, however, is ‘the holy tomb of the apostle’, placed at the right of the altar. Barnabas can thus be visited – indeed, quite easily –, and he still works miracles for those who believe in his powers. 3. Thesis 3 The stories do not just relate to isolated ‘things’, but rather they connect things with space, therefore redefining it. They create ‘landscapes of memory’. Thus, the traditions related to Mark attempt to overlay and replace those related to Serapis; when they are then related to urban spaces, they also create a new idea of Alexandria. The ‘city of Serapis’, which, from a Christian point of view, was full of demons, is increasingly transformed into a place where Christian origins are presented and inscribed in memory. The same can be said of Thecla. As mentioned above, the Miracles of Thecla describes her expulsion of past gods from her hometown of Seleucia, and the surroundings themselves are transformed as they are brought ‘under the rulership of Christ’ (chap. 2). This is most explicitly visible in the second chapter, where we read: After this, Thecla made war against the nearby peak, which was formerly called Mount Kokysion, but to which the passage of time, remolding it in accordance with an old myth, has given the appellation as a holy place of Athena kanétis – as if the mountain were Athena’s temple! This mountain was taken away from the demon and was placed under the rulership of Christ, exactly as it was from the beginning. And now the place is occupied by martyrs, just as the most lofty citadel is occupied by generals and military commanders, and it is inhabited by holy men, since the shield-bearing and city-defending Pallas Athena was unable to fend off the assault of an unarmed, foreign, and naked girl.37 37

Translation: Talbot and Johnson, Miracle Tales, 15.

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However, this is not the only dimension of the Miracles, for Seleucia and its immediate surroundings are transformed into a region full of remembrances of Thecla. Chapter 4:2 states explicitly: ‘Just as Jesus Christ apportioned some cities and lands to certain saints and others to others – so that he cleansed the land thoroughly – he thus assigned our land to Thekla, as he did Judea to Peter, and to Paul the nations’.38 Thecla’s influence, however, is not limited to Seleucia ad Calycadnum, or even the province of Isauria. She works miracles in other lands such as her birthplace, Ikonion (chap. 6), as well as among pilgrims who then spread the message of her powers in their native regions. This was the case with the Cypriot boys, whom she assists when they are distressed at sea (chap. 15). After this episode, we read: ‘The result was that the island of Cyprus was completely filled with the story of this miracle […] since the boys recounted all of their story here and there’ (chap. 15, 3).39 Comparable tendencies can be seen in Rome as well. While the canonical book of Acts does not offer explicit stories of the apostles’ deaths, and while neither the Acts of Paul nor the Acts of Peter appear to be concerned with the veneration of their relics,40 subsequent apocrypha concerning Peter and Paul show an increasing interest in these actual places. The Martyrdom of the Blessed Peter by Pseudo-Linus (probably from the end of the fourth or the beginning of the fifth century), for example, not only gives names to the two soldiers who guard Peter (Processus und Martinianus), but also places them in the Mamertine prison (§ 5: Mamertini custodia). This not only draws attention to a special place, but also places Peter in a line of prisoners that includes some prominent figures: Jugurtha, Catiline, Vercingetorix and others.41 Peter’s cross, in turn, is associated with ‘a place 38

Translation: Talbot and Johnson, Miracle Tales, 19. Translation: Talbot and Johnson, Miracle Tales, 69. 40 According to the Latin Acts of Peter (Actus Vercellenses), Peter even appears to Marcellus after his death and compels him to stop dwelling over his dead body (§ 40). Regarding a comparable tendency in the Greek Martyrdom of Peter, § 11, see T. Nicklas, ‘“Let the Dead Bury their Own Dead” (Matt 8:22 par. Luke 9:60): A Commandment without Impact for Christian Ethos?’, in R. Zimmermann and S. Joubert (eds), Purview, Validity, and Relevance of Biblical Texts in Ethical Discourse (Tübingen, 2017) 75-90 at 80-5. 41 See also D. Eastman, The Ancient Martyrdom Accounts of Peter and Paul (Atlanta, 2015) 41 n. 14. 39

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called the Naumachia, next to the obelisk of Nero on the mountain’ (§ 10: ad locum qui uocatur Naumachiae iuxta obeliscum Neronis in montem).42 This must refer to a place where sea battles were theatrically performed – a practice known from the times of Nero (Emperor from 54–68).43 According to David Eastman, ‘[i]ts exact location is unknown, but it is possible that the amphitheater and the place at which it was located could have taken on the name of the spectacles staged there. Archaeologists have identified a structure on the Vatican hill close to the Circus of Nero (where the obelisk stood) that may have been constructed for a naumachia and was dedicated by Trajan in 109 CE. […] This location is now on the site of the Church of San Pellegrino in Vaticano […] If the topographical allusion in this text is taken to refer to the Trajanic structure, then this would be a clear anachronism’.44 The use of these motifs, however, only makes sense if the text’s intended audience was able to recognize their significance. But this is not all: the Mamertine carcer is not only described as the site of Peter’s imprisonment, it is also related to a miracle story. According to § 5, the guards (and others) became believers and were baptized ‘in a spring brought forth from stone by prayers and the glorious sign of the cross’.45 What Pseudo-Linus briefly mentions here,46 appears to have been a very popular miracle story akin to that of Moses and his miracle of bringing forth water from a rock (Exod 17:1–6), a story which, despite its apocryphal origins, found its way into Christian iconography, both in the Roman catacombs and on Christian sarcophagi.47 By locating an episode of Peter’s martyrdom within the Mamertine prison, Peter’s story was thus incorporated into the memories of Rome’s past. Moreover, the miracle story contained in this account of 42

Text and translation: Eastman, Martyrdom Accounts, 48-9. Cf. K. Coleman, ‘Launching into History: aquatic displays in the early Empire’, Journal of Roman Studies 83 (1993) 48-74. 44 Eastman, Martyrdom Accounts, 49 n.31. 45 Eastman, Martyrdom Accounts, 41. 46 Another description can be found in the probably sixth-century Passio of Processus and Martinianus. 47 For an overview, see J. Dresken-Weiland, Bild, Grab und Wort. Untersuchungen zu den Jenseitsvorstellungen von Christen des 3. und 4. Jahrhunderts (Regensburg, 2010) 119-136. The iconography is certainly older than the text by Pseudo-Linus. 43

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his martyrdom creates an additional connection: the Mamertine prison becomes the location of the Fons S. Petri.48 As such, it not only recalls the site of Peter’s suffering, but also preserves the memory of his miraculous baptism. Other writings concerning Peter and Paul, some of them later, illustrate this point to an even greater degree. The Latin Passion of the Holy Apostles Peter and Paul by Pseudo-Marcellus and the Greek Acts of the Holy Apostles Peter and Paul (the second of which is probably a translation of some version of the first) were especially successful among contemporaries. Indeed, we know of translations into Coptic, Arabic, Irish, Armenian, Georgian and Slavonic.49 These Roman texts, probably of the fifth or sixth century, locate Paul’s martyrdom either somewhere close to the road to Ostia (Latin § 59) or on the estate of Aquae Salviae (Greek § 80). After his death, Peter is buried under a terebinth tree close to the Naumachia in the Vatican, (Lat. § 63; Greek § 84) and, finally, we read about the graves of both apostles in the Catacombs of San Sebastiano. Thus, late antique Rome, a city whose political influence has dramatically collapsed, is turned into the city of Peter and Paul.50 Only here can one come close to the two apostles’ relics; and here their power is still effective. According to § 87 of the Greek Acts, their relics are protected by God Himself. When “people from the East” try to carry away the apostles’ relics, a great earthquake occurs and prevents them from doing so – a sign of His will. After this, ‘the people of Rome ran out and seized them in a place called the catacombs on the Appian Road, three miles from the city. There, the bodies of the saints were kept for a year and six months, until places were built for them in which they were interred. The body of holy Peter was brought back with praise and singing to the Vatican near the Naumachia, and the body of holy Paul to the Ostian Road at the second milestone from the city. In 48

For more information, see G. de Spirito, ‘Fons S. Petri’, in LTUR II (Rome, 1995) 21. 49 For an introduction (with an overview of secondary literature), see Eastman, Martyrdom Accounts, 221-27. 50 For a more extensive discussion of this thesis, see T. Nicklas, ‘Antike Petruserzählungen und der erinnerte Petrus in Rom’, in J. Frey and M. Wallraff (eds), Petrusliteratur und Petrusarchäologie. Römische Begegnungen (Tübingen, 2020) 159-87.

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these places through their prayers, many good deeds are done for the faithful in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ’.51 4. Thesis 4 The presentation of the apostolic past occurs not only on the level of stories that have been written and retold, but is very often associated with rituals that have to be performed in memory of the stories told. In this way, the Apocryphal Acts not only define new topographies, but also serve to re-organize time.52 Furthermore, some of the texts mentioned are not only preserved as manuscripts produced for liturgical reading; they also make explicit reference to the liturgical celebration devoted to the memory of the relevant apostle or saint. This is clearly the case with the Martyrdom of Mark which, after having informed its readers of Mark’s burial place, closes with the following sentences: This way the blessed Mark, the evangelist and first martyr of our Lord Jesus Christ in Alexandria at Egypt passed away at the 30th of Parmouthis according to the Egyptian calendar, according to Roman calendar at the calends of May, according to the Hebrew at the 17th of Nisan, under the reign of Emperor Gaius Tiberius, while our Lord Jesus Christ rules as our, the Christians’, king. Him be glory and rule in all eternity. Amen (§ 10).

Other writings such as the Encomium of Barnabas, or the Martyrdoms of Peter and Paul mentioned above, contain comparable motifs. Just as the Acts of Titus are mainly interested in the course of Titus’s life and the place of his burial, the Acts of Timothy closes with the following words: The holy and illustrious Timothy, apostle, patriarch, and martyr of Christ, completed his life three days after the so-called Katagogia, which is the thirtieth day of the fourth month according to the Asians, and, according to the Romans, the twenty-second of the month of January, when 51

Translation: Eastman, Martyrdom Accounts, 313. The passage has a parallel in § 66 of the Latin text. 52 For an introductory overview, see also T. Nicklas, ‘Spätantike Apostelerzählungen als liturgiegeschichtliche Quellen’, in K. Zamfir (ed.), Ünneplő ember a közösségben. Baráti köszöntő kötet Nóda Mózes tiszteletére (Budapest, 2019) 97-106.

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Nerva, as already mentioned, was ruling the state of the Romans and Peregrinus was proconsul of Asia, but according to us when our Lord Jesus Christ was ruling, to whom be glory forever and ever. Amen (§ 16).

In this way, such cases mark both the precise day of the apostle’s death (marked according to different calendars) and his specific feast day. In both cases, the feast day is not some randomly chosen date, but rather one that is related to important pagan feasts from the past.53 While the Martyrdom of Mark relates his arrest, passion and martyrdom during the great procession for Serapis (in § 7 as mentioned above), the Acts of Timothy stresses that Timothy died three days after the so-called Katagogia, that is, a festival for Dionysos,54 which the text itself describes in the following manner: At the festival of the Katagogia, as they then called it, which was celebrated on certain days, they put around themselves unseemly costumes and they covered their faces with masks so that they might not be known. They carried around clubs and images of idols, disparaged with songs, and set upon free men and respectable women in an uncivilized fashion. They performed slaughters in no ordinary manner and poured out an abundance of blood on the distinguished places of the city. They did not stop acting as if what they were doing was profitable for the soul (§ 12).

In both cases, the death of the apostle (and his commemoration) does not coincide exactly with the feast of the pagan god, but it is nonetheless related to it. Thus, the new time marked in both texts by the ‘rule of Christ’ informs the perception of time itself. 5. Conclusion Although this discussion has presented only a small selection of texts that can be broadly seen as Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles (or better: extracanonical stories related to Apostles and their companions), it is clear why these texts should be the focus of more investigations 53

Of course, these are only two possible examples. The feast of John also takes place on the same day as (or perhaps a day later than) the feast of Artemis at Ephesus (both in early May). I am grateful to Janet Spittler for this detail. 54 For these Acts and the festival, see Bremmer, this volume, Chapter X.

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in the study of ancient Christianity than has been the case so far. Such an enterprise can only be done with an interdisciplinary approach, and we have already seen the extent to which archaeology, classics, liturgical studies, patristics, and ancient history can all contribute to this field of research. Once we move beyond the limits of Greek and Latin literature, even more disciplines will be involved. For this reason, it should be clear that these lines can only cover a few aspects of the literary universe that waits to be discovered.

II. The Hetero-Topography of the Forum Romanum. How Late Antique Peter Traditions Generated an Augmented Reality of Public Space ANDREAS MERKT

Late antique Christians walking across the Forum Romanum with the stories about Peter and Paul in their minds must have experienced the Forum like a modern Pokémon Go player experiences public spaces. Due to a kind of ‘mental app’—the special software provided by the narratives about the apostles and stored in their brains—the material reality before their eyes was overlaid by a virtual reality, with the result that they observed a mixed or augmented reality. While their physical eyes saw a space witnessing the glorious past of the empire and still lacking any sign of Christian presence, the inner eyes perceived the figures of the Christian legends virtually populating the area. For most readers or hearers of those stories, however, Rome was hardly more than an idea, an imaginative construct. Accordingly, most scholars dealing with Apocryphal Acts take the perspective of armchair travelers: they treat the stories as textual realities only, as worlds of their own, not as guides to physical realities or as enhancements or augmentations. Their literary approaches tend to downplay the matter of Rome and neglect what Michel de Certeau in his famous essay ‘Walking in the City’ has called the most ‘elementary form of experience of the city’1: strolling through the streets.2 1

M. de Certeau, ‘Walking in the City’, in id., The Practice of Everyday Life (London et al., 1984) 91-110 at 93. 2 For an exception to this approach see M.Z. Kensky, ‘Ephesus, Loca Sancta: the Acts of Timothy and religious travel in Late Antiquity’, in J. Spittler (ed.), The Narrative Self in Early Christianity: Essays in Honor

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Rome’s objects and structures exerted a powerful impact on the crowds that flocked into the city over the centuries and on the multitudes all over the world who experienced it indirectly through the travelogues they read or listened to. The stories about Peter and other saints not only created a virtual reality replacing the physical reality but they also enhanced the experience of the physical reality. The imaginary cityscape of the narratives created an augmented reality for those who were actually walking through the streets of the ancient metropolis and, through them, also for those to whom they reported what they had seen. However, the Christian enrichment of space did not remain virtual—it did not remain in the ‘mental apps’ of Christians. Over time, some Christian elements were physically introduced into the area and its surroundings, as, for example, the memorial of the ‘Apostolic victory over Simon Magus’ was.3 In spite of such minor changes, however, the area around the Forum, by and large, retained its pre-Christian character well into the early Middle Ages. And, even by this time, the innovations hardly affected the infrastructure and architecture, such that the Forum, up to the present day, has kept what Freud, having visited the Forum, called the ‘Erinnerungsspuren’ (memory traces) of the pre-Christian past.4 It is my aim in this contribution to explore, by way of a thought experiment, the curious interplay of a still non-Christian material reality with the virtual reality of Christian stories alongside the first steps of a cautious material transformation of the public space in and around the Roman Forum. In doing so, I will focus on one particular figure. My favorite Pokémon, so to speak, will be Peter. Before we begin to follow our fictitious Apostle Go players, I have to add a further preliminary remark. Up to now I have referred to ‘stories’ or ‘narratives’, i.e. to textual realities as opposed to the physical reality of the City of Rome. For the purpose of this paper I have to be more precise. As scholars, we are in the habit of reading and interpreting the edited (and often reconstructed) versions of texts that have been transmitted in manuscripts—editions that generally create of Judith Perkins (Atlanta, 2019) 91-119; see also Bremmer, this volume, Chapter X. 3 For Simon Magus, see also Van Pelt, this volume, Chapter III. 4 See S. Freud, Das Unbehagen in der Kultur und andere kulturtheoretische Schriften (Frankfurt, 1994) 37.

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more or less coherent ‘wholes’ out of texts that are often extant only in parts.5 Even when we deal with a particular episode, we normally treat it as firmly embedded in that literary context, literally as a περικοπή, a ‘cutting-out’ from a larger whole, the meaning of which is in part determined by its position in a linear sequence of episodes. The ‘mental app’, however, works in neither a linear nor intertextual way. Instead, it deals with small units of information, episodes that can be freely combined—independent of a defined narrative, in which each unit is firmly bracketed between two other units, preceding and following. These volatile units, moreover, are mutable. They are not fixed in the form in which they may appear in a certain manuscript. They can even appear in various media, in written texts but also in oral communication and in visual representation. Hence, if we try to understand how the fictional universe of early Christian literature and art affected the perception of the urban Roman reality, our approach has to be non-linear and cross-media. I feel tempted to call such variable units ‘memes’. It is true that this word, as it was introduced by Richard Dawkins in the context of his theory of cultural evolution, has ideological implications. But our units are exactly such memes in the sense of units of imitation (mimesis), units of cultural transmission that are replicated, mutate, and are selected according to certain conditions. At the same time, the word ‘meme’ may evoke a further connotation. The units of imitation are also units of memory (memoria). They are accumulated in the external memory of a cultural archive that consists of texts, artefacts and ritual performances. But they are also stored in the internal memory, in the mind of the individual that interacts with cultural memory by imitation and variation. These units of imitation are replicated and modified in internal memories according to the predispositions and circumstances of the individual who is informed by the cultural archive. On the other hand, the individual might also influence the archive if he or she becomes creative and leaves his or her stamp on the external memory, be it in a direct way (by producing a text or an artefact) or in a mediated way (by influencing others who create a work of art or literature). The relation of physical experience and virtual world is, hence, mutual. The physical experience rearranges and alters episodes that 5

See, for example, Gallarte and Narró, this volume, XII.

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in the transmitted texts seem to have a fixed form and position. Thus, not only is the physical reality augmented by the virtual reality of stories but, conversely, the imaginative world is also enhanced by physical experiences that break up seemingly fixed storylines and rearrange those cultural units that we might term episodes or memes. The never-ending mutual interaction of the virtual and the physical world creates ever-changing mixed realities in the actual experience of living people. We should not forget these dynamics of real-life experience (and, hence, of ‘lived religion’, too) when dissecting, like pathologists, the bodies of texts.6 Thus, for the following thought experiment we have to do away with the structure of the texts we know. Instead, we must dissolve the textual ‘wholes’ into their micronarrative ‘parts’, that is, the ‘memes’ or ‘episodes’ they contain. In doing so we have to take into account the flexibility, fluidity and adaptability of those micronarratives in both written and oral transmission. Moreover, these textual representations must be correlated with their counterparts in iconography, which may well have informed the mind of our late antique Christian no less than texts.7 To put it another way: For late-antique Apostle Go players it does not matter whether their Peter figure first appeared in a second 6

On pathological or necrophiliac tendencies in dealing with ancient Christian texts and their roots, see A. Merkt, ‘Patrologie und Pathologie. Probleme und Perspektiven einer theologischen Disziplin‘, in A. Blumberg and O. Petrynko (eds), Historia magistra vitae (Regensburg, 2016) 335-53. 7 Some scholars have contributed to a new awareness of such cultural units. Some such contributions, however, remain on the level of written texts, as does Aaron Pelttari, who, in his The Space that Remains. Reading Latin Poetry in Late Antiquity (Ithaca, NY, 2014), treats ‘non-referential’ or ‘unmarked allusions’ (130-37) defined as ‘allusions that make no specific claims about the relationship between the contexts of alluding and alluded texts’ by C. O’Hogan, ‘Thirty Years of the “Jewelled Style”’, JRS 109 (2019) 305-14 at 308-09. Conversely, other contributions, if they include visual culture, tend to stress the structural analogies of art and literature rather than the actual interplay between the different media and the mediating role of the individual, as does Michael Roberts (The Jewelled Style. Poetry and Poetics in Late Antiquity [Ithaca, NY, 1989]), to whom we owe pioneering work on the late antique tendency towards fragmentation and the isolation of independent units in both art and literature. I am grateful to Annemarie Pilarski for these references.

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century apocryphal story, in a fourth century iconographical image, or in a fifth century hagiographical text. The literary context of the narratives is irrelevant. Unlike a modern scholar whose approach is analytical and mainly textual, a late-antique Christian would likely have experienced the mixed reality of the city of Rome through synchronized, synthesized, and adapted traditions that are heterogeneous only from a literary point of view. In the reality augmented by the imagination of late-antique Christians strolling through the city, it is the physical environment that activates the ‘memes’ and modifies and arranges them in such a way that they fit the corporeal experience. The apostle does not appear in texts; rather, he virtually pops up in the streets of Rome, wherever a physical site is tagged with the metadata that also translate into images and narratives. The Forum Romanum especially lends itself to such a thought experiment because, unlike other regions in and around Rome that were ‘architecturally appropriated’8, the area in and around the Forum Romanum received a mainly virtual transformation. 1. The Forum in Late Antiquity: Topography and Hetero-Topography It is not by chance that, according to various traditions, Simon Magus starts his flight from the Capitoline Hill, that he crashes down on the Via Sacra, and that this happens near the Temple of Rome. All these topographical markers place the Peter legend in a traditional cityscape of commemoration that evokes the cultural heritage of ancient Rome. The Forum Romanum, along with its surroundings, assembles numerous lieux de mémoire in the sense defined by Maurice Halbwachs and popularised by Pierre Nora: symbolic places and objects with a special significance for the collective memory of a community.9 8

See K. Friedrich, ‘The Architectural Appropriation of the Apostle Peter by the Early Christian Popes’, in R. Dijkstra (ed.), The Early Reception and Appropriation of the Apostle Peter (60-800 CE) (Leiden, 2020) 231-49, with a definition on p. 231: ‘Architectural appropriation in this context means the intentional use of architecture or architectural decoration in order to achieve particular political or societal goals.’ 9 Cf. P. Nora, ‘Between Memory and History. Les lieux de mémoire’, Representations 26 (1989) 7-25.

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The Forum was not just, as an inscription of 377 puts it, ‘the most frequented location of the city’ (celeberrimus urbis locus)10. It provided the space for remembering and celebrating Rome’s grandeur, as well as the victories and virtues of its rulers.11 Here, emperors celebrated anniversaries and, especially, their military triumphs, by parading on the Via Sacra and exhibiting their prey, including their humiliated enemies. Before reaching their goal by ascending the Capitoline Hill, the ‘holy mountain of the Romans’12, they passed by the Carcer Mamertinus, the state prison, another symbol of Rome’s power and invincibility. However, Constantius II in 353 was one of the last emperors to take the route through the Forum. In his time, Christian emperors had already begun to leave out the Capitol and, instead, to include the Vatican complex in their processions.13 Despite this ceremonial and spatial shift, the Forum kept its importance, but changed its character. It turned from a primarily imperial into a rather senatorial space, thus reflecting the political changes that took place in the second half of the fourth century. As the urbs ceased to host emperors, and imperial processions became rarer, the senators increasingly took over the area in terms of ritual and material culture.14 When they were going to open the games they had sponsored, game-givers like the senator Alypius (who around 424 spent 1,200 pounds of gold on games in honor of the praetorians) led the pompa from the Capitol through the Forum to the Colosseum.15 On other occasions, local officials conducted 10

CIL VI 3864b =31884 = LSA 1359 (casus changed). C. Machado, Urban Space and Aristocratic Power in Late Antique Rome. AD 270-535 (Oxford, 2019) 95-123 (Emperors and Senators in the Roman Forum); 124-61 (Festivals, Ceremonies and Commemoration); and 162-200 (Redefiniton of Religious Life). 12 Cf. J. Moralee, Rome’s Holy Mountain. The Capitoline Hill in Late Antiquity (Oxford, 2018). 13 Moralee, Rome’s Holy Mountain, 51-55. For the re-orientation of the imperial adventus which changed its character from triumph to pilgrimage, see: P. Liverani, ‘Victors and pilgrims in late antiquity and the early Middle Ages’, Fragmenta 1 (2007) 83-102. 14 See Machado, Urban Space, 102-23. 15 See J.A. Latham, Performance, Memory, and Processions in Ancient Rome (Cambridge, 2016); for the traditional procession: J. Curran, Pagan City and Christian Capital. Rome in the Fourth Century (Oxford, 2000) 25258; for Christians at games in late antique Rome, see R. Lim, ‘People as 11

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processions in the opposite direction on the Via Sacra to the Curia or the Capitol.16 All over the area, the senators kept the emperors materially present on the Forum by erecting or restoring huge statues.17 In doing so, they attached great importance to the announcement of their sponsorship in impressive inscriptions. Moreover, members of the senate were themselves increasingly honored by statues framing the streets and squares of the forum.18 The function of the Forum, however, was not limited to imperial and aristocratic self-representation. It also served as a gathering place for the common people. In 419, in order to prevent the bishop of Spoleto, Achilleus, from celebrating Easter in the Lateran, a crowd marched from the curia to the Temple of Peace, where they threatened the urban prefect Symmachus the Younger.19 At the beginning of the sixth century, the Forum once again served as the stage for a ruler’s self-representation and his interaction with the senate and the people of Rome when the king of the Ostrogoths, Theoderic, imitating the Roman emperors, not only addressed the Senate in the Curia but also the free people of Rome in front of the Curia. The African bishop Fulgentius of Ruspe, who attended the event, was, according to his biographer, deeply impressed by the display of huius saeculi gloriosa pompa.20 Due to the continuing restoration works, the Roman Forum kept much of the splendor that had impressed visitors for centuries. Even early medieval pilgrims visited the Forum. Of the ten itineraries presented by the eighth-century Einsiedeln pilgrim, three led Power. Games, Munificence, and Contested Topography’, in W. Harris (ed.), The Transformations of Urbs Roma in Late Antiquity (Portsmouth, 1999) 265-81. Several recent projects convey a good impression of what the Forum looked like: G.J. Gorski and J.E. Packer, Forum Romanum (Darmstadt, 2017); A. Carandini and P. Carafa, The Atlas of Ancient Rome 1-2 (Princeton, 2017); http://www.digitales-forum-romanum.de (accessed on 1 October 2020) by the Berlin Winckelmann-Institut has not yet proceeded to late antiquity. 16 See Machado, Urban Space, 109. 17 C.W. Hedrick Jr., History and Silence. Purge and Rehabilitation of Memory in Late Antiquity (Austin, 2000) 147-70. 18 See M. Löx, ‘Zwischen physischer Absenz und medial-materieller Präsenz. Die Kaiser der valentinianisch-theodosianischen Zeit und ihr Verhältnis zur Stadt Rom’, AnTard 25 (2017) 149-71. 19 Coll. Avell. 21; 22; 29.3. 20 Vita Sancti Fulgentii 13.27 (PL 65.130); cf. Machado, Urban Space, 121.

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through the Forum.21 Goodson points out that in these itineraries the ‘new churches of the Forum are listed alongside their neighbouring ancient buildings, because the experience of early medieval Rome was not one of sharp divides between the urban elements of antiquity and modernity (that is, medieval)’.22 Hence, late antique and early medieval Christians walking through the Forum must have been fascinated by the buildings and by the statues of emperors, senators, and, above all, of gods. They might have agreed with Ammianus Marcellinus who, when describing Constantius II’s visit to Rome in 356, praised the ‘forum most renowned for ancient power’ (perspectissimum priscae potentiae forum). Maybe they shared the historian’s impression that the sanctuaries of Tarpeian Jupiter ‘exceed everything as heaven does earth’ (Iouis Tarpei delubra, quantum terrenis diuina praecellunt). And they, too, might have counted these monuments among the ‘ornaments of the eternal city’ (decora Urbis aeternae) that turn Rome into a ‘shrine of power and of every virtue’ (imperii uirtutumque omnium larem).23 Our Christians might even have consented when listening to the poet Claudian, who, in 404 in a panegyric celebrating Honorius’ sixth consulship, depicted the Capitoline hill towering over the Forum Romanum in mythological terms: ‘the palace, raising its head above the forum that lies at its feet, sees around it so many temples and is surrounded by so many protecting deities. See below the Thunderer’s temple the Giants suspended from the Tarpeian rock, behold the sculptured doors, the cloud-capped statues, the sky-towering temples, the brazen prows of many a vessel welded on to lofty columns, the

21

See C.J. Goodson, ‘Roman Archaeology in Medieval Rome’, in D. Caldwell and L. Caldwell (eds), Rome. Continuing Encounters Between Past and Present (Farnham, 2011) 17-34 at 20-21; for a facsimile of the manuscript, see G. Walser (ed.), Einsiedlensis. Die Einsiedler Inschriftensammlung und der Pilgerführer durch Rom, (Stuttgart, 1987) and https://www.e-codices.unifr.ch/ de/description/ sbe/0326 (accessed on 5 October 2020). 22 Goodson, ‘Roman Archeology’, 26; cf. 30: ‘the material culture of ancient Rome and the physical remains of the city created […] links between Romans past and present and Christians past and present.’ 23 Amm. 16.10.13-14. See M. Humphries, ‘Narrative and Subversion. Exemplary Rome and Imperial Misrule in Ammianus Marcellinus’, in I. Repath and F.-G. Herrmann (eds), Some Organic Readings in Narrative, Ancient and Modern (Groningen, 2019) 233-54.

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temples built on massy crags […]. The eyes are dazed by the blaze of metal and blink out wearied by the surrounding gold.’24 Indeed, at the turn of the fifth century the area around the Forum Romanum could still be described without any mention of Christian memorials. Prudentius in his Contra Symmachum enumerates pagan monuments only, and he highlights ‘the priest wearing a laurel wreath standing at the temples of their gods along the Via Sacra’ making young boys believe ‘that the figures standing in a row’, statues of Hercules, Castor and Pollux, and others, ‘were the lords of the heavens’.25 When, after the Vandal sack of 455 and the storming of the city by Ricimer in 472, senators restored broken statues, the restoration works also included statues of pagan deities: the urban prefect had the statue of Minerva raised in front of the curia.26 Throughout the sixth century, no Christian building was put up on the Forum. When, in 527, Pope Felix IV founded the first church in the Forum (dedicated to Cosmas and Damian), this was done without changing the silhouette; the former Temple of Romulus and an adjacent building were transformed into a church by only minor structural changes.27 And yet, the Forum changed its appearance due to the augmented reality provided by the Christian imagination. Michel de Certeau has drawn attention to the subversive potential of a walker, a flâneur strolling through the city and appropriating the urban space in a way 24

Claudian, Pan. de VI. cons. Hon. 39-52 (tr. M. Platnauer). Prudentius, c. Symm. 1,216-225, tr. G. Kalas, The Restoration of the Roman Forum in Late Antiquity: Transforming Public Space (Austin, 2015) 74. 26 CIL VI 526 = LSA 791; see Machado, Urban Space, 120. 27 Interestingly, the twins Romulus and Remus were replaced by the twins Cosmas and Damian. See S. Episcopo, ‘Ss. Cosmas et Damianus, basilica’, in E.M. Steinby (ed.), Lexicon topographicum urbis Romae 1 (Rome, 2015) 324-25 at 324-25. M. Maskarinec, City of Saints. Rebuilding Rome in the Early Middle Ages (Philadelphia, 2018) 32-33, supposes that imperial interests kept papal influence low, so that the first churches in the Forum were dedicated to Eastern saints, not to Peter or other local saints. However, the Pope succeeded in giving the church of Cosmas and Damian a Roman note by the mosaics that show Peter and Paul framing Christ and presenting Cosmas and Damian, while Pope Felix holds a model of the church. See Maskarinec, City of Saints, 27-52, for the imperial patronage of the following saints to be introduced into the Forum. 25

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that flouts the intentions of its planners, that undermines the ‘“theoretical” (that is, visual) simulacrum, in short a picture, whose condition of possibility is an oblivion and a misunderstanding of practices’.28 How might an individual’s apprehension and appropriation have changed the Forum if it were inspired by Christian stories and images? Would it have undermined the ideas and values the Forum traditionally stood for? Of course, prima facie, the Forum still conveyed its traditional values. The ensemble of its monuments presented an imperial, senatorial, and also religious topography. But now, the visible ideological topography was undermined by a mental hetero-topography. The Christian imagination provided what Foucault has termed a heterotopia, ‘other or different spaces’, ‘real and effective spaces […] which constitute a sort of counter arrangement, of effectively realized utopia, in which all the real arrangements, all the other real arrangements that can be found within society, are at one and the same time represented, challenged, and overturned: a sort of place that lies outside all places and yet is actually localizable.’29 The other places and spaces of the Christian narratives reflected the ‘real’ spaces and places and, at the same time, served as counterforts disturbing and contradicting the outer world. The virtual world altered the perception of the ‘real’ space so that it became a different space, an augmented or enhanced space, a mixed reality. Let us explore how such a virtual transformation of the Forum might have worked in light of the hetero-topography provided by stories and images referring to the Apostles. For it was the peculiar environment of the Forum that Peter and Paul, in the virtual world of the Christian imagination, entered to defeat their enemy. After Peter won the first competition on the Forum Iulianum, the northern annex of the Forum Romanum, the final combat took place on the Via Sacra. 28

Certeau, ‘Walking’, 92-93. See B. Morris, ‘What we talk about when we talk about “Walking in the City”’, Cultural Studies 18 (2004) 675-97. For Certeau’s use of the term ‘appropriation’ to describe the subversive potential of the individual, see M. Füssel, ‘Die Kunst des Schwachen. Zum Begriff der Aneignung in der Geschichtswissenschaft’, Sozia.Geschichte 21/3 (2006) 7-28. 29 M. Foucault, ‘Of Other Spaces. Utopias and Heterotopias’, in id., Rethinking Architecture. A Reader in Cultural Theory, ed. N. Leach (New York, 1997) 330-36 at 332.

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2. The Capitoline Hill: Simon Magus’s Launch Pad When standing at the western rostra (the speaker’s platform), looking at the Capitoline Hill, and recalling the stories about Peter in Rome, late-antique Christians might have imagined Simon Magus flying through the air and crashing down on the Via Sacra due to the prayer of Peter (and, according to some traditions, of Paul). According to some late antique traditions (Ambrosius/Ps.-Hegesippus; Ps-Abdias), 30 Simon Magus started his flight on the Capitoline Hill. While in Ps.-Marcellus the sorcerer climbs a wooden tower erected for this purpose on the Martian field, Ps.-Hegesippus associates the event with Rome’s sacred mountain. If Zwierlein is right in identifying Ps.-Hegesippus with Ambrose, the author of this text, though born in Trier, had grown up in the city of Rome in a Christian family of urban Roman ancestry. He must have learnt the Christian folklore from narratives transmitted both in written texts and spoken words as well as their visual permutations in works of art.31 Ps.-Hegesippus/Ambrose (as well as Ps.-Abdias) enriches the story with two elements of Roman mythology. He assimilates Simon Magus to Icarus by endowing the sorcerer with artificial wings (remigium alarum). This element is missing elsewhere. In Ps.-Marcellus, the magician begins to fly without further support, just with his arms spread and a laurel crown on his head. In other versions, Simon is helped by angels or demons. In Ps.-Hegesippus/Ambrose (and Ps.-Abdias), however, he uses a flying apparatus like his mythological model.32 The ancient lesson of the flight that turns into a fall is thus retold and

30

For clarity’s sake I use the traditional name Ps.-Abdias although Els Rose has convincingly argued for Virtutes Apostolorum as a more appropriate title. See, for example, E. Rose, ‘Abdias Scriptor Vitarum Sanctorum Apostolorum? The “Collection of Pseudo-Abdias” Reconsidered’, Revue d’Histoire des Textes 8 (2013) 227-268. 31 For a helpful comparison of the various versions on Simon’s flight, see O. Zwierlein, Petrus in Rom (Berlin and New York, 20102) 59-74; see p. 39 for identifying Ps.-Hegesippus with Ambrose. 32 Zwierlein, Petrus in Rom, 70-74. Ambrose and most late-antique authors and readers might have had another story in mind: Suetonius’ account of the ‘Icarus’ who crash-landed in the Roman arena spattering Nero with blood: Suetonius, Nero 12.2. I am grateful to Janet Spittler for indicating this text to me.

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applied to Simon Magus who thereby appears as another incorporation of human presumption. A slightly different message is conveyed by a further mythological allusion. Ps.-Hegesippus/Ambrose mentions the Tarpeian rock.

3. The Tarpeian Rock: Punishment and Redemption The saxum Tarpeium, the southern summit of the Capitoline hill, was associated with the mythical high treason of Tarpeia, who had been thrown from the rock that was to bear her name.33 Accordingly, in ancient times, as was told in late antiquity, felons were executed in the same way.34 Simon Magus, who, in the beginning, seems to suspend the laws of gravity, eventually receives the punishment for high traitors and other criminals as a consequence of the apostles’ intervention. The rock is now augmented by a new, Christian myth. The Tarpeian rock is appropriated by the Christian imagination in yet another way. It resonates (in connection with the Mamertine prison which was built into it) with an episode depicted both in literary and iconographical sources. Ps.-Linus, in a passage that has no counterpart in the Greek versions, briefly mentions that, in prison, converts were baptized in or through a spring that Peter had ‘brought forth from stone by prayers and the glorious sign of the cross’.35 This text gives names to the two guards, Processus and Martinianus. The prison is identified as the Mamertine. Peter and Paul are thereby placed in a row of illustrious prisoners of state, as the Carcer Mamertinus (or Tullianum) was a high-security prison, especially for people deemed threats to the state (such as the Catiline conspirators or Simon bar Giora, one of the leaders of the Jewish revolt). Carved into the 33 T.P. Wiseman, ‘Saxum Tarpeium’, in M. Steinby (ed.), Lexicon Topographicum Urbis Romae IV (Rome, 1999) 237-38. For an updated bibliography, see: P. Paolucci, ‘Festo e il Saxum Tarpeium’, Myrtia 31 (2016) 419-23 at 421-23. 34 On being cast from the Tarpeian Rock as punishment for political crimes against the people, see Liv. 6.20.12 and Dio 58.15.3; further references in T. Mommsen, Römisches Strafrecht (Leipzig, 1899) 931-34. 35 Ps.-Linus, Martyrium beati Petri apostoli 5 (ed. R.A. Lipsius and M. Bonnet, Acta apostolorum apocrypha post Constantin Tischendorf I [Leipzig, 1891] 6.27-7.1), tr. Eastman, Ancient Martyrdom Accounts, 41.

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Capitoline Hill, it was, according to Sallust, a place of ‘a hideous and terrifying appearance’, full of ‘darkness and stench’.36 While Ps.-Linus devotes but one sentence to the miracle, a Passio offers a more elaborate account of this episode. The Passio of Processus and Martinianus, a late antique spin-off of the Ps.-Linus, focuses on the two guards who had been minor characters in Ps.-Linus. Perhaps inspired by Acts 16:23–24, where Paul and Silas baptize their guards, the Passio explicitly mentions that the apostles baptize the two guards (and, along with them, fifty-seven fellow prisoners), and it identifies the stone as the saxum Tarpeium.37 This information, as well as the localization in Ps.-Linus, correlates with a local tradition that has been cultivated to the present day. A label in the upper room of the Mamertine prison presents the column producing the water by which the guards and all the prisoners were baptized. It is not clear when and why the prison became a site of commemoration. Long before Peter’s alleged miracle, there had been a well in the lower room that, in archaic times, seems to have been the site of a cult. The name of the prison probably derives from this well, as tullius means spring, fountain, or jet of water, and was possibly only later traced back to a mythical founder named Tullius. Perhaps Christians preferred the name Mamertinus to veil the fact that there had been a well in the lower room long before Peter’s alleged miracle.38 We do not know exactly when the story came to be connected to the Mamertine prison. According to Ammianus Marcellinus, the prison was still in use as late as 368 CE.39 Hence, it could have become a Sallust, Bell. Cat. 55.3-4. Cf. A.T. Wilkins, ‘Sallust’s Tullianum’, in S.K. Dickinson and J.P. Hallett (eds), Rome and Her Monuments (Wauconda, 2000) 99-124. 37 The baptism is only mentioned in the long recension of the text, reproduced in Acta Sanctorum, Julii, I, cc. 303-04. Cf. R. Lipsius, Die apokryphen Apostelgeschichten und Apostellegenden II/1 (Braunschweig, 1887) 105-06, 110-11. For the short recension, see P. Franchi de Cavalieri, Note agiografiche 9 (Roma, 1902, repr. 1953) 47-52. English text of Passio Processi et Martiani 3-4 in: M. Lapidge, The Roman Martyrs (Oxford, 2018) 385-86. 38 G. De Spirito, ‘Carcer tullianum (in fonte agiografiche)’, in Steinby, Lexicon I, 237-39; P. Fortini, ‘Nuovi documenti sul Carcere Mamertino (Carcer-Tullianum) quale luogo di culto cristiano’, in F. Guidobaldi and A.G. Guidobaldi (eds), Ecclesiae Urbis: Atti del Congresso internazionale di studi sulle chiese di Roma (IV-X secolo) (Vatican, 2002) 503-32. 39 Amm. 18.1.57. 36

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focus of the veneration of Peter only afterwards. Excavations indicate that the site was likely turned into a memorial to Peter in the 7th century or earlier.40 Such a dating squares with the hypothetical chronology of the literary sources that first mention the Mamertine prison as the setting for Peter’s water miracle. While Ps.-Linus might have been composed during the Laurentian schism (498–506), the Passio of Processus and Martinianus seems to have followed soon in the first half of the sixth century.41 At any rate, the episode, though not necessarily linked with the Mamertine prison, was firmly anchored in the consciousness of late antique Christians, as it occurs in iconographical representations beginning in the early fourth century. Mostly on sarcophagi, where it 40

Patrizia Fortini’s dating is voiced in several newspaper articles from 2010 and 2011. For example: Tesoros de la Fe N°109 enero 2011 https://www. tesorosdelafe.com/articulo-599-la-carcel-de-san-pedro-y-el-triunfo-de-la-iglesia with a photograph of a 8th-century fresco and The Telegraph 25 June 2010: https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/7852507/Archeologists-findevidence-of-St-Peters-prison. html (both accessed 10 December 2019). I could, however, not find a confirmation in an academic publication. Fortini, ‘Nuovi documenti’, only refers to literary sources, and P. Fortini, ‘Tullianum. Prime note sulla sua struttura dai recenti scavi’, in V. Nizzo and L. La Rocca (eds), Rappresentazioni e pratiche del sacro (Rome, 2012) 507-13 studies the artefacts that attest to the pre-Christian sacral usage of the font. There was also another tradition of Peter baptizing: the Nymphae beati Petri on the Via Nomentana, mentioned in the Passio of Pope Marcellus (from the first part of the 6th century) as the ‘well where Peter conducted his baptisms’: Passio Marcelli 9 (ed. Musurillo p. 253). English translation in Lapidge, The Roman Martyrs, 403; cf. L. Spera, ‘Nymphas beati Petri’, in A. La Regina (ed.), Lexicon Topographicum Urbis Romae. Suburbium IV (Rome, 2007) 127-29. 41 M. Pignot, Cult of Saints, E02505 = http://csla.history.ox.ac.uk/record. php?recid=E02505 referring to C. Lanéry, ‘Hagiographie d’Italie (300-550) I’, in G. Philippart (ed.), Hagiographies V (Turnhout, 2010) 15-369 at 216-23; Lapidge, The Roman Martyrs, 381-84; G.N. Verrando, ‘Osservazioni sulla collocazione cronologica degli apocrifi Atti di Pietro dello Pseudo-Lino’, Vetera Christianorum 20 (1983) 391-26 and G.N. Verrando, ‘Note sulle tradizioni agiografiche su Processo, Martiniano e Lucina’, Vetera Christianorum 24 (1987) 353-73. Zwierlein, Petrus in Rom, 39, 339, 389-400, deviates from the consensus by dating Ps.-Linus to the late fourth century. M. Dulaey, ‘La scène dite de l’arrestation du Pierre’, RivAC 84 (2008) 299-346 at 302, dates Ps.-Linus to the early sixth century but thinks it possible that the Passio is prior to Ps.-Linus, although it apparently is a spin-off of Ps.-Linus.

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was one of the most popular themes (with more than a hundred appearances on the exemplars that have survived), Peter is depicted as striking a rock with a staff so that water gushes out.42 The water miracle is often (sixty-four times43) combined with Peter’s arrest by soldiers. Moreover, in fifty-five cases, he performs the miracle for thirsty soldiers.44 A late antique Christian who had read or, more likely, heard that Peter had produced water from the Tarpeian rock would have located the miracle in the Mamertine prison and identified the rock with the saxum Tarpeium whose sinister significance was known to every Roman. The baptism was thus linked to a famous execution site: a symbol of punishment and death turned into a symbol of redemption and life. 4. The Stone of the Apostles’ Victory on the Via Sacra: A ‘Negative Monument’45 While proceeding from the western to the eastern part of the Forum, one passed by a multitude of statues.46 Throughout the fourth century, local officials kept on erecting or restoring statues of gods, emperors, and senators. Serving as dedicators, the senators displayed their power and symbolically participated in the power and prestige of the dedicatees.47 In 367, Vettius Praetextatus, the prefect of the city, had restored the gilded statues of the Dei Consentes, ‘the most holy statues (sacrosancta simulacra) of the harmonious gods’.48 Soon afterwards, For the statistics, see J. Dresken-Weiland, ‘Petrusdarstellungen und ihre Bedeutung in der frühchristlichen Kunst’, in S. Heid (ed.), Petrus in Rom (Freiburg, 2011) 126-52 at 127. 43 P. Lampe, ‘Traces of Peter Veneration in Roman Archaeology’, in H.K. Bond and L.W. Hurtado (eds), Peter in Early Christianity (Grand Rapids and Cambridge, 2015) 273-320 at 301. The upper-class background is confirmed by some representations of Peter’s miracle on gold glasses: J. Dresken-Weiland, Bild, Grab und Wort (Regensburg, 2010) 128. 44 Cf. Lampe, Traces, 300 with a list in n. 88. 45 Kalas, Restoration, 163. 46 Cf. Hedrick Jr., History and Silence, 147-70. 47 F.A. Bauer and C. Witschel (eds), Statuen in der Spätantike (Wiesbaden, 2007); R.R.R. Smith and B. Ward-Perkins, The Last Statues of Antiquity (Oxford, 2016). 48 See Machado, Urban Space, 104, P. Bruggisser, ‘“Sacro-Saintes Statues”. Prétextat et la Restauration du Portique des Dei Consentes à Rome’, 42

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he himself, like other eminent senators, was represented by a statue.49 With one exception, all emperors until the end of the Theodosian dynasty received statues near the eastern rostra.50 When late antique flâneurs arrived at the supposed point of Simon’s fall and the apostles’ prayer, they encountered a curious antithesis to the honorary statues: a so-called Stone of Apostolic Victory over Simon Magus was displayed on the Via Sacra. There seem to be two different aetiologies for this memorial. One of them is kept to the present day in the church of Santa Francesca Romana (Santa Maria Nuova) on the northern side of the Via Sacra near the church Cosma e Damiano. Its right transept hosts two stone fragments. A label above explains that they show Peter’s knee prints which he left when the demons carried Simon Magus through the air.51 Gregory of Tours already knew this story when he wrote his Glory of the Martyrs between 583 and 593.52 However, according to him, one of the two imprints belonged to Paul. And, indeed, the oratory that Pope Paul I (757–767) built on this site in the 8th century was dedicated to both Peter and Paul.53 In the 9th century, the oratory was torn down and replaced with Santa Maria Nuova, later to be named

in R. Behrwald and C. Witschel (eds), Rom in der Spätantike (Stuttgart, 2012) 331-56. 49 F.A. Bauer, Stadt, Platz und Denkmal in der Spätantike (Mainz 1996) 72, 132, 401-05. 50 See Machado, Urban Space, 103 and 114. 51 Parts of the following paragraphs correspond to passages of my article ‘Rocks, Chains, and Keys. The Acts of Peter, its Hagiographical Spinoffs, and the “Material Reception” of Matthew 16,18-19’, in J. Lieu (ed.), Peter. Apostle – Missionary – Church Leader (Leuven, forthcoming). 52 Gregory of Tours, De Gloria martyrum (= Historiarum Liber I) 27 (MGH.SRM 1/2 [repr. with new pagination: 1969/1988], pp. 53-54 Krusch). 53 Liber Pontificalis 95, ed. L. Duchesne, Le Liber Pontificalis (Paris, 1955², repr. 1981) 463-65, p. 463,6-7. An eighth-century label from Sens recording a relic de illo loco ubi s(anctu)s Petrus et s(anctu)s Paulus contra Simon mago orabant also names both apostles: A. Bruckner and R. Marichal, Chartae Latinae Antiquiores XIX (Olten, 1985) 55 (no. 682.lxxii), while another label from the same collection reading de petra ubi oravit s(anctu)s Petrus (no. 682.lxxi) might refer to the rock in the Mamertine prison. See also J.M.H. Smith, ‘The remains of the saints. The evidence of early medieval relics’, Early Medieval Europe 28 (2020) 388-424.

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after Santa Francesca Romana in the 15th century.54 In the 6th century, however, the imprints seem to have been located still in the open air, as Gregory also mentions rain water collected in the hollows to be used for healing. The later tradition on Peter’s knee prints deviates from several other accounts of the scene. While the Latin text of the Actus Petri has a lacuna, the Greek text and the Vercelli text as well as the Constitutiones Apostolorum and John Malalas simply render or mention the prayer without describing Peter’s posture.55 Other texts (those of Ps.-Hegesippus and Ps.-Abdias) explicitly present Peter as standing in the midst of the crowd while praying.56 In versions where Peter is

54

The church was built into the western vestibule of the great temple of Venus and Roma that, more than a century before, had been stripped of its bronze roof by Pope Honorius I (625-638): Liber Pontificalis 72 (ed. Duchesne 323-24) 323, l.8 (de templo qui appellatur Romae). Cf. R. Krautheimer et al. (eds), Corpus basilicarum christianarum Romae I (Rome, 1937) 220-34; W. Buchowiecki, Handbuch der Kirchen Roms III (Vienna, 1997) 33-57; P.C. Claussen, Die Kirchen der Stadt Rom im Mittelalter 10501300. III (Stuttgart, 2010) 466-87; P. Pensabene, Roma su Roma: reimpiego architettonico, recupero dell‘antico e trasformazioni urbane tra il III e il XIII secolo (Vatican, 2015) 305-07. Against the scholarly consensus rendered here, Duchesne identified the temple whose spolia Honorius used with the Basilica Constantina: cf. his commentary on Liber Pontificalis 72, 325, n. 5, and L. Duchesne, ‘Templum Romae, Templum Romuli’, in id., Scripta Minora: Études de topographie romaine et de géographie ecclésiastique (Rome, 1973) 3-15. 55 Actus Petri 32 (M. 3) (Lipsius and Bonnet I, 82,4-84,10); Actus Petri Vercellenses 32 (ed. M. Döhler, Acta Petri [Berlin and Boston, 2018] 130,824-829). If the Vercelli text is of African origin, this may explain why it is not interested in the Roman stone, cf. G. Poupon, ‘L’Origine africaine des Actus Vercellenses’, in J.N. Bremmer (ed.), The Apocryphal Acts of Peter: Magic, Miracles, and Gnosticism (Leuven, 1998) 192-99. Constitutiones Apostolorum 6.9.3 (SC 329, 89-92 Metzger); cf. Zwierlein, Petrus in Rom, 67. Cf. also Johannes Malalas, Chronographia 10.34 (ed. H. Thurn [Berlin, 2000] 192). 56 Cf. Ambrose, Hegesippi Historiae 3.2 (CSEL 66/1,185 Ussani), cf. Zwierlein, Petrus in Rom, 60; for Ps.-Abdias, Passio Petri (= Historia apostolica 1) 18 cf. D.L. Eastman, The Ancient Martyr Accounts of Peter and Paul (Atlanta, 2015) 94-95 who provides both the Latin text of J.A. Fabricius, Codex apocryphus Novi Testamenti II (Hamburg, 1719², repr. 1998) 402-21, and his English translation.

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accompanied by Paul, as in Ps.-Marcellus and two related Greek texts, it is Paul who is kneeling while Peter remains standing.57 Thus, Gregory of Tours attests to a more Petrine version of the tradition with Peter kneeling beside Paul, who, eventually, sometime after the 8th century, was to leave the scene completely.58 Whatever version of the kneeling story a late ancient Christian had in mind: the overall impression while walking down the Via Sacra must have been a stark contrast. Having seen ‘the cloud-capped statues’ (Claudian) below the Capitoline Hill and having passed the erect and vertical simulacra on the Forum, the walker would have arrived at a point where the row of statues and columns was interrupted and counterpointed by a horizontal and negative monument on the ground, the knee prints indented in stone. This monument that negated sculptural representation subverted the ideological program of the Forum: the apostles are represented as non-statues, as a-simulacra, and anti-idols. The impression of contrast also matches the alternative interpretation of the memorial, which identifies it with the spot where Simon Magus hit the ground. While Ps.-Marcellus and the Greek Acts as well as John Malalas do not mention knee prints, they, nevertheless, know of a stone displayed at the Via Sacra and connected with the same story: when Simon Magus was flying over Rome, Peter cursed the demon that held the magician in the air. The demon fled, and Simon crashed down on the Via Sacra. The text of Ps.-Marcellus is ambiguous: cecidit in locum qui Sacra Via dicitur, et in quattuor partes fractus quattuor silices adunauit qui sunt ad testimonium uictoriae apostolicae usque in hodiernum diem. One possibility is to translate the adunauit literally and render in quattuor partes against the classical grammar in which the accusative indicates a direction: ‘He had fractures in four parts [of his body] and united four stones which remain to the present day as a testimony 57

Ps.-Marcellus, Passio sanctorum Petri et Pauli 52 (Lipsius and Bonnet I, p. 163); Martyrium Petri et Pauli 52 (162); Acta Petri et Pauli 73 (209). 58 Maximus of Turin, like Ps.-Hegesippus and Ps.-Abdias, ignores Paul: Max. Taur., sermo 31 (CCL 23, 123 Mutzenbacher): ‘the apostle Peter […] by the strength of his prayers cast down the other Simon, who was disturbing the foundations of the Church in the city of Rome’ (transl. B. Ramsey, The Sermons of St. Maximus of Turin [Mahwah, 1989] 77). For the preference for Peter over Paul esp. in Latin versions of Apocryphal Acts, see A. van den Hoek, ‘Peter without Paul. Aspects of the Primordial Role of Simon Peter in an Early Christian Context’, in Dijkstra, Early Reception, 203-30.

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to the Apostles’ victory’. This interpretation is supported by τὸ σκέλος κατέαξεν ἐν τριῶν τόπον in the Greek Martyrium Petri, despite the deviant number of fractures.59 Medieval versions explain this rather cryptic merging of stones: Simon Magus’ blood and brain miraculously joined the four stones into one.60 Another possibility is to follow David Eastman, who opts for a literal translation of in quattuor partes fractus which necessitates a rather free interpretation of adunauit that he renders with turned: ‘he was broken into four parts and turned into four stones’.61 This understanding might find a confirmation in John Malalas, who has heard that Simon’s corpse still lies where he fell down and has a stone enclosure surrounding it.62 The interpretation may have been fostered by a story that circulated among Roman Christians as early as the second century: According to this story, told in the Actus Vercellenses, a statue had been erected for Simon Magus (by the senator Marcellus) and dedicated to ‘Simon the young god’.63 The story circulated in Rome as early as the mid-second century, when the Christian philosopher Justin appealed to the emperors, the senate and the people of Rome to destroy the statues and images dedicated to Simon.64 Similarly, Justin’s younger contemporary Irenaeus reports that Simon’s disciples worshipped his images and the emperor Claudius had honored him with a statue.65 Regardless of its truth,66 Christians who knew 59

Martyrium Petri 3 (82), corresponding to fregit crus in tres partes in Actus Petri cum Simone 32 (Lipsius and Bonnet I, 83). Cf. also the Greek versions Martyrium Petri et Pauli 56 (166) and Acta Petri et Pauli 77 (211). 60 Cf. Lipsius, Die apokryphen Apostelgeschichten II/1, 326, on ActaSS Iun. V 432 with quotations from a letter by Petrarca and a Ceremoniale of 1143 as it was quoted by Turrigio. 61 Eastman, Ancient Martyr Accounts, 261. 62 John Malalas, Chronographia 10,34 (ed. Thurn, 192). 63 Actus Vercellenses 10 (ed. Döhler 82,297). Also cf. Eusebius, h.e. 2.13.3; Cyril of Jerusalem, Procat. 6.14. 64 Justin, apol. 1.56.4; cf. 1.26.2. 65 Irenaeus, haer. 1.23.1-4; cf. Eusebius, h.e. 2.13.6. 66 Did the story take its cue from a misunderstanding of a statue dedicated to Semo Sancus, the god of trust and truth? In fact, in 1574 a statue was discovered with an inscription reading Semoni Sanco Deo Fidio Sacrum. See C. Gnilka, ‘Simon Magus und die römische Petrustradition’, in id., Pratum Patristicum (Basel, 2019) 189-206; repr. of: RQA 113 (2018) 151-65; J. Poucet, ‘Semo Sancus Dius Fidius’, Recherches de philologie et de linguistique 3

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this story might have associated the fragmented stone with a statue broken into pieces. This idea also fits the function of the stone as a counter-monument: as a memorial of brokenness, it contrasted with all the statues that were still standing and intact. This much is clear: in either case, the memorial primarily refers to Simon Magus’ fall and not to the knee prints. Do these texts, then, point to a different site close to the knee prints commemorating the same event? Or do they only provide an alternative aetiology for the same stone monument that was venerated at the Via Sacra in late antiquity and the Middle Ages?67 Such questions do not have to occupy us in the present context, as it goes without saying that in either case a late antique Christian must have experienced a stark contrast between the Stone of the Apostles’ Victory and its topographical context. This contrast correlated with a theological message. The Stone of Apostolic Victory, situated on the ancient triumphal route, subverted traditional notions of triumph and glory. Instead of an imperial or divine statue of superhuman size carved out of a rock (or diecast), the apostles are commemorated by a “negative monument” that illustrates the new virtue Christianity had introduced into Roman morals and also into the representation of emperors.68 Those knee prints as symbols of humility were distinctly Christian signs of victory, whereas the alternate interpretation of the stone as a sign of the sorcerer’s humiliating fall fits better in the triumphalist tradition of the Roman Forum, although in this case the defeated and exposed enemy was considered a demonic power rather than a political or military opponent. (1972) 55-68. For a picture, see O. Zwierlein, Petrus und Paulus in Jerusalem und Rom (Berlin and Boston, 2013) 30. 67 Lipsius, Die apokryphen Apostelgeschichten II/1, 417, is convinced that both stories refer to the same stone. There are comparable cases of differing aetiologies for the same material object, such as an imprint in the Dome of the Rocks, that is variously attributed to Mohammed’s horse on which he ascended to heaven or to the archangel Gabriel’s hand by which he prevented the rock from following the prophet. 68 For humility as a new virtue, in particular for rulers, cf., e.g., H. Leppin, ‘Demut und Macht. Der Bußakt von Mailand Weihnachten 390’, in W. Krieger (ed.), Und keine Schlacht bei Marathon (Stuttgart, 2005) 50-69, and M. Meier, ‘Die Demut des Kaisers. Aspekte der religiösen Selbstinszenierung bei Theodosius II’, in A. Pečar and K. Trampedach (eds), Die Bibel als politisches Argument (Munich, 2007) 135-158.

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5. Roman Lieux de Mémoire: The Ideological Surroundings of the Apostles’ Memorial We may wonder if there are further sites in the topographical context of the Stone of Apostolic Victory that resonated with the heterotopia in the mind of late-antique Christians. Since their imagination was fostered by classical mythology no less than by Christian traditions, did they, when looking at the Stone of Apostolic Victory, think of the lapis niger they had passed by only minutes ago? The lapis niger marked the alleged grave of Romulus on the Forum. Late-antique Christians probably knew that some people, among them bishop Damasus and the poet Prudentius, likened Peter and Paul to Romulus and Remus as the founding fathers of the Christian community69 – although some people also warned against overstretching the comparison: after all, Romulus had killed his brother Remus. Orosius, for example, says about Romulus: ‘His first battlefield was the Forum of the City’.70 For Leo, it is exactly this aspect that demonstrates the superiority of the founders of Christian Rome.71 Some buildings in the vicinity supported this association. The Vita of Pope Paul I (757–767) in the Liber Pontificalis reminds us that the church that this pope had erected for hosting the knee prints 69 For a comparison of Romulus and Remus with Peter and Paul as foundational figures in Damasus and in Prudentius, see J.M. Huskinson, Concordia apostolorum: Christian Propaganda in Rome in the Fourth and Fifth Centuries (Oxford, 1982) 90-91; M. Beard et al. (eds), Religions of Rome, 2 vols (Cambridge, 1998) 1.377; M. Humphries, ‘Romulus and Peter. Remembering and Reconfiguring Rome’s Foundation in Late Antiquity’, in Dijkstra, Early Reception, 172-87. 70 Orosius 2,4,4: Primus illi campus ad bellum forum urbis fuit, mixta simul externa ciuiliaque bella numquam defutura significans. Some late antique authors like Eutropius or Jerome try to absolve Romulus from the guilt of fratricide by questioning the identity either of the killer or of the victim. See Humphries, ‘Romulus and Peter’, 175-76. 71 Leo, Tract. 82.1: isti sunt sancti patres tui verique pastores, qui te regnis coelestibus inserendam multo melius multoque felicius condiderunt, quam illi quorum studio prima moenium tuorum fundamenta locata sunt: ex quibus is qui tibi nomen dedit fraterna te caede foedavit. See the classical study by Huskinson, Concordia apostolorum as well as G.E. Demacopoulos, The Invention of Peter. Apostolic Discourse and Papal Authority in Late Antiquity (Philadelphia, 2013) 13-38.

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was just one door down from the Templum Romae [uel Romuli].72 This building has been variously identified as the Basilica of Constantine, also called Templum Romae,73 or the nearby Templum Romuli.74 Both buildings were accessed by the Via Sacra. In either case, it is interesting that the Vita refers to a building by a name that bears ideological significance, be it Rome or Romulus. Although the Templum Romuli (the former Aedes Iovis Statoris) had probably been named after a different Romulus (the son of Maxentius), the name evoked the foundational figure of Rome, even more so, as only a stone’s throw away people had venerated the famous lapis niger, the legendary site of Romulus’ burial. Moreover, both buildings were directly connected with another important site of memory: the Temple of Peace (Templum Pacis).75 72

Liber Pontificalis 95, ed. L. Duchesne, 463-65, p. 463, 6-7: in via sacra iuxta templum Romae; for the reading Romae uel Romuli, cf. Duchesne, Templum Romae, 11. 73 Cassiodorus, Chronica 2.142 tells us that by his time it was called the temple of the city. This temple, which had been rededicated by the senate to Constantine, had turned from a place of cult into a monument of the past. Bauer assumes that this secularization probably did not take place before Theodosian’s anti-pagan legislation in the 390s. Cf. Bauer, Stadt, Platz und Denkmal, 60. Prudentius in his Contra Symmachum still depicts it as one of the pagan monuments: Prudentius, c. Symm. 1,216-25 Translation: Kalas, Restoration, 74. The Temple of Rome is not to be confused with the nearby Temple of Venus and Roma. Cf. E. Monaco, ‘Il Tempio di Venere a Roma. Appunti sulla fase del IV secolo’, in S. Ensoli and E. La Rocca (eds), Aurea Roma. Dalla città pagana alla città Cristiana (Rome, 2000) 58-60. 74 Duchesne, in the late 19th century, called the communis opinio of his time into question, which identified the building referred to in the Liber Pontificalis with the templum Romuli, and voted for the Basilica Constantina as the most likely candidate. Cf. his comments on Liber Pontificalis 56, 72, and 95 (ed. Duchesne p. 279, n. 3; p. 325, n. 5; p. 465, n. 9 and n. 10) as well as Duchesne, Templum Romae, 4-10. Most scholars, however, still prefer the classical identification. Cf., for example, K.S. Freyberger, ‘Sakrale Kommunikationsräume auf dem Forum Romanum’, in F. Mundt (ed.), Kommunikationsräume im kaiserzeitlichen Rom (Berlin and Boston, 2012) 49-76 at 67-69. 75 Cf. Kalas, Restoration, 62-68. R. Krautheimer, ‘SS. Cosma e Damiano’, in Krautheimer, Corpus Basilicarum I, 140-43; J. Osborne, ‘The Jerusalem Temple Treasures and the Church of SS. Cosma e Damiano in Rome’, PBSR 76 (2008) 173-81; L. Nasrallah, Christian Responses to Roman Art and Architecture (Cambridge, 2010) 163-64.

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The Temple of Rome had been rebuilt by Maxentius at the northwest side of the Temple of Peace with a portico and a portal replacing an alley that had hitherto separated the two buildings, and uniting both in one architectural complex; the Templum Romuli, meanwhile, had served as a vestibule leading people from the Via Sacra to the Temple of Peace.76 As an imperial museum, the Templum Pacis exhibited artefacts that illustrated Rome’s global prestige and significance, including the menorah from the temple of Jerusalem and masterpieces from Pergamon.77 The Stone of Apostolic Victory was also situated in the vicinity of the Temple of Castor and Pollux at the south end of the Forum – Rome’s twin deities that also had been associated with Peter and Paul.78 Each year, rituals were performed in front of the temple. We do not know exactly how long these annual celebrations continued, but the calendar of Filocalus suggests that they were still practised in the mid fourth century.79 For its counterpart in Ostia, celebrations are reported at least well into the fifth century.80 The cult of the Dioscuri was still alive in Rome when Pope Gelasius, at the turn of the sixth century, complained that the people did not want to abandon the ‘cult of Castores’ with its sacrifices. Even Christians did not see their Christian identity risked by participating in these rituals.81 Indeed, Christian appropriation of the Dioscuri is also attested in fourth-century pottery and carvings from North Africa: there, Castor and Pollux are depicted alongside Peter or the Twelve Apostles.82 76

For an illustration demonstrating the unity of the complex, cf. Freyberger, Sakrale Kommunikationsräume, 68. 77 Cf. S. Rutledge, Ancient Rome as a Museum (Oxford, 2012) 272-84. 78 A. van den Hoek, ‘Divine Twins or Saintly Twins: The Dioscuri in an Early Christian Context’, in ead. and J.J. Herrmann, Pottery, Pavements, and Paradise (Leiden, 2013) 255-300; repr. in S. Blakeley (ed.), Gods, Objects, and Ritual Practice (Atlanta, 2017) 17-51. 79 Machado, Urban Space, 106. 80 See the fifth-century sources Fasti Polemii Silvii 13.2 (p.264) and Ps.Aeth. Cosmog. (ed. Riese, p. 83) on the Roman people celebrating a festival dedicated to the Dioscuri together with the urban prefect; see Machado, Urban Space, 106-07. The Dioscuri are also recalled in a panegyric by Claudian for Honorius in the early fifth century: De IV cons. Hon. 203-11. 81 Gelasius, Adv. Androm. (coll. Avell. ep. 100) 18; see Machado, Urban Space, 177. 82 Van den Hoek, ‘Divine Twins’, 256-61.

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Like the row of statues, the vicinity of the temple of Castor and Pollux might have given to a sensitive flâneur the impression of contrast and inversion. For the Dioscuri were identified with the twin stars of Gemini that one could discern in the night sky. The early fifth-century grammarian and Neoplatonist Macrobius, in his comment on Cicero’s Dream of Scipio, located these twin stars at the gates of heaven.83 While the apostles had also been promoted to the role of celestial figures, even gatekeepers, and had been called ‘new stars’ (nova sidera),84 a Christian who knew these associations must have been aware that on the Forum they were represented not by shining stars up in the sky but by inconspicuous hollows on the ground, alluding to what Christian theology considered an indispensable precondition of divinization: the distinctly Christian virtue of humility. Just across the Via Sacra, the memorial of the apostolic victory faced another site of ideological significance: The temple of Vesta housed the famous Palladium that was said to have been brought by Aeneas from Troy and was thus linked to the foundation of Rome.85 Interestingly, the Vestal Virgins, as we will see in the last section, also have their appearance in a late-antique legend that may have come to the mind of a late-antique Christian when walking through the Forum Romanum. 6. From the Forum to the Appian Gate: Simon’s Fall and Christ’s Ascension Having left the Forum and heading for the Porta Appia, a late-antique Christian may have stopped at the Septizodium. The Septizodium was a nymphaeum on the Via Appia near the Baths of Caracalla between the Colosseum and the Circus Maximus. The area in front of it also served as a gathering place, as when the wine had run out and the plebs gathered there to confront the prefect Leontius.86 The Septizodium 83

G. Latura, ‘Eternal Rome. Guardian of the Heavenly Gates’, in B.P. Abbott (ed.), Inspiration of Astronomical Phenomena VIII: City of Stars (New York, 2015) 205-16 at 207-08. 84 Damasus, Epigr. 20 (Ihm 26). For the apostles as stars: J. Fontaine, Naissance de la poésie dans l’occident chrétien (Paris, 1981) 121-22. 85 A. Staples, From Good Goddess to Vestal Virgin (London and New York, 1998) 152-53. 86 Amm. 15.7.3-5. See Machado, Urban Space, 2019, 131.

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belonged to what Maggie L. Popkin has called the ‘architecture of the Roman triumph’.87 As one of the monuments along the triumphal route with its ‘massive columnar façade decorated with colored marbles and filled with fountain works and statues of the imperial family and planetary divinities’, it was ‘a reminder of triumphs past’.88 For a late-antique Christian, however, this impressive imperial and cosmological monument was counterpointed by a strange and humble relic: the bandages Peter lost there on his way out of the city. In the 5th and early 6th century, there was a church that bore the name Titulus Fasciolae.89 Fasciola might just have been the name of the owner of the titulus, mentioned in an inscription of 377. By the sixth century, however, it was associated with a legend.90 The story of the bandages is told in Ps.-Linus and in the Passio of Processus and Martinianus. The changes in the Passio in comparison with Ps.-Linus indicate that its author already had the Fasciola Church in mind. Both versions narrate how Peter, set free by the guards after the rock miracle and on his way out of the city, loses his bandages before he meets Christ in the famous Quo Vadis scene.91 The Passio specifies that Peter and Paul (who is missing in Ps.-Linus) ‘came to the road which is called the Via Appia, and they went as far as the Appian Gate. Then, because Peter had a damaged shin bone as a result of the iron shackles, his leg-bandage (fasciola) fell off near the Septizodium on the Via Nova’.92 The Passio uses the noun fasciola (instead of fasciamenta)93 and, whereas Ps.-Linus does not give the precise location, the 87

M.L. Popkin, The Architecture of the Roman Triumph (Cambridge, 2016). Popkin, Architecture, 161 and 163; see 155-63 with pl. 4.13 on p. 155. 89 J.M. Petersen, ‘The Identification of the Titulus Fasciolae’, VigChris 30 (1976) 151-58; A. Guerrier, La chiesa dei SS. Nereo ed Achilleo (Vatican, 1951). 90 Cf. Petersen, ‘Identification’, 85-86. At some time in the 6th century, the cult of the bandages (now superseded by his chains) was supplanted by the veneration of two saints: the Titulus Fasciolae received a new church to host the relics of Nereus and Achilleus, two saints who were connected to Peter by a legend. Henceforth, the titulus was named after them, while the designation fasciolae vanished completely. 91 E. Norelli, ‘L’episodio del Quo vadis?’, Sanctorum 4 (2007) 15-45; Zwierlein, Petrus in Rom, 82-92. 92 Passio Processi et Martiani 4 (ActaSS Julii I 304), transl. Lapidge, The Roman Martyrs, 386. For the emendation from septemsonium to Septizodium, see the literature ibid., 386, n. 17. 93 Ps.-Linus, Martyrium beati Petri apostoli 6 (Lipsius/Bonnet I, 7, l.25). 88

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Passio localizes the event at the site of the Fasciola Church. The story, with its clear localization, obviously served to ‘increase the popularity of a church on a major visitor/pilgrim route into the city’.94 Having meditated on Peter’s bandages, our flâneurs finally arrived at the Appian Gate, which provides the backdrop for the Quo Vadis scene as it is depicted in multiple narratives and iconography.95 The narratives do not link this storyline to Simon Magus. The Greek Martyrium, as it is transmitted, starts after the episodes concerning Simon Magus. In the Martyrium Petri, the parts are separated by Peter’s preaching and his arrest. Ps.-Linus mentions the ‘combats with Simon Magus’ (1: cum Symone mago […] certamina) in general terms in the introductory paragraph, while the Passio of Martinianus and Processus in its opening sentence alludes to his fall, with the words: ‘at the time when Simon Magus crashed inwardly’ (crepuit intus). Despite this literary separation, the sequence of the topographical markers on a walk from the Forum to the Appian Gate, however, probably linked the fall to the Quo Vadis scene. While in some versions, Christ’s ascension is not mentioned (Ps.-Hegesippus/Ambrose; Passio Martiani et Processi), the Greek martyrdom (Mart. Petr. 6,5/Act. Petr. 35) and Ps.-Linus (6) point out that Peter, after his dialogue with Christ, sees the Lord ascending.96 A late antique Christian with this image in mind might again have experienced a contrast playing out along the vertical axis: Simon’s failed flight that turned into a fall is contrasted with Jesus’ successful flight, his ascension. This inversion ties in with allusions to Christ’s ascension in Acts 1:9 that Vouaux and Zwierlein have discovered in the description of the sorcerer’s flight.97 94

M.J.J. Mulryan, The Religious Topography of Late Antique Rome (AD 313-440) (London, 2008) 86. 95 Interestingly, Rediculus, the god of return, was worshipped in this area. The church, known as Domine quo vadis and later S. Maria in Palmis, was probably built in the ninth century. See M. Armellini, Le chiese di Roma dal secolo IV al XIX (Vatican, 1891²) 891-92; M. Mulryan, ‘The Establishment of Urban Movement Networks. Devotional Pathways in Late Antique and Early Medieval Rome’, in M. Duggan et al. (eds), Proceedings of the Twenty First Annual Theoretical Roman Archaeology Conference (Oxford, 2012) 123-34 at 128. 96 For a helpful comparison of the different versions of the Quo Vadis scene, see Zwierlein, Petrus in Rom, 82-92. 97 Zwierlein, Petrus in Rom, 68, referring to Vouaux.

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If our Apostle Go players followed Peter in turning around and taking the Via Appia back into the city, they might have been aware of the fact that this was exactly the way that the processions of the emperors had taken well into the fourth century, and they might have blended Peter’s last tour (culminating in his crucifixion) with the, at first sight, contrasting image of an imperial triumph. In anticipating Peter’s execution, they would ultimately have encountered another inversion on the vertical axis: Peter’s head-down crucifixion again highlighting the paramount importance of humility. 7. The Dragon under the Capitol: Binding Demons and Neutralizing Religious Space Having returned to the Forum, our Apostle Go players might have looked at the Capitoline Hill again, which was still an active heritage site until the seventh century. This time, the view might have triggered a further association beyond Peter’s water miracle at the Tarpeian rock and Simon’s flight from the Capitoline Hill. According to a myth alluded to in a third century BC inscription but still well-known in late antiquity,98 a dragon lived in a cave under the Capitol. It was fed by the Vestal Virgins to avert evil. The Sylvester legend (which, according to the sixth century Decretum Gelasianum, was read in the Roman churches)99 takes up this myth and combines it with the Petrine motifs of keys and binding. When the dragon repeatedly leaves his cave and causes pestilence for the city, Peter appears to his successor, Pope Sylvester, in a dream, and orders him to eradicate the Vestal cult by descending the 150 steps (or 365 in a later version), binding the dragon with a rope, locking him up behind bronze doors, and burying the keys to be excavated only at judgement day.100 One version of the tale, composed in Rome around 500, explicitly mentions the location: the dragon lives ‘at the heart of the Tarpeian Mount where also the Capitol is located’.101 The Capitolium does 98

See e.g. Paul. Nol., carm. 5,143-48. Decretum Gelasianum 4,4 (ed. Dobschütz 42-43). 100 W. Pohlkamp, ‘Tradition und Topographie. Papst Silvester 1 (314-335) und der Drache vom Forum Romanum’, RQ 78 (1983) 1-100. 101 See the transcription in L. Duchesne, ‘S. Maria Antiqua’, Mélanges de l’école française de Rome 17 (1897) 13-37 at 31: Erat draco immanissimus 99

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not merely serve as a geographical marker. Its symbolic value is indicated by another episode of the Sylvester legend: In order to heal Constantine who is suffering from leprosy the pontiffs give the order to sacrifice young boys and to pour their blood into a pool on the Capitoline Hill. The emperor, however, seeing the mourning mothers cancels the project. He is finally healed by the font of baptism in combination with his penance at the confessio of St. Peter.102 The Capitolium was still an active heritage site until the seventh century. In 384, the senator Vettius Agorius Praetextatus had led a procession, called spectaculum triumphale by Symmachus, to the Capitoline Hill.103 ‘All of the images of the gods’, his contemporary Servius pointed out in his commentary on Vergil, ‘were worshipped in the Capitolium’, making, in the words of Ausonius, the city the ‘home of gods’ and ‘first among cities’.104 At the end of the fifth

in monte tarpeio in quo est capitolium collocatum. The earliest version of the legend (probably late fourth century) leaves the location of the lair vague, for which reason people in the Middle Ages, because of the Vestal Virgins, located it under the Temple of Vesta. 102 The text is available in P. DeLeo, Ricerche sui falsi mediovali I: Il Constitutum Constantini (Reggio Calabria, 1974) 151-221. See also W. Pohlkamp, ‘Kaiser Konstantin und der christliche Kult in den Actus Silvestri’, FMS 18 (1984) 357-400 and G. Fowden, ‘The Last Days of Constantine’, JRS 84 (1994) 146-170 at 154-155. For other texts contrasting the Capitol with St. Peter see A. Fraschetti, ‘Il Campidoglio dal tardoantico all’alto medioevo’, Roma nell’alto Medioevo (Spoleto, 2001) 31-56 at 39-49 and L. Grig, ‘Imagining the Capitolium in Late Antiquity’, in A. Cain and N. Lenski (eds), The Power of Religion in Late Antiquity (Abingdon and New York, 2009) 279-91 at 288-89. For the ‘remapping of the city in Christian hagiography’ (Grig, 288) see the special issue of EME 9 (2000): K. Cooper (ed.), The Roman Martyrs and the Politics of Memory and K. Sessa, ‘Truth, Perception, and the Pagan Body in the Roman Martyr Narratives’, in A. Hopkins and M. Wyke (eds), Roman Bodies (London, 2005) 99-110 as well as the University of Manchester’s ‘Roman martyrs database’: http://distlearn. man.ac.uk/rome/romanmartyrs/index.php. W. Schulz-Wackerbarth, Heiligenverehrung im spätantiken und frühmittelalterlichen Rom: Hagiographie und Topographie im Diskurs (Göttingen, 2020) was not yet available to me. 103 Symmachus, Rel. 47.1; cf. Jerome, ep. 23.3. 104 Servius, Aen. 2.319; Ausonius, Ord. 1.

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century Pope Gelasius complained that ‘profane vanities’ were still celebrated there.105 Although Christian authors like Jerome, Paulinus of Nola and Prudentius depicted the Capitolium as a ‘dingy’ site with ‘decaying images in deserted temples’106 and ‘their ceremonies perished’107 it still carried the ambivalence as a both religious and political or cultural symbol. While the font of blood refers to its religious quality the story of the dragon seems to suggest the possibility of depriving the site of its religious potency. According to Gregor Kalas, the story offers a statement on a delicate question that was urgent with regard to Rome’s ideological center: How are we to deal with the pagan heritage?108 While Christian preachers and authors all over the empire in the late fourth century and, increasingly, in the fifth and sixth centuries seemed to promote an iconoclastic attitude (though archeology only rarely proves real cases of iconoclasm), the emperors still regarded the protection of public buildings as their duty. This is why Gratian in 377 showed concern for the preservation of temples,109 and Honorius and Arcadius in 399, in a constitution that forbade sacrifices, emphasized: ‘it is Our will that the ornaments of public works [e.g. temples] shall be preserved’.110 After the Vandal sack of 455, when the urban prefect Aemilianus tried to justify the destruction of public buildings with the use of the material for the restoration of other buildings, Majoran intervened and forbade it.111 And when Rome had been reconquered by the Byzantines, the Pragmatic Sanction of 554, the Marshall Plan for post-Ostrogothic Rome, reminded of the imperial

105

Gelasius, Ep. adv. Andr. 28. Paul. Nol., Carm. 19.69-70. 107 Jerome, ep. 107.1 and Adv. Iov. 2.38; cf. Prud., Perist. 2.465-70, see D. Shanzer, ‘De Iovis Exterminatione’, Hermes 114 (1986) 382-83. For the lack of reliable evidence for the actual state of the Capitoline hill at that time see Grig, ‘Imagining the Capitolium’, 282-83. 108 Kalas, Restoration, 138-40. 109 C.Th. 15.1.19. 110 C.Th. 16.10.15: Sicut sacrificia prohibemus, ita volumus publicorum operum ornamenta servari (tr. C. Pharr). 111 Nov. Maiorani 4.1 (of 458), see M.R. Salzman, ‘Emperors and Elites in Rome after the Vandal Sack of 455’, AnTard 25 (2017) 243-62 at 250. 106

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task to maintain the public buildings of Rome including the Forum Romanum.112 Of course, preservation of the classical legacy was delicate, inasmuch as it included temples and religious statues. When in 472 the statue of Minerva was restored in the Forum by means of a Christian sponsor, a law was issued to avoid misunderstandings declaring that such simulacra were to be appreciated ‘for their artistic value rather than for their divinity’.113 Obviously, res sacrae could now be regarded as secular objects. This argument reminds of the famous words of Rabban Gamaliel, rendered in the Mishna: he justifies himself for having attended the baths of Aphrodite by arguing with the primarily secular function of the bath (‘We do not say: Let us make the baths for Aphrodite but Aphrodite was made as ornament of the baths’) and with his attitude: ‘Everything we treat like something divine is forbidden. Something we do not treat like something divine is permitted’.114 The virtual Christianization of the public space of the Forum included a secularizing or religious neutralization so-to-speak of the classical backdrop.115 This idea might be detected as early as in the

112

Sanctio Pragmatica 25. C.Th. 16.19.8: artis pretio quam divinitate metienda (trans. Kalas, Restoration, 101); see C. Machado, ‘Religion as Antiquarianism. Pagan Dedications in Late-Antique Rome’, in J. Bodel and M. Kajava (eds), Religious Dedications in the Graeco-Roman World (Rome, 2009) 331-54. 114 mAvoda sara 3.4; see G.W. Bowersock, ‘The Imperial Cult. Perceptions and Persistence’, in B.F. Meyer and E.P. Sanders (eds), Self-Definition in the Graeco-Roman World III (Philadelphia, 1982) 171-82 (text), 238-41 (notes) at 175-76; G.W. Stoehr, The End of Pagan Temples in Roman Palestine (College Park, 2018) 96-97. Neutralizing the power of pagan statuary without destroying it was also ascribed to Constantine. The church historians Eusebius and Socrates narrate that he moved the statues and images of the pagans to his new capital with the double aim to ‘ornament the city’ and to ‘destroy the superstition of the heathens’. Socrates, h.e. 1.16; see Eusebius, Vita Const. 3.54.2-6; 3.57.2-3 and Laudatio Constantini 8.3. Indeed, pagans like Proklos and Zosimos considered such moving of statues a desecration: Marinus, Vita Procli 30; Zosimus, Historia nova 5.24. 115 I owe the term ‘neutralization’ to H. Leppin, ‘Christianisierungen im Römischen Reich’, ZAC 16 (2012) 247-78 and ‘Christianisierung, Neutralisierung und Integration’, in J. van Oort and O. Hesse (eds), Christentum und Politik in der Alten Kirche (Leuven, 2009) 1-24. 113

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Latin Acta Petri, where a statue of the emperor (which in this case does not stand in the Forum but on the private property of the senator Marcellus) is destroyed by a demon and restored by the apostle Peter in the name of Christ. Callie Callon has convincingly argued that, unlike the anti-imperial stance of other early Apocryphal Acts, the Acta Petri envision a ‘harmonious coexistence between its community and imperial rule’.116 ‘Thus, the Christian assemblies in the text, where Peter preaches, miracles are performed, prayers are offered and visions are received, are conducted in close proximity to (if not to say under that gaze of) an imperial statue.’117 When this second century text was read in late antiquity, the problem was still virulent, as the image of the emperor had kept its symbolic and ritual significance. Around 400 Severianus of Gabala, preaching in Constantinople, defended the practice: “Since the emperor cannot be present everywhere, it is necessary to set up a portrait of the emperor at tribunals, in marketplaces, at meetings, and in theaters.”118 In 452, Marcian’s inauguration in Constantinople was paralleled by the ritual reception of his images in Rome.119 Fifteen years later, the eastern emperor confirmed the authority of Anthemius by ritually receiving and acclaiming a portrait of the new ruler of the west.120 Even Pope Gregory I, who has been called the ‘destroyer of the idols’121 did not eschew this ritual. In 603, he expressed his acceptance of the new emperor Phokas by an elaborate ceremony: in 116

C. Callon, ‘Images of Empire, Imagining the Self. The Significance of the Imperial Statue Episode in the Acts of Peter’, HThR 106 (2013) 331-55 at 332. 117 Ibid. 348 referring to Acts 19-22. For a more cautious interpretation, see M. Bockmuehl, ‘Attitudes to Jewish and Roman Power in the Gospel and Acts of Peter’, in Dijkstra, Early Reception, 81-98, who speaks of possible ‘“hidden transcripts” of resistence’ (94) and of ‘Peter’s political dialectic’ that ‘suggests at one and the same time a radical subversion of imperial power and Christianity’s capacity to survive and thrive despite that power’s continued existence’ (92), and concludes: ‘the evidence in fact remains decidedly intractable and ambivalent’ (94). 118 Severianus, In Cosmogoniam 6.5. 119 Prosper Aquit., Chronicon 3.21 (MGH.AA 9,490 Mommsen). 120 Constantinus Porphyrogenitus, De caerimoniis 1.87 (ed. Moffatt and Tall 1, 393-98). 121 T. Buddensieg, ‘Gregory the Great the Destroyer of Pagan Idols’, J. Warburg and Courtauld Inst. 28 (1965) 44-65.

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the Lateran, the clergy and the senate acclaimed the icons of Phokas and his wife Leontia: ‘Listen to Christ! Long live Phokas and Leontia!’ Then, the Pope ordered the icons to be placed in the palace chapel of St Cesarius.122 In 608, a gilded statue of the same emperor was erected in the central area of the Forum.123 What we might term a secularization or religious neutralization, is associated with the idea of purification in early Christian literature. Callie Callon draws attention to the fact that Peter tells Marcellus to ‘sprinkle’ water in the name of Christ over the broken pieces of the statue.124 Since all other miracles in the Acts of Peter are achieved without the help of water or another substance, only by prayer and the laying-on of hands, we may conclude that the water in this case is an instrument of purification rather than of thaumaturgy. Indeed, by the same ritual, sprinkling (asparsi), Marcellus cleaned his house after Simon Magus had left it.125 This obviously was a nondestructive way of dealing with objects deemed religiously polluted. The idea of purification as a means of neutralizing the religious power of objects recurs in the late-antique discourses on the treatment of pagan survivals. In particular, Prudentius, the Spanish poet who had visited Rome at the time when the first version of the Sylvester legend, the Actus Silvestri, was contrived there, discusses this idea. While he himself seems to advocate a rather strict treatment of the pagan heritage, he makes two of his literary figures utter a more moderate position. In a poem on Saint Lawrence, the third-century martyr envisions a time when the temples are closed and the statues of ancient Gods are cleaned and bereft of their religious function so that they shine forth as harmless images (aera innoxia) and works of art.126 In Contra Symmachum, Theodosius, while complaining about the ritual objects polluted 122

Greg. M., Epp. Libri 8-14, app. (ed. Norberg 1101). Kalas, Restoration, 96-99; G. Kalas, ‘The Divisive Politics of Phocas (602610) and the Last Imperial Monument of Rome’, AnTard 25 (2017) 173-90. 124 Acta Petri 11, see Callon, ‘Images’, 18-20. 125 Acta Petri 19. 126 Prudentius, Perist. 2 (CCL 126,273-4, ll.473-84) with commentary and parallels in C. O’Hogan, Prudentius and the Landscapes of Antiquity (Oxford, 2016) 140-44. See also Humphries, ‘Romulus and Peter’, 179-84, and P. Hershkowitz, Prudentius, Spain, and Late Antique Christianity (Cambridge, 2017) 160-213. 123

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by animal sacrifice (‘marbles spattered and dripping with blood’), refuses to have them destroyed. Rather they have to be washed so that the ‘statues, the works of great artists, be allowed to rest clean; these are our country’s most beautiful ornaments, and let no debased usage pollute the monuments of art and turn it into a crime’.127 Thus, in the manner of carnivalesque literature as described by Bakhtin, Prudentius, without taking sides, through the figures of a martyr and an emperor gives room to voices that provide an alternative to the dominant iconoclastic discourse. The same moderate position is implied in Peter’s order to Sylvester: as long as the dragon, symbol of the pagan legacy, is controlled, as long as no sacrifices are offered, the ancient buildings and statuary may stay.128 We may also remember that even a fervent fighter against paganism like Ambrose could tolerate the statue of Victoria in the Curia. He was content with having the altar, at which the senators used to sacrifice before the sessions, removed. The statue, however, was to be regarded as a symbol of victory not of divinity.129 8. Conclusion Hence, in spite of the architectural continuity, the Forum changed, due to an altered perception on the semantic level, and that in two ways. On the one hand, the Forum underwent a religious neutralization or 127

C. Symm. (CCL 126,203, l.501-03): Marmora tabenti respergine tincta. O procures, liceat statuas consistere puras, artificum magnorum opera: haec pulcherrima nostrae ornamenta fiant patriae, nec decolor usus in vitium versae monumenta coinquinet artis. This seems to indicate that Prudentius was aware of a ruling by Theodosius that images in temples should be measured by their artistic value rather than their divinity: C.Th. 16.10.8 (given at Constantinople, Nov 30, 382 AD). 128 We may assume a similar legitimization of the survival of pagan statuary in other regions like in Asia Minor: I. Jacobs, ‘Production to Destruction? Pagan and Mythological Statuary in Asia Minor’, Am. J. Archaeol. 114 (2010) 267-303 and ‘Pagan-mythological Statuary in Sixth-century Asia Minor’, in I. Jacobs and H. Elton (eds), Asia Minor in the Long Sixth Century (Oxford, 2018) 29-43. See also I. Jacobs, ‘Old statues, new meanings. Literary, epigraphic and archaeological evidence for Christian reidentification of statuary’, Byz. Zs. 113 (2020) 789-836. 129 Ambr., ep. 18,30, see M.R. Alföldi, Gloria Romanorum (Stuttgart, 2001) 221 and 224.

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secularization as symbolized by the chaining of the dragon. On the other hand, the Christian narratives tagged the physical environment with the (hetero-)topographical markers that pointed out the significance of the spots for the new Christian memory culture. What we observe here is a nondestructive approach to the classical heritage, an instance of what Jan Bremmer has called a ‘soft’ transition into a world dominated by Christianity.130

130

J.N. Bremmer, ‘How Do We Explain the Quiet Demise of Graeco-Roman Religion? An Essay’, Numen 68 (2021) 230-71; see also F.L. Schuddeboom, ‘The Conversion of Temples in Rome’, Journal of Late Antiquity 10 (2017) 166-86, who argues against Deichmann’s notion of a triumphalist Christianization. – I am grateful to Janet Spittler and Jan Bremmer for valuable corrections and suggestions!

III. From the Acts of Peter to the Life of Leo of Catania: Distinguishing Magic and Miracle JULIE VAN PELT

The Life of Leo Bishop of Catania is a largely fictive text dated to the first half of the 9th century.1 The narrative begins along standard hagiographical lines with a description of Leo’s ascent to the episcopal throne, his virtues, and his miracles. However, as the main narrative action unfolds, the story turns to Heliodoros, the son of a Christian woman who strives after the post of city prefect but fails to obtain it. To avenge himself he seeks the help of a Jewish sorcerer (Ἑβραῖόν τινα τῶν ἐπὶ μαγείᾳ καὶ γοητείᾳ ἐπισήμων; LL 10.3-4). Following 1

In this article, I follow the text edited by A. Alexakis (ed.), The Greek Life of St. Leo Bishop of Catania (BHG 981b) (Brussels, 2011) 140-91 (see p. 28-37 for a detailed discussion of the different Greek recensions and their dates). I cite Susan Wessel’s translation included in the same volume. On the Life’s largely non-historical nature, see A. Acconcia Longo, ‘La vita di S. Leone vescovo di Catania e gli incantesimi del mago Eliodoro’, Rivista di studi bizantini e neoellenici 26 (1989) 3-98 at 9-13, and Alexakis, The Greek Life of St. Leo, 79-85. Further studies on the Life of Leo include A. Acconcia Longo, ‘La Vita di S. Leone di Catania’, in S. Pricoco et al. (eds), Sicilia e Italia suburbicaria tra IV e VIII secolo. Atti del Convegno di Studi (Catania, 24-27 ott. 1989) (Soveria Mannelli, 1991) 215-26; id., Ricerche di agiografia italogreca (Rome, 2003) 88-92 and ‘Note sul dossier agiografico di Leone di Catania: la trasmissione della leggenda e la figura del mago Eliodoro’, Rivista di studi bizantini e neoellenici 44 (2007) 3-38; M.-F. Auzépy, ‘L’analyse littéraire et l’historien: l’exemple des vies de saints iconoclastes’, Byzantinoslavica 53 (1992) 57-67; A. Kazhdan, ‘Comic Discourse: Vitae of Leo of Catania and Pankratios of Taormina, and the Parastaseis Syntomoi Chronikai’, in id., A History of Byzantine Literature (650-850) (Athens, 1999) 295-313; S. Vlavianos, La figure du mage à Byzance. De Jean Damascène à Michel Psellos (VIIIe-fin XIe siècles) (Paris, 2013) 191-209 and 265-67.

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his instructions, he makes a pact with the Devil and is assigned a ‘demon assistant’ (πάρεδρος; LL 12.4), which allows him to become a magos.2 Next, the story relates Heliodoros’ many extraordinary deeds, which terrorize the city of Catania. This leads to Heliodoros’ arrest by imperial soldiers, who escort him to Constantinople. Nevertheless, his tricks enable him to escape several times. Eventually, Leo forces Heliodoros to enter a fire with him; the saint survives without harm, while the magos burns to death. The Life of Leo is the perfect example of how magoi tend to play the role of the adversary in hagiographical narrative.3 Unfortunately, the figure of the magos has rarely been studied in Byzantine hagiography.4 Scholars studying the Life of Leo mostly focus on its ideology in the context of Iconoclasm,5 while its literary qualities have not received the attention they deserve. Exceptions are studies by Alexander Kazhdan and Alexander Alexakis, who note that the Life of Leo is remarkable because it lends considerable prominence to the

Heliodoros is called μάγος at 17.8 and 27.2 and γόης at 17.8, 26.22 and 27.2. 3 See A. Kazhdan, ‘Holy and Unholy Miracle Workers’, in H. Maguire (ed.), Byzantine Magic (Cambridge, Mass. and London, 1995) 73-82, and C. Tuczay, Magie und Magier im Mittelalter (Munich, 2003) 65-70. J.N. Bremmer, Greek Religion and Culture, the Bible and the Ancient Near East (Leiden, 2008) 235-47 (‘Persian Magoi and the Birth of the Term “Magic”’), and Vlavianos, La figure du mage, 35-47 explain the history of the terms magos and mageia and the negative connotations these acquired. 4 Among the few existing studies are H.J. Magoulias, ‘The Lives of Byzantine Saints as Sources of Data for the History of Magic in the 6th and 7th Century AD: Sorcery, Relics and Icons’, Byzantion 37 (1967) 228-69; D. Abrahamse, ‘Magic and Sorcery in the Hagiography of the Middle Byzantine Period’, Byz. Forsch. 8 (1982) 3-17; J. Wortley, ‘Some Light on Magic and Magicians in Late Antiquity’, GRBS 42.3 (2001) 289-307. 5 See especially A. Acconcia Longo, ‘A proposito di un articolo recente sull’agiografia iconoclasta’, Rivista di studi bizantini e neoellenici 29 (1992) 3-17; Auzépy, ‘L’analyse littéraire’; id., ‘A propos des vies de saints iconoclastes’, ibid. 30 (1993) 3-5; Alexakis, The Greek Life of St. Leo, 60-75. This scholarship has not reached clear conclusions but rather opposite results: Acconcia Longo claims the Life displays Iconoclast traces, while Alexakis argues that it is crypto-Iconophile and that the reader must identify the villain Heliodoros with the Iconoclast Patriarch of Constantinople John VII the Grammarian. 2

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‘anti-hero’.6 This is both in terms of quantitative presence (the majority of the Life concentrates on Heliodoros) and in terms of characterization (it paints a much more detailed picture of Heliodoros than of the saint). Moreover, Alexakis discusses the Life of Leo as an example of ‘high-style hagiography’, pointing to its many intertextual connections with biblical literature and earlier hagiography, such as the Life of Theophilos.7 In this article, I consider the Life in connection with another text: the apocryphal Acts of Peter (late 2nd century).8 Just like the Life of Leo, it features a confrontation between a holy man, in this case, the apostle Peter, and a magos, Simon.9 It is not my intention to make any claims regarding the question of whether Leo’s hagiographer 6

Kazhdan, ‘Comic Discourse’, 297; Alexakis, The Greek Life of St. Leo, 87-8. Cf. Auzépy, ‘L’analyse littéraire’, 63; Acconcia Longo, Ricerche, 89; Vlavianos, La figure du mage, 265. 7 Alexakis, The Greek Life of St. Leo, 19 and 44-8. On the Life of Theophilos, see L. Radermacher, Griechische Quellen zur Faustsage (Vienna and Leipzig, 1927). 8 The apocryphal Acts of Peter were originally composed in Greek and are transmitted fragmentarily. A large part of the surviving material consists of a probably 4th/5th-century Latin translation of the original Greek Acts, known as the Vercelli Acts. The Martyrdom of Peter is preserved in Greek. I follow the text of M. Döhler (ed.), Acta Petri. Text, Übersetzung und Kommentar zu den Actus Vercellenses (Berlin and Boston, 2018) and translations are taken from J.K. Elliott, The Apocryphal New Testament (Oxford, 2005²) 399-426. For the 2nd-century date and place of composition of the original Acts, see J.N. Bremmer, Maidens, Magic and Martyrs in Early Christianity (Tübingen, 2017) 143-7. For further references, see J.N. Bremmer, ‘Simon Magus: The Invention and Reception of a Magician in a Christian Context’, Religion in the Roman Empire 5.2 (2019) 246-70 at 251 note 25. Elliott, The Apocryphal New Testament, 395 gives a basic bibliography. 9 On the figure of Simon Magus, see most recently Bremmer, ‘Simon Magus’; D. MacRae, ‘Simon the God: Imagining the Other in SecondCentury Christianity’, in J. Tolan (ed.), Geneses: A Comparative Study of the Historiographies of the Rise of Christianity, Rabbinic Judaism, and Islam (Abingdon, 2019) 64-86; B. Pouderon, Métamorphoses de Simon le Magicien. Des Actes des apôtres au Faustbuch (Paris, 2019); Merkt, this volume, Chapter II. For a full bibliography, see D.L. Eastman, ‘Simon the Anti-Christ? The Magos as Christos in Early Christian Literature’, Journal of Early Christian History 6 (2016) 116-36 notes 1-2. On Simon’s wide reception in Byzantine context, see Vlavianos, La figure du mage, 59-60.

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purposefully refers to the Acts of Peter (even if he certainly refers to the larger tradition on Simon Magus; see below). Rather, I aim to compare the two narratives as examples within a literary tradition of confrontations between holy men and magoi, each belonging to a different time period in Christian history, in order to shed some light on this tradition, specifically the narrative techniques it uses, from a diachronic perspective. Through their portrayal of a contest between a saint and a magos, the Acts of Peter and the Life of Leo both raise questions regarding the distinction between magic and miracle.10 The audience may wonder, to use the words of Kazhdan, ‘where does a miracle end and sorcery begin?’11 The answer scholars usually formulate is that Byzantines understood miracles as achievements worked through the power of God, while magic is worked by the Devil and his demons.12 Hence, miracle is beneficial and creative, whereas magic is evil and destructive.13 While this may be true, the explanation only accounts for a 10

This is a widely discussed topic. Scholars have long debated the relation and ambiguity of magic and religion (for an overview, see T. Nicklas and T.J. Kraus, ‘Antikes Christentum und „Magie“: Verhältnisbestimmungen’, Annali di storia dell’ esegesi 24.2 (2007) 221-8 and D.E. Aune, ‘“Magic” in Early Christianity and Its Ancient Mediterranean Context: A Survey of Some Recent Scholarship’, ibid. 24.2 (2007) 229-94. The ambiguity is especially significant for magic and miracles; see D.J. Kyrtatas, ‘The Holy Man and the Sorcerer or how to Distinguish between Good and Evil in Early Christianity’, in C. Maltezou and A. Tourta (eds), Εξορκίζοντας το κακό. Πίστη και δεισιδαιμονίες στο Βυζάντιο – Esorcizzare il male. Credenze e superstizioni a Bizanzio (Athens, 2006) 31-40; A. Reimer, Miracle and Magic: A Study in the Acts of the Apostles and the Life of Apollonius of Tyana (London and New York, 2002); D. Marguerat, ‘Magic and Miracle in the Acts of the Apostles’, in T. Klutz (ed.), Magic in the Biblical World: From the Rod of Aaron to the Ring of Solomon (Edinburgh, 2003) 100-24. 11 Kazhdan, ‘Comic Discourse’, 300. 12 Magoulias, ‘The Lives of Byzantine Saints’, 229-30; D. Côté, Le thème de l’opposition entre Pierre et Simon dans les Pseudo-Clémentines (Paris, 2001) 96-8. 13 Kazhdan, ‘Holy and Unholy’, 79; Kazhdan, ‘Comic Discourse’, 300; J. Sanzo, ‘Early Christianity’, in D. Frankfurter (ed.), Guide to the Study of Ancient Magic (Leiden and Boston, 2019) 198-239 at 212. This distinction is reflected in the Ps-Clementine Homilies, as Bremmer, ‘Simon Magus’, 260 notes (e.g. Hom. 2.33). However, the distinction does not always work,

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theoretical distinction, but it does not explain how Byzantines could make that distinction in practice. The problem is that the power of God and the power of the Devil may easily be mistaken for one another.14 ‘How’, then, ‘could an ordinary Byzantine have distinguished good and beneficial miracles from the pseudo-miracles launched by the devil?’, Kazhdan asks, and consequently, how could s/he recognize a saint?15 In fact, one of the wonders performed by Simon and Heliodoros alike is flying (APt 4 and 32; Hom. 2.32; LL 27.14-18); a similar feat is ascribed to Saint Joseph the Hymnographer.16 Therefore, Dimitris Kyrtatas remarks that the distinction between magic and miracles depends ‘on the viewpoint of the observer’,17 and if this is so, then the Christian magic-miracle dichotomy is in essence a rhetorical construct.18 Narrative could play an important role in creating such a rhetoric of magic. Current scholarship has predominantly taken a historical approach to magic, focusing on artefacts, documents, and ritual practices. This article wants to contribute to a literary approach. Due to the superficial similarity of magic and miracle, narratives featuring a contest between a saint and a magos must overcome a difficulty: in order to present convincing and coherent stories, they must construct a clear distinction between the two figures, successfully portraying one as the religious hero and the other as the villain. This forms a challenge precisely because both perform extraordinary feats. According to Kyrtatas, ‘in early Christianity, apostles would answer to magicians with even more powerful deeds: the “magic” of the given that the New Testament attests to a few rather destructive miracles, such as Jesus’ cursing of the fig tree (Mark 11:12-25; Matt. 21:18-22). I thank the editors of this volume for the suggestion. 14 Cf. Hom. 6.20. 15 Kazhdan, ‘Holy and Unholy’, 74; Vlavianos, La figure du mage, 254: ‘comment reconnaître le saint?’ 16 In the Life by John the Deacon (BHG 945); PG 105.960. 17 Kyrtatas, ‘The Holy Man and the Sorcerer’, 35. 18 The rhetorical function of ‘magical discourse’, especially within social and cultural processes of ‘othering’, has been recognized; see among others S.R. Asirvatham, ‘Introduction’, in id. et al. (eds.), Between Magic and Religion: Interdisciplinary Studies in Ancient Mediterranean Religion and Society (Lanham, 2001) xiv; F. Graf, ‘Excluding the Charming: The Development of the Greek Concept of Magic’, in M. Meyer and P. Mirecki (eds.), Ancient Magic and Ritual Power (Leiden, 1995) 29-42; Aune, ‘“Magic” in Early Christianity’, 260-3.

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good side was thus simply greater than the magic of the bad side.’ He continues stating that ‘when magicians become all-powerful, like Heliodorus, it seems, the problem is that this distinction can no longer be made.’19 If that were true, however, the Life of Leo of Catania would be a failure as hagiography, for it would potentially fail to prevent its readers from developing an inclination to worship the magos. In this chapter, I aim to show that the Life of Leo indeed successfully constructs a distinction between saint and magos and, in particular, how it achieves this distinction; how it makes it convincing. For even if the naratee is informed of Heliodoros’ pact with the Devil and is therefore unlikely to mistake him for a saint, it is nevertheless vital that the text allows readers to discern the evil that is in the magos and his deeds in other ways as well. Only then can it offer a consistent and believable story. To this end, the author of the Life of Leo adopts narrative strategies belonging to a longstanding tradition of Christian narratives featuring magoi, of which the Acts of Peter is a prominent example. The competition between Peter and Simon is also described in other early Christian narratives. The canonical Acts of the Apostles briefly mention a dispute between Simon and Peter (Acts 8.14-24; the passage probably inspired later narratives on a contest between the two).20 The apocryphal Pseudo-Clementine Recognitions (in Latin) and Homilies (in Greek) describe the competition between Peter and Simon more elaborately as well.21 Here, I focus on the Acts of Peter 19

Kyrtatas, ‘The Holy Man and the Sorcerer’, 36. This is noted by Bremmer, ‘Simon Magus’, 248-9. For a study of Acts 8 from the perspective taken in this article, see, among others, F. Heintz, Simon ‘le magicien’: Actes 8.5-25 et I’accusation de magie contre les prophetes thaumaturges dans l’Antiquité (Leuven, 1997); H.J. Klauck, Magic and Paganism in Early Christianity: The World of the Acts of the Apostles (Edinburgh, 2003); Marguerat, ‘Magic and Miracle’; M.J. Smith, The Literary Construction of the Other in the Acts of the Apostles: Charismatics, the Jews, and Women (Eugene, 2012). 21 They are probably a product of the 4th century, although both are believed to go back to a common Greek 3rd-century Grundschrift, now lost (see Bremmer, Maidens, Magic and Martyrs, 235-41). I follow the edition by J. Irmscher et al., Die Pseudoklementinen I. Homilien (Berlin, 1969) 23-281, translations are taken from T. Smith et al., The Clementine Homilies (Edinburgh, 1890). For studies and further bibliography, see J.N. Bremmer (ed.), The Pseudo-Clementines (Leuven, 2010). 20

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because it is the only narrative that develops at length Simon’s ritual or ‘magical’ powers.22 The Pseudo-Clementines instead emphasize the power of the spoken word, depicting verbal controversies between Peter and Simon, and thus are less suitable for my current purposes. Nevertheless, I will indicate parallels with the Greek Homilies where appropriate. My central claim is that both the Acts of Peter and the Life of Leo construct a distinction between the extraordinary deeds of the hero and those of the adversary by means of a profound rhetoric of illusion and deception in their portrayal of the latter. This fits within a larger Christian rhetoric that opposes the Truth of Christianity to the falsehood of the Other and of Evil.23 Here, I aim to show how this works for the depiction of the magos. I argue that the rhetoric of deception is operative at different narrative levels; it is both part of the narrator’s/ characters’ speech and of the narration of specific story events that make the narrator’s claims about who the hero and who the villain are more convincing.24 In the final part of this article, I propose some arguments regarding the cultural and religious functions of the narrative portrayal of the magos-figure, which may begin to explain the rhetoric of magic as a marker of alterity at different stages of Christian history. 1. Negative Characterisation To construct a magic-miracle dichotomy, Christian authors could rely in the first place on various techniques to portray the magos in a negative light and to emphasize his vile nature. This usually casts the magos in the role of the antagonist from the beginning. In the Acts of Peter, Simon Magus is portrayed as a thief, a liar, and a coward. That he is a thief is evident from an episode in which Simon is said to have stolen gold from the noblewoman Eubola (APt 17). That he is a liar is subtly but effectively communicated when Peter looks for Simon at Marcellus’ house, and the doorkeeper 22

See Bremmer, ‘Simon Magus’, 263. Described by A. Cullhed, The Shadow of Creusa: Negotiating Fictionality in Late Antique Latin Literature (Berlin, 2015). 24 In addition, the Life of Leo uses a strategy of inversion of hagiographical stereotypes to contrast saint and magician; see Kazhdan, ‘Comic Discourse’, 300-1, and Alexakis, The Life of St. Leo, 96-9. 23

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clumsily declares that Simon instructed him to say that he is not at home (APt 9, cf. APt 11). As Gerard Luttikhuizen aptly notes, his unwillingness to face Peter also characterizes him as a coward.25 Simon is portrayed as proud and attached to vainglory when Marcellus relates how Simon forced him to set up a statue of him (APt 10). Finally, Simon is described as possessing a weak voice (APt 4 and 12). Bremmer observes that this can be read in light of ancient physiognomy as ‘an indication to the reader that Peter’s opponent is not only dishonest, he is not even a “real” man at all’.26 The Pseudo-Clementine Homilies paint a very similar picture of Simon.27 This negative portrait of Simon underscores his characterization as a deceiver and fraud (corruptor, seductor, deceptor, sollicitator) in the Acts of Peter.28 He is characterized as such both by the narrator (e.g. APt 7 and 9) and by characters in the story, Peter himself (e.g. APt 9 and 28), but also agents of the divine such as a speaking dog (APt 9 and 12). Even Christ himself appears to Peter and refers to Simon’s actions as ‘sorcery and magical deception (carmina et magica figmenta)’ (APt 16). As Luttikhuizen comments, Christ’s address to Peter is indirectly meant for the reader and functions as an authoritative voice on the evil source of Simon’s magic.29 The Life of Leo uses similar techniques to cast Heliodoros in a negative light. Heliodoros is first introduced in the following manner: 25 G. Luttikhuizen, ‘Simon Magus as a Narrative Figure in the Acts of Peter’, in J.N. Bremmer (ed.), The Apocryphal Acts of Peter: Magic, Miracles and Gnosticism (Leuven, 1998) 39-51 at 47. 26 Bremmer, Maidens, Magic and Martyrs, 212. 27 Simon lies that he was victorious although he lost the verbal controversy with Peter (Hom. 4.2), he repeatedly leaves a city when Peter is about to arrive there, which suggests his cowardice (see esp. Hom. 7.5 and 7.12), and he is portrayed as a murderer (Hom. 2.61). Finally, he is characterized as ambitious (Hom. 2.22), and his offering wealth and honour to Aquilas and Niketas betrays that he cares for worldly things (Hom. 2.27). Côté, Le thème de l’opposition offers further discussion of the Pseudo-Clementines’ polemical portrayal of Simon. 28 Again, this finds a parallel in the Homilies, cf. Hom. 2.15, 2.25, 2.27, 2.33 and 7.4. 29 Luttikhuizen, ‘Simon Magus as a Narrative Figure’, 45-6. For a list of denunciations of Simon, see I. Czachesz, ‘Who is Deviant? Entering the Storyworld of the Acts of Peter’, in Bremmer, The Apocryphal Acts of Peter, 84-96 at 93-4.

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That time ushered in a demonic monster (τέρας τι δαιμόνιον) that came from Sicily. Filled with charms and spells (ἐπαοιδίας καὶ μαγγανείας), he was like a second Iannes or the Egyptian Iambros, or perhaps like the infamous Simon the Magician. (LL 9.2-4)

By not yet mentioning his name, the narrator dehumanizes Heliodoros, calling him instead a monster, a creature that inspires fear and spreads terror. The adjective δαιμόνιον cleverly associates him with the Devil, the source of his powers, from the beginning. Moreover, comparing Heliodoros to figures such as Jannes, Jambres,30 and Simon Magus, the narrator raises expectations in the reader that draw on an authoritative literary tradition, casting Heliodoros in the role of the opponent of the holy man. Later on, the connection with Simon Magus is further confirmed as the narrator comments that Heliodoros seemed to even surpass ‘the notorious magician Simon by his extravagant sorcerous endeavors (γοητικαῖς ἐπιτηδεύσεσιν)’ (LL 13.14-15; cf. LL 17.9-11). Apart from these overt comparisons, Heliodoros is indirectly characterized as a second Simon because he is equally proud and arrogant; ‘since childhood, he had the character of a braggart’, we learn, ‘he developed cruel manners and an arrogant mind-set’, and he displayed a ‘lust after power and glory’ (LL 9.10-12).31 That Heliodoros aspires to become eparch at all cost illustrates his interest in vainglory, an example of indirect characterization that inverts the hagiographical topos of renouncing worldly ambition. On top of his image as a despicable person, Heliodoros is characterized as a deceiver. Alexakis notes that the terms employed to denote Heliodoros’ activities ‘suggest strongly the fraudulent character of a number of Heliodorus’ wonders’.32 Frequently used terms are ἀπάτη, φαντασιώδης, φαντασία σατανική, and ἐξαπάτη (e.g. LL 14.6, 17.21, 28.7, 30.11-12, 32.4 and 34.10). These establish a rhetoric of deception and illusion connected to Heliodoros, which corresponds to the rhetoric used for Simon in the Acts of Peter and the Pseudo-Clementines. Moreover, Heliodoros is indirectly associated 30

For this couple of magicians, see now T.M. Erho and B.W. Henry, ‘The Ethiopic Jannes and Jambres and the Greek Original’, Archiv für Papyrusforschung 65 (2019) 176-223. 31 His arrogance and ambition are also underlined elsewhere, e.g. LL 13.1214 and 24.5-6. 32 Alexakis, The Life of St. Leo, 95.

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with the ‘deceptions’ of paganism and heresy given that Leo, Heliodoros’ opponent, is profiled as a fighter for orthodoxy “rebutting the mythic tales (τὸ μυθῶδες) of the Greeks as deceptive (ἀπατηλόν) and fraudulent (κίβδηλον), and refuting the erroneous and unorthodox profane babbling of the heresies” (LL 6.12-13). The ‘mythic tales of the Greeks’ refer back to the opening of the Life of Leo, where the themes of paganism and deception are first introduced. The narrator paints a picture of the setting of his tale by referring to the volcano Aetna, which ‘some persons horribly enslaved by pagan superstition decided to name “the craters of Hephaestus”’ (LL 2.8-10). He continues to tell the legend of the pagan philosopher Empedocles, who, ‘desiring godlike glory’, secretly jumped into the volcano, hoping that his sudden disappearance would generate the impression that he had ascended to heaven (LL 3.1-13). His deception is, however, discovered when his sandal is thrown up with the volcano’s eruption. As Alexakis shows, Empedocles was associated with magic in antiquity. Therefore, the story of Empedocles ‘gives us a precursor of Heliodorus, and, on a different level, carefully presages Heliodorus’ death by fire’.33 Yet, in addition to creating a genealogy of magoi, this story portrays Empedocles particularly as a deceiver. Thus, it sets the tone for Heliodoros’ characterisation as a fraud, suggesting that he is a deceiver as much as his pagan precursors, representing an evil that is diametrically opposed to the truth of the Christian orthodox faith. 2. The Magos as Anti-Hero Negative characterisation helps to present the magos as an anti-hero in the sense of ‘antagonist’ or ‘villain’. At the same time, Christian authors also present the magos as an ‘anti-hero’ in the more literal sense: he is portrayed as the negative doublet of the holy hero, a self-proclaimed but false hero, an ‘anti-saint’.34 In this way, the superficial 33

Alexakis, The Life of St. Leo, 103f. This presentation aligns with the image of the magos as pseudoprofètès upheld in the Lukan Acts (see Marguerat, ‘Magic and Miracle’, 117; Smith, The Literary Construction, 31-8; Sanzo, ‘Early Christianity’, 205). On false prophets, see also Hom. 16.21. On the magos as ‘anti-saint’, see Vlavianos, La figure du mage, 253-71. 34

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similarity of magic and miracle is acknowledged, while the contrast between the two is effectively sharpened. In the Acts of Peter, the superficial similarity between good and evil power can be derived from the reactions of the people of Rome to the events. They refer to Simon’s deeds as ‘miracles’ (mirabilia) and they report that ‘he claims to be the great power of God, doing nothing without God.’ ‘Is he then Christ?’, they ask (APt 4).35 At the same time, doubt arises concerning Peter: When the multitude with great astonishment saw the talking dog, many fell down at the feet of Peter, but others said, ‘Show us another miracle that we may believe in you as a servant of the living God, for Simon too did many wonders in our presence, and on that account we followed him.’ (APt 12)

The crowd witnessing the miracle is divided: their diverging reactions to the same event aptly illustrate the ambivalence of wonders (whether miraculous or magical), which are open to interpretation. Peter’s fellow apostle is even accused of being a sorcerer and a deceiver (‘Some of them in their daily conversations called Paul a sorcerer (magum), others a deceiver (planum)’; APt 4), a common charge in the Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles and hagiography alike.36 Hence, the holy man and the magos are placed in a dialectic relation: the one must be the true hero and the other the fraud, but there is uncertainty as to who is who, since both claim to be God’s true servant and both perform wonders. The magos thus deceives by leading the people astray religiously. At story-level, the rhetoric of deception works in both ways: on the one hand, as we saw above, Peter warns the people against Simon’s deception. He admonishes Eubola, for instance, that Simon ‘spoke of piety with his lips alone 35 Simon also claims that God is his father (APt 31). That Simon is considered a god/Christ or the son/power of God is a common idea in early Christian literature, e.g. Acts 8:10 and Justin’s First Apology 26.2-3. For more discussion, see Eastman, ‘Simon the Anti-Christ?’; id., The Many Deaths of Peter and Paul (Oxford, 2019) 180-209; MacRae, ‘Simon the God’. For the magos-figure as Antichrist, see Vlavianos, La figure du mage, 238-42. 36 For Apocryphal Acts, see G. Poupon, ‘L’accusation de magie dans les Actes apocryphes’, in F. Bovon (ed.), Les Actes apocryphes des apôtres: Christianisme et monde païen (Geneva, 1981) 71-93; for hagiography, see Magoulias, ‘The Lives of Byzantine Saints’, 241-2 and Vlavianos, La figure du mage, 254-61.

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whereas he is wholly impious’ (APt 17). Hence, Simon is also a fraud in the sense of a pretender. On the other hand, the rhetoric of deception is used in turn by Simon against Peter (e.g. perseduxit/ἠπάτησθε; APt 31(2)).37 In the Homilies, Simon emphatically takes on the same role of false apostle and false hero: he intimates that he is Christ (according to Aquilas; Hom. 2.22), and he is considered as a god by many (Hom. 4.4). According to Peter, it is improper to believe and follow Simon (Hom. 2.18), while Simon in turn slanders Peter, accusing him of magic (Hom. 3.38, 3.59, 4.2, 7.9, 17.2 and 20.13).38 The quest for (religious) truth is a central issue in this text. The dialectic relation between Peter and Simon, between real hero and false hero, illustrates not just the ambivalence of magic and miracle, but especially the danger it encompasses. In the Acts of Peter, the people of Rome have difficulty recognizing the true power of God, and this calls for an open confrontation between the holy man and the magos (more on this below), in which the magos must be defeated and the rightful hero acknowledged. The threat that the wrong man would win is real. At the same time, the narrative prevents the reader from identifying with their (intra-diegetic and therefore limited) perspective: the characterisation techniques discussed above generate the understanding that Peter is indeed the real hero, allowing the reader to perceive that the people of Rome, in their confusion, are wrong to follow Simon. Other techniques discussed below further contribute to that. The dialectic relation between real and false hero is a model for the relation between holy man and magos in hagiographical literature, too. This is illustrated by the Life and Martyrdom of Eugenia, a fifth-century hagiographical legend about a virgin who cross-dresses and enters a male monastery.39 I wish to discuss it briefly before 37

For the Greek text, see L. Vouaux (ed.), Les Actes de Pierre (Paris, 1922). Czachesz, ‘Who is Deviant?’ analyses the dialectic relation between Peter and Simon in the Acts of Peter from the perspective of social deviance and labelling theory. 38 See esp. 4.2: ‘he (Simon) being a magician, calls him (Peter) a magician; and he (Simon) being a deceiver, proclaims him (Peter) as a deceiver’. For more discussion, see Côté, Le thème de l’opposition, 104-8. 39 The ancient Life and Martyrdom of Eugenia survives in three Greek recensions, edited by S. Apserou, Το Αγιολογικό dossier της Αγίας Ευγενίας

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turning to the ninth-century Life of Leo, given that the latter presents a slightly more complex case. As part of an embedded narrative, Eugenia is told about bishop Helenos, a most holy man, and his past victory over a magos called Zareas (LE 6.8).40 Just as Simon and Heliodoros, Zareas is immediately characterized as a fraud; the monks twice repeat that he deceived the people with his magic (μαγικῇ τέχνῃ ἀπατῶν τὸν λαὸν … οὕτω τὸν λαὸν ἠπάτα; LE 6.1011). Furthermore, Zareas is presented as a liar and a coward. He uses ‘mendacious discourse’ (πλαστολογίᾳ; LE 6.9)41 and, when challenged by Helenos to enter a fire, he proposes that Helenos enters first. When the bishop survives the fire unscathed, Zareas tries to flee (LE 8.8-9).42 Furthermore, Zareas deceives the people by telling them that Helenos is a fraud and proclaims that he himself is Christ’s apostle (λέγων ψευδῆ εἶναι τὸν ἐπίσκοπον καὶ ἑαυτὸν ἀπεσταλμένον ἀπὸ τοῦ Χριστοῦ διδάσκειν; LE 6.9-10). Thus inverting the truth, he becomes an anti-hero in the sense of a false hero who diverts the people from the true faith. Just as in the Acts of Peter, the people must decide who is truly ‘from God’ (ὅστις μὴ κατακαυθῇ πιστεύσατε ὅτι αὐτὸν ἀπέστειλεν ὁ Σωτήρ; LE 7.13-14). In short, the Life of Eugenia presents an example of a hagiographical narrative that chronologically sits between the Acts of Peter and the Life of Leo, while adopting similar narrative strategies to portray the magos-figure as the former. It therefore attests to a certain continuity of narrative models in the Christian literary tradition of confrontations between holy men and magoi (and perhaps even to potential routes of transmission). The Acts of Peter and Life of Eugenia have in common that the magos succeeds for some time in winning over the people. This is different in the Life of Leo. Heliodoros is a lonesome figure, hated by the Catanians. Alexakis observes that the story focuses on the social disruption he causes, while ‘his dangerous influence in matters (BHG 607w-607z) (Ioannina, 2017). In this article, I follow the second recension (BHG 607x-607y), unless stated otherwise. On the fifth-century date and the relation between the Greek and the Latin Martyrdom, see C. Lanéry, ‘Les Passions latines composées en Italie’, in G. Philippart (ed.), Hagiographies v. 5 (Turnhout, 2010) 126-38. 40 In the first recension (BHG 607w), the magos is called Hierax. 41 In the first recension of the text (BHG 607w). 42 Note that Zareas is overcome in a similar way as Heliodoros.

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of faith and moral conduct is secondary’.43 Therefore, Alexakis calls Heliodoros an ‘anti-eparch’; as an anti-hero, he is not so much opposed to the saint, the religious authority, as to the eparch, the political and social authority. However, even if they appear only secondary, Alexakis admits that there are several references to Heliodoros’ attacks against the church (e.g. LL 17.22-3 and 18.3) and to the fact that he diverts people from the faith (LL 32.7-8).44 Furthermore, what triggers the eventual confrontation between magos and saint is his enmity against the church: One day, when a feast was taking place and our reverent father Leo was celebrating the divine Eucharist, the irreverent and foolish Heliodorus, pretending to be a Christian (ὡς δῆθεν χριστιανός), ran in with the multitude of those who believe. So entering the holy church, Heliodorus began to imitate the kicking of mules, leaping in a disorderly fashion and jumping playfully on everyone. (LL 33.1-7)

These specific events (and not, or not directly, Heliodoros’ many other dreadful deeds, affecting the city life in Catania) urge Leo to confront Heliodoros in a deadly fire. Interestingly, Heliodoros here ‘pretends to be a Christian’. He is therefore guilty precisely of the kind of religious deception connected to Simon and Zareas. Moreover, as Marie-France Auzépy notes, when Heliodoros encounters the emperors’ military man Heraclides, his words echo Jesus’ words in John 18:4-8 when the latter is about to be arrested (LL 19.5-9: Μή τινα καλούμενον Ἡλιόδωρον πάριτε ζητοῦντες; … ἰδοὺ γὰρ ἐγὼ πάρειμι νῦν αὐθαιρέτως ὁ ζητούμενος).45 Just as Simon, then, he identifies himself with Christ, using a form of imitatio Christi that is common for saints and martyrs.46 Finally, Heliodoros is usually described as a μάγος or a γοής, but one time he is called a τερατοποιός, or ‘wonder-worker’ (LL 17.8). Alexakis points out that the term does not necessarily have a negative connotation, rather on the contrary, given that ‘in the Septuagint it is applied to God “the savior and wonder-worker”’.47 In addition, it is twice used for the prophet 43

Alexakis, The Life of St. Leo, 101. Alexakis, The Life of St. Leo, 101 note 65. 45 Auzépy, ‘L’analyse littéraire’, 64. 46 E.g. the Life of Apollinaria; J. Drescher (ed.), Three Coptic Legends (Cairo, 1947) 159. 47 Alexakis, The Life of St. Leo, 94 (referring to Mac II 15:21 and Mac III 6:32). 44

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Elisha in the seventh-century Life of Theodore of Sykeon (BHG 1511z, 1.12 and 14.10).48 Alexakis suggests that the term in the Life of Leo serves stylistic variety. However, the context in which it occurs is significant: it occurs in a letter by the Catanian eparch to the emperors and therefore reflects the viewpoint of characters who have witnessed the magos’ wonders yet are ignorant of his pact with the Devil. Therefore, the term may be interpreted in light of the problem of the ambivalence of magic and miracle: it helps to communicate the idea that the power of the Devil must not to be underestimated and that it may be difficult to distinguish from the power of God.49 The same ambivalence is evoked when Heraclides marvels at Heliodoros’ ability to recognise the reason for his presence before he has spoken a word (LL 20.1-3: θάμβους πλησθείς), a form of clairvoyance that is familiar from many a saint. Implicitly, then, the text shows a concern for the problem of the magic-miracle dichotomy, which makes Heliodoros the antipode of the saint.50 3. Miracles vs. Magic Tricks Thus far, we have seen how the narrative creates a negative image of the magos through a rhetoric of deception that characterises him as a deceiver and portrays him as a false hero. However, the difficulty authors face is to make this characterisation convincing and consistent with the rest of the story, given that the magos also performs wondrous deeds. These are precisely what convince the people in the story to follow him and believe in him,51 which effectively inverts this rhetoric of deception to work against the saint. Why should they 48

A.-J. Festugière (ed.), Vie de Théodore de Sykeôn (Brussels, 1970). Note that τερατοποιός is used for Simon Magus in the Encomium on the Apostle Peter (BHG 1488b, 52.12) by Niketas David Paphlagon (flor. ca. 900). See A. Vogt (ed.), Panégyrique de St. Pierre (Rome, 1931). The Encomium must have been written after the Life of Leo (if we accept 851 as terminus ante quem; Alexakis, The Life of St. Leo, 25). 50 Perhaps, the notion of the anti-hero as anti-saint is even prepared by the – otherwise slightly enigmatic – reference to the myth of a pagan anti-god (ἀντίθεος) at LL 3.13-19, who, like Heliodoros, was destroyed by fire. 51 Cf. Hom. 2.24, where a certain Dositheos falls down in worship of Simon after he tries to strike him with a staff, which ‘seemed to pass through the body of Simon as if he had been smoke’. 49

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be wrong? Hence, to present a consistent story, the narration of the extraordinary achievements of the saint and the magos, the events termed ‘miracles’ and those termed ‘magic’ must confirm for the audience the image presented elsewhere. In the Acts of Peter and the Life of Leo alike, it further corroborates the rhetoric of deception connected to the magos. The Acts of Peter present detailed accounts of the apostle’s many miracles: he makes a dog speak (APt 9), he makes a smoked fish come to life (APt 13),52 he restores sight to a number of blind women (APt 20 and 21), etc. When Peter performs the miracle with the fish, the narrator specifies that ‘he made it swim not only for that hour but, lest they said that it was a deception (fantasma), he made it swim longer’ (APt 13). Here, the duration of the miracle is emphasized as an indication that it is true, connecting a short time span to the possibility of deception. This is part of a strategy to portray the wonders of Simon as mere illusions instead of actual achievements, thus distinguishing them from true miracles. Simon’s first extraordinary deed is to fly over the city. First, he confidently announces that ‘on the following day about the seventh hour you shall see me fly over the gate of the city in the same form in which I now speak to you’. Next, the narrator reports that ‘there suddenly appeared afar off a dust-cloud in the sky, […] and when it reached the gate it suddenly disappeared. Then he (Simon) appeared standing in the midst of the people’ (APt 4). As Luttikhuizen notes, ‘the short duration of the appearance is stressed’.53 But what is more, the text is conspicuously vague: it is not explicitly stated that Simon flies through the air, and the narrator is careful not to make an explicit link between Simon and the cloud, leaving much room for the reader to interpret the event as an illusion and suggesting that Simon only pretended to be flying using theatrical effects.54 Similarly, when Simon 52

For more on this miracle and its foreshadowing of the later resurrections, see J.E. Spittler, Animals in the Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles (Tübingen, 2008) 148-54. 53 Luttikhuizen, ‘Simon Magus as a Narrative Figure’, 44. 54 Bremmer (‘Simon Magus’, 252) likewise suggests that ‘the miracle is not that impressive, as we do not yet see Simon flying in person’. Later on, Simon actually flies over the city (more on this below), which implies that he is capable of achieving what he promises here. However, I do not see why his second flying act, which is narrated much more convincingly, should

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eventually faces Peter during a public contest in which both try to convince the crowd by their supernatural abilities (APt 23-9), Simon is challenged to resurrect a deceased man but only manages to raise the man’s head and make him move and open his eyes. He is unable to make him stand up. Furthermore, these are temporary effects that last only while Simon is standing close to the body, which goes back to its former state as soon as Simon is pushed away (APt 28). This is in clear contrast with what happens when it is Peter’s turn: the man rises and speaks (APt 28). Finally, it is reported that Simon ‘seemingly (non verum/φαίνεσθαι) cured the lame and blind for a time (in brevi/πρὸς βραχύ)’ (APt 31(2)). Hence, Simon’s extraordinary achievements are all presented as temporary achievements,55 and therefore no more than illusions, which makes his characterisation as a deceiver even more pertinent. As Luttikhuizen observes, ‘magical tricks are recognizable by their short life’.56 We may therefore say, as Kyrtatas does, that the wonders of the apostle are ‘greater’ than those of the magos (supra). However, they are also presented as qualitatively different: the miracles are real and lasting achievements, while the magos’ tricks only appear to achieve something: they are ‘false miracles’ (fantasia/φαντασίας; APt 31(2)). Being only illusions, the magos’ tricks associate him precisely with the Devil, the master of fantasiai and the source of his powers. By constructing this qualitative difference, the narrative avoids that the saint, whose wonders are ‘greater’, would just appear to be a better magos. Here, it is difficult to pursue parallels with the Homilies because it does not elaborate on ritual wonders. Simon’s extraordinary deeds are only briefly referenced at a few occasions, each time as part of a report by a character (e.g. Hom. 2.32, 3.58, 4.4, and 6.26).57 In other words, they are only presented through hearsay. This is especially salient in the narration of Simon’s creation of a boy out of air (Hom. 2.26), impact the interpretation of the earlier passage, which still leaves much room for doubt. 55 Apart from the ones already discussed, the text narrates few extraordinary feats of Simon (in contrast to Peter’s many miracles). 56 Luttikhuizen, ‘Simon Magus as a Narrative Figure’, 44. Bremmer, Maidens, Magic and Martyrs, 216; ‘Simon Magus’, 260, notes the close link with (modern day) illusionism. 57 Peter repeatedly performs healing miracles, but these are not narrated at length, either (see Hom. 7.12, 8.24, 9.23, 10.26, 12.13, 15.11, 18.23 and 19.25).

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a wonder that is described in more detail, but where the frequent insertion of markers of indirect speech, such as ‘he said’, is a constant reminder of the double filter of narration (Aquila reporting Simon’s report of the events).58 There is a single exception at the end of the Homilies, where Faustus has been transformed by Simon to look like him (Hom. 20). It is the only place where evidence of Simon’s extraordinary abilities is directly witnessed and presented by the egonarrator Clement. The trick clearly evokes deception, consisting as it does of a form of physical disguise meant to mislead onlookers (the text refers to a ‘deceptive shape (ἡ περικειμένη σοι πλάνος μορφή)’ at Hom. 20.18.2). Having established above that, in the Acts of Peter, the wonders of the apostle and the magos are distinguishable in other ways than, quite simply, magnitude, we may have a clue in hand as to the way in which even the achievements of an all-powerful magos such as Heliodoros are distinguishable from the miracles of saints (hence solving the problem outlined by Kyrtatas and quoted above). It is true that Heliodoros performs some very impressive tricks, and that his magic may, in principle, be easily confused with miracles. However, the author of the Life of Leo makes sure to evoke a perceivable difference between such true miracles and the magic worked by demons. To this end he uses the same strategy as the author of the Acts of Peter: Heliodoros’ achievements have qualities that associate them with illusions. Heliodoros’ first extraordinary feat is to create the illusion of a river before some women who are passing a public place. Thinking they have to cross the deep water, they lift up their skirts and are put to shame before a watching crowd. The point is that Heliodoros does not create an actual river, but only an imaginary one (ὑπεδείκνυεν αὐταῖς φαντασίαν; LL 14.5-6, my emphasis). Another achievement is that he turns wood into silver and stones into gold (LL 15 and 31).59 58

For a discussion of this passage, see T. Nicklas and T.J. Kraus, ‘Simon Magos: Die Erschaffung eines Luftmenschen’, in F. Amsler et al. (eds.), Nouvelles Intrigues pseudo-clémentines (Geneva, 2008) 409-24. 59 As a magos, he is therefore associated with the practice of alchemy. See Alexakis, The Life of St. Leo, 109-10 for a literary parallel of Heliodoros’ trick and 232 for discussion. On alchemy in Byzantium, see G. Merianos, ‘Alchemy’, in A. Kaldellis and N. Siniossoglou (eds), The Cambridge intellectual history of Byzantium (Cambridge, 2017) 234-51. On its connection to magic, see R. Cavendish, A History of Magic (London, 1977) 62-68.

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However, after some time, they turn back to stone or wood. Hence, the wonder consists only of a short-term effect, a temporary illusion. The nature of the materials was never truly altered (this is also suggested at LL 31.6-7: ‘Heliodorus gave them that golden-looking stone (χρυσοειδῆ λίθον)’; my emphasis).60 As we have seen, the short duration of the effect achieved by the magos was already a distinguishing feature of magic and miracle in the Acts of Peter. Heliodoros further achieves two magical transportations from Catania to Constantinople. At the first occasion, he leads Heraclides and his companions into Catania’s bath house and tells them to submerge their heads in the water. When they re-emerge, they find themselves in the bath house of Constanti-nople. This remarkable achievement is termed παράδοξος (‘marvelous’; LL 21.14). However, when it is reported to the emperors, it is enough for them to condemn Heliodoros as a magician (LL 22.5-9). The event raises questions, since a similar feat by another character would have arguably led to his/her recognition as a saint (as the narrator seems to suggest by repeating the term παράδοξος and by calling the astonishment of the emperors (ἐκπλαγέντες) reasonable (ὡς εἰκός)). However, there are two reasons why the extraordinary transportation is appropriately met with suspicion. First, in late antiquity the bath house was associated with miraculous events, but also with demonic presence.61 Second, I believe we must read the episode in Compare also to Hom. 2.32, where it is reported that Simon can turn stones into loaves (clearly modelling Jesus’ miracles and therefore contributing to his role as a false hero). The ambivalence of alchemic practice is evident from the Life of Pancratios of Taormina which, in contrast to the Life of Leo, portrays it as benevolent (Acconcia Longo, Ricerche, 95). 60 Acconcia Longo, ‘La Vita di S. Leone di Catania’, 221, notes that Heliodoros ‘si diverte a trasformare pietre e polvere in oro e poi, compiuto l’inganno, le riporta alla forma originaria’. She therefore implies that turning the gold back to stone is a conscious act to hurt the economy. My reading of the text in parallel with the Acts of Peter suggests instead that the gold automatically turns back, which places emphasis not on Heliodoros’ potency in transforming materials, but on the deceptive and illusory nature of his magic. My interpretation is supported by the text, since it does not mention any involvement of Heliodoros when the gold returns to its former state and because it suggests that the nature of the stone was never truly altered in LL 31.6-7. 61 See C. Bonner, ‘Demons of the Bath’, in S.R.K. Glanville and N.M. Griffith (eds.), Studies presented to F. Ll. Griffith (London, 1932) 203-08;

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the light of an earlier passage emphasizing that ‘the rulers were informed of these and other related matters [concerning Heliodoros] and they especially learned that along with his other daring cruelties he shamelessly attacked the church itself’ (LL 18.1-3). Thus, while the magos’ achievement is quite ambiguous, the emperors’ foreknowledge about his blasphemous deeds allows them to correctly interpret the wonder. In other words, the episode teaches the audience about the wisdom of the emperors and the correct strategy for recognizing true miracle-workers and impostors when they are difficult to distinguish. Moreover, the second magical transportation is again more clearly associated with demonic illusions. This time, Heliodoros draws the shape of a ship with a laurel rod, which materializes and crosses the distance between Catania and Constantinople in the course of a single day.62 However, the ship vanishes in thin air once they arrive (ἄφνω γέγονεν ἄφαντος; LL 25.21).63 Similarly, the horse Heliodoros has produced for Leo’s nephew Chryses to win a race disappears after the victory (ἄφαντος ἐγεγόνει), ‘for it was a demoniacal apparition (φάντασμα δαιμονιῶδες)’ (LL 29.12-13). In these episodes, the magos’ tricks amount again to no more than temporary effects and are therefore presented as illusions. Finally, Heliodoros causes all fire to disappear from Constantinople and creates a famine (LL 26). These actions are directly to the detriment of the people, and therefore evidently do not qualify as miracles A. Berger, Das Bad in der byzantinischen Zeit (München, 1982) 132-35; S. Maréchal, Public Baths and Bathing Habits in Late Antiquity (Leiden, 2020) 69. 62 Acconcia Longo, ‘La vita di S. Leone vescovo di Catania’, 45, interprets the episode from an Iconoclast perspective. For literary parallels, see Vlavianos, La figure du mage, 152-53 and A. Moffat, ‘The Orient Express: Abbot John’s Rapid Trip from Constantinople to Ravenna c. AD 700’, in A. Brown and B. Neil (eds.), Byzantine Culture in Translation (Leiden, 2017) 55-72. 63 Note that ἄφαντος/ἀφανὴς γίγνεσθαι is frequently used in hagiography for the Devil himself, e.g. in the Life of Theodora (K. Wessely (ed.), ‘Die Vita S. Theodorae’, in Fünfzehnter Jahresbericht des K.K. Staatsgymnasiums in Hernals (Vienna, 1889) 37), and even in the Life of Leo (12.10). In addition to the two magical transportations to Constantinople, Heliodoros twice escapes Constantinople in an extraordinary manner, once by disappearing into a bottle of water (on this episode, see Vlavianios, La figure du mage, 152) and once by flying through the roof.

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(here, then, the distinction between miracle and magic is straightforwardly one between creation and destruction; cf. note 13). The point is that this is not the case for the magical transportations, for turning stone into gold, or the creation of a river, etc., which are in themselves ambivalent (although they sometimes have negative consequences). Yet, even if Heliodoros performs a number of ambivalent – and impressive – wonders, their affinity with illusions betrays the demonic providence of the power that made them possible. 4. The Supernatural Contest I have discussed above how the differentiation of saint and magos is achieved through the narration of miracles and magic as isolated events. In addition, a standard ingredient of stories featuring a saint and a magos is a contest, in which the two usually meet for a showdown of their powers (in the Homilies, the contest takes the form of a verbal controversy, referred to as μάχη by Faustos in Hom. 16.3.2). At the level of the story, such a contest has to decide ‘whom (the people) must believe’ (APt 23), and it tends to be the occasion for the holy man to defeat the magos definitively. At the extradiegetic level, the contest serves to secure for the audience the roles of the hero and the anti-hero. In the Acts of Peter, the main public contest is the one in which Peter and Simon are both challenged to perform resurrections, discussed above. However, strangely enough, this event does not bring about the definitive defeat of the magos, who later dies a lonely death.64 Nevertheless, one could say that his death is the result of another contest. Towards the end of the Acts, Simon repeats his flying act and this time ‘they all saw him (πάντων ὁρώντων αὐτόν) ascending over Rome and over its temples and hills’ (APt 32(3)). Here, the narrator’s formulation leaves no doubt about Simon’s achievement, in contrast to his previous attempt at flying (APt 4; cf. supra).65 Peter is present to witness the wonder, and through his prayers, he makes him fall from the sky, causing a severe leg fracture from which he dies few days later. As Bremmer duly notes, it befits a holy man not to cause a fatal crash but only one that indirectly leads to the magos’ 64 65

Noted by Luttikhuizen, ‘Simon Magus as a Narrative Figure’, 51. On flying magoi, see Bremmer, Maidens, Magic and Martyrs, 209-11.

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death, while it further underlines the ineptitude of the magos (who is brought to a fellow-magos for treatment) that he cannot recover from such an injury.66 Moreover, when Peter causes Simon’s fall, the power worked by God through the apostle is in direct competition with Simon’s demonic powers and proves to be more forceful indeed. Simon is finally shown at the height of his potency, but only towards the end of the narrative, when there has been ample opportunity to distinguish him from true miracle-workers, and right before his definitive downfall. A similar direct competition between the saint’s divine power (τῆς θείας δυνάμεως) and the magos’ demonic force (ἐναντίαν ἐνέργειαν) occurs towards the end of the Life of Leo, with the former making the latter ineffective (ἄπρακτον; LL 33.11-14). Next, the saint defeats the magos by entering a fire together. As we saw above, in the Life and Martyrdom of Eugenia, a similar trial must decide who is the true hero and who is the fraud. Bishop Helenos survives the test, while Zareas burns. Nevertheless, Helenos spares the magos by snatching him in time from the fire (note the parallel with the Acts of Peter, where Peter orders the people to spare Simon when they want to burn him towards the end of the resurrectioncontest; APt 28). In the Life of Leo, by contrast, the magos is not spared. The fire contest therefore principally serves to defeat the magos, but much like the fire trial in the Life of Eugenia or the resurrection contest in the Acts of Peter, it also comprises aspects of unveiling the magos’ deception: before taking him with him into the fire, ‘Leo, first, made Heliodorus reveal (ἐκπομπεῦσαι) his satanic magic and sorcery: how, in what manner, when and why he abjured Christ’ (LL 34.13-15). The trial by fire is a common hagiographical topos and can be traced back to the Old Testament,67 where the three youths in the fiery furnace also remain unharmed (Daniel 3:1-30; referenced in LL 34.24-5). Kazhdan notes that the theme of fire is an important 66

Bremmer, ‘Simon Magus’, 256. It also occurs in the Lives of the Desert Fathers (see Kyrtatas, ‘The Holy Man and the Sorcerer’, 35) and in Syriac hagiography, e.g. in the History of Mar Awgin (see F. Ruani, ‘Playing with Literature for Religious Competition: Manichaean Characters in Syriac Hagiography’, in S.N.C. Lieu et al. (eds.), Proceedings of the 9th International Association of Manichaean Studies (Turnhout, forthcoming)). 67

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leitmotif throughout the Life of Leo.68 In fact, one of Leo’s miracles consists of holding burning embers in his cloak (LL 35.11-12). The same achievement is ascribed to bishop Helenos (LE 6.6-7).69 This suggests that fire is an appropriate test for holiness. By the same logic, a trial by fire is an appropriate test to distinguish hero from anti-hero, saint from fraud.70 This may begin to explain why the topos is eagerly exploited in hagiographical stories about confrontations between saints and magoi. It would fall outside the scope of this article to trace the full history and meaning of the motif, yet its presence in certain authoritative literary models may have had a role to play in the choice for the trial by fire as a way to overcome a prominent narrative problem in stories about villains with extraordinary powers, namely, how can they ever be defeated? 5. The Function of Magical Rhetoric I have discussed so far how the Acts of Peter and the Life of Leo handle the difficulty of the superficial similarity of miracle and magic. Both employ a profound rhetoric of deception to portray the magos as a fraud, a false hero, or ‘anti-saint’. The portrayal of a qualitative difference between the magic of the magos and the miracles of the saint, and the final proof of their hierarchy in the supernatural contest, are important elements that corroborate the negative characterization of the magos by the narrator or by other characters, creating an internally coherent tale. Given that the techniques for characterizing the magos and distinguishing him from the saint are fundamentally alike in both tales, it appears that Christian Apocrypha have cast a long shadow when it comes to imagining and constructing a magical rhetoric in Christian narrative. It remains to be discussed why hagiographers would focus on struggles between saints and magoi. In early Christian literature, the role of the magos is embedded in the context of the polemical relation 68

Kazhdan, ‘Comic Discourse’, 298-99. This miracle also occurs elsewhere, e.g. in the Life of Symeon the Fool (80.19-81.3) and the Life of John the Almsgiver (401.2-9); see A.-J. Festugière (ed.), Vie de Syméon le Fou; Vie de Jean de Chypre (Paris, 1974). 70 The Pseudo-Clementines do not fit this pattern, as it is reported that Simon is able to roll on fire without being burnt (Hom. 2.32). 69

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of Christianity and paganism. What was the meaning and function of the character of the magos in Christian literature after Christianity became victorious? One may think, as Bremmer writes, that, ‘in the short period between the birth of Christianity and the arrival of Constantine and the Christian Empire magic and miracle were strong competitors for attention. After their rise to power the Christians could eliminate the “competition”’.71 However, the many hagiographical stories dated to long after Christianity’s victory portraying saints in competition with magoi suggest otherwise. Magoi with extraordinary abilities naturally help to create lively and compelling narratives, and hagiography’s entertainment function should not be disregarded.72 However, miracles of saints (can) equally take care of that function. What is more, by introducing a magos and presenting him as an impostor who pretends to perform miracles but whose powers are in reality derived from the Devil, the hagiographer, as we have seen, somehow creates an opportunity for his audience to wonder whether the same is not true for the saint. Why take that risk? On the one hand, the presence of the magos indeed reveals the problem that miracles are ‘open to misunderstanding’73 and the risk that demonic force is mistaken for divine power (or vice versa). Hence, narrative portrayals of magic risk undermining the very fundaments upon which Christian belief is supported. On the other hand, by addressing this difficulty, the narratives can also offer strategies for coping with it: they teach believers how to recognize the deceptions and illusions of the Devil and therefore answer to a real concern that remained relevant in the centuries that followed after Christianity’s rise to power. The magical rhetoric of deception is thus functional within a self-authorizing mechanism internal to Christianity. Secondly, by introducing an opponent such as the magos, the narrative lends considerable religious authority to the saint. This is 71

Bremmer, Maidens, Magic and Martyrs, 217. On which, see A. Kazhdan, ‘Byzantine Hagiography and Sex in the Fifth to Twelfth Centuries’, Dumbarton Oaks Papers 44 (1990) 131-43 at 131; G. Huber-Rebenich, ‘Hagiographic fiction as entertainment’, in H. Hofmann (ed.), Latin Fiction. The Latin novel in context (London and New York, 1999) 187-212; S. Papaioannou, ‘Readers and Their Pleasures’, in id. (ed.), The Oxford Handbook of Byzantine Literature (Oxford, 2021) 525-56. 73 Marguerat, ‘Magic and Miracle’, 100. 72

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illustrated most poignantly in the contest-episodes: the saint’s supremacy over the magos builds up his identity as a powerful wonder-worker and legitimate hero. This appears to be the main function of the embedded tale about Helenos and Zareas in the Life of Eugenia. In the Life of Leo, however, the focus is less on the saint than it is on the magos. In this case, the choice to portray a magos may be related to the contemporary cultural context of the 9th century: the second Iconoclast controversy. According to Alexakis, the Life of Leo is a crypto-Iconophile text and Heliodoros must be identified with John the Grammarian.74 Whatever the ideology of the text, which is in fact debated,75 magical rhetoric tying back to the polemical context of Christianity’s fights against heresy and primarily paganism, may be usefully employed by the hagiographer to refer to his own contemporary cultural realities and to deal with religious strife. The literary character of the magos thus serves as a device for creating religious authority and for strengthening one’s own identity against a religious opponent or ‘other’. 6. Conclusion The Life of Leo of Catania is a worthwhile text for any student of hagiography. In this article, I focused on its literary and narrative qualities, reading them through the lens of a specific question: how does the Life create a convincing distinction between demonic and divine wonders? As I have argued, the Life of Leo is connected to an earlier tradition of stories about competition between holy and magical powers, notably the Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles and the figure of Simon Magus. According to Bremmer, Simon Magus had become ‘the example par excellence of the detestable but also dangerous opponent’.76 As we have seen, the hagiographer indeed overtly connects his magos to the notorious Simon, but he also (consciously or unconsciously) uses narrative techniques to create a magic-miracle dichotomy similar to the ones found in early Christian stories on the confrontation between Simon and the apostles, of which the Acts of Peter is a prominent 74 75 76

Alexakis, The Life of St. Leo, 60-75. See above, note 5. Bremmer, ‘Simon Magus’, 257.

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example. This comes to show that hagiographers and their audiences, even after Christianity’s hegemony was no longer under threat, were still interested in the problem of how to recognize divine power and distinguish it from false miracles. In addition, the Life of Leo demonstrates how the polemical context of early Christian literature, including magical rhetoric, could be reinterpreted to fight contemporary religious battles.77

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I wish to express my gratitude to Tobias Nicklas and the other members of ‘Beyond Canon’ for their invitation to take part in the stimulating conference ‘The “Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles” in Late Antiquity. Tradition and Innovation’ and the current volume resulting from it. I also thank Koen De Temmerman and the editors of the volume for helpful feedback. This article was written as a fellow of the FWO – Flanders.

IV. Symbolic and Chronotopic Space: The Ephesus Episode in the Acts of the Apostles and the Apocryphal Acts of Paul JANET DOWNIE

The Ephesus episode in the canonical Acts of the Apostles is best known for the uprising of the silversmiths: led by one Demetrius, this group of artisans protests that the message of Paul and his followers threatens their trade in tourist replicas of the city’s iconic temple of Artemis. The unrest reaches such a pitch that city officials warn the citizens they risk running afoul of the Roman Imperial government. Paul himself – on the advice of local officials described as ‘friendly’ to him (philoi) – does not appear before the crowd; the dramatic action unfolds without him.1 Acts 19.21-40. Acts 19.30-31: Παύλου δὲ βουλομένου εἰσέλθειν εἰς τὸν δῆμον οὐκ εἴων αὐτὸν οἱ μαθηταί· τινὲς δὲ καὶ τῶν Ἀσιαρχῶν, ὄντες αὐτῷ φίλοι, πέμψαντες πρὸς αὐτὸν παρεκάλουν μὴ δοῦναι ἑαυτὸν εἰς τὸ θέατρον. ‘But when Paul wanted to go before the people, his disciples did not allow him. Some of the Asiarchs, too, who were friendly towards him, sent a message exhorting him not to present himself in the theater’. In this essay I use the Nestle-Aland28 text of the Acts of the Apostles – that is, the ‘Alexandrian’ version. While space does not allow for detailed examination of the various textual traditions of Acts, a cursory examination of Acts 19 in the Codex Bezae did not reveal variants of specific significance for this study. On the textual tradition of Acts, see B.M. Metzger, A Textual Commentary on the Greek New Testament (London, 1975) 259-72; I. Czachesz, ‘The Acts of Paul and the Western Text of Luke’s Acts: Paul Between Canon and Apocyrpha’ in J.N. Bremmer (ed.), The Apocryphal Acts of Paul and Thecla (Kampen, 1996) 107-25, considers the possibility that the Codex Bezae and the Acts of Paul represent contemporary responses to the Alexandrian text of Acts. Throughout this essay, translations from Greek are my own.

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The contrast with the Ephesus episode in the apocryphal Acts of Paul could not be starker. Here, the memorable climax is a scene in which the apostle faces down a lion in the stadium. Dragged before the governor and condemned by popular acclaim to be thrown to the beasts, Paul ultimately encounters not a savage creature, but a lion he once baptized, who now returns the favor by sparing his life. The reader in search of lore about Paul is offered two very different Ephesus stories: in the Acts of the Apostles, Paul is conspicuous by his absence. In the apocryphal Acts of Paul, on the other hand, he is at the center of the action, upstaged only – inevitably and understandably – by a wonderful baptized lion that speaks.2 These two stories share very little, apart from the general motif of conflict with civic authority and the specific detail of their geographic location: both are set in Ephesus, the provincial capital of the Roman province of Asia and a site associated regularly with Paul’s missionary activity.3 The Ephesus episode thus brings into focus a question of persistent interest to scholars of early Christian literature: what is the relationship between canonical and apocryphal narratives in the early church and in late antique Christianity? Scholarly hypotheses about the relationship between the Acts of the Apostles and the Acts of Paul tend to focus on historical and doctrinal questions.4 In this paper, I consider the relationship between 2

Acts of Paul 9. On the story of Paul and the baptized lion in its literary contexts, see D.R. MacDonald, The Legend and the Apostle: The Battle for Paul in Story and Canon (Philadelphia, 1983) 21-23; T. Adamik, ‘The Baptized Lion in the Acts of Paul’, in Bremmer, Apocryphal Acts of Paul and Thecla, 60-74; J. Spittler, Animals in the Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles (Tübingen, 2008) 156-89. 3 T.W. Thompson, ‘Claiming Ephesus: Pauline Legacy in the Acts of John’, in C.K. Rothschild and J. Schröter (eds.), The Rise and Expansion of Christianity in the First Three Centuries of the Common Era (Tübingen, 2013) 379-400 at 385-7 collects the sources that represent Ephesus as a Pauline city. On the place of Ephesus in early Christian literature more generally, including the Pauline corpus but excluding the apocryphal Acts of Paul, see H. Koester, ‘Ephesos in Early Christian Literature’, in H. Koester (ed.), Ephesos, Metropolis of Asia (Valley Forge, 1995) 119-40; Bremmer, this volume, Chapter X. 4 The apocryphal Acts of Paul have been described, variously, as a corrective replacement for, a sequel to, or a re-reading of the canonical text. See R. Pervo, ‘A Hard Act to Follow: The Acts of Paul and the Canonical Acts’,

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these two texts instead from a narratological perspective, focusing specifically on each text’s treatment of space in a single episode: Paul’s visit to Ephesus. In the Acts of the Apostles, Ephesus is integrated into the text’s overarching symbolic geography. In the Acts of Paul, by contrast, the space of Ephesus is developed through the unfolding action of the story in what may be called a chronotopic mode of spatiality.5 These divergent spatial strategies, together with certain paratextual features of the earliest Greek and Coptic manuscripts, make this episode a prime example of a narrative process to which the apostolic fabula was perfectly suited: a dynamic process of innovation, elaboration and excerption in which the geographical trajectory of Paul’s missionary activities provided a spatial anchor for new stories. 1. Spatial Stories In narrative and spatial terms, the overarching plot of the Pauline fabula – and the apostolic tradition more generally – is one of travel and adventure.6 In the Acts of the Apostles, Paul’s own missionary itinerary around the Mediterranean provides a primary story arc, and his is just one of several apostolic missions. Peter, Stephen, and Philip are also main characters, helping to spread Jesus’ message of the ‘kingdom of God’ (1.3) to ‘the end of the earth’ (1.8).7 The catalog Journal of Higher Criticism 2 (1995) 3-32, R. Bauckham, ‘The Acts of Paul: Replacement of Acts or Sequel to Acts?’, Semeia 80 (1997) 159-68 and D. Marguerat, ‘The Acts of Paul and the Canonical Acts: A Phenomenon of Rereading’, ibid., 169-83. 5 The narrative strategies of symbolic and chronotopic space are described by M.-L. Ryan, ‘Narrative Theory and Space’, in M.-L. Ryan et al. (eds.), Narrating Space/Spatializing Narrative (Columbus, 2016). See further below. 6 The many interwoven strands of the Pauline tradition in the early Christian context may be conceptualized in terms of the three levels of narrative distinguished by narratological theory: 1) the ‘text,’ as written or heard; 2) the ‘story’ as contained by the ‘text,’ as told to narratees by a narrator; 3) the ‘fabula,’ the series of events that are supposed to have taken place, or have actually taken place – of which the narrator’s ‘story’ is one version. As I. de Jong, Narratology and Classics: A Practical Guide (Oxford, 2014) 38 observes: ‘The fabula does not exist in and of itself but is a reconstruction by the narratees.’ 7 References to ‘the kingdom of God’ recur at key moments in the narrative. These concepts (with others) contribute to the sense of a shared,

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of nations and languages in the story of Pentecost (2.5-13) and the several disciple lists that appear throughout the text expand the geographical horizon of the Jesus movement and offer a substantial cast of potential leading figures.8 More than a journey motif, then, the travel plot provides a generative narrative framework that extends beyond the bounds of any single text into a centuries-long narrative tradition of apostolic missionary itineraries. There is no need to imagine that the Acts of the Apostles is the single source of this overarching plot, but it does provide one narrative rendition of the missionary spread of the faith that forms part of the history of the early church. As such, it allows us to glimpse the matrix of community history from which a wide range of apostolic stories arose.9 The narrative framework of travel that is key to the Pauline fabula encourages and supports an episodic approach to the development of new stories, of the sort we see in both the Acts of the Apostles and the apocryphal Acts of Paul. There is a fairly general scholarly consensus that both texts existed in a form close to their current dimensions (as we can discern or reconstruct them) by the late second century.10 corporate mission in Acts. See S. Adams, The Genre of Acts and Collected Biography (Cambridge, 2013) 178-79, 191-92, with notes. On the spreading of Jesus’ message ‘to the ends of the earth,’ see J.E. Spittler, ‘Christianity at the Edges: Representations of the Ends of the Earth in the Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles’, in C. Rothschild and J. Schroeter (eds.), The Rise and Expansion of Christianity in the First Three Centuries of the Common Era (Tübingen, 2013) 353-377. 8 Adams, Genre of Acts, 186f. 9 Ch. Thomas, The Acts of Peter, Gospel Literature, and the Ancient Novel (Oxford, 2003) 9 argues that both canonical and apocryphal Acts work between fiction and history to produce ‘literature meaningful to a community in constructing a vision of its past.’ See also Ch. Thomas, ‘Stories without Texts and without Authors: The Problem of Fluidity in Ancient Novelistic Texts and Early Christian Literature’, in R. Hock, et al. (eds.), New Perspectives on Ancient Fiction and the New Testament (Atlanta, 1998) 273-91. 10 K. Backhaus, ‘Zur Datierung der Apostelgeschichte: Ein Ordnungsversuch im chronologischen Chaos,’ in id., Die Entgrenzung des Heils: gesammelte Studien zur Apostelgeschichte (Tübingen, 2019) 87-128 surveys the issues and the possibilities for dating of the Acts of the Apostles, ultimately proposing that the ‘relative late dating (ca. 100-130 CE)’ is the most practical solution (87 and 97). Based on references in the writings of church fathers, most scholars hypothesize that a comprehensive text of the Acts of Paul, including the Thecla, Ephesus and Rome episodes, was circulating in the late

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Nevertheless, it is clear that the Acts of Paul in particular were read as a geographically articulated and episodically separable narrative from very early on.11 Episodic structure is particularly visible in early manuscript evidence for the Acts of Paul: individual manuscripts from as early as the fourth century preserve different sections of a larger narrative, demonstrating that the geographic narrative of travel offered the opportunity for flexibility and innovation in storytelling. Two papyrus manuscripts partially preserve overlapping parts of the same story, one in Greek (P. Hamb.) and one (P. Bodm. 41) in a Coptic translation of the same Greek text-type.12 The Greek papyrus, which has been dated to the fourth century CE, contains several episodes in the later stages of Paul’s apostolic story: his time at Ephesus, at Corinth, the journey from Corinth to Rome, his arrival at Rome and his martyrdom.13 A prominent heading at one of the narrative transitions second century. J.N. Bremmer, ‘The Onomastics and Provenance of the Acts of Paul’, in F.P. Barone et al. (eds), Philologie, herméneutique et histoire des textes entre Orient et Occident. Melanges en hommage à Sever J. Voien (Turnhout, 2017) 532-33 makes a strong case for the Acts of Paul as a unified composition by a single, late-second-century author from Asia Minor. Views on the relationship between the two texts vary. Some scholars have proposed that they emerged independently and contemporaneously from a shared oral tradition. See MacDonald, The Legend and the Apostle; F. Bovon, ‘Canonical and Apocryphal Acts of Apostles’, JECS 11 (2003) 165-94; J.A. Snyder, ‘Relationships Between the Acts of the Apostles and Other Apostle Narratives’, in J. Frey et al. (eds.), Between Canonical and Apocryphal Texts (Tübingen, 2019) 319-41. Bremmer, ‘Onomastics,’ by contrast, presumes ‘familiarity’ with the Acts of the Apostles on the part of the author of the Acts of Paul, as well as with the Pauline Epistles, and argues that the author engages deliberately and consistently with 2 Timothy over the course of the text. 11 G. Snyder, Acts of Paul (Tübingen, 2013) 1-12, in arguing the case that various episodes were composed independently and harmonized at a later time, offers an invaluable discussion of the textual history that illuminates the issues of narrative construction and reading history that are my focus in this paper. 12 Same Greek text-type: Snyder, Acts of Paul, 193, who at 190-216 presents the textual relationship between P. Hamb. and P. Bodm. 41 and reviews the contents and codicology of each of these two early manuscripts. 13 C. Schmidt, ΠΡΑΞΕΙΣ ΠΑΥΛΟΥ: Acta Pauli. Nach dem Papyrus der Hamburger (Glückstadt, 1936) 4-9 describes the contents of the manuscript which, besides the Acts of Paul, included Coptic texts of the Song of Songs

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underscores the geographic articulation of the story: on the verso of the third preserved folio, at the top of the page, the title ‘from Philippi to Corinth’ appears in a decorative frame, marking the change of geographic and narrative scene.14 Losses to the manuscript make it impossible to be certain, but it seems likely that the manuscript included other such geographical headings. Another early manuscript supports this hypothesis: a Heidelberg Coptic manuscript (which omits the Ephesus episode) includes several of these geographic scene-change headings, decoratively set out in the manuscript.15 Early readers and copyists thus understood the fabula of Paul to be articulated geographically, and this went hand in hand with an episodic approach to the text that apparently invited excerption and selection early on in the text’s reading history. The heading in the Hamburg text, discussed above, announces a transition ‘from Philippi to Corinth,’ but the manuscript did not actually contain the episode at Philippi. Either the scribe himself or his exemplar made the choice to jump from Ephesus to Corinth, omitting this episode.16 The Coptic Bodmer papyrus exhibits more drastic selectivity. This codex contained several different texts, but from the Acts of Paul it included only the Ephesus episode. The text begins with a geographic frame: ‘After Paul said these things, he went out from Smyrna down to Ephesus, and he went into the house of Aquila and Priscilla.’ The episode concludes with a subscript ‘Act of Paul’ – in the singular. Here, a single episode from the fabula of Paul is isolated and transmitted as a standalone story.17 and the Lamentations of Jeremiah, as well as texts in Greek and Coptic of Ecclesiastes. Schmidt proposes a date for the whole manuscript around 300 CE on papyrological grounds (9-10). 14 Text: Schmidt, ΠΡΑΞΕΙΣ ΠΑΥΛΟΥ, 44-45; Discussion: Snyder, Acts of Paul, 194. 15 C. Schmidt, Acta Pauli: Aus der Heidelberger Koptischen Papyrushandschrift Nr. 1 (Hildesheim, 1965). The headings are visible in the plates included in Vol. 2. 16 This is clear because the heading appears at the top of a verso page, while the bottom of the recto side of the same folio contains the end of the Ephesus episode. The story jumps from Ephesus to Corinth, but the heading (which mentions Philippi) does not reflect this sequence. Schmidt, ΠΡΑΞΕΙΣ ΠΑΥΛΟΥ, 98-99. 17 Coptic text with French translation and discussion: R. Kasser and P. Luisier, ‘Le Papyrus Bodmer XLI en Édition Princeps: L’Épisode d’Éphèse des

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The early manuscripts of the apocryphal Ephesus episode illustrate the point, made by the narratological theorist Mieke Bal, that every story has to take place somewhere. In line with this zerograde conception of narrative space, the function of geographical reference in the Acts of Paul is to connect individual stories to the wider narrative context of the fabula – as the Coptic papyrus demonstrates.18 Once this connection has been made, geographical location is mostly irrelevant to the development of the story, as we shall see below. Instead, the spatiality of the Ephesus Act within the Acts of Paul is concerned with relationships between private and public space and with movement from one to another, tracked through character focalization.19 The canonical Acts of the Apostles, on the other hand, locates Ephesus on a large geographic canvas in which places are networked to create a political topography and a political narrative. These two texts exhibit two distinct approaches to spatiality that Marie-Laure Ryan describes as the ‘chronotopic’ level – in which the sites of the storyworld are connected through movement (Acts of Paul) – and the ‘symbolic’ level, which structures narrative space by associating it with values (Acts of the Apostles).20 These two kinds of spatiality, divergently deployed in the canonical and apocryphal versions of Paul’s Ephesus Act, together illustrate what Michel de Certeau identifies as a crucial activity of narrative: stories, de Certeau writes, ‘carry out a labor that constantly transforms Acta Pauli en Copte et en traduction,’ Le Muséon 117 (2004) 281-384. The best-known ‘separable’ portion of the Acts of Paul is, of course, the story of Thecla, which has its own life in the later manuscript tradition. See Bremmer, Apocryphal Acts of Paul and Thecla; J.W. Barrier, The Acts of Paul and Thecla (Tübingen, 2009); J.W. Barrier et al. (eds), Thecla: Paul’s Disciple and Saint in the East and West (Leuven, 2016). 18 M. Bal, Narratology: Introduction to the Theory of Narrative (Toronto, 20174) 182-85 points out that spatial thinking is a feature of the human imagination, and that readers naturally seek to locate the action of a fabula in some place – in a known or imagined location or setting suggested (either explicitly or implicitly) by the text. 19 Narrative spaces are, as Bal, Narratology, 124, describes, ‘places seen in relationship to their perception’ – meaning, from the point of view of a character or from another point of view perhaps anonymous, but within the narrative. 20 Ryan, ‘Narrative Theory’, 22.

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places into spaces or spaces into places’.21 The narrative process entails a constant exchange between static place – ‘an instantaneous configuration of positions’ – and dynamic space, which is ‘composed of intersections of mobile elements’.22 The process of narrative, on de Certeau’s reading, is a process that involves attaching symbolic meanings to places, but also continually re-mobilizing and transforming these through the creation of new stories. There is interchange between fixity and motion, between established meanings and the creation of new meaning through narrative. A narratological reading of Ephesus as symbolic space (‘place’, in de Certeau’s terms) in the Acts of the Apostles and as chronotopic space in the Acts of Paul illustrates this generative function of space at work in two divergent interventions in the Pauline fabula. 2. Ephesus as Symbolic Space in the Acts of the Apostles In the canonical Acts of the Apostles, Ephesus is integrated into the large-scale symbolic geography that is a prominent feature of this text. Acts begins with the Apostles gathering together in Jerusalem, before dispersing to preach what is referred to in the text – using a spatial metaphor – as ‘the way’ (ἡ ὁδός) of Jesus. The disciples are commissioned to carry the Jesus movement to ‘the end of the earth’ (1.8: ἐσχάτου τῆς γῆς) – an open-ended formulation that commentators have interpreted as reflecting both the ecumenical reach of the ministry (suggested by the conversion of the Ethiopian official at Acts 8.26-40) and also its penetration to the very heart of the empire at Rome. For, the text traces a centrifugal movement out from Jerusalem and circling back to that city three times before, in the final chapters of the book, Paul is taken under arrest to Rome.23 21 M. de Certeau, ‘Spatial Stories’, in The Practice of Everyday Life (Berkeley, 1984) 118. 22 De Certeau, ‘Spatial Stories,’ 117. 23 J.M. Scott, Geography in Early Judaism and Christianity (Cambridge, 2002) 56-94 connects the centrality of Jerusalem with the symbolic geography of the Hebrew Bible. The motif of world-cartography is suggested by the multiplication of languages when the spirit comes upon the disciples at Pentecost (Acts 2.1-13). See also G. Gilbert, ‘The List of Nations in Acts 2: Roman Propaganda and the Lukan Response’, JBL 121 (2002) 497-529, and Spittler, ‘Christianity at the Edges’, passim.

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The text thus presents a Christian world geography, integrating the Jesus movement into Imperial conceptions of space – that is, the sense of space as conceived from Roman and Imperial perspectives centered on the Mediterranean.24 As the author redraws the map of empire from a Christian perspective, Paul’s activities in Asia Minor offer a way to locate the new religion at the heart of civic life, in places where Greek, Roman, and Jewish community interests overlapped.25 Ephesus is one of Paul’s longer stops in Asia Minor, and local and regional dyamics are highlighted in such a way that, as Helmut Koester puts it, we learn more in this episode about Ephesus than we do about Paul.26 Within the overall geography of Acts, the public, political and monumental landscape of Ephesus functions as a symbolic space that brings into focus the pagan traditions of civic politics as well as the cosmopolitan institutions of Greek and Jewish culture and contemporary realities of religious contestation. Ephesus is presented as a space where Greek and Jewish cultures converge in the early parts of the narrative, before the account of the uprising of the silversmiths. At the beginning of the episode, Paul 24

Acts must certainly be counted among those narrative texts that thematize space, making it a feature of the plot, cf. Ryan, ‘Narrative Theory’, 37-39. The place of Rome in this picture is, however, a subject of debate. L. Nasrallah, ‘The Acts of the Apostles, Greek Cities, and Hadrian’s Panhellenion’, JBL 127 (2008) 533-66 argues that Paul is represented as creating a Christian civic league, a universal Christian geography that would be comprehensible to (because imitative of) the Roman empire. L. Alexander, ‘“In Journeyings Often”: Voyaging in the Acts of the Apostles and in Greek Romance’, in her Acts in its Literary Context: A Classicist Looks at the Acts of the Apostles (London, 2005) 69-96 argues that Paul’s journeys around the Mediterranean in the canonical Acts constitute an act of ‘narrative aggression’ parasitical upon the Greece-centered travel motifs of the novels. 25 A. Wordelman, ‘Cultural Divides and Dual Realities: A Greco-Roman Context for Acts 14’, in T. Penner and C. Vander Stichele (eds), Contextualizing Acts: Lukan Narrative and Greco-Roman Discourse (Atlanta, 2003) 205-32, identifies three geographical spheres in Acts: the ‘home’ territory of Greece and Rome, barbarian territory, and – between the two – the intermediate space of Asia Minor. 26 Koester, ‘Ephesos in Early Christian Literature’, 131. D.W. Billings, Acts of the Apostles and the Rhetoric of Roman Imperialism (Cambridge, 2017) 4-5 emphasizes the inextricability of political and religious life in the Mediterranean world of this period.

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arrives at Ephesus (εἰς Ἔφεσον, 19.1), where he baptizes local people in Jesus. Having established himself in the city, he then enters into the synagogue (εἰς τὴν συναγωγήν, 19.8), where he preaches for three months. When he encounters resistance and opposition there (ἐσκληρύνοντο καὶ ἠπείθουν), he eventually moves to conduct his teaching activities ‘in the school of Tyrannos’ (ἐν τῇ σχολῇ Τυράννου, 19.9). There, he teaches for two years, ‘with the result that all the Jews and Greeks (Ἕλληνες) in Asia were able to hear the word of the Lord Jesus.’ The locations of Paul’s teaching activities, delineated with increasing specificity – Ephesus, the synagogue, the school of Tyrannos – combine Jewish and Hellenic civic and educational spaces. This schematic delineation of cultural space sets the scene for the uprising of the silversmiths, which is presented as a civic drama: the main character in this narrative episode is not Paul, but the city of Ephesus itself as represented and embodied by ordinary citizens and functionaries, like the artisans and the unnamed town clerk. This civic encounter is set in an Imperial context, framed by references to Rome: before Paul disappears from the scene, he anticipates the next destinations on his itinerary, planning to go to Macedonia and Jerusalem, and after that, ‘I have to see Rome,’ he says (19.21). So, the narrator explains, while his followers Timotheus and Erastos go on ahead, Paul remains in Asia a little longer (19.22). The story of the uprising of the silversmiths ensues, ending only when the grammateus of the city chastizes the citizens and warns them that they risk incurring a charge of stasis (ἐγκαλεῖσθαι στάσεως, 19.40) for convening an assembly not sanctioned by local representatives of Roman power. Framed by references to Imperial power, the civic drama plays out as an economic conflict set firmly within the public space of Ephesus. The story features a main character – ‘one Demetrius by name’ (Δημήτριός τις ὀνόματι, 19.24). In direct speech, this (otherwise unknown) Demetrius addresses his fellow artisans and argues that Paul’s preaching throughout Asia threatens their trade in models of the temple of Ephesian Artemis. Because Paul preaches that gods ‘made with hands’ are not gods (19.26), Demetrius argues, there is a danger that they will lose their business and that ‘the temple of the great goddess Artemis will be scorned, and she will be deprived of her majesty (μεγαλειότητος) which all Asia and the whole world worships (σέβεται)’ (19.27). The response is an uproar and an acclamation

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from the crowd: ‘Great is Artemis of the Ephesians!’ (Μεγάλη ἡ Ἄρτεμις Ἐφεσίων. 19.28).27 Paul’s theological views are mentioned only indirectly in this scene. Instead, Demetrius’ direct speech brings into view the renowned local temple with its distinctive cult statue of Artemis, and, as the narrative proceeds, these monuments of traditional piety are embedded in the public landscape of the city. Riled up by Demetrius, the crowd drags two of Paul’s followers into the ‘theater’ (θέατρον, 19.29) in order to bring charges. Paul wants to go in to face the ‘people’ (εἰσελθεῖν εἰς τὸ δῆμον, 19.30), but is restrained both by his disciples and by some of the ‘Asiarchs’ (τινὲς δὲ καὶ τῶν Ἀσιαρχῶν) – local representatives of Roman power who are here described as his friends (φίλοι 19.31).28 The gathering of the people in the theater is later referred to as an ‘assembly’ (ἐκκλησία 19.32), but one in which confusion reigns – to the point that when one Alexandros (a Jew) attempts to calm the crowd, they respond by chanting the same acclamation to Artemis for two hours (19.32-34).29 The scene presents a dramatic picture of the strength of local civic tradition and commitment – both economic and religious – to the city’s pagan cult heritage. This attachment to local tradition is set in the context of the Imperial order through references to the Roman judicial system and to Ephesus’ place in the regional hierarchy of cities that are honored and tasked with protecting Roman interests. Chaos continues until the secretary (γραμματεύς) of the city comes forward to address the crowd as fellow citizens. ‘Men of Ephesus,’ he begins (19.35-38): What man is there who does not know that the city of the Ephesians is neocorate of Artemis and of the divinely bestowed statue (τὴν Ἐφεσίων 27

See A. Chaniotis, ‘Megatheism: the search for the almighty god and the competition of cults’, in S. Mitchell and P. Van Nuffelen (eds), One God: Pagan Monotheism in the Roman Empire (Cambridge, 2010) 112-40 on the role of megalê acclamations in the context of competition between cults in Asia Minor. 28 Billings, Acts of the Apostles, 4-5 comments on Paul’s close connections with Roman power in Acts. 29 B.J. Bitner, ‘Acclaiming Artemis in Ephesus: Political Theologies in Acts 19’, in J.R. Harrison and L.L. Welborn (eds), The First Urban Churches 3. Ephesus (Atlanta, 2018) 127-70 describes the acclamation scene as a corporate speech act fully embedded in a civic discourse that is as political as it is religious.

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πόλιν νεωκόρον οὖσαν τῆς μεγάλης Ἀρτέμιδος καὶ τοῦ διοπετοῦς)? So, since these things are undeniable, you ought to calm down and not do anything rash. You have brought these men here, though they have neither robbed temples nor blasphemed our goddess. If, then, Demetrius and his fellow craftsmen have a grievance against anybody, the courts are open and there are proconsuls. Let them take each other to litigation (ἀγοραῖοι ἄγονται καὶ ἀνθύπατοί εἰσιν, ἐγκαλείτωσαν ἀλλήλοις).

The secretary appeals to Ephesus’ distinction as a neocorate city – meaning that it has been awarded the privilege of hosting the cult of the emperor. This adds Imperial distinction to the traditional cult of Artemis and enhances the city’s status not just symbolically but also practically, as it gives the city the prerogative of hosting the regional assizes. Ephesus thus participates in the institutions of Imperial justice, and the secretary insists that the city should live up to this status by dealing with legal grievances in a lawful manner. Any other matter should be resolved in a lawful assembly (ἐν τῇ ἐννόμῳ ἐκκλησίᾳ). Otherwise, he insists, ‘we are in danger of being charged with insurrection (στάσις) because we cannot offer a valid reason for today’s disturbance’ (19.35-40). The whole scene has taken place in the public spaces of Ephesus – in the theater and in the streets – and twice the assembled crowd (described as an ekklesia, a gathering of the citizen body for deliberation) has spoken with one voice to acclaim Artemis, the celebrated local pagan goddess. Demetrius and his allies have appealed to the goddess’ cult and her iconic temple as a way of mobilizing a mass of sympathizers to support an economic argument. In this way, the political drama of the Ephesus episode is embedded within the symbolic landscape of the city, the province of Asia, and the Roman Imperial power structure.30 The physical landscape of the city – its civic spaces and monuments – are deployed to tell a political story, so that within the text’s symbolic geography, Ephesus stands for the wealth and high culture of the cosmopolitan Greco-Roman east.

30

The text highlights precisely those features of Ephesus that are regularly emphasized in non-novelistic Greek literature of this period: Artemis; her inviolable temple; the city’s connections with Rome. See Ch. Thomas, ‘At Home in the City of Artemis: Religion in Ephesos in the Literary Imagination of the Roman Period’, in Koester, Ephesos: Metropolis of Asia, 81-118.

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3. Ephesus as Chronotopic Space in the Apocryphal Acts of Paul In the apocryphal Acts of Paul, any symbolic value attached to the space of Ephesus as an eminent Greco-Roman city of Asia Minor and world-renowned center of cult, has been elided. The cult of Artemis and her iconic temple are invisible, and while the presence of the governor, along with references to the theater and other public spaces, indicates a regional cosmopolitan center of some importance, there is nothing in the text to identify this city as Ephesus specifically. In contrast with the Acts of the Apostles, in which the urban landscape is so prominent that it is virtually a character in its own right, the narrative in the Acts of Paul is constructed to maintain a focus on Paul himself – on his personal interactions with individuals in Ephesus, his religious message, and his persecution. The text’s state of preservation is not perfect, but between the Hamburg and Bodmer papyri, discussed above, we can trace the full narrative trajectory of the episode, which unfolds over four main scenes.31 The first scene is set at the house of Paul’s friends Aquila and Priscilla, where Paul preaches to the local Christian community.32 The second scene is set in the theater: when Paul’s mission becomes too successful, he is arrested and hauled up before the governor.33 The third scene is set in a prison, where Paul is also visited by two women seeking baptism. The fourth scene is set in the stadium (στάδιον), where Paul is thrown to the beasts and comes face to face with the baptized lion. Paul is at the center of all these scenes, dramatically and spatially. The settings of the story alternate between public spaces – the theater and stadium – and private spaces – domestic interiors and the 31

Snyder, Acts of Paul, 69-70 on the story as reconstructed from the two early witnesses. R.I. Pervo, The Acts of Paul: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (Eugene, 2014) provides an English translation of the whole episode, based on both the Coptic and the Greek texts, with an outline of the episode on p. 214. His translation follows continuously numbered sub-sections, which I include in the references below. 32 Marguerat, Acts of Paul, 214 notes that these are the only (secondary) named characters that the Acts of Paul shares with Acts of the Apostles. 33 Marguerat, Acts of Paul, 214, comments that this scene in the Acts of Paul has more in common with Paul’s speeches at Lystra or at Athens in the Acts of the Apostles than it has with the Ephesus episode in the canonical text.

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space of the prison. In both types of setting, however, the approach to space is chronotopic rather than symbolic: space is described in such a way as to highlight the interactions of various characters, and public spectacle is subordinated to personal experience. The author creates both narrative depth and spatial depth, by setting up several layers of setting and frame,34 particularly in the first episode’s opening scene (lost from the Hamburg Greek but present in the Bodmer Coptic papyrus) where Paul tells the story of his own conversion and of the lion he baptized. In the Hamburg (Greek) version of the Acts of Paul, the preserved text picks up in the middle of the story, in the second scene: Paul is in the theater, delivering a lengthy speech to the governor.35 This is a civic context, as in the Ephesus episode in the Acts of the Apostles – but, in contrast with the story told there, here Paul is constantly present, his religious message is foregrounded, and the speech he delivers is framed rhetorically as a personal appeal to the governor to listen and to convert. At the beginning of the speech Paul reminds the governor that his power extends only to Paul’s body, not his soul, and he commands the governor to hear ‘how [he] might be saved’ and to ‘take into [his] heart’ Paul’s words. He closes the speech by enjoining the governor and the rest of his audience to choose the right way and ‘be saved’, (σωθῆτε) lest God become angry and destroy them.36 Thus, while the setting is public and while Paul extends his message, ultimately, to the whole gathered crowd, the aim is individual conversion. Spatially, too, the narrative marginalizes the public landscape of the city by centering Paul and making him the implicit, embedded focalizer.37 When the governor hands Paul’s punishment over to the 34

De Jong, Narratology, 107: ‘When analysing space we may further distinguish between the setting, that is, the location where the action takes place... and frames, locations that occur in thoughts, dreams, memories, or reports.’ 35 Eight folia that must have contained the first part of the Ephesus Act are missing from the beginning of the Hamburg manuscript. It follows the story (with some gaps) to the end of the episode. See Schmidt, ΠΡΑΞΕΙΣ ΠΑΥΛΟΥ, 4-9. 36 Schmidt 1936, Seite (S.) 1, lines 3-6 and line 21 (continuous numbering: 9.13). References to the Greek text are to Schmidt’s edition, although Snyder, Acts of Paul, 66-68 outlines the problems with Schmidt’s approach. 37 Embedded focalization involves recounting what a character is seeing, thinking, feeling, hearing, etc., and is a common way of introducing spatial detail (de Jong, Narratology, 50, 116-17).

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people, we might expect a public spectacle to ensue immediately. Indeed, some of the assembled people cry out for Paul to be burned ‘before the temple’ – a phrase that scholars are (reasonably) tempted to associate with the world-famous shrine to Ephesian Artemis.38 But this opportunity to exploit the symbolic resonance of the Ephesian landmark is passed over. Instead of moving directly towards a dramatic climax, the narrative takes a detour. The goldworkers propose to throw him to the beasts, and then Paul is imprisoned until the appointed time. The scene shifts to the prison, and this space is presented to the reader from Paul’s perspective: ‘As Paul sat in bonds... he heard the creaking of [the] wagons...carrying the beasts. And [when] one went by the window of the st[adium]...[where Paul was] imprisoned, it cried out loudly, so that everyone shouted: “The lion!” For indeed, he roared bitterly and fiercely, with the result that Paul was startled out of his prayers by fright.’ Through a window that opens from the prison onto the stadium, he can hear the creaking of the wheels, the sounds of the beasts, the lion roaring – which ‘everyone’ hears – and the crowd’s shout brings the reader’s attention back to its effects on Paul: he is startled enough to stop praying.39 This perspective on Paul’s condemnation and imprisonment is part of a consistent orientation towards interior spaces and private encounters throughout the Ephesus episode. As we can see from the Bodmer (Coptic) text, the episode begins with Paul arriving at the house of friends he knows already from his mission in Corinth, Aquila and Priscilla. Here, he is absorbed into the domestic spaces of everyday life, and into private spaces of Christian assembly. Even in this context, Paul occupies a space apart: when an angel appears to the assembled group, Paul alone can hear and understand its words.40 Of course, Paul is not completely isolated. His influence in the wider community eventually causes problems, because it is the spread of Paul’s mission that brings him into conflict with local authorities. But Paul’s interventions are personal and described in terms of individual conversions – the conversion of a wealthy benefactor, Procla, for example, is highlighted. πρὸς τῷ να[.......]. Schmidt, S. 1, line 27. The text is damaged at this point in both the Greek and the Coptic manuscripts. See also Kasser and Luisier, ‘Version copte’, ad loc. 39 Schmidt, S. 2, 1-8. 40 9.2-3. 38

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Later, when Paul is imprisoned, Eubula and Artemilla – the wives of Hieronymos the governor and of one of his freedmen, Diophantes – visit Paul to hear his preaching and receive baptism. This episode is the subject of an extended inset narrative that is attentive to spatiality in its own right, evoking the cramped and gloomy space of the prison, and describing in some detail a miraculous nighttime sortie from the prison in which Paul accompanies the two women to the sea for baptism: ‘Taking Artemilla (by the hand) he exited the cramped (στεινοῦ) a[nd gloo]my [place in which the in]carcerated were held. When, after eluding the guards, they were outside and safe (ἐν ἀσφαλείᾳ), Paul...invoked his God... The guards were in a [dee]p sleep, and the mistress went out [immediately], and the blessed Paul [went] with her’.41 Their path to the sea is illuminated by a mysterious youth who acts as their guide; Artemilla’s baptism is described – the water glows as Artemilla emerges from the sea – and the company returns again secretly to the prison, before dawn.42 This series of private encounters entailing personal conversion are in some sense variations on a story told by Paul as a secondary internal narrator in the opening section of the text: the story in which he baptizes a talking lion.43 In this inset narrative, Paul first recounts his own conversion story. Struck by the mercy of God, he entered ‘an assembly,’ sponsored and accompanied by an individual named Jude. Shortly after this, as he journeyed away from that place with two female companions, Paul describes, he was approached by a lion seeking baptism. As he describes his encounter with the beast, Paul’s narrative becomes increasingly specific in its physical and spatial details. Paul describes his fear, and the fear of his companions – and then the logistical difficulties of the baptism. How, Paul wonders, will he get the lion down the riverbank and into the river? This story transports Paul’s internal audience (and the reader of the text) away from the primary setting of the narrative (Aquila and Priscilla’s house at Ephesus), opening up a new spatial frame.44 The purpose of this story in its narrative context is to encourage the Ephesian Christians to bear witness to their faith in the same way that Paul did. However, it also 41

Schmidt, S. 3, 18 – S. 4, 3. 9.20-21. 43 An example of what de Jong, Narratology, 35 describes as secondary internal narration. 44 See de Jong, Narratology, 107 (quoted already in n. 34). 42

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creates an inset narrative space of private connection between Paul and the lion, which is reactivated when Paul comes face to face with the animal in the arena. When Paul is thrown to the beasts, the governor gives the command to set a large and fearful lion upon him. The scene is described in some detail, first from the perspective of the spectators as they watch the lion approach Paul, who is absorbed in prayer. The lion rushes upon him but stops short of attacking and instead lies at Paul’s feet ‘like a lamb’ (ὡς ἀμνός). When Paul looks up and meets the lion’s gaze, man and beast exchange words of peace, and Paul lays his hand upon the lion (ἐπέθηκεν τὴν χεῖρα), while the crowd cries out: ‘Remove this sorcerer!’ (ἆραι τὸν μάγον).45 The lion looked at Paul; Paul looked at the lion and ‘thought that this was the lion who came and was baptized’ (διενοή]θη Παῦλος, ὅτι οὗτός [ἐστιν ὁ λέ]ων ὁ ἐλθὼν [καὶ λου]σάμενος).46 And borne up by faith, Paul said: “Lion, was it you whom I baptized?’ ‘Yes.’’ (λέων σὺ ἦς [ὃ]ν ἔλουσα; καὶ ἀποκριθὶς ὁ λέων εἶπεν τῷ Παύλῳ· ν[αί.]).47 The exchange is described in detail, at such close range that the reader is allowed to slip inside the mind of Paul, following his train of thought as he thinks back to his earlier encounter with a lion shortly after his conversion. This past encounter enters the narrative frame of the present and the space of the stadium – and brings about Paul’s rescue. In the Acts of Paul, then, the primary function of Ephesus as a place is to connect this story to the fabula of Paul. It does so not by exploiting the iconic landscape of Ephesus, but rather by capitalizing on its character as a cosmopolitan city in which personal narratives plausibly converge. At Ephesus, Paul reconnects with friends, tells stories, and converts individuals to the new faith. The story of his own conversion and the baptism of the lion creates intersections between past and present, knitting together various stories and references from the Pauline tradition.48 In the Acts of Paul, chronotopic spatiality makes

45

Schmidt S. 4, 30 and 34-5. (9.23). Schmidt S. 4, 37 – S. 5, 1. (9.24). 47 Schmidt S. 5, 2. (9.24). 48 The many interwoven strands of the Pauline tradition could be conceptualized in terms of the temporal and perspectival relationships of the narratological triad of ‘Fabula-Story-Text’, described by de Jong, Narratology, 76-77 in a discussion of embedded narratives. 46

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Ephesus into a space of intersection and prime terrain for the elaboration of new stories. 4. Conclusion Examining these two Ephesus episodes from a spatial perspective, I propose, makes it possible to visualize them as fundamentally independent stories within the fabula about Paul. As the canonical Acts of the Apostles reminds us, places like Ephesus had strong symbolic potential, and a writer could choose to exploit these political, social and religious resonances for narrative purposes. At the same time, as the apocryphal Acts of Paul demonstrates, a completely different choice was also possible: the author of this text responds to narrative cues from several parts of the Pauline tradition and side-steps the resonant landmarks of civic space to create a new Ephesian story. The geographic structure of travel that provides the framework of the apostolic fabula invites this kind of narrative elaboration, and a spatial reading of the texts illuminates how this works at the level of the story. Geographic indicators provide continuity and points of access for readers familiar with the narrative tradition, but they do so in an open-ended way, making room for dynamic interaction between space and place – or, in narratological terms, between symbolic space and chronotopic space. It would be a mistake to imagine that the exchange between symbolic and chronotopic space in the narrative realm is one-directional. In this chapter, I have discussed the symbolic space of Acts first, followed by the chronotopic space of the Acts of Paul, simply in an effort to bring the geographical framework of the apostolic fabula quickly into view. Early readers, though, who were already immersed in a world of oral stories and a variety of written texts about Paul, would have made these connections easily, fitting either symbolic or chronotopic treatments of space into the overarching geographic narrative with which they were familiar. That spatial transformation works both ways in narrative can be seen in later parts of the tradition – perhaps especially in pilgrimage narratives of Late Antiquity: when figures like Egeria read the chronotopic details of a variety of texts, possibly including early versions of the Acts of Paul, into the physical landscape of the places they visited, they invested these spaces, in turn, with symbolic value.

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Approaching space as process, the spatial is the realm of the creation of new stories through the dynamic transformation – in de Certeau’s terms – of space into place, and also vice versa. A spatial reading of these texts may help scholars to entertain the possibility that within the realm of the apostolic fabula of Paul, the relationship between the Acts of the Apostles and the Acts of Paul is one not of direct descent (parent-child) or of comparative self-definition (siblings), but of differently motivated peers with a shared background. The texts are cousins.49

49

I would like to express my warmest thanks to Tobias Niklas, Janet Spittler and Jan Bremmer, not only for their editorial work on this volume, but also for creating such a collegial and productive environment at the CAS Beyond Canon_ during the time I was so fortunate to spend in Regensburg. Thanks also to Dr. Stephanie Hallinger for her myriad contributions to this extraordinary intellectual community.

V. Thinking with the Apostles about Sex, Intermarriage, and the Minority Experience JULIA SNYDER

In 2016, Khaled Abou El Fadl, a professor of Islamic law at UCLA in the United States, posted on his website a fatwa – a non-binding legal opinion – on the topic of ‘Christian Men Marrying Muslim Women’.1 Two Muslim women in the United States had asked his advice regarding potential marriages between Muslim women and Christian or Jewish men. In her query, one of the women points out that it can be especially difficult for black American women who convert to Islam to find suitable black Muslim men to marry, which presents a challenge for women who prefer to ‘marry within their race’. In his response, El Fadl acknowledges that Muslims who are in a minority context face challenges when it comes to marriage. He suggests that it is better to avoid intermarriage if possible, however, to ensure that one’s children grow up ‘with a strong sense of Islamic identity’, among other considerations. He writes: It seems to me that in countries like the U.S. it is best for the children if they grow up with a Muslim father and mother. I am not comfortable telling a Muslim woman marrying a kitabi [i.e., someone who is Christian or Jewish] that she is committing a grave sin and that she must terminate her marriage immediately. I do tell such a woman that she should know that by being married to a kitabi that she is acting against the weight of the [legal scholarly] consensus.

1

K.A. El Fadl, ‘Christian Men Marrying Muslim Women’, The Search for Beauty [blog], 1 May 2016, www.searchforbeauty.org/2016/05/01/on-christianmen-marrying-muslim-women-updated, accessed 6 August 2020.

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One question that El Fadl does not answer is what a Muslim woman should do if she cannot find a Muslim husband who meets her other criteria for marriage. Should she not get married at all?2 Similar questions are raised by early Christian texts. In this essay, we will look first at a letter written by the apostle Paul in the first century CE, and then at some slightly later stories about other apostles. In each case, we will ask a question that tends to be neglected in scholarship: What role might a minority self-perception have played in shaping the things said in this text about sex and marriage? Specifically, I will inquire what led Paul to say in 1 Corinthians that it is better for unmarried people not to get married, and will argue that concerns about intermarriage with ‘pagans’ may have been an important factor in the mix. Similarly, I will suggest that anxieties about intermarriage may have contributed to the initial emergence of the sexual renunciation topos that appears in so many later stories about the apostles. These stories may not reflect negative attitudes toward sex or marriage per se to the degree that is often thought. Before proceeding, let me comment briefly on terminology. First, I use the term ‘pagan’ in this essay to refer to people who were not affiliated with a Jewish or Christian community. I am using this term purely for the sake of convenience, and in full awareness of its many drawbacks. Second, I use the term ‘minority’ in a broad and flexible sense to talk about how individuals perceive themselves or others, not in reference to set groups with standardized group labels or agreed, definable membership criteria. Moreover, as I am using the term, the idea of ‘being in a minority’ may not be constantly salient or activated in an individual’s experience. An individual may think of herself as being part of a minority only at certain moments, or in certain contexts and connections. Likewise, she may perceive other people as being part of a minority only in certain situations. In a given context, an individual can also be treated by others as being in a minority, while not perceiving herself that way, and vice versa.

2

NB: El Fadl’s response is broadly framed in terms of ‘Muslims in the US’, who already represent a minority on the basis of their religious affiliation. He does not discuss the question of race and the additional complications that might add to the situation.

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1. Paul on Getting Married In the 50s CE, Paul wrote a letter to a group of people in Corinth, who were participants in an assembly of Jesus-followers that he had helped to establish. Most participants in the Corinthian assembly seem to have been from gentile backgrounds, and Paul had urged them to leave off their worship of other gods, and to worship only the Jewish god, in the name of Jesus the Messiah. The lives of these Corinthians will have changed as a result of meeting Paul, although not exactly in the sense of ‘converting to another religion’, as we would understand that phrase today. The life changes Paul demanded of assembly participants could certainly be considered a type of ‘conversion’, but the word ‘religion’ is anachronistic for the first century.3 Even more to the point, what would we describe them as converting to? Paul seems not to have asked gentiles to convert to Judaism in a formal sense (cf. 1 Cor 7:18; Galatians), or to convert to ‘Christianity’ – in the latter case, because in Paul’s era ‘Christianity’ was not yet a distinct, well-defined entity to which one could convert. This ambiguity of status seems to have contributed to conflict between Paul and some of the Corinthians. In some passages of 1 Corinthians, Paul appears to treat Corinthian assembly participants as being part of a minority group, distinguishable from the rest of ‘pagan’ society, and calls them out for behaving as if their participation in the assembly has no import for the situations concerned. One such situation regards disputes between assembly participants. Paul seems to think some assembly participants are taking others to court (1 Cor 6:1-11). It is not clear from the letter what Paul thinks these disputes are about – perhaps financial matters.4 In any case, he categorically condemns the use of ordinary judicial channels to settle disputes between assembly participants. He calls it ‘shameful’ for assembly participants to bring their conflicts with one another before judges who are not participants in the assembly (see 1 Cor 6:5 – πρὸς ἐντροπὴν 3

On the term ‘religion’, see, e.g., B. Nongbri, Before Religion: A History of a Modern Concept (New Haven, 2013). Note also C.A. Barton and D. Boyarin, Imagine No Religion: How Modern Abstractions Hide Ancient Realities (New York, 2016). 4 On the question of what the court cases were about, see, e.g., M. Peppard, ‘Brother against Brother: Controversiae about Inheritance Disputes and 1 Corinthians 6:1-11’, JBL 133 (2014) 179-92.

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ὑμῖν λέγω). In this context, he effectively treats Corinthian assembly participants as a sort of minority group who should not be airing their dirty laundry in front of others.5 Paul also seems to think that some assembly participants have continued their pre-existing practice of dining at (pagan) temples – perhaps in the dining rooms that were often located within temple precincts (1 Cor 8-10). They may have been networking with business contacts, going to their uncle’s birthday party, or simply spending time with other people in their pre-existing social network.6 From the perspective of the Corinthians concerned, this probably seemed like a perfectly normal thing to do. In contrast, Paul makes it clear that he considers it unacceptable for them to dine on pagan temple grounds – a stance that was no doubt shaped to a large degree by his own Jewish socialization.7 In both of these situations, the difference of opinion between Paul and the assembly participants he has in mind probably traces at least in part to their differing senses of whether participation in the assembly was actually salient in that particular context. When Corinthian assembly participants went to court, or to their uncle’s birthday 5

1 Cor 6:1-11 is discussed further in J. Snyder, The Paul You Never Knew: Thinking with Paul’s Letters about Christianness [forthcoming]. As with everything in Paul’s letters, there has been extensive scholarly discussion of every aspect of the passage. For a description of civil litigation at the time, see, e.g., B.W. Winter, ‘Civil Litigation in Secular Corinth and the Church: The Forensic Background to 1 Corinthians 6.1-8’, NTS 37 (1991) 559-72. The idea of ‘not airing dirty laundry in public’ was not unique to Paul, of course. An interesting point of reference is highlighted by Richard Ascough: the by-laws of a group of Bacchic devotees in the second century CE, which impose a penalty on members who bring internal disputes to public courts (IG II² 1368 = LSCG 51 = PHI 3584). See R.S. Ascough, ‘Paul and Associations’, in J.P. Sampley (ed.), Paul in the Greco-Roman World: A Handbook II (London, 20162) 83. 6 For examples of invitations to meals in various contexts, see P. Arzt-Grabner et al., 1. Korinther (Göttingen, 2006) 321-24. 7 There has been a lot of debate about Paul’s precise stance on temple dining, and whether he only objects to the practice in certain circumstances – such as when a ‘weak brother’ is present – or rejects it outright. I am reading the passage in the latter manner. For a discussion of the details and an overview of the scholarly debate, see Snyder, Paul. On dining practices, note also J.N. Bremmer, ‘Early Christians in Corinth (AD 50-200): Religious Insiders or Outsiders?’ Annali di Storia dell’Esegesi 37 (2020) 181-202 at 191-93.

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party at a temple, they probably did not experience those as boundary-crossing situations – the situations did not activate the sense for them that they were part of a minority who should behave differently than anyone else in society. Paul’s urgent response suggests that he felt differently about the practices in question, however, and did think of assembly participants as representing a minority in those contexts. I have briefly introduced these passages because the dynamics discussed above may help us understand some of the remarks Paul makes in 1 Corinthians 7 about marriage. This is a long, multi-faceted, and much-debated passage, and I will not go into every aspect of it here.8 I will focus specifically on one repeated theme: the idea that it is better for unmarried people not to get married (see 1 Cor 7:8, 25-40). Within the passage, Paul offers a number of reasons why this is so. Time is short, he says. The Day of Judgment is coming soon, and one should avoid getting distracted (1 Cor 7:29-31). Plus, married people have trouble: λέλυσαι ἀπὸ γυναικός, μὴ ζήτει γυναῖκα... θλῖψιν δὲ τῇ σαρκὶ ἕξουσιν οἱ τοιοῦτοι. If you are free from a wife, do not seek a wife… [Those who marry] will have trouble in this life. (1 Cor 7:27-28)

Married people also get distracted thinking about how to please their spouses: ὁ ἄγαμος μεριμνᾷ τὰ τοῦ κυρίου, πῶς ἀρέσῃ τῷ κυρίῳ· ὁ δὲ γαμήσας μεριμνᾷ τὰ τοῦ κόσμου, πῶς ἀρέσῃ τῇ γυναικί, καὶ μεμέρισται. καὶ ἡ γυνὴ ἡ ἄγαμος καὶ ἡ παρθένος μεριμνᾷ τὰ τοῦ κυρίου, ἵνα ᾖ ἁγία καὶ τῷ σώματι καὶ τῷ πνεύματι· ἡ δὲ γαμήσασα μεριμνᾷ τὰ τοῦ κόσμου, πῶς ἀρέσῃ τῷ ἀνδρί. The unmarried man is anxious about things of the Lord, how to please the Lord. But the married man is anxious about the things of the world, how to please his wife, and he is divided. And the unmarried woman and the virgin are anxious about the things of the Lord, so that they might be holy in both body and spirit, but the married woman is anxious about the things of the world, how to please her husband. (1 Cor 7:32-34)

Paul may or may not have been thinking specifically about marriages between assembly participants and non-participants when warning his audience about the trouble and anxiety marriage can bring. He discusses 8

The passage is discussed at greater length in Snyder, Paul.

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such marriages shortly beforehand, however (1 Cor 7:12-16), so the topic is probably not far from his mind. Moreover, marriage was an area of life – like court cases and dining at pagan temples – that was likely by its very nature to activate the concept of ‘being a minority’ for many Jews in the Roman Empire. While Paul seems not to have invited the Corinthian assembly participants to convert formally to Judaism, and would probably not have said that regulations for the Jewish community about licit and illicit marriages applied to other assembly participants in a formal legal sense, it would therefore still be entirely natural for his own minority self-perception to be activated when thinking about marriage, and for that to carry over into how he treated his Corinthian addressees. Moreover, if the topic of marriage led Paul to think of the Corinthian assembly participants as representing a minority within society, it could also help explain why he expends the energy to warn his audience off from married life. After all, whom are they going to marry? The assembly may have been pretty small at the time Paul wrote 1 Corinthians. Based on the sizes of other Greek and Roman cultic associations, John Kloppenborg has estimated that the ‘Christ group’ in Corinth may have had fewer than thirty-five people total.9 While this number may surprise some of us, who have probably been imagining a much larger community, it is entirely plausible.10 The number of family units represented in the Corinthian assembly may 9

J.S. Kloppenborg, ‘Disciplined Exaggeration: The Heuristics of Comparison in the Study of Religion’, NovT 59 (2017) 390-414 calculates the average size of cultic associations around this time at fewer than forty people, with some larger and others smaller; see also his ‘Membership Practices in Pauline Christ Groups’, EC 4 (2013) 183-215. 10 Other scholars have suggested even smaller numbers, but those arguments are less plausible. D.E. Smith, ‘Hospitality, the House Church, and Early Christian Identity’, in M. Klinghardt and H. Taussig (eds), Mahl und religiöse Identität im frühen Christentum (Tübingen, 2012) 103-17 hypothesizes that the ‘standard’ Christian gathering may have been attended by nine to twelve people, such that they could all dine in one space, and R. Last, The Pauline Church and the Corinthian Ekklēsia: Greco-Roman Associations in Comparative Context (Cambridge, 2015) 71-82 suggests that the whole Corinthian assembly had nine to twelve core members, thus fitting comfortably in a triclinium for meals. These estimates are hard to reconcile with 1 Cor 1:14-16, however, where Paul claims to have baptized at least four people and characterizes that as ‘[almost] none of you’.

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therefore have been fairly small, and the number of unmarried people of marriageable age even smaller – with no guarantee that all prospective in-laws would have considered the available candidates to be eligible matches with the right social status and connections. Imagine you are a Corinthian father who wants to marry off his daughter. You have already promised her to your business partner’s son. Neither the business partner nor the son are assembly participants, but is that such a big deal? Are you really going to back out now? The smaller a group, the harder it is to find an eligible match within the group, and the more pressure to marry outside. Moreover, Corinthian assembly participants may not have thought of themselves as being in a minority when it came to marriage, any more than in the context of courts or temple dining rooms. Marrying off their daughters to people who were not assembly participants may not have struck them as intermarriage at all. To the extent that Paul thought of that as representing ‘intermarriage with a pagan’, however, it would make sense for him to be anxious about the whole idea of assembly participants getting married. While marriage can no doubt distract anyone from thinking about ‘the Lord’ (cf. 1 Cor 7:32-34), Paul would no doubt have considered that danger particularly pressing in cases where the spouse was a ‘pagan’ – from his perspective – who did not care about ‘the Lord’ in the first place. He would also have had good grounds to worry that assembly participants in such marriages might end up participating in ‘idolatry’.11 So if Paul thought that some assembly participants might marry ‘pagans’ – either because they did not perceive that as intermarriage in the first place, or because they could not find a suitable match from within the assembly – that could be one reason he repeatedly tells the Corinthians that it is better not to get married at all. From Paul’s 11 Cf. M.Y. MacDonald, Early Christian Women and Pagan Opinion: The Power of the Hysterical Woman (Cambridge, 1996); C. Johnson Hodge, ‘Married to an Unbeliever: Households, Hierarchies, and Holiness in 1 Corinthians 7:12-16’, HTR 103 (2010) 1-25; C. Johnson Hodge, ‘“Holy Wives” in Roman Households: 1 Peter 3:1-6’, Journal of Interdisciplinary Feminist Thought 4 (2010) 1-24; C. Johnson Hodge, ‘“Mixed Marriage” in Early Christianity: Trajectories from Corinth’, in S.J. Friesen et al. (eds), Corinth in Contrast: Studies in Inequality (Leiden, 2014) 227-44. See also M. Öhler, ‘Das ganze Haus: Antike Alltagsreligiosität und die Apostelgeschichte’, ZNW 102 (2011) 201-34.

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perspective, better for them to stay unmarried than to contract the wrong sort of match!12 I am not trying to downplay Paul’s sense that the Day of the Lord is coming soon, or his concerns about the trouble and anxiety that marriage in and of itself might bring. I am sure there were many different factors that fed into Paul’s urge to write as he did. My suggestion is simply that a tendency to think of assembly participants as part of a minority when it came to marriage – and to worry about the consequences of ‘intermarriage’ with ‘pagans’ – may have been one of the factors in the mix, regardless of whether Paul was consciously aware of that or not. Furthermore, to the extent that Paul’s remarks about getting married may be influenced by the idea of ‘intermarriage’ throughout 1 Corinthians 7, and not just in the places where that focus is explicit (i.e., 1 Cor 7:12-16 and perhaps 7:39), the tendency in scholarship to talk about ‘Paul’s stance on marriage’ – i.e., his stance on marriage in and of itself – may be misleading. I think we need to ask ourselves what Paul would or would not have written in 1 Corinthians had there been five thousand gentile Jesus-followers in Corinth, and if the likelihood that an assembly participant would end up married to another assembly participant was fairly high. In this scenario, would Paul still have written as he did? Would he still have spent as much energy warning assembly participants about marriage, and advising them to stay unmarried? Or in this alternative scenario, might he have chosen to focus his letter on other things instead? 2. Stories about the Apostles on Intermarriage We will now look at some early Christian stories about the apostles. These stories recount how the apostles visit various cities, tell people 12 In 1 Cor 7:12-16, Paul expresses a preference that assembly participants who are already married to non-participants should not seek divorce. That primarily seems to reflect his antipathy toward divorce, rather than his stance on whether or not assembly participants should enter into such marriages. I agree with S.J.D. Cohen, ‘From Permission to Prohibition: Paul and the Early Church on Mixed Marriage’, in T.G. Casey and J. Taylor (eds), Paul’s Jewish Matrix (Rome, 2011) 259-91 that Paul does not explicitly or unambiguously prohibit assembly participants from marrying non-participants. When Tertullian and other later Christians imputed such a stance to Paul, however, it was probably at least in keeping with Paul’s preferences.

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about Jesus, make converts, work miracles, combat enemies – and often get themselves killed. While these stories have been frequently understood as sex-negative and anti-marriage, I will argue that we cannot fully understand them without taking intermarriage and the minority experience into account. A number of stories about the apostles feature a common motif: a pagan woman – or sometimes a man – who hears the apostle’s message about Jesus, accepts it, and then goes to great lengths to avoid having sex with her spouse ever again. Partly because of this plot element, many modern readers of these stories assume that the storytellers themselves were celibate and that they wanted other people to be celibate, too – even within marriage. But is that necessarily the case? And even if it is, is that the whole story? It is important to recognize that the motif of ‘women refusing sex to their husbands’ has clear storytelling benefits. The women’s withholding of sex makes the husbands angry, and the husbands often take drastic action as a result, such as imprisoning the woman or trying to kill the apostle. This creates the opportunity for God to effect a miraculous rescue, for the apostle to get martyred, etc., and makes for an exciting story. This entertainment value alone warns us not to assume too quickly that the storytellers who put such elements into their stories were all necessarily trying to get people to be celibate.13 On the other hand, anecdotes like these are not exactly encouraging when it comes to sex and marriage, and words like ‘purity’ often appear in the texts. We also know from other sources that some

13

Cf. J.-D. Kaestli, ‘Fiction littéraire et réalité sociale: que peut-on savoir de la place des femmes dans le milieu de production des Actes apocryphes des Apôtres?’ Apocrypha 1 (1990) 279-302 at 284; K. Cooper, The Virgin and the Bride: Idealized Womanhood in Late Antiquity (Cambridge, MA, 1996) 45-67; Y. Tissot, ‘Encratism and the Apocryphal Acts’, in A. Gregory and C.M. Tuckett (eds), The Oxford Handbook of Early Christian Apocrypha (Oxford, 2015) 407-23 at 413-14; J.A. Snyder, ‘Simon, Agrippa, and Other Antagonists in the Vercelli Acts of Peter’, in U. Mell and M. Tilly (eds), Gegenspieler (Tübingen, 2019) 311-32, at 313. I am not trying to say that these stories were told solely for the purposes of ‘entertainment’. Successful storytellers consider how to make their stories appealing and interesting to their audience, however. As a point of comparison, consider the prevalence of violence in modern films. The filmmakers are generally not trying to encourage viewers to act violently, and therefore presumably include violent scenes for other reasons, chief among them marketability.

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Christians in Late Antiquity were passionately committed to celibacy as a way of life. The possibility that the people who first started telling stories about the apostles were celibacy advocates, as is often presumed, therefore cannot be dismissed out of hand. But what might have conditioned them to take that stance? And what might have motivated them to bring it into their stories – among all the many possible topics they could have selected as narrative material? Did all of the storytellers concerned have an inherent problem with the sex act itself? Do the stories (also) encapsulate some women’s hope of gaining personal autonomy by rejecting marriage, as has sometimes been suggested?14 Do they (also) reflect men’s desire to assert the moral superiority of Christianity?15 What other factors might have been in play? Different storytellers were no doubt influenced by different constellations of factors – probably multiple factors simultaneously – and it would be beyond the scope of this short essay to discuss all of the possibilities in detail.16 I will elaborate briefly on just one that has been strikingly neglected in scholarship: the possibility that intermarriage and the minority experience contributed to the emergence of stories like these. It is important to recognize that the anecdotes described above are not just stories about ‘women who refuse their husbands sex’: generally, they are stories about women in the process of converting to Christianity, who refuse sex to pagan husbands. By the time these stories were circulating in the second century and beyond, there was 14

Cf. R.S. Kraemer, ‘The Conversion of Women to Ascetic Forms of Christianity’, Signs 6 (1980) 298-307; D.R. MacDonald, The Legend and the Apostle: The Battle for Paul in Story and Canon (Philadelphia, 1983) 46-53; V. Burrus, Chastity as Autonomy: Women in the Stories of the Apocryphal Acts (Lewiston, 1987); B. Wehn, ‘“Blessed Are the Bodies of Those Who Are Virgins”: Reflections on the Image of Paul in the Acts of Thecla’, JSNT 23 (2001) 149-64. 15 See the fascinating discussion in Cooper, Virgin, 45-67. Cooper writes, ‘Tales of continence use the narrative momentum of romance, and the enticement of the romantic heroine, to mask a contest for authority, encoded in the contest between two pretenders to the heroine’s allegiance’ (p. 55). 16 There are many good scholarly discussions of sexual renunciation in early Christianity, which highlight the various motivations different people might have had. See, e.g., P. Brown, The Body and Society (New York, 1988); E.A. Clark, ‘Antifamilial Tendencies in Ancient Christianity’, Journal of the History of Sexuality 5 (1995) 356-80.

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a ‘Christianity’ to which one could convert, and many people in these stories are depicted as going through that process, including the women in these anecdotes. At the moment the women start refusing their husbands sex, therefore, both the storytellers and early audiences probably would have seen them as suddenly being in an ‘intermarriage’ with a ‘pagan’, and as facing the prospect of sex with a ‘pagan’. The husband is also usually a problematic character with anger issues, sex-obsessed, lacking in self-control, and ready to kill people because of personal grudges. These stories can thus be understood as being about Christian women refusing sex to problematic pagan husbands.17 For example, consider a story about Peter’s martyrdom that may trace to the second century CE.18 (Of course, there was probably some variation between the earliest versions of the story and those recorded in extant manuscripts.) In the story I am thinking of, four concubines of the Roman prefect Agrippa hear Peter’s message about ‘purity’ (ἁγνεία) and ‘the Lord’ and decide to ‘remain pure, away from Agrippa’s bed’ (ἁγναὶ τῆς Ἀγρίππα κοίτης διαμεῖναι) (Acts of Peter 33).19 The wife of Agrippa’s friend Albinus, a ‘friend of Caesar’,20 also starts refusing sex to her husband (Acts of Peter 34). Similarly, many other women hear the message about ‘purity’ (τοῦ λόγου τῆς ἁγνείας) and ‘kept away from their husbands. And men kept away from the beds of their own wives because they wanted to worship God piously and purely’ (τῶν ἀνδρῶν ἐχωρίζοντο, καὶ ἄνδρες τῶν ἰδίων γυναικῶν τὰς κοίτας ἐχώριζον διὰ τὸ σεμνῶς καὶ ἁγνῶς θέλειν 17

Another story about a Christian woman married to a terrible pagan husband is found in Justin, Second Apology 2. 18 I am thinking of the story that is included in modern editions of the Acts of Peter. 19 For the sake of illustration, I am quoting from ninth-century manuscript Patmensis 48. For Greek and Latin versions of the story, see R.A. Lipsius (ed.), Acta Apostolorum Apocrypha, vol. I (Leipzig, 1891, repr. Darmstadt, 1959) 78-103. 20 The term amici was used in the Roman Empire to denote a set of individuals who had recognized, mutually beneficial relationships with the emperor. These relationships were not generally characterized by the close emotions and equality associated with the term ‘friendship’ today, and had more formal dimensions. See F. Millar, The Emperor in the Roman World (31 BC - AD 337) (Ithaca, 1977) 110-22; R.P. Saller, Personal Patronage under the Early Empire (Cambridge, 1982) 11-15, 41-78.

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αὐτοὺς θεοσεβεῖν21) (Acts of Peter 34). Agrippa and Albinus are angry enough that they conspire to have Peter killed.22 Since this is a martyrdom story and storytellers needed some way to kill Peter off, one should be careful not to read too much into the sexual renunciation element of the plot.23 Nevertheless, it is interesting that the sex that gets renounced in the anecdote seems to be of a ‘Christian–pagan’ variety. The characters who refuse sex to their partners all do so as a result of Peter’s preaching, and regardless of whether they can be said to have ‘converted’ in a formal sense yet, they are at least well on their way to becoming Christians – in contrast to their former sexual partners. Agrippa and Albinus are explicitly portrayed as opponents of Peter, and the text also reads as if the other women and men who withdraw from their spouses are married to people who are not Christians. The narrator reports that some women withdraw from their husbands, and that some men withdraw from their wives, as if these are one-sided decisions in each case. The sex that gets renounced in some other stories about the apostles is similarly sex in a ‘Christian–pagan’ context. Consider, for example, a story about the martyrdom of the apostle Andrew, which may have its origins in the second or third century.24 Andrew is in P: καὶ θελην θεοσεβιν. On Agrippa and Albinus, see C. Erbes, ‘Ursprung und Umfang der Petrusakten’, ZKG 32 (1911) 173, 519-22; I. Karasszon, ‘Agrippa, King and Prefect’, in J.N. Bremmer (ed.), The Apocryphal Acts of Peter: Magic, Miracles and Gnosticism (Leuven, 1998) 21-28; C.M. Thomas, The Acts of Peter, Gospel Literature, and the Ancient Novel: Rewriting the Past (Oxford, 2003) 51-59, 65-66; A. Ferreiro, Simon Magus in Patristic, Medieval and Early Modern Traditions (Leiden, 2005) 67-70; Snyder, ‘Simon’, 312-13. 23 For other scholars advising a similar caution, see n. 13 above. Note that sex is not a major theme elsewhere in the ‘Acts of Peter’, at least as we know it from the longer Vercelli version. Only two other passages speak negatively with regard to sex: the extra-marital exploits of a non-Christian woman are invoked as a comment on her character in Acts of Peter 30, and adultery serves as a stereotypical example of a ‘bad sin’ in Acts of Peter 2. A story about Peter’s daughter with which some readers may be familiar does not appear in the Vercelli version of the story, and its relationship to other stories about Peter is not clear. 24 I am thinking of a story that is included in modern editions of the Acts of Andrew. On the date of this tradition, see J.N. Bremmer, Maidens, Magic and Martyrs in Early Christianity (Tübingen, 2017) 119-20, 222-23. 21

22

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Patras, where he gets to know the wife of the proconsul. The proconsul then goes on a business trip, and when he comes home, wants to have sex with his wife. She has been spending time with Andrew, however, and does not want to have sex with her husband any more. The husband is desperate and tries everything to change her mind, but she stays firm in her resolve to reject what Andrew calls a ‘foul and filthy way of life’ (μυσαροῦ βίου καὶ ῥυπαροῦ) (Passion of Andrew 5).25 While this story is not exactly sex-positive, it is notably still a story about a Christian woman – or a woman in the process of becoming a Christian – who refuses sex to a pagan husband. He is portrayed as a ‘guy with problems’, as well, who lacks self-control and eventually has Andrew killed. There are thus ‘intermarriage’ and ‘sex with a pagan’ elements to the tale. Other examples of this same phenomenon could be named, including the Martyrdom section of the Acts of Philip. Let us look more closely at just one more story, the Acts of Thecla. The Acts of Thecla is actually about a virgin girl who is not yet married. She is engaged, however – to a pagan. Then she hears Paul preaching and is so strongly affected that she ends up forgoing her forthcoming marriage, leaving home, and becoming an apostle, just like Paul. For this plot to work, and especially for Thecla to become an apostle, it is impossible for her to get married to a pagan fiancé. But why is marriage brought up at all? Why not just portray her as a virgin girl for whom no marriage has been planned? On the one hand, it does make the plot exciting. When it becomes clear to Thecla’s mother and her fiancé that the marriage is not going to take place, they have Thecla and Paul taken to the governor, who agrees to have Thecla burned at the stake. Her sudden disinterest in marriage thus allows for some exciting scenes.26 25

For the sake of illustration, I am quoting from the version of the story in Vat. gr. 808. An edition is included in L. Roig Lanzillotta, Acta Andreae Apocrypha: A New Perspective on the Nature, Intention and Significance of the Primitive Text (Geneva, 2007). On the manuscript, see also L. Roig Lanzillotta, ‘Vaticanus Graecus 808 Revisited: A Re-Evaluation of the Oldest Fragment of Acta Andreae’, Scriptorium 56 (2002) 126-40. This manuscript does not actually include all the earlier parts of the story I have summarized here, but it seems likely that something similar was part of the tale. 26 Thecla’s fiancé complains to the Iconian governor that Paul ‘doesn’t let girls get married’. The governor then asks Thecla, ‘Why don’t you marry

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Is the story also about ‘purity’? That is what many scholars have supposed, partly because at the beginning of the story, Paul says things such as: μακάριοι οἱ ἁγνὴν τὴν σάρκα τηρήσαντες, ὅτι αὐτοὶ ναὸς θεοῦ γενήσονται. Blessed are those who keep the flesh pure, for they will be God’s temple. μακάρια τὰ σώματα τῶν παρθένων, ὅτι αὐτὰ εὐαρεστήσουσιν τῷ θεῷ καὶ οὐκ ἀπολέσουσιν τὸν μισθὸν τῆς ἁγνείας αὐτῶν. Blessed are the bodies of the virgins, for they will be pleasing to God and will not lose the reward for their purity. (Acts of Thecla 3.5-6)27

At least the latter beatitude is high praise for singleness and celibacy. The very fact that those lifestyle choices are praised suggests that they are not mandatory, however, and that perhaps only a minority of people, like Thecla, actually chooses them.28 Nevertheless, there is a ‘purity’ element to the story. Thamyris in accordance with the law [or: custom] of the Iconians?’ Thecla’s mother herself calls for capital punishment: ‘Burn the opponent of matrimony! Burn the deviant!’ The governor duly issues the death sentence, but Thecla’s god miraculously rescues her in the nick of time. 27 For the sake of illustration, I am quoting the version of the story in Vat. gr. 797. For the Greek text, see Lipsius, Acta, I.235-72. On the beatitudes, see, e.g., M. Ebner, ‘Paulinische Seligpreisungen à la Thekla: Narrative Relecture der Makarismenreihe in ActThecl 5f’, in id. (ed.), Aus Liebe zu Paulus? Die Akte Thekla neu aufgerollt (Stuttgart, 2005) 64-79. 28 My reading diverges here from the majority of scholars, who think that celibacy is presented as mandatory in the story. See, e.g., J.W. Barrier, The Acts of Paul and Thecla: A Critical Introduction and Commentary (Tübingen, 2009) 42; E. Esch-Wermeling, Thekla – Paulusschülerin wider Willen? Strategien der Leserlenkung in den Theklaakten (Münster, 2008) 230-42; K. Zamfir, ‘Asceticism and Otherworlds in the Acts of Paul and Thecla’, in T. Nicklas et al. (eds), Other Worlds and Their Relation to This World (Leiden, 2010) 281-303 at 285; T. Nicklas, ‘Die Akten des Paulus und der Thekla als biographische Paulusrezeption’, in J. Schröter et al. (eds), Receptions of Paul in Early Christianity (Berlin, 2018) 175-94 at 181-82; cf. M. Frenschkowski, ‘Domestic Religion, Family Life and the Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles’, ARG 18-19 (2017) 123-56 at 136. For many of those scholars, the weightiest piece of evidence seems to be a comment by a pair of literary antagonists, who say that Paul teaches, ‘There will be no resurrection for you if you do not remain pure’ (Acts of Thecla 12). There is no reason to

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There is also an ‘intermarriage’ element that tends to be overlooked, however. The man to whom Thecla is engaged is a pagan, not a Christian, and the marriage that she forgoes is therefore not just a ‘marriage’, but an ‘intermarriage’. As this brief glance at some anecdotes about Peter, Andrew, and Thecla shows, these stories about apostles and Paul’s letter to the Corinthians raise similar questions. What role might a minority self-perception have played in the initial emergence of such stories, especially in the earliest stages of the Christian movement, when many families might have found it difficult to find suitable partners for their daughters from among the Christian community? Do the references to sexual renunciation primarily reflect concerns about sex or marriage in and of themselves - as many scholars have assumed – or do they (also) reflect concerns specifically about what intermarriage might mean for Christians? While the stories are not very realistic in their details, they do a good job of making the prospect of marriage to a non-Christian seem undesirable by portraying the pagan men in question as temperamental, dangerous, and lacking in self-control. These are hardly the sorts of men one would want to choose as one’s own spouse, or as a husband for one’s daughter, were one arranging a match. One effect of these stories might therefore have been to dissuade people from marrying outside the Christian community, and especially to discourage fathers from marrying their daughters to pagan men. In situations where suitable Christian spouses were lacking, the stories might even therefore have persuaded some Christians to forgo marriage for themselves or members of their family entirely.29 In fact, one wonders assume that these opponents of Paul are presented as giving an accurate account of his teaching, however. Scholars who do not think celibacy is presented as mandatory include e.g., R.I. Pervo, The Acts of Paul (Cambridge, 2014) 73; S.E. Hylen, A Modest Apostle: Thecla and the History of Women in the Early Church (Oxford, 2015) 85-89; J.D. McLarty, Thecla’s Devotion (Cambridge, 2018) 230-32. 29 Indeed, Thecla would be invoked as an exemplary figure in subsequent centuries, although not always explicitly in connection with intermarriage. On reception of Thecla, see, e.g., L. Hayne, ‘Thecla and the Church Fathers’, VigChris 48 (1994) 209-18; M. Pesthy, ‘Thecla in the Fathers of the Church’, in J.N. Bremmer (ed.), The Apocryphal Acts of Paul and Thecla (Kampen, 1996) 164-78; S.J. Davis, The Cult of Saint Thecla (Oxford, 2001); Hylen, Modest Apostle, 91-113; J.W. Barrier et al. (eds), Thecla: Paul’s Disciple and Saint in the East and West (Leuven, 2016).

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whether that was part of the reason early Christian storytellers began telling such stories in the first place. Even if some individual storytellers were primarily aiming to create an exciting plot, negative attitudes toward ‘intermarriage with pagans’ could still have played a role in the emergence of the genre as a whole. By the same token, one should not be too quick to assume that the earliest storytellers involved in recounting these tales about Peter, Andrew, and Thecla would necessarily have denounced sex and marriage between two Christians. In these particular stories, there are no anecdotes where two Christian converts decide not to wed, or are said to forgo sex within their marriage (as one finds in, e.g., Acts of Thomas 11-15).30 Virginity is praised, and sex with pagans is portrayed as problematic, but that does not inherently mean that a sexual relationship between two Christians would be rejected as unacceptable.31 Moreover, even if some storytellers preferred that Christians avoid sex and marriage entirely – i.e., even with other Christians – concerns about intermarriage could still have contributed to the initial emergence of the sexual renunciation topos that would end up appearing in so many stories about the apostles. Among all the many possible topics to include in a story, why choose sexual renunciation? Even a storyteller who happens to be pro-celibacy does not have to put that idea into every story that he writes. When people telling stories about apostles selected themes for their narratives, what constellation of factors tipped the scales in favor of sexual renunciation? There are many possibilities in this regard, of course, but I would like to suggest that negative attitudes toward ‘Christian–pagan’ marriages may have been in the mix. If Christian communities in the earliest centuries had been significantly larger, and if intermarriage with pagans had been unlikely, would the sexual renunciation motif still have become a ‘thing’ in early Christian storytelling? Would even storytellers with a preference for celibacy have included it in their tales? Or might they all have opted for some other device to get their protagonists into mortal danger or to show off the supreme dedication of the early heroes and heroines of the faith?32 30 In the Acts of Thecla, the character Onesiphorus and his wife are not said to be living in celibacy, as many commentators seem to assume. 31 On this question, see n. 28 above, and cf. Tissot, ‘Encratism’. 32 After all, as Kate Cooper, Virgin, 57, observes, the ascetic claims of stories about the apostles are ‘striking in their emptiness’.

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3. Conclusion Let me offer a few concluding thoughts, first concerning why the possibilities explored in this essay may have been neglected in scholarship to date. When scholars discuss the sexual renunciation motif in stories about the apostles, or Paul’s advice not to get married in 1 Corinthians, why is intermarriage so rarely mooted as a factor that could be lurking in the background? Although we cannot determine the precise degree to which concerns about intermarriage shaped the types of early Jewish and Christian discourse examined in this essay, it is still striking how little attention has been given to this possibility. One reason for this neglect may be a tendency to read early Christian texts in light of later developments. As various geographic areas became increasingly Christianized, fewer Christians will have perceived themselves as being in a minority vis-à-vis society as a whole, either numerically or in terms of social influence. Moreover, a vibrant monastic movement would emerge, with eloquent voices extolling the virtues of celibacy in ways that resonated in their own contexts, and which did not often involve the idea of ‘avoiding intermarriage with pagans’. Indeed, this discursive trajectory was already underway when the stories about Peter, Andrew, and Thecla cited above began circulating, and would be far along by the time extant manuscripts of those stories were produced. Thus while the jilted husbands in these narratives are usually clearly depicted as pagans, ‘intermarriage’ is not actually brought to the fore when sexual renunciation is explicitly discussed by the narrator or the characters. For all of these reasons, it may not occur to scholars to ask whether concerns about intermarriage could have influenced early Christian discussions of sex and marriage more broadly. Nevertheless, the ‘Christian–pagan’ element of the stories explored in this essay is not exactly subtle, for those with eyes to see. But what types of scholarly eyes tend to peruse these narratives? Someone like the apostle Paul, for whom the topic of marriage may easily have activated ideas such as ‘minority’ and ‘intermarriage’ in his mind, would probably have been more likely to notice the ‘Christian-pagan’ aspect of these tales than modern scholars of early Christianity, many of whom do not belong to religious or cultural minorities themselves. We all read texts through our own lenses, shaped by our own experiences, and can tend to emphasize the possibilities to which we ourselves most easily relate. It is therefore only to be expected that some

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majority-culture scholars will see these stories as being about sex per se or marriage per se rather than about intermarriage and the minority experience, and that some modern interpreters will read them as being about patriarchy and women’s liberation, and will neglect to ask whether the storytellers perceived themselves as being in a cultural minority when it came to marriage, and how that may have affected what they chose to talk about and how. Indeed, one wonders whether our understanding of these texts specifically or early Christianity more broadly might also change in other ways if we began to explore them through ‘minority’ lenses. With that in mind, and in conclusion, I hope this brief essay will inspire us to think more about the role of intermarriage and the minority experience in shaping the history of early Christianity, especially at the very earliest stages.33 In the first or second century, some people may have decided not to marry because they were concerned about ‘purity’ or wanted to focus on God. Some may have opted for celibacy as an expression of self-control. And some might have seen it as a way to avoid intermarriage with all its attendant risks, including the danger of losing oneself or one’s virgin daughters to the Christian community. If one’s daughter marries a pagan, will she still be committed to the Christian community? Will her children end up being Christians? Or, if there is no suitable Christian around for her to marry, because Christians represent a small minority within society, might it be better to avoid marriage entirely?34

33

Some scholars have briefly mentioned intermarriage while discussing early Christian asceticism. Thus, e.g., Brown, Body, 147-48; M.Y. MacDonald, ‘Early Christian Women Married to Unbelievers’, Studies in Religion 19 (1990) 221-34 at 229; MacDonald, Early Christian Women, 208; Clark, ‘Antifamilial Tendencies’, 361. 34 Work on this essay was supported by the Centre for Advanced Studies (‘Beyond Canon_’, DFG FOR 2770) of the University of Regensburg. I am grateful to participants in the 2020 Dynamics of Religious Interaction conference for their feedback, and to Daniel Weiss, who was not the inspiration for the ideas contained in these pages, but did inspire me to return to them years after I had first sketched them out.

VI. Thecla and the Acts of Thecla (ActThcl): Searching for Traces in the Manuscript Tradition THOMAS J. KRAUS

1. The ‘bad reputation’ of the Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles The Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles (AAA) have not been considered to be on an equal level of importance and quality to the canonical Acts since the early days of Christian literature.1 Even today, it might be common in certain places and situations to dismiss the narratives of the AAA as superficial, shallow, purely entertaining, and qualitatively inferior to the New Testament texts, and, thus, as literature mainly written for and read by women, a notion held for quite some time and, probably, even today repeated by some and argued against by others.2 Of course, specific adventurous passages, stunning episodes, and miraculous works – here and there even more dramatic in their scope and fantastic dramaturgy than the miracles 1

For a brief survey of the reception and assessment of the AAA, see V. Niederhofer, Konversion in den Paulus- und Theklaakten (Tübingen, 2017) 4-7 (with relevant bibliographical references). 2 For corrections to such stereotypes, see, e.g., K. Haines-Eitzen, ‘The Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles on Papyrus: Revisiting the Question of Readership and Audience’, in T.J. Kraus and T. Nicklas (eds), New Testament Manuscripts: Their Texts and Their World (Leiden, 2006) 293-304; J.E. Spittler, Animals in the Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles (Tübingen, 2008) 224 and passim. On the ‘feminization of elite pagan men in the Acts of Andrew’ and the role of women in the AAA, see J. Eyl, ‘Gender and Sexuality in the Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles,’ in B. Dunning (ed.), The Oxford Handbook of New Testament, Gender, and Sexuality (Oxford, 2019) 387-404; J.N. Bremmer, Maidens, Magic and Martyrs in Early Christianity (Tübingen, 2017) 225-34.

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in the canonical writings of the New Testament3 – make their readers frown at what they read and hear; sometimes they may even crack a smile when the apostle John orders annoying bedbugs to leave the room, shake their heads over human beings flying around, over man-eaters, talking dogs, matters of love and hate, floods of acid liquids and so on. These and contemporary pejorative attitudes towards the AAA might have prompted Photius the Great to condemn the five ‘great’ apocryphal Acts of Peter, Paul, Andrew, John and Thomas in his Bibliotheca. He denounces them as abhorrent nonsense, as dangerous heretical literature composed by a certain Leucius Charinus, whom he accuses of being a supporter of the Manichaeans. Prior to him, Augustine brands their author Leucius as a ‘charlatan of fables’ (Contra Faustum 22.79).4 In all likelihood, the church authorities’ campaign against the AAA resulted from the popularity these Acts enjoyed in Manichaean circles and from their wide circulation among Christians; the former point is easily made from the Manichaean Book of Psalms, the Ψαλμοὶ Σαρακωτῶν, preserved in a Coptic version, in which (a) the five great Acts of the apostles, (b) quite some martyrs and prominent figures of early Christianity, and (c) significant women from the first Christian centuries play important roles.5 This is not the place to choose between either prosecuting a case against the AAA or acting as their defense attorney, though there would be much to argue about and many specific details to dispute,

3

But see the detailed treatment of the topic by T. Nicklas, ‘Absonderlich und geschmacklos? Antike christliche Wunder-geschichten zwischen “kanonisch” und “apokryph”’, in J. Frey et al. (eds), Between Canonical and Apocryphal Texts (Tübingen, 2019) 415-40. 4 For more details on Photius, Leucius Charinus or the ‘bad’ reputation of the AAA, see, for instance, F. Tinnefeld, ‘Photius’, in TRE 26 (1996) 586-89; K. Schäferdiek, ‘Die Leukios Charinos zugeschriebene manichäische Sammlung apokrypher Apostelgeschichte’, NTApo6 II, 81-93; Photius, Bibliothèque. Tome II, ed. R. Henry (Paris, 1960) ad loc.; H.-J. Klauck, The Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles. An Introduction (Waco, 2008) 5-7. 5 Cf. C.R.C. Allberry, A Manichaean Psalm-Book (Stuttgart, 1938) 142,17143,14; P. Nagel, ‘Die apokryphen Apostelakten des 2. und 3. Jahrhunderts in der manichäischen Literatur’, in K.-W. Träger (ed.), Gnosis und Neues Testament. Studien aus Religionswissenschaft und Theologie (Gütersloh, 1973) 149-82; Klauck, Apocryphal Acts, 3-5.

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above all to specify their relevance for studying early Christianity.6 In the following, I focus on one representative of the early Christian Acta genre, i.e., the Acts of Paul, and, there again, on just one integral part of it, the passages dealing with Thecla (also called the Acts of Thecla). And this requires further specification, as the area of interest is even more specialized and narrowed down, because the veneration of this extraordinary female martyr saint, her cult and pilgrimage to the place closely associated with her – just to mention a few interesting and crucial topics – need and deserve full-scale accounts on their own. The cult and popularity of Thecla might temporarily even have surpassed that of Mary and might have been second after Jesus Christ – particularly in the perception of some church authorities and at least in certain geographical areas of the Mediterranean – so that, consequently, Tertullian protested against ‘the right of women [after the example of Thecla] to teach and to baptize’ (De baptismo 17.5) and spoke out against the Acts of Thecla/Acts of Paul, if he actually referred to them at all.7 Finally, one last specification must be made: in the following, I will search for traces of Thecla and her popularity as represented in and by the corresponding manuscript tradition. Basically, this approach implies that the pragmatic and practical reception of a certain text (here, the Acts of Thecla) and its main character (here, Thecla) is best represented in and by material culture. 6

About the paradigm shift and a new definition of the Christian apocrypha, cf. C. Markschies, ‘Haupteinleitung’, in id. and J. Schröter (eds), Antike christliche Apokryphen in deutscher Übersetzung. Evangelien und Verwandtes (Tübingen, 2012) 1-180, and, for instance, the contributions in P. Piovanelli and T. Burke (eds), Rediscovering the Apocryphal Continent (Tübingen, 2015); see also T. Nicklas, ‘“Écrits apocryphes chrétiens”. Ein Sammelband als Spiegel eines weitreichenden Paradigmenwechsels in der Apokryphenforschung’, VigChris 61 (2007) 70-95; T.J. Kraus, ‘Forschung an den “Apokryphen des Neuen Testaments” – aktuelle Tendenzen auf der Basis ausgewählter Schwerpunkte’, Verkündigung und Forschung 61 (2016) 18-32. 7 Cf. the discussion of Tertullian’s statement by G. Poupon, ‘Encore une fois: Tertullien, De baptismo 17.5’, in D. Knoepfler (ed.), Nomen Latinum. Mélanges A. Schneider (Neuchâtel and Geneva, 1997) 199-205; Klauck, Apocryphal Acts, 48-49; E. Kateusz, Mary and Early Christian Women. Hidden Leadership (Cham, 2019) 62-63. For the Latin text of the passage, see Tertullian, De baptismo, ed. J.W.P. Borleffs, in Tertullian, Opera 1. Opera catholica. Adversus Marcionem, ed. E. Dekkers et al. (Leuven, 1954) 291-92.

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2. The Acts of Thecla (ActThcl) within the Acts of Paul (ActPaul) 2.1. The Acts of Paul as a compilation of texts The compilatory nature of the ActPaul as they are available today becomes quickly obvious even during a first reading: first, there is a narrative (that is called the ‘deeds of Paul’ in modern studies) that is tangible in the edition of a Coptic papyrus in Heidelberg (P.Heid. Kopt. 300 + 301; TM/LDAB 1079298), published by Carl Schmidt,9 and another one with various texts, and with the Acta Pauli in Greek and Coptic kept in Hamburg (P.Hamb.bil. 1; TM 61979; LDAB 3138), also edited by Schmidt (but together with Wilhelm Schubart).10 Second, the ActThcl begin with the relationship between Paul and the titular heroine, but, soon thereafter, focus on the latter alone.11 Third, we find the exchange of letters between Paul and the Corinthians, known as 3 Cor, which also circulated independently of the ActPaul.12

8

Numbers according to the Internet platforms TM = Trismegistos. An interdisciplinary portal of the ancient world (https://www. trismegistos.org; last accessed 3/8/2020) and LDAB = Leuven Database of the Ancient Books (https://www.trismegistos.org/ldab; last accessed 3/8/2020). 9 C. Schmidt, Acta Pauli aus der Heidelberger koptischen Papyrushandschrift Nr. 1 (Leipzig, 1904 [repr. Hildesheim, 1965; 19052 (without plates)]). 10 C. Schmidt (unter Mitarbeit v. W. Schubart), Πράξεις Παύλου. Acta Pauli (Glückstadt and Hamburg, 1936); see also Klauck, Apocryphal Acts, 50, 61-70; G.E. Snyder, Acts of Paul. The Formation of a Pauline Corpus (Tübingen, 2013) 66-99 and 190-216; but see the counter arguments of J.N. Bremmer, ‘The Onomastics and Provenance of the Acts of Paul’, in F. Barone et al. (eds), Philologie, herméneutique et histoire des textes entre orient et occident (Turnhout, 2017) 527-47. 11 Cf. W. Schneemelcher, ‘Paulusakten’, in NTApo6 II, 197, 200-02; Klauck, Apokryphe Apostelakten, 49, 51-70; see also J.W. Barrier, The Acts of Paul and Thecla (Tübingen, 2009) 30-190; Snyder, Acts of Paul, 100-47, and the contributions in J.W. Barrier et al. (eds), Thecla: Paulʼs Disciple and Saint in the East and West (Leuven, 2017). 12 Cf. Schneemelcher, ‘Paulusakten’, 197-98 and 231-34; G. Luttikhuizen, ‘The apocryphal correspondence with the Corinthians and the Acts of Paul’, in J.N. Bremmer (ed.), The Apocryphal Acts of Paul and Thecla (Kampen, 1996) 75-91; Klauck, Apocryphal Acts, 49, 51-70; Snyder, Acts of Paul, 148-89; O. Zwierlein, Petrus und Paulus in Jerusalem und Rom (Berlin and Boston, 2013) 191-230; E.L. Gallagher and J.D. Meade, The Biblical Canon Lists from Early Christianity. Texts and Analysis (Oxford, 2017) 102-03.

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Fourth, Paul’s martyrdom, which also forms the conclusion of the ActPaul and which has circulated independently and detached from the rest, describes Paul’s arrival and execution in Rome.13 The composition itself is usually, but tentatively, dated to the last quarter of the second century; Hans-Josef Klauck14 places it between the years 170 and 180, others date it somewhat earlier, more somewhat later.15 Parts of the ActPaul might even be older than that. Ultimately, the aforementioned complexities barely scratch the surface of the extraordinarily complex textual tradition of the ActPaul, with its manifold textual witnesses, multiple translations, and constant stream of expansions and adaptations.16 2.2. The Acts of Thecla and the cult of Saint Thecla As already briefly indicated, Thecla became a very, if not the most, popular Christian figure in the third, definitely in the fourth and fifth century in an astounding number of areas of the Mediterranean. Stephen J. Davis has described the manifold attestations, mainly focussing on archaeological finds such as pilgrim flasks, crosses, tokens, inscriptions, murals, churches, and so on in his meticulous and breathtaking monograph.17 Recently, Philipp Pilhofer has written a detailed and eye-opening monograph, in which he draws attention to Paul as ἀνὴρ Κίλιξ, and Thecla and Konon as patron saints of the region – two Christian martyrs who survived their martyrdom, and for whom a varied and wide-spread veneration can be substantiated.18 Other scholars have focused on representations of Thecla in visual arts, such as frescoes or murals like the one found in the Grotto of Paul (= the Paul and Thecla cave) in Ephesus or in the Catacomb of 13

Cf. Schneemelcher, ‘Paulusakten’, 198, 210-11; Klauck, Apocryphal Acts, 70-72; Snyder, Acts of Paul, 23-65; D.L. Eastman, The Ancient Martyrdom Accounts of Paul and Peter (Atlanta, 2015) 121-37. 14 Cf. Klauck, Apocryphal Acts, 3. 15 For the dating of the AAA, see Bremmer, Maidens, Magic and Martyrs, 221-25. 16 Cf. Schneemelcher, ‘Paulusakten’, 195-98; Klauck, Apocryphal Acts, 47-75; Eastman, The Ancient Martyrdom Accounts. 17 S.J. Davis, The Cult of St Thecla. A Tradition of Women’s Piety in Late Antiquity (Oxford, 2001). 18 P. Pilhofer, Das frühe Christentum im kilikisch-isaurischen Bergland (Berlin and Boston, 2018).

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Domitilla, while others dealt with the textual body of the ActThcl. Only a few, however, have worked on later narratives centering on and circling around the female saint, such as the Life and Miracles of Saint Thecla (occasionally also known as Pseudo-Basil) or a Panegyric on Thecla (evidently falsely attributed to John Chrysostom). We may even ponder about the potential independence of some of the many versions of the ActThcl, above all the Armenian Acta Pauli et Theclae, which has recently been published in a fine critical edition by Valentina Calzolari, who provides significant sources about Thecla in Armenian.19 What, then, do manuscripts offer about Thecla? Where do we find traces of her overwhelming popularity, her vital role, and her enduring significance, and how do they attest to this crucial Christian figure? 3. Thecla, her Acts and specific traces in the manuscript tradition 3.1. Early manuscript attestation A swift glance at the manuscript attestation of the ActThcl (that is, not manuscripts containing the whole ActPaul, but manuscripts that include the ActThecl either as a part of the ActPaul or alone) is revealing. According to a cursory search on the pages of LDAB, the Greek attestation from the third to the fifth century is as follows: P.Schøyen I 21 (Oslo, Schøyen MS 2634/1; TM 64019; LDAB 5234) is a papyrus fragment from a 3rd century codex that measures 4 × 4.6 cm (but might originally have had the rather usual page dimensions). It attests ActThcl 10-11 and 13, and is the oldest manuscript witness to the Greek ActThcl. P.Ant. I 13 (Oxford, Sackler Library, Papyrology Rooms P. Ant. 13; TM 64493; LDAB 5719) is a parchment folio from the 4th century. Its margins are preserved so that the extant and original folio can safely be reconstructed to 7.2 × 8.7 cm and consequently represents a miniature codex.20 It is of highest quality with respect to the material 19

V. Calzolari, Apocrypha Armeniaca: Acta Pauli et Theclae, Prodigia Theclae, Martyrium Pauli (Turnhout, 2017). 20 For the broader context of the category of (papyrus and parchment) miniature codices in Greek, see T.J. Kraus: ‘Die Welt der Miniaturbücher in der Antike und Spätantike – Prolegomena und eine erste methodische Annäherung

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used and the scribal hand applied. The folio preserves text from ActThcl 3.2-3.21 P.Oxy. I 6 (Cambridge Univ. Libr. Add. MS. 4028; TM 64708; LDAB 5942) is a parchment folio from a 5th century codex. The area of writing was prepared for writing by the scribe (see the ruling still visible on the parchment). The preserved margins indicate that the folio originally measured 6.7 × 7.3 cm and stems from a miniature codex (see P.Ant. I 13). The fragment has ActThcl 3.8-9. P.Sarischouli 3 (Berlin, Staatliche Museen P. 21323; TM 64554; LDAB 5783) is a papyrus fragment from the 4th or 5th century (23 × 17 cm). Its verso is without writing, i.e., it is empty. The Greek text preserved is a narration about Thecla and her brother Paese (from Abusir), and may possibly represent the martyrdom of the two, a homily about Thecla or an otherwise unknown narrative on the female saint (and her brother: but it might also be a martyrdom narrative about an Egyptian martyr who was named after Thecla, as the ActThcl does not mention a brother). But that is not everything that is to be mentioned for the early manuscript attestation of Thecla. The following are early witnesses to the Greek ActPaul and might have contained the ActThcl, too: P.Oxy. inv. 8 8 1B.192/G(2)b22 is a parchment fragment of the ActPaul measuring 19 × 26 cm with 15 lines extant, most of them are incomplete. It has been among the Egypt Exploration Society papyri für eine Datensammlung’, SNTU 35 (2010) 79-110; ‘Miniature codices in late antiquity – preliminary remarks and tendencies about a specific book format’, EC 7 (2016) 134-52 and ‘Demosthenes and (late) Ancient Miniature Books from Egypt: Reflections on a Category, Physical Features, Purpose and Use’, in L. Arcari (ed.), Beyond Conflicts. Religious and Cultural Cohabitations in Alexandria and in Egypt between the 1st and the 6th cent. CE (Tübingen, 2017) 115-30. 21 Chapters and passages of Acta Pauli et Theclae are numbered according to Schneemelcher, ‘Paulusakten’, 214-41; see also the English translations by J.K Elliott, The Apocryphal New Testament (Oxford, 1993) 350-88; R.I. Pervo, The Acts of Paul (Eugene, 2014). 22 I thank Jan N. Bremmer for bringing this to my attention and for sharing his email correspondence with Michael Holmes (10/09/2020), who wrote that the piece of parchment ‘is a slender fragment that runs diagonally across the page, and preserves no more than 10 letters for any single line of text (of which there are 15 lines extant)—more often, only 2 to 6 letters’. Also see the announcement by the Egypt Exploration Society (https://www.ees.ac.uk/ news/professor-obbink-and-missing-ees-papyri; last accessed 30/10/2020).

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that have been returned to the EES by the Museum of the Bible in Washington D.C. This and the other pieces still wait for their edition. P.Oxy. XII 160223 (Ghent, University Pap. 62; TM 64570; LDAB 5800) is a parchment folio from a codex with pagination measuring 10.5 x 12.5 cm from the 4th or 5th century that corresponds with page eight of P.Hamb.bil. 1. Pap.Congr. XVIII 124 (Ann Arbor, Michigan University, Library P. 1317 + P. 3788 + Berlin, Staatliche Museen P. 13893; TM 64322; LDAB 5543) are four fragments of a papyrus codex from the 4th century that might have originated from ‘une tradition textuelle différente de celle du papyrus de Hambourg’25 and is written in a ‘[t]rès belle écriture’.26 P.Yale II 827 (New Haven, Yale University, Beinecke Library P. CtYBR 1376; TM 64638; LDAB 5869) is a papyrus from the 4th or 23

Cf. A. Ehrhard, Überlieferung und Bestand der hagiographischen und homiletischen Literatur der griechischen Kirche. I.1 (Leipzig, 1937) 68-69; O. Zwierlein, ‘Griechische Papyri in der Überlieferung der Acta Apostolorium apocrypha’, in G. Bastianini and A. Casanove (eds), I Papiri Letterari Cristiani (Florence, 2011) 132-35 (= Zwierlein, Petrus und Paulus, 174-76 and fig. 9); T.A. Wayment, The Text of the New Testament Apocrypha (100400 CE) (New York and London, 2013) 31-32 (and 238-39 [photos]). 24 Cf. C. Schmidt, ‘Ein Berliner Fragment der alten Πράξεις Παύλου’, SB Berliner Akademie der Wissenschaften 9 (1931) 36-40 (identification of the fragment by W. Schubart); H.A. Sanders, ‘A Fragment of the Acta Pauli in the Michigan Collection’, HTR 31 (1938) 70-90 and ‘Three Theological Fragments’, HTR 36 (1943) 165-67; C.H. Roberts, ‘The Acta Pauli: A New Fragment’, JTS 47 (1946) 196-99; K. Aland, Repertorium der griechischen christlichen Papyri I: Biblische Papyri (Berlin and New York, 1976) Ap 23 (385) and, for P.Mich.inv. 3788, Ap 24 (386); W. Rordorf, ‘Les Actes de Paul sur papyrus: problèmes liés aux P.Michigan inv. 1317 et 3788’, in V.G. Mandelaras (ed.), Proceedings of the XVIII International Congress of Papyrology 1986 (Athens, 1988) 453-60 at 456-58; Zwierlein, ‘Griechische Papyri’, 13133 (= Zwierlein, Petrus und Paulus, 170-173); Wayment, The Text, 17-19 (and 223-24 [photo]). 25 J. Van Haelst, Catalogue des papyrus littéraires juifs et chrétiens (Paris, 1976) no. 607 (215), according to Ehrhard, Überlieferung, 56. 26 Van Haelst, Catalogue, no. 607 (215; ‘[p]rovenance inconnue’). Cf. Wayment, The Text, 31: ‘The hand is a neat upright uncial, and sometimes ο is smaller in size. The scribe frequently employed a high point to indicate a sense unit.’ In addition, nomina sacra are employed consistently throughout the fragment. 27 A digital image can be found on the Internet pages of the Yale University Library, Digital Collection (https://findit-uat.library.yale.edu/catalog/

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5th century measuring 8.0 × 12.5 cm that might represent ActPaul or, at least, be connected with it. In addition, the early drive to translate the ActPaul and ActThcl into various languages is astounding. For instance, in addition to the Armenian translation (above), there are very interesting Coptic parchment codices from the 4th century (see P.Heid.Kopt. 300 + 301 and P.Hamb.bil. 1).28 The latter is a bilingual Greek-Coptic papyrus from around 300 CE consisting of about 27 leaves, i.e., 54 pages. This codex contains parts of the Greek Πράξεις Παύλου, Canticum Canticorum in Coptic, Lamentationes Ieremiae in Coptic, Ecclesiastes in Greek, and Ecclesiastes in Coptic. Quite some leaves are missing, especially for ActPaul, of which only 11 pages are extant.29 With all these witnesses taken together, the manuscript attestation of ActPaul and ActThcl is remarkable. When compared to other rather early Christian texts that became apocryphal, their representation is even exceptionally good. The situation for the ActThcl alone is also exceptional: there is a papyrus fragment from a codex from the 3rd century and a substantial papyrus codex from the 4th to 5th century. Two folios from parchment codices from the 4th and the early 5th century offer quite unique features with respect of their making, layout, and probable usage (as miniature codices), one of them of stunning quality; these two objects, however, are to be talked about in more detail elsewhere.30 In addition, the Syriac and Coptic transmissions digcoll:2758255; last accessed 3-8-2020); see also Zwierlein, ‘Griechische Papyri’, 130 (= Zwierlein, Petrus und Palus, 170); Wayment, The Text, 34-35 (241-42 [photos]). 28 In addition to the two main witnesses mentioned above, see Moscow, Pushkin Museum of Fine Arts I.1.b. 686 + IG 4795 (= Copt. 11; TM 108154; LDAB 108154; mid 4th to 5th century; 30 fols.); Geneva, Fondation Bodmer 41 (TM 108121; LDAB 108121; 2nd half of 4th century; 7 fols.); Manchester, John Rylands Library Suppl. 44 (TM 107970; LDAB 107970; 4th century; fragment; for representations of the versio coptica, see O. Zwierlein, Petrus in Rom (Berlin and New York, 2010) 339-41. 29 Cf. Zwierlein, ‘Griechische Papyri’, 129-30 (= Zwierlein, Petrus und Paulus, 168-69 and fig. 4); Aland, Repertorium I, Ap 22 (384). 30 In the near future, I will engage with the manuscript attestation, above all with the two fragments from miniature codices (P.Ant. I 13 and P.Oxy. I 6), in more detail (provisional title: ‘Mit den Thekla-Akten auf Reisen? Die Pilgerin Egeria, frühe Handschriften der apokryphen ApcThcl und Miniaturbücher’). I will develop a – speculative – scenario for the purpose

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start fairly early and are widespread, something relevant for the Armenian tradition, too. When compared to some rather sparsely attested texts of the New Testament, the situation of the ActThcl is even more remarkable (cf. 2 Thess, 1-2 Tim, or 2-3 John). 3.2. Faded testimony in the New Testament 3.2.1. 2 Tim 3:11 Attentive readers of the critical editions of the New Testament might have noticed that the apparatus with ‘witnesses’ cited at the bottom of the pages have changed over the years and will certainly be changing in the future, above all, with respect to online digital editions. However, it might be enlightening to compare different editions of the Novum Testamentum Graece, (that is, the so-called Nestle-Aland), with each other, especially when they shed light on variants that have to do with Thecla and ActThcl. In that regard, two verses of 2 Timothy are of great interest. 2 Tim 3:11 reads as follows (and is translated into English according to the English Standard Version): τοῖς διωγμοῖς, τοῖς παθήμασιν, οἷά μοι ἐγένετο ἐν Ἀντιοχείᾳ, ἐν Ἰκονίῳ, ἐν Λύστροις, οἵους διωγμοὺς ὑπήνεγκα καὶ ἐκ πάντων με ἐρρύσατο ὁ κύριος. my persecutions and sufferings that happened to me at Antioch, at Iconium, and at Lystra—which persecutions I endured; yet from them all the Lord rescued me.

Here is what the 25th to the 28th editions of the Nestle-Aland offer in their apparatuses for the relevant verse (for which the variant reading εγενοντο [A K 81. 614. 629. 1881 pc] for ἐγένετο might be ignored here): After Ἀντιοχείᾳ, the editions add in their apparatuses the following: NA25 NA26

α δια την Θεκλαν επαθεν α δια την Θεκλαν επαθεν

181 181mg (syhmg)

and practical use of such ‘books’. By doing so, the two miniatures are brought together with the Itinerary of Egeria, a female Christian pilgrim, who, on her way to Jerusalem, read ‘the whole of the Acts of Thecla’ in front of the Thecla sanctuary near Seleucia.

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NA27 τουτεστιν α δια την Θεκλαν πεπονθεν· εξ Ιουδαιων πιστευσασι εις Χριστον Kmg (181mg)(syhmg) NA28 ---

In the 28th edition of the Nestle-Aland, a reference to the variant is missing. There is a gloss in the margin (mg) of two manuscripts and a marginal reading in the Syriac Harklensis that refer to Thecla. The abbreviation syhmg represents ‘marginal readings in the Harklensis that do not originate from the Harklensis Vorlage itself, but from Greek manuscripts consulted for this purpose’ (NA28, 72). For the present purpose, the majuscule K (18) and the minuscule 181 are of major concern. The following information is retrieved from the New Testament Virtual Manuscript Room:31 (1) K (18) is a parchment codex from the 9th century kept in the State Historical Museum of Moscow and catalogued as Sinod. gr. 97 (Vlad. 093).32 It offers Acts, the Catholic Letters, the Pauline letters and commentaries. The texts are arranged in two columns and 27 lines per page. The pages are rather large: 33 cm high and 24 cm wide. The gloss occurs in the margin on its folio 283v for 2 Tim 3:9-17 which can be well seen on the accompanying page provided in the NT.VMR (no 5750). The text is arranged as a block and centred. It is placed in the left margin below the line ending οϊαμοιε and slightly higher than the next line starting γενετοεναντιοχεια. The text block reaches down for four lines to the one ending with μεερρυσατο. Consequently, the gloss explains the text as follows: ‘these are the [sufferings] which he endured because of Thecla’,33 and ‘from the 31

NT.VMR at https://ntvmr.uni-muenster.de; last accessed 1-8-2020. See K. Treu, Die griechischen Handschriften des Neuen Testaments in der UdSSR (Berlin, 1966) 280-83; B. Mondrain, ‘Une écriture cursive grecque inconnue du Xe siècle dans le manuscrit de Munich gr. 331’, Scriptorium 54 (2000) 252-67 at 257 n. 13; G. de Gregorio, ‘La minuscola greca fra VII e IX secolo’, in G. Prato (ed.), I manoscritti greci tra riflessione e dibattito (Florence, 2000) 83-151 at 148 n. 296; J.K. Elliott, A Bibliography of Greek New Testament Manuscripts (Leiden, 20153) 82; also Pinakes/Πίνακες. Textes et manuscrits grecs (https://pinakes.irht.cnrs.fr; last accessed 10/8/2020) and the literature provided by the online Kurzgefasste Liste on NT.VMR (https://ntvmr.uni-muenster.de; last accessed 20/8/2020). 33 Translation according to Klauck, Apocryphal Acts, 49. Pervo, Acts of Paul, 48, translates: ‘[W]hat he suffered because of Thecla and from the Jews against those who believed in Christ’. 32

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Jews against those who believed in Christ’. This gloss might originate from ‘at least the fifth century, given attestation from Syrian monophysites and Byzantine Chalcedonians’.34 (2) 181 is a manuscript written in minuscule letters from the th 10 century and is today kept in the Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, Città del Vaticano, where it is catalogued as Reg. gr. 179 (folios 1-155).35 It is written in one column, has 26 to 32 lines per page, and its pages are 25 cm high and 19 cm wide. The manuscript offers Acts, the Catholic Letters, and the Pauline letters, but not all of these are complete.36 Folio 152v (NT.VMR no. 3050) covers 2 Tim 3:2-4:4 (cf. figure 1). The gloss, written in smaller letters and arranged as a block with its lines centred, is in the left margin, slightly below the line ending with ἐν Ἀντιοχείᾳ, ἐν Ἰκονίῳ, and it reaches down for three lines of the main text. The text in smaller letters is arranged in six lines as follows: α δια την Θεκλαν επα θ ε ν 34

Pervo, Acts of Paul, 48. According to Pervo, the second addition comes from ‘the canonical Acts’. 35 See W. Bousset, Textkritische Studien zum Neuen Testament (Leipzig, 1894) 72; J. Leroy, ‘Les manuscrits grecs d’Italie’, in A. Gruys (ed.), Codicologica 2. Eléments pour une codicologie comparée litterae textuales (Leiden, 1978) 52-71 at 60 and ‘Quelques systèmes de réglure des manuscrits grecs’, in J. Dummer and K. Treu (eds), Studia Codicologica (Berlin, 1977) 291-312, here 299; S. Lucà, ‘Il Commentario al Cantico dei Cantici di Nilo di Ancira’, in P.L.M. Leone (ed.) Studi bizantini e neogreci (Galatina, 1983) 111-26 at 119 and ‘Osservazioni codicologiche e paleografiche sul Vaticano Ottoboniano greco 86’, Bollettino della Badia greca di Grottaferrata 37 (1983) 105-46 at 113; G. Cavallo, Scuola, scriptorium, biblioteca a Cesarea (Rome and Bari, 1989) 75; E. Follieri, ‘La minuscola libraria dei secoli IX e X’, in A.A. Longo et al. (eds), Byzantina et italograeca. Studi di filologia e di paleografia (Rome, 1997) 206; the literature provided by the online Kurzgefasste Liste on NT.VMR (https://ntvmr.uni-muenster.de; last accessed 20/8/2020). 36 The information provided on NT.VMR is slightly confusing, as there is a reference to Revelation (and that ‘was written by a different copyist’). However, this refers to folios 156-69 of the same codex, which is listed as GA 2919 from the 14th or 15th century.

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Figure 1: Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticano, Città del Vaticano, Reg. gr. 179, fol. 152v. With kind permission of the Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticano from August 4, 2020.

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In both cases, the glosses are apparently separated from the main text so that their nature – being a supplementary explanation – is even demonstrated by arrangement and layout. 3.2.2. 2 Tim 4:19 Further down in Second Timothy, there is a variant for 2 Tim 4:19. The text itself reads as follows (again, with the English Standard Version translation): Ἄσπασαι Πρίσκαν καὶ Ἀκύλαν καὶ τὸν Ὀνησιφόρου οἶκον. Salute Prisca and Aquila, and the household of Onesiphorus.

The following is given in the apparatuses of the editions NA25 to NA28 after Ἀκύλαν: NA25 Λεκτραν την γυναικα αυτου και Σιμαιαν και Ζηνωνα τους υιους αυτου 181 460 hr 26 NA Λεκτραν την γυναικα αυτου και Σιμαιαν και Ζηνωνα τους υιους αυτου 181 pc NA27 Λεκτραν την γυναικα αυτου και Σιμαιαν και Ζηνωνα τους υιους αυτου 181 pc NA28 ---

Again, NA28 does not include any reference to the variant anymore. The supplementary explanation from ActThcl 2 (see NA25-27), awkwardly placed after Ἀκύλαν, reads as follows (italics) in the context of 2 Tim 4:19, its possessive pronouns (his) referring to Onesiphorus: Salute Prisca and Aquila, Lectra, his wife, and his sons Simmias and Zeno,37 and the household of Onesiphorus.

Minuscule 181 is supported by 460 (only given in NA25),38 a trilingual minuscule from the 13th century, housed in the Biblioteca Nazionale Marciana in Venice (Gr. Z 11 [379]) with Acts, and the Catholic and 37 Klauck, Apocryphal Acts, 49. On the names Simmias and Zeno, cf. Pervo, The Acts of Paul, 48-49 and 97; Bremmer, ‘Onomastics’, 534. 38 A reference to 460 is also made by Pervo, The Acts of Paul, 48.

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Pauline Letters in Greek, Latin and Arabic.39 The abbreviation hr stood for a lectio notabilis, sed ab iis reiecta in Westcott-Hort’s edition from 1895 and, thus, was not used in the Nestle-Aland editions after NA25. These refer to ‘Lectra, his wife, and his sons Simmias and Zeno’, who can be found in ActThcl 3.2 (cf. NA25-27, all three of them with reference to the apocryphal Acts). Just as to be seen on the other pages of 181, also folio 153r (NT.VMR no. 3060; cf. figure 2) has remarkable glosses in its margin, here on the right. But the addition from ActThcl is not placed there. Rather, the supplementary and explanatory information has been integrated into the body of the text as if it were a homogeneous and integral part of it (starting in the middle of the ninth line from the bottom).40 Similar to 181, also 460 places the additional names into the main text of 2 Tim 4:19 (cf. folio 298r with 2 Tim 4:16-22 and the subscriptio). The manuscript has a middle point after Aquila in the Greek text, links all the names in the sequence with an ‘&’ in Latin and, obviously, has a running text in Arabic. Thus, the phrase from a text outside the canon has been integrated into 2 Tim 4:19 or, in other words, has been put inside the canon. It is needless to speculate whether the copyist deliberately added a remark from a non-canonical text, whether or not he was actually aware of the fact that the phrase belonged to ActThcl, or if he simply copied what someone else might have also copied and so on. Here 39

Black and white images are available in the NT.VMR, colour images on the pages of ‘Internet Culturale, cataloghi e collezioni digitali delle biblioteche Italiane’ (http://www.internetculturale.it, enter ‘Gr. Z 11’ in ‘cataloghi’; last accessed 20/08/2020). The HumaReC manuscript viewer (https://humarec.org) currently does not cover images and transcriptions of 2 Tim. Cf. P. Canart, ‘Le livre grec en Italie méridionale sous les règnes normand et souabe: aspects matériels et sociaux’, Scrittura e Civiltà 2 (1978) 103-62 at 144 n. 93; P. Pormann, ‘The Parisinus graecus 2293 as a document of scientific activity in swabian Sicily’, Arabic Sciences and Philosophy 136 (2003) 137-61 at 151; S. Lucà and S. Venezia, ‘Frustuli di manoscritti greci a Troina in Sicilia’, Erytheia 31 (2010) 75-132 at 90 and 104. 40 The last three lines hold the long subscriptio (cf. NA27, also see 1739c and the majority text): Προς Τιμοθεον β’ της Εφεσιων εκκλησιας επισκοπον πρωτον χειροτονηθεντα εγραφη απο Ρωμης οτε εκ δευτερου παρεστη Παυλος τω καισαρι Ρωμης Νερωνι.

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Figure 2: Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticano, Città del Vaticano, Reg. gr. 179, fol. 153r. With kind permission of the Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticano from August 4, 2020.

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I would only underscore the fact that what was beyond canon before, became a natural part of the canonical text of 2 Tim 4:19 thereafter; at least, that is the impression the textual arrangements of minuscules 181 (folio 153r) and 460 (folio 298r) give.41 At some stage of the writing and copying process, someone remembered the interrelation between 2 Tim and ActThcl, and added Onesiphorus’ wife Lectra (as above) and his sons Simmias and Zeno from the latter. This fact is an expression of the fine reputation and value the ActThcl (as part of the ActPl or as an individual corpus) enjoyed in certain settings and among specific circles; they were regarded as being on the same authoritative level as the canonical 2 Tim.42 Although it is sad to see NA28 without any reference to the phrase from ActThcl 2, and a unique piece of information on the textual history of 2 Tim 4:19 being lost for now, the Editio Critica Maior for 2 Tim is expected to provide full access to variants and, therefore, full information about the textual history and reception and a comprehensive presentation of all the witnesses available. 3.2.3. Why 2 Tim? Interestingly, the names used in 2 Tim and ActThcl show quite some overlap so that it appears reasonable to assume a dependence of the latter on the former in that respect.43 In the first passages of ActThcl, readers learn about Demas (cf. 2 Tim 4:10; see also Phlm 24; Col 4:14) and Hermogenes (cf. 2 Tim 1:15, together with a certain Phygelus); further, Onesiphorus appears in ActThcl 2, 4, 5, 15, 20, 25 and so on (cf. 2 Tim 1:16-18), Titus in ActThcl 2 (cf. 2 Tim 4:10, also addressed in MartPl 144; also see 2 Cor 2:13; 7:6, 13-14; 8:6, 16, 23; 12:18; Gal 2:1, 3; Tit; Acts of Titus), and Alexander in ActThcl 26 (possibly 41

Consequently, this should not be called a ‘gloss’ anymore, because it can hardly be decided where the interpolation from ActThcl 2 does actually come from (inserted by the scribes of 181 and 460, simply copied by a Vorlage that itself is a copy of another one etc.) and why it eventually occurred. 42 In sum, cf. Pervo, The Acts of Paul, 49. 43 I owe thanks to Jan N. Bremmer for his hint about the name overlap between 2 Tim and sections of ActThcl: Bremmer, ‘Onomastics’, 533. For the following, cf. the more detailed analyses by Niederhofer, Konversion, 44-49. 44 In addition, 2 Tim 2:3 and MartPl 2 are interrelated with the phrase ‘a good soldier of Christ’ (καλὸς στρατιώτης Χριστοῦ Ἰησοῦ) and ‘soldiers of Christ’, while the MartPl employs a certain and explicit war rhetoric.

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the coppersmith mentioned in 2 Tim 4:14).45 With the exception of the name ‘Alexander’, the onomastic or prosopographic overlap between 2 Tim and ActThcl ends when the narrative starts focussing on Thecla, Theoclea and Thamyris in section 7.46 In addition, there is the assumption, based on diverse criteria, that ActThcl is closely linked to the Pastoral Letters,47 but by focussing on the names in the first passages of ActThcl only, the parallel mentions in 2 Tim are striking.48 3.3. ‘A Psalter and New Testament Manuscript’49 (Dumbarton Oaks MS 3) A masterfully illustrated manuscript with a Psalter and the New Testament from the 11th century unveils other traces of Thecla and the ActThcl. Dumbarton Oaks Collection MS 3 (BZ.1962.35)50 has been dispersed among four different collections:51 single folios are in the Cleveland Museum of Art (fol. 254r), the Benaki Museum in Athens (fol. 78, which I could inspect in situ two years ago),52 and the Tretjakovskaja Galereja (Tretyakov Gallery; fol. 187);53 the majority of its folios are kept in the Dumbarton Oaks Collection in Washington, DC,54 45

Further, see Pervo, The Acts of Paul, 89-90. On Alexander, cf. Schneemelcher, ‘Paulusakten’, 199 and 221; Niederhofer, Konversion, 160-62 and 240. 46 For these three figures: Niederhofer, Konversion, 70-79 and passim. 47 See Klauck, Apocryphal Acts, 74; Barrier, Acts of Paul and Thecla, 33-45; Niederhofer, Konversion, 25-27 and 45. 48 M. den Dulk, ‘I Permit No Woman to Teach Except for Thecla: The Curious Case of the Pastoral Epistles and the Acts of Paul Reconsidered,’ NovT 54 (2012) 176-203. 49 According to the title of a study by S. Der Nersessian, ‘A Psalter and New Testament Manuscript at Dumbarton Oaks’, DOP 19 (1965) 153-83. 50 An online facsimile of the manuscript is available on the Internet pages of the Dumbarton Oaks Collection (https://www.doaks.org/ resources/manuscriptsin-the-byzantine-collection/ms-3/view; last accessed 25/11/2019). 51 Der Nersessian, ‘A Psalter’, 155 n. 3. 52 C. Mango, ‘The Byzantine Collection’, Apollo 119 (1984) 21-29 (with fig. 16). 53 A. Cutler, ‘The Dumbarton Oaks Psalter and New Testament. The Iconography of the Moscow Leaf’, DOP 37 (1983) 35-46; B.L. Fonkich et al. (eds), Mount Athos Treasures in Russia: Tenth to Seventeenth Centuries [Exhibition catalogue] (Moscow, 2004) 141 (no. 2.10). 54 F. Dölger et al., Mönchsland Athos (Munich, 1943) 178, 180, figs. 98-101.

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which bought it in 1962. Originally, the manuscript was held in the Pantocrator Monastery on Mount Athos and catalogued there as no. 49.55 The manuscript itself is a rather astounding and extraordinary deluxe exemplar:56 it contains a specific form of the Easter tables, so that the codex can safely be dated to the year 1084.57 All in all, the manuscript consists of 354 folios consecutively numbered from 1 to 362 with number 211 missing and 7 folios no longer extant. Folios 1r to 340v are written on parchment by one scribe only, while the rest of the New Testament, from 341r to 362v, is written on paper and added subsequently. Folio 301 has a watermark from the 15th century, and on folios 341-362 the restorer added marginal commentaries in pale pink ink. Letters are formed in “a small-sized pearl liturgical minuscule slightly leaning to the right”.58 The original number of folios and pages, however, is still not definitely known. The material is smooth, white, and particularly thin, the hair side is yellowish partly due to the remains of hair left there. A page measures 16.2 cm in height and 10.3 (-10.9) cm in width, with writing in a field of 12 and 7 cm in 36 lines per page. The folios are organized in 48 quires, mostly quaternions, on which signatures are added by a later hand. The ink on the parchment leaves is mainly medium brown and occasionally light brown, but the sections and sentences are, notably, written in gold. All the details of codicology taken together link our manuscript to quite a few others from the 11th century.59 55

For an account of the purchase of the manuscript from the Pantocrator Monastery on Mount Athos, see S.P. Lampros, Catalogue of the Greek Manuscripts on Mount Athos (Cambridge, 1895) 98; Der Nersessian, ‘A Psalter’, 155. 56 For a description of the manuscripts, see the detailed studies by Der Nersessian, ‘A Psalter’, 155-64, and N. Kavrus-Hoffmann, ‘Greek Manuscripts at Dumbarton Oaks: Codicological and Paleographic Description and Analysis’, DOP 50 (1996) 296-302 (and plates 3-4); see also G. Millet, ‘Quelques Représentations Byzantines de la Salutation Angelique’, BCH 18 (1894) 456-57 (and plate 15); J.J. Tikkanen, Die Psalterillustration im Mittelalter I (Helsinki, 1895) 128-32; H. Brockhaus, Die Kunst in den Athosklöstern (Leipzig, 19242) 170-71, 174-75 and 205-06 (and fig. 14). 57 The date can be given that precise, because the moveable feast of Easter in the liturgical year points to the beginning of 1084 and the tables continue through 1101. 58 Cf. Kavrus-Hoffmann, ‘Greek Manuscripts’, 300. 59 For additional technical and descriptive details, see Kavrus-Hoffmann, ‘Greek Manuscripts’, 296-300.

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The Internet page of the Dumbarton Oaks Research Library and Collection offers crucial pieces of information: This manuscript was made to fit comfortably in the hand, although it contains all the Psalms, the Canticles, and the New Testament. Never very common, such compact manuscripts cluster in the eleventh and twelfth centuries, reflecting the expression of personal piety that flourished at that time. Whereas all manuscripts are labor-intensive projects—requiring the preparation of vellum pages, the hand writing of text, the painting of illustrations, and the binding of the completed project—this is an especially luxurious book with a text written extensively in gold. The manuscript is generously illustrated. […]60

The page dimensions of Dumbarton Oaks MS 3 make carrying the book around with oneself rather convenient, possibly having it opened in one’s hands and reading from it. Apparently, the manuscript was designed to be used, to be taken into one’s hands. According to the art historian Kurt Weitzmann, certain Psalters from the Byzantine period form a group that is to be called ‘aristocratic Psalters’.61 Dumbarton Oaks MS 3 offers a rich potpourri of vivid illustrations that serve commentary-like visualisations of specific people and constellations of Biblical figures.62 In the most detailed study of the manuscript, Sirarpie Der Nersessian,63 who also focussed on 60

Cf. Dumbarton Oaks Research Library and Collection (http://museum. doaks.org/OBJ27038.htm; last accessed 25/11/2019). 61 Cf. K. Weitzmann, Aus den Bibliotheken des Athos. Illustrierte Handschriften aus mittel- und spätbyzantinischer Zeit (Hamburg, 1963) 37-39; A. Cutler, The Aristocratic Psalters in Byzantium (Paris, 1984) no. 51; see also Der Nersessian, ‘A Psalter’, 166, who attributes the term ‘aristocratic Psalters’ to Tikkanen, Psalterillustration I. H.L. Kessler, ‘Der Psalter’, in G. Vikan (ed.), Illuminated Greek Manuscripts in American Collections (Princeton, 1973) 31-33 62 For a general approach, see W.J.T. Mitchell, What Do Pictures Want? The Lives and Loves of Images (Chicago, 2005); for miniatures, see J. Ebersolt, La miniature byzantine (Paris and Brussels, 1926) 29 (no. 2); H. Buchthal, The Miniatures of the Paris Psalter, A Study in Middle Byzantine Painting (London, 1938) 23, 28-29, 31, 38-40 and figs. 53, 68, 76 and 78; R.S. Nelson, ‘Discourse of Icons, Then and Now’, Art History 12 (1989) 144-57 (plates 1-3 and 12); W.J.T. Mitchell, Que veulent réellement les images?, in E. Alloa (ed.), Penser l’image (Dijon, 2010) 211-48 at 230. 63 The following mainly depends on Der Nersessian, ‘A Psalter’, 163-64 and 178-79.

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images of the Virgin in MS 3,64 points out that the miniature illustrations of the Psalter and New Testament in Washington, D.C., should be compared in particular to Paris, suppl. gr. 1096 (written in 1070 by Peter Grammaticus), the Psalter of the Vatican, cod. gr. 342 (written in 1088 by Michael Attaliates), and Parisinus gr. 138 and suppl. gr. 610, both from the early 11th century.65 Folios 265v-269r contain the travels of Saint Paul and the preface to the Letter to the Romans (which starts on fol. 269v), while on 281v, the last verses of Romans are omitted (16:25-27). Folio 269v66 (see figure 3) is descriptively introduced by Der Nersessian as follows: Paul, seated in an armchair, writes in an open book; a veiled woman leans over the back of this chair and a young man stands, facing them, next to the desk on which another book has been placed. The initial Π is formed by Jesus and Paul, identified by inscriptions.67

The small miniature next to the text, which is written in brownish and partly in golden ink, is typical of the manuscript under discussion. Both figures can be identified with the help of words. We read Παυλος and Jesus Christ, the latter as nomina sacra IC XC, with supralinear stroke above the letters. But more striking is the fact that the figures form a Greek π, something that occurs repeatedly in Dumbarton Oaks MS 3, so that this feature represents a ‘trend-setting’ element.68 In other places of the manuscript, we find Timothy and Paul, Silvanus 64

Cf. V. Lasareff, ‘Studies in the Iconography of the Virgin’, Art Bulletin 20 (1938) 26-65 at 37 (with fig. 6); S. Der Nersessian, ‘Two Images of the Virgin in the Dumbarton Oaks Collection’, DOP 14 (1960) 69-86 at 77 (with fig. 4). 65 Cf. Der Nersessian, ‘A Psalter’, 164-65; see also Weitzmann, Aus den Bibliotheken, 39, who refers to a famous Psalter in Paris from the 10th century that might have been ‘trend-setting’. See Vikan, Illuminated Greek Manuscripts, 102, with reference to ‘the Paris Psalter (Bibl. Nat. cod. gr. 139) and […] the lost archetype of the aristocratic Psalter recension’. 66 The following about fol. 269v depends on the more detailed description by Der Nersessian, ‘A Psalter’, 178-79; see also N. Metallinos (ed.), Byzantium: The Guardian of Hellenism (Montreal, 2004) 112 (and fig. 1 with Paul and Thecla). 67 Cf. Der Nersession, ‘A Psalter’, 162. 68 Also, see, e.g., Cleveland, Museum of Art, cod. Acc. no. 50.154, in Vikan, Illuminated Greek Manuscripts, 105 (plate 21) with ‘the initial Π formed by figures of Christ and Peter’ on the single leaf with 1 Pet 1:1-21 of which Dumbarton Oaks MS 3 is the ‘parent manuscript’ (104)

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Figure 3: Beginning of the Letter to the Romans (Dumbarton Oaks MS. 3, fol. 269v) © Dumbarton Oaks, Byzantine Collection, Washington, DC; reproduced with kind permission.

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and Paul, and, of course, Jesus and Paul.69 In addition, Paul can also be identified by the stereotypical illustration as a bald and bearded man (cf. the small figure and in the main illustration on folio 269v; see figure 3),70 just as Acts 18:18 implies (having a bald head), and ActThcl 3 has in more detail (‘small in size, bald-headed, bandy-legged, of noble mien, with eyebrows meeting, rather hook-nosed, full of grace’).71 The three figures in the main and framed illustration form a communicative or, at least, interrelated constellation of characters (see figure 3): left from the centre Paul sits on a chair and bends forward for writing with an inked writing implement (probably a stylus) onto a sheet (possibly a piece of parchment). He appears to be solely focused on and occupied by what he is writing. Interestingly, he is the only figure in the image that has a nimbus, here as a red circle around his head. Other Pauline epistles are preceded by an image of Paul dictating to a disciple, and this constellation, i.e., author and secretary, is crucial for identifying the other male figure, positioned at the right behind a writing desk that seems to have a scroll upon it. It is also helpful for identifying the female figure with the dark veil, who stands behind Paul, resting her left hand on the back of the chair. Specific iconographic elements and person-constellations were typical of manuscripts with miniatures and illustrations of that period of time. Those who produced a manuscript like Dumbarton Oaks MS 3, could draw upon a rather fixed catalogue of fashionable and accepted items and conventions.72

69

Cf. Der Nersessian, ‘A Psalter’, 163 and 181. For the description of Paul, see Pervo, Acts of Paul, 91-95 and 97; Niederhofer, Konversion, 35-44; J.N. Bremmer, ‘The Portrait of the Apostle Paul in the Apocryphal Acts of Paul’, in Th. Greub and M. Roussel (eds), Figurationen des Porträts (Munich, 2018) 415-33. 71 English translation: Elliott, Apocryphal New Testament, 364. 72 See K. Weitzmann, Late Antique and Early Christian Book Illumination (New York, 1977) 9-24; Weitzmann, Aus den Bibliotheken, 37-38; H.L. Kessler, ‘The Psalter’, in Vikan, Illuminated Greek Manuscripts, 31-33; see also, for instance, R.S. Nelson, The Iconography of Preface and Miniature in the Byzantine Gospel Book (New York, 1980); N. Kavrus-Hoffmann, ‘TenthCentury Greek Gospels at the Walters Art Museum: Writing Styles and Ornamental Motifs’, Journal of the Walters Art Museum 62 (2004) 21-34. 70

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Another manuscript from the Pantocrator Monastery on Mount Athos, no. 234 (= Gregory-Aland 1404),73 is a first key for identifying the two still unknown figures on folio 269v of Dumbarton Oaks MS 3. Der Nersessian phrases parts of her argumentative reasoning as follows: Paul is seated, writing, and a woman looks out of a window opposite him. The scene is based on an episode in the apocryphal Acts of Paul and Thekla where it is related that when Paul was teaching in Iconium, at the house of Onesiphoros, Thekla, seated at the window of her own house, listened to his words.74

With this, Der Nersessian refers to folio 63r of the parchment manuscript from the 13th century.75 The miniature is on the left underneath the title πρὸς ρωμαίους in majuscules and would deserve an analysis on its own.76 The scene is known from ActThcl 7, and, in this miniature (as well as in other miniatures and illustrations), the female figure is wearing a stylised costume that, together with the window frame (see the Grotto in Ephesus or the Catacomb of Domitilla in Rome), is typical of Thecla. A second key to identifying Thecla on folio 269v of Dumbarton Oaks MS 3 is Biblioteca Vaticana cod. gr. 766,77 which has a frontispiece of the Pauline Letters depicting John Chrysostom seated on a chair in the middle, Paul behind John’s chair, and John’s secretary 73

Cf. S.P. Lampros, Catalogue of the Greek Manuscripts on Mount Athos. 2 vols (Cambridge, 1895 and 1900) no. 1268 (pp. 112-13); S.J. Voicu and Serenella D’Alisera, Index in manuscriptorum Graecorum edita specimina (Rome, 1981) 184. For further literature; see also Pinakes/Πίνακες. Textes et manuscrits grecs (https://pinakes.irht.cnrs.fr/ notices/cote/29253; last accessed 21/08/2020). 74 Der Nersessian, ‘A Psalter’, 178. 75 That is ‘image 79 of 592’ (black and white) on the pages of the Library of Congress (https://www.loc.gov/item/00271051633-ma/, last accessed 21/08/ 2020). The Center for the Study of New Testament also holds 592 images of the manuscript, but of minor quality (http://www.csntm.org/manuscript/ View/GA_1404). 76 For methodologically sound and expert analysis of miniatures (in another manuscript), see N. Kavrus-Hoffmann and Y. Pyatnitsky, ‘An Unknown Eleventh-Century Illuminated Gospel Manuscript Executed in Palestine’, Segno e Testo 7 (2009) 75-89 at 81-86. 77 The manuscript has not been digitised so far.

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Proclus watching from the doorway as Paul is whispering in John’s ear. An icon of Paul also hangs on the wall.78 The scene is repeated in a Psalter in Athens with a Commentary on the Psalms by John Chrysostom, and there are other examples that serve as witnesses to this figure constellation.79 Furthermore, Dumbarton Oaks MS 3 shows John dictating to Prochorus, a person commonly depicted in that period of time due to his assumed status as a secretary to John the Evangelist (also named as one of the seven deacons chosen by the community in Jerusalem,80 cf. Acts 6:5), at the beginning of the Gospel of John.81 As ‘this composition occurs in one of the aristocratic Psalters’, a group of manuscripts to which Dumbarton Oaks MS 3 belongs,82 Sirarpie Der Nersessian concludes and interprets the constellation of the three figures on folio 269v of the Dumbarton Oaks Psalter as follows: The woman who leans over Paul’s chair and watches while he writes, should probably, because of her costume, be identified as Thekla, although the scene does not correspond to any specific passage of the apocryphal Acts.83

Hence, she continues: In this re-adaption the inspiring figure of Paul has been transformed into that of Thekla, thus introducing an element derived from the apocryphal 78 For this scene, Der Nersessian, ‘A Psalter’, 179 n. 95, refers to J.R. Martin, The Illustration of the Heavenly Ladder by John Climacus (Princeton, 1954) 23 and fig. 299, and she indicates that ‘[i]t also occurs in Vatican gr. 1640’ (cf. C. Giannelli, Codices Vaticani graeci: Codices 1485-1683 [Vatican City, 1950] 349). 79 Cf. Der Nersessian, ‘A Psalter’, 179, who, among others, mentions Esphigmenou Monastery cod. 63, for which she refers to K. Weitzmann, ‘An Early Copto-Arabic Miniature in Leningrad’, Ars Islamica 10 (1943) 119-34 at 123: ‘Timothy stands in front of Paul, who is seated and writing in a codex’. 80 Interestingly, Prochorus is the first-person narrator of the Acts of John, in which he serves, among other things, as scribe while the apostle dictates to him the fourth Gospel, cf. A. de Santos Otero, ‘Jüngere Apostelakten’, in NTApo6 II, 385-91; on this text, see also Spittler this volume, Chapter IX. 81 Cf. Der Nersessian, ‘A Psalter’, 177, with reference to A.M. Friend, Jr., ‘The Portraits of the Evangelists in Greek and Latin Manuscripts’, Art Studies 5 (1927) 115-50 at 134-36 (and plates xiv and xviii). 82 Cf. Vikan, Illuminated Greek Manuscripts, 102. 83 Der Nersessian, ‘A Psalter’, 178.

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Acts; as for the young man who has taken the place of Proclus, John’s secretary, he may be Paul’s companion, Timothy.84

Of course, Paul and Timothy are presented rather often together in our manuscript in the Dumbarton Oaks collection, e.g., on folios 311v, 315r, and 330v, and folio 318v (together with Silvanus in the outer margin). The figures – quite often Jesus and Paul – then form an initial π, as it is the case on folio 269v, too.85 The π evidently is a sign for the Pauline letters, because it is not used for the other parts of the New Testament in that codex. Again, there is an interrelation between Timothy and Thecla, this time in persona and with Paul as personal and thematic link (cf. K [018], 181, and 460, as delineated above). 3.4. A ‘literary picture book’ (P.Bouriant 4) and mural wall paintings P.Bouriant 4 (= Paris, Sorbonne, Institut de Papyrologie inv. 829, formerly Cairo, private collection Bouriant 37; TM 65102; LDAB 6343), published by Paul Collart in 1926,86 was almost forgotten thereafter. It was only referred to in specialised studies and re-editions, so that quite some lacunae could be closed. Its purpose and content, however, remained a riddle until Cornelia Römer wrote about it in 2007 and suggested understanding the papyrus as ‘ein literarisches Bilderbuch’, ‘a literary picture book’.87 There are only two fragments extant: 1) an incomplete folio, measuring 22 cm and 15 cm, with writing on both sides and starting on the page with text along the fibres, and 2) another piece of papyrus that cannot definitively be put into place, written by the same hand along the fibres, of which only the bottom edge is extant. The scribe wrote in a rather informal and irregular hand, produced a considerable number of orthographic mistakes and quite a few ligatures (above all, with alpha and lambda, sigma and tau or pi), such that the hand resembles a documentary 84

Der Nersessian, ‘A Psalter’, 179. For full details, see Der Nersessian, ‘A Psalter’, 162-63. 86 See the editio princeps P. Collart, Les Papyrus Bouriant (Paris, 1926) 38-42. The Internet pages of the Sorbonne offer fine quality photos (http:// www.papyrologie.paris-sorbonne.fr/photos/1010829.jpg and http://www. papyrologie.paris-sorbonne.fr/photos/2030829.jpg; last accessed 28/11/2019). 87 For the following, cf. C. Römer, ‘Der Papyrus Bouriant 4: ein literarisches Bilderbuch’, ZPE 159 (2007) 86-100 at 86-88. 85

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writing style and does not show clear similarities with bookhands. Therefore, Römer suggests, on palaeographic grounds as usual, the end of the 4th or the first quarter of the 5th century as a probable date of production. The text itself manifests an alphabetic-acrostic hymn with a certain rhythm. Römer’s suggestions rely on comparisons with wall paintings found in El-Bagawat (also spelled Al-Bagawat),88 one of the oldest Christian cemeteries in the world, in use at the Kharga Oasis in southern-central Egypt from the 3rd to the 7th centuries AD. Before Christianity was introduced into Egypt, it was a burial ground used by non-Christians. Coptic frescoes (also from the 3rd to the 7th century) are found there. All in all, El-Bagawat consists of 263 funerary chapels, of which the Chapel of Peace (mid 4th century) and the Chapel of Exodus (5th or 6th century) are best known. The frescoes in these are the primary concern here. Above a doorway in the Chapel of Peace, Thecla and Paulus – framed by Eve and Mary – are paired in a wall painting, with the female saint seated on the left and the apostle on the right, both identified by Greek inscriptions above them: [T]he two figures sit facing each other on gold-coloured stools, their legs crossed. On the left Thecla wears a loose fitting greenish-grey dress and a veil down to her waist; her eyes are cast down toward her lap where she holds a yellow book or a writing tablet. Thecla writes in the book with a pen, while Paul sits across from her on the right, gesturing toward the book with a pointing stick he holds in his hand.89

This depiction supports the authoritative status and high esteem Thecla enjoyed in those days and adds to the picture painted above with the help of medieval manuscripts and their miniatures/illustrations.90 In the Chapel of Exodus, Thecla is integrated into a full programme of biblical scenes from the Old and New Testament (cf. figures 4 and 5). Thecla is the only Christian figure whose martyrdom is presented. 88

For the following, cf. C. Nauerth and R. Warns, Thekla. Ihre Bilder in der frühchristlichen Kunst (Wiesbaden, 1981) 9-21 (and plates II.3, IV and V); Davis, The Cult of Saint Thecla, 131, 150-72, and 192 (and figures 16-27). 89 Davis, The Cult of Saint Thecla, 157. Also see Nauerth and Wanke, Thekla, 10, who interpret the scene as Thecla noting down what Paul is teaching her. 90 See Nauerth and Wanke, Thekla, plate II.3; Davis, The Cult of Saint Thecla, figure 20.

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The cupola of the Chapel of Exodus showcases an impressive, rather didactic and selective programme. A modern reader tends to view the program in chronological order, but, while it is probable that the sequence of scenes was understood as beginning with Moses, the circle arrangement allows the viewer to start at any point.91 The program depicts the following: *Exodus (Moses); Pharao and his soldiers following the Israelites; illustration of the Holy Land; *Noah and the ark; *Adam and Eve; *Daniel in the lion’s den; *the three young men in the fiery furnace; *Isaiah dissected with a segment saw; *Jonah thrown overboard; *Jonah swallowed by the sea monster; *the sea monster spits Jonah out; Rebecca at the well; *Job; Jonah in the pumpkin bower; Susanna; Jeremiah; *Abraham and Isaac; *Sarah; the Good Shepherd; *Thecla escaping from the fire (cf. figure 6); *Parthenoi; and two men leading camels.92

What does this have to do with P.Bouriant 4? The topics or scenes marked with an asterisk above (*) are to be found in the Chapel of Exodus and on the alphabetic-acrostic papyrus (with the Parthenoi being uncertain). But the papyrus offers a second scene with Thecla (the female saint escaping from the wild animals) or, in other words, not being ripped in pieces by the wild beasts. The selection of scenes, then, seems not to be accidental; rather, the cycle of biblical scenes would seem to be part of a wide and open programme, from which suitable topics and figures could be chosen. Even if it may sound banal, in the end it is Thekla – and no one else – who is presented in the text of the papyrus and on the murals of the chapel. And both surround the female martyr saint and her stories with central and crucial scenes from the canonical texts of the Bible. The presence of ActThcl 21-22, with the saint escaping from fire and rain falling down from the sky to save her (cf. figure 6), indicates Thecla’s incorporation into the canon of texts, narratives, scenes and characters.93 Moreover,

91

For a thesis on how to understand function and sequence of scenes, see Davis, The Cult of Saint Thecla, 167-69. 92 For interpretations of the scenes and the whole arrangement, see Nauerth and Wanke, Thekla, 12-21; Davis, The Cult of Saint Thecla, 158-67. 93 See Davis, The Cult of Saint Thecla, 154-56, for the identification of the scene with ActThcl 22. Cf. P.Bouriant 4, verso l. 23: [Φ κα]τανοοῦcα Θέκλα τὸ πῦρ φυγοῦcα (Römer, ‘Der Papyrus Bouriant 4’, 93).

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Figure 4: Dome paintings in the Chapel of Exodus, El-Bagawat necropolis, Kharga Oasis. C. Nauerth/R. Warns, Thekla. Ihre Bilder in der frühchristlichen Kunst (Göttinger Orientforschungen. II. Reihe: Studien zur spätantiken und frühchristlichen Kunst 3; Wiesbaden, 1981) figure 5. Courtesy of Otto Harrassowitz, Wiesbaden, Germany.

Figure 5: Sketch of figure 4. C. Nauerth/R. Warns, Thekla. Ihre Bilder in der frühchristlichen Kunst (Göttinger Orientforschungen. II. Reihe: Studien zur spätantiken und frühchristlichen Kunst 3; Wiesbaden, 1981) figure 6. Courtesy of Otto Harrassowitz, Wiesbaden, Germany.

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Figure 6: Facsimile of figure 4. Facsimile of the dome painting of the Chapel of Exodus, El-Bagawat Necropolis, Kharga Oasis, with Thecla escaping from the fire. Creator: Charles K. Wilkinson (https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File: Facsimiles_of_the_Dome_Painting_of_the_Chapel_of_Exodus,_Bagawat_ Necropolis,_Kharga_Oasis_MET_sf30-4-140s1.jpg; last access 22/08/2020).

the ‘literary picture book’ on papyrus refers to yet another episode from ActThcl, that of Thecla escaping from the wild beasts (ActThcl 33-35),94 placed in the sequence of events prior to her escape from fire (in contrast to ActThcl).95 Cf. P.Bouriant 4,17: ]ε Θέκλα καὶ θηρίον μέcον ̣  ̣ [ ̣ ̣ ̣ ̣ ̣ ]α καὶ ἐξ[ that might read καὶ θηρίον μέcον πρ[οcδεθεῖc]α καὶ ἐξ[ελθοῦcα] (Römer, ‘Der Papyrus Bouriant 4’, 93). 95 The relevant sequence of events (lines 17-23) is: 17 Jacob and the angel; 18 Thecla escapes from the wild beasts; 19 Paul saves the ship from distress; [verso] 20 Joseph receives his father in Egypt; 21 Jonas; 22 Thecla escapes from the fire; 23 Moses and the well. Cf. Römer, ‘Der Papyrus Bouriant 4’, 88-89 (list of topics) and 93-94 (Greek transcription). 94

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4. Thecla – from beyond the canon into a canonical setting The promise made in the heading of this section is only partly kept: Thecla and the ActThcl have both gained a status equal to other authoritative Christian figures and canonical texts, at least in certain periods of time and specific areas; these temporal and geographical limitations are still visible in the different veneration that Thecla receives in diverse churches. On the basis of archaeological artefacts, literary sources, and remnants of the Thecla cult, this has been proved by scholars in impressive and rather comprehensive ways.96 The sample cases dealt with in the present study clearly support these conclusions concerning the female saint and the narrative about her. The early manuscript attestation of ActThcl (and ActPl as a whole) indicates that stories about Thecla were very popular, such that the quality and quantity of textual witnesses equal (and sometimes surpass) that of texts that became part of the New Testament canon. Moreover, the two fragments from miniature codices prove that there is no qualitative difference between canonical texts and those that became apocryphal, above all when P.Ant. I 13 – with its delicate and fine parchment and the splendid hand the letters are written in (a so-called deluxe codex) – is compared to the finest major codices from the 4th or 5th century. The majuscule K (18) and the two minuscules 181 and 460 not only preserved glosses introduced by some scribe in the copying and transmission process (cf. 2 Tim 4:11), but the minuscules also show an impressive example of how an apocryphal text, i.e., a text from outside the canon, could become integral and natural part of a canonical text (cf. 2 Tim 4:19), such that the supplementary remark cannot be distinguished from the former other text of the verse. Thus, someone took ActThcl as an authoritative text equal to 2 Tim in order to combine the two in 4:19. This is proof enough of the high esteem in which ActThcl has been held. 96

See, above all, Davis, The Cult of Saint Thecla; Pilhofer, Das frühe Christentum im kilikisch-isaurischen Bergland; see also A. Jensen, Thekla – Die Apostolin neu entdeckt (Gütersloh, 1999); K. Greschat, Gelehrte Frauen des frühen Christentums. Zwölf Porträts (Stuttgart, 2015) 17-29. Further, on De vita ac miraculis divae Theclae, cf. G. Dragon, Vie et miracles de Sainte Thècle (Brussels, 1978), 13-163; S.F. Johnson, The Life and Miracles of Thekla. A Literary Study (Washington, DC, 2006).

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A rather unique luxury manuscript of the Psalms and the New Testament (Dumbarton Oaks MS 3) also connects Thecla (or ActThcl) with Timothy (or the title figure of two Pastoral Letters): an image at the beginning of the Letter to the Romans (folio 269v) presents Paul seated and writing with Timothy opposite and watching him. The female figure behind Paul’s chair, looking over his shoulder, is Thecla, who is also part of conventions used for person constellations and illustrations in such ‘aristocratic Psalters’ and other manuscripts contemporary with Dumbarton Oaks MS 3. Here, the depiction of Thecla is unique; in other manuscripts, Thecla, also with a dark veil, is most often placed in a window frame (according to her description in ActThcl 2). Both a ‘literary picture book’ on papyrus (P.Bouriant 4) and the wall paintings in chapels in the necropolis of El-Bagawat in the Kharga Oasis in Egypt, manifest the extraordinary status and reputation Thecla once enjoyed: in the Chapel of Peace, the female saint is sitting on a chair and writing something down, while Paul is placed opposite to her, pointing at the writing as if he were teaching her. In the Chapel of Exodus, Thecla is the only Christian martyr presented in a circle of richly detailed scenes from the Old and New Testament. There, her escape from the fire (cf. ActThcl 22) is painted right next to a tree at whose foot a figure in orans posture is standing, with Parthenoi in between them and underneath the Israelites leaving Egypt. In addition, the papyrus book not only overlaps with an astounding number of the topical scenes in the Chapel of Exodus (ActThcl 22 included), but it even refers to a second ‘martyrdom’ that Thecla survived (being attacked by lions and bears, endangered by seals and even more dangerous beasts97 and lists that episode prior to her survival of the fire execution in the theatre (ActThcl 21-22). Thus, Thecla is given special attention, being mentioned twice by name with reference to failed attacks on her life (being miraculously saved

See ActThcl 33-35; cf. P.Bouriant 4,17: ]ε Θέκλα καὶ θηρίον μέcον ̣ ̣ [ ̣ ̣ ̣ ̣ ̣ ]α καὶ ἐξ[ that might read καὶ θηρίον μέcον πρ[οcδεθεῖc] α καὶ ἐξ[ελθοῦcα). Because of θήριων μέσον, Römer, ‘Der Papyrus Bouriant 4’, 97, thinks that the text of the papyrus refers to the third step of this attempted execution (‘they tied her by the feet between two bulls and applied red-hot irons to their genitals to that, greatly provoked, they would kill her’ [Pervo, Acts of Paul, 163]). 97

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each time).98 Moreover, she is the only Christian martyr referred to in both settings (the papyrus and the dome paintings).99 Although only a few traces could be found in the handwritten testimony (which, moreover, continue to fade), they still afford the following conclusions: (a) There were once certainly more and clearer traces. (b) ActThcl (and Thecla) enjoyed a very high reputation and were seen as authoritative. (c) What we locate today outside the canon of texts (and persons) had, at certain times, at certain places, and for certain people, the same meaning and an approximate or even the same value as what is located within the canon, so that today’s demarcation line between canonical and non-canonical is hardly recognisable. It is to be hoped that these traces do not vanish completely.100

98

Interestingly, in his De Martyribus Palestinae (3), Eusebius mentions Thecla’s martyrdom, who, together with Agapius, was condemned as food for the wild animals, and reports about a certain Timothy, who, ‘at the same time, was tortured and burnt in Gaza’. According to Eusebius, the three of them did not follow the order by the Roman Emperor (i.e., Diocletian in an edict from February or March 304) that ‘all inhabitants [of the province of governor Urbanus] must offer sacrifices and drinks to the gods’. Eusebius praises Thecla as ‘our contemporary’ and underlines her and Agapius’ ‘noblest steadfastness’ to resist the imperial order. Cf. G. Bardy, Eusèbe de Césarée. Histoire ecclésiastique 3 (Paris, 1958) 121-74; see also the translations: Eusebius von Cäsarea, Ausgewählte Schriften. Aus dem Griechischen (tr. J.M. Pfättisch and A. Bigelmair; Munich, 1913); ‘Bibliothek der Kirchenväter im Internet, Université de Fribourg’ (https://bkv.unifr.ch; last accessed 29/08/2020); Eusebius of Caesarea, The History of the Martyrs in Palestine, tr. W. Cureton; London and Paris, 1861). 99 Römer, ‘Der Papyrus Bouriant 4’, 89: ‘Wie im Papyrus erscheint auch in El-Bagawat das Martyrium der Thekla als einziges nachchristliches Martyrium’. 100 I am indebted to great thanks to Jan N. Bremmer for his sensitive and supportive editing and, above all, am most grateful to Janet E. Spittler for her insightful and patient correction of my English.

VII. ‘Useful’ Models: The Reception of the Apocryphal Acts of Paul and Thecla in Late-Antique Hagiographical Narratives about Female Virgins KLAZINA STAAT

1. Introduction What was the importance of apocryphal texts in late antiquity? It has been noted in recent discussions on the formation of the New Testament canon that the traditional distinction between canonical and apocryphal writings is not sufficient to evaluate the importance attached to apocryphal writings. François Bovon suggests that from late antiquity onwards, there was the awareness of a third category of writings besides apocryphal and canonical ones—those officially rejected and accepted as part of the Biblical canon—, namely writings that were considered ‘useful for private piety, edification of the community, and a historical understanding of Christian origins’. Bovon calls them ‘useful for the soul’, after the Greek word ψυχωφελῆ, the epithet that was used for writings of this kind in the Byzantine tradition.1 Building on Bovon, Tobias Nicklas states in a recent article that apocryphal writings themselves can also be defined as ‘useful to the church’ (‘wertvoll für die Kirche’), for example, creating ‘places of remembrance’ (‘Erinnerungsorte’) or ‘memorial landscapes’ (‘Erinnerungslandschaften’) in which the memory of certain Biblical events 1

F. Bovon, ‘“Useful for the Soul”: Christian Apocrypha and Christian Spirituality’, in A. Gregory et al. (eds), The Oxford Handbook of Early Christian Apocrypha (Oxford, 2015) 185-95 at 185f.

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or the origins of particular local Christian communities was kept alive. As such, texts could acquire an ‘important function’ (‘wichtige Funktion’) and a ‘high authority’ (‘eine hohe Autorität’), even if they were apocryphal, playing a crucial role in the construction of a collective memory in late-antique Christian communities.2 According to Nicklas, however, it was not just writings (be they canonical or apocryphal) that were important to keep alive the stories about origins and events in the distant past, but also other media—the spoken word, rites, and concrete places and objects in the physical space. Many people could not read or did not have access to books and had to rely on other sources for information about the past. Thus, Nicklas suggests, Christianity was not just a ‘religion of books’, but also a ‘religion of memories’.3 In this article, I aim to expand the idea of the ‘usefulness’ of apocryphal writings in the literary realm, by showing how they were important for the construction of new stories and new texts within the field of late-antique hagiographical discourse. Since it is impossible to provide a comprehensive study of all apocryphal texts in this article, I focus in particular on the Apocryphal Acts of Paul and Thecla (from now on, APT), probably written in Asia Minor in the later second half of the second century. I explore its importance by investigating a selection of late-antique Latin and Greek hagiographical writings on female virgins, which engage in different ways with the APT and the story of Thecla. Scholars have already drawn attention to the importance of Thecla in the literature of Church fathers and late-antique hagiography: she appears as an example of virginity, modesty and perseverance in martyrdom for female virgins, even though the authenticity of the APT was generally contested.4 2 T. Nicklas, ‘Neutestamentlicher Kanon, christliche Apokryphen und antik-christliche “Erinnerungskulturen”’, NTS 62 (2016) 588-609 at 590, 599 and 601. Nicklas builds on the work of Pierre Nora and Maurice Halbwachs on ‘collective memory’: the set of ideas, images, norms, and values shared by the members of a community and as such constitutive of a common identity. Nicklas refers to P. Nora, Les Lieux de mémoire, 3 vols (Paris, 1984-1992); M. Halbwachs, Les cadres sociaux de la mémoire (Paris, 1925) and La mémoire collective (Paris, 1950). 3 Nicklas, ‘Neutestamentlicher Kanon, christliche Apokryphen’, 588 and 609. 4 Significantly, Thecla’s sainthood was never questioned in premodern times; only at the Second Vatican Council in 1969 was she removed from

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This article will give a more detailed discussion of the variety of ways in which hagiographical narratives interact with the APT and Thecla’s story, demonstrating that it is not just Thecla as a person that is used as a model for imitation, but also both her story, providing the building blocks for new narratives, and the text of the APT, as a source of intertextual reference in the form of direct quotations and allusions. In other words, the hagiographical writings interact with the tradition of Thecla at the three different narrative layers defined in modern narratology, namely the ‘fabula’, ‘story’, and ‘text’.5 The ‘fabula’ consists of the basic elements of a narrative, that is, the series of events happening to the protagonists in chronological order. Many hagiographical writings adopt basic elements from Thecla’s story in the construction of the new narrative, thus interacting with the model at the level of the ‘fabula’. The ‘story’ refers to the representation of the elements of the fabula, through the perception of either the narrator or the protagonists in the story. The presentation of Thecla as a model for imitation for the saintly protagonists is an aspect of the ‘story’, conveying how she is perceived by both the hagiographers in the narrator-text and the characters in their embedded speech. Finally, there is the ‘text’, that is, the final presentation of the story in its

the liturgical calendar. Cf. L. Hayne, ‘Thecla and the Church Fathers’, VigChris 48 (1994) 209-18 at 209. For references to Thecla in the writings of Latin and Greek ecclesiastical authorities, see Hayne, ‘Thecla and the Church Fathers’; M. Pesthy, ‘Thecla among the Church Fathers’, in J. Bremmer (ed.), The Apocryphal Acts of Paul and Thecla (Kampen, 1996) 164-78; E.A. Castelli, Martyrdom and Memory: Early Christian Culture Making (New York, 2004) 143-46; S.E.A. Hylen, A Modest Apostle: Thecla and the History of Women in the Early Church (Oxford, 2015) 91-113, with further bibliography in notes 1-4 on p. 146-47. A recent comprehensive overview of the reception of the APT and Thecla in Latin literature can be found in C.O. Tommasi Moreschini, ‘Thecla in the Latin Sources’, in J.W. Barrier et al. (eds), Thecla: Paul’s Disciple and Saint in the East and West (Leuven, 2017) 69-105. For Thecla’s reception in hagiography, see S.J. Davis, The Cult of Saint Thecla. A Tradition of Women’s Piety in Late Antiquity (Oxford, 2001) 3-4, 143-45; G. Dabiri and F. Ruani (eds), Thecla and Medieval Sainthood: The Acts of Paul and Thecla in Eastern and Western Hagiography (Cambridge, 2021). 5 For a discussion of these narrative layers, see M. Bal, Narratology: Introduction to the Theory of Narrative (Toronto, 20174) 5-8, building on earlier narrative theory.

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linguistic form. The APT is sometimes used as the object of intertextual reference, for instance, by means of quotations and allusions. This is a form of interaction at the level of the ‘text’. In the next sections (2-5), I will first discuss in more detail the various modes of interaction with the tradition of Thecla in the hagiographical narratives. In the subsequent section (6), I will discuss the relative importance of the figure and story of Thecla and the APT as models in hagiography. As we will see, the APT seems to be less important than the other categories as a model for imitation, which raises questions. Does the ‘apocryphal’ status have something to do with the seemingly smaller importance of the APT as a model for imitation? Or should it rather be explained with reference to the limited literacy and access to written documents of people in late antiquity? 2. Thecla as a model: The Lives of Macrina and Olympias This section focuses on the type of interaction at the story level, namely the use of the figure of Thecla as a model for the characterisation of the saintly protagonists. In the Life of Macrina, the biography that Gregory of Nyssa wrote about his sister not long after her death in 379,6 Thecla plays an important role. According to the narrator Gregory, Thecla was Macrina’s illustrious example, even before she was born. Gregory opens the Life with a description of a vision that their mother Emmelia had at the end of her pregnancy with Macrina. There came to Emmelia a man, magnificent in form and appearance, who three times ‘addressed the child whom she was carrying as Thecla, the name of that Thecla whose fame (λόγος) is great among

6 For biographical information about Macrina and Gregory of Nyssa, see K. Corrigan, The Life of Saint Macrina by Gregory, Bishop of Nyssa (Eugene, 2005) 5-12 and P. Maraval, ‘Biography of Gregory of Nyssa’, in L.F. Mateo-Seco et al. (eds), The Brill Dictionary of Gregory of Nyssa (Leiden, 2010) 103-16. Thecla’s importance in the Life of Macrina (ca. 379) has been noted already in scholarship. See, for instance, P. Maraval (ed.), Grégoire de Nysse: Vie de Sainte Macrine (Paris, 1971), 146-47 (n. 2); R. Albrecht, Das Leben der heiligen Makrina auf dem Hintergrund der Thekla-Traditionen (Göttingen, 1986); Corrigan, The Life of Saint Macrina, 13; Davis, The Cult of Saint Thecla, 62-64; Hayne, ‘Thecla and the Church Fathers’, 213; Hylen, A Modest Apostle, 99-100.

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the virgins’ (2.25-27).7 In his commentary on this remarkable event, Gregory interprets the vision as follows: Thecla, therefore, was Macrina’s secret name. The visionary being seemed to me to proclaim this name not so much to guide the mother in the choice of the name as to foretell what the life of the virgin would be and to show, through the identical character of the name, that she would choose the same way of life as Thecla did (τὴν τῆς προαιρέσεως ὁμοιότητα διὰ τῆς ὁμωνυμίας). (Life of Macrina 2.30-34)

According to Gregory, then, Thecla was Macrina’s model, showing her the ascetic way of life.8 This, of course, raises a question: is it Gregory who presents Macrina as the imitator of Thecla, or was it his sister herself who decided to model her life on Thecla’s example? In other words, is the characterisation of the virgin as a second Thecla part of the hagiographer’s literary stylisation of Macrina, or does it reflect her own decision to imitate Thecla in the real life?9 The Life leaves the options open. For the hagiographer, Thecla might be a model for the literary construction and characterisation of a new heroine. For a virgin in the real world, she may be the model to be imitated in real life. Either way, the Life testifies to the ‘usefulness’ attached to Thecla as a model for imitation. Gregory never really explicates in which ways Macrina follows Thecla. An attentive person in the text’s audience may see similarities between Macrina and Thecla in their desire for celibacy and ascetic life—the former decided to stay alone after the untimely death of her fiancé, and spent the rest of her life as an ascetic at the family estate in 7

The edition is taken from Maraval, Grégoire de Nysse, 135-267; the translation is from J.M. Petersen, Handmaids of the Lord: Contemporary Descriptions of Feminine Asceticism in the First Six Christian Centuries (Kalamazoo, 1996) 51-82. 8 Cf. C. Moreschini, ‘Thecla in Cappadocia’, in Barrier, Thecla: Paul’s Disciple and Saint in the East and West, 1-16 at 15. 9 See also P. Turner, Truthfulness, Realism, Historicity: A Study in Late Antique Spiritual Literature (Farnham, 2012) 75-85, who likewise emphasizes that the imitation of earlier models, which is a common element in hagiography, could reflect the choices of people in real life. For the aspect of the saints’ imitation of earlier models and literary stylisation as core elements of hagiographical discourse, see M. Van Uytfanghe, ‘L’origine et les ingrédients du discours hagiographique’, Sacris Erudiri 50 (2011) 35-70 at 38-41.

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Nyssa, in the province of Pontus in Cappadocian Asia Minor, thus vaguely mirroring Thecla, who rejected marriage in favour of an ascetic life. However, Gregory never mentions the similarities, leaving it to the audience to consider in what respects Macrina followed her model. Thus, Gregory seems to assume that the audience already has some prior knowledge of Thecla. This also is reflected in his remark that Thecla’s ‘fame’ (λόγος) was ‘great among the virgins’. The term λόγος could also be translated as ‘narrative’, ‘tale’, ‘story’.10 This would mean that Gregory does not just imply that Thecla’s story was more widely known among the audience, but also that it was still being retold in his own time. This shows that, even if there was a growing debate about the apocryphal status of the APT, Thecla’s story remained of continuous importance for late-antique Christians. The anonymous Greek Life of Olympias (BHG 1374) is another example of a hagiographical writing that presents Thecla as a model for the saintly heroine. The Life focuses on the historical figure of Olympias: a Greek noble woman born around 360-370, who after her brief and childless marriage with Nebridius, prefect of Constantinople (386), decided not to marry again but to use her money and influence within the highest ecclesiastical circles to support the poor and to establish a women’s convent near Hagia Sophia in Constantinople.11 Given the level of detail of the Life, it was probably written by someone in Asia Minor in the fifth century, who had known Olympias personally.12 Thecla appears in the same way as in the Life of Macrina, namely as the model for the saintly heroine. She is first mentioned in the prologue to the Life, as the final person and only woman in a parade 10

See Liddell-Scott, s.v. ‘λόγος’. The question as to whether Olympias kept her virginity during her wedlock seems to create some difficulties for the hagiographer of the Life, who first states that ‘it is said (λέγεται) that she died an undefiled virgin’, but then seems to just accept that ‘she was preserved uncorrupted in flesh and in spirit’ (Life of Olympias 2.4-5 and 10-11). The edition is taken from A.-M. Malingrey, Jean Chrysostome: Lettres à Olympias, seconde édition augmentée de la Via anonyme d’Olympias (Paris, 1968) 406-49; the translation from E.A. Clark, Jerome, Chrysostom, and Friends: Essays and Translations (New York, 1982) 127-42. For a discussion of the historical figure of Olympias, see Clark, ibid., 107-26. 12 The author has been identified as Heraclides, bishop of Nyssa around 440, but there is no further evidence in favour of this attribution. Cf. Clark, Jerome, Chrysostom, and Friends, 107f. 11

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of biblical figures (Abraham, Lot, Joseph, Job, and the three Hebrews). The anonymous author-narrator gives a rather extensive paraphrase, which suggests that he was well acquainted with Thecla’s story: Thecla is a citizen of heaven, a martyr who conquered in many contests, the holy one among women, who despised wealth, hated the short and transitory pleasures of this world, refused a pecunious marriage and confessed that she would present herself a chaste virgin to her true Bridegroom. Having followed the teachings (διδάγμασι) of Paul, the blessed apostle, and having taken into her heart the divinely-inspired Scriptures (θεοπνεύστους γραφάς), she received the crown of incorruptibility from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ and to ages without end she rests with all the saints who from eternity have pleased the Lord Jesus Christ. (Life of Olympias 1.14-24)

The author-narrator here refers to some key elements of Thecla’s story as we know it from the APT: her contests with animals during the trials, her rejection of rich suitors such as Thamyris and Alexander, and her following of the apostle Paul and his teachings. Subsequently, the hagiographer presents Thecla as the model imitated by Olympias: Olympias walked in the footsteps of this saint, Thecla, in every virtue of the divinely-inspired way of life (τῆς ἐνθέου πολιτείας). Olympias, most serious and zealous for the road leading to heaven, followed the intent of the divine Scriptures (τῇ γνώμῃ τῶν θείων γραφῶν) and was perfected through these things. (Life of Olympias 1.24-28)

In the narrative itself, Olympias indeed follows her model in some key respects. As mentioned above, she decided to stay a virgin after her husband’s death and to use her money for the poor and the establishment of a women’s convent, thus mirroring Thecla’s rejection of her wealthy marriage. Just like Thecla follows her teacher Paul in his teachings, Olympias emerges as the faithful follower of her own teacher: John Chrysostom (c. 347-407), who was appointed archbishop of Constantinople in 397 and served as Olympias’ spiritual mentor.13 According to the hagiographer, [she] followed to the letter with intelligence the divinely-inspired teachings (θεοπνεύστοις διδάγμασι) of the most holy archbishop of this 13

For the friendship between Olympias and John Chrysostom, see Clark, Jerome, Chrysostom, and friends, 112-16 and Malingrey, Jean Chrysostome, 40-45.

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sacred church, John, and gave to him for this holy church [all her possessions] (imitating also in this act those ardent lovers and disciples of Christ who in the beginning of salvation’s proclamation brought to the feet of the apostles their possessions). (Life of Olympias 5.15-21)

In the convent, ‘fortified each day by [John Chrysostom’s] divinelyinspired instructions (θεοπνεύστων αὐτοῦ διδαγμάτων), [Olympias and her sisters] kindled in themselves the divine love so that their great and holy love streamed forth to him’ (8.9-12). Thus, Olympias and John Chrysostom are defined by a similar relation as Paul and Thecla, namely as teacher and student of divinely-inspired teachings. This type of literary modelling evokes the same question as in the case of Macrina: is it part of the hagiographer’s literary characterisation of Olympias, or was it her own decision in life to follow Thecla’s example? Again, the Life does not give a conclusive answer. Nevertheless, it seems that Olympias’ characterisation was inspired both by literary concerns and historical circumstances. Olympias’ characterisation as Thecla’s follower could be seen as an attempt to create a positive image of the saint in the Life, which may have been negatively affected by her connections with John Chrysostom in real life. The bishop was sent into exile in 404 for reasons that are not entirely clear. Olympias and other persons who did not accept the authority of the new bishop were sent into exile, too—officially under the accusation of having set John Chrysostom’s church on fire.14 The emphasis on the bishop’s ‘divinely-inspired’ (θεόπνευστος) teachings and instructions, and Olympias’ following of them, may be a means to place both figures in a more favourable light. The term θεόπνευστος is highly important in this respect. In early-Christian literature, it is mostly used as an epithet of Scripture, and particularly the ‘canonical’ Scriptures inspired by the Holy Spirit.15 Calling John Chrysostom’s teachings θεόπνευστος, the hagiographer presents them 14 For Olympias’ involvement in ecclesiastical issues in Constantinople, see S. Constantinou, ‘Male Constructions of Female Identities: Authority and Power in the Byzantine Greek Lives of Monastic Foundresses’, in L. Theis et al. (eds), Female Founders in Byzantium and Beyond (Vienna, 2014) 43-62 at 55-56. 15 See G.W.H. Lampe (ed.), A Patristic Greek Lexicon (Oxford, 1961) 630, under the lemma ‘θεόπνευστος’. Lampe gives the following meanings of the word and references to literature: I) ‘divinely-inspired’; ‘of Scripture’ (cf. 2 Tim. 3:16); Ia) ‘as representing the voice of the Holy Ghost’ (Gr. Nyss. Eun. 7); VI) of the ‘canonical Scriptures as a whole’ (Ath. ep. fest. 39).

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as being inspired by the Holy Spirit and of the same status, as it were, as the canonical Scriptures. This is a way to salvage the reputation of the bishop and Olympias against people who questioned the position of the virgin and her spiritual mentor. As we have already seen, not just John Chrysostom’s teachings are called θεόπνευστος, but also the ‘divinely-inspired Scriptures’ (θεοπνεύστους γραφάς, 1.20) that Thecla follows together with the teachings of the apostle Paul, as the hagiographer states it in the prologue. Given the use of θεόπνευστος in early-Christian literature as an epithet of the canonical Scriptures inspired by the Holy Spirit, one wonders whether the emphasis on Thecla’s following of the divinely-inspired Scriptures could be read against the background of the late-antique debate about the apocryphal status of the APT. Although the hagiographer never explicitly reflects on the value of the APT and its purported apocryphal status, the emphasis on Thecla’s adherence to the apostle Paul’s teachings and the divinely-inspired Scriptures may be seen as a means to highlight the heroine’s orthodoxy in a time in which there was a growing consensus about the apocryphal nature of the APT. In this respect, it is interesting to note that Thecla, when she is mentioned for the first time in the prologue of the Life, appears as the final person in a series of figures from the canonical Scriptures: Abraham, Lot, Joseph, Job, and the three Hebrews.16 Just like Thecla, they are presented as an example of virtue. Significantly, there is no distinction made between these figures, from the canonical books of the Bible, and Thecla, originating from an apocryphal writing. This suggests that she is seen as being of the same status as the heroes from the canonical books of the Old Testament.17 It also shows that the ‘apocryphal’ nature of the APT did not prevent the heroine from becoming a model of virtue for other women. 3. Thecla’s story as a model narrative: The Life of Helia Besides presenting the figure of Thecla as the paradigm for the saintly heroine, some hagiographical writings are more directly related to Thecla’s story as we know it from the APT, incorporating or adapting some of its motifs or plot elements. An example of such interaction at the fabula-level is the Latin Life of Helia (BHL 3798), which was 16 17

Cf. Life of Olympias 1.5-14. I owe this idea to Tobias Nicklas.

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probably originally written in Greek at some point in late antiquity, but which has only been transmitted in Latin in two manuscripts from the tenth century.18 Although Thecla or the APT are never mentioned in the Life, many elements of the heroine’s story recur in that of Helia.19 Similar to Thecla, Helia is converted while she is listening ‘through a window’ (per fenestram) to the preaching of an apostle who has just arrived in her hometown, Dyrrachium (1.69). While Thecla bribed the porter in secret with her jewellery in order to be able to visit Paul in prison and expressed the desire to follow the apostle with a masculine haircut, Helia throws away her jewellery and is helped by a portress to escape from home secretly, wearing male clothes in order to get to the bishop’s palace undiscovered (2.262-265). Just like Thecla, moreover, Helia causes distress to her family by her refusal to marry. And mirroring the conflict of Thecla and her mother, most of the Life consists of scenes of severe antagonism between Helia and her mother (a Christian!), who draws her daughter to the court in an attempt to have her renounce her ascetic vocation, while Helia tries to persuade her mother of the correctness of her beliefs. Although explicit references to Thecla or the APT are lacking, these similarities suggest that the hagiographer was acquainted with Thecla’s story. The author uses important basic motifs and elements of the story as the building blocks of the new narrative. This testifies to the usefulness of Thecla’s story in late-antique hagiography as a model for imitation. 4. Thecla and her story as models for imitation: the Lives of Syncletica and Eusebia/Xene Many hagiographical writings combine the two strategies we have seen so far, presenting Thecla as the paradigm for the saintly heroine and using elements from her story as the building blocks of the new narrative. 18

See V. Burrus and M. Conti (eds), The Life of Saint Helia (Oxford, 2013) 7-8 for the manuscript transmission of the Life. I follow the edition and translation of Burrus and Conti, with reference to Gregory Hays’ critical review, ‘Notes on the Vita Sanctae Heliae (BHL 3798)’, Sacris Erudiri 57 (2018) 167-266. 19 For an overview of the similarities between the stories of Thecla and Helia, see Burrus and Conti, The Life of Saint Helia, 51-52.

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An example is the Greek Life of Syncletica (BHG 1694), which was probably written in Egypt in the early- to mid-fifth century by an author who is otherwise unknown. It focuses on Syncletica, a noble virgin from Alexandria who dedicates her life and virginity to God.20 In ch. 8 of the Life, the narrator presents Thecla as the model for Syncletica: ‘It was possible to see in her the true disciple of the blessed Thecla (τῆς μακαρίας Θέκλης γνησίαν μαθήτριαν) following in the same teachings᾽.21 Subsequently, the author-narrator discusses in what sense Syncletica follows her paradigm. Both virgins had Christ as their ‘suitor’ (μνηστήρ), and the apostle Paul as their ‘guide to the Bridegroom’ (νυμφαγωγός). They received the same spiritual gifts and had the same struggle with the Devil. The author-narrator continues with comparing Syncletica with Thecla: ‘For no one was ignorant (οὐδενὶ ἠγνόηται) of the martyrdoms of the blessed Thecla, as she struggled bravely through fire and wild beasts; and I think that many people will not fail to notice (τοὺς πολλοὺς μὴ λανθάνειν) the virtuous and sweaty sufferings of this one [Syncletica]’. According to the narrator, Syncletica not only imitates her model, but even surpasses Thecla: ‘And I understand the gentler sufferings to be Thecla’s, for the evil of the enemy attacked her from the outside. But with Syncletica he displays his more piercing evil, moving from the inside by means of opposing and destructive thoughts’.22 Evidently, Thecla is presented as Syncletica’s model for imitation and emulation. Moreover, stating 20

Syncletica also occurs among the Egyptian desert mothers in the Lausiac History. The author of the Life was perhaps related to the circles of Evagrius Ponticus, John Cassian, or Athanasius of Alexandria, but conclusive evidence about his/her identity is lacking. Cf. M. Schaffer, The Life and Regimen of the Blessed and Holy Syncletica by Pseudo-Athanasius. Part Two: A Study of the Life (Eugene, 2005) 9-13, and E.A. Castelli, ‘Pseudo-Athanasius, Life and Activity of Syncletica’, in V.L. Wimbush (ed.), Ascetic Behavior in GrecoRoman Antiquity. A Source Book (Minneapolis, 1990) 265-311 at 265. 21 The edition is taken from PG 28.1487-1558; the translation from Castelli, ‘Pseudo-Athanasius’, 266-311. See there on p. 269 n. 12 and Schaffer, The Life and Regimen, 20 for the link with the story of Paul and Thecla. 22 The shift from bodily to spiritual martyrdom in this statement has to be seen in the light of the changing heroic ideal after the end of the persecutions, when martyrdom through death was replaced by the ‘daily martyrdom’ of ascetic life. Cf. E.A. Clark, ‘Devil’s Gateway and the Brides of Christ: Women in the Early Christian World’, in ead. (ed.) Ascetic Piety and Women’s Faith (Lewiston, 1986) 23-60 at 45.

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that ‘no one’ is ignorant of Thecla’s martyrdoms and failed to notice her sufferings, the hagiographer suggests that her story was more widely known to the public. Besides presenting Thecla as a model of imitation, the Life interacts with the story of Thecla at the level of the fabula, using some of its basic elements to build Syncletica’s narrative. The author not only uses elements from the tradition known from the APT, but also from Methodius of Olympus’ Symposium (ca. 300), another late-antique text in which Thecla plays a central role.23 In the beginning, Syncletica resembles Thecla as we know her from the APT. Just like Thecla, Syncletica refuses to comply with her parents’ request to marry in order to preserve the family line, instead favouring a marriage with her ‘divine Bridegroom’ (τὸν οὐράνιον νυμφίον, ch. 7). As soon as her parents die, Syncletica divides her possessions among the poor, cuts her hair short, and withdraws to a tomb outside the city (ch. 11)—all actions that are reminiscent of Thecla. Finally, similar to Thecla, Syncletica remains silent for a long time.24 Syncletica is persuaded to speak only with great effort, by men and women who come to her for spiritual advice (ch. 21ff.). From this moment onwards, however, the narrative also adopts elements from Methodius’ Symposium. Much of the remainder of the Life consists of Syncletica’s speeches, which she addresses to virgins gathered at a banquet, in order to instruct them in the faith. In the APT, Thecla never uses her voice to give long speeches to virgins at banquets, but addresses her interlocutors in rather brief sentences. In Methodius’ Symposium, however, Thecla appears as the belligerent interlocutor at a banquet, where virgins are gathered to talk about issues of the Christian life and faith. A recurring topic in the discussions in the Symposium is the value of virginity and marriage. Some virgins at the banquet defend marriage, one arguing that—even if virginity is a higher good—this does not make marriage evil, another stating that it may be a way of accommodating men’s weakness.25 Similarly, Syncletica sings the 23

Davis, The Cult of Saint Thecla, 110-12. Thecla keeps silent until after her first trial; cf. Hylen, A Modest Apostle, 75-78. 25 These are the defenses provided by Theophila (logos 2.7) and Thalia (logos 3.10-14); cf. H. Musurillo, St. Methodius: The Symposium. A Treatise on Chastity (Westminster, 1958) 56-58 and 68-74. 24

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fruits of both virgins and the married, presenting both of them as useful: For the Lord who created the world placed two classes of inhabitants upon it. For some who live in a holy way he ordained marriage in order to produce children; for the others he ordained chastity for the highest purity of life, making them like angels. [...] Likewise the Lord, having taken some in holy marriage, placed them in the fields of the world; but the ones who are better than these, mostly having been of fortunate choice, he drafted into his service. […] And clearly both are useful: leaves are for the service and protection of the seed, but the acquisition of fruit is also necessary, for it is the beginning of everything. (Life of Syncletica 75, 77, 78)

Just like the speeches in the Symposium, the passage can be read as a corrective to the restrictive views on sexuality and asceticism promoted in many other late-antique Christian writings, including the APT. Even if the APT gives a sympathetic portrayal of some married Christians (for instance, of the couple Onesiphorus and Lectra, who generously receive Paul into their household), Thecla herself rejects marriage and does not judge it positively either.26 Although Syncletica also refuses to marry, her view on marriage is more lenient and realistic.27 Thus, the Life of Syncletica does not seem to engage uncritically with the ideology promoted in the APT, even if it reuses elements from Thecla’s story and presents the heroine as the model for Syncletica. The Greek Life of Eusebia called Xene (BHG 633) is another hagiographical writing that uses Thecla as a model for the characterisation of the saint, while adopting and adapting elements from Thecla’s story in the narrative content.28 The Life, probably written between the fifth and seventh centuries by an anonymous author, perhaps from Mylasa (present-day Milas in southwestern Turkey), tells about Eusebia, 26 Cf. Hylen (A Modest Apostle, 85-89), who discusses the theme of marriage in the APT, arguing that the positive characterisation of Onesiphorus and Lectra shows that the APT does not reject marriage altogether. 27 It recalls the perspective of late-antique Christian authors such as Rufinus and Jovinian, who put much emphasis on the goods of marriage. Jovinian argued that virgins, widows, and married women were of equal merit, while Rufinus stated that sexuality could be controlled within marriage. See P. Brown, The Body and Society (New York, 1988) 371-86. 28 For an overview of the similarities between the stories, see T. Nissen, ‘S. Eusebiae seu Xenae Vita’, AB 56 (1938) 102-17 at 102-03.

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a noble girl from Rome who runs away on her wedding day, determined to dedicate her life and virginity to God.29 The story mirrors some important elements of Thecla’s narrative. Both Thecla and Eusebia are of noble birth and about to marry a man from one of the city’s most distinguished families, but they flee from home just before the marriage takes place. Their families start looking for them everywhere but without success. Eusebia escapes in a male garb, thus recalling the episodes in which Thecla proposed the plan to follow Paul with a shaved head and returned to the apostle in a self-sewn man’s garment.30 Eusebia makes her maids swear that they will never tell anyone where they come from to prevent her parents from finding them. She lets herself be called ‘Xene’ (‘stranger’ in Greek), a term which also appears in the APT as an epithet of Thecla: the virgin herself warns Alexander not to do violence onto ‘the stranger’ (τὴν ξένην) (APTG 4.1.26), and the dead Falconilla tells her mother that she will meet ‘the stranger’ (τὴν ξένην) in her daughter’s place (APTG 4(3).28), which evidently refers to Thecla.31 The connections between Eusebia/Xene and Thecla become even stronger in the remainder of the story, in which the heroine explicitly compares herself to Thecla. The virgin escapes together with her servants by boat to Alexandria, and then to the island of Kos. There, they meet a holy man called Paul, a presbyter from the city of Mylasa who, like the virgins, dwells as a stranger on the island. From the beginning, the hagiographer establishes a connection between Paul from Mylasa and the apostle Paul in the APT: both have the face of an angel.32 29

The edition is taken from Nissen, ‘S. Eusebiae seu Xenae Vita’, 106-17; the translations of the Life are my own. For more discussion of the provenance of the Life, see Nissen, ‘S. Eusebiae seu Xenae Vita’, 102-06; Constantinou, ‘Male Constructions of Female Identities’, 49. 30 For a comparison between Eusebia’s and Thecla’s crossdressing, see J. Van Pelt, ‘Thecla, the First Cross-Dresser? A Literary Comparison of the APT and the Lives of Byzantine Transvestite Saints’, in Dabiri and Ruani, Thecla and Medieval Sainthood. 31 Here and elsewhere, most references are to the Greek version of the APT (henceforth, APTG) edited in R.A. Lipsius, Acta apostolorum apocrypha, vol. 1 (Leipzig, 1891) 235-271 and (until stated otherwise) Richard Pervo’s translation of the APT (The Acts of Paul, 11-29), from which I also adopted the paragraph numbering. In this particular case, the translation is my own. 32 Nissen, ‘S. Eusebiae seu Xenae Vita’, 103. Cf. APTG 3.3 and Life of Eusebia/Xene 8, p. 109, l. 24-25.

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While the hagiographer in the narrator-text thus characterises the saints as the imitators of Paul and Thecla, also the protagonists present themselves as such in their own speech. This constitutes a remarkable difference with the other hagiographical stories discussed in this article, in which the hagiographers present Thecla as the model for the holy virgins, but the protagonists themselves do not explicitly present themselves Thecla’s follower. Upon their first encounter, Eusebia/Xene addresses Paul as follows: Man of God, do not look like a stranger (ξένην) to a stranger (ξένης), do not turn away from the unprotected, and do not ignore the distress of me, a subject and sinner. Please, imitate (μίμησαι) the apostle Paul and be our guide (ὁδηγός) and teacher (διδάσκαλος), such as the apostle was of the holy Thecla. Remember the rewards that await the righteous before God and save me and my two sisters (Life of Eusebia/ Xene 8, p. 109, l. 26-32).

Besides calling herself and Paul of Mylasa the imitators of Thecla and Paul, Eusebia/Xene also evokes some key characteristics of the model figures. The reference to Paul as a ‘guide’ and ‘teacher’ is reminiscent of his role as Thecla’s teacher in the faith and guide around Asia-Minor. In response to Paul’s question concerning where the virgins come from, Eusebia/Xene answers that they are ‘strangers’ and ‘slaves of God’, thus adopting some of the key terminology used in the APT to characterise Paul and Thecla: [The holy man] said to her: ‘Where do you all come from, why are you so alone?’ The holy virgin of God said, ‘We are strangers (ξέναι), slaves of God (δοῦλε τοῦ θεοῦ). We have left our city together and have come here. We prayed to God day and night to send us a man who can save us. Look, God has shown me your holy power to receive us, weak virgins.’ He said to her, ‘Believe me, sisters, I am also a stranger (ξένος) here, and you see, I have been praying at the holy places ever since I left my homeland.’ (Life of Eusebia/Xene 8, p. 110, l. 4-12)

The reference to Paul as a stranger reflects the characterisation of Paul in the APT. Thamyris, Thecla’s rejected fiancé, explicitly calls Paul a ‘stranger’ who won his bride over by his teaching: ‘Gentlemen, tell me what he teaches (τίς ἐστιν ἡ διδασκαλία αὐτοῦ), so that I too may know it. I’m all torn up about Thecla, for she is quite swept away by the stranger (ξένον), leaving me without a bride’ (APTG 3.13). Thecla’s mother also calls Paul a ‘stranger’ (ἀνδρὶ ξένῳ, APTG 3.8). Likewise, the saints’ self-characterisation as ‘slave of

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God’ may be inspired by Thecla, who refers to herself with the same term (τοῦ θεοῦ δούλη, APTG 4.1 (26b), 4.6 (31), 4.11 (37), 4.12 (38)). It also recalls the apostle Paul’s self-characterisation in his encounter with Hermippus during his trial in Myra, an event recorded in the Acts of Paul, in which he introduces himself as ‘a slave of God, alone and a stranger, small and meaningless among the polytheists’ (APT 5.4).33 While the use of the terms such as ‘teacher’, ‘stranger’, and ‘slave of God’ indirectly suggest that Eusebia/Xene and Paul of Mylasa see themselves as a second Thecla and Paul, the virgin refers to herself and Paul directly under the names of their illustrious models later in the conversation. Having understood that Paul will take the virgins under his protection, Eusebia/Xene gives thanks in a prayer in which she characterises herself and the holy man as Thecla and Paul: ‘I believe, God, that You heard me, the subordinate, and sent me Paul as to Thecla, that he may save me and my two sisters’ (Life of Eusebia/Xene 9, p. 110, l. 23-25). The self-characterisation of Eusebia/Xene and Paul as a second Thecla and Paul has implications for their relationship. In fact, Eusebia/Xene and Paul both mirror and invert the connection between Thecla and Paul. Referring to Paul as her guide and teacher, Eusebia/ Xene positions herself in the same position as Thecla, namely as the follower of Paul in his teachings and journeys. However, whereas the apostle Paul in the APT is a stranger who leads Thecla away from her own context, Paul is a stranger who takes Eusebia/Xene and her companions to his hometown. Significantly, Paul of Mylasa immediately concedes to Eusebia/Xene’s request to take the virgins with him. This constitutes a remarkable inversion of the relationship between Paul and Thecla, especially when it comes to the rhetorical agency of the various figures. The apostle Paul never seems to give his immediate approval to Thecla’s requests in the APT. Her request to be baptised is not even granted—Thecla baptises herself (APTG 4.7(32)-10(35)). In the Life of Eusebia/Xene, however, Paul immediately assents to the virgin’s call for help, answering with a brief ‘I will do what you want’ (Life of Eusebia/Xene 8, p. 109, l. 34), indeed taking them with 33 Transl. Pervo, The Acts of Paul, 18, from the Coptic fragment P.Heid, edited in C. Schmidt, Acta Pauli: Aus der Heidelberger koptischen Papyrushandschrift, no. 1 (Leipzig, 1904).

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him to his home country. Thus, whereas Paul seems to have the rhetorical agency in the APT, in the Life it is relegated to Eusebia/Xene. This demonstrates that Eusebia/Xene and Paul of Mylasa do not simply mirror the connection between Thecla and Paul, but also invert elements of it. The remainder of the story again adopts and adapts elements of Thecla’s narrative. In Mylasa, Paul is appointed as bishop, while Eusebia/Xene establishes a women’s convent. In this way, she mirrors Thecla by adopting the role as a missionary. Eusebia/Xene and Paul stay together until the bishop’s death. This is different in the APT, in which Paul and Thecla become more detached at the end the story: the apostle sends the virgin on her own mission and each go to different parts of the world. However, they reunite in death according to some versions of the APT, in which Thecla is buried not far from Paul in Rome. Similarly, Eusebia/Xene finds her final resting place close to Bishop Paul.34 Evidently, Life of Eusebia/Xene makes a creative use of Thecla’s story, not just using elements as the building blocks for Eusebia/ Xene’s story, but also presenting story figures who characterise themselves as a second Paul and Thecla in their own speech, and whose relation both mirrors and inverts the connection between Paul and Thecla. Moreover, the Life uses some of the language that is also used in the APT to characterise Paul and Thecla. This is evident from terms such as ‘teacher’ (διδάσκαλος), ‘stranger’ (ξένη), and ‘slave of God’ (δοῦλος τοῦ θεοῦ), which are often similar or closely related to the terms used to characterise Paul and Thecla in the APT. These do not necessarily imply that the author had read a written version of it, for instance, in the APT. Terms such as διδάσκαλος, ξένη, and δοῦλος τοῦ θεοῦ are generic terms, which may also be used in the oral transmission of Thecla’s story. Moreover, the Life does not contain longer quotations or allusions to the APT that could serve as a proof that the hagiographer had read the text. Either way, the Life of Eusebia/Xene demonstrates through the characterization of its main protagonists and the creative reuse of elements of Thecla’s story the ongoing importance of the figure and story of Thecla as models for imitation.

34

Cf. Nissen, ‘S. Eusebiae seu Xenae Vita’, 103.

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5. Thecla, her story, and the APT as models: The Passion of Eugenia The Passion of Eugenia (BHL 2667) seems to be the only account in my hagiographical corpus of which it can be said with certainty that is written by a hagiographer who knew APT through his/her own reading. Besides conveying some of the strategies discussed above, it directly interacts with APT as a ‘text’, by means of quotations and allusions that go back to longer passages in the model text. The Passion focuses on the life and martyrdom of Eugenia, a noble virgin from Alexandria. It has come down to us in different languages and versions, but, here, I will concentrate on BHL 2667, the Latin version of the Passion that was probably written in Rome in the second half of the fifth century and is most likely the oldest version transmitted.35 The APT is explicitly mentioned in this version of the Passion, and it plays a crucial role in the development of the plot. The story is put into motion by Eugenia’s reading of the APT and one of the letters of the apostle Paul: ‘Accordingly, when through her devotion to chastity she had resisted many others seeking her hand, there came into her hands a copy of the letter of St Paul and the story of the virgin Thecla (peruenit ad manus eius beati Pauli Apostoli epistola et uirginis Teclae historia); reading it secretly every day, she wept; and although she was the child of pagan parents, she began to become Christian in her heart’ (Passion of Eugenia 1).36 Subsequently, the 35

For the dating, see C. Lanéry, ‘Les Passions latines composées en Italie’, in G. Philippart (ed.), Hagiographies V (Turnhout, 2010) 15-369 at 134-35. Scholars have argued that the Passion (BHL 2667) is a translation of a Greek original (BHG 607w); see, for instance, S. Apserou, Το Αγιολογικό dossier της Αγίας Ευγενίας (BHG 607w-607z) (Ioannina, 2017) 126-28. However, the Roman focus in the second half of the Passion and the latinisms in the Greek version (noted by Apserou on p. 128) suggest that the Latin version is older; cf. Lanéry, ‘Les Passions latines’, 135. Nevertheless, the Latin variant may not be the first version of the Passion ever written. Apserou argues that the Greek version (BHG 607w) is too ‘rigid’ (δύσκαμπτη, p. 125) to be considered as the original version of the Passion, and suggests that the the Greek and Latin variant may go back to another source, perhaps in Syriac (i.e. BHO 282). 36 In the absence of a more recent edition, I follow Mombritius’ fifteenthcentury edition reprinted in B. Mombritius (ed.), Sanctuarium seu Vitae Sanctorum II (Paris, 1910) 391-97. The translation and paragraph division

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girl decides to flee her parental home together with her eunuch-servants, Prothus and Hyacinthus. During the journey, Eugenia continues to read Thecla’s story, discussing its truth with her companions: ‘But can you hear anything greater and truer concerning God than what is said in these acta [of Paul and Thecla]?’ (Passion of Eugenia 2). The story itself can be read as the imitation and mirror of Thecla’s story in the APT.37 Just like Thecla, Eugenia refuses to marry the man her parents want for her and flees from home. Whereas Thecla was converted ‘at first hearing’ while listening to the preaching of the apostle Paul in a neighbouring house, Eugenia is converted at her first reading of one of Paul’s letters and the APT. Together with her eunuch servants she enters a monastery, adopting masculine garb and haircut and a male name (‘Eugenius’) in order not to stand out among the brothers as a woman. Similarly, Thecla had proposed to follow Paul with her hair cut short, while she dressed herself as a man on her return to Paul in Myra at the end of the story. Eugenia then obtains a leading position as the abbot of the monastery, which parallels Thecla’s authoritative role as a teacher in the faith. Similar to Thecla, who is taken to court by her rejected lovers, Eugenia has to appear before the judge after she is accused of sexual abuse by her ‘lover’, Melanthia, a woman who had made advances toward ‘Eugenius’, not knowing that ‘he’ was a woman. Eugenia reveals her innocence by ripping her garments open, thus disclosing her true gender identity. Eugenia’s court scene ends with the reunion of the virgin with her family—the judge appears to be Eugenia’s father, and the other family members are present among the spectators—and the conversion of Eugenia’s close family members.38 This recalls how

are taken from M. Lapidge, The Roman Martyrs: Introduction, Translations, and Commentary (Oxford, 2018) 233-49, sometimes in slightly adapted form. The text does not make known which letter of Paul is read by Eugenia. 37 See also E.G. Whatley, ‘More than a Female Joseph: The Sources of the Late-Fifth-Century Passio Sanctae Eugeniae’, in S. McWilliams (ed.), Saints and Scholars: New Perspectives on Anglo-Saxon Literature and Culture (Cambridge, 2012) 87-111 at 92-98; K. Staat, ‘Reception and Rejection: Thecla and the Acts of Paul and Thecla in the Passions of Eugenia and Other Latin Texts’, in Dabiri and Ruani, Thecla and Medieval Sainthood. 38 In the second half of the Passion, Eugenia and her mother go to Rome, where they become the centre of a circle of aristocratic women adopting the Christian faith. Eugenia and her eunuch servants die through martyrdom.

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Thecla at the end of her story returns to her mother to convert her— albeit without clear results.39 These similarities suggest that the hagiographer knew Thecla’s story and used it as a model for the narrative about the saintly virgin. However, this is not the only strategy in which the Thecla-tradition is made useful in the Passion. Scholars have observed some striking intertextual references with the APT, which make it highly likely that the author knew the text and used it as a model for the writing of the Passion.40 An example is the description of the turmoil 39

Cf. APT 43. The reference is to the Latin APT (henceforth, APTL). As Willy Rordorf suggests, it may already have been present in the West in the fourth century; thus, it was perhaps known to the author of the Passion of Eugenia. See W. Rordorf, ‘Sainte Thècle dans la tradition hagiographique occidentale’, in id., Liturgie, foi et vie des premiers chrétiens (Paris, 1986) 435-43 at 339-441 [reprint of W. Rordorf, ‘Sainte Thècle dans la tradition hagiographique occidentale’, Augustinianum 24 (1984) 73-81]. The Latin APT has a complex transmission: besides various abridged versions, there are three recensions of the full story, called ‘A’, ‘B’ and ‘C’ by Otto von Gebhardt in his seminal study and edition of the Latin translations. Cf. O. von Gebhardt, Passio s. Theclae virginis. Die lateinischen Übersetzungen der Acta Pauli et Theclae nebst Fragmenten, Auszügen und Beilagen (Leipzig, 1902). Most textual witnesses belong to the B- or C-recension, some of which date back to the ninth century; the A-recension is known from only four manuscripts, the oldest from the eleventh century. Cf. J.-D. Kaestli, ‘Les Actes de Paul et Thècle dans la tradition Latine: Recherches sur les manuscrits des diverses formes de la Passio Theclae et leur signalement dans la Bibliotheca hagiographica latina’, AB 135.2 (2017) 265-358 at 348-49. As Kaestli indicates in the same article, the recensions are highly heterogeneous, having been transmitted in multiple forms. For practical reasons, I refer to the A-recension, which (as the only of the three recensions) was edited again recently, by J.-D. Kaestli and G. Poupon, ‘Les Actes de Paul et Thècle latins. Édition de la version a et de sa réécriture dans le manuscrit de Dublin, Trinity College, 174’, Apocrypha 27 (2016) 9-110. The translation is my own. 40 H. Delehaye, Étude sur le légendier romain (Brussels, 1936) 175-78; S.J. Davis, ‘Crossed Texts, Crossed Sex: Intertextuality and Gender in Early Christian Legends of Holy Women Disguised as Men’, JECS 10 (2002) 1-36 at 16-19; E.G. Whatley, ‘Textual Hybrids in the Transmission of the ‘Passio S. Eugeniae’ (BHL 2666, 2667)’, Hagiographica 18 (2011) 31-66; id. ‘More than a Female Joseph’, 95-96; K. Cooper, ‘The Virgin as Social Icon’, in M. Van Dijk et al. (eds), Saints, Scholars and Politicians: Gender as a Tool in Medieval Studies (Turnhout, 2005) 9-24 at 19, following the unpublished

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resulting from Eugenia’s escape from home: ‘Accordingly, there was immense wailing of unimaginable lamentation. Everyone was in mourning: the parents for their daughter, the brothers for their sister, the slaves for their mistress; and sadness and [of the soul] possessed everyone.’41 The passage is modelled on the description in the APT of what happened to Thecla’s family after her refusal to marry: ‘Everybody in the house wept: Thamyris for his lost fiancée, Theoclia for her daughter, the female servants for their mistress. There was much confusion and weeping in the house.’42 Another intertextual reference occurs in the description of Eugenia’s recognition in the court: [...] she tore from her head the dress she was wearing (scidit a capite tunicam); and she appeared (before [the judge and spectators]) attractive in appearance with beautiful breasts; and immediately covering herself up, although her clothing was torn, she said to the prefect: ‘You are my father in the flesh; Claudia is my mother; these (men) who are with you now are my brothers, Avitus and Sergius. I am your daughter, Eugenia, who rejected the world with its delights for the love of Christ.’ (Passion of Eugenia 13)

The passage contains some remarkable textual parallels with the description of Thecla’s attack of Alexander in the APTL: ‘While she seized him, she tore his cloak (scidit clamidem) and threw away the crown from his head (a capite), and so she conquered him in the middle of the street’ (APTL 26.12-13). These intertextual references suggest that the hagiographer knew more than just Thecla’s story, using the most important text transmitting the story—the APT—as a model for the writing of the new text. Unlike the Life of Eusebia/Xene, which adopts some single key terms of the APT but does not contain more substantial quotations or allusions to APT, the Passion interacts with longer passages in the model text. This strongly suggests that the hagiographer had read the APT. Master thesis of H. Jones, The Passio of Eugenia and the Passio of Agnes (University of Manchester, 1998); Apserou, Το Αγιολογικό dossier, 228-44. 41 Passion of Eugenia 7: Erat itaque planctus inextimabilis flaetus immensus. Lugebantque universi parentes filiam, fratres sororem, servuli dominam; et tenebat universos maeror et infinita animi tribulatio. 42 APTL 10.5-7: Plorabant omnes in domo eius: Thamirus sponsae amissionem, Theoclia filiam, ancillae dominam. Multa confusio erat et luctus in domo.

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A later rewritten version of the Passion of Eugenia (BHL 2666), probably written in the sixth or seventh century, suggests that not all people considered the positive use of the APT in the earlier text to be unproblematic. As scholars have noted, this version of the Passion removes the explicit references to the APT in the older version (BHL 2667).43 Accordingly, Eugenia is no longer converted while reading the letter of Paul and the APT, but by ‘the doctrine of the blessed apostle Paul’ alone (Passion of Eugenia (BHL 2666) 2).44 Similarly, Eugenia no longer reads Thecla’s story during her escape from home. Scholars have suggested that the removal of the references to the APT may have been inspired by the fact that the text was rejected as ‘apocryphal’, and therefore no longer considered to be an authoritative source of reference.45 Be this as it may, the intertextual references to the APT are retained in the rewritten version. The attentive reader, known with the APT, may have still recognized them and realized the ongoing importance of the text as a model for imitation in the Passion, even if its authority was questioned in the one and the same hagiographical document. 6. Thecla, her story, and the APT: A Matter of Relative Importance? So far, we have discovered multiple ways in which the tradition of Thecla is made useful in the hagiographical discourse, sometimes occurring together in the same text. Most writings interact with the tradition of Thecla at the levels of the ‘fabula’, adopting basic elements of Thecla’s tale for the construction of the new narrative, or at the level of the ‘story’, using Thecla as a model for the (self-)characterisation of the saints in hagiographical narratives. However, only two texts—the Passion of Eugenia and the Life of Eusebia/Xene—seem to interact with the APT at the textual level. Only in the first case it can be said with certainty that the hagiographer knew the APT by his/her own reading of the text. This is not to say that the other hagiographers had not read the APT. Authors may engage with texts they have read 43

Delehaye, Étude sur le légendier romain, 175-78; Whatley, ‘Textual Hybrids’; Cooper, ‘Virgin as Social Icon’, 19, following Jones, The Passio of Eugenia. 44 Ed. PL 73.605-24: 607B; own translation. 45 See, for instance, Cooper, ‘The Virgin as Social Icon’, 19.

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without explicitly mentioning them or making quotations or allusions. But still, the unequal value that seems to be attached to the figure and story of Thecla and the APT is remarkable and asks for explanation. First of all, one may wonder to what extent the debates about the apocryphal status of the APT might have played a role in its apparently smaller importance as a source of reference. Significantly, the issue does not seem to be important in most of the hagiographical writings discussed in this chapter: they do not seem to convey any awareness of the debate about the apocryphal status of the APT. On the other hand, a text such as the Life of Olympias, which may indeed be read against the background of the debate, seems to uphold the value of the APT by its emphasis on Thecla’s following of the divinely-inspired Scriptures. Even the rewritten version of Passion of Eugenia keeps the intertextual references to the APT, although it no longer explicitly mentions the text. In this way, the Passion implicitly confirms the more general impression that arises from the hagiographical writings: concerns about the authority of the APT—if they were there at all—did not necessarily prevent it from being used as a model for imitation. More likely, the relatively smaller importance of the APT as a source of reference should be explained by its limited availability in late antiquity. As said above, not many people had access to books in late antiquity, and even fewer people were able to read. Hence, most people likely knew about Thecla and her story through hearsay rather than the written word. This did not just pertain to the people unable to read, but also to the hagiographers, who may not have had the possibility to read a physical copy of the APT and had to rely on other sources for their knowledge about Thecla. They may have heard the story in, for instance, a domestic setting or in sermons.46 Liturgical texts mentioning Thecla and material artefacts with images of the heroine may also have played a role, inviting people to retell Thecla’s story.47 46

For the oral transmission of Thecla’s story, see Davis, The Cult of Saint Thecla, 8-17, including further references. 47 See, for instance, the Commendation of the Soul (‘Commendatio Animae’), the Christian prayer for the deceased that was known already in the fourth century and probably goes back to Jewish prayers. It refers to Thecla as a paradigm of divine deliverance. Cf. C. Brown Tkacz, The Key to the Brescia Casket: Typology and the Early Christian Imagination (Notre Dame, 2002) 112; E. von Severus, ‘Gebet I’, in RAC 8 (1978) 1255-56. An

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Anyhow, the limited access to books in late antiquity may explain why the heroine and her story occur more often as models in hagiographical writings than the APT as a text. 7. Concluding remarks The hagiographical writings discussed in this paper testify to the ‘usefulness’ of Thecla, her story, and, to a lesser extent, the APT in late antiquity. They borrow core elements from the fabula of Thecla, using them as the building blocks for the construction of new narratives about virgins who dedicated their lives to God. Likewise, the figure of Thecla appears to be a valuable model for the characterisation of the saintly protagonists—both by the hagiographers and the saints themselves. The examples of Macrina and Olympias may be indications that even virgins in real life tried to follow the example of Thecla. Moreover, although the APT was likely only available to a minority of people, it was occasionally used as a model as well, providing the linguistic material for the production of new text. With the rewritten version of the Passion of Eugenia as possibly the only exception, the hagiographical writings do not seem to evaluate the APT negatively because of its ‘apocryphal’ status. Rather they testify to the continuing ‘usefulness’ of the APT, its story, and Thecla as models for imitation in a time of increasing debate about the ‘apocryphal’ status of the text.48

example of material artefacts with images of Thecla are the pilgrim flasks produced at her cult shrine in Egypt, which have been found all around the Mediterranean; see Davis, The Cult of Saint Thecla, Appendix A, ’Catalogue of Published Ampullae with Saint Thecla’ for an overview and photographs. 48 I would like to thank Jan Bremmer, Tobias Nicklas, and Janet Spittler for their helpful suggestions and comments on the article and a stimulating conference. The article was written with the support of a junior postdoctoral fellowship of the Research Foundation Flanders –- FWO (grant agreement 1232820N).

VIII. The Church Slavonic Redaction of the Acts of Saint Paul and Thecla by Dymytrii Tuptalo DARIYA SYROYID

The new Church Slavonic redaction of the ‘Life and Suffering of Saint Thecla, Protomartyr and the Equal to Apostles’ appeared in the first volume of Lives of the Saints (Chetii Minei) by Dymytrii Tuptalo at the end of the 17th century, in 1689.1 The first redaction of a life of Thecla in Church Slavonic, known from the 11th century, was a translation of the Greek apocryphal Acts of Paul and Thecla (ATh), along with three miracles not found in the early Greek text. Between the 11th and 17th centuries, this first version was very popular and had many witnesses.2 The first attempt to rewrite the apocryphal text was made in the 16th century by Piotr Skarga in Polish; this short text was translated into Church Slavonic (or a mix of Church Slavonic and Ruthenian languages) and is preserved in several manuscripts.3 Both the 11th century text and the re-written text of Piotr Skarga had a great influence on Tuptalo’s work: the former served as a basis for his narrative, while the latter set an example (or precedent) for rewriting the original text to suit the contemporary needs of the Church and a new society. This paper is organised in four sections. The first is an introduction to Dymytriy Tuptalo and his Chetii Minei. In the second section, 1

D. Tuptalo, Knyha zhytii sviatykh … na try mesjatsy pervyia septembrii, oktovrii i novemvrii (Kyiv, 1689) fol. 144v–150v. In the text, I will mark it as ‘T’ and the number of the folium. 2 There are 41 entries of Church Slavonic Acts of Paul and Thecla in A. de Santos Otero, Die handschriftliche Überlieferung der altslavischen Apokryphen I (Berlin, 1978) 43-51. 3 P. Skarga, Żywoty Swiętych Starego i Nowego Zakonu III (Krakow, 1935) 544-46.

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I consider Tuptalo’s intentions in writing a new text about St Thecla and propose that the Church Slavonic translation of Greek ATh (along with three additional miracles) influenced his work. The third section presents a detailed analysis of Tuptalo’s compositional process. The fourth section concludes that Tuptalo takes it as his task to embed a text that is decidedly “beyond” canon within the canon by narratively connecting it with 2 Timothy and placing it within the plot of Acts 14. Moreover, Tuptalo freely rewrites the Thecla narrative so as to emphasize its reception by ‘canonical’ Church Fathers. Ironically, this ‘canonical’ effort by Tuptalo is ultimately characterized by inventiveness. That is, where we might expect an effort to bring the apocryphal in line with the canonical to be an exercise in constraint, Tuptalo’s work is in fact expansive and creative. 1. Dymytrii Tuptalo and his life’s work Dymytrii Tuptalo (1651-1709) was a prominent writer, priest, and leading figure of the Ruthenian Orthodox Church, whose activity took place during the difficult period of the loss of the Kyiv Metropoly.4 Thus, Tuptalo spent the final seven years of his life in Rostov (Tsardom of Muscovy) as Metropolitan, and is therefore known also as Dymytrii Rostovsky.5 Tuptalo studied in Kyiv Mohyla Academy (1662-1665), which was established by the Metropolitan Petro Mohyla (1597-1647). The educational system in this Orthodox high school was similar to that in Jesuit high schools. Thanks to the Academy, Tuptalo knew Latin, Greek, contemporary Polish, and Church Slavonic. He used all these languages as well as his native Ruthenian in his writings. He wrote in 4 This was the period of the Cossack Hetman state (1648-1782). Until 1685, Kyiv subordinated directly to the Patriarch of Constantinople; after 1685 to the Moscow Patriarch, cf. G. Brogi Bercoff, ‘The Hetman and the Metropolitan. Cooperation between State and Church in the Time of Varlaam Jasyns’kyj’, in G. Siedina (ed.), Mazepa e il suo tempo (Alessandria, 2004) 417-44. 5 There are several biographies of Dymytrii: I.A. Shliapkin, Sviatoi Dimitrii Rostovskii i yego viremia (1651–1709) (St. Petersburg, 1891); metr. Ilarion (Ohienko), Sv. Dymytrii Tuptalo (Winnipeg, 1960); A. Derzhavin, ChetiiMinei svt. Dimitria, Mitropolita Rostovskogo, kak tserkovno-istoricheskii i literaturnyi pamiatnik, 2 vols (St. Petersburg, 2009).

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different genres (homilies, poems, dramas, diaries, theological and historical treatises), but his ‘life’s work’ was Chetii Minei, a menaion for daily reading, that is, a collection of the Lives of Saints arranged for the ecclesiastical year from September to August. It was published by the Kyiv Cave Monastery press in the period between 1689 and 1705 in four books, and was reissued many times. The notion of composing a compendium had existed for many years, and many prominent churchmen of the 17th century were involved to a greater or lesser extent in the preparation of this great work. First of all, we should mention Petro Mohyla, Metropolitan of Kyiv, who collected many books and created a basis for the enterprise.6 The person who entrusted this task to Dymytrii Tuptalo (as a highly educated and talented young writer in the year 1684) was Barlaam Yasinskyi, his teacher and rector of the Academy, at that time Archimandrite of the Kyiv Cave Monastery and later Metropolitan. The work was started in the Kyiv Cave Monastery, where the existence of an extensive library created favorable conditions for fruitful work. Unfortunately, this library was lost due to fire (1718), and we can only guess which books it contained. This ambitious undertaking—the preparation of the Church Slavonic version of the Lives of Saints—was made possible by the great cultural and educational development of the time, and was aimed at boosting this development further. The Kyiv Cave Monastery had its own press and was considered a special holy place for all citizens as well as the Kyiv Metropoly, from its beginning (10th c.) until that time. The Life of Saint Thecla is in the first volume of the compendium (from September to November), which was written in a short period of time and with great enthusiasm. Tuptalo kept a diary at this point and recorded information about his labour, describing his passion for work and a process that continued even as the author slept: some of the saints appeared to him in dream visions and ‘took part’ in the 6

See also T. Pachovskyi. ‘“Knyha Zhytii Sviatykh” Dmytra TuptalenkaRostovs’koho’, in B. Krysa (ed.), Dmytro Tuptalo u Sviti Ukrains’koho Baroko (Lviv, 2007) 221-65. For a better understanding of the role of Petro Mohyla in the educational and cultural life of that time, see: I. Ševčenko. ‘The Many Worlds of Peter Mohyla’, Harvard Ukrainian Studies 8.1-2 (1984) 9-44, reprinted in id., Byzantium and the Slavs in Letters and Culture (Cambridge MA and Naples, 1991) 651-87.

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narration of their holy lives.7 Thecla, however, is not among the saints mentioned in the diary, and so we have no information about Tuptalo’s aims or motives in writing, beyond the text itself. Fortunately, the text is very informative. Tuptalo used a modern method of work, citing the sources from which information was taken. However, there is reason to think that not all original references have been preserved. Certain adjustments were made to the book. Unexpectedly for Tuptalo (and for other people involved in this publishing project), the work was required to pass censorship in Moscow before printing. The censors made several remarks about the use of ‘heretical’ sources and demanded that corrections be made. This caused not only the delay of the publication itself, but also, consequently, the disappearance of many references to sources.8 This fact and the loss of the library to fire raise many questions about precisely which sources Tuptalo used in his work. It is known that he studied different types of hagiographical compendiums and, as Alexander Derzhavin convincingly proves,9 used the Bollandists’ Acta Sanctorum as a model for his own work. However, at the time of Tuptalo’s composition, only 18 volumes were available, covering the time span from January to May. So Tuptalo’s text about Saint Thecla (whose feast day is in September) was not influenced by the texts found in that collection. 2. Method of Tuptalo’s redaction At the beginning of each text, in the margins before the title of the text, Dymytrii Tuptalo briefly refers to the author or to the text that he used as the main source. For example, we find ‘written by Sophronius 7

D. Tuptalo, ‘Diariush’, in V. Sobol (ed.), Pamyatna knyha Dmytra Tuptala (Warsaw, 2004) 23-70; M.A. Fedotova, ‘“Diariush” Dimitria Rostovskogo. Statya 1’, TODL 65 (St. Petersburg, 2017) 23-70. 8 It is hard to say what was meant by ‘heretical’ sources, but there are, for example, no invocations in Chetii Minei of Skarga’s Lives of Saints, although it is clear that Skarga’s work did serve as source for many Tuptalo’s texts, cf. Pachovskyi, ‘“Knyha Zhytii Sviatykh”’. There were also cases when the Moscow Patriarchate banned books containing the influences of the Latin Church (e.g., Didactic Gospel by Kyrylo Tranquillion Stavrovetskyi (1619), which was very popular throughout the 17th c.). 9 Derzhavin, Chetii-Minei svt. Dimitria, vol. 2.

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of Jerusalem’ at the beginning of the text about Mary of Egypt, a work that Tuptalo did not significantly change. In contrast, we find ‘written from various historians’ at the beginning of the text about Simeon Stylites, with a long list of names placed beside; thus he indicates that he composed this work based on all these sources. Then, in the margins alongside his own text, Tuptalo specifies, as in the case of Life of Simeon Stylites, from which source he took given information (here from Antony, Simeon’s disciple, and there from Theodoret or Synaxar etc.), or he notes the additional sources he used when creating his narrative. This reflects Tuptalo’s approach to rewriting, which makes use of pre-existing sources in multiple ways: sometimes he uses the old text without intervention, only noting the identity of the original authors (implicitly identifying himself as merely a conduit, as if saying ‘I am not the author, only the presenter of this text’);10 in other cases, he combines text with commentaries, either abbreviating or expanding the accounts; for the majority of texts, however, he collects all the sources he can find and, on their basis, creates his own work.11 In the text of the Life of Saint Thecla, the initial notice of sources used is very generalized, a fact that is significant for understanding the construction of the narrative: ‘Many Holy Fathers attest to it’ is all that Tuptalo (T144v) writes. The more specified list of these sources appears in the margins alongside the text. The list of sources cited is long, but its character is very special: these sources often do not give new information, rather they are presented as evidence of known facts, that is, as an argument to help legitimise the text, and as rhetorical devices to persuade a reader of its legitimacy. Tuptalo mentions ‘Holy Fathers’, specifically Basil of Seleukeia (twice), John Chrysostom, Gregory of Nyssa, Epiphanius, John of Damascus, Cyprian, and Jerome. But most of the notes in the margins lead us to the Bible (the Acts of the Apostles, Epistles, Psalms, the Gospels). The more usual type of source (that is, pre-existing narrative texts) could be hidden under the mention of the name of Basil of Seleukeia, inasmuch as the 5th century Life of Thecla circulated under his name. 10

For example, this was the case with a text about Mary of Egypt. See also D. Syroyid, ‘Author and Authorship in Dymytriy Tuptalo’s Lives of the Saints’, Kyiv-Mohyla Humanities Journal 2 (2015) 99-108. For a particular analysis of the text of the Life of Saint Barbara, see M. Fedotova, ‘Zhytie sviatoi Varvary v Drevnei Rusi’, TODRL 53 (2003) 76-89. 11

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But the Life of Thecla was not translated into Church Slavonic, and the availability of its Greek original or Latin translation is questionable at the time of Tuptalo’s writing.12 In contrast, the apocryphal Acts of Paul and Thecla (ATh) were well known in Church Slavonic translation from the 11th century and available in many manuscripts. The text of the translation is close to the Greek,13 but is accompanied by three additional miracles (the miracles with a priest, with a demoniac child, and in Myrseon (ἐν τῷ Μυρσεῶνι), where Thecla disappeared into the mountain14) that belong to the later Seleukeian tradition. This version of ATh with the three miracles from the Seleukeian tradition (henceforth: Church Slavonic ATh+) was probably translated from a Greek manuscript. Scott F. Johnson describes such a manuscript in Appendix 1 of his book The Life and Miracles of Thekla. A Literary Study.15 Moreover, there is one text in Gilbert Dagron’s edition of Life and Miracles of Thecla, printed also in the Appendix, which seems to be very close in some parts to these three miracles (Κατορυώματα τῆς ἁγίας ἀποστόλου καὶ πρωτομάρτυρος Θέκλας τὰ ἐν τῷ Μυρσεῶνι).16 Connections between these Greek and Church Slavonic texts could be the subject of another study. For the present purposes, it is important only to emphasize that this version of the text, ATh+, is the version that appears in all manuscript witnesses that could have belonged to the Kyiv Metropoly. In contrast, the Church Slavonic Acts from the Bulgarian manuscript from the Ghent Library17 demonstrates a somewhat shortened version, without the three miracles, but with a rather more accurate translation. The main evidence that Tuptalo knew the Church Slavonic translation of ATh+ is that he used two of the three additional miracles in his own narrative: he 12

The corresponding volume of Acta Sanctorum did not exist at that time. 13 Πράξεις Παύλου καὶ Θέκλης, in R.A. Lipsius (ed.), Acta Petri. Acta Pauli. Acta Petri et Pauli. Acta Pauli et Theclae. Acta Thaddaei (Leipzig, 1891) 235-72. 14 These three miracles are also found in the Slavic Synaxarion, cf. M. Chistiakova, Tekstologia Vilniuskikh Rukopisnykh Prologov: Sentiabr’ – Oktiabr’ (Vilnius, 2008) 364. 15 S.F. Johnson, The Life and Miracles of Thekla. A Literary Study (Washington, 2006) 227-30. 16 G. Dagron, Vie et miracles de sainte Thècle: texte grec, traduction et commentaire (Brussels, 1978) 416-21. 17 Ghent, University library, Ms. 408, Bdinski sbornik a 1360, fol. 39r-58r.

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includes the report concerning a priest and his conversion to Christianity and the report about Thecla’s disappearing in a mountain (T149v-150v). But there are many other indications within his work that confirm Tuptalo’s familiarity with the text of the Church Slavonic ATh+. A clear example is Tuptalo’s depiction of Thecla, which includes an indication of Thecla’s age – eighteen – at the moment of Paul’s entrance to Iconium: ‘At that time was there a beautiful girl, who was eighteen, named Thecla, the daughter of mother Theoclea, the descendent of a noble and great family, betrothed to a young man from the first people of the town named Thamyris, rich and beautiful’.18 This information is available at the end of the three miracles that joined the Church Slavonic ATh.19 I propose, then, that Dymytrii used the text of the Church Slavonic ATh+ as a base for his own text (that is, for the plotline), but his aim was to avoid all precarious details that looked problematic for the Early Modern Church. His basic approach was to attempt to correlate the apocryphal ATh+ with the canonical Acts: that is, to bring what was ‘beyond canon’ within the fold. Later, he used a similar approach when writing about Mary Magdalene in his fourth volume.20 In sections where he does not find a suitable point of contact in the Bible, he appeals to the authority of 18

c Žx Œ‚ˆi ~y Ž}ˆŠ Ɔ„’} †Œ}‰}, „ˆǀ”}i ‡ĩĕ xˆ‰}‚iŽ¸, „ˆ‚‰‚ˆ¸ Ƶ‚†‡}, ”„ ˆ}Ž‚Œ‚ Ƶ‚x†‡¯„, Œx} ‚‡„†} „ ‡}‰}, x~Œ“‚‰‰} ‰y†Š‚ˆǀ ±‰xƜy | ‹‚Œy„Ɯ„‘¸ €Œ}} „ˆ‚‰‚ė ž}ˆ„Œǀ, ~Š€}Žǀ „ †Œ}‰ǀ(T144v). 19 › „’‚ †Šę“} ƒ„Ĩ¯‚ Š‚ ĨƆ}i }Ɔ ~‡ƒƆ‚ę‰}i ‹Œ¸Šˆď‰„’} „ Œ}‰} }‹‡ćŠė ‚†‡} .„†Š‰¯„†} €Œ}}. ~Ėy ĨŠ€} ‡ĕy „®Ɔ ³€} ‹Š‡ŠƜ}Ɯ‚ Š“‰Ɔ¯i ‹}‡Š} ƒ„Ć ƒ‚ ‹ŠĨŠė xŠ ¸ ˆď‰¯„Ę xŠ ¸ €ŠŒy ‡ĕy ‰ Ɔ ~«ć ƒ‚ Ęy ‡ĕy ƒ„ŠĨ} ‚i Š Ɔ‡ĕy „‹Š‡‰ª (cited from manuscript 1603, Vasyl Stefanyk National Scientific Library of Ukraine in Lviv, Ossol. 38, fol. 308r) – ‘And so the holy virgin, the blessed protomartyr and equal to the apostle Thecla of Iconium ended her life. She was 18 when she listened to Paul’s teaching. After that, she lived in sorrows and troubles seventy-two more years. And her full life lasted ninety years’. See also Johnson, Life and Miracles of Thekla, 229. 20 Derzavin, Chetii-Minei svt. Dimitria, 2.261 wrote about this case: ‘For his text of the Life of Mary Magdalene he does not follow the sources [Suriy, Acta Sanctorum, Lives of Saint by Peter Skarga, etc], but describes the Life of this Myrrhophore and equal to the apostles basing on Gospels, Synaxar, the Nikephoros Kallistos’s history and Synaxarion’.

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the Holy Fathers, interpreting their words as a legitimation for the elements of the plot that he uses. Let us examine this process in detail. 3. An analysis of Tuptalo’s Life of Saint Thecla In the very beginning of the text, Tuptalo starts his narration with a long sentence: ‘When the holy apostles Paul and Barnabas, bringing Good News to the world, went to Iconium, they stayed in the house of Onesiphorus, who is mentioned by Paul in the epistle to Timothy, saying: “May the Lord show mercy to the household of Onesiphorus because he often refreshed me and was not ashamed of my chains […]”’21 (cf. 2 Tim 1:16). This introductory sentence can be read as a declaration of Tuptalo’s method. The sentence is very reminiscent of the beginning of the ATh: ‘As Paul was going up into Iconium after the flight from Antioch, traveling with him were Demas and Hermogenes, the blacksmith’.22 The additions and adaptations, however, bring us to the canonical Acts, where, in Acts 14, Paul went with Barnabas to Iconium after their preaching in Antioch. Here, Tuptalo is attempting to correlate the narrative about Thecla and the biblical text. This initial sentence reveals, moreover, another interesting aspect of Tuptalo’s approach: finding an argument for Paul’s staying at Onesiphorus’s house in 2 Tim 1:16, he does not mention the names of Demas and Hermogenes, although they appear in the Pastorals (2 Tim 1:15, 4:10), apparently because the role of traveling companion is taken over by Barnabas; it is also possible that they could complicate the wholly positive image of apostleship that Tuptalo Є€} ú«Í„ e‹Žć‡« ¨}‚‡¸ „ c}Œ‰}}, ~‡€ƆŠyŽx}‰¯³ ˆ®Œǀ ‰ŠiƜ‚, ‹Œ¯„ŠƜ} ¸ g†x‰¯±, „ ‹Œ‚~«}‘ Š x‰®„xŒ}, ‚€xƒ‚ ‹}‚‡¸ ¸ ‹Š‡}‰¯„ †¸ ¢®ˆxƶ‚± ‹Šˆ„‰}zŽ €‡iƆ: } }Žª bªć ˆ‡Žćª x‰®„xŒŠǀ xˆǀ, ²†x ˆ‰Š€}ƒ« ˆi Š‹Š†Š„, „ ‚Œ„€¸ ˆŠ„‘¸ ‰‚ ŠŽ«yi (T144v). 22 Acta Pauli 1: Ἀναβαίνοντος Παύλου εἰς Ἰκόνιον μετὰ τήν ἀπὸ Ἀντιοχείας ἐγενήθησαν σύνοδοι αὐτῷ Δημᾶσ καὶ Ἑρμογένης ὁ χαλκεύς ~ 1. cƴ‘Ši”± ‹}Š‡ǀ ƴ „Ʃ†Š‰¯± ‹Š ~y€}‰¯„ ~«Ɯ„ˆ¸ ³ˆŠ | }‰Ĩ„Íx‘Þ ¯i ~«Ž} } ¸‹ŠŽ‰„†}  ‰„ˆ¸, a„ˆ}¸ „ ³ŒˆŠ€‚‰¸ †Š}“ª (manuscript from the beginning of the 17th century, 203.III, Scientific library of Ivan Franko National University in Lviv). Here and later I use the English translation by Jeremy W. Barrier in his A Critical Introduction and Commentary on the Acts of Paul and Thecla (Diss. Brite Divinity School, 2008). 21

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wanted to create in his hagiography. The next passage of the introduction is also very close to the biblical text: after a description of their preaching (that is, Paul and Barnabas’) in Onisephorus’ house and the synagogue and the successful conversion of many, the passage ends with a citation from Acts 14:1: ‘At Iconium, Paul and Barnabas went as usual into the Jewish synagogue. There they spoke so effectively that a great number of Jews and Greeks believed’.23 Tuptalo revises the well-known scene of Thecla’s listening from the window; according to him, it was in Onesiphorus’ house: ‘[Thecla] sat together with other people in Onesiphorus’ house by the window while they [Paul and Barnabas] talked, and, listening, she accepted what they said’.24 The main attention in this passage is turned to the Paul’s teaching about virginity and the great influence it has on Thecla. The author writes about this influence using biblical terminology, specifically about seeds that grow: ‘The seed of God’s Word fell on good soil, and under the action of the Holy Spirit they took root deep in her heart and sprouted’.25 He describes Thecla’s state with a quotation of Psalm 22: ‘And so the wise virgin became by her purity the bride to the heavenly pure Bridegroom and married Him by her ardent love; by it, she caught fire inside as by Seraphic fire, and by her desire for the imperishable Bridegroom she melted like wax, so that David’s words became true about her: “My heart has turned to wax, it has melted within me” (Ps 22:14)’.26 Further, he compares her behaviour with that of Mary, Lazarus’s sister: ‘She was sitting and listening to Paul’s talking three days and three nights as if forgetting herself, not thinking of food and drink, nor of bodily rest, like Mary who was sitting by Jesus’ feet immers-

23

d«Žª Œ‚“‚ ¸ g†x‰¯„ †ǀ‹y ‰¯„Ž„ „ˆ¸: („ ³ć ¨}‡ǀ „ c}Œ‰}y : )  Šęˆ„”‚ ®ǀ‚„†Š‚, „ €‡Ɔ}Ž„ Ž}†x; ²†x yŒŠ}Ž„ gǀ‚x¸ ƒ‚ „ Є‡‡„‰x¸ ˆ‰xƒ‚Žǀ ˆ‰Š€ǀ (T144v). 24 [Ƶ‚†‡}] ‹Œ„yiƜ‚ ¸ „‰yˆ„ ~‚yy „‘¸  Šˆǀ w‰‚„xŒŠŠė ‹Œ„ x†Šę’y „ ‹Š‡ǀƜ}i ‰ǀƜ}Ɯ‚ €‡Ɔ‚ˆ«ˆ¸ „ˆ„ (T144v). 25 ¨}‚ƒ‚ yˆi ‡Š} dƒƆ¯i ‰} ­‚ˆ‡± ~‡€Ɔǀ, „ y„Ž¯‚ˆ¸ Ž€Ɔx a‘}Ɔ, †ŠŒ‚‰„i €‡«~Š€Š  Œĝ’„ ³i, „ ‹ŒŠ­i~y (T144v). 26 › Ž}†Š ˆĝŒ}i }Ɔ, “ŽćŠˆǀ _‚‰„‘ǀ ¦~‰ćŠˆǀ Š‰‚yŽ„i Š‚± “ŽćŠŽx±, „ Š‹Œiƒ‚i ³ˆǀ Š‚Œ‰Š± ‡±~Š®±, ³± ƒ‚ ‰ǀŽŒ¸ }†„ £‚Œ}®ˆ†„ˆ¸ Š€‰‚ˆ¸ Š­€ŠŒyi, „ ƒ‚‡}‰¯‚ˆ¸ ‰‚Ž‡y‰‰}€x _‚‰„‘} Š³€Š, ²†Š Š†¸ „Ž}i}Ɯ‚, ²†x Š~«Ž„i  ‰‚„ Œ‚“‚‰‰Šˆǀ aƆŠˆ¸: d«Žª Œĝ’‚ ˆŠ‚ ²†x x†¸ Ž}i„ ‹Š Œ‚y “Œ‚} ˆŠ‚€Š (T145r).

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ing the whole mind in God.’27 There are many other allusions to the biblical text in Tuptalo’s work (such as the parable of the ten virgins, as can already be seen in the previous quotations). The episode with Thecla’s mother and fiancé is a paraphrase of the ATh. In the margin, alongside the scene in which Thecla’s mother denounces her to the governor, Tuptalo marks the source of his text as ‘Basil of Seleukia, the author of Saint Thecla’s Life’, quite likely confusing the version of the Thecla narrative before him (that is, ATh+, which incorporates three miracles from the later Seleukia tradition) with the Life and Miracles of Thecla. Despite his citation of Basil of Seleukia, the fact that Tuptalo’s source is in fact the miracleenriched version of the ATh is confirmed in his use of the word prince (kniaz) in place of ἡγεμών—a feature shared with ATh+. Tuptalo used this episode to underline Thecla’s choice between her fiancé and Heavenly Bridegroom. And he again consistently avoids any mentions about Demas and Hermogenes and their cooperation with Thamyris, I suppose, for reason of clarity, omitting extra details. Further, he constructs his narrative according to the ATh plotline quite precisely. The whole ‘prison scene’ is accompanied by quotations from the Holy Fathers, both incorporated directly in the text and with their names marked in the margins. The first one is John Chrysostom, who used the image of Thecla’s bribe to the prison guards (gold), as a model of great offering to be contrasted with those people who don’t want to give even a coin for God’s cause: ‘As says Chrysostom: “Hear of Saint Thecla, who gave her gold to the prison guard that she might see Paul, O you who do not care sufficiently to behold Christ to give even a single silver coin in alms’28. According to Tuptalo, Thecla gives a necklace (ˆŠ‰„ŽŠ) and gold (‰y†ǀ± ŠŽ}Œƴ ­‡}Žǀ±) to the gatekeeper, while in the original (ATh 18), she gives bracelets (ψέλιον) and a silver mirror (κάτοπτρον ἀργυροῦν). Tuptalo’s use of ‘necklace’ may simply reflect his use of the Church Slavonic ATh (in which we find ‘necklace’, rather than ‘bracelets’). 27

› ‹Œ„yiƜ‚ ~‚yy ¨}‡Šx… ŽŒ„ ‰„ „ ŽŒ„ ‰Š”„, }†„ ­}~«Ɯ„ ‚~‚, ‰‚ x~Œ}Ž„~Ši ‰„ ‰} ‹„” „ ‹„Ž¯³, ‰„ ‰} ‹Š†x… Žy‡‚‰«„, ‰Š ²†x ƒ‚ „‰Š€} ¤}Œ¯} „i”}i ‹Œ„ ‰Š€ǀ gŠƆǀ, ‚ª Šˆ¸ Š€‡ǀ~„Ɯ„ ¸ d­yƆ (T145r). 28 Єƒ‚ Š‹Šˆ„‰}‚Ž¸ ¬‡}ŽŠǀŽ«„ ŽƆ«… €‡i: ‡«Ɯ„ x ŽƆy„ Ƶ‚†‡y Ž} } „„ĕ ¨}‡}, ­‡}ŽŠ Š³ Ž‚ˆ‰„“‰Šˆǀ ŽŒ}ƒǀ }‚, Ž«ƒ‚ ‰„ ³„‰Ši ’iŽ« ‹Š}Ž„ ‘Š”‚Ɯ„ }~« ³„ ŸŒŽć} Š­Œy‡¸ (T145v-146r).

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But his introduction of ‘gold’ as opposed to ‘silver mirror’ seems clearly to be motivated by his desire to include the quotation from John Chrysostom here, which, in turn, further legitimizes his account of Thecla. Paul’s teaching and his influence on Thecla are described very emotionally and poetically with a quotation about a ‘lily of chastity’ from the Commentary on the Song of Songs by Gregory of Nyssa (4th Homily): ‘Thecla sat with Paul in the prison, as a daughter with her father, listening to his parental teaching and putting his words in her heart, as a precious treasure. He was teaching her faith in Lord Christ and Divine love, and chaste preservation of virginity. And he taught her perfectly, and established her, and made her a bride to God’s Son, as St Gregory of Nyssa writes, telling: “Paul offered such myrrh from his mouth, joined with the pure lily of self-control, into the ears of the holy virgin”’.29 And then Tuptalo continues his laudation with words of Epiphanius: ‘Also St Epiphanius writes: “Thecla, who had a handsome groom, the first in their town, very rich, very respected and honored, met Paul, and he persuaded her, and this holy virgin refused all worldly goods to obtain the eternal”’.30 The next part of the text – the search for Thecla, the denunciation of Paul and Thecla to the proconsul, and Paul’s exile – is written very dramatically. The main tendency of the narrative is to follow the ATh (19), but Tuptalo adds an emotional expression to each element: the scene describing the ‘disappearance of Thecla’ reminds us of a death scene (and in turn, the scene of the reaction to someone joining a monastic community in medieval Church Slavonic texts)31: the 29

£„²Ɯ‚ ƒ‚ Ƶ‚†‡}  ¨}‡Šˆ¸ ²†Š ”„ ¸ Š’Ɔ‚ˆ¸  Ž‚ˆ‰„’y, ‹Š‡ǀƜ}±”„ |“‚†}€Š ³€x ‹Šǀ“‚‰¯i, „ ‡}€}±”„ ‡x‚} ³€x ¸ Š‚ˆ Œĝ’„ ²†Š ƒ‚ ˆ‰Š€Š’y‰‰Š‚ Š†ŒŠ„”‚. §‰ ƒ‚ Š“}”‚ ± ŠŠ‡‰Š yŒ« ¸ Ÿ}Ɔ b}ć, „ ‡±~‚ ~ƒć‚‰‰}i, „ ’y‡ŠˆǀĝŒ‚‰‰}€x ‘Œ}‰‚‰¯i ƆŽ}, „ Žǀ Š‚ŒƜ‚‰‰y‚ ‰}ǀ“„ „ ŠŽ‚Œ„, „ Š‰‚yŽ„ ± £‰ǀƆ dƒ®Ɔ±, ²†Š ƒ‚ x ŽŠˆ¸ ‹„Ɯ‚Ž¸ ŽƆ«… bŒ„€ŠŒ¯„ ¦®†®…, €‡iƆ: ¢}†ŠŠ „‰Š€ĝ} ˆuŒŠ [„ ³Ž¸ Š“‚‰¯‚] ¸ ~y‡«ˆ¸ ’y‡ŠˆǀĝŒ¯} džŒ®‰Šˆ, ¨}‚‡¸ | ŠŽ¸ Š„‘ ¸ ŠƜ„ ŽƆ«i „Ɔ’„ „¶‡¯i (T146r). 30 ¢}†xƒ‚ „ Є‹®}‰®… ŽƆ«„ ‹„Ɯ‚Ž: Š~ŒyŽ‚ Ž€Ɔx ¨}‡} Ƶ‚†‡}, ²ƒ‚ „ˆy Š~Œǀ“‰„†} †Œ}‰}, ‹‚Œy„Ɯ}€Š ¸ €Œ}y, ´y‡Š ~Š€}Ž}, ´y‡Š “‚Ž‰} „ yŽ‡}}, | ‚€Šƒ‚ Š~Œǀ“‚‰¯} ¨}‚‡¸ |Œ}Ž„ ±, „ |‚Œƒ‚i Ž} Ž}Ɔi a}Ɔ y‘¸ ~‡€¸Ɔ ­‚ė‰«‘¸, } Š‡ǀ“„Ž¸ ¦~‰ć}i (T146r). 31 For example, the scene from the Life of St Theodosius of the Cave (12th c.), which describes Varlaam’s becoming a monk: ‘Then a remarkable thing

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mother cried for her daughter, Thamyris for his bride, servants wept for their lady. The scenes depicting the denunciation of Paul and Thecla to the proconsul are carried out in two dialogues: the first between the mother and the proconsul, and the second between Thamyris and the proconsul; these are somewhat longer than what is found in the ATh. Thecla’s mother blames Thecla, Thamyris accuses Paul. The tension of the narrative increases in the exile scene, in which Tuptalo includes not only Paul but also Barnabas, and all the citizens participate in their eviction. Here,Tuptalo artfully correlates two texts, depicting it as an escape rather than an exile, and associating it with Paul and Barnabas’ flight from Iconium as recounted in Acts 14 (indeed, offering a full citation of Acts 14:4-7): ‘The people of the city were divided; some sided with the Jews, others with the apostles. There was a plot afoot among both Gentiles and Jews, together with their leaders, to mistreat them and stone them. But they found out about it and fled to the Lycaonian cities of Lystra and Derbe and to the surrounding country, where they continued to preach the gospel’.32 This preaching in Lystra and Derbe happened, according to Tuptalo, on the road to Antioch. (The basic direction of travel in both texts, apocryphal and canonical, is the same.) But in keeping with the ATh (23), Tuptalo writes that they stayed in an opened tomb near Daphne, where Paul thought about and prayed for Thecla, and these prayers were helpful.

occurred: there arose a great lament, as if for the dead. The male and female servants lamented their lord’s departure from them; his wife came and lamented the loss of her husband; his father and mother lamented their son’s separation from them; and thus with great lamenting they saw him off. The warrior of Christ left his home, like a bird broken loose from a snare or a deer from a trap, and ran swiftly to the cave’, tr. P. Hollingsworth, The Hagiography of Kievan Rus (Cambridge, 1982) 49. 32 „ „­€‰}‰¸ ~«Žƃ ‹}‚‡¸ ¸ c}Œ‰}Š±, „ ¸ §‰„„ŠŒŠˆ¸, „ «‰}ˆ„ §‰„„xŒŠ«ˆ„, ‰Š „ }ˆ¸ ¨}‚‡¸ Ž”}Ɯ‚i | €Œ}} „­„Ž„, ‰‚ŽŠ“¯± €Š‰„ˆ„… †‰i­‚ˆ¸, „ ž}ˆ„ŒŠˆ¸, „ Ƶ‚x†‡¯³± ­} Ƶ‚†‡ǀ, ‰Š „ | ‰}Œx} ‰}‹}}³ˆ„ƃ, ²†x Š~„Ž„ ‚€x ‘ŠŽi‘ǀ ­} ‡ŠŠ dƒ¯‚Ƃ „ y„Ž‚‡ŽŠ gƁ ŸŽćŠ, Š“‚Šˆ¸ ŽƁ«„ ¥ǀ†} ¸ y}‰¯}‘¸ Š‹Šˆ„‰}³Ž¸ €‡iƁ: ‰‚yŒǀ±”®„ ®ǀ‚‚ Š­„€xƜ} „ Š­‡Š~„Ɯ} ƜƁ} i­«†Šˆ¸ ‰} ~Œ}Ž¯±, Œ}­y‡„Ɯ}ƒ‚i ˆ‰xƒ³ŽŠ €Œ}}, „ Š« ǀ~Š ~i‘ǀ ¸ ®ǀ‚„, Š« ƒ‚ ¸ e‹‡Ƃ« (T146v-147r).

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Tuptalo makes some changes in the order of narration, placing his description of Thecla’s death sentence upon the pyre after his description of Paul’s prayer in the open tomb at Daphne, but is quite faithful when it comes to the main points. He describes the scene of Thecla’s ascending the pyre in detail, transposing here the moment when Thecla sees Paul (or rather, the Lord in the form of Paul) among the crowd. He centers his narrative on Thecla’s internal state and her willingness ‘to burn not only by material fire but much more by the fire of the Divine love’ (T147r), as a phoenix. Both of these two moments are mentioned by Holy Fathers: Epiphanius writes about Thecla’s burning like a phoenix (his name is marked in the margins), and Cyprian uses the image of the Lord appearing under the guise of Paul in front of Thecla in his preaching; his name is marked in the margin and in the text33. The narrative continues with a description of how Thecla found Paul again, which is very close to the ATh (23), but more concise. Tuptalo’s next adaptation occurs in his description of their travel to Antioch. He omits the dialogue between Thecla and Paul (in which Thecla offers to cut her hair and asks for permission to follow him, and then asks to be baptized). Instead, he writes about this journey to Antioch in biblical style, drawing again on Acts 14:6: ‘Paul and Barnabas went through Lystra and Derbe, where they continued to preach the gospel and to heal the ills, and Thecla followed them to Antioch’34 (T147v). In contrast to Tuptalo’s more concise retelling of Thecla and Paul’s reunion, the scene involving Alexander and her second trial is more developed in Tuptalo’s version. The story recounting her harassment by Alexander lasts for some time, and the final scene takes place when ‘once he met Thecla walking with other people on the road’.35 He adds Thecla’s words to the governor about the importance of purity and virginity: ‘I have Christ, God’s Son, as a bridegroom, 33

‘It is why saint Cyprian creates such prayer, saying: stand before us as you stood before Paul in chains and before Thecla in fire’ – |Ž±ǀ džu‹Œ¯}‰ ŽƆ«… Ž}†Šǀ± †¸ d€Ɔǀ ˆ‡Ɔ„Žǀ ‡}€}‚Ž €‡iƆ: ¨Œ‚ĝŽ}‰„ ‰}ˆ¸ ²†Šƒ‚ ¸ Š¶}‘¸ ¨}‡ǀ, „ ¸ Š€‰y Ƶ‚†‡y (T147r). 34 |Žǀǀ ƴŽ}Ɯ„ ‹}‚‡¸ ¸ }Œ‰}Š±, „ŠŽ} †Š­y ¥uŽŒǀ „ a‚Œ¯± ~‡€ŠƂyŽǀ±”‚ Єu‡Ĝ¯‚, „ „’y‡i±”‚ ‰‚ǀƒ‰«i, ‹Š‡yŠ} ƒ‚ „ė „ Ƶ‚†‡} }ƒ‚ Š e‰Ž¯Š‘¯„ (T147v). 35 Є„‰Š± ƒ‚ ŽŒyŽƜ„ ŽƆǀƆ ± ‰} ‹ǀŽ„ ˆ‚ƒǀ ‡±ˆ„ ˆ‰Š€„ˆ„ „ǀ”ǀ (T147v).

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I was united with him by a spiritual marriage’”.36 And then Tuptalo pays great attention to Tryphaena, mentioning Paul’s words about her in Rom 16:12 both in the text and in the margin: ‘This Tryphaena came from the royal family, and was very honored; later she believed in Christ. The apostle mentioned her when he wrote to the Romans: “Greet Tryphena and Tryphosa”’.37 Here, Tuptalo also uses another source, the Martyrologium Romanum, including a quite long quotation from it.38 After the full description of the first day of tortures, he highlights the theme of Thecla’s prayer for Tryphaena’s daughter, twice citing the words of John of Damascus:39 1) ‘It was testified by John of Damascus, saying: “Did not the protomartyr [Thecla] save Falconilla after her death?”’; 2) ‘The same Damascene testifies about this a second time when he speaks about Emperor Trajan, whose sins were forgiven after his death by the prayers of Gregory the Dialogist; he adds, incidentally, a comment by the way about Falconilla, saying: “This also applies to Falconilla, but she had no guilt, whereas [Trajan] caused death for many martyrs”’.40 It is interesting that, in this case, 36

e­¸ „ˆ}ˆ¸ ƒ‚‰„‘} ˆŠ‚€x ŸŒŽć} £‰}Ɔ dƒ®ƆƆi, ³ˆǀ ƒ‚ ‘ƆŠ‰«ˆ¸ Š“‚Ž}‘¸ ~Œ}†Šˆ¸ (T147v). 37 ¢} ¢Œu‚‰} ~iƜ‚ ŒŠ} ’}Œ†}, ´y‡Š “‚Ž‰} „ ¸ ŸŒŽć} ‹ŠŽŠˆ¸ yŒŠ}, ±ƒ‚ ‹Šˆ„‰}‚Ž¸ e‹‡ć¸ ‹„Ɯǀ”„ †¸ ©„ˆ‡i‰Šˆ¸:  y‡ǀ…Ž‚ (Œ‚“‚) ¢Œu‚‰ǀ „ ¢ŒuŠǀ (T148r). 38 This source (ed. 1589) is not marked in the margins, only in the text: ‘Both of these women are mentioned in the Roman Book of Martyrs on November 10 with such words: ‘In Iconium, in Lycaonium of the saint women Tryphena and Tryphosa, who, thanks to the preaching of Saint Paul and pattern of saint Thecla, have achieved a lot in Christian teaching’ – x~Š„‘¸ ƒ‚ ŽyĘ ƒ‚‰ ©„ˆ†Š‚ ˆ“‰Ɔ„†Š‡Š¯‚ ¸ ‚iŽ«… ¦Š‚ˆŒ¯i Š‹Šˆ„‰}‚Ž¸ „’‚: ¸ g†x‰¯„  ¥u†}x‰¯„ Ž«ƆĘ ƒ‚‰ ¢Œu‚‰„ „ ¢ŒuŠ„, ²ƒ‚ Ž€ƆŠ Ɔ¨}‡} ‹ŒŠ‹Šy¯±, „ Š~Œ}­Šˆ¸ ŽƆ«i Ƶ‚†‡«, ¸ ‘ŒćŽ¯i‰Žyˆ¸ Š“‚‰¯„ ˆ‰x€x Š‹yƜ} (T148r). 39 For the interpretation of this episode by Church Fathers, see J.A. Trumbower, Rescue for the Dead: The posthumous Salvation of Non-Christian in Early Christianity (Oxford, 2001) 56-75 at 74f. 40 1) w“‚Šˆ¸ y„Ž‚‡ªŽǀ‚Ž¸ Ž«Ɔ… gx}‰¸ a}ˆ}†„‰¸ €‡±Ɔ”„ „’‚: Є} ‡„ Š~x ž}‡†Š‰„ě‡ǀ ‰‚ ‹Ɔ‚ ‹‚ŒŠˆ“‰Ɔ„’} ‹Š ˆ‚ŒŽ„?; 2) ¢Š…ƒ‚ a}ˆ}†„‰¸ „ ŽŠŒ„’‚± xŽŠˆƒ‚ y„Ž‚‡Žǀ‚Ž¸, ³€} x ¢Œ}i‰y  ŒyƆ ˆ‡ŽƆ}ˆ„ Ž€Ɔx bŒ„€ŠŒ¯i ~‚yŠ‰„†} ‹Šˆ‡ŠƆ}‰‰Šˆ¸ ‹Š ˆŒŽƆ„ ‹ŠyŽǀ±”„; ‹Œ„‡Šƒ„ †Š ‹ŠyŽ„ ŽŠ… Š‹Šˆi‰ǀŽ„ „ ž}‡†Š‰„ě‡ǀ, Ž}†Š €‡iƆ: ®‚ „ x ž}‡†Š‰„ě‡y «Ɯ‚ Œ‚“‚‰‰Š…, Š‰}~x ‰„

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Tuptalo marked in the margin not only the name of John of Damascus but also a book in which he read this material in Church Slavonic translation (‘Moscow corpus’). Tuptalo also uses a comparison between the prophet Daniel and Thecla, as many Church Fathers had done41: ‘God shut the mouths of the beasts, as in the pit of Daniel’.42 Tuptalo follows the plot of the ATh without omitting the (potentially risqué) scene of Thecla’s stripping off all her clothing, no doubt because it was commented on by John Chrysostom, who compared her to Potiphar’s wife. Tuptalo uses this poetic antithesis (marking, of course, its author in the margin), describing how the shame could be changed into glory by chastity: ‘St Chrysostom spoke well about the stripping of two persons: Potiphar’s wife in the room and Thecla’s in the meeting of all citizens: “What benefit was there for this Egyptian woman that stripped in the room; what damage was there for Thecla that she was undressed on the arena? Thecla did not sin as the Egyptian did, and she was not dishonored but instead was crowned; this nakedness was crowned in the arena, and that was shamed in the bedroom”’.43 A second reason to leave this passage is a consistent interest in praising for purity and virginity throughout text, with which Chrysostom’s interpretation fits well. The next scene, which involves the lioness, is preserved, too, no doubt because it is a well-known passage from the ATh, and is referred to by Ambrosius. A citation of him also found its way into Tuptalo’s text: ‘When St Thecla was standing so in the arena, one of the lionesses came and lay down in front of her, and licked her feet, as if she rendered honor to virginal purity. St Ambrosius spoke about, saying: “It has be seen, as the †Š‚ˆǀƒ‚ „‰Šˆǀ ­‡ǀ „‰Š‰} ~«Žª. ‚…ƒ‚ ˆ‰Š­ĩė ˆǀ“‚‰„†xˆ €ŠŒ†ǀ± ŽŒŠ„ ˆ‚ŒŽª (T148v). 41 For example, see C. Burris, ‘Imagining Thecla: Rhetorical Strategies in Severus of Antioch’s 97th Cathedral Homily’, in Studia Patristica 42 (2006) 33-88. 42 ¬}€Œ}„ ~x d€¸Ɔ ŠŽ}ˆ¸ ­yŒ‚ˆ¸, ²†x ƒ‚ „‰Š€} ¸ a}‰„¯‡ŠŠˆ¸ ŒŠy (T148r). 43 aŠ~Œy ¬‡}ŽŠǀŽ«… Ž«Ɔ… Š„‘¸ ‡„’¸ x~‰}ƒ‚‰¯i ; ¨‚‰Ž‚Œ¯‚« ƒ‚‰«  †‡yŽy, Ƶ‚†‡« ƒ‚  ‚‰}ŒŠ‰Šˆ¸ Š~ŠŒy, Š‹Šˆ„‰}‚Ž¸ €‡‚ŽƆ: ¡ŽŠ ‹Š‡¶Š} ŽŒ}=‰ǀ± ƒ‚‰ǀ ³€u‹‚ĕ†ǀ ²†x  †‡yŽy x~‰}ƒ„i? ¡ŽŠ ƒ‚ Œ‚„ ‹‚ŒŠˆ“Ɔ‰„’ǀ Ƶ‚†‡ǀ, ²†x ‰} ‹Š­ŠŒ„”„ x~‰}ƒ‚‰Ɠ} ~«=? ¦‚Š€ŒyƜ„ ~x x~‰}ƒ‚‰‰} ǀ”„ Ƶ‚†‡}, ²†Š ƒ‚ Š€ŒyƜ„ ³€u‹Ži‰„‰i, ‰„ƒ‚ ~‚¶“‚Ž¯i „‹Š‡‰„i, ‰x y‰“}i Ž}iƆ, „ ‚i ~Š ‰}€ŠŽ} ‰} ‹Š¶ŠŒ„”„ y‰“}i, x‰Ši ƒ‚ ­}ŽŠŒ‚‰‰Š… ‡Šƒ‰„’„ ‹ŠŒ}ˆ„i (T149r).

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beast was lying on the ground and licking the saint’s feet, in a dumb voice testifying that the holy girl’s body could not be damaged”’.44 Overall, Tuptalo includes all of Thecla’s tortures as described in ATh. What he leaves out are the passages describing her self-baptism in the pool full of water and seals. Tuptalo simplifies the ending of the text. Thecla asks Paul for permission to follow him, and Paul’s rejection is explained in Jerome’s words (as Tuptalo claims):45 Paul states that nobody goes to war with his bride. At this point, Thecla goes directly to Seleukeia, where ‘she lived in the fasting, praying and thinking about God, making miracles and healing illnesses’.46 What follows is the logical continuation: a paraphrase of three miracles, known from the Church Slavonic Acts (that is, the Church Slavonic translation of ATh+). 4. Conclusion To summarize, Tuptalo attempted to correlate and, in a sense, harmonize two texts, the apocryphal and canonical Acts (and Epistles), placing the events of the ATh within the travels of Paul described in Acts 14. Developing the image of Thecla, he emphasizes her chastity, purity, and virginity, not only supporting these motifs as they occur in the ATh, but amplifying them emotionally. In this case, he uses a great tradition of the Church Fathers. Aiming to write an orthodox text, he avoids all sensitive moments connected with Thecla’s selfbaptism and her preaching, but he does not deny her status as an ‘equal Apostle’. We hear her voice several times, but mainly her words are: ‘I am a servant of God’. So, according to the tradition, she here is ‘a woman not of words, but of deeds’.47 Using many sources (the 44

£ŽŠi”‚… ƒ‚ ŽĩƆ„ Ƶ‚†‡y ‰} ‹Š­ŠŒ„”„ Ž}†x, ³„‰} | ¥„’¸ ‹Œ„Ɯ‚Ɯ„, ‡iƒ‚ ‹Œ‚ĝ ‰‚±, „ ‡„¶}Ɯ‚ ‰x€„ ³i, }†„ “‚Žª ŠĚ}i “„ŽŠŽy „“Ɔ‚†Š…, ³ƒ‚ Š‹Šˆ„‰}‚Ž¸ eˆŒŠ¯„ Ž«Ɔ„ €‡iƆ: c„yŽ„ ~y ´yŒ} Š‡ǀ ‡yƒ}”}, „ ‰x€„ Ž«Ɔi ‡„ƒ”Œ, ‰yˆ«ˆƒ‚ y„Ž‚‡ªŽǀ±”} €‡}Šˆ¸, ²†x Ž}Ɔ€Š „Ɔ“‚†}€Š Žy‡} Œ‚„Ž„ ‰‚ˆŠƒ‚Ž¸ (T149r). 45 So far I have not been able to identify these words among the extant works of Jerome. 46 Ž}ˆŠ ƒ„iƜ‚  ‹ŠŽy „ ˆ‡Ɓ„Ž}‘¸, „ d€ƁŠˆ«ĝ‡‚‰¯„, ŽŠŒiƜ‚ ƒ‚ „ “ǀ‚} ˆ‰x€}, „’y‡i±”„ i†¯} ~x‡y­‰„ (T149v). 47 M. Pesthy, ‘Thecla among the Fathers of the Church’, in J.N. Bremmer (ed.), The Apocryphal Acts of Paul and Thecla (Kampen, 1996) 164-78 at 166.

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Bible, ATh, Martyrologium Romanum, and various writings of Church Fathers, Dymytrii Tuptalo composes his own narrative in baroque style, marking the original text and citations. He arranges the information he gleans from the ATh+ according to his own narrative strategy, including biblical text and Fathers’ words to persuade the readers of the legitimacy of the nonbiblical figure of Thecla.

IX. The Acts of John by Prochorus in Patmos ms. 188: A Test-Case Illustrating the Composition and Development of Later Apocryphal Acts JANET E. SPITTLER

Readers of this volume are likely already aware that apocryphal Acts of the apostles, including later apocryphal Acts, often have enormously complicated textual traditions, in which texts change and develop through multiple processes. These developments are generally described, with more or less detail, in the introductions to editions and translations. On the one hand, the necessary complexity of these descriptions can be overwhelming, such that only those deeply involved in the investigation of a particular text are prepared to ‘gird their loins’ and wade through the information. On the other hand, simplified descriptions run the risk of caricature and, ultimately, of misleading the reader. This state of affairs is unfortunate, inasmuch as the complicated textual tradition, or ‘textual fluidity’,1 is a central and dominant feature of the apocryphal Acts of the apostles, with virtually every extant text having gone through multiple transformations. In what follows, I propose to take a slightly different tack in describing a complex textual tradition: I will treat as a test-case a single manuscript (Patmos 188) of an important and yet still relatively unknown text (the Acts of John by Prochorus) in an effort to illustrate 1

On this term and its use in the study of early Christian and Jewish texts, see (for example), L.I. Lied and H. Lundhaug (eds), Snapshots of Evolving Traditions. Jewish and Christian Manuscript Culture, Textual Fluidity, and New Philology (Berlin, 2017), and G.V. Allen, Manuscripts of the Book of Revelation. New Philology, Paratexts, Reception (Oxford, 2020).

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with specific examples several different ways in which texts change over time and through transmission. I have selected the text because it was quite influential in the late antique period and beyond, but is, at least in anglophone scholarship, almost entirely unknown even to specialists in Christian apocrypha. I have selected this particular manuscript because it clearly evinces multiple layers and multiple types of editorial activity. The Acts of John by Prochorus in Patmos 188 is, as we shall see, somewhat unusual, in that so great a variety of editorial work is on display in a single manuscript; that said, each type of editorial activity is elsewhere quite common, such that the various things that we see happening in Patmos 188 are easily identified in the textual traditions of other apocryphal Acts. My hope, then, is to investigate several different types of editorial work, while also offering an example of the cumulative effect over time of this editorial work in a single narrative tradition. 1. The Acts of John by Prochorus Most readers of this essay will be familiar with the ‘early’ Acts of John, a 2nd century Greek text available in the 1983 edition of Eric Junod and Jean-Daniel Kaestli (and before that, in the 1898 edition of Maximilian Bonnet) as well as a host of translations into modern languages.2 The Acts of John by Prochorus (hereafter, Prochorus) is a completely different text, though related in two key ways that will be discussed below. Prochorus is a substantially later text, likely composed in the 5th century, perhaps in Antioch.3 Whereas the early Acts of John narrate the apostle’s activities in and around Ephesus, Prochorus narrates John’s departure from Jerusalem and arrival at 2

M. Bonnet, ‘Acta Ioannis’, in Acta Apostolorum Apocrypha vol. 2.1, (Leipzig, 1898; repr. Darmstadt, 1959); E. Junod and J.-D. Kaestli, Acta Iohannis, 2 vols (Turnhout, 1983). Modern translations into English include B. Pick, ‘The Acts of John’, in id., The Apocryphal Acts of Paul, Peter, John, Andrew and Thomas (Chicago, 1909) 123-99; M.R. James, ‘Acts of John’, in id., The Apocryphal New Testament (Oxford, 1924) 228-70; J.K. Elliott, The Apocryphal New Testament (Oxford, 1993) 303-49; R.I. Pervo and J.V. Hills, The Acts of John (Salem, 2016). 3 On the location and date of composition, see Junod and Kaestli, Acta Iohannis, 2.742-48. In fact, Junod and Kaestli are the only modern scholars to have paid sustained attention to Prochorus since Lipsius and Zahn.

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Ephesus, activities in Ephesus not recounted in the extant portions of the early Acts of John, and—most substantially—his exile on Patmos; it concludes with his release from exile and return to Ephesus, followed by his death by mostly natural causes. Prochorus was apparently widely copied and read: while, in his edition of the Greek text, Theodor Zahn relied on some 15 manuscripts,4 Junod and Kaestli have assembled a list of more than 150 manuscripts containing the text.5 Although, as noted above, it is relatively unknown in at least anglophone scholarship on early and late-antique Christianity, Prochorus is far better known in eastern Christianities. In fact, a version of the narrative is read to this day in many orthodox monasteries on the Feast of the Holy Apostle and Evangelist John the Theologian on May 8. The text is quite long—too long (some 165 pages of edited Greek text) to summarize in detail here.6 But it is necessary to have a sense of the overall structure in order to understand the developments evident in Patmos 188. The text narrates John’s travels and activities from the divisio apostolorum (that is, the dividing of the world into missionary fields) in Jerusalem to his death in Ephesus. The bulk of the narrative, however, takes place during his exile on the island Patmos. 4 T. Zahn, Acta Joannis, unter Benutzung von C. v. Tischendorf’s Nachlass (Erlangen, 1880). Zahn’s is not the first edition of Prochorus: already in 1567, Michael Neander included an edition of the text in a volume translating into Greek Martin Luther’s Kleiner Katechismus, in a section titled ‘Apocrypha: hoc est narrationes de Christo, Maria, Ioseph, cognatione & familia Christi, extra Biblia: apud veteres tamen Graecos scriptores, Patres, Historicos & Philologos reperta (etc.).’ Just one year before Zahn’s edition appeared, Archimandrite Amphilochius (Pavel Ivanovich SergiyevskiyKazantzev) produced his own edition, which Zahn (with a clear sense of relief) criticizes rather harshly as inadequate (see Zahn’s biting comments, Acta Joannis, viii). 5 On Prochorus and its relationship to the early Acts of John and other Johannine narratives, see Junod and Kaestli, Acta Iohannis, 2.718-49; Jean-Daniel Kaestli has also kindly provided me with access to their unpublished work on the textual tradition of Prochorus, including a list of 152 manuscripts divided into multiple recensions and sub-categories. 6 My English translation of Prochorus will be published in New Testament Apocrypha: More Noncanonical Scriptures vol. 3, ed. Tony Burke, (Grand Rapids, forthcoming).

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The first scene is familiar from other apocryphal Acts, above all the various versions of the Acts of Thomas; the narrator recounts how John draws the lot for Asia, and how he himself (i.e. Prochorus, presumably to be identified with one of the seven deacons from Acts 6:5) draws the lot to accompany John (§1-57). They immediately set sail, and eventually (after shipwreck, separation, and various other trials) both arrive at Ephesus (§6-13). They soon meet a woman named Romana, who runs a bath house owned by the wealthy Dioscorides; John and Prochorus are at first abused by Romana, but after John resurrects Dioscorides’ son Domnus (who has been drowned in the bath by a demon), all come to belief in the Lord and are baptized (§14-40). In the next major episode, John disrupts the cult of Artemis of Ephesus, first interrupting her festival and causing her image to be destroyed, and ultimately destroying her temple, after the demon who dwells by her altar plots to destroy him (§41-63). Word of this disruption reaches the emperor in Rome, who sentences John (from afar) to exile on Patmos; John is subsequently arrested and transported by ship to Patmos, a journey that involves stops on four islands and seems to take some 21 days8 (§65-84). Upon arrival, the guards sent to arrest and transport John have all come to belief in the Lord and are baptized. Almost all of the remainder of the narrative takes place on Patmos, and can be divided into three large sections based on location (in the cities of Phora, Myrinousa, or Karos) and by the appearance and reappearance of key characters. The first large section takes place in the city of Phora, where John and Prochorus reside at the house of Myron (§85-175). Myron’s immediate family is brought to belief in the first major episode (§85-111), as John casts out the demon that has possessed Myron’s son Apollonides since childhood (§85-102), also converting Myron’s daughter Chrysippe, who is married to the local governor (§103-111). Other wealthy families of Phora then visit John at Myron’s house, including the couple Basileius and Charis (§112-118), who want to conceive a child, and the couple Chrysus 7

I have adopted here (as well as in my forthcoming English translation) the section divisions proposed by Jean-Daniel Kaestli in his unpublished French translation, to which he has generously given me access. 8 This is, of course, quite a long time for sailing from Ephesus to Patmos; we should keep in mind, however, that a journey from Troy to Ithaca could take ten years.

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and Selene (§119-121), whose son is possessed by a demon. Having thus spent three years teaching from within Myron’s house, the narrative reports that John now ventures out somewhat further, though still in and around the city of Phora. In this section (§122-133), he destroys a temple of Apollo, heals a paralytic, baptizes Myron’s nephew Rhodon, and disputes with a Jew named Karos. The final episode that takes place in Phora (§134-175) is largely occupied with John’s contest with Kynops the magician. After besting Kynops in a resurrection competition, John again disputes with a Jew, heals the son of a priest of Apollo, heals a man with edema, and helps a governor’s wife deliver a child after her labor has stalled. The section concludes with the notice that, after teaching in Phora for three years, John is moving on to the city Myrinousa, which is ‘completely given over to idolatry’. John’s activities in Myrinousa (§176-204) can be divided into two parts. The first (§176-193) includes his casting out of the demon Lycus and confrontation with Lycus’ priests (§176-184), his resurrection of the son of one of the priests (§185-188), the casting out of an unclean spirit from a widow’s son (§189-190), and his disruption of a festival of Dionysus and destruction of his temple, killing twelve priests inside (§191-193). The second part (§194-204) is dominated by John’s battle with the magician Noetianus, who challenges John to yet another resurrection competition (§194-201). Ultimately, however, John blinds Noetianus, who then begs John for mercy and is baptized (§202-203). The section ends (§204) with a short notice about John and Prochorus leaving Myrinousa for Karos,9 and being hosted there by a Jew named Faustus. 9 A peculiar feature of the Acts of John by Prochorus is the appearance of several proper nouns as the names of both characters and locations: Karos, for example, is both the name of a Jew with whom John interacts and the name of a city on Patmos; another example is Phora, which is both the name of the city on Patmos and the name of Noetianus’ wife in Myrinousa. While not precisely the same, it is interesting in this light that the most prominent character Myron’s name is echoed in both the city Myrinousa and the island Myreon (the third stop on the journey by ship from Ephesus to Patmos). Likewise, Proclus is a location near Phora, while Procliane is a character who lives in Karos. I have no idea what the significance of this phenomenon is, either for our understanding of the textual tradition or for the interpretation of the text as it stands.

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The third large section (§205-235) takes place in Karos, and can also be divided into two parts. The first (§205-224) involves Procliane, a widow who is provoked by an unclean demon to an incestuous desire for her own son, Sosipatros. Ultimately, Procliane repents her actions, and both mother and son come to belief in the Lord and are baptized, along with their whole household. The second part (§225235) begins with the report that there is a new emperor in Rome, who is not hostile towards Christians and has released John from exile. John wants to return to Ephesus immediately, but the residents of Karos beg him to stay. When he refuses, they beg him to at least put down his teachings in writing; he thus goes with Prochorus to a location called Katoikia, where, accompanied by lightning and earthquakes, he dictates the Gospel of John to his disciple, who writes it down on sheets of paper. After making a copy on parchment and entrusting it to the people of Patmos, John declares that they will bring the paper copy with them to Ephesus. Before leaving, they spend six more months on Patmos in the outer villages. The only event from this time that is narrated is the healing of the son of Euchares, priest of Zeus. John and Prochorus then bid the Christians of Patmos farewell and sail for Ephesus. When they arrive at Ephesus (§236-240), they return to the house of Dioscorides and Domnus; Dioscorides has since died, but Domnus welcomes them. It is reported that ‘all finally believed in the things spoken by John, and no one disbelieved him’. The years of John’s and Prochorus’ lives are then tallied: they spent nine years in Ephesus for the first time, fifteen years exiled on Patmos, and then twenty-six years in Ephesus after returning from exile. None of the activities of these twenty-six years are narrated. It is reported that John was fifty years and seven months old when they first came from Jerusalem to Ephesus. John, then, is exactly one hundred years old at his death, which is reported very briefly in the last paragraphs: he commands seven of his disciples to bring shovels and follow him; a short distance away, he commands them to dig a trench as long as his body and in the shape of a cross. John lies down in the trench and commands the disciples to bury him in three stages: first to his knees, then to his neck, and finally over his face. When the seven disciples return to the city, the other Christians ask where John has gone. After reporting his burial, they all return to the gravesite, finding that John’s body has completely disappeared.

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1. Patmos 188 I will now turn to one particular manuscript of the Acts of John by Prochorus, that is, Patmos 188 (R).10 The manuscript was produced in the 14th century and contains various hagiographic and patristic material, including works attributed to John Chrysostom and Basil of Caesarea. Prochorus appears on folios 176r-244v, with the title Περίοδοι τοῦ ἁγίου Ἰωάννου τοῦ θεολόγου καὶ τοῦ αὐτοῦ μαθητοῦ Προχόρου συγγραφεῖσαι παρ᾽ αὐτοῦ εἰς ἀπόδειξιν (‘The Travels of Saint John the Theologian and his Disciple Prochorus, composed by him for publication’).11 As noted above, the text of Prochorus in this manuscript evinces multiple layers of various types of editing and adaptation, making it a particularly interesting artifact of the history of the narrative. In what follows, I will look at four ‘moments’ in the life of the text that are evident within this single manuscript.12 These are 1) the incorporation of additional episodes into the ‘completed’ text and the ensuing rearrangement of existing material; 2) the incorporation and blending of overlapping material during the initial composition of the text; 3) the appending of material perceived as ‘missing’ in this particular manuscript; and 4) the correction of perceived ‘mistakes’ in the text as it appears in this manuscript. We might describe these as the activities of an editor, an author, a copyist, and a reader, respectively; as we will see, however, there can be significant overlap in these roles.13 Note that I will not treat these moments in chronological See J. Sakkelion, Πατμιακή Βιβλιοθήκη (Athens, 1890) 108-09. I have translated the phrase εἰς ἀπόδειξιν with ‘for publication’, having in mind the first lines of Herodotus’ Histories. Note, however, that it can easily (and in other contexts more obviously) mean ‘as a proof’. 12 I hasten to add that this is not an exhaustive study of Patmos gr. 188. The manuscript shows on nearly every page evidence of use, including a great deal of marginalia that remains to be deciphered and discussed. Moreover, as Jean-Daniel Kaestli has indicated in correspondence, there are multiple further avenues to be explored, several of which might be identified as additional significant “moments” in the life of the text. For example, as Kaestli notes, the introduction of intermediate titles to various sections within the longer narrative is a crucial interpretive moment that enables the later rearrangement of sections. 13 The extent to which ‘scribes’ were also ‘authors’ and ‘editors’ and/or introduced their own theological interests into the texts they reproduced has in the last twenty years been an area of much discussion within New Testament textual criticism circles. See, for example, K. Haines-Eitzen, Guardians of 10 11

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order (that is, I will start with secondary editorial work, moving from there, back in time, to the composition of the text, then skipping ahead again to the activities of copyists and readers). This is necessary because, as we will shortly see, it is the secondary addition of more material that allows us to see some of how the author of the text was working with earlier sources in the composition of the text. 2. The Incorporation of ‘Early’ Material in the Acts of John by Prochorus Patmos 188 is one of only a handful of manuscripts14 of Prochorus that incorporate at the end of the text a distinctive set of episodes— not found in the remaining 140+ manuscripts—that take place in and around Ephesus. Of this group of seven manuscripts, Zahn, in making his edition of Prochorus, had access only to one (Venice Marc. Letters. Literacy, Power, and the Transmitters of Early Christian Literature (Oxford, 2000); W.C. Kannaday, Apologetic Discourse and the Scribal Tradition. Evidence of the Influence (Atlanta, 2004); H.A.G. Houghton and D.C. Parker (eds), Textual Variation: Theological and Social Tendencies? (Piscataway, 2008); G.V. Allen, ‘The Apocalypse in Codex Alexandrinus: Exegetical Reasoning and Singular Readings in New Testament Greek Manuscripts’, JBL 135.4 (2016) 859-80; A.T. Farnes, Simply Come Copying: Direct Copies as Test Cases in the Quest for Scribal Habits (Tübingen, 2019); Allen, Manuscripts of the Book of Revelation. Most of these works focus on scribal practices with respect to canonical texts, which likely differ in certain ways from practices with respect to apocryphal works. That said, François Bovon’s dictum about canonical narratives in the first and second centuries CE is relevant here: ‘At this earlier time the gospels were what the apocrypha never ceased to be’. In other words, while the role of ‘scribe’ in copying canonical texts may have been fairly distinct from the role of a editor or author (though this is a matter of some debate), the overlap of author, editor, scribe, and reader in the production of apocryphal works might actually have more to tell us about the earliest period in the life of canonical texts. See F. Bovon, ‘The Synoptic Gospels and the Noncanonical Acts of the Apostles’, HThR 81 (1988) 19-36. 14 The others are Z Mezzojusso 2 (14th century), K Lesbos Leimon. 82 (c. 1575), H Halki, Mon. Trin., 102 (an 11th century palimpsest), M Venice Marc. gr. 363 (12th-13th century), O Ohrid 4 (10th century), and Q Paris gr. 1468 (11th century). The first five form a group with Patmos gr. 188, and K is a copy of Patmos gr. 188 (R); the Paris ms. is a separate case, incorporating material from the early Acts of John in its own distinctive way. See discussion in Junod and Kaestli, Acta Iohannis, 3-8. Two further manuscripts are from the 17th century: Athos, Lavra 111 (described by Junod and Kaestli, Acta Iohannis, 887-89), and Patmos 940.

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gr. 363), which incorporates the material known to contemporary scholars as Acts of John §58-86 and §106-115. §58-86 include a brief report of John travelling to Ephesus (from Laodicea, according to a heading in the Venice manuscript), the story of John and the obedient bedbugs, and the long narrative of the death and resurrection of Drusiana. §106-115 present a different and substantially longer version of John’s death than what is found in most manuscripts of Prochorus. Zahn concluded that these episodes could not originally have belonged to Prochorus; instead, Zahn argued, they must belong to the early Acts of John—a text that, to scholars in the 19th century, was known only through a smattering of patristic references and two passages read into the record of the Second Council of Nicaea. Zahn’s evidence for this identification was, in the first place, the disconnect between these episodes and the Prochorus narrative; he writes, ‘es ist keine Fuge in dessen Erzählung zu entdecken, in welche eine Reise von Laodicea nach Ephesus und alles, was derselben folgt, eingeschoben werden könnte’.15 Moreover, he saw a connection in the appearance of a Lycomedes in both the material incorporated into the Venice manuscript of Prochorus and one of the passages read at the Second Council of Nicaea. Thus, Zahn produced, as a ‘part II’ to his edition of Prochorus, the first edition of the early Acts of John, comprising the quotations from the Second Council of Nicaea and the episodes culled from the end of the Venice manuscript. In producing his edition of the early Acts of John in 1898, Max Bonnet had access also to our Patmos 188, which includes, in addition to the material now known as Acts of John §58-86 and §106-115, also §18-55, that is, the story of Lycomedes and Cleopatra, the story of Lycomedes’ portrait of John, the healing of the old women at Ephesus, the destruction of the temple of Artemis of Ephesus, and the story of the parricide. This episode involving Lycomedes’ portrait of John corresponds quite precisely to the material read into the record at the Second Council of Nicaea, making the identification of these episodes as the early Acts of John quite certain.16

15

Zahn, Acta Joannis, lxxxiii. ‘There is no gap to be found in this narrative, into which a journey from Laodicea to Ephesus—and all of what follows— could be inserted’. 16 Note that, with the exception of §87-105 (which are extant in a single Vienna manuscript), literally all we know of the early Acts of John is what was preserved in these manuscripts of Prochorus.

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What we have in Patmos 188, then, is a recension of Prochorus characterized by the incorporation of episodes from the early Acts of John (which are otherwise not extant) at the end of the text. Junod and Kaestli have persuasively argued, moreover, that the seven manuscripts that incorporate material from the early Acts of John all ultimately go back to a single Vorlage, likely produced sometime prior to the 10th century CE; that is, this recension of Prochorus is likely the product of a single individual (though later editors will continue to redact and shape it, such that Venice Marc. gr. 363, for example, differs significantly from Patmos 188).17 It is easy to imagine why someone might have wanted to incorporate these episodes from the earlier text into the later. As noted above, one of the last episodes in Prochorus tallies the lifetime of the apostle, indicating that he spent nine years in Ephesus for the first time, fifteen years exiled on Patmos, and then twenty-six years in Ephesus after returning from exile. His nine years in Ephesus and fifteen years on Patmos are narrated in Prochorus, but those final twenty-six years are skipped entirely, leaving a tantalizing gap to be filled. Given that the episodes from the early Acts of John all take place in and around Ephesus, we might imagine an editor coming across a manuscript that contained (either in part or in full) the earlier text and using it as a source to fill out the unnarrated years of the later text. Moreover, because the episodes from the early Acts of John proceed seamlessly to a lengthy account of his death (far more extensive than the brief account found in Prochorus), incorporating them at the end of Prochorus had the added benefit of replacing a perhaps unsatisfactorily sparse account of John’s death with a more substantial one. However, the editor who incorporated these episodes did not simply add the new material to the end; interestingly, the addition is accompanied by a rearrangement of the other sections of Prochorus, whereby the Kynops episode takes place immediately upon John and Prochorus’ arrival on Patmos, and is followed by the episode narrating John’s composition of the Gospel. Next come the episodes dealing with Noetianus and Procliane, followed by episodes involving the couples Basileius and Charis, and Chrysus and Selene.18 Then comes the episode involving 17

For a detailed discussion, see Junod and Kaestli, Acta Iohannis, 3-25. In ms. H, the Myron episodes occur after the episodes involving Basileius and Chrysus; in ms. M, they occur before the Basileius and Chrysus episodes. The Myron episodes are missing entirely from ms. Z. As will be discussed 18

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Lycus, at the end of which the material from the early Acts of John is inserted. Note that, while the current numbering of these passages (§18-55, §58-86, and §106-115) suggest that these are three distinct sections with material in between, in Patmos gr. 188 they are presented seamlessly. This rearrangement is best observed in outline: Prochorus in Zahn’s edition

Prochorus in Patmos gr. 188

To, in, and from Ephesus • Divisio Apostolorum and the Journey to Ephesus §1-13 • Romana, Dioscorides, Domnus and the Bath House §14-40 • John Disrupts the Cult of Artemis of Ephesus §41-63 • John is Exiled: Sentence, Arrest, and Journey §65-84 On Patmos, in the City of Phora • Myron and his Family §85-111 • Basileius and Charis §112-118 • Chrysus and Selene §119-121 • Further adventures in and around Phora §122-133 • Kynops the Magician §134-175 On Patmos, in the City of Myrinousa • Lykos the Demon §176-193 • Noetianus the Magician §194-204 On Patmos, in the City of Karos • Procliane and Sosipatros §205-224 • The Composition of the Gospel §225-235 Arrival and Death in Ephesus §236-240

To, in, and from Ephesus • Divisio Apostolorum and the Journey to Ephesus §1-13 • Romana, Dioscorides, Domnus and the Bath House §14-40 • John Disrupts the Cult of Artemis of Ephesus §41-63 • John is Exiled: Sentence, Arrest, and Journey §65-84 On Patmos • Kynops the Magician §134-175 • The Composition of the Gospel §225-235 [On the way to Ephesus?] • Noetianus the Magician §194-204 • Procliane and Sosipatros §205-224 • Chrysus and Selene §119-121 • Further adventures §122-133 • Basileius and Charis §112-118 • Lykos the Demon §176-193 Arrival and Death in Ephesus §236-240 In Ephesus • Acts of John 18-55 • Acts of John 58-86 • Acts of John 106-115 (John’s death) *Myron and his Family §85-111*

One has to ask why an editor would undertake this rearrangement, given that it creates a number of narrative difficulties. As noted above, the episodes that take place on Patmos can be divided into three clear groups based on location (the cities of Phora, Myrinousa, and Karos) and the appearance and reappearance of key characters: below, the Myron episodes are absent from the main text of Patmos gr. 188 (R), but are appended to the end (presumably by a later editor/scribe).

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Myron and Apollonides appear in all the episodes that take place in Phora, the priests of Lykos appear in both episodes that take place in Myrinousa, and Procliane and Sosipatros appear in both episodes that take place in Karos. Because the rearrangement disrupts not only the three groupings but also the order of episodes within the groupings, the narrative in Patmos gr. 188 has numerous non-sequiturs, with characters appearing before they are introduced, and references made to various placenames with little sense of directionality. As for the geographical disruption, Junod and Kaestli have rightly noted that the editor of the new compilation must have intended to limit John’s activities on Patmos to the Kynops episode and the composition of his Gospel. Because the episode recounting the composition of the Gospel includes both John’s release from exile by the emperor and his expressed wish to return to Ephesus, Junod and Kaestli write, ‘il faut donc admettre qu’aux yeux de l’auteur de la compilation, les événements racontés dans les autres chapitres des AJPr ne se déroulent plus à Patmos, mais dans des localités situées sur le chemin qui ramène Jean à Ephese’.19 It is, of course, pure speculation, but one might find the reason for the rearrangement in this effect: all readers of Prochorus who are familiar with the island of Patmos note that the actual island is simply too small to accommodate the cities, the distances, and the populations described.20 By placing only the Kynops episode and the composition of the Gospel on the island, the new compilation removes this difficulty.21 19

Junod and Kaestli, Acta Iohannis, 5-6. ‘It must therefore be admitted that in the eyes of the author of the compilation, the events recounted in the other chapters of the AJPr no longer take place in Patmos, but in localities on the road that brings John back to Ephesus’. 20 Note that the coincidence of the location of the manuscript and the locations within the narrative (Patmos, both!) is, as far as the origins of this recension of the text go, just that: a coincidence. As noted above, the copyist of Patmos 188 (working in the 14th century) is certainly not responsible for the incorporation of the episodes from the early Acts of John and the rearrangement of the text, which likely took place sometime prior to the 10th century CE. It is impossible to say where the incorporation and rearrangement happened. 21 That said, the difficulty of the preposterous length of the journey from Ephesus to Patmos is, in this new compilation, compounded by a now equally long journey from Patmos back to Ephesus. But as noted above, torturously long and circuitous journeys from point A to point B (e.g. from Troy to Ithaca) are in a sense par for the course in Greek narratives, and perhaps do not pose quite the problem that the misrepresentation of Patmos might for an audience familiar with the island.

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A very different and rather larger difficulty in verisimilitude, however, is created. Modern readers familiar with the early Acts of John may remember that one of the episodes narrated in §18-55 (at §3747) is the destruction of the temple of Artemis of Ephesus. In other words, in Patmos gr. 188, the destruction of the temple of Artemis of Ephesus is narrated twice: once during John’s initial stay in Ephesus (on folio 184), and again during his return (on folios 224v). The same seems to be true of the Mezzojusso manuscript and the Halki palimpsest (as well as the Lesbos manuscript, which is a copy of Patmos 188). The Venice and Ohrid manuscripts, however, do not include §18-55 of the early Acts of John, and so there is no issue.22 Assuming that §18-55 were included by the editor who created the new compilation and rearrangement,23 what can we say about his/her interests and skills? Are we dealing with an editor who was concerned with the size of Patmos, but not with the doubled destruction of one of the wonders of the ancient world? We will return to this question below, though clear conclusions are difficult to draw. 3. The Incorporation of Pre-existing Material during the Composition of the Text While it makes for a disorienting reading experience, the existence of these two distinct narratives of the destruction of the temple of Artemis of Ephesus within Patmos gr. 188’s version is a lucky stroke indeed for scholars of Prochorus, because, as we will see, a comparison of the two reveals quite a bit about the initial composition of the text. A closer inspection of the destruction of the temple of Artemis of Ephesus in Prochorus §41-60 (that is, the first of the two accounts 22

A cursory look at M (Venice Marc. gr. 363) suggests an editor who may also have attended to the removal of the more minor non-sequiturs: while reference to events taking place ‘at Myron’s house’ occur throughout the Kynops episode (on folios 71v, 73r, 74v, 77r, and 79v) before the character Myron is introduced, a more extensive reference to Myron himself and his son Apollonides (e.g. what we have in Zahn p. 91 lns 3-6) is omitted on folio 71r. 23 And it seems that we should make this assumption: if the common Vorlage of all seven manuscripts lacked §18-55, then its presence in mss. R, Z, and K would mean that the editor of the more immediate Vorlage of these three manuscripts had before him/her both the new compilation and one or more manuscripts with §18-55. This seems rather unlikely in and of itself; it is all the more unlikely inasmuch as §18-55 appear also in ms. H, which does not bear such a clear relationship to R, Z, and K.

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in Patmos gr. 188) reveals that it is really a two-part process. The episode begins with the festival of Artemis of Ephesus, the birthday of the goddess. John disrupts the festival by wearing his blackened work-clothes, while all the Ephesians wear white. When the Ephesians throw stones at John, they actually strike the statue of Artemis and smash it to pieces. John then calls upon the Lord to ‘make these people believe’, at which point there is a great shaking of the ground and some 800 men fall down, apparently dead. The remainder of the crowd promise that if John raises the fallen, they will believe in his God; John eventually agrees, ultimately baptizing them all. After a brief interlude, in which John heals a man unable to stand, the narrative returns to Artemis. Now, the reader is introduced to the demon who dwelled by the altar of Artemis; this demon knows that John will cause the downfall of the temple, and thus plots against him. Disguised as a magistrate’s officer, the demon convinces two genuine magistrate’s officers (ταξεῶται) that John and Prochorus are escaped criminals and sorcerers from Palestine, and persuades the officers to help him recapture them. The officers arrest John and Prochorus, but Romana informs Dioscorides, and he arranges for their release into his care. The demon, however, further spurs the officers to action, ultimately inciting a large crowd to go to Dioscorides’ house to demand he hand John and Prochorus over. John convinces Dioscorides to hand them over, explaining that it will lead to something good. Dioscorides hands John and Prochorus over at the temple of Artemis. John feigns an interest in the temple and requests that they be allowed to stop. They agree, and John calls upon the Lord to make the temple fall, and it immediately does. John then confronts the demon who dwells at the temple, ultimately driving it out from the city of Ephesus. The residents of Ephesus do not know what to make of this, and so they decide to send John and Prochorus to the city prefects to be judged according to the laws. The narrative continues with a plot by a Jew named Mareon, which ultimately leads to John and Prochorus’ expulsion from the city. The account of the destruction of the temple of Artemis of Ephesus on folios 224v-225v, that is, the account from the early Acts of John is quite different, most notably in the complete absence of the narrative involving the demon disguised as a magistrate’s officer.24 24

Note that with this demon in disguise we have a point of contact with the demon disguised as a soldier in an episode from the Irish Life of John,

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Moreover, there is no report of the destruction of an image of Artemis; rather, it is the temple itself that is destroyed on the day of the festival. That said, there are several verbal and thematic parallels between the first half of the Prochorus account and the account from the early Acts of John, which suggest a connection between the two. Consider, first, the opening sentences of each account: Patmos 188 fol. 184r (= Prochorus Patmos 188 fol. 224 (= Acts of §41; Zahn p. 33, lns. 1-9)25 John ch. 38) And so, on the next day at earliest dawn, idol-mania—the public festival of Artemis—was being carried out (her statue was on a high place, opposite her temple). And John went up and stood at the right side of the statue. And all the Ephesians were wearing white on account of their festival. John, however, stood there as he was: with the blackened clothes in which he had been doing his work. (καὶ πάντες οἱ Ἐφέσιοι λευκοφοροῦντες ἦσαν διὰ τὴν ἑορτὴν αὐτῶν. ὁ οὖν Ἰωάννης ὡς ἦν ἔχων μεμελαμωμένα ἱμάτια, ἐν οἷς τὴν ὑπηρεσίαν ἐπετέλει, ἔστη·) And when they saw, the Ephesians—as many as were faithful concerning Artemis—filled with rage and taking up stones, threw them at John.

Now after two days was the birthday of the idol.

And so John, alone wearing black while everyone was wearing white, went up to the temple. (ὁ οὖν Ἰωάννης πάντων λευκοφορούντων μόνος ἐνδυσάμενος μέλανα ἀνῇει εἰς τὸν ναόν·) Then they took hold of him and were trying to kill him.

The two accounts here share the very distinctive element of John’s black clothing, which is the immediate cause of the Ephesians’ anger against him. Another verbal parallel is found as John addresses the enraged crowds:

the Beloved Disciple. See M. Herbert and M. McNamara, Irish Biblical Apocrypha. Selected Texts in Translation (Edinburgh, 1989) 93-94. 25 The text given here is transcribed and translated from Patmos 188 (though it largely corresponds with Zahn’s and Junod and Kaestli’s editions).

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Patmos 188 fol. 184r (= Prochorus Patmos 188 fol. 224v (= Acts of §42; Zahn p. 33 ln. 14-p. 34 ln. 2) John ch. 38) But John, after the people had broken the statue in pieces, said to them: “Ephesian men! Why do you go mad (ἄνδρες Ἐφέσιοι, τί μεμήνατε) for the festival of the unclean demons, and abandon God, maker of all creation?”

But John said: “You are mad to lay hands on me, men (Μεμήνατε ἐπιχειροῦντες ἐμοί, ἄνδρες), the slave of the only God.”

And again, as John addresses the Ephesians, in both Prochorus and the early Acts of John, he refers to their “hardened hearts”: Patmos 188 fol. 184v (= Prochorus Patmos 188 fol. 224v (= Acts of §44; Zahn p. 35 lns. 5-8) John ch. 39) “Oh you foolish Ephesian men, and slow in heart to believe in the living God; indeed, if these who have fallen should rise, your hearts will be hardened like Pharaoh (σκληρυνθήσεται ὑμῶν ἡ καρδία ὡς τοῦ Φαραώ).”

“How many miracles, how many healings have you seen through me, and still you have hardened your hearts (πεπήρωσθε τὰς καρδίας) and are not able to look up. What is the problem, Ephesian men?”

And finally, each narrative hinges on John challenging the Ephesians to call upon Artemis while he calls upon God—and then to see which god is truly powerful: Patmos 188 fol (= Prochorus §42; Patmos 188 fol. 225r (= Acts of Zahn p. 34 lns. 4-6) John ch. 39) “Either help your goddess, so that she become whole, or pray that she be at work in me, so that I might see one power of hers and believe.”

“All of you claim to regard Artemis a God; so pray to her that I alone die. Or I alone, when you are not able to accomplish this, having called upon my own God will kill all of you on account of your disbelief.”

Early commentators on Prochorus (Zahn and Lipsius)26 had no doubt that the author worked with and adapted the early Acts of John. Junod 26

See Zahn, Acta Joannis, lv; R. Lipsius, Die apokryphen Apostelgeschichten und Apostellegenden, vol. 1 (Braunschweig, 1883) 404-05. As Junod and

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and Kaestli, however, have argued at length and quite persuasively against this position, concluding instead that the episodes from the early Acts of John that are most similar to episodes found in Prochorus (the Artemis of Ephesus episode and the account of John’s death) circulated independently of the remainder of the early Acts of John,27 and that the Artemis episode that was used as a source by the author of Prochorus was not the ‘original version’, so to speak, but a later development. While it seems likely that the Artemis of Ephesus episode did indeed circulate independently, the distinctive details shared in Prochorus and the early Acts of John (above all the reference to John’s black clothing, which—as far as I know—appears in no other versions of the story) suggest to me a rather closer connection.28 Ultimately, whether

Kaestli note, however, Zahn and Lipsius understood the Prochorus author’s intentions in working with the Acts of John quite differently. Zahn argued that the author of Prochorus intended to supplant a text that he found to be too heterodox: ‘Er kennt allerdings die älteren Johannesacten, deren Fragmente p. 219 sqq. zusammengestellt sind. Ihnen hat er sein Schlusscapitel in umgearbeiteter Gestalt und, was hier noch nicht gezeigt werden kann, manches Einzelne entlehnt. Aber es scheint, dass sein bewusster Gegensatz gegen dieses heterdoxe Buch ihn veranlasst hat, sich möglichst fern von dem selben und damit von der alten Tradition zu halten, und statt dessen lieber biblische und andere heilige Geschichten nachzubilden’ (lv). Lipsius, in contrast, argued that the author of Prochorus intended not to supplant, but simply supplement the Acts of John. 27 Their best evidence is the fact that the Artemis episode seems to have circulated widely in the late antique period, popping up in multiple texts that show no indication of knowing any other episodes from the early Acts of John (for example, two homilies attributed to John Chrysostom: BHG 927 and 932, both of which describe the destruction of the temple and the resurrection of Artemis’ priest). This fact, combined with the broader observation that, ‘si Prochore avait eu l’ouvrage ancien sous les yeux, il aurait dû en faire un plus large usage’, is persuasive. For the complete argument, see Junod and Kaestli, Act Iohannis, 2.718-36. Note, too, that we have clear (if much later) evidence that another episode from the Acts of John circulated independently: the ‘Gospel-flashback’, now numbered §87-105, appears in a single manuscript (Vienna hist gr. 63), where it is presented as an independent narrative. See J.E. Spittler, ‘Is Vienna hist. gr. 63, fol. 51v–55v a Fragment?’, Ancient Jew Review May 6, 2019 = https://www.ancientjewreview.com/articles/2019/4/30/ is-vienna-hist-gr-63-fol-51v-55v-a-fragment, accessed on December 7, 2020). 28 Note, however, the reference to ‘men in black’ (οἱ δὲ μελανειμονοῦντες) who tear down temples according to Libanius’ Oration 30.8, in

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or not the author of Prochorus had before him the entirety of the early Acts of John, an independent episode from it, or a revised version of the episode matters little for the present purposes. The preservation of the earlier episode by the later compiler still gives us insight into the compositional process of Prochorus’ author: it seems clear that the author had before him (at least) two accounts of the destruction of the temple of Artemis of Ephesus, and that he wanted to preserve elements of both. Given the singularity of the temple of Artemis, this was not an action that could simply be done twice; he therefore transformed the destruction of the temple on the day of the goddess’ festival into a destruction of only her image.29 which he complains to the emperor Theodosius about the destruction of pagan temples. 29 It is tempting to suggest that this editorial work also reflects some real knowledge of the cult of Artemis of Ephesus: the mysteries celebrated on Artemis’ birthday seem to have taken place not at her temple, but rather on the hilltop Ortygia, the traditional site of her birth according to the Ephesians (named after the nurse who aided Leto during childbirth). The exact location of Ortygia is not known, but it seems to have been in a hilly spot somewhere to the southwest of the city near the coast, cf. M. Kerschner, ‘Der Ursprung des Artemisions von Ephesos als Naturheiligtum’, in K. Sporn et al. (eds), Natur-Kult-Raum (Vienna, 2015) 187-243 at 210f. One might understand the first line of the episode in Prochorus to be referring to this location, when it notes that ‘her statue was on a high place, opposite her temple (κατέναντι τοῦ ἱεροῦ αὐτῆς) (though it is of course also possible to understand κατέναντι τοῦ ἱεροῦ αὐτῆς as referring to a rather more proximate location). On the mysteries of Artemis and their celebration in later antiquity (peaking in the 2nd century CE), see G.M. Rogers, The Mysteries of Artemis of Ephesos. Cult, Polis, and Change in the Graeco-Roman World (New Haven and London, 2012) 171-204. There were, probably, many monumental statues of Artemis throughout Ephesus, and it is not at all clear that any specific image is referred to in this passage of Prochorus. That said, the passage does call to mind the famous inscription in elegiac verse left by a certain Demeas, memorializing the destruction of an image of Artemis and the erection of a cross in its place: [δαίμ]ονος Ἀρ[τεμιδος] καθελὼν | ἀπατήλιον εἶδος | Δημέας ἀτρεκίης | ἄνθετο σῆμα τόδε |, εἰδώλων ἐλατῆρα | θεὸν σταυρόν τε | γερέρων, νικοφό|ρον Χριστοῦ σύν|βολον ἀθάνατον. ‘After destroying a deceitful image of the daimon Artemis, Demeas set up this sign of certainty, honoring God, who drives away idols, and the Cross, the victorious, immortal symbol of Christ’ (I. Ephesos 1351). The inscription likely dates to the 5th century CE, that is, precisely the time in which the author of Prochorus was composing his own narrative of the destruction of an image of Artemis. On the Demeas inscription,

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Junod and Kaestli have a different view here, suggesting that the story of the demon in disguise originally had no connection to the destruction of the temple of Artemis of Ephesus. That is, we agree that the author of Prochorus has combined two different stories, but Junod and Kaestli argue that only one of them originally involved Artemis. To their mind, the destruction of the temple has been ‘clumsily inserted’ into a story where it does not belong: ‘Comment expliquer que la destruction du sanctuaire d’Artémis soit insérée si maladroitement dans l’histoire du demon déguisé en policier, au lieu de prendre place dans l’épisode de la fête?’.30 But the finished product in Prochorus strikes me as more clever than clumsy. The meaning and effect of John’s black clothes are maintained (they are still a critique of the festival of Artemis and are understood by the Ephesians in that way), but in Prochorus they are ingeniously explained as a result of John’s work at the hypocaust of the bath house owned by Dioscorides; thus the author weaves the episode seamlessly in with the material that precedes it. Moreover, the transformation of what was no doubt originally the destruction of the temple on the goddess’ birthday to the destruction of an image of Artemis also strikes me as a smart and efficient editorial move. Finally, while the destruction of the temple in Prochorus may seem anticlimactic to contemporary readers (it takes place with very few witnesses and results in no conversions), it is very much in line with the destruction of two other temples in Prochorus (the temple of Apollo in §123 and the temple of Dionysus in §193). In none of the three episodes is the destruction of the temple presented as a miraculous event that impresses witnesses and leads to conversions; instead, in all three cases the destruction of the temple simply leads to conflict with governmental authorities. This no doubt reflects the context in see G.H.R. Horsley, ‘The Inscriptions of Ephesos and the New Testament’, NovT 36.2 (1992) 105-68 at 108-09, and, more recently, T.M. Kristensen, Making and Breaking the Gods: Christian Responses to Pagan Scultpure in Late Antiquity (Aarhus, 2013) 9-22. (See also the text and translation at: http://laststatues.classics. ox.ac.uk/database/detail-base.php?record=LSA-610, accessed on December 7, 2020). 30 Junod and Kaestli, Acta Iohannis, 2.726. ‘How can one explain why the destruction of the sanctuary of Artemis of Ephesus is so clumsily inserted into the story of the demon disguised as an officer, instead of taking place in the episode describing the festival?’

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which the author of Prochorus wrote: as Junod and Kaestli have also noted, the conflict with paganism has taken on a different tenor, one in which Christianity seems to have already largely won the day. The demons who reside in temples are easily cast out, and the temples are easily destroyed; the only real objections come not from the crowds but from individuals, either pagan priests or Jews, who have the ear of officials. What, then, can we conclude about the author of Prochorus? In the first place, it is clear that he worked with pre-existing source material.31 It is also clear, however, that he felt entirely free to adapt that source material significantly to fit his broader narrative framework and thematic interests. 4. The Appending of Material Perceived as ‘Missing’ Thus far we have looked at the activities of an editor, who incorporated new material into a ‘completed’ Prochorus that was already in circulation, as well as the activities of Prochorus’ author, who incorporated source material during the composition of the text— all of which is evident in Patmos gr. 188 as well as the Mezzojusso and Lesbos manuscripts, which offer the same version of the compilation. We now turn specifically to Patmos gr. 188 to consider the activities of the various copyists and readers who have left their marks. The two most obvious signs of activity are two sections that are in different hands. The first is at the beginning of the text: the first seven folios are a different hand from the bulk of the text; these pages comprise a single quire that has been secondarily stitched into

31

Junod and Kaestli have argued that the Procliane and Sosipatros episode is an adaptation from a similar episode in the Acts of Andrew (extant in the epitome of Gregory of Tours); see Junod and Kaestli, Acta Iohannis, 2.73738. Note that the author seems to know also material from the Acts of Philip: in §72, John prays to calm a storm, beginning the prayer with the following words: θάλασσα, θάλασσα, εἶπεν ὁ υἱὸς τοῦ θεοῦ, ὁ ἐπὶ τῶν σῶν νώτων περιπατήσας… In Acts of Philip (in Vaticanus gr. 824), we find: θάλασσα, θάλασσα, κελεύει σοι Ἰησοῦς ὁ Χριστὸς δι’ ἐμοῦ τοῦ δούλου αὐτοῦ, ὁ ἐπὶ τῶν σῶν ὑδάτων περιπατήσας… A literary relationship of some sort, then, seems certain.

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the manuscript.32 The quire was assembled in the wrong order, however, with the conjoint folios 178 and 179 displaced. For the correct sequence of the narrative, one has to read the folios in the following order: 175, 178, 176, 177, 180, 181, 179. The second section begins at folio 182r, continuing the text from 179v, but in a new hand—the primary hand in which the majority of the remaining text is written. There is an empty space at the bottom of the righthand column of 179v, with the text breaking off precisely where 182r picks up; this suggests that these seven folios were produced expressly for insertion in this manuscript, to replace either lost or damaged originals. The text of the manuscript then proceeds much as Zahn’s printed edition until folio 193v. This is the point at which John arrives in Patmos, and the point at which the rearrangement described in section 2 above begins; the narrative thus continues with the Kynops narrative (followed by the composition of the Gospel, etc., as listed in the chart). However, one line of text (apparently the final word or two of the previous section) is erased, over which a secondary hand inserts a note to the reader: ‘[at] the end of the book [are] the events concerning Myron; and after those things, return here’ (τὸ τέλος τοῦ βιβλίου τὰ περὶ τοῦ Μύρωνος· καὶ μετ᾽ ἐκεῖνα στρέφου ὧδε). And, indeed, at the end of the text we find appended on folios 239r-244v (and in a different hand or hands)33 the episodes involving Myron’s family (§85-111, Zahn’s text p. 57 ln. 9 to p. 74 ln. 4). Of the five manuscripts that contain the rearranged Prochorus with the early Acts of John additions, two (H and M) include the Myron episodes (§85-111) either before or after the episodes involving Basileius and Chrysus. Patmos gr. 188, however, seems to have lacked the Myron episodes entirely, until a copyist noticed their absence and supplied them. Notably, whoever appended §85-111 at the end of the text put his note directing the reader to this appendix at the place where the episode occurs in the standard arrangement of Prochorus, and so it seems likely he was familiar with the text in its more typical version. 32

These observations are based on a review of digitized images, not an inspection of the manuscript itself. Nevertheless, a stub to which the first page of the new quire has been stitched is clearly visible on 175r; it seems that the last page of the new quire has been cut to a stub and stitched to folio 182. 33 For a discussion of the multiple hands evident in Patmos gr. 188, see Junod and Kaestli, Act Iohannis, 1.16 n. 1.

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5. The Correction of Perceived ‘Mistakes’ The final editorial moment that I will briefly point to here is the correction of elements of the text that were perceived by later readers as mistakes. This phenomenon is evident in Patmos 188 on folio 189 (recto and verso), where the name of the emperor has in three places been erased and replaced with the name Domitian. While the manuscript evidence seems to point to Trajan as the emperor who exiled in Prochorus (though Hadrian also appears), over time tradition settled on Domitian as the offending emperor, associating John’s period of exile on Patmos (given in Prochorus and elsewhere as 15 years, as noted above) with the 15 years of Domitian’s reign. A reader, noting the ‘mistake’ has corrected each instance where it appears. 6. Conclusions The value of Patmos 188 as a witness to episodes from the early Acts of John has been recognized by scholars for more than a century. What I have attempted to draw our attention to in this essay is its value as a witness to multiple layers of compositional and editorial work, and as a concrete example that illustrates how many apocryphal Acts changed and developed over time at the hands of multiple successive authors, editors, scribes, and readers. Looking only at Patmos 188, we have seen how the author of Prochorus used sources in the compositional process, significantly reworking and reshaping the preexisting material to form a cohesive narrative that suited his own purposes; we have seen how a later editor created a new version of the text, incorporating more preexisting material—some of which was the same material that was initially used by the author (i.e. the episode of the destruction of the temple of Artemis from the early Acts of John)—and rearranging the whole into a quite different narrative sequence; we have seen how a scribe (or perhaps ‘editor-scribe’ is the better term here) reacted to this new sequence and the perceived absence of a key episode by appending the omitted episode to the end of the text and inserting a note about this appendix at the point at which the episode occurs in the original narrative sequence; and finally, we have seen how readers of the manuscript have ‘corrected’ elements of the text that they perceived as mistakes. While it is clear that the readers of Patmos 188 who ‘corrected’ the name of the emperor to Domitian were attempting to bring the

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text into agreement with the accepted traditions of their time, it is more difficult to assess the motivations of the other individuals who left their marks on the text. Most difficult are the additions and changes that, at least from a contemporary perspective, seem to create substantial difficulties for the reader, that is, the non-sequiturs produced by the rearrangement of several episodes, and the recording of not one, but two accounts of the destruction of a single temple of Artemis. The latter could be explained as the result of either a careless editor or one who was simply not interested in creating a cohesive narrative—that is, an editor for whom the ‘archival impulse’34 to collect Johannine material simply trumped all other considerations. The former, inasmuch as it represents the presence rather than absence of substantial effort on the part of the editor, is more vexing. My best suggestion follows on Junod and Kaestli’s observation that the rearrangement of episodes effectively restricts the number of episodes that took place on Patmos, but this is mostly idle speculation on my part. Taking one step back and thinking in more general terms, we might, however, make the following observations. First, there is the fact that the history of the Acts of John by Prochorus is characterized by continual efforts toward improvement and a continual willingness on the part of individuals to adapt the text before them. Second, and related, is the difficulty in separating out the roles of author, editor, scribe, and reader: Prochorus’ author was clearly also an editor, who relied on preexisting sources; likewise, the editor who incorporated the episodes from the early Acts of John and rearranged large sections of material might be seen as, in some senses, the ‘author’ of a new text. And what do we make of the individual who supplied the missing Myron episode at the end of Patmos 188, or who corrected the name of the emperor? Were they just a scribe and reader, or are these also editorial activities? Third, there is the resulting pluriform nature of the text: at any given moment in the last 1500 years, the ‘story’ of Prochorus and John could be something quite different than the text as represented in Zahn’s edition—and we must constantly remind ourselves of this fact.35

34

I thank Garrick Allen for suggesting this term. I would like to thank Garrick Allen, Jan Bremmer, Tony Burke, Jean-Daniel Kaestli, Meira Kensky, Ivan Miroshnikov, and Tobias Nicklas for reading and commenting on drafts of this paper. 35

X. Timothy, John and Ephesus in the Acts of Timothy JAN N. BREMMER

The recent interest in early Christian, so-called apocryphal literature has once again focused our attention on the Acts of Timothy. It is not the first time that these Acts are the subject of scholarly attention. In 1877, Hermann Usener (1834-1905) published a Greek version of the already known Latin translation,1 but of which he also presented an improved text.2 His publication resulted in a number of reviews,3 the best and most critical of which is the one by Theodor Zahn (18381933). After this, little attention was paid until the 1930s, when the Austrian excavations in Ephesus gave us an important contribution by the Austrian epigraphist Josef Keil (1878-1963), which in turn inspired the great Bollandist Hippolyte Delehaye (1859-1941) to an insightful article.4 Subsequently, it would be until the last decade H. Usener, Natalicia regis augustissimi Guilelmi imperatoris Germaniae ab Universitate Fridericia Guilelmia Rhenana […] Insunt Acta S. Timothei (Bonn, 1877), which is available on line: https://babel.hathitrust.org/cgi/ pt?id=njp.32101055310120&view=1up&seq=11, accessed 21-10-2019; see also H. Usener, ‘Die Akten des Timotheos’, Jahrbücher f. protestantische Theologie 13 (1887) 232-40 = H. Usener, Kleine Schriften III (Berlin, 1914) 83-89. 2 The earlier editions: Acta Sanctorum II Jan. II (Antwerp, 1643) 566-67; F. Pithou, Codex canonum vetus ecclesiae romanae (Paris, 1687) 366f. 3 A. Hilgenfeld, Zs. f. wissensch. Theologie 20 (1877) 521-25; E. Schürer, Theol. Literaturzt. 2 (1877) 363-64; A. Eberhard, Jahresbericht über die Fortschritte der klassischen Altertumswissenschaft 5 (1876 [1878]) 225-28; A. Harnack, Zs. f. Kirchengesch. 2 (1878) 83-84; Ch. Th., Revue critique d’histoire et de littérature N.S. 5 (1878) 42-43; Th. Zahn, Gött. Gel. Anz. 1878, 97-114; H. Lüdemann, Theolog. Jahresbericht 7 (1887) 139. 4 J. Keil, ‘Zum Martyrium des heiligen Timotheus in Ephesus’, Jahreshefte des österreichischen archäologischen Instituts 29 (1935) 82-92; H. Delehaye, 1

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before we heard again from Timothy. It is probably fair to say that this new interest was spawned by a new and improved edition of the Greek version by the Italian scholar Claudio Zamagni on the basis of an additional number of manuscripts, together with a useful introduction and the very first translation into a vernacular language, both of which he has recently reprinted and updated in a collection of his articles.5 Since then, we have had 3 contributions on the Acts, which in different ways look at the various aspects of this brief composition.6 First, Cavan Concannon, who has also given us an English translation with an introduction of the Acts,7 focuses attention on the broader imperial and ecclesiastical context in which the Acts of Timothy was produced. In his view, we have to position our Acts in the struggle for primacy between Constantinople and Ephesus. He dates the Acts to the years surrounding the removal of Timothy’s body to Constantinople in AD 356, but at the same time accepts an evolving tradition which would put our text at the end of the fourth or the beginning of ‘Les Actes de Saint Timothée’, in W.M. Calder and J. Keil (eds), Anatolian Studies Presented to William Hepburn Buckler (Manchester, 1939) 77-84, reprinted in id., Mélanges d’hagiographie grecque et latine (Brussels, 1966) 408-15; see also Delehaye, Les origines du culte des martyrs (Brussels, 1933) 145f. 5 C. Zamagni, ‘Passion (ou Actes) de Timothée. Étude des traditions anciennes et édition de la forme BHG 1487’, in A. Frey and R. Gounelle (eds), Poussières de christianisme et de judaïsme antiques. Études réunies en l’honneur de Jean-Daniel Kaestli et Éric Junod (Prahins, 2007) 341-75, reprinted and updated in Zamagni, Recherches sur le Nouveau Testament et les apocryphes chrétiens (Rimini, 2017) 257-301, where he also reprints his translation ‘Actes de Timothée’, in P. Geoltrain and J.-D. Kaestli (eds), Écrits apocryphes chrétiens II (Paris, 2005) 587-601. 6 C. Concannon, ‘In the Great City of the Ephesians: Contestations over Apostolic Memory and Ecclesial Power in the Acts of Timothy’, JECS 24 (2016) 419-46; M.Z. Kensky, ‘Ephesus, Loca Sancta: The Acts of Timothy and Religious Travel in Late Antiquity’, in J. Spittler (ed.), The Narrative Self in Early Christianity: Essays in Honor of Judith Perkins (Atlanta, 2019) 91-119; T. Nicklas, ‘Christian Apocrypha as “Heterotopias” in Ancient Christian Discourse: the Acts of Timothy’, Proceedings of the Irish Biblical Association 41/42 (2019) 98-112. 7 C. Concannon, ‘The Acts of Timothy: a new translation and introduction’, in T. Burke and B. Landau (eds), New Testament Apocrypha: More Noncanonical Scriptures, vol. 1 (Grand Rapids, 2016) 395-405.

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the fifth century. This would imply a change in the Urtext at an early stage for which we have no evidence. In fact, the removal of Timothy’s body is not thematised in our text at all. On the other hand, Concannon is right that our Acts manages to connect John, Paul and Timothy and thus stresses the apostolic foundations of the Ephesian church, which was in the process of losing, as he shows, its pre-eminent position in Asia Minor to Constantinople. Second, Meira Kensky locates the Acts in the beginning process of pilgrimage. By making Ephesus the place of the redaction of the gospels, the composition of John’s Gospel and the place of martyrdom of Timothy, Ephesus was promoted as an important place to visit in the emerging Christian landscape. She also points to typically Ephesian elements in the text, such as the festival of the Katagogia, the murder of Timothy on the Embolos and the burial on Mt Pion, all elements of the text we will return to. In the end, though, she perhaps stresses too much the element of pilgrimage as the main aim of the text, given that we hear very little about the graves of either John or Timothy. Thirdly and finally, Tobias Nicklas locates the Acts in the changing ‘landscape of memory’, which started to develop with and after the rule of Constantine. He also pays much attention to the later end of the Acts, which focuses on the relics, and sees the text as a possible reaction to the loss of importance as an ecclesiastical centre. All these studies highlight and elucidate important aspects of the text. Yet none of them has provided a running commentary on the text or systematically compared the Latin translation with the Greek version. It is the aim of my contribution to do precisely that and thus also to enlighten some aspects of the account, which have not received any attention, due to other interests of the recent authors. I will first look at the texts, dates, authors and places of composition (§ 1), continue with looking at the roles of Timothy and John (§ 2 and 3), then discuss the pagan ritual (§ 4), and will end with some conclusions (§ 5). 1. Texts, dates, author and place of composition It is important to start with a clear view of what text we are actually talking about, as this is not always wholly evident in recent discussions.8 As noted by Delehaye, the Latin translation goes back to an 8

I quote the Latin text from Usener and the Greek one from Zamagni.

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older Greek text than the one we have at the moment. In other words, we have here a not unfamiliar situation, as also in the cases of the Acta Scilitanorum and the Passio Perpetuae the Greek translations go back to a better Latin text than those we have now.9 This means that we continuously have to compare the texts when studying its contents. Moreover, it means that we have to determine the dates of the present Greek text, the Latin translation and the Greek Urtext. None of these can be ascertained with any precision, but let us start with the Urtext which is certainly not from the late fourth century as suggested by Clive Foss.10 Yet it is very difficult to determine its date with any precision. A certain terminus ante quem is of course the Latin translation, but this one is not easy to date either. The Latin text contains words, which seem to be a hapax such as ropala (49U), but also words and usages that are typical of the earlier fifth century, such as the transitive usage of innotesco (8U), which is not found before contemporary grammarians and the Codex Theodosianus (ThLL s.v.); compatiens (17U), which shows up first in the Vulgate (1 Petr. 3.8) and Augustine (Cat. Rud. 12.17); superascendo (23U). which first occurs in Petrus Chrysologus (PL 227 + (M) SL 24, sermo: 54, linea : 37 [*]) and the Indiculus de haeresibus (9), both from the earlier fifth century;11 multoties (43U), which we do not find before the earlier fifth-century Opus Imperfectum in Matthäum (ad Matth. 2.18), and conperegrinus (17U), which is first found in Sidonius Apollinaris (c. 430-489: Ep. 7.28). The latter suggests a date in the second half of the fifth century, which is supported by praesulatus (65U) which does not occur before the sixth century (ThLL s.v.), but then was or became typical of archbishops,12 a title which the Latin translation indeed gives to Timotheus 9

Delehaye, ‘Les Actes de Saint Timothée’, 77; J.N. Bremmer, ‘Perpetua und Felicitas‘, in RAC 27 (2016) 178-90 and ‘Imitation of Christ in the Passion of the Scilitan Martyrs?’, in A. Bettenworth et al. (eds), For Example. Martyrdom and Imitation in Early Christian Texts and Art (Munich, 2020) 143-69; B.D. Shaw, ‘Doing It in Greek: Translating Perpetua’, Studies in Late Antiquity 4.3 (2020) 309-45. 10 C. Foss, Ephesus after Antiquity: a late antique, Byzantine and Turkish city (Cambridge, 1979) 33. 11 For the date of the Indiculus, see N. Förster, Jesus und die Steuerfrage (Tübingen, 2012) 284-86. 12 A. Blaise, Dictionnaire latin-français des auteurs chrétiens, rev. P. Tombeur (Turnhout, 2005) s.v.; R.E. Latham et al. (eds), Dictionary of Medieval Latin from British Sources (Oxford, 1975-2013) s.v.

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through the very rare archiepiscopante (53U), for which I have not found a late antique parallel, as I have not for the verbs superinsilire (50U), persufficere (66U) and proconsulare (20, 71U), though Roman glosses mention proconsularitas and proconsulatus for ἀνθυπάτεια,13 with the former occurring in the Justinian Novellae (31.1, 33 pr. and 1).14 Clearly, we cannot be very certain on this basis, but the time of Justinian seems a reasonable possibility and certainly hardly much earlier.15 A terminus post quem is Eusebius, whose Church History the author evidently knows (see also § 2), and the Urtext is also later than AD 371, as Lystra is called a city in the province of the Lycaonians (14-15Z; 16U), which became a province only after that year.16 Can we go even later? Unfortunately, the vocabulary does not help as its words generally seem to be banal and not typical of a specific age. It is different, though, with the institutional terminology. I would like to point to three terms, which have not received quite the attention they deserve: patriarch, metropolis and apostolic throne. Admittedly, Concannon does pay attention to the terms, but his discussion is not wholly satisfactory and accurate. To start with metropolis, the term occurs 7 times both in the Greek and Latin, not 8 times as he states.17 Evidently, it is important for the author to stress that Ephesus is a metropolitan see.18 Similarly, Timothy is called a patriarchȇs 4 times in the Greek text (2, 9, 28, 93Z) and in the Latin translation (4, 12, 25, 68U). According to Concannon, ‘by the time of the Council of Ephesus this term had become a technical designation 13

Cf. K. Winkler, ‘Iupiter Consul vel Consulens’, Philologus 102 (1958) 117-26 on Iuppiter Consul as a mis(re)translation of Zeus Hypatos. 14 G. Goetz, Corpus Glossariorum Latinorum II (Leipzig, 1888) 227, 49. 15 The Acta were mined for unusual words and meanings by H. Rönsch, Collectanea philologa (Bremen, 1891) 176-93 (18871), to whom I refer for further examples. 16 St. Mitchell, Anatolia, 2 vols (Oxford, 1982) 2.161. 17 Contra Concannon, ‘Apostolic Memory’, 439. Greek: 3, 19, 20, 35, 61, 80/81, 88Z. Latin: 4, 12, 19, 20, 29/30, 46, 63U. 18 Cf. C.H. Turner, Studies in Early Church History (Oxford, 1912) 71-96; H. Leclerq, ‘Métropole’, in DACL 11.1 (1933) 786-90; G. Schöllgen, ‘Metropolit/Metropolitanverfassung I. Alte Kirche‘, in RGG4 5 (2002) 1189-90; A. Weckwerth, Ablauf, Organisation und Selbstverständnis westlicher antiker Synoden im Spiegel ihrer Akten (Münster, 2010) 51-54, 107-11, 143-45, 185-87.

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for the new super-metropolitans that were elevated to this new level in the ecclesial hierarchy’,19 but this is simply not true. The term was only slowly accepted, and appears as important first at the Council of Chalcedon, but in imperial laws it is not found before 477 for the bishop of Constantinople.20 Moreover, although Ephesus was an ecclesiastical metropolis it never had a patriarch, the title of which was limited to the old and new capitals of the Empire, Rome and Constantinople, as well as Antioch, Jerusalem and Alexandria. In other words, the Acts cannot have been written in the fourth century as the title ‘patriarch’ did not yet play a role at that time.21 Neither was Ephesus ever an apostolic see. When Timothy travelled together with Paul, he ‘was charged by him as the first to occupy the throne of Ephesus’ (19-21Z), a detail our author undoubtedly derived from Eusebius (HE 3.4.5), if not from local oral tradition. At this point, Zamagni follows the reading of manuscript P (Paris, 11th century), but the Latin translation specifies ‘the apostolic throne’ (19U: apostolicae sedis), a reading that is also found in manuscript O (Vatican City, 10th century), and which, therefore, Zamagni should have accepted in his text. The Acts contains the expression a second time at its end, where John is said to have taken hold of the ‘apostolic throne’ of Ephesus (§ 3). Now the expression ‘apostolic throne’ is found first in Eusebius (HE 7.32.29) for James’ bishop’s throne in Jerusalem, where it still has a literal meaning (cf. HE 7.19), and subsequently in Athanasius (Hist. Ar. 35.2), who uses it for Rome in connection with the apostolic succession.22 It is found more often in the fifth century, starting with Theodoret (393-ca. 460: Ep. 83 [ca. 448], 110 [ca. 448], 113 [449]).

19

Contra Concannon, ‘Apostolic Memory’, 439. Codex Iustinianus 1.2.16, cf. Ch. Schweizer, Hierarchie und Organisation der römischen Reichskirche in der Kaisergesetzgebung vom vierten bis zum sechsten Jahrhundert (Bern, 1991) 50-71. 21 For patriarchs and patriarchates, see H. Leclerq, ‘Patriarcat’, in DACL 13.2 (1938) 2456-91; Th.A. Kane, The Jurisdiction of the Patriarchs of the Major Sees in Antiquity and in the Middle Ages (Washington DC, 1949); P. Norton, ‘Patriarch’, in RAC 26 (2015) 1091-1109. None of these studies contains a careful chronological investigation of the development of the term ‘patriarch’ and its institutional reality. 22 For the passage, see V. Twomey, Apostolikos Thronos (Münster, 1982) 520-28. 20

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For us it is important to note that Eusebius turns the idea of the apostolic succession into a structuring principle of his ecclesiastical history where the succession on the thrones of Jerusalem, Rome, Antioch, and Alexandria forms the backbone of his narrative,23 but in his discussion of the Easter debate Eusebius actually denies Ephesus an apostolic tradition.24 In other words, by putting Timothy on an apostolic throne our author lays a claim to an equal status as the great centres of Christianity. The idea is clearly important to the author, but is also clearly not a claim that would have been recognised by the other apostolic sees. So what can we conclude from this? It should be clear that the Acts puts forward important claims for the status of Ephesus which are not supported by the actual historical evidence. As Concannon has shown that the authority of Ephesus in Asia Minor was under threat of Constantinople’s prominence as capital,25 the stress on the apostolic nature of the see of Ephesus in our text and on Timothy being a patriarch can be best explained from a concrete moment in time, such as the Council of Chalcedon in 451, where in its famous Canon Twenty-Eight Constantinople received power over Ephesus, but also the bishop of Constantinople was called ‘patriarch’.26 This surely was a sore point for Ephesus, as is also shown by the fact that in 475 Timotheos Ailuros, when returning from exile, restored the rights of the bishop of Ephesus to Bishop Paulos.27 At the Council of 23

For the earliest stages of this idea, see G.G. Blum, Tradition und Sukzession. Studien zum Normbegriff des Apostolischen von Paulus bis Irenäus (Berlin, 1963); J. Fellermayr, Tradition und Sukzession im Lichte des römischantiken Erbdenkens: Untersuchungen zu den lateinischen Vätern bis zu Leo dem Grossen (Munich, 1979); Twomey, Apostolikos Thronos. 24 N. Brox, ‘Tendenzen und Parteilichkeiten im Osterfeststreit des zweiten Jahrhunderts’, ZKG 83 (1972) 291-324 at 308-10; T. Georges, ‘Die ephesischen Christen in nachneutestamentlicher Zeit: Erwägungen zur christentumsgeschichtlichen Bedeutung der Stadt Ephesus und ihrer Darstellung bei Euseb von Cäsarea’, in Georges, Ephesos, 321-36 at 333f. 25 Concannon, ‘Apostolic Memory’, 426-32; T. Kaçar, ‘Constantinople and Asia Minor: Ecclesiastical Jurisdiction in the Fourth Century’, in S. Mitchell and Ph. Pilhofer (eds), Early Christianity in Asia Minor and Cyprus (Leiden, 2019) 148-63. 26 For the Canon, see B. Flusin, ‘Bischöfe und Patriarchen. Die Strukturen der Reichskirche’, in L. Pietri (ed.), Der lateinische Westen und der Byzantinische Osten (Freiburg, 2001) 521-83 at 548-53 (with further bibliography). 27 Zacharias Rhetor, HE 5.24 (CSCO 87.149).

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Chalcedon, Timothy had played a role in the discussions, as is shown by the fact that Leontius, bishop of Magnesia, declared that from Timothy to the time of Chalcedon there had been 26 bishops of Ephesus.28 I would therefore date the Urtext of the Acts of Timothy to the decades following the Council of Chalcedon. The Latin translation cannot have been produced too late after this date, as it still contains all the references to Timothy as a patriarch. Yet these have all disappeared in the text of the Acts as summarised by the ninth-century bishop Photius (Bibl. 254 Henry), who calls Timothy apostle and bishop but not patriarch. This cannot be chance as also in the text of Symeon Metaphrastes, the menologia cited by Usener and in the eleventh-century Greek manuscript from Paris (P) published by Usener Timothy is never called a patriarch. Yet although the Latin translation, then, seems to be fairly early, our present Greek text can hardly be that early as well,29 as it contains the verb πατριαρχέω (πατριαρχήσαντος: 9Z), which starts to appear in our texts only around the ninth century (TLG s.v.). However, the closeness of the Greek version to the Latin translation suggests that the changes over time were relatively limited in other respects. The author is unknown. The Latin text ascribes it to Polycrates (6U), the first known bishop of Ephesus, but that is obviously a fiction as the learned Fabricius (1668-1736) already saw.30 It is evident, though, that the choice of him as author suggests a native from Ephesus. And indeed, this conclusion is supported by the author speaking of ‘this’ Asia (huius Asiae: 5U), of Ephesus as ‘that’ great metropolis (20, 35, 80, 88Z), by mentioning local details, such as Mt Pion, the Embolos and the Katagogia festival (§ 2 and 3), and by qualifying Ephesus as magna metropolis (12U), splendida/splendissima (18, 19, 29U) or λάμπρα (19-20, 35, 80, 88Z). However, that is as far as I can come in attempting to locate the writing in space and time. Let us therefore now turn to the text and see what it tells us about Timothy. 28

Acta Conciliorum Oecumenicorum II.1.3, 86-99 (445-58). For the early references, see R.A. Lipsius, Die apokryphen Apostelgeschichten und Apostellegenden, 2 vols in 3 parts (Braunschweig, 1883-1887) 2, 2.386-89. 30 J.A. Fabricius, Codex apocryphus Novi Testamenti, 2 vols (Hamburg, 1703-1719) 1.812-14 (with previous bibliography) and Bibliothecae Graecae liber V (Hamburg, 1723) 194f. 29

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2. Timothy In the Latin translation, the Acts presents itself as a letter by Polycrates to all the fellow presbyters in ‘Asia and Phrygia, Pamphylia, Pontus and Galatia’ (5-6U). Apparently, the author wanted to make his account look like other famous letters about martyrdoms, such as those of Polycarp and of Lyon and Vienne. Unfortunately, the regions mentioned do not help us any further in our quest for the time of composition, and it seems likely that these particular regions are mentioned because all of them are familiar from the NT geography reflected in Acts (2.9-11) and 1Peter (1.1). However, the Greek version has disposed of this beginning, as often happened in martyrological accounts.31 After the address, we are first introduced to Timothy. The author has mined Luke’s Acts (16.1-2) and Pseudo-Paul’s 2 Timothy (1.5) to relate that Timothy’s father was Greek (i.e. pagan), but his mother a believing Jewess and that he came from Lystra. Apparently, the latter town was not supposed to be familiar to his readers so that it is explained as being part of the praefectura Lycaonia (14-15Z, 15-16U). Being taught by Paul, Timothy travelled together with him and ‘was charged by him as the first to occupy the throne of Ephesus’ (19-21Z), a detail our author undoubtedly derived from Eusebius (HE 3.4.5), if not from local oral tradition, even if it is a later fiction as we just saw (§ 1). All this happened ‘when Nero as emperor ruled the state of the Romans and Maximus was proconsul of Asia’ (2122Z, 20-21U). The date under Nero is of course determined by the martyrdom of Paul, but the proconsulate of Maximus is a fiction of the author, although long believed, not only by Usener but also by several modern ancient historians.32 The banal name not only shows that the author had no information about Timothy other than what the New Testament relates about him, but also that he was not that inventive. 31

F. Dolbeau, REAug 57 (2011) 402: ‘Les légendiers étaient destinés à une lecture faite en assemblée où l’habitude était de commencer in medias res: en hagiographie latine, des centaines de cas pourraient ainsi illustrer la disparition des prologues ou leur préservation dans un nombre infime de témoins’. 32 Maximus is disproved by R. Syme, Roman Papers 4 (Oxford, 1988) 361 (reprinted from ZPE 53, 1983, 204, wrongly quoted as p. 361 by T. Barnes, Early Christian Hagiography and Roman History, Tübingen, 20162, 300-02).

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3. John Having introduced us to Timothy, the account shifts, rather surprisingly, to the apostle John, as it continues with saying that Timothy had not only been ‘an eyewitness and direct hearer of the famous apostle Paul, but also of the illustrious theologian John, who rested upon the bosom of our great God and saviour Jesus Christ’ (28-31Z, 25-27U). Highly interestingly, John is called a ‘theologian’ here. According to Christoph Markschies, ‘prior to the fourth century, we have no clear examples for this use of terminology’.33 And indeed, in the fourth century it is especially Moses who is regularly called ‘theologian’ by Eusebius (PE 7.7.1, 7.9.1, DE 5. pr. 20), as already does Philo (De praemiis 53). Yet Eusebius also refers to John as the ‘theologian’ (PE 11.19.4), as does Athanasius (Contra gentes 42). In any case, our Acts clearly contains one of the earliest passages in which we find this title. But how did John arrive in Ephesus? Let us first note that the connection between John and Ephesus is fairly old and reaches back to the later second century. The Acts of John, probably to be dated to the 160s,34 mentions the death of the apostle John in Ephesus, and Irenaeus (Adv. haer. 3.1.1) identified the author of the Gospel of John with the beloved disciple (John 13, 23 and 25). His contemporary, the already mentioned Ephesian bishop Polycrates, had made the same identification, whilst adding that John had been a teacher (didaskalos) and a martyr in Ephesus, where he was buried (Eus. HE 3.31.3, 5.24.3).35 The connection even predates these authors, as Justin Martyr (Dial. 81.4) identifies the author of the Revelation with the apostle, whom he locates in Ephesus. At an early stage, then, various traditions connected figures called John with Ephesus which probably helped to merge the apostle, the author of the Gospel of 33

Ch. Markschies, Christian Theology and Its Institutions in the Early Roman Empire (Waco, 2015) 13-14, with a discussion of various other passages. 34 For the date, see Bremmer, Maidens, Magic and Martyrs in Early Christianity (Tübingen, 2017) 111f. 35 For the early Christian teachers, see R. Kany, ‘Lehrer’, in RAC 22 (2008) 1091-1131, with previous bibliography; A. Falcetta, Early Christian Teachers. The ‘Didaskaloi’ from Their Origins to the Middle of the Second Century (Tübingen, 2020); G.H. Snyder (ed.), Christian Teachers in Second-Century Rome (Leiden, 2020).

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John, and the one of the Apocalypse into one person, who was localised in Ephesus. Our author tells us that after Peter and Paul had become martyrs under Nero and the other disciples had ended their lives in various ways, John had come to Ephesus after he had been cast ashore from a shipwreck. The tradition that both Peter and Paul had been executed under Nero is an old tradition that we find first in 1 Clement, which Zwierlein has persuasively dated to about 120-125.36 In this letter, in which the Church of Rome speaks to the Church of Corinth, the author mentions as ‘the greatest and most upright pillars’ (5.2) that were persecuted and executed both Peter and Paul (5.4-7). In later writings of the second century, we hear repeatedly of their executions, although not that often in combination. Yet it is clear that the author here goes back to an old tradition, which we also find in one of the letters of the later second-century bishop Dionysios of Corinth (Eus. HE 2.25.8), the more or less contemporary Ignatius (Rom. 4.3) and, probably, Irenaeus (Adv. Haer. 3.1.1).37 Not old, though, is the idea that John landed in Ephesus being cast ashore after a shipwreck. Curiously, the same detail is told in the Acts of John by Prochorus,38 a writing that is just as difficult to date as our Acts. Zahn dated Prochorus to about AD 500 and suggested that our Acts knew those of Prochorus,39 but Junod and Kaestli, after a more thorough investigation of the date, come down to somewhere in the later fifth century.40 They observe that the motif of the shipwreck in our Acts has nothing to do with the fear of John to go to Asia and the shipwreck as a kind of punishment for his hesitation to 36

O. Zwierlein, Petrus in Rom: die literarischen Zeugnisse (Berlin, 20102) 245-331 and Petrus und Paulus in Jerusalem und Rom: vom Neuen Testament zu den apokryphen Apostelakten (Berlin, 2013) 89-104, 276-79, 285f. For the Neronian persecution, see B. van der Lans and J.N. Bremmer, ‘Tacitus and the Persecution of the Christians: An Invention of Tradition?’, Eirene 53 (2017) 299-331. 37 See also D.L. Eastman, The Ancient Martyrdom Accounts of Peter and Paul (Atlanta, 2015). 38 AJPr p. 8.3, ed. Th. Zahn, Acta Joannis (Erlangen, 1880). For these Acta, see also R.A. Culpepper, John, the Son of Zebedee: the life of a legend (Columbia SC, 1994) 206-22; Spittler, this volume, Chapter IX. 39 Zahn, Acta Joannis, XLIII. 40 Zahn, Acta Joannis, LX; E. Junod and J.-D. Kaestli, Acta Iohannis, 2 vols (Turnhout, 1983) 2.748-49; Spittler, this volume, Ch. IX.

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follow up on his destination, which Prochorus derived from the book of Jonah.41 Consequently, Prochorus took the idea from our Acts which, we may add, also supports the dating of our Acts to the middle fifth century. It fits their idea that our author was the first to invent this motif that he clearly felt the need to authenticate his account of John’s shipwreck by ascribing it to ‘the things written about him by Irenaeus, bishop of Lugdunum’ (30-31U; 36-37Z), which he need not have done if the account of Prochorus was well known. Usener still believed the notice, but Zahn and Lipsius already saw that it must be fictitious as no such writing of Irenaeus is known.42 Somewhat abruptly, the author now turns to an activity of John which one wouldn’t have immediately expected, but which is very interesting. In Ephesus, as in Eusebius (HE 5.8.4), our author’s most important source, John writes his Gospel last and as a supplement to the other three.43 However, in our Acts John is not just the author of the fourth Gospel, but he is even the editor of the Synoptics! I quote the relevant passage in full, as the text is not always easy to understand and the translation by Concannon does not always do justice to the Greek text, which is better to understand if we consult the Latin translation as well. ὅτε καὶ οἱ ἐπακολουθήσαντες τοῖς μαθηταῖς τοῦ κυρίου ἡμῶν ἰησοῦ χριστοῦ τοὺς παρ᾽ αὐτῶν σποράδην συνταγέντας χάρτας διαφόροις γλώσσαις συντεταγμένους τῶν γενομένων ἐπ᾽ αὐτῶν θαυματουργημάτων τῶν ὑπὸ κυρίου ἡμῶν ἰησοῦ χριστοῦ οὐκ ἐγνωκότες συνθεῖναι, παραγενόμενοι ἐπὶ τῆς ἐφεσίων κατὰ κοινὴν γνώμην ἰωάννῃ τῷ πανευφήμῳ θεολόγῳ αὐτοὺς προσήγαγον· ὅστις πάντα κατανοήσας καὶ ἐξ αὐτῶν ὁρμηθεὶς τὰ μὲν παρ᾽ αὐτῶν εἰρημένα ἐν τοῖς τρισὶν εὐαγγελίοις ἐνθεὶς κατὰ τάξιν ματθαίου καὶ μάρκου καὶ λουκᾶ ἀπεγράψατο, τὰς τούτων ὀνομασίας ἐνθεὶς τοῖς εὐαγγελίοις· εὑρὼν δὲ αὐτοὺς τὰ τῆς οἰκονομίας τῆς ἐνανθρωπήσεως γενεαλογήσαντας, ὅτε τὰ ἐκ τοῦ θείου στήθους ἀναμαξάμενος τὰ ἐκείνοις οὐκ εἰρημένα αὐτὸς θεολογεῖ, ἀναπληρώσας καὶ τὰ ἐλλιπῶς αὐτοῖς εἰρημένα ἐν τοῖς κεφαλαίοις θεῖα θαυματουργήματα· ὅθεν τὸ τοιοῦτον 41

Junod and Kaestli, Acta Iohannis, 2.739. Usener, Acta s. Timothei, 18, 20; contra: Zahn, ‘Review Usener’, 103-04; Lipsius, Die apokryphen Apostelgeschichten, 378-80. 43 For an early, possibly local representation, see V. Paul-Zinserling, ‘Eine Pilgerampulle in Jena’, in O. Pilz and M. Vonderstein (eds), Keraunia. Contributions on Myth, Cults, and Sanctuaries in Antiquity (Berlin and Boston, 2011) 227-31. 42

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σύνταγμα εἴτουν εὐαγγέλιον τῷ ἑαυτοῦ ἐπετέθεικεν ὀνομάτι (3852Z, 31-41U) At that time, those who had followed the disciples of our Lord Jesus Christ did not know how to put in their proper order sheets of paper, which were randomly put together by them (i.e. the disciples) in different languages and comprised the miracles accomplished in their time by our Lord Jesus Christ.44 Being in the city of the Ephesians, they brought these by communal decision to the entirely-praiseworthy theologian, John. He, having scrutinised everything and starting from it, put the things said by them into the three gospels and listed them in the order of Matthew, Mark and Luke; he also put their names on the gospels. However, having found that they related the things concerning the economy of (Christ’s) humanity, he discoursed about God, pondering what he had received from the divine bosom (30Z, 26U; John 13.25, 21.20) and what had not been told by them. He also supplemented the divine miracles inadequately told by them in their initial chapters. Therefore, he put his own name on the resulting treatise, that is, a gospel.

The account in our Acts contains various noteworthy details. First, we note that the author clearly imagined the Gospels being manufactured as a codex, as it is hard to imagine scrolls or rolls randomly ordered. This is not surprising, of course, as virtually from the beginning of the second century onwards the Christians seem to have written their later canonical literature in codex format.45 Yet we rarely find a passage where this is so clearly spelled out. The passage also attests to the need for a certain order of the Gospels. This need not surprise 44

Janet Spittler kindly draws my attention to the Prologue of the Miracula Theclae, ed. Dagron, where the author says that he ‘has assembled her (Thecla’s) miracles scattered here and there and published them in this small collection’ (τὰ σποράδην αὐτῆς τυγχάνοντα θαύματα συνελεξάμεθά τε καὶ διὰ μικροῦ συγγράμματος ἐξεθέμεθα, tr. S. Johnson). The parallel is interesting and, given the firm dating of the Miracula to around 470 AD, supports our dating of the Acts of Timothy. 45 Cf. J.N. Bremmer, ‘From Holy Books to Holy Bible: an Itinerary from Ancient Greece to Modern Islam via Second Temple Judaism and Early Christianity’, in M. Popović (ed.), Authoritative Scriptures in Ancient Judaism (Leiden, 2010) 327-60; M. Wallraff, Kodex und Kanon (Berlin and Boston, 2013); B. Nongbri, God’s Library (New Haven and London, 2018) 23-24; A. Jördens, ‘Codices des Typs C und die Anfänge des Blätterns’, in A. Krauss et al. (eds), Material Aspects of Reading in Ancient and Medieval Cultures (Berlin and Boston, 2020) 115-48.

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either. At the time of the writing, we have had Athanasius’ famous 39th Festal Letter for the Easter of AD 367. The fact that Athanasius attaches so much weight to the order of the Bible books would have been unthinkable if he had known only separate codices for individual books of the Bible,46 but precisely in the fourth century we start to find complete Bibles. Whereas the third century could only produce a codex with the four Gospels and Acts (P. Chester Beatty 1 [P45] and P. Vindob. G. 31974: ca. AD 250), and Eusebius (HE 7.15.4) mentions a codex with, probably, four Gospels, the later fourth century came up with the megacodex, the Codex Vaticanus and the Codex Sinaiticus, which contain all the books of the Bible.47 Once all the books were in one codex, the question of their order must have become important. Here we observe that our author follows the Eastern order, as the Western order was: Matthew, John, Luke and Mark. But why would he feel the need to stress that order? Can it be that the presence of Western bishops at the Council made him stress the Eastern order and claiming John at the same time? This is of course speculative, but it would fit my suggestion of a connection with the Council of Chalcedon. Finally, the Gospels clearly carry the names of their supposed authors. Gospel papyri with titles do not predate the late second-early/third century, but will of course be earlier, although I am not as certain of their very early existence, as, for example, Martin Hengel.48 One is left wondering why the author found it necessary to add the detail about the titles. Were there perhaps still Gospels circulating without a title? 46

As was already observed by T. Zahn, Athanasius und der Bibelkanon (Erlangen, 1901) 9; for this important Letter see, most recently, N.A. Pedersen, ‘The New Testament Canon and Athanasius of Alexandria’s 39th Festal Letter’, in A.-C. Jacobsen (ed.), The Discursive Fight over Religious Texts in Antiquity (Aarhus, 2009) 169-78; D. Brakke, ‘A New Fragment of Athanasius’s Thirty-Ninth Festal Letter. Heresy, Apocrypha, and the Canon’, HThR 103 (2010) 47-66; Markschies, Christian Theology and Its Institutions, 199-202. 47 For these codices, see D.C. Parker, Codex Sinaiticus: The Story of the World’s Oldest Bible (London, 2010). 48 Cf. M. Hengel, Die vier Evangelien und das eine Evangelium von Jesus Christus (Tübingen, 2008); see also D.C. Aune, ‘The Meaning of Εὐαγγέλιον in the Inscriptiones of the Canonical Gospels’, in E. Mason (ed.), A Teacher for All Generations: Essays in Honor of James C. VanderKam, 2 vols (Leiden, 2012) 2.857-82; S.J. Gathercole, ‘The Titles of the Gospels in the Earliest New Testament Manuscripts’, ZNW 104 (2013) 33-76.

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After this passage about the Gospels, the author continues with telling that John was banished by Domitian to the island of Patmos, ‘which is one of the Cycladic islands’ (53-58Z, 44U): the explanation is interesting as it conforms to the style of the explanation of Lystra as being part of Lycaonia (§ 1). The action of Domitian fits the bad name this emperor had as a persecutor, which we start to find in the later second century with Melito of Sardis,49 even though modern ancient historians generally reject the fact of a persecution during his reign.50 It may surprise that the author does not mention the writing of Revelation, but this book was still not accepted as canonical by eastern theologians at that time,51 which is again an indication of the origin of the author from the eastern part of the Roman Empire. The banishment is of course also an elegant manner to get John out of the way and to continue with Timothy. After the latter’s and Domitian’s death, Nerva recalled John from exile, who returned to Ephesus. When he saw that the very holy Timothy had died, he ‘took hold of the presidency of the apostolic throne through those who were found at that time to be the high priests (i.e. bishops)’ (αὐτὸς διὰ τῶν τηνικαῦτα εὑρεθέντων ἀρχιερέων τῆς προεδρίας τοῦ ἀποστολικοῦ ἀντελάβετο θρόνου: 90-91Z, 64-65U). The reference to bishops suggests the contemporary, pre-Justinian custom that bishops were elected by the other bishops and the metropolitan of their diocese.52 The metropolitan of Asia was of course the 49

Melito apud Eus. HE 4.26.9. For the time of his Apology, ca. AD 176, see U. Huttner, Early Christianity in the Lycus Valley (Leiden, 2013) 239f. 50 There is a certain consensus that Domitian did not persecute the Christians, cf. J.G. Cook, Roman Attitudes towards the Christians (Tübingen, 2010) 117-37 (with earlier bibliography); D. Timpe, ‘Domitian als Christenfeind und die Tradition der Verfolgerkaiser’, in J. Frey et al. (eds), Heil und Geschichte (Tübingen 2009) 213-42; Barnes, Early Christian Hagiography, 37; K. Backhaus, ‘Der Tyrann als Topos. Nero/Domitian in der frühjüdischfrühchristlichen Wahrnehmung’, in S. Bönisch-Meyer et al. (eds), Nero und Domitian. Mediale Diskurse der Herrscherrepräsentation im Vergleich (Tübingen, 2014) 379-403. 51 Markschies, Christian Theology and Its Institutions, 197 note 18; add Hier. Ep. 129. 52 For the election of bishops, see J. Straub, Regeneratio imperii, 2 vols (Darmstadt, 1972) 369-82 (first published in 1964); P. Norton, Episcopal Elections 250 - 600: hierarchy and popular will in late antiquity (Oxford, 2007); J. Leemans et al. (eds), Episcopal Elections in Late Antiquity (Berlin

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bishop of Ephesus, who could not be mentioned here. Thus we are left with the idea that Ephesus was an apostolic see, going back to Jesus’ beloved apostle. What stronger claims could a city have? 4. The Katagogia and Timothy’s death After the exiling of John, the Acts continues with noting that during these events Timothy was carrying out his episcopal duties in a pious and fine manner, but that Ephesus still preserved a survival from pagan times, that is, a festival called Katagogia, ‘which was celebrated on certain days’ (63Z, 48U). According to the Acts, ‘they put around themselves indecent adornments and covered their faces with masks so that they would not be recognised. They wore clubs and images of idols, sang disparaging songs and set upon free men and respectable women in a lawless manner. They committed murders not by accident and poured out lots of blood at notable places of the city. They did not stop acting as if they were doing something necessary and useful for the soul’ (64-70Z, 48-52U). The recent discussions of the Acts have not kept up with the increasing number of inscriptions mentioning the Katagogia or the studies analysing its contents. It may therefore be useful to set out the available evidence, since inscriptions have increased our knowledge of the festival to a certain extent since Usener first drew attention to this festival with his publication of the Acts. The noun Katagogia literally means ‘Debarkation’, that is, the debarkation of the god Dionysos, having arrived from the sea. The Katagogia belongs to a certain type of Greek festival, which celebrated the advent of a divinity, often in the shape of his or her statue,53 sometimes on a ship that was moved through the streets, as we can see on vase paintings of ancient Athens.54 There were several kinds of these festivals, dedicated to different gods and goddesses, such as Aphrodite and Boston, 2011); M.-A. Nsiri, ‘“De dei iudicio qui episcopum fecit”: les élections épiscopales en Afrique du IIIème au Vème siècle’, Revue des Études Tardo-antiques 7 (2017-2018) 63-93. 53 See the detailed study by C. Sourvinou-Inwood, Hylas, the Nymphs, Dionysos and Others (Stockholm, 2005) 151-68. 54 W. Burkert, ‘Katagógia-Anagógia and the Goddess of Knossos’, in R. Hägg et al. (eds), Early Greek Cult Practice (Stockholm, 1988) 81-88, reprinted in Burkert, Kleine Schriften VI (Göttingen, 2011) 90-103. Athens:

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and Persephone, but the most prominent god in these festivals was Dionysos. Precisely in Ionia we have a number of testimonies showing that the festival was widely celebrated, thus corroborating the testimony of our Acts.55 It is interesting to see that, in the wide ranging survey of Greek festivals at the beginning of last century, Martin Nilsson (1874-1967) still rejected a comparison with festivals celebrating the return of Kore (Persephone), but instead adduced the Ephesian festival as an example of ritual street battles,56 which had just been discussed by Usener in his great article ‘Heilige Handlung’, a study that made an indelible impression on my compatriot, the famous historian Johan Huizinga (1872-1945).57 Moreover, Nilsson did not identify the god of the festival. He only rejected the possibility that it was Artemis or Kore, although the latter comparison by Lobeck was absolutely spot on.58 Fortunately, though, a steady stream of epigraphical discoveries enable us to say something more about the festival and its god, which was undoubtedly Dionysos, as the description of our Acts also suggests. Ch. Auffarth, Der drohende Untergang (Berlin, 1991) 213-20; R. Parker, Polytheism and Society in Athens (Oxford, 2005) 302-03. 55 Cf. I. Tassignon, ‘Dionysos et les Katagôgies d’Asie Mineure’, in A. Motte and Ch.M. Ternes (eds), Dieux, fêtes, sacré dans la Grèce et la Rome antiques (Turnhout, 2003) 81-99, who insufficiently distinguishes between the Katagogia and other Dionysiac rituals; better, A.I. Jiménez San Cristóbal, ‘Fuentes cristianas para el estudio de fiestas paganas: las Actas de San Timoteo’, in M. López-Salvá et al. (eds.), Los orígenes del cristianismo en la filosofía, la literatura y el arte (Madrid, 2016) 33-50. Note that M. Adak and P. Thonemann, ‘Teos und Abdera in hellenistischer Zeit: Der Jahreskalender, Kulte und neue Inschriften’, Philia 6 (2020) 1-34 at 15 assume that the festival was also celebrated in Teos. 56 M.P. Nilsson, Griechische Feste (Leipzig, 1906) 416f. 57 H. Usener, ‘Heilige Handlung’, Arch. f. Religionswiss. 7 (1904) 281-339, reprinted in his Kleine Schriften IV (Berlin, 1910) 422-67, cf. J.N. Bremmer, ‘Hermann Usener between British Anthropology, Dutch History and French Sociology’, in M. Espagne and P. Rabault-Feuerhahn (eds), Hermann Usener und die Metamorphosen der Philologie (Wiesbaden, 2011) 77-87. For the street battles, add the modern Greek examples in A. Wilhelm, ‘Caterva’, Arch. f. Religionswiss 16 (1913) 630-31 = Wilhelm, Kleine Schriften II.3 (Vienna, 2000) 328f. 58 C. Lobeck, Aglaophamus (Königsbergen, 1829) 177, cf. Sourvinou-Inwood, Hylas, 159f.

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Our best description comes from Smyrna. In a passage about the famous sophist Polemon, we hear that he and his family received the right to be on board of the sacred trireme. About this ship, Philostratus tells us: ‘For in the month Anthesterion (February) a trireme in full sail is brought in procession to the agora, and the priest of Dionysos, like a helmsman, steers it as it comes from the sea, loosening its cables’.59 For us it is important to note that the festival took place in the month Anthesterion and was clearly presided over by the priest of Dionysos. Both these characteristics of the festival are confirmed by other places in Ionia. In Miletus, ‘at the festival of the Katagogia the priests and priestesses of Dionysos Bakchios will bring down Dionysos together with the priest and priestess of Dionysos, from early in the morning until ….’.60 Unfortunately, the inscription mostly becomes illegible from this point on, but it confirms that the priests of Dionysos play a major role in the festival. This is also confirmed by an inscription from Priene, which stipulates that the priest of Dionysos Phleos will also hold the priesthood of Dionysos Katagogios and that ‘the priest of Dionysos Phleos will lead the procession of those who bring up together Dionysos and he will wear a garment of his own choice and a golden wreath’.61 Other inscriptions give a few additional details. In Colophon, the Katagogia was apparently the scene of a rich banquet given by the prytanis Menippos,62 and in Athens a libation took place at the Katagogia (IG II/III2 1368.114). Finally, in Ephesus itself, we have a mention of ‘the day of the Katagogia’ (I.Ephesos 661: ca. AD 140-160), at which the then prytanis Dionysios generously had distributed olive oil in the gymnasia and baths. It is not impossible that the atmosphere of the festival resembled that as painted by Plutarch in his Life of Antony as, apparently, the latter also entered the city ceremonially: ‘women dressed up as maenads, and men and boys like satyrs and Pans, led the way before him, and the city was full of 59

Philostratus, VS 531, see also Aristides, Or. 15.6 and 21.4 Keil; W. Quandt, De Baccho ab Alexandri aetate in Asia Minore culto (Halle, 1913); SourvinouInwood, Hylas, 156. 60 I. Miletus 1222.21-22 = Collection of Greek Ritual Norms (CGRN = http://cgrn.ulg.ac.be/, accessed 30-10-2019) 138. 61 I.Priene 144.2-3, 21-24 Blümel/Merkelbach = CGRN 176. 62 J. and L. Robert, Claros I (Paris, 1989) 63-66: Col. II.35, with their commentary on pp. 96-98 = SEG 39.1244, Col. II.35.

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ivy, thyrsus branches, harps, pipes and flutes, the people hailing him as Dionysus Charidotos, ‘Giver of Joy’ and Meilichios, ‘Beneficent’.’ (24.3). Does the description in our Acts give a true picture of contemporary feasting? There can be no doubt that there is some Dionysiac colouring in the description of our Acts. From literary descriptions and vase paintings we know that leather phalloi tied to the loins, masks, songs and thyrsoi or phalloi sticks were typical of the Dionysiac processions.63 However, we do not hear of statues of the god or murders; moreover, the inscriptions mention only one day for the festival instead of the several in the beginning of the description in our Acts. The latter features must be inventions of our Christian author. One can only wonder from where he got his material. Was the festival really still celebrated in his time? It is not impossible, but the exaggerations of criminal behaviour suggest, perhaps, a derivation from literature rather than a contemporary description. On the other hand, given its great popularity, the festival may well have survived in some form into late antiquity, if not later, as now the festival lasted only one day, according to the author (73-74Z, 54U).64 As befitted the Christian bishop, Timothy had evidently often warned his flock against this ‘abominable festival’ (74Z, 55U), but to no avail. That will have been the reason why he decided to interrupt the festivities. He went on his own accord into the middle of the Embolos (75Z) and started to berate the celebrants. But where did he 63

Cf. E. Csapo, ‘Comedy and the Pompe: Dionysian genre-crossing’, in E. Bakola et al. (eds), Greek Comedy and the Discourse of Genres (Cambridge, 2013) 40-80, who discusses our text at 62f. 64 For the popularity of Dionysos in Late Antiquity, see S.W. Reinert, ‘The image of Dionysus in Malalas’ Chronicle’, in S. Vryonis Jr. (ed.), Byzantine Studies in Honor of Milton V. Anastos (Malibu, 1985) 1-41; G. Bowersock, Hellenism in Late Antiquity (Ann Arbor, 1990) 41-53; D. Parrish, ‘A Mythological Theme in the Decoration of Late Roman Dining Rooms: Dionysos and His Circle’, Rev. Arch. 1995, 307-22; M. van Lohuizen-Mulder, ‘Frescoes in the Muslim Residence and Bathhouse Qusayr ‘Amra. Representations, Some of the Dionysiac Cycle, Made by Christian Painters from Egypt’, BABESCH 73 (1998) 125-37; J. Engemann, ‘Ein Tischfuss mit DionysosSatyr-Darstellung aus Abu Mina/Ägypten’, JAC 41 (1998) 169-77; P. Talloen, ‘From Pagan to Christian. Religious Iconography in Material Culture from Sagalassos’, in L. Lavan and M. Mulryan (eds), The Archaeology of Late Antique Paganism (Leiden, 2011) 575-607 at 576-84.

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go? Zamagni, followed by Concannon in his translation, translates Embolos with ‘quarter’, whereas Kensky explains it as the main artery of the city.65 The latter translation is definitely the right one. In the course of the Hellenistic and Roman period, colonnaded streets – and the Latin version rightly translates with porticus (55U) – became one of the most visible and typical components of cities in the Roman East. They crossed from one side of the city to the other, guiding visitors to the city centre and to its most important monuments. In addition, they were the streets for religious processions or the entries of the emperor.66 I take it therefore that Timothy, in the imagination of our author, interrupted the Dionysiac procession at a central moment and place, just as Paul supposedly addressed the Athenians on the Acropolis and not in some out of the way Athenian backyard. Timothy’s intervention was not appreciated, and the ‘workers of the devil’ assaulted him with their clubs and sticks. They almost killed him, but the ‘slaves of God’ brought him to rest ἐν ὁρίῳ ταύτης τῆς λαμπρᾶς μητροπόλεως δίακειμένῳ ἐν τοῖς πέραν τοῦ λιμένος μέρεσιν, ‘on the mountain of this splendid metropolis, which is situated in that part opposite the harbour’ (80-81Z, 58-59U).67 Concannon translates ἐν ὁρίῳ with ‘at the boundary’ and Kensky with ‘to an area’, but the Latin version rightly translates with in monte (58U). After Timothy had died they buried his body ‘in a place called Pion’. We know Pion, modern Bülbüldağ (‘mountain of the nightingales’), 65

Kensky, ‘Ephesus’, 100. I. Jacobs, ‘Ecclesiastical Dominance and Urban Setting. Colonnaded Streets as Back-drop for Christian Display’, Antiquité Tardive 22 (2014) 281-304. For Ephesus, see also Keil, ‘Zum Martyrium des heiligen Timotheus’, 87-92; C. Foss, Ephesus after Antiquity (Cambridge, 1979) 65-69; G. Rogers, The Sacred Identity of Ephesos. Foundation Myths of a Roman City (London and New York, 1991) 86-106; H. Thür, ‘The Processional Way in Ephesos as a Place of Cult and Burial’, in H. Koester (ed.), Ephesos, Metropolis of Asia (Valley Forge, 1995) 157-200; P. Yoncaci, Roman Urban Space Framed by Colonnades: mediating between myth, memory and history in Ephesus (MA Thesis, Middle East Technical University, Ankara, 2007) = https://etd.lib.metu.edu.tr/upload/12608002/index.pdf, accessed 21-12-2020; S. Ladstätter (ed.), Neue Forschungen zur Kuretenstraße von Ephesos (Vienna, 2009). 67 For the expression ‘slaves of God’, see Bremmer, ‘God and Christ in the Early Martyr Acts’, in M. Novenson (ed.), Monotheism and Christology in Greco-Roman Antiquity (Leiden, 2020) 222-48 at 242-44. 66

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as an Ephesian mountain, which was so famous that it gave its name to various persons, amongst whom the well-known Christian martyr Pionios. It is rather surprising that Pion is called here a place and not a mountain, and Christopher Jones has reasonably argued that the mountain apparently had given its name to a quarter of the city, perhaps situated outside the walls.68 In fact, the area must be the so-called West Necropolis, also called Harbour Necropolis, one of the two great cemeteries of Ephesus.69 That is, thus the author ends, ‘where his most holy martyrion is located’ (83-84Z, 61U). And indeed, the earliest martyria were situated at the edge of the towns, but later, and in much larger sizes, they could often be found in the centre of metropoleis such as Antioch and Constantinople;70 interesting examples have recently been excavated in Hierapolis (that of the apostle Philip) and in Neoklaudiopolis (that of an unknown martyr) in northern Asia Minor.71 The grave or, perhaps better, a grave of Timothy was seen by the archdeacon Theodosius, which he describes after the church of the Seven Sleepers.72 The latter legend 68

C.P. Jones, ‘Pion, Pionios’, in P. Scherrer et al. (eds), Steine und Wege (Vienna, 1999) 51-54. 69 Cf. M. Steskal, ‘Defying Death in Ephesus. Strategies of Commemoration in a Roman Metropolis’, in E. Mortensen and B. Poulsen (eds), Cityscapes and Monuments of Western Asia Minor. Memories and Identities (Oxford 2017) 229-36. I am grateful to Martin Steskal for information (email 12-11-2019). For a photo of this necropolis: https://www.oeaw.ac.at/en/ oeai/research/anthropology-and-necropoleis/ephesos-necropoleis/ (accessed 12-11-2019). 70 See still A. Grabar, Martyrium, 3 vols (Paris, 1943-1946) and ‘Martyrium ou “vingt ans après”’, Cahiers archéologiques 18 (1968) 239-244; S. de Blaauw, ‘Kultgebäude’, in RAC 20 (2008) 227-393 at 316-36; A.M. Yasin, Saints and Church Spaces in the Late Antique Mediterranean (Cambridge, 2009); V. Limberis, Architects of Piety. The Cappadocian Fathers and the Cult of the Martyrs (Oxford, 2011) 68-96 (with informative illustrations). 71 F. D’Andria, ‘Il santuario e la tomba dell’apostolo Filippo a Hierapolis di Frigia’, RendPontAc 84 (2011-2012) 3-75 and F. Guizzi, ‘Novità epigrafiche da Hierapolis di Frigia’, Historiká 7 (2017) 119-41 at 130-33 = https:// journals.openedition.org/historika/387, accessed 5-12-2020; T. BekkerNielsen et al., ‘A Late Roman Building Complex in the Papaz Tarlası, Vezirköprü (Ancient Neoklaudiopolis, northern Asia Minor)’, Proceedings of the Danish Institute at Athens 8 (2017) 25-58. 72 Theodosius, De situ Terrae Sanctae 26 = P. Geyer, Itinera Hierosolymitana saeculi IIII-VIII (Prague, 1908) 148.

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seems to date from the middle of the fifth century at the earliest,73 and its omission here may possibly constitute a terminus ante quem. With the funeral, the history of Timothy has come to an end and after having mentioned the elevation of John to the apostolic throne (§ 3), the Acts concludes with the date: the holy and illustrious apostle, patriarch and martyr ἐτελειώθη three days after the Katagogia. Concannon, like Zamagni before him, translates the Greek with ‘completed his life’, but the verb actually means ‘was fulfilled in martyrdom’ – martyrdom being the perfection of the Christian’s life.74 The actual day, according to the Acts, was 22 January. However, this would have been too early for the Katagogia, which were originally celebrated in the spring. It might be an indication that the festival was perhaps no longer properly remembered, but changes in the calendar in the course of time are of course also possible. With the date of the festival we have come to the end of our Acts. 5. Conclusions What conclusions can we draw from our analysis? I would like to note the following points: 1. As Tobias Nicklas observes, we hear about Paul (as the author of the corpus Paulinum including the letters to Timothy), the redaction of the Synoptic Gospels, the origin of the Fourth Gospel, and about Luke, the author of Acts, as the most important source about Timothy.75 The text does not claim canonical authority, but its content brings it close to great authority. 2. A proper discussion of our text, though, remains hampered by the fact that we cannot place it at a precise moment of time with any certainty. Yet the institutional vocabulary and the influence on Prochoros suggest a time later in the fifth century but not too late. Such a time would also fit the Latin translation, which cannot date before the middle of the fifth century, but may well date from the time of Justinian and almost certainly from before Photius as it still 73

N. Zimmermann, ‘Das Sieben-Schläfer-Zömeterium in Ephesos. Neue Forschungen zu Baugeschichte und Ausstattung eines ungewöhnlichen Bestattungskomplexes’, JÖAI 80 (2011) 365-407. 74 For this meaning, see J. den Boeft and J.N. Bremmer, ‘Notiunculae martyrologicae II’, VigChris 36 (1982) 383-402 at 385-87. 75 Nicklas, ‘Christian Apocrypha’, 107-08.

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calls Timothy a patriarch. Concannon has persuasively argued that the authority of Ephesus in Asia Minor was under threat of Constantinople’s prominence as capital.76 The stress on the apostolic nature of the see of Ephesus and the patriarchate of Timothy in our text is perhaps best explained from a concrete moment in time, such as the Council of Chalcedon when the ecclesiastical status of Ephesus was under threat of Constantinople, as I suggested above (§ 1), but I realise the uncertain status of this suggestion. 3. It is evident that our martyrdom was written in Ephesus itself. This is very clear from the many references in the text to ‘this city’, from the many biblical references quoted in connection with Ephesus, but also from the indications of eastern theology. Yet our text gives few hints of the actual Christian ritual life of Ephesus. Delehaye has plausibly argued that there could not yet have been a feast for Timothy when his bones were transferred to Constantinople. According to him, it was this transfer that initiated the cult of Timothy, but there is no proof of that either. More plausibly, he also suggests that the date of the annual feast as taking place shortly after the Katagogia actually inspired the author to connect the two. This is not impossible, but that is as far as we can go.77 In the end, the text refuses to give us more precise information about the cult of Timothy. Our text also combines John and Timothy rather uneasily. John obviously had a much better claim on Ephesian fame than Timothy. There is plenty of evidence that he was connected to Ephesus from an early moment in time.78 The Acts of John (§ 3) already has him die in Ephesus, although without any attention to his grave. This early interest in John also appears from a recently published inscription suggesting that Constantine himself built the first church on the tomb of the apostle.79 Did our author perhaps feel that Timothy carried too little weight in himself 76 Concannon, ‘Apostolic Memory’, 426-32; T. Kaçar, ‘Constantinople and Asia Minor: Ecclesiastical Jurisdiction in the Fourth Century’, in S. Mitchell and Ph. Pilhofer (eds), Early Christianity in Asia Minor and Cyprus (Leiden, 2019) 148-63. 77 Delehaye, ‘Les Actes de Saint Timothée’, 84. 78 H. Koester, ‘Ephesos in Early Christian Literature’, in id., Ephesos, 119-40, reprinted in Koester, Paul and his World: Interpreting the New Testament in Its Context (Minneapolis, 2007) 251-65. 79 D. Feissel, ‘Fabius Titianus, proconsul d’Asie sous Constantin, et les origines du culte de l’apôtre Jean à Éphèse’, in M.L. Caldelli and G.L. Gregori (eds), Epigrafia e ordine senatorio, 30 anni dopo (Rome, 2014) 159-66.

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and needed to be bolstered with an apostle having better credentials for an Ephesian presence? 4. The text mentions a grave of Timothy and, as we have seen, the archdeacon Theodosius noted the grave in his description of Ephesus, even though he pays much more attention to the grave of the Seven Sleepers and even mentions their dog. That makes me hesitant to stress the role of the text as a means of advertising Ephesus for pilgrims, as is done by Kensky.80 On the other hand, the small size of our writing would make it very suitable to carry around. We know that from the fourth century onwards miniature codices were introduced for various purposes, also for traveling,81 and our text would be a nice souvenir to take away from Ephesus. 5. In the earlier Acts of the Apostles, be they canonical or apocryphal, the apostles were shown bringing the gospel of Christ and performing miracles, without much attention to the exact place where they were buried. In our Acts, nearly three centuries later, the interest seems to have shifted. We hear no longer of miracles or of intensive missionary activities. It is true that Timothy reproaches the pagan revellers, but one cannot escape the impression that Ephesus is basically Christian with the occasional pagan festival. The focus of the text is on problems of the new religion, not of the old. The latter is now depicted as murderous and not deserving any respect, even if it was still alive. 6. Tobias Nicklas has also drawn attention to the fact that some manuscripts add the following sentence after the mention of Timothy’s martyrion: ‘And he was transferred to the imperial city of Constantinople. He was placed in the most holy church of the holy apostles. From then up to the present his holy remains lie under the sacred altar, alongside the apostles Andrew and Luke’.82 The sentence does 80

Kensky, ‘Ephesus’, 108-13. T.J. Kraus, ‘Die Welt der Miniaturbücher in der Antike und Spätantike’, Studien zum Neuen Testament und seiner Umwelt.A 35 (2010) 79-110; ‘Fragmente zweier christlicher Kodizes in der Bodleian Library, Oxford’, in D. Minutoli (ed.), Inediti offerto a Rosario Pintaudi per il suo 65o compleanno (Florence, 2012) 39-52 and ‘Miniature Codices in Late Antiquity: preliminary remarks and tendencies about a specific book format’, Early Christianity 152 (2016) 134-52; A. Luijendijk, Forbidden Oracles? (Tübingen, 2014) 51-56. 82 Nicklas, ‘Christian Apocrypha’, 108-09, cf. Mss A O B: μετηνέχθη δὲ ἐν τῇ βασιλευούσῃ κωνσταντινοπόλει. καὶ ἐτέθη ἐν τῷ ἁγιωτάτῳ μεγάλῳ 81

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not occur in the Latin translation and clearly postdates it, as it is also missing in some Greek manuscripts. But it shows that our martyrdom was a living text that somebody felt the need to update,83 perhaps even somebody from Constantinople. As the possession of relics of martyrs and apostles had become increasingly important since Constantinople started to collect the bones of apostles and martyrs from the middle of the fourth century onwards,84 graves of apostles had become much more prestigious and could now play a role in the ecclesiastical power games. It also shows that the Christian landscape of memory was not a static one, but that politics played an important role in the adorning of cities. In the end, the landscapes were just as malleable as our own memory, even if they were sealed with apostolic authority.85

ἀποστολίῳ τῶν ἁγίων ἀποστόλων, ἔνθα μέχρι τοίνυν τυγχάνει τὸ ἅγιον αὐτοῦ λείψανον κείμενον ὑπὸ τὴν ἱερὰν τράπεζαν, μετὰ καὶ ἀνδρέου καὶ λουκᾶ τῶν ἀποστόλων. For the importance of Timothy for Constantinople, cf. Paulin. Nol. C. 19.329-42 (CSEL 34.129-30.): Timothy and Andrew functioned for Constantinopolis, magnae caput aemula Romae in the same way as Peter and Paul for Rome; see also A. Heisenberg, Grabeskirche und Apostelkirche, 2 vols (Leipzig, 1908) 81, 110, 112, 134. 83 For the ‘living texts’, see the interesting reflections of É. Rebillard, The Early Martyr Narratives: neither authentic accounts nor forgeries (Philadelphia, 2020). Although he rightly states that ‘among the many versions that are preserved none is more authentic than the other’, it does not follow that ‘there is no “original text”’ (p. 86). 84 R.W. Burgess, ‘The Passio S. Artemii, Philostorgius, and the Dates of the Invention and Translations of the Relics of Sts Andrew and Luke’, Anal. Boll. 121 (2003) 5-36, repr. in R.W. Burgess, Chronicles, Consuls, and Coins: Historiography and History in the Later Roman Empire (Farnham, 2011) Ch. 11 (whose reconstruction of the year AD 336 is hardly persuasive); J. Wortley, ‘The Earliest Relic-importations to Constantinople’, in Wortley, Studies on the Cult of Relics in Byzantium up to 1204 (Farnham, 2009) 207-25; R. Wiśniewski, The Beginning of the Cult of Relics (Oxford, 2018) 22f. 85 I am most grateful to Raphael Brendel and Ton Hilhorst for information and comments and to Janet Spittler for her thoughtful correction of my English.

XI. Church Beyond Canon. Notes on the Martyrium of John the Evangelist in Rome and the Basilica of San Giovanni a Porta Latina SIBLE DE BLAAUW

The idea of the apostolic foundation of Christian Rome by Peter and Paul had early roots and was hardly contested in the early Christian world. Less recognised, however, is the history of the presence and martyrdom of John the Evangelist in the capital of the Empire. As a matter of fact, it has always been a weak tradition, but it may still arouse one’s curiosity for two reasons. First of all, its earliest record comes from a pre-eminent authority. Furthermore, it has left material traces in a church building that pinpoints the supposed location of the evangelist’s martyrium. In this paper, the scant written tradition will be brought in connection with the lieu de mémoire as indicated by the Roman basilica. It will explore the formation of a collective memory in Rome regarding the son of Zebedee and the Seer of Patmos. Anticipating a more extensive publication on the topic, this will be done in a condensed way, with the focus on the earliest traces of both traditions.1 1

A first result of my research on this subject was published in Dutch: S. de Blaauw, De ziener van Patmos voor de Latijnse Poort: De universaliteit van de kerk van Rome en de geschiedenis van een kerkgebouw (Valedictory lecture Radboud Universiteit. Nijmegen, 2016: https://repository.ubn.ru.nl/ handle/2066/166201, accessed 20-9-2020). The present paper is a reflection of work in progress on one aspect of a more extensive publication planned at the Akademie der Wissenschaften und der Literatur Mainz. For this reason, the notes will be limited to the most essential references. I am grateful for the stimulating discussions during the Regensburg workshop of November 2019.

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1. John and the Apostolicity of Rome In one of his many polemical treatises from the period shortly after the year 200, Tertullian emphasizes the importance of the apostles for the knowledge of the authentic teaching of Christ. The men who had known and heard Jesus personally warranted the truth and unity of the Church. Therefore, so Tertullian, the places where the apostles had stayed were the benchmarks of true faith for the whole Church. He mentions Corinth, Philippi, Ephesus, Smyrna, and Rome. Jerusalem was probably hors concours, but Rome is at the top of the ranking, because as many as three apostles stayed there. Peter, Paul, and John had become the perfect followers of Christ in the capital, because they had suffered martyrdom there. Peter was crucified in Rome, Paul beheaded, and John thrown into a caldron full of boiling oil, which he left unharmed, only to be exiled to an island.2 While the martyrdom in Rome of the Princes of the Apostles Peter and Paul has revealed itself as a firm and widespread tradition, the episode of John in Rome has been left hanging in the fog of history. Yet the story, obviously already existing in the years around 200, is not necessarily much later in origin than the oldest tradition of Peter and Paul.3 Today’s research opinion is, as far as I can see, unanimous in viewing the well-known saint figure of John as an assemblage of at least three different personalities: the apostle, the evangelist (and author of the Epistles), and the seer of Patmos.4 The construction process of this composite figure seems to have been completed in the first half of the second century. Only a few generations after the death of the supposed evangelist, the fascinating figure of John exists in the tradition as we know it today—a figure whom the Christians of the early days obviously longed for: the Son of Zebedee, the favorite apostle of Jesus, the seer, to whom in the solitude of Patmos the spirit 2

Tertullianus, De praescriptione haereticorum 36.3, 304: [Roma] Ista quam felix ecclesia cui totam doctrinam apostoli cum sanguine suo profuderunt, ubi Petrus passioni dominicae adaequatur, ubi Paulus Iohannis exitu coronatur, ubi apostolus Iohannes posteaquam in oleum igneum demersus nihil passus est, in insulam relegatur. 3 See the critical assessment by O. Zwierlein, Petrus und Paulus in Jerusalem und Rom (Berlin, 2012). 4 R. Burnet, Les Douze Apôtres. Histoire de la réception des figures apostoliques dans le christianisme ancien (Turnhout, 2014) 343-408.

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of God revealed the mysteries of the last days, as well as the author of the Fourth Gospel. The preserved chapters of the so-called Acta Iohannis, offering the oldest descriptions of John’s life, speak nowhere about the apostle’s martyrium in Rome.5 The place most closely associated with him is – after Jerusalem – Ephesus in Asia Minor. Leaving the question of dating the oldest Greek Acts dedicated to John to the experts, it may be assumed that the tradition of John in Ephesus has taken root not later than 250.6 Remarkably enough, it seems that the question of the relationship between the Acta Iohannis and the earlier mention of Tertullian is hardly discussed in the research of the New Testament apocrypha. One might speculate about a western versus an eastern tradition, but the problem appears not to be that simple. Later versions of Johannine Acts in Greek and in Latin do narrate the arrest of the apostle in Ephesus, his transport to Rome and his trial in the capital before the Emperor, mostly Domitian (81-96), but when the oil martyrdom is mentioned, it is situated in Ephesus.7 As far as I can see, not any of the tradition lines has the narrative of John’s condemnation and martyrdom in Rome as reported – albeit in a much condensed way – by Tertullian. Eusebius associates John’s exile to Patmos with the persecution of Domitian, but gives no further details, although he had knowledge of Tertullian’s writings.8 [Fig. 1] On the other hand, the Western Fathers of the Church Ambrose and Jerome make use of the passage of Tertullian as a significant source. In his hymn to John, Ambrose recalls the torture in the glowing

5

Edition: É. Junod and J.-D. Kaestli, Acta Johannis, 2 vols (Turnhout, 1983). Studies: J.N. Bremmer (ed.), The Apocryphal Acts of John (Kampen, 1995). 6 K. Schäferdiek, ‘Johannes-Akten’, in RAC 18 (Stuttgart, 1998) 564-95 at 577-81; O. Zwierlein, ‘Die Datierung der Acta Iohannis und der Papyrus Kellis Gr. Fragm. A.I.’, ZPE 174 (2010) 65-84 at 75. For the connection between John and Ephesus, see also Bremmer, this volume, Chapter X. 7 Extensively about the trial in Rome the so-called Acta Iohannis Romae: J.E. Spittler, ‘The Acts of John in Rome: A New Translation and Introduction’, in T. Burke (ed.), New Testament Apocrypha: More Noncanonical Scriptures, vol. 3 (Grand Rapids, forthcoming). The oil martyrium in Ephesus e.g. in Virtutes Johannis (late 6th c. Gaul?): K. Schäferdiek, ‘Die «Passio Johannis» des Melito von Laodikeia und die «Virtutes Johannis»’, AB 103 (1985) 367-82. 8 Eusebius, HE 3.17-18.

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Figure 1. The martyrium of John the Apostle under the Emperor Domitian, Filippino Lippi, Fresco ca. 1490, Florence, S. Maria Novella, Cappella Strozzi (photo CKD, Radboud Universiteit)

oil.9 Jerome emphasizes the excellence of John in comparison to the other disciples of Jesus, because he is uniting the qualities of an apostle, evangelist, prophet, and virgin and, moreover, as a martyr is in no way inferior to others. The last because – and here Tertullian is paraphrased – he suffered in Rome under the Emperor Domitian, but got out of the oil tub stronger than when he was thrown in.10 From Rome itself nothing is heard for three centuries. At most, some clues may serve to reconstruct the context in which the legend originated. The history of the preaching by Peter and Paul in Rome and their martyrdom under the emperor Nero developed firmly in and outside of Rome during the second century.11 The scientific debate of 9

Amore Christi nobilis: Ambrosius, Hymn 6, in J. Fontaine et al. (eds), Hymnes / Ambroise de Milan (Paris, 1992). 10 Jerome, Adversus Jovinianum 1.26, PL 23, 259B. Cf. Jerome, Commentariorum in Matheum 3.20.23, Commentariorum in Matheum libri IV, ed. D. Hurst and M. Adriaen (Turnhout, 1969) 178, 1074-78. 11 For their martyrdom, see also B. van der Lans and J.N. Bremmer, ‘Tacitus and the Persecution of the Christians: An Invention of Tradition?’, Eirene 53 (2017) 299-331.

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recent years on the historical credibility of Peter’s stay in Rome has taught at least that the tradition must have been early, and remained uncontested. The crystallisation of the idea of the Galilean fisherman’s stay and death in the capital seems most plausibly a consequence of Paul’s historically credible mission in Rome. At the end of the second century, memorials for Peter and Paul (on the Vatican hill and on Via Ostiense, respectively) are mentioned, monuments that were certainly not brand new at that time.12 When the Christian emperors had huge basilicas built on these sites in the fourth century, the ancient monuments were considered the tombs of the princes of the apostles. In parallel with (or only a little later than) the Peter tradition, a memory of John must have developed in Rome, as Tertullian witnesses around the year 200. We will probably never know from which – possibly historical – materials this tradition was put together. It is clear that Tertullian admires Rome from North Africa because of its triple apostolicity. No surviving Roman source before him and after him has adopted this motif. For Rome itself and its later role in the universal Church, Peter and Paul, as founders of the Christian congregation of the capital, were obviously completely sufficient. Nevertheless, the story witnessed by Tertullian must have fetched up in a branch of the family of the Acts of John, now unknown, that localised the martyrium of the apostle and evangelist in Rome. Only in the Byzantine period does a much more specific location emerge within the city walls on which the supposed event would have taken place. 2. The beginnings of a lieu de mémoire The oldest evidence of a precisely localised history of John in Rome can be found in the Martyrologium of Ado of Vienne, a liturgical calendar with the lives of saints, compiled in the third quarter of the ninth century by an author with knowledge of Italy, who is fond of story-telling. In the entry for May 6th, one reads that the apostle John, during the persecution of Christians by Domitian, was transferred from Ephesus to Rome. There, he was sentenced and, in front of the Porta Latina, was thrown into a barrel full of boiling oil in the presence of the Senate. For his dignified memory, the Christians are said to have built a very beautiful church in front of the city gate called 12

Eusebius, HE 2.25.

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Figure 2. Rome, Porta Latina (inner side) and chapel of S. Giovanni in Oleo

Porta Latina. Ado adds that still in his days, the faithful assemble together in this church festively on the 6th of May.13 [Fig. 2] Ado must have had a local Roman tradition at his disposal. A Roman Sacramentary from the seventh century confirms its existence, when it records the feast day of Natalis S. Johannis ante Portam Latinam on May 6th.14 This reference testifies that the story of John was then 13

Martyrologium Adonis II Non. Mai, ed. J. Dubois and G. Renaud, Le martyrologe d’Adon: ses deux familles, ses trois recensions. Texte et commentaire (Paris, 1984) 149: Natale sancti Iohannis apostoli ante portam Latinam Romae, qui ab Epheso, iussu Domitiani fratris Titi, secunda persecutione, quam ipse post Neronem exercuit, ad urbem Romam perductus, praesente Senatu, ante portam Latinam, in ferventis olei dolio missus est, agente hoc impio principe, qui christianorum infestissimus persecutor erat. Sed beatus apostolus tam immunis a poena inde exiit, quam a corruptione carnis fuerat immunis. Tunc in Pathmum insulam relegatur exsilio, ubi Apocalypsim vidit. Ad commendandum ergo ipsius dignam memoriam, et pro fide apostolicam constantiam, christiani ecclesiam venerationem eius gestantem, in supradicto loco, ante portam Latinam, praeclaro et miro opere condiderunt, ubi festivum concursum II. Non. Maii usque hodie faciunt. 14 J. Deshusses (ed.), Le sacramentaire Grégorien I (Fribourg, 19923) 640.

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topographically anchored at the Via Latina in front of the south-eastern city gate and had been legitimised by liturgy. There is still a gap of more than 250 years between the allusion of Jerome – yet without topographical specification – and the mention in the Mass book of the seventh century. The striking silence of the Roman textual tradition could be explained by the reluctance of the ecclesiastical authorities of Rome regarding apocryphal literature. The most important pope of late antiquity, Leo the Great (440-461), forbade the reading and possession of these ’apocrypha’, both in the church and at home.15 Nevertheless, it is probable that a local Roman variant of the Acts of John circulated quietly and left traces in popular piety as well as in liturgy.16 When the vague and fragmentary reminiscence of John in Rome found its topos at the Porta Latina remains completely uncertain. At the time of Tertullian, the Porta Latina did not exist at all, because the 14 km long city wall, which includes this gate, was built only under the emperors Aurelian (270-275) and Probus (275-282). However, it cannot be ruled out that a memory of John along the Via Latina was fixed earlier, when the separation between urbs and suburbium was barely perceptible here. The time gap until the mention of the martyr’s feast of May 6th in the Roman Sacramentary remains striking anyway, but archaeology takes us a little further back than the seventh century. The church building that rises directly to the inner left side of the Porta Latina is definitely older than the liturgical reference. Unfortunately, there is not a single document and no inscription that bears witness to its establishment. In this respect, too, the feast day in the Sacramentary is the earliest mention, because in the Natalis S. Johannis ante Portam Latinam the existence of the church, which still bears the same name to this day, is implied. But unlike most early Christian churches in Rome, there is not a single source left regarding its foundation or endowment. Luckily, the building is still standing today and has something to say. Almost hidden behind a modern convent building in the green area of the ancient city, a three-aisled basilica arises, a little more than 30 meters long. Arcades with five carefully selected reused columns 15

Leo Magnus, Epist. 15.15: falsi codices, et a sincera veritate discordes, in nullo usu lectionis habeantur. 16 E. Rose, Ritual Memory: The Apocryphal Acts and Liturgical Commemoration in the Early Medieval West (c. 500-1215) (Leiden, 2009) 47 and passim.

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Figure 3. Rome, S. Giovanni a Porta Latina, interior towards southeast

separate the central nave from the aisles on both sides. The longitudinal axis runs parallel to the Via Latina, so that the apse is directed southeast. The porch and the bell tower clearly date from the high middle ages, as well as the small arched windows in the clerestory of the nave. But several features point to an origin of the building in late antiquity, not only various sections of the mixed brick-tuff masonry, but also the design of the apse zone. Without going into detail, we can conclude that the ground plan and structure visible today still constitute the main lines of a late antique building.17 [Fig. 3] The design of the east end is quite remarkable. The three-sided apse with large windows is preceded by an articulated bay or ‘forechoir’, which is flanked by two side chambers. At present, due to the uniform roofs of the high middle ages, this is hardly recognizable from the outside, but originally the stepped design of the apse, forechoir, and adjoining chambers was clearly visible. This tripartite choir 17 R. Krautheimer et al., Corpus Basilicarum Christianarum Romae. The Early Christian Basilicas of Rome (IV-IX Cent.), 5 vols (Città del Vaticano, Rome, New York, 1937-1977) 1.304-19.

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is a rarity in Rome, but has similarities with building practices in the Eastern Roman Empire. Richard Krautheimer, the most important researcher of the last century on the early Christian churches of Rome, dedicated one of his first publications on Rome in 1936 to this modest and lesser-known church, fascinated as always by ‘enigmatic’ buildings. At the time, he called it ‘an oriental basilica’, realised by Byzantine builders.18 Walter Nikolaus Schumacher discovered the most specific parallels in Asia Minor and the Balkans and presumed a prototype from Justinian times in Constantinople. The other examples also date from the sixth century, but not its earliest decades.19 Nowadays, we are more inclined to think of construction by local Roman workshops, but we still cannot get around the Byzantine features of this building in the Roman context. For this reason, the dating in the middle of the sixth century is most probable. 3. Rome and Byzantium This chronological setting implies the foundation of the basilica in an impoverished and depopulated city which had come under Byzantine control in 547, after the devastating Goth wars. Notwithstanding the chronic mistrust in Rome regarding Constantinople, general Narses, the eunuch of Armenian origin who ruled Italy in the name of the Emperor (554-574), did his best to engage himself with the old capital. Among other things, he made repairs to the damaged Aurelian city walls and decorated them with Christian symbols such as disc crosses. Perhaps this attention to the perimeters and protection of the city was also the background for the construction of a church almost abutting the city walls. The brick-inlaid cross in the southern outer wall of the church, around 5 m from the facade, would also fit into this framework. Such crosses, often interpreted as apotropaic, meet in Rome and Byzantium on churches and city walls between 400 and 550.20 18

R. Krautheimer, ‘An Oriental basilica in Rome: S. Giovanni a Porta Latina’, American Journal of Archaeology Ser. 2 40 (1936) 485-95. 19 W.N. Schumacher, ‘Byzantinisches in Rom’, RQ 68 (1973) 104-24. 20 R. Coates Stephens, ‘A brick cross noted by Lucos Cozza in the walls of S. Giovanni a Porta Latina’, in id. (ed.), Scritti in onore di Lucos Cozza (Rome, 2014) 183-91.

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Schumacher’s suggestion that the enigmatic Narses was the patron of the church at the Porta Latina is hypothetical, but deserves attention. Until the late eigth century, this church remained completely out of sight of the papal care for the churches of Rome, as documented in the Liber Pontificalis. In that sense, it is beyond canon. A non-Roman donor therefore is highly plausible. There is no need for extreme scepticism regarding the original name of the basilica at the Porta Latina. From the reference in the seventh- century Sacramentary onward, there is a consistent tradition of a dedication to St. John, associated with the festival of May 6th and hence focussed on John the apostle and evangelist. If he is indeed the original patron saint, this dedication fits perfectly in the increasing devotion of the apostle and Evangelist during the fifth and sixth centuries. The empress Galla Placidia was rescued from a shipwreck by John on the way from Constantinople to Ravenna, and built a stately basilica dedicated to the evangelist in Ravenna, the oldest church that has been preserved in that city to this day (426-433). In Constantinople, there were both a church of John the Baptist and John the Evangelist in the suburb of Hebdomon. In Rome, the first references to the cult of John can be found in the sixties of the fifth century, when Pope Hilarius (461-468) had chapels built on both sides of the Lateran Baptistery, one dedicated to the Baptist, the other to the evangelist. The relics deposited in the chapel altars according to the Liber Pontificalis must have been contact relics of the respective saints.21 The evangelist’s chapel is completely preserved, including the vaulted mosaic. In the inscription of the elegant portal, the founder Hilarius calls the evangelist his “liberator”, perhaps a reference to the history of Galla Placidia. A few years earlier, Hilarius had participated in a turbulent council in Ephesus as an envoy of Leo the Great, where he must have visited the tomb of the apostle. The oldest archaeological traces of the supposed tomb of the apostle John in Ephesus only date back to the fourth century.22 Gradually, the cult of John replaced the worship of the goddess Artemis in 21

LP 48.2, L. Duchesne (ed.), Le Liber Pontificalis. Texte, introduction et commentaire, 3 vols (Paris 1886-1892) 1.242. 22 A. Thiel, Die Johanneskirche in Ephesos (Wiesbaden, 2005) 100-01, cf. D. Feissel, ‘Fabius Titianus, proconsul d’Asie sous Constantin, et les origines du culte de l’apôtre Jean à Éphèse’, in M.L. Caldelli and G.L. Gregori (eds), Epigrafia e ordine senatorio, 30 anni dopo (Rome,

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Figure 4. Rome, S. Giovanni a Porta Latina, apse and nave from the east

her neighbouring temple as a pilgrimage destination. In Ephesus, the devotion to John received a strong impulse when the emperor Justinian and his wife Theodora had an impressive domed basilica built over the apostle’s tomb shortly after the completion of Hagia Sophia in Constantinople in 537. Only a few years later, a humble church may have been built in Rome on a location likewise associated with a significant episode of the apostle’s life. [Fig. 4] Neither in the East nor in the West did the evangelist John ever become a ‘popular’ saint like the Baptist of the same name. The author of the visionary apocalypse and the Fourth Gospel, who is said to have died a peaceful death in Ephesus, evoked an admiration of a different, more exclusive kind than most martyrs. Procopius, the Byzantine historian and contemporary of the construction of the churches in Ephesus and Rome, calls John by his epithet beloved in the East, ‘the Theologian’, because, according to Procopius, ‘the nature of God 2014) 159-66. For John and Ephesus, see also Spittler and Bremmer, this volume, Chapters IX and X.

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was described by him in a manner beyond the unaided power of man’.23 It seems that in Byzantium, the cult of the apostles became an instrument in the unity of the Empire aimed for by Justinian on a dogmatic Christian basis. It is the time of Justinian’s ‘retreat into theology’ (543-565, as Mischa Meier calls it) and of his ‘Christian experiment’ (as characterised by Hartmut Leppin): his forty-year plan for the Christian transformation of the classical world.24 John may have played a special role in this ambition, as the author of the Apocalypse in times of an apocalyptic crisis and as the apostle closest to the Virgin Mary.25 The elaborate building project in Ephesus testifies to the personal interest of the emperor. In the early seventh century, a stately church dedicated to St. John the Evangelist was built directly at the Imperial Palace in Constantinople. A somewhat later tradition even claims that Constantinople, as the heir of Ephesus, had the right to invoke John as warrant of the apostolicity of its patriarchate.26 In Rome, the development of the veneration of the apostles – in addition to Peter and Paul –, is palpable in the liturgical books and in the iconographical programme of churches from the fifth to the seventh centuries. Precisely in the poorly documented sixth century an important new church was dedicated to two apostles whose cult had hardly taken root in Rome before: the basilica apostolorum Philippi et Jacobi (now Santi Apostoli). Until then, the cult of this apostolic couple had been concentrated in Phrygia. Without Byzantine inspiration or initiative, this monumental church foundation is hardly conceivable. Pope Pelagius I (556-561), whom the Liber Pontificalis depicts as its patron, ruled in good harmony with Narses.27 Although a role of the Byzantine patricius Narses as financier can not be proven, he was one

23

Procopius, De Aedificiis 5.1.5, ed. H.W. Dewing, Procopius Buildings (Cambridge MA and London, 1954) 317. For the epithet ‘the Theologian’, see also Bremmer, this volume, Chapter X. 24 M. Meier, Das andere Zeitalter Justinians. Kontingenzerfahrung und Kontingenzbewältigung im 6. Jahrhundert n.Chr. (Göttingen, 2003); H. Leppin, Justinian: Das christliche Experiment (Stuttgart, 2011). 25 P. Magdalino, ‘The Apostolic Tradition in Constantinople’, Scandinavian Journal of Modern Greek Studies 2 (2016) 115-42. 26 F. Dvornik, The Idea of Apostolicity in Byzantium and the Legend of the Apostle Andrew (Cambridge MA, 1958) 238-44. 27 LP 62.2-3 and LP 63.1 (John III), Duchesne, Liber Pontificalis 1, 303, 305.

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of the few in Rome at the time to have the necessary resources at his disposal. This is the religious, political, and cultural configuration in which narrative threads from the previous centuries obviously were woven together into a memorial site at the Porta Latina, where a basilica was built to capture the memory of John in Rome. Both in the promotion of the cult of John and in its architectural uniqueness, S. Giovanni a Porta Latina fits in this most pronounced Byzantine epoch of the city of Rome. A group of interested parties not associated with the institution of the papal and local church as instigator or as intended user of the new church foundation is therefore not only possible, but even probable. The question of how this recollection was developed in the collective memory of a limited group of Christians in Rome must remain unanswered. As Astrid Erll has pointed out, collective memory does not offer records of past events.28 But it does reveal the current needs and concerns of a Christian community in Rome, including the appropriation of John alongside Peter and Paul. The location was a medium of memory, as soon was also the architecture on this site. Perhaps the feast day of John, which was documented a century later, was fixed at the Latin Gate on May 6th in remembrance of the consecration day of the church. Surprisingly perhaps, a Byzantine interest is linked to an ancient tradition regarding John in Rome. However, to what extent it was local-Roman is disputable. All authoritative informants of the oil martyrdom of John in Rome are non-Roman authors. In Rome, it seems to have been adopted only reluctantly at the official ecclesiastical level. The localisation of the martyrium in Rome does not occur in the current versions of the acta and passiones of John, including the Virtutes Johannis compiled in the sixth century in the West.29 Is it an invention or a rediscovery of Byzantine subjects wanting to commit themselves to the old capital, where Christianity had such early apostolic roots?

28

A. Erll, ‘Medium des kollektiven Gedächtnisses – ein (erinnerungs-) kulturwissenschaftlicher Kompaktbegriff’, in A. Erll and A. Nünning (eds), Medien des kollektiven Gedächtnisses: Konstruktivität – Historizität – Kulturspezifität (Berlin, 2004) 3-22 at 4. 29 See above, note 7.

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Thus, the oil scene takes its place within the broad framework of interaction between Rome and Byzantium, in an area of tension in which the claims of apostolicity of both the patriarchal seats of Rome and Constantinople were never far away. The apostle’s tomb at Ephesus and the legendary stories of John situate the focus of his cult in the Eastern Roman Empire, but certain forces apparently felt the need to establish the cult of John in Rome, tying in with the testimonies of Western Church Fathers. Yet the papacy and the city never adopted the idea of treble apostolic origins, as presented by Tertullian.30 The Vatican calendar reform of 1969 has harshly crossed out the feast of May 6th, officially to avoid redundancy with the solemnity of the evangelist on December 27th, but surely also prompted by serious doubts about the historical authenticity of the event commemorated. Apparently, the great apostle, evangelist, and seer no longer needs his charming church in Rome.

30

For the success and ultimate failure of this project in the course of history: De Blaauw, Ziener van Patmos and more in detail in a future publication.

XII. The Abridged Version(s) of the So-Called Family Γ of the Apocryphal Acts of Thomas ISRAEL MUÑOZ GALLARTE AND ÁNGEL NARRO

Dealing with the transmission of the Greek version(s) of the Apocryphal Acts of Thomas (ATh) is like solving a Rubik’s Cube with eighty faces: exciting, but also a stressful endeavour.1 Information regarding the material witnesses of this apocryphal text, the divergent content recorded within the mss., and the transmission of the different versions – at least two for the first two acts – is scarce in modern studies. Whatever the reason, it seems that scholars have not deemed the topic worthy of interest, evidenced by the fact that no new edition has yet replaced the one by Lipsius and Bonnet, published over 100 years ago. The editions of C. Thilo (1823)2 and Bonnet (1903)3 represent the beginning and the end of the editions of the Greek text of ATh. Thilo used only the four Parisian volumes for editing the first six acts, excluding the fourth;4 Tischendorf, later, used five for his edition (1851),5 adding the martyrdom of Thomas. Finally, Bonnet collated twenty-one witnesses for his edition, which includes the Greek version of the Hymn of the Pearl (HPrl).6 In the most recent bibliography, as we will see, this subject is only mentioned in passing, taking Bonnet’s edition for granted and 1

This paper is included within the framework of the research project ‘Edition, Translation, and Commentary of Acta Thomae’, supported by the University of Cordoba. XIII Programa Propio de Fomento a la Investigación (20182020) and by the Spanish Ministry of Science, Innovation and Universities (Research project PID2019-111268GB-I00). 2 J.K. Thilo, Acta S. Thomae apostoli (Leipzig, 1823). 3 M. Bonnet, Acta Philippi et Acta Thomae (Leipzig, 1903). 4 S. Myers, Spirit Epicleses in the Acts of Thomas (Tübingen, 2010) 6f. 5 C. Tischendorf, Acta Apostolorum Apocrypha (Leipzig, 1851). 6 Bonnet, Acta Thomae, XVI.

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focusing instead on the supposedly superior Syriac version. Thus, Klijn, in the revised edition of his 1962 commentary, follows the edition of Wright, while touching on other Syriac versions, such as the important text transmitted by the Sinai Palimpsest, dated around the 5th/6th CE, as well as the Greek version.7 Klijn accepts the chapter divisions set forth by Bonnet and offers some commentary on various difficulties that arise, such as, for example, the different placement of chapters 144-148 in the mss. U and P.8 Drijvers, in the introduction to his translation,9 follows Klijn’s arguments concerning the two recensions and adds a few details regarding the transmission of ATh, pointing out that it was ‘extremely complicated’ due to ‘interpolations, revisions, re-workings, and adaptations.’ However, information is scarce when Drijvers deals with the Greek version; he provides only the number of mss. consulted. Klauck follows suit, but reports something interesting of his own: ‘Bonnet based his edition on twenty-one Greek mss.; by now, approximately eighty are known.’10 Susan Myers deals further with the issue in her Spirit Epicleses in the Acts of Thomas,11 as does Roig Lanzillotta in ‘A Syriac Original for the Acts of Thomas?’ Indeed, these scholars have reviewed and updated a sizeable amount of what we already knew about the mss. used for Bonnet’s edition. Thus, Bonnet consulted 22 mss. dated from the 9th to the 15th centuries, but he only collated 21 for his 1903 edition.12 Two were of particular value to him: the so-called U, Romanus Vallicellanus B 35 (11th century) and P, Parisinus graecus 1510 (ca.11th-12th century).13 These two witnesses contain a text that is 7

A.F.J. Klijn, The Acts of Thomas. Introduction, Text and Commentary (Leiden, 20032) 1-2 and 8-9. See also, B. Pick, The Apocryphal Acts of Paul, Peter, John, Andrew, and Thomas (Chicago, 1909, repr. Eugene, 2006) 223-24. 8 Klijn, The Acts of Thomas, 3 and 9. 9 H.J.W. Drijvers, ‘Thomasakten’, in W. Schneemelcher (ed.), Neutestamentliche Apokryphen II: Apostolisches, Apokalypsen und Verwandtes (Tübingen, 19976) 289-367 at 290. 10 H.-J. Klauck, The Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles: An Introduction (Waco, 2008) 142. 11 Myers, Spirit Epicleses, 15-16. 12 Ms. E was collated already by Thilo, but it is not included in the list of mss. used by Bonnet, Acta Thomae, at XVI. 13 As far as the witnesses’s letters, we follow the Bonnet’s list included in Acta Thomae, at XVI.

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mostly identical, comprising practically the whole ATh, but with a few obvious differences (e.g., the final acts are longer in the copy preserved in P). More importantly, U is the only witness of the Hymn of the Pearl (HPrl) in Greek. The rest of the mss. only partially transmit the ATh, with an evident interest in the first two acts. 1. The So-Called Family Γ In addition to the mss. with (virtually) the whole of the text, there also circulated an apparently summarized version that regularly contained just the first two acts (mss. G H Z and B), as well as sections of the last chapters.14 Attridge, in dealing with this issue, has already argued that, as well as the martyrdom, the accounts of miracles ‘circulated independently, analogously with the New Testament miracle accounts.’15 Indeed, the asymmetrical tradition of the mss. – by which some acts are preserved by numerous mss., but others only by a few – could support this hypothesis. Thus, for instance, the eighth act (cc. 68-81), which regards the miracle of the talking onagers, which cure the demoniac women, is only preserved by mss. PUV, but the events of Andrapolis (c. 3) are transmitted by the long list of mss. ABCDFGHPQRSTUVXY. These conditions forced Bonnet to structure his edition in three different sections (cc. 1-29, 30-158, and 159-171) and work separately on each one. In the first two acts, surely one of the most difficult to collate (due to the numerous mss.), Bonnet identifies two traditions, Γ and Δ: the former comprises mss. G H Z and B16; Δ comprises ms. A and a group of mss. (B, CD, FTX, PUY, Q17R, and SV) represented by Φ.

14

For instance, ms. Z finishes with the martyrdom’s chapters 163-167, 146, 148, and 168-170. 15 H.W. Attridge, The Acts of Thomas (Santa Rosa, 2010) 1-3, cf. Myers, Spirit Epicleses, 33, 49 n. 96. L. Roig Lanzillotta, ‘A Syriac Original for the Acts of Thomas? The Hypothesis of Syriac Priority Revisited’, in I. Ramelli and J. Perkins (eds), Early Christian and Jewish Narrative. The Role of Religion in Shaping Narrative Forms (Tübingen, 2015) 105-33 at 122-23. 16 B should be considered as a clear case of contaminatio of the Γ and Δ families; Bonnet, Acta Thomae, XIX. 17 Myers, Spirit Epicleses, 19 n. 62. The end of the final part matches with Σ, even if they differ somehow in other passages.

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Γ ----- Δ

GHZ

B

A

B, CD, FTX, PUY, QR

Φ

SV18

And there remain additional issues. For example, following Bonnet, there are places where G and H diverge in a similar manner, but others follow instead with fidelity the plot of family Δ, even if in a quite different style. Moreover, although this group of mss. is defined as ‘corrupta et mutila decurtataque librorum B. GHZ,’ Bonnet, meanwhile, considers that Γ is, in any case, older and better than Δ.19 And herein lies the interest and reason for a new edition of the text. Regarding the content, in our view, it seems safe to say that the recension preserved by G H and B should be considered an ‘abridged version’ of the first two acts, whereas Z is not a single manuscript, but two. Actually, Z1 (gr. 94) and Z2 (gr. 213) contain a different version of the text. Z1 transmits only chapters 1-3 (beginning of the first act), 17-29 (the whole second act), and 163-170 (the martyrdom of the apostle). Z2 belongs to family Δ (c. 1-29). Thus, if we compare both traditions, Γ and Δ, it is easy to notice that, for instance, the former removes the list of apostles included in the latter (c. 1.2-7) or summarizes information, even in direct speech (1.17-18), so that we have ὅπου βούλει με ἀποστεῖλαι ἀπόστειλον ἀλλαχοῦ· εἰς Ἰνδοὺς γὰρ οὐκ ἀπέρχομαι in Δ, but που βούλει, με ἀπόστειλον, εἰς ᾿Ινδοὺς γὰρ οὐκ ἀπέρχομαι in Γ. The reason behind this difference could be that the Γ version was included in hagiographical collections, such as Panegyrika, Typika,20 and other miscellaneous books of liturgical use, in which an abridged version like this one would have been appreciated for reasons of brevity, content, and simplicity. 18

It was not Bonnet’s intention to offer a proper stemma codicum, nor do we intend to here. This is just the scheme based on the information offered by Bonnet. 19 Bonnet, Acta Thomae, XIX. 20 For this kind of hagiographical collections, see below at 71-72.

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2. Towards a New Edition of the Greek Acts of Thomas As Klauck and others have correctly pointed out,21 known codices containing ATh now total 80.22 From these 80 codices, one must take into account that 2 codices are lost or destroyed – E and 16 –,23 which makes the total number of extant mss. 78. While our work is still in the beginning stages, it can be reported that we have already collated 23 mss., among them 15 new witnesses (ABCDGHUV; 7, 8, 9, 10, 56, 57, 11, 12, 17, 31, 32, 36, 37, 50, and 54).24 Nevertheless, thanks to Bonnet’s edition we are also aware of the content of another 12 mss. (KLMOPQRSTXYZ), which means 35 of the 78 available codices are accounted for (40%). Our preliminary analysis suggests that the abridged version Γ is rather more important than Bonnet’s edition suggests. In his edition, codices containing this version represent barely 18% of the whole. With the new witnesses collated so far, instead, the percentage rises to 29%, which indicates that the abridged version Γ was in broader circulation than was previously known.

21

A good compilation of most of the mss., though incomplete, can be found in J. Henry, ‘Acts of Thomas’, e-Clavis: Christian Apocrypha. http://www. nasscal.com/e-clavis-christian-apocrypha/acts-of-thomas/, accessed 29-4-2020; Pinakes, s.v. CANT 245.II and BHG 1800-1831z: https://pinakes.irht.cnrs. fr/notices/oeuvre/18092/, accessed 29-4-2020. 22 The full list is available in I. Muñoz Gallarte, ‘The Apocryphal Acts of Thomas: Textual Transmission Revisited’, in L. Roig Lanzillotta and id. (eds), New Trends in the Study of the Apocryphal Acts of Thomas: Revisiting the Scholarly Discourse Twenty Years Later (Leuven, forthcoming). 23 Thilo collated E, but already Bonnet did not have the opportunity of checking it and instead based his analysis on Thilo’s notes; 16, A 04 from the Evangelical School of Izmir and dated in the XVII CE, was destroyed in 1922. 24 In order, Biblioteca Apostolica (Vat.) 866, 1608, 1985, Ottob. gr. 1, Barocci 180, Laud. Gr. 68, 544 (Palimpsest), 1238; Patriarchike bibliotheke (Jer.) Panaghios Taphos 66; British Library (Lon.) Add. 10014, 34554; Library of the University of Michigan (Ann Arbor) Special Collections Research Center 36; Biblioteca Ambrosiana (Milan) A 063 inf. (Martini-Bassi 798); St. Catherine’s Monastery (Mount Sinai) Gr. 497; Bibliothèque nationale de France (Par.) Gr. 1556.

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3. Family Γ: Manuscripts and Organization At the time of writing, we have examined nine witnesses of Γ: GHZ Β, in Bonnet’s edition, and numbers 7, 11, 36, 37, and 54 (as shown on the following list): Mss. Containing version Γ Name Deposit

Catalog number

Date

Folios

Content (Bonnet’s chapter divisions)

B

Bibliothèque natio- Gr. 1468 nale de France, Par.

XI

91r-95r

1-27

G

Real Biblioteca del Escorial, Mad.

Y II 9 / 264

XI

50v-58v

1-29

H

Real Biblioteca del Escorial, Mad.

Y II 6 / 314

XII

100v-106v 1-29

Z1

Rossijskaja Nacional’naja biblioteka, St. Pet.

gr. 94 (Granstrem 334)

XII

22r-28r; 121r-126r

7

Biblioteca Apostolica, Vat.

866

XI-XII 38r-40r

1-27

11

Bodleian Library, Ox.

Barocci 180

XII

41v-49v

1-27

36

Library of the University of Michigan, Ann Arbor

Special Collections Research Center 36

XIII

29r-36r

1-29

37

Biblioteca Ambrosiana, Milan

A 063 inf. (Martini-Bassi 798)

XIII

221r-240v 1-29; Bonnet 290; 163-163; 146-148; 168-170

54

Bibliothèque natio- Coisl. 121 nale de France, Par.

1342

9r-10v

1-3; 17-29; 163-71

9-29

As we can see, this abridged version is neither uniform nor homogeneous, since the number of episodes and the form of the content within each greatly differ. When analysing a textual tradition of this kind, it is necessary to operate with great care. In the present analysis,

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only the most stable tradition is considered,25 represented by mss. G and H in Bonnet’s edition and numbers 36 and 54 within the list of new witnesses. These four codices seem to represent a distinct grouping within the Γ recension. 4. The Manuscripts Codex G, which Miller first catalogued as y. II. 926 and de Andrés as 264,27 is a compendium of the lives of the Saints and diverse homilies dating to the 11th century. The folios (50v-58v) that include the ATh are placed between the passio of the Saints Eustathius, Theopista, Agapetus, and Theopistus (BHG 641-641e), and the homilies of Cyril of Alexandria regarding the death of the three youths and Daniel (BHG 487-487a). As the cataloguer explains, the codex was ‘written with a fine and reddish letter, with circular breathing marks, and handwriting under the line.’28 The description of the marginal reading 25

Mss. B and Z are really problematic. As Bonnet, Acta Thomae, XIX and XXI argues, B should be considered a case of contaminatio of the two families Δ and Γ. In addition, our research on the tradition allows us to propose that the text of B is related to the ms. A 063 inf. – 798 in E. Martini and D. Bassi, Catalogus codicum graecorum Bibliothecae Ambrosianae (Milan, 1906) s.v.; it is our aim to focus on this subject in another article. Z, in its own way, presents additional problems, because, as we have pointed out, Z are two different mss. that attest the ATh, to wit gr. 94 and 213 - 334 and 283, respectively, in Granstrem, 1971. Bonnet, Acta Thomae, XVI only quotes the witness as ‘Petroburguesem Caesarum 94 saec. XII’, and later on offers some brief information regarding his reading: ‘regis Italorum et imperatoris Russorum ad me missos (scil. UZ) hic aut descripsi aut cum exemplo Tischendorfiano vel meo contulit’. 26 E. Miller, Catalogue des manuscrits grecs de la bibliothèque de l’Escorial (Paris, 1848) s.v. 27 G. de Andrés Martínez, Catálogo de los códices griegos de la Real Biblioteca de El Escorial, v. 2 (Madrid, 1965) s.v. 28 De Andrés Martínez, Catálogo, s.v.: ‘Escrito con letra fina, tinta rojiza, espíritus en general redondos y escritura bajo línea’. He also adds: ‘Consta de 37 cuaterniones, aunque primitivamente constaba de 38, faltando el primero; el último es binión; señalados con números arábigos en el ángulo inferior externo de la primera página de cada fascículo. Adiciones: ff. 18v, 68. Manchado por la humedad con algunos folios deteriorados u horadados; con los márgenes cortados en los ff. 49 y 183; del f. 189 sólo queda apenas la mitad. Orlas, títulos, iniciales y capitales en rojo […]’.

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aids allows us to determine that the volume belonged to the library of Gonzalo Pérez (1500-1567) and, at least, passed from his hands to those of N. de la Torre (1535-ca. 1608), who included the list of subjects, A. Gracián (surely between 1571 and 1576), D. Colville (interpreter of the King from 1617 to 1627), Pérez Bayer (1711-1794), and Padre Alejo Revilla (1936), who added the general title Vitae diversorum Patrum f. 2. Likewise, ms. H, y. II. 6./314, following the catalogues of Miller/ de Andrés,29 is a menologion dated to the 11th or 12th century. In this ms., the folios that include the ATh, 100v-106v, were placed after the Life of Saints Antigone and Eupraxia and their homonymous daughter (BHG 631-631b), and before a Laudatio of the apostle Luke (BHG 992-992c). De Andrés describes the handwriting as bold, in a black-reddish colour, written under the line, and with circular breathing marks.30 Further, the cataloguer deduces that the volume belonged to the library of Gonzalo Pérez and, again, by using the marginal notations, that it was in the hands of Arias Montano (1527-1598), who added the main title, and A. Gracián, who listed in Latin the included works. The history of the volumes has also been discussed by Mercati31 and, more recently, by Martínez Manzano and S. Lucà.32 Material details, such as their binding, paper, cut, the pattern of writing, and other paleographical evidence, allow us to trace, with some degree of likelihood, the volumes’ travels to the Real Biblioteca del Monasterio de El Escorial. The fact that the volumes belonged to the personal 29

See also BHG 1800: https://pinakes.irht.cnrs.fr/notices/cote/15527/, accessed 29-4-2020. 30 De Andrés Martínez, Catálogo, s.v.: ‘En tinta negra-rojiza, bajo línea, espíritus redondeados, letra gruesa’. Añade que ‘consta de 43 cuaterniones, excepto el primero, de nueve folios, y el último de dos folios […] Orlas, títulos, iniciales y capitales, del mismo color que el texto’. 31 See G. Mercati, Per la storia dei manoscritti greci di Genova, di varie badie basiliane d’Italia e di Patmo (Vatican City, 1935) 264, n. 21 and 265, n. 22; see also A. Revilla, Catálogo de los Códices Griegos de la Biblioteca de El Escorial, v. 1 (Madrid, 1936) LIII. 32 T. Martínez Manzano, De Bizancio al Escorial. Adquisiciones venecianas de manuscritos griegos para la biblioteca regia de Felipe II: Colecciones Dandolo, Eparco, Patrizzi (Merida, 2015); S. Lucà, ‘Dalle collezioni manoscritte di Spagna: libri originari o provenienti dall’Italia greca medievale’, Rivista di Studi Bizantini e Neoellenici 44 (2008) 39-96.

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library of Gonzalo Pérez helps us to include them in the list of volumes donated by his son, Antonio Pérez (1534-1611). The librarian Antonio Gracián describes the collection as follows: entre ellos muchos cuerpos de vidas de sanctos de gran auctoridad y antigüedad, y otros muchos de obras de sancto Juan Chrysostomo que no ay impressos en Griego.33 Among them [were] many collections of the lives of the saints – of great authority and antiquity – and many others of the works of St. John Chrysostom that are not printed in Greek (Transl. by the editor JS.)

Indeed, it is known that the Secretary of Philipp II took advantage of the decline of the southern monasteries in Italy – especially those of Sicily – during the 16th century for buying Greek mss.34 The next step back leads to Venetian Crete, an interesting middle point between Eastern and Western Mediterranean countries, where our volumes stopped, and, at the very least, where G was first bound following the style of the Cretans.35 As to where and when the ms. was produced, 33

A. Gracián, ‘Papeles y consultas sobre la entrega de la librería de Gonzalo Pérez a Felipe II’, ES.28079.AHN // CONSEJOS, 50232, Exp.12 (AHN) f. 3: http://pares.mcu.es/ParesBusquedas20/catalogo/ show/5612962, accessed 29-4-2020. Martínez Manzano, De Bizancio al Escorial, 50, 59 and 72, establishes a new itinerary of the volumes or, at least, of y. II. 9. In her view, the ms. came from Byzantium, passing through Crete, to join the rich collection of Greek volumes of the Venetian family Dandolo. When Matteo Dandolo died, the collection was donated to the Monastery of Saint John and Saint Paul – colloquially San Zanipolo – in Venice. Diego Guzmán de Silva travelled here to buy the pack of one hundred manuscripts, among which y. II. 9 should be included, for the growing library of Philip II in May 1573. See also T. Martínez Manzano, ‘Creta y el itinerario de los textos griegos hacia occidente. El caso de los manuscritos de Matteo Dandolo’, Scripta 7 (2014) 159-84 at 163. 34 Juan Páez de Castro explains: ‘En los reynos de Sicilia y Calabria ay muchas abadias y monasterios que tienen copia grande de libros griegos y no se aprovechan d’ellos, antes se pierden por mal tratamiento y se roban de personas particulares. Yo vi, estando en Roma, que los mesmos abades y archimandritas traian muchos libros á presentar á cardinales, y otros á vender’; apud Lucà, ‘Dalle collezioni manoscritte’, 49. 35 See Martínez Manzano, De Bizancio al Escorial, 159-61 and 166. About the second binding that some volumes received when they entered to the collection of El Escorial, cf. Martínez Manzano, ‘Creta y el itinerario’, 170.

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researchers have proposed Constaninople, perhaps as early as the 11th or 12th century; it is not impossible, however, that it was produced somewhere other than the Byzantine capital.36 Codex 36, preserved today in the Special Collection of the University of Michigan, is a Panegyrikon, containing homiletic readings for important liturgical celebrations from September to February. The ATh appear on ff. 30r-37v, between the Acts and Martyrdom of the Apostle Ananias (BHG 75x 1b) and the Homily on the Apostle and Evangelist Luke (BHG 992-992c). Our text, curiously enough, is included before a work related to the apostle Luke, as it is found in the ms. H. It is dated towards the end of the 16th or the very beginning of the 17th century. The following description is found in the catalogue provided by the University of Michigan: ‘Soon after its execution the manuscript belonged to the monastery of Prophet Elijah the Thesbite (Tishbite) in Georgoutsates, which can probably be identified as the village Georgoutsates in Epiros. In the second half of the nineteenth century the manuscript was acquired for Baroness Burdett-Coutts (no. . 22 in her collection) and it was purchased by the University of Michigan at the Burdett-Coutts sale in May 1922.’37 Codex 54 is preserved at the Bibilothèque Nationale de France (BnF), Fond Coislin, number 121. This codex belonged to the library of Pierre du Cambout de Coislin (1635-1706), Grand Almoner de France and bishop of Orléans, who inherited it from his grandfather, Pierre Séguier (1588-1672), chancellor of France. By the end of the 18th century it was deposited in the Bibilothèque Nationale de France along with many other mss. of the same private collection,38 and was included in the catalogue of the Greek mss. composed by the Benedictine monk Bernard de Montfaucon (Bibliotheca Coisliniana, olim Segueriana) and published in Paris in 1794. The ms. can be categorized either as a Panegyrikon or a Typikon, since it contains several texts related to important liturgical feasts, but also longer texts such as the 36

Martínez Manzano, ‘Creta y el itinerario’, 176 and 180 includes the volume into a group of four mss. that shared the same origin. 37 N. Kavrus-Hoffmann, A Catalogue of Greek Manuscripts at the University of Michigan, Ann Arbor (with the collaboration of Pablo Alvarez), vol. 1 (Ann Arbor, 2021) 109-110. Thanks are due to Pablo Alvarez for calling our attention to this point. 38 R. Devreesse, Catalogue des manuscrits II. Le fonds Coislin (Paris, 1945) XIV.

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lives of saints, other apocryphal texts, etc. This ambiguity is why Devreesse described it as a ‘curious manuscript by its content, its decoration, its spelling and its accentuation.’39 Unfortunately, it is badly damaged, having suffered the effects of humidity and wear from being handled; many folia were lost. This is the case with the section containing the ATh, where one or two folia are missing at the beginning of the text. Moreover, some other folia are damaged in the lower part of the page (on the right side on recto, and left on verso). The text concerning Thomas is on ff. 9r-10v between the Protoevangelion of James (BHG 1046-1046b-g) and an account of the death of Luke (BHG 992-992c), precisely as in H and 36. This codex is attributed to a 14th-century scribe, a certain Μιχαὴλ ἁμαρτωλὸς καὶ πενιχρὸς ὁ βαρσαμός, who signed the copy at the end of the document on November 25th, 1342.40 5. Content Bonnet’s challenge in producing his edition of the first two acts was clearly the large number of witnesses to collate.41 In doing so, he decided to offer the text in only one version until the final lines of the chapter five, noting copious variants in the critical apparatus. From this point forward, Bonnet divided the edition into two parallel texts, the version transmitted by A plus Φ (in the upper register), and the version witnessed by family Γ (in the lower). The exception is chapter twenty, in which Bonnet divided the lower register into three collumns (thus offering four distinct versions of the chapter). A careful reading of the text and variants demonstrates that, in the production of his Γ recension, Bonnet closely follows the texts of G and Z1 as opposed to other witnesses,42 perhaps because it is the fuller version. 39

Devreesse, Catalogue, 116: ‘manuscript curieux par son contenu, sa decoration, son orthographe et son accentuation.’ 40 M. Vogel and V. Gardthausen, Die griechischen Schreiber des Mittelalters und der Renaissance (Leipzig, 1909) 110. 41 Bonnet, Acta Thomae, XVIII-XIX. 42 This decision, in our view, is behind some mistakes throughout Bonnet’s edition of Γ. For instance, in chapter 18, when Thomas and the king Gundaphorus are talking about when the apostle is going to start his works, the section of A and Φ reads: ὅ δὲ ἔφη· Νῦν οὐ δύναμαι ἄρξασθαι κτίζειν ἐν τῷ καιρῷ τούτῳ. καὶ ὁ βασιλεὺς· πότε φησὶν δύνῃ; ὅ δὲ ἔφη· ἄρχομαι

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However, the most faithful witness within the group is H, along with 36, which contains some important variants omitted by H. Also important is ms. 54, whose content seems quite close to H. Finally, G, as we shall see, was redacted most likely by a scribe with certain literary pretensions, who constantly adorned the text with duplicationes, addenda, and what we take to be secondary reformulations of the passages as found in the other mss. of this group.43 These four mss. (G H 36 and 54) contain just a few sections of the beginning of the apostle Thomas’s plot (chapters 1-29, that is, acts one and two). G and H include three main episodes: 1) the sale of Thomas as an expert in construction to the merchant Abban, 2) the king’s daughter’s wedding in the city called Enadóch (G) or Enadroch (H) (gr. Andrapolis; syr. Sandaruk), where both Thomas and Abban rest for a while on his trip to India, and 3) the account concerning the celestial palace that Thomas built for king Goundaphor. In the following, we will summarize the most remarkable features of the textual tradition represented by codices G H 36 and 54: • Codices H and 36 contain the keyword πράξεις, instead of περίοδοι in the title; the latter is actually the most widespread designation, not only of the ATh, but also of the other Apocryphal Acts. G is the only witness that attests, curiously, to the descriptive term ἀπεμπόλησις (‘the sale’) in the heading section, in reference to ἀπὸ δίου καὶ τελίσκω ξανθικῷ. The last speaker is evidently Thomas, who is giving the beginning and ending points of his works. However, Bonnet’s parallel edition of Γ offers: καὶ ὁ ἀπόστολος λέγει· ἐν τῷ καιρῷ τούτῳ οὐ δύναμαι κτίσαι. καὶ ὁ βασιλεὺς εἶπεν· ἄρχομαι ἀπὸ ὑπερβερεταίου καὶ τελειῶ ξανθικῷ. Of course, it is a mistake that the King carried on with the construction of his own palace that depends on the editor’s selection of texts. This reading does not actually appear in the mss: G καὶ ὁ βασιλεὺς πρὸς αὐτὸν· καὶ πότε; καὶ ὁ ἀπόστολος λέγει· ἄρξωμαι ἀπὸ τοῦ ὑπερβερεταίου καὶ τελειῶ ξανθικῷ; neither in H καὶ ὁ ἀπόστολος ἔφη· ἐν τῷ καιρῷ τοῦτο κτήσαι οὐ δύναμω. ἄρχωμαι δὲ ἀπὸ τοῦ ὑπερβερετέου καὶ τελειῶ ξανθηκοῦ; but in Z1 καὶ λέγει ὁ ἀπόστολος· ἐν τῷ καιρῷ τοῦτῳ οὐ δύναμε κτίσαι. καὶ ὁ βασιλεὺς εἶπεν· ἄρχομαι ἀπὸ τοῦ ὑπερβεραιτέου καὶ τελειῶ ξανθηκοῦ. 43 For example, in chapter 3, when Thomas is talking about his construction skills, most mss read: ἐν δὲ λίθοις στήλας ναούς. however, the scribe of G, who seems to have some taste for architecture, adds ‘λ. καὶ μαρμάροις καὶ λοιποῖς οἰκοδομήμασι ναούς.’ See also the amplifications in chapters 28, 29, and 30.

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one of the main passages of the narration, which is, instead, longer than that in Bonnet’s edition. We must remember, however, that the beginning of the text is lost in codex 54, which starts at the end of chapter 9. • The incipit and initial scene of the division of the areas of the world to evangelize is abbreviated in mss. G H and 36. In addition, an interesting detail is the use of the third plural person (ἦσαν) in the first sentence of the text – κατ᾽ἐκεῖνον τὸν καιρὸν, ἦσαν πάντες οἱ ἀπόστολοι ἐν Ἱεροσολύμοις, καὶ διεῖλαν τὰ κλίματα τῆς οἰκουμένης, a reading that occurs also in mss. C X and V according to Bonnet. Most of the mss. instead attest a first person plural (ἦμεν), that is, a first-person narration that could be interpreted as intending to offer an eye-witness account of the story. • § 2: The text written at the bill of sale given by Jesus to Abban is as follows: G) ἐγὼ, Ἰησοῦς υἱὸς Ἰωσὴφ ἀπὸ Βηθλεέμ ἐκ κώμας τῆς Ἰουδαῖας, ὁμολογῶ σοι ᾿Εββανὶ ἐμπόρῳ πεπρακαίναι σοι Ἰουδαῖον Θωμᾶν ἄνθρωπον ἐμόν. H) Ἰησοῦς, υἱος Ἰωσὴφ ἀπὸ Βηθλεὲμ κώμης τῆς Ἰουδαίας, ὁμωλογῶ πεπρακέναι με πρὸς σὲ Ἀββανῂ ἐμπόρῳ Ἰουδαῖον Θωμᾶν ἄνθρωπον ἐμόν. 36) ἐγὼ, Ἰησοῦς υἱὸς ᾿Ιωσήφ ἀπὸ Βηθλεὲμ κώμης τῆς Ἰουδαίας, ὁμολογῶ σοι Ἀββάνῇ ἐμπόρῳ πεπρακέναι σοι ᾿Ιουδαῖον ὀνόματι Θωμᾶν ἄνθρωπον ἐμόν. Here, it is notable that the birthplace of Jesus is given (‘from Bethleem, a village of Judaea’), and that the designation of Thomas as a slave (made clear in most mss. with the phrase ἐμὸν δοῦλον) is avoided, replaced with the phrase ‘my person’ (ἄνθρωπον ἐμόν). G H and 36 share this feature with B Z 7 11 and 37. • § 3: The imperial Indian city of Enadroch (Ἐναδρώχ H 36 and 37), Enadοch (Ἐναδόχ G), Edrachon (Ἐδραχών 7), Edroch (Ἐδρώχ 11), or even Edron (Ἐδρόν Z1), is a consistent feature in the Γ recension, with the exception of B. Most mss. refer to this city as Andrapolis (᾿Ανδράπολις), that is, ‘City of men.’44 This designation, 44

On this issue, see A. von Guttschmidt, ‘Die Königsnamen in den apokryphen Apostelgeschichten’, Kleine Texte 2 (1890) 332-94 at 362-63; E.J. Rapson, The Cambridge History of India, v. 1. Ancient India (Cambridge, 1922) 599-600; E. Herzfeld, Archaeological History of Iran (London, 1935) 62; L. van den Bosch, ‘India in the Apostolate of St. Thomas’, in J.N. Bremmer

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however, is difficult to accept, inasmuch as Andrapolis was a city of the Roman province of Egypt, far from the regular itinerary from Jerusalem to India. Klijn translates the place name into English as Sandaruch,45 accepting the hypothesis that the original text was composed in Syriac, and that this Enadroch would be a Greek adaptation of Sandaruch, a term used to designate a people in Greater India (Andrhas). Further discussion and the aid of the new witnesses containing the ATh are needed to solve this historical and textual issue. This form, Ἐναδρώχ, could also be considered a later interpolation, without reliance on a Syriac original. • § 6: The so-called Hymn of the daughter of the light is omitted in the mss. G H and 36 as well as in the other witnesses of this recension. • § 11-12: The near total absence of references to the allegedly twin brotherhood of Jesus and Thomas is noteworthy. There are only two mentions, at 1.10 - κατὰ κλῆρον οὖν ἔλοχεν ἐν Ἰνδιᾳ Θωμᾷ τῷ διδύμῳ – and at the end of chapter 11 and the beginning of 12, in the following paragraph introduced by Jesus: οὐκ εἰμὶ ἐγὼ Θωμᾶς, ἀδελφὸς δὲ αὐτοῦ εἰμι. καὶ καθίσας ἐπὶ τῆς κλίνης ἤρξατο διδάσκειν αὐτοῦς λέγων· 12 μνημονεύσατε, τέκνα, ἅ ἀδελφός μου ἐλάλησεν μεθ᾿ὑμῶν καὶ τίνι ὑμᾶς παρέθετο· καὶ γνῶτε ὅτιπερ εἰ τηρήσητε ἑαυτοὺς καὶ τὸ λοιπὸν ἐν ἁγνείᾳ βιώσητε, ἔσεσθε ἅγιοι καὶ ἀκέραιοι, ῥυσθέντες τῆς προσκαίρου φθορᾶς καὶ φροντίδων τοῦ βίου τῶν ἀνωφελῶν.

These brief mentions seem to suggest that the well-known twinship motif of Jesus and Thomas does not play a substantial role in recension Γ. Instead, what is highlight is the power of Jesus, who can take the form of his apostle.46 (ed.), The Apocryphal Acts of Thomas (Leuven, 2001) 125-48 at 126-29; N.J. Andrade, The Journey of Christianity to India in Late Antiquity. Networks and the Movement of Culture (Cambridge, 2018) 69-93. 45 Klijn, The Acts of Thomas, 23-24. 46 Regarding Jesus’ polymorphy, see P.J. Lalleman, ‘Polymorphy of Christ’, in J.N. Bremmer (ed.), The Apocryphal Acts of John (Leuven, 1996) 97-118; I. Czachesz, The Grotesque Body in Early Christian Discourse (Sheffield, 2012) 115-29; L. Roig Lanzillotta, ‘Jesús de Nazaret y la cuestión del polimorfismo divino. De los apócrifos neotestamentarios a Nag Hammadi’, in id. and I. Muñoz Gallarte (eds), Liber amicorum en honor del Profesor Jesús Peláez del Rosal (Cordoba, 2013) 65-92.

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• § 20: The codices G H 36 and 54 follow the same text. This section has four divergent versions detailed in Bonnet’s edition by means of three columns in the secondary recension. There are also two variants of the text that Bonnet did not include in his edition. Actually, the incipit of chapter 20 in H G and 36 (φθασάς δὲ τῆς προθειμίας [sic] τῶν ἡμερῶν) is unique, as is apparent in the sentence αἰσθήτας καὶ τροφὰς παρέχων αὐτοῖς inserted right after the reference to the needy (τοῖς δεομένοις). • § 26-28: King Goundaphor’s conversion is reduced to four lines, whereas in the main witnesses of the text, it occupies more than 30 lines, another characteristic that is shared with the codices containing our version.47 Nevertheless, it is important to highlight that the abridged version of these chapters is especially significant in B and 7, since both codices share an even shorter version, which actually functions as a conclusion to the narration with no allusion to the people converted by the apostle. 6. Conclusion It is time to draw some cautious conclusions. We are well aware that we are still standing at the beginning of a difficult task, a new edition of the ATh. Up to now, we have collated only about a third of all witnesses. However, with this data we have tried to shed some light on the transmission and history of the first two acts of the text. In each of the nine mss. that represent the Γ recension, we find an abridged version of the main story that shortens the edited version of Bonnet from the end of chapter 5 onwards. This version of the narration was shared by only 3 of the 21 mss. collated by Bonnet – to wit, B G H –, which presumably implies that both mss. of El Escorial evidently were two witnesses of a secondary tradition of the text that summarizes the beginning of ATh for liturgical purposes. This alternative textual tradition, as we have already indicated, is much more complex than it seems. Actually, we have enough evidence to propose that B is the version from which G and H derived rather than just another witness of the same textual tradition. In addition, the similarity of the four copies we have dealt with here leads us to conclude An exception is the Milanese copy, which follows the version Δ appearing in most of the manuscripts collated by Bonnet.

47

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that, at a certain point before the end of the branch of the stemma, a divergent but quite stable textual tradition emerged, represented by these four codices and, perhaps, originating from an undiscovered archetype. This hypothesis is based on the textual variations registered by the four mss. Among them, chronologically, G and H – both dated to the 12th century – should be the copies closest to the archetype, since 36 and 54 belong to the 14th and 16th centuries, respectively. However, G cannot be considered as a reliable testimony in order to observe the features of an eventual archetype, due to its additions, expansions, and other rhetorical figures. For these reasons, we conclude that H offers the most reliable testimony of this textual tradition in which an abridged version of the ATh was apparently consolidated. A safe chronology for the genesis and development of the different versions of this recension is difficult to reconstruct.48 As in many other cases, it seems to be a paraphrasis that summarized the full content of the apocryphal text, a quite common literary exercise from the very beginning of the Roman Imperial Age onwards. Many of these paraphrases have a rhetorical goal and were conceived by talented authors who reformulated a well-known literary work and regularly summarized or expanded their content, as in the case of the Life and Miracles of Saint Thecla.49 Similarly, the need for a shorter version for liturgical purposes would be the most likely reason for summarizing the version transmitted by H G 54 and 36. Furthermore, the linguistic approach does not help much in establishing a probable date, since we have not noticed any expressions or peculiar lexical items that differ from third-century Greek. In any case, this point deserves a deeper examination.50

48

The best analysis of the date of the original ATh is still J.N. Bremmer, ‘The Acts of Thomas: Place, Date and Women’, in id. (ed.), The Apocryphal Acts of Thomas, 74-90, updated in his Maidens, Magic and Martyrs in Early Christianity (Tübingen, 2017) 167-79. 49 This particular case has been examined by both S.F. Johnson, The Life and Miracles of Thecla. A Literary Study (Cambridge, 2006), and Á. Narro, Vida y milagros de Santa Tecla (Madrid, 2017) LIII-LXVI. 50 We sincerely thank Janet Spittler for her generous corrections and alwayswise advice.

XIII. Thomas weitererzählt. Rezeption der apokryphen Thomasakten im Synaxarion des Thomas-Festes COSMIN PRICOP

Die bisher dokumentierten Geschichten über Thomas, einen der zwölf Jünger Jesu, haben ihren Ausgangspunkt in den Evangelien. Bei den Synoptikern beschränkt sich dies auf seine Erwähnung in der Reihe aller zwölf Apostel. Stärker profiliert ist das Bild des Thomas bei Johannes. Besonders bekannt ist seine Reaktion auf die Nachricht von der Auferstehung seines Herrn. Ergänzungen und Erweiterungen dieser Thomas-Geschichten lassen sich in der sogenannten apokryphen Literatur beobachten, wo hauptsächlich sein missionarisches Wirken und sein Martyrium in den Vordergrund rücken. An diese Erzählungen knüpften zudem die patristischen exegetischen und homiletischen Erörterungen über Thomas an, die gleichermaßen bisheriges Material übernahmen, kombinierten und weitervermittelten. Ein ähnlicher Prozess ist darüber hinaus auch im Rahmen der liturgischen Hagiographie festzustellen,1 und zwar im Zusammenhang mit den Thomas gewidmeten kirchlichen Festen. Diese letzte Etappe ist durch eine im Vergleich zu den anderen Stadien akzentuiertere Dynamik charakterisiert. Christian Høgel spricht diesbezüglich von einer dreifachen Hierarchie der Einwirkungsfaktoren innerhalb der Liturgie (Bibel – Kirchenväter – Hagiographie) und beschreibt ihr letztes Element passend wie folgt: Hagiography, the third category, was granted a place in liturgy too, but no guarantee reigned as to the fixity of the text. Hagiography shared, in the official system, the status of apocryphal literature in the unofficial; 1 Vgl. C. Høgel, Symeon Metaphrastes. Rewriting and Canonization (Copenhagen, 2002) 48: ‘[…] hagiography received its importance from being, or becoming, a liturgical text.’

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it was subject to continuous adaptation, either adjustments of syntax and vocabulary, expansion and abridgement, or even complete rewritings. As hagiographical texts were often anonymous, they did not have the brand of an author to prevent people from redacting upon it.2

Aus dieser Perspektive lässt sich leicht folgern, dass die die ThomasGeschichten widerspiegelnden hagiographisch-liturgischen Texte einen eigenen komplizierten, bis heute noch nicht ausreichend untersuchten Werdegang haben und eine entsprechende Vielfalt und Verwobenheit von Informationen aus unterschiedlichen Quellen aufweisen, was selbstverständlich jede Untersuchung schwierig macht.3 Einen wichtigen Teil dieser Quellen stellen die apokryphen Thomasakten dar, deren Rezeption in den liturgischen Texten des Thomas-Festes im Folgenden analysiert wird. Die Beziehungen zwischen hagiographischen Texten und apokrypher Literatur wurden im wissenschaftlichen Diskurs längst vorausgesetzt und diskutiert.4 Auch hinsichtlich der liturgischen ThomasHagiographie sind bereits, auch wenn nur andeutungsweise, Beeinflussungen durch die apokryphen Thomasakten beobachtet worden. François Halkin z.B. stellt einige Berührungspunkte zwischen den Thomasakten einerseits, und dem Menologion von Symeon Metaphrastes oder den hymnographischen Texten aus dem OktoberMenäum, sechster Tag, anlässlich des Thomasfestes andererseits, fest.5 Ada Debiasi Gonzato erkennt darüber hinaus Einflüsse der Thomasakten (erste Tat) im zweiten Kanon aus dem Morgengottesdienst

2

Høgel, Symeon Metaphrastes, 46. Vgl. E. Wellesz, A History of Byzantine Music and Hymnography (Oxford, 1962) 135. 4 Hier nur ein Beispiel: M. Hinterberger, ‘Byzantine Hagiography and its Literary Genres. Some Critical Observations’, in S. Efthymiadis (Hg.), The Ashgate Research Companion to Byzantine Hagiography. Vol. II: Genres and Contexts (Burlington, 2014) 25-60, hier 26: ‘Scholars had to face the question of the provenance of hagiographical texts, namely whether they were associated with earlier or contemporary forms of pagan and Jewish literature or could be regarded as autonomous works of purely Christian inspiration. This question related to both the early Christian texts (such as the Gospels, the Apocrypha and the Passions) and the saints’ Lives exemplified by the Vita Antonii.’ 5 Vgl. F. Halkin (Hg.), Bibliotheca Hagiographica Graeca. Tome II: Ioannes Calybita – Zoticus (Brüssel, 1957). 3

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des Thomasfestes am 6. Oktober.6 Schließlich thematisiert Simeon Paschalidis die Verbindung einiger Elemente aus den Thomasakten mit manchen Aspekten aus dem Niketas David Paphlagon zugeschriebenen Thomas-Enkomion, das später Einfluss auf die liturgische Thomas-Hagiographie ausübte.7 Trotzdem wurde keine nähere Analyse dieses Verhältnisses unternommen. 1. Präzisierungen Einige m.E. notwendige Präzisierungen müssen gemacht werden, bevor man zur eigentlichen Analyse des vorgeschlagenen Themas übergeht. Zuerst ist zu konstatieren, dass sich der Rahmen des bereits erwähnten Weitertradierens bzw. Weitererzählens der ThomasGeschichten auf Texte innerhalb von liturgischen Festen der Ostkirche bzw. der byzantinischen Tradition bezieht. Trotzdem setzt dies keineswegs eine konfessionelle Herangehensweise an das Thema voraus, sondern fungiert als eine Begrenzung des Untersuchungsfeldes bei der Rezeption der apokryphen Thomasakten. In zweiter Linie lassen sich, wie oben angedeutet, diese liturgisch-hagiographischen Texte in zwei Kategorien unterteilen: einerseits Synaxarien und andererseits Hymnographie. Beide Textkategorien stellen unentbehrliche Bestandteile jedes täglichen liturgischen Festes bzw. Gottesdienstes dar und sind, was Feste mit fixem Datum betrifft, in den sogenannten Menäen oder Monatsbüchern8 zu finden. 6

Vgl. A. Debiasi Gonzato (Hg.), Analecta Hymnica Graeca e Codicibus eruta Italiae Inferioris. Vol. II: Canones Octobris (Rom, 1979) 51. 7 Vgl. Σ.Α. Πασχαλίδις, Νικήτας Δαβίδ Παφλαγών. Το πρόσωπο και το έργο του. Συμβολή στη μελέτη της προσωπογραφίας και της αγιολογικής γραμματείας της προμεταφραστικής περιόδου (Thessaloniki, 1999) 132-33. 8 Vgl. Art. ‘Menaion’, in A.P. Kazhdan et al. (Hg.), The Oxford Dictionary of Byzantium (weiter ODB). Vol. 2 (New York und Oxford, 1991) 1338: ‘Menaion (μηναῖον, from μήν, ‘month’), a set of 12 liturgical books, one for each month, containing variable hymns and other texts (lections, synaxarion notices, kanones) proper to vespers and orthros of each feast of the fixed cycle, that is, those feasts that fall on a fixed date in the church calendar.’ Siehe außerdem Wellesz, A History of Byzantine Music and Hymnography, 135: ‘Menaia (τὰ Μηναῖα). A series of twelves volumes, one for each month of the year, beginning on 1 September and comprising the Proper of the Saints, i. e. the Offices commemorating the Saints. The Menaia

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Unter einem Synaxarion versteht man denjenigen Textteil eines jedes Morgengottesdienstes (Orthros), welcher, eingebettet in den Kanon des/der jeweils gefeierten Heiligen, Informationen über dessen/deren Leben zur Verfügung stellt. Das Synaxarion kann sowohl in einer verkürzten Form (ein Paragraph mit zusammengefassten Angaben fast ausschließlich zum Tod bzw. Martyrium) als auch in einer umfangreicheren Variante (mit Darstellung von mehreren Aspekten aus dem Leben des/der jeweiligen Heiligen, die auch im Tod bzw. Martyrium kulminieren) vorliegen.9 Das Synaxarion als hymnographischer Textteil eines liturgischen Gottesdienstes soll vom Synaxarion als ein alle solchen Texte sammelndes Buch unterschieden werden.10 Andererseits bezieht sich der Begriff Hymnographie auf strophenartige Hymnen, die sowohl den Abend- (Vesper) als auch den Morgengottesdienst (Orthros) jedes liturgisch gefeierten Heiligenfestes gestalten.11 Diese Hymnen haben im Laufe der Zeit besondere contain the lives of the saints, special hymns with or without musical notation, and prayers.’ Dazu auch H.-G. Beck, Kirche und theologische Literatur im Byzantinischen Reich (München, 1959) 251-52: ‘Die Menaia, das «Proprium Sanctorum» der byzantinischen Kirche, wurde schon in byzantinischer Zeit häufig in mehrere Bände, nicht selten in 12 Monatsbände zerlegt. Die Menaia beginnen mit dem 1. September und enthalten das Offizium für alle Feste mit festem Datum.’ 9 Vgl. Art. ‘Synaxarion’, in Kazhdan, ODB 3 (New York und Oxford, 1991) 1991: These daily commemorations, which average only about a paragraph in length, stress the martyrdom of the saints and inform us where in the city the commemoration took place.’ Dazu siehe Beck, Kirche und theologische Literatur, 251-252: ‘Die Akoluthie des Heiligen selbst enthält vor allem den Kanon auf den Heiligen, zwischen dessen sechster und siebter Ode einiges Hagiographische über den Gefeierten eingeschaltet wird. Diese meist sehr kurzen historischen Notizen heißen Synaxarion. Sie wurden auch eigens gesammelt, gelegentlich in etwas ausgedehnterer Form.’ 10 Vgl. A. Luzzi, ‘Synaxaria and the Synaxarion of Constantinople’, in Efthymiadis, Ashgate Research Companion to Byzantine Hagiography II, 197208, hier 197-98. 11 Die Feier jedes Festes beginnt mit dem Abendgottesdienst am vorherigen Tag und geht weiter mit dem Morgengottesdienst und, je nachdem, mit der göttlichen Liturgie am darauffolgenden und eigentlichen Festtag. Die Struktur sowohl des Abend- als auch des Morgengottesdienstes ist hauptsächlich (ca. 80 %) auf solchen Hymnen gebaut, die in dem Kirchraum laut gelesen bzw. gesungen sind und als eine Art Zusammenfassung und Hervorhebung der wichtigsten Aspekte und Punkte des ganzen liturgisch erinnerten

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Namen bekommen, wie z.B. Troparion, Kontakion, Kanon, Stichera usw.12 Drittens ist es wichtig zu klären, um welches Thomas-Fest es in dieser Untersuchung gehen soll. Innerhalb der liturgischen Jahresordnung der byzantinischen Tradition gibt es zwei Daten, an denen man besonders des Thomas gedenkt. Das erste davon ist der erste Sonntag nach Ostern. Dieser Sonntag trägt dementsprechend auch den Namen Thomas-Sonntag. Trotzdem sind die an diesem Tag und während der nachfolgenden Woche gelesenen bzw. gesungenen Texte (Synaxarion und Hymnen) ausschließlich auf den Text aus Joh 20,24-29 bezogen, wo das nachösterliche Treffen Jesu mit Thomas und die Aufforderung des Auferstandenen an seinen Apostel, seine Wunden zu berühren, erzählt wird.13 Bei seiner Untersuchung der Feier der Osteroktav hebt Harald Buchinger die ‘mimetische Prägung des achten Tages durch die Thomas-Perikope Joh 20, 24ff’ hervor.14 und zelebrierten Lebens jedes Heiligen zu deuten sind. Vgl. Art. ‘Hymnography’, in Kazhdan, ODB 2, 960-61. 12 Vgl. Art. ‘Troparion’, in Kazhdan, ODB 3, 2124: ‘the earliest and most basic form of the BYZ. HYMN. Originally a short prayer in rhythmic prose inserted after each verse of the psalms sung during Orthros and Vespers, later the troparion became strophic in character and more closely connected to individual feasts.’ Vgl. Art. ‘Kontakion’, in Kazhdan, ODB 2, 1148: ‘a sermon in verse, usually celebrating major feasts and saints. From the late 5th to 7th C. it was chanted during the ORTHROS by a preacher or psaltes (SINGER) and choir.’ Vgl. Art. ‘Kanon’, in Kazhdan, ODB 2, 1102: ‘The kanon was a set of verse paraphrases that during the 8th C. gradually replaced the nine biblical canticles previously chanted during the Orthros; at the same time the kanon ousted the KONTAKION from its dominant position in that service.’ Vgl. Art. ‘Sticheron’, in Kazhdan, ODB 3, 1956: ‘a HYMN, a form of TROPARION, sung during Orthros and Vespers after a «verse» of a psalm (usually the last three to six verses). Of many varieties […] they are written in rhythmic prose and offer meditations suitable for the day.’ Für eine detailliertere Beschreibung und Erklärung der unterschiedlichen Titel und Funktionen der Hymnen siehe Wellesz, History of Byzantine Music and Hymnography, 157f. Dazu noch Beck, Kirche und theologische Literatur, 515-16, 601-02, 701-02, 796-97. 13 Vgl. Beck, Kirche und theologische Literatur, 257: ‘Das Evangelium ist jenes vom ungläubigen Thomas […] Auch die zweite Osterwoche gedenkt immer wieder des Thomas und wird nach ihm benannt.’ 14 H. Buchinger, ‘Pentekoste, Pfingsten und Himmelfahrt. Grunddaten und Fragen zur Frühgeschichte’, in R.W. Bishop et al. (Hgg.), Preaching after

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Das zweite liturgische Thomasfest findet am 6. Oktober statt.15 Es ist das eigentliche Thomasfest. Albert Ehrhardt identifiziert dieses Thomasfest in der Unzial-Handschrift Cod. 2 der Skiti des Hl. Andreas auf dem Athos (IX. Jh.), die neben den vier Evangelien auch eine Version des byzantinischen Festkalender umfasst.16 Im Hinblick auf dieses zweite Fest wird zum Teil auch auf Informationen aus den apokryphen Thomasakten Bezug genommen. Zunächst sollen die liturgischen, zum Synaxarion gehörenden Texte des Thomasfestes am 6. Oktober aufgegriffen werden. 2. Mögliche Quellen des Thomas-Synaxarions aus dem Menäum Das Synaxarion als liturgisch-hymnographischer Text und zugleich als Teil jedes Morgengottesdienstes lässt sich, wie oben erwähnt, in den Menäen, den Monatsbüchern, finden. Anhand einiger der ältesten erhaltenen Exemplare von Menäen wäre trotzdem zu vermuten, dass das Synaxarion nicht gleich von Anfang an dazu gehörte. Beispielsweise umfasst der Gottesdienst zum Thomasfest in den jeweiligen Oktober-Menäen am 6. Tag gemäß den Unzial-Handschriften Sinai gr. 556,17 Sinai gr. 56218 und Sinai gr. 58019 (alle aus X.-XI. Jh.) kein Synaxarion. Dies würde vielleicht für eine spätere Integration des Synaxarions in die Menäen sprechen, wie Andrea Luzzi vermutet.20 Easter. Mid-Pentecost, Ascension, and Pentecost in Late Antiquity (Leiden, 2016) 15-84, hier 82-83. 15 Es war sein Festtag in Konstantinopel. Vgl. Art. ‘Thomas’, in Kazhdan, ODB 3, 2076. 16 Vgl. A. Ehrhard, Überlieferung und Bestand der hagiographischen und homiletischen Literatur der griechischen Kirche, Band 1 (Leipzig, 1937) 28-29. 17 Vgl. Greek Manuscripts 556. Menaion Sept-Oct. 1000. Manuscript/Mixed Material. https://www.loc.gov/item/0027938085A-ms/ (aufgerufen am 11. Februar 2020). 18 Vgl. Greek Manuscripts 562. Menaion Sept-Oct. 1000. Manuscript/Mixed Material. https://www.loc.gov/item/00279380848-ms/ (aufgerufen am 11. Februar 2020). 19 Vgl. Greek Manuscripts 580. Menaion Sept-Oct. 1000. Manuscript/ Mixed Material. https://www.loc.gov/item/00279381762-ms/ (aufgerufen am 11. Februar 2020). 20 Vgl. Luzzi, ‘Synaxaria and the Synaxarion of Constantinople’, 198: ‘In the long history of the Constantinopolitan Synaxarion, the last phase is

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Ob diese spätere Eingliederung jedoch eine bis dahin völlig getrennte Entwicklung von Synaxarion und Menäen voraussetzt, bleibt fraglich. Gegen eine solche Annahme äußern sich z.B. Alexandra Nikiforova, Antonia Giannouli oder Egon Wellesz, nach deren Meinung die Hymnographie aus den Menäen als Ergebnis der Bearbeitung und Ausdehnung des Synaxarion-Materials und somit als dessen Supplement zu betrachten wäre.21 Jedenfalls beruht das liturgische Synaxarion auf hagiographischen Quellen, die wiederum Informationen aus den apokryphen Thomasakten übernehmen. 2.1. Niketas David Paphlagon, Laudatio Thomae Vor der Erstellung der drei bekannten hagiographischen Sammlungen des X. Jh. (Synaxarium Ecclesiae Constantinopolitanae, Menologion des Kaisers Basilius II. und Menologion des Symeon Metaphrastes), die allem Anschein nach das liturgische Synaxarion deutlich beeinflusst haben, lassen sich auch frühere hagiographisch-liturgische Werke entdecken, die für die Darstellung des Lebens des Thomas auf Informationen aus den apokryphen Thomasakten zurückgreifen. Dank Ehrhards monumentaler Arbeit ist wahrscheinlich der älteste dokumentierte Beweis zu identifizieren: Es handelt sich um vier paläographisch represented by its integration into the Menaion, that is the liturgical book containing the copious hymnographical production of the Byzantine Church. It was probably around the end of the thirteenth century that the habit of including the text of the synaxaria of the day in a number of original copies of the Menaia became widespread. The text was usually placed immediately after the sixth and before the seventh ode of the hymnographical canon to be sung on a given day. This habit eventually entered into modern editions of the Menaia of the Byzantine Church in accordance with the structure of the manuscripts as seen in the well-known printed editions of Venice and Athens.’ 21 Vgl. A. Nikiforova, ‘Byzantine Menaea Hymns: History and Interpretation’, 1-40, hier 5 (nicht veröffentlichte Präsentation der Verfasserin auf https:// uni-bonn.academia.edu/AlexandraNikiforova, aufgerufen am 2. Dezember 2019): ‘The authors of Menaion developed the hymnographical supplement to Synaxarium.’ Außerdem A. Giannouli, ‘Byzantine Hagiography and Hymnography: An Interrelationship’, in Efthymiadis, Ashgate Research Companion II, 285-312, hier 287: ‘But it was more often hymnographers who had recourse to hagiographers and not the other way round.’ Dazu noch Wellesz, A History of Byzantine Music and Hymnography, 135: ‘We may assume that the Calendar of the lives of the saints which are nowadays collected in the Synaxarium, originally formed the kernel of the Menaia.’

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zusammengehörende Palimpsestfolien des Cod. Monac. gr. 262 aus dem IX. Jh., die das Martyrium des Thomas, den Anfang der Thomasakten und Fragmente des Martyriums des Hl. Eustathios enthalten.22 Aufgrund der Tatsache, dass die Festtage beider Heiligen im September und Oktober stattfanden (Eustathios am 20. September, Thomas am 6. Oktober) begründet Ehrhard die Zugehörigkeit dieser Folien zu einer Handschrift, die ursprünglich ein Menologion der beiden Monate hätte umfassen können.23 Die Positionierung des Martyriums vor dem Beginn der Thomasakten spreche, so Ehrhard, für die Tatsache, dass ‘das Martyrium schon im 9. Jahrhundert eine eigene Große bildete.’24 Zu diesen früheren Quellen gehören auch ca. 55 Enkomia auf die Apostel Jesu Christi und die früheren Märtyrer, verfasst von Niketas David Paphlagon, der am Ende des IX. und zu Beginn des X. Jh. lebte und wirkte.25 Der Einfluss seiner Enkomia auf die spätere Hagiographie in Form von Synaxaria und/oder Menologia ist mittlerweile anerkannt.26 Jenseits des typischen Stils, dementsprechend Thomas z.B. nicht weniger würdig ist als Andreas, Petrus und die Söhne des Zebedäus, umfasst das Enkomion des Apostels Thomas27 Informationen über sein Leben, die sowohl dem Johannesevangelium (besonders 20, 24-29) als auch den apokryphen Thomasakten entnommen sind. Hinsichtlich dieser letzten Schrift erwähnt das Enkomion zuerst die Angabe aus der ersten Tat (ATh, I, 1-2), wonach Jesus einem sich in Jerusalem befindenden Kaufmann aus Indien erschien und seinen Apostel Thomas verkaufte.28 Der Name des Kaufmanns ist hier nicht 22

Vgl. Ehrhard, Überlieferung und Bestand, 103. Vgl. Ehrhard, Überlieferung und Bestand, 105. 24 Vgl. Ehrhard, Überlieferung und Bestand, 105, Fußnote 1. 25 Vgl. Art. ‘Niketas David Paphlagon’, in Kazhdan, ODB 3, 1480. 26 Vgl. S. Efthymiadis, ‘Hagiography from the “Dark Age” to the Age of Symeon Metaphrastes (Eighth-Tenth Century)’, in Efthymiadis, Ashgate Research Companion I, 95-142, hier 116. Außerdem A. Berger, ‘Serienproduktion oder Autorenwettbewerb? Einige Bemerkungen zu byzantinischen hagiographischen Texten des zehnten Jahrhunderts’, in A. Rigo (Hg.), Byzantine Hagiography. Texts, themes & projects (Turnhout, 2018) 299-311, hier 302, der eine Abhängigkeit oder Beeinflussung des Metaphrastes-Menologions durch die Enkomia des Niketas Paphlagon postuliert. Schließlich siehe auch Πασχαλιδις, Nικητας Δαβιδ Παφλαγων, 133. 27 Vgl. Νικητα Δαυιδ του Παφλαγονος, ΛΟΓΟΣ Ζ. Εἰς τὸν ἅγιον καὶ πανεύφημον ἀπόστολον Θωμᾶν (PG 105, 127-146). 28 Vgl. Εἰς τὸν ἅγιον ἀπόστολον Θωμᾶν (PG 105, 136-137). 23

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überliefert. Eine Ergänzung der Thomasakten lässt sich dabei allerdings beobachten: Die Erscheinung vor dem Kaufmann wurde explizit als leibliche Manifestierung dargestellt.29 Die ganze Tätigkeit des Thomas im Land der Inder ist innerhalb eines kurzen Paragraphen zusammengefasst, in dem die Erleuchtung der Seelen ortsansässiger Menschen, die wahre Weisheit der apostolischen Verkündigung und das Vollziehen von Wundern besonders hervorgehoben werden. Das jeweilige missionarische Itinerarium bleibt nicht auf Indien begrenzt wie in den Thomasakten, sondern ist auf die Länder der Parther, Meder und Äthiopier ausgedehnt.30 Nach seinem anfänglichen Wirken in Indien geht Thomas nach Äthiopien weiter (wo er in Kontakt mit dem dortigen unbenannten König kommt), dann nach Parthien, Hyrkanien und Baktrien,31 um schließlich zurück nach Indien zu kommen. Zu diesem zweiten Indien-Aufenthalt gehört gemäß dem Enkomion weiterhin die Erzählung über den Bau eines Palastes für einen König aus Indien, dessen Name ebenfalls unbekannt bleibt, höchstwahrscheinlich eine Anspielung auf die zweite Tat des Thomas (ATh, II, 17-22).32 Schließlich wird das Martyrium des Thomas angedeutet, indem Niketas kurz dessen Durchbohren mit Speeren erwähnt33 und somit eine Verbindung mit dem Schlussteil der Thomasakten (ATh, Martyrium, 168) erkennen lässt. 2.2. Synaxarium Ecclesiae Constantinopolitanae Im X. Jh. entstehen drei bedeutende hagiographische Sammelwerke, die für die Analyse der byzantinisch-liturgischen Hymnographie unverzichtbar geworden sind. Wegen dieser drei Sammlungen wird das X. Jh. auch als ‘the Century of Hagiographic Collections’ bezeichnet.34 Das erste dieser drei Werke in chronologischer Reihenfolge ist vermutlich das Synaxarion der Konstantinopolitanischen Vgl. Εἰς τὸν ἅγιον ἀπόστολον Θωμᾶν (PG 105, 136): οὗτος ἀνδρὶ τὸ μέγεθος, τὴν τε φύσιν καὶ τὴν μορφὴν ἐοικὼς. 30 Vgl. Εἰς τὸν ἅγιον ἀπόστολον Θωμᾶν (PG 105, 136): Πάρθων καὶ Μήδων, καὶ τῶν ἐπέκεινα τούτοις Αἰθιόπων τὴν ἀποστολὴν λαχόντι. 31 Vgl. Εἰς τὸν ἅγιον ἀπόστολον Θωμᾶν (PG 105, 140): Πάρθίαν τε πᾶσαν καὶ Ὑρκανίαν καὶ Βακτριανὴν ἐυαγγελλιζόμενος προσήγαγε τῷ Χριστῷ. 32 Vgl. Εἰς τὸν ἅγιον ἀπόστολον Θωμᾶν (PG 105, 140). 33 Vgl. Εἰς τὸν ἅγιον ἀπόστολον Θωμᾶν (PG 105, 141.144). 34 S. A. Paschalidis, ‘The Hagiography of the Eleventh and Twelfth Century’, in Efthymiadis, Ashgate Research Companion I, 143-71 hier 144. 29

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Kirche.35 Am 6. Oktober, dem Festtag des Apostels Thomas, lassen sich die folgenden Worte als Einleitungsformel lesen: Ἄθλησις τοῦ ἁγίου ἀποστόλου Θωμᾶ τοῦ καὶ Διδύμου.36 Das erste Wort (ἄθλησις – Kampf bzw. geistlicher Kampf) fungiert als Zeichen dafür, dass sich der folgende Text auf das Martyrium bzw. auf die das Martyrium verursachenden Ereignisse aus dem Leben des Thomas konzentriert und somit das Genre des Textes darlegt.37 Bei einem Vergleich mit den Thomasakten können folgende Gemeinsamkeiten festgestellt werden: – als Adressaten der Verkündigung des Thomas, nach Aufteilen der Missionsgebiete unter den Aposteln, gelten die Inder (Ἴνδοις, vgl. ATh I, 1-2; II, 17f. – ἐν τοῖς Ἰνδοῖς); – durch das Wirken des Thomas glauben und werden getauft: der Sohn des Königs der Inder (Ἰουζάνης, vgl. ATh XII, XIII – Οὐαζάνης) und dessen Mutter Tertia (vgl. ATh XI und XIII) sowie zwei andere Personen, Mygdonia (vgl. ATh IX, X) und Narkia (Νάρκαν, vgl. ATh X – Μαρκία); 35

H. Delehaye (Hg.), Synaxarium Ecclesiae Constantinopolitanae e Codice Sirmondiano nunc Berolinensi. Propylaeum ad Acta Sanctorum (Brüssel, 1902). Für eine aktuelle Diskussion siehe Luzzi, ‘Synaxaria and the Synaxarion of Constantinople’, 197-208. 36 Synaxarium Ecclesiae Constantinopolitanae, 113-116: Οὗτος Πάρθοις καὶ Μήδοις καὶ Πέρσαις καὶ Ἴνδοις τὸν λόγον τοῦ Θεοῦ κηρύξας καὶ πολλὰ πλήθη τοῖς ἀπείρος θαύμασι τῇ εἰς Χριστὸν πίστει προσαγαγών, ὑπὸ Μισδαίου βασιλέως Ἰνδῶν ἀναιρεῖται διὰ τὸ πιστεῦσαι καὶ βαπτισθῆναι ὑπ᾽αὐτοῦ Ἰουζάνην τὸν υἱὸν αὐτοῦ καὶ τὴν μητέρα Τερτίαν καὶ Μυγδονίαν καὶ Νάρκαν. Διὸ καὶ παραδίδοται πέντε στρατιώταις, οὶ έπὶ τὸ ὄρος ἀναγαγόντες αὐτόν, λόγχαις κατέτρωσαν καὶ τὸ μακάριον αὐτῷ ἐπήνεγκαν τέλος. Νησιφὼρ δὲ καὶ Ἰουζάνης ἔμειναν ἐπὶ τοῦ ὄρους. οἶς καὶ ἐμφανισθεὶς ὁ ἀπόστολος θαρρεῖν ἐκέλευσεν. Ἦν γὰρ τὸν μὲν Νησιφὼρ χειροτονήσας πρεσβύτερον, τὸν δὲ Ἰουζάνην διάκονον. Τοῦ δὲ υἱοῦ τοῦ βασιλέως μετὰ ταῦτα πικρᾷ νόσῳ κατεργασθέντος, ἐζήτει ὁ βασιλεὺς λείψανον τοῦ ἁγίου ἐπενεγκεῖν τῷ υἱῷ αὐτοῦ ἤδη ἀπογνωσθέντι πάντη καὶ τῷ θανάτῳ ἐγγίζοντι. Ὡς δὲ ἀφανὲς τὸ ἀποστολικὸν γέγονε σῶμα, χοῦν ἐκ τοῦ τάφου αὐτοῦ ἀχθῆναι προσέταξεν. Ὡς δὲ τῷ θνήσκοντι ὁ χοῦς προσήγγισεν, εὐθὺς ὁ θνήσκων γέγονεν ὑγιής. Ὁ δὲ βασιλεὺς καὶ οὕτως μὴ πιστεύσας τὸν σωματικὸν καὶ τὸν ψυχικὸν ἀπέθανε θάνατον. Τελεῖται δὲ ἡ τοῦ ἀποστόλου σύναξις ἐν τῷ ἁγιωτάτῳ αὐτοῦ ἀποστολείῳ τῷ ὄντι ἐν τοῖς Ἀμαντίου. 37 Vgl. Hinterberger, ‘Byzantine Hagiography and its Literary Genres’, 28-29.

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– der Name des Königs der Inder ist Misdai (Μισδαίου, vgl. ATh XI, XII – Μισδαίου); – Misdai übergibt Thomas an fünf Soldaten (παραδίδοται πέντε στρατιώταις, vgl. ATh, Martyrium, 164 – παρέδωκεν αὐτὸν στρατιώταις τέσσαρσιν καὶ ἐνὶ τῶν πολεμέρχων); – der Tod des Apostels geschieht auf einem Berg, wo er von Soldaten durchbohrt wird (vgl. ATh, Martyrium, 164. 168); – während des Martyriums des Apostels befinden sich noch zwei Leute auf dem Berg, Nisifor und Vazan (Νησιφὼρ δὲ καὶ Ἰουζάνης, vgl. ATh, Martyrium, 169 – Σιφὼρ δὲ καὶ Ἰουζάνης); – im Rahmen seines Martyriums weiht (χειροτονήσας, vgl. ATh, Martyrium, 169 – πεποιήκει) Thomas Nisifor zum Presbyter und Vazan zum Diakon (πρεσβύτερον/διάκονον, vgl. ATh, Martyrium, 169 – πρεσβύτερον/διάκονον); – später wird ein (vermutlich anderer) Sohn desselben Königs mithilfe des Staubes aus dem Grab des Apostels geheilt (vgl. ATh, Martyrium, 170). Das Synaxarion unterscheidet sich von den Thomasakten jedoch durch die einleitende Angabe, dass der Apostel auch bei den Parthern, Medern und Persern (Πάρθοις καὶ Μήδοις καὶ Πέρσαις) verkündete, die es näher ans Enkomion des Niketas Paphlagons rücken lässt. Außerdem erscheinen die Informationen aus dem Synaxarion deutlich an Genauigkeit gewonnen zu haben, denn im Vergleich zum Enkomion, in dem man keinen Namen aus dem missionarischen Umfeld des Thomas kennt, sind im Synaxarion mehrere Leute namentlich bekannt. 2.3. Das Menologion des Kaisers Basilius II Die zweite hagiographische Sammlung aus dem X. Jh. ist das Menologion des Kaisers Basilius II.38 Trotz des Namens39 ist diese Sammlung nichts anderes als ein Synaxarion, gemäß einigen Meinungen sogar eine Version des Synaxarions der konstantinopolitanischen 38

Vgl. Art. ‘Menologion of Basil II’, in Kazhdan, ODB 2, 1341-1342. Vgl. Art. ‘Menologion’, in Kazhdan, ODB 2, 1341: ‘a collection of VITAE arranged according to the date of each saint’s celebration in the church CALENDAR […] a menologion should be distinguished both from a SYNAXARION, a collection of simple notices of very short biographies of the saints, and a MENAION, which contains liturgical poems and prayers for the saint’s annual celebration.’ 39

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Kirche.40 Wie in dem konstantinopolitanischen Synaxarion beginnt der Text des 6. Oktobers zum Thomasfest laut dem Menologion des Basilius II. mit ähnlichen Wörtern: Ἄθλησις τοῦ ἁγίου ἀποστόλου Θωμᾶ.41 Dies bildet erneut einen Hinweis darauf, dass die nachfolgenden Informationen über den Apostel besonders dessen Martyrium ins Zentrum stellen.42 Im Vergleich zum konstantinopolitanischen Synaxarion erwähnt der Text dieses Menologions keinen Namen aus dem Missionsfeld des Thomas in Indien. Aus dieser Perspektive steht er dem Enkomion des Niketas Paphlagon näher. Darüber hinaus lässt sich eine einzige Anspielung auf Evangelien beobachten, und zwar hinsichtlich der Himmelfahrt des Herrn Jesu Christi (μετὰ τὴν ἀνᾴληψιν τοῦ Κυρίου ἡμῶν Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ). Ein genauerer Blick auf diesen Textteil weist eher eine Nähe zu Mk 16, 19 (ἀνελήμφθη) als zu Lk 24, 52 (ἀνεφέρετο) auf. Die Berührungspunkte des Menologions mit den Thomasakten sind offensichtlich: – die Missionsgebiete der Apostel werden durch Losverfahren ermittelt (λαχοῦσαν, vgl. ATh I, 1 – λαχόντι); – infolgedessen wurde das Land der Inder Thomas zuteil (τῶν Ἰνδῶν χώρα, vgl. ATh I, 1 – ἐν τοῖς Ἰνδοῖς); Vgl. Art. ‘Menologion of Basil II’, 1341: ‘Its text is not in fact a MENOat all, but a version of the SYNAXARION of Constantinople for the months of September through February.’ 41 Basilius Porphyrogenitus, Menologium Graecorum. Pars Prima. A Mense Septembri ad Novembrem. ΜΗΝΙ ΤΩ ΑΥΤΩ ζ. (PG 117, 92). 42 Basilius Porphyrogenitus, Menologium Graecorum (PG 117, 92-93): Μετὰ τὴν ἀνᾴληψιν τοῦ Κυρίου ἡμῶν Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ, ἕκαστος τῶν ἀγίων ἀποστόλων ἀπελθὼν εἰς τὴν λαχοῦσαν αὐτῷ χώραν, ἐδίδασκεν. Ἕλαχε δὲ καὶ τῷ ἀγίῳ Θωμᾷ ἡ τῶν Ἰνδῶν χώρα. Καὶ ἀπελθὼν ἐν αὐτῇ, ἐκήρυττε τὸν Χριστόν. Πιστευσάσης δὲ διὰ τοῦ λόγου αὐτοῦ τῆς γυναικὸς τοῦ βασιλέως τῶν Ἰνδῶν, μετὰ τοῦ υἱοῦ αὐτῆς, τῷ Χριστῷ, διεγνώσθη ὁ Θωμᾶς, καὶ τῇ τοῦ βασιλέως προστάξει, ἀπεκλείσθη εἰς φυλακὴν, μετὰ καὶ ἐτέρων δεσμωτῶν. Δόντες δὲ χρήματα τοῖς στρατιώταις ὁ υἱὸς τοῦ βασιλέως, καὶ ἡ μήτηρ αὐτοῦ, καὶ ἅλλοι οὐκ ὁλίγοι, εἰσῆλθον πρὸς αὐτὸν ἐν τῇ φυλακῇ, καὶ ἐβαπτίσθησαν. Καὶ μετὰ χρόνον ἱκανὸν ἐξ αὐτῶν ἐχειροτονήθησαν πρεσβύτεροι, καὶ διάκονοι. Καὶ ἐδίδασκον ἐπὶ τῷ ὀνόματι τοῦ Χριστοῦ. Καὶ γνοὺς τοῦτο ὁ βασιλεὺς καὶ ὀργισθεὶς, ἐξήγαγε τὸν ἀπόστολον τῆς φυλακῆς, καὶ παραδοὺς αὐτὸν στρατιώταις προσέταξεν ἁποκτεῖναι. Ἀναγαγόντες οὖν εἰς τὸ ὅρος τὸν ἄγιον, μετὰ τῶν κονταρίων πλήξαντες ἁπέκτειναν. 40

LOGION

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– im Laufe der Thomasverkündigung kommen die Ehefrau und der Sohn des dortigen Königs zum Glauben an Christus (vgl. ATh XI, XII); – aufgrund dessen entscheidet sich der König, den Apostel ins Gefängnis zu bringen (εἰς φυλακὴν, μετὰ καὶ ἐτέρων δεσμωτῶν, vgl. ATh XII, 141 – εἰς τὸ δεσμωτήριον); – die Ehefrau des Königs und andere Leute geben den Gefängniswärtern Geld und besuchen Thomas im Gefängnis (δόντες δὲ χρήματα τοῖς στρατιώταις, vgl. ATh XIII, 151 – δοῦσαι τῷ δεσμοφύλακι τριακοσίους ἑξήκοντα τρεῖς στατῆρας ἀργυρίου); – der Apostel weiht Priester und Diakone (vgl. χειροτονήθησαν πρεσβύτεροι, καὶ διάκονοι, ATh, Martyrium, 169); – der König übergibt Thomas den Soldaten, um ihn töten zu lassen (παραδοὺς αὐτὸν στρατιώταις, vgl. ATh, Martyrium, 164 – παρέδωκεν αὐτὸν στρατιώταις); – die Soldaten führen den Apostel auf einen Berg und erstechen ihn dort (μετὰ τῶν κονταρίων πλήξαντες ἀπέκτειναν, vgl. ATh, Martyrium, 168 – πλήξαντες αὐτὸν). Trotz einiger Gemeinsamkeiten zeigt der Text des Menologions auch manche Ungenauigkeiten hinsichtlich der übernommenen Informationen aus den Thomasakten. Die Ehefrau und der Sohn des Königs (höchstwahrscheinlich Tertia und Vazan) sowie die anderen Leute (höchstwahrscheinlich Mygdonia und Marcia) werden – gemäß dem Menologion – nicht im Gefängnis, sondern in Vazans Haus durch Thomas getauft (vgl. ATh, XIII, 155). Weiterhin gehört Vazan nicht zu der Gruppe derer, die den Gefängniswärtern Geld geben, um Zugang zum inhaftierten Apostel zu bekommen, denn er befindet sich schon bei Thomas (vgl. ATh, XIII, 151), als jene ankommen. Darüber hinaus sprechen die Thomasakten nicht über die Weihe mehrerer Presbyter und Diakone, sondern nur darüber, dass Nisifor bzw. Sifôr zum Presbyter und Vazan zum Diakon geweiht werden (vgl. ATh, Martyrium, 169). Beachtenswert erscheint schließlich auch die Tatsache, dass die Heilung des kranken Sohnes des Königs beim Apostelgrab im Menologion unerwähnt bleibt. 2.4. Das Menologion des Symeon Metaphrastes Der stärkste Einfluss der 55 Enkomia von Niketas David Paphlagon auf die nachfolgenden hagiographischen Sammlungen lässt sich beim

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Menologion des Symeon Metaphrastes erkennen.43 Im Unterschied zum Menologion des Kaisers Basilius II., das eher dem Genre Synaxarion eingereiht werden könnte, ist dieses dem Symeon Metaphrastes zugeschriebene Werk an sich als tatsächliches Menologion zu verstehen, d.h. als hagiographische Sammlung, in deren Rahmen eine ausführlichere Darstellung der Heiligenleben erfolgt.44 Symeon Metaphrastes thematisiert in seinem Menologion das Martyrium des Heiligen Apostels Thomas in Zusammenhang mit dem Festtag 21. Dezember.45 Der vorliegende Text ist in lateinischer Sprache überliefert, wofür sogar eine Erklärung gegeben wird: ‘Graece non exstat in mss. Paris’.46 Høgel, der eine umfassende Monographie zum Menologion des Symeon Metaphrastes verfasst hat, gibt diesbezüglich keine zusätzliche Information. Er erwähnt nur, dass das durch Metaphrastes in Bezug auf Thomas angefertigte Material auf ‘many possible sources’ beruht und verweist auf die BHG.47 Im Vorwort des ersten im Rahmen der Migne-Sammlung Symeon Metaphrastes gewidmeten Bandes (PG 114) findet sich die Information, der zufolge die erste lateinische Übersetzung des Metaphrastes-Menologions auf Aloysius Lipomanus (XVI. Jh.), Bischof in Verona (Italien), zurückzuführen sei.48 Bei einem Vergleich zwischen dem lateinischen Text zum Thomas-Fest aus dem Metaphrastes-Menologion und dem lateinischen Text zum Thomas-Fest aus Historiae de vitis sanctorum von Lipomanus49 lässt sich feststellen, dass die beiden Texte völlig übereinstimmen. 43

Vgl. Berger, ‘Serienproduktion oder Autorenwettbewerb?’, 302. Für eine detaillierte Analyse des Menologions des Symeons Metaphrastes siehe Høgel, Symeon Metaphrastes, sowie ders., ‘Symeon Metaphrastes and the Metaphrastic Movement’, in Efthymiadis, Ashgate Research Companion II, 181-96 und A. Kazhdan, ‘Great Reader and Collector Symeon Metaphrastes’, in C. Angelidi (Hg.), Alexander Kazhdan. A History of Byzantine Literature (850-1000) (Athen, 2006) 231-47. 45 Vgl. Symeon Metaphrastes, Vitae Sanctorum. Mensis December. Commentarius Rerum Gestarum Sancti et Gloriosi Apostoli Thomae, (PG 116, 559-566). 46 S. Metaphrastes, Commentarius Sancti et Gloriosi Apostoli Thomae, (PG 116, 559-560). 47 Vgl. Høgel, Symeon Metaphrastes, 179. 48 Vgl. ‘Editorum Praefatio’ in Symeon Metaphrastes, Opera Omnia. Acetica, Paraenetica, Canonica, Historica, Hagiographica, Magnam Partem ex Mss. Parisiensibus nunc primum graece edita. Tomum Primum (PG 114, 14). 49 Vgl. Aloysius Lipomanus, Historiae De Vitis Sanctorum. Pars Prima (Leuven, 1565) 367-82. 44

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Überdies tituliert Lipomanus den Textabschnitt zum Thomas-Fest wie folgt: ‘Commentarius rerum gestarum sancti & gloriosi Apostoli Thome per Simeonem Metaphrasten’.50 Wie im Rahmen des Enkomions von Niketas Paphlagon auf denselben Apostel beginnt auch die Präsentation des Thomas im Menologion des Symeon Metaphrastes nach der enkomiastischen Einführung mit einer kurzen Darstellung seines Lebens, gemäß den Informationen in den Evangelien. Infolgedessen wird besonders auf diejenigen Stellen aus dem Johannesevangelium Bezug genommen, wo die Person und das Wirken des Thomas hervorgehoben werden: Joh 11,16; 20,25.29; 21,1f.51 Durch eine Überleitung bei Mt 28,1920, Lk 24,36f. und Apg 2,152 führt die Erzählung zur missionarischen Tätigkeit des Apostels in Indien und ermöglicht dadurch, Anspielungen auf die apokryphen Thomasakten festzustellen: – durch das Los bekommt Thomas Indien als Missionsgebiet (Thomas igitur missus est in Indiam53, vgl. ATh I, 1f.); – ein lokaler König erteilt den Befehl, dass der Apostel getötet werden solle (vgl. ATh, Martyrium, 164); – Thomas stirbt, indem er mit Lanzen durchbohrt wird (lanceis de medio tollitur magnus hic apostolus, vgl. ATh, Martyrium, 168). Obwohl die genauen Anspielungen auf die Thomasakten weniger sind als im Falle der anderen zwei oben untersuchten hagiographischen Sammlungen (Synaxarium Ecclesiae Constantinopolitanae und Menologion des Kaisers Basilius II), stellt das Menologion des Symeon Metaphrastes noch zusätzliche Informationen zum Missionsgebiet des Thomas und die dortigen Adressaten zur Verfügung: eine genaue Verortung von Indien (Ipsa autem sita est longissime ab Aegipto54), die Beschreibung dieses Ortes (alluitur vero mari 50

Lipomanus, De Vitis Sanctorum, 367. Vgl. S. Metaphrastes, Commentarius Sancti et Gloriosi Apostoli Thomae, (PG 116, 560-563). 52 Vgl. S. Metaphrastes, Commentarius Sancti et Gloriosi Apostoli Thomae, (PG 116, 560-563). 53 S. Metaphrastes, Commentarius Sancti et Gloriosi Apostoli Thomae, VIII, (PG 116, 563). 54 Vgl. S. Metaphrastes, Commentarius Sancti et Gloriosi Apostoli Thomae, VIII, (PG 116, 563). 51

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navigabili […] abundat autem rebus pretiosis55) und dessen Bewohner (eam habitat id genus, quod dictum est, quod est frequentissimum, et deditum mercaturae56). Außer diesen präziseren Angaben beinhaltet der Text auch allgemeine Informationen (die Verkündigung des Apostels verändert das heidnische Leben der Inder,57 der Apostel lehrt den konvertierten Ortsansässigen das Evangelium bzw. das Mysterium des Logos,58 die charakteristisch nicht nur für die Mission des Thomas in Indien, sondern auch für das allgemeine apostolische Wirken sind. Eine besondere Aufmerksamkeit verdient in diesem Zusammenhang die Handschrift Panagios Tafos 22 aus dem XI. Jh.59 Obwohl ihr Inhalt als Oktober-Menäum beschrieben wurde, lässt sich bei einer genaueren Betrachtung feststellen, dass man es in diesem Fall nicht mit einem typischen Menäum (also mit Hymnen), sondern höchstwahrscheinlich mit einer hagiographischen Sammlung zu tun hat. Der Text wird mit folgenden Worten eingeleitet: ὑπόμνημα εἰς τὸν ἅγιον ἀπόστολον τοῦ Χριστοῦ Θωμᾶν.60 Der interessante Aspekt der Darstellung des Thomas ist m.E. die Ergänzung des Materials durch Metaphrastes mit einer anderen Texteinheit unter dem Titel: Θάυματα τοῦ ἀποστολοῦ Θωμᾶ.61 Präziser ausgedrückt: Hier geht es um eine fast wortwörtliche Wiedergabe62 von Taten aus den apokryphen Thomasakten, beginnend mit der achten Tat über die wilden Esel,63 weiter mit der neunten Tat über die Frau des Charîs64 55

Vgl. S. Metaphrastes, Commentarius Sancti et Gloriosi Apostoli Thomae, VIII, (PG 116, 563). 56 Vgl. S. Metaphrastes, Commentarius Sancti et Gloriosi Apostoli Thomae, VIII, (PG 116, 563). 57 Vgl. S. Metaphrastes, Commentarius Sancti et Gloriosi Apostoli Thomae, IX, (PG 116, 564). 58 Vgl. S. Metaphrastes, Commentarius Sancti et Gloriosi Apostoli Thomae, X, (PG 116, 564-565). 59 Vgl. Panagios Taphos 22. Menaion Oct. 11th cent. 301 f. Pg. 51 ft. 11th Cent, 1000. Manuscript/Mixed Material. https://www.loc.gov/ item/00279389426jo/ (aufgerufen am 15.01.2020). 60 Panagios Taphos 22. Menaion Oct., Folie 37. 61 Panagios Taphos 22. Menaion Oct., Folie 44. 62 Kleine Unterschiede lassen sich in Bezug auf die Einleitungsformel feststellen. 63 Vgl. Panagios Taphos 22. Menaion Oct., Folien 44-48A. 64 Vgl. Panagios Taphos 22. Menaion Oct., Folien 48A-57.

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(allerdings ohne Perlenlied) und abschließend mit den ersten vier Abschnitten (bis einschließlich § 122) aus der zehnten Tat über die Taufe Mygdonias.65 Meines Erachtens bestätigt die so verbundene Überlieferung des Menologions und der Thomasakten die Eingliederung der letzten Schrift, egal in welcher Version, in die (frühere) Entwicklung des hagiographischen und liturgischen Prozesses in Bezug auf Thomas. 3. Das Thomas-Synaxarion im Oktober-Menäum Wie inzwischen angedeutet, ist ein genauer Zeitpunkt für die Einreihung des hagiographischen Materials, besonders in Form des Synaxarion, in die Menäen schwierig zu postulieren. Roman Krivko zufolge stammen die frühesten Beispiele aus dem XI. bis XII. Jh. Es handelt sich dabei um die Handschriften Laur Δ 45 und Reg. gr. 58.66 Luzzi schlägt das Ende des XIII. Jh. als mögliches Zeitfenster für die Integration des Materials in den Menäen.67 3.1. Sinai gr. 2102 Die älteste mir zum Zeitpunkt dieser Analyse zugängliche Handschrift eines Oktober-Menäums mit Synaxarion zum Festtag des Apostels Thomas ist Sinai gr. 2102 (Anfang des XV. Jh).68 Der Text des Synaxarions beginnt ähnlich wie im Synaxarium Ecclesiae Constantinopolitanae, wie anhand des folgenden Vergleiches zu sehen ist: Synaxarium Ecclesiae Constantinopolitanae

Synaxarion aus Sinai gr. 2102

Οὗτος Πάρθοις καὶ Μήδοις καὶ Πέρσαις καὶ Ἴνδοις τὸν λόγον τοῦ Θεοῦ κηρύξας καὶ πολλὰ πλήθη τοῖς ἀπείροις θαύμασι τῇ εἰς Χριστὸν πίστει προσαγαγών, ὑπὸ Μισδαίου βασιλέως Ἰνδῶν

Οὗτος Πάρθοις καὶ Μήδοις, Πέρσαις τὲ καὶ Ἰνδοῖς τὸν λόγον τοῦ Θεοῦ κηρύξας,

65

φρουρεῖται παρὰ Σμιγδαίου βασιλέως,

Vgl. Panagios Taphos 22. Menaion Oct., Folien 57-58. Vgl. R. Krivko, ‘A Typology of Byzantine Office Menaia of the Ninth – Fourteenth Centuries’, Scrinium 7-8 (2011-2012) 1-68 hier 52. 67 Vgl. Luzzi, ‘Synaxaria and the Synaxarion of Constantinople’, 198. 68 Vgl. Greek Manuscripts. Menaion Oct. 1400. Manuscript/Mixed Material. https://www.loc.gov/item/00279385093-ms/ (aufgerufen am am 19.12.2019). 66

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ἀναιρεῖται διὰ τὸ πιστεῦσαι καὶ βαπτισθῆναι ὑπ᾽αὐτοῦ Ἰουζάνην τὸν υἱὸν αὐτοῦ καὶ τὴν μητέρα Τερτίαν καὶ Μυγδονίαν καὶ Νάρκαν. Διὸ καὶ παραδίδοται πέντε στρατιώταις, οἰ ἐπὶ τὸ ὄρος ἀναγαγόντες αὐτόν, λόγχαις κατέτρωσαν καὶ τὸ μακάριον αὐτῷ ἐπήνεγκαν τέλος.69

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διὰ τὸ πιστεῦσαι καὶ βαπτισθῆναι ὑπ᾽αὐτοῦ Ὀυαζάνην τὸν υἱὸν αὐτοῦ. καὶ τὴν γυναῖκα Τερτίαν, Σμυγδονίαν καὶ Νάρκαν. Διὸ καὶ παραδίδοται πέντε στρατιώταις. οἳ τοῦτον ἐπὶ τι ὄρος ἀναβιβάσαντες, λόγχαις κατέτρωσαν. καὶ οὕτω πρὸς Κύριον ἐξεδήκησα.70

Das Thomas-Synaxarion aus Sinai gr. 2102 übernimmt fast den ganzen Text des konstantinopolitanischen Synaxarions zum Apostel. Die Ausnahmen beeinträchtigen nicht wesentlich den ursprünglichen Textinhalt und beziehen sich einerseits auf die unterschiedliche Schreibweise mancher Eigennamen (Σμιγδαίου statt Μισδαίου oder Σμυγδονίαν statt Μυγδονίαν) oder divergierende Formulierungen bei der Beschreibung des Todes des Thomas (οὕτω πρὸς Κύριον ἐξεδήκησα statt τὸ μακάριον αὐτῷ ἐπήνεγκαν τέλος) und andererseits auf die Auslassung des Satzes über die Missionsergebnisse des Apostels (πολλὰ πλήθη τοῖς ἀπείροις θαύμασι τῇ εἰς Χριστὸν πίστει προσαγαγών). Nach diesem anfänglichen Teil setzt sich das Synaxarion aus dem benannten Menäum mit einem zweiten umfangreicheren durch den Titel ἐκ τῶν αὐτοῦ περιόδων71 eingeleiteten Text fort.72 Dieser zweite nachfolgende Text des Synaxarions stellt verschiedene Aspekte aus der missionarischen Tätigkeit des Thomas dar, wie sie in den ersten zwei Taten der Thomasakten dargestellt sind. Aus der ersten Tat sind folgende Elemente der Erzählung festgehalten: – die Reise Thomas, begleitet von Abban, nach Indien und ihr Aufenthalt in Andrapolis (vgl. ATh, I, 3); – die Teilnahme des Apostels an der Hochzeit der Königstochter mit den dazugehörigen Szenen: • Thomas’ reservierte Haltung dem Hochzeitsfest gegenüber (vgl. ATh, I, 5); • die Ohrfeige, die ihm einer der Hochzeitsgäste (dem Mundschenken) wegen seiner Haltung (vgl. ATh, I, 6) verpasst; 69 70 71 72

Synaxarium Ecclesiae Constantinopolitanae, 113-14. Vgl. Greek Manuscripts. Menaion Oct. 1400, Folie 37-38. Greek Manuscripts. Menaion Oct. 1400, Folie 38. Vgl. Greek Manuscripts. Menaion Oct. 1400, Folie 38-40.

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• der tragische Tod des Mundschenks (vgl. ATh, I, 8); • der Hund, der die Hand des Mundschenks, mit der er den Apostel schlug, zum Hochzeitsfest trägt/bringt (vgl. ATh, I, 8); • die Anerkennung des wunderbaren Wirkens Gottes und seinen Apostels Thomas durch eine hebräische Flötenspielerin (vgl. ATh, I, 9). die Bitte des Königs an Thomas, das Brautpaar zu segnen (vgl. ATh, I, 9); das Segnungsgebet des Apostels für das Brautpaar im Brautgemach (vgl. ATh, I, 10); die Erscheinung Jesu, des Bruders des Thomas, in Gestalt und Aussehen des Apostels im Brautgemach und die Unterweisung der Ehegatten (vgl. ATh I, 11-12); die Entscheidung des Paars, ein Leben in Enthaltsamkeit zu führen, was den Zorn ihrer Eltern nach sich zieht (vgl. ATh, I, 13-16); obwohl der König aus Andrapolis zunächst zornig wegen der Predigt und des Wirkens des Apostels ist, wird er schließlich durch das Ehepaar zum christlichen Glauben bekehrt (vgl. ATh, I, 16).

Zwei inhaltliche Unterschiede bzw. Veränderungen lassen sich jedoch im Vergleich zu den Thomasakten beobachten. Es geht zuerst darum, dass Thomas der Bitte des Königs, das Brautpaar zu segnen, Folge leistet. Während die erste Tat erzählt, dass der Apostel dies zunächst nicht tun will, weshalb ihn der König gegen seinen Willen in das Brautgemach führt, berichtet das Synaxarion, dass Thomas mit Freude (περιχαρῶς) zu dem Brautpaar geht. Auch das Segnungsgebet des Apostels für das Brautpaar ist unterschiedlich formuliert. Im Text der Thomasakten steht geschrieben, Thomas bete dafür, dass der Herr dem Paar tut, was ‘ihnen hilft, nützt und frommt’.73 Das Synaxarion erwähnt wiederum, dass Thomas gezielt ihre leibliche Enthaltsamkeit (εἰς σωφροσύνην ἐπιστηρίξας, καὶ τῆς σαρκὸς ἀπώσασθαι τὴν ἡδυπάθειαν πείσας τούτους) anvisiert. Aus der zweiten Tat sind folgende Elemente rezipiert: – Thomas trifft den König der Inder namens Gundafor, der ihn nach der Art seines Handwerks fragt. Der Apostel antwortet, dass er aus 73

H.J.W. Drijvers, ‘Thomasakten’, in W. Schneemelcher (Hg.), Neutestamentliche Apokryphen II. Apostolisches, Apokalypsen und Verwandtes (Tübingen, 1997) 289-367, hier 308.

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Hölzern Pflüge, Joche, Steuer und Ruder und aus Steinen Säulen, Tempel und königliche Häuser fertigen kann (vgl. ATh II, 17); Daraufhin beauftragt ihn Gundafor mit dem Bau eines Palastes. Entsprechend dem Wunsch des Apostels beginnen die Bauarbeiten nicht gleich, sondern mit Verzögerung (vgl. ATh, II, 18); mit dem Geld, das er vom König bekommt, beginnt Thomas eine soziale Tätigkeit: Er schenkt es den Armen (vgl. ATh, II, 19); nach einer gewissen Zeit erkundigt sich Gundafor bei Thomas nach dem Status der Bauarbeiten und erfährt, dass bei seinem künftigen Palast nur das Dach gebaut werden soll. Deswegen entscheidet sich Gundafor, Thomas mehr Geld zu schicken, das auf gleiche Weise verwendet wird (vgl. ATh, II, 19); schließlich wird dem König mitgeteilt, dass Thomas eigentlich keinen Palast gebaut, sondern das Geld den Armen gegeben hat. Bei einem Gespräch mit Thomas erfährt Gundafor, dass der vom Apostel erbaute Palast erst dann zu bewohnen wäre, wenn er (der König) aus dem Leben geschieden ist. Deswegen kommt Thomas ins Gefängnis (vgl. ATh, II, 21); der Bruder des Königs stirbt, als er die Trauer Gundafors sieht. Die Engel aber führen ihn ins Paradies und so kann er den himmlischen Palast sehen, den Thomas seinem Bruder gebaut hat (vgl. ATh, II, 22); die Seele des Königsbruders wird aus dem Tod entlassen, er kommt zurück ins Leben und will von Gundafor dessen himmlischen Palast kaufen. Der König versteht jetzt die tatsächliche Intention des Thomas, befreit ihn aus dem Gefängnis und lässt sich, zusammen mit seinem Bruder, durch den Apostel taufen. (vgl. ATh, II, 23-26).

Auch hier könnte man einige Veränderungen gegenüber den Thomasakten konstatieren. Als Thomas den Beginn der Bauarbeiten des zukünftigen königlichen Palastes verzögert, sagt er gemäß den Thomasakten, er werde im November beginnen und bis April fertig werden (vgl. ATh, II, 18). Im Synaxarion in Sinai gr. 2102 heißt es, dass Thomas im Oktober (ὀκτωβρίου) beginnen werde. Darüber hinaus wird in den Thomasakten erwähnt, dass die Seele von Gundafors Bruder von mehreren Engeln ins Paradies geführt wurde (vgl. ATh, II, 22), während das Synaxarion hier nur von einem begleitenden Engel spricht (τότε τὴν ψυχὴν αὐτοῦ λαβὼν ἄγγελος). Aus der Perspektive des rezipierten Inhalts ist zu folgern, dass die ersten beiden Taten der Thomasakten (mit zwei Ausnahmen: die

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Szene des Verkaufs des Thomas durch Jesus an Abban und das Hochzeitslied) sich vollständig im Synaxarion widerspiegeln. Im Vergleich zur Handschrift Panagios Tafos 22 allerdings, in der anlässlich des Thomas-Festes Texte aus den Thomasakten wortwörtlich wiedergegeben sind, kann man in Bezug auf das in Sinai gr. 2102 übernommene Material nur von einer paraphrasierten Wiedergabe sprechen. Außerdem ist in der analysierten Handschrift eine SynaxarionMatrix erstellt, die aus einem ersten, dem Synaxarium Ecclesiae Constantinopolitanae ähnelnden Teil und einem zweiten, ausführlicheren, die ersten zwei Taten aus den Thomasakten aufnehmenden Teil besteht, der allgemein durch Synaxaria aus den nachfolgenden handschriftlichen (wie Sinai gr. 1793 aus dem XVI. Jh.74) oder gedruckten Menäen übernommen worden ist. 3.2. Erste gedruckte Ausgabe des griechischen Oktober-Menäums (1551) Aus dem XVI. Jh., genauer aus dem Zeitraum 1528-1596, stammt die erste gedruckte Ausgabe der griechischen Menäen, die in Venedig durch die Gebrüder Spinelli, Andreas und Jakob, erstellt wurde. Der Titelseite nach zu schließen, wurde das Oktober-Menäum im Jahr 1551 mit der finanziellen Unterstützung Andreas Spinellis gedruckt.75 Auf der vierten Seite befindet sich die Angabe, wonach der Druck während der Amtszeit des konstantinopolitanischen Patriarchen Dionysios II. und somit mit seinem Segen geschah.76 Das Synaxarion folgt der oben dargestellten Matrix, diese Worte bilden die Einführung: τῷ αὐτῷ μηνὶ ζ’. τοῦ ἁγίου ἀποστόλου θωμᾶ.77 Zwischen dem ersten zusammenfassenden Paragraphen dieses Synaxarions und dem entsprechenden Textteil aus Sinai gr. 2102 lassen sich nicht nur Ähnlichkeiten, sondern völlige Übereinstimmungen (mit wenigen

74

Vgl. Greek Manuscripts. Menaion Oct. 1500. Manuscript/Mixed Material. https://www.loc.gov/item/00279383023-ms/, Folien 41-44 (aufgerufen am 15.01.2020). 75 Vgl. ΜΗΝ ΟΚΤΩΒΡΙΟΣ (Venedig, 1551): ἔτει ἀπὸ τῆς θεογονίας χιλιστῷ πεντακοσιοστῷ πεντεκοστῷ πρώτῳ. 76 Vgl. ΜΗΝ ΟΚΤΩΒΡΙΟΣ (Venedig, 1551) 2. 77 Vgl. ΜΗΝ ΟΚΤΩΒΡΙΟΣ (Venedig, 1551) 39.

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und unerheblichen Ausnahmen) feststellen, wie aus dem unten angeführten Vergleich ersichtlich wird: Synaxarion aus Sinai gr. 2102

Synaxarion im Venedig-Menäum (1551)

Οὗτος Πάρθοις καὶ Μήδοις, Πέρσαις τὲ καὶ Ἰνδοῖς τὸν λόγον τοῦ Θεοῦ κηρύξας, φρουρεῖται παρὰ Σμιγδαίου βασιλέως, διὰ τὸ πιστεῦσαι καὶ βαπτισθῆναι ὑπ᾽αὐτοῦ Ὀυαζάνην τὸν υἱὸν αὐτοῦ. καὶ τὴν γυναῖκα Τερτίαν, Σμυγδονίαν καὶ Νάρκαν. Διὸ καὶ παραδίδοται πέντε στρατιώταις. οἳ τοῦτον ἐπι τι ὄρος ἀναβιβάσαντες, λόγχαις κατέτρωσαν. καὶ οὕτω πρὸς Κύριον ἐξεδήκησα.78

Οὗτος Μήδοις καὶ Πάρθοις, Πέρσαις τὲ καὶ Ἰνδοῖς τὸν λόγον τοῦ Θεοῦ κηρύξας, φρουρεῖτε παρὰ Σμιδαίου βασιλέως, διὰ τὸ πιστεῦσαι καὶ βαπτισθῆναι ὑπ᾽αὐτοῦ Ὀυαζάνην τὸν υἱὸν αὐτοῦ. καὶ τὴν γυναῖκα Τερτίαν, Σμιγδονίαν καὶ Νάρκαν. Διὸ καὶ παραδίδοται πέντε στρατιώταις. οἳ τοῦτον ἐπι τι ὄρος ἀναβιβάσαντες, λόγχαις κατέτρωσαν. καὶ οὕτω πρὸς Κύριον ἐξεδήκησα.79

Die Unterschiede betreffen die verschiedene Stellung der Worte Πάρθοις und Μήδοις, sowie die leicht veränderten Schreibweisen von φρουρεῖται statt φρουρεῖτε, Σμιγδαίου statt Σμιδαίου und Σμυγδονίαν statt Σμιγδονίαν. Das Synaxarion setzt sich mit dem umfangreicheren Teil fort, der genauso wortgleich dem jeweiligen Text aus Sinai gr. 2102 folgt.80 Die Entstehung der ersten gedruckten Ausgabe der Menäen führte höchstwahrscheinlich nicht zur völligen Verdrängung aller handschriftlichen Exemplare. Als Beweis dafür könnte z.B. ein Menäum aus dem XVII. Jh. für September und Oktober, das sich in ‘Pontian’s National Library of Argyroupolis “Kyriakides”’ mit der Signatur HLA-2011-753 erhalten hat,81 fungieren. Interessanterweise begegnet hier im Rahmen des Gottesdienstes anlässlich des Thomas-Festes am 6. Oktober nur der erste Teil des Synaxarions, der völlig deckungsgleich mit dem entsprechenden Teil des Synaxarions im Oktober-Menäum von 1551 ist. 78

Vgl. Greek Manuscripts. Menaion Oct. 1400, Folie 37-38. Vgl. ΜΗΝ ΟΚΤΩΒΡΙΟΣ (Vendig, 1551) 39. 80 Vgl. ΜΗΝ ΟΚΤΩΒΡΙΟΣ (Venedig, 1551), 39-42. 81 Χειρόγραφο Μηναίον του Σεπτεμβρίου και του Οκτωβρίου (http://digital. lib.auth.gr/record/127427/files/002.pdf, aufgerufen am 10.04.2020). 79

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4. Die Menäen des XIX. Jh. Eine intensivere Herausgabetätigkeit der griechischen Menäen ist im XIX. Jh. zu beobachten, mit Konstantinopel und besonders Venedig als den beiden entscheidenden Zentren. Darüber hinaus scheinen sich alle diese Ausgaben nacheinander sprachlich zu verbessern. 4.1. Konstantinopel 1843 Das Oktober-Menäum dieser Ausgabe gibt das Synaxarion des Apostels Thomas ähnlich wie das Oktober-Menäum aus 1551 wieder.82 Ein Vergleich zwischen den anfänglichen Synaxarion-Paragraphen der beiden Ausgaben beweist dies: Synaxarion im Venedig-Menäum (1551)

Synaxarion im KonstantinopelMenäum (1843)

Οὗτος Μήδοις καὶ Πάρθοις, Πέρσαις τὲ καὶ Ἰνδοῖς τὸν λόγον τοῦ Θεοῦ κηρύξας, φρουρεῖτε παρὰ Σμιδαίου βασιλέως, διὰ τὸ πιστεῦσαι καὶ βαπτισθῆναι ὑπ᾽ αὐτοῦ Ὀυαζάνην τὸν υἱὸν αὐτοῦ. καὶ τὴν γυναῖκα Τερτίαν, Σμιγδονίαν καὶ Νάρκαν. Διὸ καὶ παραδίδοται πέντε στρατιώταις. οἳ τοῦτον ἐπι τι ὄρος ἀναβιβάσαντες, λόγχαις κατέτρωσαν. καὶ οὕτω πρὸς Κύριον ἐξεδήκησα.83

Οὗτος Μήδοις καὶ Πάρθοις, Πέρσαις καὶ Ἰνδοῖς τὸν λόγον τοῦ Θεοῦ κηρύξας, φρουρεῖται παρὰ Σμιδαίου βασιλέως, διὰ τὸ πιστεῦσαι καὶ βαπτισθῆναι ὑπ᾽ αὐτοῦ Οὐαζάνην τὸν υἱὸν αὐτοῦ. καὶ τὴν γυναῖκα Τερτίαν, καὶ Μιγδωνίαν, καὶ Νάρκαν. Διὸ καὶ παραδίδοται πέντε στρατιώταις. οἳ τοῦτον ἐπι τι ὄρος ἀναβιβάσαντες, λόγχαις κατέτρωσαν. Καὶ οὕτω πρὸς Κύριον ἐξεδήμησεν.84

Die beiden Texte sind fast identisch. Die kleinen Unterschiede betreffen eher sprachliche Besonderheiten wie die Änderung des Namens Mygdonias aus Σμιγδονίαν zu Μιγδωνίαν und die Ersetzung des letzten Wortes des Textabschnittes ἐξεδήκησα durch ἐξεδήμησεν. Der zweite, längere Teil des Synaxarions aus dem Menäum Konstantinopel 1843 beinhaltet dieselben Informationen aus den ersten zwei Vgl. ΜΗΝΑΙΟΝ ΤΟΥ ΟΚΤΩΒΡΙΟΥ. Περιέχον τὴν πρέπουσαν αὐτῷ ἅπασαν ἀκολουθίαν μετὰ καὶ τοῦ Τυπικοῦ (Konstantinopel, 1843). 83 Vgl. ΜΗΝ ΟΚΤΩΒΡΙΟΣ (Venedig, 1551) 39. 84 ΜΗΝΑΙΟΝ ΤΟΥ ΟΚΤΩΒΡΙΟΥ (Konstantinopel, 1843) 43. 82

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Taten der Thomasakten und übernimmt mit leichten sprachlichen Verbesserungen,85 wie auch oben im Fall des ersten Paragraphen gezeigt, den entsprechenden Text des Menäums aus 1551. 4.2. Venedig 1852 und 1873 Weitere sprachliche und zum Teil kleine inhaltliche Bearbeitungen des Synaxariontextes im Rahmen des Thomas-Festes am 6. Oktober können in den nachfolgenden Ausgaben des Oktober-Menäums beobachtet werden. Im Menäum der venezianischen Ausgabe von 1852 erfährt der erste Teil des Synaxarions zum Apostel Thomas, im Vergleich zum Konstantinopel-Menäum aus 1843, leichte sprachliche Veränderungen (Ersetzung der Schreibweise des Königsnamens Σμιδαίου durch Μισδαίου, seines Sohnes Οὐαζάνην durch ᾽Αζάν und Mygdonias von Μιγδωνίαν zu Μιγδονίαν) und darüber hinaus auch inhaltliche Ergänzungen (Bezeichnung von Mygdonia und Narcia bzw. Marcia als τὰς θυγατέρας). Solche sprachlichen Bearbeitungen lassen sich außerdem auch im zweiten Teil des Synaxarions konstatieren.86 Die nachfolgende Ausgabe (Venedig 1873) wiederholt wortwörtlich den Text des Synaxarions zum Thomas-Fest,87 was allerdings auch bei den neueren Ausgaben der Fall ist, wie z.B. Athen 1960.88 5. Fazit Die vorliegende Studie hat gezeigt, dass die Darstellung des Lebens des Apostels Thomas in hagiographisch-liturgischen Sammlungen von Anfang an auf Informationen aus den apokryphen Thomasakten beruhte. Eine Konstante innerhalb des gesamten hagiographisch-liturgischen Rezeptionsprozesses und zugleich dessen Kern stellen das Martyrium des Apostels und die es vorbereitenden Erzählungen am Vgl. ΜΗΝΑΙΟΝ ΤΟΥ ΟΚΤΩΒΡΙΟΥ (Konstantinopel, 1843) 43-45. Vgl. ΜΗΝΑΙΟΝ ΤΟΥ ΟΚΤΩΒΡΙΟΥ. Περιέχον ἅπασαν τὴν ἀνήκουσαν αὐτῷ Ἀκολουθίαν, Διορθωθέν τὸ πρίν ὑπό Βαρθολομαιου Κουτλουμουσιανου του Ιμβριου (Venedig, 1852) 28-29. 87 Vgl. ΜΗΝΑΙΟΝ ΤΟΥ ΟΚΤΩΒΡΙΟΥ. Περιέχον ἅπασαν τὴν ἀνήκουσαν αὐτῷ Ἀκολουθίαν, μετὰ καὶ τῆς προσθήκης του Τιπικου (Venedig, 1873) 33-36. 88 Vgl. ΜΗΝΑΙΟΝ ΤΟΥ ΟΚΤΩΒΡΙΟΥ. Περιέχον ἅπασαν τὴν ἀνήκουσαν αὐτῷ Ἀκολουθίαν (Athen, 1960) 33. 85 86

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Hof des indischen Königs Misdai dar. Diese Elemente gestalten die drei hagiographischen Sammlungen des X. Jh. bezüglich des Thomasfestes. Jenseits dieser Fokussierung auf das Lebensende des Apostels lassen sich auch frühere Überlieferungen anderer Erzählungen aus den apokryphen Thomasakten beobachten, wie die Handschrift Panagios Tafos 22 beweist. Besonders die Informationen aus Synaxarium Ecclesiae Constantinopolitanae haben eindeutig das Synaxarion aus dem Oktober-Menäum, 6. Tag, beeinflusst. Allerdings lassen sich im Synaxarion des Oktober-Menäums auch manche Erweiterungen der übernommenen Angaben aus den Thomasakten beobachten, die bis zu den modernen Ausgaben des Oktober-Menäums reicht.

XIV. Fighting Paganism in the Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles. The Case of the Acts of Philip JOSEPH VERHEYDEN

1. Introducing the Acts of Philip ‘Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles’ is the collective name for a corpus of writings of various origins and date, and representing various theological backgrounds, that star as their heroes one or several characters that are known either from the early Christian writings that became part of the New Testament or from lists of disciples of Jesus similar to those found in the gospels. They all deal with the missionary activities of the protagonists: how they came into contact, and conflict, both with normative Judaism as represented by its religious leaders, and with the wider Greco-Roman world in which Judaism seeks to survive; and how the new religion they themselves bravely propagate tries to conquer these other worlds. The best known of these Acts – those of Peter, of Paul, of John, of Andrew, and of Thomas – date from the (late second and) third century. In this essay, I will present another specimen of this literature, one of a later date, that bears the title Acts of Philip (AcPh). The Acts figure in the edition of R.A. Lipsius and M. Bonnet,1 but the work went largely unnoticed for a long time, until F. Bovon and B. Bouvier in 1974 discovered another, much longer recension of it, on which Bovon reported in the exhaustive research survey he published in 1988.2 A decade later, the same two scholars, joined by 1

R.A. Lipsius and M. Bonnet, Acta Apostolorum Apocrypha, II.2 (Leipzig, 1903; repr. Darmstadt, 1959) vii-xv, xxxvi-xxxvii, 1-90 (text). The editors follow the recension that is found in Vat.gr. 824 (V) of the 11th c. 2 F. Bovon, ‘Les Actes de Philippe’, in ANRW II.25.6 (1988) 4431-527.

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F. Amsler, published a new critical edition, to which Amsler added a voluminous commentary.3 The Acts of Philip have been variously described as representing a form of vulgarising mainstream theology4 and as the work of an idiot.5 They were characterised at first as a ‘Catholic’ revision of a ‘Gnosticising’ work, possibly of Manichaean origin,6 and, quite the opposite, as a good Catholic work with maybe some slightly Gnosticising colouring,7 until E. Peterson in 1932, taking up a suggestion made by P. Batiffol back in 1903, definitively labelled them as the product of an ascetic milieu.8 This conclusion is now commonly accepted, but much about the origin and the composition of these Acts still remains a mystery.9 Indeed, from the evidence we have it would seem that the one thing that can be said with certainty with regard to its composition is that AcPh are a composite text that has not been preserved in its entirety. In its longest (complete?) form, to the extent that this can be reconstructed from the manuscripts, the Acts (Ac) would have consisted of fifteen chapters (numbered as Ac 1 to Ac 15 in the 3

F. Bovon, B. Bouvier and F. Amsler, Acta Philippi. I. Textus; II. Commentarius (Turnhout, 1999). The leading version is the one found in ms. Athos, Xenophontos 32 (A) of the 14th c. The French translation had been published separately before: Actes de l’apôtre Philippe (Turnhout, 1996). For an English translation with a substantial introduction (pp. 1-30), see F. Bovon and C.R. Matthews, The Acts of Philip. A New Translation (Waco, 2012). 4 See A.-J. Festugière, La révélation d’Hermès Trismégiste, IV (Paris, 1954) 239: ‘Tout y est naturel. La doctrine est simple, proche de l’Evangile et des traditions de l’Eglise primitive’. 5 T. Zahn, Forschungen zur Geschichte des neutestamentlichen Kanons und der altkirchlichen Literatur, VI.1 (Leipzig, 1900) 18: ‘von einem sehr unwissenden und gedankenarmen Mann geschrieben’. 6 R.A. Lipsius, Die apocryphen Apostelgeschichten und Apostellegenden, II.2 (Braunschweig, 1884) 16-22. 7 Zahn, Forschungen, VI.1, 21. 8 E. Peterson, ‘Die Häretiker der Philippus-Akten’, ZNW 31 (1932) 97-111, here 106: ‘(mir) scheint der Schluss unvermeidlich, dass die PhilippusAkten mit den Asketenkreisen zusammenhängen, die in Gangra verurteilt worden sind’. Cf. P. Batiffol, ‘Actes des apôtres. III. Actes (apocryphes) des apôtres’, in Dictionnaire de Théologie Catholique, 1 (Paris, 1903) col. 354-62 at 362. 9 For a more detailed survey of the history of research, see Bovon, ‘Actes’ and Amsler, Commentarius, 9-24.

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manuscript tradition) and a Martyrium (Ma) of forty-two chapters. The latter has been preserved as an autonomous writing in three different recensions in about fifty manuscripts. For their edition of AcPh, Bovon, Bouvier and Amsler have made use of six manuscripts. Four of these contain only one chapter of the Acts.10 The two most important manuscripts are V and A.11 The former contains (with lacunas) Ac 1–7 and 9 (the latter attested only in V), and the better part of 8 (8.1–5 and 12.15 in a shorter recension; 8.6–11 and 13–14 are lacking, but V is the only witness for the closing paragraphs 16–21). A contains Ac 1 and 3–7, the opening lines of 8 (in a peculiar form), and Ac 11–15, for which it is our sole witness. No manuscript has preserved a trace of Ac 10. The two longer and two of the fragmentary ones (P and G) also have the Martyrdom. In A and V it follows immediately after the Acts,12 whereas in P it precedes Ac 2, and in G follows after Ac 8. A and V (and G) offer different recensions of both the Acts and the Martyrdom, and are edited in parallel in the critical edition.13 The composite nature of the text is not only reflected in the manuscript tradition, but is also evident from a content analysis. Amsler has proposed the following quite plausible reconstruction.14 He distinguishes four parts that were originally independent from each other and only later joined together. Ac 8–15 + Ma form a unity and would represent the oldest form of AcPh. They offer the account of the journey of Philip to the city of Hierapolis, his struggle against the local cult, and his martyrdom that results from it. Ac 3–7 tell the story of Philip’s mission in Palestine that ends in a violent confrontation with the leaders of the Jewish community at Caesarea Maritima – 10

Chapter 2 is preserved by PXK, chapter 8 in a peculiar but apparently incomplete form by G. 11 A and V, see above. P = Paris. gr. 881 (10th c.); X = Vat. Gr. 866 (11th c.); K = Ambros. Gr. 405 (11th c.); G = Athens, National Library 346 (15th c.). For more details, see Bovon, Bouvier and Amsler, Textus, xiii-xxx. 12 As a matter of fact, Ma 3-19 partly overlaps with and repeats AcPh 15. See Commentarius, 418-20 and 427-28. 13 Unless otherwise indicated, citations from AcPh are from the longer recension (ms. A). 14 F. Amsler, ‘Les Actes de Philippe. Aperçu d’une compétition religieuse en Phrygie’, in J.-D. Kaestli and D. Marguerat (eds), Le mystère apocryphe. Introduction à une littérature méconnue (Genève, 1995) 125-44 at 127-31; cf. also Commentarius, 20-22 and 431-34.

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Nicatera. Ac 1 is a kind of paraphrase of the story of the revivification of the son of the widow of Nain (Luke 7:11–17),15 which in A includes a detailed account of the son’s journey to hell (Ac 1.5–17).16 These three writings do not contain cross-references to any of the other sections and must have existed as autonomous works at one time. They are all three clearly marked by a strongly propagandistic form of ascetic Christianity, which points to Asia Minor in general, and Phrygia in particular, as is clear from Ac 8–15 + Ma that is situated in Hierapolis. Ac 2, however, stands out by its silence about ascetic lifestyles. The action is now located in Athens and is partly modelled after canonical Acts 17 and Ac 6, with some influence also from Ma.17 There is evidence in the manuscript tradition that Ac 2 was transmitted independently (PXK), and it was not inserted in all of the longer accounts (it is missing from A). According to Amsler, all four works are probably to be dated between the middle of the fourth and the early-fifth century, because AcPh contains clear allusions to several of the other apocryphal Acts that were mentioned above.18 Asceticism itself is documented in patristic literature as an ongoing and relatively well organised but also quite diversified movement as late as that period.19

15 On the parallel, see Commentarius, 46-48 and C.R. Matthews, Philip Apostle and Evangelist. Configurations of a Tradition (Leiden, 2002) 17179: ‘no literary dependence but ‘“oral adaptation” or recall from memory’ (175). 16 V merely has the son refer to the tortures and punishments he has seen there. Amsler takes this as evidence that A’s is the more original version which suffered ‘orthodox’ censorship from the copyist of V (or his source). See Commentarius, 32-34 and 38-44. The passage is studied in more detail by R.N. Slater, who comes to the same conclusion: V reduces the story to the pure form of a miracle story because the ascetic propaganda in 1.5-17 was no longer an issue: ‘An Inquiry into the Relationship between Community and Text: The Apocryphal Acts of Philip 1 and the Encratites of Asia Minor’, in F. Bovon et al. (eds), The Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles (Cambridge, Mass., 1999) 281-306 at 291-97. Matthews, Philip Apostle and Evangelist, 176 n. 59, begs to differ. 17 Cf. Commentarius, 94-103. 18 On the date and the influence of non-canonical sources, see Commentarius, 434-37 and 437-39. 19 Cf. Commentarius, 469-520.

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2. The Hero Confronts the World 2.1. On reading the Apocryphal Acts—and this is no different for AcPh—one enters an often strange world with regard to such different issues as (a) style and vocabulary, (b) the presentation of characters, (c) the theological convictions that are being promoted, (d) the use of Scripture, and (e) the way historical and geographical information is handled. (a) Some of the vocabulary in AcPh is rather unusual or rare indeed, though it is not used inappropriately. The word μηερεῖς (Ma 19,9 and 25,4.7), a contraction of μή and ἱερεῖς, indicates in a most vivid way that the opponents are ‘false’ or indeed ‘non-priests’.20 Likewise, the word συμπνεύμονες, a hapax in AcPh, with which Philip addresses Peter and those with him in Ac 3.1,6 (A), is well-chosen for introducing oneself in view of being recognised as an apostle.21 (b) Philip, the protagonist, is human, all too human, a hero and anti-hero alike. He is very much the latter in Ma 25–26 and 29–32, when first John and then Christ himself must come and warn him (unsuccessfully!) not to use violence against those who want to kill him. This use of violence ultimately forces the Lord to punish his apostle after his not-so-glorious martyr’s death by not allowing him into paradise for forty days (Ma 31,6–12 V; 37,10–12 V = 13–15 A; and 42,4).22 (c) One of the more alienating expressions of AcPh’s ascetic views, up to the point of refusing women an identity of their own, can be found in Ac 8.4, where Christ is said to allow Mariamne, Philip’s sister, to accompany her brother only on the condition that she changes her dress and look.23 20

Textus, 374 n. 27: ‘curieux néologisme’. The editors propose to render it as ‘false priests’, though they note it actually means ‘non prêtres’. In Ma 25,4 the word is put in the mouth of the opponents speaking about their own priests, which makes no sense and has therefore been changed into ἱερεῖς in the edition. 21 Once he is granted this status, John then calls him ‘my brother and fellow apostle’ (3.2,2 συναπόστολε). On the genre of the commission story, see now I. Czachesz, Commission Narratives. A Comparative Study of the Canonical and Apocryphal Acts (Leuven, 2007) 140-44. 22 See Textus, 397 n. 46. The entrance into heaven is variously described as paradise opening its gates to receive the deceased (V) and the latter finding rest (A); see Textus, 429 n. 93. 23 A and V have slightly different versions: ἄλλαξόν σου τὴν ἰδέαν καὶ ὅλον τὸν εἶδος τὸ γυναικεῖον (8.4,2-3 V) and ἄλλαξόν σου τὴν στολὴν

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(d) As is so often the case in this kind of literature, AcPh frequently uses or alludes to episodes from the canonical gospels or the Book of Acts, but in doing so, the author at times permits himself quite a lot of freedom. The story of Philip’s mission in Athens in Ac 2 is clearly inspired by that of Paul in Acts 17:15–34, but now it is Philip who is made the real founder of the Christian community of Athens, even building a church there and appointing a bishop and ministers (2.24,8).24 (e) Reliability and accuracy in matters of history or geography are clearly not a primary concern. The Philip of AcPh integrates into one persona features that in the Book of Acts are attributed to the deacon and to the ‘apostle-evangelist’ by that name.25 As for geography, that Philip in Ac 3.1 meets with Peter in Parthia of all places is perhaps to be blamed on a copyist replacing an original reference to (a city of) Samaria, though it remains to be explained how such an error may have occurred.26 But to speak of ‘the city of Athens that is also called Hellas’ (2.1) or of ‘the Hellas of Athens’ (Ac 2 title, if

καὶ τὴν ἰδέαν, καὶ ἔκδυσαι ὅλον τὸ γυναικεῖον εἶδος καὶ τὸ θέριστρον. The same motif occurs also in AcPh 4.6 where young Charitinè is urged to adopt a male appearance and dress before following Philip. The ‘transvestite’ motif is known in the ancient novel. It is found elsewhere in Christian literature with an interest in encratism, but there it is most probably not used in a merely novelistic way. See the discussion in Commentarius, 312-17. Cf. Czachesz, Commission Narratives, 148-49, who draws attention to the twin and sibling theme that goes with it. 24 A tradition connecting Philip with ‘the land of the Greek’ is mentioned in Ac 8.1 (G). 25 On the possible confusion between evangelist and apostle, see F.C. Spencer, The Portrait of Philip in Acts. A Study of Roles and Relations (Sheffield, 1992) 262-73 (Philip as a ‘pioneering’ missionary). A. von Dobbeler, Der Evangelist Philippus in der Geschichte des Urchristentums (Göttingen, 2000) 284-86 and 298-303. On the daughters of Philip and their connection with Hierapolis, see now U. Huttner, Early Christianity in the Lycus Valley (Leiden, 2013) 195-211. 26 The suggestion about Samaria is found in Bovon (‘Actes’, 4451 and 4479). It would indeed fit better what follows in the latter part of Ac 3 and in Ac 4 reporting on Philip’s mission in that region. Amsler (Commentarius, 155) thinks more specifically of Nicatera, the scene of Ac 5-7. – On Philip’s itinerary in general, see Matthews, Philip Apostle and Evangelist, 66-171.

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original) is utterly nonsensical, or incredibly clumsy, if it was meant symbolically to signify ‘the Athens of the philosophers’.27 2.2. Still other features can be mentioned, such as the way AcPh presents the outside world into which the apostle is sent. In the following, I will develop this latter aspect a bit further, for as a matter of fact the various parts of AcPh represent different views in this respect, thus revealing one more alienating and indeed enchanting character of this text. In Ac 1, in running into a widow whose son has just passed away, Philip meets a pagan world that is desperate and profoundly frustrated about the lack of response it gets from its gods. These gods are the Olympians, joined by the Sun and the Moon (1.1). Several of them are mentioned by name in the widow’s litany of her religious life. All her sacrificing has been in vain; it is as if these gods ‘have fallen asleep,’ she adds, not without irony (1.1,16–17 ἐπ᾿ ἐμοὶ ἀπεκοιμήθησαν), using a verb that can also mean ‘pass away’. The gods have remained mute and blind, and those who pretend to be able to mediate between heaven and earth and to have access to the gods have stolen away her money (1.1,18–22). It is a world that is desperately looking for answers and explanations and that has acutely become aware of the limits of its own religious world and of its incapacity to further the well-being of the faithful. Yet, the widow also likes to think she has found some kind of answer for what has happened to her son when acknowledging that she has ‘despised the Christians’,28 as she puts it quite directly at the end of her complaint.29 In answering the widow, Philip does two things. He sketches a counter-world, which is of course the real one, that is capable of offering both an answer to the woman’s question and a solution to the tragedy that has struck her. In the meantime, by doing so, he also demonstrates that she should not blame Christianity or its god for the death of her son. For it is ‘by the power of his god Jesus Christ’30 that 27

Cf. Textus, 40 n. 1: ‘L’erreur est si monumentale que l’on se demande si ῾Ελλάς ne doit pas être pris ici au sens figuré’; Commentarius, 110-11: ‘L’erreur géographique est si grossière […] méconnaissance totale des réalités’. 28 Ac 1.1,27-28 τοὺς χριστιανοὺς ἐξουθενοῦσα. 29 The motif occurs again in Ac 14.2 in wording that recalls Paul’s selfdescription as a former persecutor (see Acts 9,4; 22,4; 26,9-15). 30 Ac 1.2,5-6 τῇ τοῦ θεοῦ μου δυνάμει ᾿Ιησοῦ Χριστοῦ.

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he will bring her son to life again. And whatever the widow has done wrong – it is not specified what precisely is meant, though most probably these opening words of 1.2 refer back to the end of 1.1 and her slandering Christianity –, this could only happen because she had been deceived by the devil, ‘the enemy’, who prevents the soul from entering into eternal life.31 And as if this is not enough, Philip also allows the woman a look into the other world, when the son, upon being restored to life, tells her about what he was permitted to see in Hades (1.5–17) and how he was called back from there.32 If the gods of old have remained mute and silent, now not only has the widow’s complaint been heard, but through her son she has been given an opportunity to look and see into a world from where human beings as a rule do not return. Hence one can indeed with good reason conclude that Philip knows how to exploit an opportunity for promoting his message of a rigorist Christian life, for that is precisely what the widow is asked to convert to. But at the moment the apostle offers her his radical solution, she also appears to be ready for it and capable of defining the lifestyle she is expected to embrace—without any further instruction from the apostle.33 It may then not be fully correct to describe her as ‘an easy prey’.34 A different world is evoked in the opening scenes of Ac 2, in which it is told how Philip enters into discussion with 300 (!) philosophers in Athens. This is a world that still seems confident about its own beliefs and traditions, and therefore can permit itself to be eager to hear more about new insights and other teachings, as Ac 1.2,2-3 πλανηθεῖσα ὑπὸ τοῦ ἐχθροῦ ... οὕτως γὰρ ὁ διάβολος πλανᾷ τοὺς ἀνθρώπους. 32 Ac 1.11,10-11 καλεῖ γάρ μέ τις εἰς τὸν κόσμον ἀπελθεῖν καὶ οὐκ οἶδα. On this ‘nekyia’, see Commentarius, 50-70; Slater, ‘Inquiry’, and J.N. Bremmer, ‘Paganism in the Hagiography of Asia Minor’, in W. Ameling (ed.), Die Christianisierung Kleinasiens in der Spätantike (Bonn, 2017) 33-48 at 38f. 33 Ac 1.2,9-15, something the apostle in A assigns to the power of God (1.3,1-3). V does not have this latter motif and instead merely reads ταῦτα οὐχ ἁπλῶς φθέγγῃ. The editors cite a good number of parallels from the Pauline, the Deutero-Pauline and the Catholic epistles for the theme of purity, but they seem to have missed the possible allusion to Matt 16:17 that can be found in A’s ταῦτα οὐκ ἀπὸ σεαυτῆς φθέγγῃ, ἀλλά [...]. 34 ‘Sa détresse fait d’elle une proie particulièrement facile pour Philippe’ (Commentarius, 49). 31

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Philip’s interlocutors say with so many words when they invite him to take the floor in 2.2,2–5. But all this openness and all this confidence is but bluff and fake, for when Philip brings them his kerygma they are knocked off their feet and ask for a three-day delay to consult each other and their own traditions about this ‘really new and original teaching’ they have just heard.35 Afterwards, when among themselves, they qualify the teaching rather more negatively as ξενήν, thereby admitting that it brought them out of themselves (2.6,2–3). So far, the influence of the episode of Paul facing the Athenian intelligentsia in Acts 17 is more than apparent.36 But then the story is given a quite unexpected and highly fantastic twist—one that also brings the final blow to the Athenian philosophers’ confidence— when they decide to call in the help of the Jewish high priest Ananias.37 And as if this were not enough yet, these proud philosophers, who just before had asked Philip to present them with his teaching in an open and rational way (2.4,3 ἐν συνέσει χωρὶς φθόνου), in their letter to the high priest prove themselves to be impressed above all by his miraculous powers (2.7,9–13), something Philip himself is well aware of when he tells them, in a phrase that clearly alludes to 1 Cor 2:4, that he has come to instruct them, not by words but by the proof of his miracles.38 And he immediately gives proof of his powers in dealing with the poor high priest who does not stand a chance. First, he has his guards blinded, then his arm rendered lame, and finally he gradually sinks into the earth on the sole command of his opponent the apostle. But it does not stop there. For just as the philosophers’ world collapses, so does Athens’ religious world when Jesus himself descends from heaven to assist Philip, and by his presence alone destroys all the idols in the city and causes the demons to flee (2.15,4–8), with the exception of one, who enters into a young Ac 2.3,13-14 παιδείαν ὄντως νέαν καὶ καινήν. On the parallel, see Commentarius, 109-13. It is above all the interest in ‘novelties’ (see also Ac 6.3,9) that is emphasised and that is here opposed, ‘assez maladroitement’ (112), to the good Jewish motif of the tradition of the fathers. 37 Ac 2.6,6-8 τάχα ἡμεῖς οὐ δυνάμεθα πρὸς αὐτὸν διαλέγεσθαι, εἰ μὴ ὁ ἀρχιερεὺς τῶν ᾿Ιουδαίων. 38 Ac 2.11,5-7 ἐγώ, ἄνδρες ̓Αθηναῖοι καὶ οἱ ἐν ὑμῖν φιλόσοφοι, ἦλθον πρὸς ὑμᾶς οὐ λόγοις διδάξαι ἀλλ᾿ ἐν ἀποδείξει θαυμασίων. 35 36

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man and has him killed.39 This gives Philip one more opportunity bravely to face and triumph over this demonic world (for that is what Athens is revealed to be), by resuscitating the boy (2.23,19–21), while at the same time putting an end to the high priest’s pseudo-martyrdom (for that is what it looks like), by having him swallowed by Hades (2.23,14–19).40 What had begun as an account of some kind of academic discussion has ended as a very different sort of story, in which healings are performed, demons are driven out, the Lord has appeared on earth, and Hades obeys his apostle, a story, in short, that is organised anew according to very different paradigms. Athens and its philosophers proved to be anything but a rational world. The apostle is the only one who is capable of seeing the truth and of mastering this world by the power of his ‘one God’, as the crowds confess at the end.41 Yet another world is entered in Ac 3–7. This is a world that is divided against itself, in which some gratefully and joyfully receive the message the apostle is bringing and do not seem to care about its radical nature, while others, more prudently, remain unconvinced or openly hostile. This double reaction is summarily but most vividly sketched in A 4.1. Some say, ‘in truth, he is a man of God’. But others ask, ‘is he not rather a magician?’, or try to ridicule the apostle (ἐξεμυκτήριζον). And while some of the women in town acclaim the apostle and bless his god, others more pointedly ask themselves what good there may be in separating husband and wife, for that is how they interpret his preaching. The mixed reaction is repeated once more and in far greater detail in Ac 5, in the story of Ireos, who immediately believes in Philip’s message, and of his wife, who initially

39

Amsler rightly points out that this divine intervention in no way convinces the opponents or helps to convert them, but rather transforms the dispute into a heavenly combat (Commentarius, 121: ‘un affrontement du Christ et de Satan’). 40 The motif of the sacerdotal dress miraculously escaping destruction recalls similar stories about the preservation of cult objects in Jewish and Christian tradition. Its presence here at the end of Ac 2 may be intentional in the light of the author’s interest in Philip’s quasi-philosophical dress in 2.1,6-9. Cf. Commentarius, 123-25. 41 Ac 2.24,1-3 εἷς θεὸς ὁ Φιλίππου ὁ ἐλέγξας τὴν ἀπιστίαν τοῦ ἀρχιερέως καὶ τὸν δαίμονα τοῦ νεανίσκου ἀπελάσας καὶ ἀναστήσας αὐτὸν ἐκ νεκρῶν.

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remains hostile, or at best indifferent, though finally all ends well in Ac 7.42 Ac 3–7 seem to have a special interest in pointing out that the apostle is well received by members of the upper class.43 Ireos is a prominent and respected leader of the Jewish community of Nicatera – Caesarea Maritima, while in Azotus (cf. Acts 8:40) Philip is received in the house of one Nicoclides ὑπομνηματογράφου τινὸς μεγάλου, a friend of the king (4.2,10–11), who immediately becomes a disciple after Philip has healed his daughter (4.4–6).44 In Ac 6.2–14, it is told how the pagan authorities of the city of Nicatera join forces with the Jews and call upon one Aristarchus to counter Philip, obviously with no more success than the philosophers of Athens had in Ac 2.45 After they had cried out that this foreigner threatens the city and its gods (6.5,1–5), they ultimately confess in 6.15 that it must be clear to all; here, A and V give different versions, stating either that God (so V which reads the sg. ὁ θεός), or their own gods (A reads οἱ θεοὶ ὑμῶν, which the editors quite understandably have changed into ἡμῶν), has/have invited Philip into their town in order that its citizens should learn that they are but deaf and blind and worthless idols.46 Which of these two readings is the more original one is difficult to ascertain, as the plural of A may be due to a conflation with the subject of the complementary clause that follows, but it is also the more difficult one, since it would make the pagan gods themselves share in the openness of some of the inhabitants and, like these, long for the end of their powerless reign. And while the magistrates have already made up their mind in favour of Philip, in the next section, upon hearing of the death of a young man, they are led formally to pledge 42

The apostle plays a decisive role in the conversion process by personally instructing the couple (5.22-25) and even impressing them by transforming himself into ‘a great light’. See Commentarius, 236-41. 43 A’s identification of those ridiculing Philip as πρώτιστοι καὶ σοφοί is lacking in V and does not fit well into this picture and creates a tension with the fact that they are said to stand in awe for his powers as a miracle worker (4.1,10-11). 44 See Commentarius, 201-04. 45 On the dispute with Aristarchus and its basis in Scripture, see Commentarius, 252-56. 46 Ac 6.15,9-10 ἵνα μάθωμεν κωφοὶ καὶ τυφλοὶ καὶ μάταιοί εἰσιν (A) or ἵνα δι᾿ αὐτοῦ μάθωμεν ὅτι οἱ θεοὶ ἡμῶν εἴδωλα κωφὰ καὶ τυφλὰ καὶ ἀναίσθητά εἰσιν (V).

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that they will personally burn down their own temples (6.16,9–10)47, if Philip proves able to revive the man. Of course, Aristarchus sadly fails to do so, and Philip comes out as the winner of the contest.48 In the end, Christianity is gloriously installed as the new religion, and Philip sees Ireos and the father of the deceased, Jew and pagan, united once more, but now cooperating in the construction of a church building (7.2 and 4 συναγωγή).49 This is a world that shows openness and willingness to be saved, and of which the better part is cooperative in realising this. Far more hostile, on the other hand, is the world of Ac 8–15 + Ma. It is a world inhabited by dragons and a xenophobic population fiercely defending its own barbarous traditions, a world ruled by a matrona-Viper and her offspring of snakes and snake worshippers. The scene is the town of Ophioryme or Hierapolis, the cult most probably that of Cybele who we know was worshipped all throughout Phrygia and also in Hierapolis, the story no doubt an etiological explanation of how Christianity came to be established in this same city that adopted Philip as its patron saint.50 The story would echo an 47

The parents of the boy repeat this pledge for their own account in 6.17,910, with an obvious allusion to the Olympic pantheon: τοὺς δώδεκα θεοὺς τοὺς ὁλοχρύσους κατακόψαντες δώσομεν εἰς διακονίαν. See also Bremmer, ‘Paganism’, 39. 48 For a comparison with the similar story in Acts of Peter 23-28 that may be at the basis of the one in AcPh, see Commentarius, 260-68. For a more cautious view on assessing the relationship with Acts of Peter, see A.L. Molinari, ‘Petrine Traditions in the Acts of Philip: Letter of Peter to Philip, a Variant of a Q Saying Found in Matthew 18:21-22, Acts of Peter and the Acts of Peter and the Twelve Apostles’, SBL Seminar Papers (2000) 1-23. Cf. also Matthews, Philip Apostle and Evangelist, 180-96 (revising a 1996 essay). Perhaps worth noting is that the Greek Acts of Peter were used by the author of the late fourth-century Life of Abercius, who actually came from Hierapolis; see P. Thonemann, ‘Abercius of Hierapolis’, in B. Dignas and R. Smith (eds), Historical and Religious Memory in the Ancient World (Oxford, 2012) 257-82 (with thanks to Jan Bremmer for the reference). 49 Cf. Commentarius, 279-81. 50 One cannot say that Hierapolis was a centre of the Cybele cult, such as Sardis and Pessinus (the city is not even mentioned in L.E. Roller, In Search of God the Mother. The Cult of Anatolian Cybele [Berkeley, 1999] 189-98), but there is some solid evidence that the goddess was worshipped also in Hierapolis; see the discussion and bibliography in Commentarius, 373-78 and 521-42. On various aspects of the religious, cultural, political

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apparently at times violent coexistence and the final replacement of the ancient Cybele cult by Christianity, but this is, of course, in no way a historical account.51 It is a world in which there is no place for the more civilised Olympic pantheon, and hardly for nice talks and philosophical debate. Here, the newly born are sacrificed to the Viper that licks and subdues them to its will (Ma 2,7–9), strangers are scared away by poisonous snakes (Ac 15.1), faithful worshippers of the Viper are blinded when seeking to be cured (Ac 14.3), and priests of the Viper are seen sacrificing the blood of human victims (Ma 25,7). The city as a whole is being tyrannised by a man who is called most appropriately Tyrannos and who is all violence, rage, and hatred. Philip will act accordingly, and it is a different apostle that we meet, one whose strength and courage are challenged and put to the test beyond his limits. And yet even here, there are some cracks in the walls of this stronghold of uncivilized paganism. I pass by the double episode of the apostle fighting a dragon in Ac 9 and again in Ac 11, because these stories are told rather stereotypically and with so little emotion that it almost looks as if they have been added for the sole purpose of breaking up the boringness of the long journey to Hierapolis.52 The whole environment shows itself to be hostile to the newcomers, except for the old Stachys, blinded by the goddess he had worshipped for so and socio-economic situation of Hierapolis with special interest also in its archaeology, see, more recently, T. Ritti, Storia e instituzioni di Hierapolis (Istanbul, 2017) 100-02 (Cybele cult), 190-231 (Christianity in Hierapolis), 232-47 (ancient testimonies on the Ploutonion). Among ancient authors, see above all the account by Strabo, Geography, 12.4.17 and 14.44 (on the galli). In addition to the longstanding Italian excavations, also a Norwegian team is currently active in Hierapolis; see J.R. Brandt et al., ‘Liv og død i Hierapolis. Norske utgravninger i en hellenistisk-romersk-bysantinsk by i Lilleasia’, Viking. Norsk Arkeologisk Arbok 79 (2016) 1-29 (with ample bibliography). 51 It is not necessary to assume that Cybele was still worshipped when the Acts were written. Such stories live from (imagined) memories and recollections, they are a mixture of fictitiousness and factitiousness. 52 The two stories are very similar but both are probably original (Commentarius, 327-29). The major source of inspiration is not biblical or Jewish, but more generally pagan mythology, which is quite appropriate a choice in light of the confrontation in Hierapolis that will follow (Commentarius, 332-35).

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long,53 and for Nicanora, a Jewish woman, a foreigner like Philip, and the wife of the local tyrant, who are both healed by the apostle, though the woman pays heavily for her faith at the hands of her cruel husband (Ma 14). More remarkable is the encounter at the end of Ac 8. Not mythical dragons, but a leopard and a goat play a role in it. The latter is wounded and about to be devoured by the other, but they are both ‘rescued’ by the apostle54 and baptised into the Church, joining Philip on his mission. How to make sense of ‘ce conte à dormir debout’?55 The animals even develop an interest in theology!56 The motif of two animals who are natural enemies peacefully living together recalls the prophecy of Isa 11:6–9, where leopard and kid are indeed one of the couples mentioned (v. 6b). One should also 53

A most explicit reference to the polemics that were going on as well as to the uselessness of the Cybele cult and its incubation practices. Cf. Commentarius, 393-402. 54 Note the nice phrasing in Ac 8.18,4 τὸν πεπληγμένον ἰαθέντα καὶ θεραπεύοντα τὸν πλήξαντα. 55 ‘La conversion des deux quadrupèdes semble avoir autant embarassé qu’intrigué la critique’ (Commentarius, 299). Scholars have sought to explain the passage against the background of ancient gnostic tradition, encratistic concerns, and/or folkloristic imagination. 56 Cf. Ac 12.2-6 and the theological skills of the leopard pleading to be allowed to receive the Holy Communion. The story echoes an interest in what might be called some early form of ‘ecological theology’. But overall, the author keeps to a strictly anthropological perspective, for the body and soul of the leopard and the kid are then transformed into the form of a human body (12.7,13-15 and 12.8,2-4). In Ma 38,26-27, Philip himself asks the Lord that the form of his body be conformed to the image of His glory. Amsler (Commentarius, 365) seems to have missed this distinction when noting that the same phrase (‘changer la forme de l’âme’) is used in both. On the motif of ‘articulate animals’, see C.R. Matthews, ‘Articulate Animals: A Multivalent Motif in the Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles’, in Bovon (ed.), Apocryphal Acts, 205-32, here 210-11 and 225-30. The author of AcPh manages to have the motif fit into his interests in things ascetic, but the motif itself is older and attested well before the fourth century when Ac 8-15 were composed. For the role of animals in the early Apocryphal Acts in general, see J. Spittler, Animals in the Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles (Tübingen, 2008); in her conclusion, Spittler also briefly surveys the relevant passages in the Acts of Philip (228-30), which she rightly says ‘contains the most notable animal episode of all’. Or as a reviewer of this essay noted in the margin: ‘One thinks of the lions in Jerome’s Life of Paul’.

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note the reference to the viper’s nest in v. 8 of that passage. The whole episode in Ac 8.16–21 would signify the arrival of this eschatological and paradisiacal age of reconciliation and peaceful coexistence, whether or not in a millenarian perspective. Amsler has drawn attention to an alternative interpretation of the prophecy that is attested by Eusebius of Caesarea in his Commentary on Isaiah. The scene would be a metaphor of the Church of Jews and Gentiles who are both appeased by the gospel. With this information in hand, Amsler then offers his own variant interpretation focusing on the sole leopard. His ‘conversion’ from pagan savagery to Christian kindness would be a highly metaphorical account of the domestication of the cult of Cybele that will be told in more detail in Ac 13–15 and Ma.57 Amsler can point to the standard representations of the Mother-Goddess sitting on or accompanied by panthers (though not leopards) and he can cite evidence from ancient sources for associating the kid with Attis and serpents-vipers with Cybele.58 But even so, the interpretation does not seem to work very well. What would be the point of twice telling the same story of Philip’s victory over Cybele and her serpent cult, and in such rather different ways, or of already giving away the outcome even before the hero has reached the stage where the final battle will take place? Moreover, reconciliation or peaceful coexistence is not what Philip is after and it is not what the worshippers of the Viper cult are looking forward to. Both parties rather prepare for a war with life and death consequences. Only one of them will survive, and the other has no intention of ‘converting’. The choice of the animals may have been inspired by the possible associations with the cult of Cybele that they call forth, and the latter 57

Amsler, ‘Aperçu d’une compétition religieuse’, 125-40. Id., ‘Remarques sur la réception liturgique et folklorique des Actes de Philippe (Aph VIII-XV et Martyre)’, Apocrypha 8 (1997) 251-64 (on dating the feast of Philip in the liturgical calendars of the east and the west and a possible connection with the Cybele cult). Cf. also Commentarius, 299-312. 58 For the former, see Pausanias, Description of Greece, 7.17.10 and Arnobius, adv. Nationes, 5.6. For the latter, Amsler (Commentarius, 309 n. 5) refers to the (sparse) epigraphic evidence collected by M.J. Vermaseren, Corpus Cultus Cybelae Attidisque (Leiden, 1987) 30 (nos. 74-76). He also cites a famous fragment of Papias of Hierapolis on Barsabas-Justus miraculously surviving by the name of Christ the cup of viper’s venom he is forced to drink, a story Papias says he got from the daughter of Philip (but which one?).

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no doubt was in the background in inspiring the setting and the story of Philip’s mission and martyrdom in Hierapolis; that said, this particular episode with the two animals does not as such symbolise Christianity’s triumph over this particular cult. The story serves a double purpose. It is a way of showing the reader that the hero is journeying into a mythical world. At the same time, it seeks, or pretends, to comfort the reader by intimating that a man who is capable of these things undoubtedly will also overcome the terrible confrontation that is still waiting for him in Ophioryme – Hierapolis. The former of these functions is evident. The latter is much more ambivalent, for if it is true that this story, like that of the slaying of the dragons in Ac 9 and 11, adds to the picture of the apostle as a superhuman hero, this perspective and the expectations it raises will be fulfilled in a totally different way than what the reader might have hoped for after having heard these wonderful stories. At first, things seem to go according to plan. One reads once more about wondrous deeds, how Philip and his company heal the sick they find in the hospital at the temple (13.4 τὸ ἰατρεῖον) and by their sheer presence have made desolate the temple and the cult (Ma 17,8–9 ἔκλεισαν δὲ καὶ τὸ ἱερὸν καὶ ἐρήμωται ὁ βωμός).59 One also reads again about the punishment of the wicked (Ma 27): this was already the case in the previous sections, but Ac 8–15 and Ma are much more dramatic in tone. Now, not just one individual but almost the whole of the town is swallowed up by the earth (Ma 33,5– 6) – a most appropriate fate for a people that worships at chasms, where chthonic deities live. Translated into Christian jargon, this fate is compared to enter hell alive (Ma 26,13–15 and 30,7 V).60 In the Philip’s healing activities also include a spiritual dimension (13.4,4-5 τὸ πνευματικὸν τοῦτο ἰατρεῖον). The initiative is an integral part of his polemics against the ruling cult, which in essence has to be replaced by its Christian variant. 60 The link between this kind of punishment and the geological situation of the area, combined with the existence of subterranean chasms in Hierapolis, including the so-called Ploutonion, has long been recognised, as Huttner (Lycus Valley, 366) rightly notes. It is the appropriate punishment at the appropriate place. The Ploutonion fascinated ancient visitors as much as contemporary archaeologists. Among the former, one should note the episode related by Damascius (Vita Isidori, 131) of how he visits the place with a friend, descends a bit in it and inhales its lethal vapours, but returns from the chasm in good health, only to see himself later on in a dream participating 59

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end, Philip does not triumph by his words or his miraculous powers, but only by suffering martyrdom. The story takes a completely unexpected turn, and the fact that the hero is not prepared for and indeed not ready to accept this fate of course adds to the drama.61 When heading for Phrygia and Hierapolis, Philip leaves the civilized world behind—a fact of which he is all too well aware, as is clear from his deception upon hearing of his assignment (Ac 8.1– in the Hilaria in the person of Attis himself. Only the galli are said to manage to descend the whole way and survive, but not without becoming ἐνθουσιῶν, that is, mediators between this world and the ‘otherness’. Hallucinations, rage, and, ultimately, death make for a strong combination, even when put at the service of religion. Good health is a relative concept, it seems. Cf. R. Turcan, ‘Attis Platonicus’, in E.N. Lane (ed.), Cybele, Attis and related Cults. Essays in Memory of M.J. Vermaseren (Leiden, 1996) 387-403 at 401-02; M.G. Lancelotti, Attis between Myth and History: King, Priest and God (Leiden, 2002) 158-60. The Ploutonion has recently been the subject of intense research by archaeologists and chemists; see, e.g., Ritti, Hierapolis, 231-47 (mainly literary evidence); and esp. F. D’Andria, ‘The Ploutonion of Hierapolis in the 5th-7th c. A.D.’, Journal of Roman Archaeology 32 (2019) 505-15; S. Vettori et al., ‘The Dark Colour of the Ploutonion at Hierapolis of Phrygia (Turkey)’, Archaeometry 61 (2019) 296-308. And it is not just ancient tourists and modern archaeologists who are fascinated about Hierapolis and its Cybele cult and what possibly belongs to it. Also some biblical scholars seem to be captivated by the wonders of the place and the ways they can be exploited by authors. One such scholar is L.J. Kreitzer, for whom not just the Ploutonion but several other features of Hierapolis are the inspiration to interpret no less than the Letter to the Ephesians that goes under the name of Paul; see his Hierapolis in the Heavens. Studies in the Letter to the Ephesians (London, 2007), a collection of essays that link Ephesus to Colossae and through it, to Hierapolis and its Cybele cult and strange geographical configuration. Others have been led to look for allusive references to the cult in other places of the Acts. Huttner, Lycus Valley, 359-60, following the comments of Bovon and Amsler, Commentarius, 322 n. 16, offers some further evidence for the suggestion that the three-faced youngster Stachys refers to (14.4) may contain a hint to the way Cybele is sometimes called (τριπρόσωπος). 61 On the motif of Philip’s ‘sin’ of not keeping to Jesus’ commandment of non-retaliation and the biblical echoes it contains, see F. Bovon, ‘Facing the Scriptures: Mimesis and Intertextuality in the Acts of Philip’, in D.R. MacDonald (ed.), Mimesis and Intertextuality in Antiquity and Christianity (Harrisburg, PA, 2001) 138-53 at 145-47 and ‘The Child and the Beast: Fighting Violence in Ancient Christianity’, HThR 92 (1999) 369-92.

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14).62 The world he is sent to is a mythical one, where one has to travel through ‘the desert of the she-dragons’ (8.16,1), is threatened by dragons (Ac 9 and 11), and can converse with animals (Ac 8.16– 21). Philip has left the world we know. He has crossed over into some kind of ‘other world’. This will be the place where the apostle will also meet his destiny. And that, it turns out, is also the only way the chaos that reigns in this other world can be overcome and replaced by a new and peaceful way of life. Moreover, this way of life itself will also always in a sense remain ‘other-wordly’ because of the requirements it puts on those who are prepared to join it in matters of lifestyle and diet: Philip says as much to Stachys when urging him to be moderate in using meat, wine and money. For that is how the chaos of the old Hierapolis is conquered and this world can be mastered: ὅτι ἡ ἐγκράτεια τῶν πάντων στηριγμός (15.2,14: ‘because continence is the support of everything’).63 Ac 8–15 make ample use of a motif that was well-known in antiquity, that is, the motif of the legendary and imaginary landscape, town, or society.64 There was Atlantis, of course, and Arcadia.65 And there was Sparta, as seen by Athens, or the whole mysterious world 62

Philip’s commission is made a part of a longer list involving other disciples-apostles. The hero is thus assigned a specific territory with which he will come to be linked ‘for eternity’. On the motif of dividing the missionary assignments, see J.-D. Kaestli, ‘Les scènes d’attribution des champs de mission et le départ de l’apôtre dans les Acts apocryphes’, in F. Bovon et al. (eds), Les Actes apocryphes des apôtres. Christianisme et monde païen (Genève, 1981) 249-64 at 253-54 and 256-57. On the commission at the beginning of Ac 8, see also Czachesz, Commission Narratives, 144-47. 63 See Textus, 333 n. 14 and Commentarius, 423-24. 64 See S.E. Alcock, Graeca Capta. The Landscape of Roman Greece (Cambridge, 1993), 224-30. 65 On the first, see the immensely learned article by P. Vidal-Naquet, ‘L’Atlantide et les nations’, in id., La Démocratie grecque vue d’ailleurs. Essais d’historiographie ancienne et moderne (Paris, 1990) 139-59; ET (J. Lloyd), ‘Atlantis and the Nations’, Critical Inquiry 18 (1992) 300-26, with more bibliography on p. 301 n. 2 and the concluding observation: ‘Faced with so many fantasies, what is to be done with Atlantis? In the first place, we should study its history as a history of human imaginary representations … But also – why not? – we can make pictures of it, …’. On the second, cf. J.M. Crook, ‘The Arcadian Vision. Neoclassicism and the Picturesque’, in G.W. Clarke (ed.), Rediscovering Hellenism. The Hellenic Inheritance and the English Imagination (Cambridge, 1989) 43-59.

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of the Orient, of India and Ethiopia, as it had been immortalised by generations of travellers and (would-be) geographers and ethnographers. AcPh offers one more illustration of how to exploit this motif, now in a Christian context. It is by his martyrdom and death, which are memorialised forever in the church that had been erected there in his honour,66 that Philip has managed to save, not so much individuals, but a whole world; moreover, he has made Hades – Hierapolis a place where the faithful now can reach out for a different kind of ‘other world’. From the moment he starts traveling with the leopard and the kid, Philip indeed had entered into another dimension. 3. Conclusion All diversity and differences between the various sections of AcPh notwithstanding, one can say that the whole of the pagan world Philip confronts is a monster, and this in a twofold respect. It is monstrous in some of its practices and traditions, when priests sacrifice the blood of human victims (Ma 25) or servants are slaughtered on the tomb of their master (Ac 6.16). But it is also monstrous because it is a world, half mythical and only partially human, that is populated by passive gods and mute idols, by demons and dragons, snakes and vipers, and also some hapless philosophers. Of course, behind all this is the hand of the devil, as Philip repeatedly tells the audience. It is a world that is badly in need of real salvation—whether or not it is aware of this— but cannot provide it of itself. Philip can offer it, with the help of his god, but only at the cost of destroying the old, and finally even at the cost of his own life. The salvation he preaches is not just one way among others, but the only way that leads to its goal. Much in this work can be said to breath ‘an air of unreality’,67 and, in the end, the landscape itself may have become utterly imaginary, and the city of Hierapolis a parody of hell, but the fight for Christianity was all too real and the author of AcPh obviously was convinced he could effectively contribute to it by describing it in this way. 66

Cf. Commentarius, 540-42. On the cult of Philip at Hierapolis, cf. Huttner, Lycus Valley, 367-71; Ritti, Hierapolis, 190-231; specifically on the Martyrion, see G. Gümgüm, Il Martyrion di Hierapolis di Frigia (Turchia). Analisi archeologica e architettonica (Oxford, 2012). 67 Cf. Alcock’s definition of the ‘imaginary landscape’ (Graeca Capta, 226).

XV. Discipleship Ideals in the Acts of Philip CARL JOHAN BERGLUND

How we categorize early Christian literature has an immense impact on what we expect to find in these ancient writings, and how we are prepared to interpret them.1 This has been especially true for the early Christian narratives about prominent first-century Christians, written in the second century and later, that are collected in the Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles. Grouped with apocryphal gospels and apocalypses, these Acts have been viewed primarily as heretical writings, representing alternative Christianities that were effectually silenced by the processes of canonization. While they certainly contain evidence of such silenced theologies, the Acts themselves are more likely to be complementary writings, aiming to edify, educate and entertain early Christian readers without intention to replace or correct any canonical material. This chapter offers another angle on two early Christian stories, Acts of Philip 1 and Acts of Philip 8 – Martyrdom of Philip.2 Regarded as parts of the reception history of the Synoptic Gospels, these stories will be found to interact with theological ideas expressed in the Gospels without necessarily setting out to either defend or correct them. More specifically, I will study how ideals for early Christian discipleship – traits expected from an ideal Christian disciple – are transformed from the earlier Gospels to the later narratives about the apostle Philip.3 Although it is often observed that apocryphal apostle 1

I thank Peter W. Martens for articulating and discussing this idea at the SBL Annual Meeting in San Diego 2019. 2 Numbers in the text refer to the Acts of Philip in the edition of F. Bovon et al. (eds), Acta Philippi: Textus (Turnhout, 1999). 3 Early Christian authors do not generally make the Lukan distinction between the apostle (Luke 6:14; Acts 1:13) and the deacon or evangelist Philip (Acts 6:5, 8:4-40). For instance, Eusebius preserves several second-century

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stories promote asceticism,4 questions of how more specific ideals relate to the Gospels have not been posed before.5 Most emphasis will be placed on ideals that are integral to the plot, since ideals that are simply stated by the narrator or a narrative character may be merely conventional, or even added by a single copyist.6 While some of the transformations may present alternatives to mainstream theology, we may also find rather straightforward adaptations of theology from the Gospels to a later sociological context, developed versions of ideas from the Gospels, and displacements of emphasis within a theology that is largely consistent with the canonical writings. 1. Stories in the Acts of Philip The Acts of Philip suffer not only from the lumping together of apocryphal writings in different genres, but also of the combination traditions presenting Philip, one of the twelve, as the father of virgin daughters (cf. Acts 21:8-9), attributed to Papias of Hierapolis (HE 3.39.8-9), Polykrates of Ephesus (HE 3.31.3, 5.24.2), and Proclus the Montanist (HE 3.31.4); cf. F. Bovon, ‘Les Actes de Philippe’, in ANRW II.25.6 (1988) 4456-60; F. Amsler, Acta Philippi. Commentarius (Turnhout, 1999) 441-68. C.R. Matthews, Philip: Apostle and Evangelist: Configurations of a Tradition (Leiden, 2002) 2-8, 15-34, 216-17, argues that these early traditions should be given priority before Luke’s later perspective. In this study, Philip is a narrative character presented as ἀπόστολος in Acts Phil. 1.1, 8.1. 4 This point is made specifically about Acts Phil. 1 by R.N. Slater, ‘An Inquiry into the Relationship between Community and Text: The Apocryphal Acts of Philip 1 and the Encratites of Asia Minor’, in F. Bovon et al. (eds), The Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles (Cambridge MA, 1999) 281-306, who also argues that the story originates with a specific ascetic movement in Asia Minor in the vicinity of 400 CE. 5 Previous studies of Gospel reception in the Acts of Philip have considered reuse of specific gospel traditions in passages such as the conglomerate of Synoptic Jesus sayings in the mouth of the risen Christ in Mart. Phil 29 and the adaptation of Jesus’ beatitudes in Acts Phil. 5.25. Cf. F. Bovon, ‘The Synoptic Gospels and the Noncanonical Acts of the Apostles’, HThR 81 (1988) 30-31; Matthews, Philip, 180-82. 6 The Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles exhibit large differences in both content and wording between various manuscripts. See J.A. Snyder, Language and Identity in Ancient Narratives: The Relationship between Speech Patterns and Social Context in the Acts of the Apostles, Acts of John, and Acts of Philip (Tübingen, 2014) 142-44.

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of disparate stories about the apostle Philip into a presumed whole. Manuscripts in which these stories appear do not typically present a continuous story of the apostle’s commission, mission, and martyrdom, but collect various disparate narratives that happen to share the same supposed protagonist.7 Even when a number of such stories appear in succession, the resulting collection is not necessarily ideologically, theologically, or narratively cohesive. Our first task is therefore to find the individual stories within the Acts of Philip. The best tool available to discern independent narratives within a larger writing is the concept of narrative continuity. In any wellformed narrative, the story builds a consistent narrative world, where the identities of the narrative characters remain the same across multiple events, and the state of the narrative world at the beginning of each episode is consistent with the end results of events that have occurred in previous episodes. Breaks and inconsistencies, if they are large enough, signal the start of a new, independent narrative. If Philip, in one scene, is accompanied by a single companion as he is leaving Azotus (4.6, cf. 4.1) and in the next is followed by a large entourage when he arrives in Nikatera (5.1), this might imply the loss of several interleaving episodes in which he gains a multitude of disciples while travelling the distance; or, this could mean that we are dealing with two independent narratives about the apostle. On the other hand, when the cast, location, and overall aim of the protagonist remain consistent across more than one of the numbered πράξεις (‘acts’) of ancient collections, this narrative continuity allows us to identify a longer unit within the collection. It is not a controversial observation that Acts Phil. 8 does not continue the previous narrative from Acts Phil. 7, but constitutes a new beginning, starting from the point where Jesus sends out his disciples to different parts of the known world (8.1).8 Philip is allotted 7

Most ancient Greek witnesses to Acts Phil. are compilations of hagiographical readings for the Eastern Christian calendar. This study is based mainly on the longest of the continuous manuscripts, the fourteenth-century Xenophontos 32. To fill gaps in this manuscript, Vaticanus graecus 824 and Atheniensis 346 will also be considered. For detailed descriptions of manuscripts, see Bovon, Acta Philippi: Textus, XIII-XXX. 8 J.-D. Kaestli, ‘Les scènes d’attribution des champs de mission et de départ de l’apôtre dans les Actes apocryphes’, in F. Bovon (ed.), Les Actes apocryphes des apôtres: Christianisme et monde païen (Geneva, 1981) 249-64, notes

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the land of the Greeks, and is joined by his fellow disciples Bartholomew and Mariamne9 (8.3-4), and eventually by a leopard and a young goat (8.16-21), as the group travel to Opheorymus,10 the city of the serpent-worshippers (13.1-5), where Philip is ultimately tortured to death (Mart. Phil. 39). Scholars agree that this is one continuous narrative.11 The preceding acts, numbered 5-7, also form one continuous narrative, held together by both location and supporting characters.12 The beginning of this cycle is not as elaborated as in 8, but Philip is that Acts Phil. 8 is one of only two such dissemination narratives that include all twelve apostles. 9 F. Bovon, ‘Mary Magdalene in the Acts of Philip’, in id., New Testament and Christian Apocrypha (Tübingen, 2009) 259-72 at 261, explains this form of the name as a spelling variation of Μαριάμμη, which is one of two possible adaptations of the Hebrew name Μαριάμ to the Greek convention that a word cannot end with a consonant other than ν, ρ, or ς – the other alternative being the more common form Μαρία. He also notes (262) that Josephus consistently uses Μαριάμμη for the sister of Moses and Aaron. S.J. Shoemaker, ‘A Case of Mistaken Identity? Naming the Gnostic Mary’, in F.S. Jones (ed.), Which Mary? The Marys of Early Christian Tradition (Leiden, 2003) 5-30 at 30, asserts that the spelling variation is far from decisive for distinguishing between different characters named Mary. 10 The city is called ‘Opheorymus’ in 8.4 and ‘Hierapolis’ in the heading at 13.1. The second name may be secondary, and influenced by other traditions placing Philip’s death in Hierapolis, as argued by Bovon, ‘Les Actes de Philippe’, 4450-52, 4493, 4521; Amsler, Commentarius, 521-24; H.-J. Klauck, Apokryphe Apostelakten (Stuttgart, 2005) 245. Cf. the tradition attributed to Victor of Rome (d. 199 CE) in Eusebius, HE 3.31.3-4, that Philip ‘sleeps in Hierapolis.’ 11 Kaestli, ‘Les scènes d’attribution’, 250 n. 4; Bovon, ‘Les Actes de Philippe’, 4521-23; Amsler, Commentarius, 285; Matthews, Philip, 163; Klauck, Apokryphe Apostelakten, 241; D. Konstan, ‘Reunion and Regeneration: Narrative Patterns in Ancient Greek Novels and Christian Acts’, in G.A. Karla (ed.), Fiction on the Fringe: Novelistic Writing in the Post-Classical Age (Leiden, 2009) 105-20 at 110; F. Bovon, ‘Introduction’, in id. and C.R. Matthews, The Acts of Philip: A New Translation (Waco, 2012) 16-26, 29; Snyder, Language and Identity, 144. 12 Matthews, Philip, 164; Bovon, ‘Introduction’, 16-26, 29; Snyder, Language and Identity, 144; and D.J. Bucher, ‘Converts, Resisters, and Evangelists: Jews in the Acts of Philip V–VII’, in S.A. Harvey et al. (eds), A Most Reliable Witness: Essays in Honor of Ross Shepard Kraemer (Providence, 2015) 9-16, all consider Acts Phil. 5-7 to be one narrative.

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briefly introduced anew as ‘the apostle of Christ.’ He is also said to be followed by many disciples, which has not been the case in Acts Phil. 1-4, while there is no trace of Charitine, a new convert whose preparations to follow Philip on his journey have been described in the immediately preceding paragraph (4.6). The narrative begins with Philip’s arrival in the city of Nikatera and ends with him leaving the same city. The local Jewish leader Ireos, his wife Nerkella, and their daughter Artemilla remain important supporting characters until the end of Acts Phil. 7. The narrative unity of 2-4 is more debatable, as the plots of the individual acts are independent, and no set of supporting characters is continuous throughout the three episodes. They have, however, a continuity of location. Acts Phil. 2 takes place in Athens, where Philip is challenged by a company of three hundred philosophers, whom he convinces of the superiority of Christianity by raising a young man from the dead.13 At the end of the episode, when he has spent two years in Athens, Philip departs for Parthia, thereby preparing the way for 3, in which he sets sail for Azotus,14 where in 4 he heals the daughter of a local strongman from a severe disfigurement in her right eye.15 Finally, Acts Phil. 1 is an independent story that is set in Galilee, with no continuity with the Athenian location of Act 2.16 The mother and son of the Galilean story are absent from Athens, and the combative philosophy of 2 is quite a contrast to the healing activity of act 1. Thus, we have four independent stories in the Acts of Philip, set in Galilee (1), Athens and Azotus (2-4), Nikatera (5-7), and Opheorymus (8-Mart. Phil.).17 The following analysis will consider discipleship 13

F. Bovon, ‘Women Priestesses in the Apocryphal Acts of Philip,’ in id., New Testament and Christian Apocrypha, 246-58 at 247; Amsler, Commentarius, 85-127; Matthews, Philip, 186-89; and Klauck, Apokryphe Apostelakten, 241, all argue that Acts Phil. 2 is too orthodox to belong to the original Acts of Philip, but must be a later interpolation. Since we are not attempting to reconstruct a lost original, that question is of no consequence for the present study. 14 Philip has previously visited Azotus (or Ashdod) in Acts 8:40. 15 Snyder, Language and Identity, 149-59, finds several sociolinguistic differences between Acts Phil. 3 and 4, which indicates that their unifying redaction is merely superficial. 16 Amsler, Commentarius, 82-83. 17 Klauck, Apokryphe Apostelakten, 241, suggests that four independent narratives about Philip (1, 2, 3-7, 8ff) have been collected by a Phrygian

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ideals in the Galilee story and the Opheorymus narrative, leaving Athens, Azotus and Nikatera for another time. 2. Purity and Faith in Galilee The major feature of the Galilee story is an extended tour of hell,18 where the various punishments administrated to the sinners establish lies, intoxication, and dishonesty as the main sins of the world. Thereby, and by presenting monastics and virgins as especially honoured members of the Christian community, it establishes truthfulness, sobriety, honesty, and sexual abstinence as traits of an ideal Christian disciple. The frame narrative also establishes ἁγνεία (‘purity’) and πίστις (‘faith’ or ‘trust’) in Christ as discipleship ideals. The story’s kinship to Gospel material is already apparent in the first sentence, where there is a clear parallel to Jesus’s healing of a widow’s only son in Nain (Luke 7:11-17):19 When Philip the apostle went forth from Galilee, a widow was carrying out for burial her only child, who was all she had. Now the apostle was very distressed in his soul when he saw the poor old woman tearing out her hair and disfiguring her face. He said to her: ‘What religion was your son practicing when he died so young?’20 redactor around 400 CE. Matthews, Philip, 168, finds Acts Phil. 1, 2, 4, and 5-7 to be four complete episodes, each in a single location, while the third act is more confusing. Snyder, Language and Identity, 215-16, uses linguistic differences to argue for five or six originally independent pieces: 1, 2, 3, 4 (or 3-4), 5-7, and 8ff. Bovon, ‘Women Priestesses’, 247-49, states that the first four acts of Acts Phil. are independent narratives, but still appears to consider 1-4 as a unit, since he readily uses 4.1 to explain 1.3, presenting the former as ‘Later in the work’ (249). He also uses the Galilee story to analyse the Opheorymus story, suggesting that he views Acts Phil. 1 as added by the redactor of the Opheorymus story – which contradicts his model of a unified Acts Phil. 1-7 in Bovon, ‘Les Actes de Philippe’, 4521-22. 18 This feature is only present in Xenophontos 32. Slater, ‘Inquiry’, 286-89, 305, argues that it nevertheless is original. 19 Slater, ‘Inquiry’, 282-84, compares these two texts in detail, and Matthews, Philip, 171-75, points out that the similarities in plot are larger than the lexical similarities, which are insufficient to prove a direct literary dependence. 20 Acts Phil. 1.1 (Bovon et al., Acta Philippi, 3.1-6; ET: Bovon and Matthews, The Acts of Philip, 31): ἐξελθόντος Φιλίππου τοῦ ἀποστόλου ἀπὸ

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In the ensuing narrative, the widow recounts how she has invested heavily in sacrificing to every pagan god imaginable, including the Sun and the Moon – all seemingly to no avail, since her son died anyway.21 The apostle explains that she has been deceived by the devil, and promises to raise her son from the dead ‘by the power of my God Jesus Christ, who was crucified, buried, rose from the dead, and rules forever – whoever believes (πιστεύει) in him receives life eternal’.22 It is apparent that the woman has encountered Christian preaching before, for she immediately associates Philip’s confession to an unmarried life on a diet of bread and water (1.2). The apostle declares that this is not merely her own association, but implies that Jesus is speaking to her about the concept of purity (ἁγνεία), which will lead believers to strength against the demons in the present and to a great reward in the heavens.23 Philip’s teaching inspires the woman to proclaim her faith not only in Jesus, but also in holy virginity (παρθενία), which may be seen as a synonym to ἁγνεία (1.3).24 The meaning of ἁγνεία is further developed when the son is raised from the dead and recounts his afterlife experiences in an episode that introduces the idea of post-mortem punishments to a non-Jewish τῆς Γαλιλαίας, χήρα τις ἐκόμιζε νεκρὸν μονογενῆ, τέκνον ὅπερ μόνον ὑπῆρχεν αὐτῇ. ὁ δὲ ἀπόστολος σφόδρα ἀλγήσας τῇ ψυχῇ, θεωρήσας οὕτως τὴν ἀθλίαν γραΐδα τὰς τρίχας σπαράξασαν καὶ τὸ πρόσωπον αὐτῆς ἀφανίσασαν εἶπεν πρὸς αὐτήν· ‘ποίᾳ θρησκείᾳ ἦν, ὅτε ἐτελεύτησεν οὕτως ὁ υἱός σου;’ 21 In Vaticanus graecus 824, the apostle’s question does not refer to the θρησκεία (‘worship observances’) of the son, only the reason for his early demise. The answer nevertheless recounts the woman’s failed attempts to please the gods. 22 Acts Phil. 1.2 (Bovon, Acta Philippi, 7.5-8; ET: Bovon and Matthews, Acts of Philip, 32): τῇ τοῦ θεοῦ μου δυνάμει Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ τοῦ σταυρωθέντος καὶ ταφέντος καὶ ἀναστάντος καὶ βασιλεύοντος τῶν αἰώνων, ᾧ εἴ τις πιστεύει, λαμβάνει ζωὴν αἰώνιον. 23 E. Peterson, ‘Die Häretiker der Philippus-Akten’, ZNW 31 (1932) 97-111 at 97; Bovon, ‘Les Actes de Philippe’, 4476; and Snyder, Language and Identity, 205, all recognize that ἁγνεία expresses the author’s ideal. Amsler, Commentarius, 36, identifies the theme as a coherence factor for the Galilee story. Matthews, Philip, 176, points to Acts Phil. 4.1, 5.5, and 6.7, and argues that the theme is fundamental throughout the collection. 24 In Vaticanus graecus 824, her confession does not mention virginity, but simply τὸν Ἰησοῦν τὸν ὑπὸ σοῦ κηρυττόμενον (‘the Jesus preached by you’).

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audience, presenting lies, insobriety, and dishonesty as particularly punishable sins.25 The theme of lies has already been established in Philip’s original presentation of Christian faith, where he entreats the woman to rejoice in anticipation of her heavenly reward, even when people speak every lie (πᾶν ψεῦσμα) against her (1.3),26 and false accusations against Christians recur in the son’s account. A woman who has incited people to ridicule Christians and say that Christ is a deceiver has now turned into a dragon who drives human souls into a fire (1.5). A man who has beaten bishops and priests and spoken lies about them lies in a pit tortured by a heavy weight hanging from his body (1.6). A young man who has falsely accused a virgin of unchastity finds himself lying on a bed of hot coals (1.7), and a couple who have falsely accused Christian leaders of both genders27 of adultery are being eaten alive by the three-headed dog Cerberus (1.12). The archangel Michael, who functions as the son’s tour guide in hell, summarizes the situation: ‘For whoever has lied against purity receives no mercy.’28 The theme of insobriety is also prominent in the tour of hell. A bald man with burning coals being poured upon his head explicitly states that wine (οἶνος) has brought this misfortune upon him (1.10), 25

Pace Bovon, ‘Women Priestesses’, 249 and Snyder, Language and Identity, 207, those punished cannot represent a majority church in opposition to the ascetic community of the author, as the narrative characters belong to the first century when political power was in Gentile hands. Cf. Bucher, ‘Converts, Resisters, and Evangelists’, who remarks that Acts Phil. 5-7 reflects interaction between Gentile and Christian traditions, while Jewish identities fade into the background. 26 The full statement is reminiscent of Matt 5:11-12. 27 The author mentions both πρεσβυτέρους (‘elders’) and πρεσβύτιδας (‘female elders’), and both διακόνους (‘deacons’) and διακονίσσας (‘female deacons’), and therefore seems to presume that both men and women can be Christian leaders. Such practice was not unknown in the fourth century, as evidenced by Epiphanius, Pan. 79.3-4, who rejects a Eucharist celebrated by female priests (πρεσβυτερίδας), but accepts female elders (πρεσβύτιδας) and deacons (διακονίσσας). A similar regulation is established in Canon 11 of the mid-fourth-century Synod of Laodicea. Cf. Bovon, ‘Women Priestesses’, 250-54; U.E. Eisen, Women Officeholders in Early Christianity: Epigraphical and Literary Studies (Collegeville, 2000) 118-23. 28 Acts Phil. 1.8 (Bovon, Acta Philippi, 19.7; ET: Bovon and Matthews, Acts of Philip, 34): ὁ γὰρ κατὰ τῆς ἁγνείας ψευσάμενος ἔλεος οὐκ ἔχει.

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two men who throw balls of fire on one another claim to have been living in drunkenness (τῇ μέθῃ) and lies (1.9), and Michael expands on the many perils of wine – including the temptation of speaking idle lies against the innocent (1.11). A third theme among the sinners is dishonesty, or lying for one’s own gain. Just outside of what appear to be the gates of hell, the son encounters a group of celebrants at an altar who are described as jealous and hypocritical. No ongoing punishment is described, but Michael assures that they will be punished eventually, as no one receives preferential treatment from God (1.13). This group may represent dishonest Christian leaders who preach pious ideals in order to enrich themselves.29 The boy also finds two wealthy men whose selfinterest has led them to rob, tyrannize, and condemn poor, innocent people, and who now are lying bound in a sizzling frying pan and are forced to drink boiling lead (1.16). A fourth theme can be identified by recognizing the four most honoured groups of Christians, based on the severity of the punishments of those who have spoken lies against them: bishops, elders, eunuchs, and virgins.30 The narrative therefore seems to originate with a community of Christians who, in addition to their leaders, honour disciples of both genders who practice purity by abstaining from sexual relations.31 The theme of faith in Jesus also recurs when the son discloses that he has seen those who believed in Jesus while they were alive being led along a different path to the place of refreshment, avoiding the described punishments. This description implies that those punished are gentiles without a Christian faith.32 In the conclusion to the story, the son and many others come to faith in Christ and are baptized (1.18). 29

Or who are so perceived by the author. Bovon, ‘Women Priestesses’, 252-3, may have a point in that this particular group may represent leaders of competing Christian communities. 30 Acts Phil. 1.10 enumerates these four categories in precisely this order. 1.6 mentions only bishops and elders, 1.7 only a virgin, 1.8 eunuchs and virgins, and 1.9 refers more vaguely to those leading lives in purity. 31 The lack of sexual sins among the punished sinners, discussed by Amsler, Commentarius, 55-59, may correlate to their gentile identity, if the author’s community felt less threatened by their neighbours’ sexuality than by their false accusations against Christians. 32 Pace Bovon, ‘Women Priestesses’, 249; Snyder, Language and Identity, 207, 210, who both take the tour of hell to describe internal Christian boundaries.

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By taking the antonyms of the most punishable sins of lies, insobriety, and dishonesty and adding the sexual abstinence of the community’s most celebrated members, we may conclude that, although the overall discipleship ideals of the story of Philip in Galilee are πίστις (‘faith’) and ἁγνεία (‘purity’), the latter comprises the ideals of truthfulness, sobriety, honesty, and – at least for some individuals – sexual abstinence. The apparent aim of this story to promote ethical behaviour is far from unprecedented in early Christian literature. Jeffrey W. Aernie specifically identifies the Gospel of Mark as an aretegenic (virtueforming) narrative that promotes restored life, kingdom speech, sacrificial action, and cruciformity as traits of an ideal Christian life.33 Arren B. Lawrence argues that Matthew characterizes the ideal disciple as meek, merciful, and pure at heart, which enables him to imitate Jesus in authentic piety.34 Faith, truthfulness, honesty, and purity are ideals that the Galilee story shares with the Gospels. Faith (πίστις) is present in the first message of the Marcan Jesus and upheld throughout the narrative, especially as a prerequisite for healing.35 False testimonies (ψευδομαρτυρίαι) are condemned regularly in the Gospel of Matthew.36 And the evil of misusing a position of power for one’s own personal gain is a prominent theme of the Gospel of Luke, where corrupt tax-collectors, blackmailing soldiers, and greedy landowners are denounced.37 Purity is a less prominent theme in the Gospels and more associated with pure motives than with sexual behaviour.38 The ideals of sobriety and sexual abstinence are less consistent with the Gospels. Sobriety could even be described as a non-ideal, given that Jesus and his disciples regularly participate in feasting and drinking, in contrast to the disciples of John the Baptist, who abstain.39 33

J.W. Aernie, Narrative Discipleship: Portraits of the Women in the Gospel of Mark (Eugene, 2018) 17-42. 34 A.B. Lawrence, Comparative Characterization in the Sermon on the Mount: Characterization of the Ideal Disciple (Eugene, 2017) 242-49. 35 Cf. Mark 1:15, 5:34-36, 9:23-24. 36 Matt 5:11, 15:19, 19:18, 26:59-60. 37 Luke 3:12-14, 6:24-26, 11:37-12:3, 12:15-21, 19:1-10, 20:9-19, 20: 45-47. 38 Cf. Matt. 5:8, 23:26, Luke 11:41. 39 Cf. Luke 5:29-34, 7:33-36, 22:14-20.

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The Lukan Jesus speaks of fasting in the movement’s future (Luke 5:35), but does nothing to denounce meat and wine. Sexual abstinence is briefly mentioned as a possibility for some (Matt 19:1012), but denouncement is reserved for extramarital and otherwise inappropriate sexual relations,40 and abstinence is not presented as an ideal. The fact that it is mentioned at all suggests, however, that the idea is feasible and does not exclude the possibility that some Christians advocated it at the time of the Gospel’s redaction. Thus, the ideals promoted by the story of Philip in Galilee are generally consistent with those of the Gospels, but exhibit considerable radicalization in the areas of alcohol and sex. 3. Tameness and Masculine Thinking in Opheorymus Sharply different from the healing narrative in Galilee, the story of Philip’s mission to Opheorymus is an elaborate metaphor of human nature and behaviour, using the distinctions between human and animal, and between male and female, to construct a complex model of a Christian discipleship ideal. Narrative characters who transcend basic categories such as ‘male’ or ‘animal’ are used to introduce the idea that Christian discipleship is a transformative practice that causes those involved to become more fully human and less beast-like or anguine. Thereby, the narrative advocates for ἡμερότης (‘tameness’) as a Christian discipleship ideal. In addition, a striking interaction between a male anti-hero and a woman with male qualities presents τὸ φρόνημα τὸ ἀρρενικὸν (‘masculine thinking’) as a Christian ideal available to both men and women. The presentation builds on an unusually vivid depiction of the common trope that pagan sacrifices are, in actuality, received by demons (Cf. 1 Cor 10:19-22). The inhabitants of Opheorymus are not only described as serpent-worshippers, but also greet Philip, Mariamne, and Bartholomew carrying snakes that they expect their visitors to worship (8.4, 13.1). Their former leader, Stachys, later explicitly admits to have been serving the devil (14.4-6). The specifics of the images may be influenced by the Anatolian cult of Cybele,41 but the depiction is applicable to pagan worship traditions in general. 40 41

Matt 5:27-32, 19:9. Amsler, Commentarius, 302-12; Klauck, Apokryphe Apostelakten, 250.

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The theme of transcended categories is established already in the first scene (8.1),42 where Jesus sends the disciples out to evangelize the world: Peter to Rome, Thomas to Parthia, Simon to Spain, and John to Asia.43 When Philip is allotted the land of the Greeks, he starts to cry, for he fears that the anguine Hellenes will treat him with cruelty and that his own weak nature will be unable to resist the urge to repay evil with evil (8.2, 8.8).44 When Mariamne intercedes on Philip’s behalf,45 the Saviour remarks that she in some ways is more masculine than Philip: I know that you are good and manly in soul and blessed among women; and the woman’s way of thinking has entered into Philip, but the masculine and manly way of thinking is in you. So go with him to every place he goes and keep encouraging him with love and much compassion. For I see that he is a very reckless man, and if we were to leave him alone he would deliver much retribution to each place he passes by.46 42 Xenophontos 32 has a large lacuna beginning a few lines into 8.1, but the whole scene is extant in Atheniensis 346. 43 This scene appears to take place immediately after the Resurrection, but in 14.1-2, Stachys claims to have persecuted Christians forty years ago. As there is no indication that forty years have passed during the narrative, the author’s present time, where Christianity is long established, may be leaking into his first-century narrative world. 44 Konstan, ‘Reunion’, 111. 45 Mariamne is introduced as the disciple in charge of preparations for the breaking of bread, while Martha is charged with serving the crowds (8.2) and thus identified with Mary of Bethany, the sister of Martha and Lazarus (Luke 10:38-42; John 11:1-12:11). Mariamne is also said to be Philip’s ἀδελφή (‘sister’), and calls Philip ‘brother,’ but since Jesus addresses the disciples as ἀδελφοί (‘brothers and sisters’: 8.6, 7), and calls Peter ὁ ἀδελφός σου (‘your brother’: 8.12), this designation may refer to a spiritual rather than biological sibship. Bovon, ‘Women Priestesses’, 257, argues that Mariamne is a conflation of Mary of Bethany, Mary of Magdala, and Philip’s four daughters in Acts 21:9, made in order to prove the legitimacy of female ministry and strict asceticism. I see no sign of identification with Mary of Magdala or Philip’s daughters. 46 Acts Phil. 8.3 (Bovon, Acta Philippi, 243.1-8; ET: Bovon and Matthews, Acts of Philip, 74): οἶδα ὅτι καλὴ εἶ καὶ ἀνδρεία τῇ ψυχῇ καὶ εὐλογημένη ἐν γυναιξίν, καὶ τὸ φρόνημα τῶν γυναικῶν εἰσῆλθεν εἰς τὸν Φίλιππον, τὸ δὲ φρόνημα τὸ ἀρρενικὸν καὶ ἀνδρεῖον ἐν σοί ἐστιν. πορεύου οὖν μετ’ αὐτοῦ εἰς πάντα τόπον ὃν ὑπάγει καὶ γενοῦ παραθαρρύνουσα αὐτὸν ἐν ἀγάπῃ καὶ πολλῇ εὐσπλαγχνίᾳ. ὁρῶ γὰρ αὐτὸν ὅτι

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Philip’s mind is described as being shaped by a female way of thinking (τὸ φρόνημα τῶν γυναικῶν), while Mariamne has a contrasting male mindset (τὸ φρόνημα τὸ ἀρρενικόν).47 Since the main problem is Philip’s way of handling his feelings, the contrast seems principally to be one of emotional self-control.48 Philip is not staunch enough to resist his aggressive and reckless tendencies by himself,49 but Mariamne’s masculine mindset will complement his feminine thinking and support both parties.50 Therefore, Mariamne is to accompany Philip and Bartholomew in their mission to Opheorymus – but before they go, she has to dress like a man, in a garment that does not drag on the ground and with no resemblance of a feminine appearance (8.4, 15). Mariamne’s cross-dressing stands within a long literary tradition of radical Christian women dressing as men to pursue their missionary calling. In the Acts of Paul and Thecla, the female protagonist offers to cut her hair and put on male clothing in order to travel with Paul (25.3, 40.1-2).51 The story of Philip in Athens and Azotus describes ἄνθρωπος τολμηρός ἐστιν σφόδρα, καὶ ἐὰν ἀφῶμεν αὐτὸν μόνον, ἀνταποδοῦναι ἔχει πολλὰς ἀνταποδόσεις εἰς ὅν παρέρχεται τόπον. Because of a lacuna in Xenophontos 32, these lines are quoted from Atheniensis 346. 47 K. Aspegren, The Male Woman: A Feminine Ideal in the Early Church (Stockholm, 1990) 11-12, 90-95, 108-9, posits that the dichotomy of male and female since classical times was used not only in a biological sense, but also figuratively, where male was synonymous with perfection, female with imperfection. Women with admirable qualities where thereby figuratively described as manly. 48 S. Asikainen, Jesus and Other Men: Ideal Masculinities in the Synoptic Gospels (Leiden, 2018) 19-45, portrays two ancient masculine ideals that competed for prime position in Greco-Roman culture – one emphasizing the self-assertive behaviour to which Philip is tempted, the other the self-control that he lacks. The author of this story is clearly aligned with the latter ideal. Cf. Plutarch, Cor. 15, where Coriolanus’ lack of self-control in the face of defeat is met by the author’s disapproval. 49 Konstan, ‘Reunion’, 111, remarks that Philip’s rash attitude would have been deemed ‘hypermasculine’ by Greek novelists. 50 As we see in Mart. Phil. 25-31, neither Mariamne’s influence nor John’s insistence will eventually suffice to withhold Philip’s wrath. 51 Cf. S.J. Davis, ‘Crossed Texts, Crossed Sex: Intertextuality and Gender in Early Christian Legends of Holy Women Disguised as Men’, JECS 10 (2002) 1-36 at 16; id., The Cult of Saint Thecla: A Tradition of Women’s Piety in Late Antiquity (Oxford, 2008) 15, 31-35.

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how another woman, Charitine, dons male clothing in preparation for following Philip as a fellow apostle (4.6).52 In both cases, the cross-dressing is described as a matter of course, a self-evident prerequisite for the missionary journey.53 Later, the theme of cross-dressing recurs in a series of narratives where a Christian woman with a monastic calling successfully purports to be male in order to gain access to a monastery. In the Life and Martyrdom of Susanna (BHG 1673), the protagonist escapes her parents’ plans for her future marriage by running away from her home, releasing her slaves, donating her money, cutting her hair, dressing in a man’s clothing, and living the rest of her life in the guise of a male monk. In the Life and Martyrdom of Eugenia (BHG 607w-z/608), the protagonist is inspired by Thecla’s example to disguise herself as a male monk in a local monastery. She manages to maintain the deception until a visiting woman claims that ‘Eugenius’ has raped her and made her pregnant. Brought in chains before the governor of Alexandria, Eugenia dramatically proves her innocence by ripping her garment open to reveal herself as a woman.54 In none of these stories is the female identity of Thecla, Charitine, Susanna, or Eugenia presented as an evil opposed to the good of manhood; masculinity is simply the norm to which these women have to conform in order to live out their callings. Hiding their female identity is a means to the end of revealing their truest identity as a monastically called Christian disciple rather than a woman called into a traditional marriage.55 Julie Van Pelt argues that this is a common 52

We hear nothing more of Charitine as the story is cut off after her transformation. Cf. Bovon, ‘Women Priestesses’, 255 n. 34. 53 Women dressing as men in order to travel safely are not uncommon in ancient literature. The Acts of Andrew describe two women, Maximilla and Iphidama, who both habitually change their clothes to walk unhindered through the streets of the city (Acts Andr. 19, 28), and Eusebius of Emesa, Homily 6.25-28, describes how a girl named Theodora avoids being raped by trading clothes with a man. Cf. E.M. Buytaert (ed.), Eusèbe d’Émese: Discours conservés en latin: textes en partie inédits I (Louvain, 1953) 16871; Davis, The Cult of Saint Thecla, 32-34. 54 Davis, ‘Crossed Texts’, 16-18 and The Cult of Saint Thecla, 143-44; J. Van Pelt, Saints in Disguise: A Literary Analysis of Performance in Byzantine Hagiography (PhD diss. Ghent, 2019) 28-31. 55 Davis, ‘Crossed Texts’, 31-36, argues that late ancient Christian literature aims to destabilize gender categories and lead the reader back towards

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tactic in the stories about cross-dressing saints: in order to avoid picturing the female protagonist as a liar, the story anchors her false identity in her truest identity as a holy person. Some narratives even introduce a male authority figure with the ability to perceive both the woman behind the manly guise and her godly and manly soul behind her femininity. When Eugenia seeks to enter a male monastery, the abbot immediately recognizes her as a woman, but compliments her choice of using a male name, since it matches her manly spirit.56 Mariamne’s male guise is less developed than that of Susanna and Eugenia, as Mariamne does not try to keep her female identity hidden once arrived in Opheorymus, where she openly baptizes the women while Philip tends to the men (19, 14.9). The author’s view therefore seems to be neither that asceticism necessitates male clothing57 nor that femininity is evil,58 but that mixtures of male and female traits have a dangerous potential that needs to be managed. Philip’s feminine way of thinking is presented as a problem. His abhorrent anguine adversaries are described in 11.7 as ἀρρενόθηλας (‘intersex’) and γυναικομανεῖς (‘mad for women’). But Mariamne’s male qualities are not presented as making things worse, but as the solution. Her dual identity is to be embraced and her addition to the team is what gives it stability. Therefore, the author seems to be presenting a genuine conflict between masculine and feminine thinking that potentially exists within every human being. Judging by Philip’s uncontrolled feelings and Mariamne’s contrasting emotional stability, the author primarily views feminine thinking as a lack of emotional self-control. The ideal provided by Philip and Mariamne is neither univocally male nor female, but a healthy balance between the two. In the next scene, Philip, Mariamne and Bartholomew encounter a talking leopard (8.16-21). The night before, just as he was preparing the primal bisexual prototype of Genesis 1:27. I find no such agenda in the Opheorymus story. 56 Van Pelt, Saints in Disguise, 103-10, 122-55, 130-31, 377f. 57 Pace Peterson, ‘Die Häretiker der Philippus-Akten’, 101-3. Nor do I agree that such asceticism would be ‘Gnostic.’ 58 Pace Bovon, ‘Mary Magdalene’, 267-69, who argues that the author purports an original conflict of Man vs. Eve rather than humanity vs. serpent. As Konstan, ‘Reunion’, 112-13, points out, the quality of Eve that Mariamne is asked to put off is not her gender but her disobedience.

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to devour a young goat that he had caught, the goat spoke out with a human voice and urged him to be less bestial: I passed by a herd of goats […] and I seized a kid. But when I entered into the woods to eat it, after I struck it, it took on a human voice and cried like a small child, saying to me: “Leopard, put off your fierce heart and savage intent and put on tameness (ἡμερότης). For the apostles of the divine greatness are about to pass through this wilderness to fulfil perfectly the promise of the glory of the only-begotten Son of God.” While the kid was admonishing me with these words, I was at a loss with myself, and little by little my heart was changed, and my fierceness was turned into tameness and I refrained from eating it.59

The bewildered leopard leads the disciples to the young goat. Philip and Bartholomew pray for both animals that their beastly nature shall be cast aside and a human heart be born in them, allowing them to partake of human food and accompany the disciples on their journey. The animals immediately rise up on their hind legs, raise their front paws and hooves, and praise God with human voices (8.18-20).60 Later, when they realize that they are not invited to share the Eucharist with the disciples, the animals start to cry in grief. Philip responds by praying for them and sprinkling them with water from the chalice – and now their bodies are transformed into human form (12.1-8).61 59 Acts Phil. 8.17 (Bovon, Acta Philippi, 266.4-268.15; ET: Bovon and Matthews, Acts of Philip, 79): παρῆλθον διὰ τῆς ἀγέλης τῶν αἰγῶν […] καὶ ἥρπασα ἔριφον· ὡς δὲ εἰσῆλθον εἰς τὸν δρυμὸν φαγεῖν αὐτόν, μετὰ τὸ πλῆξαί με αὐτόν, ἔλαβεν φωνὴν ἀνθρωπίνην καὶ ἔκλαυσεν ὡς παιδίον μικρὸν λέγων μοι· ‘ὦ λεόπαρδε, ἆρον ἀπὸ σοῦ τὴν ἀγρίαν καρδίαν καὶ τὸ θηριῶδες τῆς γνώμης καὶ περιποίησον αὑτῷ ἡμερότητα· ὅτι οἱ ἀπόστολοι τοῦ θείου μεγέθους παρέρχεσθαι μέλλουσι διὰ τῆς ἐρήμου ταύτης, τελέσαι τελείως τὴν ἐπαγγελίαν τῆς δόξης τοῦ μονογενοῦς υἱοῦ τοῦ θεοῦ.’ ἐν τούτοις οὖν τοῖς λόγοις τοῦ ἐρίφου νουθετοῦντός με ἠπόρουν ἐν ἑαυτῷ, καὶ κατὰ μικρὸν ἠλλάγη μου ἡ καρδία, καὶ ἡ ἀγριότης μου ἐστράφη εἰς ἡμερότητα, καὶ ἐφεισάμην τοῦ φαγεῖν αὐτόν. 60 The animal metaphor is used here in a different sense than in the Acts of Thomas, where wild donkeys already live as ascetics and are most eager to join the apostle. See J.E. Spittler, ‘The Anthropology of the Acts of Thomas’, in C.K. Rothschild (ed.), Christian Body, Christian Self: Concepts of Early Christian Personhood (Tübingen, 2011) 212-16. 61 The animals seem not to receive communion at this point, but the narrator may simply presuppose that participation must be preceded by a five-day fast, a practice established in Acts Phil. 11.1, cf. C.R. Matthews, ‘Articulate

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While the species of these animals are clearly inspired by Isa 11:6, the point of the story cannot be to depict the realisation of Isaiah’s vision of a world free of evil, as the company encounter fierce dragons, and the story ends with Philip’s martyrdom.62 A better interpretation is that the transformation of the animals is a metaphor for the transition from Gentile to Christian identity: step by step, the beastlike nature of a demon-worshiping Gentile is transformed into the more profoundly human nature of a Christian disciple.63 The ideal of ἡμερότης (‘tameness’) could then be understood as a combination of civility and self-control: a desire for ethical behaviour and a self-command sufficient to withstand the unavoidable urges to behave differently. The same ideal is apparent when Philip exhorts the newly converted Stachys (15.2-3) to stay away from drunkenness and greed, and to let his daughters remain virgins in order to avoid being counted among the wild beasts (μετὰ τῶν ἀγρίων θηρῶν).64 The second transformation clarifies that this conversion is a multistep process. New initiates can participate without being fully transformed – as animals singing with human voices – before gaining access to the Eucharist.65 A convert is expected to strive for tameness, not to achieve it immediately.66 The difficulty of attaining tameness is further developed in the last scene, where Philip is hanged upside-down in an iron hook as punishment for ending the cult of the holy serpents (Mart. Phil. 17, 19). Smilingly, Philip calls down divine punishment on his torturers, and Animals: A Multivalent Motif in the Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles’, in Bovon, The Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles, 230. 62 Amsler, Commentarius, 300-02. Pace Klauck, Apokryphe Apostelakten, 245. 63 F. Bovon, ‘The Child and the Beast: Fighting Violence in Ancient Christianity’, in id., New Testament and Christian Apocrypha, 223-45 at 227, notes that ancient readers of this story commonly interpret the animals’ transformation as a metaphor for the inner transformation of the Christian disciple. 64 Cf. Snyder, Language and Identity, 186f. 65 Presumably, the author has the training of catechumens in his own Christian community in mind. Matthews, ‘Articulate Animals’, 229-30, points out that the wild leopard is significantly farther from being human than the already domesticated goat (12.4). Thus, the story addresses a diversity of starting-points for Christian converts. 66 The linguistic differences when Philip addresses baptized or unbaptized believers, which Snyder, Language and Identity, 183-91, observes, may also support the observation that the narrative distinguishes between new and seasoned Christians.

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the entire temple and seven thousand serpent-worshipers are swallowed by the earth (Mart. Phil. 20-27). In response, a wrathful Christ descends a cruciform ladder into the abyss to let the Gentiles climb back up. The serpent-worshipers all repent from their anguine cult and convert to Christianity, but Philip’s entrance into paradise is postponed by forty days for his insistence on returning evil with evil (Mart. Phil. 29-32).67 This last scene brings the two themes of the narrative together, as Philip’s ‘feminine’ lack of self-control, problematized in the very first scene, leads to him failing as an apostolic role model. In the end, his inner beast was not tame enough for him to quietly endure his martyrdom. As we have seen, the depiction of an ideal Christian disciple in the story of Philip’s mission to Opheorymus is driven by two dichotomies: a primary one between human and animal and a secondary one between male and female. The primary dichotomy is a metaphor for the distinction between Gentile and Christian, the second one a metaphor for higher and lower degrees of emotional self-control. Gentile converts are described as animals that miraculously grow more and more human. A lack of emotional self-control in a male Christian is described as a feminine way of thinking, which can be mitigated by the presence of a woman with a more masculine mindset. This detachment of gender-coded thinking from actual gender identity betrays an unusually complex anthropology. The Opheorymus story’s dual ideals of civility and self-control exhibit an interesting path of development vis-à-vis the Gospels, where the same ideals are presumed rather than promoted. A desire for ethical behaviour, with some accordance with Jewish haggadah, is presupposed whenever Jesus discusses the proper interpretation of Torah legislation. A possible lack of sufficient self-control is acknowledged when Jesus denounces wrath, speaks of one’s eye and hand as causing sin, and instructs his disciples to pray not to be led into temptation. Thus, the dual dichotomies of male, female, human, and animal are highly developed expressions of principles already present within the Gospels.

67

F. Bovon, ‘Facing the Scriptures: Mimesis and Intertextuality in the Acts of Philip’, in id., New Testament and Christian Apocrypha, 273-85 at 280, remarks that such behaviour seems to have been permitted to Elijah (2 Kings 1:9-16) and Moses (Num 16).

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In addition, Philip’s difficulties in fulfilling the ideals of the narrative are reminiscent of the disciples’ difficulties in the Gospel of Mark. Aernie argues that the Marcan lack of idealisation of male disciples leaves room for female characters to embody the ideal Christian life,68 and Susanna Asikainen finds in Mark a feminized masculinity that foregoes the dominant position of a family father to pursue the submissive role of a servant of the community.69 The Opheorymus story’s complex dynamics between a female-thinking man and a male-thinking woman open up similar possibilities for women with a healthy level of self-control to gain positions of Christian leadership. The differences between Mark and the Opheorymus story are thus less on the level of dogmatics than on that of literary composition. 4. Conclusion This contribution has studied two extracanonical stories about the apostle Philip as part of the reception history of the Synoptic Gospels, in which the ideal traits of a Christian disciple demonstrate developments from earlier to later material. The story of Philip in Galilee (Acts. Phil. 1) has been found to encourage the ideals of faith (πίστις) and purity (ἁγνεία), where the latter ideal comprises truthfulness, sobriety, honesty, and – at least for some individuals – sexual abstinence. The story of Philip’s mission to Opheorymus (Acts. Phil. 8Mart. Phil.) promotes tameness (ἡμερότης) and a masculine way of thinking (τὸ φρόνημα τὸ ἀρρενικόν), two concepts that seem to refer primarily to a sense of civility and to a measure of self-control. For the most part, these ideals are consistent with those upheld in the Synoptic Gospels. The Galilee story displays a considerably more ascetic attitude towards sex and alcohol, but otherwise conforms to the ideals of the canonical material. The Opheorymus story exhibits a more complex anthropology and a more advanced literary presentation of its main themes, but its ideals are not significantly different from those of the Gospels. The continuity between the two categories thus seems to be more significant than the label of ‘Apocryphal’ Acts would imply. Future research may reveal whether the same continuity is present in other early Christian stories about the apostles. 68 69

Aernie, Narrative Discipleship, 17-42. Asikainen, Jesus and Other Men, 184-87.

Index of Names, Subjects and Passages1

A Acts of Andrew 111-12, 211 Acts of Andrew and Matthias in the City of the Cannibals 5-7 Acts of Apostles Peter and Paul 17 Acts of Barnabas 13 Acts of Cornelius the Centurion 11-13 Acts of John 18-55: 200, 202, 204; 37-47: 204; 58-86: 200, 202; 85-111: 212; 106-11: 200, 202; black clothing 208 Acts of John by Prochorus 192-214; and Acts of John 200-01; black clothing 208; and Bonnet 200; contents 195-97; and Ephesus 193; 193, 200-01; in Patmos 188: 198-99, 201; and Zahn 200; 37-47: 204; 87-105: 208; 85-111: 212 Acts of Paul (and Thecla) 82-99, 85-87, 121-22; 5.4: 166; 9: 82; 25.3 and 40.1-2: 326; and Acts (NT) 82-83; Armenian 123; 3 Cor 12122; date 225-26; Ephesus 93-98; lion 96-97; text: 85, 121-22; in Late Antique hagiography: 151-74 Acts of Peter 5, 15, 57-79; 2: 111; 4: 62, 65, 70; 5: 16; 7: 62; 9-12: 62; 9: 70; 10: 39, 62; 11: 52, 62; 12: 65; 13: 70; 17: 66; 19: 52; 20, 21: 70; 23-28: 306; 28: 71, 76; 30: 111; 31: 65-66, 71; 32: 37; 33: 110; 34: 110; 35: 46; 40: 15; 71; 33: 110; 34: 11011; and Acts of Philip 306; and Life of Eugenia 67; statue: 51 Acts of Philip 211; 295-313; 1: 318; 1.1: 301-02, 315, 318; 1.2: 302, 320; 1.3 321; 1.5: 302; 1.7: 302; 2: 300, 302-04, 318; 3-7: 30406; 3.1,6 (A): 299; 4.1: 304, 316; 4.6: 316; 5: 304; 5.1: 316; 5.25: 315; 8-15: 306; 8.1: 300, 315-16, 325; 8.2: 325; 8.4: 299; 8.8: 325; 15.1: 307; Ma 2,7-9: 307; 14: 308; 17: 330-31; 17,89: 310; 19: 330-31; 19,9: 299, 331; 20-27: 331; 25-31: 326; 25-26: 299, 331; 25,4.7: 299, 331; 27: 310; 29-32: 299, 331; 33,5-6: 310; 39: 317; and Acts of Peter 306; and ascetic lifestyles 298; and animals 308-10, 328-31; and Athens 298; and commission 312; and cult 313; and Cybele 306-09; and discipleship 1

We are grateful to Jona Bremmer for his help in compiling the index.

334

INDEX OF NAMES, SUBJECTS AND PASSAGES

ideals 314-32; dishonesty 322; and dragon 307, 310; faith 32223; and Greek gods 301; and Hierapolis 298, 306-07, 313; and imaginary landscape 312-13; insobriety 321; lies in 321; and Jews 305-06, 308; and Mariamne 299, 325; and martyrion 313; masculinity/feminity 325-28; and miracles 310-11, in Opheorymus 317-18; paganism 295-313, and philosophers 302-04, 318; purity 320-21, 323; and Samaria 300; and self-control 330-32; and snakes 306-07, 324; text: 295-98; tour of hell 302, 319, 321-22 Acts of Thecla 112-14, 118-50, 134-35; 3:5-6: 113; 3: 140; 7: 141; 12: 113; 21-22: 145, 149; 33-35: 147, 149; Church Slavonic 175-91; manuscripts: 123-27; names 134-35 Acts of Thomas 195; 11-15: 115; I,1-2: 277, 284; I,1: 281; I,3.5.6.816: 287; II,17-18, 17-22: 279, 282; II,18-19, 21-22: 289; IX-X: 279; XI: 279, 282; XII: 114, 279, 282; XIII: 151, 155, 279, 282; Ma 164: 280, 282, 284; 168: 278, 282, 284; 169: 280, 282; and animals 329; and hagiography 271-72; and India 284-85; Misdai 280; in Synaxarion 270-94; text 254-69 Acts of Timothy 215-39; 12: 19; 16: 18-19; author 222; date 218-22, 236; and John 224-30; Latin translation 218-19; and pilgrimage 217; text: 217-18; Timothy 223; Urtext 222 Acts of Titus 4, 9, 10-11, 18 Ado of Vienne, Martyrologium 244-45 Ammianus Marcellinus 16.10.13-14: 28 Apollo, destruction temple 204, 210-11 Artemis 92; destruction of temple 204-11, 214; in Ephesus 4, 81-99, 249-50; mysteries 209 Athanasius, 39th Festal Letter: 228; Hist. Ar. 35.2: 220; incarn. 36: 3 Augustine, Contra Faustum 22.79: 119 B Barnabas Encomium 13-14, 18 Bartholomew 317, 328 Basilica apostolorum Philippi et Jacobi 251 Bible, Exod 17:1-6: 16; Deut 10:16: 6; 26:41: 6; 30:6: 6; Ps 22:14: 183; Isa 11:6-9: 308, 11:6: 330, 19:1: 3; Jer 4:4.14: 6; Dan 3:130: 76; Jonah 226; Mt 5:8: 323; 11: 27-32, 41; 15: 19; 16-17: 302; 19: 18; 19:9: 324; 19:10-12: 324; 23:26: 323; 26:59-60: 323; 28:19-20: 284; Mk 1:15: 323; 5:34-36: 323; 9:23-24: 323; Lk 3:12-14: 323; 5:29-34: 323; 5:35: 324; 6: 24-26: 323; 6:14: 314; 7:11-17: 298, 319; 7:33-36: 323; 10:38-42: 325;

INDEX OF NAMES, SUBJECTS AND PASSAGES

335

11:37-12:3: 323; 11:41: 323; 12:15-21: 323; 19:1-10: 323: 45; 20:9-19: 323; 20:45-47: 323; 22:14-20: 323; 24:36-37: 284; John 11: 325; 11:1-12:11: 325; 11:16: 284; 13:23, 25: 224; 18:48: 68; 20:24-29: 274; 20:25.29: 284; 21:1-2: 284; Acts 1:3: 83; 1:8: 83, 88; 1:9: 46; 1:13: 314; 2:1: 284; 2:5-13: 84; 6:5: 142, 195, 314; 7:51: 6; 8:10: 65; 8:26-40: 88; 10:1-11:18: 11; 18: 83, 88; 14:1: 183; 14:4-7: 186; 14:6: 187; 17: 298, 303; 17:15-34: 300; 18:18: 140; 19: 90-92; 19:21-40: 81; and Ephesus 81-99; Rom 2:29: 6; 16:12: 188; 1 Cor 1:14-16: 105; 2:4: 303; 6:1-11: 102-03, 104, 106; 7:8: 104; 7:12-16: 105, 107; 7:18: 102; 7:25-40: 104; 7:12-16: 105; 7:39: 107; 8:10: 103, 106; 10:19-22: 324; Gal 102; 2 Tim 1:15: 182-90; 1:16: 182; 3:11: 127-31; 4:10: 182-90; 4:19: 131-34; 6:5: 142 bishop, election 229-30 Brigid of Kildare 7-8 C Capitolium 47-49 Carcer Mamertinus 15, 32-35 Castor and Pollux 43-44 1 Clement 5.2 and 4-7: 225 Church of the Seven Sleepers 235-36 Constantine, and statues 50 codex, miniature 238, Codex Sinaiticus 228 Codex Vaticanus 228 Council of Chalcedon 221-22, 228 crossdressing 164, 326-328 Cybele 324 Cyril, Cat.10: 3 D Damascius, Vita Isidori 131: 310 Decretum Gelasianum 47; 4,4: 47 Dionysus, Corinth 225; destruction temple 210-11; Ephesus 230-34 Domitian 213, 229, 242-44 E Embolos 233-34 Empedocles 64

336

INDEX OF NAMES, SUBJECTS AND PASSAGES

Ephesus, in Acts 81-99, 88-92, apostolic see 220 Eubola 61 Eusebius, De Martyribus Palestinae 150; DE 6.20: 3, HE 2.25.8: 225; 3.4.5: 220; 3.17-18: 242; 3.31.3: 224, 315; 3.31.4: 315; 3.39.8-9: 315; 4.26.9: 229; 5.8.4: 226; 5.24.2: 315; 5.24.3: 224; 7.15.4: 228; 7.19 and 7.32.29: 220; PE 7.7.1, 7.9.1, 11.19.4: 224 F Falconilla 164, 188 Forum Romanum 21-54 G Galla Placidia 249 Gospels, authors 228; as codex 227-28; order 227-28 Gregory of Nyssa 154-56 Gregory of Tours, Glory of the Martyrs 36-38 H Hadrian 213 Hieronymus, Adv. Iov. 2.38; Ep. 107.1: 49; 129: 229 Historia Monachorum in Aegypto 2-4 Homilies 2.15: 62; 2.18: 66; 2.22: 62, 66; 2.24: 69; 2.25: 62; 2.26: 71; 2.27: 66; 2.32: 71; 2.33, 2.61: 62; 3.38: 66; 3.58: 71; 3.59: 66; 4.2: 62, 66; 4.4: 66, 71; 6.26: 71; 7.9: 66; 7.4, 7.5 and 7.12: 62; 16.21: 64; 17.2: 66; 20: 71; 20.13: 66; 20.18.2: 72 I Ignatius, Rom. 4.3: 225 intermarriage 100-17 Irenaeus, Adv. haer. 3.1.1: 224-25 Itinerarium of Egeria 11, 127 J Jannes, Jambres 63 Jerusalem 88 John 142; in Acts of Timothy 224-30; and Ambrose 242-43; and apostolicity of Rome 241; and Basilica of San Giovanni a Porta Latina 240-53; and Constantinople 249; construction of 241-42; and Ephesus 215-39, 249-51, 253; feast 245-46, 249, 252; and Gospels 226-28; and Jerome 243, 246; and Justinian 251; oil

INDEX OF NAMES, SUBJECTS AND PASSAGES

337

martyrdom 224, 240, 242, 244, 252; and Ravenna 249; in Rome 242-53; teacher 224; theologian 224, 250-51 John Chrysostom 157-59 Justin Martyr, First Apology 26.2-3: 65 K kanon 274 Katagogia 19, 217, 230-33 kontakion 274 L Lapis niger 41-42 Lawrence, Saint 52-53 Lectra 131, 134 Leo the Great 246, 249 Libanius, Oratio 30.8: 208 Liber Pontificalis 251 lieux de mémoire 25 Life of Saint Barbara 179 Life and Martyrdom of Eugenia 66-67, 76, 79, 327-28; and Acts of Peter 67 Life and Martyrdom of Susanna 327 Life and Miracles of Saint Thecla 8-9, 14-15, 123, 177, 179, 180, 18290; Prol. Mir. Theclae 227 Life of Eusebia called Xene 163-67 Life of Helia 159-60 Life of Leo Bishop of Catania 55-80 Life of Macrina 154-56 Life of Olympias 156-59 Life of Simeon Stylites 179 Life of Syncletica 161-63 Life of Theodore of Sykeon 69 Lipomanus, Historiae de vitis sanctorum 283 M Mariamne 317, 328 magic, and bath house 73-74; and flying 59, 74-75; and miracle 55-80; not lasting 71; and religion 58 magos 56; and alchemy 72; as anti-hero 64-69; against saint 75-77; and saints 60

338

INDEX OF NAMES, SUBJECTS AND PASSAGES

Marcellus 61 Martyrdom of Mark 5, 10-11, 14; 7: 19; 10: 18-19 Martyrdom of Paul 18 Martyrdom of Peter (G) 15 martyrion 235 Melito 229 menaion 272-73 Menologion of Basilius II 276, 280-82 Menologion of Symeon Metaphrastes 276, 282-86 Methodius of Olympus, Symposium 162-63 metropolis 220 miracle, and magic 58-69 Miracles of the Pege 7 N Narses 251 Neander, Michael 194 Nero 223; persecutor 225, 243 Niketas David Paphlagon, Laudatio Thomae 276-78 P Panegyric on Thecla 123 Papias, and Barsabas-Justus 309; daughter of Philip 309 Papyri: P.Ant. I.13: 123, 126, 143-48; P.Bouriant 4: 143-47, 149; P.Chester Beatty 1: 128; Pap. Congr. XVIII.1; 125; P.Hamb.bil. 1: 228; P.Heid.Kopt. 300 + 301: 228; P.Oxy. inv. 8 8 1B.192/G(2) b: 124; I.6: 124, 126, XII.1602: 125, P.Sarischouli 3: 228; P.Schøyen I.21: 113; P.Vindob. G. 31974: 228; P.Yale II.8: 125; Passio of Processus and Martinianus 33-34, 45-46 Passion of Andrew 5: 112 Passion of Eugenia 168-172 Passion of the Holy Apostles Peter and Paul 17 Patmos 188, 198 patriarch/ates 220-21 Paul, appearance 140; grave 17-18; in Rome 243-44 Pentecost 84 Peter 17-18, 35-37, 57-79; and dragon 47; grave 17-18; late antique traditions 21-54; and miracle 35; Quo Vadis 45-47; in Rome 24344; against Simon Magus 5, 57-69; statue 36-37 Philip, apostle 315; death 317

INDEX OF NAMES, SUBJECTS AND PASSAGES

339

Philo, de praemiis 53: 224 Photius, Bibl. 254 Pion, mountain/quarter 217, 234-35 Ploutonion 310-11 Polycrates 222-24 Pope Hilarius 249; P. Pelagius 251 Porta Latina 246 Prochorus 142 Proclus the Montanist 315 Procopius, De Aedificiis 5.1.5: 251 Prudentius, Perist. 2: 52 Ps.-Linus, Martyrium beati Petri apostoli 15-17; 5: 32; 10: 16 Ps.-Marcellus, Passio sanctorum Petri et Pauli 38-39 R relics 239 Romulus and Remus 41 S Santa Maria Nuova 36-37 saint, against magos 75-77 Septizodium 44-45 Seven Sleepers 238 Simmias 131-32, 134 Simon Magus 22-40, 31-32, 38-40, 57-79; flying 31-32, 38-40, 70; against Peter 5, 57-69; resurrection 71; statue 39-40 slaves of God 234 statue, imperial 51-53 Sticheron 274 Stone of Apostolic Victory 36-43 Sylvester legend 47-48 synaxarion 273-74; Synaxarion Ecclesiae Constantinopolitanae 276, 278-80 T Tarpeian Rock 32-35 Templum Pacis 42-43, Romae 42-43, Romuli 42-43 Tertullian 244; De baptismo 17.5: 120; De praescriptione haereticorum 36.3: 241 Thamyris 165

340

INDEX OF NAMES, SUBJECTS AND PASSAGES

Thecla, baptism 166; and canon 148-50; cult 122-23; as a model 15459; in Seleucia 8-9; slave of God 166 Theodoret, Ep. 83, 110, 113: 220 Theodosius, C. Symmachum. 52-53 Thomas, feast of 275-76 Timothy, grave 234-35, 238-39 Titulus Fasciolae 45-46 trial by fire 77 Troparion 274 Tuptalo, Dymytrii 175-91; Life of Saint Thecla 177-90 U Usener, Hermann 215 V Vesta 44 Z Zacharias Rhetor, HE 5.24: 221 Zeno 131-32, 134 Zeno the Isaurian 14

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