The Last Years of Paul: Essays from the Tarragona Conference, June 2013 (Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen Zum Neuen Testament) 9783161533464, 9783161535833, 3161533461

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Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament Herausgeber / Editor Jörg Frey (Zürich) Mitherausgeber / Associate Editors Markus Bockmuehl (Oxford) · James A. Kelhoffer (Uppsala) Hans-Josef Klauck (Chicago, IL) · Tobias Nicklas (Regensburg) J. Ross Wagner (Durham, NC)

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The Last Years of Paul Essays from the Tarragona Conference, June 2013 Edited by

Armand Puig i Tàrrech, John M. G. Barclay and Jörg Frey with the assistance of

Orrey McFarland

Mohr Siebeck

Armand Puig i Tàrrech, born 1953; 1984 PhD; Professor of New Testament and, ­since 2006, President-Dean of the Faculty of Theology, Catalonia (Barcelona); 2011-12 President of the “Studiorum Novi Testamenti Societas” (SNTS). John M.G. Barclay, born 1958; undergraduate in Cambridge (Classics and Theo­logy); 1986 PhD in Cambridge; since 2003 Lightfoot Professor of Divinity at Durham University. Jörg Frey, born 1962; studied Theology in Tübingen, 1996 Dr. theol. (Tübingen); 1998 Habilitation; since 2010 Professor for New Testament at the University of Zurich.

e-ISBN PDF 978-3-16-153583-3 ISBN 978-3-16-153346-4 ISSN 0512-1604 (Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament) Die Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliographie; detailed bibliographic data are available on the Internet at http://dnb.dnb.de. © 2015  by Mohr Siebeck, Tübingen, Germany. www.mohr.de This book may not be reproduced, in whole or in part, in any form (beyond that permitted by copyright law) without the publisher’s written permission. This applies particularly to reproductions, translations, microfilms and storage and processing in electronic s­ ystems. The book was printed by Gulde Druck in Tübingen on non-aging paper and bound by Buch­binderei Spinner in Ottersweier. Printed in Germany.

Preface The Congress on “The Last Years of Paul’s Life,” held in Tarragona on 25–29 June 2013, was an excellent opportunity to deal with one of the most difficult subjects in Pauline studies. The capital of the Tarraconensis Province was conceived by the Roman authorities as a place to display Roman power in Hispania/Spain, the western edge of the Empire. Tarraco was the friendly Roman town in which Augustus spent the winter of 27–26 BCE and it showed itself again a city of international hospitality, a wonderful meeting-point for thirty scholars from three main cultural areas, German, Anglo-Saxon, and Latin-Mediterranean (including Greece). At the same time, the “Tarragona Congress” chose to open the floor not only to New Testament and Apocrypha scholars but also to historians of the Roman Empire and experts in Roman Law. The result was highly successful, and this volume shows how rich and insightful was the academic exchange among the Congress participants. The authors have reworked their material in the light of that stimulating discussion, and some additional pieces have been commissioned to make the coverage more complete. We are deeply grateful to H.E. Jaume Pujol, Archbishop of Tarragona, who generously hosted the participants of the Congress in the “Centre el Seminari,” where all the sessions took place. Likewise, Miss Joana Ortega, Vice-President of the Catalan Government, attended the opening session and provided the Congress with the necessary financial support. Mr. Josep Poblet, President of the Tarragona Regional Assembly (“Diputació de Tarragona”), gave a fine reception to the participants. The head of the local committee was Dr Josep M. Gavaldà, director of the Institute for Religious Sciences “Sant Fructuós,” who ensured the success of the Congress, with the collaboration of Fr. Antoni Pérez de Mendiguren and Miss Roser Fornell. The Congress was promoted by the Theological Faculty of Catalonia (Barcelona). The range of topics, the variety of contributors and the quality of the contributions give this volume a special role in addressing the historical and theological problems of the last years of Paul. The answers are varied and not always in agreement – a sign of serious and respectful scholarly endeavour. The contributors are united in their sensitivity to the historical problems, their desire to raise good questions (often more useful than a hundred hypotheses), and their commitment to accuracy and prudence. Despite the gaps in our

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knowledge, and the silences or ambiguities of the sources, this volume shows that a number of important conclusions can be drawn and that scholarship can make progress even when the evidence offers less than full certainty on the matters discussed. The extensive editorial role for this volume was carried out by Dr Orrey McFarland, who also undertook its copy-editing and type-setting. We are indebted to his skilful and precise work. We extend our thanks to Dr Henning Ziebritzki, editorial director of Mohr Siebeck, and to all his team. We are grateful that this volume has been included in the prestigious WUNT I series. Durham – Zürich – Barcelona John Barclay – Jörg Frey – Armand Puig i Tàrrech

January 2015

Table of Contents Preface………………………………………………………………………..V John M.G. Barclay The Last Years of Paul What are the Issues? ………………………………………………………….1 Reimund Bieringer The Jerusalem Collection and Paul’s Missionary Project Collection and Mission in Romans 15.14–32………………………………..15 Michel Quesnel The Collection for Jerusalem in the Context of Paul’s Missionary Project Theological Perspectives…………………………………………….33 N.T. Wright Paul’s Western Missionary Project Jerusalem, Rome, Spain in Historical and Theological Perspectives………..49 Karl-Wilhelm Niebuhr Roman Jews under Nero Personal, Religious, and Ideological Networks in Mid-First Century Rome………………………………………………………………..67 Erich S. Gruen The Jews of Rome under Nero………………………………………………91 Peter Lampe Roman Christians under Nero (54–68 CE)…………………………………111 Peter Oakes Using Historical Evidence in the Study of Neronian Christian Groups and Texts…………………………………………………………...131

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Loveday Alexander Silent Witness Paul’s Troubles with Roman Authorities in the Book of Acts……………..153 Agustí Borrell Paul and the Roman Authorities……………………………………………175 Heike Omerzu The Roman Trial Against Paul according to Acts 21–26…………………..187 Friedrich W. Horn The Roman Trial Against Paul according to Acts 21–26 Reply to Heike Omerzu…………………………………………………….201 Bernardo Santalucia Paul’s Roman Trial Legal Procedures regarding Roman Citizens Convicted of Serious Charges in the First Century CE……………………………………………213 Juan Chapa Paul’s Social Status and the Outcome of his Trial…………………………231 Valerio Marotta St. Paul’s Death Roman Citizenship and summa supplicia…………………………………..248 John Granger Cook Roman Penalties Regarding Roman Citizens Convicted of Heavy Charges in I CE……………………………………………………………..271 Daniel Marguerat On Why Luke Remains Silent about Paul’s End (Acts 28.16–31) ……………………………………………………………305 Tobias Nicklas No Death of Paul in Acts of Paul and Thecla? …………………………….333 Glenn E. Snyder History of the Martyrdom of Paul………………………………………….343 Wolfgang Grünstäudl Hidden in Praise Some Notes on 1 Clement 5.7……………………………………………...375

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Rainer Riesner Paul’s Trial and End according to Second Timothy, 1 Clement, the Canon Muratori, and the Apocryphal Acts…………………………………391 Jens Herzer The Mission and the End of Paul Between Strategy and Reality A Response to Rainer Riesner……………………………………………...411 Udo Schnelle Paul’s Literary Activity during his Roman Trial…………………………...433 Daniel Gerber Paul’s Literary Activity during His Roman Trial A Response to Udo Schnelle……………………………………………….453 Armand Puig ì Tarrech Paul’s Missionary Activity during His Roman Trial The Case of Paul’s Journey to Hispania……………………………………469 Christos Karakolis Paul’s Mission to Hispania Some Critical Observations………………………………………………...507 Angelo Di Berardino Roman Tradition on Paul’s Death Literary and Archaeological Data…………………………………………..521 Romano Penna The Death of Paul in the Year 58 A Hypothesis and Its Consequences for His Biography……………………533 Jörg Frey Paul the Apostle A Life Between Mission and Captivity…………………………………….553 List of Contributors………………………………………………………...579

Introduction The Last Years of Paul’s Life: What are the Issues? John M.G. Barclay

“Call no man happy before he dies.” So runs the Greek maxim, variously expressed by Aeschylus (Ag. 928–29) and Sophocles (Oed. tyr. 1528–50), and echoed in the Jewish tradition by Ben Sira (11.28). The importance of the end of life for the evaluation of the whole is the topic of a memorable discussion between Solon and Croesus, as recounted by Herodotus (Hist. 1.32). When Croesus congratulates himself on his happy and prosperous condition, Solon warns that such a verdict is secure only after the end of one’s life; to Croesus’ shock, Solon cites as examples of fortunate people relatively obscure Athenians who had died noble deaths as the crown of a virtuous life. Wait until the end – the very end – to judge the happiness or success of a person’s life, advises Solon: the final stage of life may confirm or negate the value of the whole. Like the Greeks, we want to know how Paul’s life ended. Paul, who perpetually plans and replans his future, sets out his goals at the end of his letter to the Romans (15.22–33). He is taking the collection to Jerusalem to create or cement a reciprocal relation of unity between the Jewish believers in Jerusalem and the Gentile believers in Achaea and Macedonia. After that he will come to Rome and then, from there, be “sent on” to Spain, “once I have enjoyed your company for a little while” (15.24). He is clearly nervous about the visit to Jerusalem, about his reception there by the “saints” and by the “unbelievers” (15.31); but he expresses no fears about coming to Rome. Naturally we want to know what happened next. What transpired in Jerusalem? How did he get to Rome, and what happened there? Did he get to Spain? And where, how, and why did he die? Were his plans fulfilled or frustrated? Was his end also his goal (his τέλος)? Do the last years of Paul give perspective on the whole of his life, as the Greek maxim would suggest? In this introductory chapter, I wish to raise a number of questions, which the following essays will variously address. I will begin by noting the key historical problems, which usually reflect the paucity, ambiguity, or unreliability of our sources (A). We will then enquire why the early Christians were

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interested in the last years of Paul’s life, and whether their questions and interests overlap with ours (B). Finally, I will offer a provocative reading of Paul’s last years as a saga of failure and disappointment (C). That will lead us to wonder whether Paul’s end was the climax or the anti-climax of his life.

A. The Historical Problems For every element of the last years of Paul’s life (from 55 CE onwards) we are dependent on sources which are to some degree debatable and suspect.1 Hearing Paul’s anxiety in Romans 15 over whether his gift would be acceptable to the “saints” in Jerusalem, and his request for the Romans to struggle in prayer that he be “rescued” from the “unbelievers,” we are eager to know how it all turned out. That Paul should be heading east from Ephesus to Jerusalem, just when he really wants to be heading west, is a sign of how much he is personally invested in the success of the collection project (cf. 2 Corinthians 8–9).2 For what happened in Jerusalem we are entirely dependent on Acts, which appears to make an oblique allusion to the collection (the “alms” that Paul was bringing to his nation, Acts 24.17) but says nothing about how this was received by the “saints.” We are entitled to be suspicious. Luke is anxious throughout Acts to display the harmony of the Christian movement: all the intra-church discussions end in unity, and he had given no hint of the Antioch dispute or of Paul’s probable split with the Antioch church. Luke knows that Jewish believers in Jerusalem were extremely wary of Paul, even opposed to him, hearing that he undermined Jewish practice of the Torah (Acts 21.20–21). Paul’s agreement to pay for the Nazirite purification is intended to allay these fears (Acts 21.23–26), but before we hear how effective that is in endearing Paul to Torah-observant Jews, he becomes the centre of a riot, and the focus of the narrative is deflected to his hostile reception among non-believing Jews (Acts 21.27ff.).

1

For previous analysis of this cluster of historical issues, see F.W. Horn (ed.), Das Ende des Paulus. Historische, theologische und literargeschichtliche Aspekte (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2001). 2 Among recent treatments, see B.-M. Kim, Die paulinische Kollekte (Tübingen: Francke, 2002); D.J. Downs, The Offering of the Gentiles (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2008). The relation of this project to Paul’s mission is the subject of the following two essays in this volume.

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What happened to the collection money, so painstakingly organized and so painfully extracted from Paul’s congregations? Did this gesture go some way towards unifying churches across ethnic, cultural, and geographical divides, or was it rebuffed, as Paul feared it might be, since it was too closely associated with himself and with the terms of his mission?3 Acts is, of course, our only source for Paul’s arrest in Jerusalem, his various trials before the Sanhedrin, Felix, Festus, and Agrippa and Berenice, and his appeal, as a Roman citizen, to the emperor. What historical truth lies behind this narrative with its set-piece rhetorical events? That is notoriously difficult to determine, but when Luke has Paul three times acquitted by Roman and Jewish authorities as having done nothing deserving death or imprisonment (23.29; 25.25; 26.31; cf. 28.18) – just as Jesus was three times acquitted in Luke’s gospel by Pilate and Herod (Luke 23.4, 14–15, 22) – we wonder whether there is some embellishment of the facts.4 The innocence of the Christians in Roman eyes is so constant a theme in Luke-Acts, and the long detention of Paul in limbo between acquittal and conviction so remarkable, that one might wonder if Luke has covered up a criminal conviction by a provincial governor, against which Paul in desperation lodged an appeal. What Luke does not mask is that Paul arrived in Rome as a prisoner – though he does his best to mitigate this in his description of Paul’s freedom to preach (Acts 28.30–31). If we accept his narrative outline we should probably date Paul’s arrival in Rome in 59 or 60 CE.5 What happened next in Rome? Our sources are multiple, but their relevance and value hard to assess. Luke is notoriously sparse on detail and, after recounting an initial welcome by Roman believers (28.14–15), says nothing about Paul’s interaction with the Roman churches. When we recall how many people Paul greeted in Rome in Romans 16 (if that chapter is original to the letter),6 and how eager he was to “impart some spiritual gift” to them (Rom 1.11–12) and to be “refreshed in their company” (Rom 15.32), it is remarkable that Luke has nothing further to say about Paul’s engagement with the communities of Roman believers, over what he records as a two-year period (Acts 28.30). Were there no local Roman traditions available to him, in the way that he apparently utilized local narratives from other cities? Or was Paul 3 See the following essays by Bieringer and Quesnel; cf. F. Horn, “Die letzte Jerusalemreise des Paulus,” in Horn (ed.), Ende des Paulus, 15–35. 4 See the essays below by Omerzu and Horn, and H. Omerzu, Der Prozeß des Paulus. Eine exegetische und rechtshistorische Untersuchung der Apostelgeschichte (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2002). 5 For discussion, see A. Scriba, “Von Korinth nach Rom. Die Chronologie der letzten Jahre des Paulus,” in Horn (ed.), Ende des Paulus, 157–73. For a different opinion, see the essay by Penna below. 6 The debate has been tipped in this direction by H.Y. Gamble, The Textual History of the Letter to the Romans (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1977).

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after all unwelcome to the churches in Rome? The fact that 1 Clement says nothing clear on this matter, and that the pseudonymous 2 Timothy knows nothing of local support for Paul in Rome (in fact, quite the opposite, 2 Tim 4.16), surely compounds the mystery. If we place the letter to the Philippians in Rome, an hypothesis supported by a long English-language scholarly tradition, and now by some significant German voices, we can add here some precious first-hand evidence.7 Here Paul indicates that his imprisonment is a matter of controversy, eliciting differing reactions among local believers in Rome. He calculates that his imprisonment has made known to the whole praetorian guard (ἐν τῷ πραιτωρίῳ) and “to the rest” that “my chains are in Christ” (ὥστε τοὺς δεσµούς µου φανεροὺς ἐν Χριστ ῷ γενέσθαι, 1.13). This little notice may be more revealing than it seems, especially if we combine it with Paul’s clear distinction, later in the letter, between his Jewish identity (which he now counts as rubbish) and the value of his identity in Christ (3.2–11). Does this indicate that what is becoming clear to the praetorian guard, and thus to the Roman authorities, is precisely this distinction between being “Jewish” and being “in Christ” – or Christianus, as the Romans might say? Is Paul’s Roman imprisonment making clear to the Roman authorities that there is a class of people called Christiani, who may be distinguished from Jews (cf. Acts 26.28)? In the same context in Philippians, Paul notes that some (in his eyes, “most”) of the believers in the locality are emboldened to “speak the word without fear” (1.14), but that other fellow-Christians are hostile to him (filled with envy and rivalry, φθόνος καὶ ἔρις, 1.15) and preach Christ in a way intended to “heighten the suffering in my imprisonment” (1.17). Something they are saying or doing is making Paul’s position in Rome increasingly precarious, and he is not at all sure that he will get out of this alive (1.19–26). Ever the optimist, he thinks he probably will, because the Philippians need him (1.24–26; 2.24). Nothing is said now about Spain, a mission project that was always dependent on Roman support (Rom 15.24, 28). Instead, Paul dreams of returning to the churches that have long supported him, and is enormously grateful that they, at least, have remembered his acute financial needs.

7 For recent English-language commentaries supporting this position (as opposed to a venue in Ephesus or Caesarea), see, e.g., M. Bockmuehl, The Epistle to the Philippians (London: A&C Black, 1997), 25–32; G. Fee, Paul’s Letter to the Philippians (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1995), 34–37. Among German voices, see P. Wick, Der Philipperbrief: der formale Aufbau des Briefs als Schlüssel zum Verständnis seines Inhalts (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1994), 182–85; U. Schnelle, Paulus: Leben und Denken (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2003), 406–11 (ET: Apostle Paul: His Life and Theology [trans. E. Boring; Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2003], 366–69); H.D. Betz, Der Apostel Paulus in Rom (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2013). The evidence that Philemon comes from this same location is a good deal weaker.

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What happened next? Something happened after two years but Luke has famously shrouded this in silence (Acts 28.30–31).8 Since Luke had earlier indicated that Paul was on his way to Rome not just to be imprisoned, but to appear before the emperor (27.24) and to die (20.25, 28–29, 38), we may well regard this silence as a literary and political convenience. Given how much he has invested in Paul’s innocence, including the insistence that he had committed no offence against the emperor (Acts 25.8), it would have been awkward for Luke to record an imperial judgment authorizing Paul’s execution. That would require a plain choice: either Paul’s Christian movement was a criminal affair in the eyes of the highest Roman court, or the emperor was mistaken and Roman justice was unreliable to the core. Neither option would be welcome to Luke, and it would be hard to represent Paul’s death-sentence and execution without reaching one or other of these unpalatable conclusions.9 Better to represent Paul as a heroic figure, bravely walking into danger but successfully spreading the gospel in Rome for two whole years “without hindrance” (28.31). Luke prefers to say no more. Whether Paul enjoyed a temporary release, during which he travelled as hoped to Spain, was of course a pressing matter for our conference in Tarragona (Tarraco) – a short sea-crossing from Ostia and Paul’s most likely point of arrival in Spain, if he did make that journey.10 Much depends on the notice in 1 Clement 5, and its reference to τὸ τέρµα τῆς δύσεως (5.7).11 Whether this refers to Spain is one question; whether, if it does, it is based on a historical tradition, or is merely supposition from Paul’s plan in Romans 15, is another. Luke’s silence was certainly a lacuna which other early Christians were eager to fill. Second Timothy conjures up a tired Paul in Rome, ready and willing to die; it knows nothing of a mission to Spain (either hoped for or achieved) but its place-names recall a host of earlier successes in Greece and Asia (2 Tim 1.15, 18; 3.11; 4.10, 13, 20). The Acts of Paul proudly portrays exactly what Luke was unwilling to imagine. It uses motifs from Philippians (“the household of Caesar,” Phil 4.22; Martyrdom of Paul 1) and Acts (the fall and death of Eutychos = Patroclus, Acts 20.9–12; Martyrdom of Paul 1) to create 8 See the essay by Marguerat below, and H. Omerzu, “Das Schweigen des Lukas. Überlegungen zum offenen Ende der Apostelgeschichte,” in Horn (ed.), Ende des Paulus, 127–56. 9 For a nuanced reading of Luke’s relationship to Roman power, see C.K. Rowe, World Upside Down: Reading Acts in the Graeco-Roman Age (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010). 10 See especially the essays by Puig ì Tarrech and Karakolis, below. See the debates on this matter in J.M. Gavaldá et al. (eds.), Pau, Fructuós i el cristianisme primitiu a Tarragona (segles I–VIII). Actes del Congrés de Tarragona (19–21 de juny de 2008) (Tarragona: FPL/INSAF, 2010). 11 See H. Löhr, “Zur Paulus-Notiz in 1 Clem 5,5–7,” in Horn (ed.), Ende des Paulus, 197–213, and the essays by Riesner and Herzer below.

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a scenario of outright conflict between Paul and the Emperor Nero, the one at the head of “the soldiers of Christ,” the other threatened by this alternative “king” and incited by Satan to put Paul to death (Martyrdom of Paul 1–4). Here for the first time (180–190 CE?) the actual execution of Paul is vividly imagined, together with a miraculous spurt of milk from his severed neck, and resurrection appearances of Paul reminiscent of those of Jesus.12 This account associates Paul’s death with that of Roman Christians, but makes no link with the fire of Rome or with the death of Peter. If Paul was executed as a Roman citizen, it is likely that he was indeed beheaded. Beyond that, the Martyrdom of Paul provides nothing an historian could trust, but plenty of evidence for the developing image of Paul, whose martyrdom in Rome was becoming a matter of local pride and vivid imagination.13 In fact, it is remarkable how little the earliest Christian sources say about Paul’s death. 1 Clement, though written in Rome, is vague: beyond a general reference to “jealousy and strife” (5.5), and to Paul witnessing before “rulers” (5.7), it does not indicate where, when, or why Paul died. The authentic letters of Ignatius seem to know nothing at all about Paul’s death, while Tertullian and Origen say little other than to locate the deaths of Peter and Paul in Rome, one crucified, the other beheaded.14 Eusebius, who records at length the death of James, was reduced to scraps of information about the end of Paul: all he knows is that Nero was responsible, and that “they relate” (ἱστοροῦνται) that Paul was beheaded in Rome, while Peter was crucified (Hist. eccl. 2.25.5). He can cite the late second (or early third) century Roman presbyter, Gaius, speaking of the “trophies of the Apostles” in Rome (one on the Vatican, the other on the Ostia Road), which he associates loosely with the cemeteries of Peter and Paul (Hist. eccl. 2.25.5–7). Otherwise he has only Dionysios of Corinth (second century) saying that Peter and Paul jointly founded churches both in Corinth and in Rome, where they were martyred “at the same time” (2.25.8). No-one seemed to know the exact date of these deaths or anything reliable about the circumstances.15 It makes you wonder. Was the memory wiped out by the decimation of the Roman churches after the fire of Rome, or did it take a while for anyone in the Roman churches to pay attention to Paul and to his death?

12

For discussion, see the essay by Snyder below. See D.L. Eastman, Paul, the Martyr: The Cult of the Apostle in the Latin West (Atlanta: SBL, 2011). 14 Tertullian, Praescr. 36; Origen apud Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 3.1.3. 15 For a suggestion on the date, the fourteenth year of Nero (68 CE), see Jerome, Vir. ill. 5. Eusebius guesses that it must be “later” in Nero’s reign, when he became more reckless (Hist. eccl. 2.25.8). 13

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B. Early Christian Interests and Ours The early Christian sources are interested in the last years of Paul for reasons partly the same but partly very different from ours. The difference is clear already from the amount of attention Luke gives to Paul’s demeanour while on trial in Jerusalem and Caesarea, and to his adventures on the way to Rome, while remaining silent on the circumstances of Paul’s death – the very matter about which we most want to know. In fact, Luke’s emphasis on Paul’s character and success reflects a common feature of early Christian notices on this phase of Paul’s life: they consistently present Paul as a heroic model and a triumphant success. In the extended final narratives of Acts, Luke is careful to underline both Paul’s innocence and his virtue. Paul’s integrity under trial, his control of the shipwrecked boat, his ability to survive a snake-bite and to cure the sick – all these present Paul as a man full of divinely endowed gifts.16 Given Luke’s primary interest in the spread of the gospel, Paul’s arrival in Rome functions as the climax of the narrative, and no-one could miss the sense of triumph in the final scene, with Paul preaching for two whole years ἀκωλύτως (Acts 28.31). In 2 Timothy Paul is a more lonely hero, but a heroic figure nonetheless: he has successfully passed on the truth, and can point to his teaching, his conduct, and his suffering as an example for others who follow (2 Tim 3.10–11). In this last will and testament he announces the fulfilment of his tasks: “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith” (2 Tim 4.7). In 1 Clement Paul is again an exemplar: as a suffering preacher who has “taught righteousness to the whole world,” in east and west, he was finally “set free from this world…having become the greatest example of endurance” (5.7). Clement answers few if any of our historical questions because his Paul (and Peter) are first and foremost moral paradigms. The Martyrdom of Paul, the last part of the Acts of Paul, also presents Paul as an exemplary figure, but in a rather different mode. Here he is the paradigmatic martyr, whose death is described in detail as the climax of a fearless confrontation with the emperor. The success of Paul’s preaching is demonstrated by its penetration into the imperial household. By according Paul final speeches of testimony, the text articulates its understanding of a cosmic war between the kingdoms of this world and “the King of all ages.” This is a narrative forged in and for the experience of martyrdom at the hands of Roman agents, and it launches Paul on a long career as a martyr-saint, whose tomb and death-anniversary (June 29th) became widely celebrated and 16

For analysis, see, e.g., J.C. Lentz Jr., Luke’s Portrait of Paul (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993); M. Labahn, “Paulus – ein homo honestus et iustus. Das lukanische Paulusportrait von Act 27–28 im Lichte ausgewählter antiker Parallelen,” in Horn (ed.), Ende des Paulus, 75–106.

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commemorated to this day.17 As we have noted, the Roman location of these events soon became a significant factor in legitimizing the authority of the Roman church (Gaius apud Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 2.25.6). Although these representations of Paul’s end have a common interest in heroizing their subject, they produce strikingly varied images. The Paul of the Acts of Paul would fit very badly at the end of Acts, since his direct challenge to imperial power would destroy Luke’s portrait of the church’s general compatibility with Roman rule. In fact, the picture becomes impossibly confused when the sources are harmonized and one portrait is superimposed on another. One can watch Eusebius getting tangled in confusion at exactly this point (Hist. eccl. 2.22). He knows the ending of Acts, but he has also a tradition (λόγος) which has Paul continuing his ministry of preaching (he does not say where) after defending himself, and then returning to Rome to face martyrdom under Nero (2.22.2). As he makes clear, this narrative is dependent on a reading of 2 Timothy: there Eusebius found reference to “my first defence” followed by reference to the message being fully proclaimed in the hearing of all the nations, facts which are somehow correlated with Paul being “rescued from the lion’s mouth” (2 Tim 4.16–17). From these remarks a narrative is born of a first successful defence, then release, followed by more preaching, then a second imprisonment in Rome, during which Paul wrote 2 Timothy while awaiting his death. Since 2 Timothy refers to Luke’s presence (2 Tim 4.11), Eusebius has to connect this letter somehow with the end of Acts, concluding that Luke probably (εἰκότως) wrote Acts at just this time (2.22.6) – despite the fact that Luke says nothing of a first defence, of a release, of further preaching, or of a return to Rome! Eusebius has a historian’s instincts, trying to make coherent sense out of multiple sources, but the contradictions created by combining his sources illustrate perfectly how different and incompatible they actually are. The kaleidoscope of early Christian images of the last years of Paul cannot be harmonized into a single narrative. One further text illustrates another Christian interest in the final years of Paul. In the early chapters of the Acts of Peter (dating perhaps from the 3rd century CE), Paul is persuaded by his prison warder to leave Rome, and, after praying for guidance, sets off for Spain.18 Paul’s preaching is here significantly located as inhabiting a space between, and critical of, both Jews and Gentiles. Paul lambasts the Jews, on the grounds that “Christ…abrogated their Sabbath and their fasting and festivals and circumcision, and abolished the 17

See H.W. Tajra, The Martyrdom of St. Paul (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1994); H.G. Thümmel, Die Memorien für Petrus und Paulus in Rom: Die archäologischen Denkmäler und die literarische Tradition (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1999); Eastman, Paul, the Martyr. 18 See W. Rordorf, “The Relation between the Acts of Peter and the Acts of Paul: State of the Question,” in J.N. Bremmer (ed.), The Apocryphal Acts of Peter: Magic, Miracles and Gnosticism (Leuven: Peeters, 1998), 178–91.

Introduction

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teaching of men and other traditions” (1). But he also urges Gentiles to “abstain from your former works committed according to the tradition of your fathers” (2). Here the Christian message is triangulated with Judaism and paganism, and distinguished from them both (cf. The Epistle to Diognetus). Paul is here depicted not as the Jewish apostle to the Gentiles but as the preacher who confounds both Jews and Gentiles, proclaiming a new and universal message about the Son of God who “brought the light of grace to all the world” (2). How do our interests in the last years of Paul compare to the interests of these early Christian sources? As historians, we are interested in tracing and explaining precisely this production of early images of Paul, in all their diversity. As we pay increasing attention to reception history, we are learning to look not only through such sources, to see what they might tell us about “the historical Paul,” but at them as texts in their own right, as evidence for the emergence of “the Paul of faith,” the Paul imagined and heroized in legend. These cultural artefacts demonstrate the ways in which Paul lived on in history not only through his letters but also through a growing tradition of literature and popular imagination. In this sense, the death of Paul marked the beginning of a new productive phase in the construction of “Pauls,” starting with the deutero-Pauline letters and embroiled from the outset in controversy over the meaning of his legacy. Charting the variety of “Pauls” that emerged from this maelstrom is itself a fascinating and valuable form of enquiry.19 One might say that this volume is just the latest example in that long history of the construction of the image of Paul. The peculiar characteristic of modern Western scholarship is our fascination with history, as defined by Enlightenment canons of truth. This is why we keep pressing the sources with questions that they were not designed to answer, why we lose interest in Paul surviving a snake-bite on Malta but want to know exactly what happened to him after two years in Rome. To what extent we can substantiate, correlate, and supplement our sources is, of course, the critical question. This historical interest can serve present, local needs: the strong attraction to “St. Paul outside the Walls” in the recent year of Paul, and the location in Tarragona of the conference that underlies this volume, are obvious cases in point. But beyond the historians’ desire to fill in the gaps and verify the details, there are two major concerns that drive modern scholarship on our topic and for the sake of becoming more self-aware it is worth noting what these are.

19 For samples, see M. de Boer, “Images of Paul in the Post-Apostolic Period,” CBQ 42 (1980), 359–80; R. Pervo, The Making of Paul: Constructions of the Apostle in Early Christianity (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2010).

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(i) Our first point of interest is the relationship between Paul and his fellow Jews, and the role he played in holding together, or pulling apart, the nascent Christian movement and the larger body of Second Temple Judaism. The last years of Paul’s life brought these issues to a head. If the collection was designed to create unity between the Jewish church in Jerusalem and the Gentile churches in Asia and Greece, did it succeed or did it backfire? How was he received by “unbelieving” Jews in Jerusalem and Rome? How did his long-running contest with the competing Jewish-Christian mission to Gentiles end up? After declaring to the Romans his commitment to Israel (Rom 9–11), and after delicately designing a policy to protect the Jewish commitments of the “weak” in Rome (Rom 14–15), how was Paul received by Jewish Christians in Rome and did his presence there serve to unify or to split the Roman churches?20 Our interests in Paul’s relation with Jews overlap with those of Luke, whose depiction of Paul’s exasperation with Jews in Rome (Acts 28.23–28) continues to be hotly debated.21 Did Paul succeed in provoking Jews here or elsewhere into “jealousy” of the Gentile riches in Christ (Rom 11.11, 14), or did he antagonize them further and make yet harder the fulfilment of his vision of the salvation of all Israel (Rom 11.25–32)? How did it come about that Nero, according to Tacitus, was able to pick out “Christians” after the fire of Rome, treating them as a category quite different from Jews (Tacitus, Ann. 15.44)?22 Did Paul’s trial in Rome and the circumstances of his death have anything to do with this? (ii) The second relevant concern in recent scholarship is Paul’s relationship to the Roman authorities. Here our interests overlap with those of both Luke and the author of the Martyrdom of Paul, although, as we have noted, their perspectives are very diverse. The current wave of interest in the “political” Paul (liberationist, postcolonial, or anti-empire) is apt to press hard on a set of questions swirling around Paul’s last years.23 How did the Roman authorities view Paul and the Christian movement he represented? If they viewed him as a threat, on what grounds did they do so, and did their perceptions correspond at all to the essence of the Christian movement? How did Paul view himself and his churches in relation to Rome? Was Roman power 20

On Paul’s policy in Romans 14–15, see J.M.G. Barclay, “‘Do we Undermine the Law?’ A Study of Romans 14.1–15.6,” in J.D.G. Dunn (ed.), Paul and the Mosaic Law (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1996), 287–308. 21 On the Jews in Rome at this point, see the essays by Niebuhr and Gruen below. 22 On Roman perceptions of “Christians,” see J.G. Cook, Roman Attitudes Toward the Christians (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010). 23 There are many kinds of current “political” Paul. For a sample, see B. Kahl, Galatians Re-imagined: Reading with the Eyes of the Vanquished (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2010); C. Stanley (ed.), The Colonized Apostle: Paul through Postcolonial Eyes (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2011); N.T. Wright, Paul and the Faithfulness of God (London: SPCK, 2013).

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and the imperial cult of especial significance to him or were they simply a symptom of the powers of “this age”?24 Would he have been surprised or delighted if he was beheaded by a Roman authority, when it wielded that sword which he had assured the Romans was carried by God-given authorities for the punishment of evil (Rom 13.4)? What exactly was Paul accused of doing, and why was some Roman judge convinced that he was guilty? What were the implications of his execution for other Christians in Rome, both Jewish and Gentile? Our interest in such questions is driven by contemporary concerns, by current Jewish-Christian relations, and by a large set of political questions facing the contemporary Christian church. There may well be other deep reasons why we are now, in our generation, putting such resources into discussing the last years of Paul. But it is best to remain conscious of what questions we are asking and why we are asking them – as also of the questions we are not asking, and why.

C. The Last Years of Paul: What Kind of End? As I have noted, the early Christian sources tend to portray the last years of Paul, including his death, as a narrative of triumph and success – the “crowning” of a heroic life of witness (2 Tim 4.6–8). As historical critics, we are entitled to challenge that image and to ask whether, in fact, Paul’s life ended in disappointment and failure. The following reconstruction explores how that might have looked. As we have noted, it is reasonable to take Luke’s silence about the fate of Paul’s collection project as suspicious: in all likelihood, the money was rejected by the Jerusalem believers, as Paul had feared (Rom 15.30–31). The money he brought to Jerusalem came tainted not only by his presence but by its association with Gentile churches which had not been properly inducted into the observance of God’s Law, unlike, perhaps, the congregations in Galatia who may have broken with Paul under the influence of his rivals (cf. Rom 15.25; 1 Cor 16.1). The collection thus represented a development in the Christian movement which powerful figures in the Jerusalem church (like the “people from James” who came to Antioch, Gal 2.11–14) did not recognize as legitimate, and considered highly dangerous. In antiquity, as today, the receipt of a gift was a sign of friendship, its rejection a mark of distance or outright hostility. Luke suggests the sort of things being said about Paul among believers in Jerusalem (Acts 21.21), and it seems that Paul was regarded by 24

See J.M.G. Barclay, “Why the Roman Empire was Insignificant to Paul,” in Pauline Churches and Diaspora Jews (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011), 363–87.

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many as not only an illegitimate apostle to the Gentiles but an apostate Jew.25 The implications are enormous. The collection that Paul had taken so many years, and so such trouble, to muster ended in failure. His vision of reciprocity between Gentile and Jewish believers (Rom 15.25–27) ended in nothing, while his hopes that the Jerusalem saints, on receiving the collection, would “long for you and pray for you” (2 Cor 9.14) were dashed. The church in Jerusalem did not recognize Paul’s work. Against his intentions he had set up a second church parallel to, and independent of, Jerusalem-based Jewish Christianity. In social terms the Gentile believers in Paul’s churches were not grafted onto a common tree (Rom 11.17–24). They constituted a separate plant, enjoying no fellowship with Jerusalem-focused Judaeo-Christians. Paul’s social intentions and theological vision had failed.26 At the same time, Paul received an extremely hostile reaction from the Jewish authorities in Jerusalem, who took him to be a turncoat who had mischievously blurred the boundary between Jews and non-Jews. Of course, Paul had received a hostile reaction from non-believing Jews elsewhere, but this time it was more serious and more decisive: now not just local Diaspora authorities, but the central institutional authorities of the Jewish nation repudiated him and the message that he preached. This brought not only himself but also the Jerusalem Christians into serious danger – another reason for the latter to disown him. As far as Paul was concerned, the authorities’ repudiation of his Christ-preaching can have only deepened and strengthened the sadness he expressed in Romans 9–11. “I have great sorrow and unceasing anguish in my heart,” he writes when on the point of going to Jerusalem (Rom 9.2): it can only have got worse once there. Far from provoking Jews to “jealousy” (Rom 11.11, 14), he precipitates a wholesale rejection of his gospel from authorities high enough to initiate or condone his removal from the scene. That the cut-off branches would be “grafted in again,” that the Redeemer would “come from Zion,” that “all Israel would be saved” (Rom 11.24, 26) – all of that must have looked even more remote after the debacle in Jerusalem, which seriously damaged the progress of the mission among Jews. What is more, Paul came to the attention of the Roman governor, in a highly sensitive location, as a trouble-maker liable to cause a public disturbance (Acts 24–26). This time the authorities which he assumed were appointed by God to promote the good (Rom 13.1–7) were not going to live up to his expectations. “And so we came to Rome” (Acts 28.14), not on a mission trajectory headed for Spain, but as a prisoner with very little freedom of movement. On this reading of the evidence, Paul never fulfilled his dream of getting to 25

See J.M.G. Barclay, “Paul among Diaspora Jews: Anomaly or Apostate?,” JSNT 60 (1995), 89–120. 26 See Schnelle, Apostle Paul, 362 (ET: Paulus, 402): “The founding epoch of early Christianity comes to its end not with unity but division.”

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Spain: he had appealed to Caesar, and Roman justice put paid to his mission plans. What is more, his arrival in Rome only caused division and disaster for the Roman believers. Paul had hoped to be “refreshed” by fellowship with the Roman Christians (Rom 15.32), and had crafted his letter to Rome to bring about mutual recognition between Torah-observant and non-observant members of the churches in the city (Romans 14–15). It did not work. If we place the writing of Philippians in Rome we have evidence that Paul’s presence caused division among Roman believers, with some desperate to distance themselves from him and to make his situation worse (Phil 1.15–17). If the reference to “jealousy and strife” in 1 Clement 5.5 is relevant, it also may allude to this repudiation of Paul by Roman believers. We can understand why. Paul’s reading of the story of Christ could be construed as undermining the identity of Jewish believers in Rome (perhaps the majority in the churches there), and a person like Paul who identifies himself as a Jew but causes controversy with every influential pagan he weans from “idolatry” is bound to upset the delicate social compact by which Jews were tolerated in Rome.27 As we know from Tacitus, Jews caused the greatest offence when they won converts and upset the Roman mos maiorum (Hist. 5.5). Paul was notorious for doing just that, and the Jewish community had an interest in disowning him. As Paul says, it was becoming clear that his imprisonment was “in Christ” (Phil 1.13), that is, caused by a peculiar and distinct allegiance to “Christos” and not out of general observance of the Jewish way of life. He thus brought to the attention of the Roman authorities that there was a movement one could call “Christians,” which had originated in Palestine but was not a brand of Judaism and was vigorously renounced by Jewish authorities both in Jerusalem and in Rome. Christianity became, in Roman eyes, a “deadly superstition” (Tacitus, Ann. 15.44), not an ethnic heritage: there was no need to give it the respect due to an ancestral tradition. The result was disastrous not only for Paul but for all Christians in Rome and beyond. Paul was convicted and executed perhaps in 62 CE, either for seditio or for maiestas in relation to the emperor.28 Second Timothy may be right that he died without local support, deserted by the Christian community in Rome which was hostile to him or afraid to associate itself with him (2 Tim 4.16–18). His Gentile mission had not been completed in its extension to Spain, his churches were not recognized by Jerusalem, and Israel was further from, not nearer to, faith in Christ. But the knock-on effect of his execution was even more profound. As a citizen’s appeal, Paul’s case attracted attention 27 On the reasons for the hostility shown towards Paul by Diaspora Jews, see M. Goodman, “The Persecution of Paul by Diaspora Jews,” in Goodman, Judaism in the Roman World: Collected Essays (Leiden: Brill, 2007), 145–52. 28 Of course, this is one reading of the evidence; for a full discussion of the alternatives, see the essays below.

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in Rome, where his repudiation by Jewish authorities revealed the existence of a previously unknown but antisocial “superstition.” Two years later (64 CE), when Nero wanted plausible scapegoats for the fire of Rome, Christians, exposed by the trial of Paul, were obvious suspects. A new era had begun, with Romans identifying “Christians” as distinct from Jews, and labelling them a criminal element in the population. Senators in Rome, who later became provincial governors, were bound to take notice. Paul’s death was thus the catalyst for a long history of Roman suspicion and occasional persecution of Christians. When Paul went down, he inadvertently took with him many generations of Christians to come.29 The last years of Paul’s life could therefore be categorized as a saga of disappointment and failure. How did Paul take that? If Philippians was written in Rome, not long before he died, we find Paul inured to things not working out as he had hoped, ready to die or to be released, and hard pressed to choose between the two (Phil 1.19–26). Despite the disappointments of the last few years and despite his present predicament, Paul professes to be full of joy. “Call no man happy before he dies”: he may not be “happy” in the sense of fortunate, but his mood is certainly cheerful. So how does one measure failure or success? Paul is content so long as Christ is being preached (1.15– 18). He had no conception that this would continue indefinitely, or at least for another 2000 years (cf. Phil 4.5). But the fact that scholars, church leaders, and civic authorities gathered to open the conference which spawned these papers, in a city (Tarragona) still proud to associate itself with Paul, could be taken as a token of his unexpected, long-term success. But we should not let hindsight cloud our historical vision. The last years of Paul were peculiarly traumatic, and many projects that he had hoped would come to fruition fell dramatically apart. That at least is one, deliberately provocative, reading of the evidence. The rest of the essays in this volume will probe, elucidate, and interpret such evidence, reaching conclusions of their own.

29

Cf. R Lane Fox, Pagans and Christians (London: Penguin, 1986), 430–34: “We have seen, then, how the Romans came to distinguish Christians from Jews. Riots and disturbances in the Jewish communities did not suffice to alert them. To draw the distinction, the Emperor or his judges in Rome had to hear a Christian who was accused of conduct ‘contrary to Caesar.’ By a chapter of accidents, the first Christian in this position was Paul: his defence and sentence brought about the new age of persecution” (433–34).

The Jerusalem Collection and Paul’s Missionary Project: Collection and Mission in Romans 15.14–32 Reimund Bieringer Paul’s collection1 for the “saints” in Jerusalem belongs to the most underestimated aspects of the apostle’s ministry.2 It also belongs to the most difficult 1 In this paper we use the term “collection” knowing full well that λογεία (“collection of money”) which Paul uses in 1 Cor 16.1–2 is only one of the many terms which he uses for this activity and which mostly have much stronger theological overtones. 2 We consider this to be true despite the fact that a fair amount of specialized literature has been published on the collection. Without any ambition to be exhaustive, we list the following: C.H. Buck, Jr., “The Collection for the Saints,” HTR 43 (1950): 1–29; D. Georgi, Remembering the Poor: The History of Paul's Collection for Jerusalem (trans. I. Racz; Nashville: Abingdon, 1992; German orig. 1965); K.F. Nickle, The Collection. A Study in Paul's Strategy (London: SCM, 1966); K. Berger, “Almosen für Israel. Zum historischen Kontext der paulinischen Kollekte,” NTS 23 (1976–77): 180–204; L.W. Hurtado, “The Jerusalem Collection and the Book of Galatians,” JSNT 5 (1979): 46–62; J. Eckert, “Die Kollekte des Paulus für Jerusalem,” in P.-G. Müller and W. Stenger (eds.), Kontinuität und Einheit. FS Franz Mußner (Freiburg: Herder, 1981), 65–80; W. Schmithals, “Die Kollekten des Paulus für Jerusalem,” in C. Breytenbach (ed.), Paulus, die Evangelien und das Urchristentum. FS Walter Schmithals (Leiden: Brill, 2004), 78–106; J. Gnilka, “Die Kollekte der paulinischen Gemeinden für Jerusalem als Ausdruck ekklesialer Gemeinschaft,” in R. Kampling and T. Söding (eds.), Ekklesiologie des Neuen Testaments. Für Karl Kertelge (Freiburg: Herder, 1996), 301–15; B. Beckheuer, Paulus und Jerusalem. Kollekte und Mission im theologischen Denken des Heidenapostels (Frankfurt: Peter Lang, 1997); S. Joubert, Paul as Benefactor: Reciprocity, Strategy and Theological Reflection in Paul's Collection (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2000); K. O'Mahony, Pauline Persuasion: A Sounding in 2 Corinthians 8-9 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2000); S.-K. Wan, “Collection for the Saints as Anticolonial Act: Implications of Paul's Ethnic Reconstruction,” in R.A. Horsley (ed.), Paul and Politics: Ekklesia, Israel, Imperium, Interpretation (Harrisburg: Trinity Press International, 2000), 191–215; K. Byung-Mo, Die paulinische Kollekte (Tübingen: Francke, 2002); A.J.M. Wedderburn, “Paul's Collection: Chronology and History,” NTS 48 (2002): 95–110; D.J. Downs, “Paul's Collection and the Book of Acts Revisited,” NTS 52 (2006): 50–70; D.J. Downs, “‘The Offering of the Gentiles’ in Romans 15.16,” JSNT 29 (2006): 173–86; D.J. Downs, The Offering of the Gentiles: Paul's Collection for Jerusalem in its Chronological, Cultural, and Cultic Contexts (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2008); S.J. Friesen, “Paul and Economics: The Jerusalem Collection as an Alternative to Patronage,” in M.D. Given (ed.),

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aspects to understand. Both the historical reconstruction of the collection, its origin, realization and delivery, and its theological interpretation continue to puzzle researchers. In this book, Michel Quesnel focuses on the collection from the perspective of 2 Corinthians 8–9, while I shall delve into the understanding of the collection that emerges from Romans 15.14–32. As the title says, I shall focus on the place or function of the collection in the missionary project of Paul. While this seems to be an obvious question to which many scholars allude, it is a very difficult issue if one wants to go beyond some superficial remarks.3 This study consists of two parts. In the first we shall examine the major models which were proposed in scholarship to interpret the collection for the implicit or explicit connections with Paul’s missionary project. In the second part we shall investigate the link between collection and mission in light of Romans 15.14–32.

A. Scholarly Models of Interpreting the Collection and their Implications for Mission Recent studies of the collection usually distinguish several interpretations of the collection in previous research. In his 2008 monograph on the collection, David Downs subdivides his inventory of the various positions into four types, namely, the collection as an “eschatological event,” as an “obligation,” as an “ecumenical offering,” and as “material relief.”4 Analyzing the scholarly positions concerning the collection in light of their connection with Paul’s missionary project, we arrived at a different categorization. We distinguish three major clusters of positions. The first cluster consists of interpretations which understand the collection independently of the Paul’s mission project. The second cluster assigns to the collection a function in the aftermath of the agreements of the Jerusalem “council” concerning the way Gentile-Christians and Jewish-Christians form one faith community. Finally,

Paul Unbound (Peabody: Hendrickson, 2010), 24–54; J.M. Ogereau, “The Jerusalem Collection as Κοινωνία: Paul's Global Politics of Socio-Economic Equality and Solidarity,” NTS 58 (2012): 360–78. 3 Cf. Eckert, “Kollekte,” 65: “So eindeutig es einerseits ist, daß Paulus der Sammlung für Jerusalem in seinem Missionswerk einen besonderen Stellenwert eingeräumt hat…so schwierig ist es andererseits, die Motivation des Apostels und die Beurteilung dieses Unternehmens in der Kirche seiner Zeit im einzelnen zu erheben.” 4 Downs, Offering (2008), 3–26. Cf. Kim, Die paulinische Kollekte, 149–60 who distinguishes the following four models: temple tax, charity, pilgrimage of the nations, and almsgiving.

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the third cluster of positions focuses on Paul’s alleged attempts to evangelize the Jews who had not yet accepted the gospel. We shall discuss these three clusters of positions in more detail now. I. The Collection as Unrelated to Paul’s Missionary Project In this first subdivision we shall discuss positions which stress the economic or material(ist) dimension of the collection. This is the most obvious interpretation of the collection which is also the “traditional viewpoint.”5 This position is based on an understanding of οἱ πτωχοί in Gal 2.10 and Rom 15.26 (cf. 2 Cor 8.9) as an economic term referring to a group of people in need of help and not as a self-designation of the Jerusalem community.6 This position simply understands the collection as material relief and, as such, as part of early Christian charity geared towards “providing financial assistance to relieve the pressing needs of the poor.”7 While this traditional position lost plausibility at some point, it has recently gained more prevalence again in the wake of materialist readings of the New Testament.8 Moreover, in the context of the scholarly debate on the economic status of the members of the Pauline communities, Justin Meggitt understood the collection as an example of the survival strategy of “mutualism.”9 It would lead us too far afield to enter more deeply into this discussion. In our context it is only important to note that there are longstanding positions which simply related the collection to Christian charity, but did not spontaneously link the collection with Paul’s missionary project.

5

S. McKnight, “Collection for the Saints,” in G.F. Hawthorne and R.P. Martin (eds.), Dictionary of Paul and His Letters (Downers Grove: Intervarsity Press, 1993) 143–47, esp. 145. 6 For a detailed study of this problem, see B. Longenecker, Remember the Poor: Paul, Poverty, and the Greco-Roman World (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2010), 157–82 and 183–206 who argues against the link between “the poor” and the Jerusalem community. The view that “the poor” was a title for the Jerusalem community was defended among others by K. Holl, “Der Kirchenbegriff des Paulus in seinem Verhältnis zu dem der Urgemeinde,” in K.H. Rengstorf (ed.), Das Paulusbild in der neueren deutschen Forschung (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1964; orig. publ.: 1921, 1928), 144–78, esp. 166–67 (59–60). 7 Nickle, Collection, 100. 8 See, for instance, Longenecker, Remember the Poor, 157–82. 9 J.J. Meggitt, Paul, Poverty and Survival (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1998), 158. Cf. Downs, Offering (2008), 23 who states that Meggitt identifies “the collection for Jerusalem as the chief example of the practice of mutualism among the early Church communities.”

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II. The Collection as Related to the Mission to the Gentiles The majority of scholars understands the collection for Jerusalem as part of Paul’s mission among the gentiles. As such it is seen in close relationship to the Jerusalem “council” and its decisions. Here Gal 2.10 plays a central role for the interpretation of the collection. The proponents of this position interpret 2.9–10 as Paul’s report of the results of the Jerusalem “council”10 where his mission to the uncircumcised was acknowledged and only one request was given to him, namely, µόνον τῶν πτωχῶν ἵνα µνηµονεύωµεν, ὃ καὶ ἐσπούδασα αὐτὸ τοῦτο ποιῆσαι. In light of this stipulation, all the positions which belong to this cluster have in common that the collection plays a role in Paul’s mission to the gentiles. The collection is either seen as an obligation of the gentile Christians to the mother church in Jerusalem as a way of facilitating their integration into the church or as a free gift of the gentile Christians to express the unity and partnership in a church consisting of uncircumcised and circumcised people. 1. Obligation to the Mother Church This position is not only built on the above mentioned interpretation of Gal 2.10, but also more specifically on the view that “the poor” in this verse is a technical term for the entire Jerusalem church.11 Accoring to Karl Holl, the Jerusalem church enjoyed “ein gewisses Besteuerungsrecht über die ganze Kirche.”12 The collection is then seen as the gentile churches’ contribution to this taxation which they do not give voluntarily, but as an obligation. Supporters of this position also find evidence for the obligatory nature in the expressions ὀφειλέται εἰσὶν αὐτῶν and ὀφείλουσιν in Rom 15.27. Several scholars suggested that this right of taxation was modeled after the temple tax.13 Moreover, some scholars suggest that the financial contribution was seen at the time as an identity marker which was to take the place of circumcision.14 10 For a defender of the position that understands the poor to belong to the Jerusalem community see, for instance, H.D. Betz, Galatians: A Commentary on Paul’s Letter to the Churches in Galatia (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1979), 102. For a historical overview of the interpretation of οἱ πτωχοί, see Longenecker, Remember the Poor, 157–82. 11 See especially Holl, “Der Kirchenbegriff,” 167 (60). 12 Holl, “Der Kirchenbegriff,” 164–70. See 168: “es handelt sich doch um eine richtige Auflage, die den Heidenchristen von der Muttergemeinde gemacht wird” und “…so sind auch die Heidengemeinden es schuldig, zum Unterhalt der Muttergemeinden beizutragen.” 13 Nickle, Collection, 74–93; Wan, “Collection,” 201–03; M.J. Harris, The Second Epistle to the Corinthians: A Commentary on the Greek Text (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2005), 94–96. 14 See J.D.G. Dunn, The Partings of the Ways between Christianity and Judaism and Their Significance for the Character of Christianity (London: SCM, 1991) 84–85.

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There are, however, serious problems with this position. Paul also stresses the voluntary character of the participation in the collection (see the double use of εὐδόκησαν in Rom 15.26–27; cf. also 1 Cor 16.1–4 and 2 Corinthians 8–9). In addition, the collection is organized as a one-time event, not an annual contribution and the amount is not legally fixed, but freely determined by each person according to their means (see 2 Cor 8.3, 8, 10 et al.).15 A second, very different type of position uses the ancient Mediterranean social model of benefaction to interpret the obligation which is believed to be at the origin of the collection. Stephan Joubert, using the concept of a “reciprocal relationship”16 of “benefit exchange,”17 states that the leaders of the Jerusalem church offered Paul a benefaction by recognizing his preaching of the gospel to the gentiles which put him under obligation of reciprocating (cf. Rom 15.27)18 which he did by organizing the collection.19 The positions that consider the collection as the response of Paul or his gentile communities to a religious or social obligation see Paul’s missionary project of preaching the gospel to the gentiles as heavily indebted to the Jewish-Christian mother community in Jerusalem. Even though the Jerusalem church recognized Paul’s own missionary project, it continued to assert its primacy religiously (temple tax) or socially (benefaction). However, much of the evidence in the letters of Paul does not confirm this position, and a significant part of the evidence explicitly contradicts it. This will become clear in the following subsection. 2. Free Gift by the Gentile-Christian Churches to Express Unity The proponents of this position agree with those of the previous position over the conviction that the collection is intended to deal with the new situation that was created by the decisions taken at the Jerusalem “council.” However, they take seriously the texts in which Paul emphasizes the voluntary nature of the collection. Klaus Berger was the first to point to the tradition of

15

See Downs, Offering (2008), 11. Joubert, Paul as Benefactor, 151. 17 Joubert, Paul as Benefactor, 217. See also 116–53. 18 Joubert, Paul as Benefactor, 150–51. 19 Joubert, Paul as Benefactor, 116–53, esp. 151. Building on Joubert’s work, J.R. Harrison, Paul’s Language of Grace in its Graeco-Roman Context (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2003), 294–332, esp. 324 tries to understand χάρις and with it also the collection in terms of the Hellenistic reciprocity system. Cf. also B. Holmberg, Paul and Power. The Structure of Authority in the Primitive Church as Reflected in the Pauline Epistles (Lund: Gleerup, 1978) 35–43. 16

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redemptive almsgiving in Judaism as the model for the interpretation of the collection.20 According to him, by giving alms to Jerusalem the gentile Christians imitate the God-fearers who use almsgiving to substitute for circumcision. Josef Hainz emphasizes the unifying nature of the collection resulting in partnership between the gentile-Christian and the Jewish-Christian communities.21 He bases his views on the presence of the word κοινωνία in the verse that precedes the stipulation of the collection in Gal 2.9, and in more explicit references to the collection itself in 2 Cor 8.4, 9.13, and Rom 15.26. It is notable that several scholars not only see the unifying effect of the collection for the relationship between the Jewish-Christian and the gentile-Christian churches, but also for the gentile-Christian churches among each other. For Michael Wolter the so-called collection was a relief fund that Paul interpreted theologically along the lines of the friendship ethos of antiquity.22 Wolter sees evidence for his position in Paul’s use of friendship terminology when he speaks about the collection (κοινωνία,23 remembering in Gal 2.10; longing to see the friends in 2 Cor 9.14, equality among the friends in 2 Cor 8.13–14, and χάρις as reciprocal giving of gifts). Wolter concludes that the purpose of the collection is not the salvific primacy of Jerusalem, but reciprocal friendship. The positions which we presented in this subsection see the gentileChristian Pauline churches as equal to the Jewish-Christian church in Jerusalem.24 The collection is not seen as Paul’s paying tribute to the primacy of the mother church, but as motivated by Paul’s concern for ongoing unity and partnership of his churches with the church in Jerusalem. The emphasis is here on Gal 2.10b: ὃ καὶ ἐσπούδασα αὐτὸ τοῦτο ποιῆσαι.

20

Berger, “Almosen für Israel,” 180–204. For a similar position, see Eckert, “Kollekte,” 68–69. Recently this position found support from Kim, Die paulinische Kollekte. 21 J. Hainz, KOINONIA. “Kirche” als Gemeinschaft bei Paulus (Regensburg: Pustet, 1982), 123–61. 22 M. Wolter, Paulus. Ein Grundriss seiner Theologie (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 2011), 41–43. 23 Wolter does not give any justification for understanding κοινωνία as friendship terminology, which can hardly be taken for granted. See, e.g., D. Konstan, Friendship in the Classical World (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), 70 n.22. 24 We find this clearly stated in Eckert, “Kollekte,” 80: “Nicht zuletzt ist die Jerusalemkollekte ein Zeichen dafür, daß die in Christus geschenkte Einheit und Gleichheit zwischen Judenchristen und Heidenchristen stärker waren als die Verschiedenheit aufgrund der unterschiedlichen religiösen Herkunft und aktueller Differenzen im Bekenntnis. Sie ist ein Zeugnis für die gegenseitige Anerkennung.”

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As we saw, the positions which we analyzed in section II see the collection as part of the solution of problems which were caused by the fact that Paul founded churches in which the gentile members were not required to be circumcised.25 In this context some scholars focus more on the implications for the Jerusalem church, others more on the implications for the Pauline communities. The third and last position which we will study differs fundamentally from the previous ones. III. The Collection as Related to the Mission to the “Unbelieving” Jews According to the proponents of the third interpretation of the Jerusalem collection, this undertaking was not intended to ascertain the unity of the early church, but to convert the so-called “unbelieving” Jews. The model that is used for this interpretation is the eschatological pilgrimage of the nations to Jerusalem according to the prophets (Isa 2.2–4; 60.5; Mic 4.1–2). Here the focus is no longer on the origin nor on the actual collection, but on its delivery in Jerusalem. Proponents of this position are convinced that the stipulation of the Jerusalem pillars to remember the poor in Gal 2.10 is not the origin or at least not the direct origin of Paul’s collection among the gentile churches. In fact the collection as such recedes into the background and gives way to the delegation which went to Jerusalem to hand over the collection. Reading the long list of traveling companions in Acts 20.4 in light of 1 Cor 16.3–4 and 2 Cor 8.16–24, the proponents of this position suggest that Paul, by bringing representatives of the different contributing communities to Jerusalem, intended a provocation of the “unbelieving” Jews. According to Johannes Munck, the delegation from Paul’s churches that accompanied him to Jerusalem represented “the full number of the Gentiles” (Rom 11.25). “It is [Paul’s] intention to save the Jews by making them jealous of the Gentiles, who are accepting the gospel in great numbers.”26

25

Cf. also Eckert, “Kollekte,” 71: “Die Kollekte als Zeichen der heilsgeschichtlichen Verbundenheit zwischen den Heidenchristen und der Jerusalemer Gemeinde als der Mitte der Judenchristenheit war um so sinnvoller, da das Apostelkonzil bei aller Bejahung der Koinonia eine Trennung der Missionsbemühungen vorsah (vgl. Gal 2,9).” 26 J. Munck, Paul and the Salvation of Mankind (Atlanta: John Knox, 1959), 303. Similar Georgi, Remembering the Poor, 117–18; see esp. 118: “A program of this kind was bound to become a provocation. To judge by Romans 11:11-24, more than being simply aware of this, Paul had made it his declared intent. He hoped that his mission among the Gentiles and their conversion to the Christ faith right in front of the Jews would have the effect of a permanent ‘irritation’ to the Jews, and that the salvation of the latter would eventually result from that irritation.” See also Nickle, Collection, 137 who states succinctly: “Paul had embodied his desire for the conversion of Israel within his collection project.”

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However, this position has many weaknesses and requires its proponents to postulate an “audacious alteration” of the prophetic pilgrimage of the nations concept. Downs lists four of problematic aspects:27 First, Paul never refers to or uses prophetic pilgrimage texts when he speaks about the collection. Second, Downs doubts that Paul’s traveling companions could have been intended as representing a pilgrimage of the nations to Jerusalem. He objects to the way Acts 20.4 is conflated with 1 Cor 16.3–4 and 2 Cor 8.16–24. Third, the collection was not intended for the Jerusalem temple,28 but for the poor in the Jewish-Christian church of Jerusalem (Rom 15.25). And fourth, there is no evidence of an “eschatological provocation.”29 IV. The Collection in Light of a Combination of Different Interpretations At the end of this overview of the various interpretations of the collection which have been proposed in recent scholarship, we need to point out that not all the scholars consider these positions as mutually exclusive. In his 1966 monograph, Keith F. Nickle defended a combination of three interpretations, one from each cluster. According to him, initially the collection started as “an act of Christian charity.”30 After the decision of the Jerusalem council the dimension of unity among the different early Christian groups was added and the model of the temple tax was used to achieve unity.31 Finally, Paul arrived at the interpretation of the collection as part of the eschatological pilgrimage to Jerusalem.32 More recently David Downs also interprets the collection as a complex combination of different interpretations. He also considers help for the poor to be the foundational level. “A primary purpose of the Pauline collection was to provide financial assistance to a destitute segment of the Jerusalem church.”33 Downs also studies the collection in light of the phenomenon of benefaction and voluntary associations and concludes: “This system of pagan benefaction provides an appropriate socio-cultural context for Paul’s efforts to organize a relief fund for the Jerusalem church.”34 From the practice of benefaction in voluntary associations Downs learns that gift-giving had the effect of fostering unity among the members. The last level that Downs brings to bear on the collection is that of the conceptual metaphors of cultic worship and harvest.

27

Downs, Offering (2008), 5–9. Downs, Offering (2008), 8. 29 Downs, Offering (2008), 9. 30 Nickle, Collection, 100–11. 31 Nickle, Collection, 111–29. 32 Nickle, Collection, 129–42. 33 Downs, Offering (2008), 161. 34 Downs, Offering (2008), 163. 28

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Both metaphors are explained as having the function of making sure that the praise for the benefaction does not go to human benefactors, but “to God, the one from whom all benefactions come.”35 Our overview of the scholarly debate on the Jerusalem collection and its relations to the missionary project of Paul has brought to light that some scholars see no connection at all and simply understand the collection as material relief for the poor in the Jerusalem church. As such, it is seen as an act of Christian charity. The majority of scholars, however, is convinced that the collection played an important role in Paul’s missionary project concerning the integration of the Gentiles into the community with the Jewish Christians. They either see the collection from the perspective of the Jerusalem church as a religiously motivated right of taxation according to the model of the temple tax, or they consider it as a social obligation in light of the Mediterranean social model of benefaction. Others see the collection from the perspective of Paul and the Gentile Christian churches as a free gift to express unity and partnership to make up for the separation or division that is the result of what these scholars consider to be the “law-free” gospel of Paul. The models here are either almsgiving or koinonia (partnership). Finally, a certain number of scholars understand the collection as having a role in Paul’s alleged effort to convert the so-called “unbelieving” Jews by provoking them to jealousy. The prevalent model here is the pilgrimage of the nations to Jerusalem. The great variety of positions which we surveyed are the result of selective reading of the texts and of privileging one verse or passage over another, as we have seen in our overview above. We express this criticism knowing full well that in a matter as complex as the collection texts it is almost impossible to give due weight to all the texts. In our second part we shall concentrate on Rom 15.14–32 since this is the text which contains the most important statements that are related to the question of the relationship between the collection and Paul’s missionary project.

B. Collection and Mission in Light of Romans 15.14–32 In Rom 15.14–32 Paul reaches the end of his letter. This is an occasion for him to look back at what he tried to accomplish in this letter. “But partly I wrote to you rather boldly to remind you [of certain things]” (15.15). The reason why Paul feels entitled to write to the Romans in this way is the “grace” given to him by God, an expression which is used elsewhere to refer to Paul’s mission to the Gentiles (cf. Gal 2.9) and which is spelled out in Rom 15.16. In the following verses, Paul focuses the attention of his readers on the phase of 35

Downs, Offering (2008), 163.

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his missionary work that he has accomplished, from Jerusalem to Illyricum, and the next phase that he is preparing, Spain. In between these two, he announces a visit to Jerusalem. The passage 15.14–32 can be subdivided into two units, 15.14–21 and 15.22–32. The main reason for this subdivision is the focus on coming to Rome in 15.22–32 expressed in the frequent occurrence of the phrase “to come to you” (15.22, 23, 29, 32; cf. 15.28). I. Romans 15.14–21 In Rom 15.14–21 Paul focuses on the “grace” which was given to him by God and which was the reason for him to write the letter to the Romans and to write boldly in some regards. Then Paul goes on to describe what his mission consists of and how Christ accomplished this mission in him between Jerusalem and Illyricum. Finally, Paul mentions with much emphasis his missionary principle which he describes as an ambition and for which he gives a scriptural motivation from Isa 52.15, namely, that he refuses to proclaim the gospel where it had already been proclaimed by others. According to most interpreters there is no reference to the collection in Rom 15.14–21. However, recently David Downs has interpreted ἵνα γένηται ἡ προσφορὰ τῶν ἐθνῶν εὐπρόσδεκτος in 15.16c as referring to the collection. He reads τῶν ἐθνῶν as a subjective genitive, understanding it as “the offering which the Gentiles make.” While there may be good reasons for the subjective genitive,36 to read ἡ προσφορὰ τῶν ἐθνῶν as meaning the collection seems difficult to uphold in the literary context. The main reason is the function of ἵνα γένηται ἡ προσφορὰ τῶν ἐθνῶν εὐπρόσδεκτος in the context. It is a purpose clause (ἵνα) of a general description of Paul’s mission to the Gentiles, the grace to be “a minister to the Gentiles serving the gospel of God as a priest” (15.16). The purpose of Paul’s priestly ministry of the gospel to the Gentiles can hardly be limited to the collection, even if it is likely to include the collection. In view of “for the obedience of the Gentiles” (εἰς ὑπακοὴν ἐθνῶν) in 15.18c (cf. “for the obedience of faith among all the Gentiles,” εἰς ὑπακοὴν πίστεως ἐν πᾶσιν τοῖς ἔθνεσιν in 1.5), I would rather suggest that “the offering of the Gentiles” (ἡ προσφορὰ τῶν ἐθνῶν) is their obedience of faith.

36 Before Downs, there were others who defended this position: e.g., A.-M. Denis, “La fonction apostolique et la liturgie nouvelle en Esprit- Etude thématique des métaphores pauliniennes du culte nouveau,” RSPT 42 (1958): 401–36, esp. 405–06: “Cependant l’emploi avec un génitif subjectif, offrande de celui qui offre, existe aussi et de façon bien naturelle (22). Ce serait par ailleurs un cas bien rare que les chrétiens de S. Paul soient considérés comme passivement offerts par lui (23). D’autre part, en général et encore au v. 18, l’évangélisation doit avoir comme conséquence et comme but, la foi, un acte positif mis en parallèle en ce v. 18 avec l’offrande, conséquence elle-même, au v.

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Due to the reference to the priestly ministry (ἱερουργοῦντα37) in the previous clause, it seems more likely that in the expression “the offering of the Gentiles” the one who brings the offering is Paul, which would imply that “of the Gentiles” (τῶν ἐθνῶν) is an objective genitive. But then the question arises how Paul can offer the Gentiles as a priest. I suggest that “of the Gentiles” is an elliptic form of “of the obedience of faith of Gentiles.” We see support for this view in the phrase “for the obedience of the Gentiles” (εἰς ὑπακοὴν ἐθνῶν) in 15.18c. This is probably not as farfetched as it may seem at first sight. For the expression “the offering of the Gentiles” (ἡ προσφορὰ τῶν ἐθνῶν) in 15.16c is taken up again in 15.17 in the expression “the things offered to God” (τὰ πρὸς τὸν θεόν) as the content of Paul’s boasting, and in 15.18 in the clause “what Christ accomplished through me for the obedience of the Gentiles” as the content of Paul’s speaking (λαλεῖν). In the context here this is used to refer to the boasting of the previous verse. In 15.17 Paul continues with an inference (οὖν, “then,”) about the things in which Paul takes pride or of which he boasts. In ἔχω οὖν [τὴν] καύχησιν ἐν Χριστῷ Ἰησοῦ τὰ πρὸς τὸν θεόν, the interpretation is confronted with two problems. First, we need to discuss what τὰ πρὸς τὸν θεόν means, and second, how to read the syntax of the sentence with the two accusatives used with the verb ἔχω. τὰ πρὸς τὸν θεόν occurs equally in Exod 4.16; 18.19; Deut 31.27, and Heb 2.17 and 5.1. We note that its meaning is determined by the context in which it is used and that in the translation one should not lose the meaning of πρός as “movement toward.” If in the immediate context a verb or noun with the preposition πρός occurs, it seems likely the expression τὰ πρὸς τὸν θεόν should be read in the light of that compound verb or noun. Therefore, I suggest that τὰ πρὸς τὸν θεόν in Rom 15.17 means “the things offered to God.” The syntactic problem can be solved by understanding τὰ πρὸς τὸν θεόν as an accusative of respect resulting in the translation: “I have therefore a boast in Christ Jesus with respect to the things offered to God.”38 The second possibility is to understand τὰ πρὸς τὸν θεόν as the direct object of ἔχω with καύχησιν being the predicative accusative.39 In that case we would translate: “I have therefore the things offered to God as a boast in Christ Jesus.”40 Both interpretations hardly differ with regard to the resultant meaning. 16, de l’office sacré de l’Apôtre. N’est-il dès lors pas plus normal de voir également dans l’offrande qui fait suite à l’évangélisation, un acte des chrétiens eux-mêmes?” 37 The verb ἱερουργέω is a hapax legomenon in the Bible. See also the noun ἱερουργία in 4 Macc 3.20 which is not used anywhere (else) in the Bible. 38 See, e.g., TOB: “J'ai donc lieu de m'enorgueillir en Jésus Christ, au sujet de l'œuvre de Dieu.” 39 A structural parallel can be found in Rev 9.11: ἔχουσιν ἐπ᾽ αὐτῶν βασιλέα τὸν ἄγγελον τῆς ἀβύσσου. 40 See, e.g., NRSV: “In Christ Jesus, then, I have reason to boast of my work for God.”

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In 15.18 Paul explains what he meant by “a boast in Christ Jesus” in 15.17. It is that which Christ accomplished through Paul in order to bring about the obedience of the Gentiles. The means of accomplishing this are described as “by word and deed, by the power of signs and wonders, by the power of the Spirit [of God]” (15.18c, 19a). The consequence, expressed in 15.19b, is that Paul fulfilled the gospel of Christ “from Jerusalem and in a circle up to Illyricum.” It seems that Paul’s line of reasoning that began in 15.15 reached its goal here in stating that his mission task of preaching the gospel is completed in the east. Paul immediately adds his ambition of not proclaiming the gospel “where Christ has already been named” (15.20) and invests it with authority by the use of a scripture quotation from Isa 52.15 in Rom 15.21. Here Paul already implicitly announces that the next stage of his missionary efforts will have to be in the west, but not in Rome. This will be developed in more detail in the next subunit beginning in 15.22. II. Romans 15.22–32 The missionary principle of not preaching the gospel where others have already preached it as well as the conviction that in the east he had fulfilled his missionary project is the link with the second subunit Rom 15.22–32. With the conjunction διό (“for this reason”) in 15.22, Paul states that his principle of only preaching the gospel where it had not yet been preached prevented him many times from coming to Rome. So while this principle did not keep him from writing a bold letter to the Romans reminding them of certain things, in the full recognition of their abundant goodness, knowledge and ability to instruct one another (see 15.14–15), it prevented him from visiting them. Nevertheless, Paul professes that he had had the desire to come to Rome for many years, and that he still has this desire now. But here we need to read the text very carefully to catch the nuances of what Paul is saying in 15.22–25: Rom 15.22–25 N28 with my own punctuation 22a Διὸ καὶ ἐνεκοπτόµην τὰ πολλὰ

NRSV with my own adaptations 22a For this reason I was also hindered many times 22b τοῦ ἐλθεῖν πρὸς ὑµᾶς. 22b from coming to you. 23a1 νυνὶ δὲ 23a1 But now, 23b µηκέτι τόπον ἔχων ἐν τοῖς κλίµασι 23b having no further place for τούτοις, me in these regions, 23c ἐπιποθίαν δὲ ἔχων 23c and having a desire, 23a2 τοῦ ἐλθεῖν πρὸς ὑµᾶς ἀπὸ πολλῶν 23a2 to come to you for many ἐτῶν, years,

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24a ὡς ἂν πορεύωµαι εἰς τὴν Σπανίαν 24b … .41 24c ἐλπίζω γὰρ 24d διαπορευόµενος θεάσασθαι ὑµᾶς 24e καὶ ὑφ᾽ ὑµῶν προπεµφθῆναι ἐκεῖ 24f ἐὰν ὑµῶν πρῶτον ἀπὸ µέρους ἐµπλησθῶ. 25a νυνὶ δὲ πορεύοµαι εἰς Ἰερουσαλὴµ 25b διακονῶν τοῖς ἁγίοις.

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24a when I would go to Spain 24b … . 24c For I do hope 24d to see you on my journey 24e and to be sent on by you, 24f once I first have enjoyed your company for a little while. 25a But now I am going to Jerusalem 25b to minister to the saints.

In 15.22 Paul refers to the past when his missionary principle hindered him many times from coming to Rome. With νυνὶ δέ in 15.23 he abruptly moves the focus into the present and announces that there is a new, different situation with regard to his future visit to Rome. But what that situation consists of is not said since the sentence is interrupted twice by participial constructions, one succinctly giving the consequences of the previous verses, namely, that in the east he has nowhere else to go (15.23b), and the other (in 15.23c, 23a2, 24a) explaining the expression “many times” of 15.22, namely, stating that for many years Paul had the desire to visit Rome on his way to Spain (ὡς ἂν πορεύωµαι εἰς τὴν Σπανίαν in 15.24a). With this Paul indirectly reveals that he has had a desire to go to Spain for many years and that he never had the plan nor does he have a plan now to visit Rome in order to proclaim the gospel there, even now that he has nowhere else to go in the east (see, however, the possible tension with 1.15). Here the sentence which he had started with “But now” in 15.23 breaks off and remains incomplete, since the main clause is missing (15.24b). This anacoluthon is noticed by most commentators. Beginning in 15.24c Paul moves the focus to the future, expressing the hope that the Romans will send him off to Spain, and the reason for his visit to Rome will only be to “enjoy your company for a little while” (15.24f). So indirectly in 15.24cdef Paul gives the content that he would have given, had he completed the previous, elliptic sentence with a main clause in 15.24b. In 15.25 Paul begins another sentence with νυνὶ δέ, which sounds like a second attempt to finish his previously uncompleted sentence. But as a surprise he now announces a visit to Jerusalem. This explains why Paul was unable to complete the previous “But now” sentence. He realized that he could not have said “But now I am coming to Rome,” because he would first have to go to Jerusalem. Moreover, we cannot overlook a certain nervousness on

41

This is an anacoluthon. The main clause is missing (see v. 25).

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the part of Paul in the way he announces his impending visit to Rome,42 which is even reflected in the syntax, in the anacoluthon, in the interruptions of the line of thought, and in the repetitions. The movement “to Jerusalem” (εἰς Ἰερουσαλήµ) is in the context surprising after the move away from Jerusalem (ἀπὸ Ἰερουσαλήµ) in 15.19b, which had resulted in the completion of task. Here it becomes clear that, despite the completion of the preaching of the gospel in the east which Paul announced in 15.19, there still is one task that has not been completed which he describes as “serving the saints” (διακονῶν τοῖς ἁγίοις) in 15.25b (cf. 15.31b), which must have been a rather cryptic statement to the uninitiated. Paul had used διακονία to refer to the collection in 2 Cor 8.4 (τὴν κοινωνίαν τῆς διακονίας τῆς εἰς τοὺς ἁγίους) and in 9.1, 12, 13, but it is doubtful whether this specific use of the terminology was known in Rome. It is, however, striking that in Rom 15.25b, 26ab Paul uses the same terminology as in 2 Cor 8.4, namely διακον-terminology, κοινωνία, and οἱ ἅγιοι. In 15.26 Paul gives the Romans a motivation (γάρ) for having to go to Jerusalem to serve the saints. “For Macedonia and Achaia were pleased to make a certain sharing with the poor of the saints in Jerusalem” (εὐδόκησαν γὰρ Μακεδονία καὶ Ἀχαΐα κοινωνίαν τινὰ ποιήσασθαι εἰς τοὺς πτωχοὺς τῶν ἁγίων τῶν ἐν Ἰερουσαλήµ). Here Paul makes it sound as if it was the idea and initiative of the churches in Macedonia and Achaia. Instead of διακονέω he now uses κοινωνία, a word that means sharing, communion, partnership. Finally Paul is more specific by not referring just to “the saints” as in 15.25, but to “the poor among the saints.” This suggests more clearly that the service and the sharing is about (financial) relief for the poor. In 15.27 Paul adds another motivational sentence which starts with the same words as 15.26, namely, “they were pleased” (εὐδόκησαν γάρ). This is all the more surprising as Paul immediately corrects himself by adding “indeed they owe it to them” (15.27b). In a conditional period in 15.27cd, Paul then explains why he says that they owe it to them. “For if the Gentiles share in their spiritual things, they owe it also to serve them in material things” (Rom 15.27, my own translation). So Paul speaks of a certain obligation, but not one that is imposed by the Jerusalem church. This obligation is due to an inner logic of reciprocity and exchange. The Gentiles need to give something in return for the spiritual things which they received from the mother church in Jerusalem; and they to give material, i.e., financial things in return, which it seems the poor in the Jerusalem church needed so badly. This sounds more like a debt of gratitude than a demand from the Jerusalem church. This explanation of the origin of the collection is not in keeping with the explanation which many scholars have derived from Gal 2.10: “They asked only one thing, that we remember 42

This is somewhat parallel to the way he speaks about writing his letter to them (see 15.14–15).

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the poor” (µόνον τῶν πτωχῶν ἵνα µνηµονεύωµεν), at least if they venture to understand this as a request to help for the poor as a substitute for circumcision. We notice in Rom 15.25–27 that Paul downplays his own role in initiating and realizing the collection project. In Rom 15.28 Paul jumps from the original motivation for the collection to its delivery which will continue to occupy his mind up to 15.32. In 15.28 Paul returns to his plan to go to Spain. Here Paul explicates what we had seen to be present implicitly in 15.22–25, namely, that, even though he has completed the preaching of the gospel in the east, he cannot move west before he has brought the collection to completion. What are the reasons why Paul finds it so essential to deliver the collection in Jerusalem before he starts the new phase of his mission in the west? The answer remains a matter of interpretation and speculation. Is it because Paul wants to be assured of the support of the mother church in Jerusalem for his mission in the west?43 Or does he want to make sure that his Gentile Christian churches in the east will be recognized as full members of the Church by the Jewish Christians before he leaves them behind?44 Is it thus intended as a coming of age rite? In 15.28 Paul uses metaphorical language. “Therefore, after having completed this and after having sealed this fruit for them, I will go away through you to Spain.” Downs is convinced that here Paul uses both metaphors of the cult (ἐπιτελέω and σφραγίζω) and of the harvest (καρπός) to describe the successful delivery of the collection which is the precondition for going to Spain and implicitly also for going to Rome. Paul also uses ἐπιτελέω in 2 Cor 8.6, 11 to refer to the completion of the collection in Corinth. There is nothing that points here to a cultic understanding of this term. The same middle participle σφραγισάµενος that we find in Rom 15.28 is also used in 2 Cor 1.22 with God as subject of the sealing and closely associated with the Spirit. So, maybe in Rom 15.28 σφραγισάµενος has a similar function as ἡγιασµένη ἐν πνεύµατι ἁγίῳ in 15.16? The problem is, however, that Paul is the subject of σφραγισάµενος in Rom 15.28.

43

See Georgi, Remembering the Poor, 113: “The question arises of whether the transfer of the collection is not also meant to fulfill the same function as the Epistle to the Romans, as well as Paul’s plan to visit that congregation – namely to provide backing for Paul’s Western mission.” 44 See Kim, Die paulinische Kollekte, 172: “Erst jetzt, da er seine Gemeinden im Osten verlassen wollte, begann er die Kollektenaktion unter ihnen. So stand der Anfang der Kollekte der paulinischen Gemeinden im Osten des Römischen Reiches in unmittelbarem Zusammenhang mit der Verwirklichung seiner Romreise bzw. seiner Reise in den Westen des Reiches.” And: “Durch die Kollekte sollten die gesetzesfreien heidenchristlichen Gemeinden des Paulus im Osten des Römischen Reiches…als vollberechtigte Mitchristen anerkannt werden” (173).

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The participial construction “having sealed this fruit for them” in 15.28 describes Paul’s role in the delivery of the collection to the saints in Jerusalem,45 while it is only in 15.31 that Paul alludes to the part of the Jerusalem church’s role in accepting or rejecting the collection. There he says: “in order…that my ministry to Jerusalem become acceptable to the saints.” So Paul seals the fruit to the saints, and he hopes that they will accept his ministry. The result will be the “fullness of the blessing of Christ” (15.29) and joy (15.32). The sealing of the fruit seems to link back to the προσφορὰ τῶν ἐθνῶν in 15.16. There we interpreted Paul to be the one who brings the offering of the Gentiles’ obedience which among other things results in the collection, but is more comprehensive than that. The successful delivery of the collection, which is metaphorically referred to as “sealing the fruit,” is implicitly presented as proof of Paul’s hitherto successful priestly ministry (cf. ἱερουργέω in 15.16) among the Gentiles. This would also explain why it would be important for Paul to get this recognition of his successful ministry before moving on to new shores. However, Paul is clearly uncertain about what to expect in Judea and Jerusalem, both in terms of those in Judea who were not followers of Jesus and of the saints in Jerusalem. His urgent prayer request to the Romans reflects in its solemn formulation (“by our Lord Jesus Christ and by the love of the Spirit” in 15.30) how much depends on this for Paul. From the perspective of the end of this passage it becomes clear that Paul’s plan of a new phase of his missionary activity in the west, more particularly in Spain (see 15.22–29), and of a visit to Rome to enjoy their company (15.24f.), and to be refreshed together with them (15.32) depends squarely on the result of the delivery of the collection and the treatment that awaits Paul in Judea. Our analysis of Rom 15.22–32 has brought to light that, even though Paul has already completed the proclamation of the gospel in the east, the new phase of his missionary activity in Spain cannot start before he has fruitfully delivered or sealed the collection as a service and a sharing with the saints in Jerusalem. Paul does not address explicitly why it is so essential that he himself deliver the collection and that it is accepted and why only that brings the fullness of Christ’s blessing which is needed for the next phase of his mission project. Be that as it may, however, our analysis has demonstrated that it is the conditio sine qua non. It is obviously so important that Paul is willing to risk his life for this. 45

The personal pronoun αὐτοῖς is missing in î46 B vgmss. Since the preceding word ends with a Σ this could be the result of parablepsis due to homoioteleuton. We assume the referent of αὐτοῖς to be the saints in Jerusalem. This is due to the fact that in 15.27 (εὐδόκησαν γὰρ καὶ ὀφειλέται εἰσὶν αὐτῶν· εἰ γὰρ τοῖς πνευµατικοῖς αὐτῶν ἐκοινώνησαν τὰ ἔθνη, ὀφείλουσιν καὶ ἐν τοῖς σαρκικοῖς λειτουργῆσαι αὐτοῖς) the personal pronouns refer to the saints in Jerusalem.

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Conclusion As we saw in the first part of this paper, recent scholarship has provided many sometimes mutually inclusive models for the interpretation of the Jerusalem collection. We tried to bring out how each model has different implications for the question how the collection is related to Paul’s missionary project. Realizing how selective most scholars in this field are with regard to the biblical evidence concerning the collection, we decided to analyze Rom 15.14–32, the key text of this discussion. We will briefly synthesize the most important findings of this textual analysis. The purpose of the collection includes financial help for the poor, but this is clearly not the only aspect. According to Rom 15.27 it is a gift of material in return for spiritual things. Paul also calls it a voluntary service and a communal sharing. We found no evidence that Paul intends the collection for missionary purposes directed to the Jews who did not believe in Jesus (except that perhaps 15.31a could be taken as an indication of that, but the information we receive there is not enough). We also do not think that there is any evidence to defend that the collection was an obligation to a right the mother church in Jerusalem had over the Gentile Christian churches. The words “debtor” and “I owe” in 15.27 seem to refer more to an internal than an external necessity. Paul also stresses twice the voluntary nature of the collection (in 15.26–27). The results of our investigation favour the view that the collection is a free gift guided by the acceptance of an intrinsic obligation to reciprocate for the spiritual gift the Gentile Christians had received. The goal is to foster communion among the churches of the east. The fruitful delivery of the collection proved to be not only very important, but also still very much an open question by the time Paul wrote Romans. Much will depend on it in Paul’s understanding, namely the completion of his missionary activity in the east and the possibility of starting a new phase of missionary activity in Spain, and as a side effect his visit in Rome. We concluded that our text does not allow us to know why the fruitful delivery of the collection had such a central and decisive place for Paul at the crucial moment of transition from the east to the west. It is hard to imagine that Paul, who is so determined to assert his independence from Jerusalem, would use the collection to get the approval of the Jerusalem church for his missionary activity in Spain. It seems more likely that Paul wants to use the collection delivery to give “his” churches their independence so they can run their own affairs when he will be far out of reach in the remote areas of Spain. The way he presents the collection when saying, “Macedonia and Achaia were pleased to make a certain sharing with the poor of the saints in Jerusalem” speaks volumes along these lines. Paul expects “the fullness of Christ’s blessing,” not the blessing of the leaders of the Jerusalem church, for his visit to Rome and his missionary journey to Spain.

The Collection for Jerusalem in the Context of Paul’s Missionary Project: Theological Perspectives Michel Quesnel

As Professor Reimund Bieringer has just shown, the collection which Paul organized amongst the churches he had founded, on behalf of the church of Jerusalem, occupied a large part of his activity and mobilized a great deal of his energy in the last years of his life. Paul expresses this himself in the account he gives of the assembly of Jerusalem in the Epistle to the Galatians: the collection helped to legitimize the place he occupied in the group of Apostles. It proved that he was conducting his apostolic activity among Gentile populations in agreement with the Jerusalem apostolic group and with the immediate family of Jesus: James, Cephas, and John would go to the circumcised, Paul and Barnabas to the Gentiles (Gal 2.7–10). The collection took on, in this context, a first meaning: it was a sign of unity between churches of different cultures, Jewish on one hand, Greek on the other. Over and beyond this ecclesiological necessity, the collection takes on, when Paul speaks of it in his epistles, a broader theological significance. He devotes a few lines to it in the First Epistle to the Corinthians (1 Cor 16.1–4), two whole chapters in the Second Epistle to the Corinthians (2 Cor 8 and 9), and a few lines once again in the Epistle to the Romans when he outlines his plans to its addressees (Rom 15.25–29). It is in chapters 8 and 9 of the Second Epistle to the Corinthians that he develops his ideas most fully, and most strongly expresses the theological significance which he accords to this gesture of solidarity between the churches he had founded and the mother church of Jerusalem.1 1

Chief recent studies on these two chapters, outside of the commentaries: J.P Becker, Paul’s Usage of χάρις in 2 Corinthians 8–9. An Ontology of Grace (Lewiston: Edwin Mellen, 2011); B. Beckheuer, Paulus und Jerusalem. Kollekte und Mission im theologischen Denken des Heidenapostels (Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 1997); H.D. Betz, 2 Corinthians 8 and 9. A Commentary on Two Letters of the Apostle Paul (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1985); D.J. Downs, The Offering of the Gentiles: Paul’s Collection for Jerusalem in Its Chronological, Cultural, and Cultic Contexts (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2008); H.-A. Hartley, “Financing Paul: Money and Mission in the

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A. Literary Questions Before discussing the theological motives for the collection expressed in 2 Corinthians 8–9, it is necessary to examine the literary status of these two chapters, which is much debated. It is part of a broader question, that of the integrity of the Second Epistle to the Corinthians.2 The beginning of chapter 9 expresses the idea that it is not necessary to speak of the collection, whereas the subject has just been widely discussed in chapter 8. This fact provides the basis for the opinion that we are dealing with two short notes, independent of each other, yet would not preclude a priori that chapter 8 was sent together with chapters 1 to 7.3 But some authors go so far as to consider that chapter 8 on the one hand, and chapter 9 on the Corinthian Correspondence,” ScrB 38 (2008), 69–79; M.A. Jennings, “Patronage and Rebuke in Paul’s Persuasion in 2 Corinthians 8–9,” JGrJC 6 (2009), 107–27 ; S. Joubert, Paul as Benefactor: Reciprocity, Strategy and Theological Reflection in Paul’s Collection (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck,) 2000; S. Joubert, “Shifting Styles of Paul’s Leadership: Paul’s Pragmatic Leadership Style in 1 and 2 Corinthians during the Organisation of the Collection for Jerusalem,” VerbEccles 23 (2002), 678–88 ; B.-M. Kim, Die paulinische Kollekte (Tübingen: Francke, 2002); J.G. Lodge, “The Apostle’s Appeal and Reader’s Response: 2 Corinthians 8 and 9,” Chicago Studies 30 (1991), 59– 75; D. Marion, “La seconde lettre de saint Paul aux Corinthiens: Défense et illustration du véritable apôtre de Jésus. VII. II Cor 8,1–9, 15: La Collecte en faveur des saints de Jérusalem,” EspVie 109 (1999), 289–97; J.M. Ogereau, “The Jerusalem Collection as κοινωνία: Paul’s Global Politics of Socio-Economic Equality and Solidarity,” NTS 58 (2012), 360–78; K.J. O’Mahony, Pauline Persuasion. A Sounding in 2 Corinthians 8–9 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 2000); K.J. O’Mahony, “The Rhetoric of Benefaction,” PIBA 22 (1999), 9–40; P. Pettersson, “Charis och reciprocitet i 2 Kor 8–9,” SEÅ 73 (2008), 101–21; V.D. Verbrugge, Paul’s Style of Church Leadership Illustrated by His Instructions to the Corinthians on the Collection (San Francisco: Mellen Research University Press, 1992); J. Wawro, “La diaconie, ministère de la relation et du service intrinsèquement liés au support des faibles,” EstBíb 68 (2010), 355–69; A. Wodka, Una teologia biblica del dare nel contesto della colletta paolina (2 Cor 8–9) (Rome: Pontificia Università Gregoriana, 2000). 2 The integrity of 2 Corinthians was called into question for the first time in 1776 by J.S. Semler, Paraphrasis II. Epistolae ad Corinthios (Halle, 1776). Every commentator since has raised the question. For a general, almost complete, inventory of the varied opinions and of the arguments put forward, see M.E. Thrall, The Second Epistle to the Corinthians (2 vols.; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1994–2000), 1.3–48. 3 Thus M. Carrez, La deuxième épître de saint Paul aux Corinthiens (Genève: Labor et Fides, 1986); J. Héring, La seconde Epître de saint Paul aux Corinthiens (Neuchâtel: Delachaux & Niestlé, 1958); F. Lang, Die Briefe an die Korinther (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1986); M. Quesnel, “Circonstances de composition de la seconde épître aux Corinthiens,” NTS 43 (1997), 256–67; Semler, Paraphrasis; Thrall, Second Epistle; H. Windisch, Der zweite Korintherbrief (Göttingen: Vandenhoek & Ruprecht, 1924).

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other, are independent administrative notes unrelated to the rest of the Epistle. Authors who distinguish two independent notes most often consider that chapter 8 was addressed to the church of Corinth and that chapter 9 was intended for wider audience, comprising different Christian communities of Achaea (9.2).4 A parallel structure of arguments could thus be detected between chapters 8 and 9, which we can represent in the following tableau:5 Table 1: Parallel Structure of 2 Corinthians 8 and 9 Ad hominem argument: comparison between Macedonia and Corinth Theological argument Ad hominem argument: Relationship between beneficiaries and donors

2 Corinthians 8 Verses 1–5: The example of the Macedonians Verse 9: Christological argument Verses 13–15: Equality resulting from an exchange of material goods for goods of the Kingdom

2 Corinthians 9 Verses 3–5: The shame of the Corinthians if they do not give Verses 6–9: Sapiential argument Verses 10–15: Thanksgiving of beneficiaries shown towards donors

But is it necessary to separate the two chapters? It has been noted that the first words of 2 Cor 9.1 – περὶ µὲν γάρ – must of necessity follow on from a preceding text.6 It would be better therefore not to separate 2 Cor 8 and 9, all the more so as many elements of vocabulary are common to both chapters.7 Thus chapter 9 could be a sort of postscript developing the theme of pride expressed in 2 Cor 8.24.8 4

The opponents of this separation believe that Achaea is named in 2 Cor 9.2 in order to counterbalance the mention of the Macedonians in the same verse. 5 See our presentation of the parallel structure of the arguments in 2 Cor 8 and 9 in C. Focant and D. Marguerat (eds.), Le Nouveau Testament commenté: texte intégral, traduction oecuménique de la bible (Paris: Bayard, 2012), 796. 6 See the article of S.K. Stowers, “Peri men gar and the Integrity of 2 Cor. 8 and 9," NovT 32 (1990), 340–8. The author examines 90 occurrences of the expression in Greek literature, and finds that it implies a close relationship with the foregoing. Thrall knows Stowers’ study, but she still maintains the independence of chapter 9 from chapter 8. She resolves the difficulty by citing a letter of Demosthenes beginning by περὶ µέν, and by formulating the hypothesis that the conjunction γάρ was added at the point when 2 Cor 9 was editorially inserted into its present place: Περὶ µὲν τῶν κατʹ ἐµαυτὸν ἅ µοί παρʹ ὑµῶν ἐνόµιζον δίκαιον εἶναι γένεσθαι (Ep. 3.1). Cf. Thrall, Second Epistle, 1.39; 2.564. 7 Becker, Paul’s Usage; Downs, Offering; Joubert, Paul as Benefactor; Kim, Die paulinische Kollekte; J. Lambrecht, “Paul’s Boasting about the Corinthians. A Study of 2 Cor 8:24–9:5,” NovT 40 (1998), 352–68; O’Mahony, “The Rhetoric of Benefaction”; Wodka, Una teologia. 8 The term καυχήσις (8.24) is extended by καυχάοµαι (9.2) and καύχηµα (9.3).

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This last position, adopted in most recent works, is probably influenced by canonical criticism, and by a methodological presupposition: the solution of breaking up literary works, put together at a later date by an editor, into different units must be adopted only when the preservation of the unity of a text proves to be impossible.9 For the Second Epistle to the Corinthians, if it is the case that chapters 10–13 can be detached from chapters 1–9, it is equally strongly the case that the unity of 2 Cor 1–9 must be preserved.10 Issues concerning the unity of chapters 8 and 9 necessarily have implications for the rhetorical dispositio attributed to the whole. Once we consider that the rhetoric of these two chapters is deliberative, for it is a question in each case of persuading the addressees to give, and even to give a great deal, one needs to find a propositio for each chapter if it is considered that they have to be separated.11 The difficulty of finding a satisfactory propositio for chapter 9 leads us, in this present study, to prefer the hypothesis that 2 Cor 8– 9 forms a unity, with the major difficulty then still being that the beginning of chapter 9 seems oddly formulated if it is a sequel to chapter 8.12 With some slight hesitations, and with a few minor differences, the present study accepts grosso modo the rhetorical dispositio proposed by K.J. O’Mahony, who considers 2 Cor 8–9 as an example of Pauline persuasiveness.13 It can be represented schematically as follows: – 8.1–6: Exordium: history, subject dealt with. – 8.7(–8): Proposal: “give!” – 8.9–9, 10: Series of arguments or confirmationes (8.9–15: why give? // 8.16–24: qualified emissaries // 9.1–5: the risk of shame // 9. 6–10: the divine reward). – 9.11–15: Peroratio: thanks addressed to God.

Rhetorical analysis is obviously not limited to the identification of this dispositio. In the following commentary a few subtleties of language used by Paul will be pointed out, which show him to be a very clever rhetorician, which no model, either Jewish or Greco-Roman, is sufficient to explain. 9

See the critical review of Betz, 2 Corinthians 8 and 9, by J. Murphy-O’Connor, in RevBib 95 (1988), 456–57. 10 See, for example, the commentaries of C.K. Barrett, A Commentary on the Second Epistle to the Corinthians (London: A&C Black, 1973), 21–25; R.F. Collins, Second Corinthians (Grand Rapids: Baker, 2013); V.P. Furnish, II Corinthians (New York: Doubleday, 1984), 54–55; F.J. Matera, II Corinthians: A Commentary (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2003). 11 Thus Betz, 2 Corinthians 8 and 9, who believes he can identify a propositio for chapter 8 in verses 7–8, and a propositio for chapter 9 in verse 5bc. 12 In 2 Cor 9.1, Paul considers it unnecessary to write to the Corinthians concerning the διακονία ἡ εἰς το ὺς ἁγίους, whereas he has just devoted a chapter to precisely the same διακονία ἡ εἰς τοὺς ἁγίους (2 Cor 8.4). Irony? Subtle rhetoric? 13 K.J. O’Mahony, Pauline Persuasion, 127–41.

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B. Giving and Charitable Activity in the Surrounding Culture The theological justifications for the collection that Paul organized on behalf of the church of Jerusalem can only be understood by taking into account the social and historical context. There existed, both in Jewish and in GrecoRoman culture, charitable practices that inevitably influenced the Apostle and helped to shape his thought.14 I. The Jewish Tradition Giving occupies an important place in the Jewish tradition, in particular in support of the poor. In fact, it is the commitment to remember the poor (πτωχοί) that Paul recalls in Gal 2.10. The duty of helping the poor is stated very frequently in the Torah (Exod 22.21–26), most particularly in Deuteronomy (15.1–15; 24.10–15). The prophets of Israel do not hesitate to hurl abuse at the rich and powerful who live alongside the poor without coming to their aid, and even more so when they exploit them (Amos 8.4–7; Isa 10.1–4); the sharing of bread with anyone who is hungry is presented by Isaiah as a way of keeping the law that is far superior to fasting (Isa 58.6–10); and the mission of the Messiah announced by the same prophet is to bring the good news to the poor (Isa 61.1–3). In the period leading up to the 1st century, assistance given to the anawim had taken on a redemptive value.15 Jesus places himself within this messianic tradition, both by his actions and by his teachings. A tradition reported in the Gospel of Luke states that he and the group of disciples who accompanied him in his preaching benefited from the financial support of wealthy individuals (Luke 8.1–3). Did the community of Jerusalem led by James regard itself as heir to the group led by Jesus, and did it also live off of alms? And did Paul consider the financial contribution of the churches he had founded as sharing in this same perspective? The prophets, Isaiah especially, had also announced the coming of eschatological times in which the pagans would flock towards Jerusalem in order to deposit their goods in the Temple, and to honour by this action the Almighty God whose sovereignty they recognized (Isa 45.20–25; 60; 66.18–22); and Jewish literature of the Second Temple perpetuated this hope.16 Did Paul, who considered the Christian communities as the Temple of God (1 Cor 3.16), take this same perspective further by considering the money of the communities he 14

Downs, Offering, 73–119. K. Berger, “Almosen für Israel,” NTS 23 (1977), 180–204. 16 Beckheuer, Paulus und Jerusalem. This author considers that the collection intended for the Jerusalem church was a major preoccupation of Paul in his letters. It was even, according to him, one of the chief aims of the Epistle to the Romans! 15

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had founded as flowing, as a matter of obligation, towards the Templecommunity in Jerusalem? Another source of the collection undertaken by Paul could be a rereading of the Temple tax.17 This tax is presented in the book of Exodus as intended for the maintenance of the desert shrine (Exod 30.11–16). It had been understood in various ways throughout history. In the 1st century, it was paid for the benefit of the Temple of Jerusalem by all Jews having attained one’s majority, including those of the Diaspora, and the synagogues of the cities of the Empire organized themselves to collect it.18 Did Paul reinterpret this tax by making it a gesture of solidarity on the part of the churches throughout the Mediterranean basin in favour of the Mother church of Jerusalem? 2. Greco-Roman Culture Research into the sources of inspiration for the collection cannot be limited, however, to the Jewish world. Corinth, a Roman colony in the midst of the Greek world, was permeated with the culture of the Greco-Roman world where mutual assistance as well as charity towards the poor formed part of the social obligations of the leading citizens. The comparison between the ancient Christian communities and Greco-Roman associations has been proposed ever since antiquity, and has been the subject of more systematic studies in modern times.19 In this context, the collection organized by Paul can be compared to other charitable actions existing in the ancient Mediterranean world.20 Numerous voluntary associations existed in Greek and Roman cities, more or less long-lasting. The Greek and Latin terms by which they were designated are known, though their equivalents in modern languages cannot be more than approximations.21 What is common to these groups is that they were composed of persons of high social rank, that mutual assistance was practiced when one of the members found himself temporarily in difficulty, and that aid was also generously distributed to poor people external to the group. The level

17

K.F. Nickel, The Collection: A Study in Paul’s Strategy (London: SCM, 1966); S.K. Wan, “Collection for the Saints and Anticolonical Act: Implications of Paul's Ethnic Reconstruction,” in R.H. Horsley (ed.), Paul and Politics: Ekklesia, Israel, Imperium, Interpretation (London: Continuum, 2000), 191–215. 18 Several examples in Josephus, A.J. 14.110–113; 18.311–312. 19 See in particular W.A. Meeks, The First Urban Christians (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2003). 20 J.R. Harrison, Paul's Language of Grace in Its Graeco-Roman Context (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2003); Joubert, Paul as Benefactor. 21 The most used Greek words are: κοινόν (Estate), θίασος (religious confraternity), ἔρανος (meal where everyone brings his share) and, in Latin, collegium (association).

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of support was public, and involved the honour of the donor. One acquired honour through generosity and opprobrium if one was too mean. A Greek term exists to designate aid given to people in need, at the invitation of a third party who made the potential donor aware of this need: ἐπίδοσις. This gift was voluntary, its amount depended on the generosity of the donor, and social pressure was real. As in the world of the associations, a notable solicited for a just cause risked shame if he displayed insufficient generosity.22 Outside of the world of the associations, persons of high social rank owed it to themselves to devote a portion of their wealth to funding chorégies (song and dances spectacles), races and other sporting events, and parades, the function of which was to entertain the populace. The generous giver was a εὐεργέτης (a benefactor), or even a προστάτης (a protector). The activity of patronage was itself a λειτουργία, a word which passed into Christian vocabulary and even ended up taking on a liturgical dimension:23 Paul uses it in reference to the collection in 2 Cor 9.12 and in Rom 15.27. We cannot prejudge the influence of these Jewish and Greco-Roman practices on Paul when organizing the collection on behalf of the Mother church of Jerusalem. By analyzing the theological arguments which he puts forward in 2 Cor 8–9 in order to persuade the Corinthians to respond to his financial appeal, we shall see more clearly whether he took his inspiration from them whilst at the same time transforming them, or whether, on the contrary, they have little influence upon him.

22

Verbrugge, Paul's Style of Church. The substantive λειτουργία and verb λειτουργέω are used to designate Jewish worship in Luke 1.23; Heb 9.21; 10.11. The verb λειτουργέω is used with regard to Christian prayer in Acts 13.2. See F. Hahn, Der Urchristliche Gottesdienst (Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1970), 32–37 ; S. Lyonnet, Etudes sur l’épître aux Romains (Rome: Editrice PIB, 1989), 36–42. 23

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C. The Theological Arguments put forward by Paul After announcing, in the exordium (2 Cor 8.1–6), the topic that he would address, and after recalling the generosity of the churches of Macedonia which provide the Corinthians with an example to follow, Paul outlines the propositio intended to persuade his addressees to be generous (2 Cor 8.7–8). This propositio is very cleverly constructed. The action of the Macedonians and the action requested of the Corinthians are designated as a grace (χάρις).24 The term is already found in the exordium (8.1, 4), and it is repeated several times subsequently (8.9, 19; 9.14, 15). This grace is something which not only passes through the pneumatic (or spiritual) and somatic (or bodily) dimensions, but does so intentionally; it follows a trajectory which goes from God to human beings, then from one believer to another, before then returning to God; it thus accomplishes its raison d’être, which is that of producing δόξα from God (8.19, 23). In other words, giving is not first and foremost an act of generosity on the part of the donor, it is not even a gift made to God through the agency of human beings, but is an action whose trajectory goes from God to both groups, donors as well as recipients. How could one refuse to receive something, even if it is through giving? In addition, the invitation to give, using the verb περισσεύω (to abound), is repeated twice in verse 7: once in the indicative, to indicate that the Corinthians are wealthy, then a second time in the subjunctive introduced by ἵνα, which is the equivalent of an imperative but is, however, not one. The order given is thus toned down. And finally, verse 7 is immediately qualified by verse 8, which constitutes a rhetorical correctio, by which the Apostle makes it clear that he is not giving an order (ἐπιταγή) but that he wishes merely to highlight the zeal of others, and more particularly of the Macedonians who have moved ahead of the Corinthians in the matter of generosity. One notes here the subtlety of the argument. And it is confirmed in the successive stages of the argumentation which follows. I. Why give? (8.9–15) The theological significance of the collection is stated from the outset (8.9). It is an imitatio Christi, who was the first to follow a purely gracious path: Christ, though rich (πλούσιος), accepted impoverishment (πτωχεύω) so that, by his poverty (πτωχεία), you might be enriched (πλουτίζω). This compact sentence is constructed according to a parallel grid and recalls the Christological hymn of the Epistle to the Philippians (Phil 2.6–11) centred on the kenosis of Christ before he was exalted by the Father. In contrast to the Philippians hymn, it is not here Christ who is raised on high after having lowered himself; 24

Becker, Paul’s Usage.

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rather, it is the Corinthians who are made rich by the kenosis of Christ. And the sentence is not formulated in the third person, as a general statement, but is formulated in the second person plural: it is you, addressees of this epistle, who are enriched by the poverty of Christ. The intensity of this compact sentence is such that it was often taken up and commented upon in the patristic era, as a slogan which Christians were to make their rule of behaviour in relation to material goods.25 The sequel to this first confirmatio (8.10–15) may seem bland, so strong is the first statement. It contains, however, useful details concerning what is to be done and the meaning of that action. What is to be done follows on from a decision already taken but not yet carried out. It is specified in verse 10 that the decision was taken the previous year (ἀπὸ πέρυσι);26 and verse 11 encourages the Corinthians to take action now (νυνὶ δέ ). Not taking action would seem a betrayal of the decision taken; thus Paul exhorts his addressees to respect their word, to fidelity, without which any interpersonal relationship worthy of the Gospel is impossible. As for the meaning of the action, it is indicated in verses 11–12, using terms having a strong theological connotation. In verse 11, Paul twice uses the verb ἐπιτελέω (to accomplish), a verb which he has already used in verse 6 and whose Greek epigraphic witnesses show that it is chiefly used in relation to the performance of a religious duty.27 His use in verse 12 of the adjective εὐπρόσδεκτος (well-received) points in the same direction: it occurs again in the Epistle to the Romans (Rom 15.16) in order to evoke the acceptance by God of the offerings made in the context of a sacrifice. The collection is not a simple gesture of mutual assistance; it has a religious, even cultic dimension. In verses 13 and 14, Paul makes use of the language of equality (ἰσότης), an equality of situation that the Corinthians can establish by depriving themselves of financial assets for the sake of the Mother church.28 In the Greek world, the terms ἰσότης and κοινωνία have no religious connotation.29 Rarely used in the Septuagint, the term ἰσότης in Aristotle describes relations be25

Greek authors: Clement of Rome, Melito of Sardis, Origen, Hippolytus. SyriacSemitic authors: Aphrahat, Ephrem, Makarios-Simeon, Rufinus. Armenian authors: Mesrop-Mastoz, John Mandakuni. Latin authors: Cyprian, Hilary of Poitiers, Zeno of Verona, Ambrose, Ambrosiaster. See references and presentation of texts in P. Angstenberger, Der reiche und der arme Christus. Die Rezeptionsgeschichte von 2 Kor 8,9 zwischen dem zweiten und dem sechsten Jahrhundert (Bonn: Borengässer, 1997). 26 This expression is employed a second time in 2 Cor 9.2. 27 R.S. Ascough, “The Completion of Religious Duty: The Background of 2 Cor 8.1– 15,” NTS 42 (1996), 584–99. 28 See the well documented article of L.L. Welborn, “‘That There May Be Equality’: The Contexts and Consequences of a Pauline Ideal,” NTS 59 (2013), 73–90. 29 Ogereau, “Jerusalem Collection,” 360–78.

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tween friends;30 it also signifies the guarantees that the State provides between free citizens.31 It is also used by Plato to describe the equilibrium governing the forces of the cosmos, thus avoiding its disorder and its dissolution.32 Paul, however, gives it a religious meaning, by freely quoting, in verse 15, a verse from Exodus (Exod 16.18 LXX) which relates a miracle in the desert: the amount of manna collected decreased in the hands of those who took too much, and increased in the hands of those who had collected little, in such a way that everyone had an equal share. We do not know whether manna was an image of money in the culture of the period as it is in several modern cultures; but the fact remains that, by this reference to the miraculous events of the Exodus, equality of wealth between Christian communities forms part of the divine plan which was already expressed in the Torah. 2. Qualified Emissaries (8.16–24) From verse 16 onwards, the language becomes more practical. Paul stresses the qualities of the bearers of the letter, who have been given the task at the same time of gathering the collection. The first named is Titus, his faithful collaborator (8.16–17, 23). The names of the other two are not given,33 but both are ἀδελφοί, and their competence to carry out this task is strongly emphasized. The first of the two was appointed by a vote, taken through a show of hands, in the churches; he is not therefore suspected of being simply in the service of Paul (8.18–21). The second (8.22) seems to have a more subordinate role; he also seems to come with fewer guarantees than the first.34 30 We find only two uses of the term ἰσότης in LXX, without a Hebrew equivalent: Job 36.29 and Zech 4.7. On the other hand, the notion of equality forms a dimension of friendship in ancient Greek culture. Aristotle easily links ἰσότης and φιλότης. Pol. 1.3.6; Eth. nic. 8.1.6; 8.8.5. 31 Pol. 2.1.4. 32 Gorg. 507d–508a. 33 Paul generally avoids naming those whom he accuses, so as not to blacken their character unduly (thus 1 Cor 5.2; 2 Cor 2.5); the same logic applies to the fact that he does not name these two brothers, knowledge of whose links with other churches could hamper their mission. The hypothesis has been put forward that they were Timothy and Apollos, but that can seem rather gratuitous. See W.O. Walker, “Apollos and Timothy as the Unnamed ‘Brothers’ in 2 Corinthians 8:18–24,” CBQ 73 (2011), 318–38. 34 Verses 17–22 use aorists to describe the itinerary of the emissaries. In verse 17, it is written that Titus “left” (ἐξῆλθεν); in verses 18 and 22, Paul uses, with regard to the sending of other emissaries, the aorist συνεπέµψαµεν (we sent with). These aorists, which refer to actions completed in relation to their contexts, can be interpreted in two ways. 1) They can refer to a departure prior to the sending of the letter, Titus and the others brothers being either en route to Corinth or having already arrived in the city. 2) They can also be ascribed to a departure of the persons in question with the letter itself, Titus and the other brothers being, in that case, the letter-bearers. On this question

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This list of emissaries goes far beyond, however, mere information of an organisational nature; it is part of the argumentation; it is, like verses 9–15, a confirmatio. The passage begins in fact with an exclamation in the form of thanksgiving, Paul thanking God for having put into the heart of Titus a zeal that drives him to undertake this mission (8.16). These circumstances are providential; the collection is somehow willed by God. Churches – probably those of Macedonia and Galatia – have taken part in it (the term ἐκκλησία is used four times in the plural in verses 18–24): it is a guarantee that the considerable sums of money collected will be well managed in the eyes of the Lord and of men.35 Finally, in verse 23, a sentence without a verb designates the team of three men responsible for collecting money from the Corinthians as “glory of Christ.” The use here of the term δόξα is worth highlighting. For, in charitable works, the benefactor acquired a status of honour by the action he was performing for the well-being or the pleasure of the inhabitants of his town; plaques bearing his name, prominently displayed, reminded others of it.36 Here, on the contrary, the benefactor is identified neither with the Corinthian donors, nor with Paul, nor with the emissaries, but is Christ himself. This fact is consistent with the multiple uses, already noted, of χάρις in the two chapters devoted to the collection. Before discussing chapter 9, we can look back on chapter 8. At the rhetorical level, the subtext in this part of the letter emphasizes the roles played by the author and his readers; it highlights their respective statuses, a clarification necessary in order to make their relationship most effective; the objective is skilfully inserted into the development; the phraseology is cautious. These elements contribute to giving the words a tone of intimacy that is capable of convincing. Paul shows great rhetorical skill, which should lead his addressees to move from a position of holding back to one of generosity. Chapter 9 will confirm this tone.37 On a theological plane, chapter 8 appeals to the bountiful love of the Creator who gives himself to men through the sufferings of the Son, and such an appeal is intended to inspire a community of donors.38 depends the chronological reconstruction of the relationships between Paul and the church of Corinth; the ambiguity in the tense of the verbs used in verses 17–22 does not, however, allow any resolution of it. See K.L. McKay, “Observations on the Epistolary Aorists in 2 Corinthians,” NovT 37 (1995), 154–58. 35 On this point, in verse 21, Paul is inspired by Prov 3.4 (LXX). 36 J.R. Harrison, “The Brothers and the ‘Glory of Christ’ (2 Cor 8:23): Paul’s Doxa Terminology in Its Ancient Benefaction Context,” NovT 52 (2010), 156–88. 37 S.J. Joubert, “Behind the Mask of Rhetoric: 2 Corinthians 8 and the Intratextual Relation between Paul and the Corinthians,” Neot 26 (1992), 101–12. 38 See the article by S.H. Webb, “Christian Giving and the Trinity,” QR 22 (2002), 333–46. The main point of this article is that the model of gift-giving is related to the

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3. The Risk of Shame (9.1–5) The previous confirmatio ends with the theme of pride (καύχησις), a pride that Paul will have for the churches, especially that of Jerusalem, thanks to the generosity which he expects from the Corinthians (8.24). This theme reappears in chapter 9, after an introduction that may be tinged with irony (9.1), as if the eagerness of the addressees to be generous rendered any reminder unnecessary. Paul twice recalls his pride (καυχάοµαι, 9.2; καύχηµα, 9.3), now wishing that the financial zeal of the Corinthians might provide an example to the Macedonians, whereas in chapter 8 the exemplarity worked in the other direction. The argument is at first purely human and societal, playing on honour and shame: if Macedonians come to Corinth and find that the collection has not made enough progress, the pride that Paul feels for the Corinthians would turn to shame, and that shame would affect the Corinthians themselves (9.3–4).39 From verse 5 onwards, however,40 we twice find the term εὐλογία which, if it has in Greek primarily a secular meaning (fine language, praise), almost always has in Paul a religious meaning.41 Indeed, it seems here that it must be given the meaning of “blessing,” the gift acting as a blessing coming from God, of which the Corinthians are the beneficiaries at the same time as the Jerusalem believers. It is, moreover, in this way that generosity would be understood in later Christian antiquity, following Paul’s religious use.42 4. The Divine Reward (9.6–10) The fourth confirmatio begins and ends with the theme of sowing, which forms an inclusio. The organisational elements developed between 8.18 and 9.5 are found no longer. As in the first confirmatio (8.9–15), Paul again centres his argument on the theological motives for the collection. He begins with

Trinity: God the Creator is the giver, God the Son is given, God the Holy Spirit is the process of giving. We do not follow the author concerning this point, since 2 Cor 8 does not use the term πνεῦµα nor any other word deriving from the same root. 39 Jennings, “Patronage and Rebuke.” 40 The end of verse 5, from ἵνα προέλθωσιν εἰς ὑµᾶς, constitutes, according to Betz, the propositio of 2 Cor 9, which he considers an independent note. See Betz, 2 Corinthians 8 and 9, 95–97. On the contrary, Lambrecht highlights, in 2 Cor 8.24–9.5, a continuous line of thought on the theme of pride; for him, this invalidates the hypothesis of separating chapters 8 and 9. See Lambrecht, “Paul’s Boasting.” 41 The term εὐλογία is again twice used in verse 6. Other uses in the homologoumena: Rom 15.29; 16.18; 1 Cor 10.16; Gal 3.14. It is only in Rom 16.18 that the term has a secular, even pejorative, meaning. 42 D. Caner, “Towards a Miraculous Economy: Christian Gifts and Material ‘Blessings’ in Late Antiquity,” JECS 14 (2006), 329–77.

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a sentence of a proverbial type, beautifully constructed (9.6), built on a parallel grid, with each element of the parallel even involving an immediate repetition of the same word,43 highlighting the proportional relationship between the amount of seed sown and the size of the harvest. This could be a simple maxim of common sense, but it is inspired by the book of Proverbs (Prov 22.8a LXX), possibly in association with Deuteronomy (Deut 15.10a LXX); and the second half of the same verse of the book of Proverbs (Prov 22.8b LXX) also inspires the superb, very compact formula of 2 Cor 9.7b: “God loves him who gives joyfully.” After the evocation of what God loves, Paul evokes what God can do. God continues to be referred to in verses 8–9 by his capacity for action upon the donors, in order that they may receive the rewards of their generosity. Verse 9 is a word-for-word quotation of the beginning of Ps 111.9 LXX, a psalm describing what the righteous man does; on the other hand, read in the context of the sentence beginning in verse 8, the quotation must be understood rather as describing divine action, ὁ θεός being the subject of the verbs ἐσκόρπισεν and ἔδωκεν. Paul would thus be theologizing the anthropological statement of the psalm.44 In verse 10, it is stated that God is the ultimate provider of the seed sown as well as the bread, which the grain transformed by man makes possible. Paul uses, on the subject of seed and bread, a few words borrowed from Isa 55.10 (LXX); in Isaiah, it is the Earth that gives back what it has received; in Paul, it is God who causes fruits to spring forth. Whatever is the case concerning the implicit subject of the quotation in verse 9, the human subject who is charitable towards the poor is the sower referred to from verse 6 to verse 10, but the argument for the gift being made is based on the generosity of God who is the source of all giving. The sower only ever sows what he has received from God; and he will receive from God his reward according to the generosity he has displayed. The major argument of this fourth and final confirmatio is sapiential in nature, whereas it was, rather, Christological in the first one.

43 Twice φειδοµένως, twice ἐπ’ εὐλογίας – a figure of Greek rhetoric called ἐπανάλεψις. 44 Opponents of this reading argue from the fact that the term δικαιοσύνη is repeated in verse 10, followed by the personal pronoun ὑµῶν. Thus Thrall, Second Epistle, 2.580– 83. But God, who is the subject of the verb δυνατεῖ in verse 8, remains the subject of the other verbs χορηγήσει, πληθυνε ῖ and αὐξήσει in verse 10; an unexpressed change of subject in verse 9 can hardly be accepted grammatically. We rather follow here Betz, 2 Corinthians 8 and 9, 111–17. Verse 15, which concludes the two chapters, refers to what God gives, and not to what a human being gives.

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5. Peroratio: Thanking God (9.11–15) With the peroratio, which covers verses 11–15 of chapter 9, we are no longer concerned with the argument seeking to persuade the addressees of the letter to give; the text ends on a note of thanksgiving. Grammatically speaking, verses 11 and 13 are anacolutha, the participles πλουτιζόµενοι (9.11) and δοξάζοντες (9.13) not governed by a main verb. This literary device produces a certain pathos;45 it gives a new intensity to the strong terms that punctuate the text from the beginning of chapter 8 and that took on more and more, in Christian vocabulary, a religious connotation: the carrying out of the collection is a διακονία (9.12, 13, repeating 8.4 and 9.1); it produces a κοινωνία between the churches; it makes the Corinthians obedient to the εὐαγγέλιον τοῦ Χριστοῦ (9.13, repeating 8.18) and even employs the language of “confession” (ὁµολογία) to introduce it.46 The peroratio also introduces new terms which, if they do not originally possess a religious meaning in Greek, begin to take on one in Christian language: for example, εὐχαριστία (9.11 and 12) and λειτουργία (9.12). And in verses 14 and 15, we again find the term χάρις, which is perhaps the most frequently used noun in 2 Cor 8–9. An exchange of goods is planned between Corinth and Jerusalem: the capital of Achaea showers material goods upon the capital of Judea; in return, the latter shares with the former its spiritual goods – this theme will be taken up again in Rom 15.25–28 – and all of this produces thanksgiving in the two churches. If, before concluding, we glance back over chapter 9, we observe that the tone here is a little different from that used in chapter 8. The argument is more sapiential than Christological. The term κύριος, used several times in chapter 8 (verses 5, 9, 19, 21), does not occur here. And Χριστός is found only once (verse 13) in the set expression “gospel of Christ,” which is to be found in the peroratio that concludes both chapters. One can say that the persuasive force of chapter 9 would be weak, if it were not an extension of, almost a postscript to, chapter 8, beginning with the theme of pride that concludes chapter 8 (verse 24) and introduces chapter 9 (verses 2 and 3).

45

B.B. Bruehler, “Proverbs, Persuasion and People: A Three-Dimensional Investigation of 2 Cor 9.6–16,” NTS 48 (2002), 209–24. 46 H. Klein, “Vereinbarung hinsichtlich der Mission? ὁµολογία εἰς τὸ εὐαγγέλιον in 2 Cor 9,13,” ZNW 103 (2012), 146–51.

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D. Conclusion The collection which Paul organised on behalf of the Mother church of Jerusalem contains several dimensions, including a political one. Distancing himself with regard to the observance of the Torah required by James and most of the brothers of Jerusalem, Paul experienced difficulty in having his own views accepted and probably in being accepted himself. It was necessary for him to display his goodwill towards the Mother church. This dimension underlies his writings, though it is never stated explicitly. The two chapters of the Second Epistle to the Corinthians which are devoted to this question, chapters 8 and 9, take an elevated view of the subject and highlight four dimensions of the collection.47 The first is an ethical dimension. Some members at least of the Jerusalem church were poor, and the standard of living in the Holy City was probably lower than in a provincial capital such as Corinth.48 The sharing by the Corinthians in the economic life of the Mother church is a matter of social justice. The second is an ecclesiological dimension. The term ἐκκλησία denotes in Paul either a community gathered for prayer or a particular church; it does not yet express the dimension of universality which it will take on subsequently. But the relationship between the churches, which are all churches of Christ, must be expressed through a communion49 which unites those of Macedonia, of Corinth, and of Achaea with that of Jerusalem. Members of the churches are saints (ἅγιοι), both in Corinth50 and in Jerusalem. But when he speaks to the Corinthians of the collection, it is more specifically those of Jerusalem which Paul calls “saints.”51 Later, in the Epistle to the Romans, Paul will emphasize the relationship between the Jewish churches and those churches made up of Gentiles. The third is a Christological dimension, emphasized chiefly in chapter 8. We find in 2 Cor 8.9 an echo of the hymn inserted into the Epistle to the Philippians (Phil 2.6–11). The Christological argument is added to the others (the example of the churches of Macedonia, the indirect benefit to the Corinthians, the argument from Scripture) in order to try to convince and, in a certain manner, it crowns them all. The emissaries charged with gathering the collection are called “the glory of Christ” (2 Cor 8.23). The collection is truly a Christological enterprise. 47

These four dimensions are clearly brought out in the recent commentary of Collins, Second Corinthians, 189–92. 48 See the use of the abstract noun πτωχεία in 2 Cor 8.2, 9. 49 See the abstract noun κοινωνία in 2 Cor 8.4; 9.13. 50 1 Cor 1.2; 6.1; 14.44; 16.15; 2 Cor 1.1; 13.12. 51 1 Cor 16.1; 2 Cor 8.4; 9.1, 12.

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Finally, the fourth dimension: the theological dimension of the collection, theological in the sense of the Father, must be emphasized. The collection is an element of the unbelievable gift made by God in granting to men his salvation. God has already shown himself generous towards the Corinthians (2 Cor 8.7; 9.8, 14). The collection is an additional element of this gift, for God gives to the faithful by inviting them to give: it is a grace52 which manifests, in itself, the generosity of God. By giving, the Corinthians give thanks for this grace received: in this way, the collection takes on a dimension of worship, many times emphasized throughout this article. These two chapters prefigure, so to speak, the propositio with which the parenetical chapters of the Epistle to the Romans begin: the life of charity – of which the collection is a major manifestation – is true Christian worship (Rom 12.1–2). For, ultimately, what do the Corinthians give? The general tone of the two chapters shows that they have received everything from God and from Christ; they do nothing more, then, than give what is not theirs, as Paul, following Jesus, constantly asserts: they have received the seed from above; men are only the managers of the goods of the Earth. If they show little generosity, they expose themselves to shame. But if they give much, the honour is not theirs, but belongs to the heavenly Donor from whom everything comes. Finally, do we find in Jewish culture and in Greco-Roman culture models that have inspired Paul’s arguments concerning the collection? Probably not models, because the donor according to Paul is already the recipient of a gift. Paul takes elements, however, from the surrounding culture, in particular everything which touches upon shame and honour among the Greeks. On the Jewish side, it is more difficult to say, except for that which regards the biblical concern for the poor in the Torah, Prophets, and Writings. We can formulate the hypothesis that Paul has convinced the Jews of the churches he had founded no longer to pay the didrachma, since the Temple of Jerusalem had no longer any meaning for them, and to pay now at least an equivalent sum to the church-Temple in Jerusalem. This is only an hypothesis, but let us draw out its consequences for history.53 If Paul gave this meaning to the collection, if he was able to convince the Mother church that she had this noble role to fulfil, that of representing, there where she stood in Jerusalem, the new Temple of God, then she could not but have felt this role as a great honour for her. When, then, at the end of his third missionary journey, Paul arrived carrying the money which he had collected from the churches of Achaea and Macedonia, we can conceive that his gift was favourably received.

52

See the use of the noun χάρις in 2 Cor 8.1, 4, 6, 7, 9, 16, 19; 9.8, 14, 15. Here is a possible reply to the question posed in this volume by John M.G. Barclay. 53

Paul’s Western Missionary Project: Jerusalem, Rome, Spain in Historical and Theological Perspectives N.T. Wright

A. Introduction History is littered with partial explanations. Sometimes we have an event without knowing the intention; sometimes an intention without knowing whether it was carried out; sometimes we have an event, or an intention, but without knowing the underlying motive. We know pretty well why the Emperor Hadrian built a wall between England and Scotland, but not, I think, why he decided upon a punitive anti-Jewish programme which precipitated the bar-Kochba revolt. Historians want to know “what happened,” but also why it happened; and the answer to “why” regularly contains the element of human motivation. Why did people see the world this way? Why did this person in particular intend to perform this particular act on this particular occasion? When it comes to the last years of Paul’s life, there is one point on which we have neither the event nor the underlying motivation, but only the stated intention. Paul hints at motivations, but does so in such a tantalizing way that we have difficulty discerning his underlying strategy: Far be it from me, you see, to speak about anything except what the Messiah has accomplished through me for the obedience of the nations, in word and deed, in the power of signs and wonders, in the power of God’s spirit. I have completed announcing the good news of the Messiah from Jerusalem around as far as Illyricum. My driving ambition has been to announce the good news in places where the Messiah has not been named, so that I can avoid building on anyone else’s foundation... But now, finding myself with no more room in these regions, I have a great longing to come to you now at last after so many years, and so to make my way to Spain. You see, I’m hoping to see you as I pass through, and to be sent on my way there by you, once I have been refreshed by you for a while. ...

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So when I have completed this, and tied up all the loose ends, I will come via you to Spain. And I know that when I come to you I shall come with the full blessing of the Messiah.1

This is stated baldly, leaving us in the dark not only as to whether the event was fulfilled but as to the underlying motivation which prompted it. We do not know for sure whether or not Paul reached Spain, though there is of course some evidence which might point that way, mostly in 2 Timothy 4.16 and in the second-century witnesses which speak of Paul reaching the uttermost parts of the west.2 And we do not know, in particular, why it was Spain that he designated as his next port of call. We do not even know, on the face of the text, exactly why he wanted to come to Rome. He tells the Roman Christians that he has often wanted to do so, but he mentions only mutual encouragement and the possibility of bearing some fruit in the area. 3 The equivalent statement in Acts makes Paul sound almost like a modern tourist, deciding in Ephesus on a final visit to Greece, then to Jerusalem, and then on to “see Rome.”4 These questions raise once more several issues which continue to vex scholars. How could Paul say that he had completed the work in the eastern Mediterranean, in whose towns and cities, apart from Ephesus and Corinth, he had spent comparatively little time? Did he have in mind some kind of sacred geography which was shaping his understanding of his own travels past and future? Did he still regard Jerusalem as the centre of the world, or had Rome now taken that place in his mind? Were his travel plans determined by some kind of theological strategy, or were they largely pragmatic? And what exactly did he mean by “announcing the good news of the Messiah,” anyway?5

1 Rom 15.18–20, 23f., 28f. NT translations are from my own The New Testament for Everyone (London: SPCK, 2011); US edition: The Kingdom New Testament (San Francsico: HarperOne, 2011). 2 See R. Jewett, Romans (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2007), ad loc. 3 Rom 1.11–13. 4 Acts 19.21. 5 In much of what follows I am dependent on my book Paul and the Faithfulness of God [henceforth PFG], and on one or two of the essays in the collection Pauline Perspectives [henceforth Perspectives], both published in November 2013 by SPCK in London and Fortress Press in Minneapolis. The question of whether Paul had a geographical strategy in his missionary work is raised by E.J. Schnabel, Early Christian Mission (Downers Grove: InterVarsity Press, 2004), 1320, but he says that all such proposals must remain hypothetical (see too 1481). I hope in the present paper to move cautiously beyond that.

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B. The Quest for Paul’s Motives We may begin with a very brief account of some relevant proposals. Johannes Munck famously suggested, against the proposals of F.C. Baur and the Tübingen School, that Paul had an “apocalyptic” and eschatological vision. This is a parallel move to that of Schweitzer vis-à-vis Bultmann: instead of a history-of-religions solution in which Paul represents Gentile Christianity over against a (possibly Petrine) Jewish Christianity, Paul in fact believed that the End – perhaps even the end of the world – was at hand, but that something was holding it back, namely the need to bring the nations to worship Israel’s God in Jerusalem.6 He was therefore planning to take the money collected from Gentile churches to Jerusalem in the hope of precipitating the events spoken of in Romans 11, including the salvation of “all Israel” and the Parousia itself. Munck thus argued for a thoroughly Jewish vision for Paul, keeping Jerusalem at the centre of the picture. There are, however, serious problems with the proposal. When Paul spells out his plans in Romans 15 he makes no attempt to link his forthcoming Jerusalem visit with anything in Romans 11; and Romans 11 itself is not, in my view, a prediction of the Parousia accompanied by large-scale Jewish conversion. Paul is in fact crystal clear: he does not expect the end of the world to come when he arrives in Jerusalem. He intends then to make his way via Rome to Spain. Some have argued, trying to preserve a Munck-like perspective, that Paul was now going to the ends of the earth to bring more converts from there, and that this would then have the desired effect of precipitating large-scale end-time events; but again Paul himself says nothing like this.7 A different way of coming to a parallel conclusion has been attempted by those who have explored the biblical geographies implied in the Table of Nations in Genesis 10 and the brief list of places in Isaiah 66. A case has been made in particular by James Scott that Paul saw himself called, not to the descendents of Shem or Ham, but to Noah’s other son, Japheth.8 But the problem here, as with all such attempts, is the considerable uncertainty which exists as to where, in Paul’s day, people would locate places like Tarshish, Put, Lud, Tubal, and Javan (Isaiah 66.19). This passage does, however, have some other links with Romans 15, which we will explore presently. Paul’s travels 6

J. Munck, Paul and the Salvation of Mankind (trans. F. Clarke; London: SCM, 1959). Munck, following Cullmann, makes considerable use in this connection of 2 Thess 2.6. 7 Cf. e.g. R. Aus, “Paul’s Travel Plans to Spain and the ‘Full Number of the Gentiles,’” NovT 21 (1979): 232–62. 8 See esp. J.M. Scott, Paul and the Nations: The Old Testament and Jewish Background of Paul’s Mission to the Nations with Special Reference to the Destination of Galatians (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1995).

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were indeed taking him to the “coastlands far away,”9 and he frequently invokes the relevant “servant” passages in Isaiah as providing him with his missionary mandate. But apart from the general reference to “those who have never heard” (Isaiah 52.15, quoted in Romans 15.21), we find no guiding principle on the basis of which we might infer a kind of apostolic or vocational geography.10 A third approach has been to see Paul’s strategy as related in some way to the Roman Empire itself. Among those who have explored the notion that Paul’s gospel was at least implicitly counter-imperial in its intended force, some have suggested that his aim was to confront Rome in its principal locations of power, and that this would naturally include Spain.11 Naturally, those who suppose that the Roman Empire was basically insignificant for Paul will resist such a conclusion.12 My problem with the recent counter-imperial readings of Paul is different. I agree with Horsley and others that Rome was indeed very important for Paul, but many who have expounded Paul as an opponent of the empire have regularly detached him from his Jewish context and radically downgraded his still very Jewish theology. The present paper is part of my much larger attempt to put Paul together again and to reflect on the integration, in his writing, of what western modernism has separated out under the labels “politics,” “theology,” and indeed “philosophy.”

9

Isa 41.1; 65.19; cf. too Isa 11.11; 42.4, etc. The recent attempt of K. Magda (Paul’s Territoriality and Mission Strategy [Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2009]) to take this investigation further via the geographical theories of R. Sack, Human Territoriality: Its Theory and History (Cambridge: CUP, 1986); Homo Geographicus (Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1997) has produced some interesting reflections but not, I think, any major advance. On Isaiah in Romans, cf. esp. J.R. Wagner, Heralds of the Good News: Isaiah and Paul “in Concert” in the Letter to the Romans (Leiden: Brill, 2002). 11 E.g. J.D. Crossan and J.L. Reed, In Search of Paul. How Jesus’s Apostle Opposed Rome’s Empire with God’s Kingdom: A New Vision of Paul’s Words & World (San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 2004); more broadly, the various works of Horsley (e.g. Paul and Empire: Religion and Power in Roman Imperial Society [Harrisburg: Trinity Press International, 1997]; Paul and Politics: Ekklesia, Israel, Imperium, Interpretation [Harrisburg: Trinity Press International, 2000]; Paul and the Roman Imperial Order [London: Continuum, 2004]). Magda, Paul’s Territoriality, 52f., like many others, points out that Paul’s “territoriality” (the theme of her monograph) was formed by the cities where he lived, and that these – Tarsus, Antioch, Ephesus, Corinth, even Jerusalem – were “vitally determined” by the Roman world. 12 I here have in mind J.M.G. Barclay, Pauline Churches and Diaspora Jews (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011), ch. 19 (ch. 18 is also relevant). I have engaged with Barclay in detail in PFG ch. 12. 10

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Central to this task is a further integration, highlighted in some important recent work, namely the integration of “apocalyptic” properly so called and “politics” in the widest sense.13 Strong attacks have been made on this position recently, and I have responded and restated the case in various places.14 The present paper is a further contribution to this task. To oversimplify, I believe that Munck and his followers were absolutely right to highlight Jewish apocalyptic as the matrix for understanding his motivation and missional strategy, but wrong to think that “Jewish apocalyptic” is all about the end of the world and the events which are supposed to precede it. Rather, “Jewish apocalyptic” rightly understood includes as a central component a strategy for both narrating and living the counter-imperial story in which Israel’s God, the creator, dethrones the present world rulers and exalts a messianic figure in their place. This reading of “apocalyptic” has little to do with the theological construct which in recent decades has borrowed that label, claiming thereby some religionsgeschichtliche validation while in fact turning “apocalyptic” into something unknown in second-temple Judaism or indeed in early Christianity, namely the theory that the new revelation of the divine salvation renders all history, previously and subsequently, irrelevant and invalid.15 It is of course true that those who expected a radical new moment in the divine work in the world, and who gave expression to that hope through the literary genre of “apocalypse,” did indeed think that this radical new moment would change everything, and would not emerge from an immanent process of development within the world. But the same writers routinely, one might say always, be13

I have in mind, for instance, the work of A. Portier-Young, Apocalypse Against Empire: Theologies of Resistance in Early Judaism (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2011), whose studies of Daniel, 1 Enoch, and related traditions indicates well enough that the writings which we most naturally locate in the genre “apocalypse” had a definite sociopolitical intent, and were far less concerned with the actual collapse of the space-time universe than with major and hugely significant upheavals within the world of countries, rulers, and governments. 14 E.g. E. Adams, The Stars Will Fall from Heaven: Cosmic Catastrophe in the New Testament and Its World (London: T&T Clark, 2007); D.C. Allison, Constructing Jesus: Memory, Imagination, and History (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2010) and elsewhere. For an initial response, see PFG, ch. 2. 15 I have in mind the work of J.L. Martyn and M.C. de Boer, especially their respective Galatians commentaries (J.L. Martyn, Galatians: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary [New York: Doubleday, 1997]; M.C. de Boer, Galatians: A Commentary [Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2011]) and the work which stands behind them (e.g. M.C. de Boer, “Paul and Jewish Apocalyptic Eschatology,” in J. Marcus and M.L. Soards [eds.], Apocalyptic and the New Testament: Essays in Honor of J. Louis Martyn [Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1989]: 169–90) and the other work there referred to). The attempt to use this construct for further Pauline interpretation and wider theological reflection seems to be fundamentally ill-conceived: e.g. J.B. Davis and D. Harink (eds.), Apocalyptic and the Future of Theology: With and Beyond J. Louis Martyn (Eugene: Cascade Books, 2012).

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lieved that this new moment would be the long-awaited fulfilment of ancient prophecies and promises, and they regularly invoked schemes like those in Daniel 2 and 7, in which the new moment would come after a historical sequence characterized by a succession of world empires. Genuine “apocalyptic” thus contains two paradoxes. First, it was believed that the creator God would act shockingly and surprisingly – as he always said he would. The new divine action would thus be both radically new and the long fulfilment of ancient promises. Second, this radical and surprising new event would occur “when the fullness of time (to plērōma tou chronou) had come,” as Paul puts it in Galatians 4.4. It would remain a fresh act of the sovereign God, not the fulfilment of some immanent process, but its arrival would nevertheless take its place, at least in retrospect, at the proper moment in the overarching divine plan.16 In what follows I want to suggest that Paul was indeed an “apocalyptic” thinker, and that this conditioned his motivation and mission strategy, and that we should expect this to mean that his understanding of the fresh revelation in the gospel of Jesus had what we would now call political consequences, which he was indeed following through at least in his mature planning. I thus propose that the projected trip to Spain, as in Romans 15, was one result of a vision which remained rooted in Paul’s Jewish eschatology, but that this eschatology, rethought around Jesus as Israel’s Messiah and around the fresh gift of the divine spirit, necessarily involved an important though oblique confrontation with the last great world empire, that of Rome. Jerusalem remains important, but not that important; Rome is important, though not central; what matters is that the one God has raised and exalted the crucified Messiah, so that the world now has a new Lord. A new kind of Lord. That is the announcement Paul has been making elsewhere in the Roman world, and he is determined to go on announcing it to those who have lived under the rule of Caesar.

C. From Damascus to Spain: A Consistent Mission Strategy? The attempt to suggest that Paul’s mission strategy had the overall aim of outflanking the empire of Caesar runs into an apparent problem right from the start when Paul goes off, as he says in Galatians 1.17, to “Arabia.” Martin Hengel has proposed that Paul engaged in a mission within the Nabatean kingdom, stirring up trouble which resulted in official opposition from King

16

It is in my view time that we stopped framing the question in terms of the either/or – either an ahistorical moment or the result of an immanent process – expressed by (the early) Barth and, not least, Ernst Käsemann, neither of whom showed much understanding of actual Jewish apocalyptic writing.

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Aretas, as we see in 2 Corinthians 11.32.17 Ksenija Magda speaks of Paul’s “evangelistic rally in Nabatea,” giving the same text as evidence for such a thing.18 But there are two problems with this. First, the single verses in Galatians and 2 Corinthians say nothing of any activity in “Arabia,” wherever precisely Paul may have meant by that. The brief mention in 2 Corinthians is of a threat in Damascus, not in some city to the south. Second, I have argued elsewhere that Paul hints deliberately at a very different reason for his journey to “Arabia.”19 He is closely echoing 1 Kings 19.14–15, where Elijah20 goes off to Mount Sinai to hand in his prophetic commission, only to be told to “return again to Damascus” to anoint a new king and a new prophet. Later in Galatians Paul speaks of Sinai as being “a mountain in Arabia” (4.25). The best explanation for Galatians 1.17 is that Paul, following the agenda for “zeal” in passages like 1 Maccabees 2.49–68, had been modelling himself on Elijah, and that following his confrontation with the risen Jesus he did what Elijah did, going to Sinai to say “I have been exceedingly zealous” (Galatians 1.14 with 1 Kings 19.14), and to gain a fresh vision for the task to which he now gave himself, that of acting as a new kind of prophet, announcing a new kind of king. The mention of Arabia cannot, therefore, support the weight which has been hung from it, and certainly cannot serve to undermine a proposal about a Roman focus for Paul’s mission strategy.21 What about Jerusalem, then? Again, some recent scholarship has proposed that Paul engaged in evangelism in Jerusalem itself on his various early visits there.22 This is not impossible,23 and it may be that this is what he means 17

Details in Schnabel, Early Christian Mission, 1032–45. Schnabel, following Hengel and many others, discusses Paul’s supposed Arabian evangelism in detail. 18 Magda, Paul’s Territoriality and Mission Strategy, 101. 19 See N.T. Wright, “Paul, Arabia and Elijah (Galatians 1:17),” JBL (1996) (reprinted in Pauline Perspectives). 20 Elijah was one of the two archetypes of “zeal” in Paul’s day, the other being Phinehas. 21 There is, of course, another possible response to the argument that Paul’s Arabian mission stands in the way of seeing his missionary strategy in terms of the Roman Empire: namely that Paul’s mature strategy developed over time, and that it was only later on that the Roman focus took shape in his mind. Certainly the journeys in Acts do not indicate a determined march towards the main Roman centres: Luke highlights the puzzlement over a silent visit to Asia and an impossible trip to Bithynia, followed by the surprise of the call to Macedonia. My main argument here concerns the strategy which Paul had in mind when writing Romans, summarizing his work so far, seeing it, perhaps, in a new light, and setting himself particular goals which would, so far as we know, carry him through the rest of his life. Even if Paul had “evangelised” in Arabia, therefore, that would not debar such a proposal. But I persist in thinking that Arabian evangelism is a modern myth. 22 E.g. Schnabel, Early Christian Mission, 1045f. 23 Acts 9.28–29 says that he was “coming and going and speaking boldly in the name of the Lord.”

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when he says, summing up his work to date, that he has announced the Messiah’s gospel “from Jerusalem around as far as Illyricum.”24 But does this warrant the further strong claim (of James Scott among others) that Paul regarded Jerusalem as the centre of his work? I think not. Notoriously in Galatians Paul contrasts the present Jerusalem, which is in slavery with its children, with the free “Jerusalem above,” the mother of us all.25 This corresponds, I suggest, to the implicit downgrading of the Jerusalem temple in Paul’s theology through his strong statements about the church as the true temple.26 For Paul, Israel’s God had returned to his people as he had promised, but he had come, not to dwell in the temple, but in the person of Jesus the Messiah, and equally in the person and power of the spirit poured out on believers in every place.27 The strong sense of place which went with classic Jewish temple-theology had been relocated in and around Jesus and the spirit. This was bound to mean, and in Paul clearly did mean, a sense of detachment from Jerusalem itself, not merely as a pragmatic move to distance himself (and the Galatians) from the Jerusalem apostles but because the whole world had now become God’s holy land, and the “temple” in that holy land was – however surprisingly! – the church in every place.28 This particular point needs filling out, because the notion of the whole world as the holy land, which I believe is central to Paul’s mission strategy, is not normally noticed. But this is arguably one of the main themes of Romans 8.29 In Romans 4.13 Paul spoke of the divine promise to Abraham concerning his geographical inheritance. But he does not mention the single territory in the Middle East. No: the promise, he says, is that Abraham would inherit “the world.” This is not a new idea; earlier Jewish writers had explored the same theme, combining the localized promises to Abraham with the universal rule promised to the coming Davidic King. 30 Paul seems effortlessly to make the same combination, and when he arrives at Romans 8 it emerges in a particular form, dependent upon these Psalms and also Psalm 8 in which the human figure is given “glory,” i.e. sovereignty, over the whole created order. This, it 24

Rom 15.19. Gal 4.25f. 26 1 Cor 3.16f.; 6.19; 2 Cor 6.16; Eph 2.19–22. 27 See PFG, ch. 9. 28 I am thus in agreement with Magda, Paul’s Territoriality and Mission Strategy, 61–79, that the earthly Jerusalem was not central for Paul’s mission strategy, while disagreeing with her somewhat Platonic proposal that Paul had detached himself, like Ezekiel, from real space and time (68). 29 For what follows see, e.g., my commentary on Romans ad loc. (N.T. Wright, Romans [New Interpreter’s Bible Volume 10; Nashville: Abingdon, 2002]). 30 Pss 2, 72, and 89; Isa 11; etc. See N.T. Wright, “Paul and the Patriarch: The Role(s) of Abraham in Galatians and Romans,” JSNT 35.3 (2013): 207–41 (expanded and reprinted in Perspectives). 25

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appears, is how the worldwide promises to Abraham are to be fulfilled: through the messianic reign in which the Messiah’s people will themselves have a share, anticipated in the present in their suffering, prayer, and hope. Romans 8 is, in fact, where Paul’s retold Exodus-story comes to its climax.31 The people who leave the state of slavery by coming through the waters of baptism (Romans 6; compare 1 Corinthians 10.1–2), who then arrive at Mount Sinai to face the challenge of Torah (Romans 7), are now led by the divine presence through the challenging wilderness (Romans 8.12–17) to the “inheritance” which is the Messiah’s and which he will share with his people (8.18–30).32 This remarkable drawing together of biblical themes is vital for a proper understanding of what Paul thought “the gospel” was about, and what it would entail. Paul’s gospel was not, as so often imagined, a message about how humans could escape the present world and find their way to a different one. It is about the redemption and renewal of creation itself, and of humans within that. It is about the creator God rescuing people from “the present evil age” through the unexpected but nevertheless promise-fulfilling events of the Messiah’s death and resurrection (Galatians 1.4). “The gospel,” then, whose exposition comes to a climax in Romans 8, is not simply a message about “justification by faith,” vital though that is as one key step in the process. It is the announcement of Jesus as Israel’s Messiah and hence as the true Lord of the world. The echoes of Psalm 2 and Psalm 8 (and, behind them, the other messianic psalms and prophetic passages) give a clear enough indication of what Paul has in mind. All this comes together again in the climactic passage Romans 15.7–13, which concludes by quoting Isaiah 11.1, one of the best known biblical prophecies about the coming renewal of the world under the rule of the Messiah. And this leads directly, of course, to the statement of Paul’s missionary plans in Romans 15.14–32. If we want to understand what Paul thought he was called to do in the last years of his life, we need to place his vision of creation renewed in fulfilment of the Abrahamic promises and under the sovereignty of Israel’s Messiah at its heart. When we do that, we can tie together some of the threads of his thought which have often become separated. It has become commonplace in some recent writing to see the picture of renewed creation in Romans 8 in implicit contrast to the picture of abundant prosperity offered within the Augustan empire.33 But those who have drawn attention to this apparent parallel 31

For this point see N.T. Wright, “New Exodus, New Inheritance: The Narrative Structure of Romans 3—8,” in S.K. Soderlund and N.T. Wright (eds.), Romans and the People of God: Essays in Honor of Gordon D. Fee on the Occasion of His 65th Birthday, (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1999), 26–35 (reprinted in Perspectives). 32 This reading of Rom 8 owes much to the work of S.C. Keesmaat, Paul and His Story: (Re)Interpreting the Exodus Tradition (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1999). 33 See, e.g., Jewett, Romans, 509–13. The Ara Pacis is the classic example, and the theme is equally expressed by poets like Horace and Virgil.

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(between the prosperity of creation claimed by Rome and the renewal of creation promised through Jesus and the spirit) have not usually seen how this fits exactly with the messianic promises of the psalms and prophets. Here is one of the things which history-of-religions research has always had trouble grasping: that Paul proclaimed a thoroughly Jewish message, but that precisely because it was a biblically rooted Jewish message it was, of necessity, for the whole world. It was precisely within some second-temple Jewish readings of scripture, particularly Deuteronomy, that one might find the hope for a worldwide kingdom.34 Behind this problem there lies an even deeper one, germane to our present enquiry: that the very category of “religion,” which for the last two centuries has been more or less defined so as to exclude “politics,” and indeed “philosophy,” “culture,” and many other things, has been massively distorting, not only but not least through the subsequent analysis (back to F.C. Baur once more) into “Jewish” and “Gentile” forms of religion. It is these categories that continue to provide the unstable foundation for much exegesis. There is, to be sure, a sense in which some of the things that happened in the Pauline communities might be recognizably “religious” in the ancient world, but the first impression would have been very different.35 His converts offered no animal sacrifices, attended no temple, had no sacred orders overlapping with local magistracies, and did not consult oracles, auguries, or omens. They did not, in other words, look at all like a “religion.” They did, however, teach a worldview and a thought-out ethical code, as ancient “philosophies” did. And they did give allegiance to someone they hailed as kyrios, as Rome demanded. If we want to understand Paul’s mission strategy it will not do to confine ourselves to “religion.” We need philosophy and politics on the table as well.36 34 See, e.g., W. Horbury, “Jewish Imperial Thought and the Pauline Gospel.” Unpublished paper from SNTS meeting in Leuven, 2012. 35 See PFG ch. 13. 36 This is one of the problems that arises when Paul is taught in “Departments of Religious Studies.” He refuses to fit any of our modern categories, but – as some contemporary atheist philosophers seem to have realised! – it would probably be better to study him in departments of philosophy or politics (or, indeed, “Jewish studies”): cf., e.g., G. Agamben, The Time That Remains: A Commentary on the Letter to the Romans (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2005); J. Taubes, The Political Theology of Paul (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2004); A. Badiou, Saint Paul: The Foundation of Universalism (Stanford University Press, 2003), and others. Schnabel, Early Christian Mission, 1405f. points out that the Jewish expectations of the coming Messiah carried a political sense, and that Paul’s own missionary work might thus be said to have a political dimension. But he then caricatures current scholarly attempts to draw out the significance of this as being “formulated at conference tables in the secure ivory towers of modern scholars whose lives are not in danger.” One of the reasons their lives are not in danger might in fact be the separation of spirituality and politics which Schnabel himself appears to support.

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Nor will it do, faced with Paul’s vision of new creation, to think of his missionary activity solely in terms of “evangelism” in the normal modern sense (still less of “evangelistic rallies,” as though Paul were an ancient Billy Graham!). Here we confront a further false either/or. On the one hand, it is often assumed that Paul, like some kinds of modern missionary, was concerned simply to “convert” as many people as possible, using the big cities as his main focus so that the natural lines of trade and travel would carry the message into the hinterlands. No doubt that happened, as for instance with Epaphras going from Ephesus to Colosse and returning to report back to the apostle.37 On the other hand, it is often noticed that Paul seems to have been content to make a quick foray here and there, so that he has “no more room in these regions” (Romans 15.23) after a few short years in which, as he must have been aware, most people in Greece and Asia Minor had not only not been converted but had probably not even heard about this strange new movement concerning Jesus. This is what has generated the idea, from at least Munck onwards, that Paul was concerned not to convert entire populations, but to collect representatives from all nations, as part of his agenda to precipitate the Parousia. Some have even suggested that Paul was simply concerned to be able to say that this or that country or region should not be able to accuse him of missing them out. They had had, in principle, a chance to hear the gospel, and it was (so that line of thought would run) their fault, not Paul’s, if they failed to respond. I find the former account of Paul inadequate, and the latter unnecessary and (to be frank) somewhat bizarre. So what other explanations might there be for the blunt claim in Romans 15.23, mēketi topon echōn en tois klimasi toutois? The clue is found, I suggest, in Paul’s “apocalyptic” vision – but not in the now normal sense of “apocalyptic.” We are not talking about “the end of the world” in the sense of the collapse of the space-time universe. Nor are we talking about a sudden event which would render irrelevant all previous and subsequent “history.” The final salvation, including the Parousia, might indeed happen at any time (and Romans 13.11–12 emphasizes that forward look). But the “apocalypses” of Daniel and similar books were not about (in our sense) “the end of the world.” They were about the dramatic overthrow of the present world rulers, often at a pre-ordained moment after they had grown to their full height, and the installation of a new world ruler in their place, the one appointed by Israel’s God – the one whom Paul, in company with many others, saw as the Messiah.

37

Col 1.7f.

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This means, I suggest, that we should highlight Paul’s self-designation as a herald, a kēryx.38 A “herald” is not entrusted with the task of making sure that all the citizens of a town or the inhabitants of a country come into line with the rule of the one who has been proclaimed as king or lord. That will be left to others. The herald’s job is to make the initial announcement. As is now often pointed out, the word euangelion in Paul’s day was in regular use to denote the royal proclamation of Caesar’s accession or birthday. Paul seems to have combined this – it was not difficult – with the similar idea in Isaiah 40.9 and 52.7, where the herald is to announce that YHWH is returning to Zion, and has become king. For Paul, as for the gospels, “Christology” is not about an abstract proposition concerning the “divinity” of Jesus, but the dynamic announcement that in Jesus, Israel’s Messiah, Israel’s God has become king of the world, with immediate effect and urgent consequences. That is “the gospel of the Messiah” (Romans 15.19) which Paul, as a herald, is charged with proclaiming. His task is to “name” the Messiah (15.20), with “naming” carrying the sense it bears in Ephesians 1.21 and Philippians 2.9–11. His aim is to elicit “obedience from the nations” (Romans 15.18), and he sees those who confess Jesus as kyrios, believing that the one God did indeed raise him from the dead, as the willing citizens of this new regime. Paul never separates, as we have been taught to do, the “sacred” and “secular” meanings of words like pistis: believing in the heart that God raised Jesus from the dead is for him part of the same thing as giving one’s loyalty to this Jesus. That is why Romans 1.3–5 is properly to be seen both as a strong opening statement of Paul’s gospel rather than as a mere captatio benevolentiae, a detached credal formula which then gives way to the “real” theme of the letter in 1.16–17. Jesus as the risen Messiah is Paul’s theme, in the book-end passages 1.3–4 and 15.12, and the obedience of faith among all the nations is the intended result (1.5; 15.18). If this is the right interpretation of Paul’s task as a herald, holding together what modern thought has split apart as “religious” and “political,” then it is less of a surprise that he sees the geographical focus of his work in terms of key Roman cities and provinces. It is a mistake to read Romans 15.19 (the kyklos from Jerusalem round to Illyricum) as reflecting the ancient Jewish belief which placed Jerusalem at the centre of the world. Paul places it at one point on the circle, not at the circle’s centre.39 His description corresponds 38 The noun kēryx is found in the Paulines only in 1 Tim 2.7; 2 Tim 1.11. The abstract kērygma is at Rom 16.25 and, perhaps more importantly, 1 Cor 1.21; 2.4; 15.14. But the verb kēryssō appears to be among Paul’s favourite terms to describe the activity he saw as basic to his calling: Rom 10.8, 14, 15; 1 Cor 1.23; 9.27; 15.11, 12; 2 Cor 1.19; 4.5; 11.4 (twice); Gal 2.2; 5.11; Phil 1.15; Col 1.23; 1 Thess 2.19, and 1 Tim 3.16; 2 Tim 4.2. 39 Against, e.g., Scott, Paul and the Nations.

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more to some ancient Roman maps which, like today’s route maps for buses or underground trains, routinely foreshorten and flatten out some details in order to highlight others, and which could indeed depict a journey such as Paul’s in terms of one segment of a great circle.40 Acts does not mention Paul visiting Illyricum, but then Acts remains silent on several things we know quite securely from the letters.41 It would not be difficult to fit a visit to Illyricum into one of the various itineraries, and granted the strategic importance of that province north of Macedonia and just across the sea from central Italy it is easy to imagine that Paul would have wanted to herald the Messiah there.42 It is likewise difficult to imagine that, in a letter written to Rome from Achaea, Paul would have invented a purely fictitious visit to a province not all that far from either. But the question presses: in what sense did Paul have no more room for work? Were there not many thousands of people even in Macedonia, Achaea, and Illyricum, not to mention Pontus, Bithynia, and elsewhere, who had not yet heard the name of Jesus, let alone believed in him? Paul cannot have been ignorant of the vast land masses to the north where many “barbarian” nations lived, including the Scythians whom he names in Colossians 3.11. As an assiduous bible reader he certainly knew of the lands one might visit by sailing south down the Red Sea. Nor can he have forgotten, having lived in Syrian Antioch at the confluence of trade routes, that there were lands to the east, both in the Mesopotamian area where many Jews still lived and in countries further off in the same direction. And, even in the Roman world, what about north Africa, whose seaboard held many key Roman towns, most if not all with significant Jewish populations? Just what was the territorial dimension to his vocation, in the last years of his life and work? The question of north Africa is tricky, but in relation to the other areas just mentioned I think my case will hold. Paul’s ambition was to announce Jesus as Messiah and Lord across the key parts of Caesar’s empire. Spain was not, for him, simply “the ends of the earth,” though it will have been that as well. It was the end of Caesar’s “earth.” No doubt Paul had heard of the recent conquests in Gaul, and perhaps even of Claudius’s taking of Britannia. But Spain had been a major centre of Roman activity and influence for many generations by Paul’s day, and had indeed produced some significant figures in Roman public life, the Seneca family being among the most obvious. The reason, then, why Paul had “no more room” for work in the regions where he had 40

See Jewett, Romans, 912f. for details of such ancient maps. See, for instance, the events chronicled in 2 Cor 11.23–33; we would not know, from Acts, about the three shipwrecks in 11.25, prior to the one reported in Acts 27, and the various official beatings of 11.24–25 are not mentioned in Acts, either. 42 On Illyricum and its significance, see J.J. Wilkes in OCD 3rd ed. 747, and refs. there. 41

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been – particularly Asia, Macedonia, Achaea, and apparently Illyricum – was that he had now “named” Jesus in those territories, and like a herald having made a royal proclamation he knew that it was important to move on and allow those who responded to the proclamation to take matters forward from there.43 It is important not to fall into the “either/or” trap at this point. Those who have been most eager to see Paul’s gospel confronting Caesar’s empire have often in the last two decades envisaged Paul as a “political” figure and therefore not as a theological teacher or an “evangelist” in the modern sense. This is clearly wrong. The rest of Romans has far too much to say about Messiahfaith, about justification, about the spirit’s work in the heart, about the transformation of character, and so on, for us to imagine that it is all “really about” a political agenda. (This is where the other key element of Romans 15 comes in. Isaiah 66 spoke of the distant lands where the divine glory would be seen, and envisaged people coming from those nations “as an offering to YHWH” [66.20]. Paul echoes this in Romans 15.16; but, for him, the “glory” was not in Jerusalem, to be sought by the nations at the end of a long pilgrimage. The “glory” was in the new temple, so that Jesus’ followers would see it when they gazed at one another.44) But the political dimension is vital. Paul seems to have supposed that it was his task to plant cells of people loyal to Jesus as kyrios right across Caesar’s empire. Ecclesiology was not a pragmatic addendum to a gospel of individual faith and salvation.45 That loyalty had to be more than skin deep, more than a pragmatic assent to an apparently powerful message (note the “signs and wonders” of Romans 15.19). It had to involve all the things traditional theology has detected inside the concept of “faith.” But this “faith,” this pistis, was a loyalty which trumped all others. And it was to make this proclamation, with this effect, that Paul was eager now to go to Spain, and to solicit the patronage of the Roman church in doing so.46 Two final matters need attention. Both are speculative (like most attempts to analyze motivation, especially in ancient history), but both are important. 43

This proposal gives shape and depth to the much vaguer suggestions of Magda, Paul’s Territoriality and Mission Strategy, ch. 4. She argues, rightly in my view, that “Paul works from Roman geography both incidentally and consciously” (82), but suggests that this is at least in part because, as a native of Tarsus and a student of Stoicism there he had been “taught to be a cosmopolitan” (83). Nobody who drew on Ps 2 or Isa 11 needed a Stoic to teach them that Israel’s God claimed the whole world. 44 2 Cor 3.18; 4.6. This theme obviously deserves fuller elaboration than is possible here. 45 As might seem to be implied by Schnabel’s summary (Early Christian Mission, 1481); though cf. his fuller account at, e.g., 1370, 1409. 46 See Rom 15.24, where “to be sent on my way there by you,” hyph’ hymōn propemphthēnai, is a regular term for people not simply waving goodbye but supplying the needs of the traveller(s).

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First, I have suggested that Paul’s intention to go to Spain was motivated from within what we might properly call his “apocalyptic” understanding of history. This has little to do with an “end-of-the-world” expectation and far more to do with the Danielic sense that world history was proceeding, under divine guidance even though the main actors were pagans, through a sequence of world empires, and that the radical new thing that would then happen, the inbreaking of the long-awaited divine kingdom, would come about when these kingdoms had run their course. Daniel 2 and Daniel 7 offered this fourkingdom sequence, with the kingdom of God, and perhaps more specifically of a messianic figure, bursting in upon the last kingdom as a new sort of rule, holding the others to account and setting up a kingdom which could not be shaken. Daniel 9 offered an actual chronology for when this would happen, which we know to have been a matter of eager and many-sided discussion in the second-temple period: when would the “seventy times seven” be complete?47 Paul does not draw directly on Daniel. But his picture of the renewal of all creation (Romans 8, 1 Corinthians 15), of Jesus as the one who now has authority over all the powers of the world (Romans 5, 1 Corinthians 15) and of the judgment of the powers of the world (1 Corinthians 2.8; Colossians 2.15) fits alongside his sense of eschatological chronology (“when the fullness of time arrived,” Galatians 4.4) to give a characteristically Jewish understanding of the radically new thing that had burst upon the world scene. In Daniel 2 the (messianic) “stone” smashed the idolatrous statue on its feet (the fourth kingdom); in Daniel 7 the “one like a son of man” was given authority over the monsters, particularly over the fourth one; and in the retrieval of this scenario in 4 Ezra 11–12 the (messianic) “lion” confronts and overpowers the “eagle,” which is said to be the fourth kingdom spoken of by Daniel (12.11). There is no question that “Ezra” sees the eagle as Rome. This is genuine, firstcentury “apocalyptic,” rooted in Israel’s scriptures and applied to the immediate political situation. My proposal is that Paul belongs on the same map. This is the scripturally rooted motivation for his determination to “name the Messiah,” to announce his euangelion, his kērygma, in the territories where Caesar’s name is “named” and his “good news” proclaimed by heralds. He is confronting the Eagle with the news that the Lion has won the victory. Paul’s messianic vision is not of course identical to that of 4 Ezra. And we should not imagine, if I am right, that Paul was therefore a modern left-wing anti-imperial anarchist born out of due time. But rejecting overstatement on the one hand or caricature on the other ought not to make us ignore something that may well have lain at the heart of Paul’s actual motivation. The more we make Paul an “apocalyptic” thinker, the more this element of his potential

47

On all this, see now PFG ch. 2.

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motivation, at once scripturally grounded, politically directed, and theologically extended, makes sense. Were we to revisit 2 Thessalonians, for which there is no space here, we might find some interesting parallel evidence. Second, were there Jews in Spain in Paul’s day? This might be less relevant if we were to conclude that Paul never in fact evangelized in synagogues, but scholarly opinion has swung the other way of late, and there is no good reason to doubt something like the picture in Acts, where Paul goes first to the synagogue and announces Jesus as Messiah, only leaving if and when he was thrown out. The floggings and beatings already mentioned (2 Corinthians 11.24–25) remain among the best evidence: if Paul had stopped going to synagogues and talking about Jesus there he would not have been punished. So we may assume that his normal missionary pattern was indeed, as he says of the gospel in Romans 1.16, “to the Jew first and also, equally, to the Greek.”48 Indeed, the balance of the argument in Romans, especially Romans 9–11, indicates that Paul was eager to explain to a potentially anti-Jewish Roman audience that the Jewish people had not been cast off, that there was an existing and growing “Jewish remnant” of believers, and that Paul’s own Gentile mission had among its aims the intention of fulfilling Deuteronomy 32.21, “so that, if possible, I can make my ‘flesh’ jealous, and save some of them.”49 It is possible, of course, that this forceful argument is simply directed against potential anti-Jewish sentiment in Rome itself, with no thought for wider ramifications. But if Jewett is even partly right in seeing Romans as a document designed to solicit support for the projected Spanish mission, the balance of the argument, together with the striking statement in 1.16, indicate that if this is the message Paul proclaims, and if he is soliciting support for a mission to Spain, he at least believes there are Jewish settlements there. I regard this as in fact quite likely. Josephus and others strongly imply that by this stage there were Jews in every possible place around the world, though this has not been verified by archaeological remains.50 Granted, the better48

The “equally” is stressed as a translation by C.E.B. Cranfield, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Epistle to the Romans (2 vols.; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1975), ad loc. 49 See Rom 10.19; 11.14. The motif of “jealousy” in this passage is studied at length by R.H. Bell, Provoked to Jealousy: The Origin and Purpose of the Jealousy Motif in Romans 9–11 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1994); cf. too the relevant section of PFG ch. 11. 50 Cf. the general statements in Jos. Ap. 2.282; B.J. 2.398; 7.43; A.J. 14.115 (citing Strabo to the same effect); see too Philo Flacc. 45f.; Sib. Or. 3.271, and Augustine’s citing of Seneca similarly in Civ. 6.11. (Contrast Justin Dial. 117, claiming that Mal 1.11 is not fulfilled by the Jews, because there are in fact nations where they have never dwelt, whereas Christians are already to be found in every possible location.) Cf. too Acts 2.5. This is challenged by Jewett, Romans, 924, citing the eight-page article of W.P. Bowers, “Jewish Communities in Spain in the Time of Paul the Apostle,” JTS 26.2 (1975): 395– 402, and the single-page piece by T.C.G. Thornton, “St. Paul’s Missionary Intentions in Spain,” ExpTim 86.4 (1975): 120, under the rubric “as the recent studies have shown.”

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evidenced Jewish settlements in Spain are from a later period, witnessing an influx after the disasters of 70 and 135. But there seems no reason in principle why there should not be Jewish settlements there in Paul’s day. The argument of Romans seems strongly to suggest that Paul expected to find them there, to use them as his basis for announcing the very Jewish message about the new world ruler who had arisen from Judaea, and perhaps to be beaten once more for his pains. And his insistence in Romans on the continuing importance of the Jewish people in the divine plan seems designed to explain to a potentially sceptical Roman audience why it made sense for them to support him in this plan. He might have been wrong, but this is the best sense we can make of Romans.

D. Conclusion I have argued for an understanding of Paul’s missionary motivation which cuts against, or at least significantly modifies, those normally on offer. The reason Paul had “no more room for work” in the region of the north-east Mediterranean was not because everyone there had been converted, or had even heard of Jesus; nor because he was only interested in collecting a representative sample of Gentile converts and taking them to Jerusalem to precipitate the Parousia. It was because he held what can properly be called an apocalyptic understanding of the gospel as the sudden and explosive fulfilment of the Thornton adds little on this point except to stress the paucity of archaeological evidence (see also e.g. Cranfield, Romans, 769 n.1). Bowers (396, 400) plays down the firstcentury evidence of a Palestinian amphora on Ibiza; even if this is evidence primarily of trade, such trade regularly, in the wider Mediterranean world, generated immigration. He also plays down Josephus’s report (B.J. 2.183) that Caligula banished Herod Antipas to Spain, where he died (in A.J. 18.252 Jos. has changed this to Lyons in Gaul; this is sometimes resolved, e.g. by H.W. Hoehner, Herod Antipas: A Contemporary of Jesus Christ [Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1980], 262, through postulating a different “Lyons,” Lugdunum Convenarum, on the Spain/Gaul frontier). Granted, banishing a Jewish king to a place does not necessarily mean that there was already a Jewish community there, but nor can this be ruled out. The testimony of Strabo and Seneca, as well as Josephus and Philo, though generalized, would make it strange to think there were no Jews in Spain at all. Bowers tries to clinch his case (402) by claiming that in Rom 10.14–21 Paul says that the Jewish people have all now heard the good news, so that a Spanish mission cannot be aimed at any more Jews. This rests on a misunderstanding: (a) 10.14–18 is about Gentiles hearing the gospel; (b) 10.18 is in any case an argument from the revelation in the natural world as in Ps 19.4, not in the preaching of the gospel; (c) Paul does not mention Jewish reactions to the gospel until 10.19, and then only in terms of Isa and Deut, not in terms of places where he himself has preached. This is not to deny (Bowers 400) that the later substantial Jewish population in Spain will have been the result of forced migrations after the disasters of 70 and 135.

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age-old divine plan to confront the rulers of the world with the “good news” that Israel’s Messiah had been raised from the dead and was now the world’s true Lord. The particular “ruler of the world” at the time was of course Caesar. Paul, believing that “the fullness of time” had arrived, will have seen Caesar and his empire as the last great monster, whose rule needed to be challenged by the “naming” of Jesus. That explains, better I believe than the other normal explanations, why he saw his missionary journeys in terms of Roman provinces and major centres. It also explains why, having visited Rome, he was eager to move on to the western outpost of the empire, to Spain itself. We do not, I have stressed, know for sure that Paul actually reached Spain. We began with a stated intention and have proposed a hypothesis about the motivation for that intention, but this tells us nothing about whether the intention was carried out. Here is a further concluding paradox. Paul believed that it was his vocation to announce Jesus right across Caesar’s world; he therefore wrote Romans to prepare the Roman church to support him in that venture. With long hindsight, we might want to put things the other way round. Perhaps the divine plan was that Paul would write Romans; but the only way that would happen would be if Paul held the vocation and missionary strategy he did, and if he wanted to solicit the support of the Roman church in his project. Perhaps things work like that, to this day, more often than we realize.

Roman Jews under Nero: Personal, Religious, and Ideological Networks in Mid-First Century Rome Karl-Wilhelm Niebuhr

When piecing together an overview of Paul’s last years, we have only limited evidence from contemporary ancient sources at our disposal. If we restrict our investigation to sources related directly to Paul, we are left with only two texts: Paul’s own report in Romans about his plans for future missionary activities (Rom 15.22–33) and the report in Acts about Paul’s transport to Rome as a prisoner and his ensuing custody there, which lasted two full years (Acts 28.14–31). For his missionary campaign to Spain we have only his prospective hope expressed in Rom 15.24, 28. There may also be indirect hints that can be drawn from the situation in the Pastoral Epistles and from second century CE Christian sources, combined with considerations about the chronology of Paul’s life. We will leave these sources to other contributions in this volume and will concentrate our examination on the descriptions about Paul’s last years in the New Testament. Focusing our attention on Paul’s time in Rome provides our inquiry with a sure footing, since we are dealing with a course of events that is attested, although fragmentarily, in both of our main sources on Paul. Additionally, the letter to the Romans and the book of Acts coincide in their reports by attributing an important role to the relationship between the apostle and the Jewish community in the capital of the Roman Empire. Therefore, we will also concentrate our analysis on all available references to Jews and Jewish life in Rome during the time of Nero – when Paul arrived there and remained in custody for an extended period. In the following contribution I will start with a prosopographical approach in which I seek to collect all available information about Jews known by name who lived in Rome during this time. Then I will collect information from contemporary sources that offer glimpses of the conditions and expressions of Jewish religious life in Rome under Nero.1 The last step will be a 1 For a careful sketch of the time of Nero with critical regard to contemporary literary portraits of the emperor, see S. Krauter, Studien zu Röm 13,1–7. Paulus und der politische Diskurs der neronischen Zeit (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2009), 55–88.

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partly hypothetical reconstruction of intellectual debates that might have occurred between personalities who came to or lived in Rome in the time when Paul was there.

A. Prosopographical Approach I. Romans 16 The first followers of Jesus in the city of Rome had backgrounds that were religiously, ethnically, and culturally Jewish. This can be derived from the evidence about the expulsion of Jews from Rome under Claudius.2 A common reconstruction of this event is made on the assumption that there had been disturbances in the city’s synagogues caused by a certain “Chrēstus,” which is an erroneous spelling for “Christ.”3 Jewish followers of this “Christ” living in the capital took part in synagogue life alongside other Jews. There is insufficient evidence to know whether or not non-Jews belonged to these communities at this early stage. In view of the openness of Diaspora synagogues to non-Jews at other places in the Mediterranean area, this cannot be excluded. On the other hand, there is no evidence for non-Jews being involved in the events around the expulsion of Jews under Claudius. The earliest evidence for another group of Jews living in Rome, several members of which we actually know by name, dates only a decade later. This evidence is Paul’s letter to the Romans, written at the latest toward the end of the fifties, and thus under Nero. The last chapter of this letter, which consists

2

H. Botermann, Das Judenedikt des Kaisers Claudius. Römischer Staat und “Christiani” im 1. Jahrhundert (Stuttgart: Steiner, 1996); J.M.G. Barclay, Jews in the Mediterranean Diaspora From Alexander to Trajan (323 BCE – 117 CE) (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1996), 301–06; R. Riesner, Die Frühzeit des Apostels Paulus. Studien zur Chronologie, Missionsstrategie und Theologie (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1994), 79–95, 139–80. 3 Cf. Krauter, Studien zu Röm 13,1–7, 125–36; L.V. Rutgers, “Roman Policy towards the Jews. Expulsions from the City of Rome during the First Century C.E.,” in Rutgers (ed.), The Hidden Heritage of Diaspora Judaism (Leuven: Peeters, 1998), 171–97, at 181f.; M. Tellbe, Paul between Synagogue and State. Christians, Jews, and Civic Authorities in 1 Thessalonians, Romans, and Philippians (Stockholm: Almquist & Wiksell, 2001), 152–56. More cautious with regard to any involvement of Christians is E.S. Gruen, Diaspora. Jews amidst Greeks and Romans (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2002), 36–41. Gruen allocates the event in Claudius’ politics of religion: “The emperor evidently wished to demonstrate his commitment to a thorough and systematic refurbishing of Roman religion in every regard. In this connection, he also fingered certain sects and cults which did not suit the program. … Expulsion of the Jews must be understood in this context” (40f.).

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largely of greetings to and from the Roman “Christians,”4 names more than 30 persons and mentions several others who were personally related to them.5 At least five of the more than twenty persons belonging to the “Christian” community in Rome were Jewish by origin: Andronicus and Junia, obviously a couple, and Herodion are explicitly qualified by Paul as fellow compatriots (συγγενεῖς µου, Rom 16.7, 11). Another Jewish couple, Aquila and Prisca, had lived earlier in Rome and had suffered (already as “Christians”?) the expulsion of Jews under Claudius. Then they had moved to Corinth, where they met Paul, and later they travelled to Syria and Asia Minor together with Paul, but then remained in Ephesus without him. In Ephesus Paul had written his (“First”) letter to Corinth and had sent along the couple’s greetings to the Corinthian church.6 Eventually, when Paul wrote his letter to the Romans, the couple was residing in the capital of the Empire again, since Paul sent them his regards (16.3). Four more Jews called by name (Timothy, Lukios, Jason, and Sosipater) had been with Paul in Corinth when he wrote his letter and were now greeting the Roman churches. Paul also identifies them as his fellow compatriots (οἱ συγγενεῖς µου, 16.21). From this, we can infer that they were either known already in Rome as Jews belonging to the Christian community or that they are introduced by Paul to the Roman Christians as Jews. Beyond the persons mentioned with clear reference to their Jewish background, there are several others in the list of greetings whose names make such a background a possibility. Of course, there is always some ambivalence in the criterion of personal names used as an indicator for religious or ethnic affiliation. The clearest case seems to be Μαρία  (16.6), but even in this case there is space for an alternative interpretation, namely, if the name is derived as a femininum from the very common Roman male name Marius.7 On the other hand, a similar explanation could be used for Junia, if we interpret her name as a derivative of Junius, but in this case the Jewish identity of the person is explicitly mentioned. Therefore, both names – Maria as well as Junia (or even Julia, cf. 16.15) – may or may not hint at Jewish origin. 4 I use this terminology for practical reasons, knowing well enough that it is anachronistic for Rome under Nero. 5 See for details R. Jewett, Romans. A Commentary (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2007), 941–96; P. Lampe, Die stadtrömischen Christen in den ersten beiden Jahrhunderten. Untersuchungen zur Sozialgeschichte (2nd ed.; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1989), 124–53. 6 Cf. Acts 18.2, 18, 26; cf. 1 Cor 16.19. For the whole story of the couple, see Lampe, Die stadtrömischen Christen, 156–64. 7 Cf. Lampe, Die stadtrömischen Christen, 58 n.153. For problems of interpretation with regard to onomastic evidence from Rome, see L.V. Rutgers, The Jews in Late Ancient Rome. Evidence of Cultural Interaction in the Roman Diaspora (Leiden: Brill, 1995), 139–75.

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More important are the qualifications Paul adds about the origin and position of Andronicus and Junia in the “Christian” movement: οἵτινές εἰσιν ἐπίσηµοι ἐν τοῖς ἀποστόλοις, οἳ καὶ πρὸ ἐµοῦ γέγοναν ἐν Χριστῷ .8 If this account about their conversion to Christ before Paul is taken seriously, this implies that they probably belonged to the first church(es) of Jerusalem, since there is no evidence for any other “Christian” community existing so early, that is, during the three years (maximum) between Jesus’ death and Paul’s conversion.9 In this case the couple would have travelled to Rome some time later in the fourties and perhaps helped found the first “Jewish-Christian” congregation in the capital. If such a path of life was possible for Paul, why should it be excluded for Andronicus and Junia? One would further have to assume that after they, like Aquila and Prisca, were expelled as Jews from Rome by the Claudian edict, they returned later. Based on this assumption, both couples may have formed a link between the first Roman “Christian” community and the second one to which Paul wrote his letter, as well as between Roman Christians and the original Jerusalem church. In this case the reference to the fame of Andronicus and Junia “among the apostles” (16.7) may be understood as an attempt by Paul to refer his Roman readers to their common roots in the church of Jerusalem, which would match the aims he is pursuing in his letter (cf. 15.14–33). The phrase ἐπίσηµοι ἐν τοῖς ἀποστόλοις, οἳ καὶ πρὸ ἐµοῦ γέγοναν ἐν Χριστῷ may allude to the representatives of the Jerusalem church, whom he also calls τοὺς πρὸ ἐµοῦ ἀποστόλους in his letter to the Galatians (cf. Gal 1.17). The other person who Paul explicitly identifies as a Jew is Herodion (16.11). His name refers to a well-known family in Jewish history, several of whose members were active and living in Rome for generations.10 The most probable explanation for the name would be a Jewish freedman belonging to the emperor’s household.11 Incidentally, an inscription names a synagogue of

8

“They are outstanding among the apostles, and they were in Christ before I was” (16.7). For recent discussion on the status of Junia among the apostles, see E.J. Epp, Junia. The First Woman Apostle (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2005), 69–81. 9 To locate the couple in Damascus as a possible place for “Christians” before Paul’s call (cf. Acts 9.10–25) seems even more speculative to me than to assume that they belonged to the first followers of Jesus in Jerusalem. Jewett (Romans, 964) entertains the possibility that the couple belonged to the “visitors from Rome” as part of the Pentecost crowd mentioned in Acts 2.10, and, afterwards, to the “Hellenists” in Jerusalem (cf. Acts 6.1). 10 For successors (rightful or not) of Herod the Great who were fighting for power in Rome after his death, see Gruen, Diaspora, 26–28; cf. Josephus, B.J. II.1–100; A.J. XVII.206–355. 11 Thus Lampe, Die stadtrömischen Christen, 148.

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the Herodians in Rome (CIJ I 173).12 Another name in the list of greetings which may allude to Jewish history and politics is Aristobulos (16.10). In this case, it is not Aristobulos himself who is greeted, but those who belong to his household. Josephus in his Antiquities mentions three persons from the Hasmonaean family having this name and four from the offspring of Herod the Great, at least one of whom lived in Rome for some time.13 If this Aristobulos or one of his progeny was the patron of the household mentioned in Rom 16.10, we would have another (if only indirect) link to Roman Jews.14 As already mentioned, the use of personal names is not a clear indication of the religious or ethnic identity of their bearers, which is attested by the corpora of Jewish names in antiquity.15 Names of persons explicitly identified as Jewish in Romans 16, as Prisca (only once in Ilan III 607) or Aquila (only once in Cyrenaika), are rarely if ever assigned to Roman Jews in these corpora. On the other hand, names like Rufus (16.13; 16 times in Ilan III), Julia (16.15; 29 times in Ilan III), or Tryphaina (16.12; 4 times in Ilan III) are quite frequently used by Jews, although not always in Rome. Even a name like Phoebe (16.1) with its pagan mythical sound would not immediately exclude Jewish origin, which Jewish females like Ammonia (Ilan III 403), Appollonia (Ilan III 404), Artemidora (Ilan III 406), Demetria (Ilan III 412), Dionysia (Ilan III 413), or males like Herakles/Heraklas or Hera (Ilan III 287–89), Hermes/Hermas/Hermias (Ilan III 263–65), Dionysios, and many other names with the theophoric element Dio- (Ilan III 244–48) can attest.

12

Cf. Lampe, Die stadtrömischen Christen, 148; but for a more hesitant interpretation see H.J. Leon, The Jews of Ancient Rome (Peabody: Hendrickson, 1995), 159–61; D. Noy, Jewish Inscriptions of Western Europe, Vol. 2: The City of Rome (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), 253. Almost every epigraphic evidence for Jews in the city of Rome dates from later times (mostly 3rd to 5th century). 13 Josephus, A.J. XV.342; XVIII.273–78; cf. Jewett, Romans, 966–68. For the descendants of Aristobulos I, son of Herod the Great and his second wife Mariamne, see N. Kokkinos, The Herodian Dynasty. Origins, Role in Society and Eclipse (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1998), 264–341. 14 Nothing is said explicitly about the religious or ethnic identity of “those of Aristobulos.” 15 See for the following, T. Ilan, Lexicon of Jewish Names in Late Antiquity. Part III: The Western Diaspora 330 BCE – 650 CE (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2008).

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II. Acts 28 When Paul arrived in Rome as a prisoner according to Acts 28.16–31,16 he not only met his “Christian” brothers there (Acts 28.15), but was also visited by representatives of the Jewish communities in the capital.17 After their first personal contact with Paul, Roman Jews came back to his flat (ξενία) the next day in greater number to listen to his proclamation of the gospel. As a result, some of them were convinced, but others remained disbelieving. Following the common chronology of Paul’s life, this was during the early sixties. The author, according to the story told in the book of Acts, not only presupposes a situation of open communication between Jewish authorities and “Christians” in Rome,18 but his story also implies the possibility of exchange of information by letters or messengers between Judaea and Rome about Paul’s activities, even though Paul’s Jewish visitors deny that they received any such information (28.21).19 The Roman Jews have not yet been informed about Paul’s arrival in Rome and his former activities, but they know at least something about the Christian “heresy,” namely, that this group has been opposed everywhere  (28.22:  πανταχοῦ ἀντιλέγεται). What this story implies about Roman Jews under Nero is a rather straightforward relationship between “Christian” and “non-Christian” Jews in the capital. There is no evidence for any trouble or disturbances about “a certain Christ,” as was the case only fifteen years before. Rather it is Paul who makes a polemical harangue against some of his Jewish compatriots who reject the gospel (28.25).20 Nevertheless, his apartment (µίσθωµα, 28.30) remained 16 Cf. B. Rapske, The Book of Acts and Paul in Roman Custody (The Book of Acts in its First Century Setting, vol. 5; Carlisle: Paternoster Press, 1994), see esp. 313–67 (Chapter 13: The Prisoner’s Life) and 381–85 (Chapter 14/II: Access to the Prisoner); H. Omerzu, Der Prozeß des Paulus. Eine exegetische und rechtshistorische Untersuchung der Apostelgeschichte (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2002), 497–501; Omerzu, “Das Schweigen des Lukas. Überlegungen zum offenen Ende der Apostelgeschichte,” in F.W. Horn (ed.), Das Ende des Paulus. Historische, theologische und literaturgeschichtliche Aspekte (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2001), 127–56, at 144–51. 17 28.17: τοὺς ὄντας τῶν Ἰουδαίων πρώτους. Cf. H. Lichtenberger, “Jews and Christians in Rome in the Time of Nero: Josephus and Paul in Rome,” ANRW II.26.3 (1996): 2142–176, at 2149–154. 18 Cf. R.I. Pervo, Acts. A Commentary (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2008), 681: “Paul functions like a philosopher who accepts any and all who care to attend his lectures.” 19 For an interpretation of the aims of the author of Acts in this regard, see Pervo, Acts, 683f. 20 For discussion on the complex matter of Luke’s intentions with regard to an ongoing or a finished mission to Jews marked by Paul’s arrival in Rome, see J. Jervell, Die Apostelgeschichte (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1998), 626–30; Pervo, Acts, 684f.; M. Bauspieß, Geschichte und Erkenntnis im lukanischen Doppelwerk. Eine exegetische Untersuchung zu einer christlichen Perspektive auf Geschichte (Leipzig: Evange-

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open for everybody who wanted to see him, and although God’s salvation now had been sent to the Gentiles (28.28), he continued to preach the gospel to all of them unhindered (28.30f.).21 The second observation refers to the interaction between Roman and Judean Jews: there is a constant exchange of news by means of written messages or envoys (ἀδελφοί), which keep both parties informed and include information about affairs such as Paul’s trial in Jerusalem or about the “Christian” movement “everywhere.” Of course, it is Luke who forms this picture, but it would at least have to be plausible for his readers wherever they lived in the Roman Empire at the end of the first century. III. Philo, Legatio ad Gaium Although Philo wrote shortly before the reign of Nero, his Legatio contains information that can be evaluated (at least indirectly) with regard to Jews living in Rome under Nero.22 After all, entering the capital during the reign of Gaius Caligula as the leader of the emperor’s Alexandrian-Jewish embassy, Philo had become an eyewitness to the living conditions of Roman Jews. Unfortunately, however, in his report he never mentions his fellow Jews who lived permanently in Rome, and we do not learn anything about their meeting places, their organisation, their services, or their ways of life. Most of the treatise is devoted to the situation of the Jews either in Alexandria or in Jerusalem and Judaea, but not in Rome. He gives special attention to the character and the actions of the emperor towards the Alexandrian embassy, including his contemptuous dealing with them.

lische Verlagsanstalt, 2012), 492–501; V.A. Lehnert, Die Provokation Israels. Die paradoxe Funktion von Jes 6,9–10 bei Markus und Lukas. Ein textpragmatischer Versuch im Kontext gegenwärtiger Rezeptionsästhetik und Lesetheorie (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1999), 203–72; J.B. Tyson, Images of Judaism in Luke-Acts (South Carolina: University of South Carolina Press, 1992), 174–78; J.T. Sanders, The Jews in LukeActs (London: SCM Press, 1987), 296–99; R.L. Brawley, Luke-Acts and the Jews. Conflict, Apology, and Conciliation (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1987), 141–44. 21 For the ending of Acts as depicted by the author, see Pervo, Acts, 688–90. 22 For the events in Alexandria leading to the embassy to Caligula, see Gruen, Diaspora, 54–83; P. Bilde, “Philo as a Polemist and a Political Apologist. An Investigation of his Two Historical Treatises Against Flaccus and The Embassy to Gaius,” in G. Hinge and J.A. Krasilnikoff (eds.), Alexandria: A Cultural and Religious Melting Pot (Aarhus: Aarhus University Press, 2009), 97–114, at 99–103; W. Ameling, “‘Market-Place’ und Gewalt. Die Juden in Alexandria 38 n. Chr.,” in Würzburger Jahrbücher für die Altertumswissenschaft, Neue Folge, 27 (Würzburg: Ferdinand Schöningh, 2003), 71–123; E.M. Smallwood, The Jews under Roman Rule. From Pompey to Diocletian (Leiden: Brill, 1976), 242–55.

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Nevertheless, when Philo compares the terrible Caligula of his own time with his laudable predecessors Augustus and Tiberius, he also (at least briefly) mentions their dealings with Roman Jews (Legat. 155–58).23 Augustus, for instance, was aware of Jews living mostly as freedmen and citizens in the capital. He knew that they inhabited the district of Trastevere and owned synagogues where they met regularly on Sabbath days and received education in the philosophy of their fathers. Roman Jews were allowed to send offerings to Jerusalem and were also included in the monthly distribution of money and grain (which presupposes that they had Roman citizenship), so that the Sabbath law had to be respected by Roman officials responsible for distribution. Augustus had respected the rights of Roman Jews to meet in their synagogues and to collect offerings. Tiberius continued to respect Jewish rights and did not share Sejanus’ negative assumptions against them.24 Apart from characterizations of their non-Jewish (Roman as well as Alexandrian) enemies who acted against them in the capital, Philo’s rather brief remarks about Caligula’s reception of the embassy offer few insights into the situation of Roman Jews.25 One detail seems to be important: As the embassy desperately and helplessly waits for a decision on their concerns in Puteoli, they suddenly receive news from an envoy in Jerusalem about Caligula’s order to erect his own statue in the temple.26 This implies that there were lines

23 For the intentions of Philo’s Legatio in comparison with Josephus’ Vita, see J. Leonhardt, “Vergleich der Vita des Josephus mit Philos Legatio ad Gaium,” in F. Siegert and J.U. Kalms (eds.), Internationales Josephus-Kolloquium Münster 1997. Vorträge aus dem Institutum Judaicum Delitzschianum (Münster: LIT, 1998), 106–35. 24 Legat. 159–61. For overviews on Jews in the city of Rome, see Gruen, Diaspora, 15–53; Barclay, Jews in the Mediterranean Diaspora, 282–319; M. Goodman, Rome and Jerusalem. The Clash of Ancient Civilizations (London: Penguin Books, 2008), 383–94; D. Mitternacht, “Current Views on the Synagogue of Ostia Antica and the Jews of Rome and Ostia,” in B. Olsson and M. Zetterholm (eds.), The Ancient Synagogue From Its Origins until 200 C.E. (Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell, 2003), 521–71, at 522–33; I. Levinskaya, The Book of Acts in Its Diaspora Setting (The Book of Acts in Its First Century Setting, vol. 5; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1996), 167–93; L.V. Rutgers, The Jews in Late Ancient Rome. Evidence of Cultural Interaction in the Roman Diaspora (Leiden: Brill, 1995); W. Wiefel, “The Jewish Community in Ancient Rome and the Origins of Roman Christianity,” in K.P. Donfried (ed.), The Romans Debate. Revised and Expanded Edition (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1991), 85–101; H. Wolff, “Die Juden im antiken Rom,” in K. Rother (ed.), Minderheiten im Mittelmeerraum (Passau: Passavia-Universitätsverlag, 1989), 35–62; R. Penna, “Les Juifs à Rome au temps de l’Apôtre Paul,” NTS 28 (1982): 321–47; Tellbe, Paul between Synogogue and State, 141–56; Smallwood, The Jews under Roman Rule, 201–19. 25 For the political background for Jews in Rome in the first half of the first century, see Gruen, Diaspora, 35f. 26 Legat. 185–89.

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of communication between Rome and Jerusalem that kept Jews informed about their situations wherever they lived in the Empire. However, all details about the means and ways of such communication are unknown. Another implication from the “dialogue” between the emperor and the Alexandrian embassy (which looks rather like a parody of a diplomatic reception) is that even non-Jews in Rome possessed some knowledge about specifically Jewish customs and laws. In his effort to demean the Jews, the emperor mentions several of the regulations of the Jewish law, such as the prohibition to pronounce the name of God or to eat pork.27 As a whole, Philo’s report about his Roman venture contributes little to our investigation. The most important piece of evidence seems to be Philo’s account of news coming from Jerusalem about the plans to profane the temple by erecting a statue of the emperor. Even as a literary means illustrating the desperate situation of the Jewish embassy, this detail implies a lively exchange of information between Jews in the capital and those living in the motherland – an exchange of communication that was likely of great importance for Roman Jews under Nero. IV. Josephus Flavius Josephus, writing several decades after Philo and Paul, is of particular importance for our investigation for several reasons. He had been living in the capital for more than twenty years before he wrote his Antiquities (and the Vita as an appendix) in the late nineties.28 In Antiquities he mentions several Jews, predominantly from the Herodian family, who had come to Rome and were more or less successful there, but only in the time of Augustus, Tiberius, Caligula, and Claudius.29 Josephus also reports about the two Alexandrian embassies that journeyed to Caligula because of violent conflicts between Jews and Alexandrians.30 Josephus even mentions Philo in this context,31 but his record offers less information than Philo’s about Jews living in Rome.

27

Legat. 353, 361–63. For Josephus’ intellectual and religious development in Rome “from a Roman apologist to a religious nationalist,” cf. S.J.D. Cohen, Josephus in Galilee and Rome. His Vita and Development as a Historian (Leiden: Brill, 2002), 232–42 (quoted at 240); see also M. Goodman, “Josephus as Roman Citizen,” in F. Parente and J. Sievers (eds.), Josephus and the History of the Greco-Roman Period. Essays in Memory of Morton Smith (Leiden: Brill, 1994), 329–38; S. Mason, “Flavius Josephus in Flavian Rome: Reading on and Between the Lines,” in A.J. Boyle and W.J. Dominik (eds.), Flavian Rome. Culture, Image, Text (Leiden: Brill, 2003), 559–89. 29 Cf. A.J. XVII.9.11; XVIII.143–238; XIX.236–91; XX.134–47. 30 A.J. XVIII.257–309. 31 A.J. XVIII.259. 28

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When dealing with Nero’s reign, Josephus repeatedly mentions delegations of Jews from Israel that travelled to Rome for different political reasons.32 His most elaborate report refers to a Jewish embassy that went to Nero with the permission of Festus (therefore after the year 58 CE). This embassy went because of troubles in Jerusalem related to the erection of a screen wall in the temple that protected the temple worship from exterior supervision.33 The embassy consisted of ten leaders (πρῶτοι) as well as of the high priest Ishmael and Helcias, the bursar of the temple. According to Josephus, Nero received them kindly and decided the matter according to their interests because of his wife Poppaea’s influence, who, as Josephus comments, was a God-fearing (θεοσεβῆ) person and friendly to the Jews. Nevertheless, Poppaea decided to release the ten leaders, but to hold the high priest and the bursar in Rome as hostages. Again, there is nothing in this report about Jews living permanently in Rome. Josephus’ most important episode in Vita for our investigation is his own journey to Rome under Nero.34 He dates it in the 26th year of his life, that is, between spring of 63 and 64.35 The purpose and aim of this trip was to free several priests. These were Jerusalem acquaintances of his whom Felix had already sent to trial before the emperor several years previously. Josephus praises their loyalty to the Torah during the years of their imprisonment, in particular that they kept the food laws and lived exclusively on figs and nuts. After he had arrived in Puteoli Josephus looked for acquaintance with a certain Aliturus, a Jew (or Judaean?) by origin who was an actor and a favourite of Nero’s and who introduced him to Nero’s wife Poppaea.36 After he had succeeded in freeing the priests thanks to Poppaea’s support, Josephus returned to Jerusalem with rich gifts from Poppaea. Unfortunately, Josephus completely fails to describe his own conduct when he lived in Rome. We do not even know how long he stayed there37 or who he met. Concerning 32 For Jewish embassies to the Caesar and law cases of Jews in Rome before the emperor, see P. McKechnie, “Judaean Embassies and Cases before Roman Emperors, AD 44–66,” JTS 56 (2005): 339–61. 33 A.J. XX.193–95. Cf. McKechnie, “Judaean Embassies,” 356–58. 34 Vita 13–16. Cf. McKechnie, “Judaean Embassies,” 350–53; M. Bohrmann, “Le voyage à Rome de Flavius Josèphe (Vita 13–16),” in J. U. Kalms and F. Siegert (eds.), Internationales Josephus-Kolloquium Brüssel 1998 (Münster: LIT, 1999), 222–29; Lichtenberger, “Jews and Christians in Rome in the Time of Nero,” 2145–149. 35 Cf. for the whole passage S. Mason, Life of Josephus. Translation and Commentary (Leiden: Brill, 2001), 21–27. 36 For Aliturus and Poppaea, see Mason, Life of Josephus, 25–27; Barclay, Jews in the Mediterranean Diaspora, 306–09. 37 For discussion, see Mason, Life of Josephus, 27f. In any case, Josephus must have been an eyewitness to the great blast of Rome under Nero in July 64, but he never mentions this event in any of his works. Surprisingly, Mason, like every other author I have taken notice of, does not discuss this chronological problem.

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Aliturus, we cannot be sure about his way of life as a (former?) Jew/Judaean in Rome. Only the Jewish prisoners are described with regard to their attitude to the Torah, but they were priests and had come to Rome involuntarily. V. Conclusion What can we learn from contemporary literary sources about Jews living in Rome under Nero? Not much at first glance. Obviously, there were several Jewish groups and individuals living permanently in the capital, among them a mixed group consisting of followers of a “certain Christ.” More importantly, Jews living in Rome had developed lines of communication with Jews from other parts of the Empire, especially with those from Jerusalem/Judaea and from Alexandria/Egypt. Politically, quite a few Jewish persons, mostly from the Herodian family, were active in Rome with more or less success. We cannot, however, say anything about how they developed personal contacts with Jews living permanently in the capital or with any of the Jewish communities or synagogues there. The same is true of Josephus when he came to the capital in the year 63 CE (and also later after the Jewish War when he permanently lived in Rome). If we follow the picture that Luke draws in Acts, Roman Jews organized their matters in a way that enabled them to elect and to send their leaders (πρῶτοι) to meet Paul. But when Philo refers to Jewish ways of life or to their way of dealing with the commandments of Torah, he does not indicate any specifically Roman conditions. When Josephus describes the obedience of imprisoned Jewish priests to the food laws, this cannot be generalized for all Jews in Rome. Personal names taken by Roman Jews show a great variety, including both biblical names and Greek mythical names with theophoric elements. Thus, from a prosopographical point of view a question is raised about how recognizable Jews living and acting publically in Rome had been. There was some knowledge about Jews and their customs at all layers of the Roman society, presumably even in non-Jewish circles, and many voices from pagan literature give a rather negative image. On the other hand, Jews living in Rome did not act as newcomers but had been part of the Roman society for centuries. For this reason they were different from their closest relatives, the other group we have in mind in our investigation, the followers of “a certain Christ.”

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B. Traces of Jewish Religious Life in Rome under Nero I. Synagogues and Catacombs None of the archaeological remnants from Jewish meeting and burial places in Rome can be definitely dated to the time of Nero.38 On the other hand, there is no reason to assume that such places did not yet exist or that they no longer existed during Nero’s reign, despite the fact that there is only clear textual evidence dating before or after Nero’s reign. Since Philo mentions Trastevere as the quarter in Rome inhabited by many Jews in the time of Augustus, and when he points out that they had houses of prayer there to meet regularly on Sabbath days for training in their ancestral philosophy,39 we can be quite sure that there were also similar opportunities under Nero. The same refers to Juvenal’s sarcastic description, writing several decades later, of living places for poor Roman Jews near the Porta Capena.40 The literary evidence here closely matches the archaeological findings of catacombs in Trastevere as well as along the Via Appia, even if they cannot be dated as early as the first century CE. We have no archaeological remnants of any ancient synagogues in Rome, but there are several epitaph inscriptions from catacombs which mention synagogues by their names,41 even if (as already mentioned) none of them can be unequivocally dated to the first century CE.42 Nevertheless, we can assume that there were also synagogues in Rome during the time of Nero (perhaps better called proseuchai), and we can develop at least some ideas about their communal and religious life by drawing conclusions from synagogues of the period at other places. 38

For an overview of archaeological remains of Jewish Life in Rome, see Rutgers, The Jews in Late Ancient Rome, 50–99. On dating of Roman catacombs, see L.V. Rutgers, “Dating the Jewish Catacombs of Ancient Rome,” in Rutgers, The Hidden Heritage of Diaspora Judaism (Leuven: Peeters, 1998), 45–71; but see below, footnote 42. 39 Legat. 155–57. Obviously, this is the only explicit literary record for a synagogue in the city of Rome, apart from Ambrose and Cassiodor in Late Antiquity; see the “Check list of Diaspora Synagogues” in L.V. Rutgers, “The Diaspora Synagogue: Notes on Distribution and Methodology,” in The Hidden Heritage of Diaspora Judaism, 125– 35, at 129. There is only one other epigraphic witness for a proseucha (Latin) in Rome in a non-Jewish inscription (CIJ I 531), probably from the end of the first century CE. 40 Juvenal, Sat. III.10–18: “…Jews, who possess a basket and a truss of hay for all their furnishings” (Stern [see below, footnote 51] GLAJJ II 97f.). 41 Leon, The Jews of Ancient Rome, 140–66. 42 For new evidence based on radio carbon analyses of material from the Jewish catacomb in the Villa Torlonia, which may indicate that the catacomb was already in use since the first century CE, see now L.V. Rutgers, A.F.M. de Jong, and K. van der Borg, “Radiocarbon Dates from the Jewish Catacombs of Rome,” Radicarbon 44 (2002): 541– 47; cf. L.V. Rutgers, K. van der Borg, A.J.M. de Jong, and I. Poole, “Jewish inspiration

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II. Meetings and Worship There is no space to go into details here,43 but based on the evidence given by Philo and Josephus, the synagogues not only served as places for meeting and worship for the Jewish community. Of course, one of the main functions of the synagogue was to be a place for common prayer on Sabbath, as is suggested by the name proseuche.44 But there is not enough evidence to reconstruct a proper agenda for Sabbath worship. All that we know about regular readings from the Torah and the Prophets comes from later Rabbinic sources. Following the analogy of ancient associations, we have to assume that community meals or religious festivals also took place in synagogues on a regular basis. According to Josephus, Caesar granted Jews in Rome the privilege to hold their meetings and communal meals and to collect money for the temple in Jerusalem.45 Both Philo and Josephus highlight the function of synagogues as places for reading and studying Torah. Philo calls the synagogues “schools of prudence and courage and temperance and justice” and of “every virtue by which duties to God and men are discerned and rightly performed.”46 As in his reference to synagogues in Rome under Augustus (already quoted), Philo points out that at Sabbath meetings Jews were trained in the “philosophy of their fathers.”47 In Philo’s Hypothetica we find the most detailed contemporaneous report of a synagogue meeting: according to their lawgiver, Jews assemble every seventh day, “sitting together in a respectful and orderly manner to hear the laws read…most of them in silence except when it is the practice to add something to signify approval of what is read. But some priest who is present

of Christian catacombs,” Nature 436 (2005): 339. For a discussion of the first century dating of a synagogue in Ostia, see Mitternacht, “Current views on the Synagogue of Ostia Antica,” 533–44. 43 For the following see K.-W. Niebuhr, “Hellenistisch-jüdisches Ethos im Spannungsfeld von Weisheit und Tora,” in M. Konradt and U. Steinert (eds.), Ethos und Identität. Einheit und Vielfalt des Judentums in hellenistisch-römischer Zeit (Paderborn: Ferdinand Schöningh, 2002), 27–50; Niebuhr, “Identität und Interaktion. Zur Situation paulinischer Gemeinden im Ausstrahlungsfeld des Diasporajudentums,” in J. Mehlhausen (ed.), Pluralismus und Identität (Gütersloh: Chr. Kaiser/Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 1995), 339–59. 44 For recent discussion on synagogue services in the Diaspora, see Mitternacht, “Current views on the Synagogue of Ostia Antica,” 559–63; P.W. van der Horst, “Was the Synagogue a Place of Sabbath Worship before 70 CE?” in S. Fine (ed.), Jews, Christians, and Polytheists in the Ancient Synagogue. Cultural Interaction during the GrecoRoman Period (London: Routledge, 1999), 18–43. 45 Josephus, A.J. XIV.216. For the legal status of Diaspora synagogues under Roman rule, see Tellbe, Paul between Synogogue and State, 26–63. 46 Mos. II.216; cf. Spec. II.62. 47 Mos. II.216; cf. Legat. 155–58.

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or one of the elders reads the holy laws to them and expounds them point by point till about the late afternoon, when they depart, having gained both expert knowledge of the holy laws and considerable advance in piety.”48 Synagogues were not only meeting places for Jews, but were also open to the public, as is also testified by Philo.49 Josephus notes that Jewish religious festivals could even attract non-Jews.50 There is plenty of epigraphic evidence for interaction between non-Jews and Jewish communal activities in the Roman Empire, not to mention the so-called “God-fearers.” Synagogueattendance and the interaction between Jews and non-Jews in first-century Rome should not be understood according to the model of “registered membership.” Of course, there was interaction between Jews and non-Jews in various ways that were not always positive. In particular, literary evidence from the city of Rome during the reign of Nero shows both sides of this coin. III. Interaction with Non-Jews (Seneca, Persius, Petronius) For non-Jewish authors writing about Jews in Rome, we can limit ourselves to sources dating to Nero’s reign.51 Starting with Seneca, who had possibly become acquainted with Jewish religion during his stay in Egypt, we find very negative characterizations of Jewish institutions in his work. In his De Superstitione, a lost work which was only transmitted fragmentarily by Augustine in his De civitate Dei, Seneca criticizes the Sabbath law in particular because it leads Jews to idleness at every seventh day of their life. “Meanwhile the customs of this accursed race have gained such influence that they are now received throughout the entire world. The vanquished have given laws to their victors.”52 Even if this statement is not directed to Jews exclusively in the capital it still gives us an impression of how a leading representative of the Roman elite would understand and evaluate Jewish Torah observance. This is the only piece of evidence in Seneca’s works where he explicitly deals with Jewish religion as such. The other excerpts, given in Stern’s famous collection, mention several religious practices that can be identified as Jewish or non-Jewish. The clearest case is the lighting of lamps on the Sabbath, which is mentioned in a series of religious customs parallel to Seneca’s own understanding of true religion. The other examples given by Seneca in

48

Hypoth. 7, 12f. Spec. II.62. 50 Josephus, B.J. VII.45; cf. Philo, Mos. II.41, for Pharos near Alexandria. 51 References quoted in what follows are from M. Stern, Greek and Latin Authors on Jews and Judaism. Edited with Introductions, Translations and Commentary (3 vols.; Jerusalem: The Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities, 1974 = GLAJJ). 52 Seneca, De Superstitione, apud Augustinus, Civ. VI.11 (GLAJJ I 431). 49

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this connection are clearly not Jewish.53 Therefore, we can conclude that Seneca does not see any substantial differences between Jewish religion and any other religions, including the traditional Graeco-Roman ones, in comparison to his own right understanding of God. Less clear is Seneca’s memory of his own abstinence from meat in his youth, which he attributes to the intrusion of some foreign rites into Rome in the early years of Tiberius, when “abstinence from certain kind of animal food (quorundam animalium abstinentia) was set down as a proof of interest in the strange cult.”54 The phrase “a certain kind of animal food,” in connection with a “strange cult” inaugurated in Rome, may refer to Jewish food laws, in contrast to the complete avoidance of animal food for philosophical (Pythagorean) reasons, as was mentioned first by Seneca. But uncertainty remains. Persius, another contemporary Roman writer, expresses very similar evaluations about Jewish religious practice. To justify his thesis that all men are slaves of their desires he chooses as his first example the Sabbath and its rites. Only at the end of his satirical description of the dawn of the “day of Herod,” when in the last line of this paragraph he mentions the Sabbath and circumcision, does it become explicitly clear that he is deriding Jewish customs.55 Prior to that he had wittily alluded to several elements of a Jewish Sabbath Eve, including lamps wreathed with violets, dishes with tuna, and white jars brimming over with wine. The deriding tone of this very vivid description of Jewish Sabbath customs shows the reader how Persius evaluates Jewish religion: it is only one of several strange cults which have invaded Rome’s lower classes. He takes his next example from the Isis cult to support his thesis. In Petronius’ Satyricon, circumcision and Sabbath are the most identifiable items for Jews. The author lived as a senator in Rome under Nero and his work seems to mirror a high-society lifestyle in the capital. Three times in the Cena Trimalchionis he refers to Jews. The first two references only briefly touch on circumcision as the typical badge of a Jew. A very talented slave of Habinnas, according to his lord, has two faults only: he is circumcised and he snores.56 In another passage, when Eumolpos and Giton want to hide themselves to escape from their enemy, they dye their skin to pose as Ethiopian slaves. Giton, however, wants them also to be circumcised so that they may look like Jews.57 At both places circumcision is the decisive identity marker for a (male) Jew. 53 Seneca, Ep. 95.47 (GLAJJ I 432f.): “to offer morning salutation,” “to throng the doors of temples,” “bringing towels and flesh-scrapers to Jupiter,” “proffering mirrors to Juno.” 54 Ep. 108.22 (GLAJJ I 433f). 55 Persius, Sat. V.176–84 (GLAJJ I 436f.). 56 Petronius, Sat. 68.8 (GLAJJ I 442f.). 57 Petronius, Sat. 102.14 (GLAJJ I 443f.).

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The last passage that must be discussed is one of Petronius’ famous poems, which are interspersed in his Satyricon. The poem dealing with the Jews was transmitted as a fragment. Therefore, we cannot say where (if at all) it originally belonged to the Cena. In six hexameters “the” Jew is characterized here by his religious practice, consisting of adoration of a “pig-god” (porcinum numen), prayers to the “ears of the highest heaven” (caeli summas auriculas) as well as circumcision and keeping the Sabbath.58 Again, the denigrating tone in the verses is obvious. Furthermore, circumcision is taken as a possible reason for banishing such people from the populus Romanus and forcing them to emigrate to Greek cities. The last line mentions fasting as a Jewish Sabbath law which is not very well testified by Jewish sources, but was a common marker for Jews by non-Jewish authors. IV. Conclusion Taken together, the evidence for Jews living in Rome under Nero and for their religious and communal practice is not sparse. There are several overlaps between Jewish and non-Jewish testimonies regarding the publicity of Jews and their customs in Roman society. The most important proof of their presence seems to be their regular meetings on Sabbath days in synagogues. In connection to this, Sabbath laws are of particular interest not only for Jews but also for their non-Jewish, often hostile contemporaries. Food laws and circumcision are frequently mentioned both from the Jewish and the nonJewish point of view. Interaction between Jews and non-Jews in Rome is also described by Jewish as well as by pagan authors, but in this case, the evaluation seems to be different. Whereas Philo and Josephus highlight the openness of the synagogues and the Jewish community to their non-Jewish environment, authors like Seneca or Petronius appear to consider the Jewish presence in Roman society and their attraction to non-Jews as rather dangerous. The images we receive from contemporary sources about Jewish ways of life and belief in Rome under Nero depend very much on the interests and the literary means of their authors. Therefore, we should not construct an average picture of Roman Jews by putting together all the available references. Rather, we should observe the multifaceted descriptions of Jewish life in the capital of the Empire, reaching from an idealistic portrait of the Jewish community as a philosophical school striving after instruction about the truth to the harsh mockery of a homeless, starving Jewish family camping at the Porta Capena. Perhaps both pictures are true, but the truth probably lies in the middle.

58

Petronius, Frag. 37 (GLAJJ I 444).

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C. Ideological Networks in Rome (Jews, “Christians,” Romans) Coming to Rome could be a risky matter for a Jew in the time of Nero. When Josephus entered the capital in the early sixties, his aim was to free several priests who were brought there as prisoners some years previously. Philo, when acting as the leader of an Alexandrian-Jewish embassy, practically gives the impression that one of his feet is already in prison, given the conduct of the Emperor Caligula against him and the mockery of his enemies. Paul was also sent as a prisoner to the emperor and waited two years for his trial there.59 However, all three Jews mentioned above obviously stayed unhampered for an extended time in the capital.60 If we follow a suggestion by Maren Niehoff, Philo remained in Rome several years after the embassy had failed, during which time he developed a more philosophical (Stoic) understanding of the Torah, which is reflected in his Expositio legis.61 The question about when and where Philo died is an unanswered one. Another unknown detail is how much time it took for Josephus to free the priests with the help of Poppaea. If his account about the revolt breaking out by the time of his return to Jerusalem is taken seriously, this implies a stay in Rome for several years.62 The author of the book of Acts certainly follows his own literary and theological interests when he describes Paul acting unhampered in prison as a preacher of the gospel, almost like a leader of a philosophical school. Nevertheless, from a chronological point of view we have to allow for a longer period of time between Paul’s arrival in Rome and his (probably violent) death under Nero.63 One gets the impression that prison was not the worst place for Jews in Rome to stay and talk about the right understanding of Scripture or to think further about the understanding of the gospel. 59 For the legal procedure of trials against Roman citizens under Nero, see H. Omerzu, Der Prozeß des Paulus. Eine exegetische und rechtshistorische Untersuchung der Apostelgeschichte (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2002), 17–109. 60 Cf. for Paul, Acts 28.31: ἀκωλύτως. 61 Cf. M.R. Niehoff, “Philo’s Exposition in a Roman Context,” StPhA 23 (2011): 1– 21; Niehoff, “Philo and Plutarch as Biographers: Parallel Responses to Roman Stoicism,” GRBS 52 (2012): 361–92. 62 Cf. Vit. 17. For a detailed chronology of the events belonging to the period before the outbreak of the Judaean War, see Kokkinos, The Herodian Dynasty, 385–95. 63 For the recent debate on Peter and Paul in Rome, see O. Zwierlein, Petrus in Rom. Die literarischen Zeugnisse (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2009); E. Dassmann, “Petrus in Rom? Zu den Hintergründen eines alten Streites,” in S. Heid (ed.), Petrus und Paulus in Rom. Eine interdisziplinäre Debatte (Freiburg: Herder, 2011), 13–31; R. Riesner, “Apostelgeschichte, Pastoralbriefe, 1. Clemens-Brief und die Martyrien der Apostel in Rom,” in Petrus und Paulus in Rom, 153–79; T. Barnes, Early Christian Hagiography and Roman History (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010), 1–41. For recent studies on the Neronian pros-

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For the final part of our investigation let us just picture an imaginary talk between Paul, who is held in light detention (as described of his last years in the book of Acts), and his “brothers” in Rome, the followers of “a certain Christ.” Furthermore, let us imagine a talk between Paul, Philo, and Josephus. Let us take Paul’s letter to the Romans as a point of reference.64 After all, as the readers of 2 Peter already knew (wherever they lived), Paul’s letters contain “some things that are hard to understand” (2 Pet 3.16). Therefore, Paul’s letter to the Roman Christians, written several years previously, could also have provided grounds for further discussion. I. Natural Law and the Torah of Moses One matter for further inquiry may have been what Paul had written in Romans 1 and 2 about humankind as judged by God in the light of the revelation of Christ. For Paul as a Jew, humankind was always separated into two different and very unequal halves: Israel on the one hand, and the rest, called Gentiles (τὰ ἔθνη), on the other. When Paul argues from the perspective of belief in Jesus Christ that every human being is under the wrath of God, he sticks to this distinction.65 When he tries to convince his readers that all have sinned according to the yardstick of the law, he speaks of the “Jew in concealment” and the “Jew in public” (Rom 2.29). By this terminology he places both groups, which may consist of Jews and Gentiles as well, on the same level in front of God and calls them both “Jew.” In Rom 2.14 Paul speaks of Gentiles who do not have the Law but by nature do what the law requires. And in 2.25–27 he plays with the term circumcision with regard to Jews and Gentiles by calling those Gentiles who follow the rules of Torah the “foreskin from nature,” in opposition to the one who, although circumcised, trespasses the law.66 What would Philo and Josephus have thought about Paul’s argument when they met him during his Roman arrest among the leaders of the Roman Jews? As fellow Jews, they probably would have agreed at first regarding the ecution of “Christians,” see Zwierlein, Petrus in Rom, 113–27; T. Schmitt, “Die Christenverfolgung unter Nero,” in Petrus und Paulus in Rom, 517–37. 64 For the following, see my K.-W. Niebuhr, “Menschenbild, Gottesverständnis und Ethik. Zwei paulinische Argumentationen (Röm 1,18–2,29; 8,1–30),” in M. Konradt and E. Schläpfer (eds.), Anthropologie und Ethik im Frühjudentum und im Neuen Testament. Wechselseitige Wahrnehmungen. Internationales Symposium in Verbindung mit dem Projekt Corpus Judaeo-Hellenisticum Novi Testamenti (CJHNT), 17.–20. Mai 2012, Heidelberg (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2014), 139–61; “‘Nicht alle aus Israel sind Israel’ (Röm 9,6b). Römer 9–11 als Zeugnis paulinischer Anthropologie,” in F. Wilk and J.R. Wagner (eds.), Between Gospel and Election. Explorations in the Interpretation of Romans 9–11 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010), 433–62. 65 Cf. Rom 1.16: παντὶ τῷ πιστεύοντι, Ἰουδαίῳ τε πρῶτον καὶ Ἕλληνι. 66 Cf. Niebuhr, “Menschenbild, Gottesverständnis und Ethik,” 147–49.

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function of the Law as judging the deeds of all human beings, whether Jews or non-Jews. Furthermore, being well-educated in popular Greek and Roman thinking, Philo and Josephus would probably also have agreed with Paul’s understanding of the law as a “natural” standard for human behaviour.67 This is likely, since we read in Philo and Josephus that the Jewish Law can be identified with the “law of nature” in terms of Stoic as well as Platonic philosophy. In his Expositio legis Philo explicitly connects the Torah of Moses with the creation of the whole world and affirms that “the cosmos is in harmony with the law and the law with the cosmos, and the man who observes the law is at once a citizen of the cosmos, directing his actions in relation to the rational purpose of nature in accordance with which the entire cosmos is also administered.”68 In the proem to his Antiquities, Josephus starts with basic reflections on the relationship between God, nature, and the law.69 If one wants to act well one has to observe nature first and to model oneself according to God’s works. Therefore, the lawgiver Moses only discussed the “antiquities and constitution” of the Jewish people (ἀρχαιολογία καὶ διάταξις τοῦ πολιτεύµατος) after “natural history” (φυσιολογία). Josephus follows this model in his own historical work.70 Even the Stoic philosopher Seneca would probably have agreed if he had come to observe Paul conversing with fellow Jews in prison (although, this is a rather far-fetched “if”).71 As long as all human beings are in view, Paul, Philo, and Josephus would have approved if (in a Roman philosophical setting) ethics were derived from an understanding of nature, whether in Stoic or in Platonic terms, even if they would have preferred to call nature “creation” because of their biblical background. And when they reflect on humanity and society, they would have thought of human beings as from the days of God’s creation to the time of Abraham, as Paul does beginning in Romans 1.72 Certainly, Paul would go on polemicizing against all kinds of idolatry, including the veneration of animals (cf. Rom 1.23) and against any ethical aberrations from the law of nature, such as homosexual conduct (cf. Rom 1.26f.). Philo and Josephus would have enthusiastically agreed. Perhaps even Seneca would have supported this critical view of idolatry and their view of ethics by pointing to the right religion of the wise men, which does not depend on any rituals.73 67

On the Jewish Law in Philo and Josephus, see my article K.-W. Niebuhr, “Nomos. B. Jüdisch, C. Neues Testament,” RAC 25 (2013): 1006–061, at 1025–031. 68 Philo, Opif. 3, cf. also Mos. II.48. 69 Josephus, A.J. I.1–26. 70 A.J. I.5, 18f. 71 Cf. above on his Ep. 95.47. 72 Cf. Niebuhr, “Menschenbild, Gottesverständnis und Ethik,” 148. 73 For Seneca’s ethics, see B. Inwood, “Natural Law in Seneca,” StPhA 15 (2003): 81–99; R.M. Thorsteinsson, Roman Christianity and Roman Stoicism. A Comparative

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II. Pneuma and the Law in the Light of Christ If we turn to Romans 8, it would be much harder to find Jewish contemporaries of Paul (not to mention the Gentile philosopher Seneca) who would support the apostle’s convictions about the believer being filled with Christ’s spirit and hoping for eschatological perfection and deliverance. Of course, the anthropological terminology used by Paul shows several parallels to contemporary philosophical texts, as has been demonstrated in recent studies on Paul and the Stoics.74 But when we try to follow Paul’s line of thought in Romans 7 to 8 and when we consider the proposition and the aim of his argument, we get a rather new and unique picture of humankind. This uniqueness stems from the perspective of God’s dealing with human beings in Jesus Christ. In Romans 8 Paul’s starting point is the salvation of believers through Christ’s death and resurrection from their plight of slavery under the power of sin. When Paul speaks about the law in this connection, it is no longer the “law of nature” but “the law of the spirit of life in Christ Jesus” (8.2). Every single word in this phrase – law, spirit, life – may have parallels in philosophical contexts, but the phrase as a whole does not fit any philosophical conception. Rather, it is completely dependent on the decisive marker “Christ Jesus.” Whether Paul still has the Jewish Torah in mind (which I tend to think) is a question that still remains. In any case, his understanding of the Torah is modified decisively by the events of Christ’s death and resurrection, which are expressions of God’s dealing with humankind – both Jews and Gentiles. The same is true of Paul’s understanding of the spirit, the soul, and the body as expressed in Romans 8.75 When Paul speaks of πνεῦµα (21 times in Romans 8!), we cannot abandon his Christological understanding. Most of Paul’s references to the spirit in this chapter are either linked directly with Christ or with those who converted to him and are filled by his spirit. Any attempt to compare Paul’s statements in this passage about the spirit with popular philosophical ideas – without bearing the specific context of Paul’s argument in mind – falls short of the standards of biblical as well as philological exegesis, although space forbids a more lengthy discussion here. Once more, when we imagine a hypothetical talk between Paul, Philo, Josephus, and Seneca about spirit, I suppose there would be more raising of eyebrows than understanding between them. Study of Ancient Morality (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), 22–39; for Paul’s letter to the Romans, see 89–104. 74 Cf. T. Engberg-Pedersen, Cosmology and Self in the Apostle Paul. The Material Spirit (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), 39–138, 164–69; N. Huttunen, Paul and Epictetus on Law. A Comparison (London: T&T Clark, 2009), 101–53. 75 See for this Niebuhr, “Menschenbild, Gottesverständnis und Ethik,” 154–58, and, most recently, V. Rabens, The Holy Spirit and Ethics in Paul. Transformation and Empowering for Religious-Ethical Life (2nd ed.; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2013), 203–37.

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III. Israel’s Fate Before concluding, we want to consider briefly how Paul’s argument in Romans progresses in chapters 9–11, which focuses on Israel’s fate in light of God’s calling of Jews and Gentiles into his eschatological community. Paul underlines his own identity as an Israelite more clearly in this passage than in any other, despite the fact that he had served as apostle to the Gentiles for quite some time (cf. 11.1, 13!).76 Paul makes it clear throughout his argument in chapters 9–11 that Israel’s God would never condemn his people. Nevertheless, when Paul was writing this section of his letter he had to argue against two contemporary streams of thinking in Rome. On the one hand, there may have been those who wanted to leave behind all “historical” bonds with this strange and sometimes disturbing nation at the edge of the Roman Empire. On the other hand, there were perhaps those who wanted to stick to Jewish customs,77 if only in order to enjoy some of the privileges granted to the Jews by Caesar. Paul’s argument in Romans 9–11 has received much less attention in its Roman context from a political point of view than his admonitions in Romans 13.78 If we consider the political situation in the early or middle sixties CE, and if we take into account the rather developed communication network operating between the capital and the provinces, especially with regards to Egypt and Syria/Judaea, we should consider whether or not Paul’s argument could have also had political implications. When Paul expresses his deep sorrow about his fellow brothers of his own race (cf. Rom 9.1–5), this may not only be understood as an expression of his commitment to Israel’s salvation history but also as a statement about their present religious and political situation. And when he announces salvation for all Israel, even if only as a mystery (11.25–31), by heralding a deliverer coming from mount Zion who will save Jacob and build up a new alliance between God and his people in Jerusalem, perhaps some Romans may have furrowed their eyebrows. Philo, at any rate, only a few years previously would have dreamed about such a perspective when he had to struggle against his enemies in Rome who were slandering him and his people to Caligula. The situation in Jerusalem, and the attitude of Agrippa I acting in favour of the Jewish people there, was one of Philo’s main arguments against the emperor.79 Unfortunately, we do 76 Cf. K.-W. Niebuhr, Heidenapostel aus Israel. Die jüdische Identität des Paulus nach ihrer Darstellung in seinen Briefen (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1992), 136–78. 77 Such different views on Jewish practice and belief in Christian congregations in Rome may explain something of the conflicts which are reflected in Rom 14.1–15.6, cf. K.-W. Niebuhr, “Offene Fragen zur Gesetzespraxis bei Paulus und seinen Gemeinden (Sabbat, Speisegebote, Beschneidung),” BThZ 25 (2008): 16–51, at 31–41. 78 Cf. for this most recently, Krauter, Studien zu Röm 13,1–7, 137–60. 79 Cf. Legat. 261–329.

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not know any of the arguments Josephus brought forward when he struggled to free the Jerusalem priests from their trial in Rome. In such a situation, political arguments were likely also a factor. Josephus seems to play down all political allusions when he writes in Rome in the late nineties about his former career in the sixties. But the contents and the aim of his historiography seem to be clearly aimed at developing a perspective for Israel as God’s people in the future.80 Concerning politics, then, what would the Jewish leaders and the “Christian brothers” in Rome have thought and discussed when they met Paul in prison? Perhaps they would have asked him about how to understand and adopt his advice about dealing with the state authorities wherever they lived. Maybe they would have also discussed Israel, its promises from salvation history, and its prospects in both the present age and the future. They would have certainly attempted to find biblical solutions for Israel’s present plight and to develop hopes for the people of God from the gospel of Christ. But why should they have completely refrained from allowing their religious promises and hopes to impact their present belief and behaviour? And what would Seneca contribute to their talks? As a representative of highest rank from the political scene who was very close to the emperor, he would probably never think of interacting with such a strange and sometimes politically untrustworthy Jewish association. Whether or not he ever heard of “a certain Christ,” we do not know. On the other hand, some of the group meeting in Paul’s prison cell certainly knew about Seneca’s position in the emperor’s house, and they may have also learned something about his philosophy. Therefore, they may have contributed to their prison talks by referring to some of Seneca’s thoughts. This is only one of the many questions which have to remain open here.

D. Conclusions If we agree with Erich Gruen’s judgment that, in general, Roman “authorities were indifferent and unconcerned” about Jews living in the city,81 we can nevertheless assume based on our sources that Jews played a considerable role in the capital of the Roman Empire. However, their role was more commonly not one of an outside group or of a scapegoat identity, but a position similar to many other groups of foreigners who had immigrated to the capital long ago. 80

Cf. S. Swoboda, Tod und Sterben im Krieg bei Josephus. Die Intentionen von Bellum und Antiquitates im Kontext griechisch-römischer Historiographie (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2014), 392–504. 81 Cf. the essay by Gruen in this volume.

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We have observed considerable communication and interaction between Roman Jews and Jews from other urban centers of the Mediterranean area, such as Alexandria and Jerusalem. The Jews established a super-regional information-network to keep each other up to date. This Empire-wide communication network fostered a cohesion between the Jewish communities living under very different political, cultural, and religious conditions. We cannot reconstruct the means or the organisational structures of this communication network – travel certainly played a considerable role – but we must realize that Jewish groups developed a feeling of belonging together wherever they lived in the Empire. Even if Jews were not a major problem for Roman politics and society, they were at least visible, discernable, and identifiable as a religious group with their own specific features that were sometimes strange or contemptuous and other times respectable or comical. It was a sign of education or wit for Roman writers to have knowledge about Jewish customs, which they used in arguments and in criticisms. “Christians” had not yet entered the public-eye as an independent religious group in Paul’s time. Instead, they were probably seen as Jews. Nevertheless, as part of the Jewish section in Roman society, “Christians” like Paul were connected with intellectual networks in the city consisting of members who were born in the capital and others who had external ethnic or religious backgrounds. When Paul spent the last years of his life in Roman custody, he was regarded as a Jew by those who came to see him in prison. He also considered himself a Jew – aside from his conviction (and that of some of his visitors) that the only judge he would have to confront was not the emperor, but Jesus Christ.82

82

I am grateful to Mr. Andrew Bowden (Munich) for correcting my English in this article.

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A Paul’s peregrinations had brought him to a multitude of places around the Mediterranean. He carried his controversial message to cities in Syria, Cyprus, Asia Minor, Greece, and Macedonia. The final stop, not altogether a voluntary one, was Rome. There he spent his last years, with a fate still unknown. Paul, after harsh treatment and accusations in Jerusalem, had appealed to Caesar, evidently looking for a sympathetic verdict. It never came. Should he have expected one? The Roman emperor at the time of Paul’s arrival was Nero, a man whose name continues to live in infamy. Whether he ever heard Paul’s case is unrecorded, and very unlikely. Had Paul deceived himself? What sort of a reception should a Jew have anticipated from the government in Rome? Prior Roman policy toward Judaism, indeed toward alien cults in general, needs to be considered, a vital background for this question. It provides critical insight into the Roman disposition. A fact of real significance requires emphasis here. Romans regularly imported external cults at the public level, making them part of the state apparatus, and welcomed them also on the private level, as increasing numbers of Romans became adherents of foreign rituals and observances. That is one of the virtues of polytheism. The practice of incorporating alien religions began already in Rome’s earliest history, as tradition reports. The worship of Herakles came from Greece, according to legend, to the site of Rome, in time for Romulus to offer sacrifice.1 The summoning (evocatio) of Juno Regina from the great Etruscan city of Veii in 396 BCE allowed the goddess to give victory to Rome in its ten-year war. Juno Regina would henceforth be worshipped in Rome, on the Aventine Hill, where her new temple would forever be a reminder of divine

1

Livy, 1.7; Dion. Hal. 1.33.

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favor for Romans against their foes.2 Whatever the historicity of these events, the attitude reflects a readiness to embrace principal foreign deities and make them part of Roman ritual. That process continued in accelerated fashion in the middle and later Roman Republic. Among the imported cults were Asklepios from Epidauros in Greece in 293 BCE, Venus Erycina, a mixed Greco-Phoenician goddess from western Sicily, in 217, and Magna Mater, the great Mother goddess from Asia Minor, in 205.3 In addition to those actually summoned by the state, others entered the scene through private embrace or individual adherence. The worship of Isis serves as a conspicuous instance of widespread popularity, beginning in Egypt but gradually meandering all over the Roman empire including Rome itself. Mithras, with Persian roots, eventually found his way through the armies, especially along the Rhine and Danube, to a variety of sites in the west. Indeed a range of deities from abroad spread to Rome or to Romans elsewhere.4 Juvenal might sneer about the Orontes pouring its refuse into the Tiber. But worshippers in Rome and Italy, whether foreigners or indigenous, practiced a miscellaneous variety of rituals, with little or no repression or persecution. Acceptance and embrace of alien cults was simply a longstanding ingredient of Roman identity.

2 Livy, 5.21–23. On evocatio, see the recent discussions of C. Ando, The Matter of the Gods: Religion and the Roman Empire (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2008), 128–38, and E.M. Orlin, Foreign Cults in Rome: Creating a Roman Empire (New York: OUP, 2010), 36–41, 92–93. 3 Asklepios: Val. Max. 1.8.2; Livy, 10.47; Per. 11; Vir. ill. 22.1–3. Venus Erycina: Livy, 22.9.7–10, 22.10.10, 23.30.13–14, 23.31.9; see R. Schilling, La religion romaine de Vénus, depuis les origins jusqu’ au temps d’Auguste (Paris, 1954), 248–54; G.K. Galinsky, Aeneas, Sicily, and Rome (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1969), 169–90; E.S. Gruen, Culture and National Identity in Republican Rome (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1992), 46–47; A. Erskine, Troy between Greece and Rome (Oxford: OUP, 2001), 198–205; Orlin, Foreign Cults, 71–76; F. Battistoni, Parenti dei Romani: mito troiano e diplomazia (Bari: Edipuglia, 2010), 124–27. Magna Mater: Livy, 29.10.4–29.29.11.8, 29.14.5–14; Ovid, Fast. 4.247–348; see E.S. Gruen, Studies in Greek Culture and Roman Policy (Leiden: Brill, 1990), 5–33, with bibliography; P.J. Burton, “The Summoning of the Magna Mater to Rome (205 BC), Historia 45 (1996), 36–63; E.M. Orlin, Temples, Religion, and Politics in the Roman Republic (Leiden: Brill, 1997), 109–11; L.E. Roller, In Search of God the Mother: The Cult of Anatolian Cybele (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1999), 263–85; Erskine, Troy, 205–24; Orlin, Foreign Cults, 76–82; Battistoni Parenti, 87–89. 4 Isis: M. Malaise, Les conditions de pénétration et de diffusion des cultes égyptiens découvertes en Italie (Leiden: Brill, 1972); H. Sonnabend, Fremdenbild und Politik: Vorstellungen der Römer von Ägypten und dem Partherreich in der späten Republik und frühen Kaiserzeit (Frankfurt: Peter Lang, 1986), 128–42; S. Takács, Isis and Sarapis in the Roman World (Leiden: Brill, 1995). Mithras: R. Beck, “Mithraism since Franz Cumont,” ANRW II.17.4 (1984), 2002–115; M. Clauss, Mithras, Kult und Mysterien

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B Where do the Jews fit into this picture? Like other religious communities under the aegis of the imperial power, they largely enjoyed the indifference of the authorities. In fact, they had had a thriving community in the city of Rome for at least two hundred years before the time of Paul. A large portion of the Jews, so Philo tells us, lived across the Tiber, established their own communities and synagogues, and carried on their traditional practices without obstruction from the Roman government. 5 Documentary evidence confirms the claims of the philosopher. Funerary epitaphs from the Jewish catacombs in Rome give us the names of eleven synagogues, at least four of which probably date to the late Republic or the early Empire, thus in existence by the time of Paul.6 Rome comfortably incorporated Jews, indeed explicitly safeguarded their privileges, within its pluralistic religious universe. Had matters changed by the reign of Nero? Evidence is scarce. But a most interesting episode sheds some unexpected light. Josephus in his Vita reports a visit to Rome of his own while still a young man having just completed his twenty sixth year. This would put the trip in 63 or 64 CE, very close to the time, perhaps three or four years later, of Paul’s arrival in Rome as a prisoner awaiting trial. Remarkably enough, Josephus’ mission was called forth by a somewhat comparable situation. Certain Jewish priests known to Josephus, who held them in high esteem, had been sent to Rome in bonds on what he calls a minor and trivial charge to plead their case before Caesar. They had been dispatched to Rome by the prefect, Antonius Felix, the very same man before whose tribunal in Caesarea Paul was accused and who held him in custody for two years until he was himself succeeded in office by Festus. It was under Festus, as we know, that Paul was eventually ordered to go to Rome in chains because he had appealed to Caesar.7 Josephus took ship, also in the (Munich: C.H. Beck, 1990); S. Arcella, I misteri del sole: il culto di Mithra nell’Italia antica (Naples: Controcorrente, 2002). 5 Philo, Legat. 155–57. On the synagogue inscriptions, see P. Richardson, “Augustan-Era Synagogues in Rome,” in K.P. Donfried and P. Richardson (eds.), Judaism and Christianity in First Century Rome (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998), 17–29. 6 H.J. Leon, The Jews of Ancient Rome (Peabody: Hendrickson, 1960), 140–42, 157– 59; E. Schürer, The History of the Jewish People in the Age of Jesus Christ, vol. III.1 (rev. ed. by G. Vermes, F. Millar, and M. Goodman; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1986), 95– 98; I. Levinskaya, The Book of Acts in its First Century Setting, Volume 5: Diaspora Setting (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1996), 182–85; Richardson, “Augustan-Era Synagogues,” 19–22; D. Noy, Foreigners at Rome: Citizens and Strangers (London: Duckworth, 2000), 284. 7 Vita 13. For Felix’s action regarding Paul, see Acts 23.23–30; 24.1–27. On Festus and Paul, see Acts 25–26. See the comments of J.A. Fitzmyer, The Acts of the Apostles (New York: Doubleday, 1998), 726–65; R.J. Pervo, Acts: A Commentary (Minneapolis:

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prefecture of Festus, disembarked in Puteoli, and made his way to Rome to seek the release of the prisoners. The Jewish priests must have been held in custody in Rome for several years, the last part of Felix’s term and the beginning of Festus’.8 It is striking (and perhaps suspicious) that Josephus, like Paul, reached his destination only after severe storms, long delays, and shipwrecks.9 Josephus, however, as he himself tells us, gained success in his mission. He managed, through friendship with a mime-actor of Jewish origin and a favorite of the emperor, to gain access to Poppaea Sabina, Nero’s wife. Through her good offices, says Josephus, he secured the release of the priests, acquired handsome gifts, and returned home.10 That is quite a remarkable narrative. Shipwreck stories, of course, were common in ancient literature, and Josephus’ claim that six hundred persons swam all night after the wreckage, eighty of whom, including himself, managed to reach another ship that took them on board and brought them to Italy is difficult to credit. Nor is it easy to buy the claim that Josephus personally and solely persuaded Poppaea to release the captives into his hands. At the least, there has been embellishment to enhance the historian’s role.11 But the parallels with Paul’s confinement in Rome do lend some plausibility to the circumstances that Josephus describes – especially as neither the author of Acts nor Josephus shows any awareness of the other’s narrative. In both cases the Roman prefect of Judaea, Felix in the case of the priests, Festus in the case of Paul, sent Jewish prisoners to Rome to be heard by the Emperor Nero. Fortress, 2009), 582–638. Note also the provocative suggestion of Barclay in this volume that Paul might actually have been convicted by one of the Roman provincial governors against whom he lodged his appeal. On the hearings before Felix and Festus, see further Omerzu in this volume. 8 The chronology cannot be established with precision. Felix’s years as prefect of Judaea ran from approximately 52 to 60 when Festus succeeded him and governed the province until his death approximately two years later. See E. Schürer, The History of the Jewish People in the Age of Jesus Christ, vol. I (rev. ed. by G. Vermes and F. Millar; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1973), 405–406; E.M. Smallwood, The Jews under Roman Rule (Leiden: Brill, 1981), 269–71. For a different chronology, see D.R. Schwartz, Agrippa I (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1990), 223–42; yet another in N. Kokkinos, The Herodian Dynasty: Origins, Role in Society and Eclipse (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1998), 385–86. 9 Vita 14–15. 10 Vita 16. On this Josephan narrative generally, see the valuable notes of S. Mason, Life of Josephus: Translation and Commentary (Leiden: Brill, 2001), 21–27. 11 Cf. G. Hata, “Imagining Some Dark Periods in Josephus’ Life,” in F. Parente and J. Sievers (eds.), Josephus and the History of the Greco-Roman Period (Leiden: Brill 1994), 312–16, although Hata’s reconstruction, which has Josephus meet Nero himself and agree to espionage activities in Judaea on behalf of the emperor, is wildly speculative and implausible.

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In both cases, the prisoners were held in custody for a very long time, a matter of years. And in neither case, so far as we know, did Nero actually hold a hearing. Can we infer anything from this with regard to official Roman public attitudes or policies toward Jews in the reign of Nero? Not much, to be sure. But the reluctance of Roman authorities in Judaea to render decisions on delicate and complicated religious issues does seem clear. Referral to Caesar in both instances relieved the prefects of the burden of deciding controversial cases. And Nero was obviously in no hurry to hear the cases at his tribunal. Paul, of course, stayed for two years, welcoming all who came to him and preaching freely, unhindered by the authorities.12 What happened to him after those two years does not repay speculation. But there is no evidence and little probability that Nero ever heard the case.13 In all likelihood, the emperor was completely indifferent to a sectarian quarrel within Judaism. What charges were leveled against the Jewish priests remains unknown. Their untroubled release is revealing. Josephus indicates that Poppaea Sabina’s intervention secured the freeing of the prisoners. Josephus may have exaggerated his own role. But he would have little reason to fabricate the entire scenario. The circumstances do not suggest official repression. The government was largely uninterested in the Jews of Rome.

C To reconstruct the atmosphere for Jews generally in Neronian Rome is no easy matter. How much can we gain from the comments of contemporary Romans about that peculiar religion and its practitioners? The surviving comments are piecemeal and scattered, affording little in the way of consistent pattern, and they are often accorded greater weight than they merit. Scholars have dutifully collected all the relevant remarks in an assemblage that seems significant.14 But when compared to the total corpora of the writers 12

Acts 28.30–31. See Fitzmyer, Acts, 790–92; Pervo, Acts, 686–90. P. McKechnie, “Judaean Embassies and Cases before Roman Emperors, AD 44– 66,” JTS 56 (2005), 358–61, presumes that Jewish priests came to Rome to press charges against Paul, that Nero did hear the case, and that the emperor ruled against him. That is all conjecture. On the circumstances of Paul’s confinement in Rome, see the very extensive study of B. Rapske, Paul in Roman Custody (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1994), 1–28, 173–422, a valuable analysis of Roman practices and the possible conditions under which Paul was held but expanding far beyond the minimal testimony available in Acts 28.16– 31. 14 See the indispensable work of M. Stern, Greek and Latin Authors on Jews and Judaism, 2 vols. (Jerusalem: The Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities, 1974 and 1980). 13

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in which these remarks are to be found, they are pitifully few. Roman intellectuals did not spend a great deal of time thinking about Jews. Indeed, the overwhelming impression of the attitude toward those who dwelled in Rome was essentially indifference.15 Jewish customs gave rise to mockery and parody. But Jews simply had too little importance to provoke the authorities to harassment or repression. The scattered observations by Roman intellectuals constitute little more than disdain, amusement at peculiar practices, and a stimulus for satire. But the repeated references to circumcision, the Sabbath, and dietary restrictions are themselves quite revealing in a different sense. They demonstrate that Jews did not hide away in isolated ghettoes, shunning the gaze of Roman society. They dwelled in readily identifiable communities, and made no secret of their characteristic customs. With rare exceptions, they lived undisturbed by the authorities. They did not require protection or promotion by the regime. Nor did they expect “tolerance.” What they got was largely disregard and unconcern. And that sufficed.

D A serious objection might well be voiced to this picture. Only a few years before Nero ascended to the throne, his predecessor, the Emperor Claudius, in 49 expelled Jews from Rome, allegedly on the grounds of their repeated upheavals prompted by a certain Chrestus. Such, at least, is the notorious account supplied by the imperial biographer Suetonius in his Life of Claudius.16 Suetonius may not have got it quite right, but he did not make it up. Paul himself, as we are told in Acts, encountered two of the victims of that expulsion. When the apostle went to Corinth he came across the Jew Aquila and his wife Prisca who had recently come from Italy as consequence of Claudius’ decree that all Jews depart from Rome.17 Does this not cast a dark shadow on

15 Cf. L.H. Feldman, “Reflections on Jews in Graeco-Roman Literature,” JSP 16 (1997), 39–42. See the discussion in E.S. Gruen, Diaspora: Jews Amidst Greeks and Romans (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2002), 41–52, with bibliography. Add R. Penna, “Les Juifs à Rome au temps de l’apotre Paul,” NTS 28 (1982), 321–47, who wrongly sees strong anti-semitism in Rome at this time; so also W. Wiefel, “The Jewish Community in Ancient Rome and the Origins of Roman Christianity,” in K.P. Donfried (ed.), The Romans Debate (Peabody: Hendrickson, 1991), 96–101. 16 Claud. 25.4: Iudaeos impulsore Chresto assidue tumultuantis Roma expulit. On the date, see Orosius, 7.6.15. 17 Acts 18.1–3. Cf. Pervo, Acts, 445–52.

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imperial policy toward Jews, a sign of animosity and oppression that would indeed have clouded Paul’s own perception of what he might anticipate in Rome?18 The matter is more complicated, suggesting rather different conclusions. The expulsion could hardly have been a thorough sweep. Jews, we are told, had increased substantially in numbers in recent years.19 To implement a wholesale deportation would have been a formidable task, surely not worth the effort, time, and expense. There had been an expulsion order under the Emperor Tiberius thirty years earlier. It is unnecessary to re-examine that much-examined episode here. What requires notice simply is that the departure of Jews at that time could not have been extensive, since they were back in Rome (or perhaps, for the most part, had never left) before Claudius took the throne. Tiberius had evidently refrained from serious implementation of the order. It was largely a symbolic gesture to exhibit the emperor’s religious piety in the wake of reports of divine displeasure surrounding the mysterious death of his adopted son, the very popular Germanicus.20 Much the same may have held for Claudius’ decree of 49 CE. The emperor’s objectives probably paralleled those of Tiberius three decades earlier. Claudius presented himself as a guardian of ancient Roman rituals. Among other things, this allowed him to contrast himself and his policies with the madcap antics of Caligula who had regularly mocked the homage that men paid to the gods. A string of measures and actions designed to display Claudius’ devotion to traditional Roman religion marked the emperor’s reign. Certain actions took place in the very year of 49. Claudius formally extended the pomerium, the sacred boundary of the city, signifying a corresponding expansion of the boundaries of the Roman empire. This required the revival of an archaic ritual, only rarely performed.21 The event came in close conjunction with reinstitution of the salutis augurium, the solemn augury for the welfare of the state, a ceremony unperformed for three quarters of a century and now to be set on a permanent footing.22 In the same year, after the suicide of Claudius’ prospective son-in-law who had been accused of incest and removed

18

See, first and foremost, H.D. Slingerland, Claudian Policymaking and the Early Imperial Repression of Judaism at Rome, (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1997) who sees this event as representative of a consistently hostile attitude and actions against the Jews by Roman emperors in the Julio-Claudian era. 19 Dio, 60.6.6. Cf. the “Jews and proselytes” from Rome who gathered in Jerusalem to celebrate Pentecost; Acts 2.10. 20 See the arguments of Gruen, Diaspora, 29–36; accepted by M. Goodman, Rome and Jerusalem: The Clash of Ancient Civilizations (New York: Random House, 2007), 369. 21 Tac. Ann. 12.23–24; Gellius, 13.14. 22 Tac. Ann. 12.23; cf. Dio, 37.24.1–2.

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from high office, the emperor ordered expiatory sacrifices that dated back to the time of the Roman kings six centuries earlier as a dramatic show of his command of ancient religious traditions and practices.23 As part of his display of ancient piety toward the nation’s gods, Claudius also singled out certain sects and cults that did not suit the program. He abolished, for instance, the religion of Druidism among the Gauls, and prompted the senate to ban astrologers from Italy. As Tacitus sardonically but quite rightly remarked with regard to the astrologers, the decree was unenforceable.24 The same can surely be said of the measure against the Jews in 49. It came in the same year as the extension of the pomerium, the revival of the salutis augurium, and the resort to expiatory sacrifices that could be traced to the regal period of hoary antiquity. We need not doubt the genuine religiosity of the emperor. But the actions served primarily as symbolism and public relations. In this context the expulsion decree was a companion exercise to exhibit Claudius’ devoutness by acting against an alien cult. One will hardly imagine a mass migration of Jews, let alone an enduring one.25 When Paul arrived in Rome about a decade later Jewish communities in the city were evidently flourishing. As Acts reports, Paul summoned to him principal figures from the Jewish community in Rome, probably leaders from the several synagogues. A first group arrived shortly, and a second group came later in large numbers. 26 There was no dearth of Jews in Rome. Claudius had not sought to root out the synagogues or to create a host of exiles.27

23

Tac. Ann. 12.3, 12.8; cf. Seneca, Apol. 8.2. Tac. Ann. 12.52. Druids: Suet. Claud. 25.5; cf. Pliny, Nat. 29.53–54. 25 Suetonius indicates that the decree of expulsion applied only to those who were engaged in tumultuous activity; Claud. 25.4. Acts 18.2 wrongly states that Claudius commanded all Jews to leave Rome. The decree may not have affected many or created much difficulty. The absence of any mention of the events in Tacitus’ Annals is significant. It does not disprove the fact of an expulsion decree, but suggests that it was a minor episode, unworthy of the historian’s notice. The fact that Philo praises Augustus for not expelling Jews from Rome should hardly be taken as an indirect allusion to Claudius’ decree; Legat. 157. We have no reason to believe that Philo survived that late in Claudius’ reign. It is a little more likely that he has in mind Claudius’ ban on convocations in 41 when he praises Augustus for not preventing Jews from gathering; Legat. 157; cf. E.M. Smallwood, Philonis Alexandri Legatio ad Gaium (Leiden: Brill, 1961), 239–40. 26 Acts 28.17: συγκαλέσασθαι αυτ ὸν το ὺς ὂντας τ ῶν Ἰουδαίων πρώ τους; 28.23: ἦλθον...πλείονες. Cf. Pervo, Acts, 682. 27 This is an abbreviated version of Gruen, Diaspora, 39–41. See also Goodman, Rome and Jerusalem, 370–71. 24

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E What light, if any, does the expulsion shed on relations between the Jewish and Christian communities in Rome? Were the Jews embroiled in conflict with this rival sect, thus causing the Roman authorities to act against them? The evidence is frustratingly flimsy. Much attention, of course, has been focused on Suetonius’ tantalizing reference to the instigator of Jewish turbulence as a certain Chrestus. On this we can be mercifully brief.28 It is most unlikely that Suetonius alludes here to Jesus Christ. The name Chrestus is widely attested, a common designation in Rome not only for freedmen but also for foreigners from the east, even second generation Romans and beyond, some of whom indeed held office in Rome.29 Suetonius’ passage, with its impulsore Chresto, presumes the presence of the instigator in Rome itself during the reign of Claudius which rules out Jesus both chronologically and geographically. And the biographer’s report here is an exaggeration on any reckoning. His assertion that Jews were repeatedly engaged in upheavals (Iudaeos...assidue tumultuantis) is unsustainable. As secretary to the Emperor Hadrian, Suetonius composed this work after Rome had experienced two major Jewish rebellions against Roman authority, the Great Revolt of 66–70 CE and the Bar-Kochba uprising under Hadrian himself. This might very well have induced Suetonius to equate Jewish behavior with repeated tumult.30 But those upheavals had not yet happened by the time of Claudius – and no such Jewish activity is otherwise recorded as ever having occurred in Rome.31 Even if Suetonius’ testimony is garbled and confused, however, many scholars have argued that there lurks behind it some allusion to Christian activity in Rome. The tumult that prompted Claudius’ decree in 49, on this view, resulted from Christian missionaries preaching in the synagogues, stirring passions, generating Jewish resistance, and producing clashes between the sects.32 But far too much uncertainty and speculation lie behind such 28 No need to register the vast bibliography here. See the extensive survey by H. Botermann, Das Judenedikt des Kaisers Claudius: römischer Staat und Christiani im 1. Jahrhundert (Stuttgart: Steiner, 1996), 72–95. 29 A valuable collection of testimony in Slingerland, Claudian Policymaking, 179– 201. 30 So, rightly, Slingerland, Claudian Policymaking, 152–59, 226–27. 31 S. Benko, “The Edict of Claudius of A.D. 49 and the Instigator Chrestus,” TZ 25 (1969), 406–18, who regards Chrestus as a Jewish zealot stirring up insurrection, gives a list of Jewish-gentile tensions over the decade and a half prior to the Claudian edict. But none of them took place in Rome. 32 So, e.g. H. Janne, “Impulsore Chresto,” Mélanges Bidez (Brussels, 1934), 531–53; Stern, Greek and Latin Authors (1974), 180–82; Smallwood, Jews under Roman Rule, 210–16; Wiefel, “Jewish Community,” 92–93; J.A. Fitzmyer, Romans (New York: Doubleday, 1993), 30–31; H. Lichtenberger, “Jews and Christians in Rome in the Time of

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hypothetical reconstructions. Had there been intense and disorderly encounters between Christians and Jews in Rome in the reign of Claudius, it would be hard to understand the rather mild and detached comments of the Jews who visited Paul in Rome and, according to Acts, said only that they had heard widespread criticism of the sect and wanted to learn about it from Paul himself.33 That casts serious doubt on the idea of conflicts between Jews and Christians in Rome, conflicts which the author of Acts regularly records for other regions, a leitmotif of his presentation, but not for Rome. None of this rules out the presence of Christians in Rome in the Claudian years. Paul’s letter to the Romans, written early in the reign of Nero, indicates that he has waited for many years to visit the Christian community in Rome.34 Christians were obviously there when Paul arrived only a few years after the death of Claudius and ascension of Nero to the throne. A number of them made a point of greeting the apostle, offering him welcome and hospitality right from the start.35 When Nero singled out Christians in 64 as scapegoats for the fire in Rome, they were obviously an entity well enough known to serve as a convenient target. They could hardly have emerged just a year or two before.

F Actual relations between Christians and Jews in Rome during the lifetime of Paul remain elusive, dependent on minimal evidence and generating disproportionate speculation. Paul’s letter to the Romans, of course, stands at the center of that speculation. The work was composed, as best we can estimate, in the late 50s, early in the reign of Nero. To whom did Paul direct the epistle and why? Limited space does not permit entrance into the quagmire of scholarly discussion on that subject. But one might notice that, if serious conflict existed between Jewish and Christian communities in Rome, there is not a hint of it in the letter to the Romans. The work is remarkably irenic. Paul opens by addressing the Christian community in Rome, whose membership, he implies, was primarily Gentile. Such, at least, we can infer from his statement that he hopes to reap fruit from preaching to them as well as “to the other Gentiles.”36 Paul is a missionary to Greeks and barbarians.37 Nero: Josephus and Paul in Rome,” ANRW II.26.3 (1996), 2168; Botermann, Das Judenedikt, 95–102; P. Lampe, From Paul to Valentinus: Christians at Rome in the First Two Centuries (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2003), 11–14. See also Lampe in this volume. 33 Acts 28.22. 34 Rom 15.22–23. 35 Acts 28.14–15. 36 Rom 1.7; 1.13: ἵνα τινὰ καρπὸν σχῶ καὶ ἐν ὑµῖν καθὼς καὶ ἐν τοῖς λοιποῖς ἕθνεσιν.

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Elsewhere, he speaks of pagans who have achieved righteousness through faith.38 But much of the letter is directed to Jews, those devoted to the Law, who are potential converts to Christianity.39 Paul identifies himself unabashedly as an Israelite, as a descendant of Abraham.40 He addresses remarks rhetorically at one point to a postulated Jewish interlocutor.41 And his quotations from the Septuagint suggest a familiarity with the Bible that would apply primarily to Jews.42 He can refer to Jews as his adelphoi, a term normally employed in the epistle to designate Christians.43 Further, Paul turns at one point to address the Gentiles explicitly, identifying himself as an apostle to ta ethne.44 He underscores his mission to the Gentiles.45 Christians, Jews, and pagans are all real or constructed addressees of the epistle. More importantly, Paul does not pit them against one another. The apostle reiterates frequently the assertion that God concerns himself with both Jew and Greek, a major motif.46 Harmony and concord are stressed. Christ was a servant to the circumcised to fulfill the promise of the scriptures and to the Gentiles to glorify God.47 Indeed the salvation of the Jews will come only when Gentiles enter in full measure.48 The combination stands at the center. To be sure, this vision applies to a blending of Jew and Gentile under the umbrella of Christ and in a Christian world, not a collaborative concord between Jews and Christians. But the absence of conflict and the commonality of aim take prominence – a far cry from the polemic of Galatians or the vigorous resistance by many Jews to Paul’s message in the Near East.49 How far this actually reflects circumstances in Rome is impossible to know. But it is at least

37

Rom 1.14–15, 23; 15.15–16, 18. Rom 9.30. 39 Rom 2.9–10, 17–18, 23–24; 3.1–4. 40 Rom 4.1; 9.3; 11.1, 14. 41 Rom 2.17. 42 Rom 9.6–18; 10.5–11; 15.9–12. 43 Rom 7.1. 44 Rom 11.13: ὑµῖν δὲ λέγω τοῖς ἕθνεσιν. There is no compelling reason to see this as an address to gentile Christians, as does Fitzmyer, Romans, 612. 45 Rom 15.15–18. 46 Rom 2.9–10; 3.9, 29–31; 9.24; 10.12. 47 Rom 15.7–9. 48 Rom 11.25–26. 49 The problems in Judaea are alluded to in Rom 15.30–31. Paul does refer to that “part” of Israel that has “hardened” and regards them as enemies of the gospel. But opposition to the gospel is carefully balanced by the insistence that recalcitrant Jews remain the select of God because of the patriarchs and will be beneficiaries of divine mercy; Rom 11.25–32. 38

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consistent with the conclusion of Acts that has Rome’s Christian community welcome Paul and the Jewish leadership come peaceably to his dwelling to learn more about his sect.50

G Scholarly disputes persist about whether Christians in Rome at this time drew their numbers largely from Gentiles or from Jews.51 That may miss the main point. It is well to remember that Roman Christianity in the 50s could have been little more than a fledgling operation. The Jews themselves had no single, unified community but formed associations in a number of different synagogues. Some pagans also attached themselves to one or another of these communities, persons occasionally identified as “god-fearers.” This was no official designation but a characterization of those who adopted certain Jewish practices and rituals, while refraining from full conversion. They should not be understood as located on the margins of the synagogue but rather as partaking in various forms and to various degrees in Jewish worship and behavior while retaining an independent sense of identity. Christian relationship to the synagogue need not have been very different.52 The terms so often employed by moderns and seen as fundamental contrasts, “Jewish Christians” and “Gentile Christians,” oversimplify the situation. In this period Christianity was only beginning to attract adherents in Rome, and Christian communities were barely emerging. We lack evidence for aggressive evangelizing among either Jews or Gentiles. Jewish synagogues or ways of life appealed to a variety of non-Jews, proselytes, so-called “godfearers,” and Christians. It would be wrong to imagine firm lines between and among these groups. Fluidity prevailed in a swirl of religious activity. To the outsider in Rome, and indeed to many insiders, the distinctions that exercise modern scholars may have made little difference. Overlap and interconnections had greater significance than compartmentalization. Moreover, this formative period must have witnessed considerable movement back and forth in both Jewish and Christian communities, not so much conversion as experimentation. In an era of such fluidity it would be a mistake to imagine well-defined and discrete groups in a state of tension and conflict with one another. 50

Acts 28.14–17. See also Niebuhr in this volume. E.g. Wiefel, “The Jewish Community,” 92–96; Fitzmyer, Romans, 32–36, 75–80; Lichtenberger, “Jews and Christians,” 2162–63; Lampe, From Paul to Valentinus, 69–79; C.G. Cruse, Paul’s Letter to the Romans (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2012), 2–3, 8–11. 52 Cf. Wiefel, “The Jewish Community,” 89–92. 51

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The conclusion of the Acts of the Apostles suggests the absence of sectarian strife in Rome. Christians greet Paul warmly upon his arrival, and Jews willingly assent to his request that he meet with them in his quarters.53 The Jewish delegation professed to have heard nothing about Paul’s problems in Judaea and maintained that no negative word about him had reached their ears. They were eager to hear his views, and claimed only to know that the sect was everywhere spoken against.54 No hint surfaces here of animosity between Jews and Christians. When Paul preached to a second gathering of Jews, he got a mixed response. Some were won over, others disbelieved.55 Divided opinions among Jews cause no surprise. But the text is silent on confrontation between Jews and Christians.56 To the Roman authorities, fine distinctions among Jews, proselytes, godfearers, Jewish Christians, and Gentile Christians, insofar as they existed at all, would have been quite opaque – and a matter of complete indifference. When Claudius promulgated his decree of expulsion for Jews, it could very well have encompassed Christians as well, not because the regime targeted them but because the Roman officialdom did not know or did not care about the difference. The question that scholars have long debated, whether Aquila and Prisca were Christian converts before or after the expulsion order, would not affect the matter. Claudius’ decree aimed at adherents to the synagogues, Jews, Gentiles, proselytes, converts, and Christians alike. His enforcers would not have looked closely at individuals’ religious affiliations. Indeed, the whole question of enforcement, as we have seen, is dubious. Aquila and Prisca were back in Rome not long after, as doubtless were many others who returned from brief exile – and most of them probably never left at all. If Claudius’ act was largely symbolic, as seems likely, there is no need to envisage a massive exodus and a massive return.57

53

Acts 28.14–17. Acts 28.21–22. 55 Acts 28.23–25. 56 To be sure, Paul, annoyed and indignant, quotes Isaiah 6.9 and declaims that if Jews will not listen to his message, Gentiles will; Acts 28.25–28. But that is a different matter from clashes between Jew and Christian in the time of Nero. Cf. Pervo, Acts, 684– 86. 57 There is no warrant for the confident assertion in some modern works that Nero repealed the edict of Claudius upon his accession to the throne; e.g. Wiefel, “The Jewish Community,” 94–96. 54

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H The confluence of groups must have spilled over into the reign of Nero. Roman authorities had little reason to scrutinize what were to them minor differences in belief and practices among the sects. If Claudius’ expulsion decree could encompass a range of participants in synagogue activities, not, strictly speaking, Jews alone, Nero’s actions against Christians may also have had more than a narrowly defined set of victims. On the face of it, the early years of Nero posed no threat to the Jews. The general Roman indifference to alien cults, notwithstanding the brief demonstration under Claudius, still prevailed. Nothing suggests any problems for, let alone oppression of, Jews under Nero. And yet there is a paradox here. What little evidence we do possess on Jewish attitudes toward Nero indicates animosity and hostility. How should we account for this? Josephus, writing a decade or so after Nero’s death, offers some insight into the Jewish vantage-point. The historian professes to take an objective and detached position. He sharply criticizes other writers who portrayed Nero with shameless bias. Some treated him generously, Josephus claims, because they had found favor at his hands, quite reckless of the truth, while others savaged him out of personal hatred and did not hesitate to fill their accounts with falsehoods. Josephus, for his part, claims to take the high road and to seek only the truth. He adds further that he will devote little space to Nero himself because his subject is the Jews, not the reigns of the emperors.58 But this show of objectivity is notably compromised by Josephus’ declaration of what he will not write about. He asserts in the Bellum judaicum that he will not discuss how Nero irrationally defied fortune through excess of prosperity and wealth that drove him to eliminate his brother, his wife, and his mother. He will pass over Nero’s cruelty that he exercised against the most eminent members of Roman society. And he will omit the emperor’s notorious and demeaning infatuation with the stage. Let others write on such overworked subjects, he says.59 This praeteritio by Josephus plainly lifts the disguise of objectivity. He might not write on these topics, but he unhesitatingly parades the vices of the emperor. Other comments on Nero, although restrained and indirect, leave little doubt of Josephus’ opinion. When the Jewish rebellion broke out in 66, Josephus has little to say about Nero’s reaction, but what he does say is telling. In his account, the emperor put on a public pretense of disdain and annoyance but was inwardly shaken with panic and fear.60 Josephus, of course, could not possibly have known this. That he inserted it in his narrative is no accident. In 58

A.J. 20.152–57. B.J. 2.250–51. 60 B.J. 3.1–2. Cf. 1.21; Vita 408–09. 59

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discussing the death of Nero, the historian reverts to his posture as disinterested party. He will not report, so he says, how the emperor misused his rule by setting evil ministers in power, the most useless of freedmen, who plotted against him, and was then abandoned by all of his guards, fled the city, and committed suicide in the suburbs. Josephus declares his intent to omit all this.61 Of course, he had already recorded it, and left the desired impression. Josephus, in short, did not engage in an overt campaign of character assassination. But the Jewish historian made it clear that he had no love for Nero. The scattered references, with their transparent pretense of objectivity, add up to a firmly adverse judgment. A very different Jewish source or set of sources delivers a fiercely hostile assessment of the emperor. The Sibylline Oracles constitute a collection of fascinating but frustrating texts whose composition ranges over a period of centuries, some of them Jewish, some Christian, a few pagan. The Sibyl, of course, is a Greek invention, the inspired prophetess, usually a prophetess of doom, originally a single figure, gradually multiplied into a number of different seers in different parts of the Greek world. Collections of the oracular pronouncements were made in Rome, and consulted when needed by a board of priests designated for the job. The Sibyls’ words of wisdom, duly edited, shaped, and even fabricated, circulated widely in the Greco-Roman world.62 If any authentic copies were ever available, they have long since vanished. What we possess now are re-creations, composed largely in Homeric hexameters by Jewish and Christian intellectuals who turned them to their own purposes. Nero makes frequent appearances in these texts, never named as such (in the appropriate mode of the oracular genre) but readily identifiable, entering and departing the texts in random fashion. The authors of the relevant passages provide an intriguing glimpse into attitudes toward Nero, at least within certain Jewish circles. And they depict the emperor in dark tones, reminding readers of his transgressions, his failings, and his crimes. Nero’s notorious murder of his mother captured popular imagination. Allusions to him as matricide crop up frequently in the Sibylline Oracles, a repeated reference, almost as an identifying label.63 Further, the texts commonly characterize him as having fled ignominiously from Rome in his final days, a desperate escape route for the deposed and frightened prince.64 Worse still, the emperor’s hybris reached the point of pretensions to 61

B.J. 4.491–93. See, in general, H.W. Parke, Sibyls and Sibylline Prophecy in Classical Antiquity (London: Routledge, 1988), 1–50. 63 Sib. Or. 4.120–21; 5.30, 142, 363; 12.82. 64 Sib. Or. 4.119–24; 5.216, 363–64; 8.71–72; 12.93–94; 13.122. On the legends of Nero’s return after his flight to the east to rain destruction upon the west in the Sibylline Oracles and elsewhere, see L. Kreitzer, “Hadrian and the Nero Redivivus Myth,” ZNW 62

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divinity. The fifth Sibyl ascribes to some the claim that Nero was son of Zeus and Hera, a claim set beside a list of his misdemeanors and the disasters he produced.65 Furthermore, the text minces no words in condemning Nero, the matricide who flees from the ends of the earth with dastardly schemes to destroy every land he encounters in his conquests, annihilate rulers and subjects alike, and set all ablaze as none before him had ever done.66 Indeed, among the peoples who will fall victim to his indiscriminate slaughter is none other than the nation of the Hebrews.67 Nero’s flaws, monstrous acts, and base character receive strong emphasis. Jewish recollections of that emperor were decidedly malevolent.68

I Why the need to blacken Nero at every turn? What accounts for a Jewish impulse to label and re-label him as matricide, hubristic claimant on divinity, destroyer of cities and nations, and ludicrous lyricist? Did Jews face a hostile environment in the Neronian age? What had Nero ever done to the Jews? An event of high notoriety occurred in Rome during the reign of Nero: the great fire of 64 CE that spread through much of the city. Many blamed Nero himself for setting the fire and, as Tacitus’ famous account tells us, the emperor shifted the blame to Christians in order to get himself off the hook. He ordered a grisly persecution of that sect, the first of its kind.69 The punishments were dramatic and dreadful: convicted Christians were covered with animal skins, torn apart by wild dogs, and nailed to crosses where they were burned to serve as human torches to light up the night.70 Few who witnessed

79 (1988), 92–115; J.W. van Henten, “Nero Redivivus Demolished: The Coherence of the Nero Traditions in the Sibylline Oracles,” JSP 21(2000), 3–17. 65 Sib. Or. 5.140–54. Cf. 5.33–35; 12.86. 66 Sib. Or. 5.363–69. 67 Sib. Or. 8.140–41. 68 Nero’s image in later Christian literature took on even darker hues. He became identified with the anti-Christ; see B. McGinn, Antichrist: Two Thousand Years of the Human Fascination with Evil (New York: Columbia University Press, 1994), 45–54. An excellent survey of representations of Nero from the early Roman Empire to the Reformation can be found now in H.O. Maier, “Nero in Jewish and Christian Tradition from the First Century to the Reformation,” in E. Buckley and M.T. Dinter (eds.), A Companion to the Neronian Age (Malden: Blackwell, 2013), 385–404. 69 Tac. Ann. 15.38–44; cf. Suet. Nero, 16, 38; Dio Cassius, 62.16–17; Pliny, Nat. 17.5. 70 Tac. Ann. 15.44.

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the scene could have failed to remember or pass it on to descendants as a memorable episode. The sources tell us explicitly that the victims were Christians. No mention is made of Jews. But how easy would it have been for Romans in 64 CE to distinguish a Christian from a Jew? And how much would they have cared to do so? If, as is likely, many Christians would have been affected by Claudius’ decree to expel Jews, it is hardly less likely that many Jews were among the victims of Nero’s search for scapegoats among the Christians. The authorities charged with rounding up the supposed perpetrators would not have been particularly scrupulous in making distinctions. And in this very early period when Christianity was barely emerging in Rome and when shifting among sects and allegiances was common, it is easy to imagine confusion especially among Romans seeking to carry out Nero’s orders. Tacitus, to be sure, knew the difference between Jews and Christians. But Tacitus wrote his Annals about a half century after the great fire in Rome. And he also observed that the sect was founded in the land of the Jews.71 The historian maintains that a “vast multitude” of Christians was punished as scapegoats for the fire. Was there really a vast multitude of Christians in Rome in the 60s? And, even if they could be identified as such, would Roman officials really know the difference between Jews and Christians, let alone among proselytes, god-fearers, Jewish Christians and Gentile Christians – and would they take the trouble to find out? One text is worth noting in this connection. The pseudonymous correspondence between Seneca and Paul mentions explicitly that Jews, as well as Christians, were punished for their part in the fire.72 The letter, of course, is late and fabricated, not a source for confident historical reconstruction. But the association of Jews and Christians in this episode, even if invented, shows that at least one strand in the tradition found it to be plausible. The idea that Jews suffered in the persecutions under Nero has never had any traction in the scholarship. A weighty argument from silence stands against it, namely the absence of any reference to Jewish victimization in Josephus. Surely he would have mentioned it if Jews had been victims, so it has been forcefully asserted.73 Not necessarily. One should note that Josephus has almost nothing to say about any events in Rome during the reign of Nero, nor that of Claudius before him, apart from the accession of the latter to the throne. That is particularly noteworthy with regard to Claudius because his expulsion order, recorded in several sources, also goes unmentioned by Josephus. So the silence of the Jewish historian is indecisive. It is also explicable. Nero did not target Jews as such. He labeled Christians officially as the perpetrators of the fire. The emperor had no reason to torment Jews as a group. But 71

Tac. Ann. 15.44. Ps. Seneca, Letter to Paul, 11. 73 Smallwood, Jews under Roman Rule, 217. 72

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the vast multitude of victims of whom Tacitus speaks must have included a substantial portion of Jews or Jewish converts to Christianity. There were simply not enough Christians around. The frightful deaths of individuals, even if not linked to Judaism itself, could hardly fail to leave a deep impression in the memories of some Jewish families and communities, passed on to subsequent generations. This might well have played a role in Jewish blackening of an emperor who had otherwise done them no wrong as a people. An echo may still linger in the Sibyl’s puzzling reference to Nero’s determination to ravage various peoples, including the ethnos of the Hebrews.74 A memory of undeserved suffering, in the eyes of the Jews, could have had serious impact on the adverse image of the emperor.

J In conclusion, let us revert to our original question. What was the atmosphere for Jews in Neronian Rome? What might Paul have anticipated when he chose to appeal to the emperor and present his case before the imperial throne? A brief survey of Roman policy toward alien cults historically shows it to be liberal and encompassing. That attitude evidently held also with regard to the Jews. Roman intellectuals who commented on Jews were often dismissive, treating their customs and habits with amusement or mockery but not animosity, let alone any campaign of vilification. Anti-semitism had not yet appeared on the scene, and Jews suffered neither oppression nor persecution. In general, the authorities were indifferent and unconcerned. The only ostensible exceptions, expulsion decrees, first under Tiberius, then under Claudius, were short-lived, largely unenforced, and affected only a small number. The decrees constituted demonstrations of religious devotion by the emperors, symbolic acts rather than serious measures of repression. Nor do we have record of open conflict between Jews and Christians that might have bedeviled Paul’s stay in Rome or provoked Roman repression. To interpret Suetonius’ notorious impulsore Chresto to that purpose requires bold and unfounded speculation. Paul’s letter to the Romans is fundamentally a pacific one. And the Acts of the Apostles betrays no strain in the relationship when Paul reaches Rome. The dichotomy of Jew and Christian or indeed of Jewish Christian and Gentile Christian over-schematizes what was a much more complex and shifting religious scene involving converts, godfearers, and pagans of various sorts, many of them experimenting rather than committing. Christianity was still in embryonic state, hardly a fixed creed or structure. Adaptability should be emphasized, not struggles between established 74

Sib. Or. 8.140–41.

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systems of belief. Paul would not have expected either state repression or a fervid religious competition. Nothing in Nero’s reign would have suggested such scenarios. The animosity toward the emperor that surfaced in Jewish writings like Josephus and the Sibylline Oracles came later and may be connected to Nero’s frantic search for scapegoats in the aftermath of the fire of 64. In short, the atmosphere for Jews in Neronian Rome would have given Paul some confidence in an appeal to Caesar. The long record of Roman willingness to embrace alien cults would offer reassurance. And the flexibility of religious experimentation could even have given him reason to expect some success in his mission.

Roman Christians under Nero (54–68 CE) Peter Lampe

A. Roots of First-Century Christianity in Rome: Christian Beginnings in Roman Judaism Immigrants from the East were highly prevalent in the ancient world’s capital and biggest metropolis in the Roman Empire. Juvenal (flor. ca. 100) joked (Sat. 3.60–65) that the waters of the Syrian river Orontes flowed into the Tiber, carrying eastern rhythms, music, and customs with them. The city of Rome is Greek, he complained at the beginning of the second century CE. The majority of the city’s inhabitants were not born in Rome, as Seneca (ca. 4 BCE–65 CE) observed (Helv. 6; cf. Pliny the Elder, Nat. 3.6.). What was true for the city population as a whole applied even more to the early Roman Jews and Christians. In Rome “all detestable and appalling things from all over the world come together,” Tacitus (ca. 55/56–post-113 CE) regretted, with particularly the Christians in mind (Ann. 15.44.3). How the first Christians, in general anonymous to us, entered the city remains elusive – except for a few clues that might help concretize the paths of Christianity into the metropolis. After the time of Pompey, imported Jewish slaves and freed slaves continued to stream into Rome through large Roman households such as the imperial household, the house of Marcus Agrippa (64/63–12 BCE),1 and the house of the Roman noble Volumnius, who had resided in Syria in 8 BCE as Augustus’ personal emissary and whose friendship King Herod (ruled 37–4 BCE) enjoyed.2 It is in all likelihood from these households that the (first-century CE)3 Roman synagogues of the

1

Cf. Josephus, A.J. 15.350–51; 16.12–16, 21–26. Josephus, B.J. 1.535–38, 542; A.J. 16.277–83, 332, 351, 354; see P. Lampe, “Paths of Early Christian Mission into Rome: Judaeo-Christians in the Households of Pagan Masters,” in S.E. McGinn Celebrating Romans: Template for Pauline Theology: Essays in Honor of Robert Jewett (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2004), 143–48. 3 Still valid is R. Penna, “Les Juifs à Rome au temps de l’Apôtre Paul,” NTS 28 (1982): 321-47, here 328. 2

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Volumnenses (CIL 6.29756; CIJ 1.343, 402, 417, 523), the Agrippesioi (CIG 9907; CIJ 1.503, 425, 365), and the Augustesioi (CIL 6.29757; CIG 9902– 9903; CIJ 1.284, 301, 338, 368, 416, 496) originated. In a few cases there are clues that also Christians were among the families of Jewish slaves and freedmen imported from the East by such households. Although the epigraphically evidenced Jewish synagogue of the (He)rodioi (CIJ 1.173) cannot be documented for the first century CE, its name at least allows for the possibility that, already in the first century CE, Jewish slaves and freed persons of the Herodian royal household founded a synagogue for themselves in Rome. A branch of the Herodian household was located in Rome; Herod Antipas and Herod Agrippa I, for example, son and grandson of Herod the Great, were raised and educated in Rome. When looking for a possible Christian link to the Herodian household in Rome, Romans 16.10–11 comes into focus. Paul sends greetings to “those who are part of Aristobul’s domestic staff.” The formulation shows: Aristobul – and part of his domestic staff – were not Christian themselves. Who was Aristobul? His name was very rare in Rome (CIL 6.17577; 29104; cf. 18908), which probably means that he had immigrated to Rome from the East or even lived in the East, with only part of his household being in Rome. Interestingly enough, the Herodian family favored the name Aristobul; both the father and brother of Herod Agrippa I, for example, were named Aristobul. Thus, a proximity to the Herodian royal household appears possible, although it cannot be proven.4 A little firmer ground is gained when looking at a pagan Valerian household that had Jewish freed slaves. A Roman inscription from the first century CE (CIL 6.27948) mentions a freed slave (liberta) called Valeria Maria, who was either Jewish or Jewish-Christian, indicated by her Jewish cognomen.5 More importantly, 1 Clement (63.3; 65.1) mentions a respected Roman Christian named Valerius Biton. The elderly man was part of the Roman delegation that brought 1 Clement to Corinth, thus endorsing the letter with his personal presence. Described as an old man in the 90s of the first century,6 Valerius Biton must have been born in the 30s or 40s, living as a child in 4 That the partly Christian domestic staff of Aristobul was of Jewish descent is not necessarily implied, but it becomes plausible if Aristobul was affiliated with the Herodian clan and thus his household had ties to Palestine. 5 In this case, “Maria” is clearly a cognomen, not a gentilicium. The use of the cognomen “Maria” seldom occurs in CIL 6. Usually “Maria” – like “Marius” – indicates the gens Maria in the Latin inscriptions of the city of Rome. The cognomen “Maria” can only be found seven times in CIL 6 (14025; 27948; 12907; probably also 11175; 19039; 13717; 10881. Contrastingly, the gentilicium “Maria” occurs ca. 108 times in CIL 6). The cognomen, however, represents the Semitic name, so that in all probability our Valeria Maria of the first century CE was Jewish or Jewish-Christian. 6 Despite disputes about a later date of 1 Clem., I adhere to the traditional dating as the most convincing one.

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Rome when Roman Christianity experienced its beginnings. His name identifies him as a freedman or the son of a freedman of the gens Valeria. It is tempting to assume that the Christian Valerius Biton came into contact with the Christian gospel through Valerian Jewish-Christian freed persons such as Valeria Maria. Was she a close relative? Or was he a pagan member of the Valerian gens who got in touch with Christianity through Jewish-Christian members of the gens? New epigraphic material would be needed to answer such questions. This is also true for the question of why Valerii had Jews among their freed slaves. In the inscription, Valeria Maria is identified as a freed slave of a certain Lucius Valerius Diogenes.7 Diogenes was the heir of a Lucius Valerius Hiero, and Hiero in turn was the heir of a Lucius Valerius Papia. If Valeria Maria died in the 90s of the first century CE at the latest, then the dates of death for Diogenes, Hiero, and Papia can be extrapolated at the latest for the 80s, 50s, and 20s, respectively. This shows that, in any case, Lucius Valerius Papia was born in the first century BC. This was the time when another Lucius Valerius, a republican senator, had shown a friendly attitude towards the Jews (Josephus, A.J. 14.145–148). According to Josephus, he presided as praetor over the Roman Senate in a meeting renewing Rome’s friendship with the Jewish people in 47 BCE. In addition, other pagan Valerian aristocrats had had connections to the Syrian East and to the Jewish people, such as the Roman rhetorician Marcus Valerius Messalla Corvinus (ca. 64 BCE–13 CE) who, in 29–28 BCE, had served as governor of Syria and, earlier, had demonstrated a friendly attitude toward Herod the Great (Josephus, A.J. 14.384; B.J. 1.284; cf. 1.243). Furthermore, a Valerius Gratus had been predecessor of Pontius Pilate as prefect of Judaea in 15–26 CE. (Josephus, A.J. 17). It is possible – nothing more – that the lineage of the patrons of Valeria Maria has some connection with one of the lines of heirs of these gentlemen. Despite the uncertainties in the patchy Valerian source material,8 at least it can generally be surmised that Jewish Christianity in the 30s or 40s found one of its paths from the Syrian-Palestinian East into the city of Rome through some of the aforementioned Roman households, through their Jewish slaves, freed persons, and their descendants.9 7

The epigraph presents two groups of freed persons who were given a burial place by their patrons. Both of these patrons, Lucius Valerius Amphion and Lucius Valerius Diogenes, had inherited the place from a man named Lucius Valerius Hiero (probably their father). In the epigraph, Amphion is named first before Diogenes. Therefore, one can assume that the first group of freed persons was dependent on Amphion, while the second, which included our Maria, was dependent on Diogenes. Significantly, in the second group, one of the freedmen carried the name Diogenes again. 8 A more extensive survey of the Valerian freed persons and slaves would be helpful only in a very limited way, because many inscriptions are ambiguous with regard to the Jewish background of persons. Jews most often did not show their ethnic background in

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Authors such as Suetonius (ca. 70–post-130) cast more light on the scene.10 Jewish-Christian immigrants from the east of the empire infiltrated one or several of the Jewish synagogues in Rome sometime in the 40s of the first century CE, most likely at the end of the 40s. In the East at that time, the Apostle Paul still lived in Antioch, and the radius of his Christian mission had not reached farther than 500 km (Gal 1.17, 21; 2 Cor 11.32–33; Acts 9.22–25, 27, 30; 11.25–26; 13–14); it was not before 49–50 CE that Paul founded his famous congregations in Galatia, Macedonia (Philippi; Thessalonica), and Greece (Corinth). Testifying about Christ and probably discussing a more liberal attitude toward the Torah (see the traditions behind Mark 2.23–3.6 as Roman material),11 the Jewish-Christian immigrants in Rome caused turmoil within these synagogues, which attracted the attention of the Claudian admintheir cognomina. Among the Roman Jews, the ratio of Latin and Greek names to JewishAramaic names was 6:1 (H. Solin, “Juden und Syrer im westlichen Teil der römischen Welt,” ANRW II.29/2 [1983]: 587–789, at 711). Talmud, Gittin 1b: “the majority of the Jews in the Diaspora has the same names as the pagans.” 9 If Philippians was written in Rome, as H.-D. Betz, Der Apostel Paulus in Rom (Berlin: deGruyter, 2013) now intriguingly argues, then this result is also corroborated by Phil 4.22, where Paul mentions Christians of the imperial household in his environment. 10 Suetonius, Claud. 25.4 in combination with Acts 18.2; Orosius, Hist. 7.6.15f.; Cassius Dio 60.6.6f. See, e.g., Lampe, From Paul to Valentinus: Christians at Rome in the First Two Centuries (4th ed.; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2010 [Augmented English edition of Lampe 1989]), 11–16 (also discussing the dating of the “edict of Claudius” and the Chrestus question). 11 For the localization of Mark in Rome, where he picked up the traditions for his Gospel writing, see, e.g., M. Hengel, “Entstehungszeit und Situation des Markusevangeliums,” in H. Cancik (ed.), Markus-Philologie: Historische, literargeschichtliche und stilistische Untersuchungen zum zweiten Evangelium (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1984), 1–45. In 12.42, Mark explains that two lepta, which were coined under Herod and the later Palestinian procurators, were worth one quadrans in Western currency. The quadrans was almost exclusively used in the West, particularly in Rome, where it was coined, and in Pompei, with its use declining toward the end of the first century (C.E. King, “Quadrantes from the River Tiber,” Numismatic Chronicle 7.15 [1975]: 56–90). Mark also uses other Latin expressions (iter facere 2.23; in extremis esse 5.43; consilium dare/capere 3.6; 15.1), especially from the economic (denarius 6.37; census 12.14) and military domains (legion 5.9, 15; speculator 6.27; praetorium 15.16; centurio 15.39, 44f). In Mark 7.26, the Tyrian woman is characterized specifically as born in SyroPhoenicia. This made sense for Western readers, who would have associated Phoenicia primarily with the region of Carthage. For Syrian readers, this detail would have been superfluous. Furthermore, Semitic words needed to be translated (Mark 5.41; 7.11, 34; 14.36; 15.22, 34). The late first-century document 1 Peter (5.13) locates Mark in Rome, making him an acquaintance of Peter like the Presbyter John quoted by Papias (in Eus., Hist. eccl. 3.39.15). Mark’s identity with the Hellenistic Jewish-Christian John Mark of Phlm 23f; Col 4.10; Acts 12.12, 25; 13.5, 13; 15.36-40; 2 Tim 4.11, however, cannot be affirmed; the latter probably would have had better knowledge of Palestinian geography than displayed in Mark 5.1; 7.31; 11.1.

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istration. The key persons12 in this inner-Jewish argument were expelled by Claudius’ administration in 49 CE, both Jewish and Jewish-Christian. Among those forced to leave were the Jewish Christians Aquila, an immigrant from Pontus, and his wife Prisca (Acts 18.2).13 As free tentmakers, they ran a workshop in Rome and were among the first Christian activists in the city. But it is unknown where or how they had made contact with the Christian message; they could have done so even in the synagogues of Rome itself. The alternative reading of the relevant sources – an unknown Roman Chrestus stirred up the Roman Jews, and Christians had nothing to do with this event – is less likely.14 (1) According to the oldest source about the events (Acts 18.2), Aquila and Prisca arrived at Corinth after a Claudian expulsion of Jews from Rome. At that time, they were already Christians; otherwise Paul would have mentioned them among the first Corinthian converts, e.g., in 1 Corinthians 1.16. The alternative reading needs to assume, on the one hand, that Aquila and Prisca were stirred up by an unknown instigator Chrestus at Rome and expelled from the city and, on the other, that at the time of 1 Corinthians at the latest they were adherents of Christos, a criminal crucified as potential insurgent – which would have been a strange coincidence. It is therefore most likely that the Claudian expulsion of Jews involved Jewish Christians and not some unknown Chrestus followers. (2) Not only pagans (Tacitus, Hist. 15.44: vulgus Chrestianos appellabat; Tertullian, Apol. 3; Nat. 1.3: Chrestiani pronuntiatur a vobis; Lactantius, Inst. 4.7), even Christians themselves could spell their name with an ē: the Codex Sinaiticus (Acts 11.26; 26.28; 1 Peter 4.16) shows this (Chrestianos), the Nott gem from late antiquity (Eēso Chrestos),15 and a Christian graffito in the Vatican mausoleum of the Valerii from ca. 300 (Petrus roga…pro sanc(tis) hom(ini)b(us) Chrestian(is)…;16 Petrus roga and the e in Chrestianis are clearly visible on photographs). (3) Another criminal “instigator” Chrestus besides the crucified one from Palestine is unknown elsewhere. Suetonius, however, assumes that his readers know the instigator Chrestus although the preceding text has not introduced him; previously unknown persons are usually introduced with quidam (e.g., Suet., Cal. 57: quidam Cassius nomine). Indeed, at Suetonius’ time in the first half of the second century, educated readers could be assumed to know who the Palestinian Christ was, just as Pliny assumes it in Ep. 96.10 (“Christians” does not need to be explained). The educated Tacitus was informed about Christ’s identity as well (Ann. 15.44). (4) Suetonius’ phrase impulsore Chresto does not necessarily imply that this instigator was present in Rome at the time of the turmoils; Suetonius does not say impellente Chresto. The ablative can be easily translated as “because of the instigator Christ,” who had been hanged in Palestine earlier under Tiberius (Tacitus, Ann. 12

Cassius Dio (60.6.6) explicitly states that Claudius never ordered any mass expulsion of Jews, contrary to Tiberius who allegedly did (57.18: τοὺς πλείονας ἐξήλασεν; the expression οὐκ ἐξήλασε in 60.6.6. creates a deliberate contrast to 57.18). A mass expulsion under Claudius would have been impossible anyway because of the Roman citizenship of many Jews in Rome (Philo, Legat. 155, 157), who would have been entitled to cumbersome individual trials before being exiled. πάντας in Acts 18.2 is typical Lukan hyperbole (cf. Luke 12.1; Acts 19.19; 21.20; 4.32, 34f., etc.), and Suetonius’ Iudaeos expulit does not imply “all.” 13 Lampe, “Aquila/Prisca (Priszilla),” RGG (1998): 1.666. 14 Pace the essay by Peter Oakes in this volume. 15 J.G. Cook, Roman Attitudes Toward the Christians: From Claudius to Hadrian (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010), 15f. 16 Ed. Guarducci 1953.

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15.44). Not just in Rome, but also in synagogues of a number of cities conflicts among Jews and Jewish Christians developed “because” of the Christ figure and the teachings related to him (1 Thess 2.14-16; 2 Cor 11.24; Matt 10.17; Acts 13.42-45; 17.1-9). (5) Finally, even if the number of Christians in Rome might have been still small in the late 40s, turmoil stirred up by their gospel could have easily reached the ears of Roman officials in the imperial administration, just as the small Jesus group in Jerusalem had caught the attention of the provincial Roman official Pontius Pilate.

As sketchy as the clues about the origins of Christianity in Rome might be, they all point in one direction, at a model of evangelizing that Luke also presupposes for the first gospel preaching in Corinth and Macedonia: Christian missionaries, themselves being Jews, introduced the gospel to a city by first approaching other Jews.17 There is no evidence that Christian mission in Rome initially was attempted apart from Jewish meeting places. There, the missionaries could succeed, especially among the sebomenoi, and there they also met resistance and strife (1 Thess 2.14–16; 2 Cor 11.24; Matt 10.17; 23.34; Acts 13.42–45; 17.1–9). It was a plausible strategy, in Rome and other cities, to first address those who already had a clue about the Hebrew Bible and Jewish traditions, about concepts such as messiahship or Torah obedience, instead of right away going for the steep hill of evangelizing pagans who had never heard about any Jewish traditions. Furthermore, there is no evidence that Jews who already were Christian when arriving at Rome in the 30s or 40s ab ovo tried to establish their own congregations apart from existing Jewish synagogues.18 It was not until after the disruption of the year 49 CE that many Roman Christians appear to have assembled apart from the synagogues. At the latest in the second half of the 50s, at the time of Paul’s letter to the Romans, the Christians in Rome met separately from the Jewish synagogues. The majority of Roman Christians by then were of non-Jewish descent, although very many of these Gentiles may, before their baptisms, have been loosely connected

17 Also the pre-history of the Matthean congregation in Syria presupposes this model. Matthew’s congregation formed a Christian synagogue with its own scribes and scribal traditions (e.g., 13.52; 23.34; the non-Christian Jews have “their” scribes: 7.29). It still obeyed the Torah (5.17–20). But Matthew’s Christian scribes formerly had evangelized to Jews, living in one or more synagogues in which Christians and non-Christians had been mixed and the Christian members had met fierce resistance (e.g., 10.17; peculiar to Matt 23.34). Matthew’s harsh showdown with the obdurate Israel (especially in Matt 23) presupposes the trauma of being cut off from Judaism, i.e., from one or more Jewish synagogues. In sum, the origins of Matthew’s congregation were in mixed synagogues. 18 Pace the essay by Peter Oakes in this volume. Moreover, many Jewish Christians at that time decidedly considered themselves part of Israel, worshipping where other Jews worshipped (e.g., Acts 2.46).

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with Jewish synagogues as uncircumcised sympathizers with Jewish monotheism.19 In 64, even Nero’s administration (ruled 54–68) could distinguish the Christians from the Jews in the city.20 Despite separation from the worship of the synagogues, social contacts between Christians and Jews in the city continued, as the Christian slave Callistus demonstrated in the 180s CE, when he operated a bank with Christian and Jewish customers (author of the Refutatio, Ref. 9.12).21 In the second century, a group of Jewish Christians still observed the Torah (Justin, Dial. 47), withdrawing fellowship from other Christians who did not, but probably maintaining contact with non-Christian Jewish synagogues. Cultural exchanges between Jews and Christians – in the fields of art and catacomb architecture – existed throughout the third century.

B. Topographical Aspects In which quarters of the city of Rome did Roman Christians live in the time of Nero? Considering that Roman Christianity emerged from the Roman synagogues, it makes sense primarily to look at the three areas where Roman Jews 19

In Romans, Paul assumes that the Roman Christians in general come from paganism: e.g., 1.5f., 13–15; 11.13, 17f., 24, 28, 30f.; 15.15f., 18; 9.3ff. But many contents presuppose some knowledge of the Jewish religion, e.g., proofs from Scripture, which can be easily understood if the Gentile Christians were mainly former sebomenoi. See further Lampe, From Paul to Valentinus, 70–75. If Mark a few years later writes in Rome, he too documents the primarily Gentile Christian character of the Roman Christians; now he has to explain Jewish customs to them (Mark 7.3f.; 14.12; 15.42; in addition, 3.4 seems ignorant of the Sabbath rulings. Quarrels about ritual cleanness and dietary rules are not a present reality in Mark’s congregation anymore; these questions have been settled: 7.17–19). At the same time, Mark supports the evangelization of pagans: see, e.g., Z. Kato, Die Völkermission im Markusevangelium: Eine redaktionsgeschichtliche Untersuchung (Frankfurt: Peter Lang, 1986). 20 For Nero’s persecution, see below. Tacitus (Ann. 15.44.4) holds that Christians were interrogated, who then “confessed” and denunciated many others (fatebantur, deinde indicio eorum multitudo). The following phrase presupposes that the content of their confessions was not only arson (if at all) but also their religious views and the lifestyle corresponding to these views (haud proinde in crimine incendii quam odio humani generis convicti sunt). Paul’s trial in Rome around 62 might have contributed to the fact that (not only Tacitus but also) the Neronian administration was able to distinguish between Jews and Christians. Paul confirms that Roman officials knew very well that his specifically Christian views led to his arrest (Phil 1.13). Furthermore, if initially Jews denunciated Christians as arsonists, as 1 Clem. (5.2, 4–6; 6.1) seems to insinuate (see further below), then it is even more plausible that the imperial administration knew that Jews and Christians were not quite the same. 21 P. Lampe, Die stadtrömischen Christen in den ersten beiden Jahrhunderten (2nd ed.; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1989), 282–83; From Paul to Valentinus, 335.

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resided in the first century CE.22 Many lived in Trastevere, the crowded quarter west of the Tiber River across from Tiber Island (Philo, Legat. 155; 157). Others of poor economic means settled in the climatically unhealthy valley of the Appian Way outside the Capena Gate (Juvenal, Sat. 3.12–16).23 Other Jewish groups lived in the northeast, where, in the first century CE, they founded a synagogue in the vicinity of the Viminal Gate, close to a fruit merchant’s store (CIL 6.9821 = CIJ 1.531). They probably also started the first Jewish catacomb (Villa Torlonia) on the Via Nomentana northeast of the city as early as the first or second century CE, as more recent radiocarbon dating suggests.24 It is unclear whether this synagogue was identical to one of the synagogues mentioned earlier or whether it was an additional one. All three residential locations lay outside the Republican Wall, and the synagogue at the Viminal Gate was outside the sacred city limits of the pomerium.25 The Egyptian cults, with which the Romans often associated Judaism, were banned from the pomerium as well (Cassius Dio 40.47.3; 53.2.4; cf. Tacitus, Ann. 2.85.4; Suetonius, Tib. 36.1; Josephus, A.J. 18.65–84; Ovid, Ars 1.76–78). That Jews and Christians settled in perimeter regions was typical for immigrant eastern religious groups in the capital. In the immediate neighborhood of the Jewish and Christian cells in Trastevere and outside the Porta Capena, other eastern cults blossomed, venerating gods such as Sol of Palmyra, the Syrian Hadad, Atargatis, Simios, Iuppiter Dolichenus, Isis, Sarapis, Mithras, and Cybele.26 The topographical results cohere with the situation in the year 64 CE, when a great fire severely damaged ten of the city’s fourteen districts (Tacitus, Ann. 15.38–44). Trastevere and the area outside the Porta Capena were among the quarters that were spared.27 If Christians settled in these perimeter regions, it becomes all the more plausible that Nero could choose them as scapegoats, accusing them of arson. They had safely watched the fire from afar, in addition to the fact that they were known for odium humani generis (15.44). These were two good reasons for Nero to divert the suspicion that he himself had set the city on fire, as many contemporaries rumored. The fire,

22

Lampe, Die stadtrömischen Christen, 26–35; From Paul to Valentinus, 38–47. Juvenal writes at the beginning of the 2nd century, but does not give the impression that Jews have only recently moved into this quarter. This area does not imply the Aventine hill, although both belonged to Rome’s administrative region 12. 24 L.V. Rutgers, K. van der Borg, A.F.M. de Jong, and I. Poole, “Jewish Inspiration of Christian Catacombs,” Nature 436 (2005): 339. 25 For a similar situation in Philippi, see Acts 16.13. 26 See Lampe, From Paul to Valentinus, 55, 58. 27 For the spread of the fire, see Lampe, From Paul to Valentinus, 47. 23

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indeed, was convenient for Nero; he needed space for his construction plans in the city center, planning his new palace, the vast “Golden House,” to stretch all the way from the Palatine hill to the slopes of the Esquiline hill.

C. “Bad Press” about the Christians Although the Christians were innocent, the fact that they could so easily be used as scapegoats shows what a bad reputation they had. They were disliked in the pagan environment because they were as different as the Jews (see, e.g., Tacitus, Ann. 15.44 in connection with Hist. 5.5.1; Suetonius, Nero 16; Claud. 25.3; Pliny, Ep. 10.96.8; Justin, 1 Apol. 1.1). In addition to bad press among the pagans, Roman Jews eyed the Christians with jealousy, as 1 Clem 5.2, 4–6; 6.1 seems to allege, suggesting that Jewish denunciations triggered the Neronian persecution. Jewish envy – if it was historical – would have most likely focused on Christian missionary success among the sebomenoi.28 However this may be, Mark 13.13, as a presumably Roman document, written only a few years later, lets Jesus prophesy: “Everyone will hate you.” The Apostle Paul drastically illustrates the bad reputation under which particularly the early Christian missionaries suffered: “We have become like the rubbish of the world, the dregs of all things” (1 Cor 4.13). Bad press, immigrant status, being an unimportant ingredient in a melting-pot city of people from all over the empire – this was early Christianity in the city of Rome under Nero. The fire of 64 CE probably even aggravated the Christians’ image problem, because from now on, in the public perception, Christians could even be suspected of setting people’s houses on fire.

D. Mark in the Aftermath of the Neronian Persecution In the aftermath of the traumatic Neronian persecution – around 70 CE when Mark wrote – numerous Roman Christian families still suffered from the loss of their beloved. At the same time, they probably had to deal with those who had betrayed their faith during the persecution, like Peter’s earlier denial (Mark 14.27–31), and those who had denunciated fellow Christians (see Tacitus, Ann. 15.44 and Mark 13.12), following Judas’ example. Mark obviously does not oppose readmitting those who had denied Christ into Christian fellowship (16.7), but he does not seem to have any sympathy with denunciators 28 Roman Jews themselves had missionary ambitions (Cassius Dio 57.18.5a, for the year 19 CE; cf. also Horace, Sat. 1.4.142f.). However, the envy motif also could be a mere literary topos (cf., e.g., 1 Clem. 45.4).

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(14.10f, 43–46). At the same time, he – like Paul – propagates an existentially applied theology of the cross, encouraging his Roman readers to pick up their own cross together with Christ and to be ready to suffer patiently for the sake of Christ if necessary (Mark 8.34f.). However, this is not all that Mark had to say in the aftermath of the Neronian trauma. Narrating his gospel, he gave it a counter-imperial slant, which is critical of the Vespasian imperial propaganda in particular. Instead of reacting to the Christians’ “bad press” by defending Christianity, as the apologists of the second century chose to do, his Gospel created a narrated counter-world to the Roman system under the Flavians – offering an alternative not headed by the emperor but by Christ, the true basileus (“emperor, king;” Mark 15) and the true divi filius (Son of God; 1.11; 9.7; 14.61f.), as even a centurio in 15.39 admits, using a title that also Octavian, Tiberius, and Nero had used for themselves after the apotheoses of their fathers. Furthermore, Peter confesses that Jesus is the true messiah (8.27–29). In Mark’s time, this confession challenged the imperial propaganda according to which Vespasian and Titus had fulfilled all messianic expectations of the Jews (Josephus, B.J. 6.312f.; Tacitus, Hist. 5.13; Suetonius, Vesp. 4.5). Correspondingly, Mark 13.21–22 alludes to both Flavians as “pseudo-messiahs.” For Peter’s messianic confession in 8.27–29, Mark carefully chose Caesarea Philippi (the “imperial”) – a location where an Augustus-Nero temple stood and, in the year 67, Vespasian had feasted with Agrippa II for three weeks; three years later, Titus celebrated a victory party there with shows and games (Josephus, B.J. 3.9.7; 7.2.1). Moreover, the Markan Jesus, as true Christ and opposite pole to the Roman rulers, performs miraculous healings just like those Vespasian was said to have done in Alexandria in a similar way (cf. Mark 8.22–26; 3.1–6 with Tacitus, Hist. 4.81f.; Suetonius, Vesp. 7; Cassius Dio 66.8.1), and he commands nature’s powers just like political or military potentates allegedly did (cf. Mark 4.35–41 with Cicero, Manilius 16.48; Panegyrici Latini 7[6].12.8). In addition, Mark criticized the violence of the Jewish War on both sides, even on a Sabbath (3.4).29 In this light, it speaks volumes that Mark’s text calls the demon of 5.9–10, who does not want to leave the country, legion, and lets this evil spirit find a new host: unclean pigs. As attentive readers knew, Legio X Fretensis prided itself on a boar as emblem, showing it off on coins and on numerous banners. In the early 70s, these readers could make the association: the healed man’s evil demon found a new host, namely the Legio 29

E.g., Jos., B.J. 2.449–57; cf. earlier 1.147–49; A.J. 14.66; Strabo 16.40; Cass. Dio 37.16; 1 Macc 2.40ff. The motif of killing on a Sabbath is erratic in the context of Mark 3.4. The enigma clears up if political undertones are heard. Then the text says: Jesus’ healing on a Sabbath was no sin, especially when compared to what pagans of the Roman sphere of influence, on the one hand, and zealots, on the other, did on a Sabbath, namely killing life.

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X Fretensis, which in the Jewish War significantly contributed to the long occupation of Jerusalem, having its camp on Olive Mountain and shooting fatal artillery into the city. After conquering the city, the “boar” legion was stationed in Jerusalem as the only legion left to keep the situation under control (Josephus, B.J. 5.70–97, 135, 269–73, 468; 6.237; 7.5, 17, 164; CIL 3.12117; 10.6321). Even the seemingly harmless “Give back to Caesar what is Caesar’s and to God what is God’s” (12.17) could evoke associations in the reader of the early 70s. Of course, in the narrative, Jesus means the Roman poll tax. But for the reader there also existed another, more disturbing Roman tax: the Fiscus Iudaicus that Vespasian imposed on all Jews after the destruction of the Temple to humiliate the Jewish people after the Jewish rebellion. Replacing the Jewish tax for the Jerusalem Temple, the money of the Fiscus Iudaicus went to the Jupiter Temple on the Capitol Hill in Rome (e.g., Josephus, B.J. 7.218; Cassius Dio 66.7.2). Mark’s readers could ask themselves: Is the tax money for the Iupiter Capitolinus, which earlier was for the Jerusalem Temple, really Caesar’s – or rather God’s? Parts of Mark’s narrative could be read as a subtle critique of abused political power (10.42), military violence (3.4; 5.9f.), humiliating taxation (12.17), and hubris of rulers who styled themselves as messianic and prided themselves on divine healing power or command of nature’s forces. Positively, Mark propagated a societal alternative to the imperial Roman society in which only God and Christ deserve religious reverence. In addition, this alternative society is based on serving one another, not on egoistic emphasis on social or institutional ranks (9.33–37; 10.35–45). It even allows for criticizing authorities.30 In this society, humans should interact differently from the ways of the world (10.43). It becomes obvious that such a narrative design also implied Christian self-criticism; the alternative society Mark’s Gospel had in mind was not realized in his congregations. The text does not shy away from criticizing Christian readers as well, who initially identify with the apostles in the narrative (1.16ff.; 2.13f.; 3.13–15, 34). But then they have to discover that these disciples are often ignorant and fail in their discipleship (4.40; 6.35–37, 49, 52; 7.18; 8.4 after 6.35, 44; 8.14–21). Despite numerous miracles, they do not acknowledge Jesus’ messiahship until 8.29. Subsequently, they refuse to accept Jesus’ passion and their own cross (8.32–38; 9.31–37; 10.33–45; 14.47), thinking about inner-Christian hierarchies and lofty honors for themselves instead of serving one another (9.33–37; 10.35–45). During Jesus’ passion they fail terribly, literally closing their eyes to Jesus’ tribulation in Gethsemane, betraying or denying him and running away, while others such as several 30

For Mark, authorities are not taboo to criticism: see the harsh criticism of the apostles, below.

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Galilean women, Bartimaeus, the anointing woman, and Simon of Cyrene prove to be better followers (10.52; 14.1–10, 32–46, 66–72; 15.21, 40f., 46f.; 16.1–7). Mark made his Roman readers take an uncomfortable look in the mirror when he depicted Jesus’ disciples in such critical ways.31

E. The Christians’ Socioeconomic Situation The Christians’ socioeconomic situation matches the aforementioned image problem. (1) Mainly people of the lower social strata populated the crowded quarters of Trastevere and of the urbanized Via Appia valley outside the Porta Capena.32 Martial (ca. 38/41–101/4 CE) caricatures the Trastevere inhabitant as a buffoon trading bits of glass for sulfur matches (Epigr. 1.41). Trastevere as a harbor quarter accommodated people working as porters in large warehouses, unloading ships, making bricks on the Vatican slopes, or making their living as sailors, as millers, who ground grain unloaded from the ships, as shopkeepers, or as small craftsmen such as cabinet makers, potters, ivory carvers, smelly knackers and tanners – the stench of their trade hung over the quarter (Martial 6.93; cf. 12.59). Trade, transport, and industry characterized the area. One can easily picture Aquila and Prisca’s tentmaker workshop in Trastevere. Their Christian house congregation (Rom 6.5) most likely met in their workshop, in which a craftsman’s family usually also lived, at night sleeping in the back of the shop or the mezzanine above. Apuleius (Met. 9.24f.) graphically describes a fuller’s workshop, in which he eats with his guests; his tools are scattered about, and the cloth is bleached on a wicker stand with sulfuric steam that burns the guests’ noses during dinner. However, the tentmakers Aquila and Prisca also might have resided in the quarter of the 31 For further aspects of the political interpretation of Mark, for Mark’s theology of the cross, and for his criticism of the readers implied in the Markian image of the disciples, see, e.g., P. Lampe, “Kirche im Neuen Testament,” in R. Graf zu CastellRüdenhausen (ed.), Kirche und Johanniterorden (Berlin: Johanniterorden, 2012), 5–18. For the political reading, see also, e.g., M. Ebner, “Evangelium contra Evangelium: Das Markusevangelium und der Aufstieg der Flavier,” BN 116 (2003): 28–42; Ebner, “Das Markusevangelium und der Aufstieg der Flavier: Eine politische Lektüre des ältesten ‘Evangeliums,’” BK 66/2 (2011): 64–69; B. Heiniger, Die Inkulturation des Christentums (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010); A. Winn, The Purpose of Mark’s Gospel: An Early Christian Response to Imperial Propaganda (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2008); G. Guttenberger, “Why Caesarea Philippi of all Sites? Some Reflections on the Political Background and Implications of Mark 8:27-30 for the Christology of Mark,” in M. Labahn and J. Zangenberg (eds.), Zwischen den Reichen: Neues Testament und Römische Herrschaft (Tübingen: Francke, 2002), 119–131. 32 See further Lampe, From Paul to Valentinus, 49–58, where the material of the following two paragraphs is discussed on the basis of the relevant sources.

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urban stretch of the Appian Way outside the Porta Capena, where craftsmen worked with glass, wool, and textiles – which would fit their trade of making linen tents.33 The area was as crowded as Trastevere. Here the Appian traffic pulsated, and people earned their living not only as craftsmen but also as transport workers, muleteers, porters, traders, or, as Juvenal (3.12ff.) mocks, Jewish beggars. Both regions were permeated with immigrants from the provinces who swept into the city on the Appian Way and Tiber River. Like most of the population, the immigrants in these quarters usually lived in crowded tenement houses (insulae) built of bricks and wood. Five or six floors high, they often became deadly fire traps. Most of them had no water supply or latrines. The ground floors were used as stores, workshops, or storage rooms. The higher a visitor climbed in the tenement houses, the smaller and darker the dwelling units became. Loud noises, odors, and crowdedness were normal. At night, carts clattering under the windows disturbed the sleep since Caesar had banned any cart traffic from the jammed streets of the city during daytime. (2) For illustration purposes, a glimpse into the early third century is offered, when the church started to assist Christians of little means in acquiring burial space in the S. Callisto Catacomb.34 In this catacomb, still in the fourth century, low-class Christians predominated, as recent stable isotope analyses of collagen from twenty-two randomly selected skeletons from different locations in the Liberian Region of the Callisto Catacomb indicate. These simple people ate cheap freshwater fish from the unhealthy Tiber as their major protein supply and were buried in unassuming tombs.35 (3) How Nero punished the “tremendous crowd” (multitudo ingens) of Christians accused of arson and misanthropy is significant. He wrapped them in animal skins, threw them to beasts, or crucified or burned them as an illumination in the Vatican gardens (Tacitus, Ann. 15.38–44; 1 Clem. 6.1). Burning was a lawful sentence for arsonists;36 so was throwing a low ranking person to wild animals (Ulpian, Dig. 47.9.12.1).37 In other words, with these two measures Nero did not move totally beyond Roman penal law; Tacitus even 33 For linen as the usual material of tents, see P. Lampe, “Paulus—Zeltmacher,” BZ 31 (1987): 256–61. 34 Lampe, Die stadtrömischen Christen, 15–17; From Paul to Valentinus, 25–28. 35 L.V. Rutgers, M. van Strydonck, M. Boudin, and C. van der Linde, “Stable Isotope Data from the Early Christian Catacombs of Ancient Rome: New Insights into the Dietary Habits of Rome’s Early Christians,” Journal of Archaeological Science 36 (2009): 1127–34. 36 See Lampe, From Paul to Valentinus, 82, with corresponding source material (Gaius, Dig. 47.9.9, a law already in the Twelve Tablets: burning is for those who either set fire to temples – which certainly also happened during the fire of 64 – or to a pile of grain beside a house). 37 Cf. Cook, Roman Attitudes Toward the Christians, 72 n.210

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hints at hearings of the victims before the executions (Tac., Ann. 15.44.4). It is therefore probable that Nero also remained within the boundaries of penal law when he crucified many Christians. This means that those who were crucified did not possess Roman citizenship. As a rule, crucifixion was only used for strangers without citizenship, humiliores, and slaves.38 Despite a lively current scholarly debate,39 it remains probable that the Apostle Peter was among Nero’s crucified victims in 64 (cf. 1 Clem. 5.4; 6.1f.;40 Gaius in Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 2.25.7; Dionysius of Corinth, in Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 2.25.8; Irenaeus, Haer. 3.1.1; Tertullian, Praescr. 36; Origen, in Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 3.1.2–3; Ignatius, Rom. 4.3; John 21.18–19; 2 Peter 1.14).41 In the middle of the second century, that is, three generations (at the most) after Peter’s death, Christians identified a simple grave in the Vatican necropolis as the Apostle Peter’s burial place, a hole in the ground covered with tiles. This is all that can be said in a scientifically responsible way about the history of this tomb prior to 160 CE. Around 160, Roman Christians decorated this simple grave with a modest monument, an aedicula, before it gradually became the center of more and more architectural activities. Today, the dome of St. Peter’s soars high above it. (4) The topographical result, showing that the lower social strata predominated in first-century Roman Christianity, is confirmed by the literary sources. Most of the Roman Christians were of very modest means (pauperes), Minucius Felix still wrote around 200 CE (Oct. 36.3). This is to be expected, because low-class people predominated in the city population as a whole (e.g., Seneca, Helv. 12.1). However, in spite of this, Roman Christianity gradually infiltrated all social levels, even the senatorial at the end of the first century, but this cannot be shown for the Neronian age yet.42 At that time, only a modest social stratification within Roman Christianity is presupposed by Paul when he, in Rom 12.13 (cf. also 12.8), differentiates between Christians in need and those who are better off, who can share with and care for the poorer,

38

For the sources, see Lampe, From Paul to Valentinus, 82f. n.7. That the ones crucified were Gentile Christians, as Peter Oakes at the conference understood it, is not necessarily implied: many – but not all – Jews had Roman citizenship (see Philo, Legat. 155; 157, above). 39 See, e.g., S. Heid et al. (eds.), Petrus und Paulus in Rom: Eine interdisziplinäre Debatte (Freiburg: Herder, 2011); O. Zwierlein, Petrus in Rom: Die literarischen Zeugnisse, mit einer kritischen Edition der Martyrien des Petrus und Paulus auf neuer handschriftlicher Grundlage (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2009). 40 Polu plethos in 6.1 parallels multitudo ingens in Tacitus, Ann. 15.44. That both expressions presumably are hyperbolic does not eliminate the parallel. 41 P. Lampe, “Petrus: I. Neues Testament,”RGG 6 (2003): 1160–65. 42 The Christianity of Pomponia Graecina (Tac., Ann. 13.32) in the Neronian age is only a faint possibility (see Lampe, From Paul to Valentinus, 196f.).

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who engage in trade (16.3f. with Acts 18; Rom 13.6f.),43 and can travel (Rom 15.24).44 However, such stratification must have been limited, with well-to-do persons only playing an insignificant role, because sometime in the course of the first century CE, before the time of 1 Clement, “many” Roman45 Christians sold themselves into temporary slavery in order to raise money for the poor in the church (1 Clem. 55.2). Apparently, at that time there were no other profitable means available for the social welfare tasks in hand. Alms of betteroff individuals did not suffice to feed all Christians in need. That is, there were either not enough well-to-do Christians in town or those who existed were too reluctant to share.46 (5) In Romans 16, Paul lists twenty-six individual Christians in Rome, twenty-four of them by name. The names indicate47 that probably four persons were freeborn and nine of slave origin (for the remaining 11 names, no reliable statements can be made).48 That is, over two-thirds (9.4) show indications of slave origin. Thus, the Christian staff of the households of Aristobulus and Narcissus did not stand alone with regard to their slave lineage. For fourteen of the individuals an eastern origin is plausible, while for the others it cannot be excluded49 – a result that mirrors the immigrant situation of Roman Christianity. As far as the relation of men and women in the list is concerned,50 it is striking that Paul primarily singles out women as active in the church (Junia, Prisca, Mary, Tryphaena, Tryphosa, Persis, and possibly Rufus’ mother, as opposed to only 3–5 men: Aquila, Andronicus, Urbanus, possibly Apelles and Rufus. This is a proportion of 7 to 5 – maybe even 6 to 3 – in favor of the women). The technical term kopian, indicating missionary 43 Rom 13.6f. assumes that Roman Christians have to pay customs, which implies involvement in trade. 44 In the 50s/60s CE, one of these socially more advanced persons was Claudius Ephebus (1 Clem. 63.3; 65.1), an old man in the 90s CE, who then enjoyed high esteem among the Roman Christians; 1 Clem. lists him before Valerius Biton (for Biton, see above). Claudius Ephebus was a freedman of the Claudian gens, most probably coming from the imperial Claudian slaves (Lampe, From Paul to Valentinus, 184f.). 45 “We” in 1 Clem. 55.2 are the Roman Christians; cf., e.g., 6.1. 46 Later, Hermas in Rome in the first half of the second century will address the latter problem. He compares richer Christians to fruitless elm trees and economically poorer ones, who nonetheless bear spiritual fruit, to vines and encourages the elm to support the vines. The vines need the elm’s stem to climb above ground and bear fruit (Similitude 2). 47 See Lampe, From Paul to Valentinus, 170–83, with supporting evidence. 48 I only considered a name as a slave name in Rome when more than 50% of the bearers of a specific name in CIL 6 were visibly of slave descent (because libertus or similar attributes are mentioned). As CIL 6 encompasses both immigrants and autochthons, the question of whether a person was an immigrant or not cannot have an impact on the decision of whether he or she bore a “slave name” in Rome. 49 See Lampe, From Paul to Valentinus, 167–70, with supporting evidence. 50 For the following, see Lampe, From Paul to Valentinus, 165–67.

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work (e.g., Gal 4.11; 1 Cor 15.10), is even exclusively used for women (four times). But already at the end of the first century, 1 Clem. 21.7, recommending silence to women, sounds very different. (6) The first-century Roman Christians who sold themselves into slavery in order to support the needy of their church demonstrated an extreme solidarity among members of lower social strata51 that is rare in Roman society. Normally, only the upper classes of the pagan empire presented themselves as fairly consolidated groups, above all the senatorial class, while the lower strata lacked a collective consciousness and the supra-regional cohesion of the noble ranks. The early Christian representatives of the lower social levels, however, also exhibited exactly this: a supra-regional solidarity, granting hospitality to each other and developing a sense of belonging together in spite of ethnic and geographical distances. Christianity here contributed to the social integration of the whole Roman society.

F. Demographics It would be helpful to have more than just fragmentary demographic statistics in pre-Constantinian times. How many Christians lived in the city? In the middle of the third century, Cornelius (Roman bishop in 251–253) counted 1,500 Christians receiving assistance from the church (Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 6.43.11–12). However, this does not tell us how many Christians of meager means (pauperes), who formed the majority in Roman Christianity (see Min. Fel. above), lived in Rome; Minucius Felix’s pauperes, often misleadingly translated as “poor,” usually did make a very modest living on their own and did not receive subsidies from the church. Thus, the 1,500 should not necessarily be equated with the majority in Roman Christianity, and we are left in the dark when it comes to estimating the total number of Roman Christians. Already in the time of Nero, the Roman Christians allegedly formed a “large crowd,” as Tacitus – possibly hyperbolically – noted. Their number constantly grew in the decades to come (cf. Minucius Felix, Oct. 31.7). In the last quarter of the second century, Irenaeus called Roman Christianity the biggest Christian unit in the world (Haer. 3.3.2).

51

See also Paul’s exhortation to practice such solidarity in Rom 12.

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G. Fractionation – Decentralized Organization During the entire first two centuries,52 Roman Christianity was organized with a similar fractionation as the Jewish congregations in Rome, which were independent units and only loosely connected with one another – contrary to the situation of the Jewry in Alexandria, where the various synagogues constituted one political body.53 As Jewish freed persons and slaves of pagan households formed their own synagogues (see above), Christian freed persons and slaves of non-Christian masters organized Christian house congregations of their own in Rome (Rom 16.10–11), within the houses and estates in which they lived and worked as slaves or freed persons. In all of these cases, the primary scene of work and living and the place of religious activity were concentric circles. The masters often practiced a religion different from that of their servants,54 tolerating the religious plurality within their households, even if the servants were Christian. This was true for Narcissus’ and Aristobul’s households. In about 56 CE, Paul, in Romans 16,55 sends greetings to various Christian circles in Rome, among them (a) “those in the lord who are part of Narcissus’ domestic staff” and (b) “those who are part of Aristobul’s domestic staff” (16.10–11). The apostle Paul also mentions: (1) the house church of Prisca and Aquila; (2) the Christians who were together with Asyncritus, Phlegon, Hermes, Patrobas, and Hermas; (3) the saints who were with Philologus, Julia, Nereus, and his sister, and Olympas. If we assume that the fourteen other persons greeted in the chapter did not belong to any of these five crystallization points and that they could not have belonged to only one further group, then, in about 56, at least seven different Christian “islands” existed in Rome. Another Christian circle was established when Paul himself, only half a decade later, gathered an audience around himself in his Roman rental apartment (Acts 28.16, 30). In private houses or larger apartments of more-well-to-do Christian hosts, in socially rather homogeneous Christian circles within the domestic staff of large pagan households, in groups surrounding a teacher, or in workshops of free craftsmen such as Aquila and Prisca – there were various social formats Christians could use for gathering – the individual Christian groups probably celebrated their own worship services, as at least Rom 16.5 documents. Thus, 52

See Lampe, From Paul to Valentinus, 357–408. For Rome and Alexandria, see Lampe, Die stadtrömischen Christen, 367–68; From Paul to Valentinus, 431–32. 54 Tacitus, Ann. 14.44.3; Paul’s letter to Philemon; 1 Tim 6.1; Titus 2.9–10; Origen, Cels. 3.55; Council of Elvira, Can. 41. 55 See the analysis of Romans 16 in P. Lampe, “The Roman Christians of Romans 16,” in K.P. Donfried (ed.), The Romans Debate (Peabody: Hendrickson, 1991), 216–30. 53

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early Christians in Rome formed various house congregations scattered throughout the city. There was no local center or central meeting place for Roman Christianity – certainly not in Aquila’s workshop. Romans 16.5 sounds very different from 16.23, where Gaius is praised for his hospitality for the “whole church” in Corinth. The fractionation in town, similar to that of the Jews in the city, facilitated a theological pluralism, especially in second-century Rome.56 But also in Neronian times we get a glimpse at different theological orientations when looking at the tensions between the “weak” (probably Jewish-Christians) and the “strong” in Romans 14–15. Mark presupposes two different Eucharistic table fellowships in his narrative: one of Jewish-Christians and one of Gentile Christians.57 It is possible that the juxtaposition of separate table fellowships in Mark’s narrative mirrors the Roman fractionated situation of independent house churches – which could differ in their dietary practices just like the groups in Rom 14–15.58 In view of the Roman fractionation and in contrast to 1 Cor 1.2; 2 Cor 1.1; 1 Thess 1.1, Paul does not address his letter to the Romans to “the church in Rome.” He addresses it “to all who are in Rome” (Rom 1.7) and instead calls one of the individual Christian groups in Rome – such as the one in the home of Prisca and Aquila – “the church in the home of NN.” The house congregations, scattered over the city, were only loosely connected. Some sent portions of their Eucharist to other Christian groups in the city to express fellowship with them, as Irenaeus later shows (in Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 5.24.15). Written material – such as Paul’s letter to the Romans – was shared among the Christian groups in Rome. It is significant that Paul, in Romans 16.1–16a, formulates: “You, greet NN (who are in Rome), and greet XY (who are in your town), and greet YZ (who are there as well).” Apparently, each group after having read the letter is supposed to send one or two of their members to the next group in town, who are supposed to deliver the letter and send greetings from their own group; Paul does not say: “send greetings from me.” As the example of Paul’s letter shows, communication with

56

Lampe, Die stadtrömischen Christen, 320–34; From Paul to Valentinus, 381–96. Mark 6.30–44 and 8.1–10. Jewish-Christians can participate in the latter provided they accept that all food is clean (7.19). 58 Compare the second-century group of Jewish-Christians still observing the Torah and withdrawing table fellowship from others (Justin, Dial. 47, above). If Phil 1.14–17 was written in Rome (see above), then the text would show that there were groups that endorsed Paul’s gospel and other (Jewish-Christian) groups that opposed it in their preaching at the time of Paul’s detention in Rome. 57

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persons or congregations outside of Rome had to be coordinated among the groups within the city. Only later, in subsequent centuries, could outsiders perceive the various Roman house churches as the Roman church.59

59 Thus apparently, for example, Dionysios of Corinth in ca. 170: “you as Romans” (Eus., Hist. eccl. 4.23.10); “you” (plural) sent the letters of 1 Clement and the one written by Soter to Corinth (2.25.8; 4.23.11).

Using Historical Evidence in the Study of Neronian Christian Groups and Texts Peter Oakes

A. The Problem and Some Strategies for Solutions We know that Paul spent much of the last period of his life in Rome, but it is difficult to build a useful picture of Christian life in Rome at that time. There is no archaeological evidence of Christian burials or meeting places in Rome dateable to this period. There are no texts definitely produced by Christians in Rome in this period. The only narrative account of Christians in Rome, in a text that is probably fairly close to this period, is that of Luke in Acts 28, which says hardly anything about them. We do have various pieces of less direct or less contemporaneous evidence: Paul’s letter to Rome; texts arguably from Rome, such as Mark and 1 Peter; texts definitely from Rome but later, such as 1 Clement; later narrative descriptions by Tacitus and Suetonius and in texts such as the Acts of Peter; funerary evidence from the third century and arguably the second; general archaeological and literary evidence relating to social conditions in mid-firstcentury Rome. However, it is not clear how to use this disparate evidence in such a way as to help either in understanding the conditions among Christians in Rome in the last years of Paul’s life, or in other tasks such as interpreting Christian texts that may be connected with the city in that period. Scholars have responded to this problem by following one or both of two strategies. The first is to use the evidence to construct specific historical sequences of events relating to the Neronian Christians. The most prominent of these in current New Testament scholarship is Wolfgang Wiefel’s suggestion that the early Jewish Christian leaders of the Roman house churches were expelled by Claudius in 49 CE, producing both the predominantly gentile leadership of the Roman house churches at the time when Paul wrote Romans and the origin of the tensions that Paul addresses in Romans 14–15. Wiefel sees these as produced by the return of Jewish former house church leaders to Rome with the lapsing of Claudius’ edict, when Nero acceded to the

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principate.1 The continuing influence of this suggestion can be seen in its use as a basic plank of the historical scenario for Paul’s writing of Romans in, for instance, Robert Jewett’s commentary.2 The second strategy is to use the evidence to construct general historical scenarios relating to social situation and culture. Jewett follows this strategy as well as the one above. He combines evidence from the list of greetings in Romans 16 with evidence from archaeology of Rome and from literary descriptions of Roman housing. He concludes that Christian groups in Rome at the time of Paul’s letter were in the form of “tenement churches” which were inherently patronless, egalitarian groups.3 This paper will argue that attempts to construct a sequence of events produce insufficiently probable results to provide much help either in understanding the nature of Christian groups during Paul’s time in Rome or in interpreting NT texts connected with Neronian Rome. There are some results but they are fairly minimal. The paper will also argue that, in contrast, there is a considerable amount that can be proven to a reasonable degree of probability about the nature of the Christian groups in Rome as evidenced from Paul’s letter to the Romans. These results can be further interpreted by drawing on evidence of conditions in Rome at that period. We then need a process for putting these results to work in interpreting Paul’s circumstances and NT texts. The usual scholarly procedure has been to take individual results and apply them to elucidating individual interpretative points. This can be very valuable. However, the piecemeal scholarly strategy is limited by being unsystematic and lacking in concreteness. It is unsystematic in that isolated results are related to isolated texts without taking steps either to draw together the results and consider how they relate to each other, or to apply them to all of the parts of a text such as Romans. It is lacking in concreteness because commentators generally lump together broad groups of hearers, such as “gentile Christians,” rather than thinking about what people such a group consists of – slave, free, male, female, young, old, etc. – in sufficient detail to get useful traction on the issues that arise in the texts, whether the issues are broad (what does sin involve?) or specific (what would eating only vegetables means for various groups?). Gathering a few contextual facts and applying them piecemeal to texts and issues scarcely begins to make use of the wealth of contextual evidence available for understanding Neronian Christian life. We need to put flesh on the 1

W. Wiefel, “Die jüdische Gemeinschaft in Antiken Rom und die Anfänge des römischen Christentums,” Judaica 26 (1970): 65–88, translated as “The Jewish Community in Ancient Rome and the Origins of Roman Christianity,” in K.P. Donfried (ed.), The Romans Debate (Peabody: Hendrickson, 1991), 85–101, here 92–96. 2 R. Jewett, Romans: A Commentary (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2007), 58–59, 87–91. 3 Jewett, Romans, 64–65.

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bones of the facts. For instance, almost everyone agrees that Neronian Christians were gathered in house churches (excepting debates about gy4). This conclusion is often helpfully deployed in discussion of Romans 14, raising the question of whether it responded to tension between various house churches. However, we can go much further than this. A house church consisted of people. The group size must often have been constrained by space. We have considerable evidence about people in Rome and spaces in Rome. We also have considerable evidence about the likely types of normal relationships and interactions between people in various types of settings. We can go a long way beyond simply saying, “There were house churches,” while still staying sufficiently within the bounds of probability for our ideas to be a useful basis for scholarly interpretation of texts and issues. What we do not know is exactly who made up any given house church (unless some of the groups indicated in Romans 16 were very small). Similarly, we know likely types of meeting place but not actual meeting places. At this point the most effective way of moving forward is probably to follow scientists and others in using models. For scholarship, a model is a simplified representation of something, designed for the purpose of analysis.5 The model is not identical to the “something.” The model is designed to share, with a sufficient degree of probability, enough of the characteristics of the “something” to enable the desired analytical task to be carried out. In this case, the “something” is the set of Neronian Christian groups. The task is to understand more about Paul’s time in Rome and about the meaning of texts that arguably relate to Rome in that period. Everyone would agree that our model should include several groups (“house churches”), that these groups can reasonably be contextualised in various kinds of typical Roman architectural settings of the period, and that the groups can reasonably be populated with certain ranges of types of people from the society of Rome at the time. To what extent can we quantify the groups or specify the likely settings and types of people? In the next two sections of the paper we will seek to answer these questions. First, we will look at the possible contribution of diachronic study, seeking to reconstruct a narrative of the development of Christian groups up to Nero’s time. Second, we will attempt a synchronic study: specifically, a study at the point when Paul wrote Romans, viewing the letter as including evidence for the nature of Christian life at Rome. Evidence from Romans will be considered in relation to the social and cultural context of the time, with the aim of constructing a

4

See especially E. Adams, The Earlist Christian Meeting Places: Almost Exclusively Houses? (London: T&T Clark, 2013), 201–02. 5 Cf. the discussion in J.H. Elliott, Social-Scientific Criticism of the New Testament (London: SPCK, 1995), 40–48.

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useable model on the basis of these results. In a final section we will briefly explore the potential for applying the model to interpretation of Romans and to consideration of Paul’s years in Rome.

B. Arguments from the Sequence of Events between 30 CE and 64 CE I. Evidence The only archaeological evidence pertaining to the history of the Christian groups in Rome up to and during the Neronian period is of an indirect and mainly general nature. The Gallio inscription at Delphi helps date the movements of Paul, Prisca, and Aquila. The archaeology of the centre of Rome supports and clarifies the literary accounts of the fire of 64 CE and its effects. Other than that we are limited to literary evidence. The only contemporary literary evidence is that of Paul’s letters. 1 Cor 16.19 gives evidence of a phase of Prisca and Aquila’s movements prior to their being in Rome at the time of Rom 16.3–5. Some scholars, such as Peter Lampe, have also used 1 Cor 1.14 to argue that, since Paul did not baptise Prisca and Aquila at Corinth, they must have been Christians prior to their arrival there.6 Galatians and other letters offer evidence of Paul’s movements, which in turn helps us understand the chronology of Prisca and Aquila’s movements and the dating of Romans. Romans itself offers more evidence. The mention in Rom 16 of people who Paul knew well suggests that he was probably familiar with the nature of the Christian groups at Rome.7 This makes Romans a valuable source for likely information about these groups. We note that Paul addresses the recipients as gentiles (1.5–6, 14–15). During the letter he directs a section to a Jewish interlocutor (2.17–29) and another to a gentile audience (11.13–24). He concludes his argument with a description of the aim of the letter which evokes his ministry to gentiles (15.14–16). The list of people in Rom 16.3–16 is a mixture of Jews and gentiles. The text as we have it ends, again, with a reference to ministry to gentiles (16.26). Many things could be said about how the ebb and flow of the rhetoric of the letter relates to Jewish or gentile identity and linked issues. Another kind of evidence from Romans is that the list in 16.3–16 implies the existence of several distinct groups (see section C, 6

P. Lampe, From Paul to Valentinus: Christians at Rome in the First Two Centuries (trans. M. Steinhauser; ed. M.D. Johnson; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2003), 11–12. 7 Following most scholars in rejecting T.W. Manson’s argument that the greetings in Rom 16 were intended to be sent to Ephesus rather than Rome: T.W. Manson, “St. Paul’s Letter to the Romans – and Others,” in M. Black (ed.), Studies in the Gospels and Epistles (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1962), 225–41.

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below). Given that Paul is greeting those whose names he knows, who are presumably only a subset of the total number of Christians, there was presumably quite a sizeable number of Christians in Rome at the time: at least several dozen and probably a hundred or more. The next major literary source is probably the Book of Acts, typically seen as written in about the eighties CE. Only two points are clearly made about the Christians at Rome. First, they (κἀκεῖθεν οἱ ἀδελφοὶ, 28.15) came to meet Paul, south of the city. Second, the leaders of the Jewish community in the city (τοὺς ὄντας τ ῶν Ἰουδαίων πρ ώτους, 28.17) knew that the Christian movement was “spoken against everywhere” (περὶ µὲν γ ὰρ τ ῆς α ἱρέσεως ταύτης γνωστ ὸν ἡµῖν ἐστιν ὅτι πανταχο ῦ ἀντιλέγεται, 28.22). Aquila and Priscilla also appear in the narrative of Acts. In particular, they are introduced as Jews who had come from Italy when Claudius expelled all the Jews from Rome (τινα Ἰουδαῖον ὀνόµατι Ἀκύλαν, Ποντικ ὸν τ ῷ γένει προσφ άτως ἐληλυθότα ἀπὸ τῆς Ἰταλίας κα ὶ Πρίσκιλλαν γυνα ῖκα α ὐτοῦ, δι ὰ τὸ διατεταχέναι Κλα ύδιον χωρ ίζεσθαι π άντας το ὺς Ἰουδαίους ἀπὸ τῆς Ῥώµης, 18.2). Hard to date, and with only a brief reference, is 1 Peter, which sends greetings from “she who is in Babylon, chosen together with you” (ἡ ἐν Βαβυλῶνι συνεκλεκτὴ, 5.13), probably an allusive reference to Rome (cf. Rev 17–18), with the implication of it being the site of problems of some kind. More explicit, and probably dateable to the nineties CE, is 1 Clement. The letter is sent from “the church of God which sojourns at Rome” (1 Clem. superscription), describes quite a well-developed organisation of ministry (42.4–5; 44; 47.6; 54.2; 57.1), and speaks of both “sudden and repeated calamities and misfortunes” (τὰς α ἰφνιδίους κα ὶ ἐπαλλήλους γενοµ ένας ἡµῖν συµφορὰς καὶ περιπτώσεις, 1.1) and the deaths of Peter and Paul (5.1–7, the latter having reached the uttermost parts of the west). These deaths are then linked with insults and tortures meted out on a great multitude of the elect (πολὺ πλῆθος ἐκλεκτῶν, 6.1). The remaining fairly early evidence for the sequence of events comes in the writings of Tacitus and Suetonius. Each writes about the persecution of Christians at Rome under Nero. Tacitus describes how Nero fixed the blame for the fire of 64 CE on this group who were “a class hated for their abominations,” who had “hatred of the human race” (Tacitus, Ann. 15.44). Tacitus calls them “Christians” and describes their name as deriving from Christus. He also describes the number who were cruelly punished by Nero as ingens multitudo, “a great crowd.” Suetonius less specifically describes Nero, during his reign, as inflicting punishment on Christians, “a class of men given to a new and mischievous superstition” (Suetonius, Nero 16.2). Also in Suetonius,

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in his book on Claudius, is a list of the emperor’s actions towards various ethnic and similar groups, including, Iudaeos impulsore Chresto assidue tumultuantis Roma expulit (Claud. 25.4). There is further later Christian literary evidence that we could take into account. There is also the body of Roman literature that provides evidence for the circumstances and historical events of the first century CE. II. Implications The main conclusion from the evidence is that the number of Christians grew from the initial arrival to a large number between the early thirties CE and 64 CE. If, say, they grew from 1 to 1000 in thirty years, that would mean their numbers had roughly doubled every three years. Working backwards from this population of, say, 1000 in 64 CE, there would be about 250 in 57 CE, a typical scholarly date for Romans.8 In 49 CE there would be about 100. Of course, the actual rate of growth would be more uneven than that but the projected figures are still useful for considering what was happening.9 A particular factor in making growth uneven can be seen in the list of greetings in Rom 16. Many of the people are ones who Paul knew from elsewhere. They therefore arrived at Rome (or possibly returned to Rome) as Christians, sometimes (presumably often) in groups. This will have produced various jumps in the number of Christians, rather than there being a process of growth purely internal to the city, which might (or might not) have been more steady. Another point about Rom 16 is that many of those listed must be allies of Paul, most notably Prisca and Aquila. Whatever the origins of the groups at Rome, by the fifties there was considerable Pauline influence among at least several of the groups. One conclusion from comparison of the various sources is that, as well as functioning in groups, there was some level of significant linkage and coordination between the Christians. One letter is brought to them jointly by Phoebe. Acts sees “the brothers” in general as coming to meet Paul (28.15). The Neronian persecutions categorise and find people beyond single house churches. 1 Clement is written on behalf of the ἐκκλησία as a whole. The history is indeed one of “fractionation” as Lampe argues,10 but in the earliest period it is also, to quite an extent, a history of coordination. In his contribution to this volume, Peter Lampe argues that “Roman Christianity emerged from the Roman synagogues.”11 More specifically, he asserts, “Jewish-Christian immigrants from the east of the empire infiltrated one or 8

E.g., Jewett, Romans, 18. For such exploration on a broader scale see R. Stark, The Rise of Christianity: A Sociologist Reconsiders History (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1996). 10 Lampe, From Paul to Valentinus, 359–65. 11 P. Lampe, “Roman Christians under Nero (54–68 CE),” 117. 9

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several of the Jewish synagogues in Rome.”12 However, the proliferation of synagogues in Rome, which he attests very thoroughly in his paper, suggests a possible alternative type of scenario for the beginnings of Christian Jewish life in Rome. Some synagogue titles suggest that they were set up on the basis of the place of origin of a group of Jewish immigrants. One example is the synagogue of the Tripolitans (CIJ 1.390). Furthermore, although from another era, the history of the arrival of groups of Jewish immigrants in Manchester suggests a general pattern in which groups of immigrant Jews with distinctive practices often establish their own synagogues, presumably in order to peacefully practise Judaism in their own way and in order to faciliate group maintenance of these practices.13 It would seem quite likely that groups of Christian Jews, arriving in Rome, would tend to form their own meetings, rather than somehow “emerging” from existing synagogues. No doubt, some Christian Jews did attend non-Christian synagogue meetings, as Paul did (2 Cor 11.24) but, alternatively, some Christian Jews might never have joined existing Roman synagogues. In fact, this scenario would fit better with the evidence of Acts 28 about Jewish community leaders in Rome who appeared hardly to have met Christians, their knowledge of them being represented by Luke as being at second-hand (28.22). It also fits better with the evidence of Tacitus in relation to 64 CE. There appeared to be no difficulty in distinguishing Christian groups from non-Christian synagogues. By the time of Romans, Paul is addressing his audience as though they are essentially gentile. What brought this about? Part of the answer must be that this is how Paul chose to address his letters. We know from Rom 16 that there were some Christian Jews among the house churches. Paul knew this but still addressed his audience as though they were all gentile. Presumably this is something to do with his perception of the nature of his mission and that he saw this mission as continuing to be carried out even in the writing of the letter, as he implies in Rom 15.15–16. However, it would seem unlikely that Paul would follow quite such a strategy in the letter unless he thought that a substantial majority of his audience were in fact gentiles. Turning this argument around: since there are actually Jews named in Rom 16, it is also unlikely that Paul is, say, simply writing a letter to gentile house churches, not expecting the letter to go to Jewish house churches. The letter is probably intended for all Christians at Rome, so there was probably a significant gentile majority among the Christians there. The earliest Christian arrivals at Rome were probably Jews. How does there come to be a probable gentile majority by the time of Nero’s reign? The key answer is that it probably happened by the same process that led to the 12

Lampe, “Roman Christians under Nero (54–68 CE),” 108. E.g., as fictionalised in M. Mosco, Almonds and Raisins (London: New English Library, 1979). 13

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Christian communites in Greece and Asia Minor being predominantly gentile by this time. Rome needs no special explanation. Every one of Paul’s letters is addressed primarily to gentiles. The Thessalonians have turned away from idols (1 Thess 1.9) and the Corinthians are told to keep away from them (1 Cor 10.14). The Philippians are instructed virtually without reference to the Bible. The Galatians are to resist calls for circumcision. In every place in these regions for which we have evidence from this period, the Christian communities were predominantly gentile at the time of Paul’s letters. Although the Roman Christian community had a different origin from these others, not having been founded by Paul, the fact that the ethnic make-up at this period looks similar to that of the other Christian communities of which we know, means that it is unlikely that we need to look for some distinctive explanation in the history of relations specific to the city of Rome. Therefore, even if it was the case that Christian Jews were expelled from Rome in 49 CE, there is no reason for that to be invoked as an explanation of an ethnic shift either in the make-up of the Christian community there, or of its leadership. Wiefel’s suggestion, although interesting and thought-provoking, is probably redundant when viewed in the context of the full set of Paul’s letters.14 Are the events of 49 CE significant for the early history of the Christians at Rome? Our main evidence on the issue is from Suetonius and Acts. Although each is a secondary report, written several decades after the event, they are almost certainly independent of each other, so we should undoubtedly take seriously the areas of agreement between them. Acts 18.2 and Suetonius (Claud. 25.4) agree on two points: (i) Jews were expelled from Rome;15 (ii) this was done by edict of Claudius.

14 An exception to this conclusion would be if one followed the conclusion of D. Alvarez Cineira that the Claudian edict had a dramatic effect in all the areas to which Paul wrote: Die Religionspolitik des Kaisers Claudius und die Paulinische Mission (Freiburg: Herder, 1999). The arguments below militate against seeing the edict as a major factor in early Christian history. 15 Lampe argues that Suetonius does not describe a general edict of expulsion of Rome’s Jews. Lampe argues that Iudaeos “is limited by the attributive ‘impulsore tumultuantes’” (From Paul to Valentinus, 13). Elsewhere in Suetonius (Claud. 25), he unambiguously expresses such a limitation by using qui with the indicative. In 25.1 he writes, Libertinos qui se pro equitibus R agerent publicavit, “He confiscated the property of those freedmen who passed as Roman knights” (trans. J. Rolfe, Suetonius II [LCL; London: Heinemann, 1914]). On the other hand, Suetonius could also have disambiguated the participial expression as being a reason. In 25.1, he wrote, Lyciis ob exitiabiles inter se discordias libertatem ademit, “He deprived the Lycians of their independence because of deadly intestine feuds.” Another contextual point is that Iudaeos in 25.4 immediately follows notes of Claudius’ actions towards Lycians, Rhodians, and the people of Ilium. This would tend to make Suetonius’ reader take Iudaeos as a reference to Jews in general. See further, below.

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There is a strange third area of agreement between Acts and Suetonius. Acts recounts the activities of a movement centred on devotion to Χριστός. Suetonius notes that the commotion among the Jews in Rome was impulsore Chresto, “with Chrestus as instigator.” It is possible for the Latin, Chrestus, to be a mis-spelling of Christus,16 which would be the normal Latin transliteration of the Greek, Χριστός. We could express the agreement between Suetonius and Acts as something like: the characters in both narratives are, or become, heavily involved with a figure called Chrestus or Χριστός. However, even allowing for the mis-spelling (which, although possible, does reduce the probability of a link), this is not a point of direct agreement between Acts and Suetonius. The Chrestus or Χριστός figures play entirely different roles in the Suetonius and Acts narrations of events surrounding the edict. For Suetonius, Chrestus is an instigator of commotion in Rome, leading to the edict. For Acts, Χριστός is the founder of a movement to which Priscilla and Aquila, two people who left under the edict, are clearly showing allegiance by Acts 18.18. The link would have been closer if Luke had described Aquila and Priscilla as Christians in 18.2, but he does not do so. He calls Aquila a Ιουδαῖος. If Paul encounters Christians on his arrival at places, Luke uses other terms, especially ἀδελφός (e.g., 21.7; 28.14, 15). Against this, Lampe argues from 1 Corinthians that, historically, Prisca and Aquila were already Christians before encountering Paul: 1 Cor 1.14–16 indicates that they were not baptised by Paul and 16.15 describes Stephanas as “the first-fruits of Achaia.”17 However, this is an argument from silence (especially since many people must have been baptised at Corinth but not by Paul) and the way in which the argument depends on coordinating details in very disparate texts (the argument runs from 1 Corinthians, to Acts, to historical circumstances, to end up as a case for a certain interpretation of Suetonius) rather stretches conventional methodology. Even if Lampe’s argument is accepted, it still does not make this a point of agreement between Acts and Suetonius: Acts does not itself describe Aquila and Priscilla as having been adherents of Χριστός in Rome prior to the edict, let alone having been involved in “commotions” in relation to him. The fact that Chrestus in Suetonius and Χριστός in Acts are never used in the same relation to the events of the edict means that it is very difficult to build a substantive argument on the basis of what is an extremely tenuous type of agreement between the texts on this point.

16

A.A. Das, Solving the Romans Debate (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2007), 150. Lampe, From Paul to Valentinus, 11–12. He also argues that, if Aquila and Priscilla had been expelled from Rome as non-Christian Jews, on account of rioting relating to Christians, they would certainly not have offered Paul hospitality. However, this argument is based on assuming the main theory at issue, that the rioting related to Christians. 17

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We move onto less certain ground when we draw on assertions made in one text or the other but not both (although without one text contradicting the other). Acts says that Aquila and Priscilla had actually left in response to the edict: the edict was not entirely ineffective. Acts also says that they had moved “recently.” Coordinating Acts with the Gallio inscription suggests putting the edict in the late forties CE, as in the commonly cited date of 49 CE, which draws from the much later Orosius, Hist. 7.6.15. Neither of these points from Acts is surprising from the viewpoint of Roman history, nor does either offer likely links to particular Lukan tendencies. It seems reasonable to accept them as fairly strong evidence of historical events. The assertions distinctive to Suetonius are more problematic. He characterises the Jews as assidue tumultuantis, “constantly making a commotion.” Unlike the points from Acts, this characterisation does fit tendencies in Suetonius and other Roman writers to describe Jews negatively. Slingerland offers a range of parallels, and both he and Gruen see Suetonius as likely to be importing the characterisation from his ideas about the Jewish War of 66–73 CE.18 The second assertion in Suetonius but not in Acts is that the alleged Jewish commotion was impulsore Chresto, “with Chrestus as instigator.” This is problematic mainly because it is mysterious. It sounds like the naming of someone in the Jewish community who was stirring them up, but Suetonius does not introduce the person, nor call him, “a certain Chrestus.” Nor do we know of a well-known Chrestus in Rome at the time, who would need no introduction. The specificity of bringing in that name does suggest that Suetonius’ note about commotion is not purely a generic fiction. However, given the distance between Suetonius and the events, and given the relationship to his and other Roman writers’ tendencies in describing Jews, we should be cautious about putting much historical weight on Suetonius’ comment about Jewish commotion, and consequently on his enigmatic comment about Chrestus. Having looked at agreements between Acts and Suetonius, then at points that each individually asserts but without contradicting the other, one would think we had reached the end of discussion. However, very many scholars wish to move beyond this, onto a point on which Acts (effectively in 28.22) and Suetonius actually disagree. Moreover, it is a point that neither writer makes directly but which might be reconstructed by seeing one writer as representing the point, but doing so incorrectly. The point is the suggested reading of Chrestus in Suetonius as being equivalent to Christus, combined with the suggestion that, instead of an instigator among the Jews of Rome, the reference is to the founder of a movement about which the commotion is happening. This is often further combined with the suggestion that whereas Sue18 H.D. Slingerland, Claudian Policymaking and the Early Imperial Repression of Judaism at Rome (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1997), 32, 153–66; E.S. Gruen, Diaspora: Jews amidst Greeks and Romans (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2002), 38.

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tonius appears to describe an edict expelling Jews in general, a typical piece of what Gruen sees as Roman performance politics of rather limited actual effect,19 what actually happened was an edict expelling just prominent figures in disputes between Christian and non-Christian Jews.20 It is clearly hard to build a positive argument for a theory for which the only supporting text has to be viewed as seriously flawed at the very point where it makes the key assertion. As Gruen argues, “to postulate a blunder or confusion on Suetonius’ part…only increases the speculative quality of any reconstruction.”21 Many arguments put in support of the theory tend simply to be refutations of alternative theories for interpretation of Suetonius.22 However, we may simply not be able to understand Suetonius at this point, or he may be confused or unreliable in a way other than that imagined in the Chrestus to Christ hypothesis. We may well just not have the evidence to work out who Chrestus was or what Suetonius refers to in that clause. There may be no good alternative theory that can be constructed, but that does not, in itself, make the probability of the Chrestus to Christ theory high. The idea that Suetonius shows there to have been an edict of expulsion resulting from disturbances between Christians and non-Christian Jews appears too weakly evidenced to make it a major plank of the reconstruction of Neronian Christian life in Rome. Even less is it reasonable to make it a major element of the scenario for reading of Paul’s letter to the Romans.23 Romans is a text dating directly from the Neronian period itself. It is risky to read it on the basis of a scenario constructed using two later secondary sources, Acts and Suetonius. It is even more risky when the key point (that the rioting relates to Christ) is one on which the two texts disagree (Suetonius vs Acts 28). It is untenably risky when even the text that is seen as supporting the point has to be viewed as being drastically garbled. III. Conclusions In our search for evidence which can contribute to building a model with sufficient probability for it to be useful for understanding Romans and Paul’s time in Rome, the results of our study of the historical development of the Roman Christian groups have been rather limited. 19

Gruen, Diaspora, 18, 41. Lampe, From Paul to Valentinus, 13–14. 21 Gruen, Diaspora, 39. 22 For instance, the generally reasonable arguments advanced by Das against Slingerland’s theory that Chrestus was a figure in Claudius’ household: Das, Solving the Romans Debate, 154–55; Gruen, Diaspora, 272 n.155; responding to Slingerland, Claudian Policymaking, 159–68. 23 As Jewett does, “In the case of this commentary…these conjectures provide the framework for interpreting the entire letter” (Romans, 59). 20

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It looks safe to conclude the following: i) The number of Christians grew rapidly in Rome from some time in the thirties or early forties through to the time of Nero. To reach the kind of numbers suggested by reports about the aftermath of the fire of 64 CE, they would need to have doubled every few years. ii) Throughout the period the Christians appear to have been organised in groups but there also appears to have been a persistent degree of coordination between the groups. iii) Given that the Christians were identifiable as such in 64, and that Paul writes to groups that appear to be in separate meetings rather than being parts of synagogues, it looks probable that the early Christians either always met separately from non-Christian synagogues or underwent a split from nonChristian synagogues. iv) Since the pattern of gentiles apparently being in a substantial majority among the Christians applies in all of Paul’s letters, there is not a strong probability that the emergence of a gentile majority in Rome requires an explanation specific to Rome. A consequence of this is that, whatever one’s conclusions about the Claudian edict, it is unlikely to have been the decisive factor shaping the ethnic make-up of the Christian groups in Rome in the decade afterwards. The tasks for which we are designing our models are for interpretation of Romans (ca. 57 CE) and for understanding Paul’s time in Rome (from ca. 61 CE). From looking at the evidence diachronically we can see that the two models should be similar, except that the number of Christians should be roughly doubled: from, say, 250 to, say, 500.

C. Arguments from Paul’s Letter to the Romans and its Context After a diachronic study in the previous section, this is, in principle, a synchronic study, considering the evidence from a particular point in time, the writing of Romans in about 57 CE, three years into Nero’s reign. As argued above, a model of the Christian groups in Rome at this point will also be useful for study of Paul’s time in Rome in the early sixties (with the number of Christians increased). As also argued above, Paul’s evident links with many Christians in Rome at the time of the letter imply that his characterisation of the groups there can be reasonably (although cautiously) used as evidence for understanding the actual situation of the groups. Historical evidence of all kinds, relating to first-century life, is pouring out in the work of Roman historians, archaeologists, plant biologists, experts on skeletons, and many others. It is clearly relevant for understanding the NT texts but is not being used in exegesis except in very fragmentary ways. The

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key reason for this could be characterised by, for instance, observing that none of the individuals whose well-preserved remains were found in the archways by the beach at Herculaneum24 can be shown to feature in a NT text. We probably cannot list all the names in even one early house church. However, the house churches did consist of first-century people, and not just first-century people in an undifferentiated mass, but various social types, various ethnicities, various ages, genders – about each of which categories we have compelling first-century evidence. Crucially, these types of people are present even where they are not mentioned in a text. It is insufficient, for instance, for scholars to consider evidence about slavery only when reading Philemon. It needs to be considered too for thinking about, say, the discussion on sin and righteousness in Romans. Since we do not know the specific social composition of house churches, but we need to take their social composition into account, our best available strategy is to model the social composition of house churches. The model needs two levels. At the overall level it is a set of groups, between which there is a certain level of interaction. At a more detailed level, each group is made up of a set of types of people, differentiated and related in various ways, socially, ethnically, religiously, and in other manners. I. The Set of Christian Groups in Rome As Lampe argues, Romans 16 gives evidence of at least seven distinct Christian groups.25 Jewett would go beyond this to about ten.26 As argued above, the absolute number of Christians is very uncertain, but if it was heading towards, say, 1,000 in 64 CE, we would expect there to be about 250 in 57 CE. That would make seven groups be of an average size of about 35. Ten groups would be 25 per group. An alternative approach is to ask whether there were constraints on group size. Adams demonstrates the likelihood of some open air meetings.27 In many contexts, these would leave group size unconstrained except if groups became so large that there was concern about attracting public attention. On the other hand, NT texts offer many instances of indoor meetings and the two specific meeting types implied in Romans 16 probably do relate to built space. One is the κατ᾿ οἶκον αὐτῶν ἐκκλησία hosted by Prisca and Aquila (16.5). I have argued elsewhere for a spatial limit of about 30 on the size of such a meeting (see below). The other type of meeting that probably relates to buildings is that among τοὺς ἐκ τῶν Ἀριστοβούλου (16.10) or τοὺς ἐκ τῶν Ναρκίσσου (16.11). These look likely to be household Chris24 A. Wallace-Hadrill, Herculaneum: Past and Future (London: Francis Lincoln, 2011), 123–30. 25 Lampe, From Paul to Valentinus, 359. 26 Jewett, Romans, 62. 27 Adams, Earliest Christian Meeting Places, 181–97.

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tian groups. The households would probably be large ones, which would mean that the great majority of household members would be slaves. Since the householders themselves are not greeted, so probably not Christians,28 the household Christian groups are probably mainly slaves.29 In a large house there would be various service-related areas that would appear suitable for meetings. For instance, in the House of the Menander at Pompeii, there is an upstairs staff dining room, a stable-yard, a small garden tucked away by the kitchen, and a house possibly occupied by the household steward.30 The stable-yard in that house would fit a very large number. Instead, a constraint on household church size in such a setting would be the household size. However, this could vary drastically so the constraint on household church size is unclear. All in all, the number of Christians and groups is very uncertain. However, if there were 250 Christians in total, meeting in groups of up to 30, that would suggest about nine groups. Anyway, our model should comprise several groups. It should include at least two predominantly slave household churches and some craftworkerhosted house churches. Given the absence of obvious members of the elite in Romans 16, it is probably reasonable to assume that all the groups that were not household churches were along the lines of craftworker house churches in terms of social structure. A further issue is that of ethnicity. There were Jews and gentiles among people greeted in Romans 16. However, it is not clear whether ethnic differences were within house churches or between house churches. Is the rhetoric of Rom 14–15 about gentile and Jewish house churches accepting each others’ practices? The varying scholarly responses to these questions31 make the issue difficult to build into a model. In fact, one possible strategy would be to do the converse: to produce alternative models based on each view then test each model against Romans as a whole to see which makes better sense of the text. Having enumerated the groups in the model, we ought to consider to what extent and how the groups would interact. To what extent would they compete or cooperate? The mechanics of Paul’s sending of Romans suggests that there was at least some communication. Our model should at least include links of reasonably regular contact. Lampe has suggested various other implications of the multi-group situation of the Roman Christians which he

28

Lampe, From Paul to Valentinus, 164–65. Adams, Earliest Christian Meeting Places, 31. 30 P. Oakes, Reading Romans in Pompeii: Paul’s Letter at Ground Level (London: SPCK, 2009), 37–42; A. Maiuri, La Casa del Menandro e il suo tesore di argenteria (Rome: La Libreria del Stato, 1933), 15–16. 31 E.g., F. Watson, Paul, Judaism and the Gentiles: A Sociological Approach (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1986). 29

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characterises as “fractionation.” He helpfully explores various likely implications of this, from its facilitation of theological pluralism through to toleration of various opinions.32 Since we are limiting ourselves to a model with a high level of probability, we will restrict it to the rather basic model of being a set of several groups, a couple of which are predominantly slave household churches, the rest being something like craftworker-hosted house churches, with at least links of communication between the groups. The overall level of the model will not give us much traction on the interpretative tasks that we are aiming at (to do so it would need to add features such as assigning ethnicity or pro- or anti-Pauline views to groups, which would be difficult). There is more traction to be gained from the more detailed level of the model. The two types of group that we have identified from Romans 16 are the craftworker-hosted house church and the predominantly slave household church. We will focus on the first of these, which has been an area of my research and which encompasses a broader range of social types than would a predominantly slave household church. II. Model Craftworker House Church Jewett argues that the “social pattern” of the “tenement churches,” which he sees as typical of Romans 16, is one that is patronless and egalitarian.33 If we were to challenge, and hopefully improve upon, the model implied by this description, how would we do it? A good starting point is reflection on the hosting of a Christian group. An indoor group meets in space that one member has sufficient control over to offer as a meeting place. Agreeing with Jewett that we are in a non-elite context, the space could be, say, a workshop (the argument also works for other types of space). In Rome that would probably be on the ground floor of an apartment block and would probably include some mezzanine living space above the workshop.34 The group probably meets in the best space available to it. This is probably the space controlled by the wealthiest householder in the group. The converse of this is that any other householders in the group are less wealthy. There is a social hierarchy between the householders in the group, even though none is elite.

32

Lampe, From Paul to Valentinus, 359–65, 381–96. Jewett, Romans, 65. 34 See, for instance, the Insula Aracoeli from the Neronian period (A. WallaceHadrill, “Domus and Insulae in Rome: Families and Housefuls,” in D. Balch and C. Osiek (eds.), Early Christian Families in Context: An Interdisciplinary Dialogue (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2003), 3–18, here 14–15. 33

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The second step is to observe that, in the New Testament, membership of Christian groups tends to run in households (although it does not do so entirely: see below). This must particularly have tended to be the case for householders hosting Christian meetings. Most or all of the host’s household would probably belong to the group. There was always a sharp hierarchy within any Roman household. This hierarchy becomes part of the Christian group. Other partial or complete households that are part of the group also carry their own internal hierarchies. There were hierarchies related to gender, age, roles, and relationships within the household. If we take Prisca and Aquila, they illustrate a further dimension of probable hierarchy in households of house church hosts. Their ability to travel and, based on Acts, their ability to employ Paul (18.3) means that their business was of a size that went beyond using only immediate family members (in the modern sense). In a first-century context such a business would usually use some slaves. There is therefore a further hierarchical dimension of freedom and servitude, which then also brings in the intermediate status of freed slave. A realistic model for a craftworker-hosted house church should seek to capture these various hierarchies. A converse of the observation that most, but not all, household members tended to belong to the Christian group is that some Christians belonged to households, the head of which was not a Christian. We should add some such people to our model. Given Rome’s large population of migrant workers and other people typically detached from their families we should add some of these to our model. We can thus form a basic model in the form of a list of social types probably to be found among Paul’s expected hearers. We could also include ethnicities as part of that. Such a list would be sufficient for reflection on many interpretative questions by acting as a conduit for drawing in all sorts of relevant contextual evidence and considering what light it sheds on the topic at hand, as it relates to a particular social type among the probable expected hearers of the text. However, we ought to see if we can move beyond just a list. There are two directions in which it would be helpful to make progress. One is the quantifying of people of various social types in the model. The other is the locating of the group in relation to wider society. There is little chance of managing either of these tasks directly on the basis of first-century evidence from the city of Rome itself. The one step we can make is to use archaeology to consider the sizes of space likely to be available to a craftworker to host a meeting. We cannot be precise but my impression from looking at many such spaces over the years is that ones that were generous-sized, but in the kind of setting for family craftworking enterprises, might hold a meeting of 2–3 dozen. Thirty still looks to me a reasonable figure to use in a model.35 35

Oakes, Reading Romans, 95.

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The specific number is unimportant but what does matter is that such spaces would not limit the meetings to about ten (i.e., mainly the host family), nor would they fit a hundred (where the host family is a very small proportion of the group). The limitation on evidence from Rome is because there can be no systematic excavation of domestic or similar remains. Andrew Wallace-Hadrill’s analysis of housing in Pompeii and Herculaneum36 offers a systematic study in a social and cultural context with many close similarities to such factors in Rome. In the Vesuvian towns we can also use loose finds to learn considerable detail about occupants and activities in specific houses. Drawing on work by Roger Ling and Penelope Allison, we can understand just the kind of reasonably large but non-elite craftworker’s house, exemplified in the Casa del Fabbro37 (I.X.7: based on the loose finds, the main activity in the house appears to be something such as cabinet making38), that could act as a viable house church meeting place. By combining this evidence of craft-working usage with Wallace-Hadrill’s analysis of distribution of house sizes, we discover that the ground-floor plan of this house is larger than 70% of the other housing or shop units in Pompeii but is less than one-third of the size of the lower end of the main body of elite houses.39 Taking ground-floor plan as a very rough indicator of ability to rent, hence of income, this puts the cabinetmaker 70% of the way up the income distribution graph of householders, but a long way off from the local elite. If our cabinet-maker was a house church host, then, since he would probably have the largest house in the group, the other householders in the group would fit into the income distribution below him. The numbers at various income levels could be predicted from the income distribution. The number of members of each household can also be roughly modelled on the basis of house size. We would then add in some Christians whose household head was not a group member, basing the numbers on an estimate of how strong a factor household loyalty was among early Christians (the estimate is necessarily extremely rough but the variation does not make a sharp difference to the final model). Allowing for factors such as higher rents in Rome than in Pompeii, but assuming that, in broad terms, the social structures among craftworkers would carry across from Pompeii to Rome, my conclusion for a model craftworker house church in Rome was as below. 36

A. Wallace-Hadrill, Houses and Society in Pompeii and Herculaneum (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1994). 37 R. Ling, The Insula of the Menander at Pompeii I: The Structures (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1997); P. Allison, The Insula of the Menander at Pompeii III: The Finds. A Contextual Study (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2007). 38 Oakes, Reading Romans, 24–26, following O. Elia, “Pompei: Relazione sullo scavo dell’Insula X della Regio I,” Notizie degli scavi XII (1934): 264–344, here 292 n.1. 39 Oakes, Reading Romans, 58.

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1. Social Description of Model Craftworker House-Church in Rome:40 Thirty people, comprising: 1. A craftworker who rents a fairly large workshop (c.45 m2) and some separate living accommodation, his wife, children, a couple of (male) craftworking slaves, a (female) domestic slave, a dependent relative. 2. A few other householders (mainly, but not necessarily all, male) who rent less space than the householder above, some (but not all) of their spouses, children, slaves and other dependents. The rented spaces would be either workshops with mezzanine living areas or apartments on upper floors of apartment blocks. 3. A couple of members of families where the householder is not part of the house-church. 4. A couple of slaves whose owners are not part of the house-church. 5. A couple of free or freed dependents of people who are not part of the house-church. 6. A couple of homeless people. 7. A few people who are renting space in shared rooms (e.g., migrant workers separated from their families) One limitation of this approach is that it does not offer help in modelling the ethnic make-up of the group.

D. Using the Model to Understand Paul’s Letter to the Romans and Paul’s Time in Rome I. Reading Paul’s Letter To give an example of the difference that the approach of this article makes, take, for instance, Craig Hill’s comments on Romans 13.1–7, in the Oxford Bible Commentary. He begins, Paul commended his readers to “live in harmony” and to “live peaceably with all”; immediately after, he adjured them not to seek revenge (12:16, 18–19). A discussion of civil authority follows naturally if not necessarily from these remarks. It may be that Paul’s comments reflect concern over behaviour that had contributed to the expulsion of the Jews (including Christian Jews; see Acts 18:2) from Rome only a few years before.41

40

Oakes, Reading Romans, 96, Table 3.7. C.C. Hill, “Romans,” in J. Barton and J. Muddiman (eds.), The Oxford Bible Commentary (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001), 1083–108, here 1104. 41

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Hill’s subsequent discussion of 13.1–7 covers: the overlap of the ages and continuing sin necessitating government; Paul and Jesus (Mark 12.17) invalidating some theories about government; abuses of Rom 13.1–7; Paul not authorising particular forms of government; relation to Jewish teaching; relation to the motif of order in 1 Corinthians; partial contrast with Revelation; a conclusion, “Rom 13:1–7 is not easy to live with, but neither would the opposing alternative be.”42 Hill’s section on Rom 13.1–7 is very helpful and well argued. His caution about the use of Claudius’ edict is reasonably expressed. However, as has been argued above, the idea that the events of the edict substantially affected the writing of Romans is of too low a probability to be of significant use for interpreting Romans at all. A point related to that of Hill, but more probable and much more concrete, can be made by use of our model. Hill’s argument is that Paul’s comments about authorities may relate to behaviour and its consequences in 49 CE. If Paul does have a concern about behaviour and its consequences, it is much more likely to relate to current social circumstances rather than those of 49. Friedrich, Pöhlmann, and Stuhlmacher link the text to taxrioting under Nero.43 This at least has the virtue of a possible textual connection in 13.6–8. However, it remains more probable that Paul has more recurrent issues in mind. If we look back to our model craftworker house church and think through the issues in 13.1–7 in relation to each of the social types in the model, we should, if we know a reasonable amount of the evidence about first-century society, rapidly become wonderfully overwhelmed by the range of probable implications of each sentence of Paul’s text for the various types of members of the set of his expected hearers. You could write a book on it. Issues of submission to authorities, resistance, punishment, reward, taxation, honour: all read in relation to the situations of the non-elite, householders, craftworkers, wives, children, elderly dependents, slaves, freed slaves, migrant workers, clients of non-Christian patrons (if they could hang onto them), members of households with non-Christian heads, Roman recipients of the grain-dole, payers of direct taxes, payers of indirect taxes. Add the dimension of ethnicity and the specific issues of Jews submitting to gentile authorites. Widen our view to our overall model of several communicating groups: how a set of groups from a single movement interact with the authorities. Reach back into the co-text, with its immediately preceding ban on revenge. Put that into the context of the street life of competing groups in the dark alleys of Trastevere.

42

Hill, “Romans,” 1104. J. Friedrich, W. Pöhlmann, and P. Stuhlmacher, “Zur historischen Situation und Intention von Röm 13:1–7,” ZTK 73 (1976): 131–66, here 156–59. More recently, Das, Solving the Romans Debate, 147. 43

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These are all components in the mixture that is the probable interaction between the text of Romans 13.1–7 and the daily lives of its expected hearers. This is surely the kind of agenda that scholars should be turning to in trying to write commentary on Paul’s letters in a way that does justice to the copious current work of Roman historians and archaeologists? II. Understanding Paul’s Time in Rome It is difficult to write about the last years of Paul’s life. The early literary sources are almost as scanty as for the edict of Claudius and, like the sources for the edict, many scholars are inclined to discount much of even the scanty evidence that we have. The main area of agreement would be that Paul did undergo a period under arrest in Rome. Does our model of the Neronian Christian groups help to any extent in understanding the circumstances of Paul’s time in Rome? Because the sources are so limited, the answer is bound to be very limited. However, there are a few points that can probably be usefully made. A basic one is on the viability of supplying Paul with food and other needs. Although, if Philippians was written from Rome44 it indicates receipt in Rome of a gift from Philippi (4.18), it would seem probable that most support would come from Christians locally, especially from known supporters of Paul. Our model would predict that this could easily be afforded. The size of the Christian population and the economic range in the model mean that financial support of one prisoner, or even a prisoner and a small entourage, should not be difficult. However, the model also suggests that support of a prisoner could be risky. The groups in the model are all economically dependent on nonChristians. There is no sign of independent land-holding in the evidence for Christians at Rome. This level of risk would raise the likelihood of some or all of the Christian groups being averse to contact with the prisoner Paul. This would rather be in line with evidence in early texts, both in the silence about continuing Roman Christian contact with Paul in Acts 28, and in the complaints of Paul according to texts such as Phil 1.17–18; 2.21, and 2 Tim 4.16. Conversely, the model suggests that links with Roman Christians would have been of little help in securing legal advocacy or lobbying on his behalf. The best chance would presumably be in household churches where freed slaves might seek help from their non-Christian patron and former owner. However, such groups would be in a particular tenuous situation so seeking help on behalf of a prisoner facing serious charges would be very difficult. On the other hand, one thing that the Roman Christian groups should be able to 44

For some arguments, see P. Oakes, Philippians: From People to Letter (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001), 66.

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help with is the writing and delivery of letters. As above, there should be sufficient financial resources to pay for scribal help. Also, if we brought in discussion of Roman education we could show that the economic range in our model is consonant with a significant percentage being educated to a level where they could write, under dictation, although not to a level where they could create rhetorically complex texts. Finally, a factor that went into the creation of our model was the evidence of travel. Past travel suggests the likelihood of continued travel, hence ability to deliver letters.

E. Conclusion Our model offers significant help for understanding Paul’s letter to the Romans. It effectively creates an agenda for considering relationships between Roman contextual evidence and the lives of various types of people who probably made up the set of expected hearers of the letter. The model could also be used to explore other NT texts arguably composed in Rome, such as Mark’s Gospel. The method can also be extended to texts relating to other locations. Since many elements of the model would be applicable in many settings, reasonable interpretative progress should even be possible where the origin or destination of a text is unclear. The help offered for understanding Paul’s last years is less substantial. This is largely because the sources for that period of his life are limited and uncertain. It is also because the nature of the links between him and other Christians in Rome while he was there is rather unclear. However, our model does offer material for reflection on social factors that are likely to have affected the kinds of issues that, according to the sources, he faced. A limit on our model is that it does not differentiate expected hearers ethnically. This could be introduced into the model. In any case, although a given model may offer interpretative progress, there will always still be considerable interpretative work needed from other directions too. How should we use historical evidence in studying New Testament texts and early Christian life? Scholars have long been wedded to spotting supposed links to Christianity in early literary or archaeological evidence and using them to create narratives into which to place the early Christian texts and issues. It is probably more fruitful to use the literary and archaeological evidence to understand more broadly the general social and cultural context of the early Christians, then to use that understanding to produce a more concrete interpretation of the Christian texts and issues.

Silent Witness: Paul’s Troubles with Roman Authorities in the Book of Acts Loveday Alexander

A. The Trouble with Christians What is it with these Christians? Is it the nomen, the mere profession of the name, that gets them into trouble? Or is it the criminal acts, the flagitia, that go with the name? And if so, what were these flagitia? This is the question posed in a letter sent to the Emperor Trajan by the governor of the province of Bithynia, Pliny the Younger, in 111 CE: Cognitionibus de Christianis interfui numquam. Ideo nescio, quid et quatenus aut puniri soleat, aut quaeri. Nec mediocriter haesitavi…, nomen ipsum, etiamsi flagitiis careat, an flagitia cohaerentia nomini puniantur.1

Pliny is conscientious – but puzzled. On his arrival in the province, the new governor was faced with a flurry of prosecutions. Christians were being denounced (deferebantur) to the governor: that is, they were charged by a delator, a private prosecutor, with being Christiani. Pliny’s first reaction was firm and decisive. He gave the accused three chances to deny the charge: those who persisted faced summary execution (except in the case of Roman citizens, who were sent to Rome). Even if being a Christian was not itself criminal, Pliny reasoned, their “pertinacity and inflexible obstinacy” deserved punishment. Yet he is beginning to have doubts. The accusations are spreading: more and more people are implicated; anonymous placards (libelli) are citing whole lists of names. Some of these can be induced to recant, and to prove their paenitentia by revering the imperial images (along with those of the other gods) and to curse Christ – “none of which acts, it is said, those who are 1 Pliny, Ep. 10.96. The full passage reads: “Having never been present at any trials of the Christians, I am unacquainted with the method and limits to be observed either in examining or punishing them. Whether any difference is to be made on account of age, or no distinction allowed between the youngest and the adult; whether repentance admits to a pardon, or if a man has been once a Christian, it avails him nothing to recant; whether the mere profession of Christianity, albeit without crimes, or only the crimes associated therewith are punishable – in all these points I am greatly doubtful.”

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really Christians can be forced into performing.” Past adherence to the nomen, it seems, is not itself criminal. And when he investigates further, Pliny begins to wonder if there really are any flagitia: on the face of it, this is a harmless religious sect, dedicated to high ethical standards, meeting weekly for worship and a common meal (“but food of an ordinary and innocent kind”). So Pliny adjourns the judicial proceedings in order to consult the emperor (dilata cognitione ad consulendum te) about what was, in the end, nothing worse than “depraved and excessive superstition” (superstitio prava, immodica). Pliny’s letter and the emperor’s response have become a locus classicus for the understanding of Roman attitudes to Christianity in the early empire. Pliny’s exchange falls sixty years later than the dramatic date of Paul’s encounters with Roman authority.2 But the exchange sheds valuable light on our topic, both looking forward into the later empire and (more pertinently for us) looking back to the period of St. Paul. Pliny (like his contemporaries Tacitus and Suetonius) provides an outsider’s perspective, a Roman perspective, on material that we otherwise know only from an inner-Christian viewpoint. It elucidates the judicial framework that governed relationships between Rome and the Christians in the early empire (“How were early Christians persecuted?”). And the issue identified by Pliny – is it the nomen or the flagitia cohaerentia nomini? – encapsulates the heart of the historical debate (“Why were the early Christians persecuted?”).3 My topic of “Paul’s troubles with Roman authorities” raises a very similar set of questions to Pliny’s. What was the issue between Paul and the Roman authorities? Why did Paul repeatedly find himself in trouble with the authorities? What was the juridical framework behind Paul’s encounters with Roman authority, and what were the legal issues at stake? Was there something inherent in Paul’s proclamation of the Christian message that would inevitably lead to conflict with Rome? Was he accused of specific crimes? And if so, were the accusations justified? In this paper I intend to look at four key encounters between Paul and Roman authority described in the book of Acts: at Philippi, at Thessalonica, in Corinth, and in Ephesus. Each has particularities related to its particular location; each operates with a different balance of power between Roman imperium and local civic jurisdiction; and each provides a different accusation, different responsa, different resources for answering Pliny’s question. My priority is to use our knowledge of the Roman judicial framework in order to make sense of the Acts narrative, and then to consider briefly how this evidence might throw light on the last years of 2 Though possibly not so far from the rhetorical date of Acts: R. Pervo makes a case for a Trajanic date for Acts (c. 115) in Acts: A Commentary (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2009), 5–7; Dating Acts (Santa Rosa: Polebridge Press, 2006). 3 The classic articles are collected in E. Ferguson (ed.), Studies in Early Christianity VII: Church and State in the Early Church (New York: Garland Publishing, 1993).

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Paul’s life. Did Paul’s missionary activities in fact involve him in committing any offence against Roman law? Did they involve him in committing any offence against Jewish law which the Roman authorities could be persuaded to uphold? Put more simply: did Paul have a criminal record, and would this have had any impact either on the outcome of his trial in Rome, or on his subsequent freedom to pursue missionary activity in the west?

B. The Judicial Framework: What a Judge Should Do Roman historians have made considerable progress in understanding the judicial framework under which the trials of Christians operated in the first two centuries. Most would now agree that there was never an empire-wide ban on the practice (or the preaching) of Christianity in the early centuries: if there were, Trajan would have quoted it in his response to Pliny.4 To quote Sherwin-White’s masterly 1952 summary paper, The great works of Mommsen’s school on the administration, local government, and social fabric of the Roman empire…have shown the extreme insignificance of the Christian communities in the vast framework of the empire, ...[and hence] the general improbability either that Christians seemed important enough to the government of Nero and Domitian to require a measure of universal suppression, or that any action taken was more than local and temporary.5

The consensus broadly follows Mommsen’s conclusion that the punishment of Christians fell under the coercitio of the provincial governors (whether senatorial or imperial), in virtue of their ordinary power (derived from their imperium) of enforcing public order at their own discretion, with no need for specific legislation.6 The normal expression of proconsular coercitio was the system of cognitio, which covered a wide range of offences extra ordinem, i.e., outside the established ordo of the Roman criminal codes.7

4 A.N. Sherwin-White, “The Early Persecutions and Roman Law Again,” JTS 3 (1952), 199–213 (reprinted in Ferguson, Church and State, 1–15). T.D. Barnes provides a survey of imperial legislation in “Legislation Against the Christians,” JRS 58 (1968), 32–50 (reprinted in Ferguson, Church and State, 60–78). For a contrary view, see M. Sordi, The Christians and the Roman Empire (London: Routledge 1994). 5 Sherwin-White, “The Early Persecutions,” 201. 6 Sherwin-White, “The Early Persecutions,” 199; cf. further A.N. Sherwin-White, Roman Society and Roman Law in the New Testament (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1963); H. Omerzu, Der Prozeß des Paulus: Eine exegetische und rechtshistorische Untersuchung der Apostelgeschichte (Berlin: de Gruyter 2002), 61–4. 7 Sherwin-White, “The Early Persecutions,” 205.

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This is the system we see operating in Pliny’s cognitiones of the Christians of Bithynia. The cognitio follows the established procedures of Roman juridical practice described fifty years earlier in Philo’s account of the emperor’s role as an arbitrator in a dispute between Alexandrian Greeks and Jews: For this is what a judge would do: he would sit with assessors selected for their high merit, as the case under examination was of the greatest importance…; the opposing parties would stand on either side of him with the advocates who would speak for them, and he would listen in turn to the accusation (kategoria) and the defence (apologia) for the space of water-time allowed! Then he would rise and consult with his assessors as to the verdict which in full accordance with justice they would publicly declare.8

This passage sets out with splendid clarity the basic elements that make up what I have called elsewhere the primary apologetic scenario: the judge and his advisors; the defendant; the accusers; the verdict.9 All four elements can be seen in the cognitiones of the Christians in Bithynia. (1) First, the judge (iudex, krites). In order to instigate legal proceedings, you had to find someone prepared to act as judge, that is, to take cognizance of (cognoscere) the case. In the provinces of the Roman empire, juridical imperium lay principally with the provincial governor (proconsul or legate). In capital cases, this imperium could not be delegated – which means that finding a judge might not be as easy as it sounds. The provincial governor would only hear cases when he was visiting the provincial or regional capitals, and might take a while to work his way round the assize circuit (Pliny took two years to get around a not very large province). It is therefore no coincidence that Pliny’s arrival in Bithynia, like Festus’ arrival in the province of Judaea (Acts 25.1–2), triggered a flurry of prosecutions. (2) All prosecutions had to be brought by a delator, a private prosecutor, who had to appear in person to state the case against the accused. (Luke reminds his readers of this fundamental principle of Roman jurisdiction in Acts 25.16).10 It is clear from Pliny that this was still very much a live issue at the beginning of the second century. The Roman empire was not a police state. The governor did not have the resources to seek out and prosecute offenders on his own initiative, and Trajan actively discouraged Pliny from doing so (conquirendi non sunt). Governors would not accept charges laid by anonymous informers (as Trajan insists, in an important re-statement of the principle: Pliny, Ep. 10.97). It is easy to forget that the cognitio system depended on the exertions of private prosecutors (which themselves required a certain

8

Legat. 350; cf. Flacc. 106. L. Alexander, “The Acts of the Apostles as an Apologetic Text,” in M. Edwards, M. Goodman, and S. Price (eds.), Apologetics in the Roman Empire (Oxford: OUP, 1999), 15–44. 10 On the legal point, see Sherwin-White, Roman Society, chap. 3. 9

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commitment of time and expense); and the insistence on personal appearance in court, together with the laws on calumnia, were intended to act as a deterrent to casual or malicious prosecution.11 (3) The accused (kategoroumenos, reus) also had to be present in person and had to be given the opportunity to make a defence (apologia) in their own words. In Pliny’s case this seems to consist in little more than a chance to affirm (or deny) the charge of being a Christian: Pliny (with Trajan’s approval) was more concerned with allowing the defendants locus paenitentiae, opportunity to recant. To Paul and later Christian writers, however, the opportunity for apologia was an opportunity not so much to rebut the charges as to offer a personal statement and defence of a whole way of life (cf. Phil 1.7). This may be why Luke underlines it in Acts 25.16. (4) Finally, the judge has to proffer a verdict, a judicial decision on the specific charges brought against the accused. This decision (ideally) is based on careful listening to the arguments of both sides, and on consultation with his legal advisors. Pliny uses the emperor himself as his consultant – a move which reflects the gradually changing relationships between princeps and provincial governor at the start of the second century. The need for consultation results directly from the fact that the case (like many of the cases brought before the governor) falls under the category of cognitio extra ordinem, i.e., it falls outside the ordo, the recognized scheme of crimes and penalties established for jurisdiction by the praetors within the city of Rome. It would be rash, in fact, to assume that any of the legislation passed by the Senate within the city of Rome was automatically applicable in the provinces – though the ordo was always there to be consulted as a precedent by provincial governors. One of the little-understood features of Roman jurisdiction in the provinces is the arbitrium iudicantis, the wide latitude allowed to the provincial governor, in deciding what crime had been committed, what penalties should be imposed, and indeed whether there was a case to answer at all.12 This is particularly true in the case of the Christians: this is precisely where we would expect Trajan to cite any previous legislation if it existed. This judicial framework was in operation, mutatis mutandis, throughout the period of the early empire. It provides a useful tool for analyzing Paul’s encounters with Roman authority in the latter chapters of Acts, and allows us to identify the core elements of the judicial scenario they presuppose. What is still not clear, however, is the precise nature of the charges brought against Christians: what were the flagitia cohaerentia nomini? Modern historians 11 Only under Hadrian, however, was the protection of the laws of calumnia extended to Christians: Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 4.9 (Barnes, “Legislation against the Christians,” 33). 12 Sherwin-White speaks of the “great freedom left to provincial governors in recognizing crimina and determining sentences extra ordinem” (“The Early Persecutions,” 208).

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have fared little better than Pliny in determining precisely why Christians were persecuted under the early empire: but certain broad patterns have emerged over the past century and a half of study. Geoffrey de Ste Croix draws an important distinction between the underlying motives (perhaps complex and unstated) that led neighbours and fellow-citizens to instigate a private prosecution against Christians, and the actual legal charges (scelera, flagitia) on which a prosecution could be brought before a judge.13 (1) Motivations for prosecution. Under the first, we could list many of the factors put forward by historians, right back to Tacitus’ odium humani generis (Ann. 15.44): “latent political disobedience,” for example, as Sherwin-White points out, might well weigh heavily with a provincial governor, though it could not be the basis for a private prosecution.14 Pliny’s observation that the temple sacrifices (and their attendant trade benefits) had fallen off badly under Christian influence (Ep. 10.96) offers another possible underlying motive for persecution (which might well influence a judicial decision), though it would be hard to frame this as a formal charge. (2) Formal legal charges. Sherwin-White’s analysis suggests four main categories:15 Disorder: the chief offence of the Christians in Roman eyes was “a general aversion to established order and disobedience to constituted authority.”16 Disloyalty (maiestas): based on the refusal of divine honours to the person of the emperor. Illegal assembly: violating the legislation against associations (collegia). Atheism: the fear of “national apostasy” induced by the introduction of an alien cult and the refusal to worship the established gods of the state. It is striking (as we shall see) how many of these are already prefigured in the charges brought against Paul and his associates in Acts.

13

G.E.M. de Ste Croix, “Why were the Early Christians Persecuted?” Past and Present 26 (1963), 6–38 (reprinted in Ferguson, Church and State, 16–41). 14 Sherwin-White, “The Early Persecutions,” 205. 15 Sherwin-White, “The Early Persecutions,” 199–204. 16 This is the nub of Sherwin-White’s theory of contumacia: Sherwin-White, “The Early Persecutions,” 210–12; contra G.E.M. de Ste Croix, “Why were the Early Christians Persecuted? A Rejoinder,” Past and Present 27 (1964), 28–33 (reprinted in Ferguson, Church and State, 54–59); with a riposte by Sherwin-White, “Why were the Early Christians Persecuted? An Amendment,” Past and Present 27 (1964), 23–27 (reprinted in Ferguson, Church and State, 49–53).

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C. Paul’s Encounters with Roman Authority In the central section of this paper I shall limit my discussion to four civic scenes within the so-called “second missionary voyage” in Acts 16–19: Philippi (Acts 16); Thessalonica (Acts 17); Corinth (Acts 18); and Ephesus (Acts 19). I. Philippi: Acts 16.11–40 The court. Philippi (as Luke reminds us [16.12]) is a Roman colony, a little pocket of Romanitas within the province of Macedonia, operating under Roman law. Its citizens have Roman citizenship, and juridical functions are exercised by the colony’s own magistrates, the duoviri iure dicundo. The place to find them is in the agora, which in Roman terms means the forum, the epicentre of the city’s civic and political life (16.19–20). Luke uses two generic terms to describe the magistrates: hoi archontes (“the authorities”), and hoi strategoi (“the magistrates”): the word can be used as the Greek equivalent of praetor, but is equally appropriate for the duoviri iure dicundo attested in many Philippian inscriptions. They are accompanied in exercise of their official duties by two lictores (rhabdouchoi), carrying the rods (fasces) that are the badge and instrument of Roman judicial authority (16.35). The prosecutors. As so often in Acts, the episode in Philippi is sparked by a street brawl between peddlers of two rival spiritualities. The prosecutors own a slave girl with a “prophetic spirit” (python) whom they employ as a fortune-teller. When Paul exorcises the spirit, the girl loses her prophetic gift and with it her value to her owners. The motive for the prosecution is presented as commercial: “seeing that their hope of business was gone” (16.19). As residents of the colony they share Roman citizenship with the magistrates, a point underlined with the first-person pronouns (16.20–21). The accused. Paul and Silas, by contrast, are visitors to the city, and are treated as peregrini.17 Ironically, they have spent most of their time outside the city boundaries, seeking converts among the Jewish women and godfearers who gather by the river. Within the city, the prophetic slave-girl hails them as “servants of the most High God, who proclaim to you the way of salvation” (16.17).18 The accusation, however, identifies them not as Christians but as Jews (16.20). Only at the end of the story, after spending a night in prison, will they reveal that they are also Romaioi – a further irony which reflects the complex layering of identities within the empire.

17

Sherwin-White, Roman Society, 82 n.3. I. Levinskaya, The Book of Acts in its First Century Setting, Volume 5: Diaspora Setting (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1996), 83–103. 18

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The charges. Loss of trade may be the underlying motive, but it is not sufficient grounds for prosecution. The charges are two-fold: “these men…are disturbing our city and preaching customs which it is not permitted for us Romans to accept or to perform” (16.20–21). The first (and perhaps most damaging) charge, as Heike Omerzu points put, is the charge of causing tarachos (Latin turba): disturbance of the peace.19 Though falling short of stasis (Latin seditio), this was a serious charge, guaranteed to attract the attention of the magistrates, who (like all civic and provincial magistrates across the empire) were responsible for keeping the peace in their city. The second is more puzzling. It recalls the ancient Roman suspicion of foreign religious groups, expressed in the legislation of 139 BCE against the adherents of the Magna Mater. Rome very rarely took it on herself to police the “customs” (mores, ethe) of other ethnic/religious groups within the empire. What aroused Rome’s concern was the reception and adoption of these “foreign” customs by Romans – a step that must inevitably jeopardize the necessary maintenance of the ancestral religio on which the security and prosperity of the Roman state ultimately depended. Sherwin-White decsribes the charge as “positively archaic,” perhaps characteristic of “an isolated Roman community in the Greek half of the Roman empire.”20 The verdict. Strictly speaking, there is no trial in Philippi. Paul and Silas are allowed no space for either apologia or recantation. The magistrates simply order them to be beaten with rods (rhabdizein, 16.22; cf. 2 Cor 11.22) and have them thrown into the town jail. This is not a legal penalty but an act of deterrence, intended to intimidate peregrini. When Paul and Silas reveal their Roman citizenship the next morning, is there an implied threat of repetundae? At any rate the magistrates react with consternation and beg Paul to leave. II. Thessalonica: Acts 17.1–9 The court. Thessalonica is a civitas libera, which means that it has limited internal autonomy and exercises its own jurisdiction.21 Two attempts at legal action are depicted. First, there is an attempt to bring “them” (presumably Paul and Silas) before the demos, that is the city assembly acting as the court of a civitas libera (17.5). Proagein is a technical term for bringing defendants to court.22 When this fails, the crowd brings “Jason and some of the brothers”

19

Omerzu, Der Prozeß, 124–41. Sherwin-White, Roman Society, 82. 21 Sherwin-White, Roman Society, 95–97. 22 Omerzu, Der Prozeß, 181. 20

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to the politarchs (17.6). This is the precise term for city magistrates in Macedonia at this period, not attested in literary texts outside the NT, but amply confirmed in over sixty inscriptions.23 The prosecutors. Here the prosecution originates not from within the citizen-body but from a well-established migrant community (17.5). Paul’s messianic preaching (17.2–3) produces an internal split in the Jewish community, and significant numbers side with Paul, including “a large number of godfearing Greeks, and not a few of the leading women” (17.4). We need to get the numbers in proportion here. What we are talking about is a sectarian splinter group breaking off from a (probably not very large) minority migrant group, and threatening to siphon off significant support from the host community.24 Luke describes the prosecution as motivated by zelos (17.5), a term which encompasses both praiseworthy (if unenlightened) zeal and simple jealousy.25 But how easy was it for the Jewish community to bring a case before the demos of the city?26 Perhaps this is why it is more effective to enlist the help of the agoraioi (17.5) in starting a popular agitation.27 A cluster of unusual vocabulary in 17.5–6 reinforces the sense of significant civic disturbance: clamour (boontes), riot (ethoruboun = tumultus), and creating a crowd (ochlopoiesantes).28 The accused. So the actual dispute is between rival sects within one of the city’s migrant communities. Within this group, however, there are two sets of potential defendants, and this has created unnecessary confusion: are the charges directed at Paul, or at Jason and his friends? Once we understand the juridical process, the situation is quite clear. The initial intention was to bring charges against Paul and Silas, but since they cannot be found, they cannot be charged: a defendant must be presented in person in the court. The prosecution can only charge the defendants who are present, that is, Jason and the “brothers.”29 We need to keep this distinction in mind in order to understand the charges and penalties that follow. As far as the Thessalonians were 23

Omerzu, Der Prozeß, 182; G.H.R. Horsley, “Appendix: The Politarchs,” in D.W.J. Gill and C. Gempf (ed.), The Book of Acts in its First Century Setting, Volume 2: Graeco-Roman Setting (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1994), 419–31. 24 Omerzu, Der Prozeß, 178; C.U. Manus, “Luke’s Account of Paul in Thessalonica (Acts 17,1–9),” in R.F. Collins (ed.), The Thessalonian Correspondence (BETL LXXXVII) (Leuven: Peeters, 1990), 27–38, at 31. 25 Most commentators assume the negative sense (cf. Omerzu, Der Prozeß, 177; Manus, “Luke’s Account,” 31). For “zeal,” cf. Rom 10.2; Gal 1.14. 26 Omerzu, Der Prozeß, 182. 27 Manus, “Luke’s Account,” 31. 28 Omerzu, Der Prozeß, 179; H.W. Tajra, The Trial of St. Paul (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1989), 32. 29 This factor also helps to clarify the objection raised by Tajra (Trial of St. Paul, 43– 44) that “no attempt was made to apprehend the apostles even though they were still in Thessalonica.” This is to import notions of modern policing.

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concerned, Paul was a peregrinus, an itinerant Jewish preacher who had spent a few weeks in the city preaching a messianic message within the synagogue. He had no property in Thessalonica, and whatever citizenship he held (a point not revealed at this point in the narrative), he did not fall under the jurisdiction of Thessalonica. If his presence in the city was problematic, the simple and logical solution was to get rid of him. Jason and his friends, however, are residents (though not necessarily citizens) of Thessalonica, and have property and business interests in the city.30 The charges. What charges would have been brought against Paul, had he been brought to the assembly? 17.6 may provide a clue: “These people who have been turning the world upside down have come here also.” The words imply a serious charge of seditio (stasis): but even if Paul had been present, the politarchs in Thessalonica would have had no jurisdiction over the rest of the oikoumene. The charge might have been localized with the aid of the agoraioi, who provide some kind of evidence that Paul’s presence was causing riots in Thessalonica. But Paul is not present, and the politarchs have to consider charges against Jason and his friends: 17.6 is in fact simply a narrative preamble to the charge-sheet (note the aorist tense). The first charge is straightforward enough: Jason has “harboured” (hypodedektai) this preacher of sedition, given him a platform in the city by acting as his prostates. The second part of the charge is less clear (SherwinWhite describes it as “garbled”), and has caused major discussion among commentators. “They are all acting contrary to the decrees of the emperor, saying there is another king named Jesus” (17.7). Is this one charge, or two? And what is meant by the dogmata Kaisaros? Justin Hardin identifies three options.31 (1) The standard explanation is that the phrase refers to imperial legislation against maiestas, treason against the person of the emperor. But there is no evidence that this legislation was ever enacted through an imperial decree; the crimen maiestatis was a crime against the Roman state, and local magistrates of a free city would not have had authority to administer it; and the laws of maiestas were framed for the senatorial elite in Rome, not for troublemakers in the provinces.32 (2) E.A. Judge proposed that the “decrees of Caesar” refer to imperial legislation curbing the use of astrology to predict ruler-change, and that the proper background to the charge is the responsibility of local civic authorities 30

On Jason, see F. Morgan-Gillman, “Jason of Thessalonica (Acts 17,5–9),” in R.F. Collins (ed.), The Thessalonian Correspondence (BETL LXXXVII) (Leuven: Peeters, 1990), 39–49. 31 J.K. Hardin, “Decrees and Drachmas at Thessalonica: An Illegal Assembly in Jason’s House (Acts 17.1–10a),” NTS 52 (2006), 29–49. 32 Hardin, “Decrees and Drachmas,” 30–33.

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to administer oaths of loyalty to the emperor. But again there is no evidence that either were called “decrees of Caesar”; according to Tacitus (Ann. 2.32), the restrictions on astrology were limited to Italy; and the same objections would apply as to the lex maiestatis.33 (3) Hardin himself proposes that Jason is charged with hosting an illegal association.34 Cotter lists a series of imperial decrees banning or restricting voluntary associations,35 and there is good evidence that these restrictions were in principle enforceable on an empire-wide basis – though in practice “voluntary associations were generally un-regulated barring those that became politically oriented or engendered civic disturbances.”36 The measure of imperial distaste for collegia in the provinces can be gauged from Pliny’s correspondence with Trajan, who displays a surprisingly repressive attitude (Ep. 10.33–34; 92–93). This legislation provides a plausible context both for the accusation and for the magistrates’ response, given that both the Jewish communities and their Pauline off-shoots can be classified as collegia.37 Pliny himself implies that the Christians of Bithynia had voluntarily disbanded their meetings after Trajan’s ban on collegia: “Even this practice, however, they had abandoned after the publication of my edict (edictum meum), when according to your orders (mandata tua), I had forbidden political associations (hetaeriai)” (Ep. 10.96).38 This passage may in fact offer a solution to the puzzle of the phrase dogmata Kaisaros, which does not correspond with correct Roman terminology for any of the suggested legislation: to the citizens of a provincial polis, a proconsular edict based on the mandata of the emperor might well be understood as an edictum Caesaris. The verdict. In this context, the negative reaction of the city authorities (17.8) makes excellent sense: “As a free city with an excellent reputation for honouring the Roman regime, they did not want to put their privileged distinction in jeopardy.”39 The financial bond taken from Jason (17.9) is usually understood as taking security (ikanon labontes = satis accipere) for the good 33 E.A. Judge, “The Decrees of Caesar at Thessalonica,” RTR 30 (1971), 1–7; Hardin, “Decrees and Drachmas,” 33–38. 34 Hardin, “Decrees and Drachmas,” 38–49. 35 W. Cotter, “The Collegia and Roman Law: State Restrictions on Voluntary Associations, 64 BCE – 200 CE,” in J.S. Kloppenborg and S.G. Wilson (eds.), Voluntary Associations in the Greco-Roman World (London: Routledge, 1996), 74–89. There is, however, (as Hardin admits) no evidence that these were ever termed “decrees.” 36 Hardin, “Decrees and Drachmas,” 21. 37 B. Winter, “Roman Law and Society in Romans 12–15,” in P. Oakes (ed.), Rome in the Bible and the Early Church (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2002), 67–102; J.S. Kloppenborg and S.G. Wilson, Voluntary Associations, passim. 38 Quod ipsum facere desisse post edictum meum, quo secundum mandata tua hetaerias esse vetueram. 39 Hardin, “Decrees and Drachmas,” 25.

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behaviour of Jason’s guests.40 Hardin suggests that it might refer to a fine paid to the municipal authorities as a penalty for an illegal gathering, citing the recently-discovered Lex Irnitana which stipulates: “No-one is to take part in an illegal gathering in that municipium or to hold a meeting of a society or college for that purpose or to conspire that it be held or to act in such a way that any of these things occur. Anyone who acts contrary to these rules [qui adversus ea fecerit] is to be condemned to pay 10,000 sesterces to the municipes…”41 Note the parallel to the formulation of the charge in Acts 17.7, “acting contrary to the decrees of Caesar.” The episode uncovers one of the weaknesses of Roman provincial jurisdiction: the cities could extract fines from their own property-owning residents, but they had effectively no sanctions against a “property-lacking vagrant” like Paul.42 And with no Interpol, there was no way of pursuing justice from one city to another except through the Roman governor. For Paul, the net result is much the same as if he had been sent away. Clearly his friends decided (as in Philippi and Ephesus) that his only safe course was to withdraw (17.10). III. Corinth: Acts 18.1–17 The judge. Corinth’s colourful history is well known. After a spell as an imperial province, Achaia became a senatorial province under Claudius (44 CE), the seat of the proconsul and the administrative and judicial centre of the province.43 The bema (18.12, 16) is the structural focus of this authority, a prominent platform in the forum.44 Corinth was thus the ideal location for bringing Paul’s case to the notice of the highest judicial authority in the province. The imperium of the proconsul could not be overridden by anyone except the emperor; and the proconsul (especially under the Julio-Claudians) was under no obligation to consult the emperor. “When Gallio was proconsul” (18.12) may well express the precise reason why the prosecution was brought after Paul’s 18-month mission in Corinth. As we have seen, the arrival of a new proconsul tended to trigger a flurry of prosecutions, and Gallio’s arrival may well have been the catalyst for this one. 40

Sherwin-White, Roman Society, 95. Hardin, “Decrees and Drachmas,” 46, citing J. González, “The Lex Irnitana: a New Flavian Municipal Law,” JRS 76 (1986), 147–243. This Flavian-period municipal charter (slightly later than the dramatic date of the Acts narrative) was discovered on the Molino del Postero in the province of Seville in the spring of 1981. 42 Sherwin-White, Roman Society, 97. 43 Sherwin-White comments (Roman Society, 104–07) on the difficulty of obtaining this kind of information in later decades. 44 D.W.J. Gill, “Achaia,” in D.W.J. Gill and C. Gempf (eds.), The Book of Acts in its First Century Setting, Volume 2: Graeco-Roman Setting (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1994), 433–53. 41

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The prosecution. As in Thessalonica, the prosecution is brought by the Jewish community against a sectarian splinter group. But Paul has followed similar mission tactics in Corinth, this time with considerable success: starting in the synagogue (18.4–5), then moving next door to the house of the godfearer Titius Justus, and winning over not merely the archisynagogos Crispus but also “many Corinthians” (18.6–11). (The prime difference is in the timing: three weeks in Thessalonica, eighteen months in Corinth.) This suggests a similar underlying motive for the prosecution, that is, a combination of insecurity and rivalry in a situation of sectarian competition. The impression Luke gives is not of a sudden outburst of hostility but of cumulative and repressed irritation, fuelled by what must have been the “constant visible provocation” of Paul’s successful mission right next door to the synagogue.45 The accused. Paul is the sole defendant here (18.5). He is described as a skenopoios lodging with other migrant technitae (18.1–3). Demographically, this places Paul firmly among the migrant artisans who formed a significant segment of the population – described here as part of the expelled Jewish population of Rome (18.2). This demographic designation may well reflect a geographical location within the artisans’ quarter of the city, possibly also an ethnic quarter: this could explain Gallio’s quick assumption that the identity of both prosecution and defendant is Jewish. (I am reminded of the excavations of Roman Barcelona, where the earliest church building [6th century CE] is located firmly in the port area, down among the tanneries and garummanufacturers of the city.) The meetings of the group take place in a house next door to the synagogue – probably (at this date) a house-synagogue, and located in a centre of Jewish community life. There is nothing in Luke’s account of Paul’s mission here to link the charge with a particular aspect of his preaching, unless “disputes about names” in 18.15 is an echo of the messianic disputes of 18.6 (a briefer summary of 17.3). The charge. Instead, Paul is charged with “teaching people to worship God contrary to the law” (18.13). There are echoes here of the charges brought in Philippi and Thessalonica, but the vagueness of the phraseology makes it hard to identify the precise issue at stake. Is it Paul’s teaching that is para ton nomon, or the worship of God? And which law are we talking about? The ambiguity may be tactical, an attempt to imply some non-specific infringement of Roman law. We might compare the tactics used by the Alexandrians against the Jewish delegation in Philo’s Legatio, where the charges vary from precise political issues of citizenship (Legat. 363) to general matters of religious practice (“Why do you refuse to eat pork?”: Legat. 361). The verdict. This is the closest Paul has yet come in Acts to an actual cognitio before the highest representative of Roman imperium in the province. But before he can open his mouth to speak, Gallio refuses to act as judge 45

Tajra, Trial of St. Paul, 50.

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(krites): that is, he refuses the case his cognitio (18.15). This is tantamount to a judgement that there is no case to answer under Roman law – the only law in danger of being infringed here is the Jewish law (“disputes about words and names and your own law”), and the Jewish community has full authority to deal with such disputes itself. Gallio’s refusal of cognitio has the effect of a rescript, and Luke may be citing it for the same reason that Josephus cites the numerous decrees recognizing the freedom of the Jews to observe their ancestral customs.46 Gallio’s reasoning effectively offers a precise answer to the question Pliny was to ask sixty years later: if there are no flagitia (18.14), there is no case to answer. The difference is that here there is no nomen either. Paul is not accused as a Christianus but (as far as Gallio is concerned) as a sectarian Jew, engaged in just the kind of fruitless debate that got the Jews expelled from Rome. The beating of Sosthenes (18.17) may have been intended as a public and humiliating example of Jewish community discipline, of the type Paul himself had received (2 Cor 11.24). The statement that Gallio “cared for none of these things” in effect is making a legal point: it implies a judicial decision that while the Jewish community is entitled to administer its own discipline, there is nothing here for Roman law to take congnizance of. IV. Ephesus: Acts 19.23–40 The court. The final encounter before Paul’s journey to Jerusalem is nicely complicated. The riot in Ephesus is not actually a trial at all – but sheds light both on procedures and on the complex inter-layering of religious and commercial rivalries within the cities of the empire. Ephesus is an ancient Greek city with its own demos and boule (the latter becoming successively more prominent from the end of the first century). But it is also the provincial capital of the province of Asia, and one of the province’s thirteen designated conventus or assize-towns.47 The episode begins with a tarachos (19.23), a riot that convulses the city streets and spills over into the theatre (19.29). Theatres often functioned as meeting-places for the city assembly at this date – yet this impromptu ekklesia (19.32) is not a formal assembly but a spontaneous popular demonstration of civic pride and religious solidarity. The crowd is finally quieted by the town clerk (grammateus tou demou), who points out the danger of being caught up in unjustified stasis (= seditio) (19.40). If there is a genuine case to answer, “there are courts, there are proconsuls: let them bring charges against each other there” (19.38). Any further issue (relevant to the peace and good order of the city, it is implied) should be brought to the 46

A.J. 16.160–78. P. Trebilco, “Asia,” in D.W.J. Gill and C. Gempf (eds.), The Book of Acts in its First Century Setting, Volume 2: Graeco-Roman Setting (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1994), 291–362, at 309–10. 47

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ennomos ekklesia (19.39), where it can be properly resolved.48 The town clerk’s phrase captures accurately Rome’s interest in upholding and supporting the due processes of local law, but also the lurking menace of Rome’s displeasure when local law-enforcement broke down. Trebilco aptly quotes Plutarch, Praec. ger. rei publ. 813e–f: “You must also say to yourself, ‘You who rule are a subject, ruling a State controlled by proconsuls, the agents of Caesar.’ …The officials in the cities, when they foolishly urge the people to imitate the deeds, ideals, and actions of their ancestors, however unsuitable they may be to the present times and conditions, stir up the common folk and, though what they do is laughable, what is done to them is no laughing matter, unless they are merely treated with contempt.”49 The prosecution. The assembly, as Luke’s readers will know, is not quite as spontaneous as it appears. The riot has been carefully engineered by Demetrius the silversmith, concerned that Paul’s preaching against “gods made with hands” (19.26) will have an adverse effect on the souvenir trade, as well as on the reputation of Artemis herself (19.23–27).50 Like so many other episodes in Acts, this riot begins at street level, amidst the technitae: it evokes the world of the guilds and the trade associations, and the terrifying potential of illegal assembly noted by Trajan: “Whatever title we give them and whatever our object in giving it, men who are banded together for a common end will all the same become a political association before long” (Pliny, Ep. 10.34).51 The accused. Two of Paul’s travelling companions, Gaius and Aristarchus from Macedonia, are caught up in the stampede to the theatre (19.29). It is not clear what the crowd intend to do with them, or with Alexander the Jew, who attempts to make an apologia (a statement of the Jewish-Christian case against idolatry?) to the assembly, but is shouted down by the crowd (19.33). But it is clear that the real object of the assembly’s anger is Paul himself, who also attempts to speak to the assembly, but is dissuaded by his friends (19.30– 31). Paul’s Ephesian identity (and that of his followers) encompasses a number of discrete but overlapping social categories: a sectarian Jewish preacher, leading a splinter group from the synagogue (19.8–9); a visiting philosophical teacher, offering lectures in the school of Tyrannus (19.9–10); an itinerant healer and exorcist, setting up in competition with local rivals (19.11–19). In the end, however (and after a two-year successful mission), it is the local tradesmen’s guild who identify Paul’s preaching of monotheism as a threat to mainstream civic religion and the commercial interests that are intertwined 48

On the technical terms used here, see Sherwin-White, Roman Society, 86–89; C.K. Barrett, Acts (2 vols.; ICC; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1998), 2.938. 49 Trebilco, “Asia,” 346. 50 For Paul’s message, cf. Acts 14.15–18; 17.29. 51 On the trade-guilds and the looming threat of civic disturbance, see Trebilco, “Asia,” 338–42.

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with it. All of these categories are important to the social construction of early Christian groups, and hint at the diverse social levels on which early Christian activity had to compete in the life of the Greek city.52 A common thread, as L. Michael White points out, is the perception of Paul and his associates as outsiders, “foreigners” (including the Macedonians Gaius and Aristarchus, and the mysterious Alexander whom the crowd identify as a Ioudaios, a Jew): “Whatever might have really happened in Paul’s own day, the author of Acts seems to think that the perceptions of locals concerning the foreignness of Paul, other Jews, and on the whole the earliest followers of the Christian movement is a key issue.”53 White suggests that Ephesus’ enormous growth in population may also have contributed to a fear of “foreigners.”54 The charges. Owing to the intervention of the town clerk, this particular grievance never attains the status of a formal prosecution. But it sheds light on one of the underlying motivations of anti-Christian sentiment, and reveals what was clearly a real fear of a threat to ancestral religious practice (and the commercial interests that were intertwined with it). We may compare Pliny’s observation that (since his action against the Christians), “the temples, which had been almost deserted, begin now to be frequented; and the sacred festivals, after a long intermission, are again revived; while there is a general demand for sacrificial animals, which for some time past have met with but few purchasers” (Ep. 10.96). A general concern for the maintenance of the mos maiorum was in fact one of the underlying causes of the later Roman unease over the Christians. The issue Luke raises here was a sensitive one that would continue to haunt Roman-Christian relations for generations to come. The verdict. None of this, however, (as the town clerk points out) is sufficiently concrete to form the basis of a private prosecution (19.35–38). If it were to come to court, he implies, the charge might be one of hierosulia, “temple robbery,” or blasphemy (19.37). These were both serious charges which the Jews of the Diaspora, long used to residence in Greek cities, were careful to avoid incurring.55 The implied charge may have a special relevance in Ephesus, which prided itself on the inviolability (asulia) of the shrine of Artemis.56 So the town clerk’s words (“These men are neither temple robbers nor blasphemers of our goddess”) stand as a final negative verdict in this case

52

W. Meeks, The First Urban Christians (Yale: Yale University Press, 1984), ch. 3. M.L. White, “Urban Development and Social Change in Imperial Ephesos,” in H. Koester (ed.), Ephesos: Metropolis of Asia (HTS 41; Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1995), 38. 54 White, “Urban Development,” 48. 55 Cf. Jos. A.J. 4.207; Philo, Spec. Leg. 1.53; Trebilco, “Asia,” 354–55. 56 Trebilco, “Asia,” 324–26. 53

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that never was – a verdict that (like Gallio’s) serves an important apologetic function in Luke’s work, parallel to Josephus’ citation of commendatory decrees to the political inoffensiveness of the Jewish communities of Asia.

D. The Case Against Paul So what, in conclusion, is the cumulative effect of these four Lucan casestudies? What can we learn from them about Paul’s legal position in Roman eyes? More broadly: do they shed any light on why Paul kept getting into trouble with the Roman authorities? The first point to be made is that none of Paul’s “troubles” in Acts originated with the Roman authorities themselves. Paul’s troubles are not “topdown” but “bottom-up.” This is a familiar aspect of Luke’s presentation, and one we are perhaps inclined to dismiss as Lucan apologetic. This, I think, is to miss the point. This was an inevitable result of what T.D. Barnes calls “the normally passive nature of Roman administration,”57 specifically of Rome’s dependence on the system of private prosecution. It is also consonant with what we know from other sources about Rome’s attitude to alien cults, especially in the provinces: generally tolerant, unless scelera or flagitia could be proved against them. It follows from this that when we ask why Paul got into trouble, we have to ask two linked but distinct questions: (1) what motivations, implicit or explicit, lie behind the prosecutions? and (2) what were the specific charges brought against Paul? We might also add a third question: (3) what motivations, implicit or explicit, lie behind the verdicts of Greek and Roman magistrates? What would make them likely to take the accusations seriously? Making this differentiation allows us to do justice to de Ste Croix’ fundamental distinction between the underlying motivation for a prosecution and its purely legal basis.58 It also allows us to probe some rather basic sociological issues in the highly stratified and hierarchical world of the cities of the Roman empire. Where did the prosecutions come from? In every case of the four episodes examined, the prosecution stems either from an immigrant group or from the lowest tiers of civic society – not the slaves (who were in no position to initiate criminal proceedings), but the agoraioi, the market traders, street peddlers, artisans, and free labourers. Many of these would themselves have been migrant workers or paroikoi (who made up a large proportion of the population of any ancient city). In Thessalonica Luke depicts the two groups working in collusion. These prosecutions then are brought not by the city magistrates but by rival groups operating in competition with the Pauline mission at street 57 58

Barnes, “Legislation Against the Christians,” 48. Cf. de Ste Croix, “Why were the Early Christians Persecuted?” 6.

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level; and in each case, we may detect elements of fear and competition. The owners of the slave-girl in Philippi attack Paul because through her they have lost their trade. Demetrius the silversmith persuades his fellow craftsmen that Paul’s preaching is a threat to their livelihoods. These are basic economic forces that play a role in every society, especially in societies seeking to assimilate large numbers of migrant workers. In Thessalonica and Corinth, the prosecution comes from rival migrants within the Jewish community, which Paul has destabilized by hiving off a splinter group. Luke’s use of the complex category zelos points to an element of competition: Paul is offering a rival package which is drawing away significant donors and supporters. It is easy to deride this as “commercial” motivation, but such activity offers a serious threat to the survival of a migrant group, arousing not just rivalry but fear: donors and supporters from the host community offered not only financial support but prostasia, access to patronage networks which were absolutely necessary to survival in this highly stratified society. The “fear of foreigners” suggested by Michael White59 is a familiar feature of conflict (and its attendant scape-goating) between migrant workers and indigenous labourers in modern urban societies. Fear plays an important part in the motivations of the magistrates, too – fear of alien cults (Philippi, Corinth, Ephesus); fear of disorder (Philippi, Thessalonica, Ephesus); fear of the destabilizing power of the collegia (Thessalonica, Ephesus); fear of seeming to countenance disloyalty against the emperor (Thessalonica). For city magistrates, conflict itself was the problem – however caused, and whoever was to blame. There is ample attestation of the fear of seditio and tumultus among city magistrates, caught between the upper and the nether mill-stones, trying to placate their own people without provoking the provincial governor; responsible for keeping order but with very few resources for doing so.60 Pax et securitas was important to Roman propaganda, and it was not an empty promise: it was worth the sacrifice of a few peregrini. This element of fear is observable in all the episodes studied, though progressively less so, the higher up the system we go. The exception is the hearing before Gallio, partly because there is no tarachos in Corinth, and partly because here instead of a nervous city magistrate we have a confident and autonomous proconsul, sure of his own imperium and under no obligation to consult the emperor. Within Luke’s narrative, Gallio’s blithe dismissal of the charges against Paul has an obvious propaganda value: it acts in effect as a rescript, making the point that there is no case to answer against Paul under Roman law. New 59

Cf. notes 53 and 54 above. A point made forcefully in Agrippa’s speech in Josephus, B.J. 2.345–401: T. Rajak, “Friends, Romans, Subjects: Agrippa II’s Speech in Josephus’s Jewish War,” in L. Alexander (ed.), Images of Empire (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1991), 122–34. 60

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Testament exegetes (and even some Roman historians) have been inclined to take this at face value, pointing out the weakness of the accusations against Paul and their slender foundation in Roman law. Had Pliny come across a copy of Acts in his researches about the Christiani (we might reflect), it might well have bolstered his suspicion that the famous flagitia were a mirage. But it would be a mistake to take too much comfort from this recognition. The difference between Gallio and Pliny is that Pliny, recognizing the flimsiness of the legal case against the Christians, still assumes that they are deserving of death – as does Trajan, and as does Tacitus in his account of Nero’s persecution (Ann. 15.44). The fact is that all of the accusations made against Paul in Acts have been plausibly alleged as contributory factors to later persecutions: in Barnes’ words, “the future is implicit in these episodes.”61 And the key, in the view of Barnes and other Roman historians, lies in the accusation of religious innovation or “atheism” that lies beneath the surface of almost all the cases we have examined. It is there in Philippi (“advocating customs which it is not lawful for us Romans to accept or practise”); it is there in Corinth (“teaching people to worship God contrary to the law”), and latent in Thessalonica (“another king, Jesus”). But it surfaces most clearly in Ephesus (“saying that gods made with hands are not gods”). “What would have happened at Ephesus,” asks Barnes, “if the magistrate, as well as the crowd, had considered the Christians to be threatening the cult of Artemis? Once it was realized that theirs was a new religion which entailed the abandonment of the established cults, the Christians could expect little sympathy or protection. …The theory of ‘national apostasy’ fails as an explanation of the legal basis of the condemnation, but it comes close to the truth if it is applied, not to the law, but to the attitudes of men. It is in the minds of men, not in the demands of Roman law, that the roots of the persecution of the Christians in the Roman empire are to be sought.”62 Even so, there is a significant shift between Gallio and Pliny. It is clear from the Epistles that Paul succeeded in pursuing his mission across the Mediterranean with remarkable impunity, right up to his arrest in Jerusalem (Rom 15.19–24). Luke’s portrayal of Gallio, and of the city magistrates in Philippi, Thessalonica, and Ephesus, may have an apologetic motive, but it is true to life: it is a good fit for the early empire under Claudius. By the time we get to Pliny, things have changed – and the change concerns not so much the flagitia, as the nomen. (1) The first change concerns the identity of the accused. In the four episodes studied, the nomen is never a factor in Paul’s identity. In Philippi (and by implication in Ephesus), Paul is indicted as a Jew, not a Christian. In 61 62

Barnes, “Legislation Against the Christians,” 49. Barnes, “Legislation Against the Christians,” 49–50.

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Thessalonica and Corinth, the prosecution comes from within the Jewish community, but Gallio treats it as a matter for intra-sectarian discipline. By the time of Pliny, Roman magistrates have a clear sense of Christians as distinct from Jews – a change which almost certainly goes back to the Neronian persecution in 64 CE. (2) For Pliny, the demographic profile of Christianity is broader than it is in Acts: “Persons of all ranks and ages, and of both sexes are, and will be, involved in the prosecutions. For this contagious superstition is not confined to the cities only, but has spread through the villages and rural districts” (Ep. 10.96). Within the narrative world of Acts, Christianity can still be dismissed as a street-level nuisance, sparking riots among the urban poor and the migrant population, but no real threat to established civic religion (Acts 19.35– 36). Luke subtly implies that people of reason and intelligence, like Sergius Paulus (13.7) or the town clerk in Ephesus, will not be distracted by the brawling of the mob, but will evaluate Paul’s message on its merits. They may even (like Agrippa) find Paul’s message “almost persuasive” (Acts 26.28). By the time of Pliny, the superstitio is much more invasive and the threat to established civic religion much more real. (3) And finally, by the time of Pliny, Christians are freely identified as criminals. Neither Pliny nor Trajan is in any doubt that the nomen is rightly associated with flagitia (even though dispassionate investigation can find no evidence of them). The exact point at which this shift occurs is disputed, but de Ste Croix convincingly argues that the watershed is the persecution under Nero following the great fire of 64 CE. According to Tacitus (Ann. 15.44), “the Christians were picked on as scapegoats…because they were already believed by the populace to be capable of horrid crimes (flagitia): that is worth noticing…And once the first batch of Nero’s Christian victims had been condemned, whether on a charge of incendiarism or for a wider ‘complex of guilt,’ there would be nothing to prevent the magistrate conducting the trials…from condemning the rest on the charge familiar to us from the second century, of simply ‘being a Christian’ – a status which now necessarily involved, by definition, membership of an anti-social and potentially criminal conspiracy.”63 Where does this leave our examination of the case against Paul? Whenever Acts was written, Luke’s portrayal of Paul’s relationship with Roman authority creates a historically plausible “fit” for the dramatic date of the narrative in the reign of Claudius. Reading it against the Pliny correspondence throws into relief how much things have changed by the early second century. The defining framework is the process of cognitio, in which the governor relies on private prosecutions to bring cases to his attention: the Roman authorities at this date have no interest in pursuing or hunting out the devotees 63

De Ste Croix, “Why were the Early Christians Persecuted?” 8.

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of alien cults. Outside Palestine, the prosecutions arise from fear and rivalry among the urban poor and the migrant communities – and if the magistrates are feeling sufficiently confident, the case may well be dismissed. The nomen does not come into it: Paul is never accused of being a Christian, and (until he gets to Caesaraea) never has the chance to offer a reasoned apologia for his position. Where legal action is taken, the most prominent accusation is that of causing tarachos, tumult or sedition, a charge which would be taken very seriously by local magistrates (and one, incidentally, that Paul takes care to deny when he finally appears before Felix: Acts 24.12, 18). Mud sticks, however – and the Acts narrative raises the spectre of other accusations (disorder, disloyalty, illegal association, atheism) that will haunt Roman-Christian relations for generations to come. And once Nero had singled out Christians (as distinct from Jews) for punitive action in 64 CE, those flagitia would be all the more likely to cohaerere, to stick to the name. Whether or not Nero actually executed Paul, his persecution must have made it much harder for Paul to duck under the radar and continue his mission (in Spain or anywhere else) with the relative freedom that had been possible under Claudius.

Paul and the Roman Authorities Agustí Borrell

Professor Loveday Alexander has accurately described the many conflicts in which Paul was involved, his complex relations with the authorities, and the various accusations brought against him. More specifically, she has examined the four most obvious examples in the Acts of the Apostles in light of the law and practice of the Roman era. Her well-documented presentation has set out the elements necessary for a knowledge of the historical and legal framework that gives us an understanding of some of the difficulties Paul and the early Christians had with the rulers of the Roman Empire.1 Alexander has focused particular attention on the actions of the authorities against Paul. My intention in this paper is to observe instead the attitude and the reaction of Paul himself in the face of the accusations and persecutions that he suffered. What was the reaction of Paul to the Roman authorities?

A. The Troubles Endured by Paul according to Luke A quick review of Acts shows that Paul is engaged almost continuously in some kind of conflict. As Alexander has pointed out, a dispassionate reader of Luke’s narrative would observe that riots and disputes seem to follow Paul wherever he goes. However, we must also be careful to notice that, in fact, Paul has no direct conflict with the Roman authorities. Paul’s problems are mostly with Jewish communities and leaders, who often bring accusations against him to the Roman authorities. At least, that is the picture that Luke depicts in the Acts of the Apostles. In the same way that the gospels tend to place the responsibility for the death of Jesus on the Jews and to exonerate the Romans, Luke offers a similar portrait of the difficulties Paul had with the authorities. While there may be in this perspective a desire to obtain the sympathy of the Roman world towards the Christians, we must not underestimate the historical reliability of the data or the image of Paul presented by Luke.

1

See the essay by Alexander in this volume.

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Let us recall briefly the main episodes in which there is some kind of conflict between Paul and the Roman authorities, as presented in the Acts of the Apostles: (1) The first contact of Paul with the Roman authorities occurs in Cyprus (Acts 13.4–11). In this case, the controversy is as yet very moderate: Sergius Paulus, the proconsul of the island, who is described as “an intelligent man,” calls Paul and Barnabas with the desire to hear the word of God. The magician Elymas wants to draw the proconsul away from the preaching of Paul, but he becomes blind following the words of the apostle. Seeing this, Sergius Paulus accepts the preaching of Paul and believes. A pattern begins to appear: Paul preaches the gospel, local rivals create trouble, and both sides appeal to intelligent Romans to resolve the dispute. (2) At Antioch in Pisidia (Acts 13.13–52), Luke attributes to the jealousy of the Jews their radical opposition against Paul, which ends with the expulsion of the apostle from the city. Without paying direct attention to the role of the authorities, Luke mentions nevertheless the presence of “the prominent men (hoi protoi) of the city” (Acts 13.50). (3) In Philippi (Acts 16.16–40), Paul exorcises a slave girl possessed by a spirit that allows her to foretell the future. The owners of the girl, seeing that their hope of profit was gone, seized Paul and Silas and dragged them into the marketplace, before the authorities of the city (Acts 16.19). They accuse them of being Jews who have preached customs that are not lawful for the Romans (Acts 16.20–21). The magistrates (strategoi) order them to be beaten with rods and throw them into prison. When Paul is released by miraculous intervention, he complains about receiving such treatment, since he is a Roman citizen; the magistrates are afraid and apologize. (4) In Thessalonica (Acts 17.1–8), the Jews try to take Paul and Silas before the assembly of the people. As this is not possible, they drag Jason, who had given them hospitality in his home, to the city officials (politarchai), and accuse them all of acting against the decrees of Caesar because they speak of Jesus as king. The judges require a payment from Jason. Given the danger that this situation represents for him, Paul goes on by night to Berea (Acts 17.10). (5) In Corinth (Acts 18.1–17), the Jews again bring Paul to court, presided over in this case by the proconsul, the highest judicial authority of the Roman province. In the end, the proconsul Gallio refuses to judge the case, claiming that the dispute was about Jewish law and not about any crime or offence. (6) A new conflict occurs in Ephesus (Acts 19.23–40). This time the goldsmiths cause a huge riot because they see the preaching of Paul as a threat to their business of selling images of the goddess Artemis. The city clerk (grammateus) recommends that the allegations be submitted through the established channels, and in this way he succeeds in calming the crowd. Paul is not arrested or brought before the authorities.

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(7) In Jerusalem (Acts 21.15–24.27), the Jews seize Paul and drag him out of the temple in order to kill him. The commanding officer (chiliarchos) intervenes and arrests Paul. Paul identifies himself as a Roman citizen. The Jews are still trying to kill him and, in fact, he is saved by the commander, who orders to bring him to Felix, the governor (hêgemôn) of Caesarea. When the governor Porcius Festus replaces Felix, Paul is accused by the Jews, but he appeals to Caesar, and Festus sends him to Rome (Acts 25.1–26.32). Once there, he is allowed to live by himself, guarded by a soldier (Acts 28.16). In all of these cases, there is never an initiative on the part of the Roman authorities against Paul. Paul is always arrested and judged at the behest of others, whether Jews or people whose interests are affected by his apostolic activity (the owners of the slave girl in Philippi or the goldsmiths of Ephesus). Luke, in fact, always acknowledges a positive attitude on the part of the authorities towards Paul. Among other reasons, the Roman authorities respect the rights of Paul because he is a Roman citizen. In addition, all the Roman authorities declare in one way or another the innocence of Paul. This is the case, for example, of the proconsul Gallio (Acts 18.14–15), the commander Claudius Lysias (Acts 23.29), and the governor Festus (Acts 25.18, 25; 26.31). 1. The Decree of Claudius Before focusing on the Pauline texts, it is worth remembering something important that Luke mentions in the Acts of the Apostles, namely, the famous decree of Claudius, which expelled the Jews from Rome. Christianity was born within Judaism. The Romans initially applied the same criteria to the Christians as to the Jews, from whom they were not yet clearly distinguished. Seen from the outside, Christians appeared as a Jewish group similar to others. So, in the beginning, they were tolerated and respected by the imperial authorities. As Tellbe notes, “Luke’s account of the early church in Acts shows that the Christians regularly appropriated the sociopolitical advantages that accompanied Jewish identity.”2 In the times of the missionary activity of Paul, and until the last years of his life, the Jews continued to be respected by the Roman Empire, although certainly the conflictual situation in Judea influenced the relations between Roman authorities and Jews throughout the empire, and perhaps especially in Rome. The tension was growing, and ultimately led to the Jewish war and the destruction of Jerusalem in 70 CE.

2 M. Tellbe, Paul between Synagogue and State. Christians, Jews, and Civic Authorities in 1 Thessalonians, Romans, and Philippians (Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell, 2001), 280.

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At the same time, it is also true that the Jewish communities tried to distance themselves from Christian groups, both for religious reasons and for fear of being identified with movements that could be or appear to be subversive. In this context, the Emperor Claudius signed a decree expelling the Jews from Rome, probably in 49 CE.3 Suetonius, some hundred years later, says that the riots had to do with Chrestus, a word that some scholars relate to Christ or Christians:4 “Iudaeos impulsore Chresto assidue tumultuantes Roma expulit” (Claud. 25.4; cf. Cassius Dio, Hist. Rom. 60.6.6). According to Lane, there were in Rome at that time probably a dozen synagogues, and the decree was aimed at only one or two of them: “In all probability the decree of expulsion was directed against the members of one or two specific synagogues, who would have been forced to leave the city until there was a guarantee of no further disturbances.”5 The decree refers probably to the Christians: “Chrestus is almost certainly evidence for the presence of Christians within the Jewish community of Rome.”6 According to Lane, the controversy between the heads of the Jewish communities as a result of the preaching of the Christian message to the Hellenistic Jews caused the intervention of the imperial authorities. The presence of the Jewish Christians Aquila and Priscilla among those who had to leave Rome (Acts 18.2) may serve as a confirmation that the decree is related to the arrival of Christianity to Rome. Their subsequent return to Rome (cf. Rom 16.3) indicates that it was a circumstantial measure and that there did not exist a systematic persecution against Christians, nor probably any interdiction on the part of the authorities, who acted only when there was a threat of riots. The earliest core of the Christian community of Rome was composed of Jewish people. By the time Paul wrote his letter to the Romans, the community was made up of people mainly of pagan origin.7 This change may have also influenced the attitude of the authorities towards the Roman Christians, who are increasingly viewed as a group distinct from Judaism, and to whom, therefore, privileges or agreements between Jewish and Roman authorities no

3 Some put the decree in 42 CE; cf. J.W. Ermatinger, Daily Life of Christians in Ancient Rome (Westport: Greenwood Press, 2007), 65. 4 Ermatinger, Daily Life, 64. 5 W.L. Lane, “Social Perspectives on Roman Christianity during the Formative Years from Nero to Nerva: Romans, Hebrews, 1 Clement,” in K.P. Donfried and P. Richardson (eds.), Judaism and Christianity in First-Century Rome (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998), 204. 6 Lane, "Social Perspectives," 205. 7 Lane, "Social Perspectives," 214.

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longer apply. Moreover, as Tellbe notes, “There are no indications of open conflicts between the Jewish community and the Roman house churches at the time Paul wrote Romans.”8

B. Paul’s Attitude towards the Authorities In Paul’s letters we can find complaints and accusations because of the persecution he and his communities suffer from some of the Jews. In this regard, the major controversy appears in First Thessalonians, where Paul speaks of the Jews as those “who killed both the Lord Jesus and the prophets and persecuted us severely” (1 Thess 2.15). Paul is explicit in attributing to the Jews some of the persecution and ill-treatment he has received: “Five times I received from the Jews forty lashes less one” (2 Cor 11.24). However, Paul never makes explicit reference to the persecution by the Roman authorities, although some of the difficulties he had suffered may have come from them: “…in dangers from my own countrymen, in dangers from Gentiles” (2 Cor 11.26). As Wilckens notes, Paul does not say in any of his letters that abuses of the Roman administration are included in his numerous difficulties as a missionary.9 When Paul speaks of his captivities, he gives no details that might indicate any reproach by the Roman authorities. In Philippians, for example, it is clear that Paul is in a Roman prison, as is evident from the mention of the “praetorium” (Phil 1.13), whether the term refers to the building where he is jailed or to the imperial guards. Paul is at risk of being sentenced to death, but the reason for the detention is not specified. The apostle says only that he is in prison “for the sake of Christ.” In Ephesians he is also defined as “the prisoner of Christ Jesus for the sake of you Gentiles” (Eph 3.1), and in Philemon he again appears as a “prisoner for the sake of Christ Jesus” (Phlm 9), and he speaks of his “imprisonment for the sake of the gospel” (Phlm 13). Paul does not regret his prisoner status. Instead, he affirms that he uses this situation to continue his apostolic testimony. In Philippians he says, “my situation has actually turned out to advance the gospel” (Phl 1.12). 1. Criticism of the Roman Empire? Some authors see in Paul’s letters a number of implicit reproaches against the Roman Empire. Thus, Tellbe interprets the reference in First Thessalonians to a supposed situation of “peace and security” (1 Thess 5.3) as a warning 8

Tellbe, Paul between Synagogue and State, 282. U. Wilckens, La Carta a los Romanos (2nd vol.; Salamanca: Sígueme, 1992), 373; German: Der Brief an die Römer (Zürich: Benziger, 1982). 9

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against the Roman Empire: “Paul warns the Thessalonians not to put their trust in the false pretensions of the Roman ideology and propaganda.”10 In any case, we should also note that in the same letter Paul exhorts Christians to live in peace in the social context in which they are (1 Thess 4.11–12). In Philippians, which was addressed to a community living in a heavily Roman environment, Paul affirms that Christians have their citizenship (politeuma) in heaven, and that they await a saviour from there, the Lord Jesus Christ (Phil 3.20). He also encourages the Philippians to live as citizens (politeuesthe) of the gospel (Phil 1.27). Some scholars interpret this as an approach that is critical of the Roman Empire, and think that Paul establishes a contrast between the imperial citizenship and the heavenly citizenship, and also between the Roman emperor and Jesus as Lord and Saviour.11 Carter goes on to say that Paul is asking those who are Roman citizens to renounce this condition, as Christ also disowned his condition and became slave.12 In this sense, Paul often speaks of Christ as “Lord” (1 Cor 8.6; 12.5, etc.). It is true that this title was applied in the Roman world to the emperor, but it is an exaggeration to say that the Pauline use “is an indication of a direct questioning of the gospel of Caesar.”13 The Pauline usage has more to do with the biblical tradition that used the title as equivalent to the name of God. The same can be said of the title “saviour” (sôtêr), which Paul applies to Jesus (Phil 3.20), and that in the Roman world was related to the emperor: the idea of salvation and of a saviour is so common in the biblical world that there is no need to appeal to other areas to find the background for the Pauline use of this vocabulary. Borg and Crossan go so far as to affirm that the mere mention of Christ crucified is already a critique of Rome. According to them, the proclamation of “Christ crucified” indicated that Jesus was opposed to the Empire and that the gospel of Paul was likewise.14 For example, in the controversy of First Corinthians against “the wisdom of the world” (1 Cor 1.18–28), Paul would be referring specifically to the Roman imperial authority, which was responsible for the crucifixion of Jesus, and not Greek philosophy.15 Or, in Romans, where Paul says to Christians, “Do not be conformed to this present world” (Rom 12.2), he is referring to the world of the Roman Empire, with its belief 10

Tellbe, Paul between Synagogue and State, 284. W. Carter, El Imperio Romano y el Nuevo Testamento. Guía Básica (Estella: Verbo Divino, 2011), 95; ET: The Roman Empire and the New Testament. An Essential Guide (Nashville: Abingdon, 2006). 12 Carter, El Imperio Romano y el Nuevo Testamento, 95–96. 13 Carter, El Imperio Romano y el Nuevo Testamento, 130. 14 M.J. Borg and J.D. Crossan, El primer Pablo. La recuperación de un visionario radical (Estella: Verbo Divino, 2009), 140; ET: The First Paul. Reclaiming the Radical Visionary Behind the Church's Conservative Icon (New York: HarperCollins, 2009) 15 Borg and Crossan, El primer Pablo, 141–43. 11

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of dominion, injustice, violence, and division.16 Furthermore, the negative portrayal of the pagan world in Romans 1.18–32 is interpreted by these scholars as a rejection of the Roman Empire and its authorities.17 Mention can also be made of the hypothesis of R.J. Cassidy.18 In his opinion, Philippians, written from a Roman prison in the time of Nero, shows a radical change of approach by Paul. The apostle, Cassidy says, had a favourable opinion about the Roman authorities, as shown in Romans 13, but he substantially changed his view during the time he was imprisoned in Rome. Cassidy thinks, for example, that the references in Philippians to Jesus as Lord and Saviour are to be seen in contrast to the desire of Nero to be acclaimed with these titles. Paul would thus intend to express the opposition between the sovereignty of Jesus and that of Nero and his allies. The Christological hymn (Phil 2.6–11), with its emphasis on the universal submission to Jesus, would confirm that the teaching of Paul in Philippians is a replacement of what he said in Romans 13.1–7.19 Nevertheless, while accepting that behind Pauline texts there may be an implicit criticism of the claims of the Roman Empire, it seems that this is not the main key to interpreting the texts of Paul. However, before attempting to clarify the Pauline approach to this issue, we should briefly recall another remarkable text. 2. Romans 13 In the study of the attitude of Paul toward the Roman authorities, we cannot forget the famous and surprising text of Romans 13, which is notable for its very positive assessment of imperial authority.20 The fragment contains statements such as this: “Let every person be subject to the governing authorities. For there is no authority except by God’s appointment, and the authorities that exist have been instituted by God” (Rom 13.1). Paul apparently asks of the Christians of Rome a strong and uncritical submission to civil rulers, while appealing to the divine origin of authority.

16

Borg and Crossan, El primer Pablo, 148. Carter, El Imperio Romano y el Nuevo Testamento, 131. 18 R.J. Cassidy, Pablo encadenado. Cartas desde la prisión romana (Barcelona: Herder, 2004; ET: Paul in Chains. Roman Imprisonment and the Letters of St. Paul (New York: Crossroad, 2001). 19 Cassidy, Pablo encadenado, 233–70. 20 Although other hypotheses have been proposed, for example, that it concerns heavenly powers or even the heads of the synagogues, there seems to be no reason to doubt that Paul refers to Roman authorities. Cf. P.F. Esler, Conflicto e identidad en la Carta a los Romanos. El contexto social de la carta de Pablo (Estella: Verbo Divino, 2006), 451; ET: Conflict and Identity in Romans. The Social Setting of Paul's Letter (Minneapolis: Augsburg, 2003). Cf. also Wilckens, La Carta a los Romanos, 369. 17

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In fact, what Paul does in this passage is to exhort Christians to do good and avoid evil (Rom 13.3–4). The novelty here is that he adds to the argument the fear of authorities, who act against those who do evil. Furthermore, Paul urges submission to the authorities and fulfilment of civic duties towards them (Rom 13.1, 5, 7). However, the appeal to conscience (Rom 13.5) shows that it is not a purely political issue. Authors have proposed several hypotheses to explain Paul’s words, which can be summarized as these four: the concern that the Christian community in Rome have no conflict with the authorities, the belief in the nearness of the parousia, the familiarity of Paul with Jewish wisdom literature, and a hypothetical positive view of the Empire by Paul.21 It is likely that Paul’s position is determined by the specific circumstances in which he writes. It is possible that Paul wants to protect the Roman community from any conflict with the authorities, as he was aware of the recent history of the city of Rome and of the precarious situation in which the Christians remain as they are being separated from Judaism and losing the protection granted to Jewish communities.22 Esler thinks that Paul was asking the Roman Christians to be subject to the authorities because the idea that Christianity was a superstition had been spreading.23 Serious conflict between the Christians and the Roman authorities had not yet appeared: “In Rome, there were conflicts between Christians and their gentile neighbours but not yet between Christians and the governing authorities.”24 However, it is likely that Paul suspected that problems could soon appear, and he wants to avoid them: “Paul’s positive assessment of the political authorities in Rom. 13.1–7 indicates that the believers need to be safeguarded from any unnecessary conflicts with the State, which in this case concerned complaints regarding inflated taxation in Rome.”25 Paul’s approach, on the other hand, will have its continuation in later texts of the New Testament (1 Pet 2.13–17, Titus 3.1), to the extent that Wilckens can speak of a common rules of behaviour of early Christianity, although he excludes a literary dependence with respect to Romans 13.26

21 A good summary of the various hypotheses can be found in Cassidy, Pablo encadenado, 54–58. 22 Tellbe, Paul between Synagogue and State, 282. 23 Esler, Conflicto e identidad en la Carta a los Romanos, 453. 24 Tellbe, Paul between Synagogue and State, 286. 25 Tellbe, Paul between Synagogue and State, 282. 26 Wilckens, La Carta a los Romanos, 368.

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C. Christian Citizenship according to Paul Obviously, Paul does not propose an absolute submission of the faithful to the Roman authorities, nor to any other political institution. The only authority that really counts for him is God (cf. Rom 14.10–11). In fact, Romans 13 makes clear from the beginning that “there is no authority except from God” and that “the authorities that exist are appointed by God” (Rom 13.1). Based on the confession of God as the only Lord, Paul is able to articulate his thoughts on the subjection to human authorities, the power of which remains considerably relativized by faith in one God. Quite to the contrary, the universal sovereignty of God is not at all diminished by the existence of human authorities (1 Cor 8.5–6; 10.26). It is true that much of Paul’s criticism of the human powers, or of idolatry or of any kind of injustice and disorderly conduct, etc., can be applied to the Roman authorities. It is even likely that Paul has been inspired in his critical attitude by the authorities that he knows, most of whom were Roman. However, Paul’s concern is not at all to undertake a campaign to discredit the governing institutions in order to achieve a political change. Paul focuses his attention on the Christian faith, and puts human institutions on a secondary level. His concern is not directly political but religious. For him, everything is useful if it contributes to a life centred on Christ, and all that distracts from this is useless. As Tellbe puts it, “[Paul’s] distinctive Christological and eschatological perspective sets the ultimate agenda for how he evaluated the political structures.”27 The eschatological orientation of Paul certainly influences his approach: if the present shape of this world is passing away, any human reality has to be relativized (1 Cor 7.29–31). Certainly, Paul’s assessment of the behaviour of the Roman authorities cannot be positive. However, he never offers a specific judgement of this kind. His approach goes much further, and his critical view of thoughts and behaviours incompatible with Christian values is global, applicable to any person, group, or authority. In addition, his goal is not to discredit any institution, but rather to propose a new way of life, based on the gospel of Christ, in which he sees salvation, and all that is contrary to it becomes discredited, explicitly or implicitly. Moreover, it should be emphasized that Paul looks at the relationship with the authorities from the point of view of the believers. He does not judge the behaviour of the authorities. On the other hand, he does not seek to offer a Christian theory of the State.28 Paul indicates how Christians should be situated in relation to the authorities in order to live without harmful and 27 28

Tellbe, Paul between Synagogue and State, 291. Wilckens, La Carta a los Romanos, 379.

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unnecessary conflicts. As usual in his approaches, Paul does not care to judge “those outside” (1 Cor 5.12; cf. 1 Thess 4.12; Col 4.5), but he wants always to give guidance to the members of his own communities. Roman authorities are not a model to be imitated, and Paul would not present them this way. Nevertheless, the direct concern of the apostle is not to change or improve the socio-political structures, but rather to lead people to the knowledge of Christ and to obtain the transformation of the hearts and of the behaviour of the believers. Without this premise, a true transformation of social structures would not be useful. Paul does not suggest any kind of violence by the Christians against the Roman Empire, or against anyone else. Nor does he praise Roman authorities or the way they act. He asks the Christians to live without confronting the authorities, and to recognize in the existing sociopolitical circumstances a good opportunity to respond to the will of God. Paul does not even condemn enemies: he urges Christians to act always with mercy towards them, and to overcome evil with good – for example, in the passage immediately preceding Romans 13, he encourages Christians to pray for their opponents: “Bless those who persecute you, bless and do not curse” (Rom 12.14). The goal of Christians is to live right now as citizens of heaven (Phil 3.20), with Christ as the only Lord. However, this must be done in the social and political context in which they actually find themselves. At the time Paul wrote, the context was that of the Roman Empire. Properly speaking, Paul does not offer heavenly citizenship to Christians as an alternative to Roman citizenship, but as the fundamental identity that characterizes them, an identity that they must live out in the specific circumstances of the moment. As Carter explains, Paul urges his communities not to disdain public affairs, nor to use violent means to overthrow the Empire; instead, he helps them to face public contexts and imperial claims in a way that permits them to remain faithful to God’s plan for the world.29

D. Conclusion According to Professor Alexander, Luke’s portrayal of Paul’s relationship with Roman authority creates a historically plausible fit for the dramatic date of the narrative in the reign of Claudius. Things obviously had changed a lot by the early second century.

29

Carter, El Imperio Romano y el Nuevo Testamento, 129.

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Probably the same can be said of Paul’s letters, written during the reign of Claudius and the early part of the reign of Nero. They reflect Paul’s personal experience in his relationship with the Roman authorities. Although he has had to defend himself in court, and has been jailed and flogged repeatedly, he does not criticize the Roman authorities or the way they act. Paul devotes his attention to Christian life. What matters for him is that believers keep their faith in Christ and behave consistently with this faith, whatever the social and political context in which they live. It is Paul’s conviction that it is possible to be a Christian in all circumstances. He thus asks his communities to have a peaceful and respectful behaviour towards the authorities, without judging whether they behave correctly or not. From the historical point of view, the question is whether Paul could keep this attitude up until the end. Would, perhaps, the events related to the burning of Rome and the reaction of Nero against the Christians, or the outcome of the trial against the apostle himself lead him to a change of view? This is a question for which the data available in the New Testament do not allow an answer, and for which other contributions to this volume may provide some light.

The Roman Trial Against Paul according to Acts 21–261 Heike Omerzu

Acts 21–26 recounts Paul’s trial before the Roman tribunal in Palestine. There are two major difficulties involved in reconstructing the course of events and details of this trial. One is related to the fact that the proceedings are attested to by the canonical Acts of the Apostles, but neither by Paul himself2 nor by other sources.3 The reliability of the Lukan account is, in addition, highly disputed, especially within biblical studies.4 A second challenge regarding Paul’s Roman trial is that, seemingly, some of its juridical features cannot be corroborated by non-biblical sources. This pertains especially to the procedure of Paul’s appeal to Caesar in Acts 25.10–11, which therefore has often been regarded as either an extraordinary5 or unhistorical6 incident. Closely related to 1 This is a revised and extended version of my contribution, “Der Prozess des Paulus,” in F.W. Horn (ed.), Paulus Handbuch (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2013), 119–24. 2 This is the case even if one locates Philippians in Rome, i.e., in the period after Paul’s potential appeal to Caesar. Philippians was obviously written under Roman captivity (cf. Phil 1.13), but this does not permit conclusions regarding the particular juridical circumstances or proceedings. For a more detailed discussion, see my forthcoming article, “Paulus und die römische Rechtsordnung im Spiegel des Philipperbriefes,” in J. Frey and B. Schließer (eds.), Der Philipperbrief des Paulus in der hellenistisch-römischen Welt (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2014). 3 Acts of Paul 11 describes the persecution of Paul by Nero in Rome, but the Apocryphal Acts mention neither his Roman trial in Palestine nor his appeal to Caesar. 4 For discussion, see J. Roloff, Die Apostelgeschichte (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1981), 6–10; J.A. Fitzmyer, The Acts of the Apostles (New York: Doubleday, 1998), 124–28; R.I. Pervo, Acts: A Commentary (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2009), 14–18; J. Frey, “Fragen um Lukas als ‘Historiker’ und den historiographischen Charakter der Apostelgeschichte: Eine thematische Annäherung,” in J. Frey, C.K. Rothschild, and J. Schröter (eds.), Die Apostelgeschichte im Kontext antiker und frühchristlicher Historiographie (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2009), 1–26, at 4–11. 5 E.g. T. Mommsen, “Die Rechtsverhältnisse des Apostels Paulus,” ZNW 2 (1901): 81–96; W. Litewski, “Die römische Appellation in Zivilsachen (Ein Abriß) I. Principat,” ANRW 2.14 (1982): 60–96. 6 E.g. W. Stegemann, “War der Apostel Paulus ein römischer Bürger?” ZNW 78 (1987): 200–29, at 212–13; W. Schmithals, Die Apostelgeschichte des Lukas (Zürich: TVZ, 1982), 219; K.L. Noethlichs, “Der Jude Paulus – ein Tarser und Römer?” in R. von Haehling (ed.), Rom und das himmlische Jerusalem: Die frühen Christen zwischen

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both issues is the question of the reliability of Luke’s reference to Paul’s Roman citizenship (cf. Acts 16.37–38; 22.22–29), and whether this was the legal premise for Paul’s transferral to Rome.7 Methodologically, one must therefore distinguish between the Lukan portrayal of the proceedings8 and the reconstruction of the historical trial9 of St. Paul. This demands a thorough analysis of Roman law and action in the first century CE. The major difficulty in this respect is that the Republican law in the early Imperial period was no longer operative, whereas the Corpus Juris Civilis, as codified by Justinian in the sixth century CE, did not yet exist, let alone had come into effect.10

A. Paul’s Accusation and Arrest (Acts 21.27–22.29) Both Paul and Luke mention that the apostle Paul had already been incriminated (cf., e.g., Phil 1.7, 13; Acts 16.19–22; 17.5–9; 18.12–17) and detained (cf. 2 Cor 6.5; 11.23; Acts 16.23–40) before his arrest in Jerusalem. While Paul himself does not provide any particulars regarding the reason for these conflicts, they are, according to Acts, connected to turmoil caused by Paul’s missionary speeches.11 The arrest in Acts 21.28 is, however, ascribed to a particular event in the Jerusalem Temple. Jews from Asia Minor accused Paul not only of teaching all men everywhere (πάντας πανταχῇ) against the Jewish Anpassung und Ablehnung (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2000), 53– 84, at 78–79. 7 On the latter, see Pervo, Acts, 612: “Discussions of appeal take their basis in the right of Roman citizens, but Acts does not introduce Paul’s claim to Roman citizenship here (i.e., in Acts 25.1–12). Perhaps the franchise is to be inferred from 23:27, but it is difficult to understand why the narrator does not have Paul say, ‘I am a Roman! I appeal to Caesar.’ Paul grounds his appeal on his standing as one on trial in a Roman court rather than on his status.” 8 For further reading, see, e.g., W. Radl, Paulus und Jesus im lukanischen Doppelwerk: Untersuchungen zu Parallelmotiven im Lukasevangelium und in der Apostelgeschichte (Frankfurt: Peter Lang, 1975); B.M. Rapske, The Book of Acts and Paul in Roman Custody, Vol. 3: The Book of Acts in Its First Century Setting (ed. B.W. Winter; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1994); M.-E. Rosenblatt, Paul the Accused: His Portrait in the Acts of the Apostles (Collegeville: Michael Glazier Books, 1995); M.L. Skinner, Locating Paul: Places of Custody as Narrative Settings in Acts 21–28 (Atlanta: SBL, 2003); E. Heusler, Kapitalprozesse im lukanischen Doppelwerk: Die Verfahren gegen Jesus und Paulus in exegetischer und rechtshistorischer Analyse (Münster: Aschendorff, 2000). 9 See e.g. H.W. Tajra, The Trial of St. Paul: A Juridical Exegesis of the Second Half of the Acts of the Apostles (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1989); H. Omerzu, Der Prozeß des Paulus: Eine exegetische und rechtshistorische Untersuchung der Apostelgeschichte (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2002). 10 Omerzu, Prozeß, 83, 107–09, etc. 11 Omerzu, Prozeß, 111–274; cf. also L. Alexander’s contribution in this volume.

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people, the law, and the temple, but also of having introduced Greeks into the temple and thereby profaning it. The omniscient narrator characterizes this last accusation as mere speculation. He claims that the belief that Paul took a non-Jew beyond the stone balustrade between the outer and inner court was simply based on the fact that his opponents had earlier seen Paul together with the Ephesian Trophimus (21.29). Yet, as a result of the allegations, a crowd rose, seized Paul, and dragged him out of the inner temple area, after which the doors were immediately shut. They sought to kill Paul, but the tribune of the cohort was informed about the uproar and interfered (21.30–32). Regarding the charge of taking non-Jews into the inner temple, there is epigraphic as well as literary evidence that foreigners were prohibited under penalty of death to enter the second court of Herod’s temple. There exist two almost identical copies of a slab originally located at the barrier to the court of women to warn potential trespassers, which read as follows: “No foreigner is to enter within the forecourt and the balustrade around the sanctuary. Whoever is caught will have himself to blame for his subsequent death.”12 This provision is basically affirmed by Josephus, Philo, and the Mishna.13 According to Josephus (B.J. 6.126), the Jews even had the right to kill the trespassers if they were Romans,14 and there is no obvious reason why Josephus should be apologetic here. It also seems likely that, under the Roman rule over Judea, it was the Jewish authorities who were in charge of prosecuting a transgression of the balustrade inscriptions, although they were probably not allowed to enforce the capital punishment themselves.15 12

OGIS 2.598; CII 2.1400; translation after P. Segal, “The Penalty of the Warning Inscription from the Temple of Jerusalem,” IEJ 39 (1989): 79–84; cf. also Omerzu, Prozeß, 336–55. 13 Josephus, C.Ap. 2.103; B.J. 5.193–94; 6.124–26; A.J. 15.417; Philo, Legat. 212; m. Kelim 1.8c. The inscriptions read ἀλλογενής for the trespasser while Josephus uses the terms alienigena, ἀλλόφυλος, or ἀλλοεθνής. Philo describes the transgressors as οὐχ ὁµοεθνεῖς and the Mishna refers to them as ‫ ְט בוּל יוֹם‬. For a detailed discussion of whether these regulations refer to ritual (im)purity or (non-Jewish) descent, see S. Krauter, Bürgerrecht und Kultteilnahme: Politische und kultische Rechte und Pflichten in griechischen Poleis, Rom und antikem Judentum (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2004), 144–92. He concludes with a non liquet: “Wer genau die Ausgeschlossenen sind und warum sie keinen Zutritt haben, wird durch die Verwendung des vieldeutigen Wortes ἀλλογενής in der Schwebe gelassen” (192). However, taking all the evidence into account, it seems more likely to me that the balustrades in the Herodian temple were aimed at non-Jews. Cf. also Krauter, Bürgerrecht, 192: “Die Quellenlage deutet vielmehr darauf hin, daß der Ausschluß von Fremden vom Tempelareal eine späte Entwicklung ist und die Regelungen aus unterschiedlichen Gründen im Laufe der Zeit verschärft wurden.” 14 Against Noethlichs, “Jude”, 78. 15 K. Müller, “Sanhedrin/Synhedrium,” TRE (1999): 30.32–42, at 36–37; Omerzu, Prozeß, 345–52. For a different view, see H. Schwier, Tempel und Tempelzerstörung: Untersuchungen zu den theologischen und ideologischen Faktoren im ersten jüdischrömischen Krieg (66–74 n.Chr.) (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1989), 61.

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As the charge of temple profanation does not correspond with Luke’s general bias towards the portrayal of Paul as a law-abiding Jew, it might in essence reflect the historical reason for his arrest. According to Richard Pervo, “[t]he charge…is so heinous that it could contain a grain of truth.”16 He argues that “in response to a rejection of the collection, Paul staged a symbolic ‘liberation’ of the place by demanding that he and his gentile converts be admitted.”17 Similarly, Friedrich Wilhelm Horn argues in this volume that Paul was about to, or was willing to, lead Gentile Christians into the inner courts of the temple, not as an act of provocation but because he regarded the mission to the Gentiles as his priestly service and the Gentile Christians as acceptable sacrifices to God (cf. Rom 15.16). “I think, therefore, that Paul in Rom 15, while preparing his departure to Jerusalem, had developed a conception of linking his Gentile Christian companions to the Temple in a positive way, and even to the Temple’s inner courts reserved for sacrificial acts.”18 Both explanations are in stark contrast to Luke’s account of the events because, according to Acts 21.18–26, Paul visited the temple to demonstrate, of all things, his piety in order to refute rumours about the anti-Jewish nature of his mission. Keeping in mind that, according to Rom 15.31, Paul was afraid that the handing over of the collection (cf. 1 Cor 16.1–4; 2 Cor 8–9; Rom 15.25–26) might fail, it seems possible that the real motive for Paul’s visit to the temple was an agreement between him and the early community in Jerusalem that aimed at facilitating the acceptance of the collection.19 Paul’s arrest, however, led to the failure of the transfer, which may explain why Luke nowhere explicitly mentions the collection (apart from perhaps in 24.17, where Paul explains that bringing alms to his nation is one reason for his visit to Jerusalem). But why was Paul then accused and eventually arrested? To my mind, it happened either because of a misunderstanding or defamation. The behaviour of the mob described in Acts 21.27–31 is in keeping with that of crowds throughout antiquity.20 According to Luke, the turmoil was caused by some Jews from Asia Minor who seemingly could not imagine that Paul would enter the temple without the intention to defile it (21.29). It is peculiar that the opponents are designated as Jews “from Asia” (οἱ ἀπὸ τῆς Ἀσίας Ἰουδαῖοι), Schwier argues that the Jews could impose the death penalty as a legally accepted form of community justice (Gemeinschaftsjustiz). 16 Pervo, Acts, 550. 17 Pervo, Acts, 550. Pervo himself concedes that this is not a hypothesis “on which one can build.” 18 See page 210 of this volume. 19 F.W. Horn, “Paulus, das Nasiräat und die Nasiräer,” NovT 39 (1997): 117–37, at 134 n.64; Omerzu, Prozeß, 289–308. 20 See Pervo, Acts, 551 n.12 for examples of uproars in temple areas from both Jewish and Graeco-Roman literature.

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and I have previously brought forward the hypothesis that the final conflict in Jerusalem was rooted in Paul’s earlier missionary activity in Ephesus.21 In my view, Luke conceals a serious disagreement between Paul and fellow Jews in the capital of Asia, which culminated in a longer prison stay during which the apostle probably wrote the epistles to the Philippians and to Philemon.22 It is these Jewish adversaries that followed Paul to Jerusalem. Their accusation in 21.28 that Paul brought a non-Jew into the inner temple might have been generally stimulated by the fact that he was known for associating with Gentiles. This is illustrated by the narrator’s remark in 21.29 that Paul had only recently been seen in the company of the Ephesian Trophimus. Luke most likely identifies this person with Trophimus of Asia, whom he introduces in 20.4 as a member of the group of delegates delivering the collection23 but who is not mentioned anywhere else in Acts. A key indication that the charge of temple profanation was unjustified or fabricated is the fact that the plaintiffs at no stage identify Paul’s alleged companion or any eyewitnesses to the incident.24 Moreover, the accusation is in the course of the trial modified to an attempted profanation (Acts 24.6: καὶ τὸ ἱερὸν ἐπείρασεν βεβηλῶσαι), and this religious offence is merged with the undisputedly political delict of fomenting riot (24.5: τὸν ἄνδρα τοῦτον λοιµὸν καὶ κινοῦντα στ άσεις π ᾶσιν το ῖς Ἰουδαίοις το ῖς κατ ὰ τὴν ο ἰκουµένην πρωτοστάτην τε τῆς τῶν Ναζωραίων αἱρέσεως) of which the Roman officials were exclusively in charge.25 According to Acts 21.31–36, the tumult created by the allegations against Paul caused an intervention by the Romans responsible for maintaining law and order in the city of Jerusalem, including the temple precinct. The arrival of the tribune and his soldiers26 momentarily calmed the uproar. Paul was arrested and, as the violence rose again, taken to the barracks. As Luke depicts this scene, by taking Paul into custody, the commander of the cohort saved the apostle from the Jewish mob.27 From this point on to the end of the narrative, 21

Omerzu, Prozeß, 316–31; Omerzu, “Spurensuche: Apostelgeschichte und Paulusbriefe als Zeugnisse einer ephesischen Gefangenschaft des Paulus,” in Frey, Rothschild, and Schröter (eds.), Apostelgeschichte, 295–326, at 314–25. 22 I disagree with Pervo, Acts, 550–51, who argues that the arrest in Jerusalem is based on Acts 19.28–40 and that the larger narrative pattern is the same as in Acts 6.8– 8.2. 23 Omerzu, Prozeß, 352–53. 24 Pervo, Acts, 569 rightly notes: “Among the potential witnesses in his behalf will be James and those with whom he undertook the vow.” 25 Omerzu, Prozeß, 355, 436–39. 26 On the scale of the military intervention, see Pervo, Acts, 552 n.26: “The size of the detachment, which included at least two centurions and the commandant (v. 32), implying at least two hundred men, suggests a major disturbance.” 27 Pervo, Acts, 551. I disagree, however, with Pervo’s conclusion that thereby “[t]he prophecy of 21:11 is more or less fulfilled,” because, unlike in Agabus’ prophecy, Paul is

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Paul remains under Roman arrest. Just before Paul is taken into the barracks, he reveals that he is a Jew and a citizen of Tarsus and requests to talk to the people. Paul’s address to the crowd in Acts 22.1–21 mainly recalls his conversion and culminates in the apostle’s call to the Gentiles at this very place, i.e., the temple in Jerusalem. Yet the speech does not address the charges brought against Paul and thus provides no information pertinent to the reconstruction of his Roman trial. When the mob rises again, the tribune Claudius Lysias (for the name, see 23.26) commands that Paul should be taken into the barracks and examined by scourging (22.24). But as he is about to be whipped, Paul invokes his Roman citizenship: “Just as they had stretched him out for the lash, Paul said to the centurion who stood by, ‘Is it lawful to flog a Roman citizen who has not been convicted (εἰ ἄνθρωπον Ῥωµαῖον καὶ ἀκατάκριτον ἔξεστιν ὑµῖν µαστίζειν;)?’” (22.25). This very claim by Paul recalls a Republican means of appeal, known as provocatio ad populum, that survived into the Imperial period in the form of the Lex Iulia de vi publica (cf. Dig. 48.6.7–8; Paul. sent. 5.26.1–2). Among other things, this law barred torture as a mere means of coercion, i.e., if it was not imposed as a sentence.28 Accordingly, in Acts 22.25, Paul places special emphasis on the lack of a verdict and complains earlier in the narrative, when about to be released from prison in Philippi (16.37): “They have beaten us in public, unconvicted men who are Roman citizens” (δείραντες ἡµᾶς δηµοσ ίᾳ ἀκατακρίτους, ἀνθρώπους Ῥωµαίους ὑπάρχοντας). It is obvious that the Lex Iulia de vi publica forms the legal background of both incidents. Even though it is likely that Luke embellished the episode in the barracks, it probably rests on a historical core involving Paul’s invocation of his Roman citizenship soon after his arrest in Jerusalem. This was the legal foundation for the subsequent procedure, not least Paul’s appeal to Caesar.29 It has often been doubted that Paul’s Jewish upbringing could have been compatible with his Roman citizenship,30 but there is literary as well as epigraphic evidence of

not tied by the Jews and then delivered to the Gentiles. He is under Roman custody right from the beginning. 28 On the legal aspects, see J. Bleicken, “provocatio,” PRE 23.2 (1959): 2444–463, at 2445–456; Bleicken, Senatsgericht und Kaisergericht: Eine Studie zur Entwicklung des Prozeßrechtes im frühen Prinzipat (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1962); A.W. Lintott, “Provocatio: From the Struggle of the Orders to the Principate,” ANRW 1.2 (1972): 226–67, at 235–62; Omerzu, Prozeß, 64–82. 29 For a different interpretation, see e.g. Stegemann, “Paulus,” 204–06; Noethlichs, “Jude,” 82. 30 Omerzu, Prozeß, 36–51.

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practising Jews who were Roman citizens.31 In Paul’s case, manumission from war captivity seems to me the most likely reason why his family was awarded the Roman citizenship. The same credibility applies to the main features of the trial described in Acts 23–26, namely, Paul’s imprisonment in Caesarea (Acts 23.35) and the fact that he encountered the Roman governors Felix (Acts 24) and Festus (Acts 25). In contrast, for the prosecution and defence speeches in particular we must rely on Luke’s narrative merits. They are hardly based on written records of the case, as has been suggested by, for instance, Bruce W. Winter and Ben Witherington.32 On the one hand, it is unlikely that extensive records of Paul’s case were compiled as he did not have high ranking status. If that had in fact been the case, it is, on the other hand, quite improbable that Luke could have obtained access to these documents.

B. Paul’s Interrogation by the Sanhedrin and his Transfer to Caesarea (Acts 22.30–23.35) From Acts 22.30 onward, the Sanhedrin supersedes the Jews from Asia Minor as Paul’s direct opponent. The Sanhedrin appears initially, in 23.1–10, as a magisterial board but from 24.1 onward as a prosecuting council. From a historical point of view, it must be doubted that the Sanhedrin had any official judicial role in the Roman trial against Paul, even though the temple, as the place of Paul’s alleged misdeed, was subject to the supervision of the Jewish high priest. The examination in 23.1–10, summoned by the military tribune Claudius Lysias, should therefore most probably be ascribed to Lukan redaction. Among other things, it serves to align Paul’s Roman trial with the trial against Jesus, especially his mocking and beating in Luke 22.63–71. In contrast, the fact that the Sanhedrin acts in the role of a private prosecutor, as is the case in Acts 24.1–9 and 25.5 (cf. also 24.19 regarding the absence of the initial plaintiffs), reflects the actual influence of Jewish representatives in the trial against Paul.33 The plot against Paul in Acts 23.12–35 that constitutes the remainder of this chapter has hardly a kernel of historical accuracy beyond the 31

See Omerzu, Prozeß, 32–33 and most recently S.A. Adams, “Paul the Roman citizen: Roman Citizenship in the Ancient World and its Importance for Understanding Acts 22:22-29,” in S.E. Porter (ed.), Paul: Jew, Greek, and Roman (Brill: Leiden, 2008), 309– 26. 32 For this position, see B.W. Winter, “Official Proceedings and the Forensic Speeches in Acts 24–26,” in The Book of Acts in Its Ancient Literary Setting, Vol 1: The Book of Acts in Its First Century Setting (eds. B.W. Winter and A.D. Clarke; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1993), 305–36; B.W. Witherington, The Acts of the Apostles: A SocioRhetorical Commentary (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998), 702. 33 Omerzu, Prozeß, 390–94, 449–51.

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fact that Paul was probably transferred from Jerusalem to Caesarea at an early stage of his trial. The dramatic events allow the tribune another occasion to rescue Paul from the hands of Jewish opponents.

C. The Hearings before Felix and Festus (Acts 24.1–25.12) Caesarea Maritima served in Paul’s days as the capital of the province of Judea and the official residence of the Roman governors. According to Acts 23.35, the governor resided in the former palace of Herod the Great, and this is also depicted as the very place where Paul was kept in custody during his stay in Caesarea.34 According to 24.1–9, the Jewish leaders – represented by the lawyer Tertullus – brought an official change against Paul soon after his arrival in Caesarea. As mentioned above, the earlier allegation that Paul tried to profane the temple (21.28) became even more merged with the political accusation that Paul was “found a plague (εὑροντες…λοιµόν), agitating among all the Jews throughout the world (καὶ κινοῦντα στ άσεις π ᾶσιν το ῖς Ἰουδαίοις τοῖς κατὰ τὴν οἰκουµένην), and a ringleader of the sect of the Nazarenes (πρωτοστάτην τε τῆς τῶν Ναζωραίων αἱρέσεως)” (Acts 24.5). As it employs terms such as στάσις or πρωτοστάτης, it is clearly aiming at an accusation of rebellion (seditio) which would have been highly relevant from the point of view of the governor of a notoriously turbulent province. However, according to Luke, the governor (and therefore the responsible judge), Antonius Felix, did not react by delivering a judgement but by delaying the proceedings for two years until the governor was removed. Paul was kept in custody but allowed to receive support from his friends. Felix was interested to hear the Christian message but, although he was frightened to learn about the coming judgment, he hoped to receive a bribe. Both the extension from religious to severe political charges and the negative characterisation of Antonius Felix seem reliable. At the very least, Luke’s presentation of the governor is fully in line with Tacitus’ and Josephus’ accounts of him.35 Under Felix’s successor, Porcius Festus, the proceedings were resumed (Acts 25.6–12) because of the initiative of a group of leading Jews (Acts 25.1–5). Their charges are summarized by Luke as being many, severe, and not to be substantiated (Acts 25.7), while Paul has the possibility to defend himself in direct speech, even though brief: “Neither regarding the law of the Jews, nor the temple, nor the emperor, have I offended (τι ἥµαρτον) in anything at all” (Acts 25.8). The focus of the narrative is thereby no longer on the prosecution and defence speeches, as the respective arguments are by now known to the reader, but rather the expectation of Festus’ assessment of 34 35

Rapske, Paul, 156–57, 170. Tacitus, Ann. 12.54; Hist. 5.9; Josephus, A.J. 20.160–81; B.J. 2.252–70.

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the case is raised. Yet, instead of rendering a judgment, in Acts 25.9, the governor suggests relocating the proceedings to Jerusalem by asking: “Are you willing to go up to Jerusalem and be tried there before me on these charges?” (θέλεις ε ἰς Ἱεροσόλυµα ἀναβὰς ἐκεῖ περὶ τούτων κριθ ῆναι ἐπ᾿ ἐµοῦ;). This brought about Paul’s appeal to Caesar, as related in Acts 25.10–11: I stand at Caesar’s tribunal, where I ought to be tried; to the Jews I have done no wrong, as you very well know. But if I have done wrong and have committed anything for which I deserve to die, I do not refuse to die; but if there is nothing in that of which they accuse me, no one can deliver me to them. I appeal to Caesar (Καίσαρα ἐπικαλοῦµαι).

As mentioned above, Paul’s appeal has often been considered to be unique because it was lodged before a verdict was rendered as well as orally and directly addressed to the emperor. It is usually supposed that appeals in the Imperial period were illegitimate in pending actions and that they had to comply with the appeal stages.36 Consequently, Luke’s account of Paul’s appeal to Caesar is either regarded as a special regulation of which we lack further examples (e.g., Theodor Mommsen),37 or as unhistorical (e.g., Walter Schmithals, Wolfgang Stegemann, Karl Leo Noethlichs, Richard Pervo).38 Yet, to my mind, neither explanation adequately takes into account the specific legal situation of the early Imperial era as a period of transition. Another difficulty which must be addressed is the fact that both in the Republican and in the Imperial era two different terms for appeals by a Roman citizen occur, appellatio and provocatio, which partly designate different scopes of protection.39

36

Dig. 49; Litewski, “Appellation”; Omerzu, Prozeß, 84–92. See e.g. T. Kipp, “Appellatio 1. Im Civilprocess,” PRE 2.1 (1895): 194–208, at 197; Mommsen, “Rechtsverhältnisse,” 95–96; A.H.M. Jones, “Imperial and Senatorial Jurisdiction in the Early Principate,” in Jones, Studies in Roman Government and Law (Oxford: Blackwell, 1960), 67–98, at 69; Litewski, “Appellation,” 68, 81. 38 Schmithals, Apostelgeschichte, 219; Stegemann, “Paulus,” 212–13; Noethlichs, “Paulus,” 79. P. Garnsey, “The Lex Iulia and Appeal under the Empire,” JRS 56 (1966): 167–89, at 182–85 and K. Haacker, “Zum Werdegang des Apostels Paulus. Biographische Daten und ihre theologische Relevanz,” ANRW 2 26.2 (1995), 815–938, 1924–933, at 837. These scholars suggest that Paul invoked a reiectio iudicii, i.e., that he rejected the judge. Pervo (Acts, 613) is more sceptical: “In sum, Paul may have been a citizen and he may have appealed, but the text of Acts does not provide sufficient clarity. The appeal functions, like the citizenship, as a literary device, and it may have been a (brilliant) authorial creation.” 39 Omerzu, Prozeß, 64–67, 83; Omerzu, “Fallstudie: Der Prozess des Paulus,” in K. Erlemann et al. (eds.), Neues Testament und Antike Kultur: Prolegomena – Quellen – Geschichte (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 2004), 247–52, at 247–48. 37

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D. Appellatio and Provocatio in Roman Law40 According to the Digests, a compendium of Roman law compiled under the Emperor Justinian in 530–533 CE and part of the Corpus Juris Civilis, the right of appeal to Caesar was bestowed on all Roman citizens. This right implied that every holder of Roman citizenship was allowed to appeal against a judgment by a lower court and demand that their case be transferred to the emperor’s tribunal in Rome. Dig. 49 meticulously determines the requirements for and procedures of an appeal,41 but the nature of the Digests – as an excerpt of the work of about 40 classical lawyers deriving from the first three centuries CE – must be taken into account when applying it to Paul’s trial. It must, for instance, be asked what exactly the ius appellationis involved in earlier periods of the Empire, i.e., under conditions that were both politically and legally different from Justinian’s time. Moreover, provocatio/provocare and appellatio/appellare are used as synonyms in the Digests, while the two terms designated different legal means under the Republic. Additionaly, the relation between the Republican claim and the Imperial right of appeal is disputed. The Republican appellatio ad tribunos and provocatio ad populum can be traced back to the plebeians’ striving for protection against the unjust exercise of magisterial authority during the Struggle of the Orders. While the plebeian tribune was exhorted to provide help (auxilium ferre) on the basis of his right of intervention (ius intercessionis),42 a provocatio was initially a verbal exclamation to draw the attention and thereby obtain the assistance of the plebs. After the Conflict of the Orders this instrument of empowerment was institutionalized by legal provisions banning the corporal punishment of Roman citizens, not in general but in cases without a preceding trial and verdict. Consecutive leges de provocatione43 granted Roman citizens a duly carried out trial and protection against coercion, i.e., magisterial arbitrariness.44 Unlike the older provocatio laws, the lex Iulia de vi publica,45 which was most likely issued by Augustus in 18/17 BCE, is only attested in the work of jurists of the second and third centuries CE. The text of the lex Iulia reflects a certain degree of adaption to later socio-political conditions,46 which makes it difficult to reconstruct the original version. However, the mere enactment of the lex 40

The following chapter is a slightly revised version of my encyclopedia entry “Appeal to Caesar,” EBR 2 (2009): 511–15. 41 Litewski, “Appellation”; Omerzu, Prozeß, 84–92. 42 See e.g. Livy, Hist. ii.55.4; viii.33.8; xlii.32.5–35.2. 43 E.g. lex Valeria: Livy, Hist. 10.9.3–6; leges Porciae: Livy, Hist. 10.9.4, Cicero, Rep. 2.54, Verr. 2.5.163; lex Sempronia: Cicero, Rab. Perd. 12, Plutarch, Ti. C. Gracch. 4.1. 44 See esp. Bleicken, “provocatio,” 2455–456. 45 Dig. 48.6.7–8; Paul. sent. 5.26.1–2. 46 Garnsey, “Lex Iulia.”

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Iulia under Augustus confirms a lasting interest in the protection of Roman citizens from arbitrary magisterial coercitio. It must be stressed, however, that both forms of appeal that originated in the Republican period, appellatio ad tribunos and provocatio ad populum, only had a cassatory, i.e., an annulling, effect and did not involve the revision of the original verdict.47 The appellatio ad Caesarem is, on the contrary, a reformatory legal means by which previous court decisions against Roman citizens could be revised.48 It is therefore most unlikely that the appeal to the emperor originates from either form of the Republican means of appeal, appellatio ad tribunos or provocatio ad populum,49 although, for instance, it has been suggested that the right of appeal derives from the tribunician authority of ius auxilii that was granted to Octavian in 30 BCE,50 on the basis of which he and subsequent emperors exerted the same authority as the plebeian tribunes.51 To my mind, it is more likely that the right of appeal to the emperor came into effect because of the generally altered power structures of the Imperial period, as will be illustrated below. The transition from the Republic to the Principate was, among many other things, characterised by significant changes to the judiciaries. The chief cause of this development was the privileged status of the emperor, both in political and legal respects, which was accompanied by a virtual disempowerment of the Senate. This particular constellation enabled the emperor to exert power and control over practically all spheres of the Roman state and society, including administration and jurisdiction. As a result, the delegation of imperial authority (imperium) to governors within the provinces (legati Augusti pro praetore), as well as the expansion of an extraordinary form of juridical proceedings (cognitio extra ordinem), in which the Roman magistrate was only a mandatory, i.e., an appointed agent of the emperor, resulted in the emergence of an entirely new form of appeal in the Imperial period. As the magisterial authority of the provincial governors was delegated solely from the emperor’s imperium, it was possible for their cases to be referred to the emperor’s court

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Against T. Mommsen, Römisches Strafrecht (Leipzig: Duncker & Humblot, 1899; repr. Graz: Akademische Druck- und Verlagsanstalt, 1955), 473–78; Jones, “Jurisdiction,” 69–77. 48 Dig. 49.1.1 pr; 2.2; 8.1.1. 49 Litewski, “Appellation,” 66; Bleicken, Senatsgericht, 126–31; Omerzu, Prozeß, 104. 50 Cassius Dio 51.19.6–7. 51 Jones, “Jurisdiction,” 94–96; F. Millar, The Emperor in the Roman World (31 BC – AD 337) (London: Duckworth, 1977), 509; Garnsey, “Lex Iulia,” 185–87; Lintott, “Provocatio,” 263–67.

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in Rome, either by one of the parties or by the magistrates themselves. The governors were not obliged to transfer criminal cases to Rome but it seems that they were more apt to do so if Roman citizens were involved.52 In 212 CE, all free inhabitants of the imperium Romanum became Roman citizens by means of the constitutio Antoniniana. This resulted in a de facto devaluation of the previously privileged civic rights. One consequence of this development was a rising number of appeal cases. It can therefore be assumed that in the early Imperial period, and thus also in Paul’s trial, many of the regulations regarding appeals that later became part of the Corpus Juris did not yet exist. It is likely that these regulations were successively enacted in response to practical needs.53 Hence, it can be assumed that the strict restriction of appeals to final judgements,54 as well as, for instance, the delegation of appeal cases and the formation of appeal stages55 were mainly aimed at setting limits on the steadily increasing number of appeals. The same applies to provisions for fines for appeals without a genuine cause.56 The hypothesis of a gradually developing system of regulations for appeals can be supported by evidence of less strict procedures in the early Imperial period. Cass. Dio 63.2.3 attests, for instance, that it was possible to appeal at any stage of a trial, rather than only after a judgement was rendered. Furthermore, incidents related by Tacitus and Cassius Dio indicate that appeals could, at least occasionally, also be addressed directly and orally to the emperor.57

E. Paul’s Appeal(s) To my mind, the canonical Acts of the Apostles demonstrate both forms of appeal, the Republican and the Imperial. According to Acts 16.37 and 22.25, Paul asserted his Roman citizenship twice when being interrogated under torture. Regardless of whether these narratives contain a historical core or not, they reflect the old provocatio ad populum which prohibited the scourging and torturing of Roman citizens and was still in effect in the Imperial period, as attested by the lex Iulia de vi publica. Accordingly, the Lukan Paul specifically complains about being tortured because he was uncondemned (ἀκατάκριτος). Luke may refer to cases of a violation of the ius provocationis 52

E.g., Pliny, Ep. 10.96.4; Tacitus, Hist. 4.13.1; Josephus, B.J. 3.398; Cassius Dio 67.16.2; cf. Garnsey, “Lex Iulia,” 180–82; Omerzu, Prozeß, 97–98. 53 Millar, Emperor, 509–14; Omerzu, Prozeß, 106–07. 54 See Dig. 49.5.2 for exceptions. 55 Dig. 49.1.21 pr.; Suetonius, Aug. 33.3. 56 Tacitus, Ann. 14.28; Paulus, sent. 5.33.1–8; Cod. justin. 7.62.6.4. 57 Tacitus, Ann. 16.8.3; Cassius Dio 59.8.5; 63.2.3. For further references, see Omerzu, Prozeß, 93–100.

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here, which are also known to have occurred from other sources.58 However, within the storyline, neither the Philippian magistrates in Acts 16 nor the military tribune Claudius Lysias in Acts 22 knew that the captive they had ordered to be flogged was a Roman citizen because Paul did not invoke his civil rights in time. Apart from this Republican form of appeal, Luke also employs the legal means that had developed in the Imperial era. Paul’s intercession in Acts 25.10–11 is an apt example of an appellatio ad Caesarem and it forms the climax of Paul’s Roman trial as narrated in Acts 21.27–26.32. Paul lodged his appeal after the governor Festus had suggested a change of venue from Caesarea to Jerusalem (25.9b: Do you wish to go up to Jerusalem and be tried there on these charges before me? [θέλεις εἰς Ἱεροσόλυµα ἀναβὰς ἐκεῖ περὶ τούτων κριθῆναι ἐπ᾿ ἐµοῦ;]). On the narrative level, this proposal by Festus, amongst other devices, should be read against the background of the leading Jews’ request that the governor send Paul back to Jerusalem because they planned to kill him in an ambush (25.3). This is clearly alluded to in the narrator’s remark in 25.9a that Festus, by his suggestion to relocate Paul, wanted to do the Jews a favour (25.9a: θέλων τοῖς Ἰουδαίοις χάριν καταθέσθαι). Luke thereby insinuates that Paul was driven to his appeal to the emperor because he feared to be referred to the Jewish tribunal, of which he expected a wrongful judgment. I do not claim that this plot reflects the historical circumstances of Paul’s trial, but Luke’s interpretation of it. I will return to this point. According to Acts 25.12, Festus granted Paul’s appeal after conferring with his council (τότε ὁ Φῆστος συλλαλήσας µετὰ τοῦ συµβουλίου ἀπεκρίθη) and ordered that the apostle be kept in custody until he could be sent to the emperor (25.21). It is obvious that this course of action does not accord with the regulations for appeals set out by the Digests because Paul’s appeal was made prior to a verdict by the governor and it was directly addressed to Caesar, not to an appeal court. As mentioned above, this has led to Paul’s case being regarded either as unhistorical or as a unique form of appeal.59 However, the examples mentioned above demonstrate that appeals were approached in a more flexible manner under the early Empire when compared with the strictly organised system preserved in the Digests. Therefore, I assume that Paul’s appeal in Acts 25.10–11 – on the narrative level – is an illustration of an appellatio ad Caesarem in the early Imperial period, before the right of appeal acquired the more systematic nature attested in the later juridical sources. Historically, however, it seems more probable to me that Paul did not lodge his appeal prior to a judgment but rather after Festus had sentenced him

58 See e.g. Cicero, Verr. 2.5.62–66; Josephus, B.J. 2.306–08; Cassius Dio 60.24; Plutarch, Caes. 29.2; Suetonius, Galb. 9.1; Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 5.1.44. 59 E.g. Mommsen, “Rechtsverhältnisse,” 95–96; Garnsey, “Lex Iulia,” 182–85.

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to death, most likely because of rioting (seditio).60 It might be for apologetic purposes that Luke concealed this, thereby avoiding casting a negative light on either the Romans or Paul.

F. Paul and Agrippa (Acts 25.13–26.32) To my mind, Paul’s encounter with the Jewish king Agrippa II has no historical foundation, but is probably a harmonisation with the trial of Jesus – more precisely, the examination by Pilate in Luke 23.6–12.61 At the same time, it fulfils Jesus’ prediction in Luke 21.12 that his followers will be brought before kings and governors (cf. Acts 9.15). Paul even almost succeeds in evangelizing the Jewish king (26.28). Finally, from the point of view of jurisprudence, the encounter serves to confirm for the last time, following Claudius Lysias in Acts 23.29, Festus in Acts 25.18, 25, and now from the Jewish king, Paul’s innocence.62 Agrippa and Festus agreed that Paul had done nothing that deserved death or even imprisonment (Acts 26.31). Agrippa’s final remark that Paul could have been released if he had not appealed to Caesar does not, however, have a juridical basis. Festus would still have had the right to release the culprit had he been convinced of his innocence, or Paul could have withdrawn his appeal.63

G. Concluding Remarks In my opinion, it is most probable that Festus immediately granted Paul’s appeal and transferred him to Rome. There, according to Acts 28.16–31, the apostle spent two years in prison, which may be a reliable piece of information. The end of the trial or the end of Paul is not related by Luke. If the appeal is historical, it seems probable to me that Nero confirmed Festus’ decision and Paul was thereafter executed. A release or a natural death seem less likely to me.64 60

Omerzu, Prozeß, 493–94. Acts 25.8 implies a crimen maiestatis, which is probably an adjustment to the trial of Jesus; cf. Luke 23.2–3, 37–38 and Omerzu, Prozeß, 477–80. 61 See Pervo, Acts, 592–93 on the similarities between Luke 22–23 and Acts 23–26 in general: “The large number of correspondences in sequence and detail lead to the conclusion that this is not a matter of general parallels but the construction of duplicate patterns. Recognition of these patterns has a dampening effect on claims of historical accuracy.” 62 Pervo, Acts, 637. 63 Pervo, Acts, 612. 64 Omerzu, Prozeß, 508.

The Roman Trial Against Paul According to Acts 21–26. Response to Heike Omerzu Friedrich W. Horn Since Heike Omerzu first researched Paul’s trial in her doctoral thesis,1 she has published several times on this subject – for example, in an article for Kurt Erlemann’s five-volume collection Neues Testament und Antike Kultur,2 in an article titled “Appeal to Caesar” in the Encyclopedia of the Bible and its Reception,3 and most recently in the Paulus Handbuch,4 edited by myself. This last contribution served as a basis for her paper presented here in Tarragona.5 In my reply I would like to make reference to her paper as well as to her previous contributions on the subject. It is my impression that Omerzu has by and large not significantly changed her position on Paul’s trial over the years. She even seems to have gained more certainty in her judgement. Her doctoral thesis was written as a study in exegesis and in the history of law, based on the book of Acts. Methodologically, investigating Acts through the lens of legal history was an ambitious and original attempt to facilitate the understanding of Luke’s account of 1

H. Omerzu, Der Prozeß des Paulus. Eine exegetische und rechtshistorische Untersuchung der Apostelgeschichte (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2002). 2 H. Omerzu, “Fallstudie: Der Prozess des Paulus,” in K. Erlemann et al. (eds.), Neues Testament und Antike Kultur I (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener, 2004), 247–52. 3 H. Omerzu, “Appeal to Caesar,” in H.-J. Klauck et al. (eds.), Encyclopedia of the Bible and its Reception (vol. 2; Berlin: de Gruyter, 2009), 511–15. 4 H. Omerzu, “Das Ende des Paulus,” in F.W. Horn (ed.), Paulus Handbuch (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2013), 119–24. 5 Cf. also H. Omerzu, “The Probability of a Pauline Travel to Spain in Light of the Roman Law,” in J.M. Gavaldà et al. (eds.), Pau, Fructuós i el cristianisme primitiu a Tarragona (Segles I–VIII): Actes del Congrés de Tarragona (19–21 de Juny de 2008) (Fundació Privada Liber: Tarragona, 2010), 113–31; H. Omerzu, “Der Apostel als Angeklagter: Juristische Verfahren gegen Paulus in der Apostelgeschichte des Lukas,” Jahrbuch der Akademie der Wissenschaften zu Göttingen (2002), 126–37; H. Omerzu, “Apologetics III. NT,” in Encyclopedia of the Bible, 426–31; H. Omerzu, “Paulus als Politiker? Das paulinische Evangelium zwischen Ekklesia und Imperium Romanum,” in V.A. Lehnert and U. Rüsen-Weinhold (eds.), Logos – Logik – Lyrik: Engagierte exegetische Studien zum biblischen Reden Gottes. Festschrift für Klaus Haacker (Leipzig: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 2007), 267–87.

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Paul’s trial in the context of the judiciary system at the fall of the Roman Republic and the rise of the Imperial period. Omerzu’s survey of the academic literature shows that, since Theodor Mommsen’s pivotal essay on the law system in Paul’s era (1901), only very few contributors have ventured to set foot on this legal historical terrain.6 Only very few works of New Testament scholarship display an expertise in both exegesis and legal history; most of them lack precision in one or the other, usually the latter. To begin, I would like to introduce two recent publications that Omerzu has not yet considered, but are, however, relevant to the subject matter. The most recent publication on the subject of “Paul in Rome” is a small monograph by Hans Dieter Betz, based on a Julius Wellhausen lecture held in Göttingen.7 Unlike Omerzu, Betz’ centre of interest lies not on the book of Acts, but on Paul’s letter to the Philippians, or rather, his letters to the Philippians (cf. Pol. Phil. 3.2), understood as letters composed in Roman imprisonment. Betz differentiates a main letter (1.1–3.1a; 4.1–9, 21–23), a separate receipt (4.10–20), and the appendix of a memorandum (3.1b–21). In his view, the author of Acts, which Betz dates in the early 2nd century, held “detaillierte Kenntnisse der Reiseroute des Apostels von Palästina nach Rom,”8 but was oblivious to the time after Paul’s arrival in Rome. Therefore, the author of Acts was left to follow presumptions, even though he indicates several times that he considers Paul to have been executed in Rome. Luke’s silence at the end of Acts is, therefore, due not to conscious literary or theological tendencies but simply to a “Mangel an Quellen über den Ausgang des Gerichtsverfahrens und den Märtyrertod des Apostels.”9 And he adds: “Das Fehlen von Quellenmaterial kann an sich nicht verwunderlich sein, fiel doch der Tod des Paulus in die chaotischen Jahre in Rom zur Zeit des großen Brandes vom Jahr 64 und des Terrorregimes unter Nero und Tigellinus (62–68), über deren Greuel wir durch die Berichte von Tacitus und Suetonius unterrichtet sind.”10 Another recent publication on the subject of “Paul in Rome” is written by Otto Zwierlein.11 Until recently, Zwierlein has mainly studied the hypothesis of Peter in Rome, challenging the assumption of the apostle’s martyrdom in

6

T. Mommsen, “Die Rechtsverhältnisse des Apostels Paulus,” ZNW 2 (1901), 81–96. Furthermore H.W. Tajra, The Trial of St. Paul. A Juridical Exegesis of the Second Half of the Acts of the Apostles (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1989); B.M. Rapske, The Book of Acts and Paul in Roman Custody (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1994). 7 H.D. Betz, Der Apostel Paulus in Rom (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2013). 8 Cf. Betz, Apostel, 9. 9 Betz, Apostel, 9; cf. 14. 10 Betz, Apostel, 10. 11 O. Zwierlein, Petrus und Paulus in Jerusalem und Rom. Vom Neuen Testament zu den apokryphen Apostelakten (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2012).

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the capital: “Der historische Petrus war also niemals in Rom.”12 In his most recent book now we also find a brief passage in which he questions Paul’s martyrdom in Rome.13 Zwierlein concludes: “Auch von Paulus kennen wir weder den Ort noch die Zeit noch die Umstände seines Todes. Sein sogenanntes Vermächtnis ist wie der ganze 2. Timotheusbrief fiktiv, vermutlich erst um 150 verfaßt.”14 Of course, Zwierlein is right in pointing out that we have no first-hand report on the location, time, or cause of Paul’s death. So we could feel at liberty to fill in the narrative gaps of Acts 28 (Paul’s arrival in Rome as a prisoner), Rom 15.24, 28 (missionary journey to Spain planned after his visit to Rome), and the background of Philippians (possibly Roman imprisonment: 1.7, 13, 17). At the same time, a major part of the tradition points towards Rome as final point of Paul’s journey after all, be it after the first imprisonment, or after a second imprisonment in the city. Zwierlein, by contrast, maintains that it was not until 2 Timothy that the prison situation of Philippians and the custody situation at the end of Acts was intertextually combined to make a much more severe imprisonment culminating in Paul’s death sentence.15 Additionally, he points out how the fates of Paul and Peter were increasingly made to match one another, and how both apostles were characterized more and more in contrastive parallels to the twins of the Roman founding legend, Romulus and Remus.16 Zwierlein rejects, however, the significance of 1 Clement 5.5, 7, which is often considered as evidence for a Roman martyrdom of both apostles, since, in his opinion, the narrative of both apostles’ persecution in 1 Clement was closely modelled after the narratives in Acts.17 Zwierlein’s late dating of 1 Clement in 125 CE,18 as well as his assumption of 1 Clement presupposing 1 Peter, must at least be considered unusual.19 Omerzu, in her doctoral thesis and also in her paper in this volume, addresses three issues that are pivotal for every study of Paul’s trial as recorded in Acts. Her answers to these questions, in some ways, set the course for her

12 Zwierlein, Petrus und Paulus, 132 n.11 (cf. his bibliography in 298). Cf. esp. Zwierlein, Petrus in Rom. Die literarischen Zeugnisse. Mit einer kritischen Edition der Martyrien des Petrus und Paulus auf neuer handschriftlicher Grundlage (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2010). 13 Cf. Zwierlein, Petrus, 132–47. 14 Zwierlein, Petrus und Paulus, vii. 15 Cf. Zwierlein, Petrus und Paulus, 142. 16 Cf. Zwierlein, Petrus und Paulus, 146. 17 Cf. Zwierlein, Petrus, 273. 18 Cf. Zwierlein, Petrus, vi, 286. 19 Cf. F.W. Horn, “Review of Otto Zwierlein, Petrus und Paulus in Jerusalem und Rom,” ThLZ 138 (2013), 689–91.

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results:20 (i) the question of the historical reliability of Acts; (ii) the legal question of a defendant’s right of appeal (Acts 25.11) in an ongoing trial in the early Roman Imperial period; (iii) the question of whether Paul indeed held Roman citizenship, as stated in Acts 22.25 and how, therefore, the trial is to be interpreted in the context of Roman jurisprudence. I would like to make a few introductory remarks on these three issues: (i) First, on the question of the historical reliability of Acts, I would like to point out that today more and more scholars support the view that the socalled “We Passages” in Acts (16.10–17; 20.5–15; 21.1–18; 27.1–28.16) were in fact written by Paul’s travelling companion(s). In her thesis, Omerzu did not position herself clearly on the issue of the author of Acts.21 But Michael Wolter writes: “Die nächstliegende Erklärung ist darum auch hier die beste: Das ‚Wir‘ stammt vom Verfasser des Lukasevangeliums und der Apostelgeschichte… Damit ist gesagt, dass der Verfasser von LkEv und Apg Paulus nicht ständig begleitet hat, sondern nur dort präsent war, wo er in der 1. Person Plural erzählt.”22 Jens Schröter argues on similar lines: Angesichts dieses Befundes erscheinen nicht nur die bisweilen behaupteten Differenzen zwischen dem Paulus der Briefe und dem Paulus der Apostelgeschichte als überzogen, vielmehr rückt auch die Möglichkeit in den Blick, die Apostelgeschichte als Werk eines zeitweiligen Paulusbegleiters zu lesen. Diese lange Zeit unstrittige Interpretation der sog. »WirPassagen« (Apg 16,10–17; 20,5–15; 21,1–18; 27,1–28,16) wurde zwischenzeitlich infrage gestellt, gewinnt jedoch in der neueren Forschung wieder zunehmend an Akzeptanz. Sie wird nicht nur dadurch unterstützt, dass dies die nächstliegende Deutung der genannten Passagen selbst ist, sie wird darüber hinaus auch dem Paulusbild der Apostelgeschichte insgesamt am besten gerecht. Lukas hätte Paulus demzufolge zeitweise auf seinen Missionsreisen im ägäischen Raum und schließlich auch nach Rom begleitet. Eine Erinnerung daran könnte sich in dem pseudepigraphen 2. Timotheusbrief erhalten haben (4,11: »Lukas ist allein bei mir«).23

Dietrich-Alex Koch, by contrast, recognizes a difference between the “we” in the report of the collection delegation (20.5–21.18) and the “we” in the narrative of the sea journey (27.1–28.16). According to him, both times “we” refers to a real “we” but originates from two different traditional sources. Therefore, the speaker(s) of the “we” is (are) not to be equated with the author of the book of Acts.24 20

Omerzu outlines this problem in Prozeß, 1f. Cf. Omerzu, Prozeß, 2. 22 M. Wolter, Das Lukasevangelium (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2008), 8. 23 J. Schröter, “Die Paulusdarstellung der Apostelgeschichte,” in Paulus Handbuch, 551. U. Schnelle, too, emphasizes the parallel of Paul having been left by all of his coworkers except for Luke (2 Tim 4.10–17 and Acts 28; cf. Paulus. Leben und Denken [Berlin: de Gruyter, 2003], 430). 24 D.-A. Koch, Geschichte des Urchristentums. Ein Lehrbuch (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2013), 594–98 (excursus: Die “Wir”-Abschnitte der Apostelgeschichte). 21

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Obviously, the change of perspective from a source critical, or redaction critical, or literary explanation of the “We Passages” to a biographical or author-oriented approach is fundamental to the explanation of Paul’s trial, as in the latter perspective Luke would have eye-witnessed at least the scenes framing the trial. After the episode in Philippi the “we” only appears until the collection delegation’s arrival in Jerusalem (20.5–21.18), and then starts again at the narrative of the sea journey from Caesarea until the arrival in Rome (27.1– 28.16). It does not appear in the narrative of the two years in Rome, let alone after. Therefore, Luke would not have directly witnessed any of the trials in Jerusalem, Caesarea, or Rome. Likewise, as Omerzu already explained, it would follow that the trial speeches of prosecution and defence would be Luke’s literary products. He would not have had access to the trial records. Apart from the “We Passages” the historical value of Acts 21–26 remains controversial. Omerzu argued that the evidence plausibly supported that Luke used sources that already existed in writing.25 Dietrich-Alex Koch, by contrast, reads Acts 21–26 as a “wortreicher Ersatz für die fehlende Erzählung von dem tatsächlich entscheidenden Prozess des Paulus in Rom.”26 (ii) Quite fundamental for Omerzu’s argument is the proof that in the Roman Imperial period a new right of appeal was instituted, and that this right of appeal was novel compared to the one in the Republic Era. A clear differentiation between laws of provocation in the Republic and the laws of appeal in the later period was indispensable to allow for a new evaluation of Luke’s narration of Paul’s trial, as both laws were no longer harmonized. In fact, on the occasion of Omerzu’s reception of the Hanns-Lilje-Prize, the Theological Faculty of Göttingen required an examination of this argument by the Akademie der Wissenschaften. In my view, a critical response that was written at that time was not able to question the overall result of her thesis; instead, it simply enumerated petty flaws.27 Even though according to Acts 25.10f. Paul appeals to the emperor even before a formal verdict has been pronounced, this procedure is to be understood only in the context of an increasingly advanced right of appeal. The mentioning of Paul’s Roman citizenship in Acts 22.22– 29, however, is an aftermath of the former laws of provocation to escape torture by appealing to the defendant’s Roman citizenship. 25

Omerzu, Prozeß, 507: “Der von den Vorberichten abweichende Erzählduktus des Hauptprozesses macht es wahrscheinlich, dass Lukas für diesen Teil der Act auf eine zusammenhängende, wahrscheinlich auch schriftlich fixierte Überlieferung zurückgreifen konnte…” 26 Koch, Geschichte, 342. 27 Cf. T. Schmitt, “Review of Heike Omerzu, Der Prozeß des Paulus. Eine exegetische und rechtshistorische Untersuchung der Apostelgeschichte, H-Soz-u-Kult,” (March 17, 2003): http://hsozkult.geschichte.hu-berlin.de/rezensionen/2003-1-146; J. Schröter, “Actaforschung seit 1982. IV. Israel, die Juden und das Alte Testament. Paulusrezeption,” ThR 73 (2008), 1–59, at 45–47.

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(iii) In current scholarship I cannot find significant new arguments on the question of Paul’s Roman citizenship.28 Most recently it was put into question by Peter Pilhofer, who refers to a census of Roman citizens under Claudius in 48 CE,29 and draws the conclusion that Paul did not hold Roman citizenship.30 His argument is based on the “verschwindend geringe Zahl”31 of epigraphically verified Roman citizens in Cilicia, as well as Phil 1.27–30 and 3.20. In his opinion, the longing for heavenly citizenship pronounced by a privileged Roman citizen was difficult to understand. Dietrich-Alex Koch, too, thinks that Paul’s Roman citizenship is only a Lukan invention to make his transport to Rome plausible.32 Nevertheless, Paul’s Roman citizenship is generally accepted by most of today’s scholars. Luke’s extensive narrative of the judicial proceedings involving the Roman chiliarch Claudius Lysias in Jerusalem, the procurators Felix und Festus in Caesarea, and, finally, the Emperor Nero in Rome would be highly elusive without this assumption.33 Alternatively, one would have to presume that Luke’s narrative is largely fictitious and either not oriented on, or oblivious of, the historical proceedings.34 At this point, I would like to suggest a small addendum that is found in older literature but largely forgotten today.35 When the city of Tarsus was refounded in 171 BCE under Antiochos IV. Epiphanes, Jews from eastern territories were specifically resettled in this new city. They were offered privileged positions involving the bestowal of Roman citizenship.36 If we are in 28 Cf., however, K.L. Noethlichs, “Der Jude Paulus – ein Tarser und Römer?” in R. von Haehling (ed.), Rom und das himmlische Jerusalem. Die frühen Christen zwischen Anpassung und Ablehnung (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2000), 54– 84. Omerzu had already considered this study in her thesis; see now Omerzu, “Tarsisches und römisches Bürgerrecht,” in Paulus Handbuch, 55–58. 29 Cf. P. Pilhofer, Neues aus der Welt der frühen Christen (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 2011), 63. 30 Cf. Pilhofer, Neues, 75. 31 Pilhofer, Neues, 73. 32 Cf. Koch, Geschichte, 335–40. 33 Cf. Omerzu, Prozeß, 58. Koch, by contrast, votes for Paul’s transport to Rome, not on the grounds of his Roman citizenship, but because his case was politically particularly charged (cf. Geschichte, 355). 34 W. Schmithals, Die Apostelgeschichte des Lukas (Zürich: Theologischer Verlag, 1982), 219f.: “Man muß darum erwägen, ob nicht der völlige Mangel an Quellenspuren seit dem Eintreffen des Paulus in Jerusalem (21,15f.) darauf zurückgeht, daß es in Jerusalem gar nicht zu einer Verhaftung des Paulus gekommen war und Paulus als freier Mann nach Rom reiste …”; cf. Omerzu, Prozeß, 1f. 35 Cf. H. Böhlig, Die Geisteskultur von Tarsos im augusteischen Zeitalter mit Berücksichtigung der paulinischen Schriften (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1913). 36 Cf. F.P. Mittag, Antiochos IV. Epiphanes. Eine politische Biographie (Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 2006).

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search of an answer on how Paul, as a diaspora Jew, gained Roman citizenship, this could possibly be an answer. Most recently, Dietrich-Alex Koch has submitted a position alternative to Omerzu’s position and strongly in criticism of her, which we can at this point only briefly refer to.37 It shows again that the main dissent between Omerzu and Koch is caused by a different evaluation of the historical reliability of Acts.38 For Koch, Luke by a “Gewaltstreich” produced the precondition to introduce Paul’s appeal to the emperor. This “Gewaltstreich” consists in Luke changing the level of the trial by changing its location. “Die ‘Lösung’ bestand darin, die Möglichkeit einer Verlegung des Prozessortes (von Caesarea nach Jerusalem) in die Erzählung einzuführen und dann die Diskussion auf die Prozessebene (Auslieferung an ein jüdisches Gericht) zu verschieben.”39 In the following, I would like to focus on a few details in Omerzu’s paper that might require further discussion or clarification. Omerzu refers to Paul’s early conflicts with Jews, especially in Asia, and she connects these hostilities to the accusations against Paul in Jerusalem.40 Luke, however, mentions a concrete event which caused the uproar and which Luke utilizes as the motivation for Paul’s arrest in Jerusalem. Luke mentions Jews from Asia who already know Paul as someone who “teaches all men everywhere against our people and our law and this place” (Acts 21.28) and who have seen Paul in Jerusalem being accompanied by a Gentile Christian called Trophimus. Trophimus comes from Ephesus and was introduced as an Asian member of the collection delegation in Acts 20.4. Suddenly, Paul is charged for bringing Trophimus, as well as other Gentile Christians, into the Temple area reserved for Jews and thereby being involved in violating the sanctuary. This gives cause for the accusation against Paul that he is not only teaching against the Temple, but is substantially involved in its desecration. So the accusation is essentially levied against Paul’s presumed Templecritical conduct which seems to have been known already, but also seems to have exceeded the dimension of the present conflict. The subsequent turmoil in the Temple is therefore aimed against Paul only. It is not aimed against his companions, whose presence in the Temple, at that time, is no longer presumed. Even Trophimus is not mentioned; after this brief episode he does not appear on the scene anymore at all. Omerzu concedes that the accusation of Temple profanation interferes with Luke’s redactional tendency to picture Paul, as a diaspora Jew, as abiding to Temple regulations. Also, the charge against Paul leading Gentile Christians into the inner Temple (Acts 21.28) by far surpasses earlier Jewish 37

Cf. Koch, Geschichte, 335–64. Cf. extensively Koch, Geschichte, 27–38. 39 Koch, Geschichte, 349f. 40 Omerzu, Prozeß, 331. 38

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accusations against Paul mentioned in Acts. Therefore, she considers that Paul’s capture might actually be historically linked to the Trophimus scene even though, according to Omerzu, it should be ruled out that Paul really lead a Gentile into the Temple court reserved for Jews.41 Rather, the uproar, and consequently the trial, would effectively be based on a misunderstanding or a slander, but not on a true offence. The charge against Paul disrupting public order and being responsible for seditio, as submitted to the Roman tribunals by Jewish authorities, would then be an attempt to utilize Roman jurisdiction in an objection against Paul which would somehow be based on real, but actually rather minor, or former, events. In this context, Omerzu emphasizes the anti-Pauline attitude of Jews from Asia Minor in Jerusalem.42 So is there something that Luke, perhaps, concealed after all? I would like to try to understand the alleged sacrilege and the Temple desecration of Paul, Trophimus, and other Gentile Christians (cf. Acts 21.28f.) on the basis of passages in Paul’s letter to the Romans, written with the Temple in mind and shortly before his return from Corinth to Jerusalem – in the company of his collection delegation which consisted of Gentile Christians (Acts 20.4). Based on statements in this letter, would it be imaginable that Paul was about to lead Gentile Christians into the inner courts of the Temple? I am not thinking here of Pauline passages that point towards a spiritualization of the Temple, or those that speak of the church as the spiritual Temple (1 Cor 3.16; 6.19; 2 Cor 6.16). These passages date back from Paul’s early Corinthian correspondence. Various publications have shown that Paul uses this metaphorical usage of the Temple quite parallel to references to the existing Temple in Jerusalem. The metaphor is not aimed to propose an alternative to, or even criticism against, the Temple. Even if it is Luke who portrays Paul as devoutly abiding by Temple regulations, we should not, therefore, historically simply assume the opposite. This means: based on those passages in the Corinthian correspondence that show Paul’s acceptance and respect for the Temple of Jerusalem as a place of true Jewish worship, it must be considered unlikely that he would have taken Trophimus with him into its inner courts in order to express its spiritualization or even suspension. This would be a conscious, provocative act of Temple desecration, while believing that the real

41 At this point, Omerzu and Koch are in agreement. For the latter, the turmoil in Jerusalem cannot be reconstructed anymore; the accusation against Paul, however, is “historisch sicher unzutreffend” (Koch, Geschichte, 353). 42 Cf. Omerzu, Prozeß, 383; H. Omerzu, “Spurensuche: Apostelgeschichte und Paulusbriefe als Zeugnisse einer ephesischen Gefangenschaft des Paulus,” in J. Frey et al. (eds.), Die Apostelgeschichte im Kontext antiker und frühchristlicher Historiographie (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2009), 295–326.

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Temple only exists as a spiritual entity embodied by the Christian church. This scenario seems to be most unlikely.43 My thoughts go in quite another direction. In Rom 15.14–21 Paul argues for his Gentile mission in priestly language and he understands his mission as a priestly service, regarding both the result of evangelization in Jerusalem and the imminent presentation of the collection in Jerusalem.44 So, the text takes a perspective oriented to Jerusalem. As early as 2 Cor 9.12–15 Paul utilizes such cultic language in view of the Gentile Christians’ collection. As this was drawing to a close, possibly Paul considered it analogous to the Temple tax, and his delegation to Jerusalem analogous to the Jewish delegations who presented their taxes to the Temple in Jerusalem.45 This priestly interpretation of his own mission to Gentile Christians would be surprising and rather novel (cf. still Phil 2.17; Rom 1.9); it was not yet introduced in Paul’s earlier letters. With his own journey to Jerusalem in mind, which he was to undertake together with a delegation composed of largely Gentile Christian churches that he himself had founded (Acts 20.4), he interprets his plan as follows: εἰς τὸ εἶναί µε λειτουργὸν Χριστοῦ Ἰησοῦ εἰς τὰ ἔθνη, ἱερουργοῦντα τὸ εὐαγγέλιον τοῦ θεοῦ, ἵνα γ ένηται ἡ προσφορὰ τῶν ἐθνῶν εὐπρόσδεκτος, ἡγιασµένη ἐν πνεύµατι ἁγίῳ (Rom 15.16). Paul sees his Gentile mission as his own priestly service, and again he uses cultic language charged with terminology of priesthood, Temple and sacrifice. The Gentile Christians themselves are understood as a sacrifice to God, which is acceptable and well-pleasing to him as they are sanctified in the Holy Spirit and therefore meet the sacrificial requirements as well as the requirements of access to the Temple. It goes without saying that Paul will have understood this train of thought metaphorically in the sense that he has no intention of establishing himself as a priest or of viewing Gentile Christians as real sacrifices.46 At the same time, he will have seen this metaphorical imagery as completely veritable and consistent, as for him it communicated his own apostolic service to the Gentiles. Even if he was of no

43 F.W. Horn, “Paulus und der Herodianische Tempel,” NTS 53 (2007), 184–203; C. Böttrich, “‘Ihr seid der Tempel Gottes’. Tempelmetaphorik und Gemeinde bei Paulus,” in B. Ego et al. (eds.), Gemeinde ohne Tempel. Community without Temple. Zur Substituierung und Transformation des Jerusalemer Tempels und seines Kults im Alten Testament, antiken Judentum und frühen Christentum (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1999), 411–25. 44 Cf. F.W. Horn, “Das apostolische Selbstverständnis des Paulus nach Römer 15,” in U. Schnelle (ed.), The Letter to the Romans (Leuven: Leuven University Press, 2009), 225–46. 45 F.W. Horn, “Die Kollekte für die Jerusalemer Gemeinde,” in Paulus Handbuch, 116–19. 46 Cf. D. Zeller, Der Brief an die Römer (Regensburg: Friedrich Pustet, 1985), 238.

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priestly family himself he would have acted as a priest and seen the very existence of Gentile Christians as a legitimate sacrifice to God.47 Is this thinking, put on paper in Corinth just a few weeks before the collection delegation’s arrival in Jerusalem, not at least conceptually a prerequisite to the uproar in Jerusalem? Paul thus stepped way beyond the borders of Jewish Temple theology! Speaking of Gentiles as sacrifices acceptable to God, he clearly disregarded the crossing-line between Jews and Gentiles, holy and profane, as held by Jewish Temple theology. In his own mindset, Jewish reservations against Gentiles were no longer to be upheld: If only we think of his letter prescripts, Paul had already titled Gentile Christians as Holy, Chosen Ones, or Called Ones, which are all titles that were, from a Jewish perspective, exclusively reserved for Israel, but should not be transferred to Gentile Christians. I think, therefore, that Paul in Rom 15, while preparing his departure to Jerusalem, had developed a conception of linking his Gentile Christian companions to the Temple in a positive way, and even to the Temple’s inner courts reserved for sacrificial acts. I do not know whether Paul actually drew the conclusion and accompanied Gentile Christians into the Temple’s inner courts. According to the testimony of the prosecutor, Tertullus, the issue was only attempted profanation (Acts 24.5f.). However, I should not rule out Paul’s conclusion in putting his theology into practice. Of course, he will not have committed Gentile Christians as sacrifice in a literal sense; but he would have presented them as a gift to God. In his thinking the Temple barrier separating Jews and Gentiles would have played no separating role any more. I am not aware of a parallel in Jewish thinking suggesting that Gentiles could be integrated as gift to God within the inner court of the Temple that contained the altar of burnt offerings, without first changing their religious status to proselytes. Within his letter to the Romans, however, Paul elaborates this view within the context of his teaching of justification, part of which is the religious indiscrimination of Jews and Gentiles. On top of this, in Rom 15.7– 13 Paul quotes Scripture to give evidence that the praise of Gentiles fully conforms to the will of God. Starting with the affirmative καθὼϛ γέγραπται he strings a considerable number of quotations (Ps 17.50; Deut 32.43; Ps 117.1; Isa 11.10) to reinforce the Gentiles’ entitlement to God’s praise.48 Drawing to a close, I would like to mention a few points that still puzzle me with regard to Paul’s trial:

47

I have followed up these thoughts extensively in Horn, “Selbstverständnis,” 243– 46. Cf. also G. Theißen, Die Religion der ersten Christen. Eine Theorie des Urchristentums (Gütersloh: Gütersloher, 2000), 162: “An dem Vorwurf gegen Paulus ist so viel richtig, dass die Öffnung des Tempels den Hoffnungen des Paulus entsprach.” 48 Cf. M. Müller, Vom Schluß zum Ganzen. Zur Bedeutung des paulinischen Briefkorpusabschlusses (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1997), 226.

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(i) Trophimus disappears from the scene in Acts 21, even though it should have been him as a Gentile Christian, against whom the charge of Temple desecration should have been levied (if, indeed, it happened at all). The events, however, concentrate wholly on Paul who, apparently, is held largely responsible for the occurrence. What does this mean for the proceedings of the trial? The reference to Trophimus in Acts 21.28f. shows the accusation against Paul: that he lead Gentile Christians into the inner courts of the Temple. So I agree with Omerzu that the concrete event that gave cause to the trial involved Trophimus, even though it was Paul who must have been at its centre. Against Omerzu, however, I would consider that the charge against Paul was not only based on misunderstanding or slander, but that Paul could justifiably be held responsible for whatever offence had happened. After all, Paul had conceptualized the framework for such an incident immediately before his journey to Jerusalem (Rom 15), and possibly he did attempt its accomplishment. Otherwise the trial would lack any juridical relevance. (ii) According to Omerzu, Luke’s narrative largely corresponds to the historical events, except for few passages which she considers later constructions. One of those, in her view, is Luke’s account of Paul’s appeal to the emperor before the procurator’s verdict had even been pronounced. Even though this was legally possible in the early Imperial period, Omerzu thinks that Paul made his appeal actually after the verdict, but Luke swapped the order of events for apologetic reasons by dissociating Paul from the accusation of the capital crime of seditio. This, however, opens up the question of whether such apologetics might not occur in other details of Luke’s account of the trial, too? The accusation of στάσις, which for Omerzu is the central charge, is levied in Acts 24.5 only by the Jewish prosecutor Tertullus. Even if, for Omerzu, the rhetorical composition of this scene is redactional, she considers “die Verlagerung des Vorwurfs der Tempelentweihung zu einer umfassenden Anklage wegen Unruhestiftung… als traditionell… Material-rechtlich wurde Paulus also bereits in der vorlukanischen Tradition der seditio beschuldigt.”49 (iii) How do we account for the two delays of Paul’s imprisonment in Caesarea and Rome, lasting two years each (Acts 24.22–27; 28.16–31)? With regard to the former Omerzu considers an act of favour of Festus for the sake of the Jews, thereby avoiding conflict with both Jews and Romans.50 The delay in Rome, however, recorded in Acts, can hardly be accounted for convincingly. Omerzu has detailed the state of research and comes to the conclusion that a Roman imprisonment in a cause of appellation over a span of several

49 50

Omerzu, Prozeß, 439. Cf. Omerzu, Prozeß, 464.

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years was not unusual. But it was no juridical requirement.51 It is clear only that Luke, while being informed about the end of Paul’s imprisonment, keeps silent about the outcome of Paul’s appeal. If Paul suffered his martyrdom in the context of Nero’s persecution of Christians between 62 and 64 CE (as is often assumed52) then this is possibly an indication that the trial was not finished anymore in an orderly manner.

51

H. Omerzu, “Das Schweigen des Lukas. Überlegungen zum offenen Ende der Apostelgeschichte,” in F.W. Horn (ed.), Das Ende des Paulus. Historische, theologische und literaturgeschichtliche Aspekte (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2001), 127–56, here at 147–49. 52 Cf. Schnelle, Paulus, 431.

Paul’s Roman Trial: Legal Procedures regarding Roman Citizens Convicted of Serious Charges in the First Century CE Bernardo Santalucia

1. The legal stages of Paul of Tarsus’ trial following the appellatio ad principem that he himself made in Caesarea are extremely uncertain and controversial. As is known, Luke’s account closes without any reference at all to the trial before the emperor’s court, and does not mention a verdict or say a word about the violent death of the Apostle. Of course, there have been attempts to clear the fog surrounding this difficult period of Pauline history, but the state of the sources certainly has not helped the situation, and has often brought scholars to add from their imagination what is lacking in textual detail. In my opinion, useful elements to reach a solution can be gained from a more accurate examination of criminal law in the Roman era. A rereading of the little information that we do have in the light of the legal sources can help give more accurate answers to some of the questions posed by scholarship and shed light on two points on which the opinions of experts are profoundly divided: was Paul, after the two years of custody in Rome, actually tried? And, assuming this trial did take place, what was its result? Let us begin with the first question. According to the opinion widely accepted today, the Apostle, at the end of the two years of military custody, would have been released without going to trial. Several hypotheses have been advanced. Several scholars believe it was the emperor himself (by virtue of his imperium) who freed the Apostle in a demonstration of graciousness, or simply in order to reduce the number of pending cases.1 But this idea, although incisive, is far from convincing. The sources state that an ex imperio absolution of a 1 This hypothesis was advanced in the first place by A.N. Sherwin-White, Roman Society and Roman Law in the New Testament (Oxford: Clarendon, 1963), 118ff. In the same order of ideas is F.F. Bruce, The Acts of Apostles (London: Tyndale, 1951), 542; Bruce, The Book of Acts (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1988), 510; M.F. Baslez, Paolo di Tarso (trans. [It.] L. Bacchiarello; Turin: SEI, 1993), 196; C.K. Barrett, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Acts of the Apostles, vol. II (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1998), 1251.

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person accused of causing political unrest without any previous legal verification of the grounds for accusation, although undoubtedly within imperial prerogatives, was an uncommon practice.2 It is even less likely that it was caused by the need to remedy to the “congestion of court business.” The texts that have come down to us do not retain the slightest trace of any imperial interventions aimed at eliminating cases registered in the court’s roster for the purpose of avoiding a backlog of processes. The abolitiones sometimes cited by historians are amnesty measures issued on the occasion of festivities or happy public events, and are definitely not interventions to resolve the problem of court congestion.3 In the view of other scholars,4 Paul, rather than having obtained freedom by the hand of the emperor, was released automatically because his accusers did not appear before the imperial court to support their accusations within the legal deadline. The existence of prescription limits can be demonstrated – they say – by two texts from Philo of Alexandria and Pliny the Younger, as well as by a papyrus containing the text of an imperial constitution relating the time limits to appear in court in the cases of appeals. In his pamphlet In Flaccum, the Jewish philosopher writes about the trial of the magistrate Lampo, accused of impiety under Tiberius, and jailed awaiting trial for two years, a period of time defined by Philo as µήκιστον χρόνον.5 According to those scholars, these words meant that the trial must start within a “maximum period” of two years. But this is clearly an arbitrary interpretation: as Sherwin-White rightly points out,6 this is not the meaning of the 2

Particularly significant regarding this is an episode related by Tacitus (Ann. 3.70). When Tiberius stated his intention to deal benevolently with a member of the equestrian order accused of maiestas, the jurist Ateius Capito objected saying that the prince should not deprive the senators of the right to judge (non debere eripi patribus vim statuendi): it could be acceptable for the prince not to overestimate a personal offence, but he should not be indulgent with offences against the state (rei publicae iniurias ne largiretur). 3 Cf. on this topic, with complete information, W. Waldstein, Untersuchungen zum römischen Begnadigungsrecht. Abolitio–Indulgentia–Venia (Innsbruch: Wagner, 1964), 81ff., 108ff. 4 H.W. Tajra, The Trial of St. Paul (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1989), 195ff. and large amounts of earlier scholarship: K. Lake, “The End of Paul’s Trial in Rome,” ThT 47 (1913), 356ff.; W.M. Ramsay, The Teaching of Paul in Terms of the Present Day (London: Hodder and Stoughton, 1914), 350ff., 364ff.; H.J. Cadbury, “Roman Law and the Trial of Paul,” in F.J.F. Jackson and K. Lake (eds.), The Beginnings of Christianity V, (London: MacMillan, 1933), 330. 5 Flacc. 128–29: Λάµπων µὲν ἀσεβείας τῆς εἰς Τιβέριον Καίσαρα δίκην σχὼν καὶ ἐπὶ διετίαν τριβοµένου τοῦ πράγµατος ἀπειρηκώς. ὑπερθέσεις γὰρ καὶ ἀναβολὰς ὁ δικαστὴς ἐθελοκακῶν ἐσκήπτετο βουλ όµενος, κ ἂν ἀποφύγῃ τὸ ἔγκληµα, τ ὸν γο ῦν περ ὶ τοῦ µέλλοντος ἀδήλου φ όβον πρ ὸς µήκιστον χρ όνον ἐπικρεµάσας α ὐτῷ ζωὴν ὀδυνηροτέραν θανάτου παρασχεῖν. 6 Sherwin-White, Roman Society, 116f. In the same sense, Bruce, The Acts, 541; Bruce, The Book, 510 n.75; S.G. Wilson, The Gentiles and the Gentile Mission in Luke-

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Greek expression. Мήκιστον χρόνον means “a long time,” not “the maximum time” legally granted. With these words Philo only wished to point out that the case of the Alexandrian magistrate had been drawn out deliberately; he did not allude in any way to a deadline after which the defendant could no longer be brought to trial. Correspondingly, the testimony of Pliny proves very little. The writer relates that after the condemnation of proconsul Iulius Bassus, and the rescissio of his measures, the senate granted the Bithynians unfairly convicted by him the possibility to request a new trial within a period of two years.7 However, it is easy to see that this two-year period did not constitute a legal deadline, but rather a benevolent concession made by the senate.8 The senate probably considered two years as a period of time long enough to prevent the governors’ court from being paralysed by a massive number of pleas, while at the same time sufficiently short to prevent the rescissio of Bassus’ rulings from becoming an indiscriminate amnesty. 2. Instead, the papyrus mentioned above is much more important for the topic we are discussing. In my opinion, a more in-depth analysis of this document leads to rather different conclusions from those usually reached by scholars. It is a Latin papyrus held at the Berlin Museum (BGU II 628 recto), published in 1896 by Otto Gradenwitz and later re-edited, with an extended commentary, by Ludwig Mitteis.9 This document is a copy of an edict (exemActs (Cambridge: CUP, 1973), 235; B. Rapske, “Paul in Roman Custody,” in B.W. Winter (ed.), The Book of Acts in its First Century Setting, vol. 3 (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1993), 322. 7 Pliny, Ep.10.56.4: ... acta Bassi rescissa datumque a senatu ius omnibus, de quibus ille aliquid constituisset, ex integro agendi, dumtaxat per biennium. 8 So, exactly, Bruce, The Acts, 541; Bruce, The Book, 510 n.75; Rapske, “Paul,” 322. Also, Wilson, The Gentiles, 235 denies any value to the text. 9 O. Gradenwitz, “BGU II, 628 recto,” in Aegyptische Urkunden aus den Koeniglichen Museen zu Berlin. Griechische Urkunden II (Berlin: Weidmannsche, 1896), 289f.; L. Mitteis, “Zur Berliner Papyruspublication II,” Hermes 32 (1897), 629ff. (repr. in L. Mitteis and U. Wilcken, Grundzüge und Chrestomathie der Papyruskunde II.2 (Leipzig: Teubner, 1912), no. 371. The following is Mitteis’ edition of the text (FIRA² I, 452 no. 91): Exemplum edicti.| In multis bene factis consultisque diui parentis mei id quoque| iure nobis praedicandum pu[t]o, [q]uod causas que a[d] principalem| notionem [uel] prouocatae uel [rem]issae fuissen[t i]mposita qua|dam nec[ess]itate de[c]idenda[s es]se pers[p]exit, ne [aut] prob[i] h[o]mines | [c]onflictar[e]ntur diu[t]ina mor[a a]ut call[id]iores fructum [ca]pere | [ali]quem p[rot]rahenda lite au[c]uparen[tu]r; quod [c]um animadver|[ti]sset iam p[er] multo[s] annos eu[en]ire, ed[i]xit salub[ri]ter praefini|t[is] tempr[ibus], intra que, cum [ex p]rouinciis [a]d a[gend]um ueni|[sse]nt utrae[qu]e [p]arte[s] nec disce[de]rent priusqu[am] ad disceptan|[du]m i[ntrodu]cti f[uis]se[nt, aut] scirent fore u[t al]tera parte audi|ta ser[u]aret[u]r sententia aut [sec]undum praese[nte]m pronunti[a|retur; sin uero] neut[er] litiga|[nti]um adfuisset ex[cid]ere tum eas [….. | lites ex or]dine cognitionu[m]

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plum edicti) by an unnamed emperor, aimed at putting a stop to the procedural delays that frequently hindered the appeals of the condemned or the remissiones causarum of the provincial governors to the emperor. The unknown emperor commences by recalling an edict of his immediate predecessor and father (divi parentis mei), who had introduced severe measures in order to remedy this situation. According to this edict, the interested parties had to appear before the imperial court within a certain (unspecified) period of time and could not leave Rome before the debate of the cause. If the condemned who had requested the appeal did not appear before the emperor, the verdict of condemnation would be upheld; if the accuser did not appear, then the condemned would be acquitted (fore u[t al]tera parte audita ser[u]aret[u]r sententia aut [sec]undum praese[nte]m pronuntia[retur]). In the case of the absence of both parties, the cause would be erased from the list of cognitiones. Although the emperor agreed with his predecessor over the necessity of speeding up the trials, he considered it appropriate to introduce some changes. For ordinary causes he allowed the parties a maximum period of six months if they resided in Italy, or one year if they resided outside of Italy. For capital cases, however, the emperor, in consideration of their seriousness, considered it fair to give those who appealed a longer period (aliquid a[u]x[il]ium conctationis). Therefore, for the latter, the deadline was nine months for causes originating in Italy, and one year and six months for those coming from beyond the Alps or from overseas territories. The proceedings must take place regardless. If the parties did not appear within the deadline, they were to be brought by force to the imperial court (sciant ut cu[m] prosecutoribus [u]eneant). This measure, the emperor stressed, could not be considered excessively severe, since the interested parties had at their disposal a lengthy period of time to appear in court (tam prol[i]xum tempus). offici nostri. E[t …]rcules iam | [dudum] id obtinendum fuit [cu]m a prescripto eius edi[c]ti satis super|q[ue tempo]ris quasi coniue[n]tibus nobis tra[ns]cocurrerint | e[t ..... iu]dex in pr[……]… di. ….…[… inte]rposito tem|[pore .........]io [……..]ation [..........] conti[....]….. (aliquot uersus desunt) […………….]s in Italia q[…….] edi[..….] ….… | [……….]t sex menses t[ran]salpinis | [autem …….]m annum: qui nis[i] adfuerint uel | defensi fuerint cum [cont]rouersiae eorum noscantur, sciant fore et stetur sentent[i]ae et acc[us]atores | ad petendam poenam iure [c]ogantur. Sed quoniam | capitale[s] causae aliquid a[u]x[il]ium conctationis ad|mittun[t, e]t accusatoribus et rei[s] in It[a]lia qu[i]dem | nouem [me]nses dabuntur, t[ra]nsalpinis autem et trans|marinis annus et sex menses: intra quos nisi | adfuer[in]t, fore iam nu[n]c sciant ut cu[m] prosecu|toribus [u]eneant: quod n[e]que graue n[e]que durum| uideri pote si is tam prol[i]xum tempus i[nd]ulserim.| Et opinor qui aliqua di[gn]itate censer[i] possunt | tanto.... i debe[nt] so[lli]citi [esse, u]t iis quae praecepta | sunt ma[t]urato obsequantur, cu[m] praesentem repu|tent interesse hones[t]atis suae ut quam primum | molestia careant. Appella[ti]ones uero quae ad magis|tratus et sacerdotia et alios honores pertinebunt | habe[ant] formam tem[po]ris sui. Set ea [qu]aequae sunt | er……rump ….. umqu….[a]d notion[em]| ………. copr….. f…… | bo……………

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As can be seen, the edict is important for our question. However, it would be better if we were sure that it reflected the law of the period when Paul was in Rome awaiting judgment. Unfortunately, the dating of the measure is disputed, and there are scholars who are inclined to attribute it rather to a later period. According to Mommsen, it should be dated “sprachlich wie sachlich” to the third century, although he offers no proof to support this view.10 Sherwin-White offers more detail. He believes some expressions used in the text (ordo cognitionum offici nostri, causae ad principalem notionem prouocatae) would be unusual in the legal language of the early principate, and the concept of appeal emerging from the document would reflect its developments in a later period.11 More evidence that the measures should be attributed to the late second or early third century is cited by Schiller, following a critical review of the provisions of the document in the context of the historical development of the appellatio.12 Other scholars do not accept such a late dating and assign the edict to the 1st century, attributing its authorship to Nero. Thus the previous edict would belong to his adoptive father, Claudius. Cuq,13 Ferrini,14 and Arangio-Ruiz15 share this opinion. Mitteis, who initially attributed the first edict to Augustus, and the second to Tiberius,16 was later forced to agree with the above thesis.17 Most scholarship now leans in this direction.18

10

T. Mommsen, Römisches Strafrecht (Leipzig: Duncker & Humblot, 1899), 472 n.5. Sherwin-White, Roman Society, 115ff. In the same sense, Bruce, The Acts, 541f.; Bruce, The Book, 510; Rapske, Paul, 322f. 12 A.A. Schiller, “The First Edict of BGU 628 Recto,” in L. Wallach (ed.), The Classical Tradition. Literary and Historical Studies in Honour of H. Caplan (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1966), 310ff. (= A.A. Schiller, An American Experience in Roman Law [Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1971], 196ff.). This author deals in particular with the first edict, and argues that it referred only to civil lawsuits. But this does not seem a very solid argument: the term lis may also designate, in effect, a criminal procedure (it is worth remembering here Cicero, Clu. 41.116: lis capitis), and actio (agere) is not uncommonly used by jurists in the sense of accusatio (accusare) (significantly, Dig. Iust. 48.16.15.3 [Macr. 2 publ.]: crimen…cuius actio et adversus heredes durat). 13 E. Cuq, “Trois nouveaux documents sur les cognitiones caesarianae,” Nouvelle revue historique de droit français et étranger 23 (1899), 110ff. 14 C. Ferrini, “Sulla condanna degli imputati assenti nel diritto penale romano,” Il Filangieri 24 (1899), LVff. (= Opere, vol. 5 [Milan: Hoepli, 1930], 183ff.). 15 V. Arangio-Ruiz, Storia del diritto romano (Naples: Jovene, 1957), 267. 16 Mitteis, Zur Berliner Papyruspublication, 634. 17 Mitteis, Grundzüge II.1, 280f. 18 See especially G. Purpura, “Il papiro BGU 611 e la genesi del Sc. Turpilliano,” in Annali del Seminario Giuridico dell’Università di Palermo 36 (1976), 228ff.; L. Fanizza, L’assenza dell’accusato nei processi di età imperiale (Rome: L’Erma, 1992), 109ff.; D.A. Centola, Il crimen calumniae. Contributo allo studio del processo criminale romano (Naples: Editoriale Scientifica, 1999), 68 n.14. 11

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3. In my opinion, the reconstruction that dates the first edict to Claudius and the second to Nero should be considered the most reliable one. The objections against this hypothesis from the linguistic point of view are, in fact, somewhat inconsistent. Schiller himself, who dates the document to a later period, avoids using as evidence the late style of the document, and with a praiseworthy objectiveness observes that: “actually we have so little evidence of ‘early’ curial style that there is only a very slight basis of contrast with a ‘late’ curial style.”19 Relating to the content of the document, one must observe the following. It is true that the appellatio acquires its true and proper institutional character only between the end of the second and beginning of the third centuries. This, however, does not mean that before this the prince could not be extraordinarily invested with the cognitio of a penal cause upon petition of the interested parties. In the year 30 BCE, as related by Dio Cassius, Augustus was granted the right of ἔκκλητον δικάζειν, that is, “to judge on appeal” (appellatum iudicare)20 by means of a senatus consultum. With this expression, as has been rightly pointed out, the Greek historian does not refer to the appeal in a technical sense, but refers generally to the faculty recognized by the emperor to judge a cause whenever this was requested. Anyone who had an interest could “invoke a trial before the prince,” and therefore request the intervention of the emperor in a trial yet to start, or in one still in progress, or ask that the cognitio of a cause already decided by a judgment of an imperial official (for example, by a provincial governor) should be referred to the prince for a new trial.21 The invocation by Paul, “Καίσαρα ἐπικαλοῦµαι,”22 formulated before any verdict had been handed down on him, undoubtedly constituted a petition of this type. Similarly, the numerous appellationes made to Augustus mentioned by Suetonius in the Vita of this emper19

Schiller, The First Edict, 185 (= An American Experience, 299). Dio 51.19.6–7: Καὶ τὸν Καίσαρα τήν τε ἐξουσίαν τήν τ ῶν δηµάρχων δι ὰ βίου ἔχειν, κα ὶ τοῖς έπιβοωµένοις α ὐτὸν κα ὶ ἐντὸς το ῦ πωµηρίου κα ὶ ἔξω µέχρις ὀγδόου ἡµισταδίου ἀµύνειν, ὄ µηδενὶ τῶν δηµαρχούντων ἐξῆν, ἔκκλητόν τε δικάζειν, κ αὶ ψῆφον τινα αὐτοῦ ἐν πᾶσι τοῖς δικαστηρίοις ὥσπερ Ἀθηνᾶς φέρεσθαι... 21 J.M. Kelly, Princeps iudex. Eine Untersuchung zur Entwicklung und zu den Grundlagen der kaiserlichen Gerichtsbarkeit (Weimar: Böhlau, 1957), 19; see the review of Kelly by G. Broggini, Iura 9 (1958), 261f. (= Coniectanea [Milan: Giuffrè, 1966], 619ff.); G. Pugliese, “Linee generali dell’evoluzione del diritto penale pubblico durante il principato,” ANRW II.14 (1982): 737 n.28 (= Scritti giuridici scelti [2 nd vol.; Naples: Jovene, 1985], 688 n.28); P. Stein, “Procedure giudiziali e politica nel primo impero,” in F. Milazzo (ed.) Gli ordinamenti giudiziari di Roma imperiale. Princeps e procedure dalle leggi Giulie ad Adriano. Atti del convegno di Copanello 1996 (Naples: Edizioni Scientifiche Italiane, 1999), 25f.; M. Ravizza, “Καίσαρα ἐπικαλοῦµαι. L’appello di Paolo di Tarso all’imperatore,” in D. Mantovani (ed.), Eparcheia, autonomia e civitas Romana. Studi sulla giurisdizione criminale dei governatori di provincia (Pavia: Iuss, 2010), 113ff. 22 Acts 25.11. 20

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or23 have the same character. Furthermore, there is no doubt that the intervention of the prince based on the authority of ἔκκλητον δικάζειν could be requested by the imperial officials when they decided not to judge the cause and sent it instead to the emperor.24 As it is easy to ascertain, the characteristics of the appeal quoted in our papyrus are in line with the concept just mentioned. Especially significant in this respect is the fact that the first edict regulated both the appeal by private individuals and the remissio by officials (causae…a[d] principalem notionem [vel] prouocatae vel [rem]issae). This demonstrates that, in accordance with the opinions expressed here, such solutions were considered two species of the same genus: the recourse to the cognitio of the emperor on the basis of the competence legally conferred to him by the ἔκκλητον δικάζειν . Everything suggests that the second edict obeyed the same motivating ideas.25 Therefore, as things stand, there are no strong reasons to sustain the hypothesis that the two edicts were issued by emperors of a later period. But even more important than these findings are two literary testimonies,26 the reliability of which seems fair to defend against the criticism of some dissenting scholars. These testimonies are a text from the History by Dio Cassius and a brief extract from the Life of Claudius by Suetonius. The first author states: “Because the number of processes was exorbitant, and that those who were afraid of losing their causes did not appear in the court, [Claudius] established by means of an edict that if they did not appear before an established date he would decide the case against them, even though they had been absent.”27 The second, more synthetically, observed that: “[Claudius], with maximum facility, decided the cases against those absent in favour of those present, without worrying about verifying if they had not attended through their

23

Suet. Aug. 33.3. See also the cases mentioned in Cass. Dio 56.24.7; 59.8.4–5; Tac. Ann. 16.8.2–3. 24 This is stated by Dio Cassius in a well-known passage of his History (52.33), in which he claims that together with the ἐφέσιµα, the appeals requested to the emperor, there were the ἀναπόµπιµα, the cases sent to him by his officials. On this topic, see L. Fanizza, L’amministrazione della giustizia nel principato. Aspetti e problemi (Rome: L’Erma, 1999), 48ff. Wide documentation and bibliographical information can be found here. 25 The second edict as well did not refer to the appeal in a technical sense, as proven by, in its final part, disciplining the appellationes quae ad magistratus et sacerdotia et alios honores pertinebunt that clearly were not aimed at requesting a formal change to an official judgement. 26 Mentioned for the first time by Cuq, Trois nouveaux documents, 114ff. 27 Cass. Dio 60.28.6: καὶ ἐπειδὴ πλῆθός τε δικ ῶν ἀµύθητον ἦν κα ὶ οὐκ ἀπήντων ἐπ᾽αὐτὰς ὅι τι προσδοκ ῶντες ἐλαττωθήσεσθαι, προε ῖπε δι ὰ προγράµµατος ὅτι κα ὶ κατὰ ἀπόντων αὐτῶν ἐντὸς ῥητῆς τινος ἡµέρας δικάσει...

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own fault, or due to impossibility of the same.”28 The relation of the two texts to the edict of Claudius as quoted in our papyrus cannot, in my opinion, be reasonably held in doubt. Schiller has argued such a relation on the basis that “they had nothing to do with limitation of the time within which appeals may be taken, but rather concerned the delay (mora) in prosecuting cases to judgment.”29 But the argument is fallacious. One only has to read the first few lines of the document to realize that the strict deadlines for appeals were introduced ne [aut] prob[i] h[o]mines [c]onflictar[e]ntur diu[t]ina mor[a aut] call[id]iores fructum [ca]pere [ali]quem p[rot]rahenda lite au[c]uparentur, precisely in order to avoid the excessive prolongation of pending proceedings before the imperial court. It should also be noted that the provisions of our edict fully coincide with the political direction taken by Claudius regarding criminal and procedural matters. Another measure of the emperor, this time relating to hearings in the ordinary courts (BGU 611),30 clearly shows his strong commitment to ensuring regular and solicitous outcomes to proceedings. He acted strongly against the “tyranny of the accusers” (accusatorum regnum), who left the accused in albo pendentes, et ipsi tamquam nihil egerint peregrinantur,31 and he took severe measures against them. The president of the court, praeteritis inquisitionis diebus, had to order the accuser to appear at the hearing and, in the case of an unjustifiable absence, declare him guilty of calumnia.32 In consideration of this, Claudius’ paternity of the edict cited in BGU II 628, and the subsequent attribution to Nero of the changes that were made thereafter, seem difficult to challenge.33 28 Suet. Claud. 15.2: Absentibus secundum praesentes facillime dabat, nullo dilectu culpane quis an aliqua necessitate cessasset. 29 Schiller, The First Edict, 297f. (= An American Experience, 183f.). See also J. Stroux, Eine Gerichtsreform des Kaisers Claudius (Sitzungsberichte der Bayerischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, philos.-philol. u. hist. Klasse; München, 1929), 52 n.1. 30 See FIRA² I, 285 no. 44. 31 Col. II, lines 11–15. 32 Col. III, lines 5–9. 33 Although we lack direct information about the date of Nero’s edict, it seems likely that it was enacted at the beginning of his reign, when Seneca was the inspirer of imperial policy. The aggressive criticism advanced by the philosopher in the Apocolocyntosis regarding the orientation of Claudius in procedural matters, and in particular regarding his disposition that, in the case of the lack of appearance of one of the parties, the cause had to be decided against the absent party and in favour of the attending party (see Sen. Apocol. 12.3.19ff.: deflete virum, quo non alius potuit citius discere causas, una tantum parte audita, saepe neutra; 14.3: illum, altera tantum parte audita, condemnat) induce one to suppose that it was precisely Seneca who, during the years in which he held the reins of the state, led Nero to promulgate the edict in question. With this measure, as we have seen, the condemnations una tantum parte audita definitively ceased, and the different rule of the obligatory participation (compulsory if necessary) of the parties in court

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4. The previous findings permit us to approach the result of Paul’s appeal to the emperor with greater confidence. To begin, it does not seem realistic to doubt that the Apostle, after his two years in Rome under military custody, was brought to trial before the imperial court. Nero’s edict, as we have seen, was very radical. He had established that in capital cases deferred from the provinces ad principalem notionem the two parties were to be allowed a year and a half in order to appear at a hearing. If they did not appear during this period, they were to be brought to Rome under escort (cum prosecutoribus34) and forced to provide continuity to the unjustifiably abandoned cause. The trial, regardless of anything else, had to run its course.35 Tajra’s opinion that the cause, “if neither party appeared within the given limits…was dropped from the court roster,”36 is unfounded. He confuses Nero’s edict with Claudius’ previous decree, which in effect, in the case of non-appearance of the parties, provided for the cancellation of the cause (ex[cid]ere tum eas […lites ex or]dine cognitionu[m] offici nostri). But Nero had revised this point and had introduced the rule of the forced accompaniment of those who did not appear voluntarily.37 Therefore, Paul’s appeal was subject to the new regulations introduced by the emperor. Some scholars have argued recently that, independently from the problem of dating the edict to Nero’s reign, there are reasonable grounds to contest the applicability of the measure in question to Paul’s case. They highlight that the time period within which the edict allowed the parties to appear before the imperial court was a year and a half, whilst Paul, as we know, was placed in was introduced (see col. II, lines 6–7: sciant ut cu[m] prosecutoribus [v]eneant; II, lines 1–2: [acc]usatores ad petendam poenam iure [c]ogantur). 34 On the use of this term to indicate the escorting officers, see Dig. Iust. 48.3.7 (Macer 2 de off. praes.): Solent praesides provinciarum, in quibus delictum est, scribere ad collegas suos, ubi factores agere dicuntur, et desiderare, ut cum prosecutoribus ad se remittantur: et id quoque quibusdam rescriptis declaratur. 35 The edict most likely provided something similar for non-capital causes (see col. II, lines 1–2: et acc[us]atores ad petendam poenam iure [c]ogantur), but the papyrus in this regard has many gaps and so it is not safe to reach sure conclusions. According to Cuq, Trois nouveaux documents, 112, the document “semble prescrire une enquête même en l’absence des parties et décider que l’accusateur sera contraint à poursuivre l’affaire.” 36 H.W. Tajra, The Martyrdom of St. Paul (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1994), 74 n.3; Tajra, The Trial, 196 (in the wake of earlier literature). 37 Moreover, a clarification is necessary. Claudius’ edict stated that the cause must be removed from the court roster only in the case of the absence of both parties: and this was not Paul’s case, because he was already in Rome waiting to be tried. Instead, the other provision of the edict should have been applied: and hence, in the absence of the accuser, the defendant must obtain a formal acquittal (and not simply the cancellation from the roster). Tajra’s conclusion is therefore twice as erroneous, since it not only disregards the innovations introduced by Nero, but also misunderstands the provisions of Claudius’ edict.

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preventive detention for two years. In addition, the period of a year and a half contrasts with Flavius Josephus’s account of the arrest of some Jewish priests sent by the governor Felix to be judged before the emperor. The Jewish priests stayed in jail, apparently, for at least three or four years: a period of time much longer than that considered by the edict.38 This attempt to devalue the reach of Nero’s measure, however, does not seem very persuasive. The episode of the Jewish priests is not significant, because the governor did not refer to the emperor the decision of a trial that started in his province, but merely submitted to the imperial authority suspected people whom he had arrested under his police powers.39 Since it was not a question about the devolution of a pending trial, obviously the limits set out in the edict for legal proceedings did not come into play. The emperor was free to examine, without time limits, the situation of the accused and to initiate a trial against them if and when he felt it was appropriate.40 The objection that the custody of Paul lasted for two years, while the edict allowed for a year and a half to appear in court, disregards the series of procedural activities that had to be conducted before such period began, inevitably delaying the detention period (review of the governor’s report containing the development of the first instance trial; the registration of the cause in the roster of judgments that were going to be tried before the emperor; the instruction of the same by the imperial office de cognitionibus; the notification of the date of the hearing to the accusers residents in Judea).41 Furthermore, in accordance with a plausible opinion, it may have been necessary to request a new written report from the governor of Judea, because the one entrusted to the centurion Julius was probably lost in the shipwreck of Malta.42 The preceding discussion leads us to one conclusion. After two years in military custody, Paul, in all probability, was tried. His accusers, we do not know whether spontaneously or as a result of the coercive measures set by 38

Wilson, The Gentiles, 235; Rapske, Paul, 322f. See Josephus, Vita 3.13: Καθ᾽ ὅν χρόνον Φῆλιξ τῆς Ἰουδαίας ἐπετρόπερευεν ἱερεῖς τινας συνήθεις ἐµοὶ καλοὺς κἀγαθοὺς διὰ µικρὰν καὶ τὴν τυχοῦσαν αἰτίαν δήσας ε ἰς τὴν Ῥώµην ἔπεµψε λόγον ὑφέξοντας τῷ Καίσαρι. It is worth stressing that Felix behaved in the same way with the head of the anti-Roman resistance who enjoyed the widespread support of the Jewish population (Jos. A.J. 20.8.5 [161]). 40 And this is exactly what Augustus did with some suspicious people sent to him by the proconsul of Cyrenaica: see Ed. Aug. ad Cyr. II. 40–55, on which see V. ArangioRuiz, “L’editto di Augusto ai Cirenei,” Rivista di filologia e di istruzione classica 56 (1928), 334ff. (= Scritti di diritto romano II [Naples, 1974], 172ff.); F. de Visscher, Les édits d’Auguste découvertes à Cyrène (Louvain: Bibliothèque de l'Université, 1940), 78ff. 41 Above all this, amply, R. Orestano, L’appello civile in diritto romano (Turin: Giappichelli, 1952), 414ff. 42 See G. Ricciotti, Paolo Apostolo. Biografia con introduzione critica (1st ed., 1946; Milan: Mondadori, 1991), 449. 39

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Nero’s edict, came to Rome from Judea within the prescribed deadline, and renewed their demands before the imperial court. Unfortunately, we are not able to say whether the proceedings were carried out by the emperor or by his delegate, nor are we able to reconstruct the stages of the trial. What is certain is that at the end of the hearings a verdict was imposed on him. But was it a conviction or an acquittal? 5. It is not easy to answer this question. In the absence of any direct evidence, in order to reach a solution, in my opinion, one must first try to determine on what charge the Apostle was summoned to appear before the court in Caesarea. Pivotal in this regard is the well-known passage from Acts (24.5–8), relating the list of facts given by the lawyer of the Sanhedrin to justify the condemnation request: “we have found this man to be a plague among the Jews: he fosters subversion worldwide and is a leader of the Nazarene sect. He even tried to desecrate the temple, and therefore we detained him. So you [Felix, procurator of Judea] should interrogate him, and he will tell you, and then you yourself can verify the accuracy of all our charges.”43 The accusations, as has been rightly pointed out,44 were not only religious but also political,45 since they concerned the behaviour likely to disrupt public order in the province, the maintenance of which was one of the main tasks of the governor.46 Facing such kind of accusations, Felix could not remain indifferent, especially since during his government the anti-Roman movement in Judea had increased in strength. In recent times, after the agitating activities of the Zealots and the sicarii, came the excesses of religious fanatics who, with incendiary sermons, incited rebellion against the occupying forces in order to open the path to

43

εὑρόντες γὰρ τὸν ἄνδρα τοῦτον λοιµὸν καὶ κινοῦντα στάσεις πᾶσιν τοῖς Ἰουδαίοις τοῖς κατὰ τὴν οἰκουµένην πρωτοστάτην τε τῆς τῶν Ναζωραίων αἱρέσεως, ὃς καὶ τὸ ἱερὸν ἐπείρασεν βεβηλ ῶσαι ὃν κα ὶ ἐκρατήσαµεν, παρ᾿ οὗ δυνήσῃ αὐτὸς ἀνακρίνας περ ὶ πάντων τούτων ἐπιγνῶναι ὧν ἡµεῖς κατηγοροῦµεν αὐτοῦ. 44 See, in particular, Sherwin-White, Roman Society, 48ff.; Tajra, The Trial, 121; Baslez, Paolo, 184f.; H. Omerzu, Der Prozeß des Paulus. Eine exegetische und rechtshistorische Untersuchung der Apostelgeschichte (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2002), 430ff.; Barrett, Acts II, 1099. 45 As shown by Barrett, Acts II, 1099 (following G. Stählin, Die Apostelgeschichte [Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1962], 295), the claimed desecration of the Temple was similarly a crime according to Roman law, because the Romans had accepted the provisions designed to safeguard its sanctity. 46 The jurist Ulpian, a century and a half later, will efficiently synthetize in his work De officio proconsulis the obligations of the good provincial governor in these terms: Congruit bono et gravi praesidi curare, ut pacata atque quieta provincia sit quam regit: qood non difficile obtinebit, si sollicite agat, ut malis hominibus provincia careat eosque conquirat... (1.18.13 pr.).

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God’s kingdom.47 Some of these, proclaiming themselves to be “sent by the Lord,” guided the people to the desert, where they assured that God would give premonitory signs of liberation from the Roman yoke. Others went even further, as in the case of the famous “Egyptian,” who led his followers to the Mount of Olives, promising them that on his orders the walls of Jerusalem would fall and they would have free access to the city. Against these fanatics, as against political agitators, Felix did not hesitate to intervene with uncompromising decisiveness, putting them in chains or killing them mercilessly.48 The allegations made by the lawyer of the Sanhedrin against Paul clearly attempted to present him in the eyes of the governor as a dangerous guide of the masses, of the same breed as those just mentioned. In a period when, in Judea, people were incited by preachers to revolt against the authorities, it was fairly easy to pass off the Apostle as one of them. It is significant that the tribune Lysias, who commanded the Roman cohort stationed in Jerusalem, initially mistook Paul for the Egyptian whom the soldiers had been pursuing for some time.49 But what was, in legal terms, the offence made by someone who was responsible for stirring up crowds and endangering public peace? Modern scholars consider it a crime of seditio,50 and I share this view, although I think it is necessary to add some details. The sources define seditio as a subversive activity aimed to influence the people against the political authority of the state. This offence was originally included in the ancient perduellio, a crime with rather unclear boundaries, comprising the most diverse attacks directed against the constitutional order of the civitas.51 This means it was not a specific criminal offense, but just one of the many manifestations of the perduellionis crimen. Exemplary in this sense is the case of M. Manlius Capitolinus, accused by the aristocracy of stirring up the crowds and giving seditious speeches (coetus multitudinis seditiosasque voces), and consequently convicted by the people’s assembly (or by duumviri) as guilty of perduellio.52

47 Zealots: Josephus, B.J. 2.13.2 (253); A.J. 20.8.5 (160–61) (to designate the Zealots, Josephus uses the term λῃστής, bandit). Sicarii: Josephus, B.J. 2.13.3 (254–55); A.J. 20.8.5 (164–65). On this subject, see E. Schürer, The History of the Jewish People in the Age of Jesus Christ (175 B.C.–A.D. 135 ) (1 st vol.; rev. and ed. by G. Vermes and F. Millar; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1973), 462 ff. 48 Josephus, B.J. 2.13.4–5 (258–63); A.J. 20.8.6 (167–71). See also Schürer, The History, 463ff. 49 Acts 21.38. 50 See the scholars mentioned above (note 44). 51 The criminal figure of perduellio included only civil seditio and not military seditio. The latter was considered more seriously than the first and was punished according to the law of war. Cf. C.H. Brecht, Perduellio. Eine Studie zu ihrer begrifflichen Abgren-

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Seditio was not considered a specific independent crime even in the later period, when a new political crime, the crimen minutae maiestatis, was born. This broad and generic concept would gradually absorb all the offences made by citizens against the sovereignty of the state (maiestas populi Romani), including, thus, all those that previously came under the heading of perduellio, as seditio.53 Noteworthy, in this regard, is Ulpian’s testimony on the lex Iulia de maiestate, enacted by Augustus in 27 BCE.54 The law contained a clause that specifically considered as examples of maiestas the promoting of subversive gatherings and inciting crowds to sedition (quove coetus conventusve fiat hominesve ad seditionem convocentur).55 Of course, in line with the new regime, such criminal behaviours, originally considered as attacks against the maiestas populi Romani, were now understood as being directed against the prince himself, seeing him, somehow, as a personification of the “majesty” of the state.56 The preceding considerations enable us to reach a conclusion. In the framework of criminal law, the offence attributed to Paul did not fall under the heading of seditio (this crime, as we have said, was not an autonomous offence), but under the title of crimen maiestatis. That Paul was fully aware of this is evident from his response before Festus to the allegations made by the representatives of the Sanhedrin. He is careful to stress how he was not responsible for any crime “against Caesar” (εἰς Καίσαρα ).57 This assertion should not be understood, as some do, in the sense that to the original charges made against him was added that he, with his preaching, had given offence to the the prince (something which does not appear anywhere in Acts). The subversive activities for which Paul was charged from the first moment of his proceedings did constitute, from a Roman perspective, an attack to the majesty of the emperor, as a personification of the state. As such, I find that we cannot doubt that Paul was charged before the imperial court of offending the maiestas principis for inciting the crowds. But then, what was the penalty he faced for such a crime?

zung in römischen Strafrecht bis zum Ausgang der Republik (München: Beck, 1938), 65ff., with the clarifications by Daube’s review of Brecht in JRS 31 (1941), 181. 52 Livy, 6.19–20 (in particular, 6.20.4). 53 Dig. Iust. 48.4.1.1 (Ulp. Off. Proc. 7): Maiestatis autem crimen illud est, quod adversus populum Romanum vel adversus securitatem eius committitur. See F. de Martino, Storia della costituzione romana (Vol. 4.1; Naples: Jovene, 1974), 261 and n.36 (with bibliography). 54 On this topic, see B. Santalucia, Diritto e processo penale nell’antica Roma (Milan: Giuffrè, 1998), 195ff. 55 Dig. Iust. 48.4.1.1 (Ulp. Off. Proc. 7). 56 See Pugliese, Linee generali, 750f. (= Scritti II, 681f.). 57 Acts 25.8.

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6. The sanction imposed by the lex Iulia for crimen maiestatis was the former republican penalty of aqua et igni interdictio, consisting in the exile of the condemned from Rome and Italy, with automatic loss of citizenship and property.58 However, this does not mean that Paul, had he been convicted, would necessarily have been subjected to this penalty. The interdictio was foreseen as a mandatory penalty only for trials held before the ordinary courts, but not for those held before the emperor or his officials. It is necessary, in this respect, to give some explanation. The administration of criminal justice had been entrusted to Rome, in the last Republican era, to special permanent courts called quaestiones perpetuae, which were made up of a number of judges and presided over by a praetor or an ex-aedile. Each of these courts was instituted by a law that defined the case to be heard there, and predetermined the penalty to be applied.59 The quaestio maiestatis tried political crimes and was regulated by several laws in the first century BCE and then definitively by the aforementioned lex Julia de maiestate. But this scheme was not destined to last. With the arrival of the principate, the judicial function of the quaestiones, after a brief period of consolidation during the time of Augustus, was inevitably replaced by a concurrent criminal jurisdiction exercised by the prince and his officials.60 This had a significant consequence on sanctions. In the system of the quaestiones, as stated above, the same law that established each court fixed the penalty. If the jury declared the defendant guilty, the penalty followed automatically. By contrast, in the imperial courts, and especially in the prince’s court, the law did not predetermine the sentence. The courts had the power to adapt penalties according to the gravity of the offence and the degree of culpability of the offender, and thus could take into account a whole series of circumstances and elements that judges in the permanent courts had to disregard. And even if the accused was charged on one of the fundamental laws of the quaestiones, these new courts were free to inflict a more severe punishment, or a more lenient one, as to vary the nature of the set penalty.61 From what has been said it is clear that the prince’s court was not obliged, in the trials for treason (lesa maiestas), to inflict the aqua et igni interdictio penalty set by the lex Iulia. And, indeed, according to the testimony of historians, this court imposed, in most cases, different punishments from the legal one. Along with the death penalty, which was often inflicted in cases of rebel58 Paul. Sent. 5.29.1. A. Schilling, Poena extraordinaria. Zur Strafzumessung in der frühen Kaiserzeit (Berlin: Duncker & Humblot, 2010), 85ff. 59 On this topic, see Santalucia, Diritto e processo penale, 99ff. 60 Pugliese, Linee generali, 735ff. (= Scritti II, 666ff.); Santalucia, Diritto e processo penale, 213ff. 61 Pugliese, Linee generali, 746ff. (= Scritti II, 677ff.); Santalucia, Diritto e processo penale, 247f.

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lion or attacks against the emperor,62 the court frequently imposed the penalty of exile: but it rarely applied the ancient aqua et igni interdictio, preferring other forms of expulsion from the territory, which allowed fitting the punishment to the individual circumstances of each case. The most serious penalty was deportatio: a confinement for life on an island or in a remote place of the empire, with the simultaneous loss of citizenship and property.63 Next came, in order of gravity, relegatio, which also entailed an obligation to reside on an island or somewhere else, but unlike the former, was temporary and did not deprive the condemned of civil rights.64 Finally, there was another form of relegation, a bit softer in nature, which consisted of expulsion, temporary or permanent, from Rome and Italy, or from a province, without the imposition of a particular place of residence, and without deprivation of citizenship and property.65 If Paul had he been convicted of maiestas he would have been sentenced to one of these. But did the trial end with a judgment of conviction or acquittal? In the absence of any direct evidence, at first glance it would seem logical to imagine that Paul was acquitted. One fact makes this solution attractive. According to tradition, the Apostle, before his tragic end, was able to fulfil his long-cherished project to travel to Spain. Clement, bishop of Rome at the end of the first century, in his famous letter to the church of Corinth, claims that Paul had been “to the extreme limits of the West” (this expression can only mean Spain for someone who writes from Rome);66 and the Muratorian Fragment, probably written no later than 200 CE, explicitly mentions a trip of the Apostle to that province.67 The same is expressed, towards the end of the 62 As happened, for example, against the many participants in Piso’s conspiracy: cf. Tac. Ann. 15.58–74. 63 Dig. Iust. 48.22.6 (Ulp. Off. Proc. 9); 48.19.17.1 (Marcian. inst. 1); 48.22.2 (Marcian. inst. 13). See G. Kleinfeller, “Deportatio in insulam,” in Pauly-Wissowa (eds.), Realenzyklopädie der klassischen Altertumswissenschaft (Vol 5.1; Stuttgart 1903), 231ff.; U. Brasiello, La repressione penale in diritto romano (Naples: Jovene, 1937), 272ff.; M.V. Braginton, “Exile under the Roman Emperors,” CJ 39 (1943–44), 393ff.; G. Amiotti, “Primi casi di relegazione e di deportazione insulare nel mondo romano,” in M. Sordi (ed.), Coercizione e mobilità umana nel mondo antico [Contributi dell’Istituto di Storia Antica, XXI] (Milan: Vita e Pensiero, 1955), 245ff. 64 Dig. Iust. 48.22.4 (Marcian. inst. 2); 48.22.7 (Ulp. Off. Proc. 10). See Kleinfeller, “Relegatio,” in Pauly-Wissowa (eds.), Realenzyklopädie, IA.1, 564ff.; Brasiello, La repressione penale, 272ff.; Braginton, Exile, 393ff.; Amiotti, Primi casi, 245ff. 65 Dig. Iust. 48.22.7 pr. (Ulp. Off. Proc. 10); 48.22.14 (Ulp. ex Bas.). See Braginton, Exile, 392f. 66 1 Clem. 5.7:...ἐπὶ τὸ τέρµα δύσεως. For careful examination of the text, see Tajra, The Martyrdom, 108ff. 67 Can. Mur. ll. 38–39: …sed et profectionem Pauli ab urbe ad Spaniam proficiscentis. In spite of the scholarly contributions by A.C. Sundberg, “Canon Muratori. A Fourth Century List,” HTR 66 (1973), 1ff. and by G. Hahneman, The Muratorian Frag-

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2nd century, in the apocryphal Acts of Peter.68 It is true that modern criticism has sometimes denied the reliability of these witnesses, arguing that Clement of Rome and the Muratorian Fragment, instead of relating something that really happened, made real Paul’s intention to go to Spain expressed in the letter to the Romans.69 But there is no evidence to support this idea. On the contrary, the Roman origin of these testimonies and the fact that they are most likely based on first hand documents or accounts70 encourages us to accept the authenticity of the information they transmit. Aprioristic scepticism does not seem to be justified. 7. But even if there is no reason to deny trust in the witnesses, this does not mean that they are sufficient for us to conclude that the imperial court acquitted Paul. We have already seen how exile was included among the penalties for maiestas, and therefore it cannot be excluded that the Apostle was subjected to this sanction. Indeed, there are several indications that make this opinion plausible. As has been pointed out quite rightly, if the trial had ended with a verdict of absolution, the apologetic value of such an event would have been very meaningful.71 However, given that Luke does not mention it in Acts, the silence of the Evangelist tends to indicate that the trial did not have a positive ending for the defendant.72 On the other hand, it is hard to imagine, from a political point of view, a judgment of acquittal. After the departure from the scene of Burrus and Seneca, Nero, under the pernicious influence of Tigellinus, increased his tendency to suspect and to see plots and conspiracies everywhere.73 The accusation of maiestas was extended to include any maniment and the Development of the Canon (Oxford: Clarendon, 1992), there is no reason to date the Fragment back to the beginning of the fourth century; in this regard, see the decisive criticisms by E. Ferguson, “Canon Muratori. Date and Provenance,” StPatr 18.2 (1982), 677ff. and by P. Henne, “La datation du Canon de Muratori,” RB 100 (1993), 54ff. The traditional dating was defended with extended discussion by J.-D. Kaestli, “La place du Fragment de Muratori dans l’histoire du canon: à propos de la thèse de Sundberg et Hahneman,” CNS 15 (1994), 609ff. and by F. Bolgiani, “Sulla data del frammento muratoriano. A proposito di uno studio recente,” Rivista di storia e letteratura religiosa 31 (1995), 461ff. 68 Acts Pet. (Verc.) 1–3. 69 See for all G. Barbaglio’s introduction to San Paolo, Lettere, (Milan: Rizzoli, 2009), 33. 70 See Tajra, The Martyrdom, 108. 71 E. Haenchen, Die Apostelgeschichte (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1977), 692; Barrett, Acts II, 1252. 72 A further argument is brought by Wilson, The Gentiles, 235, who observes that if the trial ended with an acquittal, it is odd that Luke omitted to mention it: “It would have been a golden opportunity to illustrate and summarise his overall view of the impartiality and friendliness of the Romans toward Christianity, and would have been a good formal ending to the book.” 73 Tac. Ann.14.57.

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festation of independent spirit, and was issued even in the absence of actual events of subversion.74 In this atmosphere it is difficult to believe that Paul, painted by his accusers as a dangerous influence on the masses, was able to emerge unscathed from the trial held against him. Everything suggests that the imperial court, not insensitive to the political climate of the time, would have found in the Apostle’s ardent speeches a manifestation of dangerous intent and threats against the prince, and therefore thought appropriate to sentence him to exile. It could be argued, of course, that this conclusion is based on mere conjecture, which by itself is not enough to make this hypothesis plausible. However, another witness, worthy of the greatest importance, in addition to the evidence provided so far, offers a more solid foundation for this view. In my opinion, one must give much more weight than has been recognised until now to a well-known testimony for its perfect correspondence with the information offered by the aforementioned legal sources. I am referring here to the already quoted letter of Clement of Rome to the Corinthians. Immediately before the reference to Paul’s journey “to the extreme limits of the West,” there is a phrase that, in the light of the observations made, acquires a very particular value: “[Paul], seven times bearing chains, exiled, stoned, who became a herald to the east and to the west, won the noble fame of faith.”75 Therefore, the Apostle, according to Clement, was sentenced to exile (φυγαδευθείς). The information is precious and one cannot try to destroy its significance by maintaining that in this letter the author expresses himself in a homiletic style. The general and historical data that we have collected on the penalties settled for crimen maiestatis unequivocally point in the same direction and, therefore, there is no compelling reason to doubt the reliability of this information. Maybe it is also possible to add further details. As mentioned above, the imperial judicial practice included various forms of exile. Some of them, like the deportatio and relegatio in its strongest form, implied segregation in a set place; others, such as the aqua et igni interdictio and relegatio in its milder form, allowed the condemned to choose freely the location of exile outside of Italy. It seems quite unlikely that the court of the prince, by a happy coincidence, imposed on Paul an exile to precisely the place where he had wished to go for a long time. It is more reasonable to think that the court did not specify the location where the penalty had to be served, but simply banished the Apostle from Rome and Italy.76 In other words, Paul must have been condemned to aqua et igni interdictio or (more likely) to a simple relegatio. If we 74

Cf. Tac. Ann. 16. 21; Suet. Nero 39.3; Dio Cass. 62.29.2. 1 Clem. 5.6: …ἑπτάκις δεσµ ὰ φορέσας, φυγαδευθείς, λιθασθεί ς, κήρυξ γενόµενος ἔν τε τῇ ἀνατολῇ καὶ ἐν τῇ δύσει, τὸ γενναῖον τῆς πίστεως αὐτοῦ κλέος ἔλαβεν. 76 And possibly from Judea, too, where his “subversive activities” had been carried out. 75

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accept this, the circumstances of Paul’s trip to Spain become more understandable. As interdictus or relegatus, he took the option legally granted to him to choose the place of his punishment, selecting the very place in the empire he had wanted to visit for years. We are unable to establish with certainty in which city he carried out his Spanish missionary activity, but modern criticism has provided, as is well-known, good arguments in favour of Tarragona. Uncertain and controversial are the successive experiences of the Apostle. The state of the sources does not allow us to reconstruct the facts in anything other than a completely hypothetical fashion, and this prevents the possibility of a serious legal investigation. In particular, it is impossible to say, in the total absence of acceptable legal evidence on what charges Paul was brought back to the imperial court and sentenced to death. Given this situation, I dare not venture into hypotheses and prefer to conclude my essay with a disconsolate, but honest, non liquet.

Paul’s Social Status and the Outcome of his Trial Juan Chapa

That Paul suffered trial in Rome after a certain period of domiciliary arrest seems the most likely possibility according to Roman legal procedures, as has been convincingly argued on other pages of this book.1 But the type of punishment that was imposed on the apostle is not at all evident. The view exists that Paul was condemned to exile and, consequently, he was able to meet his desire to travel to Spain.2 In contrast, there are some scholars who consider this very unlikely. For example, Heike Omerzu admits that a defendant of the crime of maiestas could be sentenced to deportatio or relegatio, but states that these penalties were destined only for “high ranking and influential personalities.”3 The conclusion she reaches seems straightforward: “It would be totally incomprehensible if the emperor (or his court) gave the politically unim1 See the essay in this volume by Bernardo Santalucia. The literature on this topic is very extensive. See F.F. Bruce, The Acts of the Apostles: The Greek Text with Introduction and Commentary (London: Tyndale, 1951); A.N. Sherwin-White, Roman Society and Roman Law in the New Testament (Oxford: Clarendon, 1963); H.J. Cadbury, “Roman Law and the Trial of Paul,” in K. Lake and H.J. Cadbury (eds.), The Beginnings of Christianity, Part I: The Acts of the Apostles, Additional Notes and Commentary (Vol. 5; repr.; Grand Rapids: Baker, 1979), 297–338; H.W. Tajra, The Trial of St. Paul: A Juridical Exegesis of the Second Half of the Acts of the Apostles (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1989); B. Rapske, The Book of Acts and Paul in Roman Custody: Volume 3, The Book of Acts in Its First Century Setting (ed. B.W. Winter; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1994); E. Heusler, Kapitalprozesse im lukanischen Doppelwerk: Die Verfahren gegen Jesus und Paulus in exegetischer und rechtshistorischer Analyse (Münster: Aschendorff, 2000); H. Omerzu, Der Prozeß des Paulus: Eine exegetische und rechtshistorische Untersuchung (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2002); M.L. Skinner, Locating Paul: Places of Custody as Narrative Settings in Acts 21–28 (Atlanta: SBL, 2003). 2 See Santalucia in this volume; R. Riesner, “Romans 15 and Paul’s Project of Journey to Spain (Hispania),” in J.M. Gavaldà Ribot, A. Muñoz Melgar, and A. Puig i Tàrrech (eds.), Pau, Fructuós i el cristianisme primitiu a Tarragona (Segles I–VIII): Actes del Congrés de Tarragona (19–21 de Juny de 2008) (Tarragona: Fundació Privada Liber, 2010), 101–11; J.J. Gunther, Paul: Messenger and Exile. A Study in the Chronology of His Life and Letters (Valley Forge: Judson, 1972), 144–48. 3 H. Omerzu, “The probability of a Pauline travel to Spain in Light of the Roman Law,” in Pau, Fructuós i el cristianisme prmitiu a Tarragona, 125.

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portant and common Jew Paul, who is accused of stirring tumult throughout the world (cf. Acts 17:6; 24:5), further opportunity to cause trouble by imposing exile on him.”4 Given the paucity of the evidence, this explanation may seem reasonable. But it is legitimate to question the premise. Namely, to what degree are we allowed to claim that Paul was a “politically unimportant and common Jew”? If he was a common Jew, how is it that the governor decided to send him to Rome to be judged? Or is it such that the fact of being a Roman citizen and having appealed to Caesar compelled the governor to send the defendant to the Imperial court, even if the accused were a common person? Is there evidence that states that ordinary citizens who appealed to Caesar were sent to Rome? In a word, are we sure that Paul was a common and irrelevant citizen? Because if he were not, perhaps the possibilities of being sent into exile after having been judged in Rome would be less remote.

A. Social Status and Roman Penal Law It is well-known that in Roman society individuals were defined by the legal condition they had, the privileges they enjoyed, and the wealth they possessed.5 Of course, holding Roman citizenship was essential for a place in society. But this was not all. Even the apparently privileged class of citizens was subdivided into ordines, that is, ranks according to birth and wealth. Consequently, in practice not every citizen had equal access to legal rights and was equal before the law.6 This is an important element that must be taken into account when evaluating legal procedures in Roman antiquity. As a matter of fact, in criminal procedures there were both penalties for people of the higher classes and penalties for people of the lower classes. In other words, justice was more severe with citizens of low standing, while the elite enjoyed a higher legal protection.7 4

Omerzu, “The probability,” 127. For a general view, see G. Alföldy, The Social History of Rome (3rd ed.; London: Routledge, 1988), 106–15; P. Garnsey and R.P. Saller, The Roman Empire: Economy, Society, and Culture (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1987), 107–25; J. Gage, Les classes sociales dans l’empire romaine (Paris: Payot, 1964). 6 P. Garnsey, Social Status and Legal Privilege in the Roman Empire (Oxford: Clarendon, 1970), 103–52, 221–22 and E. Meyer, “The Justice of the Roman Governor and the Performance of Prestige,” in A. Kolb (ed.), Herrschaftsstrukturen und Herrschaftspraxis: Konzepte, Prinzipien, und Strategien der Administration im römischen Kaiserreich. Akten der Tagung an der Universität Zürich, 18.–20.10.2004 (Berlin: Akademie, 2006), 167–80. 7 Although specific laws on the different ways of punishing were fixed later, this was not very different from earlier periods. Cf. R.A. Baumann, Crime and Punishment in An5

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There are several instances in the Digest which reflect this understanding of the administration of justice. For example, in the section devoted to punishments, the Digest refers to the following statement by the Roman jurist Callistratus: “Our ancestors, in inflicting every penalty, treated slaves more harshly than persons who are free; and they punished those who are notorious with greater severity than men of good reputation.”8 Again, when dealing with the removal of boundaries, the Digest refers to a rescript by Hadrian that states: in fixing the penalty…its degree should be determined by the rank and intention of the individual who perpetrated the crime, for if persons of eminent rank are convicted, there is no doubt that they committed the act for the purpose of obtaining the land of others, and they can be relegated for a certain time… Where others have transacted their business, and have furnished their services, they shall be chastised and sentenced to hard labour on the public works for two years.9

Thus, the rescript declares that there was a penalty of relegatio for splendidiores personae, for “men of high social status,” and a penalty of two year’s opus publicum after a beating, for alii, for the “others.” In the section devoted to accusations and inscriptions, the Digest refers to a text by Ulpian in which a similar view regarding the accusers is held: “Where several persons appear who desire to accuse the same man of a crime, the judge should select one of them to bring the accusation; that is to say, after proper cause has been shown by investigating the character, rank, interest, age, morals, or any other proper attributes of the accusers.”10

cient Rome (London: Routledge, 1996), 124–40. Ulpian explains that Labeo, a jurist from the time of Augustus, did not agree to take cases of fraud of someone from the lower classes against a citizen of higher social status: Et quibusdam personis non dabitur, ut puta liberis vel libertis adversus parentes patronosve, cum sit famosa. Sed nec humili adversus eum qui dignitate excellet debet dari: puta plebeio adversus consularem receptae auctoritatis, vel luxurioso atque prodigo aut alias vili adversus hominem vitae emendatioris. Et ita Labeo (Dig. 4.3.11.1). 8 Dig. 48.19.28.16: Maiores nostri in omni supplicio severius servos quam liberos, famosos quam integrae famae homines punierunt. 9 Dig. 47.21.2: Divus Hadrianus in haec verba rescripsit: Quin pessimum factum sit eorum, qui terminos finium causa positos propulerunt, dubitari non potest. De poena tamen modus ex condicione personae et mente facientis magis statui potest: nam si splendidiores personae sunt, quae convincuntur, non dubie occupandorum alienorum finium causa id admiserunt, et possunt in tempus, ut cuiusque patiatur aetas, relegari, id est si iuvenior, in longius, si senior, recisius. Si vero alii negotium gesserunt et ministerio functi sunt, castigari et ad opus biennio dari. Quod si per ignorantiam aut fortuito lapides furati sunt, sufficiet eos verberibus decidere. 10 Dig. 48.2.16: Si plures existant, qui eum in publicis iudiciis accusare volunt, iudex eligere debet eum qui accuset, causa scilicet cognita aestimatis accusatorum personis vel de dignitate, vel ex eo quod interest, vel aetate vel moribus vel alia iusta de causa.

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Cicero synthesised this understanding in a concise statement: servari necesse est gradus, “it is necessary that the distinctions of rank should be observed.”11 And there are many instances in his works that prove he believed this. For example, in his speech against Verres, in referring to the crimes committed by the governor of Sicily, Cicero laments how citizens had not been treated according to their rank and social status. Verres had tortured and crucified Roman citizens in the same way that slaves or public enemies were put to death.12 The best known of those cases had been the crucifixion of Gavius, a Roman citizen whom Verres sentenced to be crucified on the grounds that the defendant was spying for a band of fugitive slaves (speculator fugitivorum). Gavius protested and demanded a new trial and the possibility of appealing to the people of Rome. But Verres ignored the petition and mocked Gavius, commanding him to be crucified in a place from which he could see the Italian coast.13 In his speech Cicero appealed to the principle according to which legal status must be considered at the moment of deciding the penalties.14 In fact, although Cicero regrets that pirates and arrogant slaves were not punished as they should be, he does not show, however, any concern if a slave is crucified for the mere fact of carrying a hunting spear.15 11

Cicero, Planc. 15. See for example, Cicero, Verr. 1.5.13; 2.1.7; 2.1.8; 2.1.9; 2.1.13; 2.3.6; 2.3.59; 2.4.26; 2.5.12 ; 2.5.72–73; 2.5.179. 13 Cicero, Verr. 2.5.158–71. See also the essay by Valerio Marotta in this volume. 14 Cicero, Verr. 2.5.169. J.-J. Aubert, “A Double Standard in Roman Criminal Law? The Death Penalty and Social Structure in Late Republican and Early Imperial Rome,” in J.-J. Aubert and A.J.B. Sirks (eds.), Speculum iuris: Roman Law as a Reflection of Social and Economic Life in Antiquity (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2002), 119 notes that “[i]t is remarkable that in both capacities, as a prosecutor against Verres and as a defense advocate for Rabirius, Cicero could make consistent use of the principle that legal status should be instrumental in deciding penalties, in particular the mode of execution in capital cases, and that persons of free status, not only Roman citizens, should be regarded as entitled to exemption from the shame and horror of crucifixion.” On abuses inflicted on Roman citizens, see also Omerzu, Der Prozess des Paulus, 43, n.133. 15 This refers to the performance of governor Lucius Domitius, who asked a shepherd who had hunted an immense boar how he had done it. When the shepherd replied that he had used a spear, he was immediately put to death on a cross, because it was the rule that no slave should ever be seen with a weapon. Cicero comments: durum hoc fortasse videatur, neque ego ullam in partem disputo: tantum intellego, maluisse Domitium crudelem in animadvertendo quam in praetermittendo dissolutum videri (2.5.7). For Cicero’s view on punishments of pirates and slaves, see Verr. 2.5.14; cf. 2.5.65–67: nihil est victoria dulcius, nullum est autem testimonium victoriae certius quam, quos saepe metueris, eos te vinctos ad supplicium duci videre (2.5.66). See Dio, 57.19.2; Gellius, NA 10.3.17; Suetonius, Aug. 27.4; Tib. 60; Cal. 32.1; Claud. 34; Seneca, Dial. 5.18–23; Tacitus, Ann. 3.50.2; 11.22.1; 15.56; 16.20.2, and the Senatus Consultus by Cn. Pisone Patre, lines 49–52. See G.G. Fagan, The Lure of the Arena: Social Psychology and the 12

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A second element which must be considered in relation to social status and criminal procedures is that, at the moment of determining the penalty, Roman tradition was often influenced more by practice than by strict legal norms.16 As a consequence, the magistrates enjoyed certain freedom in determining the penalties to be imposed on a defendant. This tradition makes it difficult to know to what extent the rules recorded by jurists from the second and third century may reflect norms from earlier periods. It is therefore necessary to resort to documentary testimonies from different regions and times and compare them with the legal sentences. The resulting picture is that, although, as a general rule, there was congruence between law and practice, variations existed.17 This is shown by cases in which the authorities did not strictly adhere to the law. In a petition addressed to the prefect of Egypt by a veteran from the Arsinoite nomos, shortly after 7th September 147 CE, the petitioner refers to the fierce behaviour of a former scribe from the village, who had ill-treated not only him but even the strategos. After mentioning that “of all the injustices in life the most infamous is that free persons become the victim of overweening pride (ὕβρις),” the petitioner includes among those signs of pride [κ]αὶ ἀλήθειν κα [ὶ] τοὺς ἐλευθέρους τύπτειν καὶ παίειν καὶ µαστιγοῦν ὡς δο[ύλο]υς (“to rule and to prevent and to crush, and to beat and give a thrashing and to flog the free-born like slaves”).18 This is not an isolated witness. It is also reflected in other cases we know. Between 180–183 CE, the peasants of Saltus Burunitanus, north of Africa, complained of the abuses committed by the soldiers sent by the imperial procurator who mistreated the locals to the point that they “flogged with rods even Roman citizens.”19 From Roman

Crowd at the Roman Games (Cambridge: CUP, 2011), 28–29 for further literature on social status in Roman society and diversity of penalties. 16 Garnsey, Social Status, 2: “The Roman respect for status is more clearly reflected in the action and attitudes of judicial officials than in legal theory.” See Aubert, “A Double Standard,” 130 and n.31 and n.36 below. 17 Aubert, “A Double Standard,” 105–10. 18 P.Wisc. I 33.20. Further examples of later periods: P.Oxy. IX 1186 (368 CE); P.Lips. 40 col III, 21 (IV–V century). 19 FIRA I, no. 103 (= CIL VIII, no. 10570 = ILS, no. 6870), col. ii, lines 10–14: missis militib(us) [in eu]ndem saltum Burunitanum ali[os nos]trum adprehendi et uexari, ali[os uinc]iri, nonullos ciues etiam Ro[manos] uirgis et fustibus effligi iusse[rit]. The same concern to invoke one’s rights as a Roman citizen is attested by Attalus (perhaps following Paul’s steps), one of the martyrs of Lyon, who invoked his condition before the law in view of his imminent execution (cf. Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 5.1.43–52). “The governor, learning that he was a Roman, ordered him to be taken back to prison and kept with the rest who were there, with regard to whom he had written to the Caesar, and was now awaiting his determination.” Attalus’ claim turned out to be useless. Despite the fact that it was explicitly forbidden to throw Roman citizens to the beasts, on the following

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Britain, there is another testimony that is somewhat reminiscent of Paul’s experience in Philippi. One of the Vindolanda tablets, dated to the end of the first century CE or the beginning of the second (most of the tablets come from 90–125 CE), preserves a draft of a petition which was likely never sent.20 A civilian, probably a merchant who refers to himself as “homo trasmarinus,” perhaps someone from Gaul who wants to distinguish himself from the natives (Britunculi), addresses a certain Proc(u)lus, whom he calls maiestatem,21 because apparently the lower ranking officials (beneficiarius, or/and centurions) did not hear him, while the prefect of the unit was away due to illness. The petitioner says that it cannot be allowed that an innocent man is beaten with rods (uirgis cas[t]igatum esse), as if he had committed a crime. Although the damage to the tablet does not permit us to be certain, it is probable that he had already been punished by a member of the army and what he asks for is redress (rather than to avoid the punishment).22 These three testimonies show both that the awareness of one’s rights was probably widespread and that there was a certain degree of discretion, at least, with respect to punishment and citizenship. Together with the differences established by law and the discretionary power of the magistrates when enforcing it, there is a third element in relation to punishment and social status that must be considered, namely the injustices and misuses committed by members of the highest classes or by those who had powerful influence. Obviously, the distinction between the discretionary use of power and its abuse is not always clear. In any case, as Kelly writes, [t]he administration of justice, civil as well as criminal, tended both in the pre-classical, classical, and post-classical periods of jurisprudence to be subject to the influence of powerful men; sometimes that influence found expression in the outright bribery of judges, advocates, or witnesses; more often it operated by fear, by favour, and by personal connexions. The theory of an equal and objective justice was perfectly familiar, but no one reckoned on finding it applied in practice.23

day the governor Alexander, wishing to gratify the mob, “entered the amphitheatre along with Attalus” and “exposed Attalus to the wild beasts” (Hist. eccl. 5.1.44). 20 Vind. Tab. 344: “Letter (draft) petition,” Vindolanda Tablets Online. Cited 22 December 2013. Online: http://vindolanda.csad.ox.ac.uk/. 21 This Proculus might be the governor of the province, the same mentioned in other tablets as Flavius Proculus. For this Proculus see A.R. Birley, Garrison Life at Vindolanda. A Band of Brothers (Stroud: Tempus Publications, 2002), 125. 22 This is the editors’ preferred interpretation from the restored ca[stigauit in line 1. The text is ambiguous and it might be that the petitioner was asking not to be punished. Centurions were authorised to flog other soldiers (cf. Tacitus, Ann. 1.23) and it is possible that they might extend this punishment to civilians. See M. Peachin, “Five Vindolanda Tablets, Soldiers, and the Law,” Tyche 14 (1999): 223–35, esp. 227–30. 23 J.M. Kelly, Roman Litigation (Oxford: Clarendon, 1966), 61.

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As a consequence, although it is true that in criminal procedures there were laws that protected Roman citizens against the coercitio of the magistrate through the provocatio ad populum, that is, the lex Valeria, the leges Porciae and the lex Julia,24 it is also true that there were cases, especially in the provinces, in which the governor did not meet the requirements of the law, did whatever he felt like, or accepted the bribes of powerful people. The list of examples would be numerous. I wish to mention just three: In De vita Caesarum, Suetonius, to illustrate the excessive violence of Galba when he was governor at the Tarraconensis during the sixties, tells that Galba crucified a Roman citizen accused of poisoning his ward, in spite of the fact that the man “invoked the law and declared that he was a Roman citizen” (implorantique leges et civem Romanum se testificanti). His protests, however, only served to get him crucified on a higher cross painted in white.25 In the Antiquities, Josephus writes that in the year 66 CE Gesius Florus flogged and crucified with no trial some Jews in Jerusalem, among them some Roman citizens of equestrian rank.26 Pliny mentions in one of his letters that Marius Priscus, when he was proconsul of Africa, received bribes in order to beat with rods a Roman citizen of equestrian rank, condemn him to the mines, and have him strangled in prison, and that he also accepted money for sending another citizen into exile and executing seven of his friends.27 In light of these and other cases in which there is a discrepancy between what is prescribed by law and the sentence, there are authors who think that the protection of a Roman citizen in the provinces depended on local traditions or personal criteria of the governor.28 As Garnsey comments, “[w]hen the prefect did proceed as a judge rather than as a policeman, he reached his verdict after considering the personae of the parties as well as the facts of the case.”29 Thus, although the rich and influential people could benefit from the letter of the law, ultimately, in a capital case, the discretional reasons of the governor prevailed, whether the defendants were Roman citizens or not. So 24

Dig. 48.6.7: Lege Iulia de vi publica tenetur, qui, cum imperium potestatemve haberet, civem romanum adversus provocationem necaverit verberaverit iusseritve quid fieri aut quid in collum iniecerit, ut torqueatur. Item quod ad legatos oratores comitesve attinebit, si quis eorum pulsasse et sive iniuriam fecisse arguetur. Dig. 48.6.8: Lege Iulia de vi publica cavetur, ne quis reum vinciat impediatve, quo minus Romae intra certum tempus adsit. 25 Suetonius, Galb. 9. 26 Josephus, A.J. 20.129. 27 Pliny, Ep. 2.11.8. 28 Cadbury, “Roman Law and the Trial of Paul,” 314; W. Kunkel, An Introduction to Roman Legal and Constitutional History (trans. J.M. Kelly; Oxford: Clarendon, 1966), 87; and Garnsey, Social Status. However, A.H.M. Jones, “I appeal to Caesar,” in Studies in Roman Government and Law (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1960), 53–54 is against this understanding. 29 Garnsey, Social Status, 98.

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that, “while it is true that governors were not permitted to execute citizens summarily [according to the lex Iulia], they were certainly able to execute them judicially. That is to say, they could try, condemn and execute citizens, provided that an appeal did not reverse the sentence.”30

B. The Governor’s Discretionary Power at a Case of Appeal The relationship between legal procedures and social status shows that, in order to assess Luke’s information on the trial of Paul in Jerusalem and its most likely continuation in Rome, it is necessary to bear in mind the three elements considered above: namely, that the law provided to Roman citizens of high status better legal guarantees than to citizens of the lower classes; that the governors in the provinces had great liberty of action; and that abuses were not infrequent. If to these we add that Luke or his sources might have not worried too much about legal terms and technicalities, we should be reluctant to accept too rigid an explanation of the legal process of Paul or an understanding of it which happens to fit well with our knowledge of the Roman criminal law.31 This has often happened. For instance, a rather large group of 30

Garnsey, “The Criminal Jurisdiction of Governors,” JRS 58 (1968): 54. This is what happened in the case of Attalus mentioned above in note 19. This incident is cited also by Jones, “I Appeal to Caesar,” 55–6. C.K. Rowe, World Upside Down: Reading Acts in the Graeco-Roman Age (Oxford: OUP, 2009), 225, n.192 mentions that SherwinWhite, Roman Society and Roman Law, 70, n.1 also refers to Attalus’ case but omitted the most important fact, i.e., that a provincial governor ignored an imperial mandatum and sent a Roman citizen to the beasts, as if he were an alien. Rowe also notes that G.E.M. de Ste. Croix, “Why Were the Early Christians Persecuted?—A Rejoinder,” Past and Present 27 (1964): 6–38 includes the case of Attalus in discussing the power of provincial governors. De Ste. Croix writes: “[The governor’s] attitude might be less important than what I must call ‘public opinion.’ If the state of local feeling was such that no one particularly wanted to take upon himself the onus of prosecuting Christians, very few governors would have any desire to instigate a persecution. If, on the other hand, public opinion was inflamed against the Christians…, then delators would not be lacking, and Christians would be put on trial; and few governors would have any motive for resisting strong local feeling demonstrated in this perfectly permissible way, especially if some of the more influential men in the area were leading the agitation, as they often would be” (15). Rowe thinks that these remarks are also relevant to the narrative of Acts and to the situation in Jerusalem and in Ephesus. 31 Cf. H.M. Cotton, “The Evolution of the So-called Roman Provincial Law, or: Cicero’s Letters of Recommendation and Private International Law in the Roman World,” in G. de Kleijn and S. Benoist (eds.), Integration in Rome and in the Roman World: Proceedings of the Tenth Workshop of the International Network Impact of Empire (Lille, June 23–25, 2011) (Leiden: Brill, 2013), 43–55: “[O]ne must be fully conscious of the crucial distinction between the statutes and the law-books on the one hand and the courtroom, the litigants and the lawyers on the other. We must, at all costs, avoid a schematic

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scholars, following Mommsen, think that it is legally well founded that during the early Empire, in a capital case against a Roman citizen, the governor had to send the defendant to Rome, because the right of appealing against a sentence was automatically granted to the accused (this would be the provocatio of the beginning of the first century CE, which would be subsumed by the appellatio of the second century); and that, in consequence, the governor was not allowed to issue a sentence against a Roman citizen in a capital case.32 However, not everybody thinks that these two assumptions are so well grounded. At least, the Roman historian Peter Garnsey, considering that Paul’s appeal was pronounced before a sentence was imposed, disagrees with the above distinction between provocatio and appellatio and claims that, instead of being two different names to indicate two different realities, these two terms are almost synonymous, being used to designate the same reality of the appeal.33 He thus argues that it would not be correct to see provocatio as an appeal before the sentence and appellatio as an appeal after it, because there was no law permitting an appeal prior to the sentence. Consequently, he wonders whether Paul’s request to be judged before the emperor was perhaps a reiectio Romam. In other words, Paul, in demanding a trial before the emperor, might have invoked the prerogative of the citizens from the provinces to choose their court and ask that their cases be transferred to Rome.34 However, after stating the possibility, Garnsey asserts that this prerogative had hardly been used and was almost forgotten by then.35 (In fact, Hannah Cotton holds that reiectio Romam did not even exist as a legal provision.36)

legal approach which takes legal writings as a faithful depiction of what happened in the day to day ‘to and fro’ of litigants and litigators: such an approach removes us from the truth, and from reality” (55). See also Cotton, “Private International Law or Conflicts of Laws: Reflections on Roman Provincial Jurisdiction,” in R. Haensch and J. Heinrich (eds.), Herrschen und Verwalten. Der Alltag der römischen Administration in der Hohen Kaiserzeit (Köln: Böhlau, 2007), 235–55. I am most grateful to Prof. Cotton for these references and other comments and suggestions. 32 Rowe, World Upside Down, 81. 33 P. Garnsey, “The Lex Iulia and Appeal Under the Empire,” JRS 56 (1966): 182, n.147 quotes Tacitus, Ann. 14.28 to show that provocatio and appellatio are synonyms: [Nero] auxitque patrum honorem statuendo ut, qui a privatis iudicibus ad senatum provocavissent, eiusdem pecuniae periculum facerent, cuius si qui imperatorem appellare[nt]; nam antea vacuum id solutumque poena fuerat. See also J.C. Lentz, Luke's Portrait of Paul (Cambridge: CUP, 1993), 144–53 and A.W. Lintott, “Provocatio: From the Struggle of the Orders to the Principate,” ANRW 1.2 (1974): 226–67, esp. 233–4. 34 On reiectio, cf. Garnsey, “The Criminal Jurisdiction,” 56–57 and Social Status, 76. 35 Garnsey, Social Status, 264: “The sources give the impression that reiectio Romam was far from being a universal prerogative of citizens in the late Republic and early Empire, if it had been at any stage. …[Only] members of the Roman aristocracy domiciled

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Either way, Garnsey maintains that Festus was not compelled to grant Paul his request. Given “the wide discretionary power of the governor…over the whole field of provincial jurisdiction,”37 behind Festus’ decision lay a complex group of causes: “Festus’s personality and attitudes, his uncertainty about the basis of the allegations against Paul, and the strain of Jewish pressure—as well as Paul’s status—were probably relevant factors.”38 This is a sensible position and any attempt to go further would be to enter the realm of speculation. But it is still worth asking to what extent the possibility that Paul enjoyed a high social status might have had an influence or may have been an important factor in Festus’ verdict.

C. The Social Condition of Paul At the level of the narrative, and independently from the historicity of Luke’s account, from the reading of Acts it can be deduced that Paul received the treatment of someone of high social standing.39 Together with the virtues that are considered characteristic of people of the upper classes – Paul is shown to be prudent, wise, brave and pious – Luke shapes the legal procedures of Acts in which Paul is involved in such a way that it reveals the apostle’s high social status and his control of the situation, as corresponds to a person of such

or with interests abroad, and a few individuals who had received the right as a special privilege, were likely to lodge a successful petition.” 36 See H.M. Cotton, “Cicero, Ad Familiares XIII, 26 and 28: Evidence for Revocatio or Reiectio Romae/Romam?” JRS 69 (1979): 39–50. However, this does not necessarily exclude the possibility that a defendant could ask for the privilege of being judged in Rome, given the practical flexibility of the judicial system. See also Cotton, “The Role of Cicero’s Letters of Recommendation: Iustitia versus Gratia?” Hermes 114 (1986): 443– 60: “There is room to suspect that whatever we might resolve into a well-defined system of government, may have been in reality a sequence of ad hoc decisions resulting from personal appeals, in the name of personal ties, to wide discretionary powers vested in the official addressed. This wide discretion of the Roman governor should deter us from too hastily branding the governor’s bestowal of personal favours as illegal. At the same time it extended the realm of what was considered legal to cover all that was tolerated by public opinion and the governor’s conscience, or rather his regard for his existimatio. Within this realm personal and non-official influence could be brought to bear” (452). 37 Garnsey, “The Lex Iulia,” 183 and “Criminal Jurisdiction of Governors,” 52. 38 Garnsey, Social Status, 76. 39 Lentz, Luke's Portrait, 23–104 and passim.

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dignity.40 Accordingly, the apostle appears as a respectable well-off person: Felix expected to get some money from him (Acts 24.26), who would have also had to pay the journey to Rome, the lodging, and the trial’s costs.41 Furthermore, Luke’s readers would know that most likely very few criminal cases from the provinces would end at the imperial court. In fact, those that managed to would mainly be cases in which the defendant had been charged with serious political crimes such as rebellion or sedition, or accused of having committed some grave offences against the emperor, and the offender’s status was especially significant;42 besides, as literary testimonies show – in accordance with the stratified social Roman law mentioned above where those of high status were favoured by judges and courts – changes of jurisdiction in the course of a trial would be accorded to people of higher rank and status, or to defendants who had personal links with the emperor.43 As a consequence, the readers of Acts would assume that if Paul was sent to Rome, it was because he was a respectable citizen and was treated correspondingly.44 But did this literary portrayal of Paul’s situation have any basis in reality? What was Paul’s real social status? Scholarly views on this issue are divided. Jerome Neyrey, based on Lenski’s model of social stratification in ancient agrarian societies and considerations of honour, thinks that Luke’s perception of Paul is that of a person of considerable dignity and social status.45 Neyrey writes:

40 Lentz, Luke’s Portrait, 127: “It can safely be assumed that both Luke and his audience were aware of the social and legal customs of the day and would have understood the implications of the accounts.” 41 Lentz, Luke’s Portrait, 157–168. Vividly, Lentz writes: “[I]t is not hard to imagine that Luke’s audience would have considered that Paul traveled any way other than first class!” (155). 42 Garnsey, Social Status, 72–74 who also refers to F. Millar, “The Emperor, the Senate and the provinces,” JRS 56 (1966): 159 and 165. Cf. Kunkel, Introduction, 69. See also Lentz, Luke’s Portrait, 144. 43 Lentz, Luke’s Portrait, 148–51. Lentz assumes Ramsay’s view: “An appeal to the supreme court could not be made by everybody that chose. Such an appeal had to be permitted and sent forward by the provincial governor; and only a serious case would be entertained. But the case of a very poor man is never esteemed as serious; and there is little doubt that the citizen’s right of appeal to the Emperor was hedged in by fees and pledges. There is always one law for the rich man and another for the poor: at least, to this extent, that many claims can be successfully pushed by a rich man in which a poor man would have no chance of success” (W.M. Ramsay, St. Paul the Traveller [10th ed.; London: Hodder and Stoughton, 1908], 311). 44 Lentz, Luke’s Portrait, 166: “Paul was treated as one would expect a defendant of high social status to be treated.” 45 J.H. Neyrey, “Luke’s Social Location of Paul: Cultural Anthropology and the Status of Paul in Acts,” in B. Witherington III (ed.), History, Literature, and Society in the Book of Acts (Cambridge: CUP, 1996), 251–79.

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Luke claims that Paul was at home with the elites of his world. He depicts him as sufficiently educated to engage in philosophical discourse and as trained in forensic rhetoric so as to make numerous public speeches, which is one of the duties of a citizen. Paul is clearly the retainer of the elites of Jerusalem and privy to their circle. In his own right, he is a worthy person suited to discourse with Roman proconsuls and client kings. His patrons are said to be Asiarchs, elites of Ephesus, and well-to-do merchants (i.e., Lydia at Philippi). In short, Paul is a very honorable person of relatively high social status, who associates with the elites of his world and is trained to perform suitably at that level of society. …Luke would have us think of him as a person at home in places reserved for elites.46

And he adds based on some words of Bruce: “Thus we infer that one of the rights Paul claimed was that of ‘a fair public trial for a citizen accused of any crime, exemption from certain ignominious forms of punishment, and protection from summary execution.’”47 Some years later, Neyrey focused on the “Social Location of Paul” from the point of view of the education that the apostle reveals in his letters.48 After a detailed review of Paul’s rhetorical abilities and capacities, Neyrey reaches the following conclusion: “Inasmuch as education was status specific in Paul’s time, education such as was needed to write what Paul writes and to know what Paul knows is that of a high-status person, at least a member of the retainer class, if not higher.”49 As a matter of fact, by comparing what can be deduced from Paul’s letters with what Luke tells us in Acts, Neyrey writes: Luke states, then, that Paul is of sufficiently high social status that he could converse with those of the elite, aristocratic strata. This is the behavior expected of citizens or elites, with a corresponding education. Of course Luke’s portrait in Acts cannot itself determine Paul’s social location; but it supports the argument we have been advancing based on Paul’s own letters.50

46

Neyrey, “Luke’s Social Location,” 267 and 276. Neyrey, “Luke’s Social Location,” 277. The quotation from Bruce is in F.F. Bruce, Paul: Apostle of the Heart Set Free (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1977), 39. 48 J.H. Neyrey, “The Social Location of Paul: Education as the Key,” in D.B. Gowler, L.G. Bloomquist, and D.F. Watson (eds.), Fabrics of Discourse. Essays in Honor of Vernon K. Robbins (Harrisburg: Trinity Press International, 2003), 126–64. 49 Neyrey, “Social Location of Paul,” 161. 50 Neyrey, “Social Location of Paul,” 163. Hock also defends the aristocratic nature of Paul’s education. See R.F. Hock, “Paul and Greco-Roman Education,” in J.P. Sampley (ed.), Paul in the Greco-Roman World: A Handbook (Harrisburg: Trinity Press International, 2003), 198–227, esp. 198 and 218. Other authors who have hold or held this view are: Ramsay, St. Paul the Traveller, 31; F.J. Foakes-Jackson, The Life of St. Paul, the Man and the Apostle (London: Cape, 1933), 71–73; A.D. Nock, St. Paul (London: Butterworth, 1938), 21; G. Bornkamm, Paul (New York: Harper & Row, 1971), 6–7; Bruce, Paul, 37–38; M.D. Hooker, Paul: A Short Introduction (Oxford: Oneworld, 2003), 19; T. Vegge, Paulus und das antike Schulwesen: Schule und Bildung des Paulus (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2006), 423–24. 47

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True, not all the experts on Paul share this view, nor do they all admit that Paul belonged to the upper class, for there are features in Paul’s life that seem to deny it.51 Two of those features are Paul’s reference to his work with his own hands (1 Cor 4.12) and Luke’s mention that Paul was a tentmaker (Acts 18.3). These would be two powerful arguments which show that Paul was a person of humble class. However, these two references do not necessarily disprove Paul’s high social class. To be a tentmaker did not contradict the possibility of high social standing. As Hock has shown, we have testimonies of well known characters, like Musonius Rufus and Dio Chrysostom, whose profession was the study of philosophy. They belonged to the higher classes and had to work with their hands while they devoted themselves to study philosophy.52 Thus, the apostle, before his conversion, might have belonged to a family socially well off which was involved in the tent industry. Finally, there is another debated aspect of Luke’s presentation of Paul that might be relevant for the issue at stake, that is, the possibility that Paul might have enjoyed good links with the elite of the Empire. The debated question is Luke’s change of Paul’s name in Acts 13, after his encounter with the proconsul Sergius Paulus. This curious change by Luke has drawn much attention from commentators, but so far a convincing explanation has not been forthcoming. That Paul was a name that Saul took from the proconsul, as Jerome thought, might be too adventurous.53 However, along the same lines, it has been proposed that Paul adopted the name in homage to Sergius Paulus, who 51 For example J.J. Meggitt, Paul Poverty and Survival (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1998). For other scholars in the same track, see page 80 n.26; also contrary to Paul’s high status, C.J. Roetzel, Paul: The Man and the Myth (Columbia: University of South Carolina Press, 1998), 22–23, and R.S. Schellenberg, “τὸ ἐν λόγω ἰδιωτικὸν τοῦ Ἀποστόλου: Revisiting Patristic Testimony on Paul’s Rhetorical Education,” NovT 54 (2012): 354–68, who argues that Paul was not seen by ancient Christian authors as an educated man. 52 R.F. Hock, “Paul’s Tentmaking and the Problem of His Social Class,” JBL 97 (1978): 55–64 (repr. in J. Francis and L.J. Francis [eds.], Tentmaking: Perspectives on Self-supporting Ministry [Leominster: Gracewing, 1998], 4–13). Hock assumes Ramsay’s opinion that Roman citizenship would have “placed Paul amid the aristocracy of any provincial town” and would be “proof that his family was one of distinction and at least moderate wealth” (Ramsay, St. Paul the Traveller, 31). See also Hock, The Social Context of Paul’s Ministry (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1980), esp. 66–68; Rapske, The Book of Acts, 106, n.202. 53 Jerome, Vir. ill. 5.4: Cumque primum ad praedicationem eius Sergius Paulus proconsul Cypri credidisset, ab eo quod eum Christi fidei subegerat, sortitus est nomen Paulus (PL 23:646); Comm. Phlm.: Diligenter attende, quod hic primum nomen Pauli acceperit. Ut enim Scipio, subiecta Africa, Africani sibi nomen assumpsit: et Metellus, Creta insula subiugata, insigne Cretici suae familiae reportauit: et imperatores nunc usque Romani ex subiectis gentibus, Adiabenici, Parthici, Sarmatici nuncupantur: ita et Saulus ad praedicationem gentium missus, a primo ecclesiae spolio proconsule Sergio Paulo, uictoriae suae trophaea retulit, erexitque uexillum, ut Paulus diceretur e Saulo (PL 26:604c).

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became Paul’s patron after encountering him.54 Quite apart from this hypothetical patronage, it is interesting to note that, according to Luke’s narrative, Paul, although there were other harbours in Cyprus and he had not finished travelling across the island, set off immediately to Antioch of Pisidia, a place in which the Sergii Pauli owned properties.55 This has led the historian Stephen Mitchell to state that it is “virtually certain that the proconsul himself advised Paul to continue his journey to Pisidian Antioch, where he could provide introductions to the upper classes of the Roman colony.”56 We do not have evidence for the later career of Sergius Paulus. His family links and Roman connections reconstructed by Ramsay are highly speculative.57 But the encounter with the proconsul constitutes another tessera in the mosaic which might support the hypothesis that Paul knew his way around the higher classes of society and had good connections among the elite, independently of any real patronage by the proconsul with whom Paul shared his name.

D. Conclusion A possible relation between Paul’s social status and the sentence imposed on him may not be based on very solid grounds. But the book of Acts points to the assumption that Paul was well connected with people from the elite of the Empire. Certainly, this could reflect Luke’s literary strategy, but perhaps Luke’s vision of Paul might not be as idyllic as is often thought and perhaps the apostle happened to be a respectable Roman citizen. Thus, when the imperial court, which had liberty to impose a more or less severe penalty or a penalty of a different nature from that which was expected – in accordance with 54 E. Groag, “Sergius (Paullus),” PW II.A (1923), cols. 1715–6. See also J. Taylor, “St. Paul and the Roman Empire: Acts of the Apostles 13–14,” ANRW 26.2 (1995): 1196–8. Saul would be his supernomen or signum. 55 G.A. Harrer, “Saul Who Also Is Called Paul,” HTR 33 (1940): 19–33. On Sergius Paulus, see R. Metzner, Die Prominenten im Neuen Testament: ein prosopographischer Kommentar (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2008), 409–11. Se also Taylor, “St. Paul and the Roman Empire,” 1207. 56 S. Mitchell, “Population and Land in Roman Galatia,” ANRW 7.2 (1980):1074, n.124. 57 According to some inscriptions, it cannot be ruled out that a certain Lucius Sergius Paulus, a curator Tiberis of senatorial order, was the brother of Quintus Sergius, whose name occurs in an inscription from the north of Cyprus. Thus, Lucius Sergius Paulus would be the Sergius Paulus in Acts 13.7, who before becoming proconsul in Cyprus had been curator Tiberis. See Metzner, Die Prominenten, 410–411: “Als Mitglied des Senatorenadels gehörte (Lucius) Sergius Paul(l)us jedenfalls der höchsten Führungselite an, die ihren cursus honorum u.a. als Statthalter in senatorischen Provinzen durchlief. ...Seine Kinder blieben offenbar in Antiochien, wo sie Ende des 1. Jahrhunderts noch verehrt wurden” (411).

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the seriousness of the crime and the degree of culpability of the accused58 – had to condemn Paul, it might have taken into consideration not only the fact that the apostle had not committed a serious or direct rebellion against the emperor or his properties, but also his social condition. Thus, the penalty that could have been imposed on him could perfectly well have been aqua et igni interdictio or relegatio,59 as corresponded to a citizen of his class. True, this hypothesis leaves many questions unanswered, but not more than others based on our modern perspectives or on Luke’s silence. The hypothesis that an accused person condemned for crimen maiestatis, as Paul might have been, could have been able to continue his subversive activity in the place where he would be exiled depends, among many other possibilities, on the real danger that the judges perceived in the defendant. Paul might have been considered dangerous in Judea but not elsewhere.60 That Paul might have reached “the end of the earth” (Acts 1.8) thanks to an imperial sentence might be ironic, but that does not prevent it from being a possibility.

58

See the essay by Santalucia in this volume. Although most part of the evidence suggests that relegatio and deportatio were penalties inflicted on members of the upper classes, it is not clear that voluntary exile was only a privileged option for them. G.P. Kelly, A History of Exile in the Roman Republic (Cambridge: CUP, 2006), 43 and 161–219 shows that in the Republic nearly all elite Romans avoided the death penalty by self-banishment, exile being the actual outcome of nearly all capital convictions. Relegatio was used very rarely against citizens in the Republican era, but it became a frequent criminal punishment in the early Empire (67). 60 Bauman, Crime and Punishment, 28 states that probably in the times of Tiberius, the exile implied an expulsion to a specified place, often an island, and is frequently referred by the sources as deportation, although the expression aquae et ignis interdiction is maintained. “The probable form of the sentence is that the offender was both interdicted and deported. If he left the specified place of deportation he was exposed to the usual consequences of not going into exile.” For exile in the imperial period, see also Garnsey, Social Status, 111–22. Cf. D.A. Washburn, Banishment in the Later Roman Empire (New York: Routledge, 2013), 107. 59

St. Paul’s Death: Roman Citizenship and summa supplicia Valerio Marotta

1. In this essay, I will go down two different routes that, unfortunately, cannot meet. On the one hand, I will examine the penalties imposed from the end of the Republic until Hadrian’s age on Roman citizens, while trying at the same time to define a detailed list. On the other hand, I will ask how Christians explained the different content of the sentences imposed on Peter and Paul, that is to say, the crucifixion and the beheading, respectively1. In the first case, enumerating the penalties normally imposed on Roman citizens could perhaps be useless; but it is necessary to identify, at least, the punishments and penalties, in preference to others, inflicted on them in judicial practice.2 In the second case, we must remember that the evidence about the martyrdom of Peter and Paul is all dated to around the middle or the end of the second century CE – for example, the Martyrdom of Paul, a work handed down in different versions and in different languages (Greek, Coptic, Latin), was almost certainly written in the last decades of the Principate of Commodus.3 If you asked a historian of Roman law the first question, he would answer, like other scholars of antiquity and according to the communis opinio, that Paul, as a Roman citizen, could at most be decapitated, while Peter, as peregrinus, could be punished by other more atrocious punishments,

1 During Caracalla’s reign, Ulpian wrote (D. 48.19.8.1; Off. Proc. 9): …animadverti gladio oportet, non securi vel telo, vel fusti vel laqueo vel quo alio modo. 2 In any case, it would be necessary to identify every time the reasons for which, on certain occasions, some Roman citizens were punished, despite their privileged position, by cruel and slanderous punishments that were usually reserved only for slaves and foreigners. 3 Cf. Tertullian, Praescr. 36.1–3 (ca. 200 CE).

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such as crucifixion.4 And this is probably the correct interpretation. But if we examine the sources closely, we find very different versions of the matter.5 2. No one can seriously doubt that Paul was a Roman citizen.6 But someone has, questioning in this way the reliability of Acts as a historical source.7 Everyone knows the importance of the words civis Romanus sum:8 during his travels, Paul, to protect his freedom and his physical well-being from the coercive power of the police and judicial authorities of the cities and

4

T. Mommsen, Römisches Strafrecht (Leipzig: Duncker & Humblot, 1899), 916: supplicium indicates, at first, a genuflection (supplicare, supplex), that is to say, the act of bending to undergo decapitation by ax. 5 A summary can be found in H.W. Tajra, The Martyrdom of St. Paul: Historical and Judicial Context, Traditions, and Legends (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1994) = (reprint; Eugene: Wipf & Stock, 2010), 20–24. 6 M. Hengel, Il Paolo precristiano (trans. G. Pontoglio; Brescia: Paideia, 1992), 40ff. 7 This is the conclusion of K.L. Noethlichs, “Der Jude Paulus–ein Tarser und Römer?” in R. von Haeling (ed.), Rom und das himmlische Jerusalem: die frühen Christen zwischen Anpassung und Ablehnung (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2000), 53ff., 81ff. But every attempt to deny Paul’s citizenship has been refuted by Hengel, Il Paolo precristiano, 21 ff., 40 ff. and, more recently, by A. di Berardino, “Saulo di Tarso e la sua cittadinanza romana,” in L. Padovese (ed.), Atti del II Simposio di Tarso su S. Paolo Apostolo (Rome: Istituto francescano di spiritualità: Pontificio Ateneo Antoniano, 1994), 7–24; A. di Berardino, “Viaggiando con Paolo,” in L. Padovese (ed.), Atti del III Simposio di Tarso su S. Paolo Apostolo (Rome: Istituto francescano di spiritualità: Pontificio Ateneo Antoniano, 1995), 27–44; C. Marucci, “ha cittaclimanza comana di Paolo,” in K. Breitsching and W. Rees (eds.), Tradition – Wegweisung in die Zukunft. Festschrift für J. Mühlsteiger S.J. zum 75. Geburtstag (Berlin: Duncker and Humblot, 2001), 13ff.; G.O. Kirner, Strafgewalt und Provinzialherrschaft. Eine Untersuchung zur Strafgewaltspraxis der römischen Statthalter in Judäa (6-66 n. Chr.) (Berlin: Duncker & Humblot, 2004), 292ff. Those who deny Paul's Roman citizenship support this position on the basis of what he himself says in his second letter to the Corinthians: he was censured by Jews five times (forty stripes) and scourged three times (2 Cor 11.25). While flogging is according to Jewish practice (Deut 25.3; Mak. 3.10), in the second case Paul uses a technical term (ῥαβδίζειν = virgis caedere) and he refers to Roman flagellation (Cicero, Rab. Perd. 4.12; Scaur. 5.26.1). The abuses of governors and local authorities are often recounted. The ῥαβδίζειν, in particular, can be connected without serious difficulties to the famous episode in Philippi. In any case, even C. Holz, Die juristischen Aspekte des Paulusprozesses (Apg 21,18–28,31) (Frankfurt am Main: Fachbereich Rechtswissenschaft, 2008), 19ff., 28ff., 33f., 41, in accordance with Noethlichs’ opinion, writes: “Ergiebige Argumente für die Zivität des Paulus können nicht geliefert werden. Damit steht zwar nicht fest, dass Paulus kein römisches Bürgerrecht besaß.” 8 Tac. Hist. 1.7; Dio 64.2.3; Suet. Galb. 11: cf. Cic. Verr. 5.167 and Fam. 10.32.2, which provides evidence that, while attesting to violations of citizens’ guarantees, shows these acts are generally disapproved.

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provinces of the Roman East,9 was not silent when it was appropriate and necessary about his status as a Roman citizen,10 but rather exploited successfully this prerogative when his apostolate could take advantage of it.11 We do not know how Paul could prove his status as a Roman citizen. Maybe during his mission he used to carry a kind of certificate to exhibit, his diploma, a small diptych attesting his birth and registration as a citizen;12 but these questions will probably remain unanswered.

9

On this point, see H.W. Tajra, The Trial of St. Paul. A Juridical Exegesis of the Second Half of the Acts of the Apostles (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1989) = (reprint; Eugene: Wipf & Stock, 2010), 24ff.; V. Marotta, La cittadinanza romana in età imperiale (secoli I-III d.C.). Una sintesi (Turin: G. Giappichelli, 2009), 58f. 10 Acts 16.37; 22.26–29; 25.10–12; but it is difficult to understand that testimony from a legal point of view; see Pliny, Ep. 10.96.4, and Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 5.1.44 and 47. Cf. Holz, Die juristischen Aspekte des Paulusprozess, 29f. 11 The Fathers and, in particular, Augustine, were perfectly aware of this: Augustine, Serm. Dom. 1.58; Enarrat. Ps. 120.10. 12 Hengel, Il Paolo precristiano, 41f. and n.52; C. Sanchez-Moreno Ellart, Professio liberorum. Las declaraciones y los registros de nacimientos en derecho romano, con especial atención a las fuentes papirológicas (Madrid: Dykinson, 2001), with other bibliography. In the Imperial age – apart from the liberation of slaves according to one of the ways recognised by the old law (manumissio vindicta, censu, testamento), from admittance to citizenship of Latin freedmen ex lege Aelia Sentia, and, in my opinion, from ius Latii privilege – only the princeps could award Roman citizenship. In such cases, the name of the new civis, except for veterans, had to be registered in the commentarius civitate donatorum. Two documents attest to this: the tabula Banasitana (ILMaroc 94, lines 22–29: descriptum et recognitum ex commmentario civitate Romana / donatorum…) and AÉ 1999, 1250, lines 3–10 (Descriptum et recognitum ex petitione rescripta diplomi id quod infra scriptum est: Descriptum et recognitum ex commentario civitate donatorum…-----). Cf. also Pliny, Ep. 10; 10.106; 10.107. On this question, see R. Frei-Stolba and H. Lieb, “Un diplôme civil: le fragment de Carnuntum,” ZPE 143 (2003): 243–54. AÉ 1999, 1250 attests that diplomata were attributed not only to veterans, but also to civilians receiving citizenship one-by-one. But there were also special registers for veterans and, according to some scholars, for those who had become citizens due to ius Latii. H. Wolff, Die Constitutio Antoniniana und Papyrus Gissensis (Cologne: R.J. Hundt, 1976), 89–93 asserted that, in these cases, the proceedings would have begun and ended in the hometown of the new citizen: therefore, the registration would have been made only in the municipal archives. Vice-versa, Frei-Stolba and Lieb, “Un diplôme civil,” 249 believe that, in any case, it was the emperor who naturalized. So there had to be a specific register in which to certify that grant. But both hypotheses are baseless. I suggest a third one that I can summarise in this way. The pattern of ius Latii was similar to the one of lex Aelia Sentia for Latin freedmen. This explanation was given by G. Camodeca, “Cittadinanza romana, Latini Iuniani e lex Aelia Sentia: alcuni nuovi dati dalla riedizione delle Tabulae Herculanenses,” in M.P. Baccari and C. Cascione (eds.), Tradizione romanistica e costituzione (Naples: Edizioni Scientifiche Italiane, 2006), 887ff., in his new edition of Tab. Herc. 89. It was probably not different from the pattern of lex Aelia Sentia for the anniculi causae probatio, that one too fixed the sending once a decretum decu-

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In Philippi (Macedonia),13 Paul lamented, speaking also on the behalf of his traveling companion and Roman co-citizen Silas, the enormity of the injustices suffered at the hands of the magistrates of the colony, who had ordered their flogging and their incarceration, adding, significantly, the word δηµοσίᾳ, that is, “in public.” The lex Iulia de vi explicitly forbade this, taking perhaps a caput already present in the earliest lex Porcia de tergo civium.14 Claiming the civitas Romana would have been enough to avoid such treatments, but Paul and his companion did this only post eventum.15 Paul and Silas, the Apostle notes, were ἀκατακρίτους, not convicted,16 at the end of the regular process: these words can be used significantly in comparison with what Tacitus wrote about the execution (ordered by Galba, at the time legatus of Tarraconensis) of Congonius Varro and Petronius Turpilianus. The historian, blaming the behaviour of Nero’s successor, writes: inauditi atque indefensi tamquam innocentes perierant.17 The Apostle, although he was civis Romanus, was subjected, on three different occasions, to scourging18 and was often imprisoned. These facts, far from proving that Paul did not have citizenship, only show how complex the assertion of one’s rights was. The most relevant episode happened in Jerusa-

rionum had been enacted, of legatio to governor. His own edict alone, issued in compliance with a lex or an act having the same force as a lex, would have awarded the civitas. 13 Acts 16.22 and 16.37: cf. F. Tamburi, “Paolo di Tarso e le comunità locali delle province romane,” in D. Mantovani and L. Pellecchi (eds.), Eparcheia, autonomia e civitas Romana. Studi sulla giurisdizione criminale dei governatori di provincia (II sec. a.C. – II d.C.) (Pavia: IUSS, 2010), 133ff., 144ff. 14 Livy, 10.9.4. In any case, the lex Iulia de vi explicitly considered torture among the behaviours that could be the subject of provocatio. 15 Paul, remembering the flagellation suffered in 1 Thess 2.2, probably thought of the event in Philippi (Acts 16.37), when he relied on his status of civis Romanus only after the fact. 16 The civis Romanus, sentenced to certain penalties (summa supplicia as crux, vivicrematio, damnatio ad bestias, gladium, ludum venatorium, damnatio in metallum or in opus metalli) that deprived of citizenship or freedom, lost (obviously) his guarantees. In these cases, between the issuing of the judgment and the enforcement of the sentence and, in the case of convicted in metallum and in opus metalli, throughout the course of their existence, the condemned, though belonging to the fiscus Caesaris, were considered, according to a fictio iuris, servi poenae, that is to say, servi sine domino under the particular profile of patrimonial increase mortis causa (hereditas, legatum, or fideicommissum). Cf. A. McClintock, Servi della pena. Condannati a morte nella Roma imperiale (Naples: Edizioni Scientifiche Italiane, 2010): this scholar has escaped both D. 1.5.18 (Ulpian, Sab. 27) and the so-called senatusconsultum de sumptibus ludorum gladiatorum minuendis (FIRA 2 I. Leges no. 49, 294ff.). 17 Hist. 1.6. Cf. the words ex integro audiendi sunt in D. 48.3.6.1 (Marcian, Iud. Publ. 2). 18 2 Cor. 11.23–25.

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lem,19 where Paul confirmed he belonged to the number of cives Romani on two different occasions: first he communicated it to the centurion, then to Claudius Lysias, the chief commander of the cohort headquartered in the city.20 At first, Claudius Lysias received with skepticism the Apostle’s declaration, which explicitly stated that he was born a citizen (ἐγὼ δὲ καὶ γεγέννηµαι).21 He himself did not actually possess it by birthright, but had bought it only later with much money. About this we may note that Cassius Dio writes that the sale of the rights of citizenship was very common during the reign of Claudius.22 His statement is datable to 43 CE: to grant the civitas initially large sums were demanded, but later, under this emperor, the requests decreased significantly.23 Many conjectures have been advanced to explain why Paul or, rather, his father or grandfather had obtained Roman citizenship. According to some scholars, it was given to the Apostle’s family by Antonius in return for some service provided to Rome during the civil war or in the years immediately following. It has been conjectured, too, but without any textual evidence, that the Apostle’s father or grandfather, as tent manufacturers, were suppliers for the Roman military units stationed in Asia Minor or Syria.24 But the least implausible assumption is the one advanced, with proper caution, by Martin Hengel. In his view, it is relatively unlikely that the civitas Romana was given to the ancestors of Paul for some political or military merit, but this can not be excluded. One can surmise, vice versa, that the legal position of Paul and his family goes back to manumissio. Perhaps, in connection with the war that began with the conquest of the Temple by Pompey (63 BCE) and often flared up in the following years, the ancestors of the Apostle were enslaved.25 Actually, 19

Acts 22.25–28: M. Ravizza, “L’appello di Paolo di Tarso all’imperatore,” in Mantovani and L. Pellecchi (eds.), Eparcheia, 118. 20 Detailed readings of Acts 22.26–29 and 25.10–12 can be found in H. Omerzu, Der Prozeß des Paulus: eine exegetische und rechtshistorische Untersuchung der Apostelsgeschichte (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2002), 309ff.; Kirner, Strafgewalt und Provinzialherrschaft, 292ff., 298; Holz, Die juristischen Aspekte des Paulusprozesses, 30ff.; Ravizza, L’appello di Paolo di Tarso, 113ff., with other bibliography. 21 Cf. Tertullian, Scorp. 13: Paul was born into Roman citizenship, but he was reborn therein by the nobility of his martyrdom. Cf. W. Seston, “Tertullien et les origines de la citoyenneté de S. Paul,” in Scripta Varia (Rome-Paris: École Française de Rome, 1980), 599ff. 22 60.17.1. 23 The remark attributed to Claudius Lysias is interesting because it confirms the existence of a practice such as to justify the criticism handed down by Cassius Dio’s source. 24 Cf. C.K. Barrett, Commento agli Atti degli Apostoli (2nd vol.; Brescia: Paideia, 2005), 964ff.; 1217ff. 25 Actually, cues to support this hypothesis could be drawn from the testimony of St. Jerome. In Vir. ill. 5, he writes that Paul was born in Giscala, while, in his commentary

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if the dominus (and, consequently, the patronus, that is to say, the former owner) of the father (or grandfather) of the Apostle had, at the same time, Roman citizenship and citizenship of Tarsus (the πόλις in which many Romans, immigrants or Greek residents, that, for some reason, had obtained the civitas, lived), legally it would be less difficult to understand why Paul had, in addition to the Roman citizenship, the πολιτεία of that illustrious city of Cilicia.26 In support of the hypothesis that the father (or grandfather) of Paul had become a freedman of a former master civis Romanus and πολίτης of Tarsus,27 we may add an additional argument to those already successfully used by Hengel. But we cannot say that the ancestors of Paul and, therefore, the Apostle, were full citizens according to the rules of the constitution of Tarsus:28 that is to say, that they could hold political office or be part of its βουλή. But, as freedmen, their origo in any case would be – as confirmed by the so-called rescript of Vardagate29 – that of their patronus30 at the time of on the letter to Philemon (Comm. Phlm. 23), he reports that Paul's parents came from Giscala and that, in the chaos of war in Judea, they were deported to Tarsus. The young Paul obviously accompanied his parents. If we want to agree with Jerome, at the same time we must conclude that Paul was a freedman: and this obviously contradicts the testimony of Acts 22.28 (cf. 22.3): here Paul says to Claudius Lysias that he was born a Roman citizen. The patriarch Photius tried to rectify this contradiction, arguing that Paul had been conceived in Giscala, but he was born in Tarsus (Quaest. amphil. 116, MPG 101, 687–90). 26 Acts 21.37–39. In Acts 22.3 Paul himself says that he was born in Tarsus, but that he was brought in his early childhood (ἀνατεθραµµένος) to Jerusalem: cf. U. Vanni, “Due città nella formazione di Paolo: Tarso e Gerusalemme,” in L. Padovese (ed.), Atti del I Simposio di tarso su Paolo Apostolo (Rome: Istituto francescano di spiritualità: Pontificio Ateneo Antoniano, 1993), 15–29. 27 Hengel, Il Paolo precristiano, 61. We can also think that the father (or grandfather) of the Apostle administered the property of a wealthy Roman or perhaps even the same imperial house. 28 Hengel, Il Paolo precristiano, 33ff., 35f., reports that in the Imperial age full citizenship in Tarsus was linked to a census of at least 500 drachmas; cf. Dio Chrysostom, Or. 34.21–23 (The Second Tarsian Speech = Ταρσικός Δεύτερος): cf. Dion de Pruse dit Dion Chrysostome. Oeuvres (Or. XXXIII, Or. XXXIV, Or. XXXV, Or. XXXVI) (Text translated and annotated by C. Bost-Pouderon; Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 2011), 43-53. Hengel rightly supposed that Paul and his ancestors purchased the citizenship of Tarsus or as Roman citizens or, more likely, as freedmen of a patronus, which was, at the same time, civis Romanus and πολίτης of the Greek city. 29 Dating back, according to some, to the principate of Augustus or Tiberius, and for others, to that of Nerva: cf. AÉ 1947, 44: Y. Thomas, “Origine” et “commune patrie”. Étude de droit public romain (89 av. J.-C – 212 ap. J.-C.) (Rome-Paris: École Française de Rome, 1996), 75. 30 Cf. Hengel, Il Paolo precristiano, 37: it is possible that πολίτης, in Luke (Acts 21.37–39), like in Josephus and in LXX, does not indicate the citizenship with full rights but the origo. In any case, it does not indicate the domicilium: so Tajra is wrong (The Trial of St. Paul, 80). Actually, Dio Chrysostom speaks about a large group of textile

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manumission. By virtue of specific Roman legal rules, the Apostle and his family, no matter of any subsequent movements of their domicilium, would have kept it forever, passing it to their descendants in the male line. If changing your domicilium is always and only a simple fact,31 the origo is a status, a permanent condition that was easily verifiable, because it conformed, as the author of the libri opinionum wrote in the third century, the naturae veritas,32 an expression with which, in fact, it is emphasized that the adoption cannot change it, but it can, at most, determine the purchase of a new, additional “municipal citizenship” that is added to the one determined by its origo. In the Roman administrative system (and Paul, however, was a civis, too), the origo was determined only by the origin of the male line, that is to say, a relationship of genealogy,33 unless of course you had special privileges.34 I disagree with the position of the communis opinio, according to which the expression Καίσαρα ἐπικαλοῦµαι used by Paul in the tribunal of Festus the procurator35 shows that he allegedly used the traditional defense of the citizen against the imperium of the magistratus, that is, provocatio ad populum or ad principem.36 I am otherwise fully persuaded in general terms that workers who occupied a position that was not clear from the constitutional point of view. On the one hand, they were not in possession of full citizenship, and on the other hand, they could, however, participate in meetings of the δῆµος. I can not accept, however, another conjecture of Hengel (Il Paolo precristiano, 38): according to his opinion, Paul and his ancestors certainly did not change their origo and they did not acquire that of Tarsus; rather, it was for the Roman administration only an additional honorary citizenship. 31 But this is undoubtedly a legal concept. 32 D. 50.1.6pr. (Ulpian, Opin. 2): Adsumptio originis, quae non est, veritatem naturae non peremit: errore enim veritas originis non amittitur nec mendacio dicentis se esse, unde non sit, deponitur: neque recusando quis patriam, ex qua oriundus est, neque mentiendo de ea, quam non habet, veritatem mutare potest. So the adoption can not change the origo; it may only add to one municipal citizenship another municipal citizenship. This is also the reason why by adoption, before the constitutio Antoniniana, it was not possible to obtain the civitas Romana: D. 50.1.15.3 (Pap. Resp. 1) : ius originis…adoptione non mutatur. On the notion of naturae veritas, cf. Cicero, Pro Dom. 36 ; V. Marotta, “Una riflessione sull’idea di naturae veritas,” in S. Colloca (ed.), The Value of Truth. The Truth of Value. Proceedings of the International Seminar Nomologics 1, Pavia, Residenza Golgi, 14th–16th July 2011 (Milan: Edizioni Universitarie di Lettere Economia Diritto, 2013), 11–16. 33 The origo acquired from the mother began at the moment of birth: the baby took the local citizenship that the mother had at that moment. Lawyers just wanted, qualifying it prima, to explain that the child’s local citizenship does not come from a genealogical succession (D. 50.1.9 [Nerat. Membran. 3]). 34 Cf. D. 50.1.1.2 (Ulpian, ad ed. 2). 35 Acts 25.9–12. 36 But it has been rightly observed that the provocatio (ad populum or ad principem) was directed against the arbitrary use of coercitio, not against judicial decisions. Festus also did not commit an act of coercitio against Paul; he suggested (a kind of interlocutio)

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the identity of the civis, at the latest from the beginning of the third century BCE, was defined, above all, by the possibility of protecting and defending his libertas. Vice-versa, anyone who was not a citizen was thereby precluded from exercising any public law and any guarantee that was due exclusively to the members of the community. In this context, the ius provocationis (a fundamental aspect of the right to avoid any punishment without a iudicium populi) was, in the Republican era, the real pillar of civic libertas.37 In fact, only the leges Porciae, in the second century BCE, would have given the actual effectiveness of the legal provocatio, since all the older ones (lex Valeria of 509, lex Valeria Horatia of 449; lex Valeria of 300 BCE) that the annalistic tradition attributes to the intervention of a magistratus belonging to the gens Valeria did not provide sanctions against offenders, that is to say, against the ownership of the imperium that had harassed a civis, preventing him from exercising his right.38 But from the earliest centuries of the Republic, a trial sine provocatione was the risk of a tyrannical regime. The lex Porcia de tergo civium (probably from around 199 BCE),39 which is considered the coverage of libertas, exempted citizens from being whipped iniussu populi. The story of the ill-fated Gavius of Compsa, one of the many victims of Verres, gives the exact measure of the importance that was attributed to the inviolability of a civis Romanus:

moving the process elsewhere (to Jerusalem): I agree with Ravizza, “L’appello di Paolo di Tarso,” 114–18, 118ff.; A. Nogrady, Römisches Strafrecht nach Ulpian Buch 7 bis 9 de officio proconsulis (Berlin: Duncker & Humblot, 2006), 225ff. asserts that the lex Iulia de vi extended the ius provocationis beyond the narrow limits of coercitio, allowing the citizen who had been impeached, but not yet convicted, to use this means of legal protection. But, of course, I do not agree with him. Compare with Tajra, The Trial of St. Paul, 144ff.: “Paul was not appealing a final verdict handed down by the governor following a formal legal proceeding in his court. Rather the apostle was appealing an interlocutory decision: the request by the governor to Paul to consider a change of jurisdiction.” Cf. also Holz, Die juristischen Aspekte des Paulusprozess, 31–33, with other bibliography. 37 Cf. Livy, 3.45.8; 3.55.4; 3.56.6; Cicero, Rab. Perd. 3.44; De or. 2.199. Arx tuendae libertatis; unicum praesidium libertatis; vindex libertatis; vindiciae libertatis; patrona civitatis ac vindex libertatis. Cf. T. Mommsen, Römisches Staatsrecht (3rd vol.; Graz: Akademische Verlag, 1952), 63: “als dieser Rechtsschutz selbst als Bürgerrecht aufgefasst ward, fiel diese ihre libertas mit der civitas zusammen.” See C. Wirszubski, Libertas. Il concetto politico di libertà a Roma tra Repubblica e Impero (Bari: Laterza, 1957), with the review of A. Momigliano, published in the same book, 257ff., and his reflections collected in R. di Donato (ed.), Pace e libertà nel mondo antico. Lezioni a Cambridge, gennaio-marzo 1940 (Scandicci [Firenze]: La Nuova Italia, 1996), 43ff. 38 Cf. B. Santalucia, Diritto e processo penale nell’antica Roma (Milan: Giuffrè Editore, 1998), 121f.; E. Tassi Scandone, Leges Valeriae de provocatione. Repressione criminale e garanzie costituzionali nella Roma repubblicana (Naples: Jovene, 2008), 335ff. 39 Cicero, Rab. Perd. 12.

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Caedebatur virgis in medio foro Messanae civis Romanus, iudices, cum interea nullus gemitus, nulla vox alia illius miseri inter dolorem crepitum que plagarum audiebatur nisi haec: “civis Romanus sum.”40

Cicero continues, underlining that Verres should have guarded Gavius in the prison of his Mamertini of Messana, keeping him in chains in prison, until the arrival of Recius from Panormium to prove that the accused was a Roman citizen. And if he had found him guilty, he should have therefore mitigated the summum supplicium (aliquid de summo Supplicio remitteres). Verres’ crime, in this case, was certainly directed against the hapless Gavius, but also against Rome and Italy, because the governor had acted – this is the metaphor of the speaker – so that “Italy saw a son given to the most cruel and ignominious punishment reserved for slaves.”41 Actually, scourging with rods, crucifixion, and other infamous tortures were legal under the Roman Empire, but not for cives.42 However, abuses were frequent. Plutarch reports that Marcellus, during his consulatus, scourged a decurion from Comum just because he, coming to Rome, dared to disobey him.43 According to Josephus, Gessius Florus even ordered the scourging and crucifixion of some Roman citizens of equestrian rank.44 The historian obviously mentions his indignation for a decision that he rightly considers not corresponding to well-established practice,45 although it can be assumed that, in this case, the charge of sedition weighed to the detriment of the convicted (prominent members of the Jewish elite). The sententia by which Galba, legatus of Tarraconensis, crucified a guardian who had poisoned his pupillus was a consequence of an excess of ferocity.46 Fonteius

40

Verr. 5.169. Cf. Quintillian Inst. or. 11.1.40; or. 8.4.4. Cicero, Verr. 5.168: Tolle hanc spem, tolle hoc praesidium civibus Romanis, constitue nihil esse opis in hac voce: “civis Romanus sum,” posse impune praetorem aut alium quempiam supplicium quod velit in eum constituere qui se civem Romanum esse dicat, quod eum qui sit ignoret: iam omnes provincias, iam omnia regna, iam omnes liberas civitates, iam omnem orbem terrarum qui semper nostris hominibus maxime patuit, civibus Romanis ista defensione praecluseris. 42 A person condemned to beheading, since he was between the enactment of the sentence and its execution in the condition of servus, could be subjected to scourging. 43 Plutarch, Caes. 29.2. 44 Josephus, B.J. 2.14.9 (or 2.308). 45 Ravizza, “L’appello di Paolo di Tarso,” 126f. remarks that putting to death some Romans is not illegal but it is contra mores the new type of cruelty against them, that is to say, inflicting on citizens of equestrian rank torture as heinous as the crucifixion. Cf. Suetonius Gaius 27.3 and Dio (Xiph.) 75.7.3; Herod. 3.8.1; H.A. Maximini duo 16.6; H.A. Tyranni Triginta 29.4. 46 Suet. Galb. 9.2. 41

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Capito, legatus Germaniae inferioris in 68 CE, was even more arrogant and violent: sitting in his tribunal, he had the audacity to say to a man, who had appealed,47 but was nailed to a cross: “Now plead your case before Caesar.”48 The case of Marius Priscus seems, however, radically different. When he was proconsul Africae, between 98 and 99 CE, he exiled and sent to extreme torture an eques with seven of his friends, who had been corrupted by their enemy. For money he condemned to verberatio and also to the mines another eques; finally, he ordered the strangulation in prison of this unfortunate man.49 Is the only crime of Marius Priscus having acted as he did, for money, thus incurring in crimen repetundarum, or did he also violate the lex Iulia de vi publica? The entire defensive strategy of Marius Priscus seems to have consisted of the attempt, which was completely successful (from what emerges from Pliny), to be tried before the quaestio de repetundis for a single charge, corruption, so that he avoided a senatorial assembly which would give a judgment based on an overall analysis of his behaviour. All this does not appear insignificant, but Pliny never notices, apart from a fleeting mention, the behaviour of Marius Priscus that could be considered a violation of the lex de vi publica. Even the story of Flavius Archippus is very interesting on this point. He was sentenced in metallum for a crime of forgery (perhaps of a testament) by Velius Paulus, the proconsul of Bithynia during the reign of Domitian,50 but he still managed to resurface and regain a privileged position in his city and in his province.51 How can we explain, then, that some Roman citizens (and, at least, in one case, even an eques) were sentenced in Africa and Bithynia to penalties and punishments for which they, by virtue of their status, should have been considered immune? Unless it is claimed – but this explanation does not, however, solve this knotty problem in the complicated case of Flavius Archippus – that the presiding senatorial assembly 47

Probably asking for the rescue of the emperor. Dio 64.2.3. That is to say, the order to nail to the cross came before the legatus Augusti had formally issued his sententia. 49 Pliny, Ep. 2.11.8: Venerunt, qui adesse erant iussi, Vitellius Honoratus et Flavius Marcianus; ex quibus Honoratus trecentis milibus exilium equitis Romani septem que amicorum eius ultimam poenam, Marcianus unius equitis Romani septingentis milibus plura supplicia arguebatur emisse; erat enim fustibus caesus, damnatus in metallum, strangulatus in carcere. Cf. O.F. Robinson, Penal Practice and Penal Policy in Ancient Rome (London: Routledge, 2007), 82–85. 50 Pliny, Ep. 10.58.3: recitata est sententia Veli Pauli proconsulis, qua probabatur Archippus crimine falsi damnatus in metallum. 51 Pliny, Ep. 10.58.5–6; 10.58.3: cf. P. Desideri, Dione di Prusa. Un intellettuale greco nell’Impero romano (Messina-Firenze: Casa Editrice G. D’Anna, 1978), 145–46, 401–06; C.P. Jones, The Roman World of Dio Chrysostome (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1978), 101–03; G. Salmeri, La politica e il potere. Saggio su Dione di Prusa (Catania: Facoltà di Lettere e Filosofia Università di Catania, 1982), 53, with other bibliography. 48

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and princeps (Trajan) knowingly passed over the abuse of Marius Priscus in order not to make his position worse,52 such that the only plausible explanation that gets the upper hand is that of A.H.M. Jones, for whom, at the time of the Julio-Claudii and Flavii, the exercitio publici iudicii,53 namely, the ability to judge, with the assistance of a consilium, Roman citizens – which in this case would not have had, if convicted, the right of appeal54 – for all crimina covered by one of the leges ordo iudiciorum publicorum,55 was granted, with a general measure to proconsuls. The progressive spread of citizenship undoubtedly made it more complex to claim or respect some guarantees connected with the possession of this status. In particular, the reiectio Romam, the systematic appeal to the courts of the city, could eventually block the judicial system, so that the emperors began (at the latest, from the reign of Hadrian, as it emerges from the sources) to delegate the right to condemn to death a citizen (ius gladii) to all the governors of senatorial rank, to the praefectus Aegypti, and, perhaps, in each case, other governors of equestrian rank.56 In any case, the criminal law of the Imperial age still distinguished the condition of the cives from that of peregrini. A provision from 17 CE, when the Senate, suppressing the activities of tellers, separated clearly the position of the astrologers cives Romani from that of mathematici externarum gentium,57 takes us back to the bottom of the first stages of the Principate; but it is

52

Behaviour that would justify even the scathing remark of Suetonius, Dom. 8.2. Cf. D. 1.21.1 (Pap. Quaest. 1); Coll. 14.3.3 (Ulpian, Off. Proc. 9): A.H.M. Jones, “I appeal unto Caesar,” in Jones, Studies in Roman Government and Law (Oxford: Blackwell, 1960), 57ff.; T. Spagnuolo Vigorita, “‘Imperium mixtum.’ Ulpiano, Alessandro e la giurisdizione procuratoria,” Index 18 (1990): 119 n.47, 138ff.; V. Marotta, Mandata principum (Turin: G. Giappichelli, 1991), 100ff., with other bibliography. The exercitio publici iudicii, used for promagistratus, including the emperor, who seems to have enjoined the same power as a standing jury court. 54 Actually, in this case, as in that of the ordo iudiciorum publicorum, the people themselves, once the crime and its punishment were defined, delegated, by a lex, the judgment of such cases. 55 The ordo iudiciorum publicorum is the system of standing jury court, as finalized under Augustus. Variations from the practice of this system were sometimes described as extra ordinem, sometimes as falling under cognitio. 56 The hypothesis of P. Garnsey, “The Criminal Jurisdiction of Governors,” JRS 58 (1968): 51–59 is without support in the sources. According to his opinion all governors, from the early Imperial age, had the so-called ius gladii – the power of condemning to death not only the peregrini but also Roman citizens. Cf. vice-versa, D. Liebs, “Das ius gladii der römischen Provinzgouverneure in der Kaiserzeit,” ZPE 43 (1981): 217ff.; T. Spagnuolo Vigorita, “‘Imperium mixtum’”; V. Marotta, “Multa de iure sanxit.” Aspetti della politica del diritto di Antonino Pio (Milan: Giuffrè Editore, 1988), 217ff. 57 Exile was generally imposed on Roman astrologers, and death was imposed on foreign mathematici. I explain, in this way, the words ut in eum animadvertatur: cf. Coll. 53

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extremely significant that Ulpian still remembered this senatus consultum in his libri de officio proconsulis, written between 213 and 217 CE.58 During the reign of Marcus Aurelius (in 177 CE),59 the governor of Gallia Lugdunensis identified Christians who were Roman citizens, and, while holding them in the province, he sent to the emperor a request for clarification about how he should deal with them: at the decision of the princeps, peregrini suffered damnatio ad bestias; citizens, however, were subjected to a punishment less atrocious (decapitation). In a similar situation, around 112 CE,60 Pliny had decided to engage in the reiectio Romam the Christians who were Roman citizens.61 Even at the end of the second century CE, the weakening of guarantees related to the condition of the civitas had not led to a general leveling of peregrini and Roman citizens of low condition.62 In a petition addressed to Commodus,63 the coloni of an Imperial property, in Africa proconsularis, stated that the procurator had beaten and chained some citizens. These peasants (who called themselves homines rustici tenues) knew, however, the implications relating to their membership of civitas Romana,64 whose importance had not been recognized by the Imperial official. A testatio on the 21st of February 153 CE, from the city of Philadelphia in Egypt, is equally interesting: seven Roman citizens testified that Gaius Maevius Apelles had been beaten by two guards on the orders of the στρατηγός Hierax.65 This provides further evidence of the importance attached to the Roman civitas and, consequently, to the lex Iulia de vi publica. 15.2.1 (Ulpian, Off. Proc. 7) L. 2192 = R. 58. Sul punto vd. Mommsen, Römisches Strafrecht, 924. 58 The dating of this work in T. Honoré, Ulpian. Pioneer of Human Rights (2 nd ed.; Oxford: OUP, 2002), 181ff. 59 Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 5.1.47. 60 Ep. 10.96. Dating in R.L. Wilken, I cristiani visti dai romani (trans. M. Negri; Brescia: Paideia, 2007), 42ff. 61 But about the lex Fabia, cf. Coll. 14.3.4 (Ulpian, Off. Proc. 9) and PS. 5.30b.1 (= Liebs 5.36.1.). 62 About dicothomy honestiores / humiliores, cf. J.-J. Aubert, “A Double Standard in Roman Criminal Law? The Death Penalty and Social Structure in late Republican and Early Imperial Rome,” in J.-J. Aubert and B. Sirks (eds.), Speculum iuris (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan, 2002), 94ff.; Marotta, La cittadinanza, 40ff., 59; other bibliography in C. Corbo, Constitutio Antoniniana. Ius Philosophia Religio (Naples: D’Auria Editore, 2013), 51f., n.44. 63 Decretum saltus Burunitani (FIRA 2 I n.103), lines 14–15, III lines 19–20: cf. D. 48.19.28.2 (Call. Cogn. 6) hi…qui liberi sunt et quidem tenuiores homines. 64 D. 48.6.7 (Ulpian, Off. Proc. 8): Lege Iulia de vi publica tenetur, qui, cum imperium potestamve haberet, civem Romanum adversus provocationem necaverit verberaverit iusseritve quid fieri aut quid in collum iniecerit, ut torqueatur… 65 Select Papyri no. 254.

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3. It is certainly difficult to formulate hypotheses about the places, times, and circumstances of the martyrium Pauli. In the opinion of Heike Omerzu, the execution of the Apostle was performed in 62 CE,66 at the end of his first Roman trial, when the Emperor Nero confirmed the death sentence pronounced by the procurator Festus.67 But this conjecture is contradicted by many sources and, in particular, by Eusebius68 and St. Jerome, according to whom Paul was acquitted: et quia in actis apostolorum plenissime de eius conuersatione scriptum est, hoc tantum dicam, quod, post passionem Domini uicesimo quinto anno, id est secundo Neronis eo tempore quo Festus procurator Iudaeae successit Felici, Romam uinctus mittitur et, biennium in libera manens custodia, aduersum Iudaeos de aduentu Christi cotidie disputauit. sciendum autem in prima satisfactione, necdum Neronis imperio roborato nec in tanta erumpente scelera quanta de eo narrant historiae, Paulum a Nerone dimissum, ut euangelium Christi in occidentis quoque partibus praedicaretur, sicut ipse scribit in secunda ad Timotheum, eo tempore quo et passus est, et de uinculis dictat epistulam: in prima mea satisfactione nemo mihi adfuit, sed omnes me dereliquerunt; non eis inputetur (5.9–10).

Whoever does not want to believe these testimonies should always keep in mind the content of the first epistle of St. Clement to the Corinthians.69 This epistle makes us formulate a different hypothesis: it might be assumed that the Apostle has been sentenced to a much milder penalty,70 perhaps the interdiction, for five years from Rome, from his patria (origo), Italy, the province of Cilicia and, of course, from Jerusalem and Judaea.71 All that might have allowed him to preach the Gospel elsewhere and, in particular, in the extreme regions of the west, like the Hispania Tarraconensis. 66 After two years of custodia militaris that allowed for a limited freedom to interact with the surrounding environment, to choose lodging, and to receive visits, although with the right arm linked by a chain to the left of the soldier on guard: cf. Acts 28.16. Tajra, The Trial of St. Paul, 176ff., 179ff.; Tajra, The Martyrdom of St. Paul, 40–51; M. Adinolfi, Da Antiochia a Roma. Con Paolo nel mondo greco-romano (Cinisello Balsamo: Edizioni Paoline, 1996), 209–26. Cf. Acts 28.16 and Pliny, Ep. 10.57. The stratopedárchēs, to whom the centurion Julius gave Paul and other prisoners, must be identified with the prefectus praetorio. 67 H. Omerzu, Der Prozeß des Paulus, 508. But see U. Schnelle, Apostle Paul: his Life and Theology (Grand Rapids: Baker, 2005), 381f.: Paul arrived in Rome in 59 CE. The so-called first Roman trial of Paul did not begin by an authentic provocatio, but, as shown by Ravizza, “L’appello di Paolo di Tarso,” 131, by a mere “request for aid,” advanced when a ruling against the Apostle was not yet issued. 68 Eus. Hist. eccl. 2.25.5. 69 1 Cor. 5.5–7; infra, footnote 74. 70 Cf. the essay by Bernardo Santalucia in this volume. 71 If we imagine such a judgment, we must make, at the same time, two different conjectures: First, that the Apostle was condemned to temporary exile, not to aqua et igni interdictio; second, that exile was marked by the same accessory penalties attested in Ulpian’s libri de officio proconsulis (cf. Coll. 1.11.2 [Ulpian, Off. Proc. 7]: …Ideoque Mario Evaristo urbe Italia provincia Baetica in quinquennium interdixi…) and in other

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Some have even doubted that the scene of the martyrdom of Paul72 can be located in Rome and in via Ostiense. But if, as I believe, the tradition which places it in Rome is more likely than others, the question arises in which year it took place. In St. Jerome’s de viris illustribus we read:73 et hic ergo, quarto decimo Neronis anno eodem die quo Petrus, Romae pro Christo capite truncatur, sepultus que est in uia Ostiensi anno post passionem Domini tricesimo septimo (5.10).

But we find nothing, in this regard, in the earliest Christian texts from the late second century CE. The Apostolic Fathers allude to the martyrdom of Paul, but neither St. Clement74 nor Ignatius of Antioch75 indicate the place where it happened.76

jurisprudential writings of the second and third century CE. We know that the interdictio of living in Rome necessarily also implied the prohibition of staying in your own patria (that is to say, Tarsus). Similarly, the interdictio of living in Italia automatically determined the ban on living in the province of his origo: cf. V. Marotta, “I ‘mandata’ nei ‘libri de officio proconsulis’ di Ulpiano. Tecniche di governo e regole d’opportunità sociale,” in E. Stolfi (ed.), Giuristi e officium. L’elaborazione giurisprudenziale di regole per l’esercizio del potere fra II e III secolo d.C. (Naples: Edizioni Scientifiche Italiane, 2011), 170ff. 72 According to a different hypothesis, Paul's martyrdom took place in Philippi (Macedonia). About the archaeological remains of this city which, perhaps, can confirm this conjecture, cf. H. Koester, Paolo e il suo mondo (Brescia: Paideia, 2012), 97ff., 103– 08. 73 A. de Vogüé, “La ‘Vita Pauli’ de Saint Jérôme et sa datation,” in G. Bartelink, A. Hilhorst, and C.H. Kneepkens (eds.), Eulogia. Mélanges offerts à Antoon A.R. Bastiaensen à l’occasion de son soixante-cinquième anniversaire (The Hague: Abbatia S. Petri, 1991), 395–406 believes that this life was written when Jerome was in the Syrian desert, between 375 and 377 CE. 74 1 Cor 5.5–7. “Through envy Paul, too, showed by example the prize that is given to patience. 6. Seven times was he cast into chains; he was exiled (fugadeuqe…j); he was stoned; having become a herald, both in the East and in the West, he obtained the noble renown due to his faith; 7. And having preached righteousness to the whole world, and having come to the extremity of the West, and having borne witness before rulers, he departed at length out of the world, and went to the holy place, having become the greatest example of patience.” Cf. Tajra, The Martyrdom of St. Paul, 167ff.: according to his opinion, the reference in Clement is probably to Paul’s two years of house arrest in Rome, which, from legal point of wiew, was an internal exile. 75 Rom 4.3. 76 The Apostolic Memoirs of Abdias (8) report a different version: a certain Lucina buried the Apostle’s body – who was martyred on July 3rd, two years after Peter’s death – on the edge of the second Via Ostiense milestone. Cf. Tajra, The Martyrdom of St. Paul, 158f. On the collection of Abdias, see H.-J. Klauck, The Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles. An Introduction (Waco: Baylor University Press, 2008), 251ff.

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In the fourth century, Eusebius claimed that the Apostle had not been executed in his first imprisonment in Rome, but during the second phase of the reign of Nero, which was characterized by the most heinous crimes: Ταύτῃ γοῦν ο ὗτος, θεοµάχος ἐν το ῖς µάλιστα πρ ῶτος ἀνακηρυχθείς ἐπὶ τὰς κατ ὰ τῶν ἀποστόλων ἐπήρθη σφαγάς. Πα ῦλος δὴ οὖν ἐπ᾽αὐτῆς Ῥώµης τὴν κεφαλὴν ἀποτµηθῆναι καὶ Πέτρος ὡσαύτως ἀνασκολοπισθῆναι κατ᾽αὐτὸν ἱστοροῦνται, καὶ πιστοῦται γε τὴν ἱστορίαν ἡ Πέτρου καὶ Παύλου εἰς δεῦρο κρατήσασα ἐπὶ τῶν αὐτόθι κοιµητηρίων πρόσρησις.77

Eusebius conjectures that Peter and Paul were victims of the persecution of Nero.78 In truth, Eusebius is certainly mistaken about the year, namely, 66 CE. In fact, thanks to Tacitus, we know not only that it started in 64 CE, but that the fire broke out in Rome on July 19 of that year.79 Therefore, either the date of June 29 has to be considered false, or it must be concluded that the martyrium of the two Apostles does not connect to this famous episode,80 a hypothesis confirmed, moreover, from the total silence of St. Clement in his first letter to the Corinthians. The oldest evidence81 about the trial and condemnation to death of Paul is Martyrium Pauli.82 According to this version, Paul arrived in Italy having come from Corinth. In the brief report on Paul's activity in Rome, the author relates the story of Caesar’s bearer, Patroclus, who, in an attempt to listen to Paul, died from falling from the window.83 All this shows that the author had no element that would help him to find a reason for the detention, trial, and conviction of Paul. Here, everything looks invented, and it is clear that, about the condemnation of the Apostle, he could not count on an established or otherwise reliable tradition. The writer of this document probably did not know anything except that the Roman church claimed the right to occupy the place where the martyrdom occurred. The Acta Pauli, known by Tertullian around 77

Eus. Hist. eccl. 2.25.5. But cf. Tac. 15.44.2–5. On Paul’s martyrdom and its relationship to the Christian pesecution of 64 CE, see Tajra, The Martyrdom of St. Paul, 27ff. Unfortunately, however, I can not share his opinions. 78 Cf. Lact. Mort. 2.6: …Petrum cruci affixit, Paulum interfecit. Cf. Inst. 4.21. See Asterius Amasenus Homil. 8 (in sanctos principes apostolos Petrum et Paulum) (ca. 400 CE): Peter was crucified, while Paul was decapitated. Sulpicius Severus Chronicor. libri duo 2.29 (ca. 403 CE): Peter and Paul were condemned to death; Paul was beheaded by sword (quorum uni cervix gladio desecta), and Peter was crucified. Oros. Hist. adv. paganos 7.7: …ipsumque Nomen exstirpare conatus beatissimos Christi apostolos Petrum cruce, Paulum gladio occidit. Cf. Prudent. Per. 12.42–54 and Leo Magnus, In natali apostolorum Petri et Pauli 82.6 (29 June 441 CE). 79 Ann. 15.41.3. 80 B. Hemmerdinger, “Eutheliana I. Le jour du martyre de Paul d’après Evagrius d’Antioche,” JTS 11 (1960): 349. 81 Cf. Tert. Scorp. 15.3. 82 Cf. Klauck, The Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles, 70ff. 83 A story clearly taken from Acts 20.9–12.

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200 CE,84 represents an important testimony in the study of the thought and life of the Christian community between the second and the third century, but it is not in any way useful, when it is necessary, to discern facts from fables in the reconstruction of events. The author creates a novel of Paul with aretological and teratological elements, which conflict, in several points, with the Acts of Luke, as it appears, for example, from the episode of the conviction of Paul to the beasts85 in Ephesus by Ieronimos, the proconsul of Asia – another penalty from which a civis Romanus, at least in the first century CE, should have been exempt. After looking at these important sources, we have, first of all, to read the version of the Martyrdom of St. Paul:86 Ταῦτα δ ὲ ἀκούσας ὁ Καῖσαρ ἐκέλευσεν πάντας το ὺς δεδεµένους πυρ ὶ κατακαῆναι, τ ὸν δ ὲ Παῦλον τραχηλοκοπηθ ῆναι τ ῷ νόµῳ τῶν Ῥωµαίων. ὁ δὲ Παῦλος ἦν µὴ σιωπῶν τ ὸν λγον, ἀλλὰ κοινούµενος τ ῷ πραιφέκτῳ Λὸγγῳ καὶ Κέστῳ τῷ κεντυρίονι. ἦν ο ὖν ἐν τ ῇ Ῥώµῃ ὁ Νέρων ἐνεργείᾳ τοῦ πονηροῦ πολλῶν Χριστιαν ῶν ἀναιρουµένων ἀκρίτως, ὣστε το ὺς Ῥωµαίους σταθέντας ἐπὶ τοῦ παλατίου βο ῆαι. Ἀρκεῖ, Κα ῖσαρ, ο ἱ γὰρ ἄνθρωποι ἡµέτεροι εἰσιν. Α ἴρεις τ ὴν Ῥωµαίων δύναµιν. 87 Τότε ἐπαίσατο ἐπὶ τούτοις πεισθε ὶς µηδένα ἅπτεσθαι Χριστι ανοῦ, µέχρις ἂν διαγνο ῖ τὰ περὶ αὐτῶν.88 ...Τότε σταθε ὶς ὁ Παῦλος κατέναντι πρ ὸς ἀνατολὰς κα ὶ ἐπάρας τ ὰς χε ῖρας ε ἰς τ ὸν ο ὐρανὸν προσεύξατο ἐπὶ πολύ. κα ὶ κατὰ προευχὴν κοινολογησάµενος ἑβραϊστὶ τοῖς πατράσιν, προέτινεν τ ὸν τράχηλν µηκέτι λαλησας. ὡς δ ὲ ἀπετίναξεν α ὐτοῦ ὁ σπκουλάτωρ τ ὴν κεφαλήν, γάλα ἐπύτισεν ε ἰς το ὺς χιτῶνας τοῦ στρατιώτου. ὁ δὲ στρατιώτης καὶ πάντες οἱ παρεστῶνες ἰδόντες ἐθαύµασαν καὶ ἐδόξαν τὸν θεὸν τὸν δόντα Παύλ ῳ δόξαν τοιαύτην. κα ὶ ἀπελθόντες ἀπήγγειλαν τῷ Καίσαρι τὰ γεγονότα (3–5).89

84 De Baptismo 17. Cf. A. Sauter, “The ‘Acta Pauli’ etc. in Tertullian,” JTS 25 (1924): 292; W. Rordorf, “Tertullien et les Actes de Paul (à propos de bapt. 17.5),” in Rordorf, Lex orandi, lex credendi. Gesammelte Aufsätze (Freiburg [Schweiz]: Universitätsverlag, 1993), 475ff. Eusebius includes these Acts among the non-canonical writings, but he did not consider them heretical. 85 In the version reported by the Hamburg papyrus: cf. O. Pasquato, “Il ‘Kerygma’ dei discorsi di paolo in ‘Acta Pauli’: contenuto teologico-catechetico e significato storico,” Salesianum 45 (1983): 275–309. 86 Martyrion Pauli in C. Tischendorf, rev. and ed. by R.A. Lipsius and M. Bonnet, Acta Apostolorum Apocrypha. Pars prior: Acta Petri, Acta Pauli, Acta Petri et Pauli, Acta Pauli et Theclae, Acta Thaddaei (Leipzig: H. Mendelssohn, 1891),104ff. (pp. 112, 115, and 116). On the historical value of Paul’s martyrdom, see Tajra, The Martyrdom of St. Paul, 131ff. 87 Cf. Tert. Apol. 44.1. 88 µέχρις ἂν διαγνο ῖ τὰ περὶ αὐτῶν. A very similar legal formulation appears in Hadrian’s “Rescript to Minucius Fundanus” (Eus. Hist. eccl. 4.8–9; Iust. IApol. 68) and in Trajan’s epistula to Pliny about Christians: 10.97. 89 Passionis Pauli fragmentum is in Lipsius and Bonnet, Acta Apostolorum Apocrypha, 105ff. (p. 113): …3. hoc autem audisset Nero, iussit omnes milites Christi exuri, qui fuerant uincti cum Paulo, ipsum autem plecti iudicauit secundum leges Romanas. Paulus uero non fuit tacens de uerbo domini quo se communicabat Longino praefecto et Egestio,

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Now we have to compare this text with the story of the later (perhaps about 450 CE) Passio Petri et Pauli:90 Et deducti sunt Petrus et Paulus a conspectu Neronis. Paulus decollatus est in uia Ostiensi.91 Petrus autem dum uenisset ad crucem ait: Quoniam dominus meus Iesus Christus de caelo ad terram descendens recta cruce sublimatus est, me autem quem de terra ad caelum euocare dignatur, crux mea caput meum in terra debet ostendere, et pedes ad caelum dirigere: ergo quia non sum dignus ita esse in cruce sicut dominus meus, girate crucem meam. At illi uerterunt crucem et pedes eius sursam fixerunt, manus uero deorsum (59–60).92

Unlike Peter, who was crucified head down,93 Paul was beheaded per gladium. Was the Apostle treated in this way because before conviction he was a Roman citizen, or for a different reason?94 In the writings of the jurists of the second and the third century CE, the number of sanctions by which the judges could sentence an offender to death is very large. Next to gladii animadversio, we find far more cruel punishments, such as damnatio in crucem, damnatio ad bestias, and vivi crematio inflicted either to punish the most serious crimes or to hit offenses committed by low-ranking individuals. They were not – it is well-known – different species of a single genus described as the “death penalty,” but penalties in their certantibus ut multi Christiani interficerentur, ita ut Romani ueniret et clamarent dicentes: Sufficit, Caesar, nostri sunt homines, aufers, Caesar, uirtutem Romanam et nullus erit qui ad bellum egrediatur. Tunc iussu regis cessauit edictum, ita ut nemo auderet contingere Christianos, donec maxima pars populi ad Christum conuerterentur. 90 Lipsius, Acta Petri, Acta Pauli, Acta Petri et Pauli, Acta Pauli et Theclae, Acta Thaddaei, 119ff. (p. 171). Compare vith BHL II, 6657, 6658, 6659 (Acta Petri et Pauli: Ps.-Marcellus) = Lipsius and Bonnet, Acta Apostolorum Apocrypha, 178ff. (§§ 78–81, pp. 211–15): cf. L. Moraldi (ed.), Apocrifi del Nuovo Testamento (2nd vol.; Turin: 1971), 972; G. Poupon, “Les ‘Actes de Pierre’ et leur renaniement,” ANRW II.25.6 (1988): 4363ff. A. de Santos Otero in W. Schneemelcher (ed.), New Testament Apocrypha. Volume Two: Writings relating to the Apostles; Apocalypses and Related Subjects (Rev. ed.; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1992), 440–42; Tajra, The Martyrdom of St. Paul, 143ff.; Klauck, The Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles, 72ff. 91 Martyrion Petri et Pauli 59: καὶ ὁµὲν Πα ῦλος ἀπετµήθη τ ὴν κεφαλ ὴν Ὁστησίᾳ ὁδῷ. Lipsius, Acta Petri, Acta Pauli, Acta Petri et Pauli, Acta Pauli et Theclae, Acta Thaddaei, 118ff. (p. 170). 92 In the Passio Sancti Pauli Apostoli (Pseudo-Linus) – BHL 6570 = Lipsius, Acta Petri, Acta Pauli, Acta Petri et Pauli, Acta Pauli et Theclae, Acta Thaddaei, 23ff. (p. 30) – a work of the 4th–5th century, Nero (§ 7) orders the prisoners to be burned alive. Paul, however, in virtue of a senatus consultum governing crimes put on the same level of the crimen laesae maiestatis, is sentenced to be decapitated: Paulum autem senatus consultu tamquam maiestatis reum capite secundum Romanas leges truncari. On this point, cf. Tajra, The Martyrdom of St. Paul, 140. On Paul’s martyrdom in Neronian persecution, see W. Rordorf, “Die neronische Christenverfolgung im Spiegel der apokryphen Paulusakten,” NTS 28 (1982): 367ff. 93 Cf. Klauck, The Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles, 102ff. 94 See above, pp. 247 and 248.

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own right, with their own individuality and their own purpose, though all intended the physical suppression of the offender.95 During the Principate, the usual form of the “death penalty” imposed on cives Romani was beheading,96 but the ax was replaced by gladium. In this way, the procedure of ius militare of war was extended to civilians. A magistratus or a promagistratus normally prescribed the sentence of execution to an officer or a soldier,97 often identifiable with a speculator, a lower rank present in all of the Imperial armies, both in the praetorian guard and the legions.98 But beyond the more or less detailed description of the Apostles’ deaths, the real reason for interest in these two works is in their divergent explanations of any sentence imposed on them. The Passio Petri et Pauli actually does not explain Paul’s beheading as a consequence of his Roman citizenship: Tunc Nero dixit ad praefectum suum Agrippam: Homines inreligiosos necesse est male perdere, et ideo cardis ferreis acceptis iubeo eos in Naumachia consumi et omnes huiuscemodi homines male consummari. Agrippa praefectus dixit: Sacratissime imperator, non congruenti exemplo iubes eos puniri. Nero dixit: Quare? Agrippa dixit: Quoniam Paulus innocens uidetur; Petrus autem homicidii reus est, insuper et inreligiosus. Nero dixit: Ergo quo exemplo peribunt? Agrippa praefectus dixit: Vt mihi uidetur, iustum est Paulo inreligioso caput amputari:99 Petrum autem eo quod insuper homicidium perpetrauerit, iube eum in cruce leuari. Nero dixit: Optime iudicasti (58).100

95 Santalucia, Diritto e processo, 250; U. Brasiello, La repressione penale in diritto romano (Naples: Jovene, 1937), 257ff. and G. Pugliese, “Linee generali dell’evoluzione del diritto penale pubblico durante il principato,” in Scritti giuridici scelti. II., Diritto romano (Naples: Jovene, 1985), 696; V. Giuffrè, La repressione criminale nell’esperienza romana (5th ed.; Naples: Jovene, 1998), 124; E. Cantarella, I supplizi capitali in Grecia e a Roma. Origini e funzioni della pena di morte nell’antichità classica (Milan: Rizzoli, 1991), 119ff.; C. Lovisi, Contribution à l'étude de la peine de mort sous la République Romaine (509 – 149 av. J.-C.), (Paris: De Boccard, 1999). 96 D. 48.19.8.1 (Ulpian, Off. Proc. 9) L. 2240 = R. 92: …animadverti gladio oportet, non securi vel telo, vel fusti vel laqueo vel quo alio modo; H.A. Vita Caracall. 4.1; P.S. 5.17.2(3) decollatio; D. 28.1.8.4 (Gaius ad ed. prov. 17) ad ferrum…damnantur; in Coll. 11.7.2-3 (Ulpian, Off. Proc. 8) L. 2218 = R. 67, § 3: Rescriptum diui Hadriani sic loquitur, quasi grauior poena sit metalli: nisi forte hoc sensit diuus Hadrianus gladii poenam dicendo ludi damnationem. Cf. Mommsen, Römisches Strafrecht, 924f. 97 Cf. Sen. Ira 1.18.4; Tranq. 14.4; Pliny, Ep. 10.96.3. 98 D. 48.20.6 (Ulpian, Off. Proc. 10) …speculatores …optiones …commentarienses. 99 Martyrion 58: ὡς ἀθρήσκευτον ὄντα τὴν κεφαλὴν ἀποτµηθῆναι. Lipsius, Acta Petri, Acta Pauli, Acta Petri et Pauli, Acta Pauli et Theclae, Acta Thaddaei, 118ff. (p. 168). Cf. Tajra, The Martyrdom of St. Paul, 148. 100 Lipsius, Acta Petri, Acta Pauli, Acta Petri et Pauli, Acta Pauli et Theclae, Acta Thaddaei, 119ff. (p. 169).

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According to the communis opinio, the less implausible version is the one reported in the Martyrium Pauli.101 I also agree with it after a first, cursory examination. Nevertheless, it should be noted that some passages of Tertullian – taken from contemporary works or works written shortly after the preparation of these texts – connect, it would seem, judicial practice reported by the Passio Petri et Pauli with those carried out in the early decades of the third century, in the courts of the “governors” (the proconsul Africae, the legatus legionis,102 and the procurator Mauretaniae) operating in North Africa. In a work from 197 CE, Tertullian offers a comprehensive list of summa supplicia: Igitur si tantum terrenae gloriae licet de corporis et animae vigore, ut gladium, ignem, crucem, bestias, tormenta contemnat sub praemio laudis humanae, possum dicere, modicae sunt istae passiones ad consecutionem gloriae caelestis et divinae mercedis.103

Unprecedented sacrifices can be expected to the disregard of soundness of body and soul, sacrifices made to achieve a purely earthly glory, to the point of despising the sword, fire, cross, beasts, torture: the suffering appears modest if, by suffering, you can achieve a celestial glory and divine reward. Beyond this firm glorification of martyrdom, the passage offers a detailed list of summa supplicia: gladium, vivicrematio, crux, bestiae, tormenta. The epistula addressed to the proconsul Scapula is even more interesting. Here the apologist comments: Pro tanta innocentia, pro tanta probitate, pro iustitia, pro pudicitia, pro fide, pro veritate, pro Deo vivo cremamur, quod nec sacrilegi, nec hostes publici, vero nec tot maiestatis rei pati solent. Nam et nunc a praeside legionis, et a praeside Mauretaniae vexatur hoc nomen, sed gladio tenus, sicut et a primordio mandatum est animadverti in huiusmodi. Sed maiora certamina maiora sequuntur praemia (4.8).

In Africa proconsularis Christians, in reward of their virtues and their loyalty to the living God, are burned at the stake (that is, condemned to vivi crematio), atrocious, extreme torture that neither sacrilegi, nor hostes publici, nor the many accused of treason undergo: actually, while in issuing his convictions the proconsul Scapula104 crosses even the usual limits of the cruelty for punishments, the praeses legionis (Numidia)105 and the governor of Maureta101 3: “And when Caesar heard that, he commanded all the prisoners to be burned with fire, but Paul to be beheaded after the law of the Romans.” 102 He administered the territories that later (from about 250 CE) became the province of Numidia. 103 Mart. 4.9 104 C. Iulius Tertullus Scapula cos. 195: cf. Marotta, Mandata principum, 172. 105 Cf. M.R. Cagnat, L’armée romaine d’Afrique et l’occupation militaire de l’Afrique sous les empereurs (Paris: Ernest Leroux, 1913), 140ff.; Y. Le Bohec, La Troisième Légion Auguste (Paris: Éditions du Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique,

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nia Caesariensis,106 while harshly persecuting Christians, merely impose decapitation (sed gladio tenus), as it had originally been ordered to do towards the followers of Christ (mandatum est). These two texts,107 defining a precise context, require one, at the same time, to reconsider the contemporary reflection about the penalties system and, first of all, the summa supplicia. Scap. 4.8 enlightens about a particular aspect of the cognitiones extra ordinem, in which, as is well-known, the person who exercised judicial power was able, thanks to his wide discretion, to adapt the penalty to the seriousness of the crime and the dangerousness of the offender,108 unlike what happened in ordo iudiciorum publicorum (quaestiones perpetuae).109 In cognitiones extra ordinem,110 the holder of judicial power was not bound, as opposed to the judges of quaestiones, to inflict the penalty prescribed by law: even if the defendant had been accused of a crime provided by the laws of ordo iudiciorum publicorum, the promagistratus (or the legatus Augusti propraetore) still had the power to impose a penalty more severe or milder than that fixed by the law instituting the quaestio.111 The wide discretion of holders of judicial power is at the center of a wellknown passage of Ulpian:

1989), passim.; B.E. Thomasson, “Numidia. Die Legionskommandanten und Statthalter der Principatsepoche,” RESuppl. 13 (1973), 315–22; Thomasson, “Zur Verwaltungsgeschichte der römischen Provinzen Nordafrikas (Proconsularis, Numidia, Mauretaniae),” ANRW II.10.2 (1982), 3–61. 106 Cf. M. Christol and A. Magioncalda, Studi sui procuratori delle due Mauretaniae (Sassari: Dipartimento di Storia - Università degli Studi di Sassari, 1989). 107 Cf. Tert. An. 1.6; 56.8. 108 Cf. Santalucia, Diritto e processo penale nell’antica Roma, 177, 247. It can be interesting; see Suet. Claud. 14.1: nec semper praescripta legum secutus duritiam lenitatem ue multarum ex bono et aequo, perinde ut adficeretur, moderatus est; nam et iis, qui apud priuatos iudices plus petendo formula excidissent, restituit actiones et in maiore fraude conuictos legitimam poenam supergressus ad bestias condemnauit. 109 A quaestio perpetua was a permanent jury court – this is the normal meaning of the term. 110 The cognitio is a magistrate’s right to hear cases, but it was used primarily in contrast with the procedures and penalties of the ordo. 111 When the emperors were consulted about the punishment of certain facts, they merely gave elastic directives and did not provide strictly binding provisions: E. Levy, “Gesetz und Richter im kaiserlichen Strafrecht,” in Levy, Gesammelte Schriften, II (Cologne-Graz: Böhlau, 1963), 459ff.; Santalucia, Diritto e processo penale, 248f. Cf. D. 48.19.13 (Ulpian, Appell. 1): Hodie licet ei, qui extra ordinem de crimine cognoscit, quam vult sententiam ferre, vel graviorem vel leviorem, ita tamen ut in utroque moderationem non excedat.

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Sacrilegii poenam debebit proconsul pro qualitate personae proque rei condicione et temporis et aetatis et sexus vel severius vel clementius statuere, et scio multos ad bestias damnasse sacrilegos, nonnullos etiam vivos excussisse, alios vero in [cruce] suspendisse. Sed moderanda poena est usque ad bestiarum damnationem eorum, qui manu facta templum effregerunt et dona dei in noctu tulerunt.112

The proconsul should issue for the sacrilege a more severe or a more lenient punishment depending on the quality of the person and the circumstances of the facts or time or age or sex: many (et scio...) condemned the sacrilegi to the beasts, others were condemned to be burnt alive and they would still be condemned to crucifixion,113 but the penalty should be limited to condemnation to the beasts for those who have broken into a temple and stolen, during the night, gifts offered to God.114 The lawyer sets his entire speech looking at practice (et scio...), without any explicit mention, it seems, of Imperial measures, although the words moderanda poena perhaps allude to constitutiones principum.115 Tertullian also took note of this peculiar feature of cognitio. In his Apologeticum, but even more in the letter to the proconsul Scapula, he shows that the fate of Christians depends only on the good will of the governors against them.116 Obviously, such an analysis cannot reveal anything about what really happened before, during, and after Paul’s martyrdom. But in the apologetic works of Tertullian117 we find a significant confirmation of what we read in the Passio Petri et Pauli: …Agrippa dixit: Quoniam Paulus innocens uidetur; Petrus autem homicidii reus est, insuper et inreligiosus. Nero dixit: Ergo quo

112

D. 48.13.7 (Off. Proc. 7) In the text, the word furca has been interpolated in place of the word crux: cf. L. Chiazzese, Confronti testuali. Contributo alla dottrina delle interpolazioni giustinianee (Cortona: Stabilimento Tipografico Commerciale, 1933), 411. 114 Cf. D. 48.19.28pr. (Call. Cogn. 6); R.A. Bauman, Crime and Punishment in Ancient Rome (London: Routledge, 1996), 151f. 115 Cf. D.48.13.4.2 (Marcian. Inst. 14): et sic constitutionibus cavetur, ut sacrilegi extra ordinem digna poena puniantur. L. de Giovanni, Giuristi severiani. Elio Marciano (Naples: D’Auria Editore, 1989), 50f. 116 He shows the proconsul how to perform all duties of his office, preserving, at the same time, his humanity (Scap. 4.1: Potes et officio iurisdictionis tuae fungi et humanitatis meminisse…). The apologist not only reveals the violation of forma iudicandi, but he also suggests a number of legal quibbles, all inspired by the concrete experience by which a governor could stop charges against Christians. Cf. V. Marotta, “L’elogium nel processo criminale (secoli III e IV d.C.),” in F. Lucrezi and G. Mancini (eds.), Crimina e delicta nel Tardo Antico, (Atti del seminario di Studi: Teramo 19–21 gennaio 2001) (Milan: Giuffrè Editore, 2003), 69ff., 102ff. 117 Even Lactantius, describing the Galerius’ ferocia (Mort. 22.3), assumes, in this regard, a point of view almost similar to that of Tertullian. 113

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exemplo peribunt? Agrippa praefectus dixit: Vt mihi uidetur, iustum est Paulo inreligioso caput amputari: Petrum autem eo quod insuper homicidium perpetrauerit, iube eum in cruce leuari. Nero dixit: Optime iudicasti.118 It seems clear, therefore, that at least the first compiler (in the third century CE) of the Passio Petri et Pauli (translated into Latin during the fifth century CE), composing their own romance story, always kept in mind the contemporary practice of cognitiones extra ordinem of proconsules and legati Augusti pro praetore. To sum up, not many sources concern the first century CE, but we may surely detect in those sources some regularities. A civis Romanus, if sentenced to summum supplicium, was not subjected to the most atrocious forms of gladium execution. But this established practice was denied in rare cases, which were promptly reported by contemporary historians, and not only – we must admit – as a result of abuses committed by the holders of jurisdictional power. An eques, the victim of Marius Priscus’ cruelty and greed,119 was before damnatus in metallum120 and shortly afterwards strangled in prison;121 but, reading Pliny the Younger, we could think that Marius Priscus, proconsul Africae, did not exceed his powers in this case. Even the stubborn opponent of Dion of Prusa, Flavius Archippus, a few years before, in Bithynia, was sentenced to the mines (in metallum).122 We could consider these cases as abuses, but in my opinion – in agreement with A.H.M. Jones123 – we have to exclude all that. We could reconsider, on the contrary, the usual cliché according to which the so-called honestiores, during the second and third centuries CE, had 118

Lipsius and Bonnet, Acta Apostolorum Apocrypha, 119ff. (p. 169). See above, p. 250. 120 Actually, considering the mandata principum, as they were defined in the second century, it was not possible to change the contents of a sententia once enacted; cf. D. 48.19.27pr. (Call. Cogn. 5): Divi Fratres Arruntio Siloni rescripserunt non solere praesides provinciarum ea quae pronuntiaverunt ipsos rescindere; cf. D. 48.18.1.27 (Ulpian, Off. Proc. 8): sed praeses provinciae eum quem damnavit restituere non potest, cum nec pecuniariam sententiam suam revocare possit…; and Pliny, Ep. 10.56.3: nam, sicut mandatis tuis cautum est, ne restituam ab alio aut a me relegatos, ita de iis, quos alius et relegaverit et restituerit, nihil comprehensum est. In Apuleius’ Flor. we read a passage that fully expresses the true meaning of that provision of the mandata principum: quippe praeconis uox garrula ministerium est, proconsulis autem || tabella sententia est, quae semel lecta neque augeri littera una neque autem minui potest, sed utcumque recitata est, ita prouinciae instrumento refertur (9.11). Any changes to the sententia was explicitly forbidden once it had been adopted; cf. P. Sciuto, Concetti giuridici e categorie assiomatiche: l’uso di rescindere nell’esperienza di Roma antica (Turin: G. Giappichelli, 2013), 213–22, who has escaped Apuleius, Flor. 9.11. 121 Ulpian suggested not to perform this sentence in this way: cf. D. 48.19.8.1 (Off. Proc. 9): …animadverti gladio oportet, non securi vel telo, vel fusti vel laqueo vel quo alio modo. 122 See above, pp. 250 and 257. 123 See above, footnote 53. 119

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the same treatment granted in the past to cives Romani. In truth, we find in the examination of the sources that damnatio in metallum, during the dynasties of the Antonini and Severi, was not imposed on the aristocrats of the provinciae. In other words, if a proconsul or a legatus Augusti pro praetore had sentenced a decurio or another honestior to the metallum, his sententia would not have had any effect. It can be concluded, therefore, that the governors, at least in the first century CE, probably under exercitio publici iudicii124 conferred on them, could sentence to death a civis by gladium (and perhaps also by strangulation), or to the metallum. But the Roman citizens, for inveterata consuetudo, were not subjected to tortures usually reserved for slaves: the crux, the vivicrematio, and damnatio ad bestias.125 No wonder, therefore, if these cruel judgments, sometimes inflicted against Roman citizens, were ascribed, according to our sources, to the anger or cruelty of the possessors of the jurisdictional power who issued those sentences.

124

See above, footnotes 53 and 55. The exceptions in the sources can be considered abuses by holders of judicial powers. The sources are in M. Hengel, Crocifissione ed espiazione (Brescia: Paideia, 1988), 74 ff. 125

Roman Penalties Regarding Roman Citizens Convicted of Heavy Charges in I CE John Granger Cook

Sorting out the details of the punishments of citizens convicted of serious crimes is a challenging goal, given the nature of the historical evidence, which primarily comprises narratives that describe the fate of elite citizens. Roman writers show very little interest in the executions of individuals whom later authors would call the humiliores – those of lower social standing. In addition, even in the case of the elite, they often do not give any details about the methods used to end the lives of the condemned. Professor Valerio Marotta has given a compelling synthesis of the apocryphal traditions that describe the death of Paul and their relationship with Roman legal traditions concerning punishment. I want to consider further the issue of Paul’s citizenship and one of the primary arguments used against it, which I think can be decisively refuted. Furthermore, I will review the methods Paul might have used to prove his citizenship. Finally, I will survey what has been called “the garden of punishments” that a Roman magistrate could use against citizens. The result is that a bare tradition of the citizenship of Paul in itself does not prove the method of his execution.

A. Paul’s Citizenship and 2 Cor 11.25 The question of Paul’s citizenship and the treatment that he mentions in 2 Cor 11.25 is intimately related to the reconstruction of laws such as lex Porcia de provocatione or de tergo civium and the lex Iulia de vi publica et privata. Cicero notes that the lex Porcia forbids Roman citizens to be beaten or put to death (de civibus Romanis contra legem Porciam verberatis aut necatis plura dicenda sunt) and that it removed rods from the body of citizens (Porcia lex virgas ab omnium civium Romanorum corpore amovit).1 He also affirms that 1 Cicero, Rab. Perd. 8, 12, respectively. Cf. B. Santalucia, Studi di diritto penale romano (Rome: Giuffrè, 1994), 71–72; G. Rotondi, Leges publicae populi romani (Milan: Società editrice libraria, 1912), 268–69 (lex Porcia), 450 (lex Iulia).

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the law included the right of appeal from a magistrate with a sanction that the Valerian law of 449 lacked (...consularis lex sanxit ne qui magistratus sine provocatione crearetur, neque vero leges Porciae, quae tres sunt trium Porciorum ut scitis, quicquam praeter sanctionem attulerunt novi).2 The lex Iulia in Ps. Paulus’s Sententiae, a compilation from the end of the third century, appears in this form: Anyone who possesses authority [i.e., office] is condemned by the Julian law on public violence if they put to death, sentence to death, torture, beat, condemn [lacuna] or sentence to be placed in public chains a Roman citizen who formerly appealed to the people, but now appeals to the imperator. Lege Iulia de vi publica damnatur, qui aliqua potestate praeditur civem Romanum antea ad populum,3 nunc imperatorem appellantem necaverit necarive iusserit, torserit verberaverit condemnaverit † inve publica vincula duci iusserit.4

The laws themselves are also useful for interpreting the narrative of Acts, including the events in Philippi and Jerusalem. Helmut Koester, among many others, assumes that a Roman citizen could not have been beaten with rods.5 Paul affirms that he was beaten with rods three times (τρὶς ἐραβδίσθην). In Philippi (Acts 16.22) the municipal authorities subject Paul to this kind of beating (καὶ οἱ στρατηγοὶ περιρήξαντες αὐτῶν τὰ ἱµάτια ἐκέλευον ῥαβδίζειν). And the legal situation becomes more complicated (16.37) when Paul later complains that, although being Roman citizens, they were beaten before they were convicted of a crime (Δείραντες ἡµᾶς δηµοσίᾳ ἀκατακρίτους, ἀνθρώπους Ῥωµαίους ὑπάρχοντας ). One should con2

Cicero, Rep. 2.54. Cp. Livy, 10.9.3–5. T. Mommsen (Römisches Strafrecht [Leipzig: Duncker & Humblot, 1899], 242 n.3) inserts provocationem here, which would result in “before an appeal to the people.” Cf. the apparatus of Sent. 5.26.1 in Iurisprudentiae anteiustinianae reliquias (eds. E. Seckel and B. Kübler; vol. 2; Leipzig: Teubner, 1927), 151. The lex illuminates the abuses in Acts 22.29 (bonds) and 22.25, 27 (scourging) and perhaps Paul’s appeal to Nero in 25.11 (Mommsen, Römisches Strafrecht, 242 n.3). M. Ravizza (“‘Καίσαρα ἐπικαλοῦµαι’ L’appello di Paolo di Tarso all’imperatore,” in D. Mantovani and L. Pellecchi [eds.], Eparcheia, autonomia e civitas romana. Studi sulla giurisdizione criminale dei governatori di provincia, II sec. a.C.-II c.C. [Pavia: IUSS Press, 2010], 113–31) and Prof. Marotta both argue that it was not a case, however, of provocatio ad imperatorem, but a “request for aid” before a judicial decision by Festus. 4 Ps. Paulus, Sent. 5.26.1. P. Garnsey, “The Lex Iulia and Appeal under the Empire,” JRS 56 (1966): 167–89 (the lacuna referred to bonds). Cp. Ulpian, Off. Proc. 8 in Dig. 48.6.7, Maecenatus, publicorum 4 in Dig. 48.6.8 and Ps. Paulus, Sent. 5.26.1–2. Cf. Rotondi, Leges publicae, 450–51 for many other references (the original law had 88 clauses [Ulpian, Off. Proc. 3 in Collatio 9.2.2–3]). Trans. of The Digest of Justinian (trans. and ed. by A. Watson; 4 vols.; Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania, 1985), 4.363. 5 H. Koester, Introduction to the New Testament (2 vols.; Berlin: de Gruyter, 1995– 2000), 2.107: “As a Roman citizen Paul would have had no difficulty escaping from the various punishments that he received according to his own statements (2 Cor 11:24f.).” 3

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trast this with flagellation by leather whips – especially that experienced by individuals before crucifixion. It is interesting that the narrator of Acts, after Paul has been arrested in the temple, describes the tribune’s intention (22.24) to examine him by scourging him (i.e., not by rods but by whips): ἐκέλευσεν ὁ χιλίαρχος εἰσάγεσθαι αὐτὸν εἰς τὴν παρεμβολήν, εἴπας μάστιξιν ἀνετάζεσθαι αὐτὸν ἵνα ἐπιγνῷ δι’ ἣν αἰτίαν οὕτως ἐπεφώνουν αὐτῷ. At this point Luke’s Paul asks the centurion if it is lawful to scourge a Roman citizen who has not been convicted of a crime (22.25). After the trial, Pilate, for example, scourged Jesus and then handed him over for crucifixion in Matt 27.26 (τὸν δὲ Ἰησοῦν φραγελλώσας παρέδωκεν ἵνα σταυρωθῇ ). This corresponds to a much later principle enunciated by the jurist Aemilius Macer in his On Criminal Proceedings [On public trials], written shortly after 210: In the case of slaves, the rule is observed that they are punished after the fashion of people of low rank. For the same reason that a freeman is beaten with rods, a slave is ordered to be beaten with lashes and returned to his master; In servorum persona ita observatur, ut exemplo humiliorum puniantur. Et ex quibus causis liber fustibus caeditur, ex his servus flagellis caedi et domino reddi iubetur.6

Macer’s distinction between fustibus caeditur and flagellis caedi seems important, even for the NT period. There were always exceptions, and Gaius Caligula scourged and tortured Betilienus Bassus his quaestor, Sextus Papinius who was the son of a consul, senators, and equestrians in one day, all for his own pleasure and not to examine them (uno die flagellis cecidit, torsit, non quaestionis sed animi causa).7 More in line with Macer’s later distinction is a papyrus from the Julio Claudian period that is probably a report of a trial proceeding. There are apparently four defendants of whom one is a woman. ‘Because we intend to behead Apollodotus son of...in addition to Poteirius. That you may know that if you are flogged the law is not going to be abandoned and that we do not fear failure in war, you shall be beaten forthwith.’ And he ordered him to be scourged with whips. Peteirios and... were on the point of being scourged. [Ἀ]πολλόδοτον ̣[ ̣ ̣ ̣]εριτου µέ[λ]λοντες κεφαλίσαι πρὸς τῶι Ποτειρ[ίῳ] ἵνα εἰδῇς ὅτι ἐὰν δαρῇς οὐ µέλλει ὁ νόµος ἐρηµοῦσθαι οὐδὲ φοβούµεθα πόλεµον ἀτυχῆσαι. [ε]ὐθέως ἐπιπληχθήσηι. καὶ ἐκέλευσεν αὐτὸν φλαγέλλας µαστιγωθῆναι. ἔµελλον µαστιγοῦσθα ὁ Πετείριος.8

6

Macer De publicis iudiciis 2 in Dig. 48.19.10.pr. Cf. R.A. Bauman, Crime and Punishment in Ancient Rome (London: Routledge, 1996), 133. An aedile, for example, scourged a vilicus (a slave who managed an estate) according to Suetonius, Claud. 38.2. 7 Seneca, Dial. 5.18.3. 8 P. Oxy. 2339 r col. 1,6–11 (ed. by C.H. Roberts, his trans.). I have not included sublinear dots in the papyrological texts below.

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Unfortunately there are few (if any) clues in the papyrus about the social status of the individuals concerned. They were probably peregrini, and that explains the harsh treatment (the scourging). It would be intriguing, however, if they were citizens and had complained about the magistrate’s intention to flog them, which would have been against Roman law. A rather cryptic comment follows in which they state that they are not military tribunes: (while) you stayed, in these months I was working on...and I was not aware of your edict. I was about to present a petition against the boors. We are not military tribunes... εντ[ ̣] ̣δενασ̣ε̣[̣]δωκαν ε̣ο δὲ ἔμεινας ἐν τούτοις τοῖς μησὶν ——9 ορµους10 ἠργασζόµην κοὐκ εἴδην σου τὸ ἔκθεµα ἀναφορὰν ἔµελλον διδόναι κατὰ τῶν ἀπαιδεύτων ἡµεῖς οὐκ ἔσµεν χιλίαρχοι επεθο̣νη̣σιν.11

That may imply that they were Roman citizens, but it is doubtful. It could also imply that they were Alexandrians.12 But the mention of tribunes would seem to indicate that the individuals were not humiliores, that is, of low social standing. Several lines later the magistrate sentences one of the defendants to crucifixion: ...and will suffer crucifixion, and he said would (bring) the other weavers into a state of disaffection. Those who had held the magistracy we detained in the citadel; for so we decided. Peteirios and Epoke... αν κείνη̣η̣ἑλληνικαὶ καὶ σταυροποίαν [π]είσεται καὶ πρὸς καχεξίαν ε[̣]̣οπ̣ ̣ ̣ ἄλλους γερδίους ἔφηι τοὺς µὲν ἄρξαντες τὴν ἀρχὴν [κα]τείχοµεν ἐν τῆι ἄκρᾳ τοῦτο γὰρ ἡµεῖν ἐδόκει τὸν Πετοιριν καὶ Ἐπόκην οἱ ἀδε.13

C.H. Roberts notes that the citadel was probably in Alexandria.14 To return to the fundamental objection of Koester and others who have repeated it often, there are a number of texts, some better known than others, which indicate that even citizens could experience beatings and flogging. One should not forget the infamous propraetor of Sicily (73–71 BCE), Gaius Verres. Before any kind of trial Verres had Gavius of Consa beaten. He accused him of spying for the fugitive army of slaves. 9

The scribe placed a line here. Roberts conjectures the possibility of ὅλμους (stones) here, which would imply a sentence to forced labor. On such sentences, cf. F. Millar, “Condemnation to Hard Labour in the Roman Empire, From the Julio-Claudians to Constantine,” PBSR 37 (1969): 124–47. 11 P. Oxy. 2339 r col. 2,16–19. 12 Roberts notes that Alexandrians would naturally look down on Romans for their “inferior culture.” 13 P. Oxy. 2339 v 25–28. 14 P. Oxy. 2339, p. 119. 10

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There in the open market-place of Messana a Roman citizen, gentlemen, was beaten with rods; and all the while, amid the crack of the falling blows, no groan was heard from the unhappy man, no words came from his lips in his agony except ‘I am a Roman citizen.’ Caedebatur virgis in medio foro Messanae civis Romanus, iudices, cum interea nullus gemitus, nulla vox alia illius miseri inter dolorem crepitumque plagarum audiebatur nisi haec: ‘civis Romanus sum.’15

His lictors were in the habit of beating citizens without trial: Need I remind you how many he had flogged? Gentlemen, the simple fact is this: when Verres was governor of Sicily, no distinction whatsoever was made, in this respect, between Roman citizens and other people. And the result of this practice was that before long his lictors were in the habit of actually laying hands upon the persons of Roman citizens without so much as waiting for his orders. Virgis quam multos ceciderit quid ego commemorem? tantum brevissime iudices dico: nullum fuit omnino civitatis isto praetore in hoc genere discrimen. itaque iam consuetudine ad corpora civium Romanorum etiam sine istius nutu ferebatur manus ipsa lictoris.16

Cicero clearly expects a distinction to exist between the treatment of Roman citizens and non-citizens. In a specific incident, Verres had an elderly Roman citizen from Panhormus beaten to death in order to force him to accept a challenge from Verres to prove that Verres had profited from robbery. He did not want to be tried before a prejudiced court without an accuser. In the midst of his appeal he was surrounded by six lictors, muscular fellows who had had plenty of practice in assaulting and flogging people, and who now proceeded to beat him savagely with rods; till finally the senior lictor Sextius, a man whom I have already often mentioned, took the butt end of his stick, and began to strike the poor man violently across the eyes, so that he fell helpless to the ground, his face and eyes streaming with blood. Even then his assailants continued to rain blows on his prostrate body, till at last he consented to accept the challenge. Such was the treatment he then received; and having been carried off for dead at the time, very soon afterwards he died. haec cum maxime loqueretur, sex lictores circumsistunt valentissimi et ad pulsandos verberandos que homines exercitatissimi, caedunt acerrume virgis. denique proximus lictor de quo saepe iam dixi, Sextius converso bacillo oculos misero tundere vehementissime coepit. Itaque ille cum sanguis os oculosque complesset, concidit, cum illi nihilo minus iacenti latera tunderent, ut aliquando spondere se diceret. Sic ille affectus illim tum pro mortuo sublatus perbrevi postea est mortuos.17

Verres’ brutality was not a completely isolated incident.

15 Cicero, Verr. 2.5.162, trans. of Cicero, The Verrine Orations (ed. and trans. L.H.G. Greenwood; 2 vols.; LCL; Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1935), 2.645– 47. 16 Cicero, Verr. 2.5.140, trans. of Greenwood, Cicero, 2.621. 17 Cicero, Verr. 2.5.140, trans. of Greenwood, Cicero, 2.623.

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In a papyrus text written after the 8th of September in 147, a former village scribe was accused by a petitioner of taking violent actions against a strategus. A strategus was the Roman governor of a nome in Egypt: “…of all the wrongful acts in life, the most shameful is for free persons to experience outrage” [or insolent pride] … (πάν/των τῶν αἴσχιστόν ἐστιν τῶν ἐν τῷ βίῳ ἀδικηµάτων τὸ ἐλευθέρους ἀνθρώ/πους ὕβρεως [τ]υγχάνειν ).18 He had been beaten so badly that he was in danger of dying (ὥστε κινδυνεύειν τῷ ζῆν ).19 The petitioner protests the former scribe’s cruel behavior: “to beat and strike and flog the freeborn as slaves” (τοὺς ἐλευθέρους τύπτειν καὶ παίειν καὶ µαστιγοῦν ὡς δο[ύλους]).20 Here is it very clear that flogging with whips was an unacceptable punishment for a free individual, and especially for a citizen such as a strategus. Jean-Jacques Aubert also notes that this shows that provincials claim the rights of freedom.21 On the 11th of February in 153, seven Roman citizens testified (a testatio) in a deposition that they had seen a veteran (i.e., a Roman citizen) beaten by two guards of a strategus in Philadelphia in the Caesareum: ...we beheld Gaius Maevius Apellas, veteran of the ala Apriana, being beaten on the order of the strategus Hierax by two guards with rods and clubs. ...ἐθεασάµεθα Γάιον Μηούιον Ἀπελλᾶν ο ὐετρανὸν ε ἴ[λης Ἀπριανῆς δερόµενον] το στρατηγοῦ Ἱέρακος κελεύοντος / [ὑπὸ] φυλάκων δύο ῥάβδοις καὶ κόµµασι·22

ῦ

In the Saltus Burunitanus (near Souk el Khemis) in Tunisia, farmers protested their treatment at the hand of the soldiers of an unnamed imperial procurator in an inscription from 180–183 CE: ...after soldiers were sent in the same Saltus Burunitanus (Burutinian estate), he ordered some of us to be arrested and mistreated and others to be chained and even some Roman citizens to be beaten with rods and clubs... ...missis militib(us) / [in eu]ndem saltum Burunitanum ali/[os nos]trum adprehendi et vexari ali/[os vinc]iri nonullos cives etiam Ro/[manos] virgis et fustibus effligi iusse/[rit...23

18

P. Wisc. I, 33.10–12. P. Wisc. I, 33.15. 20 P. Wisc. I, 33.20. 21 J.-J. Aubert, “A Double Standard in Roman Criminal Law? The Death Penalty and Social Structure in Late Republican and Early Imperial Rome,” in J.-J. Aubert and B. Sirks (eds.), Speculum Iuris: Roman Law as a Reflection of Social and Economic Life in Antiquity (Ann Arbor: The University of Michigan, 2002), 94–133, esp. 107. 22 SB V 7523 r, A.3–4. The attestation of one witness is lost. I assume that the Greek terms probably correspond to the virgis et fustibus of CIL VIII, 10570 (and not leather whips). 23 CIL VIII, 10570 = CIL VIII, 14464 = ILTun 1237. Cf. A. Deman, “Matériaux et réflexions pour servir à une étude du développement et du sous-développement dans les provinces de l’empire romain,” ANRW II.3 (1975): 3–97, esp. 39–40. 19

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The procurator apparently was unconcerned with the niceties of Roman law.24 On the basis of the evidence above, it is apparent that a Roman citizen could suffer what Paul described in 2 Cor 11.25.

B. Paul and Proof of Citizenship It is intriguing to speculate how Paul would have proved his Roman citizenship if he had been obliged to do so. In Apuleius’s trial for magic (158/159) before Claudius Maximus, proconsul of Africa, he tried to establish the age of his wife Aemilia Pudentilla by appealing to the profession of her birth (one of the professiones liberorum): Her father acknowledged her for his daughter in the usual fashion; the documents in which he did so are preserved partly in the public record office, partly in his house. Here they are before your very eyes. Please hand the documents to Aemilianus. Let him examine the linen strip that bears the seal; let him recognize the seal stamped upon it, let him read the names of the consuls for the year, let him count up the years. Pater eius natam sibi filiam more ceterorum professus est. tabulae eius partim tabulario publico partim domo adseruantur, quae iam tibi ob os obiciuntur. porrige tu Aemiliano tabulas istas: linum consideret, signa quae impressa sunt recognoscat, consules legat, annos computet, quos sexaginta mulieri adsignabat.25

One of these certificates on a wax tablet from 62 declares the birth of a citizen child: Done at Alexandria in Egypt in the consulate of P. Marius and L. Alfinius Gallus, on the tenth day before the calends of August, in the eighth year of the reign of the Emperor Nero Claudius Caesar Augustus Germanicus, on the 29th day of the month of Ephip. Certified copy of an entry in the register at the Grand Palace of declarations of those having children: L. Julius Vestinus, prefect of Egypt, has registered the names of those who have declared their children under the lex Papia Poppaea and the lex Aelia Sentia. In the consulate of of P. Marius and L. Afinius Gallus, AD XV Kal. Aug. L. Valerius Crispus, son of Lucius, of the Pollian

24 Aubert, “A Double Standard,” 107 refers to another case: a transmarinus (probably a trader, not a Brittunculus) in Vindolanda complains of being beaten though innocent and to have been bloodied by rods as if he had committed some kind of crime ([i]nnocentem virgis cas[t]igatum / ...virgis cruent[at]u[m] esse ac si aliquid sceler[i]s / comississem), perhaps by a centurion. See Vindolanda 344. 25 Apuleius, Apol. 89 (Apulei Platonici Madaurensis Opera quae supersunt [ed. R. Helm and W. Oskar; Leipzig: Teubner, 1968–70], 98, 9–14), trans. of H.E. Butler, The Apologia and Florida of Apuleius of Madaura (Oxford: Clarendon, 1909), 138. On the date, cf. G.N. Sandy, The Greek World of Apuleius: Apuleius and the Second Sophistic (Leiden: Brill, 1997), 1 with ref. to R. Syme, “Proconsuls d’Afrique sous Antonin le Pieux,” REA 61 (1959): 310–19, esp. 316–17. Cp. PIR 2 C 933. Scaevola, Dig. 9 in Dig. 22.3.29.pr (a rescript of Marcus Aurelius and Verus [i.e., 161–69] notes that letters written to a wife can prove legitimacy).

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tribe, whose census rating is 375,000 sesterces, declares the birth of a son named L. Valerius Crispus, son of Lucius, of the Pollian tribe, by Domitia Paulla daughter of Lucius, AD III Kal. Iul. [then abbreviations that may mean “Roman citizen” or “certified copy of entry in the daily register” followed by a repetition of the first eight lines of the text]. P(ublio) Mario L(ucio) Afinio Gallo co(n)s(ulibus) / X K(alendas) Augustas / anno VIII Neronis Claudi Caesaris / Augusti Germanici Imp(eratoris) mense / Ep{h}ip(h) die XXIX / Alex(andriae) ad Aeg(yptum) / descriptum et r[ecog]nitum ex tabu/la professionum quibus liberi / nati sunt quae tabula proposita / erat in [a]trio magno in qua sc[ri]/ptum erat id quod infra script(um) est / L(ucius) Iulius Vestinus praef(ectus) Aeg(ypti) // quibus] / liberi nati sunt quae tabula / proposita erat in atrio magno / in qua scriptum erat id quod in/fra scriptum est / L(ucius) Iulius Vestinus praef(ectus) Aeg/[ypti] nomina eorum qui e lege Pap(ia) / [P]opp(aea) et Aelia Sentia liberos apud / [†] natos sibi professi sunt proposu(it) / P(ublio) Mario L(ucio) Afinio Gallo co(n)s(ulibus) / XV K(alendas) Augustas / L(ucius) Valerius L(uci) f(ilius) Pol(lia) Crispus HS CCCLXXV / [†] filium natum L(ucium) Valerium / L(uci) f(ilium) Pol(lia) Crispum ex Domitia L(uci) f(ilia) / Paulla III K(alendas) Iulias q(uae) p(roximae) f(uerunt) / [c(ivem?)] R(omanum) [e(xscripsi?)] a(d) K(alendarium?) //26

These laws prohibited that illegitimate children be registered in the album (public record).27 Martin Hengel considers it possible that Paul carried around a copy of one of these declarations of birth among his scrolls.28 There are other options, which I think may be equally and perhaps more probable. Gavius 26

AE 1929, 96 = CPL 148 (the other tablet of the diptych is lost); trans. of C. Nicolet, The World of the Citizen in Republican Rome (Berkeley: University of California, 1988) 65–66. On the topic, cf. F. Schulz, “Roman Registers of Births and Birth Certificates,” BIDR 55–56 (1951): 170–206, P. Lanfranchi, Ricerche sul valore giuridico dell dichiarazioni di nascita in diritto romano (Bologna: Zanichelli, 1951), and C. SanchezMorena Ellart, “Professio liberorum”. Las declaraciones y los registros de nascimientos en Derecho romano, con especial atención a las fuentes papirológicas (Madrid: Dykinson, 2001) (rev. by G. Purpura, in Iura 52 [2001], 364–74). The abbreviation c r e ad K may stand for c(ivem) R(omanum) esse ad K(alendarium), with reference to a book called a Kalendarium — a “register of births refers to the book in which the professiones liberorum were taken down before they were recorded in the album professionum.” Another option is curavit relatum esse ad Kalendarium (with the Kalendarium being a building in Alexandria). Cf. P. Pescani, “Osservazioni su alcune sigle ricorrenti nelle Professiones liberorum,” Aegyptus 41 (1961): 129–40, esp. 135–40. Sanchez-Morena (“Professio liberorum”, 120), however, points out that these texts are registers of births of citizens and that the testationes of soldiers (that are of illegitimate children) warrant this view. The professio is of a legitimate child and citizen. In addition, c. R. usually signifies civis Romanus. 27 P. Mich. III, 169 = CPL 162 (a wax tablet declaring the birth of two illegitimate children). Cf. Schulz, “Roman Registers,” 175–76 on Dig. 22.3.29.1 and the demonstration that Marcus allowed illegitimate Roman children to be registered. 28 M. Hengel and R. Deines, The Pre-Christian Paul (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1991), 104. H.W. Tajra, The Trial of St. Paul: A Juridical Exegesis of the Second Half of the Acts of the Apostles (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1989), 84–85. See Epict. 3.24.41 (εἶτα οἱ µὲν τ ῆς Ῥωµαίων πολιτείας καταψευδόµενοι κολάζονται πικρ ῶς) and Suetonius, Claud. 25 on the dangers of falsely claiming citizenship.

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appealed to an equestrian, Lucius Raecius who was in Panhormus, in whose army he had served, but Verres would not wait.29 Although many discharged Roman soldiers had diplomas recognizing their citizenship, references to such diplomas for civilians who were made citizens are rare. Inscriptional evidence is nearly non-existent. A fragmentary text (AE 1999, 1250) found in Carnuntum, may be an exception. It is likely that the bronze tablet (15.5 x 16 cm) recorded the granting of citizenship to a civilian, probably from the reign of Marcus Aurelius.30 If the reconstruction is correct, then at this time it is the only known civilian diploma. The ones given by Nero to the dancers may not be as exceptional as A.N. Sherwin-White once thought.31 Like the registrations of births on diptychs, they could have been recorded on materials such as “perishable wood, papyrus, or parchment.”32 Luke’s Paul, however, claims to have been a citizen since birth, and so these diplomata, if they were indeed common, were not what he would have possessed. Diplomata that registered births were not always available. A case from Herculaneum (beginning in 75) of a Petronia Justa is a dispute about whether she was a freedwoman of a Calatoria Themis or whether she was freeborn.33 Iusta did not have a certificate of birth, and Themis did not have a certificate of Calatoria’s manumission. Both parties called witnesses to prove their case. Tab. Herc. XVI, for example, is a deposition by a witness that Iusta was

29

Cicero, Verr. 2.5.161. Cf. R. Frei-Stolba and H. Lieb, “Un diplôme civil: Le fragment de Carnuntum (“AE,” 1999, 1250),” ZPE 143 (2003): 243–54, esp. 245–56. The lacunae are restored using the Tabula Banasitana. 31 Suetonius, Nero 12.1 (diplomata civitatis). Cf. A.N. Sherwin-White, The Roman Citizenship (Oxford: Clarendon, 1973), 315. W. Williams, “Formal and Historical Aspects of Two New Documents of Marcus Aurelius,” ZPE 17 (1975): 37–78, esp. 60–62 believes “civilian diplomata, of which the Tabula [Banasitana] supplies the first example, were thus quite common, but no doubt far fewer than the military diplomata.” The libellus of citizenship given to the daughter of a centurion (a citizen) by Trajan (Pliny, Ep. 10.107) is similar. The bronze tabula Banasitana (IAM II/1 94, 168–77 CE [the first letter is from 168]), in which (one of the three documents in the inscription) Marcus Aurelius and Verus granted citizenship to an individual, his wife, and four children from the Zegrensian tribe in Mauritania, is not the type of document that could be easily be transported, but it was recorded in the emperor’s records (descriptum et recognitum ex commentario civitate Romana). It is 64 x 42 cm large. Cf. M. Euzennat and W. Seston, “Un dossier de la chancellerie romaine: La Tabula Banasitana. Étude de diplomatique,” CRAI 115 (1971): 468–90, esp. 469. 32 A.N. Sherwin White, “The Tabula of Banasa and the Constitutio Antoniana,” JRS 63 (1973): 86–98, esp. 91 33 Cf. J.F. Gardner, “Proofs of Status in the Roman World,” BICS 33 (1986): 1–14 (with ref. to Tab. Herc. XIII–XXX) and E. Metzer, “The Case of Petronia Iusta,” RIDA 3rd series 47 (2000): 151–65. 30

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freeborn (ingenuam natam esse).34 A rescript of Probus asserts that a marriage and a child can be legitimate even if there are no tablets registering the marriage and the birth (neque nuptiales tabulae neque ad natam filiam pertinentes facta sunt). Neighbors or other witnesses are sufficient.35 Diocletian (20th of Jan. 286) notified an individual that his status was not endangered by the loss of his birth registration (Statum tuum natali professione perdita mutilatum non esse certi iuris est).36 It is possible that Paul had a letter from a magistrate or a witness such as the one to whom Gavius appealed.37

C. The Method of Paul’s Execution A fundamental problem, with regard to the death of Paul, is how much one gains by establishing that Paul may well have been a Roman citizen. Paul’s citizenship would not imply the manner of his execution. Here it is important to survey the Christian traditions of Paul’s execution, although its location in Rome will be extensively discussed later in this volume. The patristic evidence which affirms that Paul died by the sword during the reign of Nero is derived from Luke’s affirmation that Paul was a citizen, according to T.D. Barnes who writes, “It is not clear, however, that any of this derives from authentic memory of Paul’s death rather being an inference from the fact that he was a Roman citizen by birth (Acts 22.28).”38 Dionysius of Corinth (writing ca. 170 to Rome) and Gaius are the second-century authorities used by Eusebius who affirm that Paul was martyred in Rome.39 However, neither Dionysius nor Gaius explicitly says Paul was beheaded, according to Eusebius. It is Euse34 Cf. V. Arangio-Ruiz, “Testi e documenti. IV. — Tavolette Ercolanesi (il processo di Giusta),” BIDR 3rd series 1 (1959): 223–45, esp. 234–35. Cp. Tab. Herc. XX = AE 1951, 217 (Arangio-Ruiz, “Testi e documenti,” 236–37). 35 Cod. Just. 5.4.9 (Probus to Fortunatus). Cp. a rescript of Gordian: P. Tebt. 2, 285 (8th July 238 CE: the omission of registering the birth of children does not make them illegitimate). See Gardner, “Proofs,” 2. 36 Cod. Just. 4.21.6 (Diocletian and Maximian to Luscedes). 37 This from a communication of Professor Werner Eck on the 20 th of April 2013. Trajan wrote a letter to the prefect of Egypt, Pompeius Planta, in which he granted Alexandrian citizenship to a man for whom Pliny had already obtained Roman citizenship (cf. Ep. 10.106–07) – a reversal of the usual order. Trajan’s (Ep. 10.105) commentarii (official records) included his grants of citizenship to freedmen (Latini Iuniani) who obtained full citizenship (Ius Quiritium). Cf. Sherwin-White, Citizenship, 320 with ref. to Gaius, Inst. 1.32–35, 65, 72–73 and Epit. Ulp. 3.1–6. 38 T.D. Barnes, Early Christian Hagiography and Roman History (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010), 26, 32. 39 Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 2.25, 8 and 7, respectively (Barnes thinks Dionysius’s tradition is based on “empty rhetoric” that simply reflects contemporary tradition about the apostles’ death under Nero). Gaius wrote during bishop Zephyrinus’s office (199–217).

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bius who writes that people say that during Nero’s rule Paul was beheaded in Rome and that Peter was crucified there (Παῦλος δὴ οὖν ἐπ’ αὐτῆς Ῥώµης τὴν κεφαλὴν ἀποτµηθῆναι καὶ Πέτρος ὡσαύτως ἀνασκολοπισθῆναι κατ’ αὐτὸν ἱστοροῦνται ...).40 After this statement he makes the references to Dionysius and Gaius. Clement of Alexandria, Tertullian, Origen, and Eusebius all believe Paul was executed in Rome, but only Eusebius mentions the beheading explicitly, although Tertullian may imply it.41 The passage from Acta Pauli quoted by Prof. Marotta exists in fragmentary form in the Hamburg papyrus (III–IV CE), which as a textual artifact is earlier than the manuscripts that exist of the relevant passage in Eusebius’s history. The presbyter compiled the Acta Pauli (which includes the Martyrdom of Paul, 3 Corinthians, and the Acts of Paul and Thecla) before Tertullian mentioned him in his On Baptism (196–206), but the actual composition may have been over a longer span in the second century.42 The author of the Martyrdom of Paul describes the beheading of Paul and the subsequent flow of milk from the wound: Hearing these things the emperor ordered that all those who were bound should be burned, and that Paul should be beheaded by the law of the Romans...he [Paul] extended his neck no longer speaking. When the speculator cut off his head, milk spurted onto the garments of the soldier. Ταῦτα δ ὲ ἀκούσας ὁ Καῖσαρ ἐκέλευσεν πάντας το ὺς δεδεµένους πυρ ὶ κατακαῆναι, τ ὸν δ ὲ Παῦλον τραχηλοκοπηθ ῆναι τ ῷ νόµῳ τῶν Ῥωµαίων...προέτεινεν τ ὸν τράχηλον µηκέτι λαλήσας. ὡς δ ὲ ἀπετίναξεν α ὐτοῦ ὁ σπεκουλάτωρ τ ὴν κεφαλήν, γάλα ἐπύτισεν ε ἰς το ὺς χιτῶνας τοῦ στρατιώτου.43

40

Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 2.25.5. Clement of Alex., Strom. 7.17.106.4 (death under Nero), Tertullian, Praescr. 36.3 (death in Rome), Scorp. 15.3 (Peter crucified, but Paul’s citizenship recognized [Tunc Paulus civitatis Romanae consequitur nativitatem, cum illic martyrii renascitur generositate]), Origen, On Genesis III, in Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 3.1.3 (martyred in Rome under Nero), Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 2.22.1–8 (death under Nero), Dem. ev. 3.5.65 (Paul beheaded in Rome [Παῦλός τε ἀποτέµνεται]), Lactantius, Inst. 4.21.5 (Paul preached in Rom), Mort. 2.6 (Nero had Peter crucified and executed Paul [Paulum interfecit]. 42 Tertullian, Bapt. 17. J.W. Barrier, The Acts of Paul and Thecla: A Critical Introduction and Commentary (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2009), 23–24 argues the span could have been 100 years. This assumes the truth, however, of Jerome’s statement that John was still alive when it was composed (Vir. ill. 7 [convictum apud Iohannem quod auctor esset libri]), which is unreliable. J. Bremmer dates it to 160 CE because of the mention of Falconilla in Acta Pauli et Theclae 28–31 (“The Apocryphal Acts: Authors, Place, Time and Readership,” in Bremmer, The Apocryphal Acts of Thomas [Leuven: Peeters, 2001], 149–70, esp. 153). Cf. W. Eck, “Senatorische Familien der Kaiserzeit in der Provinz Sizilien,” ZPE 113 (1996): 109–28 (Pompeia Sosia Falconilla, wife of the consul of 163, M. Pontius Laelianus) and PIR 2 P 681. 43 Martyrium Pauli 3, 5 (Acta apostolorum apocrypha [ed. R.A. Lipsius and M. Bonnet; 2 vols.; Leipzig: Mendelssohn, 1891–1903], 1.112, 1–3; 1.115, 16–18). These 41

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The entire account is legendary with perhaps the exception of the death by beheading and the mention of the speculator.44 The historian is left with little but a hazy tradition from some time during the second century, and it may be unreliable. Neither Dionysius of Corinth nor Gaius can be shown to be the source of the tradition of the method of Paul’s execution. I think it is worthwhile to reflect on the range of penalties that was available to a Roman magistrate in the first century who had to sentence a citizen convicted of a serious crime. Jean-Pierre Callu has written an article entitled “Le jardin des supplices au Bas-Empire” (The Garden of Punishments in the Late Empire).45 One can do something similar for the first century in which there truly was a “garden of punishments.”46 The forms of execution in the first century for citizens included death by sword, axe, or dagger, strangulation by the garrot/noose (laqueus) while an individual was on the ground,47 two texts correspond to Acta Pauli frag. 9, 11 from the Hamburg papyrus (C. Schmidt and W. Schubart, Acta Pauli nach dem Papyrus der Hamburger Staats- und Universitäts-bibliothek [Glückstadt: Augustin, 1936], 62, 68; cf. BHG 1452). 44 On the use of speculatores in executions, cf. Mommsen, Römisches Strafrecht, 924–25 n.6. 45 J.-P. Callu, “Le jardin des supplices au Bas-Empire,” in Du châtiment dans la cité: Supplices corporels et peine de mort dans le monde antique (Rome: École française de Rome, 1984), 313–59. 46 Cf. the table below. 47 SHA Trig. Tyr. 22.8 (Trebellius Pollio) describes the fate of a pretender (Aemilianus) who was strangled in prison in accordance with the customary treatment of the captives of old (strangulatus in carcere captivorum veterum more perhibetur). Cp. Jugurtha’s fate (at least in one tradition) in Eutropius, Brev. 4.27.4 and Orosius, Hist. 5.15.19 (Jugurtha and his two sons strangled on Marius’s orders during the triumph). He dies of hunger after six days in the carcer according to Plutarch, Mar. 12.4–5. Cf. E. Cantarella, I supplizi capitali in Grecia e a Roma (Milan: Rizzoli, 1996), 143–44 (Appian, Bell. civ. 1.26.119, the followers of C. Gracchus were strangled in prison [ἀποπνιγῆναι προσέταξε], Josephus, B.J. 7.153–55, Simon bar Giora was strangled [βρόχῳ δὲ περιβληθεὶς], Sallust, Bell. Cat. 55.5, Lentullus was strangled in the Tullianum [laqueo gulam fregere]), Suetonius, Tib. 75.2, [custodes... strangulaverunt]). See also Cicero, Vat. 26 (fregerisne in carcere cervices [Caesar had L. Vettius strangled in the Carcer], cp. Plutarch, Luc. 42.8) Tacitus, Ann. 5.9.2 (Sejanus’s daughter was raped while the noose lay on the floor, then she and her brother were strangled [“throats squeezed”] and their bodies thrown down the Gemonian stairs [a carnifice laqueum iuxta compressam; exim oblisis faucibus id aetatis corpora in Gemonias abiecta]). None of these texts use suspension language (as in the case of a suicide in Seneca, Ep. 4.4 [laqueo pependit]). Cp. I. Pfaff, Laqueus, PRE XII/1 (1924): 790–91 (“Erdrosselung” [garroting]), Mommsen, Strafrecht, 930, ThLL VII/2.961.17–964.41 s.v. laqueus (O. Pecere), esp. 961.33–34 instrumentum suspendendi vel strangulandi (an instrument for hanging or strangling), P. Pavón Torrejón, La cárcel y el encarcelamiento en el mundo romano (Madrid: CSIC, Instituto de Historia, Dept. de Historia Antigua y Arqueología, 2003), 225. Despite Pliny, Ep. 2.11.8, it seems to have been suppressed during Nero’s imperium (Tacitus, Ann. 14.48.4).

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poison, wild beasts, starvation, being beaten to death with rods, the Tarpeian rock, the sack, crematio,48 decimation for soldiers (execution by club or sword), being buried alive, crucifixion (which was meted out to freedmen and occasionally to individuals of higher rank), suicide before or after the end of a trial (the so called liberum mortis arbitrium),49 and being sawn in two. A sentence to the mines could be close to a capital penalty, since one was occasionally worked to death.50 Roman authors tend not to give details of the executions – even of elite individuals. An example is the execution of Sejanus, which Cassius Dio describes in general terms (δικαιωθείς) and which is referred to in equally general terms in the surviving portion of Tacitus’s Annals (punito Seiano).51 Only the Fasti Ostienses indicate that he was strangled (s[trang(ulatus)]). Consequently, one cannot conclude from the brief remark in an ancient author that an individual “was executed” that it was by the sword. This fact, along with the variety of Roman punishments, implies that one cannot conclude a priori from Paul’s citizenship that he died by the sword. A survey of many executions of citizens in the first century warrants this position (see the table below). The sword or axe were probably, however, used in most cases. In addition, a telling comment about a magistrate’s duties in Seneca illustrates my contention about the multiplicity of punishments in the first century. The gathering (contio) to which he refers is that in which the capital sentence 48

One of the early examples of this appears in the Acta Alex. III col. 3,24–25 = P. Giss. Univ. 46: Γαῖος Κα ῖσαρ ἐκ[έ]λευσεν τ ὸ[ν] κα/τ ήγορον κα ῆναι. (Gaius Caesar decreed that the accuser be burned). According to Asinius Pollio, Cornelius Balbus (Cicero, Fam. 10.32.3) had a Pompeian veteran (i.e., a citizen) who refused to fight as a professional gladiator buried up to his waist and burned: Then when he had been removed he half buried him in the school and burned him alive. When Balbus had eaten his lunch, he walked about with bare feet, his tunic loosened, and his hands behind his back. Fadius cried aloud, “I was born a Roman citizen,” and he responded, “Go then and appeal to the people” (deinde abstractum defodit in ludo et vivum combussit, cum quidem pransus nudis pedibus, tunica soluta, manibus ad tergum reiectis inambularet et illi misero quiritanti: “c. R. natus sum” responderet: “abi nunc, populi fidem implora”). He also sentenced citizens ad bestias. Cf. Bauman, Crime, 67. Seneca, Dial. 5.3.6 circumdati defossis corporibus ignes presumably refers to a similar penalty used by Caligula. 49 Suetonius, Dom. 8.4, 11.3; Tacitus, Ann. 11.3.1, 16.33.2. Cf. Cantarella, I supplizi, 140–44. 50 Cf. Millar, “Condemnation,” 128, 137, 139 (cf. the slaves’ quick death in the mines Strabo saw in Pontus [Geogr. 12.3.40]). Before Constantine those condemned to the mines apparently were tattooed on their faces (Constantine to Eumelius (vicarius of Africa), March 21, 315/316 in C. Theod. 9.40.2 = Cod. Just. 9.47.17). Pliny, Ep. 2.11.8 and later evidence suggest that they were beaten, their hair half shorn, they were given little food, and their feet were chained (Cyprianus, Ep. 76.2, 77.3; Callistratus, De cogn. 6 in Dig. 49.14.12). Cp. the slaves sentenced to the pistrinum who, tattooed and in shackles, are regularly beaten in Apuleius, Metam. 9.12. 51 Cassius Dio, 58.11.4; Tacitus, Ann. 5.8.1. Cf. the table below.

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is announced and carried out.52 Seneca envisions a magistrate wearing his toga upside down, which probably implies the world of death as similar customs were followed in Roman funerals.53 He describes the ideal judge: Even if as a magistrate I have to don my garment in the reversed way and summon the public meeting by the sound of a trumpet, I shall proceed to the tribunal not in rage nor in rancor, but with the visage of the law, and I shall pronounce those solemn words in a voice gentle and grave rather than furious, and when I order to carry out (the law) I shall not be angry but stern. And when I command that a criminal be beheaded, or sew up a parricide in the sack, or send a person to be executed in a military way or stand a traitor or public enemy upon the Tarpeian Rock, I shall show no anger, but shall display such countenance and shall be of such mind as I might if I were cutting down snakes or any venomous creatures. Itaque et, si perversa induenda magistratui vestis et convocanda classico contio est, procedam in tribunal non furens nec infestus sed vultu legis et illa sollemnia verba leni magis gravique quam rabida voce concipiam et agi lege iubebo non iratus sed severus; et cum cervicem noxio imperabo praecidi et cum parricidas insuam culleo et cum mittam in supplicium militare et cum Tarpeio proditorem hostemve publicum inponam, sine ira eo vultu animoque ero, quo serpentes et animalia venenata percutio.54

According to Theodor Mommsen and Jerzy Lindersky, the traditional Roman method of beheading is with the axe, while the “military way” is by the sword.55 The sword came to be the instrument of choice, but more aggravated forms of execution could be used when a magistrate chose. Seneca, for example, protests against the overuse of capital penalties and clearly distinguishes between the sword and heavier penalties in his warning against anger: For it is in this that we are most liable to be wrong. We resort to the sword and to capital penalties, and an act that deserves the censure of a very light flogging we punish by chains, the prison, and starvation. In hoc enim praecipue fallimur: ad ferrum venimus, ad capitalia supplicia, et vinculis, carcere, fame vindicamus rem castigandam flagris levioribus.56

52

Cf. J. Linderski, “The Pontiff and the Tribune: The Death of Tiberius Gracchus,” in Linderski, Roman Questions II: Selected Papers (Stuttgart, 2007), 88–114, esp. 111. 53 Cf. Linderski, “The Pontiff,” 109–13. 54 Seneca, Dial. 3.16.5, trans. of Linderski, “The Pontiff,” 111. The De ira was probably written “in the early years of Claudius’ reign.” Cf. L.D. Reynolds, M.T. Griffin and E. Fantham, “Annaeus Seneca (2), Lucius,” OCD 3, 96–98, esp. 96. 52 CE is the terminus ante quem because of the dedication to Novatus (in 52 he became “Gallio”). Cf. M. von Albrecht and G.L. Schmeling, A History of Roman Literature: From Livius Andronicus to Boethius (vol. 2; Leiden: Brill, 1997), 1162. Albrecht notes that the “good judge” may “reflect Seneca’s hopes during the first months of Claudius’ reign.” 55 Mommsen, Römisches Strafrecht, 916–18, 923–25, Lindersky, “The Pontiff,” 111. See SHA Caracalla 4.1 (Aelius Spartianus), where the emperor criticizes the executioner for using an axe instead of a sword to put Aemilius Papinianus to death. 56 Seneca, Dial. 5.32.2, trans. of Moral Essays, (ed. and trans. J.W. Basore; 3 vols.; LCL; Cambridge : Harvard University Press, 1928–1935), 1.332 slightly modified.

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Several incidents describing the first-century use of the Tarpeian rock illustrate the problem of the use of punishments for specific crimes. Tiberius had Aelius Saturninus thrown off the rock for writing some “improper verses” about him (ἔπη τινὰ ἐς αὐτὸν οὐκ ἐπιτήδεια ἀπορρίψαντα).57 Presumably he accused him and had him tried for maiestas. That is a far cry from Seneca’s requirement that the individual be a traitor or public enemy, although he may have been a “public enemy” in Tiberius’s eyes. Lucius Pituanius, probably after a trial before the senate, was thrown from the rock due to the practice of astrology or magic (mathematicus or magus).58 Sextus Marius was thrown off the rock for incest with his daughter.59 Caligula had individuals thrown down from the rock because he wanted their property. Apparently the rock could be used for a variety of crimes. Claudius, not always following the strict prescription of the laws (nec semper praescripta legum secutus), sentenced people ad bestias in cases that did not prescribe such a penalty, according to Suetonius: “...and overstepping the lawful penalty for those convicted of a great offence, he condemned them to beasts” (et in maiore fraude conuictos legitimam poenam supergressus ad bestias condemnavit).60 Possibly they were of lower orders.61 He executed so many individuals for parricide that Seneca wrote it was more common to see the sack than the cross during his reign.62 That implies the cross was usually a common sight. Although freedmen (liberti) were citizens, they were certainly subject to crucifixion in the first century for a variety of crimes, which illustrates the power of a magistrate in a coercitive process.63 It is fair to wonder if magistrates did not have the power to crucify citizens of lower rank (the so called humiliores). One does not need to argue that penalties for slaves and humiliores were completely “equalized” in the early Principate to affirm this.64 Punishments based on differences in status may, however, have existed 57

Cassius Dio, 57.22.5. Tacitus, Ann. 2.32.3. 59 Tacitus, Ann. 6.19.1. 60 Suetonius, Claud. 14.1 61 Bauman, Crime, 125. 62 Seneca, Claud. 1.23.1. 63 Cf. the table (Ida during Tiberius’s reign, Asiaticus crucified by Vitellius). 64 The concept clearly existed. Cf. the harsh punishments for people of upper rank (honesti ordinis) in Suetonius, Cal. 27.3: the mines, wild animals, cages, being sawn in two (ad metalla et munitiones viarum aut ad bestias condemnavit aut bestiarum more quadripedes cavea coercuit aut medios serra dissecuit). Caligula (Cal. 27.4) sentenced a writer of Atellan farce (one of the humiliores) to crematio and an equestrian ad bestias. Hadrian forbade the capital punishment of decurions unless they were parricides (Venuleius, Off. Proc. 1 in Dig. 48.19.15). In another rescript of Hadrian, the punishment for moving boundary stones varies according to a person’s status. Cf. Ulpian, Off. Proc. 8 = Collatio 13.3.1–2 = Callistratus, De cogn. 3 = Dig. 47.21.2 (Poenae tamen modus ex condicione personae et mente facientis magis statui potest : nam si splendidiores sunt 58

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in “embryonic form” even then.65 Calpurnius Piso, for example, had a centurion who was a citizen crucified for an unspecified charge, and it is not clear that Galba was breaking a law when he crucified the guardian who had poisoned his ward.66 Peter Garnsey argues that Suetonius emphasizes Galba’s cruelty, but not the illegality of his actions: “Galba was simply using a penalty customarily reserved for aliens or slaves and the most despicable criminals.” The guardian perhaps wants to appeal his sentence or perhaps he is simply protesting receiving a slave’s punishment.67 Wilhelm Simshäuser believes that the magistrates of Puteoli had the power to crucify free born individuals and even Roman citizens.68 Whether that is true or not, it is not difficult to believe that Roman governors had the right to crucify citizens who were convicted of banditry (i.e., a form of sedition). Florus’s crucifixion of Jewish equestrians, for example, was cruel, but Josephus does not assert that it was illegal. He just emphasizes that people of that rank had not been crucified before. I think the solution may be that crucifixion was not often used against citizens of high rank more maiorum (according to ancient custom) – not that there was a specific law against it. Ulpian, as Professor Marotta notes, specifies that if a governor condemns an individual to death by the sword, then the axe, poison, noose, club, and spear69 are not to be used. Nor do they have the right to allow a person a free

personae... [...the penalty should be determined according to the status of the offender and his intention. If those convicted are of high status ...]). This may be the earliest appearance of the distinction (between the splendidiores and those who are not). Cf. Bauman, Crime, 127 (his trans.). 65 Bauman, Crime, 139–40, for example, does not believe that the penalties were equalized at that time, but concedes the possibility that different penalties based on status may have begun at this time in “embryonic form.” 66 Das Senatus consultum de Cn. Pisone patre (ed. W. Eck, A. Caballos, and F. Fernández Gómez; Munich: Beck, 1996), 49–52, p. 42, Suetonius, Galb. 9.1. 67 Garnsey, “The Lex Julia,” 175–76. 68 W. Simshäuser, Iuridici und Munizipalgerichtsbarkeit in Italien (MBPF 61; Munich: Beck, 1973), 182 (with reference to the lex Puteolana II, 11–14). W. Kunkel thinks they had jurisdiction over peregrini, but that citizens were not subject to crucifixion, although he does refer (“vgl. allerdings” [nevertheless compare]) to Suetonius, Galb. 9 (“Quaestio,” in Kunkel, Kleine Schriften: Zum röm. Strafverfahren u.z. röm. Verfassungsgeschichte [ed. H. Niederländer; Weimar: Böhlau, 1974], 33–110, esp. 105–06). Cf. F. Hinard and J.C. Dumont (eds.), Libitina. Pompes funèbres et supplices en Campanie à l’époque d’Auguste (Paris: De Boccard, 2003), 18 (the text), J.G. Cook, “Envisioning Crucifixion: Light from Several Inscriptions and the Palatine Graffito,” NovT 50 (2008): 262–85, esp. 265–66. 69 The meaning of telum refers to objects thrown by a hand according to Gaius, Ad legem duodecim tab. 1 in Dig. 50.16.233.2: an arrow, stone, stick, or iron object. Cf. Bauman, Crime, 193

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choice of death (that is, forced suicide).70 Nevertheless, from the table below one can easily see that most of these methods (with the exception of the spear) were used in the first century against citizens. Clearly Ulpian does not advocate forbidding a governor to use other forms of aggravated punishment. Notorious cattle rustlers (abigei), for example, can be sent to the mines (in metallum) or be sentenced to the sword (gladii poenam), which Ulpian speculates in such cases may mean gladiatorial games (ludi damnationem).71 Those who adulterate coins (falsum) can be sentenced to wild animals (ad bestias) or if slaves to the extreme penalty (summum supplicium), which was probably crucifixion.72 Those guilty of sacrilege (sacrilegii) can be sentenced to wild beasts, crematio, or crucifixion.73 Rebels (hostes) and deserters are subject to crematio.74 Callistratus, writing in the Severan era, recommends crucifixion for notorious bandits.75 This is only a fraction of the crimes and punishments discussed by the jurists. Clearly all these punishments were used against citizens in the first century, albeit for a wider variety of crimes.

D. Conclusion It can be established without question that 2 Cor 11.25 is not inconsistent with the Roman citizenship of Paul. If Luke’s tradition is correct, then there were a number of ways Paul could have established his citizenship: a birth diploma, a witness, a witness’s deposition on a tablet, or perhaps a letter from a magistrate. A certain amount of skepticism, however, is warranted when it comes to the precise manner in which Paul died. The traditions are apparently based on a lengthy oral transmission, the nature of which is entirely unknown. The bare

70

48.19.8 Ulpian, Off. Proc. 9 in Dig. 48.19.8.1 (Vita adimitur, ut puta si damnatur aliquis, ut gladio in eum animadvertatur. Sed animadverti gladio oportet, non securi vel telo vel fusti vel laqueo vel quo alio modo. Proinde nec liberam mortis facultatem concedendi ius praesides habent. Multo enim vel veneno necandi). Rather ironic, in modern ears, is the expression voluntariam mortem coactum (voluntary forced death) in Suetonius, Tib. 54.2. 71 Cf. Ulpian, Off. Proc. 8 in Collatio 11.7.2, 3. This is a rescript of Hadrian to the town of Baetica. 72 Ulpian, Off. Proc. 7 in Dig. 48.10.8. On the servile punishment, cp. Tacitus, Hist. 4.11.3; SHA Avidius Cassius 4.6 (Vulcacius Gallicanus). 73 Ulpian, Off. Proc. 7 in Dig. 48.13.7. furca has been substituted for crux. H.D. Jocelyn (“Greek Poetry in Cicero’s Prose Writing,” YCS 23 [1973]: 61–112, esp. 108) affirms that in furca suspendisse is a “Christian alteration” of a text that refers to crucifixion. 74 Ulpian, Off. Proc. 9 in Dig. 48.19.8.2. 75 Callistratus, De cogn. 6 in Dig. 48.19.28.15: Famosos latrones in his locis, ubi grassati sunt, furca figendos (furca has been substituted for crux).

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fact of Paul’s citizenship would not imply the manner of his death. A Roman magistrate in a coercitive process had many options of execution at hand. The sword, however, was probably used most often. Table 1: Roman Citizens Sentenced to Execution in I CE76 Augustus (16 Jan. 27–19 Aug. 14) Suet., Aug. 24.2

judge

defendant

charge

sentence

Augustus

cohorts

ceded place in battle

Suet., Aug. 27.4 (43 BCE?)

Augustus and the senate

Quintus Gallius, praetor

Suet., Aug. 33.1

Augustus

a parricide

Sen., Dial. 4.5.5 (11/12 CE)

L. Valerius Messalla Volesus, proconsul of Asia Augustus

300 people (peregrini and/or citizens)

suspected of car-rying a sword A. saved him during the trial unspecified crimes

decimation, by fustis (club)? Cp. Tac., Ann. 14.44.4 executed after A. tore his eyes out sack

a few individuals

plotting against the emperor

execution

Piso as proconsul of Africa?

two soldiers and a centurion

one soldier suspected of murder, another absent on leave, a centurion who did

beheading

Cassius Dio 54.15.4 Tiberius (19 Aug. 14–16 March 37) Sen., Dial. 3.18.3–5 (5/6 CE? or 20 CE?)

beheaded with axe

76 I have not included forced suicides below. The table is a reasonable synthesis of the evidence, but is not complete. In addition to the classical sources, I have used, among other works: M. Griffin, “The Flavians,” CAH 2 XI (2000): 1–83; B. Jones, The Emperor Domitian (London: Routledge, 1992); S.H. Rutledge, Imperial Inquisitions: Prosecutors and Informants from Tiberius to Domitian (London: Routledge, 2001); D. Kienast, Römische Kaisertabelle: Grundzüge einer römischen Kaiserchronologie (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2004); R.S. Rogers, Criminal Trials and Criminal Legislation under Tiberius (Middletown: American Philological Association, 1935); PIR 1 and PIR2. Abbreviations of Latin texts are from the OLD.

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Tac., Ann. 1.53.3–6

Tiberius’s order of execution

Ti. Sempronius Gracchus

Tac., Ann. 2.32.3 (16 CE) Tac., Ann. 2.32.3 (16 CE) (for the execution, cp. Nero 49.2) Josephus A.J. 18.79 (19 CE)

senate?

Lucius Pituanius Publius Marcius

Tiberius

Ida, freedwoman

SCCPP (20 CE)

Piso legatus Augusti pro praetore Syria senate

centurion, Roman citizen

Cassius Dio 57.22.5 (23 CE) Tac., Ann. 6.19.1 (25 CE) Cassius Dio 58.1.1, Tac., Ann. 4.70.1 (27–28 CE)

Tiberius, senate

Aelius Saturninus

Tiberius

Sextus Marius

Tiberius

Titius Sabinus

Cassius Dio 58.3.7 (30 CE) Cassius Dio

Tiberius

Vallius Syriacus

senate

Aelius Sejanus

Tac., Ann. 3.49–51, Cassius Dio 57.20.3 (21 CE)

senate?

Clutorius Priscus

not execute the alleged murderer adultery with Julia, plot related to Agrippa Postumus? astrology or magic astrology or magic

aiding her patron in his adultery disobedience?

verses about the death of Drusus (who was ill), magic, astrology, lex Cornelia? improper verses, maiestas incest with daughter remarks against Tiberius, led to execution with noose around neck being a friend of Asinius Gallus suspected by

exiled by Augustus, beheaded by the percussores of Tiberius the (Tarpeian) rock outside the Esquiline gate, according to ancient custom (more prisco) crucifixion

crucifixion

executed in the carcer, the noose?

thrown from Capitol (Tarpeian rock) Tarpeian rock executed (by noose?), body cast onto the Gemonian stairs and then into Tiber execution

Fasti: execu-

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58.11.4–5, 58.8.1–2, Tac., Ann. 5.8.1, Josephus A.J. 6.182, Sen., Dial. 9.11.11, Fasti Ostienses 18 Oct. 31 Iuv. 10.66 (ducitur unco)

Tiberius, probably of plotting against Caligula

ted by strangulation (s[trangulatus ]), body cast onto the stairs and then into Tiber; Sen.: torn in pieces (frusta) by the people (while being dragged by the hook [uncus]) son strangled, daughter raped and strangled (laqueus)

mourned her son’s death, maiestas remarks against Tiberius

execution

Cassius Dio 58.11.4-5, Tac., Ann. 5.9.1–2 Fasti Ostienses 24 Oct. 31 Tac., Ann. 6.10.1 (32 CE)

senate

children of Sejanus

Tiberius

Vitia, mother of Fufius Geminus

Cassius Dio 57.2.5–7, 58.3.1–6, Tac., Ann. 6.23.1 (33 CE) Tac., Ann. 6.23.2 (33 CE)

Tiberius and the senate

Asinius Gallus

senate

Drusus Iulius Caesar

unspecified

Tac., Ann. 6.18.1 (33 CE)

Tiberius

Considius Proculus

maiestas

execution

Tac., Ann. 6.39.1 (35 CE)

Tiberius

Sextius Paconianus

strangled in prison (carcer)

Tac., Ann. 6.40 (36 CE)

Tiberius

Vibulenus Agrippa

writing verses against Tiberius (libel or maiestas?) maiestas?

executed (Tacitus: died in prison by starvation, possibly a form of suicide) starved in Palatine prison

sentenced to death, took poison, but was executed by the noose in the carcer

291

Roman Penalties Regarding Roman Citizens Suet., Tib. 62.2

Tiberius

many damnati in Capri

unspecified crimes

Suet., Tib. 75.2

Tiberius

unspecified crimes

Cassius Dio 57.1.3

Tiberius

many damnati in Rome (on the day of T.’s death) many

Cassius Dio 57.17.1–2

Tiberius

an individual

Cassius Dio 57.19.3

Tiberius

many

Cassius Dio 57.23.1 Cassius Dio 58.3.7

Tiberius

many

Tiberius

unnamed man

Cassius Dio 58.4.8

those who sentenced others to death Tiberius

unnamed individuals

Tiberius

innocent men

Tiberius

man of consular rank

Cassius Dio 58.15.3

Cassius Dio 58, frag. 3 (II, 616 Boissonade) Cassius Dio 58, frag. 4 (II, 616 Boissonade)

friends of Sejanus

for having “comprehended” him (συνενόησαν αὐτόν) complaining that the bequest of Augustus had not been paid the date of their birth indicating their character and fortune remarks, maiestas unspecified accusation, determined to be false maiestas?

tortured and cast down into sea strangled and cast down the Gemonian stairs execution

execution

execution

execution tortured, then executed quickly execution

association with Sejanus

killed in prison or thrown down from the Capitol executed

maiestas (carried a coin with his image

executed

292

John Granger Cook into a latrine) unspecified crimes

Cassius Dio 58, frag. 3 (II, 616 Boissonade)

Tiberius

many innocent individuals

Cassius Dio 58.21.5

Tiberius

many

notorious accusers (delatores)

Caligula

Julius Canus

disputing with Caligula

executed (with others) by a centurion (i.e., probably the sword)

Caligula

a man who sold hot water after the death of Drusilla Avillius Flaccus

maiestas

execution

repetundae?

Caligula

Aemilus Lepidus

conspiracy

exile then execution by sword head cut off by Dexter, the tribune

Caligula

Betilienus Bassus, his father Capito, and others

conspiracy (Capito was innocent but would not watch)

execution (scourged by Caligula at that time or earlier)

protesting the murder of Tiberius their elogium

crucifixion

Caligula (18 March 37–24 Jan. 41) Sen., Dial. 9.14.4–7 (37 CE? in Sync., Chron. p. 625,3 Dindorf = 401 Mosshamer) Cassius Dio 59.11.6 (38 CE) Philo, Flacc. 188–89 (38 CE) Sen., Ep. 4.7, Cassius Dio 59.22.6–7 (39 CE) Cassius Dio 59.25.5b–7, Cp. Suet., Cal. 27.4, Sen., Dial. 5.18.3 (40 CE) Suet., Cal. 12.2

Caligula

Caligula

freedman

Suet., Cal. 27.1

Caligula

noxii

executed so that Tiberius was called “blood stained mud” (probably implying decollatio) mass execution in one day

food for wild

293

Roman Penalties Regarding Roman Citizens (charges) unexamined criticizing a spectacle of C. or not having sworn by his Genius

Suet., Cal. 27.3

Caligula

many of honorable rank (multos honesti ordinis)

Suet., Cal. 27.4

Caligula

Suet., Cal. 27.4

Caligula

Suet., Cal. 27.4

Caligula

sons (with parents forced to watch) manager of gladiatorial shows and venationes writer of Atellan farce

Suet., Cal. 27.4

Caligula

Roman equestrian

Suet., Cal. 30.1

Caligula

condemned individuals

unspecified crimes

Cassius Dio 59.4.3

Caligula

many people

Cassius Dio 59.10.1–2

Caligula

many including 26 equestrians

conspiring against his father, mother, and brothers, maiestas contrary to law but by permission of the senate (some had wasted their property; others had fought as gladiators)

unspecified crimes unspecified crime humorous line with double meaning claimed to be innocent of any crime

beasts disfigured by branding irons, sentenced to mines, road building, thrown to wild beasts, caged, or sawn in two executions

beaten with chains, executed burned alive

thrown to the wild beasts with his tongue cut out executed by numerous small wounds (minutis ictibus) execution

gladiatorial combat

294

John Granger Cook

Cassius Dio 59.10.3

Caligula

mob in the stands

shortage of people condemned ad bestias wrongs to his parents or brothers; for their property unspecified crimes, but Caligula wanted their property

Cassius Dio 59.10.7

Caligula

many, before or after sentence

Cassius Dio 59.18.1–3

Caligula and/or the senate

many individuals

Acta Alex. III col. 3,24–25 = P. Giss. Univ. 46 Claudius (24 Jan. 41–13 Oct. 54) Cassius Dio 60.3.4, Josephus, A.J. 19.268–70 (41 CE)

Caligula

An Alexandrian, perhaps a Roman citizen

calumnia

Claudius and a council of his friends

Cassius Chaerea, and other Romans

assassination of Caligula

Josephus, A.J. 19.268–70 (41 CE)

Claudius and a council of his friends

Lupus (military tribune)

Cassius Dio 60.4.2 (41 CE) Cassius Dio 60.4.5 (41 CE)

Claudius

Claudius

individuals Caligula had imprisoned Protogenes (cf. 59.26.1-2, Suet., Cal. 49.3, Iuv. 3.120)

assassination of Caligula’s wife and daughter unspecified crimes

Cassius Dio 60.8.5, 27.4,

Claudius

Julia Livilla

Caligula’s informer whose two books were “the dagger” and “the sword” adultery with Seneca

threw them to the beasts with tongues cut out executed

executed in prison (noose?) or thrown down from Capitoline rock crematio

Chaerea asked the soldier to execute him with the sword he used against Caligula execution by sword (several blows necessary) executed

executed

exile to Pandateria, starva-

295

Roman Penalties Regarding Roman Citizens Suet., Claud. 29.1 Sen., Apol. 10.4, Tac., Ann. 14.63.2 (41 CE) Suet., Claud. 37.2 (42 CE)

Claudius

Appius Junius Silanus

conspiracy against Claudius conspiracy of Annius Vinicianus

Cassius Dio 60.15.1–6 (42 CE)

Claudius

many, including a praetor

Sen., Apoc. 10., Cassius Dio 60.18.4, Tac., Ann. 13.32.3, 43.2, Suet., Claud. 29.1, [Sen.] Oct. 944–6 (43 CE) Sen., Apol. 11.2, 5 (ca. 46 CE)

Claudius

Julia Drusi Caesaris filia

unspecified

Claudius

Licinius Crassus Frugi (cos. 27) Scribonia his wife

Sen., Apol. 13.5, Tac., Ann. 13.43.2 (before middle of 47?, due to Tacitus’s silence)

Claudius

Lusius Saturninus, Pompeius Pedo, Cornelius Lupus, Asinius Celer consuls,

unspecified, but they were parents of Pompeius Magnus (Sen.: Crassus is idiotic enough to reign) prosecutions by Suillius (Saturnius, Lupus), conspiracy of Asinius Gallus?

tion (Seneca: the two Julias were executed by starvation and sword) execution

execution, citizens (not only plebeians) tortured although Claudius had promised to torture no freeborn individuals sword

executed

execution

296

John Granger Cook

Cassius Dio 60.29.6a, Suet., Claud. 27.2, Sen., Apol. 11.2, 5 (before 47 CE) Suet., Claud. 26.2, Tac., Ann. 11.38.1 (48 CE)

Claudius, because of Messalina’s charges

Pompeius Magnus, among many others

false charges

Pompeius stabbed while in bed with his favorite youth

Claudius

Valeria Messalina (in the gardens of Lucullus)

“marrying” Silius?

Sen., Apoc. 13.4, Tac., Ann. 11.35.3–36.3 (48 CE)

Claudius, Narcissus

Iuv. 10.345, Schol. in Iuv. 10.332–33, Tac., Ann. 11.35.2 (48 CE) Tac., Ann. 11.35.3 (48 CE)

Claudius

Iuncus Vergilianus the expraetor, Sextus Traulus, M. Helvius, Trogus, Cotta, Vettius Valens, and Fabius (Roman knights killed at Narcissus’ command) C. Silius, consul designate

Sen.: unspecified (Tac.,: Traulus Montanus, adultery with Messalina; the others were aware of Silius’s adultery with Messalina [ex consciis]) “marrying” Messalina

execution by a tribune who “ran her though” with one blow (ictu tribuni transigitur) executed

knowledge of the Silius’s adultery with Messalina

execution

Acta Alex. IVA col. 3 = CPJ II, 156d (53?)

Claudius

Pompeius Urbicus, Titus Proculus, Sulpicius Rufus, procurator ludi, Decrius Calpurnianus, praefectus vigilum, Isidorus, Lampon (they were Ale-

unspecified, but probably calumnia - the

execution

Claudius

beheading (scholiast: crucifixion)

297

Roman Penalties Regarding Roman Citizens xandrian citizens, however)

result of the failed accusation of Agrippa (I or II) magic

Tac., Ann. 12.65.1 (54 CE) Suet., Claud. 14.1

Claudius

Domitia Lepida

Claudius

those guilty of great offense (maiore fraude convictos)

Sen., Claud. 1.23.1

Claudius

more in five years than in all years previous

Suet., Claud. 25.3

Claudius

individuals

Suet., Claud. 34.1

Claudius

many

Suet., Claud. 34.1 cp. Nero 49.2 (neck placed in a furca and then the criminal is beaten to death) Suet., Claud. 29.2, Sen., Apol. 14.1, Tac., Ann. 13.43.2 Sen., Apol. 11.2

Claudius

noxii (criminals)

unspecified crimes

tortured and executed immediately in his presence antiqui moris supplicium (execution in the ancient manner) tied to stakes

Claudius

35 senators, 300 knights (Sen. 35 knights, 221 senators, and many others)

unspecified

execution

Claudius

unspecified

execution

Cassius Dio 60.13.4

Claudius enjoyed

the Tristoniae, Assario (condemned) individuals

midday spectacles

“cut down” κατακοπτοµέν

C. went beyond the lawful penalty (legitimam poenam supergressus) parricide

usurping Roman citizenship parricides

execution

ad bestias

the sack was seen more often than the cross execution by the axe

298

John Granger Cook ους

watching Nero (13 Oct. 54–9 June 68) Tac., Ann. 13.22.2 (55 CE) Tac., Ann. 14.59.1–2, Cassius Dio 62.14.1 (62 CE) Tac., Ann. 14.57.1–4 (62 CE) Tac., Ann. 15.60.1 (65 CE)

Nero

Atimetus, freedman

calumnia, probably

executed

Nero

Rubellius Plautus

conspiracy

exiled (Asia) then beheaded by a centurion

Nero

Cornelius Sulla

conspiracy

Nero

Plautius Lateranus consul designate

Pisonian conspiracy

Tac., Ann. 15.67.4 (65 CE)

Nero

Subrius Flavus, tribune of the Praetorian guard

Pisonian conspiracy

Tac., Ann. 16.9.1–2 (65 CE)

Nero

L. Junius Silanus Torquatus

Pisonian conspiracy

Tac., Ann. 15.57.1–2 (65 CE) Josephus, B.J. 2.36–308 (66 CE) Cassius Dio 63.12.1 (67 CE)

Nero

Epicharis, freedwoman

Pisonian conspiracy

Florus, procurator of Palestine

Jews, equestrian rank

sedition

exiled (Massilia) then beheaded executed by a tribune in “place reserved for slave punishments” executed by a tribune, his head was severed with two blows sentenced to exile, then executed by the centurion’s sword suicide while being tortured to death crucifixion

Helius, imperial freedman given authority by Nero Helius, imperial freedman

many citizens, equestrians, senators

not specified

executions

Sulpicius Camerinus and son

keeping their title of Pythicus,

executed

Cassius Dio 63.18.2 (67 CE)

299

Roman Penalties Regarding Roman Citizens

Pliny, Ep. 1.5.3, Tac., Hist. 1.48.1, 4.42.1 (67? CE) Suet., Galb. 9.1

Nero

Licinius Crassus Frugi

Galba (60–68) governor of Hispania Tarraconensis Nero

guardian who appealed to laws and his citizenship Salvidienus Orfitus

Nero

many

Ofonius Tigellinus

individuals

Galba

marines whom Nero had made regular soldiers

Cassius Dio 64.2.3

Fonteius Capito, governor of Germania Superior

Cassius Dio 64.3.3, Plutarch, Galb. 17.2

Galba

Suet., Galb. 14.3

Galba

Cassius Dio 62.27.1, Suet., Nero 37.1 Cassius Dio 62.28.4 Iuv. 1.155–57, Schol. in Iuv. 1.155, 157 Galba (8 June 68–15 Jan. 69) Suet., Galb. 12.2

Otho (15 Jan.– 16 April 69) Tac., Hist. 1.46.5

Otho

maiestas? conspiracy?

executed

poisoning his ward

crucifixion

living near the forum; renting to “states” unspecified charges writing satire about Tigellinus

executed (possibly forced suicide) execution

decimated

man who appealed to Galba

refused to return to their status as marines unspecified crime

Helius, Patrobius, Lucusta the sorceress Polycleitus and Petinus many of senatorial and equestrian rank

unspecified crimes (adherents of Nero, Lucusta accused of magic) condemned without a trial (“suspicions”)

Icelus Marcianus, freedman

influence over Galba

crematio

refused the appeal (“now plead your case before Caesar”) and executed him execution after being led through the city in chains executed

public execution

300

John Granger Cook of Galba with equestrian rank

Vitellius (2 Jan.–20 Dec. 69) Tac., Hist. 2.65.2 Cassius Dio 65.6.2 Tac., Hist. 2.63.1–64.1 Titus (24 June 79–13 Sept. 81) Pliny, Ep. 10.58.3

Vespasian (1 July 69–23 June 79) Tac., Hist. 3.39.1 (69 CE) Suet., Vesp. 15, Cassius Dio 66.12.2–3 (74– 75?)

Tac., Hist. 4.11.3 Domitian (14 Sept. 81–18 Sept. 96) Suet., Dom. 10.4 (ca. 82 CE) Cassius Dio 67.3.4 (83 CE) Suet., Dom.

Vitellius

Hilarus, freedman

calumnia

Vitellius

a few individuals Cornelius Dolabella

siding with Otho conspiracy?

Velius Paulus (ca. 79/80, proconsul of Bithynia)

Flavius Archippus, philosopher

forgery

sentenced to the mines

Vespasian

Julius Blaesus

sedition?

poison

Vespasian

Helvidius Priscus

criticizing Vespasian (reducing him to level of a citizen)

Vitellius

Asiaticus, freedman of equestrian rank

influence over Vitellius

execution (sword) although V. sought to recall the slayers (percussores) crucifixion

Domitian

Flavius Sabinus

Domitian

Vestal Virgins

when elected consul, he was announced as emperor elect incestum

Domitian

Civica Cerialis

plotting revo-

Vitellius, city prefect

punishment, probably execution execution throat was cut in a tavern

execution

execution (not by burial alive) execution

301

Roman Penalties Regarding Roman Citizens 10.2 (87–88 CE),

proconsul of Asia

lution (molitores rerum novarum) harmless jokes about the emperor (libel in verse) gladiatorial combat and others charges (Jewish atheism?), plotting revolution (Suetonius) conspiracy of Antonius Saturninus (89 CE)

Suet., Dom. 10.2, Iuv. 4.154 (87 or 93 CE?) Cassius Dio 67.14.1, Suet., Dom. 10.2 (after 89 CE)

Domitian

Aelius Lamia Plautius Aelianus

Domitian

Acilius Glabrio, consul

Cassius Dio 67.11.3. (III, 177 Boissonade) (89 CE?)

Domitian

many individuals

Plin., Ep. 4.11.6–9, Suet., Dom. 8.4 (89/90 CE) Suet., Dom. 8.4

Domitian

Cornelia, chief Vestal Virgin

incestum, tried in absentia

Domitian

lovers of Cornelia

sex with a Vestal Virgin

Suet., Dom. 10.2 (93 CE?)

Domitian

Suet., Dom. 10.4, Tac., Ag. 45.1, Pliny, Ep. 3.11.2–3 (93 CE) Tac., Ag. 2, Pliny, Ep. 3.11.2–3, 7.19.5, Dio

Domitian

Cornelius Scipio Salvidienus Orfitus (a senator) Helvidius (Priscus)

plotting revolution (molitores rerum novarum) composing a farce that criticized Domitian’s divorce

Herennius Senecio

wrote a book praising Helvidius Priscus (executed by

Domitian

execution Juvenal implies the sword execution

execution, names of the condemned not entered into the acta urbis buried alive

beaten to death with rods (virgis) in the Comitium execution

execution (in the carcer)

execution

302 67.13.2 (93 CE) Suet., Dom. 10.3, Pliny, Ep. 3.11.2–3 (93 CE) Cassius Dio 67.12.2–4, Suet., Dom. 10.3

John Granger Cook Vespasian) Domitian

Junius Arulenus Rusticus

Domitian

Mettius Pompusianus

Suet., Dom. 10.3

Domitian

Salvius (Otho) Cocceianus

Suet., Dom. 10.3 Suet., Dom. 10.1

Domitian Domitian

Sallustius Lucullus pater familias

Cassius Dio 67.16.3

Domitian

an individual

Cassius Dio 67.12.1

Domitian

many men and women

Cassius Dio 67.12.2 Cassius Dio 67.12.2

Domitian Domitian

many individuals a woman

Cassius Dio 67.12.2

Domitian

a man

eulogies of Paetus Thrasea and Helvidius Priscus expectation of becoming emperor (had an imperial nativity, map of the world) keeping the birthday of Otho calling lances “Lucullans” saying that a Thracian gladiator was equal to a murmillo but not the giver of the games (i.e., Domitian) foretelling the time and manner of the emperor’s death adultery

unspecified charges undressing in front of an image of the emperor, maiestas consulting with astrologers

execution

execution

execution

execution thrown into the arena to dogs

condemned to crematio, but killed by dogs execution (ἐκολάσθησαν ) execution execution

execution

303

Roman Penalties Regarding Roman Citizens Nerva (18 Sept. 96–[?] Jan. 98) Cassius Dio 68.1.2 Trajan (28 Jan. 98–7 Aug. 117) Pliny, Ep. 2.11.2, 8

Pliny, Ep. 10.96.4 (109– 111 CE)

Nerva

(slaves and) freedmen

conspiring against their former masters

execution

Marius Priscus (proconsul of Africa 97/98)

Roman equestrian and seven of his friends

innocent, Priscus was bribed to prosecute them

the knight beaten with clubs, sent to the mines, and strangled in

Trajan

Christians, Roman citizens

nomen Christianorum

prison, the seven were executed presumably executed

On Why Luke Remains Silent about Paul’s End (Acts 28.16–31) Daniel Marguerat

Richard Pervo has playfully written: “If the volume of comment is the measure of an author’s impact, the close of Acts is a great success.”1 This success story is due to two issues over which research has struggled for two centuries without arriving at an agreement. The first matter concerns the relationship between Christianity and Judaism at the end of Paul’s mission: how does Paul determine the future of Israel in salvation history by invoking the oracle of judgment of Isaiah 6.9–10 on the hardening of the people?2 The second issue deals with Paul’s end: why does the author of Acts not describe Paul’s trial by the imperial court and his death? It is this second issue that we are interested in exploring here. Whether from a historical, biographical, or literary point of view, the end of Acts leaves the reader unsatisfied: how can the story end after two years of Paul’s incarceration by Rome (28.30)? This feeling of an open ending, which closes too soon, does not date from modern times. Around 200 CE, the Muratorian Canon takes up the defence of the author of the Acts of the apostles: Luke “compiled the individual events that took place in his presence, as he plainly shows by omitting the martyrdom of Peter as well as the departure of Paul from the city [of Rome] when he journeyed to Spain” (lines 36–38). In the 4th century CE, John Chrysostom wrote: “But of his affairs after the two years, what say we? [The writer] leaves the hearer athirst for more: the heathen authors do the same [in their writings], for to know everything makes the reader dull and jaded.”3 To solve this puzzle, researchers have taken two separate paths.4 Some, in a theological and literary vein, have sought to give 1

R. Pervo, Acts (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2009), 688. For an analysis of this issue and a look at the state of the research, see my book The First Christian Historian. Writing the “Acts of the Apostles” (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), 129–54. 3 Hom. Acts 55. 4 For the state of the research, see C.J. Hemer, The Book of Acts in the Setting of Hellenistic History (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1989), 383–87; C.K. Barrett, “The End of Acts,” in H. Cancik (ed.), Geschichte – Tradition – Reflexion. Festschrift für M. Hengel 2

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meaning to the ending of Acts, identifying why Luke chose to end his account as he did. The others, coming from a historical standpoint, have listed the reasons why Luke would not have been able to do otherwise. Therefore, the first group attempted to discover why Luke ended it as he did, while the second group wanted to know what Luke was unable or unwilling to say. Returning to the subject after an initial study published in 1993,5 I came, somewhat to my surprise, to the conclusion that the issue requires non-exclusive, but differentiated treatment. It is a mistake to try to understand why Acts ends as it does from a theological and literary or exclusively from a historical perspective. Both should be situated in correlation. This is why my analysis begins with an approach to the text as a metadiscourse on Paul’s mission (A). It then identifies the relevant literary criteria for determining a narrative closure (B) and strives to clarify the rhetorical and theological function of Acts 28.16–31 as the ending of Luke and Acts (C). It is only after having interpreted what Luke wrote that we may wonder, in historical terms, why he chose to (or was possibly forced to) pen this ending rather than some other one (D).

A. Acts 28.16–31: Meta-Reflection on Paul’s Mission First Observation: Frustrated Expectation The reading of the ending of Acts cannot be disassociated from the dramaturgy of Acts 20–28. Many prolepses on Paul’s fate create an expectation in the reader: the Jews will deliver Paul to the Gentiles (21.11); he declares his willingness to die three times (20.24; 21.13; 25.11); he warns that his face will never been seen again (20.25); a vision gives him the divine order to testify in Rome (δεῖ,  23.11); and his appeal to the emperor is heard (25.11–12; 26.32). However, neither the trial nor the result of the trial are discussed, but the story returns to a theme that one might consider outmoded: the confrontation with Judaism. The conflict between Paul and the Jews of Jerusalem reaches its climax with the attempted lynching at the Temple (21.30–31) and the conspiracy from which he is saved in extremis by the tribune Lysias (23.12–35). Luke’s closure of the story of Israel could have been a response to the shut (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1996), 545–55, see 546–50; T.M. Troftgruben, A Conclusion Unhindered (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010), 1–36, and especially H. Omerzu, “Das Schweigen des Lukas. Überlegungen zum offenen Ende der Apostelgeschichte,” in F.W. Horn (ed.), Das Ende des Paulus (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2001), 127–56. 5 D. Marguerat, “Et quand nous sommes entrés dans Rome.” The mystery of the end of the Book of Acts (28:16-31), RHPR 73 (1993): 1–21, published in English in D.P. Moessner (ed.), Jesus and the Heritage of Israel (Harrisburg: Trinity Press, 1999), 284– 304, and in my book The First Christian Historian, pp. 205–30.

On Why Luke Remains Silent

307

door of the Temple (21.30). However, it is the Jews once again that Paul addresses as soon as he arrives at the capital of the Roman Empire (28.17a). Therefore, the narrator deliberately frustrates the expectations he has orchestrated to return to a theme that he considers central and that has occupied most of Paul’s missionary work since Acts 13. Second Observation: An Unresolved Issue The meeting with the Jewish leaders in Rome6 takes place in two successive interviews (28.17–22 and 28.23–28). It follows a pattern known since the beginning of Paul’s mission (13.13–52) and is repeated like a stereotype throughout his long missionary travels: proclamation to the Jews–division of the assembly between those who accept and refuse–evangelisation to the pagans.7 Moreover, the succession of both interviews reproduces the scenario already experienced at Antioch of Pisidia (Acts 13), with his two meetings and Paul and Barnabas’ final declaration sanctioning Jewish hostility towards them: “It was necessary that the word of God should be spoken first to you. Since you reject it and judge yourselves to be unworthy of eternal life, we are now turning to the Gentiles” (13.46). In Rome, it was not hostility that triggered the decision to address the Gentiles, but the division of the Jewish assembly among those that were persuaded and those that did not believe, their “asymphony” (ἀσύµφωνοι,  28.25a). Why repeat this familiar scenario, which is included between the beginning (Acts 13) and end (Acts 28) of Paul’s mission? This inclusion has value as a summary; it allows the author to address a nagging issue hanging over Paul’s mission, but never dealt with again: why does the proclamation of the Gospel not only garner so little attention among the Jews, but rather a growing hostility?8 Luke deals with this theological problem, with which early 6 Evaluations of the number of Jews living in Rome range from 10,000 to 50,000 (Josephus, B.J. 2.80; Suetonius, Tib. 36). They mainly lived in the Trastevere district. Decimated by Claudius’ expulsion decree in 49 CE, but recomposed by people returning at the beginning of Nero’s reign, the Jewish colony was probably fragile when Paul came to Rome (around 60 CE). R. Penna speaks of a “pale and flat” Jewish presence, devoid of centralised organisation and with a low socio-economic level (“Les Juifs à Rome au temps de l’apôtre Paul,” NTS 28 (1982): 321–47). See also J.B. Frey, “Le judaïsme à Rome aux premiers temps de l’Eglisel,” Bib 12 (1931): 129–56; W. Wiefel, “Die jüdische Gemeinschaft im antiken Rom und die Anfänge des römischen Christentums,” Judaica 26 (1970): 65–88; H. Lichtenberger, “Jews and Christians in Rome in the Time of Nero: Josephus and Paul in Rome,” ANRW II.26.3 (1996): 2142–76, especially 2149– 61. 7 This pattern is repeated at Iconium (14.1–6), Lystra (14.8–20), Thessaloniki (17.1– 9), Berea (17.10–14), Corinth (18.1–17)... and Rome (28.17–31). 8 With E. Plümacher, “Rom in der Apostelgeschichte,” in Plümacher, Geschichte und Geschichten (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2004), 141.

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Christianity was largely obsessed, in his own way, meaning as a narrative theologian, with an account that allows him to stage the prophetic oracle of Isaiah 6.9–10.9 Third Observation: Thinking About the Announcement and Its Failure Two speeches are attributed to Paul, the first in a direct style (28.17b–20), where he justifies his status as a prisoner and pleads his loyalty to Judaism, and the second in an indirect style (28.23b), where he preaches to the assembly. Both speeches are characterised by their retrospective and synthetic nature. In the first, Paul summarises what led him to Rome, but the gap between what he says and the earlier account is obvious: the Jews of Jerusalem did not “hand [Paul] over to the Romans” like a prisoner (verse 17c), and the Romans never expressed any intention to “release” him (verse 18a).10 This re-reading is the means by which the narrator interprets the event, a game of intertextuality that urges Christological echoes upon the reader, with Paul’s legal woes being reconfigured as a replica of the Passion of Jesus.11 This is what the narrator aims to set in readers’ minds. The synthetic condensation is even stronger in the indirect speech of verse 23: “From morning until evening he explained the matter to them, testifying to the kingdom of God and trying to convince them about Jesus both from the law of Moses and from the prophets.” βασιλεία τοῦ θεοῦ is the summary of Jesus’ proclamation,12 to which is added the Christological dimension (“regarding Jesus”) and the scriptural demonstration focused on all Scripture 9

Isaiah 6.9–10 is quoted in Micah 4.12; Matt 13.14–15; Luke 8.10; John 12.40; Rom 11.8; Justin Martyr, Dialogue with Trypho 12.2. 10 Rather, it was the Roman garrison of the fortress Antonia that intervened to reestablish order in the Temple of Jerusalem and seized Paul to protect him from the murderous rage of the crowd (21.27–36); no Roman official announced any intention to release Paul, only King Agrippa declared that he could have been set free if he had not appealed to the Emperor (26.32). However, the re-reading of the events in Acts 28 is consistent with the prediction of the prophet Agabus: “This is the way the Jews in Jerusalem will bind the man who owns this belt and will hand him over to the Gentiles” (21.11). Stating that “Luke is counting on his audience to remember what has been said before in the previous few chapters” and that the audience will correct what that must be, B. Witherington misunderstands the process of re-reading that the narrator consciously engages; he reconfigures the events according to how he aims to fix them in his audience’s memory (The Acts of the Apostles: A Socio-Rhetorical Commentary [Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998], 798) 11 The echoes of the Passion of Jesus Christ draw inspiration from Luke 9.44; 18.32; 23.4, 15, 22; 24.7. The parallels have been listed by W. Radl, Paulus und Jesus im lukanischen Doppelwerk (Bern: Lang, 1975), 258–65. 12 A. Prieur, Die Verkündigung der Gottesherrschaft. Exegetische Studien zum lukanischen Verständnis von βασιλεία τοῦ θεοῦ (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1996), see 20– 83.

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(Law and prophets). In 28.31, Paul’s predication is circumscribed by the same two entities (the Kingdom of God and Jesus) that assure continuity between his preaching and that of the other apostles (8.12; 28.23); it is defined by two verbs: κηρύσσειν  and διδάσκειν,  to proclaim and to teach. One could not be more comprehensive and summative. To guess the content, the reader should refer to Paul’s sermons punctuating the story starting in Acts 13. But this summative character signals that it is not the content of the announcement that is important here, unlike in previous speeches, but the event of the announcement itself and its effects.13 Specifically, it is the public exposure of the announcement and its disappointing reception that are the subject of the reflection. Fourth Observation: Focusing on the Figure of Paul Between the beginning and end of the text, there is gradually a perceptible focus on the figure of Paul. The first interview (28.17–22) establishes the status of each interlocutor and their availability for the meeting. On one hand, Paul justifies his appeal to the emperor through opposition to the “Jews” (verse 19a), but demonstrates his good faith by declaring himself a prisoner “for the sake of the hope of Israel” and ensures that he has no charge to bring against his nation (verses 19b–20). Right away, we notice the emphatic ἐγώ   with which Paul begins his speech.14 The formula ἐλπὶς τοῦ Ἰσραήλ, unexplained in the context,  synthesises (once again) the argument that Paul developed earlier in his apologetic discourses, dealing with Israel’s millenary hope for messianic salvation that took the form of faith in the resurrection of the dead (23.6; 24.15; 26.6–7), but unlike his interlocutors, Paul sees this eschatological promise as fulfilled by Christ’s resurrection. Meanwhile, the Jewish leaders attest to their neutrality (verses 21–22): they have received no information about Paul, whether officially (through Judea) or privately; the only thing they know about his “sect” is that it is spoken against everywhere.15 The 13 L.C.A. Alexander, “Reading Luke-Acts from Back to Front,” in Alexander (ed.), Acts in its Ancient Literary Context (London: T&T Clark, 2005), 216–18. 14 The apostrophe ἄνδρες ἀδελφοί  appears frequently in Acts to express the orator’s solidarity with his audience (1.16; 2.29, 37; 7.2, 26; 13.15, 26, 38; 15.7, 13; 22.1; 23.1); this is the sole instance where it is preceded by an ἐγώ   in emphatic position (compare with 23.1 where ἐγώ  follows!). 15 ἀντιλέγειν is only used in Acts for the Jewish protest against the Gospel (4.14; 13.45; 28.19, 22). The historical plausibility of Jewish ignorance of the Christian “sect” has been put into question. It has been suggested that Luke wanted to make Paul the first missionary of Rome (G. Lüdemann, Das frühe Christentum nach den Traditionen der Apostelgeschichte [Göttingen: Vandenhoeck und Ruprecht, 1987], 273; but that is to forget 28.15!) or that the interlocutors feigned ignorance (C. Gempf, “Luke’s Story of Paul’s Reception in Rome,” in P. Oakes [ed.], Rome in the Bible and the Early Church [Carlisle: Paternoster, 2002], 42–66, especially 54–59). However, I believe that a) the

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use of the term αἵρεσις, in its neutral sense of a party in the same way as the Sadducees and the Pharisees,16 indicates that they consider the controversy surrounding the Pauline communities to be an internal debate within Judaism. At the end of this first interview, both parties have demonstrated their mutual goodwill. In the second interview (28.18–28), Paul takes the dominant position, shifting from an apology of someone accused to the posture of a judge. His commitment to scriptural argumentation with the Jewish group is impressive, lasting from morning to evening (verse 23). Then, before the group’s shared reaction, he joins his voice to that of the Spirit speaking through the prophet Isaiah. It has not been discussed much that if Luke abbreviates the quotation of Isaiah 6.9–10 in his gospel (Luke 8.10 diff. Mark 4.12) to reserve it for this solemn occasion of Paul’s last words in Acts, he is the only one in the New Testament to cite it with its introduction: “Go to this people and say” (verse 26a). Is this a concern about scriptural accuracy? I rather think that the beginning of the citation is significant in Luke’s eyes, because Paul may thereby be aligned with the mandate given to the prophet. Under the auspices of the Holy Spirit, a similar situation of failed preaching establishes continuity between these emissaries of God. Welding the present to the past, the drama of the hardening hearts of Israel places the Christian preacher on the prophet’s side. Thus, Paul becomes the spokesman – he does not speak himself, but makes the prophet speak – for a theological reading of the entire assembly of Israel’s failure to have faith in its Messiah, with this failure being understood as an integral part of God’s plan. It therefore allows Paul to prophesy that the Gentiles will welcome “this salvation of God” sent to them (verse 28). The final picture (verses 30–31) consecrates the implementation of this programme17 by the image of Paul as the ideal pastor, welcoming in his evangelisation “all who came to him” – a figure of the universality of his mission, with no indication in the text that Jews were excluded. In Luke’s eyes, Israel has not lost its right to salvation, but only its priority in salvation history.18

stress is placed on the global nature of the protest (πανταχοῦ), participating in the summative dimension of the scene; b) the narrator is especially concerned about constructing a benevolent neutrality among Paul’s audience; and c) the silence about the Christians of Rome may have another historical explanation (see below, pp. 321–23). 16 See 5.17; 15.5; 26.5. Application to Christianity in 24.5, 14. 17 To fail to perceive the link between verse 28 and verses 30–31 is to trivialise the role of the final scene and reduce it to a “fast beiläufig anmutenden Notiz” (according to G. Wasserberg, Aus Israels Mitte – Heil für die Welt [Berlin: de Gruyter, 1998], 112). 18 M. Wolter, “Israels Zukunft und die Parusieerwarterung bei Lukas,” in Eschatologie und Schöpfung. Festschrift E. Grässer (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1997), 405–26, especially 421; S. Butticaz, L’identité de l’Eglise dans les Actes des apôtres (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2011), 414–31.

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Paul is therefore portrayed successively as an innocent witness loyal to Israel, as the actor of a final symbolic attempt to convince, as the interpreter of the great failure of the mission to the Jews, as a prophet of the success of the mission to the Gentiles, and as the agent of the universal openness of evangelisation.19 To sum up, the conclusion of Acts does not present Paul’s last, desperate attempt to convince a Jewish assembly, but it does build a typical situation where the narrator theologically evaluates the major failure of the mission to the Jews. In this sense, it is less about a final stage of the Pauline mission than an evaluative discourse on the event of the announcement and its effects, a meta-reflection,20 or if one prefers an evaluative account of what happens in Acts 13–28. The figure of Paul emerges in his decisive role as the mediator of a theological word by interpreting the failure as part of a divine design and legitimizing the unreserved openness of the mission.

B. Literary Criteria of a Narrative Closure The end of a literary work is a strategic place where the author addresses a final word to his readers and wraps up the story world. What are the criteria of composition for identifying the conclusion of a narrative? Marianna Torgovnick speaks of narrative closure as “retrospective patterning,”21 leading the reader back to the story to ensure real comprehension. According to Torgovnick, this retrospective function is guaranteed by two literary devices: circularity and parallelism. By circularity, it must be understood that the end of a work reminds readers of the beginning and the beginning foreshadows the end (frame technique). Parallelism consists of the recur19

I do not subscribe to the thesis that “Luke keeps the emphasis on the message that Paul preaches, not its human mediator” (M.L. Skinner, Locating Paul: Places of Custody as Narrative Settings in Acts 21–28 [Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2003], 169; also H.J. Hauser, Strukturen der Abschlusserzähung der Apostelgeschichte [Rome: Biblical Institute Press, 1979], 136–40). The alternative is not correct: the opening of the universal Gospel finds its legitimacy in the figure of Paul. 20 In my view, this term, applied by E.S. Malbon to the narrative prologue, seems to correspond suitably to this other end of the story, which is the conclusion (“Ending at the Beginning: A Response,” in D.E. Smith [ed.], How Gospels Begin [Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1991], 184). 21 M. Torgovnick, Closure in the Novel (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1981), 5: “Endings enable an informed definition of a work’s ‘geometry’ and set into motion the process of retrospective rather than speculative thinking necessary to discern it – the process of ‘retrospective patterning’. ...the process of looking back over events and interpreting them in light of ‘how things turned out.’” R.C. Tannehill was the first to apply the typology of narrative closure to the conclusion of Acts (The Narrative Unity of Luke-Acts: A Literary Interpretation, II [Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1990], 353–54).

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rence of structural patterns throughout the work and their final repetition at the end. Two other criteria may be added:22 the fulfilment of expectations and the representative scene. The fulfilment of expectations occurs when the ending’s events meet specific expectations or predictions raised by the narrative. When that is not the case, Torgovnick speaks of incompletion. The representative scene crystallises motifs that play heavily throughout the narrative. To these four criteria is added a final function of narrative closure: organising the transition from the story world to the world of the reader. My intention is to apply these four criteria to Acts 28.16–31: circularity, parallelism, (in)completion, and representative scene. This entails verifying if these sixteen verses were designed by Luke as a conclusion to his two-fold work. It shall therefore be possible to establish how Luke ends his narrative image of Paul in order to then ask why he does not end it differently. The role of the transition to the world of the reader is particularly significant. The ending of Acts indeed serves as a narrative bridge between the world of the apostles and of Paul and the world of the readers: “how does Luke ease the reader’s transition back to the word outside the text?”23

C. Acts 28.16–31: An Open End I. Circularity: The Memory of Beginnings Credit must be given to Jacques Dupont for being the first to show, in an illuminating article in 1979, and in an exemplary fashion, that Acts 28.16–31 ends with a literary game that includes both Acts and the two-fold work of Luke in the Pauline mission.24 Without using this conceptuality, he thereby highlighted the circularity of Lukan writing. His conclusions, widely approved in the research, no longer need to be demonstrated, so I shall limit myself to recalling them briefly.25

22

With T.M. Troftgruben, A Conclusion Unhindered, 37–60, especially 50–51. L.C.A. Alexander, “Reading Luke-Acts from Back to Front,” in Alexander (ed.), Acts in its Ancient Literary Context (London: T&T Clark, 2005), 227; see also U.E. Eisen, Die Poetik der Apostelgeschichte. Eine narratologische Studie (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck und Ruprecht, 2006), 205. 24 J. Dupont, “La conclusion of Actes et son rapport à l’ensemble de l’ouvrage de Luc,” in J. Kremer (ed.), Les Actes des Apôtres. Traditions, rédaction, théologie (Gembloux/Leuven: Duculot/Leuven University Press, 1979), 359–404, also taken up in J. Dupont, Nouvelles études sur les Actes des Apôtres (Paris: Cerf, 1984), 455–511; for the following, see 483–511. 25 A reminder of these conclusions may be found in the recent book of C.B. Puskas, The Conclusion of Luke-Acts: The Significance of Acts 28,16–31 (Eugene: Pickwick, 2009), 64–105. 23

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The circularity with the beginning of the Pauline mission has been mentioned above: Paul’s homily at Antioch of Pisidia (13.13–41) sets off the first interview, during which members of the synagogue express their interest and Paul and Barnabas to return on the next Sabbath (13.42–43), and a second interview triggers Jewish hostility in view of “almost the whole city gathered to hear the word of the Lord” (13.44). The outcome is a narrowly favourable and more widely hostile response from the synagogue, followed by the evangelists’ decision to turn to the Gentiles “since you...judge yourselves to be unworthy of eternal life” (13.46). This transfer of the mission receives the scriptural support of Isaiah 49.6, which indicates the mandate to “bring salvation to the ends of the earth” (13.47). The constellation of four elements (the double interview, the shared reaction, the link between Jewish rejection and the opening of the Gospel to the Gentiles and the universal extension of salvation) is recomposed in 28.16–21. The circularity with the beginning of Acts touches on the theme of the βασιλεία, which is the subject of the catechesis of the Risen to his disciples (Acts 1.3; see 1.6). Like Philip before him (8.12), Paul places his teaching in continuity with the Master (14.22; 19.8; 20.25; 28.23–31). Dupont adds to this terminological echo the universalist references of Peter’s first two missionary speeches (2.39: the promise “for all who are far away”; 3.25: Abraham’s blessing for “all the families of the earth”), in anticipation of 28.28. The circularity with the whole narrative of Luke-Acts taken together concerns the beginning of the gospel of Luke. The neutral term σωτήριον,  a rarity from the Septuagint, only appears four times in the New Testament, three of which occur in Luke-Acts: Luke 2.30 and 3.6 and Acts 28.28. Luke 2.30 is particularly interesting; it deals with Simeon’s declaration to the Temple (“my eyes have seen your salvation”), which involves two predictions that receive ultimate confirmation at the end of Acts: this salvation is a “light for revelation to the Gentiles” and will cause “the falling and the rising of many in Israel” (Luke 2.32–34).26 The extension of salvation to non-Jews and the division of Israel before Christ are at the heart of Paul’s last words in Acts. It is not irrelevant to notice the vocabulary of the vision in Luke 2 and Acts 28: these are the eyes of Simeon that see salvation (εἶδον οἱ ὀφθαλµοί µου, Luke 2.30), while the oracle of Isaiah 6 reproaches Israel because “they have shut their eyes, so that they might not look with their eyes” (τοὺς ὀφθαλµοὺς α ὐτῶν ἐκάµµυσαν µήποτε ἴδωσιν τοῖς ὀφθαλµοῖς, Acts 28.27, notice the redundancy of the term ὀφθαλµός). The second occurrence of σωτήριον (Luke 3.6) entails 26 F. Vouga has once again shown the programmatic function of Simeon’s prediction, which hangs over Luke’s entire two-fold work: “La fin des Actes comme accomplissement du programme théologique de Luc,” in Raconter, interpréter, annoncer. Parcours de Nouveau Testament. Mélanges D. Marguerat (Genève: Labor et Fides, 2003), 314–23, especially 315–17.

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both the vocabulary of seeing and the universal dimension at the same time; it is a quote from Isaiah 40.5: “and all people shall see [the salvation of God] together.” Moreover, the verb ἀντιλέγειν, to contradict, which appears twice in Acts 28 to signify Jewish resistance to Christian faith (28.19a–22b), only occurs two other times in Luke’s writing: in the prophecy of Simeon (Luke 2.34: σηµεῖον ἀντιλεγόµενον) and in the episode in Antioch of Pisidia (Acts 13.45).   This terminological network signifies the narrator’s willingness to announce from the outset the themes that will be unfolded in his account and repeated at its end; it is also an invitation to reread the account “from back to front” to retrospectively identify the consistency and unity of the work.27 To these two mentions of Luke 2–3, Dupont adds Jesus’ programmatic sermon in the synagogue of Nazareth (Luke 4.16–30), noting that the prophet was rejected in his homeland (Luke 4.24–27). On one hand, this triple circularity undoubtedly attests that Acts 28.16–31 represents the literary completion of Luke’s account. On the other hand, it shows that the choice of the theme of the relationship to Israel is a strategy of the narrator, returning at the end to the motif that he affixed at the outset of his work: the drama of Israel’s division before the salvation that God has prepared for it (Luke 2.31). II. A Broken Parallelism The second criterion of narrative closure, parallelism, is found first in the reduplication in Rome of the scenario of the two interviews in Antioch of Pisidia (Acts 13) that we have seen above. A second motif establishes a parallelism with the declaration that they will turn to the Gentiles, which appears three times over the course of the Pauline mission: in Antioch of Pisidia (“It was necessary that the word of God should be spoken first to you. Since you reject it and judge yourselves to be unworthy of eternal life, we are now turning to the Gentiles” [13.46]); in Corinth (“Your blood be on your own heads! I am innocent. From now on I will go to the Gentiles” [18.6]); and in Rome (“Let it be known to you then that this salvation of God has been sent to the Gentiles; they will listen” [28.28]). Asia Minor–Greece–Italy: the same decision to open the Gospel to the Gentiles rings out in all three fields of Paul’s mission after the Jews reject it. From Antioch to Corinth, we can see a graduation in effect: Paul and Barnabas leave Antioch by ritually shaking the dust off their feet in protest against those that drove them out of the region, thereby denying any link with them (13.51). In Corinth, Paul, exasperated by the Jews’ opposi27 Such is the title of the stimulating study by L.C.A. Alexander, “Reading LukeActs from Back to Front,” in particular, see 224–26. In the same way, I have argued for the idea that the unity of Luke-Acts arises precisely in the act of reading and that discerning it is a task that falls upon the reader: “Luc-Actes: une unité à construire,” in J. Verheyden (ed.), The Unity of Luke-Acts (Leuven: Leuven University Press, 1999), 57–81.

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tion, ritually shakes his clothing and leaves to teach a God-fearing man, Titius Justus, whose house is next door to the synagogue (18.7). But each time that Paul changes cities, he begins by preaching at the synagogue – thus Luke’s narrative translation of Paul’s saying “to the Jew first and also to the Greek” (Romans 1.16). And in Rome? Robert Tannehill has defended the idea that after Acts 28, like after Antioch and Corinth, the scenario of Jewish priority would be repeated in the Pauline mission.28 But this is where the parallelism breaks down. For after Antioch and Corinth, Rome presents a special case: a) we are at the end of Acts in a synthetic and recapitulative sequence, where the words have final weight; b) Paul faces the reputation of a sect that is not merely spoken against locally, but “everywhere” (28.22b); c) Paul, the Holy Spirit, and Isaiah are unanimous in judging the hardening heart of Israel; d) the sermon welcoming the Gentiles is carried out in Paul’s unlimited reception (28.30): πάντας  certainly does not exclude the Jews, but the succession of verse 28 to verse 30 favours the reception of non-Jews. In other words, the third occurrence of the orientation towards the Gentiles receives a definitive value at the end of Acts that marks the end of an epoch and the end of Israel’s priority in salvation history.29 Therefore, Luke’s Christianity, for which the text was written, sees its unconditional evangelisation of non-Jews as legitimate.   III. The (In)completion of the End The end of Acts is notoriously incomplete on several levels. The first incomplete aspect regards Paul’s fate: how will he be judged and what will be the outcome of the trial? A second incompletion concerns the Risen’s mandate to the apostles to be his “witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth” (1.8). When and how will the ἐσχάτον τῆς γ ῆς   be achieved? A third incompletion has to do with the final fate of Israel: have the hearts of the historical people of Israel hardened for good, or will they be saved in the end, as Paul hopes in Romans 11.26? Therefore, the looped thematic ending of Luke-Acts gives a three-fold feeling of incompleteness. I have shown elsewhere that the incompleteness of a historiographical work is a phenomenon that, if not common, is at least familiar in Antiquity.30 28 The Narrative Unity of Luke-Acts: A Literary Interpretation, II (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1990), 350–52. 29 M. Wolter, “Das lukanische Doppelwerk als Epochengeschichte,” in Die Apostelgeschichte und die hellenistische Geschichtsscreibung. Festschrift E. Plümacher (Leiden: Brill, 2004), 253–84, especially 266–68. 30 D. Marguerat, The First Christian Historian, 210–16. The literary evidence has been confirmed and extended by R. Pervo, Acts, 695–96 and T.M. Troftgruben, A Conclusion Unhindered, 61–113. A.D. Baum does not deny the existence of open ends, but refuses to see a literary device here (“‘Rhetorik des Schweigens’? Der unvollständige

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The most prominent examples of this are the Iliad and the Odyssey, where we cannot ignore the staggering influence that Homeric literature had on GrecoRoman culture. In Greek historiography, we can cite the end of Herodotus’ Histories (9.114–20) and the unfinished ending of Thucydides’ Peloponnesian War. In epic literature: Virgil’s Aenid (12.950–52). In fiction: the novel Apuleius’ Metamorphoses (11.30). The same can be said of Jewish historiography with 2 Kings 25.27–30, 2 Chronicles 36.23, and 2 Maccabees 15.37.31 The best evidence of this feeling of incompleteness is the writing at the end of the 2nd century CE of the Acts of Paul and Thecla that relates the Roman martyrdom of Peter and Paul (Acts of Paul 14). Concerning Paul’s fate, Luke writes that the time when Paul evangelises in his home in Rome amounts to “two whole years” (28.30a). διετία   indicates a closed period, which was entirely devoted to preaching.32 Haenchen’s conclusion upholds its validity: “wer so schreibt, weiss (1), dass dann eine Änderung eintrat, und (2), worin sie bestand.”33 What clues does the account give as to what follows the events? Does the narrator lead the reader to a projection of Paul’s future as a prisoner? The signs are there, but are ambiguous. On one hand, Paul’s innocence from the standpoint of Roman law is affirmed several times by the tribune Lysias (23.29), by the procurator Festus (25.25), by King Agrippa (26.31), and by Paul himself in Rome (28.18). On the other hand, the deadly hostility of the authorities in Jerusalem towards Paul does not subside (23.10; 23.12–15; 24.1–8; 25.2–3) and the local Roman authorities show no haste to bring Paul to justice (24.26–27; 25.1–9). This is why some scholars think that the account leads to Paul’s release at the end of a fair trial, while others are more pessimistic.34 In reality, the indications in the nar-

Schluss der Apostelgeschichte [Act 28,30–31] im Licht antiker Literaturtheorie und historiographischer Praxis,” EThL 88 [2012]: 95–128). 31 P. Davies, “The Ending of Acts,” ET 94 (1982–83), 334–35; H Lichtenberger, “The Untold End. 2 Macchabees and Acts,” in Empsychoi Logoi–Religious Innovations in Antiquity. Studies in Honour of P.W. van der Horst (Leiden: Brill, 2008), 385–403. 32 διετία  is found in Hellenic literature as a term for legal content, indicating the duration of a contract. The hypothesis that it is a deadline after which someone facing an unsubstantiated accusation is released, involving Paul’s release after two years, is anachronistic because it is based on later documents. D.L. Mealand thinks instead that it is the duration of the contract to rent Paul’s housing (“The Close of Acts and its Hellenistic Vocabulary,” NTS 36 [1990]: 583–97, especially 587–89). 33 E. Haenchen, Die Apostelgeschichte (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1968), 647. 34 For example, I.H. Marshall thinks that Paul’s declarations of innocence (see 23.29) foretell his release by Rome (The Acts of the Apostles [Leicester: InterVarsity Press, 1980], 371), while H. Conzelmann thinks that the farewell speech in 20.17–35 leaves no doubt about the fatal outcome (Die Apostelgeschichte [Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1963], 150). For J. Jervell, the issue of the outcome is not decisive, for Luke “hat alles gesagt,

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rative only allow for one conclusion: Paul may have been judged and condemned, but it was unlawful because he was innocent. Only an outside historical source could provide unambiguous information. With respect to the mandate to bear witness to the Risen to the ends of the earth (1.8), Rome is not the ἐσχάτον τῆς γῆς. This expression, originally from the Septuagint, never designates the capital of the empire (see Isaiah 8.9; 48.20; 49.6; 62.11). It returns in Acts 13.47, appealed by Isaiah 49.6 (LXX). Here, it not only designates a specific location, but the infinite reach of the Gospel. Rather, with its networks of roads converging on its capital like a spider web, the Roman Empire viewed Rome as the centre of the world.35 In short, read retrospectively from 1.8, the conclusion of Acts opens what might be called a geographical eschatology whose message is that the mission is in progress. Paul is a prisoner in Rome for two years, but the evangelisation continues to the ends of the earth. The reader is drawn into the unfinished dynamics of the testimony.36 The matter of the ultimate fate of Israel according to Luke has occupied exegesis since the 1970s. With no intention here to open the whole debate,37 I confine myself to two considerations related to these verses. First, the narrator has deliberately painted an ambivalent picture of the Jewish attitude to Paul’s preaching: the Roman delegation is not unanimous in its rejection, but divided (28.24–25). When Paul invokes Isaiah 6.9–10, it is to signify the refusal to have gathered all of Israel behind the “hope in the promise made by God to our ancestors, a promise that our twelve tribes hope to attain, as they earnestly was er sagen wollte” (Die Apostelgeschichte [Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1998], 630). 35 A contrary opinion has been put forward by D.P. Moessner, which, according to others, is based on the sole mention in Psalms of Solomon 8.15 to identify Rome by the encrypted designation of ἀπ᾽ ἐσχάτου τ ῆς γ ῆς and thinks as a result that the arrival in Rome carries out the mandate of 1.8 (“‘Completed End(s)ings’ of Historiographical Narrative: Diodorus Siculus and the End(ing) of Acts,” in Die Apostelgeschichte und die hellenistische Geschichtsschreibung. Festschrift E. Plümacher [Leiden: Brill, 2004], 194–221, especially 220–21). 36 Noting this openness in the story, R.F. O’Toole asserts: “Luke cleverly leaves to his reader’s imagination how this was going to be achieved” (“The Christian Mission and the Jews at the End of Acts of the Apostles,” in J.N. Aletti and J.L. Ska (eds.), Biblical Exegesis in Progress. Old and New Testament Essays [Rome: Editrice Pontificio Istituto Biblico, 2009], 371–96, citation on 391). It seems to me that, rather than a freedom of imagination, the “we” that includes Theophilus in the prologue of Luke (Luke 1.1–4) is invited to imitate. In the same way: W.F. Brosend, “The Means of Absent Ends,” in B. Witherington (ed.), History, Literature, and Society in the Book of Acts (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), 348–62; J. Schröter, “Paulus als Modell christlicher Zeugenschaft,” in D. Marguerat (ed.), Reception of Paulinism in Acts/Réception du paulinisme dans les Actes des apôtres (Leuven: Peeters, 2009), 53–80, especially 78–80. 37 See Marguerat, The First Christian Historian, 129–54. More recently, Butticaz, L’identité de l’Eglise dans les Actes des apôtres, 1–65.

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worship day and night” (26.6–7).38 The drama already predicted by Simeon is of a divided Israel (2.34). Second, Luke is a narrative theologian and not a systematic thinker. In my view, he does not express a specific idea about the future of Israel in salvation history.39 Luke is not the Paul of Romans 9–11, although we should not frontally oppose these two theological visions.40 It is significant, however, that at the end of Acts, Israel is not under a curse (the prophetic oracle of Isaiah 6 does not serve this role) and the church does not adorn itself with the theological attributes of the people of Abraham.41 IV. Representative Scene: Back to the Reader’s World The end of a literary work is the strategic moment when the readers break with the story world to return to their own world. What final image do they take away with them? Regarding the end of Acts, there is no room for doubt: the last image imprinted in the reader’s mind is Paul the Evangelist welcom38 D.W. Pao is right to oppose the division of the Jewish delegation of Rome to the constantly highlighted unity of the church in Acts, but he wrongly equates the division to a global rejection by Israel: “Disagreement among the Jews in Acts 28,” in Early Christian Voices. Essays in Honor of F. Bovon (Boston: Brill, 2003), 109–18. Verse 29, relating the departure of the Jews, is an anti-Jewish gloss inserted into the Alexandran text. 39 V. Fusco has used Luke 13.34–35; 12.24 and Acts 3.21 to uphold the idea of final salvation promised to Israel in Lukan thought (“Luke-Acts and the Future of Israel,” NT 38 [1996]: 1–17). F. Bovon, followed by M. Karrer, proposes reading the final syntagm of Isaiah 6.9–10 καὶ ἰάσοµαι αὐτούς   (Acts 28.27d) as a non-dependent future indicative of µήποτε   (28.27c), announcing the restoration of Israel’s salvation; this suggestion is unfortunately highly improbable from the syntactic point of view (F. Bovon, “Il a bien parlé à vos pères, le Saint-Esprit, par le prophète Esaïe” [Actes 28,25], in Bovon, L’oeuvre de Luc [Paris: Cerf, 1987], 145–53, especially 150; also M. Karrer, “Und ich werde sie heilen.” Das Verstockungsmotiv aus Jes 6,9f in Apg 28,26f,” in Kirche und Volk Gottes. Festschrift J. Roloff [Neukirchen: Neukirchener Verlag, 2000], 255–71). 40 Three recent contributions attempt to overcome the traditional opposition between Lukan and Pauline positions on the historical fate and blessings of Israel by showing how they both take note of the Jews’ differentiated response to the Gospel, and how Luke manages the Pauline heritage in a situation of advanced breakdown with the Synagogue: S. Butticaz, ”’Dieu a-t-il rejeté son peuple?’ (Rm 11,1). Le destin d’Israël de Paul aux Actes des apôtres. Gestion narrative d’un héritage théologique,” in D. Marguerat (ed.), Reception of Paulinism in Acts/Réception du paulinisme dans les Actes des apôtres (Leuven: Peeters, 2009), 207–25; E.E. Popkes, “Die letzten Worte des lukanischen Paulus: Zur Bedeutung von Act 28,25–28 für das Paulusbild der Apostelgeschichte,” in J. Frey, C.K. Rothschild, J. Schröter (eds.), Die Apostelgeschichte im Kontext antiker und frühchristlicher Historiographie (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2009), 605–25; K. Litwak, “One or Two Views of Judaism. Paul in Acts 28 and Romans 11 on Jewish Unbelief,” TynBul 57 (2006): 229–49. 41 The Church in Acts is not a “new Israel.” Highlighted by R. von Bendemann, “Paulus und Israel in der Apostelgeschichte des Lukas,” in Ja und nein. Festschrift W. Schrage (Neukirchen: Neukirchener Verlag, 1998), 291–303.

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ing “all those who came to him” for a proclamation-teaching whose content recapitulates the βασιλεία   and the Lord Jesus Christ (20.30–31). This final picture is composed with the precision of a Japanese miniature, where each detail is significant. Firstly, the verb tenses. The imperfect tense of the main verbs ἐνέµεινεν   and ἀπεδέχετο   (verse 30), followed by the two participles κηρύσσων   and διδάσκων  (verse 31), indicate that we are dealing with a summary. This type of editorial notice created by Luke serves to describe a sustainable and stable state; the summary aims at permanence rather than the event. Furthermore, the sole theme of Luke’s summaries is the growth of the Word.42 In this kind of suspension of narrative time, the author offers readers a picture and calls on them to appreciate its exemplarity and permanence. One could argue that the time involved in the evangelising activity is limited to the διετία, two years (verse 30a). But we note that the longest periods of the Pauline mission in Acts are one year and a half in Corinth (18.11), two years imprisoned in Caesarea (24.27), and two years and three months in Ephesus (19.8, 10). On this scale, two years is a long time in the Lukan biography of Paul. Secondly, the location. Paul’s accommodation is the subject of three successive designations: καθ᾿ ἑαυτόν  (“live by himself” verse 16), ξενία  (“guest lodge” verse 23), µίσθωµα  (“rented lodging” verse 30). I do not think that these are three different places;43 as usual, Luke likes to vary his terms to describe the same thing, stressing a different characteristic each time: the fact that he enjoys personal lodging despite the military guard when he arrives in Rome (verse 16), the welcome he extends to the Jewish delegation fleshed out in the second interview (verse 23), and his financial independence during his evangelistic activity (verse 30). This device corresponds to the liberal legal statute of custodia militaris.44 The most significant thing to note is that the last location mentioned in Acts is a house. This site ends the great transfer of Christianity narrated by Luke: from the Temple to the home. As it gradually distinguishes itself from Judaism, Christian identity is recomposed without Temple and without synagogue, but in the social space of the house where

42

See 2.42–47; 4.32–35; 5.12–16; 6.7; 9.31; 12.24; 16.5; 19:.0. D.L. Mealand has demonstrated that ἐν ἰδίῳ µισθώµατι (28.30) must not be translated as “at his own expense,” but designates accommodations rented at his own expense (“The Close of Acts and its Hellenistic Vocabulary,” 583–87). Eisen (Die Poetik der Apostelgeschichte, 215) mistakenly believes that the different designations refer to different housing units. 44 H.W. Tajra, The Trial of St. Paul (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1989), 179–81. B. Rapske studies the conditions of Paul’s imprisonment in Rome in detail and situates the rented housing in the vicinity of the Castra Praetoria (The Book of Acts in its First Century Setting, vol. 3: Paul in Roman Custody [Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1994], 177–82 and 227–42). 43

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groups of believers gather.45 This simultaneously neutral and intimate place is able to welcome “everyone,” whether of Jewish or Greco-Roman religious origin. Rome and the home represent two places (the first geographical, the second social), from which Christianity will spread thereafter. Paul’s location has no value as an anecdote, but it is paradigmatic; the rich language used to describe it is an indisputable sign of that. Thirdly, the last four words of Acts describe Paul’s behaviour. He acts with total freedom of speech (µετὰ πάσης παρρησίας) and without constraint (ἀκωλύτως). The παρρησία   is the main quality of the witnesses of Christ, whether referring to the apostles or to Paul himself. The term παρρησία   expresses both the freedom of speech and the audacity to speak.46 In literature, the adverb ἀκωλύτως, a hapax legomenon, is used to mean a lack of hindrance, untrammelled (ἀ-κωλύω). It is versatile, since it covers both political and religious contexts. It is therefore useless to view the Lukan use of it exclusively as an apology for the liberal prison conditions offered by the Roman government (in the legal sense) or an assertion on the irrepressible freedom of the Word (in the theological sense).47 Both dimensions are present in the word, which conserves a general meaning, even if one is tempted to see the conditions of the second in the first. In summary, the last two verses of Acts were too finely crafted to be only a deposit of information gathered by the author. The last image of Paul left to readers has paradigmatic value for their present. Paul is portrayed as the icon of the universal mission, which may be sent out unfettered because it has theologically overcome the drama of the stubbornness of Israel. Henceforth, Paul begins and legitimises this mission as open to all. The Pastoral Epistles establish Paul as doctor of the church, the model minister and the denouncer of heresies. Acts bestows on Paul the status of exemplary shepherd, father of the mission and figurehead of evangelisation to the ends of the earth. In this re45 See my “From Temple to Home according to Luke-Acts”, in Paul in Acts and Paul in His Letters (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2013), 106–29. 46 παρρησία   is found five times in Acts (2.29; 4.13, 29, 31; 28.31), the verb παρρησιάζεσθαι   being specific to Acts (9.27, 28; 13.46; 14.3; 18.26; 19.8; 26.26). This concept is Greek and not Hebraic. It is defined in Luke on one hand (in a political sense) by speaking frankly and courageously in public, but may also be perceived as effrontery by the audience. On the other hand, it is defined (in a theological sense) by the believer’s trusting behaviour before God. As a theologian, the author knows that the boldness of Christian missionaries does not come from their oratorical skills (4.13), but is a gift that the community asks of God (4.29) and receives from Him (4.31). 47 Tajra retains the legal sense of Roman tolerance (The Trial of St. Paul, 192–93; also Tajra, The Martyrdom of St. Paul [Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1994], 50–51), whereas Hauser holds to the theological sense (Strukturen der Abschlusserzählung der Apostelgeschichte, 146). 2 Timothy 2.9 corresponds to our verse: “...that is my gospel, for which I suffer hardship, even to the point of being chained like a criminal. But the word of God is not chained (οὐ δέδεται).”

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spect, we may speak of a triumphalist ending: not the triumph of a man (Paul is a prisoner), but the triumph of the Word whose expansion cannot be restrained by anything. Bengel is right to say: Victoria Verbi Dei. Paulus Romae, apex evangelii, Actorum finis.48 If what Luke wanted to say has gained clarity, it remains to be seen whether it is possible to clarify what he was unable or unwilling to say about Paul’s end. Failing to rely on Luke’s narrative, we are forced to turn to historical hypotheses.

D. Did Luke Want to Silence Paul’s End? I assume that the execution of Paul in Rome – after one or two incarcerations, which is not of interest here – is sufficiently evidenced in the writings of the 2nd century CE and that the early veneration of his martyrdom is supported by enough archaeological evidence for us to consider his violent end as a reasonable historical hypothesis. Based on this assumption, scholars have tried to explain Luke’s silence on Paul’s death as owing to historical or literary reasons. I. A Historical Cause? Oddly, old assumptions about historical criticism resurface today. The fanciful idea that Luke had reached the end of his scroll and lacked space to continue, or that his account of Paul’s death had been censured by copyists, may certainly be discarded. However, the hypothesis that Luke had finished his work before Paul was freed,49 or the theory that he was waiting to describe his end in a third volume, have recently been taken back up. The first assumes that Acts was written by a companion of Paul and at a very early date (beginning of the 60s CE), but the fact that the entire work of Luke and the writing of his Gospel date from 70 CE, and not before the composition of Mark’s text, argues against such an early date for Acts. The current research trend aims to 48 J.A. Bengel, Gnomon Novi Testamenti (London, 1862), 489 (quoted by C.K. Barrett, The Acts of the Apostles, vol. 2 [Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1998], 1253). Pace R.C. Tannehill, Acts does not end as a “tragic story”: the book does not end with an observation of the hardened heart of Israel, but with an integration of this refusal of God’s plan and with the permanent image of the unstoppable rise of the Word (“Israel in Luke-Acts: A Tragic Story,” JBL 104 [1985], 69–85). 49 This hypothesis was first argued by Eusebius of Caesarea: “it is probable that Luke wrote the Acts of the Apostles at that time, continuing his history down to the period when he was with Paul” (Eccl. hist. II.22.6). Jerome supports this idea: “Luke wrote … a history which extends to the second year of Paul’s sojourn at Rome, that is to the fourth year of Nero, from which we learn that the book was composed in that same city” (Vir. ill. 7.2).

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move it backward rather than forward.50 The hypothesis of a third book by Luke, proposed by Spitta in 1891 and argued by Zahn in 1917,51 may be viewed as obsolete after the hardly contestable demonstration that Acts 28.16–31 was planned to bring a literary and theological conclusion to both Acts and to Luke-Acts as a whole. Besides, what would have been the content of this third book? A second historical theory, that of Paul’s mission to Spain, could provide a documentary foundation for this alleged third book. But other than the fact that we are piling supposition upon supposition here, abandoning the terrain of reasonable historical thought, it remains to be explained why, contrary to his proven habit, the author of Luke did not include any prolepsis on Paul’s future activity (other than the foreshadowing of his death in Acts 20.25). In fact, Acts has no equivalent to Romans 15.28. The historical approach receives fresh impetus with the thesis of Heike Omerzu, according to which Luke lacked sufficient historical information to discuss the outcome of the Roman trial and Paul’s fate, as this informational shortcoming alone would explain the author’s silence.52 This thesis rests on a close observation of the text; Omerzu notes that, unlike the sequence devoted to Paul’s imprisonment in Jerusalem and Caesarea (Acts 21–26), where the vocabulary is technical and precise, Luke provides no specific indications about the sojourn in Rome beyond what is told in verses 16, 23, and 30–31 on the conditions and duration of Paul’s detention. According to her, Luke’s sources of information end in chapter 26 of Acts; the author knows that Paul has been executed under Nero, but he does not relate it due to a lack of documentary evidence.53 That the sources gathered by the author may have been limited to the material conditions of Paul’s imprisonment in Rome and contained nothing about the apostle’s end is theoretically possible, but unlikely. 50

See R.I. Pervo, Dating Acts (Santa Rosa: Polebridge Press, 2006). T. Zahn, “Das Dritte Buch des Lukas,” NKZ 28 (1917): 373–95; Zahn, Die Apostelgeschichte des Lucas. Erste Hälfte: Kap. 1–12 (Leipzig: Deichert, 1922), 16–18. This thesis was taken up again by J. Winandy, “La finale des Actes: histoire ou théologie,” EThL 73 (1997): 103–06 and Baum, “‘Rhetorik des Schweigens’?” 121–26. 52 Omerzu, “Das Schweigen des Lukas,” 151–56. J. Taylor supported the same thesis, but in the name of critiquing the sources; he thought that by the “travel journal” ending in 28.16 with the halt of the first “we-sequence,” the author lacked any further information. “Ayant amené Paul à Rome, l’auteur du Journal n’avait plus aucune raison d’écrire.” (Les Actes des deux apôtres VI. Commentaire historique [Act. 18,23–28,31] [Paris: Gabalda, 1996], 272–74, quotation at 273). 53 “Als gesichert kann mehr oder weniger nur gelten, dass Paulus in Rom unter Nero das Martyrium erlitten hat; vermutlich ist er durch das Schwert gestorben. ... Zusammenfassend lässt sich sagen, dass Lukas für den Romaufenthalt nicht mehr als das in den VV. 16.23.30f verarbeitete Material vorgelegen haben wird, also eine Notiz über eine erleichterte Haftform in einer angemieteten Unterkunft für die Dauer von zwei Jahren. Er hat hingegen keine Kenntnis über eine Spanienreise und eine erneute Gefangenschaft besessen” (“Das Schweigen des Lukas,” 155–56). 51

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But what seems beyond any historical plausibility is that idea that Luke, a great admirer of Paul that magnifies his memory in his work, knew nothing about the death of his hero. How are we to imagine that a Christianity subsisting on the apostle’s legacy was totally ignorant of how its hero had ended in the 80s–90s CE when the author penned his work? And how are we supposed to believe that Luke, who in the beginning of his Gospel states his desire to investigate “everything carefully from the very first” (Luke 1.3), fell short in researching such a momentous event? In my opinion, we must look elsewhere for a cause that would avoid the desperate solution of Paul’s death being consigned to oblivion, including among the movement that subsists on his legacy and maintains it. II. An Apologetic Reason? In his reading of Acts as an apologia pro ecclesia,54 Haenchen attributes to Luke the desire to avoid concluding his work by mentioning an execution that would do no honour to imperial justice. Accordingly, Luke tends to spare the image of the imperium romanum and to protect it by covering up a judicial process that does not serve the interests of Christianity. It is true that Luke does not hide his admiration for imperial society, its culture, its network of roads, and its system of justice. In Jerusalem, it is the Roman cohort that saves Paul from being lynched and from a denial of justice (21.30–23.35). Nevertheless, Luke is no sectarian of the imperium. He shows that the proconsul Gallio does not indict Paul because he is not interested in Jewish issues and remains passive before the violence suffered (18.14–17). The venality of Festus is not concealed either (24.26–27). The dysfunctions of the Roman legal system do not escape him. The apologetic dimension of his work is not enough to explain his silence. III. A Literary Reason? Another explanation that has often been asserted to explain Luke’s silence on Paul’s end relates to Acts’ literary genre. Luke, it is said here, did not write a biography, but a historiographical work. Conzelmann promotes the term “historical monograph”55 to justify Luke’s lack of interest in his heroes’ biographical paths and particularly his silence about their deaths. As a precedent, the analogy with the narrative treatment of Peter is striking; his martyred death is

54 Haenchen, Die Apostelgeschichte, 90–92. I have argued that Acts actually features an apologetic purpose, but its defence of the image of Christianity is rather an apologia pro imperio, aimed at authorising within the church the relevance of the establishment of Christians in Roman society (Marguerat, The First Christian Historian, 29–30). 55 Conzelmann, Die Apostelgeschichte, 6.

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not told either (12.17).56 Regardless, the literary genre argument fails to convince. Reading from chapters 9 and 13 to 28 of Acts makes it difficult to believe that Luke harbours no interest in Paul’s biography. It would in fact be more appropriate to speak of a Vita Pauli when reading the second half of the book devoted to the hero Paul, where the author spares no detail, even an anecdotal one, when it serves the narrative dramatisation and celebration of the hero. Reading Acts 16.11–40, 23.1–35, or 27.1–44 is enough to be convinced. Moreover, Armin Baum has rightly argued that no Greco-Roman biographical and historiographical writings leave out the deaths of their characters.57 However, the parallel of the silence on Peter’s death deserves to be revisited to ask the more general question: how does Luke manage the deaths of his characters? IV. The Cursed Death in Acts A study by Gudrun Guttenberger asks a good question: “Ist der Tod der Apostel der Rede nicht wert?”58 It is fair to ask whether the deaths of the apostles are worthy of being told, because so far scholars have been content to mention Luke’s silence on Peter’s death in order to conclude that the author did the same for Paul. However, this issue requires a deeper examination. We will see that this detour leads us more reliably to the heart of our question. What about the management of the deaths of the characters in Acts? I leave aside the case of natural death, which is not problematic as such: David (2.27–29; 13.36), Jacob (7.15), Tabitha (9.37), and Eutychus (20.9–12). Two cases remain: a) the cursed deaths of Judas (1.18), Ananias and Sapphira (5.1–11), and Herod Agrippa (12.18–25); and b) the martyred deaths of Stephen (7.58), James, son of Zebedee (12.1–2), and Paul. I shall not consider the two mentions of Jesus’ death (2.23 and 13.27–29), for which Luke assumes the interpretation that he has given in his Gospel. The deaths of Judas and of King Herod are alike.59 Both are interpreted with the help of the topos of the shameful death of the wicked. This motif, identified in Jewish and Greco-Roman literature, has been applied to Princess Cassandra of Thebes, to evil King Antiochus IV Epiphanes, to cruel King 56

The theory of the biographical disinterest of Luke is notably put forward by A. Weiser, Die Apostelgeschichte. Kapitel 13–28 (Gütersloh: Mohn, 1985), 680; Witherington, The Acts of the Apostles, 792–93. 57 Baum, “‘Rhetorik des Schweigens’?” 97–101. 58 G. Guttenberger, “Ist der Tod der Apostel der Rede nicht wert? Vorstellungen von Tod und Steerben in den lukanischen Acta,” in F.W. Horn (ed.), Das Ende des Paulus (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2001), 273–305. 59 On these two texts (Acts 1.18 and 12.18–25), for a detailed study I refer to my commentary: Les Actes des apôtres (1–12) (Genève: Labor et Fides, 2007), 60–62 and 439–42.

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Herod the Great, to Catullus the enemy of the Jews, to Alexander the false prophet, to the Christian-persecuting Emperors Nero and Galerius, etc.60 Derived from popular imagination, this topos assigns to wicked or tyrannical people that defied the divine a demise whose horror rises to the height of their crimes. Unbelievers and enemies of God, evil despots and traitors must suffer the most atrocious of deaths. The brief note on the death of the traitor Judas is full of lurid details: he falls headfirst (from a rock? from a roof?) and his body splits down the middle, spilling out his guts. Such a repugnant end bears the mark of divine judgment. For his part, Matthew chooses a more moralising version, with Judas repenting for shedding innocent blood and hanging himself (Matthew 27.85). Matthew 27 embellishes the motif of the felon’s remorse, whereas Acts 1 complacently exposes the ignominious end of the traitor punished by God. It is also the hand of God that strikes down Herod Agrippa, who is guilty of executing James, one of the twelve apostles (Acts 12.2), and of arresting Peter during the festival of Unleavened Bread because it “pleased the Jews” (12.3). Peter is miraculously freed by an angel during an escape whose story is traversed by a strong Exodial typology (12.7–11). What interests us is the end of the story (12.20–23). Herod must preside at a meeting with the people of Tyre and Sidon and mounts the royal platform to deliver a speech to the people. It is then that the people shout: “The voice of a god, and not of a mortal!” (12.22). In the context of the deification of Hellenistic monarchies, such a reaction is not surprising. When returning from their military campaigns, the emperors were greeted by the cheers of the crowds as they indulged in adulatio, or public flattery. But for Jews as well as Christians, the deification of a human being – even of a king – is unforgivable. It is the original sin according to Genesis 3.5. The punishment for such arrogance can only be death. Mistaken for Zeus and Hermes during their journey to Lystra, Barnabas and Paul react with horror and rush into the crowd, shouting: “Friends, why are you doing this? We are mortals just like you” (14.15). But Agrippa does not protest; struck down by an angel of the Lord, he dies. The narrator dramatises the scene: the blow comes “immediately” (Luke employs the adverb παραχρῆµα). The verb πατάσσειν,   to strike, comes straight out of the Old Testament: the exterminating angel delivers the punitive blow of God. Herod-Agrippa is guilty of a sin of omission: he did not reject the popular adulatio.61 His death 60

Variation on the theme of the shameful death of the wicked: Cassandra the Princess of Thebes (Pausanias, Descr. 9.7.1–3), Antiochus Epiphanes (2 Macc 9.1–10.28), Herod the Great (Josephus, A.J. 17.168–70), Catullus (Josephus, B.J. 7.451–53), Alexander the false prophet (Lucian, Alex. 59), Galerius (Lactantius, Mort. 3.3–11), Nero (Dio Cassius, Hist. 52.20.5; Tacitus, Ann. 14.15; 16.22); etc. Other examples: O.W. Allen, The Death of Herod (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1997), 29–74. 61 It is interesting to note that we have a parallel to this dramatic episode in the writings of Flavius Josephus (A.J. 19.343–50). According to Josephus, Agrippa dies of terri-

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is terrible: “he was eaten by worms and died” (12.23). Luke does nothing to spare his readers, choosing a compound word originally from agricultural vocabulary: σκωληκόβρωτος, literally worm food. Worms are an image of the degradation and decomposition of the body (Job 17.14; 21.6; Sirach 10.11). Let us remember that in recounting the end of both Judas and Herod Agrippa, the author dramatises the defamatory conditions of their death to the point of excess, the point being to display an edifying death, even in lurid detail. The death of the couple Ananias and Sapphira (5.1–11) is told soberly (they fall down and die), but the dramatisation is due to the theological interpretation that Peter gives of their sin.62 The couple has agreed to sell some property and to lay the proceeds of the sale at the apostles’ feet, in accordance with the practice to redistribute common goods in the church of Jerusalem (4.32–35). However, the couple “kept back” (νοσφίζεσθαι) part of the proceeds for themselves (5.2).63 My reading of this drama excludes a moral interpretation (the couple’s crime would reside in their greed or their lying). Peter exercises a prophetic ministry by stating the theological reading of their sin: “Ananias, why has Satan filled your heart to lie to the Holy Spirit and to keep back part of the proceeds of the land? ... You did not lie to us, but to God!” (5.3–4). This is a not a Qumranic-type disciplinary device requiring the transfer of property to the community that has been violated, but the sanctity of a community “of one heart and soul” (4.32) – a holiness whose agent is the Holy Spirit. The crime is not ethical, but ecclesiological in nature: it jeopardises the unanimity of the Church exposed to the hostility of the surrounding Jewish world (Acts 4–5). In other words, the sin of Ananias and Sapphira, who thought that they needed to be perfect to exist in the community, is the original sin in the church. Their sudden deaths are not the work of Peter: they “fell down and died” upon hearing the prophetic words that reveal their crime (5.5–10).

ble intestinal pain that tortures him for five days in another embodiment of divine punishment. However, he has repented for the people’s adulatio: “Providence thus reproves the lying words you just now said to me” (19.347). 62 For a discussion of this text and the various readings it has raised, I refer the reader to my commentary: Les Actes des apôtres (1–12), 164–68 and 172–78. 63 This verb, which is extremely rare in the Septuagint, is found in Joshua 7.1 when Achan takes some of the booty of Jericho for his own profit, the theft of which causes Israel’s defeat by Ai. Joshua 7 and Acts 5 both have the situation of a community in search of territory that cannot afford internal dangers when it is threatened from the outside. In both cases, the desecration of the sanctity of the group requires separating the guilty party from it. But from my point of view, the typological reference to the original sin in Genesis 3 is just as evident.

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To sum this up, in all three cases of Judas, King Herod, and Ananias and Sapphira, the narrator has dramatised their deaths in order to draw a theologically edifying lesson. The death of a traitor, the death of a wicked king, and the death of a disloyal couple: the hand of God comes down spectacularly against those that stand against Him. V. Stephen’s Magnified Death Unlike the previous deaths, the murder of Stephen the Protomartyr64 is magnified by the author of Acts. Enraged by his speech (Acts 7), and especially by its accusatory ending, the members of the Sanhedrin drag him out of the city to stone him. When they heard these things, they became enraged and ground their teeth at Stephen. But filled with the Holy Spirit, he gazed into heaven and saw the glory of God and Jesus standing at the right hand of God. “Look,” he said, “I see the heavens opened and the Son of Man standing at the right hand of God!” But they covered their ears, and with a loud shout all rushed together against him. Then they dragged him out of the city and began to stone him; and the witnesses laid their coats at the feet of a young man named Saul. While they were stoning Stephen, he prayed, “Lord Jesus, receive my spirit.” Then he knelt down and cried out in a loud voice, “Lord, do not hold this sin against them.” When he had said this, he died (7.54–60).

The narrative treatment has something to attract our attention. The motif of teeth grinding was made famous in the New Testament by Matthew’s eschatological refrain “there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth” (Matt 8.12; etc.); but the turn of phrase “to grind one’s teeth against someone” comes from the Septuagint, where it describes the rage of the wicked against the righteous.65 By this choice of vocabulary, the narrator assigns the role of the wicked to the members of the Sanhedrin. However, it is not Stephen’s verbal aggression (7.51–53) that triggers their move to act, but the vision he receives. The narrator stresses it, because he describes it once (7.53), then has Stephen describe it himself (7.54). Stephen sees “the Son of Man standing at the right hand of God.” Luke uses Christ’s title Son of Man twenty-six times in his Gospel, but it only appears this one time in Acts. Does he want to provide local colour to Jerusalem? The reason must be sought at a deeper level: with this trait, Luke establishes conformity between Stephen’s martyrdom and the Passion, which is emphasised in the following verses. In fact, Jesus had told his judges that “from now on the Son of Man will be seated at the right

64 The title of “protomartyr” is only bestowed on Stephen starting in the 4th century CE (see the manuscript variants ad Acts 22.20). Nevertheless, regarding Stephen (22.20), the author of Acts is the first to link testimony (µαρτυρία) to spilled blood, preparing for the later meaning of the martyr linked to death through loyal faith. 65 Job 16.9; Psalms 34.16 (LXX); 36.12 (LXX); 112.10 (LXX); Lamentations 2.16.

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hand of the power of God” (Luke 22.69).66 Like Jesus, Stephen commends his spirit (7.59; see Luke 23.46b). Like Jesus, he cries out in a “loud voice” after kneeling (φωνῇ µεγάλῃ 7.60; Luke 23.46a). Like Jesus, Stephen asks for forgiveness for his executioners, but mention of their ignorance is omitted (7.60; see Luke 23.34).67 The slight differences between the formulations of Luke 23 and Acts 7 are consistent with Luke’s practice of syncrisis, this modelling of the witnesses to Jesus: the disciple imitates his Lord, but without reproducing his behaviour exactly, which remains unique in its precedence. “To describe Jesus’ death, Luke prefers the image of the martyr to that of sacrifice and expiation”;68 it is his martyrdom that the leader of the Seven Deacons reproduces in his own way. And the exemplarity lasts to the end: Stephen dies by praying for his adversaries. Like Jesus, the Hellenist dies uttering his last words: “When he had said this (τοῦτο εἰπών: also Luke 23.46b), he died.” What can we conclude, other than that Luke has interpreted Stephen’s death in a way comparable to cursed death, but by turning it upside down? Cursed death is God’s vengeance exerted upon the wicked. Stephen’s magnified death depicts the loyalty that the disciple vows to his master, even unto death. Each of these deaths is edifying. Each one shows God triumphing over His enemies. Each one is exemplary: one in the horror it arouses and the other in the model that it bequeaths. VI. The Silenced Deaths Before coming to Peter and Paul’s ends, I mention the execution of James, brother of John, one of the twelve disciples, by Herod Agrippa (12.2). Luke could have used this deadly act in his narrative, but did not. Two reasons arise for this, which are not really exclusive. According to the first explanation, the plot of chapter 12 focuses on the opposition between Herod and Peter: the 66

Luke 22.69 speaks of the Son of Man “seated at the right hand of the power of God” while Acts 7.56 speaks of the Son of Man “standing at the right hand of God.” There are many interpretations to explain this change in posture (see C.S. Keener, Acts. An Exegetical Commentary 3.1–14.28 [Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2013], 1440–43). In my view, the image of him standing reflects the position of the judge in the heavenly court, which undermines the judicial role of the Sanhedrin. 67 The presence of Luke 23.34 in the manuscript tradition is not assured, as an impressive number of ancient testimonies do not contain this verse. Two possibilities present themselves: either the verse is original and Luke has inserted in Acts its equivalent to confirm the modelling of Stephen’s martyrdom on the death of Jesus, or it is not original and copyists inserted the equivalent of Stephen’s prayer into the Passion. The first possibility is more likely. On this point and for a more detailed analysis of this passage, see my, Les Actes des apôtres (1–12), 273–77. 68 A. George, “Le sens de la mort de Jésus pour Luc,” in George, Etudes sur l’oeuvre de Luc (Sources bibliques; Paris: Gabalda, 1978), 212.

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king that wanted to mistreat (κακοῦν,   12.1) the disciples of Jesus and took himself for a god (12.21–22) dies in the most infamous way, whereas Peter is freed from imprisonment by an angel of the Lord. The theme is that of the antagonism of powers and Peter’s miraculous release shows that nothing can resist the Exodial God. The story of James’ death would have diverted attention away from this “tyrant versus disciple” typology.69 Second explanation: Luke had no accurate or credible information available on the circumstances of James’ death. Also in chapter 12 of Acts, it is said that after Peter visited the community following his miraculous escape, “he went to another place” (ἐπορεύθη ε ἰς ἕτερον τόπον, 12.17c). Much ink has been spilled on this enigmatic ending to the verse. Indeed, this clause erases Peter from the narration of Acts; the apostle will emerge again during the assembly in Jerusalem to act as the guarantor for Paul’s mission based on his meeting with Cornelius at Caesarea (15.7–11). Other than this return, Peter’s activity comes to an end here. What does “another place” mean? Some have thought of another house where Peter would have taken refuge during Herod’s aggression, while others have searched the regional geography for another theatre for a mission (Antioch, Asia Minor, Rome). Still others have justified the vague language as an allusion to an itinerant existence or interpreted it metaphorically (with “place” meaning “fate”) supposing it referred to his death as a martyr.70 Rather than seeing a cryptic message here, I find it preferable to evaluate a narrative strategy that fits this deliberately unclear information: the author shows his readers that he is breaking with one biographical thread (Peter’s) to follow another (Paul’s). Luke takes his leave from a character to which he has devoted a decisive role so far (Acts 1–6; 9.32–11.18; 12). Indeed, his understanding of the history of Christianity leads him to continue with the story of the Pauline mission. Removing Peter with an indication left in suspense lets the reader know that his life goes on, but beyond the bounds of the story, Theophilus understands that the author “moves on to another subject.” From Peter to Paul, the narration of Acts begins its great turning point. In the syncrisis between Peter and Paul within Acts,71 the silence about their ends is a further resemblance. There is another, which takes on major importance for our issue: before disappearing from the story, Peter and Paul 69

Guttenberger, “Ist der Tod der Apostel der Rede nicht wert?” 297. Eusebius sustains that Peter devoted himself to his missionary activity (Eccl. hist. 2.9.4); Jerome described Peter’s missionary work all the way to Rome (Vir. ill. 1). See R. Pesch, Simon-Petrus (Stuttgart; Hiersemann, 1980), 76; R.E. Osborne, “Where Did Peter Go?” Canadian Journal of Theology 14 (1968): 274–77. 71 Syncrisis means the literary process of modelling the character of a story on another in order to establish continuity between the two. The syncrisis between Peter and Paul appears in the frame of the parallelism of Jesus-Peter-Paul. See Marguerat, The First Christian Historian, 56–59. 70

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are close to death and experience a miraculous and spectacular rescue. Peter has been freed from prison by a miracle saturated with Exodial references (12.6–11). Paul has been saved from shipwreck during his trip to Rome and upon his arrival on Malta, the inhabitants of the island say of him: “He is a god” (28.6). Readers know that he is nothing of the sort, but they understand that escaping the fury of the waves and the bite of a viper (28.3–6) shows that the man is protected by divine providence. Before vanishing from the story, Peter and Paul have each received the seal of divine vindication on their existence. VII. The Silence on Paul’s Death Do the parallels between the death of James that we have just mentioned and the silenced end of Peter shed any light on the silence regarding Paul’s death? The extensive treatment given to Stephen’s death ruins the idea of repulsion in dealing with death through biographical disinterest or the hypothesis occasionally put forward that Luke did not want to overshadow the death of Jesus by describing another martyred death.72 In my estimation, there are two historical solutions, both of which are hypothetical. The first solution is that the information available to the author regarding Paul’s death was not of a nature that it could be exploited for narrative purposes. His total ignorance of Paul’s end must be ruled out for reasons given above,73 but we may imagine that the circumstances surrounding what was very likely his execution by the imperial legal system were not very well known or at least were insignificant. His end may have been obscure, and thus not rising to the stature of the figure portrayed by Luke. When Haenchen writes that Luke “did not consider it his duty to encourage the piety of martyrs,”74 it must be added that it is anachronistic to imagine an already developed martyrology in Luke’s time. We see it flourishing in the Acts of Paul and Thecla, but this text was written more than a century after Acts. Since then, if there was a choice between a triumphalist end on the victory of Verbi Dei and the obscure end of the apostle of the Gentiles, Luke’s option is focused on the cantus firmus of his work. In response to this, one could argue that Luke had the means to write an account by his own hand, which would have been replaced due to the inadequacy of his sources. To do this is to engage in the vast and complex debate about the author’s relationship to his sources, which is not my intent here. I would simply say that in my view, if 72 A. Ehrhardt, The Framework of the New Testament Stories (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1964), 80–81. 73 See pp. 322–23. 74 “Er sah es nicht als seine Aufgabe an, die Märtyrerfrömmigkeit zu beleben.” Haenchen, Die Apostelgeschichte, 655.

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the latitude to develop a fiction is inherent in a historian like Luke, the author of Acts seldom creates a fictional account based on nothing; more often, Luke stages information that he has received. In other words, Luke depicts information, even of a rudimentary type, and employs its potentialities rather than creating from scratch.75 But there is another solution, which has the advantage of being documented by independent sources in Acts. It is the famous notice in 1 Clement 5.5–7: By reason of jealousy and strife Paul by his example pointed out the prize of patient endurance. After that he had been seven times in bonds, had been driven into exile, had been stoned, had preached in the East and in the West, he won the noble renown which was the reward of his faith, having taught righteousness unto the whole world and having reached the farthest bounds of the West; and when he had borne his testimony before the rulers, so he departed from the world and went unto the holy place, having been found a notable pattern of patient endurance!76

The meaning of the expression διὰ ζῆλον καὶ ἔριν,  (5.5a) is much discussed.77 Oscar Cullmann understood it as a reference to internal disputes in the church of Rome, of which both Peter and Paul would have suffered at the end of their lives (see 1 Clem. 5.2).78 In Christian memory, their martyrdom would have left discomfiting signs of abandon among Roman Christians. C.K. Barrett adds 2 Timothy 4.16 to this dossier: “At my first defence no one came to my support, but all deserted me. May it not be counted against them!” He concludes: “[T]here existed a tradition of a desertion of Paul by those who should have stood by him.”79 The hypothesis constructed here is as follows: Paul’s martyred death in Rome has left problematic and even painful marks on his memory, for the apostle did not receive all the help that would have been desirable from the Roman Christians. To invert such a tradition and compose a magnified account of Paul’s death would not be decent, so Luke refrained.80 75

On this historiographical problem, I refer the reader to my discussion with R. Riesner: “Wie historisch ist die Apostelgeschichte?” ZNT 18 (2006): 44–51. 76 Quoted according to the translation of J.B. Lightfoot, The Apostolic Epistles to the Corinthians (Trinity College, 1869). 77 In this volume, see the contribution by Grünstäudl. 78 O. Cullmann, Petrus. Jünger–Apostel–Märtyrer (Zürich: Zwingli Verlag, 1960), 101–23, especially 115–17. The author supposes the same situation of religious tension regarding the execution of James, son of Zebedee, in Jerusalem: “Courants multiples dans la communauté primitive. A propos du martyre de Jacques fils de Zébédée,” RSR 60 (1972): 55–68. 79 Barrett, The Acts of the Apostles II, 1250; see also Barrett, “The End of Acts,” 549–50. 80 G.W. Trompf had already made a similar remark. He noted that the deaths of Jesus and Stephen reflected the qualities of endurance, piety, and magnanimity that were able to evoke admiration from Luke’s readers. On the other hand, “if, as non-biblical tradition has it, Paul was beheaded, dying as a victim like his master (in all likelihood during the emperor Nero’s reign), then Luke had another ignominious (and therefore ‘problematic’)

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Two indicators point in this direction. The first is internal to the conclusion of Acts: while verse 15 mentions the Christian brethren that come to meet and greet Paul from the Forum of Appius and Three Taverns, they are not mentioned further. One can imagine them included in the πάντας  of 28.30, but the narrator’s silence on this subject is intriguing. Would this be because he does not want to mention them in proximity to Paul? The second indicator refers to Paul’s reception by the Christians of Jerusalem in 21.17–25. Informing Paul of the negative comments made about his liberal position on the Torah and circumcision, James suggests that he participate in a Nazarite rite in the Temple of Jerusalem (21.23–24). This suggestion will be fatal for Paul, because it is his presence at the Temple that sparks the Asian Jews’ anger against him, the attempt to lynch him, and his Roman imprisonment, from which he will not leave (21.27–23.35). What strikes the reader about this story is that the Christians of Jerusalem are not mentioned at any time during the confrontation with the people of Jerusalem, or with the Sanhedrin. Without going so far as to attribute to James the Machiavellian purpose of setting a trap for Paul,81 I think that what we have here is another curtain of silence modestly drawn by the author of Acts over the absence of active solidarity shown by the church of Jerusalem in the whole drama. The same modesty – or, if one prefers, the same reluctance to expose the internal dissensions within Christianity – drove the author of Acts to remain silent about Paul’s end and to use the end of the work to celebrate the triumph of the Word that is promised to conquer the Roman Empire.

death on his hands – and one that was not going to present the new faith as an attraction” (“On Why Luke Declined to Recount the Death of Paul: Acts 27–28 and Beyond,” in C.H. Albert [ed.], Luke-Acts. New Perspectives from the Society of Biblical Literature Seminar [New York: Crossroad, 1984], 225–39, citation at 233). 81 According to S.G.F. Brandon, The Fall of Jerusalem and the Christian Church (London: SPCK, 1957), 135.

No Death of Paul in Acts of Paul and Thecla? Tobias Nicklas

Even a short look at the images of the main altar in the wonderful cathedral of Tarragona reveals to us what an important role Saint Thecla must have played (and still plays) for traditions of piety in the region of Catalonia.1 The oldest stories about Thecla can be found in the apocryphal Acts of Paul and Thecla,2 today a part of the Acts of Paul, which, however, probably originated3 and partly was transmitted as an independent writing.4 While the Acts of Paul and Thecla end with Thecla’s death in Seleucia, this text, contrary to other apocryphal Acts of the Apostles and comparable to the canonical book of Acts,5 does not tell us anything explicit about Paul’s martyrdom. Even if one takes into account that the Acts of Paul and Thecla quite probably were written in the second half of the second century CE,6 the simple fact that the text concentrates on a series of scenes taking place at Iconium (plus a few scenes in 1

Regarding the earliest traditions about a Pauline visit in Spain and their developments see D.L. Eastman, Paul the Martyr: The Cult of the Apostle in the Latin West (Atlanta: Scholars, 2011), 144–54. 2 Regarding the broad later reception history of this text see, e.g., M. Pesthy, “Thecla in the Fathers of the Church,” in J.N. Bremmer (ed.), The Apocryphal Acts of Paul and Thecla (Kampen: Kok Pharos, 1996), 164–78, and the study of S.F. Johnson, The Life and Miracles of Thekla (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2006). 3 In his recently published book, G.E. Snyder, Acts of Paul: The Formation of a Pauline Corpus (Tübingen: Mohr, 2013), 23–147 has shown convincingly that the images of Paul in the Martyrdom of Paul, the Ephesus Act, and the Acts of Paul and Thecla do not agree with each other. According to him, the written Martyrdom originated quite early, already in the times of Trajan, in western Asia Minor, while the “earliest oral form of the story should have originated in Rome” (p. 64). 4 See, for example, H.-J. Klauck, Apokryphe Apostelakten (Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 2005), 62 who knows of around 80 manuscripts containing this text. 5 Regarding the end of the canonical book of Acts, see Jens Schröter’s article in the present volume; on the description of Paul in the book of Acts, see now, for example, D. Marguerat, “The Image of Paul in Acts,” in Paul in Acts and Paul in His Letters (Tübingen: Mohr, 2013), 22–47 and S.E. Porter, The Paul of Acts (Tübingen: Mohr, 1999). 6 See, for example, Klauck, Apostelakten, 64 who dates the Acts of Paul (as a whole) to the years 170–80 CE. Regarding the Acts of Paul and Thecla Tertullian’s famous witness in De baptismo, 17.5 is decisive.

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Myra and Seleucia) could explain why we hear nothing about Paul’s later martyrdom. In addition, even if Paul is seen as the main apostolic authority of the text, its protagonist and hero is certainly Thecla.7 And so it would be quite easy to set the Acts of Paul and Thecla simply apart when one wants to speak about the end of Paul (even more so if one wants to speak about Paul’s possible death in Spain). This would, however, perhaps be one step too far: in the following paper I would like to show that, although nothing about Paul’s martyrdom is told, the Acts of Paul and Thecla develop an image of Paul which makes clear that he is already seen as a venerated “saint,” a “martyr” of the past who (while parts of his original teaching seem no longer to play a decisive role) is already seen as an example for the life of the followers of Christ. I will thus ask the following question: are there any hints in the text’s description of Paul that indicate he is already a figure of the past, perhaps a kind of ideal martyr? I think we can find at least a few traces of such an image. 1. As far as I know, the Acts of Paul and Thecla is the only ancient Christian writing that gives a detailed description of what Paul looked like:8 “a man small of stature, bald headed, a crook in the legs, healthy, a brow meeting in the middle, a small nose, a gracious presence; for some times he appeared as a man, but at other times he had the face of an angel” (APTh 3.3).9 Parts of this image probably go back to Paul’s own writings, especially 2 Cor 10.10 where we read that Paul’s opponents described his “bodily presence” (παρουσία τοῦ σώµατος) as weak.10 This certainly does not, however, mean that the Acts of Paul and Thecla provide us with a historically accurate image of Paul. Instead, different suggestions have been made regarding the concrete function of this description. While I think that the parallels in ancient papyri describing slaves mentioned by J. Bollók do not improve our understanding of the Acts

7 The figure of Thecla in the APTh has been the subject of several recent studies. See, for example, E. Esch-Wermeling, Thekla – Paulusschülerin wider Willen? Strategien der Leserlenkung in den Theklaakten (Münster: Aschendorff, 2008). 8 J. Bollók, “The Description of Paul in the Acta Pauli,” in Bremmer (ed.), The Apocryphal Acts of Paul and Thecla, 1–15, esp. 1, only mentions the much later Ps.-Lucian writing Philopatris 12. 9 Translations taken and/or adapted from J.W. Barrier, The Acts of Paul and Thecla (Tübingen: Mohr, 2009). 10 See also Klauck, Apostelakten, 66, while Bollók, “Description,” 9–12 has pointed to even more parallels to 2 Cor and writes (after a highly speculative argument): “To sum up, on the basis of 2 Cor we are able to build up step by step the description of the apostle Paul in the AP.” The precise meaning of the relevant passage in 2 Cor 10.10 is, however, discussed. See, for example, the overview in M.H. Harris, The Second Epistle to the Corinthians (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2005), 699–700.

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of Paul and Thecla very much,11 many other scholarly suggestions are at least helpful: Paul’s description as a small, weak, and not very beautiful person reminds us of the description of Socrates, whose outward appearance was not very attractive, but who nevertheless became an example of what a philosopher could (or should) look like.12 Or does the text depict Paul in the manner of a general, a successful “soldier of Christ”?13 This would make almost perfect sense if we wanted to read the Acts of Paul and Thecla in connection with the Martyrdom of Paul,14 where Paul, questioned by Nero, appears like a great commander recruiting soldiers for his great king (i.e., Christ), who, even as a victim sentenced to death, will have the final victory over his enemy, Nero, the ruler of the Roman Empire.15 Along similar lines, with the help of many parallels in ancient physiognomic literature, Abraham Malherbe has understood this Paul as a heroic or even royal character.16 In any case, this image indicates that the Acts of Paul and Thecla are beginning to describe Paul as an ideal figure. The most impressive aspect of APTh 3.3, however, is that Paul “at other times…had the face of an angel.” Does this connect Paul with the description of Moses in Exod 34.29, “who was not aware that his face was radiant” – that is, shining with God’s glory – “because he had spoken with the Lord”? In fact, this Old Testament passage plays a role in Paul’s theology of the covenant, as we see in 2 Cor 3.4–4.6, a text which at least has been read as depicting Paul as a kind of “new Moses.”17 I think, however, that this passage, com11 Cf. Bollók, “Description,” 3–5, who, however, uses these parallels only for an introduction to show what a detailed bodily description of a person in ancient texts could look like. 12 See P. Zanker, Die Maske des Sokrates: Das Bild des Intellektuellen in der antiken Kunst (Munich: C.H. Beck, 1995), esp. 284 (also quoted by Klauck, Apostelakten, 66), or D.R. Cartlidge and J.K. Elliott, Art and Christian Apocrypha (London: Routledge, 2001), 138–40. 13 This is the thesis of R.M. Grant, “The Description of Paul in the Acts of Paul and Thecla,” VC 36 (1982): 1–4, who points to a parallel in the fragments of the poet Archilochos. 14 For an interpretation of this text see T. Nicklas, “Das Martyrium des Paulus: Der Tod des Apostels und anschließende Erscheinungen,” in R. Zimmerman et al. (eds.), Kompendium der frühchristlichen Wundergeschichten II. Wunder der Apostel (Gütersloh: Gütersloher, forthcoming). Snyder, Acts of Paul, 64–5. 145–47, however, with good reasons questions the original connection of both writings. 15 With regard to the idea of militia Christi and viewing and the follower of Christ as a miles Christianus, see, for example, 2 Tim 2.3 (see also comparable 1 Cor 9.7; 2 Cor 10.3–4; 1 Tim 1.18). 16 A.J. Malherbe, “A Physical Description of Paul,” HTR 79 (1986): 170–75 (also mentioned by Klauck, Apostelakten, 66), but see also Bollók, “Description,” 6–9 (mentioning Ps.-Aristotle, Polemon, Adamantius, and Synesius). 17 The text, however, is extremely difficult. For a recent attempt to give a proper interpretation, see T. Nicklas, “Die verborgene Herrlichkeit des Paulusdienstes: Überle-

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parable to other parallels like the transfiguration of Jesus, only shows that Paul is depicted as a figure of special “holiness”, that is “closeness to God.”18 None of these observations seems to be wrong, but there is another one that is perhaps even more helpful. In his monograph on the Acts of Paul and Thecla, Jeremy Barrier points to an interesting parallel between the descriptions of Paul in the APTh and the depiction of Stephen in the canonical book of Acts:19 Acts 6.8 Στέφανος δὲ πλήρης χάριτος καὶ δυνάµεως ἐποίει τέρατα καὶ σηµεῖα µεγάλα ἐν τῷ λαῷ. APTh 3.2 εἶδεν δὲ τὸν Παῦλον ἐρχόµενον, ἄνδρα µικρὸν … χάριτος πλήρη. Acts 6.15 καὶ ἀτενίσαντες εἰς αὐτὸν πάντες οἱ καθεζόµενοι ἐν τῷ συνεδρίῳ εἶδον τὸ πρόσωπον αὐτοῦ ὡσεὶ πρόσωπον ἀγγέλου. APTh 3.2 ποτὲ µὲν γὰρ ἐφαίνετο ὡς ἄνθρωπος, ποτὲ δὲ ἀγγέλου πρόσωπον εἶχεν. If, as is usually assumed, the author of the Acts of Paul and Thecla knew and used the canonical book of Acts (or if, even more, the Acts of Paul, including APTh, want to be read as a relecture of Acts),20 this passage connects the

gungen zu 2Kor 3,1–4,6,” in D. Sänger (ed.), Der zweite Korintherbrief. Literarische Gestalt – historische Situation – theologische Argumentation. Festschrift zum 70. Geburtstag von Dietrich-Alex Koch (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2012), 240–56. 18 As is well known, in early Jewish literature angels could be understood as the “holy ones” because of their connection to God. Regarding the underlying Old Testament concept of “holiness” see E. Dirscherl and C. Dohmen, “Heiligkeit – Einzigkeit – Alterität,” in B. Laux (ed.), Heiligkeit und Menschenwürde: Hans Joas’ neue Genealogie der Menschenrecht im theologischen Gespräch (Freiburg: Herder, 2013), 71–90, esp. 75–80. 19 Barrier, Acts of Paul and Thecla, 74. See also Grant, “Description,” 1. 20 Even if I am not sure whether it works for every part of the Acts of Paul, I prefer the model developed by D. Marguerat, “The Acts of Paul and the Canonical Acts: A Phenomenon of Rereading,” Semeia 80 (1997): 169–83. But see also authors like R. Bauckham, “The Acts of Paul as a Sequel to Acts,” in B.W. Winter and A.D. Clarke (eds.), The Book of Acts in Its First Century Setting, Vol. 1 (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1993), 105– 52; Bauckham, “The Acts of Paul: Replacement of Acts or Sequel to Acts,” Semeia 80 (1997): 159–68; W. Rordorf, “In welchem Verhältnis stehen die apokryphen Paulusakten zur kanonischen Apostelgeschichte und zu den Pastoralbriefen,” in Lex Orandi – Lex Credendi: Gesammelte Aufsätze zum 60. Geburtstag (Freiburg–Neuchâtel: Universi-

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(apocryphal) Paul to the Stephen of Acts, whose clothes, after his martyrdom, are put at the feet of a certain Saul (Acts 7.58), i.e., the later Paul of Acts. Does this mean that we should read APTh 3.2 in the light of Paul’s future martyrdom, which, in the perspective of the reader, is already a past event? This would, of course, also make understandable that Paul’s appearance is almost depicted like an “epiphany” (ἐφαίνετο) and that, contrary to Stephen, he does not just look “angel-like” at a single event, but this angelic appearrance is more or less regularly the case. Another point must be added: APTh 3.2 can be connected to APTh 3.5, where, as part of a series of macarisms, we read: “Blessed are they who fear of God, for they will be angels of God (ἄγγελοι θεοῦ).” As far as I see it, this passage makes best sense if it is understood as pointing to the bodies of persons after their resurrection:21 if a person has a fear of God now, he or she will become an angel after his or her resurrection; the best parallel for this kind of thinking can be found in Jesus’ discussion with the Sadducees in Mark 12.18– 27 (par. Matt 22.23–33; Luke 20.27–38).22 I think it is not going too far to understand Paul’s (partly) angel-like appearance not only as a sign of his fear of God, but as a projection of his future resurrection, which, however, from the perspective of the believing reader is something that (after Paul’s death as a martyr) must already have happened. 2. Contrary to what we find in Pauline writings like Galatians or 2 Corinthians, many passages of the Acts of Paul and Thecla not only depict Paul as a universally acknowledged apostle, who does not have to defend his authority against polemics and criticism from other Christian groups anymore, but even present him, comparable to the Pastoral Epistles, as the only apostle, and, at the same time, as the ideal of an apostle. He, for example, does nothing bad to his evil companions Demas and Hermogenes (APTh 3.1), even if they are “full of hypocrisy” (APTh 3.1, but also 3.4). Being imprisoned, he “fears

tätsverlag, 1993), 449–74; or R. Pervo, “A Hard Act to Follow: The Acts of Paul and the Canonical Acts,” Journal of Higher Criticism 2.2 (1995): 3–32. 21 Regarding “resurrection” according to the Acts of Paul, see P.J. Lalleman, “The Resurrection in the Acts of Paul,” in Bremmer (ed.), The Apocryphal Acts of Paul and Thecla, 126–41. 22 For a more detailed discussion of this passage, see K. Zamfir, “Asceticism and Otherworld in the Acts of Paul and Thecla,” in T. Nicklas, J. Verheyden, E Eynikel, and F. García Martínez (eds.), Other Worlds and their Relation to this World: Early Jewish and Ancient Christian Traditions (Leiden: Brill, 2010), 281–305, esp. 283–89. Especially Luke 20.36 had a broad Nachgeschichte in monastic circles that already interpreted their present life as “angel-like.” For further information, see K.S. Frank, Angelikos Bios: Begriffsanalytische und begriffsgeschichtliche Untersuchung zum‚ “engelgleichen Leben” im frühen Mönchtum (Münster: Aschendorff, 1964).

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nothing, but [is] living as a free citizen with the confidence of God” (APTh 3.18) and he is in such a close connection to God that his prayers are answered (APTh 3.24).23 2.1. In this context, one could mention the incredible, in a certain sense miraculous, effect Paul’s teaching has on Thecla (and obviously also on other young people),24 an effect that the text describes as “overabundant joy” (APTh 3.7; cf. also 3.20), while Thecla’s fiancé Thamyris understands it as a sign of ἔκπληξις (“mental disturbance”; APTh 3.10; see also the later use of the verb ἐκπλήσσω),25 and her mother uses the related attribute παραπλήξ (APTh 3.10). In addition, Theocleia describes Thecla as “ἀτενίζουσα ὡς πρὸς εὐφρασίαν” which can simply mean that she looked intently at Paul as if looking at something that gives great pleasure (see also APTh 3.10, 20).26 It may well be, however, that Jeremy Barrier, who thinks that the expression implies that Thecla had fallen a victim of Paul’s evil eye, is correct.27 This would be very well in line with the idea that Thecla is “bound [δεδεµένη] to his [Paul’s] words as a spider in the window” (APTh 3.9; see also 3.19). According to Jan Bremmer, “[t]hese recurring references to ‘binding’ suggest a case of erotic magic.”28 In addition, the text more than once makes clear that, even if Thecla is a very special case, Paul’s influence reached many people, especially women, in a comparable way. According to APTh 3.7, for example, Thecla sees “many women and virgins going to Paul”;29 according to APTh 3.9 Theocleia fears that “this man [Paul] will shake up the city of the Iconians…; for all the women and the young men are going in to him”;30 and finally, Thamyris accuses Paul of even having “destroyed the city of the Iconians” (APTh 3.15). 23 The only point where one could discuss a certain weakness of Paul is APTh 3.25, 4.1, and 15f., according to which he obviously underestimates Thecla’s almost superhuman strength. 24 J.N. Bremmer, “Magic, martyrdom and women’s liberation in the Acts of Paul and Thecla,” in Bremmer (ed.), The Acts of Paul and Thecla, 36–59, esp. 39, writes: “If Paul had been described as physically attractive, her fascination could have been easily understood.” 25 Later, in APTh 3.13, he says that Thecla “loves the stranger” which, even if he only uses the word φιλέω, shows that he who wishes to have her as his wife is jealous. 26 See, for example, the translation by W. Schneemelcher, “Paulusakten,” in Schneemelcher (ed.), Neutestamentliche Apokryphen II: Apostolisches, Apokalypsen und Verwandtes (Tübingen: Mohr, 1997), 193–243, esp. 217. 27 See Barrier, The Acts of Paul and Thecla, 88–89. 28 Bremmer, “Magic,” 42. 29 The APTh are a highly interesting witness to the influence of at least special parts of the “Christian” movement on young people, a comparable example being the group around the young martyr Perpetua. See also Bremmer, “Magic,” 42–44. For more information regarding Perpetua see the relevant articles in J.N. Bremmer and M. Formisano

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All this leads to the idea that Paul is a “man of deception31…deceiving the souls of the young ones and defrauding virgins” and, according to the furious “mob” of Iconium, a µάγος, that is, a sorcerer, a person with (obviously black) magical power (APTh 3.15 and 3.20).32 This means that even Paul’s fiercest opponents in APTh, although they do not understand the nature of his power, must acknowledge that he is a person with a certain “supernatural” power (if this attribute is allowed) which they, as the scribes from Jerusalem do in the case of Jesus (see Mark 3.22 and par.), ascribe to demonic forces and (obviously black) magic. 2.2. The text itself, however, contradicts this opinion and emphasizes, wherever possible, the close and continuous bond between Paul and Christ:33 Paul is described as being full of love – even to his bad companions Demas and Hermogenes – because he was steadfastly looking into the goodness of Christ alone” (APTh 3.1). This goes so far that he not only teaches them in everything that is necessary to be a good follower of Christ, but “was sweetening them even with the great things [µεγαλεῖα] of Christ,34 as they were revealed to him” (APTh 3.1). The exact meaning of this last sentence is not fully clear. The (probable) use of the verbal form ἀπεκαλύφθη,35 however, makes it possible that the text speaks about Paul as a receiver of special revelations. The idea that Paul had special mystical experiences is, of course, in line with what we read in at least some of his letters – the most impressive example being 2 Cor 12.2–4 telling about his rapture to the third heaven.36 The very natural (eds.), Perpetua’s Passions: Multidisciplinary Approaches to the Passio Perpetuae et Felicitatis (Oxford: OUP, 2012). 30 In addition, APTh 3.11 suggests that there must have been quite an active business in Onesiphoros’ house with many people “entering in and out from Paul.” 31 Regarding textual problems with the words πλἀνος ἄνθρωπος, see J. Barrier, Acts of Paul and Thecla, 97. I am not sure, however, whether Barrier’s interpretation of the motif as Paul being understood as a “false teacher” meets the main point. I would, instead, put more stress on the point that he leads people astray (which is, of course, connected with the idea that he is a false teacher). 32 The accusation of being a magician occurs frequently in the Apocryphal Acts. For a detailed discussion, see G. Poupon, “L’accusation de magie dans lex Actes apocryphes,” in F. Bovon (ed.), Les Actes apocryphes des apôtres (Geneva: Labor et Fides, 1981), 71–93. Regarding the different ideas connected to the term “magic” in ancient literature, see, for example, A.M. Ritter, “Magie im frühen Christentum,” in Apuleius: De Magia (Darmstadt: WBG, 2008), 315–30. 33 Of course, the Acts of Paul and Thecla do not go as far as the Acts of Thomas, which are very much working with the idea of Jesus and Thomas being twins. 34 It would also be possible to translate “the great things about/concerning Christ.” 35 The text here is, however, reconstructed. See Barrier, Acts of Paul and Thecla, 68. 36 For some further examples see T. Nicklas, “Paulus – der Apostel als Prophet,” in J. Verheyden, K. Zamfir, and T. Nicklas (eds.), Prophets and Prophecy in Jewish and Early Christian Literature (Tübingen: Mohr, 2010), 77–104.

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way the APTh mention Paul’s special revelations – as something almost selfevident – however, creates the feeling that these revelations are something that happened to Paul quite regularly, as something more or less natural. Even the manner of Paul’s preaching connects him to Jesus: when he enters the house of Onesiphoros (see 2 Tim 1.16–18; 4.19) he teaches the word of God in the form of a series of macarisms, thus giving something like another “sermon on the mount” or “on the plain” (perhaps a “sermon in the house”?).37 In any case, what he presents is a résumé of his teaching given in a form that we otherwise only find in the teachings of Jesus (and thus should remind ancient readers of Jesus even if the contents are partly quite far removed from what we find in Matt 5.3–12 and Luke 6.20–26).38 While the close (or not so close) resemblance of Paul’s floging in APTh 3.21 to Mark 15.15 (par. Matt 27.26) is beset by problems of textual transmission,39 certainly the most important passage for our concerns is Thecla’s vision of Christ (APTh 3.21). This text is quite open: the words εἶδεν τὸν κύριον καθήµενον ὡς Παῦλον can mean that she saw the Lord sitting like Paul usually was sitting (when he taught) or that she saw him sitting in the form of Paul. Her immediate reaction makes clear that she understands him as being Paul; she recognizes this as a vision of the Lord only, if at all, when he departs for heaven.40 In other words, Thecla has a vision of Christ who comes in the shape of Paul, but then leaves for heaven. Could the idea that Paul is a “holy” figure of the past, who is “in heaven” and very close to Christ, be expressed any more clearly than in this way?41

37

Regarding the difficulties of concretely imagining the locale, see the discussion of Barrier, Acts of Paul and Thecla, 81. 38 At least, I do not know of any Christian homily besides Matt 5.3–11 and Luke 6.20–26 starting with a series of macarisms. For a discussion of this passage, see Barrier, Acts of Paul and Thecla, 82–85, M. Ebner, “Paulinische Seligpreisungen à la Thekla. Narrative Relecture der Makarismenreihe in ActThecl. 5f.,” in Aus Liebe zu Paulus. Die Akte Thekla neu aufgerollt (Stuttgart: Bibelwerk, 2005), 64–79, and T. Nicklas, “Christliche Apokryphen als Spiegel der Vielfalt frühchristlichen Lebens: Schlaglichter, Beispiele und methodische Probleme,” ASE 23 (2006): 27–44, esp. 39–42. 39 See Barrier, Acts of Paul and Thecla, 122, discussing J. Hills, “The Acts of the Apostles in the Acts of Paul,” SBLSP (1994): 1–47, esp. 36 [non vidi]. 40 Barrier, Paul and Thecla, 123–24 interprets the scene instead in the following way: “Thecla has been left by all, so it seems. In fact, Thecla has been chosen by God to face these trials alone as will be explained more clearly in the text later…” 41 One could even discuss the matter whether Paul here even takes over a role which is ascribed to Christ in many accounts of Christian martyrdom – even if it is not expressed directly, the vision of Paul-Christ seems to give new power to Thecla.

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2.3 Other motifs likewise show that there is already a tendency to describe a “Saint Paul” in the Acts of Paul and Thecla – one who has already become an exemplary figure of the past.42 In two different instances we find Thecla trying to touch a place where Paul, who has become inaccessible to Thecla, had previously been sitting: in APTh 3.20, a scene directly after Paul has been brought to the tribunal, we read that “Thecla was grovelling in the place where Paul sat in jail and taught.” Something comparable happens at the end of the story. After her last meeting with Paul in Myra and before she goes to become a Christian missionary in Seleucia, she goes back to Iconium. Here she not only meets her mother Theocleia again (the text leaves open the question whether this meeting leads to Theocleia’s final conversion), but also first “entered into the house of Onesiphoros, and she fell on the floor where Paul sat and taught the words of God…” (APTh 4.17). In the final scene, it is even clearer that she will not see Paul again; thus, she touches a place where he had been teaching, takes over Paul’s role, and goes on teaching herself. But even in APTh 3.18 when Thecla visits Paul in prison, one gets the impression she does not touch him directly, but only kisses his bonds43 while sitting by his feet. To the modern reader, this almost resembles the later need for disciples to have contact with a saint’s relics, or even better: places a saint has been or artifacts a saint has touched.44 Of course, there is a certain parallel in Acts 19.12, according to which even Paul’s vernicles and handkerchiefs show miraculous powers – but this happens at times where Paul is regularly reachable during his missionary activities in Ephesus.

Conclusion If we accept Glenn Snyder’s idea that the Acts of Paul and Thecla were not originally connected with the Martyrdom of Paul, then we can compare Thecla to the canonical book of Acts, since they do not describe Paul’s martyrdom explicitly. This, however, does not mean that they do not know about his death; instead, it becomes quite clear that they already reflect upon it as an event of the not too recent past. As we have seen, the Acts of Paul and Thecla offer an image of the apostle that already shows clear tendencies of early hag42 Regarding the Acts of Paul as the start of the veneration of Paul, see also H.-C. Brennecke, “Die Anfänge der Paulusverehrung,” in E.-M. Becker and P. Pilhofer (eds.), Biographie und Persönlichkeit des Paulus (Tübingen: Mohr, 2005), 295–305. 43 This (plus 3.19!) is, as Barrier, Acts of Paul and Thecla, 115, rightly observes, also continuing the erotic motif within our text. 44 For an overview of recent research, see P. Cortez, “Die Reliquien, ein Forschungsfeld. Traditionslinien und neue Erkundungen,” Kunstchronik 7 (2007): 271–82.

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iography.45 Paul is already a figure of the past, a hero, an ideal apostle, even if he does not immediately understand Thecla’s strength, conviction, and power. His physical description not only depicts him as a heroic figure or an ideal philosopher, but, on the one hand, alludes to Stephen, the first “martyr,” and, on the other hand, relates to the text’s ideas of resurrection. The effect of Paul’s teaching is so powerful that his enemies are led to understand him as a magician leading the people astray and destroying the whole city. The text, however, focuses on Paul’s intimate relation to Christ – a relationship so close that Thecla has a vision of the heavenly Christ revealing himself in the form of Paul. I think such a description is not possible as long as the death of Paul, who at the time of writing is a heavenly martyr – like Jesus Christ – is not part of his image. In this context one even may interpret scenes like Thecla “grovelling in the place where Paul sat in jail and taught” (APTh 3.20) as already foreshadowing later practices with important saints’ relics. Comparable to, for example, the even later Apocalypse of Paul,46 the Acts of Paul and Thecla thus do not tell us very much about the historical figure of Paul, but already create the image of Saint Paul, whose fate as a martyr is so much a matter of course that even a text with settings in Iconium, Myra, or Seleucia offers reflections of this fate. The Acts of Paul and Thecla do not give us any hint or argument as to whether the historical Paul died in Rome (which I regard as highly probable) or whether he made it to Spain (or even today’s Catalonia) after all. The wonderful altar of the Cathedral of Tarragona, however, is only one impressive sign that Saint Paul (as well as Saint Thecla) made it to Catalonia – and is still very much present there.

45 In a certain sense, aspects of this tendency can already be seen in Acts itself: see, for example, the overview of earlier research by J. Schröter, “Paulus als Modell christlicher Zeugenschaft: Apg 9,15f. und 28.30f. als Rahmen der lukanischen Paulusdarstellung und Rezeption des ‘historischen’ Paulus,” in D. Marguerat (ed.), Reception of Paulinism in Acts. Réception du Paulinisme dans les Actes des Apôtres (Leuven: Peeters, 2009), 53–80, esp. 54–55. I agree, however, with Schröter’s well-argued position that Luke’s image of Paul is closer to much of what we find in his letters than earlier research sometimes assumed. Regarding Luke’s historiographical profile see also J. Schröter, “Lukas als Historiograph: Das lukanische Doppelwerk und die Entdeckung der christlichen Heilsgeschichte,” in E.-M. Becker (ed.), Die antike Historiographie und die Anfänge der christlichen Geschichtsschreibung (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2005), 237–62, and Schröter, “Die Stellung der Apostelgeschichte im Kontext der antiken Historiographie,” in J. Frey, C.K. Rothschild, and J. Schröter (eds.), Die Apostelgeschichte im Kontext antiker und frühchristlicher Historiographie (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2009), 27–47. 46 Regarding reception of the figure of Paul and his theologies in the Apocalypse of Paul, see T. Nicklas, “Gute Werke, rechter Glaube: Paulusrezeption in der Apokalypse des Paulus,” in T. Nicklas, A. Merkt, and J. Verheyden (eds.), Ancient Perspectives on Paul (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2013), 151–70.

History of the Martyrdom of Paul Glenn E. Snyder The Martyrdom of Paul (Mart. Paul)1 is attested independently2 and as the end of Acts of Paul (Acts Paul).3 Originally written in Greek,4 the martyrdom describes Paul’s death in Rome under imperator Nero (54–68 CE). A short form of the story is preserved in Greek,5 Latin, Coptic, Syriac, and Ethiopic;

1 Studies on the Martyrdom frequently cited below are H.W. Tajra, The Martyrdom of St. Paul (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1994); and G.E. Snyder, Acts of Paul: The Formation of a Pauline Corpus (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2013), 23–65, 197–206, 218–25. 2 Most accessible are the editions of R.A. Lipsius and M. Bonnet (eds.), Acta Apostolorum Apocrypha (2 vols. in 3; Lipsiae: H. Mendelssohn, 1891–1903), 1.104–17; and L. Vouaux, Les Actes de Paul et ses lettres apocryphes. Introduction, textes, traduction, et commentaire (Paris: Letouzey et Ané, 1913), 278–314. Well presented but with a limited apparatus is the edition, with translation, in A. Piñero and G. del Cerro, Hechos Apócrifos de los Apóstoles 2: Hechos de Pablo y Tomàs (Madrid: Biblioteca de Autores Cristianos, 2005), 828–47. For this article, the contributor has worked primarily with two more recent editions: O. Zwierlein, Petrus in Rom. Die literarischen Zeugnisse. Mit einer kritischen Edition der Martyrien des Petrus und Paulus auf neuer handschriftlicher Grundlage (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2009), 426–32; and the text (without apparatus) for the forthcoming edition of Acta Pauli in the CCSA. Both editions use the Greek texts cited in M. Geerard, Clavis apocryphorum Novi Testamenti (Corpus Christianorum; Turnhout: Brepols, 1992), 124–25, no. 211.5, “Fragmenta papyracea.” Prior to the publication of Papyrus Hamburg in 1936, Greek editions were based primarily on Patmos 48 (St. John’s Monastery, 9th cent.) and secondarily on Athos 79 [84 in CCCA] (Vatopedi Monastery, 10th–11th cent.); see BHG 1451–52. Zwierlein’s apparatus adds Ochridensis bibl. mun. 44 (11th cent.), as well as Latin, Coptic, and Slavic versions. All translations of the Martyrdom of Paul are the contributor’s, based on the edition of Zwierlein unless otherwise noted; therefore, all subsections of the Martyrdom are Zwierlein’s. 3 C. Schmidt and W. Schubart, ΠΡΑΞΕΙΣ ΠΑΥΛΟΥ . Acta Pauli nach dem Papyrus der Hamburger staats- und Universitäts-bibliothek unter Mitarbeit von Wilhelm Schubart (Hamburg: J.J. Augustin, 1936), esp. 60–72. Abbreviated P. Hamb. below. 4 Some subsections are marked by multiple variants. In addition to differences based on oral tradition and scribal variation, some variants may be due to translation from Latin, based on source material or an intermediary version (e.g., a form of the Martyrdom extant prior to its incorporation into some form of “Acts of Paul”). 5 Some remarkable differences occur among the Greek manuscripts; see n.64 below.

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and a long form has been preserved in four families of Latin manuscripts.6 Both forms are probably derived from some form of Acts of Paul, where Mart. Paul (Acts Paul 14)7 had been expanded into a “passion narrative” for Paul (Acts Paul 12–14).8 Other extant stories about Paul’s death are probably based on a form of Acts of Paul as well.9 In order to determine the historical value of accounts for Paul’s martyrdom, it is therefore necessary to study the Martyrdom in its earliest extant form(s), as well as to consider its traditions and redactions. In addition to the Martyrdom, various literary and archaeological sources attest to Paul’s death in Rome.10 Among the canonized writings, allusions may occur in Acts 19.21–22; 20.22–25; 21.13; 25.9–12; 2 Tim 2.3–7; 4.6–8;11 and 2 Pet 3.15b–16.12 Based partly on the anonymity of Acts and pseudonymity of 2 Tim and 2 Pet, these sources are often dated to the reign of Trajan (98–117 CE) or Hadrian (117–38 CE). At approximately the same time, more definite evidence occurs from Rome in the west (1 Clem. 5.1–7)13 and 6

Lipsius and Bonnet, Acta Apostolorum Apocrypha, 1.xxiii–xxxiii, lv–lvii. Versions are also extant in Arabic, Armenian, Georgian, and Slavonic; in addition to Geerard, Clavis apocryphorum Novi Testamenti, no. 211.5, see further BHG, BHL, and BHO. 7 Earlier editions and translations sometimes label the Martyrdom of Paul as Acts of Paul 11; in the forthcoming CCSA edition of Acta Pauli, the martyrdom is abstractly labeled Acts of Paul 14. See the related French translation in F. Bovon and P. Geoltrain (eds.), Écrits apo-cryphes chrétiens (2 vols.; Paris: Gallimard, 1997), 1.1115–77. 8 The Corinth act (Acts Paul 12) and travel from Corinth to Rome (Acts Paul 13) were formerly labeled Acts Paul 9 and 10, respectively, so that the “Passion Narrative of Paul” was Acts Paul 9–11. For discussion of the development of the Martyrdom, from its antecedents through the Passion Narrative, see Snyder, Acts of Paul, 54–64, 197–206, and 218–25. 9 See Tajra, Martyrdom, 134–65; D.L. Eastman, The Deaths of the Apostles: Ancient Accounts of the Martyrdoms of Peter and Paul (Latin, Greek, Syriac) (Society of Biblical Literature, forthcoming). 10 For literary traditions, see discussion in Snyder, Acts of Paul, 24–33; for archaeological traditions, Snyder, Acts of Paul, 33–36, which is based on the work of D.L. Eastman. See D.L. Eastman, Paul the Martyr: The Cult of the Apostle in the Latin West (Atlanta: SBL Press, 2011). 11 Contrast 2 Tim 1.3–4; 4.9, 13, 21. 12 Others adduce allusions from Phil 1 (in Philippi) and Rev 11 (in Jerusalem, as one of the two martyrs). 13 See J.W. van Henten, “The Martyrs as Heroes of the Christian People: Some Remarks on the Continuity between Jewish and Christian Martyrology, with Pagan Analogies,” in M. Lamberigts and P. van Deun (eds.), Martyrium in Multidisciplinary Perspective: Memorial Louis Reekmans (Leuven: Leuven University Press, 1995) 303–22. Tajra (Martyrdom, 169) notes that the author’s uses of οἱ ἡγουµένοι (translated in LCL by Ehrman as “the rulers”) in 1 Clem. 32 and 51 imply reference to subordinate officials, and thus in 1 Clem. 5 perhaps the kind of officials who would have conducted a legal trial of Paul. Some scholars have argued that 1 Clem. 5–6 alludes to Nero’s execution of Christians in relation to the fire of 64 CE.

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Syria in the east (Ignatius, Eph. 12.1–2; Rom. 4.1–3). Perhaps from Ignatius, tradition of Paul’s death in Rome was later handed down by Polycarp in Smyrna (Phil. 9.1–2) and Irenaeus in Lyons (Haer. 3.3.1–3). By the end of the second century Tertullian was able to refer to a written form of the martyrdom in Carthage (Praesc. 36; Scorp. 13–15, esp. 15.2–4); and no later than the beginning of the third century, a site on the Ostian Road – currently marked with the Basilica of Saint Paul (Basilica Papale di San Paolo fuori le Mura) – was used to commemorate the place of Paul’s burial (Gaius apud Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 2.25.7). By the reign of Theodosius I, that site – with a recently constructed Constantinian basilica – was remembered also as the location of Paul’s martyrdom (Prudentius, On the Crown of Martyrdom 12).14 So the story of Paul’s death in Rome was glorified and developed as part of local and Roman Church politics.15 The Martyrdom of Paul was composed during the reign of Trajan (98– 117 CE), probably in central or southwestern Asia Minor.16 Later, Mart. Paul (Acts Paul 14) was revised and expanded with an act in Corinth (Acts Paul 12) and travel to Rome (Acts Paul 13) in order to produce a “passion narrative” for Paul (Acts Paul 12–14).17 Thereafter, the Passion Narrative of Paul (Acts Paul 12–14) was preserved and collected with other “Acts of Paul” (e.g., the fourth-century Greek manuscript at Hamburg, P. Hamb., and the sixth-century Coptic manuscript at Heidelberg).18 But the Martyrdom was also excerpted out of the Passion Narrative of Paul and edited for hagiographical purposes, especially for liturgical use on Paul’s feast day (29 June; earlier, 28 December). In these independently circulating forms, the Martyrdom may have included preceding materials situated in Rome, particularly Paul’s speech at the house of a certain Claudius (Acts Paul 13).19 Prior to 14

In the sixth century, another site – Aquae Salvias on the Laurentinian Road, also known as the “Three Fountains” – competed as the location of Paul’s martyrdom. 15 On Philippi as an alternate location, see the contributions by H. Koester and A.D. Callahan in C. Bakirtzis and H. Koester (eds.), Philippi at the Time of Paul and after His Death (Harrisburg: Trinity Press International, 1998). 16 On the dating and provenance of the Passion Narrative of Paul (Acts Paul 12–14), see Snyder, Acts of Paul, 199, 205 n.60: this expansion of the Martyrdom was composed after 135 CE, probably during the third quarter of the second century, possibly in Corinth. Coincidentally, it was based on a letter from Dionysius of Corinth (dated by Jerome, Chron. 2, to 172 CE) that Eusebius determined his own understanding of Nero (Hist. eccl. 3.25). 17 The expansion and revision of the Martyrdom of Paul may be related to expansions and revisions in Acts of Peter, which attests to a Quo vadis? scene (35; cp. Acts Paul 13) and a missionary journey to Spain (1–3; 40–41). 18 C. Schmidt, Acta Pauli aus der Heidelberger koptischen Papyrus-handschrift Nr. 1. (Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1904; second enlarged edition, 1905). 19 For example, P. Michigan 1317 and P. Berlin 13893 begin with Paul meeting Claudius, and P. Michigan 3788 begins partway through the speech at the house of Clau-

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or contemporaneous with such excerpting, the speech at the house of Claudius was expanded or contracted;20 and it is unclear whether this speech or some other(s) circulated separately as the “Preaching of Paul.”21 The Martyrdom describes Paul’s stay in Rome. Its theological backdrop is a cosmic war, in which the Evil One is retaliating against Christ, the king of the ages, whose victory over all other kingdoms – including Rome – is imminent.22 In its opening scene, Paul has arrived at Rome and begins to enlist Romans into the Lord’s army, including several soldiers (Justus [Barsabas], Orion, and Hephaestus/Festus) and Patroclus the cupbearer of Nero (Acts Paul 14.1–2). Intolerant of disloyalty and concerned about an uprising, Nero issues an edict (διάταγµα) that all of the “Christians” should be arrested (14.2); and as the “soldiers of Jesus” are assembled, he identifies one of the captives, Paul, as a leader and interrogates the prisoner (14.3). Based on this inquiry, Caesar decides that all of the prisoners should be executed – for crimen laesae maiestatis or some other kind of superstitio – with a sentence of crematio for most and decollatio for Paul23 “by the law of Romans.” But when locals complain about how many condemnations of Romans are occurring without due process, Nero issues a second edict (διάταγµα) to require a proper examination of each case (14.3).24 Officially summoned before “Caesar,” Paul restates his loyalty to “the Lord,” so Nero confirms Paul’s execution. Paul remains in chains until his execution, communicating “the word” to the prefect Longinus and centurion Cestus, as well as to other dius (Acts Paul 13); for descriptions and bibliography for these fourth-century fragments, see CCCA, no. 211.1. 20 Where P. Hamb. 8 ends (Acts Paul 13), the speech continues for several phrases in P. Berlin 13893. According to some scholars (e.g., James, Elliott, and Schneemelcher), the fragmentary materials in P. Heid. 79/80 and P. Mich. 3788 may also be part of the speech, in which the Lord begins to call the disciples by surnames (e.g., Simon as “Peter”) and to teach things greater than raising the dead and feeding the many; otherwise, these materials read as excerpts from a gospel. 21 On the otherwise unattested “Preaching of Paul,” see Clement of Alexandria (Strom. 6.5) and Ps.-Cyprian (Rebapt. 17). Significantly later, in the twelfth century, John of Salisbury (Policraticus 4.3) summarizes another speech of Paul at Athens, which is unrelated to Acts 17. 22 Some of the military language is paralleled in 1 Tim 1.17–18 and 2 Tim 2.3–4, but the ideology is more similar to Eph 6.10–20. 1 Tim is a late pseudepigraph, but 2 Tim and Eph are probably productions of the 70s or 80s CE. 23 According to LSJ (and Tajra, Martyrdom, 129), τραχηλοκοπέω was used to refer to beheading or cutting the throat. But normally the τράχηλος designated the back of the neck (for humans), where the spinal column is located. In the Martyrdom and later traditions, Paul is definitely beheaded (decollatio). But the Martyrdom does not refer to the head after its separation from Paul (e.g., bouncing three times or receiving separate burial), nor do its post-mortem appearances account for Paul’s acephalicity. Like Jesus in John 20, Paul may be an apparition. 24 Tertullian, Nat. 1.7.9 refers to an “institute” of Nero.

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attendants of Nero (14.4–5). On the day of his death, Paul is decapitated by an executioner,25 but milk – rather than blood – spurts onto the soldier’s garments26 (14.5). To the amazement of all, Paul later appears alive, first to Nero and his attendants in the palace (14.6) and then to Longinus and Cestus at Paul’s tomb (τάφος, 14.7). The Martyrdom of Paul – including Paul’s arrest, imprisonment, trial(s), execution, and post-mortem appearances – thus functions as propaganda for the kingdom and power and glory of Christ. To determine the historical value of the Martyrdom of Paul, it is necessary to inquire generally into the narrative’s relations with Acts and other Pauline traditions and also specifically into Paul’s travel, arrest, imprisonment, trial, sentence, execution, and post-mortem appearances in Rome.

History of the Martyrdom of Paul The historical value of the Martyrdom of Paul is determined partly by its relations to Acts and other traditions. Many differences occur between the Martyrdom and Acts. For example, within broader literary contexts, both stories are presented as Paul’s initial visit to Rome, each after a remarkable sea journey from differing locations;27 in Acts, Paul arrives under guard by a Roman solider (28.16),28 whereas in the Martyrdom he arrives freely (14.1; cp. Ign. Rom 4.1–3); in Acts, a politically innocuous Paul (25.8) first assembles the foremost Ἰουδαῖοι (28.17–22) and then preaches to them about Jesus’ role in God’s kingdom from Moses and the prophets (28.23–28), whereas in the Martyrdom Paul preaches especially to Romans about Christ the Lord who will destroy all other kingdoms with fire (see 14.2–4, 6);29 in Acts, Paul is hosted within the city of Rome (28.16, 23 [ξένια], and 30 [µίσθωµα]),30 25

A “speculator” is specified in Athos Vat. 79 and P. Hamb. (σπεκουλάτωρ) and the Latin of Ps.-Linus (spiculator). 26 Some form of the story may have understood the milk to make the soldier’s garments white. 27 Within the “we” materials of Acts, Paul’s odyssey to Rome is from Caesarea Maritima; and within the Passion Narrative of Paul (Acts Paul 12–14), Paul’s voyage from Corinth includes a gospel-like Quo vadis? scene that is paralleled in the Acts of Peter 35. 28 Compare the centurion (ἑκατοντάρχης) named Julius in 27.1, 3, 6, 11, 31, 43, and note the travelogue’s contrast between him and soliders (στρατιῶται) in 27.31, 32, 42. Nonetheless, scribes of Acts apparently identified the solider (στρατιώτης) of 28.16 with Julius, whose name is thoroughly affiliated with Augustus (esp. 27.1). 29 Alternatively, one may parallel Paul’s speech at the house of Claudius (Acts Paul 13) with the speech to the Ἰουδαῖοι in Acts 28.23–28, so that Paul’s proclamation in the Martyrdom (Acts Paul 14) is parallel to the two years of preaching summarized in Acts 28.30–31 (cp. Acts 24.25). 30 Contrast the “D” or “Western” variants of 28.16, discussed for example by Tajra (Martyrdom, 40–46).

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whereas in the Martyrdom he rents a “barn” or “warehouse” outside the city (14.1: ὥριον or ὄρριον for Latin horreum); in Acts, Paul is under custody for the entire two years that he preaches (28.30–31), whereas in the Martyrdom he is at his leisure until an imperial edict occasions his imprisonment (14.3); and the narrative of Acts ends with Paul awaiting a first appearance before the imperator (28.30–31), whereas the Martyrdom includes two dialogues with Nero before his execution (14.3, 4), plus a third post-mortem (14.6). There are at least two ways to interpret these differences31 between Acts and the Martyrdom of Paul, which are not unrelated to scholars’ presuppositions about the historicity of Acts (as well as its canonical status, theological value, divine inspiration, authorship, etc.).32 Some scholars,33 often with a bias for the historicity of Acts, have worked to harmonize the differences between these texts by arguing that the Martyrdom of Paul narrates events 31

For detailed comparisons of particular phrases, see also J.V. Hills, “The Acts of the Apostles in the Acts of Paul,” SBLSP 33 (1994): 24–54, esp. in the Appendix of Acts on 52. Of the fourteen possible parallels listed for the Martyrdom (labeled §11 of “Acts of Paul”), only two warranted his “A” rating (allegedly reflecting “little reasonable doubt” of dependence): Acts 1.5 and 4.8. See also J.V. Hills, “The Acts of Paul and the Legacy of the Lukan Acts,” Semeia 80 (1997): 145–58, which discusses the phrase for “adding” believers (Acts 2.41, 47; 5.14; 11.24). For confirmation, see for example C. Büllesbach, “Das Verhältnis der Acta Pauli zur Apostelgeschichte des Lukas. Darstellung und Kritik der Forschungsgeschichte,” in F.W. Horn (ed.), Das Ende des Paulus. Historiche, theologische, und literaturgeschichtliche Aspekte (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2001), 215–37, at 226–29. For critique, see implicitly P. Herczeg, “New Testament Parallels to the Apocryphal Acta Pauli Documents,” in J.N. Bremmer (ed.), The Apocryphal Acts of Paul and Thecla (Kampen: Kok Pharos, 1996) 142–49; explicitly R. Gounelle, “Actes Apocryphes des Apôtres et Actes des Apôtres canoniques,” RHPR 84 (2004): 419–41, at 431–33. 32 For broader discussion, see Snyder, Acts of Paul, 5–15 et passim. See also the essays by Alexander, Omerzu, Horn, and Marguerat in this volume. 33 See for example Tajra, Martyrdom; Schmidt, ΠΡΑΞΕΙΣ ΠΑΥΛΟΥ ; R. Bauckham, “The Acts of Paul as a Sequel to Acts,” in B.W. Winter and A.D. Clarke (eds.), The Book of Acts in Its Ancient Literary Setting (vol. 1 of The Book of Acts in Its First Century Setting; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1993), 105–52; R. Bauckham, “The Acts of Paul: Replacement of Acts or Sequel to Acts?,” Semeia 80 (1997): 159–68; D. Marguerat, “The Acts of Paul and the Canonical Acts: A Phenomenon of Rereading,” Semeia 80 (1997): 169–83; also published in French as “Actes de Paul et Actes canonique: un phénomène de relecture,” Apocrypha 8 (1997): 207–24; Büllesbach, “Das Verhältnis der Acta Pauli zur Apostelgeschichte.” Common among these interpretations are the chronological and mereological fallacies of dating the Marytrdom as part of an imagined whole Acts of Paul at the end of the second century (normally, within ten years of 180 CE), and on that presupposition arguing that the author reworked parts of Acts while reflecting on contemporary circumstances, theology, etc. Differing among these interpretations are explanations for the author’s valuation of Acts, but all concur that the author’s valuation was dissimilar from the ideologies of “scripture” and “canon” advocated among later “catholic” and “orthodox” writers.

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that occurred sometime after the canonized Acts: according to this theory, after the two years referenced in Acts 28.30–31, Paul was released from Roman imprisonment (with or without a trial before Nero),34 then he traveled elsewhere (e.g., to Spain, the western limit of Rome’s imperium; Rom 15.24, 28),35 and finally he returned to Rome, where the Martyrdom continues his story. In this way, the differences between Acts and the Martyrdom are understood chronologically, so that the stories may be considered historically compatible. Most arguments for this interpretation have presupposed that Acts (at least, in a form similar to the “B” or “Alexandrian” text type) was written prior to the Martyrdom, that the Martyrdom was composed as part of an alleged whole “Acts of Paul” (probably within a decade of 180 CE and perhaps in Asia Minor), and that the author of “Acts of Paul” – including the Martyrdom as one of its parts – depended upon Acts, maybe even literarily.36 This allows the author of the Martyrdom to have composed the Martyrdom as a kind of sequel to Acts, to supplement and complete the story of Paul. Other scholars,37 including the author of this contribution, have argued that the differences between Acts and the Martyrdom constitute discrepancies: rather than a narrative that describes events after the chronology of Acts, the Martyrdom represents a competing story for Paul’s first – and in this case, final – visit to Rome. When understood as competing claims to history, one story may be accepted in its entirety instead of the other (in which case, Acts has normally be preferred); both stories may be rejected; or each may be considered in part and in whole, to determine which of its data may be rendered as evidence for or against a particular theory of Paul’s history. 34

Some have argued, for example with a technical legal interpretation of Acts 28.21 (e.g., Tajra, Martyrdom, 73–74), that Paul’s accusers (delatores) from Judea did not intend to extend Paul’s trial to Rome and that, after a biennium, the legal case was dismissed. Others have argued, for example based on particular readings of 2 Tim 4.16–17 and Rom 13.1–7, that Paul did appear before Caesar but was acquitted based on his defense. See the essays by Omerzu, Horn, and Marguerat in this volume. 35 For traditions of Paul’s travel to Spain (including the interpretation of 1 Clem. 5.7 “having come to the limit of the west”), see the essays in this volume by Grünstäudl and Riesner. 36 Scholarly valuations of the alleged dependence of “Acts of Paul” upon Acts have varied, based on whether “Acts of Paul” is understood as a sequel, replacement, or supplement for Acts. Valuations have been complicated by studying the distinct compositional strands (e.g., the Martyrdom, with its expansion into the Passion Narrative; the Ephesus Act and the Acts of Paul and Thecla, which may have originated separately and later developed within a broader “Lion Cycle”; 3 Corinthians) that only later were patched together and called “Acts of Paul.” 37 See for example Snyder, Acts of Paul; W. Schneemelcher, “Introduction” to “Acts of Paul,” in New Testament Apocrypha, 2:213–37, at 233; W. Schneemelcher, “Die Apostelgeschichte des Lukas und die Acta Pauli,” in W. Eltester and F.H. Kettler (eds.), Apophoreta: Festschrift für Ernst Haenchen zu seinem siebzigsten Geburtstag am 10.

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The latter option – a case-by-case procedure – is my own preference, and that is what I presuppose below when discussing the Martyrdom of Paul. But first I should state my own opinion that neither the ending of Acts (including at least Acts 27.1–28.31) nor the Martyrdom of Paul (including at least Acts Paul 14) depended upon the other text literarily: at least in their penultimate forms, the ending of Acts and the Martyrdom of Paul were produced independently to explain Paul’s initial visit to Rome.38 Both of these texts had antecedent sources and intertexts, oral and/or written, and it is worth determining a text’s traditions whenever possible. But neither form nor redaction criticism may be done accurately without literary, narrative, and other “higher” forms of criticism. For each of these stories was composed not simply as a collection and/or production of data, but with its own plot, themes, etc., including distinct ideologies of Rome, the Ἰουδαῖοι (in Judea and in other locations such as Rome),39 and Paul. Therefore, it is difficult in many cases to determine whether a possible historical datum – for example, a particular statement of Paul to the Ἰουδαῖοι – has more to do with an author, a story, and/or the historical Paul. For this reason, I have omitted discussion of some of the more difficult, “big picture” questions that relate explicitly to the author’s social, political, and theological framing of the Martyrdom. Dezember 1964 (Berlin: A. Töpelmann, 1964), 236–50; reprinted in Schneemelcher, Gesammelte Aufsätze zum Neuen Testament und zur Patristik (Thessaloniki: Patriarchal Institute for Patristic Studies, 1974), 204–22; R.I. Pervo, “A Hard Act to Follow: The Acts of Paul and the Canonical Acts,” Journal of Higher Criticism 2.2 (1995): 3–32; Hills, “Acts of the Apostles in the Acts of Paul”; Hills, “Acts of Paul and the Legacy of the Lukan Acts.” W. Rordorf currently ascribes to this position: earlier, see Rordorf, “Nochmals. Paulusakten und Pastoralbriefe,” in G.F. Hawthorne and O. Betz (eds.), Tradition and Interpretation in the New Testament: Essays in Honor of E. Earle Ellis for His 60th Birthday (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1987), 319–25; but now, see Rordorf, “Im welchem Verhältnis stehen die apokryphen Paulusakten zur kanonischen Apostelgeschichte und zu den Pastoralbriefen?,” in T. Baarda (ed.), Text and Testimony: Essays on New Testament and Apocryphal Literature in Honor of A.J.F. Klijn (Kampen: Kok, 1988); reprinted in Rordorf, Lex Orandi – Lex Credendi, 449–74. Opinions often, but do not necessarily, relate to whether the Martyrdom of Paul is considered separately from other “Acts of Paul.” 38 Bauckham (“Acts of Paul as a Sequel to Acts,” 112) has remarked that a late dating of Acts and early dating of “Acts of Paul” (as an imagined whole) allows the authors to be unacquainted with one another. On “late” datings for the final form(s) of Acts, see, e.g., R.I. Pervo, Dating Acts: Between the Evangelists and the Apologists (Santa Rosa: Polebridge Press, 2006), esp. “Appendix II: Scholarly Estimates of the Date of Acts,” 359–63. 39 On the “Lukan” development of this theme in the so-called “D” or “Western” tradition, see for example E.J. Epp, The Theological Tendency of Codex Bezae Cantabrigiensis in Acts (Cambridge: CUP, 1966); cf. also I. Czachesz, “The Acts of Paul and the Western Text of Luke’s Acts: Paul between Canon and Apocrypha,” in Bremmer (ed.), Apocryphal Acts of Paul and Thecla, 107–25.

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I. Visit at Rome In the Martyrdom, Paul travels freely to Rome (Acts Paul 14.1.1). Preceding him are Luke from Gaul40 and Titus from Dalmatia, who otherwise do not play a role until the end of the narrative (14.1.1; 14.7.1–2; cp. 2 Tim 4.10b– 11). Outside of the city, Paul rents a storage facility and teaches “the word of truth” (Acts Paul 14.1.1; cf. 2 Cor 6.7; Eph 1.13; Col 1.5; 2 Tim 2.15); and there, he becomes “famous” (διαβόητος)41 and “many souls” are “added” to the Lord (cf. Acts 2.41, 27; 5.14), including “a great number from the house of Caesar” (πλῆθος πολὺ ἐκ τῆς Καίσαρος οἰκίας, 14.1.2; cf. Phil 1.13). That Paul visited Rome is practically uncontested, but when, why, and under what circumstances is debatable. The circumstances of Paul’s travel and visit to Rome are so markedly different between Acts and the Martyrdom that either separate visits are conceived or one or both narratives is at least partially inaccurate. Setting Acts in critical abeyance, the general story in the Martyrdom is plausible: Paul planned to travel to Rome (Rom 1; 15); there were communities of Ἰουδαῖοι, and perhaps also Christians, in Rome by the mid-first century; and literary and archaeological materials indicate that these communities were located on major travel routes outside the city walls,42 both in the area west of the Tiber called Trastevere (Augustan region XIV, Transtiberim, with the viae Aurelia and Portuensis) and southeastern area around the Tractus Urbanus (part of Augustan region XII, Piscina Publica, with the viae Appia and Latina).43 As a merchant or skilled worker in general (undisputed epistles) or as a leather worker in particular (σκηνοποιός, Acts 18.3), Paul would have been able to work his trade in such a location and hence, in theory, he may have rented a “barn” or “warehouse” (14.1.1: Latin horreum; Greek ὥριον or ὄρριον). At least, that is similar to how Paul 40

2 Tim 4.10b–11: “Crescens (traveled) to Galatia, Titus to Dalmatia. Luke is alone with me.” Within this pseudepigraphic scenario, it is Crescens (Κρήσκης) rather than Luke who is in Galatia (Γαλατία); and some manuscripts attest to the variant Γάλλια, “Gaul.” Folk etymology associated both names with γάλα, “milk.” Some Latin versions of the Martyrdom attest to the variants a Galilaea (Monascenses) and a Galatia (Ps.Linus) for Luke. 41 The descriptor διαβόητος (14.1.2), which may be a playful contrast with διάβολος (14.1.4), refers to someone whose reputation is well reported orally. 42 Tajra (Martyrdom, 44–46) notes that the Martyrdom refers to the older Servian walls (versus the anachronistic Aurelian walls) and claims that the church of San Paolo alla Regola is the location, as it is proximate to the Tiber (where, for example, tanners may obtain water) and horrea have been excavated in its environs. 43 See the monumental work of P. Lampe, From Paul to Valentinus: Christians at Rome in the First Two Centuries (trans. M. Steinhauser; ed. M.D. Johnson; Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2003), esp. 19–66, 478–79; translated from the second edition of Die stadrömischen Christen in den ersten beiden Jahrhunderten. Untersuchungen zur Sozialgeschichte (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1989).

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normally supported his travel and expenses, and the scenario – at least, if the storage facility were sufficient in size – would allow Paul both to engage in “workplace evangelism” and to accommodate more sizeable crowds on occasion. The Martyrdom therefore has a general plausibility structure that is appropriate for an historical visit. But the specifics of the visit are dubious. On the one hand, the characters Luke and Titus44 were constructed narratively to frame Paul’s visit, apparently for a penultimate form of the Martyrdom that emphasized baptism as a “seal” (σφράγις) for one’s eternal life.45 On the other, the text’s claims to Paul’s fame (14.1.2), including his popularity with many of Nero’s house, may derive from propaganda that was added when the Martyrdom was expanded into the Passion Narrative of Paul (Acts Paul 12–14). For, among other reasons, this compositional stratum of the Martyrdom appears to have a higher degree of intertextuality (with Philippians, if not also Acts) than other parts of the narrative. II. Arrest and Imprisonment According to extant forms of the Martyrdom, Paul was arrested for two specific reasons: the death and uprising (superstitio/ἀνάστασις: “resurrection”) of Nero’s cupbearer Patroclus, and the confession of the imperial bodyguards Justus (Barsabas), Orion, and Hephaestus/Festus. For these were among “the house of Caesar” who heard Paul teach and had pledged their loyalty (fides/πίστις) to “the great king.” With these specifics, the Martyrdom offers the general claim that Paul was among the group arrested when Nero issued an ad hoc edict (διάταγµα) to arrest political insurgents who had invaded the capitol (14.2.6). Rather than singling Paul out for arrest,46 for example based on his fama or his role in the disloyalties of Caesar’s beloved, the Martyrdom claims that Nero cast a broad net and happened to catch a big fish (14.3.1). Therefore, the general occasion for Paul’s arrest has a high degree of plausibility. According to various sources, at least one “persecution” occurred against the Christians in Rome under Nero: the aftermath of the fire in 64 CE.47 Moreover, especially from 62 to 68 CE, Nero was often concerned – 44 Titus was also the name of a cupbearer for Brittanicus, who avoided a poisoned cup (Tacitus, Ann. 13.16). 45 Luke and Titus may also have been portrayed in parallel to disciples of Jesus, such as Peter, Thomas, and/or the “beloved disciple,” who initially denied and abandoned their teacher but later believed. 46 Compare Athos Vat. 79 at 14.4.1. 47 Tacitus, Ann. 15.44; Suetonius, Nero 16 (with 57). See also Sulpicius Severus, Chronicle 2.29; Correspondence of Paul and Seneca 11. On the topic, see W. Rordorf, “Die neronische Christenverfolgung im Spiegel der Apokryphen Paulusakten,” NTS 28 (1981–82): 365–74; reprinted in Rordorf, Lex Orandi – Lex Credendi: Gesammelte

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sometimes rightly so – about sedition and treason, including plots against his life; and his retaliations against these threats were immediate and decisive. Sometime before, during, or after the events of 64 CE, Paul may thus have been arrested as part of a broader raid on alleged enemies of state. That, after all, is normally one of the goals of a “concentration camp” or “detention center”: to head off opposition. Some earlier form of the martyrdom may have narrated only the general occasion for Paul’s arrest, but extant forms of the Martyrdom are explicit about the antecedent cause for Nero’s edict to arrest “Christians”: the alleged disloyalty of some of Caesar’s dearest companions. 1. Patroclus First and foremost is the story of Patroclus, the beloved cupbearer (literally οἰνοχόος, “wine-pourer”) of Nero. Was this story a source for the author of the Martyrdom of Paul, and if so, what is its historical value? Sometimes it has been argued that the Patroclus story was an independently circulating oral and/or written source for the Martyrdom, and often its parallels to the story of Eutychus in Acts 20.7–12 have been discussed. The most common tactic has been to argue that the author of the Martyrdom knew and used some form of the Eutychus story in order to produce the Patroclus story, evincing the author’s dependence upon Acts. But it has also been proposed that, if literary dependence should be argued, it is more probable that Acts – or, at least, the author of the “we” materials – knew and used the Patroclus story.48 Between these options, the authors of Acts and the Martyrdom may have depended upon a common oral or written source. The story of Eutychus in Acts 20.7–12 is part of the “we” materials. The “we” materials (Acts 16.9/10–40; 20.5–21.18; 27.1–28.16) have been evaluated as authentic historical materials and/or as literary fabrications, because its contents are primarily sea travels and short vignettes with apparent verisimilitude. In particular, the Eutychus story is geographically situated in

Aufsätze zum 60. Geburtstag (Universitätsverlag Freiburg Schweiz, 1993), 368–77. Rordorf argues (370–71) that the Martyrdom provides additional evidence for Nero’s persecution of Christians in 64 CE, implicity situating Paul’s execution at approximately the same time. Similarly, 1 Clem. 5–6 and Asc. Isa. 4 have been used for supporting evidence. 48 At least playfully, see Snyder, Acts of Paul, 54–58. Similarly, note the discussion by Pervo (“A Hard Act to Follow,” 11 n.39) on the “Western” form of Acts 20.1–12 in Codex Bezae (D). Pervo interprets the data as evidence for D’s corruption of an earlier (“B”-related) text type of Acts, but it is also possible that D’s “variant” offers evidence for an earlier text type, displaying the process of “Lukan” rewriting of the Martyrdom’s Eutychus story.

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Troas49 (20.6, 13), which is the origin for the author of the “we” materials in NW Asia Minor (see 16.8); and the event is chronologically set after Paul’s “third missionary journey” to Ephesus.50 Like other vignettes in the “we” materials,51 the Eutychus story appears to report an abundance of details, including the precise circumstances and sequence of the events, as well as Paul’s declaration, µὴ θορυβεῖσθε, ἡ γὰρ ψυχὴ αὐτοῦ ἐν αὐτῷ ἐστιν, “Don’t riot,52 for his life is in him” (20.10). Only, due to the narrative’s emphases on descent-and-ascent (20.10, 11) and darkness-to-light (20.7, 11), it is unclear whether the story about Eutychus concerns his uprising (“resurrection”: ἀνάστασις or superstitio) and/or conversion, especially with its reference to breaking bread (20.11; cp. 2.46; 27.35).53 The vignette does not offer any social, theological, or other contribution to the story of Acts;54 and it is unrelated literarily, rhetorically, and otherwise to its preceding and following contexts. As an etiology about how “good fortuned” the young man is, the story of Eutychus is a non-integral part of Acts, even among the otherwise essential “we” materials. Therefore, it is difficult to evaluate the historical value of Acts 20.7–12. Does the Eutychus story represent an historical event, based on an eyewitness or antecedent oral or written tradition? (And if so, did the author of the Patroclus story in the Martyrdom of Paul know the form(s) of the Eutychus story preserved in Acts or in the antecedent source(s)?) Or did the author of this vignette – probably, but not necessarily, the author of the “we” materials – at least partially fabricate the Eutychus story? (And if so, was the author of 49 In case of relevance, note that Τρῳάς (“Troas”) is a variant on Τρωϊάς (“Troy”), where the Iliad’s Patroclus story occurs. See text below for discussion of the Patroclus scene in Homer, Il. 23.65–92, which occurs at Troy/Ilium (Ἴλιος). 50 The “we” materials pause (16.13–40) and continue (20.5) in Philippi. 51 Interestingly, the other vignettes in this block of “we” materials have parallels in the Passion Narrative of Paul (Acts Paul 12–14): in addition to the Eutychus story in Acts 20.7–12 (Patroclus in Acts Paul 14), see the farewell to the Ephesian presbyters in Acts 20.17–38 (dialogue with Corinthians in Acts Paul 12; compare also Acts 21.1–6 for the Spirit’s prophesy and another farewell); and Philip the evangelist’s prophetic daughters in Acts 21.8–9 (Myrta in Acts Paul 12). Other details in this block include the prophesy of Agabus (Acts 21.10–14) and the house of Mnaeus of Cyprus (Acts 21.15–16). Within other blocks of “we” materials, note the details about Lydia in Acts 16.13–40 (cp. Frontina in Acts Paul 10) and the odyssey from Caesarea Maritima to Rome in Acts 27.1–28.15/16. 52 Within Acts, the verb θορυβέω is otherwise used for “rioting” in Thessalonica (concerning a local assembly of Ἰουδαῖοι, 17.5), and the noun θόρυβος is used for “riots” in Ephesus (concerning Diana’s temple, 20.1) and Jerusalem (concerning Yahweh’s Temple, 21.34; 24.18). 53 Compare also the stories of Elijah in 1 Kings 17. 54 In addition to a resuscitation or conversion story, the story of Eutychus may symbolize restoration of a “fallen” young member of the community.

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the Eutychus story reworking an antecedent tradition, perhaps even some form of the Patroclus story?55) Rather than delimiting options to the literary dependence of the Patroclus story upon the Eutychus story or vice-à-versa, it is important to remember that both authors may be preserving parts of a shared tradition. Nonetheless, it is also worth noting that, to the extent that the Eutychus story is a non-integral part of Acts, the Patroclus story is an integral part of the Martyrdom of Paul. The story of Patroclus (Acts Paul 14.1–2) is extant in all written forms of the Martyrdom of Paul, where it functions to occasion Paul’s arrest and imprisonment.56 Like Hephaestus or Zeus’s Ganymede,57 Πάτροκλος – often considered a variant of Πατροκλῆς (perhaps, “renown of the father”) – is introduced in the intimate and loyal position of cupbearer (οἰνοχόος) for the ruler, Nero Caesar (14.1.3). Patroclus arrives late to Paul’s “barn” and is not strong enough to come through the crowd to Paul, but when he sits high atop a window, he hears the word of God (14.1.3).58 But because of the jealousy of the evil slanderer (διάβολος),59 the “boy” (παῖς) falls asleep, falls down from the window, and expires (14.1.4). His death is reported immediately to Nero by his household servants (14.1.4), which greatly pains Caesar (14.2.1).

55

See n.49 above. Citations for subsections of the Martyrdom of Paul (Acts Paul 14) are according to the edition of Zwierlein, Petrus in Rom, 427–49. 57 In a 2010 presentation at the Annual Meeting of the SBL, Pervo discussed possible allusions to the post-Homeric traditions of Patroclus the beloved of Achilles (Aeschylus, fr. 134a), as well as to Zeus’s Ganymede (e.g., Theognis 1345–48). He argued that Ps.Linus’s addition of the descriptor deliciosus (see Martyrium beati Apostoli Pauli) made explicit a sexual relation between Patroclus and Nero. In my opinion, further comparisons should be made with Hephaestus, whose bodily weakness (cp. 14.1.3) was occasionally attributed to being cast down from the heights (cp. 14.1.4), who was once paraded back to Olympus (by Dionysus) on an animal (cp. 14.1.7), and who often functioned – at least, in the absence of Ganymede – as wine-pourer for the Olympians (cp. 14.1.3; 14.2.2; 14.6.3). The name “Hephaestus” – which sometimes functioned metonymically for fire – occurs explicitly, but apparently for another character, in 14.2.5. 58 Compare Zacchaeus with Jesus in Jericho (Luke 19.1–10). 59 Compare 1 Clem. 5. Tajra (Martyrdom, 168) understands the author of 1 Clem. to attribute jealousy and envy to “the Roman Jewish community.” But a broader analysis of the rhetoric indicates that it is common to ὁµόνοια discourses in general; see M.M. Mitchell, Paul and the Rhetoric of Reconciliation: An Exegetical Investigation of the Language and Composition of 1 Corinthians (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1991), 97 and references ad loc. To the extent that a social group may be blamed for the “jealousy” or “zeal” in question, it appears to be local or Roman authorities. But compare the “jealousy” attributed to the “evil slanderer” in Acts Paul 14.1.4. 56

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An earlier, non-extant form of the Martyrdom may have understood Nero’s subsequent persecution of the “Christians” in Rome to function as vengeance for the death of Patroclus.60 Meanwhile in extant forms of the Martyrdom, the Spirit reveals the fall of Patroclus to Paul, who proclaims that the fallen “boy” (παῖς) is only about to expire and that he should be carried inside to Paul (14.1.5). For, says Paul, ἔσχεν ὁ πονηρὸς τόπον, ὅπως ἡµᾶς πειράσῃ, “the evil one has an opportunity61 to put you62 on trial” (14.1.5). In order to remain undisturbed, Paul exhorts the brothers to cry out to the Lord for the boy to live (14.1.6). So the brothers pray, and the boy arises and regains his spirit; and after settling him,63 they send him back with others from the household of Caesar (14.1.7; cp. 14.1.2). Back in the palace,64 Nero commands that another be appointed over the wine (14.2.1), so he is astounded when his “boys” (παῖδες, servants like Patroclus) announce that Patroclus is alive and standing over the dining table (14.2.2). Nero65 orders Patroclus to enter (ἔρχοµαι),66 apparently into the bath area (βαλανεῖον, 14.2.1), where a short dialogue occurs (14.2.2–4). It is here that Patroclus, in reply to Nero’s leading questions, proclaims that he soldiers for Jesus, the “king of (the entire cosmos and) all ages” and “destroyer of all kingdoms,” “for indeed he has raised me who had died” (14.2.4). According to extant forms of the Martyrdom, Nero strikes Patroclus for his confession (14.2.4) and then, when others confess, he interrogates and imprisons them as well67 (14.2.5–6). Nero then commands an inquiry of the soliders of “the great king” and issues an edict that all those found to be “Christians” should be arrested (14.2.6). An earlier form of the Martyrdom may have understood the inquiry to be restricted to Nero’s soliders, in order to eliminate “Christians” from among the Roman army; but extant forms understand “the great king” to be Jesus, so that all Christians are “soliders” who should be removed from among the Romans. Therefore, in extant forms of the Martyrdom, Paul is arrested as a result of the death, resuscitation, and post-mortem appearance of Patroclus. 60

Possible, but improbable, is that an earlier form of the Patroclus story did not include any kind of revivification, so that the death of Patroclus occasioned the wrath of Nero (cp. the rage of Achilles against the Trojans); more likely, as discussed below, is a form in which Patroclus died bodily but was raised in spirit (perhaps after Christian crematio). Compare Paul’s explanation in 14.1.5. 61 Alternatively, the Martyrdom of Paul 14.1.5 may refer to a specific location (τόπος, “place”) for trial or punishment. For example, famous was Campus Esquilinus (later, the Severan Sessorium), where slaves were executed; there, the heads of other notables, such as Plautius Lateranus and Servius Sulpicius Galba Caesar Augustus, sometimes rolled (Tacitus, Ann. 15.60; Plutarch, Galb. 28). Conversely, see Tajra’s discussion of auditoria (Martyrdom, 19, citing Dig. 42.1.54.1). In its final form(s), the Martyrdom appears to use the phrase “the evil one” to refer to a demonic individual (variously called the Accuser [σατάν, a transliteration of the Hebrew] or Slanderer [διάβολος]); one or

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But the extant form(s) of the Patroclus story may not be the earliest, even within some form of the Martyrdom of Paul. In extant forms, Patroclus does seem to be raised bodily, so that he “appears” to Nero in flesh-and-blood: after all, he is among those imprisoned (14.2.6; 14.6.3). But an earlier form of his story may have been an intertextual reworking of Homer’s Iliad, where the soul (ψυχή) and phantom (εἴδωλον) of another Patroclus – whose body was slain by the hand of Hector – appears by night to Achilles (Il. 23.65–92): in this vision of the afterlife, the deceased Patroclus begs to be mourned properly, with cremation and burial in a golden coffer, so that his bones may be reunited with his beloved companion upon death.68 (Meanwhile, having avenged the death of Patroclus by killing Hector, Achilles had celebrated with a feast, enjoying the pleasures of sumptuous food and wine.) It is not difficult to hypothesize an earlier form of the Patroclus story in which a similar story occurred: by deleting a later insertion (14.1.5–7),69 as well as the subsequent more antecedent stories, edited by the author(s) of the Martyrdom, may have used the phrase to refer to Nero and/or one of his representatives. 62 Patmos S. John 48 and Coptic versions read ὑµᾶς; Athos Vat. 79 and Latin read ἡµᾶς, “we.” Piñero and del Cerro (Hechos de Pablo y Tomás, 833) propose Acts 5.3 as a parallel. 63 The phrase καθίσταντες αὐτόν (14.1.7) is ambiguous. Was Patroclus rising bodily, so that they had to sit him down (perhaps lest he ascend to heaven; cf. 2 Cor 12.7)? Were they seating Patroclus on a steed, and if so, why? (For example, had he been healed but not yet regained his strength? Was he, as apparently in 14.1.3, simply weak even when healthy? Had he been revived but not healed, so that he continued to have an injury?) The CCSA edition adds ἐπὶ κτῆνος, “on a steed.” 64 Many expansions to Nero’s dialogue with Patroclus occur in Athos Vat. 79, compared to Patmos S. John 48. Throughout the Martyrdom, Patmos S. John 48 typically follows a text more similar to P. Hamb. When differences occur, rarely does Athos Vat. 79 agree with P. Hamb. against Patmos S. John 48 (but see 14.4.3; 14.5.2; 14.5.3 [bis]; 14.5.4; 14.6.1; and perhaps 14.7.2); normally, the latter agrees with P. Hamb. Only occasionally does P. Hamb. include materials unattested in the other manuscripts (see 14.3.2; 14.5.3; 14.5.4; 14.6.2; 14.7.1). 65 Athos Vat. 79, as well as the 4th cent. Latin Ps.-Linus and some 4th–5th cent. Latin fragments of the Passio, describe Nero’s wonder and disbelief. 66 As with Paul’s apparition (14.6.1), the Martyrdom does not describe how Patroclus “entered.” 67 Patroclus is released from prison in all extant forms of the Martyrdom (14.6.3). But if an earlier form of the Patroclus story included him appearing only as a spirit (cp. the Patroclus apparition in Homer, Il. 23.65–92), he would not have been among those imprisoned. 68 Also interesting is Achilles’s reply (Homer, Il. 23.93–98), when he addresses Patroclus as κεφθλή, “O head.” Achilles accepts the command of Patroclus but proposes to hug him again. When Achilles extends his hands, the soul of Patroclus whisps away like smoke, muttering (23.99–101). 69 Literary seams are apparent in the discrepancy between whether Patroclus did (14.1.4) or did not (14.1.5) “expire,” and by the chronological inconsistency introduced

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reference to Patroclus’s release from prison (14.6.3), that may well be the story preserved in 14.1.3–4 and 14.2.70 For in this hypothetical earlier form of the Patroclus story, Nero was vexed by the bodily death but spiritual life of Patroclus,71 and it was his rage against conspirators within his army that occasioned his edict against the “Christians.” According to that story, fiery vengeance against the death and/or desertion of Patroclus would have been Nero’s motive for Paul’s execution. But did the death of an historical individual, a cupbearer named Patroclus, occasion Nero’s execution of Paul? Probably not.72 But what is interesting about the story of Patroclus, setting aside most of its particulars, is the plausibility structure it produces: in this story, the local persecution of “Christians” in Rome, which happens to include Paul, is occasioned by the personal aspirations and political concerns of Nero. Granted, followers of Jesus may not yet have been known as Christiani (cf. Χριστιανοί, Acts 11.26), and it is improbable – especially with the story’s probable allusions to Homer’s Iliad – that the name and position of Patroclus are historical.73 But the story of Patroclus – like the subsequent confession(s) of Justus (Barsabas), Orion, and Hephaestus/Festus – offers plausible occasion for Nero’s identification of Christ followers and his categorizing them as a superstitio, “uprising” (cp. ἀνάστασις). For, setting aside the death of Paul, the events of 64 CE would not have occurred if Nero were unacquainted with Christians.

into the original narrative (from 14.1.4 to 14.2.1) with the addition of further material at the “barn” scene (14.1.5–7). In this hypothetical earlier form, Nero’s confusion and surprise is based on the bodily death but spiritual life of Patroclus. 70 The hypothetical earlier form also may not have included some or all of the follow up dialogue between Patroclus and Nero in 14.2.3–4; it may have progressed simply and plainly from the confession of “dead” Patroclus (14.2.2) to the confessions of the living soldiers (14.2.5). For within this subdialogue (14.2.3–4) Nero, having not yet heard “the word,” is made to ask leading questions; and it is within this subscene that Nero strikes the face of Patroclus (cp. Matt 5.39; 26.67). See further n.72 below. 71 It is unclear whether Patroclus had yet received burial rites, Christian or Roman, in this hypothetical earlier form of the story. But allusions to one or more kinds of Christian fire rites burn brightly through the text. 72 Practically all of the dialogue with Nero, in both the Patroclus story and the story of Longinus and Cestus, is probably a later addition. Athos Vat. 79 provides abundant evidence that the dialogues with Nero continued to be expanded and modified, especially as part of the sacralization of Paul and demonization of Nero. But the earliest additions of the dialogues with Nero, together with the post-mortem prophesies and appearances of Paul, may have been added contemporaneously with expansions of the Martyrdom into the Passion Narrative of Paul (Acts Paul 12–14). 73 There are no historical records for a cupbearer by this name.

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2. Justus (Barsabas), Orion, and Hephaestus/Festus Another part of the Patroclus story – where many textual variants occur among the manuscripts and versions – is the confession of three74 other “soldiers of the great king,” who are the bodyguards of Nero (14.2.5–6): Justus (Ἰοῦστος), Orion (Ὠρίων),75 and Hephaestus/Festus (Ἥφαιστος/Φῆστος).76 The latter two bear the names of a Greek hero and god, respectively; and some parallels may be drawn between Patroclus and Hephaestus. But in the Martyrdom, the soldiers are representatives of north central Asia Minor: Orion is “the Cappadocian” (Καππάδοξ), and Festus is “the Galatian” (Γαλάτης).77 Particularly interesting is the first-named soldier Justus, who often bears the transliterated Hebrew name Βαρσαβ(β)ᾶς.78 For that is the compound – and complex – name of a renowned but mysterious character in Acts: Joseph Barsabas “Justus” (see Acts 1.23 and 4.36–37, including variants).79 On analogy to Orion and Festus, one would expect this Justus to be described with a similar place name (e.g., “the Lycaonian,” a plains region immediately south of Galatia). But the descriptor normally ascribed to him is πλατύπους, “the flat-footed.”80 After the appearance of Patroclus, it is the confession of these soliders, formerly so dear to the imperator, that occasions their interrogation and imprisonment,81 as well as Nero’s edict for the arrest of other Christians (14.2.6).82 For not only was there disloyalty to Caesar; the imperium of Rome is at stake.83 74 A Slavic version of the 15th or 16th century reads only two soldiers: Barnabas Justus and Hephaestus/Festus. 75 Fourth-century Latin manuscripts of the Martyrdom read Arion, probably from an uncontracted Greek antecedent Ὠαριων; but the variant Ὀυρίων in Patmos S. John 48 is odd. In Israelite receptions of Orion (Job 9.9; 38.31; Amos 5.8), the hunter was paired with other astrological phenomena: the Pleiades (or “Seven Sisters”) and Ursa Major. 76 Most manuscripts, including P. Hamb., read φῆστος; a ninth-century variant is ἥφεστος. The only character by that name in NT materials is the Roman governor of Judea Πόρκιος Φῆστος, Porcius Festus (Acts 24.7–26.32), at the beginning of whose governorship (60–62 CE) Paul was allegedly transferred to Caesar. Among the conspirators against Nero was a certain Marcius Festus (Tacitus, Ann. 15.50), but there is no other coincidence of named individuals. 77 For the ethnic term, see Gal 3.1; other NT references, nominal (1 Cor 16.1; Gal 1.2; 2 Tim 4.10b [var.]; 1 Pet 1.1) and adjectival (Acts 16.6; 18.23), are regional. 78 Latin manuscripts also attests Barsaba and Barnabas (cp. n.74 on the Slavic). See the textual variants at Acts 1.23 and 4.36–37. 79 Bauckham (“Acts of Paul as a Sequel to Acts,” 111 n.15) has noted how frequently names common to Acts and “Acts of Paul” describe different characters. 80 Alternatively, the name “flat-footed” is ascribed to Orion in the Coptic versions and Athos Vat. 79 (10th–11th cent.). 81 The late Slavic version also orders them beheaded; but cf. 14.6.3. 82 In the final edited forms of the Martyrdom, Nero’s edict for “Christians” ἀναιρεῖσθαι – woodenly, “to be lifted up” – means “to be arrested.” But within the Pa-

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Dennis R. MacDonald84 has noted another narrative about a certain Justus surnamed Barsabas, which has been preserved by Eusebius (Hist. eccl. 3.39.9[–10]). There, after discussing the sayings of Papias (3.39.1–7), Eusebius continues (3.39.8) to discuss certain incredible events (παράδοξα) and other things that Papias had received through tradition (παράδοσις). In contrast to subsequent materials that were derived “from unwritten tradition” (ἐκ παραδόσεως ἀγράφου, 3.39.11), Eusebius understands Papias to have reported a “wonderful narrative” (διήγησις θαυµασία) from the daughters of Philip in Hierapolis: νεκροῦ γἀρ ἀνάστασιν κατ αὐτὸν γεγονυῖαν ἱστορει καὶ ἆυ πάλιν ἕτερον παράδοξον περὶ Ἰοῦστον τὸν ἐπικληθέντα Βαρσαβᾶν γεγονός, ὡς δηλητήριον φάρµακον ἐµπιόντος καὶ µηδὲν ἀηδὲς διὰ τὴν τοῦ κυρίου χάριν ὑποµείναντος. For he describes an uprising (“resurrection”) of a dead man that occurred during his time, and later again a different incredible event about Justus who was surnamed Barsabas, how he drinks a noxious potion and, not even nauseous, he endures on account of the Lord’s grace. (Papias, apud Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 3.39.9)

MacDonald discusses the second part of the report, as well as the following material (Hist. eccl. 3.39.10), where Eusebius (rather than Papias) identifies Justus Barsabas as the character of Acts 1.23. According to MacDonald, Papias – or, at least, Eusebius’s “Papias” – did not acquire the story about Justus Barsabas from the later canonized Acts but rather from some other source. That source, MacDonald hypothesizes, was related to the Martyrdom, so that it reports an otherwise non-extant backstory: after Justus Barsabas was imprisoned by Nero (14.2.6), he was sentenced not to crematio like most of the “Christians”;85 rather, as a soldier guilty of defection, Justus was sentenced to execution by poison, which he drank yet survived.86 That is why, MacDonald infers, Justus Barsabas was not yet dead and able to be released by Nero at the end of the Martyrdom (14.6.3). (On this reading, presumably a similar non-fate occurred for Patroclus.)

troclus story and/or some earlier form(s) of the Martyrdom, the verb may have meant “to be killed” (e.g., Schneemelcher, New Testament Apocrypha, 2.261), perhaps through literal “lifting up.” The verb ἀναιρέω is often used thusly in Acts (compare ὑπόω in John). On the “lifting up” of Christians in Rome, see Tacitus, Ann. 15.38–39, 42–44. 83 Tajra (Martyrdom, 11–14) argues that the charge of crimen laesae maiestatis was at stake, as sedition against Rome’s imperium and treason against imperator Nero. 84 D.R. MacDonald, The Legend and the Apostle: The Battle for Paul in Story and Canon (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1983), 24–25. 85 Only the late Slavic version explicitly includes a sentence for the character it calls “Barnabas Justus”: decaptiation. 86 Compare Tacitus’s references to Seneca surviving death by poison (Ann. 15.60, 64), at least until heated with a bath’s water and steam. Seneca was subsequently cremated without ceremony.

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An interesting possibility is that Papias’s source was none other than some form of the Patroclus story. For, what Eusebius attributes to Papias is a written source allegedly acquired from the daughters of Philip in Hierapolis (in Phrygia, immediately adjacent to the alleged origins of “Orion” and “Hephaestus/Festus”). That narrative included not one but two incredible events (παράδοξα): prior to the vignette about Justus Barsabas (see the literary marker καὶ ἆυ πάλιν), the narrative also described a dead man’s ἀνάστασις, “uprising” or “resurrection,” allegedly during Philip’s (not Papias’s) lifetime. Sadly, neither of these events is explicitly described in relation to Paul or his martyrdom, nor does Eusebius describe the dead man or his post-mortem appearance. So the hypothesis must remain conjectural. References to named individuals are not historically implausible. Late in the reign of Trajan (98–117 CE), Tacitus describes by name, and with many details, a number of historical individuals who were executed or murdered by Nero, including the legendary death in 65 CE of the imperator’s former tutor and advisor Seneca (Ann. 15.45, 56, 60–67; cp. Suetonius, Nero). By the end of the second century, Tertullian even claims to have access to the imperial records of Paul’s death, which apparently were in Latin (Scorp. 15.3–4).87 So it is possible that, if an event similar to the Patroclus story were the occasion for Paul’s arrest, Justus – if not also Orion and Festus – were among the historical individuals accused by Nero as followers of “Christ” and judged guilty of superstitio (“uprising”; cp. ἀνάστασις). But none of these individuals is named in other extant sources. 3. Longinus and Cestus Two additional characters of interest are the prefect Longinus (πραιφέκτος Λόγγινος) and centurion (ἑκατοντάρχος) Cestus.88 According to extant forms of the Martyrdom, Paul communicated (ἀνακοινόω) the word to these characters after Nero’s preliminary interrogation (14.3.4). The location and duration of this communication are undefined, but within the Martyrdom, it was during the arrest if not execution (ἀναιρέω) of many Christians (14.3.5). Whether this communication was understood by the author of the Martyrdom to be part of Paul’s trial – for example, the preparation of an official statement – is unclear, but such may be implied by the subsequent reference to Paul’s official summons before Nero (14.4.1). 87 Tertullian’s technical phrases in Scorp. 15.3–4 are commentarius, instrumenta imperii, and vitae Caesarum. See Tertulliani Opera, CCSL 2.1096–97, for primary text; for discussion, see Snyder, Acts of Paul, 31–33. 88 Significant variation occurs for the name Cestus: Κέστος, Κέσµος, Megistus, and Acestus. Other variants for the names and descriptions also occur occasionally: the shorter name Λόγγος for Λόγγινος, as well as transliteration for the Latin centurio (κεντ(ο)υρίων, rather than ἑκατοντάρχος).

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In extant forms of the Martyrdom, the subsequent dialogue with Longinus and Cestus is understood to have occurred later than Paul’s “communication” of the word, as part of his execution scene at an unspecified location (14.4.2– 3, 14.5.2). But an earlier form of the dialogue may have been uninterrupted by the passages about Nero (see 14.4.1; 14.5.1; and perhaps also 14.3.1–3), so that Paul’s dialogue with the prefect and centurion was part of “the word” that Paul communicated during his final hours. In any case, it is only within Paul’s dialogue with Longinus and Cestus that he communicates two data that are essential for the Martyrdom’s plot. First, Paul states clearly the Martyrdom’s Christology that the king for whom “we soldier” (note the first person plural) is the living God from heaven, a judge of the living and dead against the lawless deeds of the world, and will come to cleanse the inhabited realm with burnings (14.4.2). Cognition of such ideology is probably what would have occasioned Nero’s earlier-stated preference for crematio (14.3.3): he is fighting (eschatological heavenly) Fire with (currently earthly) fire. Second, when Longinus and Cestus ask (however sincerely or facetiously89) how they may live once Paul is decapitated (14.4.3), Paul replies that the two should come immediately to his grave (τάφος) to find Titus and Luke, who will give them “the seal in Christ” (τὴν ἐν Χριστῷ σφραγῖδα, 14.5.2). Both Longinus and Cestus appear again later in the story. Whether or not Cestus is Paul’s executioner (14.5.3),90 literarily Longinus and Cestus should be among those who marvel at Paul’s beheading – a visible symbol of Paul’s promised life – and who subsequently report the events to Caesar (14.5.4). Cestus is probably the centurion referenced at Paul’s first post-mortem appearance (14.6.1), even if this appearance story is a later addition to the narrative. As instructed in the dialogue, Cestus and others – probably including Longinus – appear “very early” (ὄρθρου; cp. Luke 24.1) to Paul’s tomb (τάφος, 14.7.1; cp. Matt 28.1), where instead of giving death to Titus and Luke, they receive eternal life, oddly by convincing Paul’s followers that he had appeared between them in prayer91 (14.7.2). In extant forms of the Martyrdom, Paul’s marvelous death was therefore used to promote the 89 Another curious part of the dialogue is the offer to release Paul, followed by his reply that he is not a deserter (δραπέτης, 14.4.3). Highlighted, for better and for worse, is the immediacy with which Longinus and Cestus change allegiances, in contrast to Paul’s loyalty to his king. (Whether implicit contrast is made with Peter, at the death of Jesus or subsequently [see Acts 12.1–19], is unclear.) On military themes and conversions, see C.R. Moss, The Other Christs: Imitating Jesus in Ancient Christian Ideologies of Martyrdom (Oxford: OUP, 2010), esp. 69–73, 87–102. 90 Nero occasionally used centurions for executions/murders; see for example Tacitus, Ann. 14.8, 59, 64. 91 Among the variants and versions, different phrasing occurs, with some traditions indicating Paul standing a little before Titus and Luke and others indicating Paul’s distinct prayer or speaking; see the apparatus in Zwierlein, Petrus in Rom, 448.

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immediate loyalty (fides/πίστις) of the Roman prefect and centurion.92 So also in hypothetical earlier forms of the Longinus and Cestus story, where emphasis is on securing one’s allegiance to Christ with a “seal” (again, σφραγῖδα, 14.7.3).93 The characters Longinus and Cestus are therefore integral to extant forms of the Martyrdom. The specifics of the Patroclus story (including the references to Justus [Barsabas], Orion, and Hephaestus/Festus) may be a later addition to the Martyrdom, but are the specifics of Longinus and Cestus? Literarily, it is difficult to imagine a written form of the Martyrdom without the inclusion of Longinus and Cestus. At the very least, any recognizable earlier form of the Martyrdom would have included some form of their story; for, many of the details about imperator Nero are secondary interpolations into an antecedent narrative that included Longinus and Cestus, perhaps as the primary or only interrogators of Paul. (As discussed below, Parthenius and Pheretas also were interpolated into the story.) Therefore, an earlier (if not the earliest) written form of the Martyrdom – its “penultimate” form – probably highlighted the “sealing” of Longinus and Cestus. Historical or fabricated, these characters therefore played a major role in the earliest written traditions about Paul’s death and afterlife. 4. Parthenius and Pheretas In addition to an interpolated summons before imperator Nero (14.4.1), which was part of the editorial inclusion of the Patroclus story (cf. also 14.3.1–3), the story about Longinus and Cestus is interrupted by another addition: the appearance of a certain Parthenius and Pheretas (14.5.1, perhaps with the narrative in 14.5.2). Whether this addition was concurrent with the abovereferenced interpolation about Nero is difficult to determine. But especially if Parthenius and Pheretas are among the “philosophers” later in Nero’s palace (14.6.1), it is probable that this addition was part of the edition that added Paul’s post-mortem appearances (discussed below). In any case, when Parthenius and Pheretas interrupt the dialogue with Longinus and Cestus to inquire whether Paul has been beheaded (14.5.1), the vignette functions as an occasion not only to lengthen the death scene of Paul dramatically, but also to enable Paul to prophesy a post-mortem appearance, just as he does in the 92

Compare the centurion at Jesus’ death in Mark 15.39; Matt 27.54; Luke 23.47. With anachronism and part-whole fallacies, it is often argued that Paul’s preaching in the Martyrdom (Acts Paul 14) would have been the kind of encratism advocated in other “Acts of Paul,” notably the Ephesus Act (Acts Paul 9) and the Acts of Paul and Thecla (Acts Paul 3–4), and hence it is wrongly inferred that the baptism advocated in the Martyrdom must also be encratic. Romantically, Pervo – in an unpublished paper from the 2010 Annual Meeting of the SBL – has argued that such encratism was one of the matters that Nero considered most unseemly about Patroclus’s new loyalty. 93

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interpolation with Nero (14.4.1).94 Like other references to the direct participation of Nero in Paul’s trial, the vignette about Parthenius and Pheretas is probably a later addition to the Martyrdom, with no historical value. Rather, whether or not they are among the philosophers in Nero’s presence (14.6.1), Paul’s statement to Parthenius and Pheretas functions literarily as a prophecy to be fulfilled in his later appearances (14.6 and 14.7). The author who composed their vignette, as well as contemporaneous additions about Nero and Paul’s post-mortem appearances, may even have constructed the characters to function similarly to Thomas in the Gospel of John (20.24–29), which may have been an intertext for the author of that compositional stratum. III. Trial(s) and Judgment The trial(s) and judgment of Paul have verisimilitude according to Roman legal procedure, at least for certain trials with the accusation of crimen laesae maiestatis.95 But the story’s literary seams, including the dialogues between Paul and Nero, indicate that the details have been artificially constructed, among other reasons, in order to weave some form of the Patroclus story (see sections II.1–2 above)96 together with the earlier form of the Martyrdom that highlighted the “sealing” of Longinus and Cestus (see sections II.3–4 above). Harry W. Tajra has discussed the order for a Roman legal trial of someone accused of crimen laesae maiestatis, “the crime of damaging dignity,” a subtype of treason and/or sedition. Based on the preceding confession of the soldiers (see sections II.1–2 above), the imperator would have been able to order an edict of arrest and interrogate the prisoners on one or more occasions to determine a precise charge, then allow both parties to formulate a case, and finally put the defendants on trial. Once the accused was judged guilty, the condemned would remain in chains until the sentence was executed – normally banishment or death. Citizens were entitled to this legal procedure, and Paul is portrayed as receiving a form of execution normally reserved for Roman citizens: decapitation. But whereas Paul is clearly identified as a Roman citizen in Acts 16.37–38; 22.25–29; 25.10, it is debatable whether

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See Mart. Paul 14.6 for Paul’s first post-mortem appearance. On the crimen laesae maiestatis, see Dig. 48.4. Some of the offenses include assembling against the state, occupying public places or temples, sending a message or letter to enemies of the Romans, soliciting soldiers to sedition or a tumult, etc. At stake (48.4.11) is high treason and malicious intent toward the state or imperator. 96 It is difficult to determine what form of “the Patroclus story” the author received and from where. The story is not preserved in its entirety, but it apparently included a variety of technical legal terms and may have inspired the author to edit the Longinus and Cestus story so that it conformed more proximately to Roman legal procedure, at least as imagined by the author in the case of Paul’s ad hoc trial. Compare n.122 below. 95

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Paul’s individual sentencing in the Martyrdom is due to citizenship97 or to his “heading” an alleged uprising.98 In any case, the trial is similar to other attested cases, providing the appearance of a well documented, if poorly narrated, event. Nonetheless, the Martyrdom’s literary seams indicate where and how the trial was artificially constructed. Nero’s leading question for Paul is well asked (14.3.2),99 based on the preceding confessions of Patroclus (14.2.2–3) and his bodyguards (14.2). But as Tajra has argued, if a preliminary interrogation occurred, the procedure probably would have been done not by Nero but by one of his legal representatives, such as the urban prefect (praefectus urbis) – that is, within the narrative world of the Martyrdom, Longinus. Moreover, at least two details indicate that Nero’s sentence (14.3.3) has been displaced from an earlier location in the Longinus and Cestus story: one is the odd location of Nero’s sentence of “burning with fire” (14.3.3) before Paul’s statement about Christ “burning the inhabited realm” (14.4.2),100 since Nero’s punishment reads like a quid pro quo punishment based on Paul’s yet unstated claim (14.3.3, καὶ ταῦτα ἀκούσας, “(And) having heard these things...”);101 and the other is the explicit narrative theology in the material that separates the first two references to Longinus and Cestus (14.3.5–4.1). There, filled with the passions of rage and fear, Nero’s motives are ascribed to “the evil one,” and his change of policy is based on people’s opinions.102 Regardless, Paul, “filled with holy spirit” (anarthrous), confesses to the charge of enlisting soldiers not only from Nero’s province (ἐπαρχία) but from the entire inhabited realm (οἰκουµένη, 14.3.2); and his statement is expanded by the Hamburg manuscript of “Acts of Paul” to include the threat of fire, so that Caesar may effect his judgment. 97

A death sentence resulted in immediate loss of citizenship and freedom (Dig. 48.19.29 [Gaius]), as well as property (Dig. 48.20). 98 See Dig. 49.1.16 (Modestinus). The “head” wordplay is explicit in the case of Plautus (Tacitus, Ann. 14.57–59). 99 Mart. Paul 14.3.2 (ascribed to Nero): “Man of the great king – and my prisoner: why did it seem good to you to enter secretly into the domain of Romans and to enlist soldiers from my kingdom?” 100 Rordorf (“Die neronische Christenverfolgung,” 368/371) has noted that Eusebius ascribes similar ideology to some Christians during the reign of Domitian (Hist. eccl. 3.20.4–5). Also discussed (369–71) are the Oracles of Hystaspes (Vishtaspa) and Sibyl, cited in the second century by Justin (1 Apol. 20.1; 44.12–13) and Clement of Alexandria (Strom. 6.43.1–12), which “prophesy” the destruction of Rome with fire. Compare also Acts 17.31 and intertexts for 2 Pet 3.7, 10 (1 Enoch; Jude; etc.). 101 P. Hamb.’s addition at 14.3.2 appears to solve the problem. 102 The vignette about Parthenius and Pheretas was interpolated contemporaneously or posterior to the emendations that produced the extant trial sequence, since (in its extant form[s]) the vignette relates less to the execution of the trial’s sentence than to Paul’s post-mortem appearance at the imperial palace (14.6).

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Therefore, the historical trial of Paul is either unattested in the Martyrdom or only partly – and very poorly – preserved in the story of Longinus and Cestus. If the latter, Paul’s trial would have been markedly different and shorter in sequence: as the apparent “head” of an uprising, Paul was interrogated by the prefect Longus,103 where Paul made an official statement that necessitated his continued imprisonment. Then, either Nero adjudicated Paul’s case personally from afar,104 based on written correspondence (memorandum) from his legal representative (allegedly the prefect Longinus);105 or he ratified a verdict previously determined by the prefect.106 That or a similar set of circumstances may have been what occasioned Nero’s edict to burn the prisoners with fire, as is otherwise attested for the fire of 64 CE.107 If historical, records of the trial would have been made in Latin. But did Nero set apart Paul for “neck-cutting”? The accusation of crimen laesae maiestatis often resulted in one’s death politically (with loss of citizenship and property, as well as exile) or bodily (execution), and there were several forms of execution available: normal punishments included hanging at the gallows, being burned alive, and decapitation (capitis amputatio);108 and for non-citizens, condemnation to the beasts, crucifixion, or being burned alive (as in many of the later martyrdom stories).109 According to early descriptions, decapitation may have been a preferred means of execution for Christians who were Roman citizens (at least, during the Flavian and Antonine eras);110 and that is probably part of the rationale for Paul’s decapitation in the Martyrdom. But additional rationales are possible, since Nero 103 For description of imperial jurisdiction and the use of delegates (e.g., an urban prefect), see Tajra, Martyrdom, 12–17. 104 Tajra judges that Nero also would not have issued the verdict (Martyrdom, 17). 105 Suetonius (Nero 15) describes precisely such practice. Presumably, such written correspondence would have been part of the official court records, written in Latin and allegedly accessible to Tertullian (Scorp. 15). Such documents, however real or imagined, may have been part of the author’s source for the Longinus and Cestus material. 106 Capital sentences were normally reviewed by the imperator (Suetonius, Nero 10), and it was customary for the execution of judgments to be delayed until officially registered (e.g., Tacitus, Ann. 3.51). The Parthenius and Pheretas material (14.5.1) imagines the customary timeframe between the judgment of Longinus (or Nero) and Paul’s execution. An earlier form of this vignette – if contemporaneous to other Nero additions – may have indicated Nero’s ratification of the prefect’s verdict. Tajra (Martyrdom, 21) argues that a titulus (πίναξ) would have been produced for Paul, with an explanation for the execution (cp. Tertullian, Bapt. 17.5). 107 Compare Dig. 48.19.28.12 on burning arsonists alive. 108 Dig. 48.19.28. For execution by fire, see subsections 11 on slaves and 12 on arsonists. 109 Ign. Rom. 5; Herm. Vis. 3.2; Justin, Dial. 10. 110 Rev 20.4; Pliny, Ep. 10.96; Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 5.1.47; 5.21.4 (citing an “archaic law”).

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occasionally displayed the heads of decapitated opponents (e.g., Faustus Cornelius Sulla Felix and Rubellius Plautus in 62 CE).111 A sentence of decapitation for Paul is therefore possible and, perhaps, plausible. IV. Execution112 The description of Paul’s decapitation is remarkable (14.5.3–4). In extant forms of the Martyrdom, the story of Paul’s execution is a continuation of the dialogue with Longinus and Cestus (14.4.2–3), which had been interrupted by Parthenius and Pheretas (14.5.1) and was later resumed (14.5.2); but as discussed above, the interruption may have been a later addition to the story. In any case, the subsequent narrative may be divided into what precedes and follows Paul’s decapitation. The Martyrdom records at least three events prior to Paul’s decapitation (14.5.3a). First, Paul prayed for a lengthy period after turning to the east (στράφεις πρὸς ἀνατολὰς). According to one recension, which is most broadly (but not necessarily most reliably) attested, Paul prayed τῇ Ἑβραΐδι διαλέκτῳ – a phrased also used vaguely in Acts (21.40; 22.2; 26.14) to refer to Hebrew, Aramaic, or a particular dialect thereof; and he prayed with his hands extended (ἐκτείνας τὰς χεῖρας), presumably up “to heaven” – as specified by some manuscripts – rather than east. 113 But another recension, attested in the ninth century Greek manuscript at Patmos (S. John 48) and in the Coptic, indicates that Paul’s prayer included “communicating in Hebrew with the fathers” (κοινολογησάµενος114 Ἑβραΐστι τοῖς πατράσιν).115 But whether that prayer was with locals and/or for Jerusalem is unclear. Second, after 111

Tacitus, Ann. 14.57, 59. Nero’s executioners were often centurions (e.g., in the woeful scenes with Agrippina: 14.8, 64) or tribunes (e.g., 15.60, 67–68). 112 For a related but explicitly literary study on the “epilogue” of the Martrdom (i.e., events subsequent to Paul’s decapitation), see J. Bolyki, “Events after the Martyrdom: Missionary Transformation of an Apocalyptical Metaphor in Martyrium Pauli,” in Bremmer (ed.), Apocryphal Acts of Paul and Thecla, 92–106. With comparison to other epilogues of other “martyrologies” (95–99), Bolyki argues that the Martyrdom of Paul was produced in the first half of the second century, as it is more proximate to biblical stories than to later martyrdoms. 113 In addition to Greek Patmos S. John 48 and Coptic versions, this datum is absent also in the Slavonic. Athos Vat. 79 and Ps.-Linus specify “to heaven.” 114 Compare Paul’s “communication” (ἀνακοινέοµαι) of “the word” to Longinus and Cestus (14.3.4). The Martyrdom probably portrays Paul speaking Latin in addition to Hebrew, just as Acts 21.37–40 portrays Paul speaking Greek (and not Coptic) in addition to Hebrew. 115 P. Hamb., the Greek manuscript of “Acts of Paul,” also differs by including a prayer, only fragmentarily preserved, that begins with reference to “the father” and includes “into your hands I commend my spirit” (cf. Luke 23.46 [Jesus]; cp. Acts 7.59 [Stephen]). It is one of only a few apparent expansions in the text type of P. Hamb.; see n.64 above.

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completing the prayer,116 Paul communicated the word, as he had done with Longinus and Cestus in 14.3.4. Only, the antecedent of αὐτοῖς is unclear, based in part on the different recensions: did Paul communicate to the fathers, to Longinus and Cestus, and/or to the yet unmentioned crowds who were present (οἱ παρεστῶτες ὄχλοι, 14.5.4)?117 Third, having uttered “the Amen,” Paul stretched out his neck – probably over an unmentioned chopping block – for its cutting off.118 Then the execution is narrated oddly,119 perhaps implying a lamentable twofold process (and/or various translations from Latin into Greek): σιγῶντος δὲ αὐτου καὶ µηκέτι λαλοῦντος ἀπετίναξεν αὐτου τῆν κεφαλὴν ὁ στρατιώτου. But with (Paul) being silent and speaking no more, the soldier shook off his head. (Mart. Paul 14.5.3b)

More amazing are the results of Paul’s decapitation. As mentioned above, the text continues (14.5.3c) by stating that when Paul’s head was cut off, milk spurted onto the soldier’s clothes (rather than armor).120 It is this grace or favor (χάρις)121 that occasions the crowds122 first to wonder and to glorify the 116 Mart. Paul 14.3 clearly distinguishes the three stages by explicitly stating the completion of the preceding activities: “having stopped the prayer,” and “after saying the Amen.” If reflecting contemporary liturgical practive (rather than, for example, denoting the end of a reference to source or reinscribing an idealized ritual for martyrs), the statements may also refer to specific liturgical formulae. 117 The Greek phrase may render a Latin reference to hoi polloi – perhaps the kind of Romans who complained to Nero about the arrests, if not executions, of Christians (see 14.3.5). 118 Paul’s submission to decapitation may illustrate the letter to the Romans: even as Paul fearlessly submits to the governing authorities (Rom 13.1–7), he is convinced that salvation is near (13.11–14) and that he will be vindicated with life as a conqueror even after the apparent defeat of death (8.31–39); compare 1 Thess 4.13–5.11; 1 Cor 15; etc. 119 Following the edition of Zwierlein, Petrus in Rom, 444 lines 4–6, which appears to be a hodge podge of two (or three) recensions with some commentary in the apparatus. Beginning a few words earlier, P. Hamb. simply reads προέτεινεν τὸν τράχηλον µηκέτι λαλήσας. ὡς δὲ ἀπετίναξεν τῆν κεφαλὴν, “he extended the neck, no longer speaking. But as [the executioner] shook his head, ...” 120 Athos Vat. 79 specifically notes that the milk spurted ἀπὸ τῆς τµήσεως, “from the cut,” onto the (singular) χιτών, probably “tunic,” of the σπεκούλατωρ. Ps-Linus and P. Hamb. also call the soldier a “speculator.” 121 Within the Passion Narrative’s prequel to the Martyrdom, the prophetess Myrta in Corinth (Acts Paul 12) states that Paul will provide great χάρις in Rome and that he will become visible above all the faithful ([φανερὸν γεν]έσθαι ὑπὲρ πάντας τοὺς πιστούς). At least P. Hamb.’s description of Paul’s first appearance (14.6.2) fulfills this prophesy. 122 Patmos S. John 48 and the Slavonic version refer only the soldier marveling and glorifying (14.5.4). Related variants may indicate that, at this point in the narrative, the Martyrdom was reworking an earlier story that concentrated on the executioner, identi-

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God who had given such favor to Paul, and then to depart to report these events to Nero (14.5.4). Among the spectators must have been the prefect Longinus and centurion Cestus, who may also have been Paul’s executioner. But how historical are the details of Paul’s execution? The descriptions of the preceding and following events are so theologized that it is impossible to determine their historicity. Milk spurting from the neck or body of Paul is an exception to the canons of history;123 and for the recension that imagines Paul communicating in Hebrew with the fathers, that also is beyond the realms of historical analysis. These are matters of faith. However, if Paul’s sentence was based on crimen laesae maiestatis or a similar act of treason or sedition, it is improbable that Paul would have been permitted to offer a final – and apparently public – statement of “the word,” especially with “crowds” (ὄχλοι) present. Nonetheless, as with his sentence, the general story of Paul’s execution is plausible. The stretching of one’s own neck for decapitation is a literary commonplace, possibly corresponding to some public displays of “manliness” – an interesting juxtaposition with the (white, life-giving) milk that ejaculated from Paul’s flaccid and recently cut flesh. So also, it is not uncommon for stories to describe decapitation in multiple stages: rather than hendiadys, the two genitive absolutes that mention quietness (σιγῶντος αὐτοῦ and µηκέτι λαλοῦντος), followed by the reference to “shaking off” Paul’s head (versus “brandishing” a weapon), may imply that the executioner, after initially quieting Paul with the sword, had to complete the decapitation with another blow or by some other means – perhaps with milk spurting upon him.124 Therefore, even though the decaptitation itself is plausible, the description of how Paul was beheaded is historically unreliable – even if, for example, a detail such as multiple blows happens to be accurate.

fied not as a speculator but simply as a centurion. If so, only at a later compositional stage of the Martyrdom was the centurion identified as Cestus. Compare n.96 above. 123 Nonetheless, the image of milk may be intertextually dependent upon 1 Cor 3.2, as well as imagery of Paul nursing his infants (1 Thess 2.7, 11); cp. 1 Pet 2.2. The spurting of milk may be an interpolation added contemporaneously to the Martyrdom’s expansion into the Passion Narrative of Paul (Acts Paul 12–14), since the prophecy of Myrta (Acts Paul 12) explicitly states that Paul will nourish the church in Rome. In extant forms of the Martyrdom, the miraculous milk also functions literarily to set up Paul’s subsequent appearance at the palace; and formally, the report of Paul’s death (14.5.4–6.1) is parallel to and foreshadowed by the report of Patroclus’s death (14.1.7–2.1), with notable similarities and differences. 124 Note the variants at 14.5.3. in Athos Vat. 79; it refers to Paul extending the remainder of his neck (λοιπὸν ἑαυτοῦ τράχηλον) to the speculator, and without referring to milk also notes the grace or favor (χάρις) bestowed on Paul.

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V. Post-Mortem Appearances The Martyrdom reports two post-mortem appearances of Paul.125 The first report (14.6) is probably a later addition, contemporaneous with or subsequent to other interpolations about Nero.126 Having recently heard the report of Paul’s decapitation (14.5.4), Nero is marveling and perplexed (θαυµάζοντος καὶ διαποροῦντος, 14.6.1). With many in his presence, including philosophers and “the centurion,”127 Paul enters (ἔρχοµαι) by an undisclosed means during the ninth hour (14.6.1–2).128 According to the Hamburg manuscript of “Acts of Paul,” he was appearing (φάνεις, perhaps “shining”)129 to all and spoke διὰ φωνῆς πνεύµατος ἁγίου (“through the Holy Spirit’s voice” or “through a voice with holy spirit,” 14.6.2). Fulfilling his prophesies to Nero (14.4.1), to Longinus and Cestus (14.4.3), and to Parthenius and Pheretas (14.5.1), the apparition of Paul declares to Nero – presumably with a mouth, and hence with a head, that may speak – that he is not dead but living (14.6.2).130 Moreover, and rather frightfully, he declares that “not after many days” (cf. Acts 1.5) “many evils” will be meted to Caesar in recompense for the blood of the “many righteous” he poured out (14.6.2).131 Out of sorts (ὁ

125 In addition to comparisons with stories of Jesus, note for example apparitions by John the Baptist (Mark 6.14b, 16), Peter (Acts Peter 40–41, including an appearance – by Peter or another – to Nero), and Ignatius (Mart. Ign. 6–7); see discussion at Bolyki, “Events after the Martyrdom,” 96–98. 126 The author of this vignette may have used the Gospel of John and/or Acts 1.5 as intertexts. 127 P. Hamb.’s Greek text of “Acts of Paul” is probably an intermediary form: philosophers, “beloved” (φιλοί), and the centurion (κεντυρίων – a transliteration from Latin preferred by P. Hamb.); more simply, the 6th-cent. Coptic Heidelberg manuscript of “Acts of Paul” refers only to philosophers and centurion, whom Bolyki (“Events after the Maryrdom,” 101) understands to represent wisdom and power respectively; other manuscripts and versions expand to refer to three subtypes of dignitaries. 128 In synoptic tradition (Mark 15.33 pars.) Jesus died at the ninth hour; and in Johannine (19.14), the death scene begins around the sixth. 129 See n.121 above on Myrta’s prophecy about Paul “shining” above all the faithful. 130 Bolyki (“Events after the Martyrdom,” 103) notes the similarity of Paul’s declaration to Ps 117.17 (LXX). The Coptic Heidelberg manuscript may preserve the earliest form of Paul’s statement, also attested in Patmos S. John 48. Compare the appearance of Patroclus to Caesar, as well as the dialogue in that scene (14.2). As discussed above, an earlier form of the Patroclus story may have included a similar apparition, particularly if based on the appearance of another Patroclus in Homer’s Il. 23.65–92. But the story of Patroclus was changed into a resuscitation story, enabling Patroclus to be among those released from prison later in this scene (14.6.3). 131 Paul’s declaration is often understood to include Nero’s death, and hence the phrase is interpreted as if Paul’s martyrdom was late in Nero’s reign (e.g., early in 68 CE, as widely attested in early Christian traditions). But the phrase may refer to other woes, however real or imagined, and the Martyrdom’s chronology may be fixed no more

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ταραχθεὶς), Nero thus commands the prisoners to be released, including Patroclus (14.6.3).132 But that is the end of the vignette. Similar to the first two corporate appearances in the Gospel of John (20.19–23; 20.24–29), the cessation of Paul’s apparition is not discussed.133 For, the purpose of the appearance has been fulfilled: to offer proof for the faithfulness and power of Christ. But within the Martyrdom, Paul’s first appearance offers not only a theological claim; it is also a political judgment on Rome’s imperator. Paul’s second appearance is at his tomb (τάφος, Acts of Paul 14.7).134 This appearance occurs at dawn, apparently on the next day. Then, as Paul had commanded (14.7.1; cf. 14.5.2), “the centurion” (κεντυρίων) and others with him – specified as Cestus and including Longinus in some manuscripts135 – arrive to find Titus and Luke praying, with Paul standing in their midst, so that they are awestruck (14.7.1).136 But Titus and Luke do not perceive Paul, so when they notice the Romans approaching, they are mortally afraid and turn to flee (14.7.2).137 Longinus and Cestus call after them: “It is not for death that we are pursuing you, slaves of Christ, but so that you may give to us eternal life, just as was assigned by Paul, who was praying with you – in

definitely than the reign of Nero (54–68 CE), apart from theories dating the story in relation to the events of 64 CE. 132 P. Hamb. and Coptic versions add “and those around Barzabas” (according to Zwierlein, Petrus in Rom, 446); similarly Patmos S. John 48 and Athos Vat. 79, “and those around Barsab(b)as”; but yet again the Coptic Heidelberg manuscript may be the most original with “and Barsabas.” A less specific gloss, “and all the others,” occurs in Ochridensis bibl. mun. 44 and the late Slavic version. 133 Except Athos Vat. 79 and Ps.-Linus add “and having said these things, he departed from him.” 134 According to LSJ, τάφος does not necessarily refer to a fixed burial location (as in Matt 27–28); it may also refer to funerary rites. Bolyki (“Events after the Martyrdom,” 104) notes that a more concrete term such as µνηµεῖον is not used, perhaps with concern for the sarcophagus at the Basilica of St. Paul. Regarding the time period (ὄρθρου), compare Luke 24.1 for the visit of Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary the mother of James, and “the other women with them” to Jesus’ tomb. Some have also remarked on the presence of two figures at Jesus’ site in Luke 24.4. 135 For example, P. Hamb. reads “the centurion and others with him”; Patmos S. John 48, “Longus (Λόγγος) and the centurion Cestus (κεντυρίων Κέστος)”; Athos Vat. 79, “Cestus and Longus.” The CCSA edition is similar to Patmos S. John 48 but with the lengthened Λοννῖνος. 136 Athos Vat. 79, using a different compound of πλήσσω (κατα-, rather than ἐκ-), refers to the men beholding “the incredible wonder” (τὸ παράδοξος θαῦµα). Compare the phrasing in Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 3.39.8, discussed above. 137 P. Hamb. and Athos Vat. 79 refer in 14.7.2 to a short chase, after which Titus and Luke are captured; that event probably relocates the subsequent events away from Paul’s tomb. Otherwise, the Martyrdom refers to devotees praying and receiving the “seal” (σφράγις) at Paul’s tomb.

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the middle and a little before”138 (14.7.2). Overjoyed, Luke and Titus give them the promised “seal in the Lord” (14.7.3). That was probably the original ending to the Martyrdom,139 but most excerpted forms piously add “by the grace/favor (χάρις) of the Lord Christ” (14.7.3) and some also add a short doxology. Paul’s second appearance, which was probably his only appearance in an earlier form of the Martyrdom, thus functions to “seal” the faithfulness of Cestus and others, so that even after his death, Paul may continue to enlist soldiers from among the ranks of Nero. Therefore, the appearance stories function as propaganda for the Martyrdom’s Christocracy. Christ’s rule is not restricted to the eschatological events prophesied by Paul; his reign over death and cosmic judgment are already in effect. Hence, as announced by Paul in his first dialogue with Nero (14.3.2), there is a command for all people in all lands – including the Roman imperator – to subordinate themselves to the Lord and receive eternal Life. The historical Paul may have concurred. But these are the opinions of the Martyrdom’s final (or penultimate) author, who may have been reforming traditions to counter legends of Nero redivivus.140 The appearances of Paul, in any case, are matters of faith, beyond the canons of history.

Concluding Remarks The Martyrdom of Paul may therefore be a generally reliable source about the end of Paul’s life, even if many of its specific claims are implausible or inaccurate.141 It is plausible that, based on his proclamation of Christ’s role in the kingdom of God, Paul may have been among a group of people arrested based on an ad hoc edict of imperator Nero, particularly between the years 62– 68 CE. Once in custody, Paul may have been identified as a “head” of the 138

Variants occur but all concur that Paul was πρὸ µικροῦ, “a little forward/before” (14.7.2). For what it is worth, etymologically, the Latin paulus is most accurately translated by the Greek µικρός. 139 Subsequent materials are omitted in Patmos S. John 48 and P. Hamb. The latter adds the title ΠΡΑΞΙΣ ΠΑ[ΥΛΟΥ], “Acts of Paul,” with one of its common iotacisms. So ends the CCSA edition. 140 Legends of Nero redivivus were extant from his death until at least the fifth century CE. In addition to several pretenders to the claim, as early as 69 CE, the story is referenced for example in Rev 13 (perhaps also 17); Sybilline Oracles 4.138–39; 5.108–10, 214–27; Suetonius, Nero 57; Tacitus, Ann. 2.8; Cassius Dio, Roman History 66.19. The coincidence of the Nero legend and the legend of Paul redivivus, appearing to Nero, are interesting. Several of the legends refer to “Nero” playing a lyre, similar to Orpheus, whose head continued to sing once decapitated by the Bacchae – until it was finally silenced by Apollo. 141 Compare Tajra, Martyrdom, 12–24, 131–33.

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group, even voluntarily. But it is improbable that any “trial” would have occurred before Nero; rather, if an official procedure occurred, a delegate such as the urban prefect probably would have supervised Paul’s adjudication. Presumably, sentences for crimen laesae maiestatis were formally approved by Nero,142 and though it was his normal practice to communicate judgments in writing,143 it is not impossible that the imperator summoned Paul (probably, with others) for his verdict. That an alleged leader of an uprising (superstitio/ἀνάστασις) against Nero would be beheaded, especially if he were (formerly) a Roman citizen, is a matter of historical fact. Such proceedings would have been recorded in Latin, copies of which were allegedly available at the end of the second century.144

142

Suetonius, Nero 10. Suetonius, Nero 15; quoted in Tajra, Martyrdom, 20. 144 In Carthage, Tertullian (Scorp. 15) refers explicitly to reading “the archives of the empire (instrumenta imperii)” and “the lives of the Caesars (vitas Caesarum)”; cp. Praesc. 36. 143

Hidden in Praise: Some Notes on 1 Clement 5.7 Wolfgang Grünstäudl

A. Introduction Given the scarcity of information provided by the famous passage 1 Clement 5.5–7, it seems to be quite a taunting task to write an article on this text and its relevance for the question of the realization of Paul’s planned journey to Spain (cf. Rom 15.24, 28). Exactly one hundred years ago, however, the young German scholar Ernst Dubowy (1891–1945) wrote nothing less than a book-length study on this topic,1 in which he argued that 1 Clement does indeed presuppose Paul’s successful attempt to preach the gospel on the Iberian peninsula. Despite the depth of his investigation and the great amount of source material he discussed, Dubowy’s result did face serious contradiction. Important voices like that of Karl Heussi2 and Andreas Lindemann3 argued that the crucial phrase of our passage, (ἐπὶ) τ ὸ τέρµα τ ῆς δ ύσεως (1 Clem. 5.7), points to Rome rather than to Spain, while according to Hermut Löhr, who undertook the most recent (and very careful) analysis of 1 Clem. 5.5–7, this passage might bear some intended ambiguity.4 Discussing this wide range of interpretations which were proposed within Clementine scholarship from Dubowy’s time until today,5 I will try to investigate how 1 Clem. 5 may or may not deepen our understanding of Paul’s historical connection to Spain. 1

E. Dubowy, Klemens von Rom über die Reise Pauli nach Spanien: Historischkritische Untersuchung zu Klemens von Rom: 1 Kor 5,7 (Freiburg: Herder, 1914). 2 K. Heussi, Die römische Petrustradition in kritischer Sicht (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1955), 10–30. 3 A. Lindemann, Paulus im ältesten Christentum: Das Bild des Apostels und die Rezeption der paulinischen Theologie in der frühchristlichen Literatur bis Marcion (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1979). 4 H. Löhr, “Zur Paulus-Notiz in 1 Clem 5,5–7,” in F.W. Horn (ed.), Das Ende des Paulus. Historische, theologische und literaturgeschichtliche Aspekte (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2001), 197–213: 209 (“vielleicht sogar eine bewusste sematische Doppeldeutigkeit”). 5 This article is, however, not a complete account of the history of research on 1 Clem. 5.7 from 1914 till today but rather an attempt to demonstrate and evaluate the most important arguments used in this discussion.

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B. Ernst Dubowy: 1 Clem. 5 as Reliable Witness of Paul’s Journey to Spain After a brief discussion of the context and the integrity of 1 Clem. 5.5–7,6 Ernst Dubowy focuses on the meaning of the phrase (ἐπὶ) τ ὸ τέρµα τ ῆς δύσεως. He lists no less than fourteen different interpretations, all of them proposed in the history of scholarship before his time, and clusters them to four major groups, namely hyperbolic, metaphoric, and geographic (with [“subjektiv-geographisch”] or without [“objektiv-geographisch”] a special linkage to Paul’s biography) interpretations.7 Hyperbolic interpretations stress the rhetorical and literary skillfulness of the author of 1 Clement in general and especially the artful composition of 1 Clem. 5.8 Because of its panegyric nature, it is said, 1 Clem. 5 has to be read as an impressive praise of Paul’s life and work, carefully drafted to foster the ecclesial intentions of its author, but not as a documentary report which provides, or even attempts to provide, historical details regarding Paul’s biography. Against this view, Dubowy develops a twofold argument: on the one hand he concedes the hyperbolic character of the statement that Paul preached δικαιοσύνη to the whole world (ὅλον τ ὸν κ όσµον, 1 Clem. 5.7; cf. 1 Clem. 59.2). On the other hand, however, he does not find any other traces of hyperbolic language in 1 Clem. 5 and its immediate context. According to Dubowy, the Old Testament exempla in 1 Clem. 4, the text about the fate of the martyrs in 1 Clem. 6, and even the text on Peter in 1 Clem. 5.4 do not contain any exaggerations.9 Compared to expressions like τὸ ἔσχατον τῆς γῆς (cf. Isa 49.6 et al.) and τὰ πέρατα τῆς γῆς (Ps 21/22.28; 58/59.14 et al.), the phrase τὸ τέρµα τῆς δύσεως itself “does not give the impression of a hyperbolic formula or a common phrase and therefore excludes the assumption of mere rhetorical design.”10 Dubowy calls those interpretative strategies metaphoric that take τέρµα not in its most common meaning “goal, border.” For example, conjecturing ὑπό instead of ἐπί, it was suggested that τέρµα in 1 Clem. 5.7 bears the meaning of “authority” and thereby – like οἱ ἡγούµενοι in the same verse – points to the Roman rulers.11 6

Cf. Dubowy, Reise, 4–16. Cf. Dubowy, Reise, 17–9. 8 For an extensive analysis of the rhetorical and literary structure of 1 Clem. 5 (and its context) cf. H. Lona, Der erste Clemensbrief (Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht: Göttingen, 1998), 158–62, and Löhr, “Paulus-Notiz,” 198–206. 9 Cf. Dubowy, Reise, 20. 10 Dubowy, Reise, 25: “Diese spezielle Angabe, die durchaus nicht den Eindruck einer übertreibenden Formel, einer allgemein gebräuchlichen Phrase macht, schließt also die Annahme einer rhetorisch ausmalenden Färbung geradezu aus.” 11 Cf. Dubowy, Reise, 26. 7

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More often, and as we will see below, even today, τέρµα is connected with the realia of sports in antiquity. In the famous story of the chariot race in honor of Patroklos (cf. Il. 23.262–650), for example, τέρµα signifies the “turning point” around which the horses had to turn.12 In the context of the Roman circus, τέρµα is the name of one of two metae that confined the wall (spina) between the longer sides of the race course.13 Given the ample use of agon imagery in 1 Clem. 5–7,14 which itself may be influenced by Paul’s own reception of similar motifs,15 various scholars understood τὸ τέρµα τ ῆς δύσεως as “the western/occidental goal” of Paul’s missionary race. Dubowy resolutely rejects this interpretation and argues that agon imagery may well be present in 1 Clem. 5.1–2, 5–6; 6.2 and 7.1 but is replaced in 1 Clem. 5.7 by the description of the apostle as κήρυξ.16 Moreover, an agonistic interpretation of τ ὸ τέρµα τ ῆς δ ύσεως would, according to Dubowy, require an identification of the other meta: If Rome is the second meta (called τέρµα), which place is thought to be the first meta (called νύσσα or καµπτήρ)? In Dubowy’s view it is impossible to decide which one of the various proposals (Jerusalem, Damascus, Antiochia, Syria, and Cilicia) is correct and therefore he denies the possibility that the author of 1 Clement thinks of a circus-like race course while describing Paul’s life.17 Another metaphorical interpretation takes δύσις as “setting of a star” and therefore as indirect reference to Paul’s death. A similar idea, it is said, can be found in Ignatius’ To the Romans which contains the following play of words: ...ὅτι τ ὸν ἐπίσκοπον Συρ ίας ὁ θεὸς κατηξ ίωσεν ε ὑρεθῆναι εἰς δ ύσιν ἀπὸ ἀνατολῆς µεταπεµψάµενος καλ ὸν τὸ δῦναι ἀπὸ κόσµου πρ ὸς θε όν ἵνα ε ἰς αὐτὸν ἀνατείλω (Ign. Rom. 2.2). In this passage, however, ἀνατολή and δύσις seem to be simply geographical terms preparing the metaphorical use of ἀνατέλλειν and δύνειν. In the case of 1 Clem. 5.7 translating τὸ τέρµα τ ῆς δύσεως as “goal/end of his decline/setting (= place of his death)” is even more difficult because of the geographical use of δύσις in the same sentence and the absence of any other astronomic imagery in the description of Paul’s life and work.18

12

For further examples of this use of τέρµα, see N.N., “τέρµα,” LSJ 1777. Cf. Dubowy, Reise, 30–31; I. Nielsen, R. Struß-Höcker, “Circus. I. Architektur,” DNP 2.1210–214; E. Pollack, “Circus,” PW 6.2571–85 (map: 2573). 14 Cf., e.g., A. Lindemann, Die Clemensbriefe (Mohr Siebeck: Tübingen, 1992), 37, 40. 15 Cf. U. Poplutz, Athlet des Evangeliums. Eine motivgeschichtliche Studie zur Wettkampfmetaphorik bei Paulus (Freiburg: Herder, 2004). 16 Dubowy, Reise, 29: “Aber an unserer Stelle ist dieses Bild schon aufgegeben.” 17 Dubowy, Reise, 31–2. 18 Cf. Dubowy, Reise, 38–42. 13

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In distinction to hyperbolic and metaphoric interpretative attempts, geographic explanations connect the expression τὸ τέρµα τῆς δύσεως to a specific and identifiable place. Pointing to Ign. Rom. 2.2 (mentioned above) and to Ep. Clem 1.3, some authors have argued that τὸ τέρµα τῆς δύσεως is to be understood from Paul’s point of view (“subjektiv-geographisch”). The most probable candidate for “his western goal” would then be Rome. Dubowy counters that neither Ignatius nor Pseudo-Clement mention τὸ τέρµα (but only ἡ δύσις), that the use of terms like ἀνατολή and δύσις in 1 Clem. 5.7 definitely betrays no influence of Paul’s perspective, and that the expression κήρυξ γενόµενος ἔν τε τ ῇ ἀνατολῇ καὶ ἐν τ ῇ δύσει (1 Clem. 5.6) more likely suggests that Clement thought of Paul’s western field of activity as being much broader than just the city of Rome. Dubowy’s own interpretation is strictly “objektiv-geographisch,”19 as he identifies τὸ τέρµα τῆς δύσεως with “Spain,” the most western province of the Roman Empire.20 His argument is primarily based on semantic observations. Investigating the use of δύσις in antiquity, Dubowy observes that its most common meaning is “West” or “sunset,” while there seems to be no evidence of the meaning “occident” before the time of partitions of the Roman Empire. The term τέρµα, generally meaning “goal, end, border,” is regularly combined with geographic imagery – e.g., the phrase (τὰ) τέρµατα (τ ῆς) γ ῆς in Philo (cf. Deus 79; Sobr. 42; Mos. 1.2) or (most prominently) ἐπὶ τέρµασι το ῖσι ἐκείνης [sc. τ ῆς Ε ὐρώπης] in Herodotus 7.5421 – signifying “the end/border of”). As a consequence, in Dubowy’s view, the most natural translation of τὸ τέρµα τῆς δύσεως would be “the end of the West.”22 Quoting from Greek and Latin writers like Strabo, Pomponius Mela, and Pompeius Trogus, Dubowy demonstrates that in antiquity Spain was widely known as the most western part not only of Europe but of the οἰκουµένη in general.23 Concluding that 1 Clement indeed wants to express that Paul travelled to Spain,24 Dubowy briefly discusses two historical objections against this interpretation – the missing reception of 1 Clement’s information about Paul’s journey to Spain in later authors and the lack of evidence for Paul’s missionary activity in Spain. In regard of the first objection, Dubowy concedes that in some instances (e.g. Eusebius’ discussion of Paul’s second imprisonment in 19

In this section, Dubowy also discusses shortly other proposals like Rome, Illyria, and Britain (cf. Dubowy, Reise, 50–7). 20 Dubowy, Reise, 70: “Der Autor hat also sagen wollen, daß Paulus bis zu der westlichsten Provinz des römischen Reiches gekommen ist.” 21 For further examples, see Dubowy, Reise, 65. 22 Cf. Dubowy, Reise, 70. 23 Cf. Dubowy, Reise, 70–3. 24 Dubowy, Reise, 73: “Wenn er also von Paulus berichtet, er sei ἐπὶ τὸ τέρµα τ ῆς δύσεως gekommen, so hat er damit sagen wollen, daß der Apostel eine Reise nach Spanien gemacht hat.”

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Rome in Hist. eccl. 2:22) a reference to Paul’s journey to Spain would have been appropriate (Eusebius obviously knew 1 Clement!). Nevertheless, he does not find any compelling reason why authors like Eusebius would have been forced to mention Paul’s travel to Spain or 1 Clement’s witness to it.25 Also the obvious missing of an old and reliable Spanish tradition of Paul’s missionary activity in this part of the Roman Empire does not, according to Dubowy, hinder the assumption that Paul indeed travelled to Spain because all information about the origins of Christianity in Spain are rather late.26 Moreover, Paul’s mission in Spain might have been not that successful and therefore without any enduring impact on the religious life on the Iberian peninsula.27 Although Dubowy’s learned and well-written study develops a strong case for a “Spanish” reading of 1 Clem. 5.7, it should not be ignored that it contains several weaknesses and inconsistencies. First, Dubowy underestimates the panengyric character of our passage. 1 Clement presents Paul as the greatest example (ὑπογραµµός, in 1 Clem. 16.17 and 33.8 attributed to Christ) of endurance (ὑποµονή, cf. the inclusio 1 Clem. 5.5, 7) and the overall architecture of 1 Clem. 5.5–7 serves this purpose. Therefore, it seems too difficult a task to discern between expressions that “sound” like exaggerations and those which do not. Second, it is not very convincing to concede the presence of agon motifs almost everywhere in 1 Clem. 5–7 but to exclude the possibility of τέρµα being connected to this web of motifs – obviously, Dubowy tries to avoid a metaphorical interpretation of τὸ τέρµα τ ῆς δ ύσεως for any prize. Thus, Dubowy’s critique of an agonistic interpretation of τὸ τέρµα is for the most part quite pedantic and demands from a poetic text to meet the standards of mathematical accuracy. Finally, Dubowy is too optimistic about the historical reliability of the (alleged) note on Paul’s journey to Spain. In his view, the author of 1 Clement is simply “Clement, the third successor of Peter as bishop of Rome” and of course well-informed about the fate of Peter and Paul.28 25

In any case, Dubowy’s final remark seems to overestimate his case: “Die Schriftsteller hingegen welche von der Spanienreise Notiz nehmen, zeigen dadurch entweder, daß sie die Klemensstelle gekannt und in diesem Sinne aufgefaßt haben, oder aber, daß sie Träger einer hiervon unabhängigen Tradition sind” (Dubowy, Reise, 77, emphasis mine). 26 For a recent discussion of the origins of Christianity in Spain, see for example J. Fernández Ubiña, “Los orígenes del christianismo hispano: Algunas claves sociologicas,” Hispania Sacra 59 (2007): 427–58. 27 Cf. Dubowy, Reise, 78–9. 28 Dubowy’s judgement (Reise, 87) deserves to be quoted in full: “Klemens ist also als zeitgenössischer, kompetenter und glaubwürdiger Zeuge zu bezeichnen, der über den Apostel richtige biographische Angaben machen konnte. Er mußte aber auch im vorliegenden Falle die Wahrheit sagen.”

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C. Karl Heussi: Rome as the Final Goal of Paul’s Race Karl Heussi’s most important contribution to the interpretation of 1 Clem. 5.5–7 is embedded in his epic battle against the Peter-Rome tradition that lasted for several decades. Like Dubowy, Heussi rejects a technical understanding of µαρτυρήσας both in 1 Clem. 5.4 and 5.7 not only by stressing the use of µαρτυρεῖν in the first and early second centuries but even more by analyzing the grammatical peculiarities of 1 Clem. 5.5–7. In regard of the use of οὕτως in 1 Clem. 5.7, Heussi observes that οὕτως following a participial construction (cf. the three aorist participles διδάξας, ἐλθών, and µαρτυρήσας) does not initiate an explanation of what has stated before but rather an additional remark. To put it another way: οὕτως ἀπηλλάγη τοῦ κόσµου καὶ εἰς τὸν ἅγιον τόπον ἀνελήµφθη (1 Clem. 5.7) is not to be understood as a summary but as further information. As prooftexts for this understanding of οὕτως, Heussi points to Acts 20.11 (ἀναβὰς... καὶ κλάσας... καὶ γευσάµενος ὁµιλήσας..., οὕτως ἐξῆλθεν), Acts 27.17 (χαλάσαντες..., ο ὕτως ἐφέροντο), Josephus, B.J. 2.129 (ἐργασάµενοι... συναθροίζονται... ζωσάµενοί..., οὕτως ἀπολούονται τὸ σῶµα ψυχροῖς ὕδασιν) and Josephus, A.J. 8.270 (ἠµνηµόνησας... καταλιπ ὼν... κατασκευάσας..., ο ὕτω σε π άλιν καθαιρ ήσω) – four quite convincing examples.29 As a consequence, Paul’s departure from this world follows all three of the activities mentioned in the participial construction – his preaching in the whole world, his journey to the τέρµα of the West and his µαρτυρεῖν in front of the ἡγούµενοι. Taking µαρτυρεῖν as “suffering from martyrdom” would therefore lead to the odd expression that Paul died30 after he had become a martyr.31 Heussi concludes that a non-technical understanding of µαρτυρεῖν in 1 Clem. 5.7 is forced by the grammatical construction of our passage – independent to the use of µαρτυρεῖν in other early Christian literature. As far as geography is concerned, Heussi’s interpretation underlines that there is no need to assume that (in the view of 1 Clement!) Paul’s execution, his witness in front of the ἡγούµενοι, and his reaching of τὸ τέρµα τῆς δύσεως happened at the same place. Theoretically, this observation could be used as 29

Cf. Lona, Clemensbrief, 166. Heussi, Petrustradition, 19, wrongly understands the phrase ἀπηλλάγη τοῦ κόσµου as a euphemism for “execution.” Rather, as K. Beyschlag, Clemens Romanus und der Frühkatholizismus: Untersuchungen zu I Clemens 1–7 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1966), 319 n.2, has shown, it is a euphemism for “death.” 31 Similarly already Dubowy, Reise, 40, and later (following Heussi) Lona, Clemensbrief, 166. For an even more detailed discussion, see Beyschlag, Clemens, 306–19. It is therefore wrong that the “past ‘testimony’ of the apostles is here evidently the mode and means by which both of them passed from this world to their place of glory” (M. Bockmuehl, The Remembered Peter in Ancient Reception and Modern Debate [Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010], 126–27). 30

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an argument for a “Spanish” reading of τὸ τέρµα τῆς δύσεως.32 Heussi, however, strictly denies the possibility that τὸ τέρµα τ ῆς δ ύσεως means “Spain” and goes into great detail to show that it rather has to be understood as “Rome.”33 After the description of Paul’s preaching “in the East and West” (ἔν...τῇ ἀνατολῇ καὶ ἐν τ ῇ δύσει) and his teaching of righteousness to the “whole world” (ὅλον τ ὸν κ όσµον), the mention of one specific place in the west, Heussi argues, would come as a surprise.34 If the information about Paul’s travel would have been important enough to be included in such a “global” picture of Paul’s missionary activity, one would have to expect a formulation similar to “after he had taught righteousness to the whole world and had come even to the outmost West (= Spain).” Such an expression is obviously missing in the present text of 1 Clem. 5.7.35 Nevertheless, Heussi discusses one (in his view: strictly hypothetical) possibility to find “Spain” mentioned in 1 Clem. 5.7. If ἐλθών and µαρτυρήσας would be connected closely, the reference to Spain would be understandable: Paul came to Spain and witnessed there in front of the ἡγούµενοι. Following Adolf Bauer and rejecting Ernst Dubowy’s view,36 Heussi sees indeed a close connection between ἐλθών and µαρτυρήσας, and presupposes that both actions happened at the same time and place. Therefore, according to Heussi, if one is inclined to take τὸ τέρµα τῆς δύσεως as a reference to Spain, one has to assume that 1 Clement speaks about Paul’s death in Spain (“he had come to the outmost West [= Spain] and witnessed [= was martyred] there in front of the rulers”). In Heussi’s view, however, it is nothing less than impossible (“unmöglich”) that 1 Clement believes that Paul actually died in Spain.37 As a consequence, τὸ τέρµα τῆς δύσεως cannot be a paraphrase of “Spain.” Heussi not only tries to exclude a “Spanish” reading of τ ὸ τέρµα τ ῆς δύσεως but also to provide positive evidence for a “Roman” interpretation. Following Ernst Dubowy, he observes that in Roman times, δύσις meant nothing else than “sunset” or “west,” while its use in the sense of “occident” is rather late. In combination with δύσις (as “sunset”/“west”), τέρµα is most probably not to be understood as “border” but as “goal.” This coincides with 32

Cf. Dubowy, Reise, 37. Cf. Heussi, Petrustradition, 62–68 (“Exkurs 2: Wusste der römische Clemens von einer spanischen Reise des Aposels Paulus?”). 34 Heussi, Petrustradition, 63: “...wäre es ganz unmotiviert, wenn Clemens...eine Einzelheit aus dem Wirken im ‘Niedergang’ nachtrüge.” 35 Cf. Heussi, Petrustradition, 63. 36 Cf. his discussion of Dubowy in Heussi, Petrustradition, 64f n.3. 37 Heussi, Petrustradition, 64 n.2, asks: “In welcher Sache sonst aber (sc. other than the reason for his trial in Rome) hätte er mit den Behörden in Konflikt geraten sollen? Und warum berief sich der römische Bürger Paulus in Spanien nicht auf das Gericht des Kaisers?” 33

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the use of the expression ἐλθεῖν ἐπί which again seems to require τέρµα to be taken as “goal.”38 As the Greek possessive pronoun is not used if not needed, according to Heussi, “coming to the goal” should be understood as “coming to his goal.” Finally, reading δύσεως as genetivus loci, Heussi translates ἐπὶ τὸ τέρµα τῆς δύσεως ἐλθών as “when he came to his western goal.” Taking into account the impossibility of Spain being the place of Paul’s death (cf. the assumed connection of ἐλθών and µαρτυρήσας) and the influence of agon imagery, Heussi concludes that this “western goal” of Paul’s race cannot be anything else than the city of Rome.39 There is little doubt that Heussi’s engaged and insightful study is still valuable today – especially regarding his interpretation of the syntactical function of οὕτως in 1 Clem. 5.7. His case for τὸ τέρµα τῆς δύσεως being a paraphrase of Rome contains, however, four major mistakes that weaken the force of his argument: First, Heussi wrongly understands the phrase ἀπηλλάγη τοῦ κόσµου as a euphemism for “execution” while it is just a euphemism for “death.”40 Admittedly, this is of little impact on his identification of τὸ τέρµα τῆς δ ύσεως, but it evokes the most probably wrong impression that 1 Clem. 5.7 is speaking of Paul’s violent death at all. Second, Heussi is too sure about the close connection of ἐλθών and µαρτυρήσας in 1 Clem. 5.7. It is definitely possible that the author of 1 Clement thought of both actions as closely tied to each other but it is not very reasonable to build the interpretation of 1 Clem. 5.7 on such an assumption.41 Third, Heussi’s argument includes an almost incomprehensible failure: As soon as he starts to discuss matters of geography (i.e., the identity of τὸ τέρµα τῆς δύσεως), he reads µαρτυρήσας in a technical way (implying Paul’s violent death),42 adopting exactly that interpretation he had so forcefully rejected before! Finally, in his attempt to exclude the “Spanish” reading of 1 Clem. 5.7, Heussi tries to underscore the historical implausibility of (a second trial and) execution of Paul in Spain. This argument becomes worthless if 1 Clem. 5.7 does not deal with Paul’s martyrdom at all.43 38 Without quoting any parallels, Heussi, Petrustradition, 66, judges (too) apodictically: “In Verbindung mit ἐλθεῖν ἐπί kann τέρµα nur das Ziel, den Endpunkt bedeuten, zu dem das Subjekt des Satzes gelangt.” 39 In terms of Dubowy’s classification, this is a “subjektiv-geographische” interpretation in combination with a metaphorical interpretation (cf. the assumed influence of agon imagery). 40 See n.30 above. 41 Therefore, I still prefer Dubowy’s reluctant judgment: “Über den räumlichen und zeitlichen Zusammenhang dieser Einzelhandlungen untereinander sowie zu dem Endereignis ist aber nichts ausgesagt” (Dubowy, Reise, 37). 42 Cf. Heussi, Petrustradition, 63–64. Later (p. 67), Heussi even uses the expression “Zeugentod des Paulus” to paraphase µαρτυρήσας! 43 Moreover, careful methodology would require to distinct between 1 Clement’s opinion about Paul’s fate in Spain and its (possible) connection to historical reality.

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To sum up, Heussi improves our understanding of 1 Clem. 5.7 in various ways – his argument for a “Roman” interpretation of τ ὸ τέρµα τ ῆς δ ύσεως, however, is entirely refuted by his own insights.

D. Karlmann Beyschlag: Re-Use of Martyrdom Imagery in 1 Clement In his monograph from 1966, entitled Clemens Romanus und der Frühkatholizismus, Karlmann Beyschlag devotes a long passage to the interpretation of 1 Clem. 5.5–7 and discusses also the οὕτω/οὕτως-formulations in 1 Clem. 5.4 and 5.7 in some detail.44 Beyschlag aims to demonstrate that 1 Clement’s description of the fate of Peter and Paul is dependent on an older (written) source which contained an account of Peter’s martyrdom under Nero.45 1 Clement elaborated this account and transferred some elements originally connected with Peter into his praise of Paul’s life. According to Beyschlag, this literary process explains the parallels between the presentations of the lives of both apostles as well as the “un-pauline” nature of the picture of Paul drafted in 1 Clem. 5.5–7.46 Beyschlag’s study provides abundant material taken from Jewish and early Christian texts on martyrdom and perfectly illuminates the traditional background of the Peter and Paul passage in 1 Clem. 5. However, his assessments of the literary relationships and his reconstructions of several preliminary stages of the relevant source texts seem to be far too optimistic.47 Fortunately, some of his observations regarding 1 Clem. 5.7 can be recognized without adopting his complex theories of literary relationships. For example, Beyschlag rejects a technical understanding of µαρτυρήσας by pointing to the combination of µαρτυρήσας (singular) and (ἐπὶ) τ ῶν ἡγουµένων (plural).48 In his view, this expression does not – unlike in 1 Tim 6.13 and Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 3.32.3 – refer to a single trial but to all comparable witnesses of the apostle in front of governmental authorities. Although

44

Cf. Beyschlag, Clemens, 267–99, 306–28. Beyschlag, Clemens, 266 assumes “die Existenz eines vorclementinischen Petrusmartyriums (möglicherweise im Rahmen eines Neronischen Märtyrerberichts).” 46 Cf. especially Beyschlag, Clemens, 297. 47 Cf. Lona, Clemensbrief, 161 n.2; Löhr, “Paulus-Notiz,” 206 n.17. To be fair, it should be noted that Beyschlag himself does not take his theory for granted and repeatedly calls it a “proposal” (“Vorschlag”) or a “hypothesis.” 48 Cf. Beyschlag, Clemens, 271. Lona, Clemensbrief, 160 points to some inconsistencies in Beyschlag’s argument. 45

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1 Clement uses martyrdom imagery intensively, according to Beyschlag, neither µαρτυρήσας ἐπὶ τῶν ἡγουµένων nor ἀπηλλάγη το ῦ κόσµου imply a violent death for Paul. Interestingly, Beyschlag reads τὸ τέρµα τῆς δύσεως as reference to Spain (especially to the Pillars of Hercules49) but nevertheless thinks that 1 Clement has not a historical travel of Paul in view but just expresses the “global” orientation of the church’s mission50 – definitely an interpretation of 1 Clem. 5.7 rather difficult to comprehend.51

E. Andreas Lindemann: Did 1 Clement avoid speaking about Paul’s Failure? In his groundbreaking study of the early reception of Paul’s writings and theology, Andreas Lindemann argues that 1 Clem. 5 witnesses the tradition of Paul’s martyrdom in Rome instead of hinting to his journey to Spain.52 After carefully discerning between the intention of 1 Clem. and its historical reliability,53 he develops two arguments against Spain being meant by the expression τὸ τέρµα τῆς δύσεως. First, Lindemann is puzzled by the obscurity of the formulation. Why does the author – unlike later texts like the Muratorian Fragment and the Actus Vercellenses and even unlike Paul himself – avoid mentioning Spain explicitly? Lindemann obviously thinks that there can be no other reason for the omission of “Spain” in 1 Clem. 5 than the fact that the author of 1 Clem. had no notion of a successful Pauline journey to Spain.54 He even wonders if 1 Clem. intentionally used a rather “dark” formulation to hide the failure of Paul’s missionary project in the west.55

49

Doubted by Lindemann, Paulus, 78 n.40. Beyschlag, Clemens, 298: “...natürlich meint der Ausdruck τέρµα τ ῆς δ ύσεως die Säulen des Herakles, allein gerade deshalb ist eben nicht zuerst an Paulus, sondern an die katholische Weltmission gedacht, die, um vollständig zu sein, auch das τέρµα τῆς δύσεως erreicht haben muß.” 51 Cf. Lindemann, Paulus, 80; Lona, Clemensbrief, 165 n.3; Löhr, “Paulus-Notiz,” 208 n.25. 52 Cf. Lindemann, Paulus, 72–80. 53 Lindemann, Paulus, 78: “Dabei ist methodisch zu unterscheiden: Was meint der Vf des 1 Clem? Und welche möglicherweise zuverlässige historische Information steht dahinter?” 54 Cf. Lindemann, Paulus, 78. Lindemann expresses this more clearly in his later commentary on 1 Clem.: “Einen Grund, weshalb der Vf die explizite Erwähnung Spaniens hätte vermeiden sollen, gibt es nicht...” (Lindemann, Clemensbriefe, 39). 55 Cf. Lindemann, Paulus, 78; Clemensbriefe, 39. 50

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Second, in Lindemann’s view, 1 Clement identifies the place of Paul’s martyrdom and the most western point of Paul’s missionary activity. Following Lindemann, the expression µαρτυρήσας ἐπὶ τῶν ἡγουµένων is to be understood as pointing to Paul’s martyrdom, more precisely to Paul’s martyrdom in Rome because Lindemann translates οἱ ἡγούµενοι as the “kaiserliche Gericht” (the royal court). Both of these arguments are not very compelling. Stressing the missing explicit notion of Spain is not just a classical argumentum e silentio56 but does not do justice to the intention and the style of 1 Clem. 5.5–7. The author of 1 Clem. drafts the picture of Paul as the greatest example of endurance (ὑποµονῆς γενόµενος µέγιστος ὑπογραµµός) with only few but forceful strokes. Thereby he relies on the traditional knowledge about Paul’s life and work he shares with his readers.57 In this context, there is no need to search for any specific reason behind the absence of the geographically nonambiguous term “Spain.” If one nonetheless feels the strong need for an explanation of the absence of “Spain” (and “Rome”!58) in 1 Clem. 5.7, again, it could be helpful to recognize the agonistic background of the term τὸ τέρµα: maybe the author of 1 Clement, sure about his readers knowledge regarding the fate of Paul, first of all wanted to present Paul as successful ἀθλητής (cf. especially 1 Clem. 7.1) and therefore drafted this unique (and for modern readers: “dark”) expression. Likewise, interpreting µαρτυρήσας ἐπὶ τῶν ἡγουµένων as “suffering martyrdom before the royal court” rests on rather shaky ground as Lindemann himself concedes in the footnotes: First, as discussed above, a technical understanding of µαρτυρεῖν in 1 Clem. 5.7 is (at least!) not secured.59 Second, the identification of οἱ ἡγούµενοι as the royal court in Rome is not an obvious one.60

56 Note, however, 1 Clem. 25.1, where ἐν το ῖς ἀνατολικοῖς τ όποις is explained by τουτέστιν τοῖς περὶ τὴν Ἀραβίαν, cf. Lindemann, Paulus, 78 n.41. 57 A point rightly stressed by Löhr, “Paulus-Notiz,” 206 (“jedenfalls in irgendeiner Weise auf einen Wissenskonsens ausgerichtet”). 58 According to Lindemann, Paulus, 79 with n.47, “Rome” may not be mentioned to underline the “universal” importance of Peter and Paul (“unabhängig von allen lokalen Bezügen”). 59 Lindemann, Paulus, 78, however, states that “µαρτυρήσας ἐπὶ τῶν ἡγουµένων... zwar wohl noch nicht terminologisch aber doch eindeutig vom Kontext her den Märtyrertod aufgrund des Zeugnisses des Glaubens gegenüber den staatlichen Behörden [meint]” (emphasis mine) but adds (n.43): “Diese Deutung von µαρτυρεῖν ist umstritten.” 60 Lindemann, Paulus, 78: “...läßt sich nicht sicher entscheiden.”

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Moreover, if Lindemann identifies the place of Paul’s martyrdom as τὸ τέρµα τ ῆς δ ύσεως,61 this does not find strong grammatical support (cf. the discussion of Heussi’s similar proposal above). Therefore, Lindemann’s argument for a “Roman” interpretation of 1 Clem. 5 is not convincing.

F. Recent Voices: Horacio Lona, Hermut Löhr, Otto Zwierlein In 1998, Horacio Lona published a voluminous commentary on 1 Clement, without doubt a masterpiece of scholarship on Early Christianity, which already has been quoted above several times. In regard to τὸ τέρµα τῆς δύσεως in 1 Clem. 5.7, Lona writes: “Die Deutung der Wendung ‘er ging bis an die Grenzen des Westens’ auf Spanien ist die wahrscheinlichste,”62 thus translating τὸ τέρµα as “die Grenzen (= the borders, plural)” but not discussing other options of understanding τὸ τέρµα. Reasoning that 1 Clement was most probably familiar with Paul’s epistle to the Romans, Lona argues that in 1 Clem. 5.7 an allusion to Romans 15.24, 28 is quite plausible.63 Surprisingly, Lona finds further support for a “Spanish” reading of τὸ τέρµα τῆς δύσεως in the Muratorian Fragment’s remark about Paul’s journey to Spain (ll. 35–39) – obviously assuming that the Muratorian Fragment is literary dependent on 1 Clement,64 which seems to be at least doubtful.65 In a careful and very balanced article on 1 Clem. 5.5–7 from 2001, Hermut Löhr provides a detailed analysis of structure and content of 1 Clem. 3.1– 6.4, demonstrating the strong paraenetical interest of this passage.66 Not only in the note about Paul, but throughout 1 Clem. 3.1–6.4 agon imagery, exhortation to endurance (ὑποµοµνή), presentation of historical examples, and the 61 While Lindemann, Paulus, 78, expresses this identifaction (“für den Vf [sind] der ‘westlichste Punkt’ und der Ort des paulinischen Martyriums identisch”), in a later footnote (Lindemann, Paulus, 78 n.43), however, he states that in his opinion “sind µαρτυρήσας and οὕτως ἀπηλλάγη zu parallelisieren, nicht καὶ...ἐλθὼν καὶ µαρτ.” Things get even more complicated as Lindemann points approvingly to Dubowy, Reise, 38, who shares neither of Lindemann’s interpretations. 62 Lona, Clemensbrief, 165. 63 Lona, Clemensbrief, 165: “Bei der vorauszusetzenden Kenntnis des Römerbriefes seitens des Vf.s ist eine Anspielung auf Röm 15,24.28 gut verständlich.” 64 Lona, Clemensbrief, 165: “Die Notiz ist wichtig, weil hier zum ersten Mal die Überlieferung von I Clem 5,4–7 aufgenommen wird.” 65 Löhr, “Paulus-Notiz,” 207: “Eine Bezugnahme auf die Notiz in 1 Clem wird... nicht erkennbar.” Additionally, one should at least note that the exact date and place of the Muratorian Fragment is still highly disputed; cf. e.g., J. Verheyden, “The Canon Muratori: A Matter of Debate,” in J.-M. Auwers and H.J. de Jonge (eds.), The Biblical Canons (Leuven: University Press/Peeters, 2003), 487–556; and J.J. Armstrong, “Victorinus of Pettau as the Author of the Canon Muratori,” VC 62 (2008): 1–34. 66 Cf. Löhr, “Paulus-Notiz,” 198–206.

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promise of eschatological reward are closely linked to each other. Against this background, 1 Clem. 5.5–7 appears as a text aiming for a specific impact on his readers’ behavior but not as a text carefully providing historical information. This should, however, not lead to the false conclusion that 1 Clement contains no reliable historical information at all.67 Exactly because an interest in a specific re-writing of history seems to be lacking, the author of 1 Clement probably builds his paraenetical argumentation on knowledge about the fate of Paul which was available for him as well as for his readers. Regarding the presence of martyrdom imagery and possible allusions to the traditional motif of the hero’s journey68 in 1 Clem. 5, Löhr argues in a similar way: while the topical nature of 1 Clem. 5 has to be recognized, its individual (and therefore: historically relevant) features need not to be overlooked.69 In his interpretation of τὸ τέρµα τῆς δύσεως we see this balanced approach at work. Löhr connects the agonistic background of τὸ τέρµα to the presence of agon imagery in our passage (from 1 Clem. 5.1 onwards70) and assumes that the author of 1 Clement possibly combined geographic information and athletic imagery. However, such a reading of 1 Clem. 5.7 would be compatible to almost any view of the last years of Paul. Obviously, both Rome and Spain could be meant by “his western goal” (taking τέρµα as the endpoint of a race) while even a return from Spain (taking τέρµα as “turning point”) would easily fit into such a picture. Löhr himself opts for “einen Punkt westlich von Rom”71 as the more plausible interpretation but does not provide any further argument for his decision. The greatest contrast to Löhr’s cautious treatment of our ambiguous text one could think of is Otto Zwierlein’s relecture of 1 Clem. 5 in his much debated monograph Petrus in Rom: Die literarischen Zeugnisse.72 For Zwierlein, 1 Clement is written in Hadrian’s time73 and uses a lot of writings which later became part of the New Testament like Acts, the epistles of Paul,

67

Cf. especially Löhr, “Paulus-Notiz,” 206. Observed, e.g., by F. Pfister, “Die zweimalige römische Gefangenschaft und die spanische Reise des Apostels Paulus und der Schluß der Apostelgeschichte,” ZNW 14 (1913): 216–21. Cf. Beyschlag, Clemens, 286–87, and the careful excursus in Lindemann, Clemensbriefe, 40. 69 Cf. Löhr, “Paulus-Notiz,” 208. 70 Note the difference to Dubowy, Reise, 29. 71 Löhr, “Paulus-Notiz,” 209. 72 Cf. O. Zwierlein, Petrus in Rom: Die literarischen Zeugnisse. Mit einer kritischen Edition der Martyrien des Petrus und Paulus auf neuer handschriftlicher Grundlage (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2009), 20–30. 73 Cf. Zwierlein, Petrus, 316–31. 68

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Hebrews, James, or 1 Peter.74 1 Clement simply got his idea that Paul went to Spain – for Zwierlein, there is no doubt about the meaning of τὸ τέρµα τ ῆς δύσεως – from reading Romans 15.24, 28. For sure, Zwierlein’s focus is not the question of Paul’s journey to Spain but rather the alleged martyrdom of Peter (and Paul) in Rome, which he strictly denies.75 Nevertheless, his very resolute reconstruction of 1 Clement’s place in early Christianity does not foster the understanding of a difficult and ambivalent text like 1 Clem. 5.7.

G. Conclusion The recent history of scholarship on 1 Clem. 5.7 and its connection to Paul’s planned journey to Spain (cf. Romans 15.24, 28) reminds one of Eccl 1.9: almost all possible interpretations of 1 Clem. 5.7 (and its crucial phrase ἐπὶ τὸ τέρµα τ ῆς δ ύσεως) as well as the different arguments for and against them were already known a hundred years ago, when Ernst Dubowy wrote his monograph on this fascinating topic. Nevertheless, there is no need to get frustrated. Rather, a careful examination of the various proposals provides us with (at least) eight interpretative principles, which should be recognized in any further debate on 1 Clem. 5.7: (a) Again and again, it should be remembered that we do not know anything sure about 1 Clement’s exact place in the history of early Christianity. 1 Clement could be a text that originated in Rome at the end of the first century but it might be written (much) earlier or (much) later as well.76 (b) It should be carefully discerned between information 1 Clement wants to provide regarding Paul’s journey to Spain and the (possible) historical value of such information. (c) The abundant use of topical language – be it from martyrological, heroic, or agonistic traditions/backgrounds – does not exclude the possibility that 1 Clem. 5 contains valuable historical information.

74

Cf. Zwierlein, Petrus, 245–315. For a balanced assessment of 1 Clement’s use of New Testament texts, cf. A.F. Gregory, “1 Clement and the Writings that Later Formed the New Testament,” in C. Tuckett and A.F. Gregory (eds.), The Reception of the New Testament in the Apostolic Fathers (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005), 129–57. 75 Zwierlein’s book released a heated and quite emotional debate; cf., e.g., S. Heid et al (eds.), Petrus und Paulus in Rom: Eine interdisziplinäre Debatte (Freiburg: Herder, 2011). 76 Cf. A.F. Gregory, “Disturbing Trajectories: 1 Clement, the Shepherd of Hermas and the Development of Early Roman Christianity,” in P. Oakes (ed.), Rome in the Bible and the Early Church (Carlisle: Paternoster, 2002), 142–66.

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(d) As far as grammar is concerned, there is no need to assume that τὸ τέρµα τ ῆς δ ύσεως signifies necessarily the same place where Paul’s µαρτυρεῖν (most probably to be understood in a non-technical way) took place. (e) Even if one assumes that µαρτυρήσας (and/or the phrase ἀπηλλάγη τοῦ κόσµου) points to a violent death for Paul, one should not allow traditions about Paul’s martyrdom to rule the interpretation of the text of 1 Clem. 5. (f) It has to be noted that ἐπὶ τὸ τέρµα τῆς δύσεως ἐλθών is a unique and ambiguous phrase. Given the evidence of expressions like ἐπὶ τέρµασι το ῖσι ἐκείνης (sc. τῆς Εὐρώπης) in Herodotus and (τὰ) τέρµατα (τῆς) γῆς in Philo,77 translating τὸ τέρµα τ ῆς δ ύσεως as “the border of the west (i.e., Spain)” is perfectly possible. Nevertheless, nothing hinders a “Roman” reading that understands τὸ τέρµα τῆς δύσεως as “(his) western goal” – pointing to the (alleged) end of Paul’s life in Rome. (g) Although it is very probable that the author of 1 Clement knew Paul’s epistle to the Romans,78 there is simply no way to decide if he had Romans 15.24, 28 in mind while writing 1 Clem. 5.7 or not.79 (h) 1 Clement’s use of the “dark” phrase ἐπὶ τὸ τέρµα τῆς δύσεως instead of some unambiguous geographical term was possibly evoked by the influence of agonistic motifs throughout 1 Clem. 5–7. Nevertheless, the author of 1 Clement most probably had a very specific place in mind when he integrated (or even coined) this expression. However, 1 Clement’s artfully drafted presentation of Paul’s ὑποµονή rather presupposes than provides historical information. Hence, anything its author may have known (or assumed) about Paul’s ἐπιποθία to travel to Spain remains hidden in praise.

77 Note the influence of hellenistic Judaism as represented by Philo on 1 Clement, extensively demonstrated by Lona, Clemensbrief, 58–61. 78 Cf. Lona, Clemensbrief, 39. 79 Although quite optimistic about the early reception of Paul’s writings, both A.E. Barnett, Paul Becomes a Literary Influence (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1941), 88–104, and D.A. Hagner, The Use of the Old and New Testaments in Clement of Rome (Leiden: Brill, 1973), 214–20 do not even discuss an influence of Romans 15 on 1 Clem. 5.7.

Paul’s Trial and End according to Second Timothy, 1 Clement, the Canon Muratori, and the Apocryphal Acts Rainer Riesner

A. Paul and Spain When and why did Spain become the goal of the Pauline mission? Peter Pilhofer is convinced that the apostle already entertained this plan during his first missionary journey and for this reason intentionally founded churches in Roman colonies in Asia Minor (Acts 13–14).1 There he tried to become familiar with Roman conditions as they consistently characterized Spain at the time. It seems easier to me to answer why the apostle so strongly wished to go to Spain rather than when he thought to do so for the first time. The undisputed Pauline letters show what James Dunn formulated clearly in the following words: “Paul saw his ministry to the Gentiles…as bringing to full effect Jesus’ own role as the Servant of Yahweh.”2 Also, N.T. Wright stresses the fact that Paul “frequently invokes the relevant ‘servant’ passages in Isaiah as providing him with his missionary mandate.”3 Especially important to the apostle was the so-called Second Song of the Servant of the Lord in the book of Isaiah,4 where God says to the Servant: “I will give you as a light to the nations, that my salvation may reach to the end of the earth” (‫;עד–קצה הארץ‬ LXX ἕως ἐσχάτου τῆς γῆς ; Isa 49.6b). Paul considered it an honour “to proclaim the gospel, where the name of Christ had not yet been named” (Rom 15.20). As a reason for his aim the apostle cited from the beginning of the Fourth Servant Song: “Those who have never been told of him shall see, and those who have never heard of him shall understand” (Rom 15.21; Isa 52.15). 1 Das Neue Testament und seine Welt. Eine Einführung (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010), 259f. 2 Romans 1–8 (Dallas: Word Books, 1988), 8. 3 See the essay by N.T. Wright in this volume. 4 Isa 49.1, 6 // Gal 1.15; Rom 1.1–5; Isa 49.4 // Phil 2.16; Isa 49.8 // 2 Cor 6.1–2. Cf. R. Riesner, “Romans 15 and Paul’s Project of Journey to Spain (Hispania),” in J.M. Gavaldà Ribot, A. Muňoz Melgar, A. Puig i Tàrrech (eds.), Pau, Fructuós i el Cristianisme Primitiu a Tarragona (Segles I–VIII): Actes del Congrés de Tarragona (19–21 de Juny de 2008) (Fundació Privada Liber, 2010), 101–11.

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According to my personal conviction, the eschatological outlook in the last chapter of the book of Isaiah played an important role for the mission of Paul.5 In connection with his travel plan to Spain (Rom 15.14–24), the apostle refers to Isaiah 66.20, meaning to have been “given the grace by God to be a minister of Christ Jesus to the Gentiles in the priestly service of the Gospel of God, so that the offering of the Gentiles may be acceptable, sanctified by the Holy Spirit” (Rom 15.16). In the preceding verse in Isaiah 66.19, God announced: “I will send (‫ ;ושלחתי‬LXX καὶ ἐξαποστελῶ) survivors from them to the nations, to Tarshish, Put and Lud, to Meshech and Rosh, to Tubal and Javan and to the islands far away (‫ ;האיים הרחקים‬LXX τὰς νήσους τὰς πόρρω ) that have not heard of my fame or seen my glory.” The “survivors” (‫)פליטים‬, or according to the Septuagint “the saved ones” (σεσῳσµένους), Paul assigns to the Jewish Christians as the “remnant of Israel” (cf. Rom 9.27),6 and this included himself and his apostolic mission from Tarsus, as Josephus identified with Tarshish (A.J. 1.127; 8.181; 9.208),7 until the farthest West. In the geographical understanding of contemporary Judaism, both the “end of the earth,” and the “islands far away,” must not necessarily but possibly could refer to Spain. In the Hebrew Bible (Gen 10.5; Isa 23.2, 6, etc.) and in a Qumran text (1QpHab 3.11), “the islands” mark the western end of the world. In one passage from the Psalms of Solomon dating to the first century BCE, ἐσχάτον τῆς γῆς means Spain (Pss. Sol. 8.16), as Willem Cornelis van Unnik has shown. And additionally, he explicitly stated that the term never meant Rome.8

5 R. Riesner, Paul’s Early Period: Chronology, Mission Strategy, Theology (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998), 241–53. 6 Isaiah 66.19 is not about fugitives from the nations but about Israelite survivors of the exile, and it is thus connected to the concept of the “remnant.” Cf. J.M. Scott, Paul and the Nations: The Old Testament and Jewish Background of Paul’s Mission to the Nations with Special Reference to the Destination of Galatians (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1995), 46f. 7 Cf. A.A. Das, “Paul of Tarshish: Isaiah 66.19 and the Spanish Mission of Romans 15.24, 28,” NTS 54 (2008): 60–73, especially 62–71. 8 “Der Ausdruck ἕως ἐσχάτου τ ῆς γ ῆς (Apostelgeschichte I 8) und sein alttestamentlicher Hintergrund,” in Sparsa Collecta: The Collected Essays of W. C. van Unnik (Leiden: Brill, 1973), 386–401, here 398f., 400.

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B. Territoriality or Salvation History? Ksenija Magda has opposed this Old Testament explanation for the course of the Pauline mission. She works with the concept of “territoriality,”9 developed especially by the geographer Robert Sack.10 One must always be careful to apply a modern concept to ancient sources. A generalizing theory can be helpful, but it can also also be misleading when the sources are controlled by the concept and not vice versa. In Magda’s opinion, the apostle was strongly influenced by Roman territorial conceptions. Undoubtedly, Paul knew the significance of the Roman provinces and he called several of them by name (Gal 1.21; Rom 15.19, etc.). Nevertheless, this proposal is not convincing as a main explanation, as James Dunn11 and Volker Rabens12 also point out. William M. Ramsay, as a 19th–century Victorian, already thought in such imperial manners and was later followed by W. Paul Bowers.13 In this context, Ramsay could speak about “The Statemanship of Paul”14 and even of “The Imperial and the Christian Policy”15 complementing each other. Magda does not go as far, but is it really possible to join her in talking of “Paul’s automatic positive attitudes towards Roman structures”?16 Concerning Paul’s mission strategy one should distinguish between practical reasons and the guiding theological principles.17 Wayne A. Meeks is more prudent. According to him, Paul “superimposed the world maps,” the Roman and the Jewish one.18 Indeed, not only as a Jewish scribe but particularly as a Christian apostle, Paul lived in the holy scriptures of Israel, which he considered as eschatologically fulfilled by Jesus the 9 Paul’s Territoriality and Mission Strategy: Searching for the Geographical Awareness Paradigm behind Romans (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2009). 10 Human Territoriality: Its Theory and History (Cambridge: CUP, 1986) 11 Beginning from Jerusalem (Christianity in the Making, 2nd vol.; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2009), 541–44. 12 “‘Von Jerusalem und rings umher…’ (Röm 15,19),” in R. von Bendemann and M. Tiwald (eds.), Das frühe Christentum und die Stadt (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 2012), 219–37, here 222–26. 13 Studies in Paul’s Understanding of His Mission (PhD diss.; Cambridge University, 1976), 76f. 14 Pauline and Other Studies in Early Christian History (2nd ed.; London: Hodder & Stoughton, 1906), 49–100. 15 St. Paul the Traveller and Roman Citizen (14th ed.; London: Hodder & Stoughton, 1920) 130–41. 16 Paul’s Territoriality and Mission Strategy, 104. 17 Cf. Riesner, Paul’s Early Period, 253–56. 18 “From Jerusalem to Illyricum, Rome to Spain: The World of Paul’s Missionary Imagination,” in C.K. Rothschild and J. Schröter (eds.), The Rise and Expansion of Christianity in the First Three Centuries of the Common Era (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2013), 167–81, here 173.

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Messiah. In the frame of his mission strategy, Paul reflected carefully on geographical and political realities, but this was subordinate to his thinking in terms of salvation history. The letter to the Romans is still marked by a near expectation of the parousia of Christ (cf. Rom 13.11–12): “Out of Zion will come the Deliverer” (Rom 11.26b; Isa 59.20) “and so all Israel will be saved” (Rom 11.26a). But there was still one necessary requirement: “The full number (πλήρωµα) of the Gentiles has to come in” (Rom 11.25).19 When in Paul’s understanding the preaching of the Gospel had been “fullfilled” (πεπληρωκέναι) in the East (Rom 15.19), he still had to reach the Gentiles at the farthest western “end of the earth” with the Gospel (cf. Rom 15.23–24). So for the apostle the mission to Spain was not an accidental occurence but an eschatological necessity.

C. Luke-Acts and Paul’s First Roman Trial In Acts 1:8, Luke has the risen Jesus announce the way of the early Christian mission: “You will be my witnesses (µάρτυρες) in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria and to the end of the earth (ἕως ἐσχάτου τῆς γῆς ).” The reference to Isaiah 49.6 and to the mission of the Servant of the Lord is undeniable. If one wonders who reaches the farthest “to the end of the earth,” then – according to the presentation in Luke-Acts – it is Paul. Indeed, to Luke he seemed to be the most eminent “witness” (µάρτυς) of the Risen One “sent far away to the Gentiles” (εἰς ἔθνη µακρὰν , Acts 22.15, 18, 21). According to Luke-Acts, Paul cited Isaiah 49.6 in his first programmatical speech together with Barnabas in the synagogue of Antioch near Pisidia and applied it to his mission “to bring salvation to the end of the earth” (ἕως ἐσχάτου τῆς γῆς, Acts 13.47). Out of all the Pauline speeches in Luke-Acts, the synagogue sermon of Antioch shows the greatest agreements with the undisputed Pauline letters.20 In view of the geographical concepts of antiquity (Strabo, Geogr. 2.5.14; 3.1.8; Juvenal, Sat.

19

The best understanding of τὸ κατέχον (2 Thess 2.6) as hindering the end is the unfulfilled preaching of the Gospel in the whole world (cf. Mark 13.10). Cf. F.W. Röcker, Belial und Katechon. Eine Untersuchung zu 2Thess 2,1–12 und 1Thess 4,13–5,11 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2009), 417–88. For 2 Thessalonians as a genuine Pauline letter see D.A. Carson and D.J. Moo, An Introduction to the New Testament (2 nd ed.; Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2005) 534–46; K.W. Niebuhr, “Die Paulusbriefsammlung,” in Niebuhr, Grundinformation Neues Testament (3rd ed.; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2008), 196–293, here 273–78. 20 Cf. A.D. Baum, “Paulinismen in den Missionsreden des lukanischen Paulus. Zur inhaltlichen Authentizität der oratio recta in der Apostelgeschichte,” ETL 82 (2006): 403–36.

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10.1–2, etc.)21 and the general direction of the mission into the West, as described in Luke-Acts, “the end of the earth” (notice the singular!) could hardly mean anything else but Spain.22 Does this mean that Luke knew about Paul’s travel plan to Spain or even about him having stayed there? But then why would Luke have kept it a secret and why would he decide to close Acts on such an uncommon open-ended note? According to the presentation in Luke-Acts, Paul’s juridical situation against the accusations of the Sanhedrin was rather favorable (Acts 23.29; 25.18, 25; 26.31–32). The procurator Festus was willing to set him free immediately and was only hindered by Paul’s appeal to Caesar (Acts 26.32). If Paul was only kept in “an extremely casual form of military custody”23 (Acts 28.16), he obviously would not have had to face the death penalty. According to the most probable chronological reconstruction, the apostle was in captivity in Rome from 60 to 62.24 In the year 62 the high priest Ananus II was removed, because he had illegally executed James, the Lord’s brother, during a procuratorial vacancy (Josephus, A.J. 20.201–03). On this ground some scholars believed that no authorized agents of the Sanhedrin were sent to Rome and consequently the trial against Paul could not take place.25 But why would Luke choose not to narrate a positive outcome such as that? Exegetes who view Luke-Acts as having been written before the end of Paul’s Roman captivity can refer to this as an explanation for the puzzling end of the book.26 However, that in connection with Paul’s farewell speech to the elders in Miletus Luke alludes clearly to the martyrdom of the apostle (Acts 20.23–25, 37– 38) speaks strongly against such a date of composition.27

21

Cf. also J.S. Romm, The Edges of the Earth in Ancient Thought: Geography, Exploration, and Fiction (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1992); H. Sonnabend, Die Grenzen der Welt. Geographische Vorstellungen der Antike (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2007), 66–76; C.S. Keener, Acts – An Exegetical Commentary I: Introduction and 1:1–2:47 (Grand Rapids: Baker, 2012), 704–08. 22 Cf. E.E. Ellis, “‘The End of the Earth’ (Acts 1.8),” BBR 1 (1991): 123–32. 23 Cf. B. Rapske, The Book of Acts in Its First Century Setting, Volume III: The Book of Acts and Paul in Roman Custody (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1994) 173–91, here 173. 24 Cf. Riesner, Paul’s Early Period, 218–28. 25 So especially H.W. Tajra, The Trial of St. Paul: A Juridical Exegesis of the Second Half of the Acts of the Apostles (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1989), 191–99. In this instance I had to revise my former opinion (“Romans 15 and Paul’s Project of Journey to Spain [Hispania],” 107). See part D. 26 J.A.T. Robinson, Redating the New Testament (London: SCM Press, 1976), 88–92; A. Mittelstaedt, Lukas als Historiker. Zur Datierung des lukanischen Doppelwerkes (Tübingen: Francke, 2006), 165–220. 27 Cf. G. Schneider, Die Apostelgeschichte II: Kommentar zu Kap. 9,1–28,31 (Freiburg: Herder, 1982), 300; W.J. Larkin, Acts (Downers Grove: InterVarsity Press, 1995), 18; J.A. Fitzmyer, The Acts of the Apostles (New York: Doubleday, 1998), 674–

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D. Luke-Acts, Second Timothy, and Paul’s Second Roman Trial The second letter to Timothy may help us to explain the puzzling end of Luke-Acts.28 Jens Herzer justly stated that presently the introductory questions of the Pastoral Epistles are more open than it had seemed for a long time.29 A composition during Paul’s lifetime is defended as is an origin in the 2nd century. A particularly strong argument for Second Timothy as having been written in Paul’s first Roman imprisonment is made by Herzer.30 Speaking for myself, I prefer the following solution: the contacts in terminology and content between the Pastoral Epistles and Luke-Acts are that striking that one has to attribute to the auctor ad Theophilum an active role in the composition of these letters.31 The author of Luke-Acts is to be identified with Luke, the temporary companion of Paul (Phlm 24; Col 4.14).32 But the apostle’s being described as the paradigmatic martyr in terms of the Jewish theology of martyrdom33 and of the example of Jesus speaks against Luke as the secretary while Paul was still alive. To I. Howard Marshall as well it seems that the Pastoral Epistles originated in the Pauline circle soon after the death of the 76; J. Jervell, Die Apostelgeschichte (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1998), 515, and also the essay by T. Nicklas in this volume. 28 Cf. R. Riesner, “The Pastoral Epistles and Paul in Spain (2 Timothy 4:16–18),” in J.M. García Perez (ed.), Rastreando los orígenes: Lengua y exégesis en el Nuevo Testamento. En memoria del Profesor Mons. Mariano Herranz Marco (Madrid: CEU Ediziones, 2011), 316–35. 29 “Abschied vom Konsens? Die Pseudepigraphie der Pastoralbriefe als Herausforderung an die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft,” ThLZ 129 (2004): 1267–82. 30 “Fiktion oder Täuschung? Zur Diskussion über die Pseudepigraphie der Pastoralbriefe,” in J. Frey, J. Herzer, M. Janssen, C.K. Rothschild (eds.), Pseudepigraphie und Verfasserfiktion in frühchristlichen Briefen (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2009), 489–536. Summarized in J. Herzer, “Die Pastoralbriefe,” in F.W. Horn (ed.), Paulus Handbuch (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2013) 538–42. 31 Cf. A. Strobel, “Schreiben des Lukas? Zum sprachlichen Problem der Pastoralbriefe,” NTS 15 (1968–69): 191–210; S. de Lestapis, L’Énigme des Pastorales de Saint Paul (Paris: J. Gabalda, 1976), 129–48; R. Riesner, “Once More: Luke-Acts and the Pastoral Epistles,” in S.W. Son (ed.), History and Exegesis: New Testament Essays in Honor of Dr. E. Earle Ellis, (London: T&T Clark, 2006), 239–58; B. Witherington, Letters and Homilies for Hellenized Christians, I: A Socio-Rhetorical Commentary on Titus, 1–2 Timothy and 1–3 John (Downers Grove: InterVarsity Press, 2006), 54–62. For a short history of research, see M. Engelmann, Unzertrennliche Drillinge? Motivsemantische Untersuchungen zum literarischen Verhältnis der Pastoralbriefe (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2012), 44–48. 32 M. Hengel and A.M. Schwemer, Paulus zwischen Damaskus und Antiochien. Die unbekannten Jahre des Apostels (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1998), 18–26; Keener, Acts, 402–22; E.J. Schnabel, Acts (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2012), 21–28. 33 Cf. G.M. Wieland, The Significance of Salvation: A Study of Salvation Language in the Pastoral Epistles (Milton Keynes: Paternoster, 2006), 142–44.

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apostle.34 The heresy combatted was not the gnosis of the 2nd century but an ascetical movement influenced by some Jewish Christians.35 Along with Jens Herzer, one has to make a difference between a fake and the phenomenon of “Schulpseudepigraphie.”36 In my opinion, Luke expanded shorter letters addressed to co-workers of Paul to apostolic mandata (1 Timothy, Titus) and to an apostolic testament (2 Timothy), also making use of traditions from the Palestinian primitive church and his own memories after the death of the apostle. With Jerome D. Quinn,37 I hold the Pastoral Epistles to be something like the “third part” of Luke’s historical work. But why did Luke choose this form of writing? The answer may be connected to the ending of Paul. Exegetes reckoning with a release of Paul from a first Roman imprisonment often consider a return of the apostle to his churches in the east.38 Some scholars combine a short stay in Spain with a last visit to the east,39 but not without a certain compression of time. However, Acts 20.25 argues strongly against another voyage to the east, where Luke has Paul on the way to Jerusalem saying that none of the Ephesian elders “will ever see my face again.” Eusebius only mentioned Paul’s “mission service” (τὴν τοῦ κηρύγµατος διακονίαν) very generally after his release from a first trial in Rome without giving any geographical specification (Hist. eccl. 2.22.2 [Schwartz 66]).40 John Chrysostom who was perhaps the greatest expositor of Paul in the Old Church only knew of a stay in Spain but not of another travel to the east (Hom. 10.3 in 2 Tim. 4.20 [PG 62.657f.]). Indeed, if Paul had been set free then he would have had to travel to Spain out of a theological necessity (part B). But did Paul’s trial really end with a plain release?

34

The Pastoral Epistles (with P.H. Towner; ICC; London: T&T Clark, 1999) 40-92. Cf. also C. Spicq, Saint Paul: Les Épitres Pastorales I (4th ed.; Paris: J. Gabalda, 1969), 85–115; P.H. Towner, The Letters to Timothy and Titus (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2006), 41–50. 36 “Fiktion oder Täuschung?,” 521–23, 532f. 37 “The Last Volume of Luke: The Relation of Luke-Acts to the Pastoral Epistles,” in C.H. Talbert (ed.), Perspectives on Luke-Acts (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1978), 62–75. 38 W. Metzger, Die letzte Reise des Apostels Paulus. Beobachtungen und Erwägungen zu seinem Itinerar nach den Pastoralbriefen (Stuttgart: Calwer, 1976); G.D. Fee, 1 and 2 Timothy, Titus (Peabody: Harper & Row, 1988), 3–5; H.W. Neudorfer, Der erste Brief des Paulus an Timotheus (Wuppertal: R. Brockhaus, 2004), 29–33. 39 E.E. Ellis, The Making of the New Testament Documents (Leiden: Brill, 1999), 422–25; J. Murphy-O’Connor, Paul: A Critical Life (Oxford: OUP, 1996), 356–71; E.J. Schnabel, Paul the Missionary: Realities, Strategies and Methods (Downers Grove: InterVarsity Press, 2007), 114–22. 40 Cf. V. Mihoc, “The tradition of St. Paul’s journey to Spain in the church fathers,” in Pau, Fructuós i el Cristianisme Primitiu a Tarragona, 181–90, here 185f. 35

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Bernardo Santalucia has demonstrated that Paul’s first trial in Rome must have ended with an imperial verdict since he was accused of a crimen laesae maiestatis.41 The authorized agents of the Jerusalem Sanhedrin were under pressure to appear in court, and the deadline marked the end of one and a half years. Santalucia gives reasonable cause to believe that the verdict was some lenient form of relegatio. An outcome as such can be combined with 1 Clement 5.6, where an exile of the apostle is presupposed (part E). Against this sort of reconstruction, as also considered by Valerio Marotta,42 two objections are made by Heike Omerzu.43 1) Paul was accused as a trouble-maker (cf. Acts 24.5), thus he must have been regarded as dangerous everywhere. But after the removal of the high priest Ananus II who was Paul’s chiefaccuser (Acts 23.1–5), it is likely that his agents were not in a very strong position. That could have influenced the trial in a positive way for Paul. 2) The verdict of relegation was restricted to high ranking and influential personalities. But Juan Chapa presents arguments in favor of Paul’s social status which must not have been that inferior.44 An outcome of Paul’s trial as such – not a release but an exile – could explain why Luke finished Acts before the judgement. Even more, it is understandable why Luke in Acts, likewise written for outsiders, only alluded to the martydom of Paul, whereas in the second letter to Timothy, written for Christians, he spoke more clearly about it (2 Tim 1.16–17; 2.9–10; 4.6–8). Jerome D. Quinn remarks: “The genre of the ‘unreal’ letter has dispensed the narrator from rehearsing or explaining the betrayal, the charges, the capital sentence on a Roman citizen after due process of Roman law the still lively shame of a criminal’s execution.”45 What might one learn from the testamentary second letter of Timothy about the last years of Paul? Jerome D. Quinn and William C. Wacker call the section 2 Timothy 4.10–18 “a thumbnail sketch…of the Pauline career after the narrative of Acts.”46 2 Timothy 4.16–18 reads: “At my first defense (ἐν τῇ πρώτῃ µου ἀπολογίᾳ) no one came to my support, but all deserted me. May it not be counted against them! But the Lord stood by me and gave me strength, so that through me the message might be fully proclaimed and all the Gentiles might hear it. So I was rescued from the lion’s mouth (καὶ ἐρρύσθην ἐκ στόµατος λέοντος). The Lord will rescue me from every evil attack and save me for his heavenly kingdom.” The crux interpretum in this passage is the 41

See the essay by B. Santalucia in this volume. See the essay by V. Marotta in this volume. 43 “The Probability of a Pauline Travel to Spain in Light of the Roman Law,” in Pau, Fructuós i el Cristianisme Primitiu a Tarragona, 113–31, here 127. 44 See the essay by J. Chapa in this volume. 45 “Paul’s Last Captivity,” in E.A. Livingstone (ed.), Studia Biblica III: Papers on Paul and Other New Testament Authors (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1980), 289–99, here 297f. 46 The First and Second Letters to Timothy (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2000), 821. 42

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term πρώτη ἀπολογία (2 Tim 4.16). Most modern commentators identify it with the prima actio of a present trial. A minority of exegetes, including myself, combine the πρώτη ἀπολογία with an earlier trial that had ended with some kind of a release.47 The first person known to interpret 2 Timothy 4 in this sense was Eusebius, who wrote: “By these words he [Paul] plainly indicates that at the former occasion (τὸ πρότερον), in order that the preaching might be fulfilled through him (ὡς ἄν τὸ κήρυγµα τὸ δι᾽ αὐτοῦ πληρωθείη ), he was rescued (ἐρρύσθη) from the mouth of the lion, referring, by this expression, to Nero, as is probable on account of the latter’s cruelty. In the following he did not add the similar statement, ‘He will rescue me (ῥύσεταί µε) from the mouth of the lion’; for in the spirit he saw that his end would not long be delayed. Therefore he adds to the words ‘And he rescued (ἐρρύσθην) me from the mouth of the lion,’ this sentence: ‘The Lord will rescue me (ῥύσεταί µε) from every evil attack and save (σώσει) me for his heavenly kingdom,’ indicating his quickly approaching martyrdom” (Hist. eccl. 2.22.4–5 [Schwartz 67]). Besides the difference between a rescue of his earthly life in the past (2 Tim 4.17) and a future rescue from the present into heaven (2 Tim 4.18), there is another argument to distinguish between two very different situations. At the “first defense” of Paul “all deserted” him (2 Tim 4.16), but as he is now “in chains” (2 Tim 1.16) it is not only Luke of his co-workers who is with him and Mark who is going to come (2 Tim 4.11), but the apostle sends greetings from three individuals and “all the brothers” (2 Tim 4.21). Two different situations seem to be a better explanation than seeing 2 Timothy 4.16 as an “overstatement.”48 At this first trial “the Lord had rescued” Paul “from the lion’s mouth so that” through him “the message might be fully proclaimed and all the Gentiles might hear it” (τὸ κήρυγµα πληροφορηθῇ καὶ ἀκούσωσιν πάντα τὰ ἔθνη , 2 Tim 4.17). Christos Karakoulis comments on this passage as follows: “In my understanding the expression in 2 Tim 4:17 πάντα τὰ ἔθνη (meaning all the nations and not all Gentiles) most probably means that the court room was filled with representatives from all different parts and nations of the empire, which is to be expected in the multiethnic and multicultural city of Rome. The context is definitely not one of a mission in Hispania, but one of a defence in front of a court.”49 According to Karakoulis, 2 Timothy 4.16–18 is modelled after Philippians 1.16–19. Of course, this explanation presupposes a pseudonymous author of a later generation. It also seems doubtful to explain 47

P. Dornier, Les epîtres pastorales (Paris: J. Gabalda, 1969), 247f.; G.W. Knight, The Pastoral Epistles (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1992), 468–70; Murphy-O’Connor, Paul, 359–61; Riesner, “The Pastoral Epistles and Paul in Spain,” 324–30 (329 n.52: many older proponents); Schnabel, Acts, 28. 48 See the essay by J. Herzer in this volume. 49 See the essay by C. Karakoulis in this volume.

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the plerophoric expression in 2 Timothy 4.17 by a mixed crowd of hearers in a trial. This formulation alludes to Primitive Christian mission formulas (Matt 28.19; Mark 13.10; 16.15, 20, etc.), stressing the worldwide commision to preach the Gospel to all nations.50 Ceslas Spicq wrote: Paul “explicite (καί épéxégétique): ‘afin que toutes les nations entendissent’. Envisagé comme un résultat de l’assistance et de la force du Seigneur, cette proposition pourrait s’entendre d’un apostolat ultérieur, par example jusqu’en Espagne.”51 Indeed, so it seems to me, at the end of Second Timothy, Luke must have only been able to use such a comprehensive formulation for the effect of Paul’s missionary work if he had known of a mission in Spain.52 According to the minority reconstruction, the apostle foresees his certain martyrdom “in Rome” (2 Tim 4.6–8) during a second and heavier imprisonment “in chains” (2 Tim 1.16–17). At this point, an astonishing relation between Luke-Acts and Second Timothy even in terms of their wording becomes obvious. In the farewell speech to the elders in Miletus Paul announced: “I do not count my life of any value to myself, if only I may finish my race” (ὡς τελειῶσαι τὸν δρόµον µου, Acts 20.24). In Second Timothy, the apostle looks back on his reached goal: “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race” (τὸν δρόµον τετέλεκα , 2 Tim 4.7). One has to agree with Marie-Émile Boismard that the same author, namely Luke, was responsible for both statements.53

E. The First Letter of Clement According to this reconstruction, with Second Timothy we would possess an indirect testimony of a stay of Paul in Spain from the sixties of the first century. At least as much disputed as the origin of Second Timothy is the dating of the first letter of Clement. Recently, Otto Zwierlein has proposed an origin in the reign of Trajan. Zwierlein was led to this problematical assumption because he dated the letter of James used by First Clement around the time of 100 to 105.54 Likewise, other arguments for the late dating of First Clement are dubious.55 Speaking for myself, I even tend towards an early dating in the 50

Cf. Riesner, “The Pastoral Epistles and Paul in Spain,” 330–34. Saint Paul: Les Épitres Pastorales II (4th ed.; Paris: J. Gabalda, 1969), 820. 52 So, e.g., Quinn, Wacker, The First and Second Letters to Timothy, 825, and also the essay by A. Puig i Tàrrech in this volume. 53 Les actes des deux apôtres III: Analyses littéraires (Paris: J. Gabalda, 1990), 25. 54 Petrus in Rom. Die literarischen Zeugnisse (2nd ed.; Berlin: de Gruyter, 2010), 255–307. 55 Cf. H.E. Lona, “‘Petrus in Rom’ und der 1. Clemensbrief,” in S. Heid (ed.), Petrus in Rom. Ein interdisziplinärer Dialog (Freiburg: Herder, 2011), 221–46. 51

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time of Vespasian, which is defended by a minority of scholars.56 A strong argument in favour of this dating is the paragraph about the martyrdom of Peter and Paul in Rome which states: “But to pass from the examples of ancient times, let us come to those champions who became nearest (τοὺς ἔγγιστα γενοµένους ἀθλητάς), let us set before us the noble examples of our own generation” (τῆς γενεᾶς ἡµῶν , 1 Clem. 5.1 [SUC 1.31]). Both datings better match with a composition in the seventies of the first century than within the nineties, after the death of Domitian, when the Neronian persecution already dated back more than thirty years before. The interpretation of the “misfortunes and reverses” (συµφορὰς καὶ περιπτώσεις [SUC 1.24]) in 1 Clement 1.1 as if to be refering to the Domitian persecution is philologically not compelling.57 Domitian persecuted only few politically suspect believers (Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 3.17–20). Today very few scholars believe in a widespread persecution under this emperor.58 Of Paul it is said: “Because of jealousy and strife Paul pointed out the prize for endurance; seven times bearing chains, φυγαδευθείς, stoned, becoming a herold in the East as in the West, he received the genuine glory for his faith; teaching righteousness to the whole world and reaching ἐπὶ τὸ τέρµα τῆς δύσεως and testifying before the leaders he thus departed from the world and went to the holy place, becoming the greatest example of endurance” (1 Clem. 5.5–7 [SUC 1.30, 32]). It is not at all obvious why φυγαδευθείς would need to refer to events prior to Paul’s first imprisonment in Rome as, for instance, the flight from Damascus (2 Cor 11.33) or the expulsion from Antioch near Pisidia (Acts 13.50). Why would one, for example, exclude Rome from the aforementioned “seven” imprisonments “in chains” (cf. Acts 28.20)? It is of crucial importance how the verb φυγαδεύειν ought to be rendered in this case. In later Patristic literature the more general meaning “to expel” prevails.59 But in the case of an early writing such as First Clement, the more specific classical meaning “to banish” needs to be assumed.60 In his new edition of the “Apostolic Fathers” by Lightfoot-Harmer, Michael W. Holmes retained their translation “had been driven into exile.”61 56 R. Riesner, “Apostelgeschichte, Pastoralbriefe, 1. Clemens-Brief und die Martyrien der Apostel in Rom,” in Petrus in Rom, 153–79, here 166–70. 57 Cf. L.L. Welborn, “The Preface to 1 Clement: The Rheorical Situation and the Traditional Date,” in C. Breytenbach and L.L. Welborn (eds.), Encounters with Hellenism: Studies in the First Letter of Clement (Leiden: Brill, 2004), 197–216. 58 Cf. J. Ulrich, “Euseb, Hist. Eccl. III,14–20 und die Frage nach der Christenverfolgung unter Domitian,” ZNW 87 (1996): 269–89. 59 Cf. G.W.H. Lampe, A Patristic Greek Lexicon (Oxford: OUP, 1978), 1492a. 60 Cf. Liddell, Scott, Jones, A Greek-English Lexicon (Oxford: OUP, 1968), 1959. 61 J.B. Lightfoot and J.R. Harmer, The Apostolic Fathers: Greek Texts and English Translations of Their Writings (ed. and rev. by M.W. Holmes; Grand Rapids: Baker, 1992), 35.

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Apart from that, the meaning of the expression τὸ τέρµα τῆς δύσεως is disputed. Some assume it refers to the place of Paul’s martyrdom and therefore to Rome.62 However, not only the participial sentence ἐπὶ τὸ τέρµα τῆς δύσεως ἐλθών is subordinated to the finite sentence “he thus departed from the world,” but the statement “teaching righteousness to the whole world” as well. Ought one assume that this happened only in Rome? Among other things, the whole paragraph is very carefully structured by the use of seven participles.63 As much as it is impossible to relate the first four participles to one place only, it is just as unnecessary to assume so for the other three. Jens Herzer understands τὸ τέρµα τῆς δύσεως in the sense of “border to the West.”64 But then, why would Clement write that Paul “was a herald in the East and the West” (κῆρυξ γενόµενος ἔν τε τῇ ἀνατολῇ καὶ ἐν τῇ δύσει , 1 Clem. 5.6 [SUC 1.32]) if the apostle only reached the border to the West? Most of the commentators identify τὸ τέρµα τῆς δύσεως with Spain and translate it with something like “the farthest limits of the West.”65 Ceslas Spicq referred to the fact that δύσις is often synonymous with ἑσπέρα and that the Romans also called Spain “Hesperia.”66 If the author of First Clement did not mention Spain explicitly but used a paraphrase instead, then this can be explained by his literary intention. As in 2 Timothy 2.5, Paul is decribed as an “athlete” who wins the “prize” of eternal life. In the context of the agon-motive, the expression τέρµα can mean the turning-point of a run or a race.67 But contrary to Spain, the city of Rome was not the turning-point but the end-point of Paul’s apostolic run. For an author, who, according to the prescript of First Clement, was writing from Rome, it would have been a very strange mode of expression to call this city “the farthest limits of the West.” The author was all the more able to express himself by way of indication, in case the place and the circumstances of Paul’s end were well-known in his own time and place.68 And where else other than in Rome, the place of Paul’s martyrdom, would one know of the immediate time before? Even if one does 62

A. Lindemann, Paulus im ältesten Christentum. Das Bild des Apostels und die Rezeption der paulinischen Theologie in der frühchristlichen Literatur bis Marcion (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1979), 77–79; Lindemann, Die Apostolischen Väter I. Die Clemensbriefe (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1992), 39. 63 Cf. H.E. Lona, Der erste Clemensbrief (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1998), 161f. 64 See the essay by Herzer is this volume. 65 Literature in Riesner, “The Pastoral Epistles and Paul in Spain,” 318 n.9–10. Still valuable is E. Dubowy, Klemens von Rom über die Reise Pauli nach Spanien. Historischkritische Untersuchung zu Klemens von Rom: 1 Kor 5,7 (Freiburg: Herder, 1914). 66 “Saint Paul est venu en Espagne,” Helm. 15 (1964): 45–70, here 58f. 67 Cf. Liddell, Scott, Jones, A Greek-English Lexicon, 1777a. 68 Cf. H. Löhr, “Zur Paulus-Notiz in 1 Clem 5,5–7,” in F.W. Horn (ed.), Das Ende des Paulus. Historische, theologische und literaturgeschichtliche Aspekte (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2001), 197–214, here 205f., 212f.

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not follow the earliest possible dating of First Clement but joins the majority opinion of a date around 96, then First Clement would be a testimony for Paul’s stay in Spain from the first post-apostolic generation.

F. The Muratorian Canon The dating proposals for the Muratorian Canon differ even more from each other than those for Second Timothy and First Clement. For a long time, a date around 200 in Rome for this fragmentary canon list seemed to be the communis opinio. Today, some scholars defend a composition in the East of the Roman Empire sometime during the 4th century.69 That the letter to the Hebrews is not mentioned speaks strongly against an assumed origin from the East, because it was generally accepted at that place since the 2nd century, whereas in the West, the objections endured until the 5th century.70 The canonical status of the Sapientia Salomonis (l.69–70) points to a composition of the list dating closer to 200,71 as does the fact that only heresies of the 2nd century are combatted (l.65, 80–85).72 Still, it seems that a majority of scholars favor an early date.73 Even Joseph Verheyden closes his very thorough discussion of the dating arguments with these clear words: “I am afraid I have to conclude that the suggestion of a fourth-century, eastern origin for the Fragment should be put to rest not for a thousand years, but for eternity.”74 A composition by Hippolytus of Rome should not be dismissed lightly, as it was proposed by Joseph Barber Lightfoot75 and defended in a pre-ecumenical coalition by Theodor Zahn76 and Marie-Joseph Lagrange.77 The authorship by

69 A.C. Sundberg, “Canon Muratori: A Fourth Century List,” HTR 66 (1973): 1–41; G.M. Hahneman, The Muratorian Fragment and the Development of the Canon (Oxford: OUP, 1992). 70 Cf. R. Riesner, “Der Hebräer-Brief nach altkirchlichen Zeugnissen,” EuroJTh 11 (2002): 15–29. 71 Cf. W. Horbury, “The Wisdom of Solomon in the Muratorian Fragment,” JTS 45 (1994): 149–59. 72 Cf. E. Ferguson, “Canon Muratori: Date and Provenance,” in E.A Livingstone (ed.), Studia Patristica XVII/2 (Oxford: OUP, 1982), 677–83; P. Henne, “La datation du Canon de Muratori,” RB 100 (1993): 54–75; J.D. Kaestli, “La place du Fragment de Muratori,” CrSt 15 (1994): 609–34. 73 Cf. C.E. Hill, The Johannine Corpus in the Early Church (Oxford: OUP, 2004), 128–34. 74 “The Canon of Muratori: A Matter of Dispute,” in J.M. Auwers and H.J. de Jonge (eds.), The Biblical Canons (Leuven: Leuven University Press, 2003), 487–556, at 556. 75 Clement of Rome II (2nd ed.; London: Macmillan, 1889), 405–13. 76 “Hippolytus, der Verfasser des Muratorischen Kanons,” in T. Zahn, Forschungen zur Geschichte des neutestamentlichen Kanons X (Leipzig: A. Deichert, 1929), 58–75.

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a theologian who had been marked as a schismatic for a certain amount of time could explain why the canon received such small attention. The only exceptions are possibly Victorinus of Petavio (Comm. in Rev. 1.20 [SC 423.52– 54]) and the Syriac writer Dionysios Bar Salibi (CSCO 101.2–3) and certainly a late Latin prologue to the Pauline Epistles (TU 20/3.112). However, if the canon simply calls Rome “the city” (urbs) (l.38–39), that speaks in favour of an origin in the capital of the Empire or in its vicinity, as does the mentioning of the 2nd century Roman bishop Pius [† ca. 155] and his brother Hermas “only recently in our times” (nuperrime temporibus nostris, l.73–77).78 Jens Herzer explains the clear reference to Paul’s stay in Spain in the Canon Muratori by the author’s being forced to believe that the apostle’s Spanish plan in Romans 15 must have been accomplished.79 But then the canonicus would have invented a problem that he had difficulties to solve later on. It seems more plausible that he knew a firm tradition about Paul in Spain and was thus in the uncomfortable position of explaining Luke’s apparent silence about it. According to the Canon Muratori, Luke did not narrate “the departure of Paul from the city to Spain” (profectione pauli au urbes ad spania proficescentis), because he was not present at this event as he was likewise not a witness of the martyrdom of Peter (l.35–39).80 Since the Actus Vercellenses also mention the departure of Paul to Spain (Act. Verc. 1–3),81 some scholars assumed these Acts to function as the source of the Canon Muratori.82 Nevertheless, the canon explicitly says that Luke had written down “the acts of all the apostles” (Acta aute omniu apostolorum, l.33–34) in his Acts. Apparently, this is directed against apocryphal Acts to whom the author of the Muratorian Canon did not give credence. It is more probable that the canon knew about Paul’s travel to Spain drawing on a Roman local tradition as it is testified by First Clement.83 An origin of the canon at the turn of the 2nd to the 3rd century seems even better established, as we shall see, than a 2nd century date for the Actus Vercellenses. 77

“Le Canon d’Hippolyte et le Fragment de Muratori,” RB 42 (1933): 161–86; Introduction à l’étude du Nouveau Testament I: Histoire ancienne du Canon du Nouveau Testament (Paris: J. Gabalda, 1933), 78–84. 78 Cf. B.M. Metzger, The Canon of the New Testament: Its Origin, Development, and Significance (2nd ed.; Oxford: OUP, 1988), 193f. 79 See the essay by Herzer in this volume. 80 The text (original and reconstructions by T. Zahn and A. von Harnack) can be found in M. Meinertz, Einleitung in das Neue Testament (5th ed.; Münster: Aschendorff, 1950), 319-23. 81 For the text, see R.A. Lipsius, Acta apostolorum apocrypha I (Leipzig: J.C. Hinrichs, 1891 [Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1959]), 45–48. 82 Hahneman, The Muratorian Fragment and the Development of the Canon, 195f. 83 Cf. H.W. Tajra, The Martyrdom of St. Paul: Historical and Juridical Context, Traditions, and Legends (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1994), 111–13; Lona, Der erste Clemensbrief, 165.

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G. Apocryphal Acts The only manuscript of the Actus Vercellenses originates from the 7th century. For a long time, a consensus seemed to have been established that the Acts present a rather exact Latin translation of the Greek Acts of Peter from the end of the 2nd century. Now, however, Gérard Poupon has proposed a redactional process of the Actus Vercellenses during the 3rd century, including the remark about Paul’s travel to Spain.84 According to a recent dissertation by Matthew C. Baldwin, some written Acts of Peter originated in the second half of the 3rd century at the earliest and the Actus Vercellenses not up until the end of the 4th century.85 Not all scholars accept these late datings. Since the papyrus Oxyrhynchus 849 and the Actus Vercellenses agree in some details, Hans-Josef Klauck still considers an origin in the 2nd century possible.86 Especially interesting is the judgment of Otto Zwierlein, who generally leans towards extremely late dates. He thinks that the scientific consensus that has been reached in the middle of the 20th century about the substance and the relative chronology of the Acts of Paul and Peter has not been shattered.87 Yet one may suspect that in this case, Zwierlein is in need of an early dating of the apocryphal Petrine Acts in order to make all other notices about the martyrdoms of Paul and Peter dependent on this legendary source. I want to leave the discussion about the dating of the Actus Vercellenses open. It seems not to be clear if the Actus Vercellenses wish to narrate only the fulfilling of Paul’s plan in Romans 15 or simply clearing the Roman stage for Peter.88 The fanciful envisioning of details from the canonical Gospels, LukeActs, and the Pauline Letters89 seems to speak against the possibility that the Actus Vercellenses contain independant historical memories. But at some instances in the legendary apostolic Acts, a few historical details stemming from church tradition can be detected in case they are testified by other relia84 “Les ‘Actes de Pierre’ et leur remaniement,” ANRW II 25.6 (ed. W. Haase; Berlin: de Gruyter, 1988): 4363–83, here 4381f. 85 Whose Acts of Peter? Text and Historical Context of the Actus Vercellenses (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2005). 86 The Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles: An Introduction (Waco: Word Press, 2008), 83f. 87 Petrus in Rom, 38: “Der um die Mitte des 20. Jh.s schließlich erreichte wissenschaftliche Konsens über die Grundsubstanz und die relative Chronologie der Petrus- und Paulusakten (wurde) nicht erschüttert.” 88 Cf. J.E. Spittler, “Christianity at the Edges: Representations of the Ends of the Earth in the Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles,” in The Rise and Expansion of Christianity, 353–77, here 366. 89 Cf. W. Schneemelcher, “Petrusakten,” in W. Schneemelcher (ed.), Neutestamentliche Apokryphen II: Apostolisches, Apokalyptisches und Verwandtes (5th ed.; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1989), 243–89, here 258–83; C.R. Matthews, “The Acts of Peter and Luke’s Intertextual Heritage,” Semeia 80 (1997): 207–22.

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ble sources.90 At least, the Actus Vercellenses know the very ancient extraNew Testament tradition (Clement of Alexandria, Strom. 6.43.3; Apollonius [Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 5.18.14], etc.)91 of the arrival of Peter in Rome after “twelve years in Jerusalem” (in Hierosolymis adimpletis duodecim annis, Act. Verc. 5 [Lipsius 49]), even if it is connected to Paul’s departure to Spain in a chronologically completely confusing manner. According to the Acts, Paul’s stay in Spain lasted only a short period of “one year” (ut annum plus non abesset) before he died as a martyr under Nero in Rome (Act. Verc. 1 [Lipsius 47]). Could this remark go back to an older church tradition? Be this as it may, First Clement and the Canon Muratori are the older and better witnesses in favour of an executed stay of Paul in Spain.92

H. Paul’s Last Two Years Of course, it is very risky trying to reconstruct the last years of the apostle. With due caution, the following sequence of events is proposed. The first Roman imprisonment of Paul ended with an imperial verdict of relegatio in the year 62.93 If it was released in its most lenient form then the apostle would have been able to choose his place of banishment. Then, he could have realized his long-considered eschatological plan to go to Spain. But, at the least, it is not unimaginable that he was exiled to Spain by responsible authorities. They might have had interest in sending him as far away as possible from the territories of his former activity in the East, as Juan Chapa writes: “That Paul could have reached ‘the end of the earth’ (Acts 1.8) thanks to an imperial sen-

90 Cf. É. Junod, “Créations romanesques et tradition ecclesiastiques dans les Actes apocryphes des Apôtres,” Aug 23 (1983): 271–85; F. Bovon, “Canonical and Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles,” New Testament and Christian Apocrypha: Collected Essays II (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2009), 197–222, here 198. 91 Cf. H. Botermann, Das Judenedikt des Kaisers Claudius. Römischer Staat und Christiani im 1. Jahrhundert (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner, 1996), 139f; Riesner, Paul’s Early Period, 119f. 92 Cf. also A. Borrell Viader, “Les tradicions sobre el viatge de Pau a Hispània en la Primera Carta de Clement i en el Cànon de Muratori,” in Pau, Fructuós i el Cristianisme Primitiu a Tarragona, 157–65. For other apocryphal Acts of the Apostles, cf. C. Godoy Fernández, “Les tradicions del viatge de Pau a Hispània en la literatura apòcrifa,” in Pau, Fructuós i el Cristianisme Primitiu a Tarragona, 167–80; A. Moda, “Per una biografia paolina. La Lettera di Clemente, il Canone Muratoriano, la letteratura Apocrifa,” Testimonium Christi. Scritti in onore di Jacques Dupont (Brescia: Paideia, 1985), 289–315, here 308–14. 93 So already L.P. Pherigo, “Paul’s Life after the Close of Acts,” JBL 70 (1951): 277–84, here 278; J.J. Gunther, Paul: Messenger and Exile: A Study in the Chronology of His Life and Letters (Valley Forge; Judson Press, 1972), 144–49.

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tence might be ironic, but is no less of a real possibility for all that.”94 Perhaps, the apostle was deported back to the capital rather soon because his mission work in Spain caused trouble.95 Another possibility is that under the Neronian persecution following the fire of Rome in July 64 the apostle could have been put to death there as a ringleader of the now publicly ostracized Christiani. In the Christian sources, the connection of Paul’s martyrdom with the Neronian persecution is rather stable,96 but a death sentence not long before that could have lead to a secondary connection of the events. Paul’s burial on the Ostian way in Rome is attested by an early tradition in the 2nd century (Gaius in Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 2.25.7), which is even accepted by DietrichAlex Koch.97 An even earlier witness of the trial, martyrdom, and tomb of Paul in Rome is Ignatius of Antioch (Ad Rom. 4.3).98 With the new excavations underneath the basilica “San Paolo fuori le mure,” this tradition finds also some archaeological support.99 We do not know the precise circumstances of Paul’s second trial in Rome. Even the second letter to Timothy gives no detailed description besides the hint saying that the apostle was now “in chains” (2 Tim 1.16). The phrase stating that in the first trial Paul was rescued “from the lion’s mouth” (2 Tim 4.17) might be an underlying hint at the emperor (cf. Josephus, A.J. 18.228) as Eusebius had thought already (Hist. eccl. 2.22.4). A martyrdom of Paul and Peter in the same year (67/68?) is a later construction aiming to emphasize the close connection of the two arch-apostles. Dating Paul’s death around 63/64 seems to be more probable.100 Then his stay in Spain would have lasted, possibly, no more than one year (Act. Verc. 1? [see part G]), or two years at the most. This rather short time could explain why we possess no early local traditions about Paul’s stay. The earliest legends only go back to the 8th century

94

See the essay by Chapa in this volume. If Paul’s place of exile was Tarraco, then the strong Imperial cult in this city would have made any Christian proclamation very dangerous. Cf. the essay by A. Puig i Tàrrech in this volume. 96 Cf. Dunn, Beginning from Jerusalem, 1052–57. 97 Geschichte des Urchristentums. Ein Lehrbuch (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2013), 601–03. Paul’s martyrdom in Rome is now denied by O. Zwierlein, Petrus und Paulus in Jerusalem und Rom. Vom Neuen Testament zu den apokryphen Apostelakten (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2013), 132–47. For a critique, see F.W. Horn, ThLZ 138 (2013): 689–91. 98 Cf. S. Heid, “Die Anfänge der Verehrung der apostolischen Gräber in Rom,” Petrus und Paulus in Rom, 283–308, and also the essay by A. di Berardino in this volume. 99 Cf. G. Filippi, “Die Ergebnisse der neuen Ausgrabungen am Grab des Apostels Paulus,” MDAI.R 112 (2005/06): 277–92, and also the essay by L. Spera in this volume. 100 Cf. L. Wehr, Petrus und Paulus – Kontrahenten und Partner. Die beiden Apostel im Spiegel des Neuen Testaments, der Apostolischen Väter und früher Zeugnisse ihrer Verehrung (Münster: Aschendorff, 1996), 359f. 95

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and they strongly diverge as to the location of the apostle,101 although Irenaeus testified to the existence of Christian communities in Spain at the end of the 2nd century (Haer. 1.10.2). Perhaps the circumstances did not allow the founding of a community or it did not survive the short stay of its founder.

I. Paul’s Last Letters There is a widespread consensus that the letter to the Romans had been written in Corinth shortly before the apostle went on his last visit to Jerusalem. The most probable date is the spring of the year 57.102 One, then, has to ask the question: What was Paul’s epistolary activity in the years between 57 and 63/64? Besides the letter to the Philippians many scholars also place the letter to Philemon into the Roman captivity described by Acts 28. In this reconstruction, Philippians would be a kind of testament of the apostle.103 But there are strong arguments that both the letters to the Philippians104 and to Philemon105 belong to an earlier imprisonment in Ephesus. But then we would be faced with an astonishing lack of epistolary activity, possibly, throughout seven years. Even if Philippians is located around 62, then five years would still be remaining without any Pauline letter, except if one sets, very improbably, some of the captivity epistles in Caesarea. By the proposed reconstruction, an explanation might be possible. According to Romans 15.19, Paul had “fulfilled” the preaching of the Gospel in the whole East (part A). According to the picture in Luke-Acts, the apostle had delivered the full responsibility for his communities to local leaders (Acts 20.17–38). Both the eschatological outlook and the practical provisions could explain why Paul refrained from interfering personally in these communities by sending letters. He only wrote letters to co-workers like Timothy and Titus. Luke included some of these writings in a redacted form in the three so-called Pastoral Epistles (part D). 101 Cf. O.F.A. Meinardus, “Paul’s Missionary Journey to Spain: Tradition and Folklore,” BA 41 (1978): 61–63, and also R. Steinmetz, Die zweite römische Gefangenschaft des Paulus. Eine kirchenhistorische und neutestamentliche Untersuchung (Leipzig: A. Deichert, 1897), 86f. 102 Cf. Riesner, Paul’s Early Period, 301–03. 103 So the essay by U. Schnelle in this volume. 104 Cf. R.E. Brown, An Introduction to the New Testament (New York: Doubleday, 1997), 493–96; H. Omerzu, Der Prozess des Paulus. Eine exegetische und rechtshistorische Untersuchung der Apostelgeschichte (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2002), 320–31; Pilhofer, Das Neue Testament und seine Welt, 173–84. 105 Cf. H. Binder, Der Brief des Paulus an Philemon (Berlin: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 1990), 21–29; Murphy-O’Connor, Paul: A Critical Life, 175–84; W. Eckey, Die Briefe des Paulus an die Philipper und an Philemon. Ein Kommentar (NeukirchenVluyn: Neukirchener, 2006), 20–31.

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J. Conclusion Sources of the 1st century like Luke-Acts and Second Timothy only allude to Paul’s travel to Spain, and First Clement makes it a bit more explicit. This way of allusion speaks against a mere derivation from the travel plans in Romans 15. Apparently, around 200 the Canon Muratori could rely on an established local Roman tradition. Not only conservative catholic or evangelical exegetes were convinced about a mission of Paul to Spain. So, one may cite scholars like Martin Hengel,106 Jerome Murphy-O’Connor,107 or Simon Légasse.108 Even a great liberal like Adolf von Harnack thought a stay of the apostle in Spain could be thorouhgly probable.109 In this regard, Harnack remarked rather incidentally in a footnote: “The voyage from Rome to Tarraco did not take more than from four to eight days. It was not a journey of any special distinction.”110

106 “Der Lukasprolog und seine Augenzeugen,” in M. Hengel, Studien zum Urchristentum. Kleine Schriften VI (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2008), 242–97, here 284 n.182: “Meines Erachtens folgte auf die zwei Jahre in Rom (vgl. Apg 28,30) nicht unmittelbar das Martyrium, sondern die nach Röm 15,24 geplante Spanienreise. 1 Clem 5,6 ist hier ca. 35–40 Jahre später eindeutig.” 107 Paul: A Critical Life, 329–31. 108 Paul apôtre: Essai de biographie critique (Paris: Cerf, 1991), 242f. 109 The Mission and Expansion of Christianity in the First Three Centuries I (2nd ed.; London: Williams & Norgate, 1908), 83. 110 Mission and Expansion II, 298 n.2. A. von Harnack, Die Mission und Ausbreitung des Christentums in den ersten drei Jahrhunderten (4th ed.; Leipzig: J.C. Hinrichs, 1924), 920 n.2: “Man brauchte von Rom nach Tarraco auf dem Seewege nicht mehr wie 4 bis 8 Tage. Eine Reise dorthin war keine erhebliche Sache.” My gratitude goes to cand. phil. Anna-Lena Lutzweiler for improving my English in this essay.

The Mission and the End of Paul Between Strategy and Reality: A Response to Rainer Riesner1 Jens Herzer

The last years of Paul and particularly his death in Rome are most interesting for us, because we know almost nothing about them. All evidence within as well as outside of the New Testament is not reliable enough to draw any certain conclusions. Nevertheless in recent years, the questions about Paul’s last years and his death have been dealt with extensively, but we are still far from a consensus in these matters.2 Some would even go so far as to doubt whether Paul was in Rome at all and found his death there.3 The occasion of this conference and our discussion about this issue vividly witness to the complexity of the methodological, historical, and literary problems, with which we are confronted. The haziness of our sources allows for different assumptions and conclusions, which are related mostly to Paul’s travel plans to Spain in Rom 15 and a supposed second Roman imprisonment.4 What renders these ques1 See R. Riesner, “Paul’s Trial and End according to Second Timothy, 1 Clement, the Canon Muratori, and the Apocryphal Acts,” in this volume. 2 Besides the papers in this volume, see esp. F.W. Horn (ed.), Das Ende des Paulus: Historische, theologische und literaturgeschichtliche Aspekte (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2001); cf. also H.W. Tajra, The Martyrdom of St. Paul: Historical and Judicial Contexts, Traditions, and Legends (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1994); H. Omerzu, Der Prozeß des Paulus: Eine exegetische und rechtshistorische Untersuchung der Apostelgeschichte (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2002); J.M. Gavaldà Ribot, A. Muñoz Melgar, and A. Puig i Tàrrech (eds.), Pau, Fructuós i el Christianisme Primitiu a Tarragona (Segles I–VIII), Actes del Congrés de Tarragona (19–21 de Juny de 2008) (Tarragona: INSAF – Fundació Liber, 2010), 47–190; S. Heid (ed.), Petrus und Paulus in Rom: Eine interdisziplinäre Debatte (Freiburg: Herder, 2011). 3 See O. Zwierlein, Petrus und Paulus in Jerusalem und Rom: Vom Neuen Testament zu den Apostelakten (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2013), 132–45; cf. critically F.W. Horn in ThLZ 138 (2013): 689–91. 4 Due to the character of these sources, it seems methodologically more than problematic to regard the release of Paul from the Roman prison and the following mission in Spain to be a “gesicherte Tatsache” (A. Harnack, Geschichte der altchristlichen Litteratur bis Eusebius II/1: Die Chronologie [2nd ed.; Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1958 = 1904], 240), or a fundamental historical datum, from which every critical reconstruction of the early

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tions even more complicated is their connection with a certain interpretation of the Pastoral Epistles,5 the place of these letters within the Pauline missionary activities,6 and particularly the value of 2 Tim as a source for Paul’s final period in Rome. In his paper, Rainer Riesner emphatically presents a possible scenario for Paul’s missionary perspectives and his last years. According to this scenario, Paul was not simply released from Roman custody, but rather sentenced to banishment and thus expelled into exile from Rome to Spain. In this important Western province of the Roman Empire, he accomplished his missionary plans before he was imprisoned again in the Roman capital and finally completed his martyrdom there. Without being able to discuss every detail of this theory, I would like to respond to some general problems with Riesner’s argument, particularly regarding the relation between the mission concepts in Paul and in Acts, and comment on some key texts relevant to his theory.7

history of Christianity has to start, as held by E.E. Ellis, “‘Das Ende der Erde’ (Apg 1,8),” in C. Bussmann and W. Radl (eds.), Der Treue Gottes trauen: Beiträge zum Werk des Lukas (Freiburg: Herder, 1991), 277–86, 285. 5 See e.g. G.D. Fee, 1 and 2 Timothy, Titus (Peabody: Hendrickson, 1984), 3–5; H.W. Neudorfer, Der erste Brief des Paulus an Timotheus (Witten and Gießen: Brockhaus, 2012), 29–33. 6 See e.g. W. Metzger, Die letzte Reise des Apostels Paulus: Beobachtungen zu seinem Itinerar nach den Pastoralbriefen (Stuttgart: Calver Verlag, 1976). For an extensive argument on an early dating of 1 Tim and Titus within the pre-Roman mission of Paul, including a forth missionary journey to the East, see R. Fuchs, “Eine vierte Missionsreise des Apostels Paulus im Osten? Zur Datierung des ersten Timotheusbriefs und des Titusbriefs,” JET 25 (2011): 33–58. From the perspective of pseudonymity, this aspect is not particularly relevant for a reconstruction of the end of Paul. See, however, C. Maurer, “Eine Textvariante klärt die Entstehung der Pastoralbriefe auf,” TZ 3 (1947): 321–37. Maurer tries to reconstruct the strategy of the forger, who in order to introduce the forged letters supposedly used the accessible information in Acts and the Pauline correspondence to develop a plausible scenario within the known data of Paul’s mission until the Roman imprisonment narrated in Acts 28. 7 Various aspects and perspectives on the subjects are presented in the contributions of this volume. For a more extensive discussion, see also J. Herzer, “Den guten Kampf gekämpft. Das Ende des Paulus im Spiegel des Zweiten Timotheusbriefes und der frühchristlichen Überlieferung,” in R. Hoppe and M. Reichardt (eds.), Lukas – Paulus – Pastoralbriefe: Festschrift für Alfons Weiser zum 80. Geburtstag (Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 2014), 339–69.

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A. Paul and His Mission Project Riesner’s argument on Paul’s mission in Spain basically relies on the more general hypothesis that the prophecies of Deutero- and Trito-Isaiah had a strong impact on Paul’s mission strategy.8 Riesner assumes that Paul did not only take the list of nations in Isa 66.19 as an itinerary of his mission to “the isles afar off,” but also understood Isa 49.6 as a mandate to proclaim the gospel “to the end of the earth” (ἕως ἐσχάτου τ ῆς γ ῆς). This assumption leads Riesner to argue that Paul had Spain, as the commonly known end of the earth, on his missionary schedule from the very beginning. Paul himself, however, uses neither the expression “end of the earth” nor “the isles afar off,” and in his letters we find no references to the two biblical texts, which are fundamental to Riesner’s theory. In the New Testament, the expression “end of the earth” can only be found in Acts 1.8, where the resurrected Jesus sets out the program for the Apostles’ mission from Jerusalem to the “end of the earth.” Additionally, in Acts 13.47, Luke explicitly quotes Isa 49.6 in relation to the Pauline mission, but there is no indication that Luke developed any concept related to Paul’s plan concerning Spain.9 If Luke would have known Paul’s plans for Spain – which is most probable, whether by reading Rom 15 or by personal communication – it is even more significant that he did not mention it at all in Acts when referring to missionary programs as in the references mentioned. Moreover, in biblical tradition, neither the phrase “the end of the earth” (Acts 1.8) nor “the isles afar off” (13.47) is commonly used in relation to Spain, as Riesner asserts.10 Taking into account that Luke explicitly refers to

8 See R. Riesner, Die Frühzeit des Apostels Paulus: Studien zur Chronologie, Missionsstrategie und Theologie (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1994), esp. 213–25; cf. critically K. Magda, Paul’s Territoriality and Mission Strategy: Searching for the Geographical Awareness Paradigm Behind Romans (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2009), esp. 12–17. 9 See also E.J. Schnabel, Urchristliche Mission (Wuppertal: Brockhaus, 2002), 1214–15, who points to the speculative character of Riesner’s argument. 10 Cf. Ellis, “Das Ende der Erde,” 279, who assumes: “... der Ausdruck ‘das Ende der Erde’ besaß offenbar eine allgemein feststehende Bedeutung. Er wurde auf Spanien, nie aber auf die Reichshauptstadt Rom angewendet.” For a different interpretation, see e.g. D.R. Schwartz, “The End of the Gê,” JBL 105 (1988): 669–76. The assumption that the expression “isles afar off” refers to the “end(s) of the earth” and thus implicitly to Spain remains speculative, and it also cannot be derived from Sir 47.17 (see Riesner, Frühzeit, 224), not least because Spain is simply not an isle. From a Palestinian perspective, the “isles” in Sir 47.17 rather denote the isles of the Mediterranean basin, more particularly the Aegean isles. Riesner’s reference to the important essay of W.C. van Unnik, “Der Ausdruck ἕως ἐσχάτου τ ῆς γ ῆς (Apostelgeschichte 1,8) und sein alttestamentlicher Hintergrund,” in Sparsa Collecta I: Evangelia, Paulina, Acta (Leiden: Brill, 1973), 386–401, is thus not appropriate. In fact, van Unnik shows that the phrase “end(s) of the earth” in

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common biblical terminology, particularly in Acts 13.47, it becomes obvious that we should be cautious about precise geographical interpretations. Methodologically it is highly problematic to insinuate from other sources (namely Rom 15) that Luke would think of Spain although he himself does not mention it and refers instead to the biblical tradition of Isa 49.6. Willem van Unnik impressively demonstrated that none of the biblical references to the phrase “the end of the earth” indicates any specific geographical destination but rather expresses the universal validity of a certain idea, meaning “from the far, from everywhere, to everywhere/to the remotest corner,” no more, no less.11 Against this background, Acts 1.8 is not a precise geographical notion. Because Luke does not mention Spain, Acts 1.8 remains very much open with regard to the biblical tradition, which is, indeed, confirmed by the quotation of Isa 49.6 in Acts 13.47.12 Unlike Luke, Paul when mentioning his own plans for Spain does not refer to the numerous biblical traditions of “the end(s) of the earth,” and he neither quotes (nor alludes to) Isa 66 nor Isa 49. Instead, in order to give a reason for his plans, Paul explicitly recalls Isa 52.15, “for that which had not been told them they shall see, and that which they have not heard they shall contemplate” (NRSV). In my view, it is not possible to generate a geographical mission strategy from this biblical quotation; even more so, as in Rom 15.22 Paul mentions his intention to come to Rome for the first time.13 Nor can a geographical strategy be developed from the only indirect allusion to Isa 66.20 in Rom 15.16. Here Paul speaks in a very general way about his priestly service as the “Leitourgos of God’s Gospel.” By means of his mission, Paul biblical tradition expresses a global dimension of God’s universal kingdom and does not refer to a certain region like Spain (see below). 11 Cf. van Unnik, “Der Ausdruck ἕως ἐσχάτου τ ῆς γ ῆς”; for biblical references, cf. Deut 13.8; 28.49, 64; 33.17; Job 28.24; 37.3; Ps 59.14; 61.3; 72.8; 135.7; Isa 5.26; 11.12; 24.16; 40.28; 41.5, 9; 42.10; 43.6; 48.20; 49.6; 62.11; Jer 6.22; 10.13; 16.19; 25.31–33; 31.8; 50.41; 51.16; Dan 4.8, 19; Zach 9.10; Tob 13.12; Sir 44.23; 1 Macc 1.3; 3.9; Mark 13.27; Rev 20.8. To this list Acts 1.8 and 13.47 certainly belong as well. 12 Therefore, Luke uses the singular of Isa 49.6 generically and does not relate it to Rome as the final location of Paul, as Ellis, “Das Ende der Erde,” 281, correctly states. For Luke, it rather encompasses the entire inhabited world, in which the Gospel spreads unhindered (cf. Acts 28.31); see G. Delling, “Das letzte Wort der Apostelgeschichte,” NovT 15 (1973): 193–204, esp. 202; see below section 2. Accordingly, in Acts 18.28 Luke explicitly refers back to 13.47 and takes up again the wider biblical horizon (against Ellis, “Das Ende der Erde,” 283–84). 13 Cf., however, G. Theißen, “Paulus – der Unglücksstifter: Paulus und die Verfolgung der Gemeinden in Jerusalem und Rom,” in E.-M. Becker and P. Pilhofer (eds.), Biographie und Persönlichkeit des Paulus (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2005), 228–44, 241, who assumes that according to Rom 1.13 Paul already planned a journey to Rome when he first came to Europe. Because of the expulsion of Christians from Rome, of which he heard in Corinth, Paul waived this plan.

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brings the nations before God like an offering.14 Such a characteristic of his service, however, does not apply to a specific region but to his entire mission, which he relates to God’s universal promise to Abraham. It is this universal scope of his mission that Paul in Rom 15.19 describes explicitly in geographic terms as a circle starting from Jerusalem up to Illyricum (north of Macedonia and Epirus).15 For Paul, the hint at Jerusalem as a starting point for his mission is seemingly noticeable, yet it is by no means implausible,16 if we take into account the impact that Jerusalem had on legitimating Paul’s mission to the Gentiles (cf. Gal 2.1–10; Acts 15.1–29) – and still has as he is preparing his journey to Jerusalem when writing Romans. In Acts 1.8 Luke has the general mission of the apostles start in Jerusalem as well. Yet, it is remarkable that neither Luke nor Paul mention Illyricum as a region of the Pauline mission elsewhere in their writings. Thus, the description of Paul’s mission from Jerusalem to Illyricum in Rom 15.19 cannot be related to the list of nations in Isa 66.19, as Riesner suggests supposing that by alluding to Isa 66.20 in Rom 15.16 Paul programmatically had Isa 66.19 in mind as well.17 Moreover, Tarshish, which is named first in Isa 66 and identified by Riesner with Tarsus in Cilicia,18 is nowhere mentioned as the starting point of Paul’s missionary 14 See R.D. Aus, “Paul’s Travel Plans to Spain and the ‘Full Number of the Gentiles’ of Rom. XI 25,” NovT 21 (1979): 232–62. 15 See J.M. Scott, Paul and the Nations: The Old Testament and Jewish Background of Paul’s Mission to the Nations with Special Reference to the Destination of Galatians (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1995), 136–47; see also W.A. Meeks, “From Jerusalem to Illyricum, Rome to Spain: The World of Paul’s Missionary Imagination,” in C.K. Rothschild and J. Schröter (eds.), The Rise and Expansion of Christianity in the First Three Centuries of the Common Era (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2013), 167–81. 16 Scott, Paul and the Nations, 137. 17 Cf. Riesner, Frühzeit, 219–22; Riesner, “Paul’s Trial,” 392. Riesner refers to Scott, Paul and the Nations, 46–47, but this reference remains unclear, because Scott is indeed skeptical against Riesner’s interpretation of Isa 66.19. He understands it not geographically, but rather generally as related to the “eschatological pilgrimage of the nations to Jerusalem” (47). 18 Cf. Riesner, Frühzeit, 222. Riesner mentions two references from Josephus: the first is a list in A.J. 1.127, but there Josephus mentions a man named Tharsos from Tharseis, which Josephus identifies with Tarsus in Cilicia. In the second reference A.J. 9.208, Josephus imputes to Jonah the intention to flee to Tarsus in Cilicia (the Masoretic text of Jonah 1.3 reads ‫תרשיש‬, which obviously refers to a city in the West, probably Tartessos). There is yet a third reference to add: in A.J. 8.181 Josephus speaks of the Ταρσικ ὴ θάλασσα, where Salomon had a merchant fleet anchored. These references, however, do not support the identification of the biblical Tarshish with Paul’s hometown. Moreover, such identification would be marginal and thus it could hardly be understood on the basis of only indirect allusions; cf. also A.A. Das, “Paul of Tarshish: Isaiah 66.19 and the Spanish Mission of Romans 15.24, 28,” NTS 54 (2008): 60–73. Criticizing R. Jewett’s emphasis on Spain for the understanding of Romans, Das, “Paul of Tarshish,” 73, resumes: “Paul’s failure to draw a connection between biblical Tarshish and his plans for

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journeys,19 neither by Paul himself nor by Luke. Spain may have been a further goal of Paul’s mission, but only at a later stage of his ministry and not on the basis of a geographic concept derived from Isa 66. It may have come into focus when Paul was about to finish his mandate of the collection of the gentile’s offering for the congregation in Jerusalem. At this stage, Paul planned to start again from Jerusalem towards the western part of the Roman Empire.20 I agree with Riesner that the travel plans for Spain are not coming up accidentally, but indeed represent an “eschatological necessity.”21 Paul, however, did not develop this eschatological perspective from Isa 66, but due to his still vivid eschatological expectation that the end of time is near (see particularly Rom 13.12). We also have to take into account that the planning of a missionary journey even under an eschatological motivation (cf. the connection of missionary activity and the eschatological salvation in 1 Cor 9.16) does not imply that this journey could finally be accomplished. The discrepancy between his plans and their realization led Paul into several conflicts with his congregations and occasionally necessitated lengthy explanations (cf. 2 Cor Spain undermine Jewett’s reasoning from Isa 66.19. No one would have identified Tarshish with southern Spain in Isaiah’s or Paul’s day… Paul was not traveling to Tarshish. Tarshish is the first city that Isaiah mentions in his itinerary of gentiles streaming to Zion, not the last. The gentile gathering must begin in Tarshish.” Again, the point is the same as concerning Riesner’s different identification of Tarshish: Paul does not refer to Isa 66.19. In fact, Paul himself does not mention Tarsus. Cf. also the following note. 19 Cf. Riesner, Frühzeit, 234. The relevance of Isa 66.19 for Paul’s missionary plans has been highlighted already by Aus, “Travel Plans.” Aus identifies Tarshish with the Phoenician settlement Tartessos in the South of the Iberian peninsula, which in his view also motivates Paul’s plans for Spain in order to bring in the “full number of Gentiles” (Rom 11.25) to Jerusalem. This argument is much more plausible than Das’ (see note 18) and Riesner’s vague identification of the biblical Tarshish with Tarsus in Cilicia. From Paul’s own perspective as well, this would seem very unlikely; cf. Aus, “Travel Plans,” 246 n.54: “Paul, a Roman citizen from Tarsus in Cilicia, would certainly not have identified his paternal home with the Tarshish of the OT, as Josephus did (Ant. 1.127; 8.181; 9.208). He knew that his own Tarsus was not located at the ‘ends of the earth.’” Yet, what remains important is the obvious evidence that in Rom 15 Paul indeed talks about geography and also refers to Old Testament texts, but he does neither legitimize his prospective to Spain from scripture nor refer to the topos of “the end of the earth.” Thus, if it is to assume that Isa 66.19 was not important for Paul’s mission strategy, the discussion about the meaning of the regions mentioned is of no value for the understanding of the history and development of Paul’s mission; cf. Das, “Paul of Tarshish,” 71: “The assumption that Paul’s travel to Spain was intended to fulfill the prophecy of Isa 66.19 therefore raises an unnecessary new set of problems.” Das rightly warns about an overestimation of the mentioning of Spain in Rom 15, and although he would also identify the Tarshish of Isa 66.19 with Tarsus in Cilicia, he does not regard it to be relevant for Paul’s mission strategy. 20 Cf. Das, “Paul of Tarshish,” 72, following M.A. Seifrid, Justification by Faith: The Origin and Development of a Central Pauline Theme (Leiden: Brill, 1992), 194. 21 Riesner, “Paul’s Trial,” 394.

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1.15–2.13).22 This caveat applies even more to the case of Spain, where we have no further indication of such a journey.

B. The “End of the Earth” in Luke’s Account and Paul’s Travel Plans With regard to Rom 15, it seems reasonable to assume that Paul initially aimed at traveling to Spain as the far West of the Roman Empire when planning his visit in Rome.23 The note in Rom 15.22–28, however, does not substantiate the realization of such plans. Referring to the citation of Isa 49.6 and its notion of “the end of the earth,” Rainer Riesner emphasizes that the phrase is also found in Paul’s mission homily in Acts 13.47. He further posits that particularly this sermon features “the greatest agreements with the undisputed Pauline letters.”24 Obviously, Riesner assumes that Paul’s sermon has not been composed by Luke, but comprises an authentic sermon or at least an authentic record of Pauline ideas.25 This assumption leads Riesner to suppose that Paul himself pointed to Spain by talking about “the end of the earth.” Therefore Luke, too, could have only Spain in mind, in analogy to a similar phrase related to Spain in well-known contemporary sources such as Strabo, Juvenal, or Lucanus.26 As I have already pointed out, Luke, however, quoted 22

This has been mentioned already by J.D. Quinn, “Paul’s Last Captivity,” in E.A. Livingstone (ed.), Studia Biblica 1978 III: Papers on Paul and Other New Testament Authors (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1980), 289–99, 289. 23 See Tajra, Martyrdom, 106–107; Das, “Paul of Tarshish,” 72–73. 24 Riesner, “Paul’s Trial,” 394. 25 See also A.D. Baum, “Paulinismen in den Missionsreden des lukanischen Paulus: Zur inhaltlichen Authentizität der oratio recta in der Apostelgeschichte,” ETL 82 (2006): 403–36, esp. 414–22 (on Acts 13). 26 Riesner, “Paul’s Trial,” 394–95. The references are: Strabo, Geogr. II.5.14; III.1.8, the Latin authors Juvenal, Sat. 10.1–2; Lucanus, Phars. III.454. In his Geography II.5.14, Strabo speaks of the extension of the known and inhabited world (οἰκουµένη), of which the “Pillars of Hercules” near the city of Gades mark the most western point of the known world (δυσµικώτατον µὲν γ ὰρ σηµε ῖον τ ῆς ο ἰκουµένης). Strabo, however, does not use the phrase “end of the earth” (cf. also III.1.8). Naming Cadiz and Gades, i.e., the eastern and western border of the world, Juvenal means: “in the whole world; anywhere” (omnibus in terris, quae sunt a Gadibus usque Auroram et Gangen). Only Lucanus, speaking in his Pharsalia about the civil war between Caesar and Pompeius, mentions Spain as acies extremaque mundi, to which the war has reached. For the understanding of the borders of the world in the Jewish tradition, see Aus, “Travel Plans,” 244–45. Remarkably, S. Koch, “‘Wenn ich nach Spanien reise’ (Röm 15,24): Hinweise zu Hintergründen und Bedeutung der Reisepläne des Paulus,” in U. Schnelle (ed.), The Letter to the Romans (Leuven: Peeters, 2009), 699–712, 710–12, generally denies that Spain was in fact known as finis terrae. He raises the question of which plans Paul could have had beyond Spain (710). Yet, all these speculations are moot because of the events that hap-

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Isa 49.6 in Acts 13.47 in order to indicate that Paul’s mission is a mission to all nations. By doing so, Luke puts Paul’s mission in the same universal perspective as the general promise of the Lord to his disciples in 1.8. As Willem van Unnik – to whom Riesner refers as well – has plausibly demonstrated, Luke does not foreground any geographical program in Acts 1.8 but uses the universal biblical perspective that includes the entire known world.27 A precise location of the earth’s end, be it Rome, where the story of Acts closes, or Spain, would narrow this universal claim and therefore does not fit into Luke’s concept. My answer to the question why Luke in fact does not mention Spain is that a mission of Paul in this western province was simply not part of the idea he elaborates in Acts 1.8. In my view, Riesner’s reasoning whether Luke has known Paul’s travel plans or anything about Paul’s actual stay in Spain, is out of the question. If Luke had known anything about Paul and Spain, he would certainly have mentioned it, since this would have enhanced his own idea of a worldwide mission. Why should Luke hide such knowledge in an unspecified allusion to Isaiah? There is no hint that, by quoting Isa 49.6, Luke aims at a more specific meaning than the text of Acts 13.47 itself allows to understand. On the contrary, Luke concludes his history of the Apostles with Paul’s unhindered teaching of the gospel in Rome, the capital of the empire, which unites all nations of the known world in its borders. Therefore, we have to distinguish between Luke’s universal program set out in Acts 1.8, and his telling of Paul’s story that ended in Rome. The Lukan program of a worldwide preaching of the Gospel does not come to an end with Paul. In Acts, Rome is the place where Paul’s story and life end, but not the story of the Gospel for all the nations. The major indication for this interpretation is the fact that Luke explicitly mentions Rome as the final destination of Paul several times. According to Acts 19.21, Paul says in view of his journey to Jerusalem: “After I have gone there, I must also see Rome” (NRSV). In Acts 23.11, Luke narrates the same idea even as a saying of the Lord, the same Lord by the way, who announced the mission to the “end of the earth” to the other Apostles in 1.8. In this context, the remark about the mission to the Gentiles “far away” in Acts 22.21 can only refer to Rome. And finally in 28.14, Luke declares Paul’s mission accomplished: “And so we [sc. finally] came to Rome.” For Luke, the universal horizon of Acts 1.8 and Isaiah’s theology for all nations quoted in 13.47 neither comes true in Spain nor does it end in Rome, although the story of Paul ends there. Rome is not “the end of the earth” by pened in Jerusalem and Rome, which annihilated any plan and strategy that Paul might have developed. 27 See van Unnik, “Der Ausdruck ἕως ἐσχάτου τ ῆς γ ῆς,” passim, esp. 394–99 (with references); cf. also above, section A.

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itself, but represents this perspective in a certain way, because from the capital of the Roman Empire, and initiated by Paul’s unhindered proclamation, the Gospel spreads out everywhere.28 Any other conclusion leads way beyond what Luke in fact has written. Moreover, Luke nowhere indicates that it is the Apostle Paul who will finally fulfil the program set out in Acts 1.8. That Paul himself may have been active beyond Rome is beyond Luke’s perspective. Instead, the open end of Acts can be interpreted as Luke’s appeal to his own audience, indicating that – after Jerusalem, Antioch, Ephesus, and perhaps Corinth – Rome will be the next important centre of the Gospel’s proclamation. Furthermore, the open end of Acts does neither indicate that Luke intended to write another part of his work, nor that this part would emerge in the form of the Pastoral Epistles as Riesner posits.29 Such an assumption leads to even more speculation that cannot be substantiated in the biblical tradition. Even if we follow this idea for a moment, the Pastorals would be just another witness to the fact that Luke did not know anything about Paul and Spain.

C. The Interpretation of 2 Tim 4.16–18 and the Patristic References 1. Some Remarks on 2 Tim 4.16–18 In 2 Tim Paul’s imminent death is laid out before the eyes of the reader in a very significant way.30 In the perfect tense, Paul looks back on his work and sees his journey completed: “The moment of my death (ἀνάλυσις) has come” (4.6).31 In this context, the term ἀνάλυσις can only be related to his death, not to an unshackling of his chains. 2 Tim 4.16–18 reflects the situation of Paul in Roman captivity in more detail. As to the question of authorship, Riesner un28

See Delling, “Das letzte Wort.” See Riesner, “Paul’s Trial,” 396–400, following the theory of J.D. Quinn, “The Last Volume of Luke: The Relation of Luke-Acts to the Pastoral Epistles,” in C.H. Talbert (ed.), Perspectives on Luke-Acts (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1978), 62–75. Quinn, of course, regards Luke as a pseudonymous author of a post-Pauline time. 30 Some assume that the letters to the Philippians and to Philemon have been written in (the first and only) Roman custody as well; see P. Wick, Der Philipperbrief: Der formale Aufbau des Briefs als Schlüssel zum Verständnis seines Inhalts (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1994), 182–85; U. Schnelle, Einleitung in das Neue Testament (8th ed.; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2013), 161–63 and 174–75; see also the essay by U. Schnelle in this volume. In this case, these two letters would also be relevant for the reconstruction of Paul’s Roman imprisonment. This theory is, however, disputed for several reasons which cannot be presented here; see, for example, I. Broer, Einleitung in das Neue Testament, Band II: Die Briefliteratur, die Offenbarung des Johannes und die Bildung des Kanons (Würzburg: Echter, 2001), 388–91, 401–404. 31 NRSV translates differently, see below. 29

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derstands 2 Tim as a composed document, which is based on original portions written by Paul and expanded and edited by Luke after Paul’s death.32 I would rather prefer to read 2 Tim as an authentic letter of Paul.33 Even under the assumption that 2 Tim is a pseudonymous letter, as most interpreters hold, we would have to understand the personal notes in 2 Tim 4 as if it were an authentic scenario, or otherwise the personal notes in the Pastoral Epistles would not have any function at all.34 2 Tim 4.16–18 reads (NRSV): At my first defense no one came to my support, but all deserted me. May it not be counted against them! But the Lord stood by me and gave me strength, so that through me the message might be fully proclaimed and all the Gentiles might hear it. So I was rescued from the lion’s mouth. The Lord will rescue me from every evil attack and save me for his heavenly kingdom. To him be the glory forever and ever. Amen.

Following the proposal of Jerome Quinn,35 and on the basis of certain linguistic affinities to Acts 20.24, Riesner argues that it was in fact Luke – mentioned in 2 Tim 4.11 as the only one remaining with Paul – who drafted 2 Tim. Given Riesner’s interpretation of Acts 1.8 und 13.47 and agreeing that 2 Tim 4 refers to the last days before Paul’s death, this scenario implies that Luke already knew of a Pauline mission in Spain when writing these lines. A major aspect of Riesner’s argument is the distinction of the “first apology” mentioned in 2 Tim 4.16 from the actual situation in which Paul wrote this passage (see below). In my understanding, however, Paul’s reference to a 32

See Riesner, “Paul’s Trial,” 396–97; R. Riesner, “The Pastoral Epistles and Paul in Spain (2 Timothy 4:16–18),” in J.M. García Perez (ed.), Rastreando los orígenes: Lengua y exégesis en el Nuevo Testamento (Madrid: Encuentro, 2011), 316–35, 322–23; R. Riesner, “Once More: Luke-Acts and the Pastoral Epistles,” in S.-W. Son (ed.), History and Exegesis (London and New York: T&T Clark, 2006), 239–58. 33 Particularly on 2 Tim, see, for example, M. Prior, Paul the Letter-Writer and the Second Letter to Timothy (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1989), esp. 68–84; J. Murphy-O’Connor, “2 Timothy Contrasted with 1 Timothy and Titus,” RB 98 (1991): 403–18; J. Herzer, “Fiktion oder Täuschung? Zur Diskussion über die Pseudepigraphie der Pastoralbriefe,” in J. Frey, J. Herzer, M. Janßen, and C.K. Rothschild (eds.), Pseudepigraphie und Verfasserfiktion in frühchristlichen Briefen – Pseudepigraphy and Author Fiction in Early Christian Letters (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2009), 489–536; J. Herzer, “Die Pastoralbriefe,” in F.W. Horn (ed.), Paulus Handbuch (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2013), 538–42. 34 This aspect is developed in the theory of the Pastoral Epistles as a novel, see R.I. Pervo, “Romancing an Oft-Neglected Stone: The Pastoral Epistles and the Epistolary Novel,” JHC 1 (1994): 25–47; T. Glaser, Paulus als Briefroman erzählt: Studien zum antiken Briefroman und seiner christlichen Rezeption in den Pastoralbriefen (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2009); T. Glaser, “Erzählung im Fragment: Ein narratologischer Ansatz zur Auslegung pseudepigrapher Briefbücher,” in Pseudepigraphie und Verfasserfiktion, 267–94. 35 See Quinn, “Last Volume.”

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“first apology” in 4.16 relates to the wider horizon described in 2 Tim 4.9–18. This passage provides a rather loose sequence of information that relates to Paul’s situation in Roman captivity and does not follow any specific literary composition. This observation is supported by the tension between the complaint in 4.16 “all have left me” and the remarks about several persons who are obviously still in contact with Paul.36 In 2 Tim 4.9–12 Paul names coworkers who have left him (in 1.10 Demas, Crescens, and Titus), but at the same time he mentions persons, who either are still with him (Luke, 4.11; Eubulus, Pudens, Linus, and Claudia, 4.21), or were with him (Tychicus, 4.12), or will be in the future (Timothy, 4.9; Mark, 4.11). Thus, the impression of complete loneliness, which Paul conveys in 4.16 regarding his situation at an earlier stage of the trial, is obviously an overstatement that mirrors a subjective feeling rather than actual reality.37 Moreover, the idea of loneliness emphasizes the spiritual support by the Lord in 4.17. The rhetoric of exaggeration also characterizes the second part of 2 Tim 4.17. For Paul, the support of the Lord (ἐνδυνάµειν as in 2.1; see also Rom 4.20; Phil 4.13) embodies the certitude that his mandate to proclaim the gospel (τὸ κήρυγµα) to all nations has been fulfilled. In the given context, this is not a new missionary program, even though the “first apology” has ended with a rescue “from the lion’s mouth” (4.17).38 Yet, the retrospect to the “first 36 In Phil 1.7, too, Paul mentions an “apology,” but the situation is different from 2 Tim 4. Zwierlein, Petrus und Paulus, 140, proposes a literary dependency of 2 Tim on Phil (following, e.g., A. Weiser, Der zweite Brief an Timotheus [Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchner, 2003], 66, 298 and 310; A. Merz, Die fiktive Selbstauslegung des Paulus: Intertextuelle Studien zur Intention und Rezeption der Pastoralbriefe [Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2004], 123–27), and assumes that 2 Tim 4 had been construed on the basis of Phil 1: “Was Paulus im Philipperbrief in die Zukunft projiziert, das steht dem Pseudo-Paulus von 2 Tim unmittelbar bevor” (Zwierlein, Petrus und Paulus, 140– 41). The “first apology” of 2 Tim 4.16 would then be the one mentioned in Phil 1.7, which has become part of the fiction of 2 Tim (Zwierlein, Petrus und Paulus, 141). See also Merz, Selbstauslegung, 125. 37 Therefore, the statement about those who have left him does not function as a silent reproach, for Paul wishes it should not be charged to them, i.e., in the last judgment. K.-H. Ostmeyer rightly points to the affinity of this rhetorical figure to Luke’s understanding of prayer, cf. K.-H. Ostmeyer, Kommunikation mit Gott und Christus: Sprache und Theologie des Gebetes im Neuen Testament (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2006), 157: “Die Fürbitte des zu Unrecht Angeklagten für die, die ihm Unrecht taten, ist auch im lukanischen Doppelwerk ein beliebter Topos (vgl. Lk 23,34; Apg 7,60).” 38 Already in 2 Tim 3.11 Paul mentions an experience of rescue; cf. also 2 Cor 1.10. In 1 Cor 15.32 Paul even speaks of his fight with beasts at Ephesus, although this most probably has to be understood metaphorically, cf. C. Wolff, Der erste Brief des Paulus an die Korinther (3rd ed.; Leipzig: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 2011), 398–99, who argues that Paul as a Roman citizen could not have been sentenced to the beasts; see also M. Hengel, “Der vorchristliche Paulus,” in M. Hengel and U. Heckel (eds.), Paulus und das antike Judentum (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1991), 177–293, 193–208. The meta-

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apology” does not indicate any chronological relation to the actual situation. Therefore, various scenarios are possible: Firstly, Paul may talk about a “first apology” in an ongoing lawsuit in Rome, where he is still in custody, and he does not count any more on a positive outcome (cf. 4.6). Secondly, it is also possible to assume that Paul looks farther back to an apology before a Roman official in Caesarea, where he appealed to the imperial court. The latter scenario is only known from Acts (25.11–12, 21, 25; 26.32), and thus we have to be careful with far-reaching historical conclusions, especially since Luke reports several hearings during a period of more than two years (Acts 24.27). Thirdly and finally, as already Eusebius assumed and also Riesner presupposes, the “first defense” could possibly refer to a first trial in a first Roman captivity, from which Paul was released and to which he looks back in a second imprisonment that is witnessed by 2 Tim.39 Yet, whoever assumes this third scenario has to explain why Paul or Luke or even more so a pseudonymous writer kept quiet about what would have been a comparatively long missionary journey, and why we do not have any other reference to it. Therefore, in my view, this third scenario is highly improbable, if not impossible. While also the second option is unlikely, because we have no further indications for it, in my view, Paul most probably refers to a first hearing in Rome, which he endured because the formal accusation from Jerusalem had not yet arrived (cf. Acts 28.21). Within a recess of the trial whose length is always unknown (cf. Acts 24.27) and perhaps assisted by Luke (cf. 2 Tim 4.11), Paul wrote to his fellow co-worker Timothy that he should come to him and bring some documents and papers (4.13), which he presumably needed for the trial.40 From this perspective it is clear that Paul had to suspend his plans for Spain, and he proposed that even under the circumstances his goal to bring the Gospel to the nations had been fulfilled by his activities in Rome. Under these peculiar circumstances of imprisonment, the Roman court of Caesar functions

phorical use of the phrase is described by A.J. Malherbe, “The Beasts at Ephesus,” JBL 87 (1968): 71–80, with examples from the cynic-stoic popular philosophy. Cf., by contrast, the glorification of martyrdom in Ignatius, Rom. 5.1–2, expecting the beasts in the Roman arena. In the Acts of Paul the reference of 1 Cor 15.32 is developed into a legend of a lion who has been baptized by Paul, see W. Schneemelcher, “Der getaufte Löwe in den Acta Pauli,” in A. Stuiber and A. Hermann (eds.), Mullus (Münster: Aschendorff, 1964), 316–26. 39 See Riesner, “Paul’s Trial,” 398–400. 40 See J. Luttenberger, Prophetenmantel oder Bücherfutteral? Die persönlichen Notizen in den Pastoralbriefen im Licht antiker Epistolographie und literarischer Pseudepigraphie (Leipzig: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 2012), esp. 343–67; cf. also Prior, Paul the Letter-Writer, 153–54.

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as the secular representation of “all the nations.”41 This is not, of course, the expected fulfilment of the missionary program for Spain set out in Rom 15.23–24. But obviously, Paul could indeed understand his apostolic mandate, i.e., the “apostleship (ἀποστολή) to bring about the obedience of faith among all the Gentiles for the sake of his name” (Rom 1.5, NRSV) in the proposed sense, for it is because of this mandate that he is accused and thus witnesses the “obedience of faith” by losing his own life.42 The notion of the “first apology” does not indicate an earlier release from prison and a further missionary activity before a second detainment.43 Instead, 2 Tim 4.18 indicates that the rescue “from the lion’s mouth” in the first hearing only means a pause during the trial, while Paul is still waiting for his imminent death. Consequently, in this situation Paul expects a much more important release, i.e., the eschatological salvation from death “for his heavenly kingdom.”44 Thus, the eschatological characteristics of the testamentary letter continue in the personal part at its end and mirror Paul’s hope in the Lord. At the same time, the emphatic expression of eschatological hope indicates that the trial has not yet come to an end and that Paul has to expect more hearings and finally his sentence. According to 2 Tim 4.6–7, Paul has already made his peace and expects a negative result of his trial. In this situation of imminent death, Paul’s hope for the heavenly kingdom of God is his only remaining perspective. Had Paul departed again for a mission in Spain between the “first apology” in Rome and his writing of 2 Tim, we would have certainly found traces of this enterprise in the letter, not least in the detailed geographical notes in 4.9–15. Even from a pseudepigraphic perspective, it would be entirely inexplicable why the reminiscence of such a journey would not have left any traces in the collective memory of the Pauline tradition, because it would perfectly correspond with Paul’s plans developed in his letter to the Romans. The only possible answer to this question is that there was no mission of Paul in Spain. 41

Although in a different situation, Paul expresses a similar prospective in Phil 1.7, 16 (ἀπολογία τοῦ εὐαγγελίου), cf. also Acts 22.1; 25.16; for the use of ἀπολογία in Paul, see also 1 Cor 9.3; 2 Cor 7.11. 42 Remarkably close to Rom 1.5, in Acts 9.15 after the conversion of Paul Luke reports a word of the Lord to Ananias: “But the Lord said to him, ‘Go, for he is an instrument whom I have chosen to bring my name before Gentiles and kings and before the people of Israel.’” 43 Contrary to Prior, Paul the Letter-Writer, 113–39. 44 This interpretation already can be found in Eusebius, Hist. eccl. II.22.6–8, although Eusebius differentiates between the situation of 2 Tim as a second imprisonment and the situation described by Luke in Acts 28. Eusebius’ interpretation, however, relies only on speculative assumptions about Nero’s initially positive attitude towards the Christians.

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2. References to the End of Paul Outside the New Testament Since 2 Tim is very clear about Paul’s death in Rome and offers not even an indirect hint to a mission in Spain,45 Riesner’s theory of a release of Paul from the Roman prison, his missionary activity in Spain, and a second imprisonment can only be based on sources outside of the New Testament.46 2.1 Clement of Rome At the end of the first century,47 the Roman bishop Clement writes to Corinth about the death of the Apostles Peter and Paul: Because of jealousy and confliction, Paul proved the prize of endurance. After he had been seven times in chains, had been expelled, had been stoned, had been a preacher in the East and in the West, he received the genuine reputation of his faith. Having taught righteousness the whole world, having reached the turning point of the West, and having given testimony before the rulers, he thus was taken from the world and was taken up into the holy place, having become an outstanding example of endurance.” (1 Clem. 5.5–7)48

Usually, scholars interpret the singular phrase “the turning point of the West” (ἐπὶ τὸ τέρµα τῆς δύσεως) as an allusion to Spain, assuming that Clement indicates that Paul had been in Spain. In consequence, these scholars need to support the theory of a second Roman imprisonment,49 although Clement does not mention Spain nor speaks explicitly about Paul having been there. Differing from other theories, Riesner seemingly supposes that Paul went to Spain not only motivated by his missionary ambitions,50 but rather was sent into exile, as the term φυγαδευθείς from 1 Clem. 5.6 allegedly suggests.51 In 45 See Tajra, Martyrdom, 84–98, whose analysis of 2 Tim 4 does not evaluate any indication of a Spanish adventure. 46 The following references are remarkably uncritically interpreted by Schnabel, Mission, 1216. 47 I agree with Riesner that the late dating of 1 Clement in the time of Trajan by O. Zwierlein, Petrus in Rom: Die literarischen Zeugnisse (2nd ed.; Berlin: de Gruyter, 2010), 255–307, is very unlikely, not least, because the letter of James, to which Zwierlein correlates 1 Clement, dates much earlier. However, 1 Clem. 5.1 (ἔλθωµεν ἐπὶ τοὺς ἔγγιστα γενοµένους ἀθλητάς λάβωµεν τῆς γενεᾶς ἡµῶν τὰ γενναῖα ὑποδείγµατα) does not imply that the letter was written immediately after the deaths of the Apostles in the late 60s CE. Clement presents the Apostles as examples of endurance for his own generation, which at the end of the first century some 20–30 years after their death can still be regarded as the generation of the Apostles. 48 Own translation according to the Greek text in Die Apostolischen Väter. 1. Teil (3rd ed.; ed. F.X. Funk; rev. ed. by K. Bihlmeyer; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1970). 49 For an explication of the problem, see, e.g., H. Löhr, “Zur Paulus-Notiz in 1 Clem. 5,5–7,” in Das Ende des Paulus, 197–213. 50 Riesner, “Paul’s Trial,” 401-02. 51 See Riesner, “Paul’s Trial,” 401, following L.P. Pherigo, “Paul’s Life after the Close of Acts,” JBL 70 (1951): 277–84; J.J. Gunther, Paul: Messenger and Exile: A

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my view, however, neither 1 Clem. 5.7, nor 5.6, nor even a combination of both verses suffice to conclude that Paul had been in Spain, for whatever reason. Even an early dating of 1 Clement would not change this assessment.52 Moreover, the singular phrase ἐπὶ τὸ τέρµα τῆς δύσεως (literally: “the turning point of the West”) is by no means clearly definable and can plausibly be understood in the sense of “the border to the West,”53 referring in the given context of 1 Clement to Rome rather than to Spain.54 It appears a rather weak argument to downplay the fact that Clement does not mention Spain, by a general indication of his intention as a writer.55 Clement in fact intends nothing more than Luke’s testimony in Acts 1.8 of the Apostle’s mission “to the end of the earth.”56 Like Luke, Clement does not allude to a mission in Spain, but speaks to the congregation in Corinth about the universal propagation of the gospel using the very general and somehow vague phrase that Paul had “preached in the East and in the West.”57 In addition, this phrase is closely connected to the martyrological context, and therefore Clement’s explicit Roman perspective also points to the place of Paul’s martyrdom. Thus, Clement cannot be named a witness to a Spanish adventure of Paul.58

Study in the Chronology of His Life and Letters (Valley Forge: University of California Press, 1972), 144–49. A slightly different interpretation is proposed by Tajra, Martyrdom, 168, who understands the phrase “from a legal point of view” as an “internal exile.” The term φυγαδευθε ίς, however, is not a terminus technicus denoting specifically a forceful sending into exile, but it means more generally an expulsion. The interpretation in the former sense as a legal sentence of “banishment” or relegation does not make sense within the context of Clement’s list, least of all in relation to Spain. 52 See Riesner, “Paul’s Trial,” 400–01. 53 The rare term τ ὸ τέρµα usually denotes the “turning point” of a horse race; cf. H.G. Liddell and R. Scott, A Greek-English Lexicon (new ed. by H.S. Jones and R. McKenzie, suppl. by E.A. Barber et al.; 1968; Oxford: Clarendon, 1940), s.v. From the Roman perspective of Clement, the city of Rome would mark the border between the East (all regions east of Rome) and the West (all regions west of Rome), although for his Corinthian audience Rome would certainly belong to the western regions of the empire. If he speaks of the “turning point of the West” as the place Paul has reached in order to receive his βραβεῖον (1 Clem. 5.5), Rome would still be the most plausible reference. 54 See also A. Lindemann, Die Clemensbriefe (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1992), 39; A. Lindemann, “Paulus in den Schriften der Apostolischen Väter,” in Lindemann, Paulus. Apostel und Lehrer der Kirche: Studien zu Paulus und zum frühen Paulusverständnis (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1999), 252–79, 259–60; H. Omerzu, “The Probability of a Pauline Travel to Spain in Light of the Roman Law,” in Pau, Fructuós i el Christianisme Primitiu a Tarragona, 113–31, 115. 55 Riesner, “Paul’s Trial,” 401. 56 See Ellis, “Das Ende der Erde,” 277–86; see also Riesner, “Paul’s Trial,” 394. 57 See Tajra, Martyrdom, 109–10. 58 See also, e.g., G. Lüdemann, Das frühe Christentum nach den Traditionen der Apostelgeschichte: Ein Kommentar (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1987), 275– 76; for the contrary, see Tajra, Martyrdom, 111.

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2.2 The Canon Muratori Approximately 100 years after Clement, the writer of the so-called Canon Muratori59 wonders why Luke, although he reported the deeds of the Apostles, consciously left out the death of Peter as well as Paul’s journey to Spain: For the excellent Theophilos Luke compiled all events which happened in his presence, as by omitting Peter’s martyrdom he clearly indicates, but also (by omitting) Paul’s departure from the city (i.e. Rome) as he departed to Spain. (l.35–39)60

The canonicus does not give any reason for Luke’s astonishing literary strategy, while the author seemingly supposes that Paul was in fact in Spain. His amazement results from the fact that he regards Luke’s entire work of the Acts of the Apostles as an account of an eyewitness (l.35–36). With regard to historical reconstruction, however, this short note is without any value at all. The mentioning of Spain in connection with the author’s astonishment reveals that he sees a discrepancy between Luke’s account and another source of his own knowledge about Paul and Spain. But we have no indication that this source would have been a common Roman tradition used by the canonicus and Clement independently, as Riesner suggests.61 Whereas Spain is not even mentioned in Clement, the reference to Spain in the Roman Canon can easily be explained if we suppose that the canonicus knew Rom 15, which for a Roman author is very likely. 2.3 The Acta Apostolorum The Acta Petri (Actus Vercellensis 1–3) narrate the legend that Paul had a vision that forced him to go to Spain, where he stayed for one year.62 Riesner and I agree in principle that we cannot derive any historical information from this source.63 Interestingly, the Acts of Paul from the end of the 2nd century 59 For the dating, see J. Verheyden, “The Canon Muratori: A Matter of Dispute,” in J.-M. Auwers and H.J. de Jonge (eds.), The Biblical Canons (Leuven: Peeters, 2003), 487–556. 60 Own translation according the Latin text in G.M. Hahneman, The Muratorian Fragment and the Development of the Canon (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1992), 6. 61 See Riesner, “Paul’s Trial,” 404; Riesner, “The Pastoral Epistles and Paul in Spain,” 319 (concerning Canon Muratori 39): “This is probably a local Roman tradition, independent of 1 Clement, or, at the very least the most ancient witness to a contemporary understanding of the expression τ ὸ τέρµα τ ῆς δ ύσεως as ‘Spain.’” See also Tajra, Martyrdom, 112. 62 See J.E. Spittler, “Christianity at the Edges: Representations of the Ends of the Earth in the Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles,” in The Rise and Expansion of Christianity, 353–77. 63 Riesner, “Paul’s Trial,” 405–06, however, asks whether the Acts of Peter could be seen as another witness to an older Roman tradition, represented mainly by 1 Clement and the Canon Muratori.

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report only one journey to Rome and Paul’s martyrdom, and do not say anything about a mission in Spain.64 This clearly indicates that the apocryphal authors were able to develop different scenarios depending on their literary intentions. 2.4 Eusebius of Caesarea As the last of the “cloud of witnesses,” Eusebius in the 4th century presents interesting constructions of historical events. With regard to the end of Paul, Eusebius explicitly combines Acts 28 and 2 Tim 4.16–17: After pleading his cause, he (i.e. Paul) is said to have been sent again upon the ministry of preaching, and after a second visit to the city, that he finished his martyrdom. While he was a prisoner, he wrote his Second Epistle to Timothy, in which he mentioned his first defense and his impending death. (Hist. eccl. II.22.2)65

Eusebius, however, does not mention a destination of the further “ministry of preaching,” most probably because he knew nothing about a mission to Spain, which he obviously could derive neither from Acts nor 2 Tim nor 1 Clem., a letter that he demonstrably knew (see Hist. eccl. III.16). Remarkably, Rom 15.24, 28 – which Eusebius of course certainly knew as well – does not have any significance with regard to Paul’s destiny after the first Roman trial. Instead, in his final résumé of the geographical extent of Paul’s mission (Hist. eccl. III.4.1), Eusebius only refers to Rom 15.19, Paul’s own summary of his mission from Jerusalem to Illyricum.

D. Summary of the Arguments 1. Based on the available sources, it is impossible to reconstruct the last years of Paul historically beyond his Roman captivity reported in Acts and the situation described in 2 Tim 4. Without exception, all the notes in the Church Fathers as well as in the apocryphal literature construct the end of Paul according to what they have either read in the New Testament or – at least in the case of Eusebius – what they have heard from otherwise unknown sources. And they do so in very different ways. There is no indication that there was any other independent Roman tradition at hand.

64

Tajra, Martyrdom, 117, explains this by the hypothesis of a lacuna in the text of the Vorlage. 65 Translation from Eusebius, Ecclesiastical History (transl. C.F. Cruse; Peabody: Hendrickson, 1998).

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2. Methodologically, the theory of a second Roman imprisonment of Paul and a preceding mission in Spain is highly problematic, because both assumptions are not indicated by direct witnesses, but have to be presupposed in order to interpret the traditions in question. 3. The interpretation of 2 Tim 4 is difficult not only because of its ambiguous language with regard to Paul’s death, but also because of the common paradigm of pseudonymity and the respective consequences regarding different possibilities of interpreting the personal notes. 4. In Acts, Luke does not say a word about a Pauline mission in Spain. The reference to the “end of the earth” in 1.8 and 13.47 has nothing to do with Spain, but is explicitly taken from Isa 49.6 and thus implies a universal meaning: the gospel will spread into every corner of the world. If Luke or the Pauline tradition had known anything about Paul’s further travels to the West, we could definitely expect some remarks in Acts or 2 Tim. For Luke, who certainly presupposes the death of the Apostle (20.24), his worldwide missionary program plausibly comes to an end with Paul’s “unhindered” preaching in the capital of the Roman Empire (Acts 28.31).66 For the sake of his overall concept, Luke does not mention either the death of Paul or the death of Peter. 5. Historically, we have to assume – not least on the basis of 2 Tim 4.6–8, 16–18 – that during the imprisonment of Paul his trial took a negative turn under certain circumstances unknown to us.67 Presumably, Paul’s appeal to Caesar was in the end not successful, and his trial perhaps ended by his execution in the years 62–64 CE under the reign of Nero. Yet, not even Paul’s martyrdom in Rome is a secure historical fact because we only hear explicitly about it in the Acts of Paul, a legendary apocryphal tradition, and in a very general way later in Eusebius.68 Remarkably, 1 Clement as the earlier source 66 Contrary to speculations, as in R. von Haehling, “Mutmaßungen zum Schweigen der Apostelgeschichte vom Tod der Apostel Petrus und Paulus,” in Petrus und Paulus, 538–47, esp. 543–44; similar already Prior, Paul the Letter-Writer, 79. 67 See H. Omerzu, “Das Schweigen des Lukas: Überlegungen zum offenen Ende der Apostelgeschichte,” in Das Ende des Paulus, 127–56, 148; similar, e.g., R. Jewett, “Paul, Phoebe, and the Spanish Mission,” in J. Neusner et al (eds.), The Social World of Formative Christianity and Judaism (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1988), 142–61, 154. Usually the duration of the Roman imprisonment is limited to two years, following Acts 28.30. But it is not clear whether this is reliable historical information, since it could also refer to a usual length of a trial until a sentence must have been charged; cf. for the legal aspects of the trial Omerzu, Prozeß des Paulus, and the contributions in this volume by H. Omerzu, B. Santalucia, and V. Marotta. 68 See esp. Zwierlein, Petrus und Paulus, 132–45. According to Zwierlein, Acts 28 is reliable in terms of Paul’s stay in Rome, but neither for his death in Rome nor for his martyrdom do reliable sources exist (146). See also H.G. Thümmel, Die Memorien für Petrus und Paulus in Rom: Die archäologischen Denkmäler und die literarische Tradition (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1999); Zwierlein, Petrus in Rom; cf. also the discussion responding to Zwierlein in Petrus und Paulus. See further T. Nicklas in this volume.

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is not very clear about the death of Paul. From a historical point of view, there is, of course, also the possibility that Paul died in Rome under unknown circumstances as many prisoners did.69 This might even be reason enough for Luke not to mention Paul’s death, and for less serious authors of apocryphal traditions to speculate about the martyrdom of the Apostles. 6. After all, we have to conclude that the Pauline mission in Spain may have developed with the growth of Christian congregations in Spain, which inscribe their history into the Apostle’s missionary activities, motivated by his plans mentioned in Rom 15. But there is no single witness or source that goes further than mentioning the pure fact; none of them describes the circumstances in any more detail. We may not doubt that at least some of the Church Fathers were convinced that Paul had been in Spain. But such a conviction does not create historical facts. What is true for Luke and 2 Tim also applies to the early church traditions: if there had been a mission of Paul in Spain, it would be completely mysterious why this journey should not have left any trace in history or in the earliest accounts. 7. Correspondingly, there are only late indications of a veneration of Paul in Spain, based mostly on legendary traditions. Considerations about the presence of Jewish communities in Spain do not change this picture or render the idea more plausible that Paul could have been there. Jewish communities in Spain are not traceable back into the first century.70 To the contrary, the existence of Jewish communities in Spain is often deduced from Rom 15.24, 28, as if Paul’s plan to go to Spain already supposes that there must have been Jewish communities.71 Besides the short note in the Canon Muratori, and perhaps

69

Because it is not dependent on the manner of Paul’s death, this assumption would still allow to follow the tradition of Paul’s burial at Via Ostiense in Rome according to Eusebius, Hist. eccl. II.25.7; see Riesner, “Paul’s Trial,” 406–07; and the essay by A. di Berardino in this volume; cf. also D.-A. Koch, Geschichte des Urchristentums: Ein Lehrbuch (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2013), 601–03. 70 See S. Safrai and M. Stern, The Jewish People in the First Century (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1974), 169; W.P. Bowers, “Jewish Communities in Spain in the Time of Paul the Apostle,” JTS 26 (1975): 395–402, 401; A.J. Dewey, “ΕΙΣ ΤΗΝ ΣΠΑΝΙΑΝ: The Future and Paul,” in L. Bormann, K. Del Tredici, and A. Standhartinger (eds.), Religious Propaganda and Missionary Competition in the New Testament World (Leiden: Brill, 1994), 321–49, esp. 324–27. U. Schnelle, “Der Römerbrief und die Aporien des paulinischen Denkens,” in The Letter to the Romans, 3–23 plausibly asks: “Was wollte Paulus in Spanien? Das Land bot sich keineswegs an, denn es gab dort keine jüdische Besiedlung. Spanien galt aus römischer Perspektive als wild und unkultiviert und die Sprachsituation war sehr komplex” (5). See also B. Wander, “Warum wollte Paulus nach Spanien? Ein forschungs- und motivgeschichtlicher Überblick,” in Das Ende des Paulus, 175–95. 71 See E. Käsemann, An die Römer (3rd ed.; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1974), 383 (“sicherlich nicht ohne eine Anzahl von Synagogen”); Ellis, “Das Ende der Erde,” 285

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the Acta Petri, the earliest serious literary witnesses for Christian congregations in Spain can be found in geographic summaries in Irenaeus, Adversus Haereses I.10.2, and Tertullian, Adversus Iudaios 7. None of them connects these Christians with Paul’s mission. Even in Tertullian, the “ends of the earth” do not refer to Spain, but following Ps 18.5 (LXX) describes the whole inhabited world. Ernst Dassmann72 only hints at a certain Symeon Metaphrastes in the 10th century,73 who in his Menologion 23 (September) identifies a chapel as the location of Paul’s preaching and claims that Paul had ordained the first bishop of Tarraco. In his article on Tarraco, Géza Alföldi74 remarks that only from the 3rd century onwards material evidence (mostly tombs) exists that witnesses to the presence of Christians in Tarraco/Tarragona.75

E. Concluding Remark Martin Hengel once keenly characterized New Testament research as a “Vermutungswissenschaft,” a term that is hard to translate into English – perhaps “science of assumptions” or even “science of guesswork.”76 There is some truth to this labelling, because in our exegetical and historical research we always have to work with hypotheses, and sometimes even with assumptions. Yet, even a “Vermutungswissenschaft” should certainly abstain from assumptions that depend too much on “guesswork.” Instead, we should cautiously base all necessary and inevitable hypotheses on the sources at hand, and beyond a reasonable extent we should not read into the texts what we only assume to know or wish to prove. Admittedly, the range of probabilities might vary in detail as well as regarding to the overall picture drawn from these details. But in our case of the last years of Paul, neither in the New Testament, (“wenig Evidenz”); on Rom 15 as an argument for the existence of Jewish communities, see critically Dewey, “The Future and Paul,” 324–25. 72 E. Dassmann, “Archäologische Spuren frühchristlicher Paulusverehrung,” JACSup 37 (2011): 441–64, 447. 73 See G. Makris, “Symeon Metaphrastes,” BBKL XI (1996): 350–51. 74 RESup 15 (1978): 641. 75 Curiously, Tajra, Martyrdom, 104, hints at a Spanish inscription from 1963 at the Place de Palau in Tarragona, which recalls the arrival of Paul 1900 years ago, i.e., in the year 63 CE. Controversial remains also the question where Paul would have preached in Spain. Catalan scholars hold that not Tarragona but the Baetic region in the south of the Iberian peninsula would have been the area of Paul’s mission; see Tajra, Martyrdom, 104–05. Because of a certain understanding of the phrase τέρµα τ ῆς δύσεως ( 1 Clem. 5.7), Ellis, “Das Ende der Erde,” 283, assumes the city of Gades in particular. All these theories are only based on speculations. 76 See M. Hengel, “Aufgaben der neutestamentlichen Wissenschaft,” NTS 40 (1994): 321–57, esp. 334.

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nor in early Christian literature, nor anywhere else we can find a positive, independent, and reliable indication for Paul’s mission in Spain and for his martyrdom after a second Roman imprisonment. Historically speaking, the only conclusion to be drawn with a certain degree of probability is that Paul was not able to accomplish his plans for Spain, which failed just as many others of his projects, and that he died under unknown circumstances in Rome during the reign of Nero. His Gospel of God’s saving grace for all nations, however, did indeed find its way to the “ends of the earth,” and eventually to Tarragona, too.

Paul’s Literary Activity during his Roman Trial1 Udo Schnelle

A. Introduction: Paul in Rome The account of Paul’s stay in Rome (Acts 28.17–31) raises numerous legal, historical, and theological questions. Regarding the legal situation, the first point one notices is the relatively free circumstances of Paul’s imprisonment. He does not live in a prison or barracks but in a rented apartment (cf. 28.16, 23, 30),2 under the guard of a soldier (28.16). Although 28.20 presupposes that Paul was bound to his guard by chains, this does not hinder his having an extensive preaching ministry in Rome. One can only imagine such treatment if Paul was a Roman citizen and thus entitled to a privileged form of incarceration.3 Moreover, it is remarkable that nothing is said of a trial in Rome. The real reason for his journey to Rome slips completely into the background. The chronological information about the two years (28.30) has no relevance for the legal aspects of his trial,4 so that also from a legal point of view Paul’s fate remains undecided. Historically, it is clear from Romans 16 that Paul knew many members of the Roman church. Nonetheless, there is never any real meeting with the Roman Christian community (cf. Acts 28.16). Instead Paul first makes contact − as always in the Acts account − with the local synagogue (Acts 18.17ff). It is the rejection of his message that first causes Paul to turn to the Gentiles. Thus the impression is given that Paul was the first founder of the church in Rome, although in Acts 28.15 the non-Pauline origin of the Roman church is presupposed. What caused Luke to tell the story in 1

I am grateful to Gene Boring (Fort Worth) for revising the English of my article. Cf. H. Omerzu, “Das Schweigen des Lukas. Überlegungen zum offenen Ende der Apostelgeschichte,” in F.W. Horn (ed.), Das Ende des Paulus: Historische, theologische und literaturgeschichtliche Aspekte (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2001), 128–44, here at 146. 3 On Paul's Roman imprisonment from the point of view of legal history, see B. Rapske, The Book of Acts and Paul in Roman Custody: Book of Acts in its First Century Setting 3 (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1994), 173–91; Omerzu, “Schweigen des Lukas,” 144– 51; M. Labahn, “Paulus – ein homo honestus et iustus: Das lukanische Paulusportrait von Act 27–28 im Lichte ausgewählter antiker Parallelen,” in Das Ende des Paulus, 75–106, here at 98–104. 4 Cf. the argumentation in Omerzu, “Schweigen des Lukas,” 147–49. 2

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this way? We must assume that for this segment of Paul’s ministry Luke probably had only a few historically reliable traditions.5 In addition, there is the tendency apparent in the whole two-volume work to excuse the Romans from any guilt in the death of Jesus or hindering the Christian mission. It is therefore likely that Luke remained silent about the guilty verdict Paul received in Rome, though he knew the circumstances of the apostle’s death (Acts 19.21; 20.23–25; 21.11). We can be confident of the historical veracity of only the following: Paul arrived in Rome as part of a transport of prisoners, where he was able to continue some missionary work despite his confinement. The literary and theological strategy of Luke is clearly recognizable in Acts 28.17–31. As in the previous narratives, Paul is presented despite his imprisonment as one with legal and social privileges, one with whom leading members of the Jewish community meet (cf. Acts 28.17, 23), and who is a worthy messenger of God proclaiming the gospel in the capital city of the world “with all boldness and without hindrance” (Acts 28.31).6 Is Paul still writing letters to his churches from the Roman imprisonment? The letter to the Philippians was written while Paul was in prison (Phil 1.7, 13, 17), but in a situation that did not prevent him from having a vigorous missionary activity (Phil 1.12–13). He had received a gift from Philippi brought by Epaphroditus (Phil 4.18; cf. also 2.25; 4.14), and he now sends Epaphroditus back with the letter expressing his gratitude (Phil 2.25, 28). During his stay in the city where Paul was imprisoned, Epaphroditus himself had become severely ill, which caused the church in Philippi great concern (Phil 2.26–30). Paul would like to visit the church himself (Phil 1.26; 2.24), although the outcome of his trial is still open. A trial has already taken place (Phil 1.7), and Paul counts on a quick decision (Phil 2.23), considers either acquittal or the death sentence to be possible (Phil 1.19–24), but hopes for a positive verdict (Phil 1.25). In any case, he wants to send Timothy to Philippi (Phil 2.19–23) to learn how things are going in the church. The city had been founded ca. 356 BCE by Philipp II of Macedon.7 An intensive Roman settlement in the city began in 42 BCE, which was strengthened by the events of 31 BCE (Octavian's defeat of Anthony). From 27 BCE onward, Philippi developed as a military colony, the Colonia Augusta Julia Philippensis, in which primarily veterans of the army were settled. The most influential segment of the population were Romans, but Greeks and Thracians

5 So Omerzu, “Schweigen des Lukas,” 151–56, who sees the traditional kernel as 28.16, 23, 30–31. 6 Luke signals this linguistically with the word ἀκωλύτως 7 On the city and its history, cf. W. Elliger, Paulus in Griechenland (Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1987), 23–77.

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also contributed to the linguistic, cultural, and religious life of the city.8 Philippi’s economic importance (agriculture, crafts, commerce) resulted from the location on the Via Egnatia, the main artery connecting the eastern and western regions of the Roman Empire. Philippi is a good example of the religious syncretism of the first century CE (cf. Acts 16.16–22), for alongside the Caesar cult and the Greek, Roman, and Egyptian gods, the indigenous fertility cults of the original Thracian inhabitants enjoyed great popularity. The first Pauline church in Europe began in Philippi (cf. Acts 16.11ff.; Phil 4.15), founded by the apostle in 49/50. The majority of the congregation were Gentile Christians (cf. Acts 16.33b, and the names Epaphroditus [Phil 2.25ff.; 4.18], Euodia, Syntyche, Clement [Phil 4.2–3]), but also probably included God-fearers (cf. Acts 16.14) and Jewish Christians (cf. Acts 16.13).9

B. The Historical Place of Philippians Where is the prison10 located that fits the apostle’s situation described above? Of those locations proposed by scholars (Rome, Caesarea, Ephesus),11 the greatest probability belongs to Rome. 8

L. Bormann, Philippi: Stadt und Christengemeinde zur Zeit des Paulus (Leiden: Brill, 1995), 11–84 strongly emphasizes the Roman element; also, P. Pilhofer, Philippi, Die erste christliche Gemeinde Europas (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1995), 85–92 highlights the Roman character of Philippi, but also emphasizes that the influence of Greeks and Thracians is not to be ignored. 9 We now have good evidence of a synagogue from the third century CE; cf. C. Koukouli-Chrysantaki, “Colonia Iulia Augusta Philippensis,” in C. Bakirtzis and H. Koester (eds.), Philippi at the Time of Paul and after his Death (Harrisburg: Trinity Press International, 1998), 5–35. 10 For prisons in the Roman Empire, cf. J.-U. Krause, Gefängnisse im Römischen Reich (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner, 1996). 11 For arguments for and against, cf. W.G. Kümmel, Introduction to the New Testament (London: SCM Press, 1975), 325–32; J. Gnilka, Der Philipperbrief (Freiburg: Herder, 1980), 18–25; R.E. Brown, An Introduction to the New Testament (New York: Doubleday, 1997), 493–96. The Ephesus hypothesis founded by A. Deissmann, “Zur ephesinischen Gefangenschaft des Apostels Paulus,” in Anatolian Studies presented to W. M. Ramsay (Manchester, 1923), 121–27, is advocated today by numerous exegetes: G. Bornkamm, Paul (New York: Harper & Row, 1971), 241; Gnilka, Philipperbrief, 199; G. Barth, Der Brief an die Philipper (Zürich: Theologischer Verlag, 1979), 8–9; W. Schenk, Die Philipperbriefe des Paulus: Kommentar (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1984), 338; U.B. Müller, Der Brief des Paulus an die Philipper (Leipzig: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 2002), 16–23; J. Reumann, Philippians (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2008), 17; M. Theobald, “Der Philipperbrief,” in M. Ebner and St. Schreiber (eds.), Einleitung in das Neue Testament (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 2008), 377f.; H. Omerzu, “Spurensuche: Apostelgeschichte und Paulusbriefe als Zeugnisse einer ephesischen Gefangenschaft des Paulus,” in J. Frey, C.K. Rothschild, J. Schröter (eds.), Die Apostelgeschi-

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I. Arguments Pro Rome The portrayal of the Roman imprisonment in Acts 28.30–31 fits very easily into the mild sort of confinement presupposed in Philippians (cf. Phil 1.13– 14; 2.25; 4.10ff.).12 Moreover, the references to the Praetorian guard (Phil 1.12–14)13 and the slaves/liberti of the emperor (Phil 4.22) are best underchte im Kontext antiker und frühchristlicher Historiographie (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2009), 295–326; P. Pilhofer, Das Neue Testament und seine Welt (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010), 173–92; M.E. Boring, An Introduction to the New Testament. History, Literature, Theology (Loiusville: John Knox, 2012), 221. Especially E. Lohmeyer, Der Brief an die Philipper (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1974), 3–4 has argued for Caesarea as the place of imprisonment. The Roman hypothesis was revived in the last Century by J. Schmid, Zeit und Ort der paulinischen Gefangenschaftsbriefe: Mit einem Anhang über die Datierung der Pastoralbriefe (Freiburg: Herder, 1931), passim., and C.H. Dodd, “The Mind of Paul II,” in Dodd, New Testament Studies (Manchester, 1954), 83–128, here at 85–108. In recent research this view is again winning more advocates: C.-H. Hunzinger, “Die Hoffnung angesichts des Todes im Wandel der paulinischen Aussagen,” in B. Lohse (ed.), Leben angesichts des Todes (FS H. Thielicke) (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1968), 69–88, here at 85 n.30; W. Wiefel, “Die Hauptrichtung des Wandels im eschatologischen Denken des Paulus,” ThZ 30 (1974): 65–81, here at 79; G. Strecker, “Befreiung und Rechtfertigung. Zur Stellung der Rechtfertigungslehre in der Theologie des Paulus,” in Strecker, Eschaton und Historie. Aufsätze (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1979), 229–59, here at 230; G. Lüdemann, Paul, Apostle to the Gentiles: Studies in Chronology (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1984), 104, 186 n.135; H.-H. Schade, Apokalyptische Christologie bei Paulus (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1981), 190; J. Roloff, Einführung in das Neue Testament (Stuttgart: Reclam, 1995), 139–40; P.T. O’Brien, The Epistle to the Philippians: A Commentary on the Greek Text (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1991), 19–26; P. Wick, Der Philipperbrief: Der formale Aufbau des Briefs als Schlüssel zum Verständnis seines Inhalts (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1994), 182– 85; G.D. Fee, Paul's Letter to the Philippians (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1995), 34–37; M. Günther, Die Frühgeschichte des Christentums in Ephesus (Frankfurt: Lang, 1995), 40, 43–47; U. Wilckens, Theologie des Neuen Testaments, I/3 (Neukirchen: Neukirchener, 2005), 242; M. Gielen, “Paulus – Gefangener in Ephesus?” I.II, BN 131 (2006), 79– 103; BN 133 (2007), 63–77; J.D.G. Dunn, Beginning from Jerusalem (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2009), 1009–22; D.A. Hagner, The New Testament. A Historical and Theological Introduction (Grand Rapids: Baker, 2012), 556; U. Schnelle, Einleitung in das Neue Testament (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2013), 159–63; H.D. Betz, Der Apostel Paulus in Rom (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2013), 14–16. 12 Cf. however Acts 24.23 for Caesarea. 13 Thus with emphasis Fee, Philippians, 35, on πραιτώριον: “the word more naturally refers the Praetorian Guard, the emperor's own elite troops stationed in Rome. Those who favor an Ephesian imprisonment can only hypothesize the presence of the guard in Ephesus, since (a) there is no evidence to support it and (b) there was no praetorium in Ephesus;” see also Krause, Gefängnisse im Römischen Reich, 250: “Vermutlich kam Paulus in Rom in die Obhut der Prätorianer;” Betz, Paulus in Rom, 23 n.85: “Gemeint ist m. E. das Prätorium in Rom.” It may be that an indication of the legal background is presented by Digest I 15.3, which reports for Rome in the time of Augustus: “The Prefect for Fire Prevention prosecutes cases against arsonists, burglars, thieves, robbers and those who buy

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stood in terms of a Roman imprisonment.14 In Mark 15.16, Matt 27.27; John 18.28; Act 23.34f. πραιτώριον (Lat. praetorium) denominates the office of the Roman Proconsul in Jerusalem resp. Caesarea Maritima. In Caesarea Maritima a praetorium with a prison is attested to by Act 23.34f., but the description in Phil 1.12–18 presupposes a large parish. No evidence suggests this in Caesarea. In Ephesus to my knowledge no praetorium has been discovered, but its existence can be assumed, because Ephesus was the provincial capital of Asia Minor. At Rome the garrison of the imperial guard was referred to as praetorium. “Those of Caesar’s household” (Phil 4.22) are slaves or liberti “employed by the Emperor in a wide range of roles, particulary administrative ones.”15 They could be employed in Rome or Ephesus – both are possible – “but Caesar’s household at Rome would be so much larger that Rome seems a more probable place for an identifiable Christian community to develop within the household.”16 There is additional evidence for Rome as the place where Philippians was written, and thus for a late dating of the letter: (1) The lack of any reference to the collection indicates that at the time of the letter the collection was already complete.17 1 Cor 16.1–4; 2 Cor 8 and 9 clearly show Paul’s thorough attention to the collection of the offering for Jerusalem during his stay in Ephesus and he also expresses his gratitude for the support of the Philippians (cf. Phil 4.10). If Philippians were written in Ephesus, there would be no explanation for not mentioning the achievement of the offering for the church of Jerusalem. (2) Philippians presupposes an imprisonment that lasted some time, because Epaphroditus at this time is a coworker and “fellow soldier” of Paul at the location of imprisonment (Phil 2.25), then he becomes “sick to the point of death” (Phil 2.27), the Philippian congregation is informed, and finally Epaphroditus recovers (Phil 2.27). In addition, the church had already tried several times to support Paul (cf. Phil 4.10), but not succeeded until the arristolen goods, unless a dangerous and notorious person is involved, in which case they must be handed over to the City Prefect.” Setting up a Prefect for Fire Prevention for the time of Augustus is confirmed by Suet., Aug. 30.1 and Dio Cassius 55 26.4–5. Paul could have been classified as a dangerous person from the Roman point of view and given to the Roman prefect because he was exacerbating tensions between Jews and Romans in the unsettled times prior to the Jewish War (cf. on this allegation Acts 17.1–9; 21.27–40; 24.4–5; 25.8). 14 Cf. Hagner, The New Testament, 556: “The references to the praetorium and Caesar’s household are most natural here and provide the best explanation for the exuberance of Paul in 1.12, and greetings from Caesar’s household in Rome itself would have been especially appreciated by the Christians in the Roman colony of Philippi.” 15 P. Oakes, Philippians. From People to Letter (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001), 66. 16 Oakes, Philippians, 66 n.19. 17 Cf. Schade, Apokalyptische Christologie, 190.

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val of Epaphroditus. If the letter had been written in Ephesus, the silence of Acts about a long imprisonment would be without explanation,18 while the two year imprisonment in Rome (Acts 28.30) fits very well with the situation presupposed in the letter. Why should Luke explicate the short imprisonment in Philippi in great detail (Act 16.23–40), whilst remaining silent with regard to the important and long imprisonment in Ephesus? Luke represents Paul as staying two to three years in Ephesus. He refers to several local traditions, but how then could he not have known about a long imprisonment of the apostle? There is no sufficient explanation for that!19 (3) If an imprisonment in Ephesus is assumed, the lack of reference in the letters to the Corinthians becomes noticeable. Paul's allusion in 2 Cor 1.8 to a life-threatening situation in the province of Asia provides no support for the hypothesis of an Ephesian imprisonment, since Paul indicates only that his life had been endangered, without giving any particular circumstances.20 So also the fighting with “wild animals” in l Cor 15.32 is no evidence for a lengthy imprisonment in Ephesus.21 The reference to multiple “imprisonments” in 2 Cor 11.23 only can refer to recurrent short arrests, and Rom 16.4 (Prisca and Aquila “risked their own necks” for Paul) does not lead to any exact historical conclusions. Because Philippians can not be written before 1 Cor, 1 Cor itself is dated in spring 55 (the previous letter of 1 Cor 5.9 in the years 53/54) and 2 Cor was sent from Macedonia (late autumn), the question arises, how a long imprisonment (at least a year) is reconcilable with the travel plans of Paul in 1 Cor 16.5–12 and 2 Cor 1.14–2.4 at all. The situation is 18 On the difficulties of the Ephesian hypothesis, see especially Schmid, Gefangenschaftsbriefe, 10ff., 72ff. 19 Omerzu, “Spurensuche,” 314–26, referring to Acts 19.23–40, assumes that Luke knows about the arrest in Ephesus, but does not mention it, as he did not want to point out the conflict with the Jews of Ephesus until he arrives in Jerusalem (Acts 21.27–29). Here something not mentioned in the text is rendered plausible (with many hypotheses) just to explain – of course also as plausible – why it is not mentioned. 20 Contra H. Koester, Introduction to the New Testament II. History and Literature of Early Christianity (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1982), 130. 21 Contra H. Conzelmann and A. Lindemann, Interpreting the New Testament: An Introduction to the Principles and Methods of New Testament Exegesis (Peabody: Hendrickson, 1988), 177. U.B. Müller, “Der Brief aus Ephesus. Zeitliche Plazierung und theologische Einordnung des Philipperbriefes im Rahmen der Paulusbriefe,” in U. Mell and U.B. Müller (eds.), Das Urchristentum in seiner literarischen Geschichte: FS Jürgen Becher (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1999) attempts to explain the silence of Acts about the assumed lengthy imprisonment of Paul in Ephesus on the basis of Luke's political expediency: “One must take into account the fact that the historical situation when Acts was written made it seem inadvisable to report a conflict between pagan religion (polytheism) and Christianity that had almost led to a legal sentence against Paul as a Christian leader in a manner that the ‘no little disturbance conccrning the Way’ (Acts 19:23) could appear to Greco-Roman society in an all too suspicious light.”

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even more complicated when 2 Cor and Phil are considered to consist of multiple fragments and when Philemon is meant to be written also in Ephesus. An accurate chronological integration of the postulated longer imprisonment in the stay of the apostle in Ephesus has not yet been carried out and is not likely to succeed in a convincing way.22 (4) The rather reserved portrayal of the relations with the church at the place of imprisonment (Phil 1.12–18, esp. vv. 15, 17; cf. l Clem 5.5: “dispute and jealousy”!) indicates that the church there had not been founded by the apostle himself. (5) The term ἐπίσκοπος (“overseer/supervisor”) found only in Phil 1.1 in the undisputed letters of Paul (cf. Acts 20.28; l Tim 3.2; Titus 1.7) presupposes a development within the church in the direction of the Pastoral letters.23 (6) An analysis of Paul's vocabulary in Philippians’ reveals distinctive elements in the greeting, in the use of the title “Christ,” in the manner in which “we” and “I” are used, and the presence of rare words (cf. especially Βενιαµίν only in Rom 11.1; Phil 3.5; Ἑβραῖος only 2 Cor 11.22; Phil 3.5; ἐργάτης only 2 Cor 11.13; Phil 3.2; φυλή only Rom 11.1; Phil 3.5). All these speak for the date of the composition of Philippians after that of Romans.24 (7) The eschatological statements in Phil 1.21–24 and the self-awareness as a martyr in Phil 2.17 clearly indicate a later period, the end of St. Paul’s life. Furthermore, in Philemon, which is closely related to Philippians, he refers to himself as an old man (Phlm 9). (8) The early church tradition locates the letter to the Philippians in Rome (Subscriptio B1 075 6 1739 1881 M). II. Arguments contra Rome One objection to Rome as the place of composition is that the statements about the law and Israel in Philippians must have been written prior to Romans rather than later.25 But Paul by no means takes back the actual result of the argument in Romans, which affirms righteousness/justification is located in Jesus Christ alone (cp. Rom 10.3–4 with Phil 3.9). The sharp statements about the break with his Jewish past are doubtless conditioned by the continu22 But see G.R. Duncan, St. Paul’s Ephesian Ministry (London, 1929), 294, who has submitted a very complex (and not convincing) theory: “When we reflect that Paul devoted three years to his Ephesian ministry, we cannot but be struck with the fact that of the six letters (U.S.: 1Cor/Phil/Philem/Col/Eph/2Tim) from that period five were written while he was a prisoner.” 23 Cf. J. Roloff, “Amt,” (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1978), 509–33, here at 522. 24 Cf. Schade, Apokalyptische Christologie, 184–90. 25 So e.g. Müller, Der Brief aus Ephesus, 170: “The third chapter of Philippians can only be made plausible if, like Galatians, it is located before the fundamental clarifications in Romans.”

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ing agitation of Jewish Christian missionary opponents, and they are not a correction of Paul's hope for Israel in Rom 11.25–26. Instead, the location of Philippians within the chronology of Paul’s letters points to the end of his career and thus to Rome: while according to Rom 15.24 Paul plans a mission to Spain, in Phil 1.21 he is an old man in prison who longs for death. A further argument raised against Rome as the place where Philippians was written is the great distance between Rome and Philippi, which would not have allowed the lively traffic presupposed between Paul's prison and the church he addresses. Moreover, a Roman location would mean that Paul had changed his travel plans announced in Rom 15.24–28, since he intends to visit Philippi after his release. Neither objection is well-grounded. Paul could change his travel plans, as shown in the Corinthian correspondence (cp. l Cor 16.5–8 with 2 Cor 1.15–16). At the time he wrote Romans, Paul could not have foreseen the years of imprisonment in Caesarea and Rome, but new contacts with the churches he had already established could lead Paul to change (not abandon!) his previous plans, perhaps provoked by the appearance of Judaist missionaries (Phil 3.2ff.) at Philippi. The planned journey to Spain would not necessarily be given up by making a trip to Philippi occasioned by present circumstances – only postponed! Moreover, the statement affirming his desire to visit a particular church is part of the formal structure of Pauline letters (cf. l Thess 2.17ff.; l Cor 16.5–6; 2 Cor 13.1; Gal 4.20; Rom 15.23–24; Phlm 22). The transportation links between Philippi and Rome were very good (on the Via Egnatia to Dyrrhachium, by ship to Brundisium, then continuing along the Via Appia).26 A sea voyage from Philippi to Rome took about two weeks,27 while a predominately overland trip of ca. 1084 kilometers (ca. 650 miles)28 would take about four weeks, calculated at ca. 37 km (ca. 22 miles) per day.29 The travel time could be even less if one takes into consideration the good condition of the Roman roads, the possibility of favourable winds and good ship connections, and/or the use of a wagon. If we assume that Philippians presupposes four trips between Rome and Philippi (l. the Philippians hear of 26

On this cf. Schmid, Gefangenschaftsbriefe, 77–83. On the excellent road conditions, see G. Radke, “Viae publicae Romanae,” in A. Pauly and G. Wissowa (eds.), Realencyclopädie der classischen Altertumswissenschaft (Stuttgart: Metzler, 1973), 1417–686, here at 1477. 27 Cf. L. Friedlaender and G. Wissowa, Sittengeschichte Roms I (Leipzig: S. Hirzel, 1919), 337f. 28 Cf. A. Wikenhauser and J. Schmid, Einleitung in das Neue Testament (Freiburg: Herder, 1973), 506. 29 Friedlaender and Wissowa, Sittengeschichte Roms, 333 estimate 37.5 km per day; as well, A. Kolb, Transport und Nachrichtentransfer im Römischen Reich (Berlin, 2000), 311; K.-W. Weeber, “Reisen,” Der Neue Pauly (Stuttgart: Metzler, 2001), 858.

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Paul's imprisonment; 2. they send Epaphroditus; 3. the Philippians hear of Epaphroditus’ sickness; 4. Paul sends Epaphroditus back to Philippi), this constitutes no difficulty for a location such as Rome where Paul was in custody for a relatively long time (Act 28.30f. reports a two-year imprisonment in Rome). Furthermore, it is possible that the messages involved in the intense communication between the Pauline congregations did not have their point of origin exclusively in Rome or Philippi. To the 4 trips that really had to have been undertaken while the writing of the letter was still in process, at most the announced visit of Timothy (cf. Phil 2.19–23) can be added. The listing of A. Deissmann is definitely too large.30 He argues for twelve suggested trips. The eight suggested trips of P. Pilhofer are also tendentious,31 because he counts Phil 2.26 twice (when the Philippians receive information about the sickness of Epaphroditus, he will be aware of the Philippian notice of his sickness and their concerns about his health) and adds the only announced trips of Timothy (2 trips) and Paul. All in all, it is still most likely that Philippians was written in Rome about 60 CE.32

C. Philippians as a Document of Later Pauline Theology There are not only historical but also theological reasons to interpret Philippians as a witness from the late period of Paul’s life and work. The letter to the Philippians is a document of late Pauline theology in a twofold sense: (l) It was composed at the final stage of the apostle’s missionary activity. (2) Its content also represents an advanced stage of Pauline thought, which is in no small way conditioned by the personal situation of the apostle. Especially the eschatological affirmations of the letter, and the readiness of the apostle to die a martyr's death, show that Paul understands himself not only to be at the end of his ministry, but that he has come to the end of his life (cf. Phil 1.21; 2.17). Five points are important in this context: I. Paul as a Model in Suffering In this difficult situation, the letter to the Philippians lets us see that Paul regards his situation as a vehicle for the proclamation of the gospel and a challenge to his churches.33 In Philippians he develops the paradox of Christian 30

Cf. Deissmann, “Zur ephesinischen Gefangenschaft des Apostels Paulus,” 124f. Cf. Pilhofer, Das Neue Testament und seine Welt, 176f. 32 When Ephesus is regarded as the place where Philippians was written, it is usually located at the end of this period; thus Müller, Philipper, 22, for example, argues for the year 55 CE. 33 Cf. Oakes, Philippians, 77–128. 31

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existence by referring to his own person, proceeding from gratitude to God, who in his faithfulness both maintains and furthers the Philippians in their faith and also uses the present situation of the apostle for his own good purposes. Paul felt closer to the Philippians than to any other church. The extremely good relationship between apostle and church is reflected in several particular features: (1) Philippians has the longest proömium (thanksgiving section) of all the Pauline letters (Phil 1.3–11); the content throughout bears the stamp of Paul's closeness to them, in constant prayer and unreserved thanksgiving and praise.34 The motif of thanksgiving, bound up with the call to rejoice, permeates the whole letter (cf. Phil 1.3/18; 2.29; 3.la; 4.1/4–6, 19– 20) and provides its fundamentally positive tone. (2) Paul specifically emphasizes the close friendship of church and apostle. They have shared the ministry of the gospel with each other from the very beginning (Phil 1.5). From this there grew a mutual participation in giving and receiving that has endured until the present (Phil 4.15). (3) The apostle has granted to them alone the privilege of supporting his work with material gifts (cf. Phil 4.18). Differently from his relationship with the Corinthian church (cf. l Cor 9), he has no fear of a theological takeover by the Philippians. So also the threatening situation in prison is unable to detract from the apostle's joy and confidence, for it paradoxically calls forth further fearless proclamation of the gospel (Phil 1.12/14). Their common service in the gospel also binds together apostle and church in this difficult situation, which Paul presses into service in his own missionary cause. The news about his trial publicizes the gospel, so that in the place where he is imprisoned even rival missionary factions find the courage to proclaim Christ (cf. Phil 1.15–18ab). II. The New Eschatological Perspective In Philippians we see a new eschatological perspective: Paul now reflects openly on the possibility of his death before the parousia, and he concentrates his eschatological imagery on the destiny of the individual.35 In Phil 1.20 the apostle speaks of his earthly body in which Christ will be glorified, “whether by life or by death.” In Phil 1.21–24 Paul wavers between the expectation of further life in this world and his own soon death,36 which is bound up with his

34

This is signaled linguistically by the numerous forms of πᾶς. Cf. Wiefel, “Hauptrichtung des Wandels,” 79–81. 36 For an analysis, cf. especially Betz, Paulus in Rom, 26–28. On the Greek background of v. 21b, cf. e.g, Plato, Apol. 40c, d, where Socrates speaks about what happens after death: “Let us reflect in another way, and we shall see that there is great reason to hope that death is a good; for one of two things – either death is a state of nothingness and utter unconsciousness, or, as men say, there is a change and migration of the soul from this world to the other. Now if you suppose that there is no consciousness, but a 35

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confidence that immediately after death he will “be with Christ” (v. 23: σὺν Χριστῷ εἶναι). Phil 1:23 has in view being in the presence of Christ immediately after death, without reference to the parousia and the resurrection. The singular formulation in Phil 3.11, “if somehow I may attain the resurrection from the dead” (εἴ πως καταντήσω εἰς τὴν ἐξανάστασιν τὴν ἐκ νεκρῶν ), with its double use of ἐκ (out of, from), likewise points to an early resurrection immediately after death.37 To be sure, in Philippians as in all Paul’s letters, the parousia is the horizon of all the apostle’s eschatological statements (cf. Phil 4.5b; 1.6, 10; 2.16; 3.20b), but as Paul nears the end of his life he reconsiders his own destiny. Because he now thinks that he may die before the parousia, the parousia and the resurrection of the dead that is to happen then can no longer be the one and only point of orientation. Paul here identifies his own destiny so closely with Christ, that he unites himself completely with the passion and resurrection of his Lord. As long as Paul firmly believed he would still be alive to experience the Lord’s parousia, he portrayed the final events in terms of a broadly-conceived apocalyptic scenario (cf. 1 Thess 4.13–18; 1 Cor 15.51ff.). But when he realized that he might die before the parousia, this led to eschatological statements oriented to his own individual destiny (cf. 2 Cor 5.1–10). This is an appropriate transformation in his thought,38 for as he began to experience the temporality and finitude of Christian existence, Paul was compelled to rethink the destiny of those Christians who died before the parousia, and finally to reckon with his own destiny. This working through of an individual eschatology oriented to the person of the apostle himself then receives an exemplary significance, a model for his eschatological thought as such, as death before the parousia increasingly became the rule rather than the exception. The apostle could not ignore the fact that time was continuing and was thus compelled to make appropriate changes in his eschatological views. At the same time, σὺν Χριστῷ εἶναι (1 Thess 4.17/Phil 1.23) continued to be the foundational constant element of Pauline eschatology. Phil 3.20–21 also reveals the apostle’s orientation to the future heavenly existence.39 There Paul disputes with opponents (vv. 17–19) and contrasts them with the church’s orientation to the heavenly reality. The term πολίτευµα (citizenship) designates the legal status of a citizen; just as the Roman citizens of Philippi are enrolled as members of the tribus Voltinia in sleep like the sleep of him who is undisturbed even by dreams, death will be an unspeakable gain." 37 Cf. Hunzinger, “Hoffnung angesichts des Todes,” 87. 38 Cf. U. Schnelle, Apostle Paul. His Life and Theology (Grand Rapids, Baker, 2005), 578–87. 39 Cf. D. Schinkel, Die himmlische Bürgerschaft (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2007).

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Rome, so the Christians in Philippi are registered in a heavenly “citizenship list.”40 To this designation of the true location of Christians Paul adds a portrayal of the parousia, which begins with the coming of the Saviour Jesus Christ and comes to its climax with the transformation of our present “bodies of humiliation” into “glorious bodies” like that of Christ, who will subject all things to himself. The striking accumulation of political language and concepts in Philippians (Phil 1.27: πολιτεύεσθαι; Phil 3.20: πολίτευµα) makes especially good sense in the context of the city of Rome. Here Paul is immediately confronted with the Roman Empire and here he sees himself in a situation that evokes the language of counterpoint. III. Paul as a Martyr The apostle’s (martyr) consciousness is seen also in Phil 2.17. Paul sees himself as a libation “poured out” as an offering in both Jewish and pagan cultic worship.41 If his life is now to come to an end, the apostle rejoices nonetheless for the Philippians, who have brought their own spiritual offerings by the way they have lived their lives. When measured by the standards of human thinking, this results in the paradox that the apostle’s suffering reveals the faithfulness, grace, and glory of God. The Christian community responds to the goodness of God when they live their lives in a way that corresponds to Jesus Christ (Phil 1.27–30). IV. The Hymn as Paradigmatic History This aspect is deepened in Phil 2.1–5, 6–11,42 where Paul elucidates Christian life as oriented to the way of the Lord Jesus Christ as the one who founds, maintains, and completes salvation. As the prototype (Urbild), Jesus Christ makes possible the new existence of Christians; as the exemplary model (Vorbild), he sets forth his own conduct as the example to be followed. Just as Christ did not look after his own welfare and gave himself up to death on the cross, so also Christians should not live in selfishness and quarreling, but in humility and unity. The Son’s transformation makes possible the believer’s participation.

40

Cf. Pilhofer, Philippi, 122f.; Bormann, Philippi, 218f. Cf. Reumann, Philippians, 397f. 42 On Phil 2.6–11, cf. S. Vollenweider, “Die Metamorphose des Gottessohnes,” in Das Urchristentum in seiner literarischen Geschichte (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1999), 107– 31; S. Vollenweider, “Der ‘Raub’ der Gottgleichheit. Ein religionsgeschichtlicher Vorschlag zu Phil 2,6(–11),” NTS 45 (1999): 413–33. 41

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The church can and should follow Christ in the awareness that, just as is the case with the apostle himself, it does not yet stand in the state of fulfilled salvation, but is on the way to the day of Christ's return, the judgment, and the resurrection (Phil 3.12ff.). God is the one who makes this possible, for it is God who is at work among the believers, enabling both their will and their deeds (Phil 2.13). Against the background of a church influenced by its setting in a Roman colony, but also when regarded as written by Paul while imprisoned in Rome, Phil 2.6–11 has a political dimension. One who was crucified by the Romans receives, by God's direct intervention, an unsurpassable status, so that worship and confession belongs to him alone. While kings and rulers have gained power by violence and predatory aggressiveness, Jesus Christ humbled himself and thus became the true sovereign. He thus embodies the exact opposite of the ruler who exalts himself. Also, the Lord/Kyrios title in Phil 2.11 and the Savior title in Phil 3.20 each have anti-imperial connotations. A Greek inscription from the time of Nero has the formula “Nero, Lord of the Whole World,”43 and the Roman emperors were praised as “saviors,” especially in the eastern part of the Empire.44 Over against this politicoreligious claim, the hymn sets a new reality that surpasses every earthly power whatever. The Philippian Christians receive their citizenship not from the Roman authorities, but from heaven (Phil 3.20–21), so that Paul is consistent when he describes their life in Phil 1.27 by using only the verb πολιτεύεσθαι (“conduct one's life as a citizen”). The culmination of power in the hymn again makes particulary good sense if written from a special Roman situation:45 Paul, a prisoner in Rome, presents his church with an alternative model: weakness and rulership are in truth assigned completely differently than the way it appears at first glance. V. The Mission against Paul is still going on A unique insight into the way Paul understood himself is found in Phil 3.2– 11, where Paul vehemently attacks the hostile missionaries who have intruded into the church. 43 Cf. Neuer Wettstein I/2. Texte zum Johannesevangelium (ed. U. Schnelle, M. Labahn, and M. Lang; Berlin: de Gruyter, 2001), 249. 44 Cf. the documentation at John 4.42 in Neuer Wettstein I/2, 239–56; cf. also M. Labahn, “‘Heiland der Welt’: Der gesandte Gottessohn und der römische Kaiser – ein Thema johanneischer Christologie,” in M. Labahn and J. Zangenberg (eds.), Zwischen den Reichen (Tübingen: Francke, 2002), 149ff. 45 Cf. also Oakes, Philippians, 129–74 (174: “However, Imperial ideology was all around: on coins, in statues, in processions, games and feasts, in pictures and in inscriptions. …Whatever they would have made of the details of verses 9–11, the hearers are likely to have heard the Imperial shape of the events, i.e., at their most basic level: raised to power on account of deeds, universal submission, universal acclamation as Lord. This shape fits an Imperial figure much more closely than it does any other figure.”

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The apostle calls them “dogs,” indicating the opponents’ malicious and destructive intentions. The expression βλέπετε τοὺς κακοὺς ἐργάτας (“beware of the bad/evil workers”) is illuminated by 2 Cor 11.13, where ἐργάται δόλιοι (“deceitful workers”) is used as a polemical term for “apostles.” In early Christianity, ἐργάτης (“worker”) was evidently a term used by missionaries to describe themselves (cf. Matt 9.37–38; 10.10), which Paul qualifies negatively with the adjective κακός (“bad, evil”). The position advocated by the opponents is clearly recognizable in the word κατατοµή, (literally “mutilation”), a sarcastic allusion to circumcision. When in v. 3a Paul reclaims the term “circumcision” for the church in a positive sense, he thus designates the central issue of the controversy: militant Jewish Christian missionaries’ had made inroads also into the church in Philippi insisting that Gentile converts be circumcised.46 The appearance of the opponents in Philippi is part of a larger mission directed against Paul, which was at least tolerated by the Jerusalem leaders.47 This movement was probably not a monolithic block,48 nevertheless the movement agreed to deny the Pauline apostolate and thought it was necessary to re-integrate the predominantly Gentile Pauline communities into Judaism. While the Pauline churches were on the way to developing an independent cult movement in a predominantly pagan environment,49 the countermissionaries promoted and pushed for a primarily Jewish identity, which could as well have liberal traits (apostolic decree), but, consequently, led to a demand for compulsory circumcision. Not only 2 Corinthians and Galatians, but also Romans is clearly influenced by the ongoing agitation of the opponents in Jerusalem (cf. Rom 15.30–33) and in Rome (Rom 16.17–20; further 3.1–8, 6.1f.), so Paul as “Apostle of the Gentiles” (Romans 11.13) sees himself forced out of the east of his working area (cf. Rom 15.23). Philippians provides further evidence that the mission against Paul continues.

46

Cf. Müller, Philipper, 186–91. Cf. W. Wrede, “Paulus,” in K.H. Rengstorf (ed.), Das Paulusbild in der neueren deutschen Forschung (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1969), 1–97, here at 39: “das Judenchristentum organisierte in den eigenen Gemeinden des Paulus eine förmliche Gegenmission. Es sind Spuren vorhanden, dass sich die Bewegung nicht auf Galatien und Korinth beschränkte;” cf. also G. Theissen, “Die Gegenmission zu Paulus in Galatien, Philippi und Korinth,” in W. Kraus (ed.), Beiträge zur urchristlichen Theologiegeschichte (FS U.B. Müller) (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2009), 277–306; U. Schnelle, “Der 2. Korintherbrief und die Mission gegen Paulus,” in D. Sänger (ed.), Der zweite Korintherbrief (FS D.-A. Koch) (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Rupecht, 2012), 300–22. 48 For an overview, cf. S.E. Porter (ed.), Paul and His Opponents (Leiden: Brill, 2005). 49 Cf. G. Theissen, “Kirche oder Sekte? Über Einheit und Konflikte im frühen Urchristentum,” in A.A. Alexeev et al (eds.), Einheit der Kirche (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2008), 81–101. 47

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Paul includes in his attack a fundamental interpretation of his life and history, which the readers are to apply to themselves. What had transpired in the life of Paul is characteristic of the life of every Christian: the newness of a life determined by Christ casts the old life, despite its advantages, in a wholly negative light. Paul demonstrates to the Philippians that their departure from the conventional social and religious conditions of their setting, and the radical change in his own life, have one and the same goal: both leave behind their social, political, legal, and religious privileges in order to be registered as citizens of heaven (Phil 3.20–21).50 The new life seems to be threatened by the experience of suffering and by the competing Judaistic missionaries. In Phil 3.4b–11 Paul counters this threat with a line of argument oriented to the categories of belonging and participation. Belonging to the chosen people Israel grants one participation in its privileges: circumcision, law, righteousness. Paul by no means caricatures Jewish life, but precisely names his selfconfidence and self-understanding as a zealous Pharisee.51 The radical turn in his life appears all the more dramatic against this positive background. Through the use of terms like ζηµία (“loss”) and σκύβαλα (“dung, crap, excrement, filth”)52 for his old life, the apostle gives a drastic description of his new perspective on reality; all previous privileges appear in a different light. Belonging to Christ and participation in his life-giving power radically surpass everything that had previously been considered good, so that Paul interprets himself and the world anew. He has recognized who this Jesus Christ is and what he is able to give as Lord and savior: righteousness and life. Paul characteristically describes his new life by weaving together participatory and juridical categories. He speaks of “being found in Christ” and of participation in the power of his resurrection. He thereby grounds righteousness by faith, a righteousness that has its source not in the law/Torah, but in God. Thus, also in regard to the demand for circumcision made by the opponents, the antithesis ἐκ νόµου – ἐκ θεοῦ (“from the law – from God”) in Phil 3.9 underscores the new location of salvation: it is found in God and can not be attained by human beings, but only be accepted as a gift. This is the emphasis of the expression καὶ εὑρεθῶ ἐν αὐτῷ (“and be found in him”), which like ἐν Χριστῷ (“in Christ”) means being incorporated into a saving relationship with Christ and participation in the new being that results from this relationship.

50

M. Tellbe, “The Sociological Factors behind Philippians 3.1–11 and the Conflict at Philippi,” JSNT 55 (1994): 97–121 rightly emphasizes the political, legal, and sociological dimensions of Paul's argument in Phil 3.1–11. 51 Cf. Müller, Philipper, 148–49. 52 Cf. F. Passow, Handwörterbuch der griechischen Sprache II/2 (Leipzig: Fr. Chr. Wilh. Vogel, 1857), 1468: “Koth, Mist, Auswurf.”

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Altogether the letter to the Philippians shows a well-considered rhetorical slope. At first Paul assures the concord between him and the parish with chapter 1 and 2: only now in chapter 3.2 does he turn to the dispute with his enemies, finally to turn again in a positive way to the church in chapter 4. The motif of joy (χαρά, χαίρειν) connects Phil 1, 2, and 4. Remarkably, it is missing in Phil 3.2–21. The polemic in chapter 3 achieves its potency through the positive implementation in the letter. The polemic itself is in general not persuasive. In summary, it may be affirmed that the letter to the Philippians must be understood as both a literary and theological unity and a witness of later Pauline theology.

D. The Letter to Philemon The letter to Philemon is to be placed in immediate proximity to Philippians, for Paul is in prison (Phlm l, 9, 13) and, as is the case with the composition of Philippians, Timothy and other coworkers are with him (Phlm 23–24). The mild situation of his custody is also comparable, for Paul can still gather his coworkers about him and continue his missionary activity (Phlm 10, 23–24). These circumstances, like the unparalleled self-description πρεσβύτης (“old man”) 53 in Philemon 9, point to Rome as the place where the letter to Philemon was composed.54 The well-known parallels between Philemon 23–24 and (the pseudepigraphical) Colossians 4.10–14 (Ἐπαφρᾶς, Λουκᾶς, Δηµᾶς, Μᾶρκος, Ἀρίσταρχος) also argue for a late composition of Philemon. Colossians is to be read as a post-Philemon composition (cf. Col 4.9/Phlm 10: Onesimus; Col 4.17/Phlm 2: Archippus). While the chronological relationship 53

Πρεσβύτης is not the designation of an office, but of age (cf. Luke 1.18; Titus 2.2); according to Philo, Opif., 105, this term (“elderly man”) refers to the age 49–56, after which one is γέρων (“old man”); cf. Neuer Wettstein II/2 (eds. G. Strecker and U. Schnelle; Berlin: de Gruyter, 1996), 1064. 54 Among those who argue for Rome are A. Schweitzer, The Mysticism of Paul the Apostle (London: A&C Black, 1931), 47; A. Jülicher and E. Fascher, Einleitung im das Neue Testament (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1931), 124–25; H. Gülzow, Christentum und Sklaverei in den ersten drei Jahrhunderten (Münster: LIT, 1999), 29–30; H.-M. Schenke and K.M. Fischer, Einleitung in die Schriften des Neuen Testaments I (Berlin: EVA, 1978), 156. Schnelle, Einleitung, 174f.; Hagner, The New Testament, 574. The majority of exegetes regard Ephesus as the place where Philemon was written; e.g. P. Stuhlmacher, Der Brief an Philemon (Neukirchen: Neukirchener, 1975), 21; E. Lohse, Colossians and Philemon (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1971), 188; M. Wolter, Der Brief an Philemon (Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus 1993), 231; P. Lampe, Der Brief an Philemon (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1998), 203–32; J.A. Fitzmyer, The Letter to Philemon (New York: Doubleday, 2000), 11; E. Reinmuth, Der Brief des Paulus an Philemon (Leipzig: EVA), 2006, 17f.; Boring, Introduction, 232f. In this case, Philemon would have been written between 53 and 55 CE.

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to Philippians cannot be determined with certainty, the irony in Philemon 19 suggests that Paul is in a better mood and situation than at the time when Philippians was written, so that the letter to Philemon was probably written after Philippians (ca. 61). The occasion of the letter is the sending of the slave Onesimus back to his master Philemon, a Christian from Colossae (cf. Col 4.9: Onesimus; Col 4.17/Phlm 2: Archippus). The letter to Philemon is not a private letter, for it is addressed simultaneously to Philemon and the church that meets in his house. As in his other letters, here also Paul brings his apostolic authority into play. In terms of form criticism, Philemon must be considered a letter of request (παρακαλέω, v. 9, 10a, explicit request in v. 17), into which elements of a letter of recommendation have been inserted (cf. Phlm 10b–13).The structure of the letter is heavily influenced by rhetorical elements.55 In the thanksgiving (Phlm 4–7), Paul clearly attempts to win Philemon over to his side. He approaches him in terms of his life as a Christian, suggesting that he do for Christ the good that he is able to do (Phlm 6, 7). Whereas to this point he has only appealed to Philemon's own responsibility, in vv. 8–9 he subtly brings his apostolic authority into play. He explicitly emphasizes that he does not want to make any use of his authority, and does not use his apostolic title (Phlm l, 8b–9), but precisely in doing so, he uses his position all the more effectively. The real concern of the letter does not become clear until v. 10; Paul presents his petition in behalf of the slave Onesimus, whose master in the legal sense Philemon was and continues to be. Why is Onesimus staying with Paul? It may be that Onesimus ran away from his master after stealing something from him (cf. Phlm 18), then met Paul and was converted to the Christian faith by him (cf. Phlm 10). Then Onesimus would have had the status of a runaway slave (fugitivus)56 and would have to count on receiving the necessary punishment, which Paul attempts to hinder. On this assumption, there is no satisfactory explanation as to why Onesimus appears at Paul's prison cell, of all places (coincidence? did he already know the apostle?), instead of attempting to maintain the freedom he had gained by submerging himself in a large city or a foreign country. Some have thus supposed that Onesimus was not a runaway slave,57 but that he had sought out Paul as his advocate in a domestic conflict. Then Onesimus would have taken the usual route in such circumstances, as illustrated in numerous ancient texts.58 Onesimus’s goal 55 Cf. F.F. Church, “Rhetorical Structure and Design in Paul's Letter to Philemon,” HTR 71 (1978): 17–33. 56 For slavery in antiquity, cf. L. Schumacher, Sklaverei in der Antike (Munich: Beck, 2001); E. Hermann-Otto, Sklaverei und Freilassung in der griechisch-römischen Welt (Hildesheim: Olms, 2009); cf. especially G. Klingenberg, Juristisch speziell definierte Sklavengruppen 6: servus fugitivus (Stuttgart: Steiner, 2005). 57 Cf. Lampe, Philemon, 206. 58 Cf., e.g., Pliny Ep. 9.21 (= Neuer Wettstein II/2, 1058–60).

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would then be to return to Philemon’s household, which he attempts to facilitate by means of Paul’s mediation. This is a plausible explanation for Onesimus’s stay with Paul, but Philemon 13 still poses a problem, since it presupposes that the slave had already been serving Paul for some time. Why did Onesimus remain with Paul for this extended period, if Paul was only to serve as his advocate (by means of a letter)? We can not be sure why Onesimus came to Paul, or whether he met him accidentally. It is only clear that some event in the household of Philemon caused the slave Onesimus to leave,59 that he met Paul in prison, that he assisted him there, and that now it had to be decided whether he would continue with Paul or return to the household of Philemon. Philemon is to acknowledge and accept the new status of the slave Onesimus as a beloved brother, “both in the flesh and in the Lord” (καὶ ἐν σαρκὶ καὶ ἐν κυρίῳ, Phlm 16). The apostle thus encourages Philemon to break through the ancient social structure of the household and to confer a new social status as beloved brother, while his legal status remains the same.60 Christian freedom does not abolish the prevailing social structures, but finds its concrete realization within the life of the Christian community. By explicitly identifying himself with Onesimus (Phlm 12, 16, 17–20), he makes the new situation clear to Philemon, who is to recognize that he now has the same kind of relationship to the slave Onesimus as he has to the apostle Paul. Thus when Paul now sends Onesimus back (Phlm 12, 14) in accordance with the legal situation of the time (but contrary to Deut 23.16!), he is sending a part of himself to Philemon. The real goal of Paul's argument becomes clear in v. 13: he would like to have Onesimus remain with him, in order to serve him and the preaching of the gospel. But Paul does not want to have this service from Onesimus without Philemon’s voluntary agreement (Phlm 14), which, however, he already presupposes (Phlm 21). To be sure, Paul hopes to visit Philemon soon himself (Phlm 22), but this does not make the present and future service of Onesimus superfluous.

59 According to Wolter, Philemon, 231, we can assume “that Onesimus had committed some offence in his master’s household, but considered himself innocent, and asked Paul’s help in coming to terms with his master.” 60 Cf. Wolter, Philemon, 233–34: “Precisely in the slave Onesimus, Philemon is to see his brother (15f), and indeed without the radicality of this imposition being in any way moderated by a formal change in Onesimus’s legal status by emancipation.”

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E. Conclusions Any theory dealing with the place of composition of Philippians and Philemon has its strengths and weaknesses. A Roman origin of both letters is the most likely, because it allows a combination of a self-witness within the body of the letters and the book of Acts. This is methodologically a great advantage compared to other theories that must operate with postulates which can not be backed up with both sources. Paul was not only working as a missionary (Phil 1.12–17/Acts 28.30) during his imprisonment at Rome, but – as always – he was in contact with his other churches. The exceptional relationship to the church in Philippi is now bearing fruit, because the community may support Paul and so take part in his testimony of the gospel. All in all there are a lot of arguments for Rome as the provenance of Philippians. No single argument is compelling, but the cumulative combination of all the arguments is convincing. Like no other of Paul’s letters, Philippians gives an insight into the apostle’s personality. We see his fundamental convictions and his confidence, but also his anxieties and fears. Paul lives in the confidence that he fully participates in the destiny of Christ, both in suffering and in glory. Thus external circumstances cannot finally affect him, for “I can do all things through him who strengthens me” (Phil 4.13). The fact that he writes from a prison cell by no means hinders Paul from repeatedly calling the Philippians to prayer, thanksgiving, and joy. He is certain that everything that serves the preaching of the gospel is happening according to God’s will. Paul speaks with joy even about the possibility of his being offered as a sacrifice, his own martyr death (cf. Phil 2.17–18). Nonetheless, a slight uncertainty creeps into his consciousness when he says “if somehow” (εἴ πως) he might attain to the resurrection of the dead, i.e., die before the appointed time. This is an understandable reaction, for looking into the future when one stands in the presence of death not only calls forth confidence, but anxiety. But for the sake of the Philippians, Paul chooses life; he knows that they and many other people need the preaching of the gospel to continue. Therefore, he continues in Rome to fight for his churches and for his life’s work: the mission to the nations, free from the requirement of circumcision. Thus, he actually depends on Philemon’s support. The major theme of this letter is that of brotherly love. The relationship of love and brotherhood that already exists between Paul and Philemon has now been extended to the slave Onesimus.

Paul’s Literary Activity during His Roman Trial: A Response to Udo Schnelle* Daniel Gerber

The only certainty that we have regarding possible literary activity by Paul during his detention in Rome is that we do not have enough sufficiently explicit information from him in order to settle this question once and for all – at least, if one sticks to the seven uncontested letters.1 Moreover, it must be admitted that the external testimony concerning the end of the apostle is subject to caution.2 The last years of Paul remain a mystery despite the energy spent to reveal a possible scenario. Would it be possible to say that some pieces of evidence on which scholars rely to elaborate their hypotheses have not been rightly appreciated, if not neglected?3

*

Translated from the French original by Daniela Gelbrich. Regarding Rome as the place of Paul’s detention, according to 2 Tim 1.17, L. Oberlinner, Der zweite Timotheusbrief (Freiburg: Herder [Sonderausgabe], 2002), 60, observes with reason: “Ganz nebenbei wird…Rom als Ort der Gefangenschaft des Paulus eingeführt.” 2 First of all, we think of Eusebius of Caesarea, Hist. eccl. 2.22.2–4, who relies on 2 Tim 4.16–17 in order to arrive at two Roman captivities of Paul. According to J. Becker, Paul. “L’apôtre des nations” (Paris-Montréal: Cerf-Médiaspaul, 1995), 551, “il s’agit là d’une construction harmonisante qui vise à combiner les Actes avec la lettre aux Romains et surtout à ancrer les Épîtres pastorales…dans le vie de Paul.” He adds (552): “L’historien ne peut…donner que des indications très maigres concernant la fin de la vie de l’Apôtre des païens.” This opinion is shared by F.W. Horn, “Einführung,” in Horn (ed.), Das Ende des Paulus. Historische, theologische und literaturgeschichtliche Aspekte (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2001), 1–13, at 3: “Die Quellenlage lässt es nicht zu, ein eindeutiges historisches Urteil zu den Ereignissen nach der Ankunft in Rom zu fällen.” Regarding the difficulties posed by the reconstruction of Paul’s last years from the available sources, see inter alia, S. Légasse, Paul apôtre. Essai de biographie critique (Cerf-Fides: Paris, 1991), 237–45. 3 H.D. Betz, Der Apostel Paulus in Rom (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2013), 1 notes: “Das Thema ‚Paulus in Rom‘ wird in letzter Zeit so intensiv diskutiert, dass bei dessen bloßer Nennung der Verdacht aufsteigt, wirklich Neues sei hier kaum noch zu erwarten.” 1

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A. Preliminary Remarks The only two proto-Pauline letters that present themselves as captivity writings – they are therefore likely to have been sent from Rome – are undisputedly the epistle to the Philippians and the missive to Philemon. Far from being anecdotal, the determination of their place of composition and, consequently, of their approximate dating actually has two aspects: on the one hand, their interpretation is partially linked to the historical circumstances of their sending; on the other hand, it concerns the order in which Paul's letters should be classified in order to be in a better position to follow the evolution of his thought.4 If the hypothesis that Philippians and Philemon were written in Caesarea is hardly retained today,5 and rightly so, the alternative for Rome that has been suggested most frequently remains Ephesus6 – in spite of the fact that we do not have “any serious proof in support of Paul’s imprisonment [in this city].”7 Despite the meticulousness with which exegetes have sought to

4 The usefulness of establishing the writing context of every letter written by Paul has been underlined by U. Schnelle, “Der 2. Korintherbrief und die Mission gegen Paulus,” in D. Sänger (ed.), Der zweite Korintherbrief. Literarische Gestalt – historische Situation – theologische Argumentation. Festschrift zum 70. Geburtstag von DietrichAlex Koch (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2012), 300–22, at 300. On the subject of the progressive elaboration of Pauline theology, cf. A. Dettwiler, J.-D. Kaestli, and D. Marguerat (eds.), Paul, une théologie en construction (Genève: Labor et Fides, 2004). 5 For the main objections to this hypothesis, see Légasse, Paul apôtre, 239–40. 6 This is what M. Gielen notes in “Paulus – Gefangener in Ephesus? Teil 1,” BN 131 (2006): 79–103, at 82. 7 Légasse, Paul apôtre, 239 (“aucune preuve sérieuse à l’appui d’une incarcération de Paul [en cette cité]”). Concerning Philippians, H. Omerzu, “Spurensuche: Apostelgeschichte und Paulusbriefe als Zeugnisse einer ephesischen Gefangenschaft des Paulus,” in J. Frey, C.K. Rothschild, J. Schröter (eds.), Die Apostelgeschichte im Kontext antiker und frühchristlicher Historiographie (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2009), 295–326, at 299–300, points out: “Die längste, bis in die Alte Kirche zurückreichende Tradition hat die Lokalisierung in Rom. …Heinrich Eberhard Gottlob Paulus brachte 1799 erstmals Caesarea als alternativen Abfassungsort in die Diskussion ein… Die Ephesus-Hypothese wurde erst gut hundert Jahre später literarisch erstmals von Heinrich Lisco sowie bald darauf unabhängig von ihm von Adolf Deissmann vertreten und dann vor allem von Paul Feine, Wilhelm Michaelis und George S. Duncan ausführlich behandelt.” Regarding Philemon, P. Müller, Der Brief an Philemon (Göttingen: Vandenoeck & Ruprecht, 2012), 81 notes: “Dass der Brief während der Gefangenschaft in Caesarea verfasst worden sei, hat nicht viele Befürworter gefunden. Auch die Gefangenschaft in Philippi spielt kaum eine Rolle. … Als Argument für die Abfassung in Rom wird neben der starken altkirchlichen Bezeugung die Selbstbezeugung ‚alter Mann‘ herangezogen. … Die große Mehrheit der Exegeten spricht sich für eine Abfassung des Briefes in Ephesus aus.”

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produce their arguments in favor of one city or the other,8 we have not yet been able to bring forward arguments that are sufficiently solid, if not compelling, to disqualify one of the two places assumed.9 It has to be added that the weight of the arguments and the counter-arguments that have been presented is far from being standardized in the sense that one and the same observation is valued very differently according to the position taken. Furthermore, we cannot hope to produce more than a body of proofs in favor of one or the other hypothesis,10 as the solution regarding Philippians still depends on the epistle’s actual integrity.11 Is it necessary to bring this to mind? We cannot assume a priori that the letter to the Philippians and the missive to Philemon were sent from one place and at the same time.12 If the availability of Epaphroditus and the financial aid offered by the Philippian community explain why Paul addressed it, the letter to Philemon was dispatched due to the impromptu arrival of Onesimus. Does the brevity of the latter allow for comparisons of information that are sufficiently significant, leading to the thought that the two letters were composed close in time and space?13 At least, the question deserves to be raised.

8

G.F. Hawthorne, “Letter to the Philippians,” in G.F. Hawthorne, R.P. Martin, D.G. Reid (eds.), Dictionary of Paul and his Letters (Downers Grove: InterVarsity Press, 1993), 707–13, at 710, underlines that “several factors suggest the possibility of Corinth as the place from which Philippians was written.” A Corinthian composition of Philippians is notably backed by S. Dockx, “Lieu et date de l’épître aux Philippiens,” RB 80 (1973): 230–46. 9 A brief inventory of the partisans of a Roman or Ephesian origin of Philippians has been established by D. Hellholm, “Vorgeformte Tauftraditionen und deren Benutzung in den Paulusbriefen,” in D. Hellholm, T. Vegge, Ø. Norderval, C. Hellholm (eds.), Ablution, Initiation, and Baptism. I. Late Antiquitiy, Early Judaism, and Early Christianity (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2011), 415–95, at 416 n.8. 10 Gielen, “Paulus – Gefangener in Ephesus?,” 82 uses the expression “Plausibilitätskriterien.” It is surprising to note that for Betz, Der Apostel Paulus in Rom, it is obvious that the epistle to Philippians was written in Rome. However, the author concedes (24 n.87) he has not been persuaded by H. Omerzu, Der Prozess des Paulus. Eine exegetische und rechtshistorische Untersuchung des Apostelgeschichte (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2002), who backs an Ephesian composition of this letter. 11 For this question regarding literary critique, see É. Cuvillier, “L’intégrité de l’épître aux Philippiens,” in J. Schlosser (ed), Paul de Tarse (Paris: Cerf, 1996), 65–77. Betz, Der Apostel Paulus in Rom, 16, bases the hypothesis of one letter (1.1–3.1a; 4.1– 9.21–23) and two “Beilagen” (3.1b–21; 4.10–20) on the plural used by Polycarp, Phil. 3.2. 12 In the sense, Omerzu, “Spurensuche,” 305. 13 In this respect, we note that some have asked themselves whether Ἐπαφρᾶς, named in Phlm 23, was the diminutive of Ἐπαφρόδιτος, who is lauded by Paul in Phil 2.25–30; cf. Bauer, col. 574.

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In order to verify the credibility of a Roman hypothesis regarding Philippians and Philemon, notably backed by the subscription of several manuscripts, one voluntarily follows the footsteps of U. Schelle. From a methodological point of view, one should indeed make sure that the information contained in these two letters, failing to confirm that they have been sent from Rome, is nevertheless not in contradiction with this location. The fact of being in a position to arrive at a more advanced theological reflection in certain passages of Philippians would also be a good argument in favor of the hypothesis that the letter was sent from the Urbs. However, as we know, the undertaking is delicate and the debate is far from being over.

B. Regarding the Conditions of Paul’s Detention in Rome It cannot be questioned that Paul was imprisoned at least once in the imperial city. But in what circumstances? Do we only have the assurance that the apostle could not only receive visitors – like, for example, Epaphroditus or Onesimus – but also send letters during his captivity? Indirectly, this is like posing the following question: can the author of the writing to Theophilus be fully trusted when he points out in Acts 28.16, 23, 30 that, when he came to Rome, “Paul was allowed to stay by himself, with the soldier who was guarding him,” and could therefore rent “a lodging”?14 Historically speaking, this is plausible.15 However, the assumption that Paul was placed under house arrest (custodia militaris) cannot be verified. Would it be conceivable indeed that this (supposed) special treatment had a purely narrative aim? It is not forbidden to think this.16 This is clearly demonstrated by another literary production that is, historically and archeologically speaking, highly improbable, i.e., Paul’s appearance before Gallio on the rostra17 of the Corinthian court ac14 In Acts 28.23, Luke uses the term ξενία and, in Acts 28.20, the noun µίσθωµα. For the analysis of this vocabulary, cf. H. Omerzu, “Das Schweigen,” 145–47; C. Spicq, Lexique théologique du Nouveau Testament (Fribourg-Paris: Éditions universitaires-Cerf, 1991), 1040–41. 15 Cf. M. Labahn, “Paulus – ein homo honestus et iustus. Das lukanische Paulusportrait von Ac 27–28 im Lichte ausgewählter antiker Parallelen,” in Horn (ed.), Das Ende des Paulus, 75–106, at 98–104. The author notes (98): “Der jeweilige soziale Status ist…für die juristische Behandlung einer Person bedeutend.” 16 Even if Labahn’s remark is pertinent, “Paulus – ein homo honestus et iustus,” 100 – “Die Erlaubnis mit einem Wachsoldaten für sich zu bleiben…entspricht sicherlich auch dem lukanischen Anliegen, Paulus als unschuldig und unverdächtig einzustufen” – it represents Luke’s intention only partially. 17 J. Wiseman, “Corinth and Rome I: 228 B.C. – A.D. 267,” ANRW II.7.1, 438–548, at 516, notes: “The official name of the structure seems to have been the rostra, although it is called bema in the account of St. Paul’s appearance here before the proconsul Gallio.” He is followed by R. Haensch, Capita provinciarum. Statthaltersitze und Provinzi-

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cording to Acts 18.12–17. Did not the way of presenting an event, and one cannot present it in a more solemn way, which probably transpired in the back room of a magistrate in the Isthmian city most notably suggest to the reader the important status of the defendant? In addition, we have reason to ask ourselves whether the information given by Luke in Acts 28.16, 23, 30 concerning the special treatment Paul received in Rome is not first and foremost meant to create the same effect, i.e., to express the importance of Paul, who appealed to the emperor for his defense. The information provided by the author of Acts – the important witness to the reception of Paulinism18 – is certainly pivotal to the satisfactory reconstitution of Paul’s bibliography, but, as we know, we have to use it with prudence. If it is undeniable that Paul is presented in Acts 28 as a person in custody, the only thought, however, one can put forward without a doubt is that the evidence provided by Luke concerning the apostle’s conditions of detention neither contradicts the hypothesis of a literary activity during his Roman captivity, nor the fact that he was allowed to receive Epaphroditus or Onesimus, nor the possibility that Timothy was at his side as a free man. This is already far from being insignificant – I agree. Posing questions regarding the duration of Paul’s detention in Rome obviously leads also to weigh another element of information that Luke integrated in the open and enigmatic ending of Acts, i.e., the “two full years” (Acts 28.30), where the apostle is supposed to have been authorized to receive those who came to see him and to proclaim to them the Kingdom of God. But how to gauge the historical veracity of this chronological data integrated in the summary of Acts 28.30–31 as aimed to be “paradigmatic” whereas, for Luke, “the aorist ἐνέµεινεν and the chronological point of reference διετίαν ὅλην” have undoubtedly the priority narrative function to point to a “finished period”?19 Is this biographical remark echoing Acts 18.11; 19.10; 20.31 really based on a historical fact?20 As we cannot verify this, it appears that this Lukan presentation of things is compatible with a Roman redaction of Philippians in several aspects: Paul’s obligation to pay rent could explain the overflowing gratitude he expresses in Phil 4.10–20 for the financial support he had received whereas a long time of imprisonment would justify his need to write epistles. The Roman-Philippian axis was quite frequented. One could even alverwaltung in der römischen Kaiserzeit (Mainz: Philipp von Zabern, 1997), 324, who also thinks that “die βῆµα, vor der Paulus stand, kann die rostra auf dem Forum gewesen sein.” 18 Cf. D. Marguerat (ed.), Reception of Paulinism in Acts. Réception du paulinisme dans les Actes des Apôtres (Leuven: Peeters, 2009). 19 This is where we quote D. Marguerat, La première histoire du christianisme (Genève-Paris: Labor et Fides-Cerf), 329 (“l’aoriste ἐνέµεινεν et le repère chronologique διετίαν ὅλην”… “à une période achevée”). 20 In an interesting way, Omerzu, “Das Schweigen,” 147–49, discusses this point depending on what we know on the subject of periods fixed by the justice system.

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imagine, in case the canonical epistle to the Philippians comprises three separate letters, that Paul could have confided the delivery of two of them to brethren of the capital who went to Macedonia.21 However, is such a piling up of hypotheses still acceptable? The fact remains that the apostle, when he had arrived in Rome, and regardless of the exact duration of his detention, must have been quite exhausted by the journeys, the beatings, the privations, the fatigue, and all that he had been enduring until then.22 Could this therefore not explain that he had other projects in mind than those announced in Rom 15.22–23, all the more so as Luke does not mention financial support brought to Paul by the local church?23 Like the type of detention related by Luke in Acts 28, the mention of the duration which he adds is neither opposed to the hypothesis that Philippians was sent from the Urbs. Was Paul indeed detained under those circumstances in this city for at least two full years? The most solid facts in light of which one may ascertain the place from where Philippians and Philemon were dispatched are those contained in the two letters.

C. Regarding the Place of Composition of the Epistle to the Philippians What kind of evidence can we hope to extract from the letter addressed to the Philippians concerning the conditions of a detention which Paul mentions very soberly, speaking of the “things pertaining [to him]” (1.12: τὰ κατ’ ἐµέ) despite the fact that he points to his “chains” (1.7, 13, 14, 17: οἱ δεσµοί µου) several times? Is the information concerning a “praetorian guard” (1.13: ἐν ὅλῳ τῷ πραιτωρίῳ), the “saints of Caesar’s household” (4.22: οἱ ἅγιοι…οἱ ἐκ τῆς Καίσαρος οἰκίας), and a possible death sentence (1.23: τὴν ἐπιθυµίαν ἔχων εἰς τὸ ἀναλῦσαι καὶ σὺν Χριστῷ εἶναι) a real help to reconstitute the context in which the letter was sent and to fix its dating? Does the presence of Timothy, who is a free man by Paul’s side at that moment (1.1; 2.19–23), provide another piece of evidence? Does the fact that most of the brethren increase their effort to announce “the word of God without fear” whereas their motives are different (1.14–18) allow us to have a more accurate idea about the place where Paul was at that moment, just as about the journeys already made or simply planned? And the question has to be raised yet: could it be possible that certain things not said are meaningful?

21

In this case, Epaphroditus would have brought only one of the three missives to the community in Philippi. 22 Cf. 2 Cor 6.4–10; 11.23–28. 23 Regarding this point, see Gielen, “Paulus – Gefangener in Ephesus?” 94–95.

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This brief inventory of the main internal evidence being potentially useful to research aiming at shedding light on the question concerning the place of composition of Philippians is certainly not meager. It is known that their usefulness is nonetheless fiercely disputed. Today, it is agreed upon that the mentions of a “praetorian guard” in Phil 1.1324 and the “saints of Caesar’s household” in Phil 4.22 are not restrictive and that they do not oblige one to locate the writing of Philippians in Rome.25 We know that “one would find praetorian troops, with their barracks or praetorian guard, in various cities of the empire and the emperor’s house staff would meet wherever the emperor had property,”26 some of his slaves or freed slaves having been appointed to “serve in the administration”27 urbi et orbi. These two pieces of evidence lead to the fact that several cities can come into consideration, the most probable ones being without doubt Rome and Ephesus. It is impossible to decide between the two within the framework of these two pieces of evidence only. Is it truly possible to conclude from Phil 1.12–13 that, despite his “chains” – is it appropriate to invest this term with a literal or a metonymic sense? – Paul had the possibility to exercise a substantial missionary activity in the city where he was imprisoned?28 It is allowed to entertain doubt.29 Does the apostle not declare at the beginning of the letter that he is simply satisfied to learn that the true motive of his arrest – i.e., the testimony borne to Christ – has been recognized “throughout the whole praetorian guard and to everyone else”? Is this where he evokes more than the only opportunity offered to him 24

J.-F. Collange, L’épître de Saint Paul aux Philippiens (Neuchâtel: Delachaux & Niestlé, 1973), 53 observes that “le sens qu’on donne au mot ici dépend de l’hypothèse pour laquelle on opte quant au lieu de rédaction de l’épître.” See J. Gnilka, Der Philipperbrief (Freiburg: Herder, 2002), 57–58; J.-N. Aletti, Saint Paul. Épître aux Philippiens (Paris: Gabalda, 2005), 2–3. 25 In this sense, Omerzu, “Spurensuche,” 301–02: “Beide Angabe [sind] so allgemein, dass sie sowohl nach Rom als auch in eine römische Provinzhauptstadt wie Ephesus oder Caesarea verweisen können. … Der Hinweis in Phil 1,13 könnte…zwar die kaiserliche Garde in Rom bezeichnen, aber ebenso gut auch die Residenz des Statthalters (und dessen Umfeld) in Caesarea oder Ephesus.” 26 Légasse, Paul apôtre, 239 (“on trouvait des troupes prétoriennes, avec leur caserne ou prétoire, en plusieurs villes de l’empire, de même que la domesticité impériale se rencontrait partout où l’empereur avait des propriétés”). 27 Collange, Philippiens, 134 (“au service de l’administration”). Regarding the people of “Caesar’s household,” see W.A. Meeks, The First Urban Christians. The Social World of the Apostle Paul (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2003), 63. 28 The opinion held by Betz, Der Apostel Paulus in Rom, 23 consists in saying: “Paulus kann berichten, dass seine Missionsanstrengungen auch unter der Bedingung der Gefängnisschaft Fortschritte machen.” 29 Commenting on these lines, Gnilka, Der Philipperbrief, 55 remains very reserved. He advances prudently: “Man wird sich…bei der Dürftigkeit der Mitteilungen, die Paulus macht, vor weitreichenden Konkretionen und Konstruktionen hüten müssen.”

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to explain the precise reasons of his arrest to the local judicial authorities? Furthermore, I do not think we can bring Phil 1.12–13 and Acts 28.16, 23, 30 together and, doing this, to superpose that which probably comes from a consciously stylized presentation of the facts, in one or the other case. Can we conclude from Paul’s silence in Philippians on the subject of the offering in favor of the saints in Jerusalem that the offering had already been completed when this letter was dispatched? Although this hypothesis is plausible in itself, it does not impose itself. The silence can be equally explained by the “zeal” of the brethren in Philippi who begged “with much entreaty for the favor of participation in the support of the saints.”30 Furthermore, it is delicate to refer to this silence in order to date the whole or a part of Philippians. Does the epistle suppose a long term of detention? It is difficult to confirm this.31 If the hypothesis, however, proved to be right, we would have to admit that we cannot rely on 1 Cor 15.32 or 2 Cor 1.8 to conjecture a prolonged captivity in Ephesus, and even less on the generic expression ἐν φυλακαῖς used in 2 Cor 6.5; 11.23.32 Moreover, it goes without saying that, if the letter to the Philippians had been written in Ephesus, the silence of Acts concerning a long term of detention of Paul in this city would indeed demand an explication.33 From our point of view, the even more debatable opinion that consists in saying that the behavior of certain brethren who announced the Word “from envy and strife” (Phil 1.15) and “out of selfish ambition rather than from pure motives” (Phil 1.17) would suggest that Paul was detained in a city where he had not founded a church by himself. If it is indeed allowed to refer to the divisions that are mentioned in 1 Cor 1–4, is it not consequently possible to imagine that such attitudes, related in a probably stylized way in Phil 1.12–18, could have been observed in other places, like for example in Ephesus? Can we exclude that, despite being members of the Pauline community, followers of a language different than that of the cross could stand up for their convictions, declaring them in their way, during the apostle’s detention in their city? 30

Cf. 2 Cor 8.1–4, 8 where Paul names the “churches of Macedonia” in a general

way. 31

What meaning do we have to give to ταχέως in Phil 2.24? According to Aletti, Philippiens, 2, this adverb has to be “interprété rhétoriquement, car l’apôtre veut ainsi signifier la force de sa sollicitude pour les Philippiens.” 32 As to a search for evidence concerning a possible detention of Paul in Ephesus, we point to the enquiry of Omerzu, “Spurensuche” and to the counter-enquiry of Gielen, “Paulus – Gefangener in Ephesus?” Relying on 2 Cor 6.5; 11.23, Légasse, Paul apôtre, 239 observes: “On oublie trop souvent que Paul, avant d’écrire…la lettre brûlante qu’il enverra à Corinthe, avait déjà connu la prison à plusieurs reprises.” 33 Omerzu, “Spurensuche,” 300 notes: “Der Haupteinwand gegen die EphesusHypothese ist freilich das Schweigen der Apostelgeschichte.” But she adds (322): “Es scheint…zwar möglich, dass Lukas von einer ephesischen Gefangenschaft des Paulus wusste, sie aber absichtlich verschwiegen hat. Über seine Motive für dieses Vorgehen lassen sich jedoch nur Vermutungen äußern.”

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It is true that the argument concerning the small distance between Ephesus and Philippi does not constitute an ultimate objection to the hypothesis of Paul being detained in Rome when the letter was sent to the Philippians.34 Given the quality of the ways of communication during the epoch, the journeys mentioned in Philippians35 are actually not utterly incompatible with a long detention term of Paul in Rome.36 For its part, the apparent tension between the perspective of the apostle’s journey to Philippi (Phil 1.26; 2.24)37 and the project of travelling to Spain (Rom 15.24, 28) can indeed be explained in the way Udo Schnelle does: “At the time he wrote Romans, Paul could not have foreseen the years of imprisonment in Caesarea and Rome, but new contacts with the churches he had already established could lead Paul to change (not abandon!) his previous plans.”38 Does a more serious objection to the late composition of Philippians, given the hypothesis of the integrity of the letter, come from the polemical remarks of chapter 3? If these echo 2 Cor 10.1–13.10 or Galatians, we are nonetheless not obliged to situate them necessarily before the composition of Romans, the singularity of which is not to be forgotten.39 Particular circumstances, or the apprehension that what had occurred in Galatia or Corinth could happen in Philippi, could have pushed the apostle to react in the same way!40 34

Omerzu concedes this voluntarily in “Spurensuche,” 302. Gielen, “Paulus – Gefangener in Ephesus?,” 87–88 is unequivocal concerning her: “Keinesfalls… spricht die lebhafte Kommunikation zwischen der philippensischen Gemeinde und dem inhaftierten Paulus zwingend gegen Rom als Haftort und damit als Abfassungsort des Phil.” 35 G.W. Hansen, The Letter to the Philippians (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2009), 21 counts not less than eight. 36 On this subject, Aletti, Philippiens, 2 comments: “La question d’une durée de voyage entre Philippes et Rome pouvant empêcher une composition de Ph dans la capitale de l’empire, reste très discutée et non contraignante, tant les arguments pour ou contre…peuvent être retournés.” 37 Regarding the project of a visit expressed in Phil 2.24, Omerzu, “Spurensuche,” 302 remarks: “Sofern er nicht allein dem Briefformular geschuldet ist.” In the same sense, Gielen, “Paulus – Gefangener in Ephesus?,” 94 n.55: “In diesem Zusammenhang ist…an den topischen Charakter solcher Besuchsankündigungen und an ihre pragmatischen Funktion angesichts der faktischen Trennung zwischen Briefsender und – Empfängern zu erinnern.” 38 Cf. U. Schnelle’s essay in this volume, “Paul’s Literary Activity during his Roman Trial” (citing pg. 440 here). Hansen, The Letter to the Philippians, 21–22 notes: “Paul mentions his change of previous plans in 2 Corinthians 1.15–17, but he gives no indication in Philippians that his intention to visit Philippi after his imprisonment is a change of previous plans.” However, we admit that the context of communication is not the same. In 2 Cor, Paul has to explain to the Corinthians why he was obliged to postpone a visit although he had planned to come to see them. 39 For this question, see Gielen, “Paulus – Gefangener in Ephesus? Teil 1,” 95–103. 40 The opinion of Betz, Der Apostel Paulus in Rom, 39, 42 consists in saying: “In 3,2–21 liegt…die Abschrift eines bereits früher verfassten Textes vor. …Was bewog

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Can we thus infer from Phil 1.21 – ἐµοὶ γὰρ…τὸ ἀποθανεῖν κέρδος – that Paul was then an elderly man, wishing to die? I do not see compelling reasons to interpret this alternative in this way, the rhetorical aspect of which is not to be underestimated. Would not every different kind of detention have pushed the apostle to express himself like he does here? At the present stage of enquiry and due to the fact that we have only considered some arguments among those which are most discussed, we admit that, if the “location [in Rome] and [a] late dating [of Philippians] do not impose themselves…, they are nevertheless plausible.”41 Is Udo Schnelle’s conclusion – “All in all, it is still most likely that Philippians was written in Rome about 60 C.E.”42 – nevertheless too specific? Could it be that certain more theological traits specific to the epistle to the Philippians corroborate the hypothesis significantly, situating its composition at the beginning of the sixties? The enquiry deserves to be conducted.43

D. Regarding Possible Later Traits of the Theology Specific to Philippians From the methodological point of view, considerable caution is once again well advised. If the hypothesis of a Roman composition of Philippians leads to the fact that we plumb the theology of the letter in order to find some elements of confirmation, it must be borne in mind to ensure that this assumption does not influence the interpretation of the remarks found in the letter. What can we conclude rightfully, for example, from the use of the verb σπένδοµαι in Phil 2.17? Given the fact that there is just one other occurrence of this verb in the New Testament, found in 2 Tim 4.6–8, are we not too much influenced by the particular development attributed to Paul – in addition to that, in a letter situated in Rome according to 2 Tim 1.17! – assuming that the apostle introduces himself to the Philippians as a man at the end of his life? Paulus zur Abschrift des Textes, den er den Adressaten in Philippi zur Kenntnis geben wollte? Offenbar ist es Ziel und Zweck dieser Beilage…die Philipper vor einer Gefahr zu warnen, die Paulus vorausahnend auf sie zukommen sieht.” 41 F. Vouga, “L’épître aux Philippiens,” in D. Marguerat (ed.), Introduction au Nouveau Testament. Son histoire, son écriture, sa théologie (Genève: Labor et Fides, 2008), 251–64, at 261 (“localisation [à Rome] et [une] datation tardive [de Philippiens] ne s’imposent pas…, elles sont néanmoins plausibles”). 42 Schnelle, “Paul’s Literary Activity,” 441. 43 On this subject, L. Bormann, “The Letter to the Philippians,” in O. Wischmeyer (ed.), Paul. Life, Setting, Work, Letters (London: T&T Clark, 2012), 223–36, at 230 remains reserved: “Internal developments in Paul’s theological statements are from time to time used to date or to fit the letter into the relative chronology of the Pauline epistles, but here, too, there is nothing really decisive produced.”

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Additionally, do we have the assurance that Paul evoked a possible martyrdom using the present tense form σπένδοµαι?44 Therefore, we cannot wish to lean on this lexicographical element, which is too ambiguous to state a late composition of Philippians. Does what Udo Schnelle calls “the new eschatological perspective” provide more convincing evidence?45 Admittedly, the formulation of the first alternative mentioned by the apostle in Phil 1.23 – however, this has to be noted, not without “dramatization” and even possibly in a “highly rhetorical”46 way – is unique: τὴν ἐπιθυµίαν ἔχων εἰς τὸ ἀναλῦσαι καὶ σὺν Χριστῷ εἶναι. The words do not assume any intermediary state between the death of the body and the fact of being with Christ, and thus unquestionably move away from the scenario of the end as it is envisaged in 1 Thess 4.13–18 – where, and this has to be pointed out, the expression σὺν κυρίῳ ἐσόµεθα is conjugated in the future tense (v. 17) – or in 1 Cor 15.51–53. For all that, is this hope of being with Christ even before the parousia and the final resurrection to be necessarily regarded as the ultimate stage of a reflection on eschatology?47 Would a critical situation prior to the Roman captivity not have led Paul to envisage the things in this way? By the way, does eschatology under construction inevitably assume a linear evolution between a decidedly more apocalyptic (Jewish) perspective at the outset and a more individual (Hellenistic) at the end?48 The question is appropriate because, without putting in doubt the coherence of the apostle’s thought, we cannot wish to lock what he expressed every time he found himself in particular circumstances into a systematic logic.49

44 Aletti, Philippiens, 190 doubts this, considering that the present tense “ne renvoie pas à un événement futur, mais actuel et en train de se dérouler.” For his part, N. Gupta, Worship that Makes Sense to Paul. A New Approach to the Theology and Ethics of Paul’s Cultic Metaphors (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2010), 138 points out: “On face value, Paul’s language…would suggest that he is referring to his martyrdom… Others, however, see it in reference to Paul’s whole life.” This is notably the case of Collange, Philippiens, 101, who links the verb σπένδοµαι to the effort Paul made to bring the Philippians to the faith. 45 See Schnelle, “Paul’s Literary Activity,” 442. 46 Aletti, Philippiens, 89 (“dramatisation”; “fortement rhétorique”). 47 This is contested by Bormann, “The Letter to the Philippians,” 230: “We cannot base a development or some sort of change in Paul’s thinking which can then be chronologically evaluated, for what he said on each occasion was determined by the situation.” 48 On this subject, consult the well-researched study of H. Giesen, “Eschatology in Philippians,” in S.E. Porter (ed.), Paul and his Theology (Leiden: Brill, 2006), 217–82. 49 This tendency of organizing Paul’s thought too much is denounced by Gielen, “Paulus – Gefangener in Ephesus?,” p. 96.

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What can we yet conclude from the Christological hymn of Phil 2.6–11?50 Can its possibly implicit “political dimension”51 be truly a powerful piece of evidence for a Roman captivity of Paul? If, manifestly, such a context only conferred more force to this text,52 would it not make sense in Ephesus also? Important as this second part of the enquiry led by Udo Schnelle may be, it seems to me nonetheless that it does not bring decisive elements to the hypothesis of a Roman composition of Philippians. Although the implemented method is well-founded, the results it allows to obtain are unfortunately not on a par with the hopes it engenders. This confirms that it is clearly simpler to measure the evolution of Paul’s thought when we are sure of the chronological order of the letters than, conversely, to situate a letter with uncertain dating in the Pauline correspondence on the basis of the theological singularities it contains.

E. Regarding the Place of Composition of the Missive to Philemon The brevity of the letter to Philemon and the uncertainty surrounding the address of the recipient at the time when it was sent make it only more difficult to determine the place of dispatch. Despite a few scholars having opted for Caesarea or even Philippi,53 those backing the hypothesis of an Ephesian composition are in the majority today. Are there, therefore, serious reasons that lead to the preference of a Roman composition? In view of the conciseness of the writing, the information Paul provides on the subject of his detention is relatively ample: he lays emphasis on the fact that he is imprisoned because of Christ or the gospel (v. 9: δέσµιος Χριστοῦ

50

Concerning the function of this hymn in the epistle to the Philippians, see É. Cuvillier, “Place et fonction de l’hymne aux Philippiens. Approches historique, théologique et anthropologique,” in D. Gerber and P. Keith (eds.), Les hymnes du Nouveau Testament et leurs fonctions (Paris: Cerf, 2009), 137–57. 51 On this subject, Betz, Der Apostel Paulus in Rom, 34 notes: “Zu beachten ist, dass der Hymnus die Gestalt Christi als eines kosmischen Herrschers und Erlösers preist, und zwar ohne kontrovers-politische Aussagen damit zu verbinden.” S. Vollenweider, “Politische Theologie im Philipperbrief?”, in D. Sänger and U. Mell (eds.), Paulus und Johannes. Exegetische Studien zur paulinischen und johanneischen Theologie und Literatur (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2006), 457–69, at 468 concludes his reading of Philippians from the angle of politics in a prudent way: “Der Philipperbrief bietet m.E. …nur wenige für die damalige Leserschaft erkennbare Signale, dass er ein Gegenprogramm zum römischen Herrschaftssystem entwirft.” 52 For P. Oakes, “Re-mapping the Universe: Paul and the Emperor in 1 Thessalonians and Philippians,” JSNT 27 (2005): 301–22, at 319, “Paul replaces the emperor with Christ as the new decisive power.” 53 Cf. Müller, Der Brief an Philemon, 81 n.222 and 223.

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Ἰησοῦ; v. 10: ἐν τοῖς δεσµοῖς; v. 13: ἐν τοῖς δεσµοῖς τοῦ εὐαγγελίου),54 without doubt in the company of Epaphras (v. 23: Ἐπαφρᾶς ὁ συναιχµάλωτός µου ἐν Χριστῷ Ἰησοῦ)55; he speaks of having Timothy at his side, introducing him as a co-sender of the letter; he hopes to be liberated soon (v. 22); he declares to be in contact with Mark, Aristarchus, Demas, and Luke (v. 24). It can be added that he is in a position to receive Onesimus and to dispatch a letter. Is it possible to square these facts with a Roman detention? It is true that the type of captivity which can be deduced from the missive to Philemon seems relatively close to the one that allows Paul to finalize the letter to the Philippians. For all that, is it the same place of detention, and in addition to that, during the same time? We cannot affirm it,56 and neither does the auto-introduction of Paul as πρεσβύτης necessarily situate the composition of Philemon at the end of his life.57 Even if the list of persons mentioned in Phlm 23 refers to the list in Col 4.10–14 – an epistle speaking of Onesimus in 4.9, too – we are nevertheless far from having the assurance that Philemon lived in Colossae when the letter addressed to him was sent,58 a fact that some subscriptio still suggest. It cannot be excluded that the pseudoepigraphical author of Colossians drew directly on the missive to Philemon in order to confer an impression of reality to his writing. This uncertainty regarding Colossae thus attaches only more importance to the indirect information provided in v. 19b, i.e., that it was through the apostle that Philemon got to know the gospel – provided that we have to understand the words καὶ σεαυτόν µοι προσοφείλεις in this sense.59 54

H. Binder, Der Brief des Paulus an Philemon (Berlin: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 1990), 21 observes: “Ein direkter Beweis für reale Gefangenschaft liegt…in V. 22 vor.” 55 After having noted the figurative use of the verbe αἰχµαλωτίζω in Rom 7.23, Müller, Der Brief an Philemon, 135 comments on the subject of συναιχµάλωτος: “Für Phlm 23 legt sich diese übertragene Bedeutung jedoch weniger nahe als die wörtliche.” In this perspective, Omerzu, “Spurensuche,” 308 points out with reason: “Falls der in V. 23 als Mitgefangener bezeichnete Epaphras mit dem in Phil 2,25; 4,18 genannten Epaphroditus zu identifizieren ist, läge uns…ein…Hinweis auf eine vom Philipperbrief unterschiedene Haftsituation vor.” 56 Gielen is of a different opinion in “Paulus – Gefangener in Ephesus?,” 88: “Mit guten Gründen lässt sich der Phlm derselben paulinischen Gefangenschaft zuordnen wie der Ph.” 57 Müller, Der Brief an Philemon, 54 notes: “Eine Rekonstruktion des genauen Alters des Paulus zur Zeit der Abfassung des Philemonbriefs erlaubt Phlm 9 nicht, …da bei der Einteilung der Lebensaltersstufen und der Festlegung des Beginns der einzelnen Stufen die Quellenangaben differieren. …Das mit πρεσβύτης angegebene Alter des Paulus in Phlm 9 lässt sich demnach nicht genauer angeben als das er wahrscheinlich über fünfzig ist.” In the same sense, Omerzu, “Spurensuche,” 307. 58 Regarding the hypothesis of a possible mobility of Philemon, a hypothesis that, however, cannot be verified, see Gielen, “Paulus – Gefangener in Ephesus?,” 91–92. 59 What J.-F. Collange, L’épître de Saint Paul à Philémon (Genève: Labor et Fides, 1987), 68–69 puts in doubt.

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As a result, we could argue that Philemon was living somewhere in the geographical area the Pauline mission covered at that moment.60 That does not exclude Greece and would consequently move his place of residence closer to Rome – but this is once again purely hypothetical! The fact remains that the impossibility of pinpointing the place where Philemon was living when Paul wrote to him deprives the argument of its force, which is often considered to be unacceptable by scholars backing the Ephesian hypothesis, i.e., the argument referring to a distance between Rome and Colossae being entirely incompatible with the journeys evoked in the letter.61 Is it likewise possible to object to the Roman hypothesis that it was too dangerous for Onesimus, even if he was a fugitivus, to travel to Rome, and in addition to that, to a place under police surveillance? If the Urbs was organized to hunt down fugitive slaves, was it not a privileged place where one could pass relatively unnoticed at the same time?62 And what about the tone of the missive to Philemon, especially the humor with which Paul presents his arguments in verse 19b? Is it lighter than the tone of the epistle to the Philippians because the apostle, more serene, was waiting for imminent liberation? And even if the purpose and the aim of the two letters are different, how can one explain that Paul does not say anything to Philemon about the proceedings of his process whereas he informs the Philippians at length? Does this not lead to assume a relatively significant time lapse between the dispatches of the two letters, if not to distinguish between two captivities? And do we have convincing arguments within this hypothesis to situate the two letters one over the other? Has the sky darkened after a period of optimism, or, on the contrary, has it brightened up after a time of doubt? It seems to me that it is impossible to respond to this question. Without going more into details regarding the debate about the place and, therefore, the composition of the missive to Philemon, the remarks made will suffice to respond provisionally to Udo Schnelle, who is not only of the opin60

Müller calls this to the reader’s attention in Der Brief an Philemon, 81. We refer to the point of view of Légasse, Paul apôtre, 240: “Si l’on néglige les contacts de cette lettre avec l’épître aux Colossiens…, on ignore l’adresse de Philémon. Mais en lui écrivant de préparer un logement parce qu’il espère être promptement libéré (Phm 22), Paul nous retient de l’imaginer prisonnier à Rome. ...Le lieu où il pense pouvoir être accueilli est, selon toute vraisemblance, proche de celui de sa détention. Or, Philémon est…un collaborateur de l’apôtre (Phm 1) et Paul n’a pas jusqu’à présent exercé son ministère à Rome ou dans les environs. Pour des raisons analogues, on écartera la captivité de Césarée: ni la ville, ni la région, n’ont été évangélisées par Paul… On situera l’origine de la lettre à Philémon en Asie Mineure ou en Grèce sans pouvoir donner plus de précisions.” 62 For this question, cf. Omerzu, “Spurensuche,” 306–07; Gielen, “Paulus – Gefangener in Ephesus?,” 88–89; P. Stuhmacher, Der Brief an Philemon (Neukirchen: Benziger/Neukirchenerverlag, 1981), 21–22. 61

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ion that the “circumstances...point to Rome as the place where the letter to Philemon was composed,” but also thinks that “the letter to Philemon is to be placed in immediate proximity to Philippians.”63 I think it should be conceded that we are not in a position to affirm anything certain about a possible literary activity of Paul during his Roman captivity, neither from Philippians nor from Philemon, and that one can hardly speak out on the subject of the order in which these two letters were written. At the same time, however, I point out that those supporting the Ephesian composition of one of the letters or of the two letters do not succeed in providing a strong basis for their choice in a better way, despite some solid declarations.64 What can we say? Is the debate doomed to run in circles, the pendulum swinging sometimes in one direction, sometimes in the other direction? Do we have to live with the fact that we will never break the silence of these two letters regarding their place of composition, and consequently, their approximate date of composition? This is likely unless we are able to advance new arguments that are truly decisive. But where are they to be found?

F. Concluding Remarks My lecturer in exegesis, Professor Max-Alain Chevallier, liked to compare our discipline to the struggle, humble but obstinate at the same time, engaged in by the patriarch Jacob according to Gen 32.23–32.65 At the end of this enquiry, do we not have to resign ourselves to “limping,” to moving back and forth from Rome to Ephesus, “hobbling”? Certainly, we only lay down our arms when constrained and forced, after having patiently gathered together and lengthily weighed the arguments for and against. But what to do when the pendulum refuses to swing firmly into one direction or the other? Is the weight given to the arguments, whether we defend them or not, not eventually linked to the point of view we adopt at some point of the enquiry? 63

Schnelle, “Paul’s Literary Activity,” 448. We point to the precaution with which Müller, Der Brief an Philemon, 84 passes his opinion: “In Ephesus den Abfassungsort des Philemonsbriefs zu sehen und Philemons Haus in Kolossä zu lokalisieren ist nach dem Vergleich der verschiedenen Möglichkeiten somit zwar nicht gesichert, aber doch als wahrscheinlichste Lösung anzunehmen” – in contrast to the assured tone of Collange, Philémon, 22: “Il faut résolument…rattacher le billet à Philémon [à Éphèse].” The opposite conclusion of M. Gielen, “Paulus – Gefangener in Ephesus? Teil 2,” BN 133 (2007): 74, which is also set forth in a full-scale way: “Es ist also an der Zeit, sich von einer Hypothese einer längeren Gefangenschaft des Paulus, in welcher Phil und Phlm verfasst werden sein sollen, endgültig zu verabschieden.” 65 M.-A. Chevallier, Souffle de Dieu. Le Saint Esprit dans le Nouveau Testament, T.2 (Paris: Beauchesne, 1990), IX: “Je pense souvent que l’exégète fait dans son travail une expérience comparable à celle de Jacob la nuit où il voulut passer de gué du Yabboq.” 64

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We are and remain the second readers of the Pauline letters, always lacking some of the precious pieces of information the first recipients had at their disposal. Are we therefore obliged, as far as the particular epistle to the Philippians and the missive to Philemon are concerned, to work with open and pluralist hypotheses? I think this is very likely! Furthermore, to be honest, do we really have the choice? The convinced stance taken by those supporting their Roman composition, to which responds the equally confident stance taken by those ardently defending their Ephesian composition, should not forget the uncertainties weighing upon the enquiry led by both parties with the same seriousness. As a consequence, can we hope to go beyond the conjectures concerning the question of a possible literary activity of Paul during his Roman captivity? Is it possible to suggest more than only plausible solutions? Despite the ingenuity of those who tried to offer a satisfactory response to this justified question, I remain skeptical: is there only one aspect we would not have examined yet – given all the information we have? For the time being, we regret greatly that Paul did not explicitly mention “in the course of one sentence”66 the place where he was when he sent the epistle to the Philippians or the missive to Philemon – as he did in 1 Cor 16.8, 19. If he had only thought of dating his letters!

66

Aletti, Philippiens, 4 (“au détour d’une phrase”).

Paul’s Missionary Activity during His Roman Trial: The Case of Paul’s Journey to Hispania Armand Puig i Tàrrech

A. Introduction In 1742 in Wittenberg, the cradle of the Reformation, Johannes Justus Spier, librarian of the Wittenberg Academy, published his Historia Critica de Hispanico Pauli Apostoli Itinere,1 which in two chapters attempted a critical assessment of the evidence regarding Paul’s planned journey to Hispania on the basis of patristic testimonies from the first to the fifth centuries as well as other statements from between the sixth and sixteenth centuries.2 He concluded that the ancient sources say nothing about the mission, which, therefore, could not have taken place. Accordingly Spier, who does not refer to, or appear to be aware of, the Canon published by Ludovico Antonio Muratori in 1740, joins those who iter illud (of Paul) cogitatum concedunt, expeditum negant (p. 3), and devotes his efforts to putting forward arguments against those who illud iter Paulinum non animo tantum susceptum, sed et corpore volunt confectum (p. 2). In his book, the third position is not considered at all, that of those who nihil hic definientes, controversiam in incerto relinquunt (p. 1). These three positions – of those who argue that Paul’s mission to Hispania never took place, of those who argue that it did in fact take place, and of those who, while accepting the possibility that it took place, express significant 1 Joanne Justo Spier, Historia Critica de Hispanico Pauli Apostolo Itinere ad Rom. XV, 24 & 28 (AA. M. et Acad. Biblioth.; Vitembergae: apud Ephraim Gottlob Eichsfeldium, Acad. Typogr., 1742). I have worked with a microfilm of a copy of this work conserved at the Herzog August Bibliothek in Wolfenbüttel (Li 8510). The booklet, an exquisite example of scholarship, is a critical response to authors who defend the historicity of the mission to Hispania, particularly Cardinal Baronio, Peter of Marca, Johannes Camerarius, and Conradus Samuel Schurtzfleischius. 2 According to Spier (p. 15), the first clear testimony that Paul went to Hispania is from a fourth-century writer, Epiphanius (Pan. 27: “Peter and Paul, in order to preach the gospel, often went to other cities and regions. Thus, Paul went to Hispania, and Peter often visited Pontus and Bithynia”). Spier undervalued 1 Clement and was unaware of the Muratonian Canon.

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doubt – typifies the history of research, both past and present. The tradition of the first millennium is mainly that the mission actually took place (the fifthcentury Gelasian Decree is one of few exceptions). Later, in the thirteenth century, arguments against this view emerged. For example, Thomas Aquinas states: “I never read anywhere that he (Paul) went to Hispania.”3 Other authors, such as Domingo de Soto and Guglielmo d’Este, followed Aquinas in this matter, and various arguments against the mission to Hispania ever having taken place have been deployed by both Protestant and Catholic writers. Spier’s detailed investigation of patristic and ecclesiastical source was not continued by later scholars, who, restricting themselves to the oldest witnesses, tend to discuss historical and theological arguments taken from the Pauline letters in an attempt to understand the events that occurred in the last years of Paul’s life. Spier’s position was, in fact, followed by the majority of scholars, at least over the following two centuries.4 However, in recent times this almost unanimous consensus has gradually become less solid, suggesting a careful reconsideration and restatement of the arguments in favour of what still remains the minority position.5 This paper will attempt to show that Paul’s mission to Hispania, specifically to the Roman city of Tarraco (present-day Tarragona), is historically plausible. Of course, the burden of proof is greater for those who support the hypothesis that Paul travelled to the capital of the province of Hispania Tarraconensis. We do not, admittedly, have all the evidence necessary to conclude incontrovertibly that Paul actually proclaimed the gospel in Hispania, despite the witness of Rom 15 that it was his firm desire to do so. Because of this, the arguments deployed against the existence of such a mission seem, due to the lack of sources, more solid than those in support of it. 3 In his commentary on Romans, Thomas Aquinas quotes 15.28, proficisciar per vos in Hispaniam, and continues: Sed videtur hic apostolus falsum dicere. Nunquan enim in Hispaniam ivisse legitur. When Aquinas was writing, the Muratonian Canon still lay undiscovered, along with its remark about profectionem Pauli ab urbe ad Spaniam proficiscentis (“Paul’s departure from the city [of Rome] to Hispania”) (line 39). 4 For example, P. Vielhauer, Geschichte der urchristlichen Literatur. Einleitung in das Neue Testament, die Apokryphen und die Apostolischen Väter (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1981), 222 agrees that the expression found in 1 Clem. 5.2 (“the limits of the earth”) can only refer only to Hispania, but says that this information must depend on Rom 15 and is not the result of a local Roman tradition. For F. Pfister, 1 Clem. 5 is an example of “rhetorischen Wendungen,” among which should be included the expression found in v. 2 (“Die zweimalige römische Gefangenschaft und die spanische Reise des Apostels Paulus und der Schluss der Apostelgeschichte,” ZNW 14 [1913]: 216–21). Both arguments reflect a continued undervaluing of 1 Clem. 5 and the historical credibility of the information contained in this first-century witness. 5 The collection edited by F.W. Horn (Das Ende des Paulus. Historische, theologische und literargeschichtliche Aspekte [Berlin: de Gruyter, 2001]) is instructive; some contributors consider Paul’s journey to Hispania plausible, but most reject it.

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In fact, there are numerous historical questions regarding the last years of Paul’s life and historical sources provide few data about the events that shaped the time between the end of Paul’s supervised confinement in Rome, as a prisoner of the Roman state, and his martyrdom, in Rome, a few months or years later. If this timeframe is accepted (and the possibility that Paul’s imprisonment came to a close with his execution in prison is discounted), it evidently provides a setting for the undertaking of a mission that could have taken Paul from Rome to Hispania and, more precisely, to Tarraco. The next task, then, is to analyse under what conditions such a mission might have been carried out.6

B. Paul’s Plans for His Time in Rome in Preparation for the Mission to Hispania Paul’s preparations for his journey to Hispania were geared towards two goals: first, to ensure that the local congregations in Rome, as a logistic platform and geographical point of departure, cooperated actively in his mission with moral and material aid; second, to enlist a sizeable team of missionaries to accompany him on an ambitious project, which was also expected to be a difficult one. In relation to the first goal, it appears that Paul had gained the support of the deaconess Phoebe of Cenchreae (Rom 16), and with regard to the second one, Paul had probably enlisted a group of fellow missionaries from Greece and Asia Minor, who would work with him on the great western mission, once he had delivered the funds he had collected to Jerusalem (Acts 20.4). We can say that it is likely that Paul sent Phoebe, the deaconess of Cenchreae – the eastern harbour of Corinth, from where Paul writes his letter to the Romans – to Rome in order to carry out preparations for the mission to Hispania.7 Rom 16 actually begins with Paul’s warm recommendation of Phoebe to the Romans.8 He presents her as one of his most important collaborators, a “sister” (adelphê), a “deaconess” (diakonos) of the church at Cenchreae and a “protector” (prostatis) of many, including Paul himself (16.1–2). The fact that 6

The historicity of such a mission will never be completely proved. See A. Moda, “Per una biografia paolina. La Lettera di Clemente, il Canone Muratoriano, la letteratura apocrifa,” in Testimonium Christi. Scritti in onore di Jacques Dupont (Brescia: Paideia, 1985), 289–315, here p. 298: “una risposta a questo problema non potrà forse mai essere data in maniera definitiva.” 7 See R. Jewett, “Paul, Phoebe and the Spanish Mission,” in J. Neusner et al (eds.), The Social World of Formative Christianity and Judaism: Essays in Tribute to Howard Clarke Kee (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1988), 142–61, here 147–51. 8 In fact, no reasonable doubt exists about Rom 16 as part of the letter as originally composed.

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the apostle asks the Romans to welcome Phoebe in the Lord and with the dignity corresponding to one of “the saints,” that is to say, of the Christian community, is a strong indication that she was the bearer of his letter.9 In all probability Phoebe took a leading role within the community of Cenchreae in the areas of preaching and education, as can be deduced from the use of the term diakonos in 1 Cor 3.5; 2 Cor 3.6; 6.4; 11.15, 23.10 The use of the term prostatis indicates that Phoebe was of high social class, enabling her to be a “protector” (patrona in Latin) or “benefactor” (euergetês in Greek) of the church in Cenchreae, which probably met in her house.11 In view of her social position, Phoebe would also have been able to help Paul economically. Her social status and her relationship with Paul made her the ideal person to carry the letter to Rome, where she would be received with every honour and where she could lead the preparations for Paul’s mission to Hispania. Christian Romans would hear Paul’s exhortation and “would help her (parastête autêi) in whatever matter (pragmati) she may require from you” (Rom 16.2). Paul does not specify what sort of help might be needed, but it is evident that, apart from material aid, the apostle most of all wanted the moral support of the Roman community for the mission to Hispania and, perhaps, the commitment of some of its members to accompany Paul on the mission.12 Phoebe, then, arrives in Rome as patroness of the mission to Hispania, for which Rome, the capital of the west, must be the base – just as in Paul’s previous journeys, to Greece and Asia Minor, the base had been Antioch in Syria.13 9

See W.A. Meeks, The First Urban Christians: The Social World of the Apostle Paul (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1983), 55–63 (“Prosopographic Evidence”), especially 60. 10 It is less probable that Phoebe carried out missionary activities, as proposed by E. Schüssler Fiorenza, In Memory of Her. A Feminist Theological Reconstruction of Christian Origins (New York: Crossroad, 1984), 171. 11 Despite the opinion of some exegetes, it is not clear that the “patron” or “patroness” of a Christian community was the person who presided over the eucharistic celebration. Meeks rightly insists that prostatis should not be translated as “president,” as this would imply that Paul was “presided over” by Phoebe, when in fact exactly the opposite is true. In any case, the term indicates that Phoebe is to be placed among those who led the community of Cenchreae (see 1 Thess 5.12). 12 This does not signify that Paul did not have a team of collaborators who had been active in previous missionary projects in the east (Acts 20.4). But the difference about the mission to Hispania is that it is the first that Paul would have planned for the west of the empire, in unknown territories where the use of the Greek language was quite limited. He needed individuals who could speak fluent Latin and who could if necessary translate Paul’s speeches for the people they would encounter in Hispania. 13 This is what happened on the first journey (Acts 13.1–4; 14.26), the second one (Acts 15.35–36; 18.22), and the third one (Acts 18.23), although that journey finished in Jerusalem (21.15) because of the collection Paul had made for the poor of the motherChurch (Rom 15.26, 28; 1 Cor 16.1; 2 Cor 8.4, 10).

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Phoebe, then, appears to be someone on whom Paul is confidently relying and who has clear authority to prepare Paul’s journey to Hispania. Her high social status makes her ideal to address the patrons and patronesses of the local communities of the church in Rome. She seems to have had a triple task: to present the letter Paul has addressed to “all God’s beloved (living) in Rome” (1.7),14 to convince them of the importance of Paul’s project and of the need to join forces with him; and, finally, to dispel any suspicions about Paul, not only those that the Judaeo-Christians in Rome might have held towards someone who had distinguished himself by his opposition to Judaizing Christians,15 but also those that had given rise to conflicts Paul had had with some Roman provincial authorities.16 This last issue was a significant one; Paul had an unflattering reputation for provoking conflicts with all types of people: with those of his own Jewish lineage, with the Roman administration, with other Christians (“the false brothers,” the Judaizers), and with pagans in general (see 2 Cor 11.24–27).17 Phoebe had to “clean up” this image of Paul, above all for the patrons of the house of Aristobulus and the house of Narcissus (Rom 16.10, 11), who could be in touch with officials of the imperial admi14 It is to be noticed that Paul uses the term “church” only for one of the seven or eight local congregations in Rome, namely, the one that met in the house of Prisca and Aquila (Rom 16.3–5), probably in the Aventinus, an area that combined luxurious villas of the aristocracy and elements of the poorest population (P. Lampe, From Paul to Valentinus. Christians at Rome in the First Two Centuries [London: Continuum, 2003], 58– 61). See also Lampe’s contribution to the present volume, in which he concludes that the Roman community, in contrast to that of Corinth, did not possess a central meeting place, a conclusion based on a comparison of the information in Rom 16.5 concerning Rome with that of Rom 16.23 concerning Corinth. Perhaps in this respect the Christians of Rome maintained the socio-religious model of their Jewish counterparts, who, according to E.S. Gruen’s contribution to this collection, did not comprise a single community but were distributed among the dozen different synagogues of the city, many of which were to be found in the port area of Trastevere. 15 Throughout his mission, Paul often clashes with those wanting pagan converts to be circumcised and to observe, at least in part, the Jewish law, and suffers persecution on account of these Judaizing Christians (see Gal 1.11). 16 An excellent overview of the legal problems Paul had with Roman authorities is to be found in H. Omerzu, Der Prozess des Paulus. Eine exegetische und rechtshistorische Untersuchung der Apostelgeschichte (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2002). Omerzu’s research focuses on Paul’s legal conflicts in Philippi, Thessalonica, and Corinth, and his trial in Jerusalem and Caesarea. However, she does not take into account the conflicts that probably did not bring Paul before the Roman authorities: the riots and violent encounters of the first journey (in Antioch of Pisidia, Iconium, and Lystra), of the second one (Berea), and of the third one (Ephesus). It should be emphasized that when Paul writes his letter to the Romans he is still free and the trial in Caesarea has not yet taken place. 17 Perhaps also to be noted in this regard are the accusations of fraud made against Paul about the collections for those in Jerusalem, against which Paul defends himself in 2 Cor 8–9. See H.-D. Betz, 2 Corinthians 8 and 9. A Commentary on Two Administrative Letters of the Apostle Paul (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1985), 76–77, 143–44.

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nistration and facilitate contacts in the cities of the three provinces of Hispania.18 For this purpose, in Romans 16 Paul gives a detailed list of people, the majority of whom he does not know personally, in order to facilitate the negotiations that Phoebe must hold with them.19 All these features lead to the conclusion that while Paul was on the way to Jerusalem with the collection he had taken, Phoebe had set off for Rome with his letter. We do not know how long the prostatis of Cenchreae stayed in the capital, although we do know that Paul was a prisoner for two years in Caesarea (Acts 22.23–24.27), after being arrested in Jerusalem and before arriving as a prisoner in Rome. When he reached there (in the spring of 60 or 61), it is probable that Phoebe was no longer in Rome, although it is quite possible that her good work had borne fruit. Thus, according to Acts 28.13–15, in Puteoli, the port just outside Naples where people and goods arrived in Rome from the east, Paul was honoured for seven days and two Christian envoys from Rome went to meet him at the Forum of Appius and the Three Taverns (65 and 50 km from Rome, respectively). In Rome, according to Acts 28.16, 30, Paul was allowed to live in a rented apartment with his guards, an evidently favourable treatment conceded by the military authorities in the capital city. Jewett sees behind this a widespread acceptance of Paul, even perhaps the hand of Phoebe.20 Of even greater interest, all these arrangements demonstrate that at this time the possibility of a mission to Hispania remained intact. When Paul arrived in Rome as a prisoner it seems that he was not far from realizing this mission, which he had so fervently desired and prepared for. Paul had also succeeded in bringing together a group of experienced and reliable fellow missionaries, who would help him in the proclamation of the gospel in Hispania. It may be assumed that Phoebe of Cenchreae had set off straight away for Rome with Paul’s letter and that there, while waiting for 18

The two households that had the patronage of Aristobulus and Narcissus respectively might have been formed of slaves and freedmen (see Lampe, Christians at Rome, 359) and also perhaps blood-relatives of the two patrons and others linked to them as clientes. Meeks thinks that the patrons of the communities mentioned in Rom 16.10, 11, 14, 15 were not Christians (Urban Christians, 75–77: “The Household” in “Models from the Environment”). However, no patrons are named for the communities mentioned in 16.14, 15, and there is no information about Aristobulus and Narcissus. Nonetheless, although such patronage did not imply the direct involvement of the patron in the activity of which he or she was “protector,” we can at least suppose that patrons sympathized with causes under their protection. 19 Jewett stresses that in the ancient world “naming leaders had an important political function” (“Paul, Phoebe,” 154). The most likely answer to the question of who provided Paul with this detailed list of significant people in the Roman community is Phoebe herself, a woman well-connected with Rome and with her own Christian community in Cenchreae. It would have been difficult for the Romans to have had confidence in Phoebe had they not known her already. 20 “Paul, Phoebe,” 155.

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Paul, she immediately began preparing for the mission to Hispania. During this time it appears that Paul was preparing a team for the mission. According to the information furnished by Acts 20.3, Paul spent three months in Corinth, where he wrote the letter to the Romans and, then, as Acts 20.4 tells us, he set out with a quite large team of fellow missionaries towards Syria and Jerusalem in order to deliver funds that had been collected. The seven collaborators, who helped Paul transport a considerable amount of money (2 Cor 8.20), came from the provinces of Macedonia (Sopater, from Berea; Aristarchus and Secundus, from Thessalonica), Galatia (Gaius and Timothy, respectively from Derbe and Listra, cities of Lycaonia), and Asia (Tychicus and Trophimus, in all probability from Ephesus), and left with Paul from the province of “Greece” (v. 2), that is to say, Achaia, and specifically from Corinth, its capital, the city of Phoebe.21 It is to be noted that these people and places cover the four Roman provinces where Paul’s missionary activity had unfolded: Galatia and Asia, in Anatolia, and Macedonia and Achaia, in Europe. The companions of Paul are well-known individuals who had collaborated with him in the preaching of the gospel, particularly Aristarchus,22 Gaius,23 Timothy,24 Tychicus,25 and Trophimus.26 It may be asked, then, if this list of missionaries27 does not simply

21 See E. Haenchen, The Acts of the Apostles. A Commentary (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1971), 581. 22 Aristarchus is a “collaborator” of Paul (Phlm 24; Acts 19.29), who makes the journey with him to Rome (Acts 27.2) and, according to Col 4.10, is a “prison companion” of the apostle. We do not know if he was also imprisoned with Paul in Caesarea. 23 In Rom 16.23 another Gaius is mentioned as patron of one of the local communities in Corinth, whom Paul had baptised (1 Cor 1.14). There is also a Gaius from Derbe, a missionary with Aristarchus (Acts 19.29, although he is considered here, erroneously, as “a Macedonian”). 24 Timothy is Paul’s best-known fellow missionary (1 Cor 4.17; Phil 2.2, 19–23; 1 Thess 3.2; 2 Tim 3.10–11). A companion of Paul since the time of his recruitment in Lystra (see Acts 16.1–3), Timothy followed him without interruption throughout Macedonia and Achaia and also suffered imprisonment for the gospel (Heb 13.23). Unlike Aristarchus (Acts 27.2), it appears that Timothy did not accompany Paul to Rome, but he is mentioned first among those who send greetings to the Christians of Rome (“Timothy, my fellow-worker”), as if Paul were wanting to introduce Timothy to them. 25 Tychicus is without doubt a member of Paul’s missionary group (Eph 6.21; Col 4.17; 2 Tim 4.12; Titus 3.12). 26 Trophimus, who is of pagan origin (Acts 21.29), came, with Tychicus, from the area of Ephesus (2 Tim 4.20). 27 The two missing names are Sopater and Secundus. Of the latter we only know that he came from Thessalonica. With regard to Sopater, the son of Pyrrhus, he could be identified with Sosipater, who appears in fourth place in a list, headed by Timothy, of Paul’s fellow missionaries (Rom 16.21). If this were the case, three names in the list would be linked to Rome: Aristarchus (Acts 27.2), Timothy, and Sopater/Sosipater (Rom 16.21).

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indicate the bearers of funds collected by Paul, but represents, rather, the mission-group that Paul had organized for his great assault on the west, once the collection had been deposited in Jerusalem.28 If Paul had succeeded in obtaining the commitment of a group of missionaries from Greece and Asia Minor, this would appear to mean that he now had at his disposal the means to begin proclaiming the gospel in Hispania, a territory where the gospel had never been taken to before (Rom 15.20). In this way Paul would have intended to fulfil the eschatological plan, according to which divine salvation had to come to the ends of the earth, to every nation (Rom 15.16; Isa 66.19).29 For Paul, and also for the Jewish apocalyptic thinking, it is history that provides the context for the carrying out of God’s design, a design subsumed under the term “gospel.”30 Summing up, it seems that the three months Paul spent in Corinth (Acts 20.3) served as an initial preparatory stage for his mission to the west in the company of a group of experienced and reliable missionaries who would share in this mission with Paul. The logistical base for the mission to Hispania See J. Sánchez Bosch, Mestre dels pobles. Una teologia de Pau, l’Apòstol (Barcelona: Facultat de Teologia de Catalunya, 2003), 491. 28 This hypothesis could be complementary to another one, which would regard them as delegates of the cities where collections have been carried out, who have been given the task of taking the collection to Jerusalem (Haenchen, Acts, 583). In fact, Haenchen observes that among the seven names there is not one from Corinth (where the collection had been very generous!) or from Philippi. Paul says that in Corinth the collection was gathered by Titus, who did not go to Jerusalem to hand it over, by a second partner in mission, “a brother praised in all the churches” (Erastus), and by a third one, whom Paul calls “our brother” (2 Cor 8.17–22). Luke does not mention Paul’s collecting of funds, but, as pointed out by Haenchen, who quotes M. Dibelius on this point, focuses on the journey to Jerusalem and to Rome (Haenchen, Acts, 582). This does not mean, however, that Luke’s information at this point, and at many other places, is not consistent with what actually occurred. 29 R. Riesner thinks that “Paul modelled his ministry according to the mission of the Servant of the Lord” (“Roman 15 and Paul’s Project of a Journey to Spain (Hispania),” in J.M. Gavaldà et al [eds.], Pau, Fructuós i el cristianisme primitiu a Tarragona (segles IVIII). Actes del Congrés de Tarragona (19–21 de juny de 2008) [Tarragona: FPL/INSAF, 2010], 101–11, here 108). Paul felt a requirement to declare the gospel to the pagans and to unite them with the diaspora of Israel, that is to say, with the Jews (cf. Rom 1.16). This difficult task might underlie Paul’s collection of funds, which, as R. Bieringer notes in this volume, signals a transition in Paul’s mission, not only geographically, from east to west (cf. Rom 15.23–24), but also theologically, from a pagan Christianity impregnated with Judaism to a more strictly pagan form of Christianity (cf. Rom 1.14). Of course, on the other hand, as M. Quesnel notes in his contribution, the collection would also have represented for Paul an appropriate reciprocation of God’s free gift. 30 N.T. Wright goes a step further and suggests in his study of Paul’s western missionary project that for Paul the divine design included the dramatic overthrow of the present world rulers, that is to say, Caesar, in confrontation with the real and true Lord, Jesus Christ, the messiah of Israel.

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could only have been Rome, and Phoebe would initiate a final confirmation of Paul’s mission plans by taking to Rome the letter that the apostle had addressed to the Christian community there, seeking its approval and support.

C. Sources of Information Regarding the Mission of Paul in Acts, 1 Clement, and 2 Timothy while being under Trial Even in the three documents that are nearest in time to Paul, namely, the Acts of the Apostles, the First Letter of Clement, and the Second Letter to Timothy, there is no fully explicit information about the events of the last part of Paul’s life or, specifically, about a possible mission to Hispania. However, even if none of them reflect in any obvious way the Muratonian Canon’s observation about “Paul’s departure from the city (of Rome) to Hispania,” all three sources contain some indirect references, often veiled by metaphor, rhetorical language, or elliptical expressions, which permit a sure, albeit limited, view of the most inaccessible period of the apostle’s life. In the case of Acts, allusions to events that occur towards the end of Paul’s life are more frequent than at first glance they might appear to be.31 Such references are almost all to be found in the last section of the text, in which Paul goes up to Jerusalem and is then taken as a prisoner to Rome (19.21–28.31). Mention of a future mission to the pagans is found in Acts 22.21; 26.17, 20, 23 and 28.28, but already at the beginning of the book (1.8) it has been said that the mission has to reach “to the ends of the earth,” and in 31 There is a recurrent debate around Luke’s moments of “silence” concerning Paul, the most striking of which is that relating to the final years of Paul’s life, including the circumstances of his captivity in Rome, his putative journey to Hispania, and his martyr’s death in Rome. For many writers, such silence indicates Luke’s lack of information (see, e.g., H. Omerzu, “Das Schweigen des Paulus. Überlegungen zum offenen Ende der Apostelgeschichte,” in Das Ende des Paulus, 127–56). For others, like D. Marguerat in this volume, these moments of silence must be understood as a conscious strategy by the author of Luke-Acts. In my opinion, this author knows more than he reveals and integrates the gaps in information into his particular narrative and theological vision. The end of Acts reflects the divine plan of salvation, which includes the parallel events of, on the one hand, Jesus’s exaltation, or analêmpsis, proclaimed in Luke 9.51, which takes place in Jerusalem and culminates in heaven, and, on the other hand, the arrival of the Word and its herald, Paul, in Rome, proclaimed in Acts 19.21 (and 23.11). See my article “Les voyages à Jérusalem (Lc 9,51; Ac 19,21),” in J. Verheyden (ed.), The Unity of Luke-Acts (Leuven: University Press – Peeters, 1999), 493–505. In this attempt to draw implicit parallels between Paul and Jesus, Luke is, however, constrained by the actual events: a resurrected Jesus goes gloriously into heaven whereas Paul ends up imprisoned in a room in Rome awaiting trial, only the words of the gospel remaining free (Acts 28.31). See J. Dupont, “La conclusion des Actes des Apôtres et son rapport à l’ensemble de l’ouvrage de Luc,” in Nouvelles Études sur les Actes des Apôtres (Paris: Cerf, 1984), 457–512.

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the middle of the book this idea is taken up again, specifically in connection with Paul’s own calling: 13.47, where Isa 49.6 is cited with its announcement of salvation “to the ends of the earth” (heôs eschatou tês gês), a formula similar to Rom 10.18, which quotes Psalm 18.5 LXX (eis ta perata tês oikoumenês). Paul’s trial before the imperial court (23.11; 25.12; 27.24) and his actual death (20.22–29; 21.4; 21.11) are each alluded to three times, a figure that seems to indicate that Luke is providing the reader with precise, albeit veiled, information.32 1 Clement provides richer results. In 1 Clem. 5.6–7 we find the earliest known version of the last part of the vitae Pauli, independent of Rom 15, in which the four fundamental elements are detailed as follows: (a) first imperial trial (or first session of the imperial trial),33 followed by the sentence of “exile” (phygadeutheis) (5.6);34 (b) journey “to the limit of the west” (epi to têrma 32

In any case, it is clear, that Luke avoids mentioning the part played by the Roman state in the trial of Paul. According to H. Omerzu, in her contribution, Paul would have arrived in Rome already under sentence of death by Festus, who had accepted the charge of seditio. Before his execution in Caesarea Paul would have appealed to Caesar (Acts 25.10–11), and this appellatio ad Caesarem would have spared his life temporarily, until the confirmation of Festus’ decision by Nero. In my opinion, this reconstruction is hardly credible. In the final session of the court before Festus in Caesarea (Acts 25.6–12) the text positively excludes the possibility that the governor sentences Paul to death. Both Paul and Festus agree that the court case had begun, but a sentence had not yet been imposed. 33 This is the possibility proposed by J. Herzer in his contribution to this volume: Paul had only one trial, with a pause, indicated by the reference to being rescued from the lion’s mouth. This pause might mean that there were two separate imprisonements at different times. 34 The interpretation of this verbal form (phygadeutheis) is debated, although the context favours the translation “exiled/driven into exile” or “banished,” as R. Riesner proposes in his article, since the form is found within a series of penalties inflicted on Paul by the Roman authorities or the mob. However, the sense of this verbal form could also be “expelled,” as C. Karakolis suggests in his contribution, but even in this case its use reflects a Roman court’s decision that Paul was obliged to accept and to undergo. According to Santalucia’s contribution, the “exile” mentioned in 1 Clem. 5.6 corresponds to a relegatio, a milder form of exile, different from a deportatio, which implies a loss of property. In any case the verbal form might be a technical term for both forms of exile, decided through a legal procedure. Hence, according to Josephus, Archelaus suffered a deportatio: “(he) was deported (phygadeuetai) to Vienna, a city of the Gaul” (B.J. 2.111). Likewise, according to 1 Clem. 5, Paul suffered the penalty of exile, in his case a relegatio, on one occasion. That it happened just once may be inferred from the context of 1 Clem. 5.6, where it is said that Paul was imprisoned “seven times” (heptakis desma phoresas). Taking the expression “prisoner” in the loose sense of being brought before a tribunal, Paul was arrested seven times: in Philippi (Acts 16.20: “before the magistrates,” tois stratêgois), in Corinth (Acts 18.12: “before Gallio, proconsul of Achaia”), in Ephesus (1 Cor 15.32: “I fought with beasts,” ethêriomakhêsa), in Jerusalem (Acts 21.33: the tribune has Paul “stand before” the chief priests and the council), in Caesarea (Acts

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tês dyseôs) (5.7), that is to say, Hispania, with Paul presented as a “herald to the east and to the west” (en tê-i dysei) (5.6) and as a preacher of righteousness “to all the world” (holon ton kosmon) (5.7);35 (c) second imperial trial (or 24.1–2: “before the governor [Felix];” Acts 25.6: “[Festus] ordered Paul to be brought”), in Rome (Acts 28.16, 30; 2 Tim 1.17; 4.16: Paul stages a “first defence,” en tê-i prôtê-i mou apologia-i, his first imprisonment ending with a sentence of relegatio) and again in Rome (2 Tim 4.6–8.18: “the time of my departure has come,” the second imprisonment ending with a sentence of death). 1 Clem. 5.6 also mentions that Paul had been “stoned” (lithastheis), which must have occured only once, as stated in 2 Cor 11:25 (hapax elithasthên). In consequence, the verbal form phygadeutheis in 1 Clem. 5 should be interpreted in the sense that Paul has been driven into exile just once. Accordingly, it cannot be argued that Paul’s exile would call into question “the firmness of his suffering,” as H. Omerzu claims (“The Probability of a Pauline Travel to Spain in Light of the Roman Law,” in Pau, Fructuós i el cristianisme primitiu a Tarragona, 113–31, here 127). On the contrary, as the same scholar recognizes, exile is a “form” of death penalty (125) rather than a type of acquittal, being instead a legal punishment that could last for ever (deportatio) or for a specific period of time (relegatio). Moreover, regarding the philological argument put forward by Omerzu, following N. Brox (phygadeutheis should not be linked with apêllagê) (127), it should be noted that the phrase “he thus departed (apêllagê) from the world and went/was taken up (varia lectio: anelêmphthê) to the holy place” (1 Clem. 5.7) specifies the goal of the central phrase in v. 6: “he won (elaben) the genuine glory of his faith.” In fact, it is to be noted that vv. 6–7a are built up of seven participles (4 + 3) around the form elaben, which summarizes the whole vita Pauli: his glory on earth (vv. 6–7a) and his final triumph in heaven (v. 7b). 35 Various authors deny the historical reliability of 1 Clem. 5.5–7, arguing that all the information conveyed there is highly rhetorical, with no reference to specific historical facts. But, as H. Löhr notes, “es ist nicht statthaft, die literarische Topik gegen den historischen Informationen der Notiz (1 Cl 5:5–7) auszuspielen” (“Zur Paulus-Notiz in 1 Clem. 5,5–7,” in Das Ende des Paulus, 197–213, here 208). A rhetorical approach and the question of historicity should not be seen as conflicting with one another! Löhr also stresses that the reference to the expression epi to terma tês dyseôs (“the furthest limits of the west”) (v. 6) must indicate somewhere west of Rome (“einen Punkt westlich von Rom”) (209), where Paul would have arrived. This place, which the Muratonian Canon names as “Spania” (lines 35–39), is alluded to again in v. 6 with the words en dysei (“in the west”), “(Paul) having preached in the east and in the west,” which is followed by another phrase of similar meaning: “having taught righteousness throughout the world” (holon ton kosmon). The claim of the author of 1 Clem. 5.5–7 is that Paul has succeeded in bringing the gospel all over the Roman world, to both sides, east and west. Regarding the apparent exaggeration in 1 Clem. 5.7 (Paul is “the one who taught righteousness throughout the world”), it should not be forgotten that Paul himself states in Rom 15.19 that he has preached the gospel “from Jerusalem and as far round as Illyricum,” meaning by this that he has travelled through a broad area between Jerusalem and Illyricum (the east), although he would not, of course, have covered, this whole area. Similarly, according to 1 Clem. 5.7 Paul would have reached some regions of the west, even those belonging to “the limit of the west,” namely Hispania. See A. Borrell, “Les tradicions sobre el viatge de Pau a Hispània en la Primera carta de Climent i en el Cànon de Muratori,” in Pau, Fructuós i el cristianisme primitiu a Tarragona, 157–65. In this volume, W. Grünstäudl, after a careful examination of the discussion held from E. Dubowy onwards,

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second session of the imperial trial) “before the rulers” (epi tôn hêgoumenôn) (5.7);36 (d) death of Paul and his reward “in the holy place” (eis ton hagion topon) (5.7). In 2 Tim 4.16–18, a text referring to the period preceding Paul’s execution,37 we find a second version of the same events, derived from Rom 15 and probably also 1 Clem. 5, as well as possibly, albeit indirectly, the Book of Acts. Taking into account both 2 Tim 4.16–18 and what is said in the rest of 2 Tim, the following four elements relating to the end of Paul’s life may be seen: (a) first imperial trial (or first session of the imperial trial), in which Paul states his “first defence” (en tê-i prôtê-i apologia-i) (4.16) and from which he emerges without a death sentence, which does not imply, however, that Paul had been released, since the text simply says that he had been freed from “the lion’s mouth” (ek tou stomatos leontos) (4.17);38 (b) preaching of

proposes a non liquet as the conclusion of his paper. In any case, his contribution shows that “the limit of the west” must point out to “a very specific place,” although he decides to keep hidden the identification of this place. Obviously the question is on the ground for this strange choice. In my opinion, in 1 Clement we are facing the same “solution” Luke uses at the end of the book of Acts: ambiguity and silence on some events that are perfectly known to the writers of both documents, but which could cause troubles to the very weak social, religious, and political status of Christian communities within the Roman Empire in the period of the Flavians. 36 This expression is to be related to Paul’s confession before those who have political and legal power and are in possession of the authority to judge him. There appears to be a sequence of three contiguous phrases: “teach righteousness throughout the world,” “reach the limits of the west,” and “give testimony in the trial,” the next stage of which is Paul’s death: “depart from the world.” Viewed this way, the “rulers” (hêgoumenôn) are here the Roman political authorities (see 1 Clem. 37.2–3), although in 1 Clem. 51.5 they are those of Egypt and in 32.3 those of Israel. In any case, H. Löhr is right to say that the reference is too vague to indicate “die höchste politische Autorität” (“Zur Paulus-Notiz in 1 Clem. 5,5–7,” 210), even though it is clear enough to allow us to conclude that 1 Clem. is historically reliable in two points: Paul would have travelled beyond Rome and would have died in the framework of a conflict with the authorities of the Roman state (“Zur Paulus-Notiz in 1 Clem. 5,5–7,” 213). 37 I agree with Herzer and Riesner that the personal information provided in 2 Tim shows that this letter is set in the final period of Paul’s life, even though he probably did not actually write it himself (Luke would have written it, incorporating some personal notes of the apostle). The letter would, thus, have been written during the second (short) Roman captivity, whereas there are good, although not compelling, reasons for placing Philippians in the first Roman captivity, i.e., during the two years mentioned in Acts 28.30. See the somewhat diverging contributions of U. Schnelle and D. Gerber. 38 This metaphor is rather close to that of 1 Pet 5.8, where the “adversary,” here “the devil,” is presented as “a roaring lion,” a beast that intends to kill. Similarly, in 2 Tim 4. 17 the lion with the open mouth is an image of the mortal enemy, namely the devil, who works through his allies, the officials of the Roman state. In any case, the image shows that the penalty inflicted on Paul after the first apologia could have been much more se-

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the Christian message to “all the Gentiles” (panta ta ethnê) (4.17), so that the gospel would be “fully proclaimed” (plêrophorêthê-i), a notion that seems to imply the preaching of the gospel in Hispania, if we take into account Rom 15.19, where Paul says that he has already “fully proclaimed” (peplêrôkenai) the gospel in the east, which appears to indicate that he must now do the same in Hispania, that is to say, in the west;39 (c) the second imperial trial (or second session of the imperial trial) before an earthly, unjust, court – which is placed in sharp contrast with the divine tribunal, presided over by the Lord who is “the righteous judge” (ho dikaios kritês) (4.8) – a court which is characterised by “evil-doing” (ergou ponêrou) (4.18), namely an accusation that Paul is a “criminal” (kakourgos) (2.9), which perhaps indicates that the charge of seditio in the litterae dimissoriae of Festus (see Acts 25.26–27) has now been accepted by the imperial court and an unjust sentence already given to Paul, “a prisoner in Rome” (1.8, 17) and abandoned by his eastern collaborators (1.15; 4.10); (d) the death of Paul and his arrival at the “heavenly kingdom” (eis tên basileian autou tên epouranion) (4.18), Paul’s death being expressed by four images taken from the sacrificial Roman cult (!), the army, stadium races, and the maritime world (4.6–7); his arrival in heaven is rewarded with the victor’s crown (4.8) on “that day” (ekeinê hê hêmera) (1.12; 4.8).40 All three documents (Acts, 1 Clem., and 2 Tim) appear to conceal any information that might reflect the procedures and decisions of the imperial authorities, especially in regard to Paul’s second trial (or perhaps the second vere, even mortal. However, Paul was not condemned to death, even though he did not achieve acquittal, either. 39 In his contribution, J. Herzer discounts Paul’s journey to Hispania, arguing that there are no traces of it in 2 Tim or in the Pauline tradition. In my opinion, 2 Tim 4.17 does contain such traces, as demonstrated by the modelling of this verse according to the text and motifs of Rom 15.17–21, especially v. 19: the strength given by God (dynamei pneumatos [theou] – ho kyrios enedynamôsen me), the message fully proclaimed (peplêrôkenai to euangelion – to kêrygma plêrophorêthê-i), and the mention of the addressees (from Jerusalem to Illyricum [the east] – panta ta ethnê, namely those from the east and the west). The phrase akousôsin panta ta ethnê (2 Tim 4.17) might be related to Rom 15.18 (eis hypakoên ethnôn). There is no parallel for the expression parêste moi. 40 A tradition beginning with the Martyrium Pauli (5) (ca. 200 CE?) presents Paul’s death as a beheading. The reason given there (3) relates to Roman law, since Paul was a Roman citizen. But, as J. Cook shows in his paper, although death by the sword was the most frequent, Roman magistrates had many other choices of execution available. In any case, as A. di Berardino and L. Spera have pointed out, Dionysius of Corinth refers around 170 CE to Paul’s martyrdom and about 200 CE Gaius, a Roman priest, already knows the trophy (trophaeum) of Paul on the Via Ostia, that is to say, his tomb, with the remains of his body. The trophy had been erected around 150 CE. Apparently, the bones were placed in a large new marble coffin when the Constantine basilica was erected in the fourth century, with a slab added in the fifth century.

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session of the trial) – the one that led to his death – and also in regard to the penalties decreed by Caesar’s tribunal (first, exile; secondly, capital punishment). It is in this light that the indirect character of the evidence of these three documents is to be interpreted, not as reflecting a lack of information on the part of the respective authors but as a conscious strategy to cover up the painful events that marked the end of the life of Paul (and of Peter!), events that could only be attributed to decisions by the imperial authorities.41 The background to this strategy has to be sought in the traumatic effects of Nero’s persecution of the Christian community in Rome during the six years between 62 CE, when Nero’s reign of terror began, and 68 CE, when open revolt against the emperor culminated in his violent death. One only needs to read between the lines of 1 Clem. chapters 5 and 6 to realize what Nero’s persecution represented to a community drawn mainly from the least powerful elements of society and, providing, therefore, an easy scapegoat. On the other hand, as Haenchen and many others have pointed out, Acts, First Clement, and Second Timothy were written (or completed) at a time when there was no longer any persecution and when a good relationship with the Empire was essential in order to continue the Christian mission unhindered. For this reason, it was better not to attract any mistrust or suspicion regarding Christian loyalty to the Roman state and Christian writers of the last decades of the first century and the first decades of the second century did everything possible to present a church that lived in peace with the Empire and avoided anything that might attract difficulties for Christians. There seems to have been a strategy aimed at the maintenance of a certain status quo with the Roman authorities, which would enable the growth of Christian

41 One of the hardest problems of Pauline research concerns how the Roman authorities viewed Paul. Was his behaviour worthy of a severe legal charge? Or were his opponents (the Jewish temple authorities) trying to persuade the Roman judges that Paul had acted seditiously? The essays in this volume by L. Alexander and A. Borrell demonstrate that Paul was quite often engaged in some kind of conflict but that he had no direct conflict with the Roman authorities (note the attiude of Gallio in Corinth, who refuses to act as judge and dismisses both Paul and his Jewish opponents). This is one of the reasons why it is difficult to imagine that Festus could have sentenced Paul to death, as H. Omerzu assumes. Moreover, when Paul arrived in Rome the delay in the trial shows how difficult it was to prove the serious charges against him (seditio, laesae maiestatis). For the imperial authorities, Paul was a problem – they did not know what to do with him – but not a danger – he had not undermined the security of the Roman state. And for Paul, Rome was not a danger – Christian faith was not meant as an alternative to the Roman state (see Rom 13) – but a real problem – Paul had come under Roman authority since being arrested in Jerusalem by Lysias (Acts 21.33) and could not thereafter escape from it. Indeed, Paul died like Jesus, condemned and executed by Rome.

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communities and their taking root in the Graeco-Roman world.42 Luke’s silence or sparse comments about Paul in the last chapters of Acts (21–28),43 the elusive expressions regarding Peter and Paul’s life and death in 1 Clem. 5,44 and the obscure nature of Paul’s self-portrait45 relate to the same strategy. The Roman State had allowed Peter’s death and decreed Paul’s execution and was thus responsible for the tragic end of the two “greatest and most righteous pillars” of the Christian Church, who “were persecuted, and…fought to the death” (1 Clem. 5.2). However, there is no mention at all in 1 Clem. of who was responsible for this persecution or what type of death these “good apostles” had to endure (5.3). In this context of deliberate concealment, the notice of Paul’s journey to “the limit of the west” (5.7), a form of expression that clearly points to Hispania, is also fully significant. Paul’s exile to Hispania was another Roman legal procedure, which, seen through Christian eyes, constituted a shame on the Roman state: Paul, though not guilty, will finish being put to death. In sum, the information provided explicitly by 1 Clem. 5.6–7 (Paul would have “reached the furthest limits of the west,” that is to say, he would have travelled to a place beyond Rome where he would have “preached” the gospel, and then would have died because of a legal decision taken by the Roman authorities) and that which may be inferred from the same firstcentury Roman source (Paul would have done this as one “driven into exile,” phygadeutheis) fits with information coming from another Roman source, the Muratonian Canon (ca. 200 CE), according to which Paul departs from Rome (ab urbes) (sic!) to Hispania (ad spania) (sic!).”46 These two sources do not 42 In his contribution, K.-W. Niebuhr speaks of the same strategy in Josephus, who seeks to play down all politically incorrect allusions to the Roman state while stating his personal committment to the Jewish war against Rome. 43 At the end of her contribution, Omerzu rightly observes that Luke, for apologetic purposes, carefully avoids casting a damning light on either the Romans or Paul. 44 H. Löhr refers to a “Zurückhaltung des Textes” in relation to historical information intended for non-Christian readers, with the exception, apparently, of the Roman authorities (“Zur Paulus-Notiz in 1 Clem. 5,5–7,” 210). I believe that from the time of Nero the Roman state started keeping an eye on the Christians. 45 R. Riesner, in his contribution, considers 2 Tim to be a text written for insiders. What is clear is that the literary genre of a letter written as a personal testament would exclude references to the circumstances of Paul’s trial. 46 Another text, of Asiatic-Roman origin, the Acts of Peter (Actus Vercellenses) (probably ca. 180 CE), also says that Paul went to Hispania, where he stayed for a year (n.1). The historical value of this text is debated, but the remark could go back to a Roman tradition. In contrast, the Acts of Paul, of Asiatic origin and contemporary with the Acts of Peter, keeps silent about any journey of Paul to Hispania: the apostle would have travelled only to Rome. As T. Nicklas shows in his contribution, the author of the Acts of Paul seems to have employed a “re-reading” of Acts 13–28 in order to construct his own image of Paul as “héros solitaire” and a model of martyrdom, invested with full apostolic

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depend on Rom 15 and the rhetorical character of 1 Clem. does not cancel out the historical value of this document. Two other texts, written before 100 CE, the Acts of the Apostles (chapters 21–28) and the Second Letter to Timothy, echo the events mentioned in 1 Clem. in a more elusive and concealed way, reflecting Christian strategy before non-Christians, above all the Roman authorities, who could have severely disrupted the life of the growing Christian communities.47

D. The Realization of Paul’s Project: the Tarragona Hypothesis The previous reflections encourage us to affirm that a missionary journey of Paul to Hispania is quite probable. The accumulated indications of diverse Christian sources, from both before (Rom 15) and after the events (1 Clem., 2 Tim, Acts, in order of importance), as well as first-century CE imperial legal practice, as evidenced in Roman sources, lead us to the conclusion that Paul was, in principle, able to carry out a mission to Hispania. However, everything also suggests that there is a huge gap between Paul’s ideas and preparations and what he was, in fact, able to carry out. A fundamental question relates to the conditions (personal and legal) in which Paul might have arrived in Hispania and to the limits and conditions that would have been placed on any missionary activity he could have conducted there. Obviously, had Paul arrived in Hispania as a political exile, as a result of a deportatio or relegatio imposed by an imperial court (1 Clem. 5.6), this would have signifiauthority. In any case, this “re-reading” presents Paul not as a loyal Roman citizen (Acts 16.37; 22.25–29; 23.27) but as a miles Dei fighting against Rome and Nero, not appealing to Caesar’s tribunal (Acts 25.11) but challenging its authority, not submitting himself to a Roman trial and benefitting from favourable consideration by Roman officials and rulers (Acts 23.30; 24.23) but arguing forcefully against them. If the author of the Acts of Paul deliberately avoids any reference to the Roman trial of Paul, as outlined in Acts 21–28, why should he be expected to refer to one particular episode in this trial, namely Paul’s journey to Hispania, which only merits the scarcest reference in two verses of 1 Clem.? See, albeit with a different conclusion, C. Büllesbach, “Das Verhältnis der Acta Pauli zur Apostelgeschichte des Lukas: Darstellung und Kritik der Forschunsgsgeschichte,” in Das Ende des Paulus, 215–37, here 235–37. 47 In his testimony concerning the last years of Paul’s life, Eusebius (Hist. eccl. 2.22.2) does not mention a journey to Hispania, but speaks only of a missionary journey (to the east? to the west? to both?) that occurred after “the trial.” Then, “(after) having appeared for a second time in the same city, he suffered martyrdom.” Eusebius does not state explicitly whether or not this martyrdom was the result of another Roman trial, nor does he specify to where Paul was sent. Eusebius might not have known about these two matters, but he could also have chosen not to comment on them. The reasons an eastern bishop, close to the Roman imperial apparat, might have had, are rather understandable in both cases.

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cantly limited his freedom of movement. On the other hand, uncertainty about where Paul would have been exiled to recommends caution in formulating a specific hypothesis. Such prudence is also needed when developing the possibility that Tarraco was the city which the imperial court had set for Paul’s exile. First, though, we have to consider why first-century Tarragona would have been a city suitable for Pauline mission.48 1. Tarragona in the context of the Pauline cities Developing the hypothesis of Tarragona as the probable base for Paul’s mission in Hispania requires an examination of the characteristics of this city at the time, comparing them with those that, according to Stange and Riesner, are shared by the places chosen by Paul as areas for his missionary activity:49 1) a local synagogue to be used as a starting-point, with the aim of attracting the support of proselytes and Godfearers there; 2) well-situated for travel; 3) preferably a provincial capital; 4) assurance of a favourable response to the Christian message; 5) preferably with no experience of earlier missions; 6) able to support the establishment and consolidation of a local Christian community; 7) the mission must have the assurance that it clearly conforms to God’s will and enjoys the constant guidance of the Holy Spirit. Two additional factors should be added for the mission to Hispania: 8) the importance of the mission team; 9) the linguistic question. Each of these nine factors will be examined in turn.50 1) The importance of the synagogue as a platform for mission is problematic in the case of Tarraco and of Hispania in general. Epigraphic and documentary data, along with the ancient witnesses, do not demonstrate the presence of a Jewish population in Tarragona at the time of Paul. A mission to this city could not count, then, on either a synagogue or sympathetic pagans.51 48 Among writers who believe that Tarragona was visited by Paul is R. Fabris: “(Paul) avrebbe svolto una breve attività missionaria nella città di Tarragona... dopo la breve missione in Spagna sarebbe ritornato a Roma” (Paolo, l’apostolo delle genti [Milano: Paoline, 1997], 496). 49 See R. Riesner, Paul’s Early Period. Chronology, Mission Strategy, Theology (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998), 255–56, quoting E. Stange, Paulinische Reisepläne (Gütersloh, 1918). 50 See as well the contributions to the Tarragona congress (2008) by Meeks and Rodà regarding, respectively, the urban mission of Paul and Tarragona in the first century CE: W.A. Meeks, “Paul and the Roman Provinces”; I. Rodà de Llanza, “La Tarragona de mitjan segle I dC,” in Pau, Fructuós i el cristianisme primitiu a Tarragona, 47–57 and 73–100. 51 Apart from Damascus (Acts 8.19–20), this was true as well of Salamina, in Cyprus (13.8); Antioch (13.15–16), and Iconium (14.1), in Pisidia (province of Galatia); Philippi (16.13), Thessalonica (17.1–3), and Berea (17.10), in Macedonia; Athens (17.17) and Corinth (18.4), in Achaia; and Ephesus (18.9), in Asia.

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The presence in the city of people from the east of the Empire and the city’s status as an active commercial port are generic considerations that cannot cancel out the lack of evidence regarding a Jewish community in Hispania before the year 70 CE.52 On the other hand, it is likely that the Jewish presence there slowly intensified after that time and, even more after the end of the Second Jewish War, from 135 CE.53 Note that before 70 Jewish communities were also absent from Gaul and Africa, so in Paul’s time Rome and southern Italy would have been the most westerly areas of the Mediterranean with a Jewish presence.54 It seems clear, then, that Hispania would need its own style of mission, since a synagogue and its sympathisers could not be employed as a starting-point.55 Instead, Paul would need to employ the tactics used in other 52 See W.P. Bowers, “Jewish Communities in Spain in the Time of Paul the Apostle,” JTS 26 (1975): 395–402. Bowers’s conclusions are consistent with those of H. Solin’s extensive study, Juden und Syrer in westlichen Teil der römischen Welt. Eine ethnischdemographische Studie mit besonderer Berücksichtigung der sprachlichen Zustände, ANRW II.29.2 (1983): 587–689, 749–752, in which Solin adds to Frey’s data in CCI the fourth- and fifth-century inscriptions listed by G. Alföldy, Die römischen Inschriften von Tarraco (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1975), no. 1074, 1075, and 1076, found, respectively, on a tomb of Isidora in Els Pallaresos, written in Latin, a sepulchre of a head of a synagogue, in Latin and Greek, and on another sepulchre, with inscriptions in Hebrew and Latin (and perhaps Greek). Solin concludes: “Von spanischen Juden vor dem 4 Jh. wissen wir so gut wie nichts” (751). H. Beinart, “¿Cuándo llegaron los judíos a España?” Estudios bíblicos 3 (1962): 1–32 is a solitary proponent of the second-century appearance of Jews in Hispania. 53 The tradition that Jews came to Hispania after the destruction of Jerusalem appears explicitly in Jewish sources for the first time around the year 800, in the treatise Seder Olam Zuta (Bowers, “Jewish Communities,” 399 [n.6]). The first Christian source on the topic is the Council of Elvira (canons 16, 49, 50, 78) (ca. 306), whereas a statement of R. Meir in Midrash Rabba to Leviticus 29.2 is the oldest Jewish account of the return to Jerusalem of Jews living in the diaspora of Gaul and Hispania (ca. 150). Bowers concludes: “The Jewish community in Spain is to be traced back to the massive disruptions and relocations of Judaism in A.D. 70–135” (“Jewish Communities,” 400); consequently, “One cannot speak with any assurance of the existence of Jewish communities in Spain in the time of Paul the Apostle” (“Jewish Communities,” 402). Similarly, S. Applebaum: “Our only information connected with Jewish occupations in Spain in the First Century C.E. is the tradition that a weaver of the Temple tapestries migrated to Spain after the Destruction” (“The Social and Economic Status of the Jews in the Diaspora,” in S. Safrai and M. Stern (eds.), The Jewish People in the First Century. Historical Geography, Political History, Social, Cultural and Religious Life and Institutions (Assen, 1976), 701–27, here 723. Until new literary or archaeological data become available it is difficult to fault the conclusions of these writers regarding the absence of Jewish communities in Hispania before 70 CE. 54 Note that the list of nations with Jewish colonies that arrive in Jerusalem for the feast of Pentecost does not include any pilgrim coming from Africa, Gaul, or Hispania (Acts 2.9–11). 55 In fact, the mission of Paul and Barnabas at Lystra is not carried out with the synagogue as a point of departure either. The account in Acts 13.8–20 presupposes that at

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areas where there were no Jewish communities, such as the northern cities of the Roman province of Galatia (Ancyra, the capital, Tavium, and Pessinus), where Paul had preached the gospel and to which he addressed one of his letters.56 2) Good conditions for travel were assured in the case of Tarraco. As Pliny the Elder comments, it was possible to travel by sea between the port of Ostia and the port of Tarraco in four days.57 By land, the time taken on the road that linked Rome with Tarragona, the so-called Via Claudia Augusta, was substantially longer. Tarraco was a commercial port with a significant volume of shipping to and from Ostia and all the Mediterranean harbours.58 Besides this, as provincial capital, Tarraco was also the seat of political power59 and a necessary point of entry or exit for sea or land travellers entering Lystra there was no synagogue and Paul and Barnabas carried out their mission among the city’s pagans, who did not usually speak Greek (v. 11). In his letter to the Galatians, Paul writes: “Formerly, when you did not know God, you were in bondage to beings that by nature are not gods” (4.8). It is clear that the members of the churches of Galatia to whom the letter was addressed do not come, at least in their majority, from Jewish communities. Nonetheless, the apostle was able to carry out his mission among non-Jews, and this would also have been the case in Tarragona. 56 The letter to the Galatians is probably also addressed to the cities of Lycaonia and southern Galatia, where there were towns with exclusively pagan populations, such as Derbe and Lystra. Ethnic disparities among the addressees (Celtic immigrants to the north; indigenous Anatolians to the south) lead Paul to call all of them by the name of the province to which they belong, “Galatians” (Gal 3.1). Such a title is one result of Meeks’s so-called “cosmopolitan canopy,” in reference to the Pauline Christian communities (see “Paul and the Roman Provinces,” 55). 57 Nat. 3.3: Gadis ad Herculis columnis septimo die Ostiam adierat, et citeriorem Hispanim quarto. However, this figure might be too low; according to M.P. Charlesworth, the average distance boats in antiquity could cover was 160 km a day (Les routes et le trafic commercial dans l’Empire Romain [Paris: Cluny, 1938)], 258). Similarly, A. von Harnack, Die Mission und Ausbreitung des Christentums in den ersten drei Jahrhunderten (II; Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1924), 920 (n.2): “nicht mehr wie 4 bis 8 Tage.” By chariot it was possible to complete at most 40 km a day, and on foot the maximum was some 25 km. Evidently, the maritime journey was quicker, which is why Paul often uses it. In any case, Pliny the Elder should have known what he was talking about, as he had been imperial procurator for the province of Hispania Citerior, which had Tarragona as its capital, where Pliny would have been based. 58 Agricultural products were sent between Hispania and Rome mainly via the ports of the province of Baetica, in particular Gades (Cadiz), but also via Cartago Nova (Cartagena), as demonstrated by the broken amphorae which are heaped in the so-called Monte Testaccio in Rome. Tarraco exported wine as well as flax fabrics. 59 The road network demonstrates that Tarraco was the capital of Roman Hispania. The city was well connected by land with the rest of the peninsula and distributed official post to other cities (Charlesworth, Routes, 160). Tarraco was confirmed as capital of Hispania Citerior when Augustus chose it for his recovery from sickness and stayed there almost two years (26–25 BCE).

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Hispania from Rome or making the reverse journey. Once in Tarragona such travellers could turn southward towards Valencia (Valentia) or Cartagena (Cartago Nova) or westward in the direction of Zaragoza (Caesar Augusta) and the other conventus iuridici in the northwest of the Iberian peninsula. Note that the maritime character of Tarragona matches perfectly that of the great Pauline centres of Ephesus and Corinth. In fact, Paul planned his missions using the principal eastward land and sea routes.60 3) The preference for provincial capitals is evident in the case of Tarraco. Born in a city, Tarsus, capital of the Roman province of Cilicia, Paul always appears to have considered cities as the natural setting for his Christian mission.61 Throughout his time as a missionary – the twelve years between the first trip to the province of Galatia and the journey to Jerusalem to deliver the funds he had collected – Paul worked untiringly with fellow missionaries to strengthen the small communities that were spreading along the northeast of the Mediterranean sea.62 Pauline communities flourished in large provincial capitals (Thessalonica, Corinth, or Ephesus) as well as in smaller cities (Antioch of Pisidia, Iconium, Troas, Philippi, Lystra). Note that the provincial capitals where Paul set to work, such as Thessalonica, capital of Macedonia, and Corinth, capital of Achaia, also had active commercial ports. Ephesus, capital of Asia, also corresponds to this pattern, as a well-defended maritime provincial capital. Such characteristics – a capital city functioning as a centre of political and administrative authority and of communication, with large areas for civic and religious acts; possessing a well-established port; and enjoying significant commercial activity – are to be found in the case of Tarraco, too.63 It should 60

Paul explains, in the Second Letter to the Corinthians, the final part of which at least was seemingly written just before the winter of 57, that he had been shipwrecked three times and had passed “a night and a day” adrift at sea. To the danger at sea should be added the “frequent journeys” on foot amid the risk of bandits (2 Cor 11.24–27). Regarding this theme, see T. Zahn, Weltverkehr und Kirche während der drei ersten Jahrhunderte (Hannover, 1877); and, additionally, P. Beskow, “Mission, Trade and Emigration in the Second Century,” SEÅ 35 (1970): 104–14. 61 Meeks emphasises how the provincial structure shaped Paul’s view of the world, because of the opportunities it offered for overcoming ethnic differences; belonging to a province constituted a form of civilization and Romanization, an idea expressed in the notion of building up “God’s family,” a multiethnic “ethos.” The choice of the province as a political and social unit served to stimulate a new and necessarily cosmopolitan set of relationships, which are at the service of the “preservation of homonoia” (“Paul and the Roman Provinces,” 52); see the classic work of W.M. Ramsay, The Cities of St. Paul: Their Influence on His Life and Thought (New York: A.C. Armstrong, 1908). 62 Meeks, Urban Christians, 9–10 (“Paul and the City”). 63 Pomponius Mela, from first-century CE Hispania and a tireless traveller, describes Tarragona as opulentissima (II, 86). In fact, Tarraco in the decade of the sixties had finished, or was well advanced in, the construction of the Temple of Augustus, the archi-

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be remembered that Antioch on the Orontes, the point of departure and return for Paul’s eastward missions, was the capital of the province of Syria, a political and commercial centre of the first order, easily accessible by land and sea, via the port of Seleucia.64 Therefore, Tarragona emerges as a highly appropriate base for the mission of Paul and his team.65 Taking into account Paul’s typical mission tactics and Tarragona’s location and socio-political and perhaps even commercial characteristics at the time of Nero, the city is an obvious destination for Paul as he begins his proposed mission to Hispania (Rom 15:24.29). 4) A favourable response to the Christian message could not be guaranteed in Tarraco. Paul appears to be aware of the strength of paganism in Hispania, judging by the references in Rom 1 to the worship of other gods and its relationship to immoral behaviour.66 Paul offers harsh criticism of the shameful “exchange” that idolatry represents: “They have exchanged the glory of the immortal God for images resembling mortal men or birds or animals or reptiles” (Rom 1.23). A little further on this theme is restated: “They have exchanged the truth about God for a lie and worshiped and served the creature rather than the Creator” (1.25). In fact, Tarraco was a city fully devoted to the Emperor Octavius, who, while staying there (26–25 BCE),67 was given by the Senate the title of “Augustus,” establishing him as princeps, the one who is “first” over the whole Empire. tectural jewel that crowned and dominated the city (see J. Ruiz de Arbulo, Tàrraco 99. Arqueologia d’una capital provincial romana [Tarragona, 2000]; see also X. Aquilué et al., Tarraco. Guide archéologique [Tarragona, 1993]). A little later, at the time of the Flavian emperors, the acropolis of Tarragona consisted of two great spaces, an upper one corresponding to the magnificent temple dedicated to Augustus (the site of the presentday Cathedral) and a lower one, with a square for public acts of 175 m. in length and 318 m. in width, surrounded by windowed walls. Raised platforms provided vantage points for processions and the rites of the imperial cult. Below those two spaces, and parallel to the square, a 325 m.-wide circus completed the huge complex. See the contribution of I. Rodà de Llanza, cited in n.50. See also J. M. Macias et al., “La construcción del recinto de culto imperial de Tarraco (Provincia Hispania Citerior),” in J. López and O Martín (eds.), Tarraco. Construcció i arquitectura d’una capital provincial romana. Congrés Internacional en homenatge a Theodor Hauschild (Tarragona 2009) (Tarragona, 2011), 423–79; J.M. Macias et al., “Nuevos elementos escultóricos del recinto de culto del Concilium Provinciae Hispaniae Citerioris (Tarraco, Hispania Citerior),” in T. Nogales and I. Rodà (eds.), Roma y las provincias: modelo y difusión. XI Coloquio Internacional de Arte Romano Provincial (Mérida 2009) (Roma, 2011), 877–86. 64 The port of Seleucia is located only 22 km from the city centre. 65 The town had by that time about 40,000 inhabitants. 66 See A. García y Bellido, Les Religions orientales dans l’Espagne romaine (Leiden: Brill, 1967). 67 See Res Gestae divi Augusti 31.1–2 (ed. Gagé) and its account of emissaries from the kings of India. Only two years before, Augustus had preferred Tarraco to Cartago Nova as capital of Hispania Citerior (which became known thereafter as Hispania Tarra-

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Tarraco’s devotion to Augustus was manifested on two occasions in particular: the erection of an altar, during the emperor’s lifetime,68 and, upon his death, the construction of a magnificent temple in his honour. In fact, some of the coins minted in Tarraco during the time of Tiberius bear the impression “deo Augusto”69 – not “divino Augusto!” – after the city had obtained permission from Tiberius to build the temple.70 The temple of Augustus, which dominated the acropolis of Tarraco, where the Cathedral and its associated buildings now stand, would become a point of reference for the whole Empire.71 conensis). See A. Muñoz, El cristianisme a l’antiga Tarragona. Dels orígens a la incursió islàmica (Tarragona: Institut Superior de Ciències Religioses Sant Fructuós, 2001), 5 (n.3). Tarraco’s devotion to Augustus was unshakable. 68 See Quintilian, Inst. 6, 3, 77. Beside this altar a palm tree grew up; this was considered an “omen,” and accordingly both were depicted on coins minted in Tarraco during the time of Tiberius. See R. Étienne, Le culte impérial dans la Péninsule Ibérique d’Auguste à Dioclétien (Paris: E. de Boccard, 1958), 367–78; D. Fishwick, “The Altar of Augustus and the Municipal Cult of Tarraco,” Madrider Mitteilungen 23 (1982): 222–33. 69 This strikingly audacious expression is found on a coin minted during the reign of Tiberius (Étienne, Le culte impérial, 368, 417–18): Augustus is represented as seated on the sella curulis and crowned with a diadem of sunrays, showing him as “victor.” It should be noted that the title of “Deus Augustus,” in reference to an emperor, is not found on Roman coins until the time of Gallienus, in the second half of the third century. The divine nature of Augustus was vigorously fostered by Tarraco, and from there the cult of Augustus was spread throughout the province and the province of Lusitania, although it had a much smaller impact in the province of Baetica. There are about 900 inscriptions and up to a hundred different types of coins related to this cult from the Iberian peninsula; see C. Spicq, “San Pablo vino a España,” in Actas del Congreso de Espiritualidad Paulina, 135–44. See also D. Fischwick, “Isotheoi Timai,” in The Imperial Cult in the Latin West. Studies in the Ruler Cult of the Western Provinces of the Roman Empire (I; Leiden: Brill, 1987), 21–31; similarly, R. MacMullen, Paganism in the Roman Empire (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1981). 70 Tacitus (Ann. 1.78) wrote regarding this temple: Templum ut in colonia Tarraconensi strueretur Augusto petentibus Hispanis permissum, datumque in omnes provincias exemplum. The notice relates to 15 CE, just one year after the death of the emperor. In the same year the college of the priests of Augustus was established in Rome, the members of which were the Emperor Tiberius, Drusus, Claudius, Germanicus, and twenty-one illustrious citizens of Rome (Ann. 1.54). 71 Some of the commemorative coins of the temple of Augustus in Tarragona (at the front of which stood eight columns) bear the inscription Aeternitatis Augustae (Étienne, Le culte impérial, 372). The provincia tarraconensis took the lead in filling out an ideological canvas for the cult of the emperor, which would spread very quickly. It is worth noting that the altar dedicated to Augustus in Tarraco was erected after an ambassador from Mytilene (Lesbos) visited the emperor when he was living in the city. The ambassador provided information about the imperial cult that had already developed in the east. Tarraco minted coins during Augustus, Tiberius, (14–19 CE should be the peak point) and Gaius. See J.P. Bost et al, “Routes, cités et ateliers monétaries. Quelques remarques sur les officines hispaniques entre les règnes d’August et de Calligula,” Anejo de Archivo Español de Arqueología XX (1999): 11–26. And also P.P. Ripollès, “Las acuñaciones

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The cult of the emperor included members of all social classes, who rendered homage to the one who embodied every divine and moral attribute and virtue.72 The cult of the emperor transcends the variety of cultural horizons within the provinces, giving them a universal and “Romanizing” dimension. The provincial ruling classes coalesce around the new cult, and the priesthood of Augustus becomes a culminating point in the cursus honorum.73 The cult of Augustus is, thus, a demonstration of the great reverence felt for someone who was considered to be the ruler of the entire world.74 5) The preference for territories without any prior experience of Christian mission is perfectly exemplified in the case of Tarraco. When Paul proposes the mission to Hispania he declares with some solemnity that he has made it his ambition “to preach the gospel not where Christ has already been named” (Rom 15.20) and Hispania was indeed virgin territory, where the gospel had never been proclaimed, as is evident from the statement in Rom 15.20 and cívicas romans de la Península Ibérica (44 a.C. – 54 d.C.),” in Historia monetaria de Hispania antigua (Madrid, 1998), 335–95. During the reign of Claudius the coins minted in Tarraco seem to belong to a minting house that produced not true coins but only imitations. See M. Campo, “Roma i l’aprovisionament de moneda de bronze a Hispània durant l’Alt Imperi,” in M. Campo Díaz (ed.), La moneda de l’Imperi romà.VIII Curs d’Història monetària d’Hispània (Barcelona: Museu Nacional d’Art de Catalunya, 2004), 49–69; I. Teixell, “La moneda de bronze d’imitació: apunts del seu comportament i tarannà a la ciutat de Tarraco,” in M.T. Ocaña i Gomà (ed.), Els tallers monetaris: organització i producción. XII Curs d’Història monetària d’Hispània (Barcelona: Museu Nacional d’Art de Catalunya, 2008), 105–15. 72 The theology of the cult of the emperor attributes to Augustus various imperial virtues: aeternitas, pietas, salus, providentia (Étienne, Le culte impérial, 431). 73 The provincia tarraconensis was filled with pontifices and flamines – male and female! – together with augustales and magistri larum augustalium, who acted at both a municipal and a provincial level. Even the reader of the Christian community at the time of bishop Fructuosus of Tarraco (mid-third century) bears the name of “Augustalis.” Tarraconensis is a Roman province very rich in epigraphic materials. The contributions of G. Alföldy have been decisive. See his two-volume work, Die römischen Inschriften von Tarraco (cited in n.52). Quite recently Alföldy has edited CIL II2 / 14–2 (Tarraco fasc. 1) (Berlin, 2011) and CIL II2 / 14–3 (Tarraco fasc. 2) (Berlin, 2012). The same author has studied the relationship between epigraphy and society: “Sociedad y epigrafía en Tarraco durante el Alto Imperio: estructuras y relaciones socials,” in S. Armani et al (eds.), Epigrafía y sociedad en Hispania durante el Alto Imperio: estructuras y relaciones sociales (Alcalá de Henares, 2003), 161–78. 74 See the contribution of J.M.G. Barclay at the Tarragona Congress (2008): “Paul and Roman Religion: Graeco-Roman Divinities and Cult to the Emperor,” in Pau, Fructuós i el cristianisme primitiu a Tarragona, 59–71. The apotheosis of the emperor responds to the expansion of faith in, and devotion to, him among much of the population of Hispania (Étienne, Le culte impérial, 520). See as well Spicq, “San Pablo,” 141–43. But the imperial cult is a consequence of the official political strategy. See D. Fishwick, The Imperial Cult in the Latin West. Studies in the Ruler Cult of Western Provinces of the Roman Emnpire (Leiden: Brill, 2002).

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from the inference of Rom 15.16 regarding the mission to “the Gentiles”: Paul will develop the programme of Isa 66.19, so that the Christian message will be announced “to the coastlands far away.” In fact, some time before writing the letter to the Romans, Paul expresses the same thought in the letters he addresses to the Corinthians: “Having hope, when your faith is increased, that we shall be enlarged by you abundantly according to our rule (ton kanona hêmôn), so that you may preach the gospel in lands beyond you (ta yperekeina hymôn), without boasting of work already done in another’s field” (2 Cor 10.15–16). The most distant territories, in which no Christian missionary had been active, are Paul’s goal for what he conceives as a second, western, phase of his missionary activity, which until then had been restricted to the east. The hope of going beyond Achaia and the eastern regions of the Empire develops into the planned mission to Hispania, openly stated in Rom 15. 6) The establishment and consolidation of a Christian presence in Tarraco was a practical possibility. The city had a large enough population (of between 30,000 and 40,000), and sufficient economic strength (trade, mainly maritime) and political weight (being the centre of Roman administration in the Iberian peninsula and also enjoying a special relationship with Rome because of the cult of Augustus). For his part, Paul had had missionary experience in cities in the north of the province of Galatia and in Lystra, places without a Jewish presence;75 it also appears that in Athens the synagogue did not play a significant role in the apostle’s mission.76 In each of these places Paul had succeeded in setting up at least a small Christian community. Therefore, the prospect of a Christian community of the type that would be likely to emerge in Tarragona, made up only of former pagans, did not present difficulties for Paul, especially in view of the success of his preaching in Corinth among non-Jews (see Acts 18.10; 1 Cor 1.6–7). 7) A key factor in understanding the mission to Hispania is that it was viewed as conforming to the will of God. Paul understands his journey to Hispania as fundamental to the fulfilment of his apostolic ministry, in which Scripture guides his main activities, with the minor decisions left to his own

75 On the Celtic towns in the province of Galatia, see Gal 4.8–9; 5.2; 6.13. The Gentile origin of the new converts is evident. Regarding Lystra, a city in South Galatia, Haenchen points out that there is no evidence for the existence of a synagogue in the town (Acts, 431). Timothy, Paul’s principal fellow missionary, was born in Lystra, the son of a Jewish woman and a gentile father. He was not circumcised and lived as a gentile among the gentiles of northern Galatia (see Acts 16.2–3). 76 The evidence of Acts 17.17 is that in Athens Paul spoke both in the synagogue, to Jews and proselytes, and in the market place, to anyone who would listen; Dionysius the Areopagite is clearly of pagan origin, as probably is Damaris (17.34).

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judgment.77 Hispania is the great goal, and lends its name to the Pauline mission to the west. Very likely, moreover, the western mission is associated even more specifically with the name of Tarraco, Paul’s point of departure for preaching the gospel in Hispania. As already pointed out, this mission was conceived by Paul in the light of Isa 66.19 and was, therefore, of supreme importance. Paul is a spiritual man, a mystic, who does not stop in the face of difficulties from carrying out what he sees as God’s plan. Going to Hispania is not, then, merely a strategic option, but the realization of a prophecy that guides the apostle’s every move. Accordingly, Paul writes to the Romans that when he meets them on his way to Hispania, this encounter will be “in the fullness of the blessing of Christ” (Rom 15.29). Paul understands that God in Christ has blessed his plans for the mission, which are focused on Rome and Tarragona, providing, respectively, the launch-pad for the mission and its bridge-head. A mixture of zeal and stubbornness, rooted in what Paul interprets as God’s design, drives him towards the end of the earth, to Hispania and, probably, to the city of Tarraco.78 8) Paul’s missionary team is of a size and quality consistent with the undertaking of a great mission. If our understanding of the list of names in Acts 20.4 is correct (see above), Paul chose for the mission a group of seven fellow missionaries from three provinces where Paul himself has been a missionary: Macedonia (Sopater, Aristarchus, and Secundus), Galatia (Gaius and Timothy), and Asia (Tychicus and Trophimus).79 Along with Phoebe, from Corinth in Achaia, as the project’s “patron” in Rome, their task is to make the mission to Hispania a reality.80 The number of missionaries is significant, since Paul is usually recorded as working with the help of only two or three collaborators, which indicates that he was contemplating a mission that would not be limited to just one city but would, ideally, cover all three provinces of Hispania. Paul’s concern for the remuneration of missionaries is well attested (1 Cor 9.3, 11; Gal 6.6) and in Rom 15.24, 27 he reminds the Romans of their obligation to offer material support. It is possible, then, that at the time of the launch 77 Riesner writes: “Even if Paul found extensive directions for his missionary work in the prophet’s words, they by no means fixed any concrete steps or routes” (Chronology, 254–55). 78 See F.J. Leenhardt, L’Épître de Saint Paul aux Romains (Genève: Labor et Fides, 1981), 208. 79 The list includes converts who began their activity in their places of origin and later were recruited for Paul’s itinerant mission; see E.E. Ellis, “Paul and His CoWorkers,” NTS 17 (1970–71): 437–52, here 451. A typical case is that of Timothy, from Lystra in Lycaonia: “Paul wanted Timothy to accompany him” (Acts 16.3). 80 Regarding this theme, see W.-H. Ollrog, Paulus und sein Mitarbeiter. Untersuchungen zu Theorie und Praxis der paulinischen Mission (Neukirchen: Neukirchener, 1979).

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of the western mission, which was to include the provinces of Hispania and would, perhaps, be extended to adjacent provinces,81 Paul chose his team from the eastern provinces where he had preached the gospel and established Christian communities, a selection intended to reinforce the solidarity with the poor of Jerusalem that Paul asks of the churches of Macedonia and Achaia. In some way, the mission to Hispania would be a “continuation” of this direct liaison: once the collection for Jerusalem and its poor had been gathered, the communities would have to commit themselves to the great goal and new challenges represented by the mission to Hispania. This applies both to the eastern provinces – where the missionaries came from – and to the Romans – from whom material and moral support was expected, as Rome is for Paul the platform for his mission to the west. 9) The language of the mission could not have been Greek, but Latin, which was used in all the cities of Hispania and co-existed with local Iberian languages in less Romanized areas. This would not have been a new situation for Paul. It should be remembered that at Lystra and Derbe, where the local language of Lycaonia seems to have been more widely used than Greek (Acts 14.11), Paul and Barnabas were still able to make “many disciples” (vv. 21– 22). In the northern cities of the province of Galatia (the capital, Ancyra, Tavium, and Pessinus) as well, an indigenous Celtic language was usually spoken.82 In the case of Tarraco, the official language was Latin, despite the presence of an Iberian population that had come to the city, attracted by Roman civilization and the opportunities it offered, and of numerous Greekspeaking immigrants from the east.83 Paul seems to be aware of the linguistic 81 The closest Roman province was, without doubt, Gallia Narbonensis. Its capital – the colony of Narbo Martius, now Narbonne – is located only 350 km to the north of Tarragona, on the Via Domitia, the great arterial route that linked Hispania and Gallia Narbonensis with Gallia Cisalpina and Italy. Marseille, Toulouse, Arles (Arelate), Nimes and Vienna were the most important cities of this large Roman province. A probable reference to the Gauls in 2 Tim 4.10 (in the first century, the Greek term Galatia usually indicates Gaul, as reflected in codices Sinaiticus and Ephraemi Rescriptus with their reading Gallia, which makes the meaning of Galatia explicit) is evidence of the tradition of a mission to Hispania that might have extended towards the provincia narbonensis. 82 To be rejected, then, is the view of J. Murphy-O’Connor, according to which Paul’s audiences in Hispania would have had difficulty in understanding the language used by him, Greek, leading to the mission’s failure (Paul. A Critical Life [Oxford: Clarendon, 1996], 363). There is no direct information about Paul’s mission in Ancyra. Only his mission in the cities of Lycaonia and Pisidia, located in the south of the province of Galatia, is reported in the book of Acts. Nonetheless, Paul writes one of his letters “to the churches (!) of Galatia” (Gal 1.2), and it is unlikely that this plural expression excludes the former Celtic or Gaulish towns, one of which, Ancyra, had been chosen as provincial capital at the time of Augustus. 83 See E. Albertini, “Les Étrangers résidant en Espagne à l’époque romaine,” in Mélanges Cagnat (París: E. Leroux, 1912), 297–318. With data taken mainly from CIL and

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situation of Hispania when, in Rom 1.14, he affirms with an expression he employs only there, “I am indebted to both Greeks and barbarians.” Here, Paul refers to people of Greek and Latin language and civilization (“the Greeks”) and people in the Empire who belong to other cultures and languages (“the barbarians”). This is the case of the provinces of Tarraco and Lusitania, where Romanization had still made only limited progress outside the main cities, unlike Baetica, which had undergone a higher degree of Romanization. In fact, this last observation has given rise to the proposal that Gades (modern Cadiz) was the principal point of reference for the Pauline mission in Hispania. Gades, situated southwest of Baetica and seven days travel from the port of Ostia,84 would, for some writers, have been the natural choice for Paul as a bridge-head into the Iberian Peninsula. However, it seems unlikely that Paul would have begun a mission to Hispania at the southernmost tip of the peninsula and would have preferred Gades as his platform for the mission to Tarraco, which was much better located with regard to land and sea routes and closeness to Rome. While it is true that Gades was a great port, from where olive-oil, wheat, horses, and sheep were exported to the capital of the Empire, it was not a provincial capital, the capital of Hispania Baetica being Cordoba, located well away from the coast. Moreover, it is obvious that Rome was far less accessible from Gades than from Tarraco. On the other hand, if Paul specifically identified the final fulfilment of his mission, prophetically foretold in Isa 66.19 (see Rom 15.16), with the city of Gades, would this not have been the goal of his missionary journey? Strabo, indeed, refers to Gades and the Columns of Hercules as “the boundaries of the world,”85 and Silius Italicus describes the city as the “end of the earth.”86 However, similar expressions are applied to the whole of Hispania, said to be “at the end of the world”87 and “at the end of the west.”88 not exclusive to the first century, this author identifies two inscriptions in Tarraco that refer to Roman citizens, one coming from Gaul (Vienna), the other a Greek (employed to teach), as well as five mentions of foreigners from Africa. There are also some inscriptions in Greek (p. 314). However, these data are too limited for significant conclusions to be drawn. See more recently the contribution of G. Alföldy, reported in n.73. See also E. W. Haley, Migration and Economy in Roman Imperial Spain (Barcelona: Publicacions de la Universitat, 1991); Élites hispaniques. Textes réunis par Milagros Navarro et Ségolène Demougin, avec la collaboration de Françoise Des Boscs-Plateuax (Bourdeaux: De Boccard, 2001). 84 This is the information given by Pliny the Elder in Nat. 1, 19. 85 Geogr. 3, 5: termonas tês oikoumenês. 86 Punica 17, 637: terrarum finis. 87 The poet Lucianus, born in Cordoba, writes of extremique orbis Hiberi (Pharsalia 7, 541). In a similar way, it is said that Pompey came to Israel “from the end of the earth” (Pss. Sol. 8.15–17). Indeed, before being appointed commander-in-chief of the eastern army, Pompey had been in Hispania and the geographical expression in the Psalms of

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The strongest argument in favour of Gades (Cadiz) appears to derive from Isa 66.19, where one of the first nations to whom the glory of the Lord will be announced is “Tarshish,” traditionally located in the southwest of Hispania, and possibly identified with Tartessos(!).89 However, biblical and Jewish tradition situates Tarshish in other locations that have nothing to do with Hispania. For example, the Septuagint translates “Tarshish” as “Carthaginians” in Ezek 27.12, and “ships of Tarshish” as “ships of Carthage” in Isa 23.1, 14. Josephus identifies Tarshish in the list of towns in Gen 10.4, as Tarsus of Cilicia (A.J. 9.127).90 Similarly, the rabbis do not move beyond the western Mediterranean when locating biblical Tarshish. In conclusion, as affirmed by Riesner, no ancient author equates Tarshish with Tartessos, nor is it ever located, in any case, beyond the Columns of Hercules, in the region where Gades was to be found.91

Solomon might well reflect this; see also Haenchen, Acts, 143 (n.9), who cites this text as evidence for understanding “from the end of the earth” in Acts 1.8 as a reference to Rome. Salustius states that Pompey fought in extremis terris, namely, Hispania. Similarly, Hispania seems to be referred to with the Aramaic word aspamia (= “the end of the world”) in a declaration by Ben Azzai, a second-generation tanna (Ber. 62a). Elsewhere, Hispania is referred to as a “far country.” See Yebam. 63a (some ships travel from Gaul to aspamia, namely, Hispania); Nid. 30b (according to R. Simlai, one may stay here [in Babylon] and have a dream in aspamia, namely, Hispania, again); Midrash Tehillim 22.31 (somebody is bringing his offering [to the temple in Jerusalem] from galia and aspamia, i.e, from Gaul and Hispania, although the editor, M. Buber, identifies those two places with Galia, a village placed near Ecron in Philistea, and with Apamea in Syria [?]). On these texts, see R. Aus, “Gentiles,” 242–45. 88 The expression in occidentis fine is found in Servius, who, commenting on the Aeneid, quotes the poet Horace’s reference to Hispania as Hesperia sospes ab ultima (Carminum 1, 36, 4). See H.W. Tajra, The Martyrdom of St. Paul. Historical and Judicial Context, Traditions and Legends (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1994), 110–11. 89 In Jonah 1.3 Tarshish is assumed to be in the extreme west, in the place from where, according to Psalm 72.10, the kings from the furthest kingdoms (“the kings of Tarshish and the isles”) come. The Bible nowhere identifies Tarshish with the southwest of the Iberian peninsula; rather, it is vaguely located somewhere in the extreme west of the Mediterranean. Ancient geographers, represented by Herodotus (4.152), situate Tartessos beyond the Columns of Hercules, and Strabo (Geogr. 3.2, 11) associates it with the river Betis (later, the Guadalquivir) and with a city in its estuary, not far from Gades (Cadiz). However, it is obvious that “Tarshish” and “Tartessos” are two different names, as E. Dubowy points out: Klemens von Rom über die Reise Pauli nach Spanien. HistorischKritische Untersuchung zu Klemens von Rom: 1 Kor 5,7 (Freiburg: Herder, 1914), 104– 08. 90 According to Josephus, the prophet Jonah wanted to flee to Tarsus of Cilicia, with which Josephus identified biblical Tarshish (A.J. 9.208). See Riesner, Chronology, 350– 51. 91 See Riesner, Chronology, 250. Spicq (“San Pablo,” 137–38) and Aus (“Gentiles,” 242–46) both place Tarshish in Hispania, but writers living close to biblical times refer,

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Consequently, it is unlikely that Paul would have thought of Cadiz (Gades) when using the term “Hispania” twice in the letter to the Romans (15.24, 28).92 If he had in mind any particular city, it would, then, in all probability, have been Tarragona (Tarraco). 2. The mission of Paul in exile in Tarragona The association of Tarragona with the Pauline mission begins with the notice in 1 Clem. 5, which almost certainly affirms that Paul “was driven into exile” (phygadeutheis). This fully corresponds with Roman law, which allowed an alternative sentence of exile (deportatio or relegatio) to be applied to a Roman citizen such as Paul. It seems, then, that the judge decided that Paul, accused of seditio,93 was to be exiled “to the limit of the west,” according to the formula of 1 Clem. 5.7, which most probably indicates Hispania.94 This exile took the form of a relegatio, which, unlike the deportatio, meant expulsion from Rome for a limited period and did not involve the loss of property or civic rights. Hence, Paul could have been given this kind of sentence (relegatio) in one of two possible forms: a more severe one, which carried the obligation of going into exile in a specific place, or a less severe one, where the accused could choose the place of exile.95 as we have seen, to a territory far from Israel. This is true of both Tarsus of Cilicia and, especially, Carthage, the identification assumed by the Septuagint. 92 Both E.E. Ellis (“‘The End of the Earth’ [Acts 1:8]”) and Spicq (Pastorales, I, 129–38) opt for Cadiz as the city that Paul would have visited. The latter author concedes, however, that if Paul had Cadiz as his final destination he would at least have broken his journey in Tarragona (Pastorales, I, 135)! R. Thouvenot (Essai sur la province romaine de Bétique [Paris, 1940], 304) also argues in favour of Cadiz for three reasons: the presence of Jewish communities in the southwest of the Iberian peninsula, the strong commercial relationship between Rome and Hispania Baetica, and the events of Paul’s life. 93 The gravest accusations for the Roman state were those of lesa maiestas or high treason, riot, and sedition, or failure to participate in the politico-religious cult of the emperor; see R. MacMullen, Enemies of the Roman Order. Treason, Unrest and Alienation in the Empire (London: Routledge, 1992). In fact, according to B. Santalucia, Paul seems to have been brought before the imperial court on a charge of maiestas principis, which included seditio or stasis (see Acts 24.5 and the accusation presented by Tertulus, the lawyer who acted as prosecutor for the Sanhedrin of Jerusalem against Paul). Regarding the second accusation – that Paul had allowed non-Jews into the inner court of the temple (see Acts 24.6) – this was not a grave offence from a Roman point of view, and it is not clear whether Paul had been slanderously misrepresented (see Acts 21.28) as a consequence of a misunderstanding (H. Omerzu) or whether he had made a deliberate choice to commit such an offence (F. Horn). 94 In his paper, J. Cook provides an interesting list of first-century Roman citizens who were sentenced to exile and then put to death. Paul’s case is not unique. 95 It should be remembered, as J. Chapa points out in his contribution, that Roman legal decisions were influenced more by costumary behaviours than by strict rules. This

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Regarding the specific location of Paul’s exile, in the case of a relegatio in its more severe form a simple examination of Rom 15 and 1 Clem. 5 indicates that in Rom 15 it is said that Paul had planned to go to Hispania and that 1 Clem. 5 affirms he actually went there. If what is said in 1 Clem. is not a merely rhetorical device, it may be concluded that Paul succeeded in achieving his much-desired goal as a missionary. According to Romans (15.23) and Acts (19.21), Paul was fully committed to going to Rome and, indeed, was longing to do so. He was to achieve this goal and to enter the imperial capital, albeit in an unusual way, as the emperor’s prisoner, under continuous military guard for two years (Acts 28.16–30). Paul had wanted to go to Rome, then, and did so, but as prisoner. He also planned to go to Hispania to preach there “the gospel of Christ” (Rom 15.19) and made known his missionary intentions to the Christians of Rome and asked them for help (15.24, 28). Thus, it may be said that Paul achieved his goal, however unexpectedly, as an exile, following his sentencing by the imperial court (1 Clem. 5.6–7). If Paul had found a way to go to Rome through one judicial device, an appeal to Caesar (Acts 25.11–12), why could he not find a similar way to be sent to Hispania to “proclaim the message” there and, thus, accomplish his mission to preach the gospel to “all the Gentiles” in fulfilment of the Scriptures (2 Tim 4.17; Rom 15.21)?96 In the case of a relegatio in its milder form, the choice of Paul might have been much more natural und understandable – not a mere “happy coincidence”: Paul would have been sent into exile to the exact place (Hispania) that he had been longing to go to for so many years. In this case, the journey to Hispania and specifically to Tarragona would have come about as a result of a choice Paul made on being condemned to exile. The sentence imposed on Paul did not determine a place for the exile; it could have been limited to banishing the apostle from Rome and Italy and, of course, from the eastern terriwas especially true in Rome, where the imperial tribunal applied the lex Iulia de maiestate in a loose way, so that a penalty could be adapted to the gravity of the offence. The criterion of the judges was very flexible, as V. Marotta demonstrates in his contribution. Moreover, as we have noted, in the case of Paul, the severity of the charges against Paul is questionable in view of Gallio’s reaction in Corinth (see Acts 18.14), for example. On the other hand, the sentencing of Paul to the less severe form of exile (relegatio) might have constituted a good solution for a tribunal that was obliged to decide the sentencing, if any, of a defendant within two years of arrest. Regardless of the presence or absence of prosecutors – who were obliged to attend, although it is not clear whether they did actually go to Rome – after two years of imprisonment Paul had to be sentenced by the imperial court (see BGU, 628 recto, papyrus quoted by B. Santalucia). 96 In this regard, Paul’s good relations, direct or indirect, with the Roman authorities should be taken into account. Paul was relatively well-known in Rome as a conspicuous member of the Christian community and, as J. Chapa notes, would have had good links to the Empire’s elite, perhaps through Christians who were well-connected to the imperial household (cf. Phil 4.22).

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tories of the empire, where Paul had been spreading the “pernicious” Christian message. In any case, under either form of relegatio the most probable place of exile would have been the capital of the provincia tarraconensis, which also constituted the most appropriate bridge-head for the mission to Hispania mentioned in Rom 15.97 Paul’s case has two precedents, in which distinguished Jews were exiled by the Roman authorities in the first century CE. In 39 CE, Caligula deposed Herod Antipas from his post of tetrarch of Galilee and Perea, which Antipas had held from 4 BCE, following the death of his father, Herod the Great. Josephus (A.J. 18.252) states that Caligula sent Antipas “in perpetual exile” to Lugdunum, “a city of Gaul,” apparently Lyon, the capital of the Roman province of Gallia Lugdunensis. The emperor, who wanted to punish the ambition of Antipas, determined that he should pass all his personal assets to Agrippa I, grandson of Herod the Great, who then succeeded Antipas as king in Galilee and Perea. Lugdunum was “the place where he must live” (oikêtêrion autou). However, in B.J. 2.183 Josephus writes that the emperor decided to punish Antipas for his ambition, banishing him and his wife Herodias “to Hispania,” where Antipas dies. In this second text Josephus does not specify the name of the city where Antipas was exiled and died. Possibly the conditions of exile had changed to allow Antipas to move south from Lyon towards the Mediterranean, to an unstated city of Hispania. Less plausibly, Antipas could have been banished to, and died in, Lugdunum Covenarum, near the border of Gallia Narbonensis and Hispania Tarraconensis.98 Some years before, in 6 CE, Jews and Samaritans had gone to Rome to beg Augustus to depose Archelaus, the son of Herod the Great and stepbrother of Antipas. According to Josephus (B.J. 2.111), the emperor ordered that Archelaus be “deported (phygadeuetai) to Vienna, a city of Gaul,” south 97

Note that Tarraco was founded by Scipio in the third century BCE as a bridge-head of the Roman army on its way to Carthage to defeat Hannibal. On the Roman Tarraco, see specially G. Alföldy, “Tarraco,” in Paulys Realencyclopädie der classischen Altertumwissenschaft, Suppl. XV (Munich, 1978), 570–644; Alföldy, “Drei städtischen Eliten im römischen Hispanien,” Gérion 2 (1984): 193–238; S. Panzram, Stadtbild und Elite: Tarraco, Corduba und Augusta Emerita zwischen Republik und Spätantike (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner, 2002), 23–127 (the imperial period is dealt with in pp. 43–67); X. Dupré (ed.), Colonia Iulia Urbs Triumphalis Tarraco (Roma: L’Erma di Bretschneider, 2004). 98 If the two pieces of information from Josephus are regarded as contradictory, Lugdunum could be identified with the Roman colony of Lugdunum Covenarum, the presentday Saint Bertrand de Comminges, a town between the Vall d’Aran (Catalonia) and Foix (Haute-Garonne), which pertained to Gallia Narbonensis but was close to the border with Hispania Tarraconensis and later became an episcopal see. So, H. Crouzel, “Le lieu d’exil d’Hérode Antipas et d’Hérodiade selon Flavius Josèphe,” StPatr (Berlin, 1970): 275–80. However, it is also possible that Josephus’s statements are not contradictory: a legal sentence could be modified, and so the exile of Antipas might have begun in Lugdunum (Gaul) but finished in an undetermined town in Hispania.

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of Lyon, in the provincia narbonensis. The reason for this, and for Augustus’s seizure of Archelaus’s personal property, was the cruelty with which Archelaus had treated his subjects in Judaea, Samaria, and Idumea. Thus, the case of Paul, a Jew of Tarsus of Cilicia, has a certain similarity to that of Archelaus or that of Antipas, each of whom was exiled from where he lived, Palestine, to the other side of the Empire, Gaul or Hispania. As we have pointed out, Paul, for his part, accused by the Sanhedrin in Jerusalem and with legal problems throughout his life (“seven times prisoner,” 1 Clem. 5.6),99 could not be exiled to the east, where he had been active and from where the charges against him arose. Bearing in mind the precedents of Archelaus and Antipas, for a Roman judge an appropriate place for Paul to suffer the penalty of exile to which he had been condemned (according to 1 Clem. 5.6) would have been Hispania, specifically, one of its major cities, such as Tarraco, seat of the Roman governor of the provincia tarraconensis.100 If Paul went to Tarragona, a question arises about the conditions in which he arrived and that might have affected his missionary work. When Paul was in Rome as a prisoner, he was granted a light custodia militaris, which prevented him from leaving the house he was staying in. For exiles, as well, freedom of movement was restricted to the “place one lived” (oikêtêrion autou) (A.J. 18.252), as in the case of Antipas. If Paul arrived at Tarragona as an exile, with almost no financial resources, with limited physical strength (2 Tim 4.17), and a body weak from a life of unending struggle (2 Cor 11.23– 33), it is clear that the mission to Hispania would now be limited in many ways and could only be a shadow of what it might have been. It is not surprising, then, that Paul’s mission in Tarragona has become diluted by the other events of the end of his life, an end marked by suffering and difficulties of every kind.101 What, then, might have been the specific circumstances behind the lack of results for Paul’s mission in Tarragona?102 99

1 Clement’s statement is probably confirmed by other information relating to Paul. See n.34. 100 The precedent of the former Roman consul Gaius Cato (108 BCE) is interesting. Cicero, in Balb. 28, reports that Cato became a citizen of Tarraco for the whole time he had to stay as an exile (in calamitate) there. Cato made this choice of his own free will (dicatione) and in accordance with Roman law, which did not accept citizenship of two places at the same time: duarum civitatum civis noster esse iure civili nemo potest. 101 Regarding the end of Paul’s life, see A. Moda, “Paolo, prigionero e martire,” BeO 34 (1992): 179–88, 193–252; BeO 35 (1993): 21–59, 89–118. 102 The term “failure” is used of Paul’s mission to Hispania by, for example, P.S. Minear: “Paul wanted to avoid the catastrophe of having his work in Spain ruined by opposition from the Roman congregations” (quoted by Tarja, Martyrdom, 108 [n.159]). J. Murphy-O’Connor speaks of an “inevitable failure” (Paul, 362) and H.W. Tajra of “a

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1) Lack of aid from the Roman community. In Tarragona, Paul was in unknown territory in the west of the Empire and far from his usual routes. Because of this, in the letter to the Romans he had asked for help and support for his planned trip (see Rom 15.24). But now, sentenced to exile, what kind of help could the Christian community of Rome give to Paul, who would be subject to the continuous surveillance of the provincial administration, in particular of Galba, governor of the provincia tarraconensis from 61 to 68 and shortlived emperor in 69 CE. It may be assumed that Paul’s period of exile in Tarraco would not be very different from his two years’ captivity in Rome, even if in Tarraco there were apparently no Jews for Paul to convince and no Christians to help him (Acts 28.22)! However, Paul was now far from Rome, and the Christian community there had few effective means of helping an exile to carry out a missionary project. Moreover, the Roman community was divided into various local churches,103 which would have made it difficult to organize effective help for a person serving out the sentence of an imperial court.104 2) Absence of a missionary team. The impressive team of seven fellow missionaries, outlined in Acts 20.4, had been reduced to nothing. At least five years had passed since Paul’s arrest in Jerusalem, and two years after Paul’s imprisonment in Rome it is impossible to say who was still with him. Of the seven, Aristarchus is the only name linked with Paul’s journey to the imperial capital (Acts 27.2). Paul’s team, composed mostly of missionaries from the east, had broken up long before,105 as indicated in 2 Tim 4.16, where Paul, short mission to Tarragona…a failed one” (Martyrdom, 104). Although reluctant to accept the historicity of Paul’s journey to Hispania, J.M.G. Barclay, in this volume, rightly qualifies the last years of Paul’s life as a saga of disappointment and failure. The possibilities of helping a person sentenced to exile by an imperial court would have been very limited and the internal difficulties of the Christian community in Rome, referred to in 1 Clem. 5, would also have affected any provision of support to Paul, although it is not easy to establish a date for the beginning of those difficulties and to ascertain whether they would have existed at the time Paul could have been in Tarraco. 103 In his contribution, P. Oakes stresses that Roman communities also had social distinctions based on economic status. 104 In the Christian community of Rome believers coming from Judaism intermingled with new adherents of non-Jewish origin, as may be seen in the letter to the Romans. Relations were not always easy (see Rom 13–14, where Christians of Jewish origin are labelled “weak”). As J. Frey emphasizes in his contribution, Paul tried from the very beginning of his ministry to maintain the ideal of unity between Jews and Gentiles, though the parting of the ways became inevitable after 70 CE. 105 During Paul’s two years of captivity in Caesarea, members of the mission group were distributed among the various fledgling communities across Greece and Asia Minor that needed the help of those who, as fellow missionaries with Paul, had contributed to their foundation, since Paul was now prevented from visiting them. It is probable that Sosthenes (1 Cor 1.1), Timothy (1 Thess 1.1; 2 Cor 1.1; Phil 1.1), Silvanus (1 Thess 1.1; 2 Cor 1.19), and Titus (2 Cor 2.13; Gal 2.1–3), to mention just a few, left for these eastern missions.

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during his first defence before the imperial court, complains: “no one took my part, all deserted me.” It seems then clear, then, that the missionary team would no longer have existed when Paul was sent to exile. In 2 Tim 4 there is a list of collaborators who would have been with Paul in Rome at one time or another, but they have all departed – in some cases against the wishes of Paul, who would have liked to have had them with him106 – sometimes to Christian communities in other places.107 Thus, if Paul embarked on a journey to Hispania as an exile, only a few people could have joined him and the material resources available to him would have been insignificant. It is likely that among those who might have accompanied Paul very few would have been experienced missionaries and not all of these would have been fluent in Latin, the language of communication in Tarraco.108 Against this background, the description of Paul’s farewell at the port of Ostia in Acts Pet. 1–3 (ca. 170 CE) has preserved a couple of interesting items: Paul’s visit to Hispania (no city is named) would have lasted one year (c. 1);109 Paul would only have received from the community in Rome “two young people” to accompany him on the journey by sea; it is not said whether they remained with Paul (c. 3).110 The Acts of Xanthippe places Paul in a maritime provincial capital of Hispania. Although the name of the city is not given, the only one that would match the description is Tarraco.111 106 This is the case, according to 2 Tim, of “all those from Asia...among them Phygelus and Hermogenes” (2 Tim 1.15), who have turned away from Paul (perhaps returning home), and of Demas, who, “in love with this present world, has deserted me and gone to Thessalonica” (2 Tim 4.10). 107 Thus, Crescens goes to Galatia, Titus to Dalmatia, and Tychicus to Ephesus, according to 2 Tim 4.10, 12. In contrast, Luke is presented as having stayed with Paul during the second period of Paul’s captivity in Rome (4.11), just before Paul’s death. This might also be true of Eubulus, Pudens, Linus, and Claudia (4.21), four members of the Roman community who were perhaps supporters of Paul during his second and last trial before the imperial court. Indeed, it was common practice for a group of people to accompany the accused in order to attest to their innocence and to support them during the trial (see Tajra, Martyrdom, 89). 108 S. Mariné Bigorra (“Hispanische Latinität und sprachliche Kontakte im römischen Imperium” [ANRW II 29.2 (1983): 819–52) analyses the epigraphic testimony of Christian tombs and concludes that the extent of Christian witness in Hispania was significant, especially among immigrants. Note, however, that the vast majority of witnesses are from after the beginning of the fourth century. 109 Developing this snippet of information concerning the brevity of Paul’s time in Hispania, it could be argued that the penalty of temporary exile lasted two years (from the summer of 62 CE to the summer of 64 CE). Paul would then have been summoned before the imperial tribunal, judged, and sentenced to death against the background of Nero’s persecution of the Christians of Rome. 110 Paul’s exile in Tarragona might have lasted more than a year. If it began in 62, it could have lasted three years until the unleashing of Nero’s reign of terror in 65. Note that Tacitus qualifies the year 65 as tot facinoribus foedum annum (Ann. 16, 13) and that

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3) Emperor-worship as the main focus of social, political, and religious life in Tarraco. Tarraco was endeavouring to find itself a special place through cultivation of the memory of Augustus, the emperor who had been elevated to divine status, a maker of peace and doer of good who embodied every virtue. Clearly, its inhabitants’ belief in and devotion to Augustus, which had become deep-rooted and crossed social boundaries, would collide head-on with the Pauline message of one God, the creator of the universe and of humankind, who saves the world through Christ, risen from the dead. These two sets of beliefs represented fundamentally incompatible alternatives, with a radical distinction between the one “God” and the “gods.” For Christians, it is only the one God who can guarantee order in creation (see, for instance, 1 Cor 8.6). Moreover, Christians claim that Christ, as Lord and God, is unique, and that all the “enemies” – most importantly, the Graeco-Roman gods, condemned as idols – will be subjected to him (1 Cor 15.20–28).112 Worship of the emperor is to be set within this context as well – for Paul it makes no sense to pay divine honours to the image of a mortal man (Rom 1.23) – rather than a political one, as some recent writers have suggested.113 Instead of trying to confront the ideology of the emperor, by the use, for example, of various anti-imperial allusions, Paul probably preferred to ignore it and, thus, to detract from its importance. This strategy of indifference to imperial ideology and emperor-worship – a ‘civic religion’ attracting numerous supporters among the leading social classes and also the common people – would have allowed the Pauline alternative to emerge. Christians would start a silent revolution – with martyrdom as a significant, and not so silent, element – which would in time bring about a radical change throughout the empire. It seems, then, that Paul did not want to confront imperial ideology by

Suetonius remarks that lege maiestatis facta dictaque omnia, quibus modo delator non deesset, tenentur (Nero 32). That is, from the year 65 onward, someone only had to be accused of treason (laesa maiestatis) in order to be sentenced to death; this is perhaps what happened to Paul, exiled in Tarragona (see Acts 17.6–7, in connection with Jason). The two young men mentioned in Acts Pet. 3 are members of the Christian community who had been entrusted to Paul “in order to accompany him during the voyage.” They do not appear to have been missionaries and Paul might have been alone for all or part of his exile in Tarragona. 111 It seems that the core of the Acts of Xanthippe, Polixena, and Rebecca is to be set in the third century, around 250. See C. Godoy, “Les tradicions del viatge de sant Pau a Hispània en la literatura apòcrifa”, in Pau, Fructuós i el cristianisme primitiu a Tarragona, 167–80. 112 See the contribution of J.M.G. Barclay to the Congress of Tarragona (2008), cited in n.74. 113 See, for example, N.T. Wright, “A fresh perspective on Paul?” BJRL 83 (2001): 21–39; see also R. Horsley (ed.), Paul and the Roman Imperial Order (Harrisburg: Trinity, 2004).

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contrasting Jesus as “king” with the Roman emperor.114 The opposition was, in fact, of course, much more profound and far-reaching: the lord of the world is “king” Jesus, not Jupiter, the father of the Roman pantheon! Nonetheless, it is evident that Christianity’s strong affirmation of the sovereignty of God and of Christ was interpreted as anti-imperial (see Acts 17.7).115 Because of Christianity’s stance in this regard, it viewed the cult of the emperor in the second to fourth centuries as a continuation of the worship of the gods. 4) The lack of ancient traditions concerning Paul in Tarraco reflects his limited success there. The earliest notice of an established Christian community in Tarraco relates to the martyrdom of bishop Fructuosus and his two deacons Augurius and Eulogius in the amphitheatre on 21 January 259, under the Emperors Valerianus and Gallienus. However, the Acts of their martyrdom, the first Christian document directly connected with Tarragona and dating from about two hundred years after Paul’s mission there, if it took place, gives no obvious reference to his time in Tarraco.116 The allusions to the letters of Paul in these Acts are to be attributed to a later ecclesiastical writer, perhaps from the sixth century, who offers a theological reworking of an earlier account and employs a literary pattern common in the Acts of the Martyrs, presenting Paul as a model of martyrdom in his suffering witness to the Christian faith.117 Against this background, the results of any missionary activity by Paul in Tarraco must be a matter of speculation. If Paul stayed in Tarraco despite the difficulties he might have experienced, what would he have left behind when he was obliged by the imperial authorities to return to Rome? Did he leave a 114 Paul’s position is consistent with that of Jesus, who when asked whether tribute to Caesar should be paid, declares himself neither in favour of paying the tribute nor opposed to it; see my Jesus. A Biography (Waco: Baylor University Press, 2011), 119–21. In his contribution, Wright sees Rom 1.1–17 as “a parody of imperial ideology” and Rom 15.7–13 as “a direct challenge to the present ruler of the nations, Caesar himself.” In my opinion, three areas need to be distinguished: idolatry or worship of the gods; cosmic powers; and imperial ideology. 115 The political situation in the last years of Nero is complex; see V. Rudich, Political Dissidence under Nero. The Price of Dissimulation (London: Routledge, 1993). 116 Fructuosus is the protomartyr of Hispania. Prudentius sings his praises in the Peristephanon (IV, 21–28; VI) (CCh 126) and Augustine’s Homily 273 is devoted to his memory (NBA XXXIII, pp. 4–10). The authentic acts of martyrdom were published by P. Franchi de’ Cavalieri, “Gli Atti di S. Fruttuoso di Tarragona,” in Note Agriografiche, fasc. 8 (Città del Vaticano, 1935), 129–99. H. Musurillo (The Acts of Christian Martyrs [Oxford, 1972]) offers a critical text that is very close to that of Franchi de’ Cavalieri. 117 In the literary genre of the acts and sufferings of the martyrs, quotations and allusions to Paul are very frequent, as shown by V. Saxer (Bible et hagiographie. Textes et thèmes bibliques dans les Actes des martyrs authentiques des premiers siècles [Bern et al, 1986]). In the case of the Passio Fructuosi, the words spoken by Fructuosus reveal an interesting similarity with Pauline theology, as well as with Acts and 1 Pet.

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small group of converts – as was the case in Athens according to Acts 17.34 – who had abandoned paganism for the Christian faith? Did this small Christian group, if it really existed, deprived of outside help, eventually disappear, or did it remain private and hidden?118 All we know for certain is that in the mid-third century there was a fully consolidated Christian community in Tarragona, as the Acts of Fructuosus clearly shows. Although that community is not necessarily to be directly derived from Paul’s missionary activity and preaching, Tarraco represents the first attested Christian presence in Hispania and was the seat of the protomartyr of Hispania, Bishop Fructuosus (259 CE). For the period between Paul and Fructuosus only very general information survives regarding the spread of Christianity in Hispania during the second half of the second century: Irenaeus, Haer. 1, 10, 2: hae [Ecclesiae] quae in Hiberis sunt; Tertullian, Adv. Jud. 7: Hispaniarum omnes termini. Such notices attest to the development of Christianity there, although how it occurred is completely unknown.119

E. Conclusion In spite of the limited evidence, there are sufficient reasons to affirm as plausible and even probable the claim that Paul spent some time as an exile in a city of Hispania, sentenced to the penalty of relegatio. The ancient witnesses, above all 1 Clem. 5.5–6, which refers to Paul reaching “the furthest limits of the west,” should not be dismissed. Moreover, the Muratonian Canon serves to reinforce a Roman tradition that seems to allude to this event. The “first” imperial sentence (2 Tim 4.16) was followed by a full proclamation of the gospel to “all the gentiles” (4.17; Rom 15.16, 21). This sentence of exile (in the form of a mild relegatio) would have severely restricted Paul’s missionary 118 From the letters of Paul and the book of Acts it is not always possible to ascertain that Paul’s missionary and preaching activity in each of the various places he visited actually led to the establishment and growth of a Christian community. Having said that, the situation of exile and loneliness faced by Paul in Tarraco would have been previously unknown to him. For the first time, he would have been alone in his efforts to proclaim the Christian message (see 2 Tim 4.2). Moreover, the Christian community of Rome might not have felt any responsibility for a mission that was being conducted without proper resources and that was not yielding satisfactory results. Eusebius informs us that the Roman community in the mid-third century, at the time of Cornelius, did not carry out any missionary activity (Hist. eccl. 6, 43, 11). 119 The earliest notice concerning Christianity in Hispania is provided by Letter 67 of bishop Cyprian of Carthage, according to which in the year 254 CE two bishops were expelled from their sees. Both had been apostates (libellatici) during the persecution of Decius: Basilides, bishop of Legio (Leon) and Asturica Augusta (Astorga), cities of the provincia tarraconensis, and Marcellus, bishop of Emerita Augusta (Merida), capital of the provincia lusitania.

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activity in whichever city of Hispania Paul would have decided to spend the time of his penalty (two years?). The mission that had been so well prepared by Paul before his last journey to Jerusalem (see Rom 15.22–32; 16.1–2; Acts 20.1–4) would have been undertaken in far from ideal conditions. Paul, from the east, would have been almost completely alone in a foreign city in the west of the empire, with no missionary team and no material support from the community in Rome, due to its own internal and external problems. Paul came back to Rome and there the imperial tribunal sentenced him to death. Paul was executed, probably by the sword (64 CE?). Tarraco, closely associated with the cult of the Emperor Augustus, who had appointed it as capital of the province of Hispania Tarraconensis, relatively near to Rome, and a Roman bridge-head in Hispania since the time of Scipio, might well have been the city to which Paul would have chosen to be exiled. Between the years 61 and 68 CE Tarraco was the seat of the governor Galba, the future emperor. Within this fast-developing city, united by its memory of the divine Augustus, Paul could not make progress in his attempted mission. The lack of results meant that Paul’s time in Tarragona gradually fell into oblivion.120

120

I express my deep gratitude to Dr. J.F. Elwolde of the Theological Faculty of Catalonia (Barcelona) and former United Bible Societies Translation Consultant, who has revised the English version of this paper.

Paul’s Mission to Hispania: Some Critical Observations Christos Karakolis

The present paper was orginally composed as a critical response to Armand Puig i Tàrrech’s paper “Paul’s Missionary Activity during His Roman Trial: The Case of Paul’s Journey to Hispania.” As such, it is not a comprehensive treatise on the question of whether Paul visited Spain; it is a critical examination of some of Puig i Tàrrech’s arguments that I see in a different light. Therefore, I am not dealing with Puig i Tàrrech’s excellent analysis about the Roman city of Tarraco as the most probable destination of Paul’s assumed travel to Spain. Instead, I will focus on the following points of his argumentation: (1) The problem of Paul’s seven collaborators in Acts 20.4; (2) the role of Phoebe according to Rom 16.1ff.; (3) the witness of 1 Clem. 5.6ff.; (4) Paul’s Roman trial according to 2 Tim 4.16–18; and (5) the witness of other non-biblical sources. I will close my considerations with a presentation of my conclusions. Due to the sparse sources we have at our disposal, the position that Paul never reached Spain seems to have more solid arguments in its favor than the opposite one. As Puig i Tàrrech puts it: “The weight of proof falls upon those researchers who claim that Paul indeed visited Hispania.” On the other hand, the argumentum e silentio is not always a good advisor in historical research or in theological evaluation for that matter. Therefore, we initially have to leave all possibilities open. The close examination of the relevant ancient witnesses will be decisive for our final position.

A. The Problem of Paul’s Seven Collaborators in Acts 20.4 The first question one always has to ask when dealing with Acts as an historical document is whether the historical data provided by this book can always be considered trustworthy.1 Even if we give a positive answer to this question as a whole, we cannot be absolutely sure about the historical trustworthiness 1

Puig also asks this question in his paper, giving a cautiously positive answer.

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of every single narrative piece of information. As a matter of fact, we do know for instance that the author of Acts disagrees with Paul on some details of the vita Pauli.2 On the other hand, nowadays we cannot even be certain whether all historical details provided by the Pauline letters are historically accurate. We have now become aware of the role of rhetoric (in the broad sense of the word) in the shaping of the narrative structures and the rendering of information in Paul’s letters.3 However, let us assume that Luke’s information about the seven collaborators who follow Paul to Jerusalem at the end of his third missionary trip (Acts 20.4) is really an historical one, while keeping in mind that we are stepping upon speculative ground. At this point the question arises: how can we be positively certain from an historical point of view that the seven collaborators of Paul in question were indeed missionaries who were meant and prepared to follow the Apostle not only to Jerusalem, but also to Rome and finally to Spain, as Puig i Tàrrech maintains in his paper? According to a widespread theory these seven men were representatives of the cities or of the provinces that participated in the collection.4 This theory, however, does not hold water. The city of Corinth and the province of Achaea as a whole (cf. 2 Cor 9.2), as well as Philippi, do not belong to the list of the cities which these men come from.5 Another difficulty is that in this context Luke does not refer to the collection at all – unless the reference of Acts 24.17

2

An example for this case is the information about the procedures and decisions of the so-called Apostolic Synod; cf. Acts 15.5–29 and Gal 2.1–10. 3 See for instance L. Thurén, Derhetorizing Paul: A Dynamic Perspective on Pauline Theology and the Law (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2000). 4 Cf. among others, G. Schneider, Die Apostelgeschichte: Kommentar zu Kap. 9,1– 28,31 (Freiburg: Herder, 1982), 281; J. Munck, The Acts of the Apostles (rev. W.F. Albright and C.S. Mann; Garden City: Doubleday, 1967), 199–200; W. Eckey, Die Apostelgeschichte: Der Weg des Evangeliums von Jerusalem nach Rom: Apg 15,36– 28,31 (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener, 2000), 419–420; F.F. Bruce, The Acts of the Apostles (2nd ed.; Leicester: Inter-Varsity, 1976), 370; H. Conzelmann, A Commentary on the Acts of the Apostles (2nd ed.; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1987), 199; C.K. Barrett, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Acts of the Apostles (vol. 2; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1998), 946; contra R.I. Pervo, Acts: A Commentary (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2009), 508–09; E. Haenchen, The Acts of the Apostles: A Commentary (Oxford: Blackwell, 1971), 581, who rightly remarks that, even if the seven men had been collection agents, at this point of the Lucan narrative they “become mere companions.” Cf. J. Jervell, Die Apostelgeschichte (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1998), 497–98, who presents a summary of the relevant discussion including the difficulty to connect the seven men with the collection. 5 Cf. Pervo, Acts, 508.

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is indeed an indirect mentioning of the collection.6 Can we then really connect these seven men with the collection, which might only vaguely be implied in Acts 24.17? We could only make this connection if we combined information from different sources, in our case Luke and Paul, without being able to ascertain whether the pieces of information we gathered from each one of them are actually compatible with one another and complementary to each other from an historical point of view.7 In my opinion, the most plausible explanation for the mentioning of the seven followers of Paul in the Lucan narrative is that their characters serve as representatives of all the Gentile churches that were founded by Paul.8 Paul needs them with him in order to prove the effectiveness of his mission among the Gentiles to the Jewish-Christian brethren in Jerusalem, as well as to create a feeling of unity between Gentile and Jewish-Christians. Their number, namely seven, might signify the wholeness of this representation.9 Even if we would assume that these seven followers of Paul were indeed missionaries who were meant to follow him to Spain after visiting Jerusalem and Rome along with him, the question arises whether these seven men originating from the East of the Roman Empire would be really useful in Paul’s Hispanic mission. Of course, Paul would certainly have to have had a couple of close associates with him for realizing his next grandiose missionary project. After all, this was part of his strategy throughout his Eastern mission. However, the presence of too many of them would make his movements less agile, while at the same time increasing the risk of attracting the potentially hostile attention of the Roman authorities.

6

Cf. Bruce, Acts, 470; Conzelmann, Acts, 167; F. Mussner, Apostelgeschichte (Würzburg: Echter, 1984), 143; R. Pesch, Die Apostelgeschichte: Apg 13–28 (Zürich: Benzinger; Neukirchener, 1986), 258; Barrett, Commentary, 1107–08; Schneider, Apostelgeschichte, 348–49; Eckey, Apostelgeschichte, 528; Pervo, Acts, 599; J. Zmijewski, Die Apostelgeschichte (Regensburg: Pustet, 1994), 817; L.T. Johnson, The Acts of the Apostles (Collegeville: Liturgical Press, 1992), 355–57. Cf. for a more reserved and critical position on the matter Roloff, Apostelgeschichte, 338; A. Weiser, Die Apostelgeschichte: Kapitel 13–28 (Gütersloh: Mohn; Echter, 1985), 630. Among others, Haenchen, Acts, 654; Jervell, Apostelgeschichte, 570–71, and J.B. Polhill, Acts (Nashville: Broadman, 1992), 484, do not make any connection whatsoever with the collection. 7 Even if the connection of these men with the collection had existed in the preLucan tradition, it is not there in the book of Acts; cf. J. Roloff, Die Apostelgeschichte (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1981), 296; Pesch, Apostelgeschichte, 186; Zmijewski, Apostelgeschichte, 720. 8 Cf. Roloff, Apostelgeschichte, 296; Weiser, Apostelgeschichte, 558–59; Pervo, Acts, 507; Polhill, Acts, 416. 9 Cf. on the symbolic value of the number seven in this context, Pervo, Acts, 507.

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Apart from the above mentioned difficulties, we have to ask in which way seven obviously Greek-speaking missionaries would be of help in a territory where practically no Greek was spoken. Unless these seven men also spoke a fluent Latin,10 which we have to consider as highly unlikely,11 they would be rather a burden than an aid to Paul’s missionary activity in Hispania. Therefore, I would suggest that Paul should and would mainly rely upon human resources provided to him by the Roman church community,12 rather than upon too many collaborators from the East. The example of Paul’s missionary experience in Lystra according to Acts 14.11 has to be seen in the light of the above observations. The relevant evidence is too fragmentary in order to conclude with Puig i Tàrrech that the “local language of Lycaonia seems to have been more widely used than Greek.” But even if this had been the case, most probably the people in Lycaonia did speak Greek as the lingua franca of the eastern part of the Roman Empire.13 In any case, there is no mention in Acts of a need for translation. On the contrary, the communication of Paul and Barnabas with the local inhabitants seems to be flawless. However, this would not be the case in Tarraco,14 in which Latin was spoken and Greek was probably almost fully unknown. The problem of addressing different sources as providing us with compatible and complementary pieces of historical information is apparent at this point. On the narrative level of Acts there are no clues about Paul’s project to conduct a mission in Spain and therefore also no information that would connect the seven aforementioned men with it. The connection of Romans 15.24, 28 and Acts 20.4 is only feasible if we read these texts alongside each other. By doing so, however, we enter the sphere of historical speculation.15 10

There is no doubt that a minority of Iberians, probably originating from the eastern part of the Roman Empire and belonging to the lower social classes, also spoke Greek; cf. S. Mariner Bigorra, “Hispanische Latinität und sprachliche Kontakte im römischen Hispanien,” ANRW 29.2 (1983): 841–42. However, it is difficult to assume that Paul would target this minority and not the majority of Latin-speaking Iberians. 11 Greek was the common language in the eastern part of the Roman Empire. To assume that those seven companions of Paul indeed spoke Latin, we would have to presuppose that there was a considerable number of fluent Latin speakers in the small Pauline communities and that seven of them were available to escort Paul leaving behind their business and families for an indefinite period of time. This is simply too much to assume. 12 After all, this was probably the main reason Paul had for writing the epistle to the Romans; cf. U. Schnelle, Einleitung in das Neue Testament (7th ed.; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2011), 129. 13 Cf. Roloff, Apostelgeschichte, 216; Zmijewski, Apostelgeschichte, 535. 14 In his paper, Puig has demonstrated convincingly that if Paul did reach Spain, then Tarraco must have been the obvious starting and reference point for his Hispanic mission. 15 Apart from the above mentioned counterarguments it is not clear whether on the semantic level Acts 20.3 means a three months’ stay of Paul in Corinth. Ἑλλάς is not

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B. The Role of Phoebe according to Romans 16.1ff. There is no doubt that Phoebe played a crucial role in the community of Cenchreae and even more broadly in the churches of Achaea as a whole.16 On the other hand, we cannot be categorical about whether Phoebe’s presence in Rome had something to do with the promotion of Paul’s plans to preach the gospel in Spain.17 She was certainly a wealthy person,18 who may have had business of her own in the Roman capital city19 apart from, probably, delivering Paul’s letter to the Roman community.20 On the other hand, it is undeniably possible and even probable that she did indeed propagate Paul’s mission in Spain while she was in Rome.21 In case the greetings of Rom 16 are considered as being an organic part of the letter,22 we have to assume that Phoebe was indeed knowledgeable about Paul’s plan to conduct a mission in necessarily identical with Ἀχαΐα. Their identification is possible, but the word Ἑλλάς normally signifies Greece as a whole; cf. BDAG, “Ἑλλάς,” 318. In the latter case we would have to assume that Paul did not necessarily remain at the same place for very long during these three months, at least according to the information of Acts. 16 Cf. R. Pesch, Römerbrief (Würzburg: Echter, 1983), 107; P. Stuhlmacher, Der Brief an die Römer (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1989), 217. 17 Cf. S. Légasse, L’Épître de Paul aux Romains (Paris: Cerf, 2002), 940. 18 Cf. W. Sanday and A.C. Headlam, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Epistle to the Romans (5th ed.; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1902), 418; A.D. Clarke, “Jew and Greek, Slave and Free, Male and Female: Paul’s Theology of Ethnic, Social and Gender Inclusiveness in Romans 16,” in P. Oakes (ed.), Rome in the Bible and the Early Church (Carlisle: Paternoster, 2002), 116–18; B. Witherington III, Paul’s Letter to the Romans: A Socio-Historical Commentary (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2004), 384; R. Penna, Lettera ai Romani: Rm. 12–16 (Bologna: EDB, 2008), 286; L. Morris, The Epistle to the Romans (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans; InterVarsity, 1988), 530; J.D.G. Dunn, Romans 9–16 (Dallas: Word, 1988), 888–89; A.J. Hultgren, Paul’s Letter to the Romans: A Commentary (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2011), 571–72; R. Jewett, Romans: A Commentary (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2007), 946–947. 19 Cf. C.H. Dodd, The Epistle of Paul to the Romans (London: Hodder & Stoughton, 1949), 234; Morris, Epistle, 529–30; Dunn, Romans, 889; M. Theobald, Römerbrief: Kapitel 12–16 (Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1993), 224–25. 20 Cf. about the obvious conclusion that Phoebe was indeed the bearer of the epistle to the Romans, Dodd, Epistle, 234–35; Stuhlmacher, Brief, 217; C.E.B. Cranfield, Romans: A Shorter Commentary (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1986), 374; Witherington, Letter, 383; Hultgren, Letter, 569; U. Wilckens, Der Brief an die Römer: Röm 12-16 (Zürich: Benzinger, 1982), 131; Theobald, Römerbrief, 224; contra E. Käsemann, An die Römer (3rd ed.; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1974), 396. 21 Cf. Penna, Lettera, 284; Hultgren, Letter, 570; Jewett, Romans, 943. 22 See the discussion on this problem in Schnelle, Einleitung, 137–40. On the unity of Rom 16 with the rest of Rom, see the argumentation of P. Lampe, “The Roman Christians of Rom 16,” in K.P. Donfried (ed.), The Romans Debate: Revised and Expanded Edition (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1991), 217–21.

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Spain. Since she had the status of a high-class representative of an important Pauline community such as Corinth-Cenchreae, her presence in Rome was not only supposed to ensure the support of the Roman church in favor of Paul’s missionary project in Spain, but also at the same time to help eliminate the prejudice against him on the part of at least some of the Roman Christians.23 Therefore, there is no need to assume that the list of names and greetings in Rom 16 does not actually signify a personal acquaintance of Paul with all these people, but was just meant to help Phoebe build up connections with the Roman Christians. It would seem more probable that Paul did indeed know personally most, if not all, of the people he mentions in Rom 1624 and sent them greetings according to his usual practice and not in order to facilitate Phoebe’s negotiations. His recommendation of Phoebe, as well as her upper class status should have been sufficient for her contacts with the Roman community.25

C. The Witness of 1 Clement 5.6ff. 1 Clement is a crucial piece of evidence in favor of the theory that supports the historicity of Paul’s mission in Spain. The reason is that it is the earliest source (possibly written even before the end of the first century)26 which seems to be referring to the realization of this mission. However, the text under consideration, namely 1 Clem. 5.6–7, is not free of problems and ambiguities. In his paper Puig i Tàrrech sees here a perhaps not very straightforward, but nevertheless clear enough reference to two distinct imperial trials of Paul. His main argument is that 1 Clem. testifies to an official exile of Paul after his Roman trial, which would imply that a second trial did take place after the end of this exile, a trial that finally led to the Apostle’s execution. The verb φυγαδεύω actually means to make someone into a fugitive (φυγάς).27 This, however, does not have to be an official act initiated by the authorities.28 In every case when someone is forced to get away from his or 23

Cf. Schnelle, Einleitung, 129–31. Cf. Witherington, Letter, 380. 25 Cf. Stuhlmacher, Brief, 217; Jewett, Romans, 945–48. 26 See a summary of the relevant discussion in H. Löhr, “Zur Paulus-Notiz in 1 Clem. 5,5–7,” in F.W. Horn (ed.), Das Ende des Paulus: Historische, theologische und literaturgeschichtliche Aspekte (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2001), 197–98. 27 Cf. Matt 13.52; 27.57; 28.19; Acts 14.21 for an equivalent usage of the verb µαθητεύειν, which means “to cause one to be a pupil” (µαθητής), BDAG, “µαθητεύω,” 609. 28 Contra B. Santalucia’s essay in the present volume. 24

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her dwelling place a φυγαδεύειν happens. Therefore, the word φυγαδευθείς in 1 Clem. 5.6 can either mean that Paul was sent into exile or that he was simply sent away.29 What is more, we have several examples of Paul being sent away in Acts (13.50; 16.39; 17.10, 13, 14; cf. 2 Cor 11.33), although the verb φυγαδεύειν itself is never used in the New Testament. Since 1 Clem. 5.6ff. begins with ἑπτάκις followed by a series of participles, all of them in the aorist (v. 6: φορέσας, φυγαδευθείς, λιθασθείς, γενόµενος; v. 7: διδάξας, ἐλθών, µαρτυρήσας, γενόµενος), it would seem that we are actually dealing here with a list of afflictions, which cannot possibly refer only to the Roman imprisonment of Paul, but more generally to his whole Christian life. Therefore, since φυγαδευθείς belongs to this series of participles, it cannot refer to one concrete incident, namely Paul’s supposed exile from Rome to Spain. According to the immediate context of the word, it clearly refers to the persecutions and especially to the expulsion of Paul from various cities, in which he conducted his mission.30 Ἑπτάκις δεσµ ὰ φορέσας refers to seven imprisonments because of the semantic weight of the number seven, which denotes completeness.31 Therefore, there is no indication whatsoever that this is a concrete and exclusive reference to Paul’s Roman captivity and trial. This conclusion is also supported by the semantic content and use of the word λιθασθείς in the same context. Stoning cannot be a reference to the Roman captivity of Paul, but only to the classical Jewish death penalty, from which Paul was, as it would seem, in some way able to be rescued. This underlines our conclusion that the reference here is to Paul’s afflictions throughout his life in general, and not to a specific incident in his life, namely his Roman captivity and trial. Furthermore, the phrase κ ῦρηξ γενόµενος ἔν τε τ ῇ ἀνατολῇ καὶ ἐν τ ῇ δύσει is also information that obviously refers to the whole of Paul᾽s missionary activity and not only to his stay in Rome or even his presumed exile to Spain. What is more, immediately after this reference the author of 1 Clem. states that Paul received the fame of his faith and that he taught justice to the whole world, i.e., not only to Rome or to Spain. 29

Cf. H. Omerzu, “The Probability of a Pauline Travel to Spain in Light of the Roman Law,” in J.M. Gavaldà Ribot, A. Muñoz Melgar, and A. Puig i Tàrrech (eds.), Pau, Fructuós i el Cristianisme primitiu a Tarragona (Segles I-VIII): Actes des Congrés de Tarragona (19–21 de Juny de 2008) (Tarragona: Fundació Privada Liber, 2010), 127. 30 Cf. Omerzu, “Probability,” 127; H.E. Lona, Der erste Clemensbrief (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1998), 163. 31 Cf. the relevant discussion in Omerzu, “Probability,” 127 n.83; contra Lona, Clemensbrief, 163.

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On the other hand, the expression κα ὶ ἐπὶ τὸ τέρµα τ ῆς δύσεως ἐλθών must undeniably be a reference to Spain.32 As R. Riesner puts it: “for an author writing in Rome that (= καὶ ἐπὶ τὸ τέρµα τ ῆς δύσεω ς ἐλθών) can only mean Spain!”33 This is not a generalized expression, which would simply intend to demonstrate that Paul had indeed preached very far in the West. On the contrary, it seems to have a very concrete meaning because 1 Clem. does not include an analogous expression for the East (such an expression could be τὸ τέρµα τῆς ἀνατολῆς), since Paul had not reached the equivalent of Spain in the East. Furthermore, the author of 1 Clem. has already mentioned that Paul had preached, generally speaking, throughout the whole world, both in the East and in the West (5.6). Consequently, there is no obvious reason for him to refer to Paul’s preaching up to the limit of the West, unless he means by this expression his mission in Spain.34 32 Cf., among others, A. Borrell Viader, “Les tradicions sobre el viatge de Pau a Hispània en la primera carta de Climent i en el Cànon de Muratori,” in Pau, 163. Whenever the word τέρµα is connected with a geographical term in the genitive, it simply means the final frontier, the border; cf. BDAG, “τέρµα,” 999. This is the obvious semantic content of the word. In order for it to be connected with racing and especially horse racing, it would have to be connected with other semantic elements in the same context, which would point in this direction. Even if we take into account the words βραβεῖον and κλέος as referring to an athletic context and thus understand τέρµα as indeed pointing to the turning point of a horse race, as R. Riesner maintains in this volume, this turning point has certainly to be understood as Spain; cf. the relevant discussion in Löhr, “PaulusNotiz,” 208–09. 33 R. Riesner, “Romans 15 and Paul’s Project of Journey to Spain (Hispania),” in Pau, 108. 34 A. Lindemann, Die Clemensbriefe (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1992); Lindemann, Paulus im ältesten Christentum: Das Bild des Apostels und die Rezeption der paulinischen Theologie in der frühchristlichen Literatur bis Marcion (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1979), 78–79, interprets this reference as a hint to Rome; cf. the counter-position of Löhr, “Paulus-Notiz,” 207–08. However, the most obvious meaning of the term is indeed Spain. There are no known witnesses in which Rome is characterized as being the limit of the West. Even Acts 1.8 cannot serve as such a witness; cf. H. Omerzu, “Das Schweigen des Lukas. Überlegungen zum offenen Ende der Apostelgeschichte,” in Ende, 132–33; E.E. Ellis, “‘Das Ende der Erde’ (Apg 1,8),” in C. Bussmann and W. Radl (eds.), Der Treue Gottes trauen: Beiträge zum Werk des Lukas (Freiburg: Herder, 1991), 279– 83; R. Riesner, Die Frühzeit des Apostels Paulus: Studien zur Christologie, Missionsstrategie und Theologie (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1994), 272; J.M. Scott, Paul and the Nations: The Old Testament and Jewish Background of Paul’s Mission to the Nations with Special Reference to the Destination of Galatians (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1995), 142. Cf. also the essay by T. Nicklas in the present volume. On the contrary, Rome was considered at that time as being the center of the world. It is of course true that Paul’s preaching the gospel in Rome could in a sense be considered as the fulfilment of his mission, since it would be expected that the gospel would rapidly spread across the empire having reached its capital. Why then does the author speak of the limit of the West in the

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The question is here whether in the light of this information we can trace a real historical memory or just the knowledge of Rom 15 on the part of the author of 1 Clem.35 Provided that Paul’s letter to the Romans indeed reached the Roman community, it is only natural and to be expected from a later Christian writing originating from Rome and valuing Paul’s person and work to draw material from this letter.36 At this point intertextuality and historical memory are so much intermingled with each other that it is impossible to judge which of the two actually influences the information of 1 Clem. about Paul’s missionary activity in Spain. Therefore, it is difficult to accept 1 Clem. as an objective witness in favor of the realization of Paul’s missionary trip to Spain.37

D. Paul’s Roman Trial according to 2 Tim 4.16–18 Differently from 1 Clem., in 2 Tim 4.16–18 there is indeed a reference to Paul’s first trial in Rome or rather, in my opinion, to the first session of this trial.38 Paul was not condemned and thus, obviously metaphorically,39 was rescued from the lion’s mouth. The information drawn from 2 Tim is the following: Paul has been abandoned by all. During his trial nobody stood by him (4.16). However, the Lord was present and gave him strength, so that Paul was able to fulfil the preaching of the gospel resulting in all nations listening to it. He was finally saved from the death penalty (4.17), although not indefinitely, as he is currently first place? The general reference ἔν τε τ ῇ ἀνατολῇ καὶ ἐν τ ῇ δύσει should in this case have been enough. It is obvious that the author means to signify and to underline a concrete missionary activity of Paul that would heighten his accomplishments. 35 It would seem that the author of 1 Clem. had knowledge of Paul’s Romans and 1 Corinthians; cf. Lona, 1. Clemensbrief, 49–51. 36 Cf. Omerzu, “Schweigen,” 155. 37 Cf. Löhr, “Paulus-Notiz,” 208–09, 213. Even B. Wander, “Warum wollte Paulus nach Spanien? Ein forschungs- und motivgeschichtlicher Überblick,” in Ende, 194, who is in favor of the realization of Paul’s missionary trip to Spain, is in doubt about the trustworthiness of 1 Clem. 5.7 in this regard. 38 Cf., among others, N. Brox, Die Pastoralbriefe (5th ed.; Regensburg: Pustet, 1989), 275–76; V. Hasler, Die Briefe an Timotheus und Titus (Pastoralbriefe) (Zürich: Theologischer Verlag, 1978), 81; H. Merkel, Die Pastoralbriefe (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1991), 86–87; L.T. Johnson, The First and Second Letters to Timothy (New York: Doubleday, 2001), 442; W.D. Mounce, Pastoral Epistles (Nashville: Nelson, 2000), 594–95; L. Oberlinner, Die Pastoralbriefe: Kommentar zum zweiten Timotheusbrief (Freiburg: Herder, 1995), 177–78. 39 Cf. Merkel, Pastoralbriefe, 87; I.H. Marshall with the collaboration of P.H. Towner, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Pastoral Epistles (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1999), 825; Mounce, Epistles, 597–98.

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awaiting his death and his final salvation (4.18; cf. 2 Tim 4.6–8). Consequently, it would seem that 2 Tim 4 describes the stage after the first and before the second ἀπολογία.40 The expression πάντα τὰ ἔθνη in 2 Tim 4.17 most probably presents the image of a courtroom that is filled with representatives from all different parts and nations of the empire, which, historically speaking, may not be entirely out of place, considering the multiethnic and multicultural character of the city of Rome.41 The context is here definitely not one of a mission in Hispania, but one of a defense in front of a Roman court. By preaching the gospel in front of the Roman authorities and a multiethnic audience Paul is presented as having finally managed in a certain sense to preach the gospel to all nations. This is probably the response of the pseudonymous author of 2 Tim to the actual failure of Paul to reach all nations from a geographical point of view, according to his divine call and his initial missionary program.42 Therefore, Paul is presented here as fulfilling his call by being able to preach the gospel in Rome. This is then the actual end of his mission. It may well be implied here that from Rome, being considered as the center of the world, the gospel will be able to spread to all corners of the empire and beyond after the death of the Apostle. The verb πληροφορηθῇ in v. 17 could theoretically imply the evangelization of Spain, had it belonged to a different context. However, it is clear that the context at this point is the ἀπολογία of Paul in the Roman court. Thus this verb cannot be possibly connected with Rom 15.19.

E. The Witness of Other Non-Biblical Sources The Muratorian Canon, as well as the Acta Petri and the Acta Xanthippe et Polyxenae are much later documents and not trustworthy witnesses from an historical point of view.43 Therefore, they cannot be used as primary pieces of 40

Cf. A. Weiser, Der zweite Brief an Timotheus (Düsseldorf: Benzinger, 2003), 323. Cf. Merkel, Pastoralbriefe, 86; Weiser, Brief, 324; Marshall, Commentary, 824; Mounce, Epistles, 596. 42 Cf. the essay by J.M.G. Barclay in the present volume. 43 Cf. for the chronology of the Muratorian Fragment in the late 4th century G.M. Hahneman, The Muratorian Fragment and the Development of the Canon (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1992), 215–18. Riesner, “End,” as well as J. Verheyden, “The Canon of Muratori: A Matter of Dispute,” in J.M. Auwers and H.J. de Jonge (eds.), The Biblical Canons (Leuven: Peeters, 2003), 556, among others, think that a dating around 200 CE is much more likely. However, even if we accept this early chronology, it is still a very late text with regard to Paul’s supposed visit to Spain and thus not a noteworthy witness from an historical point of view. 41

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evidence in favor of a Pauline mission in Spain. The problem of historical trustworthiness is here even bigger than in the case of 1 Clem. due to the longer temporal distance of these documents from Paul’s time. Therefore, I find it rather doubtful that the aforementioned sources really do echo an independent Roman tradition about a Pauline mission in Spain.44 While the existence of such a tradition is not to be altogether excluded, it is much more probable that the actual source for this information is a written text, in our case chapter 15 of the epistle to the Romans. Moreover, both aforementioned Acta are highly fictional works and should be handled with extreme caution when it comes to drawing historical data from them, as is the case with all New Testament Apocrypha.45 Yet, Eusebius of Cesarea indeed reads 2 Tim 4.17 as a reference to two different imprisonments and trials of Paul46 by interpreting the clauses ἵνα δι᾽ ἐµοῦ τὸ κήρυγµα πληροφορηθῇ καὶ ἀκούσωσιν πάντα τὰ ἔθνη as referring to an acquittal of Paul and to a last stage of missionary activity on his part. In my opinion, this is an erroneous reading of 2 Tim 4.17. According to 2 Tim 4.16–18, everybody had abandoned Paul during his first defense. Only the Lord was present and gave him strength, resulting in the fulfilment of the gospel’s preaching in the presence of all nations. There is no reference at all to an acquittal of Paul. In 4.17 there are three main clauses: (a) Ὁ δὲ κύριός µοι παρέστη, (b) καὶ ἐνεδυνάµωσέν µε, (c) καὶ ἐρρύσθην ἐκ στόµατος λέοντος. Two secondary final clauses are dependent upon the second main clause κα ὶ ἐνεδυνάµωσέν µε, namely (a) ἵνα δι ᾽ ἐµοῦ τὸ κήρυγµα πληροφορηθῇ, and (b) (ἵνα) ἀκούσωσι πάντα τ ὰ ἔθνη. Since all three main clauses are connected with the conjunction καί, they build a temporal and logical sequence. The two secondary final clauses appear in the middle of this sequence, presenting the aim (or the result) of Paul’s being strengthened by the Lord. The final stage of this sequence refers to the temporary avoidance of the death penalty on Paul’s part. According to this syntactical analysis the meaning of the sentence is that the Lord was with Paul, he gave him strength in order to proclaim the gospel to the representatives of all nations present in the trial, and finally Paul avoided being condemned to death. 44 Contra V. Mihoc, “The Tradition on St. Paul’s Journey to Spain in the Church Fathers,” in Pau, 189–90. 45 This is also a valid argument against the trustworthiness of the witness of Acta Pauli et Theclae, which fails to mention a trip of Paul to Spain. This work cannot be considered as having an analogous historical value with Luke’s Acts. In every case, we are unable to conclude with certainty whether its author knew anything about a trip of Paul to Spain or not, using the argumentum e silentio; contra C. Büllesbach, “Das Verhältnis der Acta Pauli zur Apostelgeschichte des Lukas: Darstellung und Kritik der Forschungsgeschichte,” in Ende, 237. 46 Hist. eccl. 2.22.

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Thus, the clause καὶ ἐρρύσθην ἐκ στόµατος λέοντος 47 is presented not only as the last stage of the above mentioned sequence, but also at the same time as the result of the strength that the Lord gave Paul to preach the gospel to all nations. The conjunction καί has here a conclusive meaning. Paul’s defense, which actually consisted in the preaching of the gospel, resulted in his rescue from the death penalty. The passivum divinum ἐρρύσθην demonstrates that this was the work of the Lord and not Paul’s achievement.48 Theoretically there could be also another exegetical possibility with regard to the two final clauses of 2 Tim 4.17: they could parenthetically refer to future developments beyond the strict temporal sequence of the three main clauses. However, had this been the case, the two final clauses would have to depend upon the third main clause of the verse, namely Paul’s rescue from the death penalty. They would then be the aim and the result not of the strength that Paul received from the Lord in court, but of Paul’s rescue at the end of his trial. However, in our case the two final clauses are dependent upon the second primary clause, which clearly refers to the procedure of the trial and not to its final outcome. On the basis of the above grammatical analysis, Eusebius’ understanding of 2 Tim 4.16–18 as witnessing to the release of Paul after his first Roman trial, as well as the continuation of his missionary activity up to his second and final captivity in Rome, seems to be a misreading of the text.

Conclusion The team following Paul in Acts 20.4 is not necessarily comprised of missionaries who would follow Paul to Spain. Even if the account of Acts were considered historically precise, the seven men could be simply mentioned as Paul’s escorts on his trip to Jerusalem. Furthermore, seven Greek-speaking missionaries would create rather than solve problems in Latin-speaking Spain. A smaller team of missionaries, including some Latin-speaking, probably from within the Roman community, would be more efficient. It is possible that Phoebe propagated Paul’s missionary plans in Rome. However, she might have travelled to Rome also on her own business. Therefore, we cannot be certain whether her only or even main purpose was to assist Paul in his missionary plans. In any case, it seems highly probable that Phoebe would know about Paul’s future missionary project in Spain and that she would speak in his favor while being in Rome. 47 48

Cf. Ps 21.22; Dan 6; 1 Macc 2.60. Cf. Weiser, Brief, 324–25.

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1 Clem. 5.6 does not refer to the various stages of Paul’s Roman trial. Only in 5.7 do we find a reference to Paul’s witness during his trial and to his subsequent death. 1 Clem. does not even necessarily presuppose that Paul was exiled. However, even if this would be the case, Paul’s exile cannot be connected with Spain. On the other hand, 1 Clem. indeed mentions Paul’s preaching in Spain, which has to be taken seriously into consideration. 2 Tim 4 does not speak about an exile of Paul between the two phases of his trial, during which he was able to preach the gospel. Rather differently, it refers to Paul's preaching the gospel in front of the multiethnic audience of the tribunal. Paul was thus able to fulfil in a way his call and mission to preach the gospel to all the nations. The Muratorian Canon, as well as the Acta Petri and the Acta Xanthippae et Polyxenae are not historically trustworthy documents. Eusebius indeed reads 2 Tim 4.17 as referring to the continuation of Paul’s mission after his assumed first trial in Rome. However, this reading is erroneous and most probably influenced by the missionary plans of Paul as presented in Rom 15. Puig i Tàrrech states that “there are sufficient reasons to affirm as plausible and even probable the claim that Paul spent some time as an exile in a city of Hispania.” For my part, I fail to see adequate evidence in the sources in favor of this position. The silence of Acts and of all the Deutero-Pauline writings about a visit of Paul to Spain is significant, although, as already mentioned, the argumentum e silentio should always be handled with caution. The strongest witness in favor of Paul’s mission in Spain, namely the one of 1 Clem. 5.7, could very well be influenced by Rom 15 and not by a local Roman tradition. On the other hand, we also do not have at hand any evidence that would forbid us to speculate about a possible trip of Paul to Spain. Even if there are very strong indications that Paul was never set free and was condemned to death, we do not know this with certainty due to the lack of clear source material. On the basis of the above, I would propose a rephrasing of Puig i Tàrrech’s aforementioned sentence as follows: It still remains a possibility, although not a strong one, that Paul did visit Spain. However, on the basis of the relevant source material, it would seem much more probable that Paul never left Rome and that he was sentenced to death after enduring a possibly long captivity in the Roman capital.

Roman Tradition on Paul’s Death: Literary and Archaeological Data Angelo Di Berardino

The ancient sources from which one could reconstruct Paul’s presence in Rome are threefold: literary, liturgical, and archeological. Those from the literary genus are drawn from the work of two experts, Rainer Riesner and Tobias Nicklas. Lucrezia Spera talks about the archeological testimony, those most important, following the recent discoveries. I shall limit myself here to certain literary sources and to the liturgical sources, the latter of which are closely connected with the archeological data. The two authors whom I cite (Riesner and Nicklas) did not mention Ignatius – whose dates range from around 110 to ca. 170 – who spoke of the authority of the apostles (Eph. 3.1; Trall. 3.3). In the letter to the church of Rome he wrote: “Not as Peter and Paul shall I give you orders. They were apostles, I am condemned; they were free, while I am hitherto a slave” (Rom. 4.3). In as much as they were apostles, Peter and Paul gave commandments to the Christians of Rome. How and in what manner? Why did they give instruction and teach in Rome, or was it only by means of letters? The phrase has to imply their very presence in Rome. Dionysius of Corinth, in the years 171–172, wrote that Peter and Paul “together they also taught in Italy in the same place and [they gave their witness] were martyred at the same time” (Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 2.25, 8). The sentence by Dionysius, I think, should be not be understood too literally; he does not intend or mean that they preached together and that they died at the same moment, but that they both preached in Italy, that is, in Rome, and they then died in Rome, but he does not tell how they died. Nevertheless, “to give witness” implies a martyrdom, by means of which a public witness is given. Eusebius, an easterner, who knew the history of the church well, wrote that Peter and Paul underwent martyrdom in Rome. He brings forth two proofs: that “the account is confirmed by the names of Peter and Paul which still today are preserved upon their tombs in that city.” Now Eusebius, who lived in the east and was well-informed, did not mention another burial place of the two apostles. Furthermore, in later times the legend arose of an attempt on the part of the

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easterners to take the relics of the two apostles away from Rome.1 This story became very widespread and is reported in different eastern and western sources.2 According to Griffe, the inscription by Damasus at San Sebastiano could be the origin of such a legend.3 Augustine limits himself to the affirmation that the body of Paul is kept in Rome: iacet corpus Pauli Romae (Serm. 299: PL 38,1355). The second important testimony is that of Gaius, a Roman presbyter (ekklesiasticos) and learned man (logiotatos), who gathered together the preceding Roman tradition and was alive during the time of the Bishop Zephyrinus (199–217). First, Eusebius was speaking of the Roman cemeteries, where both of the apostles where buried until his days.4 Gaius wrote against Proclus the Montanist, who was living in the west, because he is mentioned by Ps. Hippolytus (Syntagma 7.2) and Tertullian (Val. 5.1: Proclus noster virginis senectae et Christianae eloquentiae dignitas). Eusebius relates one of his sayings: “But I can point out the trophies of apostles, for if you will go to the Vatican or to the Ostian Way you will find the trophies of those who founded this Church” (Hist. eccl. 2.25, 7).5 The text comes from a Roman milieu and it gives an eye-witness account, because it makes use of the term trophy, according to its Latin usage. This word meant a monument to commemorate a victory, and thus also a “memento” (souvenir) in general, and a sign of victory.6 Among the Christians martyrdom was a victory or also a tropaeum.7 Eusebius, according to Christine Mohrmann, used the term tropaia as in “tombs with the remains” of the apostles, not as in a funereal monument.8 1

Cf. DACL 2659 and 2660. Liber Pontificalis, ed. Duchesne, 1.150–51 (in the time of Pope Cornelius [251– 253]); Ps. Marcellus, Passio sanctorum Petri et Pauli; W. Cureton, Ancient Syriac Documents relative to the earliest establishment of Christianity in Edessa and the neighbouring countries (London 1864; reprinted: Gorgias Press, 2005), 61ff.; in the time of Pope Fabian, the Roman authorities expelled foreigners, who wanted to take away the bones of their dead, including those of Cephas and Paul of Cilicia; Gregorius M., Ep. 4.30; R.A. Lipsius, Acta apostolorum apocrypha (Lipsiae, 1899), I.175. 3 É. Griffe, Les persécutions contre les chrétiens aux Ier et IIe siècles (Paris, 1967), 139. Regarding the inscription, cf. Griffe, Les persécutions, 156–77; B. Luiselli, “In margine al problema della traslazione delle ossa di Pietro e Paolo,” MEFR 98 (1986): 843–54. 4 E. Josi, Les κοιµητήρια d’Eusèbe et les tombes apostoliques (Comptes rendues de l’Académie des Inscriptions et Belles Lettres; Paris, 1954), 350. 5 F. Tailliez, “Notes conjointes sur un passage fameux d'Eusèbe. I La tombe de Saint Pierre. Correction au texte de H.E. II,25,” OCP 9 (1943): 431–49. 6 For Christians, the cross becomes the sign par excellence of victory. 7 C. Mohrmann, “A propos de deux mots controversés de la latinité chrétienne, tropaeum – nomen,” VC 8 (1954): 154–73 = ÉTR 3 (Roma, 1965), 331–50 (at 335). 8 Mohrmann, “A propos,” 342. The translation of Rufinus of this sentence is very bad (343). 2

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Many scholars understand the term to be taken simply as a tomb,9 as a funerary edifice, and in that regard as a monument of victory on the tomb of the martyrs.10 Gaius, in the text which Eusebius presents, wanted to affirm not the existence of monumenta on the tombs of Peter and Paul, but the presence of their bodies in their respective tombs.11 What Eusebius and Gaius say in few words, a tradition consolidated by the beginning of the third century expresses and it is that which becomes the rule: their martyrdom at Rome (Paul having been decapitated, and Peter crucified upside down), the places where one may find their tombs, and the two apostles as the founders of the Roman church. The proof of Gaius was effective only if what he said was verifiable by anyone. As the Montanist Proclus considers the tomb of Philip and of his daughters in Hierapolis as a guarantee of his teaching, so for Gaius the tombs of Peter and Paul are evidence of the authority of the Roman church, because “they founded this church.” How did they found the Roman church? Gaius does not explain. Archaeology confirms the claims of Gaius of the tropaia of Peter and Paul. According to Lietzmann, we have a full explanation of the place of death of Peter and Paul only if we accept the Roman tradition. Any other hypothesis makes it difficult for any explanations.12 Furthermore, Eusebius adds another piece of evidence, bringing forward the sentence by Dionysius of Corinth, cited above. All the eastern sources accepted as true their death in Rome. The Acts of Paul and Thecla enjoyed an incredibly widespread circulation and there is a rich manuscript tradition.13 At the end of the fourth century, Paul’s cultus was spreading ever more widely; even the relics – we do not know what sort of relics – were widespread in the west: in Italy, Gaul, and Africa.14 This occurred here, more than in other regions, because Catholics and Donatists were very interested in the veneration of the two great martyrs.15 In many different regions sanctuaries appeared. For example, near Chalcedon, on his estate Rufininiae, Flavius Rufinus built a martyrium of the apostles, where he put relics brought from Rome.16 Several 9 J. Ruysschaert, “Réflexions sur les fouilles vaticanes, le rapport officiel et la critique: II: Données épigraphiques et littéraires,” RHE 49 (1954): 5–58, here at 18 and the notes. 10 M. Guarducci, “I ‘trofei’ degli apostoli Pietro e Paolo,” Rendiconti della Pontificia Accademia romana di archeologia ser III 55–56 (1982–84): 129–36. 11 Mohrmann, “A propos,” 344. 12 H. Lietzmann, Petrus und Paulus in Rom. Liturgische und archäologische Studien (Berlin, 1927), 238. 13 DACL 2666–2693. 14 H. Delehaye, Les origines du culte des martyres (2nd ed.; Bruxelles, 1933), 134. 15 Y. Duval, Loca sanctorum Africae: le culte des martyrs en Afrique du IVe au VIIe siècle (Rome, 1982), 633–45. 16 Flavius Rufinus, PLRE 1, 778ff.; Callinci de vita Hypatii (Leipzig, 1895), 18; Palladius, Historia Lausiaca 11.5; Dialogus 17 (Sources Chrétiennes, 336 n.342).

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sermons of Augustine are preserved;17 they were given on the feast day of Peter and Paul, because “both the one and the other obtained the heavenly crown, both of them have consecrated this very day” (Serm. 297.5); “The passion of the most blessed apostles Peter and Paul has sanctified this day for us” (Serm. 295.1). The council of Thelepte of 419, in Africa, was held in the ecclesia Apostolorum.18 Gaius is the first to give testimony that Peter and Paul were the founders of the Roman Church; Dionysius had already spoken of their teaching in Rome. In any case, the text from Gaius is the basis for the archeological research of the tombs of Peter and Paul. Constantine had a basilica built on the tomb of Paul, but it was much smaller in dimensions when compared with the basilica for Peter. When in Rome, the Emperor Julian secretly visited the tombs of Peter and Paul (Cyril of Alexandria, Contra Iulianum 10: PG 76,1004). The first evidence of the veneration of Paul is found in the first known calendar of the Roman church, the Depositio martyrum, which dates to around 336 and was included in the Roman Chronograph of 354: III kal iulias. Petri in catacumbas et Pauli Ostense, Tusco et Basso consulibus.19 Griffe20 suggests the text be reconstructed in this manner: III kal iulias. Petri [et Pauli] in catacumbas et Pauli Ostense, Tusco et Basso consulibus. This note is intriguing and not easy to explain, because the consular year is 258. Meanwhile the Catalogus Liberianus, a part of the Chronograph of 354, as it is phrased in the Depositio: (Petrus) Passus autem cum Paulo die III kal iul, cons. ss., imperatore Nerone. Scholars have come up with many hypotheses in order to find an acceptable explanation for this information. Perhaps it is the combination of the year of the institution of the feast (258) and all that happened during the time of the composition of the Depositio in the year 336. In that year the cultus of Peter was celebrated in catacumbas21 (this may be because the great basilica of Saint Peter was not yet finished),22 during which time the veneration of Paul took place along the Ostian Way, where the small basilica had been completed and was functional. Furthermore, the cultus of Paul also took place in catacumbas together with that of Peter, a common veneration of

17

E. Josi, La venerazione di Pietro e Paolo nel mondo cristiano antico, in Saecularia Petri et Pauli (Città del Vaticano, 1969), 151-197. 18 Munier, Concilia Africae A. 345 – A. 525, Turnhout 1974, p. 58. 19 Mommsen (ed.), MGH AA IX, 71. 20 Griffe, Les persécutions, 154. 21 Catucumbas: Greek toponomy created in Rome by those who spoke Latin; it indicates “at the pits” of pozzolana. 22 R. Gem, From Constantine to Constans. The Chronology of the construction of Saint Peter’s basilica, in R. McKitterick et al (eds.), Old's Saint Peter's, Rome (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013), 15–64.

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the two apostles together.23 This common veneration of the two is also confirmed by the numerous graffiti which have been found there, by Damasus’ carmen, and by the tradition that followed. The expression in catacumbas indicates the cemetery complex and the catacomb of Saint Sebastian on the Old Appian Way at the third mile-marker. The consular date, however, is that of 258, when in Rome a terrible persecution – at the wishes of Valerian – was underway. Why was there a joint veneration of the two apostles in that particular place? Had the relics of both apostles been transferred to that location and then taken back to their previous locations? There have been many different hypotheses. One, which is very widespread, holds that for reasons of security and safety in that time a translation of the relics occurred and the relics were then venerated there. On the other hand, the best explanation offered hitherto is that given by H. Delehaye, according to whom in the year 258, due to the closure of the cemeteries, the remains of the two apostles were not transferred ad Catacumbas, but there – simply – a cultus was celebrated.24 This supposition is strongly put forward by M. Guarducci, too, who, together with B. Luiselli, also explains the carmen composed by Pope Damasus; it is in the latter that this seems to be evoked and suggested by the insinuation that the remains of the two apostles were in Saint Sebastian’s.25 According to the Roman law of that time, the transfer of the remains of the dead was prohibited; furthermore there is no trace of any tomb. Perhaps according to some legend the apostles lived there, as Pope Damasus’ inscription seems to suggest. The notice from the Depositio martyrum then passed to the Martyrologium Hieronymianum, which presents the divergences in the various manuscript traditions. The various and sundry redactions coincide with regard to the date of 29 June. In the critical edition by Delehaye, who makes an historical reconstruction, the notice is given in this manner: III KL. IUL. Romae natale sanctorun apostolorum Petri via Aurelia in Vaticano, Pauli vero via Ostiensi, utrumque in catacumbas Basso et Tusco consulibus.26 Why one would date it

23

J. Ruysschaert, “Les deux fêtes de Pierre dans la Depositio martyrum de 354,” Rendiconti Pontificia Acc. Archeologia 38 (1965–1966), 173–84. 24 For the entire question regarding the veneration at San Sebastiano, see A. Maria Nieddu, La Basilica Apostolorum sulla via Appia e l'area cimiteriale circostante (Città del Vaticano, 2009), 11ff. 25 M. Guarducci, “Il culto degli apostoli Pietro e Paolo sulla via Appia: riflessioni vecchie e nuove,” MEFR 98 (1986): 811–42; B. Luiselli, “In margine al problema della traslazione delle ossa di Pietro e Paolo,” MEFR 98 (1986): 843–54; Lexikon Topographicum Urbis Romae, Suburbium II, 79–82. The term Catacumbas (Catacumba) was then used also to indicate the cemetery complex of San Sebastiano. 26 AA.SS Nov. II, Pars Secunda 343*.

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to 258 – Basso et Tusco consulibus – is not easy to explain.27 Some have expressed doubt regarding whether or not the text is genuine, but there are no serious reasons to deny its authenticity. Now the year 258, for those who sustain that the relics were transferred, would indicate the beginning of the veneration at that place, while on the other hand, for others the year could be the beginning of a celebration of the two apostles or just the first witness of the existence of the feast on 29 June. There is no evidence that in 258 there would have been a feast of the two apostles at the Vatican or on the Ostian Way, too. During that period it was not possible to celebrate a feast in public and pagan cemeteries, as were the two locales where the apostles’ tropaea were. Every type of reunion of the Christians for purposes of worship had been banned by Valerian and it was not permitted to them to enter into the cemeteries (Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 7.11.10; Acta Cypriani 1.7). In that year, on 6 August, Pope Xystus with the four deacons was arrested in the cemetery of Saint Callixtus (Ep. 80.1). In the Constantinian basilicas the feast was celebrated in the fourth century, by which time these had already been built. If we exclude the possibility that the relics were transferred – whether it be in full or only part of them – along the Appian Way, the cultus was only celebrated without a relation to the apostles’ bodies.28 The basilica at the cemetery in Catacumbas was built in the first decades of the fourth century, perhaps by the Emperor Constantine. Before that time it had been a very often visited place of veneration of the two apostles.29 This small sanctuary (called the memoria apostolorum by the excavators) was built – between 244 and 258 – on three decorated mausoleums, which later had been buried. The part which was slightly higher and colonnaded in a trapezoid form had been covered by a roof; this was wrongly called the triclia by P. Styger,30 the one in charge and responsible for the excavations in 1915 for this area. This memoria apostolorum, ca. 12 meters by 7 meters, was dedicated to the joint cult of the two apostles, the “founders” of the Roman church. The memoria was frequently visited and it was used for around fifty years only, 27

For the reconstruction, see V. Saxer, Damase et le calendrier des fêtes de martyrs de l'Eglise romaine, in Saecularia Damasiana (Roma, 1986), 59–88, here 77ff., and the notes by Quentin in Rendiconti Pontificia Acc. Archeologia 5 (1927): 145–47; H. Delehaye, Tusco et Basso Cons., in Mélanges Paul Thomas (Bruges, 1930), 201–07 (repr. in Mélanges d’hagiographie grecque et latine [Bruxelles, 1966]). 28 J. Ruysschaert, “Les documents littéraires de la double tradition romaine des tombes apostoliques,” RHE 52 (1957): 791–831. 29 A. Maria Nieddu, La Basilica Apostolorum sulla via Appia e l'area cimiteriale circostante (Città del Vaticano, 2009), 7–9. 30 The term had been suggested to him by an interpretation of graffiti which was taken as a list of rations. For Ferrua, on the other hand, it was a list of pilgrim clerics (ICUR 5.12911). Cf. P. Styger, Il monumento apostolico della Via Appia (Diss. Pontificia Accademia di archeologia, XIII; Città del Vaticano, 1918), 3–112;

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until the beginning of the fourth century. The lack of the Constantinian monogram is a sign of its antiquity. On the triclia and upon the adjoining structures there was then built the basilica apostolorum, the great church, which from the sixth century began to be called Sanctus Sebastianus. The new construction destroyed the superior part of the triclia and rendered it unusable with the other connected structures. So, along the eastern plastered wall of the triclia around 640 graffiti were found, with invocations and prayers to the two apostles.31 Around 180 graffiti were not readable and understandable. Some hundreds were destroyed by the new construction. Some of the preserved graffiti are dated back to around the year 260. Some were written in Greek, a few in Latin – though written with Greek characters – but the great majority is in Latin (more than eighty percent). The number of the graffiti sketched in such a short time – a great number of them were lost – in around fifty years, is a sign of the large number of pilgrims who went to venerate the two apostles before there was “religious freedom.” However, most of the pilgrims perhaps did not leave signs of their visit. Origen, in fact, some decades prior, had invoked the apostles as intercessors: “supplication only to the holy ones (martyrs), if we find a Peter or a Paul who can come to our aid, making us worthy to participate in their power to forgive sins” (Or. 14.6). About ten of the graffiti recall that there had been a refrigerium celebrated. For example, in one of the graffiti this was written: Petro et Paulo Tomius Coelius refrigerium feci. Therefore, in the triclia there were funeral rites celebrated, among which was the refrigerium. The pilgrims who went there to venerate the two apostles were not all from Rome; rather, some came from far away: the graffiti in Greek were not by cultivated Roman people; those which are in Latin indicate a populace of low social status, based on the lack of the nomina gentilicia (family names). Even the words used were more popular and colloquial. Many of the graffiti were requests for the intercession of the two apostles: Petre et Paule petite pro (name) (ex. ICUR 5.12931; 12966; 12970; 12989); Petre et Paule in mente habete in orationibus vestris (ICUR 5.12912). In mente habete recurrs about sixty times. Sometimes it was a family group that made the petition (ICUR 12955; 12930) or a group of friends (13024). A voyage is mentioned, for example rogo quot bene navigent, or Naviga felix in Deo (ICUR 12911); they pray for the living and for the dead; the fulfillment of a vow is also commemorated (ICUR 12932; 12907). The name of Peter, in general, precedes that of Paul. In the graffiti that are in Greek, the opposite usually occurs. The two apostles are invoked together. Only rarely is the name of one of them invoked. Many of the graffiti make known the day of the visit, but none of them carries the date of the 29 June, the day of their feast, as it is known in the fourth century. This indicates that people went into place any 31

For the texts, cf. A. Ferrua, ICUR V, 12907–13090.

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time during the year and not only on a specific day. Even members of the clergy have left their remembrance in triclia with graffiti. There is no trace of an official ecclesial veneration or worship in the triclia. In third century this was the place of pilgrimage where the two joint apostles and martyrs were honored.32 This place of worship of the two apostles did not belong to a heretical group, but it was recognized by the hierarchy. If the people went there, we have to suppose that the Roman church was celebrating the liturgical solemnity of the joint apostles, because of what is attested by the ancient calendar of the Roman community. Why is the date 29 June and why are both of the apostles being celebrated together? Why does the celebration unite the two apostles on the same day? The fact may indicate that the celebration of their dies natalis, which is somewhat later, but connects with the idea, which is already mentioned by Gaius, that they were the founders of the Roman church. Their figures are already united in the first letter of Clement (1 Clem. 6.1). In his letter to the Romans Dionysius of Corinth also joins them: “also they taught in Italy (Rome) in the same place and suffered martyrdom at the same time” (quoted by Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 2.25.8). Eusebius takes this information and comments: “The fact that both the apostles (Peter and Paul) have suffered martyrdom at the same time (in Rome) it affirmed by Dionysius of Corinth” (Hist. eccl. 2.25.8). A competent historian like Eusebius, if he had doubts, would tell his readers. At the end of the fourth century there was one solemnity of Peter and Paul. There are ten of Augustine’s discourses which were given on this day and which are preserved. The legend was born that the two had suffered martyrdom on the very same day, even if it had occurred in different places and in different manners (one was crucified and the other, as a Roman citizen, was decapitated). This legend, subsequently, became the accepted and widespread account. Given that it was the tradition to celebrate the dies natalis of the martyrs, the joint celebration on 29 June may have provided a place for the legend of the martyrdom on that day. The feast was perhaps instituted for the ecclesiological and pastoral reasons of the Roman church. We do not have any sure attestation of their martyrdom on the same day and in the very same year. Toward the end of the second century, Dionysius of Corinth wrote that they died “on the same occasion” (Eusebius, Hist. eccl. 2.25.8). What does he mean? The same year, the same persecution? For some scholars, the common celebration on the same day arose because the two apostles suffered martyrdom at the same time. And the liturgical celebration is very old, at least since the middle of the second century and, therefore, already existing at the

32

M. Maccarone, I “limina Apostolorum,” Rivista St. della Chiesa in Italia 34 (1980): 363–429.

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time of Dionysius of Corinth.33 This thesis is a hypothetical deduction, not a demonstrable conclusion. The Catalogus Liberianus gives us the following information: passi sunt Petrus et Paulus III Kal Iulias.34 Lactantius unites the martyrdom of Peter and Paul (Mort. 2.6; Inst. 4.21). Jerome, however, writes: eodem die quo Petrus (Vir. ill. 5 [cf. Tract. Ps. 96.10]; Ambrose, Virg. 19.125; Prudentius, Perist. 12.5.21–22: Maximus of Turin, Sermones 1.2; 2.1; 9.1). The Decretum Gelasianum affirms that Paul uno eodemque die gloriosa morte cum Petro in urbe Roma sub Caesare Nerone agonizans coronatus est.35 29 June as the date of their death is also found in the Consularia Constantipolitana, in Barbarus Scaligeri36 and in the Constantinopolitan Synaxarion.37 The same is the case in the apocryphal Acts, too, as in the Acts of Peter and Paul of Pseudo-Marcellus38 and in the Passion of Peter and Paul.39 The Passion of Paul of Pseudo-Abdias places the martyrdom of Paul on 29 June, but “two years after the passion of Peter.”40 Other authors, however, date his martyrdom on the same day but in different years: “according to that which we have received from the tradition of the church, they suffered martyrdom not upon the very same day, but on the same date. Today, as the first one, Peter underwent it; today, in another year, Paul underwent it” (Augustine, Serm. 299A.1; cf. Serm. 295.7; 299B.1; 299C.1). Augustine adds to this a sharp observation: that the common date was fixed “as a sign of harmonious concord” (Serm. 381.1).41 For Delehaye 29 June is fixed only for liturgical reasons without connection with their martyrdom.42 The first testimony of the celebration as occurring on 29 June comes from the Depositio martyrum, but it is not stated that the intention was to celebrate the dies natalis of the two apostles. An old idea of Erbes, taken up again by M. Guarducci, claims a relation between the feast of Romulus (Quirinus), founder of Rome, and that of Peter and Paul, the founders of the new Rome.43 33

S. Heid in C. Gnilka, S. Heid, R. Riesner (eds.), La morte e il sepolcro di Pietro (Città del Vaticano, 2014), 208–10. 34 Mommsen (ed.), MGH, AA 9, 73. 35 A. di Berardino (ed.), I concili della chiesa antica, vol. II, Decretali, concili romani e canoni di Serdica (Roma, 2007), 232; Chronograph of 395 (by Vitalis), B. Krusch, Der 84-järige Oster-cylus (Leipzig, 1880), 228. 36 Mommsen (ed.), MGH AA 9, 220 and 283. 37 ASS, Prop. Novembris, 777. 38 The Acts of Peter and Paul by Pseudo Marcellus, trad. Erbetta, II, 198. 39 The Passion of Peter and Paul, trad. Erbetta, II, 198. 40 The Passion of Paul by Pseudo Abdias, trad. Erbetta, 301. 41 J.M. Huskinson, Concordia apostolorum, Christian propoganda at Rome in the fourth and fifth Centuries: A Study in Early Christian Iconography and Iconology (Oxford, 1982). 42 H. Delehaye, Les origines du culte des martyrs (2nd ed.; Bruxelles, 1933), 264. 43 M. Guarducci, Il culto degli apostoli Pietro e Paolo, 834–36. For other authors with the same opinion, cf. D.L. Eastman, Paul the Martyr (Atlanta: SBL, 2011), 23 n.19.

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According to a hymn that is attributed to Ambrose, but composed later in the fifth century, the veneration of the two apostles was celebrated three different ways: trinis celebratur viis – festum sanctorum martyrum (PL 17.1253). The celebration was first in the Vatican and then the Pope moved it to the Ostian Way. Since it was too tiresome, though, to have two celebrations on the same day, the memorial of Saint Paul was introduced on 30 June.44 In any case, first in the west and then also in the east, the feast was celebrated on 29 June (Consularia Constantinopolitana).45 Before such a date had enjoyed wide diffusion, in various eastern regions the feast was celebrated on 28 December and in others on 27 December.46 Gregory of Nyssa47 confirms that after Christmas various feasts were celebrated, among which was that of the Saints Peter and Paul – the two apostles always being together – on 28 December. The Calendarium Syriacum of 411 (ASS Nov. 2.1, LII-LXV), of Arian origin and composed at Nicomedia around the years 360–362 and utilized by the author of the Martyrologium Hieronymianum, relates the same date of 28 December: “In the city of Rome, Paul the Apostle and Simon Cephas.”48 At Jerusalem, even in the seventh century it was celebrated on 28 December (Sophronius, Orat. 8.6: PG 87, 3361) According to the same practice, the Armenians celebrated Peter and Paul together on 27 December, while the Nestorians honored them on the Friday after Epiphany. The Calendar of Oxyrhynchus (535–436) (P.Oxy. XI.1357; AB 42, 83–99, 85)49 brings forward the date 27 December. In the New Rome the Roman date was used (Theodorus Lector 2.16: PG 86, 189–91).

44

Delehaye, Les origines du culte des martyrs, 268. Cf. N. Nilles, Kalendarium manuale utriusque ecclesiae orientalis et occidentalis (1st vol.; Oeniponte, 1896), 192–96. 46 H. Lietzmann, Petrus und Paulus in Rom: liturgische und archäologische Studien (Bonn, 1915), 127f. 47 Gregory Nyssa, Hom. in laudem s. Stephani: PG 46.725; In laudem fratris Basilii PG 46.780. 48 G.B. de Rossi and L. Duchesne, Martyrologium Hieronymianum (ASS II.1; Bruxelles, 1894), LII. 49 H. Delehaye, L'ancienne hagiographie byzantine, les sources, les premiers modèles, la formation des genres: conférences prononcées au Collège de France en 1935 (previously unpublished texts by B. Joassart and X. Lequeux; preface by G. Dagron; Bruxelles, 1991). 45

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Conclusion A) The ancient Roman church did not celebrate any dies natalis of martyrs prior to the third century,50 not even of the well-known Justin, killed along with other Christians between 163 and 167, and the Roman Bishop Telesphorus, who, according to Irenaeus, died gloriously as a martyr (Haer. 3.3.3) around 137. The cultus of the martyrs, having already spread elsewhere, took root later in Rome. The first witness of the annual veneration of the martyrs, on the day of their death, comes from the Martyrdom of Polycarp (18.3).51 Since it does not suggest it was a novelty, we may think that in the province of Asia it was already normal around 160 – or earlier – not only in Smyrna, but also in other cities.52 The African church had many martyrs, and many were receiving veneration. Rome is the city that has had more martyrs, both by number and by name. The worship here started after it had developed in Africa, perhaps under the influence of African Christians? The two churches had many ties.53 In Carthage the celebration of the Eucharist in connection with the martyrs was typical already in the year 250. Cyprian, remembering the martyrs, who were relatives of the confessor Celerinus, states: Sacrificia pro eis semper, ut meministis, offerimus, quities martyrum passiones et dies anniversaria commememoratione celebramus (Ep. 39.3: CSEL 3.2.583). S. Heid recently proposed to anticipate the cult of the martyrs in Rome, at least at the beginning of the second century, or earlier in the first.54 The first Roman martyrs in the Depositio are the Bishops Callistus († 222) and Pontian with Hippolytus; these two died after the year 235.55 It is possible that in this devotional movement toward one’s own martyrs, the cultus that was already spreading in other places, in Rome was foreseen to attribute a unique veneration to the “founders” of the Roman church, the two apostles par excellence. They were celebrated together, on the same day and in the same place. It was not possible to carry out cultic acts in the place close to their tropaea, in as much as they were located within pagan cemeteries. So, then, a Christian cemetery was preferred, that ad Catacumbas. The consular year dated 258 may indicate the institution of the feast. This affirmation, however, is only a hypothesis. We do not have any witnesses of the beginning of the cult of martyrs in Rome and also of that of the two great apostles. 50

V. Saxer, Pères saints et culte chrétien dans l’Église des premiers siècles (Aldershot, 1994), n.XII, pp. 9ff. 51 R.M. Price, Martyrdom and the Cults of the Saints, in S. Ashbrook Harvey and D.G. Hunter (eds.), Early Christians Studies, 810. 52 C. Gnilka, S. Heid, R. Riesner (eds.), La morte e il sepolcro di Pietro, 141f. 53 Delehaye, Les origines du culte des martyrs, 260ff. 54 S. Heid in La morte e il sepolcro di Pietro, 146ff.; 174–79 55 Delehaye, Les origines du culte, 262f.

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B) The truly surprising thing is that all the ancient Christian communities, in the east and the west – even if they celebrated the two apostles on different days, 29 June or 28 December – always placed the two together. They were not feasted separately; they were jointly celebrated in the cultus. We do not have a sure explanation of why those two dates were chosen. Rome reserved a particular day, 22 February, for Peter with the indication VIII Kal. Mart. Natale cathedra Petri. This celebration is a strong sign of the importance of Peter and of the Roman See. The place of the celebration was not indicated. It coincided with the pagan feast of the family (caristia, cara cognatio). C) In invocations and calendars the two apostles’ names were associated: in the west, Peter’s name normally came first; in the east, Paul’s name usually came first and then Peter’s. Why was there the connection that adjoined only these two names? The Depositio martyrum gives III kal iulias. Petri in catacumbas et Pauli Ostense. Yet, as we have mentioned above, for the year 258 the notice is brought together in this manner: III kal iulias. Petri [et Pauli] in catacumbas et Pauli Ostense. This is how the information is given and worded in the Martyrologium Hieronymianum (AAS Nov. II.2, 342, with bibliography, and 343). The graffiti attest to a joint veneration in the triclia, and the inscription by Damasus confirms the tradition of a joint cultus. From another perspective, it is thought that in the year 336 Paul’s memory was celebrated on the Ostian Way, for the small church had by then been finished, while Peter was still venerated ad Catacumbas because the great basilica had yet to become accessible.56 This, too, however, is only a hypothesis. D) The Constantinian church, built on top of the triclia, was called Basilica Apostolorum, as the continuation of the worship of the apostles in the spot. Because the official celebration of 29 June was held in the church of Saint Peter and in the church of Saint Paul extra muros, the veneration of the martyr Saint Sebastian, who was buried there, increased and the name of the church was changed to Saint Sebastian. The ancient apostolic memory remained in the Middle Ages and pilgrims still went there, as attested by the Notitia Urbis Romae ecclesiarum (early twelth century): Postea pervenies via Appia ad sanctum Sebastianum martirem, cuius corpus iacet in inferiore loco, et ibi sunt sepulcra apostolorum Petri et Pauli, in quibus XL annorum requiescebant…57 Eusebius of Caesarea, around the year 333, writes that people from all over the Roman Empire go to the glorious tomb of Peter and of Paul, with great and intense reverence.58

56

Griffe, Les persécutions, 153. R. Valentini and G. Zucchetti, Codice Topografico della città di Roma II (Roma, 1942), 85. 58 Quoted by E. Josi, La venerazione di Pietro e Paolo, 156, n.28; G. Bardy, “Pèlerinages à Rome vers la fin du IVe siècle,” AB 67 (1949): 224–35. 57

The Death of Paul in the Year 58: A Hypothesis and Its Consequences for His Biography Romano Penna

In 1961, an international conference on Pauline studies took place in Rome. Through the initiative of the Abbot of the Monastery of St. Paul Outside the Walls, where the tomb of the apostle is preserved, the meeting was held at the Pontifical Biblical Institute. It took place during the year that was believed to be the nineteenth centenary of Paul’s arrival in the capital of the Roman Empire, that is, precisely – as it was then thought – in the year 61 of the first century.1 Yet it is strange to observe that the two volumes of the proceedings of that conference contain the texts of about a hundred articles in various languages, but none of these deal with a critical check of the chronology of that dating.2 Evidently, the year 61 had become so traditional that no debate was needed, and it is still preferred by the majority of Pauline scholars, within the range of one year.3

1 The conference papers were published in two volumes: Studiorum Paulinorum Congressus Internationalis Catholicus 1961: simul Secundus Congressus Internationalis Catholicus de Re Biblica: completo undevicesimo saeculo post S. Pauli in urbem adventum, I-II (Rome, 1963). For more information about the event, see the comment by C.M. Martini, “Il Congresso Internazionale Cattolico di Studi Paolini (Roma 1961),” RivB 10 (1962): 215–17. 2 In fact, the various papers on the Pauline letters are all exegetical and theological in nature. The only partial exception is the study by E. Dabrowski, “Le prétendu procès romain de S. Paul d’après les recherches recentes,” 197–205, who sustains the thesis that Paul was not put on trial in Rome, since he was released from his imprisonment at the end of two years of useless waiting. 3 Not only Dabrowski calculated en passant that Paul’s journey from Cesarea Maritima to Rome was completed between August of 60 and March of 61 (cf. “Le prétendu procès romain de S. Paul,” 202), but more recently many authors also suppose that Paul’s arrival in Rome took place in the years 60–61. Cf. J.A. Fitzmyer, The Acts of the Apostles (New York: Doubleday, 1998), 141; J. Zmijewski, Atti degli Apostoli (Brescia, 2006), 1198 (“death in Rome between 63 and 68”); J.D.G. Dunn, Beginning from Jerusalem (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2009), 512; and especially R. Riesner, “Pauline Chronology,” in S. Westerholm (ed.), The Blackwell Companion to Paul (Oxford: Blackwell, 2011), 9– 20.

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Nevertheless, the debate about the last years of St. Paul’s life, and not only those, has generated some controversy for a while now. As an extreme example, we can think about Joachim Gnilka’s book on the figure of Paul. It calculates the apostle’s death, without even discussing the various aspects of the matter, as early as the year 56.4 Far too soon! But on this subject the honest statement made by Richard Pervo in his commentary on Acts applies in general: “The data are uncertain, ambiguous, and inconsistent…Precision in Pauline Chronology is not possible, despite patient and devoted efforts.”5 Even if we concede that such a declaration is slightly pessimistic, in any case, the field remains open to other hypotheses that would have to be at least minimally sound, that is, not without a certain and necessary logic. What is certain is that the problem concerning the dating of the year of Paul’s death calls into question a series of other data, which are in turn debated but also inevitably interwoven among themselves. Essentially, it concerns the following data: the date of the change of the Roman procurator in Palestine, with the transfer of power from Antonius Felix (under whom Paul’s arrest in Jerusalem takes place: cf. Acts 21.33) to Porcius Festus (under whom Paul appeals to Caesar and by whom he is sent to Rome: cf. Acts 25.12)6; the year of Paul’s arrival in Rome as a prisoner (cf. Acts 28.16); the final year of the biennium of his Roman imprisonment (cf. Acts 28.30); the outcome of this biennium with a sentence that either acquits or condemns Paul (given that Acts has nothing to say on the matter); the possible trip to Spain (desired personally by Paul himself in Rom 15.24, 28); a possible return to the area around the Aegean Sea with Paul’s related activity (apparently supposed by the so-called Pastoral Letters); a possible second arrest with a second trial; his death sentence and his execution (including his burial). In the following pages, it will obviously not be possible to discuss all the details of the various aspects of the question. Nevertheless, as we go along, it will be necessary to take a stand on these matters in as much as they concern the treatment of our theme.

4 Cf. J. Gnilka, Paulus von Tarsus, Apostel und Zeuge (Freiburg: Herder, 1996). According to this author, the procurator Festus had Paul transported to Rome in the year 54/55, and “there, after a long journey by ship, he could have been put to death in the year 56…in his mid-fifties” (313: “Dort könnte er nach einer langen Schiffsreise im Jahr 56 hingerichtet worden sein…in der Mitte der fünfziger Jahre seines Lebens”). The same date, i.e., the year 56, is repeated by the same author in a later work: cf. J. Gnilka, Petrus und Rom. Das Petrusbild in den ersten zwei Jahrhunderten (Freiburg: Herder, 2002), 121. 5 R.I. Pervo, Acts. A Commentary (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2009), 608. 6 All the relevant events and individuals are recorded in the two chapters of Acts 24– 25.

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The hypothesis of Paul’s death in the year 58 has its starting point in, and supports, two assertions by St. Jerome as presented in his famous work, De viris illustribus (finished in 393): one, in chapter 5, is dedicated to the figure of Paul, and the other, in chapter 7, is dedicated instead to the figure of Luke.7 I would like to point out that I do not intend to defend St. Jerome, as, with regard to the second text, I will distance myself from what it assumes. Rather, I would like to seize the timeliness of his witness, which is rather interesting, in order to discuss the problem of the date of Paul’s death. Hence, my exposition will proceed in three stages. First, I will examine the substance of St. Jerome’s view concerning the year of Paul’s arrival in Rome. Second, I will consider Jerome’s information concerning the year in which Luke reaches the end of his account in Acts. Third, in light of the choices made, I will evaluate the consequences that derive from them, consequences that concern Paul’s biography and the composition of those letters that bear the apostle’s name.

*** The first step to take concerns determining the year of Paul’s arrival in Rome. St. Jerome’s text has this to say on the matter: Quia in Actis Apostolorum plenissime de eius conversatione scriptum est, hoc tantum dicam quod post passionem Domini vicesimo quinto anno, id est secundo Neronis, eo tempore quo Festus procurator Iudaeae successit Felici, Romam vinctus mittitur (v. 5). Translation: Since in the Acts of the Apostles there is much written about his life, I would only like to say that [Paul] is sent as a prisoner to Rome in the twenty-fifth year after the Lord’s passion, i.e., in the second year of Nero’s reign, at the time when Festus succeeded Felix as Procurator of Judea.

As can be seen, the calculation of Paul’s transfer to Rome as a prisoner, according to Jerome, makes reference to two different but rather precise events, otherwise distant in time but with a contemporary recurrence of their anniversary: the passion (including the death) of Jesus Christ and the year of the beginning of Nero’s installation as emperor. To this double recurrence is connected both the change of procurators in Judea from Felix to Festus as well as Paul’s transfer to Rome as a prisoner: both facts converge in the year that elapses between 55 and 56 in the first century CE.

7 It is certainly not easy to identify in detail the sources that Jerome drew from for his information concerning the chronological nature of the events of St. Paul’s life. Moreover, the same problem holds true for the case of Eusebius of Caesarea’s Historia ecclesiastica. Methodologically speaking, we are sticking to the respective texts just as they stand.

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The more precise dating of both events is that which concerns the second year of Nero’s reign. We know from Roman historians8 that Nero was acclaimed as emperor after the death of his predecessor Claudius on 13 October of the year 54. Thus, Nero’s second year is that which runs from 13 October of 55 to 12 October of 56. In all probability, that was also the year in which Nero changed the procurator of Judea, substituting Felix, after he had spent two to three years in his post, with the procurator Festus: “After two years had passed (διετίας δὲ πληρωθείσης), Felix had as his successor (διάδοχον) Porcius Festus” (Acts 24.27), i.e., when both years had ended and so it took place during the third year. Felix’s removal happened because Pallas, a former slave who had become minister of Finances (a rationibus) under Claudius, and who was also a brother of Felix, fell into disgrace with Nero. The emperor gradually but firmly removed him from his office with a process that ended up also involving Felix.9 Felix, who was also a former slave of Antonia, the Emperor Claudius’ mother (Claudius had entrusted him with “the province of Judea”), had become very unpopular with the Jews because, as Tacitus affirms, “he exercised the power of a king with the spirit of a slave, committing every unlawful act and every kind of cruelty.”10 As Jerome writes, the same year essentially corresponds to the 25th year after Jesus’ passion and death in Jerusalem. It is likely that Jesus’ death took place during Passover in the year 30.11 Obviously 8

The calculation of the start of Emperor Nero’s reign is connected to the day of the poisoning and death of his predecessor, Claudius: cf. Tacitus, Ann. XII.69.1 (tertium ante Idus Octobris); Suetonius, Claud. 45 (excessit III id. Octob.); Dio Cassius, Hist. LXI, 34, 3 (τῇ τριτῇ καὶ δεκάτῃ τοῦ Οκτωβρίου). See also Josephus, B.J. IV.9.2 (= § 491: “Nero was killed after a reign of thirteen years, eight months and eight days”). 9 Cf. the detailed and precise discussion of the case in G. Rinaldi, “Procurator Felix. Note prosopografiche in margine ad una lettura di At 24,” RivB 29 (1991): 423–65. That the “biennium” corresponded not to Paul’s captivity but to Felix’s office as procurator is also sustained by H. Omerzu, “The Probability of a Pauline Travel to Spain in Light of the Roman Law,” in J.M. Gavaldà et al [eds.], Pau, Fructuós i el cristianisme primitiu a Tarragona (segles I-VIII). Actes del Congrés de Tarragona (19–21 de juny de 2008) (Tarragona: FPL/INSAF, 2010), 113–31, here 119. In addition, see the commentaries by E. Haenchen, Die Apostelgeschichte (Göttingen: Vandenhoek & Ruprecht, 1965), 60–64 (64: the dates of the last years of Paul’s life are presented thus: “Frühjahr 56 Ankunft in Rom. Ende der Apg: 58”); C.K. Barrett, The Acts of the Apostles, II (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1998), 117–18. In addition, for the same meaning, cf. also A. Suhl, Paulus und seine Briefe. Ein Beitrag zur paulinischen Chronologie (Gütersloh: Gütersloher, 1975), 333–45; G. Rossé, Atti degli Apostoli (Rome, 1998), 806; and S. Docks, Chronologies néotestamentaires et vie de l’église primitive (Paris, 1976), 85–87. 10 Tacitus, Hist. V.9.3: Per omnem saevitiam ac libidinem ius regium servili ingenio exercuit; cf. also Ann. XII.54. 11 Cf. J. Jeremias, Le parole dell’ultima cena (Brescia, 1973), 37–43; J.P. Meier, Un ebreo marginale. Ripensare il Gesù storico, I (Brescia, 2001), 402–05; J.D.G. Dunn, Gli albori del cristianesimo, I/1 (Brescia, 2006), 329 (with other bibliography).

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this date implies that the Pentecost mentioned in Acts 20.16 (where it is pointed out that in his journey to Jerusalem Paul had decided not to stop in Ephesus because “he was hurrying to be in Jerusalem, if possible, on the day of Pentecost”) is to be connected to the events narrated later that led to his arrest (cf. Acts 21.15–33). We can identify this occurrence of the feast with Pentecost in the year 55. Hence, the hypothesis that follows from this: the mention of the biennium in Acts 24.27 does not refer to Paul’s stay as a prisoner in Caesarea Maritima (where he was transferred to from Jerusalem: cf. Acts 25.6), but rather to the two-year period of Felix’s procuratorate. As Charles K. Barrett notes, with good reason, a propos of the genitive absolute διετίας πληρωθείσης, “grammatically it is at least as likely that it refers to Felix’s governorship as that it refers to Paul’s imprisonment, and though it is correct, as Haenchen observes, that Luke’s overall interest is in Paul, at this point he is speaking of the procuratorial succession…The case is further strengthened by the fact that dietía represents the Latin biennium (BDR § 5.3; cf. Acts 28.30) and that biennium is sometimes (by no means always) used for the a two-year period of office (e.g. Cicero, In Verrem 2.3.93, Biennium provinciam obtinuit; Suetonius, Galba 7, Africam proconsul biennium obtinuit).”12 Felix, from what emerges from the sources, took up his office as procurator in the year 52, as we can deduce from Josephus (cf. A.J. 20.137–38).13 Thus, it is a matter of interpreting the speech that Paul addresses to him in Acts 24.10 when he says, “for many years (ἐκ πολλῶν ἐτῶν) you have been a judge over this nation.” These “many years,” however, are normally understood to be the conventional exaggeration of a captatio benevolentiae,14 unless we suppose that Paul is referring to a preceding stay on the part of Felix as acting governor of Samaria.15 12 Barrett, Acts of the Apostles, 1118. In addition, also see Rinaldi, “Procurator Felix,” 452–58. 13 Josephus actually writes that Antonius Felix succeeded the procurator Ventidius Cumanus, sent into exile by the Emperor Claudius (after a series of violent acts he committed, which are narrated in A.J. XX.105–36), precisely in the year 52/53: “Claudius then sent Felix, the brother of Pallas, to preside over the affairs of Judea, at the end of the twelfth year of his reign” (Claudius had ascended to the throne after Caligula’s assassination on 24 January in the year 41, thus the twelfth year was the one between 24 January 52 and 23 January 53)” (cf. E. Mary Smallwood, The Jews under Roman Rule from Pompey to Diocletian [Leiden: Brill, 1981], 268 n.37); also see Josephus, B.J. II.247. Of another kind is the news that Josephus gives us in his autobiography: at the age of 26 he went to Rome to defend some priest “sent in chains by Felix, at the time when he was procurator of Judea, for a weak and insignificant reason…to give an account to Caesar” (Vita 13); Josephus, born in the first year of Caligula’s reign (cf. Vita 5 = year 37–38), must have gone to Rome in the year 63–64 when Felix was certainly no longer in office. 14 For example, in his letter sent to the Alexandrians in the year 41 (the first year of his reign as emperor), Claudius writes paradoxically that he knows ἐκ πολλ ῶν χρόνων (lit. “for many times”) their benevolent sentiments towards him (cf. P. Lond. 1912, col.

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The dating of the change of procurators in the year 55 has been disputed by some authors16 on the basis of coinage found in Judea, which was more abundant than usual, and dating to the fifth year of Nero’s reign, that is, the year 59.17 Since Judea’s preceding monetary mintings date back to the years 53 and 54 (and as a result can certainly be attributed to Felix’s procuratorate), it is believed that the minting of coins in 59 is evidence that, precisely in that year, a new procurator was installed, proven precisely by a more abundant monetary output. But some objections can be raised against this argument: aside from the fact that these coins carry only the name of the emperor at that moment and not that of the procurator, Arie Kindler observes that “unfortunately, uncertainty continues in this matter and the date of Paul’s transfer to Rome remains obscure as well as to whether this coin-type should be attributed to Antonius Felix or to Porcius Festus.”18 In fact, the idea of availing oneself of these mintings to fix the year of the succession from Festus to Felix “in reality is a fragile reasoning in that it presupposes that the custom of minting coins on the part of procurators precisely in the first year of their mandate had become established in Judea. However, the coins of Nero’s fifth year, if they must be attributed to Festus, as it seems, can at most be considered a terminus ante quem for the date of the start of Festus’ taking office and, therefore, Felix’s removal.”19 At any rate, the hypothesis that the succession of procurators from Antonius Felix to Porcius Festus occurred in the year 55 still stands. II). Cf. also H. Conzelmann, Die Apostelgeschichte (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1963), 132; E. Haenchen, Die Apostelgeschichte (Göttingen: Vandenhoek & Ruprecht, 1965), 581; R. Pesch, Die Apostelgeschichte (Apg 13-28) (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener, 1986), 257; G. Rossé, Atti degli Apostoli (Rome, 1998), 801; Pervo, Acts, 598. 15 Cf. Smallwood, The Jews under Roman Rule, 266ff., who refers to Tacitus, Ann. XII.54.1: Felix…iam pridem Iudaeae impositus (i.e., before 52 when his brother Pallas obtained from Claudius the Pretorian insignia: Ann. 53.2). 16 Cf. especially R. Riesner, Die Frühzeit des Apostels Paulus. Studien zur Chronolgie, Missionsstrategie und Theologie (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1994), 200; Riesner, “Pauline Chronology,”16. 17 For more on this topic, cf. especially the documentation put forward by A. Kindler, “A Re-Assessment of the Dates of Some Coins of the Roman Procurators of Judaea,” Israel Numismatic Journal 5 (1981): 19–21. 18 Kindler, “Re-Assessment,” 21. This prudence is distinguished from the opposite position of S. Safrai and M. Stern (eds.), The Jewish People in the First Century, I, (Assen: Van Gorcum, 1974), 74–77; Smallwood, The Jews under Roman Rule, 269 n.40; B. Witherington III, The Acts of the Apostles. A Socio-Rhetorical Commentary (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998), 716; Riesner, as cited above (footnote 16). 19 Rinaldi, “Procurator Felix,” 456. The author reminds us about the fact that “Pilate, who took up office in the year 26, begin his first minting in the year 29/30 A.D. In reality the issuing of money in Judea at the time of the procurators did not respect any regular interval; rather, it took place when it was necessary to have sufficient ready money in circulation” (“Procurator Felix,” 456 n.133, with reference to U. Rappaport, “Numismatics,” in The Cambridge History of Judaism, I [Cambridge: CUP, 1984], 43).

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Hence, that had to have been the year of Paul’s transfer from Caesarea Maritima to Rome. His embarkation happened precisely in that year and before winter, as we read in Acts 27.12 regarding the port of Kaliliméni in Crete, where Paul’s ship had arrived after the Jewish feast of Kippûr (the 10th day of the month of Tishri, i.e., towards the beginning of October): “the harbor was not suitable for spending the winter.” As a rule, embarkations had to take place before 11 November, since after that date navigation was prohibited, and on this subject people would speak about mare clausum, “the closed sea,” that is, navigation was advised against.20 That Paul’s journey was interrupted by winter emerges from the fact that his ship, after having left Crete in search of a more secure port, landed at Malta after a turbulent storm. From there he left only after a three month wait (cf. Acts 28.11: µετὰ τρεῖς µῆνας), corresponding exactly to the winter of the years 55 and 56. In fact, after these three months, the ship set sail again and, by way of Syracuse and Rhegium, reached the port of Puteoli,21 from where Paul finally reached Rome.

*** The second step to take concerns the year of the end of Paul’s imprisonment in Rome with that which eventually follows. Now then, on another page of the same work De viris illustribus, with regard to Luke’s second book and his whole narrative, St. Jerome writes the following: Aliud quoque edidit volumen egregium quod titulo Apostolorum práxeōn praenotatur, cuius historia usque ad biennium Romae commorantis Pauli pervenit, id est usque ad quartum Neronis annum (VII.2). He also published an excellent book that bears the title the Acts of the Apostles, whose account arrives at (the end of) the biennium of Paul’s stay in Rome, i.e. until Nero’s fourth year.

Here Jerome intends the “entire biennium” διετία ὅλη, which we read about in Acts 28.30, as a clear continuation of the preceding information concerning “Nero’s second year,” so that, according to Jerome, Luke finishes his biographical account “in Nero’s fourth year.” Then this fourth year corresponds 20

Cf. D.W.J. Gill and C. Gempf (eds.), The Book of Acts in Its First Century Setting, Vol. 2. Graeco-Roman Setting (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1994), 22ff. (with bibliography and quotations of ancient writers; cf. Vegetius, de Re Milit. IV.39; Pliny, Nat. II.47). A recent dissertation holds, however, that ancient ships and their construction, together with the ability of Greco-Roman sailors during navigation, allowed a considerable number of vessels to travel even during the traditional period that was considered mare clausum (thus J. Beresford, The Ancient Sailing Season [Leiden: Brill, 2013]). 21 For further information on Puteoli, cf. G. Di Palma, “L’approdo di Paolo a Pozzuoli,” in G. Iaia (ed.), L’ultimo viaggio di Paolo (Bern, 2013), 139–65; R. Penna, “La presenza degli ebrei a Pozzuoli e a Roma,” in L’ultimo viaggio, 433–60.

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exactly to the time that elapses from 13 October of 57 to 12 October of 58. Therefore, it is absolutely clear that, according to Jerome, Luke’s Acts concludes the narration of Paul’s biography exactly in the year 58. At this point, we must ask a question that necessarily follows: is the year 58 only the year of the ending of Luke’s narrative undertaking, an ending that remains silent about the apostle’s other exploits, or is this really the last year of Paul’s life? The answer must be considered carefully. There is no doubt that, according to Jerome and most of the tradition, Paul’s stay in Rome is only temporary and provisory, because it is understood that at the end of the biennium of his military custody he was set free. On the basis of the hypothesis of an acquittal, the reconstruction of the succeeding events is calculated by having recourse to other hypotheses in this way: Paul would have gone to Spain (fulfilling his wish as expressed in Rom 15.24, 28), then he would have returned again to the area of the Aegean Sea (as the Pastoral Letters would later give witness) and, after these events, a second arrest would have taken place along with a new journey to Rome and a second trial, which would have come to an end with his death by decapitation. Eusebius of Caesarea writes that “Paul’s martyrdom did not take place during the stay in Rome described by Luke.”22 Like Eusebius, Jerome also sets the date of Paul’s death quarto decimo Neronis anno (Vir. ill. V.8), that is, in 67 (in Vir. ill. XII.3 he further explains in more detail: “two years after the death of Seneca”), thus believing that Paul’s trial in the year 58 concluded with his release. Traditionally, in fact, scholars generally put the year of the apostle’s death somewhere between 61 and 67. More precisely, his death is normally dated in the year between 64 and 65, following the fire that broke out in the capital during the night of 18 July 64. After this event, the Christians of the city were accused of being responsible for the disaster, along with their consequent condemnation and execution, as narrated by Tacitus.23 My hypothesis is that the year 58, in which Jerome closes the Lucan text of Acts, is also the last year of Paul’s life.24 Thus I believe that, if Luke ends his account in the year 58, the reason lies in the fact that he has nothing more 22 Eusebius, Hist. eccl. II.22.7. But this is said, unlike Jerome, without any chronological precision (only in Chron. 2 does Eusebius date his martyrdom “in the fourteenth year of Nero’s reign,” i.e., in 67–68). 23 The basic text on the fire of Rome is Tacitus, Ann. XV.41.2 (who dates it XIIII Kalendas Sextiles = 18 July) and Suetonius, Ner. 38, while the account of the Christians’ death on that occasion is found in Tacitus, Ann. XV.44.2–5. See the discussion concerning it in J. Gnilka, Pietro e Roma (Brescia, 2003), 111–14. Cf. also Witherington, Acts of the Apostles, 815; J. Murphy-O’Connor, Vita di Paolo (Brescia, 2003), 410–13; Dunn, Beginning from Jerusalem, 1052–57. 24 The same proposal had already been put forward some years ago by G. Barbaglio, Paolo di Tarso e le origini cristiane (Assisi, 1985), 174, but only as a brief mention and without any discussion.

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to recount concerning Paul’s apostolic commitment.25 But if Luke does not recount Paul’s death, this omission can be explained on the basis of diverse historical and rhetorical reasons, as various commentators point out. The historical reasons for the omission can be reduced to the following four: (1) Luke intended to write a third book, in which he would have recounted the succeeding events, including Paul’s death.26 However, as Ben Witherington correctly observes, “this theory depends on the sense of incompleteness (and dissatisfaction) that the modern reader perceives after reading Acts 28:30-31.”27 In fact, much depends on what type of literary genre one attributes to Luke’s work: the dissatisfaction would make sense if we understood Luke’s Acts as a biography of Paul; but the Acts only intends “to give an account of the dawning and spread of the gospel and the social and religious movement to which the gospel gave rise.”28 (2) A second explanation consists in believing that Luke did not intend to put the Roman authorities in a bad light, wishing instead to reassure them by suggesting that, in spite of Paul’s sentence, there is nothing subversive in Christianity.29 But to have achieved this aim it would not have been necessary to be silent about Paul’s death; in fact, the whole book was built on the idea of the universalism of the Christian faith, devoid of political intentions; in addition, it was written for members of that faith and not for outsiders. (3) A third reason could be a decision not to create further difficulties for the church of Rome, not in a political sense, but rather not to stir up “envy and jealousy,” of which 1 Clem. 3.2; 4.1; 5.2 speaks repeatedly (“For envy and jealousy [διὰ ζῆλον καὶ φθόνον ] those who were the most solid and holy columns of the church were persecuted and fought until death”); 6.3 (“jealousy and discord overwhelm great cities and destroy great nations”), understood as internal controversies characteristic of 25 An absolutely open conclusion, however, is the one held by G. Stählin, Gli Atti degli Apostoli (Brescia, 1973), 576: “The end of the book does not authorize any conclusion either about how things happened or about Luke’s eventual intention to write a sequel. It is possible to put forward reasons in the same way to sustain either that Paul’s trial concluded shortly afterwards with his martyrdom or that he was set free and was able to set out again on the world’s highways and byways and carry out his mission.” 26 So it was thought, especially in the past: cf. W.M. Ramsay, St. Paul the Traveller and the Roman Citizen (London: Hodder & Stoughton, 1895), 345ff.; T. Zahn, “Das dritte Buch des Lukas,” NKZ 28 (1917): 373–95. Variations of this theory have been that Luke died before concluding his work, or that Acts was composed before the end of the trial, or that the trial was suspended because the accusers did not show up, or that the real account of his martyrdom was deleted in a subsequent redaction (cf. the information of Schneider, Gli Atti degli Apostoli, II, 545–46). 27 Witherington, Acts of the Apostles, 808. 28 Witherington, Acts of the Apostles, 809. 29 Thus J. Roloff, Die Apostelgeschichte (Göttingen: Vandenhoek & Ruprecht, 1981), 372; H.W. Tajra, The Martyrdom of St Paul: Historical and Judicial Context, Traditions, and Legends (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1994), 36ff.

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that church.30 The First Letter of Clement, in fact, considers Paul’s safekeeping (also that of Peter, mentioned together immediately afterwards in the quoted text) on the part of his Christian companions in Rome, or better, on the part of the Jewish Christians of that community.31 Jürgen Roloff, assuming that this letter was composed in Rome, connects this intention with “the selfish ambition” mentioned in Phil 1.17. But many weighty objections can be put forward against this hypothesis, including the one concerning its dating.32 (4) Finally, one could also think that Luke did not intend to obscure Jesus’ death (with which he had already finished his first book) by means of the description of another death, one that could have appeared as a kind of competitor. This is certainly an interesting reason, one to take into serious consideration. In fact, besides the account of Stephen’s stoning (in Acts 7–8) and the brief mention of the killing of James, the brother of John (Acts 12.1–2) – events moreover that were due to the intervention of the Jewish authorities – Luke is also completely silent about Peter’s death. After having said that, following his prodigious release from prison, Peter “left and went to another place” (Acts 12.17), Luke has absolutely nothing more to recount.33 The great interest that Luke shows in Paul can most probably be explained by the fact that Paul, unlike Peter, was truly an apostle who was universal in scope. Luke was not interested in any primacy other than the one concerning the preaching of the gospel. In addition to these historical reasons, there are also rhetorical-formal reasons that can be summarized in these terms. (1) According to Rudolph Pesch, Luke puts into action an “art of omission” (“die Kunst der Auslassung”), as also happens in the case of Peter,34 and this would be motivated by the fact that the true theme of Luke’s book is the spreading of the witness of the gospel from Jerusalem to Rome. (2) In turn, Daniel Marguerat speaks about “une 30

“Luke may well have thought that this brief concluding note would do better than a description of what happened when the two years of sustained evangelism ended in undiscreditable failure on the part of Roman Christians” (Barrett, Acts of the Apostles, II, 1250). Cf. also Roloff, Die Apostelgeschichte, 372; and R.E. Brown and J.P. Meier, Antioch and Rome, New Testament Cradles of Catholic Christianity (Mahwah: Paulist, 1983), 124. 31 Moreover, there is a similar example in the case of the removal of the presbyters of the Corinthian church in the context of internal quarrels, which are branded by Clement as something “shameful, too shameful and unworthy of Christian life” (1 Clem. 47.6: αἰσχρὰ...καὶ λίαν αἰσχρὰ, καὶ ἀνάξια τῆς ἐν Χριστῷ ἀγωγῆς). 32 With regards to this point, cf. J. Gnilka, La lettera ai Filippesi (Brescia, 1972), 64ff. 33 His reappearance at the so-called Council of Jerusalem (Acts 15.7, 13) is very fleeting and is not supported by any further narrative details about him. 34 Pesch, Die Apostelgeschichte (Apg 13–28), 313. We can also add the case of James, the Lord’s brother, put to death in the year 62 (cf. Josephus, A.J. XX.200–01): an event, therefore, that Luke certainly knew about but one which he totally ignores.

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rhétorique du silence,” equivalent to a narrative suspension, as happens in other works from antiquity.35 In short, it concerns an open conclusion, that is, one that is open to the church’s present and to the readers of Luke’s book, those who continue its plot in their own lives. (3) Therefore, the simplest reason that could explain Luke’s silence is that, with Paul’s preaching in Rome, and most especially with his meeting with the Jewish leaders of the city, Luke had reached the completion of his initial intention, which was formulated by Jesus in Acts 1.8, so that by now the gospel has reached “the ends of the earth” (ἕως ἐσχάτου τῆς γῆς ).36 This expression, although it is found in Isa 48.20 and 49.6 LXX in a universal sense,37 could even be considered as a reference to Rome. In fact, in the Jewish apocryphal work Psalms of Solomon 8.15, from the first century BCE, there is an allusion to Pompey who, in 63 BCE, had reached Jerusalem, arriving exactly “from the ends of the earth” (ἀπ᾽ ἐσχάτου τῆς γῆς, i.e. from Rome). Moreover, although he does not close his narrative with the execution of Paul, Luke knows well (and certainly so did his readers) that the apostle’s fate was sealed and that his death would occur in a dramatic way. In fact, Luke had already previously pointed it out with sufficient clarity in Paul’s discourse to the leaders of the church of Ephesus, who had come to Miletus to meet him during his last journey towards Jerusalem. There Paul had expressed himself in these terms: “‘I know that the Holy Spirit testifies to me in every city that imprisonment and persecutions are waiting for me’…There was much weeping among them all; they embraced Paul and kissed him, grieving especially 35

D. Marguerat, La première histoire du christianisme. Les Actes des Apôtres (Paris, 1999), 308–15. He puts forward as examples both Homer’s poem the Odyssey, in which Tiresias prophecies to Ulysses that the latter would have to depart again from Ithaca on a new journey (cf. Od. 11.119–37) without this being narrated later on, as well as Virgil’s poem the Aeneid, which foresees a marriage between Aeneas and princess Lavinia as a sign of peace between the Latins and the foundation of a new race with the foundation of Rome (cf. Aen. 12.808–40), without this marriage being recounted later on. The author continues with a whole series of other examples deduced from various writers (PseudoLonginus, Quintilian, Lucian of Samosata, Diogenes of Halicarnassus) to say that the reader has to realize the effect of the ending in as much as he attempts to end the story in accordance with its plot. Cf. in a similar way also Pervo, Acts, 688–90. 36 G. Bornkamm, Paulus (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1969), 118; Schneider, Gli Atti degli Apostoli, 548; Fitzmyer, Acts of the Apostles, 791. In the conclusion of Acts, as in the entire book, it can even be said that it is not the person of Paul, but rather the Gospel message, that has now reached its narrative peak (cf. J. Dupont, “La conclusion des Actes et son rapport à l’ensemble de l’ouvrage de Luc,” in J. Kremer [ed.], Les Actes des Apôtres. Traditions, rédaction, théologie [Gembloux-Lôwen, 1979], 359–404, especially 372–76). 37 There it is a question, respectively, of the Servant of YHWH (“I will make you a light for the nations, in order that you may bring salvation to the ends of the earth”) and of the announcement of the end of the Babylonian exile (“Announce it with voices of joy, spread the news, make it reach the ends of the earth”).

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because of what he had said, that they would not see his face again” (Acts 20.23, 37–38: οὐκέτι µέλλουσιν τὸ πρόσωπον αὐτοῦ θεωρεῖν). That could not be other than “a final parting,”38 that is, a goodbye between persons who would not see one another again. On the other hand, it is necessary to note that, objectively speaking, no ancient source ever connects Paul’s death with Rome’s disastrous fire nor with the dramatic fate that befell the Roman Christians following that event. Paradoxically, we owe only to pagan writers, and practically to Tacitus alone (cf. above: footnote 23), not only the news about the fire, but also the news about how the Roman Christians went to their deaths. Tacitus, however, does not give a specific name of any Christian in particular. But the curious and intriguing fact is that not even an ancient Christian writer ever mentions Paul (or, for that matter, not even Peter) as a victim of the measures taken by Nero following that conflagration so as to make some scapegoat pay the price for the disaster.39 Thus, the separation of the two events (the fire with the persecution of the Christians, and the apostle’s death) is characteristic of the sources that we possess, as it is recognized by a contemporary author: “Paul could have been put to death independently of these events and in a private capacity.”40 One has to conclude, in all probability, that the connection is none other than a modern undertaking, the fruit of a gratuitous hypothesis.

38 Barrett, Acts, II, 984; cf. also Conzelmann, Die Apostelgeschichte, 119ff.: “Die Abschiedsszene…weist deutlich auf den Tod des Paulus zurück” (“the farewell scene…clearly refers to Paul’s death”); Haenchen, Die Apostelgeschichte, 527: “Der Abschied ist endgültig” (“the farewell is definitive”; so also Pesch, II, 206); Schneider, Gli Atti degli Apostoli, II, 395: Luke “knew that the Apostle had already been killed”; Rossé, Atti degli Apostoli, 738: “Clearly, the one who writes these lines knows about the apostle’s martyrdom.” 39 Not even a work like 1 Clem. makes mention of it, although it is historically the closest Christian document to the sequence of events. What we read in 6.1 (“To these holy men [like Peter and Paul] was joined a great crowd of the elect, who became our shining example, suffering, on account of envy, many injustices and torments. On account of jealousy our women were persecuted…”) is only a generic reference to the sufferings endured by Christians, but without mentioning either the fire or the retaliation undertaken by Nero, or not even Paul’s name, mentioned shortly before together with Peter. Even if we could consider these events as being implicit and between the lines of 1 Clem., it still needs to be asked, however, why the author did not make them explicit. 40 S. Légasse, Paul apôtre. Essai de biographie critique (Paris, 2000), 249. Also Marie-Françoise Baslez, Paolo di Tarso. L’apostolo delle genti (Turin, 1993) recognizes that “1Clem 5,7 e 6,1 keep the apostle’s martyrdom from the persecution of 64 nicely separated” (296 n.79). Besides, the distinction is also present in the Acts of Paul, according to which Nero “ordered that all the prisoners be burned with fire [as Tacitus recounts, however, the Acts do not speak about the fire of 64 in Rome!], but that Paul was decapitated according to the law of the Romans” (11.3).

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I therefore make Heike Omerzu’s conclusion my own: “I hold that Luke, when finishing Acts, knew of Paul’s death and also that the appeal did not result in an acquittal which he would otherwise have narrated as a triumphant victory of one of his protagonists.”41

*** Thirdly, while keeping 58 as the most probable year for the dating of Paul’s death, we must take into consideration the biographical-literary consequences that such a hypothesis entails. It is obvious that this dating implies some necessary choices, both concerning the chronology of the apostle’s life as well as the composition of the letters that bear his name. These choices can be synthesized in the following way. (1) The first deduction is that Paul in fact did not undertake a trip to Spain. This conclusion must be made, in spite of the fact that he had the desire to go there, as he explicitly affirms in the letter he addressed to the Christians of Rome (cf. Rom 15.24: “I hope to see you in passing as I go to Spain”; 15.28: “I shall go on by way of you to Spain”).42 A recent proposal must certainly be rejected: it suggests both that the “Spain” mentioned by Paul ought to be understood as the spelling that substitutes for the original “Iberia,” and that that region ought to be identified with the homonymous one found in the east, south of the Caucasus, corresponding to Armenia.43 Although it is interesting, 41

Omerzu, “The Probability,” 126. The author also presents appropriate documentation on Roman legislation with regard to trials (cf. 116–25). Cf. also Schneider, Gli Atti degli Apostoli, II, 557, regarding Acts 28.30: “Whoever speaks in this way of a period of two years knows that this situation later changed. Luke knows it: it changed for the worse.” 42 Another thing to ask is why Paul was planning a trip to Spain and not to the nearer Gallia Narbonensis (more or less corresponding to today’s Provence – the Riviera); as regards this point, in addition to the commentaries, cf. A. Chapple, “Why Spain? Paul and His Mission Plans,” Journal for the Study of Paul and His Letters 1 (2011): 193–212, who thinks about a conformity with the mission of the Servant of YHWH according to Isa 49.6 (“…in order that you may bring my salvation even to the ends of the earth”). Paul already cultivated this desire “for many years” (Rom 15.23), but when he expressed it in writing in the letter to the Romans he found himself in a condition of complete freedom and did not suppose that later he would instead go to Rome as a prisoner (even if in Rom 15.30–31 he asks the Romans to pray “in order that I may be set free from the infidels in Judea,” almost predicting that the situation was about to take a turn for the worse). 43 So P. Caiazza, San Paolo e la Spagna: un viaggio in Oriente? (Salerno, 2007). That there was indeed an eastern Iberia is well-attested by ancient sources (cf. Strabo, Geogr. 11.1.5.15; 11.3.1–6; Valerius Flaccus, Arg. 6.120; Plutarch, Pomp. 34.2–3; Tacitus, Ann. 4.5.2). However, in addition, the author sustains that the idea of going to Rome

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this hypothesis conflicts irremediably both with the certain manuscript tradition that shows no variant for the word Spania, and also with Paul’s desire to go to Rome.44 A journey to the capital is naturally more consistent with travel to the Iberia in the west, more so than to the one in the east, since he planned to go there precisely from Rome. At any rate, I maintain that a journey to the Iberian Peninsula never took place. There are at least two reasons that support this conclusion. The first is that a trip of this kind is never recounted in any ancient document. Not even the Acts of Paul mentions that Paul may have left the city. The journey is referred to (but not narrated!) only from the end of the second century onwards, both in the so-called Muratorian Canon (lines 38–39: profectio Pauli ab urbe ad Spaniam) and in the apocryphal Acts of Peter, known as the Actus Vercellenses 1–3. That latter work speaks of Paul’s embarkation for Spain “from the port,” yet not only without naming the port in question (perhaps Ostia ought to be understood) but also without narrating either the moment when the ship set sail (on the contrary, we read with amazement that those who had accompanied him from Rome returned before his departure!), or the eventual journey, or the eventual landing, or what might have happened in the area upon his arrival (the region ought to correspond to the territory of the province of Hispania Tarraconensis).45 It seems too clear that these pieces of information stand only as a clear reference to Paul’s real desire, as expressed in the letter to the Romans, to which is given a fictitious narrative support. A second reason is based on the fact that, in his Historia ecclesiastica, Eusebius of Caesarea does not demonstrate any knowledge of this tradition. In fact, in his list of the regions that were assigned to the apostles for their preaching (i.e., Thomas in Parthia, Andrew in Scythia, John in Asia, Peter in Pontus, Galatia, Bithynia, Cappadocia, Asia, Rome), Eusebius instead, when mentioning Paul, simply writes that he “preached the gospel of Christ from Jerusalem to Illyricum and suffered martyrdom at Rome under Nero.”46

would not have surfaced in Paul’s mind before his imprisonment in Jerusalem; at that time Romans was already written, but precisely with the expression of a plan for a mission in the east (cf. San Paolo e la Spagna, 119–20). 44 In fact, it would still be necessary to explain the meaning of the “longing” expressed in the letter (cf. ἐπιποθία: Rom 1.11; 15.23) to finally go to Rome: perhaps to come back again later? Completely improbable! 45 According to Tajra, The Martyrdom of St. Paul, that journey really did take place. For his part, Murphy-O’Connor, Vita di Paolo, 370 and 404 holds that Paul actually went to Spain but, on account of his lack of knowledge of the local languages, his stay there lasted only one summer and so his trip was a failure. 46 Thus in Hist. eccl. III.1, with a quotation of Origen as source. At the most, Eusebius gathers a generic rumor: “It is said that he left again per the ministry of preaching, but he returned a second time to Rome under Nero and there suffered martyrdom” (II.22.2); he thus shows that he did not have any source of information concerning this point.

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A separate case is constituted by the affirmation found in the letter of Clement of Rome to the Corinthians: “Paul…arrived even to the ends of the west” (1 Clem. 5.7: ἐπὶ τὸ τέρµα τῆς δύσεως ). This, however, probably ought to be taken as a hyperbolic expression, one that “does not permit any certainty,”47 but serves to indicate the limitless breath of the apostle’s evangelizing commitment. On the other hand, the geographical boundary of the “west,” in the literal sense of the term, could not be the Mediterranean coast of Spain (on which is situated Tarragona and where the eastern part of the Iberian Peninsula is found), but it would have to be moved to the Atlantic coast.48 However, it is altogether inconceivable that Paul arrived there. In my opinion, the reconstructions of Paul’s possible trip to Spain are none other than a forced expedient.49 (2) A second conclusion, one that is more probable, is that Paul did not return again to the area of the Aegean Sea, where he had previously carried out a big part of his apostolate. The hypothesis of a return,50 of which no narration is made in Luke’s Acts, nor is there any expectation of one (on the contrary, cf. the already quoted Acts 20.37–38), is based uniquely on the mention of some information present only in the Pastoral Letters, that is, on the proper place-names of those areas51 and the mention of various new individuals, un47

H.E. Lona, Der erste Clemensbrief (Göttingen: Vandenhoek & Ruprecht, 1998), 165. The author then rightly observes that the plural phrase ἐπὶ τῶν ἡγεµόνων (unlike an assumption, according to which Nero had gone to Greece at the end of the summer of 66, and that he returned well after a year and a half, and that he had left his “consuls” in Rome), is found in the NT in Matt 28.14; Mark 13.9 (however, in addition to Paul’s appearances at trials in the accounts of Acts 24.10–21.24–27; 25.6, 27; 26.1–32) to indicate that Christians were put on trial and brought before the civil authorities and their courts (cf. Clemensbrief, 166, and the generic use of the word in the same 1 Clem. 32.2; 37.3; 51.5; 55.1; 60.4). 48 Cf. today’s important designation of “Cape Finisterre” at the extreme northwest of Spain, from the Latin finis terrae, “end/limit/extremity of the earth.” 49 At any rate, it must be noted in all honesty that on this point authors are divided: for example, on the one hand, Bornkamm, Paulus, 73, holds that Clement’s premise is “certainly false,” while on the other, W.G. Kümmel, Einleitung in das Neue Testament (Heidelberg, 1973), 219 speaks about a “likely assumption.” But it is a whole other thing to ask what were the real origins of Christianity in the Iberian peninsula; cf. J.J. Fernandez Sangrador, “Εἰς τὴν Σπανίαν (Romanos 15,24): Estudios sobre los orígenes del cristianismo en España,” in N. Ciola and P. Pulcinelli (eds.), Nuovo Testamento: teologie in dialogo culturale. Scritti in onore di Romano Penna nel suo 70° compleanno (Bologna, 2008), 257–64 (with bibliography). 50 Cf., for example, W. Metzger, Die letzte Reise des Apostels Paulus. Beobachtungen und Erwägungen zu seinem Itinerar nach den Pastoralbriefen (Stuttgart: Calwer, 1976); and now also C. Marcheselli-Casale, “Ultimo viaggio di Paolo: di nuovo in Oriente?,” in L’ultimo viaggio di Paolo, 181–283. 51 Cf. 1 Tim 1.3; 2 Tim 4.12: Ephesus; 2 Tim 1.15: Asia; 2 Tim 4.13: Troas; 2 Tim 4.20a: Corinth; 2 Tim 4.20b: Miletus; Titus 1.5, 12: Crete.

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known to the account of Acts,52 along with some personal news about Paul himself.53 Certainly these various personalia create a problem, and it is necessary to ask from where they could possibly have derived. One possible solution is that Paul, in person, after having gained these various and new experiences, had ordered Luke to write these letters.54 But it is a desperate solution, and the unreliability of the information contained there is due to the wellknown fact that these letters are almost certainly pseudepigraphical, that is, written some decades after the apostle’s death by one of his disciples (between the years 70 and 120), as can be concluded not only from the absence of confirmation from another source, but also by a close stylistic and thematic analysis. The discussion is certainly open and the matter cannot be resolved in this article. Nevertheless, a detailed bibliography is not lacking, and I refer the reader to it for an appropriate treatment of the topic.55 (3) The necessary result of this precise position is that there was no second arrest, which, moreover, is not narrated anywhere. If there had been one, we would have to ask where it would have occurred and in what way. In the same way, it must be said that there was no second trial, since sources for it are equally lacking, and we could also wonder about what kind of charges would have been made against him. In effect, the deferment of the date of Paul’s death to the years between 64 and 67, although they are traditional, is based solely on a sequence of suppositions: it is believed, in fact, that the biennium

52

Cf. 1 Tim 1.20: Hymenaeus and Alexander; 2 Tim 1.15: Phygelus and Hermogenes; 2.17: Hymenaeus and Philetus; 4.10, 12, 14, 19, 21: Demas, Crescens, Luke, Carpus, Alexander, Onesiphorus, Eubulus, Pudens, Linus, Claudia; Titus 3.12, 13: Artemas and Zenas. 53 Cf. especially 2 Tim 4.6–7: “For I am already on the point of being sacrificed; the time of my departure has come. I have fought the good fight…”; 4.16: “At my first defense no one took my part; all deserted me”; Titus 3.12: “do your best to come to me at Nicopolis, for I have decided to spend the winter there”; 2 Tim 4.13: “When you come, bring the cloak that I left Carpus at Troas, also the books, and above all the parchments.” 54 So Witherington, Acts of the Apostles, 807 n.104. 55 Cf. especially S.E. Porter, “Pauline Chronology and the Question of Pseudonymity of the Pastoral Epistles,” in S.E. Porter and G.P. Fewster (eds.), Paul and Pseudepigraphy (Leiden: Brill, 2013), 65–88; J. Herzer, “Fiktion oder Taüschung? Zur Diskussion über die Pseudepigraphie der Pastoralbriefe,” in J. Frey et al (eds.), Pseudepigraphie und Verfasserfiktion in frühchristlichen Briefen (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2009), 489–536; and also R.E. Brown, Introduzione al Nuovo Testamento (Brescia, 2001), 844–45 (on Titus), 859–62 (on 1 Tim), 881–87 (on 2 Tim and in general on the Pastoral Letters); R. Fabris, La tradizione paolina (Bologna, 1995), 207–90; Y. Redalié, “Le epistole pastorali,” in D. Marguerat (ed.), Introduzione al Nuovo Testamento (Turin, 2004), 327–48; C. Marcheselli-Casale, Le lettere pastorali (Bologna, 1995), 35–44; A. Weiser, Der zweite Brief an Timotheus (Zürich: Benziger, 2003), 51–61; G. Theissen, The New Testament. A Literary History (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2012), 105–29.

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usque ad quartum Neronis annum, of which Jerome speaks (i.e., until 58), comes to an end with a positive ruling in the apostle’s favor and that his death was then associated, as a result, with the fire of Rome of July 64. But in my opinion this reconstruction is entirely gratuitous. (4) In conclusion, it must be said that the composition of Paul’s seven letters, those commonly held to be authentic, ought to be placed in the quinquennial of the years 50–55, beginning with the first letter to the Thessalonians,56 up to the letter to the Romans. If worst comes to worst, we could assign the two letters to the Philippians and to Philemon, which were clearly written in captivity (cf. Phil 1.7, 13, 17; Phlm 9.10, 23) to the succeeding years 56– 58, that is, to the period of Paul’s imprisonment in Rome. However, according to a very interesting suggestion, these also could have been written during an incarceration in Asia, precisely, in Ephesus.57 (5) As a final conclusion, making our own the suggestion just mentioned above, we may wonder about what Paul wanted to say when, while writing in Phlm 9, he describes himself as by now πρεσβύτης, “an old man.”58 We can make this designation more precise with the language of personal data that was used in the ancient world concerning the phases of human life. While the calculations on the subject are different, nevertheless they allow for a good calculation of old age. According to the physician Hippocrates, the development of human life would have a succession of seven phases: παιδίον (up to 7 years), παῖς (up to 14 years), µειράκιον (up to 21 years), νεανίσκος (up to 28 years), ἀνήρ (up to 49 years), πρεσβύτης (up to 56), and γέρων (older than 56 years).59 According

56 However, there is an author who dates 1 Thess before the so-called Council of Jerusalem, even in the year 41 (cf. G. Lüdemann, Paulus, der Heidenapostel. I. Studien zur Chronologie [Göttingen: Vandenhoek & Ruprecht, 1980], 272). Nevertheless, cf. the clarifications of Riesner, Die Frühzeit des Apostels Paulus, 323–25. 57 The following studies go in this direction: W. Michaelis, Die Gefangenschaft des Paulus in Ephesus und das Itinerar des Timotheus (Gütersloh, 1925); G.S. Duncan, St. Paul’s Ephesian Ministry (London, 1929); Duncan, “Were St Paul’s Imprisonment Epistles written from Ephesus?” ExpTim 67 (1955–56): 163–66; and the commentaries of P. Bonnard, L’épître de s. Paul aux Philippiens (Neuchâtel-Paris, 1950), 10; Gnilka, La lettera ai Filippesi, 64–75; E. Lohse, Le lettere ai Colossesi e a Filemone (Brescia, 1979), 335; P. Stuhlmacher, Der Brief an Philemon (Zürich-Neukirchen: Neukirchener, 1981), 21; U.B. Müller, Der Brief des Paulus an die Philipper (Leipzig: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 1993), 15–21; R. Fabris, Lettera ai Filippesi. Lettera a Filemone (Bologna, 2000), 33–34, 281. 58 At any rate, there is no reason to read this word in the form πρεσβύτης as “ambassador,” for reasons that are as much textual as contextual (pace M. Barth and H. Blanke, The Letter to Philemon [Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2000], 321–23). 59 This calculation of Hippocrates is reported to us by Philo, Opif. 105.

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to this calculation, Paul’s status would lead us to think about an age preceding 56 years. But Hippocrates’ calculations is, in all probability, artificial, both because it is artificially based on the number seven and its multiples, and also because other ancient writers offer others ways of counting. In fact, according to Pythagoras,60 the length of human life ought not to be divided into more than four parts, exactly like the seasons of the year, each one covering a period of twenty years in these terms: παῖς (spring), νεηνίσκος (summer), νεηνίας (autumn), γέρων (winter). But it is obvious that this calculation is also artificial. Sometimes the πρεσβύτης is clearly a man who has exceeded sixty years of age, as we can read in Philo of Alexandria.61 At any rate, πρεσβύτης expresses an advanced age, as we read in Greek authors like Aeschylus, Eum. 641 (where the status concerns the old man par excellence, that is, “Chronos,” time!); Euripides, Phoen. 847; Aristophanes, Vesp. 737; Thucydides, Hist. III.67.3; Plato, Resp. 608c (who calculates a man’s life explicitly according to two extremes: “from παῖς up to πρεσβύτης”); Philo, Mos. I.147 (where a clear distinction is made between ἀνήρ and πρεσβύτης); Dio Cassius, Or. XXIV.10 (who divides the ages simply in παῖς, µειράκιον, νεανίσκος, πρεσβύτης); the treatise of Cicero, De senectute, basically moves in the same line. We also ought to consider the use of πρεσβύτης both in the LXX (cf., e.g., Gen 25.8; 1 Chr 23.1; Ps 148.12; Isa 3.5) and in some passages from the New Testament (like Luke 1.18 and Titus 2.2). Therefore, we ought to conclude that when Paul writes to Philemon shortly before his two-year trip to Rome (or even during it), he had to be about 60 years old. One possible difficulty with this could come from the qualification of νεανίας that Luke gives to Paul in Acts 7.58 on the occasion of the stoning of Stephen, an event that occurs in the early thirties. The frequent translation of the Greek word with “youth” leads to error. In reality, the word ought to be considered from the perspective of the language of ancient culture, according to which it is equivalent to a “young-adult,” between the ages of 20 and 40 years old. Keeping with the Greek texts quoted by Pythagoras, who arranged human life according to the four seasons, he compares νεηνίη to autumn by

60

We owe this information to Diogenes Laertius, Vit. philos. VIII.10. So, in Spec. Leg. II.33, which in reality is taken from Lev 27.2–8, Philo repeats the rates for the votive offerings according to age, only changing the name of the coins: “200 drachmas from 20 to 60 years (ἄχρις ἑξηκονταετίας)…; after 60 years (ὑπὲρ ἑξήκοντα) it is necessary that men pay 60 drachmas and women pay 40.” In Cher. 114, Philo gives another succession of age, which is divided into eight phases, but without specifying the number of years: τὸ βρέφος (baby), ὁ παῖς (boy), ὁ ἀντίπαις (older boy), ὁ ἄρτι ἡβῶν (at the beginning of puberty), τὸ µειράκιον (adolescent), ὁ πρωτογένειος (with the first beard), ὁ νεανίας (young adult), ὁ τέλειος ἀνήρ (full-grown man). 61

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explicitly saying that “the νεηνίη corresponds to virility” (ὁ δὲ νεηνίης ἀνὴρ , literally “the young-adult is a man!”). But also Herodotus defines νεανίας as a son who is a “grown man.”62 Thus, the Paul of Acts 7.58 ought to be at most a “young man,” that is, one who is past 30 years of age. At any rate, the dating of the apostle’s birth, which ought to correspond to the final years of the first century BCE, is only the partial consequence of the hypothesis according to which his death should be verified at the end of the biennium of his Roman stay that lasted from 56 to 58.63

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According to Herodotus, Hist. II.32.3–5, some witnesses, asked about the desert of Libia, spoke about those who tried to explore it. They are described as οἱ νεηνίαι which in the context are specified as “reckless children (παῖδας ὑβριστάς)…who became adults (ἀνδρωποθέντας)”. 63 As for his execution by decapitation, this is not attested until after the end of the 2nd century, both in the apocryphal Acts of Paul 9.5, 14 (cf. now G.E. Snyder, Acts of Paul. The Formation of a Pauline Corpus [Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2013], according to whom the most ancient part of the work, i.e., precisely the Martyrdom of Paul, would already date back to Trajan, even if surprisingly it does not mention any imprisonment for Paul, who would have freely come to Rome!); and in Tertullian, Praescr. 36.3 (who puts Paul’s death at the same level as John the Baptist’s). At any rate, the place of execution, i.e., the Aquae Salviae (today Tre Fontane), belongs to a later tradition (cf. the Acts of Peter and Paul § 80: not before the IV–V centuries). His burial on the Via Ostiensis (below the present Basilica of San Paolo Fuori le Mura) is already certified around the year 200 by the evidence of the Roman priest Caius: “I can show you the tombs (τροπαῖα = monumental memorials) of the apostles. When you go to the Vatican or on the Via Ostiense, you will find the monumental memorials of the founders of the church” (in Eusebius, Hist. eccl., II.25.7; just before in II.25.5 Eusebius writes that “the names of Peter and Paul are preserved until today on their sepulchers in that city”). The later Passion of Paul and Pseudo-Abdia 8 will specify that burial took place in a farm of the matronly woman Lucina, “servant of Christ” (later the present church of S. Lorenzo in Lucina was built over her house in Rome).

Paul the Apostle: A Life Between Mission and Captivity1 Jörg Frey

From the thorough study of Paul’s “last days” or, rather, his last years, the events and developments before his death, the consideration of the development of tradition and the reception of Paul after his end, and, of course, the enigmatic time in-between, we can now focus again on Paul’s apostolic life and mission. It was Paul’s mission that led to his death, and – just as often – his death, interpreted as a martyrdom, was the “seal” to his mission. What end do we arrive at when studying Paul’s last days, his death, and from there, his mission? I will start from three paradoxical statements regarding the study of Paul’s life and work, then expose the tension between mission and captivity in the different stages of his life and work, and in its external or physical and its internal or theological dimension. As a conclusion, I will finally discuss the various “ends” of Paul, or different perspectives on his end.

A. Three Contradictory Observations in the Study of Paul’s Life and Work I. How Much We Apparently Know – and How Little We Actually Know Paul the Apostle is certainly the best-known individual figure in early Christianity. He is the earliest author of the Jesus movement; at least seven of his writings are preserved, more than of any other Christian author of the first century and later equalled only by Ignatius.2 Neither Jesus himself nor any

1 Concluding lecture of the Tarragona conference, with only minor changes, expansions, and strictly limited footnotes. I am especially grateful to Benjamin Schließer for his assistance and corrections. 2 Ignatius of Antioch also left a corpus of seven epistles (according to the general view of authenticity), but they are all from his last journey to Rome, when he faced his martyrdom. About his former life we know very little (cf. W.R. Schoedel, “Ignatius von Antiochien,” TRE 16.40–45). According to Harnack´s view, the first individual Christian after Paul whom we know more of is Tertullian; cf. A. von Harnack, Lehrbuch der Dogmengeschichte (4th ed.; Tübingen: Mohr, 1909), 1 and 556 n.1, quoted by M. Hengel and

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other from the circle of Jesus’ first and direct followers have left any writings, and the books traditionally attributed to one of the apostles, the gospel according to Matthew, the gospel and the epistles of John (and also the apocalypse), and the two epistles of Peter, were most probably not written by those apostles, but only later attributed to them. In addition to Paul´s seven undisputed letters, there are some early reflections on his life and work in the epistles pseudonymously attributed to him, and even more coherently in Luke’s historical “monograph,” which is far less an account of the “acts of the apostles” (πρᾶξειϛ ἀποστόλων) than a narrative of Paul’s mission. Paul’s journeys cover more than half of the book, whereas the mission of the other missionaries, even of the majority of the twelve apostles, is not taken into account. And it is actually Acts that has shaped the image of Paul in the Christian tradition: his conversion near Damascus, his three missionary journeys, his miracles and his philosophical preaching on the Areopagus, and finally his trial and his journey to Rome, although particularly his end is passed over in silence.3 And not only the traditional image, but also the historical reconstruction of Paul’s life is strongly dependent on the image drawn by Luke (i.e., also on the issue of Luke’s reliability), because without the data of Acts it would be impossible to reconstruct the framework of Paul’s life and the setting of his writings.4 But although we have more sources for Paul than for any other early follower of Jesus, we must frankly admit that we actually know very little details about Paul’s life.5 The preserved epistles cover only a short period of seven or eight years, roughly a fourth of the approximately thirty years Paul lived as a follower of Christ and as a missionary. About his pre-Christian period,6 we have only a few brief remarks in his letters, some of which are shaped by a

A.M. Schwemer, Paul between Damascus and Antioch: The Unknown Years (London: SCM, 1997), 1 and 320 n.2. 3 On the impact of Luke’s image of Paul, cf. W. Wischmeyer, “The Reception of Paul in the History of the Church,” in O. Wischmeyer (ed.), Paul: Life, Setting, Work, Letters (London: T&T Clark, 2012), 355–65, at 355–56. 4 This was convincingly demonstrated in R. Riesner’s important study on Paul’s chronology: Paul’s Early Period: Chronology, Mission Strategy, Theology (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998); cf. also Hengel and Schwemer, Paul between Damascus and Antioch, 6–11. On the contrary, attempts to reconstruct Paul’s life and chronology without the framework of Acts do not lead to any scholarly consensus. 5 Cf. generally E. Ebel, “The Life of Paul,” in Wischmeyer (ed.), Paul, 97–110; K. Haacker, “Paul’s Life,” in J.D.G. Dunn (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to St. Paul (Cambridge: CUP, 2005), 19–33; more extensively Haacker, Paulus: Der Werdegang eines Apostels (Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1997); J. Murphy-O’Connor, Paul: His Story (Oxford: OUP, 2004). 6 Cf. M. Hengel, The Pre-Christian Paul (London: SCM, 1991).

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contrast scheme that makes them difficult to interpret.7 Some important information is only from Luke, without confirmation in Pauls’ authentic letters, thus the notes about Tarsus as his home town, about his education in Jerusalem under Gamaliel, and about his Roman citizenship.8 We do not exactly know when he was born and how he was raised and educated in a diaspora Jewish community. We can only speculate whether he was actually married9 or widowed or nothing the like, because none of our sources mention anything about his personal life. From some of his remarks, combined with other sources, we can partly reconstruct his religious views before his call10 and draw some conclusions about his position within the multifaceted Judaism of his days and the background of his “zeal” against the Jesus followers.11 Though recent scholarship has opened up a fresh perspective on the issue of his visionary or mystic experiences,12 we have no direct access to the decisive moment in his life, his “conversion” or rather his “call” to follow Christ. So we do not know what he saw and heard and what kind of reality it is that he encountered in a manner that changed his life. We can, then, fragmentarily imagine some of the developments in the period “between Damascus and Antioch” that Martin Hengel has rightly called his “unknown years,”13 in which the most significant changes in Paul’s thought must have occurred. Although we find certain elements of Paul’s teaching in his letters, it is still impossible to reconstruct his oral preaching and teaching in the communities he

7

Thus especially Gal 1.13–14 and Phil 3.7-8, but cf. J. Frey, “The Jewishness of Paul,” in Wischmeyer (ed.), Paul, 57–95, esp. 61–62). 8 Interestingly, the former aspect was rarely disputed, whereas the latter two were frequently doubted in scholarship with reference to the silence of Paul himself in his authentic letters. 9 Cf. recently D. Trobisch, War Paulus verheiratet? (Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 2011). 10 Cf. Hengel, The Pre-Christian Paul; J. Frey, “Die religiöse Prägung: Weisheit, Apokalyptik, Schriftauslegung,” in F.W. Horn (ed.), Paulus-Handbuch (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2013), 59–66. 11 See my attempt in Frey, “The Jewishness of Paul”; on the persecutor and his zeal, see Hengel, The Pre-Christian Paul, 63–86. 12 Cf. B. Heininger, Paulus als Visionär: Eine religionsgeschichtliche Studie (Freiburg im Breisgau: Herder, 1996); H.-C. Meier, Mystik bei Paulus: Zur Phänomenologie religiöser Erfahrung im Neuen Testament (Tübingen and Basel: Francke, 1998). More recently, U. Luz, “Paul as Mystik,” in G. Stanton (ed.), The Holy Spirit and Christian Origins. Essays in Honor of J.D.G. Dunn (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2004), 131–43; D. Marguerat, “Paul the Mystic,” in J. Krans et al (eds.), Paul, John, and Apocalyptic Eschatology. Studies in Honour of Martinus C. de Boer (Leiden: Brill, 2013), 76–93; G. Theißen, “Paulus und die Mystik: Der eine Gott und die Transformation des Menschen,” ZTK 110 (2013): 263–90. 13 Hengel and Schwemer, Paul between Damascus and Antioch.

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had founded and instructed. And even if we include Acts in our attempt to reconstruct Paul’s chronology, the sequence of his letters and especially the date of Galatians and Philippians remain uncertain. Finally, as the proceedings from the Tarragona conference have clearly shown, the open end of Acts leaves numerous questions about Paul’s “last days,” his captivity and possible activity in Rome, and his alleged martyrdom.14 Did he really die in Rome, or elsewhere in the West? Did he die in the Neronian persecution in 64 CE, or even earlier in 62 CE, just due to Nero’s confirmation of the death sentence pronounced by Festus in Judaea? Was he killed by the sword, as some traditions claim, or did he simply die from hunger, wounds, or infections in a dark prison? Was he released from his Roman arrest and did he undertake further missionary journeys, before returning to Rome and suffering the martyrdom there? And did these journeys bring him again to the East, as some have conjectured from the Pastoral Epistles, or rather to the further West, as 1 Clement 5.6, from its Roman perspective, and other sources suggest? Did he really get to the Roman province of Spania, as he intended according to Romans 15.24, 28, or more precisely to Tarragona, which is the most plausible candidate, if the journey as such can be established? Or is the phrasing in 1 Clement just derived from the intention declared in Romans 15? Uncertainty will remain, even after the Tarragona conference and the present volume. That we know so little about Paul’s biography is predominantly due to the fact that Paul himself, in his letters, very scarcely talks about his personal experiences and his life. Paul’s life was not a predominant theme of his preaching, and even less of his apostolic letters. And his own death is also a very marginal topic in his epistles; he only wrote about his impending death in 2 Corinthians and Philippians, after some experiences of trial and captivity where he found his life (and missionary work) severely threatened. For Paul’s actual death, however, there is no direct testimony, and we have to content ourselves with later reflections and speculations. Actually, we know very little about the end of the best-known early Christian leader figure.

14

Cf. H.W. Tajra, The Martyrdom of St. Paul: Historical and Judicial Context, Traditions, and Legends (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1994), 198: “The story of Paul’s final days in Rome and the exact circumstances of his death and burial are to a very great extent shrouded in obscurity.”

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II. The Most Brilliant Theologian – and the One who was Most Ignored and Misunderstood A second striking contradiction deserves being mentioned: Paul is, as far as we know, not only the first theologian of the Jesus movement, but also the only formally educated theologian in the first century, but among his contemporaries and among later recipients his theology was largely misinterpreted and generally less influential than other aspects of his life. Of course, there is some probability that the author of Matthew was a scribe, and also the authors of the Fourth Gospel and of Hebrews demonstrate considerable exegetical skills. But for none of the other New Testament authors do the early sources make a claim equal to that made for Paul: according to Luke (Acts 22.3), he had been a student of one of the most famous Jewish teachers of his time, a talmid hakham, who had studied the Scriptures according to the Pharisaic interpretation in Jerusalem, the centre of Jewish education.15 Notwithstanding the problems of this precise claim, his letters also demonstrate considerable skills in scriptural interpretation, some aspects of rhetorical elaboration, and even pieces with poetic quality (cf. 1 Cor 13), and his argument in several passages presents a kind of theological rigour which can hardly be found in any other writing of the period before Irenaeus. Neither Jesus himself nor any of his disciples had a higher theological education. They were considered “illiterate” (Acts 4.13) which probably means that they were without formal education, fishermen and craftsmen from the Galilean countryside. Paul instead was a theologian, well-versed in the Scriptures, in Greek and probably also in Hebrew, acquainted with exegetical techniques and traditions from Hellenistic Judaism and from Palestinian traditions, especially from Wisdom and apocalyptic thought.16 Although not formally ordained as a Rabbi – this is a practice developed only after 70 CE – he was theologically and rhetorically trained, probably with the original aim of serving the Jewish communities in the diaspora. For that reason, he had shared the concern to prohibit the preaching and stop the rapid expansion of the group of those who followed that convicted and crucified Galilean Jesus. As an educated theologian, Paul also understood the issues of the early mission not only from a practical standpoint but also from a more fundamental one, so that he could phrase the consequences of the Christ event in a more precise and rigorous manner. This might have contributed to his struggle with Peter and with the community in Antioch mentioned in Galatians 2 and to his subsequent increasing isolation.

15 16

On this claim, see Hengel, The Pre-Christian Paul, 40–45. Cf. Frey, “Die religiöse Prägung.”

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Brilliant theologians, however, are not always understood by less educated people, nor is their argument usually followed by those who are in charge of the church. This is also evident in the later reception of Paul. Although he was the most sharp-sighted theologian of the early period, most Christians of the later periods admired and venerated him not for his theology in Romans or Galatians, but rather for his missionary achievements as narrated in Acts, as an author of sacred books, as a mediator of heavenly revelations (cf. 2 Cor 12), or as an example of asceticism. The centre of his theological thought, his scriptural argument, his views about the human condition or about justification, have often been neglected or ignored, and the reception of his precise theological reasoning was always limited to a smaller number of theologically congenial interpreters and to a limited group of Christians capable of following his argument. Thus, although his missionary concept of the unconditioned admission of the Gentiles and the argument in favour of this concept in his epistles provided the theological foundation for the most important developments of the early church, his theology was misconceived or ignored by the majority of the writers in the second century and thereafter. While his person and authority were held in high esteem, the distinctive shape of his thought was already modified in the deutero-Paulines and in Acts. His reasoning, as for instance his focus on the cross as the reason for a totally changed worldview, was adjusted to later interests or even tamed into a kind of Christian average thought. Only at a few important points in history his theology was rediscovered by great theologians such as Augustine, Martin Luther, or Karl Barth, to become a provoking stimulus for theological renewal and rigorous thought. The first and most rigorous theologian of early Christianity is also the most misunderstood and possibly even the most ignored New Testament author. III. Success and Tragedy: Paul’s Struggle for the Communion of Jewish and Gentile Jesus Followers and the “Parting of the Ways” as the Inevitable Consequence of His Thought A third contradiction concerns Paul’s work and his “success”: in the traditional view, Paul appears to be the most successful missionary of the early church, and one might even state that his defence of the admission of the Gentiles fundamentally contributed to transforming the Jesus movement from a Jewish sect into a universal religion. Of course, the number of Jesus followers in the early communities was still limited, especially when compared with the well-established Jewish communities, e.g., in Asia Minor. But in spite of that, Paul’s restless efforts in

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travelling and suffering hardships are simply admirable,17 his thoughtful missionary strategy of founding “mother communities” in the capitals that served as a base for further mission to the countryside is amazing, and his achievement in founding communities in Asia Minor and Greece cannot be underestimated. Admittedly, the gospel was preached in Ephesus and Rome before Paul arrived there, and many other regions such as Egypt or the further East were evangelized without Pauline involvement. There were also numerous other missionaries who probably suffered similar hardships, whom we simply do not know of due to the lack of sources. But we do not know of any early missionary who worked with such a fundamental theological consideration. What is unique about Paul’s ministry is that he was both missionary and theologian,18 and that not only his theology was influenced by his mission experiences, but also, vice versa, that his theological reasoning sharpened his missionary strategy and his decisions, as is visible in the incident at Antioch (Gal 2) and the Galatian crisis. But how successful was Paul ultimately? We can ask this in view of the fact that his enduring efforts were focused on the inclusion of the Gentile believers as full members of the one body of Christ. Paul advocated their integration into God’s eschatological people, and their unrestricted communion with believing Jews, the remnant of Israel, not only in prayer, but also in meals and life. While Paul argues for the inclusion of the Gentiles in most of his letters, he also defends the legacy of Jewish believers in Rome to keep up their Jewish lifestyle of keeping days and eating merely vegetables but no meat, without being condemned as “weak” by the supposedly “strong” Gentile Christians (Rom 14–15).19 From here we can see that Paul actually kept the ideal of the one body of Christ and the unity of Jewish and Gentile believers until the end of his mission and life. With this ideal in mind, however, Paul demanded a considerable amount of tolerance from his fellow Jews in the communities. They had to accept the communion with non-Jews whom God had apparently sanctified by his Spirit but who did not practice a Jewish lifestyle regarding purity and food regulations, so that the encounter with them was always under suspicion of causing impurity. Such a communion included table fellowship and sharing vessels, hosting “brothers and sisters” in one’s house,20 and even touching or kissing 17

Cf. E. Ebel, “Paul’s Missionary Activities,” in Wischmeyer (ed.), Paul, 111–20, at

118f. 18 Cf. C.K. Barrett, “Paulus als Missionar und Theologe,” in M. Hengel and U. Heckel (eds.), Paulus und das antike Judentum (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1988), 1–15. 19 On these problems, see the thorough study by V. Gäckle, Die Starken und die Schwachen in Korinth und Rom (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2005), 292–449. 20 The need for Jewish Christians (or Christians following a kind of Jewish ethos) of being hosted not just by anybody but by other believers following a similar ethos, but not by pagans, is illustrated in 3 John 7–8.

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them. And it is easily conceivable that the communion with non-Jews who did not care for essential purity rules could cause difficulties for the Jewish community members in their other social relations, the context of the Jewish family and relatives as well as the context of the local synagogue. They were suspected of being impure and could even be charged of neglecting essential aspects of their traditional ethnic and religious identity, and not all of them were ready to suffer the danger of being redlined or isolated in their social network. It is, therefore, conceivable that many of them would have rather liked that those Gentile believers also followed the Jewish laws, at least some elementary purity standards, as, e.g., phrased in the Apostolic Decree in Acts 15.29. The opposition to Paul’s theologically consequential position was not without reason, but it actually meant a threat not only to Paul’s position and authority, but to the feasibility and the success of his whole missionary work. The split with Barnabas and the change of policy in the community of Antioch resulted in Paul’s increasing isolation.21 The counter mission – as he perceived it – was not unsuccessful, and toward the end of Paul’s activity in Asia Minor and Greece we see him increasingly polemicizing against Judaizing rivals. He saw his achievements in danger. And ultimately it turned out that his ideal of “mixed” communities could not be practiced consequently. Some focused on maintaining at least parts of the Jewish identity and purity, whereas others – and probably the majority of the Pauline communities – actually loosened or even abandoned the connection with the Jewish synagogue.22 This is already visible in the deutero-Paulines where the traces of Jewish identity and lifestyle in the communities disappear, and the issue of the law is apparently already “solved.” Thus, in his theological achievements in relativizing the issues of Jewish identity and the soteriological function of the law,23 Paul apparently failed in his intention to keep together Jewish and Gentile believers in one eschatological community of God. Somewhat tragically, the so-called “parting of the ways,”24 the final alienation between the synagogue and the Gentile-Christian 21

Cf. J. Frey, “Paulus und die Apostel: Zur Entwicklung des paulinischen Apostelbegriffs und zum Verhältnis des Heidenapostels zu seinen ‘Kollegen,’” in E.-M. Becker and P. Pilhofer (eds.), Biographie und Persönlichkeit des Paulus (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2005), 192–227. 22 On the beginnings of such a process of separation, cf. my discussion of the development in Ephesus: “Von Paulus zu Johannes. Die Diversität ‘christlicher’ Gemeindekreise und die ‘Trennungsprozesse’ zwischen der Synagoge und den Gemeinden der Jesusnachfolger in Ephesus im ersten Jahrhundert,” in C.K. Rothschild and J. Schröter (eds.), The Rise and Expansion of Christianity in the First Three Centuries of the Common Era (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2013), 235–78, at 266–68). 23 Cf. Frey, “The Jewishness of Paul,” 86. 24 Of course, there are numerous factors and an extended process that contributed to the result labelled with this (strongly debated) term. Cf. J.D.G. Dunn, The Partings of the

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church, appears to be an implication of Paul’s theological views, in spite of the fact that he himself could and would never have imagined this during his lifetime. His constant efforts, including his final journey to Jerusalem, were instead dedicated to keeping up the unity with Jewish believers in Jerusalem and elsewhere. But ultimately, he failed to keep that unity, and, through his mission and theology, decisively contributed to the opposite.

B. Between Mission and Captivity: Freedom, Obligation and Captivity in Paul’s Life On the basis of these three considerations, with respect to our knowledge of Paul’s life, the reception of his theology, and the success of his missionary work, we can now turn to Paul’s own views about his life and his mission and to the aspects of freedom, obligation, and captivity in his work. In Paul’s letters, captivity occurs in two dimensions: in the sense that Paul was actually imprisoned and continued his missionary work and letter writing also as a prisoner, but also in the sense that Paul himself is under a necessity (ἀνάγκη), a severe obligation (1 Cor 9.16), so that he is not really free in what he is doing. In Paul’s life and mission, this inner “captivity” stands in a paradoxical relationship with the freedom of the gospel. This aspect of his thought is linked with his call and his view of his mission. As already indicated, Paul’s life is not a prominent theme of his letters. And from here, we can assume that it was most probably not a prominent theme of his oral preaching either, although we must assume that his readers in Thessalonica, Corinth, or Philippi, and his fellows in Ephesus knew more details of his life than we can imagine. Brief hints in his letters to his lifestyle and work as a craftsman (1 Cor 9.15), his illness (Gal 6.17), or his “fighting with wild animals” in Ephesus (1 Cor 15.32) could be more easily understood by his contemporaries who had some first-hand knowledge of his life and teaching and access to other information circulated between the communities by travelling members. Yet it is quite notable that Paul did not preach his “religious personality” but referred to his personal existence only as an example for a life shaped by the cross of Christ or for the attitudes his addressees should be admonished to. His few autobiographical remarks25 do not give a Ways between Christianity and Judaism and Their Significance for the Character of Christianity (2nd ed.; London: SCM, 2006), and J.M. Lieu, “The ‘Parting of the Ways’: Theological Construct or Historical Reality?” JSNT 56 (1994): 101–19; and critically: A.H. Becker and A.Y. Reed (eds.), The Ways that Never Parted: Jews and Christians in Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck), 2003. 25 Cf. the list given by E.-M. Becker, “Autobiographisches bei Paulus,” in Biographie und Persönlichkeit des Paulus, 67–87, at 82f.

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sufficient picture. In any case, they must be connected with the broader image of Paul’s thought-world and theology. Nor do Paul’s remarks about his life in the Ἰουδαϊσµός (as he calls it in Gal 1.13–14) give a clear view of his attitudes and aims in his pre-Christian period. In spite of the contrast scheme present in some of these autobiographical passages (esp. Gal 1.13–14; Phil 3.4–9), we must consider more thoroughly the continuity between his life as an apostle and his earlier education and activities in defence of the Jewish tradition.26 I. Commitment and Zeal: The Young Pharisaic Student and Zealous Persecutor So we can look briefly at the topic from the perspective of Paul’s preChristian “mission.” Paul’s activities before his call were probably not a mission in the sense of promoting Judaism or circumcision among Gentiles,27 because it is quite uncertain whether there was ever such a “mission” in Judaism.28 When the young man Saul, who came from a tradition-oriented diaspora-Jewish family, received a Pharisaic education in Jerusalem,29 his goal was to serve the communities in the Greek-speaking diaspora.30 If Luke’s tradition

26 Cf. Frey, “The Jewishness of Paul,” 58–62; Frey, “Paul’s Jewish Identity,” in J. Frey, D.R. Schwartz, and S. Gripentrog (eds.), Jewish Identity in the Greco-Roman World (Leiden: Brill, 2007), 285–321; more extensively, K.-W. Niebuhr, Heidenapostel aus Israel: Die jüdische Identität des Paulus nach ihrer Darstellung in seinen Briefen (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1992); A.F. Segal, “Paul’s Jewish Presuppositions,” in The Cambridge Companion to St. Paul, 159–77; M. Tiwald, Hebräer von Hebräern. Paulus auf dem Hintergrund frühjüdischer Argumentation und biblischer Interpretation (Freiburg im Breisgau: Herder, 2008). 27 From Gal 5.10–11 we can hardly conclude that the pre-Christian Paul actually preached or actively promoted circumcision among the Gentiles. But cf. T.L. Donaldson, “Israelite, Convert, Apostle to the Gentiles: The Origin of Paul’s Gentile Mission,” in R.N. Longenecker (ed.), The Road from Damascus: The Impact of Paul’s Conversion on His Life, Thought, and Ministry (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1997), 62–84, at 81: “Paul’s Gentile mission may be understood as the Christological transformation of a proselytizing concern already present in his pre-conversion days.” See also T.L. Donaldson, Paul and the Gentiles: Remapping the Apostle’s Convictional World (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1997), 273–84; J.P. Dickson, Mission-Commitment in Ancient Judaism and in the Pauline Communities: The Shape, Extent and Background of Early Christian Mission (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2003), 46–49. 28 The evidence is discussed (in a somewhat too optimistic manner) in Dickson, Mission Commitment, 11–50. More sceptical is M. Goodman, Mission and Conversion: Proselytizing in the Religious History of the Roman Empire (Oxford: Clarendon, 1994). The eschatological motivation of the early Christian mission is certainly not prefigured in Ancient Judaism. 29 On the possibilities, see Hengel, The Pre-Christian Paul, 40–62. 30 It is not coincidental that after his call and time “in Arabia” he went back to Syria and Cilicia (Gal 1.21), i.e., in the region of Tarsus where he came from (cf. Acts 9.30).

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about his higher education in Jerusalem is reliable, his move from his Cilician home to the Holy City was already motivated by the desire to study Judaism in its very centre, to pursue true wisdom, and to get scriptural skills in order to take over responsibility for Jewish life predominantly in his home province. And it is no coincidence that after his call and an early period in “Arabia” he went to Syria and Cilicia, the larger region where he came from. From the Pharisaic viewpoint, Paul’s commitment could be in a rather general sense to strengthen and defend the Jewish identity and Torah orientation of his fellow Jews in the diaspora. So the awareness that Greek speaking Jews were apparently attracted by a group of enthusiastic sectarians venerating a dead “Messiah,” and possibly criticising the law and the temple, stimulated his “zeal” (Phil 3.6), i.e., the uncompromising intention to defend the ancestral traditions, including the commitment to stop or even exterminate those who were about to abandon or abolish these traditions.31 Certainly, the pre-Christian Paul felt a strong commitment and maybe also a certain “mission.” But there was no idea of captivity. As a Pharisee, he probably adhered to the anthropological view that the human will is largely free to cooperate with God in observing the law and doing his will, without any idea that this could be impossible. The young student of the law was also rather convinced that he himself was blameless (Phil 3.6), serving as a good example for others in following the ancestral traditions. There is no indication that prior to his call Paul adhered to a kind of deterministic worldview, as we know it from some of the Qumran texts. His later reflections about divine predestination (Rom 9–11) are rather rooted in the experience of his call or further reflections and experiences. II. Capture, Call, and Commission: Paul’s Interpretation of the Damascus Incident Although some of the implications only become evident by the time, Paul’s call near Damascus is the decisive turning point of his life.32 Apart from the Tarsus is never mentioned by Paul himself, but the mention of Cilicia probably points to Tarsus. From there, he was called to help the community in Antioch (Acts 11.25–26). 31 Cf. Haacker, “Paul’s Life,” 22f., who points to the fact that Paul’s Pharisaism as such does not sufficiently explain his zeal. 32 It is still disputed how decisive the Damascus event was for Paul’s later theology and how far Paul’s ideas (e.g., on justification) are only developed due to later experiences and conflicts. Without denying the stimulating impact of Paul’s mission experiences and the encounter with his communities, we should be aware that the most profound developments probably did not occur in the time between the first and the latest preserved epistle (i.e., between ca. 50 and 57 CE) but in the early years after his call, with the first missionary experiences. Cf. Hengel and Schwemer, Paul between Damascus and Antioch, 11–15. For a detailed discussion of the impact of Paul’s Damascus experience, see S. Kim, The Origin of Paul’s Gospel (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1981), and C. Dietz-

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three slightly different narrative accounts in Acts (9.1–19a; 22.6–16; 26.9– 18), where Luke tells a conversion story,33 Paul himself mentions the incident at a few points in his letters (1 Cor 9.1; 15.8; 2 Cor 4.6[?]; Gal 1.15–16; Phil 3.8), but only briefly, when he feels the need to defend his mission. Interestingly, he avoids terms of conversion such as ἐπιστρέφειν or µετάνοια, which were well-known in diaspora Judaism, but uses the terms of being called (like a prophet: Gal 1.15), of a revelation (of God’s son: Gal 1.16), or of a vision or rather personal encounter (of the risen Lord: 1 Cor 9.1; cf. 1 Cor 15.8). The contents of this revelation or vision is God’s son or his glory, which means that Jesus actually belongs to the realm of God’s throne – and not, as Paul had previously thought, to the realm of the dead or of the curse. It is a matter of definition whether or not this experience can be called a “conversion.”34 Of course, a change of religious affiliation, from “Judaism” to “Christianity” would be quite anachronistic at that time. Paul never considered his experience in those terms, but saw himself as an Israelite until the end of his life. The use of the label conversion could only be appropriate in a different sense, as Alan Segal has suggested, for the change “from one Jewish sect to another,”35 from Pharisaism to a certain type of universalistic Jewish Messianism. But in his own terms, Paul was struck by a ground-breaking new insight, by the encounter with the living and exalted Christ – as he states it: by the revelation of God’s Son (Gal 1.15). What is also at stake with the terms “conversion” or “call” is the issue of the acting subject: “conversion” focuses more on the human dimension, it implies a preceding crisis, internal struggles and usually also a human decision. In this respect, we have no hint that Paul had been discontent or critically struggling with his Jewish tradition or the law before his call.36 Paul himfelbinger, Die Berufung des Paulus als Ursprung seiner Theologie (2nd ed.; NeukirchenVluyn: Neukirchener, 1989), and Longenecker (ed.), The Road from Damascus. 33 On the three accounts see Hengel and Schwemer, Paul between Damascus and Antioch, 38–43; Heininger, Paulus als Visionär, 211–34. 34 On the history of interpretation see B. Corley, “Interpreting Paul’s Conversion – Then and Now,” in The Road from Damascus, 1–17; on modern research, see L.W. Hurtado, “Convert, Apostate or Apostle to the Nations,” Studies in Religion 22 (1993): 273– 84, and C. Strecker, Die liminale Theologie des Paulus (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1999), 81–96, who is critical of both terms and suggests to use the term of “initiation” instead. An interesting reinterpretation of the conversion term was suggested by A.F. Segal, Paul the Convert: The Apostolate and Apostasy of Saul the Pharisee (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1990), who allows for the use of the term for the change from one type of a certain religion to another type of the same religion. 35 Segal, Paul the Convert, 33. 36 The attempts of a psychological interpretation of Paul’s Damascus experience, as prepared by a certain ambivalence toward the Jewish law (thus, e.g., G. Theissen, Psychological Aspects of Pauline Theology [Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1987]), are without a firm basis in Paul’s own letters. Cf. M. Reichardt, Psychologische Erklärung der paulini-

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self only allows for the interpretation that God had called him by the revelation of his son. This was an incident Paul had never sought after before. In his retrospective the change in his life was not due to any “decision,” it was not Paul’s free will, he rather was captured, so that he can use the metaphor of a captive being led in a triumphal procession (2 Cor 2.14) and even speak of a severe obligation imposed on him (1 Cor 9.16). Near Damascus, Paul did not feel free to decide about his further religious affiliation, but was captured and called, and the real and only subject of that event is God himself. It is difficult to explain this change of life from former experiences or struggles in his earlier period.37 Paul does not allow for any real continuity. He rather describes his call as an event of radical discontinuity with his former life,38 in terms of a divine act in history, as epiphany (1 Cor 15.8), revelation or even (new) creation (2 Cor 4.6; cf. 5.17). Utilizing biblical call stories as a pattern for understanding his own experience, he even claims like Jeremiah (Jer 1.5) or the Servant in Deutero-Isaiah (Isa 49.1, 5) that he was singled out from his mother’s womb (Gal 1.15b)39 to be commissioned with a particular duty, the preaching of the Gospel for the Gentiles (Gal 1.16). For Paul himself, it is clear that the revelation of Christ in his call implied his apostleship (1 Cor 9.1 and 15.8) or more precisely his mission to the Gentiles. In defence of his mission, Paul can also claim that the gospel was given to him not through human mediation but from God himself, i.e., in his call, although this does not preclude that he actually adopted traditions (such as 1 Cor 11.23–25; 15.3–4) or information about Jesus from the communities in Damascus or Antioch or from other early witnesses such as Peter (Gal 1.18). It is debated in scholarship whether other aspects of his theology, especially his view of the Jewish law and his teaching of justification, are also rooted in his call. Certainly, we must allow for some time for these ideas to develop, either in the first years of Paul’s missionary activity, or even later in his various struggles with his communities in Corinth, Galatia, and elsewhere. But we should consider that Paul was captured and called just when he was piously fighting for the ancestral traditions and zealously committed to destroy the schen Damaskusvision? (Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1999), and most recently, M. Wolter, Paulus: Ein Grundriss seiner Theologie (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener, 2011), 23–34 37 Thus, e.g., G. Lüdemann, The Resurrection of Jesus: History, Experience, Theology (Fortress: Minneapolis, 1994), who claims that Paul’s (and Peter’s) vision of the risen Christ can be explained by the fact that he was wracked with guilt as a former persecutor. 38 Thus O. Wischmeyer, “Die Religion des Paulus: Eine Problemanzeige,” in Von Ben Sira zu Paulus: Gesammelte Aufsätze zu Texten, Theologie und Hermeneutik des Frühjudentums und des Neuen Testaments (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2004), 311–28, at 322f. 39 Thus K.O. Sandnes, Paul – One of the Prophets? A Contribution to the Apostle’s Self-Understanding (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1991), 48–76, esp. 61–76.

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sect of Jesus followers. Consequently, he was forced to regard his former pious and committed activity as fruitless zeal directed against God and his will, and thus as sinful strife in spite of its pious tradition-oriented intentions. On the other hand, he could now understand his own call and commissioning as an exemplary manifestation of the gospel of God’s grace towards sinners, or even as a demonstration of the justification of the ungodly, a new creation out of death. Although this might be a later terminological development in Paul’s thought, it is most probably triggered and confirmed by his personal experience of being captured, called, and commissioned. III. Freedom and Compulsion: Paul’s Apostolic Mission Scholars have also discussed how quickly Paul drew the consequences of his life-changing insight, and how early he started to preach the gospel to fellow Jews and to the Gentiles. For the chronology of his early years, we have only the brief account in Galatians 1, according to which he went first to Arabia, then again to Damascus,40 and only in the third year back to Jerusalem. There, not only the Jesus followers were probably reluctant to receive him,41 but also his former “zealous” friends might have reacted with hostility against the alleged “apostate.” After staying in “Syria and Cilicia” (Gal 1.21) for several years, possibly in the region of Tarsus, he was called to Antioch (Acts 11.25– 26) to support the community of Jesus followers there in its missionary work, probably because he had already some experiences in the missionary work and especially in preaching to Gentiles. Of course, we do not know for sure what Paul did in the first time after his Damascus experience, but it is reasonable that he soon began to share his insights and views with fellow Jews and to look for scriptural arguments for what had been revealed to him. The brief remark about his flight from Damascus in 2 Cor 11.32 suggests that there had already been quarrels with Nabatean authorities before, and it is probable that the reason was already a missionary activity or some disputes among Jewish communities, for which he was blamed. So we can assume that already in these early years in Arabia, Paul spread his message, probably first among fellow Jews,42 but at the margins of the Jewish communities he might have met Gentile sympathizers as well.43 And when he was finally called to enter the mission of the Antioch 40

Cf. also 2 Cor 11.32–33. Cf. Gal 1.23–24 together with 1.18–19, and the second account in Acts 9.26–30. For a thorough comparison and historical interpretation of the two accounts, see Hengel and Schwemer, Paul between Damascus and Antioch, 133–50. 42 Cf. Acts 9.22. See further Hengel and Schwemer, Paul between Damascus and Antioch, 106–13. 43 On the religious situation in Arabia and Syria, see Hengel and Schwemer, Paul between Damascus and Antioch, 120–26. 41

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community (Acts 11.25–26), he was probably considered qualified for that task from the experiences he had gained in the time before. Thus, we can assume that Paul’s life as a Jesus follower was dedicated to developing forms of mission from a very early period. In his own view, Paul was obliged to preach the gospel. He was not free to evangelize or not to evangelize, but with his call and commission, he felt a severe obligation or even compulsion (ἀνάγκη) imposed on him,44 or even a threat directed against him: “Woe to me if I do not preach the gospel” (1 Cor 9.16).45 Thus, “to preach the gospel of Christ is not something he chose to do…, it is something he must do.”46 Through the grace of God, he was set free from the captivity to sin and death, but on the other side, he could view himself as a captive in the service of Christ and his gospel. God had taken hold of him (cf. Phil 3.12), evangelizing is his destiny, which is ordained for him from birth or even before (cf. Gal 1.15). Freedom in Christ and obligation are closely intertwined, as can be demonstrated from three Pauline texts. The first one refers not only to Paul’s particular mission but to the situation of all believers: Romans 6 explains baptism in terms of a change of dominion: as a symbolic act of dying with Christ, baptism means liberation from the slavery of sin. The former captivity in sin with the final destiny of death has come to an end (Rom 6.6, 9, 11, 14), and on the other hand, the baptized person enters a new relationship with the Lord, and the liberation from sin and death correspond to the obligation now to serve and obey God. Obviously the “Christian” Paul cannot imagine a life without any kind of belonging to a dominating or ruling power or sphere, and, of course, belonging to the kingdom of God is quite different from the slavery of death. Entering the relationship with Christ is a change of dominion, from the slavery or captivity to sin and death to the new service of Christ, including ethical obligations. However, Paul’s particular mission is quite different from the Christian life of any other person. He views himself commissioned to play a particular role in the eschatological scenario, as is especially visible in Rom 15.16–29, where Paul develops his missionary plans. Paul was not even free to go where he wanted, but was hindered from coming to the Romans (Rom 15.22), his missionary work is dependent on the opportunity or rather “place” given to him by God himself (Rom 15.23), or, using the image of a minister serving at 44

“This is not to be understood psychologically, as some ‘inner compulsion’ resulting from his call or from his sense of being ‘driven’…,” but “most likely refers to his divine destiny” (G.D. Fee, The First Epistle to the Corinthians [Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1987], 418, with reference to E. Käsemann, “A Pauline Version of the Amor Fati,” in New Testament Questions of Today [Philadelphia: Fortress, 1969], 217–35, at 229). 45 This is expressed in a strong exclamation in 1 Cor 9.16: “Woe to me, if I do not preach the gospel!” (Oὐαὶ γάρ µοί ἐστιν ἐὰν µὴ εὐαγγελίσωµαι.) 46 Thus Fee, The First Epistle to the Corinthians, 418.

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the altar, he considers himself even an actor in a universal “drama” in which the Gentile believers are an eschatological offering to God. A very strong image for Paul’s mission is used in 2 Cor 2.14, when Paul praises God “who always leads us around in a triumphal procession in Christ” (τῷ πάντοτε θριαµβεύοντι ἡµᾶς). The difficult expression does not mean that God gives the triumph to Paul or the Christians, as some translations have misleadingly rendered, but rather that God himself leads Paul and his fellow believers around in his own triumphal procession.47 The way of the gospel through the provinces is compared here with the well-known triumphal processions of victorious emperors. So God celebrates the triumph, and Paul is led around: the active missionary is paradoxically depicted as a captive. There is one difference, however: Paul is not simply exposed like captured slaves or war prisoners, for he is no longer an enemy.48 But the image sufficiently communicates that Paul, in his apostolic ministry is not working on his own: he was overwhelmed by God’s grace in his call and is now part of God’s triumph, in a certain manner as a captive and, at the same time, actively spreading the knowledge of God and Christ like a fragrance, or – as ancient readers could imagine – like an incense burner. In his apostolic mission, Paul is not the active part, but rather a tool or an instrument of God’s triumphal work, whereas God (or Christ) is the real subject who leads the apostle around and gives him a place and opportunity to work. Notably, this is not said with respect to every Christian, but in particular consideration of Paul’s apostolic mission and his personal experiences, possibly including the experience of imprisonment which is already reflected in 2 Corinthians (cf. 2 Cor 1.8–11). In a slightly different manner, the paradox between freedom and captivity is reflected in 1 Corinthians 9, where Paul encourages his addressees, especially the “strong” members of the Corinthian community not to use their Christian freedom irresponsibly. They should be prepared to abstain from using their right to do certain things if this would harm some “weaker” community members in their conscience. Here, Paul introduces himself as an example: he is free (1 Cor 9.1) and as an apostle he has the right of being supplied by the community, but as the Corinthians know, he constantly worked with his own hands and did not accept the supply which could have been misunderstood as a reward for his apostolic service (9.12). His renunciation of supply is a particular use of his apostolic liberty which is not only to have and utilize particular rights but rather the ability to use or not to use them.

47

Cf. R.P. Martin, 2 Corinthians (Waco: Word, 1986), 46f.; somewhat differently, T. Schmeller, Der zweite Brief an die Korinther, Vol. 1: 2 Kor 1,1 – 7,4 (NeukirchenVluyn: Neukirchener, 2010), 156–59. 48 This is stressed by Schmeller, Der zweite Brief an die Korinther, 157.

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In the subsequent passage, Paul even questions that he could ever receive any reward for his service. While reward can only be paid for a voluntary work, his apostolic mission is not a voluntary work or the result of a free decision. Instead, against his will (9.17: ἄκων) he was commissioned to dispense the gospel. Since this is a compulsion, or even a destiny, Paul cannot expect any glory or special reward. His refusal to accept any supply from the Corinthians is the sign of this particular situation, moreover it demonstrates that Paul is not in the service of the community but commissioned with a divine responsibility. So his paradoxical “reward” is precisely that he can proclaim the gospel for free, without using any supply from the community. Freedom and obligation are closely connected here. As God’s steward Paul is liable only to him, not to the community, so he is free from human expectations and demands, and also free to preach the gospel for free. So Paul can present himself as a paradigm of Christian liberty, as it is particularly visible in his apostolic mission.49 Such a paradoxical kind of liberty is also characteristic of Paul’s mission, as the subsequent passage explains: he is free with respect to everyone to serve everyone (9.19); among Jews he can behave as a Jew in order to win the Jews, but among Gentiles he can also be like a Gentile in order to win the Gentiles (9.20–21). Paul, however, puts it more subtly: to those without law he can be “as without law,” although he assures that he is actually not lawless but “under the law of Christ” (9.21: ἔννοµος Χριστοῦ). Paul did not abandon his Jewish identity. He is definitely a Jew, and even in Christ he is under a certain obligation, described here as a “law of Christ” (cf. Gal 6.2). But bound to that law of Christ, he feels the liberty to set aside the Jewish law with its restrictions in order to encounter the Gentiles without preconditions and to “win” them for the gospel. This liberty is rooted in Paul’s conviction that in Christ circumcision and law have lost their soteriological relevance. The traditional Jewish identity markers are strongly relativized50 (and this is what caused problems for some of the Jewish believers inside or outside Paul’s communities). But for that reason, Paul has the liberty to behave as if he were a Gentile, if this is necessary for winning Gentiles. Such a freedom is the fundamental precondition of his missionary work. IV. Mission in Captivity: Paul’s Imprisonments and Their Missionary Effects But now we have to look at the real, non-metaphorical captivities Paul had to endure. In his catalogues of hardships he mentions beatings and imprisonments (2 Cor 6.4); he suffered more than his adversaries (2 Cor 11.24–25). In 49

Thus S. Vollenweider, Freiheit als neue Schöpfung: Eine Untersuchung zur Eleutheria bei Paulus und in seiner Umwelt (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1989), 199. 50 Cf. Frey, “The Jewishness of Paul,” 79.

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detail Paul claims to have suffered five times the synagogual punishment of 39 strokes,51 one stoning,52 probably through a Jewish mob (cf. Acts 14.5), and three times the Roman punishment with rods (verberatio; cf. Acts 16.22) or whips (flagellatio).53 These remarks, some of which are also illustrated in Acts, show that Paul came in trouble with synagogal and political authorities. Jews could see him as a seducer, blasphemer, or apostate; local or civic authorities might have seen him as a troublemaker and reacted with beatings for warning or deterrent.54 Turning to the imprisonments, the situation of the sources is more complicated. Paul mentions imprisonments in 2 Cor 6.5 and 11.23. The letters to the Philippians, if taken as a unity, and the letter to Philemon are written in a prison (Phil 1.7, 9, 13–14, 17; Phlm 9, 10, 13), but Paul himself does not specify where he is imprisoned. Luke instead mentions three places of imprisonment: Philippi (Acts 16), Caesarea (Acts 24–26), and Rome (Acts 28). A fourth place, Ephesus, is neither mentioned by Paul, nor linked with an imprisonment in Acts; only the Acts of Paul directly narrate a captivity in Ephesus. The issue is important for determining the situation of Philippians (and Philemon), which are either located late in the Roman captivity55 or earlier in the Ephesian period.56 The vivid exchange between Paul and the Philippians and Paul’s hope for visiting the Philippians in the near future (Phil 2.24) are in my view much better conceivable if the place of Paul’s captivity was not in Rome but closer by, presumably in Ephesus.57 And if Philemon and his house were located in Colossae (as a number of common names with Colossians 51

Cf. m. Mak. 3.10 and, in the background, Deut 25.2–3. Martin, 2 Corinthians, 377 assumes that “the five occasions on which Paul claims to have been beaten perhaps belong to an early period of his mission service, in the so-called ‘silent years’…where he (apparently) was banished as a member of the synagogue community.” 52 Cf. Acts 14.5, 19. 53 Cf. Acts 16.22. This kind of punishment was illegal for Roman citizens (cf. T. Mommsen, “Die Rechtsverhältnisse des Apostels Paulus,” ZNW 2 [1901]: 81–96, at 90), but Paul might not always have managed to claim appropriate treatment. Cf. also Martin, 2 Corinthians, 377. 54 G. Theissen, “Paulus – der Unglücksstifter. Paulus und die Verfolgung der Gemeinden in Jerusalem und Rom,” in Biographie und Persönlichkeit des Paulus, 228–44 shows that the troubles around Paul could also affect the communities and bring them into troubles or even persecution. 55 Cf. the contribution by U. Schnelle in the present volume and Schnelle, Einleitung in das Neue Testament (6th ed.; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2007), 152–55. 56 Cf. the argument in Broer and Weidemann, Einleitung. The view is also advocated in a number of other contributions in the present volume; cf. especially the article by H. Omerzu and, quite convincingly, her earlier article: “Spurensuche: Apostelgeschichte und Paulusbriefe als Zeugnisse einer ephesischen Gefangenschaft,” in J. Frey, C.K. Rothschild, and J. Schröter (eds.), Die Apostelgeschichte im Kontext antiker und frühchristlicher Historiographie (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2009), 295–326. 57 Cf. Omerzu, “Spurensuche, ” 300–02.

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suggests), this would also better fit a captivity in Ephesus.58 But also some notes in 1–2 Corinthians show that Paul had a severe crisis in Ephesus: in 1 Corinthians, which was written there (1 Cor 16.8), Paul mentions that he had fought with beasts in Ephesus (1 Cor 15.32), which can hardly mean a damnation ad bestias,59 but metaphorically the struggle with dangerous adversaries.60 In 2 Cor 1.8–10, Paul reports further hardships he had suffered in Asia together with others, mentioning that he had seriously reckoned with his death. The most plausible interpretation is still that this refers to a conflict with civic or provincial officials in Ephesus.61 It is interesting that Acts also reports a strong reaction of pagan groups against Paul’s mission, the riot of the silversmiths (Acts 19.23–40). For Paul, the situation in Ephesus differed in a number of aspects from that in other cities.62 When he arrived in Ephesus, there was already a group of Jewish Jesus followers, originally instructed by Apollos (cf. Acts 18.24– 26),63 so that Paul could not claim to be the founder of the Ephesian community but only the founder or “head” of one of several different groups. The group of Jesus followers instructed by Apollos was apparently linked with the local synagogue, and it may be no coincidence that, according to Acts, Paul moved with his followers from the synagogue to another place, the “School of Tyrannos.”64 A possible reason for that may be that he had some conflicts with other Jews in the synagogue, and even other Jewish believers in Jesus might have been sceptical towards his active approach to Gentiles that was likely to cause troubles, even for other Jews and the synagogue. So he might have seen the chance to address Jews and Gentiles more easily at a different, or possibly “neutral,” place. But, as Luke narrates in the episode about the silversmiths, the open proclamation to the Gentiles stimulated reactions from pagan groups or civic institutions, and it is questionable whether all other Jesus followers in Ephesus were willing to support Paul in those troubles or 58

Omerzu, “Spurensuche,” 306. This would have been quite illegal for a Roman citizen; moreover, it is not mentioned in the catalogue of hardships in 2 Cor 11.23–29; cf. Omerzu, “Spurensuche,” 308. 60 Cf. W. Thiessen, Christen in Ephesus: Die historische und theologische Situation in vorpaulinischer und paulinischer Zeit und zur Zeit der Apostelgeschichte und der Pastoralbriefe (Tübingen and Basel: Francke, 1995), 111–14, and S. Witetschek, Ephesische Enthüllungen I: Frühe Christen in einer antiken Großstadt. Zugleich ein Beitrag zur Frage nach den Kontexten der Johannesapokalypse (Leuven: Peeters, 2008), 394–95. 61 Omerzu, “Spurensuche,” 312 also mentions Rom 16.4. 62 On the following, see Frey, “Von Paulus zu Johannes,” 242–48. 63 It is striking that, 40 years after the events, Luke is still bound to keep the memory of Apollos in Ephesus. This may lead to the conclusion that the traces of his ministry or groups related to him were still present in Ephesus in post-Pauline times. On the problems, see Frey, “Von Paulus zu Johannes,” 242f., and Witetschek, Ephesische Enthüllungen, 357f. 64 On that place, see Witetschek, Ephesische Enthüllungen, 372. 59

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whether some rather blamed him for causing hostility by his all-too-bold missionary approach to the Gentiles. This is a situation as is presupposed in Philippians: Phil 1.14–17 mentions other Christian preachers who, according to Paul, preach Christ out of envy and selfish ambition. Some do apparently not share the view that Paul really suffers for the sake of the gospel (Phil 1.16), and obviously he was not supported by all Christians at his place. This fits quite well to the situation we can reconstruct from the Ephesian sources.65 From Philippians we can see that even as a captive and from within prison, Paul continued his care for the communities, if the situation allowed him to receive visitors, send messengers, or write letters. Theologically he was convinced that his own suffering and imprisonment belonged to the existence of a disciple of the crucified one and that even his captivity would contribute to the ongoing communication of the gospel (Phil 1.18–19). Captivity was part of the apostolic existence, in accord with the suffering of the Lord, and now captivity became a part of his mission and – for certain times – the situation in which Paul had to work. The crisis also caused some change in Paul’s thought. His hope to stay alive until the Parousia disappears, and Paul now reckons with the possibility of his death. The fragility of life is now considered much more subtly than before (cf. 2 Cor 4.7–18). In view of these changes, we can only regret that we do not have any original sources from the time of his captivity in Caesarea or Rome. Would these experiences of captivity have reshaped further aspects of his thought? And how would he have commented on the chances for further mission in his imprisonments in Caesarea or Rome? Luke says that he could still use his arrest in Rome for serving the communities, receiving guests, and even preaching (Acts 28.30–31). But the historical value of those concluding phrases in Acts is disputed. From the two years of Paul’s imprisonment in Caesarea, Luke tells almost nothing, apart from the note that Paul was called to the procurator Felix several times, but only due to a certain hope for bribes (Acts 24.26). Apart from that, Felix seems to have neglected him, and it is interesting that Luke says nothing about any kind of missionary activity or contacts of Paul in that period. Were his detention conditions so severe that visitors could not get to him? Or were “his” communities simply too far away? Would they not have sent messengers to comfort and strengthen him? And what about the community messengers who had accompanied him from Asia Minor to Jerusalem? Did they return and leave him alone? Is the situation in his Caesarean captivity really so different from the one in the Ephesian prison where he apparently had exchange with the local brethren and with the community at Philippi? Or does Luke simply ignore such activities to focus totally on Paul’s defences in the encounters with Felix, Festus, and Agrippa? We have no real clue to solve 65

Frey, “Von Paulus zu Johannes,” 246f.

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that riddle, but it is likely that a two-year imprisonment under uncertain circumstances was a severe challenge to Paul’s faith. And if it is true that even Philippians was written before that period, we do not have any authentic testimony from the period thereafter. In contrast with those sceptical considerations, Luke’s account of Paul’s Roman captivity strongly focuses on his preaching and teaching activities, but this is also in accord with the program of Acts. It might be true, however, that Paul was simply guarded in a private dwelling place where he was waiting for the decision about his fate. But for Luke, it is the ideal end to have the Gospel spread in the capital of the empire, together with the move from the Jews to the Gentiles. Paul’s real end, however, remains unclear and leaves much room for further speculation.

C. The Ends of Paul? In conclusion, I will briefly consider at least four perspectives on the end of Paul. And it is an open question where his “real” end can be located: is it his physical end, his death, or, eventually, martyrdom? Or is it the end he envisaged for himself, the eschatological end, being with Christ (Phil 1.23)? Or do we find his end in the writings he left for later generations, or the collection of epistles assembled by some communities and complemented by other, pseudonymous testimonies? Or, if even this is not the end of Paul’s story, should we consider his end in his impact on theology and church, as a “neverending” story? I. Paul’s Physical End: His Martyrdom and His Tomb So, to what end did Paul finally come? Was the death penalty eventually confirmed by Nero, so that he was executed after the two years mentioned in Acts 28.30? What does it mean that Luke mentions these two years? He probably knew that something happened after that time, but keeps quiet about that. He does so, certainly, because the image of Paul’s open preaching made a good end to his story of the gospel’s path from Jerusalem to the “ends of the world.” The open end keeps the doors open for the imagination of a “happy end,” the way of the gospel from Jerusalem to the end of the world, its universal proliferation. Should Luke really tell the bad end, the execution, the death, the breakdown of Paul’s mission?66

66

Cf. also U. Schnelle, Paul: His Life and Theology (Grand Rapids: Baker, 2005), 386: “Paul probably died abandoned and alone as a martyr.”

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Or did the story continue differently? Was Paul released from prison and did later come back to Rome for unknown reasons to die in the Neronian persecution?67 The problem of this view is that we have no contemporary sources for a further missionary journey, nor can we imagine a really convincing reason for his later return to Rome. We only have strong evidence that he was put to death there, in an unknown manner, so that the Roman community could later see him together with Peter as the martyr at its foundations, an example of suffering endurance (cf. 1 Clem. 5.5–7), a champion of its particular views and claims. Somewhat ironically, Paul was appropriated by a “foreign” community, which had neither been founded by himself, nor formed one of the centres of his missionary activity. His martyrdom in Rome, his tomb, located, venerated, and most recently again investigated in San Paolo Fuori le Mura, might be the physical end of the apostle.68 And we may ask whether this is part of his mission or rather a kind of captivity: the apostle of Christ is retained for veneration in a Roman tomb. Perhaps the focus on his martyrdom also misrepresents his mission, and we should not stay with his physical end. There are some other ends that deserve consideration, and it might be appropriate to take them into account when concluding this reflection on the last journeys, years, and thoughts of Paul. II. Paul’s Canonical End: The Corpus of His Letters and the Shift in Paul’s Image In some respects Paul ends up as a hero, a venerated saint, used and also misused for various ideas and aims, which were not always corresponding to his own intentions. But rather than elaborating on these aspects, the various views and miracles ascribed to him in the apocryphal writings,69 we might focus on his “canonization” as an author, on the “canonical end” of Paul. The collection of (some of) his epistles probably did not start in Rome but rather in the East, in one of the centres of his mission, i.e., Ephesus or Corinth. His epistles were kept, copied, and shared with other communities, and thus also assembled to collections. Paul’s letters, originally linked to particular situations, were thus transferred to another level, detached from their original communication setting, and – as some interpreters assume – even

67

Thus the suggestion in the paper by R. Riesner in the present volume. On the traditions of the Roman church, cf. H.G. Thümmel, Die Memorien für Petrus und Paulus in Rom: Die archäologischen Denkmäler und die literarische Tradition (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1999). 69 On the miracles ascribed to Paul in the apocryphal writings, cf. R. Zimmermann et al. (eds.), Kompendium der frühchristlichen Wundererzählungen, vol. 2: Die Wunder der Apostel (Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, forthcoming). 68

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glossed70 or redactionally arranged.71 Hermeneutically it is clear that the collection and successive “canonization” of the writings of an author does not preserve the author as he or she was but builds up a new web of textual and intertextual relations and also a new image of the author, depending on the contents and arrangement of the collection and on the context in which it is presented. Thus, the canonical Paul certainly differs from the real Paul, in terms of a reduction to a limited number of sources, but also in terms of an amplification which is accomplished by the addition of other letters later ascribed to Paul and finally by the integration into a broader canonical collection. That collection included now the Gospels, the book of Acts, and also a collection of “Catholic Epistles,” ascribed to other authors and in parts also taking a critical view on the difficult and easily mistakable letters of “our dear brother Paul” (2 Pet 3.15). When Paul’s writings are canonized, his image is changed and “extended” in manifold ways: the most obvious change is caused by the addition of the book of Acts where Paul is not only depicted as a restless missionary but also as a convert (which is only partly correct) and generally as a pious Jew circumcising his disciple Timothy, caring for some Nasireans in Jerusalem, and being convicted simply for his truly Jewish belief in the resurrection of the dead. Regardless of the question whether Luke may be historically correct in some of these points, it is clear that the addition of Acts provides a shift in the image of Paul, and it makes a difference if one takes Acts or, e.g., Galatians as the starting point of reading Paul. Other changes are made in the epistles ascribed to Paul, when Paul is “transposed” to later and different situations and his voice is utilized to solve issues that were not yet present or even imaginable in his lifetime.72 A very early shift is visible in Colossians when Paul is depicted saying that by his suffering in captivity he might himself complete the deficiencies in the sufferings of Christ (Col 1.24). Here, Paul is not simply portrayed as a martyr but even as a martyr whose sufferings gain a kind of soteriological quality – a view which is hardly reconcilable with how Paul himself had written about the atonement through Christ’s death. Ephesians even goes a step further when Paul himself is now seen as a part of the foundation on which the church is built (Eph 2.20), in modification of Paul’s own statement that he had 70 Cf., in particular, the suggestions in the exegetical debate on Rom 7.25; 1 Cor 1.2; 14.34–35. 71 In particular, this has been argued for 2 Corinthians and also for Philippians. On the methodological and hermeneutical problem of the composition pattern, cf. Schnelle, Einleitung, 90–91, and, for 2 Corinthians, Schmeller, Der zweite Brief an die Korinther, 19–37. 72 Cf., apart from the introductions, B. Heininger, “The Reception of Paul in the First Century: The Deutero- and Trito-Pauline Letters, and the Image of Paul in Acts,” in Wischmeyer (ed.), Paul, 309–38.

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laid the only true foundation, which is Christ himself (1 Cor 3.9–11). In such a view, Paul himself is now “canonized” as a part of the foundational salvation history, or as the true foundation of the church. The shift in the image is obvious, and we might add a final canonical shift in Second Timothy where the form of a “literary testament” is chosen to focus on Paul as a true martyr who has fought the good fight to the end, finished the race, and kept the faith to receive the crown of righteousness (2 Tim 4.7–8). Paul’s captivities and martyrdom are now ultimately canonized as something to be rewarded at the day of Christ. And the “canonical end” of Paul includes this “self-evaluation” of his “race,” depicting Paul as an example of suffering, of being faithful unto death to be rewarded with the crown of righteousness.73 III. Paul’s Eschatological End: His Hope for Liberation from Death According to his own eschatological expectation, Paul certainly hoped to be “with Christ” (Phil 1.23; cf. 1 Thess 4.17) in his death, in order to see in an unveiled manner what he had believed during his life as a follower of Christ (cf. 1 Cor 13.12; 2 Cor 5.7): primarily Christ’s glory (2 Cor 4.6). In Philippians 1 he even expresses a desire to depart, or rather to “dissolve” (ἀναλῦσαι) in order to enter into communion with Christ (Phil 1.23), which would mean liberation not only from the hardships and sufferings in life, including mistreatment and captivity, but also from the captivity in the corruptible “house” of the human body, by being clothed with a new and eternal “house” (2 Cor 5.1–2), a spiritual and incorruptible body in glory (1 Cor 15.42–44). We should not misunderstand this as an expression that Paul was tired of life or even eager for some kind of martyrdom or for a heroic “noble death” according to certain Stoic ideals. Nor is this a merely individualistic or even egoistic hope, but it is actually embedded in Paul’s broader apocalyptic expectation of a final defeat of all evil powers, including death, and the liberation of the whole creation from the bondage of corruption (Rom 8.22), from its captivity in the power of death. This apocalyptic expectation is in the background of Paul’s theology, his views of Christ and salvation, and thus behind his whole mission: by faith in Christ, humans should experience that liberation from sin and death, and thus be released from all captivities.

73

With regard to the reward, this certainly differs from what Paul had written in 1 Corinthians 9.

Paul the Apostle

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D. Paul and No End: His Voice as a Mission for the Present It might be appropriate to end here, with Paul’s own theology of hope, derived from the revelation of the glory of the crucified one. His own theology was often misconceived or relativized, not least in the canonical modification of his image and in his later veneration as a saint and hero. The true value of his theological thought was discovered only by a few congenial interpreters. An early one, and also one of the greatest, was St. Augustine, who developed his theology in a life-long struggle with the Pauline epistles, especially with the tensions in Paul’s thought.74 Another one, more than thousand years later, was the former Augustinian friar Martin Luther, who – admittedly, in a very different situation and religious climate – was led to his ground-breaking discoveries through the text of Romans so that he could call that epistle “the chief part of the New Testament and the very purest Gospel, …worthy not only that every Christian should know it word for word, by heart, but occupy himself with it every day, as the daily bread of the soul.”75 And again, at the beginning of the last century, there was an unknown Swiss pastor who read Romans – beyond all historical considerations – as a fresh and provoking message, thus liberating Paul from captivity to a merely historical understanding, to a contemporary mission for theology and for the church.76 This might be Paul’s true end: Paul’s thought does not suffer captivity in theological systems or as a merely historical phenomenon but provokes again and again to be read as a vivid message of divine grace.

74

Cf. W. Wischmeyer, “Paulus und Augustin,” in Biographie und Persönlichkeit des Paulus, 323–43. 75 M. Luther, “Vorrede zum Brief des Apostels Paulus an die Römer,” in K. Aland (ed.), Luther Deutsch: Die Werke Martin Luthers in neuer Auswahl für die Gegenwart, vol. 5: Schriftauslegung (4th ed.; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1990), 45–62, at 45: “Dieser Brief ist das rechte Hauptstück des Neuen Testaments und das allerlauterste Evangelium, welcher wohl würdig und wert ist, daß ihn ein Christenmensch nicht allein Wort für Wort auswendig wisse, sondern täglich damit umgehe als mit einem täglichen Brot für die Seele; denn er kann nimmer zu viel und zu gründlich gelesen oder betrachtet werden.” 76 K. Barth, Der Römerbrief 1919 (ed. H. Schmidt; Zürich: TVZ, 1985).

List of Contributors Loveday Alexander, Emeritus Professor of Biblical Studies, Sheffield University (England, UK). John M.G. Barclay, Lightfoot Professor of Divinity, Department of Theology and Religion, Durham University (England, UK). Angelo di Berardino, Professor of Patrology, Augustinian Patristic Institute (Augustinianum), Rome (Italy). Reimund Bieringer, Professor of New Testament Exegesis, Faculty of Theology and Religious Studies, KU Leuven (Belgium). Agustí Borrell, Professor of New Testament, Theological Faculty of Catalonia, Barcelona (Spain). Juan Chapa, Professor of New Testament, Theological Faculty, University of Navarra, Pamplona (Spain). John G. Cook, Professor of Religion, LaGrange College (Atlanta, USA). Jörg Frey, Professor of New Testament Exegesis, Theological Faculty, University of Zürich (Switzerland). Daniel Gerber, Professor of New Testament, Theological Faculty, University of Strasbourg (France). Erich S. Gruen, Professor of History and Classics, University of California, Berkeley (California, USA). Wolfgang Grünstäudl, Akademischer Rat (Senior Lecturer) for Biblical and Historical Theology, New Testament Exegesis, Institut for Catholic Theology, Department of Humanities, Bergische Universität Wuppertal (Germany).

580

List of Contributors

Jens Herzer, Professor of the “Institut für Neutestamentliche Wissenschaft,” Theological Faculty, University of Leipzig (Germany). Friedrich W. Horn, Professor of New Testament Studies, Theological Faculty, University of Mainz (Germany). Christos Karakolis, Associate Professor of New Testament, Theological Faculty, University of Athens (Greece). Peter Lampe, Professor of New Testament Studies, Theological Faculty, University of Heidelberg (Germany). Daniel Marguerat, Emeritus Professor of New Testament, Theological Faculty, University of Lausanne (Switzerland). Valerio Marotta, Professor of Roman Law, Faculty of Law, University of Pavia (Italy). Tobias Nicklas, Professor of New Testament Exegesis and Hermeneutics, Theological Faculty, University of Regensburg (Germany). Karl-Wilhelm Niebuhr, Professor of New Testament, Theological Faculty, University of Jena (Germany). Peter Oakes, Senior Lecturer in the New Testament, Manchester University (England, UK). Heike Omerzu, Professor of New Testament, Theological Faculty, University of Copenhagen (Denmark). Romano Penna, Emeritus Professor of New Testament, Theological Faculty, Pontifical Lateran University, Rome (Italy). Armand Puig ì Tàrrech, Professor of New Testament, Theological Faculty of Catalonia, Barcelona (Spain). Michel Quesnel, Emeritus Professor of New Testament, Theological Faculty, Lyon Catholic University (France). Rainer Riesner, Emeritus Professor of New Testament, Faculty of the Humane and Theological Sciences, TU Dortmund (Germany).

List of Contributors

581

Bernardo Santalucia, Professor of Roman Law, Faculty of Law, University of Florence (Italy). Udo Schnelle, Professor of New Testament, Theological Faculty, University of Halle-Wittenberg (Germany). Glenn E. Snyder, Associate Professor, Department of Religious Studies, Indiana University, Indianapolis (Indiana, USA). N.T. Wright, Professor of New Testament and Early Christianity, University of St Andrews (Scotland, UK).

Index of References Old Testament Genesis 3 10 32.23–32

325 51 467

Exodus 16.18 (LXX) 30.11–16 34.29

42 38 335

Deuteronomy 15.10 (LXX) 25.3 32.21

45 248 64

Joshua 7.1

326

1 Kings 19.14–15

55

Psalms 2 8 18.5 (LXX) 72.10 111.9 (LXX)

57 57 430, 478 496 45

Proverbs 3.4 (LXX) 22.8 (LXX)

43 45

Isaiah 6.9-10 40.5 40.9 48.20 (LXX) 49.1 49.5 49.6 (LXX)

66.20

305, 308, 317–18 314 60 543 565 565 391, 394, 413–14, 417– 18, 478, 543, 545 60 52, 414 45 37 37 51, 62, 416 392, 413, 415–16, 492– 93, 495–96 392, 414–15

Jeremiah 1.5

565

Daniel 2 7 9 12.11

54, 63 54, 63 63 63

Jonah 1.3

496

52.7 52.15 55.10 (LXX) 58.6–10 61.1–3 66 66.19 (LXX)

Jewish Texts 1 Maccabees 2.49–68

4 Ezra 11–12 55

63

584 Josephus Antiquitates judaicae 1.1–26 85 1.127 415 8.181 415 8.270 380 9.208 415, 496 14.66 120 14.110–13 38 14.115 64 14.145–48 113 14.216 79 15.342 71 15.350–51 111 16.12–26 111 16.160–78 166 17.206–355 70 18.252 65, 499–500 18.257–309 75 18.259 75 18.273–78 71 18.311–12 38 19.343–50 325 20.105–36 537 20.129 237 20.152–57 104 20.160–81 194 20.193–95 76 20.201–03 395 Bellum judaicum 1.147–49 120 1.535–38 111 2.1–100 70 2.14 255 2.111 478, 499 2.129 380 2.183 65, 499 2.250–51 104 2.252–70 194 2.345–401 170 2.398 64 2.449–57 120 3.1–2 104 3.9 120 4.491–93 105 6.126 189 6.312f. 120 7.2 120 7.43 64

Index of References 7.45 7.218

80 121

Contra Apionem 2.282 64 Vita 3 13 13–16 14–15 16 17 408–09

222 93, 537 76 94 94 83 104

Philo De cherubim 114

550

De opificio mundi 3 85 105 549 De specialibus legibus 2.33 550 2.62 80 De vita Mosis 2.41 2.216

80 79

Hypothetica 7 12f.

80 80

In Flaccum 45f. 128–29

64 214–15

Legatio ad Gaium 155–61 74 155–57 78, 93, 115, 118 157 98 185–89 74 212 189 261–329 87 350 156 353 75 361–63 75 361 165

585

Index of References 363

165

Psalms of Solomon 8.15–17 495 8.15 317, 543 8.16 392

Rabbinic Texts Ber. 62a 496 Gittin 1b

114

Sibylline Oracles 3.271 64 5.140–54 106 5.363–69 106 8.140–41 106, 108

Nid. 30b

496

Teh. 22.31

496

Sirach 11.28 47.17

Yebam. 63a

496

1 413

New Testament Matthew 5.17–20 7.29 8.12 10.17 23 27

116 116 327 116 116 325

Mark 2.23–3.6 3.4 5.9–10 6.30–44 7.26 8.1–10 8.22–26 8.27–29 10.42 12.17 12.42 13.12–13 13.21–22 14.27–31 15.15 15.39 16.7

114 120–21 120–21 128 114 128 120 120–21 121 121 114 119 120 119 340 120 119

Luke 1.1–4

317

1.3 2.30–34 8.1–3 9.51 20.36 21.12 22.69 23.34 23.46

323 313 37 477 337 200 327–28 328 328

John 20.24–29 21.18–19

364 124

Acts 1.4 1.8 425, 1.23 2.9–11 2.10 2.32–34 2.39 3.25 4.13 5.1–11 6.8 6.15 7

394 245, 315, 317, 413–19, 428, 477, 543 360 486 70 313 313 313 557 326 336 336 327–28

586 7.58 9.15 9.28–29 11.25–26 12 12.17 12.23 13 13–14 13.4–11 13.7 13.11 13.13–52 13.46 13.47 13.50 14.11 14.15 14.21–22 15.29 16.2–3 16.11–40 16.23–40 16.22 16.37 17.1–9 17.17 18.1–17 18.1–3 18.2 18.3 18.6 18.18 19.21 19.23 19.23–40 19.35–36 20.3 20.4 20.7–12 20.9–12 20.11 20.16 20.23–38 20.24 20.25 20.30–31

Index of References 337, 551 423 55 566–67 325, 328–29 323–24, 542 325–26 243 391 176 172 486–87 176 307, 31–14 313, 317, 394, 413–18, 428, 478 176, 401 510 325 494 560 492–93 159–60, 176 438 250, 272 192, 198, 249–50, 272 160–64, 176 492, 504 164–66, 176 96, 351 98, 104, 115, 135, 138, 178 146 314 139 418, 477, 498 438 166–69, 176, 571 172 475, 510–11 21–22, 191, 207–09, 493, 501, 507–10, 518 353–54 5 380 537 395, 544 400, 428 397 318–19

21 21.11 21.18–26 21.15–24.27 21.23–24 21.27–22.29 21.21 21.27–31 21.28 21.29 21.30–32 21.31–36 21.37–39 21.38 22 22.3 22.15 22.18 22.21 22.22–29 22.30–23.35 22.24–25 22.25–28 22.28 23.1–5 23.11 23.19 23.30 24–26 24.1–25.12 24.5–8 24.5 24.6 24.10 24.12 24.17 24.23 24.26 24.27 25.1–2 25.8 25.9 25.9–12 25.11 25.11–12 25.16 25.18 26.6–7 26.31 26.32

2, 211 308 190 177 332 188–93 11 190 188, 191, 207–08 189 189 191 252 224 192 557 394 394 394, 418 205, 249 193–94 192, 198, 204, 273 251 252 398 418 200 484 12 194–95 223 211 191 537 173 190, 508–09 484 241, 572 537 156 225 199 187, 199, 218, 249, 253 484 498 156–57 200 317–18 200 395

Index of References 27.12 27.17 28

28.31

539 380 3, 5, 72–73, 131, 150, 203, 347–48, 408, 427, 458 330 474 100, 135–36 101, 103 308–09 309–11 200, 305–32, 433–34, 498 127, 319, 395, 456–57, 460, 474 135 349 100, 135, 137, 315, 501 308, 319, 456–57, 460 103 310 313, 318 314 305, 315–16, 319, 332, 438, 456–57, 460, 474, 539, 545, 573 95, 127, 310, 349, 436, 457, 541, 572 5, 7, 320, 428

Romans 1.1–17 1.3–5 1.5 1.7 1.13 1.14–15 1.14 1.16 1.18–32 1.23 1.25 2.9–10 2.14 2.17 2.25–27 2.29 4.3 4.13 6

504 60 24, 423 100, 128, 473 100 101 495 64, 315 181 489, 503 489 101 84 101 84 84 260 56 567

28.3–6 28.13–15 28.14–15 28.14–17 28.17–20 28.17–22 28.16–31 28.16 28.17 28.21 28.22 28.23 28.25–28 28.26 28.27 28.28 28.30

28.30–31

8 8.2 8.22 9–11 9.1–5 9.2 9.6–18 9.30 10.14–21 10.18 11 11.25 11.24–26 11.25–31 11.26 12.1–2 12.13 12.14 13 13.6f. 13.1–7 13.4 14–15 15 15.7–13 15.12 15.14–32 15.16 15.18–20 15.22–32 15.14–21 15.15 15.15–16 15.16 15.17–21 15.18 15.19–24 15.19 15.20 15.21 15.22 15.23 15.24–28 15.24

587 56–57, 86 86 576 12, 87 87 12 101 101 65 478 10, 51 21, 396 12, 440 87, 101 394 48, 180 124 184 87, 181–83, 368 125 12, 148–50, 181 11 128, 131, 144, 559 1–2, 5, 51, 62, 190, 210–11, 517–19 504 60 16, 23–30 29, 392 49 26–30 24–26, 209 23 137, 209 414, 492, 495 481 60 171, 393 28, 56, 60, 62, 408, 415, 498 60, 391, 491–92 52, 391 27, 458, 567 27, 49, 59, 394, 423, 458, 498, 545, 567 440 4, 27, 67, 100, 125, 203, 349, 386, 388, 394, 423, 427, 440, 461, 489, 493,

588

Index of References

16.1–2 16.3–5 16.4 16.5 16.3–16 16.5 16.10–11 16.11 16.23

497–98, 510, 540, 545, 556 27 17, 20, 28 18–19, 28, 30–31, 493 29–30, 49, 67, 203, 386, 388, 427, 461, 497–98, 510, 540, 545, 556 30, 489, 493 11, 101, 545 30, 190 13, 30 68–71, 125, 132, 134, 136, 143–44, 145, 511– 12 471–72 134 438 143 134 127–28 112, 127, 473 143 128

1 Corinthians 1.2 1.14–16 1.14 1.16 1.18–20 3.9–11 4.13 5.5–7 5.12 7.29–31 9 9.1 9.12 9.15–16 9.16 9.19–21 10.14 15.8 15.20–28 15.32 15.42–44 16.1–4 16.1–2 16.3-4

128 139 134 115 180 576 119 259–60 184 183 568–69 565, 568 568 561 565, 567 569 138 565 503 438, 460, 561, 571 576 33, 437 15 21–22

15.25 15.26 15.27 15.28

15.29 15.30–31 15.31 15.32 16

16.5 16.19 2 Corinthians 1.1 1.8–10 1.8 1.22 2.14 4.6 5.1–2 8–9 8.4 8.6 8.9–15 8.16–24 8.17–22 8.20 8.24 9.1–5 9.1 9.2 9.6–10 9.11–15 9.13 9.14 10.10 10.15–16 11.13 11.23 11.24–27 11.24–25

139 134

11.26 11.32 11.33 12.2–4

128 571 438, 460 29 565, 568 565, 576 576 2, 33–36, 437, 473 28 29 40–42 21–22, 42–43 476 475 35 44 35–36 41 44–45 46, 209 20 12, 20 334 492 446 438 488 64, 116, 137, 179, 248, 250, 271–77, 287 179 55, 566 401 339

Galatians 1.2 1.4 1.13–14 1.14 1.15–16 1.17 1.18 1.21 2 2.7–10 2.9

494 57 562 55 564–65 54–55 565 562, 566 557, 559 33 20

589

Index of References 2.10 2.11–14 4.4 4.8 5.10–11 6.17

17–18, 20–21, 28–29, 37 11 54, 63 487 562 561

Ephesians 1.21 2.20 3.1 6.10–20

60 575 179 346

Philippians 1–2 1.3–11 1.5 1.7 1.12–14 1.12 1.13 1.13–26 1.14–17 1.15–26 1.15–17 1.17 1.18–19 1.20 1.21–24 1.21 1.23 1.26 1.27 1.27–30 2.1–5 2.6–11 2.9–11 2.17 2.24 2.25–27 2.26 3.2–11 3.6 3.11 3.17–19 3.20 4.10–20 4.13

434 442 442 421, 458 436–37, 442 179, 458–60 13, 117, 179, 458–60 4 13, 128, 458, 572 14 460 542 572 442 439, 442 440, 462 443, 458, 463, 573, 576 461 180, 444–45 206 444 40–41, 181, 444–45, 464 60 439, 444, 462 461 437 441 4, 445–47 563 443 443–44 180, 184, 206, 444–45 457–58 451

4.15 4.18 4.22

442 150 5, 114, 436–37, 459

Colossians 1.24 3.11 4.9–14

575 61 448–49, 465

1 Thessalonians 1.1 1.9 2.2 2.14–16 2.15 4.13–18 5.3

128 138 250 116 179 463 179

1 Timothy 1.17–18 6.1

346 127

2 Timothy 1.15 1.16–17 2.3–4 2.5 2.9 3.10–11 4.2 4.6–7 4.6–8 4.6–17 4.7 4.9–12 4.10–11 4.10 4.13 4.16–18

4.16 4.17 4.21

502 399–400, 407, 462 346 402 320 7 505 423 11, 400, 462, 481, 576 8 7, 400 421 351, 402 494, 502 422 13, 398–99, 419–23, 427, 480–81, 501–02, 515–19 331, 505 400, 407, 480, 498, 505 399, 502

Titus 2.9–10

127

Philemon Letter

127, 448–50, 464–67

590

Index of References

9 3

179, 549 179

1 Peter 5.8 5.13

480 114, 135

2 Peter 1.14

3.15 3.16

575 84

3 John 7–8

559

Revelation 9.11

25

124

Early Christian Authors 1 Clement 1.1 5–6 5.1–7 5.1 5.2 5.4 5.5 5.5–6 5.5–7 5.6–7 519 5.6 5.7 6.1 6.2 6.3 7.1 21.7 25.1 32 37.2–3 47.6 55 55.2

135, 401 344, 482 135, 344, 377, 483 401, 424 470, 541 124, 376, 380, 383 6, 13, 203, 331, 425 505 260, 331, 375–90, 401, 424–25, 574 478–84, 498, 512–15, 229, 398, 402, 484, 500, 512–15, 556 5, 7, 203, 227, 349, 375–90, 430, 497, 547 123, 135, 544 377 541 377 126 385 344 480 542 344 125

Augustine Enarrationes in Psalmos 120.10 249 Sermones 295.1 297.5

524 524

299 299.1 381.1

522 529 529

De sermone Domini in monte 1.58 249 Cyprian Epistulae 39.3 76.2 77.3

531 283 283

Epiphanius Panarion 27

469

Eusebius Chronicon 2

540

Historia ecclesiastica 2.9.4 329 2.22 8, 517 2.22.2 397, 427, 484, 546 2.22.2–4 453 2.22.4–5 399, 407 2.22.6 321 2.25.5–8 6, 280 2.22.6–8 423 2.25.7–8 124 2.25.6 8 2.25.5 259, 261, 281, 407, 551 2.25.7 429, 522, 540, 551 2.25.8 521, 528 3.1.2–3 6, 124

591

Index of References 3.39.9–10 3.39.15 4.9 4.23.10 5.18.14 5.24.15 6.43.11 6.43.11–12 Hermas Similitudes 2 Ignatius, Rom. 2.2 4.3

360 114 157 129 406 128 505 126

125

377 124, 407, 521

Irenaeus Adversus haereses 1.10.2 408, 505 3.1.1 124 3.3.2 126 3.3.3 531 Jerome De virus illustribus 1 329 5 251, 535–36, 540 5.4 243 5.10 260 7 535, 539 7.2 321 12 540 Commentarium in Epistulam ad Philemonem liber 23 252 John Chrysostom Homiliae in Acta apostolorum 55 305 Homiliae in epistulam ii ad Timotheum 4.20 397 Justin Apologia i 1.1

119

Dialogus cum Tryphone 47 117, 128 Martyrdom of Polycarp 18.3 531 Origen De oratione 14.6

527

Contra Celsum 3.55

127

Photius Quaest. amphil. 116 252 Tertullian Ad martyras 4.9

265

Ad nationes 1.3

115

Ad Scapulam 4.1 4.8

267 266

Adversus Judaeos 7 430, 505 Apologeticus 3

115

De baptismo 17

281

De praescriptione haereticorum 36 6, 124, 551 Scorpiace 15.3–4

361

Apocryphal Acts Acts of Paul 1 5 1–4 6 3–5 262, 265, 281 3.1 337, 339 3.2 336–37

592 3.3 3.4 3.5 3.7 3.9 3.10 3.11 3.13 3.15 3.18 3.20 3.21 3.24 4.17 9 11 12–14

Index of References 334–35 337 337 338 337–38 338 339 338 338–39 337–38, 341 338–39, 341–42 340 338 341 363 187 344–45, 347, 352, 354, 358

14 14.1 14.1–2 14.1–3 14.2 14.3 14.4 14.4–7 14.5 14.6 14.7

316, 344, 347–48, 350, 363 351–52 355–358, 360 346 352, 359, 365 352, 361–63, 365, 368, 372 361–64, 367, 370 347 362–364, 367–70 360, 363, 365, 369–71 362–64, 371–72

Apostolic Memoirs of Abdias 8 260

Greek and Roman Texts Aeschylus Agamemnon 928–29

1

Apuleius Apologia 89

277

Florida 9.11

268

Metamorphoses 9.24f. 122 Aristotle Ethica nicomachea 8.1.6 42 8.8.5 42 Politica 1.3.6 2.1.4

42 42

Callistus Refutatio 9.12

117

Cassius Dio 37.16 40.47.3 51.19.6–7 52.33 53.2.4 57.18.5 57.22.5 59.8.5 60.6.6f. 60.17.1 60.28.6 63.2.3 64.2.3 66.7.2 66.8.1

120 118 197, 218 219 118 119 285 198 114–15 251 219 198 248, 256 121 120

Cicero De republica 2.54

272

Epistula ad Familiares 10.32.3 283 In Verrem 2.5.140 2.5.158–71

275 134

593

Index of References 2.5.161 2.5.162 2.5.168 2.5.169

279 275 255 234, 255

Manilius 16.48

120

Pro Balbo 28

500

Pro Cluentio 41.116

217

Pro Plancio 15

234

Pro Scauro 5.26.1

248

Pro Rabirio Perduellionis Reo 8 271 12 254, 271 Cod. Iustinianus 4.21.6 280 5.4.9 280 Demosthenes Epitaphius 3.1

35

Diogenes Laertius 8.10 550 Dionysius of Halicarnassus 1.33 81 Epictetus 3.24.41 Herodotus Histories 1.32 2.32 4.152 Homer Iliad 23.65–92

23.262–650

377

Odyssey 11.119–37

543

Juvenal Satires 3.10–18 3.12–16 3.60–65 10.1–2

78 118, 123 111 417

Livy 1.7 5.21–23 6.19–20 10.9.4 10.47

91 92 225 250 92

Lucanus Pharsalia 3.454 7.541

417 495

Martial Epigrams 1.41 6.93

122 122

Minucius Felix Octavius 31.7 126 36.3 124, 126 Orosius Historiae Adversus Paganos 7.6 114, 140 7.7 261 Persius Satirae 5.176–84

81

1 551 496

Petronius Fragmenta 37

82

354, 357

Satyricon 68.8 102.14

81 81

278

594

Index of References

Plato Apologia 40c–d

442–43

Gorgias 507d–508a

42

Pliny the Elder Naturalis historia 1.19 495 3.3 487 Pliny the Younger Epistulae 2.11 237, 256, 283 10.33–34 163 10.34 167 10.56 215, 268 10.58 256 10.92–93 163 10.96 119, 153, 158, 163, 168, 172, 258 10.97 156 10.106–07 279–80 Plutarch Caesar 29.2

255

Praecepta gerendae rei publicae 813e–f 167 Seneca Ad Helviam 6 12.1

111 124

Apolocyntosis 12.3

220

Dialogi 3.16.5 5.3.6 5.18.3 5.32.2

284 283 273 284

Epistulae morales 95.47 81, 85 108.22 81

Ps. Paulus Sententiae 5.26.1 5.29.1

272 226

Ps. Seneca Letter to Paul 111

07

Res gestae divi Augusti 31.1–2 489 Silius Italicus Punica 17.637

495

Sophocles Oedipus tyrannus 1528–50 1 Strabo Geographica 2.5 3.1 3.2 3.5 3.11 16.40

417 417 496 495 496 120

Suetonius Divus Augustus 33.3 198, 219 Divus Claudius 1.23 14.1 15.2 25.1 25.3 25.4

Domitianus 8.4 11.3

285 266, 285 220 138 119 96, 98, 114, 135, 138, 178

283 283

Gaius Caligula 27.3-4 285 57 115

595

Index of References Galba 9 11 Nero 12.1 16 32 38

15.44

15.45–67 16.8 16.13 16.33

10, 13, 106–07, 111, 115, 117–19, 124, 135, 158, 171–72, 352, 540 361 198 502 283

Historiae 1.6 1.7 4.81f. 5.5 5.9 5.13

250 248 120 13 194, 536 120

237, 255 248

279 119, 135, 352 503 540

Vespasianus 4.5 7

120 120

Tacitus Annales 1.54 1.78 2.32 3.70 5.8 6.19 11.3 12.3 12.8 12.23–24 12.52 12.54 13.16 13.32 14.28 14.44 14.57 15.38–44 15.41

490 490 162, 285 214 283 285 283 98 98 97 98 194 352 124 198, 239 127 228, 367 106, 118, 123, 360 261, 540

Ulpian Digesta 47 47.9 48 48.3 48.4 48.6 48.10 48.13 48.18 48.19 48.20 49 50.1 50.16

233 123 227, 233, 237 221 225 258 287 267, 287 268 247, 264, 266, 268, 273, 287 264 196–198 253 286

Virgil Aeneid 12.808–40

542

Inscriptions, Papyri, Etc. CIJ 1.173 1.390 1.531 CIL 6 8

112 137 118

112, 125 235, 276

Vind. Tab. 344

236, 277

OGIS 2.598

189

BGU II 628

215–16, 220, 498

BGU 611 SB V 7523

220 276

596

Index of References AE 1929, 96

P. Wisc. I 33.20 33.10–12 33.15 33.20

235 276 276 276

P. Mich. 3.169

278

278

P. Oxy. 2339 r col. 1,6–11 273 2,16–19 274

Index of Authors

Adams, E. 53, 133, 143–44 Adams, S.A. 193 Agamben, G. 58 Albertini, E. 494 Aletti, J.-N. 459–61, 463, 468 Alexander, L. 175, 184, 188, 309, 312, 314, 348, 482 Alföldy, G. 232, 430, 486, 491, 495, 499 Allison, D.C. 53 Allison, P. 147 Alvarez Cineira, D. 138 Ameling, W. 73 Amiotti, G. 227 Ando, C. 92 Angstenberger, P. 41 Applebaum, S. 486 Aquilué, X. 489 Arangio-Ruiz, V. 217, 222, 280 Arcella, S. 93 Armstrong, J.J. 386 Ascough, R.S. 41 Aubert, J.-J. 234–35, 258, 276–77 Aus, R. 51, 415–17, 496 Badiou, A. 58 Baldwin, M.C. 405 Barbaglio, G. 228, 540 Barclay, J.M.G. 10–12, 48, 52, 68, 74, 76, 491, 501, 503, 516 Bardy, G. 532 Barnes, T. 83, 155, 157, 169, 171, 280 Barnett, A.E. 389 Barrett, C.K. 36, 213, 223, 228, 251, 305, 321, 331, 508-509, 536–37, 542, 544, 559 Barrier, J.W. 281, 334, 336, 338–41 Barth, G. 435 Barth, K. 54, 577 Barth, M. 549

Baslez, M.F. 213, 544 Battistoni, F. 92 Bauckham, R. 336, 348, 350, 359 Baum, A.D. 315–16, 324, 394, 417 Baumann, R.A. 232–33, 245, 267, 273, 283, 285–86 Baur, F.C. 58 Bauspieß, M. 72 Beck, R. 92 Becker, A.H. 561 Becker, E.-M. 561 Becker, J.P. 33, 35, 40, 453 Beckheuer, B. 15, 33, 37 Beinart, H. 486 Bell, R.H. 64 Bengel, J.A. 321 Benko, S. 99 Beresford, J. 539 Berger, K. 15, 19–20, 37 Beskow, P. 488 Betz, H.D. 4, 18, 36, 44–45, 114, 202, 436, 442, 453, 455, 459, 461–62, 464, 473 Beyschlag, K. 380, 383–84, 387 Bieringer, R. 3, 33, 476 Bilde, R. 73 Binder, H. 408, 465 Birley, A.R. 236 Blanke, H. 549 Bleicken, J. 192, 196–97 Bockmuehl, M. 4, 380 Böhlig, H. 206 Bohrmann, M. 76 Bolgiani, F. 228 Bollók, J. 334–35 Bolyki, J. 367, 370–71 Bonnard, P. 549 Bonnet, M. 262, 268, 281, 343–44 Borg, M.J. 180–81

598

Index of Authors

Boring, M.E. 436, 448 Bormann, L. 435, 444, 462–63 Bornkamm, G. 242, 435, 543, 547 Borrell, A. 406, 479, 482, 514 Bost, J.P. 490 Botermann, H. 68, 99–100, 406 Boudin, M. 123 Bovon, F. 318, 344, 406 Bowers, W.P. 64–65, 393, 429, 486 Braginton, M.V. 227 Brandon, S.G.F. 332 Brasiello, U. 227, 264 Brawley, R.L. 73 Brecht, C.H. 224 Bremmer, J. 281, 338 Brennecke, H.-C. 341 Broer, I. 419 Broggini, G. 218 Brosend, W.F. 317 Brown, R.E. 408, 435, 542, 548 Brox, N. 479, 515 Bruce, F.F. 213, 215, 217, 231, 242, 508– 509 Bruehler, B.B. 46 Buck Jr., C.H. 15 Büllesbach, C. 348, 484, 517 Burton, P.J. 92 Butler, H.E. 277 Butticaz, S. 310, 317–18 Byung-Mo, K. 15 Cadbury, H.J. 214, 231, 237 Cagnat, M.R. 265 Caiazza, P. 545 Callahan, A.D. 345 Callu, J.-P. 282 Camodeca, G. 249 Campo, M. 491 Caner, D. 44 Cantarella, E. 264, 282–83 Carrez, M. 34 Carson, D.A. 394 Carter, W. 180, 184 Cartlidge, D.R. 335 Cassidy, R.J. 181–82 Centola, D.A. 217 Chapa, J. 398, 407, 497–98 Chapple, A. 545 Charlesworth, M.P. 487 Chevallier, M.-A. 467

Chiazzese, L. 267 Christol, M. 266 Church, F.F. 449 Clarke, A.D. 511 Clauss, M. 92 Cohen, S.J.D. 75 Collange, J.-F. 459, 463, 465, 467 Collins, R.F. 36, 47 Conzelmann, H. 316, 323, 438, 508–09, 538, 544 Cook, J.G. 10, 115, 123, 481, 497 Corley, B. 564 Cortez, P. 341 Cotter, W. 163 Cotton, H.M. 238–40 Cranfield, C.E.B. 64–65, 511 Crossan, J.D. 52, 180–81 Crouzel, H. 499 Cruse, C.G. 102 Cullmann, O. 331 Cuq, E. 217, 219 Cuvillier, É. 455, 464 Czachesz, I. 350 de Boer, M. 9, 53 de Giovanni, L. 267 de Jong, A.F.M. 78, 118 de Lestapis, S. 396 de Martino, F. 225 de Rossi, G.B. 530 de Santos Otero, A. 263 de Ste Croix, G. 158, 169, 172, 238 de Visscher, F. 222 de Vogüé, A. 260 del Cerro, G. 343, 357 di Berardino, A. 248, 407, 429, 481, 529 di Palma, G. 539 Dabrowski, E. 533 Das, A.A. 139, 141, 392, 415–17 Dassmann, E. 83, 430 Davies, P. 316 Davis, J.B. 53 Deines, R. 278 Deissmann, A. 435, 441 Delehaye, H. 523, 525–26, 529–31 Delling, G. 414, 419 Deman, A. 276 Denis, A.-M. 24 Desideri, P. 256 Dettwiler, A. 454

Index of Authors Dewey, A.J. 429–30 Dickson, J.P. 562 Dietzfelbinger, C. 563–64 Dirscherl, E. 336 Dockx, S. 455, 536 Dodd, C.H. 436, 511 Dohmen, C. 336 Donaldson, T.L. 562 Dornier, P. 399 Downs, D.J. 2, 15–17, 19, 22–24, 33, 35, 37 Dubowy, E. 375–82, 386–87, 402, 479, 496 Duchesne, L. 530 Dumont, J.C. 286 Duncan, G.R. 439 Duncan, G.S. 549 Dunn, J.D.G. 18, 391, 393, 407, 436, 511, 533, 536, 540, 560–61 Dupont, J. 312, 477, 543 Dupré, X. 499 Duval, Y. 523 Eastman, D.L. 6, 8, 333, 344, 529–30 Ebel, E. 554, 559 Ebner, M. 122, 340 Eck, W. 280–81 Eckert, J. 15–16, 20–21 Eckey, W. 408, 508–09 Ehrhardt, A. 330 Eisen, U.E. 312, 319 Elia, O. 147 Elliger, W. 434 Elliott, J.H. 133 Elliott, J.K. 335 Ellis, E.E. 395, 397, 412–14, 425, 429–30, 493, 497, 514 Engberg-Pedersen, T. 86 Engelmann, M. 396 Epp, E.J. 70, 350 Ermatinger, J.W. 178 Erskine, A. 92 Esch-Wermeling, E. 334 Esler, P.F. 181–82 Étienne, R. 490–91 Euzennat, M. 279 Fabris, R. 485, 549 Fanizza, L. 217, 219 Fantham, E. 284

599

Fascher, E. 448 Fee, G.D. 4, 397, 412, 436, 567 Feldman, L.H. 96 Ferguson, E. 154, 228, 403 Fernandez Sangrador, J.J. 547 Fernández Ubiña, J. 379 Ferrini, C. 217 Ferrua, A. 527 Filippi, G. 407 Fischer, K.M. 448 Fishwick, D. 490–91 Fitzmyer, J.A. 93, 95, 99, 101, 187, 395, 448, 533, 543 Foakes-Jackson, F.J. 242 Formisano, M. 338–39 Franchi de’ Cavalieri, P. 504 Frank, K.S. 337 Frei-Stolba, R. 249, 279 Frey, J. 187, 307, 486, 501 Friedlaender, L. 440 Friedrich, J. 149 Friesen, S.J. 15 Fuchs, R. 412 Furnish, V.P. 36 Fusco, V. 318 Gäckle, V. 559 Gage, J. 232 Galinsky, G.K. 92 Gamble, H.Y. 3 García y Bellido, A. 489 Gardner, J.F. 279–80 Garnsey, P. 195–99, 232, 235, 237–41, 245, 257, 272, 286 Gavaldá, J.M. 5, 411 Geerard, M. 343–44 Gem, R. 524 Gempf, C. 309, 539 Geoltrain, P. 344 George, A. 328 Georgi, D. 15, 29 Gerber, D. 480 Gielen, M. 436, 454–55, 458, 460, 463, 465–67 Giesen, H. 463 Gill, D.W.J. 164, 539 Giuffrè, V. 264 Glaser, T. 420 Gnilka, C. 531 Gnilka, J. 15, 435, 459, 534, 540, 542

600

Index of Authors

Godoy Fernández, C. 406, 503 González, J. 164 Goodman, M. 13, 74–75, 97–98, 562 Gounelle, R. 348 Gradenwitz, O. 215 Grant, R.M. 335–36 Greenwood, L.H.G. 275 Gregory, A.F. 388 Griffe, É. 522, 524, 532 Griffin, M.T. 284, 288 Groag, E. 244 Gruen, E.S. 10, 68, 70, 73–74, 88, 141, 473 Grünstäudl, W. 331, 479–80 Guarducci, M. 523, 525, 529 Gülzow, H. 448 Gunther, J.J. 231, 406, 424 Günther, M. 436 Gupta, N. 463 Guttenberger, G. 122, 324, 329 Haacker, K. 195, 554, 563 Haenchen, E. 228, 316, 323, 330, 475–76, 492, 496, 508–09, 536, 538, 544 Haensch, R. 456–57 Hagner, D.A. 389, 436–37 Hahn, F. 39 Hahneman, G. 227–28, 403–04, 426, 516 Hainz, J. 20 Hansen, G.W. 461 Hardin, J.K. 162–64 Harink, D. 53 Harmer, J.R. 401 Harrer, G.A. 244 Harris, M.J. 18, 334 Harrison, J.R. 19, 38, 43 Hartley, H.-A. 33 Hasler, V. 515 Hata, G. 94 Hauser, H.J. 311, 320 Hawthorne, G.F. 455 Headlam, A.C. 511 Heid, S. 124, 388, 407, 411, 529, 531 Heiniger, B. 122, 555, 564, 575 Hellholm, D. 455 Helm, R. 277 Hemer, C.J. 305 Hemmerdinger, B. 261

Hengel, M. 54–55, 114, 248–49, 252–53, 269, 278, 396, 409, 421, 430, 553–55, 557, 562–64, 566 Henne, P. 228, 403 Herczeg, P. 348 Herzer, J. 5, 396–97, 399, 404, 412, 420, 478, 480–81, 548 Heusler, E. 188, 231 Heussi, K. 375, 380–82 Hill, C.C. 148–49 Hill, C.E. 403 Hills, J. 340, 348, 350 Hinard, F. 286 Hock, R.F. 243 Hoehner, H.W. 65 Holl, K. 17–18 Holmberg, B. 19 Holz, C. 248–49, 251, 254 Honoré, T. 258 Hooker, M.D. 242 Horbury, W. 58, 403 Horn, F.W. 2–3, 190, 203, 209–10, 348, 407, 411, 453, 470, 497 Horsley, R. 52, 161, 503 Hultgren, A.J. 511 Hunzinger, C.-H. 436, 443 Hurtado, L.W. 15, 564 Huskinson, J.M. 529 Huttunen, N. 86 Ilan, T. 71 Inwood, B. 85 Janne, H. 99 Jennings, M.A. 34, 44 Jeremias, J. 536 Jervell, J. 72, 316–17, 396, 508–09 Jewett, R. 50, 57, 61, 64, 69–70, 132, 136, 141, 143, 145, 415–16, 428, 471, 474, 511–12 Jocelyn, H.D. 287 Johnson, L.T. 509, 515 Johnson, S.F. 333 Jones, A.H.M. 195, 197, 237–38, 257, 268 Jones, B. 288 Jones, C.P. 256 Josi, E. 522, 524, 532 Joubert, S. 15, 19, 34, 43 Judge, E.A. 162–63

Index of Authors Jülicher, A. 448 Junod, É. 406 Kaestli, J.-D. 228, 403, 454 Kahl, B. 10 Karakolis, C. 5, 399, 478 Karrer, M. 318 Kato, Z. 117 Käsemann, E. 54, 429, 511, 567 Keener, C.S. 329, 395–96 Keesmat, S.C. 57 Kelly, G.P. 245 Kelly, J.M. 218, 236 Kienast, D. 288 Kim, B.-M. 2, 16, 20, 29, 34 Kim, S. 563 Kindler, A. 538 King, C.E. 114 Kipp, T. 195 Klauck, H.-J. 260–61, 263, 333–35, 405 Klein, H. 46 Kleinfeller, G. 227 Klingenberg, G. 449 Koch, D.-A. 204, 205–08, 407, 417, 429 Koester, H. 260, 272, 345, 438 Kokkinos, N. 71, 94 Kolb, A. 440 Konstan, D. 20 Koukouli-Chrysantaki, C. 435 Krause, J.-U. 435–36 Krauter, S. 67, 87, 189 Kreitzer, L. 105 Krusch, B. 529 Kübler, B. 272 Kümmel, W.G. 435, 547 Kunkel, W. 286 Labahn, M. 7, 433, 445, 456 Lagrange, M.-J. 403–04 Lake, K. 214 Lalleman, P.J. 337 Lambrecht, J. 35, 44 Lampe, P. 69–71, 100, 102, 114–15, 134, 136–39, 141, 143–45, 351, 401, 448– 49, 473–74, 511 Lane, W.L. 178 Lane Fox, R. 14 Lanfranchi, P. 278 Lang, F. 34 Larkin, W.J. 395

601

Le Bohec, Y. 265 Leenhardt, F.J. 493 Légasse, S. 409, 453–54, 459–60, 466, 511, 544 Lehnert, V.A. 73 Lentz Jr., J.C. 7, 239–41 Leon, H.J. 71, 78, 93 Leonhardt, J. 74 Levinskaya, I. 74, 93, 159 Levy, E. 266 Lichtenberger, H. 72, 76, 99, 307, 316 Lieb, H. 249, 279 Liebs, D. 257 Lietzmann, H. 523, 530 Lieu, J.M. 561 Lightfoot, J.B. 331, 401, 403 Lindemann, A. 375, 377, 384–86, 402, 425, 438, 514 Linderski, J. 284 Ling, R. 147 Lintott, A.W. 192, 197, 239 Lipsius, R.A. 262–64, 268, 281, 343–44, 404 Litewski, W. 187, 195–97 Litwak, K. 318 Lodge, J.G. 34 Lohmeyer, E. 436 Löhr, H. 5, 375–76, 383–87, 402, 424, 479–80, 483, 512, 514–15 Lohse, E. 549 Lona, H. 376, 380, 383–84, 386, 389–400, 402, 404, 513, 515, 547 Longenecker, B. 17–18 Lovisi, C. 264 Lüdemann, G. 309, 425, 436, 549, 565 Luiselli, B. 522, 525 Luther, M. 577 Luttenberger, J. 422 Luz, U. 555 Lyonnet, S. 39 Maccarone, M. 528 MacDonald, D.R. 360 Macias, J.M. 489 MacMullen, R. 490, 497 Magda, K. 52, 56, 62, 393, 413 Magioncalda, A. 266 Maier, H.O. 106 Maiuri, A. 144 Makris, G. 430

602

Index of Authors

Malaise, M. 92 Malbon, E.S. 311 Malherbe, A.J. 335, 422 Manson, T.W. 134 Manus, C.U. 161 Marcheselli-Casale, C. 547–48 Marguerat, D. 5, 35, 315, 317, 323, 329, 333, 336, 348, 454, 457, 477, 542–43, 555 Maria Nieddu, A. 525–26 Mariné Bigorra, S. 502, 510 Marion, D. 34 Marotta, V. 234, 249, 253, 257–58, 260, 267, 272, 286–87, 398, 428, 498 Marshall, I.H. 316, 396–97, 515–16 Martin, R.P. 568, 570 Martini, C.M. 533 Martyn, J.L. 53 Marucci, C. 248 Mason, S. 75–76, 94 Matera, F.J. 36 Matthews, C.R. 405 Maurer, C. 412 McClintock, A. 250 McGinn, B. 106 McKay, K.L. 43 McKechnie, P. 76, 95 McKnight, S. 17 Mealand, D.L. 316, 319 Meeks, W.A. 38, 168, 393, 415, 459, 472, 474, 485, 487–88 Meggitt, J.J. 17, 243 Meier, H.-C. 555 Meier, J.P. 536, 542 Meinardus, O.F.A. 408 Meinertz, M. 404 Merkel, H. 515–16 Merz, A. 421 Metzer, E. 279 Metzger, B.M. 404 Metzger, W. 397, 412, 547 Metzner, R. 244 Meyer, E. 232 Michaelis, W. 549 Mihoc, V. 397, 517 Millar, F. 197–98, 241, 274, 283 Minear, P.S. 500 Mitchell, M.M. 355 Mitchell, S. 244 Mittag, F.P. 206

Mitteis, L. 215, 217 Mittelstaedt, A. 395 Mitternacht, D. 74, 79 Moda, A. 406, 472, 500 Moessner, D.P. 317 Mohrmann, C. 522–23 Momigliano, A. 254 Mommsen, T. 187, 195, 197, 199, 202, 217, 239, 248, 254, 258, 272, 282, 284, 524, 529, 570 Moo, D.J. 394 Morgan-Gillman, F. 162 Morris, L. 511 Mosco, M. 137 Moss, C.R. 362 Mounce, W.D. 515–16 Müller, K. 189 Müller, M. 210 Müller, P. 454, 464–67 Müller, U.B. 435, 438–39, 441, 446–47, 549 Munck, J. 21, 51, 59, 508 Muñoz Melgar, A. 411, 490 Murphy-O’Connor, J. 36, 397, 408–09, 420, 494, 500, 540, 546, 554 Mussner, F. 509 Musurillo, H. 504 Neudorfer, H.W. 397, 412 Neyrey, J.H. 241–42 Nicklas, T. 335, 396, 428, 483, 514, 521 Nickle, K.F. 15, 18, 21–22, 38 Nicolet, C. 278 Niebuhr, K.-W. 10, 79, 84–87, 102, 394, 483, 562 Niehoff, M.R. 83 Nielsen, I. 377 Nilles, N. 530 Nock, A.D. 242 Nogrady, A. 254 Noethlichs, K.L. 187, 189, 192, 195, 206, 248 Noy, D. 71, 93 Oakes, P. 115–16, 124, 437, 441, 445, 464, 501 Oberlinner, L. 453, 515 O’Brien, P.T. 436 Ogereau, J.M. 16, 34, 41 Ollrog, W.-H. 493

Index of Authors O’Mahony, K. 15, 34–36 Omerzu, H. 3, 5, 72, 83, 155, 160–61, 189–93, 201–03, 205–08, 211–12, 223, 231–32, 234, 251, 259, 306, 322, 348, 398, 408, 411, 425, 428, 433–35, 438, 454–57, 459–61, 465–66, 473, 477–79, 482–83, 497, 513–15, 536, 545, 570–71 Orestano, R. 222 Orlin, E.M. 92 Osborne, R.E. 329 Oskar, W. 277 Ostmeyer, K.-H. 421 O’Toole, R.F. 317 Panzram, S. 499 Pao, D.W. 318 Parke, H.W. 105 Pasquato, O. 262 Passow, F. 447 Pavón Torrejón, P. 282 Peachin, M. 236 Penna, R. 3, 74, 96, 111, 307, 511, 539 Pervo, R. 9, 72–73, 93, 95–96, 98, 103, 154, 187–88, 190–91, 195, 200, 305, 315, 322, 337, 350, 353, 355, 363, 420, 508–09, 534, 543 Pescani, P. 278 Pesch, R. 329, 509, 511, 538, 542, 544 Pesthy, M. 333 Pettersson, P. 34 Pfister, F. 387, 470 Pherigo, L.P. 406, 424 Pilhofer, P. 206, 391, 408, 435–36, 441, 444 Piñero, A. 343, 357 Plümacher, E. 307 Pöhlmann, W. 149 Polhill, J.B. 509 Poole, I. 78, 118 Popkes, E.E. 318 Poplutz, U. 377 Porter, S.E. 446, 548 Portier-Young, A. 53 Poupon, G. 263, 339, 405 Price, R.M. 531 Prieur, A. 308 Prior, M. 420, 422–23 Pugliese, G. 218, 225–26, 264

603

Puig ì Tarrech, A. 5, 400, 407, 411, 507, 510, 519 Purpura, G. 217 Puskas, C.B. 312 Quesnel, M. 3, 34, 476 Quinn, J.D. 397–98, 400, 417, 419 Rabens, V. 86, 393 Racz, I. 15 Radke, G. 440 Radl, W. 188, 308 Rajak, T. 170 Ramsay, W.M. 214, 241–44, 488, 541 Rappaport, U. 538 Rapske, B. 72, 95, 188, 194, 202, 215, 217, 231, 243, 319, 395, 433 Ravizza, M. 218, 251, 254–55, 272 Redalié, Y. 548 Reed, A.Y. 561 Reed, J.L. 52 Reichardt, M. 564–65 Reinmuth, E. 448 Reumann, J. 435, 444 Reynolds, L.D. 284 Ricciotti, G. 222 Richardson, P. 93 Riesner, R. 5, 83, 231, 331, 411–13, 415– 17, 419–20, 422, 424–26, 429, 476, 478, 480, 483, 485, 493, 496, 514, 516, 521, 531, 533, 538, 549, 554, 574 Rinaldi, G. 536–38 Ripollès, P.P. 490–91 Ritter, A.M. 339 Roberts, C.H. 274 Robinson, J.A.T. 395 Robinson, O.F. 256 Röcker, F.W. 394 Rodà de Llanza, I. 485, 489 Roetzel, C.J. 243 Rogers, R.S. 288 Roller, L.E. 92 Roloff, J. 187, 436, 439, 509–10, 541–42 Romm, J.S. 395 Rordorf, W. 8, 262–63, 336, 350, 352–53, 365 Rossé, G. 536, 538 Rotondi, G. 271–72 Rowe, C.K. 5, 238–39 Rudich, V. 504

604

Index of Authors

Ruiz de Arbulo, J. 489 Rutgers, L.V. 69, 74, 78, 118, 123 Rutledge, S.H. 288 Ruysschaert, J. 523, 525–26 Sack, R. 52, 393 Safrai, S. 429, 538 Saller, R.P. 232 Salmeri, G. 256 Sánchez Bosch, J. 476 Sanchez-Moreno Ellart, C. 249, 278 Sanday, W. 511 Sanders, J.T. 73 Sandnes, K.O. 565 Sandy, G.N. 277 Santalucia, B. 225–26, 231, 245, 254, 259, 264, 266, 271, 398, 428, 478, 497–98, 512 Sauter, A. 262 Saxer, V. 504, 526, 531 Schade, H.-H. 436–37, 439 Schellenberg, R.S. 243 Schenk, W. 435 Schenke, H.-M. 448 Schiller, A.A. 217–18, 220 Schilling, A. 226 Schilling, R. 92 Schinkel, D. 443 Schmeling, G.L. 284 Schmeller, T. 568, 575 Schmid, J. 436, 438, 440 Schmidt, C. 282, 343, 345, 348 Schmithals, W. 15, 187, 195, 206 Schmitt, T. 84, 205 Schnabel, E.J. 50, 55, 58, 62, 396–97, 413, 424 Schneemelcher, W. 338, 349-350, 360, 405, 422 Schneider, G. 395, 508, 543–45 Schnelle, U. 4, 12, 204, 212, 408, 419, 429, 436, 454, 456, 461–63, 467, 480, 510–12, 570, 573, 575 Schoedel, W.R. 553 Schröter, J. 204–05, 317, 333, 342 Schubart, W. 282, 343 Schulz, F. 278 Schumacher, L. 449 Schürer, E. 93–94, 224 Schüssler Fiorenza, E. 472 Schwartz, D.R. 94, 413

Schweitzer, A. 448 Schwemer, A.M. 396, 554, 563–64, 566 Schwier, H. 189–90 Sciuto, P. 268 Scott, J.M. 51, 60, 392, 415, 514 Scriba, A. 3 Seckel, E. 272 Segal, A.F. 562, 564 Segal, P. 189 Seifrid, M.A. 416 Semler, J.S. 34 Seston, W. 251, 279 Sherwin-White, A.N. 155–60, 164, 167, 213, 217, 223, 231, 238, 279, 280 Simshäuser, W. 286 Sirks, B. 258 Skinner, M.L. 188, 311 Slingerland, H.D. 97, 99, 140 Smallwood, E.M. 73, 94, 98–99, 107, 537–38 Snyder, G.E. 6, 333, 335, 341, 551 Solin, H. 114, 486 Sonnabend, H. 92, 395 Sordi, M. 155 Spagnuolo Vigorita, T. 257 Spera, L. 407, 481 Spicq, C. 397, 400, 402, 456, 490–91, 496–97, 521 Spier, J.J. 469 Spittler, J.E. 405, 426 Stählin, G. 223, 541 Stange, E. 485 Stanley, C. 10 Stark, R. 136 Stegemann, W. 187, 192, 195 Stein, P. 218 Steinmetz, R. 408 Stern, M. 80, 95, 429, 538 Stowers, S.K. 35 Strecker, G. 436, 564 Strobel, A. 396 Stroux, J. 220 Struß-Höcker, R. 377 Stuhlmacher, P. 149, 448, 466, 511–12, 549 Styger, P. 526 Suhl, A. 536 Sundberg, A.C. 227, 403 Swoboda, S. 88 Syme, R. 277

Index of Authors Tailliez, F. 522 Takács, S. 92 Tajra, H.W. 8, 161, 165, 188, 202, 214, 221, 227–28, 231, 248–49, 252, 254, 259–64, 278, 319–20, 343–44, 346–49, 351, 355, 360, 364, 366, 372–73, 395, 404, 411, 417, 424–27, 430, 496, 500– 02, 541, 546, 556 Tamburi, F. 250 Tannehill, R.C. 311, 315, 321 Tassi Scandone, E. 254 Taubes, J. 58 Taylor, J. 244, 322 Teixell, I. 491 Tellbe, M. 68, 74, 177, 179–80, 182–83, 447 Theissen, G. 210, 414, 446, 548, 555, 564, 570 Theobald, M. 435, 511 Thiessen, W. 571 Thomas, Y. 252 Thomasson, B.E. 266 Thornton, T.C.G. 64–65 Thorsteinsson, R.M. 85 Thouvenot, R. 497 Thrall, M.E. 34–35, 45 Thümmel, H.G. 428, 574 Thurén, L. 508 Tiwald, M. 562 Torgovnick, M. 311 Towner, P.H. 397, 515 Trebilco, P. 166–67 Trobisch, D. 555 Troftgruben, T.M. 306, 312, 315 Trompf, G.W. 331 Tyson, J.B. 73 Ulrich, J. 401 van der Borg, K. 78, 118 van Henten, J.W. 344 van der Horst, P.W. 79 van der Linde, C. 123 van Henten, J.W. 106 van Strydonck, M. 123 van Unnik, W.C. 413–14, 418 von Albrecht, M. 284 von Bendemann, R. 318 von Haehling, R. 428 von Harnack, A. 404, 409, 411, 487, 553

605

Valentini, R. 532 Vanni, U. 252 Vegge, T. 242 Verbrugge, V.D. 34, 39 Verheyden, J. 386, 403, 426, 516 Vielhauer, P. 470 Vollenweider, S. 444, 569 Vouaux, L. 343 Vouga, F. 462 Wacker, W.C. 398, 400 Wagner, J.R. 52 Waldstein, W. 214 Walker, W.O. 42 Wallace-Hadrill, A. 143, 145, 147 Wan, S.-K. 15, 18, 38 Wander, B. 429, 515 Washburn, D.A. 245 Wasserberg, G. 310 Watson, A. 272 Watson, F. 144 Wawro, J. 34 Webb, S.H. 43–44 Wedderburn, A.J.M. 15 Weeber, K.-W. 440 Wehr, L. 407 Weiser, A. 324, 421, 509, 516, 518, 548 Welborn, L.L. 41, 401 White, M.L. 168 Wick, P. 4, 419, 436 Wiefel, W. 74, 96, 99, 102, 103, 131, 138, 307, 436, 442 Wieland, G.M. 396 Wikenhauser, A. 440 Wilckens, U. 179, 181–83, 436, 511 Wilken, R.L. 258 Wilkes, J.J. 61 Williams, W. 279 Wilson, S.J. 214–15, 222, 228 Winandy, J. 322 Windisch, H. 34 Winn, A. 122 Winter, B. 163, 193 Wischmeyer, O. 565 Wischmeyer, W. 554, 577 Wiseman, J. 456 Wissowa, G. 440 Wirszubski, C. 254 Witetschek, S. 571

606

Index of Authors

Witherington, B.W. 193, 308, 396, 511– 12, 538, 540–41, 548 Wodka, A. 34–35 Wolff, C. 421 Wolff, H. 74, 249 Wolter, M. 20, 204, 310, 315, 448, 450, 565 Wrede, W. 446 Wright, N.T. 10, 391, 476, 503

Zahn, T. 322, 403–04, 488, 541 Zamfir, K. 337 Zanker, P. 335 Zeller, D. 209 Zimmermann, R. 574 Zmijewski, J. 509–10, 533 Zucchetti, G. 532 Zwierlein, O. 83, 124, 202–03, 343, 355, 362, 368, 387–88, 400, 405, 407, 411, 421, 424, 428

Index of Subjects

Alexandria, Alexandrian Jews 73–77, 83, 120, 127, 156, 215, 274, 277, 537 Apocalyptic / Eschatology 21–22, 51–54, 59, 63, 86–87, 183, 317, 372, 386–87, 392–94, 406–08, 416, 423, 439–43, 463, 476, 559–60, 567–68, 576 Arabia 54–55, 563, 566 Archaeology 64–65, 78, 131–34, 146, 150–51, 321, 344, 351, 407, 521–32 Benefaction / Giving 16–17, 19–20, 22– 24, 37–45, 48, 442 Caligula 65, 73–75, 83, 87, 97, 285, 290– 94, 499, 537 Catacombs 78, 93, 117–18, 123, 525 Christians in Rome 1, 3–6, 10–11, 13–14, 50, 68–72, 83–84, 99–103, 106–08, 111–29, 131–51, 153–57, 177–82, 185, 258, 310, 331, 346, 351–52, 356, 358– 60, 473–75, 482–84, 498, 501–02, 512, 521, 531, 540, 542, 544–45, 559 Christology 40, 45–47, 60, 86, 181, 183, 308, 362, 464 Circumcision 18, 20, 81–82, 446–47 Claudius 61, 68–69, 75, 96–100, 103–04, 107–08, 115, 131, 135–36, 138, 149– 50, 164, 171–73, 177–78, 184–85, 192–93, 199–200, 206, 217–21, 251– 52, 285, 536–37, Damascus 54–55, 563–66 Diaspora 12–13, 38, 68–71, 74, 168, 207, 476, 486, 555, 557, 562–64 Epigraphy 41, 71, 78, 80, 112–13, 189– 90, 204, 206, 485, 491, 502 Eschatological Pilgrimage 21–22, 37–38, 51–52

Ethnicity 13, 68–71, 89, 138, 142–51, 160, 165, 399, 487–88, 516, 519, 560 Exile 98, 103, 226–29, 231–32, 237, 245, 256–57, 259–60, 331, 366, 398, 401, 406–07, 412, 424–25, 478–79, 482– 85, 497–506, 512–13, 519 Gallio 134, 140, 164–66, 169–72, 176–77, 323, 456, 482, 498 God-fearers: 20, 80, 102–03, 107–08, 159, 165, 435, 485 Greco-Roman Associations 22, 38–39, 158, 163, 167, 173 Greco-Roman Cults 11, 29, 171–72, 407, 435, 481, 489–92, 497, 504–06 Greco-Roman Religion 68, 81, 85, 91, 97–98, 127, 167, 172, 503 Hadrian 49, 99, 233, 247, 257, 344, 387 House churches: 125, 127–29, 131, 133, 136–37, 141, 143–50, 165, 179, 351, 449, 472–74 Israel 10, 12–13, 37–38, 51–63, 66, 76, 84, 87–88, 101, 210, 305–06, 309–21, 392–94, 439–40, 559 Jerusalem Collection 1–3, 10–12, 15–31, 33–48, 190–91, 207–09, 416, 437, 474, 476, 494, 508–09 Jerusalem Council 16, 18–19, 22, 33, 542 Jewish Christianity 1–2, 10–13, 17–20, 22–23, 29–30, 31, 33, 38, 47–48, 51, 56, 58, 64, 68–73, 99–108, 111–17, 128, 131, 136–37, 144, 159, 167, 178, 320, 392, 397, 435, 440, 446, 473, 509, 542, 558–61, 564, 569, 571

608

Index of Subjects

Jewish Customs and Traditions 1–4, 8–9, 13, 37–38, 74–82, 87–89, 93, 96, 98, 108, 116, 166, 539, 557, 560, 562–66 Jewish Expulsion from Rome 10, 14, 68, 96–100, 103–04, 106–09, 115, 118,– 19, 134–36, 139–42, 148, 172, 177– 78, 261, 307, 352, 366, 407, 497, 540, 549 Jewish Law 2, 37, 42, 47, 75–80, 83–86, 114–17 155, 166, 176, 447, 563, 565, 570 Jewish Revolt and War 77, 83, 99, 120– 21, 140, 177 Messiah 37, 49–50, 54, 56–66, 116, 120– 21, 310, 393–94 Muratorian Canon 227–28, 384, 386, 403–04, 406, 409, 426, 429–30, 516, 519, 546 Nero 6, 8, 10, 14, 67–89, 91–109, 111–29, 131, 135, 142, 155, 172–73, 181, 185, 200, 202, 206, 217–21, 228, 259, 261, 264, 267–68, 277, 279–80, 322, 325, 335, 343, 346–73, 399, 406, 428, 431, 445, 489, 436, 544, 546–47, 573 Peter 6, 124, 135, 202–03, 247, 261, 263, 281, 305, 316, 323–24, 329–31, 379, 383, 388, 404–07, 424, 426, 428, 482–83, 522–24, 528–32, 542, 544, 574

Prisca and Aquila: 69–71, 96, 103, 115, 122, 125, 127–28, 134–36, 139–40, 143, 146, 178, 438 Roman Citizenship 3, 6, 13–14, 42, 60, 74, 124, 159–60, 162–63, 165, 176– 77, 180, 184, 188, 192–93, 195–99, 204–07, 225–27, 232, 234–58, 263– 64, 269, 271–303, 338, 364–66, 373, 398, 433, 443–45, 497, 528, 555 Roman Jews 10–14, 64, 67–89, 91–109, 111–21, 128, 135–41, 148, 166, 178, 307, 499, 559 Roman Law and Judicial System 11, 95, 99, 150, 153–73, 175–85, 187–200, 201–12, 213–30, 231–45, 247–69, 271–303, 316, 323, 395, 398, 497– 500, 525, 548 Spain: 1, 4–5, 8–9, 12–14, 24, 27, 29–31, 49–54, 61–67, 173, 203, 227–32, 237, 250, 255, 259, 305, 322, 333–34, 342, 349, 375–89, 391–409, 411–431, 440, 461, 470–71, 484–506, 507–19, 534, 540, 545–47, 556 Synagogues 38, 64, 68, 70–71, 74, 77–82, 93, 98–104, 111–18, 127, 136–37, 142, 162, 165, 167, 178, 313–15, 319, 394, 485–87, 492, 560, 571 Temple 18–19, 22–23, 37–38, 48, 53, 56, 58, 62, 74–76, 79, 121, 158, 177, 188–94, 207–11, 223, 251, 267, 273, 306–07, 313, 319, 332, 563 Topography 117–19, 124