Strange Acts: Studies in the Cultural World of the Acts of the Apostles [Reprint 2014 ed.] 3110182009, 9783110182002

Table of contents :
Foreword
Abbreviations of Periodicals and Reference Works
Chapter 1: Tis a Strange World
1. Introduction
2. Ancient Literary Styles
3. The strange acts and scholarship
4. The strange god of the Christians
5. Some Greek and Roman attitudes towards the miraculous
6. The purpose of the strange acts
Chapter 2: Up, Up, and Away?
1. The ascension (Acts 1.9-11)
2. The ascension as vision
3. The vision of angels (Acts 1.10)
4. Ascensions in other literature
5. The ascension narrative and its worship setting
Chapter 3: Spirit Matters
1. Introduction
2. Non-Jewish understandings of spirit
3. Spirit as overwhelming power
4. Spirit as angel and person
5. Wind, fire and holy spirit (Acts 2.1-13)
6. The swaying temple (Acts 4.24-31)
7. Snatched by the Spirit (Acts 8.39)
8. Prevented by the spirit (Acts 16.6-7)
9. Spirit contradictions (Acts 20.22-23; 21.4-15)
10. Healing those with evil and unclean spirits
11. Peter and the unclean spirits (Acts 5.16)
12. Philip and the unclean spirits (Acts 8.7)
13. Paul and the evil spirits (Acts 19.12)
14. The exorcists and the evil spirits (Acts 19.13-17)
15. Paul and Python (Acts 16.16-18)
Chapter 4: On the Side of the Angels
1. Angels in the ancient literature
2. Angel-faced Stephen (Acts 6.15)
Chapter 5: Seeing Things
1. Introduction
2. Visions in the wider literature
3. The first visions (Acts 1.1-11)
4. Stephen’s vision (Acts 7.54-56)
5. Ananias’s vision (Acts 9.10-16)
6. Cornelius’s vision (Acts 10.1-8)
7. Peter’s ecstasic vision (Acts 10.9-16)
8. Paul's visions
8.1. The vision near Damascus (Acts 9.3-9; 22. 6-11; 26.12-18)
8.2. The vision in the temple (Acts 22.17-21)
8.3. The Vision at Troas (Acts 16.9-10)
8.4. The vision in Corinth (Acts 18.9-10)
8.5. Another vision in Jerusalem (Acts 23.11)
8.6. Paul's last vision (Acts 27.23)
Chapter 6: The Power of Bodies and Words
1. Introduction
2. Peter’s shadow (Acts 5.15)
3. Paul’s kerchiefs and belts (Acts 19.11)
4. The curses of Peter and Paul
4.1. The curse on Ananias and Sapphira (Acts 5.1-11)
4.2. The curse on Simon (Acts 8.9-24)
4.3. The curse on Bar Jesus (Acts 13.6-12)
5. Shaving heads, shaking clothes, and making vows (Acts 18.18; 21.23-24; 18.6)
Chapter 7: Raising the Dead
1. Introduction
2. Death among the holy ones (Acts 9.36-42)
3. Paul stoned (Acts 14.19)
4. Death of a youth (Acts 20.7-12)
Chapter 8: Great Prison Escapes
1. Introduction
2. The first escape (Acts 5.19)
3. Peter’s second escape (Acts 12.1-17)
4. Paul at Midnight (Acts 16.25-34)
5. The heat on Paul in Malta (Acts 28.1-6)
Conclusion
Bibliography
1. Ancient Greek and Latin Texts
2. Reference Texts
3. Commentaries on the Acts of the Apostles
4. Secondary Literature
Index of References
1. Old Testament
2. Apocrypha, Pseudepigrapha
3. New Testament
4. Dead Sea Scrolls
5. Rabbinic and Other Jewish Literature
6. Early Christian Literature
7. Ancient Greek Writers
8. Ancient Latin Writers
9. Papyri
Index of Modem Authors

Citation preview

Rick Strelan Strange Acts

Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft und die Kunde der älteren Kirche

Herausgegeben von James D. G. Dunn · Carl R. Holladay Hermann Lichtenberger · Jens Schröter Gregory E. Sterling · Michael Wolter

Band 126

W G DE

Walter de Gruyter · Berlin · New York

Rick Strelan

Strange Acts Studies in the Cultural World of the Acts of the Aposties

w G DE

Walter de Gruyter · Berlin · New York

@ Printed on acid-free paper which falls within the guidelines of the ANSI to ensure permanence and durability.

ISBN 3-11-018200-9 Bibliographie information published ^ Die Deutsche Bibliothek Die Deutsche Bibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliografie; detailed bibliographic data is available in the Internet at < http://dnb.ddb.de >.

©

Copyright 2004 by Walter de Gruyter GmbH & Co. KG, D-10785 Berlin

АД rights reserved, including those of translation into foreign languages. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. Printed in Germany Cover design: Christopher Schneider, Berlin

To the memory of my father

Peter Gerhard Strelan On the one hundredth anniversary of his birth

Foreword There are many people that I wish to thank for their help in the writing and publishing of this book. While it has taken a number of years to complete, the exercise has been most enjoyable, and that is due, to no small degree, to the many people who have patiently walked through Acts with me as I pointed out things I saw there and as they listened to my musings, speculations and guesses. I wish to thank my brothers, the Rev David Strelan and Rev Dr John Strelan in particular. They read and edited drafts of some chapters and made helpful suggestions along the way. My colleague and friend. Professor Michael Lattke (The Uruversity of Queensland) has always been very encouraging, as have been a number of my other colleagues in the Studies in Religion department of The Uruversity of Queensland. The back of the work was broken during an enjoyable three months I spent at Tyndale House in Cambridge, UK in 2001. The library facilities, the friendly administrative staff, and the many encouraging and stimulating scholars who were there at the time all provided the ideal environment in which to lay firm foundations for this book. I thank them all. At the other end of the process, I would like to thank Dr Claus-Juergen Thornton, the editor in chief of Theology, Judaism and Religion at de Gruyter in Berlin. His patience, encouragement, and quick response to frequent emails have made the completion of this book much easier than it might have been otherwise. I also thank Ms Inari Thiel (Brisbane) for her valuable assistance with the indices. My wife, Joy, and our daughters. Charla and Chellie, have provided the necessary refreshing distractions, and have been wonderful company along the way. I owe them more of my time and of myself. This year (2004) marks the centenary of my father's birth, and to his memory I dedicate this book.

Table of Contents Foreword

VII

Abbreviations of Periodicals and Reference Works

ΧΙΠ

Chapter 1: 'Tis a Strange World

1

1. Introductíon 2. Ancient Literary Styles 3. The strange acts and scholarship 4. The strange god of the Christians 5. Some Greek and Roman attitudes towards the miraculous 6. The purpose of the strange acts

1 2 9 14 18 27

Chapter 2: Up, Up, and Away?

33

1. The ascension (Acts 1.9-11) 2. The ascension as vision 3. The vision of angels (Acts 1.10) 4. Ascensions in other literature 5. The ascension narrative and its worship setting

33 38 39 42 48

Chapter 3: Spirit Matters

51

1. Introduction 2. Non-Jewish understandings of spirit 3. Spirit as overwhelming power 4. Spirit as angel and person 5. Wind, fire and holy spirit (Acts 2.1-13) 6. The swaying temple (Acts 4.24-31) 7. Snatched by the Spirit (Acts 8.39) 8. Prevented by the spirit (Acts 16.6-7) 9. Spirit contradictions (Acts 20.22-23; 21.4-15) 10. Healing those with evil and unclean spirits 11. Peter and the unclean spirits (Acts 5.16) 12. Philip and the unclean spirits (Acts 8.7) 13. Paul and the evil spirits (Acts 19.12) 14. The exorcists and the evil spirits (Acts 19.13-17) 15. Paul and Python (Acts 16.16-18)

51 55 59 63 68 77 85 89 93 97 104 106 107 108 113

χ

Table of Contents

Chapter 4: On the Side of the Angels

119

1. Angels in the ancient literature 2. Angel-faced Stephen (Acts 6.15)

119 126

Chapter 5: Seeing Things

131

1. Introduction 2. Visioi« in the wider literature 3. The first visions (Acts 1.1-11) 4. Stephen's vision (Acts 7.54-56) 5. Ananias's vision (Acts 9.10-16) 6. Cornelius's vision (Acts 10.1-8) 7. Peter's ecstasic vision (Acts 10.9-16) 8. Paul's visions 8.1. The vision near Damascus (Acts 9.3-9; 22. 6-11; 26.12-18) 8.2. The visiorv in the temple (Acts 22.17-21) 8.3. The Vision at Troas (Acts 16.9-10) 8.4. The vision in Corinth (Acts 18.9-10) 8.5. Another vision in Jerusalem (Acts 23.11) 8.6. Paul's last vision (Acts 27.23)

131 136 143 149 153 155 158 164 165 179 183 186 187 188

Chapter 6: The Power of Bodies and Words

191

1. Introduction 2. Peter's shadow (Acts 5.15) 3. Paul's kerchiefs and belts (Acts 19.11) 4. The curses of Peter and Paul 4.1. The curse on Anaruas and Sapphira (Acts 5.1-11) 4.2. The curse on Simon (Acts 8.9-24) 4.3. The curse on Bar Jesus (Acts 13.6-12) 5. Shaving heads, shaking clothes, and making vows (Acts 18.18; 21.23-24; 18.6)

191 191 195 198 199 209 215

Chapter 7: Raising the Dead

231

1. Introduction 2. Death among the holy ones (Acts 9.36-42) 3. Paul stoned (Acts 14.19) 4. Death of a youth (Acts 20.7-12)

231 234 243 251

Chapter 8: Great Prison Escapes

259

1. Introduction 2. The first escape (Acts 5.19) 3. Peter's second escape (Acts 12.1-17) 4. Paul at Midnight (Acts 16.25-34) 5. The heat on Paul in Malta (Acts 28.1-6)

259 261 263 274 284

222

Table of Contents

XI

Conclusion

293

Bibliography

295

1. Ancient Greek and Latin Texts 2. Reference Texts 3. Conunentaries on the Acts of the Apostles 4. Secondary Literature

295 299 299 300

Index of References

309

1. Old Testament 2. Apocrypha, Pseudepigrapha 3. New Testament 4. Dead Sea Scrolls 5. Rabbinic and Other Jewish Literature 6. Early Christian Literature 7. Ancient Greek Writers 8. Ancient Latin Writers 9. Papyri

309 313 314 322 322 323 324 331 335

Index of Modem Authors

337

Abbreviations of Periodicals and Reference Works AB AGJU ANGL ANRW

ANTC BAGD

BETL Bib BTB BZ BZNW CBQ DSD EKK EPRO ExpTim HNT HTKzNT НТК ICC JBL JBS JPT JSNT JSNTSup

Anchor Bible Arbeiten zur Geschichte des antiken Judentums und des Urchristentums Ante Nicene Christian Library H. Temporini & W. Haase (eds.), Aufstieg und Niedergang der römischen Welt: Geschichte und Kultur Roms im Spiegel der neueren Forschung (Berlin: W. de Gruyter, 1972-). Abingdon New Testament Gonunentaries W. Bauer, W. F. Arndt, F. W. Gingrich & F. W. Danker, A Greek-English Lexicon of the New Testament and Other Early Christian Literature (Ghicago: University of Ghicago Press, edition, 2000) Bibliotheca Ephemeridum Theologicarum Lovanierisium Biblica Biblical Theology Bulletin Biblische Zeitschrift Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft Catholic Biblical Quarterly Dead Sea Discoveries Evangelisch-Katholischer Kommentar zum Neuen Testament Études préliminaires aux religior\s orientales dans l'empire romain Expository Times Handbuch zum Neuen Testament Herder's Theologischer Kommentar zum Neuen Testament Harvard Theological Review International Critical Commentary Journal of Biblical Literature Journal of Biblical Studies Journal of Pentecostal Theology Journal for the Study of the New Testament Journal for the Study of the New Testament, Supplement Series

XIV JTS KEK LCL LSJ NICNT NIV NKJV NovT NTD NTS NTTS ÖTK PW RE RNT RSV SBB SBT SHR SJLA SNTSMS SNTU ST SUNT TDNT

THKNT TNTC TSAJ WMANT WUNT ZAW ZNW

Abbreviations of Periodicals and Reference Works

Journal of Theological Studies Kritisch-exegetischer Kommentar über das Neue Testament Loeb Classical Library H.G. Liddell, R. Scott & H. Stuart Jones, Greek-English Lexicon (Oxford: Clarendon, edition, 1968) New International Commentary on the New Testament New International Version New King James Version Novum Testamentum Das Neue Testament Deutsch New Testament Studies New Testament Tools and Studies Ökumenischer Taschenbuchkommentar Pauly's Realencyclopädie der classischen Altertumswissenschaft. New edition G. Wissowa Realencyklofädießr protestantische Theologie und Kirche Regensburger Neues Testament Revised Standard Version Stuttgarter Biblische Beiträge Studies in Biblical Theology Studies in the History of Religions Studies in Judaism in Late Antiquity Society for New Testament Studies Monograph Series Studien zum Neuen Testament und seiner Umwelt Studia theologica Studien zur Umwelt des Neuen Testaments G. Kittel & G. Friedrich (eds.). Theological Dictionary erf the New Testament (trans. G. W. Bromiley; 10 vols; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1964-). Theologischer Handkommentar zum Neuen Testament Tyndale New Testament Commentaries Texts and Studies in Ancient Judaism Wissenschaftliche Monographien zum Alten imd Neuen Testament Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament Zeitschriftßr die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft Zeitschriftßr die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft

Chapter 1

'Tis a Strange World 1. Introduction Sometimes the obvious needs to be stated: The New Testament is an artefact from a world foreign to anyone living in the twenty-first century. Reading the New Testament is like visiting that foreign world. This book is a nmning report of some of my visits to parts of the world of Luke and Theophilus, the assumed author and addressee respectively of The Acts of the Apostles. As a visitor to their world, I bring much of my baggage with me, and even when I consciously try to leave it behind as I walk the streets of Acts, I cannot be completely free of my own coristructed world. I take it with me, and it becomes a key for interpreting what I see and hear. Even if I visit the world of Acts every day, those visits are really only imaginary. I still live in my own world, converse in my own native language, participate in my own culture, and share in all its constructs. Even after many such trips into the world of Acts, I still experience a culture shock. It remains a foreign world, and there are many aspects of it that I do not understand. Luke presumably had a cor^tructed world in common with his intended audience, but it is not in common with my world. In the past, when I came across strange things in Acts, I walked past them, noted their strangeness, felt puzzled by them, but then moved on to more familiar territory. So when I read the opening chapter in which Jesus is elevated into the clouds, I never really stopped to examine this act that is so totally strange to anything I have experienced or witnessed. When I continued, and came across a 'holy spirit' and angels, I did some mental gymnastics, often theological in form and style, and went on. When I read about prison doors opening of their own accord, of people dropping dead or being restored to life at the word of an apostle, I thought I was in a world of legend and imagination. These are all acts that are totally foreign to my experience. And when I read of visions, of the demon-possessed, of shadows with healing powers, and of buildings swaying, I knew I was lost and out of my depth.

2

Chapter 1: Tis a Strange World

In my journeys into Acts, I often take guides with me. This report assumes the insights and experiences of people like Haenchen and Barrett, Conzelmann and Fitzmyer, and many others. Very often, these guides did not want to go down the alleyways and unfamiliar streets of Acts, but tended rather to steer me away from those things that they could not perceive as being part of the real world. It was time for me to stop and to operüy acknowledge that there are strange things in Acts, and that it does come from a world that is 'other' to mine. It was time for me to look more closely at these things and to try to understand them within their own context. They are there, and they are as much part of Luke's schema as the things with which I am more familiar. I thought I should assume that none of these actions were strange to him or to his audience. They might have been remarkable and surprising to them, but imderstood, nevertheless. It is not that I simply have to guess what these strange things mean. Not orüy can I sit on the shoulders of Acts' scholars and see what they saw, but I also have some local guides. People who shared Luke's world also left behind written texts (and some other artefacts) that give me some clues for interpreting what I read in Acts. The problem is that these guides were not written as guide-books! Like Luke, they assume that the readers know their way aroimd the world of the writers. One obvious indication of this is that they wrote in Greek and Latin.

2. Ancient Literary Styles Not knowing the language as a native speaker makes visiting the New Testament world difficult. I have been reading and learning koine Greek for forty years, but I learnt the basics of the language from books that were not written by native speakers. I have never learned to use Greek in conversation. What was once a living, spoken and shared language has become a book language, a text that I read. There are no living native speakers of koine Greek with whom I can check things, and obviously there is no body language that might help me guess what is meant. Guessing at the nuances, the assumptions, the humour, the irony, the shorthand, and the imwritten, makes understanding the New Testament hard work. To complicate matters, it seems that Greek and Roman writers and orators loved to play with words. Cicero, for example, says. The play upon words wins really vast applause on its own merits ... for the power to divert the force of a word into a sense quite different from that in which other folk understand it, seems to indicate a man of talent (Orat. 2.62).

2. Ancient Literary Styles

3

Since this is a study of Acts, and Acts is a text, some further comment on the problems associated with reading such texts is worthwhile. Reading texts, like all things cultural, requires some shared understanding, so I need to try and share in the understanding of texts that Luke and his intended audience presumably shared. To begin with, it might help if I could know what was expected of a good writer in those times. In his On Literary Composition, Dionysius of Halicamassus, writing just before the tum of the Era, gives many examples of what he believes constitutes good Greek oratory and historiography.^ It is clear that texts were written to be heard, to be read aloud and not only in silence. It is also clear that both oratory and historiography required, in Dionysius's opinion at least, great skill, much practice, and therefore much discipline. Dionysius takes examples from Homer. Now Homer shaped the Greek language and its style in a maimer similar to the way Shakespeare and the King James Version of the Bible influenced the English language, and he was still highly regarded at the time Luke was writing.^ In fact. Homer was used for a number of purposes. A certain Niceratus said. My father was anxious to see me develop into a good mEin, and as a means to this end, he compelled me to memorize all of Homer; and so even now I can repeat the whole Iliad and the Odyssey by heart (Xenophon Symp. 3.5).

And the same man said later, 'You know, doubtless, that the sage Homer has written about practically everything pertaining to man' (Symp. 4.6). Dionysius shows from Homer what 'good Greek' is, and there is no doubt much of it is in the soimd. 'I am sure everyone will testify that these lines allure and enchant the ear', he says of one passage (Lit. Сотр. 3). Writing well has to do with rhythm, melody, metre, word order, word arrangement, word selection, length of vowels, the sounds of consonants, and more. As Dionysius says. The most elegant writers of poetry and prose have understood these facts well, 2ind both arrange their words by weaving them together with deliberate care, and with elaborate artistic skill adapt the syllables and the letters to the emotions which they wish to portray (Lit. Сотр. 15).

'

Similar opinions are expressed in his essays. On The Style of Demosthenes' and On

^

Note the high opinion held of Homer by Dio Chrysostom in his Discourse 53. It was

Thucydides'. an opinion also held by Latin writers (for example, Velleius Paterculus, Hist. 1.5).

4

Chapter 1 : 'Tis a Strange World

So refined is the art that an author will or will not use the final letter in έποίησ^ν or will prefer λ6λύσ6ται to λυθήσεται, because 'that author is altering the forms of his words in order to fit them together more beautifully and to better purpose' {Lit. Сотр. 6). This was a concern also of Latin writers. Cicero said the following on the pronunciation of certain words, Corwult the rules of grammar and they will ceitóure your usage; refer the matter to your ears and they will approve. Ask why it is so; they will say that it pleases them. And language ought to gratify the pleasure of the ear {Orator 159).

Another example comes from Aulus Gellius, who constantly comments on such things. When discussing whether one should say has urbis or has urbes, and banc turrem or hanc turrim, Gellius quotes Valerius Probus, If you are either composing verse or writing prose and have to use these words, pay no attention to the musty, fusty rules of the grammarians, but consult your own ear as to what is to be said in any given place. What it favours will surely be the best.

He goes on to discuss examples from Virgil, Cicero and others who used the same words with different spellings from time to time in order to please the ear. They could use the femiiune form of a noim when the grammarians insisted on the masculine, simply because it sounded better {Att. Nights 13.21). Dionysius makes similar points in his discussion of Herodotus and Thucydides as historians. In his opinion, what makes Herodotus the better historian is his style as much as the content. To illustrate once again the importance of the impact on the ear, this is Dionysius's comment on a passage from Herodotus, 'The story has been told with great dexterity, and he has made the incident better to hear described than to see done' {Lit. Сотр. 3). This attitude is related to what writers thought good historiography was. It is clear that they are not as interested in reporting factual details as they are in the purpose and motivation for actions. Aulus Gellius quotes Asellio as saying that the mere chronicling of events is to 'tell stories to children, not to write histor/ {id fabulas pueris est narrare, non historias scribere, Att. Nights 5.18.9). The Greek of the New Testament is not the classical Greek that Dionysius preferred. There were a number of Greek and Latin writers living aroimd the time of Luke, who bemoaned the decline in oratory standards and who tried to revive the classic style. Tacitus, writing as a close contemporary of

2. Ancient Literary Styles

5

Luke, in his Dialogue on Oratory, has characters debate whether contemporary oratory is as good as classical. One speaker, Aper, defends the more recent orators from Cicero to his own time, and then concludes. My own view is that the orator, like a prosperous and well-founded householder, ought to live in a house that is not only wind and weather proof, but pleasing also to the eye; he should not only have furnishings as shall suffice for his essential needs, but also number among his belongings both gold and precious stones, so as to make people want to take him up again and again, and gaze with admiration {Dial. Oral. 22).

Dionysius and Tacitus and their friends obviously had a longing for 'the good old days', and they might have been quite elitist about it all. But to be fair to Dionysius, he does say at the end of his discussion on Thucydides that history should not be written in an arid, unadorned and commonplace style: it should contain an element of artistry; and yet it should not be entirely artificial, but should be just a step removed from everyday language. Excess is an abomination even in quite pleasant things, whereas moderation is everywhere desirable {Thuc. 51).

Most, if not all, of the New Testament writers, either deliberately chose to write not in the classic style but in a popular style, or they were not formally trained in the Greek oratorical and historiographical style that Dionysius and Tadtus preferred. For all that, they wrote primarily for a hearing audience, and that is generally foreign to my way of writing and receiving a written text. And if there is one writer in the New Testament who comes at all close to following a certain Greek historiographical style, showing the moderate style that Dionysius might have approved, it is Luke in his Acts of the Apostles. But, as Pliimacher has shovm, Luke does not fit the model of historian as represented by Polybius and Thucydides; rather, he resembles those who wrote their histories according to the mimetic or sensationalistic style or genre.^ Understanding Luke's vrating style gives me a better chance of understanding his book. Whatever other aims Luke might have had in writing, he obviously wrote to convince his audience. To write to convince is a skill, and I believe that Luke demonstrates quite some skill. He selects his vocabulary deliberately, wasting very few words in what today we

E. Plümacher, 'TERATEIA: Fiktion und Wunder in der hellenistisch-römischen Geschichtsschreibung und in der Apostelgeschichte', ZNW 89 (1998), pp. 66-90.

6

Chapter 1 : 'Tis a Strange World

might call 'padding'. This matter of deliberate style will be an important element in the way I read a number of episodes in Acts. There is one andent literary text that influenced Luke more than any other, namely, the Greek Scriptures. Their importance for understanding Acts cannot be overstated. They were for many early Christian writers something like what Homer was for others. Both Homer and the Scriptures were steeped in myth, in telling the experiences of heroes, in portraying close relations between the gods and humans. For many Greeks, as for many Jews, the remembering of history was not linear; it was not simply the recall of something from the distant past. Instead, telling and retelling the story brought the power and experiences of the past into the present. My interpretation of so many of the strange episodes in Acts will be based largely on what I believe is Luke's reading of the Greek Scriptures. He believed that the god who had acted in the lives of the heroes of Israel's past, was acting again in a similar way in the lives of the new heroes of Israel. And Luke's reading of these Greek writings was in tum influenced by other texts in his cultural world. In that sense, Luke is like Philo, who is a good example of a Jew viewing the Scriptures through his own contemporary cultural glasses. Luke also wore culturally-designed glasses when he read his Greek Scriptures. Of the other texts that have come down through the centuries - whether they are written (books, letters, inscriptions) or material (buildings, constructions, coins, statues, images) - many are leftovers, and most are ruined. The original context of many of them has been lost. In the case of the written texts, the vast majority of them have survived because Christians preserved them. And Christians, understandably, were selective, being more interested in some writings than in others. Another fact is that what have been left are the 'texts' of the few - the rich, the educated, the upper class and the privileged. The written texts are, most likely, those of adult males. On the other hand, historians did write for a popular audience, orators were public speakers, inscriptions and images and statues were publicly visible, traders and merchants, craft-workers and farm-workers all dealt with coins. So we can cautiously assume that what has survived in a general way reflects the views and the experiences of the majority of the populace. For all that, as Lohfink says. We should never forget that we know basically very little about the folkreligion of antiquity. In what has come down to us in the literature we have the only evidence of a relatively small and exclusive circle (1971: 50, translation mine).

2. Ancient Literary Styles

7

There are those who argue that we are not so far removed from the world of the New Testamerit that we cannot understand it. That is true to a point. Scholars do not just make blind guesses! Downing (2000) is one who would say that things are not significantly different between then and now. However, we certainly cannot assume that things are the same. In fact, the basic assumption ought to be that these texts come from a world that is 'other', and that otherness ought to be taken seriously and for itself. Basic things like space, time, gender, colour, and classifications and taxonomies in general, vary considerably between cultures, and so does the understanding of complex things like human emotions and the composition of the human being. We cannot assume, for example, that 'heaven', 'joy', 'soul', 'white', and 'God' have the same referents in both the New Testament world and in my world of the twenty-first century. If I may use another analogy, I am Шее an anthropologist who can only observe as an outsider. While modem cultural or social anthropologists might be 'participant observers', even they are still observers. Observers of the New Testament world cannot participate in that world at all. The writers can not be asked, 'What did you mean?' Nor can the first century audience be asked what their reactions and responses were to these writings. And even if we could do that, we would have to do so through the medium of a language that is not ours and that carries with it the grids imposed on it by our own language. Nor can we be sure that we are even asking the right questions! The whole endeavour is very much as Geertz typically wrote, 'The culture of a people is an ensemble of texts, themselves ensembles which the anthropologist strains to read over the shoulders of those to whom they properly belong' (1979: 222). The best that one can do, according to Geertz, is to interpret the wink, to get the joke. 'The trick is to figure out what tiie devil tìiey Üiink they're up to' (1979:58). One of Plutarch's dinner-comparuons once said. In general, the man who demands to see the logic of each and every thing destroys the wonder in аЦ things. Whenever the logical explanation for anything eludes us, we begin to be puzzled, and therefore to be philosophers (Table Talk, 680C-D).

I do not want to destroy the wonder, and I enjoy being puzzled. To go back to my opening analogy, I want to stop just looking at these strange things in Acts from a safe distance. I want to get off the main street and poke around down the alleys and back streets. I want to try to join in whatever game it is Luke and Theophilus think they are playing, even if only from the very

8

Chapter 1 : 'Tis a Strange World

fringes. I am trying to leam the rules, trying to 'be in on the joke'. I am willing to be puzzled and for western and modem logic to fly out the window. In the end, it is not answers I am looking for; I am hoping to contribute to the discussion. My primary aim, then, is to look closely at the stories in Acts that soimd strange to me, and to try to read them within the socially and culturally coristructed southern Mediterranean world of the first century. I realise that as much as I might want to, it is not possible for me to hear these things as Theophilus heard them. But I can construct his world to a degree. Theophilus probably was a man of some status. Luke, in his Gospel, calls him κράτιστί (Lk. 1.3), an adjective also used in Acts, but only of Felix and Festus, Romans governors (Acts 24.3; 26.25). He was, presumably, a man of some education, a man whose ears were familiar with the Greek Jewish Scriptures, and a man who knew the claims made about the god of Israel. He lived and participated in a world permeated by Hellerustic thought and culture. Most significantly of all, he was a man who already knew (and probably believed) the Christian claims that in the mighty words and deeds of Jesus, the god of Israel had acted for the salvation not only of Israel but also of all nations. In other words, he knew Luke's Gospel. So how did this man hear Acts? I assume, for example, that he was able to make good sense of the idea of Jesus ascending into heaven, and he could do that because he drew on his worldview, a view shaped in part by 'texts' that he had read and heard. I acknowledge from the outset that there will be the risk of overstatement, of making more of these 'strange' acts than should really be made. When I go on a holiday into another coimtry, I often photograph the strange things, the things that are out of the ordinary. However, it could be quite misleading to show those photos to my friends as though they were representative or typical of the coimtry and culture I visited. The same is also possible when I deal with the strange things in Acts. I do not want to give the impression that these things are at the core of Acts, and that if they are not xmderstood. Acts is not xmderstood. I do not insist that they are the main interest and concern of Luke. In a тшгЬег of cases, they obviously are not. But they are significant and important nevertheless. For Luke, nearly all of the things I collider strange give legitimacy and validation to the apostles, their message, and their mission. They indicate to the audience that the central characters are men of God doing the work of God. To put it another way, Luke wants to prove Gamaliel's himch right. What these men do is the work of God, and no human plan or device can stop them from achieving what it is that God, through his Spirit, wills (Acts 5.38-39). These strange acts may not be central, but nor are they peripheral, and they certainly deserve dose scrutiny.

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3. The strange acts and scholarship In general. New Testament scholars have shown scant interest in things like angels, dreams, visions and supranormal experiences. Having been driven for over a hundred years by a scientific method that ruled out the supernatural a priori, few academics would put their credibility and academic acceptability on the line by publishing on this material. If they did publish on it, it was to debunk it as historically unreliable or as illustrative of precritical thought. But in the current generation, the importance and sigiüficance of 'spiritual' experience is obvious. Enchantment, the world of magic and of the extraordinary are acceptably fascinating, as is demonstrated by the success of such books and movies as Lord of the Rings and Harry Potter. Institutions, with their rules and regulations and limitations on what can be thought, believed or practised, have given way to the validity of the individual's own experience. This is true also in the area of religion in the West. Churches, as institutions, no longer have authority in the lives of many people, who now rely more on their own 'spiritual' experiences in their search for meaning and purpose. At an academic level, there has also been a slight shift away from the traditional scientific world-view that ruled out the action of spirit-beings in the world and disnussed the validity of any experience that could not be scientifically verifiable. Instead, there is now some room for the view that takes such experiences, especially religious or spiritual ones, more seriously and as having some credibility. However, even when they are taken seriously, they are still examined through scientific glasses. Visions, for example, are explained in neurophysiological or psychological terms. Some biblical scholars encourage a move away from such traditional scientific bases. So Pilch says, 'Scholars who deny that "supernatural" experiences can occur in "natural" human experience demonstrate Western cultural myopia rather than scientific astuteness' (1995: 49). And Dunn, arguing on the basis that 'the core of religion is religious experience', has challenged biblical scholarship to be consistent with what it has always been known, namely, that experience was at the very heart of the early Christian movement. Jesus, Paul, and Peter, for example, had religious experiences, and those experiences need to be examined and critiqued seriously (1997:1). In the past, scholarly interest in Acts has focused sharply on four closely related issues. The first of these are the sources used by Luke in constructing his narrative. This has been central for a long time, particularly in German scholarship. Closely related to that concern has been, secondly, the debate over the historical reliability of Acts, especially in its portrayal of Paul vis à vis his ovm writings, but also generally in its depiction of the

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earliest Christian preaching, teaching, experiences and practices. The third focus has been on the genre of Acts. If it is a history, how does it compare with ancient historiography? If it is not history, then what is it? Is it a novel written for entertainment? Related to gerue is the discussion on the purpose of the book. Is it apologetic, evangelistic, catechetical, or what? More recently, the tendency is to see its purpose as part of the double work, Luke-Acts. A fourth focus has been on the theology of Acts, especially on the relation between Jew and Gentile, and on its 'salvation-history'. Typical of these concerns is the recent work by Stefan Schreiber, Paulus als Wundertäter (1996). Schreiber's interests are in the depiction of Paul, not in the Wunder themselves. He, like many others, wants to understand the relation between the wonder-working Paul of Acts and the seemingly power-less Paul of the letters. His approach to the Wunder passages in Acts is redaction-critical, being interested in the traditions that Luke used and in the ancient parallels. He is not curious, as I am, about how the Wunder were imderstood by an ancient audience. Schreiber wants to emphasise that often in Acts Paul is not a Wundertäter or a Μος άνήρ because '[d]er eigentliche Wxmdertäter ist also Gott' (1996: 99). I agree with Schreiber, and others, tiiat the signs and wonders in Acts serve to legitimize the gospel, to link Paul with Peter and Jesus and Moses and Elijah in salvation history, and to show that Paul has the protection and favour of God. Scholarship that has wanted to anchor Acts in its Greco-Roman setting has also largely done so with similar foci. For all that, it is strange that the miracles, or the other xmusual events narrated in Acts, receive so little coverage in that scholarship. The five volumes on the setting of Acts in the Greco-Roman world* has not one article dealing with miracles or the extraordinary, or even with such experiences as dreams and visions. Similarly, the recent Witness to the Gospel: The Theology of Acts (1998) does not touch the subject. Hemer's The Book of Acts in the Setting of Hellenistic History (1989), which follows a line similar to that taken much earlier by William Ramsay, has the agenda of defending the reliability of Acts. But here too there is no chapter dealing with the miraculous, although the subject is dealt with in an appendix. John Squires' book. The Plan of God in Luke-Acts,^ provides a useful chapter on the role of portents and epiphanies in Hellerustic historiography. For example, B. W. Winter and A. D. Clarke (eds.), The Book of Acts in its ancient literary setting (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 1993); and, D. W. J. Gill and C. Gempf (eds.). The Book of Acts in its Graeco-Roman setting (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 1994). J. Squires, The Plan of God in Luke-Acts (SNTSMS 76. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993).

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but makes only general comments on their role in Luke-Acts, and offers no close study of any one miracle episode or epiphany experience in Acts. He draws attention to them to demonstrate Luke's interest in 'God's ongoing guidance of human history' (1993:101). Where most interest has been shown in the miracles in Acts is in the history-of-religion approach that interpreted such phenomena in parallel with similar events and actions recorded in the pagan literature. Miracles were often seen as indications that the apostles fit the Hellerüstic idea of the divine man (θίίος άνήρ). This interest has divided scholarship in Acts, with German scholars predominantly feeling comfortable with the notion of Peter and Paul as 'divine men', while English-American scholars generally have rejected it. In the English-speaking world, the work of Holladay,^ for example, claims that to make Luke's heroes into such men is anachronistic. This is in resporwe and reaction to the claims of Bieler^ in particular, but also of other recent scholars, such as Kollmann,' who would still want to speak of Jesus, Paul and Peter in these terms. There is some truth in the criticism that some scholars adopted the history-of-religion approach in order to downplay any suggestion that the New Testament miracles were unique. But scholars wanting to coimterbalance this approach - especially those in a British context - have also been driven by an agenda. They want to rescue the miracles as part of God's plan and history. For example. Lampe argues that the miracles in Acts are 'not external to God's work of salvation and judgmenf, and are much more like the miracles of Moses, Elijah, and other Jewish prophets than those of the Hellenistic wonder-workers (1965: 166). Lampe shows that he wants to maintain the uniqueness and superiority of the miracles in the canonical Gospels and Acts by distinguishing those miracles from the ones found in later Christian аросг)фЬа1 Acts which he labels 'tiresome' (1965:165). Very often, Paul is at the centre of these debates. Jacob Jervell has reacted to the claims that began with Bruno Bauer in 1850 that Paul in Acts is a wonder-working, triumphant, magician. Jervell believes that the Wundergeschichte from Acts could be omitted without making a noticeable difference to the theological ingredients (1979: 57). He argues that if we C. R. Holladay, Theios aner in Hellenistic-Judaism: a critique of the use of this category in New Testament Christology (Missoula, Mont.: Scholars Press, 1977). L. Bieler, Theios aner: Das Bild des 'Göttlichen Menschen' in Spätantike und Frühchristentum (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1967). B. Kollmann, Jesus und die Christen als Wundertäter: Studien zu Magie, Medizin und Schamanismus in Antike und Christentum (Göttingen: Vanderüioeck & Ruprecht, 1996).

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want to see the real Paul of Acts, we should look at his speeches, where we would notice that there is no mention of his wonder-working powers. In addition, such powers are not given or promised to him in the narrative of his conversion. Jervell claims that Luke never narrates the Wunder for their own sake, but that they always play a lesser role in the episode. For example, in the prison episode in Acts 16, the nüraculous escape is not the point; rather, the issue is that of Paul's Roman citizenship and of the conversion of the gaoler (1979: 63). Jervell (and there are others who agree) argues that Paul is portrayed in Acts as threatened, persecuted, and mistreated - a theme, he thiriks, that runs like a red thread through the narratives. So Paul is a suffering Paul, and whatever wonders are associated with him in no way diminish or soften that fact (1979: 63). For Jervell, then, this rules Paul out as a divine man because such figures in ancient literature did not suffer as Paul does (1979: 64). One might debate Jervell's claims. At this point, I simply draw attention to the way scholars have reacted to the Wunderelement in Acts, and to show that it is common - for a variety of reasor« - to downplay its sigruficance. Sometimes, such efforts are theologically driven; sometimes they are driven by the wish to maintain a harmony between Acts and Paul's writings, or to soften the sharp divide that many scholars in the Baur tradition have often made. Whatever the agenda, the fact is that, [p]rimitive Christian miracle stories testify to a revelation of the holy, to its power to break into the normal course of the world. That is their oiüy message. A large part of exegetical labour expended on them, however, is devoted to denying or minimising this (Theissen 1983:291).

Delling (1970) said similar things. He highlighted three basic responses in traditional New Testament scholarship. The first dismisses the miraculous as legends told with some religious motive; the second tries to find natural explanations for what are unusual events; and the third treats them as special, inexplicable phenomena (1970: 53). Since Delling, some narrative critics like Witherington and Pervo see the miraculous and wonderful as keeping Luke out of the category of historian. Instead, Luke writes a novel in which the miraculous adds to the entertainment value. So Pervo claims that 'Luke's congeries of miracles ... and constant improbabilities exceeded even the most permissive limits (of ancient historiography)' (1987: 3). Another example of removing the miraculous from the historical is seen in Plümacher. He argues that Luke fits the 'mimetic historian' label by ancient standards, and calls the awakenings of the dead in Acts 9.36-^ and 20.7-12,

3. The strange acts and scholarship

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'crude miracles' that have almost no parallel in andent historiography and find parallel only in mythology (1998:84). I noted earlier that Jervell wants to subordinate the miraculous in Acts to other more central themes. Typical of this approach is to make the powerful actions of the apostles secondary to the power of 'the word of the Lord' proclaimed by the apostles. Once again, I sense that the powerful actions are belittled and marginalised. Recently, Юаиск, for example, sees rightly that many times in Acts there is a confrontation of powers. But he says that each time 'it is the Christian proclamation that wins the trial of strength, relying not so much on a superior miraculous power, but rather on the message of salvation which it brings' (2000: 54). That is true, but the fact is that first of all there is a display of power that is superior. The power of the Oiristian god is made to look greater than that of others. This needs to be taken seriously, which is largely the intention of this book. Theologically, it might be correct that the real power is in 'the word', but Luke does not always fit so neatly into our theological frameworks. Recently, some scholars have claimed to take some of these strange acts seriously by interpreting them along psychological and anthropological lines. So, for example, there is some interest in portraying Paul as a shaman, and the visions of the apostles as experiences that happened while they were in an altered state of consciousness. John Ashton, in his The Religion of Paul the Apostle (2000), believes that theology and science have dominated for too long, and the comparative approach needs a better hearing. So he compares Paul with shamans and with modem charismatic figures like Oral Roberts. He thinks we xmderstand Paul better if we look at his charismatic and spiritual experiences. John Pilch sees Felicitas Goodman's work on modem non-western shamans as a key to imderstanding the strange experiences reported in Acts and elsewhere. I agree with the basic emphasis that the 'strange experiences' need to be taken more seriously and to be seen as more central in our understanding of Paul. But I have a problem with the assumption that it is helpful to compare the experiences of Paul and his contemporaries with those of a shaman of Siberia, Japan, Korea or elsewhere in modem times. Despite claims to the contrary, little in the work of Ashton and Pilch is based on Paul and his contemporaries and their imderstanding of their own experiences. Modem parallels are interesting, but the cultural context of the visionary cannot be ignored, and the context of Paul is significantly different from the context of a Siberian or of an Asian, let alone of a North American white televangelist. In summary, it is fair to say that scholarship has tended to find the strange stories in Acts an embarrassment. As Theissen concludes.

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Chapter 1: 'Tis a Strange World The ancient church's pride in the miracles has turned into its opposite. A 'philological cultural Protestantism' finds them too primitive; hermeneutical profundity suspends them, 'explains' them and buries them with prciise. Orthodox insistence on their factual reality has been as little able to prevent this as the apodictic simplicity of fundamentalists ... The miracle stories are alien visitors in our worid (1983:299-300).

I agree generally with Hemer, even if for different reasons, that miracle is integral to Luke's God-centred world and sigrüfícant within it ... It is an irreparable part of his concept of what happened, and we must cope with the difficulties which this factor poses for the modem mind (1989: 85).

4. The strange god of the Qiristians Luke belonged to a minority grouping within his society. The vast majority of people in his social and cultural world did not think that his god played a significant role, indeed any role at all, in their society or in the wider world. Many rarely thought much about the imiversal role of the gods. Luke's god was not a major god in any city. There were no processions or festivals for him, no public myths simg about him, no sacrifices to him on behalf of the citizens; there were no temples, no images and no sacred groves. Among the pagans, then, who were the vast majority in the Roman world, Luke's god was either imknown or ignored. Acts is better understood as reflecting the perspective of a stranger and foreigner, rather than that of an insider sharing comfortably with fellow citizens in the life of his society. The introduction of strange gods into a community was often regarded with suspicion, and their associated religious practices and ideas were seen as threatening. Cicero, in the century before Luke, agreed with the law, 'Let no one have gods on his own or new or foreign gods unless they have been sanctioned by the whole commimity' (Laws 2.19). Dio Cassius reports Agrippa as saying, after expelling 'astrologers and sorcerers' in 33BCE, You should hate and punish those who introduce foreign elements into our religion ... because men of this sort, by importing new powers, persuade many people to take up foreign customs, and from this are bom conspiracies and gatherings and secret clubs, which are the last thing a monarchy needs. Do not, then, permit people to be atheists or sorcerers (52.36.1-2).

Valerius Maximus, a closer contemporary of Luke, gives a small clue as to how difficult it could sometimes be for a foreign cult to gain an honourable

4. The strange god of the Quistians

15

reputation in a place like Rome. He tells of a Roman magistrate who put on the garb of an Isis priest and went begging through the streets and highways in order to trick his way into Brutus's camp (Memorab. 7.3). Valerius then comments that it is 'a pitiful necessity indeed that bade a magistrate of the Roman people throw aside his glory of office and walk through the city disguised by the emblems of a foreign cult' (7.3.8). Dionysius of Halicamassus admired the Romans because they did not allow just any cult into Rome. He says that they have the highest respect for the gods, and you will not see 'any ecstatic transports (θ6θφορήσ€ΐς), no Corybantic frenzies, no begging imder the colour of religion, no bacchanals or secret mysteries, no all-night vigils of men and women together in the temples'. He goes on to say that, despite the influx of innumerable nations into Rome with the accompanying cults, 'the dty has never officially adopted any of these foreign practices'. But if oracles have so decreed that some foreign practices be taken into Rome, it has been in accordance with their own traditions 'after banishing all fabulous clap-trap'. In the Idean rites, for example, the praetors perform the sacrifices and celebrate games in honour of the goddess, but the priests and priestesses are Phrygian, and they are the ones who carry the image through the streets and do things the Phrygians do. He continues admiringly. But by a law and decree of the senate no native Roman walks in procession through the city arrayed in a parti-colored robe, begging alms, or escorted by flute players, or worships the goddess with Phrygian ceremonies. So cautious are they about admitting any foreign religious customs and so great their aversion to all pompous display that is wanting in decorum (Ant. Rom. 2.19.2-4).

The Christian movement, like many others that were foreign, was regarded with suspicion. Christians were 'hated for their abominations' (Tacitus Ann. 15.44). Being foreign, the movement was threatening to the status quo. Having its origins in the east meant it was likely to be regarded like all other religious movements that came from that direction. As far as many Romans, and even some Greeks, were concerned, things eastern were extravagant, exotic, effeminate, and dangerous. On the other hand, Luke's talk of a god who acted directly in human affairs, and who offered a 'holy' life-style, might have struck an appreciative chord with those Greeks and Romans who were quite pessimistic about their society and the role of their gods in it. Sallust is one who thought that in his time (first century ВСЕ) Rome was in some kind of moral and political decay, and that the gods were distant and inactive. The way the god-fearing and pious ancestors had governed was great and noble, but by

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Sallusf S time, things had become dishonourable and vicious (Bell. Cat. 5.9). Rome had changed and was riddled with the disease of vice and greed (10.6). Sallust, and many others, believed that the traditional gods were absent and ineffective, and 'beyond question Fortune holds sway everywhere' (8.1). Catullus, his contemporary, also complained that in the days 'before religion was despised, the heavenly ones were wont to visit pious homes of heroes, and show themselves to mortal company', but do so no longer due to the crimes and sins of the earth (Poems LXIV 384-408). Within the Jewish synagogue circles in which they first moved, some Christians were probably regarded as odd-bods and hotheads, and there is little doubt that some Christians saw themselves, and were regarded by others, as a sect. Luke refers to the Christians as The Way (Acts 9.2), and that very terminology is typically sectarian. Some Christians believed that Jesus had brought in the end of the age and that they had been chosen by God to prepare the way of the Lord. As also happens now, such a group was marginalised. In general, wherever Paul went in Acts, he was treated as a foreigner, despite his claims to Roman citizenship. He came to places like Lystra and Derbe and Philippi as an outsider. That put him imder suspicion as he went around hawking new religious ideas that potentially were threatening to the cities and their structures, especially to their religious customs. The episode of Paul in Ephesus in Acts 19 is a good illustration of how potentially damaging the Christian message was seen to be (even if only by Luke) to the religious, social, political and economic status quo of the city. Acts might be 'the most exciting book in the New Testament' (DiHm 1996: ix), but for all the excitement, the heroes are portrayed primarily as rejects, at both a political and social level. They are rejected by sanhédrins, sjmagogues and gentile courts. Kings and magistrates think them mad. The point is that God is on their side and does not abandon them. In fact, God rescues them from dangerous situations created by their opponents. When discussing Luke's world, there is the important question of terminology. It is very common to use two terms to describe the culture of Luke's world. The one is 'Hellenistic', and the other 'Greco-Roman'. Neither term is really satisfactory. What complicates the issue is the relationship of the term 'Jewish' to both. The distinction between being Hellenistic and being Jewish is not at all helpful or even accurate, but it is commonly and persistently made vdthout explanation or justification. For example, recently, Tilborg & Counet write. We can accept that its (sc. the text's) reception community lived in the Hellenistic world. Obviously, I do not exclude the fact that Luke was also read

4. The strange god of the Christians

17

by 'Jewish' readers or from a Jewish context. But quantitatively this was a waning minority of readers in comparison to the growing majority of nonJewish, Hellenistic readers (2000:198).

This explicitly equates 'Hellenistic' with 'non-Jewish'. But very few diaspora Jews were not culturally Hellenistic. In other words, most Jews spoke Greek, and probably wore their hair like their neighbours, dressed like them, enjoyed the same music, traded, bought and sold like them. What made most Jews distinctive, if anything, was their observance of sabbath, their dietary laws, their practice of circumcision, and their 'monotheism'. However, even these essential aspects of 'being Jevdsh' were not as distinctive or as strictly observed as is often claimed. Is 'Greco-Roman' a better term? The problem is that it is so broad that it has little meaning. After all, there were clear cultural distinctions between Greeks and Romans, let alone differences within those two groups. Acts was written in the Greek language, but the author lived imder Roman administrative control. The Romans certaiiüy did not abandon Latin, especially when it came to official and legal matters and when Rome wanted people to know just who it was that was in control. Coinage and inscriptions offer clear proof of this. It might be better to talk simply of 'Greeks and Romans' in the same way as did near contemporaries of Luke, such as Valerius Maximus (writing in Latin) and Plutarch (writing in Greek). Finally on this matter, I have no doubt that Luke, in particular among the early Christian writers, wrote in the tradition of Jewish sacred scriptures, and that many of the 'strange acts' in his book can be understood better if seen in that tradition. But as I have already indicated, Luke also lived in a hellenised world where Homer and Virgil, for example, were dominant and very influential literary figures. I cannot agree with Lane Fox that 'Homer ... was unknovm territory to the first Christians' (1986: 377). They may not refer explicitly to his writings, but that does not mean they were unaware of the world of Homer and of Greek mythology and so on. Philo, a Jewish near contemporary of Luke, regarded Homer and Hesiod as educators: If we are justified in listening to the poets - and why should we not, since they are our educators through all our days, and as parents in private life teach wisdom to their children, so do they in public life to their cities (Prov. 1.143).

Philo believed that Homer was 'the greatest and most reputed of poets' (Conf. 4) and that 'we should make it our aim to read the writings of the sages' (Sacr. 79). Anyone who wishes to be a lover of wisdom, he says, must

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have an 'acquaintance with the poets and learning of ancient histor/ {Somn. 1.205). If Luke thought in any way like Philo, then there is little doubt that he too held the 'poets and the historians' in some regard; and even less doubt that many in Luke's audience were very familiar with them. There is also a case for arguing that the Jewish sacred scriptures themselves have more in common with the Homeric and Greek tradition than is often assumed. As Lane Fox himself acknowledges, "The Greek translators of the Old Testament sometimes used language and details which went beyond the Hebrew and increased the similarity' with the Greek literary traditions (1986: 377). So in this matter, too, the distinction between what is Jewish and what is Greek and/or Roman is not an easy one to make. Luke knew the poets, for example (Acts 17.28). In any case, it would have been impossible for any Jew or Christian to live in a hellerüsed polis without seeing or hearing the processions, the dramas, the theatres, the courts, the gossip, and the debates.

5. Some Greek and Roman attitudes towrards the miraculous^ One of the most sigiüficant differences between the world of Luke and that in which I live is the way gods and humans relate. In fact, for very many people of my generation, that is not even a question that any serious scientist can handle. The worldview is that what happens does so not because of any divine power controlling, directing, and influencing things, but by random chance; things just 'tum out' a certain way, possibly by some cause-and-effect chain or pattern. God, if such a being exists at all, is above and outside this world, and might occasionally 'break into' this world. For Luke, and for many others - but not all - of his generation, heaven was much closer, and the boundaries between the human and the divine were far more tenuous. There was little sense of his god 'breaking in', because the gods were already inside the cosmos, not external to it. It was common to think that the whole world was 'the abode of the gods' (Cicero Repub. 3.19.14). Cato says, 'God has his dwelling in all things that be, in earth and air and sea and starry vault, in virtuous deeds; in all that thou canst see, in all thy thoughts contained' (Lucan 9.675-677). It was a view similar to that of Philo, who believed 'the real temple of God to be the world in its totality' (Spec. Leg. 1.66). In addition, the gods were powers, and so almost any unexpected or awesome manifestation of power was thought to be divine. '

See especially, Plümacher (1998).

5. Some Greek and Roman attitudes towards the miraculous

19

What I today might call a psychological force or a riatural force was then thought to be divir\e. A person rrught even be possessed by a divine power, and if a person displayed power of any kind then it would be asked whether that person was divine. My monotheistic views tend to separate and distinguish sharply between the gods and their roles or functions. I leam that Athena is the god of war, that Demeter is the god of com and harvest, and Aphrodite the goddess of love. But for the Greeks and Romans, one god cannot be seen in isolation from the others. As Vemant writes, A divine power does not really have any existence on its own. It exists only be virtue of the network of relations that makes it a part of the divine systems as a whole (1983: 329).

Peoples in various Mediterranean and oriental cultures, with their various traditions over many centuries, have known of strange, often powerful, acts performed by strange men and women. Long before Jesus came onto the scene, Greeks knew of Melampas and Abaris, Epimenides and Aristeas, Pythagoras and Empedocles. These were men who were reputed to be able to send their souls on journeys, determine the will of the gods, have power over animals, control winds and waves, transport themselves over great distances in an instant, banish evil demons, cure the sick, or raise the dead. They were generally men of great power, and it was claimed that 'no great man ever existed who did not enjoy some portion of divine inspiration' (Cicero Nat. Deorum 2.66.167). And Jews likewise had traditions of powerful men like Joseph, Moses, Elijah, Elisha, Solomon and Daniel. They were known as men of great wisdom that included the knowledge of the heavenly world because they themselves had visited that realm, or because, like their Greek and Roman coimterparts, they were gifted by a divine or holy spirit. Many of them also possessed a great power which enabled them to raise the dead, float axe-heads on water, part waters, interpret dreams, know the secrets of the magical arts, and so on. Their power and wisdom was said to be superior to that of similar people in their wider world. In Luke's world, it was сопгтоп for such people to be regarded as divine because of the strange and wonderful powers they possessed, or better, that possessed them. As already noted, scholarship has debated whether or not it is valid to call them 'divine men'. So much, of course, depends on definition. Speyer defines a divine man as 'any person whom the holy power, the deity, has chosen and gifted with his power, so that he, like the god, can decree blessing and curse, health and sickness, life and

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Chapter 1 : Tis a Strange World

death' (1989: 376). While there is little doubt that it is anachronistic to use the technical term θ€Χος άνηρ of any of the apostles in the New Testament or of Jesus himself, there is also little doubt that many, if not all, of these men fit Speyer's definition. I think too that this definition fits well the way the adjective θήος is used by Josephus, who calls Isaiah a 'divine prophet' (ó προφήτης θ€ΐος. Ant. 10.35), an expression also used by Philo of Moses {Vit. Mos. 2.188). Among other Greek writers, Galen later calls Hippocrates ó θ€ΐότατος 'Ιπποκράτης (Nat. Fac. 3.13). The Latin author. Columella, calls Plato divinus auctor (3.22.4). It is clear in all cases that the men are not thought to be gods but to have abilities and powers that come from the gods or are characteristic of the gods. Very often when the term 'divine' is used in this book, it is used in that sense. A person was divine if he or she had status, power, or a spirit that came from the gods and was consistent with that of those who belong to the world of the gods. For Jews who knew the Scriptures of their tradition, the strange acts performed by the apostles would have rung quite loud bells. 'Signs and wonders' were the hallmark of the time of Moses especially. The Pentateuch concludes. And there has not arisen a prophet since in Israel like Moses, whom the Lord knew face to face, none like him for aU the sigi\s and wonders (LXX τοις σημίίοις καΐ τεροσιν) which the Lord sent him to do in the land of Egypt, to Pharaoh and to all his servants and to all his land, and for all the mighty power and all the great and terrible deeds which Moses wrought in the sight of all Israel (Deut. 34.10-12).

But the same book also holds the promise that God will raise up a prophet like Moses (Deut. 18.18), a promise that the Christian writers like Luke latched on to for their understanding of Jesus and of Peter and Paul. There was something cyclical in Jewish thought about the creative saving acts of God, and there was also something eschatological. There would be 'the day of the Lord', and 'in that day' God would act finally to bring salvation to his people. So, Jewish audiences of Acts knew of the power of God working through Moses and Elijah. They knew of inspired prophets and prophetesses. They had stories of heroes through whom God created Israel and who set examples of how Jews ought to live when under foreign control and when away from the land of Israel. They knew what their god was capable of doing and what he had promised to do. These myths and traditions were at the very heart of Jewish identity and faith, and the connection between myth and history for most Jews was very close indeed. Once again, we caimot assume that people of the past thought in much the same way as we

5. Some Greek and Roman attitudes towards the miraculous

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do. For them, myth and history were both essential, complementary ways of expressing truth. There is little doubt that much of Acts draws heavily on the myth-traditions of Israel, and that many of the strange acts lose some of their strangeness when imderstood in the context of those traditions. The first century CE philosopher, Seneca, believed that 'to learn what the stuff of the uiuverse is, who its author or custodian is, what god is' is what life is all about. He wrote, 'If I had not been admitted to these studies it would not have been worthwhile to have been bom' (Nat. Quaest. Pref. 1.3). Valerius Maximus also expresses the fascination many had for 'the rich and powerful kingdom' of nature (dives et praepotens Naturae regnum, Memorab. 2. praef.). Ovid, Livy, Cicero, Pliny, Aelian, Aulus Gellius and other contemporary Latin and Greek writers all show a fascination with the strange events and experiences that have been told to them or that they know for themselves. Quintilian says in the first century CE, 'Who, and coimtry-foUc are no exception, does not make some inquiry into the causes of natural phenomena?' (Inst. 1 Pref. 16). An integrated cosmos (which carried a sense of harmony and pattern) was basic in much of the thiriking at the time. Heaven, earth, the gods, humans, animals, the elements all were seen as operating and relating to each other within this imiverse. So it is imderstandable that strange events in nature were interpreted as signs or omens from the gods. Many read the natural world as the writing pad of the gods. For example. Dio Cassius reports that when the Romans were defeated in Germany in the time of Augustus, there were portents both before and after which hinted at such a disaster. A temple of Mars was struck by lightning, locusts flew into the city and then were eaten by birds, the peaks of the Alps seemed to collapse into each other and send up three colimms of fire, numerous comets were seen, bees formed their combs around altars in the camps, spears were seen coming from the north and heading towards the Roman camps, and a statue of Victory in Germany used to face Germany but was turned to face Rome (Hist. Rom. 56.24). He also mentions omens that appeared before Augustus's death, and these 'gave cause for some to say that this had not been a mere coincidence, but had been brought about by some divine purpose'(έκ δαιμονίου προβουλής έγένετο, 56.29). In general, when faced with things that were paradoxical, especially in the natural world, it was common to think that a god was actively present. The rustling of the wind in leaves or grass, the sudden clap of thimder or flash of lightning, the unusual shape of a rock were often seen as signs of a god's presence. But there are also expressions of ambiguity about this integration. Are the gods involved in human affairs or not? Seneca had to face the questions that were obviously asked of him and other thinkers:

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Chapter 1 : 'Tis a Strange World Are you so greatly ignorant that you believe the gods send in advance announcements of death and that everything on earth is so important that the universe is aware it is perishing? In other words, the basic question is whether human affairs are any concern to the gods (Nat. Quaest. 1.1.4).

He gives 'scientific reasons' to explain why lightning, thunder, comets, halos around the sun, and the rainbow occur. He divorces his opinion from those of the Etruscans who, he thinks, make the deus 'too unoccupied and the administrator of trivia if he arranges dreams for some people, entrails for others'. But at the same time he acknowledges that 'such things are carried out by divine agency' and that 'whatever happens, it is a sign of something that will happen' (Nat. Quaest. 2.32.2-4). Stoic that he is, Seneca in the end puts every thing down to fate (fatum), which he defines as 'the necessity of all events and actions which no force may break' (2.36.1). People then, as now, fascinated by the paradoxical, had various and sometimes contradictory explanations for them. Speyer illustrates this in the case of priestesses who walked on coals. Varrò, he says, offered two explanations: Some say it is because the priestess is filled with the deity; others say it is because she has rubbed her feet with salt first, and this prevents the fire from causing pain (1989: 352). Ambiguity can also be seen in the Attic Nights of Aulus Gellius, who says he bought a collection of books in a Brundisium market that contained weird and wonderful reports of freaks of nature. He repeats some of them, and then he says that while he was writing them dovm, he 'was seized with disgust for such worthless writings which contribute nothing to the enrichment or profit of life'. Yet he goes on to quote Pliny, who wrote of freakish things that 'he (Pliny) knew to be true and had himself seen' (9.4). Again, Aulus Gellius later repeats some 'marvellous and false stories' reported by Pliny (10.12). It would appear that there was a genre - now called paradoxography which existed at least from the time of Herodotus. Ziegler (1949) thinks that there are some thirty-nine known paradoxographical texts. It is a genre in need of more research and critical analysis. But anyone wanting an example of a number of paradoxa collected in one text might read the opening chapter of Valerius Maximus's work, Factorum et dictorum memorabilium (written contemporaneously with Paul). It is full of anecdotes recounting such experiences from both Roman and Greek sources. The author makes little comment on or evaluation of them. However, over the centuries, some writers debated vigorously whether or not, for example, divine epiphanies actually occurred (for example, Dionysius of Halicamassus, Ant. Rom. 2.68), and Aristotle derüed that God communicated with humans in 'waking'

5. Some Greek and Roman attitudes towards the miraculous

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dreams {On Prophecy in Sleep 462b). According to the lawyer Cicero, the testimony (testimonia) of the gods is covered thorougMy enough by the following: first, utterances (orationes) for oracles get their name from the fact that they contain an utterance (oratio) of the gods; secondly, things in which are embodied certain works of the gods. First, the heaveitó themselves and all their order and beauty; secondly, the flight of birds through the air and their songs; thirdly, soimds and flashes of fire from the heavens, and portents (portento) given by many objects on earth, as well as the foreshadowing of events which is revealed by the entrails. Many things are also revealed by visions (visis) in sleep. The testimony of the gods is at times adduced from these topics in order to win conviction (Topica 20.77). Plümacher has outlined well Polybius' imderstanding of тератеСа and their role within historiography. He basically thought of them as lies to be avoided in good historiography (Plümacher 1998: 75-82). On the other hand, there was Diodorus, who was xmhappy with 'those who adopt a sceptical attitude towards histories because they recount what is astorushing (παράδοξον. Hist. 3.30.4). Three further examples of scepticism or ambiguity shown by both Greeks and Romans in this area will suffice. The first is from Valerius Maximus. He writes. Nor am I imaware how doubtful a view may be taken of any judgment concerning the motions or utterances of immortal gods perceived by human eyes and ears. But since I am saying nothing new but recalling things that have been hEtnded down, let the originators prove their credibility and let it be my part not to shy away from items consecrated by famous literary memorials as though they were mere fiction (Memorab. 1.8.7). Seneca is more cynical about historians and their reliability. He says. Some historians get praise for their work by relating incredible stories (incredibilium relatu) and by meems of the marvellous (miraculo) they arouse a reader ... Some historians are credulous; others are negligent. On some falsehood creeps imawares; some it pleases ... They do not think their work can be approved and become popular unless they sprinkle them with lies (Nat. Quaest. 7.16.1-2). Finally, Plutarch tells of some Romans placing an image of a goddess in a temple and the image speaking a blessing. The image spoke the blessing twice, 'so they say' (μυθολογοϋσιν). Plutarch then comments that this is difficult to believe and probably never happened. For that statues have appeared to sweat, and shed tears, 2md exude something like drops of blood is

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Chapter 1 : 'Tis a Strange World not impossible (because a mixture of mould, moisture, and tints from the air can create this effect), and there is nothing in the way of believing that the deity uses these phenomena sometimes as signs and portents. It is possible also that statues may emit a noise like a moan or a groan, because of a fracture or rupture ... But that articulate speech, and language so clear and abtmdant and precise, should proceed from a lifeless thing is altogether impossible.

But then Plutarch adds a rider. Those who cherish strong feelings of good-will and affection for the deity and are therefore unable to reject or deny anything of this kind, have a strong argument for their faith in the wonderful and transcendent character of the divine power. For the deity has no resemblance whatever to man, either in nature, activity, skill or strength; nor, if he does something that we cannot do, or contrives something that we cannot contrive, is this contrary to reason (Cario!. 38.1^).

If there was some scepticism about mythology and some histories, and about whether the gods actually do commimicate through omens, there was very little about power and status. One could say that the social culture, at least in the cities, was built on these two factors. People were identified by their rank and hence also by their power. It seems to be as the historian Dio Cassius comments, 'Truly, it would seem, is there irmate in humans a great respect for that which is superior and a great contempt for that which is inferior' (Hist. Rom. Epit. 79.3). If the Christians were going to be heard at all in such a world, they had to show that the god they worshipped was worth worshipping because he was more powerful and could offer a 'salvation' that the traditional gods could not. They had to offer a superior god. Luke writes partly to prove that to be the case. A powerful god who claimed to be the supreme and only god was not vmattractive to cultures obsessed with power and status, providing there was real, demonstrable evidence for such claims. So what was regarded as a παράδοξον or miraculum? Valerius Maximus gives a fairly clear indication: Many things have happened in the daytime to persons awake, even as when wrapped in a cloud of darkness and sleep. Since it is hard to make out where they came from or how they originated, let them rightly be called miracula.

In other words, any event that could not be explained in terms of its origin or source was regarded as a miraculum. Valerius then gives numerous examples from both Roman and Greek experiences (Memorab. 1.8 praef.).

5. Some Greek and Roman attitudes towards the miraculous

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A few further examples will demonstrate how writers imderstood such things. Pliny repeats Callimachus's record that two statues of Euthymus, a famous Olympian boxer, one in Locri and another at Olympia, were both struck by lightrüng on the same day. He calls it 'nothing less than a marvel' (nihil aliud miratum, N.H. 7.47.152). He also says that an actress Galería Copiola was paraded as pro miraculo because she was well over 100 years old (N.H. 7.48.158). What causes things was a question that fascinated the philosophers. Seneca, writing about the middle of the first century CE, says. Even those phenomena which seem irregular and undetermined - I mean showers and clouds, the stroke of Ughtning and crashing thimderbolts and the fires that belch from the riven peaks of mountains, tremors of the quaking groimd, and other disturbances which the turbulent element in nature sets in motion upon the earth, these, no matter how suddenly they occur, do not happen without reason; they are the result of special causes and so, in like manner, are those things which seem miraculous by reason of the incongruous situations in which they are beheld ... (Provid. 1.3).

The very good fortune that accompanied famous people was invariably attributed to the gods. For example, Alexander was passing through desertlike country on his way to the oracle at Ammon. They had plenty of rain, something that was attributed είς το Mov. Alexander appeared to be lost, but two serpents are said to have spoken to him and led him across the wind-swept sands. Another version says two crows showed the way. Either way, says Arrian, some divine power (Μόν τι) imdoubtedly helped (Arrian Anab. Alex. 3.3.3-6). It is worth noting, in passing, that Arrian, writing around 130 CE, knows that differing versions of this story of divine help had been passed down, but the point of the versions remained the same. This awareness of different versions of the same wonderful event is not uncommon in Greek and Latin writers. In general, the evidence suggests that the world of the first Christians was one in which it was thought the gods were active and in which they left their messages. To ignore those messages was an affront to the gods, and one did so at one's peril. True, some phüosophers scorned the readings and interpretations of these messages, charging many of the prophets and diviners with fraudulence and deception. But even they in principle acknowledged that the gods did conmiimicate with humans, often to warn them but also to direct them in many activities of their lives. That there were differences of opinion on these and other issues is, of course, not surprising. It would seem that belief in the 'miraculous' had its ebbs and flows in the world of Greeks and Romans over the centuries. It is.

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of course, extremely difficult to say with any certainty or accuracy what 'the Greco-Roman world' thought at any given time or in any given place. We can only coristruct the past on the basis of the data provided. But the data are very limited and are heavily derived from texts. Most of the literature that has survived reflects the thoughts and opinions of the literate and the thinkers or philosophers of the time, who are male and who belong to certain sodal strata. And the philosophers themselves are not always consistent in their private thoughts and public actions. Pliny knows these contradictions. When discussing the validity and effectiveness of incantations, he says. 'As individuals, however, all our wisest men reject belief in them, although as a body the public at all times believes in them unconsciously' (N.H. 28.3.10). But both philosopher and illiterate at least considered and discussed these things, and at a very practical level one can probably conclude that by modern scientific criteria all to some degree or another 'beUeved in' the world of divine and supra-human powers. Pliny seems to suggest that the miracula are esse naturalis, that is, they occur within the bounds of nature, while prodigies do not. Extreme old age, extended good health, and happy deaths are all included under miracula. According to Theissen, '[T]he end of the 1st century ВС is marked by a general increase in the intensity of belief in miracles' (1983: 274), and most scholars are agreed that from the end of the first century CE and for the next two centuries at least, such beliefs and worldviews were dominant and on the increase. It is in this world that this book hopes to explore, in order to imderstand the strange acts as described in the Acts of the Apostles. These acts are 'strange' to me, and I assume also to many reading this book at the beginning of the twenty-first century, especially if they were bom, as I was, around the nuddle of the twentieth century. It does not follow, of course, that Luke's original audience or Luke himself also thought them strange. In fact, I am arguing that they were not at all strange to them, but were understood and interpreted within their cultural framework and experience. The bottom line is that Christians were convinced of a most strange and paradoxical act, namely, that the crucified Jesus of Nazareth had been raised by God from the dead and had been elevated by God into the heavenly world with status and authority. They had 'seen the Lord' and now believed themselves to be called by God as witnesses to this fact and to this Jesus. This book will not deal with this strange 'resurrection' act, but I need to emphasise that it is quite crucial and basic for imderstanding the purposes of so many of the other strange acts with which this book will deal. As Kom and others have noted, in the miracles of healing in the name of Jesus, for example, Luke makes a strong connection with the resurrection (1993:240).

6. The purpose of the strange acts

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6. The purpose of the strange acts In Acts, Luke often interprets his main characters and their actions as the fulfilment of the Jewish scriptures, 'Moses and all the prophets', as he calls them in his first writing (Lk. 24.27). But he also narrates the actions and experiences of people like Peter and Paul as fulfilment of the promise of Jesus that 'you will receive power when the holy Spirit comes upon you'. Luke remembers, as Peter did, Jesus' words, 'John baptised you with water but you will be baptised with the holy Spirit' (11.16). He writes with that memory. One could call his second book "The Gospel of the Apostles' or his first book, 'The Acts of Jesus', so similar are the two in their basic message and approach. That Luke writes Acts as a fulfilment both of the Scriptures and of the promise of Jesus has implications for the way Acts is to be read. Luke's narrative is to be read with eyes that have already read the Jewish Greek Scriptures and is to be heard with ears that are familiar with the words and themes of those Scriptures. His narrative is the framework in which these Scriptures are fulfilled. This approach raises complex questions about the importance for Luke of 'historical reliability'. The basic position that I am taking is that Acts is not primarily an historical document. Luke is not writing 'a history of the church'. He uses events and other material for another purpose, and that is, as I have said, to interpret his Greek Scriptures and to interpret the promise of Jesus. Acts is written as 'fulfilment of the scriptures' and the fulfilment of Jesus' promise. In order to achieve those purposes, Luke chooses, as he did in his Gospel, the narrative genre. It is a literary techruque to serve an end that is not primarily historical. The central characters in Acts are modelled closely on Moses, Elijah, Elisha and other prophets. Their strange acts are nearly all acts of power (δύναμις), and that power is what characterises both the Scriptural heroes and the heroes of Acts. It is a power that is promised and given them by God in order that God nught fulfil his plans for Israel and for the nations. Peter, in his Pentecost sermon, says that Jesus was 'a man exhibited (or shown off) by God with miracles and signs and wonders' (ανδρα άποδίδίίγμένον άπό του θ€θΰ δυνάμεσι καΐ τέρασι καΐ σημείοις, 2.22). This exhibition by God is continued through the apostles of Jesus. Luke repeatedly states that God is the source of the heroes' power (for example. Acts 5.12; 19.11), and so implies that the God who acts in Peter and Paul, for example, is the same God who acted powerfully through Israel's foimdational leaders and prophets, and who acted through and in Jesus. The signs and wonders of Acts are also closely paralleled, not surprisingly, in Jewish Hellenistic literature such as that of Philo, Josephus and

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other lesser known writers who interpret the biblical traditions (Weiss 1995: 22-39). In these, it is the Exodus tradition that is to the fore, as God did great signs and wonders before Pharaoh (Exod. 7.3; 11.9, for example). Israel is to remember that it was with great signs and wonders that God rescued her from Egypt, and that what God did through Moses has not been seen again in Israel (Deut. 34.10-12). But the term 'signs and wonders' was also known in wider Hellerustic literature (Weiss 1995: 18-22). For example, Plutarch writes that Alexander 'had now become sensitive to indications of the divine will' and so thought of every strange event or circumstance as a 'prodigy and portent (τέρας ... καΐ σημ€Ϊον) and sacrificers, purifiers, and diviners filled his palace' (Alex. 75.1). Appian says that during the Pompey-Caesar struggle. Many portents and signs in the sky took place (τέρατα ze αύτοις έπεπιπτε πολλά καΐ σημίΐα οΰρονία), and what those were is made clear: It rained blood. Sweat issued from the statues of the gods. Lightning struck several temples. A mule foaled (Bell. Civ. 2.36).

Likewise, many fearful prodigies and portents (τέρατα καΐ σημίΐα ... πολλά και φοβίρά) were observed at Rome. Dogs howled continually like wolves, wolves darted through the forum, cattle uttered a human voice, a newly b o m infant spoke, and sweat issued from statues. Many fearful signs (σημεία) were observed around the sun, there were showers of stones, and continuous lightning fell upon the sacred temples and images (4.4).

In the Acts of the Apostles, the strange acts, like the 'signs and wonders', serve a number of purposes. In the first place, they legitimate and validate the mission to the gentiles. As Pliimacher points out, in Acts 15.12 the signs and wonders that bless the first missionary journey of Paul are offered as legitimation for the gentile mission which some Christians had doubted (1998: 84). The God who acted in signs and wonders to save Israel out of Egypt has acted with that same power among the gentiles. Secondly, there is an apologetic intent. Luke clearly wants his audience to be convinced that this Christian movement is 'of God'. Squires (1993), therefore, sees divine portents and epiphanies in Acts as signs of God's providence and activity in human history. Issues right from the beginning of the Jesus movement, it would seem, were. Who is this Jesus? Where does he get his authority? Where does he come from? Where do Paul and the aposties get their authority? All seem to be basic questions many of the early

6. The purpose of the strange acts

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Christian writings, including tiie Gospels, want to answer. So also in Acts, it could be argued that Luke is concerned to prove Gamaliel's hunch right. These men are of God, and so there is no point trying to go against them because by doing so you are orúy fighting against God (θ€ομάχος, 5.39). Thirdly, the signs and wonders serve as missionary propaganda. Christians had little, if any, access to the public media of the time. They could not inscribe their 'good news' on walls in a city, or have someone publicly proclaim their news in the same way that the imperial system could. They could not, even if they had wanted to, erect images or statues of their god or build temples for his honour and cult. They could not promote their views by presenting plays or reading poetry or singing songs in the public theatres and in public festivals, nor could they parade through the streets with the images of their god. But they could write and they could tell stories - at least for their own communities, if not also for others - and like Jewish generations that preceded them, they did just that. A good case can be made for sajdng that Luke sees the heroes of his god as being in a 'turf-war', to use Johnson's expression (1992: 227). Luke wants to show that all the sources of power and revelation that were known to both Jew and Greek are inferior to the power and revelatioiis given by his god. The source of the power was crudal. It determined whether an act was magic or miracle. If the source of a powerful act was God, then it was legitimate and valid; if the very same act was performed through the power of another source then it was regarded as magic and invalid. Luke claims that his god has shown his power by raising Jesus from the dead and establishing him as lord in the heavenly world. That same Jesus empowers with his dynamis and spirit his selected followers, who still inhabit the earthly world. Luke tells the story in such a way that the other sources of power and revelation are forced to concede to the greater dynamis of his god and to the men empowered by that god. It is as if Luke is saying to any 'Theophilus' that the Christian god is not a god of one place or of one sacred site, nor is he the god of one group of people. This god is active and powerful every where, and his revelatory powers are greater than those who claim similar powers. It can easily be forgotten that many pagans often had positive experiences of their gods and could testify to their power to save and to commurucate. Even Tertullian acknowledged that the gods 'win faith (fides) through various signs, miracles, and oracles' (Apol. 21. 31). But the Greeks, in particular, were also pragmatic and flexible. If devotion to a particular god 'works', then maintain the cult of that god. If not, leave it, abandon it, and maybe return to it later. Even the long-famous oracle at Delphi went

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through periods when there was no money to maintain it, and it declined for other reasons as well, only to revive again in the second century CE. There is also good evidence that even such a durable and widespread cult as that of Artemis Ephesia in Asia Minor went through its ups and downs over the generations. At times, its altars and temple were neglected, its cult only partly performed, only to be renewed and restored by public decree, by the demand of some oracle, or by a devoted and thankful patron of Artemis (Strelan 1996: 66-67). And so the cycle went. The Romans considered it essential that they maintained the traditional cults established by their ancestors, and they did not encourage foreign religious practitioners; if anything, they either expelled or purushed them in some other way. And if disaster struck a commimity, the question as to whether the traditional local gods had been ignored was always one to be considered. So it is possible to read some of Acts as depicting a competition between various local gods and the god of Luke. The confession of the Pythian spirit in Acts 16, for example, is meant to 'signal a trarxsference of power', as Theissen puts it (1983: 260). The Christians are stating loudly and clearly that 'there is salvation in no other name' (4.12; but note that this is said in a Jewish context), whereas their neighbours are looking for salvation in sacrifices, prophecies, oracles and the like. Salvation for many a traditional Greek and Roman was to be found in the maintenance of the local gods and their cults. But those traditions needed contemporary inteφretation, and that was the role of the local prophets. To quote Demophon, king of Athens in Euripides' play. By seers the city is filled with sacrifice For the foes' rout and saving of the state. All prophecy-chanters have I caused to meet. Into old public oracles have searched. And secret, for salvation of this land (Child. Here. 401-405).

It is an opinion shared by Valerius Maximus, who offers a first century CE version of what Roman religion was about: Our ancestors decreed that fixed and customary ceremonies be managed through the science of Pontiffs, guidance for the good conduct of affairs through the observation of Augurs, Apollo's prophecies through books of the seers, aversion of portents through Etruscan discipline. By ancient ordinance also rituals are performed: in commending, by prayer; in demanding, by vow; in discharging, by offer of thaiJcs; in enquiring, whether by entrails or lots, by solicitation of respoi\se; in performing of customary rite, by sacrifice, wherewith also warnings of prodigies or lightnings are expiated (Memorab. 1.1.1a).

6. The purpose of the strange acts

31

What these definitions also have in common is that they imderstand religion in communal terms. Religion involved the public as a total commxmity. In fact, anything threatening that public nature was regarded as illegal, superstitious and alien. The Christians, of course, could not establish their practices as a public matter. Not surprisingly, the stories of 'conversion' in Acts are usually (but not always) those of individuals or small groups, and these are all closely associated with a community. No sooner is Paul 'converted' (to take a well-known example from Acts) than he is brought into the community, accepted by the commimity, and given direction for his mission by the community. It is probable that Luke's intended audience was already Christian. This does not mean that out-and-out pagaris could not have understood Acts. They may have used or imderstood some words differently, but they spoke the same language and, to a large degree, they shared the same cultural and social world. Of course. Acts would not have made the same sense to a pagan as to an insider, but it would have made sense. Levison says of Jewish texts, 'Neat boundaries simply cannot be drawn in the encounter between Jewish literary texts and their Greco-Roman contexf (1997: 5). The same could, and should, be said of Christian texts. There are some who argue that Acts fits in with the Hellenistic romances that probably developed initially in association with the Isis cult in the second century ВСЕ, and are best exemplified by the later Apuleius's Metamorphoses, and Xenophon's Ephesiaca. These romances do more than tell a good story; they want to convince the reader of the goodness and power of the god who saves and blesses the hero and heroine. Greeks and Romans were polytheistic, that is, they could offer devotion to many gods at the same time, often depending on the situation in which they foimd themselves. Durable gods, for obvious reasons, were the gods of the family and the gods of the state or city. Many a writer deplored any breakdown of the status quo and insisted that true happiness and peace, both individually and collectively, was to be foxmd when the traditional gods and the traditional practices of the cults of these gods were maintained. This leads into another possible purpose of Acts, namely that of entertairunent. This is the aspect that Pervo (1987) in particular has highlighted. There are episodes in Acts that are entertaining. The problem with using that word, however, is that is suggests the content is lightweight and not to be taken seriously. There are some episodes that on one level appear to be such, but a close look at them reveals very important and significant features that are definitely more than entertaining. A further problem with the idea that Acts was written primarily as entertainment lies in the social

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circumstances. It is all very well for Horace to say of drama, "The one who combines profit with delight, equally pleasing and admonishing the reader, captures all the plaudits' (so the name of Pervo's book. Profit with Delight, 1987), when writers like Horace sat comfortably in their social and political world. It is quite another thing if the writer lived with eschatological hopes, and if he belonged to a small minority, whose practices were inevitably threatening to any polis or urbs and whose heroes were condemned by the Roman legal system. Writings that offer 'profit with delight' are entertaining to those who sit in prisons, or are imder constant threat and suspicion, orüy in a subversive way. As Fervo himself acknowledges, 'Arrests dot the pages of Acts. From beginning to end the danger of sudden seizure - on false charges - is a constant threat' (1987: 18). There is no good reason why we should not think that even Theophilus was in a simUar position. So what is 'entertainment' will differ according to perspective. Prisoners and their magistrates will understand such 'entertainment' quite differently! Pervo wishes to show that prison escapes and death escapes were a dime a dozen (although nearly all of his parallels are from second century or later texts). But they probably were not heard as 'amusing entertainmenf by those for whom prison and of death were real possibilities in their communities.

Chapter 2

Up, Up, and Away? 1. The ascension (Acts \ . 9 - \ \ y I can still vividly see in my mind's eye Sunday School picture rolls and Bible story books depicting Jesus going up into the sky with arms outstretched, dressed in the same kind of clothes as the disciples (except that his are white), who stand below staring up after him. Interestingly, the ascending Jesus was always barefooted while the disdples were not. Despite the lasting familiarity, it is a strange story with strange actions and the appearance of strange figures. As Metzger says, 'No other story of the New Testament creates for the modem reader a greater sense of conflict between what he {sic) knows of astrophysics and what he {sic) thinks the biblical accoimt necessarily implies' (1968: 77). Foakes-Jackson believes that this ascension story 'is told with reserve' and is not as spectacular a marvel as Elijah's ascent with horses and chariot (1931: 4). Maybe not, but it is still certainly strange enough! Foakes-Jackson admits that Jesus 'mysteriously disappeared' (1931:5). The ascension, like the resurrection, is the finale of the great acts of God in the person of Jesus of Nazareth. It is not an ordinary, normal event, but a 'strange acf, an act which Luke's irutial readers, whether familiar with Jewish traditions about holy men ascending into heaven, or with the Roman and Greek ascension legends, or with both, would have recognized as either a miraculum or a παράδοξον. Scholars differ in their imderstanding of, and interest in, 'what actually happened'. On the one hand, Bruce clearly thinks that the apostles literally saw Jesus ascend into the sky. Approvingly, he quotes Ramsay, who said For discussions and theories on this episode, see the valuable work of G. Lohfink, Die Himmelfahrt /es«: Untersuchungen zu den Himmelfahrts- und Erhöhungstexten bei Lukas (Studien zum Alten und Neuen Testament 26; München: Kösel, 1971). Important contributions have also been made by M. Parsons, The Departure of Jesus in Luke-Acts: The Ascension narratives in context (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1987); and by A. W. Zwiep, The Ascension of the Messiah in Lukan Christology (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1997).

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that 'in the last moment that the apostles saw their Lord with outward vision, they were granted a theophany: Jesus is enveloped in the cloud of the divine presence' (1988: 38). This is confusing. Is the theophany still part of 'outward vision' or does it become, at that point, an 'inward vision'? Metzger, to whom Bruce also refers, says 'in fact he did ascend a certain distance into the sky, until a cloud took him out of sight' (1968: 85-86). And yet Metzger can also write, 'That Jesus "ascended up on high" does not mean that he was elevated so many feet above sea-level, but that he entered a higher sphere'. He also says that the language of Acts is 'metaphorical or analogical ... symbolic language' (1968: 85). It looks like Metzger wants to have it both ways. He says the ascension itself 'was surely as unseen to mortal eyes as was the incarnation' (1968: 86 n. 1), but suggests, as does Bruce, that by this he means only from the moment the cloud came! Hemer would like to lean that way, but like Metzger, senses a difficulty. He says he is prepared to 'operate in a framework where the possibility of miracle is accepted and its appearance is not an automatic cue for reinterpretation or special interpretation' (1989:443). Barrett also tries to find a middle path. On the one hand, he says that the use of the verb βλεττειν 'places the Ascension in the same category of events as any other happening in the story of Jesus'. I assume he means that the seeing on the part of the apostles was not hallucinatory, illusory, visionary, or due to an altered state of consciousness. 'The disciples did see exactly what happened' (1994: 1.82). But, Barrett continues, 'at the same time features of the story recall supernatural happenings' (1994: 1.81). Presumably, by 'supernatural' Barrett means things that are not perceived by 'normal' vision. Many other scholars ignore the historical question altogether and see the accoimt as making a theological point. Stählin calls it 'eine göttliche Gleichnishandlimg ... für das imanschauliche Geschehen seiner Erhöhung zu Gotf (1966:18). Dvmn, who would also represent that approach, says. All talk of the divine and of heaven is metaphorical; human speech can never encompass a dimension of reality which so completely transcends our own. This was as true of the ancients as it is today. In trying to speak of heaven, they, like us, spoke of what was beyond every day experience... they could not conceive of going to heaven as otherwise than ascending to heaven (1996:13).

Then there are those who read Jesus' ascension as a psychological phenomenon. Pilch (1998) says the experience was one in which the disciples were in an altered state of consciousness. He draws heavily on the research of modem psychology anthropologists (Felicitas Goodman especially) to find

1. The ascension (Acts 1.9-11)

35

a grid through which to read the ascension experience. However, there is certainly nothing to suggest anything shamanic about Jesus' ascension, since it is not the soul or spirit of Jesus travelling into the spiritual world, as is the case with shamanic journeys. On the other hand, is the disciples' vision of the ascending Jesus in a different category from the experiences that Paul calls ότιτασίαι. καΐ άποκαλύψίΐ,ς κυρίου in 2 Cor. 12.1? Such experiences can take place either 'in the body' (έν σώματι) or 'outside the b o d / (Ικτός του σώματος, 2 Cor. 12.2). There is some suggestion that Luke depicts the disciples as having a visionary experience of some kind, as I will illustrate. To ask, 'what actually happened?' is, I suggest, a wrong question. Luke would be puzzled by it, if we could ask it of him. Parsons says rightly, 'Too often the question, "How did the event happen?" grinds discussion to a halt, so that the larger questiori, "How does the narrative function?" remains untouched' (1987: 15). For Luke what is significant is not that Jesus was lifted off the ground into space, but, as all scholars agree, that he has been elevated to the status of heavenly Lord. The experience of the disciples, as narrated in Acts, is similar to when Moses saw God on Sinai, when Elisha saw Elijah ascend, when Peter, James and John saw Jesus with Moses and Elijah on the moimtain, and to when the Romans discovered that Romulus had disappeared. The disciples had a vision, and like other such visions, it was highly revelatory. Something was disclosed to them about Jesus that previously had been hidden. It was now clear to them that God has elevated Jesus to the status of heavenly Lord. Parsons' interest in the Ascension is mainly to highlight its role in the narrative. Among other things, he stresses the importance of narrative beginnings and their role in plot development, and the importance of beginnings in the relationship between narrator and reader or audience (1987, chap. 5). I agree with the implication that the ascension is fundamental to the whole narrative of Acts. To put it differently, the ascension of Jesus is mythical in that it was, for Luke, the foimdation of an early Christian community's being and behaviour. It is foundational to the Book of Acts in that it provided a context in which the lives and actions of the apostles could be narrated, interpreted and understood. In order to link Jesus with others whom God elevated into the heavenly world - and so to impress on the audience that 'the scriptures are fulfilled' and that Jesus is God's Man Luke draws on ascension stories in Jewish traditions. The elevation of Jesus into the realm of God is told with distinctive vocabulary in Acts, and not with the exact same vocabulary Luke used in his Gospel version of the ascension, as Parsons and others have discussed (Parsons 1987:129-135). The passive forms of the verbs in 1.9 (έπήρθη) and

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Chapter 2: Up, Up, and Away?

in 1.11 (άναλημφθ€ίς) imply an action of God. An audience whose ears were attuned to the Septuagint, and to the Psalms in particular, would have pricked up their ears when they heard the verb έπηρθη. 1 will suggest later that the Lukan ascension narrative has strong liturgical or worship imdertones. It is often suggested that the Psalms were the hjrmn book of the early church, and Hengel is right in saying that 'for all early Christianity, indeed for the early church, they represent the most important, most utilized book of the Old Testament' (2002:106). Hengel continues, Ά substantial portion of its texts was familiar to every Jew through the temple liturgy, singing at the great festivals, and the use of the Psalms in private prayer' (2002: 106). It might also be noted that Luke explicitly mentions the Psalms, rather than subsuming tiiem under 'the prophets' (Lk. 24.44; compare also 20.42; Acts 1.20; 13.33). More importantly, the Psalms are of special importance in the expression of early Christian Christology, and the ascension is a highly sigruficant element in Luke's Christology. As Zwiep says, the Psalms 'provided a rich arsenal of prooftexts for the resurrection and exaltation of Jesus' (1997:125). With this in mind, in Psalm 8, which itself was particularly important in early Christian xmderstandings of Jesus, the greatness of God is said to be exalted (έττήρθη) above the heavens (LXX Ps. 8.2). That in tum is said in the context of the son of man who has been made a Httie lower than the elohim, 'you have given him dominion over the works of your hands; you have put all things under his feet' (8.7). Psalm 8 might well be a key for interpreting Luke's ascension narrative. The same verb form (έπηρθη) is also used in Ps. 46.10 where the great ones (ol κραταιοί) of God are 'lifted up' or exalted. Significantly, the same verb is also used of David's kingdom, which was 'lifted up' by God for the sake of Israel (επήρθη ή βασιλεία αύτοΰ òià τον λαόν αύτοδ Ισραήλ, LXX 2 Sam. 5.12). In other words, even though έπαίρω may be an odd verb to use when talking of Jesus' ascension, compared to the more technical απολαμβάνω, it is one used by Luke intentionally. On the basis of the Septuaginf s use of the verb, we can confidently say that the 'lifting up' of Jesus indicated to Luke's Septuagint-wise audience Jesus' elevation into the realm and the rule of God. A second element in the narrative with revelatory and ascent sigrüficance is the cloud (νεφέλη). Clouds figure in the vision Enoch has in which he ascends into the heavenly world. Behold, in the vision clouds invited me and a mist summoned me, and the course of the stars and the lightnings sped and hastened me, and the winds in the vision caused me to fly and lifted me upward, and bore me into heaven (1 Enoch 14.8-9).

1. The ascension (Acts 1.9-11)

37

That clouds were symbols of the presence of God is well known. For example, when God gave the Torah to Moses on Sinai, a cloud symbolized his presence (Exod. 19.16). God led Israel out of Egypt by a cloud during the day and by fire at rught (Exod. 13.21-22). Clouds also were common in narratives of revelatory experiences. When Jesus was revealed as son of God in his appearance with Moses and Elijah on the moimtain, it was from a cloud that the voice revealed that identity (Lk. 9.34). According to the Markan Jesus, when the Son of man is revealed as final judge, he will come 'with the clouds of heaven' (Mk. 14.62). This element appears to be picked up by the angels (Acts 1.11), who tell the disdples that, just as they saw Jesus taken up by a cloud into heaven, so they will see him come on a cloud. This is a notion that Christians developed, probably on the basis of Dan. 7.13, a passage that Parsons suspects to be the reason for the presence of the cloud in this ascension narrative (1987:144). Interesting also is Exod. 40.33-38. Moses had finished the work of erecting the tabernacle. Then the cloud covered the tent of meeting and the glory of the Lord filled the tabernacle. Moses was not able to enter the tent of meeting because the cloud settled upon it, and the glory of the Lord filled the tabernacle. Whenever the cloud was taken up from the tabernacle, the Israelites would set out on each stage of their journey, but if the cloud was not taken up, then they did not set out until the day that it was taken up. For the cloud of the Lord was on the tabernacle by day, and fire was in the cloud by night, before the eyes of the house of Israel at each stage of their journey.

In the Psalms, too, clouds are commonly seen as symbolising the presence and rule of God. It is in the clouds that God's power resides. For example, LXX Ps. 67.35 says, 'Give glory to God, whose majesty is over Israel, and his power is in the clouds' (δότε δόξαν τφ θεφ έπΙ τον Ισραήλ ή μεγαλοπρέττίΐα αύτοΰ και ή δύναμις αύτου èv ταΧς νεφέλαις. And LXX Ps. 88.7 asks, 'For who in the clouds can be compared to the Lord?' (oil τίς è ν νίφέλαις Ισωθήσεται τφ κυρίφ;). The cloud is also well known in Greek and Roman ascension myths, especially in those dealing with Hercules and Ganymede. Apollodorus writes that when Hercules constructed a pyre and gave instructions to set it alight, 'it is said that a cloud passed under Hercules and with a peal of thxmder wafted him up to heaven' {Libr. 2.7.7). It was reported of Ganymede that 'a whirlwind and a cloud snatched him up into heaven' (θύελλα καΐ νέφος ήρπασεν αύτόν είς ούρανόν (Lohfínk 1971: 44). In addition, Dionysius of Halicamassus tells of the experience of a yoimg girl who was

38

Oiapter 2: Up, Up, and Away?

ravished at a sacred site by an eidolon of great stature and beauty. After ravishing her, the eidolon was wrapped in a cloud, lifted up from the earth, and carried upwards (νέφει πίρικαλυφθήναι καΐ άιτό γης άρθέντα φφ^σθαι δι' άέρος ανω. Ant. Rom. 1.77.2). Since Nephele, the mother of the Centaurs, was known in Greek mythology, it is possible that some in Luke's early audiences, familiar with that mythology, imagined that she assisted Jesus in his ascension, in much the same way as the Dioscuri later assist in the transportation of Paul to Rome (Acts 28.11). Quite striking also is a vision that Jason, of Argonaut fame, experienced in the middle of the day. He recoxmted the vision to his companions. The heroine nymphs, associated with Athena, 'stood over my head rügh at hand', gave him a message, and then Ί saw them no more in their place, but a mist or cloud came between and hid them from my sight' (TLÇ άχλυς ή νέφος μεσσηγυ Φαεινομένας έκαλύψεν, Apollonius of Rhodes Argon. 4.1346-1363). Some poets said that the gods are wrapped in clouds because both clouds and gods cannot be grasped (Pronto Eulogy of Smoke and Dust 7). Homer calls Zeus the cloudgatherer (ν€φ€ληγέρ€τα), who wraps Hera in a cloud and keeps her hidden from view (Í/. 14.342). And Virgil writes of Venus, 'goddess as she was', enveloping Aeneas and herself 'in a thick mantle of cloud, that none might see or touch them'. Aeneas is given a vision of Troy's past, and then the encircling cloud suddenly parts and clears into open heaven. Aeneas stood forth, gleaming in the clear light, godlike in face and shoulders, for his mother herself [Venus] had shed upon her son the beauty of flowing locks, with youth's ruddy bloom, and on his eyes a joyous lustre {Am. 1.411-414,586-591).

So the idea of clouds enveloping, transporting, and even transforming significant figures, especially divine figures, was not at all strange in Greek and Roman mythology.

2. The ascension as vision 1 am taking the position that the ascension into heaven by Jesus is best imderstood as a revelatory vision experienced by the disciples. It is not a descriptive report of an 'evenf. This is partly implied by Luke's use of the verb àieviCeLV (1.10), a verb that has revelatory undertones and suggests more than a mere physical straining of the eyes to see some distant, fading figure. Fitzmyer thinks it is used by Luke so that the disciples 'might vouch for Christ's ascent' (1998: 210), but there is more to the verb than that. It

3. The vision of angels (Acts 1.10)

39

commonly is used of extraordinary, hypnotic-like vision on the part of the actor, and it nearly always has something 'divine' or 'heaverJy' as its object (Strelan 1999). So, for example, Josephus tells of certain Jewish martyrs dying with their gaze fixed on the holy Temple (Wiars 5.517). Versnel says, 'staring intensely at the face of a statue of a god was one way to experience the divine presence' (1987: 46). And staring is also a conunon characteristic of power-filled people who can see through the 'normal' surface-layer of a person or place into their true and real being. Here the disciples experience through their staring a vision of Jesus' divine status. They see, in an ecstatic, visionary state, Jesus for who he really is. There are hints that Psalm 8 might be echoed here again. In that psalm, those looking into the heavens observe the glory and presence of God; in Acts, the disciples look into the heavens and see the ascending Lord. The disciples are told that Jesus will come 'in the same way', and that coming is commorüy associated with the 'son of man' who is 'seated at the right hand of the power of God' (Lk. 22.69). The 'son of man' figures in Psalm 8 where he is said to be 'made little less than God' and is 'crowned with glory and splendour' (8.5,6). The vision of the disciples is similar, then, to the great throne visions of Isaiah and Ezekiel, and as such implies supernormal, possibly ecstatic, sight. In narrating such experiences, the word 'heaven' (ουρανός) is obviously going to feature; it moves the eyes into the realm of the gods, and heaven is the throne of God. The phrase είς τον ούρανόν is used three times in 1.10,11, and by this repetition, the point is reinforced that Jesus is now in the heavenly world, the world of the gods, the world of God. This is not a spatial or locative description; it means that Jesus now participates in the rule of God, which is from the heavenly regions. It is in the heavens where God's throne is, and the earth is his footstool. This is illustrated well in LXX Ps. 102.19: 'The Lord prepares his throne in the heavens and his kingdom rules over all' (κύριος èv τφ ούρανφ ήτοίμαοίν τον θρόνον αύτοϋ καΐ ή βασιλεία αύτοϋ πάντων δεσπόζει), and in LXX Isa. 66.1, 'So says the Lord: "Heaven is my throne and the earth my footstool"' (ούτως λεγει κύριος ό ουρανός μοι θρόνος ή δε γή ύποπόδιον των ποδών μου).

3. The vision of angels (Acts 1.10) The apostles' vision into the heavenly world is not complete, even when Jesus has been removed from their sight. They no longer see Jesus, but they do see other heavenly beings, namely, two angels. 'Behold' (Ιδού, 1.10) is

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somewhat like the adverbs αφνω or εξαίφνης ('suddenly'), which are used very often in epiphanies and in actions in which the gods step in to give direction to people or to reveal something. The sudden appearance of the angels is like the acts of nature - thunder, lightning, and earthquakes - that also appear 'suddenly', as Seneca says {Provid. 1). Angels feature commorüy in divine revelation to humans in Jewish and Christian traditions, especially to indicate highly significant action on the part of God. In Luke's Gospel, an angel appears v^dth the revelatory message to Mary that she will have a child (1.26-33), and two angels appear vdth the revelatory news of Jesus' resurrection (24.4-7). The appearance of angels in pairs is common, more so in Jewish literature than in non-Jewish. For example, two angels appear to Lot (Gen. 19.1), and to the women at Jesus' tomb (fn. 20.12; see also 3 Масс. 6.18). Since angels belong aroimd the throne of God and to the heavenly world in general, and since they were seen as messengers of the gods, their appearance and presence in the narrative imderlines the point that Jesus belongs in that domain. Because angels serve the Lord, their appearance here also indicates that they are now at the command of Jesus to do as he directs. It is also very common when angels appear in visions, or come to give messages to humans, that they adopt a particular stance, namely of 'standing near' the person to whom they vdsh to reveal something. It is the living who stand, vis à vis the dead, who are in a prone position. Divine beings from the heavenly world are living beings. This way of describing them is also techrücal language commonly used in reports or narratives concerning visions. Following that literary techrüque, the angels here are said to have 'stood near' (παρεστήκεισαν) the disciples (1.10). The audience immediately knows that the disdples are about to receive a message from the heavenly world. This terminology was used not only of Jev«sh and Christian angels but also of divine messengers and ghosts that appeared in visions to Greeks and Romans in their traditions. It is language that also implies that the boundaries between the gods and humans are not very distinct. The disdples do not see the angels in the heaverüy world, but standing right next to them; they do not receive the message directly from the heavens, but from heavenly beings, who stand alongside them. As will be seen elsewhere in Acts, the heavenly world of Jesus and the world of the apostles are not separated by an impassable gulf. Jesus' ascension certainly does not mark his removal from any interest or involvement in the affairs of those whom he has commissioned to be his v^dtnesses. Nor does it mark his absence from them. Finally, the angels are said to be in white or radiant clothes (1.10). Their clothes fit their origin and their purpose. They come from the heavenly world, and white is the colour of the world of light, the colour of victory, of

3. The vision of angels (Acts 1.10)

41

royalty, of joy and festive celebration. The clothes of the angels can be vmderstood as symbolising any or all of these, and as reflecting the glory of the One who sent them. This is common for heavenly beings. In the experience of Heliodorus, 'two young men appeared to him, remarkably strong, gloriously beautiful and splendidly dressed, who stood on each side of him' (2 Масс. 3.26). The priestly Levi had a vision of 'seven men in white clothes' speaking to him (είδον έπτά ανθρώπους év άσθητι λίυκή λέγοντας μοι, Τ. Levi 8.2). It was also common for translated figures such as Enoch and Adam to be dressed in such clothes of glory. To give just one example. And the Lord said to Michael: Go and take Enoch from out of his earthly garments, and anoint him with my sweet ointment, and put him into the garments of my glory. And Michael did thus, as the Lord told him. He anointed me, and dressed me, and the appearance of that ointment is more than the great light, and his ointment is like sweet dew, and its smell mild, shining like the sun's ray, and I looked at myself, and I was like one of his glorious ones (2 Enoch 22.8-9).

Jews also wore white at times of high and solemn festival. It seems that they also wore a white garment on the completion of mourning the dead and then on going into the Temple (Josephus Wars 2.1.6; Ant. 7.7.4). In the Greek and Roman worlds, white robes were worn on many festive occasions. They were also worn by men of high office such as chief magistrates (Plutarch Arist. 21.4.5), by the goddess Basileia, who dressed έσθητι λευκή as part of her royal apparel and paraphernalia (Dio Chrysostom Orat. 1.70.3), and by people in welcoming parades for distinguished visitors (Plutarch Pomp. 40.2.4; see also Strabo Geog. 15.1.71.3; Athenaeus Deipn. 14.14.3). The men in white represent to the disciples the world into which Jesus has ascended as Lord. So, the apostles are given a vision of Jesus' ascension to lordship. Of this revelation, they are to be witnesses. They were not to relate an experience simply for the historical record. It is often pointed out that an apostle was to be a witness to the resurrection, but it is equally important - and not often noted - that the apostle was also to be a witness to the ascension. That this aspect of their witness is important can be seen when the apostles meet to elect a replacement for Judas (1.21-22). A condition is that the candidate must have been with Jesus in his coming and going from the time of his baptism until his ascension (εως της ήμερας ής άνελήμφθη άφ' ημών). Again, in 5.31,32, Peter speaks of Jesus' status at the right hand of God, and claims 'we are witnesses of these things'. Peter states the same thing, at least by implication, in 10.38-41, where he says the disciples ate and drank with

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Chapter 2: Up, Up, and Away?

Jesus after his resurrection. In addition, Stephen sees Jesus at the right hand of God, and in his dying breath witnesses to Jesus' ascended status, addressing him as κύρΐ€ Ίησοϋ (7.59). Finally, it could be argued in the case of Paul that he is a witness not only to the resurrection of Jesus but also to his status as Lord. In Paul's vision, it is from heaven that Jesus addresses Paul, identifies himself, and directs Paul's future. In response, Paul addresses him as 'Lord' (κύριε, 9.3-6).

4. Ascensions in other literature If we look for parallels to help us understand this strange vision, then some Old Testament episodes spring immediately to mind. Anyone in Luke's audience familiar with the Jewish Scriptures and traditions would quickly think of Enoch, Moses, and Elijah. Enoch, according to tradition, did not die but was taken by God (Gen. 5.24). Moses, in one tradition, went up a very high moimtain, and as he was going to embrace Eleazar and Joshua, and was still discoursing with them, a cloud stood over him of a sudden, and he disappeared in a certain valley, although he wrote in the holy books that he died, which was done out of fear lest they should venture to say that, because of his extraordinary virtue, he went to God (Josephus Ant. 4.326).

In the Targum of Ps. 68.19 (a psalm probably used in Pentecost festival) it is said. You ascended the firmament. Prophet Moses, You took captivity captive You learned the words of the law You gave them as gifts to the soi« of men.

The third figure commonly associated with ascension into heaven is Elijah, who was taken up spectacularly by a whirlwind (2 Kgs 2.11,12). The parallels between Jesus' ascension according to Acts and traditions of Elijah's ascension are quite close. Zwiep thinks the Elijah story is 'Luke's primary source of inspiration' (1997: 194). In both ascensions there is a transference of power and promise of 'spirit' from the master to the disciples, and both EHjah and Jesus have eschatological expectations attached to them - both are talked about as coming again. For example, it was said of Elijah,

4. Ascensions in other literature

43

You were taken up by a whirlwind of fire, in a chariot with horses of fire. You who are ready at the appointed time, it is written, to calm the wrath of God before it breaks out in fury, to return the heart of the father to the son, and to restore the tribes of Jacob. Blessed are those who saw you ... Elijah was hidden in the heavenly chambers, and Elisha was filled with his spirit. In his days he did not tremble before any ruler, and no one brought him into subjection. Nothing was too hard for him and when he was dead (èv κοιμήοΕί) his body prophesied. As in his life he did wonders, so in death his deeds were marvellous (Sir. 48.9-14).

Similar is the ascension of Enoch, When Enoch had talked to the people, the Lord sent out darkness on to the earth, and there was darkness, and it covered those men standing with Enoch, and they took Enoch up on to the highest heaven, where the Lord is; and he received him and placed him before his face, and the darkness went off from the earth, and light came again (2 Enoch 67.1).

One might add to these well-known stories another that has some remarkably close language similarities with Luke's ascension narrative. In the story of Tobit, the archangel Raphael had been living with Tobit and Tobias, and acting as companion to Tobias as he journeyed. Tobias did not know Raphael's real identity. But in the end, all is revealed: Ί am Raphael, one of the seven angels who stand ready and enter before the glory of the Lord' (LXX Tob. 12.15). He goes on to say, I appeared to you (ώπτανόμηυ ύμιν) for many days, and I did not eat or drink, but you saw in visions (δρασιν ύμείς έθεωρίΐτε). Now ... I am ascending (άνοβαίνω) to him who sent me ... Then they stood up and could see him no more (και άυέστησαν καΐ ούκέτι είδαν αύτόν) ... They kept blessing God and singing his praises, and they acknowledged God for these marvellous deeds of his, when the angel of the Lord had appeared (ώφθη) to them (12.19-22).

There are a number of common features in all of these stories. The ascending one is a righteous man, almost an angeUc figure; he is surrounded by witnesses and is in conversation with them. A cloud or darkness envelops the hero, who is thus taken up into the heavens. The witnesses give glory to God. It would appear that Luke constructs his ascension narrative in a way very similar to other ascension narratives. Parsons shows the many literary parallels and then concludes that The ascension of Jesus in Acts more closely resembles the Greco-Roman literature in terms of characteristic features - clouds, angels, and mountains

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Chapter 2: Up, Up, cind Away? seem to play a more significant role in the pagan texts than in the Jewish literature. The Lukan terminology, on the other hand, is much closer to the Jewish literature, particularly the Elijah texts.

In sum, says Parsons, 'the Lukan ascension narrative has been significantly shaped by the heavenly-assumption stories of antiquity' (1987: 140). However, one distinctive and important difference between Jewish rapture stories and the ascension of Jesus is that the latter is understood as Jesus' enthronement at the right hand of God, where he acts as lord and judge, and from where he continues to shape the fortunes of Israel and the nations. In this regard, it is helpful to compare Jesus with some Greek and Roman emperors who were also elevated into the world of the gods. Valerius Maximus speaks of Augustus as one 'for whom ascent to heaven lies open', and so earthly tributes are below what he deserves (Memorab. 8.15 praef.). He also says of Caesar that he was 'received in heaven' (9.15.1). In the main, however, the emperors had no on-going influence, although Alexander the Great is reported to have appeared to someone in a dream long after he was dead. Pyrrhus was about to go into a batüe (a common setting for visions) and that night Pyrrhus dreamed that he was called by Alexander the Great, and that when he answered the call he found Alexander lying on a couch, but spoke kindly and in a friendly way to him. Pyrrhus asked him how he could help when he was sick. Alexander replied: 'My name itself will give it (aid and help)'.

Pyrrhus was encouraged by this and went on successfully (Plutarch Pyrrh. 11.2). In many cases, it is the spirit of the emperor or ruler that ascends into the realm of the gods, and there is no suggestion that their bodies somehow are so elevated. Such is the case also with raptured heroes, so well known in Greek and Roman mythology. Plutarch says that Dionysus ascended to heaven with his mother (Plutarch sera num. vind. 21·, compare Pausanius Descript. 2.31.2). Zeus also took Pollux up to heaven {Lib. 3.11.2). For Plutarch, myths that ascribe diviiüty to mortal features in human nature are 'improbable' because to 'mix heaven with earth is foolish'. And so he dismisses the story that the body of Alcmene disappeared as they were carrying her for burial and that a stone was found in her bier instead (Rom. 28.6). Cicero can ask, 'Is not almost the whole of heaven ... filled with gods of mortal origin?' (Tusc. Disput. 1.12). For Cicero, too, it is largely the souls of the illustrious that go into the heavenly realm, while lesser souls live the

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ghostly life in the xmderworld. In fact, Cicero suggests that the very idea of 'gods' evolved from experiences people had of those who had died, usually apparitions seen mostly in the rüght. There are also incidents reported in which a god enters into the human sphere and then ascends again. I have already mentioned the incident related by Dionysius of Halicamassus of a maiden called Ilia, who was ravished in a sacred precinct. Various suggestions were made as to the identity of the culprit, but a 'fabulous stor/ (μυθολογοΰσι) had it that it was a spectre of the divinity (του δαίμονος ε'ίδωλον) that was responsible. The act was accompanied by the disappearance of the sun, and the appearance of the eidolon was far more marvellous than that of a man, in stature and beauty. The god comforted the girl with the knowledge that she had been ravished by a god, and then 'he was wrapped in a cloud, and, having been lifted from the earth, was borne upwards through the air' (νέφ€ΐ περικαλυφθηναι καΐ άπο της γης άρθέι/τα φερέσθαι δι' αέρος ανω. Ant. Rom. 1.77.2). Dionysius was not sure what to make of this story, not because it speaks of a divine being descending and ascending, but because it shows the gods as having human frailties. Dionysius also knows of reports of prominent men being taken up to the gods. For example, the king Aeneas was slain in battle, but his body was nowhere to be found. Some said that 'it had been ti-anslated to the gods' (€ΐς θίούς μεταστήναι €ΐκάζον, 1.64.4). Well known is the case of Romulus, who was haranguing his men when a sudden darkness rushed down out of the clear sky and a violent storm burst, after which he was nowhere to be seen. Some writers believe he was 'caught up into heaven by his father. Mars' (ύπό του πατρός "Αρεος τόν ανδρα αιη^ρπάσθαι, 2.56.2). Dionysius is not inclined to believe this. On the other hand, he does conclude that the incidents surrovmding Romulus's birth and death 'would seem to give no small authority to the view of those who make gods of mortal men and place the souls of illustrious persons in heaven' (2.56.6). In Livy's version of the same event, Romulus is taken up into heaven by a blast of wind in a thick cloud, hailed as a god and a god's son. A leading senator, Proculus Julius, used a 'shrewd device' to quell the people. He told them that Romulus had come down from heaven and appeared to him at dawn. 'I was confused and stood reverently before him, praying that it might be vouchsafed to me to look upon his face without sin' (1.16.6). Romulus told him to 'go and announce to the Romans the will of heaven', and then Romulus departed on high again. Livy says, 'It is wonderful what credence the people placed on the man's tale, and how the grief for the loss of Romulus ... was quieted by the assurance of his immortality'. Livy

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probably would have expressed similar sceptical sentiments had he heard the Qmstians' version of Jesus' death and ascension. The experience of the apostles in seeing Jesus' ascei^ion is similar to that of Tumus in Virgil's Aeneid. Jimo has sent a messenger. Iris, to him from the heavenly world to give him encouragement and direction. She spoke, and on poised wings rose into the sky, tracing in her flight a huge arch beneath the clouds. The youth knew her and, raising his two hands to heaven, with these words pursued her flight: 'Iris, glory of the sky, who brought you down to me, wafted upon the clouds to earth? Whence this sudden brightness of the air? I see the heavens part asunder, and the stars that roam in the firmament. I follow the mighty omen, who ever you are who call me to arms'. And with these words, he went to the river, and took up water from the brimming flood, calling many times on the gods and burdening heaven with vows (9.14-24).

There were many more such stories. The Christian Justin, writing in the second century CE, lists Asclepius, Dionysus, Heracles, the Dioscuri, Bellerophon, Ariadne and deceased emperors as heroes who ascended into heaven, and all of whom were called sons of Zeus. As for Christians, says Justin, 'we have been taught that only those are deified who have lived near to God in holiness and virtue' (Apol. 1.21). As Tilborg & Counet say, it is precisely the assumption stories in Greek mythology to which second century Christian writers appeal to justify their claims about Jesus (2000: 200-208). There is also considerable evidence that very many of these myths were known to Luke's readers in the first century (208-227). 'Luke told his stories in a culture in which stories about Greek heroes and heroines were a living reality' (231). Tilborg & Counet examine the myths of the hero-gods and find five essential similarities in them: (1) they are all taken up into heaven in one way or another (2) they all are of divine descent, being sons of Zeus, Apollo or Poseidon (3) their cults enable them to survive in the social consciousness long after their deaths (4) they all experience the divine necessity to suffer (5) and they all have roles as saviours. 'Maybe, it is precisely this cluster of possible comparisons which made it possible to imderstand the Christian story within the "recipient" culture. In any case, they deepened the impact of Luke's stor/ (235). To conclude, the ascension is the crucial, foimdational episode in Luke's narrative. It serves as a narrative Unk between his Gospel and Acts, but it also serves as the introduction to Acts, and as such, sets the framework

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within which the whole work is to be read. Acts begins by talking about Jesus. He is the first character mentioned, the first to do anything, and the first to speak. The book also ends with Paul 'teaching about the Lord Jesus Christ with all boldness' (28.31). In his first book Luke wrote about all the things Jesus did until his ascension, now he writes his second book that is also about 'the things of Jesus', but now the things he has done as a heavenly being, the Lord. In addition, for Luke the ascension has a future implication. It marks the intermediate period between Jesus' resurrection and his parousia. It is not that there is any conflict or tension at all between resurrection, ascension and parousia. In fact, Luke sees them as tightly integrated. The one whom God raised is the one whom God has elevated to his right hand and is the one who will come 'in the same way' (1.11) in his parousia. It is not that Jesus had to physically remove himself so that the Spirit could somehow take over the work, as Johnson, for example, says: 'Jesus' physical removal is for Luke the condition for the gift of the Holy Spirit'. Johnson parallels Jesus' departure with the departures of Moses and Elijah, and continues, 'So long as Jesus was physically present, he was available orüy to those he directly encountered; by the Spirit he became powerfully present to many through his prophetic successors' (1992: 31). But there is a significant difference between the departures of Jesus, Moses and Elijah. The latter two do not actively control and direct the work of their successors as Jesus does. Luke, on the other hand, does not see Jesus as present merely through his apostles who carry on his prophetic role. Rather, for Luke, Jesus is immediately present and active himself in the very lives of those 'successors'. The risen, ascended, and coming Lord is the one at work in Acts. For this reason, I have some difficulty with the coiiunorUy held notion that the ascension 'functions as the end of the Period of Jesus; once the risen Christ has taken his leave, the Period of the Church imder Stress begins' (Fitzmyer 1998:194; compare also Zwiep 1997:171). The ascension, for Luke, indicates that Jesus is Lord, that is, he is active in the affairs of the world and especially in the affairs of Israel. He is engaged in a work that will culminate in making his enemies his footstool. No one can or should oppose him. It is this that distinguishes the rule of Jesus from the rule of David, as Peter says in his Pentecost sermon, 'For David did not ascend into the heavens, but he himself says, "The Lord said to my Lord, Sit at my right hand, till I make your enemies a stool for your feef " (Acts 2.34-35).

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5. The ascension narrative and its worship setting If we take a sidewards glance at the way the ascension to lordship is expressed elsewhere in the New Testament, two things are clear. The first is that the session of Jesus at the right hand of God was central in the very early Christian kerygma; the second is that it was expressed in early Christian liturgical forms. Both aspects are well known from Phil. 2.5-11, which sings of Jesus having been exalted and given the name which is above every name, that at his name every knee shall bow and every tongue shall confess his Lordship. They are also apparent in the creed-like confession of 1 Tim. 3.16 that includes that Jesus was 'taken up in glor/. In another creed-like statement in Heb. 1.1-4, Jesus is said to have 'sat down at the right hand of the majesty on high' (Heb. 1.3). It is interesting to note that Heb. 2.9 says 'we see (βλ€πομ€ν) Jesus ... crovmed vwth glory and honour'. The present tense used there is striking. Most commentators take the verb to indicate a 'perception' or 'intellectual recognition', but the possibility that it refers to a visionary experience carmot be ruled out, and it might suggest that some Christians, during their worship, had a visionary experience of Jesus as Lord. In any case, this common belief in (and, I suggest, visionary experience of) the exalted Jesus probably grew out of Christian interpretations of Psalms 2, 8 and 110. A look at some of the Gospel narratives of the ascension also reveals a link made between worship of Jesus and his ascension (Mt. 28.17; Lk. 24.50-53). If that is the case, is there a liturgical or worship element at all in the ascension narrative in Acts? Or, at least, would someone familiar with liturgical elements find an echo in Luke's accoxmt? There are signs pointing in that direction. I have already indicated that the language of the Psalms can be detected. In addition. Acts 1.6 says the disdples had come together (συνελθόντ^ς). Why did they meet? Possibly for worship, since it was a coming together with Jesus, whom the disciples then address as κύρΐ€, the dominant address given to Jesus in liturgical forms. The same verb (оиуерхоряс) is used in reference to the Jewish women who met for prayer at a river outside Philippi (16.13), and in reference to an impHed worship commimity of Jewish leaders with whom Paul meets in Rome (28.17). Teaching was central in early Christian worship, if 1 Cor. 14.26 is any indication ('έκαστος ... διδαχήν 'έχει). Here, in the ascension narrative of Acts, teaching the commimity of disciples is an important activity of the living and appearing Jesus. Closely associated with teaching is the sharing of food by Jesus with his disciples. One textual tradition of Acts 1.4 says that they 'shared salt' or 'shared food' with each other (συναλιζόμενοι). Questions

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and answers often took place around the eating of food; in fact, to eat food and not to discuss matters of Torah was seen by rabbis as falling into 'the ways of the gentiles' and even as blasphemous. It is possible then that the question and ariswer of Acts 1.6-8 takes place during a meal, and that Jesus' ascension takes place within a meal setting. If that is the case, then the eating with Jesus and the vision of him as Lord in Acts parallels the eating at Emmaus when Jesus is also taken from their sight (Lk. 24.31). There are also possible imdertones of the Lord's Supper in the words of the angels to the disciples regarding the coming of Jesus (1.11). The expectation of the coming of Jesus, and prayer for that coming, and the link between coming and Lordship seems to have been an element of very early Christian eucharistic worship, as the Aramaic prayer, Maranatha, indicates (1 Cor. 16.22; Rev. 22.20). If the ascension narrative locates the ascension on a sabbath (1.12), then the ascension-worship link is yet a little stronger. In the ascension as narrated in Luke's Gospel (Lk. 24.50-52), Jesus is removed from the disciples and carried u p into heaven as he blesses them, and they respond to this with worship, according to some manuscripts. There is one other factor in this passage that might hint at a worship context. In the post-Easter appearances of Jesus in the Gospel of Luke (and in the others, too), there is the mention of fright, disbelief and wonder on the part of the disciples when Jesus appears (Lk. 24.37-41), and the disciples are given a reality check as Jesus eats fish in front of them (24.42-43). In Acts, there are none of these things. The Lordship of Jesus over and in the Christian community is at the heart of this passage, and so there is no room for doubt or fright or reality checks. The worshipping community experiences the reality of Jesus, their ascended Lord. So, I suggest that the ascension narrative in Acts can be interpreted as having worship imdertones. Luke's intended audience would have found the scene plausible because, at least in part, it rang bells with experiences of which they had traditions or which they themselves enjoyed in their worship. In any case, the disciples' vision of the ascending Jesus was a powerfully influential religious experience. The risen and heavenly Lord was not absent from them, but among them. The ascension narrative is not to accoimt for Jesus' absence, but to the contrary, to proclaim his presence in the worshipping community. The disciples were in a community among whom Jesus had promised to be present with his power. In this community, as it shared the sacred meal, the living and ascended Lord appeared, and as the commimity heard the teaching of its ascended Lord, it experienced in a visionary way the presence of their Lord whom they anticipated would come at his eschatological parousia.

Chapter 3

Spirit Matters^ 1. Introduction Very early in the Acts narrative, Jesus promises his disciples that 'you will be baptized with the holy spirif (1.5) and that they will receive power 'when the holy spirit has come upon you' (1.8). The narrative does not proceed too much further before these disciples are then 'filled with the holy spirit' (2.4). In this way, the stage is set for the many instances in Acts where a person or group of people acts under the impulse and direction of a spirit, usually one that is called a 'holy spirit'. If there is one area of human existence that bothers many modem academics it is the realm of the spirit. The anthropologist-religionist, Lynne Hume, relates the experience of the anthropologist, Edith Turner, who, with her husband Victor, did extensive fieldwork among the Ndembu of Zambia. In 1985, Edith Turner returned to those people and participated herself in a healing ritual, joining in the singing, clapping and dancing that accompanied it. During the ritual. Turner reports, I saw with my own eyes a large grey blob of something like plasma emerge from the sick woman's back. Then I knew the Africans were right, there is spirit stuff, there is spirit affliction, it isn't a matter of metaphor or symbol, or even psychology. And I began to see how anthropologists have perpetrated an endless series of put-downs as regards many spirit events in which they participated. They ... have been operating with a wrong paradigm, that of the positìvisf s denial (2002:8).

The literature is, not surprisingly, vast. Helpful are J. Fitzmyer, 'The Role of the Spirit in Luke-Acts'. In, ]. Verheyden (ed.) The Unity of Luke-Acts (Louvain: Leuven University Press, 1999), pp. 165-183, especially the bibliography provided at p. 165 n. 3; S. Porter, The Paul of Acts, especially chapter 4, 'Paul and the Holy Spirit in Acts' (WUNT 115; Tübingen: Mohr-Siebeck, 1999). Porter offers a good bibliography of significant work on the Holy Spirit in footnotes 1-7; and J. Hure, A Dynamic Reading of the Holy Spirit in Luke-Acts QSNT Supp. 211; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2001), especially its bibliography.

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It is not only anthropologists who have operated with 'wrong paradigms'. Many Biblical scholars have also dismissed such experiences as legendary, as primitive, or as indicative of precriticai thought. They are rejected because they are outside the experience of the scholar and belong only to the category of what 'the ancients believed'. There is little doubt that many ancients did believe that a spirit could possess a person. The apostles in Acts are sometimes depicted as being under the control of a divine spirit, as if taken over by an alter persona. There is no comment or explanation given; it is assumed that the audience shares this worldview. For Luke, these experiences are to be understood as the fulfilment of scripture and as the fulfilment of the promise of Jesus. In sum, according to Luke the Christian movement began as a spirit movement. The spirit of God was seen as the controlling factor in the formation, existence and behaviour of the followers of Jesus. What, in part, makes the task of dealing with 'the spirit' in Acts so difficult is the variety of effects the spirit has on people, and the variety of means by which that spirit produces those effects. To complicate matters, the word 'spirif is used is a number of different ways. There is the 'holy spirit' (1.8), the 'spirit of Jesus' (16.7), 'the spirit' (2.4) - in these cases, the spirit seems to be a divine force. But in Acts 17.16, the 'spirit of Paul' is said to be provoked or sharpened within him (τταρωξύνετο το πνεύμα αύτοΟ kv αύτφ). Clearly, tìie word is not used with the same meaning in each case. Many scholars have commented on how difficult it is to understand and to translate the word πνεύμα just because it is used in so many and various ways, not oiüy within the New Testament, but within the wider literature as well (Stählin 1973: 229). Even the question as to whether one writes the iiutial letter of the word 'spirit' in the upper or the lower case is not insignificant, and is not always easily decided. I intend to use the upper case when the Spirit of God is clearly meant. Nor is it always clear whether the spirit is within the person (as it seems to be in the case of Paul in Acts 17.16) or is an external being or force. The latter question is not too different from that discussed by Dio Chrysostom as to whether one's daimon was within the individual or was an external force. He seems to come down on Üve side of tiie latter {Twenty-Fifth Disc. 1). The standard starting-point for modem scholars is to say that the Spirit of God in the New Testament generally, and in Luke-Acts especially, is the 'spirit of prophecy'. Menzies is one who has promoted this idea, claiming, 'Luke consistentiy portrays the Spirit as the source of prophetic activity (inspired speech and granting special insight)' (1994: 174). Dunn, who has written much on the Spirit, agrees, 'The Spirit for Luke is indeed pre-

1. Introduction

53

eminently the 'Spirit of prophecy', the Spirit that inspires speech and witness' (1993: 8). But there are other dimerisions of the Spirit in Acts that should not be ignored. The Spirit is also a life-creating and life-sustaining power that creates unity and holiness, and enables perception, healing and transformation. This carmot all be subsumed imder 'prophecy'. And while it is undoubtedly true that the Spirit is linked with prophecy in Acts, it needs to be remembered that prophecy was not simply a matter of speech in the ordinary sense of the word. Prophecy, of course, involves words, but words, for many biblical scholars, suggests rational thought (logos) - an area in which the scholar feels more secure; but the spirit of prophecy is not one that fits so neatly into the modem, western, rational paradigm. It was 'inspired speech and ... inspired insighf, as Menzies says. In other words, the prophet imderwent a spirit experience, and in many cases that meant that his or her persona was altered to some degree. To be imder the iiifluence of the Spirit was often an overwhelming and total experience, as will be shown below. The problem is that the starting point is also the finishing point for many. I would like to argue in this section that the Spirit in Acts is first and foremost not a spirit of prophecy but a spirit of holiness. By that I mean not only that the Spirit is holy but also that the Spirit is one which creates holiness in the person upon whom it falls. This is a dimension that some scholars surprisingly do not even acknowledge as one of the aspects of 'the Spirit' in Luke-Acts. For many, the adjective 'holy' is simply seen as another way of saying 'God'. 'The holy Spirit' is, then, just another way of saying 'the Spirit of God' or even simply, 'God'. So, for example, Jervell says that 'in the activities of the apostles it is the Spirit, that is, God, who is the real power' (1998:110). But if this is the case, then why does Luke talk of the holy Spirit at all? Why does he not follow the far more common and more conventional Jewish way of talking and speak of 'the Spirit of God' (not used at all in Acts) or 'the Spirit of the Lord' (used only in 5.9 and 8.39)? The point of the early Christians' claim is that it is not only the Spirit of God that has been poured out on them, but it is a special and particular gift of that Spirit of God, namely holiness. The Spirit gives power for the conununity and for individuals to live in holiness. Luke believes the eschaton is here, the messianic age has begim, and the kingdom of God is tied up with 'the things about Jesus'. He also sees 'the people' (ó λαός) as those who belong to the Way, people who by their holiness prepare the way for the Lord and for his parousia at the end of days. Jervell is right in sa3dng that Luke sees the Qiristian commimity as the 'Israel of the end-time' (1972,1998), and one of the fundamentals of Israel's self-perception and distinctiveness is that it

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has been called to be a holy people. The expectation was that God would purify Israel in the end-time. Simply, when Luke writes of the 'holy spirit' in Acts, on many occasions he is referring to that spirit given by God to cleanse and purify Israel. There were other Jews, roughly contemporary with the Christians, who not only anticipated but also claimed the presence and activity of a 'holy spirit' among them. They can be identified from the texts foimd at Qumran. These commimities of Jews knew holiness as the key quality for living in the latter days. They too knew the link between the holy spirit of God and the removal of sin from the individual and from the commimity. It is by the spirit of holiness which links him with the truth he is cleansed of all his sins; and by the spirit of uprightness and of humility his sin is atoned (lQS3.7b-8).

And in the last days, God will purify each of the sor\s of light 'cleansing him with the spirit of holiness from every irreverent deed. He will sprinkle over him the spirit of trutìi like lustral water' (IQS 4.21). According to IQS 9.3-A, 'when these become members of the Commtmity in Israel according to all these rules, they shall establish the spirit of holiness according to everlasting truth'. And in fub. 1.20-24, the holy spirit is clearly associated with purity of living and heart: ... But they are thy people and thy iiüieritance, which thou hast delivered with thy great power from the hands of the Egyptians: create in them a clean heart and a holy spirit, and let them not be ensnared in their sins from henceforth until eternity. And the Lord said unto Moses: Ί know their contrariness and their thoughts and their stiffneckedness, and they will not be obedient till they confess their own sin and the sin of their fathers. And after this they will turn to Me in all uprightness and with all (their) heart and with all (their) soul, and I will circumcise the foreskin of their heart and the foreskin of the heart of their seed, and I will create in them a holy spirit, and I will cleanse them so that they shall not turn away from Me from that day unto eternity'.

One of the designations of Christians in Acts, and indeed also in the Pauline writings, is 'saints' or 'holy ones' (9.32,41; 26.10; compare also Rom. 1.7; 1 Cor. 1.2). This suggests that the Christian communities, like the communities of the Qumran texts, saw themselves as the holy people of God, the restored and sanctified Israel. Both groups saw themselves as having received the promised spirit of holiness for the end-time. What is distinctive about the Christian claims is that this holy spirit, and the subsequent holiness, are not received or foimd by fulfilling Torah, as the Qumran texts

2. Non-Jewish understandings of spirit

55

claim, but by incorporation into the name of Jesus Christ. The Oiristians claimed that forgiveness of sins, a prerequisite for holiness, is offered by God in his name, and the gift of the spirit of holiness is promised in relation to the believer being incorporated into that name through repentance and baptism (Acts 2.38). Here lies the obvious distinctiveness of the Qiristian holiness movement. There are a number of indications in Acts that Luke sees the Spirit as the source of holiness within the Omstian community. Peter's sermon on Pentecost is a clear call to holiness. 'Repent and be baptized every one of you in the name of Jesus Christ so that your sins may be forgiven and you will receive the gift of the holy Spirif. Then 'with many other arguments and exhortations', he exhorts: 'Save yourselves from this corrupt generation' (2.38-40). Peter takes the same line after the healing of the cripple at the Temple Gate: 'Repent and tum to God so that your sins may be wiped out so that times of refreshing may come from the presence of the Lord...' (3.19-20). Often forgotten is what follows in this passage. Peter dtes Deut. 18.15-19 that not only promises Israel a prophet like Moses, but also warns, 'it will be that every one who does not listen to that prophet will be utterly rooted out of the people' (Acts 3.23). The following chapter in Acts portrays a community of one heart and of holiness (4. 31-37), but it is from within that same holy community that Peter roots out Ananias and Sapphira (Acts 5.1-11). Behaviour and thinking that is imholy cannot be tolerated within a holy community, as Simon also learnt (8.20-23). The close links between repentance and 'holy spirif in Acts are also foimd in 5.31-32; 7.51; 10.43-44; 11.15-18; and 15.8-9. The surprise for Peter is that tiie gentiles are also included in the restored and purified Israel. The vision reported in Acts 10 teaches Peter that 'what God has cleansed, you must not call common', and Peter leams to his amazement that 'the gift of the holy Spirit has been poured out even on the gentiles' (10.45). I wish to emphasize that it is the holy spirit that is given to them - not merely 'the Spirif. Peter is shocked to leam that gentiles can be included in a purified Israel that God had set apart from the nations.

2. Non-Jewish understandings of spirit This way of talking about holiness and a holy spirit of God would have made sense to most Jews, even if they did not accept the way it was interpreted by the Christians. But what would non-Jews have made of all this? Would the notion of πνεύμα άγιον have made any ser^e to them?

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Some scholars think that it was foreign, and that Christians 'coined a new and distinctive expression for the very different, supraserisual, supraterrestrial and in part personal character and content which τινεΟμα has in Judaism and Christianity' (Kleinknecht, dted approvingly by Fitzmyer 1998: 168). The expression certainly was not coined by Christians, since it was already used in Jewish writings prior to any Christian use of it, but it is also misleading to suggest that a non-Jew or non-Christian would not have imderstood the term. The adjective άγιος is rare in Greek literature of the centuries either side of the tum of the Era, but very common in Philo, Josephus, the New Testament and early Christian writings of the same period. In other words, the term is distinctively Jewish. When άγιος is used by pagan writers, it invariably refers to a sacred place or temple site (Upov, see Dionysius of Halicamassus Ant. Rom. 3.32.1.4; Diodoras Siculus Hist. 5.72.3.5; 15.4.3.4; Sti'abo Geog. 9.5.14.18), or to sacrifices (Diodoras Siculus Hist. 5.72.4.5) or sacred objects (Plutarch Gracch. 15.6.2). As holy places or objects, they were marked off by boundaries and were accessible only to people in a state of ritual purity from whom all pollution had been removed. In one of the very few times that the adjective is used of people, Plutarch says that in Rome the tribime is treated like an altar (βωμός), because by paying him honour, the people make his person holy, sacred, and inviolable (lepov καΐ δγιον καΐ άσυλον). Wherefore if anything happens to him when he walks abroad in public, it is even customary for him to cleai\se and purify (άγνίζίσθαι) his body as if it had been polluted

{Quaest. Rom. 283D).

So, for many Greeks a holy person was someone who was free from pollution, and a holy spirit would be imderstood as a divine spirit or power that made or kept a person or object free from pollution. And what would a Latin speaker have made of the idea? Spiritus sanctus was not an impossible notion and it was known as a term. Valerius Maximus says that public welfare depends on rituals of the immortal gods. Temples are the sacred domiciles of the gods, he says, but loyal hearts of men are shrines of friendship 'filled with a holy spirit' {soneto spiritu, Memorab. 4.7 ext 1). So the paudty of the exact vocabulary in Greek and Roman literature does not mean that the Jewish-Christian term would not have been understood. It might not have been understood in the same way that Jews imderstood it; others filled it with their own meanings. The Stoic Seneca says that we do not need temples and priests because

2. Non-Jewish understandings of spirit

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a holy spirit dwells within us {sacer intra nos spiritus sedei), one who marks our good and bad deeds, and is our guardian. As we treat this spirit, so are we treated (£p. Mor. 41.2).

The Stoics combined air and fire into a single substance that they understood to be the divine power that ordered and interpreted the world. They called this substance pneuma or fiery pneuma. It diffused all things and was the divine activity (Bevan 1938: 153). This creative breath of a god is illustrated in Aeschylus, where the πιπνοία of Zeus is said to have produced a child without a human father. Zeus breathed upon the woman and she produced a child {Supplie. 45-46). Latin speakers would imderstand πνεύμα as animus, and that animus is in the human body, giving it life and energy. If that energy is put towards noble and good ends, then that person might be said to have a sanctissima anima, as Seneca describes Cato {Provid. 2.11). Columella says 'we know that human beings have a soul breathed into them as a charioteer and guide of their members' (3.10.9). Pliny tells of the animus of Hermotimus of Clazomenae which 'used to leave his body and roam abroad, and in its wandering report to him from a distance many things that only one present at them could know of - his body in the meantime being only half-coriscious' {semianimi, N.H. 7.174). Cicero says, animus ... divinus est, ut Euripides dicere audet, deus, 'and in fact if God is either air or fire {anima aut ignis), so also is the soul {animus) of man' {Tusc. Disp. 1.26.65). For the Stoics, the рпеита-пте link was close, and so they could speak of the soul as 'hof; it is the πνεΟμα ένθερμόν (Cicero Tusc. Disp. 1.18.42). This hotness of the spirit is a special feature of the mantic in whom the soul becomes hot and fiery (ένθερμος καΐ πυρώδης, Plutarch De/ecí. Orac. 432). It is in this mantic experience where the notion of holy spirit, if not the precise terminology, is most common among Greeks and Romans. Dio Chrysostom writes about the Pythian priestess who 'was filled with the breath of the god' (έμπιμπλαμίνη τοϋ πνεύματος, 72.12). Ovid, writing in Latin, speaks of the prophetic experience in a similar way: 'When she felt in her soul the prophetic madness, and was warmed by the divine fire prisoned in her breast...' {Meta. 2.640-641). In the Dionysian cult, the link between ecstasy and prophecy was particularly strong. Plutarch was not alone in thinking that 'the prophetic current and breath is most divine and holy' (το δε μαντικόν ρεΰμα καΐ πνεύμα θειότατον έστι καΐ όσιώτατον, Dφct. Orac. 432D). In tìie inspired μαντική, the soul becomes free from the body; 'anima ita solutus est et vacuus ut eo plane nihil sit cum corpore', says Cicero {Div. 1.113). At other

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times, it is said that the god enters into people and fills their souls, thus making them èv0éoL (Cicero Div. 2.110). On the other hand, Plutarch and his friends think this notion can be carried too far. Says Boethius in response to the idea that some votive offerings are 'filled with the divine' (πειτλήσθαι ... θ€ΐότητος), 'It is not enough to incarnate the god once every month in a mortal body, but we are bent upon incorporating him into every bit of bror\ze and stone' (Plutarch Pyth. Orac. 398A-B; compare also Defect. Orac. 414E). We can make too much of the significance of individual words. Even if the word άγιος was not commonly used, it certainly would have been understood. It basically indicated the absence of pollution - something that was of great concern to most Greeks and Romans. 'Ceremonies of purification accompany every step of a man's life from the cradle to the grave' (Rohde 1925: 295). I also draw attention to the claims of Levison that Christian scholars in particular need to think again about the influence or otherwise of non-Jewish experiences and ways of thinking about inspired people, inspired speech and actions. Turner, for example, claims. It is also virtually beyond dispute that any version of 'the Spirit of propheqr' available to Luke must ultimately (italics his) be rooted in Judaism, for the Greek world very rarely related pneuma to prophetic inspiration, and when it did so it was in a manner entirely different from that envisaged in Luke (1992: 66-88).

Levison wants to allow Judaism to speak for itself, without the agenda that Christian scholars bring to the study of it. He rejects notions that the Christians, led by Jesus, expanded the understanding of the Spirit, or took it in a direction unknown to previous Jewish writers. It is partiy Turner's argument that 'although Luke takes over the typical Jewish notion of the Spirit of prophecy this does not prevent him from attributing to the Spirit the power of authoritative preaching^ (1992: 87, italics his). Levison warns against using such expressions as 'typically Jewdsh', as if Jewish thought on things of the Spirit were somehow immime from Greco-Roman conceptior\s. One valuable aspect of his book is precisely the placing of first-century Jewish imderstandings of the spirit in the context of the Greco-Roman world. He argues against the idea that prophetic phenomenon in the Greek and Roman world is not the place to look for an xmderstanding of Christian prophecy. Such thinking, he says, 'ought perhaps to be revisited in light of the Greco-Roman elements which permeate, not oiüy Diaspora Jewish literature, but also a first century Palestinian example of a re-written Bible composed in Hebrew' (1997:254).

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3. Spirit as overwhelming power Jewish, Greek and Roman writers all share the belief that the divine spirit is beyond human control. They are aware that there is a power inherent in this divine spirit that is dangerous. This dangerous power brings me back to the notion of holiness. The holy is dangerous, as is variously illustrated throughout the Old Testament in particular. It is dangerous not only because it can socially and ritually isolate a person who transgresses the boxmdaries, but also because transgression of the holy can result in physical death. Classic is the example of Uzzah, who wanted to prevent the Ark from falling off its carriage, but who, on touching the holy object, was struck dead (2 Sam. 6.6-7). And the Israelites were warned that they would die if they touched the holy mountain (Exod. 19.12). There is also a close link in Jewish biblical thought between the holiness of God and the greatness of God. For example, Ps. 77.13 says: 'Your way, О God, is holy. What god is great Шее our God?' (compare Exod 15.11). It is not surprising then that a holy spirit should be associated closely with great works. And if one is going to be filled with this holy spirit, then one is going to be filled with a dynamis that the human body and mind simply cannot handle. Holiness also implies that the weaknesses of the human are overcome, including any physical weakness. The connection between holiness of spirit and power is made explicit in Acts. Jesus says to his disciples that they would receive power (δύναμις) when the holy Spirit 'comes upon' them (έπελθόντος του άγιου πν€ύματος έφ' ΰμώι/, 1.8). Dynamis in hellenistic times was seen to be the cosmic principle that holds the world together. It was the power that the gods and other non-human forces have. In Jewish thought, it was the power of God to create (Jer. 27.5), to save, as demor\strated in the Exodus (Exod. 15.6; Deut. 9.29), and to shape history (Job 12.13,16). Clearly, what Jesus was promising was something overwhelming and radical in its effect. This power is received 'when the holy spirit comes upon you' (1.8). The verb 'come upon' (επέρχομαι) is an aggressive word (compare 14.19; 8.24; and even Lk. 1.35), used in the Septuagint for the coming of God's wrath, of calamity and punishment. But it is also used occasionally in those Scriptures for when a spirit comes upon someone, and in those cases it would seem that the spirit overwhelms the person. So Job says that a spirit came upon him and 'the hairs of his flesh stood up' (πνεύμα έπι πρόσωπον μου έπήλθεν 'έφριξαν δέ μου τρίχες και σάρκες. Job 4.15). Α husband or a wife might be overtaken by a spirit of jealousy (και έπέλθη αύτφ πνεύμα ζηλώσεως, LXX Num. 5.14). More relevant to the experience in Acts is the hope expressed in

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Isaiah that 'the spirit from on high should come upon us' ('έως αν έπελθη ёф' υμάς πνεύμα άφ' υψηλού, LXX Isa. 32.15). The effects will be dramatic (Isa. 32.15-16). Luke uses the verb elsewhere in relation to eschatology and also in a destructive sense (Lk. 21.26; 22.34; Acts 13.40). Again, when a holy spirit is present in or on a person, very often it overwhelms that person. In the baptism of Jesus, the coming of the Spirit follows the heaven being opened, and is accompanied by a voice from heaven (Lk. 3.21-22) - a dramatic, awe-inspiring, overwhelnung experience of the Spirit far removed from the popular image of a gentle, harmless Holy Spirit! It is not totally surprising that a holy spirit can be so aggressive. After all, it is an overwhelming power that humans cannot withstand, and indeed are not to withstand. The spirit is therefore often symbolized by wind and fire - creative but destructive and powerful elements in the cosmos. So when that spirit comes upon people, we might expect that they show the physical consequences of such an experience. The human becomes like the dead, and the power from on high takes over. For Luke, the holy spirit is not a new phenomenon or a new actor who comes on to the scene only at Pentecost. Already before Jesus was bom, the holy Spirit was active in Elizabeth (Lk. 1.41), Zechariah (1.67), and Simeon (1.26). Jesus himself is described as being 'full of the holy Spirit' on occasion (4.1). Indeed, Luke has Stephen say to the Coimdl in Jerusalem, 'You always resist the holy Spirit, as your fathers did, so do you' (Acts 7.51). That is, the fathers resisted the spirit that called for and created holiness. Whenever God wanted to purify Israel, he was resisted, claims Stephen. Luke wants to say that the new Israel, on the other hand, does everything imder the impulse and direction of the holy Spirit, which it obeys and follows. It is interesting to ask, 'What happened when a holy spirit came upon someone?' I have already said that the verb 'to come upon' suggests that the spirit overpowers the human in much the same way as a sickness or a calamity overpowers. Sometimes it is said that the spirit is 'poured' into someone (Isa. 44.3; Ezek. 39.29; Joel 2.28; Zech. 12.10; 1 Enoch 62.2), and, much less commonly, that it 'fills' the person (Exod. 31.3; Mie. 3.8). Pouring implies a flowing, dynamic movement, and filling implies a vessel that either has been empty or that has its contents replaced with some other substance. It is worth noting that Luke is the only New Testament writer to use the expression 'filled with the (holy) spirit'. In one passage, Luke also uses the metaphor of clothing - Jesus promises that 'you will be clothed with power from the heights' (Lk. 24.49). This clothing metaphor also suggests a total overtaking of the body; it implies that the person is covered

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by an external power. The disciples are clothed with a power from the heights (that is, a power from God), and so the human is covered and the divine or heavenly power is visible and active. Such is also the imagery and force of the expression 'baptized kv πν^ύματι άγίο^' (1.5). To be baptized in that spirit meant to be covered and overwhelmed by it. In this overwhelming, all-covering experience there was often a loss of mental control. Levison (1997: 33) points to an example from Josephus to illustrate the loss of such control that Balaam experienced. According to Josephus, Balaam 'was not in himself' (ούκ ών kv έαυτφ. Ant. 4.118), and became unconscious (oûôèv ημών άδότων, 4.119), no longer in possession of his mental faculties (oùóèv γαρ kv ήμΙν CTL φθάσαντος eloeXMv Ικτίνου ήμέτερον, 4.121). This state was brought about by what Levison calls 'the invading angelic spirif. Levison argues that Philo and Josephus probably drew on Platonic ideas in which the god was kept at a distance from the possessed person. Instead, angelic or daimonic beings act as intermediaries for the god (42-55). Philo describes what happens to the inspired prophet: The mind is evicted at the arrival of the divine spirit, but when that departs the mind returns to its normal tenancy ... For indeed the prophet, even when he seems to be speaking, really holds his peace, and his organs of speech, mouth and tongue, are wholly in the employ of another, to show forth what he fills. Unseen by us, that other beats on the chords with the skiU of a masterhand and makes them instruments of sweet music, laden with every harmony {Heres. 26&-266).

The way Philo speaks of the experience, by the way, suggests the sound made through the inspired person is harmonious and not wildly cacophonous, as is the impression often formed. His analogy from music might also suggest that the iiispired person sang or chanted. The Ascension of Isaiah gives a description of what happened to both the physical and the mental states when a prophet spoke in or by a holy spirit. In that text, Isaiah and some other prophets gathered together. Then, 'they all heard a door which one had opened and the voice of the Holy Spirit' (6.6). The passage continues. As he [Isaiah] was speaking in the Holy Spirit in the hearing of all, he became silent and his mind was taken up from him and he saw not the men that stood before him, though his eyes indeed were open. Moreover, his lips were silent and the mind in his body was taken up from him. But his breath was in him, for he was seeing a vision (6.10-12).

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This seems to say that the inspired prophet was both mentally and vocally taken over by an alter persona. What he sees and speaks is not xmder the control of his own person or mind or spirit. Plutarch's description of what happens to the mantic is similar. The prophetic current and breath is most divine and holy, whether it issue by itself through the air or come in the company of running waters; for when it is instilled into the body, it creates in souls an unaccustomed and unusual temperament ... It is likely that by warmth and diffusion it opens up certain passages through which impressions of the future are transmitted, just as wine, when its fumes rise to the head, reveals many unusual movements and also words stored away and unperceived (De/ecf. Orac. 432).

Plutarch would have understood the mockers who accused Peter and the apostles of being drunk when they were speaking in other 'tongues' (Acts 2.13). But he would also have imderstood Peter's defence denying that drunkermess caused their behaviour and claiming a pouring out of a holy spirit (2.14^17). It would seem, then, that the personality of the spirit-possessed person was changed. The Greeks were very familiar with this experience, and some valued it highly. Aristides believed that 'the greatest good comes to us through madness, which moreover is given by a divine gift' {Oration II: To Plato: In defense of oratory, 52). According to Socrates, what happens is that God takes away the mind of these and uses them as his ministers, just as he does the soothsayers and godly seers in order that we who hear them may know that it is not they who utter these words of great price, but that it is the god himself who speaks and addresses us through them (Plato Ion 534 C-D).

This is very similar to the imderstanding of the Roman Cicero, who thinks that 'the soul withdraws itself from the body and is violently stimulated by a divine impulse' (divino instinctu concitatur, Div. 1.66). This understanding, in tum, is quite similar to that expressed in 2 Pet. 1.21: 'No prophecy ever came by the impulse of the human but humans moved by the spirit of God spoke from God'. Israel also imderstood the phenomenon. In 1 Sam. 10.6, Samuel tells the newly-anointed Saul that he wiU meet a band of prophets who will be in a prophetic frenzy. 'Then the spirit of the Lord wdll possess you and you will be in a prophetic frerizy along with them and you will be turned into a different man' (στραφήστι elç ανδρα άλλον). Philo says of Moses that on one occasion in addressing Israel 'he no longer continued as before, but leaped as it were out of his former appearance and disposition.

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and became inspired' (Philo Vit. Mos. 2.272). Philo similarly describes the possessed Abraham: Everything in him changed to something better, eyes, complexion, stature, carriage, movements, voice. For the divine spirit which was breathed upon him from on high made its lodging in his soul, and invested is body with singular beauty, his voice with persuasiveness, and his hearers with understanding (Vif. Abr. 217-218).

It would seem that Philo himself knew a variation of this experience 'ten thousand times'. When wanting to write, he sometimes found his mind empty. But then, I have suddenly become full, ideas ... being implanted in me from on high, so that through the influence of divine inspiration, I have become greatly excited, and have known neither the place in which I was, nor those who were present, nor myself, nor what I was saying, nor what I was writing (Mig. Abr. 34-35).

It would seem, then, that there is some justification for thinking that whenever Jesus or Peter or Paul are said to be 'filled with the holy spirit', there was some transformation of their physical state and of their senses, even if that is not explicitly stated in the text. I think this transformation partly explains why in such a state Paul, for example, speaks 'with a loud voice' and 'stares' (Acts 14.9-10). It also helps to explain in part why the Sanhédrin looked at Stephen as if they were looking into the face of an angel (6.15). Stephen had been speaking with 'wisdom and the Spirit' (6.10) and this involved a perceptible change in his physical appearance.

4. Spirit as angel and person A further aspect that is given little attention in scholarship is the relation between a holy spirit and an angel. Terminologically, of course, angels are sometimes referred to as 'holy spirits' (see IQH 8.12; 11.13). But there are also quite a number of instances in both Jewish and Christian literature where the two appear in the very same context and act in very similar ways. Take, for example, Ezek. 8.2-3. There the prophet sees a figure that looked like a human being; below what appeared to be its loins was fire, and above the loii\s it was the appearance of brightness, like gleaming amber. It stretched out the form of a hand and took me by the lock of my head.

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So far, the description of the heavenly being fits that of an angel. But then Ezekiel continues immediately, "Then the Spirit lifted me up between earth and heaven and brought me in visions of God to Jerusalem ...and the glory of the God of Israel was there.' The angelic being that 'looked like a human being' is identical with the Spirit. Where the close link between spirit and angel comes to expression most clearly is in the work of Philo (Levison 1995: 189-207). Levison draws attention to the dependency of Philo on Plato also in this matter. He argues that Philo conceived of the divine spirit as an angelic being, an opinion strongly influenced by Greco-Roman philosophies. According to Levison, Philo, in his remarks on Numbers 22, draws 'an integral relationship between the prediction of the angel and its fulfilment by the spirit' (1997: 28). In fact. Philo identifies the angel with the prophetic spirit (28). Josephus, likewise, identifies the angel of Num. 22.35 with the spirit of Num. 24.2 and 23.7. Notice how Josephus uses angel and spirit interchangeably, but again in the order, angel-spirit: On the road an angel of God (άγγέλου θίίου) confronted him in a narrow place ... and the ass whereon Balaam rode, conscious of the divine spirit (τού 0eíou πνεύματος) approaching her... {Ant. 4.108).

Levison then summarizes the nature of Balaam's inspiration according to Philo and Josephus: 1) 'Balaam's conscious mental faculties were rendered inactive by the invading presence of the angelic spirit'. 2) Balaam was possessed by this angelic spirit; and 3) this divine spirit utilized Balaam's mouth to produce what it wanted (33). My primary interest is in the link that Levison demonstrates exists between spirit and angel. This close connection between Spirit and angel is seen in the much later Ascension of Isaiah: And I saw the Lord and the second angel, and they were standing. And the second whom I saw was on the left of my Lord. And I asked, 'Who is this'? And he said to me: 'Worship Him, for he is the angel of the Holy Spirit who speaketh in thee and the rest of the righteous' (9.35-37).

In the same writing, Gabriel is called 'the angel of the Holy Spirit' (3.16) and 'tiie angel of ihe Spirif (4.21; compare also 7.23; 8.14; 9.36,39,40; 10.4; 11.4,33). In 11.4 it seems tiiat the 'angel of tììe Spirit' is the one who appears to Mary and Joseph and possibly impregnates Mary. This understanding of Spirit and angel as identical throws some light on a passage that has mildly bothered exegetes of Acts. In 8.26, the angel of

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the Lord (άγγελος του κυρίου) directs Philip; then in the same episode, in 8.29, it is the Spirit (ττνεϋμα) who directs him. It is a passage that will be discussed later, but for now the problem dissolves somewhat when it is realized that the angel of the Lord and the Spirit are seen as virtually identical in some Jewish traditions. This link between Spirit and heavenly being is also present in Peter's rooftop ecstasy. Peter hears a voice in the vision directing him (10.13); then the Spirit directs him (10.19). It might be noted in these instances that the Spirit is always the second actor. There is another passage in Acts that also makes this angel-spirit link. In 23.9, some of the Pharisees in the coimcil raise the question concerning Paul: 'What if a spirit or an angel has spoken to him?' A common question concerning the holy Spirit is whether or not the Spirit is regarded in Acts as a 'person'. Johnson says, 'By establishing a narrative role for the Holy Spirit, Luke has taken a significant step towards the eventual theological recognition of the Holy Spirit as a "person"' (1992: 15). That may be so, but is there any real difference between the holy Spirit as 'person' and angels as 'persons'? Or, is the 'spirit of Jesus' any less a 'person'? This emphasis on the person of the holy Spirit does not take into accoimt the complexity and variety with which Acts talks about the Spirit. Related to this issue is the way Luke uses the term in Acts. On some occasions, he uses the definite article, on other occasions he does not. Some scholars think there is no difference at all, but it is interesting to note that Fitzmyer translates the spirit at Pentecost as 'a Holy Spirif (1998: 231), and so tries to have it both ways. By using the indefinite article, he suggests that the πνεύμα is not 'personal', and yet he capitalizes the initial letters to suggest something imique and personal. The fact is that Luke uses a variety of terms (mainly τό πνεύμα το αγιον, but also πνεύμα αγιον and το αγιον πνεύμα, and, of course, sometimes simply πνεύμα), and we have to live with that variety, even if it means loosening fixed preconceptions. As Wiebe says, the concentration has been too much on theology, especially its trinitarian construction, and not enough on the empirical phenomena that led to the theology in the first place (1997:162). Jews of the first century CE certainly would have understood Luke when he spoke of the spirit, the holy spirit, the spirit of God (or of Jesus), and the close relation between spirit and angel. They knew that Joseph had the divine or holy spirit in him (Gen. 41.38). They read in Exod. 31.2 that God told Moses he has given Bezaleel a divine spirit (θείον πνεύμα) 'with wisdom, understanding, and knowledge' to work in crafts and design. They knew that the spirit that God gave to Moses was transferred to the seventy elders (Num. 11.17). Their traditions, both biblical and other.

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commonly saw Moses, Joshua, Gideon, Saul, David and Daniel, as inspired heroes. They also knew the propheq^ about a davidic ruler on whom 'the spirit of the Lord shall resf (Isa. 11.2) and that 'on that d a / God will 'pour out [his] spirit on all flesh' (Joel 2.28). In the Testament of Levi, the time is said to be coming when 'the spirit of holiness shall be upon them' (T. Levi 18.7, llb-12). The actual term 'holy spirif appears in Jewish canonical texts only in a few passages. In Isa. 63.10-11, it is used of God's spirit, and in Ps. 51.13 it refers to 'that which sustains life and prevents return to the earth' (Levison 1997: 68). It is also used in Wis. Sol. 1.5, where it would again appear to refer to the human spirit that is made pure through training. And in Susannah 45, God is said to have stirred up 'the holy spirit' of a young man called Daniel. Here too it appears to indicate a spirit within Daniel which is pure and probably also wise. This sense is also found in other Jewish writings. For example, in a document found at Qumran, the rule is that 'they shall keep apart from every uncleanness according to the statutes relating to each one, and no man shall defile his holy spirit since God has set them aparf (CD 7.3-6). And an earlier passage also speaks of members defiling 'their holy spirit and opening their mouth with a blaspheming tongue' (CD 5.11-13). In these two passages again it seems that the term 'holy spirit' refers to the spirit of a person. To add to the complexity of this term, Pseudo-Philo describes Balaam, not as Philo and Josephus do (that is, as being under the compulsion of an external prophetic holy spirit), but as having the holy spirit within him as a permanent life-force rather than as an ecstatic, personality-changing power: I am restrained in my speech and cannot say what I see with my eyes because there is little left of the holy spirit that abides in me. For I know that... I have lessened the time of my life. And behold my remaining hour (18.11).

It would seem here that the holy spirit is the life-sustaining spirit which comes from God and returns to God. That the breath (πνεύμα) of God is what gives life to every human being was a common thought in Jewish tradition (compare Job 33.4; Isa. 42.5), and God withdraws it when they die Gob 34.14; Ps. 104.29-30). So the divine spirit is in all humans. In the PseudoPhilo passage just dted, there is also an implied association of the holy spirit with speech, an association also foimd in Job 27.2-4, 'As long as my breath is in me and the spirit of God is in my nostrils, my lips will not speak falsehood and my tongue will not utter deceif. Of course, speech requires

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the drawing of breath, so the link is imderstandable. But to speak wisely particularly requires the holy spirit within (compare Job 32.6-9). Given this substantial use of the term to refer to a spirit within the human, are there passages in Acts where it has a similar meaning? Stephen is described as 'a man full of faith and the holy Spirit' (6.5). Does this mean that Stephen had a holy spirit within him just as did Balaam and Daniel? Does it mean no more than that he had the gift of eloquent and wise speech? Does 13.52 really mean much more than that the disciples were filled with joy and a spirit of holiness, in other words, that their lives were characterized by joy and holiness? It would seem that there are some cases where being 'filled with the spirit' refers more to the character of a person than it does to an ecstatic, immediate, and transforming experience brought upon a person by an external power. In rabbinic Jewish tradition, the holy spirit was only manifested in a time of special worthiness (holiness). So there were believed to be no manifestations in the Second Temple period (b. Yoma 21b). The holy spirit departs from those who sin (compare Lev. Rab. 37.4 and Phinehas). But according to other Jewish traditioiis, the holy spirit also can withdraw in moments of extreme anxiety and distress. So when Joseph was sold by his brothers and believed by his father to be dead, 'the holy Spirit left Jacob and he saw and heard only dimly' {Gen. Rab. 91.6). The absence of that holy spirit creates anxiety and physical weakness. This is why the psalmist prays to God, 'Take not your holy spirit from me' (Ps. 51.10). So it is all somewhat confusing! That is partly because talk of a 'holy spirit', in many of the senses in which Luke uses the term, is foreign to me and to my experiences. The streets have been changed since Luke's day, and I have to dig much harder and more deeply to uncover how Luke and Theophilus might have understood the spirit world. It raises the question as to whether I can assume that my imderstanding and Luke's are the same. Can I use modem Christian charismatic experience, for example, or modem shamanic practices, as torches to light up Luke's world? There are those who would want to argue that the Holy Spirit, the third member of the Triiuty, does not change. Even if that is the case, the cultural and social context in which the Spirit works does change, and there, for me, is the real problem. Having tried to understand the way some ancient Jews, particularly, thought about 'holy spirit', it is now time to look at Acts itself, and at some of the holy spirit experiences narrated there.

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5. Wind, fire and holy spirit (Acts 2.1-13) In Luke's narrative, after the apostles have chosen a replacement for Judas, the disciples of Jesus are altogether in one place at Pentecost (2.1). Luke obviously wants to link the holy Spirit with that Jewish festival. Scholars have debated long and hard precisely what that link is. Some claim that it is the giving of the Law, and so the experience of the Spirit at Pentecost is a new Sinai event. Johnson thinks it is the intention of Luke to make that link (1992:46; compare also Jervell 1998:132). Berger, however, thinks this is not a valid argument (1994: 189-201). Appeal to the Jewish tradition that Ш^ks the Spirit with Sinai and the giving of the Law has to acknowledge that the tradition probably developed only after 70 CE. Pentecost, also called the Feast of Weeks, was a celebratory feast of the harvest (Lev. 23.15-21) and particularly of the wheat/barley harvest or first fruits (Exod. 23.16; 34.22). It was one of the three obligatory festivals for all Jews, and was regarded as one of the great festivals 'when all your males appear before tiie Lord your God' (Exod. 23.17). In the Book of Jubilees, it seems to be anchored in the covenant traditions of Noah and of Sinai, although it was celebrated in heaven from the beginning of creation until the time of Noah (6.17-19). To complicate matters, it appears from the texts at Qumran that at least some Jews celebrated other 'pentecosts' in addition to the Feast of Weeks (IIQT 18.10-13; 19.11-14; 21.12-16). The link of this festival with harvest and with first fruits is one that can easily be overlooked. After all, it was at Pentecost that Luke says 'three thousand souls were added on that d a / (2.41). They are 'the first fruits of the new Pentecosf (Fitzmyer 1998: 267), and they constitute the foundation of the purified and restored Israel. The time of year is interesting. Some Greeks expected ecstatic experiences of prophecy to take place at this time of the year. Pentecost was celebrated in early spring, and the month Bysios, the first month of spring, was the time when the Delphians believed that θεοφανία and the giving of oracles occurred. According to Plutarch, while in latter times the oracles were given each month, originally the prophetic priestess only gave oracles on one day of the year, the day called Polypythoos, which was the seventh day of Bysios and the birtiiday of Apollo (Plutarch Quaest. Graec. 292E-F). Those familiar with the famous Delphic traditions might have seen Pentecost as the right time for divinely iiispired prophecy to be received and given. In the Acts narrative, the disciples were 'in one place' (lirl το αύτό, 2.1). The phrase is also used in 2.47, where it would appear that it means

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something like 'to join the congregation'. It is a phrase that has parallels in some Qumran texts (IQS 5.7, 6.14 and 8.12,19). Wilcox, who has examined Üie Semitisms in Acts, concludes, 'it becomes clear that 4m το αυτό and ίίπαντα κοινά seem to be - in some sense at least - nearly equivalent to each other'. The former, he thinks, is a 'quasi-technical' term meaning 'in unity' or 'in fellowship', as it does in 1 Corinthians and in the Apostolic Fathers (1965:9&-99). Frequently in these early chapters, Luke highlights the imity and oneness among the believers by using phrases and words such as όμοθυμαδόν (1.14; 2.46; 4.24), πάσα ψυχή (2.43), èul το αυτό (2.44; 2.47; 4.26), απαντα κοινά (2.44; 4.32), and καρδία καΐ ψυχή μία (4.32). It is striking that these phrases disappear abruptly from Luke's narrative after the Anaiuas and Sapphira incident. This suggests that the unity was a sign of the Spirit, and a sign especially of the holiness of the group, a holiness they received from the Spirit. In narrative terms, the incident with Ananias and Sapphira shattered that holiness of the group and therefore also its imity. No longer were they of one heart and mind. Instead, there was a murmuring (γογγυσμός) among the Greeks (6.1). While the disciples are gathered together for their celebration of Pentecost, 'suddenly' (άφνω) a soxmd comes out of heaven (2.2). Daube points out that adverbs like αφνω are always associated with awe-inspiring, supernatural events that are almost terrifying (1964: 30). This particular adverb is used only in Acts in the New Testament. In 16.26, it indicates the suddenness of the earthquake when Paul is in prison in Philippi, and in 28.6, the adverb expresses the speed with which the locals thought Paul would drop dead on Malta. In Greek and Roman legends, when the gods act, they often act 'suddenly'. So, the voice of a god was heard suddenly (άφνω), reports Dionysius of Halicamassus {Ant. Rom. 1.56.3). For all in the audience, this word was a clue to expect something calamitous to happen, or that a god would appear, speak, or act in a wondrous manner. As Barrett says, it is 'imdoubtedly Luke's intention to describe a supernatural event' (1994:1.113). There is no verb of movement. The sound just 'happens' (€γ6ν€το) from heaven. The word order draws attention to the origin of this strange phenomenon. It is sudden and it is out of heaven, the world of God, the world into which Jesus has been taken up, having given the promise that the holy spirit will come upon his disdples. Now the promise is about to be realized. That the disdples experience things coming from heaven is a sign that they have heaven on their side. The source of their power and of their abilities is from heaven. The channel of conununication is open between the heavenly world and the disdples elected by Jesus to be witnesses to the

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actions of God. The same point can be seen later in Paul's experience. A bright light out of heaven (έκ του ούρανοΟ, 9.3) suddenly surrounded him. In addition, Stephen and Peter both see heaven opened (7.56; 10.11). Luke portrays the central heroes as men to whom the heavenly world is opened, and who receive direction and power from that world. In the Pentecost narrative, what comes from heaven is a 'soimd (ήχος) like that of a violent gust of wind', and it fills the whole house where the group is (2.2). There are some Jewish and Christian traditions in which soimd (ήχος) was present in the beginning of the creation. But more relevant is Josephus' accoxmt, based on Num. 16.31, of tiie cleansing of Israel by the destruction of Dotham and his followers. According to Josephus, the ground was moved, and the agitation that set it in motion was like that which the wind produces in waves of the sea. All the people were afraid and the groimd around their tents sank down at the great and terrible noise (σίίίται κιυηθέναος ώσπίρ έξ άνεμου βίας σολ^υομένου κύματος πάς μεν êôcioev ό λαός ττατάγου ôè και σκληρού ραγέντος ήχου κατά τάς Ικίίνωυ σκήυας συνιζημασίν ή

γή. Ant. 4.51). The act of purification is a violent and destructive act. When God purifies Israel with a holy spirit, then something terrible and awe-inspiring happens. This is something often overlooked by commentators on this Pentecost experience in Acts. Luke describes the experience as a cleansing action of the holy spirit that has an element of the destructive about it. A similar destructive power will be seen in the conversion experience of Paul, when that chosen vessel of God is purified. The soimd filled 'the whole house' (δλον τον οΐκον). The whole house is filled because when this Spirit acts there are no half measures. This Spirit fills to the brim and takes over completely and totally, as the language of filling, pouring and clothing implies. So the filling of the whole house with the soimd anticipates the total filling of the disciples with the holy spirit. It is tempting to understand the word 'house' (οίκος) here as referring to the Temple rather than to a family dwelling. It adds to the sigiuficance of the experience if it is understood in that way. There are many instances in both Jewish and Christian literature in which the Greek word is used in this way. For example, in Isaiah's experience in the Temple, 'the house was filled with smoke' (Isa. 6.4, LXX ό οίκος ένίπλήσθη καπνού). On the other hand, if the house refers to a place other than the Temple, then the fact that the believers were δμου έπΙ το αύτό suggests Üiey were at worship or performing some cultic activity in someone's house (Schille 1983: 95; Jervell 1998: 133). That would imply that the Spirit now comes not in the Temple

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but outside it and within 'the house' where Qmstians were gathered. This would indicate a spatial shift from the traditional view that the spirit of God comes to the Temple. The Temple had limits - the gentiles were forbidden access to the 'holy' areas; but in the house there would be no such limits or boimdaries. The holiness of the Spirit is poured out on 'all flesh', as Joel had prophesied (2.28). So the disciples experience the room being filled with this sound coming out of heaven. Ecstatic experience often stimulates the senses to a higher degree. The ears hear and the eyes see 'what cannot be told; what no one may utter', as Paul says of his experience (2 Cor. 12.4). The disciples' sense of hearing was overwhelmed by the soimd, and now Luke says their sight was also involved. 'And there appeared to them' (ώφθησαν αΰτοίς) meaiìs that something not normally accessible to human eyes was revealed or shown to them. The implication of the terminology is that the vision, like the audition, comes 'out of heaven'. It is the language of epiphany and of ecstatic or paranormal vision (as of an angel in 7.30,35; of the Lord Jesus in 9.17 and 26.16; of Jesus after his resurrection in 13.31; and the vision of 16.9). What they see are 'tongues as of fire' (2.3). While the tongues are 'ein sichtbares Zeichen' (Zmijewski 1994:106, emphasis his), they are visible only through this strange experience. They are visible in the same sense as angels and the appearing Jesus and dreams were visible. What appear to them in this visionary experience are tongues, looking like they are fire, that were in the process of being divided up or separated (present participle, διαμβριζόμ^ναι), and everyone present ends up with a divided tongue on them. No doubt many a Greek or Roman would have interpreted this phenomenon as an important omen. Virgil narrates an occasion when the room is full of Creiisa's weeping, but then a sudden portent appears, wondrous to tell. For between the hands and faces of his sad parents, from above the head of lulus a light tongue of flame was seen to shed a gleam and, harmless in its touch, lick his soft locks and pasture round his temples.

On seeing this, the father, Anchises, joyously raises his eyes, hands, and voice to the heaveris and prays, 'Almighty Jupiter {luppiter omnipotens), ... ratify this omen' {Am. 2.680-689). Turning again to the Acts narrative, the sigruficance of fire is that it is a purifying agent. Philo would have understood. For a human to experience a dramatic and radical action of God, purification is essential. He says that Israel, before hearing the Decalogue,

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Chapter 3: Spirit Matters had kept pure from intercourse with women and abstained from all pleasures save those that are necessary for the sustenance of life. They had cleansed themselves with ablutioi\s and lustrations for three days past, and moreover had washed their clothes. So in the whitest of raiment, they stood on tiptoe {Deed. 45).

These disdples, having had this vision, were in a heightened state, as if in a dream. They were 'on tiptoe', to use Philo's delightful expression of heightened anticipation and expectation. The Greeks would have said their souls were now free from the passions of the body. Having been purified, they were ready for the holy spirit which then filled them, and they began to speak in other tongues that spirit gave them (2.4). They are not filled with the 'person' of the Spirit, but with the holiness that the Spirit gives. This incredible, shattering, experience is nearly always interpreted as an indication of the prophetic gift of the Spirit (so, for example, Menzies 1994: 177). And of course it is, inasmuch as the apostles are gifted with inspired speech. But in order to utter as the Spirit gives them ability (2.4b), they first need to be purified by that Spirit. Inspiration cannot come through unclean vessels. It might be noticed that whenever the expression 'they were filled' is used, it is always of the holy spirit, and never simply of 'the spirit' (2.4; 4.8,31; 9.17; 13.9,52. The same is ti^ie in Luke's Gospel: 1.15,41,67). To be filled with a holy spirit, they must first be purified. The tongues are purifying tongues. This is the fulfilment of the promise that 'you will be baptized with fire'. This is the purification of Israel. Immediately prior to the Pentecost scene, Luke has shown how the twelve have been purified from the loss of Judas and by the election of his replacement (1.15-25). This election is not an insigiuficant episode in Luke's narrative. The replacement must be one who was imder the blessing and leadership of Jesus. He must have belonged to the community of disdples from the baptism of John - that is, from the begirming of the renewal and purification of Israel - until the time of Jesus' ascension, that is, until his movement as a holy person accepted by the holy God into the heaverüy world. So now the aposties are in a state of preparation for the promised eschatological purification by fire and the spirit of holiness. The cormection between the tongues-of-fire vision and the filling with the spirit is very close. Too often the fire is seen merely as a sign of epiphany (so Stählin 1970: 33, Johnson 1992: 42), which of course it is. But the point of the fire in this context is that it purifies. Once again, and as will be seen in the episode concerning Ananias and Sapphira, it is the matter of holiness that is important. I have already drawn attention to the role of sound (ήχος) in the destruction of Dotham and his followers in Num. 16, according to Josephus. Josephus includes in that same account a fire of incredible might and power

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that destroys Korah and his followers while Aaron remains unscathed {Ant. 4.55-56). As Josephus tells it, so great a fire shone out as no-one ever saw in any that is made by the hand of man, neither in those eruptions out of the earth that are caused by subterranean burnings, nor as in such fires as arise of their own accord in the woods ... but this fire was very bright, and it had a terrible flame, such as is kindled at the command of God; by whose irruption upon them, all the company and Korah himself were destroyed, and this so entirely, that their very bodies left no remains behind them. Aaron alone was preserved, and not at all hurt by the fire, because it was God that sent the fire to bum those only who ought to be burned.

Through the v\änd-like sound and through fire, Israel was purged and made a holy people. So also at Pentecost, God purged the founders of the restored Israel by the soimd of vràid and by fire and filled them vdth holiness. So, the tongues of fire indicate the purifying process. Like the fire that bums the bush in Moses' experience (Exod. 3.2), this purging fire does not consume the disciples. Instead, it 'sits' or 'rests' upon each of them. It would seem that it is a symbol of the coming holy spirit that then fills them (2.4). This is not the first report of such a spirit sitting or resting upon people. There is an interesting parallel in Num. 11.25: Then the Lord came down in the cloud and spoke to him (Moses) and took some of the spirit that was upon him and put it upon the seventy elders, and when the spirit rested upon them, they prophesied, but they did so no more.

Dunn summarizes well what happened at Pentecost: 1) there was a commimal vision and the disciples were 'in a state of excitement which must have gripped [them] at this time'. They saw tongues of fire and they heard a 'diffuse soimd' (1997: 147); 2) there was ecstatic glossolalia, that is, the minds and tongues of the crowd were 'out of control' and under the control of some 'super' power as an alter persona took over. There were 'soimds, cries, words uttered in a state of spiritual ecstasy' (1997: 243). Rather than use modem psychological terms to speak of this experience, such as 'altered state of consciousness' or even 'possession', I prefer to speak of it as the Greeks and Romans might have understood it. The closest parallels in Greco-Roman world would be with μαντική, as is best represented by the Delphic oracle. The high regard in which this oracle, and indeed the inspired ecstatic state in general, was held can be seen in this comment of Socrates,

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Chapter 3: Spirit Matters In reality the greatest blessings come to us through madness (δια μανίας), when it is sent as a gift of the gods. For the prophetess at Delphi and the priestesses at Didona when they have been mad have conferred many splendid benefits upon Greece both in private and in public affairs, but few or none when they have been in their right minds (σωφρονοϋσαι) (Plato Phaed. 244A-B).

Plutarch wras also attracted by the gift. One of his characters says, rather disdainfully. In popular belief ... it is oiüy in sleep that people receive inspiration from on high; and the notion that they are so influenced when awake and in full possession of their faculties is accounted strange and incredible (Gen. Soc. 589D).

Luke claims the disciples were not drunk, nor were they asleep - it was nine o'clock in the morning (2.15), and so they were wide awake and in full possession of their faculties. In the Dionysian cult, the participants used drums and flutes and cymbals and dance partly to induce a state of trance and therefore to evoke an openness to possession. There are no signs of such behaviour here. On the other hand, one might note that Acts 2.1 says that the ecstatic spirit-filled experience of the apostles took place at the climax or fullness of the Pentecost festival (èv τφ συμπληροϋσθαι την ήμέραν της πεντηκοστής). The climax of the festival meant a time of very joyous celebratior\s, a time when those celebrating were 'on tiptoes' in a heightened state of joy. However, inspired, prophetic speech need not always be ecstatic. Dio Chrysostom recounts meeting a woman whose 'manner of prophesying was not that of most men and women who are said to be iiispired; she did not gasp for breath, whirl her head about, or try to terrify with her glances, but spoke v«th entire self-control and moderation' (First Disc. 56). The same woman went on to speak very highly of inspired speech: the words of men and all their subtleties are as naught in comparison with the inspiration and speech due to the promptings of the gods. Indeed, of all the words of wisdom and truth current among men about the gods and the universe, none have ever found lodgement in the souls of men except by the will and ordering of heaven and through the lips of the prophets and holy men of old (First Disc. 57).

Interesting also is an experience reported by Dionysius of Halicamassus. An army had been listening to a stirring speech by their leader, Postumius, and 'while he was still speaking ... a certain confidence demon fell on/in the army' (θάρσος τι δαιμόνιον εμπίπτει τη στρατιά) with the result that 'they

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all, as if with a single soul, cried out together' (ώσπ€ρ έκ μίας ψυχής απαντες άνεβόησαν άμα. Ant. Rom. 6.10). Apart from the similarity of lar\guage, both Luke and Dionysius are aware that such spirit-experiences are often corporate, that is, a group or a commtmity experiences a common, unifying spirit. That people thought the disciples were drunk is not at all surprising. Plutarch says of the prophetic spirit. It is likely that by warmth and diffusion it opens up certain passages through which impressions of the future are transmitted, just as wine, when its fumes rise to the head, reveals many unusual movements and also words stored away and imperceived.

He then dtes Euripides, 'for Bacchic rout and frenzied mind contain much prophecy' {Defect. Orac. 432E). Peter's reference to the time - 'it is orüy nine o'clock in the morning' (2.15) - is more than a reference to the fact that the hotels were not open at that time. It indicates that the spirit-experience was an early morrdng one. It also suggests that it was the practice of Christians in Jerusalem to meet early in the morning. Later, it is 'at daybreak' that Peter and the apostles are found teaching in the Temple (5.21), and the Christians are at prayer and worship in the early morning when Peter appears to them after his release from prison (12.12). I will comment further on the significance of this time of the day in the discussion on those two passages. Why does Peter bother at all with the allegation of drunkeimess? Wine was drunk during Pentecost {b. Sukkah 59a). More significantly, the celebration of a Pentecost of New Wine, according to the Temple Scroll found at Qumran, included the use of new wine for libation. However, it seems to have been celebrated more than fifty days after the Passover (19.14). Fitzmyer thinks Luke might have been aware of different Pentecost festivals (1998: 235). The drunkenness charge might have another connection, namely vwth Noah. This is, of course, mere speculation, but nevertheless Jub. 6.15-19 does link Pentecost vdth the Noachic covenant. According to Jubilees, Noah got drunk on a festival occasion, but it was the celebration of the sacrifice for the fifth year on the first day on the first of the first month (7.2; compare also IQapGen. 12.15). There has been some misunderstanding about the potency of new wine to produce a druiiken state. Johnson says new wine is a sweet wine and 'therefore a quick stimulus to drunkenness' (1992: 44; compare also Witherington 1998: 137). Zmijewski also claims it is sweet yoimg wine 'which brings on drunkeimess very quickly' (1994: 113). But Plutarch says

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the opposite. He writes that γλεύκος, a sweet new wine, was in fact less intoxicating than other wines, and he mentior« a number of arguments as to why this might be. It apparently was used in some circles in the month called Prostaterios, and on the sixth day of that month they would sacrifice to their Good Genius and taste the new sweet wine {Table Talk 3.7.655). Plutarch says 'we' call it the day of the Good Genius, the Atherüans call it Pithoigia (8.10.735). One argument for its lack of intoxicating power was that it was too sweet to drink in much quantity and so one would not drink enough to become intoxicated. Others noted that when mixed with other wine, γλεύκος stops intoxication. Plutarch notes that its intoxicating powers increase the older the wine gets. Schwartz (1991) argues that gleulœs is unfermented grape juice or must, and so not intoxicating. The problem is how, then, could anyone think Peter and the others were drunk (2.15)? Schwartz suggests that Peter's reply means "These men are not drunk in the way that you think they are (but they may be drunk in some other way)'. In other words, Peter does not deny that they are full of gleulws, but it is not of the usual kind; rather, it is the gleukos of the Spirit that, says Schwartz, Job refers to 0ob 32.19), and that Joel indirectly refers to when he speaks of γλυκασμός in LXX 4.18. Schwartz acknowledges that Acts refers to neither of these two passages directly. In any case, it is a reasonable solution to the problem; and there is little doubt that Peter is not denying that he and his followers are 'drunk'; it is not inebriation caused by alcohol, but by the Spirit. In that seiise, it parallels the advice not to be drunk with wine but rather to be filled with the Spirit (Eph. 5.18). In Jewish literature, ecstatic and drunk-like behaviour was nearly always associated with the prophets and with prophecy. Philo spells this out well in Quis Rerum Divinarum Heres, A prophet (being a spokesman) has no utterance of his own, but all his utterance came from elsewhere, the echoes of another's voice ... he is the vocal instrument of God, smitten and played by his invisible hand ...That is what regularly befalls the fellowship of the prophets. The mind is evicted at the arrival of the divine Spirit, but when that departs the mind returns to its tenancy. Mortal and immortal may not share the same home. And therefore the setting of reason and the darkness which surrounds it produces ecstasy and inspired frenzy ... The prophet, even when he seems to be speaking, really holds his peace, and his organs of speech, mouth and tongue, are wholly in the employ of another, to show forth what he wills. Ur\seen by us, that other beats on the chords with the skill of a master hand and makes them instruments of sweet music, laden with every harmony (259-266).

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Philo rejects any idea that God spoke with a voice like a human being when he gave the Decalogue. I should suppose that God wrought on this occasion a miracle of a truly holy kind (Ιίροπρίπέστατόυ τι θαυματουργησαι) by bidding an invisible sound (ήχον άόρατον) to be created in the air more marvellous than all instruments and fitted with perfect harmoiües, not soulless, nor yet composed of body and soul like a living creature, but a rational soul full of clearness and distinctness, which giving shape and tension to the air and changing it to flaming fire, soimded forth like a breath passing through a trumpet with an articulate voice so loud that it appeared to be equally audible to the farthest as well as the nearest... the new miraculous voice was set in action and kept in flame by the power of God which breathed upon it (ίπιπνεοΰσο θίοΟ δύναμις)... (Deed. 3335).

Philo continues. Then from the midst of the fire that streamed from heaven there sounded forth to their utter amazement a voice, for the flame became articulate speech in the language familiar to the audience, and so clearly and distinctly were the words formed by it that they seemed to see rather than hear them (Decal. 46).

Luke does not vmderstand the wind, fire, and ecstatic speech as phenomena in and for themselves, but as omens or signs, to use a Greek or Roman way of looking at them, or as 'fulfilment of scripture', to use a peculiarly Jewish way of talking. He sees this as fulfilment of Joel and the pouring out of God's spirit on all flesh. The end days are here. The kingdom of the Lord, who has been elevated into the heavenly realm of God, is active and present on earth. Israel is being renewed.

6. The swaying temple (Acts 4.24-31) As I have indicated, when the Spirit acts, the consequences are often shattering and even destructive. This is the case when the spirit 'comes upon' a person - the personality changes, even some of the physical features change - but it is also true of the natural world. In this episode, we have an example of the power of God to shake either the physical groxmd where the disciples are meeting or the house where they meet, or both. The disciples, Peter and John, had been taken to court, but were released by the priests and elders (4.23). They returned to their own (προς τους Ιδίους) and reported what the authorities said to them (4.23). The word

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Ιδιοι implies a separation between this group and others who do not belong. Johnson translates it as 'associates', and says the context 'demands' that it means the other apostles and not the community (1992: 83). I suggest the opposite to be the case, not that it matters a great deal. When the word is taken together with ομοθυμαδόν, and with the singular 'voice' (φωνή), it would seem that a commuiuty is indicated, and a community that is a total unity. I want to show that the rocking or swajdng of the place is related to this tmity of the worshippers. The community is gathered together at a 'place' (τόπος, 4.31). This word can also be translated as 'house' or 'location', but in this context and with this particular action of God, something else is probably meant. It is a word that is sometimes used in other Jewish and Christian writings to indicate the holy place, the Temple, that place where the Presence and Power of God were promised. In this passage, then, the topos where the Christians are gathered (èv φ ήσαν συνηγμένοι) could refer to the Temple (compare 6.13, 14; 7.7,49; 21.28; and Mt. 24.15). The temple of Jupiter Capitolinus could be referred to as ιερός τόπος (Dionysius of Halicamassus Ant. Rom. 8.39.1). On the other hand, if topos refers to a house in which Christians met, the implication is that the Christian conmiimity is the new topos. In this topos, rather than in the Temple, the name of 'your holy son' brings about signs and wonders, and the conunimity is filled with the holy spirit and speaks the word of God (4.31). As already noted, vmity is a feature of the Christian commimity in Jerusalem in Acts 1-4, but with the story of Ananias and Sapphira in Acts 5 that unity disappears almost entirely from Luke's narrative. Here, in 4.24r31, imity is explicitly mentioned and emphasized. In response to the apostles' report, the believers are said to raise their voices 'with one accord' (ομοθυμαδόν, 4.24). The Greek adverb occurs, with one exception, orüy in Acts in the New Testament and then some eleven times (1.14; 2.46; 4.24,32; 5.12; 7.57; 8.6; 12.20; 15.25; 18.12; and 19.29). It conveys the idea of a group of people thinking or acting as one. That group could be in opposition to the Christians (7.57 and 19.29). Outside of the New Testament, Philo uses the same adverb to describe the wailing and mourning of a group of people (Vit. Mos. 136.5) and the tmited voice of a crowd {Flacc. 144.5). Pagan writers used ομοθυμαδόν to describe the common xmited actions of, for example, the Roman army (Dionysius of Halicamassus Ant. Rom. 6.41.2), a city against a tyrant (7.22.3), and of a group who commit suicide en masse rather than surrender to the enemy (Diodorus Siculus Hist. 18.22.4). The imity of the Christian commimity expresses itself in a hymn of praise to God for the release of the apostles (4.24). Philo reports an occasion

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on which Jews, in thanks to God for an act of liberation, sang hynms and songs of triumph all night long. In the morning, they went to the beaches their meeting places had been taken from them - and 'cried aloud with one accord (άνίβόησαν ομοθυμαδόν), "Most mighty King of mortals and immortals...'" {Flacc. 122-123). In Acts 1.14, 2.46, 5.12, 8.6, and in a variant reading of 20.18, the adverb ομοθυμαδόν is also used in the context either of prayer or of hearing the apostolic teaching, that is, in the context of worship. It is worth noting that the only iristance of its use outside of Acts is in Rom. 15.6, where the context is also one of worship: 'in order that you might glorify the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ with one mouth and with one accord' (ίνα ομοθυμαδόν èv évi στόματί δοξάζητ€ τον 0€Òv καΐ ττατέρα του κυρίου ημών Ίησοΰ Χριστού). Here, in Acts 4.24, the adverb is used to describe the actioitô of a group in a response of worship. While it is not uncommon for the singular form of the noun φωνή to be used when a group responds, in this context the singular form reinforces the sense of harmony and unity of the group. There are a number of these imity features of the Jerusalem Christians that find clear and interesting parallels in the community that used the texts found at Qumran. Not only are there similar practices regarding property and membership, but unity in worship has a clear and notable emphasis in the angelic liturgies of the Qumran texts. Some of the Qumran texts state explicitly that a holy Israel joins the angels in praise. For example, according to IQH 3:20ff, the community members join the 'spirits of knowledge to praise His name harmoniously in song'. There is even the expectation that after death the righteous will rejoice with the 'spirits of holiness' (IQH 11.11-13); but also within the living commimity 'they proclaim Thee with the voice of praise in the company of the sor\s of heaven' (IQH 11.25-26). Did the Christian commimity see itself, like the Qumran community, as being with the angels, as imitating and joining in the heavenly liturgy? If so, the serise of being at one with the divine, of being in the heaverüy world, also creates a sense of holiness and heavenliness. In the Ascension of Isaiah, it is only when the prophet is in the seventh heaven that the worship is 'with one voice'. The late first century CE pastor, Clement of Rome, encourages the worshipping community: 'Let us, gathered together in awareness of our concord, as with one mouth (ώς kξ èvàç στόματος) shout with zeal' after the Trisagion (1 Clem. 34.7). And he encourages that before the Trisagion, they 'be mindful of the whole host of angels, how they stand by and serve his will' (34.5). This idea that the worshipping Christian commimity was somehow in imison with the angels and with the heavenly liturgy is also found in the later Clement of Alexandria,

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Chapter 3: Spirit Matters So also we raise the head and lift the hands to heaven, and stand up on the tiptoes at the closing prayer said in unison, following the eagerness of the spirit to direct itself towards the spiritual sphere (Strom. 7.7.40).

Unity of voice, especially in praise, seems to be at its highest at crucial moments within the worship liturgy. According to Ignatius, 'blameless imity' among Christians, both in worship and in other activities, is an indication that they 'share in God' (ad Eph. 4). This unison of song and prayer, resulting in some sign of divine presence, is demonstrated also in 2 Chron. 5.12-13. At the dedication of the Temple, 'it was the duty of the trumpeters and singers to make themselves heard in xmison in praise and thanksgiving to the Lord'. The Chrorucler goes on to say that as a result of that imified sound (μία φωνή), 'the house, the house of the Lord, was filled with a cloud, so that the priests could not stand to minister because of the cloud; for the glory of the Lord filled the house of God' (2 Chron. 5.13-14). I suggest that is an experience similar to that of the Christians here in Acts 4. Their unison results in, or better, reflects the presence of God's glory. Weinfeld suggests that the heavenly choirs sing antiphonally, and in order to achieve 'one voice', the choirs must be arranged according to rank and ability (1983: 429). He argues on the basis of such passages as Isa. 6.3, where Isaiah has a vision in the Temple of two angels who call to one another, singing the Trisagion. Certainly, it was commonly believed that the praises of the heavenly beings were in uiuson. 1 Enoch 47.2 says that 'the holy ones who dwell above in the heavens shall urüte with one voice and praise and give thanks'; and in 61.10-11, 'all the hosts of heaven ... shall raise one voice and bless and glorify and exalt' It seems that there is good reason to see this vmited and harmonious act of worship by the Christians as being consistent with the epitome of Jewish worship as reflected in the Temple worship and in the Qumran commxmity. In Acts 4, the Christians 'raise their voice towards God'. This is no silent prayer. They address God as Master or Ruler (Δέσττοτα), a form of address used also in the prayer of Simeon in Lk. 2.29 and over thirty times throughout the Septuagint, especially in addressing God (for example. Josh. 5.14: Sir. 23.1; Jer. 1.6; Dan. 9.8). In Christian literature, it is used similarly (see, for example, 1 Clem. 59.3-61.2 and Did. 9.2,3; 10.1-6). Here the purified representatives of Israel address God in traditional terms as the one who made the heavens, the earth, the sea, and all that is in them (4.24). This

For a detailed study of the unison of angelic liturgies, see Weinfeld (1983).

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is indeed a powerful song and prayer, as the Christians call on the frightening, creative power of the God of all creation. This is as big as they can make their god! By invoking their god in this way, they anticipate a response indicating the divine presence and approval. The form in which God is addressed here should not be overlooked. In prayer, it was important to get the name of the God addressed right! Calling on the particular name enabled the petitioner in magical ritual to have some power over the deity; and in Christian prayer, it gave the petitioner access to the power of their god. Clearly, the Christians here are wishing to associate themselves with the power of their god, so they choose this power-laden form of address. Within their own song, the Christians include part of a psalm. Psalm 2, apparently understood as having messianic implications in some Jewish traditions (see Ps. Sol. 17.26; Stählin 1970: 77). In Ps. 2, the kings and rulers of the earth are united in their opposition to the Lord's anointed; this is now interpreted as referring to the council in Jerusalem. The uiuty of that coimdl is opposed by the imity of those who belong to the Lord and his Christ. The prayer-song is peculiarly Christian in that Ps. 2 is understood to refer to Jesus, who is 'your holy son' (4.27). The Christians also ask for signs and wonders 'in the holy name of your son Jesus' (4.30). There are three aspects of this prayer that are common in early Christian prayers: 1) Jesus is referred to as the 'holy son' vwth the 'holy name'; 2) biblical passages are cited within the prayer; and 3) reference is made to Jesus' crucifixion and death (see 1 Clem. 59.3-61.2, and the Did. 9.2,3; 10.1-6 for examples). This prayer in Acts finishes with reference to the mighty acts performed 'through the name of your holy servant, Jesus' (δια ονόματος του αγίου παιδός σου Ίησου). Mentioning the name of Jesus in the conclusion was also common and formulaic in later Christian liturgical prayers (see Did. 9.2 and 10.2; 1 Clem. 59.2). It is likely that this prayer was chanted. Chanting is 'inspired' speech, inasmuch as it requires in-breathing; it also has a hypnotic quality. Some Greeks expected that a place where the divine is present should result in inspired speech or song. Plato and his companion came to a certain area (τόπος) which to Plato was 'divine' (Μος), and he said to his companion, 'Do not be surprised if I often seem to be in a frenzy as my discourse progresses, for I am already almost uttering dithyrambics' {Phaed. 238D). The place had the presence of something divine and that induced a frenzied state in Plato. The gathering finishes pra50ng in xmison their powerful prayer to a powerful god who crushes the power of worldly rulers. Such imison in a

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song-prayer, and such an invocation, can have only one coiisequence. As when the Temple was dedicated, so also here, the earth shakes (έσαλίύθη) and they are all filled with the holy spirit and they speak (έλάλουν) the word of God with boldness (4.31b-d). There are a number of ways in which the swaying or shaking of the place can be understood. One imderstanding is that the place shakes because God is appearing. According to Sir. 43.16, 'at his appearing the mountains shake' (έν όπτάσιςί αύτοΰ σαλ^υθηοΕχαι δρη). There is no obvious epiphany or theophany in this Acts episode. However, the shaking is an answer to the Christian prayer of defiance against the Coimdl, and God shakes the earth when God is going to act in defiance and judgment against the nations, or against Israel, or against the whole cosmos. So Sir. 16.1&-19 says, heaven and the highest heaven, the abyss and the eeirth tremble (σαλίυθησονται) at his visitations; the very mountains and the foundations of the earth quiver and quake when he looks upon them.

A shaking might also occur when an individual experiences deliverance from the anger of God. In LXX Ps. 17.7-8, the psalmist says. In my distress I called upon the Lord; to my God I cried for help. From his temple he heeird my voice, and my cry to him reached his ears. Then the earth reeled (έσαλίύθη) and rocked, the foundatior« also of the mountains trembled and quaked, because he was angry.

The shaking of the ground was also sometimes associated with the giving of the Law on Sinai. So Ps.-Philo 11.5: 'the mountains bumed with fire and the earth shook and the hills were removed ... all the habitable places were shaken'. In 2 Esd. 3.18, it is said that at Sinai 'thou didst shake the earth, and movedst the whole world, and madest the depths to tremble'. Once again, the shaking sjTnbolizes the presence of God and in this case, when God comes to reveal his will to Israel. The rulers who think they have the authority and power to limit the word of God are mistaken. The swaying and shaking Temple was a sign from God, who causes the very foundatioris of the earth to shake when he creates and when he comes in judgment for the vindication of his people. This temple-rocking God is on the side of the apostles who are doing his work and nothing will be able to stop them. This shaking while a group or an individual is at worship and singing imder divine inspiration is an experience reported elsewhere. An example

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on an individual scale is given by Josephus, who tells of Moses praying to 'the Lord of the creatures that are in heaven, the earth, and the sea'. When he had finished, 'with tears in his eyes, the ground was sudderúy moved, and the agitation that it set in motion was like that which the wind produces in waves of the sea' {Ant. 4.40-51). An example of a collective experience is given in the Slavonic version of 3 Bar. 6.13: And while we were singing, there was a noise, great as thirty cows, and the place where we stood shook. And I, Baruch, said: What is this noise, my lord? And he said to me, "The angels are opening the sixty-five gates of heaven, and light is being separated from darkness'.

There are other instances of such shaking. In the angelic antiphon heard in Isaiah's Temple vision, 'one called to the other and said, "Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of Hosts" ... and the pivots on the thresholds shook at the voices of those who called' (Isa. 6.3-4). In 2 Esd. 6.29, 'And when he talked with me, behold, little by little the place (locus) whereon I stood rocked (movebatur) to and fro' - the voice was 'a mighty soimding voice ... like the sound of many waters' (6.13,17). Enoch too has a vision in which he hears the sound of chariots, and when this commotion took place, the holy ones in heaven took notice of it and the pillars of the earth were shaken from their foimdations; and the sound could be heard from the extreme end of the sky unto the extreme end of the earth in one hour. Then all shall fall down and worship the Lord of the Spirits (1 Enoch 57.1-3).

The experience of a god's awesome presence as an answer to prayer was familiar also to Greek and Roman ears. Virgil offers a number of parallel experiences in the Aeneid. For example, the hero and his family experience the sudden portent of a 'light tongue of flame' on the head of young lulus, and that results in the grandfather Anchises raising his voice and praying to 'almighty Jupiter' asking for confirmation of the portent. Virgil continues. Scarcely had the aged man thus spoken, when with sudden crash there was thtmder on the left and a star shot from heaven ... drawing a fiery trail amid a flood of light (Aen. 2.692-694).

And again, Aeneas visits a temple on the island of Anius and asks Apollo for a sign to show him the way to his homeland. Hardly had he finished speaking when everything seemed to shake.

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Chapter 3: Spirit Matters the doors and laurels of the god; the whole ЬШ shook round about and the tripod moaned as the shrine was thrown open. Prostrate we fall to earth, and a voice comes to our ears ... (3.84-94).

On the other hand, the andent Greek poets, according to Plutarch, talk of the gods themselves as inhabiting a place (τόπος) which is 'a secure abode and tranquil (άσάλ€υτον), without experience of winds and clouds, but gleaming through all the unbroken time with the soft radiance of purest Ught' (Perici. 39.3). The trembling or shaking of the place is probably not strictly an earthquake. While the verb σαλεύω is used with σεισμός in Acts 16, we need not think of an earthquake in Acts 4. The verb basically means to shake, to waver, to tremble, and it can indicate the result of the wind. Josephus tells of David being at war with the Philistines and inquiring of God about it. The high priest says to stay in the Weeping Groves and not to move until 'the grove should be agitated (σαλίύεσθαι) with no wind blowing. And when the grove was agitated (έσαλεύθη) and the moment came which God had foretold him...' {Ant. 7.77.1). Here the suggestion is of a wavering like that caused by the wind. The verb is also used in Jesus' comment on John the Baptist: 'Did you go out to see a reed shaken (σαλευόμίνοί') by the wind?' (Mt. 11.7). Jesus also used the analogy of the house built on good foundations that cannot be shaken (σαλεΟσαι) by a flood (Lk. 6.48). This agitation or wavering does not rule out the violent force of such a movement. The verb can be used for the tossing of ships on the sea during a storm p i o d o r u s Siculus Hist. 13.100.2), so it is not a gentle breeze. The flood that threatens a house built on poor foundations is still quite some force. The fact that the shaking here in Acts 4 results in the believers being filled with the holy spirit (4.31) also suggests it irught be wind like that at Pentecost which was described as being powerful (βιαίας, 2.2). But this is not a mini-Pentecost. This is the commxmity at worship, and it is a conmiunity that has called on the power of God to oppose the Council in Jerusalem. The Christian commurüty knows the powerful presence of God who is on their side against those who oppose their leaders. As evidence of God's presence, they experience the swaying of the place where they worship and where they invoke the name of the powerful, earth-shaking God. In addition, they again experience the spirit that purifies them as the restored people of God who are commissioned to speak his word.

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7. Snatched by the Spirit (Acts 8.39) After the eunuch from Ethiopia had been baptized, 'the spirit of the Lord caught up Philip, and the eunuch saw him no more ... Philip was found at Azotus' (8.39-40). This is a strange conclusion to an episode packed with 'exceptionally high incidence of divine intervenings and directives ... for the accomplishment of this one conversion and baptism' (Haenchen 1971: 314-315). The surprising conclusion has caused much racking of the brains and has been readily slotted into the category of legend (Schille 1989:212). Along with nearly all other commentators, Scott Spencer believes Philip is portrayed in Acts as a prophet along the lines of Elijah/Elisha (1992:135141). I would add two other significant parallels to the eleven that Spencer mentions: Philip runs under the impulse of the spirit (8.29-30) as does Elijah (1 Kgs 18.46), and Philip, like Elijah and Elisha, is a northern prophet. The prophets of Israel serve as models for Luke's depiction of Jesus in his Gospel and of the apostles in Acts. But Luke's primary interest is not in the prophets themselves but in the God who acts through and in his prophets. The central actor for Luke is God. Luke does not portray any apostle (or Jesus, for that matter, in his Gospel), consistently in the form of any one particular prophet. He can make the one apostle look now like Moses, Elijah or Elisha, now like Jeremiah, Isaiah or Ezekiel, and he can do that precisely because he is not interested in the prophet himself but in the God who acts in and through all the prophets. It is well known that the prophets of Israel, and especially Elijah, were characterized as being men of the Spirit, that is, their actions and their movements were Spirit-directed and Spirit-controlled. Having that Spirit gave them authority to speak and act. In the case of Philip, this is also true. In 8.7, Luke says that Philip had the power to exorcize unclean spirits, to heal the paralysed and the lame. The spirits are said to have left 'crying with a loud voice', an indicator of the phenomenon of possession and of exorcism. It became a shouting match. Powerful beings like imclean spirits have powerful voices just as powerful healers have loud voices. That Philip, or more precisely the word of Philip, had such power and authority over imclean spirits is corisistent with the regular theme in Acts that the Spirit that empowers Paul and Peter and Philip is stronger than other spirit powers. Luke returns to Philip in 8.26. Here 'a/the angel of the Lord' (άγγελος κυρίου) tells him to go and meet the eunuch. In ν 29, as commentators have noted for many centuries, it is the Spirit (το πνεύμα) that further directs Philip. What is the relation between these two directing powers? Barrett

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claims that 'Luke has so much to say about the gift of the Spirit that it is hard to think that he put the Spirit and angels on the same level' (1994: 1.427). But it is not that hard to think. In fact, there are times when it seems Luke does indeed depict the Spirit and angels on the same level. As has been already shown, the link between Spirit and angel is very close in some, Jewish traditions, and there is little to distinguish between the 'spirit of the Lord' (note V 39) and the 'angel of the Lord'. It seems that Luke can use these terms interchangeably, a fact that ought to make us modems hesitate to make sharp theological statements about the personal identity of the Spirit. The more curious action of the Spirit is yet to come. After Philip sat with the etmuch and discussed with him the scriptures from Isaiah, they came across some water. Then, Philip and the eunuch both went down into the water, and he baptized him. When they came up out of the water, a/the spirit of the Lord (πνίϋμα κυρίου) snatched (ηρπαοίν) Philip and the eunuch saw him no longer ... Philip was found (Ευρέθη) in (or, heading towards, είς) Azotus (8.39-40).

Luke uses interesting language here. 'They both went down (κατέβησαν) into the water ... they came up (άνΙβησαν) out of the water'. Barrett and others understand these verbs as referring simply to directional movements. Philip and the eimuch go down and up because 'the water, pool or stream, was naturally lower than the level of the road' (Barrett 1994:1.433-434). But this down/up movement, like some other verbs of movement, is not insignificant for Luke, as we will see later in the raising of Eutychus. Elsewhere, it carries baptismal significance, but it also echoes the language used of the ascended Jesus, who descends and ascends (compare Eph. 4.10), and of other angelic beings who do likewise (for example, John 1.51). It seems to be the language used of those who are from God and acting as agents of God. Ascent and descent is especially the language used of holy ones. There is no doubt that in this passage Philip is an agent of God with almost no say in his own movements. When the spirit of the Lord (= the angel of the Lord) snatches Philip away, it is taking one of its own. It can be noted that the katabasis-anabasis motif is also well-known in Greek and Roman mythology, where some of the heroes journeyed down into Hades and returned. Orpheus, Pythagoras, Heracles and Theseus were all said to have imdertaken such journeys. The possibility that very early Christians picked up on this motif and used it in their xmderstanding of baptism as a dying and rising (compare Rom. 6.1-4) is worth closer examination.

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In any case, the coming up, or ascending, out of the water in this Acts episode is not divorced from the strange snatching action that follows. In his baptism, it is said that when Jesus came up out of the water he saw the heavens opened and the Spirit descending in the form of a dove (Mk. 1.10). Here, Philip comes up out of the water and the Spirit again acts. Are we supposed to think of the heavens opening here, and Philip being taken up, or of the Spirit appearing, as it did in the case of Jesus? The expression 'the eimuch saw him no more' sounds very much like the disciples losing sight of Jesus in his ascension (Acts 1.9). It is also almost exactly the expression used when the angel Raphael ascends after revealing his true identity to Tobias (Tob. 12), and when Elijah ascends out of Elisha's sight (2 Kgs 2.12). There are definite terminological hints that Philip ascended after the baptism of the eunuch. It reinforces in the mind of the audience that Philip is under the complete control of the Spirit. A further hint of ascension is given in the verb 'to snatch' (άρπαζε LV). In almost all cases when the verb is used in any literature it implies violence. It is an aggressive snatching, a taking of something or somebody by force. And, as is the case with a number of violent actions of the Spirit, there is also something transforming in the action. In Philip's case, there is at least a change of location. In other passages, the verb suggests a change in status. This is best seen in Philippians where Jesus is said not to grasp equality with God (2.6). It is also used in relation to visionary and revelatory ascents (2 Cor. 12.2, 4; 1 Thess. 4.17; Rev. 12.5), where the suggestion is that there is a change of location from the earthly into the heavenly world. For Paul, it is not clear whether he is 'in the body' or 'out of the body'. In the case of Philip, the fact that it is the action of the 'spirit of the Lord' implies that it is a powerful, dominating action, and that Philip is totally the servant of that Lord. In the Septuagint, the 'spirit of the Lord' often empowers a person to act aggressively. The strength of Samson is a classic example of this. He receives that strength when 'the spirit of the Lord' comes upon him (Judg. 14.6,19; 15.14, for example). The spirit of the Lord also has the power to change the prophes5nng one into 'another person' (1 Sam. 10.6), and it 'rushes' onto another, evoking anger (1 Sam. 11.6). But the closest parallels to Philip's experience of being snatched by the spirit of the Lord are found in respect to the prophets Elijah and Ezekiel. Ahab complains, 'After I leave you, the spirit of the Lord will carry you to some place I do not know' (1 Kgs 18.12). And after Elijah has been taken up, the sons of the prophets urge Elisha to look for his master because 'it may be that the spirit of the Lord has caught him up (ήρεν αύτόν πνεύμα κυρίου) and tìirown him down on some mountain or into some valley' (2 Kgs 2.16).

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Ezekiel reports that 'the spirit took me out and lifted me up (το πνεύμα έξήρέν μ€ και άι/έλαβέν με) and ... the hand of the Lord rested heavily upon me' (3.14). Interesting is the physical and emotional consequence of such an experience for Ezekiel: 'And I sat there among them, stunned, for seven days' (3.15). Ezekiel has an additional experience along similar lines when a figure like a splendid human being stretched out a hand and 'took me by a lock of my head; and Йге Spirit lifted me up between heaven and earth, and brought me in visions of God to Jerusalem' (8.3). After Ezekiel's visions at the river Chebar, the Spirit 'lifted me up and brought me to the east gate' (11.1) and so another translocation is experienced through the lifting up of the spirit (compare also 11.24). In Ezekiel, we have a further example of the close link between the Spirit and an angel. Both are involved in the translocation of the visionary, both stretch out the hand and so direct and control the seer's movements, and both act as a guide for the visioiiary in the heavenly world. One further example of translocation by the Spirit's power is found in Bel and the Dragon 36. There, according to one manuscript tradition, the angel of the Lord took Habakkuk 'by the crovm of his head and carried him by his hair; with the whooshing of the wind (or, 'by the whooshing of his spirit', kv τφ ροίζφ toû πνεύματος αύτοΰ) he set him down in Babylon'. Yet again, it might be noted that there is a very close association between the angel of the Lord and the Spirit to the point where the two are identical. The Greeks also knew of the heavenly gods snatching up people, the most well-known example being in the myth of Zeus who 'carried off (ηρπασε) golden-haired Ganymede because of his beauty, to be amongst the deathless ones and pour drinks for the gods'. His father Tros 'did not know whither the heaven-sent whirlvdnd had caught up (άνάρπασε) his dear son (Нот. Нут. 5.202-208; compare also Pindar Olymp. Od. 1.40; Diodorus Siculus Hist. 4.75.5). Similarly, Dawn carried off (ηρπασεν) Cleitus to the immortals (Homer Od. 15.250). Dionysius of Halicamassus reports some traditions which say Romulus was 'caught up (καταρράγεντος) into heaven by his father. Mars' (2.56.2; compare also Plutarch Rom. 27.8). These are all examples of a human being snatched up into the heavenly world. A closer parallel to the snatching and transporting of Philip is foimd in Homer's Iliad when Menelaus was about to kill Paris, but 'him Aphrodite snatched up (εξήρπαξεν), very easily as a goddess can, and shrouded him in a thick mist, and set him dovm in his fragrant, vaulted chamber and then herself went sununon Helen' (3.380-383). By the exact same action, without the transportation, Apollo saved (εξήρπαξεν) Hector and then Agenor from Achilles (20.443; 21.597). Dio Chrysostom knows that in the myth Aeneas was snatched away (άρπαζόμενος) by Aphrodite (Eleventh Disc. 90).

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So what happened to Philip? Spencer has no idea what to do with his removal. He simply says 'it illustrates his spontaneity and availability as an instrument of the Spirit' (1992:155). But was Philip spontaneous and available? Spencer thinks it is 'an act of approval', presumably by God of Philip (155), again missing the point. It is not that Philip is somehow a ready or even willing participant in the actions of the Spirit. Instead, the Spirit acts regardless of the disposition of the prophet. Philip is the instrument or vehicle through which the Spirit acts as he wills. It would seem from the parallels of Elijah and Ezekiel that we are supposed to imagine Philip experiencing some kind of ascension that removed him from the sight of the eunuch. The action of the Spirit in picking up Philip and putting him down in another location is yet a further example of the overwhelming capabilities of the Spirit when dealing with a human being. The point is that Philip was under the total control of the Spirit, a point reinforced when Luke says that he 'was foimd' (ίΰρέθη) at Azotus (8.40).

8. Prevented by the spirit (Acts 16.6-7) From a modem perspective, at least, this is truly a strange passage. Paul and Silas go through the region of Phrygia and Galatia because 'they were prevented by the holy spirit to speak the word in Asia' (κωλυθέντες ύπό του αγίου πνεύματος λαλήσαι τον λόγον kv ττ) Άσί?, 16.6). Then in the very next verse, after coming opposite Mysia they tried to go into Bithyiùa, but 'the spirit of Jesus did not allow them' (καΐ ούκ «'ίασεν αΰτους το πνεύμα Ίησοΰ). There is no elaboration or explanation; whatever it was that prevented the apostles was either self-evident to Luke and his audience or not at all important. There are two questions to be considered here. One concerns the relation between the 'holy Spirif (16.6) and the 'spirit of Jesus' (16.7). Are they identical? If they are, why does Luke use different terminology in the space of one verse? The other question is how and why were the apostles prevented and not allowed to move into certain areas? The standard response to the first question is that there is no difference between the spirit of Jesus and the holy Spirit. So Barrett, commenting on 16.7, says, 'Luke means nothing different from what he means by the Holy Spirit in v6; why he has a different expression is not known' (1998: 2.770). Fitzmyer likewise says the two expressior^ stand in parallel (1998: 578; also Haenchen 1971: 484). Stählin argues that the 'spirit of Jesus' parallels the 'spirit of Lord' just as the 'angel of Lord' is the same as the 'angel of Jesus'

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and the 'word of Lord' is the same as the 'word of Jesus'. Jesus is Lord, and so these terms can be used interchangeably (1970: 233). Stählin also says there is no conflict at all between Spirit and Jesus. According to Acts 2.33, Jesus receives the Spirit from the Father and now gives it to his community. So for Stählin, the spirit of Jesus is that spirit which belongs to Jesus and is the power by which he is present and active. Porter also thinks that the holy Spirit and Spirit of Jesus are synonymous, but he is not certain as to the relation (1970: 78-79). Dunn says that the dependency upon the exalted Jesus and its relation to the inspiration of the Spirit and the directions of angelic beings or visionary voices does not seem to have been a problem for Luke (1997:180). But he has some hesitancy about seeing the two spirits as identical: It is not dear whether we should simply identify the 'Spirit of Jesus' with 'the Holy Spirit' (16.6), whether the Spirit and Jesus are being equated in some way (cf. 2.33), or whether the reference is to an individual impulse and conviction (cf. 8.29; 20.22), a prophetic oracle (cf. 13.2), or, less likely, a heavenly voice in a vision. The whole relation between such forms of communication is confused (1997:180).

I would suggest that the two are not identical. The reason for considering them identical is that both are called spirits, and it is easy to identify each as the Holy Spirit, identified as the third person of the Trinity. But Luke describes the spirits differently! One spirit is the 'holy' one, and the other is 'of Jesus'. We need to consider Luke's description of each spirit rather than focusing simply on the spirit itself. In the first instance, there is something holy that prevents the apostles from going into Asia; in the second, it is something about Jesus that does not allow them to go in a certain direction. They refer to two different spirits and to two different kinds of experience. As to the second question, why and how the spirits prevented the apostles, the scholarly answers are even more xmcertain. Porter says we just do not know, but he assumes the spirit somehow 'spoke' to the apostles (2001: 79). Haenchen is clearly imcomfortable with the Spirif s action here, and elsewhere (1971: 486). StähHn suggests five possible ways in which the spirit prevented Paul, 1) a series of various supernormal incidents 2) sickness 3) some form of persecution 4) opposition from local inhabitants in the areas Paul wanted to go 5) the destruction of roads, bridges, and other passageways through floods, earthquakes, or other natural catastrophes (1970: 248).

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Jewett has recently speculated that Paul might have joined a caravan that was prevented by bandits (2000). The problem with almost all of these solutions is that they effectively take the spirit out of the obstacle. Two other suggestions do at least keep that dimension. The first suggests that the apostles, or one of them, had a vision in which the heavenly messenger told them not to go into Asia; or, that the experience was one in which the spirit of the person received such a message. It might have been somewhat like we might call a premonition or a 'feeling' that a certain action is right or wrong. We might use the expression 'something tells me ...'. Stählin rejects this opiiuon on the grounds that Luke has used such visions elsewhere in Acts, so why not here? He prefers to think that it was some word of prophecy (1970: 249-250). At least in ν 6 the holy Spirit is the one preventing the speaking of the word in Asia. Since Paul himself is reckoned as a prophet (13.1), and his movements are sometimes prophecy-linked, the argument is that prophecy is the best solution to this problem. It is the word 'Jesus' in the expression that interests me. The 'spirit of Jesus' is an imusual expression, occurring orúy here in the New Testament. Did Paul see Jesus in a dream or vision? Jesus is the object of Paul's Damascus vision (9.5). Given the angei-pneuma link, should we imderstand it to refer to an angelic being sent from or by Jesus, or - and this is more likely - as Jesus himself in an angeUc or spirit form? I suggest that just as those in Mary's house thought Rhoda had seen Peter's angel (12.15), so here, the angel of Jesus, or Jesus in angelic form, communicated with the apostles. The expression 'spirit of Jesus' might have some parallel with the experience of Curtius Rufus as reported by Pliny. Curtius Rufus was walking in the colonnade of his house when the figure of a woman 'of superhuman size and beaut/ appeared to him. To allay his fears, she told him that she was 'the spirit of Africa', come to foretell his future, namely, that he would be a future supreme governor of Africa (Ep. 7.27). In this case, the spirit appears and is seen by the recipient of the message. If this were a similar experience to that of Paul, then it would add weight to the suggestion that Paul saw Jesus in some angelic or heavenly form. In addition, Luke says that the holy spirit 'hindered' the disciples from moving in a certain direction (16.6). The verb 'hinder' (κωλύίΐν) is used a number of times in Acts. On many of those occasions, it refers to human intervention that prohibits someone from doing something. For example, in 27.43, the centurion on Paul's ship wants to prevent his soldiers from killing the prisoners. The verb is also used in baptismal situations. When Philip and the eimuch come across some water, the eimuch asks whether there is

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anything preventing him from being baptized (8.36). And when the holy spirit falls upon Cornelius and his household, Peter asks whether there is anything preventing them from being baptized with water (10.47). When Peter reports on the incident, he says that he did not want to be in a position of 'preventing God' (δυνατός κωλΰσαι τον θ€0ν). The closest parallel to Acts 16.6 is found in a variant reading of 17.15 where the Western Text says that Paul 'was prevented from proclaiming the word to them' (έκωλύθη γαρ εις αύτους κηρδξαι τον λόγον). No cause or reason for that prohibition is given. Dionysius of Halicamassus reports a case of a dream 'preventing' a certain action (το δναρ έκώλυεν). In fact, it was a case involving 'double dreams' - two different dreams, one to Aeneas and the other to Latinus, but with the same message (Ant. Rom. 1.57.4). This suggests that a dream was at least one way in which the gods prevented humans from acting. The possibility that this was also the case with Paul and his company cannot be ruled out. But there is again that basic question. What does the expression 'holy spirit' (τό αγιον πν60μα) mean in this context? The exact expression is used earlier in 13.4, where Paul and Barnabas are said to have 'been sent out by the holy spirit* («κπ^μφθέντες ΰπό του αγίου πνεύματος). The common understanding is that in both cases it refers to the Spirit of God and that it is indicative of what Johnson sees as a step towards the persoiufication of the Spirit in a Trinitarian direction. But is it so 'personal' in either 13.4 or 16.6? Is it possible that the adjective αγιον is the essential point? In 13.2, the prophets and teachers (13.1) are said to be 'fasting and conducting service to the Lord' (λειτουργούντων δε αυτών τφ κυρίω και νηστευόντων), and so they were in a heightened 'holy* state, and in that state the 'holy* spirit gave the message to set Paul and Barnabas apart for him (αφορίσατε δή μοι) for the work (είς το έργον). Setting apart is the action of a holy being and/or involving holy beings, as can be illustrated from the Septuagint. According to LXX Exod. 19.23, Yahweh has told Moses to 'separate or mark off the mountain and make it holy' (άφόρισαι τό δρος καΐ άγίασαι αυτό). And in Lev 20.26, God declares Israel holy because he has set Israel apart from all the nations (και εσεσθε μοι άγιοι οτι εγώ άγιος κύριος ó θεός υμών ó άφορισας υμάς άπό πάντων τών εθνών είναι έμοί). So in Acts 16, by being set apart, Paul and Barnabas are made holy, that is, they are in a state of purity or holiness. It is possible, then, that in 16.6, they were not prevented by a 'personal' being at all, but rather by a spirit of holiness, that is, a spirit or state of ritual purity. The argument that the basic import of the term 'holy spirit' in 16.6 lies in the adjective gains some weight from the fact that in the next verse it is

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another spirit that is involved. Ш з time, it is the 'spirit of Jesus'. The use of the personal name implies that Jesus himself wrould not allow them to go into Bithynia. What is also interesting in this case is that the apostles 'tried' (έπίίραζον) to go there. The imperfect tense might suggest it was over a period of time and was a repeated attempt. This suggests more than the intention to go, as it might be tmderstood in the first instance in 16.6. In what sense did they ' t r f ? Was it a physical attempt to cross into a certain region? Or was it that they 'tried the spirit' to see if it would direct or allow them to go? The verb 'try' (πειράζω) in Acts sometimes does carry the suggestion of a struggle or a testing of a spirit. In Acts 5, Peter accuses Ananias and Sapphira of 'testing the spirit of the Lord' (πειράσαι τό πνίΰμα κυρίου, 5.9). In 15.10, the Christian Coimdl is urged not to 'make trial of God' (ιτ€ΐράζ€τ€ τόν θ€0ν). So it is possible, and even likely, that at Troas Paul was testing through some spirit-means (fasting, prayer, serving the Lord, as in 12.2) in order to see if they should go into Bithynia. Was it in that testing process that the spirit of Jesus said. No? And did Jesus appear in that process? The fact that two verses later, Paul has a vision during the rught in which he is guided to Macedonia certainly adds to the possibility that this is what is meant in 16.7. But in the end, we are left with questions!

9. Spirit contradictions (Acts 20.22-23; 21.4-15) In these two passages there are again examples of unusual expressions and of actions in which Paul and others are under the compulsion or direction of a spirit. In the first passage, Luke tells the audience that Paul is on his way to Jerusalem. Paul says he is doing so because, 'behold (Ιδού), I have been bound by the spirit (бебеце^од έγώ τφ πμεύματι) and I am going to Jerusalem' (20.22). The adverb Ιδού, here as elsewhere, draws attention to, or introduces, an imexpected action on the part of God. Going to Jerusalem was a significant move on the part of Paul, just as it was for Jesus, and Luke strongly implies that this is not at the initiative or plaiuiing of Paul himself; instead, God 'bound him', and so he was tied to the plans of God. So Paul is not boimd by an inner compulsion but by an external spirit, probably the 'holy Spirit' in the light of that very term being used in the next verse (so Bruce 1988: 390 n. 47; Fitzmyer 1998: 677). On tìie other hand, the distinction between an internal and an external spirit is often quite blurred in Acts and in other andent literature. Either way, Paul speaks of himself here as a prophet, one whose own spirit is imder the complete authority and direction of the spirit of God.

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What does it mean to be bound by a spirit? Binding and loosing (λυίΐν) are common technical terms in magical practices in which people are bound by spirits or released from them. The papyri in particular have provided numerous examples of binding spells in which the name of a demon or spirit is called upon and that spirit is boimd to perform a certain favour for the petitioner. The verb δέω is commonly used in such contexts, and in the context of binding by a spirit, whether clean or unclean, good or evil. In Lk.13.16, Satan is said to have bovmd (ίδησεν) a woman for eighteen years with a particular physical infirmity that did not allow her to stand up to her full height. This suggests that spirits had the power to limit and constrict people in their physical movements, to disempower as well as to empower. As one bovmd by the Spirit, Paul has no choice; he is xmder the control and power of that spirit. I have so far understood the dative (τφ πν^ύματι) as instrumental - Paul is boxmd 'by the Spirit' rather than being bound 'in the Spirit'. The use of the perfect (δίδίμίνος) suggests Paul's bound state was one that lasted for a time rather than being an instant and now past experience. I suggest that the sense might be that Paul was bound to the Spirit, rather than by or in the Spirit. Being bound to the Spirit meant Paul had absolutely no choice but to move wherever the Spirit moved. It is quite possible that Luke also uses the word 'boimd' in parallel and in contrast to the binding in chains (δ€σμά) and afflictions that Paul is about to face (20.23). It is consistent with the constant theme in Acts that the heroes are really above all the plans and machinations of humans. Paul is already bound, not by chains, but by the Spirit, so any other binding is really pointless and ultimately harmless. If Paul is to be limited or controlled in any way, it is to be by the Spirit and not by humans. Paul immediately follows this expression by saying that 'the holy spirit testifies to me' (το ττνεύμα το αγιον διαμαρτύρίταί μοι). The idea of the (holy) spirit testifying is quite common in the New Testament. In John, it is the spirit of truth that testifies (Jn. 15.26; 1 Jn. 5.6); in others, it is the Spirit (Rom. 8.16; 1 Pet. 1.11; Rev. 19.10). In Heb. 10.15, there is a direct parallel usage with the passage here in Acts. There, the holy Spirit is either the spirit of prophecy written in scriptures or the Spirit who sanctifies and makes perfect. Here in Acts 20.23, it is probably the holy Spirit that Jesus promised his disciples in the beginning of the book; the Spirit that has total control of Luke's central characters. How did the testifying by the Spirit occur? It is worth noting that the verb διαμαρτύρομαι in standard Greek texts means to witness in an obstructive or protesting way. In the New Testament, too, the compound verb appears to

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carry a much stronger sense than the simple verb μαρτύρομαι (as used by Luke only a few verses later in 20.26, for example). It conveys a sense of urgency and earnestness, of solemnity and extraordinary importance. It is almost used as a warning. So Joseph warns (διαμαρτυρίς; διαμίμαρτύρηται.) his brothers to bring Benjamin back on their next trip to E g j ^ t (Gen. 43.3). And Moses is told to warn (δι,αμάρτυραι) the people not to transgress the boimdaries of the holy mountain (Exod. 19.21). In the rest of Acts, the verb is often used in a debating or argument context (18.5; 28.23 for example). Its use here might suggest that others, if not even Paul himself, had other plans and other expectations to that of the Spirit, and that the Spirit protested against them. How did the Spirit register this protest? By binding Paul, that is, by taking over his mind and his plans. Wherever he goes (κατά -πάλιν), the Spirit protests against any other evidence Paul or anyone else irüght like to bring forward that there is only imprisorunent and affliction ahead of him. Once again, we are left with an impression that the holy Spirit is xmcompromising and overwhelming, an irresistible power. In fact, the holy Spirit that binds Paul appears to be stronger and more imposing than the Spirit that gives directions through others! While Paul says he is bound by the Spirit to go to Jerusalem, he is told by the disciples in Tyre 'through the Spirif {òià τοΰ πνεύματος) not to go to there (21.4)! Paul ignores them, and Luke adds to the determination of Paul by repeatedly using the preposition έξ either as a prefix in a compound verb or as a preposition alone. So in the very next verse, έξαρτίσαι, εξελθόντες, and εξω της πόλεως are all used, together with two other words with the 'ξ' sound: γυναιξί and προσευξάμενοι. It would seem that Luke is selecting words whose sounds carry his meaning. There can be no doubt that Paul, like Jesus, was on an έξοδος (compare Luke 9.17) and was 'exiting' to Jerusalem. Did the disciples in Tyre get the Spirit wrong? It would seem so, but there is no reprimand or censure for some false method used to access the Spirit. The expression used here 'through the spirit' (δια του πνεύματος) is also used by Luke of Jesus (1.2); of God (4.25); and of Agabus (11.28), so however the disciples at Tyre accessed the spirit, they were in very good company! Once again, it is not clear whether these people had access to an external spirit or whether they acted on the impulse of an internal spirit. Either way, Luke seems not to notice any conflict between the two messages from the one Spirit. I assume that it was not an xmcommon experience, and it suggests that Christians had to use a number of criteria for determining which interpretation of the Spirit to follow. The advice given 'through the Spirit' not to go to Jerusalem is again given to Paul when he arrives in Caesarea and goes into the house of Philip

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(21.8}. There, Paul is in the company of men and women blessed with the gift of prophety from the Spirit. Philip has four virgin daughters who are all prophets, Philip has been portrayed to be like the prophet Elijah, and then there is also Agabus, a prophet who comes from Judea (21.9-10). So there are prophets everywhere! Agabus picks up the girdle of Paul, ties his own feet and hands, and says, "Thus says the holy Spirit (τάδί λέγ€ΐ το πνίδμα το αγιον), the man whose girdle this is, the Jews will so bind in Jerusalem and hand him over into the hands of the gentiles' (21.11). The words τάδ€ Xeyei το ττνεΰμα are very similar to those used to introduce what the Spirit says to the churches in Revelation (2.2,8, for example), and what is said to the prophets of Israel (LXX Amos 3.11; Nah. 1.2). In other words, this is technical language used to introduce an authoritative prophecy. Agabus is claiming that his words to Paul are authoritative and performative. It is likely that this is the same Agabus who earlier 'foretold by the spirit' (έσήμαι/6ν δια του ΐΓν€ύματος) that a great famine would take place (11.28). The audience knows that his prophecy was fulfilled (11.28). Understandably, then, the response of those in Caesarea who heard Agabus (including the 'we' who have already heard Paul say that he is boxuid by the Spirit to go to Jerusalem!) is to beg Paul not to go to Jerusalem (21.12). So once again we see a message from the Spirit that is opposed to another message from the Spirit! Or, if not that, then at least we have Christians not prepared to accept the direction of the Spirit. Paul dismisses the concerns, saying he is wUling to die if need be for the name of the Lord Jesus (21.13). There is no reprimand from Paul to the disciples at Caesarea that they ought to listen to what the Spirit has been saying to him. It would appear from 21.13-14 that there was quite some struggle and debate over the matter, enough to cause heart-breaking tears. In the end, those opposing Paul's decision are 'silenf (ήσυχάσαμίν) which, in the context, might mean they ceased from any further prophetic activity on the matter, or they ceased giving any inspired instruction to Paul. The prophets acquiesce rather dubiously and say, 'The Lord's v«ll be done' (του κυρίου το θέλημα γινέσθω). The word order of their final statement suggests they are not sure what the Lord's will is, despite the revelation they received through prophecy. It might even suggest that they do not think Paul is in fact doing the Lord's vdll! Either way, their response is not 'an example of appropriate response of obedient faith', as Johnson thinks it is (1992:372). So, what are we left with? Paul thinks he is bound by the Spirit to go to Jerusalem and the Holy Spirit testifies strenuously to that in every city he goes. Others in both Tyre and Caesarea, also under the ii^uence and

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direction of the Spirit, tell Paul not to go. Most scholars really avoid the issue or do not see a problem. Marshall sees a problem but finds no satisfying answer for himself. At best, 'The disciples at Tyre may not have been wellinformed on the finer points of predestination, and could have thought it possible to say to Paul, "If this is what is going to happen to you, don't go'" (1980: 339). That is not satisfactory. Porter thinks the suggestion of Lake & Cadbury is best, namely that Paul doubted the inspiration of ihe prophets from Tyre (Porter 2001: 90). But on what groimds did Paul doubt their inspiration? Why doubt theirs and not Agabus' or even Paul's own inspiration (20.23)? There is nothing at all in the text to suggest any such doubt on Paul's part. Besides, Luke has suggested to the audience that Agabus is a reliable prophet (11.28). Others think it simply means a warning to Paul that going to Jerusalem is going to mean his suffering and death (see Jervell 1998: 518 n. 685). Paul already knows that (20.23), so one could only read this as further confirmation of what the audience already knows. But it does not read that way. The disciples at Tyre and Caesarea are convinced that Paul should not be going! Zmijewski says it cannot be a contradiction of 19.21 and 20.23, and so says it is not a direction not to go, but simply a warning about what awaits him there (1994: 756). But the fact of the matter is tìiat, as Jervell says, 'Geist steht gegen Geist' (1998: 518). The overriding plan of God is clear, just as it was for Jesus, and Luke makes Paul follow that plan no matter what other advice or direction he is given and no matter from what source it comes. However, it still leaves open the possibility of contradictory interpretations of the Spirit's revelations occurring within Qiristian commxmities. I think that is what we have here and that Luke felt no embarrassment about it.

10. Healing those with evil and unclean spirits Many scholars in the past, especially those who consciously or otherwise espoused the evolutionary cultural superiority of the European 'man', and so talked of 'higher civilisations', have regarded belief in such things as evil spirits or demonic possession as a sign of a decaying, degenerate, superstitious and bankrupt world. Such beliefs were often interpreted psychologically as signs of insanity or a pathological condition and a sign of the superiority of the western 'dvilized' world.' These views partly explain the A very good example is the work of T. K. Oesterreich, Possession: Demoniacal and Other Among Primitive Races, in Antiquity, The Middle Ages, and Modem Times (trans.

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lack of scholarly interest m these ideas and beliefs and in their consequences. The fact is that a New Testament scholar, especially one working in the Gospels and Acts, cannot ignore them, simply because they feature so largely in that literature. Before looking directly at the exordsm passages in Acts, it is worthwhile making some observations about the understanding of sickness and healing in Luke's world.^ Martin sees two basic aetiologies of disease: imbalance (when the balance between various elements or components of the body is upset), and invasion (when hostile, foreign element come in to the body such as germs or demons). With the former, health is restored when the balance is restored, by getting rid of excess wetness, cold or heat, for example. This is often by the means of drugs or potions or by countering the sickness with its opposite. A fever will be reduced by cold water, for example. It was also common to think that pollution was a factor in sickness and therefore to think that purification was essential in the healing process. Hippocrates subscribed to the balance theory, and this theory dominated with minor variations certainly into the time of Luke and well beyond. He said. All human diseases arise from bile and phlegm; the bile and phlegm produce diseases when, inside the body, one of them becomes too moist, too dry, too hot, or too cold; they become this way from foods and drinks, from exertions and wounds, from smell, soimd, sight, and sexual intercourse, and from heat and cold; this happens when any of the things mentioned are applied to the body at the wrong times, against custom, in too great amount and too strong, or in insufficient amount and too weak. All diseases in human beings, then, arise from these things (On Ajfeclions 1, cited in Martin 1995:146).

Martin says this was the view of the more educated; the others held an invasion theory (1995: 153). Ludan certainly seems to subscribe to the balance theory rather than the invasion, 'Do you really think that certain incantations put a stop to this sort of thing, or external applications, when the trouble has its seat within'? He says there is no point trying to frighten off the fever, it is better to treat it according to nature {Lover of Lies 8-9).

D. Ibberson; London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1930; repr. 1999), especially pp. 157-172. Helpful are P. Borgen, 'Miracles of Healing', in ST 35 (1981), pp. 91-106. D. Martin, The Corinthian Body (New Haven/London: Yale University Press, 1995), especially chapter 6: 'The Body, Disease and Pollution'; H. Avalos, Health Care cmd the Rise of Christianity (Peabody, Mass.: Hendrickson, 1999).

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It is hard to exaggerate the importance of healing and health in that time (as, indeed, at any time). There is no surprise to find a close link also within the New Testament between healing and salvation. It is well known that one can translate ή πίστις σου σέσωκέν ae (Lk. 8.48) as either, 'Your faith as saved you', or 'Your faith has healed you'. The meaning for Luke is the same. Kee (1988) rightly distinguishes between the 'scientific approach' to medicine and healing (begim already by Hippocrates and known very well through the writings of the second-century Galen), and the approach of those who resorted to the temple and shrine. The latter were mostly driven by a lack of financial resources as much as by any 'faith', and they thought that healing was found by sleeping in the sacred precincts. It was there that the healing god of the shrine might visit and bring relief. Asclepius is the best known of those healing gods, and the best-known temple of his is that at Epidaurus. The attraction of Jesus and his followers for the masses could well have been their accessibility to those who did not have the means otherwise to find healing. As will be seen occasionally in this book, one of the motifs in Acts is that for the Christians healing was not a business; they did not heal for financial gain. While on this matter of healing and the professionals, Rudolf and Martin Hengel (1980) show that scepticism was widespread towards doctors, at least in Jewish and Christian circles. They draw attention to the common Spottwort, 'Physician, heal thyself', which appears within the New Testament (Mk. 2.17). But it was not orüy Christians who were sceptical. Pliny the Elder quotes Cato as saying to his son, 'I have forbidden you to have any dealings with physicians' (N.H. 29.14). Martial mocks specific doctors, 'Lately was Diaulus a doctor, now he is an undertaker. What the undertaker now does, the doctor too did before' (Epig. 1.47). He said something very similar about a doctor turned gladiator {Epig. 8.74). Of another doctor he wrote, 'I was getting sick, but you attended me at once, Symmachus, with a train of a himdred apprentices. A hvmdred hands frosted by the North Wind have pawed me; I had no fever before, Symmachus, now I have' {Epig. 5.9). It was a scepticism shared by Jewish writers, a number of whom saw God as the only doctor to be trusted. The Chronicler criticizes Asa for turning to doctors for his diseased feet rather than to the Lord (2 Chron. 16.12). Tobias was blind and foimd no help from doctors, but the angel Raphael healed him (Tob. 2.10; 3.17). Sirach doubts the ability of doctors to heal (10.10), and even wishes that anyone who sins before God, 'may ... fall into the hands of a physician'! (38.15). Philo is another who laments that many people prefer to go to the physician than to rely on God (Sacr. 70), and

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the Talmud offers similar expressions, as the Hengels have illustrated (1980: 338-341). The Hengels suggest that one reason for this distrust is the belief that the doctor's art was still very strongly related to magic (341). This relates closely of course to the idea that sickness is the result of demons and evil spirits. Healing, therefore, requires spirit power, and magic was a means of controlling such power. It is not surprising, say the Hengels, that in Acts there appear a number of Jewish magi or 'doctors' who have access to a spirit-power that enables them to heal: Simon, Bar Jesus, and the sons of Scaeva (341). However, there is no clear evidence that the first two performed any healings or even claimed to have healing powers. There was also the view that sickness was the result of the anger of God against sin and that it could be removed not by visiting doctors, especially non-Jewish ones, but by prayer, fasting, and sacrifice to reconcile the anger of God (R. & M. Hengel 1980: 382). On this basis, the Hengels argue that Jesus cannot therefore be analogous to a doctor. They are not alone. Many other scholars are also wary of lumping miracles and magic together (Kee 1988: 212) and are critical of Smith and Hull who suggest that Jesus was a magician. Much depends on definition. Those who do not like the SmithHull argument, have to acknowledge that the accusation labeled against Jesus in the Gospels and in later traditions is that Jesus was a sorcerer in league with Beelzebul. That is, he required a spirit-power to heal. This is the point Davies (1995) wants to emphasize too, namely, that Jesus first and foremost was a healer, one who used his spirit-power to drive out evil spirit powers and other sickness. As will be seen, there are number of instances in Acts, as indeed elsewhere, in which the healer appears to exude a power from his very body. Classic are Acts 5.15 and 19.11 where Peter's shadow and Paul's hands are believed to have healing powers. This is a common notion in the ancient world. Pyrrhus could heal spleen sufferers by pressing gently with his right foot against the spleen as the patient lay on his back. After his death, Pyrrhus's body was cremated, but the big toe of his right foot remained unharmed by the flames, having 'a divine power' (δύναμιν Μαν, Plutarch Pyrrh. 3.4). Speyer lists other examples of the healing power in the feet and or shoes of kings, in particular (1989:161-162). He says it was quite common in the ancient world, especially in Egypt and the lands on its eastern boimdaries, to think that there was power for both healing and destruction in the feet of gods like Serapis and of holy men (1989:164). The eyes of the gods and other divine figures were also thought to have frighterung power (Strelan 2000: 490-493). Peter and Paul both 'stare' at a sick man before healing him or, better probably, while in the process of

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healing him (Acts 3.4; 14.9). Plutarch discusses the power of the evil eye in his ТШе Talk. As with many of these matters, opinion seems to have been divided. Many in Plutarch's dinner scene scoffed at the idea of the evil eye, but the host thought the facts supported the common belief. Certain individuals and groups of people are known from experience to have power to harm others by looking at them. Plutarch himself supported the theory on the groimds that much sickness is caused by emanations from the human body. Since 'in all probability, the most active stream of such emanations is that which passes out through the human eye', it stands to reason that looking at people can cause sickness {Table Talk 681A). Plutarch also clearly believed that a remedy for jaundice is to stare at a plover because that bird draws out the jatindice and takes it upon itself. The affliction (πάθος) 'passes like a stream through the eyes of the patient. Consequently, plovers cannot bear to face people who are afflicted with jaimdice, but tum away and keep their eyes closed' (681C). The hands also commorüy feature in healing actions. Luke says a number of times that the disciples healed people by their hands. In the general surrunary of healings, people are healed through the power in the apostles' hands. So, in 5.12, 'Many signs and wonders were done among the people by the hands of the apostles' (compare also 14.3; 19.11). The laying on of hands is most often used in Acts for the giving of the Spirit or for dedication for a mission (6.6; 8.17; 13.3; 19.6). However, in the case of Ananias laying his hands on Paul, the action is not separated from the restoration of Paul's sight (9.12.17). And in 28.8, Paul heals the fevered Publius by laying his hands on him. As Pfister said, 'the power of a person was concentrated especially in the extremities of the body - in the head, the hand ... the feef (dted in Speyer 1989:170). There are a number of curious features about healings in general in Acts. In the first place, they are comparatively very few in a book about men of great power; and in the second place, all the physical healings reported are of the lame and crippled. There are no healings of the blind, the deaf, or the dumb as there are in the Gospels. Another curiosity is that there is at best only one case of an individual having a spirit exorcized, and that is when the spirit of Python is exorcized from the woman in Philippi (16.1618). But even her case is not the common form of possession as is foimd in the Gospels, and it does not appear to be seen as a sickness. There are also exorcists mentioned in Ephesus (19.13), but they are not on Paul's side, and they do not succeed with their attempt to exorcize; in fact, the very spirits that they had tried to exorcize overwhelm them. Nor are their attempts at exordsm said to be in relation to the sick. The only explicit links made in

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Acts between demon-possession and sickness, and between healing and exorcism, are found in the three general statements made concerning the ministry of Peter in Jerusalem (5.16), of Philip in Samaria (8.7), and of Paul in Ephesus (19.12). This comparative scarcity of exorcisms and cases of demon-possession is strange considering their predominance in the synoptic Gospels. The lack is especially surprising in Acts given that some would claim that Luke portrays 'the demise of the devil' (Garrett 1989). What is also interesting is that nowhere in Acts is there any mention of 'demons' (δαιμόνια) as there are in the Gospels, including that of Luke (for example, 4.33 where Luke says someone 'has a spirit of an unclean demon', εχων irveìpa δαιμονίου άκαθάρτου). Luke only uses the word pneuma in Acts. While on the point of terminology, in the cases involving Peter and Philip, the spirits are called 'unclean' (ακάθαρτα ττνίύματα), whereas Paul deals with 'evil spirits' (πονηρά πνεύματα). This might suggest that unclean spirits, in Luke's worldview, are orüy to be found in Israel and Samaria, since matters of ritual and cultic purity can only be genuine issues there. Only in Israel can there be boundaries between clean and xmclean; beyond Israel, everything is unclean. Jewish tradition knew of evil spirits like Asmodeus who killed the husbands of Sarah, the daughter of Raguel, who was in tum healed by the angel Raphael (Tob. 3.8). Bible readers also knew that God 'sent an evil spirit' which caused violence between two groups Qudg. 9.23), and another that tormented Saul and caused him to act destructively against David (ISam. 16.14r-23; 18.10; 19.9). It was a very common and long-lasting tradition in Jewish and later Christian thought that the origin of evil spirits and demons was in the transgression of the boxmdaries by the heavenly beings and the daughters of men (Gen 6.1^). The eventual offspring of such unions were the demons (1 Enoch 15.8). Josephus says demons are the spirits of wicked men {Wars 7.185), an idea coiiunon among the Greeks, as is illustrated by Plutarch who talks of some souls of departed humans not being able to control themselves 'but yield to temptation and are again clothed with mortal bodies and have a dim and darkened life, like mist or vapour' {Gen. Soc.). So demons were sometimes associated vñth the shades, the spirits of the dead, an association that is implied in the story of the possessed man of the Gerasenes who lived among the tombs (Lk. 8.27). Spirit-possession was a phenomenon well known in the Greek and Roman worlds. Their constructed worlds, which Christians and Jews shared, allowed demons and spirits to enter into a person through the mouth and other bodily orifices. The body was understood to be a locus of desire for occupancy by demons, whether they were good or bad. It is a view that has

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stayed in modem English with popular expressions such as, Ί don't know what came over me', and, Ί don't know what got into me'. It is also reflected in the 'good maimers' of putting a hand over the mouth when one sneezes or yawns. While the Greeks and Romans may not have used such terms as 'imclean' or 'evil' of spirits, they certainly knew of cases where people were possessed vdth a hostile or harmful spirit alien to their natural selves. It was part and parcel of the commonly-held view expressed already by Pythagoras that that the whole air is full of daemons or heroes and that they send people dreams and signs of future disease and health, to men as well as to animals. The very purpose of purifications, lustrations, and divinations is to deal with demons. "The most momentous thing in human life is the art of wiiming the soul to good or to evil' (Diogenes Laertius, Pythag. 8.32). A typical example of the destructive side of such possession is given by Diodorus Siculus. He teUs how Heracles, like Saul of Israel, fell into a depression (èvéïïcoev elç άθυμίαν), and Hera sent upon him a frenzy, and in his vexation of soul he fell into a madness (elç μανίαν hvkn^o^v) so that he lost his mind (των φρενών έκτος γ^νομίνος) and killed people. He deeply regretted his actions when he recovered from his madness {Hist. 4.11.1). Plutarch tells of a certain Niceas faking demon-possession. His fakery certainly imitated the common characteristics of such possession. He suddenly threw himself on the groimd, lifted his head, turned it about, and spoke in a low and trembling voice, slowly increasing its volume and sharpness; tore off his clothes, and ran off saying he was being pursued by the Mothers {Marceli. 20.5). Apollonius of Tyana, probably a late contemporary of Paul, was a wise and powerful teacher who, like others of his ilk, had the ability to expel destructive spirits from people (Philostratus Vit. Apoll. 2.14; 3.38; 4.10,25, 40). Ludan's character. Ion, knows of people who 'fall down in the light of the moon and roll their eyes and fill their mouths with foam'. When the exorcist addresses the possessed person, the patient himself is silent, but the spirit answers in Greek or in the language of whatever foreign country he comes from, telling how and whence he entered the man. Whereupon by adjuring the spirit, and if he does not obey, threatening him, he drives him out. Indeed, I actually saw one coming out, black and smoky in colour {Lover of Lies 16).

Such a condition or state was not viewed as a sign of maladjustment or mental psychiatric disturbance. It was regarded as 'strange', but in the sense that some external, foreign power was in control of the person.

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I will now turn to those passages in Acts in which demon-possession is mentioned. Acts 5.16; 8.7; 16.18; and 19.13-17. It will be seen that none of these passages shows a strong interest in possession and exordsm, but the concentration seems to be elsewhere. The investigation will only be brief since these passages are also examined under other headings elsewhere in this book.

11. Peter and the unclean spirits (Acts 5.16) Peter's shadow is believed to be able to heal, and so the sick are carried out into the streets in the hope that his shadow will fall upon them (5.15). In addition, people from the towns outside of Jerusalem bring their sick 'and those afflicted with imclean spirits' (όχλουμένους υπό πνίυμάτων ακαθάρτων) and they are all healed (5.16). It would appear that 'xmclean spirits' in this verse are very closely aligned with the physically weak and invalid, as verses 15 and 16 make clear (ào9ev€Îç). Weakness is the basic sense of άσθ€νής, its opposite being Ισχυρός, and it is very commonly used to refer to a physical condition. For example, an army is weak or strong (Diodorus Siculus Hist. 14.45.3), or a woman is weak over against the strength of a man (Dionysius of Halicamassus Ant. Rom. 8.39.3). Here in 5.15-16, some people are too weak to walk and need to be carried (έκφίρειν, φέροντες), and so they are put on beds and stretchers. Given Luke's eschatological view and his dependency on the Septuagint for his construction of people and events, it is possible that the healing of the weak in 5.16a is seen as the fulfilment of eschatological expectation. It was expected that the weak of Jerusalem and its surrounds would receive strength and healing. So, for example, Zechariah says. On that day, the Lord will shield the inhabitants of Jerusalem so that the feeblest (LXX: ò άσθίΐ/ών) among them on that day shall be like David, and the house of David shall be like God, like the angel of the Lord, at their head (12.8).

This expectation is based on the hope that 'you are the God of the lowly, helper of the oppressed, upholder of the weak (άντιλήμπτωρ άσθενούντων), protector of the forsaken, saviour of those without hope' (LXX Jud. 9.11). And appeal can be made to God for help because 'the person who is deeply grieved, who walks bowed and feeble (b βαδίζει κύπτον καΐ ασθενούν), with failing eyes and famished soul, will declare your glory and righteous-

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ness, О Lord' (LXX Bar. 2.18). In addition, some of tiie language of 5.16 echoes LXX Jer 17.26 that speaks of people who shall come 'from the towns of Judah (4K των πολέων Ίουδα) and the places aroimd Jerusalem (κυκλόθ^ν Ιερουσαλήμ) ... bringing (φέροντες) burnt offerings and sacrifices ... and thank-offerings ... bringing (φέροντες) praise to the house of the Lord'. And while these sick people in Acts 5 are not specifically said to be lame, the fact that they have to be carried implies that they belong in that category. According to Mie. 4.6-7, God says, 'in that day I will assemble the lame, and gather those who have been driven away, and those whom I have afflicted. The lame I will make the remnant ...'. The fact is that in Acts, the only healings of individuals that occur are of lame people (3.1-10; and 14.8-10). Luke says that, along with the weak, some of the people carried to Peter were 'bothered (όχλουμένους) by imclean spirits'. The verb όχλεΐν does not imply severe suffering, despite some choosing to translate with the word 'tormented' (NIV). It carries little more than the notion of being an inopportune and uncomfortable disease rather than a tormenting diaboUcal disease. Vettius Valens uses the verb a number of times, often, it would seem, in relation to a 'wet' illness (6l' υγρών παθών όχλούμ^νοι, Anth. 2.37.34), or diseased bile (ύπό μελαίνης χολής όχλούμενοι, 2.41.30). He also uses it in a general sense to refer to someone being 'disturbed' physically (σωματικώς ώχλήθη, 5.6.117 and 8.3.36). Given Luke's interest in Satan and in the claims of Jesus over evil forces, one might expect some sense of bondage by and to Satan in these Acts passages, as in Lk.l3. But to the contrary, the demon-possessed in Acts are presented very mildly. The imclean spirits in this passage, then, are probably not demonic in the modem popular sense but rather are spirits that render the person imclean by the nature of their illness. The general consensus is that this illness was mental - 'This is a Lucan way of speaking about mental illness', says Fitzmyer (1998: 403). But I am not convinced that this is the case. The fact that many of them appear to have been carried would reasonably suggest that they are physically ill. Whatever it was, these people had some form of sickness that barred them from attending and participating in certain rituals and festivals. This was not a light matter. To the contrary, the condition of such people raised questions about their identity as belonging to Israel at all, and so was considered very serious indeed, since Israel was called to be a holy people. Holiness and the unclean, of course, sit side by side only uneasily in such a community. It is also likely that as diseased people, they were incapable of working and so contributing economically to both the wider community and to their own families, and so they were a burden to both. Anyone who was capable of

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lifting that burden would be highly sought after, since the health of the one meant the health of the family and the community. It is also important to remember that many cultures, including those of the Greeks and Romans, constructed the idea of 'self' as one who belonged to and existed in a commxmity. The link between these sufferers and the sick or weak that is made here in this passage is also made in Lk. 6.18, where Jesus healed people of their diseases (άττό τώι/ νόσων αυτών) and those troubled by unclean spirits (ol Ινοχλούμενοι άπο πνευμάτων ακαθάρτων). In fact, there are remarkably close parallels between Luke 6.18-19 and Acts 5.15-16. In both, Jesus and Peter are in contact with people from Jerusalem and its surrotmds; the sufferers are categorized almost identically; and the people think 'magically' about their healer. In the case of Jesus, people think by touching him, the power from his body would heal them (Lk. 6.19); in the case of Peter, people thiiJc his shadow falling on them will heal (Acts 5.15). Similarity between Peter, Paul, and Jesus, especially in their powerful actions, is widely recognized in scholarship (Duim 1996: xiv, for example).

12. Philip and the unclean spirits (Acts 8.7) As in Acts 5.16, so also here, those having imclean spirits are closely linked with the physically weak - the lame and the paralysed. There are, however, two distinct groupings: Those who have imclean spirits (ττν^ύματα ακάθαρτα) inhabiting them, and those who are paralysed and crippled. Here, as with the incident invol\ñng Peter in 5.16, the crowds are involved, and the healings are of groups of people, not of individuals. However, in this instance, those suffering from unclean spirits show clearer signs of being possessed or inhabited, as is demonstrated by the use of the expression, 'crying with a loud voice'. Crying in a loud voice was a common sign of a possessed person, whether that possession was by a holy spirit or an unholy spirit. As Haenchen says, 'The loud voice often betrays that the speaker is driven by the Spirit or a demon' (1971: 425). It is a phenomenon not limited to Christian experience. According to Dodds, 'In all parts of the world the "possessed" are reported as speaking in a changed voice' (1951: 91 n. 61). In Acts itself, Paul speaks in a loud voice when healing the crippled man at Lystra. This is not so that he might be heard above the crowd (so Dunn 1996: 190), but because Paul was inspired and because he was confronting the spirit that caused the lameness (14.10). It is the inspired Stephen who

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cries out in a loud voice in his dying (7.57,60), an action similar to the interesting crying out of Jesus in his djnng (Lk. 23.46; Mk. 15.34; Mt. 27.46, 50). As here in Acts 8.7, so also in Lk. 4.33; 8.38; Mk. 1.26 and 5.7, the demons cry out with a loud voice and leave the sick person. Fitzmyer thinks that this talk of demon possession 'is a Lucan way of speaking about mental illness. Since he, like most of his contemporaries, could not diagnose afflictions properly, he attributes them to demon possession' (1998: 403). This may be so, but Luke's terminology is interesting in that he calls these forces 'imclean' rather than 'evil' (πονηρά, compare Lk. 7.21; 8.2; 11.26). The word 'unclean' suggests it has to do witii ritual and sodal uncleanliness, and so need not be indicative of a mental disease at all. The inability to walk, a physical illness, was also caused by a spirit, in Luke's opinion. The person's mental state might be quite 'normal', although the whole person, body and spirit, was affected by the indwelling of this unclean spirit. The spirit is within them rather than possesses them. They certainly do not possess the spirit. To use Jesus' analogy, having a spirit within the body is like having occupants in a house (Mt. 12.43-^5). The healing resulted in great joy in the city. As mentioned earlier, the sick were a burden and affected many people in a community economically, socially, and ritually. To have that burden lifted meant the individual could now contribute to family and commxmity and take their expected and 'clean' place in their commimity. This was no insignificant matter. To 'be' meant to be in community; there was little idea of a self without a community. So to be a sodal outcast was death; to belong and partidpate within a commimity was life. To have imclean spirits removed from people within a community meant those spirits were also removed from the community itself. So the healing of the individual meant the healing of the community.

13. Paul and the evil spirits (Acts 19.12) As in the previous passages, so here in 19.12, those in Ephesus possessed by evil spirits are linked with the weak (τους άσθ€νοΰντας), who in this case are said to be freed from diseases (νόσους). This link between weakness and sickness is typically made in Luke's Gospel (4.40; 6.18; 7.21; and 9.1). I have already drawn attention to the terminology used here and the distinction that Luke appears to make between spirits that are 'unclean' and those that are 'evil'. It is worthwhile to spend a little time investigating the word πονηρός because I am not convinced that 'evil' is the best way to translate it. While that is certainly not a false or incorrect understanding, πονηρός can

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also refer to something that is painful, and causes distress. It can mean to be oppressed by toils (Rev. 16.2; Lk. 11.34). The problem with the word 'evil' is that it often denotes a moral condition, or a condition brought about by some immoral behaviour. It is most likely that the people here in Acts 19.12 are 'simply' in a sorry state, and that might just as well be a physical state as a mental one. They are certainly not morally evil. The word 'spirit' too can be misleading. It does not mean that the spirit of the sick person was 'evil', but that a 'spirit' was the cause of their pain and illness, an illness that might well have been physical. The case of the woman in Lk. 13 is a good example of a spirit causing a physically sorry state. It is true, however, that these spirits in Acts 19.12 are said to have come out of the person, crying with loud voices, and that might suggest some 'mental' condition. It is questionable in any case whether the western distinctions between mental and physical were distinctions made by Luke or his contemporaries. The spirits are forced to surrender control over the bodies (and minds, if you will) of these people because they have been summoned out by a greater power, one that resides in the body of Paul.

14. The exorcists and the evil spirits (Acts 19.13-17)5 It has been seen already that a possessed person often takes on characteristics that are not normal to that person. It is as if an alter-persona takes over. So the physical appearance of the person can change, as can the voice and eyes of the person, and there are many instances reported in which the physical strength of a person increases alarmingly. A well-known instance linking strength with spirit-possession is that of Samson. When confronted by a lion, the 'spirit of the Lord' seized him and he tore the animal in pieces (Judg. 14.6). In Luke's Gospel, the man possessed by the Legion spirits was someone who could not be held even by the strongest of chains (8.29). Here, in Acts 19.13-17, a possessed person leaps upon people and tears their clothes and threatens their life. The episode is curious for a number of reasons including the fact that there is no Quistian present - no Paul, no evangelist; none. On the other hand, it is possible that these exorcists saw themselves as followers of Jesus, In addition to the commentaries, see T. Klutz, 'Naked and Woimded: Foregrounding, relevance and situation in Acts 19:13-20', in, S. Porter and J. Reed (eds.). Discourse Analysis and the New Testament (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1999), pp. 258-279.

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spirits (Acts 19.13-17)

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but Luke does not. In that case, they were not unlike Bar Jesus in Acts 13 who thought of himself as a 'son of Jesus' but is denied that name by Saul/Paul. In the Synoptics Gospels, too, we have a case of some people exorcising in Jesus' name even though they do not belong to the Jesus group, and, like Luke, some of Jesus' genuine followers are upset with their behaviour (Mk. 8.38-40//Lk. 9.49-50). The fact that these exordsts at Ephesus are said to be Jews does not exclude them from being Christian. So these sons of Scaeva might be read as being much closer to the Christian community than is commonly thought. After all, they do pronoimce in the name (ονομάζουν ... το δνομα) of the Lord Jesus, and when that expression is used in 2 Tim. 2.19, it refers to insiders, although the same verse does exhort those who call on the name to 'depart from iniquity'. The episode is also rather curiously placed in the narrative. Paul has come across a group of disciples in Ephesus who had not yet received the holy Spirit. He lays hands on them and they receive that spirit (19.2-6). Paul is then described as dialoguing with other Jews in the synagogue at Ephesus but then separating to dialogue instead in the σχολή of Tyrannus for two years, working with both Jews and Greeks (19.8-10). The narrative shifts to another general comment about Paul's ministry as God does powerful things (δυνάμ^ς) through his hands and through his clothes (19.11-12).Then follows an interim (19.13-20) in which Paul is not involved at all. He returns as the central figure again in 19.21. It is almost as if in 18.24-19.41, Luke is loosely cormecting a number of anecdotes that have a common link in Ephesus. It is rather suddenly, and rather oddly, that we are told this story of the sons of Scaeva. So, what happens? The episode involves seven sons of a high priest called Scaeva, a Jew. These men were itinerant exordsts who were using 'the name of the Lord Jesus' over those who had evil spirits saying, 'I adjure you by the Jesus whom Paul preaches'. Possibly, they had done so with some success, but on one occasion, the evil spirit said to them, 'Jesus I know and Paul I recogrüze, but you, who are you?' Then the man who had the evil spirit jumped onto the exordsts, dominated them completely and overpowered them, with the result that the sons of Scaeva ran away from the house naked and woimded. Some of the details are confusing, even if the general thrust of the story is quite clear. The first difficulty is identifying these sons of Scaeva and their father. As can be seen in the case of Bar Jesus and Eljmias in chapter 13, Luke, like other contemporaries, was intrigued by names, and so they should be noted carefully. It makes it quite frustrating, then, that we just do not know what Luke might be getting at with the name Scaeva. It is not

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only frustrating; I suspect we also miss something very important, since the 'name' is a crucial element in the story. The spirit recognizes the name of Jesus and that of Paul but does not recogiuze the name of Scaeva (19.15). Scaeva is a Latin name, and means 'left-handed'. The left-hand was in some societies, especially the Greek, regarded as the sinister hand, the weak, the femiiiine side of the body, and the one involved in magic or in perverse affairs. The Romans, however, traditionally regarded the left hand as good, mainly because auspices from that side were considered favourable. It is also of interest that that the diminutive scaevola may sometimes refer to a sexual charm. Varrò knew a 'certain indecent boy's object' (pueris turpicula res), probably a penis-shaped amulet worn to ward off the evil eye, which was hung on the neck of boys. It was called a scaevola 'on account of the fact that scaeva is 'good'. It is named from scaeva, that is sinistra, because those things that are sinistra are considered to be good auspices' (On the Latin Language 7.97). It is possible that Luke either has manufactured the name or else he is playing with it to make the name fit the character, as he perceives that character. The name certainly was not shurmed in Roman history. Valerius Maximus {Memorab. 3.2) and Livy (2.12) both speak very highly of a certain brave Mudus who took on the cognomen Scaevola, so called because of the deliberate loss of his right hand. The Mucii Scaevolae then flourished in the last two centuries of the Republic. Co-incidentally, they were supreme pontiffs (pontífices maximi, Cicero Laws 2.21.52). This Scaeva in Acts 19 is identified as a high priest (άρχιερέως), although some manuscripts simply refer to him as a priest. It would seem they have tried to overcome the problems of 'high priest'; there is none known by that name, and why would a high priest be in Ephesus? Some suggest the reference is not to a high priest but to a chief priest, that is, that Scaeva belonged to one of the priestly families from whom the high priest was chosen. In addition, the word άρχ ιερεύς is also foimd in a number of Ephesian inscriptioris to refer to a high priest in the imperial cult of Asia. This would, of course, mean that a Jew, and one who was a member of a priestly family, would have held that position, and that is unlikely. On the other hand, the Acts text does not necessarily imply that Scaeva was in Ephesus: His seven sons are itinerant and happen to have the reported experience in Ephesus. They and their father could have come from Israel or anywhere else. The fact that there are seven sons might also make us stop. 'The natior\s' (vis à vis Israel) were often thought to be seven in Jewish literary traditions. And the words 'sons' might well be meant in the prophet or magic school sense - they were taught and trained by Scaeva, rather than being his biological offspring. That they were itinerant puts them in the

14. The exorcists and the evil spirits (Acts 19.13-17)

Щ

class of the many healers, physicians, teachers, sages, and ordinary craft workers who peddled their trade from town to town. In order to exorcize, the name of the spirit must be identified and the name of a greater power must be adjured. No identification of the spirit is given, but the name of Jesus is used to exorcize. There is some evidence that calling on the name of a power that one did not personally 'know' was not tmcommon. The example from PGM rV.3019 is often noted, Ί adjure you by the God of the Hebrews ...'. The exordsts had heard that 'the name of the Jesus whom Paul preaches' had exorcising power. Presumably, 19.12 (which says evil spirits were exorcized by the use of Paul's sweat) is meant to be an introduction to this episode. The evil spirit is πνεύμα πονηρόν, and again this is not a spirit of moral evil but one that has brought the man into a state of pain and distress. The pain could have been as much physical as mental. The fact that the spirit later attacks the exordsts illustrates the physical and destructive power of this spirit. It is not unlike the spirit that drove Saul in his attempt to kill David (1 Sam. 18.10). As is often the case in exordsms, there is some commimicatìon between the exordst and the possessing spirit. In this case, the spirit turns the tables on the exordsts. Usually, it is the exordst who asks for the name of the spirit, as is the case with Jesus and the Legion (Lk. 8.30); here, the spirit asks for the name of the exordst! Clearly, the one in control in this situation is the spirit. It is no surprise, then, that the exordsm fails. The spirit remains in control of the man. This is obvious too from his subsequent actions. He leaps on to the exordsts and overpowers them, stripping them of their clothes and wounding them. The destructive (πονηρόν) power of the spirit remains. Юutz sees some parallel with Jesus' healing of the Gadarene (Lk. 8.26-39) in which the healed man is clothed and in right mind. In this failed exordsm, the would-be exordsts are wounded and naked (1999: 273). I think a more useful parallel is found in IQapGen 21.19-22. Pharaoh and his household are afflicted with a 'baneful' and 'evil' spirit (it was a discharge of pus - again, a physical matter) with the result that they were incapable of having sexual intercourse. The Pharaoh calls his healers and wise men and magidans but they are imable to exorcize the spirit and to heal; 'on the contrary, the spirit afflicted all of them, too, so that they fled'. Abraham later heals the household. It was not an uncommon idea that if one got out of one's depth in the powerful reahn of magic then one might suffer the very disease or condition that one was trying to control. As I have already noted, wild, physical actions are not vmcommorüy assodated with spirit-filled behaviour, and leaping is consistent with

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possession. The 'spirit of the Lord' is said to leap on a person in LXX 1 Sam. 10.6 (έφαλεΐται); 11.6 (έφήλατο) and 16.13 (έφήλατο). In Pseudo-Philo, 'the holy spirit that dwelt in Kanez leapt upon him and took away from him his bodily sense, and he began to prophesy' (28.6). Greeks also knew of Ephialtes, the 'leaper on', who was thought to be the cause of rüghtmares (Parker 1983: 248). Interesting too in the narrative is that the would-be exorcists fled naked from the house (19.16). Nakedness was considered to be a sign of broken and failed relations, as is demor\strated in Adam and Eve's realisation of their nakedness (Gen. 3.7), and in the curse on Ham for mocking the nakedness of his father (Gen. 9.22-23). The legion-possessed man lived alone and naked among the tombs (Lk. 8.27). In this episode, then, those who would be exorcists in the name of Jesus experience ejection and isolation from the community and become unclean themselves. What was the real problem? Borgen says it is that the exorcists wanted to use the name of Jesus as in a magical spell and dissociated 'from the proclamation of the gospel, faith, baptism, and praise. Without having any personal experience of Jesus, they used his name just as a spell among the many other magical names and formulae' (1981: 95). But is it only that? I suggest we have here a situation not too dissimilar from that where there is a curse on another power-man, namely, Simon. Just as Simon wanted to buy the authority to lay hands, and was cursed as a result, so also these Jewish exorcists are cursed because they are using the name of Jesus without valid authority. That seems to me to be the point of the evil spirit's question in 19.15. The spirit recognizes the authority of the name of Jesus, and even that of Paul, but not that of 'the sons of Scaeva'. The spirit acknowledges the authority of Jesus and Paul over spirits, but he does not know or acknowledge the authority of these exorcists. The episode soimds also a little like that involving Ananias and Sapphira in 5.1-10. There, two people 'play' with the holy spirit to their fatal misfortime. Here, the sons of Scaeva ' p i a / with the holy name of the Lord Jesus (compare 4.30) to their painful detriment. Scaeva is a priest and therefore concerned with holy things and deciding on what is vmholy. But his 'sons' do not have authority over this evil spirit. Barrett points to T. Levi 18.12 which says that the eschatological true high priest will give authority to his sons to trample on evil spirits (1998: 2.910). Power to trample on evil spirits comes orüy through the legitimate authority given by Jesus to his apostles. This story is not too dissimilar to that told by Plutarch of the oracle at Delphi. Some ambassadors arrived to consult the oracle, but the goat (the animal always used to see if the oracle was auspicious or not) remained

15. Paul and Python (Acts 16.16-18)

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motionless xmtil, after being drenched, it finally shook in imitation of frenzy. The Pythia went into the chamber, dispirited and imwilling. Her replies were in such a terrif30ng voice that showed she was 'full of a dumb and evil spirif, and she reached such heights of confusion that she threw herself against the doorway and frightened off everybody, including the interpreting prophet. Later, they entered the room and found the Pythia restored to normal consciousness, but she died not long after (Plutarch Pyth. Orac. 3.438A). The sons of Scaeva episode leads us neatly into the next episode of a confrontation between spirits.

15. Paul and Python (Acts 16.16-18) Here is another short anecdote in which one source of revelation and prophecy demonstrates its superiority and authority over another. The authority of the Lord of Paul is greater than that of the lords of the spirit of Python. On the other hand, the spirit itself in Üiis episode is not spoken of in negative terms. It is as much a matter of Paul freeing the woman from her lords as it is releasing her from the spirit, although that also imdoubtedly happens. But it is a different spirit to those we have looked at so far. There is no disease or sickness here. Luke does not say that the woman was possessed by an evil or unclean spirit, but that she 'had a spirit of python' ('έχουσαν πνεύμα πύθωνος) or 'python as a spirit' (πνεύμα πύθωνα), depending on which manuscript evidence one follows. While going to a Jewish place of prayer, Paul and his companions met this slave-woman. The word παιδίσκη is often imderstood to indicate a little girl (Fitzmyer 1998: 585), but it need not be so understood (compare Rhoda in 12.15; Bilhah, who is old enough to have a baby, LXX Gen. 30.3; see also Diogenes Laertius Vit. Phil. 5.13.10; 5.14.9; 5.15.1; Plutarch Camill. 33.86; Fab. Max. 20.64). She was probably an adult woman (that is, over the age of fifteen). Python, in Greek mythology, was the serpent that guarded the Delphic oracle. The oracle was based at Delphi, according to myth, because Zeus wanted to find the centre of the world and sent two eagles from opposite ends of the earth. They met at Delphi. Apollo killed the serpent that guarded the oracle because he wanted to take possession of the region, the sanctuary, and the prophetic activity. Apollo thus acquired the epithet Pythios and established his oracle or sanctuary there. His prophetic seer was called Pythia, and she received a spirit (πνεύμα) in order to prophesy. The

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seer could only be a 'virgin', usually an old and/or widowed woman. The Greeks valued the oracle very highly. Aristides says that lawmakers like Lycurgus and Plato were dependent on the Pythian priestess, and that Plato asserted that the Pythian priestess must be consulted whenever constitutions were drawn up and legislations made. The priestesses 'make public speeches before the god, adndiuster the governments of the earth, and become instructors in all sciences and arts, of what must be said and done' (Oration U. To Plato: In defence of oratory 41). The woman in this episode is not named, and that is normal for many women in the New Testament, but more importantly, it was characteristic of inspired women that they were nameless and known only by their sacred title. The phrase πνεύμα Πύθων suggests that her sacred title was Pythia. Generally, male priests controlled the cult, even though a woman was the actual vehicle of the god's utterance. It is possible, and even likely, that the masters or lords (κύριοι) of the woman in Acts actually were Apolline priests. The woman chosen for the oracle would sit on a tripod in a cave, and would enter into an ecstatic state in which she was filled with the spirit of the god (εμπιμπλημένη του ττνεύματος, Dio Chrysostom Orat. 72.12). 'All direct prophesying ... was expected by the Greeks to be accompanied by an excitement which threw the prophet into an abnormal state and expressed itself usually in verse utterance' (Parke & Wormell 1956: 13). Her sounds were then interpreted by others, and that interpretation was then given to the supplicant. There is some evidence to suggest that in the early imperial period the oracle at Delphi was in a state of decline (Strabo Geog. 9.3.4-8). But there is also evidence that its status improved under Nero and later emperors (Parke & Wormell 1956: 284 n. 7). That there was no steady usage and maintenance of the oracle, but that it had its ups and downs is not surprising since that seems to have been the case with the cult of many of the traditional and well-known gods and goddesses. Plutarch clearly believed that the deity spoke through the oracle at Delphi, which is not surprising considering his cormection with that place. But it is also clear that in his time many oracles, including that at Delphi, came under criticism. Their credibility was in doubt because many of them had ceased to function. At Delphi itself, the oracles used to be in poetic form but were given now in prose that was thought to imply that they were less inspired. Another argument against them was that the poetry of the Delphic oracle was poor, but Apollo, whose site it was, was supposed to be the god of poetry. Finally, Plutarch notes that if an oracle was fulfilled, its detractors put it down to coincidence (Pyth. Orac. 397-399).

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This woman, then, is said to bring in much profit for her lords through her divination (16.16). The verb used here is μαντ^ύομαι, the technical verb for ecstatic prophecy. So the spirit that she has is a mantic one. It is possible that she practised necromancy, since the verb μαντεύομαι is used in associating with necromantic practices in Deut. 18.10-11, for example, and most notably in the witch of Endor narrative (1 Sam. 28.8). The dead were often thought to have knowledge and wisdom that the living do not. People with such prophetic abilities often have a perception of people and things that others do not have. So here, it is apparently this gift that enables her to identify and recognize Paul and his friends as 'servants of the Most High God who proclaim the way of salvation' (16.17). In other words, the slave of Python identifies the slaves (δούλοι) of the Most High God. Two slaves of the gods meet in confrontation; the one a slave of Apollo and her KÚpLOL, the others slaves of Paul's god. The one directed by the spirit of Python (16.16), the others directed by the spirit of Jesus (16.7). Luke says that the mantic followed Paul and 'was crying ouf (εκραζεν). The simple verb (unlike its compound άνακράζω), when used in Acts does not refer to spirit-inspired speech. Paul and Barnabas 'cry ouf against their idolization at Lystra (14.14); the crowds in Ephesus 'cry out' against Paul (19.34), and the crowds in Jerusalem do likewise (21.36). On the other hand, Luke elsewhere does use the simple verb to describe the tormented cries of a spirit-possessed boy in Lk. 9.39. In this case, the mantic's crying out after Paul is probably no more than normal shouting, and does not indicate a possessed state. Not only does the woman do this for several days (16.18), but she obviously speaks in her right mind; she is not raving or ranting, not foaming at the mouth or convulsing, as in the case reported in Lk. 9.39. It is likely that she spoke as a ventriloquist, since by Plutarch's time. Python was the name used for 'in-the-stomach-speakers' formerly caUed Eurycles (Ogden 2001: 112). So the woman may have 'cried' or 'shouted' with the voice of the dead, commoiJy thought to be a shrill, high-pitched sound. Paul then seems to perform an exorcism on her (16.18), which is a little surprising seeing that she has shown none of the common signs of possession. Paul is annoyed (διαπονηθείς). I suggest his reaction is similar to that of Jesus who snorts or is angry in the presence of a demon-related illness (Mk. 1.41[D],43; Jn. 11.38). In other words, Paul is in an emotional state, and possibly in a possessed state himself, or in a state where his alter ego takes over. Prior to other encounters with spirit-possessed individuals or spirit powers, Paul commonly reacts in a physical or emotional way. For example, before healing the lame man at Lystra, he stares and speaks in a loud voice, both actions suggesting some hypnotic, possibly trance-like

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state, or at least the state of a man possessed by a spirit power. On another occasion when also confronted with an opposing power, Paul is 'filled with the spirit' (13.9). The verb used here (διαπονίομαι) carries the sense of being burdened, of being greatly disturbed as the result of someone's provocative behaviour (BGAD 2000: 235). The use of the same verb in Acts 4.2 and in Mk. 14.14 [D] suggests strong indignation or opposition to what was going on. So the suggestion that Paul is simply aimoyed, and that aimoyance was brought on by her persistence, misses some of the weight of Paul's emotional state. He turns to the spirit and addresses it, Ί command you in the name of Jesus Omst to come out of her'. And the spirit came out that same hour. Quite simply, she lost her mantic powers. This is not so much a healing as a releasing of the woman from her slavery to her lords, even though the spirit is addressed and commanded to leave. In fact, the point of the story hinges on the fact that the masters used this slave woman for their profit. Richter Reimer raises the question as to whether in fact the woman was really released from slavery. She was now damaged property, and for this the disdples had to pay compensation to her owners, according to Roman law (1995: 176-178). Richter Reimer suggests that the ΤΓροσ€υχή reference in 16.16 is not coincidental since the προσευχή was a place of refuge. If Paul had injured the owners, he had the duty to compensate them, but he also had to do something about the damaged property either by redeeming it himself or by placing her under the protection of the synagogue. Richter Reimer dtes some inscriptional evidence to support this (1995:182). This is an interesting idea, but in the end, imfortunately, it is not much more than speculation. The text says nothing further about the woman. Recently, a number of German scholars understand this episode as substantiating the Christian claim to be greater than 'Zauber und Magie'? Is the woman really depicted as being 'zauberisch or magisch', as Zmijewski (1994: 614), for example, suggests? There is a difference between being imder the control of and receiving revelation from a daemon other than God, but that need not then be interpreted as magic, imless one subsumes all revelatory power outside of that granted by God under the category of magic. From an andent perspective. Christians, like other contemporaries, seem to have regarded the Delphic oracle with some respect, partly due to its long and distinguished history. Christians too do not appear to have doubted that the Pythia was seized by a supernatural power that could be accurate in its prophedes, even if they ascribed that power to the 'demonic' (Parke & Wormell 1956: 36). After all, in this episode what the spiritpossessed woman says about the aposties is accurate and true. As with

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other spirit-filled people in the New Testament, the issue is not what they say or do, but from where they get their authority and power. If you are on our side, then your authority must be legitimate and acceptable, but if you are not on our side then your source of power must be demoiuc and therefore to be rejected, no matter how impressive the power.

Chapter 4

On the Side of the Angels 1. Angels in the ancient literature^ As in Luke's Gospel, so also in Acts, angels appear on the scene very early in the narrative. In the Gospel, they announce to Zechariah and to Mary the births of John and Jesus respectively (Lk. 1.11-20,26-38); in Acts, they announce to the disciples that the lifted-up Jesus will return (1.10-11). In my world, angels belong to art, where they are often depicted as being slightly effeniinate, gentle, golden-haired, in human shape apart from their wings, and dressed in white. For Luke, they belong to the heavenly world, the world of divine power, but they appear in the human world - sometimes in human form - and an encounter with any one of them invariably and predictably evokes fear. They are of countless number and have a wide variety of functions, rank, and power. In Acts, angels reveal heavenly things (1.11), they appear in visior\s (10.3), they give direction and encouragement (5.20), they act as liberators and protectors (12.7-10), but they can also act destructively (12.23). One further passage in Acts suggests a strange ability and nature of angels. Judging by the reaction of those in Mary's house, it was thought that Peter's angel could appear to Rhoda while Peter 'himself' was still in prison (12.15). Presumably, none of this was strange to any in Luke's intended audience. Luke learned of angels from his Jewish traditions, and those are the traditions that largely shape the role and status of angels in Acts. This is strongly implied by the fact that in Acts an angel appears only once outside of the land of Israel - to Paul on the ship to Rome (27.23). It is also significant that in nearly every case it is an/the 'angel of the Lord' who appears and acts, and this term is very common in ancient Jewish literary tradition. In For helpful literature on Jewish and Christian angelology, see C. H. T. FletcherLouis, Luke-Acts: Angels, Christology, and Soteríology (WUNT 2.94; Tübingen: J. C. B. Möhr [Siebeck], 1997); and S. Olyan, A Thousand Thousands Served Him: Exegesis and the naming of angels in andent Judaism (TSAJ 36; Tübingen: J. C. B. Möhr [Siebeck], 1993). M. Mach, Entwicklungsstadien des jüdischen Engelglaubens in vorrabbinischer Zeit (TSAJ 34; Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr [Siebeck], 1992).

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addition, 'the angel of the Lord' appears only to Jews, with the one possible exception of the Roman, Cornelius (10.3), but even he is a God-fearer, that is, someone who supported the local synagogue and participated in its worship. I say that ComeHus is a 'possible exception' because, interestingly, when that angel does appear to Cornelius, he is referred to as 'tìie angel of God' (άγγελος του 0eoû, 10.3), and not as 'the angel of the Lord'. It might also be no coincidence that when Paul speaks to gentiles about the divine messenger who appeared to him on board ship, he refers to that messenger as 'the angel of the God whom I serve' (27.23). The angel who appeared to Cornelius is also called 'holy' (άγιος, 10.22). The attribute 'holy' means more than that the angel comes from God, since Luke has specifically said that it was 'the angel of God' who appeared. Given the cormection between holiness and Israel, the fact that a holy angel from God appears to a gentile, and that later the holy spirit is 'poured out even upon gentiles' (10.45), is the significant point being made by Luke's choice of terms. A holy angel appears to Cornelius because gentiles and holy beings are not incompatible - something that Peter had to leam. As Evans says, 'the idea of the Holy Spirit indwelling Gentiles would be shocking to Jews and possibly even contrary to the teaching of Scripture' (1993: 33-34). The same could be said for the appearance of a My angel to a gentile. In modem popular art and opinion, it is typical to think of angels as gentle beings, whose presence is friendly and comforting. But this certainly was not always the experience of those in Jewish literature who encountered them. To be confronted by an angel was an awe-ii\spiring, frighterung, even terrif3nng experience that simply overwhelmed the one experiencing the encounter, and filled them with dread. Daruel, for example, is approached by Gabriel in a vision and is seized with a terror that causes him to fall to the grovmd. In fact, it was simply the sotmd of the angel's voice that caused him to fall dovm senseless (8.15-18). Daniel later experienced something very similar when again he saw an angel. He says that he 'was powerless, my appearance altered out of all recognition, what strength I had deserted me. I heard him speak, and at the soimd of his voice I fell imconsdous to the grovmd' (10.7-9). Earlier, Gideon was terrified at seeing the face of the angel of the Lord, and feared that he would die 0udg. 6.22; compare also 13.22). Such reactions of terror and fear at encoimtering an angel can be seen many times in Jewish literature. It was not an experience that one would choose to undergo! Unlike in later Jewish kabbalistic literature, no one would dare to summons an angel to appear or to do their bidding. Angels also fit closely the world Luke shared vdth most Greeks and Romans, a world populated by spirits and demora that occupied and acted

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in the regions between humans and the gods. Ovid tells of an occasion when he heard the rustling of wings and was aware of the presence of a being, even though he could see no form. The messenger introduced himself as Fama, 'and I have flown through measureless distances of air'. He predicted a bright year ahead for Ovid, and then disappeared as suddenly as he had appeared (Ex Ponto 4.11-20). This experience and its telling are very similar to the angelophaiuc narratives in Acts. Furthermore, winged divine beings were well known among the Greeks, and Greek art depicts them as very similar to the winged angels commonly seen in popular art today. Some of these spirit beings were deemed beneficent, others were thought dangerous and harmful. Philo exemplifies the world that Jews shared with others. He was a Jew, but the way he describes angels and their functions is borrowed largely from Plato. In that view, angels are spirits or souls that fill the air. Some of them have descended into bodies, but others are 'consecrated and devoted to the service of the Father and Creator, whose wont it is to employ them as ministers and helpers, to have charge and care of mortal man' (Gig. 2). And many a Jew would have imderstood Hesiod, For upon the bounteous earth Zeus has thrice ten thousands spirits, watchers (φύλακίς) of mortal men, and these keep watch on judgments and deeds of wrong as they roam, clothed in mist, all over the earth (Works and Days 124125).

One of the striking features of angelology in Jewish literature written near the tum of the Era is that a variety of figures are identified as angels. For example. Philo says that the Logos 'holds the eldership among the angels, an archangel as it were' (Conf. Ling. 146). And in The Prayer of Joseph, Israel is called 'an angel of God' (Frag. A.l). In at least one Qumran text, Moses is called an angel (4Q377 2 ii), and elsewhere so are some of the prophets. The name Malachi means 'my angel' (compare Josephus Ant. 15.136). In Mai. 2.7, the priest is called an angel (malak) of the Lord of Hosts (compare also Zech. 3.1-10; Eccl. 5.5). Adam is depicted as an angel in 2 Enoch 30.11, and so is Noah in 1 Enoch 106.2-3. In fact, the word 'angel' is such a fluid and versatile term that it almost defies categorisation. It is used to refer to any agent of God, and that agent may be a being from the heavenly world, but it may be an earthly being or even a corporate group. In Zechariah and Ezekiel, and in the pseudepigrapha and apocrypha, as well as in some texts foimd at Qiunran, angels take visionaries into the heavenly worlds and show them the secrets of the uruverse and the plans of

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God for the world. They are seen in the various heaveris fulfilling angelic functions, especially in the highest heavens where they are continuously at worship and continuously in the presence of a God who is rather hidden in glory and light and somewhat distant from the world. The archangels, particularly Gabriel, Raphael, Michael and Uriel, seem to have been giving authority from God to run the world to such an extent that the roles of these angels and that of God become quite blurred, even if the status distinction remains reasonably clear. In some literary traditions, angels mediate the Law to Moses, not God directly, and it is the angels who fight the great eschatological battles with and for Israel, not God directly. Angels, rather than God directly, protect and direct Israel and her heroes; and it is angels who execute the anger and wrath of God (Olyan 1993: 98-101). Angels also play an increasingly important role in revelation in Jewish literature. As Najman says, 'If one looks at the changes in the portrayal of prophetic revelation during the second Temple period, one finds an increasingly prominent role played by the angels' (2000: 315). Their role in revelation is partly due to the fact that they are 'in the know' about many things. Being in the heavenly realms, and in some cases, in the heavenly council, they know things that humans do not know. As agents of God, then, they are in a position to direct God's people, to protect and encourage them, to warn them, and so on. These functions are illustrated often in Acts. It has been argued recently by Gleason (2003) that the popular hope in angels as national deliverers and personal protectors was very high also among Christians of the first century CE, and that Hebrews was written partiy to redirect that 'excessive reliance' to the Son. That might well be the case, but there is little suggestion of any redirection in Acts. In that writing, angels are the overt agents of God who do what God promises himself to do, namely, to protect and deliver the saints. As one Jewish writer expects, the Most High 'will set a guard of holy angels over all the righteous' (1 Enoch 100.4) The close relation between angelic beings and God is seen in the terminology used for both in some Jewish literature. In the Melchizedek scroll found at Qumran (llQMelch), Melchizedek is the divine being {elohim) who acts on behalf of God (el) and with the assistance of other angels (elim). In such literature, so important was the role of angels and so high their status that many scholars explain the worship of Jesus by Christians by reference to the status of these particular angels. For example, Alan SegaP has drawn A. Segal, Two Powers in Heaven: Early rabbinic reports about Christianity and Cnostiasm (SJLA 25; Leiden: Brill, 1977).

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attention to the importance of the high status of angels in understanding Jewish monotheism. And Larry Hurtado^ has outlined and developed 'the binitarian shape of early Oiristian devotion', a devotion that possibly drew on this close and complex relation between angels and God. Within the canonical scriptures, some of the complexity of angel status is illustrated in the relation between 'the angel of the Lord' and 'the Lord' himself. A classic example is found in LXX Exod. 3 when an 'angel of the Lord' (άγγελος κυρίου) appeared in a flame of fire from the bush (3.2), but then 3.4 reads, 'When the Lord (ó κύριος) saw that Moses had turned aside to see, he called to him out of the bush', and in 3.6 the angelic Lord introduces himself as 'the God of your father' (ó θεός του πατρός σου). Such interchange between angel of the Lord, Lord, and God, or a combination of any two of them, can be foxmd elsewhere as well. In the Targumim, it is veiy common for the Hebrew text that speaks of 'Lord' to be replaced in Aramaic by 'the angel of the Lord'. Philo was very aware of this complexity, and attempts to explain it in this way. Why do we any longer wonder, if God at times assumes the likeness of the angels, as he sometimes assumes even that of men, for the sake of assisting those who address their entreaties to him? So that when he says, Ί am the God who was seen by thee in the place of God' (Gen. 31.13), we must understand this, that he on that occasion took the place of an angel, as far as appearance went, without changing his own real nature, for the advantage of him who was not, as yet, able to bear the sight of the true God ... [For] those unable to bear the sight of God look upon his image, his angel word, as himself (Sown. 1.238-239).

It is a relationship relevant to imderstanding the role of angels in Acts since there, too, it is often the 'the angel of the Lord' who appears and acts and communicates. It is tantalising to ask just who that figure is. Luke adds to the intrigue because in his narrative 'the Spirit', 'the Spirit of Jesus', and 'the Lord' act very much like 'the angel of the Lord' or some other angelic figure. This fluidity of figures ought to make us cautious about labelling and categorising them. As indicated earlier, in some Jewish thought there seems to be a very close relation between angels and the holy Spirit. Of course, they share a common terminology since sometimes angels are called 'holy spirits'. For

^

L. Hurtado, One God, One Lord: Early Christian devotion and ancient Jewish monotheism (2·^ edition; Edinburgh: T.&T. Clark, 1998).

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example, 4Q405 22.9-10 says in reference to angels, 'Like the appearance of fire are the most holy spirits' (П''ШПр ШПр mm; for elsewhere in Qumran, see Olyan 1993:45). The book Jubilees makes this connection quite often. Speaking of Israel, God says to Moses, 'And they all shall be called children of the living God, and every angel and every spirit shall know, yea, they shall know that these are My children' (1.24). There is also a reference to the 'angels of sanctification' (2.2), which implies a class of angels whose activity, function, and status had to do with holiness. The same writing puts these angels of sanctification with the angels of the presence as belonging to 'the two great classes' of angels (2.7). The close relation between angels and the holy spirit will be seen in a number of the passages in Acts in which this book is interested. Divine messengers communicated - mainly through visions - also to Greeks and Romans who wrote of such experiences using terminology quite similar to that used of the angelophanies in Jewish literature. Very typically, in fact as part of literary form, the messenger would appear suddenly, often at night in a vision or dream, take his stance at the head of or near the recipient, and give a message of warning, direction or assurance. The figure that appeared was also angel-like in that it was often tall and attractive. So Ulysses says, A dream from heaven came to me in my sleep (θβΐός μοι «νύπνιου ήλθίν δνίΐρος) ... and most like was it to noble Nestor... It took its stand above my head and said... (Л. 2.55).

After Mark Antony had been defeated at Actium, Cassius of Parma, one of Caesar's assassins, had the following experience. As he was lying in bed at dead of night deep in sleep after his anxieties and cares, he thought that a man of huge proportions, black in colour, with imkempt beard and hair hanging down, visited him, and when asked who he was, replied 'Your bad angel' (κακόν δαίμονα). Alarmed by the horrible sight and the fearful name, Cassius called his servants and inquired whether they had seen anyone of that appearance entering or leaving the bedroom. They answered that nobody had come that way. Cassius had the same dream on going back to sleep. He was executed shortìy thereafter (Valerius Maximus Memorab. 1.7.7). Probably even closer still to what Jews might have called an angel is the figure seen by Hannibal, who in a vision 'thought a young man, taller than mortal form' had been sent to him by Jupiter to guide the invasion of Italy. Valerius Maximus calls this yoimg man a dux (1.7 ext 1). A similar figure appears in another report of Valerius Maximus. A woman of Himera

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'ascended into heaven, as she thought, in her sleep' and asked a question of 'the young man (iuvenis) who had been her guide (dux) on her heavenly tour' about another figure she saw at Jupiter's feet (1.7 ext. 6). Plutarch (and others) sometimes used the word 'demons' (δα[μον€ς) for what Jews might have called angels. There is a sense in his writings, just as there is in Jewish thought, of a distance between the gods and humans that is filled by demigods or daemons, and by angels. So he thought it 'foolish and childish in the extreme' to think that the gods enter the bodies of prophets and act like ventriloquists, and he gives the following reason, 'if he (the god) allows himself to become entangled in men's needs, he is prodigal with his majesty and he does not observe the dignity and greataess of his preeminence' (Defect. Orac. 414). Cleombrotus, one of Plutarch's comparuons, agrees and says that those who refuse to leave us the race of demigods (δαιμόνων γένος) make the relation of gods and men remote and alien by doing away with the 'inteφretive and ministering nature', as Plato has called it; or else they force us to bring a disorderly confusion of all things, in which we bring the god into men's emotíoi\s and activities, drawing him down to our needs, as the women of Thessaly are said to draw down the moon (Defect. Orac. 416).

The well-known daimon of Socrates is very similar to the notion of an angel, especially a guardian angel. Theocritus writes that just as Homer says Athena stood at the side of (παρισταμέΜίν) Odysseus during his labours, so 'heaven seems to have attached to Socrates from his earliest years as his daimon in Hfe a vision of this kind, which alone showed him the way, illumining his path' (Plutarch Sign Soc. 580). It would appear that Socrates had frequent visions of, or directions from, this daimon. Theocritus gives the example of when Socrates 'suddenly (αφνω) stopped short and fell silent, lost for a good time in thoughf, then decided not to go along a certain path; his companions kept going and met with misfortune (Plutarch Sign Soc. 581). So while it is true that angels appear in Acts totally in a Jewish or Christian context, outsiders certainly would have imderstood their function and role. They would also have seen the point very easily that the Omstians were making: Peter and Paul and the others had a divine power or a god on their side. Angels will be discussed in a number of contexts in this book. As in Luke's Gospel, they appear at crucial points in the Acts narrative to annoxmce, direct, comfort or liberate. So they are found at the ascension of Jesus, in visions to key characters, and in prison escapes. The orüy passage

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in which they are mentioned which will not be examined in this book is Acts 7, where Stephen describes them as revealers of Torah (7.38,53), a notion not uncommon in Jewish thinking aroimd the time of Luke's writing and later. And there is one other incident I have not yet mentioned, and in a sense this has the strangest reference to angels of them all. It is said in Acts 6.15 that the Coxmdl 'looked intently at Stephen, and saw that his face was like the face of an angel'. It is to this incident that I now tum.

2. Angel-faced Stephen (Acts 6.15) Luke prepares the reader for something special about Stephen. Within five verses, he is described three times as being 'full' or 'filled'. He is introduced into the narrative as being among the seven who are all 'full of (πλήρεις) the spirit and wisdom' (6.3), and as a man 'full of (πλήρης) faith and the spirit' (6.5). Luke then separates Stephen from the other six in the narrative and makes him the central character as one who is 'full of (πλήρης) grace and power', who does great wonders and signs among the people (6.8). In this way, Stephen is a figure very similar to Peter, Philip and Paul. Like them, Stephen is a 'filled' man; like them, it is not just his actions that are powerful, but also, and especially, his words. Like Jesus, Stephen is 'mighty in deed and word before God and before the people' (compare Lk. 24.19). His opponents (again, like those of the others just mentioned) do not have the strength to oppose the wisdom and the spirit in which he speaks (τη σοφία καΐ τφ ττνβύματι ώ βλάλβι, 6.10). Many of these characteristics of Stephen are angel-like. The angels have a power that is irresistible, they are faithful in their service of God, their words are like the words of God in that they mediate the will of God, and they are commonly linked with wisdom (Mach 1992: 133-142). Angels also witness the glory of God and they know God's intentions for Israel and the nations. These are all attributes given to Stephen. Stephen has been arrested and brought to trial before the Sanhédrin (6.12). It is not known precisely to which group this refers. It is possible there were two or even three Sanhédrins in Jerusalem, each with different headship. Most likely, this Sanhédrin was a religious authority rather than a legal or political one. Given the description of Stephen as full of wisdom and the spirit, it is striking to note that the Babyloiuan Talmud says that a member of the Sanhédrin had to be a person of stature, of wisdom and 'a master of magic' (ba'al keshafim, b. Men. 65a).

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Stephen is accused of blaspheming against the temple, the Law and the traditions of Moses. He himself has not yet spoken a word in the narrative. Before he does eventually speak, writes Luke, 'all those sitting in the Sanhédrin stared intently at him and saw his face as if it were the face of an angel' (άτίνίσαντες είς αυτόν πάντες οΐ καθ€ζόμ€νοι kv τφ συν6δρίφ elôov το πρόσωπον αύτοδ ώσεί πρόσωπον αγγέλου). This is no ordinary vision on the part of the Sanhédrin. The act of 'gazing intently' or 'staring' (άτ6νίζ€ΐν) nearly always suggests some paranormal vision, an almost ecstatic experience, in the sense that one is overcome by an awareness and consciousness that is heightened above the normal. It is a verb that indicates looking at something holy and heavenly, something that is not 'normal'. For example, the disciples 'stare' (ατενίζοντες) at Jesus as he ascends into the heavens (1.10), and Stephen himself 'stares' (άτενίσας) into heaven and sees the glory of God (7.55). Josephus reports that as certain martyrs were dying, they 'stared' (άτενίσας) at the Temple (Wars 5.517; see Strelan 1999). So here in 6.15, the Sanhédrin stares into something holy and heavenly; they see the face of Stephen as the face of an angel. Stephen is a man of God, almost a God-man, full of God's favour and God's wisdom. There may also be something 'magical' about the staring of the Sanhédrin, a kind of 'giving the eye' to Stephen. As such, it would be a statement, in body language, of power. Paul stared (άτενίσας) at a cripple before he healed him (14.9) in what might also be a demonstration of authoritative power (Strelan 2000: 492). The Sanhédrin sat in a semicircle with the president in the middle and the elders on his right and left. Circles and semi-circles are commorüy thought to be formations loaded with magical power. If it were the case that the members of this Sanhédrin had to be 'masters of magic', then their semicircular formation and their staring might have been an attempt to marupulate and control the angel-faced Stephen through the power of the magical eye. If so, it was to no avail. Attention is focused on Stephen's face. Its perceived transformation has some parallel in the transfiguration of Jesus. In his Gospel, Luke says that while Jesus was praying, 'the form of his face became other' (το είδος του προσώπου αΰτου 'έτερον, 9.29). Luke links that transfiguration closely with Jesus' 'exodus', that is, with his death and resurrection (9.31). Three times in as many verses, Luke refers to Jesus' face (πρόσωπον) in cormection with his move to Jerusalem (9.51-53). The angel-faced Stephen's speech evokes calls for his death (7.54), and it may be that his last words are the final straw. Stephen says that the Sanhédrin has 'received the law as delivered by angels and did not keep it' (7.53). The implication is that through this angel-faced prophet they again have 'received the law', and again they do not accept it.

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They refused to accept the law as conunionicated by the Righteous One, Jesus, and they refuse to accept it from the righteous Stephen. The link between the righteous ones and the angels is one familiar from the Qumran texts. For example, the cleansed singer of the Thanksgiving Hjmtm claims to stand 'with the host of the Holy Ones ... with the congregation of the sons of heaven' (IQH 3.21-23; compare also 4.24; 11.10-12; IQS 11.7-9; IQSa 2.8). The Damascus Document rules that no lame or deaf or blind or madman can enter the commuiuty 'because the angels of holiness are with them' (CD 15.16-18). Stephen, like those at Qumran, belongs to the holy ones, the righteous, and there is a strong affinity, even likeness, between them and the angels. It is not surprising that there is a transformation of Stephen's physical appearance. Spirit-filled people, whether possessed by a holy spirit or an evil spirit, commonly experience some kind of physical transformation. The voice changes, the eyes and the face take on a different appearance. This is well illustrated by Philo when speaking of the inspired Abraham: Everything in him changed to something better, eyes, complexion, stature, carriage, movements and voice. For the divine spirit which was breathed upon him from on high made its lodging in his soul, and invested his body with singular beauty, his voice with persuasiveness, and his hearers with understanding {Vit. Abr. 217-218).

Given the context in which Stephen then goes on to interpret the Law and the tradition (7.1-53), one might remember that Moses, the giver of Torah, was said to have a face that 'shone because he had been talking with God'. When Moses had finished speaking to Israel, he put on a veil; so glorious was his face (Exod. 34.29-35). And there are a few other traditions of humans described as having angel-like faces. The Targum on Song Sol. 1.5 says, 'The splendour of the glory of their (Israel's) face was as great as that of the angels'. Esther speaks of the glorious appearance of the king's face, like that of an angel {Apoc. Esd. 15.13). Another tradition tells of Sammael, the angel of death, looking at Moses as he wrote the divine Name. It seemed to him that Moses' face resembled the sim, and that he looked like 'the angel of the Lord of Hosts' {Deut. Rob. 11.207d). And Paul, according to one andent tradition, 'at times ... looked like a man, at times he had the face of an angel' {Acts PI. 3). An interesting story is also told about David in his slaying of Goliath. As Goliath was djong, he asked David to kill him quickly. David told him first to open his eyes and see who had killed him. 'And the Philistine looked

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and saw the angel and said, "Thou hast not killed me by thyself, but he that was with thee, whose form is not as the form of a man'". David then cut off his head. Then 'the angel of the Lord lifted up the face of David and no man knew him ... there was no man who knew who he was' (LAB 61.7-9). And what does the face of an angel look like? Angels are said to be shining creatures, shining because they come from the presence of God and reflect his radiance. Gideon was afraid that he would die because he had 'seen the angel of the Lord face to face' (Judg. 6.22). So there is something awe-inspiring about an angel's face. In 1 Enoch, the angels, 'the holy sons of God', are said to have faces that 'shone like the snow' (71.1). The visionary in 2 Enoch sees seven bands of angels 'their faces shining more than the sun's shining, glistening' (19.1). In the Joseph and Asenath story, Asenath has a vision of an angel who appears 'like Joseph in every respecf, but the difference is largely in the face. The angel's face was 'like lightning, and his eyes were like the light of the sim, and the hairs of his head like flames of fire, and his hands and feet like iron from the fire' (14.9). If Stephen's face looked anything like that to the Sanhédrin, then the futility of their opposition to him is heightened. There is another Jewish expression worth noting. It is found in Exod. 23.20 (compare also 33.2 and Mai. 3.1), a passage cited in the Christian Gospels (Mt. 11.10; Mk. 1.2; Lk. 7.27), which says, Ί will send my angel before your face'. The link between some kind of physical transformation and an angel going 'before the face' is made in Pseudo-Philo. In that text, Kanez was clothed with the spirit of might and changed into another man ... And the Lord sent before his face the angel Ingethel (or Gethel) who is set over the hidden things, and worketh imseen ... (27.10).

There is also commonly a Штк made between prophet and angel. In some of the literature, an angel represents the prophetic spirit and brings the prophets the word of God. As noted earlier, Haggai is called God's angel, and the very name of the prophet Malachi means 'my angel' (2 Esd. 1.40, 'Malachi, who is also called the angel of the Lord'). That angels and prophets were in commimication is seen in the lying claim of an old prophet of Bethel that he had communication from an angel who 'spoke to me by the word of the Lord' (1 Kgs. 13.18). The link is quite vmderstandable considering that the prophet, like the angels, is in on the counsel of God, and both have access to the heavenly world. Both speak for God, fight for God and intercede for Israel before God.

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So Luke prepares his audience for Stephen's speech. It is going to be inspired, it is going to be, like the Law, commurucated by an angel. It also prepares the audience for Stephen's death. The false accusations and the sentence of the Sanhédrin, and even the stones that kill him, ultimately cannot separate him from his true destiny as one whose spirit will be received by the Lord Jesus (7.59). There is the sense, like there is with Peter and with Paul, that ultimately Stephen is unharmed. It is a sense increased by the very last words Luke uses of him: 'He fell asleep' (έκοιμήθη). I suspect this is more than a euphemism for death (pace Johnson 1992: 141), although of course it is that. It is also a denial of the power of death over the righteous, a thought taken up later in Acts in the case of Dorcas (9.38-42), of Paul (14.1920), and of Eutychus (20.7-12). Angels do not taste death, and Luke is aware of the hope that in the resurrection the righteous will be 'like the angels' (loáYYeXoL,Lk 20.36).

Chapter 5

Seeing Things 1. Introduction Consdousness is an extremely complex phenomenon and one that intrigues the modem scientific world. So also does the question of reality, especially the reality that is experienced in sleep and in dreams. How does that reality relate to the reality experienced in the waking state? How do we imderstand the vision experience? What is the relation between such vision and 'normal' vision? What happens, physiologically and neurologically, when one's state of consdousness is altered? These are just some of the many questions that remain largely unanswered, despite the fact that all of us experience such things. Just one of the many differences between modem western concepts and those of the andents is the tendency of the former to view things - and especially the hiunan being - as fragmented rather than as integrated. Often the relation between the psychological and the physical, for example, is one of divorce rather than of integration. 'Subjective' and 'objective' are seen as opposites rather than as complementary. Dunn thinks the vision of Paul, for example, 'carmot be described as physical perception' but can only be classified as 'visionary perception' (1975: 106). It is a distinction and classification that is typically modem. The Greeks and Romans, however, tended to see the human as integrated; the physical and the psychological were intertwined in a consdousness that involved the whole person. This has relevance for their understanding of the 'reality' of dreams and visions and other similar experiences. Dreams, visions, and trances mark the landscape of the literature of the andent Mediterranean world to a considerable degree. Lucretius says that the cults of the gods exist because 'men used to see with waking mind, and still more in sleep, gods conspicuous in beauty and of marvellous bodily stature' {Rer. Nat. 5.1169-1171). And in dreams, humans 'saw them perform many marvellous feats and feel no distress as a result' (5.1181-1182). At a basic level, dreams, along with oracles and prophedes, were considered by some to be charmels of divination, giving humans the imique ability to

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ascertain the future. They are gifts 'bestowed by the immortal gods on humans, and on no other creature' and are sigiis of the gods' gracious care and concern for humans (Cicero Nat Deorum 2 . 6 5 - 6 6 ) . Even those writers who are the more sceptical historians include reports of such experiences as a matter of course. This is true of Greeks, Romans, and Jews. They all shared a world in which divine or heavenly beings appeared and were heard, especially by 'great people', kings and military leaders, prophets and holy, inspired men, often in sleep, and often in sacred spaces. These dreams and visions were generally taken to be as real as the experience of going to the market or listening to an orator. The distinction between the world of everyday life and that of dreams was not as sharp as it is in most modem western thought. If I, in a university world where empirical and logical rationality defines (and confines) knowledge, were to make decisions and to act on the basis of dreams and visions, it would be recommended that I seek psychiatric attention and care, and that I be relieved of my post. On the other hand, it should be noted that among the Greek and Roman philosophers, at least, the issue was not clear-cut. There were arguments and differences of opinions as to the truthfulness and reliability of visionary experiences. Some of the arguments are presented in Cicero's second book of Académica. There were those who argued that 'many things may appear to exist that are absolutely non-existent, since the mind is deceptively affected by non-existent objects in the same maimer as it is affected by real ones' (2.15.47). On the other hand, some insisted that dreams and visions sent by the deity could not possibly be false presentations. It was generally agreed that 'the wise man when in a state of frenzy restrains himself from all assent because no distinction between presentations is visible to him' (2.15.48), and a few Stoics - but not the majority - thought similarly about dreams, oracles, auguries and soothsayers (2.33.107). While many believed that 'at the time when we are experiencing them, the visions we have in sleep have the same appearance as the visual presentatioris that we experience while awake', many philosophers did not deem them to be on a par with actual experiences (2.17.52). The ambiguity is well demonstrated by Seneca's Chorus, who address Sleep as, 'thou who dost mingle false with true, sure yet gloomy guide to what shall be' {Here. Fur. 1 0 7 0 - 1 0 7 1 ) . On a more sophisticated level, Cicero says that the arguments revolved aroimd four heads, [The first], there is such a thing as a false presentation; the second, that a false presentation cannot be perceived; the third, that of presentations between which there is no difference it is impossible for some to be able to be perceived

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and others not; the fourth, that there is no true presentation originating from sensation with which there is not ranged another presentation that precisely corresponds to it cind that cannot be perceived.

All seemed agreed on the second and third; Epicurus would not accept the first, but 'the entire battle is about the fourth' (2.26.83). Philosophers aside, visions played an important role in shaping much of the early Christian kerygma and faith tradition. They were accepted as reliable 'proofs'. According to Luke, the annoimcement that Jesus was alive was given to the women at the tomb through 'a vision of angels' (όιττασίαν αγγέλων, 24.23). And at the heart of the tradition was not only that Jesus died and was raised, but also that he appeared (¿ίφθη) to many v\átnesses alive and as being raised by God from the dead (1 Cor. 15.3-8). Many of the traditions, as they are repeated in the canonical Gospels, stress that 'the Lord has appeared' (Lk. 24.34), and that the disdples 'have seen the Lord' (Jn. 20.25). The terminology suggests that these appearances and sightings were through what we might call visions. In terms of Acts particularly, and the New Testament in general, scholars have concentrated predominantly on the appearances of Jesus after his resurrection and prior to his ascension, and they have shown little interest in other visior« and auditions. In fact, some scholars distinguish between the 'appearances' of Jesus, which are thought to have been objective and even corporeal in some sense, and 'visions', which are taken to be imaginary and fantastical. So the appearances of Jesus to his disdples, including Paul, are taken to be real and substantial; the other visions and trances are seen as subjective, beyond verification, and therefore to be avoided. More recently, such distinctions between the so-called objective appearances and subjective visions are held - rightly, in my opinion - to be dubious and questionable (see Wiebe 1997:117). Typical of the distinction made in scholarship between the appearances of Jesus post-Easter and pre-ascension and the visions of Jesus postascension is the opinion of Stählin, The end of the forty days in the view of Luke marks the boundary of the postEaster appearances and those necessary for a witness to the resurrection of Jesus; all the subsequent appearances of Christ are of another kind (1970:14).

It is the view also of CyCollins, who claims that for Luke the Easter appearances closed vdth the ascension. Neither the visions of Stephen and Ananias nor the experience of Paul's companions on the Damascus road modify this

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pattern of no christophanies after the ascension. The only (partial) exception is the 'appearance' to Paul himself. Even this appearance O'ColHns plays down, claiming that what Paul hears is more important than what he sees (1991:166). A few rule out even Paul's experience. For example, Tilborg & Counet see the visions of Stephen and Paul of Jesus as 'totally different from the almost human appearance and behaviour of Jesus between his resurrection and his assumption' (2000:187). And C. F. Evans earlier claimed that In the scheme of Luke-Acts the Lord ceases to appear as the Risen Lord once the Ascension has taken place, and any subsequent 'appearance' (e.g. to Stephen, Acts 7:55, or to Paul) caimot be 'substantial' appearance, but only a vision (1970: 55).

This distinction between what is 'only a vision' and what is a 'substantial appearance' reflects the criterion of a rather hard-nosed positivist, and it diminishes the importance of vision. More recently, Zwiep continues this line of thinking. He claims that in Acts Paul imderstands the appearance of Jesus to him as 'a visionary experience' 'rather than as a physical appearance of Jesus in line with the resurrection appearances' (1997: 173). It is a curious position because Paul himself rejects any distinction between his vision of Jesus and the appearances of Jesus to the other apostles. He claims in 1 Cor. 15 that Christ appeared (ώφθη) to him last of all in a line of (presumably, similar) appearances to his followers (15.3-4). I argue that Luke also makes no distinction between the type of visions the disciples had of the pre-ascended Jesus and their visions of the ascended Jesus. In other words, Luke does not distinguish, temdnologically or otherwise, between the appearances of Jesus to the disciples in Acts 1 and that of Jesus to Paul in Acts 9. Both, in Acts, are an optasia (1.3 and 26.19). There are those who do want to interpret Paul's vision as being of the same type as that of the disdples in Acts' opening chapter, possibly to get over the stumbling-block of an 'empty tomb'. Dibelius, for example, says Ü\at Paul, does not think in terms of a return of Jesus to an earthly kind of existence, however glorified, but of a Lord who is exalted to heaven and who has - for a moment - become visible. He dearly knows nothing about the story of Jesus' tomb being found empty (1963:132).

Paul's vision, then, allows some scholars to ignore the Gospels and their accounts of an empty tomb and of a raised Jesus who has flesh and blood and eats and drinks. This position is argued partly along evolutionary lines.

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Because Paul is the earliest witness to the tradition that Oirist was raised on the third day and appeared to his followers, his witness is more authentic than that of the later Gospels. Paul makes no mention of an empty tomb. In this evolutionary scheme, Mark is seen to be next to Paul - he has no resurrection appearances at all; but with Matthew, Luke and John the legendary accretions are said to begin. Not surprisingly, many holding this view also regard the reported visions as accretions, as subjective and so irrelevant to any academic discussion. Some of this turrdng of a blind eye to visions of Jesus stems from a scientific worldview that dismisses such experiences as having no historical value. There may also be lurking the long-held suspicion that 'orthodox' Christians have had of such experiences, a suspicion that goes back well in to the early generations of Christianity. Very many of the non-canorücal Gospels and Acts tell of central characters who receive visions of Jesus (for example. The Gospel of Mary, and The Acts of Matthew and Andrew). Visions are also central in those writings that were regarded as heretical by later orthodox Christian writers, as in, for example, the Apocalypse of John and many of the Nag Hammadi texts, and the revelatory experiences of Mani and Montanus. The orthodox Christian writers grew increasingly distrustful of visionary claims and began to associate them with heretics. So, classically, in the Clementine Homilies 13-19, in a lengthy discussion on dreams and visions, Peter expresses distrust by arguing that the impious can also experience visions, and therefore it cannot be known whether visions be from a daemon or from God. The real problem came when the arch-heretic Simon claimed to have seen Jesus.» Peter says that caimot be. 'How did he appear to you when you entertain opinions contrary to his teaching?' {Clem. Нот. 19). This scepticism about the value and validity of visions has remained at least within the Western Church, despite the regular reports of Christie visions, most famously to Teresa of Avila and Julian of Norwich, to name just two. The nineteenth century saw once again a rejection of such experiences, not for theological or orthodox reasons alone, but also for scientific and historical reasons. David Strauss, as is well known, ruled out the 'supernatural' in the Gospels in the search for a reliable historical picture of Jesus. This position was continued among form critics like Dibelius and among existentialists like Bultmann, and it has stayed, especially in German scholarship, which consistently regards these reports as legendary and It is a very common feature of Christie visions, over the ages, that the personal name, Jesus, is used for what is seen, rather than a title such as Christ or Lord.

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without any historical basis. In the English-speaking world, many have understood visions as examples of illusion and hallucination, wishful thinking on the part of the disciples who were overcome with grief at the loss of their teacher. In other words, psychological explanations have been offered to remove any suggestions that these were real visions of a real Jesus.

2. Visions in the wider literature Visions are determinative for the actions of the two major characters in Acts, Peter and Paul. The radical position of Christians vis-à-vis their fellow Jews centred largely on the issue of the gentiles, and the significant movement of the Christians among the gentiles came about, says Luke, through directions God gave in visions. As Luke tells it, Peter visited Cornelius as the result of a vision (10.10-16), Paul became the vessel of God to the gentiles through a vision (9.3-15), the Christian movement into Greece came about as the result of a vision (16.9), and Paul's destiny to appear in Rome was validated by a vision (23.11). The visions of men of God Uke Peter and Paul are heard as commands from God. This is consistent with the visions of the prophets of Israel who made little distinction between the word of the Lord and the action or 'thing' of the Lord. The word of God is always performative - it accomplishes what it was sent to do. From the outset, it is helpful to be clear about the terminology Luke uses to refer to these experiences, remembering that language derives its meaning from its social and cultural context. It is somewhat strange, given their common occurrence in other literature, that the standard Greek terms for 'dreams' (δναρ and δνειρος) are not found in Acts; they are, in fact, very rare in the whole New Testament. One simple explanation is that the Septuagint also hardly ever uses these terms, and Luke is strongly influenced in his choice of vocabulary by those Greek Scriptures. In addition, common Greek words used for what is seen in visionary experiences, such as €'ίδωλον, φάντασμα, and φάσμα, do not appear in Acts. And even the verb φαίνε iv, commonly used in the New Testament in the context of angelic appearances (for example in Lk. 9.8; Mk. 16.9; Mt. 1.20; 2.13,19), is not found in Acts. This is rather striking. Appearances and visior\s of ghosts of the dead, especially, were not at all xmusual at the time,^ and some in Luke's intended audience might have understood the appearances of Jesus or an angel or even the Lord in a dream through the night as the appearance of a ghost. 2

See D. Ogden, Greek and Rotmn NecroimtKy, espedally chapter 6.

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Possibly, Luke deliberately avoids conunon words to remove such an impression. The visionary phenomena that do occur in Acts are called οράματα, όπτασίαι, δψεις, and έκστασης. Except for the last term, it is patently evident that they all refer to visual experiences. As will be noted, that does not mean that in all of them something or somebody is seen. On some occasions, nominated as 'visions', either only a voice is heard, or a being speaks to the recipient of the vision without necessarily being seen. To complicate the issue, many of these visionary experiences take place at rught, and that raises the question as to whether they can really be distinguished from dreams. Hanson, for example, says they cannot (1980:1407-1408). Heininger, on the other hand, thinks they can (1996: 86, especially n. 59). Юаив Berger says that the difference between a dream and a vision is that in the latter the visionary is awake (1991:122), but I doubt that is always, in fact, the case. A distinction need not be made. It seems to me that it was not uncommon for an ancient Mediterranean to enter into another state of consciousness or awareness without any noticeable physical indicators. Eyes did not have to be closed and the person did not have to be lying down. Visions could appear in the day and at night, while the recipients were awake and while they were asleep. The fact that a common terminology is used to refer to these experiences implies that no distinction was made - they were all visions belonging to the same category and of the same nature. So what did these Greeks and Romans understand a vision to be? Writing roughly contemporaneously with the New Testament writers, Quintilian says. What the Greeks call phantasiai, we call visiones, imaginative visions through which the images of absent things are represented to the soul in such a way that we seem to discern them with our eyes and to have them present before us (Instit. 6.2.29).

It is tempting, then, to think that phantasiai or visiones are not 'real' but only imagined. Once again we have a problem with western categorisation. The comment of Vemant is pertinent. Speaking of фаоря, ον€ΐρος, and ψυχή, he says. Their imity comes from the fact that in the cultural context of andent Greece, they are all perceived by the mind in the same way and all bear an analogous meaning. It is also correct to understand them all as a true psychological category - the category of the double - that presumes a different mental organisation than our own. A double is a wholly different thing from an

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Chapter 5: Seeing Things image. It is not a 'natural' object, but it is also not a product of the imagination: neither an imitation of a real object, nor an illusion of the mind, nor a creation of thought. The double is a reality external to the subject and is inscribed in the visible world. Yet even in its conformity with what it simulates, its unusual character ensures its substantial difference from familiar objects and the ordinary setting of daily life. The double plays on two contrasting levels at the same time: at the moment when it shows itself to be present, it also reveals itself as not being of this world but rather as belonging to an inaccessible elsewhere (1991:187).

At least, we can say that a vision is an experience involving paraphysical sight, that is, sight different from what I regard as 'normal'. In every case in Acts, the vision comes without any expectation or preparation on the part of the recipient - a factor that distinguishes these experiences from those of the shaman. The andents did not so much say they 'had' a vision, as a vision came to them (for example. Homer, Л. 56) or that they 'saw a vision' (as with δραμα βλέπ^ιν. Acts 12.9) as one sees any other object. A typical example is foimd in Aelius Aristides, who, in the middle of the second century CE, writes that 'a vision came and said the following ...' {Sacred Tales IV). Such a way of talking implies that a dream or vision was autonomous and external to the one who experiences it. In addition, such visions were not understood to be extensions of the subconscious or to be deep psychological experiences that have no physical reality. It is this that marks the clear difference between ancient imderstandings of such experiences and modem, psychological explanations of them. The vision or dream does not originate from within the person, nor is it the result of the activity of the person's psyche. The autonomy is illustrated by the common location of such visions or dreams they stand near or above the person (έφίστημι). By the way, Aristides' language indicates that the relation between visual and audial was very close indeed - a vision could speak and be heard. We can go further and say that Luke's audiences would have expected Peter and Paul and other leading characters in Acts to have visionary experiences of heavenly beings, and to act upon those visions. Visions were part of their greatness and their inspired character. I repeat Cicero's claim, 'no great man ever existed who did not enjoy some portion of divine inspiration' {Nat. Deorum 2.66.167). Visions played a central role in the decision-making processes of many heroes in both Jewish and non-Jewish literary traditions from Homer to the Jewish Scriptures to Plutarch and beyond. They were an indication that the hero was not acting under his/her own volition or decision-making powers, but was xmder the direction - and therefore also the favour and blessing of - the gods. For Luke, the God of

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Jesus Christ and of the Christians is the God of Israel. The same God of Israel who appeared in visions to Abraham, Isaac and Jacob at critical moments in Israel's history also appeared in visions to Peter and Paul at critical moments in the history of what, for Luke, was the renewed, restored Israel. Christians could not speak of God in a way that was inconsistent with Jewish thought and tradition. If they wanted to claim that the God of Israel had acted in Jesus and was acting in their other heroes, the apostles, then those actions had to be consistent with the way God acted in the lives of Israel's heroes. On that basis, the God who commimicated by visions to Israel's heroes could be expected to do so to the Christian heroes. Acts is the only New Testament writing, with one exception, to use the word δραμα. Interestingly enough, that one exception is in Mt. 17.9, where Jesus refers to his transfiguration experience as a 'vision' (δραμα). That experience might give us some idea as to what a horama is. It would suggest that the ordinary boxmdaries and limits of sight are blurred or erased and one sees, or is shown, another dimension of reality. The disciples 'see' Jesus for who he 'really' is - the Son who stands alongside Elijah and Moses as a revealer of the will of God. But the vision was a real experience, and not an hallucination or illusion. As Artemidorus says, a horama is something that is actually seen and not imagined (1.2.5.19). The very word would have rung clear bells for those familiar with the Septuagint, since the heroes of Israel also experienced horamata. Abraham (Gen. 15.1) and Jacob (Gen. 46.2) are good examples. What is noteworthy about many of these cases in the Greek scriptures is that such visions come to these heroes at critical moments in their lives. Abraham is childless, but receives in a vision the promise of descendants like the stars of the heaver\s; and in a vision, Jacob is told to go to Egypt, a move that affected Israel's identity and mythology. Moses' life-changing experience is called horama (LXX Exod. 3.3), and Samuel had his life shaped by an δρασις that he was afraid to report to Eli (LXX 1 Reg. 3.15). Not only are visions important in detenraning the future of these individuals, but God is said to have rescued Israel out of Egypt with his mighty arm and with 'great visions' (όράμασιν μεγάλοις, Deut. 4.34; 26.8). Visions in Acts, too, are part of God's mighty power to direct, influence and act in the human world. Finally, in the Jewish literary tradition, Isaiah refers to some of his oracles as δράματα (LXX Isa. 21.1,11; 23.1), and Daniel has oracular visions aplenty that are termed οράματα (LXX Dan. 1.17; 2.1,7,19,26,36,45; 4.25; 7.1, 13,15; 8.1,2,13,15,17,26,27; 9.24; 10.1). It is significant tiiat many of tìiese Danielle visions, especially those in Dan. 7-8, reveal the word of the Lord to

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the nations and concerning the nations. As already noted, in Acts Peter and Paul have visions that have direct relevance for the nations, that is, the gentiles. Peter is sent to Cornelius as the result of such a vision (10.17), and Paul is commanded to go into Macedorüa through a similar experience ( 1 6 . 9 ) . In the case of the latter, that vision clearly overrode Paul's own plans; and in the case of the former, Peter himself clearly would not have chosen such a course of action. Not only in Israel's biblical narratives but also in the literary traditions of the Romans and Greeks, horamata play roles that significantly affect the lives of those who receive them. This is true of dreams in general, as the well-known dream of Scipio, reported by Cicero, illustrates graphically {Repub. 6 . 3 - 2 9 ) . As Heininger says, 'At times in Hellenistic times the dream is understood as the form of divine inspiration' ( 1 9 9 6 : 8 1 ; emphasis his). As noted earlier, that is not to say there was no scepticism at all. Seneca refers to 'the delusive shape of dreams and the apparitioris of the night, which have nothing in them that is substantial and real' (Constant. 11.1). Cicero says of dream-visions, 'The fact remains that men in sleep assume many false things to be true' (Div. 2 . 5 8 ) . But it was widely accepted, also by Cicero, that dreams were a common way for the gods to reveal the future, either for information or in warning. Indeed, Cicero reports his own dream in which Jupiter indicated to him that a certain young man was going to rule Rome; the next day he saw that young person near the Campus Martius. It was Octavian (Plutarch Cie. 44). Brutus, before crossing from Asia into Europe, saw an horama at lught in which an apparition (φάσμα) stood at his side and spoke to him (Appian Bell. Civ. 4 . 1 3 4 ) . Classic is the case of Julius Caesar at the Rubicon: As he stood, in two minds, an apparition of superhuman size and beauty was seen sitting on the river-barüc playing a reed pipe. A party of shepherds gathered aroimd to listen ... the apparition snatched a trumpet from one of them, ran down to the river, blew a thunderous blast, and crossed over. Caesar exclaimed: 'Let us accept this as a sign from the gods ... the die is casf (Suetorüus Lives: Julius 32).

Many further examples could be given, but for the sake of brevity, I mention three. On the night before the battle at Philippi, a likeness of Minerva appeared to Augustus' doctor who was sleeping. The doctor was told to warn Augustus not to let his sickness keep him from being present in the battie. Augustus gave orders that he be carried to the field of battie. Valerius Maximus tells us clearly how he imderstood this:

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What else then do we thiiüc but that by the work of divine power (divino numine) the head already destined for inunortality felt no violence of Fortune uiuneet for a celestial spirit? (Memorab.l.7.l).

Another military leader so directed was Harmibal, who had a dream in which he saw 'a yoimg man, taller than mortal form ... sent to him by Jupiter to guide the invasion of Italy' (Valerius Maximus Memorab. 1.7 ext. 1; also Cicero Div. 1.49). But visions were by no means reserved for leaders. In his Sacred Tales, Aelius Aristides tells of his many visions, all of which he acts upon because he presumes they are coirununications from the gods for his benefit. His visions invariably direct him to act in certain ways for the improvement of his health. There is something mythical about some of the vision episodes in Acts, using the word 'mythical' in the broad sense of 'foundational'. In the mythical world of Homer, and in Greek and Roman myths in general, the gods often appeared to himians for one of two fundamental purposes: either to establish a cult, or to rescue the hero from some life-threaterung danger (Heininger 1996: 75). Many local cults, including the building of a temple, were believed to have their origins in the revelation of a god. The recipient of the vision then acted on that experience and a shrine, temple, or cult was established. Typical and classical is the origin of the cult of Serapis as told by Tadtus. Ptolemy saw in a dream 'a yoxmg man of exceptional beauty and of more than human size' who instructed him to send for his image from the Pontus. The young man then 'seemed to him to rise up in the sky enveloped in a mighty conflagration'. Ptolemy gradually neglected the matter xmtil he saw the same figure again in a vision warning him of doom if he did not obey the instructions. The local king of Sinope, Scydrothemis, had the same vision with the same command. Finally, a temple was built in Alexandria. 'Such is the most widespread account of the origin and coming of the god' (Tadtus Hist. 4.81-83). In a similar way, Luke claims that the Christian movement has its foundations and basis not on human initiative but in revelatory appearances of Jesus, God's Christ and Lord. And just as Greek and Roman myths often had as their central theme the rescue of the hero, so also the Christian myths narrate the dramatic rescues of the heroes by divine intervention and activity. The appearances of Jesus after his death have some parallel v^dth the reports of Romulus, the founder of Rome, appearing in visions to assure people of his divine status and giving directions for ritual activities on the site. Ovid offers a version showing some classic features of visionary experiences:

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Chapter 5: Seeing Things Julius Proclus was coming from Alba Longa; the moon was shining, and there was no need of a torch, when of a sudden the hedges on his left shook and trembled. He recoiled and his hair bristled up. It seemed to him that Romulus, fair of aspect, in stature more than human, and clad in a goodly robe, stood there in the middle of the road and said, 'Forbid the Quirites to moum, let them not profane my divinity by their tears. Bid the pious throng bring incense and propitiate the new Quirinus, and bid them cultivate the arts their fathers cultivated, the art of war'. So he ordered, and from the other's eyes he vanished into thin air. Proculus called the peoples together and reported the words as he had been bid. Temples were built to the god, and the hill was also named after him, and the rites observed by our fathers come round on fixed days (Fasti 2.475-512).

There are other known versions of this event, some more sceptical than that reported in Ovid, in Cicero {Repub. 2.10.17,20), Livy (1.16) and Plutarch {Rom. 27-28). Another classic example is Scipio's dream in which Africanas appeared to him, causing Sdpio to shudder in terror. Africanus bids Scipio not to be afraid, and then outlines his future and that of his country (Cicero Repub. 6.3-29). It was widely believed that while the gods or heavenly beings appeared imexpectedly, there were times when such experiences were more likely to occur. Many Greeks and Romans considered sleep as the most likely time because in sleep the soul is at its most receptive. It was when sleep was 'at its midmost hour" that 'dreams were flitting here and there over the silent world' (Valerius Flaccus, Argon. 3.417). In sleep, death's 'sluggish brother' (Seneca, Here. Fur. 1069), the soul is purified from all distractions and can enter into another reality unencumbered, and that reality is the world of the gods and their messengers. Philostratus says that dream interpreters will never undertake to explsdn any vision to anyone without having first asked the time when it was seen. For if it was at dawn and in the sleep of momingtide, they calculate its meaning on the assxmiption that the soul is then in a condition to divine soundly and healthily, because by then it has cleansed itself of the stains of wine. But if the vision was seen in the first sleep or at midrught (μέσας νύκτας), when the soul is still immersed in the lees of wine and muddied thereby, they decline to make any suggestions, if they are wise (Vit. Apoll. 2.37).

This view implies that visions of the gods, and the messages communicated through them, come especially to those who are pure, that is, those who are not befuddled by physical passions and emotions and so are, in a sense, 'spiritual'. Such a view would expect to hear of heavenly appearances to men like Peter and Paul who were 'filled with a holy spirit'.

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In Acts, the recipients of visions do not prepare for them, but the visions come suddenly and unexpectedly. As we have seen, sudden activity is a common characteristic of divine beings, and visions had that characteristic. Those who experience these sudden visions are not professionals who know how to enter into an ecstatic state that will enable them to have such visions. There is no mention in Acts of incubation in a holy place, as with those wishing to have a vision of the healer god Asclepius; the closest to that is the ecstasy Paul experiences in the temple (22.17). Deliberate fasting and prayer was also part of the technique, and there is none of that in Acts, although Peter is himgry when he has his vision and does go to pray (10.910), but he does neither for the specific purpose of receiving a vision. Likewise, in 9.9 Paul is said to be fasting and praying and in that state to have received a vision of Ananias coming to him (9.12). But again, there is certainly no explicit link between the fasting and the vision. The point is that the visions in Acts are not self-induced but come sudderüy and unexpectedly, as is also the case in very many of the visions that appear in Greek and Latin narratives. In the case of Acts, at least, they serve to imderline yet again that men like Peter and Paul are chosen people with whom God is in immediate communication. According to LXX Num. 12.6, 'If there is a prophet among you, I will make myself known to him in a vision (cv τφ όράματι), I will speak with him in a dream'. The visions of Peter and Paul validate their call as prophets of God.

3. The first visions (Acts 1.1-11) Acts begins with Luke's claim that Jesus 'presented himself alive to them after his passion by many proofs, appearing to them during forty days and speaking with them, teaching them about the kingdom of God' (1.3). The disciples had visions of Jesus during a forty-day period.^ Why a forty-day period? Lohfink provides a number of possible reasons for what is 'a holy number' (1971: 176-185). It seems to me that its association with purification and preparation, in both Jewish and non-Jewish cultures, is relevant in the context of Acts 1. The pure Jesus, raised by God from death

Parsons (1987: 148-149) and Zwiep (1997: 98-99) show Christian traditions vary concerning the intermediate period. Some understood the resurrection and ascension to be on the same day; on the other extreme, some understood a period of twelve years!

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and about to ascend into the рше realm of God, prepares the new Israel in a forty-day period for the gift of the purifying Spirit. In these visions, Jesus 'presented himself' (παρΙστησ€ν εαυτόν) in a way similar to the two men who 'stood beside' (παρ€ΐστήκ€ΐσαν) the apostles as they stared at Jesus ascending into the heavens (1.10). And both Jesus and the angels, in tum, resemble closely the posture of the angel who 'stood near' (παρέστη) Paul in his rught vision (27.23), and the figure who 'was standing' (έστώς ήν) in Paul's vision in Troas (16.9). That the figure seen in a vision 'stands' occurs so often that one could rightly call it a terminus technicus for dream-vision reports.^ Since Luke uses the technical language of visions here in Acts 1, we can confidently say that the appearances of Jesus in this forty-day period are through the medium of visioris. This is supported by the use of the word όπτανόμίνος (1.3), from a verb which carries the same meaning as the more common ώφθη. In fact, the latter is used to speak of Jesus' appearances in the 'many days' between resurrection and ascension in 13.30. As Zmijewski says, both verbs in this context refer to the revelation of the divine presence (1994:49). It is always the case in Acts that vision is accompanied by audition, and the same applies here in this forty-day period. Not only did Jesus appear to his disciples in the visions of this period, but he also taught them in these same visionary experiences. In other words, the experiences were both visionary and auditory. Jesus 'appears and speaks' (όπτανόμίνος καΐ λέγων, 1.3). This combination allows many commentators to relegate the visionary as inferior to the auditory. For example, Zmijewski says Jesus does not appear in ecstatic visioris because the central element is the word, the message (1994: 48). Because words are spoken, the experience must be 'normal' and not ecstatic! This idea that words belong to the real world and are more important as vehicles of communication than visioits is western and modem. For Luke, the two are on a par and are inseparable. The risen Jesus is both seen and heard, and the New Testament writers in general would certainly not want to play down that fact. For Paul, the fact that Jesus was seen, or 'appeared', is a central element of the gospel tradition (1 Cor. 15.5-8). And the hearing is not separable from the visionary experience. As an aside, the fact that Jesus not only appears but also speaks is related to presenting himself 'alive' (1.3). The ability to speak is a sign of life, a fact well illustrated in the restoration to life of the yoimg man at Nain. On sitting up, the young man 'began to speak' (Lk. 7.15). Those who are dead, on the other hand, are dumb and cannot speak. *

For a number of examples, see Hanson (1980:1410 n. 65).

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But what kind of appearances of Jesus were they? The answer is often driven by theological interests and by philosophical presuppositions. The fact that Jesus appeared and was seen 'alive' (ζώντα) is not, in itself, proof that he was 'risen from the dead' (pace, Bruce 1988:31), or proof of a physical resurrection. Greeks and Romaiis knew of the dead appearing alive in visions. Cicero relates the dream of Sdpio in which his dead father appeared to him in a dream and assured him that he was in fact alive. Phlegon also tells of the experience of a nurse who saw in the light of a burning lamp a young girl who had died, sitting next to the young man who had loved her. Phlegon says that she appeared alive (πεφηνέναι γαρ ζώσαν tlvai, Book of Wonders 1.1-2). Clearly, in that case it was a being with no corporeal reality. The same vrater repeats a known story regarding the dead Polykritos who 'sudderüy appeared' (έξαίφνης φαίνεται) in an assembly much to the consternation and fright of the citizens. He addressed them, 'Citizens, I am physically dead, but I am alive (ζώ) in the goodwill and grace among you' (2.5-6). The dead Africanus told Sdpio in a dream-vision, 'Surely all those are alive who have escaped from the bondage of the body as from a prison; but ttiat life of yours, which men so call, is really death' (Cicero Repub. 6.14). At one level, Luke's terminology implies that tìie appearances of Jesus are little different from those of other dead figures knovm to have appeared to people after their death. On another level, however, the word 'alive' (ζώντα) carries a further significant connotation. Living was the fundamental characteristic of the gods vis à vis humans who are mortal. More importantly, in the Jewish Scriptures, the god of Israel is frequently characterized as 'the living One' (for example, LXX Deut. 4.33; 5.26; Josh. 3.10; Ps. 41.3; 83.3; Isa. 37.4,17; Tob. 13.2). Luke believes Jesus is God's Christ and Lord and so is in the realm of God and has the status and authority of God. He is the living one (ζώντα) and he appears and speaks to his people as such. Understanding the appearance of the living Jesus is complicated by the phrase όπτανόμενος αύτοΧς. The verb όπτάνομαι is a cognate of οπτασία, the notm Paul uses to describe his Damascus experience in 26.19. That would suggest that, as far Luke is concerned, the vision of Paul is of the same kind as that experienced by the disdples post-Easter but pre-ascension! This is contrary to the usual line that it was different, as implied by Dunn, The most marked difference between the resurrection appearance to Paul and the appearances narrated in the gospels lies in the seeing element. Paul's seeing was visionary in character; what he saw was non-physical, nonmaterial - strictly speaking, non-objective in that it could not be examined as an object by an observer (1975:115).

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Acts does not support this distinction. The language used to describe the visions of the risen Jesus in the Gospels and in Acts 1 is also used in the vision of Paul. What is said of the one vision must be said of the other. Both were visionary; that is, both saw a Jesus who 'could not be examined as an object by an observer'; both were celestial sights 'of a transcendent character that impresses itself vividly on the mind'; both were visions of a deity normally hidden from mortals {BAGD 2000: 717). A brief look at how the noim οπτασία and the verb όπτάνομαι are used in other literature will confirm this. People describe Zechariah's experience of seeing and hearing Gabriel in the Temple as an οπτασία (Lk. 1.22), and the women report seeing a όπτασίαν αγγέλων at the tomb of Jesus (Lk. 22.23). On the basis of those two passages, we would have to say that the appearances of Jesus in the forty-day period were angelic and celestial in nature. Jesus appeared as a transcendent, heavenly being prior to his ascension! The heavenly nature of the object seen in such experiences is confirmed by Paul's use of the word όπτασίαι in 2 Cor. 12.1, and the angel link with an οπτασία is seen clearly in LXX Mai. 3.1-2 where the Lord says he will send his άγγελον ... ò άγγελος της διαθήκης and then asks, τίς ύποστήσεται èv τη όπτασίς: αύτοΰ; What the disciples (in Acts 1) and Paul (in Acts 9) saw in their visions was a living person, a trai^cendent, heavenly, angel-like being, whom Luke consistently identifies as 'Jesus' (1.1; 7.54; 9.5). Actually, it is noteworthy that the visions are of 'Jesus' and not of a titled heavenly figure such as 'Lord' or 'Son of God'. The use of the personal name suggests the visions might have been much more of a material and substantial figure than modern westerners care to admit. Clearly, at least Luke identifies Jesus as a heavenly being. In fact, Luke is interested not only in substantiating claims that God raised Jesus, but also in the fact that he is living as a heavenly being and so can appear to humans and direct and control human affairs. There are those who see these appearances as hallucinations and wishful thinking on the part of the disciples who basically needed good grief counselling. So Lüdemann thirdcs that Peter's vision of Jesus 'is to be interpreted as failed mourning and the overcoming of a severe guilt complex' (1995: 129). Pilch (1998) rejects this positivistic scientific interpretation and recommends that anthropological psychology and Mediterranean anthropology offer the better approach. The problem is that such a method is anachroiustic. It uses models and paradigms created by modem psychologists who have studied non-westem peoples, and it uses them as the grid for interpreting biblical experiences. Pilch draws a chart of altered states of consciousness in which the risen Jesus was experienced, but he gives no

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evidence that they were experienced in altered states. How do we know that the women, for example, were in a human condition of experience in which sensations, perception, cogiütion, and emotions are altered. The result is changes in sensing, perceiving, thinking, and feeling. Further, these states modify the relation of the individual to the self and the body, to one's own sense of identity, and to the environment of time, space, and other people (1998: 53).

By that definition, grief would be an altered state of consciousness. In the end, it seems yet another way of saying what Pilch wants to reject, namely, that these were psychological experiences. He does not like any suggestion of 'collective hysterical experience', yet is his interpretation really any different? Pilch claims, largely on the basis of later rabbirüc sources, that people partly expected holy men who had died to commuiucate with the living. That hardly is the case wdth disciples, at least in the way that the Gospels tell it. At best, it would seem that Acts portrays Jesus as being in an altered state of existence, but the same cannot be said for the way Luke portrays those who saw him. Luke uses the language of vision, whether we are comfortable with that language or not. Occasionally in the Gospels there are reality checks - the disciples do not see a ghost, they are not imagining things, it is a flesh and blood Jesus that they see and hear. Lk. 24.36-43 is a good example of such a check. Methodologically, the patterns found in contemporary texts of Luke or in the Septuagint are more reliable grids through which to vmderstand these experiences. Berger (1991:128) summarizes the most common explanatioi\s of these visions. These are a) that it was Uke the experience of a presence in a family when a family member has died b) that it is based on the idea of continuity of presence c) that it gave legitimation for the authority of his followers d) that it was a revelation experience (usually with speech of the exalted Jesus).

I opt for the final explanation. As Berger rightly observes, according to Luke's narrative, Jesus does not appear out of Sheol, from the realm of the dead, but from heaven, the realm of the living God (1991: 129). Berger also argues rightly that the ancients made no distinction between subjective and objective experience, a point I wish to stress in this book. I might add that Luke never uses the standard Greek words for whatever it was that was

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thought to survive death. There is no mention of Jesus being a 'body-soul' (θυμός) or a soul (ψύχη) or a phantom (φάντασμα) or an image (εΐδωλον) or an apparition (δψις) when he appears to his followers. On the other hand, neither is there any description of the Jesus that appears. The visions serve to confirm who Jesus 'is' and his current status, in Luke's opirüon. To repeat, the problem is that modem western understanding of the relation between vision and reality is simply not the same as it was for many in the world of Luke. To ask Luke, if it were possible, whether the apostles really saw Jesus, would be incomprehensible to him. Visions are experiences of reality as far as he is concerned. If there was any argument, it was about how these visions were to be interpreted, not whether they were visions of reality or not. The basic point is that people such as Luke xmderstood visions to be channels whereby God commimicated with humans, and not as psychological states or forms of behaviour. For Luke, these appearances are 'proofs' (τεκμήρια, 1.3). Peter based his apostolic authority and status on the fact that 'God raised him [Jesus] and made him maiufest (6δωκ€ν αύτόν έμφανή γενέσθαι), not to all the people but to us who were chosen by God as witnesses, who ate and drank with him after he rose from the dead' (10.40-41). Once again, these visions are not sought after, nor are they the consequence of unresolved guilt or grief. Luke interprets them as 'God made him manifest to us'. The visions are from God; he gives the ability to perceive what otherwise cannot be perceived. Certainly in Luke's understanding, they do not arise from human need or human projection; they are God's way of communicating with, and providing proofs for, humans. Jesus appears in these visions 'speaking of the kingdom of God' (1.3) and discussing with the disciples the restoration of the kingdom to Israel (1.6-7). In other words, it is a period of instruction. This has an echo in a near-contemporary writing, the Apocalypse of Baruch. In that text, the Most High says that Baruch wall pass from this world not to die but to be kept imtil the end times. He is to go to the top of a moimtain and he will be shown all the coimtries of the earth. This will happen after forty days. Go therefore now during these days and instruct the people as much as you can so that they may leam lest they die in the last times (76.4-5).

In summary, then, for a 'holy' period after the death of Jesus, according to Luke, the disciples had visionary experiences in which Jesus appeared to them and spoke to them and gave them teaching and assurance. They also

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had an experience in which they saw Jesus ascending into the heavenly world. While many think this ascension marked the end of the appearances of Jesus, it did not. Acts makes it clear that Jesus continued to appear to his disciples as the Lord who offers assurance, protection and direction.

4. Stephen's vision (Acts 7.54r-56) It was a common notion that the times when visions are most likely to be experienced are in sleep and at the point of death. The two were considered to be very closely related. In both cases, the person is in a transitional state. Sleep was Hke a 'temporary death' because in sleep the soul separated itself from the body. Just as sleep could bring visionary knowledge, so also the dying were believed sometimes to have prophetic powers. In Homer, for example, the dying Patroclus prophesies the death of Hector at the hands of Achilles (II. 16.16.851-859). Cicero says that the soul's 'power to divine is much eiihanced by the approach of death. For example, those in the grasp of a serious and fatal sickness realise the fact that death impends; and so, visions of dead people generally appear to them' (Div. 1.63). Cicero then gives an example from Posidonius 'of the power of dying people to prophesy' (1.64). This was a phenomenon known already to Plato who believed, as many did, that in sleep and at the point of death, the soul becomes purified and so is able to perceive things in the reahn of the irrational and the imaginative, often in regard to the future (Timaeus 71E). Plutarch, speaking of the soul's power to prophesy, also says that this power is displayed often in dreams, and in the hour of death. It is then that the body becomes cleansed of all impurities and attains a temperament adapted to this end, a temperament through which the reasoning and thinking faculty of the souls is relaxed and released from their present state as they range amid the irrational and imaginative realms of the future (Defect. Orac. 432C).

Stephen is still in the Coimdl, certainly still inside Jerusalem. It is significant that he has his vision there, especially given the context of his speech that has much to do with revelations in Israel's history and with Israel's hardheartedness. Greeks and Romans also knew of sacred places, especially temples, as 'good places' to receive visions. The first thing that is said is that Stephen is 'full of the holy Spirit' (πλήρης πνεύματος άγιου, 7.55). Here is another case where it might mean

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that Stephen is full of a spirit of holiness, rather than meaiung that he is filled by a personal entity known as 'the Holy Spirit'. It also probably indicates a change in his mental or psychic state, rather than simply referring to a characteristic of Stephen, as the phrase does elsewhere when used of him - 'a man full of faith and of a holy spirif, ανδρα πλήρης πίστεως καΐ πνεύματος αγίου in 6.5, and 'full of grace and power' πλήρης χάριτος καΐ δυνάμεως in 6.8. The reader/audience, by now at least, is not going to be surprised that Stephen sees visions or experiences something that is out of the ordinary. They know what Peter and others did when they were 'filled with the holy Spirit' (2.4; 4.8). It is consistent with the experience of other spirit-filled and devout men in Acts (such as Anaiuas, 22.12) that Stephen received such a vision. It also sets Stephen in stark contrast with the Sanhédrin and with their 'fathers' who 'always resist the holy Spirif (7.51). Resistance to the holy Spirit is futile; those who are filled with the holy Spirit, on the other hand, will always win out, or at least will always be vindicated by God. Stephen's vision proves his vindication by God. His opponents are filled with a spirit of rage; he is filled with a holy spirit. In this state, Stephen stares (άτενίσας) into heaven. This verb, too, indicates vision that is bordering on the paranormal. Stephen has vision of something beyond the ordinary, similar to that of the disciples who gazed after Jesus as he was being taken up into the heavens (1.10). He does not simply have a long, hard look, but he has a perception into another world. In that paranormal state, Stephen sees (είδεν; the verb indicating 'normal' vision; compare θεωρέω in ν 56) 'the glory (δόξα) of God and Jesus standing at the right hand of God'. That is all one can say when one sees what is ultimately imseeable. It is a glory that belongs only to God and comes orüy from God. And there in that glory (and as that glory) is Jesus. Again, it is striking that the historical name is used and not a heavenly title such as 'Lord', particularly since that title is so closely related to the session of Jesus at the right hand of God in New Testament and other early Christian literature. Commentators have been slightly puzzled as to why it is that Jesus is seen standing, rather than in the more common position of sitting, on the right hand of God. But standing on the part of God's agents is known; for example, in the Ascension of Isaiah Isaiah sees the Lord and the angel of the Spirit, 'and they were standing' (9.35). In that text, the Lord then proceeds to enter the world and return again through the six heavens. But in the seventh heaven, Isaiah sees the Lord (Jesus) sitting on the right hand of the Great Glory and tiie angel of the Holy Spirit sitting on the left hand (11.3233). The right hand is, of course, the side of strength and authority. It was also regarded as the 'male' side of the body that is hot and dry in contrast to

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the left side that is the female, wet and cold (Aristotle Gen. Anim. 4.1.765b.2). Sitting is undoubtedly a position of authority; standing in the presence of God is conxmonly the position of the angels. But it is interesting to notice that standing on the right hand is also the position of an accuser or an adversary, especially in a court or legal procedure. Zechariah saw Joshua, the high priest, standing before the angel of the Lord, and the accuser (ό διάβολος) standing at his right side to accuse him (Zech. 3.1). LXX Ps. 108.6 calls for the accuser to 'stand at the right hand'. It is possible that Stephen saw Jesus standing at the right hand of God as the accusers of his opponents. The reaction of the Sanhédrin in 7.57 suits that xmderstanding. Stephen also identifies Jesus as the Son of Man, the eschatological figure given the role of judging the world (compare Jn. 5.19; Mk. 14.61). Another possible explanation for Jesus standing, rather than sitting, is that it implies that he is not dead. The dead fall and lie down; it is the living who stand (compare Eph. 5.14: 'Wake up, you who sleep, and stand up [ανάστα] from the dead'). This too would have aroused anger in those who opposed any suggestion that God had indeed raised Jesus to a standing position, that is, to life. Finally, in the Dead Sea Scrolls and in Christian Scriptures, the one who stands does so by the grace and favour of God (for example, IQH 4.35ff; Rom. 5.2; 1 Pet. 5.12). If Jesus is seen standing at God's right hand, then he must have the favour of God. The expressions, 'right hand of God' and 'glor/, indicate that Stephen's vision was very similar to the throne visions of earlier and later Jewish visionaries. For example, in the Testament of Job, Job says to the company, 'I will show you my throne with the splendor of its majesty, which is among the holy ones. My throne is in the upper world and its splendor and majesty come from the right hand of the Father' (33.1-3). Such a vision, and the stance of the agent of God, is similar to what Dio Chrysostom tells. He reports a vision given to Heracles, in which Royalty is seated flanked by Justice and Peace, but with Law (Νόμος), also called Right Reason (Λόγος Όρθός), standing (έστηκώς) near her {First Discourse 75). In passing, it is interesting that many of the experiences of Heracles in Greek mythology and legend find parallels in the lives of the heroes of Acts. I will indicate some of these in other parts of this book. In the case of Stephen, the scene is full of 'inspired' people. On the one hand, there is Stephen, full of the holy Spirit and seeing heavenly visions. On the other, there are 'they' who cry out with a loud voice, which is in this context the sign of possession by a spirit. In fact, exactly the same expression is used of Stephen in 7.60. Evil or unclean spirits are also known to cry out with loud voices when confronted with a holy person (Mk. 1.26; 5.7). And

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the implication here is that ' t h e / , the opponents of Stephen, are possessed by an imclean spirit, and in that state they take hinx outside of the dty and stone him. With so many spirit-filled people aroimd, the scene is set for God to be present. In typical literary style, Luke makes Stephen say, 'Behold!' (Ιδού, 7.56), that technical word used in much Greek literature {ecce was its Latin coimterpart) to prepare the audience for the appearance of a god. Stephen sees 'the heavens opened and the Son of man standing at the right hand of God' (7.56). The opening of the heavens is quite common in the visionary experiences of both Jewish and Christian holy men (van Unnik 1 9 6 4 ) . Ezekiel begins with the heavens opening and with the prophet having visions of God (1.1). In his baptism, Jesus sees the heaven open and the Spirit descend (Mk. 1.10). Luke's version of the same event has the heavens open while Jesus was at prayer (3.21). So here, too, the holy, angel-like Stephen sees the heavens opened and he has a vision of the throne and glory of God. Stephen was earlier seen to have a face like an angel (6.15), and now in his death he is linked again with the angels. Just as they dwell in the heavenly world and always behold the face of the Father, so the angelic and righteous Stephen has access to that world. Stephen's experience also has some parallels with others from nonJewish circles, who, while at prayer, also saw the heavens above them opened. Ovid writes that the king Phoebus prayed to the gods and even while he spoke ... a loud crash rang out from heaven's vault. Thrice did the god thunder from a cloudless sky, thrice did he hurl his bolts. Take my word for it: what I say is wonderful but true. At the zetüth the sky began to yawn; the multitude and their leader lifted up their eyes. Lo {ecce), swaying gently in the light breeze, a shield fell down {Fasti 3.361-372).

Cicero mentions the opening of the heavens {caelum discessisse) a number of times in his lists of portents, as if it were a standard or commonly experienced sight, along with things like meteors, voices from imknown sources, eartiiquakes, and the like {Div. 1 . 4 3 . 9 7 ; 1 . 4 4 . 9 9 ; 2 . 2 8 . 6 0 ) . In Vergil's Aeneid, Juno sent Iris from heaven to Tumus with directions for him. She then ascended into the sky, with Tumus watching. He says: Ί see the heavens part asunder {medium video discedere caelum), and the stars that roam in the tirmamenf {Aen. 9 . 2 0 - 2 1 ) . Livy likewise lists the opening of the heavens with other omens reported to the Romans from various areas, 'at Falerii the sky had seemed to be rent as it were with a great fissure, and through the opening a bright light had shone' (Livy 2 2 . 1 . 1 1 ) .

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While ttiis is a vision totally strange to my own experience, many in Luke's audience would have recognized it as the experience of a holy, righteous, devout man who had the favour of God. They would also have partly expected that such a holy man, about to be perfected in his holiness through his martyr death, would be in such a state of purified mind and spirit that heavenly visions were possible for him.

5. Ananias's vision (Acts 9.10-16) Ananias lived in Damascus and was a disciple (μαθητής, 9.10), which means he was a Christian. Paul calls him 'pious according to the Law' (22.12), and that may have been a part of Paul's tactics to convince his Jewish audience that his own visionary experience - and the claims he made about it - was valid and from God. The vision Ananias experienced is coupled in Acts 9 with a vision that Paul has of Ananias. Paul himself does not mention Ananias's vision in 22.12-16, and in his third account (26.12-18) he makes no mention of Ananias at all. Double-dream experiences are not uncommon in Greek and Roman literature (Wikenhauser 1948). For example, Livy (with the almost obligatory dicitur, 'it is said') tells of two consuls who were visited in the same night by the same apparition. In that vision, a man of greater than human stature and more majestic gave the same orders to both consuls (8.6.9-11). Aristides, who mentions a number of such double-dream experiences, tells of a temple warden named Philadelphus who had a dream vision in which he saw a crowd in the Sacred Theatre wearing white garments and assembled before the god. In that vision, Aristides gave the public address and hymned the god by telling how the god had saved him and had told him to drink wormwood diluted with vinegar. Aristides himself had a very similar dream-vision, and the double vision was taken as a sign that he should in fact drink the mixture as a curative, which, of course, he did with the desired effect {Sacred Tales 2.28-35). According to Acts 9.10, the Lord (ó κύριος) spoke to Ananias kv όράματι. This is the same kind of experience that Peter and Paul have in Acts and that Abraham and Daiuel, for example, had in Jewish traditions. Here, as with many other cases where the Lord speaks in visions in Acts, there is no selfidentification of the speaker, but Ananias himself immediately identifies the speaker as 'Lord'. Paul had done the same thing (9.5), but in his case, significantly, the Lord had identified himself, 'I am Jesus'. So strictly, Anaruas's

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vision is an auditory experience and not a visual one. There is no appearance of the heaverUy being; only a message is given. It comes as a revelation and fits into the message-vision or speech-revelation category. Besides, such distinctions between audition and vision are problematic. What a divine messenger commimicates by words might be seen, and a vision could be heard. Socrates' daimon is erdightening on this subject. According to Simmias, in Plutarch's On the Sign, Socrates held that anyone claiming visual commimication with heaven (6L' δψβως εντυχειν θ€Χψ) was an impostor, but he listened eagerly and closely to those who said they had heard a voice. Plutarch suggests that maybe Socrates' daimon was not then a vision but the perception of a voice in some strange way, a little like hearing voices in sleep, even though no sound is in fact uttered. People can hear better when asleep because the passions do not disturb the body like they do when one is awake. But Socrates, 'being pure and free from passion', was open to such speech. Says Plutarch, What reached him, one would conjecture, was not spoken language, but the unuttered words of a daimon, making voiceless contact with his intelligence by their sense alone.

In other words, Socrates in a wakened state could divine the presence and the 'words' of the deity. He heard no words but the divine communicated directly to his soul {Sign Soc. 588). Simmias goes on, the messages of the demons pass through all other men, but find an echo in those oidy whose character is imtroubled and soul unruffled, the very men in fact we call holy and daemonic (Ιίρους και δαιμονίους). In popular belief, on the other hand, it is oiUy in sleep that men receive inspiration from on high; and the notion that they are so influenced when awake and in full possession of their faculties is accounted strange and incredible (589).

In the Ananias experience, there is the fanuliar pattern. The recipient is addressed by name, 'Ananias', and replies in a manner suggesting wdlling obedience, 'Ιδού έγώ, κύριε (9.10). It is striking that the word κύριος appears six times in this brief narrative. The audience is left in no doubt as to the source of Ananias's experience and as to the agent of Paul's conversion. Then come the directions, 'Get up and go to the street called Straight and find in the house of Judas Saul by name from Tarsus. For behold (Ιδού) he is praying' (9.11). This is followed by the reference to the vision-doublet, 'He also saw a man in a vision called Ananias coming and laying his hands on him so that he might see again' (9.12).

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As sometimes happens in the visionary experiences in Acts, a discussion ensues between recipient and messenger. Like many of the prophets, Ananias baulks at the command and shows the obligatory restraint, 'Lord, I heard from many about this man of the evil things he did to the saints in Jerusalem. And here he has authority from the chief priests to bind all those who call on your name' (9.13-14). Protestation or objection to the call of God is not imcommon (compare Exod. 3.11; Jer. 1.6; Lk. 1.18). But in Acts there can be no opposition to what the Lord wants. The Lord continues, 'Go, because this man is my elected vessel to bear my name before nations and kings and the sons of Israel. For I will show him what things it is necessary for him to suffer for my name' (9.15-16). The audition ends abruptly (9.16). Ananias, like all those who hear from the Lord, then acts on the commission (9.17). Ananias then says to Paul, 'Brother Saul, the Lord has sent me to you, Jesus who appeared to you (ό όφθίΐς σοι) on the road'. As Jervell observes, this is 'Christophanie-Terminologie' (1998:284). Again, as in other visions, it is 'Jesus' who has been seen. The use of the name, by itself, suggests this is an identifiable person, not orüy a divine light or overwhelming vision of a deity so powerful that a figure carmot be deciphered. Ananias's vision is yet further confirmation in the audience's mind that Paul is a valid agent of the Lord.

6. Cornelius's vision (Acts 10.1-8) This episode is crucial in the Acts narrative; with it the worm turns radically. As the reader of Acts will already know, God uses signs and wonders to indicate a new world-order, a new time, a new kingdom, and often the characters who take the lead in this new imderstanding of the world have to undergo radical experiences. Visionary experiences seem to be at the centre of their change. That was the case with Saul, and now it is the case with Peter. I might quibble with some of his terminology, but Marguerat makes the point, Luke illustrates God's difficulty in implementing this new turn of salvation history by setting up around Peter and Cornelius a cascade of supernatural interventions: an apparition to Cornelius (10:3-60), then an ecstasy of Peter (10:10-16), then a revelation of the Spirit to Peter (10:19-20), and then finally a second Pentecost in the house of Cornelius (10:45-46). Such a concentration of the marvellous is without equal in the book of Acts (1995:146).

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Cornelius is very much like Ananias, and he plays a similar role. They are both devout and pious men who have visions concerning Peter, on the one hand, and Paul on the other, both of v\?hom xmdergo radical changes in their thinking and behaviour. Cornelius has his vision 'about the ninth hour', that is about three o'clock in the afternoon, one of the traditional hours for Jewish prayer. It was, and still is, very coirunon for people at prayer to experience visions. Cornelius, like Ananias, sees kv όράματι, and that puts him in the same league as Peter and Paul, Abraham and Daniel. Wasserberg rightly says, 'Das Überraschungsmoment für die Leser besteht darin, daß sich der Gott Israels dem Nichtjuden Cornelius mit einem όραμα (V. 3) gleichermaßen zuwendet vñe dem Judenchristen Petrus (V. 17)' (1998: 277). The appearance to Cornelius was an indicator to the audience that the activity of God is not reserved for Jews. Gentiles too can experience the wondrous presence of angels; gentiles too can receive messages through the agents of God. While a vision often is an ambiguous experience - did I really see that, or was I imagining it? - such is not the case in Acts. The vision is nearly always very clear for the visionary and very clear in intent. So also wdth Cornelius, who 'saw clearly' (elócv ... φανερώς, 10.3). Any doubt or ambiguity about what he sees is removed by the adverb. What Cornelius clearly - or even 'really' - sees is an angel of God (αγγελον του 0€oû) coming towards him and addressing him by name (10.3). This is the only occasion in Acts in which it is explicitly stated that the angel is seen. On other occasions, the angel is seen by implication, in that he is said to 'stand near' (for example, 1.10; 12.7-10; 27.24). That a gentile should clearly see an angel of the God of Israel is remarkable, and again imderlines the dramatic and radical significance of what transpires. This episode has a number of the standard features of angelophanic and visionary experiences in Jewish and Christian literature. Cornelius is addressed by name (10.3), he reacts with fear and a sense of being overwhelmed, he adopts a position of submission, and then he is given a message (10.4r-5). Having delivered the message, the angel disappears, and Cornelius does as commanded (10.7-8). This structure is also found in the vision of Ananias, for example (9.10-17), and in the call of Paul (9.4-6). It is a form consistently foimd in the Septuagint (for example, in Gen. 31.11-13 and 46.2-5). Addressing the recipient of the vision by name implies authority, and in this case it is obviously so, since the angel is a heavenly being. In this case, the calling by name can be linked with Cornelius's identification as one who prays to God. The one whom Cornelius addressed in prayer now sends a

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messenger who addresses him in familiar terms. The God of Israel knows Cornelius, a Roman soldier. Cornelius is in a state of heightened awareness, knowing that he is looking at, and being addressed by, a heaverüy being. That is why he 'stared' (άτ€νίσας), just like the disciples stared as Jesus ascended into the heaverüy world (1.10), and like the Sanhédrin stared as they saw the angel-Hke face of Stephen (6.15). To see the angel of God is an awe-inspiring sight; it left Gideon in fear for his life (Judg. 6.22-23). Luke describes Cornelius as being terrified («μφοβος), which implies as much a sense of being awe-struck as of being scared or afraid. The word is rather rare in Greek literature. Luke had used it to describe the reaction of the women to the angels at Jesus' tomb (Lk. 24.5), and the response of the disciples on seeing the living Jesus (Lk. 24.37). Sophocles used it of some of the gods who, he says, have a σ€μνόν δνομα {Oed. Col. 39-40), which suggests that he uses 'έμφοβος to indicate reverential fear. Cornelius asks a question of the heaverüy messenger, somewhat like Saul did when he encoimtered the heaverüy light on the Damascus road (9.5). Saul asked, 'Who are you. Lord?'; Cornelius asks, 'What is it. Lord?' Both acknowledge the superior status and power of the divine being. Cornelius responds to the calling of his name by the angel just as did Jacob (= Israel) when the same 'angel of God' called him by name in a dream (LXX Gen. 31.11; 46.2), and as did Moses when he too was called by name (LXX Exod. 3.2). Despite the fact that Cornelius is said to see the angel 'clearly', there is no description given of the messenger. The fact that Cornelius reacts with awe implies that the angel has the form and size of an awe-inspiring figure, and that would fit the standard depiction of divine messengers. They are much taller, much stronger, and much more beautiful than humans. They often appear in light, and therefore in white, dazzling clothes. In fact, their bodies, like those of the gods, are often so brilliant that humans cannot look at them. This is true in Jewish literature, but the same ideas are present in Homer's Hymn to Aphrodite (167-190) and in his Hymn to Demeter (275-280). But here, as indeed elsewhere, Luke's narrative concentrates on the message rather than on the form of the messenger. So, when the angel leaves Cornelius, he is described as the 'one who was speaking to him' (ó λαλών аЬщ). Cornelius is told to call Peter to his house (10.3-5); Peter then has a vision in which he is commanded to eat imclean animals (10.9-16). This experience of related visions is like the double-dream visions already referred to as common in Greek and Roman experience. In yet another example, Dionysius of Halicamassus tells of a double dream which appeared to Aeneas in the form of his household gods appearing to him by night

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with an exhortation, and to Latimus the same night 'when a certain divinity of the place appeared to him in his sleep' with the same exhortation (1.57.4). As in many of the visions reported in Acts, this is a significant and important experience in that it prepares the audience for the conversion of Cornelius's household and their baptism into the Christian community, the commimity of the holy ones gifted by the holy Spirit. Luke clearly believes that such visions are proof and evidence that the work of Peter and the conversion of the gentiles are indeed the work and plan of God.

7. Peter's ecstasic vision (Acts 10.9-16) Unlike Cornelius, who prays at the set ninth hour, Peter in this passage prays at the sixth hour, that is, at midday, a time not set for Jewish prayer. However, Billerbeck notes the rabbinic injunction that if anyone goes through the morning without eating before midday and then prepares for eating, he should first pray the midday prayer and then go to the table; because it was forbidden to eat as midday approached without saying the midday prayers (Wasserberg 1998: 281). It also seems that it was customary for many Jews to pray in an 'upper room', a room above the street level (Dan. 6.10; Acts 1.13; 20.8). The mention of the noon hour is an important clue to the audience, and it does much more than 'explain Peter's himger' (pace Johnson 1992: 183). The midday hour and its coimterpoint of midnight were both thought to be critical moments of the day, and were times at which the gods or their agents could be expected to be active. Tacitus tells of Curtius Rufus, later a consul, who was loitering by himself in an arcade at midday 'when a female form of superhuman size rose before him, and a voice was heard to say: "Thou, Rufus, art he that shall come into this province as proconsul"' (Ann. 11.21). It was at midday that the Argonaut, Jason, had a vision of nymphs (Apoll. Rhod. 4.1308-1330). Phlegon, in his Book of Wonders, repeats an incident of raising from the dead he knew from Antisthenes (ca. 190 ВСЕ) which, the report says, took place at midday (μεσούσης της ημέρας, 3.4). Dionysius of Halicamassus tells of a 'wonderful and extraordinary (θαυμαστή καΐ παράδοξος) manifestation of a god. When Tullius had fallen asleep ... about noon, a fire shone forth from his head. This was seen by his mother and by the king's wife, as they were walking through the portico, as well as by all who happened to be present with then at the time ... with the ending of his sleep the flame was dispersed and vanished (4.2.4).

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In Christian literature, it was at midday that Paul had his vision of Jesus (22.6); and Philip was told by the angel to go down the Gaza road at midday (8.26). In the History of Joseph the Carpenter, Gabriel is said to have appeared to Joseph at midday (Hist. Jos. 6). So mentiorung that Peter goes to the rooftop to pray at noon was a clear indicator to the audience that God could be expected to appear and to command something extraordinary. Marshall is typical of those who ignore the ecstatic nature of this experience. He gives tadt support to the notion that what Peter saw was shaped either by his himger or by 'an awrung over the roof of the house to shield people from the sim' that was in Peter's sight (1980: 185). Brace suggests Peter saw a ship on the horizon (1951: 217). Both of these opinions show no understanding of an ecstatic trance. The noun εκστασις is used a few times in New Testament, but is quite rare in other non-Jewish Greek literature. In Acts 3.10, the crowd was 'filled with wonder and ecstasy' at the healing of a cripple. Similarly, in the Gospels, people respond to imexpected events in a state of ecstasy (Lk.5.26; Mk 5.42; 16.8). Peter's ecstasy, like that of Paul (22.17), is not induced by a dramatic, unexpected event, but it is a state that prepares him for extraordinary vision. In the case of Peter, it might have been himger-induced (10.9), but I suspect the real cause is the time of day. The sixth hour is an expected time for visions from God. Modems tend to imderstand ecstasy as a psychological state, and so as a description of behaviour to be imderstood in psychological terms. The ancients, especially Jews and Christians, imderstood ecstasy to be a means whereby the divine and human gap is bridged, nearly always at the instigation of God. Ecstasy, then, is not a psychological state so much as a process of commimication that has its origins external to the recipient, and it was at midday that the gods were believed to be particularly active in their commurücation with humans. Whenever God takes the initiative in communicating with a human, the consequences are dramatic for the recipient. So in the Septuagint, ekstasis conunonly carries the idea of an extremely disturbing and shattering experience that is quite overwhelming, resulting sometimes in dread and fear on the part of the one upon whom it falls (Gen. 2.21; 15.12; 27.33). On many occasions, it is an ekstasis that comes from the Lord (LXX 1 Reg. 11.7; 14.15; 4 Reg. 14.13; 15.5; 17.10; Zech. 14.13). And it would seem yet again that it is from this literature that Luke's vocabulary is drawn. Given the content of the experience, and noting Peter's reaction to it, I think we ought to imderstand that this too was an overwhelming and disturbing experience for him. It was one that, in Luke's mind, had radical consequences not only for Peter himself but also for the Jewish Christian community.

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Philo, commenting on the ecstatic experience of Abraham in Gen. 15.12, speaks of four kinds of ecstasy: 1) 'a mad fury producing mental delusion due to old age or melancholy or other similar cause'. He then says such a state can occur, on the basis of Deuteronomy (28.2S-29), as a curse on the impious, who will be overcome by 'madness and loss of sight and ecstasy of mind'; 2) 'extreme amazement at the events which so often happen suddenly and imexpectedly'. He gives the example of Isaac who was in great ecstasy when Esau brought the commissioned meal and asked for a blessing. Here it would seem to suggest great confusion of mind. Likewise, Jacob is said to be in great ecstasy on hearing that his son Joseph was still alive. And Israel is in ecstasy at Mt Sinai and on the completion of the sacrifices; 3) 'passivity of mind'. Philo sees Adam as an example of this, as it is said that God cast an ecstasy on Adam and he slept when Eve was created; and 4) 'the best form of all is the divine possession or frenzy to which the prophets as a class are subject'. The prophets are all those who have the πάθος of the 'inspired and God-possessed' (ένθουσιώντος καΐ θεοφορήτου). The impious are incapable of such a πάθος, but the wise and the just like Abraham, Noah and Isaac are 'the vocal instrument of God, smitten and played by his invisible hand' {Quis Rerum Her. 249-266). In other words, true ecstasy for Philo is prophecy, spoken words inspired by God. Of these four, Peter would fit best categories 2) and 3). It would seem that he is not in a mad fury or suffering a mental delusion; nor does he prophesy. He falls into a trance, but there are also signs that he is confused and overwhelmed, although that is largely as a result of the ecstatic experience itself. I suggest that it is what today might be called an altered state of consciousness. This is suggested by 10.17, where Luke says either that Peter 'came to himself again' (kv έαυτφ, reading έγένετο with D text; compare his similar experience in 12.11) and was 'perplexed' (διηπόρίΐ.), or that he was 'perplexed within himself'. Either way, he was in a state of confusion brought about by what he saw in the vision. Peter's altered state is implied also in his оуш version, when he says that he 'stared' (άτενίσας) into the heaveiily world and saw the sheet coming down (11.6). It would appear that he was in a similar state to Stephen when the latter saw the heavens open, and to the disciples when they saw Jesus taken up into the heavenly world. The ecstasy comes upon (επί) Peter. This implies that the experience is involimtarily, as is always the case with visioris in Acts. They are not like the deliberate, ritually prepared visions of modem shamaitô and of the andent merkevah and neoplatorust mystics. That is one reason why I do not think that it is helpful to look to those experiences in order to understand the visions in Acts. Ecstasy means that the normal physical sensations are

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suspended or overriden by another power - that of the deity. In that sense, the experience is very much like that of the Spirit falling upon or coming upon someone. There is something aggressive, overwhelming and transforming about it, and so Peter's vision is not to be imderstood as a peaceful, relaxed, serene dream. Peter's doubt and perplexity about the experience (10.17) is typical. Whether one can trust visions was often an issue in botìi the Jewish-Christian and pagan worlds. The Gospel narratives concerning the resurrection appearances of Jesus are a good example. The doubt of Thomas is, of course, renowned, but it is typical of all responses. Doubt and fear is the response of the women at the tomb of Jesus, of the disdples gathered in a room locked away, and of some disciples who gathered on the moimtain and witnessed Jesus' ascension. Perplexity and fear also came upon the disdples as they were in their boat on the lake and they thought they saw a φάντασμα. Jesus assures them, 'Fear not, it is Γ (Mk. 6.49). The ability to determine whether or not such experiences were from God was a very fortunate ability! In Sirach, it is advised not to put any trust in dreams 'unless sent as emissaries from the Most High' (34.1-8). The much later Clementine Homilies, which discuss the reliability of dreams and visions at some length, prefer to distrust visions altogether because he who trusts to apparition or vision and dream is insecure. For he does not know to whom he is trusting. For it is possible either that he may be an evil demon or a deceptive spirit, pretending in his speeches to be what he is not (17.14).

In the Greek and Roman worlds, while Homer could say, καΐ γαρ τ' δναρ έκ Διός έστιν {II. 1.63), not everyone was quite so certain. Herodotus gives a good example of doubt, an example that has some similarities to Peter's threefold vision on the roof. Xerxes had resolved not to send an army against the Greeks. But thatrught, in his sleep, he saw a vision in which 'a tall and goodly man stood over him' (ανδρα έπιστάντα μέγαν те καΐ eùcCôea) and told him he had made a wrong dedsion. Then it vanished. The next rught Xerxes had the same vision with the same message given more urgently. Xerxes discussed the vision with his advisor, Artabanus, who dismissed the dream as simply 'the thoughts of the d a / . Xerxes then arranged for Artabanus to sleep in Xerxes' bed, which he duly did, and Artabanus indeed had the same vision, and so both were convinced that this was a message from the gods and it had to be fulfilled. Xerxes in fact had yet another vision that was interpreted by the magoi as indicating his supremacy over the world (7.12-19).

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The threefold occurrence of the same vision also convinced a certain Titus Latinius (who was quite sick) of its veradty. Jupiter Capitolinus appeared to him in a dream with a message that Titus ignored, thinking it to be 'one of the deceitful dreams that are so common'. However, the god appeared again in a dream, angry at the disobedience. A few days later, his son suddenly died, and the god appeared for a third time. Titus did as requested, and immediately was restored to good health (Dionysius of Halicamassus, Ant. Rom. 7.68.3-6). Peter's repeated vision probably is an indication to him (and to the audience) that the vision is to be acted upon because it truly comes from God. Peter appears to have his experience in the house of Simon the tanner. Wasserberg (1998: 280) observes that Luke mentions three times that Peter was staying there (9.43; 10.6,32), whereas Peter himself fails to mention that in his own report: Ί was in Joppa' (11.5,13). This may not be coincidental. Peter gives his report back in Jerusalem, and he may not want to detract from the radical message that he brings, namely that the gentiles have received the same gift as the Christian Jews, and that any opposition to that idea is to be seen as opposing God (11.17). By mentioning that he received his impulse for the move into a gentile's house while he was staying in the house of a tanner might have made the whole experience suspect in the eyes of some. Tanners worked with the skin of dead animals, and that automatically put them in the imclean category, as many scholars have noted. Jews were not the only ones to thirJc this way of that craft. Aristides puts tanners along with cobblers, fullers, and leather-repair workers in a category of artists who would not receive felicitations from anybody (Orat. 11.131). While in the trance, Peter sees (θ€ωρ€Χ - not normally used by Luke with any suggestion of paranormal vision) the opened heaven (τον ούρανόν άνίφγμένον, 10.11). The vision of the opened heaven has close parallels in Luke's narrative of the baptism of Jesus (Lk. 3.21 where Luke also uses the singular, άνίφχθηναι τον ούρανόν), and in the incident of Stephen's vision (Acts 7.56, τους ουρανούς διηνοιγμίνους). Those two experiences give a clue as to how to imderstand what was happening in Peter's vision. Both Jesus and Stephen see the opened heaven at very sigiuficant moments in their lives: Jesus is about to embark on his ministry of annovmdng the good news, and Stephen is about to be executed. Both events clearly indicate that heaven is on their side and vindicates their actions and words. In Jesus' experience, which takes place while he is pra5ñng, the opened heaven allows the Spirit to descend on to Jesus in the form of a dove (Lk. 3.22); here, Peter, also at prayer, sees something Шее a great sheet descending. By the way, there is no mention of ropes - the thing visualized is simply suspended from the

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heavens or has its four comers attached to the heavens. This is not something evoked by seeing the sails of a ship or awning above the roof! I have noted earlier that visions are often described as if they have an autonomous existence and so can act on their own. Here too, 'a voice came to him' (έγένετο φωνή προς αύτόν). It is precisely the same language that is used in LXX Gen. 15.4, although in that passage the voice is said to be the Lord's. Interestingly, the expression έγέν^το φωνή προς αυτόν is used there also in the context of a sigruficant vision. In Peter's case, there is no mention of whose voice it is, although Peter does address the speaker as κύριε (ν 14). Rather than taking the voice to be that of God or Jesus, it is better to regard the voice as an agent of God similar to an angel or spirit. This partly is why the voice speaks of God in the third person (10.15). It is sometimes overlooked that Peter is addressed by name (άναστάς, Петре, θΰσον καΐ φάγε, 10.13), а literary feature of many visionary experiences. Peter is put under the authority of the angelic vision. As sometimes occurs in visions, Peter has a dialogue with the voice, and like others, he expresses objections to what he is told to do (10.14). Probably in order to convince him, but maybe also to convince the audience, the experience is repeated twice. That this is of some import to Luke is suggested by his use of both πάλιν and ек δευτέρου, when either of those terms alone would have sufficed. The prophet Elijah was also told twice (έκ беитерои) by the angel of the Lord to 'rise and eat' (LXX 3 Reg. 19.7). And it is common for the word of the Lord to come a second time to a prophet (Hag. 2.20; Jer. 1.13; Zech. 4.12). Samuel heard his call three times (1 Sam. 3.1-18), and in another version, Eli tells Samuel, 'If one call unto another twice in the night or at noonday, they shall know that it is an evil spirit. But if he call a third time, they shall know that it is an angel' (LAB 53.4). Interestingly, the same version then says that Phineas told his sons: 'The right ear heareth the Lord by night, and the left ear an angel'. Samuel hears with the right ear, which 'was filled with the voice' (53.6). The repetition in Peter's vision might also be little more than a narrative device that connects the three men whom Cornelius sent (10.7) with the three who arrive, after his vision, on the doorstep of where Peter is staying (10.19). It is very common in visions and dreams for the messenger to appear and disappear suddenly, and so also here, the vision disappears 'suddenly' (εύθύς, 10.16). While discussing this episode, there are two other expressions worth noting. In 10.19, Peter is said to be 'pondering about the vision' (διενθυμουμένου περί του οράματος) when 'tìie spirit spoke to him' («ΐπβν αΰτω το πνεύμα). Peter has not quite got back to his normal state; he is διενθυμουμένου

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(v 19). This is a very rare verb, but it has the sense of thinking deeply 'in one's spirit or soul' (θυμός) about something, and it may also carry a sense of being exdted or passionate. When in that state, a person is susceptible to revelation or commimication from the spirits. And so here, it is while Peter is in that deep state that the pneuma speaks to him. It is not the Voice (as in 10.13), but the pneuma, and that caimot mean his own spirit because the pneuma says, Ί have sent them'. In the Cornelius episode, it was the angel of God who sent the delegation to Peter (10.3,5, 22). It would seem that here is another case of angel-spirit identification, as also occurs, for example, in the Philip episode in Acts 8. As there, so here and elsewhere, the order is angelspirit. In the Old Testament, the possession trance is a sign that Yahweh has designated the person to a particular and special office or role. For example, Samuel tells Saul, whom he has anointed as king, that 'the spirit of Yahweh will seize you and you will go into ecstasy' with a group of prophets (1 Sam. 10.6). In Acts, the fact that both Peter and Paul have ecstasy visions is also a sign that they have been designated by God to be apostles and leaders of the new Israel, a commimity that includes some gentiles. They are human beings who are filled with a holy and divine power and in whom and through whom God communicates his will and intentions. As such, they are 'dangerous' and inspire awe in others, as is demonstrated by Cornelius' reaction when Peter comes into his house (10.25). In addition, they themselves are rendered empty and helpless to oppose the power that comes upon them. In conclusion, it ought "to be noted that the telling of this visionary experience of Peter is repeated, albeit with variations (11.5-10). We have already seen that Paul also retells his experience twice, and he too varies the account. The fact that the visions are repeated is a clear indication that such visions are, in Luke's mind at least, proof that Peter and Paul are men of God whose message and directions to the churches cannot and must not be opposed. The visions serve to cor^rm the genuineness of their message and to confirm their authority and status as ones doing the work of God.

8. Paul's visions In Acts, Paul has seven visions. That is not an insignificant fact, and it suggests that Luke has constructed a Paul for whom visions play an important role in determining his movements and actions. If that is the case, then these visions deserve attention. The most significant of Paul's visions is his

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encounter with Jesus near Damascus (9.3-6), but the others also occur at crudal and important times. It is reported that he had a vision telling him Ananias was coming to commission him (9.12). At Troas, in a vision Paul sees a man inviting him to visit Macedonia (16.9); and in Corinth, the vision encourages him to stay on in that dty (18.9-10). Paul has another vision while in ecstasy in the Temple in Jerusalem soon after his initial conversion. He is told to leave Jerusalem and go to the gentiles (22.17-21). In Jerusalem again, 'the Lord stood by him' at night and predicted his move to Rome (23.11); and finally, Paul on board ship sees an angel who assures him he must stand in Rome and so wiU not perish in the shipwreck (27.23-24).

8.1. The vision near Damascus (Acts 9.3-9; 22.6-11; 26.12-18) It is Paul's initial vision that is crucial for many scholars, for various reasons. And the interest has not diminished; if anything, it has increased. Some of the interest has come from disciplines outside of biblical studies, and that in tum has reinvigorated biblical studies. So German scholarship, for example, has seen the recent publication of Heininger's Paulus als Visionär (1996), and Reichardt's Psychologische Erklärung der paulinischen Damaskusvision? (1999). The latter, in the first section, gives a valuable history of psychoanalytical approaches to Paul's vision, from Strauss through to Lüdemann. Reichardt outlines the main tenets in Freudian and Jimgian approaches that suggest Paul's vision basically was hallucinatory and driven by various personal factors in Paul himself. In the second section, Reichardt looks at the texts in Paul's ovm writings and in Acts. Heininger also gives a helpful history-ofscholarship, as well as providing material from both Jewish and non-Jewish sources. In the end, both of these books can not get away from the sourcecritical approaches so dominant in German scholarship, and from the corollary that Paul's own writings are authentic and therefore more reliable than Acts. For those interested in 'what actually happened' in this visionary experience of Paul, Acts confuses the matter because it offers three (or possibly four) versions of the one experience. The first version is in the narrative of Paul's conversion (Acts 9.3-9). Later, Paul tells of the experience while standing on the steps of the Temple in Jerusalem and addressing the Jewish crowd (22.6-21). And the third version again involves Paul's retelling of 'the heavenly vision' (26.19), this time before Agrippa (26.12-18). One could say that Barnabas provides a fourth version. Barnabas leads Paul to the apostles, and then explains to them 'how Paul saw the Lord (elóei/ τον κύριον) on the

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road and that he spoke to him' («λάλησαν αύτφ, 9.27). Barnabas here uses somewhat unusual terms for such a visionary experience. In the first place, it is the 'Lord' whom Paul sees, and not 'Jesus', as is the case elsewhere. Secondly, the verb θ€ωρ6Ϊν is rarely used elsewhere in Acts in a visionary sense (17.16,22; 19.26; 20.38; 25.24; 27.10; 28.6). And finally, the verb for speaking (λαλεΐν), which often implies inspired speech, is not used when the Lord or an angel speaks to Paul in any of his other visions in Acts. For all that, in each of the four reports, and certainly when they are put together, it is clear that Paul 'saw the Lord' and Luke imderstands that experience to be just like others in which the Lord appeared after he had been raised (compare Lk. 24.34). A simple explanation for the multiple telling is that repetition implies significance and importance.® Paul is where he is, and doing what he is doing, as a result of a significant visionary experience. He is depicted in Acts as a chosen vessel of God, and the threefold telling of the vision reinforces the fact that Paul operates not by his own will but under a divine compulsion. Repetition of a call through a vision or audition is not unknown. In Acts itself, there is the parallel threefold vision experienced by Peter, who, partly by this repetition, comes to a very sigiuficant change in his thinking about the gentiles (10.9-16). It is after three calls to Samuel that Eli recognizes it must be Yahweh who is calling the boy (1 Sam. 3.1-9), and Pseudo-Philo actually states the rule that two visions are still dubious; it is the third that indicates the message conveyed is doubtless of God (LAB 53.4). Luke says that Paul has his vision near Damascus, and he mentions that ancient city four times in one rather brief episode (9.2-10), and three further times in 9.20-30. It is also used four times in the Acts 22 account of the same experience. Again, repetition draws attention, so probably there is some significance in the use of the city's name. Just what that significance might be is not at all obvious, so I can only guess. Damascus was a name used in some of the Qumran texts, where it appears to be almost a code name, but For literature on the subject of why the number of versions, see D. Marguerat, 'Saul's Conversion (Acts 9, 22, 26) and the Multiplication of Narrative in Acts', in C. M. Tuckett (ed.), Luke's Literary Achievement: Collected Essays (JSNTSup 116; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1995), pp. 127-155 (127 n. 2); G. Lohfink, The Conversion of St Paul (trans. B. Malina; Chicago: Franciscan Herald Press, 1976), pp. 8-21; and B. Gaventa, From Darkness to Light: Aspects of conversion in the New Testament (Phildelphia: Fortress, 1986), pp. 52-95. For attempts to make them all balance, see Lohfink (1976: 33-40). For the source critics who see various traditions at work, and a critique of that position, see Lohfink (1976:40-46).

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one that has not yet been convincingly decoded by scholars. The texts found at Qumran seem to belong to a community who saw themselves in conflict with Jerusalem and who saw 'Damascus' as the counterpoint to Jerusalem, and where the true righteous living and correct interpretation of Torah was to be foimd. Members of the new covenant live in the land of Damascus (CD 6.20), and the Inteφreter of the Law, raised up by God, will come to Damascus (7.19) on the basis of Amos 5.26-27. It would seem that Damascus was a code name for what is now known as Qumran. Haenchen thinks it 'improbable' that the Christians whom Paul sought to imprison in Damascus had some cormection with this new Covenant group (1971: 324 n. 3). But the possibility deserves further consideration. The Christians at Damascus called themselves The Way (9.2), as did those who followed the rules set out in the Qumran texts. Ananias is told that Paul is to be foimd in the house of Judas and that house was located on the street called Straight (9.11). Scholars take this to be a simple reference to the address of Judas's house (for example, Bruce 1988:186; Schneider 2002: 28). And it might well be; but it seems too coincidental given that being 'straight' and 'upright' was almost an obsession in the Qumran commimity (IQS 8.13-15; IQS 3.4-12), and given that it was important also for the Christians in preparing the way of the Lord (Lk. 3.4; Acts 8.21; 13.10). In addition, did Luke also interpret Amos 5 as referring to the Christian group in Damascus? Was the group there because of the persecution by those in Jerusalem (9.1) in a way similar to the Covenant group that went to Damascus to escape the Wicked Priest of Jerusalem? According to two of the versions (22.6 and 26.13), Paul has his vision at midday. As I have already noted, it was at that time of the day that Peter also had a startling visionary experience (10.9). Speyer says, 'the hour of midday was a preferred point in time for the appearances of gods and demons and for a vision of the other side' [J^nseitsschau] (1989: 330). The same could be said for the midnight hour. The appearances and actions of God, or of God's agent, at midday or at midiught in Acts are quite common, and their timing deserves more attention than is normally given to them. It is at midday (κατά μεσημβρίαν) that Philip is told to go travelling (8.26). At midnight, Paul and Silas are released dramatically from prison (16.26) and Paul raises Eutychus to life at that same hour of the night (20.7). The mention of midday in this episode is a literary trigger to the audience that they should expect a heavenly appearance, and they are not disappointed. Luke follows the standard pattern for the appearance of a god. The god or the heaverüy messenger appears 'suddenly' (έξαίφνης, 9.3; compare the sudden appearance of Janus to Ovid, Fasti 1.95-96). It is also common for

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the god or a divine agent to deliver a message and then to disappear as suddenly as it appeared (Ovid Meta. 15.663-664). In the wider literature, the adverb 'suddenly' denotes the totally unexpected, and it often is used of natural phenomena, such as an earthquake. As Aristotle said already, it takes a brave person to face up to the sudden things and not just the expected. 'What is anticipated one may face by reasoning, the sudden (εξαίφνης) according to character' (Nie. Eth. 3.8.15). Daube (1964) has shown that in the Old Testament, the adverb (Hebrew, pith'от, petha'), is nearly always used in disastrous and destructive contexts that evoke terror and wonder. The same can be said for the rather rare New Testament uses of αφνω and έξαίφνης; the former is used only three times, and then only in Acts, the latter five times, twice in Acts. Plutarch uses the adverb to alert the reader to a sudden and destructive action. He tells of a sudden (εξαίφνης) commotion in the heavens at the death of Romulus (Num. 2.2); of heavy rain falling εξαίφνης with thunder and darkness (Ale. 28.3; more graphically depicted in Tim. 28.2); and of the Athenian general Conon, who 'deeply stirred by the threatening disaster' suddenly gives orders to his fleet (Lys. 11.3). Plutarch also uses it for sudden attacks by soldiers in ambushes and the like (Phil. 12.3; 18.9; Thes. 13.3). Dio Chrysostom uses the word in a wondrous situation. He repeats the myth that when Danae was being closely guarded in a bronze chamber, 'suddenly from above' (εξαίφνης άνωθεν) gold rained down upon her (Orat. 77/8.31). If the sudden appearance or action of a divine being is often destructive, then is this experience of Paul's also destructive? It is a question I will take up later. Suddenly, then, a light that comes out of heaven shines all around Paul (9.3). The light comes 'out of heaven' just as the sound came from there at Pentecost (2.2). One can probably agree with Speyer that 'without a wondrous light an epiphany of a god is not thinkable' (1989: 324). Light was the ti-aditional medium of theophanies (Exod. 24.15ff; Ps. 29.7; 97.1; Ezek. 1.4ff; Mt. 17.2; ]os. As. 14.2). It was, of course, often associated with God and with God's presence (Ps. 4.6; 35.9; 55.13; 77.14; 88.15; 96.11; 103.2; Isa. 2.5; 60.19; 1 Jn 1.5-7; 1 Pet. 2.9). The very fact that it is Jesus who speaks from the light reinforces Luke's earlier narrative that Jesus has been elevated into the realm of God and so can and does appear from that realm. As in the case of Stephen, so also here, the audience already knows who is in heaven. Just as Stephen saw Jesus there, the audience now expects that the light will indicate again the presence of the heavenly Jesus. Light is also the common feature of modem Christie visions, as it has been in such visions reported down through the centuries (Wiebe 1997). It is also typical of divine appearances in Greek and Latin literature. For

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example, Ovid says that when Janus appeared suddenly to him 'the house grew brighter than it was before' (Fasti 1.94), and on another occasion, in an experience not imlike that of Paul's (especially in the version given in Acts 26), I was wrapt up in prayer; I felt the heavenly deity, and the glad ground gleamed with a purple light. Not, indeed, that I saw thee, О goddess ... nor was it meet that a man should look upon thee (Fasti 6.251-252).

That the Greek gods lived in light is clear from the poets who say that 'the gods dwell in a secure abode and tranquil, vdthout the experience of winds and clouds, but gleaming through all the unbroken time with the soft radiance of purest light' (Plutarch, Peric. 39.3). The light that envelops Paul is not that from a natural phenomenon such as lightning, as some have suggested. Luke is not using the language of nature here but theophanic or Christophanic language, as is made clear by Paul's subsequent falling to the groimd (9.4). In a later version, Paul says he was imable to see 'because of the glory of the lighf (άπό της δόξης του φωτός, 22.11). Falling to the grovmd, like the presence of light and the hearing of a voice, is a common feature of theophanies (Dan. 10.12; Lk. 1.9). It is easily forgotten that theophanies and epiphanies were often frightening, terrifying, and totally overwhelming experiences that often produced strong and strange reactions in the visionary's body. So Ovid says that when Janus appeared to him, 'a terror seized me. I felt my hair stiffen with fear, and v^th a sudden chill my bosom froze' (Fasti 1.97-98). Paul is enveloped by a heavenly power, and like Ezekiel and others, he understandably and expectedly falls down to the ground, his knees and other joints have been weakened, and he is totally overwhelmed. In his helpless prone position, Paul 'heard a voice speaking to him' (ήκουσίν φωνήν λέγουσαν αύτω). This hearing of a voice has close parallels in many visionary and auditory experiences known in Israel's literary traditions. Moses went into the Tent of Meeting to speak with Yahweh when 'he heard the voice of the Lord speaking to him (ήκουοίν την φωνήν κυρίου λαλοδντος πρός αυτόν) from above the throne of mercy which was on the ark of the Testimony' (LXX Num. 7.89). The powerful and dramatic effect of hearing the voice is illustrated in Deut. 5.26, 'For what mortal shall live who has heard the voice of the living God speaking from the midst of the fire as we have (τίς γαρ σάρξ ήτις ήκουσ€ν φωνήν θ€θϋ ζώντος λαλοΰντος έκ μέσου του πυρός ώς ήμ€ΐς καΐ ζήσ^ται). Comparable also is the reaction of Adam and Eve on hearing the voice of God (Gen. 3.8,10).

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Ezekiel had a similar experience. He saw a figure of encircling light, and the vision was like the glory of the Lord (αυτη ή δρασις ομοιώματος δόξης κυρίου). Ί looked, and prostrated myself, and I heard a voice speaking' (elôov καΐ πίπτω έπΙ πρόσωπον μου καΐ ήκουσα φωνήν λαλοΰντος, LXX Ezek. 1.28). 1 Enoch 93.11 asks, 'For who is there of all the children of men that is able to hear the voice of the Holy One without being troubled?' An audience familiar with the Septuagint, or with the tradition in general, would know that if Paul 'heard the voice' then his life was not going to be the same. The appearance of the light and the hearing of a voice are intimately associated with the one who identifies himself as Jesus (9.5). Berger suggests that the light/voice combination is associated with the 'son of God' motif in Jewish and Christian literature (1976: 211). In the transfiguration of Jesus, Jesus is seen in light and is identified as Son (Lk. 9.29,35); and according to Acts 9.20, the first thing Paul preaches in the synagogue is that Jesus is son of God (the only time Jesus is so preached in Acts). This light/voice/Son combination gives some weight to those who vdsh to remove the wedge keeping the Acts conversion accounts apart from that of Paul in Galatians. Both versions agree that Paul came to understand that Jesus is God's son. But did Paul see anyone? Clearly, the text simply says that he heard a voice addressing him, and then reports a conversation between the speaker, who identifies himself as Jesus, and Paul (9.4-6). Windisch represents many when he says that Paul did not actually see Jesus himself but only the light. 'The great light betrays his presence, but his figure was veiled' (1932: 16). Heininger recently has continued that understanding. He believes that the earliest traditions consciously left in the dark whose voice Paul heard and what exactly he saw. Or, to put it another way, the earliest traditions were sceptical of the notion that Christ should appear to Paul on the Damascus road (1996: 233). So he concludes, 'The style and maimer of the appearance (remain) remarkably uncertain: a light shines and a voice is audible ... That Paul had seen a clearly definite and perceptible form is hardly what the history in its earliest form is saying' (1996: 229, translation mine). Other German scholars tend to say that Luke added to the original tradition and so made the identification with Jesus more distinct (so, for example, Reichardt 1999: 216). And like his predecessors, Reichardt too believes that one can hardly conclude that Paul perceived a concrete figure (1999:216). The fact that Luke does not explicitly say that Paul saw Jesus in itself suggests that this is deliberate on his part. His reference to the by-standers hearing a voice but not seeing anyone (9.7) adds to this suggestion. It is related to the fact that Jesus comes to Paul 'out of heaven', out of the realm

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of God. According to Exod. 33.18ff, to actually see the divine form is fatal. That applies not only to the form of God, but also to any agent of God. Gideon, for example, sees the angel of the Lord, but fears for his life because he has seen the angel's face Qudg. 6.22). According to Ps. 104.2, God is wrapped in light, and so his form is not visible to the human eye. A later Christian maintained that the eyes of mortals cannot see the incorporeal form of the Father or Son, because it is illumined by exceeding great light ... For the excess of light dissolves the flesh of him who sees; imless by the secret power of God the flesh be changed into the nature of light or the substance of light be changed into flesh, so that it can be seen by flesh (Clem. Нот. 16).

This issue of the invisibility of God is sometimes ignored in the discussion of whom or what Paul actually saw. Paul, in consistent Jewish fashion, can speak of God's τα αόρατα (Rom. 1.20). If God is thought to be essentially invisible, and if light is a standard symbol of God, and if Jesus is said to have been elevated into the world of God, the heavens, then it is not at all surprising that it is not explicitly said that Paul saw Jesus. It is also consistent with a number of the other visions in Acts in which it is also not explicitly stated that the heavenly messenger was seen. The fact that Paul was blinded suggests that the narrative intends me to believe that he did see the form of the heaverüy Jesus, inasfar as far as any human is able to see it. Greeks and Romans knew that the gods had bodies that shone with such an intense brilliance that human eyes carmot tolerate it. It is so brilliant that it prevents the human eye from seeing the actual body of the god. So the gods can only appear to humans in hidden form, enveloped in a mist, disguised as a mortal or in some animal form - to see them in their naked glory is blinding.^ Paul is blinded - that suggests to me that he did actually see the divine form. Others who insist that Paul did see Jesus appeal to 9.7 (where the comparions of Paul are said to have heard a voice but saw no-one, implying that Paul did see someone), to ν 17, where Ananias says that the Lord Jesus appeared (όφθείς) to Paul, and to ν 27 where Barnabas also said that Paul had 'seen (elôev) the Lord who spoke to him'. So argues Jervell, for example (1998: 280). For me, these verses amoimt to considerable evidence that Luke describes an experience that was visionary and not merely auditory. If we draw on his other accovmts of the experience, there, too, it is implied that there is an appearance of Jesus and not only a voice. So in 26.16, Jesus says See Horn. Hym. De. 27S-280; II. 20.131; Od. 16.161; Herodotus 2.42.

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he had appeared (ώφθην) to Paul. The fact that the very same verb is used in 13.31 for the appearances 'for many days' before the ascension implies that Paul's vision of Jesus and the vision of Jesus by disciples pre-ascension are of the same ilk. It might not be insignificant that this verb, in this form, is used elsewhere in Acts for the appearances of God to the fathers of Israel (7.2,26,30). It is also used in the Septuagint for appearances of God or his agent to Moses (Exod. 3.2), to Abraham, Isaac and Jacob (Exod. 6.3), to Israel (Exod. 16.10), to Solomon (1 Kgs. 3.5) and to David (2 Chron. 3.1). In other words, Paul receives an appearance of the heavenly Jesus, and this puts him in the same category as those foimdational figures in Israel, and it also implies that Jesus is in the same category as the Lord and God of Israel. Close to the centre of the debate as to whether Paul saw anyone or not is the issue of the relation between audition and vision. I have drawn attention earlier to the fact that in many visions a voice is heard, but not always is the speaker seen. This is true in both Jewish and non-Jewish experiences. That this is a feature of Jewish visions is not surprising. Deut. 4.12-15 offers a reason. The Lord spoke to you out of the fire. You heard the sound of words but saw no form; there was only a voice ... Since you saw no form when the Lord spoke to you at Horeb, beware lest you act corruptly by making a graven image for yourselves, in the form of any figure ...

An interesting way in which vision and audition could be held in close coimection is shown in the Septuagint version of Exod. 20.18 which reads, 'All the people saw the voice' (πάς ó λαός έώρα την φωνήν). Philo, commenting on this verse, describes the voice that spoke to Israel as being so marvellous and aweful that the people seemed rather to be seeing than hearing it ... For the truth is that the voice of men (sic) is calculated to be heard; but that of God to be really and truly seen. Why is this? Because all that God says are not words, but actions which the eyes determine on before the ears (Decal. 46-47; compare also De Mig. 47-52).

The audition-vision link is not imcommon in Jewish vision experiences. Jeremiah can talk of 'the word which the Lord showed me' 0er. 38.21, LXX: ούτος ό λόγος bv εδειξέν μοι κύριος), and in the same book, Jeremiah asks rhetorically, 'Who has seen his (sc. Yahweh's) word?' (τις ... eiôev τον λόγον αύτοϋ; LXX 23.18). Again, tìie word is something that can be seen. Because it is performative, it is imderstood to be inseparable from the deed.

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That the gods are heard rather thaii seen is not unique to Jewish visionary experience. The visionary often heard a voice, saw a light, but saw no clear form. Notice again the experience of Ovid mentioned above: I was wrapt up in prayer; I felt the heaverüy deity, and the glad ground gleamed with a purple light. Not, indeed, that I saw thee, О goddess ... nor was it meet that a man should look upon thee (Fasti 6.251-252).

So how was the relation between soimd and sight understood? A voice could be seen and a vision could be heard. Oesterley says, 'The quaint idea that behind a sound there is an image, though invisible to mortal eyes, was widespread in antiquity' (1933: 46). Quaint it may be, but important nonetheless. Aulus GalUus in the middle of the second century CE says that the question had been 'argued long and continuously by the most famous philosophers' whether the voice has body or is incorporeal {corpusne sit vox an incorporeum, 5.15.1). Soimd was visible to celestial sight. It would seem that in a paranormal vision, the voice was seen. In the Ascension of Isaiah, for example, the prophet 'had seen the words of this prophecy' (1.6). In that same writing, when Isaiah is taken into the seventh heaven and is as close to seeing God as he is going to get, he says, 'And all the praises which are sent up from the six heavens are not only heard but seen' (9.5). Versnel might be helpful on this matter. The Greeks, and later the Romans under Greek influence, imagined their gods as distinct from mortals in size and beauty and power but not in appearance (1987: 43). In Homer, it is said that the gods do not give clear sight of themselves to everybody (οΰ γαρ πώς παντέσσι θ€θΙ φαίνονται έναργεΧς, Od. 16.161). This lack of clarity in seeing the gods is a common experience, and so words like εΐδωλον and φάσμα occur in reports of such manifestations of the gods, words also used for the dead and for ghosts. Versnel shows, too, that such epiphanies often happen when the visionary is not sure of his/her state. Is s/he awake or asleep? Versnel calls this a 'special state of mind' (1987:49). He also is aware that it is very common in such manifestations of the gods that the sense of audition, rather than of vision, is what is expressed (1987: 50). Besides the rather common idea that the gods tend to commimicate with humans without ever been fully or clearly seen, audition might take precedence over vision in such experiences simply because a message is nearly always given and heard. Rarely is a vision reported simply for the vision's sake; in Acts, that never happens. Audition made the experience public in that it allowed others, who had not had the experience, to participate in, or at least to know, its import.

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In all three accounts in Acts, the voice addresses Paul by name twice, 'Saul, Saul' (9.4; 22.7, and 26.14). Calling by name is a standard feature of heavenly visions and auditions, with the variation being in the number of times the name is called. So in Acts itself, Ananias is called by name just once (9.10), as is Cornelius (10.3), and Peter (10.13). The double use of the name occurs with Abraham (Gen. 22.11), Jacob (Gen. 46.2), Moses (Exod. 3.4), Samuel (1 Sam. 3.4,10) and Daruel (Bel 1.37). In each case, it is a heavenly being or messenger that addresses the named one, and often it is in a visionary experience. By calling the name, the heavenly being demonstrates knowledge of the addressee and therefore also his authority and power over the one addressed. In the Gospel of Luke, Jesus repeats the name when addressing Martha in 10.41, Simon in 22.31, and Jerusalem in 23.27. The disciples, in their anxiety on the sea, address Jesus as 'Master, Master' in 8.24. In some cases, it would seem that the double naming is given to indicate a warning to the person addressed. In the case of Paul in Acts 9.4, it is a warning that he is going the wrong way. In other cases, it almost seems to convey a sense of encouragement. The double calling of the name is difficult to find in non-biblical Greek literature. Similar, however, is the case of Oedipus that has rather striking parallels with the caU of Paul. In Oedipus at Colonus, in an awesome moment, Oedipus is summoned by the god to a special destiny— 'suddenly (έξαίφνης) a voice called him, making everyone's hair stand on end in fear, for a god called him repeatedly, "Oedipus, (ούτος ούτος ΟΙδίπους) why are we delaying?'" (1623-1628). In general, the use of the double name in an address is a literary clue for the audience to anticipate that some dramatic action of a god is about to impact on the addressee's life. Paul falls to groxmd and he is blinded (9.4,8). He fasts and does not drink for three days and so his body is weakened. Two things can be noted: The first is that Acts commonly tells of opponents of the Christian movement being rendered helpless and weak. So Paul's blindness is not due simply to shock, as Marshall suggests (1980: 170). Those who oppose God cannot stand. Paul, who was introduced to the audience as approving of Stephen's death (7.58) and is then taken up again in 9.1 as one breathing threats against the church, now falls to the groxmd, blind, and needing to be led by the hand, and later in need of physical nourishment. The second point is that visions commonly had a physical and emotional impact. They were often overwhelming and almost destructive of all the senses. Daniel says after his visionary experience, 'So I, Daniel, was overcome and lay sick for some days' (Dan. 8.27) and again after another vision.

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So I was left alone and saw this great vision, and no strength was left in me; and when I heard the sound of his words, I fell on my face in a deep sleep with my face to the ground (10.5-9).

And after yet a further vision, he says. My Lord, because of the visions such pains have come upon me that I retain no strength ... for I am shaking, no strength remains in me, and no breath is left in me (10.16-17).

In 2 Esdras, the visionary v^oke up 'and an extreme trembling went through my body, and my nund was troubled, so that it fainted' {corpus meum horruit valde et anima mea laboravit ut deficeret, 2 Esd. 5.14). He describes the experience, 'Behold, I lay as one who had been dead, and my understanding was taken from me' (10.30). After another vision, he says he just sat for three days (13.58). And after yet another. Then I awaked by reason of great ecstasy of nünd, and from great fear, and said to my spirit, 'Lo, this hast thou done unto me, in that thou searchest out the ways of the Most High. Lo, I am yet weary in my mind and very weak in my spirit, nor is the least strength in me ...' (12.3-5).

The story of Paul's conversion has parallels, as many have pointed out. Arthur Drews (1924) was, I believe, the first to suggest that the Acts version is based on the conversion of Heliodorus as is known from 2 Масс. 3 (Windisch 1932). In that episode, Heliodorus has orders from the king to confiscate Temple money to place it in the king's treasury. On arrival at the treasury with his men, 'the Sovereign of spirits and of all authority' manifested himself with such power that those who were with Heliodorus fainted with terror and astonishment. They had a vision of a horse and rider striking down Heliodorus and two angel-like men flogging him continuously. He fell to the ground and darkness overcame him; his men picked him up and carried him away (3.27-28). He lay prostrate and speechless at the divine intervention and at death's door (3.29). His companions begged Oruas, the high priest, to call on God to restore his life. The same angel-like young men appeared to Heliodorus and told him that the Lord had accepted the atonement offered by Oruas and that his life would be spared, but he must tell all people of the majestic power of God. 'Then Heliodorus offered sacrifice to the Lord and made great vows to the saviour of his life' (3.35). The story has a close parallel in 4 Масс. 4.1-14 in which the temple money is protected from the Syrian governor.

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Apollonius, who has a similar experience to that of Heliodoras and with the same result. Windisch noticed significant differences in the stories, especially that for Heliodorus the experience is an episode, for Paul it is a new beginning, and the story has quite a different agenda (1932: 6). Both, however, involve the saving of the commxmity from an aggressor who is changed into a follower (1932: 7). Windisch concluded that there is no dependency on 2 Maccabees on the part of Luke, but it is rather a case of Luke's episode being shot through with the motifs of ancient myths, in which a human battles with a god, and where the god is naturally stronger. Windisch pointed to the struggle of Pentheus with Dionysos and of Achilles with Apollon (1932: 18). Along this line of Paul as a godopposer, Wettstein pointed to the Iliad where Phoebus Apollo says to Achilles, Why do you pursue me with swift feet, you are a mortal, while I am an immortal god? Not even yet have you recogiuzed me that I am a god, but you rage incessantly ... You will not slay me since I am not one appointed to die (22.8-13).

There are also some parallels in the conversion of Asenath (Roloff 1988: 146). A man comes from heaven and stands near Asenath's head, calling her by name twice (14.5-6). She asks for his name and is told, Ί am the chief of the house of the Lord', and the angel basically refuses to give his name because God's names are unspeakable (15.12). The angel looked like Joseph, except that his face was like lightning, and his eyes like sxmshine (14.9). Another source of parallel ideas is the story of Balaam not only that foxmd in the biblical text but also as the versions that appear in Josephus and Philo. Balaam is a significant person - and Num. 22-24 a significant passage - in the Dead Sea texts and generally in Jewish literature of the period. Both were not xmknown to New Testament writers (2 Pet. 2.15; Jude 11; Rev. 2.14). Both Balaam and Paul are opposed to God, both are met on the road by an angel, both have their opposition removed. And both become vessels of God delivering oracles to kings and to gentiles. Acts pushes the line that it is futile and even fatal to oppose God. The council forbids Peter and the others to preach and imprisons them, but to no avail (5.17-20). Gamaliel acknowledges that if the apostles were doing the work of God then he would not like to be found to be opposing God (5.39). Stephen accuses the covmdl and their forebears of 'resisting the holy Spirit' to their condemnation (7.51). Herod imprisoned Peter in vain, and is fatally attacked by an angel of God (12.1-10,23). Peter is told that what God calls

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clean he cannot and should not call otherwise, and so he does not want to prevent God (11.17). Simon in Samaria and Bar Jesus in Cyprus both encounter the power of the God they are opposing. Paul, as I said, was introduced into Luke's narrative as an aggressive opponent of the Way, but he cannot prevail. Continuing this line of thought, it is of some interest that this version of Paul's conversion uses the language of possession. This may be coincidental, but it is remarkable nevertheless. In 9.1, where Luke begins this accoimt of Paul's conversion, Paul is described as being violently against the Christians, and that violence is spoken of in 'breathing' terms. Paul is said to have been 'still breathing threats and murder' (hi έμττνέων απειλής καΐ φόνου, 9.1). Breathing involves the spirit of a person. Paul's threats are directed not simply towards the disciples (elç τους μαθητάς) but towards the disciples 'of the Lord' (του κυρίου, 9.1). This sets Paul against the Lord himself, and so in the position of Satan. Anaiuas and Sapphira were not lying to Peter but to the Holy Spirit, and they were led to do so by Satan filling the heart (5.3). The spirit in Paul is one of murder, not one of holiness. Paul acts like a man possessed with a power. Luke says that he had permission to 'bind and lead' (δίδεμένους άγάγη) the Christians (9.2). This is language and action common in possession spells and in exorcism. When Paul comes into the presence of the holy light of heaven, he falls to the ground, imitating those possessed in the presence of Jesus (Mk. 3.11; 9.20; Lk. 8.28). Knowing the name of the demon is crucial in possession cases, and knowing the name of the exorcist and his purpose is also not imimportant. So the demon-possessed says to Jesus, 'Why have you to do with us? Have you come to destroy us? I know who you are, the Holy One of God' (Mk 1.24). The question of Paul, 'Who are you. Lord' (9.5) fits then this pattern. It is similar, in reverse, to the question asked by the spirit of the sons of Scaeva: 'Who are you?' (19.15). The answer given Paul, 'I am Jesus', lets Paul know with whom he is dealing and under whose authority he is. There are a few other signs of possession in this story. Paul is rendered blind. The closing of eyes seems common in modem demon-possessions (Oesterreich 1930: 35,40). Philo says that blindness or loss of sight and madness is a form of ecstasy that 'will overtake the impious, so that they differ in nought from blind men groping at noonday as in deep darkness' (Quis Rerum Her. 250). It is a sign that one has been overcome by a greater power. As a result of Paul's curse. Bar Jesus in Acts 13 is struck blind and has to be led by the hand in a manner very similar to that experienced here by Paul. Then Paul is said to fast (9.9) and to pray (9.11). Fasting on the part of the possessed seems to keep demons quiet and when combined with

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prayer is seen to be a way of overcommg the demonic (see Mk. 9.29 in some manuscript traditions). Fasting is also part of a penitential ritual and that might suggest Paul saw his blindness as a punishment from God for his sin. So did a spirit of blindness possess Paul, and was it only when Ananias put his hands on him that Paul was he given a 'holy spirit' that freed him from that blindness? That is implied by the fact that Ananias is told that Paul has a vision of Ananias coming to him and laying his hands on him 'so that he might regain his sight' (9.12). And finally, Ananias actually goes to Paul, lays his hands on him, and 'immediately something like scales fell from his eyes and he regained his sight' (9.18). This could be read as an exorcism, as an action releasing Paul from a binding spirit. That Paul's experience involved some kind of purification is suggested by a couple of factors. He is portrayed as a man possessed by a spirit of threats and murder (9.1), who has done 'much evil' to the saints at Jerusalem (9.13). On seeing his vision of Jesus, Paul is blinded and does not eat or drink for three days (9.9). Anaiuas links the restoration of Paul's sight with his filling with the holy Spirit, that is, with his purification (9.17). Three days was a coirunon period in the purificatory process. In Exod. 19.10-15, Israel purified itself in readiness for the third day on which Yahweh would appear to Israel. At Qumran, the Temple Scroll prescribes three days of purification before entry into the temple is permitted (IIQT 45.7-10). Whether Paul was possessed or not, his experience was destructive. The person of Paul was destroyed and he was about to come under the direction of another spirit. This destruction had physical expression. I would then agree with Windisch who said that the vision for Paul is not merely a sign of free grace, but through it the persecuted Lord Jesus lets Paul feel his power. The event is for Paul 'endlessly painful and humbling' (1932: 6). Of course, there are other ways in which this experience could be xmderstood. That Paul was blinded as a result of his vision would not have surprised some Greeks and Romans. Plutarch tells of Polyzelus who, 'having seen a supernatural vision (ύπεράνθρωπον φαντασίαν θεασαμένος) lost his sight and became blind' (Par. Star. 305.1). Some might have understood it to be a punishment from the gods for a sacrilegious action. Plutarch also tells parallel stories of people seizing a sacred stone called Palladium when the shrine that housed it was on fire and being blinded as a result. Each later regained his sight when he had placated the goddess (Par. Stor. 309-310.17). Clearly, this experience is central in the conversion of Paul. It is noteworthy that no one either from inside the Christian circle or outside of it questions the validity or credibility of the experience. The purpose of his vision is similar to the purpose of Peter's vision that soon follows (10.9-16).

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In both cases, the visions bring about a radical change in thinking and behaviour. In the case of Paul, the experience marks his conversion from a persecutor of Jesus to a proclaimer that he is the son of God; from one denying Jesus to the Jews to one proclaiming him as Lord to the gentiles. Peter moves from believing that some people are outside the pale of God's Spirit and all his gifts, to one who is forced to admit that there is no reason why a gentile should not be baptized and be brought into the realm of the holy Spirit. Both of these conversions, highly significant in their ramifications, are iiutiated through visionary and auditory experiences that to my mind come under the heading 'strange'. Strange, indeed, but acknowledged as confirming signs of the apostles' status and role. Lüdemann concludes that Paul's vision 'is to be explained psychologically as an overcoming of his smouldering "Christ complex" which led to severe (imconsdous) conflicts in him and finally released itself in this vision' (1995:130). He goes on to say, 'God must no longer be assumed to be the author of these visions ... Rather, these were psychological processes which ran their course with a degree of regularity - completely without divine intervention' (130). To be fair, Lüdemann acknowledges that this is a modem reading and not one that Luke would have understood. But therein lies the problem. Modem explanations are all very well, but they do not help us to imderstand how Luke or any of his contemporaries viewed such things. For Luke, the explanation for Paul's subsequent behaviour lies not in his psychological complexes and hang-ups but in the intervention of God. That might not fit our world-view, but it is part and parcel of Luke's, and we need to make the effort to wear his glasses, even if then we only see confusing, shadowy figures.

8.2. The vision in the temple (Acts 22.17-21) Visions and auditions in the Temple (and in other sacred sites) are quite common in Jewish and other literature. Luke himself has told of the priest Zechariah, who saw an angel and heard a message from that angel while he was serving in the Temple. The people waiting outside, on noticing his dumbness, assumed he has 'seen a vision in the Temple' (όπτασίαν «ώρακίν έν τφ ναφ, Lk. 1.11-22). The vision of Isaiah in the Temple (Isa. 6) is well known, and I will retum to it briefly. Josephus tells of John Hyrcanus, the High Priest, who, while offering incense in the Temple, heard a voice telling him that his sons had been successful in battle, as, indeed, they were (Ant. 13.10.3).

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Paul tells of his Temple vision in his defence to the Jerusalem CTowds. He had been accused of defiling the Temple (21.28), and was arrested by the Roman tribune because the Jewish crowd asked for his removal. Paul then asked to address the people (21.33-39). In his address, he tells of his conversion experience along the same lines as Luke had narrated it in 9.3-7, and as Paul later tells it in 26.12—18. But this additional visionary experience in the Temple has no parallel in either of those two versions. However, Betz makes a good case for xmderstanding this vision as a contribution to understanding the significance of the Damascus experience that Paul has just related (1990:91-102). Paul is praying in the Temple, and while doing so, he enters into a state of ecstasy and sees Jesus speaking to him (γίνέσθαι, μ6 kv έκσταση l καΐ Ιδεΐν αυτόν λίγοντά μοι, 22.17-18). That his prayer included an ecstatic vision is not at all unusual. In 1 Sam. 1.12-13, Eli mistakes Hannah's earnest prayer for drunkenness. Daniel has a vision of the angel Gabriel while he was praying 'at the time of the evening sacrifice' (Dan. 9.20). It was while Jesus was praying that the heavens opened and the Spirit descended in the form of a dove (Lk. 3.21-22). And it seems that, on another occasion, it was while Paul was praying that he had a vision of Anaiüas (9.11-12). It is quite likely that Temple prayer had rhythm and a repetitive element. In addition, it is possible that the body moved in harmony with the rhythm of the prayer. Such a method of praying is often mantra-like and can induce a hypnotic, ecstatic state. I have already commented on ecstatic vision when dealing with Peter's experience (10.9-16). For now, a few general comments will suffice. The noun Ικστάσις and its cognates are not at all common outside of Jewish Greek literature. As previously noted, in the Septuagint an €κστασις very often comes from the Lord (LXX 1 Reg. 11.7; 14.15; 4 Reg. 14.13; 15.5; 17.10; Zech. 14.13) and 'falls upon' a person, another instance of where such experiences have the suggestion of forceful, if not violent, action. Given that Paul experiences this in the Temple, it is feasible to think that his ecstasy too comes upon him from the Lord. As we have seen, when the Lord sends such an experience, the recipient's voice, hearing, vision, and senses in general are affected. It is in this state, then, that Paul sees Jesus speaking to him. That the vision takes place in the Temple is not coincidental. Paul has just been accused of profaning the Temple and teaching against it (21.28). Having the Lord (κύριε, 22.19) appear to him and speak to him in the Temple implies that these charges are false. The Lord would not appear to one who defiled his sacred house. There might even be something apologetic or even

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provocative, then, in the location Luke gives for the experience. Secondly, the message that is given to Paiul via the ecstasy that comes upon him is that the Lord is sending him to the gentiles. Commissioning in the Temple also features in the experience of Isaiah, who also saw the Lord there (elóov τον κύριον, Isa. 6.1-10). In fact, Betz (1990) sees it as a deliberate coiistruction on Luke's part to tie Paul's vision and commission with that of Isaiah, and so to illustrate the sigrüficance of the Damascus experience. Unlike in a number of other visions, Paul here is said to actually see (Ιδ€Ϊν) the one speaking to him (22.18). It is assumed that it is Jesus whom Paul sees, but the narrative is not explicit, since it simply says Paul saw αύτόυ λέγοντά μοι. However, Paul addresses the speaking one as 'Lord', and it is clear from the dialogue that ensues that the figure must be Jesus (v 19). It also fits the pattern of Paul's first vision in which he hears a voice speaking that identifies itself as Jesus. As in the vision of Ananias, and in the ecstasy that came upon Peter, Paul has a dialogue with the one who is seen and heard. The implication is that these men have entered into a state in which they can communicate orally with the appearing being. The commimication barriers between humans and the divine beings are removed. It would seem that Paul is not willing to accept the commission. The use of the word 'Lord', in his response could be argumentative (as it is in Mt. 15.27, for example). In addition, Paul seems to be saying that there is no need for him to leave Jerusalem because the people there know him as the public opponent of the Jesus movement. Is this a sign that Paul at some stage understood his initial experience as a call for a mission to Jews? In any case, the Lord has his way and dismisses his objection (22.21). Paul must go out far away to the gentiles. It is yet another example of a vision being performative. What Paul is told in ecstatic vision must and will be done. Of course, from a narrative perspective, this is all said after the event - Paul has already been among the gentiles (chapters 13-20). Interestingly, according to this particular speech of Paul, his call to a mission to the gentiles is given to him in a vision in the Temple of Jerusalem and not in the vision on the road near Damascus (as in 26.17) or through the vision given to Ananias (9.15). The response of the people is to judge that Paul deserves to die. Literally, they say, 'take this man from the earth (alpe άπο της γης τοιούτον) because it is not proper that he stay alive' (22.22). It is clear that they believe Paul has done or said something very serious indeed (compare 23.12 where some make an oath and plot to kill Paul). He has claimed a vision in the Temple, and by doing so put himself in the same league as Isaiah and Ezekiel. But there also appears to be something blasphemous and upsetting

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about the message given to Paul in the vision. It could be understood that it was the very mention of the gentiles that upset the crowd. It might also be because in some eschatological hopes, it was expected that the gentiles would come to Jerusalem and to the Temple (Mie. 4.2; Zech. 8.22), but here Paul is told to leave Jerusalem and go far away to the gentiles. This might well have been understood as a slight against the Temple, and indeed agairwt the land of Israel. Another cause for offence would have been that it is ]esus whom Paul claims to have seen in the Temple, and whom he addressed as 'Lord'. The Temple was the axis mundi, the holy place where God is present. For Jesus to appear at that site was an indication of his status as Lord, a status obviously derued him by the opponents of the Jesus movement. The opposition's words are accompanied by actions that culturally are very strange to me, but presumably not so to Paul's early readers, or to those living in Jerusalem at the time. They wave their garments (ριπτούντων τά Ιμάτια) - or, do they tear them? - and throw dust in the air (compare Mk 14.63; Acts 14.14). What was this action? Were they tearing or waving their clothes as an expression of grief? Nobody seems to know. I suggest theactiortô symbolize their grief, since the tearing of clothes and the throwing of dust were ritual actions of mourning. After being defeated in war, Joshua tore his clothes and the elders put dust on their heads to moum their loss (Josh. 7.6). The three friends of Job perform the same actions on seeing his loss Qob 2.12; see also Lam. 2.10; 1 Масс. 11.71; 3 Масс. 1.16). The crowd thinks that Paul deserves to die (22.22) and their actions anticipate what they believe is his deserved fate. Along not dissimilar lines, the actions could also be part of a curse. Shimei cursed David and threw stones and dust (2 Sam. 16.13). Paul has spoken blasphemy by claiming that God should commission him in the Temple to leave Jerusalem, and that means to abandon Israel and to go to the gentiles. The high priest later ordered that Paul be struck on the mouth because of his claim to 'have lived before God in good conscience up to this day' (23.1). How could that be, when he had abandoned Jerusalem and the land of Israel for gentile territory and done so under the guise of a commission from the holy God in the Temple? Paul's visions in general, and especially his ecstatic vision in the Temple, are consistent with Luke's portrayal of him as one who has the favour of God and whose activities are under the direction of God. Jesus, the holy One of God who shares in God's heaverüy rule, commurucates with Paul. Such a portrayal puts Paul in the same league as the great prophets and holy men of God in Israel's tradition.

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8.3. The Vision at Troas (Acts 16.9-10) Ramsay says of Acts 16.6-10, 'This is in many respects the most remarkable paragraph in Acts' (1935: 198). His claim is understandable, since there are three strange experiences in as many verses. In the first place, Paul and his companions are 'forbidden by the holy spirif to speak the word in Asia (16.6); then they are prevented by 'the spirit of Jesus' from going into Bithynia (16.7); and then thirdly, Paul himself has a vision in the night. It is the vision that interests me here. In a typical Greek expression, the vision is said to 'appear to Paul' (όραμα ... τφ Παύλφ ώφθη). It is not that Paul is the actor who has the vision, but the vision is autonomous and so can appear to him and be seen by him. Again, visions are not vmderstood to be psychological in origin; instead, they come externally and independently. The verb form ώφθη is the technical term commonly used in revelatory, visionary experiences. It is commonly used by Luke, especially when referring to visions of heavenly beings (Lk. 1.11; 22.43; 24.34; Acts 7.2,30; 13.31), and is well known by its use in 1 Cor. 15.5-8 where Paul speaks of the appearances of the living Jesus to his followers. It is also the standard verb form used in the Septuagint in the appearances of an angel or of the Lord himself (Gen. 18.1; Exod. 3.6; Lev. 9.23; Num. 16.19; 1 Kgs 3.5 and many other passages). The fact that the vision appears 'through the rüght' (δια νυκτός) makes it difficult to distinguish it from what we might call a dream. On the other hand, the point might rather be that this is a vision that comes from God. God - like other gods - was thought to be more active in communicating with humans during the rught when humans are in a state of rest and quiet, if not of sleep, and so more open to divine revelation and commimication. It is therefore not surprising that the same phrase (δια νυκτός) is used to indicate the time when an angel of the Lord opened the prison doors to allow the apostles to escape (Acts 5.19). This vision involves both vision and audition, something that is not always the case in such experiences, as we have seen. What Paul sees is a certain Macedonian man, standing (έστώς). This stance is t3^ically that of a messenger from the heavenly world (compare Acts 1.10). But this figure is not said to be an angel or a messenger from God. Luke introduces this unknown human figure into his narrative in the same way as he does other characters that have not yet featured (for example, in 3.2; 5.1; 8.9; 10.1; 14.8; 16.14). The introduction, άνήρ Μακεδών τις, is similar to that used of the eunuch of Ethiopia, for example (8.27, άνήρ Αίθίοψ). Who this man was has evoked speculation. Pilhofer has argued that the man from Macedonia was

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in fact Luke himself (1995:156-158), a suggestion already made by Ramsay (1935: 202), and one that Hemer had rejected (1989:156 n. 9). Pilhofer goes even further. Luke was an inhabitant of Philippi who belonged not to the Roman settlement (and therefore not a Roman dtizen), but to the Greekspeaking commxmity that had been in Philippi for centuries (1995:157-158). Pilhofer rightly says that Paul has no sense of moving from Asia into Europe, as some commentators would like to read it; it is simply a movement from one Roman colony to another (155). He says it is important to notice that it is neither a Greek nor a Roman who appears in the vision, but a man from Macedoiua. The target is Macedonia (155). But to suppose that the man was Luke is speculation. The man in the vision speaks, and oral commvmicatìon is always the point of visions in Acts. Rather curiously, it looks like the message is truncated and reduced to, 'Come over to Macedonia and help us'. I say 'truncated' because Luke says the vision also exhorted or encouraged Paul (παρακαλών). This may be shorthand for the standard literary form that was used of divine messengers in which they introduce themselves and encourage the recipients not to be afraid. Or, it may mean that the messenger was summoning Paul (compare 28.20) or inviting him (compare 8.31; 15.28). Probably, the latter is meant, given that the two participles are in the same present teiise (παρακαλών ... και λέγων). As is usual, the appearance ends abruptly, and the recipient acts as the vision directs. Luke says that 'we immediately sought to go to Macedonia' (ευθέως έζητήσοίμβν €ξ€λθ€ΐν elç Μακεδονίαν). Why do they seek to go to Macedonia and not simply go there? The context suggests that whether they went to Macedonia or not was not a cut and dried matter. Rather, discussion, debate, and argument took place (συμβιβάζοντες), and via that process, I suggest, they were 'seeking' the Lord's will on the matter. The verb ζητείν is commordy used in the Septuagint for 'seeking the Lord' (for example, in Deut. 4.29; Ps. 27.8; 34.10; 40.16; Prov. 28.5; Isa. 9.13), and Israel is warned not to 'seek' after wizards (Lev. 19.31). In other words, the verb can be used in the sense of seeking divinatory power, or of seeking answers through a divining process. And so the disciples 'sought to go into Macedoiua' means that they used divination to find out if that was what they should do. It is not xmcommon for someone who has had a visionary experience to ask others for their opinion as to its meaning and what the response should be. So, Pharaoh turns to Joseph (Gen. 41.14) Nebuchadnezzar to Daniel (Dan 4.5), Samuel to Eli (1 Sam. 3.4). According to 1 Cor. 14.26, some people brought a revelation to the Christian assembly, prestimably for explanation and guidance from the group or from a gifted individual interpreter. In

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Virgil, after seeing and hearing an 'awful portent, wondrous to tell', Aeneas decides to 'lay the divine portents before the chosen chiefs of the people ... and ask what is their judgmenf (Am. 3.58-59). This vision comes very close to being an oracle/omen, if it is not precisely that. It is very similar to an experience involving Apollonius of Tyana who intended to go to Rome, but had a dream. It seemed as if a woman both very tall and venerable in years embraced him and asked him to visit her before he set sail for Italy; and she said that she was the nurse of Zeus, and she wore a wreath that held everything that is on earth or in the sea. He proceeded to ponder the meaning of the vision, and came to the conclusion that he ought first to sail to Crete, which w e regard as the nurse of Zeus (Vit. Apoll. 4.34).

Paul's vision is seen as iiutiating the founding of the Christian commuruty in Macedonia. As mentioned earlier, foimdation visions were well known to the Greeks and Romans. To give just one further example, ancient legends have it that Troy, the city in which Paul has his vision, was founded on the basis of an oracle given by the gods to a certain Aeneas, in which a pig would show him the spot where the city was to be built. Aeneas saw a pig and followed it to an unlikely area of land. Aeneas was perplexed and blamed the gods, when he 'suddenly^ (αφνω) heard a voice from the woods (but saw no-one) telling him to build the city right there. Aeneas did as the god commanded. Other versions say he had a great and wonderful vision of a dream (μ^γάλην τινα και θαυμάστην ... είκασΜσαν δψιν) that night in which a likeness of the gods appeared to him giving him advice to build on that spot (Dionysius of Halicamassus Ant. Rom. 1.56.3-5; compare Philostratus Vit. Apoll. 4.34). Following this line, it is interesting to note that in Paul's ovm correspondence he mentions being in Troas, but there is no suggestion that he went from there to Macedonia at the impulse of any vision or direction of the Lord or anybody else. In 2 Cor. 2.12-13, Paul says 'a door was opened for me in the Lord', but that metaphor is used to talk about his prospects in Troas, not in Macedonia. In fact, Paul says he went into Macedorua simply because he did not meet Titus in Troas as he had hoped. Luke sees it differently. The central point for him is that Paul is about to set out on a ground-breaking mission, and that receives its instigation, and also then its confirmation, by means of the vision. As a power-filled man, it is to be expected that he receive such visions. All this once again illustrates how different Luke's world was from mine. In my world, visions

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are not signs that confirm my status and justify my actions but, on the contrary, they raise very serious doubts about my mental and even spiritual stability.

8.4. The vision in Corinth (Acts 18.9-10) According to Acts, in almost every place Paul stays, he experiences a vision. This time it is in Corinth; and this time it is the Lord (ó κύριος) who appears to him and speaks to him. The context is that Paul has done what he typically does in Acts, namely, he 'dialogued with' the Jews about the Christ being Jesus (18.5). Some accused him of blasphemy, so Paul dramatically shook out his clothes and left a curse on them, declaring that he is clean and plarming to go to the gentiles (18.6). He went into the house of Titius Justus, a god-fearer who lived next to the synagogue (18.7). The chief of the synagogue, Crispus, also believed, along with his house, as did some other Corinthians. It is then that the Lord spoke to Paul in the rught through a vision (ev νυκτΐ 6l' όράμΛτος) saying. Do not fear (μή φόβου) but speak and do not be silent because I am (€γώ ίίμι) with you and no one shall touch you to harm you for I have many people in this city (18.10).

By now the audience is familiar with the pattern of the Lord appearing at rught in a vision and commimicating with the narrative's hero. Paul has decided to go to the gentiles. In other words, the vision occurs at a crucial moment in his stay in Corinth. In Acts, and in much other literature, whether Jewish, Christian, Greek or Roman, heroes receive a vision at such criticcil moments, and the gods often come to assure them that all will be well. The Lord is not said explicitly to appear in the vision, but he does speak. On the basis of previous visions reported in Acts, we can probably assume that Paul saw the form of a being. On the other hand, just as Greeks can talk of a dream appearing to someone, so a spoken word can be said to appear. As in previous visions, so with this of Paul, the relation between audition and vision is very dose and not as distinct as it appears to a modem reader. Certainly here, as often elsewhere, it is the spoken message that is central. It is the Lord (κύριος) who speaks, and whenever the Lord is said to speak to someone in Acts, it is always through a vision (to Ananias, 9.10; and to Paul 9.4-6; 18.9; 22.10; 23.11; 26.15). The one instance where it is not

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entirely clear is when Paul and Barnabas say that they have been commanded by the Lord to be a light to the natior\s. They report the command in the first person (13.47). In the light of the visionary experiences of Paul in which he is given that command, I think it is justifiable to take that occurrence of the Lord speaking as also being through a vision experience. The word addressed by the Lord to Paul here follows the common and standard pattern of such experiences in the Septuagint. There is a word to remove fear, 'Do not fear' (μή φόβου), followed by 'Γ language, either as a self-revelation or as a source of assurance. In Gen. 26.24, the exact words μή φόβου έγώ είμι μετά σοΰ are also used (compare also LXX Gen. 28.15; Isa. 41.10; 43.5; Jer. 1.8,19; 15.20; 16.28; 30.11; 42.11; Hag. 1.13; 2.4). In a number of Paul's visions there are similarities with the experiences of the prophets, Isaiah and Jeremiah in particular. It would suggest that Luke portrays Paul as being of similar ilk. Paul, like them, is chosen and called by God to witness to the revelation received; Paul, like the great prophets of Israel, is assured of God's protection. Of course, Paul is once again obedient to the vision and so stays in Corinth for eighteen months 'teaching the word of God' (18.11).

8.5. Another vision in Jerusalem (Acts 23.11) This vision is very similar in form and in content to that experienced by Paul in Corinth. Paul has defended himself before the Sanhédrin, exploiting the divisions within the coimdl over the issue of angels and the resurrection. Chaos results, and with the Romans fearing a disturbance, they take Paul and guard him in their own quarters. 'The following night, the Lord stood at his head (or, over him, έπιστάς) and said to him, "Be cheered, for as I have witnessed through you the things concerning me to/in Jerusalem, so you must also witness in/to Rome'". Luke obviously regards such a vision as a sure sign or omen. One can rely on what the Lord says to Paul in a vision much more than on the planrung and plotting of any human being, friendly or otherwise. Once again, Paul is in a crisis. The audience knows where this is all heading - Paul is going to Rome. Things will happen in Jerusalem, such as a plotting against his life, but it is the Lord who directs Paul's witness. He must (M) witness in Rome. Heininger, who generally downplays the significance of the vision, here too calls Paul's experience 'pure audition' (1996: 286). True, the experience

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is not explicitly called a vision (as it is in 18.9), but the terminology is quite typical of such, έπιστάς, νυκτί, 0ápo€L. There is not much point in trying to decide whether Paul was awake or asleep. Such a message could come when he was in either state. On the other hand, there was the opiruon that some people hear better when asleep, when the body is quiet and undisturbed, while when they are awake their soul can hear the higher powers but faintly, and moreover, as they are overwhelmed by the tumult of their passions and the distractions of their wants, they cannot listen or attend to the message; Socrates, on the other hand, had an understanding which, being pure and free from passion, and commingling with the body but little ... was so sensitive and delicate to respond at once to what reached him. What reached him ... was not spoken language but the imuttered words of a daemon, making voiceless contact with his intelligence by their sense alone (Plutarch Sign Soc. 588D-E).

In Paul's vision, it is the Lord who takes the posture of an agent and acts as such. This compares with the report of Ananias's vision in which it is persistently said that 'the Lord' (ó κύριος) spoke to Ananias (9.10,11,15,17), and to Paul's vision in Corinth, when the Lord spoke to Paul by rdght in a dream (18.9). Bruce assumes it is 'the risen Lord' who appears to Paul (1988: 430); and probably that is whom we are to imagine, given that Paul had just caused a violent dissension among the Sanhédrin on the matter of the resurrection, angels and spirits (23.10). The experience is narrated simply in one single verse. It again highlights how accepted such an experience was. The Lord stands next to Paul and speaks to him, as simple as that! But in the narrative, the simple sentence in 23.11 clearly reminds the audience that despite the tribime's fear that Paul might be torn to pieces by the mob (23.10), and despite the plots against his life (23.12), Paul's fate is in the hands of the appearing, living, present, speaking and assuring Lord.

8.6. Paul's last vision (Acts 27.23) This is slightly different from other visionary experiences in Acts in that here Paul simply reports a vision that he has had. He is on a ship heading for Rome. It has run into a severe storm and there are serious concerns for the safety of everyone on board and for the ship itself. Paul addresses the crew and encourages them that all will be well and no life will be lost, but the ship itself will be lost (27.21-22). He Üien says.

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For in this night an angel of the God to whom I belong and whom I serve stood near me and said, 'Fear not, Paul, you must stand near Caesar and behold God has granted you all those sailing with you'.

Once again, there is no mention of any vision, but the language and content is the same as in the reports of visionary experiences. One can assume that this w^as an experience similar to those reported in 18.9 and 23.11. If an angel stands near, the implication is that it was seen to be standing there. Otherwise, one might expect simply that Paul heard a voice. Like the others, this experience resembles common Greco-Roman oracular or omen visions. The notion of a god or hero appearing to someone when in need of help is quite common, especially before a king goes into battle (Speyer 1989: 269-291). Of the many possible examples, here is one told by Plutarch that also features a twofold vision. The people of Cyzicus received a number of maiufest signs (σημείοις) to embolden them. Among them, the following. The goddess appeared in a dream to Aristagoras, the town-clerk, saying, 'Indeed, it is I, and I bring the Libyan fife-player against the Pontic trumpeter. Bid the citizens therefore be of good cheer (θάρρειν)'. While the Cyzicenes were amazed at the saying, at daybreak (there was a great storm and the siege engines and towers of the opposition were destroyed). It is related too that the goddess Athena appeared to many of the inhabitants of Ilium in their sleep, dripping with sweat, showing part of her peplus torn away, and saying she was just come from assisting the Cyzicenes {Lucullus 10).

Aelius Aristides describes an experience of his that has some common features with Paul's experience. Like Paul, Aristides finds himself about to be shipwrecked. He had faced many dangers and was imable to reach land. That rüght the god came to him and made ever3rthing clear, that it was fated for me to suffer shipwreck, and for that reason these things happened, and now it would be also necessary for my safety and in order to fulfil my destiny completely, to embark in a skiff and to arrange it in the harbour so that the skiff overturn and sink, but that I myself be picked up by someone and brought to land.

'Scarcely and hardly were we saved', says Aristides, but they all knew that it was the god Asclepius who had saved them {Sacred Tales Π.12-14). Once again, Luke is telling his audience that Paul will not die in a shipwreck, any more than he will die because some in Jerusalem were plotting against his life. Paul will stand before Caesar in Rome. Presumably,

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most in the audience knew that Paul would also die in Rome, as Luke has hinted elsewhere. If an angel of God has spoken to Paul during the rüght, then there is no room for any doubt that he is imder the direction and protection of God.

Chapter 6

The Power of Bodies and Words 1. Introduction If Peter and Paul have Jesus, the Lord, appearing to them and communicating with them in visions, then a Septuagint-wise audience would expect those same men to be filled with a divine power that would enable them to perform great acts. Visions and great acts of power went hand in hand in God's great act to liberate Israel from Egypt. As the Septuagintal version of Deuteronomy puts it, 'the Lord brought us out of Egypt 'with great visions and signs and wonders (καΐ kv όράμασιν μεγάλους καΐ kv σημείοις καΐ έν τέρασιν, Deut. 26.8). So Luke Unks the leaders of the renewed Israel with visions and with signs and wonders, thus claiming that God has acted again for the liberation and salvation of Israel.

2. Peter's shadow (Acts 5.15) Luke offers here a good example of what I would call superstition or magical thinking. The reaction of scholars would suggest they think similarly about this episode. "The image of healing by sheer presence here is striking and perhaps even shocking', says Johnson (1992: 96). And Barrett concurs, 'No more astoimding piece of miracle-working is described in the New Testament' (1994: 1.276). The stories of a woman touching Jesus' garment expecting thereby to be healed (Mk. 5.27-28), and of people touching Paul's kerchiefs with the same expectation (Acts 19.12) are on a par. It is curious that Юаиск overlooks this episode in his book. Magic and Paganism in Early Christianity: The world of the Acts of the Apostles. Given the title, one might expect this episode to be included. The context of this episode is not xmimportant. In the preceding narrative, Peter spoke a word first to Ananias and then to his wife Sapphira, and immediately they both dropped dead (5.5,10). Luke has portrayed Peter as a spirit-powered man who cannot be deceived and whose word of

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judgment is incontrovertible. The church and the wider commuiuty respond with understandable fear, and that partly explains why there are some who do not want to join the new commimity, and why there are others who are added to the community (5.13-14). There are still others who want to bring their sick to Peter with the hope that his shadow will be powerful enough to cause their healing (5.15). There is also a contrast between the episode involving Ananias and Sapphira and this one that follows it. Anarüas and Sapphira were carried out (έξίνέγκαυτες) dead from the presence of the Spirit-filled Peter (5.6,10); in this episode the weak and possessed are carried out (екфсреьу, 5.15) into the public spaces in the hope that Peter's shadow might heal them. Healing and death are the powers embodied in Peter. The ability to bless and to curse is that of a very powerful, god-like being. It is logical to think that if a corpse, for example, can render a living person unclean, then the opposite would also apply, and the living body of a 'clean', holy, power-filled man will also have power to affect others. It is also relevant to note that this passage says that it is the physically weak who are healed by Peter's shadow. That is, the weak receive strength in their own bodies from his shadow. So it is not simply healing in the general sense that occurs, but rather the strengtherung of those who are weak. This idea of strengthening the weak also appears earlier in Acts 3 when Peter heals the crippled at the temple gate. His feet and ankles were strengthened (3.7). That certain objects were believed to exude power is known from many ancient sources. The fate of Uzzah who unlawfully touched Israel's Ark of the Covenant (2 Sam. 6.6-7) is a good example. The staves and sceptres of powerful men were also known to be conductors of power, as is illustrated by the 'rod of God' that Moses carried (Exod. 4.20), a rod that could produce rain (Exod. 9.23) and perform many other powerful acts. Likewise, Jewish literature knows of heavenly beings and powerful humans like kings and prophets who exude a power from their bodies (especially in their physical extremities like the hands and the feet) and from their clothes. The power of the Lord's hands brings punishment and judgment (for example, Exod. 9.3; 16.3; Deut. 2.15; Judg. 2.15; Acts 13.11), it acts mightily to save (Josh. 4.24; 2 Sam. 24.14), and to bless (Exod. 7.6,28; Isa. 66.14). The same hands often empower a prophet to act and speak, or even to translocate (1 Kgs. 18.41; Ezek. 3.14,22; 8.1). Power-bearing beings have power in their feet as is demonstrated when the feet of the priests carr30ng the ark touch the waters of the Jordan and the river parts (Josh. 3.13). Enemies are put vmder the feet of the Lord (1 Kgs 5.3). Interesting is the word of Isaiah that 'the Lord will shave with a razor ... the head and the hair of the feet, and it will sweep

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away the beard also' (Isa. 7.20). Presumably, this action of shaviiig the hair is symbolic of rendering the people helpless and powerless. In Acts 5, not only does Peter's body have power, but also his very shadow is believed to be able to provide healing for the lame and sick. The word used here for 'shadow' (σκιά) is also used for the shades of the dead, and that idea is not totally absent here. The shadow of Peter is his shade, that is his image, like that captured in a painting or a photo, but especially like that experienced in a dream. Modems sometimes use the term 'astral body'. It is possible that the people were not expecting to be overshadowed by Peter in the way we might think of the word. In other words, Peter's shadow was not one caused by the sim. Rather, they thought that by being in his presence, the 'astral body' of Peter, his 'soul' or his 'shade', might exude power over them even if there were no sunlight! Once again, my fragmented imderstanding of the human person prevents my understanding. For many Greeks, the distinction between person and image is not as sharp. The ψύχη, the άδωλον and the φάσμα of a person, while intangible and fleeting, can appear to pjeople in visions and dreams and are believed to be 'real'. Euripides in Madness of Hercules, has Megara pleading for Hercules to help her. 'Appear to me even as a shadow (και σκιά φανήθι μοι), for coming as a dream (δναρ) would be enough' (494-495). Valerius Maximus 1.7 says, 'I shaU relate with what sure apparitions the repose of many has been shadowed'. As van der Horst has shown, the shadow of a human or of an animal is their soul, their life-force, their 'belebter Doppelgänger oder alter ego' (1979: 27). I am especially intrigued by the notion expressed by Lucretius (first century ВСЕ) in his De Rerum Natura that the body has images (simulacra) or films (membranae). These images of bodies are seen in dreams and in sleep, but these 'thin films' are sometimes thrown off the body at an extremely rapid pace and land on surfaces such as mirrors or bodies of still water and so cause the reflection that we see there (4.143-157). Shadows, he says, are caused by the earth being robbed of sunlight; but he also suggests that they are caused by these thin films being thrown onto the groimd (4.379-386). In any case, if the body is believed to throw off these thin films, it is logical also to think that they are charged with the same 'power' that the body itself has. Peter's shadow, then, is the coimtless atoms that are thrown off his power-filled body and that land on the invalided people. In Jewish literature, the shadow is also frequently seen as a symbol of safety, protection and rest. For example, Isaiah is critical of those who 'take refuge in the protection of Pharaoh, and seek shelter in the shadow of Egypt! Therefore shall the protection of Pharaoh tum to your shame, and the shelter in the shadow of Egypt to your humiliation' (Isa. 30.2-3). On the

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positive side, there are those who are safe in the shadow of God (Lam. 4.20; Hos. 14.7), ar\d the faithful seek refuge 'in the shadow of your wings' (Ps. 17.8; 36.7; 57.1; 63.7; 91.1) or in the shadow of his hand (Isa. 49.2; 51.16). Peter's shadow possessed the same healing power as his hands (5.12) and voice. It would seem that Luke, and presumably many in his audience, hardly distinguished between the power in a person's shadow and the power that might be in the hands or the voice. Peter is a powerful man indeed, frighteningly so. For an ancient audience, such a sign of power would be seen as a clear indication that a god is present (Versnel 1987: 52). It is a notion carried by the cognate verb used here at 5.15 (έπισκιάζω), a verb that usually associates with danger and dread. If a person is overshadowed, they are covered or enveloped by the power of divine energy and vitality. So Mary is overshadowed by the holy Spirit and is pregnant (Lk. 1.35); Jesus is overshadowed on the moimtain and declared to be God's son (Lk. 9.34). When God overshadows something, then that person or place is 'dangerous' because of the holiness that is transferred. So the cloud covered (έπίσκίαζεν) the Tent and it was filled with the glory of the Lord, with the result that Moses was imable to enter (Exod. 40.35). Westerners possibly have not abandoned these ideas about a person's shadow. If we think about photographs, especially of people whom we love, their significance, and where we locate them in our homes (or on our bodies, in our wallets or in a locket), we possibly come somewhere near the idea that the ancients had. Or, if we think of children's games in which one does or does not step on someone's shadow, we see that the link remains between shadow and person, shadow and protection, shadow and danger. I agree with van der Horst that 5.16 suggests that Luke believed that healing through the shadow of a power-filled person could happen (1976/77: 205), and therein lies the strangeness. Today, not even the most alternative of Western medical practices will advocate such a remedy for sickness or disease. Nor would even the most fundamentalist of Christian miracle-working healers today use such a method. And yet Luke does not bat an eyelid. He could have omitted it, of course, if he did not wish to create the impression that these people were superstitious or naive. He makes no comment, explicitly or impHcitly, on their behaviour. He does not even say something like, 'The people thought that by coming into Peter's shadow they might be healed'. In fact, it is simply stated that the people were healed by this method (5.16). Van der Horst sets out to prove that Luke agreed with the common notion of the shadow - both to harm and to heal. He refers to Cicero, who quotes from some poet.

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Forbear you, my friends, to approach me; at once fly Lest on good men my shadow (umbrave) infection be working. So strong in my body crime's power is lurking (Tusc. Disp. 3.12.16).

As van der Horst then says, 'This passage is a clear instance of the belief in the noxious effect of a criminal's shadow when it touches other persons' (1976/77: 207-208). Talking of the hyena, Aelian said, it attacks dogs in the following maimer. When the moon's disc is full, the hyena has the rays behind it and casts its own shadow upon the dogs and at once reduces them to sUence, and having bewitched them, as sorceresses do, it then carries them off tongue-tied {Nat. Anim. 7.14).

This suggests two things: That the hyena's shadow has a power that has a paralysing effect on dogs; and, that a sorceress cast her shadow over people and so bewitched them. It is rather surprising that at the end of this episode, the people are said to magnify the apostles (έμεγάλυνευ αυτούς) - surprising, because in the rest of Acts, it is the Lord who is magnified (for example, 19.17). This is one of a number of examples in which Luke allows terminology to be used interchangeably between God and those doing his work. So power-laden are Peter and Paul that the boimdaries of power between them and God become blurred. For modems this can be quite disconcerting, because we prefer to keep the boimdaries quite distinct and marked.

3. Paul's kerchiefs and belts (Acts 19.11) The character parallels between Peter and Paul in Luke's narrative are close, and they are illustrated again in the episode of Paul in Ephesus. The section is introduced by the general statement that God worked miracles through the hands of Paul, thus echoing what had been said of Peter in 5.12. Here, as there, superstition is also present. Luke says that God performed through Paul powerful actions (δυνάμ€ΐς) which were 'extraordinary' (où τάς τυχούσας), and here is one of them: when Paul's kerchiefs or aprons that had been in touch with his body were brought (by whom?) to the sick, they were healed, as were those who were possessed of evil spirits (19.12). Once again, Luke sees this kind of thing as a 'proof of God doing wonderful things. He does not dismiss it as superstition or magical in anyway and shows no

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embarrassment about it. To the contrary; he would not have included it if he did, or if he thought that Paul's power was merely like that of any other power-possessed healer of his time. Belief that power could exude from the clothes of powerful people was common, and those who had heard or read Luke's Gospel would remember that Jesus' power 'went out of him' when a sick woman touched his clothes (Lk 8.44r-46). In this case, the clothes have been in contact with Paul's body, and that is why they are regarded as being so powerful to heal. But what sort of clothes are they? Luke calls them σουδάρια καΐ σιμικίνθια which is a Greek transliteration of two Latin words, sudaría and semicinctia. The standard view is that Paul wore or used them in his workshop. So Bruce, 'The pieces of material were presumably those which Paul used in his tentmaking or leather-working - the sweat-rags for tying around his head and the aprons for tying around his waisf (1988: 367); and Johnson, 'We are to picture small bits of cloth, pressed to Paul's skin, and then applied to the sick' (1992: 340). Leary (1990) has suggested that the semicinctium was probably not an apron but a belt, and that it 'is not a specialist garment worn only by leather-workers, but something worn generally' (1990: 528). Two points can be made in response to these suggestions. In the first place, these are not bits of cloth or rags, but they are items that Paul had worn aroimd his body or skin, the real source of their healing powers. Secondly, the context suggests this takes place while Paul is teaching in the lecture hall (σχολή) of Tyrannus in Ephesus (19.9-10), not while he was working at a manual craft. Orators had far more 'power' in their bodies than did craftworkers like tentmakers or leather-workers! There is sufficient evidence to support this view, as I have demonstrated elsewhere (Strelan 2003a). In court, a sudarium was worn for the purpose of removing sweat from the face (Apol. 53.3,39; 55.3,7,8,16; 57). Lawyers wore the sudarium in court, probably as part of the court imiform of that profession, and they would use that article of clothing to mop the brow more as a rhetorical gesture than for the purpose of removing actual perspiration. It was simply part of the pose of an orator. According to Suetoruus, Nero, who had pretensions to be an orator, had someone by his side to warn him to spare his vocal chords and to 'hold a handkerchief (sudarium) to his mouth' (Nero 25.3). Suetonius also says that Nero often appeared in public and gave audiences in a dinner gown with a kerchief aroimd his neck {circum collum sudario) but sine cinctu (Nero 51). It would seem that the two articles of clothing - the sudarium and the cinctium - have an implied connection. Nero dressed the part of an orator, but Suetonius thinks his dress 'shameless', and he also judged Nero's habit of appearing in public sine cinctu as such.

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That Luke here depicts Paul as an orator rather than a a a f t s m a n is best illustrated in a comment made by Petronius. He was giving an oration to a large audience when his teacher, Agamemnon, arrived, curious to see who had attracted such a crowd. 'He declined to allow me to declaim longer in the Portico than he had himself sweated in the school' (Non est passus Agamemnon me diutius declamare in porticu, quam ipse in schola sudaverat, Satyr. 3). As I noted elsewhere, "The verb sudaverat is used metaphorically, and its use in combination with schola and declamare parallels closely the Greek terms used by Luke in 19.9 (διαλεγόμενος ... σχολτι ... σουδάρια καΐ σιμικίνθια)' (Strelan 2003a: 156). Paul wore the sudarium while he was teaching in the scholê of Tyrarmus in Ephesus. This seems far more likely than the traditional view that he wore it while working in a craftshop. Craftworkers were not highly regarded, and a worker writh animal skins would not have been thought to possess 'power' in his clothing or skin. An orator, on the other hand, was thought to have that essential power or δύυαμις. Dio Chrysostom talks of divine men (MOL ανδρ€ς) who speak with eloquence. He felt that his own oratory was not of his choosing, but was the will of some deity who gave him courage to speak (32"^ Disc. 12.21). In addition, the sweat of a holy and 'divine' man was also thought to be effective in countering the fluids of the evil and demonic powers. As Preisigke says, the sweat from Paul's body saturates the clothing and so the clothing then has the same power that is in Paul's body. Paul's bodily fluid is stronger than that of the demons and so absorbs the power from the other and defeats it. There is a battle between the two fluids - that of Paul's and that of the demons - and since Paul's fluid possesses the greatest power, the evil spirit must disappear (1980:223). Was the semicinctium some kind of apron, as commonly understood? In the Satyricon, Petronius threatens to hang himself with a semicinctium tied to the bed (94.8), so this hardly suggests it is an apron. It was probably nothing more than a thinner version of the cinctium, or what the Greeks knew as a ζώνη, the girdle, an article of clothing commonly worn by both men and women. There is the suggestion that the girdle was thought to possess a power or to symboUze a power. For example, Pliny knows of the belief that 'if the man by whom a woman has conceived unties his girdle {cincto suo) and puts it aroimd her waist, and then imties it wdth the ritual formula, 'I bound, and I too will unloose', then taking his departure, child-birth is made more rapid' (N.H. 28.9). Women left their girdles in the temple of Artemis in Ephesus after childbirth, and on one occasion ambassadors visited Artemis'

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shrine at Sardis and offered tunics to her 'according to the custom' (Strelan 1996:48-49). Why did the Ephesians to want to take these garments and put them on the sick and possessed (19.12). The sudarium, being worn aroimd the neck, was in touch with the 'power' of the voice; the semicinctium went around the area of the gerutals, and so was in touch with the 'power' of that part of the body. Luke's audience would not be surprised by the actions of these Ephesians. They already had heard of similar power associated with Peter (Acts 5.15-16), and any with knowledge of magical arts would probably have known that garments of the gods or of 'divine' people could be used for magical purposes. One Coptic magic spell invokes the powers by their names and 'by your garments' (P. London Hay. 10391). Besides, it is all consistent with Luke's portrayal of Paul as a power-filled man, and in this episode that power flows from his body into his clothing, and in tum those articles of clothing have power to heal the sick and to strengthen the weak.

4. The curses of Peter and Paul Power-filled men, like the gods and their agents, have powerful voices, and their words have very dramatic effect. It is common in my western world to hear that 'talk is cheap', and that can be easily illustrated. Politicians, for example, are notorious for their pre-election promises that rarely see fulfilment; the rising number of divorces suggests that the marriage vow holds little sanctity; and there would be very few modern westerners who would be afraid if they were told that someone had spoken a curse against them. In the andent Mediterranean world, however, words had power good oratory was seen as a divine gift, curses were taken seriously, and vows and oaths were sacred and binding. One's word was one's honour, lying and the breaking of a vow or an oath did not mark the behaviour of the ideal person. In Jewish tradition, power-filled men of God could both bless and curse, as indeed does God. So Moses tells Israel they will be blessed or cursed depending on whether they follow the laws God has given them through him (Deut. 28; those who disobey will feel the curses warned by the Lord and they include death and exclusion from Israel 29.20-21). Elisha cursed those who ridiculed him for his baldness (2 Kgs 2.23-24), and Balaam had the power to both bless and to curse (Num. 22.6). A cursed person was basically cut off from their commimity, as Lev. 24.14,23 illustrate.

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Four particular episodes demoristrate that the power of God acting through the words of the apostles is not one to be played around with. These all involve either a curse put on other men of power or a turning of the tables in some other way.

4.1. The curse on Ananias and Sapphira (Acts 5.1-11) A clear example of a holy man acting with a power that is fatal is the episode of Peter's exposure of Anarüas and Sapphira. It is a story which Foakes-Jackson thinks is morally 'frankly repulsive' (1931: 42). Derrett says it is an 'extraordinary story ... of which it is commonly said that no satisfactory explanation has ever been forthcoming' (1971:225). Dunn thinks it is 'one of the most unnerving episodes in the whole of the New Testament' (1996: 62), Pesch calls it 'die uns fremde Legende' (1986: 1.203), and Marshall believes '[t]he story must rank among the most difficult for modem readers of Acts' (1980:110). The story parallels that of Achan 0osh. 7), as many scholars have noted, but also interesting are the parallels to which Heiuiette Havelaar (1997) draws attention. While many of the parallels she offers are not very close in details, there is a close parallel in Herodotus, who tells of a man who entrusted a large amoxmt of money to a certain Glaucus. Later, the sons of the man came to redeem their money, but Glaucus said he knew nothing about it. Glaucus visited Delphi and was told by the oracle to return the money. He asked for pardon from the god, but the priestess answered that 'to tempt the god (το πειρωθήναι του 0€oû) and to do the deed were of like effecf. Glaucus returned the money, but he had no descendants, and he and his family 'have been utterly uprooted out of Sparta' (6.86). Havelaar also gives examples from Epidaurus and the Aesclepius and Men cults. In addition, she cites Plato, Ovid, Sextus, Appian and Virgil for statements expressing strong disapproval of lying to the gods or breaking faith with them (1997: 67-72). In Acts 5, the general context is important for making at least some sense of this story. Luke has depicted the Quistian community as being harmonious and united, having all things in common (4.32). Present within that community is the spirit of holiness (4.31) and 'great grace' (4.33). Grace (χάρις) is a divine power that imbues people, and it is a favourite word in Luke-Acts, where it is sometimes closely linked to powerful actions, signs and wonders (for example, 6.8; 14.3). With the actions of Ananias and Sapphira, however, this divine power is threatened and the holiness of the

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community is polluted by deception, and must be rooted out if the new Israel is to maintain its holiness. Just as Israel had to root out Korah and Dotham (Num. 16), and just as Joshua purified Israel by stoning Achan (Josh. 7), so Peter must root out Ananias and Sapphira and purify the new Israel. That is the fundamental point of this episode. Too many commentators simply ignore the fact Luke identifies 'God' (5.4) and the 'spirit of the Lord' (5.9) with the very first identity he mentions, namely, the holy Spirit (5.3). It is the holiness of God and the holiness of the Spirit of the Lord against which Ananias and Sapphira sin. That, in tum, means that the holiness of the commimity is also affected. Luke draws a contrast between Joseph Barnabas (4.36) and Ananias and Sapphira. The former received his second name from the apostles. Now, name changes of any kind had significance, and so this is certainly far more than giving him what we might call a 'nickname'. Luke says that the name means 'son of encouragement', which probably means that he was characterized by his encouragement of others, something seen as a χάρισμα (Rom. 12.8). Paul also links παράκλησις very closely with prophecy (1 Cor. 14.3), and it would seem that Barnabas possessed that gift as well (Acts 13.1, assuming it refers to the same Barnabas). As scholars have pointed out, Luke's etymology is incorrect, and the name probably means 'son of Nebo', reflecting the common syncretism in Jewish naming practices. But Luke, like some of his contemporaries, likes to give meaning to names not on the basis of etymology, but for some other purpose. It is another small example of the difference between modems and ancients in the understanding of 'truth and reality'. Bamabas is distinctively identified as a Levite from Cyprus (4.36). Levites were dedicated for Temple services, especially those involving offerings, dedications, and financial contributions (for example, see 2 Chron. 31.12-14). This Levite sold a farm or some arable, cultivated, piece of land (άγρός) that belonged to him. According to LXX Lev. 25.34, Levites could not sell certain arable lands (άγροι ol άφωρισμένοι) 'for it is their property forever', so this might suggest some Christians like Bamabas had a new or revised understanding of this law. Bamabas took the proceeds (χρήμα) to the feet of the apostles (4.37). The episode with Ananias immediately follows. Like Bamabas, he places the proceeds of the sale of his property at the feet of the apostles (5.1-2). There is a threefold mention of placing proceeds at the feet of the apostles (4.35,37; 5.2). The first states that this was a general practice, the next the particular action of Bamabas, the third that of Anaiuas. Repetition usually has a purpose. Clearly, Ananias acts differently from the general practice as followed by Bamabas in that he and his wife deliberately

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withhold some of the proceeds. At one level, the action of placing the money at the feet of the apostles may signify Httle more than openness and honesty on the part of all those who brought such morues. Cicero refers to Flacco's resolution that the gold annually sent by Jews in Asia to the Temple in Jerusalem should be confiscated. "There was a hundredweight of gold, more or less openly seized at Apamaea and weighed out in the forum at the feet of the praetor, by Sextus Caesius, a Roman kiught, a most excellent and upright man' (Pro Flacc. 68). The character of Sextus Caesius as 'excellent and upright' is demonstrated by his public action. If that is what the action means, the duplicity of Ananias and Sapphira in Acts 5 is highlighted - they are not as 'excellent and upright' as they seem. The action of laying money at the feet might be associated also with the courts and with judges, and Peter certainly acts here in a juridical manner. In the following, Cicero seems to use the phrase ante podes as symbolic of judges and their authority. We entreat you, О Marcus Fiirmius, and you, О judges, to punish crimes with the greatest energy; to resist audacious men with the greatest boldness; to consider that unless you show in this cause what your disposition is, the covetousness and wickedness, and audacity of men will increase to such a pitch that murders will take place not only secretly, but even here in the forum, before your tribunal, О Marcus Fatmius; before your feet (ante podes), О judges, among the very benches of the court (Oref. Sex. Rose. 5.12).

Placing oneself or one's possessions at the feet of another sometimes indicated submission and the handing over of one's own authority. Johnson says, it means to be in a state of subnüssion or obedience. To 'lay something at the feet' of another is therefore the body language of self-disposition spelled out by possessions, specifically a statement acknowledging the power and authority of another over the self and what one has (1992: 87).

A local ruler called Parthamasiris, in submission, took the diadem off his head and laid it at the feet of Trajan p i o . Cass. 68.19.3). In this Acts episode, the placing of proceeds at the feet is part of a ritual action of obedience and submission. It would seem that the apostles acted as judges and arbitrators of transactioiis, deals and covenants. They were the judges and rulers of the new Israel. But the reference to the apostles' feet may be more than just the acknowledgment of their authority as judges and leaders in the community. It may indicate an acknowledgement of their divine power. Since the feet

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are that part of the body that is closest to the ground, they were thought to participate in the power that exists in the earth. Witches could not have any power if their feet were off the ground (y. Hagig. 2.2/77d). Medea called forth rain from dry clouds by using a ritual that involved loosening her hair and treading the secret groves with bare feet (Seneca, Med. 752-754). Many sacred rituals were performed by bare-footed participants. Not surprisingly, it was also common to think of gods and heroes as having big feet. The Scythians showed a footprint of Heracles that was two cubits long (Herodotus 4.82). Likewise, the people of Chemnis in Egypt claimed that they found the sandal of the hero Perseus and it measured two cubits in length (2.91). Ludan tells a story in which he saw on an island the footprints one of Hercules and other of Dionysius one was 100 feet long the other shorter {Ver. Hist. 1.7). In Jewish literature, feet are symbolic of the presence and power of God. For example, in Isa. 60.13, God calls the Temple sanctuary 'the resting place of my feet' and in Ps. 132.7 it is called God's footstool. And they sometimes symbolize his authority, as kings and rulers are advised to 'kiss the feet' of Yahweh, lest he be angry (Ps. 2.12). That the apostles were imbued with a power within their bodies is illustrated a number of times in Acts, as we have seen in the cases of Peter's shadow (5.16), Paul's kerchiefs (19.11), and the apostles' hands (5.12; 19.11). In addition, Paul's body lies on the dead or comatose Eutychus, and his lifepower is restored (20.10). So by putting his gift at the apostle's feet, Ananias acknowledges the power inherent in the body of Peter. This makes his action all the more deceitful. Not only is he keeping back some of the proceeds, but by his actions he is pretending that he too acknowledges that divine power. But in fact, as he finds out to his fatal dismay, he cannot deceive a spirit-filled man of God. On this background, it is understandable that O'Toole describes Peter's feet as 'a place and moment of encounter with God' and as the 'divine presence' (1995:190). Finally, it would seem that some dedications were placed at the feet of the god to whom the dedication was made. At one point in the initiation of Lucius into the mysteries of Isis in Apuleius' Metamorphoses, the priest 'placed me at the feet of the goddess' (11.23). More relevant to the Acts episode, was it a practice to leave money in trust at the feet of statues of the gods or heroes? There are a few hints of this. Ludan tells of a servant who had stolen money left at the image of Pellichus, a Corinthian general. Pellichus was in the habit of getting down from his pedastai and making himself comfortable in the house. He punished the thief by thrashing him, with the result that he died. Presumably, money or objects left at the feet of a god were considered safe (Lover of Lies, 20.1-26). Livy reports.

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Caniillus returned in triumphal procession to the City, after having been victorious in three simultaneous wars. By far the greatest number of the prisoners w h o were led before his chariot belonged to the Etruscans. They were publicly sold, and so much was realized that after the matrorw had been repaid for their gold, three golden bowls were made from what was left. These were inscribed with the name of Camillus, and it is generally believed that previous to the fire in the Capitol they were deposited in the chapel of Jupiter before the feet {ante podes) of Juno (6.4.2).

So the action of Ananias and Sapphira, and others, in bringing their contributions and laying them at the feet of the apostles was a symbolic act. It acknowledged the power of Peter and the apostles, as well as their authority and status. Ananias and Sapphira were members of a commimity that had all things in common, 'and sold their possessions and goods and distributed them to all, as any had need' (2.44-45). What kind of commimal living this was that was practiced among the Jerusalem Christians (4.34) is not exactly clear. There are some parallels with the commuiuties who lived by the rules found at Qumran. According to the Community Rule, those entering the Covenant Commimity freely pledge themselves to be under the direction and instruction of the leaders in all matters, including property. At a particular point in the admission process, 'his property and earnings shall be handed over to the Bursar of the Congregation who shall register it to his accoimt and shall not spend it for the Congregation'. But later, on full membership in the Community, 'his property shall be merged' (IQS 6.20-24). Interesting is the rule that follows, 'If any one of them has lied deliberately in matters of property, he shall be excluded from the pure Meal of the Congregation for one year and shall do penance with respect to one quarter of his food' (IQS 6.25). In Pliny's letter to Trajan, written about llOCE, the Christians are said to have bovmd themselves by a solemn oath {invicem seque sacramento ... obstringere) ... never to conunit fraud, theft or adultery {ne furta ne latrocinia ne adulteria committerent), never to falsify their word {ne fidem fallerent), nor to deny a trust when they should be called upon to deliver it {ne depositum apellati abnegarent, Ep. 10.96).

What is noteworthy here is that at least four of the five areas of the oath have to do with money, and that the oath is taken regarding dealings and relationships between members within the Christian commimity. Furta refers to secret stealing, robbery, theft, or cheating; latrocinia is violent

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robbery. The fourth, fidem fallere, can refer to breaking the faith, deception, misleading, or swearing falsely, but Livy uses the same expression, fallere fidem, in reference to breaking faith in the weighing of gold {in pondere auri, 5.51.10). So, even that expression might imply the involvement of money. In the middle of these money matters, there are adulteria (all words in the list are plural). This might not refer to extramarital affairs but rather, in light of the context, to the false mixing of matter, for example mixing lesser minerals with gold. The final statement of Pliny ties them all together as financial matters since a depositum is money placed in another's safe-keeping. Now, there is no mention of an oath in Acts. Argumenta e silentio of course are two-edged, but could it be that some Christians took oaths on entering a Christian commimity, and others did not? Pliny thinks they took oaths; Justin says that Christians did not swear at all {Apol. 1.16.5). Was Pliny wrong about the sacramentum? Even if there was no oath-taking by the Acts community, the very seriousness of the offence and its penalty, combined with the ritual of la3nng proceeds at the apostles' feet, strongly suggests this was no ad hoc action. Deposits made in trust were very serious arrangements and any breach was to be punished. According to Josephus, Moses instructed Israel to regard anything left in trust as 'a sacred and divine thing', and warned against deceit and fraud (Ant. 4.285-288; compare also Ap. 2.208, 216, and Philo Spec. Leg. 4.30-40). Aristides in his Apology (ca. 155 CE) says of Christians, that 'they do not commit adultery nor forrücation, nor bear false witness, nor embezzle what is held in pledge, nor covet what is not theirs' {Apol. 15.4). Some manuscripts add that they 'are not defrauders' (ούκ άιτοστ€ρήσ€ΐς). Fraud and embezzlement seem to have been a problem within some early Christian commimities. In 1 Cor. 6.8, Paul is alarmed that Christians at Corinth are defrauding each other (атгоотереХхе καΐ τούτο άδ€λφούς). In Мк. 10.19, Jesus includes fraud (μή άποστ€ρήστις) in his decalogue list, although the command is omitted in some manuscripts! In parallel passages, Lk. 18.20 reads μή κλέψης and Mt. 19.18, οΰ κλέψεις, and that might be explained by the fact that the verb άποστερέω is not used in the Septuagint in either Exod. 20.14 or Deut. 5.19, which both read où κλέπτεις. According to Acts 5.4, Ananias and Sapphira did not have to sell, nor did they have to give the proceeds to the community. But if they did, it was to be total. That seems to have been the common agreement, 'No one said that any of the things which he possessed was his own, but they had everything in common' (4.32). As Richter Reimer suggests, it is not impossible that the business of selling land and giving the proceeds to the community was not a private decision, but one made by the commuruty.

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Barnabas is therefore not espedally noble or generous, but just doing what the community expected of him; the commimity needs were such that they now thought it was Anaiuas and Sapphira's tum to do their bit for the commimity. Ananias and Sapphira knew this to be the case when they joined the community (1995:13). It is clear that Ananias acts with the full knowledge and consent of his wife. Richter Reimer shows from andent contracts for the sale of real property texts foimd at Wadi Murabba'at in 1952, some of which are dated in the first century CE, that women were co-sellers in contracts for the sale of land. One such document clearly shows that a woman had land rights within a marriage that she surrendered to her husband orüy imder conditions that would guarantee her well-being in the case of her husband's death (1995:5). Richter Reimer believes that this was the arrangement between Ananias and Sapphira and that explains their mutually agreed action in this episode; she might well be right. Derrett, who also knows of ketubah rulings (1971:227), curiously blames Sapphira for the deceit. He imagines she said to Anaiuas, 'Lefs not get carried away, we need some security. If you want to be siUy and give it all away, OK, but I'll only agree on the basis that you keep back some so that if the community's system breaks down, we've got something in reserve'. He likeiis her action to that of Eve. Even more curious is Derrett's comment that 'It was courteous of Peter to allege that Satan (and not Sapphira herself) had tempted Ananias to cheat and lie to the Holy Spirif (1971:228). This is sheer sexist speculation. The couple kept back (ένοσφίσατο) part of the proceeds from the sale (5.2; νοσφίσασθαι, 5.3). The verb νοσφίζομαι is used in reference to Achan in Josh. 7.1; in 2 Масс. 4.32 where the theft of objects dedicated to Yahweh results in death; and in Josephus' interpretation of Deut. 21.1 (Ant. 4.8.29). It is also used in Tit. 2.10, where slaves are admonished not to 'pilfer, but to show entire and true fidelity' (RSV). The command in this passage (μή νοσφιζομΙνους) probably implies not 'pilfering' so much as 'holding back' something, and not showing good faith (πίστιν άγαθήν). In other words, something that has been given in trust has not been fuUy returned. The same verb is also used in Polybius when the Romans are at war with Carthage and the soldiers make an oath that all booty will be shared in common 'so that no one is to keep back any of the booty, but must observe fidelity to the oath' (10.16.6). Xenophon also talks of a great deal of χρήματα in the camp which may not be appropriated because it is common property (κοινά, Cyro. 4.2.42). The death penalty was applied for such a breach among a Celtic tribe, according to Diodorus (Hist. 5.34.3). We can safely conclude that in both Jewish and

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non-Jewish communities deceit, duplicity, and infidelity in matters of financial trast were seen as very serious crimes and were purushed very severely. Peter sees through the deception and thus illustrates his power as a super-human being (compare 4.8; 15.7). The ability to know what people are thinking is a sign of a divine man, a man of divine powers. So Jesus 'perceived in his spirit' what his opponents were thinking (Mk. 2.8). It is consistent with the Jewish wisdom-spirit cormection. Daniel, for example, is characterized by Belshazzar's wife as 'a man in whom is a/the spirit of God, a man full of wisdom and understanding' (Dan. 5.11). According to the Septuagint version, she also says of Daniel καΐ ιη/€ϋμα αγίοι» kv αύτφ COTL (5.12, and compare 5.14). Of Joseph, too, it is said, 6χ€ΐ πνεύμα θ€θΟ kv αύτφ (LXX Gen. 41.38), which is understood to be the ability to know the truth. The Greeks also associated god with knowledge. Plutarch says that the god gives to humans 'only a share' of sense and intelligence (νους καΐ φρόνησις) 'inasmuch as these are his special possessions and his sphere of activity' (bis 351D). So if a human has these gifts, then they are just that: gifts. Peter has the gift of perception and knowledge. By lying to Peter, Anarüas lies to God. Peter describes the action as one in which two powers are involved - Satan and God. It is not simply a matter of Ananias and Sapphira, on the one hand, and Peter and the apostles on the other, but a matter involving Satan and God. This is consistent again with a holiness sect who thinks that human actions are controlled by one of two controlling powers; one acts either imder the influence of God or under the influence of Satan. Of course, the actions inspired by Satan cannot be tolerated in a group called by God to be holy. Pesch (1986 1.196) notes some parallel with the story of Susannah in which two witnesses bring incompatible testimony against her and are told, 'You have lied against your own head, for the angel of God has received the sentence from God and will immediately cut you in two' (w. 55 and 59). If these two episodes are compared, then Peter acts as the angel of God in bringing the judgment of God on Ananias and Sapphira. Ananias falls down dead and is carried out by 'the yoxmger men' (οί vecjTcpoL, 5.6; but ol νεανίσκοι in 5.10). His wife comes in after three hours and the same thing happens to her. The story follows the normal pattern for miracle stories, including the reaction of the bystanders/crowds, here the community. The power of the story lies partly in the telling. It is stark, powerful, and concentrated. There is no discussion or defence allowed from Ananias or Sapphira. Not a word is put into Anaruas's mouth, and Sapphira speaks only to согШгт her falsehood (5.8). The yoimg men come and do their job with no reaction on their part. The point is brutally clear.

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Who the 'young men' are, and what their role was, is not known. My guess is that they are not merely yoimg in age, but young in status and rank as members of the Christian community. Were they obliged to perform the ritually defiling activities for the community? In the Acts of John, John orders the neaniskoi to dig his grave {A] 119). If the Qumran Commimity is any guide, we know that there were certain levels of membership within that conummity, and that novices did not join the full assembly of the holy meal. Was that the status of these yoxmg men? The verb έκψύχω, used to indicate the deaths of both Ananias and Sapphira, is the same verb that is used to indicate the death of Herod in 12.23. All three tried to oppose the ways of God. The verb is also used in the death of Sisera at the hand of Jael in Judg. 4.21, although there, interestingly, καΐ άπέθανεν is added. I suggest that Luke's choice of the word is deliberate in order to draw attention not only to the loss of the couple's own ψυχαί, but also to the fact that they no longer share in the 'one spirit' (μία ψυχή) of the commuiuty (4.32). Such an understanding fits with the use of the word 'heart' in this context. The community was of 'one heart' (καρδία ... μία, 4.32), but Satan 'has filled the heart' of Ananias (4πλήρωσ€ν ó σατανάς την καρδίαν), and Ananias conspired 'in his hearf (έν τη καρδίςι, 5.4), a heart that was not at one with the that of the commuruty. Both 'fall down' (π€σών, eïïeoev), with Sapphira pointedly and ironically doing so 'at his feet' (ττρός τους πόδας αύτοΟ), the position of a suppliant and of a worshipper (compare Lk. 8.41 and 17.16). Sapphira also falls down 'immediately' (παραχρήμα), a word that is sometimes used in the Septuagint to indicate sudden judgment on wrong behaviour (for example, Ps 40.16), and in Acts similarly (12.23; 13.11). It is possible to read παρά χρήμα, and that would mean that Sapphira fell down at Peter's feet 'near the money' that she and her husband had brought. Sudden deaths need an explanation, especially in cultures like that of Luke. Things like that do not simply 'happen'; something or someone must be responsible. And if someone is respor^ible they must have access to a source of power that is to be feared. It is not at all unexpected that the response of the Christian community and the wider commimity is one of fear (5.11). The apostles are in contact with a power that can produce sudden death. No wonder immediately following this episode many people want to avoid association with the apostles (5.13); no wonder, conversely, others see them as potential sources of healing (5.15-16). Western and modem cultures tend not to think this way. Rather than holding Peter responsible because he had access to power, natural and psychological explanations are given. The most common of these explana-

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tions are paralysing strokes, heart attacks, or the result of overpowering guilt (Derrett 1971: 229-230), 'heart failure due to shock' (Marshall 1980: 112). Dunn believes 'the shock of terror at realising their sin ... may well have been sufficient to drop them dead in their tracks' (1975: 166). Richter Reimer also removes any responsibility from Peter. She says, 'Peter's words are anything but joyful; they are surely spoken in sorrow' (1995: 17). Peter does not condemn them to death; he uncovers their sin and it is their sin that condemns them to death and so exclusion from the community of life. What all these views forget is that, according to Luke, the church and others clearly did not regard these deaths as 'natural'. Their response of fear is an indication that something other than natural power was believed respoiisible for the deaths. The nineteenth century commentator, H.A.W. Meyer, imderstood these deaths in a way that is probably closer to the interpretation given by the contemporaries of Ananias and Sapphira, 'The sudden death of both is to be regarded as a result directly effected through the will of the apostle, by means of the miraculous power imparted to him' (1877:141). Luke elsewhere says that fear (φόβος) was the reaction to a mighty action; in fact, it is a reaction more common in Luke-Acts than in the other Gospels. He uses a verbal form some thirty-seven times and the noun, twelve times. So, for example, in Lk. 7.16, fear 'took everybody' (ελαβεν ... πάντας) who heard about the restoration to life of the Nain youth. In 19.17, fear is said to 'fall upon' (èiréiTCoev) people, which suggests fear is almost a spirit that has autonomous existence. It is used in that 'spirit' sense also in Acts 2.43 in relation to the 'wonders and signs', almost as if fear were the source of such wonders (compare also 9.31). Through the death of Ananias and Sapphira, the purity of the community is restored in a way similar to the purification of the apostolic group after the death of Judas. Roloff rightly suggests that this is really a story for the church as church, and not about individuals (1981: 92). The Christians of Acts wanted to be a holy community, and so the sinner must be rooted out; repentance is not an option. The episode parallels somewhat the incident where Paul commands that a man guilty of imholy living be handed over to Satan 'for the destruction of the flesh' (1 Cor. 5.5). By lying to Peter, Ananias lies to God. Peter describes the action as one in which two powers are involved, Satan and God. O'Toole thinks this is 'Luke's principal message to his reader' (1995: 189). Of course, the actions inspired by Satan cannot be tolerated in a group called by God to be holy through the spirit of holiness.

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4.2. The oírse on Simon (Acts 8.9-24) Another character in Acts who comes under the harsh judgment of a holy apostle is Simon, a man who in Christian traditions became known as the arch-heretic and the first Gnostic (see Haar 2003). In other words, tìiis interesting character has not had good press! In Acts 8, the proclamation of the followers of Jesus spread into Samaria, thus following Jesus' progranmiatic command that 'you will be my witnesses from Judea, to Samaria ... (1.8). The bringer of the gospel message to Samaria is a prophet called Philip. As is well known, there are many features of Philip that parallel Elijah, and his location in Samaria is one of them. The attitude of Jews and later Christians to Samaria and its people is very intriguing, but also highly complex. Some believed Samaria was a hotbed of false prophets and false prophecy. So, for example, in the Martyrdom of Isaiah, the false prophet Belkira, who opposes Isaiah, is from Samaria (Mart. Is. 2.12). This attitude is reflected in this episode with Simon the Samaritan, who is described as one wanting to buy apostolic authority. As will be seen, the idea that such authority and power could be bought was widely held to be characteristic of false prophets in the early decades of the Christian movement. Philip meets with success among Samaritans as they hear his words and see his signs (Acts 8.6). Many are healed and have imclean spirits expelled. His work results in much joy in the area (8.8). But it is common in Acts for the powerful men of God to come into contact and conflict with other claims to divine power. So, Paul meets Bar-Jesus (13.4^12), the spirit of Python (16.16), and the wandering Jewish exordsts at Ephesus (19.13-20). Here, in Acts 8, Philip meets the power-filled Simon, a man who in later Christian traditions traded power-blows with the orthodox Peter. According to Barrett - and his view is typical - 'Simon is one of the class that Luke strongly dislikes; he has illicit dealings with the supernatural, and makes money out of them' (1994:1.406). It is a view that is not easily justified from this passage. Simon is introduced by Luke as someone who was practising magian rites (μαγ^ύων) and astoxmding (έξιστάνων) the Samaritans (8.9). This response of the Samaritans need not be seen in a negative light at all. The actions and teaching of Simon met the same response as that given to the actions and teaching of Jesus and the Spirit (Lk. 2.47; Acts 2.7,12; 9.21; 10.45; 12.16). Nor does the verb μαγεύ6ΐν mean that Simon was a magos, but rather that he practised magian rites (de Jong 1997: 146 n. 96), whatever they may have been. Simon was saying that he was someone great (λέγων elvaí τινα

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έαυτόν μέγαν, 8.9). Presumably, as a result of his actìor\s and his words, the locals agree with his self-designation, and say, "This man is the Power of God which is called Greaf (8.10). In typical fashion, Luke gives a clue to the audience as to the point he wishes to make by repeating certain words or ideas. In 8.9-10, he refers to greatness three times, and thus the audience knows what this episode is about - where does real greatness come from? The reader of Acts already knows, of course, that dynamis comes from the God of Jesus, who gives it only to those whom he has elected (1.4-8); they also know that all other claimants to greatness will succumb to the bearers of the power of God. It was not unusual for a human to claim himself - or to be acclaimed - as 'great', a particular power of God. It might not be too different to the claim that Luke makes about John the Baptist, namely, that 'he will be great (μέγας) before the Lord ... and he will be filled with the holy Spirit' (Lk. 1.15; compare also Daiuel in Sus. 1.64 (θ') and Naaman in LXX 2 Kgs. 5.1). Such a person in my society would be locked away as a nutcase, rather than be acclaimed and heralded. But Simon is little different from Peter and Paul in that they all are men who have the power of God in their very bodies. The difference lies in the legitimacy of their power; only Jesus provides the valid claims to power, according to Luke. Simon astounded people with his power. The tendency is to dismiss this as magic and trickery, and to draw a sharp contrast between Philip's signs and powers and those of Simon (as, for example, Zmijewski 1994: 351). But Luke does not explicitly do this. The fact is that certain people did have certain powers that enabled them to perform signs and wonders the equal of those performed by valid. Christian prophets. This is often the case in such confrontations, as is illustrated in the story in which the magicians in Pharaoh's court replicate the powers of Moses and Aaron (Exod. 7.10-12). Luke does not even suggest that people believed and were baptized because they saw Philip's signs and wonders as surpassing those of Simon. The issue is not whether Simon's powers are less, but rather that he does not have the valid authority. The short of it all is that those who had previously 'given heed' to Simon (the verb προσέχ^ιν is used twice, 8.10,11) now transfer their allegiance to Philip and are baptized (8.12), and Simon himself believes, is baptized, and devotes himself closely (·ιτροσκαρτ€ρών) to Philip (8.13). Elsewhere in Acts, the verb ττροσκαρτίρείν is used in a positive way to describe the behaviour of the Christian community. They are devoted to prayer and worship (1.14; 2.42,46) to teaching and preaching the word (6.4). The verb is also used to describe the loyalty of the pious (eüoeßrjg) attendant of ComeHus (10.7). In the rest of the New Testament and in 1 Clement, it is

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also always used as a positive word, especially as an exhortation in time of trouble to remain firm in faith. Simon therefore ought to be seen as being faithfully devoted to Philip, and there are no groimds to be sceptical or cynical about his devotion or faith, as some are. Marshall, for example, says 'his attachment to him was not free from superstition and amazemenf (1980: 156); and Stählin says similarly, 'seine Glaube war kein wahrer Glaube, seine Bekehrung keine echte Bekehrung; er bleibt der Magier, der er gewesen war' (1968:121). It is not implied in Luke's narrative that what attracts Simon to belief and baptism were the signs and wonders. The order is very clear. Simon believes and is baptized (just like the others), then he joins himself to Philip, and it is from the position of a believer that he is astoimded by what Philip does (8.13). Besides, even if Simon is attracted by the great signs and powerful actions of the apostle and then believes and is baptized, he is not the only one (compare 5.13-16; 19.17-20)! What is curious is that Luke makes no comment about Simon's conversion. Philip announces the good news of the kingdom of God and the name of Jesus Christ (8.12), and it has its effect on Simon. He believes and is baptized, just as were other men and women of Samaria. He appears to be singled out because of his past status and claims. A man well known in his commxmity for his astonishing magian practices has become a Christian. That is the point. There is no judgment made of others' claims about Simon or of those made by Simon himself. It is a straightforward report of people believing and being baptized, as is also given in earlier cases with Peter's preaching. Among them is this wellknown figure. Modem missionary stories are not without similar incidents; in fact, some missionaries made it mission policy among small, tribal commuiuties to target such influential men, knowing that if they would convert, the others would follow. The story, however, does not end with Simon's conversion. Peter and John came from Jerusalem, and through prayer and the laying on of their hands people received the holy Spirit. Derrett claims that Simon did not receive the holy Spirit because he lacked the 'essential ingredient' of faith, 'being sophisticated'. He implies that it is only 'amongst simple people' that such beliefs and experiences occur (1982: 52-68). But, again, there is no reason why Simon should not be included among those who had hands laid upon them and had received the holy Spirit. Derrett takes the consistent position in scholarship that Simon was never truly inside the Christian commimity. It is a position hard to defend on the basis of the Acts 8 account. A further misimderstanding follows. Many thiiJc that Simon was after the power to do great things (Marshall 1980:158). In my opinion, it was not

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the power Simon was after but the authority (εξουσία). Simon already knew, and possibly even had, an equivalent power that enabled him to do great things that astounded the people. What he now wanted was the authority to lay hands on people so that they too would receive the holy Spirit (8.19). This interpretation is strengthened by the fact that even Philip did not have this authority whereas Peter did. So Simon asks Peter, not Philip, for the authority. And it seems a reasonable request. Johnson paints Simon with the colours of later tradition when he, like Derrett, says that Simon (whom Johnson here pointedly calls 'the magician') has the 'desire to cormect the possession of the Spirit to a specific ritual without reference to dispositions such as faith' (1992: 148). Derrett claims that Simon wanted to start a new healing school for himself and to gain increased revenue from that, but that is sheer speculation and, I believe, misleading. The point is that Simon is within the Christian conunuruty. He is not at this point an opponent to be overcome. In fact, in Luke's version of things, there is never a conflict between Philip and Simon; there is no sign of any battle of the powers of magic and the devil against the dynamis of the Spirit and the Lord. Simon 'believed and was baptized', and he received the holy Spirit from the hands of Peter and John. He is an insider. If that is not the case, then the sincerity of everyone else's baptism and believing in Acts must also be called into question. So what is it about Simon that results in a curse being put on him? It is not his confused ideas about the relation between magic and faith {pace Marshall, 'Simon regarded the power to bestow the Spirit in a magical way', 1980:158). The problem is not his superstitious ideas about magic, but that he thinks he can procure the authority (εξουσία) through offering money. In the whole episode, this is the only negative judgment that Luke makes about Simon. Simon offers money or goods (χρήματα, 8.18). The verb 'offers' (προσφέρε Lv) implies that he brings them as a sacred, sacrificial offering (compare Heb. 9.14; 11.4; Acts 7.42; 21.26). That this is the real issue in this episode is made clear in Peter's response, 'You thought you could obtain the gift of God with money' (8.20). The exact phrase 'the gift of God' (δωρεά του θεοΰ) is also used in a Samaritan context in John 4 when Jesus said to the woman at the well, 'If you knew the gift of God...' (fn 4.10). In later Jewish thought, the 'gift of God' par excellence is the Torah, and in gnostic thought it is life-giving revelation (Barrett 1955: 195). The gift of God is linked to baptism and the holy Spirit (as it is here in Acts 8) also in Acts 11.17, where Peter reports to Jerusalem the events in Cornelius's household. His household received the holy Spirit and so was baptized. Peter's defence is, 'If then God gave the

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same gift (δωρεάν) to them as he gave to us when we believed in the Lord Jesus Christ, who was I that I could withstand God?' (11.17). A similar link is made in Peter's address in 2.38, where he exhorts his audience to repent and be baptized, and he assures them that they will receive the gift (δωρβάν) of the holy Spirit. It is this gift that Simon thinks he can buy. The idea that one paid for such authority is not unknown; and it was common for practitioners to sell their skill to those who could pay. Often dted is the example of someone paying one hundred denarii for a divination (Apuleius Meta. 2.13). Luke obviously rejects that practice and any suggestion that Christians adopted it. He regularly illustrates that the Christian power is a gift and that it is operative in and among people as a gift; Christian power-men are not 'in it for the money'. Besides this episode, that is a point being made by Peter when he tells the crippled man at the Temple gate that he has no silver or gold to give him (3.6); and it is implied also in the burning of the very expensive magical texts at Ephesus (19.19). By the way, once again there is no valid reason for thinking that this offer of money reflects Simon's magician's past, as is often said (for example, Barrett 1975:292; Marshall 1980:158). Luke could easily have set it up accordingly, as he did with the woman at Philippi and her masters. Simon is after the authority. In Acts, the word έξουοία infers an authority bestowed on another by a superior (as in 1.6). Simon, as a baptized member of the Christian commuiúty, wants a part and share in 'the word'; he wants to belong to those like Peter, and unlike Philip, who are devoted to 'the service of the word' (ττ) διακονίςι του λόγου, see 6.2-4) which seems to have included the authority to lay on hands. I also find little justification to see Simon, as Johnson does, as one of a series of characters within the narrative who represents the powers opposed to the kingdom of God and who ... provide the occasion for a confrontation and decisive demonstration of God's power over Satan and the demonic world (1992:152).

In Peter's curse, there is no mention of Satan, no reference to magic or to Simon's past. Again, the point is a warning to those within the community, not outside of it; an example to those who want to buy authority within the church, not against those who oppose and confront the power of God by their demonic practices. The Pastorals (1 Tim. 2.3,8; 6.9) and other early Christian writings such as the Didache (11.6,12) indicate that the desire for money and for the buying of authority, and the demand for money by those with (prophetic) authority was an issue within some early Christian commuruties.

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Peter says to Simon, May your silver go with you into destruction because you think that you are able to obtain the gift of God through money. There is no portion or share for you in this word because your heart is not straight before God. Repent then from this your evil and ask the Lord that your heart's intention might be forgiven, for I see that you are heading towards (elç) a gall of bittemess and a web of uiuighteousness (8.20-23).

This is Strong language. Some suggest it is the language of excommunication (Zmijewski 1994: 354). Derrett calls the curse here, 'a perfect technical herem' (1982:64). The curse has a number of interesting features. In the first place, one is struck by the mmiber of times the second person pronoim is used. In Greek, it is used eight times in w . 20-23. The same feature is fo;md in Peter's curse on Ananias in which he uses the second person pronotm five times within two verses (5.3-4). The second feature is that there are quite a number of terms used that are rare in the New Testament and in Luke-Acts. Έπίνοια is a hapax legomenon in the New Testament. The phrase 'ίναντι του 0€oû is used only in Luke; κακία appears only here in Luke-Acts, as does also the word απώλεια. The novm αδικία appears elsewhere in Acts orüy in 1.18. There are also a number of semifisms in the language employed (καρδία «ύθεια, έπίνοια της καρδίας, χολήν πικρίας καΐ σύνδεσμον αδικίας), and there is an overall impression that Septuagintal terms are being used. The use of 'biblical language' would have given weight to the words Peter speaks as a curse on Simon. Thirdly, Simon is charged with αδικία. It is the charge levelled against Judas (1.18), and there too it is a charge related to money. In Luke's Gospel, the noun is used on occasion in relation to money (Lk. 16.8, 9). So the 'bond of vdckedness' here might refer directly to Simon's desire to 'buy' the authority, that is, to an 'imjust business transaction'. In the end, Simon's 'wickedness' seems to fit with the statement of Jesus that 'no one can serve two masters', it is either God or mammon, and Simon looks like heading down the path of the latter. In the case of Judas, 'v^ckedness' led to his expulsion from the holy apostles and to his death. Simon too will be cast out of the community (and that would mean a form of death), unless he repents. The curse is meant to warn him lest he, like Judas, and like Ananias and Sapphira, ends up in destruction (άπώλεια). The accusation that Simon did not have a 'straight heart' (οΰ εύθίΐα καρδία) reminds me of the 'heart' language used in the Ananias and Sapphira episode (5.3,4), and suggests that the two incidents are similar. In

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both cases, the heart is wrong because of the misuse of money. In both cases, the consequences are dire. Like Ananias and Sapphira, Simon is seen to be against not only the apostles but also against God. The prepositional phrase kvávxi του 0еой reflects Septuagintal usage, and there it is very commonly used to indicate a stance in the wrong over and against God (for example, LXX Gen. 6.11; 13.13; 38.10; 39.9; Exod. 16.9,33; 28.29; Isa. 49.3; Ер. Jer. 1.1; 1 Para. 13.10; 16.1; 21.7; Dan. 4.34). Simon obviously takes Peter's curse very seriously because he says, 'Pray to the Lord on my behalf that what you have just said does not happen to me' (8.24). Simon acknowledges that Peter has the authority to represent him before the Lord. This is yet another example of the extremely high status and authority that is given to Peter and Paul in Acts. It is very much like that of the angels who represent the saints before God. The high status of Peter might also be reflected in the plural forms used by Simon in addressing Peter (ΰμ^ΐζ and ίίρήκατε, 8.24); it is a usage that implies Peter is not acting alone or as an individual. Simon pleads that the curse given by Peter does not 'come upon' (έπελθη) him. The verb, as I have shown, commonly has the idea of an aggressive, sometimes destructive action, and is often used of the holy spirit (14.19,1.8, for example). Peter's curse has a destructive power, and Simon stands in great peril, because the audience knows the power of the words of Peter that were spoken to Ananias and Sapphira and that resulted in their deaths. Luke leaves a problem. There is no reported response from Peter to the plea of Simon. If this is a curse on Simon, it cannot simply go away. It must be binding. Orüy a blessing will remove it, which is what Simon really asks. If the curse remained on Simon, I would expect Luke to have told his audience of the dreadful result, as he did in the cases of Judas and Ananias and Sapphira. The silence suggests to me that the curse was lifted. The fact that Peter calls on Simon to repent and 'pray to the Lord' (8.22) offers a way out that was not offered to Judas or to the couple in Acts 5. It is not said explicitly that Simon repented, but it is implied in his request for Peter to 'pray to the Lord' for him.

4.3. The curse on Bar Jesus (Acts 13.6-12)» In Acts 13.1-3, Paul and Barnabas are commissioned and set out on what has become known as the first missionary journey. They leave from 1

For a fuller treatment of Bar Jesus in this passage, see my article, 'Who Was BarJesus? Acts 13.6-12', in Bib 85 (2004) 65-81.

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Antioch, go to Seleuda (13.3-4), and then sail to Cyprus. They arrive at Salamis and 'announce the word of God in the synagogues of the Jews' there (13.5). They then cross the island and come to Paphos, where they meet 'a certain man who is a magos, a Jew, and a false prophet by the name of Bar Jesus who was with the proconsul, Sergius Paulus' (ανδρα τινά μάγον ψευδοπροφήτην Ίουδαΐον ω 'όνομα Βαριησοδ ήν o w τφ άνθυπάτφ Σεργίφ Παύλω), who, in tum, is described as 'an intelligent man' (άνδρΙ συνετψ). This curious man. Bar Jesus, is identified first as a μάγος. Once again, Luke uses a word to form a narrative link between Peter and Paul. Peter had met a man who practiced μαγίία in Samaria (8.9), and now Paul meets a μάγος on Cyprus. Here, Luke probably uses the term derogatorily, although it may not mean any more than that he served in Sergius Paulus' court in a similar way to the magoi who served in the courts of the eastern kings. That is, he was a religious adviser, interpreter of dreams and of other omens and astral sigrtô. The Jews were thought by some Greeks to be descendants of the Magoi, says Diogenes Laertius (1.6.9). Josephus says that a certain Simon, friend of the procurator Felix, was a Jewish Cypriot who 'pretended to be a magos' {Ant. 20.142). He appears to have been similar to this BarJesus in Acts 13 - a Jew on Cyprus with access to the governor's court as a religious advisor. According to Josephus, there were significant numbers of Jews on Cyprus, and some seem to have held prominent positions in their local communities, much like some of their fellow-Jews did in Alexandria (Ant. 13.10.4; compare Philo Leg. 282). Luke also categorizes Bar Jesus as a 'false prophef and so makes it clear what the audience is supposed to think of him! There has not been anything at all in the narrative to help the audience to decide for themselves on the falseness or otherwise of this man's prophetic ability. The narrator has already made that judgment. It is worth noting that at the beginning of this episode, Barnabas and Saul are both said to belong to the class of 'prophets and teachers' (13.1). They are true prophets. A false prophet, in the Jewish tradition, was one who had not stood in the coimsel of the Lord. Bar Jesus must be a false prophet because he has been proclaiming the word of the Lord before the word of the Lord has even arrived! In Israel's tradition, the true prophet is sometimes depicted as coming from outside the king's court, and prophesying the opposite to those prophets who are on the side of the king or within the king's court. Elijah, for example, is a prophet who comes from outside the king's court, and is opposed to the king (see also 1 Kgs. 22.5-28, and Exod. 5.8-13). Here, Paul faces Bar-Jesus, who is with the proconsul. There is no doubt on whose side God is going to be.

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The issue of false prophets was a prominent one in groups such as the Omstians who saw themselves as The Way. Tolerance and diversity of opiirion is not characteristic of such groups. On one of the scraps of skin found in Cave 4 at Qumran, there appears a list of eight false prophets, seven of whom are biblical figures, but the eighth is tantalisingly xmclear (4Q339). At the very least, this list of false prophets in Israel implies that the community was aware and conscious of false prophets, and it is possible that the eighth on the list is John Hyrcanus I, a king and high priest, who Josephus said had the gift of prophecy (Ant. 13.299-300). There are a number of instances in the Gospels where Jesus warns his followers that false prophets will be a threat to their communities (Mt. 7.15; 24.11; Mk. 13.22), and while Paul does not speak directly about false prophets, he does warn against 'false brethren' (Gal. 2.4) and 'false apostles' (2 Cor. 11.13), and other writers know of 'false teachers' (2 Pet. 2.1). Of particular interest are those who operate with and in the name of Jesus to perform wonders or to prophesy. In Acts itself, at Ephesus there were Jewish itinerant prophets who were exorcising in the name of Jesus; and it would seem that Bar Jesus on Cyprus might have been in a similar category. Such an understanding receives support from the false prophef s very name, Bar-Jesus, that is, 'son of Jesus'. Bar Jesus is said to be 'with the proconsul, Sergius Paulus' (13.7). Luke is fond of linking his main characters with others, using the preposition aw seventy-four times in his double work (fifty-one times in Acts), compared to the rest of the New Testament writers, who use the preposition only fiftyfour times altogether. In addition, Luke often uses compovmd verbs with the συν prefix. The basic idea is that Bar Jesus was in the company of Sergius, or, possibly, that they were on the same side over and against Paul and Barnabas, just as in 14.4 Luke says there were those who were 'with the Jews' who took the opposite position to those who were 'with the apostles'. While it is commonly understood that Bar Jesus operated in the court of the proconsul, that is certainly not explicitly stated, and it is possible that Luke intends little more than that Bar Jesus and Sergius were on the same side, with Barnabas and Paul on the other. I will suggest later that both Sergius and Bar Jesus belonged to the same synagogue community, and that is where their relationship existed rather than in Sergius Paulus's proconsular court. Sergius Paulus summons (προσκαλίσάμίνος) Barnabas and Saul and 'sought to hear the word of God' (13.7). This is not to imply that Sergius had not heard the word of God before! There is no reason to think that Bar Jesus had not told him of it. In fact, since the latter is called a false prophet who

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made the straight paths crooked, the implication is that Bar Jesus interpreted the word of God, but from a Lukan perspective did so in a false and erroneous way. Sergius was with Bar Jesus, so we can assume he had heard the word of God from him, and that he now wanted to hear it from these travelling prophets. He is not the only Roman governor to show interest in the Oiristian message, and he joins other Romans in Acts who present Jews or Christians in a reasonably favourable light (compare Cornelius, the grammateus at Ephesus in 19.36-37, and Festus and Agrippa in 26.31). Sergius is said to 'seek to hear the word' (13.7). The verb 'to seek' (έπιζητέω) is frequently used in the Septuagint for 'seeking the Lord', that is, for inquiring of the Lord as to his will (LXX 2 Kgs. 3.11; 22.18; Hos. 3.5). Taken altogether, I think it is valid to assume that Sergius is very close to the Jewish synagogue community in Paphos. The context is that Barnabas and Paul 'proclaimed the word of God in the synagogues of the Jews' on Cyprus (13.5), and it is that word of God that Sergius now seeks to hear (in the synagogue of the Jews in Paphos). So the scene is set, and now the narrative begins to gather pace. Barnabas drops out of the picture altogether, Sergius becomes a spectator, and the floor is left to the two major characters in the drama. But these two are not the same people any more! They both have a change of name. Bar Jesus is now called Elymas (v 8), and Saul is caUed Paul for the first time in Acts (v 9). Do these names indicate these two men are now taking on their individual 'power' persona?^ Attempts to explain the name Elymas are many and often imaginative. Luke says the name is a 'translation' (μ€θ€ρμ€νεύ€ται) of Bar Jesus. The only other time Luke uses the verb μεθίρμεν^ύομαι is in 4.36 where Bar Nabas is inteφreted as 'son of comfort'. Etymologically, this is not correct; it more likely means 'son of Nebo'. So, if that example is a guide, we would have to assume it is highly doubtful that Luke intends 'Elymas' to be imderstood as a literal or even close 'translation' of Bar Jesus. Luke probably interprets the name rather than translates it, and he, like others, enjoyed playing with etjTnology and name-derivations, and probably makes his meaning fit the character. Urifortunately, he has left us out of the joke. But we can still try to get it! Presumably, Luke is 'translating' into Greek, so we should look for a Greek word relating to Elymas. Josephus says that one of the sons of Shem was Ελυμος (LXX has Ελαμ) who, he says. It is interesting that the adjective σαΰλος in Greek refers to a manner of walking that is not exactly flattering - waddling like a tortoise or like a prostitute! (see LS], p. 1376).

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was the ancestor of the Persians {Ant. 1.143). Luke immediately claims that Elymas' name means 'magician' (ó μάγος). Is he linking this μάγος with the ancestor of the Persians, from whom the μάγοι originated? Furthermore, it is possible to get from Βαριησου to Elymas via a rather convoluted route. The name Βαριησοϋ translates as 'son of Jesus'. Jesus is the name given for the salvation of all (4.12) and so he is The Name. Bar Jesus then is 'the son of the Name'. Now, the Hebrew word for 'name' is Shem, which is also the name of one of the sons of Noah. So Bar Jesus is 'the son of Shem'. The firstborn son of Shem was called Elam (Gen. 10.22) or, according to Josephus, Ελυμος, the ancestor of the Persians. Voila! It is an argument I have developed elsewhere (Strelan 2004). Whatever is going on, it seems that names are not irrelevant in the narrative, especially since here, for the first time, Saul is called by his other name, Paul. Unlike Elymas, 'Paul' is not said to be a translated name. Luke writes simply, ó καΐ Παύλος. This might mean, 'whose name was also Paul', in other words, it always had been; but it might mean to draw attention to the fact that Paul had the same name as the proconsul. In 13.12, the proconsul, who has dropped out of the action, is not referred to by name. Paul gets into action. He is filled with a holy spirit (πλησθ^Ις πνεύματος άγιου, 13.9). The verb suggests this is momentary experience; it is not that Paul was characteristically a spirit-filled person like Stephen (6.5). He is not 'full of the spirit' in the same way as Elymas is 'full of (πλήρης) deceit and vUlainy' as the very next verse says. Rather, as Klauck says, Paul is 'seized by the inspired excitement proper to a worker of miracles' (2000: 53). It is possible, if not likely, that Paul enters into another state of consciousness, one that affected his physical appearance. One result is that he stares into Bar Jesus (άτενισας €ίς αύτόν, 13.9). The eyes of the gods and of god-filled people were thought to have incredible perception and power. Suetonius said that Augustus possessed 'clear, shirung eyes in which he even wished people to believe there was a certain divine power, and he was pleased if anyone at whom he gazed intently lowered his gaze as before the brilliance of the Sim' {Aug. 4). The eyes of a power-filled person had magnetism and a power that seemed to penetrate right into a person. It had the ability to 'see through' a person into the real source or 'soul' of that person and their behaviour (Strelan 2000: 490-493). Maybe Paul went into a hypnotic trance. In that trance-like state, Paul's voice might also have changed, as commorüy happens with spirit-filled people, especially when they are in trances. In any case, the language is powerful and damning. Elymas is not the son of Jesus but the son of the devil, who is characterized by deceit and all villainy (ραδιουγιας). The language is reminiscent of John the Baptist, Isaiah and

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Malachi. A trae prophet is one who prepares straight paths for the Lord, and a tme prophet, for Luke, sees in Jesus the one for whom the paths will be made straight. Then there is the curse, 'The hand of the Lord is upon you'. As a Jew and as a prophet, Elymas would have known of the mighty hand of the Lord and what it meant if it were to come upon you. You were transported into another state in which you saw visions (Ezek. 8-11, for example); or your way of thinking was spun around (Isa. 8.11). In Elymas's case, it is not a happy state but one of blindness, 'not seeing the sun for a time' (13.11). Why this additional comment on his blindness? Lüdemann claims that these words 'are actually superfluous', but suggests that they might have to do with 'the consideration/observation of the sim as a characteristic activity of the prophet Bar-Jesus Elymas' (1987:425). Plutarch gives as one explanation for women wearing white in mourning that the magi are said to wear white 'arraying themselves against Hades and the powers of darkness, and making themselves like unto light and brightness' (Quaest. Rom. 270.26). If this was the case with Bar Jesus, it also adds to the significance of Paul addressing him as 'son of the devil', since his profession was meant to defeat those powers, Paul says he actually belongs to them. The magos claimed light and brightness; the obvious curse is to condemn him to darkness. Immediately, a mist and darkness fell on Bar Jesus (eireoev έττ' αυτόν, 13.11). Here again, the idea is that mist and darkness are, like spirits, autonomous forces that can fall upon a person. The word 'mist' (άχλύς) is used in other literature to imply a thin covering over the eyes as if a person is in a state of shock or in some emotional distress, often as a result of some news. In the novel of Chariton, the grieving Dionysius hears that the woman he loves, Callirhoe, is present, but he cannot speak, 'and a mist spread over his eyes at the unexpected news' (2.7.4). Later, Dionysius again is paralysed at hearing imexpected news, 'a mist covered his eyes', and he lost consciousness (3.1.3). On receiving a sudden unexpected letter, he again collapses and 'darkness (σκότος) spread over his eyes' (4.5.9). On the basis of that usage. Bar Jesus is in a state of shock and distress. His behaviour, as Luke describes it, would support that, because he goes aroimd in circles, seeking to be led by the hand (13.11). Sergius Paulus saw what happened, was astoimded at the teaching, and believed. Again, scholars, such as Klauck, drive too big a wedge between word and powerful action. 'The miracle arouses astordshment, but ultimately it is the message, the gospel, the word of God that is decisive' (2000: 53). But that is not what Luke says. 'What had happened' and the 'teaching of the Lord' are intimately and indissolubly cormected. What astounded

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Sergius are both the powerful action that humiliated and rendered his magos helpless, and the power of the word to do what it did. The fact is that the word and the sign go much more closely together in Luke's thiiiking than some corrunentators would like to admit. In 4.29-30, for another example, the disciples pray that God will 'give to your servants to speak your word with all boldness, in the stretching out of your hand for healing and in the doing of signs and wonders in the name of your holy child, Jesus'. Speaking the word and doing the signs are not divorced. Some have seen this episode as Paul fighting his alter ego, his dark shadow, his past, and 'his own former personality and value structures' (Tannehill 1986: 2.163 η. 15). This might appeal to a modem reader, but it sounds too much like psychoanalysis. Johnson rightly says, 'The problem with such a reading, however, is that Luke gives it little encouragemenf (1992: 227). But there are striking similarities between this story and that of Paul's conversion. Both are presented as opponents of God, both are coi\fronted by 'the Lord', both lose, both are blinded for a short period, both are led by the hand. That being the case, are we meant to understand that Bar Jesus in fact went through a conversion experience as Paul himself did? The particle Ιδού (13.11) commorüy warns the reader that something unexpected is about to happen, as we have seen. Is the imexpected that Bar Jesus is converted? And is the 'hand of the Lord' a positive, converting hand, rather than the destructive power most read it to be? The only times the phrase 'hand of the Lord' (χάρ κυρίου) is used in the New Testament is in Luke-Acts, and then it is always used as a favourable hand. The hand of the Lord results in conversion in Acts 11.21, where Luke explicitly says that 'the hand of the Lord was with them, and a great number that believed turned to the Lord'. In his Gospel, the hand of the Lord is a saving hand (Lk. 1.66). Interestingly, when the phrase χίΐρ κυρίου έπί is used in the Septuagint, it is sometimes (but not always) also in a positive sense (LXX 1 Kgs. 18.46; Ezek. 1.3; 3.22; 8.1; 33.22; 40.1). This positive aspect is especially the case when the hand faUs upon a prophet, and when it falls, it is often with dramatic and transforming effect, sometimes physical in expression. Bar Jesus is a prophet, albeit a false one. Does the hand of the Lord transform him? Does his conversion explain the short period for which he, like Paul, was blinded? Both Paul and Elymas were blinded and led by the hand - actions very similar to those in initiation rituals in the mystery cults where the initiates' eyes were covered and they were led by the hand.' And, See, for example, the initiation of Lucius into the cult of Isis: 'They put on me a new linen robe, and the priest, seizing me by the hand, led me to the very inmost recesses of the holy place' (Meta. 11.23).

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finally, is it the conversion of Bar Jesus that amazes the proconsul and leads to his own believing (13.12)? The teaching of the Lord spun Bar Jesus around and this is what astorushed Sergius and contributed to his own acceptance of that teaching.

5. Shaving heads, shaking clothes, and making vows (Acts 18.18; 21.23-24; 18.6)" There is a cluster of culturally strange actior\s that involve Paul as he returns to Jerusalem from Corinth. He makes a vow and, apparently on its completion, shaves his head (18.18); and he is associated with a group of four men who likewise were under a vow and shaved their heads, again probably on completion of their vow (21.23-24). In addition, when in confrontation with other Jews in a synagogue of Corinth, Paul shakes out his clothes (έκτιναξάμενος τα Ιμάτια, 18.6) and says, 'Your blood be upon your heads' (18.6). Strictly speaking, only twice in the New Testament does anyone make a 'vow' (€ύχή); both instances are foimd in Acts (18.18; 21.23-24), and both concern Paul. Making a vow meant promising to dedicate or sacrifice a gift to the gods, and in fact the noun εύχή is often used to mean the gift or dedication itself. Philo, therefore, says a vow is, properly speaking, a dedication 'since he who makes a vow is said to offer up, as a gift to God, not only his own possessions, but himself'. He clearly sees a person under a Nazirite vow as 'holy' (Num. 6.5), 'no longer meddling with anything uiiholy or profane' {Somn. 1.252-253). It is also the noim commonly found in Greek inscriptions indicating vows or dedicatioris to the gods. In Acts 18.18, Paul is said to go from Corinth to Cenchreae, a central port in the region, with the intention of going further to Syria. At Cenchreae, he cut his hair (κειράμ^νος ... την κεφαλήν) 'because he had a vow' (είχεν γαρ εύχήν). It is grammatically possible to read Aquila as the one who performs this action, but the sense of the passage suggests it was Paul. Paul had his hair shorn and offered that hair as a gift to God. Recently, most scholars think that Paul had taken the Nazirite vow, and so see this act as consistent with the portrayal of Paul as a model Jew (so, for example. For a recent article on the subject of shaving the head as part of a vow, see F. Horn, 'Paulus, das Nasiräat und die Nasiräer', ΝονΤ 39 (1997), pp. 117-137. See also W. Cox, 'When Paul Got a Haircuf, ExpTim 103 (1992), pp. 337-339. See also J. Leonhardt, Jewish Worship in Philo of Alexandria (TSAJ 84; Tübingen: MohrSiebeck, 2001), pp. 117-123.

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Johnson 1992: 330; Jervell 1998: 465; Horn 1997:120; Witherington 1998: 557, Fitzmyer 1998: 634). Others suggest that it is not a Jevwsh vow at all, but a typical Greek vow^ made after the safe arrival at a destination, or a response to some dream through which divine guidance was offered {New Documents 1981. 1.4). Some in the past have understood this as a private vow {votum civile), but others think this explanation is an attempt to reject the idea that Paul followed typical Jewish custom (Horn 1997: 119 n. 6). Most scholars also try to find links between this action and the action that occurs later in Jerusalem where Paul is encouraged by James and the council of Christians to join in with four other men who are under a vow (21.23-24). Either way, they find this difficult to imderstand. Roloff calls it 'a puzzle' (1981: 275) and, like Jervell, he thinks Luke himself might have had only a vague idea as to what it meant (Jervell 1998:466; Roloff 1981:276). Before looking more closely at this haircut of Paul, a few general comments about vows in the ancient world might help to put his action in a cultural context. It was very common in the Greek and Roman world for people to make vows. Some appear to have been made rather flippantly or were happily abandoned or left unfulfilled. Maccius tells of a vow made to Cytherea by a man that he would not sleep with Hedylion his lover/wife for two nights. Having kept the vow for one rught, he says Ί shall not endure the second night; I cast my vows to the wind. I would rather be impious (äoeßeLv) for her sake than die for piety. Lady, keeping my vows to you' {Garland: Maccius V). A wife promises Apollo a bird in sacrifice on the safe return of her husband; he returned safely but wearing a beard, so the wife abandoned the promised sacrifice {Garland: Flaccus XI-XIII). Sometimes things were dedicated to the gods when the user had no use for them. So a goldsmith dedicates his tools to the Cylleiuan, 'his eyes being dimmed by age' {Garland: Philip ΧΙΠ; see also XI-XX). The cutting or shearing of the hair and the offering of it to the gods are quite common in many cultures, both past and present. This action is related closely to the notion that the head and its hair are a source of power and life. In addition, the head was also seen as representative of the whole person. One might expect that if symbolic actions were going to be made to indicate the vow that was made by an individual, that some cutting of the hair and sacrificing of the hair might take place. The cutting of hair often symbolized the loss of life, and so was the identifying sign of a mourner. So at the death of Patroclus, Achilles sheared his head, and at the burial he and others placed their shorn locks on the corpse {II. 23.45,135). Vows, shearing of hair, and sacrifices often went together. Achilles referred to the vow that his father made to Spercheus (a Thessalian river).

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Œapter 6: The Power of Bodies and Words when I had come home thither to my dear native land, I would shear my hair to thee and offer a holy hecatomb, eind on the selfsame spot would sacrifice fifty rams, males without blemish, into thy waters, where is thy demesne and thy fragrant altar {11. 23.135-153).

Slaves and those under a vow of servitude and service also had their hair cut short. The Samson and Absalom stories are indicative of the significance seen in hair - both have strength and beauty associated with their hair, and these two characteristics are defining of the gods, along with their immortality. In fact, the Greek gods and goddesses are often spoken of as having long and beautiful hair. The cutting of hair was thought to reduce strength, as is classically illustrated in the Samson saga. Romans, on the other hand, preferred short hair as it indicated control. Among Greeks, a young man vowed to dedicate the very first shaving of his beard to Zeus and Artemis and so sacrificed the clippings to the gods (Garland: Crinagoras IX). It was also apparently standard practice for sailors to cut off and dedicate their hair or their beard when threatened with, or facing, shipwreck (for example, Petrorüus Satyr. 104-105). Plutarch discusses the length of Lysander's hair on a statue and indicates that some peoples sheared their heads in sorrow after a military defeat (Lys. 1.2). He also knows of a custom, no longer practised in his day, of youths sacrificing some of their hair to the god at Delphi on their coming of age (Thes. 5.1). Pausaiüus tells of a statue of Mnesimache and a votive statue (το άνάθίμα) of her son cutting his hair (κ6ΐρομένου) as a gift for Cephisus. 'That this habit has existed from ancient times among all the Greeks may be inferred from the poetry of Homer who makes Peleus vow that on the safe return of Achilles from Troy he will cut off the young man's hair as a gift for the Spercheiis' (1.37.3-4). Phigalian boys also cut off their hair in honour of a river (Pausanius 8.41.3). Cutting of hair as the completion of a vow also was common among sailors and those who made perilous sea-journeys. Most sea travel was hazardous at the best of times, and it was very common for thank offerings to be made to the gods in the local temple on arrival. Juvenal says that sailors shaved their heads on arriving safely on shore after a dangerous voyage (12.81). Presumably, the vow was that if safety were reached, the hair would be shorn and sacrificed. It appears to be an act of submission, acknowledging the power and mercy of the gods. Diodorus Siculus says that the Egyptians 'until recently' would let their hair grow long while they were abroad, imitating Osiris who was said to have made a vow (εύχάμενον) that he would not have his hair cut until he returned to Egypt (1.18.3). It is quite possible that this is why Paul cut his hair on arrival at Cenchreae.

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Jews also made vows for various and many reasons, and Lev. 27.1-29 deals v«th the vowing or dedication of people, especially the first-bom, animals, houses, fields, and tithes. Numbers 30 deals with the binding and annulment of vows, especially those made by vwves and daughters. Some vows involved the cutting of hair, especially the Nazirite vow, and that will be examined more closely shortly. But there were many and various other vows. Absalom made a vow that he would offer sacrifice to Yahweh in Hebron if Yahweh brought him back to Jerusalem (2 Sam. 15.7-8). Saul made a rash oath cursing anyone who eats anything before the end of the day and before he was avenged of an enemy (1 Sam. 14.24) orJy to find that his ovm son, Jonathan, in ignorance put himself under the curse by eating honey he had foimd. Despite the serious consequences in the curse, Jonathan ignored the oath and Saul was prepared to have him killed (15.27-46). Finally, of course there is the paying of vows to the Lord frequently referred to in the Psalms, for example in 22.25; 50.14; 56.12; 61.5,8; 65.1; 116.14. Among Jews, at least, there seems to be a link between hair, the sacredness of life, and God's protection. This understanding partly explains God's interest in the hairs of the head (Mt. 10.30; compare also 1 Sam. 14.15; 1 Kgs. 1.52; Lk. 21.18). Cutting the hair also marked the end of a period of impurity. So a man who was cured of leprosy had to wash himself and his clothing, and shave all his hair, 'then he will be clean' (Lev. 14.8). The Neizirite vow, that vow most scholars think Paul had made and was fulfilling, is explained clearly in Num. 6.2-10, When either a т г т or a woman makes a special vow, the vow of a Nazirite, to separate himself to the Lord, he shall separate himself from wine and strong drink ... All the days of his vow of separation no razor shall come upon his head; until the time is completed for which he separates himself to the Lord, he shall be holy; he shall let the locks of hair of his head grow long. All the days that he separates himself to the Lord he shall not go near a dead body. Neither for his father nor for his mother, nor for brother or sister, if they die, shall he make himself unclean; because his separation to God is upon his head. All the days of his separation he is holy to the Lord. And if any man dies very suddenly beside him, and he defiles his consecrated head, then he shall shave his head on the day of his cleansing; on the seventh day he shall shave it.

The words 'separates' and 'separation' occur frequentiy in this passage, and the very word Nazirite derives from the Hebrew verb näztr, 'to separate'. Philo calls this vow 'the great vow' (μίγάλη εύχτί, Agr. 175; Leg. All. 1.17; Quod Deus 87) mainly because those who made this vow 'consecrate[d] and offer[ed] up themselves, displaying an unspeakable holiness, and a most

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superabundant excess of God-loving disposition'. It symbolized the given up and abandonment of one's very self to God like a first-fruit offering (Spec. Leg. 1.247). Philo also outlines the three animal sacrifices that were to be offered on the completion of the vow, the one as a burnt offering, the second as a sin-offering and the third as a sacrifice for preservation given him by God (1.251-252). Since human blood must not defile the offerings, hair was cut off instead and burnt along with the sacrifice for preservation 'in order that some portion of the man who made the vow ... may still be combined with the sacrifice' (1.254). Cartledge has shown quite convincingly that the Nazirite vows were not unconditional, but were, like other vows, conditional on God keeping his side of the bargain (1989: 416-417). As he says, 'the Nazirites were not expressing their devotion so much as they were pajdng their debts' (1989: 422). Cartledge has emphasized that the vow given in Num. 6 was not maintained always in that form. Two factors are important in this regard: The first, the Nazirite vow was not always a life-long vow as it was with Samson, but was more frequently short-term; and secondly, it did not always include the abstinence from wine. The non-cutting of the hair in the vow period does, however, appear to have been consistently maintained. So a Nazirite was a person xmder a vow who was dedicated for a period of time (normally thirty days, m. Naz. 1.3) as sacred and holy to God, and who probably did not drink alcohol or cut his hair in that period. The end of the dedication period was symbolized by shaving the head and by making sacrifices. This seems to be the vow that Paul had been under. On the other hand, there are indications that the cutting of hair and abstention from wine were common to a variety of vows. Josephus, in reporting the queen Bemice's vow, says, it is usual with those that had been either afflicted with a distemper, or with any other distresses, to make vows; and for thirty days before they are to offer their sacrifiœs [sc. at the completion of the vow] to abstain from wine, and to shave the hair of their head (Wars 2.15.1).

Haenchen, for one, believes there are 'serious problems' with imderstanding Paul's vow as Naziritic (1971: 543) and, in fact, he thinks there is 'no question' that it is not such a vow (1971: 546). In any case, the vow originally must have been made while Paul was in Corinth where he had been for over eighteen months (18.11). Some scholars have suggested that the vow was related to Paul's vision in Corinth reported in 16.9 (Barrett 1998: 2.877; Marshall 1980: 300;

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Witherington 1998: 557). I suggest it had another, related, impetus. Luke tells of a serious break between Paul and the synagogue community in Corinth. It was a break accompanied by a number of ritual actions and words. It is possible, and maybe even likely, that it was in relation to this action that Paul made a vow as he decides to go to the gentiles while in Corinth. In that dty, he taught 'the word of God among them' (18.11) and presumably had some kind of success. Philo links the Nazirite vow with the first-fruit and with the general fertility God provides (Quod Deus 87). Does Paul make the vow in relation to the first fruits among the gentiles of Corinth? When he leaves Corinth, his vow has been fulfilled and so he makes the appropriate gesture or ritual. When he comes to Ephesus, he reverts to his previous practice of going to the synagogue first (18.19). So Cenchreae was a suitable place for Paul to end the vow he made in Corinth that he would abandon the synagogue and go to the gentiles while he was in Corinth. If this is at all on the right path, or at least feasible, then it is worth looking more closely at what happened in Corinth. Paul was involved in trjring to convince a Jewish audience that the Christ is Jesus, but without success; instead, he was reviled and opposed (18.5-6). With a final dramatic gesture, Paul 'shook out his garments and said to them, "Your blood be upon your heads. I am innocent. From now on I will go to the gentiles'" (18.6). Elsewhere, there appears to be a link between the action of shaking garments (έκτιναξάμενος τα Ιμάτια) and making a vow. In Neh. 5.12-13, the priests made an oath that they will act with justice. Nehemiah shook out his garment (την άναβολήν μου kξeτivaξa) and said, 'May God shake out (έκτινάξαι) everyone from house and from property who does not perform this promise. Thus may they be shaken out (έκτετιναγμένος) and emptied'. The priests replied with the Amen. This appears to be a ritualized agreement. Paul in Corinth could be making a vow and shaking out his clothes as a sign that he would keep it. The vow is that he will abandon the synagogue and go to the gentiles while he is in Corinth. The shaking of clothes might also mean that two different kinds of clothes should not mix. Paul would be impure if he maintained his association with the synagogue in Corinth. It was an action symbolising separation from the imclean. Paul's statement, 'I am clean' (18.6), gives this interpretation some validity. This cormection between the shaking out of clothes - or tearing them and pollution has some validity because there are indications that the action was so understood among pagan Greeks and Romans. When mortals directly violated the sacred, the consequence was that an agos (αγος) came upon them, that is, a formal curse calling for expiation. Lysias reports that

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after Andoddes's act of sacrilege profaning the mysteries by revealing sacred things to the unirutiated, 'the priests and the priestesses stood facing west and cursed him and shook out (áváocLoav) their purple robes, according to the andent and time-honoured custom' (Lys. 6.51; compare also Plutarch, Ale. 22.5). Lysias recommends the reprobate's exile, for in so doing, 'you are cleansing the city, you are solemnly purifying it from pollution' (6.53). The shaking out of clothes as part of a purificatory ritual is demonstrated also in a more recent Jewish custom. On the first afternoon of Rosh Hashanah, there is a tradition for Jews to gather by streams of rurming water or by the sea and symbolically cast their sins upon the waters. This ceremony is called Tashlich, meaning 'casting a w a / . During this ceremony they shake either the hems of their garments or their pockets over the water, as if shaking off the sins that were gathered there. This practice is only known from the fourteenth century, although it clearly predates that time. The sigiüficant factor is that it was an atoning and purificatory ritual. The second gesture in Paul's vow was to place responsibility on to his Jewish audience, 'Your blood be upon your heads'. It would seem that this 'alte Formelsprache' (Jervell 1998: 459 η. 304) was an expression used to remove oneself from responsibility and to leave it with another. The consequences of an action vnll be borne by the actor (compare Josh. 2.19; 2 Sam. 1.16; 3.29; 1 Kgs. 2.33,37; Ezek. 33.4). Paul then continues, Ί am clean' (καθαρός έγώ). I suggest it is better translated this way rather than Ί am innocenf as in the RSV (compare also NIV; but NKJV has 'clean'). It is ritual purity that is being maintained, not legal innocence. This is a view suggested by Esler, who thinks that Paul means he is not defiled by going into the house of a gentile (1984:100). The declaration, Ί am pure', might have been a formal statement to declare iimocence against accusations, but it was also used to declare one's purity (compare Job 11.4; 33.9; 65.5; also Gen. 44.10). By declaring himself dean, Paul put himself imder a vow of holiness, dedicating himself to God for a spedfic period of time, a period and a dedication marked by the cutting of his hair. To sum up, Paul has made a solemn vow in Corinth that placed him in a period of sacredness and purity, a period that ended when he arrived in Cenchreae, and that he marked the completion of the vow by the shaving of his head. The shaving of heads in relation to a vow occurs again in 21.22-24. Paul has finally reached Jerusalem, and has reported to James and the elders on his gentile ministry (21.18-19). Paul is told that many Jews (in Jerusalem?) have also joined the Christian commuiüty, and they think Paul is advocating

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a Torah-free admission to gentiles. So in order to allay their fears, Paul is told to take four men who are imder a vow and 'purify yourself (άγνίσθητι) along with them and pay their expenses, so that they may shave their heads' (21.23-24). This Paul duly does, but his actions do not pacify the Jews from Asia who stir up opposition and accuse him of bringing a gentile into the temple (21.28). Scholars are agreed that what is going on in this episode 'is not clear to us' (Johnson 1992: 376). Marshall says, "The problem is that Paul is directed to purify himself along with them. The circumstances are far from clear' (1980:345). Just what is it that Paul does, and why? Marshall indicates three possibilities: 1) the four men had become unclean during their vow and so needed to go through the purification ritual. Luke assumes wrongly that Paul had to share that purifying process even though he himself had not been defiled. 2) Paul had been living outside of Israel and so needed purification before entering the Temple This coincided with the four men's Nazirite period. 3) Paul is in no need of cleansing but voluntarily shares the sin of those taking the Nazirite vow that he himself had not completed.

Barrett is not satisfied with any of these possible explanations and thinks instead that Luke must have been 'imperfectly informed about the regulations for vows and uncleanness and the events that were planned' (1998: 2.1011).

Marshall's second explanation seems to me the simplest and the most likely. This is the position taken by Bruce (1988: 407) and Jervell (1998: 526) amongst others. In any case, why do these four men shave their heads? Nearly all scholars take it to refer to the Nazirite vow (Marshall 1980: 345), although Haenchen claims that it is not such a vow in the formal Jewish legal sense (1971: 611). The fact is too that Luke does not explicitly call it a Nazirite vow. The problem is that such a vow lasted at least thirty days, whereas Luke has Paul purify himself 'with them' (21.24) only for seven days (21.27). It is quite conceivable that Luke refers to another vow that also concluded with the cutting of hair and the offering of sacrifices in the Temple. The purification period for a number of unclean situations was seven days (Lev. 15.19,24,28; Num. 12.14; 19.11). And the verb άγ^ίζειν/άγνίζεσθαι used here in relation to Paul (21.24) is also used in Num. 19.12 and 31.19 together with the mention of a seven-day purification period. Josephus records that Herod Agrippa had been away in Rome and on his return to Jerusalem, 'offered all the sacrifices that belonged to him and omitted nothing that the law required; on which account he ordained that

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many of the Nazirites should have their heads shorn'. He performed other ritual acts symbolising his return to status in Jerusalem {Ant. 19.6.1). This provides a possible parallel with Paul. Paul too returns to Jerusalem from abroad. Like Agrippa, Paul must perform certain ritual acts in order to purify himself. Just as Agrippa includes the shaving of the Nazirites in his own ritual actions (did he also pay the necessary expenses?), so Paul pays the expenses of four men under a vow so that they can conclude their vow and mark its conclusion by the shaving of their heads. Paying the expenses for the required sacrifices on behalf of others was apparently an accepted act of Jewish piety (Gen. Rob. 90, and Eccles. Rob. 7; see also Bruce 1988: 406, Jervell 1998: 526, et al). The Christian leaders hoped that by getting Paul to do this, he would be seen to be living 'in observance of the law' (22.24). In conclusion, many cultures mark boundary-crossings of any kind with ritual behaviour. Entrances and exits of temples, homes, and buildings in general all required some ritual to protect, to cleanse, and to incorporate a person into the new situation. If one has been abroad and returns home, that return was marked by a ceremony of some kind to re-incorporate that person into the commimity. Death and birth, marriage and adulthood were all passages or crossings in the life of a person that demanded a ritual to cleanse and protect, to incorporate and to dismiss. Doorways and crossroads were thought to be particularly 'dangerous', and it was thought that purification was necessary in order to make such crossings. Vows were part of this ritual in that they were promises to the god that certain sacrifice would be made on the condition that the transfer or crossing was made safely. The cutting of hair was such a sacrifice; it symbolized the end of the old and the begiiming of the new. It acknowledged the protection and benevolence of the gods.

Chapter 7

Raising the Dead 1. Introduction Death and attitudes towards the dead are very influential in probably all societies of humans. Greeks and Romans knew death at first-hand; unlike western modems with our hospitals and funeral parlours, death was often experienced in the home. The fate of the dead was also a concern and of interest, and many rituals were followed to ensue a peaceful passing to the underworld of the dead. Ghosts and their appearances to the living were not imcommon. The attitude towards death in Acts offers an interesting study in itself (see Guttenberger 2001). Some scholars have wondered, for example, why the death of Paul is not included in the book (Omerzu 2001). The same question can be asked of Peter. Why is his death not included? Is it coincidental that both Peter and Paul are dramatically rescued from imminent death by an act of God (Peter in Acts 12.3-11 and Paul in 14.1920)? And again, is it coincidental that in the narrative others expect them to die? The Lystrans leave Paul, 'thinking him to be dead' (Acts 14.19); and the Maltese 'expected him to suddenly drop dead' (28.6). In addition, Peter's prison escape is embedded in the narrative between the death of James (12.1-3) and that of Herod (12.21-23). And yet for all the threats and context of death, their actual deaths are not included in the narrative. Guttenberger notes three categories of deaths in Acts: natural deaths, deaths resulting from curses {Fluchtod), and martyr deaths (2001: 276). The three Fluchtode all occur in the first half of Acts with Judas (1.18), Ananias and Sapphira (5.5,10), and Herod (12.23), and, Guttenberger thinks, each marks the end of one period and the beginning of a new in the Acts schema (2001: 281). That may be. They certainly all indicate that opposition to the Christian movement, especially if it came from within, was in vain and came under the fatal judgment of God. Of the four deaths that can be classified as 'natural' deaths, two refer to the patriarchs (David and Jacob) and serve no meaningful function. Of the two other deaths, those of Tabitha

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and of Eutychus, only Tabitha's can really be classified as 'natural', since Eutychus dies after falling three storeys out of a window. In any case, both of these deaths are overridden by the miracle of a return to life. Guttenberger's conclusion is that '[i]n the time of the conununity, according to the presentation of Acts, there is no natural death' (2001: 278). This is consistent with the conclusion of Jervell that according to Luke, 'in the community of the Lord there is no more sickness' (1998: 295). Guttenberger suggests three possible reasons that explain Luke's silence about natural deaths, 1) 2) 3)

He had no reports of natural deaths in his sources - an unlikely circumstance. Natural deaths were not spectacular enough for Luke, so he ignores them. Luke wants to portray not his own era but the era of the apostles as a time when the power of death was coi^ned by the power (Wunderkraft) of the apostles (2001: 279).

Obviously, Guttenberger opts for the third as the best explanation of the significance death plays in Acts, and of the options she offers, it is the most satisfactory, although I would express it differently. In Luke's thinking, it is not the power of the apostles in itself that confines the power of death, but the power of God that protects the 'going out and coming in' of his people (compare Ps. 121.8). In general, it would seem that natural death was a problem for some early Christian communities, as is evidenced by the issues raised in 1 Thess. 4.13-18, and in the Lazarus episode in John 11. Apparently, it was a problem partly because of the centrality of the resurrection of Jesus from the dead in the kerygma and faith of the first Oirisfians. If Jesus is the bringer of the endtime kingdom of God, then why is death still present in a community that is gifted with other eschatological gifts, such as the messiah, the holy spirit and the forgiveness of sins? And what is the fate of those who die before the parousia? The absence of natural deaths in Acts, and the absence of any clear indication that Peter and Paul died, suggest Luke still held strong eschatological views at least about the time of his heroes, but probably also about his own. There is good reason, therefore, to question the very commonly held opinion that 'it is not Luke's policy to emphasize the eschatological character of the epoch of the church' (Ehinn 1975:160). While God's raising of Jesus from the dead is fundamental in the preaching of the apostles in Acts, that message is proclaimed only to Israel (2.24,32; 3.15; 4.10; 5.30; 10.40; 13.30,37); it is never proclaimed in a pagan

context. When, in Acts, Paul does mention resurrection in a pagan context -

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in his speech on the Areopagus in Athens - he is roundly ridiculed for it (17.18,32). Besides being central in much of the preaching to Israel in Acts, the language of resurrection is used in other contexts, especially in the healing of Aeneas and the raising of Tabitha (9.34,40). Even the command to get up (ανάστα) given to Peter in prison (12.7) carries echoes of resurrection talk, especially given the narrative context that speaks of prison, darkness, sleep, chains, death, light, and an angel. Jewish audiences who knew the Septuagint would have understood the raisings by Jesus, Peter, and Paul as replicating the actions of the great prophets of God, EUjah and Elisha. In the case of Jesus, his raising of the young man of Nain led people to wonder if The Prophet was now among them (Lk. 7.16). By the time they hear Acts, they know more, of course. They now see Peter and Paul as having the promised power of Jesus the ascended Lord, a power that was stronger than the power and authority of death. Romans and Greeks familiar with their own traditions would know of similar reports of the dead coming to life by some miraculous way, and they knew of certain individuals, among both gods and mortals, who had the power to raise a dead person to life. In Euripides' play Alcestis, Heracles restores the dead Alcestis alive to her grieving husband. ApoUodorus knows the legend in which Asclepius was given a drug that enabled him to raise the dead, a power that angered Zeus because it meant that a mere mortal was helping mortals evade death {Libr. 3.119-122). Empedocles was believed to have raised a dead person to life (Diogenes Laertius Pythag. 7.67). Wellknown is the life-restoring power attributed to Apollonius of Tyana. Apollonius came across a funeral in Rome of a young girl. He told the procession to stop and asked for the girl's name. Then he touched the body and whispered over her, v«th the result that he 'at once woke up the maiden from her seenung death; and the girl spoke out loud and returned to her father's house' (Philostratus Vit. Apoll. 4.45). On another level, Pliny tells of ex-consul Avióla who 'came to life again on the funeral pyre, albeit too late because the flames were too hot and he was burnt anyway. He then mentions four or five other cases known to Varrò of people thought to be dead, prepared for burial, but who 'returned to life' (N.H. 7.173-177). Pliny calls these events miracula, and there is no suggestion that he, for his part, doubted their veracity. In the later Greek romance novels, the heroine, in particular, often either makes a dramatic escape from death, or is restored to life after being given up as dead. So given that Luke's audience already knew stories of Jesus' power to raise the dead, and that they knew of traditions, both Jewish and other, in which powerful men could raise the dead, it is almost expected that Acts

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should include episodes in which the dead are raised. In my world, such power and such events are thought impossible, and in much scholarship these episodes then are ignored or dismissed as legend. People simply are not raised from the dead; no ftirther discussion is required. But, like the other strange acts, they caimot be so quickly dismissed if I wish to know and understand better Luke's world.

2. Death among the holy ones (Acts 9 . 3 6 ^ ) Ivorú Richter Reimer expresses astonishment that given the significance and importance of nuracles in Acts, the episode of the death and reanimation of Tabitha is hardly ever discussed or considered in scholarship and commentaries (1995: 56). It is true that when commentators discuss it, the concentration is either on Luke's source, and whether it was a genuine historical episode in Peter's ministry, or on 'getting around' what is, to the modem mind at least, an imlikely happening. On this last point, typical is Dunn, who, even though he is prepared to see this as 'a genuine episode', explains the miracle by suggesting Peter knew 'perhaps with charismatic insight that Tabitha was in a coma (?)' (1975:165). In the end, Richter Reimer herself, for all her appeal to scholars to take the story seriously, avoids the obvious import of the story that Tabitha was dead (and had been for some time) and that Peter brought her back to life. Instead, she sees this as a healing miracle in which the point is the healing of relationships and of the commimity. In other words, she comes close to allegorising the miracle. She says there has been too much concentration on Peter when in fact, 'All of them together are agents of the miracle' (62); by 'all of them' she means the whole community, including Peter, Tabitha, and God. Zirajewski takes a similar view, saying that for today's reader the point is that 'genuine love is stronger than death' and that 'Christ, who practiced genuine love, is not in death' (1994: 405). Pesch also talks about the 'NichtTod' of love, and says that Tabitha's 'love for the neighbour indicates that she is not in death' (1986:1.326). These are all clear indications of a refusal to take seriously the evident sense of the episode. This is due, in part, I suggest, because the eschatological dimension in Acts has been dismissed. But that the dead are raised in Acts should not surprise really, since any 'Theophilus' knew that Jesus had that power (Lk. 7.11-15 and 8.49-56), and knew also that Jesus' power was transferred to his apostles (Acts 1.8). One might also note that the commission that Jesus gave to his disciples in some traditions included the authority to raise the dead (Mt. 10.8). In addition.

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the disciples have been taught the 'things of the kingdom of God' (1.3) and one of the signs of the kingdom was the raising of the dead. This Tabitha episode comes, along with that of the healing of Aeneas (9.33-34), immediately after Paul's experiences in Damascus and Jerusalem, and as part of the Peter cycle that ends with his miraculous escape from death in Acts 12. As is so commonly done in the Gospels and Acts, the miracle-stories are grouped within the narrative. Peter is in Lydda with 'the saints' (ol άγιοι) there (9.32), and he heals the long-paralysed Aeneas. Words such as 'rise' (άυαστήθι) and, 'immediately, he rose' (€ύθ€ως άνέστη), used in the healing narrative may well be clues to the audience of what is to come in the case of Tabitha. The scene then shifts to Joppa, a seaport town 15-20k NW of Lydda, and about 50k from Jerusalem to which it was linked by a main road. Joppa was used as a port for the transport of Lebanese timbers to Jerusalem (Ezra 3.7). It was on the border of Jewish territory, probably belonging to the tribe of Gad (1 Chron. 5.16). It was also probably a community where Jews were in the minority and marginalized, if the accoimt of the drowrung of Jews of Joppa is any indication (2 Масс. 12). Joppa is mentioned repetitively in these Peter episodes (9.36,38,42,43; 10.5,8,23,32; 11.5,13) and the repetition of the name draws attention to it. I suggest that it highlights the fact that Peter has moved into gentile-dominated territory. By locating Peter in gentiledominated Joppa, Luke prepares his audience for Peter's pivotal meeting with Cornelius, the Roman centurion in Caesarea. It is common to think that the use of the name Dorcas/Tabitha indicates Luke's knowledge of a local tradition (Jervell 1998: 296), and that may be. However, I am becoming increasingly convinced that names in Acts have some significance, and that this is the case here with Dorcas. There is a link between her name and the events that surroimd her. The Greek name (Δορκάς) and its Aramaic equivalent, Tabitha (Κη"'3ί2), both mean 'gazelle', as is commonly noted. In the Septuagint, δορκάς is usually used to translate the Hebrew 'aS or «T'as. Of greater significance is the fact that in Jewish dietary law the gazelle and the deer were arümals that 'both clean and unclean alike may eaf (Deut. 12.22). Tabitha, Joppa, Peter all have strong associations with the question of clean and unclean in this section of Acts; so the name, Tabitha or Dorcas, 'gazelle', is more than coincidental, since that animal was one of the few that were regarded as linking both clean and unclean. It is also worth noting that the gazelle was a symbol of life. The animal appears on a number of Greek, Egyptian, and Jewish funerary vases, as well as in some ancient Jewish synagogues, such as that at Naaran. In both environments, it often appears grazing peacefully on living plants or drink-

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ing water. The gazelle was a much-loved animal, known for its great agility and speed, and therefore also for its ability to appear and disappear sudderJy. Its colouring of brown/red and white symbolizes the earth and life. Having large, bright eyes, white markings and speed gave it characteristics similar to those of the gods, who are immortal. These characteristics of the gazelle make me further beUeve that the name 'Tabitha' or 'Dorcas' is not at all coincidental. This is a narrative about life and death, and about a woman living in the territory of both clean and unclean. The gazelle symbolized much about this woman and her town. Tabitha is described as a disciple (μαθήτρια), and is the female counterpart of Ananias and Timothy, who are each also identified as 'a disciple' (9.10; 16.1). She was 'full of (πλήρης) good works and almsgiving', that is, her life was characterized by such actions. Almsgiving, or doing acts of mercy, (έλεημοσυνών ών èïïoiei, 9.36) is not only the performance of charitable acts, but also of acts of righteousness in the observance of the commandments of Yahweh (Deut. 6.25). Tabitha is, then, the female counterpart of Cornelius at Caesarea, who also showed mercy (ποιών έλβημοσύνας πολλάς, 10.2). Tabitha worked with textiles (9.39). It is not stated explicitly that she was rich or that she ran some kind of guild or association. But she did give alms, and that implies some amount of wealth; and the combination of χίτων και Ιμάτιον, used here, in some contexts also does suggest she had wealth of a kind. For example, Diodorus says that a certain Tellias provided his guests with χιτώνας και Ιμάτια from his own stores (13.83.2). And Plutarch discusses why it is that those canvassing for office do so wearing only a Ιμάτιον and no χίτων. One suggested reason is that they were humiliating themselves by their scanty attire in order to commend themselves to the popular favour (Quaest. Rom. 276D). This suggests that only the poorer classes dressed in that way. Athenaeus implies something similar when he holds those who wear decorated and colourful χιτώνας and ιμάτια to be pretentious (Deipn. 12.512). According to the later Christian writing. The Didascalia, one of the duties of the widows is that they 'are to work with wool to give the profits to the poor, or at the very least, lessen their own need for church supporf (149.517; see also 147.15-16, 21.1-23.1). It is possible that Acts is aware of a similar duty. Widows had ambiguous status - at least in the thought of some Christian males - and so they were encouraged either to marry or to remain celibate, and thus to remove their ambiguity to a degree (1 Tim. 5.9-16). In fact, this whole episode involving Tabitha has to do with ambiguity and with borders. Death, widows, the gazelle and Joppa all raise the issues of borders and boundaries between clean and unclean.

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However, whether Tabitha belonged to a class of widows or not is unclear from the text. She might have been their patron. At most, Luke says that while Tabitha was alive, she was 'with them' (μ€τ' αυτών, 9.39), that is, with the widows. Curiously, the phrases μετ' αύτοδ and μ€τ' αύτών are used elsewhere in Acts only of God in relation to people (7.9; 10.38; 11.21; 14.27; 15.4), with the orüy other exception being Paul in 9.28, where it is said that Paul went in and out with the Christians of Jerusalem (μετ' αυτών). The movement of going in and going out is characteristic of a leader, rather than of a member of a group. I suggest, on balance, that Tabitha was the patron and benefactor of v^dows in Joppa. While Peter is in Lydda, Tabitha falls sick (άσθβνήσασαν) and dies (9.37). There is no doubt that she is dead because the normal rituals for the dead have begun - her body is washed and placed in the upper room. The placement of the body in an upper room is unusual in terms of Jewish mourning and burial customs. The dead body was laid out customarily in a more public space in the house or even outside. But putting her in the upper room gives an uaimistakable literary signal to the scripturally-Iiterate audience that the story will end well. They know that the upper room was the space in which Elijah and Elisha restored life to the dead (1 Kgs. 17.19; 2 Kgs. 4.11). The living God of Israel's prophets, Elijah and Elisha, is also the living God of the renewed Israel and its prophets, Jesus, Peter, and Paul. Upper rooms (ΰττερφα) sometimes suggest wealth, being found in palaces (Judg. 3.20,23; 2 Kgs. 1.1; Jer. 22.13-14) and in the Temple (2 Chron. 3.9; LXX Ezek 41.7). There are also indications that the upper room of a house was also a place for prayer. Jesus held his last meal with his disciples in an upper room (Lk. 22.12), and post-ascer\sion the disciples were gathered together and prayed in an upper room (Acts 1.13-14). Sarah, Tobit's daughter, in despair goes to the upper room intending to hang herself, but prays instead and her prayer is heard (Tob. 3.10-16). In a similar situation to Peter at Joppa, Daniel prayed three times a day facing Jerusalem in his upper room (Dan. 6.10). And in Acts 10.9, it is while Peter is in an upper room that he prays at the sixth hour. Since Lydda is close to Joppa, and the disciples (that is, the Christians) have heard that Peter is in the latter place, they send two men to him to beg him 'not to delay in coming over to us' (μή όκνήστις διελθίΐν εως ημών, 9.38). The same verb form (οκνήσης) was used by Balak in his invitation to Balaam in Num. 22.16, and in an invitation to a priest in Judg. 18.19. It would seem that the verb was commonly used in polite invitations. The way the verb is used in Tob. 12.13 and in Sir. 7.35 suggests that the invitation

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was for someone to do a good deed for which they would achieve merit, and that certainly fits the context here. Peter goes with them, and when he arrives in Joppa, they take him up to the room where Tabitha's body is lying. All the widows are there standing next to him (παρέστησαν, 9.39). This is a curious detail since sitting on the ground, not standing, was the standard posture of mourning. The same verb is used again in this same episode when Peter 'presents' Tabitha alive to the coiranuiuty (9.41). The widows were weeping and showing the clothes that Tabitha had made (9.39). Why do they show the clothes? Jervell represents many scholars who think the clothes are expressiorw of her good works in clothing the poor and needy, and that such a good woman is worthy of a miracle (1998: 297). But it is possible that this action was meant to indicate that Tabitha was truly dead; the clothes that she had made would be 'unclean' by their association with her, and they were to be buried or destroyed with her. Possibly, the widows intended to bury the clothes with her for her journey into the world of the dead. Many Greeks and Romans had this custom. In Euripides' Alcestis, a servant assures the chorus that the dead Alcestis is receiving the proper rites: 'Yes, clothes and jewellery (κόσμος) are ready for her husband to set beside her in the grave' (149; compare also Euripides Нес. 578). Cornelia placed clothes, badges, weapons and robes of her husband, Pompey, on his funeral pyre, including the special multicoloured toga that he had worn in his three triumphs (Lucan 9.175-179). The clothes shown to Peter might have been widows' clothes widows wore particular clothes (Ιματία) that indicated their widowhood (Gen. 38.14,19; Deut. 24.17; Judith 10.3; 16.7). The showing of clothes as proof of something is not unknown in the Jewish scriptures. Joseph's brothers sent his bloodied clothes to Jacob as proof of his death (Gen. 37.3133); Potiphar's wife showed her husband Joseph's coat as proof he had been with her (Gen 39.11-20). By showing the clothes that Tabitha had made, the women were indicating to Peter that she was really dead. The added expression, 'while she was with them' (9.39), is then a further reminder to the audience that she is dead. It was not uncommon for a power-filled man to act aggressively in the presence of death or disease. For example, at the grave of Lazarus, Jesus was twice 'deeply moved' («υεβριμήσατο τφ ττνίύματί·/ Jn. 11.33; έμβριμώμενος kv έαυτφ, 11.38), a translation most commentators would acknowledge fails to capture the force of the emotion. Here too Peter 'drives out' the mourning women from the room where the dead Tabitha lies. The expression Ικβαλών δ€ εξω is emphatic and forceful. It is used to describe the removal of imclean things in LXX Lev. 14.40 and 2 Para. 29.16. In the New Testa-

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ment, the phrase appears in the violent rejection of the son by the vineyard tenants (Mt. 21.39; Mk 12.8; Lk. 20.15), the rejection of the worthless servant in Mt. 25.30, the expulsion of Jesus from Nazareth by the locals (Lk. 4.29; compare also Jn. 9.34), and the rejection of Stephen (Acts 7.58). Some suggest Peter did this 'perhaps in order not to make a sensation out of bringing Tabitha back to life' (Witherington 1998: 332), but I doubt whether this is what is meant. Peter is in the room with death, a power that opposes the God of the living, and so Luke uses aggressive language appropriate to the context of a struggle between powers. The healer, like the necromandst, must have no barriers between his own holy power and that of the dead. The friends of Tabitha mourn the dead; Peter goes into the room to pray that he might be the life-restorer through his own body. There appears to be no room for mourning in Luke's conununity. Death is 'the great unclean', and given the context of this episode (Joppa, Cornelius), that element ought to be kept in mind. The widows and Tabitha's clothes represent the unclean world of death, and so they must be cast out, just as death must let go of Tabitha when the man of the living God commands it. By being in the same room as a corpse, Peter becomes imclean, even if only a second grade of impurity. At least that is how his action would be interpreted according to Jewish tradition. According to Num. 19.14, anyone who enters into the room where there is a corpse is rendered unclean for seven days. If Peter touched the corpse, he would be impure in the first grade (Num. 19.11-13), and if he is imclean, everything he touches became unclean for that day (Num. 19.22). But there is no suggestion of this in the narrative. Peter turns to the body and actually touches Tabitha only after she shows signs of life (9.40-41). There are hints here, as also in the narrative of Jesus at Nain, that death does not render the holy ones imclean; they are immune to the polluting power of death. Peter can therefore touch Tabitha without being polluted because he is filled with a holy spirit that renders such pollution ineffective. But the main point of this episode is that death does not have the power to break Tabitha's relations with the saints, to whom she is immediately restored (9.41). Peter falls on his knees and prays. This is conmion posture for prayer, but in this context it hints also at imitation. The one who restores life first of all imitates - or goes down to the same level as - the dead. Necromancers imitated the voices of the dead, using high-pitched, squeaky sounds. Does Peter address Tabitha with the voice of the dead? Or does he, like Jesus at Lazarus' tomb (John 11.43), use a loud voice to indicate his status as a power-filled man? In any case, Peter turns to the corpse and says, 'Tabitha, get up' (άναστήθι, 9:40). The verb is the technical term for raising the dead.

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as is illustrated in Acts 2.24,32; 3.26; 13.33,34; 17.31; and Jn. 6.39,44,54. It is similarly used outside of the New Testament in Ludan {Alex. 24; Philops. 25) and elsewhere. Calling the name of the person to be raised or healed is commonly found in such powerful actions. So Jesus calls the name of Lazarus (Jn. 11.43) and Peter the name of Aeneas (Acts 9.34). It demonstrates the authority that the healer has. To know the name, and more importantly, to name the name, is a sign of authority over its bearer. Tabitha is under the authority of the man of God, not of death. Even though she is referred to as Dorcas later in the episode (9.39), when it comes to Peter's action in raising her, her 'real' name, Tabitha, is used. It would seem that she is a Jewish woman; but Luke's use in his narrative of her Hebrew/Aramaic name together with her Greek name simply reinforces what she represents - the boimdary between clean and imclean, Jew and gentile. The woman opens her eyes and, seeing Peter, she sat up (9.40). This would have impressed an audience because rigor mortis deprived the corpse of such movements. The gazelle, a s)mibol of life, is restored to her proper state. The reference to her open eyes hints at the gazelle symbolism. The large, beautiful eyes of the gazelle were symbols of life. In any case, the eyes were closed in death; Tabitha's eyes are open, a clear sign that she is alive. The fact that she sits up also is a clear indicator to the audience that Tabitha is alive, since the prone position was that of the dead. In addition, Peter gives her a hand and raises her up (άνέστησ6ν αύτήν). Once again the language of resurrection is used. This is not Peter calling up the ghost of Tabitha that is ethereal and that evades any attempts at being grasped or climg to. Tabitha is restored to her physical state of life. Lifting someone up by the hand is a common gesture in ancient Mediterranean and Middle-Eastern literature, and usually it is done with the right hand. Very often, it is a superior who offers the hand to an inferior, so elevating the latter to a status and dignity they previously did not have, or restoring to them a lost dignity and status. So, according to Valerius Maximus, L. Paullus raised king Perses by the right hand {dextera manu); the king had become a prisoner and had fallen down on his knees before Paullus {Memorab. 6.1; compare also 5.1.8; 5.1 ext. lb). The reanimation of a corpse is a striking irmovation of Greek and Roman necromancy of the imperial period (Ogden 2001, especially ch. 13). Lucan, Apuleius and Heliodorus all include necromantic reanimation in their poems and novels. The possibility is that some in the audience thought of Peter in necromantic terms. While the powerful Peter (like Jesus and Paul) does not use common rituals for the animation of a corpse, some of Luke's description is common to that used in necromantic practises. For

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example, in Greek and Roman necromancy, 'the corpse must be "raised" upright on to its feet from its prone position ... The gesture graphically symbolizes the return to life' (Ogden 2001:205). Peter then calls (φωνήσας) the saints and the widows, as Jesus called (έφώνησ^ν) Mary (Jn. 11.28). There is a touch of authority in such a calling (compare Lk. 8.54). He then stands Tabitha near them (ιταρέστησ€ν) alive. The expression παρέστησεν αυτήν ζώσαν parallels that used of Jesus in Acts 1.3 - παρέστηοίν έαυτόν (ώντα - and it is one that deserves closer attention. The verb ιταρίστημι can mean to offer something as proof, and that would make perfectly good sense here - Peter presents Tabitha to others as proof that she is alive. But the same verb is commonly used in both Christian and Jewish Scriptures almost in a techiucal sense to describe the action of presenting something or somebody as holy. The action of Mary and Joseph springs to mind as they went to the temple 'to present [Jesus] to the Lord' (παραστήσαι τφ κυρίφ, Lk. 2.22). They did so, Luke says, because 'it is written in the law of the Lord, "Every male that opens the womb shall be called holy to the Lord"' (2.23). The same verb is used when Paul exhorts his audience to 'present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God' (τταραστήσαι τα σώματα ϋμών θυσίαν ζώσαν άγίαν εΰάρεστον τω θ€φ, Rom. 12.1). The link between presentation and holiness is also found in Eph. 5.26-27 and 2 Cor 11.2. Interesting also is Rom. 6.13 where Paul exhorts Christians to 'present yourselves to God as those who have been brought from death to life' (παραστήσατε έαυτους τφ θεφ ώσεί έκ νεκρών ζώντας). Tabitha has passed through death and so is in a state of holiness and purity, just as indeed the living Jesus is. Tabitha is then restored to the commimity of 'the holy ones' (αγίους, 9.41). Peter presents Tabitha to 'the saints and to the widows'. Why are they classified separately? Most scholars assume that the widows are included with the saints, and that together they form the Christian commimity (Barrett 1994: 1.486; Pesch 1986: 1.324). In Acts, 'the saints' seems to be a term used to describe aU members of a Christian community (9.13,32; 26.10). Elsewhere in the New Testament, it is used likewise especially by Paul (Rom. 12.13; 15.25; 1 Cor. 6.1, for example). But there are occasions when 'the saints' are listed as distinct from 'the apostles and prophets' in Rev. 18.20 (compare also 11.18), and as distinct from 'the leaders' in Heb. 13.22. So it is possible that here in Acts 9.41, the distinction is deliberate and significant. Tabitha belonged to the 'widows', that is to those women who were not in a married relationship. It was a state or class highly regarded by the Lukan Jesus who says.

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Chapter 7: Raising the Dead The sons of this age marry and are given in marriage; but those who are accounted worthy to attain to that age and to the resurrection from the dead neither marry nor are given in marriage, for they cannot die any more, because they are equal to angels and are sons of God, being sons of the resurrection (Lk. 20.34-36).

Tabitha belonged to that class of w^omen that 'neither marry nor a given in marriage' and so 'carmot die any more' and are 'daughters of the resurrection'. Her restoration to life also put her in the category of the holy, since it is the holy and righteous who are promised life. It should be noted that 'the saints' are the holy ones (ol άγιοι), and 'the Holy Ones' is a term also used of the angels. Like the community of the Qumran texts (IQSbs 3.25-26; 4.25-26), the Christians at Joppa might also have thought of themselves as angels - Holy Ones serving the living God. Death is not a barrier for them.^ The similarities between the raising of Tabitha and the raising of Jairus' daughter by Jesus are often noticed (for example, Durm 1996:125), although, as Durm also notices, there are very few, if any, verbal similarities. There are, however, a number of such with the Elijah/Elisha stories - the upper room, the exclusion of witnesses, prayer, and the dead person's opening of the eyes. In the Elisha episode, the prophet calls to the dead child's mother much like Peter calls to the saints and widows (2 Kgs. 4.36). In addition, the response of the commuiuty is similar to that of the woman in 1 Kgs. 17 where the mother's response is, 'You are a man of God and the word of God is truly in your mouth' (17.24). The community in Joppa imght have said the same thing about Peter. But also striking are the parallels with the story of Jesus raising Lazarus in John's Gospel; where similar language is used in both episodes. One could argue that both deal wdth the same issue. Why is death in the community before the parousia? Notice the similarities: In John 11, Bethany is said to be near (έγγύς) Jerusalem (11.18), in Acts 9, Lydda is near (έγγύς) Joppa (9.38). Both Jesus and Peter receive messages for them to come (Jn. 11.3; Acts 9.38). Both episodes involve mourning women, possibly in both cases, widows. The verbal link between weakness and death is not at all a common one in literature, yet here in Acts, Luke says that Dorcas was weak and she died (άσθβνησασαν αύτήν άποθανειν (9.37); and in John 11, Jesus says that Lazarus' weakness/sickness (ασθένεια) is not unto death (ούκ 'έστιν ιτρός θάνατον, 11.4). In both Acts and John, the point is clearly made that Dorcas and Lazarus respectively are definitely dead. Dorcas' body has 1

Some later Qiristian writers believed that Christians were immortal. See Justin, Orat. 5; Clement of Alexandria, Strom. 7.16, for example.

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already been washed and laid out in the upper room (Acts 9.37); Lazarus' body has been wrapped, put in the tomb, and smelling (Jn. 11.39,44). As expected, there is weeping at both deaths. The calling (έφώνησεν) is common to both Peter and Jesus. The consequence of being restored to life in both is that when others hear of it, they believe on the Lord (Acts 9.42; compare Jn. 11.45). Finally, there are some interesting broad parallels between this story and Euripides' play, Alcestis. In that play, Alcestis, the wife of Admetus, king of Pherae, nobly and honourably offers to die in the place of her husband whom Death had marked out. The woman dies and her husband is in deep mourning. But, despite his intense grief, Admetus maintains his nobility and offers hospitality to Heracles, who comes to him as a stranger. Heracles rescues Alcestis from the grip of death before three days are passed, and restores her to Admetus. Heracles acts like Peter, the visitor to Joppa, and Peter has the same life-restoring power as Heracles. Both demonstrate their power over the death of a noble, righteous woman. That Euripides' play was well-known in much later centuries is implied by Philostratus who says that the maiden whom Apolloruus restored to life acted 'just as Alcestis did when she was brought back to life by Hercules' (Vii. Apoll. 4.45). Even if the Peter-Heracles parallels are rather broad, the audience hearing the episode of Peter restoring Tabitha to life would certainly agree with the chorus's conclusion to the Euripidean play. There are many shapes of divinity and many things the gods accomplish against our expectation. What men look for is not brought to pass, but a god finds a way to achieve the unexpected. Such was the outcome of this story (1159-1163).

3. Paul stoned (Acts 14.19) This is a very strange episode indeed! As Dunn says, it 'causes some eyebrow raising' (1996: 192). Scholars generally dismiss it quite quickly, or play down any element of the miraculous. Johnson, for example, says the event is insignificant compared to Paul's preaching, debating, and pastoral activities that follow (1992: 256). Fitzmyer gives no opinion as to whether Paul was dead or not, but concludes on the basis of ν 20, 'The implication is that Paul did not suffer badly' (1998:533). Despite its brevity, or possibly because of its brevity, it leaves some intriguing questiorts to be considered. The audience has been prepared for Paul's stoning because in Antioch he and Barnabas were harassed and

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expelled from the region (έξεβαλον αύτους άττό των όριων αυτών, 13.50). And in Iconium, just prior to his arrival in Lystra, Paul's opponents and their rulers had intended to stone him (14.5). The more immediate context in Lystra is this: The locals thought that Paul and Barnabas were the gods come down in human form. Paul rejected this idea, and instead spoke to the locals about the living God who made heaven and earth and the sea and everything in them. It is that god who gives rain and food. In sum, Paul gave a standard Jevdsh response to current polytheistic views. Then the scene shifts dramatically and rapidly. Jews are said to come from nearby Antioch and Iconium. The text says that they 'persuaded the people' (that is, the locals who had just wanted to sacrifice to Paul and Barnabas as gods, 14.19). But of what did they persuade the locals? A number of manuscript traditions at this point add something to the effect that these Jews convinced them that Paul and Barnabas were deceivers. It would appear that such readings want to provide details in order to explain what takes places next, namely, Paul is stoned and dragged out of the dty (14.19). The sudden change has to be explained. But even with the addition proposed by some manuscripts, it is still not clear why Paul was stoned. Plutarch says that Romans and Greeks stoned people for treason and political aspirations, at least (Par. Star. 313B). Being a stranger, Paul did not and could not share in the religion of the polis. As such, he was a threat. The fact that he preached a god who made the heaven, earth and sea (14.15) might also have been threatening. In places Uke Lystra, the boundaries of the polis were also the boundaries of the gods. People had only a vague notion of a god who had ii^uence outside of their boundaries. Step out of those boundaries and you step into the area of another god or group of gods. Blur the boundaries and you blur the polis' identity. It would not have been difficult to convince a crowd that Paul was advocating the worship of foreign gods, and that would have been seen as threaterung the botmdaries, threatening the local cults, and therefore threatening the very polis itself. Macmullen says that such behaviour risked mob violence. People would pick up anything that lay in the street - cobbles, broken tiles, rocks - and let fly. Stoning, actual or threatened, stains the history of all the chief cities of the empire and a chance scattering of the minor ones. It was a coirunon form of group vengeance (1974: 66).

Virgil refers to occasions when a rebellious mob, burning with feverish passions and armed with burning torches, threw rocks, for 'rage never lacks for arms' (Aen. 1.148-153; see also Apuleius Meta. 2.27).

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If Paul was charged with being a deceiver, as some manuscripts suggest, then his situation is somewhat like that narrated by Philostratus. Ephesus was plagued by a disease brought about by a demon that was disguised in the form of a blind man. At the irwtigation of Apollonius, who urunasked the demon, the people stoned the man to death and later found a dead dog imdemeath the stones. The dty was relieved of the plague (Vit. Apoll. 4.10). Did the Jews convince the locals that Paul was not a god come to visit, as they had thought, but was in fact a demon in disguise and that he was responsible for current problems in Lystra? Another question is, who carried out the stoning? The text could be interpreted to mean that it was the Jews from elsewhere. They persuaded the crowds (ïïeioavxeç τους δχλους), and in turn stoned Paul (λιθάσαντ6ς τον Παυλόν) and dragged him out of the city. However, this is not likely. The fact that Paul is stoned inside the dty would point to a pagan stoning, since the general practice among Jews was for stormg to take place outside the dty boimdaries. Besides, if this were in any sense a legal stoning, then Jews from outside of Lystra would hardly have the legal right to stone someone within the boimdaries of another polis. As a stranger, Paul's protection under the law was imcertain. By the standards of Aristotle and Plato, he had no rights and no legal protection. Later, such protection was only available if he became a client of a dtizen, who then acted as προστάτης, or if an exceptional tribxmal was set up to protect any rights of the stranger (de Coulanges 1980:185-190). That Paul had any of this protection in the poleis that he visited is unlikely. Lystra was a Roman colony, but probably in the backwater of the region. Ramsay calls it a 'third-rate Roman Colonia' (1907: 413). It is tmlikely that Paul had any legal protection there. So the stoning is either a mob lynching or a legal form of punishment. In favour of the first is that the text says Jews, together with locals, stoned Paul, and not the dty offidals. The verb used here (λιθάζίΐν) itself means little more than 'throwing stones', and does not imply a ritual or legal killing as in the case of Stephen. It is also the verb used by Paul in 2 Corinthians to describe a stoning that he obviously survived. If here in Acts 14.19 a legal Störung is meant, then surely Paul is dead. In favour of the stoning as a legal and even ritual killing is the fact that in 14.5 the rulers are involved in a threat to stone Paul. The stoning inside the dty and then the dragging of the body to the outside also fits common legal and ritual killings, espedally of scapegoats. The verb 'to drag' (oupeiv) is standard to describe the action taken by Romans and Greeks when they wanted to abuse the corpse of someone deliberately killed or executed. The action would have been familiar to most in the audience. Herodian reports that in

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the time of Commodus, certain perceived troublemakers led by Cleander were killed and 'their bodies were dragged through the city (σύροντές те τα σώματα), and shamefully degraded in every way imtil finally the mutilated corpses were thrown into the sewers' (1.13.6). Again, he tells of the bodies of Antonius and Soaemis being 'handed over to those who wished to drag (oupeiv) them around and desecrate them. After being dragged through the city for a long time (έπΙ πολυ δια ττασής της πόλεως συρέντα) and mutilated, they were thrown into the sewers which run down to the lüver Tiber' (5.8.9). Some other examples of such treatment elsewhere than in Rome can be seen in Dio Cassius (73.13 and 74.2). Appian reports Antony as speaking of Caesar's body 'dragged through the streets, dishonoured, and cast out tmburied. For our laws prescribe such treatment for tyrants' (Bell. Civ. 2.18.134). The Greeks, in particular, admired the body beautiful, and they hoped to maintain that beauty even in death as a corpse. That is partly why the corpse was so carefully looked after and cosmetically prepared. Dragging a corpse removed even further any beauty from the corpse, and so humiliated and disgraced the person. A further thing to notice is that Paul was stoned (presumably to death) and then dragged outside of the dty. Clearly, there is no burial intended for him. Why would that happen? What crime was given such treatment? There are at least three hints of ritual practice being involved in this episode: the stoning, the dragging aroimd and out of the city, and the leaving unburied outside the city. These three actions fit well the practice involving the scapegoats (φαρμαKOL) used by cities to remove pollution. They were paraded through the streets, then stoned, and cast out of the dty boundaries. Strangers, the poor, the despised, and crinunals were used as such scapegoats.^ As a stranger, Paul fitted the bill. This might also explain why orüy Paul is stoned and not his companions. Once again, it is important to remember that Paul was a stranger in so many of the poleis that he visited, and that meant his safety was often under threat. In Ephesus, he seems to have been able to put himself imder the protection of an acceptable patron (Tyrannus, Acts 19.9; and possibly Alexander, 19.33). But in Lystra, he apparenüy had no such contacts. Was Paul dead? The text reads, 'they dragged him out of the dty, thinking him to be dead' ('έσυρον €ξω της πόλεως νομίζοντίς αυτόν τεθνηκέναι). The practice was that a person was stoned to death and the corpse then dragged arotmd the streets and eventually out of the dty. The point of the exerdse was to denigrate the corpse. Even in death, the person was rejected SeeStrelan2003b:152.

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by and ejected from the community of the living. So in my opinion, the audience is supposed to think with the crowds that Paul has died (τ^θνηκίναι). Most scholars, however, think that Paul was not dead! Bruce at least thinks the story has 'the flavour of a miracle' about it (1988: 279), but Marshall says 'there is no question of a miraculous resurrection here' (1980: 240). Foakes-Jackson too says there is 'no hint of a miracle' (1931: 129). Jervell says Paul was not dead, otherwise Luke would be describing a new Wunder (1998: 379). Many see it as referring to the 'once stoned' mentioned by Paul himself in 2 Cor. 11.24-25. Haenchen, Pesch, Roloff, Conzelmann, Barrett, and Zmijewski think Paul was not dead, and Johnson gets around it by saying that Paul was 'left for dead' (1992:254). Stählin concludes that it is a 'Wunder' that Paul came out of it with his life (1966: 195). The argument that he did not die rests on the bases of the participle νομίζοντες and on Paul's own reference to being stoned and near death (2 Cor 11:23-25). Paul survived a stoning, and the Lystraiis 'thought he was dead;' but in reality he was not, so the argument goes. I prefer the obvious sense of the text. Paul had stones thrown at him, probably with the aim of killing him. Even if that was not the aim, his body was dragged through the streets and dumped outside of the city because the locals thought he was dead, and because they wanted to disgrace his body. The dead body of an imwanted outsider belonged outside the polis. It is this dragging of the body through and outside the town that suggests to me that Paul was dead. If the locals had simply thrown stones at him and knocked him out, they would not have performed this extra ritual. In addition, what follows also suggests Paul was dead. The disciples come presumably to give the body a decent burial. The question is, 'Whose disciples are they'? Probably, 'disciples' is another way of referring to 'Qiristians' (as in 6.1,2,7; 9.1 and elsewhere), but here it may refer directly to Paul's own disciples. In 9.25 there is a reference to 'his disciples', meaning Paul's followers. However, many see that reading as a mistake, and prefer to read αύτόν in 9.25 rather than αύτου (see Jervell 1998: 286 n. 44). In any case, why do the disciples gather around Paul's body in a circle? Did they thiiik him dead too? Is there some connection between their action and Paul's getting up? Does the one action simply precede the other in the sense that 'when the disdples had encircled him, Paul, having got up, went into the c i t / ? Still the questions come. It does not help that Luke makes no issue of this whole episode; presumably, it was all very understandable to his audience! The obvious solution is that the disdples endrcle Paul because they think he is dead, and they are performing a cultural ritual of mourning or of

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preparation of the dead for burial. The problem is there is no firm evidence for any such ritual behaviour. But there is some evidence! Mayer Gruber (1981), in an article that looks at ten dance-derived expressions in the Hebrew Bible, cites Oesterley, There is no irwtance to be found in the Old Testament of dancing being performed as a mounüng or burial rite; that must be acknowledged; yet in spite of this there are strong reasons for believing that the custom did exist among the Israelites.

Oesterley goes on to say that the strongest reason is that the custom existed in the twentieth century. He refers to the seven drcumambulations of the bier that are still part of prescribed funerary rites among some Sephardim. Gruber has evidence that the custom existed in the eighteenth century, and he suggests that the Mishnaic and modem Hebrew term for funeral, lewayah, derives from the common Semitic root l-w-y and refers to the encircling of the bier. Gruber shows that a number of Hebrew verbs for 'dancing' and 'celebrating' have some association, either originally or currently, with mourning. In other words, dancing was part of the mourning ritual. More importantly, Gruber then suggests that in Eccles. 12.5, the verb wesabebu refers to the drcumambulation of the bier (1981:334-335). No matter whether Gruber is right or not, relevant is the Septuagint text of Eccles 12.5c. There, the verb used is έκύκλωσαν, the very same verb as is used here in Acts 14. The whole verse reads, και γ€ άπο υψους δψονται, καΐ θάμβοι kv τΐι όδφ· και άνθηστ) το άμύγδαλον, καΐ τταχυνθη ή άκρίς, καΐ διασκεδασθτ) ή κάππαρις, δτι έπορεύθη ò άνθρωπος είς οΪκον αΙώνος αύτοΰ, καΐ «κύκλωσαν èv άγορ^ οΐ κοπτόμενοι. There is no doubt that this is describing a mourning scene - the expression ol κοπτόμενοι refers to mourners. Hoerug has shown very adequately that public mourning took place in the city square, the agora (1980: 448-476). This makes sense, then, of the action of encircling (4κύκλωσαν). The mourners did not just 'roam around', as many English translations of Eccles. 5 have it, but they endrcled (the bier) in the agora. Strangely, Hoeiug does not mention this Eccles. 5 passage. There is, then, at least one piece of literary evidence that endrcling a corpse was a Jewish custom at some time and in some place. It is very possible that it was part of a funeral dance. There are also signs in the Talmud that forming a circle was part of mourning practice. The tractate Semahot asks, 'Who are they who drcle to the left?' A mourner is listed in the answer. And Mishna Ketubah says that mourners formed a drcle around the bereaved to comfort them. There is also the suggestion that such a circle helped to ward off evil spirits (8.2). One might also recall that in the Acts of

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John, Jesus gathers his disciples before his death and asks them to form a ring (γυρός) by holding hands, with him in the middle. So 'we formed a circle and responded to him with the Amen' (ήμ€Χς κυκλ^ύοντες έπηκούομ^ν αΰτω το άμήν, 94.15-18). Circular movements were not unknown in Greek and Egyptian necromancy, sometimes accomparued by the pouring of libations. The circular movements purified the area and constituted 'a protective barrier between the living and the ghosts' (Ogden 2001:179). Greeks often used the circle in the performance of purificatory rituals. Parker writes. When an individual human was initiated or purified, he was seated submissively in the middle, and the offidants performed whatever ritual was appropriate around him. Verbs like 'purify in a circle' (perikathairô) were used even when there was no actual encirclement (1983:225-226).

There is something purifying about death itself, and death also required the purification of the living. Did the disciples of Paul encircle him in order to purify either the corpse in some way, or themselves, or both? There are still two other intriguing factors in this very brief episode. In V 20, the two main verbs are «Ισήλθίν and έξήλθεν and they describe the actions of Paul. These two verbs are also used of 'the Lord Jesus' in 1.21, almost as a summary of Jesus' life as leader of his disciples. Now, the expression 'going in and going ouf is commonly used in the Septuagint, most often of leaders (Strelan 2003c). Typical is Num. 27.17 where Moses requested God for a leader who 'shall go out before Israel and come in before them'. That leader will go out and come in imder the blessing and direction of God. Similar use of the phrase is foimd in Deut. 31.2; 1 Kgs. 29.6; 2 Kgs. 3.25; 3 Kgs. 3.7; 2 Para. 16.1; and Isa. 37.28). What is more, as these passages illustrate, the expression was used very commorúy of the military leaders of Israel. Is Luke is portraying Jesus, Peter and Paul as military leaders fighting a holy war with the blessing and protection of God? Are they engaged not in a military war agauist Rome or any other national power, but in the eschatological war against the demonic powers of weakness and death? Is it a holy war that God has already won by raising Jesus from the dead and by establishing him as Leader and Saviour, and as Lord who sits on the right hand in glory? It can be noted that in Acts 1.21, Luke refers to the period of time when 'the Lord Jesus (ó κύριος Ίησοΰς) went in and went out over his disciples' (elofjXGev καΐ έξήλθίν έφ' ημάς). There again, the phrase is used in the context of Lordship and authority. In 14.20, the disciples encircle Paul, and he goes in and comes out ('with Barnabas'). He imitates the actions of the Lord Jesus! The grouping of

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'disciple' words is also worth noting in 14.20-22. On going to Derbe, Paul evangelizes that city and disciples (μαθητίύσαντβς, the only occurrence of the verb in Acts) many. He then goes back to Lystra (where he had been stoned) and to Icoruum and Antioch (from where the Jewish opponents had come) strengthening the souls of the disciples (τάς ψυχάς των μαθητών). I suggest this grouping of 'disciple' words is intentional. Paul's leadership behaviour parallels that of the risen Jesus who went back to Jerusalem, outside of which he had been crucified, and gave power to his disciples. A similar pairing of the verbs going out and coming in' is used to describe Peter's movements out from Joppa and into Caesarea and his meeting with Cornelius. In 16.40 likewise, Paul goes out of the prison and into Lydia (έξ€λθόντ€ς δ€ άπό της φυλακής «Ισήλθον προς την Λυδίαν). He moves similarly in 16.13,15, going out (έξήλθομεν) to the meeting place of the Jews, and then being invited into (€ΐσ€λθόντ6ς) the house of Lydia. Once again, the context is one of disdpling. An even closer pairing occurs in 18.19,23 and 21.8. In Luke's Gospel, the disciples are those who go in and out (9.4; 10.10; compare also 14.23; 15.28). It would seem to me too coincidental that this expression is used so often and in relation to such people as Jesus, Peter, and Paul (see further, Strelan 2003c). The 'coming in and going ouf of God's people is promised a blessing if His commandments are kept, 'Blessed shalt thou be in thy coming in and blessed shalt thou be in thy going out' (Deut. 28.6). Again, it might be noted that the very next verse (28.7) suggests that the promise is for Israel's military expeditions! Even more importantly in the context of Paul's experiences, the going out and coming in of the faithful are promised the protection of God. Ps. 121.7-8 (LXX Ps 120.7-8) reads: 'The Lord will guard you from all evil. He will guard your life (ψυχήν σου). The Lord will guard your coming in and your going out now and forever' (Κύριος φυλάξει τήν εΐσοδόν σου καΐ τήν 'έξοδόν σου άπό του νυν καΐ εως του αΙώνος). No matter whether Paul was dead or alive after his stoning, the point of the episode is that the Lord has 'guarded him from all evil; he has guarded his soul'. This point would not be lost on any audience whose ears were tuned into their Scriptures when they heard these two verbs used in such close conjimction and in that order. Curiously, Luke's use of verbs compounded with the preposition ёк ceases abruptly at 22.21. The final death of Paul, like that of Peter, is not part of Luke's narrative, and yet there are implicit and even explicit references to it. The audience probably knows that Paul died, and that he died in Rome. Luke implies Paul's death by using language similar to that he used in his Gospel for the death of Jesus. But just as Jesus was not abandoned to Hades, and his body

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did not see corruption (2.31), so also Peter and Paul (and maybe also Stephen, who 'falls asleep', 7.60) are not under the rule of death.

4. Death of a youth (Acts 20.7-12) There is one other death that needs to be examined. In Acts 20.7-12, a yoimg man (νεανίας) Eutychus, falls from a window and appears to be dead, only to have Paul revive him. Here is another case of death in a Christian community, and as we will see, another case, like that of Tabitha, where such death is not allowed to rule. This is a more sigiuficant episode than is usually acknowledged. There is little room for the notion that this is no more than an entertaining story of a wonder worker. Pervo treats this event as a 'delightful little episode of the boy who could not stay awake in church even with the great Paul in the pulpit', a story that evokes a 'smile, even if guiltily' (1987: 65). He finds it 'quite religious, an e d i f j ^ g account of a сиШс miracle with a good moral about staying awake and out of dangerous places' (1987:66). And Pervo is not alone is this rather dismissive attitude towards the story. Dunn thinks it a 'tragi-comic episode' (1996: 268), Johnson calls it a 'charming episode' (1992: 356) with a 'nice touch', but Luke's 'dramatic sense seems to have abandoned him completely' (358). Stählin sees the long preaching of Paul as a touch of humour - it is no wonder that Eutychus sleeps (1970: 265). I am sure that such comments are highly misleading. This story is yet another way in which Luke deals with the problem of death in the Christian community. In passing, it is noteworthy that much of the vocabulary of this episode is peculiarly or predominantly Lukan within the New Testament. The verb διαλέγομαι appears 10-13 times in Acts; veaviaç elsewhere appears only in Acts 7.58; 23.17; καταφέρω only in Acts 25.7; 26.10; δμιλέω is used only in Luke-Acts; and finally, mpaxiiveiv, αύγή, and συμπεριλαμβάνω are all New Testament hapax legomena. The incident takes place at the end of Paul's mission into Greece. They are in Troas, the place where Paul received the vision that led to him going to Macedonia in the first place (16.8-10). On the first day of the week, 'we' have met together to break bread. Paul 'dialogues with them' (διελέγετο αυτοΐς). Rather curiously, the verb διαλέγομαι is used only from Acts 17.2 onwards, and always in synagogues with Jews, until 19.9 where Paul moves out of the synagogue at Ephesus. The few times thereafter it is used are in this episode, and when Paul appears before Felix in 24.12,25. It is not

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'preaching' in the modem sense but rather teaching and learning that takes place through discussion. It is easy to be distracted by the narrative, as if Luke is telling a story and merely filling in 'incidental detail', as Johnson thinks (1992: 358). But the details are not simply for the benefit of eye-witness memory. Some of Luke's expressions ring quite loud bells. The episode begins, 'On the first day of the week ...' (kv δ€ ττ| μι^ τών σαββάτων). This is more than a chronological indicator within the narrative. The last time Luke used that phrase was in Lk. 24.1 when the women went to the grave of Jesus only to find it empty. So the audience is given a cue right from the outset. They are not going to be caught totally by surprise if there is some kind of restoration to life in this episode. In addition, Luke has elsewhere cormected the recognition of the risen Jesus with the breaking of bread in a meal (compare Lk. 24.30-34), and here there is a restoration of life on the occasion of the breaking of bread (20.7). Who gathers together in this meal on the first day of the week? Who are the 'we'? I suggest that they represent the Jewish diaspora, and that together they represent the promised and anticipated in-gathering of Israel. There are seven names listed (20.4), and it was common in Jewish thought to talk of the gentiles in terms of seven nations. According to Gen. 10.2, Japheth, the father of the gentiles, had seven sons. According to Acts 13.19, there were seven nations in Canaan. There is the possibility that the seven baskets collected after the feeding of the four thousand represent the gentile nations (Mk. 8.8). And in Revelation, Rome's seven hills can be imderstood as representing the amalgam of the gentile nations (Rev. 17.9). What might add substance to this argument is that this episode marks the end of Paul's nussion in Acts. Troas had been the starting point for his move into Europe (16.8-10), and now at the end of the mission they meet again in Troas. Scholars tend to see the episode as related to the collection for Jerusalem (Johnson 1992: 355; Dimn 1975:267), and that may well be, but the end-times dimension is thereby overlooked. The meeting takes place with a meal. I suggest it was a meal that had eschatological expectations. Among those expectations was that the gentiles and the scattered of Israel would be gathered. Another was that there would be the final resurrection a sign of which is given in this episode. So the meal is certainly not a mere detail in the narrative. It is possible that the meal was part of Havdalah, the Jewish ritual performed to mark the end of sabbath and the return to secular time. The meal was held at night, featured the use of bread, wine and spices, and was customarily lit by multi-wicked lamps (see b. Pes. 103b-104b).

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Paul wanted to leave 'on the next day', so he prolonged his preaching till midnight. As we have already seen, midrught was believed to be 'one of the preferred hours for God's great marvels' (Stählin 1970: 265). The reference to the upper room (20.8) reminds the audience of where the dead Tabitha was restored to life by Peter (9.39-40). Attention is drawn to the fact that 'there were many lights' in the room. Midrught, upper room, lamps, sleep - they are aU familiar in death/end material in Acts and elsewhere in early Christian literature (for example. Acts 16.25-34; Mt. 25.1-13). A young man called Eutychus is introduced in typical Lukan style, τις ueauÎaç ονόματι Ει5τυχος (compare 10.1; 16.1; 18.24; 19.24). The impression often given and gained is that this 'yoimg man' was not much more than a boy. Marshall thinks of him as 'a young lad of 8-14 years' (1980: 326). But that is almost definitely not the meaning. We should imagine a mature man, in the prime of his life in terms of age and strength. The third edition of BAGD says he was aged between 20-40 years (2000: 667). Diogenes Laertius says that Pythagoras divided a man's life into four quarters: the first twenty years he was παις; the second twenty, νεανίσκος; the third twenty, νεανίας; and the fourth twenty, γέρων (8.10). By that reckoning, Eutychus was between 40 and 60 years old! PhUo divided life's stages into βρέφος, παΙς, έφηβος, μειράκιον, νεανίας, άνήρ and γέρων {Joseph 128), and he repeatedly refers to Joseph as νεανίας (Joseph 37.1; 80.2; 106.6). An episode in Dionysius of Halicamassus tells of a νεανίας who was famous for his war exploits and had commanded centuries in campaigns. The consuls demoted him and when he objected they ordered him to be flogged. But the νεανίας successfully attacked the lictors (Rom. Ant. 9.39). Clearly, a νεανίας is mature and experienced (see also Dionysius of Halicamassus Ant. Rom. 4.60; 10.49; and Josephus Wars 2.101; 2.409). In some later Christian literature, Jesus often appears as a νεανίας to martyrs and saints (for example. Acts Xanth. et Polyx. 15.2; 22.18; 36.12,28,30; Acts Thorn. 27.18). The discussion of age could irüss the point altogether. It might be that νεανίας refers not to Eutychus' age but to his rank within the community. Eutychus, like the 'yoxmg men' in Acts 5, is a novice in the community. Given the context of a community eating a sacred meal and worshipping at midnight, this possibility is worth consideration. Eutychus was sitting at the window in an upper room. Later Jewish literature forbad prayer in a windowless room, using the Temple and Daiuel's practice as models (b. Ber. 34b). In early Christian literature, 'sitting at the window' is the position often taken by a newcomer to the Christian movement. It is the position taken by Thecla, who is so devoted to Paul and his teaching that she 'moons' over him, much to the concern of her father

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and fiance (API 9.5). One manuscript tradition of the Acts of Paul also includes the story of Patroclus, a cup-bearer of Nero, who also sat in a high window listening to Paul, and who fell down and died, only to be taken up alive again at the word of Paul. The blind Stachyos in the Acts of Philip sits in the same location, as does St. Justina, according to a traditional story None of the four were yet believers. The location of Eutychus at the window gives some support to the suggestion that he was a novice within the community. Eutychus was carried off or oppressed by a deep sleep while Paul was speaking for a long time. Overcome by the sleep, he fell from the third storey down and was picked up dead. The strong language used of sleep is interesting. It suggests that sleep is a power that cannot be resisted. It can overcome a person. What induced such a state of sleep? It is here that speculation aboxmds. Many, like Zmijewski, think the room must have been stuffy (1994: 727). Marshall suggests the lamps emitted odour-inducing sleep (1980: 326). Some worry why those irride the room do not fall into sleep before someone sleeping by the window (Haenchen 1971: 585 n. 2), to which Marshall replies that some people fall asleep more quickly than others (1980:326). Marshall goes on to claim, 'Surely we have here a piece of eyewitness information' (326; also Stählin 1970: 265). This is highly questionable. Besides, the point of falling asleep is far more serious than such speculation suggests. Sleeping during worship nüght be amusing to modems, but it was a serious matter in some Jewish and Christian communities. This is apparent within the New Testament itself. The disciples are reprimanded for falling asleep while Jesus is at prayer (Mk. 14.32-41 parr.). On that occasion, too, sleep was a weight that the disciples could not resist, 'their eyes were very heavy' (ol οφθαλμοί καταβαρυνόμενοι, Mk. 14.40). Prayer, and worship in general, were times of expectation, times when God could be expected to act and when the opponent and temptation were also active. Worship was a time to be awake and on guard, to watch and be ready, a time to be on tiptoe in anticipation. At Qumran, there were penalties of ten days penance and/or thirty days expulsion for falling asleep during the assembly (4Q266.6; IQS 7.11). The guard at Philippi was also asleep in the darkness while Paul and the prisoners were at worship. He expected death (16.2529). Some Christians, and the Qumran community, believed that when they were at worship they joined the angelic liturgy, and the characteristic of the angels is that they are awake and continuously praising God. Humans, of course, need sleep, but when at worship, for that brief time, they join the http.7/home.it.net.au/-jgrapsas/pages/Stjustina.htm.

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angels; then they are to be awake, watchful, praying, and praising their God. To worship is to be alive and with the living; to sleep is to fall into the realm of death. The yoimg man fell down and was taken up dead (20.9). Again, scholars are not sure that he was really dead. At what point a person was declared 'dead' in the cultural world of Luke might need to be taken into account. It is possible that 'dead' could mean what modem westerners would call a coma. But if that were the case, Luke's Greek does not distinguish between the two states. The language is straightforward, the man is ν6κρός, and that implies that he was Hfeless, a corpse, dead. Marshall thinks that Eutychus was dead, but he seems to concede that he might only have been unconscious which would then indicate that what ensues is 'divine preservation rather than resurrection' (1980: 326-327). Schille (1989: 398), Zmijewski (1994: 727) and Jervell (1998: 503) think he was probably dead, as does Coixzelmann, who says 'a real awakening from the dead is meant' (1972: 116). On the other hand. Lake does not think the young man died (1931: 186), and Stählin thinks Paul's reaction indicates that the man was still alive (1970: 265). Dimn appears to have changed his mind over the years. In an earlier work, he suggests that Eutychus was in a coma (1975: 165), but writing later, he says more certainly that Eutychus was dead (1996: 268). Given the sleep-death link that I have mentioned, I think we are supposed to picture the man as dead. The subsequent actions of Paul are interesting. His first action is to go down (καταβάς) to where the young man had fallen (20.10). This is an expected, obvious reaction. But when it is combined with his going up (άναβάς) in 20.11, then I suspect another level of interpretation is possible. It seems that the καταβάς ... άναβάς combination is used of the holy ones. It is the Holy One who has gone up into the heavens and come down (άνέβη elç τον ούρανόν καΐ κατέβη), according to Prov. 30.2-3. It is the angels of God that are seen ascending and descending (Gen. 28.12; Jn. 1.51). The same combination is used of the Lord in Eph. 4.9,10; and at the baptism of the eimuch, Philip and he go down into the water and come up again (Acts 8.38; compare also Barnabas 11.10 where the verbs are used in combination in a baptismal context). So I think it is valid to at least ask the question as to whether this combination of verbs simply describes the physical movements of Paul, or whether it suggests that Paul is imbued with the power of the ascending-descending holy ones. The whole episode has baptismal undertones as the novice Eutychus goes into death and is taken up alive. Luke says that Paul 'fell upon' Eutychus (€π€π€σ€ν αύτφ). Why some translate this as 'leaned over' (Johnson 1992: 356, for example) is curious.

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Paul acts Hke Elijah who restored life by stretching himself over a dead child three times (1 Kgs. 17.21), and Шее Elisha who physically covered a dead child with his body, mouth-to-mouth, eyes-to-eyes, hands-to-hands, and restored him to life (2 Kgs. 4.34). Like the 'falling upon' of the holy spirit, Paul's action is rather aggressive. It is a smothering of the dead young man. This imderstanding also fits Paul's action of 'embracing' the man (συμπεριλαβων). The man is totally enveloped by the life-giving Paul, so that the apostle can then comfort others by assuring them that his 'life is in him', probably in the sense that it is 'now in him', rather than 'still in him' as some prefer. Paul's body exudes healing power, as the audience already knows (19.11). It is a body that has been filled with a holy spirit (9.17). Paul goes out (4ξήλθ€ν) at daybreak, and the episode concludes with the statement, 'They led (ήγαγον) the young man alive (ζώντα) and they were not a little comforted' (20.12). The action of leading was very common in magical practices, especially in necromantic ritual. Evocators of the dead were called psychagôgoi (see Ogden 2001: 95-110). The action here echoes Peter's presentation of Tabitha alive (ζώσαν) to the community of widows (9.41). Commentators think that 20.12 is misplaced, and that there is an 'awkward positioning of verse 11' (Marshall 1980: 327; and see Jervell 1998: 503 n. 603 for others). That may be so, but the text makes sense as it is, if Paul's leaving is given some significance. Paul leaves as one whose going out (έξήλθίν) is under the guard of the One who preserves the life of the faithful (Ps. 121.8). Paul, like Jesus and like Peter, is one with the power to restore life to the dead. He can go to his own death (exodus) leaving this young man alive, and the commvmity thereby comforted. The verb 'to comfort' (παρακαλίΧν) used here in 20.12 is used also by Paul in 1 Thess. 5.11 in a context where he wishes to comfort those worried about the fate of those who had died and about the 'day of the Lord' (1 Thess. 4.13-5.11). The verb is used some twenty-two times in Acts, suggesting that Luke's audience might have been in need of such comfort. It might not be coincidental that in the prelude to this episode, Paul 'comforted' (παρακαλέσας) the disciples in Ephesus (20.1) and those in the region of Macedonia (20.2). This episode is, then, much more than a 'charming story' (Johnson 1992: 356) with 'a nice touch' (358) whose details 'could derive equally from an eyewitness or from a good fictional imagination' (356). I suggest there is another, symbolical, level at which the story can be read. Others, however, have cor^idered and rejected this idea. So Johnson says, 'We are rightly hesitant... to find a mystical sense' to some of the details (1992: 358). Schille too thinks that there is no allegory or deeper meaning with the lamps, for example - simply, that is what was used in a time of worship (1989: 398).

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But the idea is worth considering. The timing of this episode on 'the first day of the week', the fact that the context is one of worship, probably eucharistic, the reference to midnight, to lamps, sleep, death, and daybreak all fit within the framework of common eschatological language used elsewhere within the New Testament itself. As will be seen, this episode has much in coirunon with the episodes that are discussed in the next chapter.

Chapter 8

Great Prison Escapes 1. Introduction A reader often has the feeling of inevitability and déjà vu when reading Acts. No matter what the apostles experience, there is the sense that everything is going to tum out well for them. Anything that opposes their well-being, whether it is a natural disaster or a human attempt to hurt them, can not stand in the way of God and his plans for his servants. Luke gives the readers an early clue that this will be the case when Gamaliel says to his colleagues, who oppose the Christians, that if the apostles' work is of God then it caimot be opposed successfully (5.38-39). The insider-audience hears this almost as ironic. There is no doubt which way things will tum out; otherwise, there is little point to the whole story. Before looking at the prison escapes, it can be noted that in Luke's story the apostles are imprisoned on a number of occasions - Peter twice in Jerusalem (5.18 and 12.4), and Paul in Philippi (16.23), in Caesarea (24.27) and in Rome (28.20). The social and political context of some Christians in some areas of the Roman world was one in which prison was a distinct possibility for them. It is easy to sensationalise or to exaggerate the extent and number of such imprisoiunents; on the other hand, it was undoubtedly a known experience in many of the early Christian commuruties (see Heb. 13.3, for example). The Gospels make the trial of Jesus a significant factor in their narratives, and the example of Jesus is one held up for others to follow when in similar circumstances (for example, 1 Pet. 2.21-24). It is also important to remember how central was the myth of Israel's exodus from Egypt, not orúy for Israel, but also for Luke, and for what he thinks is the renewed Israel. Behind some of the prison escapes in Luke's narrative there lies that myth. The God who set Israel free from the prison of Egypt sets his new people free by releasing them from the plans and plots of those who oppose him. The doors of the prisons of Egypt imder the Pharaoh were opened, so are the doors of the prisons of Herod and the Jewish council and the Romans.

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Dramatic and surprising prison escapes are also known from Greek and Roman literature, but that there are over thirty parallel stories in Greek, Roman, Christian, and Jewish literature (Pervo 1987:21) needs to be seen in perspective. Very many of these prison escape tales postdate the New Testament, being written between the time of Apuleius' Metamorphoses in the middle of the second century and that of Noimus, a fifth century writer. Some of the Christian stories from that period probably either imitate Luke or they adopt the models of the contemporary second-fifth century novels. In addition, quite a few of the parallels are not at all miraculous in the sense of involving a divine intervention. Thirdly, the point in the parallels is not always, if ever, the same that Luke appears to make through his stories. It is to be expected that Luke will have close parallels with Jewish escape stories since the God acting to liberate in those stories is precisely the same God who liberates Peter and Paul. Among the Jewish stories, less well known is the story of Moses' escape as told by Artapanus (ca 200 ВСЕ). The king of Egypt imprisoned Moses because he had heard that Moses was about to liberate the Jews, But when night came, all the doors of the prison opened of themselves (αύτομάτως) and some of the guards died, while others were relaxed by sleep and their weapons were broken. Moses came out and went to the royal chambers. He found the doors open and went in. There, since the guards were relaxed, he woke the king. The latter was astonished at what had happened and bade Moses to say the name of the god who had sent him, mocking him. But he bent forward and pronoxmced it in his ear. When the king heard it, he fell down speechless but revived when Moses took hold of him. He wrote the name of a tablet and sealed it, but one of the priests who disparaged what was written on the tablet died with a convulsion (3.22-26).

Of course, Greeks and Romans would have appreciated these stories. To have the favour of the gods was important for them, and many anecdotes were told, if not full novels written, to make that point. The gods' favour those who are virtuous and honourable (Att. Nights 1.6.8, for example), and those who escaped a misfortune like shipwreck, or survived a falling building, were also deemed favoured by the gods (Valerius Maximus Memorab. 1.8 ext. 7). Valerius Maximus also recounts stories in which the gods stepped in to rescue or to give victory to an army or a dty (for example, Memorab. 1.8. la-c). In Acts, there are three prison escapes: the apostles, certainly including Peter and John, are miraculously set free from the prison in Jerusalem (5.1721); Peter is again set free after James has been executed (12.3-17); and Paul is set free from prison in PMIippi (16.25-34).

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2. The first escape (Acts 5.19) The first prison escape is told very briefly. An angel of the Lord, through the night, opened the doors of the prison and led out the apostles (we are probably to imagine that a number of them were imprisoned), telling them to go and proclaim the word of life in the temple. It is a very matter4)f-fact narrative, without any of the literary markers indicating divine intervention such as, 'behold' or 'suddenly'. As in similar incidents, Luke makes no comment on the credibility or otherwise of the episode, unlike some Roman and Greek historians who reported these events, but usually commented on them, either with some scepticism or with affirmation of their credibility. Sometimes, they tried to make an objective assessment of 'what actually happened'. But Luke does not stand back from his reports and evaluate them or critique them at all; for him there seems no doubt, no question of their reliability. In the telling of this particular escape, there is dry irony, however. The guards report that the doors were still locked and the sentries still on duty, but when they opened the doors there was no one inside. It is the guards, not the narrator, who say 'behold!' (5.25), thus indicating that they recognize what the audience of course knows - the escape was a divine action. Among Greeks and Romans, automatic door openings, like all strange, inexplicable events, were seen as portents and warnings, especially for military or political leaders. Dionysius of Halicamassus might have called this event 'a remarkable prodigy" (θαΰμα μίγιστον). He knows of a report that when the dty of Alba was being built, the images of the gods moved from the sanctuary to another place even though the sanctuary doors were 'most carefully closed' and there was no sign of the walls or roof being damaged. (Ant. Rom. 1.67.3). Dio Cassius says that Caesar experienced a number of portents, including the doors of his bedroom opening automatically (αύτομάται, 44.17.3). Later, he reports that Nero, unfortunately for him, did not see the signs. On the one and the same night, the doors of Augustus's mausoleum, and those of his own bedroom, automatically opened (αύτόματα, 63.26.5). Cicero reports something similar. Certain omens appeared to warn the Spartans before the battie with the Thebans at Leuctra in 371BCE. One such omen was that 'the folding doors of Hercules' temple at Thebes, though closed with bars, suddenly opened of their own accord, and the armour which had been fastened to the temple walls, was foimd on the floor' (Div. 1.34). In this first escape, the leading actor is 'the angel of the Lord', and anyone familiar with Jewish scriptural traditions knew that figure well. They

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also knew of angels who basically acted as the promised protectors of Israel's heroes, going before them (Gen. 24.7; Exod. 23.20; 32.34 and elsewhere). It was an angel that the Lord sent to bring Israel out of Egypt (Num. 20.16). In Acts, it is the angel of the Lord who leads, directs, and liberates the heroes of the narrative. In this episode, the angel does three things: he opens the prison doors, he leads the apostles out, and he tells them to speak in the Temple. It is interesting to read what Bruce says about this event that he implicitly calls 'historical'. He thinks the 'angel of the Lord' is 'scarcely' used here in the sense of 'an extension of the divine personality -Yahweh himself in his maiufestations to human beings'. In fact, Luke 'does not say whether the agent was a supernatural being or a human messenger' (1988: 110). Durm thinks along similar lines, even suggesting that the 'angel' was actually 'an early sympathizer with the new movement within the prison staff (1996: 68). This is curious, indeed, and typical of many who refuse to take the divine activity in Acts seriously. We might not 'believe in angels', but there is no doubt in my rrund that Luke's narrative depicts a heavenly being in action here. Unless Dimn is right, how could a human messenger open doors, free the prisoners, and close the doors again without any guards noticing (5.23)? More importantly, such an xmderstanding misses the point abnost entirely: These disciples have heavenly beings on their side, invisible to outsiders, but active and powerful protectors of insiders. As God sent an angel to set Israel free from Egypt, so he has again sent an angel to set free the apostles, the leaders of the Spirit-renewed Israel. By the way, both liberating angelic acts took place at rüght, the time when the gods and their agents are most active (Exod.12.29-34; Acts 5.19). The little phrase, 'after leading them ouf (έξαγαγών те αυτούς), is worth more attention than it usually receives. In the New Testament, the verb is found eleven times, with eight of these in Luke-Acts. The only time Luke uses it in his Gospel, significantìy, is to describe the action of Jesus in leading his disciples out of Jerusalem (24.50) to Bethany, where he raises his hands and blesses them. He does so as the deliverer and protector, and so as the one who blesses Israel. The verb refers to Israel's mythological deliverance in Acts 7.36,40; and 13.17; and in Heb. 8.9. Otìierwise, it is used in the prison escapes of Peter (12.17) and of Paul (16.37,39); and it is finally used in Acts 21.38 to describe the action of the messianic pretender who led four thousand men out into the desert. The expression 'to lead ouf is virtually a technical term for an action of God, and it comes straight out of the Septuagint. In LXX Exod. 6, God solemiúy makes a covenant with Israel and characterizes himself as 'the one who led you ouf (ό έξαγάγων ύμάς, 6.7). In Num. 20.16, 'the Lord sent an

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angel to lead US out of Egypf (κύριος ... άποστείλας αγγ^λον έξήγαγ^ν ημάς έξ Αιγύπτου. At least fifty times in the Pentateuch alone, έξάγίΐν (often in its aorist form, as here in Acts) is used with 'out of Eg)φt'; and at least fifteen times in the rest of the Septuagint it is used in that same way. The leading out from the prison of Egypt is the great saving action of God. Clearly, Luke uses vocabulary that ears attuned to Israel's stories would have recognized easily and knowingly. The God who led Israel out of Egypt is the same God who leads Peter and the apostles out of prison. The angel tells the apostles to go and stand and speak in the temple 'all the words of this life' (5.20). So at daybreak they enter the Temple and teach. According to Josephus, the temple doors were opened at midnight {Ant. 18.29). Schille thinks 'early' (δρθρος) refers to the usual time for court matters to be held, and that Luke here refers to this time and not to early morning prayers (1983: 160). In John's Gospel, Jesus is said to teach in the Temple 'early in the morning' (δρθρου; compare also Lk. 21.38), and at that time of the day, he is involved in a judgment of the woman caught in adultery (8.211). Marshall thinks the adverb used here in Acts only indicates the time of day (1980:118), but it is more than a chronological indicator. It is a narrative cue to the audience that the apostles are legitimate prophets of 'the words of this life'. Teaching 'early in the morrung' is characteristic of the prophets, as is illustrated especially in Jeremiah. In LXX Jer. 7.25 and 33.5, Yahweh says that he sends his prophets to speak to Israel early in the morning (δρθρου), but they do not listen. In 25.3, Jeremiah complains that for twenty-three years he has spoken the word of God to Israel early in the morning (όρθρίζων), 'but you have not listened'. And again, in 39.33, the prophet complains that he taught Israel early in the morning (Ιδίδαξα αυτούς όρθρου) without the expected response. This prophetic experience of teaching early in the morning but not being obeyed is now repeated among the prophets of the new Israel. They teach Israel in the temple early in the morning, but the authorities attempt to silence them, even to kill them (Acts 5.33).

3. Peter's second escape (Acts 12.1-17)i There is a tendency in scholarship to read this episode as legendary and as having no historical kernel. Dimn calls it a 'classic example of supernatural

For some readings of this episode and its place/purpose in the Acts narrative, see R. Wall, 'Successors to "The Twelve" according to Acts 12.1-17', in CBQ 53 (1991), pp. 628-643.

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intervention into human affairs ... [I]n it Luke glories unreservedly in the supernatural character of the tale' (1996:160). Some treat it as part of Luke's light entertainment. Fervo, for example, thinks this is 'one of Acts' most delightful stories' (1987: 62), and he tries to retell it as if it is almost hilarious. He implies (as he does elsewhere as well) that unless one reads it his way, one does not have a sense of humour (1987: 62). Others follow; so Parry comments. We are inclined to laugh at Peter who has to be roughly awakened, and at the maid leaving Peter standing outside. Pervo classifies the story as one of the 'burlesque and rowdy episodes' (Parry 1995:156).

Along similar lines, Johnson says that Peter and the angel 'float through the obstacles unimpeded' (1992: 212), and, 'the entire sequence had in fact a dream like quality' (218). He suggests that the reader will have a chuckle over some of the comments and the iroiues of the episode. He thinks that in this episode Luke abandons any interest in historical reliability and resorts to 'the art of story-telling' (217-218). The lüioda episode he calls 'slapstick' (218). J. A. Harrill says that Rhoda fills role known from Latin comedy, such as in Terence and Plautus, as the running slave - to the amusement of the audience (2000:150-157). I doubt whether it was at all amusing from the perspective of the intended audiences. I hope to show, for example, that for Peter to be 'roughly awakened' was not at all amusing; to the contrary, it was surprising and alarming to both him and the audience. There are too many issues like death and exodus in this episode for it to be sheer amusement and entertairunent. If it is amusement at all, it is risus extremis, laughter in the face of extreme adversity and peril. In addition, the episode is too central in the overall narrative to be seen as entertainment or comic relief. It marks the end of Peter's work and clears the way for Paul. This is not Luke showing off his skill as an amusing story-teller, but it demonstrates him as one who skilfully combines narrative with symbol and metaphor. On the other hand, while it might be true to say that '[t]here can be no doubt that Luke believed the account completely' (Ehmn 1996: 161), it does not mean that he was simply providing a historical accoimt of something 'that actually happened'. His interests are elsewhere. Luke often gives verbal clues to his audience early in an episode, using words that ring bells and alert the listeners to expect actions with which they are familiar. The context of this prison escape is rarely noticed, probably because the chapter division hides it. At the end of chapter 11,

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Luke says that a prophet by the name of Agabus ('locusf ) foretold that there would be 'a great famine all over the world; and this took place in the days of Claudius' (11.28). An audience familiar with Israel's history could not help but be reminded of the famine that covered all of Egypt (Gen. 41.30), and how that famine ultimately led to Israel's great exodus from that coimtry and to their formation as Israel. The references to 'unleavened bread' in 12.3, and to 'Passover' in 12.4, are two further clues taking the memory back to Israel's exodus. They also alert the audience to look out for a Passover-type action on the part of God. The Passover tradition spoke of death to those who imprisoned Israel, the death of Egypt's firstborn, the death of Pharaoh and his armies. And in or through those deaths, God acted for the liberation of Israel. In this chapter, Luke tells of the death of James and the death of Herod, both of which serve to bring about the release of Peter. I have already suggested that death was a serious issue for many early Christian conummities, and that it is strange that Acts does not report the deaths of Peter or Paul, although it does report on their near-death experiences. In this episode, the matter of Peter's death lies close to the surface of the narrative, as I hope to show. It is very common for scholars to find parallels with stories of prison releases in Greek and Roman literature. A list of such parallels is found in Weiser (1981-1985: 284). Commenting on this list, Barrett concludes that 'the theme was a very popular one in folk and in higher literature' (1994: 1.571). The parallel story most often referred to is the prison escape told in Euripides' Bacchae in which the Bacchanals were imprisoned and bound with chains, but 'of their own accord, the chains were loosed from their feet and keys opened the doors without human hand' (447-448). The same play also has Dionysus escape imprisorunent partly as a result of Bacchus shaking Pentheus' house (that is, an earthquake, Bacch. 606, 623-624). Pentheus threatens to bar all the towers, but Dionysus says, 'Why? Cannot gods pass even over walls?' (655; for a similar thought, see also Horace Ep. 1.16.76-78). Ovid also tells of Pentheus ordering Acoetes to be dragged away and shut up in a prison, only to find that 'of their ovm accord the doors flew open wide; of their own accord, with no one loosing them, the chains fell from the prisoner's arms' {Meta. 3.695-700). Before turning to Peter's escape itself, it is worth noting that it is told in the context of the community at prayer, as 'earnest prayer for him was made to God' (12.5). This is where the story begins, and it is how it ends, as Peter, on his release, goes to the house of Mary, 'where many were gathered together and were praying' (12.12). Dunn thinks this detail 'can probably be credited to memory of the occasion' (1996:163), but I suggest this is more a

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literary construct than a recorded memory. In Acts, when a commuruty prays, strange things happen, as we have already seen in 4.31 when the place shook while the believers were at prayer; and as we will see at Philippi when Paul and Silas are at worship and an earthquake happens to release the prisoners. Dvinn himself realises that for Luke and other contemporary Christians, 'the curtain between heaven and earth was already very thin' (1996: 163). The community at worship is close to heaven, and stands on tiptoes in the expectation that their god will act for their deliverance. As in all the prison escapes, God acts at night (12.6), the time when the gods were expected to be active, and when humans were more susceptible to their activities. Peter is asleep (κοιμώμενος); the verb is also used of Stephen (7.60) and of David (13.36) in reference to their deaths. The sleepdeath motif is present in the Philippi incident, and is also here. For the ancient, sleep is very close to death. Tertullian called sleep the mirror and image of death {Anima 42, 50). Both were thought to be times when the spirit of a person is free from the physical passions, and so is open and susceptible to the gods and to any dream, vision or audition that they might give. It was thought that the body rests in sleep but not the mind; and that like at death, there was a separation of body and soul. In general, the association between sleep, death, dreams, and night was very close indeed. Peter is bovmd with two chains, sleeps between two soldiers, and there are sentries at the door (12.6). These all underline the impossibility of escape, and so set up the story. Normally, a prisoner was bound by one chain to one guard only 0osephus Ant. 18.6.7; Pliny Ep. 10.65; Seneca Ep. 5). So the prison is very secure - like a tomb. With one word, the audience immediately knows that God is about the act. It is the word Ιδού. We have come across it already as a formulaic literary indicator that some heavenly being is going to appear or to act in an unexpected and dramatic way. The angel of the Lord stands at Peter's head (έπεστη) as divine messengers classically do. The question can be asked as to the relation between the angel of the Lord and the Lord himself. Is the angel supposed to be Jesus? Wall implies this when he draws attention to 12.11 where Peter says, 'The Lord has sent his angel', but he prefers to understand that it 'is an agent of the risen Jesus' rather than Jesus himself. On the other hand, 'Luke vmderstands the angel, if not also the angel's work, more narrowly in terms of the risen Lord' (1991: 638). There is something else to suggest the figure might be Jesus. When the angel appears, light fills the room (12.7), and the only other time light (φως) appears in Acts is when Jesus spoke to Paul out of the heaven (9.3). An audience, remembering that episode, might naturally expect it is the same figure that now appears to

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Peter. But it is really vmnecessary to make this identificatiori since the audience, assuming it knew its Scriptures, was quite familiar with this angel of the Lord. They knew the angel of the Lord protected the saints of God, especially when attacked by their enemies. In Ps. 35.5-6, the psalmist prays that the angel of the Lord will drive out the enenues. The light lightens 'the room' (οίκημα). It is possibly a hint to the audience that when the angel of the Lord is present, prisons become no more than rooms in a house. However, the word οίκημα was also used for quarters used for detaining prisoners {BAGO 2000:694). Given the strong xmderlying motif of death that pervades this episode, it is worth noting that death was often spoken of as entering a house or a room, 'the chambers of Hades' (for example, Euripides Alcestis 363-367,457). Light here, as in 9.3, is a symbol of the heaverJy world from which the angel comes. Throughout this episode, it is patently obvious that Peter has no control of the proceedings; they are all directed and masterminded by the heavenly being. Peter is stül asleep, not so much because he is sleeping the sleep of the trusting righteous (pace Zmijewski 1994: 462), but to underline his total inactivity in what follows. Peter is suddenly woken up. Such a sudden and violent (πατάξας) awakening would have made the audience very anxious. Sleep is the time when the spirit is free from the body, and when one is waking up, the spirit needs time to return to the body. Waking up someone very quickly is 'dangerous' for the spirit of the person. Sudden action means dramatic and dangerous action. The audience would now be very anxious about the fate of Peter. The angel 'struck Peter's side' (πατάξας δ€ την πλ^υράν, 12.7). Marshall misses the violent sense of this verb; it was much more than 'a nudge on his side' (1980: 209). The very same verb is used to describe the action of the same angel of the Lord that resulted in the death of Herod (12.23). And a look at the use of this verb in the Septuagint soon shows how commorüy it is used to describe a violent, often fatal, action. For example, in the middle of the night, the Lord struck (έπάταξ^ν) the first bom of Egypt (Exod. 12.29), and later, those who had made the golden calf (Exod. 32.35). The spirit of the Lord came upon Samson, who then struck (6πάταξ€ν) thirty men of Askalon 0udg. 14.19). In all cases, the sense is that those who were struck, died. It seems that the angel here acts like the spirit does elsewhere when it falls upon a person - violently and destructively, reducing the person to helplessness. It is worth noting that the only other times the noim πλ€υρά is used in the New Testament are in relation to the death of Jesus, when a spear was thrust into his side 0n 19.34), and when Thomas asked to see the marks 'in his side' (20.25,27). Violence to the side of Jesus marks his death.

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The angel arouses (ήγβιρεν) Peter. This is the same verb that domiiiates Paul's discussior\ of the resurrectioii in 1 Cor. 15. Peter has been in the sleep of death and is now raised by an angel to life. The chains fall off, reminiscent of the experience of the Bacchae in Euripides' play. Peter then acts totally under the command of the angel who gives him a string of orders, 'Get up quickly ... dress yourself and put on your sandals ... wrap your outer garment around you and follow me' (12.7-8). It is impossible not to notice the attention given to the putting on of sandals and clothes. Pervo thinks this is part of Luke's entertainment motif (1987: 62), but I hear more in it than that. Israel was commanded to eat the first Passover meal 'with a girdle around your waist, sandals on your feet, and a staff in your hand' (Exod. 12.11). Like Israel, Peter is about to be liberated from his prison at Passover. On other occasions, too, there is the suggestion that when the command is given to get dressed, it is given when the addressee is to do something significant. Elisha commands his servant Gehazi to 'Get dressed' (ζώσαι) to restore the Shimemite woman's son to life (2 Kgs. 4.29), and later to anoint Jehu king of Israel (2 Kgs. 9.1). The same verbal form is used also in Job to imply preparation for an important act (LXX Job 38.3; 40.7). In addition, the putting on of clothes reminds me of Peter's actions as narrated in John 21. There, on recognising Jesus as 'the Lord', Peter put on his clothes and jumped overboard into the sea. After breakfast, Jesus told him, 'Follow me' (Jn. 21.7-19). Discipleship and death lurk near the surface of this prison escape narrative. The command, 'follow me' (ήκολούθίΐ μοι, compare Lk. 5.27), is striking. Of course, it follows naturally within the narrative, but its formulation is too similar to the standard call to discipleship in the Gospels to be coincidental. In the Gospel of Luke, Peter's call is quite separate from the others (Lk. 5). The call also adds weight to the thought that the angel of the Lord is Jesus. The interesting language continues, 'going out he followed' (έξελθών ήκολούθει). The combination of 'going out' and 'following' reminds me of such language in Luke's Gospel. In that Gospel, the exodus of Jesus clearly indicates that he is going to his death (Lk. 9.31). Jesus made an 'exodus' to his death; the disciple is called to follow him to his own death. So is the death of Peter foreshadowed here? The reference to the iron gate leading into the city (12.10) might remind a listener with death 'on the brain' that Death and Sleep were thought to have gates through which a dreamer, for example, would pass {Aen. 6.893-899). As is typical in angelophaiues, the angel completed his function and then disappeared as suddenly as he had appeared, and Peter is left outside alone (12.10-11). What had happened? Peter himself does not know. He was

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Still in that subliminal state 'as in hypnosis' (Stählin 1970: 168), or 'half asleep' (Marshall 1980:209). It was a state that allowed his body to walk out of the prison complex unnoticed by guards! Luke describes Peter's response to the experience. 'He did not know that what was happening by the agency of the angel was real (άληθές). He thought he was seeing a vision (έδόκίΐ 5è δραμα βλέπε lv, ν 9)'. An audience might imagine all sorts of explanations. People then, as now, knew of dream experiences in which the dreamer finds him/herself in another world to that of when they are awake. And most of us are familiar with that state when the boimdaries between sleep and wake are still very blurred. Some might have likened it to the Spirif s translocation of Philip by snatching him up and moving him imtil he finds himself in Azotus (8.39-40). Others might have thought of stories like those told by Apuleius in which 'men's forms and fortunes transformed into other shapes and then restored again' (Meta. 1.1). The point is that Peter's confused state highlights his total helplessness and inability to arrange his own escape. It is totally 'what the angel had done' (12.9). This point is also made by saying that Peter 'came to himself' only when the angel had gone (12.11). Peter's reaction in 12.11 in part parallels exactly the words of Moses that God had 'rescued me from the hand of Pharaoh' (LXX Exod. 18.4 (έξείλατό με кк χειρός Φαραώ), and is a further sign that we are to think of this escape as Peter's own Passover deliverance, his own escape from an antagorustic Pharaoh. Before moving to the second part of this episode, I draw attention to the variant reading foimd in the Western texts. In that reading, Peter and the angel are said to have 'descended the seven steps' (κατεβησαν τους ζ' βαθμούς). Those who read this whole episode as the reporting of an historical event try to work out to which steps in Jerusalem this might refer (so Bruce 1988:235-236). But I suggest this is pointless, and that the action is best xmderstood metaphorically to mean that Peter went into death. Seven is the number indicating completion, and so the reference to the seven steps indicates the completion of Peter's life. Philo did not 'know if any one would be able to celebrate the nature of the number seven in adequate terms, since it is superior to every form of expression' (Op. Mund. 90). He believed the number had 'a perfecting power', and, following Hippocrates and others, he spoke of the seven stages of life {Op. Mund. 103-105). In addition. Philo also used the word 'steps' (βαθμοί) as a metaphor for life's progress and, interestingly, he used the verbs 'ascend and descend' to speak of such steps, 'for nature has arranged the different ages as certain steps (βαθμούς) along which man in a manner ascends and descends; he ascends while he is growing, and he descends at the period when he is lessening'

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(Aet. 58). Peter's descent of the seven steps refers, then, to his lessening and to his being perfected, that is, to his death. On realising quickly what had happened (συυιδών), Peter went to the house of Mary, the mother of John Mark, where there was a large group of people praying (12.12). He knocked on the door of the gate, and a servant woman called Rhoda answered. There is very little reason to depict this woman as a 'flighty slave girl' (Pervo 1987: 62). The word 'girl' implies immaturity and a young person, and there is no evidence for this; and the word 'flighty' implies scatter-brained and imintelligent, and again, there is no evidence of this. Rhoda acts no differently to the women at the grave of Jesus. Were they also 'flighty girls'? Rhoda came out, recogruzed Peter's voice, but did not see him. Then 'in her joy' (από της χαράς), she went back inside the house and announced (άπηγγειλίν) to the others that Peter was standing at the gate (12.14). Her news was met with imderstandable disbelief, and she was dismissed as being out of control of her senses and raving (μαίνη). While such 'madness' can strike at any time, it is worth remembering that Rhoda had been at prayer with the others (12.12), and that this all took place at lught, before the day dawned (12.18). When prayer and lught are combined, there is the potential for the spirits to work, to possess people and inspire them with 'madness'. When Rhoda insisted that Peter really was there, they said, 'it is his angel' (12.15). Daube (1990) suggests they meant that Peter has just died and was in an intermediate state, as were the angels and the saints. Yet again, there is the hint that Peter had died, but was now in some 'resurrected' state. Peter kept knocking until others finally opened the gate, saw him, and were amazed, or 'blovm out of their minds' (έξέστηεν). The narrative suggests that Peter did not actually enter the house; he is no longer part of that commuruty ion the way that he was previously. Instead, rather strangely, he waved his hand for silence, and then told how the Lord had brought him out of prison. He told them to pass on the news to James and the brethren. The episode then concludes with the curious sentences, 'Then he departed and went to another place' (12.17). This latter episode at Mary's house has close parallels in the Gospel 'Easter' narratives. Peter appears alive, as Jesus did, very early in the morning. In both narratives, women are the first ones to experience a person living whom they expected to be dead. They are filled with joy, and they too announce to others the news only to be received v«th scephcism and disbelief. There is also the motif of hearing and seeing in both narratives. Just as Peter tells those in Mary's house to go and tell James, so the angels/jesus told the women to go and tell Peter.

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There are a number of scholars who argue that this episode is more thari a Lukan historical report of an actual event in the life of Peter. The suggestion is that the story is best imderstood symbolically and metaphorically. Wall thirJcs Luke is 'midrashic' in his hermeneutics and his salvation history (1991: 542). I agree with this, but I suggest that there are many other so-called 'historical' events in Acts that can be read in a similar way. The language of this particularly episode of Peter's prison escape seems to echo two traditions, the Exodus of Israel from Egypt, and the death and resurrection of Jesus (Zmijewski 1994: 466). The two are not imrelated, of course. I will look at the Exodus tradition first. The close parallels between this episode and the Passover of Israel as told in Exodus 12-13 especially, have been noted by a number of scholars (see Garrett 1990: 656-680). What has not been noticed so often, if at all, is that if one carefully reads this episode in Acts 12, and especially if one reads it aloud, there is one preposition that strikes the ear rather noticeably, and it also strikes the eye that looks for it in the text. It is the preposition έξ that Luke uses in so many compoimd verbs. In 12.6-17, the following eight έξ-compound verbs appear: έξέπ^σαν (ν 7), έξελθών (ν 9), «ξβλθόντ^ς (ν 10), έξαπέστειλεν and έξείλατο (ν 11), έξέστησαν (ν 16), έξήγαγεν and έξελθών (ν 17). It is feasible that this is a deliberate attempt to make the sound fit the meaning.^ Peter's escape from prison is his exodus. Even in 12.23, with the expiry (έξέψυξεν) of Herod, there might be a deliberate choice of the word, given that the angel striking Peter (πατάξας) leads to his life, but when the same angel strikes Herod (έττάταξίν), it leads to his death. Secondly, there are close parallels with the arrest, death, and resurrection of Jesus as told in the Gospels. The motifs of prison-death and awakening-resurrection have been noted by Radi (1983) and others. According to Wall, '[t]he collocation of traditions foimd in Acts 12.1-17 reflect Luke's ovm sequencing of events to parallel the passion-exaltation pattern of the Christ event' (1991: 634). Speaking of Peter's arrest. Wall says, 'At several points, this pointed narrative describing the setting of Peter's arrest echoes the circumstances of Jesus' arrest' (1991: 635). Wall interprets this to indicate Peter's status as leader in earliest Christianity. His imprisonment 'not only represents a reversal in his own capacity to follow the risen Jesus, but also the fulfilment of Jesus' words: his status as leader in earliest Christiaruty is now indicated by his imprisormient' (1991: 635). That may be so; but it is It is also worth observing that the verb έξάγω is commonly used by the Greeks when telling of the bringing out of a ghost from the realm of the dead. See, for example, Euripides Phoenirían Women 1539-1545.

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also possible to see these parallels as an indication of the death of Peter, a point I will return to shortly. Others have also noticed resurrection language in this episode. Wall again, 'We are more confident that Luke envisions the action of ho kurios in rescuing Peter by ton aggebn autou as a type of resurrection' (1991:638; compare also Garrett 1989:670). Luke builds the story with familiar death-resurrection terminology: prison, chains, sleep, angel, light, waking, getting up, dressing, following, going out, and gates opening. And then, as already noted, there are very definite parallels between the resurrection appearances of Jesus and the post-prison appearance of Peter. This language, in tum, is commonly used in Christian baptismal and conversion imagery, of which Eph. 5 is a good example. Wall thinks 12.17 represents the transference of authority from Peter to James just as Jesus gave it to him post-easter (1991: 641). He then thinks that πορίύομαι is the crudal word in ν 17: Peter's departure and Jesus' departure to heaven are paralleled (641; also Garrett 1989: 674). Wall says, 'In Peter's liberation from prison by the angel of the risen Jesus, as in God's resurrection of Jesus before him, God has exalted Peter for his obedient service and thus given him authority to identify his successor at his departure from Jerusalem' (1991: 643). So Wall says Peter does die in prison, but only metaphorically. He writes, '[F]or Luke, the prison is more than a place where Peter's martyrdom is imminent; his earlier coupling of prison and death in Peter's confession of loyalty to Christ (Luke 22.33) suggests that for him prison is a metaphor of death itself' (636). Johnson also reads this episode metaphorically: 'The escape of the prophet Peter from prison becomes a demortótration that the resurrection of Jesus continues to empower his aposties' (1992:219; compare also Garrett 1989: 671). Peter leaves the scene; 'he went (έττορίύθη) to another place'. The great majority of scholars think that this means Peter moved to another identifiable geographical place that 'Luke's iitformant probably did not know, and Luke had no other means of finding out' (Bruce 1988: 239). Barrett lists some of the suggestions as to where Peter went (1994: 1.587). But it is certainly worth noting that the expression, 'to go to a place', sometimes refers to a person's death. For example, in Acts itself, it is said of Judas that he 'went to his own place' (πορίυθηναι είς τον τόπον τον 'ίδιον, 1.25). Jesus, before his imminent death, promises his followers that 'he goes to prepare a place (τόττος)' for them 0n 14.2, 3). According to Clement, Peter went through numerous trials and bore the martyr's witness, and then 'went to the glorious place that he deserved' (1 Clem. 5.4: 4πορ€ύθη «Ις τον όφειλόμενον τόπον της δόξης). In addition, Plato says that each soul 'goes to

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dwell in its proper dwelling (τόπος, Phaed. 108c). And in the Acts of Thomas 22, the angels are said to take the soul of Gad up into heaven, 'showing him the places and mansions (τόπους καΐ οΙκήσ€ΐς), there, asking him, "In what place do you wish to dwell?'" In addition, Smaltz has argued that Luke used the verb πορεύομαι to indicate a movement towards death, as in the case of Lk. 22.22 (1952:212; compare also Ps. 39.14). There have been those who have argued that this episode deals with Peter's actual death in Jerusalem. Smaltz says, with some justification, that if we did not have the mention of Peter at the Coimdl in Acts 15, then we would more readily assume that 12.17, if not the whole escape episode, referred to Peter's death. He goes on to remove Peter from the Council by arguing somewhat less convincingly that Sjoneon (Acts 15.14) was at the Council, not Simon Peter (1952: 214-215). Generally, this position has not been accepted, but I think the arguments are quite strong. I list them in point form for the sake of brevity: • • •

•

• • • • • •

Peter's imprisonment is sandwiched between the death of James (12.2) and that of Herod (12.23) the Passover reference in 12.3-4 has death undertones, especially since Jesus died at that festival prison, guards, chains, sleep, gates, light, angels, getting up, dressing, going out, and following, are all common in death imagery and symbolism in early Christian literature striking by the angel of the Lord (12.7) is a very aggressive action, leading to death in the case of Herod (12.23) and in a number of cases reported in the Septuagint the verb eyeipeiv carries strong resurrection implications the 'exodus' language that is used connects the fate of Peter with that of Jesus passing through doors is common in death-sleep symbolism the variant reading referring to Peter's descent down the seven steps suggests his death the episode at Mary's house (12.12-17) has strong resurrection inferences the expression 'he went to another place' (12.17) is used elsewhere to refer to a person's death.

On many coimts, this is a strange episode. Certain ancient parallels offer some keys to understanding, but for all that, it is one of those passages that I will have to revisit. Hopefully, I can leam more from others who visit this same episode, and hopefully too experiences and knowledge gained by this visit will give me a clearer picture.

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4. Paul at Midnight (Acts 16.25-34) Paul and his companion Silas, charged with disturbing the dty of Philippi by advocating foreign customs, were punished with beatings and then with imprisonment (16.20-22). The jailer was given the conunand to guard them closely, and so he put them in the inner cells of the prison and fixed their feet in the stocks (16.23). As was the case with Peter's imprisonment (12.6), the point is also made emphatically here that there is no way Paul and Silas are going to escape. It is similar to Matthew's version of Jesus' burial. In that episode, a stone was rolled in front of the grave, the tomb sealed, and a watch of soldiers was placed at the site. This was all done because Jesus had claimed that he would rise from the dead (Mt. 27.62—66). But there, as here in this episode, the joke is on those who oppose God or stand in the way of his plans. The stronger the opposition, the greater is the demonstration of the power and protection of God. Luke's audience already knows that God rescues his chosen ones when they are imprisoned. Already twice in Acts, Luke has told of Peter's dramatic rescue by an angel (5.19; 12.6-11), and since Paul parallels Peter in many instances, the audience would now expect Paul also to be liberated miraculously from prison. In addition, anyone familiar with Jewish scriptural traditions knew of God's protection of Joseph and Daniel when they were in similar circumstances; and of course, Jews celebrated armually Yahweh's great rescue of Israel from the bondage of Egypt. Many also knew that Isaiah spoke of Yahweh as the one who anointed his agent to announce liberation to the captives (Isa. 42.7; 61.1). There are also a few other lesserknown anecdotes telling of dramatic heaverüy intervention that enabled Jews to escape from seemingly inevitable destruction. So in 3 Масс. 6, the Jews faced certain defeat at the hands of their powerful gentile enemy imtil the most glorious, almighty, and true God revealed his holy face and opened the heaverüy gates, from which two glorious angels of fearful aspect descended, visible to all but the Jews. They opposed the forces of the enemy and filled them with collision and terror, binding them with inmiovable shackles. Even the king began to shudder bodily, and he forgot his sullen insolence. The beasts turned back upon the armed forces following them and began trampling and destroying them.

As previously noted, prison escapes were also known in wider Greek and Latin literature. In fact, Weinreich believed that he had discovered direct literary links between Euripides' Bacchae, in which Dionysos releases himself from prison, and this Acts account of Paul and Silas in the Philippi

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prison. Others too have pointed to this parallel. Theissen says 'the relation in content between the two cases of release of captives in imdeniable: in both stories the liberation is due ultimately to the numinous power of the prisoners' (1983: 103). True, although 'ultimately' in Luke's narrative the escape results from the power of God and not that of Paul himself. God is the power that shakes the earth; God is the liberator of his chosen ones. To return to the Acts episode: Luke's audience knew the inevitable outcome of Paul's imprisorunent. It would not end in his death, but rather in his dramatic salvation at the hand of the God who protects his going in and coming out. So Luke's audience is prepared for a dramatic saving action from God. And sure enough, God acts. Typically of the gods, he acts at midnight. When hearing the words 'around midnighf (κατά το μεσονύκτιον), the audience is inunediately alerted to expect some dramatic divine action. It is at midnight that the Lord struck the firstborn of Egypt (Exod. 12.29), for instance. That midiught and midday should be the times when the gods act is probably related to the fact that they are both critical moments of the day, in the case of the former, marking the end of the one day and the beginning of another. In addition, both midday and midiught were times of rest and sleep for humans, and, as has been shown, such a state meant the physical passions were subdued and did not get in the road of divine attempts at communication. Both midday and midnight were corranorüy believed to be a time when the gods were especially active in communicating with humans. So, for example, Suetoruus relates the myth of Augustus's mother being impregnated by a god while she was attending a solemn midnight service in the temple of Apollo (Aug. 94.5-7). There are many other examples. Some in the audience might have known the tradition regarding Samuel as reflected by the author of PseudoPhilo. In that tradition, it was at midnight that Samuel heard a voice out of heaven calling him {LAB 53.3). And Greeks certainly knew midnight as the bewitching hour. Plato writes of an experience when the souls had all fallen asleep and it was in the middle of the night (μέσας υΰκτας). There was a sound of thunder and a quaking of the earth (σεισμόν γευέσθαι), and they were suddenly wafted thence, one this way, one that, upward to their birth like shooting stars (Repub. 10.621b).

Empedocles is said to have heard an exceedingly loud voice calling him in the middle of the night (μέσων νύκτων). He got up and saw a light in the heavens and a glitter of lamps but nothing else. Empedocles was gone; 'he was now a god' (Diogenes Laertius Pythag. 8.67). Horace claims that

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Romulus appeared to him 'after midnight, when dreams are true' {Sat. 1.10.31). According to Lucan, Erichtho works on special unknown spells and incantations at midnight {Bell. Civ. 6.570-824). In his Metamorphoses, Apuleius tells of his initiation into the rites of Isis. The night before, he spent in the sanctuary. I came to the boundary of death ... I travelled through all the elements and returned. In the middle of the night I saw the sun flashing with bright light. I came face to face with the gods below and the gods above and paid reverence to them close at hand (11.23).

Earlier, Apuleius relates another experience that took place 'about midnight', when, suddenly the doors were opened with a violence far greater than any burglar could have produced. In fact the pivots were broken and completely torn from their sockets and the doors thrown to the ground.

This happened 'automatically' {sua sponte). Two witches appeared. On their departure 'the doors swimg back tmharmed into their original position: the pivots settled back in their sockets, the bars returned to the door-posts, and the bolts ran back into the lock' {Meta. 1.11.14). In a similar episode that also has some parallels with Paul's prison adventure, Apollonius of Tyana is said to have gone to the temple of Dictyrma by night, passed the dogs who were very savage, was arrested by the guards as a wizard and robber, and imprisoned. But about midnight he loosened his bonds ... and ran to doors of the temple which opened wide to receive him, and when he had passed within, they closed afresh, as they had been shut.

Apolloruus was believed to have been taken up to the gods and to have become immortal. Besides being the time for sleep, midrüght was also thought to be the high time of death. And sleep was commonly used as a metaphor for death. Homer said that sleep and death are twin brothers {II. 16.672; compare Valerius Flaccus, Argon. 8.74). I suggest that the motif of death is not far from the surface in this episode. Many scholars idealize Paul and Silas because they rejoice in suffering. So Marshall, 'in the midst of their suffering they displayed their trust in God and their joy' (1980: 271). But such a view reflects a modern piety.

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Despite the whippings and the stocks, there is not a great sense of pain in this episode. It is as if Paul and Silas are above pain, just as they are above death. The audience knows by now that nothing can hurt these men of God. As holy men, they imitate the holy angels whose praise of God is continuous. And to pray at midnight was regarded as the mark of the righteous. So, for example, Ps. 119.62, 'At midiught I rise to praise you, because of your righteous ordinances' (LXX Ps 118.62, μίοονύκτιον 4ξηγ€ΐρόμην του έξομολογεΧσθαί σοι έπΙ τα κρίματα της δικαιοσύνης σου). Το sing praise to God while enduring unjust imprisorunent also was the identifying marker of a righteous person. In The Testament of Joseph, Joseph says On the morrow, having scourged me, the Egyptian sent me into the prison in his house. When, therefore, I was in fetters, the Egyptian woman fell sick from her vexation, and listened to me how I sang praises unto the Lord while I was in the abode of darkness, and with glad voice rejoiced and glorified my God (T. ]os. 8).

So, as much as anything, it is the fact that Paul and Silas are awake and at worship in the middle of the night that is the point, rather than that they are rejoicing in their sufferings. Like the legendary Watchers, they do not sleep, but they bless God (1 Enoch 39.12ff). In this regard, they stand in sharp and ironic contrast with the jailer who sleeps in the darkness (16.27, 29). I have already drawn attention to the denoimcement of those who sleep during worship in some early Christian and Essene commimities. In addition, Luke has previously shown that when God's people are at worship, dramatic things can happen. In Acts 4, the Oxristians were praising God for the release of their leaders from prison, when the groimd or building shook (4.31). When the coiiununity is at prayer, Peter is released from prison (12.5-12). It is in moments of prayer and worship that God can be expected to be active. In the end, it is not the piety of Paul and Silas, but the activity of God that takes centre stage in this narrative. The prisoners were listerung (έπηκροώντο) to Paul and Silas as they sing hymns to God (19.25). Dimn speculates that the songs of Paul and Silas held the attention of the prisoners 'rather than inciting abuse' (1996: 222). But more meaningful speculation can be made. There seems to be a little community in the prison, as is implied when Paul says in answer to the jailer's fear, 'We are all here' (16.28). Is it possible that all the prisoners (ol δέσμιοι) are Christians? The noun δέσμιος is used of Paul elsewhere in Acts (23.18; 25.14,27; 28.17) and of unnamed Christians in Hebrews (10.34; 13.3), and 1 Clem. 59.4; Paul also uses it metaphorically in Philemon (1, 9). More importantly, the verb έπακράομαι can mean more than simply 'overhearing'. Its cognate noim έπακρόασις is used in LXX 1 Reg. 15.22 in the context of

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ritual to refer to the God-pleasmg response of submission. It is a comparatively rare verb in any Greek literature, but some of its sense might be liiJced to the verb Ιπακουω. If that is the case, then some kind of active response on the part of the fellow-prisoners might be what is meant here. The latter verb often refers to God's active response to prayer (LXX Ps. 19.2; 20.7; Prov. 15.29; Ps. Sol. 18.2), and in general implies an active rather than a passive response (compare also Isa. 55.3). And in the Acts of ]ohn, 'we formed a circle and responded to him with the Amen' (ήμεις KUKÀeùovteç έπηκούομεν αύτω τό άμην (94.15-18). Did the prisoners at Philippi respond actively to the songs of Paul and Silas? And were they, then, involved in an act of worship? If that were the case, then this episode parallels more closely that of 4.31, where there is also a shaking of the ground while the Christian community is at worship. Suddenly, there is a great earthquake (σ€ΐσμός μέγας). The adverb 'sudderü/ (αφνω) is a t5φical literary marker of the action or appearance of a divine being (compare 2.2; 9.3). Here, it confirms what the audience anticipates - God is about to act. As we have already seen, adverbs like αφνω and εξαίφνης occur very often as literary markers to indicate the action or presence of a heaveiüy being in epiphany narratives. Of course, earthquakes, like other natural phenomena such as thxmder and lightning, also happen suddenly (Seneca, Prov. 1), and so they mirror the sudden appearance or action of the gods. They were not imcommon in the Mediterranean world in general, but were (and still are) especially frequent and damaging in the regions of modem day Turkey and Greece. Such phenomena were commonly interpreted as omens, as signs that the gods wanted to tell humans something. When Nero assxmied the toga virilis, 'the Divine Power shook the earth (τό δαιμόνιον την τε γήν êoeioe) for a long time on the very day of the ceremony and by night struck terror to the hearts of all alike' (Dio Cassius Hist. Rom. Epit. 61). In the Attic Nights, the writer says that no one really knows the origin of earthquakes, and that the natural philosophers disagree among themselves. Some 'scientific explanations' were that they are due to winds that gather in caverns and hollow places in the earth, others said they are caused by subterranean waters (Neptune was called the earth-shaker). Others saw them more directly as due 'to the divine power of some other god' and it was generally accepted that a god or gods were involved. (Π.28). But not everyone did. Seneca, who knew of the eruption of Vesuvius, says, 'the gods cause none of these things and neither heaven nor earth is overturned by the wrath of the deities' {Nat. Quaest. 6.3.1). Instead, he says, earthquakes happen because the earth has defects just like the human body. He then proceeds to outline and critique the various theories

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he knows, namely, those that see one or more of the basic natural elements (water, fire, or winds) as the cause. In the end, he favours the wind/air movement theory (6.18.1). To those who saw such natural phenomena as portents or omens, this earthquake in Philippi would have been tmderstood as a sign that the gods were with Paul and Silas. Luke uses yet another linguistic marker indicating that God is at work, namely, the adverb 'immediately' (παραχρτμα, 16.26). It is an adverb used almost exclusively by Luke in the New Testament, and invariably in Acts it implies a sudden action of God (see 3.7; 5.10; 12.23; 16.33). In this episode, all the doors open and the chains fall off of everyone 'automatically', that is, not by human action but by divine intervention. The double use of 'all' and the word order (θύραι πάσαι καΐ πάντων τα &σμά) emphasize the possibilities of complete freedom and escape for the prisoners. While there is no appearance of a divine being, the similarities of this episode with the telling of Peter's escapes in 5.19 and 12.3-10 are noticeable. The earthquake is the 'angel' through which God operates to break the bonds of those wishing to limit and restrain his agents. Even though there is no divine appearance, the shaking of the groimd and the loosening of doors after a petitioner's prayer were commonly xmderstood to be a favourable sign of a god's presence or of the god's acceptance of a prayer. For example, according to Ovid, Telethusa prayed to Isis: Tears emphasized her prayer; the goddess seemed to move - in truth it was the altar moved; the firm doors of the temple even shook and her horns, crescent, flashed with gleams of light, and her loud sistrum rattled noisily. Although not quite free of all fear, yet pleased by that good omen, gladly the mother left the temple with her daughter Iphis, who beside her walked, but with a lengthened stride {Meta. 9.782-783).

Ovid also tells of a delegation to the Delphi oracle. They sent envoys to Delphi centre of the world, and they entreated Phoebus to give aid in their distress, and by response renew their wasting lives and end a city's woe. While ground, and laurels and the quivers which the god hung there all shook, the tripod gave this answer from the deep recesses hid within the shrine, and stirred with trembling their astonished hearts (15.635-643).

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The same envoys are then in the temple and praying to the god. Ovid continues. Scarce had they ceased the prayer for guidance, when the god all glittering with gold and as a serpent, crest erect, sent forth a hissing as to notify a quick approach - and in his coming shook his statue and the altars and the doors, the marble pavement and the gilded roof (15.669-675).

The language of Luke echoes these experiences at the oracle at Delphi and in the temple, and, given Paul's recent encoimter with the Pythian prophetess at Philippi (that led to his imprisonment), this may not be coincidental. The shaking of the ground, the loud voice of Paul coming from the deeper recesses of the prison, the trembling of the jailer who prostrates himself before Paul and Silas, and the salvation requested by the jailer, echo the experiences of those who consulted the oracle at Delphi. As is often the case in the Lukan narrative, there is a repetition in this episode of verbal sounds and ideas. The δίσμ- words occur five times in a matter of three verses (16.25-27). Surroimding them are the more common words like φυλακή and its cognates (16.23,24, and then again in 27). By using words in this way, Luke draws attention to them; this story is about prisons and chains and guards from which God breaks and loosens and frees. But I sense an imderlying metaphorical sense as well. The jailer metaphorically belongs to the world of prison and chains and doors and stocks. He is in darkness and in death. The metaphorical language continues as the jailer wakes up out of sleep (έξυπνος, 16.27). Now, it is true that an initial audience might not have been surprised to hear of a jailer sleeping on duty. Pliny wrote to Trajan that he contemplated abandoning the practice of using public slaves as jailers and to use soldiers instead. Ί am afraid that public slaves are not sufficiently reliable', he wrote (Ep. 10.19). On the other hand, the orüy other time that the word 'έξυπνος or its cognates appears in the New Testament is in John 11.11. There, Lazarus is said to be sleeping, and Jesus goes to wake him up (πορεύομαι iva Ιξυπνίσω αύτόν). But, as Jesus immediately explains, he means that Lazarus is in fact dead (11.12-14). Death is a discernible motif in this jail episode, and the sleep of the jailer indicates that he belongs to the darkness, to death, and is in need of light, life, and salvation. That comes to him in his baptism. Seeing the doors open, and thinking that the prisoners had escaped, the jailer threatens to kill himself (16.27), but Paul speaks with a loud voice and

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tells him not to do himself any harm, because the prisoners had not escaped. In calling with a loud voice, Paul imitates the action of Jesus at Lazarus' grave when Jesus addresses the dead Lazarus and calls him to life (Jn. 11.43). It is also the exact same expression (φωνήσας/έφώνησ^ν τη μ€γάλη φωνή) that is used in Lk. 23.46 as the dying Jesus cries out in a loud voice! Both of these situations involved death. Of course, loud voices also demonstrate authority, but Paul's use of it here in this context of the jailer wanting to kill himself suggests more is to be imderstood. Paul's voice, like that of Jesus, confronts the power and threat of death and calls the dead to life. The jailer then calls for lights (φώτα, the only time the plural is used in the New Testament). This is a rather imusual choice of word, since λύχνοι and λαμπά&ς were far more commorüy used to indicate light-producing instruments. So, for example, in Acts 20.8, λαμπάδ€ς are used in the upper room. In the rest of Acts, light (φως) is either what is seen from heaven in Paul's conversion (9.3; 22.6; 26.13), or it is brought to the gentiles who had previously been in darkness (12.7; 13.47; 26.23). Given what follows, it is tempting to see the gentile jailer's request for lights (16.29) as paralleling his request for salvation, 'Sirs, what must I do to be saved?' (16.30). All along in this episode, it seems that metaphors are being used. The jailer is asleep and in the dark (= death); he, a gentile, calls for light and for salvation. The episode reaches its high point when the jailer and his household are baptized. The metaphors of darkness and light and death and life were very common already in early Christian baptismal and renewal language (Rom. 6.13; 13.12; 2 Cor. 4.6; Eph. 5.8-14; 1 Thess. 5.5; 1 Pet. 2.9; 1 Jn. 1.5-7). The jailer is described as shaking or quivering with fear (έντρομος γενόμίνος, 16.29). His shaking parallels the shaking of the prison, and implies the action and presence of the holy God. According to LXX Ps. 17.8, the earth shook v^th fear (έντρομος) in response to the psalmist who cried to Yahweh for help; as it did when Yahweh acted to rescue Israel (Ps. 76.19). This trembling reaction is not because the jailer feared for his life, thinking the prisoners that had been entrusted to him might have escaped. Paul has already assured him that the prisoners had not escaped (16.28). The Western textual tradition in fact says that he secured all the other prisoners again, and only then did he approach Paul and Silas. So the source of his fear is something else; it is the whole sequence of events, and especially, I suggest, the presence of Paul and Silas who are agents of the saving God before whom the whole earth trembles when he is about to act. In his state of trembling fear, he falls down before (προσεπ^σεν) them. His action is very reminiscent of the woman who 'came trembling (τρέμουσα ήλθίν) and fell down before (προσπεσοίίσα) Jesus' in Lk. 8.47. In Lk. 5.8 and 8.28, the same

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verb form (προσέπεσεν) is used to describe the actions of the sinful Peter and the unclean spirits before the holy Jesus. This is also the case in the other two times this same verb form is used in the New Testament (Mk. 5.33; 7.25). In fact, on the basis of its usage in the New Testament, it could be argued that the verb προσπίπτειν always refers to the action of a sinful or unclean person in the presence of a holy one. The jailer acts as if he is overwhelmed by the presence of the divine, and that leads him to ask for salvation. Already the process of 'conversion' is taking place, not dissimilar to that of Paul himself who fell to the ground in the presence of the heavenly light (9.4). Not surprisingly the jaüer addresses Paul and Silas as 'lords' (KÚpLOL, 16.30; compare Paul's question to the heavenly being in 9.5) by which he means more than their sodal status. He perceives them to be men of paranormal power and authority. Again not surprisingly, they, in tum, divert the title to its rightful claimant, 'Believe on the Lord Jesus Chrisf (16.31).

Prison cannot be the locus of salvation; instead, the believer is rescued from prison. And so the jailer led Paul and Silas out (προαγαγών ... εξω, 16.30). Iroiücally, the verb is used elsewhere in Acts to indicate the action of an authority against an accused (12.6; 17.5; 25.26). Here the jailer does not lead the men out in order to condenm them but to ask them for his own salvation. The jailer asks for salvation, an indication to some in the audience at least that the eschaton has arrived. There was some anticipation that the gentiles would ask to share in the promised salvation to Israel. So, according to Micah, Many nations shall come, and say: 'Come, let us go up to the mountain of the Lord, to the house of the God of Jacob; that he may teach us his ways and we may walk in his paths'. For out of Zion shall go forth the law, and the word of the Lord from Jerusalem (4.2).

In Isa. 49.6, God says he will give Israel 'as a light to the nations that my salvation may reach to the end of the earth'. This verse is cited in Acts itself to explain and justify the move of Paul to the gentiles (13.47). The request for salvation by the jailer also follows the exhortation of God, 'Tum to me and be saved, all the ends of the earth! For I am God, and there is no other' (Isa. 45.22), an exhortation that matches the advice of Paul, 'Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ and you will be saved' (16.31). And so, finally, the episode reaches its goal and climax. The jailer is baptized together with his household (16.33), as happens also in the

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conversion of Cornelius (10.44r-48). In Acts, the Oiristian is not alone but belongs to a community. The preposition συν is characteristically Lukan, being used some fifty times in Acts alone (not to mention the numerous compound verbs). It was only after his baptism (and therefore after he had been made 'clean') that the jailer then took Paul and Silas into his house, where he gave them food and 'rejoiced with all his household that he had believed in God' (16.34). The expression 'believe in God' is used only here in Acts, and it probably is meant to reinforce the Scriptural notion that it is God who provides salvation for the gentiles. Stählin suggests the meal may be sacramental since joyous meals feature in eschatological expectations (1970:222; see also Marshall 1980:274). In all of this, some scholars have been concerned about the narrative details. How could Paul see what was going on (Marshall 1980: 272)? How did the jailer know about being saved (Bruce 1988: 317)? One could add, why fall down before Paul and then take them out and request salvation? Why is the jailer baptized before they go into his house? I suggest that to ask many of these questions is to miss the point. It illustrates too literal and too historical a reading of the narrative. It seems to me that many of the actions and language are symbolic and metaphorical. It is packed with the baptismal imagery of light and darkness, sleep and death, prison and escape. This episode is not simply about Paul's escape from prison; it rather tells of the jailer's escape from his prison, his coming to the light and to salvation through baptism. Paul and Silas, on the other hand, belong to the realm of light and life. They do not sleep, but are awake and praising God. The chains and fetters (16.26), commorüy used as metaphors of death, fall away from their bodies by the power of God. The door similarly is the door or gate of death, and these are wide open; the prison of death cannot hold God's agents. The jailer fears that the prisoners have escaped (έκπίφευγίναι, 16.27). The verb Ικφέύγειν is sometimes used in eschatological contexts - Lk. 21.36; 1 Thess. 5.3; Rom. 2.3; Heb. 2.3. To borrow tiie language of Paul in 1 Thess. 5.4-9, Paul and Silas do not sleep 'as others do', since they are the 'sons of light' and 'belong to the day'; they do not belong to the dark, they have escaped the eschatological wrath. They know the source of salvation and so can answer the question of the one still in darkness, in sleep, and so in death. The eschatological language and imagery that is used is rather striking. It is similar to the language also used in the prison and death stories of Peter in 12.3-17 and of Eutychus in 20.1-14. All three stories, in tum, relate closely to the parable of Jesus known as the Wise and Foolish Virgins (Mt. 25.1-10). In that parable, it is at midnight that the bridegroom comes, the sleeping-

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waking motif is present; the lighting of lamps is an important element, as is the wedding reception, and the joy of such a celebration. There is also a door that is closed to those who were asleep without enough oil. Lurking beneath the surface of the parable are the issues of πίστις and σωτηρία. Luke's story of Paul in jail at Philippi has most of these motifs as well. Both the coming of the bridegroom in the parable and the earthquake at Philippi occur at midnight. In the parable, the five foolish girls sleep, in the latter, the jailer is asleep. Five wise girls are awake and ready, Paul is awake and praising God - he follows the advice of the parable to watch. The door motif is present in both - it is closed to the sleeping girls, but open to the awake and worshipping Paul and his companioiK. In both, there is the lighting of lamps, the use of the loud voice, the issue of salvation and the importance of faith. In both there is a celebratory meal and the response of joy. Finally, it might be noted that two of the prison escapes in Acts have close links with actions of worship. Peter is released from prison by the angel while the commimity is praying (12.5,12), and Paul is released while he is praying and singing hymns to God (16.25). The 'release' of the jailer also is celebrated with what might be imderstood as a eucharistic meal and is marked by his baptism. Even in the first prison release, the apostles are released to 'go and stand in the Temple and speak to the people the words of this life' (5.20).

5. The heat on Paul in Malta (Acts 28.1-6) In this episode, on the island of Melite, Paul encovmters a snake that wraps itself around his hand, but does not kill him as the locals were expecting. The story has some parallels with the episode of Paul and Barnabas in Lystra (14.&-20). In both stories, Paul is in barbarian territory, he performs acts of healing, he confronts the local gods, he is thought to be a god, he is faced with death, but escapes unharmed. In both, the fundamental point is the same: the traditional Greek gods, Hermes or Zeus, Dike or Echidna, do not control the life of Paul, nor can they affect his life at all. Rather, it is the god of Paul who rescues and protects him wherever he journeys. Paul's going in and coming out are xmder the promised divine protection. The context of this story is that Paul and his travelling companions have been washed up on an island after being shipv^n-ecked by a storm at sea (27.39-44). Some scholars have seen a problem right here, a problem that in my opinion is minor. Where exactly was it that Paul was shipwrecked? Opinions have varied over the centuries. The view that has dominated is

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that Paul came ashore on modem day Malta. But there have been those recently who have questioned this opinion again. Wamecke and Schirrmacher (1992) have argued that Paul landed on Kephallenia, an island to the east of Malta and off the Greek mainland. Earlier, others proposed that Mljet is the site (Acworth 1973), an argument countered by Hemer (1975), who defended the Malta theory. The arguments hinge on many factors, 1) the name Μίλίτη can refer to a number of islands; 2) Luke uses the term βάρβαροι to speak of the locals, but Malta was under Greek and then Roman control and so not barbarian; 3) there are presently no vipers or poisonous snakes on Malta; 4) Δίκη is a Greek goddess not Punic/barbarian; 5) the rank of πρώτος (28.7) is not unique to Malta; 6) the imderstanding of the word Adria; 7) the imderstanding of the winds and sailing conditions mentioned in Acts 27. As a result, Jervell is hesitant about which island it is (1998: 615), but the great majority of commentators are convinced that Malta is the best proposition. Diodorus, who came from Sicily, says of Melite, off the south of Sicily three islands lie out in the sea ... The first one is called Melite which lies about eight hundred stades from Syracuse, and it possesses many harbors which offer exceptional advantages, and its inhabitants are blest in their possessions; for it has artisans skilled in every manner of craft, the most important being those who weave linen ... and the dwellings on the island are worthy of note being ambitiously constructed with cornices and finished in stucco with unusual workmanship. The island is a colony (άποικος) planted by the Phoeniciaiw who ... found in it a place of safe retreat (καταφυγήν), since it was well supplied with harbours and lay out in the open sea; and this is why the inhabitants of this island, since they received assistance in many respects through the sea-merchants, shot up quickly in their manner of living and increased in renown (5.12.2-3).

Hemer claims that some Semitic evidence is to be found on Malta including two inscriptions, one of which is in Hebrew, 'a language unparalleled on Malta' (1989: 152 n.l49). It appears that there were Jews living on Malta at the time of Paul's shipwreck. Hachlili says a naid-first century mosaic has been found in a Maltese villa depicting Samson and Delilah. There is some debate as to whether the art is in the biblical tradition or whether Samson is depicted like Meliteus, a local hero (Hachlili 1998: 260). More than likely, the local inhabitants spoke neo-Punic, but that does not mean they knew no Greek. The island was under Roman administration from 218 ВСЕ and remained so into the first century CE (Finegan 1981: 201). While they may well have maintained their traditional languages, they would have had too much contact with the wider world for them to know no Greek at all.

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The ancient images and altars to gods found on Malta are of Artemis, Astarte (= Hera), and Melkart (= Heracles) (Finegan 1981: 201). The fact that in the scant archaeological evidence female deities seem to dominate is not irrelevant to this passage, as will become clear. It suited Luke's purpose that the island was called Melite. Bruce says it is the Canaanite word for 'refuge' (1988:497). And Μ€λίτη sounds very like the Hebrew word melitidi which means 'escape or 'refuge'. The Hebrew verb is лЬа. Marshall doubts that Luke knew this linguistic link (1980:415), but it looks very much like he did. The chapter division blurs for the modem reader what is another indication of Luke's play with words. Luke writes in 27.44C-28.1, καΐ ούτως eyeveTO πάντας διασωθήναι έπΙ την γήν και διασωθέντες τότε «πέγνωμεν δτι Μελίτη ή νήσος καλείται. The repetition of the verb διασώζειν is imnecessary in terms of the sense, but it serves to make the point, namely, that their rescue 'fits' the name of the island, a point suggested already by Rendel Harris, who seems not to have noticed the repetition of the verb (Rendel Harris 1909-10:18). In general, the use of names and their meaiungs needs a closer examination in Acts. Such things were not insignificant in the world at the time. A close reading of authors Цке Philo and Josephus, Homer and Pliny wrill reveal a fascination with names, their etymology, and their meanings. Most of the debated issues in this passage stem from a fundamental concern for some scholars to insist on the historical and geographical reliability of Luke, while others wish to see him as using elements of legends and anecdotal accounts that he found in his sources. Both concerns lead to rather fruitless discussions about issues such as the temperature in Malta at that time of the year - would it require a fire to keep warm? Yes, because Paul and his companions were wet through from being in the shipwreck (so Schille 1989:471, who is aiiswered by Haenchen 1971: 713 n. 3). There are no poisonous snakes on Malta, says Schille (1989: 471), but vegetation and the environment have changed over the past two thousand years, replies Marshall (1980: 416; also Hemer 1989:152). How can you gather 276 people around one fire, asks Zmijewski (1994: 868); Luke is only talking about the small Christian group, retorts Haenchen (1971: 713). All of this misses the point of the story and is unnecessary. Nor is there any need to make Paul into some kind of ideal 'practical and helpful' person who collects firewood (Bruce (1988:497; compare Marshall 1980:416; Johnson 1992:461). Other issues in this episode are more crucial. Important is the fact that once more Paul is threatened with death, an issue, as we have seen, that is not far below the surface in Acts. Paul has escaped death in Lystra, escaped death on the sea, and will escape death in this episode on Malta. God has

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told him that he must go to Rome and bear witness there. An element of that witness is his death. When Luke says that God told Ananias that Paul 'must suffer for my name' (ôel αυτόν ΰπ^ρ του ονόματος μου παθεΐν, 9.16), more than having trials and tribulations is meant. When Luke says his main characters must suffer (6el παΜν), he inevitably refers to their deaths. So Jesus must suffer; and Paul must suffer, that is, Paul must die just as Jesus had to die. Paul is threatened with the power of Δίκη that will kill him. But the reader knows that Paul's death happens not because of the necessity planned by Δίκη but by God. The local inhabitants are called 'barbarians' (βάρβαροι, 28.2). As is often pointed out, this is not a derogatory or insulting term in this context. It simply indicates people of a non-Hellerustic culture. Dionysius of Halicarnassus says of Greeks and barbarians, I would distinguish Greeks from barbarians, not by their name nor on the basis of their speech, but by their intelligence and their predilection for decent behaviour, and particularly by their indulging in no irüiuman treatment of one another. All in whose nature these qualities predominated I believe ought to be called Greeks, but those of whom the opposite was true, barbarians (Rom. Ant. Excerpts 14.6.5).

Plutarch calls Dromichaetes, 'a barbarous Thradan' who gave Lysimachus, his captive, 'a treatment so humane (φιλανθρώττως) and royal' (Demetr. 52.6.3). Both of these writers would have been impressed by the behaviour of the barbarians who showed Paul and his company 'extraordinary' hospitality (ού την τυχοΰσαν φιλανθρωττίαν). Luke adds that it was raining and it was cold (28.2). Zmijewski thinks a roof would have been more helpful (1994: 868)! And it is quite common to assume that they were still on the beach (Witherington 1998: 777). But the narrative allows us to imagine that they had moved from the beach where they had landed, and were under cover when the following incident took place. We might also rather naturally assume that the hospitality included shelter, as well as the provision of food, drink, and entertainment. After all, Luke does say that the hospitality was 'extraordinary' (ou ... τυχοίχιαν). Among the Greeks and Romans, the lighting of a fire and the welcoming of strangers to it were seen as expected hospitality, especially within the confines of a home where the sharing of a fire created an almost sacred bond (Plutarch Dinner 158C11). As for hospitality to strangers. Homer illustrates the common practice and common expectation clearly, "This poor wretch has come here in his wanderings. We must provide for him, for they all come from Zeus, strangers and beggars too' (Od. 6.206-208; see also 14.5558,80-92 and 17.475-476). Even a murderer can expect protection outside of

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his homeland (Od. 15.272-278). In short, all those in need of protection can expect it; they can appeal to the gods for help. It is not that the lighting of a fire and the invitation to get warm around it are simply expressions of hospitality in this narrative; fire and heat are going to play significant roles in the story and in its meaning. Luke uses v^rords carefully, not simply to describe but to draw attention and to make a point. The fact that the words 'fire' and 'heaf are used four times in this short episode (αψαντες γαρ ττυράν in ν 2; έπΙ την πυράν ... άττό της θέρμης in ν 3; and elç το πυρ in ν 5) makes ears and nünds attentive to it. In addition, in ν 8, Publius' father is sick with 'fevers' (πυρβτοΐς). Paul gathers a pile of sticks and places them on the fire. A snake ('έχιδνα) comes out of the wood because of the heat. Too much energy is spent in deciding what kind of snake this was. I suggest the word εχιδνα be looked at for reasons other than to determine in what particular species it belonged. Snakes are significant animals in many cultures, not least in ancient Israel and in later Jewish and Christian mythology, as well as that of the Greeks and Romans. Their appearance was often seen as an omen and sign from the gods, often in healing and helpful roles. Well known is the elevated bronze serpent that provided healing for those bitten by snakes (Num. 21.4r-9); also well known is the snake as the symbol of healers and doctors. But snakes were also seen as dangerous, and were believed to come from the imderworld. As such, they were symbols and omens of death and decay. The significance of the appearance of a snake is illustrated by Plutarch, who tells of the corpse of Cleomenes, leader of Sparta (ca 200 ВСЕ), having a serpent of great size coiling itself above the head keeping birds of prey away from it. As a result, the people were afraid and performed rites of purification because they thought that Cleomenes must be 'beloved of the gods' (θ€θφίλους). The Alexandrians actually worshipped him, until they were told that it was natural for serpents to gather around decaying corpses. Interestingly, given the conclusion that the locals reach about Paul (28.6), Plutarch concludes, 'And it was because they observed this that the ancients associated the serpent (τον δράκοντα) more than any other aiumal with heroes' (Cleom. 39.1-3). Did the barbarians on Malta see the snake and read that as a sign that Paul was going to become a corpse? Or, more likely, that he was a hero? Their reaction would suggest something like that. Does Luke even tell this snake story because he knows of the association of snakes with heroes? There are some broad similarities between Paul's adventures in Acts and the myths of the hero Heracles. Both are assigned tasks by a god, both

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have to travel far and wide, both meet hardships along the way, including shipwreck, but both overcome, and both are claimed to be gods. These are very broad parallels, and there is no validity in pushing the similarities into more narrow lines. However, it is interesting that both do encounter a viper. Heracles wants to perform certain sacrifices at Cenaeon, and so sends an attendant to his wife for the clothes to be worn for the rituals. His wife is jealous and so sends the clothes, but she has anointed them vdth a lovecharm. The love charm is poison from the viper (ек της έχίδνης). Heracles puts on the shirt, and the poison, as a result of the heating (δια την θβρμασίαν) during the sacrifice, attacked the flesh of his body and in the end he died as a consequence, only to have his bones disappear and for people to declare he had passed into the company of the gods (Diod. Sic. 4.38.1-5). The heating factor is interesting. The viper in Paul's case is said to come out of the heat (28.3). Both stories then recognize the energy - and the potential danger - of the viper that comes from heat. Both link the encoimter of the hero and viper with the idea of apotheosis. That the locals change their minds from thinking Paul to be a murderer to being a god is not really surprising. As a stranger, Paul on the one hand represented a threat to the locals, one they hoped to overcome by offering him hospitality. In addition, Paul was a prisoner, and that also would evoke some suspicion. But prisoners, especially murderers, also had an aura of 'power' about them since they were polluted and had life-blood on their hands. Then, as a stranger, there was always the possibility that Paul might be a god, since the gods were not unknown to appear in human form as strangers. This idea was widespread, as is indicated by the many visits that the gods make as strangers in Homer's epics (Od. 1.105 for just a single example), by the visit of the angels to Abraham in Gen. 18, and by the reception of Paul and Barnabas in Acts 14. Moving on, I suggest that the locals saw this viper (εχιδνα) that attached itself to Paul as the embodiment of Echidne. Echidne is the name of an autochthonous goddess in Greek mythology whom Hesiod describes as a half-nymph, half huge snake with speckled skin who eats raw flesh beneath the earth and who does not die and does not grow old {Theog. 297). In mythology. Echidne was said to be the daughter of Tartarus and Earth and she would carry off passers-by (ApoUodorus, Lib. 2.1.3). She also gave birth to the immortal dragon with one hundred heads (2.5.11). Ovid implies a link between Echidna and homicide (Met. 4.501). The more common word for a viper is €χις, which is the male of the spedes (Aelian, 10.9). In this Acts episode, the viper is female, and I suggest it must be so because the deities of the underworld are female. The locals

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think Paul \УШ die, not only because of the viper's poisonous bite (if that at all), but because he has been singled out by a goddess of the underworld and of death. This story then tells of a battle not only between Paul and a viper, but also between a goddess of the underworld (who claims to drag mortals into death and decay), and a representative of the living God, who created 'heaven and earth and all that is in them'.^ The locals in the narrative know that Paul must have the gods' favour because he has been rescued from the storms of the sea (Miles & Trompf 1976). Even the fact that Paul was shipwrecked seems to suggest that he was being punished by the gods, but had escaped thus far. Miles & Trompf point out that because Paul is pure and has God on his side, all on board ship are saved (and the passengers included criminals), and Paul therefore must be innocent (1976: 264). The audience also knows that Paul is not going to die on Malta but in Rome. For all that, the battle with Echidna, the goddess of death and the underworld, is a serious one, to the death. The battle begins with the viper attacking Paul's hand (28.3). The verb καθάπτομαι has the idea here of an attack, a seizing, rather than an 'attaching' (RSV) or 'fastening' (NIV), so it carries a more aggressive sense than is usually given it. The audience knows of the hands of Paul and the power that God gives to them (19.11). Seeing the snake attack Paul's hand, the locals say, 'This man surely must be a murderer whom Justice has saved from the sea but not allowed to live' (28.4). They think that Paul is about to be killed by the snake in retribution for killing someone himself. The simplest reading is to understand the locals to be saying that the goddess. Dike, appears in this episode in the form of the viper. At this point, commentators draw attention to Greek Anth. 7.290, the shipwrecked mariner had escaped the whirlwind and the fury of the deadly sea, and as he was lying on the Libyan sand, not far from the beach, deep in his last sleep, naked and exhausted by the imhappy wreck, a baleful viper («χνις) slew him. Why did he struggle with the waves in vain escaping then the fate that was his on the land?

Dike pursues justice and retribution for wrong-doing. As the Chorus in Aeschylus' play sings, 'For word of hate let word of hate be said', cries Δίκη aloud as she exacts the debt, 'and for murderous stroke let murderous stroke be paid' (Lib. Bearers 3 0 9 - 3 1 2 ; see also 6 4 6 - 6 5 1 ) . 5

Ps. 146.6. Curiously, in Jewish and especially Christian thought, God is never said to be the creator of the underworld. He is the saviour from that world, yes, but not its creator.

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The conclusion that Paul is a murderer is an interesting one. What is it that makes the barbarians think this? The audience knows already. Paul has been introduced by Luke as giving his consent to the execution of Stephen (Σαΰλος бе ήν συνευδόκων τη άναι,ρέσει αύτοΟ, 8.1), and is reintroduced in 9.1 as 'breathing threats and murder towards the disciples of the Lord' (φπυέων άΐΓ€ΐλής καΐ φόνου clç τους μαθητάς του κυρίου). So for the audience the suggestion that Paul is a murderer it is not a new or unusual one. Luke says that the people noticed that nothing 'unusual happened to him' (άτοπον clç αυτόν γινόμενον). What were they expecting to happen to him? The usual understanding is that they expected him to swell up and drop dead. But the verb often traiislated as 'to swell up' (πιμπράσθαι) in this context probably is better understood to mean 'to bum up with a fever', given the rather frequent mentioning of fire and heat in relation to the snake. The snake comes from heat and so sjrobolizes what is going to happen to Paul's body. Plutarch uses the verb καταπιμπράσθαι in this sense of burning {Sol. 28.2) and of being inflamed with a fever {Superstition 170D and Isis 380D). But Paul's hand is too 'hof for the viper, which is then thrown into the fire (28.5). The idea that power lies in corporal extremities like the hands was common. Aelian knows of the reputation of sorceresses who can kill by a mere touch, 'so they say' {Animals, 1.54). Is there something in his shaking (άποτινάξας) of the viper into the fire that makes the locals think Paul is a hero-god? It is quite a rare verb. Philo uses it twice, both times in the sense of a firm rejection of something. Similarly, in LXX Lam. 2.7, God is said to have rejected his altar and 'cast of (άπετινάξ^ν) his sanctuary'. Luke himself uses it in the strange action of shaking off dust from the feet as a testimony to rejection (Lk. 9.5). Paul obviously rejects and casts off the viper into the fire. The significant fact, it would seem, is that the viper is throvm into the fire from whence she came. That, to the audience familiar with Greek mythology, means the return of Echidne to the underworld without her intended victim. She is firmly rejected by the power-man of God. I mentioned earlier that there are observable similarities between Paul and Heracles. Here some can be seen again. Paul and Heracles both defeat the creature from the underworld by the use of fire. Dio Chrysostom provides an interesting Libyan myth. In the uiunhabited regions of Libya, there lived an utter monstrosity (παντίλώς άτοπον) which preyed on animals but also attacked men, especially shipwrecked mariners (τους τε ναυαγούς άπό της θαλάττης €πανιόντας) and others who had lost their way.

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These creatures (θηρία) were half sexually very attractive women and half snakes. As soon as a man came within reach they would seize him, sting and kill him with poison and then eat him. A certain Libyan king sought to destroy these creatures that lived in the wild woods. He surrounded them in their dens and then hurled fire in upon them and they perished with their yoimg. But some were away himting, so they came back and then destroyed the army of the king. Later, Heracles came to the place and he destroyed the remaining creatures by setting their dens on fire and clubbing them to death when they tried to escape the fire {Fifth Disc. V.16-21). The myth's basic structure parallels Luke's story: Paul is shipwrecked and is attacked by Echidne, the half woman half creature goddess from the imderworld who does monstrous things to people. Paul defeats her by shaking her into the fire, and he is thought to be a god. It might also be noted that Dio says that Heracles, 'the son of Zeus and Alcmene' made his heart pure (καθαράν ... διανοίαν) by this act (V.23). Anyone knowing the Heracles myth might have thought Paul to be pure by his defeat of Echidne. They might even have thought him to be a 'son of god' like Heracles.

Conclusion I have discussed many of the things in the Acts of the Apostles that culturally are strange to me. I have assumed that they were not strange to the author or to his intended audiences who shared his world-view. They might have evoked surprise and wonder - even astorushment - among them, but not bewilderment in that they had no idea what the author was intending to say. I have wanted to demorwtrate that the author, whom I have called by his corrunonly accepted designation, Luke, was thoroughly conversant with the Septuagint, or at least with a Greek version of the Jewish Scriptures. Luke constructs his heroes along very similar lines to the heroes of Jewish scriptural traditions, especially Moses and the prophets EUjah and Elisha. They were men who were 'mighty in word and deed before the Lord', and so were Peter and Paul. Luke was also convinced that God had recently done something radical and dramatic along the same lines as he had done in Israel's mythology. To aU intents and purposes, Luke believed that God has renewed Israel, not in the sense of replacing the old, but in the sense of a purifying Israel. Israel has now been offered the spirit of holiness that Joel and other prophets had expected. In other words, the strange acts that Luke writes about are best understood when seen in the light of Jewish traditions. On the other hand, I have wanted to insist that the way Luke used those traditions cannot be isolated from the wider Hellerustic world in which he lived and wrote. His target audience consisted of Greek speakers who lived in typically Hellerustic cultural worlds, and so they interpreted their scriptural stories through the grid of their own cultural experiences, and in tum interpreted Luke's narrative through that same cultural grid. I have tried to wear those cultural glasses and to read Luke's narrative through them. How clearly I have been able to see through these lens is, of course, debatable. I have also implied, if not stated explicitly in places, that to read Luke as a report of historical events in the modem sense is not always very helpful. Luke, like others contemporary with him, was more interested in what events and people meant than in what actually happened or in what people actually said. In fact, I sometimes went further and suggested that Luke wrote something like midrashim, using words and ideas that invited the reader or audience to read and to interpret events on the basis of events

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from the past. For example, in the prison of escape of Peter in Acts 12, the references to Passover and to prison invite the audience to interpret Peter's imprisonment as an exodus. In addition, I sense even more strongly than I have suggested in this book, that Luke plays with names of people and places much more than has been recognized. For example, the riames of Tabitha (= gazelle) and Bar Jesus are more than mere handles given to identify people; they also symbolize the situation in which they find themselves in the narrative. Name and event, name and narrative are closely intertwined. I have assumed throughout that the reader will be familiar with the major and valuable commentaries on the Acts of the Apostles. I have not wanted simply to repeat what scholars have said. On the other hand, most scholars have shown little interest in these strange acts for themselves; their interest has been elsewhere— in Luke's sources, in the tradition, in the person of Paul, in their historicity and in 'what actually happened', or in the purpose of these strange actior\s. By focussing on the strange acts themselves, I have wanted to suggest different ways of reading a number of them - not to replace the standard readings, so much as to supplement them. I certainly have had no intention to offer the final word on any of the passages, people and events that I have discussed. Far from it; my aim has been to contribute to the conversation, to try to imderstand the 'joke' that Luke and his intended audience obviously shared. I hope that it might encourage others to do likewise.

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,De Oratore. H. Rackham et al. (trans.). 2 vols. (London: Heinemann; Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, LCL, 1948). , De senectute, De amicitia, De divinatione. W. A. Falconer (trans.) (London: Heinemann, LCL, 1923). , De república, De legibus. С. W. Keyes (trans.) (London: Heinemann, LCL, 1928). , Tusculan Disputations. J. E. King (trans.) (London: Heinemann; New York: Putnam, LCL, 1927). , De inventione, De optima genere oratorum Topica. H. M. Hubbell (trans.) (London: Heinemann, LCL, 1949). Columella, On Agriculture. H. Boyd Ash (trans.). 3 vols. (London: Heinemann; Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, LCL, 1977). Dio's Roman History. E. Cary (trans.); on the basis of the version of H. B. Foster. 9 vols. (London: Heinemann, LCL, 1914-1927). Dio Chrysostom. J. W. Cohoon & H. Lamar Crosby (trans.). 5 vols. (London: Heinemann, LCL, 1932-1951). Diodorus Siculus. C. H. Oldfather et al. (trans.). 12 vols. (London: Heinemann, LCL, 1933-1967). Diogenes Laertius, Vitae Philosophorum. H. S. Long (ed.). 2 vols. (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1964). Dionysius of Halicamassus, Roman Antiquities. E. Cary (ed. and trans.). 7 vols. (London: Heinemann, LCL, 1937-1950). Euripides. D. Kovacs (ed. and trans.). 6 vols. (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1994r-). Pronto, The correspondence of Marcus Cornelius Pronto: with Marcus Aurelius Antoninus, Lucius Verus, Antoninus Pius, and various friends. C. R. Haines (ed. & trans.). 2 vols. (London: Heinemann, LCL, 1919-20). Galen, On the Natural Faculties. A. J. Brock (trans.) (London: Heinemarm, LCL, 1916). GelUus, Aulus, The Attic nights of Aulus Gellius. J. C. Rolfe (trans.). 2 vols. (London: Heinemarm, LCL, 1927-52). The Greek Anthology: The Garland of Philip and some contemporary epigrams. A. S. Gow and D. L. Page (eds.). Vol. I (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, LCL, 1968). Herodotus. A. D. Godley (trans.). 4 vols. (London: Heinemarm, LCL, 1966). Hesiod, The Homeric hymns, and Homérica. H. G. Eveljm-White (trans.) (London: Heinemann, LCL, 1914). Homer, The Odyssey. A. T. Murray (trans.). 2™· ed. revised by G. E. Dimock. 2 vols. (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, LCL, 1995).

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308

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Weiss, W. 'Zeichen und Wunder': Eine Studie zu der Sprachtradition und ihrer Verwendung im Neuen Testament (WMANT 67; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1995). Wikenhauser, A. 'Doppelträume', Bib 29 (1948), pp. 100-111. Wiebe, P. H. Visions of Jesus: Direct encounters from the New Testament to today (New York/Oxford: Oxford Uiuversity Press, 1997). Wilcox, M. Semitisms in Acts (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1965). Windisch, H. 'Die Christusepiphanie vor Damaskus (Act 9,22 und 26) und ihre religionsgeschichtlichen Parallelen', ZNW31 (1932), pp. 1-23. Ziegler, K. 'Paradoxographoi', PW18.3 (1949), pp. 1137-1166.

Index of References 1. Old Testament Genesis

2.21 3.7 3.8 3.10 5.24 6.1-4 6.11 9.22-23 10.2 10.22 13.13 15.1 15.4 15.12 18 18.1 19.1 22.11 24.7 26.24 27.33 28.12 28.15 30.3 31.11 31.11-13 31.13 37.31-33 38.10 38.14 38.19

159 112 169 169 42 102 215 112 252 219 215 129 163 159,160 289 183 40 174 262 187 159 255 187 113 157 156 123 238 215 238 238

39.9 215 39.11-20 238 41.14 184 41.30 265 65,206 41.38 43.3 95 228 44.10 46.2 129,157,174 46.2-5 156 Exodus

3 123 3.2 73,123,157,172 3.3 139 3.4 123,174 3.6 123,183 3.11 155 4.20 192 5.8-13 216 262 6 172 6.3 6.7 262 7.3 28 7.6 192 7.10-12 210 7.28 192 9.3 192 9.23 192 11.9 28 12.11 268 267, 275 12.29 12.29-34 262

13.21-22 15.6 15.11 16.3 16.9 16.10 16.33 18.4 19.10-15 19.12 19.16 19.21 19.23 20.14 20.18 23.16 23.17 23.20 24.15 28.29 31.2 31.3 32.34 32.35 33.2 33.18 34.22 34.29-35 40.33-38 40.35

37 59 59 192 215 172 215 269 178 59 37 95 92 204 172 68 68 129,262 168 215 65 60 262 267 129 171 68 128 37 194

310

Index of References

Leviticus

9.23 14.8 14.40 15.19 15.24 15.28 19.31 20.26 23.15-21 24.14 24.23 25.34 27.1-29

183 225 238 229 229 229 184 92 37 198 198 200 ??5

Numbers

5.14 6 6.2-10 6.5 7.89 11.17 11.25 12.6 12.14 16 16.19 16.31 19.11 19.11-13 19.12 19.14 19.22 20.16 21.4-9 22-24 22.6 22.16 22.35 24.2

59 226 225 222 169 65 73 143 229 72, 200 183 70 229 239 229 239 239 262 288 176 198 237 64 64

27.17 30 31.9

249 225 229

Deuteronomy

2.15 4.12-15 4.29 4.33 4.34 5.19 5.26 6.25 9.29 12.22 18.10-11 18.15-19 18.18 21.1 24.17 26.8 28 28.6 28.7 29.20-21 31.2 34.10-12

192 172 184 145 139 204 145,169 236 59 235 115 55 20 205 238 139,191 198 250 250 198 249 20,28

Joshua

2.19 3.10 3.13 4.24 5.14 7 7.1 7.6

228 145 192 192 80 199, 200 205 182

Judges

2.15

192

3.20 237 3.23 237 4.21 207 6.22 120,129,171 6.22-23 157 9.23 102 13.22 120 87,108 14.6 14.19 87, 267 15.14 87 18.19 237 1 Samuel [1 Reg.]

1.12-13 180 3.1-18 163 3.1-9 166 3.4 174,184 3.10 174 3.15 139 10.6 62, 87,112,164 87,112 11.6 11.7 159,180 14.15 159,180, 775 14.24 225 ??5 15.27-46 16.13 112 16.14-23 102 18.10 102, 111 19.9 102 28.8 115 2 Samuel [2 Reg.]

1.16 3.29 5.12 6.6-7 15.7-8 16.13 24.14

228 228 36 59,192 225 182 192

311

1. Old Testament

2Kin^s[3Reg.] 1.52 2.33 137

3.5 5.3 13.18 17 17.19 17.21 17.24 18.12 18.41 18.46 19.7 22.5-28 29.6

225 228 228 172,183 192 129 242 237 256 242 87 192 85,221 163 216 249

2Kings[4Reg.]

1.1 2.11,12 2.12 2.16 2.23-24 3.11 3.25 4.11 4.29 4.34 4.36 5.1 9.1 14.13 15.5 17.10 22.18

237 42 87 87 198 218 249 237 268 256 242 210 268 159,180 159,180 159,180 218

1 Chronicles [1 Para.] 5.16 13.10

235 215

16.1 21.7

215 215

2 Chronicles [2 Para.] 3.1 3.9 5.12-13 5.12-14 16.1 16.12 29.16 31.12-14

172 237 80 80 249 99 238 200

Ezra

3.7

235

Job

2.12 4.15 11.4 12.13 12.16 27.2-4 32.6-9 32.19 33.4 33.9 34.14 38.3 40.7 65.5

182 59 228 59 59 66 67 76 66 228 66 268 268 228

Psalms 2

2.12 4.6 8 8.2 8.5,6 8.7

48,81 202 168 36,39,48 36 39 36

17.7-8 17.8 19.2 20.7 27.8 29.7 34.10 35.5-6 35.9 36.7 39.14 40.16 41.3 46.10 51.10 51.13 55.13 57.1 63.7 67.35 68.19 76.19 77.13 77.14 83.3 88.7 88.15 91.1 96.11 97.1 102.19 103.2 104.2 104.29-30 108.6 110 119.62 121.7-8 121.8 132.7

82 194, 281 278 278 184 168 184 267 168 194 273 184,207 145 36 67 66 168 194 194 37 42 281 59 168 145 37 168 194 168 168 39 168 171 66 151 48 277 250 232,256 202

Index of References

312

Proverbs

49.2

194

33.4

228

15.29

215

33.22

221

278

49.3

28.5

184

49.6

282

39.29

30.2-3

255

51.16

194

40.1

221

55.3

278

41.7

237

Ecclesiastes

60.13

202

5

60.19

168

61.1

274

248

5.5

121

12.5

248

128

Isaiah 2.5

168

6

179

6.1-10

181

6.3

80

6.3^

83

6.4

70

7.20

193

8.11

220

9.13

184

11.2

66

21.1

139

21.11

139

23.1

139

30.2-3

193

32.15

60

32.15-16

60

37.4

145

37.17

145

37.28

249

41.10

187

42.5

66

42.7

274

43.5

187

44.3

60

45.22

66.1 66.14

Song of Solomon 1.5

63.10-11

282

60

Daniel 1.17

139

66

2.1

139

39

2.7

139

2.19

139

2.26

139

2.36

139

2.45

139

192

Jeremiah 1.6

80,155

1.8

187

4.5

184

1.13

163

4.25

139

1.19

187

4.34

215

7.25

263

5.11

206

15.20

187

5.12

206

16.28

187

5.14

206 158, 237

17.26

105

6.10

22.13-14

237

7-8

139

23.18

172

7.1

139

25.3

263

7.13

37,139

27.5

59

7.15

139

30.11

187

8.1,2

139

33.5

263

8.13

139

38.21

172

8.15

139

39.33

263

8.15-18

120

42.11

187

8.17

139

Ezekiel

8.26

139

8.27

139,174

1.3

221

9.8

1.4

168

9.20

180

1.28

170

9.24

139

192

10.1

139

192, 221

10.5-9

175

220

10.7-9

120

10.12

169

10.16-17

175

3.14 3.22 8-11 8.1 8.2-3

192,221 63

80

2. Apocrypha, Pseudepigrapha Joel

Micah

3.1-10

121

4.12

163

2.28

60,66, 71

3.8

60

4.18

76

4.2

182, 282

4.6-7

105

Amos 3.11

96

5

167

5.26-27

167

313

Nahum

1.2

3.1

182

12.8

104

12.10

60

14.13

159,180

96 Malachi

Zechariah 1.67

8.22

60 151

2.7

121

3.1

129

3.1-2

146

2. Apocrypha, Pseudepigrapha Apocalypse of Baruch

Baruch

76.4-5

2.18

148

Apocalypse ofEsdras

3 Baruch

15.13

6.13

128

Ascension of Isaiah

2 Enoch 105

83

1.6

173

3.16

1.36

88

64

1.37

174

4.21

64

7.23

64

8.14

64

9.5

173

9.35

150

9.35-37

64

9.39

64

9.40

64

10.4

64

11.4

64

11.32-33 11.33

150 64

129

22.8-9

41

30.11

121

67.1

43

Epistle of Jeremiah

Bel and the Dragon

1 Enoch 14.8-9

19.1

36

1.1

215

2 Esdras 1.40

129

5.14

175

10.30

175

12.3-5

175

13.58

175

15.8

102

39.12

277

47.2

80

57.1-3

83

Jubilees

62.2

60

1.2G-24

71.1

129

1.24

124

93.11

170

2.2

124

100.4

122

2.7

124

106.3

121

54

6.15-19

75

6.17-19

68

7.2

75

314

Index of References

1 Maccabees

11.71

182

2 Maccabees

3 3.26 4.32 12

175 41 205 235

3 Maccabees 1.16

182

6

274 40

6.18

Testament of Job

2.12

209

33.1-3

Psalms of Solomon

Testaments of the

17.26

81

Twelve

151

Levi Sirach 10.10

16.18-19 34.1-8 38.15 43.16 48.9-14

99 82 161 99 82 43

8.2 18.11b-12 18.12

41 66 112

Joseph

8

277

Tobit

4 Maccabees

4.1-14

Martyrdom of Isaiah

175

Susanna

1.64

210

3.10-16 12.15 12.19-22

237 43 43

6.49 7.25 8.8 8.38-40 9.20 9.29 10.19 12.8 13.22 14.14 14.32-41 14.40 14.61 14.62 14.63 15.34 16.8 16.9

161 282 252 109 177 178 204 239 217 116 254 254 151 37 182 107 159 136

3. N e w Testament Matthew

1.20 2.13 2.19 7.15 10.8 10.30 11.7 11.10 12.4^-45 15.27 17.2 17.9 19.18 21.39 24.11 24.25 25.1-10 25.1-13

136 136 136 217 234 225 84 129 107 181 168 139 204 239 217 78 283 253

25.30 27.46 27.62-66 28.17

239 107 274 48

Mark

1.2 1.10 1.24 1.26 1.41 1.43 2.8 2.17 3.11 5.7 5.27-28 5.33 5.42

129 87,152 177 107,151 109 109 206 99 177 107,151 191 282 159

3. New Testament

315

Luke

8.26-39

111

21.36

283

1.3

8.27

102,112

21.38

263

1.9 1.11 1.11-20

8 169

8.28

177, 281

22.12

237

49,183

8.29

108

22.22

273

119

8.30

111

22.23

146

179

8.38

107

22.34

60

1.15

72, 210

8.41

207

22.43

183

1.18

155

8.44-^

196

22.69

39

1.22

146

8.47

281

23.46

107, 281

40

8.48

99

1.11-22

1.26-33

24.1

252

8.49-56

234

24.4-7

59,194

8.54

241

24.5

157

60,72

9.1

107

24.19

126

1.66

221

9.4

250

24.27

1.67

60,72

9.5

291

24.30-34

2.22

241

9.8

136

24.31

49

2.23

241

9.29

127,170

24.34

133,166,183

2.29

80

9.31

127,268

24.36^3

147

2.47

209

9.34

37,194

24.37

157

167

9.35

170

24.37-41

49

152,162

9.39

115

24.42-43

49

60,180

9.49-50

109

24.44

36

1.26-38 1.35 1.41

3.4 3.21 3.21-22

119

40

27 252

3.22

162

9.51-53

127

24.49

60

4.29

239

10.10

250

24.50

262

4.33

102,107

11.26

107

24.50-53

4.40

107

11.34

5

268

13

5.8

281

13.16

94

5.26

159

14.23

250

5.27

268

15.28

250 214

48,49

108 105,108

John 1.51

255

4

212

4.10

212

6.18

106,107

16.8

5.6

94

6.19

106

16.9

214

5.19

151

6.48

84

17.16

207

240

7.11-15

234

204

6.39

18.20

6.44

240

7.15

144

20.15

239

6.54

240

7.16

208,233

20.34-36

242

9.34

239

130

11

7.21

107

20.36

7.27

129

20.42

36

8.2

107

21.18

225

8.2-11

263

21.26

60

232,242

11.3

242

11.4

242

11.18

242

Index of References

316 11.28

241

1.13-14

11.33

238

1.14

11.38

115, 238

11.39

243

1.18

11.43

240,281

1.20

36

4.2

116

11.44

243

1.21

249

4.8

72,150,206

l.lS-25

11.45

243

1.21-22

14.2

272

1.25

14.3

272

2.1

15.26

94

19.34

267

20.12

40

2.1-13 2.2

237 69, 78, 7 9 , 2 1 0 72 214,231

3.19-20

55

3.23

55

3.26

240

4

80, 84, 277

41

4.10

232

272

4.12

30, 219

68,74

4.23

77

68-77

4.24

69, 78-80

69, 70, 84,

4.24-31

77-84

168, 278

4.25

95 69

20.25

133, 267

2.3

71

4.26

20.27

267

2.4

52, 72, 7 3 , 1 5 0

4.27

21.7-18

268

2.7

209

4.29-30

2.12

209

4.30

81,112

2.13

62

4.31

72, 78, 82, 84,

2.15

74,76

Acts 1

134,143,144,146

81 221

199,266, 277, 278 4.31-37

55

2.24

232,240

146

2.31

251

143-149

2.32

232,240

1.2

95

2.33

90

4.33

199

1.3

134,143,144,

2.34-35

47

4.34

203

148, 235,241

2.38

55, 213

4.35

200 200, 218

78 1.1 1.1-11

1.4

48

1.4-8

210

1.6

48,213

1.6-7

148

1.6-8

49

1.8

52,59,209, 215, 234

4.32

204,207

55

4.36

2.41

68

4.37

2.42

210

2.43

69, 208

2.44 2.44-45

69 203

69, 78,199,

200

5

78, 9 3 , 1 0 5 , 1 9 3 , 199,201, 215,253

5.1

183

5.1-2

200

2.46

69, 78, 7 9 , 2 1 0

5.1-10

112

68,69

5.1-11

55,199-208

1.9

35,87

2.47

1.9-11

33-49

3

192

5.2

200,205

3.1-10

105

5.3

177,200,205

3.2

183

5.3-4

1.10

38-iO, 1 2 7 , 1 4 4 150,156,157,183

214

119

3.4

101

54

200, 204, 207

1.11

36,37, 39,

3.6

213

5.5

191,231

3.10

192,279 159

5.6 5.8

192, 206

1.12

47,49,119 49

3.7

1.13

158

3.15

232

5.9

53,93, 200

1.10-11

206

3. New Testament 5.10

191,192, 206,

5.11

231, 279 207

317 78

8.18

212

6.15

126-130,

8.19

27, 78,79,101, 194,195, 202 5.13 207 5.13-14 192 211 5.13-16 5.15 100,104,106, 191-195 5.15-16 106,198,207 5.16 102,104-106, 194, 202

7

152,157 126

8.20 8.20-23

212 212

128 172,183 78 237 172

8.21 8.22 215 8.24 215 8.26 64,85,159,167 8.27 183 8.29 65,85 8.29-30 85 184 8.31

5.17-20

5.12

176 5.17-21 260 5.18 259 5.19 183, 261-263, 274, 279 5.20 119, 263, 284 5.21 75 5.23 262 5.25 261 5.30 232 5.31 41 5.31-32 55 5.32 41 5.33 263 5.38-39 8,259 5.39 176 6.1 69,247 6.2 247 6.2-^ 213 6.3 126 6.4 210 6.5 67,126,150, 219 6.6 101 6.7 247 6.8 126,199 6.10 126 6.12 126

6.13,14

7.1-53 7.2 7.7 7.9 7.26 7.30 7.35 7.36

71,172,183 71 262

7.38

126

8.36

7.40

262

8.38

7.42

212

79 7.49 7.51 55,60,150,176 7.53 126,127 7.54 127,146 149-153 7.5Φ-56 7.55 127,149 7.56 70,150,152,162 7.57 78,107,151 174,239, 251 7.58 7.59 42,130 7.60 107,151, 251,266 8 164, 209, 212 8.1 291 8.6 78, 79,209, 211 8.7 85,102,104, 106-107 209 8.8 8.9 183,209,210,216 210 8.9-10 8.9-24 209-215 8.10 210 8.11 210 8.12 210, 211 8.13 210, 211 8.17 101

55,214 167

92

255 53,85-89, 86 8.39 8.39-40 85,269 8.40 89 9 134,146,153, 242 167,174,177, 9.1 178,247, 291 9.2 16,167,177 9.2-10 166 9.3 70,167,168, 266, 267, 278, 281 9.3-6 42,165 9.3-7 180 9.3-9 16S-179 9.3-15 136 9.4 169,174, 282 156,170,186 9.4-6 9.5 91,146,153, 157,177,282 9.7 170,171 9.8 174 9.9 143,177,178 153,154,174, 9.10 186,188, 236 9.10-16 153-155 9.10-17 156

318 9.11

154,167, 177,188 9.11-12 180 9.12 101,143,154, 165,178 9.13 178,241 9.13-14 155 9.15 181,188 9.15-16 155 9.16 155,287 9.17 71, 72,101,155, 171,178,188, 256 9.18 178 9.20 170 9.20-30 166 9.21 209 9.25 247 9.27 166,171 9.28 237 9.31 208 9.32 54,235, 241 9.33-34 235 9.34 232, 240 9.36 235, 236 9.36-42 12, 234-243 9.37 237, 242,243 9.38 235, 237,242 9.38-42 130 9.39 236-238, 240 9.39-40 253 9.40 232, 239,240 9.40-41 239 54,238, 239, 9.41 241,256 9.42 235, 243 235 9.43 10 55 10.1 183,253 155-158 10.1-8 236 10.2

Index of References

10.3

119,120,156, 164,174 10.3-5 157 10.4-5 156 10.5 164,235 10.7 163, 210 10.7-8 156 10.8 235 10.9 159,167,237 10.9-10 143 10.9-16 157-164, 166,178,180 10.10-16 136 10.11 70 10.13 65,163, 164,174 10.14 163 10.15 163 10.16 163 10.17 140,160,161 10.19 65,163 10.22 120,164 10.23 235 164 10.25 10.32 235 10.38 237 10.38^1 41 10.40 232 10.40-41 148 10.4^44 55 10.44r48 283 55,120,209 10.45 10.47 92 11 264 11.5 235 11.5-10 164 11.6 160 11.10 255 11.13 235 11.15-18 55

11.16 11.17 11.21 11.28 12 12.1-3 12.1-10 12.1-17 12.2 12.3 12.^ 12.3-10 12.3-11 12.3-17 124 12.5 12.5-12 12.6 12.6-11 12.6-17 12.7

27 177,212, 213 221,238 95-97, 265 235, 271, 294 231 176 263-273 273 265 273 279 231 260, 283 259, 265 265,284 277 266, 274,282 274 271 233, 266,267, 271,273, 281 12.7-8 268 12.7-10 119,156 12.9 138, 269, 271 268,271 12.10 12.10-11 268 12.11 160, 266, 269, 271 12.12 75, 265, 270,284 12.12-17 273 270 12.14 91,119, 270 12.15 12.16 209, 271 12.17 262, 270-273 12.18 270 12.20 78 12.21-23 231

3. New Testament 12.23

14.9 14.9-10

127

16.23

259, 2 7 4 , 2 8 0

63

16.24

280

273, 279

14.10

106

16.25

284

109,177, 216

14.14

115,182

16.25-27

280

181

14.15

244

16.25-29

254

91, 92,200, 216

14.19

1 0 1 , 2 1 5 , 231,

16.25-34

253, 260,

13 13-20

13.1

1 1 9 , 1 7 6 , 207, 231, 267, 271,

319

13.1-3

215

243-251

274-284

13.2

92,93

14.19-20

130,231

13.3

101

14.20

243, 2 4 9

13.3^

216

14.20-22

250

16.27

277, 280, 283

14.27

237

16.28

277, 281

15

273

16.29

277, 281

216, 2 1 8

15.4

237

16.30

281, 2 8 2

13.6-12

215-???

15.7

206

16.31

282

13.7

217,218

15.8-9

55

16.33

279,282

13.8

218

15.10

93

16.34

283

13.9

13.4

92

13.4-12 13.5

209

16.26

69,167, 279, 2 8 3

72,116,218,219

15.12

28

16.37

262

13.10

167

15.14

273

16.39

262

13.11

192,207,

15.25

78

16.40

250

184

17.2

251

1 2 , 3 0 , 84, 9 1 , 9 2

17.5

282

220,221

15.28

13.12

219, ? ? ?

16

13.17

262

16.1

236,253

17.15

92

13.19

252

16.6

89, 9 1 - 9 3 , 1 8 3

17.16

52,166

13.30

144, 2 3 2

89-93

17.18

233

13.31

71,172,183

52, 89, 93,

17.22

166

13.33

36, 2 4 0

115,183

17.28

18

13.34

240

16.8-10

251,252

17.31

240

13.36

266

16.9

136,140,

17.32

233

13.37

232

13.40

60

13.47

187, 2 8 1 , 2 8 2

16.13

48,250

18.6

186, 7 7 7 - 2 3 0

13.50

244

16.14

183

18.7

186

18.9

186,188,189

18.9-10

165,186-187

13.52

16.6-7 16.7

16.9-10

144,165

18.5

183-186

18.5-^

67,72

16.15

250

14

248, 2 8 9

16.16

115,116, 209

14.3

101,199

16.16-18

95,186 227

101,

18.10

186 187,226, 227

14.4

217

113-117

18.11

14.5

244, 2 4 5

16.17

115

18.12

78

14.8

183

16.18

104,115

18.18

???-230

14.8-10

105

16.19

71

18.19

227, 2 5 0

14.8-20

284

16.20-22

274

18.23

250

320 18.24 253 18.24-19.41 109 19 16,110 19.2-6 109 19.6 101 19.8-10 109 19.9 246 19.9-10 196 19.11 27,100,101, 195-198, 202, 256,290 19.11-12 109 19.12 102,107-108, 111, 191,195,198 19.13 101 19.13-17104,108-113 19.13-20 109,209 19.15 110,112,177 19.16 112 19.17 195,208 19.17-20 211 19.19 213, 251 97,109 19.21 19.24 253 277 19.25 19.26 166 78 19.29 19.33 246 19.34 115 19.36-37 218 20.1 256 20.1-14 283 256 20.2 20.4 252 167, 252 20.7 20.7-12 12,130, 251-257 158, 253,281 20.8 20.9 255 202, 255 20.10

Index of References

20.11 255, 256 20.12 256 20.18 79 20.22 93 20.22-23 9S-97 20.23 94,97 20.26 95, 212 20.38 166 21.4 95 21.4-15 93-97 21.8 96,250 21.9-10 96 21.11 96 21.12 96 21.13 96 21.13-14 96 21.18-19 228 21.22-24 228 21.23-24 777-230 21.24 229 21.27 229 21.28 78,180, 229 21.33-39 180 21.36 115 21.38 262 22 166 22.6 159,167,281 22.6-11 165-179 165 22.6-21 22.7 174 186 22.10 22.11 169 22.12 150,153 22.12-16 153 22.17 143,159 22.17-18 180 22.17-21165,179-183 22.18 181 22.19 180,181 22.21 181

22.22 22.24 23.1 23.9 23.10 23.11

181,182 230 182 65 188 136,165, 186-189 23.12 181,188 23.17 251 23.18 277 24.3 8 24.12 251 24.25 251 24.27 259 25.7 251 25.14 277 25.24 166 25.26 282 25.27 277 169 26 26.10 54, 241,251 26.12-18 153, 165-180 26.13 167, 281 26.14 174 26.15 186 26.16 71,171 26.17 181 26.19 134,145,165 26.23 281 26.25 8 26.31 218 285 27 27.10 166 27.21-22 188 27.23 119,120,144, 188-190 27.23-24 165 27.24 156 27.39-44 284

3. New Testament 91

27.43 27.44C-28.1

286

28.1-6

284-292

28.2

287,288

28.3

288-290

28.4

290

28.5

288, 291

28.6

69,166, 231,288

28.8

101, 288 38

28.11

15.5-8

321

144,183

16.22

49

2 Corinthians

5.9-16

236

6.9

213

11.2

241

11.13

217

11.23-25

247

11.24-25

247

12.1

35,146

12.2

35,87

28.23

95

12.4

71

28.31

47 Galatians 2.4

1.7

54

1.20

171

Ephesians

2.3

283

4.9

5.2

151

4.10

241,281

217

255 86,255

5

272

5.8-14

281

8.16

94

5.14

151

12.1

241

5.18

76

12.8

200

5.26-27

12.13

241

13.12

281

15.16

79

15.25

241

1 Corinthians

241

Philippians 2.5-11

48

2.6

87

2.19

109

Hebrews 1.1-4

48

1.3

48

2.3

283

2.9

48

8.9

262

9.14

212

10.15

94

11.4

212

13.3

259

13.22

241

1 Peter 1.11 2.9

94 168,281

2.21-24

259

5.12

151

2 Peter 1.21 2.1

217

2.15

176

1.2

54

4.13-18

232

208

4.13-5.11

256

6.1

241

4.17

6.8

204

5.3

283

14.3

200

5.4r-9

283

48,184

5.5

281

134,268

5.11

256

15

2 Timothy

1 Thessalonians

5.5

14.26

48

185

48,277

6.13

213

3.16 281

184, 259

86

213

2.8

2.12-13

28.20

6.1-1

2.3

4.6

28.17

Romans

1 Timothy

87

62

1 John 1.5-7 5.6

15.3-4

134

Jude

15.3-8

133

11

168, 281 94

176

322

Index of References

Revelation 2.2 2.8 2.14

96 96 176

11.18 12.5 16.2 17.9

241 87 108 252

18.20 19.10 22.20

241 94 49

4Q266 6

254

4Q339

217

4Q377 2.1

121

4. Dead Sea Scrolls CD 5.11-13 6.20 7.3-6 15.16-18

66 167 66 128

IQapGen 12.15 21.19-22

75 111

IQS 3.4-12 3.7b-8 4.21 5.7 6.14 6.20-24 6.25 7.11 8.12

IQH 3.20 3.21-23 4.24 4.35 8.12 11.10-12 11.11-13 11.13 11.25-26

79 128 128 151 63 128 79 63 79

8.13-15 8.19 9.3-4 11.7-9

167 54 54 69 69 203 203 254 69 167 69 54 128

IQSa 2.8

128

IQSb 3.25-26 4.25-26

242 242

4Q405 22.9-10 llQMelch IIQT 18.10-13 19.11-14 19.14 21.12-16 45.7-10

124 122

68 68 75 68 178

5. Rabbinic and Other Jewish Literature Mishna Ketubah 8.2 Nazir 1.3

248 226

Babylonian Talmud Berakhot 34b

253

Menakhot 65a Pesachim 103b-104b Sukkah 59a Yoma 21b

126 252 75 67

Jerusalem Talmud Hagiga 2.2/77d

200

6. Early Christian Literature

Midrash Rabba

Leviticus Rabba 37.4

Genesis Rabba 90

230 67

Genesis Rabba 91.6

Deuteronomy Rabba 11.207d Ecclesiastes Rabba 7

323 67 128 230

6. Early Christian Literature Clementine Homilies

Actsof]ohn 94.15-18 119

249 207

Acts of Paul 3 9.5

128 254

273 253

Acts of Xanthippe and Polyxena 15.2 22.18 36.12,18, 30

253 253 253

135 171 161 135

Didache 9.2, 3 10.1-6

Acts ofThomas 22 27.18

13-19 16 17.14 19

80, 81 80,81

Didascalia 21.1-23.1 147.15-16 149.5-17

236 236 236

History of Joseph the Carpenter 6

159

Aristides Apologia 15.4

Ignatius 204

1 Clement 5.4 34.5 34.7 59.2 59.3-61.2

272 79 79 81 80,81

Clement of Alexandria Stromateis 7.7.40

80

Ad Eph. 4

80

Joseph and Asenath 14.2 14.9

168 129

Justin Apologia 1.16.5 1.21

204 46

324

Index of References

Tertullian

de Anima

Apologeticum

42 50

21.31

29

266 266

7. Ancient Greek Writers Aelian

Aristídes

de Natura Animalium

Orations

1.54 7.14

291 195

Aeschylus Libation Bearers 309-312 646-651

290 290

11.41 11.52 11.131

114 62 162

Sacred Tales 2.12-14 2.28-35 4

189 153 138

Supplicants

45-46

57

de Generatione Animalium

Apollodorus

4.1.765b.2

Library 2.1.3 2.5.11 2.7.7 3.119-122

289 289 37 233

Argonautica 4.1346-1363 Appian Civic Wars 2.18.134 2.36 4.4 4.17.134

158 38

151

Nicomachean Ethics 3.8.15

168

On Prophecy in Sleep 462b

Apollonius 4.1308-1330

Aristotle

23

Arrian Anabasis Alexandri 3.3.3-6

25

Artapanus 246 28 28 140

On The ]ews 3.22-26

260

7. Andent Greek Writers Artemidorus

Diodorus Siculus

Oneirocritica

History

325

1.18.3

224

4.11.1

103

Athenaeus

4.38.1-5

289

Deiptiosophists

4.75.5

12.512

236

5.12.2-3

285

14.14.3

41

5.34.3

205

1.2.5.19

139

Dio Cassius 44.17.3

5.72.3

56

5.72.4

56

13.83.2

Roman History 261

52.36.1-2

14

56.24

21

56.29

21

61

278

63.26

261

73.13

246

74.2

246

79.3

24

84

14.45.3

104

15.4.3

56

18.22.4

78

Vitae Philosophorum Prologue 1.6.9

Discourses 1.56

74

1.57

74

1.70.3

41

I.75

151

5.16-21

292

5.23

292

113

5.15.1

113

Pythagoras 7.67

233

8.10

253

8.32

103

8.67

275

88

Dionysius of Halicamassus

25.1

52

On Literary Composition

77/8.31

113

5.14.9

II.90

72.12

216

Philolaus 5.13.10

Dio Chrysostom

37.12.21

236

13.100.2

Diogenes Laertíus

Epitome

53

88

197

3

3,4

3

6

4

15

3

57,114 168

Thucydides 51

5

326

Index of References

Madness of Hercules

Roman Antiquities 1.56.3 1.57.4 1.64.4 1.67.3 1.77.2 2.19.2-1.1 2.56.2 2.56.6 2.68 3.32.1 4.2.4 4.10 4.60 6.41.2 7.68.3-6 8.39.1 8.39.3 9.39 10.49 14.6.5

69,185 92,158 45 261 38,45 15 45,88 45 22 56 158 75 253 78 162 78 104 253 253 287

494-495 Phoenician Women 1539-1545

On The Natural Faculties 3.13

Epigrams 7.290

Crinagoras IX

224

Flaccus Х1-ХШ

V

223

223

Philip XIII

223

Herodian 265 265 265

History 1.13.6

246

Herodotus

Children of Hercules 30

Hecate 578

290

Garland of Philip

Alcestis

401-405

20

Greek Anthology

Maccius 238 267 267 243

271

Galen

Euripides 149 363-367 457 1159-1163 Bacchae 447-448 606 623-624

193

238

Histories 2.42 2.91 4.82 7.12-19

171 202 202 161

7. Ancient Greek Writers

Hesiod

Josephus

Theogony

Antiquities

197

289

Works and Days

1.143

327

219

4.40-51

83

4.51

70

4.55-56

73

4.108

64

Homer

4.118

Iliad

4.119

61 61 61

124-125

211

1.63

161

2.55

124

3.380-383

88

14.342

38

16.672

276

16.851-859

149

20.131

171

20.443 21.597

88 88

22.8-13

176

23.45,135

223

23.135-153

224

Odyssey

4.121 4.8.29 [4.274]

205

4.285-288

204

7.77

84

7.7.4 [7.156]

41

10.35

20

13.10.3 [13.282]

179

13.299-300

217

15.136

121

18.29

263

18.6.7 [18.195]

266

19.6.1 [19.294]

230

20.142

216

Apion

1.105

289

6.206-208

2.208

287

204

14.55-58

2.216

204

287

14.80-92

287

15.250

88 288

15.272-278 16.161 17.475^76

171,173 287

Homeric Hymns 2.275-280

157,171

5.160-190

157

5.202-208

88

Jewish War 2.1.1 [2.1]

41

2.101

253

2.15.1 [2.313]

226

2.409

253

5.517

39,127

7.185

102

Ludan Lover of Lies 8-9

98

15

103

20.1-26

202

328

Index of References

True Story 107

de Migratione Abrahami 202

Lysias Against Antocides 6.51 6.53

34-35 47-52 de Opificio Mundi

228 228

90 lOS-105

Pausaraas

de Sacrificas

Descriptio Graecae

70 79

1.37.3-4 2.31.2 8.41.3

224 44 224

Philo de Aeternitate Mundi 58

270

de Agricultura 175

225

de Confusione Linguarum 3 146

17 121

de Decalogo 33-35 45 46 46-47

77 72 77 172

de Gigantibus 129

141

de losepho 37.1 80.2 106.6 128

36 172

253 253 253 253

269 269

99 17

de Somniis 1.205 1.238-239 1.252-253

18 123 222

de Specialibus Legibus 1.66 1.247 1.251-252 1.254 4.30-40

18 226 226 226 204

de Vita Abrahami 217-218

63,128

de Vita Mosis 1.24 2.188 2.272

78 20 63

In Flaccum 122-123 144.5

79 78

Legum Allegoriae 1.17

225

7. Ancient Greek Writers

Phaedrus

Qhis Rerum Divimrum Heres 249-266 250 259-266 265-266

160 177 76 61

Quod Deus sit Immutabilis 1.87

225,227

Philostratus Vita Apollonii 2.14 2.36 3.38 4.10 4.25 4.34 4.40 4.45 8.30

103 142 103 103, 245 103 185 103 233,276 276

Phlegon

2.5-6 3.4

145 145 158

Pindar Olympic Odes 1.40

88

Plato 62

Phaedo 108C

273

81 74

Republic 10.621b

275

Timaeus 71E

149

Plutarch Alcibiades 22.5 28.3

228 168

Alexander 75.1

28

Aristotle 41

Camillus 33.86

113

Cicero 44 Cleomenes

140

39.1-3

288

Coriolanus 38.1-^

Ion 534C-D

238D 244A-B

21.4.5

Book of Wonders 1.1-2

329

24

de Defectu Oraculorum 414 414E 416 432 432C

125 58 125 57, 62, 75 149

330

Index of References

Demetrius 52.6.3

Parallel Stories 287

305.1

178

309-310.17

178

Dinner 158C11

287

39.3

Fabius Maximus 20.64

Pericles

113

84,169

Philopoemen

Genius of Socrates

12.3

168

580

125

18.9

168

581

125

588D-E

188

Pompey

588-589

154

589D

40.2.4

41

74 Pyrrhus

Gracchus 15.6.2

56

351D

206

380D

291

Libanius 44

Lucullus 10

189

Lysander 11.3

100

11.2

44

Pythian Oracle

Isis

3.11.2

3.4

397-399 398A-B 438A

114 58 113

Quaestiones Graecae 292E-F

68

Quaestiones Romanae 270.26

220

276D

237

283D

56

168 Romulus

Marcellus 20.5

27.8 103

27-28 28.6

88 142 44

Numa 2.2

168

de Sera Numinis Vindicta 563D

44

8. Ancient Latin Writers

Solon 28.2

291

53.4 53.6 61.7-9

291

Sophocles

Superstition 170Ό

655E-F 680C-D 681A 681C 735D

76 7 101 101 76

Theseus 13.3

157 174

Strabo Geography 9.3.4-8 9.5.14 15.1.71

114 56 41

Vettius Valens Anthologiae 168

Polybius History 10.16.6

1623-1628

168

Timoleon 28.2

163,166 163 129

Oedipus at Colonus 39-40

Table Talk

331

2.37.34 2.41.30 5.6.117 8.3.36

105 105 105 105

205 Xenophon Cyropaedia

Pseudo-Philo [= LAB] 11.5 18.11 27.10 28.6 53.3

82 66 129 112 275

4.2.42

205

Symposia 3.5 4.6

3 3

8. Ancient Latin Writers Apuleius Apologia 53.3, 39 55.3, 7,8,16 57

Metamorphosis 1.1

196 196 196

1.11 2.13 2.27 11.23

269 276 213 244 202, 221, 276

332

Index of References

Catullus

Pro Fiacco

Poems

68

LXIV.384-^8

16

Cicero 2.15.47 2.15.48 2.17.52 2.26.83 2.33.107

132 132 132 133 132

261 152 152 141 149 149 62 57 152 140 58

de Natura Deorum 2.65-66 2.66.167

132 19,138

Oratio 2.62 Orator 159

The Republic 2.10.17,20 3.19.14 6.3-29 6.14 20.77

142 18 142 145

14 110

23

Tusculan Disputations 1.12.1 1.18.42 1.26.65 3.12.16

44 57 57 195

Columella On Agriculture 3.10.9 3.22.4

57 20

Pronto Eulogy of Smoke and Dust 6

Laws 2.19 2.21.52

201

Topica

de Divinatione 1.34 1.43.97 1.44.99 1.49 1.63 1.64 1.66 1.113 2.28.60 2.58 2.110

Pro Sexto Roscio 5.12

Académica

201

38

Aulus Gellius Attic Nights 1.6.8 2.28 5.15.1 5.18.9 9.4 10.12

260 278 173 4 22 22

8. Ancient Latin Writers

Horace

Fasti

Epistles

1.94 1.95-96 1.97-98 2.475-512 3.361-372 6.251-252

1.16.76-78

265

Satires 1.10.31

276

Livy History 1.16.6 2.12

5.51.10 6.4.2 8.6.9-11 22.1.11 Lucan Civil War 6.570-824 9.175-179 9.675-677

45,142 110 204 203 153 152

276 238 18

57 265 289 279 279 168 280

Satyricon 2 94.8 104-105

197 198 224

Pliny Sr. 193 193 131 131

Martial Epigrams 99 99 99

Ovid Ex Ponto 4.11-20

2.640-641 3.695-700 4.501 9.782-783 15.635-643 15.663-664 15.669-675 Petironius

On the Nature of the Universe

1.47 5.9 8.74

169 167 169 142 152 169,173

Metamorphoses

Lucretius 4.143-157 4.379-386 5.1169-1171 5.1181-1182

333

121

Naturalis Historia 7.47.152 7.48.158 7.173-177 7.174 28.3.10 28.9 29.14

25 25 233 57 26 197 99

Pliny Jr. Epistles 7.27 10.19 10.65 10.96

91 280 266 203

334

Index of References

Quintilian

Suetonius

Institutio Oratoria

Augustus

1. Pref. 16 6.2.29

21 137

Sallust Bellum Catilinae 5.9 8.1 10.6

2 94.S-7

219 275

Julius 16 16 16

32

140

Nero 25.3 51

196 196

Seneca the Younger Tacitus

Dialogues De Constantia Sapientis 11.1

Annals 140

15.44

de Providentia 1 1.3 2.11

40,278 25 57

266 57

142 132

Medea 752-754

202

Quaestiones Naturales Pref. 1.3 1.1.4 2.32.2-4 2.36.1 6.3.1 6.18.1 7.16.1-2

Dialogue on Oratory 22

5

4.81-83

141

Valerius Flaccus Argonautica

Hercules Furens 1069 1070-1071

158 15

Historiae

Epistulae Morales 5 41.2

11.21

21 22 22 22 278 279 23

3.417 8.74

142 276

Valerius Maximus Memorabilia 1.1.1a 1.7 1.7 ext. 1 1.7 ext. 6 1.7.1 1.7.7 1.8 praef. 1.8 ext. 7

30 193 124,141 125 141 124 24 260

9. Papyri 1.8.1a-c 1.8.7 2 praef. 3.2 4.7 ext. 1 5.1 ext. lb 5.1.8 6.1 7.3.1 7.3.8 8.15 praef. 9.15.1

260 23 21 110 56 240 240 240 15 15 44 44

Varrò On the Latin Language 7.97

ПО

335

Vellerns Paterculus Historia 1.5.1

3

Virgil Aeneid 1.148-153 1.411-414 1.586-591 2.680-689 2.692-694 3.58-59 3.84-94 6.893-899 9.14-24 9_20_21

244 38 38 71 83 185 84 268 46 152

9. Papyri PGM A^.3019

P. London Hay. 111

10391

198

Index of Modem Authors Acworth, Α. Ashton, J. Avalos, Η.

285 13 98

Barrett, C.K.

2,34,69,86, 89, 191, 212,213, 226, 229, 241, 247,265,272 Bauer, B. 11 Berger, К. 68,137,147,170 Betz. О. 178,179 Bevan, E. 57 Bieler, L. 11 Borgen, P. 98,112 Bruce, F.F. 33, 34,93,145,159, 167,196, 229,230, 247, 262, 269, 272, 283, 286

Esler, P. Evans, C.A. Evans, C.F.

Finegan, J. 285 Fitzmyer, J. A. 2,38,47, 51, 56, 65, 68, 75,89, 93,105, 107, 223, 243 Fletcher, C.H. T. 119 Foakes-Jackson, F. 33,247 Garrett, S. Gaventa, B. Geertz, С. Gruber, M.I. Guttenberger, G.

226 Cartledge, T. Conzelmann, H. 2,247, 255 Counet, C. & Tilborg, S. 16,46,134 222 Cox, W.

Haar, S. Hadüili, R. Haenchen, E.

69,168, 270 100 209 12 199,205,208, 211,212, 214 134 Dibelius, M. 106 Dodds, E.R. 7 Downing, G. Dunn,J.D.G. 9,16,34,52, 73, 90, 106,131,145,199,208, 232,234,242,243,251, 252, 255,262-266, 277

Hanson, J. S. Harrill, J. A. Havelaar, H. Heininger, H.

Daube, D. Davies, S. De Jong, A. Delling, G. Derrett, J.

228 118 134

Hemer, С. Hengel, M. Hengel, R. Hoerug, S. Holladay, C. Н о т , F. Hume, L. Hure,J.

102,271,272 166 7 248 231,232 209 285 2,85,89,90, 106,167, 226,229, 247,254, 286 137 264 199 137,140,141, 165,170,188 10,14, 285 36, 99,100 99,100 248 11 222, ??3 51 51

338 Hurtado, L.

Index of Modem Authors 123

Jervell, J.

11,12, 53,68, 70, 97, 155, 773, 229, 230, 235, 238,247,255, 256 Jewett, R. 91 Johnson, L.T. 29,47, 65,68, 72, 75, 78,92,191,196, 212, 213,221, 223, 779, 243, 247,251, 252, 255, 256, 264,272, 286 Kee, H.C. Klauck, H.-J. raeinknecht, H. Klutz, T. Kollmann, В. К о т , M.

99 13,191, 219,220 56 108, m 11 26

Lampe, G. Lane Fox, R. Leary, T. Leonhardt, J. Levison, J. Lohfink, G. Lüdemann, G.

11 17,18 196 777 31,58,61, 64,66 6, 33, 37,143,166 146,179,220

119,126 Mach, M. 244 Macmullen, R. 155,166 Marguerat, D. 97,159,174,199, Marshall, I.H. 208,211-213, 226, 229, 247, 253, 254, 256, 267, 269, 276, 283,286 98 Martin, D. 52, 53, 72 Menzies, R. 33,34 Metzger, В. M. 208 Meyer, H.A.W. 290 Miles, G. Najman, H.

122

O'Collins, G. Oesterley, W. Oesterreich, Т.К. Ogden, D. Olyan, S. Omerzu, H. O'Toole, R.

133,134 173 97,177 115,136,249 119,122 231 208

Parke, H. Parry, D. Parsons, M. Pervo, R. L

114,116 264 33, 35,37, 43,44,143 12, 31, 32,251,260, 264,268,270 Pesch, R. 199, 206,241,247 Pilch, J. 9,13, 34,146,147 Pilhofer, P. 183,184 Pliimacher, E. 5,12, 23, 28 Porter, S. 51, 90, 97 Ramsay, W.M. Reichhardt, M. Rendel Harris, J. Richter Reimer, I. Rohde, E. Roloff, J.

10,183 165,170 286 116, 204, 205, 208, 234 59 176, 208, 223,247

70,85,255, 256, 263, 286 285 Schirrmacher, T. 167 Schneider, G. 10 Schreiber, S. 76 Schwartz, D.R. 122 Segal, Α. F. 273 Smaltz, W. 85,89 Spencer, S. Speyer, W. 19, 22,167,168,189 10,28 Squires, J. Stählin, G. 34, 52, 72, 81, 89-91, 133, 211, 247,251, 253, 254,269,283 Schille, G.

Index of Modem Authors

Strelan, R.

30,100,127,196-198, 219,246,249,250 221 13, 26, 275 290 58

Tannehill, R. Theissen, G. Trompf, G. Turner, M. van der Horst, P. W. Vemant, J.-P. Versnel, H. Wall, R. Wamecke, H. Wasserberg, G. Weinfeld, M.

193-195 19,137 39,173,194

263, 266,271,272 285 156,158,162 80

339

Weiser, Α. 265 28 Weiss, W. 133,168 Wiebe, P. 69 Wilcox, M. Wikenhauser, Α. 153 Windisch, Η. 170,175,176,178 Witherington, В. 12, 75, 223, 227, 239, 287 114,116 Wormell, D. Ziegler, К. 22 Zmijewski, J. 71, 75, 97,116,144, 210,214, 234, 247, 254, 255, 267, 271, 286, 287 Zwiep, Α. 33, 36,42, 47,134,143